#okay now that's out of the way: onto the REAL tags

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED DOING THE PARENT AU BUT THEIR KID COMING OUT AS TRANSGENDER🏳️‍⚧️???LOVE UR FICS BTW THEYRE SO GOOD🫶🫶

(ABSOLUTELY ALSO THANK YOUUU SO MUCH

Honestly before reading my fics—i know there are transphobic jerks. And I definitely know that coming out as trans to literally anyone its not always going to be met with understanding and care (which fucking sucks!) because Honestly trans people in general should have someone who understands and cares. I know there are going to be people who don't agree with how I write the boys in this specific scenario but to me specifically I believe these dorks wouldnt really be bothered over trans people i mean they are literally in new York (pretty sure they've seen shit) with all that said enjoy!

Epilogue Bill Dickey – When his kid comes out as transgender

When your kid first tells Bill?

It’s not a scene. There’s no big argument. He’s in the middle of a rant about “how Hollywood's killing the genre with A24-core trauma-bait garbage,” when your kid says it—quiet, maybe nervous, maybe not. Just a plain sentence:

> “Dad… I’m not your daughter. I’m your son.”

Bill blinks. Squints. Sets down his paper plate of pizza.

> “...Okay.”

That’s it.

No fireworks. No tantrum. No “you’re confused” lecture. Just “okay,” and a scratch of his scruffy beard.

> “You still do the dishes? Then I don’t give a shit. Just don’t change your name to ‘Anakin’ or some dumb crap.”

That’s his way of trying. And for a while, it feels like enough. He messes up pronouns sometimes. He forgets. But there’s no hate in it. He buys his son a thrift-store Spider-Man hoodie without a word. Doesn’t bat an eye when you cut his hair. Even argues with the school over the bathroom thing—clumsily, loudly, but with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer:

> “If my kid can recite Klingon, he can pee wherever he wants, okay? You wanna fight about it, Principal Palpatine?”

But then—

One day, he comes home. Blood on his lip. Scrape on his cheek. Shoulders hunched. Won’t meet your eyes.

Bill sees red.

> “What happened.”

Your son tries to brush it off. “It’s nothing. Just some guys at lunch. They said I wasn’t—real.”

That’s when Bill goes quiet. Like truly quiet.

Not in defeat. In rage.

> “What’d you say?”

Your son repeats it. Voice cracking this time.

> “They said I’m just pretending. That I’m still—still a girl.”

Bill stands up, slow and dangerous.

> “Gimme names.”

> “Dad—”

> “Names. First and last. If they have a Facebook I’m gonna flame ‘these fuckin jerk offs”

You put a hand on his arm. “Bill, stop.”

But he’s shaking. Not because he’s mad someone touched his kid—but because for once, he doesn’t know what to say. This isn’t a forum flame war. This isn’t a fandom grudge match. This is real, and his kid’s standing there, bleeding, trying not to cry, and Bill realizes:

He wasn’t doing enough.

Not really.

So he takes a breath. Sits down. Doesn’t lecture. Doesn’t yell.

He just slowly opens his arms.

Your son hesitates—then folds into them, and Bill holds on like he’s gripping onto the last save file in a corrupted game.

> “Listen to me,” he says, rough. “You’re my kid. You’re a pain in my ass. And you’re real. Anyone says otherwise? They answer to me. Got it?”

Your son nods into his shoulder.

> “Good. Now c’mon. Let’s go buy you a new hoodie. One that doesn’t smell like Doritos and trauma. And after that, I’m teaching you how to throw a punch.”

> “You said I couldn’t hit people.”

> “Yeah, well. I also said Firefly was overrated. People change.”

‐--

Epilogue Pete DiNunzio – When Anthony comes out as a trans girl

Pete’s halfway through folding laundry—badly—grumbling about how socks keep disappearing and why the hell does one hoodie have three sleeves? You and him had just had a brief spat about his refusal to read the laundry tags ("I know how cotton works, babe!") and now he's cooling off with busy hands and loud music.

That’s when Anthony—quiet, nervous, wearing a hoodie two sizes too big—walks in and just… stands there.

Pete glances over.

> “Hey. You need somethin’?”

Anthony fidgets. Eyes on the floor.

> “Can we talk?”

The laundry gets dropped instantly. Pete’s always on full-alert when it comes to his kid.

> “Yeah. Yeah, c’mere. What’s goin’ on?”

Anthony hesitates. Then:

> “I’m… I’m not a boy, Dad.”

Pete just blinks.

> “Okay. So what are you then?”

> “I’m a girl. My name is Lily.”

It’s so quiet for a beat, you could hear a sock fall.

Pete looks at her—really looks. At the way her hands tremble. The way she won't meet his eyes. Like she’s expecting him to yell. Like she’s braced for disappointment.

And all that attitude Pete wears like armor? It just drops.

He walks over slowly, lowering his voice in that way he only does when something matters.

> “Lily, huh?”

She nods.

> “You scared I wasn’t gonna be okay with it?”

Another nod.

Pete doesn’t ask why. He just pulls her into the biggest, firmest hug.

> “Well that’s stupid. Because I love you, no matter what. You hear me? You could come in here and tell me you’re actually a werewolf and I’d still be your Dad. I'd just buy you more meat.”

Lily laughs. It cracks mid-sob.

Pete holds her tighter.

> “Hey, you know what else? Lily’s a beautiful name. Suits you.”

He ruffles her hair gently.

> “You’re brave, y’know that? Takes guts. And you don’t ever gotta be scared to tell me stuff like this. You’re my kid. My girl. Nothin’ changes that.”

Then, after a pause, trying real hard to keep it casual:

> “You wanna go out and get donuts later? We can get your favorite and, uh… maybe hit the thrift store? If you wanna look at different clothes or whateva. No pressure.”

Lily lights up a little. You can tell she wasn’t expecting this.

> “You’d really do that?”

Pete gives her a look like she just asked if the sky’s blue.

> “Are you kiddin’? I’d wear a tutu in Times Square if it made you smile.”

> “…Can I paint your nails?”

Pete groans with mock offense.

Lily grins through her tears. Pete wraps an arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of her head, gruff but full of warmth.

> “Love you, principessa.”

And he means it—with every ounce of that stubborn, foul-mouthed, fiercely loyal heart.

And one night, while Lily's asleep on the couch, Pete gently folds up that old blue baby blanket she used to wear as a cape—and tucks it away in a box. Doesn’t throw it out.

He just saves it.

Not because he misses who Lily used to be.

But because every version of his kid is worth loving.

---

Josh levy – When his daughter comes out as a trans man

Josh is pacing in the kitchen, ranting about the latest ridiculous plot hole in a sci-fi show nobody asked him to watch again. You’re doing dishes, half-listening, until your kid—quiet, tired-eyed, hoodie swallowed around his frame—stands in the doorway and clears his throat.

Josh freezes mid-rant.

> “You okay, peanut?”

(He still calls him that, even though he’s fourteen and taller than Josh now.)

Your son takes a shaky breath.

> “Dad, I need to tell you something. And I don’t want you to yell.”

Josh's spine straightens, face suddenly serious.

> “I’m not gonna yell. I swear.”

Another breath.

> “I’m not a girl. I’m a boy. My name’s Eli.”

Josh doesn’t answer right away.

He just… stares. Processing. His brow twitches the way it does when his brain short-circuits from too many emotions at once. Confusion. Shock. Guilt. And then—pain. Because why the hell was his kid scared to tell him?

> “Wait—wait. So... you’re a boy? You’re my son?”

Eli nods, looking at the floor, bracing for something ugly.

Josh swears under his breath. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands and paces.

> “Jesus. I didn’t see it. I didn’t see it. How long have you felt like this?”

> “Forever. I just… didn’t know how to say it. I was scared you’d get mad. Or say I was making it up.”

Josh turns to him, eyes glassy, voice cracking with rawness he doesn’t show often.

> “Mad? Mad?! Eli—Eli, I’m not mad. I’m pissed at myself. You think I care if my kid’s a boy, a girl, or a freakin’ alien hybrid with a lightsaber?! You could tell me you wanna live on Mars and I’d be there with a damn helmet on.”

> “But you always talk about, like… genetics. And how people ruin the science in everything—”

> “Yeah, in fiction! You think I care about chromosomes more than I care about you?”

Josh runs a hand through his hair. He’s rambling now.

> “You’re my kid. You’re Eli. You’re my son. And I swear on every signed Boba Fett figure in my room—I will figure this out. I will screw up. I’ll say the wrong thing. But I’ll learn, okay? Because nothing matters more than you. You’re not a phase. You’re you. And I love you.”

Eli wipes his eyes, sniffling.

> “Even if I don’t look like what you expected?”

Josh snorts.

> “Kid, I didn’t expect anything. I thought you’d end up a hacker who lives off SpaghettiOs. But this? This I can handle.”

A beat.

> “…Can I call you 'kiddo' still, or is that lame?”

Eli laughs—a real one this time.

> “Kiddo’s fine.”

Josh pulls him into a fierce hug, whispering into his hair.

> “I got you, kiddo. Always.”

Then, with a sniff and a sudden shift to humor to keep from crying again:

> “Now if anyone at school gives you crap, I will show up in full Federation uniform and quote Spock until their souls leave their bodies.”

Eli chuckles. Josh kisses the top of his head.

> “Welcome home, son.”

---

Jerry – When his child comes out as a trans man

It’s a quiet, golden afternoon. The sun’s pouring in through the windows, making everything feel peaceful. Jerry’s at the kitchen table, humming softly to himself as he mixes up something strange—probably some kind of potion for the garden or one of his magical projects. You can tell he’s in his element, lost in a world of fantasy, but when his daughter walks in, her eyes soft and a little unsure, the mood shifts.

She hesitates in the doorway, looking like she's carrying the weight of a thousand secrets.

Jerry looks up, his smile never wavering.

> “Ah, my brave adventurer! What brings you to my kingdom this fine afternoon?”

She blinks, a little taken aback by the whimsical tone, but it’s a relief. Jerry’s never made things feel heavy, always keeping them light. Her nervousness melts just a little.

> “Dad, can we talk?”

Jerry stands up, immediately sensing something deeper in his voice. He walks over and gives her a gentle touch on the shoulder.

> “Of course, my child. Always. What’s troubling you?”

Nathan takes a deep breath.

> “I’m not a girl, Dad. I’m a boy. My name’s Nathan.”

Jerry’s hands freeze for a second, his eyes widening just slightly. But then, he exhales, calm and thoughtful, as though he’s been expecting this, like it was always a part of the magic that makes Nathan…Nathan

> “Nathan, huh?”

Nathan looks down at the floor, bracing himself for Jerry’s reaction. Jerry places his hands on his son’s shoulders, guiding him gently to sit at the kitchen table. He sits across from him, their eyes meeting. A soft smile tugs at Jerry’s lips.

> “That’s a beautiful name. I knew there was something extraordinary about you. Like a hidden spell that’s been waiting to be cast.”

Nathan’s brow furrows.

> “But… what about all the other stuff? Will you still love me?”

Jerry smiles wider, his eyes soft and warm. His voice drops to a gentle whisper, almost as if he’s sharing a secret.

> “Oh, my brave son… my heart is a house full of love, and it has always had a room just for you. No magic, no potion, no curse could ever change that.”

He takes Nathan’s hand in his own, holding it with tenderness.

> “You are exactly who you are supposed to be. And you will always be enough. In fact, I think you’re even more magical now. More real. Like you’ve shed an old skin and are ready to be something... new.”

Nathan's eyes are welling up now, and Jerry doesn’t shy away from it. He just leans in, wrapping his arms around his son in a soft, almost ethereal embrace.

> “I’m so proud of you, Nathan. I know this can be hard, but I promise you, together, we’ll make this journey. And I will make sure you feel safe in my kingdom, always.”

Nathan sniffles, feeling a weight he didn’t realize he’d been carrying finally start to lift.

> “You’re not disappointed?”

Jerry chuckles softly, brushing a few stray locks of hair out of Nathan’s face.

> “Mad? No. Disappointed? Never. You’re my son, Nathan. Always have been, always will be. And if you ever feel lost, just remember: there’s a whole world of adventures out there, and you’ve got the heart of a hero.”

Nathan finally cracks a smile, and Jerry beams.

> “Now, do you want to see the garden? I’m working on a little something special. I’ve got a potion brewing that might just turn the garden into a fairy wonderland.”

Nathan nods, wiping his eyes.

> “That sounds amazing.”

> “Of course it does,” Jerry says with a wink, “It’s my magic, after all.”

---

[dontbelasagnax]

in the quiet moments

[prints available!]

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

tragedy: when you look back at the crack ships you latched onto in niche media as a kid and go 'hold on, little me was cooking like a champ,' but it was before you reached the age where it clicked that WAIT YOU CAN SHIP GAY STUFF TOO? so you know you missed out on the kind of gay food that only a small autistic child replaying the same game a dozen times can make

[dulceamore]

under your mercy

pairings oldman!joel miller x reader

summary joel finds himself rubbing his face againsts your boobs for comfort before falling asleep after a long day of jackson work.

tags sunshine x grumpy, soft joel sleepy reader. cuteness overload once more. established relationship, jackson era, joel hating on tommy for making him work so much. unspecified agegap.

masterlist

joel trudged through the front door, exhaustion clinging to him. patrol had been long enough, but the real kicker had been the errands tommy roped him into afterward. the sun had long since dipped below the mountains by the time he finally made his way home.

he shed his jacket, draping it over the chair and kicked off his boots with a grunt, rubbing a hand down his face as he took in the peaceful stillness of the house. upstairs. that’s where you’d be. as tired as he was, the thought of crawling into bed beside you was the only thing keeping him upright.

dragging himself up the stairs, his joints protesting with each step, he finally reached the bedroom. joel paused, taking a moment just to look at you. the beauty of you.

the steady rise and fall of your breath soothing something deep inside him. he’d never get over how lucky he was. how after everything, he ended up here.

carefully, he eased onto the mattress, the bed dipping under his weight. instinctively, you stirred, murmuring his name in a sleepy whisper.

“mm. s’just me,” he murmured, his arm already curling around you.

you hummed in response, barely awake, but you still shifted closer. “missed you,” you mumbled, words heavy with sleep.

joel closed his eyes, letting the words soak into him. his grip tightened holding you close. “missed you too, sweetheart.”

“long afternoon?”

“tommy’s a pain in the ass.”

joel groaned, “made me run all over town doin’ shit he coulda done himself. damn fool thinks i got endless energy.”

a sleepy giggle escaped you as you brushed a hand through his hair. “poor old man.”

“watch it.” joel grumbled.

your laughter softened. then, almost hesitant, you whispered, “i’m sorry.”

joel lifted his head slightly, brow furrowing. “what for?”

“for falling asleep without you,” you murmured. “i should’ve waited.”

“sweetheart, i don’t need you to wait up for me. just need you here when i get home.”

you sighed, letting yourself fully relax into him, letting his words settle in your chest. “okay.”

he hummed, brushing a soft kiss against your temple. “love you.”

"i love you too," you smiled, curling against him, finally letting the weight of sleep take you under again.

after a while, you felt sensation in your chest.

“joel—what are you doing?”

when you looked down and saw him. his head resting against your chest, his face pressed into the fabric of your shirt.

shifting his head slightly to the left, then to the right, like he was settling into the perfect spot. the motion was lazy, unhurried, like he was soaking in the comfort of you, like he needed the reassurance of your warmth.

particularly between the presence of your boobs.

joel exhaled slowly, his grip tightening around your waist. “gettin’ comfortable,” he mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion.

“you’re hopeless.”

he grumbled something incoherent, shifting slightly but refusing to lift his head. you felt the way his body melted against yours, like the tension from the long day was finally slipping away.

“you good now?”

joel hummed in response, nuzzling into you once more. “mm. real good.”

you sighed, letting your fingers drift lazily through his hair. “sleep, joel.”

“this is sleep,” he mumbled against your shirt, his voice softer now, quieter. "i love your boobs so much..."

his breath evened out, the warmth of him soaking into you, you knew this is where he felt safest. right here, tangled up in you, resting his weary bones where he belonged.

[mallory524]

going out

bob x reader

pictures from pinterest

summary- You and Bob finally spend some time together one morning, but you find yourself rushing to defend him when he gets overwhelmed and people aren’t kind to him.

word count- 1,691

tags- THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, fluff, pining, just a little language, hand holding, stranger being rude to bob :(

notes- the thunderbolts live in the watchtower (previously the avengers towers) because that’s what the post credit scene made it seem like and if I’m wrong I don’t care because I love the idea of them all being roomies :)

Although things hadn’t gone as expected, they are plenty of perks that come with being the New Avengers. The group hangs out together in the Watchtower all the time, none of you have to hide in the shadows anymore, and all the other accompanying “hero” perks. Helping the city by reversing the Void damage thrust the Thunderbolts into the spotlight, which typically just meant being waved to on the streets, and a lot of being told “your money’s no good here” with a big smile when you go out to eat.

Although the group fights a lot, there’s an unspoken understanding that you’re a real team now. More and more often the bickering is playful rather than actually malicious. At risk of sounding sentimental, real bonds are being made. Of course none of you would ever admit that out loud. Except maybe Alexei.

Bob’s enjoying his new life, too. Probably. You assume. He’s still a quiet guy, and sometimes he opts to stay in and read when you all go out for lunch or something. He’s still working through a lot, but everyone else is too, so you know to give him space. It’s clear to all of you that he’s slowly getting a bit more comfortable here with every passing day.

One cold morning, while everyone is sleeping in, you hear rustling and muttering in the other room. You throw on a robe and silently walk into the other room to investigate. Bob’s on the ground picking a bunch of papers up, and he whips his head around when he hears your footsteps.

“Sorry, I accidentally knocked all of Bucky’s things over. I’ve got it”, he says as you sit down next to him and help anyway. For a split second your fingers brush, but he pulls away, almost instinctively. You’d noticed that physical touch in general didn’t seem to bother him that much, but little soft moments like that make him nervous.

He’s gotten a bit of a handle on accidentally showing people memories they didn’t want to see, but maybe he’s nervous that he’d do it again without meaning to.

“Hey, have you had anything to eat yet?”, you say quietly, trying not to wake anyone else up. He shakes his head.

“Do you want to get something? There’s a coffee place I go to a lot. They have little pastries and stuff, too, if any of that sounds appetizing...”

He thinks about it for a second, and then smiles and nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

Inside the coffee shop, it’s cozy and warm. You take off your large sweater, and your phone falls out of the pocket and onto the floor, and both you and Bob reach down for it at the same time. Your hands brush again and he nervously pulls away again. You lean in a little closer and speak quietly. “Bob if you’re worried about-”

“No no, I’m not- it’s not that. That’s under control. I’m just… it’s nothing”. He’s clearly having trouble expressing himself, and he doesn’t seem to want to, so you shake your head and smile politely.

“Hey man, don’t worry about it.” You get a smile in return, which is always nice to see. Bob has a nice smile. It’s so sweet and warm… you can’t deny it any longer. Bob is really cute.

He felt the same way about you, but he’s way too scared to tell you something like that. He’s already jittery enough every time your hands touch…

He really likes being around you. He’s just too shy to ask you to spend time with him, so he’s thrilled that you asked him.

You start to order your usual drink, and Bob gets in the line next to you. The girl taking your order remembers you from the last time you were there, so you talk to her for a little. She’s really sweet! The guy taking Bob’s order is not.

You go to the station with the straws and napkins, and you quietly watch Bob try to order. You realize you didn’t really ask him if he was ready to order, and now he’s at the front of this line trying to figure out what he wants. Bob’s starting to stammer a little and this barista guy is cutting him no slack.

“I’m sorry I don’t know what I’m going to get, I’m thinking…”

“Sounds like something you should’ve figured out before you got to the front of the line”, he says, scoffing a little.

“Yeah you’re right, it was just really fast and-” Bob looks down and shuffles his feet a bit.

“You know there’s people behind you.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m just… um…” Bob trails off, and you can tell that the idea of holding up the line and making all these people wait for him is only making this worse. He’s nervously laughing to try to keep it light, but you can also see him fiddling with the ends of his sleeves while squinting to read the small writing on the menu. You feel your heart break a little just watching him.

“Dude if you seriously can’t figure it out maybe you could get out of line”

Just as Bob is about to step away, you decide you’re not going to watch this anymore and you step up next to him.

“Hey do you know who the hell you’re talking to?”, you say in a hushed, almost professional tone with your arms crossed. “You’re talking to someone who helped save everyone here like a month ago.”

The guy’s eyes widen with realization. “I am so sorry, I forgot, you’re those guys. I was out of town but I saw you on the news-”

“Yeah that’s us. But that doesn’t even matter, you shouldn’t be treating any of your customers like this. Do you do this to everyone? Does your manager know that? Sorry not everyone can read that crazy small print on your menu-”

You continue for a little while, and Bob takes a tiny step backwards so he can be out of your way. This is a side to you that Bob hadn’t really seen. Sure, you bicker with Walker and Ava all the time, and he’s seen how well you can fight of course, (you even had to briefly fight him that one time), but in your everyday lives, you’re always so kind and patient with him. You’re nice to people who come up to you on the street and ask for a picture, and you’re nice to strangers who are rude to you, and you’re nice to the Thunderbolts most of the time, so it’s weird for Bob to see you actually go off on someone like that… and it’s all to defend him?? Strangely, it’s one of the sweetest things someone’s done for him in a while.

“- and you’re lucky I’m speaking quietly. I could be a whole lot louder and I could make a big scene but for your sake I’ll-” but you stop talking when you hear Bob clear his throat.

“I think I know what I want to order now”

“Go ahead”, you say with a little smile as you step out of the way. Bob tells his order to the terrified young man who keeps looking at you like he’s expecting you to lunge at him.

Another barista, who doesn’t realize what just happened, recognizes the two of you and walks up to let you know that it’s all on the house. It’s hard for you and Bob to keep from giggling just a little bit.

After you get your drinks and the muffin Bob ordered, you step back outside and start walking down the street together, enjoying your food and drinks.

“Thanks. You really didn’t have to do all that. I wasn’t ready, I should’ve been ready before I got up there.”

“No, no don’t worry about that. That’s my fault, I didn’t give you any time to read the menu and figure out what you wanted. Besides, that guy was just rude. That’ll teach him to mess with the New Avengers, am I right?” and Bob chuckles quietly.

“Yeah, I don’t really know if I deserve any credit for helping save everyone when I kinda caused all of that in the first place…”

“Hey, you know that’s not your fault”, you say in a softer tone. “You didn’t do any of that on purpose”

“Yeah I know.”

A car then loudly backfires, startling both of you. Bob stops walking and grabs your hand. When he sees that it’s fine and nothing’s wrong, he’s a little embarrassed.

“Sorry I didn’t…” Bob smiles at you awkwardly and trails off. He’s about to let go when you shake your head and gently squeeze his hand. “I’m always a bit jumpy, too, don’t worry about it.”

The two of you continue walking, and you notice that he’s not letting go of your hand, now that he knows you’re fine with it. Maybe he would’ve done that a while ago if he knew you wouldn’t mind…

You walk in very comfortable silence all the way back to the tower, refusing to let go of one another’s hands. Bob feels like he can’t. Like if he let go it might never happen again. He does decide to break the silence, though.

“Y/n, I had a good time” he says as he takes another big sip of his iced coffee. “Thanks for asking me to go out with you. Well, not like go out with you but you know like, coffee and this walk and stuff”.

“Well thank you for joining me. We should do this more”, you say, smiling warmly at him. Just then, you reach the tower. Walker’s heading out, and Bucky’s right behind him. The two of you immediately let go of each other’s hands, but Walker looks at you both a little funny. “Hey guys…”

“Hey”, you say in unison, acting natural as you walk into the elevator and start to laugh a little once the doors close.

“No Bucky I swear they were holding hands. It was so weird”

“I think you’re seeing things, John”

[inseobts]

could I please request a Luffy x fem Reader where the crew sees a bounty of another pirate and the reader goes on to make comments about how attractive he is which makes Luffy all jealous, thank you!

Jealousy on the Sunny

luffy x fem!reader

words count: 1.7k

tags: fluffy, sfw, humour, jealous luffy

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The Straw Hat crew sits around the dining table on the Sunny, finishing up a meal Sanji prepared. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the deck as the ship sails smoothly across the sea.

Nami, flipping through a stack of fresh bounty posters, suddenly pauses. She raises an eyebrow, then smirks.

