#only then it's easy to go through your day

[kitten4sannie]

𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

pairing: dilf next door! yunho x fem! reader

genre: neighbor au, fluff, smut

summary: you try your next door neighbor on for size when your date cancels on you last minute.

w.c: 3.8k

warnings: yuyu is in his late 40s 🙂‍↕️, controversial spider-man takes LMAO, wine drinking (they are tipsy at most!), brief play fighting, (mostly) dom switch! yuyu but he also whimpers and whines 🙂‍↕️, subby switch! reader, big dick yuyu agenda ‼️, praise/pet names only, teasing (only a lil bit while he talks reader thru it uwu), brief spit kink, kissing, dry humping, fingering, face sitting, size kink >:))), bulge kink, creampie 💕

a/n: hihi i’m back! this fic is dedicated to my dearest bestie tasha @ildangtaek i love you so very much :(( and happy birthday againn i hope your special day was as lovely as you are <33 there really wasn’t much inspo for this i just ❤️ dilfs with my whole kitty esp when it’s yuyu uwu enjoy xx

p.s: thank you so very much for 7k followers! it’s still so unreal to me 🥹💕

song recs: new light — john mayer, boy is mine — ariana grande, plants — crumb

“So…you’re not coming…?” you asked your potential date through your speaker phone, slowly sitting back down in front of your vanity mirror, your puzzled reflection staring back at you. 

You listened to his vague explanation about how he wasn’t quite ready to take this next step with you, whatever that meant. All you were going to do was eat dinner and chat, not exchange marriage vows. He hung up before you had the chance to tell him how silly he sounded. Sulking, you shuffled into your bathroom to undo all the effort you put into looking like a five course meal for an undeserving stranger. 

Halfway through washing your face, you heard your oven timer go off. You completely forgot about the pizza you had made in a rush for you and your date to share. Pulling it out of the oven with a small sigh, you couldn’t help but stare at the unopened bottle of wine on the counter. It would’ve been entirely too easy for you to just get drunk, eat the entire pizza, and cry yourself to sleep afterwards, but a tiny voice inside the back of your mind told you to invite your cute neighbor over instead — even if he was a lot older than you. Would that be so bad? 

The phone only rang for a second before Yunho picked up. “Y/N, hey! What’s up?” Was it uncouth to answer right away or to let it ring for a while longer? He wasn’t sure what the younger crowd preferred nowadays, but he was sure that he wouldn’t let an opportunity to chat with his pretty neighbor slip away. 

“Hey, Yunho!” you began, rolling a metal slicer through the thick crust of your homemade pizza. Your neighbor always sounded so happy when you called him. You could practically hear his imaginary tail wagging. Was he like this with everyone? “What are you up to?”

Yunho’s voice sounded a bit farther away and somewhat strained when he spoke again. “Just fixing up my garden. Oh! My honeysuckles finally bloomed!”

“Already? That’s great!” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. He was so cute. “So, uh, long story short, my date canceled on me after I made us pizza...There’s wine too.” You bit into your bottom lip, wondering just how desperate you were about to sound. 

“What a dickhead. Why would anyone cancel on you? I mean, you’re so–” he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “Cool, you know…” Yunho set his gardening trowel down onto the fresh patch of dirt in favor of bonking himself lightly on the side of the head. 

“Thanks, Yun,” you giggled, curling a lock of hair around your finger. You swallowed down your doubt before it overtook you. “Did you wanna, like…hang out?”

Maybe Yunho didn’t fumble, after all. “I’d love to, Y/N.” He looked at the freshly bloomed flowers sitting in front of him. It was fate. “I’ll be right over, okay? Wait for me~” 

“See you~” you replied, matching his tone. Once you hung up, you looked down at the comfy hoodie and sleep shorts you had slipped into. You only had a few seconds to wonder if you should change or not before your doorbell rang. 

Yunho’s honey brown eyes widened upon seeing you, his cheeks growing warm. “H-hey, Y/N!” He nervously shuffled his feet, his scuffed Converse squeaking against the rubber doormat. He moved his arm in an odd way; it was clear he was holding something behind his back. 

“I know it’s not technically a date, but I thought I should bring you something…” 

Yunho held out a bouquet of freshly picked honeysuckles, ones that were delicately tied together with some pretty lace. You looked down at them in disbelief, gently taking them into your arms. Tears threatened to leave your eyes when you tilted your head back up to meet Yunho’s gentle gaze. “Thank you so much…I…Are you an angel?” 

A big cheesy smile spread across Yunho’s face. “Just your friendly neighborhood gardener.” 

And with that, you moved aside to let him in, mirroring Yunho’s infectious smile.

-

“Nice place,” Yunho approved in an oddly soft tone, looking around your cozy living room. Taking a sip of wine, he meandered over to your impressive media cabinet, scanning all the various movies that neatly lined the shelf. “I haven’t seen a DVD in ages…” He turned his head to look at you, his eyes crinkled with amusement. “I didn’t know you were old school.” 

You let out a small snicker, pulling out one of the DVDs to run a finger along the smooth edges. “I’ve always preferred physical copies. Digital just isn’t the same…” You met his wholehearted gaze, your heart skipping a beat. “You know…?” You were so close to him, you were able to notice his pronounced smile lines as soon as his lips curled up. 

“You’re speaking my language, kiddo.” Yunho took another sip from his glass, looking off to the side. He shook his head absentmindedly, reminiscing about something. “Everything was so much better in the early 90s…” 

You pouted, gently elbowing him through his shirt. “Hey, I wasn’t even born yet.” 

“Oh, that’s right.” He took in a sharp breath, holding it for a second. Once he let it out, he just about deflated like a balloon. “I’m old…aren’t I?” 

Scoffing, you mindlessly flipped the DVD around in your hands. “We’re all aging.” You hoped you weren’t looking too deeply into his eyes. “Why does it matter what step you’re at?” 

Yunho was captivated. He hadn’t felt this kind of acceptance in quite some time. “I’ll try to think of it like that,” he voiced softly, reaching up to pat the top of your head. “Thank you.” 

A simple head pat from your seasoned neighbor shouldn’t have affected you the way it did, heat creeping up on your cheeks, the DVD creaking in protest inside your tight grasp. “Y-you better.” 

“O-oh?” Yunho was caught off guard by your bold words, surprised by his body’s immediate response to it. He slowly lowered his glass, trying to casually hide his half-chub from view. “I will then…” 

You tapped your finger rhythmically against the DVD, delighted with the sheepish look on the older man’s face. You wanted to attribute your growing confidence to the alcohol settling inside your stomach, but you knew you would’ve tested the waters either way. And with that, you reached all the way up to pat the top of his head. “Good.” 

There was an electric current of sorts lighting up the edges of Yunho’s brain — one that would spark sooner rather than later. Before he could say anything that might scare you off, he finally took a look at the DVD you had been holding. “Is…is that the original Spider-man?” 

“Thought you would never notice,” you giggled, his long fingers overlapping yours when you handed it to him. “I have one and two. Three doesn’t exist in my mind.”

Yunho was sure he met his perfect match. “We’re watching them,” Yunho decided for the both of you, his eyes widening with excitement. “Right now.” 

You leaned in a bit closer to him. “What are you waiting for? Put it in.” 

He leaned back. “Don’t have to tell me twice.” 

-

It took finishing the cheap bottle of wine and movies together for you both to finally let totally loose around one another, though your matching flushed cheeks and sweaty palms weren’t a result of being tipsy. It was simply a side effect of being around each other. You were so engrossed with one another, that you didn’t even bother turning the TV off, simply letting the DVD icon freely bounce into each corner of the screen for what seemed like hours. 

Yunho couldn’t quite finish chewing the crust of his slice of cold pizza before he explained with his mouth full, “Peter knowingly killed Harry’s father. Harry following in the footsteps of his dad and becoming the Green Goblin was inevitable.” 

“You having delusional takes was inevitable,” you shot back, getting so worked up over this nonsensical argument that you almost choked on your own slice of pizza. “I should’ve known that as soon as you said Spider-man 2 was mid.” 

Yunho pressed closer to you, gently reaching up to squish your cheeks together. “Aww, someone’s grumpy.” 

Your body was beginning to overheat. He was so close to you, and he smelled so good, fresh like cool eucalyptus, and warm like burning sage. You almost couldn’t focus on getting under your older neighbor’s skin, your words coming out a bit garbled when you provoked him, “Harry was a terrible Venom, by the way.” 

Yunho let out a sharp, offended gasp. “You take that back!” he demanded jokingly, pretending to lunge at you, his hands instead stopping short of touching your shoulders, his breath getting caught inside his throat when you decided to actually lunge back.

“Never!” It was surprisingly easy to take down someone who was almost twice the size of you, but you knew internally Yunho was letting it happen. You almost wished he would give you the same treatment. 

Yunho fell back against the couch cushion, his limbs sprawled out, except for one of his thighs, the one you were haphazardly sitting on. He began blocking your feeble attempts to tickle him, not putting a whole lot of effort into getting you off of his lap. “Admit it was peak cinema, will you?” He sounded out of breath, but not for the right reason. 

“Maybe if you admit I’m right,” you sighed out, not stopping your pursuit until you finally had his obnoxiously long body pinned underneath your significantly smaller one. Now straddling his hips, you closed your fingers around his wrists to keep him still. You were hunched over now, only a few inches away from Yunho’s reddened face, feeling him move against you, causing friction in between your thighs. You quickly bit into your bottom lip, your brows joining ever so slightly. Yunho wasn’t answering you, just looking up at you with his big glossy eyes. It was driving you crazy. “Lemme hear you say it…” 

Yunho blew a few dyed dirty blond locks out of his view. Everything was moving so fast a second ago, and now, it felt like slow motion. He watched as your zip-up hoodie slipped down one of your shoulders, immediately distracted by your thighs once he readjusted his own. Your tiny shorts were riding up, leaving little to imagination. “You’re right,” your neighbor exhaled out, his soft breath hitting the bottom of your chin. 

Yunho sure had a big smile for someone who had just lost an argument, fake or not, and that’s when it hit you, or poked you, rather. You had been sitting directly on Yunho’s clothed cock, now feeling it throb against your exposed core through the thin material of your shorts. This sudden discovery could no longer go unnoticed. “That’s…what I thought,” you huffed, dragging your hips forward in a slow, methodical manner, drawing a long, airy moan out of your older neighbor. 

“I-if you do that, I’ll, nnngh–” Yunho tossed his head back into the couch, feeling your equally sweaty hands slipping off of his wrists, your palms pressing into his warm chest. His hands were drawn to your hips like magnets, enclosing around them, his fingers so long and slender that they touched at the small of your back. “This is what you wanted all along, huh? You should’ve said something, kiddo…” 

“Aren’t you the one who got hard five minutes into our date? Don’t think I didn’t notice,” you teased him back, trying to distract him from the fact that you were actively leaving a wet patch on Yunho’s tented pants. 

“So, it is a date,” the older man breathed out, squeezing the soft flesh of your hips in between his fingers from underneath your hoodie, purposely dragging you across his manhood, before staying still, like he was testing the waters. “Aren’t I a lucky man?” 

You just about melted from his sudden display of dominance over your body, now needing more, as though you were just introduced to a new drug. “Sh-show me…how lucky you are.” He waited silently below you, quirking his head to the side, before you realized. 

“Please.” 

“Good girl.” It seemed like his hips began to move without his permission, rolling them up into you, his movements disjointed and sloppy. Desperate. He was desperate for you, his lovely little neighbor, the one he had spent countless days and nights yearning for. “Fuck, is this okay…?” he still found himself asking you from underneath his breath, needing more confirmation, despite actively making you grind against him like it was going out of style. 

“Yeahh,” you gasped, just as you completely relinquished your feigned control, Yunho manually guiding your hips along his trapped, aching cock, the frantic pursuit of friction only fueling the already raging fires inside the both of you. “Need more, actually…” 

“More?” Each small sporadic moan he heard coming from above was like music to his ears, more and more arousal shooting through his heated body and straight into his cock. He truly couldn't take it much longer, unless he wanted to bust inside his jeans like a loser. “Tell me…Tell me what you need, baby…” 

Of course, your cute, seemingly innocent neighbor would be the type to make you ask for it. Your cheeks stung, especially now that he wouldn’t stop trying to catch your wandering gaze. “Touch me, Yun...”

“Touch you…? Touch you where?” 

Chewing at your bottom lip, you pulled your tiny shorts up by the waistband, your pussy on full display for him.  “Here, please…” 

“Fuckin’ hell…” One of Yunho’s hands left your hips, gingerly pulling said shorts to the side to reveal your glistening cunt. Yunho had dreamt of this moment for ages, and now that he was finally living it, he was absolutely ready to give his all for the angel sitting on his lap. “Jesus Christ...All of you is so pretty...so perfect.” 

“I’m all yours,” you whispered under your breath, running your hands down his warm chest.

Yunho felt his brain short-circuiting in real time. “Fuck, you have no idea how crazy that makes me.” 

The man’s cock pulsed from underneath you, leading you to bite back a moan. “Show me.” 

“Then, sit on my face, angel.” 

Once you were angled above him, Yunho pulled the shorts you soaked up by the inseam, emphasizing the shape of your pussy for his own amusement. He rubbed the pads of his index and middle finger along your clothed lips, knowing he found your clit with his thumb when you let out a sharp gasp. “Right there, hm? Did I find your cute little clit, baby? 

“Uh-huh…” 

He rolled your clit around in slow, teasing circles. “Want me to find your hole next?” Your sheepish, yet eager nods only fueled Yunho’s already raving arousal. 

The unmistakable sound of fabric being ripped was registered by your senses first, before you watched your tiny torn pair of shorts disappear into the depths of the fluffy carpet beside the couch. The cold air that had hit your bare cunt was quickly replaced by your eager neighbor’s warm tongue. “Oh…!” 

Yunho greedily lapped up your arousal into his mouth, mapping out the entirety of your cunt with his lips and tongue, the bottom half of his face already shining with your wetness. The man eventually spread you open with two slender fingers, watching your hole flutter around nothing. “Found it…” He was so overcome with lust, that he sent a wad of spit into your cunt, before plugging you up with his tongue. 

“Yunho, oh my god–” You reached down to hold onto the sides of his head, your fingers curling around his dirty blond locks. 

It was when your hazy eyes met that Yunho began to tongue-fuck you in a vigorous manner, each and every impossibly wet sound your slick cunt made only furthering your neighbor’s desire to make you fall apart. He only ceased his worship to groan, “Fuck, do you get this goddamn wet for everyone?” 

Your thighs were starting to shake. You were close. “Just you, Yunho…” Now that the man was looking back up at you with those big puppy dog eyes, you couldn’t help but tug at his hair. “You look like you wanna say something, baby.” The small, uncharacteristically whiny moan he let out encouraged you to take matters into your own hands, rubbing your cunt along Yunho’s spread-out tongue, your puffy clit routinely bumping into his curved nose. He let out another pretty-sounding moan. It made you smile. “C’mon…use your words…” 

“Cum on my face, please,” he voiced urgently, his lips still pressed to your wet cunt. 

“Fuck, yeah, okay,” you gasped in agreement, only able to grind yourself across Yunho’s tongue a few more times, before he cemented his hands around your waist, forcefully bringing you down onto his mouth. 

Yunho couldn’t make out any of the words coming out of your mouth, too focused on the heavy moans you were letting out in between them. Your clit throbbed against his hot tongue, and once he licked down to your spasming hole, he felt the warm spray of your release hit his tongue. Savoring the taste of you on his swollen lips, he gazed up at you with pride. “That’s my girl.” 

With your legs shaking and your heart pounding, you climbed off of him, watching him sit up and lean back against the couch, his aching cock still trapped inside the confines of his pants. You couldn’t help but lick at your own lips. “Take it out, Yunho…”

Yunho obliged, hastily undoing his leather belt. His sizable cock smacked heavily into his abdomen upon release, leaving a trail of pre-cum behind on his t-shirt. A prominent vein traveled up from the base of his cock to the thick tip where it was an eye-catching shade of pink. It matched the flush on his cheeks and ears. 

Despite being confident about his size, there was a nervous glint in his eyes. “What do you think…?” 

“Pretty…” You were sure you were drooling. 

Chuckling in relief, Yunho patted one of his spread thighs. “Come here, princess. See how pretty it is up close.” 

And you did just that, perching yourself on top of Yunho’s lap like you belonged there. Yunho still couldn’t believe his luck. Not only did he have the privilege of rewatching his favorite movies with his pretty neighbor, but he somehow ended up with you on his cock. He was determined to make it worth your while. “You like being on top, huh?” 

“I just didn’t want to put all the hard work on you,” you pouted, gently running your finger around his tip to collect his arousal, giggling at the way he jolted against your touch. 

“Oh, because I’m like 20 years your senior? Think I can’t handle all this?” he asked under his breath, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass from either side. 

Mewing from his touch, you aloofly licked his pre-cum from your finger, making the man whine in response. “I think you should prove it, Yun,” you whispered near his lips, leaving a chaste kiss against them.  

