#like the way he almost passes out again in the last gif

[voxslays]

NEED SOMEONE OLDER — HWANG IN-HO

➴ After the deaths of his first wife and unborn child. In-ho decides to spend the rest of his miserable life as the frontman, killing players who were in his same position he used to be in. In-ho thought he would never love again…that was until he met you.

➴ You were younger than him, by almost fifteen years. You were in your late twenties, having come to the games to pay off your student loans. But little did you know, someone was keeping an eye on you from afar.

➴ In-ho had already decided to join the games this year, wanting to keep his enemies close instead of monitoring them from afar, but you being in the games only gave him more incentive.

➴ In-ho—now known as player 001—who instructed his guards to keep you safe no matter what. In red light, green light if you were caught moving? No you weren’t. In Dalgona, if you broke your cookie? Nobody saw it.

➴ In-ho was quick to gain your affections, charming you as the older, married man, Young-il. He felt bad about lying to you, but it was the only way to keep you safe, for now.

➴ During mingle, when you twist your ankle after being pushed out of the way by a muscular man around your age, who shoved his way into the same room as Young-il right before the doors shut, he killed the young man mercilessly.

➴ When one of the pink circle guards points his gun at you, Young-il shouts out some command, that sounds like gibberish, and the guard grabs a needle out of his pocket, causing you to see black before passing out.

➴ When you wake up, you wake up in a warm Alaskan-sized bed. The walls around you were floor to ceiling windows, with a view of the surrounding sea. You pull the dark grey sheets off your body, ready to fight for your life when the frontman walks in. You gasp.

➴ In-ho takes off his mask and explains everything. He deflects your questions about the other players safety. Are they even still alive? In-ho tells you it’s been a week since you’ve last been conscious.

➴ In-ho takes his time, trying to get you to personally fall in love with him…which you do. You stick by his side as he oversees the games and manages the VIPs. And soon, Mr. Hwang pops the question on the island’s beach right after a batch of the games has concluded.

A/N: Omg y’all are crazy….thank you so much for all your support.

Idk how the hell I managed to get 1k notes in one day lol.

[lady-z-writes]

Zoro x Reader

In which reader can't sleep and Zoro's keeping watch...and then can't stop watching 👀

Cw: smut (18+), afab, alcohol consumption, swearing, groping, vaginal fingering, handjob, sex, creampie.

(Takes place after Thriller Bark, but nothing too spoiler-y. Why am I so embarrassed to post this? Anyway, I hope you don't hate it.)

It's late.

The only sounds are the waves crashing, quiet snores from the crew, and a few footsteps on deck.

Zoro opens an eye, glances toward the noise to see you making your way over to a rail and looking at the water. Silently, he watches you pull a hoodie over your head, yawn, then lean down, your hands cupping under your chin.

"It's late," he says, startling you. "You should sleep."

Upon further investigation, he notices it's his jacket you're wearing - one gifted to him from Water 7 after all that crap with the crew's belongings. He scoffed when he saw it, hadn't put it on more than once, and now that he thought of it, he'd left it in the kitchen.

Thief, he half laughs to himself.

Opportunist, he knew you'd correct.

"I'm up. I can keep watch. You need some rest." Your voice isn't groggy from sleep, clearly you'd been awake for some time now.

Zoro's body aches, a dull sensation he's grown used to, but his position on the deck isn't exactly comfortable. And given recent events, he knows he needs more time to heal.

You don't know the extent of it, but you sensed something was off with Zoro - moreso than normal.

"Can't sleep?" He ignores your offer.

"I...yeah," the look on your face is haunted.

He's silent again, observing.

"Some creepy shit on that boat, huh?"

It's almost like he sees you settle at his acknowledgment; your shoulders loosen, a sigh leaves you, you deflate.

"We've been through some crazy shit, absolutely, but that was...nightmare material."

Zoro nods slowly, silences.

"We're safe, though, right?" Your voice is a whisper.

He nods stiffly, "mhm."

You look misty-eyed and Zoro is almost uncomfortable. "Look, I don't know what happened, but something doesn't seem right. Please. Get some sleep."

He doesn't argue with you, like you expected. But he also doesn't get up to go to bed. Instead, the headstrong swordsman leans back against the mast, hands cradling behind his head, and is snoring in minutes.

---

When he wakes up, the sunrise makes him squint. He's stretching his aching joints when he notices you're still nearby, a blanket thrown over your lap, steaming cup of coffee in your hands, Sanji flailing at your compliment on the brew, and an enormous Franky-sized shadow plopped next to you commenting about the sunrise.

Despite all of this, you hear him get up, turn your attention to him, and for some reason, it...warms something long dormant in him.

"Good morning!"

He can't shake the damn feeling all day. Not when he scurries away to work out, not when Chopper insists on checking his wounds again, and certainly not when he runs chest-first into you when rounding the corner away from the infirmary.

You stumble back as his reflexes force his arms forward to grab you.

You're nearly topless and his cheeks heat up at the sensation of touching your skin.

You're so soft...

"S-sorry! Oh my God, Zoro!"

"What're you doing?" He nods down at you now that you're not toppled over. He crosses his arms, figures that will help him forget.

"A few of us are swimming. You should join."

"Hm."

"I'm sorry if I overstepped last night. I just...worry, I guess."

His eyes take you in and you feel so transparent under his gaze. Your skin heats up.

"Don't worry about me."

"Got it. I'll just shut my brain off then." You look almost irritated, flustered, defeated.

"It's not like that, y/n..."

"No, you're right. I overshare. I need to keep things to myself; take one from your playbook."

You try to move passed him, but he steps in your way. Doesn't put his hands on you again, you notice.

"You're insufferable," he speaks quietly. Your jaw drops. "So why the fuck can't I stop thinking about you?"

A moment passes between you two. You're too stunned to speak. Seconds later, Zoro side-steps you and walks away.

---

Zoro figured everyone was swimming in the inflatable pool from the soldier dock system - not pulled out on the grassy deck.

Zoro sighs, thinking he'd have peace staying away from it all, but as he's making his way to the crow's nest, Luffy calls him over and begs him to swim.

He locks eyes with you and you almost choke on the wine you're sipping.

"Fine, I'll stay," he removes his shirt and shoes, seats himself beside Luffy, shoves his feet in the water, and reaches past you to grab the bottle of wine.

Bold, you think.

But his expression tightens when his fingers accidentally brush your hip.

You're smirking behind your glass and it pisses him off.

This isn't some game, he thinks.

But after your concern about him last night and the attention he's noticed you're giving him...there's something stirring and he hates it.

Franky splashes you, knocking you from your daydream and you react instantly, setting your wine glass down, launching yourself at him and wrestling him in the pool.

Zoro watches, drinking from the bottle, tells himself he's not noticing the way the water drips down your skin, or how your playfulness with Franky stirs jealousy in him.

What the fuck was wrong with him today?

Shaking his head, he leans back, stares at the passing clouds, steadies his breathing.

"Bro, tell her how strong I am. Tell her she won't win!" Franky calls to Luffy, tossing you in the water. You're gasping for air, pulling up between Zoro's widespread legs as the splash of water from Franky's toss covers him.

What. Are. The. Odds?

Zoro feels himself blush as your dripping wet self emerges from the water.

You lock eyes.

You steal the bottle from his hand, take a long drink, never breaking eye contact, then splash him right in the face.

"That does it!"

Zoro is bodying you into the water.

"No, not the wine!" You whimper, trying to hold the bottle above water as you're tackled.

It feels good, the cold water. Feels even better when he grips your hips underwater, drags his thumbs across your skin, and hears your sharp inhale.

So you're feeling it, too?

Interesting.

It becomes sort of a test, to Zoro, to see how far he could push things before the tension snapped

Over the next few days, he catches you looking at him, especially when he's shirtless or working out - which is often.

You see him stealing glances at times, sometimes when you and Franky are interacting, especially when Sanji is near you.

Then there's a late-night drink you sometimes have - some rum mix Sanji makes you, but you insist on being alone in the aquarium bar. He honors it, always, just the two of you knowing you're down there...or so you think.

You enjoy watching the fish, the calm of the swaying ship, the crew asleep. It helps when the nightmares get you.

Only tonight, you hear footsteps.

"Sanji, I told you-"

Only it's not Sanji.

Zoro stands, hands in pockets, an eyebrow raised.

"You expecting Sanji?" There's a tone to his voice. His little tiff with the cook is humorous most days.

"No." You feel your heart rate increase.

"What, exactly, are you doing alone down here so often?"

"Are you watching me?"

"Keeping an eye," he corrects.

"I enjoy the ambiance down here."

Zoro nods, seats himself beside you on the red bench, stares at the fish.

"Even now?" He's got a teasing tone to his voice and you suddenly can't take it anymore.

One swift movement, you straddle his lap, set the drink on the back of the cushion, and lace your fingers in his hair. Your lips hover over his. The tension increases.

You pause.

"Do it," Zoro's gruff voice speaks quietly.

"You sure?"

"What, you afraid you can't handle me?"

Immediately, you're liplocked, kissed with a hunger you've never experienced before.

You grind down against his growing erection and he groans.

"Tease. You're such a tease."

"You've no idea," you mutter between kisses.

It's like Zoro is in a competition with himself; each kiss better than the last.

You're experimenting too; gripping his hair and nipping his lower lip to see what'll get those sexy noises from him again.

"Maybe this'll get you outta my head," Zoro hums, breathless when you trail kisses down his chest.

"Agreed. You're driving me crazy."

"Feeling's mutual," he grunts when you palm him through his pants.

"Fuck and get it out of our systems?" You suggest.

He freezes. Had he thought of that? He wouldn't like to admit it. He hadn't expected you to make the suggestion.

His hands reach under your skirt, fingering for your panties.

"Here?" You hiss.

"Yes, here," he grunts. "Why not?"

You really can't argue.

Especially when he's managed to get your panties off and has his fingers buried inside you, palm pressing against your clit like you like.

"Ah, so this is how to shut you up."

You give him a glare, but it's half-hearted.

"Just fuck me already."

"Hmm, such a dirty mouth," he presses harder against your clit. "Gotta warm up first, sweetheart," he speaks against your neck.

You hate that he got you so close so quickly.

"Zoro..."

"Hm?"

"I need you."

"I know you do. Now do me a favor and cum on my fingers, then I'll let you cum on my cock."

His words send you spiraling. You never knew he'd be like this.

You're gasping his name, riding his fingers as you come undone on his lap.

He's all too pleased with himself, seems confident until you say "my turn."

He won't last, he can tell from the first touch of your bare hand on his throbbing cock.

He hisses an inhale, tries hard to hold it together as you start stroking him.

"Fuck, I can't wait," you hum after a few moments.

He's almost praising your name as you slide down on his cock.

His head lolls back against the cushion as your fingers grip his shoulders and you ride him.

Feels nice to have you do all the work, as his body's still aching from the events on Thriller Bark.

Feels nice to just enjoy something for once, to not be in his head about training or strength. It's almost an out-of-body experience when you're taking him.

"Hey. Back here, wild one," you whisper against his ear. "Where'd you go, just now?"

He hums, "nowhere good."

"Then..." You pull back, speak, "right here," against his lips, and kiss him slowly, grinding down on him then shifting your hips up...back down.

It's bliss, he realizes.

Any other experience - shall he call it - he's had, it's a power thing; him topping, him working both parties into oblivion. Had he ever had someone just...please him like this, he wonders?

"Oi!" He yelps when you bite his collarbone. There's an acho from his quick smack of your ass.

"There you go again..." You shake your head, lick the reddening bite mark. He shudders. "Don't you want to stay with me?"

You're right. You're so, so right and he nods against your forehead as you pick up speed.

The sound of skin slapping together drags his attention lower, watching your bodies come together. He lifts up your skirt, groans, presses his thumb to your clit.

You don't take much longer to cum on his cock, the moment consuming Zoro's attention - the way you gasp for him, how your nails dig into his biceps, the look of your tits as you throw your head back and ride him.

"Okay," he huffs. "I'll give you those. Bet I'll get one more outta you before I'm done."

You huff a laugh. "I'll bet. Pretty cocky, huh?"

He laughs at your joke.

"Oh, I am."

It's not exactly the ideal place for this, but Zoro tosses you down easily - shifts his knees on either side of you, the red cushions squeaking against naked skin. His aching body protests, but he thinks of it as a workout as he pounds into you - kisses down your body, every bit of exposed skin.

He's distracting himself so he doesn't end this little dalliance too soon.

"Up," he taps your thigh, pulls out.

He stands, ready to have you suck his cock, get you nice and worked up with no stimulation.

Only you stand, turn, raise the skirt, glance over your shoulder, and bend forward.

Coy. Cute.

He's back inside you in seconds, unwilling to let you win this one.

"Tease," he accuses again.

"You're too much fun," you laugh.

The playful lilt to your voice is gone soon, as he gives you his all.

You're too stunned to speak; only heaved breaths and soft moans.

When he feels you orgasm again, his grip on your hip tightens.

"Okay, sweetness. On your knees," he grits out.

You look back, shocked, defiant.

"Zoro. Please."

It's all you need to say, because the way you're pushing back on him and begging, he's already too far gone.

He cums with a growled breath against your neck.

The two of you pause, breathing together in the afterglow. His hands remain on you moments too long, he's sure, but he wants to remember this, wants to pull back to it on those lonely nights.

"So," he huffs a laugh, "I won."

"Jerk."

---

It becomes addicting, this thing.

He's constantly in a state of wanting to improve, even in this.

And you're an eager participant, only trying to help.

😏

[ruewritesoccasionally]

The Reunion Pt.3 | Aaron Pierre

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Reader

Warnings: themes of longing and emotional tension, mentions of relationship disconnect/dismissiveness, implied romantic conflict and some fluff to top it off

Chapter Summary: Cracks begin to show, confessions linger on the edge—could this be the moment Aaron finally takes a step forward?

Word Count: 3.5K

a/n: things are finally moving between these two !!!! i'm actually a sucker for a good friends to lovers trope. also i feel like the uk girly in me slipped out writing this lol

It had been almost a week since the reunion, and YN felt like she was finally shaking off the fog that had lingered over her. The days had been uneventful, but in the best way possible—long walks, slow mornings with her favourite playlist, and a little bit of space from the world. Even Trey had seemed to give her a bit of breathing room, though not intentionally. They’d texted back and forth, but he’d been busy with work, leaving her evenings to herself. For the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of clarity, even if it was faint and fleeting.

That Saturday morning, the two of them decided to meet up for a casual stroll through the city. The crisp winter air made their breaths visible as they wandered along the pavements, passing coffee shops and bustling market stalls. YN tucked her hands into her coat pockets, glancing up at Trey as they walked side by side.

“I was thinking,” she started, her voice light, “maybe we could pop into that new bookshop on Willow Street? Or check out a pottery workshop later this week. I heard they’re running a session on handbuilding vases, and it sounded fun.”

Trey gave a small hum, distracted by something on his phone. He barely looked up as he replied, “Didn’t you just buy a ton of books last week? And you do pottery, like, every other day.”

YN’s steps faltered just slightly, but she quickly recovered, forcing a light laugh. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” she said, glancing away to hide the flicker of disappointment in her eyes.

The thing was, he wasn’t wrong. She had bought books last week, and she did spend a lot of time at pottery workshops. But it wasn’t about the books or the clay—it was about sharing something she loved, about finding joy in small things. She thought about Aaron, about how he’d once spent an entire Saturday afternoon in a freezing studio with her, his hands covered in clay as he tried to sculpt something resembling a cup. He’d laughed at himself the whole time, but by the end of the session, he was asking the instructor if there were any openings for another class.

Trey’s indifference stung in comparison, even if she tried to tell herself it wasn’t a big deal.

“So, what else is on your mind?” Trey asked, slipping his phone into his pocket and finally looking at her.

“Nothing,” YN said, shaking her head with a small smile. “It’s cool—we can just walk around and see where we end up.”

He nodded, his attention already shifting to the street ahead. She fell quiet beside him, her thoughts trailing back to the past week and the steady, unexpected warmth she’d felt since seeing Aaron again.

As they turned the corner onto a quieter street, YN spotted a figure jogging towards them in the distance. Her heart skipped a beat when she recognised the broad shoulders and familiar gait, the grey hoodie and black joggers he always seemed to wear on his morning runs.

Aaron’s jog had been unremarkable until he turned the corner and caught sight of YN. Even from a distance, he could see her walking beside Trey, the two of them engrossed in what appeared to be a light conversation. A smile instinctively tugged at Aaron’s lips, his pace slowing as he approached. It had been almost a week since the reunion, and though the last time he’d seen her had been tinged with nostalgia and unspoken feelings, just seeing her now felt like a small reprieve from the weight of it all.

As he drew closer, he noticed the way her expression shifted. There was something off—a flicker of disheartenment she was trying to hide behind a polite smile. Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly, but he masked his concern as he greeted them, his tone light and easy. “Fancy running into you two here,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow as he came to a stop.

YN’s face lit up when she saw him, her smile growing more genuine, and Aaron felt the smallest flutter of satisfaction in his chest. “Hey, stranger,” she replied, her tone brightening. “Out for a jog?”

Aaron nodded, his eyes softening as they met hers. “Yeah, trying to keep up with myself. How’ve you been?” He shifted his attention entirely to her, his tone carrying that subtle warmth she always found so disarming.

“I’ve been good,” YN replied, a little too quickly, as though she were trying to convince herself of it. “Just… you know, same old.”

He could hear the undercurrent of something unsaid, and it gnawed at him. Aaron leaned slightly closer, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Still working on that hobby of yours? I remember you were so excited about it the last time we talked.” He wasn’t prying—just trying to draw her out a bit, to remind her he noticed the little things about her.

Her expression shifted, softening into something brighter, warmer. “I am, actually. It’s been keeping me sane,” she admitted, the first genuine laugh of the conversation slipping past her lips. “It’s probably getting out of hand, though. You’d think I’d have picked up a new one by now.”

Aaron chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, I think it’s great. If it makes you happy, why stop?”

Before YN could respond, Trey let out a low chuckle, cutting into the moment. “She’s always obsessing over that. It’s her thing.” He said it offhandedly, like a casual joke, but there was a dismissiveness to it that had Aaron’s jaw tightening imperceptibly. YN’s smile faltered for just a moment before she recovered, brushing off the comment with a shrug and a forced laugh.

Aaron felt anger bubble in his chest—subtle but persistent. It wasn’t anything overtly rude, but it was enough to irk him, to highlight the stark contrast between Trey’s offhanded indifference and the attentiveness YN deserved. Still, he swallowed the irritation, his tone calm but pointed as he replied, “Well, it clearly makes her happy, so why not?”

YN glanced at him, her eyes softening with gratitude for the way he smoothed over the moment. Aaron caught the look and held it for just a beat longer than necessary, his heart twisting at the subtle vulnerability he saw there.

Trey, oblivious to the subtle tension in the exchange, shifted the conversation onto something else entirely, leaving YN quietly retreating into herself again.

As they said their goodbyes and walked away, Aaron found himself watching their retreating figures, the pang in his chest sharper than usual. He noticed the way Trey’s attention drifted elsewhere, his phone already in hand as YN walked beside him, her expression contemplative.

Aaron ran a hand down his face, frustration simmering beneath the surface. How could Trey be so indifferent to her, so unaware of the little things that made her who she was? She deserved someone who saw her, someone who cherished those quirks and passions, not someone who brushed them aside as trivial.

A familiar thought surfaced, unbidden and painful: If she were mine, I’d never make her feel like that. But she wasn’t his—not yet, at least. And as much as it stung, he reminded himself that reacting impulsively would only complicate things. YN wasn’t his to protect, his to comfort. Not yet.

With a frustrated exhale, Aaron shook his head and resumed his jog, though the rhythm felt off now, his thoughts tangled in everything he couldn’t say.

That evening, YN sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her phone. The day had been long—longer than it needed to be—and the anticipation of spending some quality time with Trey had been the only thing keeping her going. She’d pictured a quiet night together, nothing extravagant, just the kind of evening that reminded her why they were trying to make this work.

But her phone buzzed, and her heart sank before she even opened the message.

“Sorry, babe. Work’s calling. Rain check?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at the screen. She typed back a quick “no worries” and tossed her phone onto the bed beside her. It wasn’t the first time Trey had bailed, and she’d gotten good at pretending it didn’t bother her. But tonight, for some reason, it stung a little more. Maybe it was the way he’d brushed her off earlier about her hobby, or the way Aaron’s simple attentiveness had reminded her what it felt like to truly be seen.

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. Trey’s message wasn’t going to ruin her night—not entirely, at least. There was someone else who could salvage it. Grabbing her phone, she quickly typed out a text.

Change of plans—movie night? You bring the food…and the drinks, and I’ll bring me lol, as per usual.

She hit send, smiling softly at the thought of Aaron rolling his eyes at her dramatic tone but showing up anyway, just like he always did.

Aaron was halfway through folding laundry when his phone buzzed. He picked it up and grinned as soon as he saw YN’s name light up the screen. Her message made him chuckle, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards as he pictured her typing it out, probably with that little smirk she got when she was being cheeky.

Without thinking, his thumbs moved quickly across the keyboard.

You’re lucky I love you.

He hit send before his brain caught up with his hands, and when it did, his heart immediately lodged itself in his throat.

“Shit,” he muttered, staring at the screen like he could will the message back into his drafts. The words sat there, glaring at him in bright blue, and panic surged through his chest. He didn’t mean it—well, he did mean it, just not like that. Or maybe he did mean it like that, but this wasn’t how she was supposed to find out.

Before he could even begin to spiral, her reply popped up, cutting through his panic.

I know I’m lucky. Don’t forget the snacks though 😘.

Aaron blinked at the screen, rereading the message twice just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. A slow exhale escaped him, and the tension in his chest eased, replaced by an unfamiliar warmth spreading through him. He smiled, shaking his head at her nonchalant response. Of course she wouldn’t read too much into it. That was just YN—easygoing, lighthearted, completely unaware of the weight his words carried.

Still, Aaron couldn’t help the way his chest tightened at her reply, a quiet sense of relief mingling with the yearning he couldn’t quite suppress. He grabbed his keys and wallet, his laundry completely forgotten as he headed out to pick up the snacks and drinks.

Somewhere between the corner shop and his flat, the realisation settled over him like a second skin: He wasn’t just lucky to have YN in his life. He was lucky that tonight, at least, he got to be the one to make her smile. And maybe—just maybe—he’d get the chance to do it for a long time to come.

Tonight, for once she wasn’t alone.

Aaron sat at the other end of her sofa, a plate of takeaway balanced on his lap and a bottle of wine between them. The dim light of the television flickered across his face, casting warm shadows in the otherwise cosy room. The air smelled faintly of buttered popcorn, mingling with the rich scent of the red blend he’d brought along. Their laughter had filled the first half of the evening, but now, as the movie reached its slower, quieter scenes, the room had settled into a companionable silence.

A blanket was draped over YN’s lap, and she stretched her legs out, her toes brushing Aaron’s thigh unintentionally. He glanced over at her, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice low and laced with warmth.

“Very,” she murmured, pulling the blanket higher as her eyes flicked back to the screen. She didn’t move her legs, though, and neither did he.

Aaron’s attention wasn’t on the movie. Instead, his mind lingered on the way her laughter had softened over the past week, her smiles not quite reaching her eyes. He couldn’t shake the memory of Trey’s dismissiveness earlier—the way YN’s expression had faltered, even if only for a second. It had left a dull ache in his chest, one he’d carried ever since.

She reached for her wine glass, her movements slow and deliberate. But there was something distant in her gaze, a quiet melancholy she hadn’t voiced. Without thinking, Aaron picked up the glass she’d been about to grab and replaced it with a fresh pour he’d quietly prepared earlier.

She blinked, glancing at the full glass now in her hand. “When did you…?”

“You looked like you were ready for another,” he said lightly, a small smile playing on his lips. “What can I say? I pay attention.”

Her laugh was soft but genuine, and she shook her head. “Always so thoughtful, Aaron. Thank you.”

“Always,” he echoed, almost to himself. His eyes lingered on her for a moment before turning back to the screen.

But YN wasn’t watching the film anymore. Her gaze rested on him, the flickering light illuminating the quiet thoughtfulness etched across his face. She caught herself staring and quickly looked away, but the moment lingered, heavy with unspoken emotion.

Aaron noticed, of course. He always did. He shifted slightly closer, his hand brushing hers where it rested on the sofa. It wasn’t intentional—or maybe it was—but the contact made his breath hitch.

“You’re too good to me, you know that?” she said suddenly, her voice softer than before. There was no teasing in her tone, just quiet sincerity that tightened something in his chest.

He shrugged, keeping his gaze forward. “You make it easy.”

Her silence stretched, and he risked a glance her way. She was watching him again, her brows drawn together in thought. He let the moment settle, waiting for her to speak.

“Aaron?”

“Yeah?”

“You asked me earlier, at the reunion, if I was happy.” Her voice was hesitant, thinking back to a private memory like she was feeling her way through unfamiliar territory.

He nodded slowly, his heart beating hard against his ribs. “I remember.”

“I didn’t answer you,” she continued, curling the blanket tighter around herself. “Not properly, anyway.”

Aaron’s throat felt dry, but he managed to ask, “Are you?”

She hesitated, her eyes dropping to her hands. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I should be, you know? Like everything’s fine. Trey’s nice, my job’s steady, my life’s not exactly falling apart. But...” She trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip.

“But?” he prompted gently.

Her sigh was heavy, and she leaned her head back against the sofa. “But it’s like I’m waiting for something. Or someone.” Her words were quiet, barely above a whisper, but they hit him with the force of a tidal wave.

Aaron’s hand twitched, instinctively wanting to reach for hers, but he stopped himself. His heart ached for her—for the sadness she was trying to suppress and for the hope her words sparked in him.

“You’ve always been there for me, Aaron,” she said, turning her head to look at him. Her eyes were soft, filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much that means to me.”

His throat worked as he tried to find the right words. “You don’t have to. I’ll always be here for you, YN. That’s never going to change.”

Her lips curved into a small, bittersweet smile, and she gave his hand a brief squeeze before pulling away. “I know.”

The moment hung between them, unspoken feelings filling the space like a quiet hum. Eventually, YN shifted back into her corner of the sofa, her expression lighter than before.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said softly. “I needed this.”

Aaron forced a smile, masking the storm of emotions swirling within him. “Anytime. You know that.”

And as she turned her attention back to the screen, Aaron allowed himself to hope—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, the gap between them was finally starting to close.

Aaron stepped into the quiet of his flat, the faint glow of the city spilling through the window as he set down the bag he’d carried from YN’s. His chest still felt tight, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, running a hand over his jaw as the events of the night played back in his mind. The way she’d opened up to him, even if only a little, was a crack in the carefully constructed walls she kept between them. But that crack was enough to shake him.

Her words echoed in his ears: “But it’s like I’m waiting for something. Or someone.”

Aaron closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. He knew he couldn’t keep doing this—hovering on the edge, waiting for the perfect moment to tell her how he felt. There would never be a perfect moment. Tonight had been proof enough of that. And the accidental “I love you” text? He’d barely recovered from the panic of seeing it on her screen, but her response... it had calmed him in ways he hadn’t expected.

She hadn’t made it awkward, hadn’t even acknowledged the slip. But it lingered in his chest now, like a quiet truth that refused to be ignored.

He thought of Trey—how casually dismissive he was of her, how blind he seemed to the woman in front of him. It made Aaron’s blood simmer with frustration. He’d seen her light up tonight, even if only in fleeting moments. Her smile when he handed her the wine, the way her laughter had softened as the evening wore on. He wanted to be the reason she smiled like that all the time.

And yet... the fear remained. What if telling her changed everything? What if she wasn’t ready to hear it?

Aaron pushed off the counter and headed for his bedroom, his mind a tangle of hope and hesitation. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling as the darkness pressed in. He thought of the way her hand had lingered near his, the way her eyes had searched his for answers she hadn’t been ready to voice.

She was searching for something. He could feel it. And part of him believed—knew—that what she was searching for had been standing right in front of her all along.

But the timing had to be right.

Aaron turned his head, catching sight of his phone on the bedside table. For a fleeting moment, he considered texting her again, just to say goodnight or to make her laugh. But he stopped himself. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’d see her again, and maybe, if he could find the courage, he’d stop holding back.

Back at her flat, YN curled into her sofa, the blanket still wrapped around her. The film credits had long since rolled, but she hadn’t bothered to turn the TV off. Her thoughts were far from the screen anyway.

Aaron’s words replayed in her mind: “You make it easy.”

He always had. With him, everything felt effortless—the conversations, the laughter, the quiet understanding that needed no explanation. Tonight had reminded her just how different things were when she was with him.

Her mind drifted to Trey, to the distance that had grown between them in recent weeks. She’d told herself it was normal, that all relationships ebbed and flowed, but the truth was harder to face. Trey didn’t see her—not the way Aaron did. He didn’t notice the little things, didn’t make her feel like her quirks and passions mattered.

But Aaron...

She sighed, leaning her head back against the sofa. The thought tugged at her, gentle but persistent: Maybe what I’ve been waiting for has been in front of me all along.

Her phone buzzed on the table, and her heart leapt for a moment before she realised it wasn’t Aaron. It was Trey, a quick, apologetic text about having to bail tonight. YN stared at the message, her chest tightening with a mix of frustration and disappointment.

Setting the phone down, she let her mind wander back to Aaron’s smile, the warmth in his voice when he said, “I’ll always be here for you.” It wasn’t just words with him. He meant it, in a way that made her chest ache with equal parts gratitude and something else—something she wasn’t ready to name just yet.

But tonight had left her with one certainty: Aaron made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t realised she’d been craving. And as she finally turned off the TV and headed to bed, that thought stayed with her, wrapping around her like the blanket she still clutched.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718 @kxllanxtdoor

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

[headphones-ct-09978]

(I hope you don't mind the contribution I did. But this piece cured my year long writer's block. It may or may not be good 😭)

Sauna Detour (Hunter x OC)

Summary: After taking a wrong turn during a mission, Hunter and Headphones have to find another way back to the ship.

Warnings: Mild swearing, implied nudity.

(Clone Wars Era Bad Batch)

“What do you mean we took a wrong turn?!”

Hunter's irritated shout pierced my headset comms as we ran. Blaster shots whizzed over our heads and shoulders, narrowly missing us, striking street signs or passing speeders as a result. We quickly shoved our way through the crowd, trying to find cover to regroup and assess our situation.

“There!!!” I pointed to a dimly lit alley to our upcoming left. Hunter fired two shots over his shoulder, hitting our pursuers and finally halting the chase. Quickening the pace to the alley, we dove for cover behind a stack of empty wooden crates, which stank of rotten fruit. With our backs to the wall, we caught our breath and started to devise an alternate plan. “You see another way through the city?” Hunter panted out, exhausted from the mission that had lasted days already. By the way his brown eyes were scanning our surroundings, he was already devising a plan. I tapped the right earmuff on my headset, clicking on the two way comm I had. “Tech, are you and the rest of the guys back on the ship?”

There was a brief moment of static before Tech's voice came through. “Yes, we're currently on the ship. Where exactly are you and Hunter? You should've made it here before us!!”

“We got turned around at the market, the crowd was larger than anticipated.” Hunter said, peeking out at the street before quickly retreating back behind the crates again. “Are we still being followed?” I asked, trying to have a look for myself but couldn't get a good view. Hunter shook his head before leaning against the rough wall, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath. “Not that I know of. I think Crosshair took care of the others. If Tech is back on the ship, then we met and completed the objective.”

“So what now?” I ask, just as I spotted a sign just down the alley.

Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “We have to find another way back to the Marauder.”

I tapped his shoulder and pointed to the dinged up, flickering, neon blue sign to our right that read “Sauna”.

Hunter took one glimpse of the sign and then back at me, his eyebrow raised. “You can't be serious.”

“I wish I wasn't. But there has to be an entrance or exit that leads in the general direction we're headed.”