“Look at this guy,” she says, sliding a poster to the center of the table “His bounty just shot up to 400 million berries.”

Curious, you lean forward, along with the rest of the crew. The poster features a tall, broad-shouldered man with messy black hair and a sharp jawline. A confident smirk stretches across his face, and there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.

You stop whatever you were doing to look “Damn. He’s kinda hot.”

The room goes silent.

A fork clatters onto a plate. Usopp chokes on his drink. Zoro raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, while Sanji scoffs.

But the real reaction comes from Luffy. Sitting next to you, your captain stops chewing his meat mid-bite. His usual carefree grin fades, replaced by a slight frown. He stares at the poster, then at you.

“You think he’s hot?” Luffy asks, his tone unusually flat.

You shrug, taking another look at the poster “I mean, yeah? Look at that smirk. And those arms—he definitely works out.”

Sanji rolls his eyes “Tch. As if a bounty makes someone attractive.”

“Not the bounty, just—y’know, the whole vibe,” you say, waving your hand “He’s got that mysterious, dangerous look.”

Luffy pouts, still staring at the poster like it personally offended him. He squints at it, then at you “But he’s not even smiling properly” he argues.

You chuckle “Not everyone grins like an excited puppy all the time, Luffy.”

Luffy’s pout deepens “I do not look like a puppy.”

Usopp, watching the scene unfold, snickers “You kinda do, though.”

“Shut up.”

You tilt your head, still looking at the bounty poster “I bet he’s got a cool voice, too. Deep and smooth.”

Luffy abruptly crosses his arms “You don’t even know him.”

“True, but I can imagine.”

Luffy frowns harder. He looks between you and the poster, then suddenly snatches it off the table and crumples it in his hands.

“Oi, what the hell?” Nami scolds.

Luffy grumbles, stuffing the balled-up paper into his pocket “This guy’s stupid. I don’t like him.”

You blink “Luffy, are you… jealous?”

His expression twitches “No.”

Zoro snorts “Yeah, sure.”

Luffy huffs and leans closer to you, nudging his forehead against yours “I’m way cooler than that guy..." he insists.

You bite back a smile “Oh?”

“Yeah! I can stretch, I have a ship, and I’m gonna be King of the Pirates,” he lists proudly, puffing out his chest “That guy probably doesn’t even have meat on his ship.”

Sanji sighs “Luffy, everyone has meat on their ship—”

“Not as much as ours!” Luffy argues, still pressing close to you. His lips form a small pout as he stares at you expectantly, waiting for confirmation.

You can’t help but laugh “Okay, okay. You’re way cooler.”

His face instantly lights up, his signature grin returning “See? I knew it!”

The rest of the crew groans at how easy you went on him, but you don’t care. Luffy tugs you closer, resting his chin on top of your head, still grinning.

“That guy’s dumb. You don’t need to look at other pirates,” he says “You’ve already got me.”

You shake your head fondly “Yeah, yeah. I guess I do.”

Luffy hums happily at your words, wrapping his arms around you in a loose but firm hold. His warmth seeps through your clothes, and the familiar scent of sea salt and adventure clings to him. He’s content now, his jealousy already forgotten.

The rest of the crew, however, is not as quick to move on.

Nami crosses her arms “You’re seriously going to let him win that easily?”

You shrug “What can I say? I like my captain.”

Sanji scoffs, lighting a cigarette “Tch. You have no taste.”

Usopp shakes his head, grinning “Nah, she just knows that if she keeps teasing him, Luffy might actually go pick a fight with that guy.”

Luffy perks up at that “Oh! Should I?”

“No!” everyone shouts in unison.

You chuckle, resting your hand on his chest “Luffy, you can’t just fight someone because I said he looks good.”

“Why not?” Luffy tilts his head “I don’t like it when you say that about other guys.”

You smirk, deciding to tease him just a little more “But what if he is strong?”

Luffy immediately sits up straight, his expression serious “I don’t care. I’d still beat him.”

You laugh, patting his cheek “Relax, Captain. I don’t care about him. You’re the only pirate I’m interested in.”

Luffy beams, pulling you closer again “Good! ‘Cause I already decided—you’re mine.”

Your heart skips a beat at how easily he says it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The crew groans again, muttering about how unfair it is that Luffy gets away with everything. But you?

You just smile and let him hold you, knowing that no other pirate could ever compare.

Luffy is still grinning, completely satisfied with himself, but you’re not done yet. His arms are wrapped tightly around you, his warmth soaking into your skin, and that smug little smile on his face is just too cute.

You tilt your head, looking up at him “So… if I’m yours, what does that make you?”

Luffy blinks “Huh?”

You smirk, fingers tracing lightly over his chest “If I’m yours, then you’re mine too, right?”

His grin falters for a second, a faint dusting of red creeping up his cheeks. He’s never really thought about it like that “Uh… yeah,” he mumbles “I guess so.”

You hum in amusement “Good.” Then, before he can react, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

Luffy freezes. His entire body goes stiff, and for once, he’s completely silent.

The crew erupts.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—did she just—?!” Usopp practically chokes on his own words.

Zoro snickers “Didn’t think I’d ever see Luffy speechless.”

Sanji groans dramatically, gripping his chest “Why must I suffer like this?!”

Meanwhile, Luffy slowly lifts a hand to his cheek, eyes wide. He turns to you, mouth slightly open, like his brain is still catching up to what just happened.

You giggle at his reaction “What? You can call me yours, but I can’t kiss you?”

Luffy’s face breaks into the widest, happiest grin you’ve ever seen “No, no, you can! Do it again!”

You laugh, shaking your head “Maybe later.”

“Aw, c’mon!” He starts leaning closer, obviously wanting another one.

You place a hand on his face, pushing him back slightly “You’re acting like a little kid.”

He pouts “So? You kissed me first.”

“And you got greedy right away” you tease.

Luffy huffs but doesn’t let go of you. Instead, he nuzzles into your neck, still grinning “I like it,” he mumbles “You should do it more.”

Your heart flutters, and you roll your eyes playfully “Maybe if you stop getting jealous over random bounty posters.”

Luffy immediately lifts his head “Okay! I promise! No more getting jealous!”

You raise an eyebrow “That fast?”

“Yep!” He grins “As long as you keep kissing me, I don’t care about anyone else!”

You shake your head, laughing “You’re ridiculous.” But as you look at him, at his bright smile, his happy, expectant expression, you sigh in defeat.

“…Fine.”

You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips this time. It’s soft, warm, and sweet, just like him.

Luffy practically vibrates with excitement “Hehehe.”

The crew groans.

“Great. Now he’s never gonna shut up about this” Zoro mutters.

You just smile, because honestly? You don’t mind at all.

Luffy is still grinning like an idiot, arms wrapped snugly around you, his forehead resting against yours. His excitement is contagious, and you can’t help but smile too.

But then he tilts his head, eyes dropping to your lips.

“Hey,” he says softly “Kiss me again.”

Your heart skips a beat. The way he’s looking at you, curious, eager, completely focused, makes your face heat up.

You roll your eyes, pretending to be unimpressed “You’re so greedy.”

Luffy just grins wider “Yep.”

You hesitate for a second, but honestly, you don’t really want to resist. So, before you can overthink it, you reach up, cupping his face in your hands. His skin is warm under your palms, sun-kissed and slightly rough from all his adventures.

Then, you close the small distance between you, pressing your lips against his.

Luffy goes completely still. For a second, he’s not even breathing. But then, just as you start to pull away, his arms tighten around you, and he kisses you back... messy, unpracticed, but so incredibly Luffy.

His lips are warm, soft, and he leans into you like he never wants to let go. It’s not a deep kiss, not rushed or desperate, just pure and full of excitement.

When you finally break apart, he stares at you, eyes wide and shining.

Then, his entire face lights up.

“WOAH!!” He bounces slightly, still holding onto you “That was awesome! Do it again!”

You laugh breathlessly, shaking your head “Calm down, Captain.”

But Luffy is anything but calm. He turns to the rest of the crew, still grinning like he just found a new adventure.

“Did you guys see that?! She kissed me!! On the lips!!”

The crew collectively groans.

“Yes, Luffy. We saw” Nami says, rubbing her temples.

Zoro smirks “Bet you won’t shut up about it for a week.”

“I won’t!!” Luffy declares proudly, hugging you closer “This is the best day ever!!”

You sigh, laughing as he nuzzles into you “You’re impossible.”

“But you like me anyway” he says smugly.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny it “…Yeah. I do.”

Luffy beams, squeezing you tighter “Good! ‘Cause I really, really like you too!”

You smile, resting your head against his chest. The bounty poster is long forgotten, because really, no one else in the world could ever compare to him.

[lalo0]

INSIDE AESPA EP. 5┃ A little more real

Male reader x Winter Word count: 6.8k Tags: squirting, sensory depravation, temperature play, dirty talk, teasing PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4

Ningning was still curled against me when the light started to change.

Just a thin stripe of gray through the curtains, but enough to make me realize how long we’d been lying there. Her breath had evened out, slower now, but her fingers were still resting over my ribs like she wasn’t ready to let go.

I wasn’t either.

I traced small shapes across her back—half-aware of the soreness in my arm, the ache in my hips, the smell of sweat and skin and sex still clinging to both of us. The sheets were damp. The room was quiet.

And Giselle was gone.

I didn’t hear her leave. But the door was closed.

Ningning shifted against my chest, mumbling something I didn’t catch. I pressed my lips to the crown of her head and whispered, “Go back to sleep.”

She didn’t. Just sighed and let herself go soft again.

It wasn’t awkward. Not yet. But the weight of everything we’d done last night was still hanging in the air. It was... complicated.

I wasn’t sure how long we stayed like that—wrapped up, still tangled in each other—but eventually Ningning stirred and whispered, “You’re warm.”

“You’re clingy.”

She smiled against my collarbone. “Not denying it.”

Her hand drifted down a few inches, fingers teasing along my stomach, and for a second I thought she was going to start something again. But then she stopped, let her hand settle.

"Guess it's morning," she murmured.

“Barely.”

She rolled onto her back, stretched, and winced. “Okay, maybe I overdid it.”

“You? Never.”

She looked at me, eyes still sleepy but sharp. “You should get cleaned up. You look like a crime scene.”

“Thanks.”

She laughed and threw the sheets off herself. Her body was marked in places—faint bruises, scratches, the ghost of red lines where restraints had been. She didn’t cover them. Just moved across the room with the casualness of someone who had nothing to prove.

I stayed in bed, watching her dress. Still naked. Still not sure what today was supposed to be.

When she was halfway through tying her hoodie around her waist, she glanced over her shoulder.

“You staying for breakfast?”

I hesitated. “Is that a thing here?”

“Depends on who’s cooking.”

“And who’s awake.”

She shrugged. “Come find out.”

Then she left.

I lay there for a minute after she left.

The room felt bigger without her in it. Too big. Too quiet. The sheets were still warm where her body had been, but the weight was gone. My body ached in good ways and bad. Muscles worn. Mind fuzzy. My neck still smelled like her perfume, and it hit in a way I wasn’t expecting.

This wasn’t regret.

But it wasn’t simple either.

I sat up, ran a hand through my hair, and took stock. Clothes scattered. Rope on the floor. One of the cuffs still clipped to the bedpost. A pair of panties halfway under the dresser—probably Ningning’s. I didn’t feel the urge to laugh. Just breathed.

It had been a night.

I got up and headed to the bathroom.

The mirror didn’t pull any punches. My hair was wrecked, lips still a little swollen, collarbone scratched. I turned the water on cold and splashed my face. It helped. Not much.

By the time I stepped out again, the house felt different.

Not quieter—just more awake. There was the faint sound of a cabinet shutting. A few distant footsteps. No voices. No music. But someone was up.

I followed the sound toward the kitchen and stopped just outside the doorway.

There she was.

Winter. Standing by the stove, back to me.

Hair tied up in a messy knot, wearing navy sweats and a cropped white hoodie with the sleeves pushed to her elbows. No socks. Just quiet movement, mug in hand, stirring something in a pan like she did it every day.

I blinked. Then I noticed the note on the fridge on the hallway.

“Company meeting. Left early. Winter wanted the place to herself. Don’t bother her. Eat something or I’ll make you.” — Ningning”

There was a little doodle next to the heart. A cat, maybe. Or a strawberry. I couldn’t tell.

I stayed in the hallway a bit longer than I needed to. Just watching. Listening.

Then I stepped inside.

She didn’t turn.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t act surprised that I was there.

I stopped near the doorway.

Winter lifted the pan and scooped scrambled eggs onto a plate like it was any other morning.

Then, without turning:

“Hungry?”

I hesitated. “Yeah. Kind of.”

She nodded once and reached for another plate.

She moved like she was alone.

No tension in her shoulders. No hesitation in her movements. Just a quiet rhythm to everything—lifting plates, sliding toast onto them, pouring coffee. Her hoodie rose a little when she reached for the mugs, revealing a sliver of skin above the waistband of her sweats. She didn’t tug it back down.

I stepped further into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. My body was still catching up to itself. The bruises. The weight of last night. The fact that I was still here.

She finally glanced at me, sliding one of the plates across the counter.

“Eat.”

It wasn’t a request.

“Thanks.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes. Nothing awkward about it. Just... space. She ate slowly, precisely, like every bite was thought out. Like she didn’t waste effort on anything she didn’t need.

“You always cook breakfast?” I asked.

She shrugged. “When I can. Usually it’s just coffee.”

“How domestic of you.”

Her mouth curved slightly. “Don’t tell anyone. Ruins the mystique.”

“You mean the whole ice queen thing?”

Another glance. “That what they’re calling me?”

“Not officially.”

She sipped her coffee. “You don’t strike me as the type who listens to rumors.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why bring it up?”

I held her gaze. “Because I don’t know anything else.”

That landed. Not hard. But it landed.

She looked away first. Not in shame. Just choosing not to play the game.

“I get it,” she said. “You’re still trying to figure everyone out.”

“Only when they talk to me.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Another pause. The kind that stretches because no one’s willing to break it.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” she said finally.

“You were quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Noted.”

She tapped her nail lightly against her mug, then looked over at me again. Her eyes weren’t soft. But they weren’t guarded either.

“You’re different,” she said.

“From what?”

“Most people.”

I didn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

I watched her sip from her mug again, slow and deliberate. She never broke eye contact for long. Even when she looked away, it felt like her attention never actually left me.

“You say that like it’s a compliment,” I said.

“It might be.”

I arched an eyebrow. “You always this vague?”

“Only when I’m still deciding.”

“On what?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Just leaned back against the counter, holding her mug with both hands like it kept her steady.

“Whether or not you’re a problem,” she said.

I smirked. “And?”

“Jury’s still out.”

Her voice wasn’t cold. Not cutting. Just honest. Refreshingly so.

“I don’t think I’m a problem,” I said.

She gave a small shrug. “Neither did the last guy.”

Something in her tone sharpened. Just enough to notice.

I didn’t push.

But I remembered that. The way she said it. The edge that lived underneath her calm.

We stood in silence again, this one a little heavier. Not uncomfortable—just weighted. Like both of us were carrying something neither of us was ready to drop yet.

Then Winter broke it, setting her mug down and crossing her arms.

“You were with Ningning last night.”

It wasn’t a question.

I didn’t flinch. “Yeah.”

Her gaze didn’t shift.

“And Giselle before that.”

Another fact.

I waited for the judgment. Or the sarcasm. Or the obvious question.

It didn’t come.

Instead, she nodded. Once.

Then said, “You don’t act like someone who’s trying to get passed around.”

“Is that what you think is happening?”

“No,” she said. “If it were, I don’t think I’d be talking to you right now.”

That caught me off guard.

Not because it was harsh—but because it wasn’t.

Because it felt like something else.

Something closer to… curiosity.

“Why are you?” I asked.

Winter tilted her head slightly. “I don’t know yet.”

There was something honest in the way she said it. Like she wasn’t used to guessing, but didn’t mind being unsure. Not with me.

“You confuse people,” she said. “Giselle’s always been hard to reach. Ningning doesn’t let her guard down like that. Not for fun. And then you show up.”

I didn’t say anything.

“You’re not who I expected.”

“That makes two of us.”

She cracked the faintest smile.

It didn’t last long.

Then she stepped forward—slow, quiet, just enough to close the space between us.

Not touching.

But close enough for her voice to drop into something softer.

“You’re not trying to be anyone. That’s what they notice.”

“What do you notice?”

She looked at me for a long second. Like she was trying to solve something only half-built.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

She didn’t move away.

Didn’t touch me either.

We just stood there in that pocket of silence—her mug still resting behind her on the counter, her breath steady. I could see the way her chest rose and fell beneath the fabric of her hoodie. Unbothered. Except she wasn’t. Not really.

There was a flicker there.

A hesitation just behind her gaze. A breath she hadn’t taken yet.

“You always this blunt?” I asked.

“Only when it’s easier than pretending.”

“And is this easy?”

“No,” she said. “But it’s real.”

That caught me.

Something about the way she said it. Like it wasn’t meant for me, but for herself. Like she was giving herself permission to stop holding it all together for a second.

I nodded slowly.

“Real’s good,” I said.

Her expression didn’t shift much, but her weight leaned ever so slightly in my direction. A tilt of the hips. A fraction closer.

“What happens next?” she asked.

I tilted my head. “You tell me.”

She studied me again.

And this time, she was analyzing. She was watching the way I stood. How relaxed my shoulders were. How still my hands stayed when I wasn’t trying to push, or prove anything. Her eyes flicked to my mouth. Not long. Just enough.

Then—

“You’re not like the last guy,” she said again, softer this time.

“Less cologne?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “But he always needed to be the loudest thing in the room.”

I smiled, just a little. “Guess I prefer being noticed for different reasons.”

“Like what?”

I didn’t answer.

Not because I didn’t have one. Because I wanted her to fill in the space.

She didn’t.

But she stepped closer.

Bare feet on cool tile. A breath between us. The smell of cinnamon and coffee on her sweatshirt, faint traces of something floral clinging to her skin.

Her voice dropped lower.

“You said yes to breakfast.”

“I did.”

“Then why haven’t you touched your plate?”

I looked down. The food had gone lukewarm.

I looked back up.

Her mouth twitched. The faintest curve.

“Something more interesting came up,” I said.

She didn’t smile. But she didn’t move away either.

Instead, she reached up and slowly—deliberately—tugged the drawstring of her hoodie a little tighter.

“I’m not fragile.” she said.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“But people think it.”

“I wasn't.”

“I know.”

The silence shifted again.

Not tension this time.

Readiness.

She leaned in, not quite touching me, her voice dropping like it was meant only for my chest.

“Come find me when you’re done pretending to eat.”

Then she turned.

Walked out of the kitchen. No look back. No pause.

Just that soft click of her bedroom door.

I didn’t follow her right away.

Stayed in the kitchen, letting the coffee go cold, the eggs congeal. My hand rested lightly on the counter. The other rubbed a line down the side of my neck, where stress always lingered when I didn’t know what I wanted.

But I did know.

Eventually.

I crossed the hallway in near silence, bare feet brushing hardwood, passing framed photos I hadn’t noticed before. Staged smiles. Glamorous lighting. Versions of her that belonged to the world. Not the girl who just told me I confused her.

I stopped outside her door.

No sounds. No music. No movement. Just a soft, ambient hush.

I knocked once.

Didn’t wait for an answer.

The door creaked open and there she was—on the bed, back against the headboard, knees pulled to her chest. Her sweatshirt was gone. Just a soft black tank now. Her hair was still twisted up, but looser. Like she’d tried to relax and halfway succeeded.

She didn’t look surprised.

Didn’t look guarded either.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

Her voice wasn’t coy. Wasn’t cracked open either. Just a single syllable—quiet, even.

“Wasn’t sure if you meant it.”

“I did.”

She shifted slightly, letting her knees fall apart a bit, making room without making it obvious. She didn’t pat the mattress or motion me closer. Just waited.

I stepped in and closed the door behind me.

The room smelled like linen and lotion and something subtle that made me think of clouds—if clouds had moods. If they hovered heavy and close enough to touch.

I didn’t sit right away.

Just looked at her.

“I don’t really know what this is.”

Winter shrugged. “Then maybe stop trying to define it.”

That landed softer than I expected. Not a warning. Just a survival strategy.

I nodded.

Then sat beside her.

Close, but not too close.

“You always let strangers in?” I asked.

“You’re not a stranger.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She glanced at me sideways.

“Most people want something. You just… show up and don’t flinch.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Still deciding.”

We sat in that for a minute.

The kind of quiet that thickens if you don't move through it.

Then she spoke—calmer this time.

“You’re careful, you know.”

I looked at her. “Yeah?”

“Even when you let go. You do it in pieces. On your own terms.”

I didn’t answer right away.

“It’s not a bad thing,” she added. “It’s just… not how people usually are with me.”

I swallowed. “Maybe I don’t know how to be any other way.”

She nodded like she understood. Then tilted her head slightly.

“You ever think about walking away from all this?”

“From what?”

“This world. Everything that runs on attention.”

I frowned. “I’m not exactly famous.”

“Not yet.”

She held my eyes when she said that.

And I believed her.

Winter didn’t say anything after that. She just looked at me like she was still thinking it over—me, not the moment. Like I was a puzzle with one or two pieces missing and she couldn’t decide if that made it more or less interesting.

I leaned back against the headboard, legs stretched out. “Is that a good thing?”

“That you’re not famous? Or that you’re half-closed off even when you’re open?”

“Either.”

She gave the faintest shrug. “It means I can’t predict you.”

“That bothers you?”

“It scares me a little.”

There was no bite in her voice. No irony. Just honesty.

I looked down at my hands. “You’ve got control in most rooms, don’t you?”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to.

I glanced back up. “So maybe that’s what this is.”

“What?”

“You’re wondering if you should let someone in who doesn’t play by your rules.”

Winter’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite disagreement.

“I think I just want to know you,” she said.

That hit deeper than it should’ve. Simple words. Big weight.

I didn’t know how to answer, so I didn’t.

She adjusted how she was sitting—legs stretched out now, side of her thigh brushing mine. Not dramatic. Not flirtatious. Just a shift in shape, in space.

A beat passed.

Then she asked, “Do you love Giselle?”

I blinked.

It wasn’t an accusation. Just a question that dropped into the silence like a pebble in still water.

“Do you always ask questions like that?” I said quietly.

She didn’t backpedal. “Sometimes.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “It’s complicated.”

Winter nodded. “That’s what people say when they don’t know if they’re in trouble.”

That pulled a small laugh out of me, and it seemed to soften something in her too.

“But no,” I said. “I don’t love her.”

“Not yet?”

I turned slightly toward her. “I’m not here to break anyone, if that's what you're worried about.”

“You don’t have to,” she said. “Some of us are already cracked.”

Neither of us moved after that.

I didn’t reach for her.

Didn’t ask what she meant.

But I wanted to know.

She was sitting so still, eyes forward, hands resting lightly in her lap. But her shoulders weren’t tense. Her spine wasn’t stiff. She looked… at rest. Which made the things she wasn’t saying feel louder.

“Are you always this open?” I asked after a while.

“No,” she said. “But you’re not trying to impress me.”

“Should I?”

She looked over at me again, her eyes slower now, a little warmer. “No.”

We both leaned back against the headboard, and for a few seconds, we just breathed.

Then she said, “You think I’m cold, don’t you?”

The question caught me off guard.

“Where’d that come from?”

“I see the way people look at me sometimes. Like I’m made of glass. Pretty, but cold. Untouchable.”

“Maybe they’re afraid to find out they’re wrong.”

Winter turned her head to face me. Her eyes were still sharp, but there was something soft behind them now.

“And are you?”

“Afraid?” I asked.

“Afraid to find out.”

I didn’t answer right away.

She shifted slightly—just enough for her thigh to press against mine. Not an accident this time. Her body language said she was letting me close. Or maybe testing if I’d flinch now that the air had changed.

“I think,” I said slowly, “you’re careful about what you give. But not cold.”

That earned me the smallest smile. “You’re not wrong.”

She picked at the hem of her tank for a moment, like her fingers needed something to do. Then she exhaled through her nose and said, “You keep your walls up too.”

“Maybe that’s why we’re talking.”

“Because of our walls?”

“Because neither of us is pretending we don’t have them.”

Winter nodded once, then turned toward me—closer now, just enough to shift the air. Her knees brushed mine.

Her eyes met mine.

No bravado. No coyness. Just a steady, unreadable look. She didn’t lean in.