Yunho’s thick tip entered you first, your cunt slowly stretching open to accommodate his size. “I’ll show you, baby…” Feeling you tense up against him, Yunho made sure he took his time with you, pushing into you inch by inch, diligently studying your face for any sign of discomfort. He did all of this, only for your greedy cunt to swallow up his cock to the hilt. 

You didn’t even know you could feel this full. You were positive he was inside your guts. “Yunho, fuck– it’s so big,” you gasped into his neck. A small puff of air hit the side of your flushed face. 

“You’re just tiny, sweetheart. You can’t help it,” he whispered against your skin, rubbing your lower back in gentle circles. His teeth nipped at your earlobe. “But, you can take it, yeah?” 

You gave him a small nod, but that wasn’t good enough for the man. He pressed his forehead into yours, running his thumb over your bottom lip. “I want to hear you say it, Y/N.” 

When he let out a small breath, you took one in, clutching the sides of his face. “I can take it, Yunho.” 

Yunho began to move before you had the chance to properly ride him, holding your soft hips, using them like handlebars. “Y/N, baby, you’re so tight…” Each thrust he made was purposeful, deep, like he wanted to reach the innermost part of you, and leave his mark there. You were so warm, so hot inside, the man was sure he was going to melt if he continued, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “I’m going to make you mine…” 

You choked out a moan, tightening your grip around him. 

“Yeah?” His lips ghosted along your jaw. “That’s what you want?” 

“Please,” you begged Yunho, digging your nails into his back. 

Yunho simply couldn’t hold himself back any longer, not while he had you like putty in his arms, your body limp, completely and utterly at his mercy. “There we go, baby…Don’t worry that pretty head about anything, just focus on this cock.” And he made sure you felt each and every inch of it, figuring he was hitting your cervix from the way you gasped for air like there was none left. 

“Fuck..!” you cried, delirious with pleasure. “I’ll cum, I’m gonna cum, Yunho, please, don’t stop–”

His hips matched the quick, wavered desperation of your voice, pounding himself in and out of your squelching cunt. “Fall apart for me, princess…Let me feel it…” He slipped his free hand between your heated bodies, giving your clit a few vigorous rubs with his calloused thumb. 

You couldn’t speak, simply opening your mouth to let out a soundless moan, your body jolting away from his touch. “That’s it…that’s it, my love, let go,” he sighed against your lips, his thumb still swiping over your sensitive clit, his throbbing length reaching places you never could without his help.

Just as your warmth spilled out of you, Yunho held you still within his firm grasp, his forehead resting against yours. He was almost completely out of breath, a few drops of sweat cascading along his temple. “Inside…?”

You nodded desperately. “Inside, please…” 

Yunho indulged in your mutual desire, pressing his hand down against your tummy to feel the space he took up inside you. He filled you to the brim with his hot white release, so much so that it spilled past your joined bodies and dripped out onto the couch. 

He managed to give you a small sheepish smile when your eyes met. “You’ll really be mine after this, won’t you, kiddo?” 

You couldn’t help but giggle, reaching up to caress his cheek. It was warm to the touch. “Good thing you live right next door.” 

© kitten4sannie, 2025.

[blueivyy99]

Sylus? No ... Skye?

Sylus x NonMC

summary: you didn't know that your lovely sweetheart is the most wanted man in all of Linkon. you knew him as Skye. one year with him was bliss, then suddenly he ghosted you.

tags: fluff, angst, sylus as skye, non mc reader more tags to follow

taglist: @animegamerfox @lazypostfandomer @mentaltrouble2201

note: ACKKK new series hiii! Hope you enjoy this

Masterlist

"How is my darling?"

Destiny cafe is particularly busy during this time of the day. Chatters from friends and the sound of the coffee grinder fills the place. So when you heard a familiar voice talking in your direction, you tear your gaze away from your laptop and looked at them. It's your very adorable boyfriend -- Skye. You immediately shoot him a smile. He's finally here.

"You're just in time. I'm actually loading up my cart for skincare products. Come and help me choose."

He groaned before plopping to your side and looked at your screen. That made you giggle. He doesn't really like doing all of these and in his own words he can "just help pay for it" but he tolerates you anyway.

"Sweetie, didn't we just bought some a few months back?" he asked while still scrolling through different brands of facial masks looking for the ones you two already tried and tested.

"Months. It's been months, Skye. We already went through all of them. We only have a week's worth."

"Fine. Go and check out this one. I like the scent."

Your afternoon went on like that. Nothing new. Just a fun and light moment with your long term boyfriend. It has been a blissful year since you two got in a relationship and so far, he did nothing but make you smile. Although he is stubborn at times and makes your head ache with his sudden disappearances, you didn't question him for it. You wanted to, but it seemed like he isn't ready to tell you where he goes and as an apology when he returns he gives you a bouquet of peonies.

Skye tells you that he is just a lowly fruit vendor whose income depends on how his fruits sell and that he got lucky supplying a few bigshots costumers here in Linkon, but sometimes it's hard to believe that. His motorbike collection alone is enough to pay for your year's worth of salary and so far he used at least five different big bikes around you. Not to mention his cars that's another puzzle that you cannot wrap your head around.

And the way he spoils you is out of this world! You're not one to police someone's spending habits but if Skye is telling the truth and he is just living off of his fruits, then he should start cutting back on the amount he spends on you.

"Skye, if you ever think of paying for this, I'm telling you now: don't." you said trying to be stern. "Let me cover it this time."

He raised a brow at you, "What kind of boyfriend am I if I let my lady pay for the things she loves?"

When he is like this it's so easy to just give in and do what he wants especially when he looks so offended that you don't want him to pay for you. It might no be obvious to him, but he has this little pout whenever he doesn't get his way and his eyes looks so disappointed that it makes your heart clench.

But no. You will not be swayed.

"You will be a responsible boyfriend who will be mindful of his spending habits so he can maintain his lifestyle." you answered him looking directly in his eyes. "You have been spending wayyyy too much on me, baby. It feels like for a week alone, you already managed to gift me an entire month's worth of my salary."

"Fruit sold so well it's fair that my lady gets her share."

There he is again. Using his charm and sweet words to get to you.

"I love that you had such a provider mindset, that's very husband material of you." you said emphasizing your last phrase because you know you get him to listen to you when that kind of topic is brought up. "BUT you have to spend wisely. It's not everyday that you will sell well. What if a competitor comes and you lose all your costumers, then what? I would happily provide for us, but if we can avoid being broke then by all means let's avoid it."

Skye knows you and your history. You didn't come from a rich background and you had to work your entire high school until college just to finish studying so you know hard work and how important it is to be mindful of your purchases and seeing Skye just burn his finances like it doesn't hurt his pockets is something that you would just watch.

"What I'm saying is, you need to save up for your future. You never know what might happen."

He took your hand and laced it with his, bringing it up his lips and kissed it.

"Don't worry about that 'kay? I'm not spending more than what I can lose. We won't go broke." he said and smirked, "But I think I would spend more on you. I like it when you get so ... wifey. Makes me wanna put a ring on you."

You blushed hard. Feigning irritation, you took your hand back and crossed your arm.

"Well, I won't marry someone who doesn't care about our finances."

"Hey! Don't say that!" He made you face him but you won't budge.

He sighed defeatedly when you didn't speak further. "Fine. I would spend less."

You smiled and finally looked at him. "Promise?"

"Promise." he looked like a kicked puppy it's adorable. You kissed his cheeks to mend his broken heart.

"Love 'ya. Keep that up I might propose to you myself."

He was wide eyed when you said that.

"Don't you dare, sweetie. Let me do the proposing." he said.

"If you are gonna spend a couple of thousand dollars on it, then I would say no." you stuck your tongue out just to piss him off.

He chuckled at you and your childish antics, "A man don't kiss and tell about the prices of their gifts, sweetheart. You wouldn't know."

You just pinched his ears lightly careful not to hurt him. "Take me seriously, Skye. Don't spend too much on me. Save some for yourself."

"I know, baby. I hear you. I will try, okay?"

You nodded your head. That's good enough to hear for now.

==

You walked out of the cafe planning to chill in your home and watch movies when Skye received a phone call from his shop assistant Luke. He answered it while keeping his hand on your waist to guide you to the front seat of his car.

"Hello?" He shut the door to his side and started driving putting Luke in speaker mode.

"Boss Man, we're on our way to deliver watermelons. The client wants to meet you. It's important."

You can hear Skye grumbling under his breath. He hates it when these kind of things happen especially when his time with you gets cut short. You two only see each other once or twice a week and it really pisses him off when he can't spend it like he intended to. You took his free hand and held him nodding for him to go.

"But -"

"Do it. Visit me tomorrow or the next day. Just text me and I will take a day off." you said. You really missed him too but his business needs him and you won't be the one to cause it's downfall.

He just sighed and answered Luke, "I'll be there. I will just take Y/N home."

"Copy boss!"

==

He pulled up in front of your apartment. You can see that he hesitates to leave because he doesn’t even look at you and he has that little pout on his lips again. When Skye is like this, you really want to kiss him silly.

“Skye,”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Tsk.” He turned off the engine and went out to open the door for you. “I will be back as soon as I can, okay? I love you.”

You gave him a sweet kiss on the lips. You need your fill for when you wait on him.

“I love you too.”

You watched his car leave. Feeling hollow on your chest.

You went inside hopeful that he will see you in two days tops.

But then a week had passed and no message from him. You tried to call but it only rings.

It made you worry and you don’t know any way to reach him.

If you had known that it would be the last time you would see him after a very long time, would you have let him go?

note: how was itttt? i hope you enjoy. this will be at least 3-4 parts only. love you!!! reacts, comments and reblogs are much much welcome 🤗

[moyazaika]

housewife syndrome

yandere! rockstar x fem! reader

cw; possessive + obsessive behaviour, severe mental instability, paranoia, anxiety, violence, heavy nsfw themes, mdni 18+

genie's notes; commissioned piece by a very sweet anon ♡ thank you so much for trusting me with this absolutely stunning idea. i’ve always been a fan of domestic horror, especially of the spiralling housewife variety, so it was fun to explore a new dynamic and fresh writing style. <3

"welcome home, sweetheart!" the television runs on low volume in the background as you greet your husband with a knowing smile. you run through the motions as you always do, make sure to ask with the most innocence you can muster, "how was your day?"

feroze can make out the sound of gallant applause that indicates you'd been watching reruns of last night's award ceremony.

"such a fucking drag." your husband pulls you into his arms, buries his head into the crook of your neck with a long, satisfied sigh and takes his sweet, sweet time to breathe you in. "couldn't fucking wait to come home to you, meri jaan."

his answer remains the same as it is every other day, and you can't help but smile against his lips when he pulls you in to steal a little kiss; you sigh into his mouth, and feroze is so fucking overwhelmed by gratitude for the familiarity and comfort of this little routine the two of you have seemed to settle down into so well.

"i love when you call me that," you confess; my life.

you know just as well as him that, well—it wasn't always this easy.

"yeah," feroze hums. "i know you do, baby."

you weren't always so lovely for him, were you?

-

you're quiet.

though the two of you are sitting across from each other at the dining table, your attention is clearly elsewhere. conversation is slow, if not stagnant. it's a far cry from how talkative you usually are; and though he would never fucking admit it, least of all to you, he worries, for a fraction of a second, that things are slipping.

"meri jaan?" he sets down his fork very carefully, reaches for your hands over the table.

you blink, pulled away from wherever you'd been lost in your mind and back down to this moment that stretches on before you.

"oh, sorry, my love. what was that?"

feroze watches your eyes quietly track the movement of his fingers, sliding over your wrists, lingering, momentarily, on your pulse—nice and steady—before they intertwine with your own.

your gaze lands on him, then, expectant. he drags his thumb over your knuckles, glad to find they're soft; unmarred by any labour. he loves having you here, tucked away within the walls of this home he built just for you, away from the rest of the rotten world.

such a darling girl like you deserves to have everything taken care of for you. as far as he's concerned, the only thing on your mind should be him.

which is why the silence is beginning to irritate him, now. he's not really upset with you, doesn't have a reason to be, just yet—he's just wondering what it is you're so focused on. where do you keep going back to in that head of yours, and why aren't you here with him?

is this where it all falls apart?

—again?

"rosy?" you try. "is everything alright?"

"yeah," feroze's hazel eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, endearingly patient. "i just wanted to know how your day was."

"ugh, don't remind me." you stick your tongue out. "it was so boring. i woke up so late today and didn't really do anything interesting."

"shit, i'm sorry to hear that, baby."

your husband nods towards the television, still playing from inside the living room across the hall; the screen's bright colours reflect against the glass windows that take up half the wall. though the program is muted, he can still hear the echoes from the cacophony of applause ringing loud and true.

the four hour program's been running on loop on some of the smaller channels, and you really seem to enjoy tuning in, he's noticed.

it would be more difficult not to notice this new habit of yours, really. because if he's been counting right, this is the seventh time you've seen the whole thing through to the end.

"seems like you were at least watching the music thing again."

"well, when my stunning husband won half of the awards," you shrug coyly. "how could i not?"

"flattery won't get you anywhere," feroze deigns, though neither of you mention the involuntary curl to his lips as they lift into a small, self-satisfied smile.

"huh, that's strange," you frown, pull your hands away from his own and make a show of examining the elaborately stacked engagement ring and marital band wrapped around your finger. "if i seem to remember correctly, flattery is exactly what got me this ring."

"oh," he laughs. "is that so?"

"uhuh," you nod, still admiring the rings. they're big and they're flashy and there's no fucking chance anyone could ever miss the sight of them; make the mistake of misunderstanding what they mean. you're so obviously his, and fuck, it suits you so perfectly to belong to him.

i love you, he thinks fiercely. i fucking love you.

"you've got an ego, rosy." your knowing gaze flickers back to him, accompanied by a teasing smile. "bit of a praise kink, too."

"and yet, darling wife," he'll never tire of calling you that; never really overcome the thrill that overwhelms him when he sees you adorned in the markers of his devotion and tucked away all safe and sound. "you're the only person whose words mean anything to me."

"ohh, is that so?" you taunt, "whatever happened to 'flattery won't get you anywhere?'"

feroze takes in the sight of you. you're dressed casual, donned in a baggy old shirt and a pair of his softest sweats hanging low off your hips. comfortable in your own home, as you should fucking feel, you have no makeup on, and your hair is unkempt; overdue for a shower; but fuck if he cares.

feroze decides, within a moment, that he needs you—

now.

"come here, meri jaan. i'll show you."

"you greedy, greedy man," you chastise lightly, rising from your seat. "i've just fed you dinner and you're still salivating at my table."

feroze watches you make the small effort of pushing your chair in, before turning on your heel. you pause in the doorway for a second, spare him a knowing glance over your shoulder; "well? aren't you hungry, darling husband?"

he knows that none of it evades you; the nervous bob of his adam's apple as he swallows. the way his fingers are digging into the edge of the table to keep from sinking inside of you right here. his heart is racing; his pants are tight. though you're so willing to be his now, he remembers it wasn't always this easy.

"my love." feroze grits out, "i'm fucking starving."

you disappear into the hallway, mellifluous laughter like the loveliest song, echoing off the walls—inside of his head, for fuck's sake—as your husband follows faithfully behind you when you lead him into the bedroom.

dinner goes cold on the table. you never touched your plate.

upstairs, minutes later, your husband bottoms out inside of the welcoming warmth of your sweet cunt, just as your fingers brush against the butcher's knife tucked right underneath your pillow.

-

feroze gets you to come twice before he decides he has his fill. he's rummaging through your nightstand for the contraceptives he knows you keep in there. it's got less to do with what he wants and more to do with what he believes is best for the two of you.

it's not that he doesn't want children; he dreams of them often. a little baby swaddled in the softest fabrics, wrapping its entire hand around just one of his fingers. the sound of a second pair of footsteps excitedly running down the hall every time he comes home from the studio, from tour. something more to take care of. to keep you busy.

but your husband knows you.

and though he's always been selfish, he can't risk kids until—well, until he knows you won't try to kill them.

it's taken you years to accept him. he won't undo that.

feroze, so caught up in his thoughts, only really registers the blade until it's slicing into his skin, the sharp edge of it pressing against the side of his neck with just enough pressure to draw blood.

he is disappointed, though by no means surprised, to find you on the other end wielding the knife.

he turns to face you, abandoning his search. you're holding onto the hilt of your makeshift weapon with trembling hands, and though he's suddenly overcome by exhaustion—because, baby, how many more times are you going to pull this—an involuntary shiver runs down his spine at the sight nonetheless.

"jaan," he tries to reason with you in hushed tones; oh, love. "what are you doing?"

you dig the knife in just a little deeper, and he winces; "i hate you, feroze." the words sting, though the relative lack of conviction they’re laced with serves as a promising sign of reconciliation.

"i know, baby. can you please just put the knife down so we can talk like adults?"

he glimpses the almost imperceptible change immediately.

the lines of hesitation on your face; a flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. when your hold on the weapon looses just the tiniest fraction of an inch, he wastes no time in gently but firmly prying the knife from out of your trembling hands; tosses it underneath the bed where it lands out of your reach.

he’s getting better at this. gets through to you so much sooner than he used to.

you’re listening, now, aren’t you?

the thought of it makes him oddly proud.