“And what if you're wrong?”

“Then you'll have to reprimand me later. But when exactly have I ever been wrong?”

Hunter's brows lowered as he held up his hand, showing four fingers. I huffed as I got to my feet. “The incident on Navarro doesn't count!” I retorted as I quickly headed towards the back entrance of the sauna. The Sergeant sighed and got up, adjusting his bandana and dusting off his civvies. “Yeah, but you still almost level that cantina on our heads on the way out.” He mumbled.

“I heard that!!” I hissed over my shoulder. Hunter just rolled his eyes and followed me into the establishment.

“This plan of yours better work. Are you listening??”

I nodded as I messed with my short black hair while looking at the mirror, trying to tame the locks that were sticking up. In the mirror's reflection, I could see Hunter's miffed expression as he stood, naked, in the locker room. “There's a few lockers unattended. Row five, third locker down looks like it has clothes that'll fit you.” I said, wrapping a black towel around my naked self. “I already found some clothes and handed them to one of the attendants that work here.” I turned around and poked his tattooed right pec. “Since we’re not exactly in a hurry, I suggest you take advantage of this situation.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Hunter snarled, glancing around to see if anyone heard him. “We can’t risk getting caught!”

I gesture to the others in the locker room, all who were either intoxicated or striking up conversations as they walked into one of the sauna rooms. “Who here would even look twice at us?”

Hunter tightened his grip on his towel as an alien woman brushed passed him, nearly taking his only cover with her as the fabric snagged on her bristled tail. His face reddened a tiny bit, clearly getting uncomfortable. “How is this going to help us get out of here?!” he hissed through his teeth, trying to be quieter. I pointed to two attendants standing by a steamy hallway, the lights on the ceiling kept flickering as if the power was about to die at any moment. “They are here to help “alleviate all stress”. Which is a fancy way of saying there is a process here.”

“A process?!” Hunter’s usually gravely voice hitched a notch, his brows furrowing in agitation. I sighed and tried to keep my eye roll under control. “Hunter, they literally show us the exit after we spend time here.”

“How did you manage to pay for this?!” he growled, grabbing my arm, staring me dead in the eyes. I smacked his offending hand a few times. “Tap! I’m tapping out! Le’ go!” I swatted his arm again and he let go. I brushed off my arm. “Jeezus, man. Did you forget I always bring spare credits? I gave the attendants what was left in my money bag. It was, thankfully, enough to pay for the shortest time.”

He sighed and gently took my arm again, rubbing it as if to soothe a burn. “Sorry for that. I’m used to Crosshair pulling stunts like this. Usually, he’s too broke to actually pay and we end up running for the exit.”

I blinked. “You’ve been to one of these before?”

Hunter scratched the back of his neck, grimacing at the memory. “It-uh-was a brothel. Crosshair thought it was a cantina.”

I could not stifle the guffaw that erupted from the very pits of my soul, my voice echoing off the walls, drawing a few curious looks. Hunter facepalmed as I laughed. “Please…” he pleaded quietly as he waited for my cackling to die down. Once I caught my breath, one of the attendants came up to us and ushered us into one of the rooms.

Hunter groaned, feeling both relaxed and horribly hot. “You failed to mention how long we’d be in here, Headphones.”

I fanned myself, weighing the options of ripping off the damn towel or leaving it on and suffering more. “I’m thinking these were meant for non-humans.” I reached for the drink I had been given, the sweet tea already lukewarm from the steam. I handed the wooden cup to Hunter, who took it and downed the rest of the contents in a matter of seconds, his head knocked back, adam’s apple bobbing as he chugged the drink. Of the both of us, he was sweating the most. His dark tan skin glistened as sweat droplets trickled down his neck, shoulders, and chest. I tried not to stare, but as he just sat there, panting in the heat, it was kind of hard not to. “I think we have only a few more minutes left. You feelin’ “relaxed”?”

“If melting in my own skin is relaxing, oh yeah, definitely.” He leaned down and set the cup on the floor. When he got up, he leaned back against the damp wall, locks of his brown hair sticking to his brow and bandana, which he fervently refused to take off. I groaned. “That’s it.” I roughly took off the towel, rolled it up into a ball, and chucked it at the wall in front of me.

“Oi! Mesh’la!” Hunter exclaimed with a half smile, half shocked look on his face, his eyes wide in surprise. “Wat?! I’m hot!!” I said, fanning myself with my hands. The tattooed clone sergeant blinked, either in awe of my boldness or recalculating my sanity. “Headphones, is that even allowed here???”

I nodded. “The option was extra, hence why I only had enough for the shortest time in here.”

“Did you know before hand?”

“Do you ever stop asking questions? Obviously I didn’t. It was only explained to me after I paid.”

Hunter snorted. “Convenient.” There was a pause before he heaved a weary sigh. “Kriff it.” With that, he took off his only coverage, and threw it to join mine in a heap. Now it was my turn for my eyes to widen. “Oh dang….” I squeaked, taking in the visage of a very very naked Hunter. He noticed and pounced on the opportunity to show off. “Thaaat’s it!” he sighed theatrically with a smirk, leaning back and man spreading to further display the apparent. He tucked his hands behind his head, smirking at me and flexing his pecs a tiny bit. Feeling a blush heat up my cheeks, I crossed my arms across my chest. “Show off.” I mumbled, making him chuckle.

A few more minutes passed before the door to the sauna room opened and the attendants offered us clean towels and ice water to rehydrate as we were led to finish up.

“What is taking them so long?!” Wrecker shouted at Tech, who was trying to reestablish the connection to the comms. “I don’t know, Wrecker, but raising your voice like that won’t make them return any faster,” Tech said as he tried again. Crosshair sat on his rack, messing with his rifle. “They’ll be fine. They’re always fine.” he said, trying to reassure himself more than anyone on the ship. Just before Wrecker could say anything else, the comms fizzled to life, and Headphone’s voice came through, sounding chipper and cheery. “Hey guys!! Sorry for the hold up!”

“Where have you both been?! Are you injured??” Tech immediately inquired.

“Yes, we’re fine, Tech. We just-uh-had to take a detour. We’re right outside the ship.” Hunter said, sounding exhausted. Tech looked out the window and saw Hunter and Hp wave. Tech noticed their change in clothes and their disheveled nature. ‘I’m almost afraid to ask.’ Tech thought to himself, adjusting his goggles before opening the door, letting them on. Once they both were on, Tech and Crosshair got the ship in the air and set their coordinates for Coruscant, Headphone’s place of residence besides Kamino. Once in hyperspace, Tech got up and tossed Hunter and Headphones their canteens of water. “Should I ask what you two got yourselves into?”

Hunter shook his head. “Nope.”

“Yeah. Nope.” Hp piped up.

Wrecker sniffed the air. “Why does it smell like chlorine in ‘ere??”

Hunter sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“Can we sleep first?” Headphones said, adjusting her headset over her ears.

Crosshair picked her up and set her on his lap. “Only after you help me fix the rifle you ruined with your brilliant get away.”

“Ah rats.” the woman huffed, defeated.

-End-

Sauna time with the sergeant 😏

Full NSFW versions on X here and here.

[whumpingwho]

‘Sarah..? Sarah? Sarah, are you there?’

[ttsukiimi]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ MILLION DOLLR BABY!

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ for as long as you can remember, you’ve been friends with Satoru Gojo—just friends. Then why is now insisting that you’re the perfect woman to birth the Gojo clan heir?

★ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ gojo x fem!reader, smut (mdni), implied experienced!gojo x virgin!reader, gojo clan au, breèding k⍣nk, best friends to lovers/f⍣ckers, implied s⍣xual tension, unprotected s⍣x, slight mention of size difference, mentions of passing out, slight cl⍣t play, slight t⍣t play, bigd⍣ck!satoru.

When Satoru had first proposed this..idea of his, you’d almost choked on the succulent dumpling you were chewing on. Your eyes widened and you looked over at the white haired, heaven sent man beside you, and while, yes, yes he was so fucking attractive, you just didn’t want to waste years of friendship for something you were both unsure of.

You knew that the Gojo clan was in dire need of an heir with Satoru’s ability, considering he himself was the clans one and only trump card. But, where you really the one that could carry out this oh, so important task? You simply couldn’t carry that burden on your shoulders.

“‘Toru,” you called out softly, swallowing the last remains of your food before you reached out and cupped his bigger hand in yours. The warmth of his hand alone had you ready to stutter out your whole sentence. “Look, I—“

But could you really continue speaking with the way his azure eyes bored into you as he stared, his free hand taking ahold of yours and holding it tight, practically engulfing your palm in his? You think not.

“Please. I’ve been being bugged all day, you don’t understand.” He pleaded, a pathetic whimper of your name leaving his lips as he pulled you closer to him by the arm. “You’re the only one I wanna do this with.”

“Please.”

And so was the escalation of how you ended up under your best friend of—how many years had you spent with him again? You couldn’t remember with how foggy your brain was as his lips slid across your neck while he peppered hickeys along your skin.

Your hands tangled in his soft hair, urging him to venture further down your neck to the valley of your breasts.

“‘Toru,” you mouthed, looking up to his lust-clouded eyes as you placed his hand on your tit, squirming as he immediately squeezed the flesh. His hands expertly groped at your mounds as his fingers moved around your already firm nipples, swiping at your sensitive nubs.

Satoru chuckled breathlessly, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll give it to you soon, needy girl.”

He then planted a deep, wanton kiss to your lips—a kiss that released all of his pent up feelings and sexual tension into one. Your body shivered as you felt his breath fan past your pulse point.

“Just know you’re leaving this room nice ‘n full, ‘Kay?” And with that he was latching his mouth to your breasts, making quick work of sliding his robe off with a swift pull of the bow holding it together. He sprang up, hard and excited to finally have the woman he’s been head over heels with for years.

Fuck. Your eyes widened at the sight—was he really hiding this from you all this time? Surely, concealing something this size would be a hassle, right?

Satoru’s grin only widened at the expression displayed on your face, feeling pride build up in his chest. He hurriedly grabbed at the base, pressing his tip right up to your aching and pulsing cunt.

“Y’ready?”

“Mhm hm!”

“‘M going in,” as he slowly wedged himself between your folds, watching as you stretched to accommodate his size and groaning at the view.

Was this what heaven felt like? Had Satoru Gojo finally tasted a slice of his own paradise?

He had, and there was no backing down now—no escaping from the seemingly endless ruts of cock into you, the hands harshly planted to your hips, and the feeling of being filled up repeatedly.

He watched you squirm under him, all the while burning with the desire to ruin you, but he knew with how tight you were clamped down around him—that this might’ve been your first time.

The thought made his ego skyrocket.

“You take it so well,” he praised, spreading your thighs further apart to gain a better glance of just how wet you were, gritting his teeth in resistance.

Satoru could, without doubt, have you pass out by the second round—if he wanted you to. But his goal now was simply to get you pregnant—to plant that million dollar baby into you.

However…a little sidetracking could do. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little fun with you.

“It’s so..deep inside me, ‘Toru. Are you sure it’s s’possed to be—“ your words came to a halt, a particularly hard rut of his hips shutting you up for good; only leaving room for cries of pleasure to leave your lips.

And, maybe, just maybe he should have proposed this idea earlier. Maybe he should have just made it known to you how good he could give dick.

With each movement into you, Satoru let himself go a little, let himself get a little rougher, let the head of his cock graze the just-right spots inside of you; spots you never knew existed.

He already knew your body so well.

His hand journeyed down to your thighs, letting go of its original place on your hips to your pussy, thumb drawing your clit in brain-fuzzying circles.

You mewled, back arching off the bed and your hips moving on their own to meet his thrusts, clawing at the bedsheets for anything that may keep you grounded—because everything your best friend did threatened to transport you to pleasure utopia.

“S’toru, feels like my—“ he cut you off once more, breathing hard against your lips after he finishes kissing you.

“You gonna cum for me?” he asked, smugly of course, knowing he’d be the first man to ever make you cum. You nod and Satoru took this as a queue to drive rougher thrusts into your cunt, reveling in the lewd squelches and the slap of your bodies resonating throughout the room.

You came to a crescendo, and your body fell limp. Your thighs shook around his waist as you climaxed, mouth falling open and face curling into a blissed-out look.

“Fucking pretty even when you cum,”

And while it would’ve taken him—normally—another round to finish, virgin pussy had him on a chokehold. Especially yours.

So, naturally, it wasn’t long—perhaps 3 or 4 more thrusts until Satoru Gojo—your former best friend—came inside you. Fully intent on knocking you up.

No, he didn’t have any intention of pulling out either, wanting to keep his seed deep inside you until he’s sure you’re pregnant.

He lay to your side, still inside you, not showing any signs of getting soft anytime soon. But, no matter what had happened, Satoru was still your best friend.

Just now a best friend that knew how your walls felt around him.

[osachiyo]

ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ʟɪᴍɪᴛ ! | ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ᴋᴇɴᴛᴏ

⟣ ──┈ · · · + ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ➣ nanami x fem!reader

⟣ ──┈ · · · + ᴄᴡ ➣ nsfw content (mdni or I'll beat you), brat!reader, hard dom!nanami, hairpulling, pussy slapping, spanking, fingering, throat fucking, bathroom sex, degradation, teasing, jealousy, 1.3k+ words of filth

⟣ ──┈ · · · + ᴀ/ɴ ➣ I'M SO SORRY FOR HOLDING THIS UP FOR SO DAMN LONG this man makes me so damn feral it's not even funny.. this is for my angel @nanamibeloved (hope I did ur man justice rylie !!)

⟣ ──┈ · · · + sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ➣ during your house warming party, you have the genius idea of flirting with your husband's co-worker, how wrong could it go, right?

Kento was pissed, to say the least. You guys threw a house warming party tonight, just for you to cling onto satoru's arm the entire goddamn night. It was infuriating, and downright insulting to your husband, Kento. He was way too prideful to show it though, brushing you both off with a wave of his hand as he sips on his drink.

Somehow he lasted until dinner, you being seated next to Satoru, tits pressed up against his arm as you giggle at his stupid jokes. You were supposed to sit next to him, not the white haired dumbass. He was gonna be patient, though. There will be plenty of time to punish you later− "oh my, 'toru your muscles are so big!" You giggled, shamelessly feeling your husband's co-worker up in front of him as Satoru's lips stretched to reveal a sleazy smirk, and your lover decided he had enough. Cursing under his breath, Kento formed a polite smile, excusing himself from the dinner table before discreetly glaring at your direction, silently demanding you go with him. You smirked to yourself, this is exactly what you wanted.

You were slammed against the bathroom door as soon as you locked the door. You looked up to see your husband towering over you, a menacing aura surrounding him, it intimidated and turned you on at the same time, your thighs clenching together, god− you wanted him so bad.

"on your knees," Kento's jaw was clenched, palms flat against the door, effectively trapping you in. Scoffing, you tugged on his cheetah print tie, yanking him closer to you, "why don't you make me?" You could almost see the vein popping out of his forehead, "so you're playing that game, huh? fine, have it your way." Was the last thing he uttered before you were pushed down to your knees, a large veiny hand tangled in your roots as you winced in pain. "ow! kento− it took me like 3 hours to style my hai−" you were cut off by your husband's hardened length slapping against your cheek, effectively shutting you up. "I don't want to hear your blabbering," he sighed, pushing the bulbous tip past your lips as he shuddered in delight. "now, get to work, slut." You whined at the derogatory name, licking the underside of his cock before taking him in your mouth again, suckling lightly on the tip. He hissed when you slowly started to take him fully into your mouth, fingers tangled in your hair tightening with each inch you swallow. You took half of him before abruptly pulling off− his brows twitched in annoyance and he breaths a quiet "enough" before slamming into your mouth forcefully, the mushroom tip reaching the very back of your throat as you sputter and gag on it, not expecting him to be so rough. he keeps going till your lips touch the small tuff of dirty blonde hair near his base before pulling out almost completely− then brutally thrusting back into the wet heat of your mouth.

It went like that for what felt like an eternity− brutally thrusting in and out, in and out until you were on the verge of passing out, your hands that were previously slapping and scratching at his muscular thighs now went almost limp beside you before he pulled out with a groan. He felt a pang of guilt in his heart when he saw you coughing and breathing heavily, saliva and precum dripping down your chin in webs, trying your best to get air back in your lungs. But all of that guilt quickly disappeared once you looked up at him with a cocky but weak smirk, tears gathered in your lashes− "that all you got? I'm disappointed."

Oh you were such a vixen, and that's exactly what he loved about you. He was going to break you.

Even as he pushed you onto the marbel sink, large hands prying your thighs apart and he could practically smell your arousal− saliva pooling in his mouth. God, he needed to taste you. Right now.

And he did− thumb sliding your panties to the side as his tongue licks a fat stripe up your cunt, savouring your bitter sweet taste on his eager tongue. The tip of his tongue gently circled your swollen clit, your hands clawing at the smooth marble as you arch further into his mouth− only to be put back in place as he presses down on your lower tummy, looking up at you from between your legs, his saliva and your slick coating his chin as he peers up at you with those beautiful, brown eyes that held jealousy, lust and most importantly− so much love and adoration for you. The look in his eyes let you know that this was indeed, the man you fell in love with. The sweet, caring Ken−

Your thoughts got cut off by him slipping his tongue into your hole, groaning lowly at the taste− his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs; rough and calloused from his ruthless years of jujutsu. He'd never get tired of your addicting taste on his skilled tongue, it was almost like dopamine to him− the feeling of your clit throbbing against his tongue as he slurped everything you had to offer. "god, could never get tired of this pussy," he groaned lowly into your cunt, the vibrations from his gravelly voice against your sensitive core made your head spin− how was he so fucking good at this? Every time felt like the first time with him and you loved it− you both did, really.

He loved how your thighs trembled pathetically as he blew on your clit, two thick fingers slipping in to massage your inner walls. His tongue lapping and sucking softly on your little bud before biting it gently, laughing cruelly when you tried to close your thighs around his head. "darling, you're only making things worse for yourself," he sighed calmly before brutally cracking a hand down on your inner thigh, making the soft flesh jiggle and sting as you let out a pained yelp, a fresh wave of tears gathering in your pitiful eyes.

"s' mean.." you sniffled, timidly wiping your tears with the back of your hand, broken gasps emitting from your mouth as he lands soft slaps on your pussy, webs of slick sticking to his fingers as they collide with your aching cunt. "didn't you want this?" He scoffed, two fingers spreading your lips apart and licking his lips at your hole clenching on nothing as it gushed more of your sweet essence− pooling on the fancy marble. "wanted to be taught a lesson− and fucked stupid? huh?" he swiftly landed two spanks right on your clit− a loud cry leaving your mouth and he glared at you with those brown− almost fully black now eyes, effectively getting you to quiet down. You didn't want to see what happens if you angered him further. You honestly didn't expect him to be this rough.

But you couldn't get yourself to complain when he flipped you around, taking his beloved tie off and binding your hands behind you− tight. He easily picked you up and pushed you against the door once again, face smushed against the high quality wood as he pushed your panties down to your knees in one fluid motion− quickly lining up with your entrance before pushing the fat tip in, making the both of you let out quiet moans. Your nails were digging into the sweaty palms of your hand at this point− yelping in surprise when he grabbed your hair and yanked your face to the side before enveloping your parted lips in a kiss. The kiss was much sweeter and gentle compared to his borderline brutal thrusts− a perfect balance, if you will.

Your ass recoiled with each slam of his hips against it, nasty squelching sounds filling the walls as you tried your very best to stay quiet. But unfortunately for you, your husband wasn't having any of that. Instead of shushing and telling you to keep quiet− he encouraged you to be louder− to scream his name until your lungs burned. He wanted you to be so damn loud so that fucker Satoru would know that you're his− that you're Kento's and he would make sure of it.

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

[brunchable]

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 [ 3 ]

Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Game of Cat and Mouse. Bucky being stubborn as shit. Summary: Things have turned awkward. You and Bucky hasn't spoken with each other for a few days now. But is the much needed space making things better or worse? A/N: Sorry this took so long lmao. My boy got sick and needed my undivided attention my poor baby but he's better now thank god. A/N: I honestly don't know how to top-up the previous parts but shit, I need them to connect to a deeper level first before jumping into full on smut okay? maybe in the next part. The song sums up the whole fic to be honest lol.

You’d become a master at memorizing Bucky’s schedule, knowing exactly when to leave your apartment to avoid any chance of running into him. But lately, it seemed like Bucky had developed the same strategy, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his presence around the building had become increasingly scarce. It was almost as if he was avoiding you instead.

Today, though, you decided to switch things up by taking the stairs. Sure, it was three flights down, but anything was better than the awkward tension of waiting for the elevator and possibly bumping into him. You clung to the faint hope that the odds would work in your favor, that the stairwell would be empty and uneventful.

But as you descended, the sound of footsteps echoed from below, growing louder with every step. Your stomach flipped, an irrational hope bubbling up before you could quash it. Maybe it’s not him, you thought, though deep down, you already knew better.

Rounding the corner, your heart sank and raced all at once. There he was—Bucky, just a few steps below you, pausing mid-step with his hand gripping the railing. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. His expression shifted, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by something guarded, his jaw tightening as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Oh,” you breathed, your voice softer than you’d intended. “Hi.”

His lips pressed into a tight line before he offered a stiff nod. “Hey,” he replied, his voice low, carefully neutral.

You stared at each other for a beat too long, the air between you thick with unsaid words. He looked almost annoyed—not at you, but at the situation, as if running into you had thrown him off his game. And maybe it had, because for the first time, it wasn’t you avoiding him. It was him avoiding you.

“So…taking the stairs now?” His tone was casual, but his eyes betrayed a hint of tension, a wall firmly in place.

You forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to your own ears. “Yeah, um… decided to switch things up. Exercise, you know.”

He nodded once, his grip tightening briefly on the railing before loosening again. “Right. Exercise.”

Another awkward silence settled over you, the sound of distant voices from above faintly filling the void. You shifted on the step, clutching the railing a little too tightly, your mind scrambling for something to say—something that wouldn’t make things worse. But before you could speak, Bucky cleared his throat and took a step to the side, making way for you to pass.

“Alright,” he said, his voice clipped. “I’ll… see you around.”

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, hesitating for a moment before you stepped past him. “See you.”

As you descended the stairs, your pulse pounded in your ears, each step feeling heavier than the last. You risked a glance back, only to find him already climbing upward, his shoulders tense, his head down. The image lingered in your mind, the sight of him retreating, the weight of his silence pressing down on you like a stone.

You reached the bottom landing, gripping the railing as you let out a slow breath. Part of you wanted to turn around, to call after him. But the words stayed stuck in your throat, tangled up with your own doubts and fears.

If he didn’t want to talk, you wouldn’t force him. But that didn’t make the ache in your chest any easier to bear.

× × × ×

You arrived at work, your mood sour and your thoughts tangled up in that awkward encounter with Bucky on the stairs. The usual morning chatter of the office greeted you. Trying to focus, you went to your desk, arranging your things in a futile attempt to bring some order to your day.

But then you heard them—Trish and Amy, huddled at the corner near the coffee machine, voices low but still clear enough to reach you.

“I just don’t get it,” Trish was saying. “It’s been days, and there’s still no new uploads from SergeantBarnes. Maybe he’s got a new project or something?”

“Or maybe he’s seeing someone?” Amy added with a conspiratorial tone. “I mean, think about it. He’s been off the grid lately. That’s got ‘new fling’ written all over it.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to block out their conversation. It was the last thing you wanted to hear today, and every word just stoked the frustration simmering inside you. You took a deep breath, attempting to rein in your annoyance, but they just kept going, their words grating at you.

“Honestly, it’s like he’s gone quiet for no reason,” Trish went on, sounding genuinely disappointed. “What am I supposed to watch while I’m waiting for Dan to finish his gaming marathons?”

“Is that all you two talk about?”

You couldn’t help it; something inside you snapped. Before you knew it, you turned around, your voice sharper than you intended.

Both Trish and Amy blinked in surprise, their expressions shifting from confusion to embarrassment. You continued, unable to stop yourself now that you’d started. 

“You both have partners, for crying out loud. Do you really need to spend every second gossiping about some guy online?”

They exchanged glances, clearly taken aback. “Jeez, sorry,” Trish muttered, looking both defensive and a little hurt. “We didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“It is when we’re supposed to be working,” you replied, more irritated than you’d intended. “Maybe keep the fan talk out of the office? Or, I don’t know, find a hobby that doesn’t involve obsessing over someone else’s life?”

Silence fell as they looked at you, wide-eyed and a bit stunned. Realizing how harsh you’d sounded, you took a step back, immediately feeling a pang of regret. But the frustration from this morning was still fresh, and you couldn’t bring yourself to apologize just yet. Instead, you turned back to your desk, jaw clenched, hoping the tension in the office would dissipate as the day went on.

At the end of your shift, the weight of the day felt heavier than usual. The tension with Bucky hung over you like a cloud, lingering in your thoughts despite your best efforts to shake it off. It shouldn’t even be this deep—so why were you so affected? It’s just a casual thing, you reasoned with yourself. We’re barely even… whatever this is.

Yet, no matter how many times you told yourself to move on, the thought of Bucky—the way he’d looked at you, the frustration and hurt in his eyes—gnawed at you. You found yourself mentally bargaining, trying to find some middle ground, some way to keep your guard up but let him in a little, too. Maybe if I didn’t overthink it… if I just let it be whatever it is, I wouldn’t feel this way.

As you gathered your things, ready to head out, Trish and Amy approached with hesitant smiles. 

“Hey, you okay?” Trish asked gently, her earlier excitement replaced with genuine concern.

You managed a small, apologetic smile. 

“I’m so sorry about this morning,” you said, glancing between them. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you both. Just… a rough few days.”

They nodded in understanding, exchanging a quick look before Trish turned back to you. 

“No worries, but hey, if there’s something bothering you… maybe we can help? What do you say to grabbing some dinner with us? We can talk or not talk about it?”

Amy’s face lit up as she chimed in. “Yeah! You shouldn’t have to stew over whatever it is alone. Come on, let us treat you to some comfort food.”

Their unexpected warmth and support tugged at something in you, and you felt the weight on your shoulders ease just a little. 

With a small smile, you nodded. “Sure, that sounds nice. Thanks, guys.”

They grinned, and without missing a beat, each linked an arm through yours on either side, leading you toward the door as if they were determined to help you shake off every ounce of stress you’d been carrying. As you walked together, their chatter filled the air, and you let yourself settle into the easy companionship, hoping that maybe tonight would give you the reset you needed.

× × × ×

Across town, Bucky was pouring everything he had into the punching bag in front of him, each hit landing with a force that reverberated through his whole body. The gym was nearly empty, giving him the space to unload, each punch fueled by the frustration and confusion that had been building inside him for days. His jaw was clenched, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he moved, his muscles tense and coiled with pent-up energy. The sharp sound of his fists colliding with the bag echoed through the room, filling the silence as he worked to dump every complicated thought he’d been grappling with.

He had no reason to be as affected as he was, but the whole situation with you had hit him harder than he expected. He’d thought he could brush it off, ignore the strange ache that crept up every time he thought about your last conversation, but it stuck with him.

After a final, powerful jab, Bucky took a step back, breathing heavily as he let his hands drop to his sides. His mind was still a storm of thoughts, the adrenaline from his workout doing little to clear his head.

When he wasn’t working off steam in the gym, Bucky’s day-to-day was far less chaotic than most people would assume. As an automotive engineer at Ford, he spent hours each day under the hood, designing, testing, and refining high-performance engines. His focus had always been on innovation, on precision, on building something that could withstand any test. It was work he loved—real work, with real meaning, where every bolt and every part had a purpose.

The other job, his work in front of the camera, was different. It was an outlet, a separate side of himself he’d chosen to explore. People saw it for what it was on the surface, but it never felt like the core of who he was. You, however, had somehow managed to blur the lines between the two worlds in a way that left him unsteady. And for the first time, he found himself wondering if keeping his other job had been the right one.

The memory of your face—surprised, hesitant, almost wounded—came rushing back to him, making his chest tighten with something more complicated than he was prepared to face. 

Why did it matter so much? She’s just my neighbor, he thought. 

He sighed, pressing his gloved fists to his forehead as he tried to shake off the ache that had settled there. For now, all he could do was keep hitting, keep moving, hoping that maybe, at some point, the weight of it would finally start to lighten.

Later that evening, Bucky found himself in his kitchen, mindlessly stirring a pot on the stove. The rhythmic motion and steady bubbling should have been enough to distract him, but his thoughts kept drifting—inevitably back to you.

He remembered the first time you’d crossed paths in the building, how you’d barely glanced at him as you carried a pile of boxes through the hallway. It had amused him, how determined you were to act unaffected, especially after that sudden recognition flashed in your eyes. That little double-take when you realized who he was had been priceless. He’d leaned into that reaction ever since, throwing little teases and comments just to see your reaction, to see the way your cheeks would flush or how your gaze would flit away, only to sneak back.

There was something refreshing about the way you seemed to care so little about the reputation attached to him—so different from others he’d met. And maybe that was why he couldn’t resist teasing you, why he went out of his way to bump into you, to throw in a bit of banter just to see if he could make you smile or throw him a comeback.

But he never expected it to go beyond that. He didn’t expect that somewhere along the line, those little interactions would turn into something he looked forward to. And now, somehow, it had gotten tangled up with feelings he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

Bucky stirred the pot a little too vigorously, and a few drops splashed over the edge, hissing as they hit the stovetop. His hand stilled as he sighed, feeling the frustration bubble up all over again. This is my fault, he thought, jaw clenching slightly. I shouldn’t have come onto her too strong.

He hadn’t realized he was stirring so absentmindedly until the pot suddenly began to overflow, the liquid spilling over the edge and sizzling against the hot burner. With a muttered curse, he quickly grabbed a towel, lifting the pot off the heat and wiping up the mess, the sharp smell of burnt food pulling him out of his thoughts.

As he turned off the stove, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to make things right with you.

× × × ×

After a long day, you found yourself standing outside Bucky’s door, nerves twisting in your stomach. Just apologize, you told yourself, trying to gather the courage. Get it over with and clear the air. But as you stared at the door, words rehearsed in your mind, you found yourself hesitating. You’d been standing there so long that you’d lost track of time, each second stretching as you cycled through a list of possible things to say, none of which seemed quite right.

Taking a deep breath, you raised your hand to knock when a light, feminine laugh floated through the door, catching you off guard. You froze, your hand mid-air, as the laughter was followed by a familiar deep chuckle. Bucky’s.

"Alright, alright,” you heard him say, sounding more relaxed than you’d ever heard him with you. There was a warmth in his voice that sent a pang through your chest, the kind that came from comfort, closeness.

“Oh, come on, don’t act like you didn’t miss me,” the woman teased, her tone playful and affectionate. “I know you. You’re never this nice to anyone else.”

You swallowed, something tightening in your chest as you listened.

"Alright, guilty," Bucky’s voice softened, almost shy. "Guess you’ve always been a bit of a soft spot."

Your heart twisted, her words and his response echoing in your mind, each line pulling you deeper into a sense of unease. Soft spot? Nice to her in a way he wasn’t with anyone else?

Your mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion, and your cheeks heated as your throat tightened. You felt silly for standing there now, silly for even considering coming over to apologize. What were am I doing? Of course he's with someone.

Just then, you heard footsteps approaching the door, and panic flared. You turned, bolting toward your own apartment, fumbling with your keys as you heard Bucky’s door open behind you. Just as you managed to close your door, you caught a glimpse of him glancing down the hall, his gaze lingering on your door with a curious look.

Bucky’s sister, Becca, caught him glancing toward your door, she raised an eyebrow, nudging him with a knowing smile. 

“What’s up with you?” she asked, a touch of teasing in her voice. “Is everything okay?”

Bucky gave his head a quick shake, trying to dismiss the worry that had settled there. 

“Yeah, yeah… it’s nothing. Just thought I saw something,” he replied, though his gaze lingered a moment longer on your door before he finally turned back to Becca.

