#like??? i don’t get tired of looking at him

[ariichive]

JEALOUSY☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

jealous scenarios ft. phainon, anaxa, and mydei!

gen. neutral reader

cw: anaxa is kinda crazy he puts his gun to reader, possessiveness, mentions of violence, fluff, not proofread im so tired :')

☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

phainon

phainon was one to pride himself on his natural charm, he was a very easy going guy. the stark contrast between him in battle and off was admirable.

though as much as he hates to admit it, sometimes the warrior takes over his instincts. for instance, right now as he watched the droma’s caretaker openly flirt with you.

it wasn’t just the flirting—though that was annoying enough—it was the way you laughed, the way your eyes softened, the way you didn’t immediately pull away. phainon knew you weren’t his, not in the way that would justify this sudden surge of possessiveness. but logic had never been good at taming instinct.

his fingers twitched at his side, an old habit from years of battle. the part of him that thrived in combat, the part that didn’t hesitate when faced with a challenge, whispered at him to act. it would be so easy to step in, to slide an arm around your waist, to make it clear to everyone in the room—especially to the man standing too close—that you weren’t available.

but that wasn’t his place. not yet, at least. so instead, he forced himself to take a breath, to unclench his fists, to remind himself that he was phainon—charming, laid-back, not the type to pick a fight over something so trivial.

“phainon, this one likes me!”

his stoic expression softened when he realized, in fact, you were talking about the loving dromas and not that man.

phainon smiled gently at your joy, “i can tell, he sure does like you a lot!”

there was a certain edge to his voice that could’ve been missed by onlookers. you gave him a concerned glance, one which he smiled at and didn’t question further.

and yet, when the caretaker let out another laugh, explaining the most basic knowledge of dromas ever, his hand brushing against yours, phainon found himself smiling again. it wasn’t a friendly smile.

“having fun?” he asked, voice smooth but carrying an edge beneath it as he finally approached the two of you.

“yeah—!” you were quick to respond only to look up at phainon and realize his attention wasn’t on you. “phainon..”

“yes my lovely spouse, who i treasure more than any riches and i’d also kill for?” now his attention was focused on you, his smile bittersweet.

the thing with phainon is whenever he looked at you, there was always such intensity.

“don’t start, i’m okay i promise.”

there was a joking tilt to your voice, but it was enough to calm him down.

“now, come over and feed the dromas with me! this one’s name is castor, very sweet we should take him home!”

phainon let out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his heart. "my love, as much as i would adore bringing castor home, i fear he would not fit through our door."

you laughed, reaching out to pet the dromas, who nuzzled into your touch affectionately. "we could make it work," you teased, "build a bigger door, you're strong enough. or, you know, just let him live in our backyard."

phainon hummed in thought, stepping closer until he was right beside you. "tempting," he mused, reaching out to pet castor. "but then i’d have to compete for your affection, and i don’t think my heart could take it."

you rolled your eyes, nudging him playfully. "oh, please. you already know you’re my favorite."

his grin softened into something more genuine, his blue eyes filled with something tender. "good. because my dearest, you are mine." phainon swears the dromas narrowed its eyes at him (the caretaker did too but phainon was too busy enjoying the memoment with you to get mad all over again).

you burst into laughter as the dromas let out a soft sound, clearly pleased with itself. "maybe if you were as cute as them, you’d stand a chance."

phainon clutched his chest. "wounded. utterly wounded."

but despite his theatrics, he leaned in closer, his hand brushing against yours as you both continued to feed the dromas together, the warmth between you as steady as ever.

...

"y'know, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to take one home, then we wouldn't have to come back here. i can't believe that vile man had the nerve to even look at you..!"

"phainon, my dear, we are not actually going to take one home."

"...i like the name kevin, wouldn't you agree, [name]?"

the rest of the day was spent with phainon in your ear.

☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

anaxa

the carefully crafted lunched in your hands was the least of your worries as a soft click was heard from behind you followed by a pressure being applied to the back of your head.

just to think; you went out of your way to bring lunch to your oh-so-kind boyfriend and this is how he greets you?

you would say you're surprised but... this isn't the first time something like this has happened.

"do tell me, what's the foul mood for now?"

he didn't appreciate the snarky comment as the gun pushed against your head even more.

"my [name], you seemed to enjoy yourself outside with that man. would i be correct to assume so?"

so this is what he's mad about.

you exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. "if you must know, i was just making conversation. you know, something normal people do?"

the gun pressed harder against your skull in response, the warning clear. anaxa hated being mocked.

"careful," he murmured, voice quieter now, more dangerous. "i'm already being generous by allowing you to explain yourself. do not test my patience."

you tilted your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. his expression was unreadable, but his grip on the gun was steady—too steady.

"allowing me to explain myself?" you echoed, amusement creeping into your tone. "and here i thought my oh-so-loving boyfriend would trust me a little more by now."

anaxa exhaled sharply through his nose, but he said nothing. the silence stretched between you for a few moments before the pressure at the back of your head finally disappeared.

anaxa let out a low hum, his voice smooth yet laced with something sharp—jealousy, possessiveness, something only he could wield so effortlessly. "you know how i feel about you entertaining the company of other men," he said, tilting his head slightly. "and yet, there you were, laughing as if you had no care in the world."

you sigh, "i promise you it was a very brief interaction. i even told him i was visiting you for lunch."

anaxa looked away in faux annoyance as he gently took the lunch from your hands.

"thank you, [name]." anaxa was genuine in his thanks, he understood how troublesome it could be to reach him in the grove of epiphany.

you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. "i'd say 'you're welcome,' but i'm not sure you deserve it after that stunt."

he sighed dramatically, setting the lunch down on his desk before taking a seat. his movements were as measured as ever, graceful even in something as simple as this. "you wound me, truly," he drawled, undoing the buttons of his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up. "but i suppose my cruelty knows no bounds, does it? threatening my beloved over something as insignificant as a passing interaction."

"so you admit it was ridiculous?" you quirked a brow, leaning against the edge of his desk.

anaxa leaned back slightly in his chair, watching you with a gaze so heavy it felt like an unseen weight pressing against you. "i admit nothing," he corrected, voice as smooth as ever. "but even the most brilliant minds are prone to… lapses in judgment."

you let out a small scoff, shaking your head. "right. 'lapses in judgment.' is that what we're calling your absurd jealousy now?"

he exhaled through his nose, as if considering your words, before finally opening the meal you had brought him. "call it whatever you like, my dear," he said idly, plucking a piece of food with deliberate ease. "but tell me, if i were to flirt so freely with another, would you be so composed?"

your mouth opened, but the words died on your tongue. anaxa watched your hesitation with something akin to satisfaction, his smirk deepening ever so slightly.

"i thought as much," he said smoothly, taking a slow, deliberate bite of his food. "jealousy, my dear, is a universal affliction. i am simply more… expressive about mine."

you huffed, looking away, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. "you're insufferable and lucky i have the patience for you," you muttered.

he let out a soft chuckle, low and indulgent. "patience," he mused, reaching out to brush a gloved finger against your cheek, slow and deliberate. "such a rare and commendable virtue. though i must wonder..."

his touch trailed lower, tracing the curve of your jaw before finally resting under your chin. with the lightest pressure, he tilted your face ever so slightly upward, forcing you to hold his gaze.

"how much longer will that patience last, i wonder?"

you swallowed, refusing to look away. "depends," you said, barely above a breath. "how many more times do you plan on pulling a gun on me?"

anaxa’s lips curled into the faintest smirk, but his eyes flickered with something softer—something dangerously close to fondness.

"ah," he sighed dramatically, finally releasing you and leaning back into his chair. "a fair question. but, my dear, you wound me. surely you know by now that i only threaten the things i cannot bear to lose?"

you stared at him, feeling both shocked and flustered.

you huffed, shaking your head as you finally relented, letting the conversation settle into something resembling peace. and despite everything—despite his absurd possessiveness, his impossible nature, his maddeningly smug demeanor—you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

because somehow, against all logic, against every ounce of reason—anaxa was yours. and that was something even he, with all his sharp words and sharper wit, could never deny.

☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

mydei

mydei always found himself in petty competitions with phainon. whether it was who could pick the most apples to who could slay the most enemies, phainon always knew how to push his buttons.

though he might’ve pushed them a little too far..

“afraid you’ll lose? i would’ve never guessed that the great mydeimos was scared of talking to a girl. or are you scared [name] will end up liking me more?”

“deliverer,” mydei said with a scary amount of joy in his voice, “tell me, do you enjoy being humiliated by a kremnoan heir?”

“so is it a deal?”

“if that’s what you wish to call it, we’ll start now. try not to make an utter fool out of yourself. you won't even be able to touch them."

there was absolutely no way mydei was going to even let phainon breathe the same air as you.

phainon grinned, entirely unfazed by mydei’s sharp tone. “oh? possessive already? my, my, what will [name] think of this? surely they've noticed your crush on them by now.”

mydei exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. “they will think nothing of it because you will not get the opportunity to so much as look at them.”

phainon laughed, tilting his head with an almost lazy confidence. “bold words. i wonder if you’ll still be saying that once they’re hanging off my arm instead.”

the barely restrained fury in mydei’s eyes was almost comical. “you delude yourself.”

“and you’re stalling.” phainon shrugged, already turning on his heel. “come now, mydeimos. unless, of course, you are afraid?”

mydei scoffed, stepping forward with an air of unwavering confidence. “i fear nothing—least of all a fool with an overinflated ego.”

the competition had begun.

mydei was the first to find you. he's always remembered the places you often frequented, the bathhouse being common among them.

mydei found you tucked away in one of the quieter corners of the bathhouse, steam curling through the air in delicate wisps. he approached silently, his footsteps barely making a sound against the stone floor.

he had always been observant—perhaps more than you'd realized. no matter how much time passed, he never forgot the places you sought comfort in.

"i thought i'd find you here," he murmured, his voice low and steady, cutting through the gentle trickle of water. "it's peaceful here," you said softly, returning your gaze to the water, watching a rubber duck float by.

after a long moment, you glanced at him, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

"you always find me."

mydei's crimson eyes softened, a rare hint of fondness breaking through his composed exterior.

"of course," he said quietly. "you're worth finding."

mydei had a huge advantage over phainon; everything that came out of his mouth was genuine.

you felt your body heat amplifying from his intense gaze, the steam from the bath worsening your situation.

the air between you two felt thick with unspoken words, the steam in the room only adding to the intensity. mydei’s crimson eyes were locked onto you with an unwavering focus, as if trying to read something deeper than just your expressions.

“you know, you really don’t make this easy,” you muttered, trying to divert your thoughts, the heat rising in your chest feeling like it might burst through your skin.

he raised an eyebrow, his gaze never leaving yours. "make what easy?"

you shifted uncomfortably, the faintest of blush creeping onto your cheeks. “this... this tension.”

mydei tilted his head slightly, the smallest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. “tension?” he repeated, his voice smooth and calculated. “i’m simply speaking the truth.”

you shot him a glance, his words echoing in your mind. you’re worth finding.

it wasn’t like you hadn’t heard him say such things before, but this time, it felt different. There was no teasing, no veiled sarcasm—just the raw sincerity that mydei rarely offered.

“you never do anything half-heartedly, do you?” you said, a small sigh escaping your lips.

mydei didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence looming like a silent promise. His gaze softened as he spoke, but there was still a quiet intensity behind it.

"only when it’s worth it," he said, his voice almost a whisper, but it still hit you like a wave.

your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

he moment hung between you two, the weight of his words settling deep within you. mydei’s presence was suffocating in the best way—an intensity that seemed to radiate from him, the kind that made it impossible to think of anything else but him.

you opened your mouth, but the words stuck. something about his steady gaze and the closeness between you left you speechless, your heart thudding in your chest.

“mydei…” you whispered, almost as if testing the air, "would you like to join me in the bath? i'm sue it'll help relieve any sores you might have?"

mydei's gaze flickered to you, and for a brief moment, the quiet intensity in his eyes softened, replaced by a curious, almost amused glint. he took a step closer, the space between you two shrinking even more.

“you offer me company in the bath?” he asked, his voice holding a hint of surprise. “how… bold.”

you could hear the teasing undertone in his words, but it wasn’t as biting as usual. there was something more… tender in the way he spoke, something that made your heart flutter despite the calmness of the moment.

“i only thought it might help you relax,” you replied, keeping your tone light, though your pulse quickened slightly under his steady gaze. “and you’re always so tense. even the crown prince needs to rest now and then.”

mydei let out a quiet chuckle at that, the sound warm and soft, like the fleeting warmth of the bath. "i’m afraid i’ve never had much time for relaxation," he murmured, his tone shifting again, darker, but with an edge of something more vulnerable. "but perhaps you’re right. it’s been... a long time since i allowed myself the luxury."

there was a pause, and you could see the weight of his words settle over him, like he’d just made a decision. his eyes softened, and he took another step closer, his fingers brushing against your wrist as he gently took your hand.

"then, i’ll join you. for once, perhaps i could allow myself this."

as mydei settled comfortably next to you in the bath, he couldn't help but wonder where phainon had been all this time.

and there was a small voice in the back of his head, saying 'if phainon found you first, would you have invited him into the bath with you?'

he glanced sideways at you, his gaze unreadable for a brief moment as he tried to suppress the discomfort he felt at the idea.

as he took in your relaxed face, mydei realized how important such moments were to the two of you. this was just the start of many more scenarios he would spend with you.

if you enjoyed please consider following/liking/reblogging :)

i just love the idea of unhinged anaxa

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒 — 𝐂.𝐒.

Synopsis: Nick has been your best friend for so long, but you can’t seem to get a long with his brother—Chris. You try to mess with Chris and it backfires….badly….

Warnings: illegal street racing, stupid driving, tension, smut with so much plot it hurts, street racer Chris, BIG MASSIVE SHLONG CHRIS, size kink, bulge kink, dick-wad Chris, p n v, raw sex, riding (wink), and more....

A/N: THIS IS OVER 5.2K WORDS. THIS IS NAWT A QUICK READ. Now, get in the car bitches, we're getting HORNYYYYYY!!!!

With love and bigs tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey, cute jeans!” I wave, my lips curling into a grin as I squint my eyes at him—Chris. He rolls his tongue, shaking his head as he stalks off further down the street. Ha. 

It’s one of those rare occurrences—I’m here—at his street race, for god knows what reason. 

All I ever do is mock him. In fact, that’s why I call him cute jeans. The first time Nick and I had shown up at one of these dumb things, Chris thought I was a stranger from behind—and my jeans? Damn. 

He had to be a real asshole and hit on me. 

That night was fun for more than one reason. It sparked something—something I didn’t know existed. 

After that, my teasing only got worse. Chris’s ego couldn’t handle staying silent, he always had something smart to say. 

“Come to watch me again, huh? Gonna record it for later, I bet,” Chris winks. My mouth snaps shut as I go to say something back. He’s already gone—not giving me a second to respond before shutting the door to his car and speeding down the road. 

Typical. 

It’s still bright out. The sun sinks lower into the horizon as more people crowd the deserted street by the minute. 

“Okay, let’s just take a couple more pics and then we’ll go. I know you hate this,” Nick huffs, adjusting the leather jacket he’s wearing—the same coat that inspired this whole photoshoot. But you couldn’t blame him, he did look hot as fuck. 

Even if his looks resemble a certain idiot lurking nearby. 

Part of me is burning with spite. I hate letting Chris have the last word. But my brain sparks with an idea, a brilliant idea. 

How much would it cost him if I stayed around? 

Those stupid bets were always placed in his favor. No one could deny he was good—really good. He drove on the street like he owned it and he never even seemed nervous. 

“I kinda wanna stay—” My words are interrupted as I feel an arm rest down on my shoulders. I look over to see Beck, a girl I love seeing. 

She’s vibrant—especially with her signature red lip that seemed to draw all eyes to her. I always blossom off her confidence, loving to sit next to her when she showed true female power all with one swing of that stupid flag in the air. 

“How are ya, girlie? Haven’t seen you in months,” she puffs, hugging me a little bit closer before dropping her arm back to her side. 

I smile over at her. “Pretty good, you still stomping on egos?” I question, the glint of mischief in her eyes reflecting back as she gives me a slow nod. 

“Oh, always. Especially Chris—and it’s just for you.” She boops my nose as her words drag through the wind, the sound of tires screeching starting to muffle the chaotic hum of the crowd forming. 

Nick stares down at the camera lens, scrolling through the pictures I had taken of him—the reason why we were here, pretty much. “Actually, I think we got enough. But are you sure you wanna stay? I can come back and get you later—”

Beck brushes on Nick’s shoulder. She scrunches her nose at me while licking over her teeth. “I got her, Nick. Go home and post those pics, I’ll return her to you safely after tonight, don’t worry.” 

“Alright…” Nick sighs, reluctantly hugging me and wandering back towards his car to head home. 

“So why’d you wanna stay? Finally like cars?” Beck interrogates. 

I shake my head vigorously, laughing as she smiles at me. “Fuck no, I just—”

“You’re gonna mess with him, aren’t you?”

Her question rings through the air as a speeding car flies by—racers already warming up.

My eyes trace towards the track, seeing a sleek red sports car in the distance doing donuts. Of fucking course. Chris was always doing some dumb shit—illegal street racing or doing fucking donuts while the other racers were repeatedly drifting around the corners or fixing up their cars. 

He’s so cocky. 

I whisper back to her as I watch his car tires mark the pavement. “Damn right.”

___

Chris is already fed up—I can tell by the way his jaw clicks and his nostrils flare when I catch him in the corner of my eye. 

And I’m looking directly at him, a stupid smile covering my face as I put my money on the bet table. It’s twenty bucks, but it was twenty bucks I was willing to spend, or rather waste. Chris hasn’t lost in a while—honestly I’m not sure if he ever has. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Chris huffs, pulling me by the arm as he drags me to the side of the road by his car. 

He roughly shoves me. The feeling of his car pressed up against my backside leaves my eyes twinkling with pride—I’m really getting to him. Just like I planned.

I shrug. “Just placing my bets. Isn’t that what everyone does at these—”

“Why are you here? Why’re you–,” as his eyes stare into mine, his rough tone falls silent, his scowl curling into a smirk as he analyzes the subtle twitch of my nose. “Huh—just comin’ to watch, right?” 

I nod to his question, my pride sinking to my feet as I try to stand up tall. Chris presses his body against mine, making my weight lean against the car once more. I swallow thickly as his hand drops from my arm. 

What is he doing?

“You know, I meant it, right?” he tuts, his eyes tracing your figure with no shame. “These jeans… baby, they look so good on you.” His voice gets deeper, his head falling forward as his lips graze my ear. “-bet they’d look better off though, hm?”  

Fuck. 

I wish it didn’t make something inside the pit of my gut burn—but it did. God, it really fucking did. My heart is hammering against my chest, the pulse in my neck pounding in my ears as slight butterflies in my stomach make it harder to breathe. 

Shoving my body quickly, I manage to escape his hold. “Shut up. You’re such a cocky prick,” I spit, my arms folding across my chest as I try to keep a stern expression. 

Chris lets out a dry laugh, grinning like he’s already won. He takes a couple steps forward, letting his hand travel into the ends of my hair, “And yet, you love it. I can practically hear how nervous I’m makin’ you, it’s a real ego boost,” he husks. 

“You don’t make me—” My lips fall open further, motionless as his hand moves to my neck, his cold fingers brushing against my pulse as my eyes go wide. 

“Not nervous, huh…” His head leans towards the side as he stares all over my face. His eyes linger on my lips as I try to look away. 

But it’s impossible. Chris swerves his head, not letting my eyes leave his as he just stares at me. 

“Chris, stop—”

“Why? Do I make you too nervous?” he urges, licking over his teeth and letting his hands drop down to his sides. 

I feel a wave of heat caress up my spine and over my shoulders. “Don’t you have some stupid race to lose?” 

The taunt seems humorous to him, the last resolve of my dignity peeking through mumbled words as he wipes over his mouth. 

“Alright, alright. Guess I’ll go try to lose, but—I might need your help.” He shrugs, walking off with a wink. 

Uh oh. 

Help?

___

I can’t tell what the fuck is going through his brain. Part of me regrets staying—but another part of me is sickly invested in whatever this twisted game is. 

Nearly all bets had been placed. Stacks of money rested on the plastic table with a heavy bais—most were betting on Chris. 

It had to be at least two grand. 

He wouldn’t give up two grand for some petty argument with me, right? No—that would be insane. Absolutely bonkers. 

…right?

I watch as Beck stands in the middle of the dark street, the only glow coming from the blue streetlights above. The sun had set quickly, the stars and moon doing nothing compared to the headlights from all the cars.

My legs hurt. I didn’t realize I had been clenching every muscle for the entirety of the countdown to the actual race. The cold bleachers sting against my skin in the night air—maybe I would’ve dressed warmer if I thought I was gonna stay. But no—I was stuck shivering in jeans, a purple lace bra peeking from under my black top, and a letterman jacket. 

The front row gave the best view, but I had no one to shield the bitter breeze. But it was worth it. This way I got to sit by Beck the entire time. 

“Racers ready?” she shouts, her voice prominent over the reviving engines as she holds the flag in the air. 

Chris is on the side closer to me, his boyish smile apparent as I stare at the side of his face. The other guy was one of the better ones—the bets had some sort of hope in him, a large stack of bills showing that he had a decent amount of skill. 

My mouth waters as I see Chris run a hand through his hair, his head turning and his eyes catching mine. Holy fuck. He looks absolutely dreamy—there’s not an ounce of anxiety, pure confidence radiating from him. 

And it makes it so hard to look away. 

“Wait, I got one more bet I gotta place,” Chris announces. 

What?

My brows furrow, my face scrunching as I watch Beck relax the flag back down to her side. “Make it quick.” 

Chris nods at her words, my stomach flutters as he stares directly back at me, leaning his head out his window while licking over his lips. “Wanna make a bet, sweetheart?” he asks. 

I look around me, my shoulder sinking slightly as I take in the amount of people staring at me. 

He’s holding up the race to embarass me. Fuck. 

As I stare back at him with squinted eyes, he clicks his tongue on the side of his mouth. “If I win, I get to take you for a drive. Deal?”

“What?” I exclaim, throwing my hand in the air as I motion to the bet table, “Why the hell would I agree to that—”

“You bet against me, remember?” he points. 

My lips smack shut, the lump in my throat gathering thicker as I try to swallow. “I’ll even give you the chance to make sure I lose a round. We gotta bet or not?” he questions, his eyes twinkling as the blue lights illuminate his sharp features.  

If he had to lose one of the three rounds, that put more hope into the other racer. And if the other race won, I’d be more than content. Getting to call him a loser would definitely irk him more than anything—especially if it was true.

I hear boos chant around me. “Hurry up and race!” someone says from behind me. 

My body stiffens as I hear the chorus of disapproval. “Deal!” I shout, biting on my inner cheek. 

Chris looks at me with a daunting grin, his hand squeezing on the wheel as he nods. “A’right—ready. Sorry for the hold up.” 

Beck rolls her eyes, holding up the flag once more. 

“Racers ready?” she glares at Chris, continuing on as he revs his engine in response, “3—2—-1, GO—”

My heart drops as I watch the smoke from the tires scratching the street float around Beck. She saunters over, settling beside me as I lean forward, my pulse pounding in my ears as I watch them race side-by-side. 

As the car rounds the corner and starts nearing the finish line, Chris’s car zooms just slightly in front of the other vehicle, only seconds of a difference. 

I can’t wait to call him a fuckin loser. 

Beck walks back out, the flag raising in the air as both cars position once again. “Alright, race two. Ready, set—” 

“Hey!” 

Stomping her heels on the pavement, Beck scowls at Chris as he shouts towards my direction. I look over, my face burning as I feel the crowd stare down at me. 

I didn’t know much about racing, but I knew enough. This wasn’t normal—this was the prime way to piss people off. 

As I go to ask what he wants, Chris curls his finger, motioning for me to come closer. 

The fuck? 

I hesitantly stand up, my arms wrapped tightly around my torso as I walk up to his car window. Chris stares up at me with devious eyes. He obnoxiously chews a piece of gum, his jaw bone protruding with each movement. 

“What the fuck do you want?!” I whisper-yell, catching angry eyes boring onto me as I take a quick glance over my shoulder. 

Oh, these people are mad—fucking furious, even. 

“Kiss me.” 

I do a double take, my eyes blinky slowly as I watch him lick over the bottom ridges of his teeth, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. 

“What?” I breathe out, a dry laugh heaving from my lips. 

He can’t be serious…

“However long you kiss me is however long I’ll wait to start drivin’. Didn’t you want me to lose? C’mon pretty girl, you saw the bet table—use your head, alright? It’s just a kiss,” he taunts.

This is how he was gonna give me the chance to make him lose a round—I should’ve known. 

I shake my head, cringing as I hear the boo’s from the crowd get louder. 

“I’m startin’,” Beck says, holding up the flag. “3—”

“Yes or no? It’s up to you,” he shrugs, his eyes drawing over my face as my lips smack open and shut. 

“2—”

The noise of his engine revving makes my anxiety settle. This is my chance—my only chance at that. 

“Fuck it,” I murmur, taking a long stride towards him. 

“1—GO!” 

I crash my lips onto his, my hands on either side of his jaw. His lips meet mine with a hard urgency, the rhythm of my movement panicked and rushed. 

My breath hitches in my chest—I don’t know if it’s because I forgot to breathe or if it’s from the feeling of his hand traveling up and tangling around the back of my neck, pulling me impossibly closer as he slips his warm tongue into my mouth. 