She waited.

So I moved first.

The kiss wasn’t deep. Wasn’t fast. It was the kind that didn’t need explanation—soft, slow, just enough pressure to mean I see you. I felt her breathe in through her nose, then relax into it, just a little.

No one was trying to take control.

When I pulled back, her lips stayed parted, eyes still on me.

And then she said, quiet and steady:

“You don’t kiss like someone with walls.”

She didn’t speak again for a while.

Just sat there beside me, eyes half on mine, half on something behind them I couldn’t see. But her body hadn’t moved away. She hadn’t tucked her knees in or rebuilt the space between us. If anything, her shoulder was closer now. Her hand a little looser in her lap.

I waited.

Not to be polite. But because I was learning her rhythm. You don’t just pull open something that’s still settling. You give it time. Let it breathe.

Then, quiet—

“Do you like being touched?”

I turned to her. “That’s a loaded question.”

A flicker crossed her face. Not a smile. Not exactly. But something.

“I mean carefully,” she said. “Not to take. Not to overpower.”

I thought about it. Then nodded. “Yeah.”

Winter nodded too. Then let her hand drift between us, palm up, resting lightly on the mattress. Not touching me. Just there. An offer without demand.

I looked at it for a second. Then placed mine in hers.

Her fingers closed gently. Deliberate. Warm.

Then she stood, still holding my hand. Took a step to to the side without a word, and let her fingers slip from mine.

She didn’t tell me to follow. Didn’t have to.

I joined her.

She turned toward the dresser. Opened the top drawer.

I saw her fingertips move over the edge of something. A black blindfold. A small glass bottle. A candle, vanilla.

Her touch lingered on each, but she didn’t take them out. Not yet.

“I don’t like pain,” she said, eyes still on the drawer. “But I like contrast, control.”

Her voice was low. Steady.

Then after a pause-

"Sometimes the best way to keep it is to give it to someone who won't abuse it."

She turned and met my eyes. No blush. No teasing. Just calm honesty.

“I want to know what you’ll do with that.”

I didn’t answer right away.

Just stepped closer.

“I’ll be careful,” I said. “But I won’t be soft.”

Winter held my gaze.

Then slowly pulled off her tank, baring the long line of her torso. She wore nothing underneath. Her breasts high, skin soft and almost luminescent in the lamplight. She stepped toward me.

But didn’t close the gap.

She waited.

I reached for her pants.

Undressed her quietly. Nothing rushed. No show.

Just skin, smooth under fabric. Cool air rising around warm hips. She stepped out of them and stood still. Not posing. Not shy. Just… waiting to be seen.

When I looked up, her face was unreadable.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” she said. “But I want to feel it.”

And then she moved to the bed.

Laid down, one leg bent, arms loose at her sides.

“I don’t need you to be gentle.” she added.

I reached for the blindfold.

The blindfold was soft.

Fabric, not leather. Not for restraint. Just to take the edges off the world. I brought it to her face slowly, watching her breathe.

“You sure?” I asked.

She nodded once. “Yeah.”

When I slipped it over her eyes, her lips parted slightly. But she didn’t flinch. She adjusted to the dark like it was familiar. Like she’d chosen it before.

I let her sit in it for a second.

Just the blindfold, her bare skin, and the hush that filled the room like water.

Her hands lay flat against the sheets. Her spine gently arched, her knees relaxed. No tension, but no surrender either. Stillness with intent.

I leaned close, my mouth brushing her jaw. “Tell me if anything feels wrong.”

“Nothing does,” she whispered. “Yet.”

I left her like that.

Walked around the room slow, silent. Let her feel the absence, the anticipation.

The bottle on the dresser was oil—almond, vanilla. I warmed a few drops between my palms and moved back to her, quiet as breath.

The first touch was to her thigh.

She twitched, just a little. Not a recoil. More like acknowledgement.

I worked upward with my hands—slow, firm strokes, no rush to arrive anywhere. Just connection. Pressure and warmth and patience. I circled her hip, the curve of her waist, the hollow under her ribs.

Every time I touched a new part of her, her lips parted a little more. Her chest lifted.

I leaned in, kissed her neck just below her ear.

Her breath hitched.

Then I lit the candle.

The flame was steady. Low.

I waited, letting the heat build until a bead of wax gathered at the edge.

Then I tilted it.

A single drop.

It landed just beneath her collarbone, and she gasped—not pain, not fear. Just shock. Her hands gripped the sheets.

She didn’t speak.

I kissed the same spot, lips soft against the heat.

Another drop. This time lower. Just above her navel.

She arched. Whispered something that wasn’t a word.

I kept going. Wax. Mouth. Wax. Mouth.

Temperature and touch.

She was breathing harder now. Her body shifting, reacting to every change. No noise but the faint flick of the candle and her quiet, stuttering exhale.

I dragged my palm up the inside of her thigh. Not high enough. Not yet.

“Still good?” I asked, voice low against her skin.

She nodded. “More.”

The word came out cracked. Hungry.

I blew out the candle and put it on a shelf.

Then reached between her legs.

She was soaked.

I didn’t go straight for it.

I let my hands explore first—palming her thighs, brushing along the crease of her hip, slow enough to make her wonder if I’d ever get where she needed me. Her skin was warm, still tingling from the wax, the blindfold, the waiting. It felt like she was humming under my touch.

She shifted slightly, legs parting just enough.

I dragged two fingers along her slit.

She inhaled sharply.

“…fuck.”

I did it again. Slower. Let the wetness coat my fingers before easing them inside. She was tight—tense, not from resistance but from how hard she was trying to stay composed.

Her body opened for me in slow waves.

“Ahh…”

I pushed deeper, letting the angle adjust until I felt the right spot—then pressed up. Not hard. Just firm. Steady.

Her hips jerked.

“Shit—”

I grinned against her thigh and curled my fingers again.

She exhaled, long and shaky. Then whispered, “Mylo…”

Just that. No question. No plea.

Just my name.

I kissed her stomach. My thumb grazed her clit, light enough to tease. Her legs twitched.

“F—fuck…”

Her voice was breathy, high in the back of her throat.

Not desperate.

Not yet.

Just ready.

I built a rhythm. Nothing frantic. Just slow, thick strokes inside her, thumb flicking gentle circles, enough to make her lose her breath in pieces.

“Ah… ahh… mm—fuck—”

Her hands gripped the sheets. Her thighs tried to close, then spread wider. She was panting now, a little faster with every curl of my fingers.

“God—”

I felt her pulse start to race.

She wasn’t falling apart.

But she was unraveling.

Bit by bit.

And I didn’t stop.

She flinched a little when I slipped my fingers out, but didn’t say a word.

Didn’t pout. Didn’t beg. Just exhaled slow, shaky, as if trying to reset herself. Her hands were still open on the sheets, muscles flexing, resisting the urge to clench. She was unraveling carefully—measured—but I could see it.

“Don’t move.” I said.

She nodded once, tiny.

I moved to the small shelf by the window where the candle still sat—vanilla, half-used, wick unburnt. I struck a match. The flame hissed, then caught, spilling smoke and sugar into the room.

I let it burn.

Not for mood.

For heat.

While the scent bloomed through the air, I opened the mini fridge. Cold air rushed out. Inside—glass water bottle, already sweating with condensation. And on top of the fridge, a metal spoon. Clean. Light. Silver.

I grabbed both.

Then I waited.

Waited for the wax to pool.

She was already waiting for me from the bed. Breathing heavy, legs parted. Still flushed. Still damp. Still trying not to look like she was waiting for the next wave to hit.

I knelt again, one hand on her thigh.

She twitched.

Not from surprise—from anticipation.

I lifted the spoon and held it over the flame.

A few seconds.

Then touched it with my fingers.

Too hot.

Perfect.

I didn’t warn her.

Pressed the back of the spoon to the inside of her thigh.

She jolted like I’d shocked her.

“Shit—!”

No playacting. No noise for attention.

Just a raw sound, torn from somewhere deep in her throat.

Her thighs flexed. Her fists clenched into the sheets.

I waited a beat, then moved higher. Pressed again.

She exhaled through her nose, sharp and ragged.

"You’re okay," I murmured.

Her head nodded once. Tense. Silent.

I reached for the water bottle.

This time, no fingers.

I pressed the mouth of the bottle directly against her folds—slick and hot and swollen—and let the cold pour out.

She gasped like she’d been punched in the gut.

“F-fuck—!”

The water ran down her pussy in clean rivulets, spilling between her thighs and onto the mattress. She squirmed but didn’t close her legs. She was trying to outlast it. Pretend it wasn’t breaking her.

But I saw it.

The quiver in her abdomen.

The way her lips parted without sound.

She was slipping.

I leaned in. Let my mouth follow the path of the water. Licked the cold from her skin, then the heat underneath it.

Her back arched immediately.

“Fuck—”

I sucked gently on her clit, just once, then again—slow, rhythmic pressure—and her whole body stuttered.

She was coming apart one edge at a time.

Then I reached for the spoon again.

Pressed the warm metal against her mound. Just enough to make her twitch.

Then: the wax.

It had started to pool in the base of the glass.

I tilted the candle.

Let a drop fall.

It landed just below her navel.

She flinched—hard.

Her mouth dropped open, but no sound came.

Another drop.

Lower.

She jerked and gasped.

“Fucking—fuck—!”

I moved my hand between her legs. Slid two fingers inside. Curled them.

She clenched—tight and sudden—like her whole body had been waiting for that.

I worked her slow. Purposeful. Every curl hit deep, every twist dragged tension higher.

Then: one more drop of wax.

Right above her clit.

She didn’t scream.

She moaned like her voice cracked under the weight of it.

“M-Mylo—”

Her fingers clawed at the sheets.

I sucked the waxed skin clean. Kissed it like worship. Then dropped my head again, tongue circling her clit while my fingers pressed and curled and coaxed.

She whimpered—fought it.

Fought me.

I didn’t stop.

Didn’t speak.

Just kept her right there—pinned between heat and cold and need. Until finally—

She snapped.

“FUCK—oh god—I’m—ohhh—!”

Her hips jerked off the bed. Her thighs locked. She came like her body was trying to fight it off, like she didn’t want to be undone again so soon.

But it didn’t matter.

She was.

She ground herself against my mouth. Cried out. Shook. Her voice cracked as her orgasm rolled through her like a second storm breaking the first.

When she dropped back to the mattress, she was boneless. Wrecked.

I thought she might be done.

But then her voice broke through the silence—hoarse and shaking.

“…more.”

I looked up.

“What?”

Her eyes opened, glassy.

“I said more.”

I leaned over, kissed the inside of her knee, and smiled against her skin.

“Good girl.”

But this time, it wasn’t about praise.

It was a promise.

Her legs were still shaking when I dragged her back on the bed.

She didn’t resist.

Didn’t say a word.

Just let herself be pulled, back flat against the sheets, her breath still uneven and eyes dazed. Her lips were parted, swollen from kissing, from moaning, from everything we’d already done. But that look—the one that dared me to keep going—was still there, hidden in the fog.

I slid between her thighs.

She blinked up at me, lashes heavy.

“Don’t hold back,” she whispered.

I didn’t.

I lined myself up, gripped her hips, and pressed in slowly—inch by inch—until I bottomed out. No barriers. No pause. Just the heat of her wrapped around me, wet and trembling.

Her gasp was sharp.

“F-fuck—”

“You feel that?” I breathed against her neck. “That’s how far you came for me.”

Her hands found my shoulders. Then my back. Then dragged down, nails biting as I pulled back—slow—and drove in again.

She choked on her breath.

I locked my arms around her and started to move. Deep, hard thrusts that knocked the breath out of her lungs, knocked soft whimpers out of her throat. Her legs wrapped around my waist. Her hips rolled up to meet mine.

There was no rhythm at first—just hunger. Raw, greedy friction. Her heels pressed into my back. She wanted more. Needed more. And I gave it to her.

Faster.

Rougher.

Her head tipped back into the pillow, mouth open, hair sticking to her cheeks.

“You like this?” I growled.

“Yes—yes, fuck, Mylo—”

Her voice cracked on the last syllable, but she didn’t stop moving. She clung to me, took every thrust like she was trying to pull more out of me. Her body was on fire. Slick. Squeezing.

“Harder,” she begged. “Please—fuck me—harder—”

I pinned her wrists above her head and gave it to her.

The bed groaned.

The air was thick with breath and skin and sweat.

And she was close again.

I could feel it in the way she clenched.

In the way her breath stuttered.

In the high, trembling pitch of her moans.

“You’re gonna cum again,” I said, barely able to keep my voice steady. “Aren’t you?”

She nodded. Desperate. Mouth open.

“Say it.”

Her whole body shook. Her legs spasmed.

“I’m—fuck—I’m cumming—!”

And she did.

Hard.

Her back arched. Her pussy clamped down on me, tight and slick and pulsing. She moaned loud and broken, riding it out with everything she had. She didn’t care about noise anymore. She didn’t care about anything but the orgasm tearing through her like it owned her.

I fucked her through it.

Fucked her until she was twitching.

Until she couldn’t moan—just gasp.

And then I followed.

Buried deep, head dropped against her shoulder, jaw tight as I spilled inside her. It hit hard. Deep. My whole body locked as I groaned her name low against her skin.

I didn’t pull out.

I stayed inside her.

And she didn’t let go.

Her legs were still around me, locked tight.

Neither of us moved for a long second.

My breath was in her ear, shallow and ragged. Hers was all over the place—tiny, gasping inhales like she was trying to remember how lungs worked. Her nails were dragging light lines down my back now, not scratching anymore, just touching. Feeling.

“I didn’t say you could stop,” she murmured.

My lips curved against her shoulder. “You’re shaking.”

“So?” Her voice was wrecked. Throat dry. Defiant anyway.

I shifted, starting to pull back—slow, careful, overstimulated skin dragging against overstimulated heat.

She groaned.

Her thighs twitched.

And then her teeth were on my lip.

Hard.

A sharp, claiming bite—not enough to draw blood, but close. Enough to make me flinch.

My hand gripped her throat in return—not squeezing, just reminding her.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Still wild. Still hungry.

“Don’t think this means I'm yours now,” she whispered. “You didn’t win anything.”

I leaned in, lips ghosting across hers. “I didn’t know it was a competition.”

She grinned—exhausted, sated, but still her.

And then her body finally slumped.

Completely.

I eased out, slowly, holding her hips while she whimpered—high and soft and broken.

My cum trickled out between her thighs, wet and warm.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t close her legs. Just lay there, staring up at the ceiling like she’d been wrung out and left to dry.

“You good?” I asked, brushing hair off her cheek.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “Define good.”

“Still alive?”

“Barely.”

I smiled. Then bent and kissed her—slow, no tongue this time. Just pressure. Just closeness.

She kissed me back like she wasn’t ready to let the moment go.

When I pulled away, she sighed. One arm stretched above her head, the other lazily traced lines along my arm.

I didn’t say anything. Just shifted to lie beside her, one leg tangled with hers, hand still resting against her stomach.

The room was thick with the smell of sex.

Of her.

Of us.

And for the first time all night… we were still.

Quiet.

I didn’t say anything at first. Eventually, I leaned up, peeled myself out of the tangle of limbs, and crossed the room to grab the a towel—clean, soft, folded by the closet. I soaked it with warm water from the bathroom sink, wrung it out, then came back.

She watched me through heavy-lidded eyes. Didn’t move.

I started with her neck. Gentle, slow. Then her stomach. The insides of her thighs. I traced every spot the wax had touched, cleaning carefully—pausing when she flinched again, then going slower. Her skin was flushed in places, but not red. Not burned.

She didn’t speak until I reached the curve of her hip.

“I liked it,” she whispered.

I didn’t answer right away. Just nodded and kept going. The towel moved with care—across the spots I’d dripped heat, and the ones I’d cooled down with water, and the places I’d touched like I was memorizing them.

When I was done, I tossed the towel into the corner and lay back beside her.

My throat was dry. My hand found the water bottle on the nightstand and twisted the cap off, but I didn’t drink it.

I brought it to her instead.

Winter was still stretched out across the sheets, one arm thrown over her eyes like she couldn’t bear the overhead light, the other resting loosely over her stomach. Her chest rose in slow, shallow breaths. Her lips were parted.

She looked wrecked. Stunning. Real.

I touched her knee gently, and her arm moved just enough to peek up at me.

“Drink,” I said.

She blinked. Groggy. But took the bottle. She sat up slow, shoulders rounding forward, and drank without a word.

I stayed standing for a second. Just watching her.

Then grabbed my shirt from the floor. Not to wear—just to wipe the sweat from her collarbone, the back of her neck, the curve of her side. She let me.

“You alright?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You sure?”

She looked up, hair sticking to her cheek. “That wasn’t what I expected.”

“No?”

She smirked, sleepy. “You’re kind of dangerous.”

I grinned. “You’re kind of insane.”

“Fair.”

She handed me the bottle again, and I drank this time, then sat beside her on the edge of the bed. She leaned into my side without being asked, her cheek pressing against my ribs.

“I don’t usually like being… touched after,” she murmured.

I pulled my hand from her hair, just in case.

But she reached up, stopped me. “No. This is okay.”

We sat like that for a while. Breathing.

The room smelled like sex. Wax. Skin. Vanilla.

Eventually, I stood again. “You should eat something.”

She made a soft noise. “I’d rather melt.”

“You can melt later.”

I walked barefoot down the hall to the kitchen. It was still warm from earlier. Light from the fridge caught the edge of a note still taped to the cabinet—Ningning’s handwriting, bubbly and quick.

Don’t forget to eat something.

I found a leftover croissant in a bakery box near the counter, along with some juice. A ridiculous price tag was still half-peeled on the side—$19.50.

My mouth went dry.

A flash. Another tag. Another room. “Just smile, baby. It’s for all of us. He paid. That’s what matters.”

I blinked. Swallowed.

Took a breath.

Then turned back toward the hallway.

Winter was sitting up when I got back, wrapped in the top sheet now, arms resting over her knees. I handed her the croissant and juice. She took both.

Then broke the croissant in half and offered me a piece.

I shook my head.

She paused. “You’re not hungry?”

“No.”

A beat.

Her eyes lingered. Not in suspicion. Not even concern. Just… noticing.

I sat beside her again, slower this time.

She didn’t eat right away. Just leaned into me again. My arm slid around her waist. Her head found my chest.

And we stayed like that.

Breathing.

Grounded.

Safe.

After a minute, she shifted—just slightly—and looked up at me. Her brow furrowed. Like she was seeing something she hadn’t seen before.

“What?”

Her voice was soft. Almost hesitant.

I didn’t answer. Just met her gaze.

She didn’t press.

But she kept looking.

Longer than before.

PART 6

[domm1etae]

Can’t Say It Out Loud

f!reader x friend yunho

oneshot | mdni

2.1k

What was supposed to be a chill night catching up with your friend from school you both used to go to Yunho turns into way more when a tipsy convo about a dream he had... gets real

nsfw tags under

f/m, vaginal sex, teasting, dirty talk, kissing, top yunho, bottom reader, friends to fucking?

author's note: long time no see my reader x idol lovers ♡♡

Knock, knock, knock.

You adjusted the hem of your oversized t-shirt, wiping your slightly damp palms on your thighs before walking to the front door. A rush of nervous excitement bloomed in your chest as you opened it—there he was.

Yunho stood on your welcome mat, his broad shoulders rising with each breath, a small grin tugging at his lips. His hair was styled in his usual laid-back way, and he carried a six-pack of beer in one hand, the other already outstretched for a hug.

“Hey, roomie-for-a-night,” he teased as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. “Damn, this your new place? You really out here adulting.”

You laughed into his shoulder, your nose brushing against the soft fabric of his hoodie. “It’s still a mess, but yeah, welcome to my semi-unpacked kingdom.”

He stepped inside, gaze flicking over the boxes stacked in the corners, the half-assembled bookshelf, the TV precariously perched on a makeshift stand. “I dig it. It already feels like you.” He kicked off his shoes and dropped onto your couch like he owned it, stretching his long legs across the cushions. “You didn’t lie about snacks either. You go hard.”

You rolled your eyes fondly and walked back to the kitchen. “I literally told you to bring the drinks and nothing else. I’m carrying this friendship on my back.”

He laughed, cracking open a can. “I bring the charm, though.”

“Oh God.” You snatched the drink from his hand with a mock glare and handed him another. “Shut up and drink.”

The two of you settled on the couch, the soft background noise of some random comedy show playing as the first sips of beer warmed your cheeks. It didn’t take long for the laughter to flow—easy, natural. Yunho had always been like that for you. A constant in your life, even when everything else felt like it was shifting beneath your feet.

A couple of beers in, you both were sprawled across the couch, bodies nearly tangled. Yunho’s thigh was pressed against yours, and your hand casually rested near his knee without even realizing it. The alcohol buzz blurred the lines between comfortable and something more.

“I missed this,” Yunho murmured, his voice softer now. “Hanging out. No schedules, no school deadlines, no bullshit.”

You turned your head to look at him, his cheek resting against the back cushion, eyes heavy-lidded. The golden warmth of the lamp softened the angles of his face, but it couldn’t hide the way he’d grown into himself since school ended—he looked older. Sharper. Handsomer.

“I missed you too,” you said quietly, and you meant it.

There was a pause, the kind that didn’t feel awkward but… charged. His gaze shifted, and you realized he was looking at you too. Really looking.

You blinked and looked away, flustered. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me. I’m tipsy, I might cry.”

Yunho chuckled. “You always say that. One beer and you’re like a baby deer on ice.”

You reached out to playfully smack his arm, but your hand lingered for a second too long on his bicep. Solid. Warm.

The silence returned, only this time, it was heavier. Denser.

“Y/N,” he said, quieter now.

You glanced up, heart ticking faster at the tone in his voice.

“I, uh…” he scratched the back of his neck. “I had this weird dream the other night.”

That made you sit up slightly, curiosity piqued. “Okay, do tell.”

He looked sheepish but amused. “You were in it. And… it wasn’t exactly PG.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

You laughed, partly out of surprise and partly to shake the sudden wave of heat rushing through you. “Wait—like, sexy dream?”

Yunho bit his lip, chuckling into his drink. “Yeah. Didn’t mean for it to happen, but… I dunno. Ever since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Your stomach flipped. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, the way his voice dipped lower, or the fact that you had your own share of secret, blurry thoughts about him.

You leaned in slightly, teasing. “What happened in the dream?”

He gave you a look. “You really wanna know?”

“Only if you really want to tell me.”

He hesitated. Then, with a deep breath, he said, “You were on your knees in front of me. Touching me. Kissing me. And it felt… real. Like, really real.”

Your breath caught. You tried to swallow your nerves, but your mouth had gone dry. He wasn’t joking. His eyes were locked onto yours now, searching.

“I’ve thought about it a lot since then,” he murmured. “And honestly? I was hoping… maybe…”

He trailed off.

You didn’t let him finish.

Instead, you leaned forward and kissed him.

Soft. Hesitant. Testing.

He froze for half a second—then melted into it. One hand found your waist, the other cradled your face as he deepened the kiss. It was slow, unhurried. Not lust-filled—not yet. Just the overwhelming relief of finally crossing a line that had blurred for far too long.

You pulled back slightly, eyes wide, breath shallow. “I’ve wanted this too. I just didn’t think…”

Yunho pressed his forehead against yours, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Then let me show you.”

He kissed you again, this time with more urgency, more heat. You gasped softly against his mouth as he slid a hand beneath your shirt, fingers brushing the skin of your lower back. The contact sent sparks racing up your spine.

“Bedroom?” he whispered, his voice strained with restraint.

You nodded.

In the quiet hush of your bedroom, the air was thick with anticipation, the silence only broken by the sound of your mingled breaths and the soft rustle of fabric as Yunho gently pressed you back against the bed. The light from the hallway spilled in faintly through the cracked door, casting shadows over his face—soft and golden, like candlelight flickering across skin.

He hovered over you, one knee sinking into the mattress, his fingers reaching to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. His hand lingered, cupping your cheek, thumb trailing over your bottom lip. You caught it between your lips and kissed it, eyes never leaving his.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, like he was afraid any louder might shatter this fragile moment.

“Yunho,” you whispered back, lifting your hand to cup the side of his neck, “please. I want you.”

He leaned in, kissing you again—slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. His lips were soft, a contrast to the way his hands began to explore, sliding from your face to your collarbone, down the sides of your torso as if he was trying to memorize you. The kiss deepened, breaths becoming heavier. His tongue licked softly into your mouth, coaxing a quiet moan from you.

