#kind of a playful vent??

[mintykiwi]

who hurt all tomorrows for you :(

):

[satellite-evans]

his person

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: you are lando’s person <3

Word count: 2.3k+

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

If you asked anyone — anyone who’d known Lando even half as well as the world thought it did — who his best friend was, the answer came easy, automatic, like muscle memory.

Max Fewtrell.

It was almost too obvious. They’d been inseparable since their karting days — the kind of friendship that was stitched together with inside jokes, shared playlists, matching scars from dumb teenage stunts, and years of standing side by side through wins and wipeouts. They were co-founders of Quadrant, partners in crime both on and off the track, the human embodiment of controlled chaos whenever a Twitch stream went live or an Instagram story popped up. If you ever bet on who knew Lando best — who could read him like a page out of his own life — your money was safe on Max.

But if you asked Lando — really asked him — his answer wouldn’t even take a breath.

“It’s her,” he’d say, soft but steady. Certain.

“It’s always her.”

You.

The girl who had known him before the podiums, before the fame, before the world chanted his name like a stadium-wide heartbeat. The one who saw through the swagger and the quick wit, the one who called him out when his ego got a little too comfortable, and who held him up when the weight of expectation became too much for one pair of shoulders to carry alone. His girlfriend, yes. But more than that. His person. His safe place. His best friend in every sense of the word.

And God, Lando could never seem to shut up about you.

It was an unspoken rule among his circle — one that started as eye-rolls and playful jabs but eventually softened into quiet acceptance. Your name had a habit of slipping into conversations without warning, as if his mind couldn't help but orbit around you even when you weren’t there. His engineers learned to expect it, Max would mock him with exaggerated groans, but none of it ever stopped him.

“Mate, we asked about tire strategy, not your girlfriend,” his race engineer would tease over the radio mid-practice, when his focus momentarily drifted.

And Lando, without missing a beat, would just laugh — the kind of laugh that sounded like pure ease, like home.

“Same thing, really,” he’d reply, grinning under the helmet. “She keeps me grounded. Technically part of the setup.”

On race weekends, it didn’t matter how chaotic the paddock got, how many fans called his name, or how tightly his schedule was packed. His eyes would always search the crowd — cutting through the noise, the flashing cameras, the blur of faces — until they landed on you. Like some unspoken radar tuned to a single frequency.

“There you are,” he’d mumble every single time, pulling you into his arms, cameras be damned. “Took me forever to find you.”

“You walked straight toward me, Lando,” you’d laugh against his chest, your voice the one sound that always, always managed to quiet his racing thoughts.

“Still felt too long,” he’d whisper, pressing his lips to your hair like that simple touch could steady the adrenaline still roaring through his veins.

You weren’t just the girl he loved. You were his favorite adventure. His co-op player. His partner in every messy, beautiful, unfiltered part of his life. Nights were spent tangled together on the couch, feet tucked under each other, controllers in hand, or phones abandoned on the table as you scrolled through old memes, trading soft jokes and lazy kisses. But the best part was always the silence. The ease of it. The kind of quiet that didn’t need filling, because being with you — just being — felt like the world had finally clicked into place.

And when the world outside got too loud — when the weight of expectation grew heavier than a leaden race suit, and headlines tried to script his story before he even had a chance to live it — it was always you he turned to.

“Do you think I’m doing enough?” he asked one night, voice quieter than the hum of the television, exhaustion settling deep into his bones after another long, hard-fought weekend. His head rested on your lap, and your fingers moved through his curls with slow, absent strokes — the kind that said I’m here, without needing the words.

“You’ve always been enough,” you answered, not even hesitating. “Wins don’t make you, Lando. You do.”

And something in his chest softened — like your words had reached places even his own self-belief couldn’t always touch. He looked up at you then, eyes warm, like he was trying to memorize the exact way you said it, the exact way it felt to be loved by you.

“See, this is why you’re my best friend.”

You smirked, playful but sincere. “Oh, I thought it was because I make better toast than Max.”

“That too,” he grinned, and it was the kind of grin that reached his eyes — the real one, the one that didn’t need cameras or podiums. “But mostly because you’re the only person who makes this whole crazy life make sense.”

And you always would.

Because even on the days when the world felt like it was spinning too fast, when the pressure of living under a microscope crept too close, you were there. Not with solutions or speeches — just you. Existing. Holding space for him the way only you could.

You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers slow and familiar. “You know,” you murmured, “I don’t think anyone will ever understand you the way I do.”

“I don’t want anyone else to,” Lando replied, quiet but sure. “They’d get it all wrong.”

There was a pause, but the comfortable kind — the kind that wrapped around you both like a blanket, no need for more words. His hand found yours, thumb absentmindedly tracing circles against your skin, the rhythm steady, grounding.

“You’re stuck with me, you know,” you teased, squeezing his fingers gently. “For life.”

His lips quirked, soft and lopsided. “Good,” he whispered. “That’s exactly the plan.”

Race weekends always had a way of making that feeling even stronger — like the noise and the speed and the stakes only sharpened the way Lando looked at you, like the world could be spinning at 300 kilometers an hour and still, his attention would only ever settle on you.

You stood by the garage, tucked slightly out of the way, half-hidden behind a stack of equipment cases as the paddock moved around you in its usual, barely controlled frenzy. Journalists darted between interviews, chasing headlines with mics stretched out like fishing rods. Cameras tracked every flicker of expression on every driver’s face, lenses hungry for a story in a single glance. Engineers, crew members, mechanics — they weaved through the maze of people like clockwork, hands full of telemetry sheets and radios, their minds a million miles away, deep in calculations and split-second decisions.

And then, there was Lando.

The second his eyes found you through the blur of it all — the sponsors, the fans, the pre-race nerves knotted beneath his skin — everything else seemed to fall away. His entire posture shifted, tension melting from his shoulders as that unmistakable, boyish grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. The smile that wasn’t for the cameras, or the sponsors, or the sea of people waiting for autographs — the one that was just for you.

Like clockwork, he jogged toward you, cutting through the paddock like gravity had decided to rewrite the rules, yanking him toward the only place he ever really wanted to be.

“There’s my good luck charm,” he greeted, voice bright but edged with exhaustion and adrenaline — the kind that no amount of coffee or sleep could fully shake before a race. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, the contact lingering longer than it probably should have given the dozens of eyes watching, but Lando had never cared much about timing when it came to you.

“You should probably be focusing on the race,” you teased, fingers finding the zipper of his suit, giving it the lightest of tugs, grounding him even as the rest of the world tried to pull him in a hundred different directions.

“I am,” he replied, tilting his head slightly, those warm eyes locking onto yours like they always did. “You’re the best part of it.”

And the way he said it — soft, steady, without even a hint of his usual playful sarcasm — left no room for superstition or charm. Just the truth, plain and simple.

You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his balaclava, adjusting it slightly before your thumb traced the sharp line of his jaw, a familiar and quiet ritual between the two of you — like you were handing him the last piece of calm before the chaos.

“Go win,” you murmured, your voice low but sure. “I’ll be right here.”

“You better be,” he said, stepping backward, reluctant but smiling, his eyes still drinking you in like he could store the moment away for later. His race engineer’s voice crackled over the comms, pulling him back to reality, but even as he turned to go, he glanced back — once, twice — like the distance between you was the only thing that ever felt wrong.

And when he finally climbed into the car, helmet on, gloves tightened, visor down — the world might have narrowed to tire temperatures and corner speeds, but you were still there. A fixed point. The face he’d always find, whether he crossed the finish line first or not.

Later that night, long after the champagne had dried on his race suit and the headlines had already written their version of the day, you and Lando found yourselves right where you always seemed to end up — curled up on the hotel balcony, wrapped up in a blanket you’d stolen from the foot of the bed, legs tangled together like the world didn’t exist beyond that little pocket of quiet.

The city stretched out below you, lights blinking lazily in the distance, but neither of you paid them much attention. His hand rested on your knee, your feet propped comfortably in his lap, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your ankle — like his body hadn’t quite figured out how to sit still, even if his mind finally had.

For a while, you both just sat there, letting the silence settle. It wasn’t awkward or heavy — just easy. The kind of quiet that only ever existed between two people who didn’t need words to fill the gaps.

But of course, Lando couldn’t resist breaking it.

“You know,” he said eventually, voice light but thoughtful, “it’s kinda ridiculous, isn’t it?”

You turned your head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “What is?”

He let out a soft, amused huff, like the thought had been bouncing around his head for hours. “I spend all day surrounded by thousands of people — cameras, fans, the whole circus — but the second I step out of the car, the only face I ever want to find is yours. Like some lovesick golden retriever.”

You snorted, nudging him with your elbow. “You? A golden retriever? Please. More like a raccoon hyped up on energy drinks.”

He laughed, head tipping back slightly, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair, but still. You’re basically my human GPS at this point. Doesn’t matter how big the crowd is, somehow I always spot you first.”

You tilted your head, playful but sincere. “Maybe I’ve just trained you well.”

“Oh, definitely. Pavlov would be proud.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess that makes two of us, though. I could be anywhere — grandstands, the grid, the middle of a fan mob — and my brain’s only ever tuned into you.”

He grinned at that, the kind of grin that was all soft cheeks and crinkled eyes, and for a second the teasing dropped away, leaving only something honest and quiet between you.

“God, look at us,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his. “Disgustingly sappy.”

“Max would be physically ill if he heard this conversation.”

“Max would disown me,” Lando agreed, lips quirking. “But he already knows I’m screwed when it comes to you. No point in pretending.”

You stretched your legs out, nudging his thigh with your foot. “You’ve been screwed since the moment I stole your fries that one time, haven’t you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head like the memory was still fresh. “That was the moment. I knew I was done for. Anyone who can steal the last fry and not feel guilty? Dangerous.”

You grinned, leaning your head back against his shoulder, your voice soft but full of playful affection. “And you let me do it anyway.”

“Let you?” he scoffed. “I offered. You just didn’t hear me over the sound of your victory.”

You both sat there for a second, wrapped up in that perfect kind of comfort that came from knowing — truly knowing — you belonged exactly where you were.

Then, without looking away from the view, you murmured, “You’re my person, you know.”

He glanced down at you, his hand finding yours under the blanket, fingers lacing through yours with a quiet certainty. “You’re mine too. Always have been.”

You turned your head, catching the soft, lopsided smile on his face — the one that always gave him away no matter how hard he tried to act cool. “I hope you know I’m keeping that in writing. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, his voice lower, softer now. “Because I wouldn’t know how to be me without you.”

You leaned into him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear, and let the moment stretch. No flashbulbs. No roaring engines. Just the two of you.

And it hit you all over again, the same simple truth that always seemed to sit quietly at the center of everything: You weren’t just his girlfriend. And he wasn’t just your boyfriend.

You were each other’s person. The constant in the chaos. The soft place to land. And the best part of every single day.

Always.

[cherryyluvs]

Little Notes, Big Feelings

Notes in your locker, simple, and anonymous. A little bit sweet. You never expected Mark Grayson confessing that he likes you. ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

It started with a note, neatly folded and tucked in between the vents of your locker. Just barely sticking out and impossible to miss.

You were half asleep still rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes. grabbing the little slip of paper “Pop quiz in Johnson's class today. Hope you studied. (I didn't, Whoops.)"

You blinked at it, turning it over just to see no name, no clue on who wrote it. Just a simple, neat handwriting, and a tiny smiling doodle of Seance dog in the corner. You glanced around the busy hallway, scanning faces. But no one seemed to be watching you. Just students going to their class, laughing with their friends, and stuffing books into their bags.

Weird. But sweet.

After that notes kept coming, little messages that made you smile. “Did you see the new episode of Seance Dog? Crazy right?” Other times they would be personal. “You looked really happy today.” You kept every single one, tucking them into your notebook like they were little treasures. You found yourself looking forward to them, and you wanted to know them too. So one afternoon you decided to write back, slipping a note into your own locker. Leaving it right where the mysterious writer had been placing theirs. “Okay, secret admirer, your turn. Who are you?”

The next morning a reply was waiting. “If i tell you. It ruins the fun doesn't it?” You let out a huff, fine.

If they wanted to play, you’d play. The back and forth went on for weeks! You had asked what their favorite color was (Yellow but sometimes blue) . Some were rants about a new superhero sighting or how the cafeteria’s chicken nuggets are a danger to society. “The cafeteria nuggets are definitely a health hazard. Stay safe out there”

There's a response the next morning, “RIGHT?? I'm glad someone gets it. Also I can neither confirm or deny that I saw one of those nuggets move.” The messages became part of your daily routine, a little secret, something that made the school day a little brighter.

And one day you found a note that made your heart drop.

“Would it be weird if i said i kinda like you?” Your fingers trembled slightly as you held the small piece of paper. This wasn't just playful anymore, this is real. At this point you needed to know who it was.

You waited, keeping an eye out at your locker, hoping to catch them in the act. Whoever they were, they were good at being sneaky. So you tried a different approach.

You left a note in return, simple and direct. “Not weird. Kind of sweet, but I think i'd like it more if I knew who you were.”

The next day there was no note, and after that, nothing. Your heart sank, had you scared them off? Had they changed their mind? It gnawed at you, making you realize just how much these silly little notes meant to you.

And then it finally happened. You were at your locker, gathering books for your next class, when a voice behind you cleared their throat. “Uh… hey.” You turned around to face the stranger and there he was. Mark Grayson, moving nervously on his feet, his easygoing confidence nowhere to be found. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes but you could see the pink creeping on his cheeks.

It clicked instantly. The handwriting on the notes, the way he always looked in your direction in class when you weren't paying attention. Mark, who was sweet and awkward, always rambling about comics and superhero movies.

“You're-”

He exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for days. “Yeah it's me.” Your heart fluttered, warmth flooding into your chest.

Mark Grayson, you'd noticed him, you never thought if he had noticed you but he had. And for a long time apparently, “So.. was that too weird? He asked hesitantly. “I can stop if-” You shook your head, a small smile creeping onto your face.

Pulling out a pen from your purse and grabbing his wrist, before he could question it, you scribbled onto his palm.

“No, not weird at all.” When he read it, his entire face lit up.

[solxamber]

'Elloo! :D I saw your requests open, can I request some hcs or short imagines for the first, second, and third years, separate characters?? Or you can just do it as a single scenario with all the characters. They're (Their??) reaction when they've realized the things reader/Yuu had to go through starting from the very beginning ,when they first got transported to the school. Like, the shock of not being able to go home, new environment, the fear-- just the emotional and mental turmoil reader/yuu went through starting from the beginning.

Also, as time goes by it just gets worse and worse along with all the overblots and stuff that got reader/Yuu over the edge. And now the students kind of help?? Or at least try to soothe or comfort the reader I guess??

Does this make any sense?? I dunno :'D

I want me some angst hehe >:]

But if this is kind of too much then it's okii if you wanna skip this one, I love the effort you put into your writings! <3

I kinda just wanted to ramble and yap about this idea I had hehe

Toodles!

thank you!! and i'm sorry it too so long, but i hope you like it <3

They realise what you went through - All NRC + Rollo + Neige + Grim, Staff

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle doesn’t realize the extent of your struggle until much later, likely after witnessing you reach your breaking point. The way you bottle up your emotions reminds him of himself before his own overblot, and it fills him with guilt. He prides himself on upholding order, but he feels like he failed to notice the chaos within you.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Riddle asks, voice trembling as he stands before you, his normally stern expression soft with regret. He places a hesitant hand on your shoulder, unsure if he has the right to offer comfort after overlooking your pain for so long. “I… I should have noticed. I’m sorry.”

Riddle dives into a methodical plan to ease your burdens. He takes on your academic concerns, ensuring your assignments are manageable and offering personal tutoring. When you’re overwhelmed, he insists you take breaks in Heartslabyul’s peaceful rose garden. While he’s not good at openly expressing affection, he’s steadfast, always by your side with words of encouragement and warm tea.

Trey Clover

Trey picks up on your struggles sooner than most, his observant nature allowing him to notice the small cracks in your demeanor. He doesn’t pry but stays close, offering quiet support until he realizes you’re beyond your limit. His heart aches knowing you’ve been carrying so much without asking for help.

“Hey… you don’t have to pretend everything’s fine,” Trey says softly, kneeling beside you as you sit slumped in an empty classroom. His usual calm demeanor is tinged with concern. “I’ve seen you pushing yourself too hard. You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Trey becomes your sanctuary. He’s the type to cook comforting meals for you, often sneaking you your favorite desserts. He encourages you to talk at your own pace, listening without judgment. Trey also ensures you’re surrounded by people who care, gently urging you to spend time with friends so you never feel isolated again.

Cater Diamond

Cater doesn’t fully realize how bad things are until he catches you breaking down when you think no one is watching. The sight hits him hard—he’s used to wearing masks himself, but seeing you put on a brave face while falling apart reminds him of his own struggles.

“Whoa, hey, hey…” Cater’s voice is unusually soft as he crouches in front of you, the playful lilt replaced with genuine worry. “You’ve been holding all this in, haven’t you? Man, that’s not healthy… You should’ve told me!”

Cater becomes your cheerleader, using his energy to lift your spirits. He takes you on spontaneous outings, distracting you with fun activities and selfies to remind you of life’s lighter side. When you need to vent, he’s surprisingly patient, letting you talk without interruptions. His go-to phrase becomes, “No filter, just let it out. I’m here.”

Ace Trappola

Ace is the last to understand the depth of your pain, brushing off your struggles as stress until you finally snap. Seeing you cry or lash out leaves him dumbstruck—he’s not used to serious emotions and struggles to process it at first. But beneath his awkwardness, he genuinely cares.

“Whoa… I didn’t think it was this bad.” Ace rubs the back of his neck, guilt clear in his expression. “Look, I’m sorry if I made things worse. I didn’t mean to. I just… didn’t know.”

Ace sticks close to you in his own Ace-like way. He cracks jokes to make you laugh and distracts you with playful banter, but he’s also there for the serious moments. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, he drags you outside to play a quick game of basketball or to look at the stars, insisting, “You’ve gotta clear your head, or you’ll go crazy.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce notices your struggles but doesn’t know how to approach you about them. When he finally sees you crumble, it makes him feel like he’s failed as your friend. His protective instincts kick in, and he becomes determined to help you in any way he can.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this the whole time?” Deuce’s voice is thick with emotion as he looks at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something! I’m supposed to have your back!”

Deuce takes your well-being seriously, to the point of overcompensating at first. He insists on walking you to class, carrying your things, and defending you against anything he perceives as a threat (real or imagined). Over time, he learns to provide quiet support, sitting with you during tough moments and saying, “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is a perceptive man, even if he acts otherwise, but your struggles slip under his radar for too long. It isn’t until he notices how you’ve stopped rising to his teasing or how the light in your eyes has dimmed that the gravity of your situation hits him. It reminds him of his own sense of isolation, and the guilt gnaws at him.

“Tch. You think you’re the only one who has to deal with this crap?” Leona’s voice is gruff, but there’s no malice in it. He sighs, sitting beside you under the shade of a tree. “You should’ve said something sooner, herbivore. Doesn’t mean you have to carry it all yourself.”

Leona doesn’t coddle you, but his actions speak louder than his words. He offers his presence, silently inviting you to nap in the botanical gardens with him when you need a break. If anyone dares to make your life harder, Leona handles it with a quiet, lethal efficiency. “Rest up. You’re not falling apart on my watch.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie notices your struggles quickly, but his initial reaction is to brush it off as normal stress—until he sees you genuinely hit your breaking point. It stuns him; he’s used to dealing with hardships himself but hates the idea of you enduring the same without support.

“Oi, don’t do this to yourself,” Ruggie says, his usual playful tone replaced by something softer. “You’re not alone, y’know? I don’t let my people suffer in silence. That’s not how we roll.”

Ruggie uses his resourcefulness to lighten your load however he can. He sneaks you snacks, takes care of tedious tasks for you, and even makes you laugh with his sharp wit. When you’re overwhelmed, he shares stories of his struggles to show you that it’s okay to lean on others. “You’ve got me, okay? I’ll make sure you’re okay, promise.”

Jack Howl

Jack notices the signs of your stress early on, but he hesitates to bring it up, unsure if it’s his place. When he finally realizes how deeply you’re struggling, it stirs a protective instinct in him, and he immediately resolves to do whatever it takes to help you.

“You should’ve told me,” Jack says, his voice low and filled with regret. His ears twitch as he glances away, guilt etched across his face. “I could’ve helped. You don’t have to do this on your own anymore.”

Jack becomes your steadfast support, encouraging you to exercise or go for runs to clear your mind. He’s a calming presence, offering quiet companionship when words aren’t enough. “You’re strong, but you don’t always have to be. Let me help carry the weight, okay?”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prides himself on noticing vulnerabilities in others, but your ability to mask your pain throws him off. When the cracks finally show, it shakes him deeply, reminding him of his own insecurities and the times he felt powerless.

“I didn’t realize…” Azul murmurs, his hands wringing nervously as he looks at you with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I should have seen it. I’m sorry—for everything. Let me help you now.”

Azul’s approach is practical and calculated, but it’s rooted in genuine care. He offers to take over responsibilities or negotiate solutions to ease your stress. When you’re overwhelmed, he’s unexpectedly tender, sitting with you in his VIP room and reminding you, “Even the strongest need someone to lean on. You’ve been there for others; let us be here for you.”

Jade Leech

Jade notices your struggles early but refrains from intervening, assuming you’ll reach out when you’re ready. When he realizes how much you’ve been bottling up, he’s surprised and slightly guilty for not addressing it sooner.

“My, you’ve been carrying quite the burden,” Jade says, his usual calm tinged with regret. “It seems I underestimated just how much you’ve endured. Forgive my oversight.”

Jade is a master of subtlety, offering comfort in ways that feel natural and unintrusive. He invites you on quiet walks through the woods, using the serene atmosphere to help ease your mind. When words are needed, he listens attentively, his soothing voice offering reassurance. “Do not hesitate to lean on me, should you need support. I’ll always be here.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd doesn’t realize how bad things are until you completely snap, and even then, it takes him a moment to process that your outburst isn’t just a temporary mood. Seeing you so broken flips a switch in him, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness.

“Shrimpy, why didn’t you say anything?” Floyd’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet, his sharp eyes scanning your face. He pouts, but there’s no mischief in it—just genuine concern. “You don’t gotta handle everything alone, y’know?”

Floyd sticks to you like glue, his unpredictable nature becoming a strange source of comfort. He drags you out for spontaneous adventures, insisting that fun will help you feel better. When you’re feeling low, he’s surprisingly gentle, wrapping you in a tight hug and muttering, “I gotcha, Shrimpy. Nobody’s messin’ with you while I’m here.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is always full of energy and positivity, so it takes him a while to notice the depths of your struggles. When he does, he’s devastated, blaming himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this?” Kalim’s eyes widen, tears threatening to spill. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something to help!”

Kalim does everything in his power to brighten your days. He showers you with gifts, invites you to lively parties, and insists on spending time together to lift your spirits. When he realizes that quiet support means more than grand gestures, he sits with you, holding your hand. “You’re not alone, okay? I’ll always be here for you.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil is highly observant, and while he notices your struggles early on, he assumes you’re managing on your own until he sees how much you’ve truly endured. It reminds him of his own bottled-up frustrations, and guilt eats at him for not acting sooner.

“...I should’ve known,” Jamil mutters, his voice low and filled with regret. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I’ve been through this too. I know what it’s like to feel trapped. I’m sorry I didn’t step in sooner.”

Jamil’s care comes in quiet, thoughtful gestures. He prepares your favorite meals, arranges peaceful moments away from the chaos of NRC, and ensures you never feel overwhelmed alone. “You’ve done more than enough. Let me take care of things for a while.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil’s sharp eyes catch the signs of your struggles quickly, but he initially brushes them off, believing you’ll overcome them like any challenge. When the full weight of your burden becomes clear, he’s horrified and deeply regretful for not intervening sooner.

“I failed to notice something so glaringly obvious,” Vil says, his tone laced with self-reproach. “That’s not acceptable—not as your friend and certainly not as someone who should’ve supported you better.”

Vil approaches your comfort with precision and care, determined to help you regain your footing. He insists on self-care days, encourages you to vent your frustrations, and teaches you grounding techniques. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need rest. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Rook Hunt

Rook is attuned to the emotions of those around him, and your pain does not escape his notice. He marvels at your resilience but is deeply saddened that you’ve been enduring so much without seeking help.

“Mon cher trésor, your suffering… it pains me to think I let you endure this alone,” Rook says softly, his gaze earnest. “You’ve carried a weight that no one should bear by themselves. Allow me to lighten your burden.”

Rook’s support is poetic and heartfelt, crafting moments of beauty to remind you of the world’s wonders. Whether it’s a bouquet of flowers, a handwritten letter, or a quiet moment under the stars, he ensures you feel cherished. “You are not alone in this grand stage of life, and I shall remain by your side as your steadfast ally.”

Epel Felmier

Epel is initially too caught up in his own frustrations to notice the extent of your struggles, but once he sees you falter, his protective side kicks in. It reminds him of his own insecurities about being underestimated.

“Aw, geez, why didn’t ya say somethin’?” Epel frowns, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re always lookin’ out for us, but ya never let anyone do the same for you. That ain’t fair.”

Epel takes a straightforward approach, offering to help however he can. He sticks close, ensuring you never feel alone, and encourages you to vent when needed. “You’re tough as nails, but that doesn’t mean you gotta do it all by yourself. We’re a team, remember?”

Idia Shroud

Idia is slow to notice your struggles, being so wrapped up in his own world, but when he realizes the extent of your pain, it hits him hard. He sees a reflection of his own struggles in you and feels immense guilt for not seeing it sooner.

“This is my fault, isn’t it?” Idia mumbles, his voice trembling. His hair dims as he nervously fiddles with his tablet. “I should’ve… I don’t know, paid more attention. I’m sorry. I—I wanna help, if you’ll let me.”

Idia comforts you in his own awkward way, creating a safe space where you can relax without judgment. He shares his favorite games, shows, and quiet moments, offering you an escape from the chaos. “You don’t have to be ‘okay’ all the time. Just… take it easy for now. I’m here if you need me.”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho is one of the first to notice your struggles, his advanced sensors picking up on changes in your emotional and physical state. His concern is immediate, and he wastes no time in seeking to help.

“You’ve been so sad for so long, haven’t you?” Ortho’s voice is soft, as he hovers close. “I wish I could’ve made you smile sooner. I’m sorry you’ve been hurting.”

Ortho’s comfort is warm and reassuring, filled with optimism and boundless energy. He’s always ready with encouraging words, small gifts, or simply a cheerful presence to brighten your day. “You’re not alone! I’ll do everything I can to help you feel better, okay?”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus has always sensed something amiss about your emotions, his acute sensitivity to auras making it impossible for him to overlook your struggles. However, he hesitates to approach, fearing he might overstep or worsen your burdens. When he finally understands the depth of your pain, he is both heartbroken and determined to help.

“You’ve been enduring this in silence?” His deep voice is laced with regret as his green eyes soften. “If only I had been more attentive, perhaps I could have eased your pain.”

Malleus ensures you feel his unwavering support. He invites you for peaceful strolls under the stars, shares his favorite quiet spots, and reassures you with his calming presence. “You are precious to me. Whatever darkness surrounds you, I will remain by your side until the light returns.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia has lived long enough to recognize the signs of emotional turmoil, and it pains him to see you suffer. While he often masks his seriousness with cheerfulness, he doesn’t hesitate to step in when he sees you reaching your breaking point.

“Oh, little one, you’ve carried such a heavy heart all this time.” His playful demeanor fades into solemnity as he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Lilia comforts you with wisdom and warmth, drawing on centuries of experience. He shares stories to make you laugh, cooks (albeit questionable) meals to distract you, and offers sage advice when you’re ready to talk. “Life’s trials are harsh, but you’re stronger than you know. And if you need someone to lean on, I’ll always be here.”

Silver

Silver is observant despite his drowsy nature, and he’s one of the first to notice your growing exhaustion. When he realizes the extent of your suffering, he feels deeply remorseful for not acting sooner.

“I should have seen this sooner,” Silver says quietly, his tone filled with regret. “You’ve always looked out for others… I should’ve done the same for you.”

Silver stays by your side, offering silent, steady support. He doesn’t push you to talk but is always ready to listen when you’re ready. His calm demeanor helps ground you, and he often sits quietly with you under a tree or by a calm lake. “You’re not alone. I’ll protect you—not just from danger, but from this weight you’re carrying.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek’s initial reaction is frustration—not at you, but at himself for failing to notice your struggles while being so focused on Malleus. His loyalty shifts into overdrive as he becomes determined to help you.

“You’ve been struggling this much, and I didn’t see it?!” Sebek’s voice is loud, but there’s a rare softness in his expression. “That is… unacceptable. I failed you as a companion.”

Sebek’s attempts to comfort you are a bit clumsy but heartfelt. He insists on helping you with daily tasks and loudly declares his commitment to your well-being. Despite his rough edges, his sincerity shines through. “Know this: I will not allow you to suffer alone any longer. You have my loyalty, now and always.”

Rollo Flamme

Rollo’s disdain for magic only deepens when he realizes how much you’ve suffered due to the chaos and overblots of NRC. His concern for you is genuine, though it’s laced with anger toward the school and its culture.

“This place… It’s a cesspool of disorder and harm,” Rollo says, his voice cold yet trembling with suppressed emotion. “You’ve been caught in its web for too long. You deserve better.”

Rollo’s comfort is practical and protective. He tries to create a sense of normalcy for you, offering quiet, structured moments away from the chaos. His words are sharp but sincere. “You deserve a life of peace and stability. If you can’t find it here, I’ll do what I can to give it to you.”

Neige LeBlanche

Neige is quick to notice your distress, his naturally empathetic nature making him keenly aware of your struggles. He’s horrified to think of you enduring so much alone and wants to do everything in his power to make you smile again.

“Oh no… You’ve been feeling like this?” Neige’s voice is soft, his eyes brimming with concern. “You don’t deserve to carry such sadness by yourself.”

Neige’s comfort is gentle and uplifting. He sings for you, offers kind words, and encourages you to express your feelings without fear. “You’re so strong, but you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to let someone take care of you for a change.”

Grim

Grim initially doesn’t notice your struggles, his focus often on his own ambitions and mischief. When he finally realizes how much you’ve been enduring, he feels both guilt and panic.

“Hey… You’re not okay, are ya?” Grim’s ears droop as he looks up at you, his voice unusually soft. “Why didn’t ya tell me? I—I’m supposed to be your partner!”

Grim becomes fiercely protective, sticking by your side at all times. He tries to cheer you up with his antics and insists on being your “emotional support boss.” “You’re stuck with me, got it? So don’t go actin’ like you’re all alone. I won’t let ya.”

Staff:

Crowley

Crowley prides himself on being the "benevolent" headmaster, but when he realizes how much you’ve suffered under his care—or lack thereof—he’s struck by a rare pang of guilt. While he’s not one to admit fault outright, he becomes visibly uncomfortable with the weight of his oversight.