She didn’t look convinced. Folding her arms, she tilted her head, giving him a look that only an older sister could manage—the kind that saw right through any attempt to hide. 

“Are you sure? You’ve seemed a little off tonight, Bucky. I don’t think it’s nothing.”

Bucky held up his hands defensively, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips as he tried to brush her off. 

“Nothing! Really, it’s nothing. Now go home, seriously,” he insisted, ushering her toward the elevator with a slight push.

Becca rolled her eyes, clearly not buying it for a second. 

“Right. Nothing,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she gave him a knowing look. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, a bit more forcefully this time, though he couldn’t quite hide the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Go on before you start reading my palm or something.”

Becca laughed, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. 

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” she said as she stepped into the elevator, though she gave him one last pointed look as the doors began to close. “But, Bucky? maybe figure out what you want before you drive yourself crazy over it.”

With that, the doors shut, leaving Bucky standing in the quiet hallway, he sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he glanced back toward your door.

Later that night, Bucky found himself slumped on his couch, phone in hand as he stared at the search bar. He let out a huff, rolling his eyes at himself as he typed: signs you’re into someone.

The results loaded quickly, and he clicked the first article, skimming the list with a mixture of skepticism and, admittedly, nervous anticipation.

Sign #1: You can’t stop thinking about them. 

He paused, frowning at the screen. “Okay, that’s… kind of obvious,” he muttered, mentally ticking off that box with a begrudging sigh.

Sign #2: You go out of your way to see them.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at his phone, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“That one’s just stupid. I mean, we live in the same building. I don’t go out of my—” He paused, remembering all the times he’d “accidentally” found himself in the hallway when you’d get back from work, or when he’d gone to the laundry room at oddly specific times. “Okay, fine. Maybe sometimes.”

He kept scrolling, and the list grew more absurd—do you get jealous when they talk about other people? Do you go out of your way to impress them? By the end of it, he’d mentally checked off nearly every box, his expression morphing into a blend of reluctant acceptance and amusement.

Bucky sighed, tossing his phone onto the couch beside him. 

“What am I, sixteen?” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. Here he was, a grown man, looking up articles about crushes and ticking off boxes like he needed some random website to validate what he already knew.

But as he sat there, he realized it wasn’t the checklist itself—it was the fact that, for the first time in a long time, he felt like this. Like he actually cared about where things went, enough to drive him to ridiculous measures for some kind of clarity.

With a sigh, he leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of realization settling in. Bucky stared at the ceiling for a few more moments, letting out a deep sigh before grabbing his phone again and pulling up his contacts. Scrolling down to “Steve,” he hesitated for a beat before tapping the call button.

It rang twice before his friend picked up with a cheerful, “Yellow?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, smiling anyway. “Hey, punk.”

“Bucky!” Steve’s voice was light, clearly amused. “What’s up? It’s been a while since you called just to say ‘hi.’”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I… actually had a question. Kind of. For… a friend.”

“Oh, a ‘friend,’ huh? Sure, I’m listening.” Steve chuckled on the other end, and Bucky could practically hear the grin in his voice.

Bucky cleared his throat, leaning back into the couch. 

“Right. So, uh, hypothetically speaking… how do you know if, you know, if you’re into someone? Like, in a way that’s… not just friendly?” His words tumbled out, each one feeling more absurd than the last.

“Your ‘friend’ wants to know how to tell if they’ve got a crush, huh? Didn’t realize we were back in high school, Buck.” Steve snorted, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Bucky sighed, feeling his face heat up. “Look, if you’re gonna be annoying, I’ll just—”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry,” Steve said quickly, though he was still chuckling. “Okay, seriously. Well… I guess if your ‘friend’ can’t stop thinking about her, or if he finds himself looking for reasons to be around her, that’s usually a sign. Or if he’s, you know, protective, feels that weird jealousy thing… you know how it goes.”

Bucky was silent for a second, swallowing as he mentally ticked off each of Steve’s points. “Right. Yeah. Hypothetically, that makes sense,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“And,” Steve continued, now sounding suspiciously entertained, “if your ‘friend’ is calling up his actual best friend in the middle of the night to figure it out… well, that might be a bit of a giveaway, too.”

Bucky groaned, falling back into the couch with a scowl. “Alright, alright, I get it. Thanks, Steve.”

But Steve wasn’t finished. “Hey, Buck? If you’re asking for yourself—which we both know you are—maybe just tell her how you feel. You’re not as subtle as you think, and if she’s worth this much thought… she’s probably worth the risk, too.”

Bucky was quiet, swallowing the mix of nerves and excitement that Steve’s words stirred up. “…Yeah. Thanks, pal.”

× × × × 

The next morning, you were practically sprinting down the hall, head ducked and heart racing, when you heard him call out, “Hey! Y/N—wait up!”

You didn’t dare look back, only quickened your steps, praying he’d let it go. But his footsteps grew closer, and just as you reached the lobby, you felt a hand gently graze your shoulder.

With an awkward yelp, you dodged sideways, almost colliding with a potted plant as you called over your shoulder, “Sorry, Bucky—gotta go! Late for work!” 

You bolted through the doors, ignoring the bewildered look he gave you as you disappeared into the morning rush.

You turned off your phone completely, just to avoid the constant notifications. His messages had started out simple—Hey, can we talk?—but quickly escalated. Each ding had become a taunt, a reminder that, even though he seemed persistent, there was no other reason to face him now. You left your phone off for nearly a full day, and by the time you turned it back on, there were over a dozen missed calls and messages waiting for you, each one a pinch of guilt you tried to ignore.

And just when you thought you’d mastered the art of dodging, fate had other plans.

Untik one bleary-eyed morning, as you rushed out of your apartment with a coffee in one hand and your bag slipping off the other shoulder, you came face-to-face with Bucky at the end of the hallway. There was no escape route this time; he was standing right in your path, his arms folded and an expression somewhere between concerned and utterly frustrated.

You tried to step to the left, but he mirrored you, stepping right into your path.

You shifted right, and he stepped left, blocking you again.

You both paused, sizing each other up. Then, in unison, you both moved left, only to collide shoulders. You exhaled in frustration, darting to the right, but he sidestepped with you again.

“Bucky, please,” you groaned, your patience wearing thin, feeling the minutes tick closer to being late. “I have to go.”

His eyes softened just a little, but he didn’t budge. “Not until you stop running away from me. Can we just talk?”

You scowled, giving him one last sidestep to the left, only to be blocked again. With a frustrated sigh, you finally did the only thing left: you placed both hands on his chest and gave him a firm push, slipping past him before he could react.

“I’m late,” you muttered, not looking back as you all but jogged down the hallway, leaving Bucky in the wake of your retreat, his gaze following you with an expression that told you he wasn’t giving up. Hell no.

× × × ×

Until one day, when you were in the middle of work, a receptionist from the ground floor called up to tell you that someone wanted to see you. Curiosity and irritation flared as you made your way down, a frown already forming on your face. And the second you spotted him—standing in the lobby, arms crossed, looking as frustrated as you’d ever seen him—you felt your heart drop.

You turned on your heel, muttering to yourself, “Unbelievable…” But before you could make it far, he called out.

“Y/N!” His voice echoed across the lobby, and you turned back with a glare.

“What the hell are you doing here, Bucky?” you hissed, stepping closer so your conversation stayed private, though part of you just wanted to get him out of the building before anyone noticed.

His jaw was set, his gaze determined. “Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Nothing should have happened between us. Let’s just… leave it at that.”

He frowned, visibly taken aback by your bluntness. 

“How can you say that?” he demanded, his voice low but intense.

Your throat tightened, but you held your ground. 

“I need to get back to work,” you said, not meeting his eyes. You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you once again.

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly. “I’ll wait right here until you clock out if that’s what it takes. We’re going to talk, Y/N.”

You groaned, feeling a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Bucky, go home.”

But he didn’t budge. Instead, he took a seat in one of the lobby chairs, crossing his arms and settling in as if he were prepared to stay all night. Despite the receptionist’s raised eyebrows and curious glances from passing employees, Bucky stayed put, a stubborn expression on his face that only grew more determined with each hour that passed.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried to focus on your work, but every so often, curiosity and frustration got the better of you. By mid-afternoon, you found yourself messaging the receptionist, unable to resist asking, “Is he still there?”

The reply was quick and confirmed what you feared: “He hasn’t moved. Just sitting there, staring at his phone.”

You sighed, feeling a pang of guilt despite yourself. “Could you… maybe offer him a drink or something? He’s not going to leave, is he?”

The receptionist’s response was amused. “Already tried. Said he’s fine, but he appreciates it.”

The next day, he was there again, seated in the same chair, his arms crossed and his expression set like stone. This time, he came prepared—there was coffee waiting on the front desk with your name on it. When Trish and Amy teased you about the mysterious admirer, you convinced them to sneak out the back exit with you after work.

The day after that, he stepped it up. Roses. A beautiful arrangement of vibrant blooms appeared on your desk, the receptionist delivering them with a knowing smile. Your coworkers were relentless, whispering about your "secret boyfriend" and giving you sly grins every time they passed your desk. Again, you dodged them and Bucky, slipping out the back exit before he could catch you.

But no matter how much you avoided him, Bucky didn’t give up. Each morning, he was there, as stubborn as a mule—or more appropriately, as stubborn as Bucky Barnes. His persistence was unwavering, his resolve impossible to break.

Finally, on the fourth day, the receptionist herself came up to your floor, pulling you aside with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk.

“Y/N,” she began, her tone friendly but firm, “you’ve got to talk to him.”

Your stomach twisted as you glanced at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She arched a brow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. 

“Your man. He’s down there again. Same chair, same determined look. And he’s got flowers. Again.” She folded her arms, her expression softening slightly. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but he’s been here every day for the past four days. He’s polite, patient, doesn’t bother anyone, but... it’s obvious he’s waiting for you.”

Your cheeks burned, and you felt the weight of her words settle over you. “He’s not my—”

“Y/N.” She cut you off, giving you a pointed look. “Just talk to him. If for no other reason than to put him out of his misery. I’ve worked here for five years, and I’ve never seen anyone that persistent. Trust me, most guys wouldn’t even wait an hour.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “He’s... complicated.”

The receptionist chuckled, shaking her head. “Aren’t they all? But the way he’s sitting down there, looking like a kicked puppy one minute and a stubborn bulldog the next? That’s not complicated. That’s someone who cares.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t let something good slip away just because it’s messy.”

Her words lingered long after she walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway, your heart thundering in your chest. You peeked toward the elevator, debating whether you could sneak out through the back again. But deep down, you knew she was right.

Bucky was waiting. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your things, bracing yourself for what was bound to be another conversation you weren’t sure you were ready for.

× × × ×

You stepped into the lobby, your pulse quickened. There he was, sitting exactly where he’d planted himself hours ago, looking a little rumpled, maybe even tired, but every bit as determined as ever. His gaze lifted the moment you appeared, and for a second, his whole expression softened in a way that made your heart skip a beat. Relief, warmth, maybe even something more—it was all there, clear as day, and somehow it made this moment feel… different.

Bucky rose, a small, boyish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he approached. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you, letting the silence between you speak. The noise of the lobby faded away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in a quiet, invisible bubble.

You forced yourself to stay steady, trying to keep the upper hand. Arms crossed, you raised an eyebrow at him. “So… you camped out here all day?”

His smile turned a little sheepish, but there was no hint of apology in his tone. 

“Told you I’d wait. Figured you’d come down eventually.” He took a half-step closer, his voice soft and warm, laced with that casual mischief that made it impossible not to smile.

You rolled your eyes, biting back the smile creeping up. “Could’ve just… I don’t know, texted? Called? Like a normal person?”

He tilted his head, his grin widening just enough to make your heart trip over itself. 

“I tried that, remember? Didn’t seem to work on you.” He shrugged, completely unfazed. “So I figured I’d go old-school. Sometimes persistence pays off.”

“Persistence,” you muttered, pretending to sound exasperated. “You mean showing up uninvited?”

Before Bucky could answer, the unmistakable chatter of Trish and Amy echoed from the elevator behind you. Your heart jumped into your throat. Oh no. Absolutely not.

Without thinking, you stepped closer to Bucky, practically pressing yourself against him as you yanked your bag off your shoulder and lifted it up like a makeshift shield to block both of your faces.

Bucky froze, his body stiffening at your sudden proximity, but his expression quickly shifted to pure amusement. His lips twitched as he looked down at you, your bag wobbling precariously on the side of your faces.

“Um… what are you doing?” he whispered, his breath brushing against your forehead.

“Shhh!” you hissed, tilting the bag slightly to peek over it. Trish and Amy were slowly walking toward the front doors, their voices growing louder. “Just… don’t move. They can’t see me with you.”

“And why’s that?” Bucky asked, his voice low and teasing, though he didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned down a fraction, his face hovering closer to yours. “Afraid they’ll get the wrong idea?”

“No, I’m afraid they’ll get the right idea,” you snapped under your breath, glaring up at him.

His eyes sparkled, and his grin widened. “Oh, really? And what idea would that be, sweetheart?”

“Bucky,” you warned, the heat rising in your cheeks as you tilted your bag higher, completely covering his smirking face.

But Bucky didn’t seem fazed. If anything, he seemed more amused, his gaze dropping to your face like you were the most fascinating thing he laid eyes upon. His voice softened, the teasing edge replaced by something warmer. 

“You know, you’re really bad at hiding.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

He chuckled, his chest vibrating lightly against you. “Not gonna lie, this might be the highlight of my day. You, using me as a human shield. Very flattering.”

“Oh shut up,” you whispered, but your voice wavered, betraying the way your pulse was racing.

Trish and Amy finally passed by, oblivious to the two of you tucked against the corner. You let out a breath of relief, slowly lowering your bag. But before you could step away, you realized how close you were—Bucky’s face mere inches from yours, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

His voice dropped, soft and almost reverent. “You can hide from them all you want. But you can’t keep hiding from me, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare back at him, caught in the pull of his gaze. The noise of the lobby faded again, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

“I told you,” he murmured, his tone steady but impossibly gentle. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

You tried to ignore the thrill of butterflies that his words sparked. “Like I said, there’s nothing to talk about, Bucky. We should just keep our distance from each other okay?”

He took a steadying breath, his brows drawing together, his voice losing that playful edge. 

“How can you just decide that?” he asked, his tone almost pleading. “You don’t even know…”

You shifted, heart pounding. “Because I know you’re already seeing someone else. I don’t need to be another complication in your life.”

He blinked, visibly taken aback. And then, just as quickly, his face softened, an incredulous, almost disbelieving laugh escaping him. 

“Seeing someone else? Where did you get that idea?”

Heat crept up your cheeks as you tried to hold your ground. “I—I heard her, okay? When I was at your door the other day. The laughing, the… the way you sounded with her…” You bit your lip, looking anywhere but at him.

“Oh.” 

He let out another breathy laugh, shaking his head as if you’d just told him the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. 

“Y/N… that wasn’t a date. She’s not—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of exasperation and utter amusement. “She’s my sister.”

Your mouth dropped open, the realization hitting you like a freight train. “… what?”

“Yeah, my sister, Becca. She was just in town visiting.” He gave you a look of pure, amused disbelief, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “God, you really thought I was seeing someone?”

“Well, what else was I supposed to think?” you muttered, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

Bucky’s smile softened, and he took another step closer, until there was hardly any space between you. 

“You should’ve just asked,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Instead of. . . I don’t know? Avoiding me like the plague?”

You tried to summon a retort, but your heart was racing, your thoughts jumbled by his proximity and the way his gaze seemed to hold you captive.

Bucky chuckled, the sound soft and full of affection as he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“All this because of a misunderstanding?” His voice was low, his hand lingering, fingers brushing against your cheek. “I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out why you’re dead set on ignoring me.”

You managed to look up at him, heart pounding as you searched his eyes, suddenly feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room. 

“So… you’re not seeing anyone?”

“There’s only one person I want to see,” he murmured, his hand dropping from your face and now brushing against your arm. “And I thought I’m making that pretty clear?”

Your mouth opened and closed then opened again, “Okay. . .”

“Okay. . .” Bucky chuckles and steps back, “Shall we. . . restart?”

A flicker of surprise crossed your face, and a warmth bloomed in your chest at his invitation. You’d spent so many days tangled in your own assumptions, convinced things between you were over before they even began, and here he was, offering an olive branch with that disarming smile.

“Restart?” you echoed, your heart skipping a beat as you met his gaze.

He nodded, his expression softening even more. “Yeah.”

You gave him a small, hesitant smile, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves. “Yeah… I think I’d like that.”

Bucky’s grin widened, relief and something warmer sparking in his eyes. “Great. Let’s go home?”

“U-Uh, sure.”

× × × ×

The streets were alive with the hum of the city—cars rushing by, distant chatter from groups of people, and the occasional burst of laughter from passersby. But despite the liveliness around you, there was an unspoken tension in the air.

You noticed the way women’s heads turned as you passed, their gazes lingering a little too long on Bucky. It didn’t help that he looked effortlessly handsome, his casual outfit somehow drawing more attention than it should have. A part of you wanted to roll your eyes, but another part couldn’t blame them.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care. His focus remained on you, his stride matching yours, though there was a slight hesitation in his step.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, glancing up at him as you adjusted the bouquet in your arms.

He let out a soft hum, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Just thinking,” he said, his voice low.

“About?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly before he finally spoke. “About that night.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you instinctively looked away, focusing on the ground ahead of you. 

“I thought we weren’t going to bring that up,” you said softly, your voice tinged with both unease and curiosity.

“We have to talk about it eventually,” he replied, his tone steady but gentle. “I don’t like leaving things unresolved, Y/N.”

When you finally reached the corner of your block, you slowed your steps. Bucky noticed, his own pace matching yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The two of you moved to the quieter steps of your building, sitting side by side. The soft hum of the city buzzed around you, but it felt distant, like it belonged to another world entirely. Your bag rested on your lap, your face soft under the streetlights, but the tension in the air was anything but light.

Bucky broke the silence first, his hands clasped together as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. 

“I’ve been wanting to say this for a while,” he started, his voice low but steady. “That night… I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at myself.”

You blinked, turning to him in surprise. “Mad at yourself?”

He nodded, his jaw clenching for a moment before he continued. “Yeah. I thought I’d scared you off, made you feel like I wasn’t taking you seriously. The last thing I ever wanted was for you to think I was just… using you.”

Your fingers tightened around the bouquet, the ache in his voice tugging at something deep in your chest. 

“Bucky, it wasn’t just about you,” you admitted quietly. “It was me, too. I panicked. I wasn’t sure if I could handle…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Handle what your life looks like.”

His head tilted slightly, his blue eyes softening as he looked at you. “Because of my job,” he said gently, not as a question, but a statement.

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. 

“It’s hard, Bucky. I hear my coworkers talking about you—about SergeantBarnes—all the time. They don’t know it’s you, but it’s constant. They treat you like… like you’re this fantasy, this unattainable thing. And it’s not just them. It’s everyone who sees you online, who only knows that part of you.”

He stayed silent, letting your words settle, his gaze never leaving your face.

“And then there’s me,” you continued, your voice wavering slightly. “I don’t want to be another name on a list or someone who gets overshadowed by… by the version of you that everyone else thinks they know.”

Bucky leaned forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he turned his head to look at you. The streetlights cast a soft glow over his face, highlighting the sincerity in his expression.

“I get that,” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “And I hate that you feel that way. But Y/N, you’re not another name on a list to me. You’re not someone who gets lost in all of that… noise.”

You held his gaze, the weight of his words settling in your chest. His patience today, his persistence—it wasn’t the action of someone who saw you as fleeting or inconsequential. It was the effort of someone who cared, deeply.

Bucky sighed softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I’ve kept my work and personal life separate for a reason. It’s always been easier to compartmentalize, to keep everything from bleeding into each other. But now? Now I realize that I didn’t think about what would happen if someone—if you—became significant to me.”

Your chest tightened, his words chipping away at the insecurities you’d been holding onto. “Bucky…”

Bucky turned toward you fully, his blue eyes locking onto yours, raw and unguarded in a way that made your heart ache. 

“If I told you that I want to spend every day and night with you—not just because I like you, but because you’ve become the one constant person I can’t stop thinking about. If I told you that you’re my sanity when the world feels like chaos, my laughter, my desire, my comfort, my day and my night, my cold and heat—If I told you that, would you think that translates to only wanting you as ‘one of my girls’?”

Your breath caught, the raw honesty in his words shaking you. “Bucky…”

“I know my job makes things messy,” he continued, his voice quieter now, like he was almost ashamed. “But I get it—I get why it’s hard for you. I hate that it’s something that puts distance between us.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “If I could go back and change things, I would. I’d do whatever it takes to make this easier for you.”

Your throat tightened, the sincerity in his voice making it hard to speak. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to change who you are for me,” you said softly.

“It’s not about changing who I am,” he replied, shaking his head. “It’s about making sure I don’t lose something.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, his hands fidgeting as he leaned back against the step, staring up at the night sky for a moment before turning his gaze back to you.

“I’m gonna be really honest with you, Y/N,” he started, his voice low, hesitant. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do about the… other stuff yet. It’s not as simple as just walking away. I’ve got contracts, commitments—it’s not something I can just drop overnight.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you nodded, appreciating his honesty even as the knot in your stomach grew. 

"And that means... what exactly?" you asked, even though deep down, you already knew.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he let out an exasperated chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Do you really want me to say it? Do I have to say it?”

You didn’t flinch this time, your voice cutting through the tension with unsettling clarity. “It means you have to keep having sex with other porn stars… right?”

Bucky winced at the bluntness of your question, the words hitting him harder than he expected. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze dropping to the ground as he wrestled with what felt like shame.

You sighed heavily, pressing the heel of your hand against your forehead as you shut your eyes tightly. Your mind was spinning, your emotions tangled in a knot you couldn’t untie. Out of all the men that could catch your interest, why did it have to be him?

“You are the most complicated guy I’ve ever met,” you said, letting out a short, humorless laugh that carried no amusement, only exhaustion. “Oh my gosh, I honestly don’t even know—” You paused, your voice faltering as you opened your eyes and looked at him, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “How would you make it easier for me, Bucky? How?”

Bucky swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his lips parted, his gaze flickering over your face. He was clearly thinking, his mind working furiously to find a solution, any solution.

"Do you… not like the idea of me with other women?" he asked tentatively, his tone cautious.

You snorted, narrowing your eyes at him. "That’s a stupid question, Bucky."

"Just say yes or no," he pressed, his gaze intent.

"Yes, I do not like the idea," you snapped, your tone sharp with irritation. "But I can’t prevent it, can I?"

Bucky took a deep breath, his jaw tightening as he stared at you. Then, his next words came out carefully, almost testing the waters. 

“What if. . .you do it with me?”

Your eyes widened, disbelief flooding your expression as his suggestion hung in the air. 

Slowly, a startled laugh escaped your lips. 

"Are you joking? You’re out of your mind if you think I’d showcase my body to the world like that!"

"I’m not saying you have to," he said quickly, his hands raising defensively. "I just thought… maybe it’d feel different. Less like I’m with strangers. Maybe it’d feel like I’m with you."

"Bucky," you said, your voice heavy with disbelief, "that’s not a solution. That’s… whatever that is, it’s insane."

His shoulders sagged slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tugging at the roots in frustration. 

“I know it sounds insane,” he muttered, his tone rough. “But I’m trying to find a way to make this work. To make this easier for you.”

You shook your head, letting out a long breath. You stared at Bucky, your frustration and disbelief simmering just beneath the surface. 

“Me… doing that with you? Just so I can handle this better?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“I know it sounds crazy. Trust me, I know. But I hate the thought of you being upset every time I have to perform. And yeah, maybe it’s a selfish thought, but if it were with you… at least it’d feel real. Like it means something.”

You bit your lip, his words tugging at something inside you. But the idea of putting yourself in front of a camera, of having your body displayed for the world—it made your stomach churn. "Bucky, that’s not… I don’t know if I could ever do that. It’s not me. It’s not what I want people to see of me."

He nodded slowly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "I get that," he said softly. "But if it’s the only way to make this easier for you… I just thought—"

"You thought what?" you interrupted, cutting him off. "That I’d suddenly be okay with the idea of putting my body out there for millions of people to see? That I’d somehow be okay sharing you like that, even if it’s just on-screen?"

Bucky flinched at your tone, his jaw tightening. "I don’t want you to share me. I don’t want any of this to be a problem for us. But you don’t trust that I’m serious about you, and I’m just trying to find a way to show you."

You let out a shaky breath, your thoughts spinning. He wasn’t wrong—it was hard to trust, hard to believe that someone with a job like his could be serious about anyone, let alone you. But his suggestion… it wasn’t the answer. Was it?

For a moment, you considered something that had never crossed your mind before. The idea was ludicrous, insane even, but it lingered in the back of your thoughts like a whisper. Your lips parted hesitantly, the words tasting strange on your tongue as you said them.

"If I agreed… hypothetically," you started, your voice faltering slightly, "would I… would I have to show my face?"

Bucky blinked, taken aback by your question. For a moment, his expression softened, a mix of relief and regret washing over his face. 

“It’s only a suggestion. . . you don’t have to do this, if you’re uncomfortable." he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I just… I threw it out there because I’m desperate to find a way to make this work.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. 

“I don’t know. But the thought of you with someone else… it makes me sick. And now I feel like I’m stuck, like there’s no winning in this situation.”

Bucky studied you for a long moment, his blue eyes filled with understanding. You could see him weighing his next words carefully, as if they could tip the balance in either direction.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice soft yet steady. “You know what? Forget I said any of that,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s too much for tonight. For both of us.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. “Bucky—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to feel like this has to be some big, impossible decision right now. We’re both exhausted from this conversation, and I don’t want to mess it up any more than I already have.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, a mix of relief and guilt swirling in your chest. He was giving you an out, a way to step back from the overwhelming weight of it all, and you weren’t sure whether to thank him or cry.

“How about this,” Bucky said, leaning forward slightly, his tone softer now. “Let’s just… hit pause for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll do something normal. Something simple. Let’s go on a date—no heavy talks, no complicated feelings. Just us.”

Your eyes searched his, finding nothing but sincerity in his gaze. It wasn’t an easy fix, and it wouldn’t erase the doubts or the fears that still lingered between you. But it was a step forward, a way to reconnect without the weight of everything else pressing down on you both.

“A date?” you asked, your lips twitching into a hesitant smile.

“Yeah,” he said, his smile growing a little. “Somewhere fun, somewhere we can just… breathe. No drama, no cameras, just you and me.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You make it sound so easy.”

Bucky’s grin widened, and he shrugged, a teasing glint in his eye. “That’s because it can be. We don’t have to solve everything at once, Y/N. We just have to take it one step at a time.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the tension in your chest loosen ever so slightly. 

“Alright,”you said, your voice steadying. “Tomorrow, we’ll go on a date.”

Bucky’s smile was warm and genuine, and for a moment, the weight of the evening lifted. 

"Awesome," he said, standing up and offering you his hand. "Now, let me walk you up. Can’t let you carry bag on your own."

You laughed softly, taking his hand as he helped you to your feet. As the two of you walked back into your building, the night air seemed a little lighter. Although at the back of your thought, a question lingers. Should you agree to his suggestion?

tags: @bohoooitsme @barnescamboy @strangefunthornqueen @mayusenpai666 @seven0714

@rabbitrabbit12321 @alexsl-universe @xunquish-blog @hzdhrtss @winchestert101

@alyana-luvs-u @itsbuckysworld @eternalwinters @am-3-thyst @vaneyvfs

@mochiclouds @yesiamthatwierd @skywalker0809 @19jammmy @quinquinquincy

@morganlolitta @openup-yourmind @urbanleftovers @fallout-girl219 @awenita

@red22wolf @lostboys1987girl @tenmaabnesti @elloredef @daddylorianisastateofmind

@leighta @formulas-bitch @waywardhunter95 @cereal6666 @gg-trini

@ohdrey89 @theboysfanficmaker @clintsupremacy @whatislovevavy @okeypoteto

@lilynotdilly @byunleedy @mrsalexstan @jamesbarneswife @chiseplushie

@antiartemis @imagoddessinmystories @let-it-sn0o0ow @mostlymarvelgirl @crdgn

[the-darklings]

FOR YOUR ARCANE PROMPTS LIST POOKIE: "hands under your lover's clothes" w/Silco??? perhaps?? perchance?? PLS PLS POOKIE, MY GLORIOUS QUEEN, MY EVERYTHING <3

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ silco x gn!reader, complicated relationship, a little angst, no spoilers for s2, cat & mouse dynamic but who is who? wc: 768

“It’s dangerous playing games with a patient man.”

“Are you? Patient?”

Silco’s mouth flutters into what could pass for a fleeting smile. It’s a rare expression on him, an ease that is seldom seen in the years since he left Vander’s side. Nowadays, he is nothing like the fresh-faced youth so desperate to fix the world you first met.

“More so than many, I’d reckon,” he replies placidly, watching you with idle interest. You lean on his oak wood desk, the rough grain of the wood warm beneath your fingers as you skim over his notes and ledgers. His meticulous nature is evident in the way he organised everything about the Shimmer trade. It’s almost irritating. “You are here for a reason.”

The gentle accusation falls on deaf ears.

“I was just saying hello,” you drawl, your voice low, swinging your attention his way. Silco’s scoff is a low, throaty sound, barely audible, but filled with disdain. 

You’re not sure when it started, you and him. If it was survival or a desire for a better life that drove you both from the start. You wanted freedom and independence and then he took the Undercity, and, in a way, you too. Since then, you’ve existed in his sphere, enjoying his favour. Flaunt it without making it obvious, slipping past the cracks of his rules. 

He appears so collected on his chair, a king on his throne in truth, but his immaculate clothes are wrinkled, buttons undone, and his Adam’s apple bobs when you touch his tie. You know better than to go near his throat. The last time you did, fingers eager and teeth nipping at the taut flesh there, he jerked back as if shocked. Terror and rage had overcome him, twisting you on his bed, still tangled in each other, before you could turn back your instincts. When his hands closed around your throat in response, you didn’t fight him off, and maybe it was that above all else that made Silco snap out of his spell.

No, instead, you slip your hand past the unbuttoned shirt, tracing over his sharp collarbone. Silco rests his cheek lightly on his hand, watching you through a narrowed eyed stare. Daring you, yes, but also curious. The heavy scarring on his face never bothered you. You didn’t lack scars of your own, but this… 

You slip forward, knee resting on the chair between his parted legs, hand slipping lower, to rest over his thudding heart. 

“Hello.” Your lips shape the word before you breathe them against his lips again. Your free hand cups his face and the hard beat of his heart echoes against your palm. 

The kiss is gentle, more civilised than either of you are used to, a sweetness that lingers even though it’s not what either of you normally craves, but when he doesn’t pull away, a secret thrill shoots up your spine. His deep inhale fills your ears, the heat of his lips imprinting on yours. A deep, rumbling sound vibrates through his chest when you deepen the kiss, your fingers moving in gentle circles over his skin. 

With a viper’s swiftness, Silco snaps his hand behind your head when you break the kiss, keeping you close. Nose to nose, your breaths mingle. You can’t quite tell what lingers in his burning gaze, one icy blue, another molten gold. 

“Are you hoping to endear yourself to me?” he asks, knowing and throaty. “A foolish play.”

“I won’t say that,” you say, breathless. “And if I was… well, I think you’re holding up just fine.”

Licking your lips, you pull back, grinning at him. He hasn’t moved, his knuckles returning to his cheek. Nonchalant, except for the heavy weight with which he still examines you. Silco won’t indulge you in admitting you do this because you’re the only one he can rely on in this shitty, twisted world of yours. You support his vision, you’ve always believed it, even when you were younger. 

Adjusting your dishevelled clothes, you look over at him once more. Not so crisp and orderly for once. Satisfaction nestles in your gut at the observation that the usually perfectly groomed and dressed man—this infamous crime lord—is a mess in the dim light of his office. Undone. Caught. Even if predatory hunger reflects in that golden hue. 

