#measuring steering wheel

[artemispt]

Yeah…

[geekwiththegoggles]

Me: wow it's been a long day and I didn't really get that much sleep last night, I should go to sleep early since I'm so tired.

My brain: . . . You need a steering wheel cover. Make one.

Someone please stop me and my shitty impulse control.

[lizziesangel]

hi lizzy !! using the tell me who did this” “who did this to you?” trope could u do sweetheart!fem reader with this and rafe !! 🤍

hi! i already did a story on this, so im making a part two to this!🥰

3.5k words ⟢ part one

the truck ride was quiet, save for the hum of the engine. you stared out the window, expecting rafe to take the usual turns toward your neighborhood. but as the minutes ticked by, your brows furrowed.

“uh, this isn’t the way to my house,” you pointed out, finally breaking the silence.

“i know,” rafe said simply, his gaze locked on the road ahead.

you turned to look at him, your confusion mounting. “then where the hell are we going?”

“my place,” he said flatly, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

“your place? rafe, no. just take me home,” you argued, sitting up straighter.

“for the love of God,” he snapped, pulling into his driveway and putting the truck in park. he turned to look at you, his blue eyes burning with frustration. “stop talking and get out so i can clean you up.”

the way he said it left no room for argument. your mouth opened to retort but snapped shut just as quickly. begrudgingly, you unbuckled your seatbelt and climbed out, following him up the front steps like a scolded child.

inside, the house was quiet, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only sound. rafe didn’t say much, just jerked his head toward the stairs as he kicked off his shoes. you followed, your steps hesitant as you trailed him into his room.

“sit down,” he ordered, gesturing to the edge of his bed as he rummaged through a drawer, pulling out a first-aid kit.

you sat down, watching as he opened the kit and grabbed a clean cloth and a small bottle of antiseptic. the scent of his cologne lingered in the air, sharp and somehow comforting.

“this might sting,” he warned, crouching in front of you. his touch was surprisingly gentle as he dabbed at the dried blood on your knee.

you winced but stayed still, watching him work. his brows were furrowed in concentration, his usual smugness replaced with something quieter, steadier.

“start talking,” he said after a moment, his tone calmer now. “what happened with ruthie?”

you hesitated, the memory still raw. but there was something in the way rafe looked at you—like he genuinely wanted to know.

“she was saying stuff about kie,” you admitted, your voice soft. “calling her a trashy pogue, saying she was probably stealing from people at the party. i told her to shut the fuck up, and she got in my face. said i was defending kie because i’m just as pathetic as her.”

rafe’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt, just kept cleaning the cut on your knee.

“i told her to back off, and she shoved me. when i didn’t drop it, she swung at me. the rest is kind of a blur,” you finished, looking down at your hands.

“you’ve got a pretty big mouth, you know that?” he muttered, taking your leg gently in his hand to examine the cut on your knee. “and look where it’s gotten you.”

you rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. “yeah, but i still won.”

rafe snorted softly, shaking his head as he worked. “yeah? i bet you think you were tough, huh?” he dabbed at the cut, and you hissed, instinctively jerking your leg.

“hold still,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. his grip on your calf tightened just enough to keep you in place as he cleaned the wound.

“ruthie didn’t walk away looking perfect, if that’s what you’re asking,” you said, a small flicker of pride lighting up in your voice. “you should’ve seen her.”

rafe smirked, glancing up at you briefly before returning his attention to your knee. “don’t worry,” he said, his tone casual but with an edge that made your chest tighten slightly. “i’ll see her. up close.”

the way he said it—calm, measured, but dripping with barely restrained fury—made your stomach twist. you tried to brush it off as typical rafe bravado, but the intensity in his eyes made it clear: he wasn’t joking.

“this is gonna sting,” he warned before gently pressing the damp cloth to your skin.

you winced, gritting your teeth but refusing to pull away this time. he worked slowly, his brows furrowed in concentration as he cleaned away the dried blood and dirt.

“there,” he said, sitting back slightly to look at his work. “now let me see your nose.”

you hesitated but didn’t fight him when he tilted your chin up, his fingers brushing against your jaw. his eyes narrowed as he studied the dried blood smeared beneath your nostrils. “it’s not broken,” he said after a moment. “just banged up.”

“thanks for the expert diagnosis, dr. cameron,” you muttered, earning a faint chuckle from him.

“hold this,” he said, handing you the damp cloth before pulling out another small ice pack. he wrapped it in a towel and gently pressed it to your swollen eye.

you flinched at the cold, but he held it steady. “don’t be such a baby,” he teased, though his voice lacked any real bite.

“i’m not,” you shot back, your glare softened by the faint tug of a smile.

he smirked again, shaking his head. “you really do have a big mouth,” he said, leaning back against his desk once more.

you matched his smirk with one of your own. “yeah, well, i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

rafe’s expression darkened slightly, but it wasn’t directed at you. “good,” he said simply, his tone quiet but carrying a weight that made your stomach twist.

the cold stung, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating off him—his sudden intensity making it hard to breathe.

rafe pulled the ice pack away, out of your grasp, his gaze lingered on your face. his eyes narrowed as his thumb brushed along your jaw, tilting your face to the side.

“hold on,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“what?” you asked, your voice harsher than you intended.

he didn’t answer at first, leaning in closer. you froze, your breath hitching as his thumb moved just beside the bruise on your cheek. “there’s a cut here,” he said, his tone lower now. “i didn’t see it before.”

“it’s nothing,” you mumbled, trying to pull away, but his hand on your jaw stopped you.

“don’t,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. his blue eyes locked onto yours, holding you in place. “let me clean it.”

you wanted to argue, but the words caught in your throat. you were suddenly hyperaware of how close he was, the sharp line of his jaw just inches from you, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

he grabbed a fresh cloth, wetting it in the bathroom before crouching back in front of you. this time, he didn’t just lean in—he was so close his knees brushed yours, his fingers gently tilting your face toward him.

“stay still,” he murmured, his voice softer now but heavy with something unspoken.

the sting of the antiseptic barely registered. all you could focus on was the way his thumb brushed against your skin, the way his eyes stayed locked on yours even as he worked. the tension in the air was thick, electric, every small movement of his hand sending sparks skittering down your spine.

“you’re staring,” you blurted out, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

rafe’s lips twitched, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “yeah?” he said, his voice a low drawl. “can you blame me?”

your breath caught, and you opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. his smirk deepened as he pulled the cloth away, his thumb lingering on your cheek for just a moment longer than necessary.

“there,” he said, his voice softer now. “all cleaned up. you’re lucky it’s not deeper.”

you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing. “thanks,” you mumbled, feeling a little unsteady under his gaze.

rafe didn’t move. he stayed crouched in front of you, his hand still resting lightly on your jaw. his eyes flicked over your face, studying every bruise and cut like they offended him personally.

“she really took you on, huh?” he said after a moment, his tone almost teasing but laced with something darker. “but don’t worry, i’ll take care of her.”

“rafe, you don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off, his thumb brushing once more against your cheek before he stood.

“keep the ice on your eye,” he said, his tone suddenly businesslike as he packed up the first-aid kit.

you watched him move around the room, your mind still spinning from the charged moment you’d just shared. even as he turned away, you could feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you, like he wasn’t quite done with whatever was brewing between you.

and you weren’t sure if you wanted him to be.

rafe came back into the room after tossing the bloodied cloths and wrappers in the trash, running a hand through his hair. his shoulders looked less tense now, but his expression was unreadable as he glanced at you sitting there with the ice pack still pressed to your eye.

“you look like you’re about to pass out,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

“i’m fine,” you muttered in answer, though the exhaustion was catching up with you.

he tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “you can take my bed if you want.”

your eyes snapped to his, narrowing. “no thanks. i’ll take the couch.”

rafe raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. “yeah, no. i’d rather have you dirty my bed than the ten-thousand-dollar couch.”

your jaw dropped. “you’re so stuck up.”

“and you’re about to sleep outside if you don’t shut up,” he shot back, but the slight grin on his face betrayed his teasing tone.

“okay, then i’ll walk home,” you said, shrugging, starting to push yourself up from the bed.

rafe’s amused expression immediately shifted to disbelief. “you’re not serious, right?”

you stood, wobbling slightly, and he rolled his eyes before stepping closer. “alright, that’s enough,” he said, lightly pressing his hand to your shoulder and guiding you back down onto the bed.

“lay down,” he said firmly, crossing his arms as he loomed over you. “keep the ice on your eye, but not too long. and put it on your knuckles too, because they’re gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow.”

you frowned, looking down at your hands. now that he mentioned it, the dull ache in your knuckles was growing more noticeable. you sighed, sinking back into the bed and adjusting the ice pack against your eye.

“there,” rafe said, a smug note in his voice as he watched you obey. “was that so hard?”

“shut up,” you grumbled, but your tone lacked any real bite.

he chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair and tossed it over you. “just try not to bleed on my sheets,” he said, his voice softening as he lingered by the edge of the bed.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. “thanks.”

his gaze softened for just a moment, but he quickly masked it with a smirk. “yeah, yeah. just don’t get used to it.”

as he turned to leave the room, you settled back against the pillows, exhaustion finally taking over. you might’ve hated to admit it, but being here—being taken care of by rafe—didn’t feel as strange as it should have.

and somehow, that was the most unsettling part of all.

you woke up slowly, the first thing you noticed was the throbbing inside your head. your temples pulsed in time with your heartbeat, and every inch of your body felt like it had been through a war.

lightheadedness crept in as you sat up, forcing you to take a moment to steady yourself.

your knee ached, the sharp pain radiating up your leg with every slight movement. your cheek stung, and the skin around your eye felt tight. tentatively, you reached up to touch it, wincing when your fingers made contact with your skin.

turning your head, you spotted a glass of water on the nightstand with a couple of painkillers neatly placed beside it. a small note was folded underneath them, scrawled in rafe’s sharp handwriting: take these. don’t be stubborn.

you picked them up and tossed them back quickly, chasing it with a gulp of water. the coolness soothed your dry throat, but the pounding in your head didn’t ease right away.

dragging yourself out of bed, you padded toward the bathroom, each step a reminder of the bruises and cuts decorating your body. your knuckles ached with every flex of your fingers, and you clenched them instinctively, regretting it immediately.

inside the bathroom, the faint light from the small window illuminated the counter.

you noticed your eye wasn’t that swollen anymore, but when you brushed your fingers lightly over the skin, you winced. it was tender and, judging by the dark blue tint you glimpsed at in the mirror across from you.

your cheekbone was tender with a faint scratch, and your knuckles were red and swollen.

“great,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair.

you turned toward the sink, expecting to just splash your face with water, but something on the counter caught your eye: a toothbrush still in its packaging, resting neatly beside the toothpaste.

you hesitated, glancing over your shoulder like someone might catch you. but you needed it, and the sight of your dry, cracked lips in the mirror was enough to convince you.

tearing open the packaging, you squeezed some toothpaste onto the toothbrush and began scrubbing. the minty foam stung your lips, but it was your knuckles that hurt the most. every motion sent a sharp, aching throb through your hands, and you had to grit your teeth to keep from crying out.

“damn it,” you muttered, pausing to flex your fingers gingerly. but you pushed through, brushing until your teeth felt clean enough, then rinsing your mouth and the toothbrush.

leaning against the counter for a moment, you let out a long breath, staring at your reflection. this was… a lot. too much. and yet, you couldn’t help but think about rafe—the way he’d taken care of you last night, the strange softness in his otherwise sharp demeanor.

as much as you wanted to hate it, part of you didn’t mind.

shaking your head, you turned off the light and shuffled back toward the bedroom, trying to ignore the aching in your body—and the confused thoughts swirling in your head.

as you sat on the edge of the bed, debating whether to lie back down or try to shake off your lingering dizziness, muffled voices from downstairs made you freeze.

they weren’t just voices—they were angry, sharp, and escalating quickly.

“what the fuck?” you muttered under your breath, standing up too fast and immediately regretting it. the dizziness hit hard, making you grip the edge of the bed to steady yourself.

you needed to check what was going on, but not in yesterday’s crumpled clothes. opening the dresser on the far side of the room, you shuffled through the contents. most of it was clearly rafe’s—a mix of crisp shirts and athletic gear. but toward the back, you found a pair of dark blue sweats that looked about your size.

and then you spotted it: a pink t-shirt, soft and slightly worn, the kind of thing you instinctively knew wasn’t rafe’s style. sarah’s, you guessed. it didn’t really matter, so you pulled it over your head.

the shouting downstairs grew louder.

“seriously,” you sighed, trying to pull the sweats on without hurting your knee and tying the drawstring before heading toward the stairs.

when you reached the bottom, the voices became distinct.

“why the hell were you helping her, man?” topper’s voice was loud and furious. you peeked around the corner to see him standing toe-to-toe with rafe in the kitchen. his face was becoming red, and his fists were clenched at his sides.

“shut the fuck up before you wake the whole house,” rafe snapped, his voice low but seething.

“the only person here is wheezie,” topper shot back, waving his arms. “and don’t act like that’s the problem. you are!”

rafe took a step closer, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “you’re the one yelling in my kitchen at eight in the damn morning, top. you need to fucking chill.”

topper didn’t back down. “chill? chill? ruthie said she hit y/n for a reason, bro. why the hell are you even involved? that girl’s not worth this.”

you froze, peering from the shadows as rafe straightened, his shoulders stiffening. “she’s worth not getting jumped by your psycho girlfriend,” he said coolly.

“she’s a fucking pogue!” topper yelled, his face twisting in anger.

rafe laughed, sharp and biting. “she lives on figure eight, you fucking weirdo. what are you even talking about?”

“doesn’t matter,” topper spat. “she’s trash, and if you’re protecting her, you’re just as bad. i’ll fucking kill her when i see her, for what she did to ruthie.”

your stomach dropped, and you instinctively stepped back.

rafe’s laugh was darker this time, the kind of sound that sent chills down your spine. “yeah? i’d like to see you try, bro.”

the kitchen fell silent except for the faint sound of your unsteady breathing. rafe had taken a step forward, his towering frame casting a long shadow over topper.

“you’re pushing it, man,” rafe said, his voice steady and dangerously calm. “if you have a problem with me, take it up with me. but if you so much as look at y/n the wrong way…” he trailed off, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.

topper looked like he wanted to say something, but the tension was suffocating.

you shuffled into view, clearing your throat. “hey,” you said, your voice shaky but loud enough to catch their attention.

both heads snapped toward you.

you watched as topper’s face twisted as his eyes landed on you, cycling through a chaotic mix of emotions—shock, disbelief, anger, and then a bitter fury. his tongue pressed against his cheek as a sharp, humorless laugh escaped him.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he sneered, glaring at rafe like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

rafe sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face like he was seconds from snapping. “top, just shut the hell up.” he stepped toward you, his hand brushing your arm to guide you back toward the stairs. “come on. let’s go.”

you frowned, resisting his pull. “wait, what’s going on?”

“she’s here?” topper’s voice was incredulous, loud enough to echo through the kitchen. he pointed at you, his finger shaking. “you’re actually keeping her here? what the fuck, rafe? she’s a pogue! she hangs out with those freaks on the cut—those wannabe rebels with their loser-ass surfboards and groupie bullshit!”

your stomach churned, but you didn’t get a chance to respond before rafe’s expression hardened.

“topper,” he warned, his voice low and deadly.

“no, bro!” topper exploded, gesturing wildly. “don’t stand there and act like she and kie didn’t see it happen last night. you know she’s not worth this!”

rafe’s jaw ticked, and he turned fully to face topper, a dangerous calm washing over him. “you’ve got ten seconds to get the hell out of my house.”

topper let out a disbelieving laugh, his tongue poking his cheek again as he tilted his head. “what the fuck are you doing, man? you’re choosing her? over me?”

“over you and over whatever bullshit you think matters right now,” rafe shot back, his voice sharp and unyielding. “and if you don’t walk out that door in the next five seconds, i’m calling my lawyer. i’ll have you trespassed so fast your head’ll spin.”

topper’s laugh turned into a snarl. “you’re fucking crazy.”

“maybe,” rafe said, his lips curling into a cold smirk. “but i’m also the guy who’ll have you eating court fees for breakfast if you don’t leave my house, now.”

the room fell silent except for the sound of your uneven breathing. topper glared at rafe, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. for a moment, you thought he might swing, but then he threw his hands up in exasperation.

“you’re out of your damned mind,” he muttered, turning toward the door before he stopped in his tracks, “and you, you’ll regret this,” he pointed towards you.

the slam of the door echoed through the house as topper left.

rafe turned to you, exhaling slowly, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. “come on,” he said, nodding toward the stairs. “let’s get you back upstairs.”

your brows furrowed as you followed him, still reeling. “what the hell was that?”

“don’t worry about it,” rafe muttered, his voice softer now, but the tension in his posture hadn’t fully eased.

you stood there, looking at rafe, feeling the silence grow thick between you. the weight of the last few minutes, the tension in the air, made it hard to breathe.

“did you and topper... fight because of the ruthie thing?” you asked, the words tasting strange as they left your mouth.

rafe didn’t answer at first. he ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, his jaw clenched.

you waited, but still, nothing.

“rafe?” you pressed again, stepping closer to him.

he looked up at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. then, in a low voice, he muttered, “yeah, i was arguing with him.”

your stomach tightened at the thought. “why?”

“why?” rafe scoffed, standing up abruptly. “because that guy has no fucking boundaries. because he's an asshole, and i don’t like the way he treats you.”

you opened your mouth to respond but were cut off by your phone buzzing in your pocket.

you pulled it out, your stomach sinking when you saw the screen light up with ruthie’s name.

before you could even process it, the screen flashed with her message:

ruthie:

“round two? come on, i’ll make sure it’s fair this time.”

you stared at the message, your hands trembling in pain as you locked your phone.

rafe caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, his gaze “she really thinks she can just go after you again?” his voice was like ice, but there was a dangerous edge to it that made your chest tighten.

“rafe, just calm down,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. you took a small step back, but it didn't stop him from pacing across the room, his jaw clenched, his frustration seeping through every muscle in his body.

“calm down?” he repeated, turning to face you, his voice rising. “she’s out there talking shit about you, threatening you—after what happened last night? you think i’m just gonna stand by and let her do that?”

“it’s not worth it,” you said, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. “why does it even matter to you, rafe? you argued with topper at eight in the morning. you’re in the middle of your own mess. this... this isn’t your problem.”

he took a step toward you, and you could feel the air between you crackling. “it’s my problem because you’re my problem,” he said, his voice low, his eyes locking onto yours.

you froze at his words, your heart thudding in your chest. the world around you seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. his gaze held something you couldn’t quite place—something fierce, but vulnerable at the same time.

“i’m your problem?” you repeated, almost whispering, trying to wrap your mind around what he was saying.

rafe stepped closer, his breath just a little too close to yours. “yeah, you are.” he reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of your face, his fingers grazing your cheek in a soft, deliberate touch.

you could barely breathe, feeling the warmth of his hand on your skin, the heat of his body radiating toward you. every inch of space between you seemed to be disappearing with each passing second.

“rafe,” you whispered, your voice shaky, uncertain.

“i’m not letting anyone hurt you,” he said, his words a promise—an almost reckless determination in his tone.

you were so close to him now that you could feel the intensity of his gaze. everything around you seemed to fall away as the world seemed to hold its breath.

his lips hovered inches from yours, and for a heartbeat, you were both still, both locked in that moment, waiting for something to shift.

and then—

ding.

the sound of your phone vibrating broke the spell.

rafe pulled back, frustration flashing in his eyes as he glanced down at the screen.

you could feel your stomach churn as he read ruthie’s message.

ruthie:

“you’re not getting away that easy. you know you want to.”

“i’ll see you soon.”

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[orangeblossomsintheair]

LIONHEART (2/3) – LN4

summary : lando's journey as a dad.

wc : 12k

an : lionheart was supposed to be a 2-parter but i hit the maximum wc for a post so i guess it's gonna have one more part 😭 not the most linear progression and not beta-read !

It had to be some kind of cosmic joke, you thought to yourself, the more you watched your son grow up.

Nine months of carrying him, swollen feet, back pain, cravings, and sleepless nights, only for him to come out as an exact replica of his father.

Had your genes even tried?

Your son was all Lando.

The wild mop of curls that defied gravity, his sun-kissed skin, that cheeky gap-toothed smile, and those bright aquamarine eyes that twinkled with mischief.

His resemblance to your husband was so uncanny that even Cisca, your mother-in-law, couldn’t stop commenting on it.

“It’s like going back in time,” she said one afternoon, watching your son dart around her garden, pretending to race with his toy car. “He’s exactly how Lando was at his age.”

She paused to chuckle. “And just as much of a handful.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” you replied, sipping your tea with a tired smile. “I think the universe decided one Lando wasn’t enough, so now I’ve got two.”

Cisca patted your hand, laughing softly. “Well, you’re doing a wonderful job. Raising a mini Lando is no small feat, trust me.”

"Speaking of small," you quipped, watching your son determinedly try to drift his bulky toy car, tongue sticking out as he put his weight onto the steering wheel. "He’s just as tiny as his dad was, isn’t he?"

Cisca laughed, the sound warm and familiar as she watched her grandson’s antics. “Oh, absolutely. Lando was always the smallest in his class. It drove him mad. He’d come home every week asking me to measure him, convinced he’d finally grown an inch overnight.”

You snorted, imagining a pint-sized, gap-toothed Lando standing against a wall, demanding to see the ruler. “That sounds about right. Let me guess, he overcompensated by being the loudest kid in the room?”

Cisca nodded with a fond smile. “Loudest and most dramatic,” she added, her eyes twinkling. “He had this knack for turning every little scrape or fall into an Oscar-worthy performance.”

As if on cue, your son’s car lost its balance, and he tumbled to the ground, landing on his side but throwing his arms out dramatically.

“I crashed!” he wailed, flopping onto his back for full effect. “Someone call my pit crew!”

You buried your face in your hands with a groan, trying not to laugh, while Cisca chuckled beside you.

“And there it is. Just like his father.”

Lando chose that exact moment to walk into the garden, a drink in hand, eyebrows raised as he surveyed the scene. “What’s going on here?”

“Your mini-me just reenacted your entire childhood,” you replied, nodding toward your son, who was now lying in the grass, muttering something about needing new tires.

Your son immediately perked up, pointing at his completely intact toy car. “The wheel came off, and the engine’s making weird noises!”

Lando grinned, sauntering over and crouching down next to his son. “Alright, mate, what’s the damage?”

“Hm, sounds serious,” Lando said, nodding solemnly. “We’ll have to get you back in the garage. Can you make it?”

Your son nodded fiercely, throwing his arms around Lando’s neck as he scooped him up effortlessly. Watching them, you couldn’t help but smile.

—

Raising Lando Norris’s mini-me had been a chaotic blend of exhaustion, love, and endless laughter. From the moment your son came into the world, Lando had been there, fumbling his way into fatherhood with all the charm and clumsiness that only he could manage.

The first night at home was chaos.

Your son cried nonstop, his tiny lungs working overtime as the sound echoed through the house.

You were sprawled on the couch, clutching a pillow like it was the only thing tethering you to sanity. Every muscle in your body ached from exhaustion, and you could barely lift your head to look at Lando, who was pacing the living room.

“I’ve got this,” Lando announced confidently, his voice momentarily louder than the wails of your newborn.

He cradled your son in his arms, gently swaying back and forth. “Alright, buddy, what’s wrong? You hungry? Tired? Bored? Yeah, same, honestly.”

“Lando,” you groaned, muffled by the pillow, “he’s a baby, not a pit crew member.”

He ignored you, crouching slightly as he made exaggerated eye contact with your son. “Okay, listen, mate. I need some feedback here. Blink twice if you’re hungry. Cry louder if you’re overtired. Just... give me something to work with.”

Your son, predictably, kept crying, his tiny fists flailing in the air. Lando sighed dramatically. “Tough crowd. Alright, plan B.”

“Plan B?” you asked, lifting the pillow just enough to raise an eyebrow at him.

Without answering, Lando started bouncing lightly on his heels, his voice dropping into a soft hum.

At first, you couldn’t place the tune, but after a moment it hit you- he was humming the McLaren theme tune.

The one he used to play in the car after races, the one that made its way into every highlight reel.

“Are you seriously singing a racing anthem to our newborn?” you asked, your voice half-incredulous, half-amused.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” he replied, a teasing grin on his face. “Besides, it’s working.”

You blinked and realized, to your absolute shock, that Leo's cries were starting to fade. His tiny body relaxed slightly in Lando’s arms, the relentless wailing softening into hiccupping sobs.

“No way,” you muttered, sitting up straighter. “Are you some kind of baby whisperer now?”

Lando smirked, still swaying as he hummed softly to Leo. “What can I say? I’ve got a gift,” he said, casting a quick glance your way. “Or maybe it’s destiny. He’s clearly a McLaren fan already. Chip off the old block, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorframe. “Destiny? You hummed one tune, and now you think he’s a fan for life?”

Lando shot you a playful grin, looking down at Leo, whose cries had softened into sleepy hiccups.

“See this? He’s calm now. That’s McLaren magic, love.” He paused, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. “That’s right, little man. Team McLaren all the way. We’re a family of winners.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Don’t let your Uncle Carlos hear you say that. He’ll be over here with Ferrari onesies faster than you can say pit stop.”

Lando laughed, rocking Leo gently as the baby’s eyelids fluttered. “Nah, no way. Right, Leo?” He leaned down, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t let Uncle Carlos fool you. Red’s not your color, mate. Papaya suits you better.”

“Lando,” you groaned, trying not to laugh. “He’s a baby, not a brand ambassador. He doesn’t even know what colors are yet!”

Lando shrugged, grinning as he paced the room. “Doesn’t matter. He’s got taste. I mean, look at him- calm, collected, already understanding the importance of good engineering.”

You finally let out a laugh, unable to keep a straight face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re welcome,” he shot back, shifting his grip to hold the baby closer to his chest. “Seriously, though. I think I’ve found my secret weapon. Next time he cries, I’ll just sing him some F1 radio clips. Maybe a little ‘box, box, box’ to calm him down.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, but you couldn’t stop laughing. “I can’t believe this. Our baby is going to grow up thinking pit stops are a lullaby.”

“Could be worse,” Lando said with a shrug. “He could think Formula 1 isn’t the best sport in the world. Now that would be tragic.”

“Lando,” you deadpanned, “please don’t turn our child into a walking race encyclopedia before he can even walk.”

“No promises,” he replied cheekily, pressing a kiss to the baby’s forehead as he finally, miraculously, drifted off to sleep. “But for now, I’ll settle for a good night’s sleep. For all of us.”

You leaned back against the couch, watching Lando as he gently carried your son to the bassinet. He moved carefully, like he was holding the most precious thing in the world—and, of course, he was. As he laid the baby down and tiptoed back to you, his goofy grin made your heart swell.

“See?” he whispered, sliding onto the couch beside you. “I told you I’ve got this.”

You shook your head with a soft laugh. “Alright, Dad of the Year. Just don’t forget to get me some water next time.”

He winked. “Coming right up, love. Anything else? Snack? Back massage? Pit crew?”

You threw the pillow at him, but you were laughing too hard to aim properly.

—-

The next night wasn’t much better, Leo seemed to have developed a personal vendetta against sleep, and you were convinced he had some kind of sixth sense that detected the exact moment you closed your eyes. The instant your head hit the pillow, his cries filled the room, pulling you out of the haze of near-sleep.

You groaned, rolling over to see Lando already sitting up in bed, his hair sticking up in all directions like he’d just stepped out of a wind tunnel. He rubbed his face, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a pit crew strategy.

“I’ll get him,” he mumbled, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Stay here.”

But you were already sitting up, determined to share the burden. “No, I’ll go. You did the heavy lifting last night.”

Lando turned, his expression softening despite the exhaustion etched into his features. “Love, you carried Leo for nine months. I’ve got this.”

“You said that last night,” you countered, though your voice lacked the strength to argue properly.

“And I delivered, didn’t I?” he shot back with a teasing grin, standing and heading toward the bassinet before you could protest further.

You flopped back onto the mattress, listening to the soft sounds from nursery next door as Lando picked up your son and began his now-signature routine: the light bouncing, the exaggerated baby talk, and, of course, the humming. This time, the tune wasn’t the McLaren theme, it was his radio message after his first win.

“Let’s gooooo,” he whispered dramatically, his voice soft and playful. “Who’s a little legend? You are. That’s right. Just like Dad, huh? Winning every battle, even the ones against sleep.”

From your spot on the bed, you couldn’t help but smile. His ridiculousness was oddly endearing, and somehow, it worked. The cries began to fade again, replaced by soft hiccups and the occasional sniffle.

Lando returned a few minutes later, cradling your now-snoozing baby with a triumphant expression. “Another successful pit stop,” he declared, easing onto the bed beside you.

“You’re unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head.

“Thank you,” he replied, deadpan, as if you’d just complimented his driving skills.

You sat up, peeking over his shoulder at the peaceful little face nestled against his chest. “You know, if this whole racing thing doesn’t pan out, you might have a future as a baby whisperer.”

He snorted. “Racing will always pan out. But if not, maybe I’ll open a sleep training clinic for newborns. ‘Lando’s Lullabies,’ what do you think?”

You smacked his arm lightly, though you couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped. “I think you’re delusional from lack of sleep.”

“Probably,” he agreed, leaning his head against yours. “But hey, we’re surviving, right? That’s the real victory.”

You sighed, letting the warmth of his presence wrap around you. “Yeah. We’re surviving.”

“And thriving,” he added, glancing down at the baby. “Well, he’s thriving. We’re hanging by a thread, but that’s what parents do, right?”

“Right,” you murmured, the exhaustion temporarily eclipsed by a deep sense of gratitude. “We’ve got this.”

He grinned, his free arm pulling you close. “That’s the spirit, love. Now, go back to sleep. I’ll stay up a little longer, just in case.”

—-

(A few months later)

The weekend had finally arrived, and with it came a rare sense of relief as Lando’s parents pulled up to the house.

You were sitting on the couch with Leo cradled in your arms, his tiny fists wrapped around your finger.

Lando was sprawled next to you, his head resting on your shoulder, looking just as exhausted as you felt.

The door opened, and Lando's dad, Adam, stepped in first, his face lighting up the moment he saw Leo. “There’s my grandson! Hand him over, I’ve got this,” he said, already reaching out with eager arms.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not even a hello for us, Adam?”

“Hi, darling,” Adam replied quickly, flashing you a grin before focusing entirely on Leo. “Alright, little man. Granddad’s here. Let’s give your mum and dad a break, yeah?”

Lando’s mom, Cisca, followed closely behind, holding a casserole dish and a tote bag filled with who-knows-what. “And I’m here to make sure this house doesn’t fall apart. You two look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“We haven’t,” Lando said dramatically, sitting up and stretching. “Leo’s been practicing his lung capacity every night. Future Norris athlete in the making.”

“Alright, you two,” Cisca said, setting the bag down and clapping her hands. “You’re officially off duty. Go take a nap, watch a movie, do whatever it is you haven’t had the time to do. We’ve got this.”

“You don’t have to do all this,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction. The idea of a nap, an uninterrupted nap, was already making your body ache in anticipation.

“Sweetheart,” Cisca said, her voice softening as she placed a hand on your arm. “This is what family is for. You’re doing an amazing job, but even superheroes need a break. Let us help.”

Cicsa moved away with a smile, already pulling on a pair of cleaning gloves. “Anyway, I’ve raised two boys and managed Adam. This is a piece of cake.”

“Hey!” Adam called over, bouncing Leo gently. “I resent that.”

“You love it,” Cisca shot back with a wink before turning to you. “Now, shoo. “

You hesitated, glancing at Lando. “Are you sure? The house is a mess, and Leo’s been fussy all morning. I don’t want to dump everything on you two.”

“Nonsense,” Adam said, already bouncing Leo gently. “We’ve raised kids before, remember? This is nothing. Go.”

Lando grinned, nudging you with his elbow. “You heard them. Free babysitters. Let’s not waste this golden opportunity.”

Cisca rolled her eyes fondly as she started tidying the living room, picking up stray baby toys and discarded blankets. “You two deserve a break. Parenting isn’t easy, and you’ve been doing a wonderful job. But everyone needs help sometimes.”

Reluctantly, you let Lando pull you off the couch, your body protesting every movement. “Okay, but if he gets hungry-”

“I know how to warm a bottle,” Cisca interrupted gently, her voice filled with warmth. “We’ll call you if we need anything. Now go.”

As Lando grabbed your hand and led you toward the stairs, you couldn’t help but glance back. Adam was rocking Leo, humming softly, while Cisca was already organizing the clutter in the kitchen.

“They’ve got it,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And we’ve got each other.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “I still feel a little guilty.”