"there we go," feroze says. you're still shaking, and though he wants so fucking desperately to pull you closer and console you—he's learnt to tread the waters carefully in times like these. you're evidently scared. obviously upset with him. he can give you a little room to breathe. “now do you want to use your words and talk to me properly?”

“i keep rewatching the awards show. every other winner had someone there with them. some girlfriend or wife they kissed before they went on stage. you’re the only one who—” you swallow, voice wavering. “i’m the only one who wasn’t there. i’m the only one who’s kept hidden away.”

“you don’t want to show me off.” the tears fall almost immediately. “you’re ashamed of me.”

there are millions of words in the english language, and millions more in his own. he’s put into words every fleeting feeling you’ve made him feel; spun both the most magnificent and mundane of emotions into beautiful songs and compelling lyrics and composed entire albums from nothing—and yet, somehow, in this moment all of it evades him.

"i spend all day stuck here w-waiting for you to come home, and when you do—i keep thinking about all those ceremonies and galas and parties you go to, rooms i can never follow you into—and i hate you. i hate you for how much you hate me—”

“i’m sorry,” feroze’s hands run up your spine, to lightly curl his fingers around the back of your neck. he tilts your head up so that you’re meeting his gaze; leaves you nowhere to look away, “meri jaan.”

his touch is so soft and so, so cold against your skin. you've always run warmer than him; but he thinks you might be burning up right now. maybe you've got a fever; or maybe you're just this delirious even without one. it doesn't fucking matter, doesn't change anything.

“i’m sorry for ever leaving you alone long enough to even think that. let me make it up to you. let me show you how much i adore you. let me build you back up again.”

“you can’t fix this,” you whisper.

he smiles, but it’s strange; doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “so you said the last time.”

-

hours later, you’re less of a sobbing wreck when he’s got you perched in his lap, and all curled up under his chin. “okay… then…” you sniff. your words are somewhat muffled as you bury your face into your husband’s chest. “i’m sorry, too. i didn’t mean to hurt you, rosy. i was just scared, i-i promise.”

"i know.” his knuckles wipe away the tears drying on your cheeks. “give me a kiss, please.”

and ever the sweet wife, you do; but your lips are trembling.

fuck, that’s—

shit.

—not going to work, is it?

with a gentle but firm hand, he pushes you down onto the bed and watches you land on your back amidst the dozens of pillows that decorate the bed. even then, the softest thing here is you. he forgets that, sometimes. let this be a lesson, he thinks to himself, to keep your fragility in mind. this is only further proof that you need him more than he'd even realised.

but you picked the right man, didn’t you? because none of that scares him.

the two of you have faced far more difficult times together; this is just a little hiccup in your life as a married couple. some story you’ll look back on and laugh about, when you’re all better.

so when you look up at him with wide, wet eyes and ask, "its just—can you promise me you still love me one more time?”

feroze regards you closely. you’re so beautiful. so fucking perfect that it overwhelms him. sometimes, he wishes you could see yourself the way that he sees you. though he’s always believed that may just scare you; knowing how deep his devotion really runs. things are fine as they are now.

well, mostly.

he has decided that he will retire from music completely, but the two of you can broach that topic when you’re in a better headspace for it. it’s been a long time coming. work keeps the money coming in, and he wants to spoil you but—he wants you to be happy, above all. you don’t really know what you’re asking for right now, but he has every intention of giving you exactly what it is you wished for.

he can’t give in when you beg to come along with him—but he can come and hide away next to you in this little pocket of the world that solely belongs to the two of you.

"you drive me to madness, my love. nothing about this life means anything if i can’t keep you happy.”

the two of you never had a white wedding; because he wanted to honour your union the right way and celebrate you as his culture deigned. so, yes, he never got to read you any vows, but he'd like to think you've come to know him well enough to understand he doesn't necessarily need to say something so sacred out loud for it to hold true.

"do you understand? i love you," he lowers his forehead against yours. “till death does us apart.”

you put your heart in his hands one more time, looking so small, so vulnerable beneath him. "you promise?"

"i promise," he closes his eyes and revels in the soft, sweeping feeling of your lashes fluttering against his own. "always and forever, meri jaan."

feroze loves you, of this he's certain.

he also knows that you fucking terrify him.

it's a small price to pay, if it means keeping you—

besides, he thinks, reaching once more for the contraceptive pills on the nightstand.

—marriage is all about compromise, is it not?

[szatears]

comfort zone, modernau!smoke.

summary: just smoke spoiling his girl.

pairing: modernau!smoke x fem!black reader

warnings: some descriptions of reader, cunnilingus, also munch!smoke because we all deserve it.

notes: this sinners brainrot will not leave me alone and i love it !!! also we hit 100 followers after just a couple days... i love you all so bad 🫶🏾

It was around 6 in the evening when Smoke came home to you. He'd been away in Atlanta for two days, a business trip as usual. You knew what he did, the type of people he worked with and what that came with. You didn't really care because at the end of the day, the most important thing to you was your relationship with him.

Everyone knew him as Smoke, but to you he was just Elijah. As soon as he walked through the huge doors to your shared home, he stopped being Smoke and Elijah came out instead.

Whenever he was away, you'd usually occupy yourself with something just fine. Going out with your girls, catching up on your own work, visiting family and so on. Anything to help take missing him off of your mind.

Today, as you waited for Smoke to come back, you decided to get a manicure. A little touch up on your nails could never hurt. It didn't take too long either, a half hour drive there and back in just under two hours. God, did you love your nail tech.

You had them done blue, Smoke's favourite colour on you.

You lounged around the house waiting for him, your only other companion being the small rottweiler puppy that Smoke had gifted to you. He whined as you patted him, rolling over next to you.

"I know, baby, daddy's coming home soon." You frowned, scratching behind his floppy ears.

The sound of keys turning in the door had those floppy ears turning straight real quick. Before you could even turn your head to the door, your puppy was already there, scratching at the back of it whilst Smoke attempted to get through.

"Man, move───" he muttered, trying to get through with a bunch of shopping bags and a puppy nipping at his legs.

You smiled, a part of you exhaling a sigh of relief that he'd come back to you in one piece.

It was never easy to see Smoke leave, the thought of him never coming back to you was always looming over your head. But just like he always reassured you he would, he came back seemingly fine.

You walked towards them, Smoke's facial features gradually relaxing at the sight of you. "Hi," you spoke smoothly, your arms around his neck as you pulled his face towards yours, kissing his lips.

You took a moment to run your hands over his body, the black compression shirt that he wire doing wonders for him. It always drove you crazy.

"Hey, baby," he kissed you back, dropping the bags gently on the floor giving his hands space to grab at your ass. "You been good?"

"Mhm," you answered, letting your nails scratch gently at the back of his neck. That always did the trick. You looked down at the puppy by your feet, breaking away to pick him up. He was getting heavier as each day went by.

You held him up to Smoke's face. "Say hi to your son, Elijah."

"That ugly ass thing ain't my son," he kissed his teeth, waving you off as he started moving the bags into the living room.

Laughing, you carried your puppy to its playpen, giving you snd Smoke some peace of mind for now.

You came back to find him emptying his pocket contents on the coffee table: gun, wallet, keys, and stacks of money. Instead of putting the money on the table with the rest of his stuff, he walked over to you.

He pulled the strap of the tank top that you wore, using it to tuck the money into your bra.

"What's this for?" you smiled, looking up at him. He was always giving you money randomly, various amounts for various reasons.

"For looking pretty," he kissed your cheek. "That's for you too," he nodded his head towards all the shopping bags that he brought in.

Your eyes followed to the bags, feeling so much appreciation overwhelm you. Smoke's love languages were most definitely gift giving and acts of service; he would use any and every opportunity to spoil you, but the minute you bought anything for him, he'd be telling you off for spending your money on him.

"You didn't have to," you pouted, sitting on his lap as you kissed all over his face. "You spoil me too much, I don't even have space for it all."

"I don't spoil you enough," He mumbled, kissing you back. "Come on, do your lil' try on thing you always do for me." He tapped the back of your thigh.

You giggled, "You mean a haul?"

"Yeah, that."

And that you did. Smoke had gotten you bags, clothes, lingerie, new makeup products... things you already had but according to him, could never have enough of.

You tried on each item, except for the lingerie. You said you wanted to surprise him with it another day, and he wasn't complaining.

At the end of your haul, Smoke helped you put everything away, making a comment to himself about having to expand your walk in wardrobe.

Now you two lay on the bed, cuddled up as a random show was on the TV. You loved moments like these, when he was yours. Not the rough Smoke that everyone else knew him as, but as your soft and loving boyfriend.

"You good?" Smoke stopped rubbing his hand gently on your body when he noticed you let out a sigh.

"I'm more than good," you smiled dreamily, like you were drunk just off of his affection.

He took your word for it, lifting your body onto his. His hands wrapped around your lower back whilst your chin rested on his chest, looking right at him.

"You know I love you, right?" He said.

"Yeah. I love you too."

Smoke smiled, his large hands squeezing at your ass. "And I love this ass too."

"You can never stay serious, can you?" You laughed, reaching back to move his hands. Instead, he flipped the two of you so he was now on too, your hands pinned on either side of your head.

"You know damn well how serious I can be."

And that you did. There was only a handful of times when Smoke had gotten serious with you, times when he was more Smoke than Elijah with you. One of the things he loved most about you was that you brought out the side of him that didn't immediately resort to violence, the one that still had hope that he could be loved like he once thought.

He leaned down, kissing you gently, softly. You kissed him back, your hand pulling his head even closer, nails grazing over his low cut. He caught a flash of blue as he pulled back from the kiss, removing a hand from your side to look at your hand properly.

"Look at you repping me," he teased you, running his fingers over your nails.

"Had to let 'em know," you shrugged.

"Damn straight," he mumbled against your lips. He could never get enough of you, you were like a drug to him.

He kissed from your lips down your neck, to your collarbone, nipping and sucking as he went. He loved marking you, you don't know when it started but you knew sure as hell it wasn't gonna stop.

Smoke let his runs run all over you, until you tugged at his shirt, frowning. "Why you poutin', baby?" He tilted his head, knowing the answer but wanting to drag it out of you.

"Take it off," you said.

"Yes ma'am."

As he pulled his shirt off, you watched on, smiling at your man's toned body. You let your hands rake over his abs as he leaned back down to you. "Your turn," he tapped your side.

You sat up a bit, pulling down the straps of your tank top before taking it off, no bra underneath. Smoke wasted no time, latching onto your breasts before you could even lay back down.

You let out a loud moan, like you haven't felt his touch in ages. Whilst he worked on your breasts, sucking and biting, he let his hand slide inside the shorts you wore, grazing over your clothed pussy. He could feel how wet you were just from a few touches.

"Fat ma missed me, huh?" he joked. You kissed your teeth, groaning as he rubbed gently.

"Elijah... do something," you moaned.

"Aight, baby, lift up for me." he took your shorts off when you lifted your hips, along with your panties. He settled in between your legs, lying down so he was face to face with your seeping pussy. He looked at you, knowing he was absolutely about to devour you.

The first lick had you throwing your head back, your thighs immediately closing around Smoke's head. If he could've died right then, he would've died a very happy man.

As he licked up and down, sucking your clit, you writhed underneath him, struggling to stay still with how he was doing you.

He gripped your hips, forcing you to stay in one spot. "If you keep moving, I'ma stop." he mumbled with his lips still on you, sending vibrations through your body.

You nodded, knowing he was dead serious about that. One thing about sex with Smoke? The overstimulation was real.

He continued to lick bold stripes up and down your fold, kissing at deeply as he went. You could feel that coil deep in you about to snap, your whimpers and moans getting louder as Smoke used his fingers to rub your clit.

"Fuck, baby, I'm almost─── Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cum!" you moaned as you came, but Smoke still didn't let up, lapping up all your juices as you rode out your high.

You panted, trying to push his head away, already feeling like you could tap out. But when he looked at you, his moustache and goatee coated in your cum, you knew this was only the start.

"You boutta tap out on me? Hm?" he asked.

You shook your head, guiding him back to your folds. You felt his smirk on you, his lips going back to doing what they did best.

You always did love when he came home to you.

[slutzforbueckers]

you should do something with paige just having a really bad day and coming home and her wife and daughter are just happy shes home. like her wife and daughter made dinner and cookies and its just a very cute and soft moment.

you make it better

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: fluff

synopsis: paige was having a bad day until she came home to her favorite girls.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

you were helping your daughter, lani, wash her hands after she helped make cookies and dinner. she had been begging to help in the kitchen for the past week. you were unsure of letting her help because of how young she still was but you decided to agree and it turned out to be more fun and easy than you thought. there were plenty of laughs and oopsies but watching her laugh and smile make it worth it.

“would you like to help mommy set the table?” you asked, bending down to her level as you dried her hands with a hand towel. another smile broke out on her face and she nodded her head quickly. you smiled back and stood up, taking her hand and grabbing a hand full of spoons and forks in the other. lani helped set the table, you handed her three spoons and she ran around the table delicately placing each spoon with each plate.

paige was due to be home soon, you had checked your watch almost every 5 minutes to see how much longer. you had only had a chance to talk to her a few times throughout the day, it was tough practice and you could tell—even through text—she wasn’t having a good day.

“mommy! you forgot the sharp ones!” lani jumped at your legs, her small hands tugging at the lavender sundress you wore. “i can get them! i can get them!” she exclaimed, already running back towards the kitchen.

you quickly caught up to her and caught her hand, laughing softly. “let me get those. why don’t you go get your picture for mama? she’ll be here soon.”

lani’s eyes grew wide—her smile wider and just like paige’s—and she ran off to her bedroom. you shook your head as you heard the soft thud of her small feet hitting the floor came to a stop. just as you were pulling the butter knives from the drawer the sound of keys filled your ears and the click of the door unlocking.

you quickly sat the knives down and made your way to the entryway, lani running in behind. paige barely had time to set her bags down before lani was jumping on her, wrapping her arms and legs around her the best she could.

“mama!”

“hi, sweet girl.” paige smiled and kissed the side of her head. you watched them with a smile, you could tell paige was tired but still she kept a smile on her face for her little girl. paige’s eyes met yours and she moved lani to her hip, opening her free arm for you. you stepped closer, leaning into her and wrapped your arms around her waist the best you could.

paige leaned her forehead against yours. "i missed you," she spoke quietly. you pulled back just enough to press a quick peck to her lips.

"missed you too." you smiled against her lips and pale one more quick peck before pulling away completely. lani tapped paiges shoulder quickly and shoved the picture she drew in her face.

"look what i made," paige pulled back slightly and took the picture in her free hand, holding it out so she could see. the picture was nothing but stick figures and colorful scribbles but still paige thought it was the most amazing piece of art she'd ever seen.

"wow lani, you really made this?" she gasped and turned to look at the squirming 4 year old. lani nodded her head quickly, a proud smile on her face. "this is amazing, i'm going to put it on the fridge."

paige turned to look at you and you both shared a silent moment, all the beautiful moments throughout your life that led to this very moment flashing between you. it was a difficult journey but you made it—together—and it was all worth it. you took a step closer to them and ran your fingers through your daughters curls.

"how about you go wash your hands? mama and i will get the food." you spoke gently. lani slithered out of paiges arms and took of running to the bathroom. paige let out a tired chuckle as she watched the little girl run off. you wrapped your arms around her again, completely this time. "long day?"

paige leaned into you, dropping her head onto your shoulder, and nodded. she let out a deep breath, feeling like all the weight of the day was slowly being lifted to longer she was in your arms. "so long, coach was on one today. i'm so glad to be home, y'all make it better."

"we're glad you're home too, paige. we missed you so much." you turned your head slightly and kissed the side of her head. “we’ll take a bath later and you can tell me all about it.”

“that sounds good.” paige mumbled into the crook of your neck before she lifted her head and pressed her lips to yours, her hands finding your waist.

the moment was short lived, the soft shuffle of feet breaking you apart. lani rounded the corner and wrapped herself around your legs. paige smiled down at her and ruffled her hair.

“ready to eat, princess?” paige asked, bending down to her level. lani jumped up and down and grabbed a hold of paige’s hand, already beginning to drag her towards the dining room.

“we made cookies, let’s haves cookies!!” she looked up at paige with those big, pleading eyes. lani was already looking around paige to see your face, knowing that you would say dinner first.

paige looked back at you with a sly grin and turned back to her daughter, badly whispering: “only one, don’t tell mommy.”

[chuxmy]

Advice..

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You play with the guys at the arcade but Geum Seongje got in the way.

Warnings: mild threatening language

Next ☞︎

The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows of the run-down arcade at the edge of the neighborhood, casting streaks of gold over the worn floor tiles. You were standing by the claw machine, half-listening to Juntae and Gotak arguing about snacks while Sieun watched the others with that sharp, unreadable gaze of his. Baku had just dropped a coin into the air hockey table and was challenging you to a match.

“I’m not going easy on you,” he grinned.