You wag your fingers in a playful wave. “It’s dangerous playing games with patient people, love, haven’t you heard?”

[voxslays]

in desperate need of some NSFW dae ho head cannons?? 👀👀

DAE HO — NSFW ALPHABET

A/N: M and X are skipped. Warnings: Smut, P in V, oral, soft!Dae-ho, maybe a little OOC.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

✮ Very doting. Always wants to make sure you are okay. Will wipe you off with a towel and have water on both sides of the bed (he knows how exhausted you are) or will just take a nice long, hot bath with his darling.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

✮ He doesn’t really have a favorite part about you, he just loves you the way you are…BUT…he does like being able to hold and compare your small hands to his large calloused ones.

✮ For him, it’s probably his semi-muscular arms. He loves the way they engulf you as he wraps you in his warm embrace. Truly such a wholesome guy. <3

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

✮ Dae-ho cums a lot. Whether he pulls out or not, it’s everywhere. On the sheets, on you, on him. Even when he releases inside of you, he will watch in awe as it trickles out of your pretty hole.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

✮ He kind of has a breeding kink. He desperately wants to get you knocked up so he can experience having a big family again (like how he grew up with so many older sisters). That and he thinks you would look so pretty pregnant.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

✮ Doesn’t have a lot of experience, but he knows what he’s doing and how to make you feel good. Has had one or two partners before you at max.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

✮ Definitely missionary. What can he say? He’s very Vannilla coded. He loves looking down at your beautiful face as he slowly lumos himself in and out of your hole—Holding your hands as he makes love to you and fucks you silly.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

✮ I can see Dae-ho being a very lighthearted individual during steamy time, making maybe one or two jokes as he fucks you dumb.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they?)

✮ Well groomed, not a lot of hair, but it’s definitely managed well.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

✮ So so so romantic! Will constantly be telling you how beautiful you are as he listens to your wanton moans and suckles on your nipples.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

✮ I honestly don’t see him doing this. Why jerk off when he can just go to you? If you aren’t in the mood though, he will probably just want you close as he does his thing.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

✮ Definitely breeding kink, as mentioned earlier. Dae-ho just wants a big family.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

✮ The bedroom (bed) or the shower.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

✮ Anything that makes you uncomfortable. Dae-ho would be a true gentlemen and is the king of consent. He definitely puts your pleasure above his own.

✮ As for him, Dae-ho doesn’t care for roleplay (why would you want him to be anyone but himself? It will hurt his feelings!) or BDSM. Why would he want to purposefully hurt his partner?

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

✮ Prefers to give. He loves tasting your sweet sweet juices.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

✮ Very slow and sensual. You and Dae-ho don’t fuck. You make love.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

✮ Heavily dislikes them. If you’re going to do it, why not do the full thing?

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

✮ Is willing to do (almost) anything to make you happy.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

✮ 3-4 rounds. This guy was in the marines, of course he has stamina. Although, he will stop if you pass out before he’s done.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

✮ Prefers not to use them on you or himself.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

✮ Will tease you with his fingers and tongue only a little bit. Doesn’t want you to suffer too much while waiting for his cock.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

✮ Can get a little loud. Dae-ho will make little grunts, but every once in a while will let out a wanton moan.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

✮ Would put your pleasure and well-being over his any day.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

✮ Like once every two weeks. He doesn’t want to push you to hard or make you uncomfortable, but does love showing how much he loves you through these ‘activities’.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

✮ Always waits until you are asleep, but after that, he is pretty quick to pass out.

[cryptfile]

✶ nuclear seasons, [ soldier boy x reader ]

summary — he was friend’s with your mom. friend is a understatement cause when he appears in the middle of the night looking for revenge in your little apartment in the suburbs, you know he’s far from being nice.

warnings — +18 minors dni, smut, dead dove do not eat, we have a last name (also a mother!), kind of porn without plot? but not really cause it HAS one okay, we call it 50/50, fem!reader using she/her pronouns, p in v, masturbation ( m! receiving but blink and you miss it), dirty talk, age gap, choking, degradation, spitting (i'm sorry), fingering, mentions of injury, cancer (not you tho), tons of tension.

side notes — i’m never experiencing the post ovulation clarity lmao, that being said english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes, also i’m a whore for jensen ackles, and i stand for what i like proudly. // 5k+

Nightshade is a hero.

You're proud of your mother since you were pretty young. The hero that fought against Vought to death during the time Payback was active, America’s Troublemaker that you only knew as Stella Nightshade, a blonde woman that talked with the death during her golden years.

Maybe it’s your mother the one that pushed you to fight crime, to pursue the bad guys and look out for the victims that can’t stand for themselves, so even when you don’t inherit much from Stella’s gifts, you joined the CIA as soon as you can so you can do something that matters.

You’re the best in your class, work your ass off to be taken serious, to be more than the look of disappointment you receive when people ask, once again, if you have any powers like your mother and you have to admit — In pure shame, that you didn’t born as a superhero but a baby who cried loudly when is too hungry.

But as years pass you make a name for yourself, one that even if differs from Stella’s job has the same noble reasons behind. You also realize you were too naive growing up, believing in heroes that don’t deserve to be called that way.

The country has made a mistake on making superhumans so openly, and it’s clear that got out of control now, backfiring as they got so much power it’s almost impossible to take accountant of any of them.

You’ve worked along Grace Mallory from the shadows, and even when Stella would not be so proud of you for helping get his kind out of the streets, the justice is enough to feed you and keep you warm on a cold night.

You like it that way. You know Grace has a team for it, a legal army of supe-haters as you called them, yet, you prefer to stay in the dark, not let your personal life get involved cause one slip and you can lose it all— Even when you don’t have nothing at all. You like to have an outside life from work, it’s the sane thing to have, so when the CIA Deputy Director asks you about joining the infamous Boys, you politely decline assuring the woman you’ve been more helpful from the outside.

What would Stella Nightshade would say? Now that you’ve grown older and you don’t look at her the same way you used to when you encounter her files and read about your mother. You know she has done wrong, yet with the years, you don't imagine Soldier Boy himself was going to seek for revenge first thing he does when he wakes up, his plan including your mother even when she was long time dead before he even appeared in the picture.

That night especially you let your guard down. It's been a rough couple of weeks back in work, so when the night comes you're a victim of the stress, victim of your bosses and the people that surrounded you. You pour a glass of wine for yourself, light a cigarette even when you haven't smoked in years, and turn on the TV to see something else rather than the face of Homelander in every single channel you've been tuning lately.

It's a weapon. When you leave for a warm shower and start filling the bathtub, you're not aware of what that night was really going to be for you. Oblivious as you stand naked in the middle of the bathroom, holding the glass of wine between your fingers before entering the warm current that relaxed your muscles.

It seems tension is your worst enemy, makes your muscles feel like stone as you got in the water, the cigarette that hangs from your dry lips splashing with tiny droplets of perfumed water as the silence filled the air. It's what you needed, at least ten minutes with your brain shutting off completely, the pleasure you haven't experienced in forever by being so compromised with work.

It's a much-needed break. The smoke that leaves the room by the almost-closed window, the taste of wine still lingering in your lips as you sip another taste of the crimson liquor you love. You don't happen to notice when he's breaking in your apartment, silent and deadly as you were protected by a door closed and a white curtain.

You don't happen to hear him too. The music coming our from your phone is loud enough to silence the knocks on your door at first before breaking the wood, you're too deep in the still water that smelled like roses and vanilla, to even pay attention to what was going on outside the warmth of the four walls that surrounded you.

There's vapor coming out of the water and you find comfort in closing your eyes, in letting the blow of the smoke travel through your throat before suspending itself in the air, flowing as you drank.

In your defense, you haven't been like that in ages.

It's been a long time since you last fill the tub and have a relaxing session with yourself, so it makes sense you are enjoying it a little bit too much, too much cause when the invader is making a lot of noise when stepping into your property, you still enjoy the taste of the alcohol on your lips.

The ashes fall to the ceramic floor outside the tub and you should blame the CIA to make you so tense to the point it leads you to more problems than you ever had. In the dark room of your apartment, it's Soldier Boy the one who's going through any drawer he comes across, the ones closed, the ones hidden, any slit he can find, any clue that can trace your mother back to his personal vendetta.

He's oblivious to Stella's death and her daughter, so when the former superhero hears the noise in the bathroom he's fully convinced it's your mother the one who's behind that door, that she's the one who's going to tell him the truth, if she also sold him to the russians as well in the process.

He's decided also on killing her. She must need it after all that time getting older, closer to death more than ever.

Of course it's an unpleasant surprise when you can see the bathroom door opening when you're sure you left the front door closed and lock with at least two bolts to prevent anyone from getting inside, it makes you jump in the spot, quickly covering yourself from the new stranger that enters your bathroom.

"Stella?" he asks, it's the last room that the hero needs to check for himself.

You spot the green fabric of his suit immediately as you pressed your chest against the cold surface of the tub, and when the invader notices you're naked, he doesn't look away as any person with a hint of respect would do, but instead, continue on checking you out as you try to cover yourself in the water tinted in a nonexistent transparent color red.

You can feel his gaze as soon as you recognize him too, as you happen to notice that face from your mother's pictures, the propaganda in the TV when he did almost every commercial back when you were a kid. It's a shock, and dressed in his damn suit, you don't know why an old superhero is there standing beneath the yellowish bulbs of the light your bathroom happens to have.

Your cheeks adopt this pink color as you panic, grabbing the cup of wine to throw the liquid in the floor, breaking it against the marble walls just to shatter the glass in pieces, a weapon of defense as you lifted up against him.

"You're not Stella."

Soldier Boy looks amused: it's funny that you think you'd be able to kill him with shattered glass, yet he lets you keep thinking that way when he's enjoying the view.

Is he to blame? He just got out from this giant cooking oven back with the communists and he hasn't got his way with a lady since what seems are centuries, so when he spots you in the tub he simply cannot contain himself from peaking around. You should be in what? Not more than your 20's? Soft-looking skin that asked to be marked with his hands, by the force of his lips crashing in your flesh.

The thought is compelling, you're looking all feisty with the glass in your hand, threatening him and speaking something Soldier Boy cannot catch at first — Shit, he doesn't even notice the blood in your hand that's dripping all over your small rug in the floor, the power women like yourself seemed to have now and weirdly enough, a huge turn on.

"Get the fuck out!" you scream in an authority voice, the same you use back at work when you're mad, when you're usually holding a gun in defense more than a piece of broken glass "Stella is not fucking here!"

It takes a few more words to actually get him out of there, and as he closes the door behind him you finally stand to grab a towel covering from the currents of wind, trying, really hard, to think about anything else more that the fact that Soldier Boy has entered your house and your bathroom in the worst moment, far from what you were last updated with.

To be honest, it almost gave you a heart attack, leaving the bathroom to find your home torn apart, the drawers open and all the papers you've meticulously kept in place being all over the place as Ben stands awkwardly holding a shield in the middle of your living room.

"Fucking hell" you're cursing under your breath as you gathered some important things you cannot leave on the floor even when you're still wet from the shower, expelling this nice aroma that mixed the roses and the vanilla together with your personal scent — Weirdly enough, a fucking show to the hero that's already rock-hard from the peak he had of you from before.

You don't really notice it at first, too busy being mad as you let the papers you gathered on top of the table. You lose the shame you got left as the wet drops of the shower leave a trace in the floor — And as usual, you clearly don't notice it, but Ben does when the water is running down your back, and you're barking something about calling someone called Grace, holding onto a white tower with your dear life.

"Where is Stella Nightshade, sweetheart?" he speaks out loud cause he don't understand anything you say, really fighting to be nice with you like it would give him an opportunity to get under your skin.

"My mother's dead," you stand there without knowing what to say after. You know he and your mother were close, but you don't imagine he was going to actually go find her teammate when he recently woke up in a different country. "She died years ago dude, i'm sorry."

The information gathers in his head as you take a clean oversized shirt from the laundry basket covering with it as you throw the towel to the floor, Red Hot Chili Peppers it says, but he thinks it's a place in Italy more than a band like he isn't troubled already by the fact you were Stella's daughter, the person who thought was her only friend back in the time now dead.

"Does anyone know you're here?" your mind is drifting back to work again as you wondered if anyone knew he was going to break into your apartment and choose not to send any help — "Ben."

You've read his file. Hell, to be honest you've read every single file in Payback, so it's no surprise you know his name, but to the hero, it seems to be amusing when you call him by his real name, his mind fueled in a different direction as he notices you're not wearing any underwear beneath the shirt you're choosing to wear, one whose fabric's barely covering your tights.

"What do you mean dead?" he asks, furrowing his brows "It's not been so long."

"She got cancer three years ago" you explain with a sad tone, even when you disagree with Stella, it pains you to remember what sickness made out of her, consuming her from the inside at a cruel pace.

"Motherfucker," he states clearly angry, and you cannot help but look at him with a weird face, searching for the phone you left in the sofa to call any-fucking-body in the office that could send a damn army to get you: Didn't the Boys have everything under control? That's what you're told anyway, then why the fuck is the subject of matter cursing in your little messy apartment? — "Bitch just got away with it before I could do anything, isn't it? What a fucking shame."

"Pardon me?" it catches you by surprise at first, but it hits you soon after. Soldier Boy is not there to say hello to your mother or ask for her help, but instead, he's there to get revenge and actually kill Stella by his own matters.

Fuck. Of course is something new, something that makes you feel cold all sudden, your wet hair making you visible shake as you became aware of his plans.

"You know them. You know the people from the lab" it's more of a fact than a question, letting the words feel salty in his own mouth. "The ones that let me get away."

He's quickly to gather the pieces too, not as dumb as you think he is as the puzzle is finally coming up together in his head, and it's all it takes for him to take a step closer to you, cutting that space you've created since you kicked him out of the bathroom — He's angry now.

The red globe on his hand is now holding you by the throat, applying enough pressure to cut the air flow going to your lungs almost completely, his fingertips warm against your bare skin as he holds you in front of his figure, pushing you against the cold wall.

You usually would enjoy such activities, yet in the context you are trapped in right now, you began to choke, your own hands trying to push his grip back even when he’s too strong, not even flinching when you’re squirming, gasping for some air as your face became red, tears gathering in your eyes as he let you breathe for a couple of seconds when he senses you’re too close to black out.

“Talk little Nightshade” he says in a low voice. “Or else i’m breaking your pretty neck.”

“I work for the CIA!” You explain quickly as your breathing became more labored by the seconds. “Not for the people who let you out! I promise!”

He’s going to kill you. You can see the determination in his eyes, that predator look he happens to have.

What you don’t know, somehow, is that he’s going fucking insane. Your smell coming up to his nose to make him shiver, the sight of you in an oversized shirt that barely covers your shape is more than enough to push his buttons, to make him forgot about any killing he was allegedly so concentrated in fulfill, the sight of you almost crying messing with his brain.

Little Nightshade is a fucking tease.

His eyes follow your expression, the hand that gripped your neck and choke you harshly now pressing enough to only suppress the air flow in a more enjoyable way, the tension quickly shifting from dying to pleasure all over again as he kept you in place so easily.

It’s impossible to move, to do anything more than be pressed against a cold wall. Your mother has once again lied to you and you notice the relationship she painted with Soldier Boy was more of a movie in her head than reality itself. Makes you gulp in response when you stare at his expression, the face of a trained killer as you knew, fucking knew, a bit more of force in your neck and it would snap without any difficulty.

“I don’t work with them” you assure once again, maybe it’s your survivor skills hitting when you repeat it in a low voice, catching on your breath when he lets go allowing you to fill your lungs with air just enough before pressing that very spot again, the one that actually turns you on. “Fuck’s sake.”

Is that how you end? On your lame apartment?

The next is a weird thing, cause in the blink of an eye he’s close to your face planting his own body next to yours and you’re shivering at the feeling, his armor pressed against your chest as he left the shield he was holding on the floor.

The metal is pressed against your skin covered by the thin cotton of Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt, and he is so close, so close you froze there, no longer fighting his tight grip but mesmerized by his damn face, the same you watched on TV when you were a kid, the handsome man you happen to severely crush on in secret, just because you don’t want Stella to know or she will give you a long talk about how he is her age.

But he is, handsome as fuck, and now being so close to his face you can say it with all confidence. His beard is shaved perfectly and he smells incredibly good even for someone who has spent time locked away without any kind of hygiene, his green suit protecting him from the cold air that was getting through the opened window.

“Who are you?” he asks, scanning your face with a curious look as he wanted to know what expression you would have when you know why he's there in the first place — “What do you know about Stella Nightshade, your mother, selling me out?”

Fuck. So that's why he's there. You know she did it. And it's impossible for you to lie when he's making you so nervous, away from any weapon, any form of defense as you left the glass in the bathroom sink when you notice large gash on your hand, and your silence makes nothing more than leave him fuming. If he was angry before, he now reaches a higher level as his grip turns more violent now that he knows you know what he meant, why he's there claiming to talk with your death mother out of nothing.

"Call her then. Use your powers" he demands dryly, and you're shaking at this point cause it's more shame added to the long pile, the bathroom already being a humiliation by itself. "Fucking call her."

You squirm beneath his grabbing, when he's pushing you harder against the concrete wall and you can just feel him from under the suit, hard cock pressing against your belly, green in your vision as he towers over you. He knows what he's doing, and even when you try to be disgusted by it, you find yourself enjoying his closeness, how he's pinning you with no effort at all, hands on your throat while he demanded an answer.

"I can't call her" you admit in a low voice, cheeks now red as the embarrassment crept upon your face — "I don't have my mother's power."

Soldier Boy seems to not believe you for a mere second, after that you can feel the blade of the knife pressing against your skin, a threat that now becomes more real as you can feel the cold metal stomach. One swift movement and you'd be stabbed without a second thought.

It's sick how much you enjoy it when you are squirming against him, goosebumps in the zone he threats to destroy.

A force pull his lips upwards in a smile, unable to pay attention to nothing else but the sound you made without even realizing it. "You like that, huh little Nightshade?"

It seems to be a joke for him, bitting your inner cheek to prevent you from saying something stupid, from letting out a moan in response to all the sudden desire.

Despite all conditions you stay silent, holding his gaze like it's a game you're not going to lose. He didn't respond either, trapped in a second that seemed longer than the usual when time stopped around you, eyes looking like he can surpass the old fabric of the white shirt you choose to wear.

It's the tension what makes you mad. You're so into getting people like him, that your ego is bruised now that you notice you are actually attracted to all of that, to the way he's pressing you against the concrete, how all falls into place when he's pushing himself against you, invading any private space you could require.

He's kissing you soon after. Ben crumbles against the tension as the hand on your throat demands a kiss now, pulling you closer to his face without any warning nor concern as he crash his lips against yours in a rough kiss. You try to push him away in response even when you don't want to; see, it's hard to even admit you have interest in Soldier Boy in any other way more than the professional, but when he's bitting your lower lip you're letting your defense down: When is the last time you've been kissed like that?

You remind yourself you're tired from work, that the CIA has done nothing for you more than fuck your over and over even to this point, losing sight of one of the most important heroes of the word, and it's making you encourage to let go just for a mere hour.

"Lookin' so good takin' a bath" he says, and the sound of his deep voice is enough to send an electric wave through your spine, like he’s talking to himself as the hand on your hip is now tracing the curves of your body, taunting you from over the shirt he now learns to love. His beard is now scraping against your skin and you can feel his lips going down, tracing an invisible path to the crook of your neck as his hand is no longer choking you.

Jesus. Was that even happening or was that your imagination? Did you feel asleep on the bathtub? Maybe it’s a reflection as you are close to drowning, your brain doing that happy thoughts shit. You’re tilting your head to the side just to give him more space to work with and you’re just letting it be, enjoying how he’s sucking and nibling on your skin to leave a red mark behind, all teeth and no fucking control as he uses a good amount of force to make you moan in the process, the pain enough to remember who’s really on charge.

Ben forgets about asking any more questions, he’s too busy when his hand are taking decisions by themselves as they slide under your shirt, body still cold from the bath you just took, water still drying in your flesh when he’s like he usually is — An invader.

His hands are big and they’re capable of holding your whole tummy as he caress the soft skin that seems to expel a warm sensation, how it leaves goosebumps in any place he touches. You remember you’re basically at his mercy now that his hands roam with all liberty under your shirt, the look he gave you in the bathroom mistaken you for Stella, his eyes looking at any exposed skin he could look at.

“What the fuck,” you try to say under your breath, to keep on this facade you have of a composed person, one that won’t give in to be manhandled “What the fuck do you think you are you doing?”

“Well, i’m not seeing any complains” The blade cuts through the cotton leaving a large hole you know you won’t be able to sew after yet he’s right: There are no complains, nothing but eager that makes him go further as the seconds passed “In fact, can see that you’re pretty much enjoying it, Doll.”

You hate the nickname, that old man way of speaking when he’s squeezing one of your breasts with more force you can even handle, cursing at how easy it seems to be for him, how he wants to see you simply destroyed.

“You’re loving this isn’t?” he ask all sudden, studying you with his hazel eyes — “You love being a good whore f’me? My little Nightshade.”

He’s hard under the suit, covered in a green material you don’t know how to call as your hand searches for him, crave for him, convincing that it's what you must do as you trace the invisible lines his muscles made.

Soldier Boy’s messy, much like an animal when he’s groaning beneath your touch, his own body seeking for yours as your fingers grew bolder, demanding for a deeper contact — “Careful there sweetheart, i’m still fresh out of the oven. May be a little rusty."

You laugh at his words cause you know what he means, yet your hands work by themselves as you barely even touch him from over the suit, the hard feeling of his cock against your palm, hips buckling against your hand seconds after seeking for you, eyes shut for a couple of seconds.

“M’being careful” you say, catching yourself stealing a look at his reaction, taking your time on pleasuring him , gulping as he experiences the torture of your touch “Taking it slow for an old man.”

“Old man, huh? Now you're talking” He teases, and the sound of his laugh just fucks you up. Maybe it has to be with the fact he’s placing two fingers in front of your lips while looking at you, swollen pink lips he’s so fixated for a second, or it’s because he is, indeed, way older than you are — “Spit.”

It’s not a command, but it sounds like one as you’re unable to disobey, quickly spitting in his hand as you can visibly see the traces of saliva leaving a wet residue in your chin, one Ben looks at it for a good amount of time: How is something like saliva is so damn erotic? He doesn’t know it, but it’s enough to send him into a spiral.

He’s strong you think, cause he’s a superhero. He’s Soldier Boy by any meaning, so it’s not a big effort to hold you in his arms and lift you in the air as you let out a gasp of surprise, spanking your ass as one of his hands separates your legs for him, holding one up as you stand in the other.

“Relax, 'got you, doll” he says, your back against the wall as he kept a bruising grip in your hip, holding you in place so you don’t have to keep your balance — “Fuck you smell so damn good.”

The roses and vanilla aroma lingers on your skin as you finally understand what he's doing now, his hand close to your cunt as he taunts you, torturing you like you did so eagerly before, his personal pet as his digits get lost in your entrance now, your folds spilled with juice he can physically feel in his fingertips, your arousal's so nice against the palm of his hand he cannot help but kiss you, a feverish desire taking over his actions, the lewd sound his fingers made when he finally pushes his digits inside of you, velvety walls welcoming him as they seemed to squeeze him already — He has made such a good job on turning you on, it’s impossible to not react when he’s finally touching you, pumping into you in a constant pace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, the look on your face is enough to make his cock twitch in his pants in response, imagination running wild as he thinks about that very same feeling in a much deeper way, how you’d look now stretched out, crying just like you did when he choked you asking for information — “Such a nice cunt, so wet f’me.”

He's looking at you, holding the image in his mind forever: Pink pussy displayed for him, white t-shirt rising over your chest, lifting your leg over his arm as his muscles flexed by the force he's using to fuck you deliberately, your lips parted as you ask for more in between erratic moans as his fingers curved inside you so he can hit that nice place he can reach with no effort at all, that one spot thats makes you moan louder.

"Ah-fuck" you let out. Ben's all about touching you for what it seems an eternity, thumb grazing against your clit when he's plainly torturing you, testing how much patience you have left now that he has full control of you.

"Don't cum," he demands, your heartbeats are louder by the seconds as he lifts you slightly, lips attacking your neck before the words escape from his mouth "Need you to come undone in my cock first."

He's leaving marks, marks you don't remember how to hide but don't bother you at all, touching you as he pleases you, taking all the time in the world cause it seems like the night belongs to him — Getting started as you shake your head in an improvised yes.

Yes. The thought is pure electricity, the sudden need to please him as you shake your head once again.

“Please Ben,” you don’t recognize what you’ve become now. “Please let me cum in your cock.”

"Go on doll, put on a show f'me" the supe says with a grin you cannot resist. "Bend and show me that lovely ass."

It’s all it takes. His fingers are now away from you, but you’re now facing the wall as you obey, bending until your cheek is pressed against the concrete and you can hear how he’s now unzipping his pants, the green fabric of his suit now to the side.

You look at him from over your shoulder, bitting the your lower lip as you check him out, his slightly curved dick pointing upwards, precum already leaking out.

“Like what you’re seeing or what?”

“Yeah, but there’s no fucking way.”

You’re feeding on his ego now, but you can’t help it when his size is far from what you consider it’s common — “Common’ doll. You can hadle it.”

You gulp in response cause you know you’re more than eager to try, just the sight of his own hand holding his lenght as he strokes himself making you drool in response. Fuck. It transforms in a need now. When he positions himself beneath you and he’s spitting down to that very place where he’s pushing against your hole, saliva coating his cock before just letting the tip inside.

Lubricated, he pushes a bit more and it feels just damn right. Even when it begans to hurt as he’s thick enough to force himself inside you.

Benjamin knows you’re in pain so he waits a second before shoving his cock inside one more time. You need some time as he stretches you out, clenching your teeth while he works.

"You're doing it s'good" he praises, hand massaging your back as he prevents himself from fucking you at his liking, “Takin' me like a champ."

"God" you let out a sharp moan moments after, crying when you felt the pain more than anything else — "Can't-"

"No doll" he hums as he pulls slightly more. “You can do this” he forces himself in until he's finally balls deep inside your cunt, letting you adjust to his size as he can feel fucking everything. Your blood flow, your velvety walls that squeeze him unused to someone as big as he was, your face distorted in what seems an intense mix of pain and pure, devastating pleasure — "Atta girl."

Strikes like lighting.

Soldier Boy's bitting your shoulder-blade as he waits, waits for it to switch into pleasure, to become intoxicating to the point you cannot longer remember your own name.

"Please move," you ask sooner than he thinks, and when he moves, you can feel it in your belly, melting your fucking brain as he repeated the process again, burying his cock as deep as he could go without any previous warning — "Ah, just like that, please-"

"Do you like how my cock is stretching you out now?" Ben's voice is way deeper than what usually is as he laughs, grunting behind you as one of his hands reach a fistful of your hair, grabbing it with force to pull your head backwards "Good girl, keep huggin' my cock."

You're drunk on the feeling, on the vibrations his voice sends every time he's saying something dirty for you, when he laughs victim of the pleasure.

"Gonna' keep you as my personal slut," he thinks out loud, pushing you against the wall every time he fucks you, using his other hand to spread one of your ass cheeks to the side so he can hit it harder. "Use you as my fucking pet so I can cum on your pretty face whenever I want."

He's moaning, your body’s sweaty as he pulls your hair without caring, not concentrated on the pain it produces as his hips continue on collide against you.

"Would you like that, little Nightshade?" he asks then in a low voice, his thumb pressing against your asshole as he fucks you harder now that you're used to his size. "Could get used to this pretty cunt. Promise to keep my cock whore nice and full."

It doesn't take long. Soldier Boy's moans are now filling the room as his pace becomes faster, slurred words between his erratic breathing when the hand on your hair comes up to finally grab you by the neck, like he can read your mind cause it's exactly what you need to get there, to experience by first hand a set of crashing waves that were getting more and more intense on your stomach.

You're close to the edge. He can smell it in the air when the sound of your skin slapping against his is loud enough to be all you can hear, mixing with the lovely moans you produce when he’s pounding into you with no mercy, fingers pressing the side of your neck with enough force you’re running out of breathe.

It’s messy, violent and you love it, love how he’s ruining you all sudden, fucking you up from the inside, making your vision turning dizzy in response. You’re immersed in the haze he’s driven you into before admiting:

“God i’m so fucking close.”

“Cum on my cock,” it sounds like he’s begging you to do it, fingers finding their way to your swollen clit to move against the sensitive flesh “Come on doll, leave me full of you.”

He’s making you move now, hands now controlling your hips as you take him as his liking, mere seconds until you’re finally crumbling, violently shaking as you finally reach your peak. He keeps on fucking you through your high, long enough so he’s pulling out all of sudden, stroking his lenght over you as his cum finally lands on your back leaving you convered with his load.

Fucking hell.

When you’re coming down from your orgasm shame seems to hit you hard, however for Ben is not enough when he’s kneeling on the floor, eyes on the mess his cock made out of you.

“Wanna go again, little Nightshade?” he asks curiously, and the question makes you laugh in response, forgetting about formalities and the trouble it meant you were intimate with Soldier Boy out of all the supes in the world.

“Hm,” you seem to think about it for a second, his breathing close to your wet pussy as he’s still wearing his clothes in contrast of you being so exposed — “But you’re keeping the suit on.”

He don’t have any complains when he’s the one pressing his face against your wet folds.

Funny thing is now when you’re forced to join the Boys days after that very encounter — A bad joke when you’re now babysitting Soldier Boy himself.

“Been missing you s’much little Nightshade” he admits after a couple of minutes alone in the filthy motel “Thinking about how cute you are, how you felt taking my cock so nicely in your living room.”

“Fuck off, Ben.”

“We’ll be quick” he promises “That stupid assholes back there wont even notice.”

You seem to think about it for a second before lifting your middle finger in response — “I said fuck off, Ben.”

For now, it’s enough for him that you’re thinking about it.

my masterlist

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 31: Forced Proximity

Summary: John and Kyle are gone. You have no choice but to lean on the alpha you've betrayed, the alpha that hates you.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 11,071 words

Warnings: ANGST, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, anxiety, reader has a panic attack and several breakdowns, Simon being mean, ANGST, depression, lots of mentions of vomiting and the reader does get sick quite a bit though it's not descriptive in any way, ANGST, heat cycles, pseudoscience, medical stuff (that's probably very wrong), brief mention of needles, medical procedures (nothing very detailed), ANGST, very heavy emotionally again, some very light fluff like barely there but nothing compared to the ANGST

A/N: I did it. I finally got it up. It's uh...it's a heavy one again, I'll tell you that much. You'll hate me even more but oh well. I expected that through this part of the story. I'm so evil I know.

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“I don't like this. It's too...”

“Convenient?”

“Suspicious.”

“I know. But we don't have much of a choice in this.” John says, staring at Simon and Johnny. “You keep your eyes on her at all times. Stay in the barracks when you can. If you have to leave the barracks together, she goes with you.”

“We won't let her out of our sight.” Simon says. “If anything happens, Kate will be the first to know.”

“Good.” John says. He trusts the two of them to look after you. Yet he can't deny the timing of this is a bit suspicious. “We'll be back as soon as we can. Take good care of our girl.”

Two weeks. 

It’s been two weeks since John and Kyle left. 

Despite the fact it’s not the longest someone has been gone, it doesn’t ease the ache in your chest, the pain slowly carving its way into your very soul. You haven’t spoken to them. There’s been no word. Nothing. It could be a good thing. Sometimes no news is good news, and you suppose it’s better than a phone call saying they’ve died in some horrible accident. 

You keep waiting for that phone call. 

Every time Johnny or Simon’s phone rings, you begin to panic, fear eating away at that hole in your chest. It’s bad news, it’s Kate calling to tell them your alpha and beta aren’t coming home. 