“Don’t,” Lando said firmly, steering you toward the bedroom. “They want to help. And we need this. Just a couple of hours to recharge, yeah?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the past few sleepless nights begin to fade. “Yeah. You’re right.”

The bedroom was bathed in the soft, warm glow of the sun, the kind of light that made everything feel just a little bit more peaceful.

For once, there was no crying, no laundry to fold, no bottles to sterilize. Downstairs, the gentle hum of Lando’s parents chatting with Leo filled the air, but up here, it was quiet. Blissfully quiet.

You lay sprawled on the bed, your limbs heavy with exhaustion but your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Lando lay beside you, his head propped up on his hand, watching you with a small, soft smile that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t in days.

“What?” you asked, your voice a low murmur, too tired to even tease.

He shook his head, his curls falling into his eyes. “Nothing. Just looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance in it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, shifting closer so he could rest his hand lightly on your waist. “But I’m serious. I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

“I’m right here, Lando,” you said softly, though the words felt heavier than you meant them to. You knew what he meant. The chaos of parenthood had left little time for anything else, especially for moments like this.

“No, I mean…” He paused, his fingers gently brushing against the fabric of your shirt, tracing absent patterns. “I’ve missed us. The way we used to just… be, you know? Before all the crying and nappies and figuring out how to keep a tiny human alive.”

Your throat tightened a little at his words, the weight of guilt creeping in again. “I know. I’ve been so caught up in being a mom that I…” You trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“That you forgot to just be you?” Lando offered, his voice gentle, no trace of judgment.

You nodded, blinking back the sudden sting in your eyes. “Yeah. That.”

He let out a soft sigh, his hand moving to cup your cheek, tilting your face so you were looking at him. His eyes were earnest, filled with that boundless affection that you didn't know what to do with most of the time.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’re an amazing mom. The best. But before you were Leo’s mom, you were you. The woman I fell in love with. The woman who lights up every room she walks into. And I don’t want you to lose her.”

“I don’t know how to do that, Lando,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “I feel like all I am right now is tired and messy and just… not enough.”

His brow furrowed, and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead in a lingering kiss. “You are more than enough. You always have been, and you always will be.”

You tried to look away, the intensity of his words clawing at your throat, but he didn’t let you, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “And you’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he added, his voice taking on that familiar playful lilt. “Even with the spit-up stains and the messy bun.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Flatterer.”

“Not flattery. Just facts,” he insisted, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. Then your cheek. Then the tip of your nose. Each kiss was soft and slow, like he was trying to make you believe every word he said.

“Lando…”

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips finally finding yours. The kiss was gentle, filled with a warmth that made your chest ache. It was a reminder, a promise, and a thank you all wrapped into one.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Thank you for Leo. For everything. For letting me do this life with you.”

Tears prickled at your eyes, but this time they were the good kind. “You don’t have to thank me, Lando. We’re in this together, remember?”

“I know,” he said with a small smile. “But I’m going to thank you anyway. Because you deserve it. And because I don’t say it enough.”

He pulled you closer then, wrapping his arms around you as if he could shield you from every ounce of exhaustion and doubt you carried. For a moment, you let yourself melt into him, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I love you,” he said softly, his lips brushing against your hair. “And I love Leo. But I don’t ever want you to forget- you’re more than just a mom, yeah?”

—

The morning light streamed through the curtains, soft and golden, bathing the room in a peaceful glow. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you woke up feeling truly rested.

No cries echoing through the baby monitor, no bleary-eyed stumbles in the middle of the night. Just the warmth of the bed, the sound of birds chirping outside, and the gentle rise and fall of Lando’s chest as he lay beside you.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you turned your head to find him already awake, his curls messy and his face relaxed in a way that made him look impossibly boyish. His eyes met yours, and a slow, lazy grin spread across his lips.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice husky from sleep.

“Morning,” you replied, your own smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Did we really just sleep through the night?”

Lando stretched, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer. "Looks like it," he whispered. "Feels illegal, honestly. Like we’re breaking some kind of parental code."

You let out a soft laugh, your hand instinctively resting on his chest. “I forgot what it feels like to be this… alive.”

“Same,” he said, his grin turning cheeky. “Although, I don’t think we should waste this newfound energy.”

Before you could reply, Lando leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was warm and slow at first, but quickly deepened into something more heated. His hand slid up your back, pulling you flush against him as his other hand tangled in your hair.

“Lando…” you mumbled against his lips, pulling back slightly. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” he said, his grin widening as he trailed kisses down your jaw and back to your mouth. “I’ve just missed kissing you like this. No interruptions, no spit-up, no baby monitor beeping at us..”

His lips captured yours again, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in it, the world narrowing down to the warmth of his body and the way his hand slid up your side. But then reality came crashing back, and you pulled away just enough to mumble, “Lando, my body’s… not ready for anything. You know that, right?”

He pulled back, raising an eyebrow and looking at you like you’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Well, obviously. Don’t doubt my research, babe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, smacking his chest lightly. “Your research?”

“Yes, my research,” he said with mock seriousness, leaning back down to kiss you again. “I’m well-informed, thank you very much. And I know exactly what you need right now- just this.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, his hand cupping your cheek as if to prove his point.

“Just kissing,” he murmured between kisses. “No pressure, no expectations. I just want you.”

You sighed into the kiss, your hands finding their way into his messy curls. It had been so long since you’d felt this close to him, and it was intoxicating. The way he kissed you made you feel like you were the center of his universe, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting together.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he said, his voice rough.

“Me too,” you admitted, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, he spoke again, his voice lighter now. “So… what do you think about getting a cleaner?”

You blinked, pulling back slightly to look at him. “A cleaner?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Not full-time or anything. Just someone to help out a few days a week. Give us a little breathing room with the chores. Time to, you know…” He smirked, leaning in to steal another quick kiss. “Do this more often.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible but practical,” he corrected, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at you properly. “Not full-time or anything. Just someone to help out a few days a week.“

You bit your lip, considering it. The idea of having some extra help was tempting, but you weren’t sure how you felt about leaving Leo with someone else, even for a few hours.

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip. “I don’t know, Lando. I mean, I love being with Leo. I don’t want to miss anything.”

“And you won’t,” he reassured you, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I feel like I should be able to handle everything. Like... isn’t that what moms are supposed to do?" you admitted.

"Hey," he said, tipping your chin up so you were looking at him. "You’re already handling everything. And you’re doing it brilliantly. But there’s no rule that says you have to do it all alone. Asking for help doesn’t make you any less of an amazing mom. It just means you’re human."

His words hit you harder than you expected, and you felt a lump form in your throat. "You really think it’s a good idea?"

"I do," he said firmly. "But only if it’s what you want. We’ll make it work either way. I just want to make sure you’re okay, love. That we’re okay.”

“Just think about it. No rush. No pressure. But if it means more mornings like this… it might be worth it.”

He kissed you again, and you couldn’t help but melt into him, your worries momentarily forgotten. For now, all that mattered was this moment, the two of you, together, with nothing else in the world but the warmth of his touch and the way he made you feel like you were still the most important thing in his life.

—

After some thought and plenty of conversations, you and Lando finally decided to hire someone.

It wasn’t a full-time helper, just someone to help around the house, take care of the cleaning, and keep things a little more organized.

You still handled all of Leo’s needs together, but the weight of the mess hanging around, making everything feel just a little more overwhelming, was finally lifted.

A few days of the cleaner settling in, things felt noticeably smoother. The house no longer looked like a war zone, and the chaos of being first-time parents seemed a little less overwhelming with the clutter finally under control.

One evening, after you’d finally gotten Leo to sleep and both of you had managed to survive a particularly difficult round of diaper duty, you and Lando flopped onto the couch.

He stretched out dramatically, groaning like he’d just completed a marathon.

“Okay, I don’t care what anyone says. Getting Leo to bed is like running a 5K.” Lando let out a deep sigh, making a show of rubbing his temples as if he’d just solved world peace.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement. “Oh, please. You’re a Formula 1 driver. Getting a baby to sleep should be a walk in the park compared to dodging crashes and tight corners.”

Lando shot you a side-eye, his lips quirking into a teasing grin. “Pfft. Formula 1 doesn't prepare you for a baby that won’t stop crying. No amount of pit stops will save you from that chaos.”

“True,” you said with a chuckle, snuggling up against him. “But at least we’re not cleaning up a whole pit crew’s worth of mess every two hours anymore.”

Lando kissed the top of your head and sighed in contentment. “Thank God for that.”

—

Lando was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed as he gently held Leo in his arms. The baby’s little hands gripped onto his fingers, his tiny face still a little scrunched in concentration.

You were watching from the couch, feeling a quiet sense of joy as you observed the two of them, when it happened.

Leo, with a little puff of air, let out the tiniest, most uncoordinated gummy smile. It wasn’t much, just a small curve of his lips, but to Lando, it was everything.

Lando froze, eyes wide as his gaze locked onto Leo’s face. He blinked, then blinked again, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Did… did he just-” His voice cracked, and before he could finish, tears welled up in his eyes.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “He smiled at me. He smiled.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, watching as Lando’s expression shifted from disbelief to pure adoration. He looked down at Leo, his hand trembling as he brushed a lock of hair away from the baby’s face.

Leo cooed softly, clearly content, and gave him another gummy smile. That was it. Lando completely lost it.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “My son… my son smiled at me.”

Lando cradled Leo in his arms, his gaze fixed on the baby with a mixture of awe and absolute adoration. He swayed back and forth, humming softly under his breath, as though trying to coax some kind of miracle out of his little son.

"Mama’s turn now," Lando said in a voice full of tenderness, walking toward you with Leo facing you. "Smile at Mama, Leo!"

You leaned forward, your hands resting on your knees as you watched Lando’s every move, heart swelling. “You think he’s really going to smile on cue?”

“Just wait,” Lando said with a grin, gently bouncing Leo. "Look at Mama, little man. Show her your big, gummy smile!"

For a moment, there was only the soft sound of Lando’s voice, and then... it happened. Leo’s face scrunched up as he stared up at you with those big, innocent eyes. And then, like a flash of light, his lips curled up in the tiniest, most precious gummy smile.

You felt your heart explode. Without even thinking, you reached a hand to cover your mouth as a soft sob escaped. "Oh my God," you whispered, tears already brimming. "He smiled at me, Lando."

Both of you stared at Leo, the tiny bundle who had no idea he had just performed the greatest act of cuteness in the history of parenthood. He just blinked up at you both, totally clueless, his little hands batting in the air, completely unaware of the emotional chaos he’d triggered.

Lando’s voice was shaky as he looked at you, a tear slipping down his cheek. "Look at him. He’s perfect. He’s ours. He smiled, love. He smiled!"

You were laughing and crying at the same time, shaking your head in disbelief. "I can’t. This is... too much."

Lando gently shifted Leo so that he was facing you both, as if presenting him to you like the greatest treasure. "See, buddy?" Lando whispered to Leo, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re gonna break hearts with that smile. Just like your mama."

You wiped away a tear, reaching out a hand to gently touch Leo’s tiny foot. "I can’t believe how much I love you two," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

Lando was full-on crying now, unable to contain the tears as he held Leo to his chest again, taking a deep breath and wiping his eyes. “I didn’t know it was possible to love you more every day,” he said, voice cracking with emotion. “But then... he does that,” he gestured lazily at Leo, “and suddenly I love you both a thousand times more.”

You reached up to gently wipe a tear from his cheek, your hand trembling just slightly. "I know," you whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly. "I love you both too."

Leo, completely unaware of the full emotional depth of the moment, simply gurgled in his sleep, his hands curling into fists, still smiling in his own little, clueless way.

You laughed softly, your voice still thick with emotion. "He’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen."

"Yeah," Lando agreed, his voice still a little raw. "He’s perfect. And he’s ours. I didn’t know I could feel like this,” he said, choking on his words, his voice cracking even more. “I’m so proud. I’m just… so proud of him already.”

You got up from the couch, walking over to where Lando was, a small, amused smile playing on your lips. You kneeled beside him, brushing your hand gently against his arm. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

Lando wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his face flushed with both emotion and embarrassment. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he said, looking at you through misty eyes. “This whole dad thing is gonna kill me. I can’t handle it.”

—

Lando was peacefully asleep on the couch, his arm draped lazily over his face, a soft snore escaping his lips as he lay on his back. Leo was nestled against his chest, his tiny hands swiping aimlessly as he slowly woke up, blinking his big eyes in the morning light.

You sat on the edge of the couch, your heart swelling as you watched the two of them. The sight was adorable- Lando, always so composed, now a soft, unguarded mess with your son lying on top of him. You leaned in to scoop Leo up for a cuddle, ready to give Lando a break from baby duty.

But just as you reached down to lift Leo, you froze. Leo’s tiny hand shot out, and in one swift move, he grabbed onto Lando’s nose with both little fists.

You stifled a laugh as Lando remained blissfully unaware, still deep in his sleep. Leo, on the other hand, was gripping his dad's nose like it was the most important thing in the world, his little fingers digging in as if holding onto a treasure.

You leaned over and tried to carefully pry Leo’s hand off his dad’s face, but Leo wasn't having any of it. His grip tightened, and he let out a soft giggle of his own, clearly delighted by his newfound power.

"No way, Leo," you whispered through your giggles. "Let go of Daddy’s nose."

But Leo just grinned and gave an enthusiastic tug, which only made you laugh harder. Lando, still unaware, snored a little louder, completely oblivious to the tiny assault on his nose.

You tried again to pull Leo away, but it was no use. Leo refused to let go. The more you tried, the more Leo seemed to cling to his dad’s nose with newfound determination.

"You little troublemaker," you giggled, your fingers now gently tickling Leo’s side in an attempt to distract him. "Daddy’s gonna wake up with a nose full of baby drool, and you're gonna be the one to blame."

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of baby antics, Lando stirred slightly. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, clearly confused as to why he felt a strange sensation on his nose. He looked down, and his gaze immediately landed on Leo, still gripping his nose like it was the most important thing in the world.

Lando blinked a few times, his lips twitching into a smile. "Leo..." he said groggily, his voice thick with sleep. "What are you doing, buddy?"

You couldn’t contain your laughter anymore, and you let out a full giggle. "He’s got you, Lando. He won’t let go."

Lando’s eyes softened as he looked at Leo, who was grinning back at him, completely unaware of the trouble he’d caused. "Well, guess I’m stuck with this now, huh?" Lando chuckled, gently moving Leo’s tiny hand from his nose. “I guess I should be flattered.”

You leaned in to kiss Lando on the cheek, still giggling. "You should be. I think Leo just claimed you as his personal jungle gym."

Lando smiled, finally fully awake now, and carefully lifted Leo off his chest, giving him a small kiss on the forehead. "Guess he loves me more than I thought."

"Just wait until he starts grabbing your hair," you teased.

Lando laughed, giving Leo a soft, affectionate squeeze. "I’ll take it. It’s just another part of the adventure."

You watched the two of them, your heart full. “Yeah. Another adventure,” you agreed softly, feeling the warmth of your little family wrap around you.

—

It was one of those rare, quiet afternoons. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting a soft glow over the living room where you sat with Leo cradled in your arms. His tiny body was warm against yours, his head nestled just beneath your chin. You were humming softly, tracing little patterns on his back, lost in your own world.

But Leo? Leo was in his own universe and it revolved entirely around you.

He tilted his head back slightly, his wide, curious eyes locking onto your face like you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

His little hands reached up, fingers brushing against your cheek. Every time you moved, even slightly, his gaze followed with a level of intensity that would’ve made a detective jealous.

“Hey there, buddy,” you whispered, smiling down at him. “What’s got you so mesmerized?”

Leo didn’t answer, of course. He just blinked at you, his big, gummy smile spreading across his face like sunshine breaking through clouds.

“Is it the song?” you teased, tilting your head. “Or are you just checking to see if I’m as tired as I feel?”

Lando walked in from the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand, and froze when he saw the two of you. “Oh my god,” he whispered, his voice laced with awe. “He’s in love with you.”

You looked up, confused but amused. “What are you talking about?”

“Look at him!” Lando exclaimed, setting the glass down and gesturing dramatically toward Leo. “He’s completely starstruck. Like, I’m his dad, but apparently, you’re Beyoncé or something.”

You laughed softly, glancing back down at Leo. “He’s a baby, Lando. Babies just... stare.”

“Not like this,” Lando countered, crouching beside the couch to get a closer look. He waved a hand in front of Leo’s face, trying to catch his attention, but Leo didn’t even blink. His gaze stayed fixed on you, unwavering.

“See?” Lando said, throwing his hands up. “I don’t exist. You’re his whole world.”

“Well,” you said with a sly smile, “can you blame him?”

Lando laughed, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Not even a little bit.”

Leo, as if sensing that his dad was stealing your attention, let out a little coo of protest. His tiny hand reached up again, this time gripping a strand of your hair.

“Oh, you’re possessive now, huh?” you teased, gently prying his fingers loose. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Lando watched the exchange with a grin, shaking his head. “I don’t stand a chance, do I?”

Leo giggled at you, a sound so pure and joyful that both you and Lando couldn’t help but laugh along.

“Well,” Lando said, sitting down beside you, “if he’s this obsessed with you now, just wait until he starts talking. First word’s gonna be ‘Mama’ for sure.”

You shrugged, smirking. “I mean, I am pretty great.”

“Understatement of the year,” Lando muttered, leaning in to kiss your temple.

Leo babbled something incomprehensible, his voice full of excitement, as if trying to join the conversation. You looked back down at him, your heart swelling.

“Don’t worry, baby,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, too.”

Leo responded with another gummy smile, and Lando groaned, clutching his chest.

“I’m gonna die,” he said dramatically. “He’s too cute. You’re too cute. I can’t handle this.”

You laughed, leaning into Lando’s side as the three of you basked in the warmth of the moment, your little family feeling more perfect than ever.

A few hours later and you were lounging on the couch, Leo nestled snugly against your chest. His tiny fingers clung to your shirt, his cheek resting against you as he babbled softly. You were exhausted but content, brushing a hand gently over his downy hair.

Lando appeared in the doorway, fresh from a shower, his hair damp and tousled. He grinned at the sight of the two of you, still where he had left you earlier to go running to get the workout his personal trainer required him. "Alright, mama. Your turn to rest," he said, striding over confidently. "Hand him over."

You chuckled softly, shifting slightly. "I don’t think he’s going to like that."

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lando said, reaching for Leo. “Come on, buddy. Let’s give Mama a break. You’ve hogged her long enough.”

But as soon as Lando’s hands gently tried to lift Leo away, your son let out a whiny little wail, clutching at your shirt like his life depended on it. His face scrunched up, and he made a series of dramatic, pitiful noises, burying his head against you.

Lando froze, blinking at Leo in disbelief. “Whoa, whoa, whoa- what’s this?”

You tried to hold back a laugh, rubbing Leo’s back soothingly. “I told you. He’s a mama’s boy right now.”

“Mama’s boy?” Lando repeated, his tone almost offended. “Leo, mate, you’re killing me here. What happened to our father-son bond? Remember? McLaren lullabies? Matching outfits? No?”

Leo let out another whimper and clung tighter, making it abundantly clear that no, he did not care about any of that right now.

“Unbelievable,” Lando muttered, dropping his hands to his hips. “You’re supposed to be my biggest fan, and you’re ditching me for her?”

“Can you blame him?” you teased, smiling up at Lando. “I mean, I did carry him for nine months. We’ve got history.”

Lando scoffed, sitting on the armrest of the couch, his arms crossed. “Alright, fine. I’ll just sit here and wait until he decides I’m worthy of his time again. No big deal.”

You laughed softly, adjusting Leo slightly so he could peek at his dad. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. He loves you. He’s just... clingy today.”

Lando leaned in closer, his face inches from Leo’s. “Hey, buddy,” he said in a mock serious tone. “You’re breaking my heart, you know that? At least give me a smile or something.”

Leo peeked at him, his little mouth forming an ‘O’ as if considering it, but then he tucked his face back into your neck with a happy sigh.

“Wow,” Lando said, throwing his hands up. “Rejected. Completely rejected. I’m never going to recover from this.”

You reached out with your free hand, tugging playfully at Lando’s arm. “Oh, stop. You’ll get your turn when he’s in a dad mood.”

“When’s that gonna be? Next year?” Lando quipped, though his grin gave away that he wasn’t really upset.

You tilted your head, resting it against the couch. “Maybe when he starts talking. He might surprise you and say ‘Dada’ first.”

Lando’s face lit up at the idea, his competitive streak kicking in. “Oh, he better say ‘Dada’ first. Otherwise, I’m taking him to every Grand Prix until he changes his mind.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at him fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me,” he replied, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. Then, after a beat, he pressed a soft kiss to Leo’s, earning himself a tiny, curious glance.

“See, Leo?” Lando said, grinning at his son. “I’m not so bad. Maybe next time, you’ll pick Dad, huh?”

Leo cooed softly, his tiny hand reaching out toward Lando’s face as if to placate him, and Lando laughed.

“Alright,” he said, standing back up. “You win this round, little guy. But don’t get too comfortable. Dad’s coming for you.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to Leo’s head as he settled contentedly against you. “I think we’re both lucky to have you, Lando. Even if he’s playing favorites today.”

Lando shot you a cheeky grin. “Damn right you’re lucky. Just wait until tomorrow. I’ll bring out the big guns- he won’t be able to resist.”

“Big guns?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll see,” Lando said cryptically, heading toward the kitchen. “Just you wait, Mama’s boy.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head, as Leo cooed happily in your arms, blissfully unaware of the competition brewing between his parents.

—

The house was unusually quiet that evening, save for the faint hum of the baby monitor on the kitchen counter.

You were finishing up the dishes when you noticed Lando sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. His hair was a mess from running his fingers through it, something he only did when he was stressed.

You dried your hands and walked over, sitting beside him.

Leo was already asleep in his crib, giving you both a rare moment of peace, but Lando’s usual lighthearted demeanor was absent.

"Hey," you said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. "What’s on your mind?"

He sighed heavily, sitting back and looking at you with tired eyes. "Season’s starting back up soon."

You nodded. "I know. It’s what you love, though. You’ve been itching to get back out there."

"Yeah, I have," he admitted, but his voice was far from excited. "It’s just... different this time."

You tilted your head, encouraging him to continue.

"I don’t want to miss anything," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Leo’s growing so fast already, and what if I miss his first word? Or the first time he crawls? What if he forgets me when I’m gone too much? He’s so little, and I just... I don’t want him to feel like I’m not around."

Your heart broke a little at his words.

Lando was always so confident, but being a dad had softened him in ways you didn’t expect.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "You’re not going to miss everything, Lando. We’re coming with you, remember?"

"I know," he said, wrapping an arm around you instinctively. "But it’s not the same. You’ll be in the hotel most of the time. I’ll be at the track all day. And then there’s the traveling, the media, the briefings... It’s not like I can just pop in whenever I want."

"You’re doing your best," you reassured him. "And that’s all that matters. Leo’s not going to forget you just because you’re working. He’s going to grow up knowing his dad is chasing his dreams."

"But he’s my dream too," Lando whispered, his voice cracking. "I love racing, but I love you and Leo more. And I don’t want either of you to feel like you’re second to anything."

You sat up and cupped his face in your hands, making him look at you. "Lando Norris, you are an amazing dad and an amazing partner. Racing doesn’t take away from that. If anything, it adds to it. You’re showing Leo what it means to work hard for something you’re passionate about. And no matter how busy things get, you always come back to us. That’s what he’ll remember."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as he let out another sigh. "You’re way too good at this pep talk thing, you know."

You smiled. "Comes with the territory. Now, instead of worrying, why don’t you focus on the things you can do? Like making sure you get as much time with Leo as possible before you leave for Bahrain."

Lando nodded, his resolve strengthening. "You’re right. I’ll make every second count."

"We’ll be cheering you on," you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Always."

"Love you," he murmured, pulling you into his arms.

"We love you too," you whispered back, knowing that no matter how challenging the season ahead would be, you’d face it together.

—

The door to the hotel room creaked open, and you looked up from the couch where you sat with Leo perched on your lap.

The tension in Lando’s shoulders was evident as he stepped inside, his eyes shadowed with the weight of a race that hadn’t gone his way.

His hair was still damp from a quick post-race shower at the track, hoodie lazily thrown on.

He dropped his bag by the door and leaned against the wall for a moment, rubbing a hand down his face. You could see the frustration in every line of his posture, and your heart ached for him.

“Hey,” you called softly, trying not to wake Leo, who was already babbling quietly as he played with your fingers.

Lando’s eyes found yours, and just like that, some of the tension began to melt away. His gaze shifted to Leo, whose bright aquamarine eyes lit up the moment he saw his dad. Tiny hands waved enthusiastically, and Lando couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey, mate,” he murmured, crossing the room to kneel beside you both. “You’ve been good for your mum?”

Leo giggled in response, his baby talk filling the room. Lando reached out to gently tickle his son’s belly, his earlier frustration slowly dissolving into soft chuckles as Leo squirmed and cooed.

“I missed you two,” Lando said quietly, his eyes meeting yours. He leaned forward to kiss your forehead, then pressed a soft kiss to Leo’s chubby cheek. “Needed this more than I thought.”

Leo’s babbling grew more excited, and he suddenly clapped his hands before blurting out, “Buh! Buh! Buh! Booooox!”

Both you and Lando froze for a second, staring at each other in disbelief.

“Did he just-”

“Did he just say box box box?” you finished, already starting to laugh.

Lando’s jaw dropped before he burst into a mix of laughter and disbelief. “No way. His first words are box box box! Are you kidding me?!”

You were laughing so hard tears were threatening to spill from your eyes. “Oh my God, Lando. All that time spent listening to the race engineers is paying off! He’s already a little racer!”

Lando gently scooped Leo up, holding him high in the air as the baby giggled uncontrollably.

“Leo, mate, you’ve got the timing of a legend! First words straight out of a pit wall broadcast. Unbelievable!”

Leo’s babbling continued, his gummy smile stretching wide as he seemed to revel in the attention.

Lando pressed his forehead to Leo’s, his voice filled with affection. “You’re perfect, you know that? Absolute perfection. Even if you’ve cursed me to never hear the end of this from Uncle Max.”

You leaned over to kiss Lando’s cheek, your laughter settling into a warm smile. “Well, at least we know he’s paying attention during the races.”

Lando turned to look at you, his eyes soft and full of love. “You two make everything better, you know that? Worst race of my life, and here I am, happier than ever because of this little guy and his genius first words.”

“Buh-buh-buh!” Leo squealed again, reaching out to grab Lando’s nose.

“Yeah, yeah, box box box, I hear you, mate,” Lando said, his voice thick with laughter and adoration.

—

The moment came out of nowhere, as so many milestones do.

You were finishing up your nighttime skincare routine while Lando sat on the floor, trying to coax Leo to take a step.

Leo stood wobbling on his chubby little legs, his hands stretched out in front of him for balance.

“Come on, mate,” Lando encouraged, holding his arms out. “One step. Just one! You’ve got this.”

You looked up, a soft smile playing on your lips. “He’s been teasing you with this for weeks, hasn’t he?”

“Don’t jinx it!” Lando shot back with a grin, his eyes glued to Leo.

Leo’s face was scrunched in determination, his tongue poking out as if it helped his balance. Then, with the tiniest of shuffles, he lifted one foot and took a step.

“YES!” Lando’s shout nearly startled the poor baby into toppling over, but Leo took another step toward his dad, and then another, his arms swinging wildly for balance.

You gasped, nearly dropping the serum you were holding. “Oh my God, he’s doing it!”

Leo stumbled into Lando’s arms, laughing triumphantly as his dad scooped him up and spun him around. “That’s my boy! First steps! Did you see that, babe? He’s a natural.”

You were on your feet in an instant, rushing over to join them. “I saw it! Our little walker!”

Leo’s giggles turned into a proud little babble as Lando kissed the top of his head, his own grin so wide it looked like it might split his face.

Over the next few days, Leo was unstoppable. His clumsy little walk turned into a full-on mission to copy everything you and Lando did. If Lando was stretching, Leo mimicked him, though his version mostly involved falling over. When you bent down to pick something up, Leo would squat and then sit on his bottom like it was the same thing.

“Look at him!” Lando said one afternoon, watching as Leo tried to copy his dad tying his sneakers. “He’s like a little shadow. A very uncoordinated, very adorable shadow.”

Leo looked up at his dad with wide eyes, then toddled over and wrapped his arms around Lando’s leg, babbling nonsense.

“Aw, buddy, you’re killing me here,” Lando said, scooping him up. “You’re too cute. I can’t handle it.”

—

The sound of the private jet’s engines starting up hummed softly beneath your feet as you held Leo in your arms, walking down the narrow aisle towards the seats.

You could feel his tiny hand gripping your finger as you set him down on his feet, his little body still a bit unsteady as he tried to mimic your movements.

It was one of those moments that felt like time slowed down, as Leo tried to take a few wobbly steps toward Lando, who was already settled in his seat, grinning widely at his son.

“Come on, little man,” Lando called out, his voice light with amusement. “You can do it. Show mama how it’s done.”

You smiled at him, your heart swelling as you watched Leo try to imitate Lando’s movements, his knees wobbling slightly as he took another hesitant step forward.

The jet's gentle swaying seemed to make it harder, but Leo was determined. With every step he took, his little face lit up with the biggest grin, his wide eyes sparkling like he was proud of himself for trying.

“You’re a natural, Leo,” you said softly, helping him balance with your hand on his back. “Just like your dad.”

Leo looked up at you then, his smile widening before he reached for you.

He babbled excitedly, his voice higher-pitched and full of joy, and you laughed as you scooped him up, feeling his small arms wrap around your neck in a tight hug.

He was practically vibrating with happiness. You couldn’t help but melt into the feeling, his love so pure and contagious that it left you breathless.

“He really loves you,” Lando said with a grin, watching as Leo snuggled into your arms. “I think you might be his favorite.”

“Of course, I am,” you teased, pressing a kiss to Leo’s cheek. “He knows who takes care of him when he needs snacks, cuddles, and all the kisses.”

Leo giggled, his baby talk coming out in a string of adorable babbles as he snuggled closer to you. “Mama!” he squealed, his little voice bouncing off the walls of the plane, and you couldn’t help but smile in return.

“That’s right, buddy,” you whispered, looking at Lando with a playful smirk. “Mama’s got you.”

Lando laughed softly, clearly charmed by the scene.

You gently bounced Leo on your hip as you made your way to the seats. “It’s alright, babe. You’re still my number one, even if Leo’s stealing all the attention.”

Leo, sensing that he was the center of it all, let out a cheerful little giggle, reaching for Lando as if asking for his dad to hold him too.

“Okay, okay,” Lando laughed, scooting over and extending his arms. “You’ve made your point, little man.”

You handed Leo to Lando, watching as the two of them shared a moment. Leo rested his tiny head against his dad’s chest as Lando sat back in his seat, humming a soft tune to calm him down.

—

When Leo was still barely a year old, you and Lando found yourselves having the same conversation over and over.

You didn’t know if Leo would end up following in Lando’s footsteps or if he’d develop his own passions, but you both agreed that it was important to plan for his future- just in case.

Sitting together in the living room, watching Leo take wobbly steps across the floor, Lando turned to you with a smile. “I know we’re still a long way off, but... have you thought about what kind of school we want for Leo?”

You shrugged, absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair from Leo’s forehead.

“It’s hard to say, isn’t it? He’s barely one, but I’ve been thinking about it too. I guess we can’t decide now, but I think it’s smart to start planning. I mean, who knows what his interests will be?”

Lando nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. He might not be into racing, or even sports. But I can’t help but think about the possibility of him wanting to do something like I did. I don’t want to push him, but...” His voice trailed off as he watched Leo take another shaky step.

“I know,” you said softly, smiling as Leo giggled and reached for you. “It’s hard not to think about it. I just want him to have the freedom to choose what he loves, even if that’s not racing.”

Lando’s expression softened. “Of course. But what if he does? I want to make sure he has options, you know? Like, if he’s into it, I’d love for him to have that foundation. But if he’s not... then I don’t want him to feel forced into it.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, knowing how much racing meant to him. “I get it. It’s not just about racing, though. It’s about having choices. I think we should focus on giving him a well-rounded education, one that could adapt to whatever he wants to do. But I also think it’s important to keep in mind how we’ll handle it if he does decide to race, just in case.”

Lando sighed, watching Leo playfully crawl towards his toy car. “Yeah. Maybe we should start looking into schools that would allow for flexibility. That way, if he does want to race, it won’t interfere too much with his education.”

“Yeah,” you said, watching Leo’s face light up as he grabbed his toy and started pushing it across the floor. “And if he doesn’t want to race, we’ll make sure he has every opportunity to explore whatever else he’s passionate about.”

Lando grinned. “Whatever he ends up doing, I’ll be proud. Just... as long as he doesn’t bring me another toy car to fix. That’s my job.”