“My dear, you’ve been carrying all of this on your shoulders?” His dramatic flair falters for a moment, his usual exuberance replaced with awkward sincerity. “I… suppose I may have been a tad neglectful in ensuring your well-being.”

Crowley tries to make amends in his own roundabout way, offering resources, extended accommodations, or attempting to be more attentive (though his efforts are often misguided). “Rest assured, I shall personally oversee that you are well cared for! You have my full support—within reason, of course.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel is not one to tolerate weakness, but when he sees the toll everything has taken on you, his stern demeanor softens. He’s the type to take immediate, no-nonsense action to ensure you’re taken care of.

“You’ve let it get this bad without saying a word?” His sharp tone is laced with frustration, but his eyes betray his concern. “Pup, I thought I taught you better than to carry burdens alone.”

Crewel’s approach is practical yet caring. He insists you rest, brings you comforting meals, and ensures you know you’re valued. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need support. Lean on me, pup. I’ll make sure you’re back to full strength in no time.”

Mozus Trein

Trein is a man of wisdom and observation. He likely noticed your struggles but respected your space, waiting for the right time to step in. When he realizes the full extent of your distress, he feels deep regret for not intervening sooner.

“I should have addressed this earlier.” His voice is steady but tinged with remorse. “You’ve faced more challenges than any student should. It’s a testament to your resilience, but it shouldn’t have come to this.”

Trein offers gentle guidance, providing stability and reassurance. He shares stories of his own trials and reminds you that even the hardest times pass. “Life is fraught with difficulties, but you’ve shown remarkable courage. Allow others to help shoulder the burden—you need not face this alone.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas isn’t the most emotionally perceptive, but when it finally clicks that you’re struggling, he’s hit with a wave of guilt. He immediately shifts gears, trading his usual boisterousness for genuine concern.

“Whoa… I had no idea it was this bad,” Vargas says, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I would’ve helped in a heartbeat!”

Vargas focuses on physical activity as a form of comfort, encouraging you to blow off steam in healthy ways. He also offers constant positive reinforcement. “You’re tough, kid, but even the toughest need a break. Let’s get some fresh air and clear your head—you’ve got this!”

Sam

Sam has always been attuned to the emotions of others, so when he realizes the depth of your struggles, he feels a pang of regret for not stepping in sooner. His usual upbeat demeanor becomes tinged with quiet sympathy.

“Well, well… Looks like someone’s been carrying more than their fair share.” His voice is soft, his usual grin replaced with a concerned expression. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Sam provides comfort through small but meaningful gestures, like preparing your favorite treats or giving you space to talk. He reassures you with his calming presence and wise words. “Don’t keep it bottled up, friend. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s valid. I’m here to help you through it.”

Masterlist

[rafecameronssl4t]

Attention || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

Summary: literally tit obsessed!rafe fawning over readers boobs

Warnings: mention of birth control, swearing, slightly suggestive?

Word count: 851

MASTERLIST (rafe x thornton!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“He’s just so infuriating!” you vent, your voice sharp as you pull your hair into a messy bun, the motion jerky with irritation. You couldn’t sit still, pacing back and forth across the deck, your mind racing. Rafe was lounging in one of the chairs, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to your bubbling frustration.

His eyes followed you with quiet intensity, but he wasn’t as focused on your words as you wanted him to be. “He knew I was going to tell Mom and Dad about it,” you continue, voice rising. “But no, he just had to stick his nose in my business and tell them first!” You were fuming, your hands gesturing wildly as you ranted about your brother’s constant meddling.

Rafe barely responded, his gaze more intent on your figure than the content of your words. He watched the way your shoulders tensed, how your movements betrayed just how worked up you were, but he wasn’t truly listening. His mind was elsewhere, his lips twitching up into that familiar lazy smile as his eyes drifted over you.

“Rafe, baby, are you even listening?” you snap, suddenly stopping in your tracks, hands on your hips. You glared at him, expecting some kind of acknowledgment. Rafe blinked, seemingly dragged out of his own head, and lazily looked up at you, the smirk still lingering on his lips. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course I am,” he replied, his voice casual, as though you hadn’t just been spilling your frustrations.

“You want me to, uh, talk to Top? Tell me what you want me to do.” You huffed in annoyance, crossing your arms over your chest in a defensive move. The action, while innocent on your end, drew Rafe’s attention immediately. His eyes widened slightly, and he shifted in his seat, leaning back with his lips pursed. He watched the way you folded your arms, his gaze flickering between your face and your tits.

“I dunno,” you mutter, your anger deflating. “I’m just so mad at him. I don’t even want to speak to him right now.” Your voice softens, frustration fading into weariness as you finally give up on pacing and drop down onto the lounge chair beside Rafe. You set your eyes on the water in front of you, trying to focus on its calm surface, wishing it would somehow mirror in your emotions.

Without a word, Rafe slung an arm over your shoulders, pulling you close. His lips brushed the top of your head, a quiet kiss that melted some of your remaining tension. The silent comfort of his touch was enough to ease the knot of frustration in your chest. For a moment, everything felt still, his warmth grounding you.

But then, Rafe’s voice broke the silence, his tone a little too amused. “By the way,” he murmured, his voice low, “when did your tits get so big?” His hand reaching down to squeeze. Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide with shock. “Rafe Cameron!” you shouted, your playful outrage breaking through the calm as you shoved him away. His laughter rang out in response, the mischievous glint in his eyes only growing as he doubled over in amusement.

You narrow your eyes at him, though a smirk plays at the corner of your lips as his laughter fills the air. “It’s because of birth control, Rafe,” you retort, voice laced with playful sarcasm. His laughter slows, and he looks at you with raised eyebrows, the smirk fading into curiosity. “Birth control?” he echoes, clearly intrigued by where this was going.

You lean in closer, your eyes locking with his, a teasing glint in your gaze. “Yeah, because you can’t seem to pull out in time,” you say, your voice dripping with mock exasperation. Rafe’s smirk instantly returns, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leans back into the chair, draping an arm behind his head.

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” he asks, his tone teasing but his grin growing wider. “Yes, Rafe,” you say, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a laugh as you nudge his leg with your foot. “I swear, every time—” Before you can finish, Rafe cuts you off with a low chuckle, his hand slipping behind your neck, gently pulling you closer. “Guess that’s something we’ll have to work on,” he murmurs against your ear, his breath warm and sending a shiver down your spine.

He tilts your chin up to look at him, his thumb brushing across your jaw, amusement still dancing in his eyes. “Or maybe I just like the idea of keeping you on birth control a little while longer.” You roll your eyes but can’t help the flutter in your chest at the way he was looking at you. “You're impossible,” you mutter, though the softness in your voice betrays any real frustration.

Rafe only grins wider, kissing the top of your head again, this time lingering a little longer, clearly pleased with himself. “You love me for it,” he whispers against your hair, his tone teasing, but the way he holds you feels more tender, a quiet comfort that you didn’t realise you needed.

[yoshhii]

HUSBAND HEADCANONS— mha

𓉸ྀི it’s been a while since i last watched mha so sorry if i miss anyone!

⋆₊ ♱ Bubbly Husband

— wakes you up every morning with a big smile and a cheerful “good morning, love!”

— plans fun dates, even if it’s just a picnic in the living room with fairy lights and your favorite snacks

— will randomly spin you around in the kitchen while you’re cooking together

— talks a lot and sometimes doesn’t realize he’s rambling, but his excitement is contagious

— always hypes you up, whether you’re trying a new outfit or just doing chores, “just look at you! you’re amazing!”

— sends you cute texts throughout the day, usually with tons of emojis

— tends to be over-the-top affectionate, constantly hugging, kissing your cheek, or playing with your hands

mirio, midoriya, kirishima, sero, inasa, present mic

⋆₊ ♱ Calm Husband

— he’s type to wake up before you and just lay there, watching you with a soft smile before gently kissing your forehead

— his presence is comforting. no matter what kind of day you’ve had, he makes it better just by being there

— he may not be overly affectionate, but he’ll let you hold on to his arm when you’re out together

— he is a listener and prefers if you did all the talking, however he doesn’t mind going into a detailed explanation if you were to ask him something (sometimes though)

— loves quiet nights in, wether it’s reading together, watching a movie, or just sitting in comfortable silence

— rarely raises his voice, but when he does, it’s always to protect you

— when you’re upset, he doesn’t overwhelm you with words, he just pulls you into his arms and lets you vent or cry if you need to

— the type to buy you something useful instead of flowers, like a weighted blanket because he noticed you sleep better with one, but doesn’t mind buying them if you asked

— when he’s tired, he’ll just wrap an arm around you and bury his face in your neck

— the kind of guy who remembers all the small details about you and surprises you with things he knows you’ll love

Iida, todoroki, tokoyami, kurogiri, kai chisaki (overhaul), mr. compress

⋆₊ ♱ Flirty Husband

— never stops flirting with you, even after years of marriage, “marrying me was the best decision of your life, wasn’t it, sweetheart?”

— calls you pet names all the time: darling, babe, love, gorgeous, even embarrassing ones just to see you blush

— loves teasing you, whether it’s playful remarks or sneaky touches when no one’s looking

— whispers things in your ear just to see you get flustered in public

— will always show at least some form of pda, wether it’s holding your hand, kissing you, or wrapping an arm around you

— absolutely loves winking at you from across the room, does this at least twice a day

— somehow always finds a way to make even the most mundane conversations into something suggestive

— if you’re on the phone with him, he’ll say something flirty right before hanging up just to leave you blushing

— serenades you dramatically, even in public, and does not care if people stare, they’re just strangers and it’s not like you’re going to see them again anyways

— will absolutely say, “well, well, well, if it isn’t my stunning spouse,” every time you walk into the room

— loves pulling you close when you’re talking and staring at you like you’re the most captivating thing in the world

denki, hawks, dabi, twice

⋆₊ ♱ Tsundere Husband

— acts like he doesn’t care but will do the most thoughtful things for you behind your back

— complains about your clinginess but lowkey gets annoyed when you’re not giving him attention

— when you’re sad, he won’t say much, but he’ll bring you your favorite snack and just sit next to you, subtly nudging you to lean on him

— gets embarrassed when you’re affectionate in public but secretly loves it when you hold onto his sleeve or hand

— loves bickering with you over dumb things, your annoyed expression is adorable to him

— the type to “not care” when you ask for cuddles but pulls you closer when you try to move away

— “tch, why’d you forget your jacket? here, just take mine. it’s not like i care if you get sick or anything”

— gets flustered when you initiate affection but secretly lives for it

— huffs and pouts when you call him cute but gets mad if you stop

— the kind of husband who says “you’re so annoying” but will physically fight anyone who upsets you

— hates pda, but if he sees another guy looking at you for too long, he’ll suddenly be all over you

bakugo, monoma, + whoever you think fits

⋆₊ ♱ Introvert Husband

— prefers staying home with you rather than going out—his ideal date is ordering takeout and watching a movie under a blanket

— doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s always meaningful, he’s a deep thinker and values quality conversations over small talk

— will listen to you for hours even if he doesn’t respond much, he just loves hearing your voice

— social gatherings drain him quickly, so you often end up leaving early or finding a quiet corner to sit together

— shows his love through quiet acts of service, making your favorite breakfast, keeping your favorite blanket folded near the couch, or fixing something in the house without you asking

— loves subtle affection, he won’t initiate PDA often, but he will casually lace his fingers with yours when no one’s looking

— if you’re an extrovert, he’ll sit back and let you talk to everyone, only chiming in when necessary, if you’re also an introvert, he’s perfectly content existing in peaceful silence with you

— gets flustered if you compliment him too much but secretly loves it

— sometimes needs alone time to recharge but always reassures you it’s not because of you (it’s just how he is)

— prefers texting over phone calls and will send you a simple “i love you” text instead of a long, dramatic speech

shoji, shinso, tamaki, aizawa, shigaraki (except he’s careful with his fingers)

[teddybeartoji]

jing yuan loves listening you ramble so much. he rests his head on his hand and just stares at you with the softest smile glued to his lips. gives you a sweet little hum every once in a while and he asks a few questions here and there, but otherwise he's quiet. he just wants to listen to you, he wants to hear your voice.

you could be talking about anything and everything btw,, it doesn't matter whether you're rambling about your day or about a movie you saw, about a hobby of yours or about the cute little kitty you saw on your way home – he's going to savour every single word that you offer him as if they're the only things that keep him going.

and when you happen to get a little flustered by his smitten gaze, he'll just laugh warmly before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear while ushering for you to go on. you might need a kiss or two to get back on track but luckily for you, he's more than happy to smother you in his love.

peck after peck after peck, his lips brush against your skin as he whispers his pleas to you. his playful desperation is nothing new; his heart full of devotion and his eyes pooling with only with the purest kind of admiration as he looks at you—

because at the end of the day it's not just your words and your voice that keep him going, it's the love you bestow upon him.

after having lived such a long life, you're a breath of fresh air and he refuses to waste a single breath. so, every word, every look, every beat of your heart is something to worship, something to honor. you're his everything.

a ramble, a vent, a prayer resembling his name – this once, jing yuan wants to be greedy. he wants everything, he wants all of you.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ You're Family | CL16

PART OF MY IS IT CASUAL NOW? SERIES

Summary: It's hard being casual when my favorite bra lives in your dresser, And it's hard being casual when I'm on the phone talking down your brother.

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

After the summer break, things between her and Charles shift in subtle but undeniable ways. He goes back to racing, and she falls into a comfortable rhythm at home, taking care of Leo and focusing on work. But her world feels fuller now, punctuated by unexpected calls, invitations, and little gestures that keep her close to the Leclercs, even when Charles is away.

It starts with Pascale, who invites her over one afternoon for coffee. It’s warm and welcoming, the kind of invitation that makes her feel like she’s known Pascale forever. “Come, sit down, ma belle,” Pascale says, guiding her to a cozy seat in the kitchen. She fusses over her with warmth that feels so genuine it makes her chest ache.

“You know, it’s ridiculous that Charles hasn’t introduced us sooner,” Pascale chides, shaking her head. “I told him, ‘If you’re serious about someone, we should meet her, no?’”

She feels her cheeks warm but laughs it off. “Oh, I don’t know if you’d call it serious. We’re just…”

Pascale waves a hand, dismissing her words. “Please, I’ve seen the way he talks about you. We know when it’s serious.” She pours coffee into a delicate cup and hands it to her, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Plus, the way he sulks when you’re at work—he’s like a lost puppy. We tease him for it!”

And just like that, Pascale has her laughing and sharing stories, making her feel like part of the family. Before she knows it, these coffee dates turn into a regular thing, and Pascale even insists on cutting her hair, brushing away her protests with a gentle but firm hand. They chat and laugh, talking about everything from family to work, and she leaves every time feeling a bit more like she belongs.

Then there’s Charlotte. One day, she calls, suggesting a girls’ day out, just the two of them. They roam the city, stopping at boutiques and trying on sunglasses, gossiping and laughing over coffee like old friends. Charlotte is sharp, witty, and fun, making her feel completely at ease.

“So, you’ve really got Charles wrapped around your finger, huh?” Charlotte teases as they browse the racks of a boutique. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this smitten since… well, ever.”

She rolls her eyes, brushing off the comment with a laugh. “Smitten? He’s just… we’re just friends.”

“Right,” Charlotte says with a knowing smile. “And I’m just the Queen of England.”

Then there’s Arthur. They start chatting more, mostly joking around after he realizes she’s following his races, and she finds herself quickly warming to him. Arthur is loud, playful, and full of life, and they click almost instantly. They trade inside jokes, and after a particularly hard race, he texts her sounding completely drained.

Arthur: "Rough night. I don’t think I’m cut out for this sometimes."

You: "Hey, that’s not true. You’re amazing — you know that, right?"

Arthur: "Maybe. But sometimes it’s hard to remember. Everything feels stacked against me."

So she called him, letting him vent as he rambled about the pressures of racing, the constant comparisons to Charles, and the weight he carried. She offered gentle reassurances, reminding him of his strengths and how far he’d come.

At one point, she said softly, “Arthur, you’re going to be incredible. I know it. And you know Charles would be the first to say that too.”

After a pause, he replied, a little more lighthearted, “You know, you’re like the family therapist at this point.”

She laughed. “Guess I’m putting in overtime then.”

By the end of the call, he sounded much better, his spirits lifted, and they both promised to catch up in person soon.

But it’s when Charles is back in town that things really start to feel different. He’s even clingier than before, draping himself over her whenever he’s home, complaining dramatically about his “stolen” family.

“Honestly, I go away for two weeks, and suddenly, you’re maman’s new favorite?” he grumbles one night, leaning his head on her shoulder as they lounge on his couch. “Arthur calls you more than he calls me, you know.”

She laughs, nudging him playfully. “Oh, come on, it’s not like they’ve replaced you. Besides, you’re the one who left me with your family!”

“Yeah, but they’re my family,” he insists with a pout, his eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of mischief. “Honestly, you’re all I think about when I’m away, and then I come back, and I have to share you with everyone else? Unacceptable.”

“You poor thing,” she says mockingly, patting his cheek. “Must be so hard for you, having people who love you.”

Charles grins, leaning closer until his face is just inches from hers. “Oh, it is. I think you should make it up to me.”

The way he says it makes her heart race, and they end up tangled together until she can’t think straight. One thing leads to another, and the next morning, she playfully grumbles about needing to go back to her apartment to grab fresh clothes.

“Honestly, Charles, I swear you’ve destroyed half my wardrobe at this point,” she teased, reaching for her phone. “I don’t think I have any underwear left.”

Charles smirked from where he leaned against the doorway, still looking far too pleased with himself. “Check the top drawer of my wardrobe.”

She raised an eyebrow, giving him a curious look. “What?”

“Go on, take a look.”

Confused but intrigued, she opened the drawer, her eyes widening as she took in the sight: a stack of her clothes, neatly folded. T-shirts, a couple of sweaters, even some underwear — and her favorite bra. She gasped, lifting it up and shooting him an accusing look.

“Charles! You kept my favorite bra?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “You leave things here all the time anyway, so I just… organized. It’s more practical this way. Now you don’t have to go all the way home every time.”

She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. “You made me a drawer?”

“Of course,” he said, walking up to her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Gotta make sure my friend is comfortable.”

She rolled her eyes, feeling warmth spread through her chest. “If this is just friendship, Charles, I’d hate to see you with someone you actually care about.”

He chuckled, tilting her chin up and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I’d just be even worse,” he murmured, eyes sparkling.

The words, though playful, lingered with her. The closeness, the drawer, his mother’s invitations — they all hinted at something deeper than what they’d agreed on. But every time she’d try to piece together her thoughts, he’d pull her back in, and she’d find herself giving in, trying not to read into every little sign.

As things grew deeper, she found herself wrestling with her feelings more and more, unsure of where she stood. Despite the time spent together, despite the way his family had practically adopted her, she kept reminding herself that they were just friends. That’s all they’d agreed on, after all.

But Charles’s actions often left her wondering. The drawer, the constant calls, the way he made sure to always check in on her… it felt like more. And yet, whenever she started thinking like that, he’d casually brush it off with a laugh, leaving her both hopeful and hesitant.

One morning, just as he was heading out for another meeting, he casually mentioned, “Oh, by the way, Charlotte called. She wants to meet up with you tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. “Oh? For what?”

He shrugged, buttoning up his jacket with that effortless confidence he had. “Wedding stuff, I think? She said she needed your help picking some things out.”

She blinked, surprised. “Wedding stuff? Isn’t that more… you know, family stuff?”

Charles glanced at her, looking amused by her confusion. “Exactly. That’s why she wants you there.”

Her heart stuttered, the implications of his words hitting her harder than she expected. She stood there, watching him as he finished getting ready, too shocked to find the words. Did he even realize what he’d just implied? Did he know what that invitation meant?

Unbothered by her inner turmoil, he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “Don’t overthink it,” he said softly, his eyes crinkling with a familiar warmth. “I’ll be back early tonight.”

And with that, he was out the door, leaving her standing there, the weight of her growing feelings settling over her like a heavy blanket.

In the silence that followed, she let out a shaky breath, her thoughts spiraling. Somewhere along the way, she’d crossed an invisible line — a line she couldn’t pretend didn’t exist anymore. She was in too deep, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she could keep up the pretense.

Taglist: @dullypully @sageskiesf1 @firefirevampire @eloriis @meadhbhcavanagh @raweceeks @amyelevenn @leclrcg @anunstablefangirl @chaoswithus @spngirl05 @bigdickdannyric1

@doofenshmirtzevil-inc @linneaguriii @gaslysainz @leclercdream

[leejenowrld]

‘love me back?’ — two

pairing - mark lee x reader

word count - 19.4k words

genre - angst, smut, fluff, strangers to lovers, forbidden love

synopsis — during an away game weekend at a motel, tensions rise sharply between mark and jeno, exacerbated by the close quarters and competitive atmosphere. meanwhile, your connection with mark deepens significantly. amidst the growing rivalry, you and mark find solace in each other’s company, leading to a night spent alone together in the motel, further complicating the dynamics of the trip.

chapter contents/warnings — college au, small town vibes, 2000s teen show vibes, this fic is heavily based on one tree hill, explicit sexual content, explicit dirty talk, spanking, biting, breath play, consensual choking and slapping, praise kink, oral sex received. fingering, a dominant mark and submissive reader dynamic, use of endearments such as ‘baby’ and ‘good girl’, grinding!!!! they’re obsessed with it, dry grinding and dry humping, mark orders reader to strip down, but mark will only let reader remove his clothing in exchange for personal facts about the you, he wants to know about you!! big cock mark agenda, reader gets so overwhelmed and turned on by the size, yet struggling to accommodate him, it takes a few repeated attempts to get his cock fully inside of you, a display of mark’s patience and softness, he goes a lot soft dom here when he’s really a hard dom but he goes softer for you!!! explicit language, slow burn, emotional (and sexual) tension between reader and mark, basketball is a heavy theme, mark being a key player, reader struggles with communication and vulnerability, toxic sibling rivalry between jeno and mark, soft mark, emo boy mark, confident mark, understated and hot mark, competitive sports tension. mark and jeno fighting again, they kinda bond (?) but it’s slow burn and they’re gonna be very off and on, jeno is very off and on with how he acts and how genuine he is, hints of jealous karina, creepy motel vibes, oh and guess who you meet… jeno and mark’s dad!! hehe

[fic ml]

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN

───────────────────────────────

The morning sun was still hanging low in the sky, casting a pale, golden glow across the university campus. The air was cool and crisp, the kind that hinted at the early stages of fall, where the chill settled into your skin but wasn’t enough to make you uncomfortable. The campus was buzzing with a chaotic energy—players from the basketball team hauling their bags, some slung over their shoulders, others dragging them across the pavement as they exchanged jokes and playful shoves. Cheerleaders were gathered in small groups, some adjusting their ponytails while others scrolled absentmindedly through their phones, their bags packed with uniforms and pom-poms, ready for the weekend away.

Parked in the lot were two large coaches, engines humming softly, filling the air with that distinct scent of diesel and excitement. Coach Suh was already barking orders, his usual gruff tone laced with impatience as he directed the team and checked his clipboard. His assistant coaches stood nearby, chatting with some of the teachers who would be chaperoning the trip, their voices blending with the surrounding noise. The whole scene was one of anticipation—the players buzzing about the away game, the cheerleaders giggling as they gossiped, the distant sound of music filtering from someone’s speaker in the crowd.

You and Karina walked arm in arm through the bustling crowd, her voice slicing through the noise as she vented about something trivial—the usual drama, this time involving Winter. You weren’t paying much attention, your mind somewhere else. It had been a week since you and Jeno broke up, and while you told yourself you were getting over it, a tight knot of anxiety still sat heavy in your chest. A week since everything changed. A week since that kiss with Mark, a moment you couldn’t stop replaying in your head. Now, you were about to spend a whole weekend with both of them, and the thought made your nerves fray at the edges. You weren’t sure if you were ready for this.

“Rina, stop being rude,” you mumbled, barely paying attention as she continued her rant, huffing dramatically when you two bumped into Winter. Karina immediately switched gears, blowing her a playful kiss before wrapping her in a tight hug. But you were already distracted, your focus shifting as your eyes caught sight of Mark in the distance.

He was standing alone, leaning against his bag, earbuds in, completely lost in his own world. His hair was slightly tousled, messy in that careless way that always suited him, and he was wearing black glasses—ones you hadn’t seen him in before, which made something flutter faintly in your chest. The soft sunlight caught on his frame, making the whole scene look like something out of a movie.

“Hold on a sec,” you murmured, cutting Karina off mid-sentence. She looked at you, raising an eyebrow as she watched you slip away from her side, curiosity evident on her face.

You made your way over to where Mark was standing, weaving through the scattered clusters of students, your heart thudding slightly harder in your chest. He hadn’t noticed you yet, his music too loud, and his eyes half-closed, like he was lost in thought.

“Mark,” you said, raising your voice slightly as you gave him a gentle tap on the shoulder.

He blinked, startled out of his reverie, and when he turned around, a small, soft smile immediately graced his lips. He pulled one earbud out, his eyes brightening at the sight of you. “Hey,” he greeted casually, as though it hadn’t been a week since you last spoke. As if that kiss had never happened.

“Hey,” you echoed, feeling suddenly awkward. Your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your bag as you searched for the right words. “Um, I just wanted to thank you, you know… for that night. It—it really meant a lot.”

His smile widened a fraction, but he didn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue. With slightly trembling fingers, you reached into your bag and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package—a record you had made just for him. The case was simple, but you had taken the time to customize it—his name written in a looping script across the front, surrounded by small doodles of guitars and basketballs. You had put more effort into it than you’d ever admit, each stroke of ink a small way of thanking him without having to say the words.

Mark’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, his lips parting slightly as he took the package from you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. “Does this mean we’re dating now?” he teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he examined the record.

Your cheeks flushed immediately. “No,” you mumbled, trying to keep your cool. “I just had a lot of free time, and you have a long journey ahead, so… don’t read too much into it.”

But Mark wasn’t buying it, his smirk only deepening as he glanced back up at you. “Sure. Free time.”

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Jeno standing near one of the other coaches, deep in conversation with one of his and Mark’s mutual friends. They were laughing about something, completely oblivious to you and Mark’s interaction, and yet, the sight of him still made your stomach flip in that uncomfortable way it had been doing for the past week.

Mark noticed your distraction but didn’t say anything. He just tucked the record into his bag with a quiet, “Thanks, Y/N,” before offering you a soft, genuine smile.

You gave him a small nod, a sense of relief washing over you, but before you could say anything else, Karina’s voice rang out from across the lot, calling your name.

“I should go,” you said quickly, backing away a few steps. “See you on the bus.”

Mark waved, popping his earbud back in as he leaned against his bag again, slipping back into his own world as if nothing had happened. But you couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted, something small and unspoken, lingering in the space between you.

When you returned to Karina’s side, she was giving you a look that was half suspicion, half curiosity. “What was that?” she asked, her voice dripping with intrigue.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, though the heat rising to your cheeks probably gave you away. “Just thanked him for something.”

Karina’s eyes narrowed, a knowing smirk tugging at the edges of her lips. “You don’t like him, do you?”

“Karina, stop overreacting,” you muttered, trying to brush her off, but you could feel her gaze piercing into you.

“Good,” she said, with a casual shrug. “Because I still wanna have sex with him.”

Your heart lurched, and you tried to keep your expression neutral. “Okay,” you said, voice steady, though your mind was spinning. You couldn’t judge her—not when you felt the same. But there was no way you were going to tell her about the kiss. That would only lead to more problems.

The two of you finally boarded the bus, finding your seats among the other cheerleaders and players. As you settled in, you let out a small sigh, the weight of the day’s tension settling on your shoulders. It was going to be a long weekend. You could feel it in the air. But as the bus started moving, the sound of the engine humming beneath you, you couldn’t help but wonder—what was going to happen between you, Mark, and Jeno? The tension between all three of you was still there, unresolved, waiting to bubble over.

───────────────────────────────

The gym buzzed with life, the clamor of shoes squeaking against the polished wooden floor, the rhythmic bounce of basketballs, and the murmur of the audience creating a palpable energy. It felt like the air was thick with anticipation, the overhead fluorescent lights harsh and bright, casting long shadows on the floor as the two teams warmed up. The scent of sweat and rubber mingled with the faint aroma of cheap popcorn from the concession stands. On the far side, the home bleachers were packed with students, most clad in blue jerseys, their school colors proudly worn across their bodies like armor. The cheerleaders were stationed by the sidelines, their outfits hugging their curves, shimmering pom-poms ready in hand.

You were in the thick of it, standing with Karina at the edge of the court, arms raised with your pom-poms, shaking them rhythmically as you moved through the choreographed routines. Your cheerleading uniform was snug, the blue pleats of your skirt fluttering as you danced, and your crop top clung to your skin, showing just enough midriff to catch the eyes of anyone paying attention. The crowd was electric, and the boys were on fire tonight, especially Mark and Jeno—though they were in their own worlds, not even acknowledging each other.

Karina’s voice, hushed yet teasing, pulled you from the daze of the game. “Oh my God, Mark looks so hot in blue. We should both fuck him.”

You choked on a laugh, whipping your head toward her. “We?”

“Yeah, at the same time. Threesome.” She shrugged like it was the most natural suggestion in the world.

“Please, shut up,” you hissed through a grin, unable to suppress the giggle bubbling at your throat. You shook your pom-poms in sync with the rest of the girls, trying to keep your focus on the game, but Karina’s persistent teasing kept your mind elsewhere.

“What? You need a little rebound action unless—” Her voice dropped, her gaze flicking toward the court where Jeno sprinted past. “Unless you’re still into Jeno.”

“I’m not,” you answered quickly, too quickly, as your eyes slid to where Jeno was dominating the court. His jersey, drenched with sweat, clung to his body, showcasing every muscle, every ripple of his toned arms and chest. His biceps flexed as he dribbled, every move calculated and strong, and there was no denying he looked good tonight. But that’s all it was—an attraction. Purely physical. The sexual chemistry between you two had been undeniable, but it was never enough to keep you together. The connection was shallow. You both knew it, and yet, the ache of desire was still there.

“Good,” Karina smirked, satisfied with your response. “Because you’re my best friend, and I love you. You get a courtesy hold on Mark for the weekend, but after that, he’s fair game.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. Karina had been there for you through everything, especially after the breakup. She knew how to make light of everything, how to push you to move on even when you didn’t want to.

As the game unfolded, you spotted Jeno and Mark’s best friend sitting in the bleachers, her posture shy and reserved. She had that doe-eyed, innocent look about her, with her small frame tucked into an oversized hoodie, eyes wide as she watched the boys play. She seemed out of place here, her innocence a stark contrast to the intensity of the game.

“What’s the story with that one anyway?” Karina asked, her eyes zeroed in on the girl.

You shrugged, not looking away from the court. “Jeno said she’s tutoring him.”