You smirked. “Neither am I.”

It was light. Chill. The kind of rare downtime that never lasted long in this city.

Then the door opened.

The energy in the room changed instantly.

He walked in like he owned the air around him tall, loose-limbed, with that arrogant, slow swagger that told you he’d been in more fights than anyone here had seen. His eyes swept the room, lazy and uninterested until they landed on you.

And then they stayed.

Geum Seongje.

You’d heard the name. Everyone had. No one said it lightly. Some said he didn’t care about anything, that he only fought for the thrill of it. Others said if you were on his radar, it was already too late.

He cracked a grin as he strolled in, hands deep in his pockets.

“Well, well,” he said, gaze still locked on you. “Didn’t expect to find the nerd squad out in the open.”

Gotak stepped up fast, jaw clenched. “Got a problem?”

Seongje laughed. “Relax. I’m not here to mop the floor with all of you. Not today.”

Then he tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Unless one of you wanna make things interesting?”

Gotak rolled his eyes. “Back off, Seongje.”

But Seongje wasn’t listening to him. Not really. His attention had never left you.

“You with them?” he asked you directly, voice low, smooth.

You blinked, thrown off by how direct he was. “Yeah. Why?”

He took a step closer, grin widening. “No reason. Just wondering if I’ll have to break your nose too if things get ugly.”

He said it like a joke.

But his voice was soft. Dangerous.

You raised an eyebrow, unflinching. “You could try.”

The smirk on his face shifted still smug, but something more interested flickered underneath.

Baku spoke then. “Seongje. Leave it.”

He waved a hand lazily. “Chill, Baku. I’m not starting anything.” His eyes flicked back to you. “Not unless they want me to.”

Then, just like that, he turned and walked out without a word to anyone else.

But you could feel it.

That his attention hadn’t been casual.

The next day, you took the long way home. You told yourself it was just because the sun was nice, or because you didn’t want to deal with the usual traffic near the school. You didn’t want to admit that part of you hoped you’d see him again.

And you did.

He was leaning against the wall of the corner store like he had nothing better to do, one foot resting against the brick, head tilted back, earbuds in, eyes closed. The moment you passed by, he opened his eyes.

“Hey.”

You paused, then turned to him slowly. “Do you just hang out in random places and wait to be creepy?”

He grinned. “Only when someone interesting walks through.”

You crossed your arms. “Is this where you threaten me again?”

Seongje straightened up and stretched lazily, pulling one earbud out. “Nah. If I wanted to scare you, I’d do more than talk.”

“That supposed to impress me?”

His smirk deepened. “You tell me.”

You studied him for a moment. His energy was different now. Still smug, still unreadable but there was no audience. No noise. Just him, and you.

“You’re not what I expected,” you said finally.

“Oh?” he stepped closer. “What’d you expect?”

“I don’t know. Less staring. Fewer death threats.”

He laughed. It was low, warm, and not nearly as cold as he pretended to be. “You’re sharp. Most people get quiet around me.”

“I’m not most people.”

He stepped even closer now, close enough to smell his cologne sharp, clean, like steel and something faintly herbal.

“I noticed that yesterday,” he said, eyes dropping briefly to your lips. “Couldn’t stop looking at you.”

You swallowed.

This time, your heartbeat picked up.

Seongje caught it. You knew he did.

But instead of teasing you, his voice lowered.

“You should be careful who you hang around. Some of them? They make enemies they don’t even see coming.”

You frowned. “You trying to warn me?”

He shrugged. “Call it… advice. You seem too smart to get dragged down by other people’s problems.”

You stared at him for a moment. “You don’t seem like the type to give advice.”

“I’m not,” he said. “But I like your mouth. And I’d be annoyed if someone busted it before I got the chance to do it myself.”

You blinked. “You really have no filter, do you?”

“Nope.” He took a step back, that lazy grin still dancing on his lips. “But I’ll see you around. Probably sooner than you think.”

And just like yesterday, he turned and left you standing there.

But this time, your stomach twisted in a way you couldn’t explain.

And you knew whatever this was it wasn’t over.

[tiramissyoucake]

I'm finally baaack. I'm rlly rusty so please be patient wit me. Here's a Mohawk Mark coming back to bimbo-coded reader

Mark learned a lesson today; you live your life believing you're the strongest until you have to face your own demons, literally in this case. Fighting a copy of himself who had the same power as him left him exhausted, blood that seeped down his nose and dried now tangy on his lips, he lost his hearing for a full 2 minutes and worst of all? He got nothing he was promised.

He found a way back to his own dimension, in some lawn of an unsuspecting family; he debated on going in and killing them to make himself feel better but... God, he was tired.

For the first time in Mark's life since he got his powers; he was exhausted. All that could make him feel better was a coma. Wobbling to his feet, he groaned to himself quietly as he wiped away at his face, dried blood flaking off and clinging to his gloves. He could rest easy now that he's in his own dimension... maybe you'd be awake.

It was past midnight as he hovered over the neighbourhood, an irritated expression stuck on his face as he followed a familiar route to your home, did time pass? How long was he gone? He knew dimension magic made no sense, a small part of him worried you'd turn him away for disappearing.

A soft light eminated from your window. You were probably having trouble sleeping. Mark took a deep breath, lifting his bruised knuckles to the window and knocking in a rhythm that you'd recognize (as if anyone else would knock on your window to sneak in).

Hope seemed to trickle away with every moment that passed. Were you ignoring him? Did you hate him? Were you scared of him? He shut his eyes tightly, why was he worrying now? You loved him, he knows you do.

"Mark?"

Every ounce of his tough guy attitude practically shrunk away as your voice reached his ears. You knew that dumb mohawk anywhere. You looked at him with an emotion he couldn't name, confusion? Betrayal? Shock? A familiar scent that he mentally tied to you wafted to him, dragging him to your windowsill.

"Yeah— it's me." He started, finally finding the casual tone to respond. "... can I come in? I know I've been gone for a while— I just..."

Your hands came to rest over his as he struggled to keep his image while being vulnerable to you, sighing. "... this is gonna sound corny as shit, but I really needed to see you."

You laughed, bordering on a sigh as you guided him inside, your room was relatively the same except for a few shuffled plushies, books and items of the sort. His feet reconnected with the ground as he settled in your room, holding one of your hands.

"My god..." You mumbled, his features now clearer in the dim glow of your room's lamps and laptop light, your hand cupped his cheek. "Baby, what happened? You look horrible..!"

He snorted, his cheek leaning into your warm nailed hand. "You would not believe the shit I've been through the past 3 days."

"3 days..?" you mumbled, tilting your head curiously. "You've only been gone for a day."

So the calculations he was given were off... a part of him was glad he came back so soon, but a sadistic part of him wanted to disappear for longer to make you miss him.

"... did you miss me?" He smugly asked, the smile widening as he heard your familiar laugh. "Oh, absolutely, I missed you sooo much!"

Mark's arms wrapped around you and tugged you closely, his nose almost nudging against yours. "Yeah? Missed me bad, didn't you, baby?" He asked over your flustered giggling, your hands cupping his cheeks. "C'mon, tell me how much you missed me."

"Shut uuup! You're so gross!" You laughed, no real malice behind your words as he guided you to your bed and flopping down on your fluffy, Inviting sheets, plushies jumping slightly before sitting back in place or toppling aside. "Mark! Nooo! You stink!"

"You love it." He grunted as he nuzzled his face into your neck, biting and kissing as you tried to wrestle him aside. "Noooo!! Stop smearing your grime on me!"

He laughed as you tried to push him away, licking his lips— suddenly, the dried blood was the least of his worries now. "I'm marking my territory! Stop moving!"

The giggling and laughing echoed in your room, your sleeping trouble gone, his exhaustion seeping away, his heart felt disgustingly full.

Mark winced as he sat up with a groan, his hand coming up to his neck. "Oh.. a-are you okay..?" You asked in an unsure tone, sitting up. "Jeez, Marky... who messed you up?"

He grunted, hissing as he sat on the edge of the bed. "You don't wanna know... can you patch me up?" He rolled his shoulder as you got up. "Hmm, 'Kay.. take it easy, alright?"

Mark hummed in response as you leaned down to kiss him briefly, he licked his lips; a habit he developed after everytime he kissed you. "... you going to bed with gloss on?"

"It's from a lip mask, dummy!"

[moondustbaby]

You Don’t Have To Do It All

Blue Collar!Rafe x Pregnant Wife!Reader

a/n: based on this request! 💌

Summary: You are 7–8 months pregnant and working full-time as a middle school secretary during the chaotic start of the school year. When stress and exhaustion finally catch up to you, it leads to a quiet but emotional argument with Rafe — who only ever wanted you to slow down and let him take care of you.

⸻

The school office was louder than usual — copy machine jamming, phones ringing, the hallway filling with seventh graders who hadn’t quite mastered the concept of indoor voices.

You were holding it together… barely. Your back ached, your ankles were swollen, and the headache behind your eyes had been pulsing since about 8:17 a.m. But the worst part? The guilt. You couldn’t even finish entering attendance before the nurse called again — another kid sent down, probably faking a stomachache. You stood to get to the file cabinet and winced when your belly pulled tight, a dull cramp radiating through your lower back.

You didn’t even realize your hand had pressed to your stomach until the nurse raised an eyebrow.

“You okay?” she asked gently.

You forced a smile. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

That was an understatement.

By the time you made it home, the sun was dipping low and your head was throbbing. The second you walked through the door, Rafe was in front of you — hands on your shoulders, eyes narrowing at the tight lines on your face.

“Hey—” he caught your bag before you could set it down, “you don’t look good. What happened?”

You shook your head. “It’s fine, it was just a long day.”

Rafe didn’t answer right away. He just studied you. And when he noticed the way your hand moved instinctively to your stomach — that tiny gesture of discomfort — his jaw clenched.

“You need to sit down,” he muttered. “Now.”

“I just need a second to—”

“Sit down, baby.”

His tone wasn’t sharp, but it was enough to shut you up. You let him guide you to the couch. He knelt in front of you, both hands resting on your thighs, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your leggings.

“You had that look again,” he said, voice lower now. “The one you get when you’re hurting but trying to hide it from me.”

You blinked hard, throat tight. “I’m not trying to hide anything.”

“Yes, you are,” he said gently. “You’ve been doing it for weeks.”

Your chest burned.

Rafe sat back on his heels. “You remember this summer? When I said maybe you shouldn’t go back to work this year?”

You looked away, guilt flooding you fast. “Rafe…”

“No, I’m not mad,” he said quickly, but there was frustration buried in his voice. “I just— I knew this would happen. You’re doing too much. This baby is taking a toll on you, and you’re still trying to be everything for everyone at that damn school.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s not that easy to just leave, Rafe. I care about my job. It matters to me.”

“I know that.” He ran a hand through his hair, breathing out slow. “But you matter more to me.”

That’s when the tears hit. They came out of nowhere — hot, overwhelming, fueled by exhaustion and hormones and the absolute truth of his words.

“I just… I feel like if I stop now, I’m letting everyone down. I don’t want people thinking I’m weak, or that I can’t handle this.”

Rafe moved fast then. Not angry — just desperate to get close to you. He sat beside you, pulling you into his chest, letting your sobs break against his shirt.

“Baby, you’re the strongest person I know. Nobody who loves you thinks you’re weak. But you don’t have to prove anything, not to me and sure as hell not to anyone else.”

You clung to him, fingers gripping his shirt.

“I hate feeling like this,” you whispered. “Like my body’s betraying me.”

He kissed your forehead. “It’s not. It’s doing exactly what it’s supposed to do — you’re growing our baby, sweetheart. That’s the most important job there is.”

You let out a shaky laugh, pulling back just enough to look at him.

“I should’ve listened to you.”

Rafe smirked. “Yeah, you should’ve. But I get why you didn’t.”

You laughed again, tired but lighter. And when Rafe kissed you — slow and deep and steady — you felt the tension start to melt from your shoulders.

Later, he helped you into the bath, rubbed your swollen feet without you asking, and tucked you into bed with your favorite oversized t-shirt and a heating pad for your back.

And when you apologized again for snapping earlier, he just shook his head and kissed your knuckles.

“Stop sayin’ sorry for needing me,” he murmured. “That’s what I’m here for. Always.”

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: something about working full-time while super pregnant just felt so real to me… like she’s trying so hard to keep it all together even though her body’s clearly over it. this is for my stressed out, emotional girlies who say “i’m fine” until they fully cry into their husband’s shirt. rafe’s just trying to get her to breathe and let him love her a little softer. hormones, micro angst, and comfort in the end — always.

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests! 💌

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𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@lolabunnyworldss

[lynbels]

Niki no. 34?

#34. You sneak out in his shirt after a hookup, and he punishes you later by making you wear a remote-controlled toy during dinner with his friends.

💌: y’all ive been really busy these days so sorry if this isn’t as aesthetically pleasing as my other posts 🙈 also 80 request is crazy - prompt request list

‼️tw: remote-controlled vibrator, public teasing, squirting (reader), overstimulation, wall sex, rough sex, manhandling, semi-public setting, praise, breeding kink undertones, lots of moaning and screaming, filthy dirty talk, aftercare (carrying + forehead kisses)

mdni

You thought you had gotten away with it.

Sneaking out of Ni-ki’s apartment that morning — hair a mess, legs still a little shaky from the night before — wearing his oversized black t-shirt because you couldn’t find your dress and were too embarrassed to search while he slept. You barely remembered to grab your shoes. You figured he’d tease you if he saw, the way he always did, and you weren’t in the mood for the smug grin you knew he’d wear.

But you underestimated him.

Badly.

Later that day, when you met up at Sunghoon’s place for a casual group dinner, Ni-ki was already there — sitting back on the couch, legs spread lazily, spinning his phone between his fingers.

When you walked in, his eyes locked onto yours immediately.

He smiled.

Slow. Knowing. Dangerous.

You felt your stomach drop.

“Come here,” he murmured under his breath when you passed him, low enough that no one else heard.

You barely made it to him before he grabbed your wrist — pulling you gently but firmly onto his lap, his breath brushing your ear as he leaned in.

“You thought you could just steal my shirt and run?” he whispered, voice dark and amused. “You’re not getting away that easy, baby.”

You opened your mouth to stammer some excuse, but he was already slipping something small and cold into your hand — a tiny remote. You blinked down at it, confused.

Then you felt it.

Something nestled deep inside you — vibrating, soft but persistent — and your whole body jerked against him.

Your cheeks flamed instantly. “Ni-ki—”

“Shh,” he said sweetly, slipping the remote out of your hands and into his own pocket. “Be good for me. Dinner’s just starting.”

And then he was gone — standing up and stretching like nothing had happened, leaving you sitting there stunned, clenching around the toy helplessly as you tried to catch your breath.

Dinner was a nightmare.

Ni-ki barely looked at you at first, just chatting casually with Sunghoon, Jungwon, and the others like he wasn’t driving you insane under the table.

Then — when your guard was down — he hit the button.

The toy buzzed to life inside you at full strength.

You almost dropped your fork.

You clamped your thighs together, hands gripping the edge of the table, trying to breathe normally as conversation buzzed around you. Ni-ki caught your eye across the table and smiled, all teeth and mischief.

You shook your head desperately — mouthing a silent please — but he only cranked it up higher.

You bit your lip to keep from making a sound, hips twitching slightly under the tablecloth. Ni-ki’s eyes darkened, watching you squirm, and he let it go just long enough for you to start to relax—then pulsed it again.

Over and over.

Until your legs were trembling, tears prickling at your eyes, and you couldn’t focus on a single thing anyone was saying.

“Are you okay?” Jungwon asked suddenly, concerned.

You nodded too fast. “Fine!” you squeaked.

Ni-ki snickered under his breath, finally letting the vibration slow to a dull thrum.

When dinner finally ended, you could barely walk straight.

Your legs were weak, your underwear embarrassingly soaked, and Ni-ki was watching you like he already owned you — all smug, lazy dominance behind half-lidded eyes. But he didn’t grab you immediately. No. He waited. Let you squirm through another ten minutes of painful small talk with the guys, smiling all innocent, while you sat there with the toy still humming inside you, your body betraying you more and more with every second.

Finally, when you thought you were going to either cry or climb into his lap in front of everyone, you broke.

You grabbed his wrist under the table, nails digging into his skin as you hissed under your breath, “Please.”

He leaned in lazily, cocking an eyebrow. “Please what?”

You were burning with humiliation, but it didn’t matter anymore. You needed him. Needed him to touch you, to fuck you, to do anything.

“Turn it off,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Touch me, Ni-ki. Please.”

For a second, he just looked at you — gaze dark, unreadable — and you felt your stomach twist in panic.

But then he smiled. Real slow.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

He slipped the remote out of his pocket and clicked it once — the toy finally dying inside you. Relief hit you so hard you almost sagged into him.

And then he stood up, stretching, cracking his neck casually like he wasn’t about to wreck you six ways from Sunday.

“You’re coming with me,” he said simply, grabbing your hand and towing you behind him without a backward glance at the others.

No one even questioned it. Maybe they figured you were getting air. Maybe they didn’t notice the way your thighs were still shaking.