Your hands fumbled at the hem of his sweatshirt, fingertips brushing warm skin as you pushed it up. He pulled back briefly, sitting up on his knees so you could tug it off completely. His toned stomach flexed as he moved, shadows outlining the soft dips and curves of muscle. Your palms slid up his chest, enjoying the feel of his warmth under your touch. His breath hitched when you leaned up to kiss along his sternum, your lips grazing the sensitive skin there.

He leaned down again, helping you out of your own shirt. His eyes flicked down your body reverently, mouth parted slightly as he took in the sight of you. He kissed your shoulder first, then lower—his lips brushing the tops of your breasts, hot and deliberate. His hands spanned your ribs, thumbs stroking slow, hypnotic circles into your skin.

Your bra was discarded next, and Yunho paused, as if needing a second just to process. “God, Y/N…” he murmured, trailing kisses over your chest, his tongue teasing one nipple before moving to the other. He groaned low in his throat at the way your body arched into him, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently when the sensation overwhelmed you.

His hands moved lower—along your waist, over your hips, fingertips skimming under the waistband of your shorts. You lifted your hips to help him slide them down, underwear with them. He kissed your thighs as he went, holding you open just slightly with his hands on your knees, eyes locked on yours. His lips ghosted over the inside of your thigh, hot breath sending goosebumps across your skin.

Then he leaned back, tugging off his sweatpants, revealing the growing bulge in his boxers. You bit your lip as your eyes traced over him, watching the way his cock strained against the fabric. He caught your gaze and smiled, a little bashful, but mostly turned on by your reaction. He pulled off his boxers, and you watched as his length sprung free, thick and flushed.

You reached for him, your palm wrapping around his cock, stroking slowly. Yunho hissed at the contact, his hips stuttering forward into your hand.

“Fuck… Y/N,” he groaned, his hand reaching out to steady himself on the headboard. His head dipped, pressing kisses along your jawline and down your neck as your hand worked him, thumb swiping over his tip to collect the precum beading there.

He couldn’t take much more.

Yunho shifted over you, nudging your thighs open with his knees. His cock rested against your core, sliding through your slick folds. The pressure made your toes curl, and you grabbed at his arms, eyes fluttering shut.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, lining himself up at your entrance. “At any point.”

“I don’t,” you whispered, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I want you. Please, Yunho.”

He pushed in slowly, his thick cock stretching you open inch by inch. Your nails dug into his back, your breath catching in your throat as your body adjusted around him. He was big—so much bigger than you’d imagined—and every movement made your walls flutter.

“Oh my god…” you gasped, your arms slipping up around his neck, pulling him in closer. “Yunho…”

His head dropped to your shoulder as he groaned into your skin. “Fuck… you’re so tight… so warm.”

He stayed still for a moment, letting you both breathe, his cock buried to the hilt. Then, with a deep exhale, he pulled out halfway and rolled his hips back into you, slow and controlled.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders as he began a steady rhythm, fucking you in smooth, deep strokes that made your back arch off the mattress. His hands grabbed your thighs, spreading you wider, pushing himself even deeper.

“You feel like heaven,” he grunted against your neck. “Better than anything I ever dreamed of.”

Your moans spilled freely now, mingling with the soft creak of the bed and the slick sounds of your bodies moving together. His kisses were feverish—along your throat, your collarbone, your mouth—like he couldn’t get enough. His hands never stopped touching you, sliding from your hips to your waist to your breasts, squeezing and exploring as if trying to learn every inch of you by heart.

When you felt your orgasm approaching, it was sharp and sudden, a heat pooling low in your belly.

“Yunho—God—Yunho, I’m close,” you cried out, hips rocking up to meet his.

He reached between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, firm circles as he thrust harder. “That’s it, baby… come for me. Let me feel you.”

You shattered under him, body convulsing as your orgasm ripped through you, pulsing around his cock. You sobbed out his name, your legs locking around him as pleasure rolled through you in waves.

“Fuck, Y/N—” Yunho moaned, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release. “I’m gonna—fuck—”

You grabbed his face, kissing him hard as he came inside you, his cock twitching deep within. His hips rolled through it, drawing it out as his breath came in ragged gasps against your mouth.

For a long time, neither of you moved.

Then he gently pulled out, murmuring apologies when you whimpered from the overstimulation. He leaned down to press soft kisses across your chest, your shoulder, your cheeks, and finally your lips.

“You were… incredible,” he breathed, brushing your hair from your damp forehead. “You always are.”

You smiled, dazed and glowing. “That was more than I ever imagined.”

He pulled the blanket over your bodies, tucking you into his side. His fingers idly traced your arm as he whispered, “You were always more than just a friend to me. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

You cuddled into his chest, your heart still fluttering, your body sore in the most satisfying way.

“Maybe you don’t have to say it,” you whispered. “Just… stay tonight.”

He kissed the top of your head, pulling you tighter against him.

“I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

[prettygirl-gabi]

Special Guest

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

POV: First-person

Fandom: UConn’s Women’s Basketball

Word Count: 1,500+

Summary: we have a special guest for the podcast

Tags: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowngirlypop , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @authentic-girl03 , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani

I adjust my mic and glance at Kayla, who’s lounging comfortably against my pillows, setting up her recording equipment.

“So, let me get this straight,” I start, tilting my head at her. “You, Kayla Williams, decided that my dorm—my bed, specifically—was the best place to record this episode?”

Kayla smirks. “You act like this isn’t the most comfortable setup ever. It’s cozy, it’s intimate, it’s giving vibes. Plus, do you really think I was about to record in one of those stiff chairs in the common room? Be so for real.”

I shake my head, laughing. “You just didn’t wanna book a studio.”

“Correct.” She grins, popping a piece of gum into her mouth. “Now, get comfy, and let’s start—”

Before she can finish, my dorm door swings open, and in walks Paige.

Scratch that—drags herself in.

She looks exhausted, still in her practice gear, her low ponytail a little frizzy from sweat, and her duffle bag barely hanging onto her shoulder. She doesn’t say anything, just lets out a deep sigh and makes a beeline for my bed.

“Uh, hey?” I say, watching as she tosses her bag to the floor, taking her ponytail out and flops onto the mattress like she’s been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Without hesitation, she burrows into me, laying her head directly on my stomach, her arms loosely wrapping around my waist.

I blink down at her. “Paige?”

She hums in response but doesn’t move.

Kayla raises an eyebrow. “Yo, is she good?”

“She had morning practice,” I explain, running a hand through Paige’s locs. “Guess it wiped her out.”

Kayla snickers. “Nah, this is crazy. She didn’t even say hi.”

I poke Paige’s shoulder. “You good, baby?”

Paige nuzzles deeper into me, sighing. “Mhm.”

“Wanna move?”

“No.”

I glance at Kayla, who’s grinning like she’s witnessing something hilarious.

“Oh, she’s whipped,” Kayla says, adjusting her mic. “You sure you still wanna record? Your girl looks real comfortable.”

I glance down at Paige, who’s already breathing slower, her body completely relaxed against mine.

“She’ll be fine,” I say, settling back into the pillows. “If she’s tired enough to fall asleep while we talk for an hour, she probably needs the rest.”

Kayla shakes her head, still smirking. “Alright, your relationship is crazy soft, but let’s get into it.”

She presses record, and just like that, we start the episode.

—

Thirty minutes in, Paige hasn’t moved an inch.

She’s completely knocked out, her breath warm against my hoodie, her arms still lazily wrapped around me. Every now and then, she shifts, sighs, or tightens her grip, but for the most part, she’s dead to the world.

Kayla, of course, is having way too much fun with this.

“Okay, so what I’m gathering,” she says, pointing at Paige’s sleeping form, “is that you got this superstar, face-of-UConn-basketball, Paige Bueckers, so down bad that she literally needs to be on you to function properly?”

I roll my eyes. “She’s just tired.”

Kayla gives me a look. “Nah, see, I’ve known Paige for a while, and I ain’t never seen her like this with anyone else.”

I fight a smile, absentmindedly running my fingers through Paige’s hair. “She likes being close to me. Is that a crime?”

Kayla grins. “Not at all. It’s just hilarious how you try to act all nonchalant about it.” She leans toward the mic dramatically. “Y’all, let it be known that Paige Bueckers is a clingy girlfriend. Possibly the clingiest.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “She’s not that clingy.”

Kayla gestures at Paige. “Bro. She fell asleep on you mid-podcast. You might as well get her a ‘Property of Y/N’ shirt at this point.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “She does have a hoodie that says ‘Y/N’s Favorite.’”

Kayla howls. “Oh, nah! That’s crazy. Ain’t no way.”

I nod, grinning. “Got it for her last Valentine’s Day.”

Kayla wipes a fake tear. “This is beautiful. True love.”

I shake my head, still smiling as we move on to the next topic.

—

By the time we wrap up the episode, Paige is still dead asleep.

Kayla stretches, cracking her knuckles. “Alright, that’s a wrap. Great episode, and we got bonus content of you being the human equivalent of a teddy bear.”

I snort. “Glad I could provide entertainment.”

Kayla stands, gathering her stuff. “I gotta bounce, but good luck getting your girl off you.” She nudges Paige’s leg. “Yo, Bueckers, you alive?”

Paige groans, barely lifting her head. “Barely.”

Kayla smirks. “Your girl’s free now. You gonna let her move?”

Paige ignores her, instead snuggling back into me, her voice muffled against my hoodie. “No.”

Kayla cackles. “Yeah, I’m outta here.”

She gives me a knowing look before heading for the door. “Text me when you finally escape.”

I roll my eyes. “Bye, Kayla.”

Once she’s gone, I glance down at Paige, brushing a few stray locs out of her face. “You good, sleepyhead?”

Paige hums. “Better now.”

I smile. “You slept through my whole podcast, you know.”

She grins sleepily, eyes still closed. “Best nap I’ve ever had.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “You’re so spoiled.”

She finally cracks one eye open, looking up at me with that soft, lazy smile of hers. “By you? Absolutely.”

I can’t even argue with that. Instead, I kiss her forehead, letting her sink back into me.

She’s gonna be wide awake later, and I should make her get up soon.

But for now?

I let her stay exactly where she is.

---

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-five —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.8k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. menstruation. harm to a child. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Jagged rock burns into your palms. Slapping a hand up, you feel for the grassy ledge, barely visible in the darkness. You heft the backpack over it before managing to pull yourself up, landing on your stomach with a grunt through your teeth. The sneakers you scavenged from the closet are tight around your toes—better than Salome's thin shoes, but still far from pleasing as you stand and press on towards the road.

Moonlight guides you north. 

Not long until sunrise, judging by the sky.

Small white clouds puff around your mouth as the chilled air brushes the damp spot on your too-big jeans, the cuffs rolled and the waist cinched to keep them from slipping. You couldn't leave in the middle of the night, so you held a mug of water as a makeshift alarm. The moment sleep tried to steal you, the splash on your thigh ended it abruptly. 

You'd woken Blue up to tell her. At first, grey eyes scolded you in the dark. She looked away, ready to argue, before quietly reciting instead: the house they kept her in, the layout, any hiding places she may have seen.

"What about her?" you had asked. "Anything important to her. She probably saw antibiotics as a gift from God or something."

"Yeah. She would've," Blue muttered. "She liked to knit. And, um, talked about birds. Her husband owned the whole place, but he died. I don't know if any of that helps."

"It does. It's better than nothing." You gave her hand a squeeze. "Make sure he eats again. And check his back. You might need to drain it. You know how now, right? Nereida could—"

"I've got it." She slipped her hand away. "Just—don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Of course not."

Sneaking out had been easy—only because Nereida was on watch. You slipped out the back and wove through the tall grass, barely stirring the stalks. Price would've caught you for sure. But you made it across the creek with nothing more than the slow unrolling of your jeans to slow you down, the cuffs dragging in the water and soaking through. You rolled them back up, but a kilometer up the road, they've slouched back down, heavy and clinging to your legs.

Time is an enemy you've already lost a day to. With a sigh, you drop onto the hood of a rusted car, pull the knife from your waist, and hack at the fabric’s ends. A serrated blade would make this easier. The hems are jagged, but at least they won’t get in the way.

Ghost’s fever is bad, but the real threat is sepsis—the blood poisoning, organ failure, the things you haven’t told Blue. At best, he has a week. At worst, another day. The thought has you scrubbing a hand over your tired eyes before pushing off the car. You toss the cut scraps into the grass just as a disturbance prickles the back of your neck.

You whirl around, dropping the knife in favor of the pistol. 

"Just me."

"Jesus. Kyle. I was ready to shoot."

"Honorable of you to give me a quick one."

You huff, bend for the knife, and slip it back at your waist.

He closes the gap, rifle and backpack slung over his shoulders. 

"Why wouldn't you tell anyone?" His brows lower. "I went to feed him, and Blue said you’d gone back. Hell of a surprise."

You give him your back. "I've already wasted time. I knew what you'd say."

"And what exactly did you think I'd say?" A hand on your shoulders pries you back around.

Your eyes drift up to his, narrow, then veer to the side. "That it's a long shot."

"Yeah, it is." His hand drops. He brushes past you with a sigh, long and ragged, adjusting the rifle on his back. "Come on, then. You're not the only one who gives a shit about him."

There isn't anything to be said as you trudge beside him, no argument able to form. You know his company is invaluable. Gratitude is still hard to find, even when he prevents you from going the wrong way. "We turned here last time." Apparently you hadn't paid much mind. The road fills the gaps of silence, dawn breathing life into the buzz of cicadas. Long drags of air fill your lungs: sweet flowers only, until, something else. A waft of charred meat.

"You should eat."

Kyle extends a piece of squirrel. Despite the twinge in your stomach, you brush him off. "While they were starving you, we were getting stuffed. Fatten the mares, get a strong foal—all that."

His jaw ticks. "Ah."

"Damn good food, too."

"Lucky you."

"Lucky us."

Conversation shrinks to a brief exchange of what Blue said. He doesn't look convinced it'll help much. The stench doesn’t sour the air until the first sign for Fleurbaix rises at your right—like a breath in your face. Humidity clings to it, thick and unmoving, until there’s nothing else to breathe. In the sunlight, familiar stone walls and red-shingled rooftops repulse you, almost more than the sight of aimless Greys—some weaving between clotheslines, most trapped within the fenced pasture. The cows, however, have already fled through a broken gap, eager to escape uphill.

"They should've lost interest by now. The blood isn't fresh," you mutter.

"Humidity. Less evaporation, more smell." He nods the tip of his rifle. "Over there. That one has a wraparound porch like Blue said."

The view vanishes behind overgrown trees as you crest a hill, descending toward the commune. Kyle motions you forward, weaving through structures, keeping clear of the Greys. As long as they can’t scent you, they will stay distracted. You step over a few stray bodies, faces picked apart by crows that scatter at your approach. Clinging to a stone wall as you follow, a bony hand bursts forth from a window—Kyle knifes its skull before it can grab you.

Other than that, there aren't any close calls.

You reach the house that fits Blue's description.

The door is wide open.

Kyle sweeps in with the poised rifle.

You are greeted by an already ransacked interior. Tipped chairs, half-yanked cabinets, tossed couch cushions. A sick understanding settles at your fingertips, curling them around the gun. 

"They were here. The women. They knew she would've hidden them."

More signs that this is just a dead end; a waste of precious time.  

Kyle lowers the guns and presses forward into the hall. "That doesn't mean they found what they were looking for. Check the rooms."

Maman's house is as expected, even in disarray. Quiet and balmy. You kick open the first door. Polished wood, gold-embellished hinges, a closet stuffed with white gowns. A knitting bag catches your eye. You sift through it, tossing out balls of red yarn. Nothing.

More nothing under the bed. 

You tear the painting from the wall, only solid stone behind it.

A family photo thrashes to the floor beneath a swipe of your fist. You find Kyle in the other room, where a smaller bed is tucked beneath a window—the sight makes it hard to breathe for a moment. The blood stain on the sheets. Somehow you know whose it is. Your stomach rips at itself. You force yourself to look away before you lose it. 

"The floorboards. They didn't look under them. Help me."

He raps the butt of the rifle against the wood. A hollow echo near the doorway offers promise. A knife jammed between the planks pries them apart. When you sink to your knees, all that fills your hands are stashes of faded euros. No pills, no vials. 

You rip up the notes and let the shreds feather through the air, leaning back on your palms as a quiet hiss leaves your teeth. "Where did you put them you vile, ugly, goddamn hag."

"Maybe her son kept them," Kyle murmurs, threading a hand through his hair. "He had the guns."

"No." Your voice is firm. You stand and pace. "She would've wanted them close to her. Antibiotics—she was saving that for the women. The births."

You reach for your knife and stab the mattress, slicing it open. Springs and foam. Books maybe. You run back to the shelf in the hall and rip them one at a time, flipping them open to see if any were hollowed out. Even the Bible is just a book. 

What else?

What else?

"How much time are we willing to spend looking for them, Twix?" he asks lowly behind you. "Maybe we check somewhere else. A town."

"They'd have picked them clean years ago." You toss the Bible to the floor with a thud. "This was our best bet. We had them. We fucking had them."

"And now we don’t. We can’t keep tearing this place apart. We focus on keeping him stable—keep the wounds clean, use what we’ve got. He’s made it this far without them. We just need to buy him more time. There might be another stash in one of the other houses."

You lean against the wall, eyes fluttering shut briefly. A deep inhale. "There's just—something I'm missing."

"Twix—" He sighs, running a hand down his face. "Alright. Let's do another sweep. I'll check the floors in the living room."

Thoughts race. A frothy tide refusing to settle. You press your thumb to the scabbed cut on your wrist, the sting sharpening your mind. Back in the cell. Morning sun slanting through the window. Obsessively studying what’s around you. Replaying everything you learned about that woman. A dead woman. If you could’ve told the Greys to hold off, let her speak before they tore through her neck, you would have.

In the midst, a dove’s call breaks through—three notes, too close in your ear. You must be imagining it, but Alexandre’s voice stirs in your head: La tourterelle chante pour toi.

He said that when he heard the dove.

Why?

Birds.

She talked about birds.

You push off the wall and follow the sound to the room where they kept Blue. The coo draws you to the windowsill by the bed, where the glass is cracked just enough for the curtains to stir, the stench outside seeping in. Twin beady eyes snap to yours, a mechanical tilt of its neck. A collared dove, you think. Paul used to rise early to listen to them.

"Where are they?" you press lowly, accusing. "You know, don't you?"

The bird doesn’t answer, only flutters down from the sill.

Your fingers grip the edge of the window as you kneel on the ruined mattress. Below, the bird perches in the flower box—no flowers, just dried weeds and a nest of twigs.

"Tell me." It watches the whisper curl from your lips. "Tell me, or I’ll rip apart your home."

It flutters off. Your arm lunges after it, clawing at the nest in blind retaliation. Twigs snap. Dirt kicks up into your eyes. You blink hard to clear it. A strangled sound catches in your throat—half a curse, half a cry. Then, something strange beneath. Sharp rust that makes you freeze.

You sweep debris off the top of a—a lock box—loosely buried within the soil. A breath lodges in your throat as you claw at the dirt, dragging the rusted metal loose, launching backward on the bed with it clutched in both hands. It can't be real. You give the box a sharp shake. Something rattles inside, and your chest tightens.

"Kyle!"

Thunderous slaps of his boots echo down the hall. He rushes in, scanning you with a sweep of his gaze.

"No, I'm—this is locked." You tug at the bolted metal. "Can you open it?" 

He doesn't question it. Relief flickers across his face, quickly replaced by grim determination. He raises the rifle and slams the butt against the lock. A sharp clang echoes, metal chipping but holding. Exhaling through his nose, he adjusts his grip. You meet his eyes and nod—keep going.

He hammers at the lock, pausing only to yank at it, testing for weakness. You wipe dirt from your jeans, watching. Whatever she buried here—it mattered. It had to. A dove lands on the windowsill, but movement beyond it sends your pulse spiking above the sharp cut of metal.

Greys.

When did they—

"Shit, shit, shit." You lurch from the bed. 

He stops, yanking up the rifle to jut it toward the window, shooting a snarling one that clambers up on the porch. It flails back, revealing more alike behind it—many more—shambling out from wherever they'd been lingering. "Fuck—how!" He tucks the lock box under his armpit and grabs your wrist. "Come on."

The living room windows reveal just how many have begun to close in around the house. Faster ones are already at the front door, clawing at the wood. Kyle swears, yanking you toward the bathroom—higher ground, a window above the porcelain tub. He slams it open with the rifle, then hands instantly find your waist to lift you. You shed the backpack, pulling it through behind your feet to squeeze through blindly.

"Anything to climb?" he barks.

You look up. "A gutter!"

You grab it and tighten your core, hoisting yourself up as your sneakers scrape against the siding, the moans below growing louder as they round the corner of the porch. Your palms press into exposed rafters, the gutter serving as a shaky foothold, but the last push onto the roof eludes you.

A firm shove at your thighs sends you over. You scramble up, steadying yourself before glancing back.

Kyle is halfway up, rappelling fast—until a bony hand clamps around his ankle, yanking him downward. Disoriented from the rush, you slap for the gun at your waist, firing wildly—two bullets wasted before one lands, shattering the Grey's skull with a squeal.

He throws the lockbox. You catch it just as he hauls himself onto the shingles.

Your head reels as you watch Kyle drop to one knee and start picking them off. Four, maybe five drop with ease, but the rest move erratically—jolting, frantic. He slows, trying to track their unpredictable movements, each shot requiring more precision. If you had your bow, you could help. But the pistol? You don't trust yourself.

He grunts in frustration, adjusts his stance, then reloads as he circles the perimeter of the roof. That’s when you feel it—not a hunger pang, but a deep, familiar ache, piercing low in your gut. Then something wet. Warm. A slow gush down your leg. Your breath stutters as you glance down at the stain blooming red across your thigh.

"It's me," you say.

"What?"

"Fuck, it's me they smell. My period."

His gaze drops to your body, widening when he sees the evidence. You should feel exposed, but you don’t. The thought slams into your brain at the same time your hands move—unbuttoning, yanking at the fly. The moans below swell.

"We can use it. Look away."

His eyes snap back to yours, then dart away with a sharp exhale. "Christ."

You’re already shoving them down, tugging at the loose, borrowed underwear clinging to your hips. Gathering the fabric, you swipe at the blood slick on your thigh, pressing it deeper into the fabric. "It can buy us time—but not much."

You yank the jeans back up. You roll the underwear into a ball. Kyle looks over.

"There—throw it toward that house. The door’s open. If enough go inside, it might trap some. Then we run back to the hill."

Just as quickly as the plan is formed, you hurl back your arm and launch the decoy as hard as you can. It lands in front of the next house, far enough to release the breath caged in your lungs as heads snap toward it, bodies lurching away. Kyle slings the rifle over his shoulder, grips your waist, and helps you down—but the moment he lets go to steady himself, your foot slips on the gutter.

You land roughly on your side and lose hold of the lockbox. All of the breath leaves your body as you scramble to grab it. A strong hand beneath your armpit tugs you back up, and then you're sprinting. A quick glance back shows most are drawn away, but a few still trail you. Kyle snatches the handgun from your waist mid-stride and fires, dropping two before they get too close.

You duck beneath clotheslines, weave through wash bins still brimming with water. Trample roses. The pulse pounding in your neck drowns out everything but the next shot Kyle fires—enough to throw off your step. You don’t see the one lunging until it slams into you from the side.

You feel the jolt of the fall before you fully register the thing wrestling on top of you. Hair whips into your mouth, rancid breath spilling hot across your cheek. The strength is wrong—too fresh, too human. The hands grabbing at you are still strangely soft. A distinct bulge presses you down. Then a glob of dark-tinged saliva splats onto your eye, blinding you before you can make sense of it.

It's only a second of fight before a shot to the skull sends pulpy blood and brain onto your face. 

The weight is torn away as you scrub at your eyes. Part of you already knows before you look at the limp corpse. Time congeals. Blonde hair fans over the grass, framing a pale face with white eyes. The slip dress—the same one you pulled over her head.

Her swollen belly.

You go rigid. Kyle has to yank hard to get you upright.

"Come on!"

"They left her."

The words spill numbly from your lips.

When he shoots another Grey, your wooden, puppet legs move. You leave the body of her behind, adrenaline numbing you. After what is realistically only minutes but feels like hours, the thick trees envelop you once again, and when you finally steal a glance, you can't see them anymore. They've lost your scent for now. Enough for you to pause against a tree, swallowing air to catch your breath. 