“And hanging out with Mark?” Karina’s eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“They’ve been best friends since they were kids, right?” you replied, though the bitterness in your voice was hard to miss. You had asked Mark once, point-blank, if there was anything more than friendship between them. He had laughed, like the idea was so ridiculous it didn’t even deserve a serious response. She’s like a sister, he’d said.

Karina leaned in, whispering like she was sharing the juiciest gossip. “Right. And we’re supposed to believe she’s just friends with both of them?”

“She doesn’t seem like a troublemaker,” you murmured, though even you weren’t convinced by your own words.

Karina’s gasp made your head snap toward her. “Did you just see that? Jeno gave her the nod.”

You frowned, feeling your stomach twist. “What nod?”

“The ‘let’s hook up after the game’ nod,” Karina explained, her eyes wide in disbelief.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Karina, you’re reading too much into things.”

Karina crossed her arms, smirking knowingly. “You wanna know what I think? I think Jeno likes tutor girl. I think tutor girl likes Mark. And I know I like Mark. And I don’t even know who the hell you like anymore.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, though the whole thing was spiraling into a mess you didn’t even know how to untangle.

Back on the court, Donghyuck’s voice crackled through the speaker system, narrating the game with his usual laid-back flair. “Ravens have a big lead early in the second quarter,” he announced, his eyes tracking every movement with a casual ease.

Jeno charged down the court, eyes locked on the basket, but his speed got the better of him. As he tried to weave past an opponent, he slammed into him with his shoulder, sending the opposing player sprawling onto the floor. The referee’s whistle pierced through the noise.

“That’s a foul on Jeno Lee,” Donghyuck’s voice rang through the speakers, cutting through the tension in the gym.

Mark, nearby, groaned in exasperation, shaking his head. “Seriously, man? You’re costing us the game,” he muttered, though loud enough for Jeno to hear.

Jeno spun around, eyes blazing with anger. “Mind your own business,” 

Mark’s smirk only widened as he crossed his arms. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t realise we were here to watch you fuck up.” He raised a brow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe if you could actually control your temper, we’d be winning by more.”

Jeno stepped closer, his jaw clenched tight. “How about you shut your mouth before I make you.”

Mark shrugged, not backing down. “Why don’t I beat your ass right here and save us the trouble?”

The tension between them was palpable, their rivalry burning hotter by the second. Even though they were on the same team, they were playing like they were enemies, completely isolated in their own games. Jeno refused to pass the ball to Mark, and Mark ignored Jeno’s open plays, yet somehow, the team was still leading. It was a miracle they were winning at all.

Then came Mark’s turn for a foul. He was dribbling down the court, eyes locked on the basket, when he made an overly ambitious attempt at a crossover. His footwork got tangled, and in an awkward stumble, he ended up traveling—taking one too many steps before the ball left his hands.

The referee’s whistle blew sharply. “Traveling violation on Mark Lee!” Donghyuck announced, the crowd groaning in response.

Jeno, quick to pounce on any mistake, smirked. “Nice one, genius. You forget how to dribble?”

Mark shot him a venomous look, his frustration simmering. “Why don’t you try shutting the hell up?”

The game continued, but the tension between them was only escalating. You saw Jeno glance toward Mark’s best friend in the bleachers, her face bored as she gazed around, barely paying attention.

“Hey, she’s looking pretty fine tonight, right?” Jeno smirked, leaning toward Mark just enough for him to hear. “Can’t wait to get with that after the game.”

Mark’s face twisted with anger, the tension between him and Jeno reaching a boiling point. He shot a glance at you, his voice low but cutting, every word laced with venom. “Caught Jeno in the locker room earlier… guess I finally figured out why you left him.”

The implication hung heavy in the air, unspoken but obvious. The cheerleaders beside you snickered softly, exchanging knowing glances. You widen your eyes in disbelief, a flush creeping up your neck as you process his words. It wasn’t just a jab at Jeno—it was personal, and everyone around could feel it.

Jeno’s face contorted with pure rage, his eyes narrowing as the tension finally snapped. Without hesitation, he hurled the basketball straight at Mark’s head, the thud of impact echoing through the gym. In that split second, the air shifted, thick with hostility, and everything spiraled out of control.

The next thing you knew, they were on each other, fists flying as the audience gasped in shock. Mark shoved Jeno hard, sending him stumbling back. Jeno’s momentum carried him into Karina, who was caught off guard and stumbled back, screaming as she fell to the ground.

But Jeno wasn’t backing down. He regained his balance quickly, grabbed Mark by the collar, and yanked him forward, slamming his fist into Mark’s stomach.

The players on the court rushed in, trying to pull them apart, but they were relentless. Every punch, every shove, was filled with weeks, maybe months, of pent-up frustration. As they tussled, Karina, still on the floor, tried to recover, her face etched with pain and confusion.

Coach Suh stormed onto the court, his face red with anger as he bellowed orders. “What the hell is going on?!”

The referee blew his whistle, his voice barely cutting through the chaos. “That’s it, both of you are out!”

“You’re throwing them both out of the game?!” Coach Suh shouted, barely able to contain his rage.

“I have to, Coach,” the referee yelled back. “Punches were thrown.”

“They’re both on the same team!” Coach Suh screamed, his frustration palpable.

The whole gym was a mess—cheerleaders trying to calm the crowd, players separating the two brothers, Coach Suh losing his mind on the sidelines. You couldn’t believe how quickly things had spiraled out of control.

You rushed over to Karina, helping her up from where she lay on the gym floor. “Are you okay?” you asked, concerned.

She clutched her head, wincing in pain. “Ow, pain,” she muttered, rubbing her temple.

And as you looked back at Mark and Jeno, both of them being escorted off the court, you couldn’t help but wonder how this was all going to end.

───────────────────────────────

The bus rattles down the dark country road, headlights cutting through the shadows as the low hum of the engine mingles with the tired murmurs of the team. The cheerleaders sit scattered across seats, throwing occasional wary glances at Coach Suh, who stands at the front of the coach, face set like stone, eyes boring into the back of everyone’s heads. The tension is thick, even those uninvolved feel the simmering anger rolling off him, spreading like wildfire. But the main culprits sit slouched in the back, sullen and unrepentant.

“Mark Lee, Jeno Lee. On your feet.”

The entire bus goes silent. Jeno rolls his eyes, but he stands, fixing a casual scowl on his face. Mark follows suit, his jaw tight, as if bracing for a hit. Coach Suh steps closer, his gaze narrowing on the two of them, nostrils flaring.

“Congratulations, boys. In all my years coaching, this has got to be a low point.” His words land like blows, the weight of disappointment dripping from each syllable. “That little stunt you pulled almost cost us our undefeated record.”

He pauses, arms crossed, eyes flicking between the two. “I don’t give a damn about your issues with your daddy, your girlfriends, or whatever garbage you’re both dragging out here. As far as I’m concerned, you can hate each other until hell freezes over, but if you’re gonna play on my team, you’re gonna learn how to work together.”

Jeno scoffs, crossing his arms. “I can’t see that happening, Suh.”

Coach Suh’s face hardens, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Yeah? Well, you’ve got thirty miles to figure it out.” Without another word, he jerks his thumb toward the door. “Get off my bus.”

The two barely have a moment to process before Coach is barking orders to the driver. They’re pushed off the bus, stumbling onto the gravel shoulder as the bus door slams shut. Exhaust fumes fill the air as the coach pulls away, taillights fading in the distance, leaving them stranded under a starlit sky.

“They can’t just leave us here,” Jeno mutters, a mixture of disbelief and anger flashing in his eyes.

Mark sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he glances down the dark, empty road stretching ahead. “Nice work, idiot.”

Jeno’s gaze snaps toward him, eyes narrowing. “Calm down.”

“You calm down. My phone’s on that bus.”

Mark shakes his head, glancing back at the road as if it might magically bring the bus back. “My wallet’s on that bus, too.”

“Mine too,” Jeno mutters.

The silence stretches between them, punctuated only by the distant rustling of trees in the wind and the steady chirp of crickets. They both realize the absurdity of it — left with nothing but each other on an empty road, thirty miles from any sign of life.

Jeno breaks the silence with a frustrated groan. “What the hell do we do now?”

Mark glances down the road, kicking at the gravel under his feet. “We start walking.”

The night air is chilly, and the silence between them grows colder. They walk side by side, their footsteps crunching on the gravel, neither willing to break the silence until the irritation bubbles over, each resentful glance in the other’s direction building until it finally snaps.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you never joined the team,” Jeno hisses, his voice carrying through the empty night like a challenge.

Mark’s fists clench at his sides, but he keeps his voice low, controlled. “No, we wouldn’t be out here if you weren’t such a jackass about me joining the team.”

Jeno scoffs, turning to face him. “Why do you want my life so bad, anyway?”

Mark stops, looking at him dead-on. “This again? Dude, don’t flatter yourself. You’re the last person I’d wanna trade places with.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jeno’s voice is harsh, his words fueled by a bitterness that runs deep. “All I know is that you came out of nowhere and started grabbing everything you could from me. My game, my girl.” His voice cracks, a flash of vulnerability slipping through before he regains his composure. “Sounds like a broken record, right?”

Mark’s lips curl into a smirk, his eyes glinting in the low light as he shoots back, “Your girl? Last I checked, she dumped your stupid ass.”

Jeno’s jaw tightens, but he scoffs, brushing it off with a roll of his eyes. “I actually dumped her, but—”

Before he can finish, Mark steps closer, his expression darkening, his voice deadly calm. “Watch it.”

They stand there, silence stretching between them, eyes locked in an unspoken challenge. Mark’s mind flashes with memories he’d buried, moments that flood his thoughts with a guilty thrill. He wonders if Jeno has any idea what happened after Jeno walked away from you, the way you gravitated toward Mark, the way you sought him out with a lingering gaze, lips parted, words barely needing to be said.

And Mark wonders what Jeno would do if he knew how you clung to him that night, how your fingers traced his skin, how your breath hitched every time he touched you. If he knew the things you whispered in the dark, the way you looked at him with need, the way you wanted him — wanted to fuck him so badly, a fire in your eyes that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with desire.

The thought stirs something in Mark, a dangerous satisfaction.

Mark’s gaze softens, but there’s an edge to it, as if he’s finally had enough. “Well, what about you?” he shoots back, voice laced with bitterness. “I bet your grades sucked before you met me.”

Jeno’s face contorts, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Who said all me and her got is about grades?”

Mark studies Jeno’s face for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He hesitates, choosing his words carefully, knowing exactly how to hit where it matters without overstepping.

“You ever think about why people put up with you?” Mark says, his tone softer, almost casual, but there’s an edge. “Like my best friend… I don’t know what’s going on between you two but she’s been in your corner even when you don’t make it easy. And you don’t even seem to notice.”

Jeno’s face hardens, his defensiveness flaring up. “Last time I checked, it’s none of your fucking business,” he snaps.

Mark chuckles dryly, shaking his head. “Friends don’t have to keep sticking around, Jeno. She doesn’t have to. You act like people are just gonna stay no matter what, like she’ll always be there for you.” He lets the silence settle, watching Jeno’s reaction. “But even she’s gonna reach her limit eventually.”

Jeno’s jaw tenses, brushing it off. “She won’t..”

Mark just sighs, his gaze shifting down the road. “Just don’t be surprised if one day she’s not waiting around for you to get your act together. She’s got her own life, her own choices.” He glances at Jeno, a hint of something in his eyes Jeno doesn’t quite catch. “And maybe she’s already realizing that.”

───────────────────────────────

The sterile chill of the doctor’s office settles over you as you sit beside Karina, who winces each time she moves her ankle. The rest of the team is back at the motel, locked down under a strict curfew after Coach Suh’s fury over Mark and Jeno’s latest stunt. Somehow, though, he made an exception for you to accompany Karina here, her ankle too swollen and painful to ignore.

Karina shifts on the examination table, sucking in a sharp breath as the doctor carefully assesses the injury, then begins wrapping her ankle in a firm bandage. She bites her lip, eyelids fluttering as she watches him intently, a coy smile playing on her lips. You frown, noticing her glancing up at him with a softness in her eyes that feels oddly out of place. He isn’t even that attractive, you think, confused by her sudden flirtation.

“Don’t worry, doctor,” she says with a playful tilt of her head, voice honeyed. “I’m in good hands, aren’t I?”

You’re about to say something, feeling the strangeness of it all, when the doctor reaches into his drawer, pulling out a small bottle of painkillers. “Here, take one of these now,” he says, handing her a pill, “and just half of one every twelve hours. Don’t take too many at once—”

Karina pops three of them into her mouth, swallowing them with a quick, mischievous grin. “Oops,” she giggles, leaning back with a sigh as if this is all part of the plan.

And in a flash, it clicks — the batting eyelashes, the sugary smile, the subtle brush of her fingers against his hand. She’s not flirting with him for his attention. She’s trying to score extra meds. You watch in astonishment as she tilts her head, feigning another innocent look. “Doctor, do you think I could maybe… have a few more? You know, just in case the pain gets really bad later?”

The doctor hesitates, clearly charmed, and reluctantly hands over a few extra pills. Karina’s eyes glint with satisfaction, tucking the extra pills into her bag as she gives him one last, grateful smile.

As you help Karina hobble out, she’s clutching your arm, her eyes glassy and far too animated. She’s practically bouncing as you guide her down the hallway.

Outside, as you’re about to help her into the car, you notice a familiar face near the entrance. Mark’s best friend stands there, looking caught off guard, her eyes widening as if she’s been caught red-handed.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, a mixture of surprise and suspicion in your voice.

“Oh, I was just… exploring the area,” she says, her voice wavering slightly as she tries to sound casual.

You laugh, shaking your head. “We’re at a doctor’s office.”

She bites her lip, looking away with a sheepish smile. “Yeah, well… I wanted to see it, okay?”

You roll your eyes. “Right. Totally makes sense.”

Karina, meanwhile, is swaying on her feet, her arm still looped through yours, a dazed smile on her face. “We should totally hang out more often, what’s your name?”

The girl says her name, but Karina waves her hand dismissively. “I’m gonna call you ‘Rina’. I don’t like your name.”

The girl looks between the two of you, unsure if she should laugh or be offended. “Thanks… I guess.”

You chuckle, exasperated but amused, as Karina starts humming a random tune under her breath. “C’mon, Karina, let’s get you to the car.”

As you help Karina toward the car, she pauses, glancing back at Mark’s best friend with wide, pleading eyes. “Wait! Y/N, can she come with us?”

You raise an eyebrow, giving her a questioning look. She hesitates, clearing her throat. “I already got a ride back to the motel.”

You sigh, a small, amused smile playing at your lips. “What, the bus? The last one just left a few minutes ago. And you wanna go by public transport at this time of night? In an unknown and dark area?”

She falters, glancing down the empty road, clearly rethinking her plan. Meanwhile, Karina lights up, a grin stretching across her face as if it’s all settled. “Perfect!, you’re coming with us!” she declares, already pulling her toward the back seat.

You can’t help but roll your eyes as they both settle in, Karina giggling and leaning close to her. As soon as you start the car, Karina’s hand darts forward, reaching for the radio.

“Don’t touch the radio, or we’ll have a problem,” you warn, catching her eye in the rearview mirror.

But she’s already twisting the dial, landing on a random station and singing along, loud and out of tune. Mark’s best friend glances at you with a half-smile, half-grimace, clearly unsure of what she’s gotten herself into.

“Don’t worry,” you reassure her with a quick look back. “She’ll be fine once she sleeps it off.”

Karina, oblivious to the cautious energy in the car, leans over, grabbing her friend’s hand with wide, adoring eyes. “You’re my favorite, Rina. We’re gonna be best friends forever,” she slurs with a giggle, still believing her name was ‘Rina.’ 

You stifle a laugh as you pull out onto the road, realising it’s going to be a long, strange ride back to the motel.

───────────────────────────────

The quiet hum of the car blends with Karina’s off-key singing, her hand fiddling with the radio as you drive along the deserted road. The night stretches on outside the car windows, fields bathed in moonlight, the road a dark ribbon cutting through the countryside. Mark’s best friend sits beside Karina, offering an amused glance every now and then, though you can tell she’s half-wishing she’d chosen a different ride back to the motel. You stifle a smile at the absurdity of it all.

The journey’s been quiet for a while now, with Karina’s singing slowing to a soft hum as she leans against the window, eyelids heavy, barely holding onto her high. You’re halfway back, another hour to go, when a movement on the roadside catches your attention. Two figures, barely illuminated by your headlights, are trudging along the shoulder, looking like they’ve been through hell. Squinting, you realise it’s Jeno and Mark, walking side by side, both looking rough and dishevelled. Seriously, did they spend the whole time hitting each other?

You slow down and pull over, giving a quick beep to catch their attention. The boys look up, relief flashing across their faces as they recognize you. But as you look closer, confusion knots in your stomach; they don’t seem like they’re fighting, but they’re covered in marks and bruises, a testament to some kind of ordeal. They approach the car, Jeno with tired eyes and Mark with a weary, yet satisfied look.

You arch an eyebrow, eyeing the two of them, your voice laced with incredulity. “Do I even wanna know what happened?”

Jeno and Mark exchange glances, and without a word of protest, they begin to explain. It starts with them walking back, still stewing in anger from being thrown off the bus. Then, a group of players from the opposing team spotted them and pulled over, offering Jeno a ride. Despite the uneasy feeling in the air, Jeno’s pride wouldn’t let him turn it down, even when Mark, sensing trouble, warned him against it. But Jeno got in anyway, throwing Mark a smug look that all but dared him to follow. Mark, unwilling to leave his brother alone, reluctantly climbed in.

The ride took a turn, just as Mark had feared. The opposing players started messing with them, egging them on with taunts and jeers until they forced Jeno and Mark to strip down to their boxers. Humiliation simmered in Jeno’s eyes, his fists clenched tight, but Mark kept his cool, his mind spinning for a way out. It was then that the players offered a sick deal: they’d leave them alone if the brothers fought each other.

With no other option, Jeno and Mark put on a show, faking punches and grappling. But as they moved, Mark managed to swipe the car keys from one of the guys’ pockets. It was the first time they’d worked together as a team, their silent coordination kicking in out of pure desperation. When the brawl seemed convincing enough, they seized their chance, racing to the car, only to find it stuck in the mud. Swearing under their breath, they abandoned it and took off on foot, laughing despite the absurdity of it all, still bickering, but now with a hint of shared respect.

Listening to their tale, you can’t help but shake your head, a small smile playing on your lips. There’s tension still simmering between them, unspoken words and unresolved resentment hanging heavy in the air. But this, this was a start. It was far too early to think all their issues could be resolved in one night, but maybe — just for tonight — you could all ignore the conflict, let it slip away, and pretend things were fine.

“Coach Suh and his tactics really work,” you muse, half in astonishment, as you look between them when the traffic lights flash red. You catch a rare moment of calm in their expressions, Mark’s gaze softened, Jeno’s cocky mask quietq just slightly as he leans back, arms crossed.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Mark’s best friend with a small smirk, the corner of her lips quirking upward. Huh. What was that about? She’s usually quiet, but there’s something in her look that suggests she knows more than she’s letting on. It’s always the quiet ones, you think, a sense of curiosity stirring.

As you pull away from the stop, a thought crosses your mind — could she have had something to do with this? With Jeno’s sudden willingness to give Mark even a sliver of slack? The ride back stretches on, filled with a strange mixture of silence and soft laughter, the beginnings of an unexpected truce lingering in the air. 

──────────────────────────────

The motel looms in the dim glow of your car’s headlights as you pull into the cracked, uneven parking lot. A few lights flicker weakly along the exterior, casting pale, yellow circles on the worn asphalt, barely enough to pierce through the night. The building itself is modest, cloaked in an air of neglect, with faded paint peeling from the wood and shadows thickening in the crevices around the doors and windows. The faint hum of buzzing neon letters above the entrance spells out “Vacancy,” the ‘V’ occasionally blinking, as if it’s uncertain about its own existence.

Jeno’s voice breaks the silence as he turns to you, hands casually stuffed in his pockets. “Hey, me and the guys are gonna go partying. You wanna come?” He raises an eyebrow, his gaze flickering to Mark for a split second before landing back on you, a hint of mischief in his smile.

You shake your head, laughing softly. “I’m really tired. I think I’ll call it a night. You enjoy yourself, though. I don’t know how you have so much energy after all that happened today.”

Jeno just shrugs, his smile widening. “Suit yourself.”

“I wanna come!” Karina chimes in, bouncing over to Jeno and slinging an arm around his shoulders with such force that he nearly stumbles, catching her with a chuckle. He slips an arm around her back, steadying her, and they both look over at Mark’s best friend, asking if she wants to tag along 

She laughs, shaking her head in amusement. “Fuck it, fine, I’ll go too. Why not?”

Jeno’s gaze drifts back to you, a final question in his eyes. “You sure you don’t want to come, Y/N?”

You smile, shaking your head once more. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

With a shrug, he gives you a warm smile. “Alright, then. Good night.” He gives Mark a small nod, and then the three of them disappear into the shadows of the parking lot, their laughter echoing softly as they head toward the distant thrum of the party.

The night settles around you, the silence deepening. You turn to Mark, who lingers by your side, his presence grounding you in the quiet. He’s watching you, his gaze thoughtful, steady, as if waiting.

The doors to the motel swing open, revealing a dimly lit hallway that stretches out in both directions, lined with faded floral wallpaper and scuffed wooden trim. The smell is a mix of old wood, dust, and something faintly sweet, like the lingering remnants of perfume, as if echoes of past guests have left traces of themselves here, woven into the fabric of the place.

You walk in silence, each footstep softened by the thin, worn carpet, every sound amplified in the otherwise quiet space. The tension between you hums, tangible and charged, filling the stillness with an unspoken understanding that neither of you seems willing to break.

You reach the start of the long hallway, the shadows deepening around you. There, you both come to a natural stop, instinctively turning to face each other. The faint glow from the flickering bulbs above casts soft light across his face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the warmth in his eyes as he looks down at you. For a moment, neither of you speaks, standing there, so close yet so unsure, the silence thickening as you both search for something to say.

Your mouth parts slightly, words hovering on the edge, but they refuse to come. His gaze holds yours, unwavering, his lips parting just a fraction, mirroring your own silent question, as if he’s also lost in the space between you, not knowing where to begin. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, a softness that catches you off guard, and you feel the weight of it, heavy and warm, settling in your chest.

Finally, he clears his throat, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “I’ll walk you to your room, this place is so creepy.” He says, the words quiet but steady.

You nod, your breath catching, feeling the warmth of his offer seep into your skin, grounding you. “Yeah… I’d like that, it’s such a dark hallway, it’s so scary.” You murmur, your voice soft, barely breaking the silence, and together, you begin to walk down the dim hallway, your footsteps falling into a quiet rhythm, side by side, close enough to feel each other’s presence, every step heightening the anticipation that hangs between you.

“Let’s go,” he says softly, his voice steady yet gentle, and it pulls you out of the moment, grounding you.

As you walk, Mark stays close by your side, his presence warm and solid in the dimness. You’re embarrassed by the way your hand brushes against his arm, how you instinctively lean just a little closer than necessary, as if his nearness alone can fend off the eerie stillness of the hallway. Your heart pounds louder than you’d like, each beat reminding you how aware you are of him, of every detail — the quiet confidence in his stride, the way his eyes scan the corridor, protective but at ease.

The hallway stretches ahead, narrowing into shadows at the far end, every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet making the silence feel heavier. The motel feels frozen in time, suspended in an atmosphere thick with the ghosts of other people’s stories. Faint, peeling paintings line the walls, barely visible in the dim light, their subjects obscured by layers of dust and age. Mark’s gaze moves from one faded frame to the next, a quiet curiosity in his eyes, as if he’s absorbing every detail, noticing things even you missed.

When you finally reach your room, you fumble with the key, your hands inexplicably shaky, and feel a rush of relief as the door swings open. The room is small, modest, barely illuminated by the single bedside lamp casting a soft, amber glow over the space. The beds are narrow, pushed against opposite walls, their sheets clean but worn, edges frayed, as if they’ve seen countless nights. The carpet is thin, faded in patches, and the heavy drapes by the window barely keep out the dim streetlight filtering in from outside.

You turn to Mark, who stands in the doorway, his gaze moving over the room before landing back on you. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something that makes your heart pound a little faster, a warmth that lingers between you in the quiet.

“You can stay… if you want. Karina won’t be back anytime soon, so we could just… hang out,” you murmur, your voice soft, barely above a whisper, feeling the weight of the invitation hanging in the air.

Mark stands there, just inside the doorway, his gaze steady on you, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. Instead, a small, gentle smile tugs at his lips, and he raises an eyebrow slightly, letting the words hang between you. “‘Hang out?’” he repeats softly, as though he’s testing the phrase.

You feel your cheeks heat up, the way he says it makes the words feel bolder, more vulnerable than you intended. You swallow, nodding, and barely manage to whisper, “Yes.”

He steps further inside, closing the door gently behind him, the quiet click of the lock making your heart pound a little harder. “I’d like that,” he says, his voice warm, carrying a softness that makes the air around you feel charged, close, as though even the walls of the room are holding their breath.

You gesture toward the room with a nervous laugh, trying to ease the tension settling between you. “Oh, by the way… there’s two beds,” you say, your voice soft, almost playful, as if pointing it out might somehow make the moment feel less charged, less intimate.

His eyes follow where you’re pointing, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he glances from one bed to the other, then back to you. The look in his eyes is knowing, almost amused, but he doesn’t say anything, letting the words linger, a silent acknowledgment of the thin veil of casualness you’re both holding onto.

You settle onto the edge of your bed, pulling out your sketchbook, pencils, camera, and laptop, thinking you might take this quiet moment to finish some assignments. Mark moves toward the other bed, but his eyes remain on you, an intensity in his gaze that you can feel even as you focus on your work, earbuds in, trying to ground yourself in the familiar tasks.

You’re so lost in your own world that you don’t notice him move until he gently tugs one earbud out, his fingers brushing your ear softly. You glance up, startled, and find him close, his face inches from yours, a soft amusement in his gaze.

“You’re working? Now?” he whispers, his voice low, carrying a warmth that pulls at something deep inside you.

“Mm-hm,” you manage, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his steady gaze. “It… it needs to get done.”

He watches you for a moment, a quiet curiosity in his eyes, then offers, “Can I help? I’m not really tired.”

You smile, nodding as you pat the empty space beside you. “You can just… sit here. Keep me company.” Your heart races as he settles beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight, pulling you both closer together.

The proximity is overwhelming, his warmth seeping through the space between you, grounding and intoxicating at the same time. You can feel the subtle brush of his arm against yours. The scent of him, soft peaches, lingers in the air, and each detail heightens your awareness of him, making it difficult to focus on anything else.

The silence between you stretches, his eyes holding yours as his hand reaches out, fingers brushing softly against your wrist. He slides the hair tie from your hand, his touch deliberate, steady, igniting a tingling warmth that spreads through you.

Without a word, he gathers your hair gently, his fingers working it into a loose, careful hold, his movements precise yet tender. The way he pulls the tie over your hair feels intimate, his fingers grazing your neck, sending a shiver down your spine as he finishes, his hand lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Thank—thank you,” you manage, voice barely above a whisper, feeling an inexplicable rush of warmth at the simple, quiet closeness of the moment.

He smiles, his gaze tracing over you, lingering on the way your hair falls loosely around your shoulders. “You look… different with your hair up,” he murmurs, his eyes dipping to your neck. “You should wear it like that more often.”

You try to respond, but your words stumble over each other, caught in the quiet storm of his attention. “I… I usually… thank you,” you manage, feeling the heat bloom across your cheeks, acutely aware of how vulnerable you feel under his gaze.

It’s strange, feeling so affected by him. You’ve always been the one in control, the one who never falters, but here, in this quiet, dimly lit room, it’s as if he has stripped away every layer, leaving you open, raw, trembling with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity.

“So,” he says, his voice breaking the silence, smooth and warm, “what do you need help with?”

He looks down at your camera, piecing together your intentions with a quiet, knowing smile, and you find yourself blurting out, “Can I… take some photos of you? For one of my projects?”

He holds your gaze, nodding slowly. “Yes,” he answers, his voice steady, unhesitating, as if he’s saying yes to more than just the photos.

You stand, adjusting the lighting, switching off the main lights and leaving only the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting warm shadows across the room. The light caresses his features, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips, the quiet strength in his posture. It feels like he belongs here, in this softened light, like he’s made for this moment, this intimacy.

You lift the camera, heart pounding as you look through the lens, capturing the way his eyes follow you, calm and steady, a hint of curiosity flickering in their depths. He’s not just a subject; he’s something real, something grounding, something that makes your breath catch with every click of the shutter.

Zooming in closer, you focus on the details — the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheek, the hint of stubble along his jaw, the relaxed curve of his lips. You feel your pulse quicken, each shot a quiet revelation, a piece of him you’re allowed to see, a vulnerability he’s offering willingly.

“Come closer,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle command, pulling you deeper into the moment. You step closer, the distance between you disappearing, and he leans back, spreading his arms casually along the headboard, letting his head fall back slightly, exposing the soft line of his neck. It’s an invitation, a silent offering, and you capture it, feeling your heart stutter with every shot.

At one point, he reaches out, fingers brushing the lens, then your hand, his touch light but grounding, making your hands tremble. His eyes meet yours, his voice soft, almost reverent. “Can I see what you’ve taken?”

You flip the camera around, showing him, and he studies each shot, his gaze intense, thoughtful, a quiet pride flickering in his eyes. “These are… they’re really good,” he says, his voice laced with something deeper, something that feels like admiration

Your cheeks flush, and you look away, stammering, “It’s… it’s nothing. Just… I mean, it’s easy to get good shots when—” You stop, feeling the words catch in your throat, the compliment feeling almost too much to say aloud.

Mark’s gaze softens as he watches you, a quiet, understanding smile spreading across his face. “When?” he prompts, leaning in slightly, his voice coaxing but gentle, waiting patiently for you to finish.

You hesitate, feeling your heart race, before managing, “When the person in front of the camera… makes it easy.” The words are quiet, barely more than a whisper, but he hears them, his eyes darkening just a bit, a flicker of something deeper passing over his face.

He doesn’t look away. Instead, he reaches out again, fingertips brushing lightly along the side of the camera, his touch grazing yours. “You know, you should give yourself more credit for how gifted you are. You have a real eye for photography and capturing the scene, I just wish you’d realise that,” he murmurs, a note of awe in his voice. “It’s like you capture more than just what’s in front of you.” His hand finds yours, fingers wrapping around yours gently, grounding and intimate.

The silence that settles around you is thick with unspoken understanding, a closeness that feels as though it’s been building since the moment you stepped into the room. He lowers his hand but keeps his gaze on you, his eyes soft, searching. The air between you grows still, and you’re aware of every breath, every slight shift in the mattress beneath you, the scent of him lingering around you, warm and inviting.

It feels like he’s going to kiss you, but instead, he breaks the moment with a small grin, tilting his head as he looks at you. He reaches for the camera in your hands, fingers brushing yours as he takes it.