But Ni-ki knew.

And he wasn’t planning to let you off easy.

He barely got the door closed before he was on you — shoving you back against the wall, kissing you like he was starving. His hands were everywhere, sliding up your thighs, yanking your hips against his like he couldn’t get close enough.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he groaned against your mouth, his fingers slipping easily over your ruined panties. “You’ve been holding it this whole time, huh? So desperate for me you couldn’t even sit still.”

You whimpered, clutching at his shoulders, overwhelmed.

“I—I couldn’t,” you stammered. “I was trying—Ni-ki, please, please—”

“Shh,” he cooed, almost mockingly, sliding your panties aside. “I got you, baby. You’re gonna let go for me now, yeah?”

He dropped to his knees before you could answer, hooking your legs over his shoulders like you weighed nothing. His tongue licked a slow stripe up your soaked pussy, groaning deep in his chest like he was tasting heaven itself.

You cried out, back arching against the wall. It was too much. Too good. All the teasing, all the frustration from the whole night — it was crashing into you all at once, uncontrollable.

“Come on,” Ni-ki muttered against you, voice thick with want. “Squirt for me. I know you need to.”

The words broke something inside you.

With a choked sob, you shattered — your whole body jerking, hips grinding against his face as you gushed uncontrollably. It felt like everything inside you poured out all at once, messy and soaking and absolutely filthy.

Ni-ki groaned like he was the one coming, gripping your thighs to keep you still as he lapped at everything you gave him, not caring how soaked his shirt was getting. His tongue didn’t let up, dragging slow and deep through your folds even as your thighs trembled violently.

When you finally tried to squirm away, too sensitive, he just chuckled darkly.

“Uh-uh, baby,” he teased, standing up with you still weak against the wall. His mouth and chin were shiny, eyes dark with hunger. “You don’t get to run now.”

He kissed you hard, messy and deep, making you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re mine tonight,” he growled against your lips, grinding his hard cock against your sore, dripping pussy. “And I’m not stopping until you’re crying for real.”

Ni-ki didn’t even give you a second to catch your breath.

He spun you around, pushing you chest-first against the wall, yanking your panties the rest of the way off. You barely had time to gasp before you felt him dragging the fat head of his cock through your soaked folds, teasing your entrance.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and take it,” he rasped against your ear, his voice low and wrecked. “Gonna let me fuck you until you can’t even think.”

You whimpered, nodding frantically, legs already trembling from how wrecked you were.

He pushed inside in one smooth, brutal thrust, splitting you open so fast you screamed — loud, desperate, no control left in your body. Ni-ki groaned brokenly, sinking all the way to the hilt, his hands gripping your hips so hard you knew there’d be bruises later.

“You’re so loud, baby,” he panted, pulling out halfway and slamming back in, forcing another sharp cry from your throat. “You want everyone to know you’re getting fucked stupid, huh?”

You couldn’t answer. All you could do was moan, mind blank, the filthy wet sounds of him pounding into you filling the room.

It built fast — the heat, the pressure, the unbearable pleasure. He fucked you so deep every thrust hit that perfect spot, and with your body already so sensitive, it wasn’t long before you were clawing at the wall, sobbing his name.

“Ni-ki—Ni-ki, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he snarled. “Wanna feel you soak my cock, pretty girl. Come all over me.”

That was it. That was all it took.

You screamed — loud, raw, no shame — as your body seized up, squirting so hard it splashed down your thighs, soaking the floor between you. You gushed around him, the feeling of it so intense you thought you might black out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ni-ki cursed, slamming in deep and grinding against your overstimulated pussy. “You’re unreal, baby. Look at you, making a fucking mess.”

You sobbed, half from pleasure, half from how overwhelming it all was.

And still, he didn’t stop.

He fucked you through it, deep and slow now, murmuring filthy praises in your ear as your body shuddered against the wall.

“My perfect girl,” he whispered, kissing the shell of your ear. “So good for me. So pretty when you break.”

You were trembling so badly Ni-ki finally pulled out, catching you before your knees gave out completely.

“Shh, I got you,” he murmured, voice still thick with arousal but so gentle it made your heart ache. He scooped you up easily, carrying you across the room like you weighed nothing, and laid you down carefully on the bed.

You barely had time to breathe before he crawled over you again, staring down at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Still with me, baby?” he whispered, brushing your hair off your sweaty forehead.

You nodded weakly, blinking up at him with hazy, teary eyes.

His mouth quirked into a cocky smile — but his touch was so careful as he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, lining himself up again. He slid two fingers down to your entrance, feeling how absolutely soaked and sensitive you were.

“You’re still dripping for me,” he said lowly, voice full of awe. “God, you’re perfect.”

You whimpered, grabbing at his shoulders, overwhelmed but desperate for more.

“One more, baby,” Ni-ki murmured, kissing your ankle. “Just one more for me, yeah?”

You nodded helplessly.

And then he pushed back inside — slow, deep, filling you up so good it knocked the breath from your lungs.

You were wrecked, body twitching with every stroke, clinging to him like you might fall apart again. Ni-ki kissed your temple, your cheek, your jaw — whispering soft praises even as he drove into you hard enough to shake the bed.

“So good for me,” he breathed. “So sweet. Taking it so well.”

You sobbed his name, feeling the tight coil snap again — another orgasm ripping through you, even stronger than the last, leaving you shaking and gasping in his arms.

Ni-ki groaned against your neck, his rhythm breaking as he spilled inside you, hips jerking uncontrollably.

He stayed there for a long moment, panting against your skin, both of you completely ruined.

prompt request list

[myeyebagsaredesigner]

The batkids on a family trip to the beach, they spend the whole day from 6am to almost midnight there, and when Bruce arrives to be together with them the next day he finds his kids in the living room of the beach house sleeping in 5 mattress they put there all hugging eachother and crushing Jason down because he didnt want to sleep with them

Absolutely to everything

They all go on little trips together without Bruce. When he asks why, Steph tells him it's because it's like hanging out with your boss, and nobody speaks up to argue against it, so he just silently accepts this and cries to Alfred every time they go somewhere without him. Dick feels bad eventually and invites him out sometimes, but only after they've all spent some time together without him.

I imagine the beach was the idea of Steph and Dick. She loves the beach, and Dick loves to hang out, so they're probably the ones to mention it.

Duke is immediately on board, because who doesn't love the beach? Tim. Tim doesn't love the beach. He claims it's because he doesn't like the feeling of sand in between his toes, but they all know it's because he burns easy and will spend weeks surviving solely off aloe vera and a dream.

Jason.. does not really care. He wouldn't go to the beach for himself, but he's kind of just glad he was invited. Damian snubs his nose at the idea of being outside in a sandy water hole for hours under the sun willingly, but Jason seems okay with it so he'll go, but makes sure to voice his complaints the whole time.

Cass was invited. They made these plans in the group chat. She did not respond, but she shows up the morning they leave while they're packing up the van holding a tote bag, sunglasses propped up on her head. She wordlessly goes and sits in the passenger seat, cutting off the argument between Tim and Steph about who gets shotgun.

The car ride is something else entirely. Dick almost crashes the car when Duke makes the most blood curdling screech known to mankind, just because Tim jabbed him in the ribs. Tim claims he deserved it, because Jason just revealed it was Duke who kept putting water in his shoes every morning. Tim has been walking in puddles for weeks. Steph and Damian are getting along surprisingly well in the back row, each just doing their own thing on their phone. There's an open bag of chips between them, and Dick is almost positive it's going to tip over at some point.

Halfway through the ride, Jason gets carsick and they have to pull over into a gas station to get him something. After that, the car ride is calmer, mostly because Jason threatened to projectile vomit on whoever even slightly nudged him. They're all asleep within the next fifteen minutes, leaving Dick and Cass in a comfortable silence.

Their day at the beach is utter chaos as usual. It wouldn't be a batkids trip if there wasn't the occasional chaos here and there.

Dick mother hens them all and makes sure they all use a good amount of sunscreen, and then he goes with Cass, Jason, and Damian into the water. Cass sits and watches in the shallow end while the other three start splashing each other. Jason tries to drown Dick. Dick flails his arms around and accidentally splashes Cass. As she stands menacingly, he knows his life is over.

Tim refuses to move from under the umbrella. He will not say why. They know why anyway. Steph lays out on her blanket to tan and Duke goes off to the side to start digging a hole. Steph starts to doze off, and Tim lays one of his shoelaces across her back to ruin her tan. She does not notice. She wishes she had noticed.

Eventually, Dick goes off to play some volleyball with some other people, and Jason joins Duke in digging. Tim finally leaves the comfort of his umbrella after layering on more sunscreen, and he and Damian sit together to make sand castles. Cass has now started placing more random objects on Steph's back. She will blame it on Tim.

Some guy comes running over and thinks it would be funny to step on Damian and Tim's sand castle. He steps on it and kicks it around, only to be faced with a bulky looking man who looks like he went to hell and back. Jason throws him in the whole and holds him down while everyone else buries him. they leave his head above the sand for someone else to find.

They get to the beach house and fight over the shower. Jason complains at all the san their dragging in, ignoring the fact that he's the one with the majority of sand on him. Duke throws himself onto the couch and Steph starts complaining that he's getting it dirty and that they'll never get rid of the sand. Damian is organizing the seashells he found earlier.

They all get showered and fed and Dick suggests a big living room sleep over. They're all on board, minus Jason. He goes up to his own room and goes to bed. A few minutes later, Damian gets up and leaves also. The rest of them exchange looks of confusion with each other before seeing him drag his mattress from his room into Jason's. They all get the memo, and soon enough they're all cuddled up in one big sweaty batpile. Jason complains, but doesn't push anybody away. They fall asleep, and the next morning they starts arguing because someone didn't shower and now everyone has sand stuck to them.

We need more domestic batkid fics. I need to read them just hanging out together. It'll heal me in all the ways I am ill. Mentally.

Batkids <3

[yvaineseleneposts]

A lake between us

Requested: no

Pairing: Jack Hughes x reader

Words: 2k

Warning(s): none

Jack Hughes met her on the second Thursday of June.

The sun had barely crested the trees when he spotted her by the dock, toes dangling in the water, a paperback cracked open in one hand and a thermos resting beside her knee. Her laugh carried across the lake that morning, and he thought — foolishly, maybe — that it sounded like the start of a perfect summer.

Her parents owned the white cottage three miles down from the Hughes’ place, the one with the wildflowers growing in tangles along the porch and a rusting canoe tied to the dock. She told him she was only staying for two months before college. She told him she had a boyfriend. A serious one.

So Jack smiled, tucked his feelings into the back pocket of his swim trunks, and said, “Cool. Friends then?”

And somehow, that became enough.

They swam together in the early hours, when the water was glassy and the world still felt asleep. They drove into town for milkshakes and picked wild blueberries by the roadside. She played him songs on her guitar under the stars, the strings humming beneath her fingers like secret wishes.

Jack never told her how sometimes her smile made his chest hurt. He never told her he memorized the way she said his name — soft, like it mattered. He didn’t even tell her how much he hated the way her phone lit up with her boyfriend’s texts, or how he wanted to throw it in the lake when she smiled at the screen.

Because he’d promised himself friendship. That was the deal. And being near her, even like this, felt better than being without her at all.

The lake was always warmest in July, the kind of thick heat that clung to your skin and made the water feel like silk. It was Quinn’s idea to take the boat out that day. He’d been up since sunrise, coaxing the old motor to life and loading it with towels, a cooler, and a speaker already thumping out some laid-back playlist.

Jack had invited her without thinking, the way he’d started doing everything with her. Luke tagged along, too, hyped on Red Bull and talking a mile a minute, tossing wakeboards into the boat like they were going to the Olympics instead of the far side of the lake.

When she walked down to the dock, Jack was mid-laugh with Quinn. But the sound died in his throat when he saw her.

She wore a white swimsuit cover-up — one of those gauzy things that clung in the right places and fluttered in the breeze. Her sunglasses were perched on top of her head, hair pulled back in a messy braid. But it wasn’t until she pulled the cover-up over her head in one smooth motion, revealing a deep green bikini underneath, that Jack had to look away, jaw clenched.

He knew it the moment Quinn gave him a sideways glance and smirked. The older brother didn’t say anything — didn’t have to. The look said it all: You’re screwed, little brother.

Jack dropped onto the seat beside Luke and focused on untangling a rope that didn’t need untangling.

She sat across from him, legs tucked under her, skin glowing golden from weeks of sun. She smiled at him — the kind of smile that was casual, easy, like they were just friends, like his heart wasn’t currently trying to beat out of his ribs.

“You okay?” she asked, sipping from a water bottle.

Jack forced a grin. “Yeah. Just hot.”

She shrugged. “It’s summer.”

As the boat skimmed across the lake, music low and wind in their hair, Quinn steered them toward the cove where they always anchored to swim. Luke was already stripping his shirt off and daring someone to try a backflip off the bow. Jack barely registered it.

She stood at the edge of the boat, arms raised in the air like freedom itself, eyes closed as the wind whipped through her braid. Jack saw it then — not just the way she looked, but the way she was. Unapologetically alive. Sunlight caught the water droplets on her skin like glitter. She laughed when Quinn teased her about jumping in. And then, without warning, she dove.

Clean. Effortless. A streak of green and gold and sun.

Jack leaned over the side to watch her break the surface.

Quinn gave him a slow, knowing look.

“You’ve got it bad,” he muttered.

Jack didn’t deny it. Didn’t say a word.

Because, yeah — he did.

And she had no idea.

On the last night of August, with bags packed and the lake dark and endless behind them, she hugged him for longer than usual.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his hoodie. “This summer was everything.”

Jack swallowed hard and nodded. She didn’t see his hand curl into a fist behind her back.

What she didn’t know — what she might never know — was that at the end of the summer, Jack Hughes was quietly, devastatingly in love with her.

And she was going home to someone else.

____

They came back the next summer, just like they’d said they would.

Everything looked the same — the lake, the cottages, even the rusted canoe still tied to her dock — but something felt different. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was everything.

She was single now. It had ended with her boyfriend in the messy, inevitable way that things end when people grow apart and the future stops looking like a shared one. She’d cried for a week, cursed his name the next, and by the time July rolled around, she felt like a blank page again.

So when Jack texted, “Back at the lake — you?” her heart skipped. She typed back, “Yup. Arrived yesterday,” then added a smiley face she immediately regretted.

Cool. Can’t wait to see you. Bringing someone this year — FYI.

Someone.

Her eyes lingered on the message longer than she’d admit.

When he showed up at her dock a day later, barefoot and sun-kissed and stupidly handsome in his backwards cap and Red Wings tank top, she felt something catch in her chest. Then she saw the girl climbing out of the boat behind him.

Blonde. Athletic. Pretty in that effortless way some girls are. Her name was Marissa. She wore Jack’s hoodie.

The same one he used to let her borrow last summer.

“Hey,” Jack said, hugging her with one arm, the other still looped casually around Marissa’s waist. “You look... wow.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You too.”

The day passed in a blur. Quinn and Luke came over with drinks and stories, and everyone pretended nothing had changed. But she couldn’t stop watching him — Jack. The way he laughed at her jokes like he always had, the way his eyes still lingered a second too long when she talked.

And she caught it — a flicker. A moment when he looked at her across the dock while Marissa talked to Luke. His jaw was tight. His eyes unreadable. And she felt it again, that tiny twist in her stomach.

That night, after the sun sank behind the trees and the lake went quiet, she found herself standing on the dock alone, feet dangling in the water.

“Can’t sleep either?” Jack’s voice was low, familiar.

She didn’t turn around. “Just thinking.”

He sat beside her, close enough to feel the heat of him. They sat in silence for a while, the kind that felt safe.

Then she asked, “Is she your girlfriend?”

He hesitated. “Yeah.”

“She seems nice.”

“She is.”

She looked at him then. “But not like last summer.”

Jack didn’t say anything. He just looked out at the water, jaw working like he was chewing on something hard to swallow.

And suddenly, she hated that she hadn’t seen it sooner. That she’d spent all last summer with someone else while Jack was right there, holding back everything he never said.

“I miss how it was,” she whispered.

His head turned slowly. “Yeah. Me too.”

And in that moment, it was her heart that twisted. Because the truth had crept in, slow and sure: she was falling for him now — only a year too late.

____

August came faster than she expected, sneaking in on humid breezes and warm nights that smelled like pine and sunscreen. For the first time in years, she wasn’t sure she’d be going to the lake.

Her parents had sold the house in the spring — a quiet, offhand decision that somehow felt like the erasing of a whole chapter in her life. Just like that, the dock, the old canoe, the lazy swims before dinner — all gone.

So when Jack texted “You better still come up this summer,” she didn’t know how to answer at first.

She told him about the house.

“Stay with us,” he said, like it was simple.

But then came the follow-up: “Trevor, Cole, and Alex are gonna be here too. It'll be fun.”

And just like that, she understood. It wasn’t a just-you invite. It was a group thing.

So she packed light, told herself it didn’t mean anything, and arrived the second week of August with her guard up and her heart carefully wrapped in bubble wrap.