I nearly forget everything, gasping for air as I pull back quickly, moaning as I feel his mouth hungrily chase mine. 

Never in my life had I been kissed like this—so passionately and rough. 

“Hey! This gotta be breakin’ some rules–”

Fuck. 

The person yelling from the crow makes me pull back into reality. I stand up, watching as Chris slowly flutters his eyes open at me with a grin so cocky my hand twitches with the urge to slap him. 

Why did that feel so… good? 

Before anyone can say a thing, the other car slowly halts back to the starting line. 

Had we really been kissing that long? 

My fingers mindlessly float up to my tingling lips, my head feeling lighter as the surroundings start to spin a bit. It’s like he put some drug in his mouth that immediately became addicting. I want more. 

“See? I kept my word,” Chris points out, “Now—you gonna keep your word if I win? Lemme take you for a drive?” I swallow thickly, nodding slowly. “Good. Now go sit down and cheer for me real loud, alright?” 

I don’t have time to respond before Beck interrupts with the same question, starting to count down. I quickly stumble back towards the bleachers, a sigh of relief pushing through my lips as my head bobbles between my shoulders while I sit down. 

The loud cars barely register in my brain. All I can focus on is how light everything feels, how my lips are swollen and pulsing. 

“C’MON!!!” 

Chants behind me draw my attention back to the road. What the fuck? It’s not even close—Chris is speeding around the corners way smoother than the first round, almost as if he had been—

Oh fuck.

He was holding back. 

I tried to mess with him and he played me with ease. 

Part of me should be mad as he races near the finish line—but all I feel is excitement—anticipation. 

My teeth clench into my lower lip as I watch him storm past the line, not even waiting for the other racer to finish before stepping out of his car and walking over. 

Is he…?

My eyes bulge as he walks in front of me, holding his hand out as an offer. “C’mon, you promised, yeah?” he urges. 

I nod slowly, sliding my hand in his. He drags me to his car, opening the passenger door and shutting it after I climb in. 

“Chris! The money—”

Beck’s words fall on deaf ears as Chris slides into the driver seat, pressing his foot on the gas hard. 

“You didn’t even get the money—what’re we doing?” I ask, looking behind my shoulder to see a crowd of people turned to our direction as we speed off further down the road. 

“You know, it’s not nice to try and tick me off,” he huffs, quickly glancing at me with a harsh stare. 

Oh.

Oh.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ abou–”

Chris lets out a vocal sound of disbelief, cutting me off, “Yeah, you do. Fuckin—bettin’ against me, tryna get me to lose and shit. For what? Don’t have a boyfriend to give you any attention, huh?” he asks, his hand reaching over and grasping onto my thigh. 

He knows I don’t have a boyfriend—I know he’s aware of that fact. 

I stare down at his large hand squeezing my jean-clad leg. Something about his rough grip makes me shift in my seat, my thighs clutching together as I feel a wave of warmth settle into the pit of my stomach. 

“You like my hand on your thigh, don’t you?” he says, smirking wider as I watch the blue streetlights cast a subtle glow on his cheekbones. 

“I—”

“You like it. Admit it.” 

There’s no room to argue as he trails his hand up further, his fingers tracing dangerously high as he gives me a rough squeeze. Fuck his hands feel good on me. 

“Chris what’re you—”

“Do you know how it feels to constantly see you and know I can’t touch you?” he starts, the car rolling to a stop by the side of the road as he rushedly shifts gears to park, “-you’re always fuckin’ teasin’ me—bein’ a damn brat and I have to keep my hands to myself,” he grits, shaking his head as he stares down at me. 

I swallow thickly as I shift in the seat. “Chris, I–”

“No. None of that bullshit. You’re always tauntin’ me. Why’d you stay, hm? Why?” he questions, his tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth as his eyes deepen with intensity and dominance. 

Silence. I can’t fathom any words to say, my pulse drumming quicker as Chris pats his lap, adjusting his chair back. 

“Over here. Now.” 

“Chris, what are we doing?” I ask, hesitantly starting to climb over the center console. 

His hands wrap around the underside of my thighs, pulling me quickly while I let out a slight yelp as he sits me down in his lap. His hands are firm on either side of my hips. “I’m done playin’ these stupid fuckin’ games. I just—” 

The air is quiet. His eyes fall to my lips, his hands grasping just a little bit tighter around me. I can still feel the lingering sensation from his lips on mine earlier, the slight tingle still buzzing on the soft muscle as I let myself lean in closer. 

“We should stop,” Chris breathes, his tongue sliding between his lips as his eyes flicker up towards mine. 

“Why?” 

The question rolls off my lips with ease, my palms flattening against his chest as I lower my mouth to his neck, breathing over his pulse. 

“Because–” He lets out a hiss. I place my lips on his neck, sucking gently as I massage my hand over his shoulder. “Shit—we gotta stop, baby—this, this–” His jaw goes slack as I find his sweet spot. His hands dig into my hips, the slight bulge growing beneath me making my lips curl into a smile as I gently grind myself on top of him. 

“Why do you wanna stop, Chris?” I ask, nibbling the bottom of his ear, “What’s got you so tongue-tied, hm?” 

“You’re killin’ me,” he points, his gaze trained on me as he tangles his hand through my hair, pulling me back just enough to look at him, “-fuckin’ so annoying, so pretty and horrible, I just—I don’t know how much I can hold back–”

“Don’t,” I whisper, my hand gathering the material of his shirt in a fist as I watch him bite on his lower lip. His eyes trace over my face, one of his hands slowly tracing underneath my shirt, callusing beneath my bra. 

“Yeah? Don’t want me to hold back, hm?” he remarks, his hips adjusting in the slightest, my mouth falling open as I feel him rut against me through the fabric of our clothes. 

Fuck. I can’t take this. 

I lean forward, crashing my lips against his once more. Chris hums into my mouth. He furiously helps me peel off the bulky letterman jacket, the cold air feeling like relief compared to my burning skin. 

“Holy fuck, slow down, baby,” he husks, his hands falling to my hips as I shameless grind myself against his hard bulge. But I can’t get enough. “-’m not going anywhere—gonna stay and make you feel so good. Promise.” 

My heart drops as I feel his hand delicately caress over the purple lace covering my breasts. His nimble fingers trace around my hardened nub, a slight moan falling through my lips as I feel him smirk against me. 

“Take those cute jeans off, c’mon. Be a good girl for me—just this once, alright?” he grins. 

I nod slowly, awkwardly shifting as I pull down the denim while kicking off my shoes. Chris gets impatient, yanking the clothing to his own accord before planting me back on his lap, his jacket now discarded. 

“Holy fuck, look at these legs—would look so good wrapped around me,” he whispers, brushing my hair to the side as his lips graze my neck, “-while I fuck you deep and hard.” 

Oh my god. 

My mind is numb, every inch of my skin pulsing with a hot sensation of greed. Chris stares at me with lust, his hand moving in the corner of my eye. “Want me to touch you? Right….here,” he breathes, the pad of his finger resting directly over my bundle of nerves. 

I nod slowly, looking at him with hooded eyes as he starts to slowly circle the digit with a light, feathery touch. 

“More,” I moan, pulling his shirt into my fists as I watch him smile at me. 

“Yeah? What do you want, hm? Want my big dick in you? Want me to stretch you out and make you cum over and ov—

“Please,” I whisper, my hips moving for me as I struggle to stay still. 

Chris looks down, gesturing for me to take control. I hesitantly fumble with his jeans, pulling out his hard length as my mouth starts to water. 

Fuck. He’s big. No—he’s huge. 

As I go to pull my underwear to the side, Chris stops me, placing his hand around my wrist. 

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, “-take ‘em all the way off—wanna see all of you when I fuck your guts.” 

My thighs tense from his words, my hands quickly sliding the fabric down my thighs and discarding them without a single care. Chris pets over the top of my thighs, his eyes hungrily staring down between my legs. “Fuck—are you sure you want this? I…god, I can’t believe this is happening…”

I grab his hardness in my hand, spitting and dragging the lubricant up and down his shaft. Chris grits his teeth. His hands pinching into my sides as he lets out a deep groan. “You’re so big,” I whisper, mostly talking to myself. 

My eyes bulge as I feel Chris lift me with his hands on either side of my waist, placing me so my dripping entrance is directly aligned with his tip. His eyes bore into mine with dark passion. His jaw tense as he leans forward, kissing along my neck. 

“You gonna take it all f’me?” he dares, massaging my sides but keeping me from sinking down onto him. 

“Chris, please–”

“Gotta promise to take it all, sweetheart. Been teasin’ me all day already, I don’t need anymore of that, alright? Just—just gotta promise to let me stuff you full,” he purrs, sucking on the sensitive part of my neck just below my ear. 

“I promise, just—mmphf—” He slowly loosens his grip, letting me lower myself. I feel his tip nudge past my entrance, the stretch of his size making my body tense as my legs tighten to a halt. 

“Thaatt’s it, doin’ so good, just—just relax,” he praises, brushing my hair behind my ear, “-gotta be a good girl and keep your word again, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” I stutter, slowly starting to take more of him. A broken cry falling through my lips as I feel my body stiffen again. 

Chris is patient. His eyes are trained on my face as his hands massage over my body. “You got it, c’mon—just—holy fuck,” his hand lingers down to my stomach, my top so messed up that it’s bunched over my breasts. He’s not just admiring the skin, he’s worshipping the bulge—the distinct imprint of him inside of me as I hover over the last bit of his length. 

“Look at that, sweetheart, I mean—fuck—” 

I shriek as I feel him lift his hips upward, burying himself inside of me completely. My hands grasp onto his shoulders, my eyes teary as I watch him bite on his lower lip. “God—such a good girl, takin’ me so good,” he compliments, slowly helping me as I start to ride him. 

I feel him reach deep inside of me, my eyes staring up at the ceiling of the car while my body tenses with a wave of pleasure collapsing over every beating pulse of my skin. This is even better than that damn kiss. I’ve never felt like this before. Not ever. It’s like an adrenaline rush, so overbearingly good that it feels addicting.  

“How’s that, baby, hm?” he hums, smiling down at the sight of his length plunging into my guts with each thrust as my movements quicken. 

“I–it’s, I—” 

What the fuck was I saying? 

Everything feels so light, so impossible. 

“That’s it, fuckkkkk—look so good ridin’ me like this, keep—-shit!” he seethes. My walls tighten around him, my nails digging into his shoulder through his shirt as he lifts his hips to meet my movements.

His lips parted with pure ecstasy. 

“Fuck, fuck, I,” My words are cut off my a moan. 

Chris laughs dryly, his grip becoming tighten as he really puts in the work—using me like a ragdoll as he furiously fucks himself into me. “Mmmm, th-ere,” he rasps, smiling as I let out small shrieks and moans between each snap of his hips. 

He’s so deep. I’d never felt this good in my life. There’s a buzzing in my ears, spots in my vision as I feel my body ruthlessly convulse with the overwhelming sensations. 

How the fuck is he so deep?

How the hell is he hitting against the perfect spot over and over and over—

“You cumming already?” 

His question pulls me back to reality. I nod dumbly, my mouth drawing open as I let out a long moan, my thighs quivering as I rock myself against his movement. 

“Oh—I—”

“My name, sweetheart, wanna hear my–my name, c’mon,” he urges, the squelches getting louder as I feel my body burn with euphoria. 

“Chris, Chris, I–I—my god,” I cry out, my hips slowly rolling to a stop as I feel him pause his motions. 

I don’t have time to react—nor to recover. I feel Chris hold me tightly, flipping me over so my back hits the seat—his cock brutal as he drills himself inside of me. 

“Take it, fuckin—fuckin’ take it,” he chants. 

My hands scramble into his hair. I pull his face into my neck, letting my teeth sink into his shoulder. Every rut of his hips leaves me breathless, my body seizing as I feel his hardness drive into me over and over again while his pelvis slaps against my clit. 

“I’m gonn—”

“Wait. Wait for me, I’m—’m so close, baby, so fuckin’ close—”

I clench around him, the buildup becoming too much as he continues to drown every inch of my body with pleasure. His desperate tone lingers in the air, his breaths shaking as his hips lose slight momentum. 

“Wher–-where do you—”

“In-inside, please, just—just let me cum,” I plea. 

Chris huffs, his thrusts becoming erratic and somehow deeper. “Cu-cum with me, I—shittttttttt, so fuckin’ good, so… so fuckin’ good,” he seethes, a warm sensation flooding inside of me as I feel my body convulse once more. 

My limbs fall lifelessly. Our motions fall lazier, eventually pausing to a halt. Chris gently removes himself, pulling me into his arms tightly and positioning back into the seat with me on his lap. 

His hand finds the back of my head as I lean onto his shoulder, petting through my hair as we both try to catch our breath. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers. I let out a light laugh, flinching as I feel my stomach burn from soreness. “You good there?” he asks. 

Nodding into the crook of his neck, I lift myself to stare at him once more. My eyes trace from his sweat ridden face, seeing a clear imprint of his hand on the fogged-up car window. My nose crinkles as I inhale deeply. “It smells like sex, I’m sorry,” I let out. 

Chris stares at me incredulously. “Sorry? That was fuckin’ perfect—better than the money if you ask me. I mean… I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself anymore,” he teases, flashing me a grin as he combs my hair behind my ear. 

My lips curl with excitement. “Oh really? You like takin’ me for rides?” 

He nods firmly, biting on his lower lip. “Mhm. And you seemed to really like ridin’.” 

I let out a light laugh, shrugging my shoulders before ruffling his hair playfully. “Only with you.”

Chris cocks an eyebrow at me, “Only me, huh?” I nod shyly, letting out a brief hum. His eyes linger on mine before falling back to my lips. “You do ride good. Maybe you should be the racer,” he taunts. 

“Maybe,” I whisper, “-maybe…” 

“Let’s get you back in those cute jeans though, yeah?” 

[missdynamighttt]

Situationship with Bakugo 😵‍💫

a situationship with katsuki bakugo would be chaotic, intense, and incredibly frustrating.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who's not the type to do things halfway, so the fact that he won’t fully commit (or admit his feelings) means he’s fighting himself the entire time.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who takes care of you in little ways—grabbing your favorite snacks when he’s out, making sure you get home safe, memorizing all your food orders from various places—but if you call him out on it, he’ll scoff and say, “tch. don’t think too much about it. it was just on the way.”

KATSUKI BAKUGO, where he’s got no problem pulling you into his lap, throwing an arm around you, or grabbing your wrist to keep you from walking away during an argument, only for you to cuddle right back into his arms again. "you always come back anyway. might as well stay where you belong."

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who will go out of his way to coincidentally be where you are, but if you ask, he’ll act like you’re the clingy one. "the hell are you lookin’ at me like that for? it’s a free fuckin’ country—you act like i’m followin’ you or somethin’. maybe you’re the one who can’t stay away."

KATSUKI BAKUGO, the man who kisses you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane but refuses to call it love. the man who pulls you into his arms after a rough day but won’t say he needs you. the man who gets pissed when other guys flirt with you, yet still won’t claim you as his. he knows they’ll never measure up to him.

but then, one day, you get tired of it. tired of the mixed signals, tired of feeling like you’re caught in something he refuses to name.

so you pull away. stop answering his late-night texts. stop letting him hold you like you’re his when he won’t even say the words. stop caring because what’s the point when he won’t admit he cares just as much?

at first, he acts like he doesn’t notice. like it doesn’t bother him. but it does.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who sees you laughing with someone else and his jaw tightens so hard it aches. he catches himself reaching for you before stopping short, fingers twitching like they’re fighting the habit of pulling you close. he sees you stop waiting for him and realizes, too late, that he never thought you would stop.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who stands at your doorway, all heat and tension, eyes burning like a wildfire ready to consume you whole. he doesn’t say a word at first, just grabs your wrist—gently, but firm enough that you can feel his frustration thrumming beneath his skin.

“you’re ignoring me,” he accuses, voice low and dangerous.

you lift an eyebrow. “i thought you didn’t care.”

his grip tightens just slightly before he lets go, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

he hates this. hates feeling out of control, hates that you make him feel anything at all.

but he’s done lying to himself.

“you think i don’t care? you think i don’t—” he cuts himself off, exhaling sharply through his nose.

you scoff, crossing your arms. "you sure as hell act like it. or is this just another one of your games?"

his jaw clenches. "it was never a damn game, sweets."

"then what was it, katsuki?" you throw your hands up. "because it sure as hell wasn't a relationship."

"you think i don’t—" he cuts himself off with a frustrated noise, pacing like he's physically fighting with himself. then he turns back to you. "damn it, i was trying!"

"trying what?" you challenge. "to string me along until you got bored? to keep me so that no one else could have me?"

"no! i was trying to—fuck—i was trying to figure it out! trying to—" he stops himself again, exhales hard through his nose, then looks at you, really looks at you. "trying to not fuck this up."

the words hang between you, heavy, aching.

your voice is softer now, but no less sharp. "and yet, you still did."

for a moment, he just stares at you. and then, before you can turn away, before you can push him out of your life completely, he closes the distance.

"no," he growls. "i'm not letting you walk away from me again."

you shake your head. "you already let me go."

"the hell i did!" his hands grip your arms, not to restrain but to hold on. "you think i don’t want you? that i don’t—"

he stops, sucks in a breath, and then—

he cups your face and kisses you. not like before. not out of desperation, not just because it’s easy. not like the heated, desperate, i need to feel something kisses he’s stolen in the past. this one is different.

raw, messy, everything he’s been too damn stubborn to say.

this one is real.

and when he pulls back, breathless, eyes blazing, he mutters, "you wanna know what this is? it’s me, fucking telling you, that i’m all in on this. now tell me you don’t want me, and i’ll walk."

you swallow, your own breath uneven. but you can’t say it. because you do. you always have.

and he knows it.

you stare at him, chest heaving, your lips still tingling from the force of his kiss. your mind is screaming at you to push him away, to remind him that he had months to figure this out, to tell him that it’s too late.

but your heart? your heart is beating so damn loud it drowns out the logic.

katsuki sees the hesitation, the war behind your eyes. he doesn’t rush you. for once, he doesn’t bulldoze his way through with brute force.

"you’re such a fucking asshole," you mutter, shoving at his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

he exhales, a short, almost bitter laugh. “i know.”

you lick your lips, looking anywhere but at him. “you put me through hell, katsuki.”

“i know that too,” his voice is rough, but there’s no anger anymore. just quiet, painful honesty. he huffs, rubs a hand down his face before dropping it. “i was scared, sweets.”

you blink. katsuki bakugo, scared?

he sees the doubt flash across your face and scowls. “don’t. don’t look at me like that. like i don’t get to be scared of this—of you.”

your breath catches, and suddenly, the anger flares up again. “me? you were scared of me?”

“yeah,” he scoffs, eyes flicking between yours. "i ain't good at this shit, alright? but don't ever think for a second that i didn't want you."

your jaw tightens. "then why the hell did it take losing me for you to say it?"

something flickers across his face—regret, maybe. frustration. the words sound like they hurt to admit. "because i was a goddamn coward. because i didn't know how to have you without screwing it all up."

you stare at him, searching his face, waiting for the catch—for him to backtrack, for him to make another excuse. but he doesn’t.

instead, his grip on you softens, hands sliding down to your wrists, fingers brushing over your pulse. he watches you carefully, fingers grazing your wrist.

"tell me you don’t feel the same, and i’ll let you go. but if you do…” he leans in just slightly, gaze flickering to your lips. “then stop fighting me and let me be yours.”

and damn it—damn him—because you do. you always have.

your breath is unsteady, your chest tight as you stare at him. he looks like he’s ready for a fight, ready to prove himself, but you’re not making this easy for him.

he doesn’t deserve easy.

you step back, but he follows, unwilling to let space grow between you again. "if you really mean it, you’re gonna have to work for it."

his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that. then, he huffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "fine. i will."

"you don’t even know what that means."

"doesn’t matter," his eyes burn with determination. "i’ll figure it out."

you study him, searching for hesitation, doubt—any sign that he’ll walk away the moment things get tough. but all you see is conviction, a stubborn resolve that’s so him it almost makes your chest ache.

still, you’re not going to let him think this is some quick fix.

"no more mixed signals," your voice is firm. "no more acting like i don’t matter just because you're scared of your own feelings."

his jaw clenches, but he nods. "yeah."

"and no more kissing me like i’m yours and then pretending it doesn’t mean anything."

his eyes darken slightly. "that one was never pretend."

you don’t give in just yet. you let the silence stretch, let him sit in it, let him feel the weight of what he’s asking for.

then, finally, you nod. "alright. then we’ll see."

from the moment you demanded he work for your trust, he treats it like the most important damn mission of his life.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who starts showing up—not just in the ways he used to, sneaking into your life with little gestures he refused to acknowledge. no, this time, he makes it clear.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who texts you good morning. goodnight. little things throughout the day that show you he’s thinking about you. "did you eat? i know you don’t like the coffee at work, so i left one for you on your desk, call me if you need a ride."

KATSUKI BAKUGO, where at work, he swings by your office under the pretense of “checking in,” but you catch the way his eyes linger, the way his fingers tap against your desk like he’s resisting the urge to touch you.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, when he knows you’re out with friends, he doesn’t pull the usual possessive coincidentally running into you routine. he lets you have your space but makes sure you get home safe. "text me when you’re back."

but the real proof is in the way he listens. the way he remembers.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who recalls things you mentioned offhandedly weeks ago—your favorite dessert from that bakery downtown, the dumb movie you wanted to watch but never got around to. one night, you mention offhandedly that you’ve been stressed, and the next day, he drags you out of your apartment. "c’mon. you need a break."

you expect something explosive, something him—but instead, he takes you to a quiet spot, lets you rant, doesn’t rush you. just listens.

and when you look at him, skeptical, waiting for him to make some kind of sarcastic remark, he just shrugs. "told you i was serious."

he never demands anything from you. never pushes you for an answer.

but one night, after another long day, after another moment where he reminds you, without words, just how much he’s changed—how much he’s trying—you finally give in.

you reach for his hand.

it’s tentative, just a light brush of your fingers against his. he looks down, then back up at you, something unreadable in his expression.

you squeeze lightly, voice quiet. "okay."

he blinks. "okay?"

you take a breath. "i believe you."

and for the first time in a long time, he smiles. really smiles.

then, with all the patience he’s learned just for you, he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

"’bout fuckin' time."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ hi!! a little something to publish bc i feel i havent been posting much like i've been before? js burnout from school and shit, also indulging my free time😭 hope you guys enjoy💜💜

[blacktabbygames]

A small content update for Slay the Princess just went live — The Voice of the Skeptic now accompanies you on the Deconstructed side of Happily Ever After instead of Voice of the Paranoid.

I’m not sure why I originally settled on Paranoid for that branch of the story. Maybe it was because Skeptic already felt overrepresented in The Pristine Cut between his presence in the Den, and his major role in The Cage split across three routes. The Cage in particular was a very emotionally taxing chapter to work on, so maybe I was tired of writing him.

But post release, it’s felt like:

Paranoid’s in HEA was just kind of there. At least, none of the things he does in the chapter felt important for his character.

Every voice gets an opportunity to truly shine somewhere except Skeptic. In fact, to push players to the cage, we wound up taking away one of his weirdest moments to shine from the base game (pushing you to take The Prisoner’s head with you.) Localizing the game means that redoing any dialogue is very burdensome, since I’d have to have it retranslated in all 12 of our supported languages, but upon looking more closely at the script for Happily Ever After, I realized that all but one or two lines felt more like they belonged to skeptic rather than the paranoid anyways.

And that when given to the skeptic, those lines don’t feel like he’s just kind of there the way it felt like Paranoid was just kind of there. The small wins Paranoid can get in that chapter — deducing the identity of the shadow; pushing you to blow out the torches — they’re big wins for the Skeptic, and the route seemed like it would be much more rounded if he was swapped in.

And beyond that, I couldn’t get the following line from the Shifting Mound’s monologue about the Deconstructed Damsel out of my head:

“Love melted into skepticism, and you pulled back layer after layer after layer until all you were left with was the knowledge that you did not know me.”

We couldn’t just use the word skepticism to describe the route’s entry point and not include our lil’ over-analytical guy. So we took some time this month to re-record those lines with Jonny and make the changes to the game, and now that itching need to fix “just one more thing” is finally gone.

This is probably the final content update for Slay the Princess (though, never say never I suppose.) Ever since we started work on The Pristine Cut, I wanted to end my work on the game with the conclusion of Happily Ever After. I’m grateful for the opportunity for that to finally be the case.

I hope to see you all tomorrow with Scarlet Hollow’s relaunch, but even if I don’t see you there, thank you all for the life-changing support you’ve given us. I hope our game means as much to you as it means to us.

All the best, Tony

[rosiecosy]

cozy baby˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

(jeonghan x reader) — fluff — part of the find the baby series

jeonghan was not expecting to find you asleep on the floor of his room.

he had been in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and going through his usual nighttime routine, when he came back to see something—someone—huddled in a blanket beside his bed.

at first, he blinked, wondering if he was seeing things. but no, that was definitely you, curled up with your arms around a pillow, face half-buried into the fabric, completely knocked out.

he sighs. presses his lips together. tries very hard to fight the small smile creeping onto his face.