“Your turn,” he says, his voice warm, coaxing. “Let me take a few of you.”

You hesitate, glancing at the camera and then back at him, unsure, feeling the flush deepen in your cheeks. But he just smiles, steady and reassuring. “I want to see you… as you are,” he murmurs, his tone genuine, his gaze holding an invitation you can’t quite resist.

He shifts closer, his hand gently guiding your shoulders back, adjusting your posture with a care that’s both comforting and intimate. “Here… just relax,” he says softly, his fingers lingering briefly on your shoulder before moving to rest gently on your waist, positioning you as he wants. You feel a warmth radiate from his touch, a grounding sensation that makes it hard to breathe steadily.

“Relax,” he says again, his voice low, soothing, his gaze focused on you as if you’re the only thing in the room. “Just be yourself. That’s all I’m asking.” His fingers adjust the angle of your arm, his thumb brushing along your wrist as he guides you into a natural, comfortable pose. The intensity in his gaze makes you feel like he’s peeling back every layer, seeing something raw and true beneath your surface.

He lifts the camera, snapping a few shots, his focus unwavering. “That’s perfect,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking from the viewfinder to you, his smile soft, encouraging. “Just like that.” There’s a quiet reverence in his tone, as if he’s in awe, like he’s seeing you in a way no one else ever has.

You shift, self-conscious, and he moves even closer, reaching out to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering at your temple. “You don’t have to hold back,” he says, voice low and close. “Just let go, Y/N. It’s only me.” His words sink in, their honesty disarming, making you feel safe, and you can’t help but let a small smile break through, the tension in your shoulders easing.

Mark smiles, his voice soft as he captures another shot. “See? You’re beautiful, exactly as you are,” he says, the words genuine, quiet, like he’s saying them more to himself than to you. His hand finds your shoulder again, his thumb brushing in a light, comforting circle as he adjusts the angle, his touch steadying you.

His gaze never wavers, and in the silence, he murmurs, “You make this look easy, you know that?” His fingers trail gently along your collarbone, adjusting your posture, his hand lingering just a moment longer than necessary, a warmth seeping through his touch.

“Mark…” you whisper, unsure of what to say, your voice barely audible.

Mark’s gaze holds steady, an unwavering confidence in his eyes as he lifts the camera and gives a slight nod. “Take off your sweater,” he says, voice low, almost a soft command. There’s no hesitation, no room for second-guessing in his tone, just a quiet assurance that makes your heart race.

“Mark?” you murmur, uncertain, searching his expression, feeling a flicker of nerves.

He smirks, the corner of his mouth tugging up in that playful, knowing way of his. “It’s for the sake of art,” he insists, a teasing edge to his voice. “You can’t argue with me on that.”

You feel a rush of heat spread through your cheeks, his words emboldening you. His gaze is steady, encouraging, his confidence somehow reassuring, and you find yourself trusting him, letting go of your hesitation. 

The sweater slips from your fingers and pools on the floor, leaving you in nothing but a lace bra, delicate and sheer, hugging your curves and revealing just enough to make the air between you feel electric. The lace clings to your skin, delicate patterns stretching across your chest, faintly exposing the shape of your breasts, the soft rise and fall with each breath, and the subtle peak of your nipples through the fabric. You can feel the cool air prickling your skin, heightening every sensation, every nerve ending alive under his gaze.

Mark’s eyes travel over you, lingering at the curves, the shadows, his gaze tracing every inch like he’s committing it to memory. His breath catches, almost imperceptibly, as his eyes roam over the lace, lingering at the exposed skin along your collarbone, dipping lower to take in the lines of your waist, the softness of your stomach. There’s a sharpness in his gaze, an intensity, but it’s the way his jaw tightens, the way his throat bobs with a quiet swallow that reveals the effect you’re having on him.

The camera hangs loosely in his hands, momentarily forgotten as he studies you, his gaze darkening with each second. You feel the weight of his attention, the way his eyes roam over the gentle curve of your hips, the delicate arch of your ribcage, as if he’s savoring every detail, reluctant to let any part of you go unnoticed.

He raises the camera again, and the click of the shutter feels heavier this time, intimate. With each shot, you feel more exposed, more seen. His silence speaks louder than any words, each subtle shift in his posture, each lingering look, making you feel like you’re the only thing that matters in the room.

Mark’s voice is a low, commanding whisper. “Take everything else off.”

You feel a surge of heat rush through you, your fingers lingering at the hem of your bra as you meet his gaze, challenging, steady. “You want me to strip for you?” Your voice carries a daring edge, matching the intensity of his.

You don’t wait for him to respond or to take all of the control. Instead, you lean in, grabbing the back of his neck, pulling him down with a force that matches the heat between you, crashing your lips into his. The kiss is raw, hungry, unrestrained, a fierce claim that leaves no space for hesitation. Your hands grip onto his shoulders, your nails dragging across his skin, feeling the hard muscle tense beneath as your touch ignites a fire between you both. His jaw clenches under your grip, and you let your lips roam, biting and sucking along the line of his neck, relishing the way his breath hitches, the way his body reacts to every bold touch, every demanding kiss.

He lets out a low growl, meeting your fervour, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies are pressed tight, his breath hot against your mouth. The kiss is messy, fierce, a clash of teeth and tongues, meeting each other’s roughness head-on. His hand finds your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp, and he takes advantage of the moment, pressing deeper, his tongue tracing over yours, tasting you with a hunger that’s as consuming as it is electric. Every movement is rough, every touch searing. 

You push him back, guiding him down onto the bed as you climb over him, pressing him firmly against the mattress. Your hands trace over his chest, feeling every line and curve of muscle, savouring the way his body responds to your touch. His hands grip your hips with a rough urgency, holding you close as you begin to grind against him, the friction between you intense and undeniable. The movement sends waves of heat through you, a building pressure that makes you both gasp, your bodies finding a rhythm together, every shift and grind drawing you closer.

You press down onto him, moving your hips in a steady rhythm, feeling the hardness beneath you, his body responding to each shift, each movement. There’s a delicious pressure that builds with every grind, his hands pressing firmly into your hips, guiding you, encouraging you to press even closer. The rough fabric of his jeans adds to the sensation, intensifying the friction, making each rock of your hips a mix of pressure and heat. You can feel his breath hitch, his body tensing beneath yours, every low groan that escapes him spurring you on, the sounds blending with your own gasps as you both lose yourselves in the feeling, the closeness, the raw connection building between you.

Your mouth finds his neck, leaving a trail of kisses as you rock against him, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, the low, raw sounds escaping from both of you. His hands press into your skin, pulling you against him with each grind, the friction building, your moans filling the air as you lose yourselves in the rhythm, a desperate, unrestrained connection as you both give in completely.

Without breaking away, you slide your hands down, gripping the hem of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as you start to lift it. There’s a sense of urgency in your movements, a building anticipation that makes your pulse race, but just as you begin to pull his shirt up, his hands catch your wrists, stopping you with a firm but gentle grip.

“Not yet,” he whispers, his breath warm against your lips as he leans in to press a soft, lingering kiss there. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze intense, searching. “I want to know more about you… everything you’re willing to tell me.” His words are quiet but hold a weight, a sincerity that sinks deep, leaving you feeling bare in a way that has nothing to do with clothes.

His steady gaze holds yours, and you feel your confident act slipping away, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. There’s a warmth in his eyes, a sense of safety that makes you want to open up, to let him in, even though sharing yourself hasn’t always come easily.

You hum softly, nodding, and he continues, his voice low and inviting. “Let’s play a game, hm? Tell me something about yourself that you’ve never told anyone, and for each secret, you get to take off one piece of my clothes.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you nod, feeling oddly comfortable, the way he looks at you making you feel secure, protected. Normally, you’d hesitate to let anyone in this close, but with him, it feels right, natural, as if he’s creating a space for you to share, to be yourself without judgment.

You take a breath, gathering your thoughts. “Alright… here’s one,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “When I was a kid, I used to sneak out at night, just to take photos of the sky and all of the constellations. I’d sit outside for hours. That's how my love for photography started. It was when I felt safest and most at peace.”

He smiles, the warmth in his eyes deepening, and without a word, he leans in, brushing his lips softly against yours, a tender kiss that holds a quiet reverence. You take the moment, slipping your hands under his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, letting it fall to the floor. He looks at you, bare-chested, his skin warm, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath.

You take him in, the lean lines of his torso revealed in the dim light. His skin is smooth and inviting, the muscles of his chest subtly defined, rising and falling with each steady breath. Your eyes trace the lines of his collarbone, down to the toned plane of his chest, where each contour hints at both strength and vulnerability.

You smile, feeling the intimacy between you grow, and decide to lighten the moment with your next fact. “Alright, here’s a weird one… I’m terrified of carrots,” you admit with a shy laugh, “and I have no idea why. It’s irrational.”

He chuckles, his laugh low and soft, his eyes crinkling with amusement. You giggle too, your laughter spilling over as you kiss him again, the lightheartedness making the moment feel even more genuine, more real. You climb off him for a second, struggling playfully as you work on unzipping his jeans, and he lifts his hips, sliding them off and tossing them to the floor with a grin.

In one quick motion, he pulls you back on top of him, his hands finding your thighs as he guides you down, holding you close. You start to grind against him again, you’re unable to resist. Your breaths mingle, a delicious friction building as you press down onto him, the heat between you intensifying. His hard length presses through the thin material of his boxers, and you let out a soft, high-pitched moan, feeling your own body respond, your hips moving of their own accord.

“You still have one more fact to tell me,” he murmurs, his voice teasing, his lips brushing your ear as he smirks, clearly enjoying how distracted you’re becoming.

You bite your lip, your hands splayed against his chest as you try to focus, the warmth of his body beneath you making it hard to think. He leans in close, his voice a low murmur. “You know, you haven’t even been fucked by my cock and you’re already this needy…”

As you reach the last barrier of his clothing, a sigh of relief escapes you. Your hands tremble slightly with anticipation as they move towards the zip on his jeans. But before you can pull it down, his hands clamp over yours, stopping you. His grip is firm, his expression stern yet amused by your obvious eagerness.

You pout deeply, frustration and desire mingling on your face. “I’ve told you enough, please take off your pants.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your desperation. “I don’t know, I think I’m going to need a little more detail, baby. What about being dominated do you like so much?” 

Caught off guard by his insistence on understanding your desires, you falter for a moment before admitting, “I like being pinned down,” your eyes flicking to his arms, imagining them restraining you, the thought alone sending a thrill through you.

“And what else?” he presses, leaning in closer.

“I like being slapped, spit on, choked, being fucked dumb. I just like feeling like I’ve completely lost control and the guy on top takes it,” you confess, your voice a whisper of raw honesty.

He smirks, his voice dropping to a seductive growl. “Oh, is that what you want from me? You want me to hold you down and fuck you so hard you forget your own name? You want me to use you, throw you around?”

You nod vigorously, “Mhm, now can I have your cock, pleaseee?” your whisper laden with need.

“I don’t know, it feels like there’s something you’re holding back,” he teases, his hands loosening their hold on yours, his own patience wearing thin as his desire builds.

Your cheeks burn with a blush as you quietly mumble, “I have a daddy kink…” His eyebrows raise slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement but he doesn’t comment, simply shakes his head in feigned disbelief and finally unzips his jeans.

You don’t waste any time, you pull down his boxers and his cock springs free, thick and hard, its sheer size both thrilling and nearly overwhelming. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening as you take in every inch, every pulse seeming to echo the growing need inside you. Vulnerability and desire mix within you, and you can’t tear your gaze away, the sight stirring something deep and all-consuming. A quiet gasp slips past your lips, your cheeks flushing as the thought of him inside you settles heavily, making you ache.

The moment stretches, your anticipation growing unbearable, and before you can stop yourself, a loud, needy moan escapes, filling the room with the raw, unfiltered sound of your desire. It shocks you, how loudly you moaned, as if your body was acting on its own, unable to contain just how badly you need him. The sound reverberates in the quiet space, and even as you try to stifle it, the moans keep slipping out. Your eyes drink in every detail of his cock, your body throbbing with hunger and anticipation that knots in your stomach, urging you closer.

Your mouth waters as you stare, the craving growing stronger with every second. You trace the length of him with wide eyes, the thickness and veins seeming almost unreal, the girth larger than anything you’d imagined. The head is flushed, every throb pulsing with a heat that leaves you dizzy. “Fuck—fuck,” you whimper, voice trembling as disbelief and raw hunger mix in the words. You can barely believe the size, the thickness that promises to fill every part of you, your body reacting instinctively, the longing drawing you closer to him.

Mark chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement as he catches your reaction. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Not what you expected?” he asks, voice low and teasing, full of a quiet confidence that makes your cheeks burn even more.

You shake your head, feeling a shy smile forming as you bite back a small “no,” your voice barely above a whisper. “Respectfully,” you add, voice trembling, “nice guys don’t have big cocks.” The words spill out, almost involuntarily, your gaze still locked on him, unable to look away, entranced.

He chuckles again, shaking his head, his smirk deepening as he watches you. “Who said I’m a nice guy?” he murmurs, the words carrying a promise that sends a thrill through you. You don’t realise it now, but you’re going to regret saying that.

“Come here,” he whispers, his voice rough but soft, drawing you closer with a gentle pull. His hands slide up your back, finding the clasp of your bra, and in one smooth movement, he unhooks it. His gaze is dark and intense as the fabric slips away, his eyes fixated on the way your breasts fall free, the soft curve of your skin catching the low light. His lips part slightly, and you catch the way his breathing hitches, almost like he’s savoring the sight. 

He doesn’t rush, doesn’t speak. Instead, his hands come up, fingers tracing along the swell of your chest before letting his palms cup and lift, making you gasp at the warmth and firmness of his touch. Each bounce, each subtle movement seems to captivate him, his gaze drinking in every detail as though he’s committing it to memory.

He doesn’t hold back, guiding your hips firmly as he slides your jeans and lace thong down in one fluid motion, leaving you both fully naked. You’re seated on his lap now, feeling every inch of his body pressed against yours, the heat between you almost unbearable. His cock rests beneath you, thick and solid, pressing up against your warmth, and you feel a pang of anticipation, desire twisting in your stomach. He watches you with a patient hunger, his hands resting at your hips, giving you the space to take him at your own pace.

Slowly, you begin to lower yourself, feeling the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance, stretching you in a way that feels almost impossible. As you sink down, the sheer size of him has you gasping, his girth filling every inch, forcing your body to accommodate his length. You feel yourself stretch around him, the pressure building as you inch lower, and a strangled moan escapes your lips. 

The fullness is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and an ache that borders on pain, and your hands grip his shoulders as if you’re afraid to let go. “God,” you whisper, barely able to speak. You stare at him in disbelief, feeling the sheer depth and thickness of him, every inch stretching you in ways you’ve never experienced. You’ve had a lot of sex, but you’ve never felt anything this big, this deep inside of you. Your voice trembles as you struggle to find words, the overwhelming sensation making it hard to breathe.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you adjust to him, your body reacting to the way he fills you so completely. “You’re… so big,” you murmur, voice cracking as your breathing quickens. Each inch you take seems to stretch you further, filling you more than you thought possible. He’s thick, almost too much to handle, and yet you can’t stop yourself from wanting every bit of him.

Mark’s gaze softens, a flicker of pride in his eyes as he watches the way you shake on top of him. His hands slide up to cradle your face, thumbs gently brushing away the tears that slip down your cheeks. He leans forward, his lips brushing your ear, and whispers softly, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” His voice is gentle, almost soothing, and his breath is warm against your skin. “Take your time, baby… let me feel you.”

Before you can fully adjust, he shifts his grip on your hips, and in one fluid motion, he flips the two of you, rolling you onto your back beneath him. The world spins for a brief second, your heart racing as you feel his weight press down, grounding you. His hands find your hips again, holding you steady, his eyes dark with intent as he leans over you, a soft smirk playing on his lips. You’re breathless, the depth of him now more intense as he angles himself above you, his gaze locked on yours as he slowly presses deeper

As he presses into you, the stretch is intense, nearly overwhelming. You feel the fullness, but it’s too much, and the ache borders on pain. Your hands fly up to cover your face as it twists in discomfort, trying to absorb the pressure and failing. “Mark, I—‘too big.’” You breathe out, barely able to get the words out as they’re forced through shallow gasps.

Mark looks down at you with the utmost care, his gaze soft and full of patience. He slides his cock out slowly, each inch easing the pressure, and it doesn’t take long—he’s barely inside of you. “That’s okay,” he whispers, voice low and comforting, brushing a few stray hairs from your face as you breathe deeply, trying to steady yourself. “We’ll just try again.” His words are so gentle, filled with such affection that it makes you dizzy, and you can’t help the small, shaky whimper that escapes you as you nod.

You look up at him, eyes searching his face, and he leans in close, pressing a soft, grounding kiss to your lips, his hands finding yours and gripping them firmly. “You think if I eat you out, it’ll make it easier for me to fuck you?” he murmurs, voice teasing, lips brushing yours. 

You pout, feeling the need still thrumming inside you, and sigh, “Just want your cock.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he kisses you again, trailing down your body. “And it’s all yours… just be patient with me, okay?” he whispers, his voice laced with warmth and care. He moves down, positioning his head in between your thighs, his eyes flicking up to meet yours one last time as his grip on your hand remains, grounding you. His other hand slides up your thigh, fingers pressing firmly as he pushes your legs wider, his touch sending a thrill through you.

Without another word, his mouth descends on you, his tongue flicking over your clit with a deliberate, rough pressure that makes you gasp, every nerve ending igniting under his touch. His mouth moves with an intensity that’s both passionate and unyielding, his tongue tracing slow, sensual circles before pressing firmly, flicking against you with a skill that sends jolts of pleasure straight through your core. He doesn’t let up, lips sealing around your clit, sucking softly, then harder, dragging you deeper into bliss with every motion. Your hips buck against his face, desperate for more, and he growls softly in response, the vibration sending shivers up your spine as he anchors you in place, his grip firm and possessive.

You tug harder on his hair, pulling him even closer, feeling his warm breath against your skin as he sinks his tongue inside you, thrusting and curling with a rhythm that leaves you gasping. He moves rougher, his tongue pressing deeper, tasting you with a hunger that’s almost primal, his hands sliding up to keep your thighs spread wide as he devours you, lost in the moment. Your legs tighten around his shoulders, locking him in place, and he responds with even more intensity, mouth working you harder, deeper, his lips brushing against your slick skin as his tongue finds your clit again, circling it with maddening precision.

With one final, perfectly timed flick of his tongue, the tension snaps, and you’re sent spiraling over the edge. Your body arches, shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, each pulse more intense than the last. Mark stays exactly where he is, his mouth locked on you, drawing out every last tremor, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from your body. His hands grip your thighs, possessive and steady, keeping you firmly in place as he savors every second of your release.

Even as your body goes limp beneath him, trembling and breathless, his tongue continues its slow, gentle strokes, easing you down from the high, until you’re left blissfully spent in his hands, every nerve tingling in the aftermath.

Mark’s gaze darkens as he presses a wet, lingering kiss right against your core. The way his tongue flicks over you sends an involuntary shiver up your spine, his mouth exploring you with slow, deliberate attention. His lips leave you breathless, a mix of pleasure and anticipation curling through your body as he pulls back, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

He straightens up, positioning himself at your entrance, his hand gripping your thigh firmly. “Ready for me again, baby?” he murmurs, voice a husky promise as he holds your gaze. With a slow, steady push, he slides inside, inch by inch, letting you feel the stretch, the delicious pressure as he fills you. His eyes flicker with intensity, every movement calculated, controlled. A low, satisfied groan escapes him as he presses further, savoring every moment as he sinks deeper, letting you feel every inch.

His lips meet yours in a soft kiss, the warmth of his mouth contrasting with the steady pressure below. “You feel so good,” he whispers against your lips, his words a low, soothing hum. His thrusts remain slow and unhurried, each one pushing deeper, brushing every sensitive spot, his cock moving with deliberate precision, heightening every sensation. His hand trails up, cradling the back of your neck as he kisses you again, letting the intensity build in the rhythm he sets, every movement designed to keep you on the edge, drawing out your pleasure with each slow, consuming thrust.

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you, the combination of his gentle encouragement and the feeling of him stretching you making you feel vulnerable and cherished all at once. He watches you intently, his gaze darkening as he feels you around him. “God, you’re so tight for me,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough whisper that sends a shiver through you. His hands grip your waist, holding you firmly as he moves slowly, letting you feel the full stretch, every inch of him pressing deeper, unhurried and deliberate.

“You’re filling me so perfectly,” you murmur, barely able to keep your voice steady, each slow, deliberate thrust making you shiver. “Please, don’t stop… I want all of you.” The words spill from your lips in a quiet plea, your body arching into him, craving the closeness, the depth.

He presses a tender kiss to your jaw, trailing soft kisses down your neck as you adjust to him, each movement sending a wave of pleasure through you. His hands rest at your waist, guiding you with a patience that contrasts the intensity of the moment. “Look at you,” he murmurs softly, a hint of awe in his voice. “Taking me so well like you were made for me.”

He hovers above you, his hands pressing firmly against your hips to keep you in place as he rolls his hips forward, each subtle movement drawing a soft cry from you. His touch is steady, grounding, his gaze fixed on yours with a smirk tugging at his lips. Leaning down, his mouth brushes against your ear, his breath warm and thick with satisfaction. “Just like that,” he whispers, voice low and controlled, laced with pride. “I knew you could take me… you’re doing so well.” His lips hover near your ear, his words fanning over your skin, deep and reassuring. He inches in further, each slow thrust emphasising the stretch, pushing you to feel every bit of him.

He groans softly, his lips capturing yours in a brief, hungry kiss, his mouth warm and possessive before he pulls back. With painstaking slowness, he sinks into you again, inch by inch, the stretch intense as your body instinctively tightens around him. Every shift of his hips sends a spark of pleasure coursing through you, his cock pressing deeper, thick and pulsing, letting you feel the full weight of him as he takes his time.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice rough with desire, his grip firm on your hips as he holds you steady. The deliberate pace keeps you teetering on the edge, the friction building as he fills you completely with each slow, controlled thrust. Unable to hold back, you lift your hips to meet his movements, grinding up against him, seeking more. Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging in as you move with him, matching the rhythm he’s set, each roll of your hips bringing him deeper, sparking pleasure that leaves you gasping.

Your breath catches as you rock against him, the ache of desire driving you to push up, to take him further, your body arching in response to every deliberate thrust. “Please,” you whisper, the need undeniable as you move under him, craving the fullness, the heat of his skin against yours. Your breath catches, body arching instinctively, craving more, needing him to fill you fully. But he keeps his pace torturously steady, making you feel every inch as he fills you, pulling back just enough to leave you aching.

A low groan escapes him as he watches you, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You want me to go harder, don’t you?” His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing over your skin as he holds you steady, grounding you beneath him, each touch leaving a warmth that only makes you crave him more.

You nod, lips parted in a soft gasp, eyes pleading. “Yes.” You whisper, voice trembling, the word escaping you in a quiet, desperate plea. “I need more…”

He smirks as he leans close, his breath hot against your skin, his voice a low, intoxicating growl. "I know how much you need it," he murmurs, each word dripping with control, teasing you with every deliberate thrust. The way he fills you-inch by inch-stretches you in a way that has your body clenching desperately around him, pushing you closer to the edge with every slow, deep movement.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, clutching onto him, your breaths ragged as you finally let the word spill from your lips, barely a whisper. "Please, daddy," you gasp, voice trembling with need, the desperation in your tone sparking a darker look in his eyes. 

"That’s my good girl," he growls. The slow, torturous build finally shatters as he lets go, hips snapping forward with a force that has you gasping, every thrust deeper, harder. His grip on you is firm, fingers digging into your skin as he watches you tremble, a possessive edge in his gaze as he fills you again and again.

“God, look at you,” he growls, voice thick with satisfaction, eyes heavy with desire. “Taking every inch… like you’re made for me.” His voice is low, a murmur that’s somehow gentle despite the roughness of his thrusts. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, his pace relentless, the force of each thrust making you moan, your cries mixing with his own low groans.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he chuckles softly, taking in the desperate whimpers escaping you. “I know, baby,” he murmurs, the mockery gone, his voice softer, filled with something deeper. “I’ve got you… don’t worry.” He pushes into you deeper, grinding his hips in a way that has you arching, needing every inch.

“Please… don’t stop,” you gasp, voice breaking as he pounds into you, his movements leaving you breathless, your body clinging to his as he fills you again and again, rougher, harder, until the tension is unbearable.

He watches you, his gaze warm yet possessive, hand slipping down to press between your thighs, fingers teasing as he brings you closer to the edge. “Such a tight pussy,” he breathes, voice low and reverent as he watches you fall apart beneath him, his hands gripping your thighs to spread you open as he drives into you with raw, unrelenting force. “So beautiful… so perfect.”

His hips slam into you with an unrestrained rhythm, each thrust harder and faster than the last, sending shockwaves through your body. Your legs tighten around his waist, locking him in as he finds that perfect angle, hitting it relentlessly, making you see stars. The pleasure is overwhelming, building with every stroke, your body arching up to meet his as he drives deeper, every inch filling you completely, stretching you in ways that make you gasp. Your nails scrape down his back as you cling to him, losing all control, the sensation pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your breath catches, turning into desperate, breathless moans that rise in pitch as he keeps going, unrelenting. You feel yourself spiralling, every nerve on fire as the tension coils tight. Just when you can’t hold back anymore, his pace quickens, and you scream his name. “Oh god, yes! Right there.” The sounds that release from you were raw and uncontrolled, echoing around you as your body clenches around him, your release crashing over you in waves. He doesn’t stop, his thrusts hard and deep, riding out every pulse, keeping you suspended in that overwhelming high, both of you completely lost in each other.

“Look at me,” he coaxes, his thumb brushing over your hip as he pulls back slightly before sinking back in, his gaze locked onto yours, absorbing each gasp that escapes your lips. He presses his hand down on your lower stomach, a bulge forming beneath his palm as he fills you to the hilt. “You feel me here?” he murmurs, voice thick, watching your reaction as the pressure intensifies. “That’s all for you.” The sensation makes you tremble, every nerve coming alive under his touch, grounding you in the overwhelming intensity of each slow, deep movement.

“I could stay like this forever, buried inside you,” he says, each word reverberating through you as his hand stays firm against your stomach, feeling every thrust. His hands glide up your back, pulling you closer, his lips capturing yours in a gentle kiss that contrasts the raw intensity below. “I want you to feel every inch, baby,” he whispers, his gaze never leaving yours, rocking into you deeply, each stroke unhurried but consuming. “This is all for you.”

The pressure builds, overwhelming and all-consuming, and you feel yourself clenching tighter around him, unable to hold back. “I’m gonna cum,” you gasp, your voice breaking as the words tumble out, raw and desperate. The sensation is electric, each thrust pushing you closer, and he grips your hips, pulling you down to meet him with every powerful stroke.

“Do it,” he growls, his voice thick with need, his gaze locked onto yours as he watches you unravel. His movements quicken, his cock throbbing inside you, stretching you to the limit, and just as your release crashes over you, he lets go, spilling into you as he presses deep, holding you against him. The heat of his release fills you, his moans low and guttural as he pulses within you, every inch of him flooding you completely, and you tremble beneath him, gasping for air as the waves of pleasure leave you both breathless and spent.

“Good girl,” he whispers against your lips, his voice soft yet filled with a lingering possessiveness that leaves you flustered, speechless, and overwhelmed by the intensity of what just happened. The warmth of his touch, the weight of his gaze—it all feels so intimate, so unlike anything you’ve experienced before.

Before you know it, he’s lifting you into his arms, carrying you effortlessly to the shower. The warmth of the water surrounds you as he gently cleans you, his hands moving with a tender care that soothes every aching muscle. He massages your shoulders, trails body wash over your skin, and you feel completely cared for in his embrace. This is new, this level of affection and attention after something so intense. With Jeno, it was always straight to sleep, never this depth. But with Mark, you find yourself spending the night held close, his arms wrapped around you, feeling safe, satisfied, and genuinely cherished for the first time in a long while.

───────────────────────────────

The morning sun spilled gently through the curtains, casting a soft glow that illuminated the room with a warm, amber light. You were wrapped securely in Mark’s arms, the comforting presence of his body intertwined with yours under the soft sheets. For the first time in ages, you woke feeling completely at peace, savoring the best sleep you’d had in so long. The thought flickered through your mind that you could definitely get used to mornings like this.

However, tranquility shattered the instant you opened your eyes and saw Karina standing at the foot of the bed, her eyes wide and fixed on both of you. Panic surged through your veins, and a scream escaped your lips, sharp and loud. Karina, equally startled, screamed back, the sound echoing in the small room.

Mark, awoken by the commotion, sat up abruptly. His eyes darted to Karina, but he remained silent, assessing the situation with a calm that contrasted sharply with the chaos of the moment.

She stood frozen, her eyes darting between you and Mark, her expression a complex tapestry of shock, confusion, and something deeper—perhaps hurt. The air felt charged, heavy with words unspoken and questions unasked.

“Karina, I—” Your voice broke as you scrambled for words, the initial panic giving way to a deep-seated embarrassment. You clutched the sheet to your chest, acutely aware of your nakedness.

Mark’s hand found yours under the sheets, giving a reassuring squeeze. Unlike your visible distress, he remained unnervingly calm, his gaze steady on Karina. “It’s not what it looks like,” You started, but the cliché sounded hollow even to your own ears.

Karina’s eyebrows knitted together, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt as she struggled to find the right words. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, the struggle evident in her face. Finally, managing to push past the lump in her throat, she asked in a choked voice, “How long?”

You could feel Mark tense beside you, the muscles in his body tightening as he absorbed the weight of her question, laden with implications and unspoken accusations. He remained silent, however, allowing you to handle the conversation, understanding his unfamiliarity with Karina meant it was not his place to speak.

“Only once, we’ve only fucked once so far.” You began, your voice soft, attempting to keep the situation calm, “can we talk about this outside?” The bedsheet clutched tightly in your hands, you tried to convey sincerity, hoping she’d agree to a more private discussion away from the charged atmosphere of the bedroom.

You watched as Karina’s gaze shifted to you, her eyes searching yours. There was a sadness there, deep and poignant, hinting at more than just the shock of the discovery. Swallowing hard, you slipped from the bed, wrapping yourself in the sheet and stepping toward her.

“Please, Karina, don’t tell anyone,” you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hands reached out, touching her arm lightly. “I know this is a lot, but we didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

You grabbed Karina’s hand, the urgency to maintain privacy pressing upon you. With a gentle tug, you led her towards the door, placing a finger to your lips to signal the need for silence. Together, you tiptoed across the room, your whispers merging with the soft creaks of the floorboards, ensuring your voices remained low enough to evade Mark’s ears.

Karina’s mood shifted abruptly, leaving you momentarily disoriented as her shock morphed into a whirlwind of excitement. Her hands came together with a clap, her eyes widening with a childlike glee as she squealed, “How did this happen?”