You laughed, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “I think he might just follow in your footsteps on that one.”

“Maybe. But for now, we’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.” Lando took your hand and squeezed it.

—

As you stepped into the paddock, Leo securely tucked in Lando’s arms, you couldn’t help but notice how everyone’s attention turned to your little boy.

His bright orange McLaren headphones looked comically large on his head, his curls bouncing with every slight movement.

Despite the overwhelming sights and sounds, Leo’s aquamarine eyes darted around, wide with curiosity.

“Alright, little man,” Lando murmured, adjusting Leo’s jacket, complete with a tiny McLaren logo stitched on the chest. “This is where Dad works. Cool, right? Your dad’s a bit of a big deal here.”

You smirked as you walked beside them. “He’s modest too. Make sure you learn that, Leo.”

Lando turned to you, raising a brow. “What can I say? He should know the truth.” Then, looking at Leo, he grinned. “We’ll save the really cool stuff for when you can talk.”

One of the engineers wandered over, grinning. “Well, well, if it isn’t our new recruit. Welcome, Leo. Hope you’re ready to carry the team.”

Leo giggled at the commotion, clumsily reaching out toward the engineer’s shiny name badge.

“Watch out,” you warned, leaning away. “If it’s shiny, he’s going to grab it.”

“Just like his dad and a trophy,” the engineer quipped, dodging Leo’s little hands.

Leo’s delighted squeals made the whole team stop and stare for a moment, their smiles softening as he wriggled excitedly, his tiny hands grabbing at the air as if trying to reach for the brightly colored McLaren car parked nearby.

One of the mechanics leaned in with a smile, handing Leo a miniature wrench.

“For the next pit stop,” the mechanic joked. “Gotta train ‘em young!”

Leo grabbed the wrench with a look of awe, his gummy smile lighting up the entire garage.

“Careful,” Lando said, laughing. “You give him that, and he’s going to think he’s part of the crew.”

“Isn’t he already?” the team’s PR manager chimed in, snapping a photo of Lando and Leo. “This might be our cutest team member yet.”

“I’m telling you,” Lando said, looking around. “This kid’s already got star power. I give it, what, two years before Zak offers him a contract?”

“Let’s aim for potty training first,” you teased, running a hand through Leo’s curls. “Then he can talk strategy.”

Zak wandered over at that moment, his gaze flicking from Leo to Lando. “He’s stealing the show already, isn’t he?”

“Obviously,” Lando said, grinning. “Look at him! He’s got the McLaren spirit.”

Leo babbled loudly, throwing his arms in the air as if he were agreeing. Everyone laughed, and Lando looked at you, his expression softening for just a moment.

“You sure he’s not overwhelmed?” he asked quietly, his voice just for you.

You smiled, resting a hand on his arm. “He’s fine. He’s curious, just like someone else I know.”

Leo, now grabbing at the zipper on Lando’s race suit, interrupted the moment with a loud, joyful squeal.

“Alright, alright,” Lando said, laughing as he adjusted Leo. “You’re the boss, mate.”

After Lando handed Leo back to you, his bright orange headphones still perched comically on his tiny head, he knelt to Leo’s level one last time before heading to the car.

“Alright, buddy,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to Leo’s curls. “Daddy’s going to go really fast now, okay? Cheer for me.”

Leo babbled something incomprehensible, his little hands reaching out to pat Lando’s face. Lando chuckled, leaning into the touch as if it were the best encouragement he could get.

“See? He already knows I’m winning,” Lando joked, standing and giving you a quick kiss on the forehead. “Take care of my little number one fan.”

“We’ll be cheering from the best seats in the house,” you assured him, adjusting Leo on your hip. “Go make us proud.”

As Lando disappeared into the chaos of the garage, you carried Leo to the viewing area, a private box where you could watch the race without overwhelming him. The hum of engines roaring to life filled the air, and Leo’s eyes grew impossibly wide at the sight of the cars pulling out onto the track.

“Look, Leo,” you cooed, pointing toward the screen showing Lando’s car. “There’s Daddy. See the orange car? That’s him.”

Leo squirmed excitedly in your arms, babbling in response as if he understood. His tiny fists waved in the air, his gaze locked on the screen.

As the race began, you couldn’t help but glance between the screen and your son. His fascination was evident, his aquamarine eyes following the cars as they sped around the track.

Occasionally, he’d let out a squeal, clapping his hands together, and it made your heart swell.

“Is Daddy fast?” you asked playfully.

Leo responded with a delighted giggle, his curls bouncing as he nodded. Whether it was intentional or just random excitement, you weren’t sure, but it made you laugh anyway.

When Lando pulled off a daring overtake, you clapped softly, careful not to startle Leo. “See that, little man? That’s Daddy being awesome.”

Leo responded by slapping his chubby hands against your chest and squealing, his energy contagious.

By the time the race ended, Lando had finished in a respectable position—maybe not a podium, but enough to make you proud. As he approached the garage for post-race celebrations and interviews, you and Leo made your way down to meet him.

The moment Lando stepped into view, sweaty and slightly disheveled but glowing with the post-race adrenaline, Leo practically launched himself toward him, wiggling in your arms and reaching out.

“Alright, alright, mate!” Lando said, laughing as he took Leo from you, holding him close. “You watched me, huh? Did you see how cool I was?”

Leo responded with a string of babbles, his hands patting Lando’s cheeks and tugging at his race suit zipper again.

“He was your biggest fan,” you said, smiling at the sight of the two of them.

“Best fan I’ll ever have,” Lando said, pressing a kiss to Leo’s forehead before looking at you. “And my second best fan is pretty great, too.”

“Oh, I’m second now?” you teased, arching a brow.

“Technically tied,” Lando corrected with a grin, leaning in to kiss you briefly. “Best race ever. Thanks to you two.”

—

It was a sunny afternoon when Adam and Cisca arrived for their visit, the house buzzing with excitement as Leo toddled around, his tiny feet barely keeping up with his boundless energy.

You had been waiting for this moment, knowing how much both Lando’s parents were eager to hear their grandson say his first words to them.

“Cisca, Adam, we’ve been working on something special with Leo,” you said, a playful grin on your face. “I think he’s finally ready to impress you both.”

Cisca, who was sitting on the couch with Adam, leaned forward eagerly. “Oh, don’t tease us. What’s he going to do?”

You gave a small nod toward Leo, who was currently playing with his favorite toy car, completely oblivious to the attention he was about to receive.

Lando was beside him, giving a little encouragement.

“Leo,” Lando said softly, “can you say ‘Grandma’?”

For a moment, Leo just looked up at him, his big aquamarine eyes blinking as if he was deciding whether to humor his dad. Then, in a clear, albeit babyish voice, he uttered, “G-g-gra-ma!”

The room fell silent for a split second, before Cisca gasped and clapped her hands.

“He said it! He really said it!” Her eyes were wide with excitement, and she immediately reached for Leo, pulling him into her arms as she showered him with kisses.

Adam laughed, his arms crossed as he watched Cisca fawn over Leo. “Well, it looks like we have a new favorite around here.”

Cisca, still holding Leo, smiled warmly. “He’s a natural,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Lando grinned, clearly proud, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Alright, buddy. Let’s see if you can do ‘Grandpa’ now.”

Leo’s face lit up at the challenge, and he looked up at Lando with a wide grin. “G-g-pa!” he said, a little clearer this time, as though he’d been practicing in secret.

Cisca and Adam both looked at each other in amazement before bursting into laughter. “He did it!”

You couldn’t help but smile, watching your son, so small yet already full of surprises.

Lando, beaming, scooped Leo into his arms, lifting him high in the air. “Good job, mate! You’re already a hit with the grandparents.”

As you all laughed and celebrated, you felt a warm sense of joy, knowing that these small moments were just the beginning.

Leo was growing up so quickly, and every new word was another step toward the amazing little person he was becoming.

And if there was any doubt that he was Lando’s son, it was quickly erased with that second, clearer “Grandpa.”

—

It was Lando’s home race, and the atmosphere was electric. The streets around the circuit buzzed with excitement as fans poured in to cheer on their favorite driver.

You, Lando, and Leo were all geared up for a day of racing, but there was an undeniable sense of extra energy in the air today.

It was Lando's moment to shine in front of his hometown crowd.

You had decided to bring Leo along for his first true race day experience, and the little one couldn’t contain his excitement.

He had been bouncing around the house all morning, his energy matching the anticipation in the air

“Ready for the madness?” Lando asked, his fingers tapping on the wheel as he drove toward the circuit.

“Is there ever a dull moment at one of your races?” you teased, glancing at Leo, who was already staring out the window, wide-eyed at the massive crowds beginning to form outside.

“Look, Daddy!” Leo exclaimed, his voice full of wonder. “People!”

Lando chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Leo’s hair. “Yeah, buddy, those people are here to watch a race. They love the sport almost as much as we do.”

Lando slowed a little to let Leo get a better look at the fans, many of whom had spotted him by now.

A small wave of recognition rippled through the crowd, and people began holding up signs, taking photos, and cheering even louder.

Lando chuckled, glancing at Leo. “Look at him, he’s already soaking it all in. He’s going to be waving at people the whole time.”

Sure enough, as you drove past the crowds lining the track, Leo pressed his face against the window and started waving enthusiastically at the fans.

“Hi! Hi, people!” he called out, his little arm flailing in the air like he was trying to reach everyone at once.

Lando laughed, shaking his head fondly. “Just like me when I was his age, huh?”

You smiled, watching Leo’s excitement grow as the car neared the grid.

“He’s got your energy, that’s for sure,” you agreed, though Leo’s cheeky smile had hints of you, too.

Leo, still oblivious to the significance of the day, continued to wave back happily, as if the attention was the most natural thing in the world.

The moment was adorable, and it didn’t take long for the whole world to start catching on.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Curiosity piqued, you pulled it out quickly, only to be greeted with a flood of notifications.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the messages from friends and family, all the while still hearing Leo’s happy babbling in the back seat.

The trending hashtag was unmistakable: #LeoNorrisOnTheGrid.

It seemed that most fans, spotting Leo, immediately started recording, posting videos of the excited toddler waving at everyone. Within minutes, the clips had gone viral.

On Twitter, hashtags like #LeoNorris and #MiniLando had started trending in minutes.

Fans were going crazy over how much Leo looked like his father, and how adorable he was interacting with the crowd. Some even joked about how Leo was stealing the spotlight from Lando.

"I swear, this kid's got his own fan club already," you said, laughing as you scrolled through the posts and videos that were rapidly gaining likes and retweets.

Lando raised an eyebrow, glancing at the screen before shaking his head, amused. “Well, I’m not surprised. He’s got that Norris charm.”

As you all made your way to the grid, the excitement continued to build. Leo, blissfully unaware of the frenzy he’d caused online, continued to wave at the fans, his little face lit up with pure joy. You leaned over to Lando, whispering, “He’s definitely got your spirit, that’s for sure.”

“Guess he’s a natural,” Lando said with a grin, his tone light but his pride obvious. “But I’m not sure how I feel about all those people already talking about him taking my seat one day.”

You laughed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Don’t worry, Lando. He’s still got a lot of growing to do before that happens.”

Leo’s excited voice interrupted the moment. “Daddy race now! Go, go, go!” He was bouncing in his seat, eager for his dad to get to the track.

As you made your way toward the grid, Lando leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“Thanks for being here with me today,” he murmured, squeezing your hand. “It means the world to have you both here, especially today.”

With Leo tugging on his hand, eager to explore, you smiled, feeling the love and joy that filled the air.

“We wouldn’t be anywhere else,” you replied, knowing that this day, this moment, was something you’d all treasure forever.

[messenger-of-babel]

The Call

Summary: One little call to each of them. One big consequence. (Batfamily x sibling!reader)

Word Count: 2.9K

Notes: IM LATE AGAIN. I hope you all know that I do stay up wildly late when this happens cause I want to edit before I submit, even if some of these were pre-written (its 1:30AM RAHH). ANWAYS. Batfamily, I tried to get as many as I could but I haven't collected runs for about half the family cause I am biased towards my boys, but I am trying to be as accurate as possible when I can be and that includes those dynamics! So rest assured I am doing my research and hopefully that'll reflect soon. As usual, enjoy your daily feed and I'll enjoy my nap. Warnings just for general description of violence.

Much Love~! xx

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When Dick got the call, he was in his civilian clothes.

Dick Grayson was suit shopping, needing something for an upcoming gala. He had put it off for so long, since he wore the Nightwing suit more than any other in his closet. He had let it ring out once while he got his measurements taken, but when they called back a second time, his lips dipped into a frown. Excusing himself, he clicked the answer call button, stating his name. He hears the voice of Bruce, but in the stern tone of Batman. He doesn’t think that he's ever left a store as fast as he had that day, feet thudding on the pavement and breath cold in his chest as he hurries to his car. He unlocks it and all but throws himself into the passenger seat, lines on his face hardening. Throwing it quickly into drive he pulls out and heads in the direction of the manor.

He tries to keep himself composed, his emotional training kicking in. His fingers are tense on the steering wheel, passing over the bridge at a speed a cop would most certainly pull him over for. Even though he tries to take a deep breath, there's a burning in his sternum. It builds until it creeps into his neck, making him click his tongue uncomfortably.

The sensation is a rage he hadn't felt in a while, a fire that hadn’t burnt that intensely since he was just a boy grieving his parents’ death. It had flickered when he had heard Bruce had adopted a boy called Jason after him, sputtering to life upon hearing about his death. Yet he had grown, he had risen above it and had become a shelter for his younger, extended family. He was dependable, uncrackable, and upbeat, that was Nightwing. Yet as he drives back with that painful fire in his chest, he felt nothing more than Dick Grayson, the boy stricken with fear at the idea of losing his family.

When Jason got the call, he had been on patrol.

Helm securely on his face, it kept the drizzly night rain of Gotham out of his eyes. It had been a rather quiet night, stopping a few minor robberies and assaults that were common down by Dixon Docks. He was eager to return home, wanting to swing by the manor quickly to take full advantage of the hot water system before heading back to his apartment in Old Gotham for a well-deserved rest. He had just finished interrogating some of Penguins' men, about to call the cave to let whoever was on tonight know that they finally had the location of the new drug den they had been chasing the past month. However, the communication device he had set on his bike was lit, screen full of notifications.

Calls, one after another filled the small holographic display and he pressed the button to call back, leg swinging over the side of the bike as he did so. He had only started the bike but already he screeched to a stop, making sure he heard the words properly. A curse and gruffly shouted questions were his only response and when he got the information he wanted, he cut the call and the bike roared to life. He leant forward as if that was going to help him get to his destination quicker, blood boiling underneath his skin. His chest ached with the urge to sputter out pants, desperate to start the sign of panic racing through his veins. Yet he was stronger than that, keeping his cool like a tightly wound coil, muscles tensed beneath the suit.

His mind buzzes with worry, anxiety gnawing at his ribcage like a feral rat.

Jason doesn't often allow himself to be emotional on the job, despite his tendency for rage.

But rage was different. Rage burned and warmed him up from the inside, was the force that he put behind every punch or kick. It was his kindling, and it served to guide him as well as any star. Of course, Bruce had tempered it somewhat, but he had just guided Jason into turning it into something else, not getting rid of entirely. He used rage to protect the people of the city, the outrage he felt when he saw them get treated badly. He used rage when coming to his family's defence, the sight of hands being laid on people he had come to care for sparking it too. Those were the rages he was used to using, although there was always a third.

The pit.

The rage that bubbled away in the back of his mind, hidden behind a tall wall and shoved into the deepest part of him. That was the rage that crept forth, green and poisonous in his veins and clouding his judgement in a fog of pain and despair and anger. When it would appear, he would often take a moment to himself to pack it back away, contain it once more in the bulletproof casing of his heart. Yet right now, he didn't want to put it back. It made him rev the bike harder, made him feel like he was getting there quicker. The bike kicked up water as he zig zagged through the back streets, his mental map of Gotham rerouting anytime the traffic was longer than five cars deep. He couldn't afford to lost time, to not be fast enough. Not now, not this time, and if he had to use the rage the pit cursed him with, he would.

Tim was at the manor, holed up in his room when he got the call.

It had been a long night the night before, tossing restlessly. Not that he would have told anyone, but the last fight with Bane had left him with a few more bruises than he had let on, cleverly hidden from the keen eyes of Alfred. He wanted to nurse them himself, carry his own weight. In fact, he had been sulking in his room going over the things that had been troubling him, knees pulled to his chest.

Dick was capable and dependable, and the first Robin, the biggest shoes to fill. Jason was tenacious but loved deeply, and he fought for what was right. His methods might be unconventional to the Bat sometimes, but he knew what he wanted to fight for. Steph had flown the nest to become Spoiler, Cass already had such a firm grasp of who she wanted to become now that she was Orphan. Barbara had even been able to turn her life around after being put into her wheelchair, her desire to help leading her to become Oracle when she had to hang up Batgirl. Even Damian, the true son of Bruce Wayne, was so confident, growing at a rate he knew Bruce was quietly proud of.

But then there was Tim, who stayed up on weekends trying to redesign his suit, to carve his own vigilante life, only to look on it and see the traces of his time as Robin printed clearly on it. The role of Robin had outgrown him, but there was the shred of doubt that whispered in his ear that just maybe, he hadn't outgrown it. The ringing of his phone snapped him out of his daze, and he let it go to voicemail. When it came again, he grabbed his phone with the desire to turn it off, but seeing the emergency signal had him picking up right away.

"Hello?" he called, sitting right up in bed. His eyes widened and he shelved his pity party, running out of his room.

He winds through the halls of the manor until he finds the door he's looking for. Tim's knuckles rap against the wood loudly, repeating until a disgruntled Damian comes to the door, swinging it open violently. "This better be good, Drake." he deadpans, scanning the flustered state of the older boy. Tim just turns his phone screen, showing the emergency call signal before gesturing to the direction of the grandfather clock with his head. "We've got to go." he says curtly, the young boy hot on his heels after he recovers from his shock.

Both of them head to the cave and prepare to depart immediately. Tim slips the suit over his skin like an outgrown shedding, domino mask sliding onto his face. He couldn’t recognise his own face when he caught sight of it in the glass reflection, but a mask and suit would never be enough to hide the panic that clung to him tighter than the Red Robin suit.

When Bruce got the call, he was at Wayne Enterprises.

He was making a rare appearance at the office, knowing that Lucius had something that he wanted to talk to him about. His office felt foreign and sterile, empty and unreal. The glass surfaces everywhere let him glimpse the face of Bruce Wayne, a face that he was beginning to see less and less. It felt uncanny seeing himself without the cowl, and sometimes when he was working, he could swear he saw a reflection of the bat ears in the window beside him. The night had dragged on, and he was only an hour into the meeting with Lucius when the phone in his suit pocket rang.

He and Lucius shared a sceptical look as he turned the phone screen. The call location wasn't displaying as the Batcave, the only place that could contact this phone directly outside of his children, Lucius and Alfred's personal mobile. Yet he knew Red Hood was taking the brunt of patrol tonight, and Bruce was intended to join him after the meeting. Dick was carrying out some errands downtown and everyone else had either stayed home or didn't contact him like this often. The girls preferred to call his phone as Bruce Wayne or spoke through Alfred, so who could it be?

Lucius gives a nod, silent as he sits down. Bruce's face hardens as he presses the speaker button, accepting the call.

"Who is this?" he says, lowering his voice to the gravelly timbre of Batman.

"Da...B-Batman?" comes a broken, shaky voice on the other end. Lucius's eyes widen and flick to Bruce's immediately, mouth parting. Bruce's jaw ticks, eyes widening as well when he hears your voice.

"This is the Batman. How did you get this number?" He asks, having to focus on keeping his voice low, even though the tone of Bruce threatens to creep back in.

"He-he just had it. I don't know. He just told me to speak, I-I'm not even holding the phone I can't see anything; I’m tied, my eyes are-" you begin to ramble, struggling to get through your words before you're cut off.

"Hello, Batsy." calls a voice close to the receiver, and Bruce swore that his heart fell through the floor in that moment. His fingers tighten around the phone the same way that his lungs are constricting in his chest.

"Joker."

The man on the other end cackles, if Bruce could even call him that. "Miss me?" he snickers, Bruce's mind filling with the image of a red stretched grin. "You see, this is more of a... courtesy call. You know Bruce Wayne, billionaire extraordinaire?"

Bruce's head snaps up to Lucius, who's rubbing at his face nervously.

He didn't know, did he?

"You see, I didn't make a lot of impact going after the commissioner last time, so I had to think to myself, If I wanted to really shake things up in Gotham, who else is there? Then I thought of it, who better than the playboy of the century?" he laughs, punctuated with a sharp snap of his fingers.

"Get to the point." Bruce all but growls.

"Yeah yeah, you always love to rush me, don't you?" The Joker snarks back with fake hurt, before continuing. "Regardless, I have one of his little orphan projects, thinking I might have a bit more success with this one."

He hears a thwack over the phone and a scream, making his nails dig into his palm. He steadies his breathing.

"What have you done?" he asks, low and dangerous.

Another thwack.

"Exactly what I said. But there was a rumour going around that you know Mr. Money, so I thought I'd give you a call, you know, a little gift. If you do know the richest orphan in Gotham, then I want to give you the honour of telling him I've got one of his. Better yet, I want to give you the honour of delivering their body to his doorstep. Maybe that way, you might be able to bond over losing your fake kids."

Bruce feels sick, closing his eyes to try and stop himself from making a mistake right now.

Your life was on the line. He had to play smart.

"Where are you?"

The joker tuts on the other end. "This was a courtesy call, nothing more. I don't want anyone interrupting my playtime. Tata for now~"

"Joker-" he starts but then he's cut off, line going dead. Lucius doesn't say anything, his own personal phone pulled out as he calls Alfred, studying the frozen figure of Bruce. It's almost like there's dark tendrils to the shadows on his broad body, deepening the lines on his face.

Bruce doesn't remember too much, but Batman did.

Immediately he had left the room, suit en route to him and arriving within the minute. As soon as the comfort of his cowl touched his skin, Bruce was gone, and it was Batman calling everyone at the same time. It was Dick who picked up first, a couple of rings earlier than Jason before Tim joined, the sound of Damian in the background. Oracle and Spoiler joined together, while the others were still pending. He didn’t have the time to temper his voice as he relayed the situation, immediately getting as many people on recon as possible.

There were shouts and yelling and cursing before all of their lines became inactive, replaced with trackers signalling that their suits were live. When he enters the batmobile he grips the wheel tensely. The lump in his throat doesn't seem to disappear, only growing larger with each second. His mind is filled with pictures of Jason. Pictures of Barbara. The smiling photos of you.

He might never admit it, but he had your photos front and centre in his wallet (something you did in fact know and used to your advantage frequently in 'dad loves me more' battles). He remembers the first day he ever saw you, cold and scared apart from the other kids in the orphanage. He had been investigating a potential human trafficking ring operating out of the centre, but when he saw you, the fatherly pang hit him. The way your eyes stared forward dully as he greeted children as Bruce Wayne, cameras flashing around him. He had enough wealth to buy the children anything they asked for, the other kids excitedly asking for new toys or clothes or art supplies. However, when he kneeled down in front of you and asked you want you wanted, you said only a few words, 'a family'.

And god be damned if Bruce didn't have money enough for that too.

So, he took you in, hid batman from you like he had tried to with everyone else as well. Yet he failed again, but unlike his children in the past, you never asked to join. Never asked for a suit or to stay up or to train in the cave. Never showed any interest in joining your siblings or throwing yourself in front of danger for the sake of the city. When he asked you why you had simply shrugged, giving him a soft smile.

"All I've ever wanted was to be part of a family. I don't need to be a superhero to be loved."

And then you beamed at him with a smile that could have lit up his world and chased the clouds away from Gotham, so pure and genuinely content. That made Bruce feel like he had finally succeeded as a father, and for once Bruce felt like a father. No Batman, no mask and cape. He didn't train with you; he went out with you to the theatre on weekends. You didn't jump from rooftop to rooftop, you liked to come study with him in his office when he had to take care of Wayne affairs. Batman may have been created to save Gotham city, but he was convinced that you were sent to save Bruce Wayne.

Now, he felt that he had failed you as both Bruce and Batman.

"Hold on sweetheart," he whispers to himself, letting his eyes close for a brief moment during his exhale. "I'll get you home. I promise."

He pressed the accelerator further, Batmobile display signaling that everyone else was suited up and across the city waiting further instruction. He just hoped, he prayed that when he brought you back, it wouldn't be in a body bag.

[gutsby]

Cry, Baby

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That’s all.

Warnings: 18+. Dacryphilia (kinda). Unprotected p-in-v. Girthy, unspecified age gap. Daddy kink. Jealous Joel.

Notes: Sorry for using pussy pronouns. It will happen again.

Joel Miller was a man of few words in most every place except the one where he found himself about to beat the brakes off your pussy. Then he never shut the fuck up.

“Uh-huh…just a little more…I know, sweet girl, I know.”

You had your hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel of his ‘71 Ford F-100, but rather than driving anywhere, your ass was comfortably parked on the front of his jeans—straddling his lap backwards while you rubbed your half-clad cunt over stonewashed denim. It was hell.

You’d been grinding against the bulge beneath those jeans so hard, and for so long, your white cotton undies had parted to the side, and your pleasure was nearly stretched commensurate with just how pathetic you felt.

Your head dropped between your two hands on the black molded plastic of the wheel, and you let out a whine.

“Joel—”

“Keep goin’.”

“This ain’t fair!”

Without hesitation, the hands that were holding your hips tightened their grip, and now Joel was raking your lower half over his. Rutting your core back and forth.

“You wanna know what ain’t fair?” he seethed.

He didn’t wait for you to answer.

“How much she’s been droolin’ over me all night.”

‘She’ meaning your unfucked cunt, of course.

Joel then punctuated his sentence with a particularly hard press of his palm—forcing you to lay flat on the steering wheel, hips tilted back to him. With just one callused finger of his other hand, he found you soaked between your folds. He dragged it from your clit to your aching hole, and you heard him sigh, as though sad.

“It’s a cryin’ shame,” Joel said. Lamenting.

You were almost lost to the sensation of his finger rubbing you up and down, but somehow, you managed, ‘W-W-What is, Joel?’ in between soft, plaintive sounds.

Sometimes you forgot how much older he was than you. Sometimes you said he was just like the boys your age. Other times he had you pinned like this, breaths calm and cruelly measured while you damn near came apart beneath his hand, and then you remembered everything.

“You just couldn’t wait ‘til we got home,” he grumbled.

Using the same hand he’d been stroking you with, Joel laid a quick slap to your cunt, and you jumped. Your head narrowly missed the roof of his truck; still, you groaned.

“‘M’sorry, Joel,” you keened.

You weren’t. The old man knew you weren’t.

The hand that had been splayed over your back sank in. The force of that push pressed your belly to the chipped Ford logo at the center of the steering wheel, and with the added pressure went the blare of the car’s horn.

The sound might’ve lasted two seconds before you scrambled back, desperate, into Joel’s broad chest. A couple old-timers making their way from the bar to their cars in the parking lot cocked their heads curiously in your direction a couple yards away. Seeing nothing of note, they lost interest just as quick and kept walking.

“Sorry for what?” Joel said.

At the moment, he didn’t seem to notice, or care, that his truck was parked a mere stone’s throw away from the Tipsy Bison, and bar-goers were milling freely between the building and the cars all around you. His belt unbuckled all the same, zip came down in a blink, and his thick, veiny, throbbing, and angry cock came to rest between your cheeks. He started to push you forward.

“Sorry for— for flirtin’ with Tommy,” you stammered, sucking in a breath when you felt him run the head of his cock between your lips. You could hear a soft squelch.

“And Lucien?”

“And Lucien.”

“And—”

“And Dieter, and Frankie, and Javi, and Marcus.”

Rattling off the names of all the men you’d been flirting with at the bar to make Joel jealous and take you back home to fuck you became an embarrassing chant.

“And?”

“…and Mayor Garcia,” you completed, sheepishly.

Back in there, you hadn’t been too proud to stoop to a politician’s level, even. That was how needy you’d been to get attention, and now Joel was giving it to you.

As hard as he could—he didn’t wait for the ‘OK’ before seating you on his cock. You were simply pulled back from the wheel and into his lap, onto his stiff erection, and before you could steady yourself, he started drilling.

“Even through these panties—” Joel tugged at the cream-colored cotton he’d easily slipped past, “—even through that slutty little skirt, I could feel how wet she was.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, and your hands found purchase in the torn-up leather of the seat, fisting strings and patches of fabric in a helpless sort of plea as Joel took over. With the buttons of his dark green flannel searing a stripe down your spine and his grey-speckled chin coming to nudge between your neck and your shoulder as he fucked you, you felt content. Secure.

Spilling more for him, then. Seeping rivers down the length of his shaft as he breached your walls and made you his all over again. And again. Leaving trails of arousal with every thrust, and rolling your head, limply, into his.

“She cryin’ for me?” Joel breathed, “Or somebody else?”

As if on cue, his cock hit the most sensitive ridge inside you, and you felt yourself gush even more. Dripping now.

“You.” Your voice was raw.

“Me?” Joel’s degradingly sweet.

Before you could answer ‘you’ once more, the driver’s door cracked open beside you both. For one panicked, terrifying second, you thought someone from the bar might’ve caught you two—then you were stunned to look over and see it was Joel’s own tough, steel-toed boot that had propped the door open to the cool night air.

The truck was facing the bar’s front door, shielded only by some foliage and a hatchback car about half its size. Other than that, you were exposed to whoever happened to pass by the big, bay window and take a look inside.

Joel felt you tense, and he pressed a kiss to you neck. Then he slid you carefully, almost tenderly, to the left until you were perched over the side of the seat with your legs dangling out of the truck—still filled to the hilt with his cock and pressed tight to the front of his chest.

“Cry a little more,” he urged.

Then, when your pussy gave an involuntary clench and drenched him some more, he slipped a hand around your front and started toying with your clit. Your gaze was wide, almost frightened as you stared ahead at the bar and saw patrons making rounds about the tiny place, fearing one might see you and Joel, but it felt so good. And wrong. And reckless, having this man who was easily decades your senior bouncing you up and down on his cock and letting you soil the front of his Wranglers.

“Pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, pretty girl,” Joel let out a chuckle and gave your shoulder a playful bite when you pulsed around him again, “Squeezin’ me real tight, too.”

It was like your body was beyond your own control. You scarcely even realized your cunt had him gripped with such force, much less made a mess of his old denim. He just held you to him and kept pressing rough, stubbled kisses to your shoulder, reminding you over and over how sweet you were, how well you were taking him, how nice and tight and goddamn pretty that pussy must’ve looked gushing around daddy’s cock—maybe we can fuck in front’a the mirror so we can see it later, huh, baby?

You would’ve said yes to anything he said, you reckoned.

Especially when his arms moved over your front and you felt him grin, and he hugged you while he fucked you—nobody made you feel quite as special while they were splitting you open. Nobody’s balls felt quite as heavy and firm and full while hitting your ass by turns, and certainly no one but Joel could make you cum just as quick when he leaned into your ear and said, ‘Let go for me, darlin’.’

You did, and you felt his warmth follow inside you with the friction of just two more thrusts. Your head fell back on his shoulder, a moan clawed out of your throat, and the warm, euphoric feeling of release washed over your senses in waves, one trembling sensation after the next. Joel’s groans were quick to spill into your own, and, likewise emptying himself, he held your hips to his and made sure every drop stayed right where he wanted it.

His spend was always heavy, but this load felt larger than usual—like he’d been aching to fuck you full of his cum. Just as you both were coming down from your highs, you couldn’t help but key in on that soft, sticky warmth, likely to come oozing as soon as Joel pulled out of you.

In fact, you got to be so focused that you jumped when you felt something press to your cheek a second later.

It took another moment to register it as a kiss from Joel.

Then his tongue, dragging softly up the side of your face.

You started to laugh, about to ask him what the hell he was doing, when you felt a tear slip out of your other eye. With the sudden, sharp influx of pleasure, the moisture had leaked out without you even feeling it. Joel grinned.

He gave your cheek a light squeeze, wiped the other tear with the pad of his thumb, and kissed you again before mumbling in your ear, almost teasing as he said it:

“Crybaby.”

[hitoshitoshi]

Hair Washing [Husband!Zayne x GenderNeutral!Reader]

Summary: You take care of Zayne and he allows it for once in his life.

Tags: Established Relationship, Married life, Hair Washing, Self Degradation, Hurt/Comfort, Self Indulgent, Workaholic and Stubborn Zayne, Domestic fluff, Non-sexual Intimacy, Romance.