"why are you like this?" he mutters, crouching down beside you.

no response. not that he was expecting one.

he studies you for a second. you must've grabbed the blanket from your room before coming in here—probably intending to talk to him about something, only to get tired and decide this was a good enough spot to sleep.

jeonghan tilts his head, watching the slow rise and fall of your breathing.

he should wake you up. or at the very least, carry you to bed. but then you shift slightly, the tiniest little sigh escaping your lips, and—

… yeah, okay. no. he can’t wake you up.

he’s weak, alright? he knows that.

so, instead, he flops onto the floor next to you.

it’s not the most comfortable spot, but whatever. he’s dealt with worse. plus, it’s kinda funny imagining the looks on the other members’ faces when they see this in the morning.

he tugs his own blanket off the bed, draping it over both of you before rolling onto his side, facing you.

you must be dreaming about something good because there’s a faint smile on your lips.

jeonghan finds himself smiling too.

without thinking too hard about it, he reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. you sigh again, shifting instinctively closer, and before he can process it, you’re tucking yourself against him, fingers loosely grasping at the sleeve of his hoodie.

his heart does something weird.

… whatever. he’ll deal with it later.

for now, he just lets himself get comfortable, eyes fluttering shut as sleep slowly pulls him under.

he’ll tease you about this in the morning.

probably.

—

a few hours later, you wake up.

it takes a second for the sleep haze to clear, but when it does, you immediately realize two things:

one, you’re not in your bed.

two, jeonghan is lying right next to you.

your heart stumbles over itself as your brain catches up. you blink in the dim light, barely processing the fact that you're both wrapped in the same blanket, bodies warm and pressed close.

oh god.

you don’t even remember falling asleep here. why didn’t he wake you up? why is he on the floor too?

guilt pricks at your chest. you hadn’t meant to take over his space like this. and now he’s sleeping on the floor because of you? no way. absolutely not.

carefully, you start to move, trying to wiggle out from under the blanket without disturbing him.

you almost make it.

but then, just as you shift away, an arm suddenly snakes around your waist—

and pulls you back in.

you barely have time to react before you're pressed right back against jeonghan’s chest, his hold firm but gentle, locking you in place.

"where are you going?" he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep.

you freeze. "i—um. my room."

"mmm. don’t."

your breath catches. "but—"

"‘s fine." his arm tightens slightly, securing you against him. “just sleep."

your brain short-circuits.

you can feel the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. his voice is lower than usual, drowsy and soft, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"… but the floor—"

"it’s fine." he buries his face slightly into your hair, exhaling slowly. "warm."

your heart is losing it.

"you sure?" you whisper, hesitant.

his response is instant, barely above a mumble—

"mm. stay."

… well.

how are you supposed to say no to that?

you stop resisting, letting yourself relax against him. the warmth, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the quiet comfort of it all—it’s too much. too easy.

jeonghan makes a satisfied noise, like he just won something.

you roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

"… fine."

his hold loosens, just slightly, but he doesn’t let go completely.

you close your eyes again.

within seconds, sleep pulls you under once more.

—

when morning does come, it’s seungcheol who finds you first.

he had been looking for jeonghan, only to freeze in the doorway at the sight before him.

two people. on the floor. wrapped up in blankets, completely tangled together.

seungcheol stares.

blinks.

presses his fingers to his temples.

"i cannot believe this."

his voice must be louder than he thought because footsteps quickly follow.

"what—" joshua stops mid-step, eyes widening. "oh my god."

seokmin and seungkwan show up next, only to nearly choke trying to hold back laughter.

"you've got to be kidding me," seungkwan hisses, whipping out his phone. "this is gold."

"they look so comfortable," seokmin whisper-yells. "like cozy cozy."

"they’re literally cuddling," mingyu wheezes.

at the sound of voices, jeonghan stirs. scrunches his nose. shifts slightly before cracking one eye open.

he blinks slowly. then—

"… oh."

he’s greeted with at least five members staring at him. some with their arms crossed, some barely holding in laughter, and one (seungkwan) very obviously filming everything.

he processes this for exactly two seconds before he just—

closes his eyes again.

"five more minutes," he mumbles.

there’s a chorus of reactions at that, half in disbelief, half in pure amusement.

"unbelievable," seungcheol mutters, rubbing his temples.

"no, but really," minghao says, poking his head into the room. "why are you guys on the floor?"

jeonghan peeks one eye open again.

then, with the most innocent, smug expression imaginable—

"she looked lonely."

cue absolute chaos.

[minniesfiles]

SEVENTEEN AS GIRL DADS

❧ PAIRING; ot13 x reader

❧ GENRE; fluff, very light angst

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; tooth rotting fluff, sprinkle of angst in some parts, some dramatic situations but fluffy ending, established relationship, first time parents

𐚁₊⊹

SEUNGCHEOL

Seungcheol was sitting at his desk leaned over his laptop as his fingers quickly moved across the keyboard. His brows were knotted in concentration as his eyes were fixed intently on the screen. With the deadline approaching, he was committed to completing this document before the end of the evening.

Then suddenly the door to his study room bursted open, slamming against the wall. Before he could react, a small figure rushed inside with her tiny feet pounding against the wooden floor. His five-year-old daughter, Haeun, ran straight towards him crying out loud with her red and tear-streaked face.

Hot on her heels was you, looking frustrated and exhausted. “Haeun, come back here!” you called as you stepped into the room.

But Haeun didn’t stop. She launched herself onto her father’s lap and buried her face into his chest. Her little body trembled as she cried.

Seungcheol’s heart clenched. He immediately forgot about his laptop, the document, and the upcoming deadline. Nothing mattered more than his daughter’s distress. He wrapped his arms around her small frame and rubbed soothing circles on her back.

“Shh, princess. What’s wrong?” he asked gently, tilting his head to look down at her.

“Mummy said…I c-can’t have…ice cream before dinner!” she managed to get out through hiccups and sniffles.

Seungcheol barely suppressed a smile. He glanced up at you, who crossed your arms and let out a tired sigh.

“She threw a tantrum when I said no,” you explained, shaking your head. “Then ran straight to you for backup.”

Your husband exhaled softly and pressed a kiss to the top of your daughter’s head. It was a small thing, really, but to a five-year-old, it was the end of the world.

“Hey, princess,” he murmured, gently pulling Haeun back so he could look into her teary eyes. “I know you really want ice cream, but Mummy’s right. If you eat it now, you won’t be hungry for dinner. And you need a good meal first, don’t you?”

Haeun sniffled as her lips quivered. “But…but I really wanted it…”

“I know, princess” he said as he wiped away a stray tear from her cheek. “How about this? If you eat all your dinner, we’ll have ice cream together afterward. Does that sound like a deal?”

Haeun hesitated, her big brown eyes searching his. Then, after a moment, she nodded slowly. “Okay…”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? I said the same thing, and she threw a fit.”

Seungcheol rinned. “Dad privilege.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Fine. But only if she eats her vegetables.”

Haeun pouted but nodded again. “Okay Mummy.”

Seungcheol lifted her off his lap and set her on the floor. “Now, go wash your face, and we’ll have dinner soon.” Haeun gave him a quick hug before trotting off.

You sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “I swear, she’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

Seungcheol chuckled as he turned back to his laptop. “Yeah…and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

JEONGHAN

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon when your six-year-old, Jiwoo, looked up from her colouring book and studied her father’s long, smooth hair. Jeonghan was sitting on the sofa reading a book as his dark brown locks brushed over his shoulders effortlessly. You often teased him about how unfair it was that his hair looked better than yours with minimum maintenance.

Jiwoo tapped her chin thoughtfully, and an idea formed in her head. She set her crayons down and hopped off the sofa, marching over to her father.

“Daddy?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head.

Jeonghan looked up from his book. “Yes sweetheart?”

“Can I braid your hair?”

“Braid my hair?” he blinked.

Jiwoo nodded eagerly. “Please! Your hair is so pretty, and I want to make it even prettier!”

Jeonghan chuckled and set his book aside. “Well, how can I say no to that? Alright, let’s do it.”

Jiwoo clapped her hands in excitement and grabbed his wrist, leading him toward her bedroom. “You have to sit on my bed! And you can’t move, okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, grinning as he obediently sat on the small pink bed which his legs barely fitted.

“Wait here!” she instructed before running over to her little play hairdressing station in the corner of her room. She rummaged through her plastic vanity and began gathering her toy hairbrush, colourful clips, and a few ribbons she saved from old presents.

Jeonghan patiently sat with hands resting on his lap as his daughter returned with her arms full of supplies. She placed everything on the bed beside him, then climbed up behind him and ran her tiny fingers through his hair.

“Wow Daddy. Your hair is so smooth! Mummy always says she’s jealous,” Jiwoo said, giggling.

“She does, doesn’t she?” Jeonghan smirked.

From the doorway, you leaned against the frame with your arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with an amused smile. “Don’t get too proud Yoon Jeonghan. I let you have the better hair,” you teased.

“Of course dear” your husband chuckled.

Jiwoo, who was completely focused on her work, began brushing his hair with exaggerated care. “You have to be very still Daddy! I don’t want to mess up.”

Jeonghan straightened up his posture. “Not moving an inch,” he promised.

She nodded in approval and got to work. She hummed softly as she created a long, wobbly braid, occasionally stopping to add a colourful clip here and there.

You on the other hand covered your mouth to stifle a laugh as your daughter sprinkled in pink and purple ribbons, tying them into small bows at random spots.

After several minutes, Jiwoo finally clapped her hands. “All done!” She reached for a small mirror from her vanity and handed it to her father. “Look Daddy!”

Jeonghan held up the mirror and burst out laughing. His hair was an absolute masterpiece of uneven braids, mismatched ribbons, and bright butterfly clips.

“Well?” Jiwoo asked eagerly.

“I love it! Thank you sweetheart” Jeonghan smiled warmly.

JOSHUA

Joshua had been through his fair share of tantrums. Having a toddler meant that outbursts were a normal part of life. But today’s meltdown? This was on a whole new level.

He held Byul in his arms as she screamed, her little face red and wet with tears. The two-year-old kicked and squirmed as she tried to escape his grip. Her loud wails were practically echoing through the entire grocery store. It was the kind of tantrum that made people stop and stare. The kind that turned heads and made strangers mutter under their breath.

You on the other hand walked a few steps ahead, pushing the shopping trolley. Your face was carefully neutral, but Joshua could tell that the stares you were getting were bothering you. You exhaled softly and glanced at him. “She’s really going for it today,” you murmured.

“Oh, you think?” Joshua muttered, adjusting his grip as Byul twisted again, nearly knocking his baseball cap off. “She wanted the chocolate chip cookies, I said no, and now we’re here.”

You sighed while grabbing a box of cereal from the shelf. “People are staring.”

Joshua didn’t need to look around to know that was true. He could feel the eyes on him — annoyed glances from shoppers who just wanted to get through their day without a screaming child in the background. An older woman shook her head disapprovingly as she passed by, and a man near the dairy section shot Joshua a look that practically said, ‘Control your kid’.

Joshua tightened his hold on Byul as he bounced her slightly. “Bubba, please,” he whispered, brushing damp curls away from her flushed face. “I know you’re upset, but we can’t get cookies right now. We’ll have a snack when we get home, okay?”

But Byul wasn’t having it. She threw her head back and let out another ear-piercing wail. Joshua felt the frustration slowly creeping in. He was usually good at keeping his cool, but this was exhausting. He looked at you helplessly. “Any ideas?” he asked.

You pursed your lips, then reached into the trolley. You pulled out a bag of baby carrots and waved it in front of your daughter’s face. “Byul, look. Want some carrots?”

Byul, still sniffling, peeked at the bag and immediately shoved it away with a furious, “NO!”

You shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

Joshua sighed. He was sweaty, tired, and feeling the pressure of every judgmental stare that was coming his way. But then, an idea struck him. He didn’t know if it would work, but it was worth trying.

He turned Byul around in his arms so they were face to face. “Bubba,” he said in a softer, playful tone, “can you take a deep breath with Daddy?”

Byul, still hiccupping from crying, shook her head stubbornly.

Joshua exaggerated a deep breath, making it loud and dramatic. “Biiiiig breath in—” he puffed out his cheeks, “—and whoooooosh, out!” he blew air gently on her face.

Byul blinked. She was still upset, but something about his silly breathing caught her attention. And so he did it again. “Whoooosh!”

Byul let out a tiny giggle between sniffles. “One more?” Joshua grinned. She hesitated, then copied him, taking a tiny, shuddering breath in and blowing out.

The screaming stopped, and both of you were relieved. “You’re a wizard” you smiled, shaking your head.

Joshua chuckled, “nah. Just a dad.”

JUNHUI

Junhui adjusted the straps of his backpack while holding his three-year-old’s hand. Mei clutched her stuffed bunny tightly as her eyes darted around the unfamiliar space. It was her first time on an airplane. More importantly, it was her first trip to China to meet Junhui’s side of the family for the Spring Festival.

“Are you excited to see Grandma and Grandpa?” Junhui asked as he crouched to her level.

Mei nodded hesitantly, and then looked up at you who smiled reassuringly. “It’ll be fun, sweetheart. And we get to fly in a big airplane!”

Mei didn’t look so sure about that part.

After checking in and going through security, you finally boarded the plane. Mei sat in the middle, with you by the window and Junhui by the aisle seat.

She fidgeted in her seat with her small legs dangling above the floor. Her nervous energy was apparent as she looked around to take in her unfamiliar surroundings.

Junhui then helped Mei put in her small earplugs, hoping they would soften the unfamiliar sounds. “These will make it nice and quiet,” he promised as he tucked a blanket around her lap.

When the flight attendants finished their safety announcements, the plane rumbled to life.

Despite the earplugs, the deep growl of the engines startled her. She flinched, eyes widening as she looked around in panic. Junhui reached for her hand. “It’s okay darling. That’s just the plane getting ready.”

But Mei didn’t look convinced.

The aircraft began rolling toward the runway, and the motion made her grip her bunny even tighter. Then the speed picked up — faster, faster — until suddenly, the nose lifted, and you were taking off.

The three-year-old felt her heart drop at the unfamiliar motion, and soon panic set in. She let out a whimper as her face scrunched up. Tears welled up in her eyes, and then — she bursted into sobs.

Junhui’s heart clenched. He hated seeing her scared. Ignoring the glances from other passengers, he unbuckled his seatbelt just enough to lean closer.

“Mei, it’s okay,” he said gently while rubbing her back. “Daddy’s right here.”

“I don’t like it!” she wailed as her little hands gripped your shirt tightly. “I want to go home!”

You pressed a kiss to her head. “Shh, baby, we’re safe. The plane is just going up in the sky, like a bird.”

Mei sniffled but still whimpered. Her tiny body trembled as she cried while gripping her bunny like a lifeline.

Junhui hated seeing her in distress. So he thought for a moment, then reached into his backpack and pulled out a small red envelope. “Hey, Mei, look what I have.”

Her sobs slowed just enough for her to look at it.

“This is a hóngbāo from Grandpa,” he said, opening it just enough to show the shiny coin inside. “He sent it early for you. And guess what? He can’t wait to give you more when we get there.”

Mei sniffled, eyes still watery but now distracted.

You wiped your daughter’s tears gently. “And when we land, we’ll see Grandma and Grandpa, and there will be lanterns, fireworks, and lots of yummy dumplings.”

Mei hesitated, then clutched the red envelope along with her bunny. “Dumplings?”

“Lots of them” Junhui grinned.

The plane soon steadied in the air, and the worst of the takeoff behind was now over. Mei’s sobs faded into sniffles as she leaned sleepily against her father’s arm.

Maybe this trip wouldn’t be so scary after all.

SOONYOUNG

The music stopped. The cheers faded. And the winner was announced.

But it wasn’t him.

Soonyoung sat backstage, slumped against the wall with his arms resting on his knees and his head hanging low. Sweat dripped from his tired face, while his tank top was soaked through from the hours of dancing under the bright stage lights.

His chest ached, but not from exhaustion. This pain ran deeper. Months of practice, of pushing his body to the limit, of dreaming of victory…all for nothing.

He clenched his fists, his breathing shaky. He told himself it wouldn’t matter if he lost, and that the experience alone was enough. But now, sitting here alone in the dim backstage area while the winner celebrated, he felt like a failure.

A choked sob escaped his lips. He buried his face in his hands, and his body trembled as tears silently rolled down his cheeks.

“Daddy?”

Soonyoung felt his breath hitch. He looked up with his tear-blurred vision.

There he saw his five-year-old daughter, Arin, standing a few steps away with her small hands clutching the hem of her pink dress. Her big brown eyes were filled with worry. Behind her stood you with a sad smile as you let your daughter go ahead.

Arin took a cautious step forward. “Daddy…are you sad?” she asked.

Soonyoung swallowed the lump in his throat as he tried to find his voice. “Yes baby,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Daddy lost.”

Arin frowned, then quietly sat in front of him, folding her legs. She reached out her tiny hands and placed them gently over his own. “It’s okay Daddy.”

Soonyoung let out a shaky breath as fresh tears spilled over. He tried to hold it together, but with his little girl sitting there, looking at him with so much love and concern, the dam broke. He sobbed openly and pulled her into his arms.

Arin wrapped her small arms around his neck, patting his back the way he always did when she cried. “Don’t be sad Daddy,” she said softly. “You’re still the best dancer in the world.”

Soonyoung’s shoulders shook as he held her tighter. “Oh, baby…”

Arin pulled back slightly and cupped his tear-streaked cheeks in her tiny hands. “You dance so cool Daddy. Even cooler than the people on TV!”

You knelt beside them and rubbed your husband’s back. “She’s right, you know,” you murmured. “You worked so hard, and no trophy can change that.”

Soonyoung let out a weak chuckle through his tears, and looked into his daughter’s hopeful eyes. He wiped his face and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, my baby.”

“Can we dance when we get home?” Arin grinned.

Soonyoung exhaled, and a genuine smile finally broke through his sadness. He nodded. “Yeah. We can dance as much as you want.”

And at that moment, the loss didn’t feel so heavy anymore. Because to his little girl, he would always be a champion.

WONWOO

Wonwoo loved the beach in theory. The soft sand beneath his feet, the salty breeze that tousled his hair, the crashing of the waves — it was beautiful, and peaceful. But the ocean itself? That was different. Ever since he was a child, he had feared the water. A near-drowning incident during his childhood left a scar in his mind, one that never fully faded.

Still, he wouldn’t let his past keep him from making memories with his family. You were laying out your small picnic on a checkered blanket while humming a tune as you arranged the sandwiches and fruit.

Your five-year-old daughter, Yoonji, was giggling as she played near the shore with her bright pink floaty bobbing in the gentle waves. Wonwoo was distracted by your laughter and the task at hand that he unintentionally forgot to keep a close eye on Yoonji.

When the food was ready, he stood and dusted the sand off his hands. “Yoonie! Come eat!” he called, but there was no response. His heart began to race as he turned around, scanning the shoreline.

Then he heard the screaming.

His head snapped toward the water, and his heart nearly stopped. A small figure thrashed in the waves, the familiar floaty drifting farther away from her.

Yoonji.

A terrified scream tore from your throat as you ran towards the sea, but Wonwoo was faster. His body moved before his mind could catch up. Fear gripped at him as he approached the sea. He felt his past fear creeping in, but nothing mattered more than his daughter.

“I’m coming baby!” he frantically exclaimed as he charged into the waves.

The shock of the cold water sent his heart racing as he dove into the sea. For a brief second, the old memories surged back. But then he saw Yoonji’s tiny arms struggling against the waves with her mouth opening and closing as she tried to stay afloat.

His fear vanished. All that remained was the desperate need to reach for his child.

His strokes were fast and uneven, but determined regardless. The salty water splashed into his face and burned his eyes, but he pushed forward. He had to.

Finally, his fingers brushed against Yoonji’s trembling form. He pulled her into his arms and cradled her against his bare chest.

“I got you, baby. Daddy got you” his voice broke, but his grip was firm.

Yoonji held onto her father as she sobbed against his shoulder. He could feel her tiny body shaking. With every ounce of strength he had left, he swam back. His muscles burned, but he refused to stop.

At last, his feet found the sand. He stumbled but held tight to his daughter. “You’re okay, baby. Daddy is here” his breath was ragged as he carried her onto the shore.

You rushed towards them with tears streaming down your face. You wrapped Yoonji in your arms and pressed frantic kisses to her wet hair.

Wonwoo collapsed onto his knees beside you from exhaustion. But guilt soon overwhelmed him.

He took his eyes off her. He let this happen.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered with a hoarse voice.

“You saved her” you reassured him.

Yoonji sniffled as her small hands clutched his arm. “I was scared.” Wonwoo swallowed hard and pulled her close. “Me too baby.”

As he sat there, holding his daughter in his arms, he realised something. He feared the ocean all his life, but nothing had ever terrified him more than the thought of losing his daughter.

JIHOON

Jihoon sat hunched over his keyboard with headphones covering his ears. He was working on a track for another but k-pop group amongst his long list of requests. He adjusted the bassline and nodded slightly as he felt the groove settle in. He was close, but not quite there yet.

A sudden knock on the door pulled Jihoon from his focus. He barely had time to react before the door opened, revealing two of his favorite people in the world.

“Daddy!”

A high-pitched squeal filled the room as his six-year-old daughter, Nari, dashed towards him with her small feet pattering against the floor. Jihoon turned in his chair and pulled off his glasses as a wide smile stretched across his tired face.

“Come here my princess,” he said, spreading his arms wide.

He chuckled as Nari wasted no time leaping onto his lap and wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. He felt the warmth of her hug melt away the heavy exhaustion of the day.

“I missed you Daddy,” she mumbled against his shoulder.

Jihoon pouted in guilt. He had been working late for weeks now, buried in projects and fine-tuning beats until the early hours of the morning. He kissed the top of her head and inhaled the familiar scent of strawberries from her shampoo.

“I’m sorry princess. Daddy’s been really busy.”

You walked in with a soft smile before leaning down and pressing a kiss on your husband’s lips. “You should take a break love,” you whispered.

Jihoon exhaled. He knew you were right. But before he could argue, Nari gasped and wiggled out of his grasp. “Daddy! Can I play the piano?” she asked with her eyes twinkling with excitement.

Jihoon chuckled. “Of course princess. Show me what you got.”

Nari scrambled off his lap and ran to the sleek black piano sitting in the corner of the studio. You and Jihoon followed, taking a seat beside your daughter as she placed her small fingers on the keys.

With absolute focus, Nari pressed the keys one by one as she attempted to play a tune she heard him compose before. The notes weren’t perfect — some were offbeat, others hesitant — but she was determined. Jihoon exchanged a knowing glance with you before both bursted into soft giggles at your daughter’s intense concentration.

“You almost got it baby,” Jihoon encouraged and guided her tiny fingers to the right keys.

She pouted slightly, frustrated with herself, but tried again. And again. Jihoon’s heart swelled with pride. He loved that she shared his passion for music, even if right now, it was just for fun.

After a while, Nari suddenly turned to him with her best pleading expression. “Daddy, can we go home now? Let’s have s’mores and watch a movie together! Please?”

Jihoon hesitated and glanced back at his computer screen. He had so much work left to do. The deadline aside, Jihoon was a perfectionist. It was why he spent so much extra time in the studio to make sure the tracks he produced were top quality.

But then he looked at his daughter’s hopeful eyes as her small hands tugged at his sleeve.

Work could wait.

Jihoon sighed, then grinned as he scooped Nari into his arms. “Alright, alright. You win princess.”

Nari cheered in victory, and you laughed shaking your head.

As you all left the studio together, Jihoon knew he had made the right choice. Music was his passion, but his family was his heart. And in the end, no melody in the world could ever compare to the sound of his daughter’s laughter.

SEOKMIN

The park was quiet, save for the gentle rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. You and Seokmin walked along the park path with your fingers intertwined as you rested your head on his shoulder. It was one of those rare, peaceful moments he wished could last forever.

Ahead of you was your four-year-old daughter, Hana, skipping happily with an oversized ice cream cone in her small hands. She was talking a mile a minute about her day at kindergarten, barely pausing for breath between licks.

“And then, Miss Kim said my drawing was really pretty, and I got a gold star!” Hana announced proudly.

“That’s amazing sweetie. What did you draw?” you smiled.

“A rainbow! With a unicorn! And sparkles!” your daughter exclaimed, turning slightly to flash you both a wide, toothy grin.

“Sounds like a masterpiece” Seokmin laughed.

Hana nodded eagerly and took another bite of her ice cream. Everything felt perfect. The quietness in the park, the warmth of your body against his, your daughter’s innocent laughter — it was a moment he’d tuck away in his heart forever.

But then, in an instant, that peace was ruined.

A man, walking briskly and not paying attention, carelessly bumped into Hana. The impact sent her tiny body stumbling backward. She landed hard on the pavement while her ice cream slipped from her grasp and splattering across the ground.

There was silence for a second before a wail cut through the air.

Seokmin’s stomach dropped as he sprinted forward and dropped to his knees beside Hana. She was holding onto her arm with tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.

“Hey, Daddy got you, hmm? Are you okay? Let’s check your arm” his voice was gentle, but his hands trembled as he checked her over.

“My arm hurts,” she whimpered as her little body shook. “And my ice cream is gone…”

You knelt beside them and quickly examined Hana’s arm. “I don’t think it’s broken, just a little bruised,” you reassured as you brushed her hair from her face. “You’re so brave sweetheart.”

Seokmin’s jaw clenched as he turned to the man who had knocked into her. The guy — dressed in a dark hoodie and jeans — barely stopped. He looked back briefly but made no move to apologise or help.

And something in Seokmin snapped.He stood up abruptly with his body rigid with anger. “Hey!” he barked with a sharp voice.