You laughed, the sound mingling with a sigh of relief. Though you weren’t entirely sure if her excitement was genuine, it was certainly a welcome change from the suspicion and disappointment. “He just came to my room, and we started talking, and one thing led to another,” you mumbled, keeping your voice low, still half-wrapped in the sheet.

You let out a breath, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you recalled the unexpected turn of events. “It was unexpected, he sked if he could help with my assignment, so I said yeah. I took photos of him, and then he took my camera and started taking photos of me. He asked me to take my clothes off, and yeah… it just went off from there.”

Her eyes widened even further, and she gasped dramatically, leaning in closer. “His cock?”

You stifled a moan at the memory, nodding slightly at her unspoken question. “It’s so big.”

“And how was he?” Karina leaned in, her curiosity piqued as if she were gathering details for a juicy story.

“He was good, yeah, really good,” you confessed, your cheeks heating up as you remembered the intensity. “He definitely knows how to handle a girl. Clearly not his first time.” You paused, biting your lip as you considered how much to share. “And… he was holding back a bit because, you know, it was a lot for me at first. It took a few tries for him to even get fully inside of me.”

Karina’s eyes sparkled with a mix of astonishment and amusement. “So, are you guys, like, a thing now, or was this a one-time thing?”

You hesitated, the reality of the situation settling in. “I’m not sure yet. We haven’t really defined anything. It just happened so fast, and now I’m trying to wrap my head around it all.” A rush of boldness swept over you as you added, “But honestly, I wouldn’t mind fucking him more. He feels really good inside of me.”

Karina nodded, her expression turning a tad more serious. “Just be careful, okay? I mean, it’s exciting and all, but don’t get swept away without considering the consequences.”

You appreciated her concern, knowing it stemmed from a place of friendship and care. “I will,” you assured her, feeling a mixture of gratitude and caution. “Thanks, Karina. It means a lot to have you looking out for me.”

After reassuring Karina that you would catch up with her properly later, you offer her a smile as she heads downstairs to grab some breakfast. The moment she’s out of sight, you let out a deep sigh of relief and make your way back into the bedroom. The air feels heavy, saturated with the lingering tension of the earlier encounter.

Mark is still lying in bed, his eyes closed, seemingly lost in thought or perhaps trying to grasp the remnants of sleep. As you approach, he senses your presence and without opening his eyes, reaches out to pull you back into the warmth of his embrace. His skin is warm against yours, but it does little to soothe the chill of apprehension that has crept into your bones. Gently, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, a silent reassurance amidst the storm of emotions.

“All okay?” he whispers, his voice low and concerned as he pulls you closer, seeking to envelop you in his security.

You nod against his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing steadying your own. “Yeah, I just told her not to tell anyone until we figure out what this is.” Your voice is a mix of determination and worry, echoing the complexity of your feelings.

He sighs, a sound that carries a mix of relief and something else—perhaps resignation or a touch of dread for the complications yet to come. “Okay, good,” he murmurs, his arms tightening around you as if to fortify you both against the challenges ahead.

As you lay there, tucked into Mark’s embrace, the room fills with a silence that speaks louder than words. The conversation with Karina, while out of earshot, hangs over you like a specter, its implications darkening the edges of this quiet moment. The reality of your situation, of the secret you now both carried, was weighty and complex. You wonder about the fragility of this newfound attraction you had for Mark, about how the truth, once disclosed, might alter everything.

His steady heartbeat against your ear is a constant reminder of the present, of the choices you’ve made, and the ones still looming ahead. Mark’s hand moves to stroke your hair gently, a soothing gesture that belies the anxiety that you both feel. “Stop worrying and just close your eyes, get some sleep,” he says soothingly, his voice a calming balm. “I got you.”

You press closer, feeling the heat of his naked body against yours, a vivid reminder of how you fucked earlier even after your bath, when you both surrendered to a series of intense, passionate rounds. “Okay,” you whisper back, letting the firmness of his embrace and the sincerity in his words soothe you towards sleep.

───────────────────────────────

The cool autumn air nipped at your skin as you made your way to the gymnasium for another away match. Despite the warmth and safety you had felt wrapped in Mark’s arms earlier that morning, reality beckoned. The game was due to start within the hour, and the atmosphere around the court was buzzing with anticipation.

As you approached, the scene unfolded vibrantly before you. The team was already on the court, running drills and warming up with a focused intensity. Nearby, your fellow cheerleaders were gathered, practicing their routines and cheering, their voices rising in synchronized chants that filled the air with excitement.

You slipped into your cheer uniform with a sense of resignation, feeling the familiar snugness of the sleek, blue and gold ensemble that hugged your figure and ended in a flared skirt. Although the outfit usually made you feel pretty and empowered, today it felt more like a costume you were obligated to wear. As you tied your hair up and secured your pompoms, it wasn’t giddiness that washed over you, but a sense of duty; you were dragging yourself through the motions, mustering the energy to perform your role despite not wanting to be there.

The game kicked off with high energy as you took your place on the sidelines. From here, you had a clear view of both the game and the entrance. You noticed Jeno frequently glancing towards the door with an expression of mixed anticipation and dread. When his father finally appeared, taking a seat in the stands with a stern posture and an unyielding gaze, you saw Jeno’s demeanor change instantly. His movements on the court became forceful, overly aggressive as if each pass and shot were a desperate plea for approval.

“Jeno seems really tense today, doesn’t he?” Karina leaned over and whispered to you as she noticed his aggressive gameplay.

“Yeah, his dad just showed up,” you replied, nodding towards the imposing figure in the stands.

Jeno’s father was a strict, uptight man with sharp features that seemed permanently etched into a frown. His presence was commanding, and his eyes rarely showed emotion, giving him a cold, intimidating aura. You had seen him a few times before but had always avoided interaction; his severe demeanor and the tension that followed him were enough to keep you at a distance.

As the game unfolded, Jeno and Mark, despite the clear tension and their notably strained relationship, surprisingly found a rhythm together on the court. Their coordinated movements and strategic plays became increasingly effective, slowly winning over the crowd.

Donghyuck’s voice boomed over the speakers, narrating the match with enthusiasm, “And what a play by the brothers! Despite the family drama we’ve all heard about, Mark and Jeno are turning up the heat on the court!”

Mark executed a swift, strategic pass to Jeno, aiming to capitalize on a brief opening in the opposing team’s defense. However, under the weight of his father’s intense scrutiny and the mounting pressure, Jeno fumbled the catch. The ball slipped through his fingers, rolling off to be intercepted by a player from the opposing team. This mistake quickly turned into a counterattack, resulting in the opposing team scoring a crucial point. The crowd’s reaction was immediate—murmurs of disappointment and frustration filled the air, mirroring the dismay on Jeno’s face as he glanced apologetically towards Mark. 

His voice cut sharply through the commotion of the crowd, not with generic cheers but with pointed, critical commands. “Jeno, focus! Stop getting distracted!” he barked, loud enough for not just Jeno but everyone nearby to hear. His words, filled with frustration and command, resonated across the court, causing some of the other spectators to shift uncomfortably in their seats. The intense scrutiny and public criticism only added to the tense atmosphere, underlining the challenging dynamics that Jeno was grappling with during the game.

“Tempers are really heating up on the court!” Donghyuck observed, his tone reflecting the palpable tension filling the gym. “It’s clear there’s a lot more at stake here than just points and plays.”

The tension reached a boiling point when an opposing player fouled Jeno aggressively. Mark instinctively stepped in, his reaction quick and protective. The situation quickly spiraled into a physical altercation, with teammates and referees rushing to intervene. The crowd gasped and murmured as the players were pulled apart, the underlying familial pressures and frustrations manifesting in the chaos on the court.

After the game, as the crowd began to disperse, you saw Jeno’s father approach him, his voice stern as he critiqued Jeno for his “lack of control” on the court. His cold dismissal of his son’s efforts was painful to witness, and as you watched, your understanding of the toxic dynamics within their family deepened.

Feeling a profound sympathy for Mark, who had tried to protect his brother despite the personal cost, you decided to approach him. Mark was sitting on the bench, nursing a bruise that had formed on his arm and a visible injury on his face. You walked over cautiously, your approach gentle, trying to convey your concern without overwhelming him.

“Hey, that was some game,” you started, your tone deliberately light but tinged with genuine concern at his injuries.

He glanced up, managing a weak smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s nothing serious. Just a scratch,” he murmured, referring to the bruising that was starting to bloom along his arm and face.

“Do you wanna come with me?” he asked suddenly, his voice low as he stood up stiffly from the bench.

“Where?” you replied, curious about his sudden urge to escape.

“I don’t know where. I just need to get away from here,” he confessed, his gaze drifting towards the direction to the locker room, a quiet spot away from the remaining spectators.

Following his lead, the door shut behind you with a definitive thud, sealing off the outside world. Mark turned to you, his expression a mix of vulnerability and need. Without a word, he stepped closer, reducing the space between you. His gaze locked onto yours for a brief moment, then his hands found the small of your back, pulling you firmly against him. In one swift, fluid motion, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was hard and urgent, his mouth moving against yours with a force that spoke of deep desperation. 

Mark’s hands moved to your waist, his grip both firm and gentle. He lifted you slightly, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. The closeness intensified, your bodies pressing together in a way that felt both thrilling and dangerous. He began to sit down on a nearby bench, pulling you even closer, but a sudden rush of awareness made you pull back. Shaking your head, you tried to slide off his lap, realizing the inevitable outcome—a quick, intense sexual encounter with him, the thought of his cock sliding into you making you pause. You were both intensely horny, and the risk of being caught only added to the tension.

Mark, sensing your hesitation, tightened his grip, his fingers digging into your skin with a silent plea. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a firm, urgent kiss that conveyed his desire clearly. As he pulled back slightly, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips as he whispered, “Stay.” The firmness of his erection pressed against you, a clear and insistent signal of his arousal. Overwhelmed by the intensity of his need, and the undeniable physical connection sparking between you, your resolve melted away. You let out a soft sigh of relief and settled back down onto him, no longer able to resist the compelling force of his touch. The heat of his body enveloped you, driving away any lingering doubts as you both succumbed to the thrilling urgency of the moment.

At his gentle coaxing, you had moved closer, positioning yourself to straddle his lap while being mindful of his injuries. As you settled onto him, his hands rested lightly on your hips, guiding you down with care. The smile he gave you was tender, almost grateful, and you couldn’t help but return it with a sweet, somewhat mischievous grin, secretly pleased that he had convinced you to sit so close. The proximity was immediate and electric; the contact sparked a palpable energy that coursed through you both, your heartbeat syncing with his in a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing.

Your gaze flickers briefly toward the first aid kit positioned on a nearby bench. Reaching for the first aid kit, you felt the shift in his breathing as you moved, his chest rising more sharply against yours. “You don’t have to,” he murmured, his hands sliding to your lower back, holding you securely, almost as if he was afraid you’d pull away.

“It’s okay. I want to take care of you,” you responded, your voice barely above a whisper as you opened the kit and began to extract the necessary supplies. You turned back to face him, meeting his gaze. There was a warmth there, inviting and deep, pulling you in. Slowly, deliberately, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. It was a gentle brush, tender but laden with all the emotions stirring between you.

Mark responded instinctively, his lips parting slightly under yours as one of his hands moved to cradle the back of your neck, guiding the kiss into something less cautious, more open. You could feel the roughness of his palm, a stark contrast to the softness of the kiss. His other hand traveled up, tracing the line of your spine through the fabric of your uniform, sending shivers of anticipation skittering down your back.

The air was charged as you carefully wrapped the bandage around his arm, the close proximity intensifying every subtle touch. Each circle of the bandage over his skin brought your fingers grazing against him, feeling the warmth of his body and the tension in his muscles responding to your care. His sharp intake of breath when the bandage pulled slightly too tight made you pause.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice a soft whisper laden with concern, noticing his wince.

He shook his head gently, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of pain and a deeper, more intense longing. “It’s okay, not your fault.” He reassured you, his voice rough, edged with a raw emotion that sent shivers down your spine. His hands then moved from your hips, gliding up to your thighs, his touch deliberate and increasingly bold, pressing you closer against him.

Mark’s hands moved with purpose as he slid them under your skirt, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of your thighs. He pressed and kneaded your flesh with a fervent urgency, each movement deliberate and intense. His touch was skilled, confident as he explored, drawing you in tightly against him. Your bodies pressed closer, nearly fusing as his hands continued their assertive dance over your skin, heightening the physical connection between you.

The locker room was filled with the sound of your heavy, mingled breaths, punctuated by the subtle rustling of fabric as his hands explored further. The growing heat between you was palpable, Mark’s arousal pressing firmly against you, signaling his desire. A soft giggle escaped your lips, smothered by his in a kiss that was both hungry and profound.

“Baby… why don’t you ride my cock?” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with unchecked desire, each word vibrating through you.

You pulled back slightly, your cheeks flushed with a mix of desire and bashfulness. “In here? People are gonna walk in on us and see us,” you whispered back, the thrill of being caught adding a sharp edge to your arousal.

With a nonchalant shrug and a dark, intense look in his eyes, he repeated, “I don’t mind,” his voice deep and seductive. It was an offer of sheer recklessness, and as you gazed into his eyes, you felt a daring part of yourself responding with equal fervor.

“I can’t believe you still have the energy, especially after this match.” You teased, your breath hot against his lips, 

Mark, feeling your hesitation, intensified his grip, his hands firm on your hips as he pulled you closer. He kissed you deeply, his lips urgent against yours, effectively silencing any lingering doubts. As he broke the kiss, his face stayed close, his breath mingling with yours. “I’ll always have time for you,” he whispered huskily, his voice thick with desire. His hands roamed assertively over your body, tracing the curve of your spine, then sliding forward to the edge of your cheer uniform. His touch was deliberate, igniting sparks of arousal that radiated through your core. The hardness pressing against you was impossible to ignore, and his movements suggested he was more than ready to continue despite the day’s exertions. 

As the heat between you intensified, you suddenly felt overwhelmed. Despite Mark’s firm grip, you managed to slide off his lap, your cheeks burning with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. He sighed deeply, a low moan escaping him as he leaned back, his head tipping upwards and his eyes closing in frustration.

“I—we should probably head back to the motel,” you stammered, your words tumbling out in a rush. “There’s the curfew, and…” Your voice trailed off, not quite sure how to navigate the sudden shift in atmosphere.

Mark opened his eyes and looked at you, a flash of understanding crossing his features before he sighed again, resigning himself to the reality of the situation. He stood up, the lines of his body tense yet controlled. Moving closer, he wrapped an arm securely around you, his touch now protective rather than persuasive. “Let’s go then,” he said, his tone gentle. 

───────────────────────────────

As Mark draped his arm around your shoulders, the warmth of his touch contrasted with the cool air of the nearly empty gymnasium. The game was over, but the echo of bouncing basketballs still lingered as you both made your way towards the motel. Despite the intense moments in the locker room where Mark had coaxed and almost persuaded you to cross the line, you hadn’t ended up having sex. Yet, that didn’t diminish his touchy, affectionate nature that enveloped you now.

His lips found yours again, drawing a giggle from you as his kisses landed with a mix of playfulness and passion. He stopped walking, right in the middle of the gymnasium, and his hands cupped your face as he kissed you deeply, passionately. You responded without hesitation, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer, sinking into the warmth of his embrace, feeling the firmness of his body against yours.

But as the heat between you intensified, reality nudged at your consciousness. You were literally in public, and the risk of being seen was too great. Reluctantly, you pulled away with a jolt, gasping for air. Your breath came in heavy, uneven bursts as you whispered, almost fearfully, “People will see us.”

Mark smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body a solid barrier against any lingering hesitation. “Look around, no one’s here,” he murmured against your ear, his voice a soothing whisper that steadied your racing heart. His reassurance, soft and certain, drew you back into his gravitational pull.

He kissed your lips again, softer this time, a tender brush that promised more but ended too soon, pulling back just enough to let you catch your breath yet not enough to let you retreat. “See? It’s just me and you here,” he reassured you with a gentle smile.

“Just me and you,” you repeated, your voice a whisper as you leaned in closer, your forehead resting against his.

“Good girl,” he affirmed softly, his breath warm against your skin, his approval sending a shiver down your spine.

Emboldened, you closed the small distance, pressing your lips to his in a kiss filled with all the pent-up desire of the evening. He chuckled, a low sound that vibrated through you, and met your desperation with equal fervour, his kiss deepening, hands roaming over your back as if memorising every curve.

A cough shattered the intimate atmosphere, snapping your heads towards the sound. The sudden intrusion spiked anxiety through your veins, a feeling that only intensified as you saw who was watching you with a judgmental yet amused expression: Lee Taeyong, Jeno and Mark’s father.

“Let’s go,” Mark muttered tersely. He didn’t acknowledge his father, didn’t meet his eyes. It was as if Taeyong were invisible to him, a poignant reversal of how Taeyong had always treated Mark—as if he never existed in his heart, never seen as his son.

Mark gripped your hand, his touch firm, and began to walk in the opposite direction, but you froze when Taeyong’s rough, sneering voice cut through the tension.

“Jumping from one Lee to the next, aren’t we? I never took you for a whore, Y/N.” He said, his voice laden with a contemptuous snicker that echoed through the empty gym. His eyes scanned you with a cold, scrutinizing look that felt like an overt accusation of your character.

Mark’s response was immediate; his knuckles whitened as he balled his hands into fists, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he fought the urge to confront his father physically. Yet, he managed to maintain a semblance of calm, drawing in deep breaths to steady himself.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Mark’s voice was low, dangerously controlled. “Don’t even look at her. You have no right to judge, not after everything. Watch it, Taeyong.”

The intensity in Mark’s voice was unmistakable, a clear warning laced with years of pent-up frustration and anger. His stance was protective, placing himself subtly between you and his father, his body language declaring that he wouldn’t tolerate any more insults.

Grabbing your hand, he pulled you away firmly, his steps quick and decisive as he led you towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, his voice still tense but softer now, directed only at you. As you walked away, the weight of his father’s words lingered, but Mark’s defense reassured you, his loyalty clear and unwavering in the face of his father’s provocation.

The cold air hit your faces as you stepped outside, the gym’s heavy atmosphere replaced by the night’s sharp chill. Your mind was racing, anxiety swirling within as the reality of Taeyong’s potential backlash began to set in. It was undeniable—Taeyong knowing about you and Mark could never be good. You feared he would use this revelation against you, perhaps even as a weapon in some twisted game of control.

As you glanced at Mark, you saw the changes in him: his usually expressive eyes were now stormy and distant, his jaw set in a hard line. The grip he had on your hand tightened, not painfully, but with a protective intensity that was both comforting and slightly alarming. He was silent as you walked, each step seeming to take him further into his own turbulent thoughts.

The silence between you stretched, filled only with the echo of your footsteps and the distant hum of the city around you. The tension from the confrontation hung heavily, a foreboding shadow that neither of you could shake off.

As you reached the car, Mark broke the heavy silence, his voice low and tinged with regret. “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he said, his expression somber. “Don’t listen to him, okay? Not a word he says.”

“It’s not your fault,” you replied softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, trying to ease the weight of the situation he carried.

Mark shook his head slightly, a determined edge to his voice as he looked you directly in the eyes. “No, but don’t believe a word that idiot says. It’s all just noise.” His hand reached up to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your face, a protective gesture that softened his stern expression.

“I know,” you murmured, feeling the solidarity between you strengthening despite the shadows of the night’s events.

As you drove through the quiet streets, a gnawing fear took hold. You found yourself praying that Taeyong wouldn’t escalate things further, especially not involving Jeno. The uncertainty of what lay ahead left you uneasy, the comfort of Mark’s presence a small solace against the potential storm that might be brewing.

───────────────────────────────

taglist — @keelbeel @d3nbl4d3 @hyuckkklee @ahgasezennie @second-floors @lovetaroandtaemin @steadyparkjisungbookishspy @xuyiyang @remgeolli @toroufriteh

author’s note — hiiii i hope you enjoyed :) make sure to leave a follow, a like, an ask or just interact or lmk what you thought!!

[pillowkissed]

REMUS LUPIN.ᐟ

a little list of my favorite stories ୨ৎ remember to be kind, reblog, and support the wonderful authors who share their magic with us.ᐟ

NOTE ಇ. none of these stories belong to me ♡ if you’d like your fic removed, just send me a message, and i’ll take care of it!

photographer!remus x model!reader by @ellecdc

⁀➴༯ where you end up being remus's big break

REVIEW ୨ৎ oh my god. this was gorgeous. the way remus sees the world, the way he sees her, i feel like i’m intruding on something so so personal. and remus being so effortlessly poetic without even realizing it?? i’m in love. like damn rem! i was giggling and kicking my feet. it was perfect

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

remus x blacksister!reader by @ghostwritermia

⁀➴༯ with a haunted mind you look for solace in books, when you really needed it from your boyfriend, and he happily gave it to you

REVIEW ୨ৎ oh god, mia, this was so soft and comforting. remus is literally the sweetest, the way he just knows what she needs without asking?? i love how gentle and reassuring he is, especially when she starts doubting their relationship. “ours, not theirs” absolutely got me. and the little details—him kissing her dimples, her drawing on his scars while he reads?? i'm melting. this was so cozy and full of love! i identify as a melted puddle now

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

dad!remus x mom!reader by @lupinsweater

⁀➴༯ where they get woken up by their daughter

REVIEW ୨ৎ shay, i adore you and your writing so much omg! this one was especially so soft and warm, it felt like a perfect little snapshot of happiness. remus being the sweetest dad ever?? his little girl immediately seeking him out for comfort?? i’m melting. the way he holds her so gently and reassures her that she can always snuggle with him—ugh, my heart. and that last line?? “we’re so lucky”??? yeah, i’m crying. this was pure love in fic form! melted my heart, truly

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

simple loving by @kquil

⁀➴༯ just them appropriately loving on each other, chaste kisses on shoulders and wrists while sitting in positions that may not look innocent, but it doesn’t go farther them that

REVIEW ୨ৎ mum, this was so cute and playful omg. remus being all soft and doting?? feeding each other like that?? i’m kicking my feet. and then him just completely ignoring their friends’ reactions to keep being affectionate with reader?? obsessed. also lily shutting james down immediately at the end sent me! absolute perfection. i started reading as a human and finished as a puddle of pure goo

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

pirate!remus lupin x reader by @thatdammchickennugget

⁀➴༯ remus getting protective over reader when another crew member flirts with her

REVIEW ୨ৎ pirate!remus omg. this is everything. the way he just casually threatens jack with going overboard?? and jack actually takes it seriously because he knows remus isn’t bluffing?? yes please. also the way remus checks in on reader afterward, making sure she’s okay, gently intertwining their fingers?? i’m swooning. absolute peak protective yet soft remus. i was smiling so hard my face is now permanently stuck like this

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

remus x whimsical!reader by @/thatdammchickennugget

⁀➴༯ lost in the woods... where they start talking about everything while "looking for the end of the woods" and then he starts venting because reader is so easy to talk to and so eager to listen to him, he actually feels safe with her, and when he is done he says how are we going to get out of here or something like that and reader is just "actually I know how to get out of here it's just you seemed to need a good listener rem". ps: while walking he realizes reader can make friends with literally all the creatures in the woods and finds her so fascinating

REVIEW ୨ৎ this is so soft i’m actually melting. the way the animals are drawn to reader, how remus watches in quiet wonder, and then the slow showing of his thoughts?? it's so him. and then the relief when he realizes he’s actually being heard. i just wanna hug and hold him my baby! and that last part—"i'm glad i got 'lost' with you.” i'm unwell. this is peak emotional intimacy

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

pirate!remus x reader by @/thatdammchickennugget

⁀➴༯ reader is completely mesmerized by the sea and the wondrous creatures below, just lost in her own world. Remus asks her to bring the ropes, but she doesn't hear him. So, naturally, he comes over to see what’s taking so long. but instead of getting annoyed, he sits down next to her, totally enchanted by her talking about the creatures. he's sitting there, utterly whipped, your honour. forget the ropes—this man is listening, hanging on every word she says, because how could he not?

REVIEW ୨ৎ i'm actually losing my mind over this. the romantic tension in this is insane—the way remus watches reader instead of the water, the gentle, almost hesitant touches, the soft confessions that mean so much more than they let on. “forget the ropes.” helloo??? that’s the kind of line that makes a person weak. i have been reduced to nothing but a lovesick sigh

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

steady by @/thatdammchickennugget

⁀➴༯ five times remus takes care of you + one time you return the favor

REVIEW ୨ৎ oh this wrecked me in the gentlest way possible. it’s so remus, the way he just knows what you need without you having to ask. he doesn’t scold, doesn’t get frustrated, just helps, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. the forehead kiss?? devastating. i am unwell. this fic personally tucked me into bed and kissed my forehead

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

doctor!remus x reader by @moonstruckme

REVIEW ୨ৎ this is so soft and so remus-coded i’m actually melting. the way he’s gentle but also so firm in his care??? the way he kisses your head and your hand like it’s second nature?? “we’ll see.” like he’s already decided he’s going to fix it because of course he is, he always does. my heart has officially been hijacked, and I am not pressing charges

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

self deprecating thoughts by @/moonstruckme

REVIEW ୨ৎ this is so painfully tender i’m actually aching. the way remus adores you so effortlessly, like every compliment is just fact to him. the way he won’t let you brush it off this time, won’t let you be cruel to yourself. “it hurts to hear you being so cruel to someone i care about.” like it physically pains him to hear you talk like that. and the end??? “someday, he’ll get you to believe it.” like it’s not even a question. of course he will. because loving you means making sure you see it too. i’m fully wrecked

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

gently wiping tears from the other's face by @wintrsoul

⁀➴༯ in which remus comforted you after a small meltdown over an onion

REVIEW ୨ৎ this was so soft and so domestic i could cry. the way remus instantly clocked what was going on and still asked if you were okay?? i am unwell. the image of him glaring at the onion like it personally wronged you?? that man is gone for you, and i’m so here for it. my brain is just white noise and happy squealing now

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

buried in a book by @lqveharrington

⁀➴༯ while you were part of the biggest friend group in hogwarts, you’re often in your own world to even register the plans they make

REVIEW ୨ৎ this was so sweet and so soft i feel like i just wrapped myself in the warmest blanket. the way remus never makes you feel like a burden, never gets frustrated with you, and always notices when something’s wrong?? he’s so patient and so in love i can’t stand it. and the ending??? him calling your voice beautiful, kissing you in honeydukes, telling you he loves you just because??? i am on the floor. this was such a comforting, warm, and utterly romantic fic, i need to lie down

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

remus x sensitive!reader by @inkdrinkerworld

⁀➴༯ sensitive!reader who misheard him talking with james about something/someone and mistakes it as them talking bad about them. reader avoiding remmy for days, avoiding his touch and barely talking to him until he has enough and confronts reader who just breaks down into tears instantly

REVIEW ୨ৎ why would you hurt me like this??? the pain of overhearing something like that, the way she immediately assumes the worst and tries to brace herself for a breakup—oh my god, my heart ached for her. and remus??? remus being so gentle and panicked, immediately trying to fix it, holding her face and reassuring her over and over until she believes him??? i could cry. and him calling james just to prove it to her, just to make sure she knows how much he loves her??? this is perfect angst with the sweetest comfort. i love this so much, my heart is full

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

bubbly!reader by @/inkdrinkerworld

⁀➴༯ an s/o who's very bubbly and sweet to everyone (very physically affectionate towards her friends, calls everyone pet names, and just generally tries to make the people around her happy) and someone says she's just too much and that her friends don't want her constantly touching them or something like that so now she's sort of withdrawn from her friends and remus and he notices of course and confronts her

REVIEW ୨ৎ god i felt this in my bones. that gut-wrenching moment when someone casually points out something so innocent about you—something that’s just you—and suddenly it’s like your entire world shifts. like, have i been annoying this whole time? do they secretly hate when i touch them? and the way you tried to hold back?? how you clenched your fist instead of reaching for remus, like touching him was something you suddenly had to stop doing? and remus??? the absolute love of your life??? how immediately he noticed and immediately reassured you? and when you pulled away from his touch??? he felt awful. because to him, your touch isn’t just something he tolerates—it’s something he needs. and they don’t just tolerate it—they seek it out. i am weeping this hurt so good

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

it's nice to have a friend by @crescenthistory

⁀➴༯ remus' childhood best friend is the only person he is comfortable showing unrestrained affection towards – until he one day gets in his own head about it

REVIEW ୨ৎ this fic has me in a chokehold. like, i have been dragged through every possible emotion—kicking, screaming, sobbing, giggling, everything. how do you even write 14k words of this level of perfection?? i genuinely had to pause multiple times just to collect myself. remus’ internal struggle? gut-wrenching. the tenderness? life-ruining. i am personally recommending this to everyone i know because if i had to feel all this, so do they. my heart has been stolen, shattered, rebuilt, and i will never be normal again

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmain blog ￫ @iamgonnagetyouback

[pressureplus]

this blog is the goat i love it sm :) totally get if it's too much but i'd love drunk seb headcanons. thnx ❤️

LOVELY, YOUVE GOT THE BIGGEST BRAIN ANON /POS

♡Drunk Sebastian Solace Headcannons♡

Warnings: Intoxication, Warnings to not Fuck The Fish™️, Brief Sexual Content

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

First off, getting him drunk isn’t gonna be easy

His body is significantly bigger so it’ll take a lot more alcohol than a normal human person

That and he could already hold his drinks well, so it’ll take some work to get that man actually drunk instead of just buzzed

Don’t try to match him drink for drink, you WILL die of alcohol poisoning unless you’re an alcoholic

Which wouldn’t matter he’d still out drink you based on weight/size alone, so I guess try not to die is the only goal?

Doesn’t feel comfortable drunk around most people unless you’re BOTH that kind of tipsy or he’s already close with you

When you do actually get him drunk?

The flirtiest, giggliest drunk you’re ever met

Sebastian will laugh at literally everything, it makes him so much easier to talk with

The world is sunshine and rainbows as long as he’s really fucked up

Honestly? He deserves it. He’ll smile at you so softly and actually fully listen when you talk. Maybe he’s not the brightest, or most talkative, but he has weirdly good advice

Though he is super giggly and playful, he does flirt

Usually they’re kind of fun. They’re not meant to really invoke any real feelings

“Hey there hot stuff, you lookin for a chair?” As he pats a portion of his tail.

He WILL forget that he flirted with you later, so don’t try to corner him on it as some kind of gotcha moment. He won’t believe you.

It also doesn’t reflect his feelings entirely…well unless he really likes you.

He’ll get a bit tongue tied and may even let it slip that he thinks you’re just gorgeous

His flirting gets very personal if he has a thing for you, but it’s less frequent because the man is too busy squirming from just sitting with you

Think flustered school girl energy

If he likes you he will do ANYTHING you ask

Please don’t try to fuck the fish, he isn’t very smart and he’s not gonna be able to top you

You’d have to do 100% of the work, and he wouldn’t remember most of it tomorrow anyway

He will probably just fall into a fit of giggles at the offer, honestly, so the likelihood of it happening is like nothing

So unless you’re both so drunk you’re not thinking straight? Don’t do it. Dont even try it.