You walk deeper into the vegetation until Kyle feels satisfied enough to stop and retrieve a canister of water from his backpack. He offers it to you. It takes a moment to steady it at your lips, then your throat allows some down. But your stomach spasms almost instantly, and you are wrenching it back up at the base of a tree, crumpling to your knees.

"Shit."

Hands collect your hair.

A few more dry heaves consume you, until you're breathing harshly through a hanging mouth.

"No… They didn’t—" A hard swallow. "They let her out. She was in the cell."

"What?" His voice brushes your neck, touch halting at your shoulders. Realization softens his tone. "You knew her—the pregnant one."

You wipe your mouth and stand. His hands stay at your arms a beat too long, grip firm, like he’s waiting for something—an explanation you don’t give. You don’t meet his eyes. "We need to move."

Your stomach still aches, but you don't vomit again. You walk quickly out of the trees and to the road. 

The walk back is spent scanning more closely to see if you've drawn more with your smell. By the time you reach the cliff, midday swelters. Lightheadedness teeters your first attempt down. Kyle tosses the box and rifle to the bottom, then carries you on his back, your fingers interlocking to keep you secure like the backpack that hugs his chest. 

A stop at the creek allows a shaky handful of water to splash your face. Taking off your jeans to wash your blood-stained thighs feels too much of a task. Instead, you watch Kyle finally finish striking the lock, the metal giving way under his relentless grunts. 

"Do you want me to open it?" He glances at you.

A slow shake of your head. Your knees sink before it. Fingers hesitate at the latch. If this isn’t it—if it’s empty—you don’t know what comes next. What fills the space where the smallest sliver of hope has wedged itself in.

The scrape of rusted metal.

At first, all you see is cloth. A yellowed shade of white. A beat of nothing. Then, your hands move on their own accord, unwrapping the contents, brushing hard plastic. The faint rattle of capsules makes you inhale before you even read the first label: amoxicillin. You go still. Dig through for more. Four, five vials. Even more than what you had on you.

The run back to the house is a battle against your own legs.

The smell of blood hits first—thick, metallic. Not human. A quick glance confirms it, Price carving up a hefty cattle he must've found.

He's saying something, to Kyle maybe. You don’t pause.

The front door swings open.

Blue—

She slams into you, arms locking tight, breath knocked from your lungs.

"I saw you from the window."

"You shouldn’t be on your feet," you manage.

She looks down. At your hand. At the pills.

Her voice trembles. "You… you found it?"

You nod.

Up the stairs. Blue tugging at your sleeve. Kyle's steps audible behind you. The bedroom waits. Stale air. Ghost—he's lying on his stomach the way you left him, but a smother of something sticky glistens on his back. 

"Honey," Blue mumbles, wincing as she lowers on the bed. "Ari... he found a hive. I was just about to put clean bandages, too. It helps, right?"

"Not as much as this should help."

Kyle begins lifting him.

"He was up for a bit, but he was... talking weird," Blue whispers as you kneel at Ghost's side, fight the shake in your hand to unscrew the cap. "He asked if you were sleeping outside—like, out loud, to himself. Then he kept saying ‘sparks’ and ‘Washington.’ Do you know what that means?"

The words barely register anything but confusion and the fact that he is even worse. It's Kyle who answers under his breath. "No clue." His gets Ghost upright without disturbing his wounds, steadying a hand at the back of his skull. 

When your thumb presses at his bottom lip, the dry, cracked skin resists. As you try to pry it apart, his eyes flicker open—unfocused. Dilated pupils shift to yours.

"I need you to open," you whisper around the tightness in your throat. "It's amoxicillin. We've got it."

Overgrown hair clings to his forehead, thick and unruly. Sharp stubble scrapes your hand as you try again to open his mouth. Labored breaths hit your knuckles, unnervingly hot, along with a release of words he murmurs through his teeth. "There you are... again. 

Your teeth graze your cheek. "Here I am. Now open, please."

He does—barely. The chalky pill makes it to his tongue. The rest blurs.

Waking up on edge is nothing new.

At first, you keep your eyes shut—squeezing them until the backs turn red. Then, true consciousness jolts through your limbs, setting a heavy heartbeat between your ears. Light floods your vision. Soft cheeks. Pink lips, pursed. Brows knitted tight.

"You make the strangest faces in your sleep sometimes."

"I..."

"Water?"

"Please," you croak.

Pins and needles prickle your fingers as you lift your head. A mug presses to your blistered lips, gentle fingers stroking the greasy hair at your temple. The gulp of water almost makes you moan. You're ready to down the entire things until it's pulled away.

"You're gonna throw up again if you keep going."

You lick your lips. "What?"

"You've been passed out for two days," Blue explains. "Except for when we tried to get you to eat and drink, but that was a fucking struggle. Nereida says you overworked yourself. Not enough sleep and water can kill you, you know." Her brow arches. "I told you not to do anything stupid, but I guess you've been doing that."

Two days.

You inhale through lungs that feel primitive. 

"He—"

"Before you ask, yes. We've been giving him the meds. Morning and evening. His fever finally went down last night. He's been out since."

Your eyes finally drift to the other side of the bed. A steady rise and fall presses warmth into the sheets. You scramble up, reaching over—his cheek meets your palm, warm, but not alarmingly so. Normal, almost. A faint flush dusts his skin, the color creeping back in. His back is freshly bandaged, but his eyelids still bear the violet tinge of exhaustion.

"It's helping." The words press into your teeth. 

The rest of the day passes in gentle fragments. 

A bowl of fire-braised beef pressed into your hands. You eat without tasting, slow chewing through lush fat, while Price and Kyle pore over a more detailed almanac they found in the house. The food settles heavy, to the point of discomfort, but stays down. 

Later, you wade into the creek with Nereida. She was the one who changed you while you were out—scrubbing the dirt from your legs, tucking fresh towels and a new pair of underwear beneath you. You only realize she added rosemary when a sprig falls out as you undress.

You listen to her talk. You don’t tell her about Salome. No. You keep it to yourself. The water is warm. At first, you don’t feel it. But as it swallows your shins and carries away ribbons of dried blood, the gentle current soothes, taking the edge off the sun, which turns the rocks along the bank scorching hot. Birds call from the trees—you don’t know what kind. Worm-like minnows tickle your sore toes.

Back at the house, you sit on the porch to wring out your hair. You catch Ari carrying Blue through the garden, her head tucked against his shoulder, bandaged feet dangling over the arm that hooks under her knees. They whisper about something. His steps are slow, pausing by a beautiful patch of flowers that, apparently, smell rancid by the way she leans in and recoils, making a face. When you look away, Kyle is staring at you across the grass as he hangs strips of beef over a tree branch to dry. 

You should thank him. For not letting you do the stupid thing alone. But instead, you shift your gaze to the sun and watch its slow descent on your own, studying the way it casts an orange glow across the wild growth. It's the sudden assault of dark clouds that send everyone inside. A summer rain that bursts down without warning, without mercy. 

It hasn't relented by the time you fix a bowl of meat for Ghost. He has yet to ingest anything but bone broth and some plum juice according to Blue and Nereida. You chew off little pieces of the least fattiest parts into a bowl and give it to Blue. You go with her to feed him but stop short, keeping your distance. You simply watch from across the room as he manages to sit up on his own despite swaying, brushing away Price's helping arm, and chewing slowly with great effort. His eyes, focused and clear, flit upward to yours. You hold them for a moment, until the pull in your chest turns intolerable, and you look down at his bandaged shoulder instead. 

"Tastes good?" Blue murmurs, brushing the hair from his forehead.

He hums. 

"How do you feel?"

He swallows, then lifts a hand to her hair, thumbing at it. "Young again."

She places her hand over his, biting a smile. "You're so annoying."

She wipes at her eyes. 

Instead of easing, the rain intensifies as the night deepens. Distant thunder rolls closer, flashing into overhead lightning that only sharpens your edge. Blue spends the night with Ari in the living room, where Kyle helped them set up a small fort of blankets and pillows—a small distraction, but one she could use. It takes a nudge from you to push past her hesitation, to convince her it’s okay to leave Ghost’s side, just for a little while.

"It's good to have some space, if you need it."

That leaves you alone in the bedroom with him. He knocked out again after eating. You redo his bandages, relieved to find the wounds free of pus. New scabs have begun to form, fragile but promising.

But you can't lay down. You try—perch at the edge of the bed, press your palms into the mattress—then you're back on your feet.

The walls feel too close. The air too thick. His steady breathing should ground you, should ease something inside you, but it doesn’t. The storm is unyielding, pressing against the house, rattling the windows. It drives your nails into your palms, into the raw skin around them. A string ties itself around your ankles, pulling one foot in front of the other until you're in the hallway, hand blindly skimming the wall to guide you to the spiral staircase.

Upward.

The library. You don’t even realize you’ve come here until you freeze at the top of the stairs, staring at the wreckage left behind by your hands. Books lie scattered across the floor, pages severed and crumpled. A curtain rod rests askew, displaced in the quiet ruin.

When you finally move, it’s a mindless ordeal. The motions of putting the room back together—guided only by the stray flash of lightning—steal any thoughts before they can form. You kneel, gently stacking books against your chest, slotting them one by one back onto the oak shelves. Embellished spines offer familiar titles, even in French. A lot of Jane Austen.

"No Hemingway, huh?" you whisper, swiping a finger through the blanket of dust before bending for more books. You reach the last shelf, lips twitching. "I'm fixing you. Happy now?"

Of course, no answer. Only the faint slide of leather against the wood. 

He’s in the room before you notice.

The presence registers as a skim along the back of your neck.

But you don’t turn, hand freezing after you release Le Comte de Monte-Cristo, then dropping limp at your side. You know it’s him. You feel it in the shift of the air, the weight of it settling differently around you. More so in the slow, deliberate footfalls, each one measured, as if testing the ground. And if none of that gives him away, the warmth of his breath—heavy, uneven—spilling over your scalp does. It sinks into your skin when he reaches you, winds through your veins, curls your toes against the floor until they hurt.

You try to inhale, but the breath snags, fracturing in your throat. "You shouldn’t be up."

"I shouldn't."

His hand lifts, knuckles skimming the flannel draped over your frame before grazing your neck with a slow, unhurried sweep of his thumb. It trails down your arm, pausing at the last book in your grasp. He takes it from you—or maybe it slips from your weak grip. You can't tell.

With a deep breath, he reaches the shelf above you. The book doesn't fit at first, his hand unsteady, struggling to align it. A final rough shove of his knuckles forces it into place. He’s close. You knew he was, but now his scent wraps around you—mossy, salty, earth that you fall face-first into. His chest skims your spine. An elbow grazes your ear as he finishes.

And then he turns you.

His fingers curl around your shoulder, guiding you until you're facing him. Your feet slide to follow, reluctant and all too willing. Storm-filtered light catches on the sharp cut of his jaw, casting it in shadow. You brace yourself. An unformed breath fills your chest. You're unable to meet his eyes—though you feel them, tracing every inch of your face.

Wordless, he takes hold of your wrist. You don’t understand why until he cradles it in his rough palm, between your chests. His chapped lips lower to the tail-end of the healing cut, light enough not to stir pain.

His lips move.

But you don't.

It's as if every function of your brain is funneled into the nerves beneath each kiss he trails up your forearm. Soft, unwavering, yet each one lingering for a beat longer than the last. The next one lands at the crease in your elbow. A breath finally rushes out of your nose when he reaches the top of your shoulder, close enough to the pounding artery in your neck to invite heat over your cheeks. A strange heat. The same temperature of the moisture that begins to cloud your vision. 

You tremble. "Ghost, I—" 

You make a last-ditch effort to clutch the hem of his jeans before your knees can waver, his mouth finding your throat. He kisses the part of it that bobs. Then pulls away just enough to cup your face between his hands, forcing your gaze to his. What you are met with is twin, black eyes. They unnerve you. Like the ground beneath your feet, it feels like they might swallow you whole and spit you out. 

You can't breathe. The shaking is uncontrollable. Rapid blinks dispel the moisture in your eyes before you're gasping, pressing into him. "Please... please. Ghost, I—" you choke, "Please, I just—"

You sound scared, even to your own ears. Like you might get hurt if you he doesn't give you what you're asking for. But you don't know what you're asking for—don't understand why the soft kisses he places on your forehead and cheeks feel like too much and not enough at the same time. You clasp his wrist to pull his hands off your face, nails piercing into the skin there. He allows it—you hurting him—even when almost his entire upper half is swathed in bandages. 

"You're shaking," he murmurs.

"I'm fine." You exhale, but it’s uneven, shaky in its own right. "I just need—"

His thumb presses under your chin in attempt to still you.

A swallow forces down the lump in your throat. The ghost of an inhale. Then you lunge, kissing him. Not gentle or hesitant. But with a desperate growl, bursting forth from your mouth into his, your hand threading into his hair and holding tight onto his skull.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 6

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader are finally honest with each other. complete with tears and more than a few make-up kisses.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: angst but mostly fluff, i think this qualifies as hurt/comfort, HHEHHEHHEH, lots of kissing, so cheesy, you jokingly imply he's a slut, i need him expeditiously a/n: thank you guys for being patient with me!! ilysm!! i edited this until i hated it but i hope it's satisfactory for YOU guys..... as always please please let me know what you think!! and i already started the next part hehehe

The car ride is the worst of your life. 

Neither of you speak. 

And you find yourself wishing, pleading to god that one of you will say something to fix this—but each minute ticks by and the streets get familiar and a quiet song ends and you realize you were silly to ever think a twenty minute car ride would change anything. 

Spencer was the luckiest you’d ever been and your relationship is floating away like a balloon you forgot to hold on to—nothing more than a red dot lost to the vast blue. 

Maybe for him it’s easier. You’re pretty sure it is, as you risk one or two glances at his unreadable profile that turn into lingering, obsessive looks because you’re panicking and realizing you’ll maybe never see him this close again. It’s funny and terrible how quickly you’re remembering what it was like to see him at the coffee shop for the first time—how he was nothing but a beautiful stranger, completely unknown to you and worlds away. Now you’ve had him, sort of, and you’re turning into the girl who could never have him all over again. 

When he turns onto your street reality begins to sink in. Your heart is a short fuse inside your chest as he pulls into a spot and parks the car. The rumble of the engine cuts. The headlights stay on. 

For a moment, everything is quiet. You wish you could insert your own reality into the silence—one where you’re simply enjoying each other’s company and there’s no sense of impending doom to take your breath away. 

“Do you want to talk?” Spencer asks, looking pointedly ahead where the lights shine off the back of some other person’s car. A wayward moth dips and swirls into the high beams. You watch Spencer track it with his eyes. 

“I’m not sure what to say,” you admit quietly. The weight of everything you’d like to say sits in your stomach like lead, too heavy to divulge. It’s only been a few weeks of having to carry the truth around with you and your muscles are already fatiguing. The idea of carrying it around indefinitely makes your eyes sting. You’re already exhausted. 

Maybe a stronger person would find that last bit of energy to make a final push, to save the relationship just before it falls apart. 

But you never claimed to be strong.

Deep down, you must’ve known you weren’t ready for a real relationship. You can’t handle all of this pretending to be okay with things that hurt. Even if that's the grown-up thing to do.

“I tried. I really did, I’m sorry—I’m—”

Before you can get the words out your throat tightens around them and you bury your face in your hands. 

The sound of his seatbelt unlocking and whirring back surprises you—but you’re even more surprised when he undoes yours. Still, you move your arm so it can snap back into place and then he’s pulling you into him. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of your head as you lean over the small gap between the seats, unable to stop yourself from shedding more tears. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry. 

For not loving you?

If it’s not your fault he doesn’t love you back—then whose fault is it? Who’ll take the fall?

But still, he’s holding you so carefully, like you’re made of porcelain. Something to be protected. Or at the very least, something to be mourned even after it’s in pieces. 

As you lean against him, lulled by the slow in and out of his breath, the inverse of yours, and the way he slips his thumb over the back of your hair in silence for a few minutes—you wonder what’s missing. Why he’s not satisfied. 

“I don’t understand you.”

The words come out flat, muffled by his coat, garbled with leftover tears. 

“What was that?” Spencer asks gently, still playing with your hair. You sniffle, adjusting your head so your cheek is to his shoulder and your lips are no longer smushed. 

“I just… I want you to explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

You sit up just enough to meet his eyes. The movement seems to take him by surprise, but he keeps his hands on you—one slipping to your cheek and the other still loyal to your back. He brushes his fingers over the delicate skin beneath your eye and you cover them with your own in an effort to get him to stop treating you so kindly. But even now, when you’re mad at him for being so gentle in the way that he hurts you, you can’t help but seek the familiar callus on the side of his trigger finger. It’s an odd thing to anticipate missing, but you’ll miss all of him. You can’t imagine holding a hand without that familiar anomaly—a cairn to show you where he’s been and who you’re holding. 

He curls his warm hand around yours and you hold your joined fist out for him in emphasis, speaking louder than either of you were prepared for. 

“This! You! I understand that we don’t feel the same way about each other and maybe I can’t change that. But then you do this and I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why this isn’t enough for you, because it’s enough for me, and I just—I don’t know what else I can give you. I don’t know what else there is. I don’t understand why I’m not... enough.” The tears are back and flowing freely, but you forge breathlessly ahead, because you’ve finally found a way to be honest and you’re not going to stop now. Spencer is frowning, lips parted and clearly confused or shocked or something, but you continue your confessional before he has the chance to interrupt. “I want to be enough, but you didn’t even give me the chance, and I don’t think it’s fair that we’re breaking up when you didn’t let me try. Maybe if you just told me, if you explained what’s missing I could fix it and you could love me back, and—please. I just want to try. Please, Spencer.”

A car engine revs somewhere far away, echoing down the street. It reverberates for several seconds, unimpeded by any other noise. Any word, any breath. 

His voice is thin when he responds a moment later, still studying your face with a kind of scrutiny that is so indecipherable you don’t know how you expect him to respond. 

“Love you back?”

You blink. 

Your stomach drops. 

For all that you’d revealed, for all that you’d willingly humiliated yourself with your pathetic supplication—you’d meant to keep that four letter word to yourself. 

What a way to make an exit from your relationship. 

Spencer is still looking at you, keeping you pinned to your seat, and as much as you wish it wasn’t the case he’s not going to let you off the hook this time. He’s going to demand an answer, and you have a 0% chance of bursting into mist before you have to provide an explanation, so you have no choice but to say something. 

What, exactly, you’re going to say—you don’t know. 

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean it.”

The response comes so quickly, sharp as a slap, that you jump back slightly, a deep frown twisting your brow. Spencer makes no effort to keep his hand in yours as you slip from his grasp. 

“That’s not what I was—”

“Just say what you mean.” Silence. “Tell me.”

It’s like he’s got an ice pick to your chest. It’s like he wants you to humiliate yourself even further, to punish you for your messy indiscretions. 

“Spencer…”

It’s a warning. You’re giving him a chance to stop this before he hurts you sadistically. Before he becomes unrecognizable. 

He swallows. 

“Please.” And then, a second later, when you’re still trying to process the quiet pain in his voice and suddenly faced with the unexpected question of who is hurting who, “please, just… tell me if you meant it.”

For the first time tonight, you notice how exhausted he looks. Slightly gaunt, even paler than usual. Shadows pool deeper in the hollows of his face. His eyes look glossy, dark crescents below awaiting to catch tears you realize you’ve never seen fall. The tonal shift has you so disoriented, so out of your body like you’re seeing yourself in his own injuries—the truth becomes the only humane answer. Even if it hurts you.

“Yes. I meant it. You know I mean it.”

“I don’t know that,” he says on a shaky exhale. “How would I know that?”

And he’s got the ice pick back at your sternum. It’s tipped in poison. The mallet trembles in the air. So does your voice. 

“You told me you didn’t feel the same. You said it was new for me and different and I was going to make things complicated and you treated me like I was a stupid kid, and—and it doesn’t even matter. This was dumb. I’m sorry I said anything, I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just.. I can’t do this.”

You’re about to open the door, every muscle tense as you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. What reduced you to the weepy, pathetic girl, begging a boy to love her despite knowing it doesn’t work like that—the same girl you’ve looked down your nose at in every film and TV show and in every high school and college hallway since you learned what self-superiority meant. Before you knew exactly what it felt like to be her. 

“Wait.”

He says your name.  

And of course you pause. 

You want a reason to stay. If you had more self-respect, you wouldn’t. But you know you’ll give him as many chances to give you an excuse as he’s willing to take. You knew that before your fingers met the metal of the door handle. 

“Just—hold on a second. Can you look at me?” 

You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the heel of your palm before turning around to face him once more. You wonder if anyone will ever have the kind of power he has over you ever again. 

The despair leaves only wisps of itself on his face—mostly he looks like he’s thinking hard about something. It’s jarring. 

“You’re talking about our phone call on Sunday, right?”

You nod petulantly with a quick teary eye-roll because obviously that’s what you’re talking about. 

Something lights in his own dark eyes as he inhales, parts his lips as if to speak, and stops himself again. Like he’s got news that he’s not sure how to break. 

“The things I said, on that call… I wasn’t talking… about you.”

Your insides feel like tangled yarn as you stare at him uncomprehendingly. 

“I mean, I was. I was talking about us. But not in the way you think, it was—” he stops, rubbing his eyes and taking a frazzled breath. “I know what it’s like to be the one who cares more. I have to assume that I’m the one who cares more because when I don’t, I ruin things. And with you, I felt like—the stakes were so high, and I thought it’d be safer for me to not say anything until I knew you felt the same. But I know that’s not fair to you so I tried to tell you over the phone that if you didn’t feel the same way it was okay. And now I’m—I’m realizing the way I phrased it was incredibly unclear and misleading, and somehow I fucked it up in a completely new way. But I wasn’t referring to you. I just didn’t want you to feel stuck with someone who can’t give you casual when you have so much ahead of you. I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for that to happen.”

You blink. 

And for some reason, begin sobbing. 

Spencer freezes for a moment, then tells you to stay there and you barely have the capacity to wonder what he means as you hear his own door opening then slamming shut again. A moment later he’s on the passenger side, opening your door and leaning in. 

“Hey,” he whispers, gently pulling your hands from your face and making you turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But that’s good news, right? Why all the tears, lovely? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

You take a shuddering breath. 

“This is all my fault, I ruined everything because I was too scared to tell you before and now—and now—”

Stroking your cheeks to wipe away the tears is a futile effort because they just keep coming, but Spencer does it anyway, and he speaks so kindly, so evenly it somehow hurts deeper. 

You were terrible to him. And he had been prepared to accept that. He thought you didn’t love him, and he was still willing to be the subject of all your cryptic frostiness and inexplicable cruelty. 

“It is not your fault. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m still right here. We’re okay.”

“But we’re breaking up, and—and I was so mean to you. That’s not okay, Spencer.”

You finally look at him. He’s close, eyes warm and wide as he looks directly into your own teary gaze, shaking his head earnestly. 

“You were confused, honey. So was I. It was just a misunderstanding. But… I know I was unkind to you. I cannot express how sorry I am for that, and the last thing I want is for us to break up, but if you think that’s what’s best, I’ll… I’ll understand.”

His voice is dangerously thin by the end, strained with impending tears of his own. But he’s eternally kind—backlit by the streetlamps and beautiful like an angel.  Whatever you want, he’ll give you. Even if it’s this. 

“I don’t want that. I don’t.” You sigh, closing your eyes briefly against the world as you realize the impending breakup had been a delusion all along. That you were going to let your insecurities and some sick pride end the relationship for you. All that despair had been for nothing. Or—maybe not nothing. You realize he still hasn’t said it back. But you won’t be a coward. It’s not worth losing him. You open your eyes.  “I just—I want us to be on the same page. And if you don’t love me yet or if you don’t wanna say it, or if you can’t, I get it—it’s okay, but if you don’t could you maybe just tell me? So that I’ll know—”

Before you can process it Spencer is leaning in, head angled to accommodate you, pressing his lips to yours so softly your breath catches and your stomach flips. Maybe softer than he ever has before, and it’s like taking a deep breath after holding it through a dark tunnel. You exhale a tentatively soft sigh against him, releasing air you don't have along with the fraught tension in most of your body. All too quickly he’s pulling away, hands still cupping your cheeks and thumbs stroking over your skin. When he speaks it’s not quite a whisper, but secret-soft. 