Zayne drove his Audi into the garage, the purr of the engine fading to silence as he cut the ignition. As the garage door descended, shutting out the world where it was just him in his car — his forehead resting against the steering wheel, eyes closed, the weight of a 16-hour shift was hitting him like a fire being snuffed out by a lid. 

'Pull yourself together,' Zayne chided internally, straightening up with a soft inaudible groan. 

Flipping down the sun visor mirror, Zayne assessed his reflection. Dark circles lurked beneath his hazel eyes, his hair was slightly disheveled, and his skin lost a bit of its glow. Zayne grabbed a comb and meticulously smoothed out his hair into place. 

'You have no right to burden others with your childish grievances,' Zayne reminded himself, a mantra born of years of self-imposed stoicism. Zayne would not allow himself to ever burden you with such a pitiful thing such as tiredness or to ever make you worry as long as he lived. 

Satisfied with his appearance, Zayne exited the car, his movements deliberately measured to hide his bone-deep fatigue that threatened to consume him. As he approached the house, he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. The mask, Dr. Zayne — the Cardiac Surgeon, slid off as he was now Zayne, your husband. He opened the door, stepping into the warmth of your shared home. 

Zayne called out to you, "I'm home," his voice was steady and neutral, betraying none of the relief he felt at finally being home to where you were, in the house you two had lived in and cherished.

The sounds of rapid footsteps echoed through the house, and Zayne felt a flutter of warmth in his chest. You appeared, eyes bright with joy and relief that your beloved husband came home from work. For a moment, Zayne allowed a soft smile to tug at the corner of his lips as he drank in the sight of his partner. 

Your heart raced at the sight of Zayne, a mix of excitement and concern washed over you. You rushed forward, arms outreached for a hug, but you stopped mid-motion as you took in Zayne's appearance. Despite Zayne's immaculate exterior, you knew Zayne more than anyone else to know that he was tired —  the slight degree of a slump in Zayne's shoulders, the barely perceptible tightness around Zayne's eyes, the shadows under Zayne's eyes being a shade too dark. Your heart clenched, seeing the man you loved with your entire soul, pushing himself so hard. 

"Zayne, you look tired," You said softly as you reached out to touch Zayne's arm. Your fingers trembled slightly, torn between the desire to pull him close and the fear of overstepping even if you two were already married. "Let me take care of you tonight."

Zayne felt a surge of conflicting emotions at your words —  gratitude warring with his ingrained need for self-reliance. It was always Zayne treating and spoiling you, and not the other way around. Even the times when you tried to spoil him back, Zayne would always find a way to turn it around so that it was back to him spoiling you. His eyebrow arched slightly, his expression shifting to one of mild amusement to hide the vulnerability he felt.

"I'm fine," Zayne replied, his tone leaving  no room for argument, even as an iota of him longed to give in, "It was just another day at the hospital." Zayne knew that he couldn't convince you since you were as stubborn as him, but it couldn't hurt to try.

 Your eyes narrowed, unconvinced. You could see the weariness Zayne was trying so hard to hide, and it made your chest tighten with worry. You insisted, "You've been gone for over 16 hours and this was the 3rd time this week back to back that you've had these long shifts. You need to rest. Let me help you rest." 

"I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I've had longer shifts that were more troubling throughout the years," Zayne countered, a hint of stubbornness creeping into his voice. Even as he spoke, he felt his resolve wavering under your gaze —  he hated concerning you. He hated making you feel this way —  he hated himself for making you feel this way. 

You stepped closer, your hand was gentle but insistent on Zayne's arm. You could feel the tension in his muscles and the slight tremor of exhaustion. "Please, Zayne," you pleaded, "Let me do this for you once. You always take care of me, let me take care of you sometimes. Even if it's on a blue moon, let me take care of you once." 

Zayne's eyes shifted away as he let out a sigh, the rigid set of his shoulders relaxed a bit. A wave of tenderness washed over him, mingled with gratitude as he reluctantly gave in. "Fine," Zayne conceded, his tone was of his usual deadpan but it was tinged with affection. "If it will put your mind at ease." 

Your face broke into a warm smile, relief and love shining in your eyes. You grabbed Zayne’s hand as you led Zayne towards the bathroom. Zayne allowed himself to lean slightly into your touch. For once, Zayne allowed himself to accept the care he so often denied himself. 

You filled the bathtub with hot water, the sound of rushing liquid filling the quiet room. You added a generous amount of bubble bath, watching as frothy suds formed on the surface. The scent of rose oil wafted through the air as you added a few drops of it to the water. Your heart raced in anticipation and nervousness, hoping that you’d be able to take away Zayne’s stress. 

Soft light from carefully placed candles flickered across the walls as you dimmed the overhead lights. You turned to Zayne who stood in the doorway — a hint of vulnerability in his usually stoic expression. 

“Come,” You said softly, extending your hand out towards him. Zayne took your hand, allowing himself to be led to the bathtub. He raised your hand up to his lips as he gave your knuckles a soft kiss as a thank you. Zayne didn’t know the last time someone had put effort into him that wasn’t you — at least, someone who didn’t have any outside intentions of being nice to him. Zayne was forever thankful that he had such a kind spouse in his life, that out of all the lives he had lived, that he was able to be with you in this one.

As Zayne settled into the warm water, a soft sigh escaped his lips. The tension he’d been carrying began to melt away, and he closed his eyes to savor the sensation. Your heart swelled with affection at the sight of Zayne finally relaxing.

With gentle movements, you began to soak Zayne’s hair with warm water. Your fingers combed through the dark strands, careful not to tug or cause discomfort. Zayne’s breathing deepened slightly, the rhythmic motion lulled him into a state of calm he only experienced with and around you. 

You reached for the shampoo, squeezing a small amount into your palm. The fresh, clean scent filled the air as you began to work it into Zayne’s scalp. Starting at the temples, you used your fingertips to massage in small, circular motions, applying gentle pressure to stimulate blood flow and to clean all of Zayne’s hair and his head. As your fingers worked their way to the base of Zayne’s skull, you could feel the tension that Zayne’s been holding start to loosen. Zayne let out a low hum of appreciation —  the sound sending a small flutter though your chest. God, you loved your husband so much. You worked the shampoo through the rest of Zayne’s hair.

Once Zayne’s hair was thoroughly lathered, you began to rinse it clean. You used a small cup to pour warm water over his head —  your other hand acted as a shield to prevent shampoo from running into his eyes. Zayne’s thoughts drifted, the simple act of being cared for stirred emotions that he usually kept tightly controlled.

Next, You reached for the conditioner, applying a generous amount through Zayne’s hair —  focusing on the ends which tended to be drier. You began to massage Zayne’s scalp once more.You used your thumbs as you applied pressure to the occipital ridge at the base of Zayne’s skull. You then moved to the crown, using your fingertips to make small circular motions. You paid special attention to Zayne’s temples as you used gentle sweeping motions with your thumbs to ease away the day’s stress.

As your fingers worked their magic, Zayne felt himself surrendering to the care being lavished upon him as his eyes fluttered closed once more, his entire body relaxing in the hot water. A surge of protectiveness and tenderness surged through you as you noticed the change in Zayne’s demeanor. You bent your head down as you placed a soft kiss on your husband’s lips who reciprocated the kiss with even more gentleness in his movements.

“Thank you,” Zayne murmured against your lips— his voice was low and thick with emotion. The simple phrase carried the weight of all the gratitude and affection he struggled to express aloud.

You continued massaging Zayne’s scalp as you replied to him softly, “Always.”

The rhythmic pitter-patter of water being poured filled the air as you rinsed out Zayne’s hair; steam curled lazily around them, carrying the fading scent of the conditioner. Zayne’s breathing slowed as the last of the conditioner washed away. Your hand found Zayne’s elbow, steadying him as he rose. The sudden change in position sent a momentary rush to Zayne’s head, his usual grace faltering. Your eyes met Zayne’s briefly in the foggy mirror as you reached for the robe hanging nearby; the dark purple fabric rich against the bathroom’s pale tiles. As you helped Zayne slip on the robe, the soft material settled against his skin, still warm and slightly damp. The sound of footsteps resonated through the house as you both made your way to the bedroom. The air was cooler, raising goosebumps on Zayne’s exposed skin. He sank down onto the bed’s edge; the mattress dipped slightly under his weight. You moved behind him with a towel in hand. The first touch of terrycloth against Zayne’s nape sent a shiver down his spine — bare perceptible but there. You towel dried Zayne’s hair as his eyelids grew heavy; his usual sharp focus softened around the edges.  You reached over to the nightstand where you grabbed the comb, its teeth scraped gently against Zayne’s scalp, with each pass detangling your husband’s hair — detangling all of the stress in Zayne’s mind who only focused on you and your touch. A clock ticked softly somewhere as the lamp on the other side of the bedroom casted a warm glow that softened the lines of their faces, illuminating your faces and your love. As you worked, Zayne found his gaze drawn to your reflection in the dresser mirror. He watched the play of emotions across your face: concentration in the slight furrow of your brows with care in the gentle set of your mouth. Something stirred in Zayne’s chest — an emotion he had sought after for so long that he would fight with his entire soul to keep.

“I love you.”

“I love you most”.

It was more than just a hair wash to both you and Zayne; it was an act of love, trust, and vulnerability that would deepen your bond in ways words could never express. 

A/N: I love Zayne. I really really really love Zayne as you can tell. Have I mentioned that I love Zayne? Because I love Zayne. I have Zayne smut in drafts thats halfway written :3

Masterlist

[ltwilliammowett]

Glossary of Nautical Terms - as used in the late 18th and early 19th centuries

Aft: at or towards the stern or after part of a ship, the opposite of bow.

Aloft: overhead, or above.

Athwart: across.

Bank: a rising ground in the sea, differing from a shoal, because not rocky but composed of sand, mud or gravel.

Becalmed: to halt through lack of wind.

Bow: the foremost end or part of a ship, the opposite of stern.

Bowsprit: a large mast or piece of timber which stands out from the bow of a ship.

Burthen: the older term used to express a ship's tonnage or carrying capacity. It was based on the number of tuns of wine that a ship could carry in her holds, the total number giving her burthen.

Chase, to: to pursue a vessel in wartime with the aim of capturing, acquiring information from her, or destroying.

Colours: the name by which the national flag flown by a ship at sea is known, used to determine nationality.

Dead reckoning: a system of navigation where the position of a ship is calculated without the use of any astronomical observation whatever.

Fair wind: a wind favourable to the direction a ship is sailing.

Fathom: a measure of six feet, used to divide the lead (or sounding) lines in measuring the depth of water; and to calculate in the length of cables, rigging, etc.

Fore: the forward part.

Hail, to: to call to another ship.

Helm: the instrument by which the ship is steered, and includes both the wheel and the tiller, as one general term.

Jib: a triangular sail set by sailing ships on the boom which runs out from the bowsprit.

Jury-mast: a temporary makeshift mast erected to replace a mast that has been disabled or carried away.

Jury-rudder: a makeshift arrangement to give a ship the ability to to steer when she has lost her rudder.

Keel: the lowest and principal timber of a wooden ship - the single strongest member of the ship's frame.

Knot: the nautical measure of speed, one knot being a speed of one nautical mile (6,080 feet) per hour. As a measure of speed the term is always knots, and never knots an hour.

Landfall: the discovery of the land.

Land-locked: sheltered all round by the land, so that there is no view of the sea.

Lead: an instrument for discovering the depth of water, attached to a lead-line, which is marked at certain distances to measure the fathoms.

Lee: the side of a ship, promontory, or other object away from the wind; that side sheltered from the wind. It is the opposite side to windward.

Lee shore: a coastline on to which the wind blows directly - consequently it can be dangerous as the wind tends to force the sailing ship down on it.

Leeward: with the wind; towards the point to which the wind blows.

Letter of Marque: a commission issued in Britain by the Lord High Admiral or Commissioners of the Admiralty authorizing the commander of a privately owned ship to cruise in search of enemy merchant vessels. The letter of marque described the ship, her owners and officers, the amount of surety which had been deposited and stressed the necessity of having all prize vessels or goods seized condemned and valued at a Vice Admiralty Court for the payment of 'prize money'.

Lie-to: to prevent a vessel from making progress through the water - achieved by reducing sail in a gale. The objective is to keep the vessel in such a position, with the wind on the bow, as to ensure that heavy seas do not break aboard.

The Line (or 'Crossing the Line') Sailing across the Equator. Nautical tradition where seamen celebrate the crossing of the equator by dressing up and acting out a visit by King Neptune. Those who have not previously crossed the line are summoned to the court of Neptune for trial, followed by a ritual ducking (in a bathing tub of seawater) and sometimes lathered and roughly shaved.

Mainsail: the principal sail of a sailing vessel.

Mizzen (or mizen): the name for the third, aftermost, mast of a square-rigged sailing ship or of a three-masted schooner.

Muster: to assemble the crew of a ship on deck and call through the list of names to establish who is present and accounted for.

Muster-book: the book kept on board a vessel in which was entered the names of all men serving in the ship, with the dates of their entry and final discharge from the crew. It was the basis on which victuals were issued and payment made for services performed on board.

Pintle: a vertical metal pin attached to the leading edge of the rudder; it is fitted into the metal ring or 'gudgeon' bolted to the sternpost of a vessel. This provides the means for hinging the rudder on the sternpost and allows a rudder to be swung or turned as desired (by use of the tiller); where necessary (ie. when the rudder needs to be removed or repaired) the pintles can be unshipped quickly and the rudder detached.

Port: the left-hand side of a vessel as seen from the stern; also a harbour or haven.

Privateer: a privately owned vessel armed with guns which operated in time of war against the trading vessels of an enemy nation. Each privateer was given a a 'letter of marque' which was regarded as a commission to seize any enemy shipping as a 'prize'. The name 'privateer' has come to refer to both the ship and the men who sailed in her.

Prize: name used to describe an enemy vessel captured at sea by a ship of war or a privateer; also used to describe a contraband cargo taken from a merchant ship. A 'prize court' would then determine the validity of capture of ships and goods and authorize their disposal. 'Prize' in British naval history always acted as considerable incentive to recruitment with many men tempted to join the navy in anticipation of quick riches.

Prize Court: Captured ships were to be brought before prize courts where it was decided whether the vessel was legal prize; if so, the whole value was divided among the owners and the crew of the ship.

Prize Money: the net proceeds of the sale of enemy shipping and property captured at sea - these proceeds were distributed to the captors on a sliding scale from highest rank to lowest seaman.

Road or Roadstead: a stretch of sheltered water near land where ships may ride at anchor in all but very heavy weather; often rendered as 'roads', and does not refer to the streets of a particular port city but rather its anchorage, as in 'St Helens Roads', the designated anchorage for shipping located between St. Helens (Isle of Wight) and Portsmouth, or 'Funchal Roads' at the island of Madeira. (see Elizabeth Macquarie's 1809 Journal).

Quarter: (1)the direction from which the wind was blowing, particularly if it looked like remaining there for some time; (2)the two after parts of the ship - strictly speaking a ship's port or starbord quarter was a bearing 45° from the stern.

Ship: from the Old English scip, the generic name for sea-going vessels (as opposed to boats). Originally ships were personified as masculine but by the sixteenth century almost universally expressed as as feminine.

Shoal: a bank or reef, an area of shallow water dangerous to navigation. Sounding: the of operation of determioning the depth of the sea, and the quality of the ground, by means of a lead and line, sunk from the ship to the bottom, where some of the sediment or sand adheres to the tallow in the hollow base of the lead.

Sound: (1) to try the depth of the water; (2) a deep bay.

Sounding: ascertaining the depth of the sea by means of a lead and line, sunk from a ship to the bottom.

Soundings: those parts of the ocean not far from the shore where the depth is about 80 to 100 fathoms.

Spar: a general term for any wooden support used in the rigging of a ship - includes all masts, yards, booms, gaffs etc.

Squall: a sudden gust of wind of considerable strength.

Starboard: the right-hand side of a vessel as seen from the stern.

Stern: after-part of a ship or boat.

Tack: the nautical manouevre of bringing a sailing vessel on to another bearing by bringing the wind round the bow; during this manouevre the vessel is said to be 'coming about'.

Tide of Flood: the flow of the tidal stream as it rises from the ending of the period of slack water at low tide to the start of the period of slack water at high tide; its period is approximately six hours.

Trade Winds: steady regular winds that blow in a belt approximately 30 N. and 30 S of the equator. In the North Atlantic the trades blow consistently all year round, from the north-east; in the South Atlantic they blow from the south-east, converging just north of the equator. The meeting of the trade winds just north of the equator created the infamous 'doldrums', where sailing ships could be becalmed for days or weeks waiting for a wind to carry them back into the trades.They were known as trade winds because of their regularity, thereby assisting sailing vessels in reaching their markets to carry out trade.

Under way: the description of a ship as soon as she begins to move under canvas power after her anchor has been raised from the bottom; also written as 'under weigh.'

Voyage: a journey by sea. It usually includes the outward and homeward trips, which are called passages.

Watch: (1) one of the seven divisions of the nautical day; (2) one of two divisions of the seamen forming the ship's company.

Wear: the nautical manouevre of bringing a sailing vessel on to another tack by bringing the wind around the stern.

Weather: in a nautical sense (rather than a meteorological) this is the phrase used by seamen to describe anything that lies to windward. Consequently, a coastline that lies to windward of a ship is a weather shore; the side of a ship that faces the wind when it is under way is said to be the weather side a ship, etc.

Weigh: to haul up.

Weigh anchor: the raising of the anchor so that the ship is no longer secured to the sea or river bottom.

Windward: the weather side, or that direction from which the wind blows. It is the opposite side to leeward.

Yard: (1) a large wooden spar crossing the masts of a sailing ship horizontally or diagonally, from which a sail is set. (2) a shortened form of the word 'dockyard, in which vessels are built or repaired.

Sources: JEANS, Peter D. Ship to Shore: a dictionary of everyday words and phrases derived from the sea. Santa Barbara: ABC-Clio, 1993.

The Oxford Companion to Ships & the Sea. (ed.) Peter Kemp. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976.

[emeraldbloodcrown]

Price who's so used to treating women with the utmost respect (his grandmother would literally rise from her grave should he ever forget) that he doesn't realize your inner turmoil when you're both in his car, his hand so close to your naked thigh.

He's only gripping the steering wheel with one so it's not like he had an excuse, his other hand around one of his cigars. Or loosely holding the shift gear. Or resting on his own leg.

Literally anything BUT where you need him to and all those almost touches making you feel like your skin is on fire.

John's none the wiser, smiling at you while you're about to snap. Until you grab his free hand and place it on your thigh, making him squeeze the soft flesh with your fingers. Only then he understands and he inches them up for good measure, turning your satisfied grin into a heated blush.

[mariasont]

Talking to a Brick Wall - A.H

a/n: rip erin strauss you would've hated this fic

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader

summary: in which you overhear your boyfriend aaron's phone call

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, miscommunication, self-doubt, happy ending but also a terrible ending bc i SUCK at endings xoxo

wc: 2.3k

You had called out your boyfriend's name multiple times as you wandered into his house. He had asked you a while ago if you wanted to come over for a movie night tonight and hell would have to freeze over before you ever declined that offer. However, upon arrival, you were greeted by silence; no response to the doorbell, his phone, or your voice. Thankfully, the key he'd given you last year jingled in your pocket as you let yourself in.

You had a pretty strong suspicion he'd be in his office--after all, this was Aaron Hotchner, a man who definitely did not believe in leaving work at the office. 

And sure enough, his voice filtered through the slightly ajar door, the rich hue of his mahogany desk framing the gap. You were about to move towards the living room, assuming he was on a work call of some sorts, but his words stopped you dead in your tracks. 

"It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm speaking, but the understanding isn't there. You know what I mean? It's like the concepts just float in one ear and out the other."

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, brows drawn together, as your hand found the wall, leaning towards the door. He couldn't have been talking about you, right?

"I try to share details, to get her involved, but it's met with this vacant nod. As if the depth of it all just doesn't register."

Oh. Her. You tried to fan away the wetness that threatened to fall down your cheeks, each rapid motion a desperate attempt to convince yourself you were imagining things. 

"And I'm patient, I really am. But when you're met with that blank look, it's... disheartening. You start to wonder if it's worth explaining at all. It's like talking to a wall."

Okay, that stung. It was like an immediate punch to the gut, your heart seeming to drop into the pit of your stomach. Your shoulders slumped slightly as you tried to rationalize his words, but nothing was really making sense right now.

The internal battle was a cruel one: stay and endure the sharp sting of his words or leave and miss more of what he had to say. The latter won, pulling you away from the door. 

You knew you were never going to be the smartest person in the room, and in the past, it was a source of deep-seated insecurity, always a silent specter in the corners of your mind. But then you met Aaron. And he made everything just better. His own intelligence and impressive job never became a yardstick for your worth; he ensured you knew you were more than enough, just as you were.

He had always been the voice reminding you that you were smart in your own right, telling you that your worth transcended any numerical measure of intelligence like a stupid IQ score. But now you were questioning everything. 

Anger seemed like the appropriate response, right? But it was hard to be when his words carried a weight of truth to them. 

You did have a hard time keeping up when he talked about the complexities of his cases, sometimes feeling like an outsider looking in. But, even if you didn't understand, his passion for what he did was infectious, and you hung on to every word when he explained all the ways his smart brain was able to deduce things about people. 

Still, a part of you imagined it was hard for him, that it probably got old fast when you weren't able to hold an intelligent conversation. 

Your knuckles were white against the steering wheel, and it somehow took you only ten minutes to get home when it should've taken you twenty.

It was only when you had taken a shower, put on your favorite pair of pink sweats, brought out some Ben and Jerry's, and turned on Legally Blonde, did you check your phone.

Hi honey. What time are you coming over?

You tried to ignore the sensation of an invisible band drawing tighter across your chest. 

so sorry, not feeling good. rain check? xoxo

You hated lying to him. Hated lying in general, save for the occasional white lie to protect someone's feelings. The fact that you weren't lying to his face was a small mercy, because obviously he'd be able to see right through you.

Do you want me to come there? I can bring food.

You wanted to be with him, you really did, you had been counting down the days to this movie night all week. But the thought of sitting beside him, wanting to ask about his day, about his work, now seemed like an intrusion. Knowing that your well-intentioned questions might be a chore for him or a source of frustration. The realization pressed down on you, a heavy weight that threatened to snuff your light.

no that's okie! thank you though <3 i don't want to get you sick!

Your phone was ringing, his name lighting up the screen for a FaceTime call, it felt like a betrayal of your own making. It was a skill you had recently taught him (which took forever), and of course now he was using it. Your finger jabbed at the red button, your cheeks turning the same color. 

i look & sound disgustinggg rn

I know for a fact that's incorrect. You have a magical talent of looking incredible no matter what.

I want to see your pretty face.

you can be so flattering when u want to mister!

im going to take some medicine & then ill call u l8, k?

Hmm, okay.

love u! xoxo

I love you too, pretty girl.

You hated this. Your eyes were puffy, swollen and wet as you discarded the phone onto the nightstand. He deserved someone who wasn't so pathetic. 

You wallowed in self-pity all night, and then all day, and then all week. You went through the motions--getting up, going to work, and then making up some lame excuse when Aaron asked to see you. Name it, and you had probably said it. In reality, you had been holed up in your room, trading glossy magazine pages for confusing behavioral books.

The subject matter was as dull as dishwater, making paint-watching seem thrilling. But you were committed to bringing some depth to your next conversation with him.

Today's excuse had been some half-truths about being buried in work--which in hindsight seemed comical, given you worked at a bakery and there wasn't much that could take up your time outside of contract hours.

You were splayed across the couch in an upside-down sprawl as you attempted to focus on the scholarly gibberish that filled the pages. 'Homology,' 'dichotomy,' and 'typology' melded into a migraine-inducing blur, tempting you to slam the book shut. You were fighting every urge to throw it out the window and paint your nails with that new glittery polish you've been dying to try.

At the insistent knock, you clapped the book shut (thank god) and stood, brows knitting, as you navigated to the door with a soft scuffle of slippers on polished wood. 

Flinging it open, you halted, breath caught. "Aaron? Oh, hi, what are you doing here?"

The words sprang forth before you could catch them, your hands scrambling up to smooth the evidence of your couch-induced disarray. 

He fixes you a pointed stare as he steps into your apartment, invitation be damned you guess. "I find myself repeating this, yet it seems necessary--peephole first, then the door, sweetheart."

You clamp your teeth onto your lip with such force, you're convinced you've tasted blood. "Oh, right, sorry... I should've remembered."

A flicker of foolishness and a heavy dose of self-consciousness threaten to surface. However, you quickly subdue them, tucking them away as you wrapped your arms around your body, offering him a small smile. Despite everything, your heart leaps at the sight of him. You missed him.

His face softens, his touch soft as he tilts your chin upward. "Look at me. It's fine. I just want to make sure my best girl is safe, that's all."

The temptation to simply crumble there and then, to forget everything and cocoon yourself in his arms, was overwhelming. 

You leaned into his hand without thinking, which now claimed the entire area of your cheek. He was always so warm. 

You watch as Aaron glances around the room, no doubt noting the absence of work-related clutter. "Still working?"

"Oh, I was, I told my boss I'd help with inventory reports." That part wasn't totally a lie, but it still made your conscience squirm with guilt.

"Do you want help?"

The proposal touches a raw nerve, sparking a defensive reflex. Did he think you were incapable?

 "Thanks, but I'm actually all done with them," you lie, your a smile a little too rigid as you head into the living room.

You're keenly aware of his approaching footsteps as you hastily stash that stupid book under a magazine, silently praying he didn't notice. You settle onto the couch, and he joins you, casually drawing your legs over his lap as you recline against the cushions.

"How was your day?"

You wince internally at the automatic question. 

"Not too bad," He replies with an easy shrug, his fingers sneaking under your sweats at the ankles, tracing lazy circles on your calves. "We wrapped up some paperwork, had a couple of briefings, and oh, we were introduced to our new consultant today. She specializes in crypto linguistics--really fascinating stuff."

Your eyes flutter briefly, a constriction forming in your throat, a twist in your gut. The mere mention of the consultant being a she amplifies your feelings of insufficiency. It leaves you wondering, why would Aaron ever be interested in someone like you?

"Crypto linguistics?" you repeat, trying to sound curious rather than lost. 

He leans in closer to you. "It's a specialized area of linguistics focused on decoding encrypted languages."

You offer a nod, managing a convincing "Yeah, of course," even as your eyes unwittingly drift away from his unwavering stare, betraying a hint of your confusion.

Aaron's hand cradles your head, his fingers sifting through your hair. "Hey," he murmurs, drawing your attention back, "what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

Your chin touches your chest as you mumble, barely audible, "hardly anything."

Aaron's expression turns to a frown, his broad hands guiding your ass and thighs as he positions you atop his lap, face-to-face, leaving you exposed with no place to hide. Your name escapes him with a sigh. "I don't believe that for a second."

You match his frown with your own pout, nestling your face into his neck, concealing the rosy hue that has claimed your cheeks. "Just a rough week is all."

"Is that so?" His voice was a gentle murmur, his hands soothingly moving in gentle sweeps across your back as you breathed out unsteadily. "Funny, that's been my week too. My gorgeous girlfriend seems to have been avoiding me all week."

"Have not," you mumble, your breath warm against his skin, fingers weaving through the hair at the nape of his neck.

He hummed. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong."

"It's silly."

He guided your face back to his, eyes searching yours. "Listen to me. No, it's not. I don't like when you try to diminish your feelings. Talk to me, honey."

That was your tipping point. A wobble in your lip betrays the onset of tears as your voice breaks.

"I just--I know I'm not as smart as the people you work with or even your past girlfriends. I know I don't get things right away especially when you talk about work, and I see how everyone else is so quick, and I'm here, always a few steps behind. I know that it must be frustrating for you, and I'm scared that one day, you'll get tired of explaining, and your patience will run out, and well, you'll see... you'll see that--"

"Baby, whoa, slow down," Aaron urges, his palms tenderly framing your face, a frown plastered over his face. Your heart hammers against your chest, its rapid beats almost audible, as if it might jump from your body. "Take a deep breath, okay? Can you do that for me?"

You draw in a breath.

His thumb delicately erases the tears that have made their way down your cheek.

"When there is something about my work you don't understand, I will gladly go over it as many times as you need. I don't expect you to know everything about that stuff, why would you? That's not why I'm with you. I'm with you because of your incredibly kind heart and the way you see the best in people. I love you because you are you. What is making you think this way, honey? It's breaking my heart."

"I overheard you Aaron," you said, "saying that sometimes it feels like you're talking to a wall when you talk to me."

"What?" he questioned, but his confusion was quickly morphed into concern. "Oh, sweetheart, no. I was talking about Strauss and her lack of understanding of our fieldwork."

"Oh."

"I would never speak about you like that, you know that, right? And if, in some alternate universe, I did, you need to break up with me, or better yet, set me straight." His hands stayed firmly on your face. "You should never tolerate that from me or anyone else, understood?"

You bit down on your lip, hands resting on his shoulders as you nodded. "Yes, sir."

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, sending fireworks to every inch of you as he mumbled against your mouth, "that's my girl."

taglist: @hotchhner

[punkshort]

Evergreen | Chapter Two: Anger

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: After his brother knocks some sense into him, Joel apologizes and you both decide to take things slow... until an unexpected guest arrives at the very worst time.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, grief, mentions of OC deaths, mostly Joel POV but it swaps back and forth, smutty thoughts, fluff, really super soft Joel, sexual tension

WC: 10.7K

Series Masterlist

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

Oh, you stupid fucking idiot.

Joel somehow drove himself back home, but he couldn't remember a single second of the drive. He had been on autopilot while his mind replayed that moment with you over and over and over again. The way you smelled, the way your soft lips felt pressed against his, the way your hand caressed his cheek. Shock was too small a word to describe how he felt. He was so damn rusty and so taken aback that he knew he didn't handle it right. Your face was filled with shame and embarrassment, apologies tumbling from your lips while he just fucking sat there in a stunned silence. Eventually, he jumped up and raked his fingers through his hair, looking everywhere but at you until he mumbled something about needing to go.

Of course, you still insisted he take the leftovers home. Another reminder of how kind and generous you were, so what the hell were you doing kissing someone like him? You could have anyone you wanted. You had your whole life ahead of you.

Fuck! He should have said something. He shouldn't have let you spiral. He barely remembered to thank you before he left. Did he even say good bye?

Too late now.

Once he was safely parked in his driveway, he slumped against the steering wheel and closed his eyes. His body sagged under the weight of the past hour, the internal war he was fighting making him weak. So weak that he was beginning to fantasize about the way you said his name and how beautiful your eyes were when you looked at him. Would it be so horrible? Would it be so inconceivable that someone like you would be interested in someone like him?

Maybe he was going crazy.

He couldn't remember the last time he ever felt like this. Did he ever feel like this before?

Guilt coursed through his veins at the mere thought. What a horrible fucking person he must be to think his late wife never made him feel wanted, desired, excited. She did, surely. It was just so long ago and it was tough, in the beginning. Money was tight and Mia struggled to keep a steady job during record high unemployment rates. It was stressful and hard but they still loved each other deeply.

Sure, maybe passion was put on the back burner for a while. But he always knew how she felt about him and vice versa. There was a comfort in that type of love. A peace.

But he found a sense of peace when he was with you, too. How was that possible?

He dragged himself out of his truck, carrying the leftovers under one arm while he fiddled with his keys, searching for the right one to unlock his front door. He could smell the fried chicken even though it was sealed up tight and he immediately thought about you moving around your kitchen, looking like an absolute natural. You didn't have any cookbooks out or timers on. Hell, you probably didn't even use measuring spoons. He could tell you meant it when you said you liked to cook. Even if it wasn't evident by the way you breezed around the room, the love you had for it certainly came through in the final product.

As he packed the food away in his refrigerator, the previous contents looking sad and questionable, he tried to remember the last time he had such a good meal that didn't require him to have to sit down at a restaurant.

His landline rang after he had gotten out of the shower. The entire time he was hard as a rock but he absolutely refused to touch himself. He knew if he did, his mind would immediately drift to you, and he was ashamed enough as it was that there was no use adding to it.

"Yeah?" he asked gruffly, knowing full well only a handful of people called his house phone over his cell.

"Hey brother, how was your date?"

Joel cringed and sat down on the edge of his bed. "It wasn't a date."

"Oh, right, sorry. Forgot. Pick up anythin' interesting to read, then?"

"Fuck!" Joel exclaimed, slapping his forehead with his palm. "I forgot the goddamn books!"

Tommy chuckled through the phone. "Alright. You tell me it ain't a date, now you're tellin' me you forgot the books. So what the hell was it?"

"We looked at the books, I had 'em all picked out, just... forgot," he grumbled.

"Sounds like you'll have to see her again, don't it?"

"Tommy, I ain't in the fuckin' mood," Joel warned, falling back onto his bed in a huff.