If he doesn’t like you in that way? You might actually die for attempting it. It’s not worth it.

Speaking of not worth it, that man loses so much motor function. His tail is apparently weirdly hard to control all the way

Will prefer to just sit with you and not go anywhere as he will not have the control necessary to do damn near anything

He tried only once to go do something while really fucked up

Stupid fishman got stuck in a vent for a few hours

Worst experience of his life, (drunk fishman claims) he would never ever do it again

He’s the kind of man that sings when he’s drunk too, but only if you do it with him. He mimics like a parrot.

Or if you manage to play songs with him somehow, he might sing them if he vibes with or knows the song

Get a man to sing your favorite songs horribly at an octave that outright hurts

Idk something like California Girls by Katy Perry? Have fun with it

He can’t exactly dance really well but he might do a fun little shimmy if the music pleases him enough

Have fun doing your shared little dances, drinking to forget (always remembering), and laughing about nonsense

I’m sure, as long as you get him something strong and a whole lot of it

The both of you will get along fine!

After all, he likes people that get him gifts like this a little more

[mylovesstuffs]

Dino is THAT type of boyfriend !

This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.

Dino has that boy-next-door charm with a twist of high-energy chaos. You never quite know when he’s going to drop into the room with a goofy smile and a dance move, but you always know it’s going to make your day a little brighter. Pretty sure SEVENTEEN would affectionately bully the fuck out of him for this, but that’s what makes it adorable, right?

Dino’s the kind of boyfriend who’s got your back, no questions asked. Whether it’s cheering you on through something big or just letting you vent about your day, he’s always there—usually with a goofy grin, but still completely present. SEVENTEEN would probably agree with me, but honestly, he might be one of the most mature when it comes to making sure you feel understood. He's like, “Don’t worry, babe. You got this.” And you believe him.

He's such a tease. Honestly, it's like he enjoys getting under your skin (in the most fun way possible). Dino’s playful jabs never come from a mean place. He’s the type to swipe the remote while you’re getting up just to mess with you. You can’t help but laugh... and maybe plan your revenge.

It’s never a dull moment with him around, and even when things get serious, his ability to lighten the mood is what makes him a keeper.

Don’t let the "youngest" energy fool you—Dino notices everything. He’s the kind of boyfriend who remembers the tiniest details from conversations you had months ago, like that one specific flavor of ice cream you casually mentioned once, and gets it for you because he knows you’ll love it. How does he do it? You’re lowkey convinced his memory is just ridiculous, and it's honestly so endearing.

As much as Dino loves to be silly, he’s also someone you can just chill with. When you’re curled up together watching a movie, his arm around your shoulder, or just lying together in silence after a long day, it’s like the world fades away. This is the vibe. No need for constant talking when the comfort of being around each other says it all.

There’s something incredibly attractive about his quiet confidence. It’s not in-your-face, but it’s there, and it gets to you in the most subtle ways. When he looks at you with that side smile, you just know he’s feeling himself—and you're definitely feeling him. Honestly, stop, Dino. You’re too much.

Let’s just say that Dino’s natural charm can get him into trouble. He doesn’t even have to try to be smooth, and yet, he always ends up saying or doing the exact right thing at the right time. Like, he’ll casually touch your hair and it’ll make your heart race, or he’ll glance at you and make you feel like you’re the only person in the world. How does he do it? Seriously. Help me.

As chill as he is, Dino is not immune to feeling a little possessive sometimes (don’t let his innocent face fool you). He’s the type to lowkey get jealous, but it’s never explosive. More like him giving you those big puppy eyes or pulling you away for a moment. And, honestly, you’ll just laugh because it’s cute how much he cares.

If Dino’s into you (and he is), he’s the type to randomly compliment you at the most unexpected times. It could be anything from, “You look cute today,” to, “You smell good” (even though he probably doesn’t know how to explain why), but he says it in the most earnest way. You're not even sure how to respond because his sweetness catches you off guard every time.

When Dino wants something, he’s not subtle about it—he’s just direct. Whether it’s planning a surprise date or randomly showing up at your door with flowers, he’s not going to shy away from putting effort in. Pretty sure SEVENTEEN would mock him, but deep down, they’d be like, “Dino’s got it figured out.” Like, maybe he's the secretly mature one here, after all.

He’s not even trying to impress you. He just genuinely wants to make sure you’re happy. Why is he like this???

Don’t be surprised if you find yourself being pampered for no reason at all. Dino’s the type to show affection through actions, so one moment you’ll be laughing, and the next, he’s pulling out your favorite treat from his bag like, “I thought you’d like this.” It’s such a simple gesture, but he knows it’ll make you smile. And when you do, his smile? Ugh. Game over.

He’s like the perfect combo of heartthrob and best friend, and it’s too much to handle.

[satellite-evans]

everything

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Summary: Charles and you face unexpected challenges on your journey to starting a family.

Word count: 12k+ ( She is long I'm sorry)

Warnings: angst, fluff, infertility struggles, mentions of medical procedures, emotional vulnerability, making out, mention of sex

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

It was a slow morning — a rarity in Charles' world of fast cars, roaring engines, and constant travel. Mostdays, life was a whirlwind of race weekends, media commitments, and training schedules. But today was quiet. Today was yours.

These mornings were your favorites. The ones where the sun poured in through the sheer curtains and you could pretend — even if only for a little while — that the outside world didn’t exist.

You were curled up beside him in bed, legs tangled together under the cozy sheets, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was a sound that always calmed you, grounding you when the world felt too loud.

Charles’ fingers traced slow, lazy circles along your arm, his skin warm and soft against yours. His other hand was tucked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling, as though lost in thought. You could feel his chest rising and falling under your cheek, steady and calm, but something about the way his fingers moved — a little slower, a little more absent — told you his mind was elsewhere.

You smiled softly to yourself, enjoying the rare stillness. These were the moments where you got to see this version of Charles — not the one behind a helmet, not the one the cameras followed, but your husband. The man who would quietly hum love songs when he thought you were asleep, who would stop to tie your shoelaces when he noticed you were too lazy, who loved so deeply it sometimes scared you.

And then, out of nowhere, he broke the comfortable silence — his voice soft and a little hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should say what was on his mind.

"Do you ever think about it?"

You lifted your head slightly, resting your chin against his chest to look up at him, brows furrowing in curiosity at his sudden seriousness.

"Think about what?" you asked gently, searching his face for answers.

His green eyes — usually so full of playful mischief — looked softer now, more vulnerable. There was a flicker of nervousness in them, but also something else. Something tender.

He hesitated, his hand pausing mid-circle on your arm, before continuing, almost shyly.

"Us… having a baby."

The question hung in the air between you, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, trying to process what he was saying.

"A baby?" you echoed, your voice quieter now, almost as if you were afraid saying it out loud would make it too real.

Charles gave a small nod, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah... I mean, not now, now. But… I think about it, sometimes. You and me... with a little one running around."

You blinked, your heart doing a strange flip in your chest. "You do?"

He laughed softly, reaching up to push a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "Of course I do. I think you'd be the most amazing maman."

Warmth filled your chest at his words, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine it — a small hand in yours, a laugh that was half his, half yours.

"I..." You paused, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed by the weight of the conversation but also filled with a strange kind of excitement. "I think about it too, sometimes."

Charles' face lit up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You do?"

You nodded, smiling now. "Yeah. I mean, maybe we’d be terrible at it—"

"—No way," he interrupted with a grin, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against yours. "We’d figure it out. Together."

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. "You’d spoil them rotten, and I’d have to be the strict one."

Charles laughed, the sound warm and soft against your skin. "Obviously. You’d be the scary one, and I’d be the one sneaking them candy when you’re not looking."

You laughed harder at that, imagining the scene — Charles sneaking sweets to a giggling toddler behind your back.

"But seriously," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, "If... if you want, we could start trying. Not now, if you’re not ready. But maybe soon?"

You swallowed, a mixture of emotions swirling inside you — excitement, nervousness, love.

"Yeah," you whispered, brushing your fingers through his messy hair. "Yeah, I’d like that."

Charles’ smile grew, and he leaned down to kiss you, slow and soft and full of promise.

"Okay," he whispered against your lips. "Whenever you’re ready, amour."

"Whenever we’re ready," you corrected gently, and he nodded.

From that day on, the dream became real. You started to imagine a future that wasn’t just the two of you. You caught Charles watching kids when you were out together — at the grocery store, at restaurants, during walks by the harbor. His gaze would soften when he saw a dad carrying a toddler on his shoulders or a mom holding a baby close to her chest.

Once, as you both sat at a café by the water, watching a little girl squeal in delight as her mom chased her, Charles reached over to take your hand.

"I can’t wait to see you with our child one day," he said quietly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You smiled, leaning into his side. "I can’t wait to see you."

"I think about them a lot," Charles admitted. "What they’d look like. If they’d have your smile."

"Or your eyes," you added, glancing up at him.

He chuckled. "Maybe they’ll be a little troublemaker like me."

"Great," you teased. "One Charles is already enough trouble."

He laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer.

"Maybe two would be perfect."

Your heart swelled with so much love for this man — this man who had seen every part of you and wanted to build a life, a family, together.

For the first time, you let yourself fully believe in that dream.

It started beautifully.

The day you and Charles decided to start trying for a baby felt like a secret only you two shared — a quiet, precious hope.

It was exciting.

You remembered the way Charles would smile at you when you caught his eye across the room, that look that said, "Maybe this is it. Maybe soon."

You both laughed about how it could happen at any moment.

"Imagine if you’re pregnant by the next Grand Prix," he joked one night as you laid in bed, tangled in the sheets, breathless and glowing from the closeness you shared.

You laughed, resting your head on his chest. "Or maybe before the summer break."

He ran his fingers through your hair, soft and slow. "Yeah... I can see it now. You, me, a little one watching the races together."

But month after month passed, and with each one, a tiny seed of doubt took root.

At first, you tried to shake it off.

"Maybe my body’s just figuring itself out," you said, trying to sound casual, as you sat at the kitchen counter, flipping through a cookbook you weren’t really reading.

Charles leaned on the other side, watching you with soft eyes. "There’s no rush, amour. It’ll happen when it’s meant to."

You wanted to believe that.

But when month four came and went, and you found yourself holding yet another negative pregnancy test, that calm confidence began to fade.

You stared at the single line, willing it to change, to turn into the double lines you had imagined in your dreams. But it didn’t.

You sat on the edge of the bathtub, wrapping your arms around yourself, tears welling up in your eyes.

Charles found you there, quietly slipping into the bathroom when he realized you were gone too long.

His heart broke the second he saw you sitting there, looking so small and defeated.

"Hey... hey, baby," he said softly, kneeling in front of you, gently brushing a tear from your cheek. "It’s okay."

You tried to smile, but your lips trembled. "I thought this might be it..."

"I know," he whispered, pulling you into his arms. "I know."

You buried your face into his shoulder, breathing in his scent — always so comforting, so safe. "What if something’s wrong with me, Charles?"

He pulled back to cup your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Nothing is wrong with you. Do you hear me? Nothing."

You nodded, but deep down, the fear stayed.

As time passed, those quiet moments of disappointment became harder to hide.

You found yourself tracking every tiny symptom — every cramp, every day you felt tired, every moment you felt nauseous. Every month, you’d let yourself hope, only to be crushed all over again.

Charles tried so hard to keep your spirits up.

He would cook for you when he noticed you were too lost in your head to eat.

He would pull you out onto the balcony when you needed air, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Look how beautiful Monaco is," he would whisper, kissing your temple. "We’re going to be okay, bébé. No matter what."

You wanted to believe him.

But six months in, when another negative test stared back at you, something shifted between you and Charles — not distance, but weight. A heavy sadness neither of you wanted to speak out loud.

The night you got that result, you sat quietly on the couch, staring out the window at the city lights. Charles sat beside you, his hand resting on your knee.

He finally broke the silence.

"Maybe... maybe we should talk to someone?" he offered carefully.

You turned to him, searching his face. "A doctor?"

He nodded. "Just to make sure everything’s okay. For both of us."

You bit your lip, considering it. The idea made your chest tighten — what if they told you what you were beginning to fear?

But then Charles reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

"We’re in this together, right?" he whispered. "Whatever happens?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, squeezing his hand back.

"Together," you echoed softly.

And with that, you agreed to take the next step.

The waiting room was colder than you expected.

You sat there next to Charles, his hand wrapped tightly around yours, like he could protect you from whatever was coming.

It had taken you both weeks to gather the courage to sit in this office. Weeks of telling each other it was probably nothing — that some people just took longer. But deep down, the growing silence every month, the weight of each negative test had become too loud to ignore.

Charles’s thumb rubbed soft circles on the back of your hand as he stared ahead, jaw tight. You could tell he was trying to be strong for you, but his eyes gave him away.

When the doctor finally called you in, your heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of your chest.

Charles stayed close, always a step behind, like he was trying to shoulder some of the anxiety pressing down on you.

You sat side by side in the small office, fingers still laced, waiting for answers neither of you were ready to hear.

The doctor looked kind — a woman, gentle eyes, soft voice. But as soon as she began speaking, you could sense where the conversation was headed.

"Based on the tests we’ve run, it appears that conceiving naturally may be difficult," she said carefully, watching your reaction.

The words hit you like a punch to the stomach. You blinked, feeling your throat tighten, suddenly unable to breathe properly.

"Difficult?" you echoed, your voice barely a whisper.

The doctor hesitated. "You have a condition that impacts your fertility. It doesn’t mean impossible, but it does mean that it may take longer, and you may need medical assistance to conceive."

You felt Charles shift beside you, his hand squeezing yours tighter, but you couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t look at anyone. You stared at the floor, trying to process the words.

"I… I don’t understand," you said finally, your voice breaking. "Why? Why me?"

The doctor gave you a sympathetic smile. "There are many reasons these things happen. It’s not your fault. But if you want to try fertility treatments, there are options."

You didn’t hear much of what she said after that. The room seemed to close in on you, the air too thick, the walls too white, too sharp.

When you finally left the office, you couldn’t speak. Charles led you out gently, his hand at the small of your back, guiding you like you were fragile glass.

The moment the car doors closed around you, the tears came.

Sobs tore out of your chest, shaking your whole body.

Charles pulled you into his arms without a word, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to hold you together, as if you might break into pieces if he let go.

"Shh, baby, I’ve got you," he whispered, kissing the top of your head, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m right here."

"I’m broken, Charles," you cried into his chest. "I’m broken."

"Hey, no, no," he said quickly, pulling back to hold your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were filled with unshed tears. "You are not broken. Don’t you ever say that. You’re perfect to me. You always have been."

"But I can’t… I can’t give you what you want."

He shook his head firmly. "What I want is you. Always you. I don’t care how we get there, I don’t care what we have to do. I just want you by my side."

Still, the ache didn’t leave you.

The days that followed were a blur. You went to more appointments. You listened to doctors talk about options — hormone treatments, IVF, injections that terrified you.

And you did it all.

Because you wanted this — wanted it so badly it hurt.

You followed every diet they suggested, cut out caffeine and sugar even though it made you miserable. You started exercising because they told you it might help. You faced needles even though they made your hands shake and your stomach twist with fear.

Charles was with you for every single one.

He held your hand as you cried after your first hormone shot. He wiped away your tears and told you how proud he was of you.

"You’re the bravest woman I know," he whispered into your hair as you sat on the couch, curled up against him, exhausted from the meds wreaking havoc on your body.

But even as he praised you, he could see what it was doing to you.

You weren’t the same woman who used to laugh easily at his teasing, who danced with him in the kitchen late at night.

You were quieter now, distant.

Some days, he would catch you staring out the window, eyes glassy, like you were somewhere far away.

When he asked you what you were thinking, you’d force a smile and say, "Nothing."

But he knew better.

It was eating you alive — the pressure, the hope, the constant cycle of waiting and disappointment.

And though Charles tried to be strong for you, it was killing him to watch the woman he loved slipping away, piece by piece.

One night, as you stood in the bathroom, staring at yet another negative pregnancy test, something inside you broke.

You dropped to your knees on the cold floor, sobs wracking your body, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

Charles burst into the room moments later, his face pale when he saw you on the floor.

"Bébé," he breathed, dropping to his knees beside you. "No, no, come here."

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. "It’s never going to happen, Charles. I’m never going to be enough."

His heart shattered right there, seeing you like this.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, rocking you gently as you cried.

"Stop," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Stop saying that. You are everything to me. You hear me? Everything."

"But the baby—"

"I don’t care about the baby if it means losing you," he said firmly, pulling back to look into your eyes, his own brimming with tears. "I need you. You are my wife. I would rather have just you than any child if it means you’re safe, if it means I don’t lose the woman I love."

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in, breaking through the fog of pain.

"Charles..."

"No more, bébé. No more hurting yourself like this." His hands cupped your face so gently, like he was afraid you would crumble. "We’ll stop. We’ll stop trying. Please, I need you to be okay. I need you."

For the first time in months, you let yourself collapse fully into him, holding on as though he was the only thing keeping you upright.

And in that moment, you both knew: it was time to let go — to stop chasing something that was breaking you.

Even if it broke both of your hearts.

But maybe, just maybe, it was what you needed to find each other again.

It wasn’t easy to stop trying.

Even after you and Charles had that tearful conversation, even after he begged you to stop hurting yourself, it took time to really let go.

You still woke up some mornings and instinctively counted the days of your cycle, a part of you still wired to hope, still waiting for a sign.

But Charles… Charles made sure you didn’t have to carry it alone.

For months, the intimacy between you had been burdened with unspoken pressure — every touch, every kiss shadowed by what it was supposed to lead to. Love had turned into a goal, and neither of you could breathe under the weight of it.

But now, as the two of you tried to find your way back to each other, Charles was determined to remind you that love — real love — wasn’t about charts and dates.

It was about you.

And he took his time showing you that.

It started with little things — soft smiles over morning coffee, his hand on the small of your back when you walked past him in the kitchen, a kiss to your temple for no reason at all.

It was in the way he’d show up at home after his training days, arms full of your favorite flowers, just because.

"These made me think of you," he’d say casually, though the way he looked at you said it was so much more than that — like you were his whole world.

But it wasn’t long before those little things built into something more.

It was in the way he would wake you on slow mornings, when the light was barely creeping through the windows, his fingers trailing over your bare shoulder, brushing your hair back to kiss the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

"Good morning, mon amour," he would murmur against your skin, his voice low and husky, warm breath sending a shiver straight down your spine.

The way his lips lingered, brushing a little too close to where your pulse raced, was not lost on you. Neither was the way his hand would slide from your shoulder down, tracing a slow, deliberate line over your waist, fingers splaying possessively at your hip like he was grounding himself — and you.

"Charles…" you whispered, but it wasn’t a protest.

He chuckled softly, hearing the way his name fell from your lips, and pressed a kiss to your jaw, then lower, teasing along your throat. "I miss this… I miss you," he confessed quietly, his voice thick with something darker, heavier — desire, yes, but also love.

"You’re my wife," he said against your skin, lips grazing the hollow of your throat, hands sliding around to your back to pull you closer. "Not just the woman I wanted to have a baby with. You."

His words sank deep, and when his hand slid under the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing the soft skin of your stomach, you didn’t tense — for the first time in a long time, you melted into him.

He noticed, of course he did, and his lips curved against your collarbone in a smile that was all satisfaction and relief.

"There she is," he whispered, his voice a little rough now, kissing just below your ear, one hand moving to cradle your cheek as he brought your face up to meet his. "Mon cœur… I’ve missed seeing you like this."

When he kissed you — properly kissed you — it wasn’t rushed. His mouth moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to taste every inch of you again, to remind you of what it felt like to be wanted, adored.

And God, you felt it.

His hands, roaming and firm, pulled you into his body without effort, making you gasp as your bodies pressed together, his fingers sliding under your thigh to lift it over his.

"Charles—" you breathed, breaking the kiss only to draw in a shaky breath, but he only smirked, eyes dark and glinting with something that made heat curl low in your stomach.

"Let me take care of you," he whispered, voice thick and rough, as his hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "No pressure. No expectations. Just you and me, like it’s supposed to be."

His words were a balm, but the way his mouth found yours again — hungry now, like he couldn’t get enough — set every nerve in your body on fire.

"Let me make you feel good again," he murmured against your lips, before trailing kisses down your neck, his hands firm on your hips, moving you against him in a way that left no doubt about what he wanted — who he wanted.

You felt a spark of something you hadn’t let yourself feel in so long — desire, raw and overwhelming, crashing over you with every brush of his hands, every heated kiss.

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to lean into it, to let him remind you what it was like to want and be wanted, to be loved — for no other reason than because you were his, and he was yours.

Later, as you lay tangled together, his fingers trailing lazy patterns on your skin, he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder and whispered, "I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care if it never happens. I just want you, always."

And in his arms, you believed it.

Because for once, it wasn’t about what your bodies could give.

It was about what your hearts already shared — a love that was fierce, unbreakable, and yours.

You hadn’t laughed in so long, but he was determined to change that.

One night, as you sat on the couch, still wrapped in that quiet sadness, Charles appeared with a bag of groceries and a mischievous grin.

"What's all that?" you asked, watching as he unloaded ingredients.

He shot you a look over his shoulder, eyes sparkling. "We are making pizza, chef style. And no, you don’t get to say no."

You blinked at him. "Charles, I—"

He cut you off, gently, but firmly. "I don’t want to hear it. Just us. You and me."

Something about the way he said it made you tear up, but you nodded, and when he handed you a chunk of dough and demanded you try to toss it like a real chef — which ended up splattering on the floor — you found yourself laughing so hard, you cried.

It felt good to cry for something other than heartbreak.

"See?" he grinned, wiping sauce off your cheek with a thumb. "There’s my girl."

You were still fragile — and Charles knew it.

He was patient when you had bad days.

When he’d find you in bed long after the sun had risen, curled into yourself, he wouldn’t push. He’d just crawl in behind you, wrapping himself around you like a shield.

"We don’t have to do anything today," he’d whisper, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. "Let’s just stay right here."

And sometimes you would.

Just you and Charles, holding each other like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Other days, when you felt a little stronger, he’d take you out — walks along the water, late dinners in tucked-away restaurants where no one bothered you, quiet drives with music low in the background as he held your hand across the center console.

It was during one of those drives that you finally broke the silence that had been lingering between you.

"Do you really mean it?" you asked softly, staring out the window at the sea of lights.

Charles glanced at you, confused. "Mean what, bébé?"

"That you’re okay if… if we never have a baby?"

He pulled over, putting the car in park before turning fully to face you.

"I didn’t say that to make you feel better," he said quietly. "I said it because it’s true."

You looked down at your hands, twisting your fingers together. "But… you want to be a dad."

He reached over, gently uncurling your fingers so he could hold your hand.

"I want you more." His voice was steady, but his eyes were filled with love and a hint of sadness. "If I had to choose between having a child and having you whole and happy… I would choose you. Every time."

Tears filled your eyes again — but not from sadness. From love. From the overwhelming realization that even if everything else was broken, Charles never would be.

"I don’t want to lose you," he whispered, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. "I don’t care how much I want to be a father — I can’t watch you destroy yourself for it. I’d rather have a lifetime with just you than risk not having you at all."

You finally let out a sob you’d been holding in for months, leaning over to bury your face in his chest.

Charles held you tight, kissing your hair, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

"We’ll figure out what our life looks like, okay?" he whispered. "Even if it’s not what we thought. As long as I have you, I’m happy."

And slowly, you began to believe him.

It wasn’t perfect. There were still days you mourned the dream that seemed to slip further and further away.

But there were also days when you and Charles laughed until your stomachs hurt, danced in the kitchen to music only you could hear, and rediscovered the love that brought you together in the first place.

The love that didn’t depend on anything but the two of you.

It was healing.

Little by little, you came back to life.

The heat in Monaco that day was brutal.

You sat in the paddock, Charles’s number 16 cap shading your face, a bottle of cold water resting against the back of your neck. The atmosphere was exciting, at least for you. You didn't realize how much you missed it until you heard the fans screaming and the paddock filling with people you haven't seen in so long.

You really had missed this. The thrill, the pride of watching Charles do what he loved.

For the first time in a long time, you felt light.

No doctors. No needles. No calculations.

Just you, watching your husband race, your heart swelling every time you saw his car flash past.

It had been months since you had stopped trying.

Months since you’d let go of the suffocating pressure that had nearly broken you.

And while a small ache remained—a whisper of a dream you had buried—life had slowly started to feel normal again.

But still… something felt off.

At first, it was subtle. A slight dizziness when you stood too quickly. A strange wave of nausea when the smell of burnt rubber wafted through the air.

You chalked it up to the heat.

But as the race continued, the dizziness turned into something stronger. Your vision blurred slightly as you tried to focus on the screens, and your hands felt clammy despite the sweat already sticking to your skin.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to take deep breaths.

Just a little longer. The race was almost over.

But then, the world tilted.

The last thing you heard before everything went black was someone shouting your name.

When you woke, you were in a medical room — the soft beeping of machines somewhere nearby, the sterile smell of antiseptic in the air.

Charles was sitting right next to you, holding your hand like a lifeline, his eyes red and puffy, like he hadn’t stopped crying since you collapsed.

"Bébé?" he whispered the second he saw your eyes flutter open. "Oh mon dieu… You’re awake."

His voice broke, and you blinked, trying to focus.

"Charles?" you croaked, your throat dry.

"I’m here, baby. I’m right here." He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, then leaned his forehead against your hand, breathing you in like he couldn’t believe you were okay.

"What… what happened?" you whispered.

"You fainted." His voice was tight with emotion. "Scared the hell out of me."

You tried to sit up, but he gently urged you back down.

"Take it slow, amour. Doctor said to rest."

As if summoned, a doctor appeared, offering a kind smile.

"Feeling better?"

You nodded weakly.

"Good. We’ve run some tests to make sure you’re alright. You’re a little dehydrated, and the heat didn’t help. But…" the doctor paused, glancing between you and Charles.

"There’s something else we found."

Your heart stuttered.

The doctor smiled gently. "You’re pregnant."

The words didn’t make sense at first.

Pregnant?

Your eyes darted to Charles, wide and disbelieving. His grip on your hand tightened.

"I… I’m what?" you whispered, sure you had heard wrong.

"You’re pregnant," the doctor confirmed with a soft nod. "About eight weeks along, from what we can tell. Which explains the fainting — your body is working overtime right now."

Silence fell over the room.

Charles was frozen, his eyes locked on you, as if he was afraid to breathe, afraid it was a dream.

And then suddenly — a tear slipped down your cheek.

"You’re pregnant, bébé," Charles whispered, voice cracking. "You… we…"

His face crumpled as he leaned in, pulling you gently into his arms, careful not to squeeze too tightly.

"I can’t believe it," you sobbed into his neck, shaking. "Charles, I thought—"

"I know," he whispered, voice thick. "I know, baby. I didn’t think it would happen either."

You could feel him shaking too, arms wrapped around you, both of you crying now — but for the first time in so long, they were tears of joy.

"I was so scared," you admitted, pulling back just enough to look at him, your hand resting on your stomach like you couldn’t believe it was real. "I thought I’d never—"

Charles cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You are everything I will ever need," he said fiercely. "But this—this is a miracle, bébé."

You nodded, breathless. "A miracle."

He let out a small laugh, one that was half a sob. "Our miracle."

The doctors gave you time to rest, but Charles didn’t leave your side for a second.

At one point, he sat in the chair beside the bed, just watching you, his hand resting protectively over yours.

When you woke again, he was still there, looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

You gave a small smile. "Better. Still in shock, I think."

Charles leaned in and kissed your forehead, lingering there for a moment.

"I love you," he whispered against your skin. "More than anything. More than everything."

"I love you too, Charles."

He pulled back, brushing his fingers gently through your hair. "We’re going to be okay, bébé. You, me, and this baby. I promise."

And for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

You were going to be okay.

You were going to be a family.

You would think that after everything — after the months of heartbreak, of devastating phone calls and negative tests, of doctors' appointments that ended in tears — finding out you were finally pregnant would bring nothing but unfiltered joy.

And in many ways, it did.

Charles had held you for what felt like hours, both of you crying, laughing, kissing, unable to believe it was real.

But beneath all that happiness, beneath the tears and whispered "finally" against his chest, there was something else. Something sharp and quiet and relentless.

Fear.

Because now that you finally had the one thing you wanted more than anything in the world, you were terrified of losing it.

Every little cramp made your heart stop. Every time you didn’t feel nauseous for a few hours, a new wave of panic crept in. Every moment of silence from your body felt like a warning, like a reminder that good things didn’t come easy for you.

Charles knew. Of course he knew.

He saw it in the way you always rested a protective hand on your belly, like shielding your baby from a world that had already given you so much pain. He saw it in the way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes when people congratulated you, how you nodded along but kept your arms folded protectively over yourself, as if holding everything together.

And he especially saw it at night, when you thought he was asleep, and you would roll over quietly to press a hand to your belly, tears slipping silently down your cheeks as you whispered promises to the tiny life growing inside you.

"I love you already… please stay with me."

Charles never said anything then — he didn’t want to make you feel like you had to be strong for him too — but he would shift closer, wrap an arm around you, and hold you as tightly as he could.

It broke him to see you like that.

So, he made it his purpose to be your anchor, to remind you every second of every day that you were not alone in this, that it would be different, that you were not going to lose the baby.

Whenever he found you lost in thought, staring blankly at nothing, he would pull you into his arms. "Talk to me, bébé, please. don't shut me out again. I’m here. Always."

And every night, without fail, no matter how exhausted he was — whether he had just gotten home from training, meetings, or even long days at the factory — Charles would kneel in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this was his way of staying grounded, too.

He would settle on his knees in front of you, his hands gently resting on either side of your bump, thumbs caressing your belly like he was memorizing every curve, every change. His eyes would soften, all the tension melting away from his face the second he touched you.

Then he would lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to your stomach — sometimes whispering a soft, "Hi, bébé," like he was waiting to hear a reply.

"Hey, little one… It’s papa." His voice always dropped to that quiet, reverent tone that made your heart clench. "I hope you’re comfortable in there because we love you so much already."

Sometimes his words would crack just a little, betraying that deep vulnerability he didn’t always let you see. The fear that still lived in both of you, even if neither of you wanted to give it life.

"You keep growing strong for maman, okay?" he would murmur, resting his cheek against your bump, closing his eyes like he could feel them from the outside. "I know… I know she’s scared. I’m scared too, but we’re fighting, you know? For you. Because you are so, so loved. And we want you so badly, mon ange."

His hand would slide over your skin, fingers spreading wide, protective and tender all at once.

"Don’t worry — maman and I, we’ve got you. Always."

And sometimes, when he thought you had already fallen asleep, he would keep talking. You would watch him through heavy eyes, heart breaking and swelling all at once, as he poured all his love and hope into those quiet moments.