The Hughes’ lake house was louder this year. Jack’s friends filled it with energy and noise: Trevor Zegras making everyone laugh, Cole Caufield blasting music, Alex Turcotte flipping burgers shirtless. It was chaos in the best way.

Jack hugged her when she arrived — long, a little too tight — but then went back to helping Cole set up the grill like nothing had changed.

She stayed quiet. Observed. Smiled when she was supposed to. Laughed at Trevor’s jokes, which came fast and easy. She liked him — Trevor — the way you like someone who knows how to keep a room warm. And when Jack was off tossing a football with Cole or distracted with the speaker, she found herself next to Trevor more and more.

They played cards on the dock. Went tubing behind Quinn’s boat. Shared gummy worms and sunscreen and inside jokes.

And Jack noticed.

At first, it was subtle. A shift in his voice when he asked, “Where were you guys?” after she and Trevor came back from a gas station run. Or the way he offered to refill her drink, only to hand it to Trevor by mistake.

But then, one night, it all cracked open.

They were sitting around the firepit. Cole had passed out in a hammock, Alex was scrolling through his phone, and Trevor had just draped his hoodie over her shoulders when Jack stood up suddenly.

“I’m going in,” he said. “Too many mosquitoes.”

“Want company?” Trevor asked.

Jack didn’t answer. Just walked inside.

She hesitated, then followed.

Inside, he was in the kitchen, slamming drawers a little harder than necessary.

“You good?” she asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

He turned. “Yeah. Peachy.”

She frowned. “What’s your problem?”

He scoffed, leaning back against the counter. “Nothing. Just funny, I guess.”

“What is?”

“How fast things change.”

She blinked. “Jack—”

“I asked you to come here,” he said quietly. “I wanted you here.”

“I thought it was just a friendly invite,” she said, her voice smaller now. “You didn’t say—”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

She looked at him then — really looked — and saw the thing he was trying not to show. The way he clenched his jaw, the way his eyes flicked to the hoodie on her shoulders like it was a bruise.

“You’re jealous,” she said, stunned.

He gave a bitter laugh. “Of course I am. I spent two summers waiting for you to see me the way I saw you. And now that we’re finally single? You’re falling for Trevor Zegras.”

“I’m not—” she started, then stopped. “I’m not falling for him.”

Jack stared. “No?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I was just trying not to fall for you.”

Silence fell between them like a stone in deep water.

Jack stepped closer, slow. “Then stop trying.”

She didn’t answer with words — just closed the space between them and kissed him like it was the only thing that had ever made sense.

Outside, the fire cracked. Laughter drifted across the porch.

But inside, something real finally caught flame.

[arcane-vagabond]

Stranger Like Me: Chapter Three

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: From a young age, the animal kingdom had fascinated you, and maybe that's why you chose to pursue that passion. You quickly became a force within the field, becoming the leading expert on ape social structures, which is how you found yourself on an expedition into the African jungles searching for a troop of gorillas. What you weren't expecting, however, was to run into the local wild man on one of your excursions... (Tarzan!AU)

Content Warnings: Language, Suggestive thoughts, Suggestive commentary, Frank being crass, Jack and Boots in their feelings, Jack's horny thoughts, caressing of female body parts. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 2.75k

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Writing Info || Blog Rules

You had settled into an easy routine over the past two weeks, the first trying to iron out the different kinks. Dr. Robby had determined that your ankle would take around four weeks to heal if you kept off of it, and as it turned out, Jack was more than happy to assist. You could think of only a handful of times that you had been on your feet, the wild man appearing first thing in the morning to carry you around camp.

Of course, the others had given you endless shit about it, Frank being the loudest. The second morning after your accident, Jack had waited for you outside your tent as you changed, his deep, brown eyes surveying the jungle stoically. He had wordlessly scooped you up in his arms as you hobbled towards the entrance, carrying you effortlessly to where the others were already gathered for breakfast. Victoria had raised an eyebrow in question, but said nothing. Whitaker was too busy going over something with Robby to pay you much mind, the same to be said for the others and their own research. Frank had walked over from his tent at the same time and let out a loud snort at the sight of you.

“Is this going to be a regular thing now?” He had snickered, gesturing to where you clung to Jack. “Is he a taxi service now?”

“I’ve already tried explaining to him that I don’t need him to carry me everywhere,” you scowled at the botanist. Jack placed you gently on the bench before plopping down right next to you, Frank taking up the space on your other side. “He’s just insistent upon doing it, is all.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” he drawled as Mel placed a plate of eggs in front of you, “I’d think you like him carrying you around everywhere.”

You cast him a sideways glance as you shoveled a fork full of egg into your mouth, brow pinched together in indignation.

“I don’t.”

“Sure,” Frank hummed, giving you a knowing look before bumping your shoulder with his. “And jungle man over there also doesn’t get a hard on every time he looks at you.”

“Frank!” You exclaimed, cheeks warming as Trinity cackled and Dana cleared her throat, her own cheeks growing a nice shade of pink at the turn in the conversation along with Victoria and Mel’s. Whitaker and Robby looked over at the two of you, matching shocked expressions on their faces.

“Don’t be crass,” you hissed at the man, swatting at his arm. He rolled his eyes, accepting the plate Mel handed him with a quiet thanks.

“Is it really being crass if I’m telling the truth?”

“Yes,” you snapped, cognizant of the fact Jack had been inching closer to you as each moment passed. Frank rolled his eyes at you, but said nothing more.

The next couple of days had you struggling to figure out how to do various chores around the camp. Cooking was easy enough until you needed to get up and grab something.

The first time you had stood up, Jack’s head had shot up from where he was flipping through one of the sketchbooks Robby had laying about. His honey-colored eyes watched you intently as a frown tugged on his lips, standing when you made to move.

“No,” he said, pushing down on your shoulders gently.

“Jack, I have to-”

“No,” he said again, more firmly this time, eyes intense and brows pinched. “Hurt.”

“I’m not so hurt that I can’t walk the three feet to grab a spoon,” you scowled at him. He raised an eyebrow at you, turning and walking the few, short steps across the eating area to pluck a spoon out of the container and bringing it to you. You accepted it with a huff, not missing the satisfied smirk that appeared on his face at the small victory.

Laundry was done down by the river, an ever watchful Jack sitting on one of the stones beside you as you scrubbed the various articles of clothing. He watched you carefully, an unreadable expression on his face as you worked through your task.

After the first half hour, you began to grow increasingly self conscious once you realized he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you for more than a couple of seconds at a time the entire time you two had sat there.

“Aren’t you bored?” You asked him, wrinkling your nose. “I mean, it can’t be fun to just sit here and watch me do all this. Wouldn’t you prefer to help Dana or Robby or someone else? I’m sure they’re having much more fun than we are.”

Jack’s gaze hardened in confusion. Shaking his head, he shifted slightly, leaning closer towards you.

“Like being with you,” he murmured, the hint of a smile on his lips as he looked at you. The heat on your cheeks had nothing to do with the sweltering jungle heat, and you quickly averted your gaze, pretending to inspect a stain on one of Whitaker’s shirts. Your eyes darted up when Jack crept towards you, and for a moment, you were reminded that this man was raised by apes, not humans. His leg stretched out to rest beside you, the rest of him slinking after until he crouched right in front of you, his nose almost brushing yours. Your eyes wandered down the length of one of his legs, taking in the sight of the various nasty looking scars scattered on his right leg in particular.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you swallowed thickly as he reached a hand up to brush his fingers across your cheek. His eyes darted down, lingering on your lips as they parted. A shiver ran up your spine as his fingers trailed down, running over your bottom lip, and the intense look in his eye became hungry as you let out a quiet gasp. He let his fingers linger for a second before pulling them away and towards a strand of hair that hung in your face. Slowly, he pushed it back behind your ear, letting his palm cradle your jaw as the two of you sat silently watching each other.

The sound of jungle leaves rustling broke the two of you out of your trance, and Jack let out a growl as he positioned himself in front of you, glaring intensely at the spot where the noise was coming from.

“Hey, you two!” Robby called, coming into view with a smile. Jack immediately relaxed back into his spot beside you, but the frown remained. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was annoyed. You cleared your throat, your head still clouded from the intensity of the prior moment.

“Hey, Robby,” you greeted, attempting a smile that you were sure came out as more of a grimace. “What brings you by?”

“Oh nothing,” he grinned. “Just wanted to see if you needed any help with the laundry. It’s very kind of you to offer to do it while you heal up. I know it’s not the greatest chore.”

“I want to feel useful,” you offered, shrugging.

“Well, nevertheless, it’s appreciated,” Robby smiled. “Do you need any help carrying everything back?”

“No,” Jack snapped, leveling Robby with a glare. The researcher looked a little taken aback by the ferocity of Jack’s answer, but recovered quickly, shooting you a brief, knowing look.

“I see,” he hummed, trying and failing to hide his smirk. “Well, if the two of you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and headed back towards the camp. Once he was out of sight, Jack huffed, turning back to look at you.

“What’s got you so grumpy?” you asked him, chuckling slightly. Jack didn’t answer, instead, reaching out to twirl a strand of your hair in between his fingers, bringing it up to his nose and taking a long, deep inhale before giving you another heavy look. Your cheeks heated up once more before you ducked your head down to start the process of scrubbing the laundry once again. You tried not to think about how Jack’s muscles had bulged when he was crouched in front of you or how his intense look made your thighs clench together.

You were sitting in one of the research tents a week later, transcribing some notes for Dr. Robby the following week, having begged the older man for ways to be of use given you were slowly losing your mind doing all of the mundane chores. Jack was perched in a chair next to you, flipping through the rough sketches Whitaker had made of some of the baboons and wrinkling his nose.

“What’s that face for?” You giggled, glancing over at him. Jack huffed and shook his head, giving you a solemn look.

“Baboons are annoying.”

You burst into a fit of giggles, resting your chin on the palm of your hand as you looked at him fully. Jack’s gaze softened as he listened to you laugh, a tinge of pink coating his cheeks.

“Yeah?” You asked him. “How so?”

Jack straightened up in his seat, rolling his eyes as he thought back to the countless run-ins he’s had with the creatures.

“They scream a lot,” he scowled, lips pursed as he gives you a serious look. “And they steal my food sometimes. It’s hard to catch them because they climb the trees so fast.”

You had quickly grown used to how articulate Jack actually was over the course of the last week and a half. You supposed it was no surprise considering he’d had twenty years of practice, but even Robby had seemed surprised when he walked in on Jack telling you a story one day, the wild man animatedly telling you a story about a trick he played on one of the younger members of the gorilla troop he lived with. Now you wondered if the older researchers even knew if Jack could string together more than a couple of short sentences.

His sentences could still be choppy at times and his answers short and direct, sure, but the more you showed interest in what he had to say, the more he found himself opening up and saying more. Jack found that he liked the way you reacted to what he had to say, and he tried to practice at night once he knew you were asleep. He found himself visiting with Dana and Robby more, asking them questions about different words for different feelings and ideas. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted you to know him, to know what he thought about things and how he felt about the world. Maybe it was because he wanted to know those things about you too and to talk about them with you.

“They are pretty fast, huh?” You asked, leaning forward a little more, unknowingly pushing your breasts together and exaggerating your cleavage. Jack’s eyes flickered down, and he felt a familiar stirring in his groin. He found that this feeling also happened quite frequently around you, and it was often the simplest of things that set it off. It happened when he watched you bend over and dry your hair after a bath one day. It happened when you stretched after sitting hunched over too long, your back arching as you raised your arms over your head. It happened sometimes when you looked at him through your lashes, your bottom lip captured between your teeth.

He shifted in his seat, unable to tear his eyes away from your chest. He felt an overwhelming need to touch them, to touch you. He often found himself thinking of you. How good you smelled. How soft you were. He wanted to touch you, to mark you as his.

The troop leader, Mutubo Robby had named him, had several offspring, so Jack wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept of mating, or sex as Robby and Dana called it. However, he wasn’t so sure that his family experienced what he was feeling, at least to this extent. Without thinking, Jack reached out, running his fingertips over the exposed area, his shorts growing tighter as he felt the soft, warm skin.

You sucked in a breath, your cheeks heating and eyes going wide as Jack caressed you. His gaze was intense as he touched you, and you felt a shiver run up your spine when his brown eyes darted up to meet your own. The brown was practically swallowed by black, and you had to muster all of your self control to not throw yourself at him then and there.

“I should, um,” you stuttered after a second, “I should go see if Dana has started dinner yet.”

You stood abruptly, Jack following suit. He moved to pick you up, but you took a step back, shaking your head.

“No, I,” you sucked in a breath, “it’s not that far. I think I’ll try walking there.”

Jack frowned at you, but before he could argue, you beelined out of the tent and into the open air. It was unprofessional to be acting this way, especially with someone who didn’t understand the intricacies of human relationships.

The end of the week brought movie night, and you were giddy when you remembered that it was your turn to pick. Frank and Trinity groaned loudly when they saw your choice. You ignored them, taking a seat on one of the couches Dana and Robby had managed to snag while in the city not too terribly long ago. Jack immediately sat next to you, his thigh pressed against yours, filling you with an odd sense of comfort.

“What are we watching?” Mel asked as he entered the tent.

“The Princess Bride,” you grinned as Frank plopped down on your other side.

“You couldn’t have picked anything with explosions?” He asked, wrinkling his nose at you in mock disgust. You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly.

“The Princess Bride is a classic,” you argued. “Don’t be such a guy.”

“I think the Princess Bride is great,” Mel offered, earning dual eye rolls from both Trinity and Frank.

“You would,” Frank threw back at the bespectacled woman with a grin.

“Explosions and gun fights does not a movie make,” Victoria scowled. “It’s good to mix it up every now and then.”

“Exactly!” You exclaimed. “I had to sit through so many hours of Fast and Furious of all things. The least you can do is sit quietly through my movie.”

“Hey, do not knock the Fast and the Furious,” Whitaker warned, raising his pointer finger at you with a serious look. You rolled your eyes once more but let out a giggle.

“I’ll stop knocking the Fast and the Furious when the movies start being good,” you grinned.

“So, never,” Victoria snorted, earning scowls from the others. Before the argument could continue, both Dana and Robby strolled into the tent.

“Oh, The Princess Bride,” Dana grinned, plopping down onto the other couch, Robby not too far behind. “One of my favorites!”

Once everyone was settled, you started the movie, absentmindedly curling into Jack’s side more and more as the minutes stretched on. Jack’s fingers came up to play with the strands of your hair, unknowingly lulling you into a deep sleep.

Jack knew the second you fell asleep, and he smiled softly as he listened to your breathing even out as you relaxed against him. He liked this. He liked how safe you felt with him and how at ease you made him feel. Jack was somewhat paying attention to scenes in front of him, lost in thought as he tried to understand what was going on. There was one thing that stood out to him, though. A word, actually. He had heard Dana and Robby say it to each other on rare occasions, but Jack had never given it much thought before he met you. But, when he saw the two characters on the screen look at each other and say that word, he felt that it might be important. That maybe he should ask them what it meant. You stirred against him, and Jack felt an ache in his chest as he looked down at your sleeping form. His curiosity could wait for now, he thought. He’d make sure to ask Robby and Dana what it meant later. For now, he just wanted to stay by your side.

A/N: I'm going to see Thunderbolts tonight by myself before going with friends tomorrow. Then we're having movie night at my place on Saturday. What are y'all doing this weekend?

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Sun In The Morning

Golden Girl Chapter 9 Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: "I know Valentine's Day is super commercial and all that," Dieter says, "but I still wanted to do something special for you." Warnings: pov switching, fluff, smut, domestic bliss, dieter bravo is good at being romantic, unprotected p in v sex, oral (f receiving), bathtub sex, a reminder dieter is rich and owns a mansion because sometimes i forget, public outing, anxiety, marijuana, drinking Words: 5,150

A/N: This has been done for a bit, but Joel Miller took over my life, as he usually does. I cannot believe the next chapter I post of Dieter and Sweets will be double digits! If you're here with me, reading and loving them, please know how much I appreciate you. This started as a one shot and now I'm here, and there's SO MUCH story left for them. Thank you, as always, to @devineconjuring for being the best dot eater.

Previous Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist

✨✨✨ It takes ten days of Dieter being back in Los Angeles before he casually strolls into Bloom, his sunglasses perched on his nose and a bag from your favorite sandwich shop in his hand. Thank god it’s slow. Only one customer does a double-take, almost knocking down a potted fern as she gasps, clumsily grabbing for her phone, clearly trying to sneak a photo.

You attempt to focus on the philodendron you’re repotting, trying to maintain a professional demeanor as your Oscar-winner boyfriend weaves through the store.

“Delivery," he casually says as he slides between two monsteras to reach your workstation.

You’re shocked to see him, a wide smile lifting your lips when he reaches the bag out to you.

“Mediterranean veggie sandwich, extra peppers and caramelized onions.”

You happily take the bag, your mouth already watering.

Angela's eyes widen when she emerges from the back room, holding a freshly assembled bouquet. She freezes mid-step when she spots Dieter.