"The hell's got you all twisted 'round for?" Tommy demanded on the other end.

Joel chewed on the inside of his cheek, his eyes darting around his room while he quickly weighed the pros and cons of confiding in his brother before sighing and giving in.

"Alright. Do not tell Sarah what I'm 'bout to tell you."

"Cross my heart."

Joel gave him the bullet points of the evening, making sure to leave out his true feelings on the matter so he could hopefully get some unbiased advice.

"Joel, you ain't gonna like what I'm gonna say."

"Just say it," Joel groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing for the verbal thrashing he deserved.

"I think you oughta go for it."

Joel's eyes snapped open in surprise. "What?"

"Go for it. She likes you, I'm pretty sure you like her or else you wouldn't be this torn up over one little kiss. I think it'll be good for you both."

"Tommy, she's thirty-one," he began, but he was immediately cut off.

"She's an adult, Joel. She's been through shit, you've been through shit. She sounds sweet and kind. Worst case scenario, you just provide a little comfort for each other and maybe help heal some old wounds."

Joel thought it over for a moment, listening to ice clinking in a glass on the other end. "And best case scenario?"

He could practically hear Tommy's smile before he even spoke.

"Best case scenario, you fall in love and live happily ever after."

You had told yourself you wouldn't let it bother you, that you wouldn't let yourself get nervous, but the following week you found yourself doing exactly that. More specifically, sitting in the parking lot of the familiar, run down little brick building you'd been going to for months, tapping your fingers anxiously against your leg as your eyes drifted between the books piled on your passenger seat and the front door of the building.

With a sigh, you resigned yourself and turned your car off. Checking your hair once more in the mirror, you opened the door to your SUV and slid out. Locking the doors with the push of a button and an expensive sounding chirp, you made your way to the entrance, nodding occasionally when you saw a familiar face but never spotting the face you yearned to see.

Guilt-addled, you sat through the hour long meeting, hardly listening to a word anybody said.

He didn't show.

You swallowed tightly and stared at your hands, at the large diamond on your left ring finger, at the pale pink polish on your nails that matched your toes. And you waited. For what, you weren't sure. Maybe a sign. A sign to remain in Texas and not move back home, like your mother and father were begging you to do.

Moments before the meeting wrapped up, a nimble, lean body plopped itself in the empty chair next to you.

"Shit, I got the time wrong, didn't I?"

You looked up to see a girl no older than twenty sitting next to you, with piercing green eyes and brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She was wearing a worn T-shirt and converse sneakers and you thought you could see the beginnings of an arm tattoo hiding at the cuff of her sleeve.

"Yeah, it's about to end," you told her. She groaned and slumped down in her chair.

"Shit," she repeated with a sigh.

Ryan ended the meeting like he usually did; a reminder of cards in the back of the room and the offering of an ear to bend afterwards. The room collectively stood and stretched, a low murmur rippling throughout the cinderblock walls.

"I'm Ellie," she said abruptly, shoving out her hand to you unceremoniously. "Both my parents kicked it."

You blinked rapidly in shock, then slowly extended your own hand and offered her your name. "I lost my fiancé last year."

"Man, that stinks. Sorry," she said, rolling her shoulder and glancing around. "How'd he go?"

"Car accident," you told her, finding it strangely easy to say the words you struggled with for a year. "And I was in the car," you added, watching her face contort in pain.

"Fuck, dude," she whispered, shaking her head.

"What about you? How'd your parents pass?"

"Plane crash. Their bodies were ripped to shreds on impact, couldn't even find enough for their coffins. Had to fill them with pictures and clothes and shit so it felt like we had something to bury."

Your eyes widened and you felt your breath get caught in your throat. "Oh my god, Ellie, that's horrible!"

She cracked a smile and burst out laughing. "I'm messing with you. I just felt like I had to one up you or something. Lung cancer: they were both huge smokers, wasn't exactly a shock."

"Jesus!" you sputtered, then began to laugh behind your hand. Never once had anyone made you feel like death could be a joking matter but there was something different about Ellie. You knew deep down it had to be a coping mechanism, but damn if it wasn't better than crying for once.

You followed her to the back of the room and weaved your way through the stragglers to survey the snack table. Each of you grabbed a donut and some bottles of water before finding a quiet corner to eat.

"This is your first meeting, I take it?"

She nodded, mouth full of a strawberry donut. "My family told me I should go."

"Yeah? Mine too," you said, ripping off a piece of the pastry and popping it into your mouth.

"Does it help?" she asked.

You sighed and looked around. "Yeah, but it takes a while. I think it helps to know you're not alone."

She nodded and shoved the rest of the donut in her mouth. "What'd your fiancé do for work?"

You brightened up at that. "He was an author. The Crimson Stone, ever heard of it?"

Her jaw dropped and her eyes bugged out of her head. "Daniel Davis was your fiancé?!" You nodded and grinned. "Holy shit! I love his work! That series got me through some tough shit in high school. Man... what a world," she said, voice filled with disbelief.

"Well, if you like it that much, I have an unpublished manuscript of his for the next book in the series. It's just a first draft meant for his editor, but if you wanted a copy-"

"Yes!" she exclaimed happily. "Yes! Please! Oh my god, you fucking rock!"

You giggled and shrugged. "I'll bring it next week if you'll be here? Or if you want it sooner, you can stop by my house."

She nodded eagerly. "Can I, like... give you money or something for it?"

You instantly shook your head. "No, no! Daniel loved his stories and just wanted to share them with the world. The fact he made any money from it was just a bonus. He would have wanted you to have it."

"Wow," she breathed, tossing her plate in the trash and dusting her hands on the sides of her jeans. "You're pretty fucking cool."

"Thanks," you grinned, tossing your plate as well and nodding towards the door. "You heading out?"

"Yeah," she said, following you and swiping one of Ryan's cards from the table in the process. You stepped out into the parking lot, the air significantly cooler than before now that the sun was beginning to set. You took a step towards the parked cars, then stopped when you realized Ellie wasn't following. Turning around, you saw her unlock a padlock from the front tire of a black mountain bike, the sight filling you with alarm.

"You rode your bike here?"

She nodded and yanked it from the bike rack before snatching the helmet from the handlebars and tossing it casually on her head.

"Yeah, I don't live too far away, I like to bike whenever I can. It's better for the environment."

You couldn't explain the sudden urge to protect someone you just met. Maybe knowing she lost both her parents at such a young age made you offer her a ride, telling her she could fit the bike in the back of your SUV, but she just shook her head.

"Thanks, but I'm alright."

"But it's dark," you protested. Ellie chuckled and swung a leg over the seat.

"It's not that dark. I'm, like, a ten minute ride to my apartment. Promise I'll be okay."

You worried your lower lip and was once again ready to insist you take her home, your arm lifting to point in the direction of your car when you saw him. Even from across the parking lot, you recognized those broad shoulders and greying curls leaning against the hood of your car with his arms crossed, watching you both.

"See ya at the next one," Ellie said, and before you could get your bearings, she was off.

You turned once to watch her pedal through the parking lot in the direction of her home, then turned back around, wondering if he had been a mirage, but no. He still stood there, patiently waiting for you. And it wasn't until you were roughly ten feet away that you noticed the bag of your clean tupperware at his feet.

"Thought I scared you off," you joked, ignoring the tremor in your voice. He smiled and dropped his gaze to the pavement.

"Nah," he said softly, twisting his mouth to the side as he scuffed the tip of his boot into the loose asphalt. "Came to apologize. I was rude 'n you did so much for me, felt horrible all week."

"You don't need to apologize," you said, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I'm the one who should apologize. I obviously read things wrong -"

"No, you didn't."

Your eyes went wide and you froze, waiting for him to continue.

"You didn't," he repeated again before dragging his eyes back up. "I just... you... and I'm..." he huffed and scratched the back of his neck nervously. "You got me all twisted up," he admitted shyly with a pink tint to his cheeks.

You laughed, a pretty little sound he very much wanted to hear again, and took a tentative step closer.

"Twisted up? Is that some southern thing?"

He grinned and shrugged. "Suppose I coulda said you knocked me on my ass but I was tryin' to be a gentleman."

You coyly bit your lip, enjoying how bashful he was being.

"Well, you got me twisted up, too," you told him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

He chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets while he stared at you, still unwilling to believe someone as pretty and sweet as you would be interested in him.

He couldn't help it. He had to bring up the elephant in the room.

"You're so young, darlin'," he said as if you didn't already know. "And so beautiful. You don't want me. My life's half over."

You frowned, eyebrows furrowed as if that was the most offensive thing he could ever utter.

"You see me," you told him sternly. "Nobody really sees me but you see me. You remembered how I took my coffee after meeting me once. You appreciate the little things, like... genuinely appreciate them. And you listen to me, Joel. You let me cry, some girl you had just met, and you comforted me. Did you know no one else, not even my own family, bothers to do that? They just avoid the topic of Daniel all together now so they don't have to deal with me being a little fucking sad now and again."

Your eyes stung with unshed tears as you stood before him, begging him to see what you saw in him. And even then, he listened and he cared and his face softened with sadness when you told him the part about your family.

"You're doing it right now and you don't even see it," you laughed. One tear trickled down your cheek and you quickly brushed it away. "You're such a good man. How could I not be attracted to you?"

He scoffed but the corner of his mouth curled up into a half smile.

"Well..." he said, trailing off and fixing his gaze back on his shoes. What could he possibly not understand? But then it dawned on you - he had just told you he never dated again after his wife. Maybe he wasn't ready. Shit.

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable," you told him softly. "If this isn't something you're ready for, we can stay friends. That is, if you want. No hard feelings. I even have the books for Sarah in the front seat."

You pointed and took a step towards the passenger door when he stopped you.

"I like you," he said, his beautiful brown eyes all soft and gentle as he looked at you. "But I'm rusty. Real rusty. Like... there ain't no savin' it kind of rusty."

You giggled and a big smile stretched across his face.

"Let's go slow," you suggested, reaching out for his hand. He met you halfway, fingers lacing together with yours, rough skin against soft. "Let's just take it at our own pace and not put any pressure on it," you added, smiling at the way your hands fit so nicely together. "Then we can just... see what happens."

He nodded slowly, his limbs growing heavy and relaxed from the sound of your sweet voice but heart pumping strong and fast behind his chest with excitement. His gaze flickered around the now nearly empty parking lot before his eyes found yours.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, immediately feeling foolish for asking. Women don't want some nervous idiot asking if they could kiss them, what was he thinking? But then your shoulders sagged with relief and your smile stretched so far, it made your eyes squint as you closed the small gap between you.

"Yes, please."

He breathed a sigh of relief and shifted his weight, dropping your hand so he could gently cup your cheeks with both palms. His eyes raked over your face for a moment, memorizing every birthmark, scar and wrinkle before sliding his eyes closed and brushing his lips tenderly over your own.

You immediately responded, massaging his lips carefully, slowly, while your hands came to rest at his waist. You had to crane your neck at an unusual angle in order to accommodate his tall frame and you smiled to yourself, thinking I could get used to this.

He pulled back for just a moment, tilting his head to the other side before eagerly pressing his lips against yours again. The lip balm you used tasted sweet and soft and he knew right away he would be thinking about the flavor for the rest of the night. His exhale fanned over your cheek, causing a shiver to race down your spine, which only encouraged him further. He peppered feather light kisses against your lips for as long as the sun let him, until it grew dark and the crickets came out to sing. And only then did he pull back, each of you a little breathless and pink in the face but sporting huge grins as you gazed at one another in an entirely new light.

This was the start of something exciting.

The following morning, Joel woke up with the sun and a huge smile. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so energized, so happy, and so excited to start the day. He wandered around his kitchen, drinking coffee and tidying up, killing time before he had to get ready for work when a strange idea struck him: maybe he should go for a run.

He looked down at his soft belly. He patted it through his shirt and felt it jiggle, then he cringed. He really ought to take care of himself more, especially now that he's older. If he wasn't interested in a diet, the least he could do is take care of his heart with a little cardio.

What was the harm? He could keep it short, just twenty minutes. Enough to get his blood pumping. He knew for sure that Sarah would be proud.

Maybe you would, too.

He dug around in the back of his closet for some basketball shorts and put them on before he lost his nerve, then he stepped out onto his porch and looked around while he did some stretches. It was quiet, hardly anyone was up yet. At least he would have some privacy if he ended up doubled over after jogging for five minutes.

It turned out, running was a lot fucking harder than he thought. His lungs burned and his muscles ached and he was only halfway done, but he kept his eye on the prize. He told himself if he wanted to be spoiled on your incredible cooking, then he had to compensate somehow. Hell, maybe exercising would give him a little more energy. One of the guys from work was an avid runner and around Joel's age. He was always talking about the incredible benefits: the endorphins, the boost in self-esteem, the improvement in his sleep... his increased sex drive.

That wasn't why Joel was running, but it would be a nice little added perk. Not that he needed help getting hard, but he was a little concerned about potentially having sex again for the first time in a fucking decade. God, just thinking about the embarrassment he would feel if he couldn't last long enough to make you feel good made his feet move faster and his spine straighten.

When he rounded the corner, his house finally in sight, he felt a second wave kick in. His sneakers slapped loudly on the asphalt, the sound echoing in his ears, breath bursting in short puffs as he got closer and closer to his destination. He finally arrived, slowing to a stop to lean against his mailbox to catch his breath. He hurt but he felt good. Maybe he could make it part of his new routine. Surely, each day would become easier and easier the more his body strengthened. Joel took one last deep breath and turned to walk up his driveway, only to skid to a dead stop when he noticed Tommy's truck parked against the garage.

Shit. He completely forgot they were driving to a site together that morning. Joel glanced at his watch and walked up the little path leading to his front door, then twisted the knob to enter.

"Tommy?"

"Kitchen," he called. Joel heard mugs clinking and his refrigerator opening as he toed off his sneakers and, on shaky legs, walked into his kitchen.

Tommy did a double take when he saw Joel, nearly dropping his coffee on the tile floor.

"You were out runnin'? Since when?"

"Since today," Joel said, sitting down with a deep groan. "I still got time to shower, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm early," Tommy replied before pulling out a chair for himself. "What the hell's gotten into you?"

"Can't just take care of myself a bit?" Joel countered, snatching a napkin and wiping the sweat from the sides of his face.

Tommy took a sip of coffee before answering. "Well, sure, I mean... that's great. Sarah's gonna love to hear 'bout this. Just a little strange that-"

His brother stopped, the gears in his head turning as he slowly figured it out.

"It's the girl, right?"

He had a shit eating grin on his face when Joel looked up from the table and shrugged.

"Don't know what you're talkin' 'bout."

"The girl! The girl with the books and chicken and dead husband."

"Fiancé," Joel corrected, then immediately regretted it when Tommy snapped his fingers as if he were caught red-handed.

"It is her! You wanna look good for your girlfriend, don't you?"

Joel cringed at the word girlfriend, feeling way too old to use that term, but he remained silent and focused on tearing up his napkin. Tommy watched him for a moment longer, expecting Joel to correct him again, and when he didn't, Tommy sat back in his chair, waiting.

"She didn't ask me to or nothin'," Joel finally mumbled. "Just wanna take care of myself."

Tommy's eyebrows raised in surprise when Joel didn't deny his girlfriend comment.

"This mean you finally took some advice I gave you? You two talk things out?"

He shrugged, still looking down at the table, but Tommy saw the corner of Joel's mouth twitch. He grinned and leaned forward excitedly.

"That's great, brother. It's 'bout time you got back out there."

"Do not tell Sarah," Joel warned once again. Tommy held up his hands and shook his head.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"'Cause I gotta tell her. It's gotta come from me, and I wanna do it my own way."

"I get it."

Joel sighed and absentmindedly scratched his beard.

"She ain't gonna like it," he finally said, filling the silence in the room. Tommy frowned.

"Why the hell not?"

"'Cause," Joel said, "the age thing. She's-"

"Oh, come on," Tommy interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand, but Joel shook his head.

"Nah, Tommy, I mean it. It'll be hard enough for her to hear I'm datin' anyone at all, let alone someone closer in age to her than me."

"I think you're wrong," he said, standing up to rinse out his mug in the sink.

"Yeah, well, you don't know her like I know her," Joel said with a groan when he stood up from the table. "She'll be home to visit in a month. If things are still goin' good, I'll tell her then."

Tommy was about to say something else when Joel walked stiffly toward the stairs, announcing he was going to take a quick shower, so he decided to drop it. But when he heard the water turn on above his head, he quickly pulled out his phone and dialed Maria's number, too excited and happy for his brother to keep the news to himself.

"How're your classes? You ain't skippin' any, are you?"

Sarah giggled on the other end. "No, Dad. You know I wouldn't waste my scholarship like that."

"Good girl," he praised, smiling into the phone that was tucked between his shoulder and ear while he chopped up peppers and onions. Sarah could hear the thunk of his knife hitting the wooden cutting board and she gasped.

"Oh my god, are you cooking?" she squealed excitedly. Joel chuckled then frowned when he looked at his work and realized all the strips of green pepper were different sizes.

"Yeah, makin', uh, stir fry."

"Wow!" Sarah said excitedly. "Vegetables and everything! I'm so proud of you."

Joel laughed and rinsed his knife in the sink. "Just you wait til I tell you what else I've been doin'."

"Hmm," she replied, pretending to think. Joel could practically see her tap her chin thoughtfully and roll her eyes to the ceiling. "Going to group?"

"Well, yeah, I have," he admitted, thinking back on earlier in the week when you had gone to counseling together. "Met someone," he said before he could stop himself, voice catching in his throat, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her about you just yet. He needed to do it in person. Just two more weeks and she would come home for the weekend. "Girl 'bout your age, named Ellie. Met through someone else, she's, uh, little rough 'round the edges. Both her parents passed so I imagine that takes its toll. But she's real funny. Think you'd get along."

"That's great, Dad. I'm glad you made a friend," Sarah replied, her sincerity coming through the phone.

"That's not what I was gonna tell you, though," Joel said, drizzling too much olive oil in a pan. He made a face and grabbed a wad of paper towels to soak some of it up. "Been runnin' in the mornin' 'fore work."

"Holy shit!" Sarah practically shouted.

"Language," he warned.

"I'm sorry, Dad, but I think you jogging warrants a holy shit!"

Joel laughed heartily at that. She wasn't wrong.

"Yeah, well, figured I oughta start takin' care of myself a bit."

He could hear her smile when she said, "Dad, you have no idea how happy this makes me. I've been so worried about you being lonely after I left but it sounds like you're actually doing better than when I lived at home!"

"Nah, I'll never do as good as when I got you, baby girl," Joel corrected her, then did a double take when he noticed the time on his microwave. "Shit. I, uh, I gotta go, honey. Can I call you tomorrow?"

Sarah paused, wanting to ask what he could possibly have to do if all he said he was doing was making dinner. Then a slow smile stretched across her face.

"Are you... dating someone?"

"W-what?" Joel stammered, face as white as a ghost. How the hell-

"Is it Ms. Palmer from up the street? I know she's always had a crush on you."

"N-no, it ain't, there's no-"

His doorbell rang and Sarah grinned.

"I'll let you get to your date," she teased.

"Sarah, it-"

"Bye, Dad! Talk to you tomorrow!"

The line went dead before Joel could get another word in edgewise. Well, at least it wouldn't be a huge surprise when he eventually told her.

He didn't have time to worry much. He tossed his phone on the counter and threw a towel over his shoulder so he could wipe his hands as he walked to the door, swinging it open with a huge grin because there you were, waiting for him and looking so goddamn beautiful in a light pink dress.

"Hi," you said, the pitch in your voice giving away your excitement to see him. His mind still couldn't grapple with the idea of someone like you looking at him the way you were, but every time he saw you, it became a little more believable.

"Hey," he replied, opening the door wider for you to squeeze past him. You took one step inside and gave him a quick peck on the lips before sliding off your shoes and padding into the kitchen. It was only after he closed the door did he register you were holding a bag.

"Did you cook for me?" you exclaimed, slowly setting your bag on the counter and staring in awe at the vegetables sautéing on the stove.

Joel grinned and gave you a half hearted shrug. "Wanted to return the favor for all the great food you cook for me."

You turned to look at him, eyes wide and filled with emotion. "This is so sweet, Joel, but you know I don't mind cooking."

"I know, but you deserve a night off," he said, brushing past you to stir the vegetables. You leaned back against the counter, one ankle crossed over the other with your lower lip pulled between your teeth as you watched him work. He was clearly out of his element, cursing under his breath when the oil popped and burnt his forearm while trying to keep an eye on both the steak and the vegetables.

It was adorable.

"Let me help," you offered, washing your hands before grabbing a clean mixing spoon. He almost declined your offer until he realized he was in over his head and didn't have a backup plan if the food burned, so he let you jump in.

First thing you did was turn down the heat on both burners, making the loud crackling of oil quiet right down. It eventually got to the point where Joel was just following your instructions - start boiling water for the rice, make sure you measure the water. The lid needs to stay on, honey. Do you have any seasonings? How about mustard and soy sauce? And honey? No, I mean actual honey.

You giggled as you watched him hurry around his kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and waiting for your next request. Finally, you set your spoon down and cupped his cheek, giving him the sweetest smile followed by the sweetest kiss and the request to set the table and relax.

"What's in the bag?" Joel asked when you brought two steaming plates of stir fry over to the table. You drizzled a homemade sauce over each plate before tucking the dress of your skirt under your legs and sitting down next to him.

"I thought I was cooking," you said, picking up your fork. "I brought some supplies, but this was lovely. I'll just put it away for next time."

Oh, Joel liked that. He really, really liked the idea of you bringing things to his house, getting familiar with your surroundings and feeling comfortable there with him. It had only been two weeks but things were going so well. You made him unbearably happy and he tried his best to do the same for you because he was quickly realizing he would be crushed if he lost you. How the hell did that happen so fast?

You took your first bite of steak and made a pleased sound, raising your eyebrows at him with a little smile.

"You did most of the work," he said before you could speak.

"Not true. I just stirred a few things and sprinkled a couple other things. You picked out the steak. You marinated it, cubed it up and cooked most of it. You did great, I love it," you told him earnestly before leaning over to give him another kiss.

God, you were the sweetest thing. He couldn't get enough.

"How's the running going?" you asked before lifting another forkful of food.

"Good," Joel replied, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "Think my body's gettin' used to it now. Don't hurt as much anymore."

"That's great! Maybe we can go for a walk after dinner. I'd offer to run with you one of these mornings but there's no way I can get up that early," you said with a giggle.

He nodded and dropped his gaze to his plate. You had agreed to take things slow and it was working out beautifully. But that also meant your dates never ended with either of you staying the night, which was perfectly fine with Joel. He was still self-conscious about his age and physique, and even though he knew you wouldn't ever be that shallow, it still weighed heavily in the back of his mind. He couldn't help it.

"Sounds nice. Maybe squeeze in a movie if there's time."

"It's my turn to pick," you teased, poking him in the arm with your finger.

"Y'know you can pick all of 'em. I don't care what we watch, so long as I'm watchin' it with you," he said. It took him about thirty seconds to realize you had stopped eating and were giving him this look he couldn't pinpoint. His eyes bounced between yours, scanning your face and watching your expression wilt right in front of him. Your eyebrows drew together and tears welled up in your eyes. Panic shot through him, wondering what on earth he said to make you cry as he dropped his fork with a loud clatter to grab your hands.

"What'd I say?" he whispered, feeling your fingers squeeze his before ripping one hand away to swipe at a stray tear.

"Nothing. It's just... I don't remember the last time I've heard anyone... I miss having someone..." you sniffled and wiped away another tear while Joel patiently waited for you to continue. You took a shaky breath and gave him a little smile when you said, "You make me really happy, Joel."

He grinned and gently cupped your cheek, cleaning up your tears with his thumb.

"You make me really happy, too, sweetheart."

His deep brown eyes reflected little specks of gold under the soft lighting from his kitchen as you gazed at one another. When you lost Daniel, you never thought you'd ever be able to move on, and you were okay with that. He gave you some of the most wonderful years of your life and you were grateful for every second, knowing full well there were others out there in the world who may never feel how he made you felt.

And then you met Joel and ever since, he had you wondering how lightning could possibly strike twice.

"C'mon, pretty girl. Eat up so we can take a walk 'fore the sun sets," he said. His rough fingers traced down your jaw, then gave your chin a little pinch before letting you go to pick up his fork. The rest of the dinner was relatively silent, except for the music playing quietly somewhere on his kitchen counter. You reveled in the simplicity of it. Grateful for the peace and enjoying his company.

After you cleaned the dishes together, you slipped your shoes back on and allowed Joel to take your hand so he could lead you down his front steps towards the sidewalk.

"We can just go 'round the block 'fore it gets too cold," he offered, giving your hand a little squeeze when you playfully knocked your hip into him. "So, how was your day? What'd you do?" Joel asked. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, wondering if it was too soon to share with him the biggest stressor in your life at the moment. Well, it had been longer than a moment. But when he looked at you with the kindest smile and the softest eyes, you knew nothing would scare him away.

"Well," you began, and Joel could immediately tell by your tone that something was bothering you. His eyebrows pinched together and his smile faded. "I had a meeting today... with my lawyer."

"Lawyer?" Joel repeated, and you nodded.

"I've been stuck in this horrible legal battle with Daniel's family for months," you said, keeping your eyes fixed straight ahead. "His family wants a piece of his estate and he left it all to me. They're saying because we weren't legally married yet, that I'm not owed one hundred percent, but he had a will. He was very clear, and -" you cut yourself off and glanced up at him sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, darlin'," Joel said, "You can tell me or don't tell me, whatever you want. But if you wanna talk 'bout it, I'm ready to listen."

You gave him a grateful smile and sighed.

"It's such a nightmare. I just want to move on but it feels like this never ending back and forth with them is reopening the wound every single time, you know?"

You went on to tell him Daniel ended up leaving you... a lot of money. So much that you didn't have to work, although you had always planned on finding a job just to keep busy and make friends in a city where you knew nobody, you had just never gotten around to it.

"Well, y'know me now," Joel offered with a lopsided grin. You smiled and wrapped both your arms around one of his as he led you back up his driveway. The sky had turned a brilliant orange and pink color as the sun began to dip below the trees. In the distance, you could hear mothers calling out the door for their children to come home from playing with their friends in the neighboring woods that were beginning to grow dark.

"It's so peaceful here," you told him, slinking down into the bench he had on his front porch. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side and smiled at a pair of siblings racing down the street on their bikes to get home before sundown.

"It is. Was a good spot for Sarah to grow up."

You tilted your chin up, admiring the way the setting sun reflected on his skin, all bronzed from working outdoors day after day.

"How's she doing? How's school?"

"Good. Was talkin' to her right before you came." Joel paused and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "She was excited I was cookin' vegetables and workin' out a bit. Said she worries 'bout me."

"She sounds so sweet. You did a good job raising her," you told him sincerely. It was moments like that one on his porch that you thought you missed more than anything. There was something so deeply comforting about having someone to talk about your day with, someone to listen to all the mundane details as well as all your fears and worries. Before Joel, you would have probably been puttering around your kitchen looking for something to do, or having yet another agonizing conversation with your mother over the phone.

"No pressure, but, uh..." Joel began with an awkward clearing of his throat. A little smile tugged at your lips as you watched him nervously pick at something on his jeans. "Sarah comes home in two weeks. Was gonna take that time and tell her 'bout you. Maybe we can all go to dinner or somethin'?" he offered, words rushing together at the end of his sentence. "If it's too fast or you ain't ready or -"

"I would love to," you interrupted. He looked up from his lap, eyes all bright with a grin to match.

"Yeah?"

You nodded, then giggled when he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck to pull you in for a deep kiss. His tongue slipped past your lips and for one heated moment, you forgot you were on his front porch for his entire neighborhood to see. You pulled away with a gasp when he began to get carried away and about to suggest going inside when a woman's voice called over from the sidewalk.

"Evenin', Joel."

Joel's grin melted when he turned to see Ms. Palmer walking her little French bulldog past the house. The look of distaste on her face told him she witnessed a little more than what was deemed appropriate and he felt his cheeks grow hot.

"Evenin'," he said sheepishly, raising a hand up in greeting. Her eyes flickered back and forth between him and you before turning her nose up in the air and urging her dog to keep walking.

"Maybe we should go inside," you said, voice muffled behind your palm as you tried to stifle your laughter. Joel chuckled and nodded.

"Good idea."

"It's gotta be around here somewhere," you muttered under your breath. You eased your foot off the gas and squinted through your windshield, silently repeating the numbers on the buildings until you finally found what you were looking for. Turning down the unpaved gravel road, you gripped the steering wheel tight, your SUV handling each deep bump with surprising ease until you turned the corner and spotted the partially finished building behind a chain link fence.

You saw a bunch of trucks parked off to the side so you found a spot near them and shifted into park. Before getting out of the car, you looked over your shoulder, hoping to see Joel's familiar face in the crowd of workers but you were too far away.

Oh, well. His truck was there, so he must be around somewhere.

Sliding out of your seat, you went to open your trunk and picked up to massive insulated tote bags filled with homemade sandwiches, pasta salads and cookies, draping one over each shoulder before tapping your foot under the tailgate to close the hatch.

You were grateful you chose a pair of jeans instead of the dress you originally wanted to wear as you walked up to the fence, dust and dirt kicking up as you walked. When a dark, curly haired man spotted you from over the fence, he walked over to unlock the gate. He took off his hard hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm before he shot you a cheesy smile.

"Hey there, little lady. You lookin' for someone?"

You gave him a polite smile despite the way his eyes raked up and down your body.

"Actually, yes," you replied, shifting the weight of one of the bags. "Is Joel around?"

The man's eyes darted up to meet yours and you watched his expression morph into one of excitement.

"Joel? Yeah, he's around. And, uh, who can I say is comin' by to make his whole damn day?"

You told him your name and he clapped his gloved hands together in triumph.

"I knew it! I fuckin' - sorry," he said, clearing his throat before opening up the fence. "C'mon in, but here, make sure you wear this," he said, plopping his smelly hard hat on top of your head. "He'll kill me if he spots you without one."

"Oh, well, thanks..." you replied. "I brought him lunch as a surprise. Well, actually, I brought everyone lunch-"

"You brought lunch?" a bigger man with a mustache popped up from behind a construction vehicle. You swiveled around and waved.

"Yeah. I have sandwiches and cookies a-"

"Here, lemme help you with all that," the first man said before introducing himself as Tommy. Then it clicked.

"You're Joel's brother!" you exclaimed, rolling your now sore shoulder as you followed him through the site towards the trailers parked in the back.

"One and only!" he said cheerily. "I'm just gonna put this in the air conditioning, then we can go find Joel."

You waited at the bottom of the stairs as Tommy disappeared into the trailer, your hands clasped behind your back and bouncing on the balls of your feet. A few men walked past and gave you a strange look, no doubt wondering who you were, but you just smiled and politely waved.

It was then that you heard Joel's voice call out your name from somewhere behind you. With a huge grin, you twisted around and shielded your eyes to look up at the framed second story, spotting him almost immediately.

The smile slipped from your face and your mouth went dry when you saw him, clothes covered in dirt, skin coated in a mix of sweat and dust. His jeans were well worn and hung lower on his hips, and over the waistband was a leather tool belt that had you thinking very inappropriate thoughts.

"Hey!" he said as he jogged down the steps. You blinked rapidly, trying to snap yourself out of your stupor, but he just looked too damn good.

"H-hi," you stammered, feeling even more overwhelmed now that he was closer. He leaned down to kiss your cheek and your eyes fluttered closed when you smelled him: a heavenly combination of sawdust, sweat, coffee and metal.

"What're you doin' here?"

He had his hands propped on his hips, gazing down at you with a huge smile, a stupidly cute hard hat perched on the top of his head that matched your own while he waited for your response.

Luckily, the door to the trailer opened and Tommy did all the talking for you, giving yourself an extra minute to get it together.

"She brought lunch for everyone. It's inside. You got a keeper here, brother, don't mess this up for us," Tommy joked with a loud clap to Joel's shoulder. A plume of dust swirled in the air, hiding the little pink tinting Joel's cheeks before turning back to you.

"You didn't need to do all that, darlin'."

"I- I wanted to," you said, forcing yourself to look away. "Thought I would surprise you and, well, you know me. Once I start cooking..."

Joel chuckled and went to wrap an arm around your shoulders before realizing how dirty he was.

"Ah, shit," he said, grimacing when you locked eyes again. "I'm filthy. Sorry."

"That's okay," you told him eagerly. Then you glanced around to make sure you couldn't be overheard when you leaned in and whispered, "I kinda like it."

Joel raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mhmm," you hummed with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth. His cheeks grew brighter pink as he shook his head and pointed awkwardly to the trailer behind you.

"Let's grab somethin' before these animals get in there. We can eat in my office."