The man hesitated, but then scoffed. “Wasn’t my fault, the kid wasn’t watching where she was going.”

Seokmin took a step forward, his fists clenching. “You knocked over my daughter, and that’s all you have to say?”

You, who was still crouched by Hana, snapped your head up. “Seokmin…” you called out to him.

But Seokmin was already stepping closer. He had never been the type to pick fights, but seeing Hana cry and the indifference on this guy’s face — he couldn’t just let it slide.

“You need to apologise,” he growled as his fists itched to do more than just demand words.

The man scoffed again. “Whatever,” he muttered before turning to walk away.

Seokmin took another step forward, but suddenly, a small voice stopped him.

“Daddy?”

He turned back and his eyes met Hana’s teary ones. She wasn’t scared of the man — she was scared of him. He shut his eyes and exhaled a deep breath before fluttering them open again.

He walked back over to her and crouched down to her level. He cupped her cheeks and wiped away her tears. “It’s okay baby, you’re okay.”

Hana sniffled again and looked at her fallen ice cream. “But…my treat…”

“Then let’s go get you another one. How about two scoops this time?” you said.

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

You hummed and then turned to your husband, touching his arm gently. “Come on love. She needs you more than he deserves your anger.”

Seokmin took a deep breath, forcing himself to let it go. With one last glare at the man’s retreating figure, he lifted Hana into his arms.

Hana immediately wrapped her arms around her father’s neck and snuggled into him. As you walked back toward the ice cream stand, Seokmin kissed the top of his daughter’s head, holding her close. Some fights weren’t worth it — but protecting his family always would be.

MINGYU

Mingyu stepped out of the shower feeling his body aching from an exhausting day at work. The warm water had helped ease some of the tension in his muscles, but the fatigue was still there weighing heavily upon him. He ran a towel through his damp hair and sighed as he prepared himself for what he hoped would be a quiet evening.

Then he heard it — a sharp, piercing wail resonating through the house. Aera’s cry — tiny yet somehow powerful enough to make his heart stop.

Mingyu didn’t think twice. He dropped the towel and hurried toward the nursery. The moment he stepped inside, he saw you sitting in the nursing chair cradling your newborn daughter against your chest. You looked exhausted, and your eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you said over the frantic cries. “She won’t latch…she won’t stop crying…”

Mingyu’s heart ached at the sight of your struggling. He knew how much you wanted to breastfeed, and how much pressure you put on yourself to make it work. But your daughter, barely two weeks old, was inconsolable as her tiny fists flailed, refusing to settle.

Without hesitation, he moved towards. “Let me take her.”

You hesitated, but your shoulders slumped in relief as you gently passed Aera to him. The moment she was in his arms, Mingyu was struck again by just how tiny she was. At six feet-two inches tall, his arms broad and strong, she fit against him like a fragile doll, so impossibly small and delicate.

“Shh, baby girl,” he whispered to her as he held her close. “Daddy’s got you.” his voice was softer than it had ever been.

Her cries didn’t stop immediately. They were still loud, her tiny face scrunched in distress, but Mingyu remained calm. He placed her upright against his bare chest, one large hand supporting her fragile back while the other cradled the back of her head. He began to rock her gently as he paced across the nursery.

The frantic hysteria in her voice soon quieted just a little, turning into tiny whimpers as her small body slowly relaxed against him. Mingyu pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the faint scent of baby lotion.

You watched from the chair as tears rolled down your cheeks — not just from exhaustion, but from relief.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” you whispered.

Mingyu turned to you while still rocking Aera. “You’re not doing anything wrong love.”

Your lip quivered. “She wouldn’t stop crying…she wouldn’t eat…”

Mingyu walked back over and crouched down so you could see your daughter’s peaceful face as she nuzzled into his chest. “She just needed a minute to feel safe. And she will eat, when she’s ready.”

You exhaled shakily and nodded as you wiped away your tears. Mingyu leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against your lips. “You’re doing an amazing job,” he assured you. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Aera let out a tiny sigh as her tiny fingers curled against his chest as she finally settled into sleep. Mingyu felt his heart swell. He was overwhelmed by love for the little family you and he had created.

Exhaustion didn’t even matter at that point. Work didn’t matter. All that mattered was this — holding his daughter close, keeping her safe, and making sure you knew you weren’t alone.

He would always be here. For both of you.

MINGHAO

Minghao adjusted his glasses as they slipped down the bridge of his nose. It was a movement so familiar that it became muscle memory. He barely noticed anymore — just a simple push, a brief pause, and then back to the task at hand.

Stacks of student papers sat before him, each marked with his red pen in his neat handwriting. It was late, far later than he intended to stay up. But even as a college professor, he had deadlines. The responsibility was big.

Then, a sound broke the quiet atmosphere. He heard soft cries growing louder as they approached the living room.

Minghao set his pen down and turned just as you entered. Your face was lined with exhaustion, your eyes glassy with worry. In your arms, your one-year-old daughter, Daiyu, whimpered pitifully as her tiny face scrunched in distress.

“I think she has a fever,” you murmured as you shifted Daiyu in your arms.

Minghao’s heart clenched at the sight of his little girl’s flushed cheeks and tear-streaked face. Without hesitation, he stood up and reached for her. And with gentle but firm hands, he took her from your arms.

Daiyu squirmed. He felt her warm body radiating heat against his chest. She was clearly burning up. He rocked her gently and pressed a kiss to her damp forehead.

“Shh, bǎo bèi,” he whispered. “Daddy’s here.”

You hovered close while rubbing your arms as though you were cold. But your worry was visible. “What should we do?”

“Let’s check her temperature first.”

Carrying Daiyu, he walked towards the medicine cabinet and grabbed the thermometer with one hand while balancing her with the other. He placed it under her arm and murmured soft reassurances as she fussed. A few seconds later, the reading confirmed what he was already worried about.

“She’s definitely running a fever,” he said as he kept his voice steady, though his heart ached at the sight of her discomfort.

You bit your lip as your hands twisted together. “Should we call the doctor?” you asked.

“Not yet,” Minghao said gently. “Let’s give her some medicine first and see if it helps.”

He carefully measured out the correct dose of infant fever reducer and gently encouraged Daiyu to swallow it while whispering soothing words. Despite her little whimper, she leaned against his chest and gripped his shirt with her small fingers.

He resumed pacing around the house while rocking her in his arms. His professor’s mind was now entirely focused on his daughter. The academic world, the papers waiting for his attention — none of it mattered right now.

You sat on the sofa watching them with a soft expression. The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as you saw how gently Minghao held your daughter.

For nearly an hour, he walked, whispering lullabies, stroking her back, feeling her tiny breaths against his neck. Slowly, the fever medicine began to work, and Daiyu’d cries quieted. Her body relaxed against him as her breathing evened out.

Finally, when he was sure she was fully asleep, he carefully laid her in her cot. He stood there for a moment and watched her to make sure she was truly resting.

You stepped beside him and leaned into his side. “Thank you,” you murmured.

Minghao sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “She’s our baby. I’d do anything for her.”

As he looked down at your sleeping daughter, peaceful at last, he knew he’d stay up all night if he had to — because some things were far more important than grading papers.

SEUNGKWAN

Seungkwan let out a satisfied sigh as he sank into the sofa after putting the laundry in the dryer. He knew you would appreciate coming home to clean clothes instead of another argument about his procrastination. You worked long hours, and the last thing he wanted was to hear you yelling about unfinished chores.

Just as he was about to close his eyes for a well-earned break, a small voice interrupted him.

“Daddy?”

Seungkwan opened one eye to see his five-year-old daughter, Yuna, standing beside him with an eager grin. “Yes darling?”

“Can I put makeup on you?” she asked.

Seungkwan frowned. “Makeup? But Yuna, you don’t have any makeup.”

“I’ll use Mummy’s!” she giggled mischievously.

Seungkwan sat up straighter. “Uh…I don’t think Mummy would like that,” he said carefully. “She doesn’t like anyone touching her stuff.”

“Please Daddy?” Yuna pleaded with her big eyes shimmering with hope. She clasped her little hands together and tilted her head like a puppy begging for a treat.

Seungkwan hesitated. The idea of having his face covered in lipstick and eyeshadow wasn’t exactly appealing. But how could he say no to that face?

“Alright,” he finally relented with a sigh. “But! Mummy can’t know, okay? It’s our little secret.”

Yuna squealed in delight and grabbed his hand before dragging him upstairs to the bedroom. She climbed onto the bed and rummaged through your emergency makeup bag with the enthusiasm of a treasure hunter. Seungkwan at patiently, already regretting this decision.

The next fifteen minutes were filled with giggles and concentration as she dabbed powder onto his cheeks, swiped red lipstick across his lips (some of it ending up on his chin), and painted his eyelids with an uneven mix of shimmering pink and purple.

Seungkwan caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and nearly laughed out loud. He looked ridiculous. But when he saw Yuna’s face beaming with joy, he didn’t care.

“You look so pretty Daddy!” she said proudly.

Before Seungkwan could respond, the sound of the front door opening made his stomach drop. You were home.

“Quick! Clean up!” his eyes widened.

But it was too late. The footsteps got closer, followed by your voice. “Yuna? Kwanie?”

The bedroom door swung open, and there you stood.

Your gaze swept over the scene before you — the makeup scattered across the bed, your daughter holding a mascara wand like a paintbrush, and your husband sitting there with his face covered in a colorful mess.

Your eyes widened in shock, “my makeup!” you shrieked.

Yuna flinched at your tone, but Seungkwan quickly spoke up. “Honey, I—”

“You let her use my expensive makeup for this?!” you interrupted.

But then, as you stared at them, something shifted. You saw the way Yuna giggled with her little hands covered in powder. You saw Seungkwan looking utterly ridiculous but grinning as your daughter beamed with happiness.

And just like that, your frustration melted away.

Seungkwan gave you a sheepish smile. “I’ll buy you new ones, I promise” he told you.

He then glanced at Yuna, who was now giggling uncontrollably. “But…look how happy she is.”

You let out a deep breath. Then, against your better judgment, you laughed. “You’re lucky she’s cute,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“So, do you want Yuna to do your makeup next?” your husband grinned.

“Yes! Mummy, can I do your makeup next?” Yuna jumped up.

“Not a chance” you deadpanned.

HANSOL

Hansol sat at his tiny desk typing away on his laptop with one hand while the other cradled his six-month-old daughter Nabi against his chest. She was so warm and peaceful in his arms. Her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his grey hoodie as he gently rocked her with his knee.

He was exhausted, but exhaustion had become second nature by now. Between his final year of university and fatherhood, sleep was a luxury. His dissertation deadline was in two weeks, and with every keystroke, he fought against time. He was determined to finish strong, if not for himself, then for you and his daughter.

Nabi wasn’t exactly planned to begin with. When you found out that you were pregnant, it hit him hard. Both of you were scared. Hansol remembered sitting on your dorm room bed with his hands gripping his hair while you cried softly beside him. Neither of you had an idea how you were going to manage university and a baby. It felt impossible.

But that was until Nabi was born.

Hansol wasn’t the type to cry easily, but when the nurse placed her in his arms for the first time, he broke completely. She weighed like a feather, so small and fragile, and yet the weight of her in his arms felt heavy.

Every doubt, every fear, melted away in that moment. He made a silent vow to her that he would do anything to protect her and give her the life she deserved.

It wasn’t easy. Balancing classes, assignments, and sleepless nights with a newborn pushed you both to your limits. But he and you faced every challenge together. You leaned on each other when things got overwhelming.

And tonight was no different.

Hansol adjusted Nabi slightly to make sure she was comfortable, and kept typing. His dissertation deadline was fast approaching, and he still had a long way to go. He tried to focus, but the warmth of Nabi against him and the rhythmic sound of her breathing made it hard not to get distracted.

And then, without warning, Nabi stirred. She let out a tiny gurgle before she vomited all over him.

Hansol body froze.

The warmth of the spit-up seeped through his hoodie and onto his chest. His eyes widened in horror as he realised some of it had also landed on his dissertation papers.

“Oh, come on,” he groaned as he pushed his chair back abruptly. He carefully lifted Nabi away from the mess, wrinkling his nose.

“Babe! I need backup!”

A moment later, you appeared in the doorway with your own tired eyes widening as you took in the scene. Hansol, covered in baby vomit, Nabi blinking innocently in his arms, and his once-pristine papers now splattered with milk.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, but a snort of laughter escaped. “You look like you just lost a fight,” you teased.

“Yeah, and she didn’t even have to try,” your boyfriend muttered, trying to wipe himself down while keeping Nabi steady.

“Can you grab me a towel? And maybe some clean paper while you’re at it?”

Still giggling, you disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a damp cloth. You wiped Nabi’s mouth first before handing Hansol another towel.

“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” you mused.

Hansol looked down at Nabi, who was now grinning up at him, completely unaware of the chaos she had caused. He couldn’t help but smile back, shaking his head.

“She’s worth it,” he said simply.

“Aren’t you princess?” he looked down at his daughter with a smile before leaning down to kiss her forehead. Nabi giggled as she reached her arms up to grab his face.

You leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your boyfriend’s cheek. “Yeah,” you murmured, “she really is.”

Life wasn’t perfect. It was messy, exhausting, and full of unexpected surprises. But as Hansol looked at his daughter and the love of his life, he knew one thing for sure — he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

CHAN

Chan stepped out of his car and stretched his arms as he took a deep breath of the cool night air. It had been a while since he went out with the boys, and though he enjoyed the break, he was eager to be home. The comfort of his wife and daughter was where he truly belonged.

But the moment he stepped inside, he knew something was wrong.

The house was in chaos. There were pillows thrown from the sofa, toys scattered everywhere, and a sippy cup knocked over, juice pooling on the coffee table. Then he heard his four-year-old daughter, Dahyun, crying and screaming loudly.

Chan’s stomach tightened as he hurried towards the living room.

When he walked in seeing you holding Dahyun by her arms and guiding her down onto her bottom with an exhausted but sharp glare.

“Sit on your bottom, now,” you ordered, your voice raised and filled with frustration. “You do NOT throw toys across the room like that when you’re told no. That made Mummy very sad!”

Dahyun froze, startled by your angry tone. Her big, tear-filled eyes locked onto your face as her little chest rose and fell in quick breaths. The room was silent just for a second, and Chan saw the confusion in his daughter’s expression. Then, she bursted into loud, uncontrollable sobs with fat tears rolling down her flushed cheeks.

Chen’s frown deepened. His heart squeezed painfully watching her wail with her tiny hands gripping her pyjama shirt as she hiccupped between cries.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

You let out a long, tired sigh as you rubbed your temple. Dark circles under your eyes showed just how drained you were. “She threw her toy at me when I told her she couldn’t have another custard tart,” you explained softly but still frustrated.

“It nearly hit me Chan. I can’t let her think that’s okay. She needs to learn.”

Chan nodded understandingly. You were home with Dahyun all day managing her tantrums, her tireless energy, and her stubbornness. He knew how exhausting it was. He also knew that you weren’t usually this harsh. You were just at your limit.

Still, the way Dahyun was crying, the way her little body shook on the floor, made his chest ache unbearably.

“Don’t comfort her yet,” you added quickly, sensing his thoughts. “She needs to understand that what she did was wrong.”

Chan hesitated as his gaze shifted between you and your daughter. You weren’t wrong — Dahyun needed to learn boundaries. But the way she was sobbing and struggling to breathe between her cries made it impossible for him to stand by and do nothing.

He couldn’t.

Ignoring your warning, he stepped forward and knelt down before scooping Dahyun into his arms. She held onto him immediately with her little fingers grasping the fabric of his shirt as she buried her wet face into his neck.

“Shh, my baby, calm down” Chan whispered as he rocked her gently.

Dahyun’s cries softened into hiccups as he rubbed her back in slow circles. He pressed gentle kisses to her tear-streaked cheeks while murmuring soothing words as he held her close.

You sighed as you leaned back against the sofa, exhausted. “Chan..”

“I know,” he said before you could finish. He knew discipline was important. He knew Dahyun had to learn that throwing things in anger wasn’t okay. But he also knew she was only four and was still learning how to handle her big emotions. Right now, what she needed more than anything was comfort.

You exhaled as your anger faded into quiet understanding. “It’s just been a long day,” you admitted.

Chan nodded while he adjusted Dahyun as her sniffles finally calmed. “We’ll teach her together,” he promised. “But I can’t just watch her cry like that. I just can’t.”

“I know” you offered a smal, tired smile.

As Dahyun’s small body relaxed against his chest, Chan knew that parenting wasn’t about being perfect. It was about balance. Discipline and love, lessons and comfort. And at the end of the day, no matter how difficult things got, love would always come first.

a/n; comment your favourite!

[rafes-slut]

Horny rafe gives you call wanting to see your pussy

Pairing: Horny!Rafe Cameron x reader

Warnings: Smutty talk, sexting, Rafe being a typical needy menace, explicit language, a bit of possessiveness, mentions of alcohol and drug use, suggestive content.

Summary: he is out of town missing you when he gives you call begging you to flash him. And you cant help but to tease him about it

----

You were stretched out on a towel, the sun warming your skin as the waves rolled in the background. Your friends were nearby, laughing and talking, but your focus was on the phone screen as it vibrated in your hand.

Rafe.

You smirked as you answered, bringing the phone to your ear. “Hey—”

"Show me your pussy."

A laugh burst from your lips. No greeting, no ‘I miss you’ first—just straight to the point. That was Rafe.

Before you could even react, he groaned. "No, don’t—fuck, I’m sorry… I’m drunk. Or high."

You could tell. His voice was slower, a little slurred, but still the same deep, commanding tone that always sent a shiver down your spine.

Another pause, another contradiction. "I felt bad…" A few beats of silence. "No, I don’t. Fuck."

He was spiraling, and you were completely entertained. "Rafe," you chuckled.

"Show me," he tried again, voice rough with impatience.

You laughed, shaking your head as you leaned back on your elbows. "I’m at the beach, Rafe."

"So?"

"So," you emphasized, "there are people around. And I’m not exactly gonna flash everyone just because my needy boyfriend is—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he cut in, exhaling harshly. "You got old ones. Look at those." You tell him.

The demand made him roll his eyes. "Send them to me" He said impatiant. But the idea of teasing him was far too tempting. "Hmm," you hummed playfully, pretending to consider it. "Maybe I deleted them."

"You didn’t."

You bit your lip, grinning. "What if I did?"

A scoff. "Then I’d fly home right now just to take new ones."

Your stomach did a little flip. It was one thing when Rafe was just horny and demanding, but when he said things like that—things that told you just how much he actually wanted to be here, with you—it made you miss him even more.

"How much longer are you gone?" you asked, softening.

He sighed, and you heard the rustle of fabric like he was shifting on a bed or couch. "Day after tomorrow," he muttered. "Too fucking long."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he grumbled. "Miss you."

You smiled. "Miss you too."

"Not just your pussy," he added after a beat. "Like… you."

It was rare for Rafe to get all sentimental, but when he did, it always made your heart clench. He wasn’t good at saying it outright, but this was his way of telling you he loved you.

"Well, I’ll be here when you get back," you assured him.

He huffed. "Not soon enough."

You could hear how tired he was, the way his words dragged slightly now—not just from the alcohol or whatever he’d taken, but exhaustion.

"You should sleep," you murmured.

"Mm. You should send me something to dream about."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Goodnight, Rafe."

A groan. "Ugh. Fine. But I’m calling you first thing when I wake up."

"Wouldn’t expect anything else."

You heard him mumble something else, then the line went quiet. Shaking your head with a smirk, you put your phone down.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Eldritch Ex-Husband ///////

Your now ex-husband is incredibly surprised when the authorities are dispatched to your new house when he enters. Thinking nothing of it he broke the knob of your new home, thinking after all that time talking with the judge over some foreign topic you’d both be settling into the new place. Turns out this ‘divorce’-thing and ‘restraining order’-stuff meant something after all. That he couldn’t be with you and the baby.

“Wait, the dee - force means I don’t get to come home? What–?”

“Sir, if you give me trouble it’ll only hurt your chances of seeing your kid more.”

“Wait I can’t see him? (Y/n)! (Y/n)-honey, please!”

“Sir, please put your hands behind your back.”

The only reason he doesn’t suck their brains out through their noses+ fight more is because he’s so devastated as he thinks about how in the dark about cruel-human-practices. Only now does it register that when you were oh-so cutely crying about leaving, you weren’t talking about a late night run to the store to satisfy your cravings. That the word he had dismissed as something you wanted to buy was actually an action. An action that meant he’d be deprived of the most important person in his life.

“Hello?”

“......I did not understand before….but I understand now.”

“Kilton? You know a restraining order extends to calls, right?”

“IM nOt LetTInG yOu go—”

Click.

“Creep.”

As he reluctantly uses the resources proposed to him, to argue for custody he has time to think about when you first mentioned the word. But the more he replays those heavenly moments with you he realizes how often your brow was scrunched and a vein was popping from that kissable forehead. It’s then that your ex-husband begins to realize just how little he was actually listening to you. Ashamed, he’s realized that while he finds all your actions absolutely irresistible it didn’t mean you were happy. And he really had no one to blame but himself.

“Hello this is Kilton (L/n) if you have a message leave it at the tone….beep.”

“Hey I hope I got the right number but I need your help with the baby….there’s stuff going on that I have no idea how to deal with. I won’t call the police or tell anyone..I just need….some help. And you're the only one who can give it to me.”

“OF COURSE i’LL BE RIGht oVER!”

“Wait you never set up your voicemai—”

When you left your husband, you were tired of being so confused all the time. Your husband, your best friend was keeping you in the dark for a long time now. Starting from the occasionally odd behavior you’d witness him do, that he’d brush off as if it were nothing. Like the doors in the house that have begun to open to alternate dimensions (that’s what you believe but your husband will not explain in any way) ignoring your concerns and calling you being ‘silly.’ It was annoying but you hadn’t died yet so it wasn’t that bad…until you got pregnant.

“How can this be?”

“Yippee I told you, that one took!”

“No, I literally can’t.”

“Of course, you can babe, you already are look at your little bump.”

“No like I literally can’t this is unbelievable.”

Whether you physically can and were vigilant in prevention or you physically should not be able to conceive matters not. You are pregnant. Or you were. And while dealing with the intense hormones and birthing pains and gravity-defying phenomena happening in your home, your ex-husband would explain nothing. Doing nothing but smile wistfully at you while you demanded to know why the fridge was inching closer every time you turned the corner. Any sane person could only handle so much of his pretend assurances that you were just losing your mind. 

But hindsight 20/20 you should’ve known you couldn’t get rid of your eldritch ex-husband with your eldritch baby. 

“Hey you left the door unlocked, so I let myself in. Babe, you can’t be doing that it’s really unsa–the furniture doesn’t look at all like it did before.”

“Of course it doesn’t! Because your son has decided to rearrange it with his humming!” 

“That’s not a hum, Love. He’s singing a hymn of Utter Chaos–”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT IT IS MAKE HIM STOP.”

As you suspected the root of all the inexplicable happenings in your life were because of your ex-husband and by extension the little bundle that has been doing all sorts of things a normal baby shouldn’t. Like humming the ‘utter chaos song’ or making supplies float over to you while changing him or how at the end of his bath the water turns red and evaporates in an echo of screams. It’s just a little alarming.

“Where is the baby?”

“In that other dimension.”

“Excuse me?”

“Isn’t that something familiar to you? Every now and then he just goes into this other dimension that let’s his laugh morph the walls a little.”

“Oh my. That’s new for me too.”

Surprisingly despite your husband’s now-confirmed-eldritch-heritage he’s not an exact expert on everything his son does. Apparently no one from his world/dimension/atternate plane of existence does everything your son does and is blissfully writing off as something from your side of the family. He’ll shrug and use the opportunity to listen to you list the observations you’ve made about your darling offspring and maybe compliment you on your vigilance as a new unfortunately single parent. Don’t worry it won’t be that way for long!+

“So the blood water thing. It happens whenever he interacts with water.”

“Oh I know that one it’s an old habit of mine, for storing water for later!”

“What about the metal-eating?”

“Metal eating? With no teeth? Beats me must have gotten a taste from all those utensils you’re so fond of. By the way parenthood looks good on you have I told you that?”

As he becomes more of a constant presence in your home, there's a startling change in your baby boy’s behavior. It doesn’t stop but it’s a lot less destructive. Finally, you could have the delivery crew enter the yard without them being swallowed by the portal to your son’s crib. Finally, you can afford to have a couple-hour meet and greet with your family without anyone inexplicably sprouting horns. So reluctantly you let him back into your life with very specific conditions.

“You can’t stay the night.”

“Aww but aren’t you worried about me going home in the dark?”

“I know you’re not just some helpless human, so no. Second rule no kissing or lovey dovey things with me.”

“Got it. So vague I can work with that.”

“And finally–”

“EEEKK! WHAT DID HE DO TO MY BABY!?”

“Oh guess someone’s up from their nap.”

“I’ll distract her with a ring to her doorbell, you change back the dog.”

“As always, please try to turn down her invites for dinner this time. I don’t think I can spare her if she upsets him again.”

“No promises!”

Kilton realizes that what he has with you doesn’t mean he’s equally let back into your life, especially since so many other couples ailed by this (dee)force co-parent more or less the same so he’s got his work cut out for him. He’ll have to finally get over his listening issue while worming his way back into your heart! And don’t worry he definitely will!