“How could I not be so in love with you?” 

Suddenly you can feel the world turning underneath you. Or maybe you’re just dizzy from lack of oxygen. Either way it feels good. A drop of warmth makes a splash in your stomach and slowly spreads through every vein and capillary until you’re sure you’re glowing gold. 

“Really?”

“Of course really. I’m—” he takes a breath of his own, and you realize how difficult this must be after what happened the last time he professed his love for a girl. Your chest aches for him. His voice is low and solicitous, but it wavers slightly. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I was worried—I was worried the way I felt for you was… too much. I am so in love with you it scares me. I still don’t know what to say or how to act around you. When I’m gone, sometimes I imagine quitting my job, just so I can come home and see you sooner. When I have a gun in my hands, I start thinking about all the things I would do to keep you safe, or—or just because you asked me to. And if what you wanted was for me to leave you alone, I would have done that. If you wanted me to drop everything and everyone to be with you I would have done that. And I know you’d never ask those things of me. But any of them, I’d do in a heartbeat. Which is… it’s a little scary, huh?”

The final sentence is a nervous self-effacing chuckle, which you can match in sound only—one breathy attempt at a laugh from your slackened jaw. 

When that’s the only response you can manage, he clears his throat. 

“Too honest?”

You shake your head as if in a fog. 

“No. Not too honest. But I’m just… I’m trying not to cry again.”

He smooths over your hair fondly. His own eyes are shiny and full of wonder as he studies you for a short while, like you're doing something much more awe-inspiring than sniffling in the passenger seat of his car. Then one hand is dropped to your shoulder and the other braced against your seat back. Finally, he pulls back to a more reasonable distance with a shaky sigh. It’s a sound of relief. You want to hug him, and all the past hims who have ever been hurt by anyone. 

“You, um—you need to rehydrate. Do you have anything that will rebalance your electrolytes? If you don’t I can go to the store—”

“You don’t need to do that,” you assure him with a small, watery laugh, loosely grabbing the wrist that brushes your shoulder. 

“But you need to take care of yourself. And I know you haven’t been drinking enough water because you never do.”

There’s a lingering overwrought shakiness to his voice, but it’s still the most relaxed he’s sounded since he came home, and you realize that the worst is behind you. The storm that you’d been so sure you couldn’t weather is somehow clearing up. 

“I can’t believe we almost just broke up.”

He hangs his head, dropping it to the curve of your neck and groaning. 

“Don’t say that. Let’s not think about that right now. Just—” when he raises his head again, and shakes it slightly to get his hair out of his eyes, they’ve cleared, like he’s on a mission to change the subject. “Let’s go upstairs. Will you let me take care of you?”

You give him an exaggerated nod, still sniffing, and the smile that grows on his face is like seeing the sun rise above the ocean. You love his smile. You love him. 

Spencer kisses you on the cheek. 

“Okay. Let me lock the car and then we can go up.”

As soon as you get into your apartment and turn on the light Spencer goes to the kitchen. It’s a small unit, but antique and nice enough, though you prefer Spencer’s. There’s still some tension as you observe him filling a glass with water, kicking your boots off by the door—but not necessarily the bad kind. You’re not sure exactly what it is. 

“Where are you going?” He asks as you pass the kitchen area to turn on a standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room. 

“I don’t like the big light.” A warm glow emanates through stained glass as you flick it on. 

“I know that. I just didn’t realize it was a higher priority than your wellbeing.” His tone is sardonic but he’s already switching off the overhead lighting for you. You give him a wry smirk as you finally approach and take the proffered glass from his waiting hand. 

“Ambience over everything, baby.”

His brows pinch at the cavalier sentiment—you never call him baby, so you're sure he knows it’s a joke—and he shakes his head with a humorous little huff of air through his nose, watching as you drink deeply. Your hand is shaking. Spencer notices and covers it with both of his, taking the half empty glass with one and grabbing your hand with the other. 

“Adrenaline,” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles. “It’ll go away soon. Did you get enough?”

You nod, smiling small but genuinely. Emotionally exhausted or not, you’re happy. 

Spencer strays, not far, to set the glass on the counter. Then he turns to face you, bracing his palms on the ledge and just watching you for a moment with the kind of smile that makes you nervous in the best way.

He beckons you to him with nothing more than a quick tilt of his head, and you shuffle across the floor in your socks til you’re toe to toe. Without your shoes on, he feels much taller. Still he just watches you for a moment—not that you mind. Your view isn’t half-bad. The faint warm glow from the lamp casts shadows over his face, highlighting all the perfect angles, deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that still make you feel like a girl with a crush when you look at him. His hair is getting long. You’re unreasonably glad you still get to look at him like this. 

“Hi,” you whisper—something about the intimate dark of the room feels like a place for secrets. 

“Hi, pretty.” Spencer tucks hair behind your ear, eyes soft wherever they focus on your face like if he even looks at you too sharply you might break. “Have I told you how much I missed you while I was gone?”

He knows he hasn’t.

“Even when I was being a heinous bitch?”

Spencer laughs and it makes you smile too. The way his smile changes the landscape of his whole face will never feel any less like observing a natural phenomenon. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, and how you’re keeping him all to yourself in the dark on the fourth floor of an apartment building in DC. 

“Even then. Not sure that’s the wording I would have used.”

“I missed you too,” you admit softly. 

He maps your face with wandering eyes like he’s done a hundred times. Vaguely you wonder if he sees the same kind of beauty in you that you see in him. If he sees landmarks in your flaws and stars beyond the observable universe in your eyes. 

Spencer sweeps your hair over your shoulder, fingertips grazing your neck. 

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs. 

Butterflies fill your stomach and you nod shyly, unsure of what would come out if you tried to speak.

His free hand settles on your lower back and brings you into him until you’re chest to chest. With his other on your jaw, he bows his head, and you angle yours up, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. 

Spencer kisses you so gently it aches in your chest, still cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You can’t help wrapping your arms around his middle—before he’s pulling away far too soon. 

And he’s laughing. 

“What were you drinking?”

You frown, flustered and trying to remember a time before his lips were on yours.

“Water.”

“Before that, baby. At the bar.”

You think back even further, head muddled even more by the endearment so that it takes you a moment to recall. 

“A Shirley Temple. Derek brought it to me. Why? Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, still smiling as his lips brush yours. “You’re perfect. You taste like candy. It’s cute.”

Oh. You feel warm as he presses another kiss to your lips—and this time you insist on him staying awhile. He’s happy to oblige. 

Spencer kisses you soft and careful at first, and then deeper, but still so slow, until you can’t help the way you’re bunching the fabric of his shirt between your fingers and rising on your toes to try and get impossibly closer. He kisses you the way you’ve been needing him to since he left, long and unhurried and sweet—and takes everything you give him, siphoning away all your leftover turmoil and angst until you’re weightless. You’re deprived of oxygen, you’re dizzy, and you don’t care at all. 

“I love you,” you breathe against him before he captures your lips again with a hum that flips your stomach, his hand rubbing over your hip. 

“Say it again,” he mutters against your mouth a second later, brushing hair away from your face. 

It comes out a little mumbled this time between kisses, but it comes out all the same. 

“Love you.”

He sighs into you—relief that mirrors your own. 

“I love you.”

It seems like the kind of thing that will never stop sounding perfect from his lips. 

A final deep kiss shortens into a series of smaller ones, and then he’s pulling away slowly, brushing the corner of your mouth affectionately. 

Both of you require a few deep breaths—a moment to let your sparkling eyes wildly chart each familiar curve and convex and shade and shadow of the other’s face—before either of you can speak. Spencer breaks the silence first. 

“I’m sorry.”

You frown, stirred from your brainless bliss by his unexpected apology. 

“For what?”

The fiery glow in his eyes dampens slightly. 

“For what I said at the bar.”

Oh.

That.

It feels like a lifetime away—memories seen through someone else’s eyes. Words like blows from a less familiar mouth. 

You look away. For a while, you’d forgotten about that. Ideally he wouldn’t have reminded you. 

At least he doesn’t make you look at him. He just strokes your hair, watching you examine the tiled counter. His voice is soft and soothing, like he’s appealing to a scared rabbit. Or maybe something angrier and with more teeth. 

“You’re not immature, or badly behaved, or thoughtless. I was having an emotional reaction, I got defensive, and I lashed out. It was unfair and unkind of me to throw those things back in your face when I know how much trust it takes for you to be vulnerable with me. There’s nothing I can say or do that will adequately make up for that, but I want you to understand that I didn’t say any of it because it was the truth. I said it because I didn’t understand how you were feeling and I was hurt. I was insecure and I acted juvenile. I am so, so sorry, honey. You don’t have to forgive me, but you do need to know that none of it is true.”

Once you bite your lip long enough to be sure you won’t cry again, you speak. 

“It’s okay,” you insist with a cheerfulness as natural as hard plastic, something in your chest twinging. “I was mean too. Like you said, we were both confused.”

“It is not. I made you cry.”

Sometimes you forget that he’s not like other people. He’ll never accept anything less than the barest truth. So you look back up at him and speak with a level of honesty that you hope satisfies him. 

“I forgive you. You didn’t mean it. And I have insurance because Derek said he and Emily would kick your ass if you’re mean to me again.”

You hear the sad humor in his voice. His hand runs up and down your back. 

“If I’m ever mean to you again, I personally invite you to kick my ass. And then let Derek and Emily have their turn.” He thumbs at your cheek, studying you in silence for a moment. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could take it back.”

You stand up a little straighter. Spencer tracks you with his eyes, noting the way you smile slightly. 

“You’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he admits, barely a whisper and the truth of it so heavy you can feel it too. 

But for tonight you can’t contend with more weight. 

“You know what you could do right now?”

The mischief in your tone is obvious, and he hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to let you move on from this so quickly. But eventually he plays along, pressing his thumb into the dip of your back and speaks lowly, just as you’d hoped he would. 

“What’s that?”

You smile slyly. 

“You could kiss me again.”

“Hm… I don’t know, three times in one night? Sounds a little excessive.”

“Do you want to be forgiven or not?” You huff. He smiles lazily, already dipping his head to press his lips to yours. 

“I thought I was already forgiven.”

“Apologies can be retracted.”

“Ah.” His next words are mumbled as his lips ghost yours. “Well we wouldn’t want that.”

Spencer puts you out of your misery, not bothering to warm you up to it before he’s kissing you with a deep need. It’s still languid, and not hungry, exactly—it’s more like an aching, mind-numbing thirst. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming to have all of his burning focus pinpointed on you like this. Both hands come to cup your face and you wonder if he wants you in ways that he doesn’t entirely understand, just as you want him. You wonder if anything could possibly sate this desire to possess him completely and for him to possess you, to trade corporeal forms—or if it’s just something you’ll have to live with like a metaphysical itch you can’t scratch. As he forces you to tip your head back for him, using his height to his advantage, breathing deeply against you and attempting to push himself impossibly closer, you begin to think he understands exactly how you feel. 

As soon as you’d sensed he wanted it, your lips had parted for him. He knows he could have any part of you. He knows how eager you are to give yourself to him. You’ve done everything to prove it, and yet you’ve never needed him quite like you do ask he pushes off the counter and slowly backs you against the wall, protecting your head with a hand as the paintings rattle ever so slightly. You gasp into his mouth and he kisses you greedier still, but his hands don’t stray from your cheeks. 

Not until, that is, you hook your right leg around his left, and he catches it, fingers wrapping under the bend of your knee. 

Never in your life have you regretted picking jeans rather than a skirt more than you do right now. 

But to your disappointment, Spencer slows down to a halt—pulling his lips from yours like they’d been stuck by molasses until he’s far enough away to study you wildly, panting just as you are. His hair hangs over his smoldering eyes. He’s disheveled. It’s sexy. 

“What?” You whisper, voice surprisingly hoarse.

He looses a dry, abashed laugh. The flush he’s sporting is incredibly charming. 

“I’m supposed to be playing nice with you.”

Spencer says it like it’s a mild hindrance. Something frissons in your core. You smile a little wider as you continue to catch your breath, which seems to please him. 

“Playing nice?”

“Being gentle. I’m not supposed to push my favorite things against walls when they’re delicate.”

Your face heats at the way he speaks of you—if it weren’t Spencer, if you didn’t know he really doesn’t think of you as an object, you’d be pissed. But instead all you can think about is how good it feels when he calls you his. 

“According to who?”

His eyes dart between yours and then down to your lips several times before he averts them to the wall beside you with an intensity that could burn holes through the plaster. Is that how he looks at you?

“According to me. I think… god, you're going to hate me for this. But I think I need you to kick me out.”

You drop your leg at the same time as you do your heart. 

“What?”

“I know,” he says, over-apologetically, “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that escalate. But we can’t… do anything tonight.” Before you can protest, he rushes to explain himself. “It’s just that it’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, actually, and I doubt either of us have slept very much, and I think you’re really drained, and probably not thinking super clearly. I don’t think you’re in the best place for decision making.”

You look pointedly down to where he still has you pressed to the wall. 

“I think I’m in a great place.”

At that he steps back, but lets his hands find yours and pulls you away from the wall—just not quite as close as before. His nose bumps against yours as he speaks low and sweet. 

“I understand that you want me to stay right now. But it’s not a good idea to associate fighting with physical pleasure. That can set some really dangerous patterns.”

“We’re not fighting,” you plead, matching his tone as you look up at him with big eyes. His fingers lace with yours. 

“You’re right. Maybe fighting was the wrong word. But we had some pretty intense conversations today, didn’t we?”

Reluctantly you nod. 

“Right,” he agrees. “Same premise. We need to be able to have those conversations without getting distracted.”

In a last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind, you give him your best approximation of the imploring, wide-eyed gaze he sometimes uses on you. Something not entirely smile and not entirely smirk twists the corners of his mouth. When he ducks down to kiss you quickly, you reciprocate, but you lack the enthusiasm of earlier. 

“Hey.” 

“Hm,” you respond, dejectedly. 

“Don’t get all grumpy because I don’t put out.”

That puts a disgruntled little smile on your face as he probably knew it would. 

“I guess you just gave it up easy to all those other women.”

He grabs your chin and gives you a final peck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been with other women.”

“Mhm,” you grumble good-naturedly, pushing away from him and going to the door to undo the deadbolt. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Wow. I really must have overstayed my welcome if that’s the goodbye I get.”

You turn back around, brows raised. 

“Oh, I was prepared to be very welcoming. This is your doing.”

“Uh-huh. Come here.”

Happily you skitter back across the few feet of wooden flooring and wrap your arms tightly around him one more time, pressing your cheek to his chest. He’s ready, winding his arms over yours and rubbing your back. It’s eerily similar, you realize as he presses his face into the concave of your shoulder, to when he’d left on that most recent case. 

But at the same time—everything’s different. 

And you won’t make the same mistake twice. 

“Hey,” you smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer pulls back to look at you, a similar grin on his face. 

“Hey what?”

“I remembered what I was gonna say.”

The grin widens. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. 

“Tell me.”

“I was going to tell you that I love you. And—I hope you’re not one of those people who’s uncomfortable being told that often. Because if that’s the case I’m really going to annoy you.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” he assures. “Tell me as often as you can.”

“But you should say it back. It’s more polite that way.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, in a voice more serious than your teasing tones had been but still soft and sweet around the edges. “You know, people talk about love as if it’s completely irrational and illogical. But with you… I think the world actually makes more sense than it used to. I understand things I never did before. You’ve taught me a lot.”

It’s like a lightshow in your stomach. You wonder if he has any idea the effect his casual musings have on you.

“You already knew everything.”

“Not everything,” Spencer whispers. “Not about the things that matter.”

And you’re fresh out of teases. All you can do is look up at him with big eyes again, in awe of the fact that you get to keep him after all. 

“Will you text me when you get home?” You request, voice reverent in the wake of an admission you could never hope to top. 

“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod, because it doesn’t even matter if you had other plans tomorrow. They’re as good as cancelled. 

Spencer kisses your cheek, and you get the sense that things are still being left unfinished. There’s an unresolved tension that you can’t shake, even after all the apologies and kisses and sweet words. Still, he made a point with his talk about not mixing argument with pleasure, and you’d like to respect those wishes because you respect him—even if every atom of your being shakes with desire to keep him locked in your bedroom, hidden away from the world together, for as long as you can possibly manage. 

Eventually, you loosen your hold, and you let him go. He lingers at the door, hands in his pockets, just watching you and mirroring your small smile as you hold onto the counter with an iron grip to keep yourself in check. After he finally peels his gaze away from yours and silently closes the door behind him, you stand there, staring at the wood for at least a minute.

Once you manage to shake yourself from your revery with a deep breath, you grab your glass from earlier and stand in front of the sink, watching it fill with a white jet of water. It’d be a shame to admit it to him, but maybe Spencer is right. Maybe you do need time to emotionally digest today. After all—that was technically your first argument. It seems to have left you sort of wound up. Not in a bad way, per se—maybe you just need to take a shower, let the hot water roll over your shoulders and wash away the frenetic energy that clings to you. 

Still, something tells you that you won’t be getting much sleep tonight, even if you do take the world’s longest shower. You’re simply too high-strung. You wonder if having Spencer here would fix that or make it worse. But ultimately, he’d made the call that it was a bad idea for him to stay, and you’re generally inclined to trust his judgement. 

The thought makes you laugh into your cup as you drink. Even after the debacle that was the past week, you trust him to know what he’s doing. Maybe you need to rethink that, at least temporarily, until he’s had a chance to redeem himself. 

Just then, your front door is opening with absolutely zero warning and slamming shut again before you can finish whipping around. Your heart threatens to choke you and you almost drop your glass, clutching your chest. 

“Jesus, you—”

But the words die in your throat as Spencer storms toward you, shrugging his coat off with a white-hot chill in his eyes. It’s enough to freeze you in place, heart drumming against the confines of your ribs. 

“You really need to start locking that door,” he breathes, tossing his jacket on the counter before grabbing your face and crashing his lips into yours, palms pressed to your jaw and fingers pushing into your hair. You stand there, hands hovering in air before you gain the wherewithal to blindly set the glass down behind you. Your heart is pounding as you immediately submit to the kiss, whining softly against his lips and cautiously seeking stability in the fabric of his shirt. Spencer pulls away only briefly, allowing you to gasp for much-needed air. His brown eyes are like molten gold on you, pupils blown wide and wild as he scans your face, taking heavy breaths of his own. “Anyone could just walk in.”

-

part seven

[gojosatoruhumper]

Yeon si-eun x reader

Summary: You’re at a new school, all boys school, since your father got a job there as a principal and made you go there. A shy boy stands up for you, the interaction bringing you close.

Warnings: assault, fighting, swearing

WC: 2.4k

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You were a new student at Byuksan high school, an all-boys school to be exact. Your dad got a job as a principal there and, since the other schools in the city were already full and weren’t willing to accept new students, your dad made you go to Byuksan.

You weren’t fond of the idea at all, thinking about worst-case scenarios. Your father reassured you it will be okay, and he will make sure nobody picks on you there.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You found your classroom, breathing in a sharp breath before walking in. As you closed the door, everyone was staring at you, some confused, some excited.

The teacher smiled at you, turning to the class “We have a new special student, please be nice to her, please introduce yourself” she said turning to you.

You awkwardly stand there as you speak up. “Hi, my name is Y/n L/n” you said cringing to yourself. Everyone greets you and you go sit down at the first row, locking your eyes with a nonchalant boy as you walk towards the desk.

You hear whispering behind you, asking about why is a girl here and how you’re the principal’s daughter.

You counted the minutes on the clock, waiting for the time to go by quicker. As the bell rang, you stayed put in your chair, finishing the work.

As you were writing, a fight broke out. The desks in the back knocking over, boys punching each other. Some guy with a mullet pushed another boy into Yeon Si-eun’s desk. You now turned around, reading his name tag and looking up to his face.

His face read no expression, as he turned to them, “Go fight somewhere else” they looked shocked, scoffing at him but walking away.

You look down at your shoes as you realise Si-eun’s pen was knocked over onto to floor. You reach for it, grabbing it. You turn around once again, meeting his emotionless face again.

You hand him the pen, smiling a little. “Here you go, Yeon” you squint a little to make sure you didn’t miss read the his name the first time. “Thank you” he replied, his fingers brushing yours as he took back the pen.

The bell rang as the teacher came in, asking for explanations on what happened.

The lesson once again felt like it was taking ages, still focusing on your work. Boys were whispering in the back, hearing your name your eyebrows twist in frustration. Were they bullying you already?

The bell rang and this time you stood up, heading out of the door. Before you could walk out, a group of guys stopped you.

“Hey pretty” one said, taking a step closer to you. Your eyebrows once again twist in frustration. “Wanna go with us?” the other one said wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“No thanks” you said trying to keep your cool. You wanted to push the guy out of the way but he wouldn’t budge. “Move you asshole” you said mad. The mullet guy raises his eyebrows.

“What did you just call me?” he asked, coming real close to your face. “An asshole” you replied. Su-ho had woken up from his nap, now looking at you, wanting to interfere.

“You bitch” The guy raised his hand to slap you. You closed your eyes but the slap never came. What you did hear was him groaning in pain as a punch lands on him.

“Leave her alone” Si-eun said mad. He did not look like he can throw punches like that. He couldn’t stand bullying or abuse, especially not with a girl.

The boys started to throw punches at Si-eun, him dodging some, some not. In the end the guys left, one even what looked like with a broken nose. Su-ho looked surprised at you both, you still standing in shock.

“Nice one Si-eun” the boy said, looking at him. Si-eun now had red knuckles, and a slit on his cheek. “Thank you so so much” you said to him. He looked at you still emotionless. “No problem”

“Can I take you to the nurse or something atleast?” you asked, feeling bad. “No need to” he replied, looking down at his hands. “No, no, I insist” you said, boldly linking your arm onto his.

The nurse wasn’t in her office, so instead you both went somewhere quiet. “Sit” you said, nodding your head to the bench, him doing so.

You pulled out a mini med-kit you carried in your bag, silently cleaning the cut on his cheek, putting a band-aid with a cute design on it.

Then you cleaned the blood off of his knuckles, hands brushing against his cold hand. You were so focused on the wounds you didn’t notice him slightly smiling at you.

You were now done, standing up, looking up at him. “There you go,” you smiled, “Again, thank you so much.” He nodded. “Don’t worry about it.”

The bell for the lesson was about to ring so, you both started heading to your classroom, an unbearable awkward silence lingering in the air.

You both stepped into the room, eyes on you. Su-ho shot Si-eun a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows. You look to the corner where the bullies sat, now their seats empty.

This lesson finished quickly, but you could feel Si-eun’s eyes staring down at the back of your head. When the bell rang, you quickly stood up and left to your dad’s office, wanting some peace and quiet. As you were leaving, Su-ho wanted to come up to you and ask if you wanted to have lunch with him and Si-eun, but you didn’t notice him calling out for you.

“Si-eun, what was that?” Su-ho asked his friend, nudging his arm. “Shut up.” He smiled ever so lightly, looking down.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

That night you couldn’t fall asleep. Why did he put himself in such danger for you? Was he okay now? Why was he kind of cute?

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The next day came. You and your dad stepped through the school doors, a lot of eyes glaring at you. As you walked into your classroom you were met with those dark eyes, slowly looking up at you.

“Hi” you awkwardly said, getting ready to sit down. “Hi” he quietly said as you sat down.

The day was boring, lunch break coming quickly. You were now packing up your things when a guy came up to you. Ahn Su-ho read his name tag. “Hello Y/n” he smiled. “Hi?” You were confused for a second.

“Come eat lunch with me and Si-eun,” he confidently said, “He has been talking about you non top” he laughed. Maybe he wasn’t talking about you nonstop, but definitely more than he should have.

“Shut up.” Si-eun suddenly said, getting red. “Come on let’s go” Su-ho said, flinging his backpack over his shoulder.

You were now all three sitting at the lunch table, eating and talking. You found out that Si-eun wasn’t much of a talker; on the other end, Su-ho could talk all he wanted.

“So, Y/n, why did you transfer into this school?” Su-ho asked, taking a bite of his food. “Well, the other schools were already full, and none were willing to accept me, so I had no choice,” you continued, “and I didn’t really want to drive out of the city every day for school.”

“Ahh,” Su-ho replied, looking at Si-eun who sat next to you. You look to your right, admiring Si-eun. His face looked so pretty and delicate. He turns to you, not breaking eye contact.