"Office?" you repeated, following him towards the trailer.

"Oh, yeah. I got an office, baby. Shitty trailer smaller than this one, but it's all mine."

After you spread out the sandwiches and salads for Joel's crew, half of which was gone before you blinked, you grabbed your food and let him lead you to a trailer closer to the fence. He was right, it was small, but it served its purpose. Blueprints hung on the wall behind his desk. Permits, work orders, receipts and post its with phone numbers scribbled on them littered the other walls, along with an old clock with a crack in the glass right down the middle.

"I like what you've done with the place," you teased while he scooped up papers from his desk to clear a spot for you.

He laughed softly and sat down in the ancient, squeaky chair with a grunt.

"Hard to keep it clean."

"I like it. It's, like... it's chaotic but there's a method to the madness. Very impressed," you said, eyes trailing over some of the papers. "This is like a completely different language. I can't believe you do this for a living, Joel. You can read these plans and make something come to life with your bare hands."

Joel blushed again and waved you off before unwrapping his sandwich. When he picked it up, he frowned and looked at you. "Chicken cutlets?"

You nodded and he looked like he died and went to heaven when he took a bite. "Is it too much? Does it look like I'm trying too hard? Your crew probably thinks I'm nuts."

"No, darlin', this is incredible," he said around a mouthful of food. "You put lemon or somethin' in this?"

"Yep," you replied with a grin before taking a bite of your own sandwich. Your eyes kept roaming around the packed trailer in silent awe. "It's no wonder you're so exhausted after work. And you're still managing to run in the mornings."

"Lost almost ten pounds but if you keep comin' by with food like this, I'll put it right back on if I ain't careful," he said with a wink. "I don't want Sarah thinkin' I'm lyin' 'bout runnin' when she sees me next weekend."

"You don't need to lose weight, anyway," you told him with a dismissive wave.

Joel opened his mouth to argue that you hadn't actually seen him yet without clothes on so your frame of reference was skewed, but he caught himself just in time, saving himself the embarrassment. Instead, he swallowed his food and cleared his throat.

"Do anythin' interesting today? 'Sides make all this incredible food?" he asked, noting the way your expression instantly fell.

"My mom called this morning," you said, tone shifting from playful to a little cold. "She's begging me to move back to Portland again. Says there's no use in me living out here now that Daniel's gone."

Joel straightened up nervously in his chair.

"Well, that just ain't true." You have me, he wanted to add.

"I know, and I told her how much I like it in Texas, but she just doesn't understand. I even told her I applied for a few jobs hoping it would get her off my back."

"Yeah? What kinda jobs?" he asked, perking back up and ignoring the feeling of dread that filled his chest at the prospect of you moving away.

"My degree's in marketing, so a few jobs in that field," you said, picking off some extra cheese from your sandwich as you spoke. "I did some consulting work after graduation with a handful of businesses but it looks better on a résumé to have worked at one place for a good chunk of time. So, needless to say I haven't gotten any calls."

Joel frowned and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. "Keep tryin'. Somethin' will shake loose. I'll keep an ear to the ground, too. I work with all sorts of different businesses."

"Thanks," you said with a smile. "Later today, I'm gonna look at fully remote jobs. That way I'm not limited to just Austin."

A few men filed past Joel's trailer, their voices and laughter echoing throughout the partially finished building.

"You probably need to get back to work, don't you?" you asked, peering out the small window by the door.

"Yeah, unfortunately gotta take advantage of the good weather while we got it," Joel said, standing and dusting his palms on his jeans. "I'll help you clean up first. They probably left a goddamn mess in there."

"No, please," you said as you stood to follow him towards the door. "You're busy. I can handle it, I promise."

"You sure?"

"Of course! So long as I still get to come over tonight," you said with a flirtatious wink.

Joel laughed as he walked you down the three steps of the trailer. "It's the only thing gettin' me through the day."

Before you headed back towards the trailer where Tommy had set up your food, you turned to loop your arms loosely around Joel's neck. Standing on your toes, you pressed your lips against his. It was meant to be a quick, chaste kiss, but when his big hands found your waist and you breathed him in up close, your jaw automatically fell open. Joel must have forgotten where you were, as well, because he didn't hesitate to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue slowly alongside yours, firmly pushing your mouths together and pulling a moan from your throat.

When a pair of younger men on the crew walked by and whistled sharply at your display, you finally broke apart, embarrassment flooding both your faces.

"Sorry," he chuckled, releasing your hips and nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"I started it," you grinned, ignoring the handful of men over Joel's shoulder talking to Tommy about what they just witnessed. You took a few steps backwards and playfully bit your lip. "Maybe we can pick up where we left off tonight?" you offered, unable to keep the tremor from your voice. Joel's face went slack when he realized what you meant, swallowing tightly before giving you a nod.

"Uh, y-yeah. Lookin' forward to it. I-I mean, lookin' forward to seein' you later," he stammered, making you giggle. Before you turned around, you pointed to your hat.

"I'll leave it in the trailer."

He just nodded numbly and you swiveled around to collect your things, excitement and anticipation bubbling inside, the likes of which you hadn't felt in over a year.

Normally after a long week at work, Friday nights were spent having a couple beers and falling asleep early in front of whatever hockey game happened to be on. But that Friday night, Joel was energized, veins thrumming with excitement as he carefully situated a couple old, mismatched candles on his coffee table before fluffing the pillows and folding the blanket over the back of the couch.

He ran his hand through his hair nervously and looked around the room, turning certain lights on and off until he found the perfect combination for a warm glow to set the right mood. Then he went to the kitchen, opening up your favorite bottle of wine and setting it next to two glasses. It took him three attempts at microwaving popcorn before he got a bag that didn't end up burnt, which he poured into a bowl and set on the coffee table. Glancing at his watch, he lit the candles, scrunching his nose at the conflicting scents but deciding it ultimately didn't smell too bad and left them.

After checking his reflection maybe ten times in the hall mirror, he began to pace around his house, idly straightening up things or inspecting a ledge for dust... anything to try to get his mind off what he was very certain was the night.

Fuck, he was so nervous. Before Sarah's mom, he had only had sex with one other woman. He wasn't exactly brimming with experience and not only that, given it's been over ten years since he'd had sex, he'd be lucky to last three minutes. The last thing on earth he wanted to do was disappoint you or remind you of his advanced age.

Joel cursed under his breath when he heard the light knock at his front door. On his way to let you in, he silently chastised himself for feeling a flicker of guilt. His wife would have wanted him to move on, to be happy. There was no reason to feel guilty in finding comfort and happiness with someone new.

Yet, the guilt still sat there, tucked under his ribs right next to his heart.

He pushed it out of his mind when he swung the door open to find you waiting patiently on the other side. You were wearing the same jeans and shirt from earlier, but it looked like you might have done something a little different to your hair.

"Hey," he smiled breathlessly. He leaned down to give you a quick peck on the lips, inhaling your shampoo and perfume. When he pulled back, he rubbed his lips together at the sudden softness there and you grinned sheepishly up at him, swiping your thumb gently over his lips.

"Sorry. Got some lipstick on you."

His cheeks warmed under your touch and at the realization that you had put makeup on before coming over. Had you put in extra effort that night, same as him? Or was it all in his head?

"Come on in. Got the movie ready to go, plus-"

You had breezed past him and already kicked off your sneakers, interrupting him with a gasp when you saw his living room.

"Oh, Joel, you did all this for me?" you asked with your palms pressed against your heart. You looked so touched and it made his ego inflate a little. He did good.

"Uh, yep," he said, pushing the door closed and following you into the room. You surveyed the boxes of theater candy he laid out next to the popcorn, your finger tracing over them slowly as if you were mentally ranking them before noticing the wine still sitting open on his kitchen counter. You swiveled around, hands clasped behind your back and, with a flirty smile, you said, "You got my favorite."

"'Course I did," Joel replied, taking two long strides to meet you in the middle of the room. Your hands found each other immediately, his around your waist and yours behind his neck.

"And you got candles," you murmured, gazing up at him with big doe eyes. He nodded, pulse steadily humming under his skin. "How romantic."

"Little outta practice, but I tried," he shrugged.

"I love it," you whispered right before your lips brushed against his. When he kissed you, it felt like he was falling, but he wasn't scared of the drop. No, in fact, he was excited to see what was waiting for him on the other side. The way your mouth slotted perfectly with his, the soft noise you made when his tongue dipped past your lips, your nails digging into his hair a little harder when he pressed you against his chest. It was everything and not enough, all at once.

You were the first to pull away with a little breathy laugh, excitement glimmering in your eyes.

"Why don't we at least pretend to watch some of the movie?" you teased, taking a step back, just out of reach.

Joel's eyes darkened, like a predator watching his prize slip away.

"Sit. I'll get you some wine before we start the movie."

You did as you were told, plucking a piece of popcorn from the bowl and tossing it into your mouth while he poured two glasses of wine as quickly as he could. When he was out of sight, he took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves, then flicked the kitchen light off before joining you on the couch.

"Thank you," you said, taking your glass and clinking it lightly against his.

"Welcome," he answered, taking a sip while reaching for the remote. Wine wasn't his favorite drink, but for you, he would drink bath water if that's what you wanted.

He draped an arm over the back of his couch and leaned back, spreading his knees and getting comfortable while the opening credits played. You took a few sips from your glass, the candlelight catching the refractions every time you moved. By the time your glass was almost empty on the coffee table and the first act of the movie was over, you had curled into his side, your leg slung across his lap and your head resting comfortably against his shoulder. At some point, he abandoned his wine on the end table to grip your calf on his lap, his thick fingers unconsciously kneading the muscle as he watched the movie.

You made a soft noise in the back of your throat, immediately pulling his interest, the sound doing shameful things below his waist already.

"Feels good," you whispered, eyes fluttering for a moment before nuzzling further into his chest. It took him a second to realize you were referring to the absentminded massage he was giving your leg.

"Yeah?" he responded, voice deep and gravelly when he tipped his chin to brush his lips against the top of your head. "You tense, baby?"

You hummed and nodded, tilting your face up, mouths barely touching as the movie continued to play in the background. Joel's fingers around your leg tightened as the air around you thickened. He was definitely not reading things wrong. Your lips were parted to accommodate your sudden need for more air, your chest was rising and falling faster than just a moment ago and judging by the needy look in your eye, you were practically screaming for him to touch you.

So, despite his nerves, he did.

He wasn't quite sure how it happened, but within a few short minutes he had you pinned underneath him on his couch, the leg he was once massaging now wrapped around his hips. Your mouths had crashed together, sharing whimpers and gasps each time one of your hands explored a new area. The way you devoured one another, tongues twisting and fighting and denim clad hips shifting and rolling, it was impossible to tell who was more desperate for affection and comfort.

He supposed it didn't really matter, anyway. As different as you might seem to others on the surface, inside you both were the same. You both wanted to feel loved and wanted again. You both sought out safety and comfort you so desperately craved and not only that, you each eagerly wanted to give it to the other in return, because you knew how painful it felt to be so lonely.

It could have been the blood pounding loudly in his ears that kept him from hearing the front door unlock, or maybe he was too fixated on the pretty sounds you made when his hand boldly traveled underneath your shirt for the first time that blocked out the footsteps in the entryway, but the hurt and shocked tone in her voice when she spoke cut right through everything and had him bolting upright in a panic when he heard Sarah say, "Dad?"

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[simplygojo]

Another Speeding Ticket

Author's Note: Hey y'all, tysm for all the love n care you've been sending me. I am basically back to normal now, so lets assume our resume Kinktober schedule..haha.

Spooky Szn Masterlist

This kinktober oneshot includes a Kinktober Prompt request, I hope you enjoy ;) I am getting very smutted out, so I unfortubatly will not be able to complete all of your requests! I will try my best, even if I finish them in November, but thank you guys so much for the support!

Pairing: Cop!Nanami x f!reader

Request: This request was by @aurorascorpio, although I slightly altered it. I hope you enjoy :) The request is linked here for any interested <3

I also included a few other anon requests in this fic, so I hope YOU ALL ENJOY!!! (shoutout to 🐜 !!)

Kinks: Spanking, Overstimulation, Edging, Size, Brat Taming, Breeding & Gun Play

Word Count: 2.2K

Kinktober Taglist: @nanamisrighthand @simplyyyuji; @megumisdivinedogs; @lovleyredheadfairy

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, MDNI, gun play, fingering, spanking, size kink, overstimulation, breeding, brat taming, aggressive sex.

The sound of your engine roaring down the empty highway was almost therapeutic, the thrill of speeding through the night air intoxicating. 

But as soon as the familiar red and blue lights flashed behind you, your heart sank. Not again.

You groaned, already knowing who it was. Every time. It was always him.

You pulled over, slamming your palms on the steering wheel in frustration, and your forehead followed, leaning against it in defeat. 

You didn’t even need to look in the mirror to recognize the tall figure walking toward your car. 

His slow, measured footsteps sent your pulse racing, not in fear, but in a way that made your body heat.

Nanami Kento—your boyfriend—who was also a cop, and didn’t mind giving you speeding tickets despite your relationship.

Blonde hair slicked back, face perfectly composed and stern, his broad shoulders filling out his uniform almost too well. 

You swallowed as he approached, your heart hammering in your chest. This was probably the fifth time he’d pulled you over in the last month alone, and each time, his scolding made you feel like a naughty child being disciplined.

But this time felt different. There was a tension in the air you couldn’t quite place, an edge to his movements, like his patience had finally run dry.

He tapped on your window, and you rolled it down, biting your lip as his sharp eyes locked onto yours.

“Step out of the vehicle, Miss y/l/n,” Nanami’s voice was clipped, no room for argument.

You blinked, your stomach doing nervous flips. "W-wait, is this really necessary? I wasn’t going that fast—"

“You were going twenty-five over the limit. Again,” he said, his tone hard as steel. His gaze pierced through you, making you shrink back. “Step. Out.”

You hesitated but did as he commanded, heart pounding in your chest. 

The night air was cool against your legs as you stood beside your car, your skirt fluttering slightly as you faced him.

Nanami stood tall in front of you, his jaw clenched, looking every bit the no-nonsense cop he always was. 

There was a certain dominance in the way he towered over you, the stiff set of his jaw making your breath hitch. You could practically feel the weight of his authority pressing down on you, making your knees weak.

“I’ve warned you so many times, y/n,” he sighed, his voice lowering as his frustration bled through. “And yet here you are, speeding again. Reckless.”

“I-I’m sorry, really! I swear this is the last time—"

“No. You don’t get to talk your way out of this one,” Nanami cut you off, his tone sharp. 

“You don’t seem to learn your lesson. Maybe I need to teach you a different way.” His eyes darkened, and before you could process what was happening, he grabbed your wrist, spinning you around and pressing your front against the side of your car.

You gasped, heart racing. “Wait—what are you doing?”

“Bend over,” he ordered, voice deep with authority.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand pressed against your back, forcing you into position. 

You could feel his presence looming behind you, his large frame towering over your bent form. 

The cold metal of his gun on his waist grazed your lower back as his hips pressed into you, and the weight of it sent a shiver through you.

“You’ve been a brat every time I’ve caught you,” he muttered darkly, his hands sliding down your waist, roughly pulling your skirt up to expose your panties. 

“Maybe it’s time I put you in your place.”

The thrill of it all made your thighs clench together, heat pooling between your legs. You squirmed, trying to protest, but he was having none of it.

“Be a good girl, my dear,” he commanded, his voice laced with danger. “Or do I need to use more force?”

You shook your head, biting your lip, already feeling the wetness soaking through your panties. 

“No, sir…”

His large hands roamed over your ass, kneading the flesh before giving it a sharp slap. You yelped, the sting sending a rush of pleasure straight to your core.

“You like that, don’t you?” He growled, landing another smack, harder this time. 

The sound echoed in the quiet night as you gasped, body arching against the car. 

“You act like a brat, and you’ll get treated like one.”

Another slap, then another. 

The rhythm of his spanking had your ass burning, your legs weak. You were dripping, your panties clinging to your slick folds as he continued his punishment.

Without warning, he yanked your panties down, leaving you completely exposed to the night air. 

Your heart raced, both embarrassment and excitement swirling together in a heady mix.

Nanami’s fingers slid between your legs, teasing your entrance before slipping one thick finger inside. 

You moaned, your body instantly responding, grinding back against his hand. The stretch of just one of his fingers was enough to send a surge of heat through your core, your walls clenching around the intrusion, desperate for more.

“So eager,” he muttered, pleased with the way your body reacted to him. 

“My job is to enforce the law, and teach people lessons when they break those laws…” 

He unholstered his gun, the metallic sound making your pulse quicken. 

The cold barrel pressed against your hip as his fingers moved inside you with deliberate slowness, curling against your walls. 

The juxtaposition of pleasure and danger sent a shiver down your spine.

The pressure of the gun against your skin made you gasp, your body arching against the car. 

He wasn’t rough, but the weight of it was enough to remind you who was in control. His thumb brushed against your clit, applying just enough pressure to have you trembling beneath him.

“You don’t learn, do you?” Nanami murmured, his voice deep and steady, even as his fingers slipped deeper, hitting a spot that made your legs weak. 

“I’ve warned you time and time again, and yet here you are, acting like a reckless brat.”

You whimpered, pushing back against him, desperate for more. But Nanami wasn’t having it. 

He withdrew his fingers almost entirely, barely grazing your entrance as you squirmed in frustration.

“Stay still,” he commanded, the gun now resting against your waist as a cold reminder. “You don’t get to decide when you get what you want.”

Your hips moved on their own, seeking the friction he was withholding, the need in your belly tightening like a vice. 

The absence of his touch left a hollow ache, but his control over you kept you teetering on the edge of submission.

Every time you felt yourself climbing toward release, he would slow down, making you gasp in frustration. 

The ache between your legs grew, your need for him becoming desperate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to beg. Not yet.

His fingers slipped back inside, slow and deliberate, rubbing against that sensitive spot that made your legs shake. 

“Look at you,” he muttered darkly. “All that attitude, and now you’re desperate for me.”

You bit your lip, resisting the urge to moan too loudly, your pride still intact despite the torment. 

But Nanami could read you too well, knew how close you were.

“You want to cum, don’t you?” he taunted, his thumb brushing over your clit in maddening circles. “I can feel how badly you need it. How you’re shaking for it.”

“Yes…Yes sir” you whispered, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop it. 

Your pride wavered as the pleasure coursed through you, leaving you trembling against the car.

Nanami hummed in approval, but instead of giving you what you craved, he pressed the gun harder against your skin, reminding you who held all the power. 

His pace slowed again, the edging cruel as your body throbbed with need.

“Have some patience, my dear” he growled, his voice dangerously low. 

His fingers worked you with precision, drawing you to the edge once more, only to pull back, leaving you teetering on the brink.

Nanami’s grip on your waist tightened, the authority in his touch clear as he held you firmly against the cool metal of the car. 

His voice was low, commanding, as he muttered darkly into your ear, “If you don’t learn, maybe I’ll have to give you something to remember. Maybe putting a baby in you will finally get you to listen.”

Your breath hitched at his words, heat pooling between your legs as the weight of his intention sank in.

His fingers left you aching, desperate for more, and before you could respond, Nanami moved swiftly. 

His belt clinked as he unbuckled it, and you felt the heavy press of his cock against your slick entrance.

The size of him alone had you gasping, your body trembling with anticipation.

Without warning, he pushed into you, his cock stretching you wide as he filled you completely in one rough thrust. 

The sensation of him deep inside you made your legs buckle, and you braced yourself against the car, the overwhelming fullness leaving you breathless. 

He was so thick, so impossibly big, that it felt like your body was struggling to take all of him.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Nanami grunted, his voice strained with restraint. His hands roamed your hips, holding you steady as he pulled out only to slam back into you, his pace rough and unrelenting from the start. 

Each thrust pushed you forward against the cool surface of the car, your ass burning from the rough spanking and your body tingling with overstimulation.

“Such a fucking brat,” he growled, landing another sharp slap on your ass that sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you. 

“Maybe this will finally teach you to behave.”

The sharp sting of his hand contrasted with the deep, pounding thrusts of his cock, and you could barely keep yourself together, the combination of pain and pleasure sending you spiralling toward the edge. But Nanami was far from done.

He leaned over you, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, 

“You’re going to take every inch of me, and you’re not going to cum until I say so.” His thumb found your clit again, rubbing tight circles that had you clenching around him, desperate for release.

The pleasure was too much, your body trembling as you felt your orgasm build, but Nanami wasn’t giving you the satisfaction. 

He pulled back slightly, dragging his cock out of you slowly, only to slam back into you with such force that you cried out, your hands scrambling for purchase against the car.

“You think you can just do whatever you want?” Nanami taunted, his hips snapping against yours with punishing force. “Breaking the rules like a spoiled brat? Not anymore.”

His pace quickened, the force of his thrusts driving you closer and closer to the brink, but every time you felt yourself teetering on the edge, he slowed down just enough to keep you from falling over. 

The overstimulation had your body shaking, desperate for release, but Nanami wouldn’t let you have it.

His words sent a shiver through you, the promise of him filling you making your body respond in ways you couldn’t control. 

You wanted it, wanted him to finish inside you, to claim you in every way. The idea of him filling you with his sweet release, of the possibility of it taking, had your thighs clenching with need.

“Please,” you whimpered, your pride shattered as you begged him. “Please, let me cum…”

Nanami chuckled darkly, his hand landing another sharp slap on your ass before he picked up the pace, fucking you hard and deep, his cock hitting spots that made your vision blur. 

Your body tensed, teetering on the edge once again as he fucked you harder, the pleasure overwhelming as he pounded into you. 

His thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing with brutal intensity, and the combination of his size, the stinging spanks, and the threat of being filled finally pushed you over the edge. 

You were practically seeing stars as you felt the familiar sense of pleasure begin to creep up on you.

“Cum for me,” Nanami commanded, his voice sharp as he thrust into you with one final, deep stroke. “Take it all.”

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body shaking as you came hard, your walls clenching around him as you milked his cock. 

The intensity of it had your legs trembling, and you barely registered Nanami’s groan of satisfaction as he followed you over the edge, his cock twitching as he spilled inside you, filling you with his cum.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he said, his voice muffled as he squeezed the skin on your hips tightly, staying buried deep inside you as he emptied himself, his breath hot against your neck as he leaned down. 

“Maybe now you’ll finally listen.”

Your body was spent, your legs weak as you leaned against the car, panting and trembling from the overwhelming pleasure.

Nanami stayed inside you for a moment longer, making sure you felt every bit of him before he finally pulled out, leaving you breathless and full.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Piercing

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You get your ears pierced

"I'm sorry, princesse," Pernille sympathises as you sniffle.

You're both in the back seat of the car, you sitting in her her lap as you whine a little.

Your tears have petered off now so you're just left with little tracks down your cheeks and a big pout as you look up at her.

"But they're so pretty now."

Admittedly, Pernille did feel a little bad.

She should have just had them done when you were still little and couldn't understand these things but she'd felt bad about it.

It's always been in the plans to get them done when you were still young but Pernille couldn't bring herself to do it while you still didn't understand.

You were older now, barely, but she didn't want you to get too old where you would overthink and go back and forth for ages.

Which led to the situation now, as you sit on her lap in the car with freshly pierced ears and a lollipop for your good behaviour in the piercing chair.

You sniffle again, wiping your nose on Pernille's shirt before shoving your lolly straight back into your mouth to suck on.

"Hurted," You say between sucks.

"They still hurt?"

You shake your head. "Hurted."

"They hurt when you got them done?"

You nod.

"I'm sorry, princesse," Pernille says again," But you go to choose the special new earrings you got and you got you lolly. Isn't that nice?"

You nod again, huffing a little as you wipe the remaining tears off your cheeks using Pernille's shirt.

"Where's Morsa?"

"She'll be here soon. She's just finishing with the groceries."

Your mothers had split off today.

Magda was at the supermarket, buying the groceries (and hopefully a new toy) for the week while Pernille did the smaller jobs like getting a few packages, getting your ears pierced and buying Magda's new set of earphones.

You and Pernille had finished first of course which is why she could spend so much time soothing you in the car park while Magda, out of the corner of her eye, could be seen pushing the shopping cart towards the car.

"You won't believe how packed it is in there," Magda says as she slips into the driving seat after putting the shopping into the car boot," Why is everyone doing their shopping on a Sunday?"

"Why are we doing our shopping on a Sunday?" Pernille teases as Magda adjusts the rear view mirror to look right at her.

"That's not the point. I..." Magda's words come to a halt as her eyes narrow thoughtfully. "Why are you in the back? Why has Princesse got a sweetie?"

"Was good," You mumble.

"Good? What, like generically good? I thought we weren't giving her sweets. Pernille, you said it would ruin her teeth."

"Momma didn't give," You say and Magda frowns.

"What do you mean- Pernille! What are those things in her ears?!"

Pernille sighs, expertly manoeuvring you from her lap into your car seat, pulling on your straps until you're secure before pressing the softest of kisses to your forehead.

"Earrings."

Pernille climbs over the centre console to the passenger seat in the front.

"But...What?!"

"Magda we talked about this last night. You agreed that it was time."

"We did not talk about it!"

"We did."

You frown a little, the pain in your ears forgotten as your eyes pingpong between Magda and Pernille.

"I'd think I'd remember."

"You literally came in from the bathroom and I told you that I was thinking about getting her ears pierced today."

"You were talking to Tired Magda! I can't be held responsible for Tired Magda's choices!"

"Magda," Pernille says fondly," We've discussed this before. When she was born. You weren't against it then."

Magda's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "I'm not against it," She says after a long, measured pause," I just...Princesse? Are you feeling okay? How are your ears?"

You show her your lollipop. "Got a lolly," You say," Ears okay."

"They don't hurt?"

You think about that for a moment before shaking your head. "No ouchies anymore."

"Are you sure?"

You huff. "Would know if they hurt, Morsa."

Pernille laughs in the front seat. "Yeah, Magda, she's know if they hurt."

Magda rolls her eyes. "Okay. It's about ten minutes until we're home. I'll have a little check of your ears when we get in. Did they give you an information pack, Pernille? If her ears are pierced then I want to make sure we're taking care of them properly."

"I've got everything ready for you," Pernille says, leaning across to press a soft kiss to Magda's cheek," I love how protective you get."

Magda grins, sitting up a bit straighter in her seat at the praise. "Of course."

"Even if it's something as silly as her ear piercings."

[etheraltides]

BENEATH THE NOISE ᯓᡣ𐭩

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x College!Reader

Summarize: It’s hard to deal with deception when you’ve given your best. Luckily, Rafe knows how to get to you.

Warning(s): self depreciation, a hint of anxiety.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love in my works <3

The grade wasn’t supposed to define you. That’s what everyone says: “It’s just a number, not a measure of your worth.” But as you sit staring at the email on your screen, the words blur, letters and numbers melting together until you can only feel one thing: failure.

The exam’s grade - the one you poured sleepless nights, early mornings, and everything in between into – sits there in stark black and white, unchangeable, final. You can’t look away, even as the panic bubbles into shame and then into the familiar, relentless self-criticism. Even as the salty tears begin to blurry your vision.

“How could I have been so stupid?” you think, teeth pressing into your lower lip. “All those hours… wasted. What’s the point if this is the result?” The thoughts spiral faster, slipping away from you. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this. Maybe I’m just fooling myself. Everyone else makes it look so easy.”

With a shaky breath, you shut your laptop and curl up on your bed, tugging the blanket over yourself as if it could shield you from the whirlwind in your mind, from the world and those mocking numbers. You feel your phone buzz, but you ignore it. Then it buzzes again, and again. It’s Rafe, no doubt, checking in, but you can’t bring yourself to reply. You’re not in the mood for talking and pretending to be fine, or worse – the pity you know will be laced into his voice if he finds out how badly you did.

But Rafe isn’t one to be easily put off. He leaves message after message, each one laced with growing concern and slight irritation.

“Hey, baby. Just checking in. How’d the test go?”

A minute later, “Everything okay? Call me when you get this. You’re working me, baby.”

Another text, his humor slipping through: “I’m gonna assume you’re just taking a nap and ignoring the world like you usually do when you’re stressed.”

And then, finally, a call. You glance at the screen, seeing his name flash, but even though part of you aches to hear his voice, you can’t bring yourself to answer. Instead, you turn off the phone entirely, sinking further into the blanket cocoon, feeling more alone and defeated with every minute that ticks by.

Rafe spends the better part of an hour trying to reach you. First, it’s gentle check-ins, then some light teasing, then a note of worry threading through his texts. When all his messages stay stuck on “delivered” with no response, he throws on a jacket, grabs his car keys, and heads out the door. He’s had enough off of it.

The drive is a blur, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he runs through what he’ll say to you when he gets there. He’d scold you for being a brat and making him worry when all you had to do was type some goddamn words on your phone. It wasn’t so hard. He didn’t even want to think about the possibility of something actually happening to you.

By the time he arrives at your place, it’s late enough that the lights outside are dim, casting long shadows across the driveway. He knocks once, twice in your bedroom’s door once your mom lets him in.

“She’s been there for hours.” Your mom sighs, looking up at the stairs as she puts your untouched plate of dinner in the refrigerator. “The results of her exam came in and well… You know how hard she can be with herself.”

Rafe rubs hand on his neck, he had completely forgot that the result would be today and he knew how hard you’ve been studying.

He knocks on your door once and when there’s no answer, he gently turns the knob, letting himself in.

It’s quiet inside, save for the faint sound of your breathing as he steps into your room. He sees you there, huddled under the blankets, your back to the door, your shoulders slightly shaking. His heart clenches in pain and worry as you look so small hiding in the many blankets. Wordlessly, Rafe slips off his shoes, walking over to your bed. Without a word, he lifts the edge of the blanket and slides in beside you, his warmth immediately seeping through the layers of fabric that separate you.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, letting his presence speak for itself. Slowly, he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. You stiffen at first, your pride fighting the comfort he’s offering, but then the dam breaks, and you lean into him, hiding your face in his shoulder.

He strokes your hair gently, his voice a soft murmur. “I’m here. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” He presses a light kiss to the top of your head, letting the silence settle for a few moments longer before he speaks again.

“Want me to talk to your professor?” he murmurs, a playful edge creeping into his tone. “Because I could pay a visit, you know… straighten him out, remind him that no one messes with my girl.” He squeezes you a little tighter. “Just say the word.”

You can’t help the small, broken laugh that escapes you, muffled by his shirt. You know he’s kidding – or at least, half-kidding – but there’s a part of you that believes he might actually show up at your professor’s office if you asked him to. That thought alone lightens the weight on your chest, even if just a little.

“You don’t need to go after my professor, Rafe,” you mumble, a hint of sarcasm breaking through the sadness. “Even though… I wouldn’t mind seeing the look on his face if you did, it wasn’t his fault.”

Rafe chuckles softly, squeezing your shoulder. “If you change your mind, I’ve got my car gassed up and ready.”

The laugh fades, and you fall silent again, the weight of the failure still pressing down on you. After a few moments, you pull back slightly, looking up at him. “Rafe… what if I’m just not good enough? What if I’ve been trying so hard for nothing?”

You wrap your arms around his torso, fingers absently tracing random shapes on his t-shirt as the words left your trembling lips. “Maybe I should just quit it. Spare myself all the deception.”

He keeps his hold on you, his voice staying low and gentle. “Baby, you’re one of the smartest people I know. This grade? It doesn’t change that. Not even a little.”

You start to protest, but he shushes you, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “No, I’m serious. You’re so hard on yourself, and I get it. But you need to remember that one test doesn’t undo everything you are, everything you’ve done. It’s just one small thing in a million great things about you.”

The words come out softly and so certain, almost like a confession, and you see the shift in his expression as he meets your gaze. He lifts a hand, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes soft and steady. “Then you try again, and again, if you have to. But you’re anything but ‘not good enough.’ You’re brilliant, and hard-working, and stubborn as hell. I’ve seen you tackle way harder stuff than this.”

You shake your head, unable to accept the kindness in his voice. “But I… I feel so dumb, Rafe. Like all this effort is just… wasted. Like I’m not cut out for this.”

Rafe’s expression softens even more, and he tilts your chin up, making sure you’re looking into his eyes. “Baby, listen to me. One test, one mistake – none of that changes who you are or what you’re capable of. You’re allowed to be human, to mess up sometimes. It doesn’t make you any less amazing, okay?”

His words linger, breaking down the wall you’ve built around your pride and pain. For the first time since you got the grade, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, he’s right. You were being too harsh in yourself.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you place a kiss to his cheek.

“Always,” he replies, giving you a small, reassuring smile. “Now, let’s stay here as long as you need, but when you’re ready, we’ll go grab some terrible takeout, or watch that show you like. Whatever you want. But for now… just let me hold you.”