[natsaffection]

Redline. Pt 4 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver! Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), sexual tension, intentional crash

Word count: 10,3k

A/N: Okay…just 2 more chapters to go! Today, we’re focusing more on the dynamics between everyone. Aaand..don’t come at me for the ending!🧎🏻‍♀️

Part 3

The heat from the track still lingered in the air as you walked beside your father, the gravel crunching under your boots with every slow step. Neither of you spoke at first. The pit lane was behind you now, the silence stretching between you, heavy with everything unspoken.

Your hands were shoved deep into your fire suit pockets, your pulse still uneven from the confrontation with Natasha, her words, her touch, her smirk still lingering like a brand on your skin. You glanced at your father, jaw tight. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, his gaze stayed on the track ahead, the smooth asphalt, the sharp curves, the very place that had nearly taken you away from him once. “I wanted to see you race.”

Your chest tightened. “Dad-”

“Your test race was good.”

That stopped you. Your brows furrowed slightly, your steps faltering. Of all the things you expected, that wasn’t it. You turned to him, your voice careful. “You think so?”

His lips pressed together, his expression unreadable, Romanoff-like in his control. Then, after a moment, he nodded. “Very good.” The words should have made you feel proud. But there was something else beneath them. Something heavier. Something hesitant.

Your stomach twisted. “But?” His sigh was slow. Controlled. Measured. “But I still have doubts.”

The honesty stung more than it should have. You swallowed, looking back at the track, your fingers curling inside your pockets. “You don’t think I should be here.” It wasn’t a question. Because you already knew the answer.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his jaw before finally looking at you. “It’s not about what I think, Y/n. It’s about what this does to you.”

Your throat tightened. “I can handle it.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes studying you, seeing through you like he always did. “Can you?” The words hit deeper than you wanted them to. Because even after everything, even after clawing your way back, after surviving the rehab, after proving to the world that you were still here, there was still that one small part of you that wasn’t sure.

You blinked hard, looking away before he could see it. “Mom doesn’t think I can, does she?” His jaw tensed. That was all the confirmation you needed. “She hates it.” The words sat between you, heavy and unmoving. You exhaled sharply, your fingers flexing at your sides. “Of course, she does.”

He sighed. “Y/n-”

“No, I get it.” Your voice came out flat, bitter. “She spent a year watching me relearn how to fucking walk. She spent a year seeing me break down because I couldn’t even lift my own body weight anymore. She was there when the doctors told me that my career was over.” You swallowed hard, the memory of it clawing at the back of your mind. “So yeah. I get it.”

Your father sighed, stopping in his steps. You followed suit, keeping your gaze locked on the track ahead, refusing to let him see the way your hands were shaking. “She was scared.” His voice was softer now, edged with something tired. “She still is.”

“So are you.” He didn’t deny it. That said enough. Another long silence stretched between you, the weight of everything unspoken pressing hard against your ribs. Then, his voice changed. “Romanoff.”

You blinked, turning toward him. “What about her?” His gaze was unreadable again, calculating. “She’s difficult.” You huffed out a humorless laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket. “Is she treating you right?” The question made your breath hitch. Not because it was strange. But because it was the first time he had acknowledged Natasha at all.

You looked away, exhaling slowly. “She’s…” You hesitated. Because how the hell were you supposed to explain Natasha? The woman who pushed you to your limits. The woman who made you want to scream and fight and prove her wrong every second you were on the track. The woman who, despite everything, had kept you here. “She’s tough.”

“Tough isn’t the same as fair.”

You clenched your jaw, voice quiet. “She’s fair enough.” Your father hummed slightly, unconvinced. Then, he exhaled, looking at you for a long moment before finally nodding. “Be careful with her.”

Something in your chest tightened. Because he wasn’t talking about racing anymore. You knew that. And so did he. Looking back at the track, at the curve ahead, the stretch of asphalt that had nearly ended you once. Then, you exhaled, forcing the tension in your shoulders to ease. “I will.”

——

The moment the call came, you didn’t hesitate. You were in Natasha’s office within seconds. Not a second early. Not a second late. You weren’t going to give her another reason to tear into you.

The confrontation from the track still burned in your mind, the fire in her eyes, the way she had dragged you out of the car, ripped into you with the kind of rage only Natasha Romanoff could wield. You had pushed back. But she had pushed harder. And now? Now, you weren’t about to give her another excuse to throw you around like a chess piece.

You knocked once and firm, “Come in.” came through the heavy wood. Stepping inside, you braced yourself for another heated lecture, another round of Natasha pushing you to the brink. Instead, you stopped. Your brows furrowed as your eyes landed on the sleek leather couch, where a row of carefully curated outfits lay waiting. Dresses. Suits. Something in between. Sleek. Expensive. And entirely unexpected.

Natasha stood behind her desk, arms crossed, watching you like she was waiting for a reaction. You exhaled, tilting your head. “Are we throwing a fashion show now?”

She didn’t blink. “Try them on.”

It wasn’t a request. Your lips parted slightly, but before you could ask, her expression hardened, not angry, not quite daring, just expecting. So, you swallowed down the million questions burning at the tip of your tongue and moved toward the outfits. You weren’t stupid. You did what you were told.

The first outfit was too stiff. The second? Too formal. The third? Too boring. But the fourth? That one was perfect. Sleek black fabric hugged your form in all the right ways, polished, sharp, clean. It wasn’t a suit. It wasn’t a dress. It was somewhere in between. Powerful. Something that made you feel like you could stand next to anyone and not be overshadowed. You turned toward the mirror, adjusting the sleeves slightly before stepping back into the office.

Natasha was still at her desk, eyes scanning through a document. But the second she looked up, she stood. Green eyes flickered over you, sharp and unreadable, the weight of her gaze making your skin prickle.

“Can I touch you?”

Your breath caught slightly at the way she said it.. low, direct, careful. Your fingers twitched at your side. You nodded once. “Yeah.”

She stepped closer, movements effortless, controlled. One hand lifted, fingers barely grazing the fabric at your shoulder, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle. Then, she tugged the hem slightly, adjusting the fit. Her touch was warm, steady. Not rough like before. Not burning with frustration or anger. Just precise. Her fingers brushed along the edge of your sleeve, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

You swallowed, voice quieter than intended. “What’s this about?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she turned, walked back to her desk, slipped her pen into place with slow precision, then met your gaze again. “We’re leaving in an hour.”

Your stomach twisted. “Leaving?”

“Family dinner.”

The words settled heavily between you. You blinked, processing, feeling your pulse tick up slightly. The Romanoffs?? Everyone knew them. They weren’t just a wealthy family, they were a dynasty, a legacy built on power, wealth, and absolute control. And now, you were about to walk into their world. Natasha watched your reaction closely, smirk deepening slightly. “You know them.”

It wasn’t a question. You hesitated, keeping your voice careful. “Everyone does.”

Her head tilted slightly, amusement flickering across her face. “Are you a fangirl?”

Your jaw locked. “No.”

Her smirk widened, slow and knowing. “Hesitation says otherwise.” You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep steady. “Should I be worried?” Natasha considered that for a moment, then smiled. “That depends.”

You swallowed, hating the way she always made you feel like she had all the cards, like she had been three steps ahead of you since the moment you walked in. She picked up her phone, already moving toward the door, already in control of the next move. Then, just before stepping out, she glanced back at you, something dangerously amused in her eyes.

“Don’t be late.” she murmured. “Wouldn’t want Mommy to think you don’t belong.” Your breath hitched. She saw it and she loved it. Then, she was gone. Leaving you standing there, pulse hammering in your ears, knowing full well that this wasn’t just dinner.

The car ride was tense, but not in the usual way. This wasn’t the quiet before a storm, the steady focus before a race. This was heavier and charged with something deeper, something unspoken.

You sat in the back of one of Natasha’s luxury cars, the engine purring smoothly as it cut through the night. The interior smelled of leather and something distinctly hers. She sat beside you, legs crossed, posture straight, eyes fixed on her phone, the soft glow illuminating her features. She hadn’t spoken much since leaving the city, only issuing short, clipped commands to the driver.

Across from you, Yelena was the only one who seemed completely unbothered. She stretched out in her seat, arms folded behind her head, feet casually propped up against the console like this was just another errand. But it wasn’t. You were on your way to meet the Romanoffs. Not just Natasha. Not just Yelena. The whole dynasty.

Their empire stretched across industries that mattered. Finance. Defense. Technology. Racing. There wasn’t a single major sector that didn’t have a Romanoff signature buried somewhere in its foundation. And Natasha? She wasn’t just part of it. She was born into it.

You exhaled slowly, fingers twitching against your knee. Yelena caught the movement instantly, smirking. “Nervous?”

You met her gaze, forcing a casual shrug. “A little..”

She let out a short laugh. “If you screw up, they might not let you leave.”

Your stomach dipped. Natasha didn’t react, not outwardly. But the corners of her lips twitched slightly, like she was holding back amusement. Yelena grinned, clearly enjoying herself, but before she could respond, Natasha finally spoke. “Enough.”

Yelena rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath, but didn’t push further. The car continued its smooth ascent, winding up the private road leading to the estate. The further you drove, the more surreal it became. The Romanoff property was massive, gated, guarded, the kind of wealth that didn’t just sit pretty but protected itself. Pristine landscaping stretched for miles, leading up to the mansion itself. A fortress of glass and steel, sleek and modern, an architectural masterpiece.

When the car pulled up to the entrance, the doors were already open. Natasha moved first, stepping out smoothly, slipping her phone into her pocket as she approached the woman waiting at the entrance. Melina. Natasha’s mother.

You had seen pictures of her before, but seeing her in person was different. She was graceful, poised, elegant, but there was something colder beneath it. Something sharp. A woman who had built herself into something untouchable. She spoke to Natasha first, her voice low, unreadable. Then, her gaze flickered to you.

For a second, she said nothing. Just studied you. Her eyes swept over you like she was calculating something, measuring. Then, a smile. Melina’s lips curved slightly, gaze sharp but not unkind. “Ah. So you’re the one who’s been giving my daughter so much trouble.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Natasha exhaled quietly, a breath through her nose. Not quite a sigh. Not quite amusement. Before you could scramble for a response, another voice cut in “Ah! There she is!”

You barely had time to react before a broad, shouldered man emerged from the house, grinning widely. Alexei. Natasha and Yelena’s father. You recognized him instantly, not just from pictures, but from history. A legend in his time. Ex-Racer. A force in the business world. A man who had built part of the Romanoff empire with nothing but sheer, stubborn will.

And yet, this was not the intimidating powerhouse you expected. Because the man was smiling. A full, wide, beaming smile. Like he had been waiting all day to meet you. He stepped forward without hesitation, eyes gleaming. “So! You’re the one who thinks she can handle my Natasha!”

Natasha’s exhale was louder this time. Melina took a long sip of her wine. Yelena, standing beside you, was grinning like a damn idiot. You scrambled for words. “I..uh-”

Alexei clapped a massive hand against your shoulder, nearly making you stumble forward. “She is small, but she looks tough! I like her!” You blinked. Natasha muttered something in Russian under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. Melina sighed, already turning toward the dining room. “Come, before Alexei scares her off.”

The dining table was massive, stretching across the length of the room, its polished surface reflecting the warm glow of the chandeliers above. The entire setting felt surreal, like stepping into a world you weren’t meant to belong to, but here you were.

Seated between Natasha and Yelena, you could feel the weight of the Romanoff name pressing in from all sides. Melina sat at the head of the table, poised, watching. Across from you, Alexei cut into his steak with the ease of a man who had nothing to prove.

“So,” Alexei started, taking a massive bite, speaking around it like it was just another casual topic, “the championship race is coming up. You’re up against Walker, yes?”

You swallowed, gripping your fork a little tighter. “Yeah.”

Melina sipped her wine, tilting her head slightly. “Dreykov will be watching closely.” Natasha didn’t even look up. “Let him.”

Yelena smirked, leaning on her elbow. “I heard Walker’s already pissed about the competition.”

Alexei snorted. “Good! He should be worried.” Then, his sharp eyes flicked toward you. “Do you think you can beat him?”

The table went silent. Your pulse ticked up. Everyone was watching you. You met Alexei’s gaze head-on, steady, unwavering. “I know I can.”

Silence stretched, thick and expectant. Then, Alexei grinned. “Good answer.”

Natasha, beside you, didn’t react. But you felt her shift slightly. Like she had just gotten her answer too. Melina set her wine down with quiet precision. “You do realize this race isn’t just about you.”

Your jaw tightened. “I know.” She studied you, expression unreadable. “Do you?”

Alexei leaned forward, voice dropping just slightly. “If you win, Dreykov loses control of the narrative. If you lose? He buries you.”

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “She’s not losing.”

Melina remained still, unreadable. “You’re in a unique position, Y/n. Most drivers only fight for themselves. You? You’re carrying a legacy that isn’t even yours.” Your fingers curled around your napkin. “Then I’ll make it mine.”

Silence. Natasha finally looked at you. Really looked. Like she wasn’t expecting that answer. Like she might have just decided something. Like she saw something shift in you, something she wasn’t sure was there before.

The weight of her gaze settled deep, assessing, considering, then she leaned back, just slightly, the tension in her shoulders easing. And she smirked. Not just amusement. Not just approval. Something more. Something like certainty. Like she was finally seeing what she needed to see.

As the meal continued, you found yourself answering Alexei’s now more benign questions, he asked about your hometown, clearly trying to be friendly. It was awkward, but well-meaning. In return, you posed a timid question or two of your own, asking Melina how long they had owned the estate. Her answer involved a brief, fascinating tale of an old friend from the KGB days. With each exchange, the initial fear in your chest uncoiled a bit more.

Natasha eventually rejoined the conversation, albeit in a mild way. When you complimented the stew, saying it was delicious, she interjected quietly, “It’s Melina’s special recipe. We had it a lot when I was young.”

You glanced over, surprised to hear Natasha offer personal information so easily. Her lips twitched in a faint semblance of a smile, perhaps at a memory. Melina tilted her head, giving Natasha a fond look. “Natasha used to help me chop vegetables for it.” she added.

To your astonishment, Natasha didn’t scowl or roll her eyes. Instead, she let out a small huff that might have been a very reluctant laugh. “Only because you made me.” she protested under her breath, but there was no real heat in it. The tension that had clouded her features had ebbed away, replaced by something almost approachable.

You witnessed this shift with quiet amazement. The dinner that had begun with your stomach in knots was slowly turning into something you never expected: an insight into Natasha’s world, into a family that was far more complex than the intimidating facade they projected.

They aren’t all like Natasha. In fact, Natasha herself wasn’t even always like the stone-cold version of her you had seen out in the field, not here, not with her parents tempering her.

Melina caught your eye once more and gave you a nod paired with that small, reassuring smile. It silently said, you’re doing fine. In that moment, you felt a rush of gratitude and something almost like belonging. You straightened up a bit, no longer curled in on yourself, and even dared to genuinely smile back.

Finally, as plates emptied and the evening air settled coolly around you, the dinner came to a close. Alexei pushed back his chair, satiated and in high spirits from the meal and conversation. Melina began stacking a couple of plates, and you automatically stood. “Oh, let me help with that.” you offered, ever polite, eager to show you weren’t just a burden.

Melina shoed you away gently. “Nonsense, you’re our guest!” she insisted, but her tone was kind. Natasha stood as well, collecting the remaining glasses with efficient movements. “I’ll help.” she said, giving you a brief nod, not quite warm, but not cold either. Something more neutral. Maybe even respectful.

Alexei chortled. “I’ll escort our guest to the sitting room.” He looped an arm (carefully) around your shoulder to guide you out, treating you now like a comrade rather than a suspect.

As you left the dining room, you glanced back over your shoulder. At the end of the table, Natasha and Melina stood quietly stacking dishes, mother and daughter in a rare moment of stillness. Melina leaned in, saying something low to Natasha. You couldn’t hear the words, but you saw Natasha roll her eyes, and then smile. An actual smile. Small, fleeting, but real.

Melina chuckled softly in response, bumping her shoulder affectionately against Natasha’s. The sight stayed with you: Natasha Romanoff, so cold and fierce in the field, standing there allowing herself a moment of lightness with her mother.

You turned forward again as Alexei led you down the hall, a multitude of new impressions swirling in your mind. I was wrong about them, you thought with a mixture of relief and wonder. The Romanoffs aren’t an unbreakable wall of ice; they’re a family, with warmth sparking in unexpected places.

The drive back to Natasha’s track was silent, the weight of the evening pressing down on you like a storm cloud. The Romanoff estate faded into the night behind you, the dark road ahead stretching endlessly. Eight days. Eight days until the first real race, the one that would determine your starting position for the championship. The thought settled uneasily in your chest, coiling like a slow-burning fire.

Yelena hummed along to some song playing softly on the radio, seemingly unbothered by the tension lingering in the air. Natasha sat in the passenger seat, silent as ever, fingers scrolling across her phone, but you knew she wasn’t distracted. She never was. She was thinking, calculating, already planning your next move before you even took your next breath.

The faint glow of the track’s floodlights appeared in the distance, growing brighter as the car pulled into the lot. The closer you got, the heavier your limbs felt. The test race still lingered in your muscles, your body stiff with the memory of every sharp turn, every acceleration, every mistake. The second the car came to a stop, you reached for the door handle, desperate for fresh air, for movement-

“Not so fast.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the night, sharp and unwavering. You froze mid-step, turning to see her already out of the car, arms crossed, gaze locked onto you with that same unrelenting intensity. The air around her was different now. Heavier. You straightened instinctively. “What?”

She stepped closer, closing the space between you. “Training starts tomorrow. Six a.m.”

Your jaw tensed. “Tomorrow?”

Her brow lifted. “Did you think you were getting a break?” Exhaling through your nose, you clenched your fists at your sides. “No.”

A quiet hum. Head tilting slightly, Natasha’s expression remained unreadable. “Good. Because you don’t get one.”

There was something about the way she said it, like a warning and a promise all at once. Eight days until the race. And Natasha wasn’t wasting a single second. She turned on her heel, already walking toward the garage, leaving you standing there, pulse thrumming in your ears. Yelena strolled past, patting your shoulder with a smirk. “You should probably set an alarm.”

Day One: 5:59 a.m.

The alarm had barely registered before a hard knock echoed through your door. “Training started a minute ago.” Natasha’s voice was sharp as a blade. “Move.”

There was no time to think, no time to hesitate. You threw on your gear, barely pulling your shoes on before being dragged into the gym. It wasn’t just a warm-up. It wasn’t just conditioning. It was a full-throttle, no-mercy assault on your body.

Natasha stood in front of you, arms crossed, while one of the team’s personal trainers pushed you through a relentless circuit, strength, endurance, core. Every time you thought you could catch a breath, her voice sliced through the haze.

“Too slow.”

“Your reaction time is pathetic.”

“You think you can keep up with Walker like this?”

By the time you collapsed onto the mat, sweat dripping down your face, Natasha crouched beside you, looking far too composed for someone who had just watched you suffer. “You’ve got seven days left.” she murmured, eyes dark. “If you want to survive, stop acting like a rookie.”

Day Two:

Six a.m., and you were thrown onto the simulator. Split-second decision-making drilled into you until your reflexes burned. By noon, you were out on the track, repeating the same sector over and over. Every mistake? Restart. Every hesitation? Restart. Natasha’s voice cut through the radio like a blade. “You missed the apex.”

“Too aggressive, back off.”

“Again.”

Again.

Again.

Your body moved on autopilot, muscles screaming, exhaustion creeping in. When she finally called you back in, you pulled into the pit, stepping out of the car, legs trembling. Natasha barely glanced up from her tablet. “Get some sleep.” Even. Unmoved. “You’ll need it.”

Day Three:

The training room was dim, the only light coming from the massive screen flickering with images of drivers. Dreykov’s team. Rivals. Threats. Natasha stood in front, hands on the table, voice measured. “Know them. Study them. Every habit, every weakness, every mistake they’ve ever made. Learn their tells. If you don’t, they’ll rip you apart.”

She turned, gaze flicking toward you. “You want to be better than Walker?” Her voice dipped lower, deadlier. “Then you don’t just beat him on track. You get inside his head. Make him doubt. Make him hesitate.” You swallowed hard, nodding. Natasha’s lips curled, just barely.

Day Four:

Tires screamed against the asphalt as you pushed through another lap, the track lights blurring into streaks of color. Natasha stood on the pit wall, headset on, arms crossed. Watching. Tracking every movement, every sector time. She saw it now. The shift. The way you moved. The way you didn’t hesitate anymore.

The radio crackled. “Better.”

Not praise. Not exactly. But something. And from Natasha? That was enough.

Day Five:

A miscalculation. A slight overcorrection. One second, you were flying through the straight, next, the car twitched. The back end stepped out. The world tilted. Your breath hitched, flashes of your past crash slammed into your skull. You hesitated. And that was your mistake.

The car skidded onto the run-off area, tires screeching. You caught it, but by then, it was too late. Lap ruined.

“Get back in the pit.”

You swallowed, bringing the car in, already bracing yourself. The second you stepped out, Natasha was there. She wasn’t yelling. That was worse. “You hesitated.”

Your mouth went dry.

“Do that in the race, and you’re done.” Her voice was sharp, but there was something else beneath it. Something almost…dangerous. “Fix it.”

Hours later, your body felt like lead as you walked back to your room, exhaustion sinking into your bones after another brutal day of training. Every drill, every lap, every order had been pushed to the extreme by Natasha, like she was determined to break you. And now? You could barely move. You had one thought in mind, collapse into bed and sleep for the next century. But before you could open the door, her voice cut through the silence.

“Be ready by nine.”

You stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing. Natasha stood at the end of the hall, arms crossed, looking completely unaffected by the relentless day she had put you through. “For what?” you asked, already dreading the answer.

“Photoshoot.”

You blinked. “…You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I joke?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Please tell me this is just a few shots for the team.” Her lips twitched. That was never a good sign. “FIA. Sponsors. Press. Magazine covers.”

You exhaled sharply, head tilting back. “I can barely stand, Natasha. How do you expect me to pose for a camera?” She stepped forward, stopping just in front of you. Close enough that you could feel her heat. Her eyes flickered over you, assessing, calculating.

“You’ll manage.” And with that, she turned, walking away without another word, leaving you standing there, completely and utterly trapped.

Day six:

The next morning, you found yourself in a massive, high-end studio. Bright lights. White backdrops. Rows of expensive cameras and flashing bulbs. Everything screamed control. And in the middle of it all, Natasha, commanding the entire room. She stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching every single detail.

Every movement, every adjustment, every pose, she dictated all of it. When the crew hesitated, she fixed it. When the angles weren’t perfect, she adjusted them. Her presence was everywhere, in everything. And you hadn’t even stepped in front of the camera yet. This wasn’t just a photoshoot. This was a fucking mission.

Your first set was classic, controlled. You stood against the sleek backdrop in your race suit, arms crossed, chin high. The photographer and Natasha called out instructions.

“Look strong. Confident. Eyes sharp.”

“Fix your posture.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the room like a blade. Your jaw tightened. She was standing just off-camera, her gaze laser-focused on you.

“Shoulders squared.”

You adjusted. “Chin up.” You exhaled slowly, adjusting again. “Now hold it.”

You held it. The cameras flashed, one after another, capturing every angle. You could feel her watching you. Not just monitoring. Not just observing. Watching. Studying.

Next came the full team shots. You stood in the center, surrounded by the entire Romanoff Racing crew, mechanics, engineers, strategists. A wall of power. A force. The Romanoff insignia blazed behind you. The photographer adjusted his lens.

“Closer together. Stronger stance.”

You stepped forward, shoulders squared. The flashes erupted, capturing everything. You could feel the weight of it. The responsibility. The legacy you were now a part of.

Now, it was Natasha's turn and Jesus Christ. She stepped onto the set, a black suit, tailored to absolute perfection. She didn’t pose. Didn’t adjust. She just existed. And the entire room bent to her. The camera didn’t just capture her, it obeyed her. Her stance was effortless, natural, lethal. Her eyes sharp, lips pressed together in a look of absolute control.

And when she leaned against the car, one hand resting on the frame, the other tucked into her pocket, expression unreadable, you had to look away. Because holy shit..

Your fingers twitched at your sides. Your stomach flipped. And suddenly, you weren’t breathing right. You forced yourself to focus on something, anything else. The camera flashes. The set crew. But your eyes kept drifting back.

And then, she turned her head. And caught you. Your breath hitched. For one unbearable second, neither of you moved. She didn’t smirk. Didn’t say anything. Just looked. And then, she moved on. Leaving you standing there, heart pounding.

Then came the part you weren’t prepared for. You. And Natasha. Together. The photographer waved you forward. “Alright, side by side. Look strong, look dominant.”

You took your place beside her. And immediately, something was off. “Closer.” the photographer instructed.

Natasha shifted beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. Your breath caught. Your muscles tensed. The camera clicked. Natasha glanced at you, brow furrowing slightly.

“Break. Ten minutes.” The team scattered. You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to move. Before you could step away, Natasha’s voice stopped you. “What’s wrong?”

You froze. Your back was still to her, but you knew she was watching and waiting. You rolled your shoulders, forcing a casual shrug. “Nothing..” you muttered. “Just exhausted.”

Lie. Natasha wasn’t stupid. She saw right through you. Her eyes flickered over your face, searching, calculating. You knew you were caught. So you wiggled your shoulder slightly, brushing it off.

Natasha’s lips pressed together. She didn’t believe you. But she didn’t push. She just watched and something in her expression..something unreadable, something almost amused, made your stomach twist.