You’ve hardly been able to relax, tense and jumpy at the littlest things. Being enclosed in the barracks at all times isn’t helping. You haven’t left once, not even to the med center. Dr. Keller has been coming to the barracks, more than she normally would for your appointments. You wonder if it was Johnny’s doing to try and help you relax, or Simon’s doing in hope you stop stinking up the barracks with the sour scent of nerves and fear. 

Simon has been distant still, avoiding you as much as he can. It’s impossible to avoid you completely, though, as Johnny can’t watch you 24/7. It’s a bit claustrophobic, the way they hover, always keeping one eye on you. It’s been a bit suffocating for the last three weeks, but with John and Kyle gone...it’s almost worse. 

Johnny has tried to fill that void, tried to support you in any way he can, but it hasn’t worked. You know it’s Johnny, you love Johnny, yet not even he can fill the void that has become your life without your alpha. 

You hate it. 

You hate their job, you hate that it takes them from you. You hate the uncertainty, the constant fear and worry that makes you sick. You hate that it’s dragged you into it. You know they were digging for the perpetrator of the cameras, who put them up, who ordered them to be put up, who potentially wanted to look into your personal life in such a violating way. The sudden deployment feels too suspicious, too sudden to be coincidence. 

But as John says, entertaining conspiracies won’t get you anywhere. 

Still...it smells fishy to you. 

The hole in your chest has left you in a constant state of uneasiness which has left you on the verge of tears constantly. Every day that passes without word of a tragedy or that they’re coming home makes your stomach churn, tears constantly brimming in your eyes. John’s shirt is constantly in your grasp, a dirty one you’d fished out of the bottom of his laundry basket, soaked in his scent. It’s beginning to fade, slowly eroding away until there won’t be anything left. Then you’ll grab another and another until you have none left. His room still smells like him, his pillows still fresh with his scent. 

You know it will fade, though, and fade fast. 

You’ve been avoiding spending too much time in his room and Kyle’s in favor of keeping their scents in there as long as possible. The fading of their scents is like an omen, marking a fading of their presence in your life, of the bond between you. The constant fear that you’ll forget them, what they sound like, what they smell like, what they look like. 

It makes you physically ill. 

That painful churning in your stomach is back as you sit on the couch in the rec room, curled up as far from Simon as you can get. Simon is still angry at you, at your betrayal of his trust. So much progress down the drain because you proved you’re not trustworthy after he trusted you enough to begin opening up. You still hate yourself for it, for keeping the secret for that long. Even a month would have been better and would have had less consequences for everyone. Maybe then you might have caught the camera in the bear sooner, and not been so violated during some of your most private moments. 

Some of those moments with Simon. 

How violated does he feel, having such vulnerable moments between you recorded and viewed by someone out there? You can’t help but think back to that night when he came back, and the morning after. Someone watched you. The bear had been right there, those black beady eyes staring right at the two of you. How many times had you fucked the others in your bed, the bear sitting there, watching, projecting those moments to whoever was on the other side. 

Your heat. 

The bear hadn’t been looking then, but it had been listening. It knows what happened, every last detail, every slam of the bed against the wall, every knot. 

It makes you sick. 

Your stomach churns, your arms wrapping around your middle as you let out a shaky breath. You’re going to puke again, the bile rising in your throat. The intense tingling in your hands is starting again, your fingers curling in as your extremities begin to go numb. You’re panicking again. 

Instead of vomit, a choked sob leaves your lips, your tears hot and burning on your cheeks, stinging like they’re composed of acid. 

Simon glances up from his phone, his face the mask of indifference that it has been for three weeks. A mask that he had worn for the first few months after your arrival. “What?” He asks, his tone flat and voice rough. 

You can’t answer him, too busy hyperventilating and sobbing where you sit. You can’t even think if you wanted to, your body aching as your muscles begin to tighten. You can’t distress. You’ve been fighting the urge since the day the truth came out. 

You can’t trust Simon to help you. 

You’re not even sure he knows how to. 

Of course, it would be easy to call Dr. Keller, get her to help him, but you’re not sure he’d want to. Could he be so angry and betrayed he’d just stand there and watch you distress yourself to death? 

He wouldn’t. He’d have to explain himself to John, why he let it happen. It would tear the pack apart. It would tear them apart. You wouldn’t put it past John to try and rip Simon’s throat out with his teeth in anger. It would be a bigger betrayal than yours, and Simon wouldn’t let you lose your spot at the top of that list. 

“Fuck.” Simon breathes, setting his phone down before moving in front of you. He lowers himself onto one knee, reaching for your arms. If you had been more aware you might have flinched away, but the lack of oxygen to your brain is making everything fuzzy. 

Simon grips your elbows, tugging you forward gently. Your legs are forced off the edge of the couch, your body upright as Simon holds your arms in his grasp, your legs between his as he kneels in front of you. You stare down at him, the sudden change in position shocking you for a moment. You choke around another sob, eyes blurry as you try to look at him. 

“I need you to breathe.” He says, squeezing your arms gently. 

You can’t. 

Your breaths are sobs, wracking your body, tearing at your lungs. Your chest hurts, aching and burning as you quickly begin spiraling out of control. 

“Look at me.” He says, shifting his hold to your wrists, taking them into one hand before he grabs your chin with the other. He keeps your head still, locked on his face. His eyes are blurry to your own teary ones as you look right at him, looking through the mass of blurry black that surrounds him. “Breathe.” He says, his voice rougher than normal, rumbling with the command of his alpha around the edges. 

It goes straight to your head, a shiver running down your spine. Your body shudders in response, your next sob catching painfully in your throat. You cough, lungs spasming as your body suddenly begins to follow his order automatically. Simon lets you go as you attempt to gain control over your out of control body. One part of your brain is still panicking, still pushing towards distress while the other fights to follow the alpha’s command. It’s a battle, your instincts at war with each other. 

The next inhale is a gasp, inhaling until your breath stutters and your lungs ache. You let it out slowly, the flood of oxygen making you shake in Simon’s hold. He keeps his hand around your wrists until your inhales stop stuttering and your muscles start to relax. 

He slowly releases you, pushing himself up to sit on the coffee table. You’re surprised it can hold so much weight after it’s been sat on so many times. Not even a creak as Simon lowers himself onto it. 

He rests his elbows on his knees as he stares at you. His figure begins to get clearer as your tears slow, no longer blurring your vision. You're expecting the sharp sting of his harsh gaze, or worse the indifference you've grown used to over the last three weeks. 

Instead there's a soft look in his eyes. Not soft as you would describe Johnny's, but soft compared to what it has been. Pity, you think. 

“You're a fucking mess.” He finally says. 

You laugh. You can't help it. The deadpan delivery of such a him statement in response to everything has a laugh escaping your lips. You wipe your eyes, sniffling. He hates it, hearing your sniffles. It annoys him when you cry, it always has. 

You push yourself back onto the couch, pulling your knees up again as you stare at him. There's a slight tremble to your fingers still as you sit there in silence for a moment. 

“I'm sorry.” You say, still looking at him. “If I had just said something sooner...” You swallow thickly as you stumble over your words. “None of us would have...the camera would have been found sooner...we wouldn't have...both of us...”

“You shouldn't apologize if you don't even know what to say.” He says, the softness in his gaze hardening again. 

“It's not that it's just...” You take a breath, trying to straighten out your thoughts. “I feel so guilty. This is all my fault and if I had just said something sooner, none of this would have happened. What happens next is my fault too. I know you and John have been digging into who is behind it and I know how risky that is. They know that we all know now, and...I'm scared of what might happen.”

You let out a long breath at your confession and attempt at an apology, squeezing your fingers together as they begin to tremble even more. You want to look away, his gaze piercing into you again. You're reminded of the moment the words had fallen from your lips that had caused this in the first place. Your heart begins thumping in your chest, your breathing picking up slightly at the memory. Will he get angry again? Will he snap at you and drag you down the hall to lock you in your room until John and Kyle get back, or Johnny calms him enough to rescue you?

“I feel so violated.” Your voice shakes. “I can't even imagine what it's been like for you. It took us so long to get to that point and...” You swallow the bile trying to rise in your throat. “I'm so sorry.” Tears blur your vision again. “I didn't know...I didn't think...I was so stupid.”

He scoffs. “You are.” His words are sharp, and they sting as they slice through you. “Fucking stupid, I'd say.” You wince at his words. “But you’re inexperienced. You don’t think about things like we do. No matter how much everyone has tried to drill it into your head, you’ll never truly understand until you experience it yourself.” He holds your gaze for a moment. “I hope you never have to.” 

You stare at him, the meaning of his words not lost on you. You’ve put yourself in danger, you’ve put all of them in danger by keeping this all a secret. Whoever put those cameras up knew you were keeping it a secret and hadn’t done anything in retaliation against you for finding them and destroying them. Maybe that was their plan all along. They knew you’d keep it a secret and use that to their advantage. Strike when they least expected it, or perhaps wait for the moment the truth inevitably came out and then strike. 

The thought has a cold chill running down your spine. 

You’re afraid for a different reason now. 

John and Kyle are gone. Anything could happen to them and it wouldn’t look suspicious. Or whoever put those cameras up wanted everyone split up. Attack when there’s less knights defending the castle. 

A shiver runs through you, making you curl in on yourself. The feeling of being watched is back. The darkness peeking out from around the blinds over the rec room windows suddenly feels very threatening. 

“What’s goin’ on in here?” 

A startled yelp leaves your lips as you whip around to face Johnny where he’s leaning against the door to the rec room. Simon’s body tenses in response to your fearful yelp, an unconscious motion he has no control over. Alphas will always have the drive to protect the omegas in their pack. It’s a natural protective mechanism, no matter how they may be feeling about said omega. 

Simon’s body relaxes as you do, putting a hand over your heart to try and calm yourself down again. 

“Jumpy this evenin’.” Johnny says, entering the rec room. He steps up to the couch, bending down to rest his hands on the arm next to you. “Didnae mean to scare ye.” He says softly. “Ready tae get to bed?” 

You nod. “Yeah. I am.” 

“Come on.” He holds out his hand and you take it, letting him help you up off the couch. “We’re usin’ yer shower, Si.” He says. 

Simon rolls his eyes. “Course.” 

“Simon?” You say before Johnny can pull you from the rec room. The alpha turns to look at you. “I am sorry.” 

He stares at you for a long, tense moment. “I know.” 

Johnny leads you down the hallway, his hand on your lower back. He’s gotten touchy again, letting his hand rest lower and lower on your back, brushing your breasts as he pulls the covers up around you at night. He refuses to let you shower without sitting on the toilet lid. You know the chances of Simon opening up like that again are slim, if at all. You’ve ruined that opportunity, and you’ll have to be satisfied with where he draws that line permanently. 

“Have a good conversation?” Johnny asks. 

You nod. “He called me ‘fucking stupid’.” 

Johnny nearly chokes for a second, covering his mouth to hide a laugh. “He’s certainly not a man of eloquence.” 

You shrug. “I mean, I don’t exactly disagree with him.” 

Johnny leads you into Simon’s room, steering you to the bathroom. Your stuff is already inside from the unanimous decision to solely use Simon’s bathroom for ease and also safety. 

Your towel is neatly on the rack next to Simon’s and Johnny’s, all folded the same way and hung evenly apart. Your soap and shampoo are neatly placed next to his, along with your toothbrush and other products on the sink. Always so neat and organized, despite his anger at you. 

Can’t break his system even after you break his trust. 

You pull your shirt over your head after starting the water, letting it get warm. Johnny stands behind you in the doorway, and you know he’s watching. You strip your shorts and underwear off, Johnny grunting quietly as you bend over to add them to your pile of dirty clothes. You’ve been tempted to leave them on the floor for the past two weeks just to peeve, but you’ve riled Simon up enough. With your luck he’d just toss them in the trash. 

The water is hot as it pelts your skin, your shoulders relaxing as it begins to loosen the stress of the day. The emptiness in your chest continues to eat away at you, never disappearing despite what happens. Your stomach churns, the nausea returning. You stand under the spray, letting the water pour over your head as you attempt to calm the continuous twisting in your abdomen. 

The shower door slides open, another body joining you before it slides closed. Warm skin presses against your back as arms slip around you, pulling you out from directly under the spray. You rest back against Johnny’s chest as he leans his cheek against the top of your head. 

“I miss them.” You say quietly, just audible over the shower. 

“I know.” Johnny says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“When will they be back?” You ask him, even though you know he can’t tell you. 

“Hard tae say.” He says, grabbing your strawberry scented soap from next to Simon’s. He’s just been using Simon’s soap, something you probably assume he does often anyway. “Kate will update us as soon as there’s a possible ETA.” 

“I don’t know how much longer I can take.” You say as he begins to wash your back. 

“I know.” He says, gently massaging the knots in your back, trying to help you relax. “I wish I could get them home faster. I wish it had been us instead of them for your sake.” 

His words make you feel guilty, but you both know it’s not anyone’s fault. John is your alpha, you belong to him, you were claimed by him. You’ll always hurt more about your alpha and beta’s absence than the other members of your pack can comfort you. If Simon had claimed you, things would have been different. The ache in your chest would have been less intense as you would still have an alpha you could lean on. 

You’d always miss John, but if you had Simon, the black hole slowly devouring you would have slowed its progress. 

Four weeks. 

A month. 

It's been a month since John and Kyle left. The familiar hole in your chest has widened, a gaping black hole now threatening to swallow you and string you out until you’re nothing but particles lost in its center. It’s worse than the hole Simon left when he went on his solo deployment, it’s worse than the hole they all left when they went on their first mission. Neither of those previous deployments lasted this long, and despite Johnny's attempts to console you, you don’t feel any better. 

There’s been no contact. 

A month with no contact, a month with no word. You'd know if something had happened. Even if you got no word on it, you would know. That sense that omegas have when something happens to the bond would be screaming. 

It's been a rough four weeks.

There’s a heaviness that’s started to permeate the air as you try to adjust to the prolonged absence of your alpha. It’s nearly every day that you’re breaking down now, standing in John’s room to catch any whiff of him that’s left. You’ve worn the scent off his bed, his pillows, his clothes. You’ve run out of shirts that smell like him. 

You’re terrified they might fade from your memory entirely. Kyle’s scent had disappeared quicker, fading fast until you were left unable to even picture the sea. The beach is a blurry, distant memory, the smell of the salty air faded and wiped away. 

Still you cling to their shirts, as if you can hold them through the fabric. You carry them everywhere, packing them from room to room as you float around in a daze. 

You’ve left the barracks once in four weeks for a training session that neither of them could miss. You’d gotten looks as you sat there, the sole audience member, but you're not quite sure what had happened or even what the training was far. You had been far away, lost in your own head, the haze of depression and grief numbing you to everything. 

Dr. Keller continues to visit you in the barracks, still more than you normally would see her. You miss her office, the soft warmth of it, the plants and the colors lacking from the sterilized prison that is the barracks. It has become like a prison. You’re trapped inside, unable to even wander around alone. You feel like the princess locked in her tower under the watchful eye of the guards keeping her trapped inside. You need someone to come and rescue you, someone to set you free so you can at least wander the tower alone. 

You want your alpha. 

You miss John and Kyle desperately, their absence chewing away at your insides. The hole in your chest continues to widen as the days pass, consuming more and more of you as you slip deeper and deeper into the black hole of depression. Johnny is being affected too, sucked in by the gravitational pull of the black hole you have become. Even Simon is starting to feel it, softening a bit more towards you. He’d even let your hands brush a couple of times when he’s escorted you places, and he didn’t yank them away like you might pass some disease onto him. 

You wouldn’t necessarily call him affectionate, even before all of this, but this is the first glimpse you’ve gotten of him being back to where the two of you were before you fucked everything up. You know it’s not going to happen overnight. It might never get back to what it was. He might simply be acting out of sympathy, and out of necessity because of your pain and grief being channeled through the pack bonds. Sometimes you wonder if John and Kyle can feel it too from wherever they are in the world. 

You miss them so much it hurts. 

The tears slip down your cheeks as you sit on the couch in the rec room. Johnny is off taking his turn to work out. It’s early, the sky still grey outside, the perfect epitome of how you feel inside. Simon is seated in his usual spot, book in hand. Your own that he had grabbed is still on the coffee table. You’re staring at it, tears gliding down your cheeks as you hold your knees against your chest. It’s become almost a normal occurrence, the tears, the blank staring, the lack of desire to do anything, even the position you’re seated in.

Simon glances up at you as you sniffle again, lowering his book slightly. “What?” His tone isn't annoyed per se, but you know he has to be tired of your constant blubbering. 

“Tell me they’ll be alright.” You say, your voice shaking. 

“You know I can’t-” He starts, but you cut him off. 

“I need you to tell me.” You sob, your gaze lifting to the black screen of the TV. “I can’t take it. I can’t do this.” 

He lets out a sigh, closing his book. You jump as the couch sinks down on your left, Simon taking a seat next to you. The flinch is subconscious as he reaches over to grip your chin and turn your face to look at him. Your tears slide down your cheeks, wetting his fingers. 

“They’ll be alright.” He says, eyes hard as he looks at you. He’s lying but you need to hear it. “They’ve been gone for far longer than this before. Trust Price knows what he’s doing. He’s going to do everything in his power to come back. We’ll know if something happens. Laswell will let us know.” 

You know that, you know all of it. Yet it does little to calm the pain in your chest. “I miss them.” You sob, Simon’s eyes softening as you continue to cry. “My stomach hurts.” 

You’ve been nauseous since the day the truth came out almost five weeks ago. The nausea has been churning in your stomach, making you constantly on the edge of vomiting. It’s the stress, the combination of the truth coming out and your alpha being gone. You’ve been choking food down, eating only out of necessity. 

Simon lets out a sigh, releasing your chin to wrap an arm around you. His other hand drops to rest on your stomach. It’s warm through the fabric of your shirt, applying gentle pressure. He smells like alpha, different from John, but still an alpha. The tears continue to fall as he holds you, your body slowly leaning closer and closer to him. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t even try to push you away as you fall against his side. 

Your stomach is churning, gnawing. It’s not an unusual feeling. It’s felt this way for the last few weeks. It’s never woken you up before, though. You blink in the darkness of Johnny’s room, his arm still thrown over you. The gnawing continues to intensify as you continue to be pulled from your semi-peaceful sleep, becoming more and more aware. 

You’re hungry. 

You slowly unravel yourself from Johnny’s snake-like hold, ready to slip into the rec room to peruse your snack stash. Instead you’re pulled back onto the bed by the arm that slips around your waist. 

“Where ye goin’?” Johnny rasps, still half asleep. 

“I’m hungry.” You whisper. 

He lets out a groan, letting go of you to rub a hand over his face. “Give me a minute.” 

You rise from the bed as he stretches, slowly sitting up as he draws himself from sleep. It’s just past one in the morning, neither of you having been asleep for long. You feel wide awake as the gnawing in your stomach continues to intensify. You rock back and forth on your feet, debating just going and letting him catch up. It’ll force him to wake up faster, and ease the gnawing hunger threatening to turn you inside out. 

Finally Johnny rises from the bed, stretching again as you impatiently open the door. He pads behind you to the rec room, watching as you dig out a bag of chips. He leans against the back of the couch as you stand there, devouring the chips like you haven’t eaten in days. You haven’t really eaten much in the last five weeks, so perhaps it’s finally catching up to you. You finish the bag but it’s not enough, so you grab another, devouring it halfway before you freeze. The bag begins to tremble in your hand, nearly falling from your grasp. 

Johnny is alert immediately as you begin to panic. “What?” He asks stepping closer to you, ready to defend you from whatever has you on edge. 

Your brain frantically does the math, thinking over the last few weeks. The bag falls to the floor as the realization slams into you like a bus. You turn to face Johnny, eyes wide in shock, fear shooting through you like lightning and clouding the rec room in the sour stench of omega fear.

Your lips tremble, the words stuttering out as you fight the panic rising in you, the nauseous churning of your stomach threatening to bring up the bag and a half of chips you just ate. Your fingers are shaking, clenching into fists again as they begin to go numb. Ragged breaths wheeze from your lungs as you stare at Johnny’s worried face, brows furrowed as he tries to understand what has you in a sudden panic at one in the morning. 

“My last heat was eleven weeks ago.” 

“The timeline is right,” Dr. Keller says, taking the blood pressure cuff off your arm. “The symptoms point to pre-heat.” 

You take another bite of your candy bar, eating half out of necessity and half because you’re nervous. You hadn’t even considered this when John left, but of course you didn’t know how long he would be gone. 

“Any word from John yet?” Dr. Keller asks as she packs the blood pressure monitor back into her bag. 

“None.” Johnny says, crossing his arms. “Kate sent out a message, but there’s been no response.” 

You’re numb to that fact, the hope that had filled you two days ago gone now that there’s been no word, not even for something like this. Simon had gone out of his way to call you when you needed him, but John can’t even send a simple message through, even a simple no. 

“We may have to consider alternative options if he can’t get back in time.” Dr. Keller says. 

He won’t get back in time. They’re all saying it silently. They all know it and so do you.

Your hands close into fists. You had hoped with your new pack and alpha you wouldn’t have to go through this again. But, of course with them having to put their job first, this was always a possibility. It was bound to happen eventually, you just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. 

“We’ll wait as long as we can.” Dr. Keller says, looking at you. “We don’t have forever, though.” 

You shove the rest of the candybar in your mouth. You don’t want to say anything, you don’t want to do anything. You’re numb except for the incessant hunger. You’ll know when it’s getting close, when the hunger fades and you’re facing down the reality that your alpha won’t be here. You know he won’t. Even if Kate can get ahold of him, he won’t make it back in time. 

You’re going to have to do this alone. 

Well...perhaps not. 

Maybe there is someone that can help you after all. 

You’re terrified. You’re not sure how to even approach this, how to bring it up. It’s eating you alive, but you have to ask. You have to know. That small bubble of hope still rising in you that maybe, just maybe you can avoid the horror awaiting you. It’s a big request, but perhaps you can be convincing enough to play to his pity. 

“Simon?” You ask, your hands curled into fists so they’re not visibly shaking. Your hair is dripping onto your shirt, soaking it but you don’t care. The cold is keeping you aware, keeping you from floating away into your head again. 

He grunts, looking up from his phone. You’d used the shower in his room again so he could watch you while Johnny took his own shower. You won’t sleep in here. You’ll stay with Johnny just like you have for the last almost five weeks. It’s safer, should your heat start in the middle of the night again. And also because he doesn’t want you to stay with him.

This is stupid. It’s a stupid decision but you need to know. 

What if he says yes?  

“Can I...ask you something?” You say, shifting nervously on your feet. 

He pockets his phone before pushing himself up to stand. He towers over you as he moves closer, staring down at you as you look up at him. Sometimes you forget just how big he is, just how commanding his presence can be. You fight the urge to cower, to submit to him in fear. “What?” 

The nervous lump in your throat threatens to choke you, the memories of his anger directed right at you burning right through you. What if he gets mad again? What if he reacts the same way? You can’t know what he will do, though. You steady yourself, wrapping the fabric of your shirt around your hands. 

“Will...” You clear your throat. “Will you help me through my heat?” 

It’s a big request. A huge request. You’re asking him to jump past barriers he’d kept up even before, something he’d never even suggested or hinted at wanting to do even before your last heat. You’re asking him to jump past barriers he’s put back up since your betrayal, making it clear you’re not welcome back in, you’re not going to get to where you were before. The most he’s done is let you lean against him that one night in the rec room. 

You hope maybe he’ll agree out of necessity, maybe he’ll take pity on you and save you from the horrors of going through a heat without an alpha. It may be stupid, but you’re terrified of what’s awaiting you if he doesn’t agree. You don’t want to do it, you don’t want to be put to sleep and then wake up a week later sick and disoriented, and then spend the next few days still in the same state. 

It makes your stomach churn, and not from hunger. 

His eyes widen in shock as your words register. His hands tighten into fists at his sides, his shoulders tensing. You fight the urge to flinch at the movement, the sudden hardening of his stance before you. He wasn’t expecting it, obviously. You came out of left field with it, but you have to ask. You’ll beg if you need to. You’ll get on your knees and beg like your life depends on it if he wants you to. Anything just to avoid what’s looming in the near future. 

His eyes harden as he stares down at you, and you suddenly begin to regret your decision to ask. His gaze is piercing, taking you back to when you confessed. You’ve made a mistake. You’ve made a huge mistake. 

“No.” 

The word is simple, two letters, one syllable, yet it slices right through you. You should have expected it, should have known that would be your answer, but it still hurts. He knows, he knows John isn’t coming back in time. He knows you’re going to have to do this alone. You had hoped maybe pity would push him into saying yes, maybe he’d open up a bit more before your heat started, maybe he might be merciful. 

“I can’t.” He takes a step back, then another. His gaze softens to what you almost perceive as panic. He shakes his head. “I can’t.” 

So maybe it wasn’t anger at you keeping him from agreeing. You can feel it, the edge to his scent starting to cloud it, the way his hands open and close as he squeezes them into fists over and over. 

Tears burn your eyes as you stare at him, lifting your hands so they’re laced together in front of you. You knew that would be the answer, yet you can’t stop the disappointment. “Oh.” That's all you can say. You don’t trust yourself to say much else. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as Johnny appears in the doorway, looking between the two of you before his eyes settle on you. He can tell something happened, something transpired between the two of you while he was gone. How much of it he heard, you’re not sure. Perhaps none at all judging by the look on his face. 

“Ready for bed?” He asks, his gaze cautious. He’s trying to assess the situation, figure out what could have transpired to cause such a reaction between you and his alpha. He’ll never know. Not unless Simon tells him. 

“Yeah.” You breathe, scurrying out of Simon’s room before you can make more of a fool out of yourself. 

“H-How long will it take?” You ask, your heart thudding in your chest. Your pre-heat symptoms had stopped earlier this morning, the hunger gone, the itching beginning under your skin. 

“As soon as your temperature goes up, we’ll get started.” Dr. Keller says, sticking electrodes to your chest. You’ve already got the blood pressure cuff around your arm and pulse monitor on your finger. 

“Ye were prepared for this.” Johnny says, sitting next to the hospital bed. You’re in a private room, well away from any others, even though no one will know you’re in heat. There won’t be any scent projecting, no neediness, no aching. You won’t be aware at all that anything is happening as your body rapidly cycles through that sudden flood of hormones. 

Dr. Keller nods. “This was always a possibility, so I made sure I had everything on hand for when it did happen.” She takes your temperature again. “Tell me when you start to feel warm. The last thing I want to do is send you under too late.” 

Your skin crawls at her words, memories flashing back to the time you were put under too late. You trust Dr. Keller to take care of you, though. She’s far more competent and aware than that nurse had been. It’s her job to take care of you, to watch after you in moments like this. 

You just wish you could talk to John before you go under. 

You want to remember his voice when you come back out. 

“I’ll be here the whole time.” Johnny says, taking your hand, obviously sensing your discomfort. 

He’s brought a bag of things with him, since he’ll be staying with you for the few days it’ll take to get through your heat. It won’t be as long this time, your body being forced through those hormones quickly. It won’t even register it needs a knot, flying through those symptoms. 

The wait is the worst part. It takes forever, every minute seeming to take an hour. Johnny waits dutifully by your side. You wish this wasn’t the first heat he would be here for. You wish he had at least gotten some experience with a normal heat, just so this one wouldn’t scare him off. Even Kyle might have been shaken by it, though, even with his experience. 

Eventually the heat begins to prickle under your skin, your heart rate jumping. Johnny calls in Dr. Keller, looking nervous as sweat begins to bead on your forehead. 

“It’s time.” Dr. Keller says, taking your temperature. It’s jumped quickly, your body starting to prepare for the onslaught of hormones about to be released. 

She turns your arm, hooking up the IV that will deliver the sedative as well as fluids to keep you hydrated. The heart monitor beeps rapidly as you grow nervous, Johnny squeezing your hand gently. You know he’s trying, and there’s nothing more he can really do. There’s no stopping this. It’s going to happen no matter what. 

“I’m going to administer the sedative. You’ll start to feel sleepy.” Dr. Keller says. “I’ll put in the feeding tube after you’re out.”

You swallow nervously, sweat starting to bead on your forehead. “It’ll be okay right?” 

Dr. Keller gives you a soft smile “You’ll be just fine. It’ll be a few days for us, but it’ll be a few seconds for you. It’ll be over before you know it.” 

You swallow nervously before nodding. Dr. Keller pushes the sedative through the IV, your body starting to relax as it begins to take effect. The itching under your skin stops, the heat fading as the ceiling gets further and further away as your vision tunnels. Johnny squeezing your hand is the last thing you remember before everything goes dark. 

He’s seen a lot of things, done a lot of things that would make the average person violently ill. He’s no stranger to blood and gore, yet he can’t watch as Dr. Keller inserts the feeding tube into your nose. The thought of having it in his own body makes him nearly gag, his eyes closing as he breathes. 

“I’m done.” Dr. Keller says, a small smile on her face as he turns back around. 

“About gart me boak.” He says, looking at you where you appear to be sleeping peacefully. He supposes you are, blissfully unaware of anything and everything around you.

“You’re not good with needles either, are you?” She asks, obviously noticing how he had turned away when she put in your IV. 

“Not my favorite.” He admits. 

“She’s all set.” She says, stepping back. “You’ll want to move her every few hours, turn her on one side, lift her legs up. Keeps her from getting bed sores or blood clots. I’ll be next door, and I’ll check on her periodically. If anything happens at night, I’ll have my phone on full volume.” 

“Thank ye, doctor.” He says, squeezing your hand despite the fact you can’t feel it. 

Dr. Keller takes her leave, the room going quiet aside from the beeping of the heart monitor, and the occasional buzzing of the blood pressure cuff as it tightens around your arm. He stares at you for a long moment, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest as you sleep. It’s probably the most peaceful sleep you’ve gotten in the last few weeks, despite the changes happening internally. Dr. Keller had explained it to him, the hormonal changes, how sedation works differently than going through a heat consciously. Omegas do go through heat cycles awake and aware without an alpha sometimes. Institutes cycle between isolated heats and sedation. 

The thought of you going through both makes his stomach twist. 

Sweat beads on your forehead as you lay there, something that will continue for the next few days, the doctor said. Your heart rate is higher than normal, another sign that you’re in your heat as your brain cycles through the sudden rush of hormones. He’s not quite sure what to expect, not quite sure what it’ll look like if something goes wrong. He’s never done this before, and the little research he’d done doesn’t feel all that helpful. Dr. Keller trusts him to know, though, and he supposes it’ll be pretty obvious should something go wrong. 

You’re not going to be doing much aside from laying there for the next few days. 

The hours seem to drag on and he can’t help but wonder if this is how Kyle feels during your heats. At least Kyle had a job to do, had to focus and listen for the breaks in between rounds when he’d go in, ensure nothing was wrong, nothing happened, that you’re being fed and taken care of. All he has is the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the occasional buzz and crinkling of nylon as the blood pressure cuff expands. Dr. Keller brings him meals, keeping him fed and occasionally keeps him company as he watches dutifully over you. His back is aching from the uncomfortable chair and the makeshift bed, but he can hardly complain. He’s slept on worse. 

He’s sketched a lot in the silence between watching videos on his phone and napping. It’s been a peaceful time, aside from his initial worry. You sleep away, sweat still beading on your forehead. Every so often he grabs a wet paper towel, wiping away the sweat. 

He jumps as his alarm on his phone goes off in the silence, his pencil falling to the floor. He picks it up, setting his sketchbook to the side before he gets up. He’s careful as he slips his arms under you, easing you over onto your side. He bends your legs, making sure you’re steady and not cutting off circulation anywhere. He runs a hand over your hair, the strands starting to slip out of the braid he had put in before your trip to the med center. 

He moves around to the other side of the bed, pulling the tie out before undoing the braid. He’s careful as he redoes it as best he can, making sure not to pull too tightly on the strands. The last thing you need when you wake up is to feel like your hair is being yanked out of your head. 