“Si-eun, how's your face? Does it still hurt?” You ask, looking at the scrape on his face he got yesterday, the wound already healing.

“It’s no big deal,” he replied, looking back at his food, not before taking a glance at Su-ho, who was smirking at him.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The school day ended and as you were about to open the car door, someone was calling your name. You turn around and it was Su-ho, next to him Si-eun.

“Do you wanna walk home with us instead?” He asked, looking at you with a hand on Si-eun’s shoulder.

Without a second thought you closed the car door. “Dad i will walk home today.” You said, turning to the two guys waiting for you.

You were now walking with them, Su-ho on the left and Si-eun on the right. Su-ho was cracking jokes, making you laugh, but you didn’t miss the light chuckles coming from Si-eun.

He looked so pretty.

“Hey guys, let’s grab something to eat; I’m starving.” Su-ho said, hand on his stomach. “Actually, you have no choice; let’s go to this place I know.”

You were now sitting at the table, eating and chatting, though Si-eun wasn’t eating much. “Hey Si-eun, you need to eat well,” you said, somewhat concerned.

You took his chopsticks into your hand, grabbing some food off the bowl. “Say ahhh,” you said half laughing as you stuck the food in his mouth. “Y/n, I think Si-eun is enjoying this,” he said, laughing, making you all three laugh.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Days became weeks, weeks became months, and now you, Su-ho and Si-eun became inseparable. Su-ho always teased you guys for looking like a couple sometimes, bringing a blush across both of your faces.

Si-eun and Su-ho often got into fights, which always made you worry, but you always were their saviour, patching them up and looking after them.

Si-eun wasn’t the type to show his feelings, but you noticed how gentle he was with you. Always opening doors for you, holding eye contact longer than he should have, sometimes even buying you a flower from the flower shop near the school.

In the evening Si-eun needed to make a quick run to the convenience store. As he turned around a corner he was met with his classmates. At first they didn’t notice him.

“Yeah that chick is so hot I don’t get why would she hang around with those losers” “They probably use that whore” the other said. Now Si-eun was standing there, right in front of them with raging eyes.

“Yo Si-eun we were just talking about that slut of yours” one of the guys stood up, smirking at Si-eun. Si-eun’s knuckles were now white, clenched. “What did you say?” he asked, lowering his eyebrows.

“Hm? Do I need to repeat myself?” he asked. In fact he did not. Si-eun punched him with gritted teeth. The other guys stood up.

“Do you want to say something too?” Si-eun spat as they ran over to punch him. One came from behind and the other from the front, punching him in the stomach.

Si-eun spotted some kind of bottle, quickly grabbing it and swinging at the guy’s face. “Ah you psycho” the guy said, holding onto his head.

Si-eun was punched badly, falling over to the ground. One of them came and started kicking him, now Si-eun’s face getting bloody. The rage was still burning inside of him.

He built the courage to stand up, knocking the guy on the ground, face first. The other two guys were getting their fists ready, until Si-eun knocked one over with the bottle still in hand, it shattering and leaving glass in his hand, cutting deep.

The other ones were already long gone, now Si-eun and Yeong-bin standing across eachother.

The shy boy quickly ran into him, knocking him to the ground. He was now strangling Yeong’s body with his legs, repeatedly punching his face, smashing his face into the asphalt.

“Leave Y/n alone” he whispered, shoving his face into the ground one last time, knocking him unconscious.

Si-eun stood up and looked down at himself, now his shirt and pants were covered in blood, whole body aching. He didn’t even make it to the corner shop, turning around to go home.

Si-eun wasn’t answering your texts, so you started getting worried. Even texting Su-ho if maybe they were together. Without a second thought, you put on your shoes and started heading to his house. After all it was only about a 15 minute walk.

Si-eun was now sitting in his room, home alone, the darkness overcoming the house. He was thinking about you. A knock on the door startled him. He quietly walked over, opening the front door.

There you stood - a gruesome expression splattered across your face. “Are you okay? What happened?” you quickly step in, taking his face into your hands. “It’s no big deal Y/n,” “you shouldn’t worry about me so much” he said, looking at you. He could see the worry in you.

“Si-eun stop talking nonsense.” You said, taking off your shoes and walking with him to his bedroom. You were at his house a handful of times already, so you knew where his he bathroom was, walking to it.

You took some things in your hand, wasting no time to help him. You carefully cleaned his cuts and wounds, making sure to be extra careful when Si-eun squirmed against your touch.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. This reminded him of the first day he saw you. You were now done, bloody wipes on the table, next to his open books. You would always give hime some sort of stickers, but you always thought he threw them away or something, but no - he kept every single one of them, on his wall.

You looked at him smiling. “You should go change” you said.

He went to the bathroom to the shower quickly, leaving you alone in his room. He had photos of you and Su-ho on his wall, books everywhere, homework done neatly.

He came over to you now in fresh clothes, looking down at you with a smile. “Thank you.” he said, the smile growing. You stood up and hugged him tightly. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” You said, pulling back to take a good look at his face.

He didn’t know where the courage came from, or who took over him, but he took your face in his hands, bringing your face up to his, lips interlocking as his hands slid to your waist.

He was gentle and just how you imagined. He pulled away first, analysing your face. You looked at him with pure bliss.

“Y/n, can you, can you stay with me tonight?” he asked you, with those same dark eyes. “Of course, Si-eun” you said smiling, pressing another kiss into his lips.

That night Si-eun fell asleep with you wrapped in his arms. Feeling genuinely loved by someone, understood and heard. Of course he had Su-ho, but you were different. And he would make sure no one ever bothered you again.

[willowsnook]

halfway to always pt. 2

quinn hughes x sharks!reader

pt. 1 here

tags: @hockeybabe87 @enjoymyloves @freyathehuntress @onlyreadz @how-what-why-huh @1loverc @stormsies

-------------------------------

It had been a couple of months since your trip out to the lake and you had thrown yourself into work, trying to forget about the oldest Hughes' brother who had left an imprint on your heart. So far it was going well, mostly because Will and Macklin hadn’t been there to harass you about it. They both went home for the rest of summer break and were just now coming back for training camp. 

You had plans to meet them at their place when they both got back, and after finally logging off for the day, you made your way over. 

“Y/N!” Will yelled as he opened the door, quickly pouncing on you. “I missed you so much.” 

“I missed you too,” you said into his chest. “My life has been so boring.”

“Of course it has,” Macklin said, coming from out of his room. “We are the most important people in your life.” 

“I’m about to replace you though,” you teased, setting down your stuff in the kitchen. “I meet the new guys tomorrow.” 

Both of them glared at you, making you giggle. 

"You know I'm kidding," you reassured them, hopping up onto their kitchen counter. "So, tell me everything. How was the rest of your summer?"

They launched into stories about family trips and training regimens, Will showing you pictures on his phone while Macklin demonstrated some new workout move he'd learned. You smiled, realizing how much you'd truly missed their chaotic energy.

"What about you?" Will asked finally. "Did you do anything fun after Michigan?"

You shrugged. "Just work, mostly. Helped with rookie camp prep, went home to see my parents for a weekend."

"That's it?" Macklin frowned. "Please tell me you at least went on a date or something."

You rolled your eyes. "No, I did not go on a date.”

You pulled out a bottle of wine from your bag, uncorking it while Will leaned against the counter, watching you with a suspicious expression. "So... have you talked to Quinn at all?"

Your movements faltered for just a second before you recovered, reaching for glasses in the cabinet. "A little. Just texting here and there."

It wasn't exactly a lie. You and Quinn had exchanged messages sporadically since the lake trip—casual check-ins that carefully avoided any mention of what had happened between you. The last text had been over a week ago, a simple "good luck with training camp" from you, followed by his "thanks, you too" reply.

"Just texting?" Macklin pressed, raising an eyebrow.

You sighed, pouring three generous glasses of wine.

“Look,” you started. “We had fun at the lake. But it was just the lake. I’m back to the real-world again.” 

“But you guys are so perfect together,” Macklin complained. 

“I was with him for less than a week,” you argued back and Will rolled his eyes. 

“Love at first sight,” he said and you snorted, even Macklin letting out a little laugh. 

“I’m busy with work anyways, so it’s going to be okay,” you said firmly. You turned around to grab your phone and both boys shared a look, an idea already forming. 

Step 1: Investigation Time

“Did you see Quinn’s post?” Will asked while you were both out on a morning walk before he had to be at the facility. 

“I did not,” you replied, amused. The boys could not leave the idea of you and Quinn alone which was adorable but like you’d told them earlier: there wasn’t anything to it. You had kissed a lot of boys in your lifetime - it didn’t always have to mean something. There was no reason to even let your mind entertain the idea. 

“You made it,” he said, trying to contain his excitement. “It’s a summer recap.”

Leaning over his shoulder, you looked at this specific picture. It was of Quinn at the grill and you next to him, holding a plate of food. It was a sweet picture, and you made a mental note to screenshot it later to keep for memories. 

“Very nice Will,” you commented and he beamed. 

“You too look so good together,” he said and you snorted. 

“Not giving this up?” You teased and he shook his head. 

“You were so into him on the trip,” he said. “I want to see you happy.”

“I am happy Will,” you said. “I don’t need a man to be happy.” 

"I know," Will said, more serious than you'd expected. "I just think you guys had something real. And maybe it's worth exploring."

You sighed, watching the morning light filter through the trees as you walked. "Even if there was something there, what would be the point? He lives in Vancouver. I live here. Both of us have demanding careers that keep us in those places."

"Long distance?" Will suggested.

You laughed, but it came out hollow. "For what? A connection we felt after knowing each other for a few days? That's not enough to build something on."

Will fell silent for a moment, considering your words. "You know, I've never seen you light up around anyone the way you did with him."

The observation hit you harder than you expected, and you quickened your pace slightly. "I'm not having this conversation anymore."

"Fine," Will conceded, jogging away. “Then I’m not buying you coffee.” 

“You promised,” you complained, jogging after him. 

Meanwhile, Macklin and Jack were working on Quinn.  

“Hey man what’s up?” Quinn said, answering his phone. 

“Just wanted to call before the season started,” Macklin said. 

“Getting a little nervous?” Quinn asked. 

“I feel like the pressure is way up this year for me,” Macklin admitted. 

“It feels like that for everyone their second year,” Quinn told him. “Especially because of how well you did last year. Just stay focused. You have good people supporting you.”

Macklin saw his segway and took it, “Yeah I do. I don’t know what I would do without Will and Y/n. You remember her?”

Quinn rolled his eyes before answering, “I know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Macklin replied, feigning innocence. “Just wondering if you guys had talked since the lake.” 

“I’m sure you can ask her that,” Quinn said, avoiding the question. 

"I'm asking you though," Macklin pressed.

"We've texted a bit," Quinn finally admitted, his voice carefully neutral. "Just checking in."

"That's it? Just checking in?" Macklin asked, clearly disappointed.

Quinn sighed, running a hand through his hair as he paced around his living room. "What do you want me to say, Mack? That I think about her all the time? That I wish things were different? None of that changes the reality."

"Which is?"

"You know which is. She's in San Jose. I'm in Vancouver. We both have careers that keep us in those cities."

"People do long distance all the time," Macklin countered.

Quinn let out a humorless laugh. "Based on what? A week together? A kiss? That's not enough to build something real on."

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Macklin spoke again, his voice sincere. "I know it's none of my business, but Y/n is important to me. And I haven’t seen her act like that around someone literally ever. I’m just floating the idea that maybe you could figure something out.” 

“We’ll see,” Quinn said shortly before hanging up.

Jack and Luke had flown to Vancouver the week before the season started to see their oldest brother. It was a short trip, but they played some rounds of golf and had plenty of time to relax before they wouldn’t see each other for a bit. 

The night before they were heading back to New Jersey, they were out to dinner when Jack started his subtle inquiry, already proud of himself for not bringing up y/n yet this weekend. 

“So, you guys play the Sharks in a couple of weeks?” Jack asked casually and Luke instantly snorted. Quinn looked up from his phone, giving his brother a pointed look. 

“That’s usually how a hockey season works,” Quinn shot back. “Conspiring with Macklin now are you?”

Jack huffed, “I’m just making conversation. Just wondering if you have any plans to see anyone after the game or anything.” 

“Not as of right now,” Quinn replied honestly. “We haven’t really spoken since the beginning of training camp.” 

“Hmm,” Jack replied. 

Quinn paused, setting his fork down and giving his brothers a serious look. "Look, I appreciate that you guys care, but this isn't helping. Y/n and I had a connection, yes. But sometimes timing just doesn't work out."

"But—" Jack started.

"No," Quinn cut him off firmly. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Not everything has a neat resolution, okay?"

The finality in his tone silenced both his brothers. Luke shot Jack a warning glance, and the subject was dropped for the remainder of dinner.

Step 2: The Setup

Will's phone buzzed with a text from Jack: "Operation reunite stubborn idiots is a go. Quinn just landed in San Jose."

Will nudged Macklin, showing him the message. They shared a conspiratorial smile before turning their attention back to you. You were sitting across from them in the players’ lounge, a few hours before the game tonight. 

“So,” Will cleared his throat and your head snapped up. “What are you doing after the game?” 

Your eyes narrowed, “I was planning on just going home but i’m getting the feeling that you are going to drag em to something.” 

“Toff rented out this bar for his birthday tonight,” Will said. “So you should come because it’s his birthday and you know him.”

You did know Toff, you knew every player but you weren’t really that acquainted with him. “Did he ask that I be there?” 

“Just come y/n,” Macklin said exasperated. “You need to get out of the house.”

“Fine,” you said, rolling your eyes. You missed seeing the boys bump each other’s fists under the table, turning your attention back to your phone. 

The Canucks steamrolled the Sharks, but the boys still had a good game, so you were pleased by that. You had changed in your office from your business clothes to just a plain white tank top and jeans and now were waiting by the players’ entrance. 

“Hey stranger,” a voice called out and you froze. Quinn was giving you a small smile as he walked towards you and you couldn’t help but grin. 

“Hi,” you greeted him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He held on to you for a second too long and your heart was racing at the physical contact. 

“I’m looking for Will and Macklin actually, have you seen them?” Quinn asked he pulled back. 

“Funny, I’m looking for them too,” you said, and the pieces started to click together. Both of your phone buzzed at the same time and you looked down to see what Will had said. 

WS: Sorry guys, we caught a ride with someone else. I’m sure you can carpool to the bar tho. Bye!!!

You groaned as Quinn shook his head. “Relentless,” you muttered. 

“Tell me about it,” Quinn mused. “Guess I’ll follow you.” 

You chatted about the game as you walked to the car, Quinn filling you in on how the team was looking so far and you telling him about the new rookies. The way conversation fell so naturally it was like you were at the lake just last week. 

"So," you finally said as you pulled into the parking lot, "how long are the boys going to keep this up?"

Quinn chuckled, running a hand through his still-damp hair. "Knowing Jack, probably until one of us gets married."

You laughed, though the comment sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. "Will and Macklin are just as bad. They've been not-so-subtly bringing you up for weeks."

"Same with Jack and Luke," Quinn admitted. "I think they're all in a group chat about it."

As you walked toward the bar entrance, Quinn's hand brushed against yours—perhaps accidentally, perhaps not. Neither of you acknowledged it, but seeing how packed the bar was, you slipped your hand into his, not wanting to lose him on the way to wherever Will and Macklin were. His hand tightened around yours and it was the first thing the boys looked at when you emerged from the crowd, both lighting up. 

You dropped Quinn’s hand as you reached the table, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“I waited for you guys for 20 minutes,” you said. 

“Sorry y/n, Eklund insisted we come with him,” Macklin said innocently. Quinn snorted from behind you, shaking his head. 

“Whatever, I’m getting a drink,” you muttered, leaving them all behind for the bar. 

Quinn watched you weave through the crowd toward the bar, then turned to fix Will and Macklin with a stern look. "Subtle, guys. Really subtle."

Macklin shrugged,. "Did it work though?"

"Did what work?" Quinn asked, though he knew exactly what they were getting at.

"Come on," Will groaned. "You two were holding hands!"

"So I wouldn't lose her in the crowd," Quinn explained, though the excuse sounded weak even to his own ears.

Macklin and Will exchanged knowing glances. "Right," Macklin drawled. "That's definitely it."

Quinn sighed, leaning against the table. "Look, I appreciate what you guys are trying to do, but it's complicated."

"It's really not," Will argued. "You like her, she likes you. What's complicated about that?"

Quinn ran a hand through his hair. He really was starting to wear down when it came to that question. Seeing you again had reignited what he felt at the lake, and he was running out of excuses to at least not give it a try. 

You came back a little later, wordlessly handing Quinn a beer before sitting down next to Will. Quinn ended up getting pulled away by some other guys he was friends with, and your table was joined by a couple of WAGs that you were somewhat friends with. You didn’t really hang out with most of them, but the ones who sat with you were around the same age as you, so it was an easy friendship. 

A couple of hours went by and you were caught up in a conversation with Carl Berglund when you felt a presence behind you. You looked over your shoulder to see Quinn, looking between you and Carl, his jaw tightening. 

“Hey man, good to see you,” Carl said reaching out his hand, unaware of the tension. 

“You too,” Quinn said shortly, shaking it. Carl looked between the two of you before smirking and raising his beer. 

“Nice talking to you y/n, i’ll see you later,” he said before walking to join another conversation. You turned to Quinn amused. 

“What was that about?” You asked. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said nonchalantly, looking anywhere but you. 

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on your lips. "You're a terrible liar, Quinn Hughes."

He sighed, finally meeting your eyes. "Fine. I didn't like seeing you with him."

"With Carl?" you asked, genuinely surprised. "We were just talking."

"I know," Quinn admitted, taking a swig of his beer. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

The jealousy in his voice sent a thrill through you that you tried to ignore. You stepped closer to him, lowering your voice. "You don't get to be jealous when you won't even admit there's something here."

His eyes darkened as they held yours. "Who says I won't admit it?"

Your heart skipped a beat. "You've had months to do something about it."

"So have you," he countered.

The admission hung between you, charged with everything left unsaid from the summer. You set your drink down, suddenly feeling too warm.

"Want to get some air?" you asked quietly.

Quinn nodded, following as you weaved through the crowd toward the back exit. The cool night air was a relief after the stuffy bar, and you took a deep breath, leaning against the brick wall.

"So," you started, looking up at the stars rather than at him.

"So," he drawled out. “I can’t get you out of my head.” 

You were surprised by the admission, turning to face him fully as he stared into your eyes. 

“I could say the same thing,” you admitted quietly. Neither of you said anything for a bit, just taking in one another’s presence. 

“What do we have to do to make this work?” He asked, breaking the silence. 

You sighed, leaning back against the wall before answering truthfully, “I don’t know.” 

He moved in front of you, bringing one hand to rest on your waist and your breath hitched at the contact. 

"I know it might be ridiculous," Quinn murmured, his thumb tracing small circles on your waist, "to feel this strongly about someone I've spent so little time with. But I can't stop thinking about what could happen if we just... tried."

Your heart raced as he leaned closer, his forehead almost touching yours. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting we stop making excuses," he said, his voice low and certain. "We play each other four times this season. I have the All-Star break, you have holidays. There are bye weeks and off-days. We have phones. We have FaceTime. Vancouver to San Jose is a two-hour flight."

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you. The practical part of your brain wanted to list all the reasons why this was complicated—the distance, your careers, the logistics—but another part of you, the part that had been daydreaming about him for months, was tired of being practical.

“We can try,” you finally said and a small smile broke out across his face. He inched his head closer, pressing his lips against yours in a sweet kiss. Your hand travelled up to his hair, pulling him deeper into you and he pressed you harder against the wall as his mouth moved against yours. When you finally pulled apart, breathless, his eyes were dark with wanting.

"I've been thinking about doing that again since the lake," he admitted, his thumb tracing your lower lip.

You smiled against his touch. "Me too."

The door to the bar swung open suddenly, spilling light and noise into the alleyway. Will stood there, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him.

"Finally!" he exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air before disappearing back inside, presumably to tell Macklin and you groaned, resting your head against Quinn’s shoulder. 

“I’m sure i’ll get a cryptic text from Jack soon,” Quinn muttered and you giggled, bringing your lips up to his once more. 

“Worth it.”

Pt 3

[angelltheninth]

Hey you know that trope where (usually) friends have to hide from a suspecting enemy but there is nowhere to really hide so the next best thing as to not draw attention to themselves is “quick we have to kiss because they are onto us!” One example is that one kiss scene with Steve rogers and Natasha.

Can you please write Clark, Bruce, Dick and Jason being in that similar scenario with reader? Whoever initiated it is up to you :)

I've written multiple fics with that exact premise, I know the trope very well.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, undercover mission, kissing, catching feelings, flirting

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Would do this with Clark more than anyone tbh. He's so cute!

BRUCE WAYNE

Takes his mission very seriously, a lot serious than you actually. Not to say that you don't but as long as you're at a fancy party you might as well have fun with Bruce. He however wants to get in, get out and get the mission over with without the two of you getting discovered, which proves harder when people keep whispering about what a cute couple you are and looking at you all the time. When he tilts your chin and captures your lips in a kiss he notes the surprised sound that leaves your lips after which he tells you he's sorry for the quick decision, but he needed to sell the idea of the two of you actually being a couple now that that is the most popular narrative and the one that will help the two of you the most.

DICK GRAYSON

Is more than happy to go on a mission with you and be your pretend boyfriend for the evening, now if only he could gather up the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend for real. Maybe he will if this mission goes well, it would make him a lot less awkward around you at the very least. Dick keeps glancing at you and at the people around you, hearing them getting more and more suspicious of the two of you right before you pull him by the tie and take him to the dance floor, smirking the whole time. As he's blushing his body falls into a rhythm with yours, the movements natural, the music and the atmosphere getting to his head so much that he kisses you at the very end of the dance, eliciting cheers and claps from the crowd, no more doubt.

RED HOOD

Loved the fact that the two of you got picked for this mission because it gives him even more chance to tease you and make you blush. Jason knows he can be a bit of an ass sometimes, okay, a lot of the time, but that doesn't diminish the fact that he still enjoys your company a lot more than the company of others. The people around the two of you are constantly looking over, at you specifically and he hates that, he was supposed to look at you like that, not anyone else so he leans in close and asks you for a kiss, otherwise he fears someone might ask you instead and he will blow your cover. Blushing at his request you smash your lips against his to shut down any smug words he might say to you next.

CLARK KENT

Was flustered when you asked him to be your partner on this mission, but he did say yes, he wanted to go, he wanted to make sure you were safe. He was a little fidgety around you, nervously glancing at you, at your lips, at your pretty dress, then quickly back at the crowd when he'd get caught. You loves teasing Clark when he got like this, you knew he had a crush on you but didn't want to call him out on it, he should tell you that himself, which is what you hoped would happen on this mission. Instead he kisses you out of panic when someone asks if he was your boyfriend and then apologizes profusely afterwards, saying how he couldn't think of any other way to make the lie convincing, which is funny coming from a man like him.

[genieswishes]

okay okay but hear me out right. slow soft sex with saxon who gets super freaked out because he was trying to do his usual thing and then it got real vulnerable all of a sudden and he doesn’t know how to feel about it after….BUT he knows it got vulnerable because he actually felt safe with her and blah blah blah or whatever. i think about him. that man needs to be fucked real gentle and lovingly or something.

anon, I like the way your mind works… I’ve added some plot to this though so bear with me in the first half…

let me be in your life like that ft. Saxon Ratliff

MDNI 18+

cw: obsessive(?) Saxon, established relationship, fluff, p in v (unprotected), “babe” as a pet name, mentions of oral (f! receiving), mentions of cheating (not followed through)

a/n: re-read it and now I have to write rafe & him tag teaming or something... idk the things going on in my head are devious rn. Title inspired by Ariana Grande’s “west side”

Not that SAXON RATLIFF ever thought of himself as the loyal kind, but he’s just been so uninterested in any girl other than you. Well, any one other than you. Understand that he would never admit that he’s a shit boyfriend; in every relationship before this, there was always a point where he’d wake up to realize how little he cared for his current partner. There was a whole twitter “exposé” at one point from one of the sorority girls he dated. Something about how much of a douchebag he was and that “he’s the equivalent to a community bike.” So with that in mind, he can’t help but be confused about his current predicament.

He’s away from you, on some business trip in the Outer Banks to close up a deal with some investors. Really, it’s more like a vacation; hot girls in the most scantily clad bikinis, (other) out of touch nepo babies on their week long vacation trip, and all the great restaurants, of course.