The photographer called you both back onto set, your stomach tightened again. “Alright, last round of shots. This time, we go for dominance!” the photographer instructed, adjusting the lighting. You swallowed hard. Natasha stepped up beside you. Close. Not too close. But close enough. “Cross your arms.” the photographer said.

You did. Natasha did too. Side by side. Like two weapons, locked and loaded. Another click. Another flash. “Now turn toward each other slightly.”

You’re kidding..You hesitated, just for a second. But Natasha didn’t. She shifted, her posture unwavering. Her sharp green eyes locked onto you, steady and unreadable. You mirrored her. Straightened your spine. Tilted your head slightly. The camera flashed again.

“Alright, I want something more intense. Y/n, look straight at the camera. Natasha, glance at her.” Your pulse jumped. But you did it. Held your stance. Held your breath. Just a few more minutes..! You were sweating at this point.

Natasha turned her head slightly, just enough to follow the instruction. The way her gaze landed on you, like she was assessing. Calculating. Waiting for you to break.

The shutter clicked. The camera caught it. And suddenly, you felt it too. This wasn’t just a team photo. This was a power move. A statement. The air between you was too charged. You could see it now. And so could everyone else in the room.

The photographer stepped back. “That’s the one.”The crew murmured in agreement. You exhaled slowly. “Alright.” Natasha said, stepping away first. “That’s enough.”

And just like that, the spell was broken. The crew started packing up, cameras shutting down, the studio buzzing with movement. Natasha, as always, was already ahead of everyone. She stood at the monitors, scrolling through the raw images with the lead photographer.

You were halfway through unzipping your race suit when you heard her voice. “Y/n, come here.”

You hesitated. Took a breath. Then walked over. The screen displayed a row of thumbnails, hundreds of photos from the shoot. The first few were standard. You in your race suit, alone. The team standing beside you. You adjusting your helmet. You leaning against the car.

Then came Natasha’s. The black suit. The sharp gaze. The effortless power. You looked away but when Natasha clicked on the last image. The one with both of you. Your stomach tightened. It was..intimidating. You stood tall, shoulders squared, your expression unreadable. And Natasha? She was beside you, turned slightly, looking at you instead of the camera.

It wasn’t a casual glance. It was calculated. Deliberate. Like she was analyzing every move, every breath, every inch of control you had. It looked… powerful. More than that, it looked like something else. Something dangerous.

You swallowed. Natasha didn’t look at you. She just studied the screen, tapping her fingers against the console. “This one.” she said simply.

Your voice was quieter than you intended. “…Yeah.”Natasha finally turned her head, just slightly. Your eyes met. And for a moment..just a moment, it was too much. Then she smirked. “Good.”

She clicked the screen off. And just like that, it was over. But the image? It stayed with you. Long after the photoshoot ended. Long after the cameras shut down.

And long after you left the studio. The car was quiet. Too quiet. The low hum of the engine was the only sound filling the space, but you barely heard it. Your mind was somewhere else.

Still stuck on the photoshoot. On the way the camera had captured everything, the power, the intensity, the control. On the way Natasha had looked at you in that last shot. It wasn’t just a glance.

You stared out the window, barely blinking, your thoughts spiraling as the scenery blurred past. Natasha was speaking. Something about the schedule for tomorrow, about things you should have been listening to.. But you weren’t. You couldn’t. Your chest still felt too tight, your breath too shallow. “Y/N.” Your name snapped you out of your daze. You blinked, turning your head.

Natasha was watching you. One hand on the steering wheel, the other resting against the gear shift, her gaze sharp even in the dim light of the car. “You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”

You opened your mouth, closed it and Natasha sighed. “Alright. We’re done for today.”

You frowned slightly. “What?”

“You’re off until tomorrow. Go rest. Clear your head.” You blinked again, trying to process her words. You were so used to the pressure, to the relentless push, to her orders keeping you on edge. But this? This was unexpected.

“Don’t look so surprised.” she muttered. “You earned it.” Her words settled in your chest, but you didn’t know what to do with them. So you just nodded. And for the rest of the ride, you sat in silence, still thinking, still feeling, still stuck in that moment.

Day 7:

Every drill was brutal. Every lap was ruthless. Natasha barely spoke, except to push you harder. Every limit you thought you had? She crushed it. By the time night fell, you thought she was done with you. Thought you could finally sleep. But Natasha found you later.

Fast asleep on the team’s lounge couch, still in your fireproofs, completely knocked out from exhaustion. She had stood there for a moment, watching. Then, without a word, she grabbed a blanket from the other side of the room and tossed it over you before leaving.

Day 8:

Final day. Final test. One last session to prove you were ready. The team stood by the pit wall. The car hummed beneath you, waiting. You took a breath. Natasha’s voice came through the comms.

“Last chance. Show me what you’ve got.”

And then, you drove. Fast, precise and unforgiving. You felt it. The shift. The control. The instinct overriding doubt. And when you pulled in, stepping out, Natasha was waiting. This time, she didn’t criticize. She just gave you one long look.

“You’re ready.”

——

The paddock was electric, alive with tension and expectation. Mechanics moved like clockwork, final checks being done, engineers poring over data, and drivers locked into their pre-race rituals. The weight of the moment pressed heavy on the entire grid.. this wasn’t just another qualifying session. This was the moment that decided who would start at the front. The moment that separated the contenders from the pretenders.

You sat in the cockpit, fireproofs clinging to your skin, harness so tight across your chest it felt like it was crushing your ribs. The scent of burned rubber and fuel lingered in the air, the familiar hum of engines warming up in the background. Your fingers flexed over the wheel, every part of your body wired, ready.

Across the pit wall, Natasha stood with arms crossed, headset secured, her green eyes locked on the track, calculating every possible scenario before the race had even started. She hadn’t spoken much that morning, not because she wasn’t paying attention, but because she was watching. Waiting for the moment to set the tone. Now, as you sat on the grid, the lights glowing red above you, her voice crackled through the radio.

“Listen to me.” Everything else fell away. “Today, you stop thinking like a rookie. Today, you stop waiting for opportunities to come to you. You take them. You fight for them. You rip them from their hands, and when they push back, you push harder. Do you understand me?”

Your breathing slowed. Your grip on the wheel tightened. “Understood.”

“Good. Because no one is going to move aside for you. Least of all Walker. He’ll do whatever it takes to hold that front row. Don’t let him.”

Your jaw locked at the mention of Walker. Natasha’s voice sharpened. “And if he tries anything, you make sure he regrets it.”

There it was. That edge. That lethal promise in her voice. The engineers gave the final signal. Time to go. You pulled onto the track, engine roaring as you weaved left and right, warming the tires, feeling out the car. The formation lap passed in a blur.

Lined up. Heart pounding. The lights above flickered on. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Green.

You launched off the grid, every fiber of your being focused, locked in. The tires gripped, the engine screamed, and the car shot forward. Walker was already moving to cover the inside line, expecting you to challenge immediately. You didn’t. Not yet. The first few corners were chaos, cars battling, elbows out, everyone jostling for position. You stayed aggressive, ruthless, refusing to back down when the space got tight.

P6. P5.

The radio crackled. Natasha’s voice was controlled but firm. “You’re faster. Stop waiting. Move.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. The next car ahead made the mistake of defending too early into Turn Seven. You sold the dummy, flicked the wheel the other way, and sent the car down the inside, clean, fast, brutal.

P4.

Natasha’s voice hummed in your ear. “Good.” P3 came soon after, the overtake executed so smoothly it almost felt effortless. But nothing about this was effortless. Because now, you had Walker in your sights. And he knew it.

Walker had picked up the pace, trying to pull away, but you were there, suffocating him. Every time he took a defensive line, you mirrored his movements, staying just inside his blind spot, making him feel the pressure.

Natasha’s voice cut through, sharp and knowing. “He’s breaking. Give him a reason to make a mistake.”

Turn Nine. Walker braked late, too late. His tires locked for a split second, and that was all you needed. Inside line. Full send. You were alongside him. Natasha’s voice held its breath. Next corner was yours.

You braced..then impact. Walker clipped your rear tire, sending your car into a violent snap-spin. The world tilted. Gravel exploded around you as the car skidded through the runoff, the steering kicking back violently in your hands. Natasha stood up, “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, blood boiling as she watched your car skidding through the dirt. The pit crew held their breath. The race officials didn’t say a word. The safety car was on standby, waiting to see if you’d move.

Then, your car jerked forward. The engine roared back to life. Natasha froze. Then, sharp—“Y/n, report.” A beat of static. Then, your voice, steady but burning. “Still here.”

She exhaled sharply. “Get back on track. Now.” You were back. But you were P8 now. Too far back. Too much time lost. Your hands gripped the wheel. “I have an idea.”

Silence. Then, slower. “What idea?” You exhaled.

“It’s risky..”

“Everything in this sport is risky. Talk.” Your breathing was sharp, pulse hammering, your grip locked onto the wheel so tight your knuckles ached.

“If I overtake three cars before Turn Ten, I can keep it flat through sector two and make up time. But I need to go off-line in Turn Six.”

The moment you said it, the radio went dead. It was only for a second, but the silence was heavy, suffocating. Natasha wasn’t answering. Not immediately.

You could picture her in the pit wall, headset tight around her head, eyes narrowed at the screens, jaw locked, fingers gripping the radio as she weighed the calculation in her mind. If you missed the move by an inch, if the grip wasn’t there, if the car snapped on you at that speed, race over.

“Don’t fuck it up.”

Lap 15

Turn Six approached like a wall, a barrier you either broke through or crashed into. You didn’t lift. You went wide, off the racing line, into the part of the track where no one dared to find grip. The car trembled beneath you, the tires barely holding, but they held.

The move was insane. The pit wall erupted. The commentators lost their minds. The entire grandstand stood up. You didn’t hear any of it. Because the second you pulled off the move, the radio clicked. Natasha’s voice cracked through, lower now, almost breathless. “…You’re insane.”

A grin pulled at the corner of your lips. “Told you.”

P5. P4. P3.

The radio clicked again. Natasha was fully locked in now. No hesitation. No restraint. She was with you. “Walker is 1.8 seconds ahead. Three laps left. Close it.” And you did.

Final Lap

Walker was right there and desperate. His lines getting messier, his defense more aggressive. He knew you were coming, knew you were faster. But you knew something else..He was afraid.

Natasha’s voice cut through, sharp as a blade. “If he tries to block, don’t lift.”

Turn 12. Walker braked early, too early. He was trying to bait you, to force a mistake. But you weren’t falling for it. You threw the car inside, right on the limit, the tires barely holding, but it was enough. Walker tried to squeeze you off, but it was too late. You were gone.

P1.

The checkered flag waved. The radio was silent. For a long, long moment..nothing. “Now that…” A pause. “Was a fucking statement.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, exhaling hard, body vibrating from the adrenaline, the exhaustion, the everything. You had done it. You had won. And Natasha..Natasha had trusted you. You barely heard her, too overwhelmed by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding against your ribs, the raw rush of adrenaline and exhaustion making your body tremble against the seat. The realization hit all at once.

Pole position.

You had fought for it, clawed your way from the gravel, risked everything, and won. The car slowed on the cool-down lap, but your hands were still shaking, your breathing still uneven. The reality of what just happened was sinking in, and for the first time in a long time, you felt it.

Pride. A slow, satisfied smirk pulled at your lips as you finally spoke into the radio, breathless but grinning. “P1, huh?”

A small pause. Then, Natasha’s voice, quieter now, something different in it. “P1.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just letting the weight of it settle in. “Ha!!”

Natasha didn’t respond, but you could sense her smirk, even through the static. She let you have this moment. She didn’t cut it down, didn’t make a comment about how it was just qualifying, that the real race was still ahead. No, she let you feel it.

Because you had earned it. Natasha was already pulling off her headset, stepping away from the pit wall as the team erupted into cheers, shouts, and frantic celebrations. She had done her job. Now it was yours. And she wanted to see it. She moved through the chaos, eyes locked on the car rolling in. The mechanics were already lined up, waiting for you.

The moment you stepped out, adrenaline still coursing through your veins, they swarmed. Shouts, cheers, hands grabbing at you, pulling you into crushing embraces. You did it. You laughed, breathless, still high from the race, from the moment, from everything. One of the engineers grabbed your helmet, ruffling your hair before clapping you hard on the back. Someone else was already holding up the pit board. P1.

You looked at it, at the reality of it, and your chest swelled with something powerful. You turned, scanning the pit wall, searching. And then, you saw her.

Natasha stood a few feet away, arms crossed, just watching. She hadn’t rushed into the celebration, hadn’t thrown herself into the crowd of mechanics. No, she was just there, eyes sharp, lips pressed together in something unreadable. For a split second, you thought she was going to walk away.

Then, finally, she nodded. A small movement, barely there. But you saw it. And fuck..it meant everything.

——

The energy of the paddock still buzzed behind you as the car pulled away from the circuit, leaving behind the celebrations, the flashing cameras, and the press that would no doubt be dissecting every second of today’s session.

The atmosphere in the car was… different. Not tense. Not suffocating like usual. Lighter. For once, Natasha wasn’t drilling into you, wasn’t immediately picking apart every turn, every sector time, every moment that could have been improved. She wasn’t reminding you that qualifying was just the beginning, that the real fight was still ahead.

Sitting in the passenger seat, you sank into the leather, exhaustion finally settling in. Your body was still buzzing with adrenaline, muscles sore, heart still beating in the aftershock of what just happened. But this was the first moment you had to actually process it.

You had pole position.

You unlocked your phone, fingers instinctively scrolling through the flood of notifications. News articles. Tweets. Posts.

“Y/N Y/L/N Takes Stunning Pole After Dramatic Comeback.”

“Against All Odds—Romanoff’s New Signing Sends a Warning to the Grid.”

“Walker Struggles Under Pressure as Y/L/N Dominates Qualifying.”

That one made you grin. You scrolled further, seeing clips of your overtakes, of the moment you took pole, of the radio call with Natasha. People were already analyzing it, already picking apart the dynamic between you and her.

“Romanoff’s reaction to Y/L/N’s pole position is so telling.”

One clip showed Natasha standing on the pit wall, her face blank, except for the small, almost imperceptible nod.

The comments were relentless.

“That’s the highest form of Romanoff praise. If you know, you know..”

“She’s pleased. Trust me. She won’t say it, but she is.”

You had spent so long trying to prove you deserved to be back. Fighting against the doubts, the whispers, the endless questioning of whether you were still capable.

And today? Today, you gave them their answer.

You turned your head slightly, glancing at Natasha in the driver’s seat. She hadn’t said a word the entire drive, hadn’t given you that usual look like she was waiting to correct something. She was just driving. Calm. Focused. She caught you looking and raised a brow. “What?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “You’re being…nice.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she kept her eyes on the road. “Don’t get used to it.”

Your lips twitched. “No?”

“Not a chance.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, the tension that had always sat between you and her finally settling, not disappearing, but shifting into something else. Something you weren’t sure how to name yet.

Then, Natasha’s voice cut through the silence again, lower this time, like a warning. “Enjoy today.” A beat. “Because tomorrow?”

She glanced at you, and for a second, the warmth was gone, replaced by something else entirely. “The real war starts.”

The first race of the season.

You sat in the passenger seat as the team drove toward the circuit, headphones in, music drowning out everything else. The low hum of bass vibrated through your ears, steady, grounding. The world outside blurred past, flashes of the approaching grandstands, the towering banners, the overwhelming storm of people already waiting for the main event.

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against your thigh, muscles tense beneath your race suit. This was the moment you had spent years clawing your way back to. And today, you had one job.

The second you stepped out of the car, the onslaught began. Flashes. Cameras. The swarm of media surged forward, microphones shoved in your direction before you even had the chance to breathe.

“Y/N, a quick word before the race!?”

“How are you handling the pressure of pole position?”

“Walker says you don’t have what it takes to hold first place, any response?”

The voices came all at once, words overlapping, the chaos pressing in around you. Your fingers twitched at your sides, the air tightening-

“That’s enough!” Natasha stepped in front of you in an instant, her presence slamming into the conversation like a force of nature, sharp green eyes locking onto the nearest journalist, unflinching. The words cut through the noise like a whip crack. Then, she turned to you,

“Go. Get ready. I’ll handle them.” You hesitated for only a second before nodding, stepping away and heading toward the paddock entrance, leaving the storm behind.

The garage was alive with controlled chaos, engineers running final checks, the steady hum of the team speaking through headsets, the unmistakable scent of fuel and anticipation thick in the air.

You exhaled slowly, rolling out your shoulders as you made your way toward your race suit stand, where one of the crew members was already waiting with your gloves. “Helmet’s prepped.” another said, handing it to you.

You took it, fingers grazing the visor, feeling the familiar weight settle into your grip. Another mechanic helped with your strap devices, securing it into place while you adjusted your gloves, making sure every strap, every fastening, was locked in. The tension in your chest coiled tighter with every second.

“Radio check.”

You exhaled once, pressing the comms button on your wheel. “Loud and clear.”

Natasha’s voice followed instantly, sharp and precise. “Copy. Comms are stable. Crew, confirm status.”

One by one, the voices of your engineers came through, confirming everything was set. The team was ready. The car was ready. You were ready.

The pit lane outside was roaring with noise, the grandstands full, the grid already lined up with cars rolling into position. And you were about to join them. This was it. The pre-race ceremony had begun, but you barely processed it. The national anthem played, the teams stood by their cars, the broadcast captured the entire starting lineup.

Pole position. Your car, first on the grid. It wasn’t the final step. It wasn’t the win. But it was the beginning of something.

“Y/n.”

You didn’t turn your head, just listened. Then, smooth, like she already knew what the answer would be- “You ready to fight?” You exhaled slowly, letting the tension in your chest morph into fire. “Always.”

The engine roared beneath you, a low, guttural vibration that thrummed through your bones. The grandstands blurred into a sea of colors, the sound of thousands of fans mixing with the distant hum of commentary and static-filled radio chatter.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. This was it. This was the real fight. You focused on the lights above you, glowing red, lined up like a countdown to war.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Lights out.

Your tires gripped hard, the acceleration pinning you into the seat as you launched off the line. Walker was already alongside you, his front wing barely inches from your rear tire, trying to force you wide into Turn One.

Not a chance. You braked late, hugging the inside, refusing to give an inch. The car behind you lunged forward, but you held firm, forcing Walker to the outside.

“Good start, Y/n. Hold the inside.”

Natasha’s voice was clear, sharp, cutting through the chaos like a blade. Turn One, clean. Turn Two: Walker tried again, but you covered it, forcing him back. By the time you hit Turn Three, you had defended your position.

P1.

Walker was relentless. He stayed glued to your rear wing, waiting for an opening, a mistake, anything. Your heart pounded, every nerve in your body locked onto every sound, every movement, every vibration of the car beneath you.

The radio crackled. Natasha’s voice, calm, but watchful. “Don’t let him push you. Control the pace. Make him react to you.”

You adjusted, shifting your lines slightly, feeling out the car, forcing Walker to mirror your every move. Turn Eight and he went for it. He dove inside, too deep, too aggressive. You saw it coming before he even committed. A quick switch-back, flicking the car to the outside as he overshot the apex, and just like that- He was behind you again. The pit wall cheered, but Natasha? She only said, “Nice. Now keep your head down.”

Lap 12

The degradation was kicking in. Your tires were screaming through the high-speed corners, the grip beginning to fade, every lap getting harder to hold. The radio crackled. Natasha again. “Box this lap. We’re switching to mediums.”

Your fingers flexed over the wheel. “Copy.”

Coming out of Turn 14, you peeled off the racing line, diving into the pit lane, the speed limiter engaging as you barreled toward the box. The team was already waiting. You rolled in perfectly, stopping on the mark. Four tires. Fresh set. 2.3 seconds. Fast

You slammed the throttle the second you were released, shooting back onto the track, merging just as a car flew past.

P5.

Natasha’s voice was back in your ear. “You’ll regain track position when they stop. Just keep your pace up.”

Lap 18

The car felt lighter, the grip returning, your confidence growing. P3. P2.

Walker was right there again. Natasha’s voice cut through the radio. “He’s losing grip. He’ll defend aggressively. Watch for a late move.”

Turn 11 and walker went defensive. You faked the inside, forcing him to commit, then switched lines instantly, diving outside instead.

Your tires barely held, the car sliding on the edge of control and you were through. P1 again. The radio erupted with team cheers, but Natasha’s voice was the only one you focused on. “Good. Now put some distance between you.”

Lap after lap, you could feel Walker’s presence behind you like a shadow, clinging too close, pushing the limits of what was allowed. You knew him, knew the way he played the game, but this? This was different…

Something about the way he moved, the way he positioned himself right at your rear wing now, sent a flicker of unease through your chest. You gritted your teeth, forcing the feeling down as you powered through another turn, your car gliding over the asphalt like second nature.

Your hands gripped the wheel tighter as you closed in on him, calculating your every move, your breath steady despite the heat in your chest. But Walker? He was too close. Too aggressive, as usual. You could feel him right on your rearview, waiting for a moment to overtake, but you wouldn’t give him that. Not now. Not today.

Then, in a blink, he made his move. You saw him inching forward, his car too close for comfort, and that was when the panic flashed across your mind. Why was he doing this? What was his game? You didn’t have time to think about it long before your tires lost traction, and you could feel the weight of the car shift.

“What the hell is he doing!?” Your voice was sharp through the radio, frustration rising as you saw him get closer, too close for comfort. But there was nothing you could do. Before you could react, before you could even process it, he hit you.

The force was hard. You didn’t even have time to brace. It came from behind you, the rear tires suddenly lifted off the track as your car was jerked sideways. You fought for control, your hands desperately working the wheel to correct it, but the back end of your car was already out of your control. The track seemed to tilt beneath you. The wall loomed ahead, too close, too fast.

Your breath hitched. No, no, no, you thought, your heart racing. “N-NO!” The impact was swift. Your car slammed into the wall with such force that it felt like your body was being thrown against the harness. The crash sent a sharp shockwave through your entire body, and the world went blank.

The sound of your desperate voice on the radio hit Natasha like a punch to the gut. She was already watching, tracking Walker’s every move, every inch of the track. But nothing, nothing could prepare her for the moment she heard you. The raw fear in your voice was unlike anything she had ever heard from you before.

Her body reacted before her mind could process the fear in her chest. She shot to her feet, the chair behind her crashing to the floor as if it didn’t exist. She grabbed the radio, her hands trembling as she slammed the button down.

“Y/n, come in!” She was breathless, her voice tight with panic.

Nothing.

“Y/N! Answer me!” She tried again, but the radio crackled with silence. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. She saw the monitors flicker, showing the image of your car crashing hard into the wall. The feedback from the telemetry was dead, and all she could hear was the commentators’ panicked voices.

“That was a huge impact! No response from Y/N!”

Her hands clenched around the radio, the sensation of fear crawling up her spine. Her eyes stayed locked on the screen, watching the wreckage unfold in real time, but her heart was somewhere else..in the car with you.

Her team tried to speak, but Natasha didn’t hear them. The only thing she could hear was the pounding of her own pulse in her ears, the sound of your voice echoing in her mind, and the image of you, helpless and not responding. She didn’t think. She didn’t hesitate. The safety car was already on its way, and before she could even consider what she was doing, Natasha was already moving.

-

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🏷️ Taglist: @l0nelyish @ayrtonwilbury @ima-gi--na-tion @whatthesnoodle @blackswanxzn @ivyasproperty @seventeen-x @wandanatlov3r @nebthetautora @casquinhaa @veroeuqin

[chimielie]

send flowers to my funeral

summary: Matsukawa x Reader. happy birthday FREAK

word count: 924

cw: no minors pls 🙏 suggestive content (scene starts immediately after mattsun and reader have finished having sex), no gendered terms or genitalia are mentioned but reader is pretty clearly. how do i put this delicately. getting fucked by him on the regular, fwb to lovers

a/n: my apologies for the incorrect characterization (mattsun and makki have a coffee table which is frankly unrealistic). also i insert a completely random rarepair headcanon with no context and then don’t expand at all

"My back hurts," you moan. "Get off me."

"One second," Issei says, his naked chest warm as his big body blankets you. "I'm tired."

"You're tired?" You can't even twist your neck up to look at him. You hope your tone betrays your incredulity.

"Well, I was the one doing all the work," he says, and you gasp indignantly.

"No, actually, get off of me!" You say. "All you have to do is," you back your hips up into his, where you're still connected. He groans, and you lose your train of thought for a split second. "You think those acrobatics are easy?"

"It was a mutual effort," he cedes. "Hey—"

"No," you say, aggravated. "I'm sore."

He shifts slightly, one thick forearm braced next to your head. You're bent over the arm of the couch, forehead almost touching the cushions. You say: "Okay, after I shower."

Showering together is one of those things you don't do, like kissing or staying the night. You'd put up emotional guards when you started doing whatever it is you and Issei do.

They hadn't worked, like, at all.

In the shower, you don't play music, just scrub yourself down and prod the red marks he'd left behind. On the hips, the chest, the ass. You never take long, afraid to use up his hot water or reveal something you don't mean to vis-à-vis the affinity for love songs you've developed.

After you've left the shower and the both of you drip water all over his covers, he puts the sheets in the laundry and pulls you back onto the couch, really on the couch this time, his feet up on the arm, his arms around you.

"It's my birthday today," he says suddenly, and you jolt. You hadn't known that. "My friends and I are gonna go for dinner. Come with?"

You stare at him with wide eyes.

"You should've told me, I would've been nicer to you," you say, still trying to wrap your head around the question he'd asked you.