You nod, settling against him, the rise and fall of his chest calming the storm in your mind. And as you lie there, surrounded by his warmth and steady heartbeat, the self-criticism starts to soften, the harsh thoughts fading, leaving only the quiet reassurance that you’ll be okay.

As you lie curled up against him, letting his warmth seep into you, Rafe’s hand gently runs along your back in soothing circles. You can feel the steady beat of his heart, grounding you, pulling you away from the spiral of self-doubt. After a long silence, you finally lift your head, your face inches from his as you meet his gaze. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just quiet understanding, and something even softer.

Slowly, he reaches up, brushing a thumb across your cheek, and you feel yourself lean into his touch. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and after a beat, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s soft, gentle, like he’s pouring all his reassurance into you without a single word. His fingers slip to the back of your neck, his hold gentle but certain, as if anchoring you to the moment, grounding you in his presence and pulling you away from the loud thoughts in your mind.

He pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, and you feel his breath, warm and steady. “I’m here,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a murmur. “No grade, no test can change that. You’re more than enough, and I’m not going anywhere.” His thumb grazes your cheek again, his eyes filled with warmth and conviction, and in that moment, the weight on your heart feels a little lighter, the storm in your mind a little quieter.

[focusonkayjay]

Wildly Wealthy Koreans (6); inspired by Crazy Rich Asians

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: photographer/ filmmaker! jungkook, rich girl/ fashion designer! reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, smut

Series summary: When you invite your boyfriend, Jungkook, to accompany you to your brother's wedding in your hometown, Daegu, he’s overjoyed, eager to meet your family and experience a side of your life you’ve never shared with him. However, once he uncovers the truth about who you really are, he’s unable to grasp the full extent of your reality. The situation becomes even more complicated when a certain someone makes him feel profoundly unwelcome, leaving him to question not only your world, but also his place in it.

Disclaimer: This series is heavily inspired by the movie Crazy Rich Asians, with the storyline closely following the original film's plot. However, I wanted to reimagine it as a fanfiction, where Jungkook and OC take center stage as the main protagonists. While I’ve kept the core elements and themes from the movie, I’ve added my own touches here and there, such as altering certain character dynamics and incorporating a few original settings. Some scenes are directly inspired by the movie, and I’ve worked to recreate them in a way that it hopefully resonates with the fans of the movie. Hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 11.9k+

Chapter Warnings: protected sex, oral (m. and f. receiving), conversations and scenes directly taken from the movie, mentions of culture, traditions etc, subtle self-racist comment (originally said by peik lin from the movie), mentions of affair, whistleblowing, background check. (lmk if i missed anything)

A/N: okay i loved writing this part so much, mainly because i had to rewatch the movie again and make a note of all the dialogues i wanted to use. Y/N AND JUNGKOOK ARE SOSOOSOSOS IN LOVE THEY'RE MAKING ME SICK OMGMGMG. i had to pause every time i had to write a fluffy scene because honestly, ME WHENNNNN. sorry, i'm just lonely and i wish i had a man like nick young or jungkook. anyways, i hope you like this part !! stay tuned for more <3

part 6

"You will never be enough."

The words reverberate like a broken record in Jungkook’s mind, gnawing at him from the inside, sharp and unyielding. His stomach churns as his thoughts are consumed by the memory of your mother’s cold, piercing gaze... the eerie, almost predatory smile that never quite reached her eyes... her low voice, slicing through him with the precision of a blade. It’s all he can hear, all he can feel.

"You will never be enough."

He had always known... ever since he stepped into your world, ever since he met your mother for the first time, that she didn’t approve of him. But to hear it from her lips, spoken directly to him, was a blow that shattered every ounce of self-worth he had left.

"You will never be enough."

It felt personal, like every word was aimed at him, carving into his chest. The way she scrutinized him with such disdain, as though deeming him unworthy of your love. Her words were clear... He would never measure up. He would never be truly worthy to love you.

"You will never be enough."

His throat tightens as he swallows, his jaw clenching involuntarily. The words echo on loop in his mind, relentless and cruel. He just can’t escape them.

"You will never be eno—"

"Baby, are you even listening to me?" Your voice suddenly slices through the storm in his mind. Jungkook snaps his head towards you, his gaze meeting yours as you sit beside him, confusion flickering in your eyes. Your hands grip the steering wheel, steady and calm, a contrast to the chaos in his head.

In an instant, the world around him comes rushing back. The smell of your car, the soft hum of the engine, the lingering traffic weaving through the streets.

"Is everything okay?" You chuckle at his expression, glancing at him before returning your focus to the road. "You were zoned out." You say softly, your voice warm, but still laced with concern. Jungkook takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he leans back against the passenger seat.

After making dumplings with your family, you had suggested that the two of you should do something together to spend your time here, in Daegu. So now, he finds himself in your car, driving to a destination unknown to him. You told him it was a surprise.

"Nothing... I... I was just thinking about where we're headed." Jungkook murmurs, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within. He forces himself to meet your gaze, hoping the storm inside him doesn't show through the cracks.

The memory of your mother’s scornful words claws at him, but he fights to push it down, to bury it deep where it can’t touch him now.

You, blissfully unaware of the silent battle he’s waging, laugh softly, your voice like a soothing balm to his fractured thoughts. "It’s a surprise, cutie." you tease, your eyes crinkling with mischief as you wink at him.

Your foot presses down on the accelerator, and the car surges forward, the playful smile on your lips making Jungkook’s heart ache with adoration. He mirrors your smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

The cityscape unfolds around him, bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun. Shades of orange and pink streak the sky like an artist’s masterpiece, but Jungkook barely notices.

The vivid memory of your mother’s piercing gaze and the cruel edge of her voice replay in his mind, over and over. He shakes his head lightly, trying to focus on the present, on you, and the mystery of this surprise you’ve planned.

Minutes pass, and the car finally comes to a smooth stop in front of an imposing building. Jungkook’s brows knit together as he gazes up at the towering structure, its sleek glass exterior reflecting the fiery hues of the sunset.

His lips part slightly, confusion etched across his face. "What... what is this place?" he asks, his voice laced with curiosity. You simply unbuckle your seatbelt, a sly smile playing on your lips. "Just follow me." you say, slipping out of the car.

The valet greets you warmly, taking your keys as you take Jungkook’s hand, your fingers lacing through his as you lead him towards the grand entrance.

Inside, the lobby is breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft, golden glow over the space, illuminating polished marble floors and opulent decor. The air carries a faint scent of jasmine and vanilla, luxurious and inviting.

You don’t pause to check in by the reception and simply walk towards the elevator, your steps light and confident. Jungkook follows, his curiosity piqued despite himself. "Baby, where are we going?" he asks as you step into the elevator and press the button for the highest floor.

"You’ll see." you reply with a playful giggle, looping your arm through his and leaning your head lightly against his shoulder. Your cheeky smile makes his heart stutter, momentarily silencing the insecurities clawing at him.

Despite everything, you’re here with him, planning something just for him. He clings to that thought, letting it steady him.

The elevator dings softly as it reaches the top floor. The doors slide open, revealing a dimly lit corridor that leads to an open-air rooftop. The cool evening breeze brushes against Jungkook’s skin as you guide him outside.

His breath catches as his eyes instantly fall on the scene before him. At the edge of the rooftop, overlooking the glittering city lights, is a table for two, draped in white linen and adorned with flickering candles.

Twinkling fairy lights are strung around the railings nearby, casting a warm, ethereal glow over the setting. Delicate petals of red and white roses are scattered across the table and the ground around it, creating a pathway that leads to the intimate setup.

Jungkook’s lips part in awe as he takes in the scene, his heart swelling with a mixture of emotions. You tug on his hand gently, drawing him closer to the table. "Do you like it?" you ask, your voice soft and hopeful, your eyes searching his for a reaction.

Jungkook’s gaze shifts from the breathtaking setup to you, his heart clenching at the sight of your radiant smile. For a moment, the weight of your mother’s words fades into the background, eclipsed by the warmth of your presence.

"I love it." he immediately says, his voice thick with emotion. And as you pull out a chair for him, he sits down, feeling, for the first time in hours, a glimmer of peace.

Here, with you, beneath the slowly emerging stars, he allows himself to believe—if only for a fleeting moment—that he might just be enough.

Once he's seated, you walk around the table with a grace that has his heart skipping a beat as you take your seat opposite to him, the golden glow of the candles casting warm shadows across your face.

"I arranged this as a way... to thank you." you say softly, leaning forward to take his hands into yours. "For what?" he asks, tilting his head slightly, his soft eyes searching yours. "Thank you for coming here with me." you begin, your voice gentle but earnest.

"I know it hasn’t been easy for you. Meeting my family, enduring all those formal events, dealing with Wooyoung..." His fingers twitch slightly at the mention of the name, and you pause, your thumb brushing over his knuckles in a soothing rhythm.

"You’ve handled so much, Kook." you continue, your voice dipping lower, more intimate. "I know it’s been overwhelming, and yet, you’ve been nothing but kind and patient. You’ve been so amazing, even when things got... complicated." You smile softly, and Jungkook's lips curve into a matching expression.

"You don’t have to thank me, baby." he murmurs. "I’m glad I’m here with you. Being by your side, spending time with you... it’s everything I could ever want." He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss on your knuckles, and you can’t help but blush.

"I love you." he whispers, his voice barely audible, but you catch every word as if it were etched into the night. "I love you too." you reply, your gaze soft and unwavering.

The world fades for a moment, leaving only the two of you, the city lights twinkling in the distance like a million silent witnesses to your love.

The moment lingers, perfect and serene, until your eyes widen suddenly with excitement. "Oh! There’s something else." you exclaim, breaking the silence as you pull your hands away and slide your chair slightly back.

Jungkook watches you, confusion flickering in his eyes as you bend down, your hand disappearing under the linen-draped table. You pull out a box from underneath the table, wrapped in silver paper as you grin widely at him.

"What’s this?" he asks, his brows furrowing as you push the box towards him. "Just open it." you say with a giggle, motioning for him to unwrap the gift.

He carefully peels back the wrapping, his fingers delicate as if the gift might shatter in his hands. When the paper falls away, revealing the box beneath, his breath catches. His eyes widen as they land on the unmistakable logo and the words printed across the surface.

"No way..." he whispers, disbelief coloring his tone. He looks up at you, his lips parted in astonishment. "You... you got me a camera?"

You nod, your smile growing as you watch his reaction. "Not just any camera." you tease. "The latest model. I did my research, Mr. Photographer."

Jungkook’s hands shake slightly as he unboxes it, pulling out the glossy camera and turning it over in his hands like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched. His fingers move instinctively, adjusting the lens, checking the buttons, his photographer's instincts kicking in.

"Babe..." he says softly, his voice tinged with awe. "This is incredible. But..." He trails off, looking at you with those wide doe eyes that make your heart melt. "This is so so expensive... how can I accept this? You really didn’t have to—"

"This is the least I could do, Kook." you interject, leaning forward, your voice carrying both playfulness and affection. "Especially after that idiot Wooyoung broke your camera." you say, your nose scrunching in slight anger. "I know you have other cameras, but I really wanted to gift you one and make up for what that asshole did." you say.

Jungkook’s eyes glisten as he processes your words, the weight of your thoughtfulness settling in his chest. He sets the camera down carefully and reaches for your hands again. "Baby..." he says, his voice trembling slightly.

"I don’t even know what to say. This... this means everything to me. Thank you... Thank you so much." His words are sincere, but they feel inadequate for the gratitude he truly feels.

So instead, he stands up and leans across the table, cupping your face in his hands, and kisses you. It’s soft and slow, his lips lingering against yours as if trying to pour all the emotions he can’t put into words, into that one kiss.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, and his smile is radiant, the earlier heaviness in his heart completely erased. "I love you so much." he whispers, his eyes shining as the reflections of the lights and the candles glimmer in his eyes.

"I love you too." you reply, smiling at him. And as the city sparkles under you and the candles flicker between you, both of you know that this moment... this love, is all that matters.

//

Jungkook's eyes widen as you nonchalantly pull a keycard from your pocket after the waiter clears the table. He stares at you, disbelief etched on his face. "No way... you booked a room?" he asks, his voice tinged with awe.

You smirk, leaning forward slightly, your tone playful and dripping with mischief. "You really thought the night was going to end with just dinner?" You arch an eyebrow at him, and the teasing glint in your eyes has his heart racing.

Jungkook chuckles, running a hand through his hair as he leans back in his chair. His lips curl into a warm, affectionate smile as he shakes his head. "You’re full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?"

Without missing a beat, you stand, extending your hand towards him, your grin widening. "Come on, We don’t have time to waste." you urge. His laughter fills the space as he picks up the camera box in one hand, letting his other hand intertwine with yours.

"You’re about to have the hottest, steamiest, mind boggling sex of your life." you exaggerate, throwing a playful wink over your shoulder as you tug him towards the elevator.

The second the elevator doors slide shut after you press the number of the floor your suite is located on, you waste no time. With a confident step forward, you push him gently against the cool elevator wall, your lips crashing onto his in a kiss so intense it leaves him momentarily stunned.

His breath hitches, his grip instinctively tightening on the camera box. But within moments, he responds, one hand sliding down to your waist, holding you close as he surrenders to the fiery passion between you.

The kiss is electric, consuming, and utterly knee-weakening. You tug lightly at his lower lip, and a soft groan escapes him, his free hand clutching your hip.

Time feels suspended, the air thick with heat and longing. His lips move against yours with fervor, matching your intensity, as if this moment is the only thing that matters. The ding of the elevator arriving on your floor pulls you both back to reality, though his dazed expression says he’s still lost in the kiss.

Licking your lips, you grin and take his hand again. "Come on." you whisper, your voice a blend of excitement and seduction as you drag him out of the elevator.

Jungkook follows silently, his heart pounding in his chest as you guide him down the softly lit corridor. The quiet elegance of the hallway feels almost surreal, but his focus is entirely on you... your determined stride, the sway of your hips, the way your hand fits perfectly in his.

When you stop in front of the door to your suite, you quickly swipe the keycard and push the door open, stepping inside with him close behind.

The suite is luxurious, with a breathtaking view of the city skyline, but neither of you pays it much attention. Jungkook sets the camera box carefully on the polished table near the door, and before he can say a word, his hands are already back on you, pulling you towards him as he plops down onto the edge of the plush bed.

You stand between his legs, his dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with affection and desire. Without hesitation, you lean down, wrapping your arms around his neck and capturing his lips in another kiss.

This one is slower, deeper, yet no less passionate. His hands glide up your sides, fingers splayed as if he’s trying to memorize every curve. Jungkook groans softly against your lips, his hands traveling to the small of your back as he pulls you closer.

His kiss is breathtaking, tender yet fervent, as if he’s pouring every ounce of love and longing into the connection. The gentle scrape of his teeth against your lower lip sends shivers down your spine, and your knees nearly buckle as his lips trail down to your jaw, then to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"God, you’re incredible..." he murmurs, his voice low and husky, filled with awe. His words, combined with the warmth of his breath, make your heart race and your cheeks flush with heat.

You pull back slightly, just enough to catch his gaze. Your hands cradle his face as you smile down at him, your voice soft yet brimming with promise. "You haven’t seen anything yet..."

With methodical grace, you step back, slipping out of his hold. Your fingers find the hem of your top, and in one fluid motion, you pull it over your head, revealing the crimson lace beneath.

The delicate lingerie hugs your curves perfectly, the deep red contrasting beautifully against your skin, and Jungkook's breath hitches audibly. His gaze darkens, pupils blown wide as he drinks you in.

He shifts slightly, unable to mask the effect you have on him, his hands curling into tight fists against the soft mattress. "Like what you see?" you tease, your voice a tantalizing mix of sultry and playful.

Your fingers slowly glide down the column of your neck, before trailing over the swell of your breasts. Your thumb brushes over the delicate lace, accentuating the curves held within.

Jungkook swallows hard, his eyes tracing every inch of your figure with an intensity that makes your skin tingle. He leans back slightly as he remains seated on the bed, propped on his hands, utterly entranced by the sight before him.

You bite your lip, and reach for the hem of your skirt. You take your time, sliding the fabric down and stepping out of it. Jungkook’s gaze lingers, fixated on the curve of your hips and the way the lace of your underwear hugs your form.

His restraint falters, his arousal evident as he shifts again, his erection straining against the confines of his pants, desperate to be freed.

Stepping closer, you stand between his legs again and this time, he’s quick to act, his hands gripping your hips, his fingertips pressing into your warm skin. "You’re so... so gorgeous." he breathes, his voice low and reverent, as he looks up at you like you're the most beautiful thing on this planet.

You lean down, your lips brushing his in a kiss that starts soft but grows in urgency. His hands move instinctively, sliding to the curve of your ass and gripping the soft flesh, pulling you closer because close isn't just close enough for him.

Your fingers trail to the hem of his T-shirt, breaking the kiss just long enough to peel it off him. You toss it carelessly onto the floor, your gaze drinking in the sight of his toned chest and sculpted abs. "Who allowed you to be this fine?" you murmur, your voice low and teasing, though it trembles slightly with the tension between you.

Jungkook smirks, a dark glint in his eyes as he tugs you closer, his hands firm on your waist. This time, his lips find your neck, trailing kisses that are slow and heated, his tongue tracing the delicate line of your collarbone. Your breath hitches as his mouth works its way down, sending sparks through your body.

You clutch his shoulders for support, your knees threatening to give out as his lips descend further. When he kisses the swell of your breasts through the lace of your bra, a shaky exhale escapes you.

"Who allowed you to be this gorgeous?" he counters, his voice husky, laced with desire. His teeth graze your skin as he nips lightly, leaving you breathless and pliant in his arms.

A soft whimper escapes your lips, and for a fleeting moment, you want to give in completely... let him have you right here, right now. But instead, you gently push yourself away from him, taking a shaky step back.

"Let me make you feel good." you whisper, the softness of your tone carrying a promise. You slowly drop to your knees with a smooth grace, the sight making Jungkook’s breath stop as his eyes widen, a flicker of surprise mixing with raw anticipation as he watches you gather your hair in one hand.

Without hesitation, he stands, his movements rushed, almost frantic, as he tugs his pants down and kicks them aside, not forgetting to retrieve the condom from his wallet and placing it on the mattress within reach. His impatience is palpable, every sharp breath and hurried motion conveying the intensity of his need for you.

When Jungkook slips off his boxers and sits back down, you can’t help but take a moment to admire him. His hardened length stands proudly, thick and veined, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. The sight alone makes your mouth water, anticipation pooling low in your belly.

Your hand moves instinctively, fingers curling delicately around his shaft as your thumb brushes over the bead of precum, smearing it across the sensitive tip.

Jungkook's reaction is immediate, primal... his chest rises sharply as he inhales, hips jerking forward slightly at the first touch of your hand. A low hiss escapes his lips, his lashes fluttering closed as if the sensation is almost too much to bear. Your fingers wrap around him, stroking slowly, as if savoring every inch of his heated skin.

When you lean in and your lips brush the tip of his length, he shudders. The warmth of your mouth engulfs him, and a deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest, raw and unrestrained. "Fuck, baby..." he rasps, the words spilling out like a confession, laced with both need and awe.

You tease him with languid licks, your tongue tracing the ridge of his tip before gliding down his shaft, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His hand instinctively finds your hair, gathering it back for you with a firm yet gentle grip.

The tension in his thighs is palpable under your palm as you steady yourself against him, your fingers digging into his skin. With the other hand, you wrap around his base, working in tandem with your mouth, your movements slow and unhurried, building the pressure like a symphony reaching its crescendo.

The wet sounds of your tongue, the rhythmic bob of your head, and his broken, breathy groans create a heady atmosphere. His hips twitch involuntarily, his body betraying his restraint as he mutters under his breath. "God, you feel so fucking good."

You hum softly, the vibration eliciting another throaty moan from him. His fingers tighten in your hair, not to control you, but as if anchoring himself against the storm of pleasure coursing through his body. Each movement of your mouth feels like it’s unraveling him piece by piece, leaving him utterly at your mercy.

You glance up at him through your lashes, the sight before you utterly intoxicating. Jungkook’s head is thrown back, his mouth slightly parted, chest rising and falling rapidly, each labored breath igniting a fire deep within you.

The way his body responds to your touch sends a rush of heat coursing through you, your arousal pooling between your thighs, your underwear undeniably damp as you fight the growing urge to touch yourself, to lose yourself in the sounds he’s making.

Spurred on by his reaction, you quicken your pace, your hand and mouth moving in perfect harmony. You take him deeper, testing your limits, each movement fueled by the soft, blissful groans spilling from his lips.

"Shit—" Jungkook groans, his voice raspier now, his grip on your hair tightening as his hips buck involuntarily. He’s losing himself, succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure, his restraint slipping like sand through his fingers. His thigh tenses under your hand, the muscles flexing as his body reacts to your touch.

Your tongue swirls around his tip, savoring the taste of him before you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper, your hand pumping in time with the rhythm of your mouth.

"Fuck, baby, just like that..." he mutters, his voice thick and unsteady, every word a testament to how utterly undone he is. You quicken your movements further, the slide of your lips and the tight grip of your hand driving him closer to the edge.

His moans grow louder, more desperate, as he teeters on the brink. "God, you're gonna make me lose it." he chokes out, his eyes squeezing shut, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of what you're giving him.

You hum in response, the vibration sending a shudder through his body, and you feel him twitch against your tongue, his breaths coming faster, his body tightening, ready to unravel entirely in your hands.

Jungkook's voice is strained, rough with desire as his fingers tighten in your hair, gently pulling you back. "Stop..." he breathes out, his chest heaving, eyes dark and filled with an almost desperate intensity.

"If you keep going, I’m going to cum... and I can’t—" His voice trembling with urgency as his gaze locks onto yours. "I need to feel you, baby. I need to be inside you." The raw intensity in his words sends a shiver racing down your spine.

You release him slowly, your touch lingering on his thigh for a fleeting moment. Your eyes drink him in... the way his chest heaves with every labored breath, his hair damp and sticking messily to his forehead, and his lips, swollen and red from biting down in restraint.

Jungkook’s gaze drops to your glistening lips, the evidence of him clear, and his breath catches in his throat. The way you look up at him, your lashes framing your heavy-lidded eyes, is enough to make him lose control.

His gaze trails further down, taking in the rise and fall of your chest, your breasts drawing his attention with every shallow breath as you try to steady yourself.

"Then take me." you whisper, your voice soft but charged with the same urgency burning in his eyes. You rise to your feet, your fingers trailing up his thighs, then his chest, as you carefully straddle him. His hands find your hips instantly, holding you up.

"God..." he mutters, his head falling back momentarily as he adjusts you in his lap. His hands slide up your sides, grazing the curve of your waist before they settle on your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

His lips crash against yours, the kiss hungry and all-consuming, his need for you evident in every movement. His hands trail down your sides, slipping beneath the fabric of your underwear as his fingers press into the soft flesh of your hips.

You push yourself against him, kissing him with a fervor that leaves you both breathless. Your lips move together in a heated, desperate rhythm until Jungkook succumbs, falling back onto the mattress with you on top of him.

Your hips begin to grind against his hardened length, eliciting a soft moan from your lips that only spurs him on. His hands tighten around your hips, guiding your movements as his grip becomes possessive, almost needy.

Jungkook’s fingers wander, tracing a tantalizing path to your core. He slips them beneath the thin fabric of your underwear, his touch igniting a fire that courses through your body. “God… you’re soaked.” he rasps, his voice hoarse and laden with desire as he pulls back from the kiss to meet your eyes.

“Only for you.” you reply breathlessly, your gaze locking with his, full of need. That’s all it takes for Jungkook to act. With a growl of impatience, he flips you over effortlessly, trapping you beneath him, the mattress pressing against your back as his body hovers above yours.

The second you’re on your back, his hands are on you, peeling your underwear down with a slowness that has you shaking. He flicks the fabric to the floor, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of you as you spread your legs for him.

The raw hunger in his gaze makes your cheeks flush, but you don’t look away, offering him everything, showing him the effect only he has on you. “Touch me…” you whisper, voice trembling.

“Touch me, Kook, please.” The plea falls from your lips, and he takes a steadying breath as his fingers begin their descent. They trail down the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, teasing, igniting a fire that only he can tame.

He pauses, his gaze lingering on your center, taking in every detail, every sign of your desire for him. “Come here…” His voice is soft yet commanding as he reaches for you, cradling you against his strong arms.

He shifts, sitting back against the headboard and pulling you onto his lap as the back of your head rests against his firm chest. His hands roam your body with a gentle intensity, starting at your stomach, his touch slow and soothing.

His lips graze the shell of your ear, his teeth nipping lightly as his breath tickles your skin. “Spread your legs.” he murmurs, his voice like molten honey. You obey without hesitation, letting your thighs fall open as his hands slide downward, from your stomach to your core.

The sensation sends shivers up your spine, and your lips part as you watch his every move. When he dips a finger into your wetness, your body jerks involuntarily, pressing you back against his chest.

His arms flex around you, holding you securely as he begins to move, skillfully exploring you with care. Each motion pulls soft gasps from your lips, the pleasure building with every passing second.

His finger glides through your folds with an intended precision, igniting sensations that make you whimper and moan. He traces slow circles around your clit, his touch light but electric, sending waves of pleasure radiating through your core.

You tilt your head back against his chest, your lips parted as soft, breathy moans escape you. "So sensitive." he muses, his voice deep and velvety, tinged with awe. He presses a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering as if to ground you, even as his fingers threaten to unravel you completely.

He adds a second finger, his movements measured yet intense, curling them just right to hit the spot that makes you cry out. Your hips lift instinctively, seeking more of him, and he groans at your eagerness.

"That's it, baby." he encourages, his free hand coming up to grip your thigh, holding you steady as he works you over. His thumb brushes against your clit in tandem with his fingers, the combination drawing a sharp gasp from you.

"Kook..." you whimper, your voice trembling as the coil in your stomach tightens with every pass of his skilled fingers. "Keep saying my name." he urges, his voice low and commanding. "I want to hear you when you fall apart for me."

Your head tilts to the side, and he takes the opportunity to kiss along your neck, his lips leaving a trail of heat against your skin. His teeth graze your pulse point, his tongue soothing the spot before he sucks lightly, marking you in a way that makes you shiver.

"You're so perfect, love." he whispers against your skin. "So fucking perfect... and all mine." His words make your heart race, and you find yourself clinging to him, your nails digging into his forearm as the pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak.

The tension in your core spirals tighter and tighter until it feels like you might snap. "Baby... I... I'm so close." you manage to stammer as he mercilessly pushes his fingers into you. "Let go, baby." he coaxes, his pace never faltering. "I've got you."

With his encouragement, the coil finally snaps, and you cry out his name, your body trembling as the waves of your climax crash over you. He doesn't stop, drawing out every last bit of your pleasure as he holds you through it, his strong arms clutching you to him.

As the aftershocks ripple through you, you collapse against his chest, your breaths ragged and uneven. Jungkook brushes a hand through your hair, his touch soothing as he presses gentle kisses to your cheek and neck.

"You’re incredible." he whispers, his voice soft now, filled with adoration. Still dazed, you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. His dark eyes are filled with a warmth that makes your heart flutter, and as he leans down to kiss you, it’s slow and tender, a stark contrast to the fire that just consumed you.

But the hunger in his gaze remains, and when his lips leave yours, he smirks, his hands already beginning to roam again. "We’re not done yet." he says. "I still need to feel you around me, baby."

Your instantly nod, allowing him to guide you with a quiet confidence that makes your pulse race. Jungkook reaches for the condom on the mattress, his fingers deft as he tears it open. There’s an almost reverent care in the way he rolls it on, his eyes flicking to yours.

As you sit on the mattress, your fingers move to your back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall away, exposing your bare chest to him. His gaze locks onto you as he gulps, trying to steady himself. The way his eyes roam over you, drinking in every curve, every detail, makes your skin heat under his attention.

"You’re so beautiful." he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice husky with desire. His hands twitch at his sides as if he’s fighting the urge to just pounce on you, to just devour you. “You ready, baby?” he asks, his tone gentle, though the raw need beneath it is unmistakable.

“Yes.” you breathe, the single word carrying all the trust, the yearning, the connection between you. Your hands find his shoulders as he leans forward, hovering above you.

His body radiates warmth, his eyes searching yours as he dips his head, capturing your lips in a soft kiss that quickly turns heated.

As he carefully lines himself up with your entrance, he begins to push inside, inch by inch, filling you completely. The sensation draws a groan from both of you, as your bodies adjust to the intimate connection.

Your walls envelop him perfectly, warm and snug, making him curse under his breath. His forehead rests briefly against yours, his jaw tight as he savors the feeling of being joined with you in the most profound way.

“God, you feel... you feel so good.” he murmurs, his voice trembling as he begins to move, his hips rolling in slow, delicious thrusts. Each push, each plunge, is a silent declaration of his love for you, communicated through the way he holds you, the way his body seeks yours.

Your back arches, a soft moan spilling from your lips as his pace gradually builds. His hands grip your hips, steadying you as he moves with a rhythm that feels like it was made for you alone. \

“Jungkook…” you gasp, your voice a mix of need and adoration, and his dark eyes meet yours, filled with a fierce, unrelenting love that makes your heart clench. “I love you.” he whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, his thrusts never faltering. “I’ll always love you... fuck.”

//

"Wait, whaaat?" Yoongi’s voice drags, a blend of disbelief and curiosity as he lifts a fry between his fingers. "So, was she like, 'You will never be enough for my daughter.' or was she more like..." He pauses, slowly placing the fry back in the basket.

With a dramatic flourish, he twirls his fingers in the air in front of Jungkook's face. "Youuuu..." he emphasizes, stretching the word. "Youuuu will never be good enough for my daughter?" he asks, each syllable punctuated for maximum effect.

Jungkook exhales sharply rolling his eyes, his fingers absently picking at the fries in the basket, flicking them with a bit too much carelessness. "It’s... more like the second one." he murmurs, his eyes flickering up to meet Yoongi’s.

“Oh…” Yoongi exhales as he leans back against the worn leather booth, his arms crossing over his chest. For a moment, the ambient hum of clinking silverware and murmured conversations from the surrounding tables fills the silence between them.

It had been two days since dumpling day and the amazing night he had spent with you, but the interaction with your mother from that day still lingers in Jungkook's mind like a stubborn shadow.

The rehearsal dinner had happened just yesterday and thankfully it had gone off without any major hiccups, thanks to his unwavering focus on sticking close to you and limiting his interactions to just your cousins, Namjoon and Seokjin.

But even in the warmth of the evening, Jungkook could feel it... the sharp, unwavering gaze of your mother drilling into him from across the room. It had his palms sweating beneath the table, his throat dry despite the steady flow of wine he forced himself to sip.

The entire time, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was just waiting for him to slip up, to give her ammunition for whatever silent judgment she harbored.

Now, hours before the actual wedding, the weight of it all is threatening to crush him. If her stare alone had him doubting himself last night, what would it be like during the actual ceremony? The thought of enduring her scrutiny throughout the night has his stomach churning with dread.

And what if she says something to him again? What if her disdain becomes so apparent that everyone else notices? Because her dismissal doesn’t just cut at him, it chips away at the foundation of the love and happiness you’ve both built together.

Jungkook tries to remind himself of everything else. The way your eyes light up when you look at him, the way your cousins laugh at his jokes, the endless reassurances from you that he belongs here, that he’s enough. And yet, the knot in his chest refuses to loosen.

"Well, honestly, I just think it's typical rich mom behavior. She’s probably bitter that her daughter’s found happiness in something that wasn’t part of her perfect plan, you know?" Yoongi says, his tone steady but with an underlying hint of frustration.

Jungkook sighs heavily, his head resting in his hands as his elbows slouch against the table. "I feel like I shouldn’t even go to the wedding." he mutters. There’s a heaviness in the way his words hang in the air, as if he’s been carrying the thought for far too long.

"You know, it’s Taehyung’s and Miyoen’s day. I don’t wanna cause any drama there or make it all awkward." The weight of his self-doubt presses his shoulders into a slump, his body folding in on itself as though he’s trying to make himself smaller, less visible.

He exhales sharply, his breath fogging the edge of the coffee cup he’s been nursing for the last hour. Yoongi leans back in his seat, arms crossed, one eyebrow slightly arched in annoyance. He doesn’t interrupt, waiting for Jungkook to finish.

Jungkook’s voice falters as he continues, his eyes fixed on the chipped edge of the table. "I feel like I should just sit it out, you know? Maybe tell Y/n I had food poisoning or something."

He glances up tentatively, only to find Yoongi’s gaze boring into him with a mix of incredulity and irritation. Jungkook shifts uncomfortably under the weight of it. "What?" he asks softly, sitting up straighter as if trying to defend himself against the silent judgment.