“I also got one for Angela,” he mentions with a smile.

Angela figures it out instantly, her jaw dropping as she looks between the two of you. “Oh my god, the boyfriend.”

You chuckle nervously, taking the bouquet that’s tilting dangerously to one side from her arms.

“Oh shit, that’s what I am,” Dieter laughs, scratching at the stubbled of his jaw. “Nice to meet you,” Dieter extends his ring-covered hand to her. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

The customer with the phone is now openly taking photos, abandoning all pretense of subtlety.

Angela takes his hand, shaking it with enthusiasm, a wide smile across her face. "I can't believe—I mean, I knew she was dating someone, but I didn't realize. I’m sorry, I need to calm down." She stops herself, clearly trying to regain composure.

"It’s cool," Dieter reassures.

The starstruck customer finally approaches, clutching her phone to her chest. "I'm so sorry to interrupt,” her voice quivers, “but are you Dieter Bravo?"

You feel your stomach tighten. This is another part of dating him that you're going to need to get used to.

He nods and responds warmly, “I am.”

The woman giggles nervously. "Could I—would it be okay if—"

"Of course," he says before she can stammer out her request.

Dieter poses with his fan, sliding his sunglasses up to rest atop his head, smiling widely with his arm casually draped around her shoulder. He doesn't rush her when her shaky hands fumble with her phone, just waits patiently until she gets the perfect shot.

Angela watches, eyes big and unbelieving that Hollywood’s own Dieter Bravo is standing in her shop. To you, he’s always been Dee, not the famous actor, not the Oscar winner… just Dee. It was easy to remove yourself from the celebrity effect of him when you were just his friend, but now, as he’s officially been called your boyfriend, the reality that he now shares his fame with you is quite overwhelming.

After the fan has left and Angela has excused herself to help another customer, as Dieter looks at you with the look that makes your heart melt, you feel incredibly lucky to share everything with him.

—-

Dieter’s house sits nestled in the Hollywood Hills, amongst other sprawling mansions owned by celebrities, CEOs, and blessed nepo babies. He’s lived here for over ten years, yet it never really felt like home. It was just a “practical long-term investment,” as his financial advisor called it, a place for him to crash while he’s in town. He didn’t even flinch when he dropped the six million dollars on it–cash, right out the door.

He’s filled it with art he’s impulsively bought, expensive furniture he too often spills wine on, and that piano he can hardly remember how to play. You’ve only been to his house a few times throughout the years–you were never part of his parties he’d throw or his Hollywood lifestyle. But every time you’d walk through his door, he’d dream of the day you’d be there, not just as a visitor. It used to feel so far away and unattainable, but now, as he pulls his car up the winding driveway, with you in the passengers seat after spending two weeks waking up in your bed and making toast in your toaster, the modern, sprawling mansion no longer feels like his—or anywhere he’d want you, or himself, to live.

He leads you into his house, everything in its proper place, thanks to the house cleaners and gardeners. Your footsteps echo off the shiny tile as you look around. “God, when’s the last time I was here?”

“Maybe that time you and Warren came over after the Golden Globes? That was what, two years ago?" Dieter replies, tossing his keys onto the entryway table.

You run your hand along the sleek lines of his gray velvet couch. "Yeah, I remember that, you were dating that one actress… Brianne, I think?" You make a face, remembering the blonde who barely acknowledged your existence that night.

Dieter cringes visibly. "Brianna. God, she was the worst."

"You dated her for like six months," you remind him with a small smile.

"Yeah, because she was hot." He winks with a wide smile.

You roll your eyes at him. "You're incorrigible."

"But you love me anyway."

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close before he kisses you in the middle of his fancy living room.

When you finally pull apart, you rest your forehead against his. “I do love you,” you whisper. “Even if you have questionable taste in women.”

“Had,” he corrects.

The truth is, he’s always had great taste in women… because he’s always wanted you. He just had to be patient; good things are worth the wait. You, definitely, were worth the wait.

Especially now, as his dream girl sits on the edge of his bed, running your hand along the soft fabric of the too-expensive duvet.

The sight of your beautiful face when you turn to him with a shy smile takes his breath away. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in your bedroom,” you say, looking around the large space, full of designer furniture he hired some young interior decorating phenom to place.

He walks over, cupping your cheek in his hand. “You definitely haven’t,” he says, leaning down to kiss your lips. “I would have remembered.”

“Mm?” you grunt against his lips.

He pulls away, grinning mischievously. “I mean, I’ve thought about it enough.”

“Oh yeah?” Your voice lowers, sending a shiver through his body. His cock already twitching at the way your eyes drop to his crotch.

“Mmhmm.”

“And what exactly would you think about, Dee?”

Your finger starts running a line up and down his thigh, close to where his pants are beginning to tent.

"Everything," he says. "Fucking you in my bed, your sweet body under me, over me—hell, anywhere you want to be." He lowers himself to the floor, kneeling between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading your legs. "I've imagined making you cum so many times in this room, you have no idea."

He watches a smile lift your lips. “Show me,” you challenge, leaning back on your elbows, your eyes watching him.

He pushes your dress up. “I dreamed about this. Even when I shouldn’t have, even when we were just friends.”

You run your fingers through his hair, gently pulling at his waves. “Me too,” you admit.

He growls at your confession, pulling you forward, your panties meeting his mouth. He breathes you in, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the familiar, heady scent of you.

He quickly shucks off your panties, throwing them behind him. “I’d think about you while I was lying in this bed. Think about how sweet you’d taste,” he darts his tongue out, slowly licking and savoring your essence.

“And how do I taste?” you ask, lifting your head to look into his eyes.

"Like heaven, baby," he groans against you.

His tongue rolls through your slick, relishing every inch of you as you gasp and moan for him. The way you taste—better than anything he’s ever had—makes him higher than any drug he’s ever taken. He laps and sucks, drinking you down, amazed at how your body responds to his tongue.

He still finds it hard to believe that after all his years of longing, of dreaming, now you’re here in his bed, his mouth worshipping your cunt as he watches your face contort in pleasure.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pulling back, licking your juices off his lips. “Still can’t believe you’re mine.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair, pushing him back towards your swollen pussy. “Greedy girl,” he growls, before sucking against your sensitive clit.

Your moans echo off the walls of the bedroom he used to lie in alone… or with someone who never mattered as much as you did to him.

“Fuck, Dee,” you gasp, your hips bucking against his face. “Don’t stop.”

He could never stop. Not when you're this close to shattering for him, your fingers tugging at his hair, your hips rhythmically moving against him. He slides a finger inside, your walls clenching it while his tongue works your clit. You’re so tight and wet for him. “That’s it baby,” he encourages, adding a second finger, feeling the overwhelming grip of your pussy. He can tell you’re getting close, your hands fisting in his hair, your screams vibrating through the room.

"Cum for me, Sweets," he coaxes between licks and sucks, hardly believing he’s finally able to say those words to you in his bedroom. "Make that perfect pussy cum."

He can feel your body orgasm, your pussy flooding his mouth as your back arches off the bed, a long keen of his name escaping your lips as your thighs clamp around his head, trapping him in place, your sweet pussy pulsing and throbbing against his mouth.

He drinks you down, hardly able to contain his smile as he makes the girl of his dreams shatter with his tongue.

“Fuck,” you pant over and over, a wide grin on your face, your skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat.

He leaves a gentle kiss against your trembling thigh before crawling up the bed to cuddle next to you. He wraps you in his arms, pulling you close. He nuzzles his face into your neck, pressing a soft kiss to your pulse point. "I love you," he whispers.

You turn in his arms, facing him, your nose brushing against his. "I love you, too." Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, your thumb gently stroking his stubbled jaw. "So much."

He can't help but think about how, even though he loves his sprawling mansion, it no longer feels that way. He's never felt more at home than he does when he's with you in your space, with your art hanging on the walls, the flowers you grew arranged in a vase on the kitchen table, your clothes hanging next to his in your sensible closet.

—-

You’ve lived alone for three months. One plate at the table, one blanket on the couch, one set of keys hung by the front door. Until… Dieter came home.

Now, it’s been three weeks of his fancy face cream–that his groomer insists he uses–next to yours, his Crocs kicked off by the door, his favorite drink (Topo Chico) in the fridge. Three weeks of falling asleep in his arms, laughing at his silly jokes as he cuddles you close, seeing the lazy smile form across his lips when he enters you.

You now smile while doing the most mundane, domestic things. Sorting laundry, his bright blue socks with little marijuana leaves printed on them on top of the hamper. Making dinner, Dieter striding into the kitchen, pulling you away from the stove to dance with you. Gardening outside, he’s somehow instantly covered in dirt, happy to dig up the yard alongside you, ever curious about what you’re planting and harvesting.

Three weeks of your home becoming his home.

It’s funny, the things you notice when you’re falling deeper and deeper in love with him. The way he’s always humming or tapping his fingers, trying to calm the energy that always seems to be trying to escape. How he always wants to be close to you, touching you, kissing you, holding you.

It’s vastly different from how you’ve lived the past few years. You’ve felt like you’ve been alone for so long that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to have someone’s heart beat against your ear at night, to wake up to someone bringing you coffee, to have help bringing the groceries in. Your house is now filled with Dieter’s laughter, his voice, his touch, and his love. It changes you, making you feel like you’re one of the flowers you grow… blossoming.

—-

The sound of laughter floating in from the living room brings a warm smile to Dieter’s face as he grabs another bottle of wine from the wine fridge. You’re playing host to a group of your friends, people he hasn’t seen in years.

He opens the wine and grabs the charcuterie board he just finished putting together. He likes this feeling–the simple act of making something and taking care of you and your friends. Showing people close to you that he cares and wants to make you happy.

He walks into the living room, and the sight of you smiling and glowing with joy as you chat with your friends makes his heart thud against his chest. You’re glowing and smiling. He sets the charcuterie board on the coffee table, trying not to blush as everyone compliments his plating skills. He tops everyone’s wine glasses off. You smile at him, a proud, thankful smile as he tops off your glass last with a wink.

“Take a seat, Mr. Bravo, I have a question for the two of you,” your friend Liv offers, gesturing to the armrest next to where you sit.

He sits, his body naturally gravitating towards yours as it always does.

“So, you both finally figured it out. When did you two finally realize you were meant to be?” your friend Liv asks, gesturing between the two of you with her wine glass.

You choke on your wine and cough at the question. He chuckles, grabbing your glass before he places his hand on your back and gently pats it.

“I've always known," Dieter says, his eyes locking with yours. "But I had to wait.”

“Awwwww,” your friends coo.

“I would have waited forever for her,” he shrugs, letting the truth slip out.

"Finally," Liv sighs, her eyes misty as she looks between you and Dieter. "I feel like I have my friend back. The real you, the you that's been hidden away for so long."

He sits there, answering every question thrown at him, with a wide grin on his face. He charms your friends with every question he answers, with stories of your past friendship... as if he's on a talkshow. It feels good to make not only you, but your friends laugh.

He excuses himself, before pulling you close and brushing his lips against your temple.

Before he walks into the kitchen, he glances over his shoulder. The sight of you laughing, surrounded by people who love and care for you, fills his chest with pride and happiness, knowing you’re now blooming again.

This is what he’s wanted for you: not just to love you but to see you fully happy again.

—-

Every morning, you’re woken up with a gentle kiss from Dieter’s lips as he brings you a cup of coffee before climbing back into bed with you. Sometimes, he walks you to work, yawning the whole way there while clad in his pajama pants and a fluffy robe, always leaving you with a kiss before you walk into Bloom and start your day.

You’ve never been as busy as you’ve been the week leading up to Valentine’s Day. A record number of orders come in for Bloom, word having gotten around about your unique bouquets. You spend all day varying between building gigantic, garishly romantic arrangements of red roses and pink tulips placed in fancy vases and cute, teensy bouquets wrapped in brown paper.

You’re on your feet for hours every day, and by the time Angela turns the OPEN sign to CLOSED on Valentine’s Day evening, you finally allow the exhaustion to take hold.

“We survived,” Angela smiles. “I can’t believe the number of orders we had this year.”

“It was crazy,” you yawn.

“I can take care of closing up, go on home, and enjoy your time off tomorrow. You’ve earned it.”

“I will, I plan on going home and falling into the first soft thing I see,” you say, grabbing your bag and jacket. “Thanks again, Ang.”

It’s chillier than normal, and rain keeps attempting to drizzle from the clouds. Your feet hurt with each step as you walk down the sidewalk and turn to begin your journey up the hill. You’re already dreading the literal uphill battle towards your home when you look up and catch a familiar silhouette leaning against a sleek car parked ahead.

Dieter stands there, clad in grey sweatpants and a large, black cardigan. He lifts his hand in a small wave, an adoring smile spreading across his face when you spot him.

"Thought you might want a ride," he calls out, pushing himself off the car.

You grin widely, your heart swelling as your tired feet hurry over to him.

"I thought you were at that meeting,” you say, wrapping your arms around him and melting into his soothing warmth.

"Finished early,” he tells you, leaving a kiss against your forehead. “Or, well, I left early. You’ve been on your feet all day, there’s no way I’d let you walk home. I needed to take care of my girl. Now,” he opens the door for you, “get in, I have a surprise.”

You slip into the passenger seat, already relishing in finally being off your feet, even if it’s only for the two-minute drive home.

You sigh in relief when you get out of the car in front of your home.

“I was afraid you were going to want to take me somewhere. I’m beat.”

Dieter chuckles. “Don’t worry, baby. My surprise is here,” he says with a wink, steering you towards the steps. "This way. Let's get you upstairs."

He leads you into your bedroom and, with an excited smile, tells you to wait for him.

“Undress,” he instructs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

He disappears into the bathroom. You slowly peel off your work clothes, your body aching with each movement. A slight smile lights your tired face when you hear the bath running.

When you push the bathroom door open, your breath catches. Dieter’s collected what seems to be every candle in your home, the low lights flickering across the tile. The tub is filled, steam billowing slightly across the surface, shimmering with bath oils and floating candles. A small tray sits on the edge with two glasses of wine, a joint, and a plate of cheese and chocolate-covered strawberries.

Dieter’s bent over, gorgeous and naked, testing the water temperature with his hand. He looks up at you, his face softening as you pad towards him.

“Dee,” you breathe out, “it’s gorgeous.”

“I figured you needed a relaxing night after working so hard, baby,” he leaves a soft kiss against your lips. “Let’s get in.”

Dieter slowly lowers himself into the water before you follow, settling between his legs, your back against his chest. You sigh contentedly as the warm water envelops your tired body and Dieter’s strong arms wrap around you.

"Good?" he whispers against your ear.

"This is perfect,” you groan, letting your head fall back against his shoulder.

Dieter reaches for the joint, lighting it before taking a drag and passing it to you. You inhale, happy to finally be able to relax.

"I know Valentine's Day is super commercial and all that," Dieter says, "but I still wanted to do something special for you."

“Mm,” you hum. Your eyes close as you relax further against Dieter's body, the warm water and Dieter’s gentle hands soothing your aching muscles. "This is so much better than what I had planned."

"Which was?" he asks.

"Falling face-first into bed and possibly crying from exhaustion.”

Dieter chuckles. “Can’t have that happen to you, baby.”

You take another hit from the joint before passing it back to him, feeling the tension melting from your body.

Dieter begins massaging your shoulders, his fingers pressing into your tight muscles.

You take a sip of wine as his thumbs work against the knots that have formed from your days of arranging flowers, moving vases, and standing for hours.

“Ohhh, right there,” you breathe, almost dropping your wine glass. A low moan leaves your lips when he presses harder into your sore muscles. “God, that feels so good, Dee.”

His hands work lower, kneading the muscles along your spine, earning more moans from you.

"Sweets, you sound so good,” he whispers. “I love the sounds you make.”

You can feel the poke of him against your lower back and hear his breathing becoming heavier.

He slides his hands around to your sides, tracing your curves, charting a path up your body to your breasts. He cups the weight of them, circling your nipples with his thumbs until they pebble under his attention. You arch against him as his hands skim lower, gliding across your stomach before dipping between your thighs.

"Dee," you moan, at his first touch against your clit. The warm water laps against your body as his hand explores your pussy.

“Let me take care of you, Sweets,” he breathes into your ear as he runs his other hand down between your legs.

His fingers circle your entrance, teasing you before one slips inside, gently fucking into you, curling and dragging against you, taking your breath away as you take another drag from the joint. You’re stoned, a little tipsy from the wine, and overwhelmed by Dieter’s love and attention.

“I’m so high, this feels sooo good,” you say, a happy chuckle escaping your throat before Dieter adds a second finger, eliciting a low moan. “But I want to feel you inside me.”

His cock jumps at your words as you push his hands away and turn. Water sloshes over the edge of the tub as you straddle his hips and capture his lips in a searing kiss. He grips your waist as you line yourself over him, and slowly sink down on his hard cock.