"You're plenty nice to me," he laughs, "what are you talking about?"

"What are you talking about?" You parrot. "Do your friends even know about me?"

"'Course," you feel one shoulder move in a shrug beneath you. "I told them about the time you faxed nudes to the mortuary.”

You’d been particularly proud of that feat, right up until he’d called you and you’d heard it in his very voice that you wouldn’t be walking the next day.

“Wow, I had no idea that was what made me stand out,” you laugh. “I don’t have any plans tonight, anyway. How many others have you invited?”

“Oh, it’s just the guys from high school,” he shrugs. “Kawa and Iwa always have some other volleyball addict strapped to their backs, so there’ll probably be a couple more, but I don’t really like parties.”

Issei is the most low-maintenance guy you know. You admire his ability to go with the flow, to let life wash over him and appreciate the ride.

“No, I meant how many of the others,” you gesture to yourself, a tiny movement. “Like me?”

“You’re the only person who’ll be there that I’ve had sex with, if that’s what you mean,” there’s a little smile on his face, one that makes your heart skip a beat. “Crazy.”

“Didn’t you and Iwaizumi have a thing for a while?” You point out.

“Hooking up once in high school is not the same as having a thing,” he insists. His heartbeat is speeding up under your palm, you notice. Funny. “You and Iwaizumi, then. That’s it.”

“Huh.” You say, and then are quiet for a while. “Matsukawa, forgive me for asking—if this is weird—what are we?”

“I hate that you only call me Issei in bed,” he says.

“I called you that on the couch, like, an hour ago.”

“You know what I mean, don’t be difficult.”

“I am difficult,” you say. “I’m high-maintenance and I’m too much work for someone easygoing like you.”

“I like working on you,” he says, pinching your arm. “I like that you try to be low-maintenance ‘cause you think that’s what I want and you still take up half my day when you’re here and all my mind when you’re not.”

Your lips part, blown off-kilter by his sincerity.

“I think I’m trying to ask you to be official,” he finishes, “but I think I’m fucking it up.”

“You’re not,” you laugh, “don’t worry. I was just going to die if you asked me to come meet all your friends just as the one who faxed you nudes.”

“If you died, I’d do your funeral for free,” he promises. “Oh, shit! That’s what I forgot.”

He shoves you away rather unceremoniously and you struggle to catch your breath on the couch in the few seconds he’s gone.

Issei comes back, a cluster of flowers bundled in one hand, his hair sticking up on one side from lying on the couch. You’ve never seen something so handsome.

You sit up and kiss him before you think about it, his lips soft and warm and a little chapped under yours. For all the time you’ve spent with him, it has the same clumsy charm as any first kiss with someone new, the sparking romance as metal strikes against itself. His cheeks are hot under your hands when you pull away.

“It should’ve been me giving you a birthday gift,” you say softly. “Thank you, Issei.”

(The two of you are late to dinner.)

[kathaelipwse]

If Only You Could See Yourself | Bang chan

Synopsis: You’ve never seen yourself the way Chan does—where he sees beauty, you see flaws. Every time he calls you beautiful, you dismiss it, unable to believe. But one night, as your doubts consume you, Chan refuses to let you fade into them. With gentle words and unwavering patience, he holds you together, determined to make you see what he’s always seen. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll start to believe him.

Warnings: self-hate, honestly just angst, comfort

Word Count: 1.1k

Author's Note: This might trigger a few readers. I am going through a turmoil and honestly chan is my comfort person so yeah..

It was a day off, you and chan have been dating since 4 years now, though he was busy he never really failed to make time for you and compliment you every now and then.

The first time Chan called you beautiful, you laughed. Not out of joy, but because the word felt foreign—misplaced, even. You thought he was joking. Maybe being playful, the way he always was. But when you turned to see the sincerity in his eyes, something inside you twisted. Uncomfortable. Unfamiliar. You brushed it off.

The second time, you just shook your head. A soft, almost involuntary reaction, like swatting away a fly. You didn’t want to argue, didn’t want to make it a thing. But Chan noticed. He always did. He let it go that time, but the way his brows furrowed told you he was thinking about it.

The third time, you flinched.

That was when Chan really started paying attention.

Tonight, the weight in your chest is heavier than usual. You don’t know why—maybe you do, but it’s easier to pretend you don’t. It’s just another night, another round of existing in a body that doesn’t feel like yours, in a mind that never stops whispering cruel things.

Chan sits on the couch beside you, his arm draped lazily over the backrest. The room is warm, cozy, filled with the soft hum of background noise from the TV. You should feel safe here. But that voice in your head is louder than the comfort of his presence.

“You okay?” Chan’s voice is soft, careful.

You nod automatically. “Yeah. Just tired.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either. You don’t look at him when you say it. Instead, you focus on the way your fingers pick at the hem of your sleeves.

Chan shifts, turning to face you more fully. “You sure? You’ve been quiet all night.”

You shrug. “Just one of those days.”

His gaze lingers on you, searching. You know he wants to press, but he doesn’t. Instead, he offers you a small smile and says, “You’re still beautiful, you know.”

You freeze. The air in the room changes. The words hang between you, heavy and unbearable.

Your stomach twists violently. Your throat tightens. Something inside you snaps, raw and unfiltered. Before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“I don’t get it,” you whisper.

Chan blinks. “What?”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. “Why do you keep saying things like that?”

He tilts his head, brows knitting together. “Because they’re true.”

You laugh, but it’s hollow. “No, they’re not. You just—” You take a shaky breath. “You see me through rose-colored glasses, Chan. You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

Chan stares at you, something unreadable flashing in his expression. “You think I’m lying?”

You swallow hard, unable to meet his gaze. “I think… I think you’re wrong.”

His voice is quieter now, more careful. “Wrong about what?”

“About me,” you say, finally looking at him. “About everything you think I am.”

Chan’s jaw tightens. He shifts forward, closing the distance between you. His hands reach out, hesitating for only a moment before cupping your face, thumbs grazing your cheekbones. His touch is warm, grounding.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

You do. And it’s a mistake, because the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the most precious thing in the world—makes your chest ache.

“I don’t see you through rose-colored glasses,” he says, voice steady but thick with emotion. “I see you exactly as you are.”

Your lip trembles. “Then you must be looking at the wrong person.”

Chan exhales sharply, shaking his head. “No,” he says firmly. “No, I see you. The real you. I see the way you care about people more than yourself. I see the way you laugh when you think no one’s listening. I see the way you light up when you talk about the things you love. I see every little thing that makes you you—and you have no idea how fucking beautiful that is.”

Tears blur your vision. “Stop.”

“I won’t,” he says, voice cracking. “Because I wish—God, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

Your breath catches. The words hit something deep, something you didn’t know was still soft inside you. A sob escapes before you can swallow it down, and then the dam breaks.

Chan pulls you into his arms before you can collapse. His embrace is strong, unshakable, as if he’s trying to hold together all the pieces of you that are falling apart. He strokes your hair, whispering soothing things you can’t make out over the sound of your own broken cries.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’m right here. I’ve always been right here.”

You clutch onto him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt like he’s the only thing tethering you to this world.

For the first time, you let yourself believe him.

Later, when your breathing evens out and the tears have dried, you’re still curled against him. He hasn’t let go, hasn’t loosened his grip even once.

Chan presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to believe me yet,” he says quietly. “But let me prove it to you. Let me remind you every day until you do.”

You close your eyes, exhaling shakily. “Okay.”

And for now, that’s enough.

That night, Chan doesn’t let you sleep alone. When you hesitate, standing by your bedroom door as he prepares to leave, he simply tilts his head. “Do you want me to stay?”

You don’t answer right away, but the way you tug at your sleeves gives you away.

Chan sighs softly, stepping forward. “I’ll stay as long as you need.”

So he does.

You lie in bed, facing away from him at first, trying to keep space between you. But the storm in your head doesn’t quiet, even with him near. After a while, your body moves on its own, shifting closer, until your back is pressed lightly against his chest.

Chan doesn’t say anything. He just wraps an arm around you, securing you in place like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re safe,” he whispers into your hair. “You’re enough. Always.”

You don’t know if you believe him yet, but you let his warmth chase away the cold. Just for tonight.

The next morning, you wake up to soft sunlight filtering through your curtains. Chan is still there, one arm draped protectively over your waist. His slow, even breaths brush against the back of your neck.

You shift slightly, and he stirs. “Morning,” he murmurs sleepily.

You swallow thickly. “Morning.”

Chan tightens his hold just a little. “How are you feeling?”

You don’t have an answer. Not yet. But for the first time in a long time, the weight in your chest feels a little lighter.

So you settle for the truth.

“I think… I think I’m okay.”

Chan smiles against your skin, kissing your forehead and says. “Good.”

---

[willowsnook]

professional yapper

ahhhh I love your work!! i need THIS https://x.com/yovremine/status/1871164598306677111?s=46 for oscar piastri in order to survive pretty please 😭💗

oscar piastri x gf! reader

“Honestly, if they had put it out there that they were looking to trade him, they could have gotten a lot more money,” Oscar went on. “I mean, AD is good, but not even near the same as what they gave up.”

You nodded along, feigning paying attention while your boyfriend rambled on about some big basketball trade that had happened. Nestled in his lap, his fingers were absentmindedly tracing along your bare skin, having more of an effect on you than he realized. 

“And they called him fat!” He exclaimed. “Isn’t that crazy?” 

His eyes finally met yours, and you perked up, hoping he would finally start paying you more attention. “So crazy, baby, how could they?” 

“I know, he’s 6’5, for god’s sake,” he said. “Don’t even get me started on what the owner said.” 

"I'm sure it was outrageous," you murmured, shifting slightly in his lap. Your movement caused his hands to still momentarily before resuming their gentle exploration, fingertips tracing the curve of your hip.

Oscar's eyes lit up, completely oblivious to your growing impatience. "It was! Completely unprofessional. Like when they tried changing the tire compound mid-season last year because certain teams complained."

You smiled despite yourself, adoring how passionate he became when discussing things he loved, whether it was basketball, Formula 1, or his collection of racing simulators. His Australian accent grew more pronounced when he was excited, a detail you found endlessly charming.

"You know what else is outrageous?" you asked, turning slightly to face him better, your hand coming up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"What's that?" he asked. 

“The fact that your girlfriend has been half naked and sitting on your lap for the past twenty minutes, but we’re still talking about basketball.” 

"I'm doing it again, aren't I?" he laughed, his Australian accent thickening with embarrassment. "Getting carried away with my nerdy stuff."

"I love your nerdy stuff," you assured him, gently kissing his jaw. "But maybe we could talk about something else for a bit?"

His hands began to wander more purposefully now, one sliding up your back while the other traced the curve of your thigh. 

“Like what,” he whispered. 

“Like the fact that I have nothing underneath these pants,” you teased, and his eyes widened. 

“I think I have a better use for my mouth than talking.” 

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: Mentions of family death

A/N: I love Matt but I hate Matt but like ???

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P8: Don't

wc: 2400+

Part of me is begging for Matt to walk in through that door—tear me away from this horrid tension as Chris stares down at me with his arms crossed over his chest. But he doesn’t. The door stays deathly still, the entire room falling into an uncomfortable silence as I sit up straighter on the couch. 

“Why’re you in my house, hm?” he questions, cocking an eyebrow at me as he stalks closer. He lazily plops down on the opposite side of the couch, petting Trevor as the dog curls into a ball between us, “-and why’re you telling my dog you need to piss?” 

“Why are you eavesdropping?” I huff, shaking my head and keeping my eyes set infront of me while standing up and walking down to the bathroom.

How long was he standing there? 

What did he hear? 

I do my business quickly. I take a deep breath, sighing and looking at my reflection in the mirror. God, I look tired—drained, even. 

Walking back into the living room, I see Chris nearly completely sprawled out on the couch. His arm crossed beneath his head, his legs extended but slightly bent—leaving the smallest amount of room for me to sit back down. 

“Trev went to keep my dad company,” he says. I nod while sitting stiffly in the open space. Of course he had to sprawl out—make this entire situation even more uncomfortable. 

“-and, I wasn’t eavesdropping. It’s hard not to hear when you’re yapping so damn loud. In my house, with my dad. Fuckin’ weird if you ask me.” 

His tone is almost bitter—a certain sharpness to his words that felt a little different than his usual insults or remarks. 

“Shut up, Chris,” I breathe, rolling my eyes as I stare around the living room. The only light seeping in through the curtain is that damn streetlight—flickering and blinking on the verge of its life. 

What’s taking Matt so long? 

“Hey, don’t take your shitty date out on me, I didn’t do anything–”

“Really?” I cut off, staring at him with squinted eyes. 

Chris shrugs, his tongue prodding from the inside of his cheek. “Sorry. I guess I’m just upset that you’re in my house, talking to my dad. Don’t you have anyone else to talk to?” he snorts. 

As his eyes gaze into mine, I feel my face fall. “Not really.” 

The statement makes his glare soften to an unreadable expression. He clears his throat, adjusting and sitting up further. He almost looks… sorry?

“Do you know when Matt will be back?” I ask, tapping my foot on the floor as I look towards the front door. 

“I have his location, but my phone is in my room,” Chris announces, his eyes glazed over while he stares at his lap. 

My hands rub together as I hesitantly look over at him. “Can we… can we go look, maybe?” I offer.

Chris nods, his bottom lip stuck between his teeth as he nudges his head for me to follow. I get up, following his steps as we make the familiar path towards his room, my feet stumbling to a halt as I hover in the doorway. 

He rummages towards his nightstand, holding up his phone attached to a charger. His face creases as he looks over at me. “It’s dead. You can, uh—you can sit if you want to.” 

I hesitantly shift further into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed while looking towards my hands. I can feel the rummaging thoughts piling over top of one another, the sensation of panic settling in as the silence consumes the room. 

“Why do you look so nervous, damn,” he laughs, sitting down on his bed with his back resting against the headboard.

I shrug, sucking my lips between my teeth while briefly shaking my head. “Because,” I trail off, sighing as I feel him stare at me, waiting for a response, “-you’re just… I don’t know—you, ugh.” 

Chris shifts, his feet tapping on the floor as he sits on the edge of the bed next to me. “I’m just what?” he taunts. 

My mouth opens to respond, but my face tilts as I see a bright illumination from his phone screen—not the display when the device wakes up after being dead. 

“I thought your phone was dead?” I question. His eyes bulge. He shakes his head, leaning over and turning the device face down. What the fuck? “What am I in here, Chris? What—what games are you playing now?” 

Chris scratches the back of his neck. His eyes wander everywhere around the room, avoiding my gaze at all cost. 

“Whatever,” I huff, starting to stand up. 

My actions are halted by a warm hand landing over my thigh. I look down, seeing his fingers spread with a rough grip, softening as he sighs. “I—just—fuck,” he curses, removing his hand as if it had been burned. 

The thump of my pulse gets quieter. I analyze his face, watching as his jaw clicks tighter. Some part of me seems to soften. I reach out, hesitating as I hold my hand above his shoulder before laying it gently on him. 

“What’s going on? I’m not mad, I’m just…” I shake my head, looking into his eyes as I try to take a deep breath, “-confused.” 

Chris licks over his lips, his hand rubbing over his face as he slumps down and stares at his lap. “I… I wanted to, um—well, I—fuck, this is so hard,” he hisses. 

I watch as he tugs at the roots of his hair, hunching over and placing his elbows on his knees. I let my hand slide down, gently rubbing on his back. He’s been a real dick, but something about him makes everything seem so hazy, like I can never really tell what his true intentions are. 

He was hurt—brutally hurt. And I could understand that more than I wanted to. I knew how it felt to lose someone and have everything change. 

“I don’t know how to even explain—”

“Then don’t,” I interrupt. 

Chris stares at me over his shoulder. His lips press into a thin line, his eyes squinting as if he’s in pain. “Why are you not mad?” he asks. 

I shrug. My eyes drift to his window before tracing back to his face. “I can see you’re trying. Even though whatever is going on seems hard for you… you’re trying,” I answer. 

“Not hard enough,” he snorts, sitting up. 

My hand falls from his back. I hesitantly place it back into my lap, staring at my fingers as I nervously fiddle with them. “Maybe ‘cause you’re not giving yourself any credit.” 

The pointed statement seems to make the silence sink in once more, but this time, it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels calm—peaceful, even. Like he’s letting my words wash over him. 

He lets himself hunch over once more, his hands knotting through his hair aggressively. I wince hearing him hiss as his fingers get stuck in a tangle, my hands shooting up before I can stop myself. 

“What are you doing—”

Chris falls silent, uncomfortably tilting his head as I try to drift my fingers through the knot. “Just let me help.” 

The hair is stubborn. It probably wouldn’t be so knotted if he wasn’t yanking at it so harshly.

“Just…” I huff, “-just lay down. It’ll be easier.” 

He goes stiff, slowly relaxing as his head falls into my lap. I slowly start from the bottom of the knot, working my way towards his scalp. His hair is soft despite the tangle. 

“Chris?” I whisper, my hands clutching towards my chest as I wait for him to move.

But he doesn’t. The only movement is his shoulders sliding up and down with deep breaths. He’s asleep—his head cradled in my lap as I sit on the edge of the bed. 

My eyes start to droop, my hands guiding back into his hair as I brush through the soft strands. Every breath starts to get deeper. I feel myself leaning forward and to the side, crossing my free arm under my head as I rest on his shoulder. 

I like this side of him. I just wish I got to see it more. 

___

“-wake up, c’mon,” 

Peeping one eye open, I see Matt standing in front of me, his hand gently shaking my shoulder. I look down to see Chris in the same position. 

“I’ll take you home, sorry,” Matt whispers, nudging his head towards the door as he walks out. 

What time is it even? 

My body shifts slowly as I move him to lay on the bed. A frown crawls on my face as I watch Chris’s face furrow, his hands grasping onto the sheets as if he’s looking for something. 

I reach out, petting my hand over his cheek and watching him relax once more. His lips puff open with a subtle snore. Hazily, I stand up, analyzing his face as I creep backward. 

“Ready?” Matt asks, looking up from his phone with a shit-eating grin. 

I nod, squinting my eyes with a smile as I wiggle my brows. He blushes, tucking his phone back in his pocket before stalking further with quiet steps. 

As soon as we step out the door, he hands me his phone. I look down at the screen, my eyes going wide as a smile covers my face. It’s a picture—him and Mia, her lips pecking his cheek as he smiles towards the camera. She seems to be holding the phone, her nose crinkled upward and smushed against his cheek. 

That’s adorable. 

“Oh my god! See—you didn’t need me,” I laugh, slapping his phone back into his chest. 

Matt slips the device back into his pocket, walking by my side as we stroll down the path back to my house. “I know, but—thank you. I know you didn’t exactly wanna go,” he remarks. 

Do I tell him? I had already vented to Jimmy. There was no point in spoiling his night with my shitty experience. 

“Is this why you woke me up? Wanted to brag, hm?” I taunt, bumping into his shoulder playfully. 

The quiet neighborhood is deathly calm, but I can feel his excitement radiating off his energy. He’s so giddy—it’s relieving. 

At least it was worth that dumb fucking date.

“I did wanna tell you, I’m not gonna lie,” he mentions, laughing as we turn down the corner to my street, “-but, I also wanted to make sure you got home and your mom wouldn’t be mad or anything, I guess. Or that you wouldn’t have to spend the night with fuckin’ Chris again.”

The scoff in his tone pokes at something in my chest, a sharp sensation flooding over me as I mutter beneath my breath, “It’s not like it’s bad. He was actually being—”

“Don’t.” Matt says. 

My steps halt on the pavement. I look up to Matt, watching him stop and stare back at me with a sigh falling from his lips. 

“Look,” he starts, tugging on my sleeve as we continue walking again, “-I’m saying this as your friend. Chris… he’s not ready for this type of stuff. You—you’re only gonna end up hurt, okay? Just… don’t.” 

Oh. 

My tired eyes flutter with fast blinks. Maybe it was the exhaustion—maybe it was because the air felt too cold blowing into my eyes, but I could feel the heat rush upward, my vision becoming blurry as I blink away tears.

“I’m not… I—I don’t know what’s going on. He just seems so…”

“Lost? Lonely?” Matt fills in. 

I nod, pulling at my clothes as my nose starts to twitch from the cold wind. 

“Chris… he just—he hasn’t coped well, you know? Losing our mom was hard, but our brother–-Nick—that… he can’t look at me anymore. He can barely look at himself,” Matt sighs. 

The lump in my throat is uncomfortable. I swallow thickly, wincing as I feel it glide down into my chest and create a distracting pressure. “I’m confused. What do you—what do you mean?” I ask. 

I feel the energy shift before any words escape his mouth. Everything seems to get eerily quiet, the comforting silence gaining tension as curiosity rings through the air. 

“Nick, our brother. We, um—we’re triplets, or… were? I just… Chris was the most dependant, “ he huffs, laughing dryly, “He was the only one to never be away from one of us for 24 hours, the kid literally couldn’t go a day without saying goodnight to both of us and—”

Matt chokes up on his words. He sniffles, shaking his head furiously while looking down at his feet as we walk slower. “I thought he’d rely on me after everything. But, we’re triplets—identical. He—he couldn’t even look at me without—” 

I place my hand on his shoulder as his sentence falls flat. Matt takes a deep breath, sighing as he places his hand over mine, pulling it towards his chest while holding it tightly. 

“Listen to me,” my ears perk at his words, his eyes looking into mine with raw emotion, “-don’t. He’s not ready, he’s…”

“I get it,” I interrupt, watching as Matt nods, slowly dropping my hand. He stays put as I walk up the two cement stairs to the entrance of my house. 

I pull out my keys, inserting them slowly into the keyhole of my front door, gently pushing it open before giving him one last look over my shoulder. “Thanks,” I mouth, trying to be as silent as possible as I hear the dark home echo with the slightest whisper. 

“Thank you,” he whispers back, nodding affirmatively before turning on the heel of his shoe, walking away as I shut the door. 

It shouldn’t hurt. Chris was more mean to me than anything else. In fact, I’d never even had him truly apologize—not with his words. 

But I didn’t really crave an apology.

I just want to understand.

[t-a-a-1]

Can you do bayverse optimus ?Tlk if you can.It can be whatever you want i love your scrumptious writing hehe also ignore this if you're uncomfortable!^_^

Raindrops

Summary: Optimus asks you a very important question.

A/N: Written after the happenings of TLK. 4K Words

Raindrops

....

Everyday since he met you, he’s asked himself the same question. 

“Would you come with me?”

It was a question he had imagined the answer to. A resounding ‘no’.

Optimus didn’t see any reason why you would want to go with him to Cybertron. Leaving your friends, family and career behind. All the commodities Earth provided you will be gone the moment you decide to come with him.

And it’s not like he offers you a beautiful home. Cybertron was hostile, after the war it had become ruins. He dreamed many times of showing you his home in its golden age. You would have loved the museums, the theaters, the libraries, the arts. Would you have loved them as much you love your planet? Would it be enough for you to want to stay?

“It seems Earth and Cybertron’s destiny has always been intertwined,” the sun is setting. Optimus looks at his home planet, now on Earth’s orbit. “If that had been any other celestial object, it would probably cause catastrophic events. But it seems like Cybertron was made to not disturb Earth’s gravitational pull and magnetic fields.”

Your field wasn’t physics but you had basic knowledge on how things worked. Just like he expected you to do, you started to ask the real questions. Something he was trying to avoid as long as he could. 

“But I wonder if that’s because Cybertron currently lacks a core … Maybe once we are able to restore it, Cybertron’s gravitational pull will be too strong and destroy Earth.”

You look at him but he seems lost in thought. You didn’t blame him, having his home planet back must be unbelievable. After so many years of war and lost friends, what he always wanted is right here. 

“When that happens, we’ll have to send Cybertron back to its original place in the universe.”

You expected him to continue the conversation some way or another but it's as if he wasn’t listening or rather he did not want to. Maybe he is tired of everything and wishes to leave immediately. Probably not wanting to deal with humans anymore. 

Sighing heavily, you turn around, the wind moving your hair. The smell of the grass was strong and so a new aroma. It was hard to describe. Metal but alive. It was probably Cybertron. It didn’t bother you but it was different. 

Looking back at Optimus made you realize that maybe he wanted to be alone. It is a lot of process for today. 

“Well, then I guess this is goodbye–”

And suddenly, a servo is in front of you. Stopping you from walking any further. You look back, only to find Optimus’ faceplate extremely close to you. 

“I-I … My apologies, I don’t know what took over me.”

It’s like you triggered something in him with your words. But you weren’t sure what. Now he looks confused and lost. As if I wanted to say more but can’t or don't have the words. You wanted to guess but your mind made you believe stupid ideas. Ones in which you prefer to not indulge any longer. They will only cause you unnecessary pain. 

“It’s alright, you must be emotional. That’s all.”

You wait for a few seconds in which you could see Optimus’ blue optics in all of their glory. They were beautiful as they were mysterious. So close that you could see the small circuitry and cables that make up his optics. Such intricacy that you find yourself lost in them. 

And then … you are ashamed. 

“I must go.”

You say as you look away, expecting him to move his servo but he doesn’t. 

“I must go.”

You say again and this time you see the hesitancy in his faceplace.

He slowly removes his servo and distances himself from you. His optics looks away and then looks at you in a repetitive manner. 

“Do you–”

“I–”

“Oh sorry, you go first–” You raise a hand, trying to get his attention only to be interrupted by the Prime. 

“No, you go first.”