"I can’t wait to meet you. I can’t wait to show you everything — to take you to your first race, to sit on the beach with you like mama and I used to do, to show you the stars. Did you know your mama loves the stars? She used to tell me about them when I was sad… she’s amazing. You’re going to love her. And I’m going to be here, always. Watching over you both."

Then he would look up at you, catching your gaze if you were awake, and smile softly. The kind of smile that held all the love in the world, even when his eyes were glassy with emotion.

"See? We’re already a team, the three of us."

And as much as you had felt alone in your mind sometimes — battling fears you were too scared to voice — in those moments, when Charles spoke to the baby like they were already here, like he was already the father he had dreamed of being, you felt a flicker of hope again.

Because no matter what happened, you knew one thing for certain: You and the baby were so loved.

And Charles? He was ready to move mountains for both of you.

The day of your first ultrasound was one you both had dreamed of, but when the morning finally came, you woke up shaking.

You could hardly get dressed, your fingers fumbling over the buttons of your blouse as Charles gently took over, helping you without a word, pressing soft kisses to your temple.

The drive to the clinic felt like the longest one of your life. Charles reached over and laced his fingers with yours, squeezing so tight it almost hurt, but neither of you let go.

When you finally arrived and sat in the waiting room, Charles kept holding your hand, his thumb tracing slow circles over your skin.

"Whatever happens, I’m here," he said softly, leaning close so only you could hear. "You don’t have to be strong for me, okay? Be strong for yourself, I'm here. I'll be strong for the both of you."

You just nodded, throat too tight to speak.

When they finally called your name, you felt like you could hardly move. Your legs were weak, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break your ribs.

Charles was by your side instantly, wrapping an arm around you and guiding you gently to the room.

The technician was kind, explaining everything as she set up, but you could barely hear her over the pounding in your ears.

And then —

There it was.

A tiny little bean on the screen. So small. So fragile. And then — a flicker.

The heartbeat.

Steady and strong.

Your breath caught in your throat, a sob breaking free before you could stop it.

"That’s…" you whispered, voice trembling.

"Your baby," the technician said warmly, turning the screen so you could both see better. "Right there."

You turned your head to look at Charles, and what you saw undid you completely.

Tears streamed down his face, his eyes wide in awe, his lips trembling as he stared at the screen like it was the most miraculous thing he had ever seen.

"That’s… our baby," he choked out, voice rough with emotion, as though he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

You reached for his hand, gripping it tightly, tears pouring down your cheeks now too.

"Our baby," you whispered back, finally letting yourself smile through the tears.

It was real.

For the first time, it wasn’t a dream or a distant hope — it was happening.

Your baby was here, alive, heartbeat flickering steadily on the screen.

You let out a shaky laugh, covering your mouth with your hand, overwhelmed with the kind of joy that left you breathless.

Charles leaned over, pressing a kiss to your forehead, one hand still gripping yours, the other reaching to gently, reverently touch the image on the screen.

"I love you," he whispered to you and to the baby. "So much. I can’t believe… I just… I love you."

And in that room, in that moment — surrounded by the sound of your baby’s heartbeat — something inside you shifted.

For the first time, you let yourself believe it.

You were really going to be a mom.

And with Charles beside you, holding your hand and your heart, you knew — no matter what, you would face it all together.

From the moment the doctor told that you were pregnant, Charles became a man on a mission.

It wasn’t just that he wanted to be involved — no, he needed to be involved. He had never been more determined in his life. He read every pregnancy book he could find, his eyes scanning the pages late into the night, even when his eyelids were heavy and the words started blurring. He listened to every pregnancy podcast, taking notes on topics ranging from fetal development to baby names (because, despite the fact that you two hadn’t even picked a name yet, Charles was already convinced that he had the perfect one).

He even downloaded multiple pregnancy apps, religiously checking the weekly updates so he could compare the size of your baby to fruit, vegetables, and other random objects. When the app told him the baby was the size of a blueberry, a walnut, a papaya — whatever it was that week — Charles couldn’t wait to update you. It became a little game, one that was just between the two of you.

Every morning, the moment he opened his eyes, Charles would turn toward you with a grin, as if greeting you and your baby had become the most natural thing in the world.

"Bonjour, mon amour… and bonjour, little one," he’d whisper, his lips pressing against your belly.

You’d laugh softly, brushing a hand through his messy morning hair. "Charles, they’re the size of a lime right now. You’re getting ahead of yourself."

"I don’t care," he would reply with a grin so wide it made your heart skip. "I’m still saying hello."

You’d smile, shaking your head, but in your heart, you were overwhelmed by how much he cared. He wasn’t just excited about the pregnancy — he was fully in it with you. From the very first moment, he was present in a way that made you feel cherished and loved, and even now, as the weeks passed, that feeling only deepened.

And when the hormonal rollercoaster kicked in, making you nauseous, moody, or crying over something trivial (like how cute a puppy in a commercial was), Charles was always there. He was like a rock — steady, patient, and never, not once, complaining.

"I’ll go get whatever you want, baby. Strawberries at midnight? I’m on it. Ice cream and pickles? Weird, but okay."

And when you’d cry over something small, like dropping a spoon or a Grey's Anatomy episode, Charles wouldn’t laugh or try to cheer you up with silly jokes. Instead, he would pull you into his arms, offering silent comfort. He would rub your back, his warmth surrounding you like a shield, and let you cry until you were all out of tears.

"You’re doing so good, mon cœur," he would whisper, his voice low and steady. "So, so good."

It was these moments, these quiet reassurances, that made you feel like you could handle everything. With him by your side, you knew you weren’t alone in this — in any of it.

And then, it came.

The baby bump.

You had been waiting — praying — for it. For any sign that the tiny life inside you was in fact real and growing how it was supposed to. The days had stretched on endlessly, filled with anxious glances in the mirror, gentle touches to your belly hoping to see something, and constant reassurances from Charles that "it will happen, amour, give it time."

But time was all you had — and with every week that passed without a visible sign, the fear clawed deeper into your chest.

Doctors kept telling you it was normal. "Sometimes it takes longer for first pregnancies, especially with everything your body has been through. With some pregnancies, there isn't even a proper baby bump. This is completely normal." But when you’re holding your breath every day, waiting for proof that your baby is safe and growing, “normal” doesn’t always bring comfort.

But then, one quiet morning — when the sun was barely peeking through the windows and the Monaco streets were still asleep — it was there.

You had gotten out of bed quietly, not wanting to wake Charles, and shuffled to the bathroom, rubbing your tired eyes. You pulled up your loose shirt as you always did, out of habit, expecting to see the same soft, stomach you'd seen every day before. But this time… this time, there was something different.

A baby bump. Subtle, but undeniably there.

You turned to the side, holding your breath, eyes wide as your hands slowly reached down to trace the gentle swell.

Your heart started pounding — a mix of disbelief and pure, overwhelming joy.

"Charles!" you called out suddenly, your voice shaking, breathless with a mixture of shock and excitement. "Charles! Come here — now!"

You heard the way he stumbled out of bed, feet hitting the floor with urgency, a note of panic threading his voice.

"Baby, what? What’s wrong?" he said, rushing into the doorway, still in his boxers and sleep-tousled hair, eyes scanning you like he was ready to fix whatever had happened.

But when he saw you standing there in front of the mirror, hands frozen mid-air, pointing to your belly, something shifted in him.

"Look…" you whispered, tears already gathering in your eyes. "Charles, look."

For a moment, he didn’t move, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing — like he was afraid to believe it was real.

But then his eyes locked onto that small, perfect curve, and everything else seemed to fall away.

His face crumbled — all the tension he had been holding in his shoulders for months melted into something soft, something raw. His eyes glistened, lips parting as though he couldn’t quite find the words.

"Oh… bébé…" he breathed, and there was a reverence in his voice, like he was standing in front of something holy.

He took slow steps toward you, like if he moved too fast, the moment might break.

Dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands trembled as they reached out, resting gently — so, so gently — on either side of your bump. Like he was afraid if he pressed too hard, it would vanish.

"Mon amour…" His voice cracked. "Look at you… look at you."

You let out a watery laugh, tears sliding down your cheeks as you ran your fingers through his soft curls. "It’s really there," you whispered, like you needed him to confirm it. "Charles, it’s real."

He looked up at you then, his beautiful brown eyes glassy but filled with something you hadn’t seen in a long time — hope. Pure, unfiltered hope.

"Yeah, baby… it's real," he whispered, and when he said it, you believed him.

He turned his gaze back to your belly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to the curve. Then another. And another. Like he was trying to pour all the love and fear and longing he'd been carrying for months into that single touch.

"Look how big you’re getting already, little one," he murmured, voice thick with emotion, his thumbs brushing slow, loving circles on your skin. "You keep growing strong for maman, okay? We’re waiting for you, mon ange. We love you so much already."

You felt a fresh wave of tears spill over, and before you could say anything, Charles stood up and gathered you into his arms. He held you close, one hand protectively around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head like you were something fragile and precious.

He kissed your temple, lips lingering there as though he never wanted to let you go.

"I love you," he whispered into your hair, voice steady but full of quiet emotion. "I love you so much. Both of you."

You buried your face into his chest, holding onto him like a lifeline, and for the first time in what felt like forever, your heart wasn’t heavy with fear — it was full. Full of love. Full of hope.

As the weeks turned into months, Charles’s protectiveness only grew stronger. He was still the same sweet, thoughtful man you had fallen in love with, but now, it was like he had taken on a new role — one that involved constantly making sure you were safe, comfortable, and happy.

He wouldn’t let you carry anything heavy. If you needed something from another room, Charles would jump up from wherever he was and get it for you — even if it was just a glass of water.

He hovered whenever you were walking on uneven ground, his hand always within reach to steady you just in case. When you were out in public, if anyone even so much as bumped into you, he’d be there in an instant, fixing them with a sharp glare and muttering something in French under his breath.

"She’s perfect, thank you," he’d say, a protective tone in his voice that made your heart flutter.

At home, it was a different story.

He was still over-the-top sweet, but he also had a knack for making you laugh. He would sit beside you on the couch, his hand resting gently on your growing belly, and read stories aloud to your baby.

Or he’d sing to your belly, and, while his singing voice might not have been the best, he did it with such enthusiasm and love that it made you laugh every time.

"Charles," you giggled one evening as he sang a very dramatic version of a lullaby, his tone completely off-key, "I don’t think the baby cares about the key you’re singing in."

He grinned, not at all phased by your teasing.

"Maybe not," he shrugged, continuing his performance, "but if they inherit my charm, they’ll appreciate the effort."

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was bursting with love.

You loved him.

You loved the way he threw himself into every part of this journey — not just as the future father of your child, but as your partner, your rock, and the love of your life.

This wasn’t just about becoming parents. It was about building a family — a team. And Charles was all in.

And so were you.

One evening, you found yourself curled up on the couch, your head resting gently in Charles’s lap. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves outside and the sound of the air conditioner keeping the warmth at bay.

Charles’s hand, warm and steady, rested on your growing belly. His fingers traced lazy, rhythmic patterns over the fabric of your shirt, a quiet hum escaping his lips. You couldn’t help but smile at how he seemed so at ease, as though this was exactly where he was meant to be — here, with you, in this moment.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The world outside the four walls of your living room seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you — tangled up in each other’s presence.

"Do you ever think about what they’ll look like?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You turned your head just enough so you could look up at Charles. His eyes were focused on your belly, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You saw the love in his gaze, that quiet kind of adoration that made your heart flutter.

Charles didn’t answer immediately, his fingers still tracing those gentle patterns over your stomach, the warmth of his touch radiating through the fabric. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, as if considering the question carefully, as if trying to picture the tiny person growing inside you.

Finally, he looked down at you, his smile softening, and brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. "All the time," he admitted, his voice full of a tenderness that made your chest tighten. "I hope they have your eyes."

You felt a surge of emotion at his words, the simple yet profound way he spoke about your baby, as if they were already part of both of you — as if they already belonged. "And your smile," he added, his eyes glimmering with that familiar warmth. "You have the most beautiful smile."

You swallowed, feeling the lump form in your throat. It was hard to speak, hard to even breathe with the rush of emotions that hit you. The overwhelming love you felt for Charles, for the tiny baby inside you, for the future you were building together. It all made your heart ache, but in the most wonderful way.

"And I hope they’re kind, like you," you whispered, your voice barely audible now, thick with emotion. You couldn’t stop the tears that welled up in your eyes, the overwhelming flood of love that filled your chest. "Gentle. Patient."

Charles’s eyes softened even more, and without a word, he leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a slow, tender kiss. It was the kind of kiss that wasn’t about passion or urgency, but about connection — about the deep, unspoken bond between the two of you.

"They’ll be perfect," he murmured against your lips, his voice full of a quiet certainty that made your heart swell. "Because they’ll be ours."

You closed your eyes as you pulled him in for another kiss, this time lingering longer, as if you both knew this moment was precious — as if you were sealing that promise in a way that words never could.

As you pulled away, you rested your head back on his lap, your hand instinctively finding his on your belly. You could feel the warmth of his palm against you, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest as he sat beside you.

You weren’t alone anymore.

You had Charles.

You had your baby.

And you had a heart that, finally, after all the waiting, all the pain, all the uncertainty — was finally, beautifully full again.

You squeezed Charles’s hand gently, feeling the comfort of his touch and the weight of that realization settle over you.

"We’re going to be okay," you whispered to him, your voice calm, yet full of emotion.

Charles’s hand tightened on yours, and he leaned down to kiss your forehead. His lips brushed against your skin, soft and reassuring. "I know, bébé. I know."

With each passing day, you and Charles were building something incredible together. A family. A future.

And nothing — nothing in the world — could take that away.

The days had grown warmer, and Monaco was slowly transforming before your eyes. Spring had arrived, bringing with it an explosion of color. The sky was that perfect shade of blue, the sun bright and inviting.

But, for you, the season’s beauty was secondary to the changes happening within your own little world.

You were huge now — or at least, that’s what you kept joking every time you tried to get up from the couch, your body round and heavy with the life you carried. There were days when getting out of bed felt like a monumental task, your limbs stiff and your back sore from the added weight of your growing belly. But Charles was always there, always hovering. You had gotten so used to it that it almost felt like a comforting presence.

"Charles, I’m pregnant, not broken," you’d laugh, swatting at his hands as they reached out to help you up from the couch.

His response was always the same — a grin that lit up his face, followed by him crouching down in front of you anyway, eyes full of love and concern. "I know," he would say, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "But you’re carrying our baby, so I’m allowed to take care of you." His voice was so gentle, so sincere, that it melted your heart every time.

Truth be told, you didn’t mind at all. In fact, you loved it. Loved how he looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in his life, how he made you feel like the most important person in the world. You knew how much this pregnancy meant to him — to both of you. The way he cared for you, the way he looked after every little detail, was proof of how deeply he wanted to be a father, how deeply he wanted this family.

Some days, when you were feeling particularly uncomfortable or exhausted, you’d just lean into him and let him help you. You knew that no matter how many times you swatted his hands away, he would always be there, ready to care for you. It was his love language, his way of showing that he was in this — all in — with you.

The nursery was finally finished.

You had spent weeks planning and preparing, choosing colors and patterns, imagining what it would look like. Charles had been just as involved, though in his own way. His focus had been on the practicality of everything — the crib, the changing table, the storage solutions for all the baby clothes. Every piece of furniture had been chosen with care, ensuring it would be perfect for the baby who would soon fill it.

The room itself was a sanctuary of peace, painted in soft neutral tones that radiated warmth and calm. There were gentle hints of blush pink and pale green scattered throughout, giving the space a subtle, almost ethereal feel. Since the gender of the baby wasn't known until the birth, the both of you decided on soft neutral colors. The crib was made of light wood, sturdy and timeless, with a soft mattress and sheets that were as soft as clouds. The shelves above the crib were lined with stuffed animals — a bear, a rabbit, a fox — each chosen with the same love and attention Charles had put into every detail of the room.

Charles had insisted on assembling the crib himself, a project he had taken very seriously, much to your amusement. You had offered to help, but he’d shooed you away, determined to get it right. Of course, halfway through, he had ended up calling Arthur to ask for help with the instructions. “I swear, I can read in French, but these instructions are written in a language all their own,” he had said, his voice tinged with exasperation and laughter.

You smiled just thinking about it now. Even in the chaos, even when he was frustrated with a seemingly simple task, he had always kept his eyes on the end goal — creating a safe, loving space for your baby.

In the corner of the room stood a rocking chair, the most perfect addition to the nursery, and, in time, it had become your favorite place to sit. Every evening, as the sun began to dip below the horizon and the room grew soft with twilight, you would curl into the chair, settling against Charles’s side. His arm would naturally wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close, and you’d lean your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

As the days passed, and the reality of becoming parents settled in, the two of you would talk about everything — the future, your hopes and dreams, the tiny person who would soon fill your lives. Sometimes, Charles would talk about what kind of father he wanted to be. His words were always filled with such certainty and warmth.

"I want to be the kind of father who makes our baby laugh every day," he had said one night, his eyes reflecting the gentle love that had taken root in his heart. "The kind who is always there when they need me — whether it’s for a scraped knee or a broken heart. I want them to know they can always count on me."

His words resonated deep within you. You had no doubt that Charles would be an incredible father. His love, patience, and tenderness were already evident in everything he did, and you knew that would only grow once your baby was here.

Every night, as you curled into his side in that chair, your head resting against his chest, you could feel the anticipation building. Every little kick or shift of the baby inside you reminded you that your lives were about to change forever. The days of waiting were almost over, and you couldn’t wait to meet the little one who had been growing inside you for so long.

Soon.

The thought sent a wave of emotion through you, and you blinked back tears as you turned your head up to look at Charles. He was smiling at you, his expression soft with love and affection.

"Can you believe it?" you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Our baby is coming soon."

Charles’s hand gently rested on your belly, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles. His eyes met yours, and in them, you saw everything — the excitement, the love, the anticipation. "I can’t wait, bébé," he murmured, his voice quiet but full of promise. "Soon, we’ll be holding them in our arms. Our baby."

And in that moment, as you sat there together, in the warmth of the nursery you had so carefully created, you realized that all the waiting, all the planning, all the months of anticipation had led to this. You were ready. Both of you were ready.

The nursery was ready. Your hearts were ready. And soon, the little one who had filled your dreams would be there, completing your family, and filling your home with a love you couldn’t yet fully comprehend.

Soon.

It was a quiet morning when everything changed.

The soft light of dawn filtered through the blinds, casting delicate shadows across the room. The world outside seemed still, as if holding its breath. But inside, your body was stirring in a way it never had before.

You woke up to a sharp cramp low in your belly, a sensation that made you pause, your breath hitching in surprise. It wasn’t overly painful, but it was different — an unmistakable sign that something was happening. You winced slightly, pressing your hand to your stomach, wondering if it was the beginning of something.

Still, it wasn’t too intense at first. So, you laid there for a moment, trying to calm your racing heart. You closed your eyes again, hoping to drift back to sleep, but then, another cramp came — sharper this time, and accompanied by an uncomfortable pressure. You couldn’t ignore it any longer.

"Charles…" you murmured, your voice still heavy with sleep but carrying an edge of worry. "I think something’s happening."

The moment the words left your mouth, Charles stirred beside you, instantly alert. It was as if your words had cracked the stillness of the room, and with a suddenness that made your heart leap, he shot upright, eyes wide and full of panic.

"What?!" His voice was filled with urgency, his hand already reaching for his phone. "Is it time? Do I call the doctor? The hospital? Your mom? Should I —"

You let out a soft laugh, though it came out breathless and strained as another cramp hit you. You winced, but it wasn’t too painful. "Breathe, love," you said, your voice soft but steady. "Let me check before you call half of Monaco."

But Charles was already in motion, his long fingers fumbling to grab your pre-packed hospital bag from the corner, even though it had been ready for weeks. He threw it onto the bed beside you, pacing the room like a caged lion, running his hand through his messy hair in distress.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, even as you clutched your stomach, trying to steady yourself. It was such a familiar sight — Charles, always moving a mile a minute when it came to taking care of you. Even now, in this moment of uncertainty, he was already trying to anticipate every possible thing that could go wrong.

Finally, after a few more contractions, you confirmed with your doctor, who reassured you that it was likely just the beginning of labor. Your contractions were becoming more regular, though not yet unbearably painful.

But Charles, ever the perfectionist, could hardly sit still. "Are you okay?" you asked softly as he drove toward the hospital, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his eyes darting between the road and you.

His lips parted to speak, but it was only then that you saw the tears — soft, glistening tears in the corner of his eyes. They took you by surprise, a silent admission of his fears. "I’m terrified," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "I’m terrified something will happen to you."

The words hung in the air, and your heart cracked a little. You reached over, your hand finding his, and you squeezed it tightly. You didn’t even care that you could barely feel your fingers due to the tight grip he had on the wheel. You just needed to reassure him, needed to remind him that you were in this together.

"I’m going to be okay," you whispered, voice thick with emotion. "We’re both going to be okay."

He nodded, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. You could tell that, no matter how many times you reassured him, this was still a moment of immense fear for him. The fear of losing you, of something going wrong, was something neither of you could avoid.

Labor was... intense.

It felt as though time stretched and bent around you, every hour becoming an eternity. You weren’t sure how long you had been in the hospital now — minutes, hours, days? But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the overwhelming pain, the exhaustion, and the beautiful chaos of this moment that would soon lead to your baby being in your arms.

Charles had been your rock through it all. He never left your side, holding your hand with such fierce tenderness that it almost grounded you to this earth.

Every contraction was like a wave crashing over you, each one more intense than the last. You gripped his hand, squeezing tightly, and Charles never once wavered. He wiped the sweat from your brow, kissed your forehead, and whispered words of encouragement with a steadiness that made you believe you could do anything.

"I’m so proud of you," he whispered against your temple during one of the breaks, his voice low and filled with love. "You’re incredible."

You could feel the tears building in your eyes, but you couldn’t summon the strength to speak. His words cut through the pain and gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t thought possible in the middle of this madness. His belief in you, in your strength, made you want to keep going — no matter how hard it got.

And then, finally — the moment you had dreamed of, fought for, ached for.

The sound of a baby’s first cry filled the room — sharp, loud, and so full of life that it felt like the whole world stopped spinning for a moment. Your breath caught in your throat, and everything around you seemed to blur, like the edges of the room had melted away until there was nothing but that sound.

In that moment, you weren’t just a woman in labor anymore. You were a mother. Her mother.

The nurse, with the gentlest smile, approached and softly said, "It's a girl."

A girl.

Your heart twisted in the most beautiful way as tears welled up in your eyes. A girl. Your girl.

The tiny bundle was placed delicately on your chest, and when you looked down, it felt like the entire universe shifted into place. She was so impossibly small, her little hands curled into fists against her chest, her skin soft and pink, and her face — oh, her face — was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

You let out a shaky breath, tears sliding freely down your cheeks as you reached up to cup her tiny head. "Hi, baby," you whispered, your voice breaking, "Hi, my love."

Your eyes found Charles then — and the sight of him completely unraveled you. He was standing at your side, frozen at first, his green eyes wide with disbelief, tears already spilling down his cheeks. His hand covered his mouth like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Slowly, like he was afraid to break the moment, he leaned down and pressed a trembling kiss to your forehead. His hands cupped your face, his thumb wiping away your tears as his own kept falling.

Then, he turned his attention to the baby, to her, and a soft, awed sound left his throat — something between a laugh and a sob.

"We did it," Charles whispered, his voice thick, cracking under the weight of his emotions. "Mon amour… we did it."

You could only nod, your throat too tight to speak. The tears kept coming, but for the first time in so long, they were tears of joy, of overwhelming love.

"Meet her," you finally managed, breathless, staring down at the little miracle on your chest. "Meet our daughter."

Charles reached out with shaking fingers, carefully stroking her soft cheek as though she might break under his touch. His smile was pure wonder, his eyes never leaving her face.

"She’s… she’s perfect," he whispered in awe. "She’s so perfect, bébé."

He leaned in and kissed the top of her tiny head with so much tenderness it broke your heart all over again.

"I love you so much," he murmured, his lips still pressed to her soft skin. "I love you both more than anything in this world."

You closed your eyes for a second, trying to gather yourself, but nothing could prepare you for this kind of love — raw, overwhelming, all-consuming. You had fought so hard, gone through so much heartbreak, fear, and pain — and now here she was. The living proof that hope was real.

You ran a hand gently over her head, glancing up at Charles again, and he met your gaze with a soft smile — one that said, we made it.

"Her name?" you whispered softly, the question hanging in the air, though you both already knew.

Charles smiled, eyes brimming with tears as he whispered, "Sofia. Sofia Pascale Leclerc."

Sofia. It felt perfect — strong and soft, like her.

"Hi, Sofia," you whispered to her, running a trembling finger over her tiny hand. "Hi, baby girl."

The first night in the hospital was a blur of feedings, diaper changes, and nurses checking in, but there were moments that would be forever etched in your heart — like the way Charles never wanted to put her down, holding her close like she was the most precious thing in the world.

You woke in the middle of the night to see him by the window, gently swaying with her in his arms. He had taken off his shirt so she could feel his warmth, and he was humming softly — a song you couldn’t quite recognize, but it sounded like love.

The lights of Monaco glittered in the distance, but Charles' world was small now, narrowed down to just you and Sofia.

"Look at her, mon cœur," Charles whispered when he noticed you watching him. His voice was thick with emotion, still in awe, like he couldn’t believe she was real. "So small. So perfect."

You smiled, propped up in the bed, still feeling weak but fuller than you’d ever been.

"She is perfect," you said softly, wiping another tear from your cheek.

He looked down at Sofia, brushing a kiss to her forehead, and then, without looking away from her, he added, "Just like her maman."

Your chest tightened at his words, but you smiled through it.

"Think she’ll like racing?" you joked quietly, needing to lighten the moment before you drowned in tears again.

Charles let out a soft laugh, though his eyes never left her. "Maybe… but she’ll always be faster than me — she’s already stolen my heart."

You watched him for a long moment, your heart swelling in your chest, so full it felt like it might burst.

This — this — was what you had fought for.

You had fought through heartbreak that had left you breathless, through pain that had nearly broken you in two, through nights when all you could do was cry in Charles’ arms, unsure if this dream would ever come true. You had battled fear, uncertainty, and the endless ache of waiting. And now, as you stood there, watching him cradle Sofia like she was the most precious thing in the world, you realized — this was everything you had ever dreamed of.

Your family.

The family you had fought for with every ounce of strength you had left.

Weeks later, when life had finally started to settle into a rhythm, and the haze of the first sleepless nights had softened, you walked into the living room and stopped dead in your tracks.

Charles was asleep on the couch, head tilted back, his soft brown hair a mess from running his fingers through it one too many times. But it wasn’t just him.

Sofia was curled up on his chest, her tiny body rising and falling with each of his breaths. One of his arms cradled her protectively, while his other hand rested lightly on her back, like even in sleep, he couldn’t stop holding her close.

They looked so peaceful, so safe — wrapped in a world where nothing could touch them.

Tears pricked your eyes as you stood there, one hand covering your mouth as the weight of it all washed over you.

The man who had stood beside you through every storm, who had wiped every tear, held you through every loss, whispered hope into your ears when you had none left — this man was now holding your daughter like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

He had loved you through it all — even when you couldn’t love yourself, even when you had pushed him away in the depths of your grief. He had never let go.

And now, here he was — the father of your child.

You walked toward them softly, careful not to wake either of them, and slowly eased yourself onto the couch beside him. Curling into his side, you rested your head on his shoulder, your hand gently brushing over Sofia’s tiny back.

Charles stirred slightly, shifting in his sleep at your touch, and after a moment, he cracked one eye open, his gaze landing on you.

A sleepy, soft smile tugged at his lips as he looked at you like you were still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Hey, maman," he whispered, his voice hoarse from sleep, but full of so much love it made your heart ache.

You smiled through the tears gathering in your eyes, brushing a kiss against his shoulder as you whispered back, "Hey, papa."

He leaned his head against yours, letting out a quiet sigh, as though even now, weeks later, he still couldn’t believe she was real.

Your eyes drifted down to Sofia, her tiny face peaceful, her lips slightly parted as she breathed in soft little huffs. One tiny hand was fisted against Charles' chest like she never wanted to let go of her papa.

You reached out, gently tracing a fingertip over her soft cheek, and felt Charles’ arm tighten around both of you, pulling you closer.

"I don’t think I’ll ever get over this," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles turned to press a kiss to your temple, lingering there. "Me neither," he murmured against your skin. "She’s everything, isn’t she?"

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

For the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

There were no needles, no hospital walls, no sterile doctors' offices — just you, Charles, and Sofia, safe and whole in your little home.

You had your family.

You had love — a love that had been tested and forged in fire, but had only grown stronger.

And you had a future — one brighter, fuller, and more beautiful than anything you had ever dared to imagine.

Together, you were everything.

[harmeu]

Falling Tears

(BSD MEN REACT TO THEIR SPOUSE CRYING)

(GN!Reader)

Dazai Osamu:

We all know Dazai is one to shrug off people's problems as if it were a measly little thing that was nothing to fuss over. The casual “You’ll be fine~!” But we all also know that Dazai cares for you. He loves you. If you were to sob in front of him it’d send him into an overdrive of broken worry.

You were tired. Sick and tired. It felt as if everyone was shrugging you off of your problems and you ran to the agency bathroom because your throat closed up and felt water appearing in your eyes. 

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

You knew those footsteps. It was your boyfriend. Dazai. You immediately began trying to wipe the tears, imagining that if Dazai were to see he’d try to stifle his laughter because of all those times he waved off your problems and vents. Sadly the tears couldn’t stop and now you were a flushed mess looking down to avoid his gaze. It was piercing.

“Darling what's this? Why’re you trying to hide your pretty face from meee~?” He cooed tilting your head up, having a playful smile but it broke as he noticed your tears. 

“Oh..what happened.?” 

“No one listens or takes me seriously. Not even you! I’m tired. Go away.” You try to shrug him off but he grasps your hands pulling you onto his chest.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He frowned, his face softening. “I’m the asshole for ignoring. I should've known.” Worry was evident on his handsome face and you flushed at his words. You really needed to hear that. As Dazai apologized he peppered your face with kisses.

“Next time slap me if I brush off your problems. I might like it if you slap me though.” He winked which you scoffed at, holding back a chuckle.

Chuuya Nakahara:

Chuuya, despite being someone who definitely needs anger management classes will get immensely suspicious if you were to get the tiniest bit of a frown on your face. “Are you alright?” He’d constantly ask and once you break down his heart shatters.

You collapsed onto your bed spasming a bit from trying to hold back your tears. You knew you could tell Chuuya your love about your problems. Though there was a thing inside of you that said that he would be forcing himself to comfort you so you kept your mouth shut silently sobbing into a pillow curled up.

You flinched as the door knob cranked open revealing your boyfriend with wide eyes as he saw you so disheveled.

“What's wrong doll?” He murmured going to you and sitting beside you on the bed taking his gloved fingers to stroke your back delicately.