He ties off the braid before moving back to his seat, staring at your peaceful face for a moment. It’s nothing new to him, but he can’t help but stare. He’s seen you sleep many times, held you, watched you blissfully unaware of the world. The softness in your face, the worry and the stress and the weight on your shoulders of just being who you are gone. 

He picks his sketchbook back up, going back to drawing. 

His stomach churns nervously. There’s a subtle shake to his hands, something that doesn’t happen often. He likes to think he’s prepared for anything, conditioned enough to not be shaken by anything. Yet he can’t help but feel unsure as Dr. Keller closes off your IV. 

“She’ll be coming out of it soon.” Dr. Keller says. “She’ll be confused, disoriented. She might get combative. Your job is to talk to her, try to calm her and help ease her back into awareness. She’s a crier after heats, so I don’t doubt there will be tears. She may get sick as well.” She gives him a reassuring smile. “It’ll be alright. Coming out of a heat is hard, and so is coming out of sedation. Both at the same time is always a struggle.” 

There was a time he thought maybe sedation would be the easiest way to deal with a heat, but from what he’s hearing, he might have been wrong. Sure it might be easier in the moment to not have those week long symptoms of intense desire, the fever, the desperation. Coming out of it though? From what he’s heard so far, it’s not as easy as it sounds. He’s been through it, coming out of sedation after an injury in the field. It’s a confusing feeling, disorienting enough before you find out days or weeks have passed. It’s hard to conceptualize without all those hormones going crazy in your head. 

You start to stir, your brows pinching as you slowly begin to wake. You let out a groan, reaching for the feeding tube immediately. Dr. Keller gently pushes your hands away, nodding to Johnny. Your brows furrow deeper, a groan leaving your lips as you begin to move more and more. 

“Easy, kitten.” He says, leaning down close to you, projecting his scent so you can hopefully get a whiff of it to help calm you. “I’ve got ye. Yer alright.” He brushes your hair back from your sweaty forehead as you continue to groan. He takes your hand as you reach for the tube again, squeezing it gently.

You crack your eyes open for a moment before quickly pinching them shut. Dr. Keller reaches up, turning off the overhead light before leaning down close to you again. She’s projecting her natural beta scent as well to try and help calm you. “I’m going to remove the tube, I know it’s uncomfortable.” 

Johnny has to look away again as Dr. Keller removes the feeding tube, pressing his face into your hair as he projects his scent even more. You squeeze his hand back, the other gripping the side of the bed. You take in a harsh, gasping breath before you begin to cry, tears spilling out of your eyes as you sob. He had heard that you’re a crier after your heat from Kyle, he’s just never witnessed it before. 

It takes him back to just a few weeks ago in John’s office when you had sat there crying as they interrogated you. It had made him uneasy, the stress and the fear clouding your scent. The fear he’d felt in those moments, listening to you cry and panic, nearly sending yourself into distress before John had calmed you. He might have done more, but he had been angry, angry at whoever put those cameras in your room, and slightly at you for keeping it from them for so long. 

He can’t blame it completely on you, though. That had been back in the time where you still weren’t sure if you could trust them, before you fully opened yourself to them. Maybe they were slightly at fault for not making you feel like you could trust them, for not being realistic with you about the dangers. Sure you had been warned, had it drilled into your head why your safety was paramount, but maybe they had kept too much hidden from you. Maybe they had put you in more danger by trying to keep you safe. 

Your eyes are still pinched closed as you continue to cry, sobs wracking your body as you grip his hand tightly. It tugs at his chest as he whispers quietly against your hair, trying to get you to recognize him, pull you out of the confusion and disorientation you must be feeling. You begin to hyperventilate, your hand slipping from his as you try to push yourself up. Dr. Keller already has the bed lifting, her other hand holding a vomit bag in front of you. It seems almost instinctual, but she’s been through this many times before. She had told him how many during one of their talks, when he’d asked her how long she's been working with omegas. He hadn’t realized just how little he really knew about your doctor before now. 

Johnny has to look away as you vomit into the bag, his own stomach churning. Not just because of you being ill, but also because of how distressing this all seems. How you haven’t gone into distress is a miracle to him, but perhaps you’re still too out of it to be that aware. 

Your breathing has calmed just slightly, your forehead beaded with sweat. Dr. Keller removes the vomit bag from in front of you, grabbing another and setting it on your lap. 

“I’m going to dispose of this.” She says. “She’s going to be sick for a while. I’ll grab more fluids and I’ll be back shortly.” 

Johnny nods, wiping at the sweat on your brow. You lean into his touch, letting out a quiet whine. His touch is gentle, almost scared he might hurt you in your fragile state. You’re still crying, the tears cascading down your cheeks. His chest hurts, guilt and sorrow churning inside of him from seeing you in this state. All thought that sedation was the best option goes out the window as he holds the vomit bag for you, keeping your braid out of the way. 

Kyle had told him about what it was like during your heat and after, partially to feed his curiosity, but also in case something like this happened where he had to be the one taking care of you. He’d heard about the pain, the tears, the disorientation. This is different, though. This is far worse than what Kyle had described to him. 

Dr. Keller returns, IV bag in hand. She removes the empty bag and replaces it with the full one, hooking it up to your IV. You have to be thirsty after a few days of having nothing but a feeding tube and the fluids to keep you going during your fever. 

Johnny catches her hand as she pulls out a syringe, small enough to be discreet. Something tickles in the back of his mind as he stares at it, his instincts on edge. 

“What is that?” He asks, starting to get defensive, his metaphorical hackles rising.  

“Pain medicine.” She says simply, handing it to him. She has to be able to read him, sensing the sudden protectiveness wafting off of him. 

He takes the syringe, reading the label. Morphine. He feels silly for distrusting the doctor. She’s never proven herself untrustworthy. While he knows they can’t be too trusting of anyone, she’s never done you any harm, never given them a reason to suspect her. She wouldn't hurt you, not after the dedication he’s seen from her these last few days alone. 

“She might need it later once she’s more aware.” She continues, taking the syringe back when he hands it to her, putting it back in her pocket. “Her body just went through an intense hormonal cycle and those hormonal levels are now dropping suddenly. It can cause a wide range of symptoms from crying to illness to physical pain. When omegas are allowed to go through that cycle naturally, usually with an alpha, the symptoms of coming down from that cycle are typically less severe compared to when sedation is used, of course besides the physical pain. The pain with sedation is obviously quite different from the pain when the cycle happens naturally with an alpha.” 

Johnny’s brows furrow as he rests his hand over yours, your breaths stuttering through your sobs. Your hands are clutching at the blanket, one of yours he’d grabbed from your room in hopes the familiar comfort might help you through the process. He hates that you’re in pain like this, he hates that you’re in pain at all. He’s beginning to feel the bubbling anger deep in his stomach at Simon for letting you endure this. He has no idea. He’s isolated himself for your safety, and he’ll never get to see what this is like, what you’re going through right now. 

Dr. Keller says your name softly, leaning against the side of the bed, electing to ignore the swirling emotions of her fellow beta. He’s not her concern, you are. “Can you open your eyes for me?” 

You continue to cry, but you manage to get your eyes opened, squinting at her through your tears. Dr. Keller takes your face in her hands, using her thumbs to gently pull down your lower lids, trying to get a good look at your eyes. You try to jerk away, letting out possibly the cutest defiant sound Johnny has ever heard, and he might have reacted had it been a different situation. Instead he leans over the side of the bed again, talking to you quietly so you calm a bit. You do relax at the sound of his voice, his scent projecting even more to try and comfort you, bring you back into reality. 

“There we go.” Dr. Keller says, looking at your eyes before she gives you a soft smile. “Welcome back.” She removes her hands from your face leaning against the bed rail again. “It's all over. You did perfectly.”

You let out another groan, lifting a hand weakly before letting it drop back against your stomach. 

“I know you're thirsty.” Dr. Keller says. “I'll get you some soon. We need to make sure your stomach has settled for now.” 

Your eyes squeeze closed as you start to cry again, your inhales shaky as the tears start sliding down your cheeks. Johnny shushes you gently, petting your hair. Sweat still drips down your face, your hands curling around the edge of the blanket. 

You try to push yourself up to sit, Dr. Keller immediately understanding what you need again as she lifts the vomit bag up to your mouth.

Johnny peels your hand from around the blanket, holding it tightly. His own stomach is churning but he swallows it back, bringing your hand up to his face. He kisses the back, the skin clammy and warm to the touch. Your scent is a swirl of things he’s never smelled before, drowning out the natural sweetness. Kyle had mentioned how your scent and John’s change during the heat and after. He hardly recognizes it right now, and he finds himself missing the sweet scent of strawberries. 

Your fingers squeeze around his as you lay back against the bed, eyes cracked open and sniffling as the tears continue to slide down your cheeks. You let out a groan, tugging weakly at his hand. 

“Hi kitten.” He says, leaning over the bed rail again. “Yer alright. Get ye feeling better soon.” 

Your inhale is shaky, catching in your chest. You weakly tug his hand towards your face pressing your sweaty cheek against his skin. You nuzzle against his hand, your tongue darting out to lick his skin. He can't help but chuckle, wiping at a tear that falls with his thumb. You’re still out of it, but he knows that’s a sign that you’re starting to come through, starting to come back to yourself through the haze. 

You let out a long groan as you pull away from his hand, licking at your lips. They're horribly chapped, almost rivaling Simon's, but at least you have an excuse.

“Thirsty?” Dr. Keller asks, returning to the bedside with a cup of water. “Drink slowly, you'll get sick again.” She warns, holding the straw up to your lips. 

You manage to do as she says and take small sips of the water despite how thirsty he knows you must be. Johnny keeps caressing your face with his thumb, your fingers still laced with his. 

“Let me get your vitals.” Dr. Keller says, setting the cup of water on the table. You let out a groan in protest, smacking your lips, obviously wanting more. “You can have more in a minute. Too much on your stomach could upset it, and I’m sure the last thing you want to do right now is get sick again.”

You let out a quiet grunt, leaning your cheek against his hand once again. Your skin is still a bit warm to the touch, but that could just be from the exertion of trying to come out of sedation and being sick. Dr. Keller takes your vitals once more, recording them on her sheet. She’s been tracking them your entire heat, using them to judge how far along you are since she doesn’t have the benefit of you being awake to track the symptoms that way. He had wondered why she tracked them on paper, but then he remembered John telling him about how Shepherd had requested all of your private records and Dr. Keller’s notes. 

She is smart. He’ll give her that. 

“Things look good, even if you might not feel like it right now.” She says.

You try to shift on the bed but you let out a quiet groan, freeing your hand from his. 

“Hurting?” Dr. Keller asks.

You nod, letting out a whine. It tickles in the back of his brain, his beta wanting to reach out and comfort you, but he knows he can’t. He can’t ease the physical pain. One downside to beta evolution. Their ancestors never learned how to fix physical pain. Maybe that would have made them too perfect. All he can do is try to comfort you through it. 

“Let's get some pain meds in you.” She says, pulling the syringe out of her pocket again. “Then we can get you somewhere more comfortable.”

She injects the pain medicine through your IV, giving it a few minutes to begin working before disconnecting you from all the machines. Johnny helps her get you in a sweatshirt, wanting to keep you warm. You are shaking, though what that might be related to he’s not sure. Perhaps everything. 

Dr. Keller hands him the cup of water. “Keep her drinking. I'll go grab a car, then we can get her back to the barracks.” 

You feel far too light in Johnny’s arms as he carries you from the car into the barracks. Simon is nowhere to be seen, though he hadn’t expected a welcome back party from his alpha. He’s probably still hiding out in his office, or in the gym, his usual hiding spot. Johnny is kind of glad he’s not here, though he would like to rub it in his face, the decision he’d made. 

Johnny takes you to his room, still avoiding yours. It’s almost like a crime scene, Johnny tempted to take it off. He knows placing you in there might make you panic when you wake up after everything. That’s the last thing he wants. So instead he takes you to the place you’ve spent the last almost six weeks in, somewhere you’ll recognize the scent and be comfortable when you wake up. 

You roll onto your side as soon as he lays you down, curling up on his blankets. He drapes yours over you, tucking it around your shoulders before he steps back out into the hallway. 

“Keep her hydrated. Lots of water, tea, clear sodas.” Dr. Keller instructs him. “She'll be drowsy for a while because of the pain medicine. Give her a couple hours and once the pain meds wear off and her stomach settles a bit, try her with some bland foods. She did well with mashed potatoes after her last heat. She’s going to be out of it and sick for a few days. Keep an eye out for anything abnormal. Vomiting blood, can’t keep food down, if she complains about pain somewhere or is hard to wake, give me a call.” 

“Got it.” Johnny nods, committing everything she’s told him in the last ten minutes to memory. 

“You did really well.” She says, giving him a soft smile. “You should be proud of yourself.” 

“Thank you, doctor.” He nods, internally beaming at her praise. 

“Keep me updated, and don’t be afraid to call.” She says. 

He watches her walk to the door, Simon’s door opening as soon as she’s gone. He at least looks guilty, like the shame is eating him alive. Johnny hasn’t seen him like this in a long time, not since he caused you to distress. It makes him a little too happy to see him in such a state. 

“How is she?” He asks, not moving from in front of his door. 

The sound of you vomiting into a vomit bag reaches their ears. Simon at least has the decency to flinch at the sound. It’s subtle, probably unnoticeable had Johnny not been able to read his alpha like a book. 

“Sick.” He says, trying to hide his anger and disappointment. They’re complex feelings. He knew Simon would turn you down if you asked for his own reasons, but now after seeing what happens when there’s no alpha available during a heat, he almost hates Simon for doing this to you. “Confused. Still a bit out of it.” 

“You know I couldn’t do it.” Simon says, using that uncanny ability to read everyone around him. 

Johnny hates it sometimes.

He turns to glance at you through his open door as you continue to be sick. You’re going to be miserable for the next few days, likely more than you are usually after your heats. This one will be less physical pain after taking knots for a week straight, and more pain from being sedated, pain from being mostly immobile, pain from just being alive and carrying this status. Such pain omegas live with, physically, mentally, emotionally. 

He hates it. 

“Ye don’t know what it was like.” He says, his hands closing into fists. “Seeing her like that.” 

You let out a long whine, a sob tearing from your chest as you inhale. Tears prick behind Johnny’s eyes as he holds Simon’s gaze. “Ye just had to say no.” He shakes his head, turning to go back into his room. 

He doesn't want to tell you. He can see the look on your face already. The disappointment. The pain. The agony. He can smell the souring of your scent already, the painful grief filling it and there will be nothing he can do to ease it. It's a rare moment they've left you alone in the last month and a half, forced to after a call with Kate and Shepherd.

He's not even sure how to approach it. 

He opens his bedroom door slowly, his stomach clenching as he looks in at you. You're on the bed, wrapped in a blanket where he left you, cuddled against your big bear. He doesn't want to wake you, especially not for this but he has to. He has no choice. You have to know. 

He lets out a sigh as he sinks down on the edge of his bed, gently putting a hand on your shoulder. “Kitten?” He shakes you gently. “Kitten, wake up.”

You inhale sharply, startling awake despite his attempt to be gentle. There’s a sharp spike of fear in your scent for a moment as you’re yanked from sleep suddenly, but it fades as soon as you realize where you are and who is with you. You turn over onto your back, winding up resting against his knee as you rub your eyes. 

“Johnny?” You croak, still partly asleep. 

“Si and I just got off a call with Kate.” He says carefully, not wanting to scare you too much. 

You're wide awake immediately, pushing yourself up to sit. You swallow nervously, your scent already souring. “What is it?” Your voice wavers as you ask, eyes already shining with tears. 

“John and Kyle are fine.” He says, regretting not starting with that. He can see the temporary relief on your face. “But, they need some backup for this one.” 

It takes a moment for your brain to process his words. A hole tears through the center of his chest as he watches the realization hit, your face falling as your scent begins to sour even more. Your arms wrap around yourself as you stare at him, the relief gone from your face as you stare at him. He swallows the lump in his own throat, your scent causing his beta to stir, the drive to comfort you itching in his brain. He can’t though, he can’t comfort you through this. 

Your voice shakes, a tear sliding down your cheek as you figure out what it is he woke you to say, why Kate had called. Your inhale is shaky, catching in your chest before you speak. 

“You're both leaving too, aren’t you.” 

NEXT ->

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[unriding]

KINKTOBER DAY 17 — APHRODISIACS. dan heng (hsr) x f!reader! ﾉ link to return to kinktober 2024 masterlist & taglist

it’s only natural that you’d try to play it off, especially when he had already warned you about this ahead of time. your bad, you’ll admit. unfortunately for you though, this aphrodisiac is one of the strongest, and it won’t be going away anytime soon.

CONTAINS — aphrodisiacs, hints of mutual pining, marking, wall sex, squirting (reader cums from him putting it in)

To your surprise and nobody else’s, Dan Heng was right after all.

A small part of you knew he was when he had initially warned you- advised that you stay on the Express because you’d make for an easy target, but you also couldn’t deny that you’d much rather join him than stay cooped up in your room all week.

Any time with Dan Heng is better than no time with Dan Heng, or so you thought. Maybe if you’d pictured this outcome in your head a bit earlier, you wouldn’t have tagged along.

But you’d also rather die than admit you were wrong.

The Express’ hallway looks hazy when you try to make your way back to your room after wishing him a good night. Similar to how the world appears when you’ve come down with a high fever. You think you can feel the blood buzzing in your ears, and it wasn’t even a direct hit. You’re certain of this fact- you’ve always been quick on your feet.

But this one has already started to make you feel lightheaded.

The thought of him taking notice of how your nails dug into his door frame earlier to prevent yourself from collapsing onto the floor haunts you a little. He’s so observant that you’re surprised he hasn’t said anything yet- besides a couple glances and maybe one or two concerned “Are you alright?”

Perhaps he really didn’t know, and you were just that capable of hiding the fact that you’ve been hit with one of the strongest aphrodisiacs in existence.

Though that seems unlikely.

It seems to only worsen with each passing minute. Switches from the initial dull ache between your legs to a sharp throbbing, and you feel so hot. Feverish. Maybe even delirious at this point. It takes all the strength in your body just to roll over in bed and flip open your computer to search if aphrodisiacs can actually kill.

You sure hope not. What’ll happen if you’re dead by morning? Having never kissed Dan Heng a single time?

You don’t even want to imagine a life with that kind of depressing end.

It’s possible that you ended up lasting for another thirty minutes at least. Maybe five in reality. Though it’s hard to keep track of time when you’re rubbing your cunt back and forth against your pillow like it’s the last thing you’ll do. Imagining that it’s him you’re straddling only seems to make it even worse.

You want him so bad.

That’s why after some time, you find yourself in front of his room again- head hanging low, chest rising up and down in heavy pants, and your legs barely able to hold up your weight. You don’t even bother facing him. Not when you can already tell what face he’s making when he says the words,

“I told you that you shouldn’t have come along.”

If you wanted to give him a sheepish laugh, it only comes out as a pained whine instead. “S-sorry,” your eyes widen at how strained your voice sounds, and you think you see him stiffen in front of you. “Do you think….. um, do you know to fix it?”

It falls eerily silent.

“..Please…? I can’t… can’t really.. ask Welt for help.”

“Don’t ask Welt.” His voice softens ever so slightly, but you think there’s something unfamiliar behind it. You suck in a sharp breath as soon as he takes a step forward to reach around you and close the door behind you— slowly, as if giving you time to change your mind. “I know how to help.”

Your first thought is that he smells nice. Really, really nice. You’ve always thought that he’d smell good, but with the way you are now, it’s intoxicating. Your knees almost buckle, and you hope he doesn’t hear you swallow a gulp.

You could just lift your arm and touch him. You could pull him in for a hug and take a deep inhale straight into his chest. You could bury your face deep in-

“If I were to help you fix this, then I would need to touch you.” Your eyes widen, walls instinctively fluttering around nothing at the suggestion. His words carry more weight to them, and you at least know Dan Heng well enough to recognize this as his way of asking if you’re okay.

And you’re much, much more than okay with receiving his help.

“Please…. yes please.”

Time seems to slow down as he closes the distance between the two of you— backs you up until you’re pressed against the wall and your face heats up. Your entire body follows as soon as you look at him, head fuzzy and clouded and you’re barely able to process just how close he is.

This is something you’ve always wanted. Maybe even dreamed about.

“I…” your eyes slam shut when you feel him hike up your skirt— slowly, and his fingers briefly ghost over your waist before he finally slots his thigh between your legs and nudges. “F-fuck..!” Your head falls back, back of your hand instinctively coming to hide your face— and he freezes.

That sensitive? You didn’t know it was possible for it to worsen. If you weren’t in such a daze, maybe you’d feel more embarrassed about it. “Close your eyes,” his voice is so close that it sends a shiver down your spine, “and let me touch you more.”

You listen. It’s a confirmation to him that you desperately need his help— because you never listen. “You’re lucky that you weren’t hit directly,” you feel him tilt your chin up, and a part of you wishes you could hold it— nuzzle your cheek against his palm— but then something suddenly clicks in your head.

“..You… you saw—”

His lips slot against yours the next second. Just one peck, and then another. It shuts you up immediately- sends a weird warmth coursing through your body and bubbles up in your core. Feels good. Feels good and he hasn’t even started. He pulls away, only to mumble a “yeah. I saw everything. I always keep an eye on you because you never listen..though I couldn’t make it to you in time” before his lips are back on yours.

To his surprise, you keep your eyes shut like he told you to. Maybe it’s all too much for you to take in, so closing your eyes and focusing solely on how he feels is the only way you know you’re not dreaming. Your body goes into overdrive, knees buckling as soon as he deepens the kiss and you almost moan when you feel him wrap an arm around you to keep you upright.

You’re practically melting. Melting into the kiss- letting him pull you even closer and letting him press his thigh into your cunt. Everything after that becomes a blur in your head. Where you end and he starts is something you don’t bother thinking about. It’s a mess of kisses— deep and full of tongue— and he trails them down your neck, ends just below your ear after he’s kissed every inch of your skin.

You’re certain he’s left marks, but his lips feel too good for you to care. The exact moment when he picked you up to press your back against the wall never registered in your head either. You only open your eyes when you finally feel him prod at your hole, and your heartbeat is practically thumping against your ribcage. “I’m going in. Hold tight.”

He starts to pushes inside, and your vision goes white. “Wait— w-wai—” You choke, embrace around his neck slipping, loosens just a bit too much and you sink down onto his length— mouth falling open in a silent scream as soon as he bottoms out in one rough motion.

It hits you all at once. A violent orgasm that rips from deep inside you- one you’re not quite familiar with- has you screaming into his shoulder, nails digging into the muscles of his back as you gush all over him. He practically growls at the feeling, fingers digging into your thighs even when they tremble and jerk against him.

The room falls silent aside from your panting and his breathing. Your walls spasm around his thickness- strongly feeling the aftershocks, and he feels your slick dripping down his cock and onto the floor beneath you.

“‘S n-no fair at all,” you whimper, “feels too good. I’m almost scared—”

“Don’t say things like that.” If it was even possible, he holds you even closer. Even with the softness in his voice, you can tell he’s struggling to hold back. “You don’t need to think about anything,” he reminds you, “just hold tight and let yourself feel everything.”

“Trust me to take care of it.”

dividers by @ cafekitsune

[roturo]

₊˚ෆ FALSE GOD

warnings: masturbation, sex, smut, porn with no plot, unprocteted sex, overstimulation, use of toys, cunnilingus, mentions of low/high sex drive, dom/sub dynamics, shaming, humilliation, blue balls, edging, corruption kink, mentions of somnophilia, and twitter links. (Gojo, Geto & Nanami)

author's note: this is not a goodbye, but take it as a see you soon writing.

part 2 (coming soon if it’s well received)

gojo satoru

He's been annoying you the whole morning while trying to coach the kids on their training– slapping his hand away everytime it lowers down from your lower back and giving him a glaring look.

Both of you talked about this. Not letting his high sex drive come across work, and mostly in front of his students.He looked like a lost puppy, searching for attention and someone to relieve his needs.

“Gojo. Stop it–” You pushed his hand away from you, looking back to see if someone else noticed what’s going on. “But I can’t princess, I need you right now~” He whined in your ear, he was about to throw a tantrum if you continued neglecting him this way. It’s been two weeks without sex, can you believe it? Two weeks! He prefers fighting Mahito’s annoying ass again on his own rather than pass one day without inside you.

“It’s not the time right now– and I'm not in the mood either.”

Okay. First of all he knew you weren’t too into sex, and he accepted it! He respected your boundaries, and he didn’t only want you for the sex, he loved you for who you are! But the way you said his last name instead of his first name, and looking like you were about to slap him turned him on even more.

He wouldn’t stop whining and throwing tantrums for your touch, opting for dismissing the class early so they could go to sleep or wherever, it’s weekend anyways. 

Both of you sat in silence in his office. Waiting for someone to break the tense silence thanks to him— and he was about to do it, but the moment your mouth opened his mind got in control of your sweet voice.

“Get up and take your pants off. Briefs too-” His eyes light up like a kid when receiving a lollipop for behaving like a good boy he is. He took off his shirt too, feeling like it was drowning him and taking the air out of him because this was the first time you were really taking control over all this.

“Sit.” He did as you said, his cock proudly standing tall and full of cum to dump wherever you wanted him too. But he wasn’t too lucky this time, because the moment you stepped closer to him and his desk, searching for one of his blindfolds he usually leaves there– you kneeled down infront of his, massaging his hard balls that made him moan out loud– taking them in one hand, they were heavy. His blindfold was around them, in a knot– tighten them. 

The moment you started jerking off he knew he wouldn’t come as easy as he would. It was wet, really wet– and all thanks to his pre-cum leaving his cock, he was begging for release, he couldn’t come, literally and physically. It was impeding him from cumming, it felt ten times worse than not having your touch– He had it now, but at what cost?

“Aw, look at those blue balls!” You laughed in front of him and slightly slapped the red swollen head of his cock– he was crying, he never did. But it felt so good but it hurt so much at the same time.  You took off the blindfold, cum coming out like a big wave, wetting his abdomen, part of his chest and your neck too. His moan almost sounded like a scream, cries and nervous laughs coming out of him– He came but you continued jerking him off, this time overstimulating him instead of edging him– He doesn’t know what was worse. Coherent words were long lost, babbling out trying to stop himself but he couldn’t move himself, way too lost in the pleasure to be able to stop you.

“Let’s see if you can atleast last a week without acting like a fucking horny virgin bitch this time mhm?, let’s make you cum again just to make sure, yeah?”

geto suguru

Geto is a morning wood guy. And he knows you have a low libido, actually Suguru is the only one you’ve sex with. 

“I’m scared of dicks ´guru” You whispered, kneeled down in front of him, you were at his dorm, it was 11 P.M and you decided to lose your virginity to Geto assuring he’s the one and you’ve never felt safe in someone else’s arms– he chuckled and looked at you with loving eyes– one of his hands caressed your cheek, “How are you going to be afraid of dicks and want to suck me off at the same time princess? Mhm?”

He laughed at himself at the memory, now you were 6 years together and he’s eager to know how your life is going to be with him, having a wedding, getting a house together, making you pregnant… full of him, shit. This is not helping with the main problem right now.

He’s a decent man. At least that’s what he thinks about himself– he’s not horny all the time like Satoru. Maybe that’s his form of love language? Satoru is a weird ass anyways– he thinks to himself while scrunching his eyebrows together, –stop thinking about him Suguru!, it’s going to make you puke instead of helping the problem… He was looking at the ceiling of your room while you’re sleeping right beside him. He doesn’t want to wake you up, you deserve to have a nice and comfortable sleep.

But the pain down there is not going anywhere, not even with a cold shower. He knows to identify his morning woods– living with them for his whole life, I guess. Unconsciously one of his hands is now touching himself through his boxers making him moan, his free hand quickly covering his mouth and looking to his side to find you still sleeping.   

He swears he’s about to slap himself to stop this and suck it up, but he feels your hand stopping him. “Are you okay baby?, I heard something and I thought you hurt yourself or something.”

Oh my god… How could you be so… pure? So perfect for him, always making sure he’s okay, your sleepy voice sounding deeper than your normal voice… His shirt is way too big for you that he swears if he moves his head a little higher he could see your nipples. Shit Suguru, you turned it sexual again!

Should he just… ask you? beg you? beg and cry for some release? Would he sound as horny as a teenager? This problem should be for teenagers! Not for a grown ass man like him!

“Um… I might just had a little problem down there”

“Might? Little?”

His flushed face was cute, his body was fully uncovered by the blankets, leaving him with his chest exposed and a clear wet patch on his boxers.

“C’mon baby, let me help you” He called out your name, trying to stop you the moment you placed your hand on the elastic of his underwear— in one swift motion you freed his cock, catching a glance of how swollen it was due the negligence of the past weeks. 

The moment Suguru felt the cold breeze on him, he came.

He fucking came with no touch.

Damn embarrassing.

“Aw, cute. Want me to suck you off?”

nanami kento

You haven’t rushed things with Nanami yet. Both of you were such a cute couple that made people gag. 

He’s amazing, not like any other boys you have met before, he treated you nice, spoiled you and mostly respected you– in a world of boys, he’s a gentleman. 

He’s such a hard working guy, such an inspiration, so committed to both of his works that you tell him if you ever get married you’ll be the best housewife he could ever have because he deserves it.

But one thing about Nanami is that he keeps things to himself. Just like the boner he has right now by imagining you being his little housewife. He really needs to leave this office right now and relieve some… stress.

The last weeks have been hard for him, naturally affecting your relationship with him. He was always tired, even more earnest and quiet. You know he’s bad at telling what he feels, and he’s always stressed by something– but you have never seen him like this. Like ever.

When he tries to distress himself he just keeps failing over and over again, not being enough and having to suck it up and continue his day with a hard poking erection most likely visible in his pants. That’s why he remains seated most of the time.

But one day he went to your house after work. It was impossible to not notice his erection even when he’s trying to hide with his briefcase or on the sofa. 

“Take your pants off Kento.” You’re not a big fan of sex, Nanami knows that, he hasn’t even had sex with you before! So this caught him by surprise, the red on his cheeks spanding through his neck.

“E-excuse me? I’m sorry, what honey?” 

“You heard me, take your pants off.” He’s seated on your sofa– unloosened tie, two or three bottoms of his shirt undone, messy hair, in his socks but that damn thing was literally capable of breaking his pants if it didn’t have some release.

He slowly started unbuckling his pants, losing his mental battle and accepting what he needed, and if you were willing to do it, all he could do is take it– but dear god, it was even worse.

All you would do is touch him. Through his briefs. Just the feeling of your fingers through them. Touching the tip was the worst part.

And he couldn’t believe that the most simple touch is capable of making him cum with just your fingers than him raming and jerking off the hardest he has ever tried.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Forgetting

Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: Jake forgets to pick you up at the airport because of his ex, and for the first time, you think maybe you and Jake aren't mean to be.

Notes/Warnings: Angst, but ends fluffy. Fighting. Cursing. This was a request that I said I'd have done in a couple days and it took me a week and a half. Sorry about that. Also, please be gentle. I haven't written for Jake in what feels like a millennium.

Words: 2700

Jake Seresin Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

As much as it would kill you to know that he could be hurt, you hope he’s hurt. You hope he’s on his way to the hospital to receive life-saving treatment because if he’s not hurt, if he’s not receiving life-saving treatment, then he simply forgot about you. And that makes your heart want to claw its way out of your chest and scamper across the floor until it’s well out of your range to catch it. 

Your call goes to voicemail for the fourth time. You send your twelfth text: I hope you’re ok. I landed an hour ago. Please call me. Nothing different than the eleven other messages that have gone unanswered. Forty-five more minutes pass of you sitting on a bench by the airport exit before you finally surrender your last shred of hope and call Bradley to come save you. 

Within the hour, you’re sighing in relief, the sight of a friendly face almost bringing you to tears. He approaches you with open arms and you fall right into the embrace, comforted by the hug that should be in your boyfriend’s arms, and the warmth that should be from your boyfriend’s body, and the forehead kiss that should be from your boyfriend’s lips. 