It was awkward. And the fact that it was that way made you wonder what went wrong. In what moment did things between the two of you become so uncomfortable? Was it just the sudden realization of final peace? Was it too unrealistic for the two of you to believe? What is it? 

“Nothing, I was just wondering if there’s something you wanted to say before I leave?”

Optimus servo clutch into fits. He opens his intake but nothing would come out. It was strange to see him this way. So confused, so … innocent. As if he was a kid trying to ask for another piece of cake. Too shy to ask and yet you find these small moments to be a treasure. 

“I was just wondering …” 

He hesitates again. He closes his optics and lets out a heavy vent. Turning his entire body around, you are unable to see his faceplate. 

“When the time comes … Will you …”

His voice becomes so low that you are unable to hear him. 

“What?” 

You ask him, confused by his sudden lack of confidence. 

“Will you … me?”

He says again but the loud wind and low tone voice weren’t helping the situation. 

“... What?”

You ask once again, your voice gets louder, showing your clear annoyance at being unable to hear him.

“Will you come to Cybetron with me?!”

Suddenly, he turns around, you can see his faceplate again. 

It was that expression again. One that you had only seen a few times. That of pure distress. Worriness. Anxiety. You had seen it before. During that time you had been captured by a Decepticon, badly injured and bleeding. His troubled expression was the last thing you saw before going unconscious. 

But now? What was that distressed look for? What was he so worried about?

“I, I–”

What were you nervous for? Why were you stuttering? Your cheeks are getting hotter and you can’t speak. You can’t manage words. The expression on his faceplate had left you stunned as your brain tried to understand the reasoning behind it. 

The longer you take to answer, the more pain is evident on his faceplate. His eyebrows squish together and his optics tremble. His lips formed a thin line that slowly became an upside down smile. He is begging you to end his torment and yet you know you have to tell him the truth. 

.

.

.

.

It’s quiet around the hangar. 

A small base had been built near Stonehenge. It was the logical thing to do after Cybertron had appeared above the ancient pillars. Although the American Government wasn’t too pleased to make negotiations with the British to let them have a base in their land. 

You weren’t even supposed to be here but due to all the commotion in the last days, they let you stay. As well, Optimus and the rest of the Autobots enjoyed your stay. No one asked you when you will leave nor ever mentioned that you were a bothered. So you decided to stay for a couple of days until things settle down. 

And because your boss had asked you to stay and bring back the full story when you are done. 

“Are we just going to pretend Prime is ok?”

“Not like we can do much either or.”

They probably didn’t see you. As they were too busy talking to each other, carrying a few boxes of what you thought to be Energon. Meanwhile, you were typing on your laptop behind some piles of metal. It’s not like you were hiding but you rather found yourself a place where you could not be bothered when you needed to concentrate. 

“I still can’t believe (Y/N) said no … I thought the two of them had a strong bond.”

“Yes but everything she knows is here,” Bumblebee puts down his box as Hot Rod walks close by.  “Besides, they were too different … things wouldn’t work out.” 

“But does she even know that Optimus’s processor has identified her as his Conjunx?” Hot Rod also puts the Energon box down and sits on top of it. “Boss-Bot won’t be able to attach to anyone ever again … Isn’t that a bit cruel?”

“Cruel?” Bumblebee inquiries. “His Conjunx is someone who lives a fraction of our lives. The universe enjoys the game and the Primes are the pawns.” 

“And they know how to play well.”

It started to rain. It wasn’t unusual for rain to come and go in England. 

The bots look at it with amusement. This was unknown in Cybertron. It will take a long time before they can rebuild Cybertron and go back home but this will be one of the things they will miss the most. 

“What is a Conjunx?”

You came out of your hiding spot, behind the bots and they quickly stumble in their steps as they look down on you. 

“What are you doing there?!”

“What is a Conjunx?”

You ask again, not caring whether Hot Rod or Bumblebee looked like they just had seen a ghost. 

“You don’t need to know that,” Bumblebee quickly starts to walk away while Hot Rod keeps looking back and forth. He looks hesitant but doesn’t speak, waiting for Bee’s next action. 

“You said Optimus saw me as his Conjunx,” you don’t move but rather speak loud enough for him to hear. 

“Yes but there’s no need–”

“She should know,” Hot Rod interrupts the talking yellow Mustang. 

“Optimus wouldn’t want it,” Bumblebee stops walking and turns to look at his comrade and you. There is certain determination in your eyes, letting him know that you won’t stop pushing it until you find the answers you were looking for. You had always been known for that, probably something Optimus likes about you. 

“Optimus will die of sadness if she doesn’t know.”

Bumblebee doesn't say a thing but just ex-vents heavily. 

.

.

.

“Would you stay with me?”

That’s what you wanted to ask but you already knew the answer. A resounding ‘no’. There was nothing for him on Earth. Humanity had once betrayed him and now he is doubtful. Humanity will help rebuild Cybertron and after that the transformers will leave. It would be a selfish thing to ask him to stay. You can’t ask him to give up on everything he fought for. His home, his family and friends, everything was on Cybertron. And you just were a human who wanted him to stay. 

It’s still raining. 

But that doesn’t mean you’ll stop looking for him. 

Although you can already feel yourself getting sick. Your hair is wet and your clothes damp. 

It wasn’t unusual to rain in England but you hated how unpredictable the weather was. The wind was also strong but the base was already too far away to back away now. You had to find him. 

Suddenly, a truck you immediately recognized makes his way towards you. The bot you were looking for appeared in front of you but he aggressively stops and opens his pilot door, signaling to go in. 

You didn’t hesitate and jumped right in. Optimus closes the door and starts driving away as you are welcomed with warmness. Although you were cold and tired, you didn’t wait any longer.

“I was looking for–”

“Have you gone mad?” Optimus asks, his voice showing his clear annoyance. “ What are you doing in the rain without proper protection?”

“What? That doesn’t matter, I was–”

You wanted to start asking questions but you started to sneeze. 

“How can I leave knowing you are this helpless?”

And after that, all previous questions left your mind. 

“Excuse me? I can take care of myself.”

“Your actions tell me otherwise.”

You roll your eyes, maybe he had a point. Running in the rain to look for him was probably not the best of ideas. But you were not about to tell him that. 

“And what about you?” you sneeze again although more softly this time as to not to prove his point any further.  “Aren’t you too told to be outside without an umbrella, you could be getting rusty anytime now?”

Optimus didn’t say a word. Your words will resonate at the back of his processor. He can’t believe he ever thought you would say yes to coming to Cybertron with him. You were right, he was an old rusty robot. Too many scars, too many mistakes and injuries. He can’t provide you with anything. Not even a family. 

And yet he is selfish. 

And you sneeze again.

And again.

“Great, I think I am going to get sick.”

He hates that word. Cybertronians also get sick but rarely. But humans are different. According to his research and observations, humans tend to get sick often and tragically a lot of them die. 

Optimus didn’t want to say a word, his pride told him to stay quiet. That you don’t need his concern, you do not wish it nor want it.

But you sneeze again.

“I’ll be taking you to the closest hospital,” he says as he makes a turn, heading for the closest road. 

“I am not going to the hospital, it's just a cold–”

“You are going to the hospital and it's final,”His voice is demanding but you don’t care.

“No, I won’t–”

“Why won’t you take my feelings into consideration?!”

His inside trembles. You could feel how his engine gets louder. The air coming from his vents got warmer and for a moment you felt your heart race. Out of guilt for making the Prime lose composure.

“What if you die?” he asks again. “What would I do after you are gone?”

The more he talks, the more desperate he sounds. As if he was living the circumstances he speaks of. 

“Have you thought what my life would be like without your presence?” you feel the seatbelt across your chest get tighter. “Do you really wish for me to be tormented for eternity.”

“This isn’t about me going to the hospital, is it?”

He doesn’t respond, his silence answers your question. 

“Let me out Prime, I want to talk to you, face to faceplate.”

He drives off the road and takes you to a heavy section of a nearby forest. Raining still, the tall trees prevent the rain from fully touching the ground. But some drops still make it through. Not like you cared about getting wet, you already were but Optimus had other plans. 

Opening the door and removing the seat belt, you jump out of his alt form. You watch him transform, a scene you will never be tired of. It's beautiful as it is scary, yet he is gentle. He knows it can be scary and he moves slower, softly as if not to scare you. 

Optimus doesn’t mass shift but he tries to see you at an eye-level. It must be uncomfortable for him and before you ask him why he doesn’t size-down, you feel him move closer.

He puts one of his large servo on top of you, protecting you from any rain from touching you.

“I want you to be honest with me,” you say as your breath is agitated, your heart pumping against your chest.  “I need to hear it from you.”

“What do you feel for me?”

Without you knowing, Optimus’ spark is also pulsating strongly against his chassis. He moves his optics away for a second, only for them to return to look at you. 

“You are a valuable asset to the Autobot cause.”

“Is that all?”

“You are also an important comrade.” 

You didn’t expect him to fully understand what you were asking. But you were hoping he could read your undertones. 

“I am giving you one last chance,” you say, your hands turning into a fist. You weren’t the best at this either and if you were honest, you didn’t know what you were trying to achieve.  “Is that all you feel for me?”

The Prime has always been known to be eloquent. Especially with words. But when it comes to you, he loses all sense of vocabulary. It didn’t use to be that way. There used to be a time when you meant nothing to him but a friend. 

But you had never stopped looking for him. After the attacks in Chicago, even after Sam’s death, an occurrence in which he blamed himself, you never stopped looking for him

What is it? Why did you do it?

“Look at the rain … Can you count each drop that falls from the sky?”

Optimus moves his optics to look at his surroundings. The rain, the trees, the beauty of nature. It cannot compare to you. 

“No, I can’t,” you respond quickly, your face full of wonder.

“Then, you are the rain,” he says.  “And I am trying to count.”

He sees your hands soften. Your expression had become awkward, with now avoiding eyes and pink cheeks. He has this need to hold you but respects your anatomy. 

“I can’t tell you how I feel because there are not enough words to describe it,” he calculates his words but he finds himself taking longer to answer. “I could recite you all of Cybertronian poetry and yet that doesn't feel enough for me.”

You keep looking at him and he looks away. Your eyes were too beautiful and it distracts him immensely. 

“But if you were to ask me to count each star in the universe I would,” he lets his spark do the talking, finally subsiding the yearning it has been holding for a long time.  “If you asked me to bring you a star, I would bring you a constellation.”

“This old rusted body belongs to you but if you ask me for my silence and distance, I won’t retaliate.” 

“And if I asked you to stay with me, on Earth, would you do it?”

You know it was a selfish question. You didn’t want to make him choose between his world and you. But you just had to know if there was a small possibility, a small chance that the life you had with him could still be a possibility. 

After the accidents in Chicago, you had looked for him, only to find him broken. Sam’s death had affected him greatly but in that grieve of losing loved ones, something sparked. 

Three years. You had lived with him for three years, in an isolated cottage. Where he could have all the dandelions he wanted. Where he could care for animals and the two of you would look at the stars and try to count them. Each one of them. 

“If that’s what you wish,” Optimus says. “I would stay by your side as long as you would have me.”

“I can’t,” you look away this time. “I won’t ask you to stay with me.”

“You have a duty to complete and Cybertron is your home,” there is more to it. More doubts than you are able to articulate.  “When you asked me to go to Cybertron with you, I said no because I don’t think I am worthy to be on your side.”

“Have my actions made you feel this way?” 

“You are Optimus Prime … I think anyone would feel unworthy,” you pause, thinking about the earlier events. “But today, Bumblebee and Hot Rod told me that you see me as your Conjunx.”

Optimus opens his intake only to close it. He looks side to side, trying to evade eye contact. One of the few times you can tell he is shy. But him acting in such a way has also made your body betray you. You wonder if he can tell just how nervous you are. 

“Does that mean — You do?”

“You weren’t supposed to know,” his voice is delicate with an apologetic tone. As if you had just caught him stealing extra energon from the resource room.  “Without noticing, my processor had one day started the Conjunx Ritus and as time passed, we both successfully completed the requirements.”

“And before I knew it, my Spark belonged to you.”

“But we are so different.”

“And yet here we are,” he makes a pause and he hears the rain. He tries to calm down before asking his next question, knowing that this will break his Spark. “Does my affection displease you?”

“No, no, I just–” you stumble with your words. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Is there a possibility that perhaps, in your heart, you reciprocate my sentiments?”

And you stay silent. Mostly because you don’t fully know what is going through your heart and the implications behind it. Can this even be possible? Are your feelings even real? Can he comprehend what your feelings are? Can this … Whatever it is, be real? 

“Please end my torment,” his faceplate looks to be in distress, his optics yearning. Longing for something unknown to the both of you.  “Your silence makes me have hope and I don’t want to suffer when you destroy my delusions.”

Gently, you walk towards him. You reach out a hand and touch his faceplate. Rubbing your soft skin against his cold metal. You watch his optics close, his engine gets louder just a bit but you hear him. As if your touch had saved him, healed him from whatever his processor agonized him with. 

“You are cold,” you say as you put your forehead against his faceplate. “Until you get warm, I’ll stay with you.”

Optimus didn’t need to ask further. You didn’t have to say anything either. He just basks himself into this moment. Not knowing what the future holds but he doesn’t care as long as you are with him. This moment won’t last forever but he wants to think that one day it could be true. 

A moment were he believed he could spend eternity counting the raindrops and stars in the sky with you. 

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A/N: Sorry this took so long. I’ve seen all the Bayverse movies but TLK is a movie that is a bit hard for me to write about because I don’t understand it much lol. But I still hope you like this and that it's not too OOC?  

It was fun to write this! So thank you so much for the request! :) 

[lilbabypanda-blog2]

Mydei x (fem) reader x Phainon

Taking care of them while their drunk

The lively atmosphere of the tavern was beginning to die down as the night stretched on. Most patrons had already stumbled home, but two familiar figures remained seated at a corner table, both looking far too pleased with themselves.

Y/N stood nearby with her arms crossed, watching the unfolding disaster with exasperation.

“You two are unbelievable.”

Phainon grinned, raising his empty mug in triumph. “Unbelievably strong, you mean!” He hiccuped. “I told you, Mydei, you can’t outdrink me. I am victorious!”

Mydei, slumped slightly over the table, lifted his head with a scoff. His normally sharp gaze was unfocused, and his face was faintly flushed. “You’re not victorious… You’re just… full of hot air.”

Phainon gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “How dare you.”

Y/N let out a tired sigh. “Alright, that’s enough. We’re leaving.”

Mydei groaned, pressing his forehead against the wooden surface. “Too… heavy.”

Phainon waved a hand. “Let him sleep here. I’ll stay and protect his honor.”

Y/N grabbed both of their arms, hoisting them up. “Neither of you are staying here. I am not dealing with the consequences of leaving you in a tavern overnight.”

Phainon blinked down at her, swaying slightly. “You’re… so small.” Then, as if coming to an epiphany, he turned to Mydei. “Why is she so small?”

Mydei, still clearly drunk, squinted at Y/N like he was trying to solve a complex puzzle. “She’s not small… We’re just too big.”

Phainon gasped again, as if this was the greatest revelation of the night. “That makes so much sense.”

Y/N rubbed her temples. “I swear, I’m going to throw you both into a ditch.”

With great effort, she managed to haul both of them up, throwing one of their arms over her shoulders. It wasn’t easy considering how tall and broad they were, but sheer determination (and irritation) kept her moving.

As they stumbled toward the exit, Phainon suddenly perked up. “Wait, wait, wait—should we go on an adventure?”

Y/N didn’t even hesitate. “No.”

“But Y/N,” Phainon whined, “imagine it! We, the great warriors, on a secret mission in the dead of night—”

“We are on a mission,” she interrupted. “The mission is getting you two to bed before you do something stupid.”

Phainon pouted but allowed himself to be led outside. Mydei, on the other hand, was muttering under his breath. Y/N turned slightly. “What?”

“…I could carry you home,” Mydei slurred, half-lidded eyes glancing at her. “It’d be easier than this.”

Y/N scoffed. “You can barely stand.”

Mydei frowned as if that was a personal attack.

They made their way down the cobblestone streets, Y/N practically dragging them along. Phainon, despite his drunken state, seemed to be enjoying himself, humming a tune and swinging their arms like a child.

At one point, he gasped dramatically. “Y/N!”

She nearly tripped. “What?”

“I have an idea.”

She braced herself. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“But it’s a great idea.”

“No, it’s not.”

Phainon leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What if… I climbed on Mydei’s shoulders? And then you climbed on mine? We’d be unstoppable.”

Y/N deadpanned. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Mydei, however, seemed to be considering it. “Hmph… We would be taller…”

Y/N groaned. “No one is climbing anyone! Now, walk.”

Finally, they reached her home. With a final burst of strength, Y/N shoved them inside, slamming the door behind them. Mydei flopped onto the couch like a ragdoll, arms hanging limply. Phainon, on the other hand, latched onto Y/N the moment she let go of him.

“You’re so nice,” he mumbled against her shoulder.

Y/N rolled her eyes, prying him off. “Sit down. Both of you.”

Phainon pouted but obeyed, sinking onto the couch beside Mydei, who had his head tilted back with his eyes closed. Y/N hurried to grab some water, handing each of them a cup.

“Drink. You’ll regret it in the morning if you don’t.”

Phainon took a sip before setting the cup aside and throwing himself sideways—right into Y/N’s lap.

She froze.

“Ah, perfect,” Phainon murmured, closing his eyes. “You’re soft.”

Mydei’s eyes snapped open.

There was a tense silence before Mydei reached forward, grabbed Phainon by the collar, and yanked him back.

“Oi.” His voice was low. “Get off her.”

Phainon blinked at him. “But she’s comfy.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes before, to Y/N’s complete and utter disbelief, he leaned over and rested his head against her shoulder.

Y/N stared down at him, stunned. “What are you doing?”

Mydei muttered something incomprehensible, arms loosely crossing over his chest as he settled against her.

Phainon let out an exaggerated gasp. “Are you stealing my spot?”

“I’m reclaiming what’s mine,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon squinted at him before throwing himself at Y/N’s other side. “Fine, I’ll just share.”

Y/N sighed.

She was now sandwiched between two ridiculously strong and clingy warriors, both of them completely unapologetic about it. Phainon had draped an arm over her, and Mydei, while more reserved, refused to move from his position.

“This is going to be a long night” she muttered.

Mydei hummed sleepily. “Mm… you’ll get over it.”

Phainon chuckled. “You love us.”

Y/N sighed, but a small smile played at her lips. “Yeah, yeah.”

They would absolutely regret this in the morning, but for now, she let them have their moment.

Y/N sighed as she glanced down at the two men leaning against her, Phainon snuggled up on one side while Mydei rested against her shoulder on the other. Their breathing had evened out slightly, though the weight of both of them was starting to make her shoulders ache.

She huffed, shaking her head with a fond smile. “What am I going to do with you two?”

Her fingers moved almost instinctively, gently threading through their hair. Phainon let out a pleased hum, nuzzling into her touch, while Mydei barely reacted, though the tension in his shoulders loosened ever so slightly.

Y/N chuckled softly. “Big warriors, huh? You’re acting like children.”

After a few minutes of letting them relax, she shifted, earning a grumble from Phainon as he instinctively tightened his hold on her. Mydei, too, frowned slightly but didn’t protest when she carefully slid out from between them.

“Alright, come on,” she said, tugging at their arms. “You can’t sleep here. Let’s get you to bed.”

Phainon groaned dramatically, flopping backward. “But I don’t wanna moooove.”

Mydei muttered something under his breath, rubbing his face. “Tired.”

“I know,” Y/N said patiently, “but you’ll be more comfortable in an actual bed. Now come on.”

She managed to get Phainon up first, draping his arm over her shoulder and guiding him toward the guest room. He stumbled a bit but followed, half-asleep already. Once she sat him down on the bed, she turned back for Mydei, who was still sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.

“Mydei,” she called gently.

He muttered something incoherent but made no move to get up.

Sighing, Y/N walked over and reached for his hand, tugging lightly. “Come on, let’s go.”

He exhaled deeply before finally standing, allowing her to lead him to the room as well.

Once she got them both onto the bed, she pulled the blankets over them, tucking them in. Phainon sighed in contentment, rolling onto his side, while Mydei simply let his eyes close, seemingly too exhausted to protest.

Y/N shook her head with a soft smile. “Sleep well, you idiots.”

As she turned to leave, a drowsy voice mumbled, “Thanks… Y/N.”

She glanced back to see Mydei barely peeking at her through heavy lids. Phainon, too, gave a sleepy grin.

She chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t throw up in the morning.”

With that, she left them to their well-earned rest, already bracing herself for the chaos they would bring when they woke up.

The next morning, Y/N woke up early, feeling well-rested despite the chaos of the previous night. She stretched, made herself a cup of tea, and relished the peaceful silence. But as she recalled how she'd had to practically babysit Mydei and Phainon, she smirked to herself. Those two were going to wake up with a killer headache—and, if things had gone the way she suspected, a bit of an unexpected surprise.

She peeked into the guest room, her suspicions confirmed.

There, tangled up in the blankets, were Mydei and Phainon—cuddling.

Phainon had somehow managed to throw a leg over Mydei, while Mydei’s arm was wrapped around Phainon’s waist as if holding him close for warmth. Their faces were almost comically peaceful, completely unaware of the position they had ended up in.

Y/N pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her laugh, but it was no use. A snort escaped, followed by a full-blown giggle.

As if on cue, Mydei stirred, blinking blearily. His body shifted slightly, and it took a few seconds before realization hit him. His arm was around something. Something warm.

Slowly, he turned his head—only to be met with Phainon’s very smug, half-awake grin.

“Morning, sunshine,” Phainon drawled, still groggy.

There was a moment of silence.

Then—

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

Mydei practically launched himself off the bed, tumbling onto the floor in a mess of sheets and limbs. Phainon cackled, stretching out as if this was the best wake-up he could’ve asked for.

“You looked so peaceful,” Phainon teased, propping his head on his hand. “Did I keep you warm all night?”

“You—!” Mydei's face was red, and Y/N was full-on laughing now.

“Oh, this is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” she wheezed. “I should’ve taken a picture.”

“You should have!” Phainon agreed, grinning. “Memory of a lifetime.”

Mydei, still flustered beyond belief, groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I’m never drinking with you again.”

Y/N, still chuckling, crossed her arms. “Oh, I don’t know. It was pretty entertaining.”

Phainon stretched lazily. “You hear that, Mydei? We should do this more often.”

Mydei’s glare could’ve burned a hole through him.

Y/N just smiled. “Breakfast, anyone?”

She walked off, still laughing to herself, while Mydei sat in silent regret and Phainon basked in the victory of the most hilarious morning yet.

[dixonsfawn]

you come home to rafe drunk and you accidentally slip out that you love him

╰ . ୭ ┆ 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 ˚. ᵎᵎ

when you decided to go to the bonfire last minute, you weren’t planning on drinking, but like every other kegger you had been to, things always got out of control and somehow you always ended up with several beers in your system - tonight being no exception.

the only difference about tonight was that instead of joining you, rafe was dealing with ‘business’, so when you drunk dialled him, and he heard the way your words were slurring together, he was quick to come get you.

“so much for you not drinking tonight,” he shakes his head after helping you into the car, and when he leans over to help buckle you in, you instinctively reach for his face.

“you’re angry at me, aren’t you?” you mumble, lips pouting downwards.

“no. i’m not angry,” his chest rises and falls as he takes in a deep breath, and despite your inability to comprehend things clearly, you could still detect the slight bitterness in his words. “i just… i wish you didn’t have so much to drink while i wasn’t there.”

rafe was protective of you, that much was obvious, and sometimes his mind would be clouded by dark thoughts leading him to assume the worst of certain situations. especially whenever it involved you and the possibility of what could’ve happened while he wasn’t with you.

you nod, dropping your hands back into your lap, and rafe fastens your seatbelt before driving you back to his house in silence. everything had started to blur together as he guided you into the house and upstairs to his bedroom.

on the way you almost knock over one of rose’s plants, but rafe catches it before it can fall and places it right back in its spot. he gives you a wide-eyed look as a warning and pulls you along with him, a sigh of relief leaving him once he closes the door behind you.

he immediately finds you something to change into, gesturing for you to lift your arms so that he could help as you swayed a little. his touch is gentle, caring, not wanting to cause too much movement before helping you into his bed. you curl up into his cotton sheets, the familiar mixture of him, his cologne and his lotion stimulating your senses. it doesn’t take long for him to join you, resting on his side as you bury yourself into him, nuzzling against his bare chest. even in your drunken state you could still feel the worry that had seeped into him, and you whisper an apology, “i’m sorry.”

he looks down at you, your eyes struggling to stay open, and a small silence fills the air as he moves to caress your cheek. “you don’t need to say sorry, baby,” he sighs once more, pressing a gently kiss to your temple. “it’s just my head, y’know? i get worried about you whenever you’re away from me.”

“i know,” you nod softly, pausing for a moment to yawn. your eyes begin to fall shut as you move into him even more, then between tired breaths, you slowly whisper, “it’s one of the… reasons… why i… love… you.”

you immediately fall into slumber the second the words fall from your mouth, leaving rafe to sit there in shock. his breath catches in his throat for a moment as he takes in what you had just said. those same words replaying over and over inside his head.

he couldn’t believe it.

he couldn’t fathom the fact that the one person he had grown to care for the most in the entire world also loved him back. he felt as though he didn’t deserve it - unworthy of the words that had left your lips. but there was no denying that you were telling the truth, a drunk person’s words are a sober person’s thoughts, right?