But get this, he can’t get his dick up. Like at all. Every time, he would bring someone back to his room, and bam! He’s got whiskey dick. Not that he could even fall back on that. Half of the time, he wasn’t even drunk. He’s never had this problem before. Rather, the opposite. Always needing another warm body. Always needing someone new. Which is why it’s such a perplexing experience to come to terms that he’s being haunted by you. From his wet dreams to any time he’s getting hard, it’s always about you, you, you.

So, maybe he needs to fuck you out of his system. Have his way with you on his bed, in the bathroom, in his car. And when that doesn’t work out, he figures he needs to go to your place; smell your sheets when he has you pressed into him, use your shampoo when he’s got you in the shower, eat you out as breakfast on your kitchen counter. Just anything to work you out of his head.

He thinks it’s finally working. He’s over at your place again, nose buried in your hair to smell that fresh shampoo as your legs dangle over his shoulders. Y’know, to really ram into your cervix. He swears he’s starting to feel that same sort of boredom he’s gotten with all his past relationships. Suppose that after today, he’ll be done with you and onto the next.

But, he makes a mistake. He kisses you. And it doesn’t feel like those “heat-of-the-moment” kisses. Matter of fact, it’s something much too foreign to him. Your nose is bumping his, and your lips are entirely too soft. How is it that the way he’s fucking you is so savage, but every touch of you makes him confront those weird butterflies in his stomach? How has he never noticed how you scrunch your nose? That you laugh with your whole chest? Or how your smile lines enrich your expression?

“Saxon?” You’ve got lilt to your voice that he can’t bring himself to snap out of. “You good?”

Somehow, you don’t even realize what you’re doing with your eyes.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?”

“What are you talking about, you weirdo?” God, how is it that even your giggle is infectious?

He rolls his hips slowly, almost experimentally. He catches how you gasp a bit at that, rolling once more at a much slower pace.

“Please, babe, keep doing that.” Your legs are around his waist now, but he’s taking his time rocking back and forth, reveling at how your breath hitches when he circles your bud.

You’re kissing at his shoulders, hand massaging through his hair, and he doesn’t ever want to leave this moment. He whines at how you’re touching him. Soft, high moans that sort of catch you off guard. It makes you feel so good to know he’s enjoying himself though.

He’s kissing the nape of your neck, leaving deep hickeys in his wake. Then he’s at your lips again, gently. As if he’s scared he’s going to break you. As if all the time before he wasn’t going crazy on you.

“Ugh, I think I’m going to…” Saxon is rutting into you now, fingers still on your clit.

“Okay, fuck, don’t pull out…”

“huh?”

“Inside! Just cum inside!”

Your legs are tied around him, and you’re so tight that Saxon couldn’t even pull out if he wanted to. He’s so deep in you that he wouldn’t even be surprised if you told him your Plan B didn’t work out. He figures he would cross that bridge when he gets there.

For now, he’d rather enjoy basking in the heat of the sunlight to cuddle you with.

[lerclan]

orange | lando norris

type: smau + written

pairing(s): influencer!reader x lando norris

summary: you wanted to share your love for orange but it ends up with you and an f1 driver having dating rumors which slowly develops and turns out to be true at the end.

warning(s): slightly suggestive at the end

fc: random girlies off of pinterest!

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ynnn

Liked by amayamoore, lilymhe, and 376,193 others

ynnn in love with orange atm 🧡🐚🪸

tagged: amayamoore

View all 73,618 comments

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amayamoore LOVE YOU BABESSS 🫶

ynnn LOVE U 2 MAMI😻😻😻

user1 okay girlll we see you with f1

ynnn chat i have no idea what that is

user1 WHAT?? HOW??? ITS LITERALLY ONE OF YOUR PHOTOS AND YOUR FRIENDS W LILY MHE?? 😭😭

ynnn I JUST THOUGHT IT WOULD FIT THE AESTHETIC AND AMAYA WAS THE ONE THAT INTRODUCED ME TO LILY. ALL WE EVER TALKED ABOUT WAS GOLF 😔

user1 ohhh 😭😭😭 okay girl eat it up 🙏🙏 ❤️ by author

user2 soft launch??

user3 IN LOVE W ORANGE THE COLOR OR IS THIS A CODE NAME FOR THE DRIVER?

user4 PLSSS WHAT IF ITS A SOFT LAUNCH??

user5 considering that y/n doesnt know what f1 is im not really sure abt this one

user3 what if its like a cover up or something

user4 YEAH FR WHAT IF SHES J PLAYING W US

ynnn 😈😈😈 *author deleted a comment*

user4 OH

user6 OMG NO WAY 😭😭

user3 WE SAW THAT

lilymhe okay come hangout with me when?

amayamoore in 3 days trust.

ynnn girl...where are we going...

amayamoore you wont like it but me and lily will

lilymhe OMG NO WAY?? FR??

amayamoore YESSSS

ynnn chat im lost

user7 okay shes in her wag era ❤️ by author

user7 OOP.

user8 NOT THE SOFT LAUNCH PLSSS

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landonorris

Liked by mclaren, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, and 721,917 others

landonorris im orange 😭🧡

View all 112,172 comments

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carlossainz55 i told you to not do it but you still did it anyways mate

landonorris TO BE FAIR I THOUGHT IT WOULD WORK BETTER SINCE IM ALREADY TAN

carlossainz55 yeah now look at you. you look like an actual papaya. shouldve left that fake tan alone.

charles_leclerc no wonder you looked like that. 😂😂😂

mclaren someones a true dedicated papaya 👀🧡 ❤️ by author

oscarpiastri mate you look like the lorax 😭

landonorris thanks osc...really needed that

user1 LMFAOAOAO IM CRYINGGG

user3 guys aint no way...IS THIS ACTUALLY REAL?? OR LIKE AM I OVERTHINKING 😭😭🙏

user4 NO GIRL I GET IT...IT ACTUALLY MATCHES UP 😭😭😭

user6 WE ALL SAW WHAT Y/N REPLIED WITH 💀

user3 IKR LIKE HER CAPTIONING "in love with orange atm" AND NOW LANDOS CAPTION "im orange" LIKE????

user4 YOU MIGHT BE ONTO SOMETHING FR

user9 you guys are so delusional 💀 landos talking about him putting on fake tan and it made him orange 💀💀

user3 let us be delusional please 😔

user10 lando has rizz?

user11 y/n and lando lowkey have matching captions

user12 who is y/n?

user11 shes an influencer. shes friends with lily mhe 😄 heres her account @/ynnn

user12 OMG THEY FR DO LOWKEY HAVE MATCHING CAPTIONS...

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f1wagnews

Liked by user3, user4, and 127,232 others

f1wagnews potential f1 wag in the process? or is it all just a mishap?

View all 12,232 comments

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user3 IM CALLING IT I SWEAR. ❤️ by author

user3 THEY WOULD BE SO CUTE THO... ❤️ by author

user4 FR???

user10 i agree w you guys fully.

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ynnn

Liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 628,162 others

ynnn no cuz im being fr she actually just kidnapped me and forced me to put on the outfit 😟

tagged: amayamoore

View all 92,717 comments

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scuderiaferrari please kidnap her more. the garage enjoyed her rant about despicable me 😂❤️

redbullracing were gonna have to bribe her friend to bring her here...that sounds interesting 🧐

mclaren too late we already sent them invites.

scuderiaferrari telling our drivers to crash into you.

ynnn ladies, ladies...relax ive got enough of me to have around 😏

amayamoore get out y/n 😭😭😭

mclaren we dont like to share.

user11 ik y/n got lost about 50 times im calling it

amayamoore more than that im afraid 😔

ynnn SHUT UP.

user11 LMFAOO

user3 oh so theyre on the low low i see

user4 PLSS YOU ARE NOT GIVING UP 😭😭

user3 THEYD BE CUTE TOGETHER LET ME BE DELUSIONAL 😭😭😭

user7 NAH FR THOO

charles_leclerc soo...how long are you staying for?

carlossainz55 you did not.

charles_leclerc 😇😇😇

georgerussell63 shes WAY out of your league leclerc. anyways how long though? 😉

alex_albon lily told me to tell you guys to stay away from her. she got suspended for 3 hours from commenting bad stuff about you guys.

amayamoore lily also told me to tell you guys to get out of y/ns comment section

ynnn LMFAOO LILY NAURRRR 😭😭😭

charles_leclerc never answered our question...

ynnn a while leclerc.

maxverstappen1 did anyone else hear a yell from mclarens garage or was it just me?

mclaren 🤫🤫🤫

user12 NOT A MCLAREN DRIVER GETTING EXPOSED BY MAX 😭😭

user3 I WONDER WHICH ONE 💀

user13 PIASTRI MAYBE??

user14 NOOO IT DEF HAS TO BE LANDO

user5 watch it be an engineer

oscarpiastri it was nice talking to you, ill show you around yeah?

ynnn YES PLSSS 😊😊

landonorris wow ok

charles_leclerc i know right. FROM MY OWN SON.

ynnn ???

oscarpiastri theyre being dramatic. dont mind them 🙄

---

oscarpiastri posted on their story !

👁️ 782,173

landonorris replied to oscarpiastris story

landonorris OSCAR.

oscarpiastri LANDO.

landonorris THIS IS TRULY OPP BEHAVIOUR.

oscarpiastri what do you mean lando?

landonorris I CANT BELIEVE YOU DIDNT INVITE ME...

landonorris I LITERALLY COULDVE HAD A CONVO WITH HER OSC.

oscarpiastri lando you had 6 chances and you ran away every time...

landonorris anyways...next time..for sure....

oscarpiastri okay lando we will see...

---

oscarpiastri

Liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, ynnn, and 812,173 others

oscarpiastri am i the best guide ever or what? 😄

tagged: ynnn

View all 161,172 comments

---

ynnn YOU ARE NOT. ❤ by author

ynnn YOU PUSHED ME TO THE BUSHES

oscarpiastri THAT WAS BY ACCIDENT. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A LIGHT SHOVE SINCE THERE WAS SOMEBODY RUNNING YOUR WAY 😔

ynnn UH HUH WTV EXCUSES EXCUSES. 😒

landonorris yeah dont listen to him he told me he did it on purpose

oscarpiastri I DID NOT 😟

ynnn WOWWWW. WOWWWWWWWWW.

user3 k chat...maybe her and lando arent dating...maybe its her and piastri...

user4 HAVE FAITH STAND YOUR GROUND 😭😭

user3 I WILL. THANK YOU 🫡

user14 yn and the mclaren drivers. never knew i needed them till now 😩

user15 NAH CUZ FR?? THE CHEM.

---

ynnn

Liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, amayamoore, and 826,173 others

ynnn you can tell who kidnapped me this time. (also peep oscars stance 😭)

tagged: amayamoore, oscarpiastri, landonorris

View all 127,718 comments

---

user3 CHAT THIS IS NOT A DRILL 😨😨😨

user4 LMFAOO 😭😭😭

user3 LANDO IN THE LIKES??

user4 this is fr your moment girl 🙈🙈🙈

user14 OSCAR PLSSS LMFAOO ALSO LANDO AT THE LAST PHOTO 😭😭

mclaren will tell oscar to kidnap you again.

oscarpiastri already on it 🫡

scuderiaferrari we had her first :(

landonorris she looks way better in orange.

charles_leclerc nuh uh shes way better in red.

ynnn awhh guys fr theres enough of me around 🤭

amayamoore LMFAO I CANNOT W YOU 😭

oscarpiastri WHEN DID YOU TAKE THAT PHOTO

ynnn lets just say im in the shadows...

landonorris dont question her any further.

oscarpiastri what is going on 😞

landonorris I SAID DONT QUESTION HER.

ynnn thank you norris

landonorris anytime for you l/n 🫶

ynnn such a gentleman 🙈🫶

user3 GET IUT IF HERE IM GONNA PASS IUT

amayamoore they fr took my girl. 🙁

ynnn girl...YOU LEFT ME WITH THEM.

amayamoore OOPSIES. 🙈

lilymhe shes doing that thing again y/n

ynnn SHES DOING THE THING THING???? TO WHICH ONE!?!3$/&

lilymhe even i dont know 😟

ynnn 😨😨😨😨😨😨😨

amayamoore 😈😈😈😈

---

---

ynn

Liked by landonorris, osarpiastri, and 1,231,642 others

ynnn i like this guide way better. he doesnt push me into bushes. 🤍

tagged: landonorris

View all 233,123 comments

---

landonorris id never push a pretty lady like you into bushes. ❤️

ynnn so basically what youre saying is that if i was ugly you would?

landonorris that sounds impossible coming from you l/n.

ynnn why thank you norris 😊

lilymhe BOTH OF YOU GET UP RN.

lilymhe @/ynnn PLEASE STAND ON BUSINESS Y/N DONT PLAY W ME RN.

amayamoore LET HER SIT LILY 🤭🤭🤭

mclaren whatever amaya said. ❤️ by author

user3 I AM PEEING MYSELF RN.

user3 GUYS ITS HAPPENING...ITS HAPPENING DONT PANIC

user4 THIS IS SO YOUR MOMENT OMG IM ACTUALLY SO HAPPY FOR YOU

user3 MAYBE I WONT GET SENT TO AN ASYLUM

mclaren stop stealing our drivers 🙁

ynnn ill try my best 🫡

---

landonorris

Liked by ynnn, amayamoore, lilymhe, carlossainz55, and 1,854,321 others

landonorris shes my bestfriend now.

tagged: ynnn

View all 321,283 comments

---

amayamoore NUH UH.

lilymhe lando norris bites the curb in 4k ultra hd.

landonorris ALEX. SHES DOING IT AGAIN 😟

alex_albon i cant even help you w this one...im scared of her...

lilymhe stay quiet alex.

alex_albon 🤐🤐🤐

amayamoore she maybe your best friend but shes not yours.

landonorris she said i was 🙄

ynnn ONE of my bestfriends

landonorris now were lying now huh 😒

ynnn excuse me norris. i will make sure lilys statement becomes true

landonorris im sorry my lady 😞❤️

ynnn good. ❤️

charles_leclerc guys go to your dms before i cry.

georgerussell63 fr im gonna start bawling. we lost a baddie 😔

ynnn what are you guys even talking about...

oscarpiastri dont even worry about them

carlossainz55 i agree with oscar

mclaren shocker...coming from carlos

scuderiaferrari what a moment

user4 @/user3 are you alive?

user3 i think i fr passed out when i swiped and saw her.

user12 GIRL DONT WORRY I PASSED OUT W YOU I THINK ALMOST BROKE MY NECK 😭😭

user3 i have a feeling chat. ❤️ by oscarpiastri, amayamoore, carlossainz55

user4 your feeling may come true soon.

user3 OSCAR, AMAYA, AND CARLOS J LIKED MY COMMENT SOMETHING IS BREWING.

user12 OMGOMGOMGOGMGOGMORBWHQ

user16 why is lando so fine?

user17 not lando being her personal photographer shes such a devourer for that 🙈

user18 both of them are so fine 😫😫😫

---

you were sitting on a swing on the beach waiting for lando to come back. it had been a few months since you and him started hanging out and became friends.

it wasnt surprising when you, along the way of you guys becoming close, started catching feelings for him. you were captivated by his charms, his beautiful and flirtatious personality, and those eyes that hold a million stars.

"y/n?" you hear a voice call out from behind you.

"yes, lan?" you respond back using his nickname.

"i got us some juice. they said these two were the top sellers." he hands you one as he sits down.

"oooo these look good. what flavour is this one?" you ask him waiting to take a sip.

"i think that ones called 'golden sun', it has pineapple, orange, and mango im pretty sure." he answers.

you take a sip from your juice and you were met with a wonderful taste. sweet and sour, but savory as well.

"is it good?" he asks as you eagerly nod your head.

"of course!! you can never go wrong with mango." you answer taking another sip from your juice, "whats yours called?"

"mines called 'starfish dreams', i think it has strawberry, kiwi, peach, and pineapple. not quite sure, but its good. sweet with a hint of sourness." he answers, "wanna try mine?"

"yes!! that sounds equally as good! you can try mine as well." he was ready to give you his cup and you suddenly had an idea.

you grabbed his and gave him yours and then you grabbed his arm making him give you a confused look until he realized what you were doing.

"ohhhh..." he sighs in relief, "i thought i did something wrong for a second."

you laugh out loud at the thought of him being concerned for a second.

"no, no, i just need a nice pic for the gram since you took all of the ones i was gonna post." you give him a side eye as you take out your phone for a picture.

"you snooze you lose." he sticks his tongue out at you, to which you do back.

after you snapped a couple photos, you guys go back to having a conversation about how pretty the view was at night.

"it was really nice of you to invite me here." you say to him as he looks at you.

"im glad i grew the balls to ask you to hangout with me when nobody was willing to," he chuckles, "i wouldve been alone today."

"oh so basically what youre saying is that i was the last option?" you joke around waiting for his response.

"no, no, no...not like that. more like you were the scariest option on the list." he says as you give him a look.

"how? im not that scary looking...right?" you ask him as he violently shakes his head.

"obviously not...i meant–ughhh...what i meant was you were only the scariest option on the list because i was afraid youd reject me." he spews out.

"reject you? why would you think that?" you give him a more confused look.

"because compared to me, i am definitely way out of your league," you look at him in the eyes as he looks away, "youre just too beautiful, refreshing, fun to be around, and youre just so charming. after our first lunch together, i kept thinking about you and how it was impossible to love somebody at first sight, but it was definitely possible and im the living proof of it."

"is this you confessing your love for me, norris?" you ask him as he finally looks into your eyes.

"yeah...i guess it is." he looks at your face for any sort of reaction, but all you did was look into his eyes which made him nervous.

all the nervousness he had were washed away from his body in seconds after you leaned in and gave him a kiss, to which he reciprocated.

"i feel the exact same way, lan." you give him a smile as you give him another kiss.

both of you guys spent your night at the swing looking at the stars, talking about random things that you both were interested in, and getting in the water for a little swim; soaking in each others love for one another.

---

ynnn

Liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, lilymhe, charles_leclerc, and 923,213 others

ynnn the beach at night>>>

View all 162,172 comments

---

amayamoore idk how you guys can get into the water at night. it gives me the creeps...😟

ynnn its j so relaxingggg maya 🙁

amayamoore THE SHARKS.

lilymhe REAL.

landonorris beach at nights>>>

ynnn YHHH>>>

user19 who is the dude?

user3 according to my calculations, lando norris. 🤓☝️

user4 😭😭😭

user20 the view!???!? 🙈🙈

ynnn had the best view ever 🤫

landonorris i had an even better view.

charles_leclerc if you ever need another tour guide im still an option 😊

scuderiaferrari even im starting to feel bad...

carlossainz55 me and you both.

georgerussell63 me too!! im still an option! 😚

mercedesamgf1 george...

user21 IM CRYING 😭😭

user1 they are not giving up 😭

---

ynnn posted on their story !

👁️ 934,283

amayamoore replied to ynnns story

amayamoore OMG YOU FINALLY BOUGHT A CAR??

ynnn YESSSS

amayamoore so im guessing lando helped you w that huh? 😉

ynnn ....

amayamoore HAHDHAHAH GIRL CANNOT LIE TO SAVE HER LIFE 😭😭

ynnn NAW CUZ HOWD YK THO...

amayamoore girl be fr...it was either oscar or him. last time i checked you were w lando 🙄

ynnn anyways...🤐

amayamoore yeah exactly. also check the gc xoxo

---

---

f1wagnews

Liked by user21, user3, user4, and 102,232 others

f1wagnews alert: lando norris sighted snuggling and kissing with an unknown girl!

View all 11,232 comments

---

user3 oh thats not...!!

user4 I GENUINELY CANT TELL IF THATS Y/N OR NOT...

user3 ME NEITHER 😭😭

user9 it is definitely not y/n guys 💀

user5 fr everyones being so delusional

user9 that is not y/n for everyone being delusional out there 🤣

user3 IT HAS TO BE

---

you and lando laugh together as you both read the comments of the new post created by f1wagnews.

"i would soft launch but it would be a little suspicious and obvious..." you say to him as he laughs.

"i told you hard launching would be the only way. considering the fact we already had a rumor around us." he tells you as you give him a look.

"i guess so. also im only hard launching to prove user9 and user5 wrong. trying to make user3s and user4s day since theyve been rooting for us." you say as he laughs, "you gotta do it with me tho, i have a plan."

---

ynnn

Liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, mclaren, amayamoore, and 2,939,234 others

ynnn i only ride mclarens.

tagged: landonorris

View all 341,234 comments

---

landonorris so funny how im actually named mclarens 😘

ynnn you are so getting it tonight.

lilymhe Y/N.

amayamoore IM CRYING WHY IS SHE SO UNHINGED LILY 😭😭😭

lilymhe BECAUS EOF YOU

mclaren we didnt even read this.

mclaren CONGRATS!! 🍾 ❤️🧡 (were just gonna ignore the caption!)

ynnn thank you sm 😝 (enjoy it)

carlossainz55 HE DID IT???

landonorris and did.

ynnn bro confessed without knowing he confessed...

landonorris SSHHHHH

oscarpiastri HE FINALLY DEFEATED THE LANDO NO-RIZZ ALLEGATIONS‼️‼️

landonorris excuse me.

ynnn YHHH HE DEFEATED IT FINALLY!!!

landonorris EXCUSE ME.

user3 I FRICKING CALLED IT. YOU GUYS I CALLED IT!!! IM NOT CRAZY.

user3 @/user4 WHERE ARE YOU...WE DID IT!!!

user4 WOOOOHOOOO FINALLLYYYYYYJAHWH

ynnn you guys are the og believers.

landonorris y/n only hard launched because of you guys fyi

user3 OMGOMGOSN IM GONNA PASS OUT.

user4 THEY KNOW WE EXIST @/user3

charles_leclerc so im guessing you dont need another tour guide 😕

ynnn sorry charles...ive already got the best tour guide around ❤️

landonorris my loveee ❤️❤️❤️

maxverstappen1 do you guys hear sobbing from ferraris garage and mercedes?

scuderiaferrari yeah...dont worry about it.

mercedesamgf1 the weather is nice today...

amayamoore that caption is insane.

lilymhe WHAT IM SAYING BRO.

ynnn 🙄🙄🙄

---

landonorris

Liked by ynnn, carlossainz55, mclaren, lilymhe, amayamoore and 3,343,964 others

landonorris hi, im mclarens.

tagged: ynnn

View all 394,934 comments

---

ynnn hi mclarens!!! 🙈🙈🙈

landonorris hey there beautiful lady 😍

georgerussell63 theyre so cute im gonna vomit.

mclaren beat the no-rizz and no-wins allegations!!! thats our driver!! 🧡 (still gonna ignore the caption)

landonorris it was y/ns idea believe it or not.

ynnn SHUT UP.

oscarpiastri i just put two and two together with their captions. i wanna bleach my eyes now.

carlossainz55 i just told my teammate to look at their captions and he started sobbing more. 😂😂😂

lewishamilton i dont think my teammate figured it out yet 😅

lewishamilton nvm 😭😭

maxverstappen1 yeah we can hear them all sobbing...

maxverstappen1 congrats mate!! you finally have balls now!!

landonorris last time i checked ive had balls my entire life.

maxverstappen1 idk about that mate

landonorris ask my mother or y/n

ynnn idrk lando...ive only known of their existence since last week...

charles_leclerc KEEP IT IN THE DMS. IVE GOT NO TEARS LEFT TO CRY 😭

ynnn okay ariana grande 😭😭

amayamoore KEEP THAT INFORMATION TO YOURSELVES.

lilymhe we did not wanna hear about what you two did last week.

user3 THE MATCHING CAPTIONS AGAIN 😭😭

user4 theyre so iconic for that tbh. the first time they were put in an article together it was because of their captions being accidentally matching and now its actually real. 😭

user3 genuinely brings tears to my eyes.

user22 theyre so cuteee 🤍🤍

charles_leclerc i think im done crying.

ynnn ill buy you some lec ice cream to make you feel better. 🫶

charles_leclerc thank you 🥹🫶

landonorris and what if i tell you ill eat all of it before it gets to you.

charles_leclerc that might be my 13th reason.

ynnn 😭😭

scuderiaferrari please give our driver a break.

---

authors note(s): this is my first smau so i hope it isnt booty cheeks. i literally started tweaking after trying to do the instagram post layout properly 😭😭

hope you guys enjoyed this and maybe ill make more in the future xoxo