“Please tell me he’s ok,” you say against your friend’s chest. 

A heavy palm rubs up and down your back. “No one could get ahold of him.”

Your head jerks back so you can meet his eyes. “Oh my god!”

“I’m sure he’s fine, kid. Don’t worry.”

“How can you say that? He was supposed to be here and he’s not and–” You pause when Bradley looks away from you, and a hefty stone settles in your gut. You know your friend well. He’s a good man, honest but sensitive, and when that honestly meets that sensitivity, it results in his inability to look someone in the eye if he thinks the truth might hurt them. You’ve seen it a hundred times, but never with you. 

Your posture wavers with your lengthy exhale. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Another great thing about Bradley: he doesn’t make you play any games. You don’t have to jump through hoops. You don’t have to ask the right questions in the right way in order to get what you need out of him, unlike many men, your boyfriend included, who recently has found ways to skitter around telling the full truth. 

“Javy said he saw him a couple of hours ago,” Bradley says.

Your back teeth clench. Your mind shoots to one conclusion. “With her?” you ask. Bradley’s eyes drift from yours again and you nod, a tear at the ready to leak down your cheek. “He forgot about me because he’s with her.”

“We don’t know that for sure, and–”

Your hand scrubbing down your face cuts him off. Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose before you suck in your whimper and say, “Rooster, why did he even ask me to come here?”

“Because he…I mean, we thought he–”

“You thought he gave a fuck about me.”

“He does,” Bradley says, stressing his words in an attempt to reassure you. “He never shuts up about you.”

“Sure,” you say. “He gives so much of a fuck that he forgot about me to be with his ex. How can you explain that?”

Rooster sighs. His hands slip into his jeans pockets just to have something to do with them. “I can’t.”

“Exactly.” 

No one can explain it. Not you, not Bradley, not Jake. Everyone you know back home would be telling you to run for the hills right now. They were already wary of this ‘Navy guy’ that they’d only met twice around the holidays, who lives a decent distance away from your entire life and who constantly requests that you be the one to hop on a plane rather than the other way around. 

For the duration of your time together, you’ve been understanding of that sacrifice. You know his schedule doesn’t allow impromptu trips out of state, but that hasn’t made it any less exhausting for you. And maybe that’s a sign. Another sign. A nail in the coffin. Maybe you and Jake aren’t meant to be. And why would you be? You met him on a brief vacation to visit a friend who doesn’t even live in the same town anymore, and somehow, during those few days, he convinced you to take a chance on him. So you took the leap. But being that bold doesn’t guarantee you won’t fall flat on your face, and you think that’s exactly what’s happening. You’ve tripped over a guy only to realize he doesn’t care about you to the same degree that you care about him. 

However, you’re not the type to avoid confrontation. If Jake Seresin is going to mistreat you because of his ex, then he is going to do it to your face. He’s going to look you in the eye when he shows himself to be the liar he is. It may hurt more to go to him rather than get on the next plane home without so much as taking in a breath of fresh Californian air, but you’re too upset to let that thought fully develop, and a moment later, Rooster is following your stomps out the door. 

—

You find him at the Hard Deck, standing at a hightop with a beer glass in his hand that clinks against the one in his ex’s before he takes a sip. Bradley’s comforting hand lands on your back in solidarity. You only met him because of Jake, but the two of you bonded despite their differences, and having him by your side now makes him nothing short of a life-saver. 

He helps guide you through the crowd to the table, and when Jake spots you, he chokes around the liquid going down his throat. His blown-out emerald eyes rival saucers and his mouth gapes like a fish, but then his stare flicks to Bradley, and those eyes shrink into narrow slits. His face heats to a boiling red. 

“What the fuck!” Jake snaps, shocking the composure right out of his ex’s poised stance. Bar patrons close by turn their heads but quickly return to their own conversations. Jake steps away from the table, coming to a halt in front of you and his squadmate. “What the hell is this?”

You figured he’d be bothered if you showed up with Bradley in tow. And good, that’s what you feel he deserves. Jake’s been wary of the other Dagger’s closeness to you for a while, and even though you know—as does Bradley—that it’s an asinine concern, you have no problem using it against him now. But still, the intensity of his reaction manages to surprise you. You didn’t think he would be this angered by the sight of you with another man that it would have him overlooking his mistake of forgetting you.

Your arms cross. “This is your girlfriend and the guy who saved her when her damn boyfriend left her stranded at the airport.”

“Excuse me?”

Jake’s ex’s prying gaze tugs at your attention, but when you glance over his shoulder to catch her in the act, she quickly looks away—just more proof that whatever the fuck she’s doing with your boyfriend is something to be ashamed of. 

Bradley’s saying something. You can’t quite hear him over the anger-induced fuzzing in your ears, but you’re pretty sure it’s a scolding based on the twisting of Jake’s features as he shoots back his own words of aggression. And then your hand is in his and you’re being pulled through the bar, out the back door, and onto the deck where the only intrusive sound is the lapping of waves on the shore. 

“Why are you here?” he asks. 

You scoff to mask the heartbreak that comes with that question. “Because you asked me to be here.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“It’s Wednesday,” he says. 

“It’s Thursday, Jake.”

“No, it’s—” he freezes, and you don’t know if he’s tipsy or stupid, but it takes him a minute to come to the same conclusion: it is indeed Thursday. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Your lower back meets the edge of the railing, and you sigh, thankfully keeping in the tears. “What are you doing with her?”

“What the fuck are you doing with Rooster?” he returns much more forcefully. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I called, I texted, I left voicemails,” you tell him, “But clearly, she was more important.”

Jake’s hands pat down his pockets, mouth setting in a frown when he can’t find his phone.

“Don’t bother. Phone or no phone, you forgot about me because of her. Last time I was here, you were late for one of our dates because of her. You spent fifty percent of our time together stepping away to take her phone calls,” you say, trying and failing to avoid the bitter taste on your tongue. “Just fuck her, Jake, if you haven’t already. I only came here to tell you that she can have you.”

You’ve never seen him fall apart the way he does. You’ve never seen the blood drain from his cocky face. You’ve never seen his features break and crack and contort into the vision of pure devastation as they do. His parted mouth must’ve gone dry because his next words come out slightly hoarse.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, but it’s more of a plea than anything. “Why…Why would you–” He swallows. A wrinkle forms between his brows and he shakes his head. “You love me. You didn’t mean to say that.”

You do love him—terribly so—but you’re willing to be one of those people who won’t view love as enough if it also means laying you out as a fool. “Jake–”

“Take it back,” he says. His steps are quick, and then you’re trapped where you stand, his hands on either side of your body, gripping the rail. Eyes drill into yours, and for a second, you feel a pang of guilt. “Please, baby, take it back. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“And I mean less.”

“No!” he says. “That’s not true. You’re everything, ok? You mean everything to me. She was just helping me, that’s all.”

“Helping you,” you mimic with a roll of your eyes. “Helping you what? Get off?”

With a little whine, Jake’s head drops between his shoulders, his blond hair brushing your collarbone. “Please. Please quit saying things like that.” His hands slide closer to your body and land on your hips. You don’t push him away—you can't—and his touch softens you ever so slightly.

“Then tell me the truth,” you say. “Right now. I’m giving you one shot.”

His head snaps up. His eyes flick back and forth between yours, ironically searching for your honesty, as if you’re the liar on trial here. 

“It was a surprise,” he tells you. “She’s a realtor now, and for the last few months she’s been helping me find a new place, one that’s bigger than what I’ve got because I was going to ask you to move in with me.” Your heartbeat stutters. A layer of goosebumps coats your arms. When you don’t respond, he continues, “I hate missing you. I hate how unfair it is that you’re always the one to come here because I can’t fly out at the drop of a hat. I know it’s a big step, but I figured if I had a place, I could show you how great things could be. That’s why she and I came here. We were celebrating because I’m signing on a house first thing tomorrow,” he says. “Well, that’s why I’m celebrating, anyway. She’s probably celebrating because she just made a decent commission.”

It’s almost unfair how that new information doesn’t make you feel any less of a fool. Had he told you that under any other circumstances, you’d be leaping into his arms, kissing him like you’ve been deprived of him for years, repeating ‘yes’ over and over between those kisses, but you can’t. You can’t because his explanation doesn’t fix everything. 

“That still doesn’t change that it’s Thursday, not Wednesday,” you say.

“I know, baby. That’s my fault. I was so excited, and I was thinking how perfect the timing was that I would be able to pick you up tomorrow and drive you by the house now that it’s officially mine, but I fucked it up.”

Jake’s thumbs press into your hips, and you’re instantly reminded of each moment in your relationship when you’ve felt that same light pressure on your skin. A gentle claiming. The same pressure you felt when you agreed to be his girlfriend. The same pressure you feel whenever you’re in bed together. 

You sense eyes on you other than your boyfriend’s, and when you turn your head, you find his ex staring right at you, an expression on her face that you wish you could say wasn’t one of distress, but it is. And worse, it’s obviously not distress for herself, but for Jake, as if she’s hoping she wasn’t just a contributor to a bomb dropping on his life. 

Jake’s busy staring at you despite your averted gaze, and in a monotone voice, you say, “She feels bad.”

He doesn’t follow your eyes. “Because she knows I’ve been doing this all for you.”

You blink. Your hand runs down your face before sifting through the strands of your hair. “You really want me to live with you?”

“Of course I do,” he tells you. He’s shaking his head, but you know it’s because he thinks any idea that he wouldn’t want you to be blasphemous. His hand cups your chin. “I love you.”

With a sigh, you push aside the rollercoaster of emotions, the misunderstandings that lead to frustration and hurt, and look him directly in the eye. And where moments ago you thought you saw lies, you see honestly. Where you thought you saw betrayal, you see love. 

“Can I see it?”

—

It’s small—a two-bedroom with a little driveway, the shingle siding painted a blue-gray shade that is more blue than gray; bundles of flowers bloom in the boxes under the windows; a bay window protrudes from the side of the structure facing the beach. And it’s perfect.

You can imagine building a life here. You can picture a dog that you’ll have to build a fence for and children years later that will have you reinforcing the fence because they’ll probably be like their father, and Jake didn’t choose to be a pilot because of his lack of adventurous nature. You look at this house and you can see the core of a family. A house that, no matter how far you go for Jake’s job, will always be home base.

Jake is leaning around you so you can both watch the house from the passenger seat window. “I’d offer to show you around, but I don’t get the keys until morning.”

“It’s ok,” you tell him. “I don’t need to see inside.”

When you say that, he falls back into his seat. The back of his head presses against the headrest. His fingers squeeze the steering wheel with his sigh of defeat. “You don’t like it.”

Shifting your body to face him, you say, “Jake, I love it.”

Just like that, his eyes brighten like a pouting child who was just offered a lollipop, and you can’t help but chuckle. You can’t help but forget everything that happened earlier in the night, all of it seeming so insignificant now, even though you know it’s not, and you both know that if he ever makes the same mistake again, he’ll have hell to pay. But something tells you that won’t be a problem. 

“Enough to live with me?” he asks.

You nod. “Enough to live with you.”

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! Comments make my entire world, so if you liked it, let me know? Thanks :)

[harrysfolklore]

casual - ln4

summary: you’re in a situationship with lando norris, one that you know is going to break your heart, but you can’t seem to walk away. wc: 11.7k

folkie radio: i was about to scrap this entire fic bc i just didn’t like they way it was turning out but i finished it 😭 i’m still not really confident about it but i hope you enjoy it. disclaimer: this is angsty !!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

You and Lando. Lando and You. An undefined space, more than friends, less than a relationship. You remember it like it was yesterday, though almost a year has passed.

It started innocently enough. As a data analyst and strategist for McLaren, you often found yourself working late nights, poring over race statistics and performance metrics. Lando would sometimes wander into the office, restless after a day of simulations and meetings.

At first, your interactions were purely professional - discussing tire degradation rates or fuel consumption patterns. But gradually, conversations began to drift, getting more personal and personal.

The shift happened subtly. One night, after a particularly grueling race weekend, you were both exhausted, sprawled on the office couch analyzing data. Lando's head drooped onto your shoulder, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The air crackled with tension.

"We shouldn't," you murmured, even as you turned to face him.

"Probably not," Lando agreed, his blue eyes flickering to your lips.

The kiss was inevitable, months of built-up attraction finally finding release. And then came another, and another.

When Lando suggested heading back to his place, you found yourself saying yes without hesitation.

Before you knew it, you were in his apartment, you could feel the tension in the air. Lando stepped closer, his hand cupping your cheek.

"I've been wanting to do this for a while," he murmured, before leaning in to kiss you again.

Clothes were shed as you made your way to his bedroom, falling onto his bed in a tangle of limbs.

The next morning, sunlight streams through unfamiliar curtains, and you blink awake, momentarily disoriented. Lando's sleeping form beside you brings the memories of last night flooding back.

Lando stirs, his blue eyes meeting yours. "Morning," he mumbles, a shy smile playing on his lips. "So... that happened."

You nod, unsure of what to say. "It did."

An awkward silence stretches between you, the weight of the previous night settling in. You would be lying if you said that you didn't enjoy it. You did. You enjoyed it a lot. But you knew the implications of getting close with someone like Lando Norris.

"Look, Iast night was great," finally, Lando speaks. "But my life, my career... it's complicated."

"I understand," you reply, trying to hide the embarrassment on your face, "I mean, we're work colleges after all, it's complicated for me too."

"I'm not saying I regret this," he quickly adds, "I just... I can't offer you something else right now."

You take a deep breath, weighing your options. "So what are you offering?"

"Honestly? I don't know," Lando runs a hand through his tousled hair, "But I'd like to keep seeing you, if you're okay with... not defining things?"

And so begins, your undefined journey with Lando Norris. From that moment, your relationship existed in a grey area. At work, you maintained professionalism, but stolen glances, brushed hands and the way your clothes always ended up in his bedroom floor told a different story.

You know it's not ideal, to have a situationship with Lando Norris. Not when you know you could really fall for him and jeopardize your job. But at the same time, you can't walk away.

You love you job so much, and the fact that you're willing to shut the rest of the world away in order to focus on what you needed to do proved it.

As the Japanese Grand Prix weekend unfolded, you found yourself buried in work. The Suzuka circuit always presented challenges, and you were determined to give the team every advantage possible.

You were so engrossed in your data analysis that you barely noticed Lando enter the temporary office setup. His hand on your shoulder made you jump.

"Christ, Lando! You scared me," you exclaimed, pulling off your headphones.

He grinned, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes. "Come with me," he said, taking your hand and gently pulling you up.

"Lando, I'm in the middle of-"

"It can wait," he insisted, leading you out of the office and towards his driver's room.

Once inside, he closed the door and leaned against it, watching you with an intensity that made your heart race.

"I miss you," he said simply.

You felt a pang of guilt. It had been weeks since you'd had any real time alone together. "I've been busy," you replied, trying to keep your tone light.

"Busy doing what?" Lando raised an eyebrow.

"Coming up with strategies so you can win races, actually," you retorted, a hint of challenge in your voice.

"Oh really? And how's that going?" he stepped closer, a teasing glint in his eye.

"Well, if you'd stop distracting me," you tilted your chin up defiantly, "Maybe I could finish and you'd find out."

Lando chuckled, closing the distance between you. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him. "Maybe I like distracting you," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You shivered involuntarily. "Lando..." you warned, but there was no real resistance in your voice.

"Tell me about these strategies," he said, his lips now trailing along your jawline. "How are you planning to make me faster?"

You struggled to maintain your train of thought as his touch sent sparks through your body. "Well," you managed, "I've been analyzing your cornering speeds and-"

Lando cut you off with a kiss, deep and passionate. When he pulled away, you were both breathless.

"Sorry," he grinned, not looking sorry at all. "You were saying?"

"You're impossible, you know that?"

Before he can even reply, you drag him for another kiss. His fingers tangled in your hair as he pulls you closer, your hands slid under his team shirt, tracing the lean muscles of his back.

When you broke apart, Lando's eyes were dark with desire.

"I thought I was the one who distracted you. Seems like you're just as needy as I am," he smirked, his voice low and teasing.

"Don't flatter yourself, Norris," you felt a blush creep up your cheeks, but matched his playful tone, "I'm just... thorough in my research."

Lando's laugh was warm against your neck as he pressed a kiss there. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"We're not calling it a relationship, aren't we?" you blurted out before you could even think about it.

Lando's expression softened for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. But quickly, his trademark grin returned.

"Well, we're not calling it a relationship," he said, his tone light and teasing, "maybe we should call it a 'performance enhancement program'. You know, for the sake of the team."

You couldn't help but laugh, even as you felt a twinge in your chest at the casual deflection of the relationship topic. "Oh, is that what this is? And here I thought I was just your favorite data analyst."

"Oh, you definitely are," Lando murmured, leaning in for another kiss. "The very best at... analyzing my data."

You rolled your eyes at the innuendo but smiled despite yourself. "As tempting as it is to continue this 'program'," you said, gently pushing him back, "I really do need to get back to work. Those race strategies won't write themselves, you know."

"Fine, fine. Go make me faster on paper. But don't forget, I might need some hands-on analysis later."

"We'll see about that, hotshot," you replied, straightening your clothes and heading for the door. "Focus on your qualifying first."

It's late, well past midnight, when your phone buzzes with a text. You're still up, reviewing data from the day's practice sessions. The message is from Lando, of course.

"Room 507. Now. Please?"

You can't help but smile, imagining the impatience and desire behind those words. You type back:

"Demanding, aren't we? What if I'm busy?"

His reply comes quickly: "Busy with what? I know you're probably still working. Take a break. You deserve it.”

You laugh softly. "I deserve it, huh? Well, when you put it that way..."

"So you're coming?"

You pause, pretending to consider it, even though you both know you're already reaching for your room key. "I suppose I could spare a few minutes."

"There's my girl"

You slip out of your room, heart racing with anticipation. You've done this countless of times before, sneaking out of your hotel room to end up naked in Lando's, but you still felt like a teenage girl every single time.

The hotel corridor is quiet, your footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. You're so focused on reaching Lando's room that you almost collide with someone rounding the corner.

"Whoa, sorry!" You step back, then freeze as you realize it's Oscar, who looks equally surprised.

"Oh, hey. Bit late for a walk, isn't it?"

Your mind races, searching for a plausible excuse. "I, uh... couldn't sleep. Thought I'd grab some ice."

"Ice?" Oscar's brow furrows slightly, "At this hour?"

"Yeah, you know... for my water," you say lamely, cringing at how unconvincing you sound. "Helps me... think better. For work."

"Right," Oscar says slowly, clearly not buying it but too polite to press further. "Well, don't let me keep you from your... ice-enhanced thinking."

You force a laugh. "Thanks. Goodnight, Oscar."

As you hurry past him, you can feel his curious gaze on your back. You silently pray he doesn't mention this encounter to anyone else on the team.

One of the main reasons why you agreed to mess around with Lando without a label was exactly that, the fear of putting your job at risk. You worked hard for it, and you would never forgive yourself if you lost it due to getting in a relationship with one of the drivers.

Which lead you to getting in a goddamn situationship.

Finally reaching room 507, you knock softly. Lando opens the door almost immediately, pulling you inside with a grin.

"Took you long enough," he teases, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"Yeah, well, I just had to convince your teammate that I'm wandering the halls at 1 AM in search of ice. So thanks for that," you retort, but there's no real annoyance in your voice.

"You ran into Oscar?" Lando's eyes widen, "What did you tell him?"

"That I needed ice. For thinking."

"Ice for thinking?" he bursts out laughing. "That's the best you could come up with?"

"Hey, you try coming up with a believable excuse on the spot!" you protest, swatting his arm playfully.

"Fair enough," Lando concedes, still chuckling. "Now, where were we? I believe you were going to help me with some... performance analysis?"

As Lando leans in, your lips meet in a passionate kiss. The tension that's been building all day finally releases as you melt into his embrace. His hands roam your body, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

"Oh really?" you tease, running your fingers through his hair. "I thought you were supposed to be focusing on your lap times."

"Who says I can't do both?"

Lando's lips find your neck, trailing kisses along your jawline. You tilt your head back, a soft sigh escaping your lips. Your hands slide under his t-shirt, tracing his sides.

He guides you towards the bed, your bodies pressed close together. As the back of your knees hit the mattress, you fall back, pulling Lando with you. He hovers over you, his weight supported on his forearms.

"You're beautiful," he whispers, his eyes roaming your face.

You reach up to cup his cheek, drawing him down for another kiss. This one is slower, deeper, filled with unspoken emotions.

As things heat up, clothes start to come off. Lando's shirt is the first to go, followed quickly by yours. Skin meets skin, and the world narrows down to just the two of you, lost in each other's touch.

The night stretches on, filled with whispered words, soft moans, and the rustle of sheets. You can't help but think that this undefined thing with Lando is getting more complicated by the day but you decide that's a problem for future you to worry about.

After an exhausting triple header across three different countries, you finally have a well-deserved two-week break.

The past few races have been grueling, with long nights analyzing data and strategizing for each track. While you love your job, the intense schedule has left you drained. Now back home, you decide it's time to unwind and have some fun with your friends.

It's Friday evening, and you're getting ready for a girls' night out. Usually, you’d spend your Friday with Lando, but this time you were dying for a chance to let loose, dance with your friends and forget about work for a while. 

And maybe, forget about your little situationship, too.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, they say. Because as if on cue your phone starts buzzing with an incoming FaceTime call. Lando's name flashes on the screen.

You answer, propping the phone up on your dresser. "Hey, Lan," you greet him while still doing your makeup.

"Hey, you," he replies, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in your appearance. "Wow, you look hot. Are you going somewhere?"

You nod, turning back to the mirror to continue applying your eyeshadow. "Yep, heading out tonight. It's been ages since I've had a proper night out."

"Oh," Lando says, his tone curious. "Like, out out? Are you... um, going on a date or something?"

You can't help but smirk a little at his barely concealed interest. "Why, Lando Norris, are you fishing for information?" you tease. "I mean, I could be going on a date. We're not exclusive, after all."

Lando's expression falters for a moment before he catches himself, forcing a casual laugh. "No, no, of course not. I was just, you know, curious. Making conversation and all that."

You watch him in the phone screen, noticing how he's trying to play it cool but failing miserably. His jaw is tense, and he's fidgeting more than usual.

Taking pity on him, you decide to put him out of his misery. "Relax, Lando. It's just girls' night. After that triple header, I need to blow off some steam with my friends."

"Oh, right. Cool, cool," the relief on his face is palpable, "That sounds fun."

"Were you jealous, Norris?" you raise an eyebrow at him.

"Me? Jealous? Nah," he scoffs, but the slight blush creeping up his neck betrays him. "I mean, like you said, we're not... you know."

"Exclusive," you finish for him, feeling a familiar twinge in your chest at the word.

"Right," Lando nods, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Anyway, I hope you have a great time tonight. You deserve it after all the hard work these past few weeks."

"Thanks, Lan. I plan to."

"Call me if you need me to pick you up," Lando assures, making you smile softly. Maybe he actually cares about you, you think.

"Don't worry, I can handle myself."

Just as Lando was expecting, you call him around 2 AM, asking if he could come pick you up from the club.

He doesn’t think twice before he’s getting up, putting a hoodie on and grabbing his keys to leave the house.

His car pulls up outside the club about 15 minutes later. You make your way to the vehicle, sliding into the passenger seat with a giggle.

"Thanks for coming," you say, leaning towards him with a grin.

“Of course, love,” Lando looks you over, a playful smirk on his face. "Looks like someone had fun tonight."

“I did, but I missed you,” you say as he starts driving, you’re not sure if he’ll take you to your place or his, but you don’t want to sleep without him, "Oh! I have to tell you something,"

"Well do tell," he encourages, glancing at you with interest.

"There was this guy at the club," you begin, noticing how Lando's eyebrow quirks up. "He was really handsome, and he was flirting with me."

"Was he now?" Lando asks, his tone light but with an undercurrent of something else.

"Yup," you say, popping the 'p' sound. "I pushed him away. Because even though you might not be my boyfriend, I only want you. No one else."

Lando's lips curl into a pleased smile. "Is that so?" he says, his voice low and teasing. "And here I thought I was just your favorite Uber driver."

You burst into laughter, the sound filling the car. Then, feeling bold, you place your hand on his thigh. "Will you sleep with me tonight?"

Lando doesn't even flinch. Instead, he shoots you a mischievous look. "Just like that? Usually, I at least buy you dinner first."

You groan, moving your hand from his thigh but he quickly catches it and kisses your palm before resting it there again, “Of course I’ll stay with you, baby.”

As you arrive home, Lando helps you inside, his arm steady around your waist. You stumble a bit, giggling as you lean into him.

"Careful there," he says, "Let's get you sorted, shall we?"

He guides you to the kitchen, one hand on the small of your back. You hop onto a barstool, watching as he moves around your kitchen with surprising familiarity.

"Let's get some water in you," he says, filling a large glass. "And maybe some food too. When's the last time you ate?"

You scrunch your nose, trying to remember. "Um... before we went out? I think?"

Lando shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. "No wonder you're in this state. Drink this," he hands you the water, "and I'll make you a sandwich."

You sip the water obediently, watching him as he rummages through your fridge. "You don't have to do all this, you know," you say softly.

"I want to," he looks up at you, his eyes soft. "Let me take care of you, yeah?"

As you finish your water, he slides a plate with a sandwich in front of you. "Eat up, pretty girl. It'll help sober you up."

You take a bite, suddenly realizing how hungry you are. As you eat, Lando leans against the counter, watching you with amusement and something else you can't quite name.

"So," he says casually, "tell me about this handsome guy at the club."

You swallow your bite, looking up at him. "Jealous, Norris?"

"Just curious," he shrugs, a smirk playing at his lips. "You said you pushed him away?"

You nod, setting down the sandwich. "I did. He was nice, but... he wasn't you."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with implication. Lando's eyes sparkle, but he doesn't say anything.

You slide off the barstool and step closer to him. Your hands find his chest and you lean in, pressing your lips to his. He kisses back, his hands settling on your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss deepens, and you feel a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

But then Lando pulls away gently, resting his forehead against yours. "Let's go to sleep, pretty girl," he says, his voice low and a bit rough. "You need rest."

You pout, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "But I want you," you whisper, leaning in so your lips are inches from his.

"And you can have me," he says softly, cupping your face with one hand. "But right now we're going to sleep."

You start to protest, but he silences you with a gentle kiss on the forehead. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

As he leads you to the bedroom, Lando's mind is in turmoil. He's acutely aware of the growing feelings he has for you - feelings that go far beyond the casual arrangement you've had so far. The way his heart races when you're near, the constant urge to make you smile, the fierce protectiveness he feels - it all points to something deeper, that both thrills and terrifies him.

But with these feelings comes a familiar fear. Commitment has always been hard for him. The demands of his career, the pressure of the public eye, the fear of letting someone down - they all contribute to his hesitation. And yet, as he looks at you now, soft and vulnerable in his arms, he can't help but wonder if you might be worth the risk.

In the bedroom, he helps you change into comfortable sleepwear. As you both lay down, you curl into his side, your head on his chest. The steady beat of his heart is soothing, and you feel yourself starting to drift off.

"Lando?" you ask, your voice sleepy.

"Hmm?" His hand is running through your hair, the gesture comforting.

"Do you push away the beautiful girls that come up to flirt with you? Like I did tonight?"

You feel his chest rise with a deep breath. There's a pause before he answers, "I do," he says softly. "There's only one girl I'm interested in."

You lift your head slightly, trying to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "Really? Who's that?"

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "I think you know, pretty girl."

You're fighting sleep now, but you're determined to get an answer. "Well, I don't believe you," you mumble, the words slurring together. "Prove it."

Lando opens his mouth to reply, but he realizes you're already asleep, your breathing evening out. He looks down at you, a fond smile on his face. Pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, he whispers, "Maybe I'll show you soon."

The Hungarian Grand Prix has just concluded, and the atmosphere in the McLaren garage is torn between elation and tension.

Oscar has claimed his first Formula 1 victory, a monumental achievement for him and the team. However, the circumstances of his win have left a bitter taste in Lando's mouth, casting a shadow over what should have been a moment of pure celebration for everyone.

You're standing off to the side, your mind racing. The strategy call wasn't yours directly, but as part of the team, you can't help feeling partly responsible for the decision that affected both drivers.

As Lando storms into the garage, his face like thunder, you brace yourself for the fallout. His usual easy-going demeanor is nowhere to be seen, replaced by a storm of anger and disappointment. You've seen Lando upset before, but this felt different.

"Lando," you start, reaching out to him, your voice soft and tentative.

"Save it," he snaps, his blue eyes flashing with anger as he brushes past you. The coldness in his voice makes you flinch. "I don't want to hear it. Not from you, not from anyone."

For the rest of the day, Lando avoids you like the plague. You take separate flights home so you don't really see him or hear from him after you left the circuit.

Over the next few days, you try reaching out via text, each message more desperate than the last. But they go unanswered, each 'read' receipt another twist of the knife. This isn't like Lando, to shut everyone out so completely. You can't help but wonder if this is about more than just the race.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you decide to go to his place. It's a risky move, you know, but the thought of leaving things like this is unbearable. Using the spare key he gave you months ago - a gesture that had felt so significant at the time - you let yourself in.

The apartment is quiet, but not empty. You can feel his presence, sense the tension in the air.

"Lando?" you call out, your voice echoing slightly in the silent space.

You hear movement from his bedroom, and soon enough he emerges, dressed to go out, and freezes when he sees you. His expression hardens, the warmth you're used to seeing in his eyes replaced by a cold, distant look. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk, Lando," you say, your voice firm despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. "You can't just shut me out like this. It's not fair, and it's not right."

"I don't have time for this right now," Lando's jaw clenches, his gaze darting away from yours, "I'm heading out."

"Of course you are," you say, unable to keep the bitterness from your voice. "Because going out and partying is so much easier than facing your problems, isn't it?"

His eyes narrow, a spark of anger igniting, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're running away," you say, taking a step closer. "From the race, from the team, from me. We're all just trying to do our best, Lando. The team made a call, and it worked out for the best. Why can't you see that?"

"Because it wasn't the best for me!" Lando explodes, his composure finally cracking. "Do you have any idea what it's like? To have victory in your grasp and then have it taken away? To be told that you're not good enough, that your teammate is the better choice?"

"That's not what happened, and you know it," you argue back, your own frustration bubbling over. "It was a strategic decision, not a judgment on your abilities. You're letting your ego cloud your judgment."

"My ego?" Lando's laugh is harsh and humorless, "That's rich, coming from someone who's never had to make these kinds of sacrifices."

The words hang in the air between you, sharp and cutting. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions inside you. You's never had an argument like this before.

"Fine," you say finally, your voice quiet but firm. "Go out if that's what you want. But don't call me when you're feeling lonely later tonight. I'm not just some convenient comfort for when you decide you need me."

Something flashes in Lando's eyes – hurt, perhaps, or regret. But it's quickly replaced by a hardness that makes your heart ache.

"Don't worry," he retorts, his voice cold. "I can always find another girl to keep me company. I don't need you for that."

The words hit you like a physical blow, and you take an involuntary step back. The undefined nature of your relationship, once thrilling in its potential, now feels like a weapon being used against you.

"Is that what this is to you?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just a convenient arrangement? Someone to warm your bed when you can't find anyone else?"

Lando's expression softens for a moment, regret flickering across his features. But he doesn't take back his words. Instead, he turns away, his hand on the front door.

"You know your way out." And with that, he's out of the door.

A week later, Formula 1 has moved to the iconic Spa-Francorchamps circuit in Belgium. The air is thick with anticipation - not just for the upcoming race, but for the looming summer break that follows.

You've thrown yourself into your work, burying your emotions under a mountain of data analysis and strategy planning. The tension between you and Lando hasn't gone unnoticed by the team, but thankfully, everyone's too focused on the upcoming race to pry.