"That’s bullshit." Yoongi says flatly. He leans forward, his forearms resting on the table as he fixes Jungkook with a sharp, unrelenting stare. "You’re just scared."

The accusation makes Jungkook bristle. "No, I’m not." he shoots back quickly, his defensive tone undercut by the way he shoves a fry into his mouth, chewing furiously as if the act will shield him from further scrutiny.

Yoongi doesn’t back down. His gaze sharpens, and his voice takes on a calculated edge as he gestures pointedly with his hands. "Okay, here’s what you need to understand, alright?" He pauses, giving Jungkook no room to interrupt. "It’s not about getting Y/n’s mom to like you. It’s about getting her to respect you, alright?"

Jungkook’s brow furrows slightly, his posture rigid as Yoongi’s words sink in. "Right now..." Yoongi continues, his tone growing more intense. "She just thinks you’re some undeserving, clueless, gold-digging—"

"Yeah, I got it." Jungkook mutters, cutting him off with a tired nod, but Yoongi isn’t done. "... trashy, unrefined... banana." he continues.

The insult lands with a dull thud in the conversation, and Jungkook lets out a long sigh, shaking his head. "Yellow on the outside, white on the inside." Yoongi clarifies, his expression stoic. (A/N: as an asian myself, i'm not trying to be racist, THESE ARE ALL PEIK LIN'S LINES FROM THE MOVIE)

Jungkook clicks his tongue in annoyance. "I know what a banana is." he snaps, rolling his eyes, though there’s no real heat in his voice, just a resigned frustration. Yoongi leans back slightly, his sharp gaze unyielding.

"She just thinks you’re this whitewashed Korean American who’s lost touch with your roots, all westernized and disconnected." He gestures vaguely with one hand, as if painting the picture of Jungkook that exists in your mother’s mind.

"When, in reality..." Yoongi’s voice grows louder, more insistent. "You’re this super smart, highly professional photographer in freaking New York City." He smacks Jungkook’s arm lightly, the gesture more encouraging than chastising. "Show her that side of you, you know?"

For the first time, Jungkook’s shoulders relax slightly. His head tilts up, and his eyes meet Yoongi’s with a flicker of renewed determination. "You’re right." he says softly, the words carrying the weight of reluctant acceptance.

"Damn straight, I’m right." Yoongi scoffs, leaning back with a self-satisfied smirk. "It's Min Yoongi. I’m always right." he quickly adds with a shurg.

"Yeah... she’s like trying to play a game of chicken with me." Jungkook says, his tone thoughtful but tinged with frustration. Yoongi nods subtly, his lips pursed as he listens, but Jungkook isn’t done.

"Where she’s like… coming at me and like, thinking I’m going to swerve like a chicken." Jungkook continues, his voice rising slightly as he gestures loosely with his hands, mimicking the imagined confrontation.

"But you can’t SWERVE." Yoongi declares with absolute certainty as he sharply shakes his finger, his tone firm as though it’s a universal truth.

Jungkook straightens slightly in his seat, nodding in agreement. "I’m not gonna swerve. Not for her." he says, the determination in his voice growing stronger with each word.

"No, chickens are bitches, dude!" Yoongi scoffs, his voice louder now, his expression incredulous as though the very idea of "swerving" is beneath them both.

Jungkook shakes his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. "And I’m not a chicken." he says quietly, the words laced with a steely resolve.

"You’re not a chicken." Yoongi affirms, leaning forward as he locks eyes with Jungkook. "You’re gonna roll up to that wedding, and you’re gonna be like… BAK-BAK, BITCH!" Yoongi exclaims, his eyes wide as if delivering sage advice disguised in absurdity.

Jungkook, caught up in the moment, echoes the phrase, his voice steadier now. "Bak-bak, bitch."

Yoongi bursts out laughing, his cackle loud and infectious. "Chickens are bitches!" he yells and the outburst is so sudden and jarring that a few heads turn from the nearby tables, the clinking of silverware momentarily pausing as the other diners glance their way as the two boys snort, giggling to themselves.

Realizing they’ve drawn unwanted attention, Yoongi raises his hands apologetically, still chuckling under his breath. "Sorry, guys." he mutters to the other patrons, his voice laced with poorly concealed amusement. He bites down on his grin, his eyes glinting mischievously as he turns back to Jungkook.

The laughter between them fades slowly, leaving a lingering warmth in the air as Jungkook leans back in his seat, the corners of his lips still twitching from their shared joke. He looks at Yoongi for a moment, his gaze thoughtful before his expression turns slightly nervous.

"What are you doing tonight?" he asks suddenly. Yoongi raises an eyebrow, leaning back with a casual shrug. "I was gonna go play video games or something. Why?" he replies, his tone nonchalant but tinged with curiosity.

Jungkook shifts slightly in his seat, his fingers brushing against the edge of the table as he hesitates for a second. Then, he looks up, his eyes almost hopeful.

"Help me get dressed for the wedding. You know... just like you did for the tea ceremony." he says, his voice softer, almost like he’s asking for more than just wardrobe assistance, like he’s asking for backup in a battle he’s not sure he can face alone.

Yoongi’s eyes light up instantly, his grin widening into something almost devilish. It’s as if this is the moment he’s been waiting for. He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table as he stares Jungkook down, his grin only growing wider.

"Oh, you’re in for a ride, baby."

//

"You look absolutely stunning, Miyeon." you say softly, a genuine smile gracing your lips as you take in her reflection in the mirror. The day of the much-anticipated wedding has finally arrived, and as both the groom's sister and the bride's best friend, you’re honored to play the role of bridesmaid.

Miyeon stands in front of the mirror, radiant in her luxurious wedding gown. The fabric hugs her figure perfectly, the intricate lace and beadwork shimmering under the warm lighting. Her eyes glisten with a mixture of excitement and nerves, and you can’t help but feel a swell of pride at how breathtaking she looks.

Her parents linger in the room, their eyes filled with emotion as they fuss over her veil. Realizing they might need a moment alone, you quietly excuse yourself, stepping out onto the balcony just outside Miyeon's dressing room.

The afternoon breeze greets you as you lean against the railing, your eyes sweeping over the scene below. The wedding venue’s grand entrance is a hive of activity.

Cars pull up one after another, releasing a stream of notable figures ranging from celebrities to politicians to business tycoons... all dressed to impress. The press hovers near the barricades, the paparazzi relentlessly snapping photos of every arrival.

You pull out your phone from your clutch, glancing at the time. It’s nearly 4 PM, and you find yourself wondering where Jungkook is. He had mentioned meeting Yoongi for lunch earlier, especially because the two of you were set to leave Daegu two days after the wedding.

Smiling to yourself, you dial his number, and he picks up almost immediately. "Hey, baby, where are you?" you ask, your voice light with curiosity. "Hi, love." Jungkook replies, his tone warm and familiar. "I’m on my way. Yoongi was helping me get dressed."

Your smile widens as a soft chuckle escapes your lips. "Oh really? Babe, if you wanted new clothes, you could’ve just told me." you tease, a playful lilt in your voice.

Jungkook laughs on the other end, the sound making your heart flutter. "Oh, I think I could just use Yoongi’s expert fashion advice for free." he counters, his voice laced with humor.

"Saying this when you have a fashion designer girlfriend…" you trail off, feigning offense. "Wow, Kook. Maybe you should just date Yoongi." You can hear the grin in his voice as he responds. "Don’t tempt me, love. He did make me look pretty sharp today."

You laugh softly, turning around to lean your back against the cool railing. "Anyways, you’ll be here soon, right?" you ask, your voice light but laced with a hint of impatience. "Of course, cutie." Jungkook replies, his tone playful and warm. "Send me pictures. I want to see how you look."

You giggle, unable to stop yourself from imagining the grin on his face as he says it. "Nuh-uh." you tease, shaking your head even though he can’t see you. "Why don’t you come see for yourself?"

He groans dramatically, a soft whine escaping through the phone. "Fine." he admits with mock defeat, and you can practically hear the pout in his voice. You can’t help but laugh at how endearing he sounds. "I’ll see you soon, okay?" he says, his voice dropping into something softer, more sincere. "I love you."

Your chest feels warm, a smile tugging at your lips so wide it’s as if he’s right there, seeing it for himself. "I love you too." you reply, your voice equally tender.

//

"Look at that crowd." Yoongi breathes out, his voice laced with disbelief as he glances at the swarm of people buzzing near the barricades outside the wedding venue.

The car moves slowly past the chaos, the low hum of the engine almost drowned out by the excited murmur of the spectators and the clicking of cameras.

Jungkook's gaze is fixed ahead, his jaw tightening as he takes in the scene of paparazzi standing in clusters around the grand entrance and outside the huge gates. His stomach churns with unease, but he keeps his expression neutral, masking the nerves bubbling beneath the surface.

"Holy fuck, isn’t that Gong Yoo?" Yoongi exclaims as he continues to drive, his head turning to follow the tall, impeccably dressed actor moving through the crowd. "No way he’s here too."

Jungkook barely registers Yoongi’s excitement, his focus locked on the entrance and the daunting spectacle awaiting him. The weight of the moment presses down heavily on his chest, but a mantra loops in his mind. Don’t swerve. Don’t swerve.

Once Yoongi enters through the gates, the car slows as he pulls up right in front of the hall's huge entrance. He cuts the engine and turns to Jungkook, his expression softening as he sees the tension etched across his friend’s face. "You got this, man." he says, tapping Jungkook’s thigh in a gesture of encouragement.

Jungkook swallows hard, forcing a tight-lipped smile as he nods. His hand hovers over the door handle, hesitating for a brief moment before gripping it firmly. "Thanks a lot, Yoongi." he murmurs, voice steady despite the flutter of anxiety in his chest.

As soon as he steps out, the world explodes into noise and light. The crowd erupts in cheers, and the paparazzi go into a frenzy, their voices overlapping as they call out for his attention. Jungkook takes a deep breath, standing straighter as he adjusts the lapels of his Gucci blazer.

The suit Yoongi helped him pick is immaculate... a sleek, tailored masterpiece in dark green with subtle gold accents along the cuffs and collar. It fits him like a glove, exuding quiet luxury without screaming for attention.

Jungkook’s feet carry him onto the red carpet that stretches like a lifeline towards the grand entrance. A cameraman calls out for him to pause, and he obliges, though his movements are awkward and unsure. He shifts his weight, not quite knowing what to do with his hands or where to direct his gaze.

He’s used to being behind the camera, crafting moments rather than being the subject of them. But somehow, he manages a polite smile, inclining his head slightly as the flashes intensify. After a few long seconds, he mutters a soft "thank you" to the photographers and begins walking again.

The crowd’s noise fades slightly as he nears the entrance, and that’s when he spots a familiar figure, Wooyoung. The man is posing confidently in front of another camera, basking in the attention like it’s his natural habitat.

Jungkook feels his jaw tighten as he watches Wooyoung smirk and adjust his designer tie, clearly reveling in the moment.

As Jungkook strides closer, Wooyoung’s sharp eyes catch his approach. His smirk widens, and he tilts his head, feigning surprise. "Oh..." Wooyoung drawls, his voice dripping with mockery. "Well, well, didn’t expect to see you here."

Jungkook halts just short of the man, his expression unreadable as he regards him coolly. His voice is low and flat when he speaks. "Wooyoung." He inclines his head slightly, his tone devoid of warmth. "You’re in my way."

Wooyoung’s grin falters for a split second but Jungkook doesn’t spare him another glance, his shoulder brushing deliberately against Wooyoung’s as he passes. The last thing Jungkook wants to do is give a man like Wooyoung, his attention.

As Jungkook steps into the grand hall, he’s momentarily taken aback. The venue is nothing short of spectacular, with cascading floral arrangements, chandeliers that glitter like constellations, and a soft golden glow that bathes everything in an ethereal light.

The decorations are opulent yet tasteful, exuding a sense of timeless elegance that leaves him in awe. His gaze sweeps across the hall, taking in the clusters of impeccably dressed guests mingling and chatting. He notes a few familiar faces but doesn’t linger on any of them, his attention is drawn elsewhere.

It’s then that he spots her.

By the far end of the room, near the ornately decorated stage, stands your mother. She’s a vision of poise in her traditional hanbok, the delicate embroidery catching the warm light. Her elegant appearance is nearly overshadowed by the sharpness of her gaze, which is locked squarely on him.

Jungkook feels his breath hitch. The look she’s giving him is unmistakable, icy and unwavering, a silent declaration of her disapproval. Despite the distance, her piercing eyes cut through the space between them, and for a moment, he falters.

Clenching his jaw, Jungkook forces himself to stand tall. He refuses to let her intimidation get the better of him, he refuses to swerve even if his heart races in his chest. He looks away intentionally, seeking a lifeline, and thankfully, he finds one.

Seated a few rows ahead, Seokjin is scrolling through his phone, completely oblivious to Jungkook’s inner turmoil. As Jungkook approaches, Seokjin looks up, and his face breaks into a wide grin.

"Hey, man !!" Seokjin calls out, standing to greet him. Jungkook smiles, grateful for the reprieve, as Seokjin pulls him into a quick hug. "Damn, dude, this suit looks so good on you !!" Seokjin exclaims, giving him an approving pat on the back.

Jungkook chuckles, his tension easing slightly. "Thanks, hyung." he says as they both take their seats. Jungkook exhales, feeling a bit more at ease. This is good. This is manageable. All he needs to do is stick close to the people he knows, at least until you’re done with your bridesmaid duties.

He glances around the room again, this time with a bit more confidence. This is going to be fine, he tells himself. Repeating it like a mantra, he resolves to get through the evening, one moment at a time.

Time seems to stretch and blur as anticipation builds in the room. Soon, the quiet hum of conversations fades as the guests begin taking their seats.

A soft, ethereal melody starts to play, floating gently through the air as the lights dim. The atmosphere transforms into something almost magical, the golden glow of the chandeliers now subdued, casting a romantic haze over the venue.

Jungkook’s eyes drift towards the stage, where Taehyung stands tall and poised. Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his hair slicked back, he exudes a sense of effortless charm.

Taehyung’s expression is calm but expectant, his gaze fixed on the grand white doors at the far end of the hall. His lips quirk slightly, betraying the sheer joy and anticipation he feels as he waits for the moment his bride walks down the aisle.

Jungkook leans back in his seat, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His heart feels light as he watches the scene unfold. The soft rustling of fabric and the delicate sound of heels clicking against the floor signal the beginning of the bridal procession.

Two little girls, the flower girls, step into view first, each carrying small baskets overflowing with petals. They walk down the aisle with practiced grace, scattering the petals with elegance.

The faint murmurs of admiration ripple through the crowd, and Jungkook can’t help but chuckle softly at the way their serious expressions contrast with their tiny frames.

Following them, two bridesmaids glide down the aisle, their dresses flowing like liquid silk with every step. They move in perfect sync, their presence adding to the dreamy ambiance of the moment.

Jungkook’s attention snaps back to the white doors. His pulse quickens slightly, a subtle thrill running through him because he knows you’ll be stepping through them soon.

And then, as if time itself holds its breath, the white doors slowly swing open, revealing you in all your breathtaking beauty. The melody crescendos, wrapping around the room like a soft embrace, but to Jungkook, all sound fades. It feels as though the world has narrowed down to you alone.

You step forward, a delicate bouquet cradled in your hands, each flower chosen with care, adding to the ethereal glow that seems to radiate from you.

Your dress flows like a whispered dream, each movement making the fabric shimmer under the soft golden light. It hugs you in all the right places, the detailed lace and beadwork glinting like stardust, while the sheer layers of tulle give it an almost otherworldly grace.

Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding as if it’s trying to leap out of his chest. The first sight of you is like a revelation, something so beautiful it feels almost unreal. His eyes soften, the corners of his lips curving into a small, awe-filled smile.

You don’t notice him... your gaze is fixed ahead, your step poised with grace as you make your way down the aisle. Each step you take seems to echo with the beat of his heart, louder and faster with every passing second.

Jungkook leans back slightly, his shoulders relaxing as he allows himself to take you in fully. His gaze follows you, never faltering, as if he’s afraid he might miss even a second of this moment. To him, you look like an angel who has somehow found her way to earth, gracing everyone with her presence.

The soft light dances on your features, highlighting the gentle curve of your smile, the serene confidence in your stride, and the subtle glow that surrounds you. It’s as if the universe itself has conspired to make you shine just for him in this instant.

As you pass him, Jungkook feels his chest tighten, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of his emotions. His hands grip the edges of his seat as he sits there, utterly captivated, his thoughts a chaotic mess of disbelief and gratitude.

How did I get so lucky? he wonders, his heart swelling with pride and adoration. It’s a question he’s asked himself countless times, but today, in this moment, it feels more poignant than ever.

He watches you continue down the aisle, and for a fleeting moment, he’s certain that nothing in the world could ever compare to this... to you.

Once you finally reach the side of the stage, you turn to face the audience. Your smile remains unwavering, glowing with the joy of the moment, but deep down, your heart flutters with a singular hope... to find one pair of eyes in the sea of faces.

Your gaze sweeps across the crowd, scanning row after row until, finally, you find him. Jungkook is seated just a few rows from the stage, and as if he’s been waiting for this very moment, his eyes are already locked onto you.

There’s a dreamy softness in his gaze, a look you know all too well. It’s the look that has always made your heart race, the one that speaks of quiet adoration and unspoken promises.

The corners of your lips curve higher, your smile widening instinctively as your eyes meet his. And just like that, the world seems to melt away.

Jungkook smiles back at you, his expression filled with fondness, his dimples making an appearance as if to underline the tenderness in his heart. It’s a look that makes your pulse quicken, your heart tumbling over itself in response.

The music swells, becoming more vibrant, more ethereal, and your attention is drawn to the white doors as they open once again. This time, it’s Miyeon, radiant and breathtaking, walking arm-in-arm with her father.

Her gown flows like a cascade of clouds, each step more graceful than the last. A collective gasp ripples through the audience, followed by murmurs of admiration as they take in her surreal beauty.

The setting feels magical... soft lights casting a warm glow, petals scattered across the aisle, and the faint scent of flowers lingering in the air. There’s something about the intimacy of the ceremony, the heartfelt authenticity of the moment, that makes it all feel like a scene from a storybook.

Yet, while everyone else marvels at Miyeon, Jungkook’s gaze remains steadfast on you. He watches the subtle shift in your expression as you look at Miyeon... the way your eyes soften, glistening with affection and pride as your best friend walks closer and closer to the stage.

As Miyeon finally reaches Taehyung, the priest begins the ceremony with a solemn yet tender tone. Words of love and unity fill the air, binding everyone in the room to the sacredness of the moment.

When Taehyung gently pulls Miyeon closer and kisses her, the crowd erupts into applause. The music swells again, a harmonious blend of joy and celebration.

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, overwhelmed by the beauty of it all. This is love, you think, pure and true, and as you instinctively turn to find Jungkook in the audience, your heart skips a beat.

He’s already looking at you, his expression soft, his eyes reflecting every ounce of emotion you feel. You smile at him, unable to hold back the rush of affection that floods your chest. It feels surreal, like a dream you never want to wake up from.

“I love you.” you mouth, hoping he can see it, that he can feel it. Jungkook’s response is almost immediate. His lips move silently, forming the words with absolute clarity. “I love you.”

The after-party of the wedding is nothing short of a blast. The dance floor is alive with energy, guests lost in the rhythm as the music pulses through the venue.

Taehyung and Miyeon are the stars of the night, twirling at the center, their chemistry undeniable as they share an intimate, joyful dance.

Amidst the excitement, you roam around the crowd, trying to find Jungkook but before you can spot him, he spots you. Without a word, he steps towards you, his arms slipping around your waist from behind as he gently pulls you into him.

You gasp at the sudden contact but instantly melt into the warmth of his embrace, feeling the soft press of his lips on your shoulder. “You look spectacular tonight.” he murmurs into your ear, his voice low and warm.

You giggle, turning around to face him, your palms resting on the soft fabric of his blazer. His presence, the way he carries himself with confidence and charm, makes your heart flutter. “You’re the one talking...” you reply, your smile playful.

“I must say…” You trail off, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Yoongi’s pretty good at this.” you add, arching an eyebrow, referring to the “free fashion advice” Jungkook had mentioned earlier.

Jungkook chuckles, his hand resting on your waist as he leans in closer, his lips curling into a grin. “Oh, he’s got his ways.” he admits, shrugging lightly. “But I think I’ve got a little bit of style myself, don’t you think?”

You laugh softly, running your fingers over the fine details of his suit, admiring the way it fits him perfectly. “You definitely do.” you tease, pulling him just a bit closer as the music continues to swirl around you both.

The night proceeds and soon, the music shifts, the soft, romantic melody filling the space, and for a moment, it feels like it's just the two of you. Jungkook holds you close, his arms securely wrapped around you, swaying gently with the rhythm as the both of you slow dance together.

The warmth of his chest is soothing against your cheek as you rest your head there, your body moving in sync with his. The moment feels like it’s suspended in time, as if the world around you fades into the background.

His lips press a tender kiss on the crown of your head, and a soft sigh escapes your lips. Everything about this... this closeness, this peace, this love, is perfect. You wish it could last forever.

But just as you're lost in the serenity of the dance, the moment is shattered by the soft call of an unfamiliar voice. "Miss Kim." the voice says, calm yet insistent.

You reluctantly pull away from Jungkook, your gaze shifting towards the source of the interruption. A maid, standing nearby, looks at you with polite composure. "Your grandmother and your mother would like to meet you and Mr. Jeon." she announces, her tone professional.

Jungkook glances down at you, his brows knitting together in silent confusion. He doesn't say a word, but the unspoken question in his eyes is clear. You exhale softly, a wave of uncertainty tightening in your chest as you try to steady yourself. What could this possibly be about? Why now, of all times?

The timing feels so random, so abrupt, and the questions swirling in your mind only add to your unease. After a few moments of quiet speculation, you glance up at him briefly before turning to the maid. With a small, composed nod, you signal your agreement to meet them.

As Jungkook walks hand in hand with you, following the maid, the lively rhythm of the party fades into the background with each step away from the dance floor. An uneasy tension settles in his chest, and he can’t help but feel a growing sense of anxiety.

Why had your mom and especially your grandmother asked to see the two of you so randomly? The journey to the secluded room at the end of the hall feels strangely heavier, the air thick with tension.

When you reach the door, you spot your grandmother, seated on a grand, velvet sofa. She looks regal, as always, but her expression is unreadable, her eyes sharp.

Standing beside her is your mother, holding a sheet of paper, her face a mask of seriousness. There’s something unsettling about her demeanor, the way her eyes narrow at the sight of you.

"Mama? Grammy?" you call out, your voice laced with confusion as you approach them, Jungkook quietly following behind. You try to maintain composure, but the unease in your chest only grows stronger.

"What’s this all about?" you ask, standing directly in front of them, your gaze flicking between your mother’s serious expression and your grandmother’s unreadable one.

"Jungkook." your grandmother suddenly calls out, her voice sharp. Jungkook stiffens beside you, his shoulders straightening as his name falls from her lips. He bows slightly, his respect unwavering despite the unease creeping up his spine.

"I've only known you for a short time, but it's clear you're a smart man." She pauses, her sharp eyes fixed on Jungkook. He hesitates, unsure whether to take it as a compliment and offer a polite smile, or brace himself for what might follow. Instead, he chooses to remain silent, waiting for her to continue.

"But I will not permit you to ruin my granddaughter and our family's reputation." she states. Jungkook’s jaw tightens, but he remains silent. You, however, feel your heart lurch in your chest. "Grammy, what... what are you saying?" you ask, your voice cracking slightly.

"I'm sorry to tell you, Y/n... but Jungkook here has been hiding a lot about his family... or should I say... his mother." your mother interjects, her voice slicing through the room like a blade. Her gaze shifts to Jungkook, and there’s a cruel sharpness in her eyes.

Jungkook's lips part, struggling to grasp the weight of the accusation. "What are you..." he begins, shaking his head as his throat tightens, words catching in his chest. "What are you talking ab—?"

But before he can finish, your mother cuts him off, her sharp voice already filling the room again. "I hired a private investigator to look into his past—" "Mama, you didn’t !!" you snap, stepping forward, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and disbelief.

Your mother barely spares you a glance, her focus unwavering as she continues speaking. "Your mother... was working for one of our smaller corporate branches in Busan. She wasn’t just an employee... she was involved in an affair with her manager. That alone is disgraceful, but it doesn’t stop there."

Jungkook’s eyes widen, the accusation hitting him like a physical blow. He looks like he’s about to speak, but your mother barrels on. "She became a whistleblower." your mother states, her voice venomous.

"She leaked confidential company information, information that implicated our company in a scandal. She betrayed the very people who gave her a livelihood. And when the consequences started closing in, she fled to New York—with you."

Jungkook flinches at her words, his face paling. His lips part, but no sound comes out. You see the torment in his eyes, the way he’s struggling to process the weight of the accusations against his mother... against himself.

Your chest tightens as you turn to him, your hand instinctively reaching for his. "Jungkook..." you whisper, but he doesn’t meet your gaze. His head is lowered, his jaw clenched so tightly you can see the muscle ticking in his cheek.

"It’s all in here." your mother says, extending the paper in her hands towards you. "Every detail. Every reason why this boy and his family are a liability to ours."

You snatch the paper from her hand, the anger in your veins nearly boiling over. Without even looking at the contents, you crumple it, the paper crinkling loudly in your fist. "You had no right, Mama !!" you say, your voice trembling with rage.

"We had every right." your mother counters, her voice icy. "Do you have any idea what kind of damage this could bring to our family, Y/n? To our reputation? To allow someone like him into our lives—"

"Someone like him?" you cut her off, your voice rising. "You don’t even know him! You don’t know what kind of person he is!"

"Y/n." your grandmother says, her voice calm but firm. "This isn’t about who Jungkook is as a person. This is about what he represents. A future filled with uncertainty. Scandal. You have responsibilities, my dear, and they don’t include risking everything for..." She pauses, her gaze falling on Jungkook, her disdain evident. "For someone whose past is built on deceit."

Jungkook finally speaks, his voice quiet but heavy with emotion. "I didn’t know..." he says, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I didn’t know about any of this."

Your mother lets out a mirthless laugh. "Of course you didn’t. And yet, here you are, dragging my daughter into your mess." she says. "Stop it!" you yell, stepping forward as tears blur your vision. "This isn’t his fault! None of this is his fault!"

"Y/n..." your mother says, her voice softening slightly, as if trying to reason with you. "We cannot be linked to this sort of family."

Jungkook’s head snaps up at this, his eyes locking onto your mother’s with a fiery intensity that burns through the tension in the room.

For a brief moment, silence stretches thin, heavy with unspoken words. Then his voice cuts through, low and steady.

"I don’t want any part of your family."

<-part 5 // part 7 ->

series masterlist

taglist: @mirinaeii @taetaecatboy @tsukiesimp @lovingkoalaface @taekrve @jaytheatiny @loverofannabeth @jaerisdiction @whoa-jo @parkinglot-nights @reneeblack6230 @rrosiitas @shellyyy177 @majesticjung-97

[daisymbin]

wrong direction? - jeon wonwoo

warnings: none

pairings: jeon wonwoo x reader

genre: friends to ???

wc: 1.2k

check out my masterlist! // wonwoo's m.list

wonwoo's fingers gripped the steering wheel as he watched you slide into the passenger seat, the weight of exhaustion clear on your face.

“worst date of my life,” you huffed, buckling your seatbelt. “i’m never going on another date. that guy was such a prick.”

wonwoo's eyes shifted to you, searching for any sign of humor, but there was none. “what happened?” he asked, voice low but laced with concern.

“where do i even start?” you sighed, leaning your head back against the headrest. “he talked about himself the entire time, barely let me speak, and when i finally did, he interrupted me to say how he ‘didn’t see me as smart as i looked.’ who even says that?”

wonwoo's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. “he really said that?”

you nodded, eyes narrowing as the memory replayed. “and to top it all off, he didn’t even bother to walk me out or make sure i got home safe. he just said, ‘better luck next time’ and left.”

a tense silence settled in the car. you glanced over, noticing the way wonwoo's gaze had darkened, the muscles in his jaw working like he was trying to hold back words.

“why are you so quiet?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

his eyes met yours, a softness replacing the tension. “i just can’t believe anyone would say or do that to you,” he said, each word deliberate. “i would never do that to you.”

your heart stuttered at the quiet intensity in his voice, leaving you momentarily speechless. the way he said it; so genuine, so unyielding, sending a shiver down your spine.

“you wouldn’t?” you asked, a small, hesitant smile forming, half-joking to break the sudden tension.

“of course not.” his eyes flicked back to the road, but you caught the hint of pink dusting his cheeks. “you deserve better than some guy who makes you feel small.”

the car fell into silence again, but this time it was warmer, almost comforting. you stared out the window at the passing streetlights, their glow blurring into a soft, continuous line. it was always like this with wonwoo: quiet moments that spoke volumes.

“i guess i just always think it’s going to be different, you know?” you murmured, eyes unfocused. “like, maybe this time, i’ll find someone who actually listens, who makes me feel seen. or just someone who understands, really.”

“and you didn’t feel that tonight,” he stated, more than asked.

“not even close.” the bitterness in your laugh stung, and you felt the weight of disappointment press down on your chest.

wonwoo’s hands tightened on the steering wheel again, knuckles turning pale. “it’s not fair.”

“what isn’t?”

“you putting your hopes in people who don’t deserve them.” he pulled up to a red light, taking the opportunity to turn and face you. the streetlight cast shadows across his sharp features, highlighting the worry etched in his expression. “they don’t see you the way they should.”

you swallowed, throat tight. “and how should they see me?”

wonwoo hesitated, eyes searching yours, as if measuring the risk of his next words. “like someone worth more than half-assed dates and careless words. like someone whose smile is worth protecting.” he let out a breath, a self-conscious smile flickering at his lips. “like i do.”

the green light washed over the car, urging him to start driving again, but neither of you moved.

“wonwoo…” you finally whispered, your voice barely audible.

he looked down, fingers flexing on the steering wheel as if to ground himself. “sorry. that was… a lot.”

“no, its-,” you said quickly, feeling a surge of courage rush through you. “i needed that.”

his eyes met yours again, hope softening their usual intensity. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you said, a smile breaking free as the tension dissolved into something sweeter, something hopeful. “maybe the problem isn’t dating itself. maybe it’s just who i’ve been dating.”

a soft laugh escaped him, the sound easing the last of your doubts. “maybe,” he agreed, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “or maybe you were just looking in the wrong direction.”

the hum of the engine filled the silence as you sat there, words caught in your throat. the night outside was quiet, the city lights casting shifting patterns on the windshield. wonwoo’s gaze drifted to you again, his expression unreadable but open, waiting.

“i guess i never realized you thought that,” you said, voice small. “about me being worth…more.”

he let out a soft, humorless laugh. “i’ve thought it for years. it’s not exactly something i could just say out of the blue, though.”

“why not?” you asked, curiosity replacing some of the earlier nerves. “we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“yeah, we are,” he admitted, a shadow crossing his features. “but sometimes, when you care about someone that much, being just friends starts to feel like a lie.”

your breath caught in your chest, the words hanging between you like a delicate thread, ready to snap or strengthen?

“a lie?” you repeated, the weight of it sinking in slowly.

he glanced at his hands, fingers tightening briefly before he forced them to relax. “yeah. like i’m pretending that seeing you smile after a terrible day doesn’t make everything feel a little better. or that it doesn’t mess me up to watch you walk into places hoping to find someone who sees you the way i do.”

his confession hit you like a wave, warm and overwhelming, washing away the disappointment of the evening and leaving something new in its place. you hadn’t expected tonight to end with anything other than frustration, but here he was, peeling back layers of himself you hadn’t even known were there.

“wonwoo…” you trailed off, eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation. there was none, just an unwavering sincerity that made your heart ache in the best way.

“im sorry,” he added, a nervous chuckle breaking the silence. “i just couldn’t keep quiet when i see you hurt like this. you deserve to know you’re worth more than one bad date or any guy who makes you feel less.”

the smile that broke over your face was small but real, a spark of hope igniting in your chest. “thank you,” you whispered, the words carrying more weight than they ever had before.

he nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as relief washed over him. “anytime.”

you sat in silence, the warmth of his words settling around you like a comforting blanket. after a moment, you turned to him, a question hanging unspoken between you.

“so, what now?” you finally asked, your voice barely louder than a breath.

wonwoo’s eyes softened, a mixture of relief and vulnerability passing through them. “now, we go home,” he said, his smile gentle but certain. “and maybe… we stop pretending that we don’t know what’s been right in front of us.”

your chest tightened at the honesty in his tone. a smile tugged at your lips, small but hopeful. “i think i’d like that.”

he chuckled softly, the tension easing out of his shoulders. “yeah,” he said, looking at you with an expression that promised more than just friendship. “me too.”