“I-I’m sorry I don’t wanna bother.” You mumble back looking back down at the pillow you sobbed into.

“Tell me who did it.” Chuuyas glare becomes more pronounced as seconds pass and you almost chuckle at his overprotectiveness.

“I’m just tired.” You say averting your gaze.

“I can be your stress relief.” He stared and flushed at his own words, scowling. “Not like that! Like..my arms are free for you.”

You laughed and dug yourself deep into his chest nuzzling as Chuuya put his chin on your head, kissing it gently.

Ranpo Edogawa:

This piece of shit of an egotistical man will KNOW your sad but won’t do anything about it. He’ll brush it off like Dazai in a more childish way. “I have better things to do!” He’d say casually sucking on his lollipop. But those once closed eyes would widen at the sight of your tears coming on display.

Everything and everyone was so mean. Why can’t they just understand you're tired?! You’ve tried. So. Many. Times. To talk to your boyfriend about your problems but he’d change the topic with what he was busy with.

Thinking no one was here you buried yourself into your desk of the agency, silent tears slipping out your eyes as you took a shaky breath, hands trembling beneath the desk. You sniffled but then heard a drop of some kind of food. Ice cream. Splat on the ground as you lift your head to see your boyfriend staring at you wide eyed, his glasses barely holding on.

“What?” You say annoyed wiping your tears so you don’t embarrass yourself further.

“You're crying.” He said as if it weren't the most obvious thing in the world.

“No shit.” You rubbed your eyes frantically realizing the tears wouldn’t stop which turned into a sniffle fest and you averted your body from him in a fluster.

Footsteps came closer and you felt arms wrap around your waist from behind and a face nuzzle into your neck.

“Did I do it.?” Ranpo mumbled a childish tone evident in his voice.

“Your part of it.” You said between tears and then your boyfriend kissed the back of your neck sending shivers down you. You try to glare but he uses the puppy dog look to manipulate you. Damn it.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled averting his gaze.

You didn’t fully accept his apology but you did accept the kisses he kept giving you during this encounter making you flush.

(FIRST POST IN LIKE MONTHSOMG anyway)

[staygolden-and-chaotic]

The outsiders boys with a waitress reader🫶🏻

_________________________________________________

Darrell Curtis

Darry first meets you at the diner when he’s out grabbing a quick bite after a long shift at the roofing job. He’s exhausted, but the moment you walk up to his table with a warm smile and a cup of coffee, he feels his stress melt away just a little.

You’re the kind of waitress who knows how to brighten someone’s day quick with a joke, attentive without being overbearing, and always making sure Darry’s coffee cup stays full. At first, he thinks you’re just being polite, but when you start asking about his day and remembering his regular order, he starts to wonder if you might be doing it just for him.

He’d definitely take his time working up the nerve to flirt with you. Darry’s not as smooth as Soda or Pony might tease him to be, so his compliments are a bit shy and awkward. “You, uh, work a lot, don’t you? Must take a lot of patience to deal with everyone here all day.” When you laugh and say you don’t mind it, he relaxes a little, but his ears turn red when you tease him right back.

The boys at home notice Darry making more “diner runs” than usual. Soda gives him a hard time, saying he’s not fooling anyone. “Admit it, Darry, you’re not going for the coffee.” Darry grumbles and tells Soda to drop it, but everyone knows exactly why he’s suddenly craving burgers so often.

When he finally asks you out, it’s the most endearing thing. He tries to catch you on a slow night at the diner, waiting until your shift is about to end. “I, uh, was wondering if you’d maybe want to get some coffee sometime… not here, though. Somewhere nice.” His voice is a little rough with nerves, but the hopeful look in his eyes is impossible to say no to.

Once you start dating, Darry becomes your biggest cheerleader. He knows how hard you work and is constantly in awe of how you juggle everything so gracefully. He makes a point to stop by the diner after work just to see you, always leaving a generous tip even if you insist it’s not necessary.

On days when your shifts are particularly tough, Darry surprises you by cooking dinner at his place (which the boys usually devour, but he always saves a plate for you). He’s not great with words, but his actions speak volumes—he’ll rub your sore shoulders, listen to you vent about rude customers, and tell you how much he admires your dedication.

Darry’s naturally protective, and it shows when he sees anyone giving you a hard time at work. If a customer is rude or steps out of line, he won’t make a scene, but the sharp look he gives them is enough to send them packing.

Over time, you become a part of the Curtis family dynamic, much to Soda and Ponyboy’s delight. They tease Darry about being smitten with you, but they genuinely adore having you around. You fit into their world so perfectly that it feels like you were meant to be there all along.

Sodapop Curtis

The first time Sodapop walks into the diner, you’re immediately struck by his charm. He’s all bright smiles, golden hair, and warm energy that lights up the whole place. He’s the kind of guy who calls you “ma’am” with a wink when he orders a milkshake, and you can’t help but blush even though he’s being playful.

Soda’s a regular almost instantly. It’s not because of the food (though he’ll claim it’s the “best in town” just to make you smile). He loves sitting at the counter, chatting with you between your other tables. You notice how he has a knack for making everyone in the diner laugh, even the crankiest of customers.

He flirts with you constantly but in the sweetest way. He’ll ask for extra napkins, and when you bring them over, he grins and says, “Thanks, doll. You’re a lifesaver. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” When you roll your eyes, he just laughs that carefree Soda laugh, and suddenly, you’re looking forward to his visits.

One day, when he sees how tired you are, he doesn’t hesitate to jump in and help. Soda grabs a tray and starts bussing tables, much to your embarrassment. “What? I’m just lending a hand,” he says with a cheeky grin. The other customers love it, but your boss is less amused. “If I get fired, you’re paying my bills, Curtis!” you tease, but you can’t stay mad when he promises to make it up to you.

It doesn’t take long for him to ask you out. Soda’s not the type to beat around the bush. One evening, as you’re wiping down the counter, he leans over and says, “So, how about we make this official? Dinner, dancing, the whole works? I’ll even let you pick the spot.” He’s so confident yet so genuine that there’s no way you can say no.

Dating Soda feels like an adventure. He’s always coming up with fun dates whether it’s going to drive-ins, walking around the park, or surprising you with spontaneous milkshake runs. He has a way of making the simplest moments feel special.

He’s also incredibly supportive of your job. He’s the guy who brings you lunch during your shifts, insists you sit down for a minute to eat, and leaves little notes tucked into the napkins, like, “You’re doing great, gorgeous.”

Soda can’t stand seeing you upset. If a rude customer gives you a hard time, he’s the first to cheer you up. He’ll pull goofy faces, crack jokes, and promise to take you out after work so you can forget all about it. “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back, darlin’. Always.”

He’s so proud of you and tells everyone how hard you work. The gang hears all about you at home, and Darry has to remind Soda to give you some space. “She’s busy, Soda, you can’t live at the diner.” But Ponyboy secretly thinks it’s cute how smitten Soda is.

When you’re overwhelmed, Soda knows exactly what to do to help you unwind. He’ll show up at your place with flowers and your favorite candy or drag you out to dance under the stars because “life’s too short not to have a little fun.”

You quickly become a part of Soda’s world, and the Curtis house starts to feel like home. Soda is always telling you how much he adores you, how you’re the “sweetest thing to ever happen to me,” and how he can’t wait to see what the future holds.

Ponyboy Curtis

Ponyboy first notices you at the diner during one of his solo study sessions. He likes the quiet corner booth, away from the chaos, where he can read or write in peace. But then you show up, all warm smiles and a soft voice as you ask if he needs anything, and suddenly, his focus is completely shot.

You’re kind and patient with him, even when he stumbles over his words while ordering. He’s not used to being around someone so effortlessly sweet, and it flusters him. But he’s also a little intrigued when he notices you sneaking glances at the book he brought with him.

Over time, Ponyboy becomes a regular at the diner not because he’s particularly hungry, but because he loves seeing you. He’ll sit in your section every time, and you always make a point to chat with him for a few moments, asking about his books or his day.

The two of you bond over a shared love of literature. One day, he shyly offers you a recommendation: “You should read Gone with the Wind. It’s… uh, it’s one of my favorites.” You take his advice, and the next time you see him, you let him know what you thought. Pony’s practically glowing when you gush about it, thrilled that someone finally gets his love for stories.

Pony isn’t the boldest when it comes to flirting, so he shows his feelings in subtle ways. He would tell Dallas to lay off or scribble a quick “thanks for the great service!” on a napkin, hoping you’ll notice. When he finally works up the nerve to ask you out, it’s adorably awkward. “I, um… I was wondering if maybe you’d want go check out this movie or something?” His cheeks turn bright red, but his earnestness makes it impossible for you to say no.

Dating Ponyboy is sweet and innocent, full of quiet moments and deep conversations. He loves taking you to places that inspire him, like the park or the movies, and he’s always eager to share his thoughts and hear yours.

He’s incredibly thoughtful, often bringing you little gifts like a pressed flower he found on a walk or a poem he wrote about how much you mean to him. He never expects anything in return, he just loves making you smile.

Ponyboy’s protective side comes out when he sees anyone being rude to you at the diner. He’s not one for confrontation, but he’ll give a disapproving look or step in if things escalate. “She doesn’t deserve that,” he’ll say firmly, standing his ground.

When you have a tough shift, Ponyboy is the first to notice. He’ll offer to walk you home, carrying your bag and listening as you vent. “You don’t have to keep it all bottled up,” he’ll remind you softly. “I’m here for you.”

The Curtis brothers adore you, and Soda can’t help but tease Ponyboy about how smitten he is. “Man, you’re practically floating every time you get back from the diner,” Soda jokes, but Pony doesn’t mind. He knows he’s lucky to have you.

Being with Ponyboy feels like finding a safe haven. He’s gentle, genuine, and so full of love, and he makes sure you know how special you are to him every single day.

Johnny Cade

Johnny first meets you when he stumbles into the diner late at night, looking for a place to escape the cold. He’s hesitant and nervous, sitting in the corner booth where he can avoid drawing attention. You notice how out of place he seems, so you greet him kindly, making sure to give him the warmest smile you can.

He’s shy at first, barely meeting your gaze when you ask what he wants. “Just a water,” he mutters quietly. But you can tell he hasn’t eaten much, so you bring him a plate of fries “on the house,” claiming there was an extra order. He thanks you so softly you almost don’t hear it, but the look of gratitude in his eyes stays with you.

After that, Johnny becomes a regular. He doesn’t talk much at first, but he always sits in your section. You’re patient with him, never pushing for conversation, and he starts to relax around you. Over time, you notice he opens up little by little, sharing small pieces of himself like how he loves the quiet of late nights or how he’s been reading more lately.

You quickly realize how kindhearted Johnny is. He always says “please” and “thank you,” even when he’s struggling. If he sees you having a rough shift, he’ll try to help in his own quiet way picking up a fallen napkin or murmuring, “You’re doing a good job.” It’s small, but it warms your heart.

It takes a lot for Johnny to work up the courage to ask you out. He’s convinced you’re way out of his league, but after a pep talk from Ponyboy and twobit, he finally gives it a shot. One night, as you’re refilling his coffee, he shyly stammers, “Would… would you want to maybe go to the park with me sometime? Or the drive in? I mean, only if you’re not busy…” His voice is so soft you almost miss it, but when you say yes, his whole face lights up.

Dating Johnny is sweet and understated. He’s not flashy or loud, but he shows his love in thoughtful ways. He’ll bring you little trinkets he finds like a smooth stone or a pretty leaf he thought you’d like or offer to walk you home after a late shift, even if it’s out of his way.

Johnny’s incredibly protective of you. He may not be the biggest or toughest, but if someone’s rude to you at the diner, he doesn’t hesitate to step in. “Hey, she doesn’t want any problems” he’ll say firmly, his voice steady despite his nerves.

Even when his buddy Dallas try’s coming to see who has his heart. Johnny is brave if enough to let him know she’s off limits and not to give her a hard time.

He’s a great listener. After a long day, you know you can vent to Johnny, and he’ll give you his full attention, nodding along and offering quiet words of support. “You’re the hardest-working person I know,” he tells you one night, his voice filled with admiration.

The gang teases Johnny when they find out about you, but they’re genuinely happy to see him so content. Ponyboy, especially, loves watching Johnny smile more, and Dallas always tries to hype him up by saying, “Johnnycakes landed the prettiest girl in town!”

You help Johnny see his worth. You remind him that he’s kind, loyal, and so much stronger than he thinks. Over time, he becomes more confident, knowing he has someone in his corner who truly believes in him.

Being with Johnny is like finding a quiet moment of peace in a chaotic world. He’s gentle, loving, and endlessly devoted, and he makes you feel cherished in a way you’ve never experienced before.

Dallas Winston

Dallas first meets you when he saunters into the diner late at night, cigarette dangling from his lips and that infamous smirk on his face. He doesn’t bother looking at the menu, just leans back in the booth and orders, “Coffee. Black. And make it strong.” When you snipe back that he could use some manners, he’s instantly intrigued.

Dally loves to flirt shamelessly with you, even from the very first meeting. “You got a name, sweetheart, or should I just call you gorgeous?” he quips with a wink. You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips, and he catches it immediately. “Ah, there it is. I knew I’d crack you.”

He starts showing up more often, always sitting in your section and making sure to get your attention. Whether it’s a cocky comment, a teasing remark, or something surprisingly sweet, Dally loves seeing you flustered. He’s a master at pushing your buttons just enough to make you laugh.

Dally’s bold when it comes to asking you out. One night, after you finish your shift, he’s leaning against the diner’s doorframe, waiting for you. “Let me take you out, doll. I promise, you won’t regret it.” His confidence is impossible to ignore, and while you know he’s trouble, there’s something about him you can’t resist.

Dating Dally is nothing short of an adventure. He’s spontaneous and unpredictable, always dragging you along for some wild escapade. Midnight drives, sneaking into movies, and trips to other towns become the norm. Life with Dally is fast paced, but he always makes sure you’re having the time of your life.

Despite his tough guy exterior, Dally has a soft spot for you. He’d never admit it out loud, but he genuinely cares about your well being. If you’re working too hard or looking exhausted, he’ll tell you to sit down and let him handle things even if that just means stealing a plate of fries from the kitchen to cheer you up.

Dally is fiercely protective of you. If anyone gives you a hard time at the diner, he’s quick to step in, no matter how messy things might get. “You got a problem with her? Then you got a problem with me,” he growls, his icy glare enough to send anyone running.

He loves showing you off to the gang, bragging about how lucky he is to have you. “Ain’t she something?” he’ll say, throwing an arm around you as if daring anyone to disagree. The guys tease him relentlessly for how soft he gets around you, but he doesn’t care.

He’s the type of guy who is going to give you a hard time. He’ll smack your butt when you walk by, pull you into the seat while he gives you your order, leans over the counter and gropes you when making coffee. If anyone else tried that? They’d be better off dead.

Dally’s softer side really shines when the two of you are alone. He’ll tell you things he’s never told anyone, like how he grew up in New York or how much he never misses his old friends because of the way they where. He trusts you in a way he doesn’t trust anyone else, and that vulnerability only deepens your bond.

He’s not great with words, but Dally shows his love through his actions. Whether it’s leaving you little notes, sneaking you out for a surprise date, or showing up at the diner just to see your smile, he makes sure you know how much you mean to him.

Being with Dally isn’t always easy he’s stubborn, hot-headed, and reckless but he loves you with everything he’s got. You bring out the best in him, reminding him that he’s capable of being more than just a troublemaker. With you, he feels like he’s finally found something worth holding onto.

Steve Randle

Steve first notices you during one of his lunch breaks when he and Soda drop by the diner for burgers and milkshakes. You’re their waitress, and when you ask for their order, Steve immediately starts with the smooth talking: “I’ll take whatever you recommend, doll. As long as it comes with a smile like that.” Soda groans at how cheesy Steve is, but you smirk, firing back just as playfully. Steve’s instantly hooked.

He becomes a regular almost overnight, dragging Soda along just to have an excuse to see you. Every time you show up at their table, Steve’s quick with a joke or a compliment. “You must get tired of running around here all day, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while with the best tip you’ve ever seen.” Soda, of course, rolls his eyes every time.

Steve is confident, but you know how to keep him on his toes. When he teases you, you tease him right back, and he loves it. He’s used to being the one in control, but something about the way you laugh at his antics makes him stumble over his words just a little.

He flirts so much that Soda bets he’ll never actually work up the nerve to ask you out. Steve takes it as a challenge, and one night, when you’re wiping down their table, he casually leans forward and says, “So, what time do you get off work? I figure you’ve been serving me burgers all week it’s about time I take you out for one.”

Dating Steve is a whirlwind of fun and excitement. He’s always looking for ways to make you laugh, whether it’s cracking jokes, pulling goofy faces, or challenging you to silly bets. He swears he’ll win every time, but somehow you always manage to come out on top.

Steve’s naturally competitive, so he loves finding little games to play with you. Whether it’s seeing who can finish their milkshake first or racing you down the street, he thrives on that playful energy you bring out in him.

He’s also a total gearhead, so expect a lot of dates involving cars. He’ll take you for joyrides in the shop’s best rebuilds or teach you how to work on an engine. “You’re not just a pretty face, you know,” he’ll say, handing you a wrench with a wink. “Bet you’ll be fixing cars better than me in no time.”

Steve is the type of boyfriend who would wanna make out session in the car he is working on. Sometimes when a client comes back for their car they see you on his lap with a heated make out session.

The Curtis gang absolutely loves having you around. You and Soda gang up on Steve constantly, teasing him about his wild ideas or his overconfidence. He pretends to hate it, but secretly, he loves seeing you get along so well with his best friend.

Steve almost punched Ponyboy because he was looking at you for more than 0.001 seconds.

Steve’s not just fun and games, though. When you have a bad day, he’s there to cheer you up, offering to take you out or just listen while you vent. He’s surprisingly good at knowing when to joke and when to just be there for you. “Hey, you don’t gotta do it all alone, alright? I’m here.”

He shows his love through grand gestures and small, thoughtful moments. He’ll leave little notes under your car windshield, show up with your favorite snack after work, or surprise you with a night out at the drive-in. Steve has a way of making every day feel like an adventure.

He always makes sure your car is up to date. When you’re at work, he won’t even ask you. He would just take your car for an oil change.

With Steve, life is never boring. He keeps you laughing, challenges you to be your best, and makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

Two-bit Mathews

Two-Bit meets you when he and the gang come into the diner for some burgers after a long day. He spots you right away, and before you even make it to their table, he’s already cracking jokes. “Well, would ya look at that? The prettiest girl in town is serving us tonight. Lucky us, huh, boys?” You laugh, but the gang groans this is classic Two-Bit.

He’s immediately smitten and starts finding any excuse to keep you at the table longer. “Now, what’s the best thing on the menu? And don’t just say everything you gotta be honest with me, sweetheart.” He’ll keep the banter going until you’re smiling so much your cheeks hurt.

Two-Bit becomes a regular at the diner, showing up at all hours just to see you. Sometimes he brings the gang, but more often than not, it’s just him, sitting at the counter with his trademark grin. “Don’t tell me you’re happy to see me, doll I might get a big head.”

He loves to tease you, but it’s never mean spirited. If you’re having a bad day, he can tell right away, and his jokes get even sillier just to cheer you up. “What do you call a waitress who’s also a ray of sunshine? You. You call her you.” His goofy humor is impossible to resist, and you find yourself laughing even when you don’t want to.

Two-Bit finally works up the nerve to ask you out after weeks of flirting. He does it in the most Two-Bit way possible, sliding a napkin across the counter with a messy scrawl: “How about dinner with me? I promise to keep the jokes to a minimum. (Maybe.) Yes or no?” You circle yes and watch him nearly fall off his stool in excitement.

Dating Two-Bit is a nonstop laugh fest. He takes you to the movies, sneaks you into drive ins, and always has some wild scheme to keep things interesting. “Life’s too short to be boring, babe. Stick with me, and you’ll never have a dull day.”

He loves spoiling you in his own way. It might not be fancy, but it’s always thoughtful like showing up at the diner with your favorite candy or winning you a stuffed animal at the arcade. He’s the kind of guy who’ll go out of his way to make you feel special.

Two-Bit is fiercely loyal and protective. If anyone gives you trouble at ALL, he’s quick to step in with his signature charm (and maybe a little intimidation if necessary). “Hey, pal, you got a problem? ‘Cause I got about a hundred reasons why you should walk away right now.”

The gang adores you, mostly because Two-Bit can’t stop talking about you. “Did you know she can carry, like, six plates at once? She’s amazing,” he’ll brag, and everyone just rolls their eyes because they’ve heard it a million times.

Two-Bit loves to surprise you with little gifts and notes. He’ll leave things like a comic book he thinks you’d enjoy or a silly doodle of the two of you. One day, you find a note tucked into your apron pocket that says, “You’re the best thing to ever happen to this diner (and me).”

Beneath all the jokes and laughter, Two-Bit is incredibly sweet and caring. He notices the little things about you how you like your coffee, the way you hum when you’re wiping down tables, or how your face lights up when you talk about something you love.

With Two-Bit, life feels like one big adventure. He makes you laugh, reminds you to take things less seriously, and loves you with every bit of his big, goofy heart.

Tim Shepard

Tim first meets you when he stops by the diner late at night after a rumble. He’s nursing a split lip and a bruised jaw, but he’s acting like it’s nothing. You approach his table, not intimidated by the rough exterior. “Rough night?” you ask, and instead of brushing you off, he smirks. “You could say that.”

You’re not the type to shy away from trouble, and Tim likes that about you right away. You bring him coffee without him asking, and when you slide a plate of fries onto the table, you just shrug and say, “You look like you could use it.” That no nonsense attitude intrigues him.

Tim keeps coming back to the diner, always at odd hours. He never says much at first, just orders coffee and watches you work. But over time, he starts to open up, throwing in the occasional comment or teasing remark. He likes how sharp you are you don’t take any of his attitude, and he respects that.

One night, after you catch him eyeing you for the hundredth time, you finally call him out. “You gonna sit there staring all night, or you gonna say something?” He chuckles, leaning back in his seat. “Alright, I’ll bite. What time do you get off? Maybe I’ll take you somewhere better than this dump.”

Dating Tim is intense, but in the best way. He’s not big on grand romantic gestures, but he makes sure you know he’s serious about you. He’ll show up at the diner to walk you home after a late shift, leaning against the wall outside with a cigarette between his fingers, looking like trouble and waiting just for you.

Tim is fiercely protective of you. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, he’s quick to step in. “You got a problem?” he’ll ask, his tone low and dangerous. Most people back off immediately it’s clear he doesn’t mess around.

He’s a man of few words, but his actions speak volumes. He’ll fix things for you without being asked, like the busted lock on your apartment door or the squeaky hinge on your car. “Can’t have you living like that,” he’ll mutter, brushing it off like it’s no big deal.

Tim isn’t one to show his softer side often, but you get glimpses of it when you’re alone together. He’ll let his guard down just enough to tell you about his rough childhood or his loyalty to his gang. “They’re all I’ve got,” he admits one night. “But you… you’re different.”

The Shepard gang takes to you right away. They’re used to tough girls hanging around, but you’re something else entirely strong enough to handle Tim’s intensity but kind enough to balance him out. They tease him about how soft he gets around you, but they’re secretly glad you’re in his life.

Curly secretly has the biggest crush on you. He would never flirt with you or anything but he wishes he would have had you instead. He wouldn’t change it though, even though he hates to admit it his brother really does love you.

Tim doesn’t do traditional romance, but he surprises you with little things that mean a lot. He’ll leave a single flower on your doorstep or show up at the diner with your favorite snack. He’s not great with words, but his actions always make you feel special.

He admires your strength and independence. You work hard, and Tim respects that more than anything. “You don’t let anyone walk all over you,” he says one night, his voice full of admiration. “That’s why I like you. You’re tough, like me.”

Tim’s not the easiest guy to love he’s stubborn, intense, and always ready for.

Curly Shepard

Curly first meets you when he and some of the Shepard gang stop by the diner after causing trouble around town. He’s loud, cocky, and full of energy, tossing out jokes and harassing his friends. When you come over to take their order, he leans back in the booth with a smirk and says, “I’ll take a burger, fries, and your number. What do you say, doll?”

You don’t fall for his charm right away, which only makes him try harder. When you roll your eyes and mutter something about boys like him being all talk, he grins even wider. “Oh, I like you,” he says, completely unbothered. “You got fire. I can work with that.”

Curly becomes a regular at the diner, dragging his friends along even when they complain about it. “C’mon, man, the food’s good, and my favorite waitress is there.” he says, unapologetic. Every time you see him walk in, you prepare yourself for the chaos that follows.

His flirting is relentless but oddly endearing. He’ll scribble ridiculous doodles on napkins and leave them at the table, like a stick-figure version of himself with a speech bubble that says, “Call me.” When you roll your eyes and toss it in the trash, he just laughs.

Despite his cocky exterior, Curly’s got a soft spot for you. If you’re having a bad day, he notices immediately. “Hey, what’s with the long face?” he’ll ask, his tone unusually sincere. “Who do I gotta rough up to fix it?” You tell him it’s nothing, but he makes it his mission to cheer you up anyway.

Curly doesn’t hesitate to pick fights with anyone who disrespects you. If a customer gives you a hard time, he’s on his feet in seconds, fists clenched and ready. “You better watch your mouth, pal, or you’ll be picking your teeth up off the floor.”

When he finally asks you out, it’s not exactly romantic it’s bold and straightforward, just like him. “So, what time do you get off? I figured it’s about time you let me take you out. You know you can’t resist me forever.”

Dating Curly is wild, unpredictable, and full of excitement. He loves taking you on late night adventures, from sneaking into drive ins to racing his friends on backroads. “Hold on, babe,” he’ll say with a grin as he revs up his car. “Let’s see if I can make your heart race.”

Curly will have heated make out sessions in public. He doesn’t care. So you’ll be taking his order and he pulls you down to start making out. If anyone complains, curly gives the the most deadly stare.

Curly shows his affection through actions more than words. He’ll bring you random little gifts, like a candy bar he stole or a flower he picked off someone’s lawn. “I saw it, and it made me think of you,” he’ll say, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

Tim teases Curly relentlessly about you, saying things like, “Didn’t know you had it in you to be sweet, Curly. You getting soft on us?” Curly always snaps back, but you can tell he doesn’t really mind.

Curly is proud to have you by his side and makes sure everyone knows it. He’ll drape an arm around your shoulders in public, shoot glares at anyone who looks at you for too long, and constantly call you “his girl.”

Beneath all his bravado, Curly has a vulnerable side that he only shows you. When he talks about his rough upbringing or his struggles with living in his brother’s shadow, you see a depth to him that most people don’t get to witness.

He’s fiercely loyal and would do anything to protect you. If anyone hurts or upsets you, it’s not a question of if Curly will get even it’s when. He takes care of his own, and you’re no exception.

Being with Curly is a wild ride, but it’s never boring. He keeps you on your toes, makes you laugh with his ridiculous antics, and loves you with the kind of reckless intensity that only a Shepard could.

[mikashisus]

the trickster and the sun

SYNOPSIS: kinich was fast in everything he did, but with you, he felt as if time always moved slow.

PAIRING: child of hermes!kinich x gn!child of apollo!reader

TAGLIST ! @wystiix @pneumosia @pixelcafe-network

warnings: none

word count: 749

notes: another pjo au!! i think im going to make this a mini series. this is a little smth to set up a longer oneshot i have planned for sometime in the future, tho the mc of that one will be a child of ares ;) also, this can be interpreted as platonic, it's up to u guys!

Kinich was fast. 

Sometimes, he was so fast that you couldn’t keep up. Not only was he ahead of the game when it came to tricks and locks, but he was also a supersonic runner. No one in camp could ever keep up with him, not even his siblings. 

He liked to leave you puzzles. Not the kind of puzzles and mind games Athena’s children would give out, but lock puzzles. He’d sneak them into your bag or pockets when you could’ve sworn it wasn’t there moments ago. You’d spend the entire afternoon figuring them out, twisting and turning the handmade puzzles and trying to break them apart. 

Eventually, you’d throw your hands up in frustration and dispose of the device, stalking off to the target range to vent your anger out. 

As a child of Hermes, Kinich was exceptionally playful and mischievous, but it wasn’t as obvious as it was with his siblings. His trickster side truly came to the surface through his actions and the small glint in his eyes every time he talked to you. 

There was one time he had stolen your prized golden bow, gifted to you by your father, right under your nose. You had turned around for a split second, and the weapon was no longer hanging on the wall near your bed, but tucked underneath his in the Hermes cabin. You had looked high and low for it, even checking the target range to make sure you hadn’t accidentally left it there. 

Clueless to his act of theft, you began to panic and wonder if your father would kill you for losing something so precious. As soon as you began to pace around and ramble about the consequences, Kinich’s guilt overcame him and he summoned the bow back from its hiding place. 

The scolding he received after was greater than any other time you yelled at him for his conniving tricks. The look in your eyes moments before convinced him to never steal anything precious of yours again, for fear of seeing that same exact expression on your face. 

Aside from his tricks and theatrics, Kinich was a messenger like his father. He loved to travel and take on odd jobs not only in camp but around the world too. And with his speed, he was back to camp in less than a few minutes of taking on a job. It was almost as if he had teleported there and back. 

He was truly a jack of all trades, but he could never best you at archery; for that was something you were naturally skilled at as a child of Apollo. He could never best you at shining brightly like the sun, either. 

In every aspect, you outshone him. Like now, when you were guiding new campers to their cabin (per your request and Chiron’s surprise). 

Everyone knew you to be quite outgoing and cheerful, with a smile so blindingly bright it resembled your father’s, and an aura about you that felt warm and fuzzy on his skin– as if he was sitting in the sun. 

As you spotted your best friend, you waved enthusiastically and called out to him, making a beeline for where he was standing just outside the Hephaestus cabin. With an eager voice, you introduced him to the campers. 

It seemed as if there had been many newcomers recently, and with newcomers meant there would likely be new occupants to the Hermes cabin. The Hermes cabin was lively and packed all the time. He was lucky if he even got a moment of silence during the day. That, or some space. 

Though, he preferred to just go elsewhere and take a moment to breathe. Like, finding you in the solace of Apollo’s cabin or heading out to the target range to watch you practice. If you were sitting on your bed reading a book, he’d flip the pages to get your attention or steal one of the highlighters in your hand. If you were practicing in the target range, he’d take your arrows and your quiver and misplace them so you’d focus on him. 

Kinich was a trickster. 

And oftentimes, you couldn’t keep up with his tricks, much like you could never beat him in a race. He was annoying in an endearing way, always stealing your things to gain your attention and showing off his speed in races to prove himself to you. 

He was playful and witty, but above all, he was your best friend.

notes: like i said, i have another kinich wip planned but the mc will be a child of ares and im very excited to write it :D it's gonna be much longer than this one too! maybe as long as the tartag pjo au fic i wrote a bit ago, we’ll see!

© 2024 mikashisus. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.