You haven't spoke to Lando after your argument at his place, and you blocked his number, leaving him unable to contact you.

As you make your way through the paddock, your arms full of printouts and your mind racing with tire degradation calculations, you spot a familiar figure approaching. Lando, clad in his McLaren team shirt, is walking purposefully in your direction. Your heart rate spikes, and you quickly duck into a nearby hospitality area, pretending to be engrossed in conversation with a group of engineers.

This dance continues throughout the day. Lando tries to catch your eye during the team briefing, but you keep your gaze fixed on your tablet. He lingers near your station in the garage, but you find urgent errands that take you elsewhere. It's exhausting, this game of cat and mouse, but you're not ready to face him - not yet.

As the day winds down, you're making your final rounds, double-checking that everything is set for tomorrow's practice sessions. The paddock is quieter now, most team members having retired for the evening.

You're so focused on your checklist that you don't notice the approaching footsteps until it's too late.

"We need to talk," Lando's voice, firm and tinged with frustration, breaks the silence.

You spin around and Lando stands before you, his blue eyes intense and determined. He's changed out of his team shirt into a simple t-shirt and jeans, his hair slightly tousled as if he's been running his hands through it.

"Lando, I-" you begin, but he cuts you off.

"No, don't give me another excuse," he says, stepping closer. "We've been dancing around each other all day. Enough is enough."

Before you can protest, he gently but firmly takes your arm and starts guiding you towards the McLaren motorhome. You could resist, but something in his tone, a note of desperation perhaps, makes you comply.

The motorhome is quiet and dimly lit as Lando leads you inside and up to the second level where the drivers have their private areas. He ushers you into his room, closing the door behind you.

The space is unmistakably Lando's - a gaming setup in one corner, a few personal photos tacked to a board, his race suit hanging neatly on a hook. The familiarity of it all makes your heart ache.

Lando runs a hand through his hair, pacing for a moment before turning to face you.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out, the words tumbling from his lips as if he's afraid he'll lose his nerve if he doesn't say them immediately. "I'm so sorry for how I acted, for what I said. It was awful, and you didn't deserve any of it."

You stand there, arms crossed, trying to maintain your composure even as a lot of emotions overwhelm you. "You were an asshole, Lando," you say quietly.

"I know," he nods, "I was angry and frustrated, but that's no excuse. I took it out on you when you were just trying to help." He takes a step closer, his eyes pleading. "I've been miserable this past week. I missed you so much, and the thought that I might have ruined everything between us… it's been killing me."

Despite your best efforts to stay strong, you feel your resolve weakening. You're weak when it comes to him, and you're pretty sure he knows it.

"I missed you too," you admit softly. "But Lando, we can't keep doing this. We can't just pretend everything's fine and then lash out at each other when things get tough."

"I know, I know," Lando nods eagerly. "I want to do better. I want to be better," he pauses for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting your eyes again. "And I didn't go home with anyone that night, by the way,"

You furrow your brow, momentarily confused by the seemingly random statement. Then, like a flash, you remember his cruel words from that night in his house.

As you laid in bed the night of the argument, you couldn't help but wonder if Lando had gone home with someone else, and if that was how it worked when you were not there.

And it hurt more that you ever thought possible.

"Oh," you respond, aiming for nonchalance but not quite hitting the mark. "That's… I mean, you didn't have to tell me that. It's not like we're…"

You trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence. What are you, exactly?

Lando takes a step closer, his blue eyes intense as they lock with yours. "I know I don't have to tell you," he says, his voice low and earnest. "But I want you to know. I only want you to keep me company, not anyone else."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. But almost immediately, a more cynical part of your mind chimes in. He wants you, but he doesn't want to be in a relationship with you. He wants the comfort, the intimacy, but not the commitment.

"Lando, I…" you begin, but the words catch in your throat. You want to ask for clarification, to define what this is between you, but fear holds you back.

Lando seems to sense your inner turmoil. He reaches out, gently taking your hand in his. "I know I messed up," he says softly. "And I know things between us are… complicated. But I mean what I said. You're the only one I want."

You look down at your joined hands, then back up at Lando's face. Despite despite the voice in your head warning you to be careful, you feel yourself giving in. The pull is too strong, the desire to be with him overpowering your rational mind.

"Okay," you whisper, squeezing his hand.

Lando's face breaks into a relieved smile, his eyes lighting up. He pulls you into another embrace, holding you close. You allow yourself to sink into his warmth, pushing your doubts to the back of your mind for now.

When you finally pull apart, Lando's expression is soft, almost reverent. "Are we good?" he asks, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

You take a deep breath, considering the question. Are you good? There's still so much left unsaid, so many questions unanswered. But looking at Lando, feeling the comfort of his presence, you can't bring yourself to disrupt this moment of peace between you.

"Yes," you say, managing a small smile. "We're good."

The early morning sunlight filters through the curtains of Lando's Monaco apartment. You stir slowly, consciousness creeping in as you become aware of the warm body next to you. Opening your eyes, you're greeted by the sight of Lando's peaceful sleeping face, his features relaxed and vulnerable in a way they rarely are when he's awake.

It's been two weeks since your conversation in the motorhome at Spa, and true to form, you and Lando had fallen back into your familiar rhythm without missing a beat. The race weekend had gone well, with both McLarens finishing in the points, and you'd flown to Monaco with Lando for the first part of the summer break without a second thought.

As you watch Lando sleep, you can't help but feel that being here with him feels right in a way that's hard to describe. You know that this thing between you, whatever it is, is a ticking time bomb if you don't define it soon. But every time you think about approaching the subject, fear holds you back.

So you've chosen to ignore it, to live in this blissful bubble for as long as you can. You tell yourself that you'll deal with it later, after the summer break, after the next race, after the season ends. There's always a reason to put it off.

Lando begins to stir, his eyelids fluttering open. When his gaze focuses on you, a slow, sleepy smile spreads across his face. "Morning, beautiful," he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," you reply softly, unable to help the smile that mirrors his.

Lando reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek as he leans in for a kiss. It starts soft and sweet, but quickly deepens as he pulls you closer. His other hand trails down your side, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You sigh into the kiss, your own hands exploring the familiar planes of his chest and back.

As things start to heat up, Lando rolls you onto your back, hovering over you. His lips leave yours to trail kisses along your jaw and down your neck. You arch into him, your fingers tangling in his hair.

Just as things are about to progress further, there's a sharp knock at the front door.

"Ignore it," Lando whispers, leaning in to capture your lips again.

You lose yourself in the kiss for a moment before another, more insistent knock breaks through. Lando groans in frustration, dropping his forehead to your shoulder.

"I should probably see who that is," he sighs, reluctantly pulling away.

You watch as he gets out of bed, admiring the view as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants before heading downstairs.

Curious about who could be visiting so early, you decide to follow after a few minutes. You grab Lando's discarded t-shirt from the night before, pulling it on. It falls to mid-thigh, long enough to be decent for a quick peek downstairs.

As you descend the stairs, you hear familiar voices from the entryway. Your heart drops as you recognize the second voice - it's Max Verstappen. Panic sets in as you realize the compromising position you're in, but it's too late. You've already rounded the corner, coming face to face with both drivers.

For a moment, everything freezes. You stand there, a deer caught in headlights, wearing nothing but Lando's shirt. Max's eyes widen in surprise, darting between you and Lando. Lando looks equally shocked, clearly not expecting you to come downstairs.

Mortified, you turn on your heel and bolt back upstairs, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. As you retreat, you hear Max's voice, tinged with amusement and surprise.

"Dude, isn't that one of your strategists?"

You don't hear Lando's response as you shut the bedroom door behind you. This is exactly the kind of situation you'd been afraid of, the reason why leaving things undefined was so dangerous.

Downstairs, the conversation continues.

"Yeah, she is," Lando admits, running a hand through his hair nervously.

"Wow, okay," Max lets out a low whistle, "So… how long has this been going on? Please tell me it's recent and not, like, during the season or something."

Lando hesitates for a moment before answering. "It's… been a while actually. Over a year."

"A YEAR?!" Max exclaims, his voice rising in disbelief. "Lando, mate, are you serious? You've been hooking up with a team member for over a year and nobody knew?"

"It's not just hooking up," Lando defends, though his voice lacks conviction. "It's… complicated."

"Complicated?" Max raises an eyebrow, "Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen if you ask me. Does the team know?"

"No," Lando shakes his head, "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything. It's not affecting our work, so no one needs to know."

"Hey, not my circus, not my monkeys," Max holds up his hands in surrender, "But seriously, Lando, be careful. This kind of thing can blow up in your face if you're not careful."

They exchange a few more words before Max takes his leave, reminding Lando about their plans for later in the week. As soon as the door closes behind Max, Lando bounds up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He finds you in the bedroom, already dressed in own clothes. You're pacing nervously, chewing on your bottom lip - a habit he knows you fall into when you're anxious.

"Hey," he says softly, approaching you cautiously. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't expect Max to show up unannounced."

You stop pacing, turning to face him. "It's fine," you say, but your voice is tight. "I should go."

"What? No, please don't go," Lando's face falls, "Max won't say anything, I promise. He may be a bit of a prat sometimes, but he can keep a secret."

"I'll just have a walk around the harbor, I'll be back," you say as you grab your phone from the nightstand.

"But why?" Lando asks, a note of panic creeping into his voice. "Is this because Max saw you? I swear, it's not a big deal."

"I'll meet you for lunch, okay? you say softly, avoiding Lando's gaze.

"Okay," he replies simply, not pushing for more.

Without further conversation, you gather your belongings and head for the door. Feeling more conflicted than ever before.

After Max caught you together in Monaco, you stayed a few more days with Lando before reluctantly going back home, and he took on a trip with his family. You don't really see him for the rest of the summer break, until he showed up at your place two weeks before it was time to get back to work.

"So," Lando says as you laid in bed, "ready to go back to being all professional and proper soon, Ms. Strategist?"

"Oh, I'm always professional, Norris. It's you who can't keep your eyes off me during briefings."

"Me? Lando gasps in mock offense, "I'll have you know I'm the picture of focus and concentration."

"Sure," you drawl, "That's why you kept 'accidentally' brushing against me in the garage."

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Can you blame me? You're irresistible when you're talking about tire strategies."

You laugh, pushing him away playfully, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at his proximity. "Smooth talker. Is that how you charm all the girls?"

"Nah," he grins, pulling you back towards him. "Just the brilliant, beautiful ones who can calculate pit stop windows in their sleep."

Your breath catches as he nuzzles your neck, his stubble tickling your skin. For a moment, you consider bringing up the conversation you've been avoiding all summer. "Lando," you murmur, "we should probably talk about-"

He silences you with a kiss, deep and passionate. "Or," he says, his eyes dark with desire, "we could make the most of our night."

You know you should resist, that you should have that conversation you've been avoiding. But as Lando's hands start to wander, you find your resolve weakening, as always.

You don't really hear from Lando after that night. He says goodbye after breakfast the following day, and then it's radio silence.

You try not to think too much of it, the break is coming to an end and he has responsibilities and work to go, it's not personal, you try to convince yourself.

But your mind can't help but wander. Is he with someone else? Is he avoiding you? Did you make him upset and you failed to notice?

But you don't dare to bring it up to him. He's not your boyfriend, after all.

The transition back to work after the summer break is jarring. The McLaren Technology Centre buzzes with activity as everyone prepares for the upcoming race. You're immediately swept up in meetings, data analysis, and strategy sessions. Despite working in the same building, you and Lando barely cross paths for days. The few times you do see him from afar, he's always surrounded by engineers or caught up in simulator work.

Finally, the team arrives at Zandvoort Circuit for the Dutch Grand Prix. The atmosphere of the paddock envelops you as you make your way to the McLaren garage, your arms full of strategy documents and your mind racing with last-minute considerations for the race.

As you approach, you spot Lando and Oscar chatting animatedly near the entrance. Your heart does a little flip at the sight of Lando, and you can't help but smile. You've missed him more than you care to admit.

"Morning, boys," you call out, aiming for a casual tone as you near them.

They both turn, matching grins spreading across their faces. "Hey there, stranger," Lando says, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief that never fails to make your stomach flutter.

Oscar, ever the gentleman, moves to take some of the papers from your arms. "Let me help you with those. How was your break?"

You smile gratefully, handing him a stack of documents. "Thanks, Oscar. It was lovely, very relaxing. How about yours?"

As Oscar launches into a story about his time back home in Australia and his trip with his girlfriend, you can't help but steal glances at Lando.

He looks good - tanned and relaxed, with a hint of stubble that you know from experience feels delightfully rough against your skin. You quickly push that thought aside, reminding yourself of where you are.

"Oh, that reminds me," Oscar says suddenly, turning to Lando with a sly grin. "How did that lunch go the other day? With Emma?"

You feel your body tense involuntarily. Lunch? Emma? Who's Emma?

Lando's eyes widen slightly, and he shoots a quick glance your way before looking back at Oscar. "Oh, uh, it was fine. Just a casual thing, you know."

But Oscar, oblivious to the sudden tension, presses on. "Come on, mate, don't be modest. Emma told Lily it went really well. Said you two really hit it off."

You feel as if all the air has been sucked out of your lungs. The documents in your arms suddenly feel impossibly heavy.

Lando runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you've come to recognize. "It wasn't… I mean, it was just lunch, Oscar. Don't make a big deal out of it."

"I'm just saying," Oscar continues, still grinning, "she seems really into you. Might be worth giving it a shot, yeah? It's about time you settled down with someone nice."

You can't bear to hear any more. "I should get these to the engineers," you mutter, already turning away. "See you guys later."

As you walk away, you hear Lando call out your name, but you don't stop. You can't stop. If you stop, you might fall apart right there in the middle of the paddock.

You make it to the back of the garage before you hear rapid footsteps behind you. "Hey, wait up," Lando's voice comes from behind you, slightly out of breath.

You turn slowly, trying to school your features into a neutral expression. "What is it, Lando? I'm kind of busy."

He looks at you, his eyes searching your face. "About what Oscar said… it's not what you think."

"What do I think, Lando?" you raise an eyebrow, fighting to keep your voice steady. "We never defined what this is, remember? You're free to have lunch with whoever you want."

"It was just a favor for Oscar," Lando steps closer, lowering his voice. "His girlfriend's friend is new in town, and they asked if I'd show her around. That's all it was, I swear."

You want to believe him. God, how you want to believe him. But the memory of those blissful days during the summer break, followed by days of silence and now this… it's too much.

"Look, Lando," you say, hating how your voice wavers slightly, "we both knew this couldn't last. We have jobs to do, careers to think about. Maybe… maybe this is for the best."

"What? No, that's not…" Lando starts, reaching for your arm, but you step back.

"I really need to get these to the engineers," you say, gesturing with the documents still clutched to your chest like a shield. "We should both focus on the race this weekend. That's what we're here for, right?"

Without waiting for a response, you turn and walk away, your vision blurring slightly as you blink back tears. You can feel Lando's gaze boring into your back, but you don't turn around. You can't.

As you round the corner, out of sight from the main garage, you lean against the wall for a moment, taking deep breaths to compose yourself. The rational part of your brain knows you're overreacting, that you should hear Lando out. But the emotional part, the part that's been dreading this moment since this situationship began, is in full fight or flight mode.

With one final deep breath, you push off the wall and head towards the engineering room, burying your personal turmoil beneath layers of race strategy and tire calculations. Lando Norris was consuming every part of you.

The tension between you and Lando remains palpable throughout the race weekend. You both maintain focused on your jobs, but there's a hint that something is not right with you.

The truth is, your situation with Lando has been consuming you for weeks now. What started as a casual arrangement has grown into something much deeper, at least for you.

The more time you spend with Lando, the harder you fall for him. And it's terrifying. Being casual isn't enough anymore; it hasn't been for a while. You've reached a point where you don't think you can continue this way. The pain of loving him in secret, of always being on the edge of something more but never quite reaching it, is becoming unbearable. You need clarity, commitment - or you need to walk away before you lose yourself completely.

To make matters more complicated, Lando wins the race at Zandvoort, securing his second victory of the season—one he had been craving since Miami. Your heart breaks even more as you realize you can't even celebrate this moment with him properly. Watching him on the podium, champagne in hand and pure joy radiating from his face, you feel like crying right there.

You want to run to him, throw yourself into his arms and celebrate with him, tell him how proud you feel and how much he deserves this. But you can't, not until whatever is going on between you gets sorted out.

It's not until after the race, when the celebrations cool down and the team begins to pack up, that Lando finally corners you in a quiet moment.

"Can we talk?" he asks, his voice low and urgent. "Please?"

You hesitate, glancing around the garage. Most of the team is busy with post-race duties, paying you no attention. With a sigh, you nod and follow Lando to a more secluded area behind the motorhome.

"First of all, congratulations on the win. You really deserve it," you say as soon as you're alone, trying to keep your voice steady.

Lando gives you a bittersweet smile. "Thanks, but that's not what occupies my mind right now," he replies, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your heart race, "I don't understand what happened back there. Why won't you believe me about Oscar's friend?"

You cross your arms, a defensive posture you're all too aware of. "It's not just about her, Lando. It's… everything."

"What do you mean, everything?" he asks, brow furrowed.

"I mean this whole situation," you take a deep breath, trying to organize your thoughts, "I thought I could handle it, but…"

"But what?" Lando steps closer, his voice softening, "Talk to me, please."

"But it's getting harder," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Every time I see you with someone else, every time we have to pretend there's nothing between us, it hurts a little more."

Lando reaches for your hand, and this time you don't pull away. "You're the only one I want," he says earnestly. "You have to know that."

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. "You always say that, Lando. But you still won't fully commit to me. It's hard to believe it when you won't put a label on us, when you go out with other women-"

"That wasn't a date," Lando interrupts, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "I told you, it was just a favor for Oscar."

"I know, I know," you say, pulling your hand away and running it through your hair. "But that's not the point. The point is, I don't know where I stand with you. We've been doing this dance for over a year now, and I still don't know what we are to each other."

"I thought you were okay with this. With us staying without a label. You agreed to keep things casual."

"I was okay with it," you turn away, blinking back tears. "But it's not enough anymore. At least, not for me."

There's a long moment of silence. When you turn back, Lando is staring at the ground, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"What are you saying?" he asks finally, his voice small.

"I'm saying that I can't do this anymore, Lando," you say firmly, "I want more. I need more."

"We agreed it was too complicted," Lando looks up at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable, "That we couldn't be in a relationship."

"I know what we agreed," you say, your voice cracking slightly. "But feelings change. People change. I've changed, Lando. And I can't keep putting my heart on hold for a someday that might never come."

Lando steps forward, reaching for you again. "Please, don't do this. We can figure it out. I'll try to be more open about us. We can tell our friends."

You shake your head, cutting him off. "It's not just about telling people, Lando. It's about commitment. It's about knowing that when I go home at night, I'm not just someone in your bed. It's about building a future together, not just living for the moment."

"I don't know if I can give you that. Not right now," Lando's face falls. "My career is at a great point, and-"

"And mine isn't?" you interrupt, a flash of anger cutting through your sadness. "Do you think I'm not risking just as much as you are? If not more? But I'm willing to take that risk because what we have… what we could have… it's worth it to me."

You watch as emotions play across Lando's face - confusion, fear, longing. Finally, he speaks, his voice barely audible. "I don't want to lose you."

Your heart aches, but you stand your ground. "Then give me a reason to stay, Lando. Show me that I'm more than just a convenient distraction between races."

Lando opens his mouth to respond, but you hold up a hand to stop him. "Don't answer now. Think about it. Really think about what you want. Because I can't keep going on like this. It's not fair to either of us."

With that, you turn and walk away, leaving Lando standing alone behind the motorhome. As you make your way back to the garage, you can feel the weight of unshed tears burning behind your eyes. But you don't let them fall. Not here, not now.

You've laid your cards on the table. Now it's up to Lando to decide what he's willing to do with them.

The Monza race weekend flies by in a whirlwind of noise and action. You keep yourself busy, diving deep into numbers and race plans to avoid thinking about your feelings. It's easier to focus on tire strategies and pit stop timings than to deal with the ache in your chest every time you see Lando.

When you do have to talk to Lando, you both act normal and professional. But there's a tension in the air between you, like a tight rubber band ready to snap. You catch others giving you worried looks sometimes, and it makes you feel even more on edge.

Lando has not given you any kind of response to your talk in Zandvoort, and it's been just a week, but you feel like you know his answer. He's not willing to give you what you ask for. And it hurts, more than you can say.

As Sunday night gets closer, whispers of Carlos Sainz's birthday celebration begin to circulate through the paddock. You know Lando will definitely go - he and Carlos are really close friends. A small part of you wishes you could go too. You imagine laughing with your coworkers, having a drink, and forgetting about all the drama for a while.

But then you think about seeing Lando there. You picture having to smile and act like everything's fine when it's not. The thought of making awkward small talk with him, or worse, seeing him chatting happily with someone else, makes your stomach churn. It feels like too much to handle right now.

In the end, the thought of facing Lando and all those people is just too much. You decide to skip the party, even though a part of you feels guilty and a bit left out. But the relief you feel at making this decision tells you it's the right choice for now.

As the sun begins to set after the race and everyone gets ready for the party, you retreat to your hotel room. You order room service – a plate of pasta that you barely touch – and settle in for a quiet evening alone. You try to lose yourself in a book, but the words blur on the page, your mind constantly wandering to thoughts of Lando. Is he at the party now? Is he having fun? Is he thinking of you at all?

Meanwhile, at Carlos' birthday celebration, Lando finds himself struggling to enjoy the party. He mingles half-heartedly, his laugh a beat too late, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He can't help but scan the room periodically, hoping against hope that you might have changed your mind and decided to come.

Max, observant as ever and knowing his friend too well, notices Lando's distraction and pulls him aside.

"You alright, mate?" Max asks, "You look like you'd rather be anywhere but here."

Lando sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Is it that obvious?"

Max nods, taking a sip of his drink. "Want to talk about it?"

For a moment, Lando considers brushing it off, but the weight of the past week suddenly feels too heavy to bear alone. "It's about her," he admits quietly.

Max doesn't need to ask who 'her' is. By now he knows the situation his friend is caught up in, "Trouble in paradise?" he asks.

"More like paradise lost," Lando lets out a humorless laugh, "I think I really messed up, Max. I was so worried about keeping things casual, about not complicating our working relationship, that I didn't realize how fucked up the whole thing was."

"So what are you going to do about it?" Max asks.

Lando looks around the room, at the laughing faces and clinking glasses, and suddenly feels very out of place. "I don't know. I just know I can't be here right now. Not when things are like this between us."

"Then go," he says simply. "Go find her. Talk to her. Life's too short for regrets, especially in our line of work."

Lando looks at Max, a hint of his usual playful smile returning despite the situation. "When did you become so wise, Verstappen? Did all those championship trophies finally knock some sense into you?"

"Someone has to be the voice of reason around here," Max rolls his eyes, but there's a fond smile on his face, "Now go on, get out of here before Carlos finds you and makes you stay, I'll distract him."

"Thanks, Max. I owe you one," Lando chuckles, patting his back.

"You owe me several, but who's counting?" Max grins, clapping Lando on the shoulder. "Now go get your girl."

With a newfound sense of purpose, Lando slips out of the party. His heart pounds as he makes his way to your hotel, not even sure if you would want to talk to him.

When he's finally standing in front of you door, he knocks softly, hope and fear warring in his chest as he waits for you to answer.

You're curled up on the bed, still trying and failing to focus on your book, when you hear the knock. Confused, you glance at the clock - it's barely past 10 PM. The party should still be in full swing. Who could be at your door?

As you pad over to the door and peer through the peephole, your breath catches in your throat. It's Lando, looking slightly disheveled, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

You hesitate, your hand on the doorknob. Part of you wants to fling the door open and throw yourself into his arms. But another part, the part that's been hurt and confused for the past week, holds you back.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you slowly open the door, trying to keep your expression neutral despite the emotions inside you.

"Lando?" you say, trying to sound calm even though your heart is racing. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be at Carlos' party."

Lando looks a bit messy, like he rushed over. He shifts from foot to foot, looking nervous. "I was," he says. "But I couldn't stay. Not when you weren't there."

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms. You're trying to protect yourself, even though you want to believe him. "You left your best friend's birthday party early because of me?"

Lando nods, looking right at you. His eyes are so intense it makes your heart beat even faster. "Can I come in? I think we need to talk."

You hesitate for a moment. You're scared of getting hurt again, but you also really want to hear what he has to say, even if it breaks your heart. Finally, you step back and let him in.

As he passes by, you catch a whiff of his cologne mixed with the faint scent of the paddock - a combination that's uniquely Lando and achingly familiar.

Lando walks into the room, running a hand through his hair. "I've been doing a lot of thinking this past week," he begins, turning to face you. "About us."

Your heart starts to race, but you force yourself to remain calm. "And?" you prompt, when he doesn't continue.

"And you were right. About everything," Lando takes a deep breath, "I've been so focused on not complicating things, that I didn't realize how much I was hurting you.”

"Lando, I-"

"Please, let me finish," Lando interrupts you softly, "The truth is, I've been scared. Terrified, actually. Of commitment, of letting someone in completely, of potentially damaging our careers if things went wrong. But this past week without you… it's been hell", he takes a step closer to you, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I've dated before, had relationships, but nothing has ever felt like this. What we have… it's different. Special. And I've been an idiot for not seeing it sooner."

Your breath catches in your throat as Lando continues, his words coming faster now, as if he's afraid he'll lose his nerve if he doesn't get them all out. "I kept telling myself that keeping things casual was the smart thing to do. That it was protecting both of us. But all I've done is push you away and make you doubt how much you mean to me."

He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you've seen him do countless times when he's nervous or frustrated. "The truth is, I'm crazy about you. I think about you all the time. When something good happens, you're the first person I want to tell. When something goes wrong, you're the one I want to turn to. And it scares the hell out of me because I've never felt this way about anyone before."

Your heart is pounding so hard you're sure Lando must be able to hear it. You want to speak, to tell him how much his words mean to you, but you can see he's not finished yet.

"I know I've messed up. I know I've hurt you by not being clear about my feelings, by not giving you the commitment you deserve. And I'm so, so sorry for that," Lando's voice cracks slightly, and you can see the sincerity in his eyes. "But if you're willing to give me another chance, I want to do this right. No more hiding, no more pretending we're just casual. I want to be with you, properly. I want to tell our friends, take you on proper dates. I want everything."

He takes another step closer, close enough now that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. "I can't promise it'll be easy. Our careers, the media attention, the travel - it's all going to be complicated. But I'm willing to fight for this, for us, if you are."

You stand there, momentarily stunned by Lando's words. Your mind is racing, trying to process everything he's just said. You've dreamed of hearing something like this from him for so long, but now that it's happening, you find yourself almost paralyzed.

Taking a shaky breath, you finally find your voice. "Lando, I… I don't know what to say. This is everything I've wanted to hear from you, but I'm scared too. What if we try this and it doesn't work out? What if we end up ruining our friendship, our work relationship?"

Lando's hand finally makes contact with your cheek, his touch impossibly gentle. "Those are all valid fears," he says softly. "And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about the same things. But I think what we have is worth the risk. Don't you?"

You lean into his touch, your eyes closing for a moment as you savor the feeling. When you open them again, you see Lando looking at you with such tenderness it makes your heart ache.

"I do," you whisper. "I really do. But Lando, I need you to be sure, if we do this, I need all of you. No more half measures, no more hiding."

Lando nods, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "I'm sure. I want all of you, and I want to give you all of me in return."

The sincerity in his voice, the look in his eyes - it's everything you've been longing for. Unable to resist any longer, you close the distance between you and press your lips to Lando's. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if you're both afraid this moment might shatter. But then Lando's arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepens.

It's not your first kiss, not by a long shot, but it feels different this time. There's a promise in this kiss, a commitment that wasn't there before.

You pour all your pent-up emotions - the longing, the frustration, the love you've been holding back. Lando responds with equal passion, one hand tangling in your hair while the other presses against the small of your back.

When you finally break apart, Lando rests his forehead against yours, a smile playing on his lips.

"I've missed you so much," he murmurs. The relief and happiness that flood Lando's face are beautiful to see.

"I've missed you too," you admit. "More than I wanted to admit, even to myself."

Lando's hands start to wander, tracing patterns on your back that make you shiver, you melt at his touch, but then your mind starts racing again.

"Where do we go from here, Lan?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando takes a moment to consider your question, his hands still gently caressing your back. He pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, his expression a mix of tenderness and determination.

"Well," he starts, a small smile playing on his lips, "I think we take it one step at a time. We don't need to rush anything, but we also don't need to hide anymore."

You nod, encouraging him to continue.

"First things first," Lando says, his voice growing more confident, "I want to take you on a proper date. No sneaking around, no pretending we're just colleagues grabbing a quick bite. I want to take you somewhere nice, hold your hand in public, and not care who sees us."

The thought makes your heart flutter. "I'd like that," you reply softly.

You wrap your arms around him, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. For the first time in a long while, you feel truly happy and hopeful about the future.

"So," Lando says after a moment, a hint of mischief in his voice, "since I left Carlos' party early to come here... does that mean I get to stay the night?"

You laugh, playfully swatting his arm. "Cheeky," you tease, but there's no real accusation in your voice. Instead, you lean in and kiss him.

As the kiss intensifies, you both start moving towards the bed, hands roaming and clothes starting to come off. This time, there's no holding back, no pretending this is just a casual thing. Every touch, every kiss is infused with the promise of something lasting.

Two weeks later, you're in Baku for the Azerbaijan Grand Prix.

You're in the McLaren garage, eyes fixed on your tablet as you analyze the latest telemetry data. The familiar sounds of mechanics working and engineers discussing strategy fill the air, but you're completely focused on your task.

Suddenly, you sense a pair of eyes on you. Without turning, a smile tugs at your lips. You know exactly who it is.

"See something you like?" you ask playfully, still not looking up from your work.

You hear a low chuckle, then feel a warm presence behind you. "Just admiring my girlfriend," Lando's voice is soft, meant only for your ears.

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you gently against him. His lips brush your shoulder in a tender kiss that sends a shiver down your spine.

The past fortnight has been a whirlwind of emotions and adjustments. True to his word, Lando has taken you on proper dates and you've made your relationship official. You still feel giddy every time Lando calls you his girlfriend, a fact that hasn't escaped his notice. He seems to take particular joy in introducing you as such, his eyes always seeking out your reaction.

"How's the data looking?" he says, giving you a quick squeeze.

"Pretty good, actually," you turn back to your tablet, but remain in his loose embrace. "Your last practice session showed some promising improvements in sector two."

"That's my girl," Lando murmurs, pride evident in his voice. "Always making me look good."

You chuckle, elbowing him gently. "You do that all on your own, superstar. I just provide the numbers."

You turn in Lando's arms, facing him with a soft smile. The garage bustles around you, but in this moment, it feels like you're in your own little bubble.

"You know," you say, your voice low, "I never thought I'd be standing here like this with you. In the middle of the garage, no less."

Lando's eyes crinkle as he grins, his hands resting comfortably on your waist. "Having second thoughts?" he teases.

"Not at all," you shake your head, your smile widening. "It's just different. Good different."

"The best kind of different," Lando agrees, echoing his words from that night in your hotel room.

"I should probably get back to work," you say reluctantly, not making any move to step away.

Lando nods, but doesn't loosen his hold on you. "Probably," he agrees, a mischievous glint in his eye. "But first…"

He leans in, pressing a quick but tender kiss to your lips. It's brief, mindful of your surroundings, but filled with promise.

As he pulls back, you can't help but laugh softly. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"You love it," Lando grins, finally releasing you from his embrace.

"I do," you admit, your heart full. "Now go on, superstar. You've got a car to drive soon."

As you watch him blow you a kiss which made you throw your head back in laughter as he left, your heart feels full.

You and Lando. Lando and You. Finally, together.