Your shared moans fill the air as you take him deep inside you, your arms looping around his neck, your chest pressing against his. You both stay there, holding each other in the warm water, relishing in the warmth of each other’s bodies. Dieter picks up the joint and takes a hit before sealing his mouth over yours, blowing the smoke into your mouth. Your tongues lazily move against each other, soft, loving kisses left against each other’s lips as you languidly start to move.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groans, his head falling back against the edge of the tub. He thrusts up to meet you, as you ride him quicker, chasing your high, his fingers digging into your skin.

Your lips find his again as water splashes onto the tile floor with each roll of your hips.

"Touch me," you plead against his mouth.

He obeys instantly, one hand leaving your hip. His fingers find your clit again, swirling around your sensitive nub.

"Come on baby, cum on my cock," he rasps, his hips snapping up harder, faster, water sloshing around your bodies. "I want to feel you choke my dick."

A few more thrusts, his fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit, and you're floating from your orgasm. Your body clenches around him, moaning and mewing as your hips gyrate on top of him, your pussy milking his cock, drawing out his own release. Dieter curses, spilling deep inside you as he holds you close, kissing you as his cock pulses inside you.

You collapse against his chest, both of you panting, your hearts racing in sync. Dieter runs his hands up and down your back soothingly as you catch your breath.

"Happy Valentine's Day Sweets," he whispers against your temple, before pressing a soft kiss there.

You lift your head, meeting his gaze, his eyelids heavy, his eyes a little cloudy from the weed. "Happy Valentine's Day, Dee.”

—-

Chief Wiggum tells Lisa Simpson, “nothing gets chocolate out” as Dieter holds you close in bed, his fingers lazily trailing up and down your spine as you nestle deeper against his chest. Funny how being with the love of his life makes him think Valentine’s Day is a great holiday.

“So," he catches your attention, "I was thinking, we should go to Melrose Trading Post tomorrow."

You lift your head to look at him, a small crease forming between your brows. "The flea market?" you ask.

"Yeah," he smiles, brushing his thumb against your cheek. "Remember how we used to go all the time? I think it’d be fun to go now that we’re together.”

“Yeah? I guess…”

He notices your hesitation immediately, his expression softening. "What's wrong, Sweets?"

"It's just—that was before you were famous," you sigh, resting your chin on his chest. "What if someone recognizes you? What if they take pictures of us together? I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of attention… not after London.”

He tries not to let you feel the way his body locks up, his finger stilling against your skin when the vulnerability in your voice wraps around his heart.

London. The paparazzi photos that still float around social media, no matter how much Alex and his team worked to make them disappear. The way you withdrew, scared and anxious about the attention. The comments and the speculation from total strangers about sweet, precious you.

“I want you to be comfortable, baby. We don’t have to go. I just wanted to do something normal with you—something we used to do together as friends. But I totally get it if you’re not ready.”

“I miss it, though,” you muse, tracing a pattern on his chest with your finger. "Maybe we could try.”

“I’ll keep it low-key. Hat and sunglasses. No one will be looking for Dieter Bravo in jeans at a flea market at 9 AM on a Sunday. Besides, most people are too wrapped up in their own shit to notice."

“Then, I think we should do it.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you close and leaving a kiss against your forehead.

—-

You’ve had to do things you never thought you would have to since that fateful day Warren walked out of your house… but pumping yourself up to go to a flea market is not one of them. You want to prove to yourself that you can do this, that you can be brave for Dieter, that those paparazzi photos from London don’t still bother you—even though they do. You can’t ask him to stay locked up in your house forever, because it seems like that’s what he’s been doing since his return from London.

So, you put on your cutest dress and jean jacket along with a sensible pair of sneakers and force yourself out the bedroom door.

You’ve got this.

Dieter’s slipping on his sneakers, bypassing Crocs to try to, in his words, “fit in” when you make your way downstairs. His eyes light when he looks up and sees you.

“There’s my girl, you look gorgeous.” The wide smile on his face makes all of your anxieties worth it. “Come on, I’m looking forward to this.”

It’s your first day out in LA as a couple, and you picked just the day to celebrate. The Melrose Trading Post is full of couples holding hands, bustling around you, and dozens of vendors selling everything from fresh flowers to vintage clothes to handmade jewelry hawk their wares. The sun shines bright in the sky as you and Dieter walk through the crowded aisles.

At first, you’re hyper-aware of every glance sent towards you and Dieter. You can swear you hear every “Is that him?” whispered from passersby. But Dieter remains cool and relaxed beside you, respecting your wish not to hold hands or draw any attention.

Dieter gets stopped several times by fans–the hat and glasses don’t fool them at all. He cheerfully poses for selfies and signs whatever surface his fans can scrounge up. You try to shrink away, focusing your attention on a stall or pretending to be engrossed in something else.

You’ve seen him do this a hundred times, smile and pose with a fan, charming them with his lazy smile and enthusiasm… but it feels so different now that you’re his girlfriend. You want to be part of the moment, standing there, holding his hand, and smiling at his fans, showing how proud you are to be with him. But you don’t. You merely step away, letting him enjoy the attention as you try to stay invisible.

Dieter spots a vendor selling hand-painted art, a framed canvas catching his eye–a flaky, golden croissant is painted on it, almost looking real enough to bite.

"Amazing!" he exclaims, pulling you over to the stall.

As you approach the painting, the vendor's eyes widen in recognition when she spots Dieter. You tense, bracing yourself, but she simply smiles and greets you both warmly.

Dieter grins, picking up the canvas. "This would be perfect in our kitchen, don't you think?"

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. Our kitchen. You don’t even know if he realizes the slip. Your heart swells hearing him talk about your house like it's his, like he belongs there with you. Like it's your shared home. You nod approvingly. “It'll look great in there.”

"Then let's get this masterpiece and head home."

Home. The word settles in your chest.

He pays for the painting, chatting animatedly with the vendor who carefully wraps it up. His excitement is palpable.

As you begin to walk through the market, before you can second-guess yourself, you reach out and take his free hand in yours. Dieter looks down at your joined hands, then back up at you, his brows raised, a hint of surprise in his brown eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asks softly, searching your face. He knows what a big step this is for you, to do this in public, to let everyone see.

You smile and nod, feeling brave… and right, and squeeze his hand. "I'm sure."

Dieter's face splits into a beaming smile, and he lifts your joined hands, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You don't let go of his hand the entire time, even as curious eyes follow you.

As you make your way through the market, a realization hits you: your hand is held in Dieter’s, the croissant painting tucked underneath his arm. This is the love you've always wanted.

✨✨✨

Perma tagging: @schnarfer @mothandpidgeon @forspringcleaning Tagging some friends and lovers of GG (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed): @sawymredfox, @secretelephanttattoo, @galway-girlatwork, @whatumuhcallit, @chronically-ghosted

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@vibin-hippie, @noisynightmarepoetry, @titlee78, @bergamote-catsandbooks

[fkevin073]

take me like you do in your dreams (excerpt)

so this is a little Mel/Frank thing I've been working on. it's been so long since I wrote a long one-shot and did not get impatient and divide it into chapters so I'm trying to curb that urge by posting a little bit of it hear. so much more to go!!

Summary: It surprises people to learn that Mel King is good at sex.  People in this case being, of course, Frank Langon. 

It starts, of course, on a Tuesday, because everything in his life seems to go to shit on Tuesday’s. The shift from hell was a random Tuesday. Abby told him to fuck off out of their house on a Tuesday, he started rehab on a Tuesday and left on a Tuesday. He even fucked up his back on a Tuesday. 

Frank forgets, every so often, about this random pattern in his life. Enough good things will happen, or he’ll be lost in the rush of kids, dogs and work that his world will seem stable and then something fucked will happen and he’ll remember like a punch to a chest this phenomena and think I must have murdered a bunch of people in my past life on a Tuesday to get all of this fucking karma. 

What happens is this: 

Frank doesn’t have many friends. He used to in college, even in med school, and then the more pills he popped the worse his emotions seemed to be and the more he rotted on the inside the more people could sense it, even if they couldn’t quite put a finger on what his deal is. 

That, and he’s also an asshole. 

The point is, he doesn’t have many people. After the pills, after the divorce, after moving into an embarrassing two-bedroom apartment that screams of divorced dad vibes with enough furniture to make it functional but not enough to make it feel like a home. 

He’d like to think that after all the shit he’s been through the past year he’s started to appreciate the people in his life a lot more. Cared more for their happiness and wanting to do right by them. It’s all part of his 12 steps and all that bullshit. 

But then one day he looks across the Pitt and sees Mel bent over a patient, some young dude with floppy blonde hair and an easy smile, and he’s saying something that makes her laugh, that nice floaty laugh like she’s about to glide through the clouds, a laugh Frank thought he had dibs on, and he’s staring so intently Dana has to clap her hands three times before he looks away with a jump. 

“Got an interesting case in South 2,” she says, looking at him weirdly. “You want in?” 

“Yeah,” he says, trying not to look at Mel. “Yeah, sounds great.” 

Blonde fucker, he thinks later, as he tries to remove a dart from this bartender’s ass. He keeps thinking about Mel laughing, even though he didn’t get to see her face. Maybe she was just being polite. Mel is always polite, even when she’s telling someone off. He remembers one time where she lost her temper at Santos – as close as losing her temper as Mel has ever gotten to the best of his knowledge – and told her to please not speak to me for the remainder of the day as I’ll only say something I regret, which I don’t want to do for when you feel bad about this later and Santos had seemed guilty enough for once  that she shut up and did as she was told. 

She was just being polite, he tells himself. But he’s not quite sure why it would bother him either way. It’s just that Mel is one of the few good things he has in his life. He can admit that to himself, if not to anyone else, including of his several mandated therapists or the fucktonne of NA meetings he’s forced to go to. 

Mel had visited him in rehab, which no one else from work had done besides Robby, who Frank had refused to see. They gave him that luxury in rehab – deciding who he did and did not have to leave his room to go and speak to from the outside visitors. Robby had never come back again, but he’d been surprised enough when he heard Mel’s name that he went, quite numb and blank faced, and found her sitting there with a myriad of candies. 

“I wasn’t sure what kind you liked,” was the first thing she said to him. “So, I got a lot.” 

And it was so normal, so earnest, that he almost burst into tears right then and there. 

“I’m a KitKat guy,” he’d grinned instead, when he was certain he wouldn’t cry. 

They’d sat there for the full fucking hour, talking about their favourite candies and desserts. She went on a fifteen-minute-long tangent about how she used to suck on so many gumballs that her tongue used to change colour every day. 

“I tried to make it into a schedule,” she’d told him. “Blue on Wednesday, yellow on Sunday, that kind of thing. Purple on Monday’s were my favourite.” 

“Any reason for the schedule?” He’d been smiling as he asked it. He could only imagine a little Mel with her mouth full of fucking gumballs, her tongue changing to one outrageous colour every day. 

“I was reading about colour theory at the time,” she admitted enthusiastically. “Henri Matisse, that kind of thing.” 

“How old were you again?” 

“Around ten or so.” 

Frank had laughed, because of course he had. Of course, she’d be the kind of ten year old to read about Henri fucking Matisse, which he only knew about because Abby had minored in Art History at college and liked to drag him to art exhibitions before they’d had the twins. 

Mel had apologized after a few minutes for rambling, but Frank had assured her it was fine. In fact he was the one who felt guilty, not just for being a regular ole fuckup who landed himself in rehab, but because he suddenly remembered all the times she had begun to ramble during the shift from hell and he’d just walked away like a dickhead. 

But she hadn’t held it against him. 

Before she left when the visiting hour was done, he’d been so overwhelmed that he’d reached down and hugged her without asking, which was shitty. She’d stiffened but let him, as if sensing that he needed it. 

“Sorry,” he’d told her, wiping his eyes. She was kind enough not to comment. 

“It’s okay,” she’d replied, a little awkward. Her arms were still stuck half-out from the hug, like she was a robot and needed someone to force her arms back down. “I’m trying to become better with physical affection.” 

Mel hadn’t made it back to visit him again, as his program was only for thirty days and she had a life outside of him, but on his first day back he found a KitKat taped to his locker. Mel had already finished her shift, so he couldn’t thank her in person. But he kept the chocolate bar in his pocket and would reach for it whenever someone would look at him sideways, frowning whenever he prescribed some form of medication that couldn’t even get someone high, not that it mattered much to anyone. 

He only finished eating the KitKat when he made it back to his car. It was half-melted and kind of mushy, but he still cried a bit anyway.

But yes, Mel is an important part of his life now. Since getting out of rehab, he spends most of his time with her outside of work, when he doesn’t have his kids. She can do better than a blonde fucker fratboy, he thinks rather viciously. 

He wiggles the dart out of the patient’s butt. 

“No offence, dude,” the patient drawls, sleepy with anesthetic. “But I really don’t trust you holding that with that look on your face.” 

Well, fuck. 

-

Mel finds Langdon in the breakroom, sitting on the floor. There’s no dog to pet this time, but he seems content enough. She goes to the fridge and finds her water bottle. Langdon had gotten this one for her birthday. Stainless steel that she could put in the dishwasher without it melting or affecting the taste. 

She’d complained to him once about how she hated the taste of plastic in her water. She kept on rotating between different containers – wasteful, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. One time in med school she couldn’t get the taste of something sweet out of her water bottle no matter how hard she scrubbed and so she threw it out and didn’t have time to buy a new one because she spent an allnighter on campus and then she fainted in the cadaver lab from dehydration. It’s why she had a small little scar at the nape of her neck, which Langdon had asked her about once when she was pulling her hair into a ponytail at the end of her shift.

She meets Langdon on the floor, and he smiles that little-half smile of his when he’s thinking about something. 

“Is that a dart?” she asks, nodding towards the object in his hand. She takes a long cold sip of water. That was another reason why she loved this one so much – it kept the temperature just right. Not too cold and not too warm either. Becca loved hers too. (Langdon had gotten a matching set). The nurses at the care center told her it made keeping Becca hydrated much easier, because her sister only liked to drink certain liquids at certain times. No water before 8am and no fizzy drinks between 5pm to 7pm for some reason only Becca seemed to know. 

“Patient let me keep it. A souvenir from his ass.” 

“That sounds uncomfortable.” 

Langdon chuckles lightly. “Yeah, apparently an ex-girlfriend of his showed up to the bar and saw him flirting with the coworker he told her not to worry about and went a little nuts.” 

Mel tries to imagine throwing darts at someone in anger and shivers. “Infidelity is no excuse for violence,” she says lamely. She feels Langdon look at her. 

“You okay?” he questions measuredly. 

“I feel well,” she replies. 

“Well?” 

“Fine. Adequate. Suboptimal. Sufficient—” 

“Okay, okay, I got it Miss Encyclopedia.” 

“I think you mean Miss Dictionary,” Mel corrects, pushing her glasses further up her nose. “That better suits the purpose of your reference.” 

Langdon laughs again, wiping a hand over his face. “You’re spicy today.” 

“Spicy?” Mel frowns deeply. “I had wasabi with my sushi a few nights ago, but—” She stops. “Ah. A joke.” 

“Yes, I do tend to make those.” Langdon nudges her leg with his foot. “I missed sushi night?” 

“Sorry,” she apologizes sincerely. “Becca was having a bad day, and I thought it would be better if we were alone. We’re having Pizza Sunday though, if you want to come.” 

“What show are you watching this time?” 

It’s been over a week since Langdon joined them. His ex-wife got down with a bad cold for several days, so he had the twins all to himself. Mel had driven him to their school once, where he apparently liked to take them for ice cream at the truck nearby. She hadn’t joined for that. Last time he was with her and Becca, they’d been finishing up their rewatch of The Vampire Diaries, but only until the end of season 6, because Becca hated it after Elena left the show. 

Langdon had been intensely into the love-triangle of it all. Becca liked to wear her Damon Salvatore t-shirt as they watched. 

“Blue-eyed boy team,” Langdon had joked, reaching out to Becca for a high-five. Becca had cackled, wheezing with laughter. Mel could appreciate the resemblance. She’d always hated them on Damon’s actor though – she cringed sometimes at the sheer colour present in them. But she never felt like Langdon. Not really. 

“Mel’s always been a Stefan girlie,” Becca told him loudly. 

Mel had flushed to the roots of her hair at Langdon’s surprised look. “He treats her with respect,” she’d defended weakly. “And he’s the better brother.” 

That became a hot topic of debate for several minutes before they piped down and watched as Elena struggled between the two brothers for the hundredth time that episode. 

“Gilmore Girls,” she replies absent-mindedly, remembering how Langdon had fallen asleep with his head against the arm of her couch, his snores softly filling the room. The way his Adam’s apple had been exposed. “Becca likes starting at season 2 though.” 

“Any reason why?” 

“Dean annoys her.” 

“Huh. Understandable.” 

At her skeptical look, Langdon grins. “My sister made me watch the show as it was coming out.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. No blue-eyed boys to root for on that show, though.” Langdon then elaborates, “we need to stick together and all, you know. Solidarity.” 

“There’s Luke,” Mel can’t help but point out. 

Langdon pauses, then shrugs, as if realizing he’s been outmatched. “Touche.”  They make plans for him to come over in the morning on Sunday, since they both reliably have those days off now that the kids are back with Abby. 

Mel takes another sip of her water, grimacing. 

“You alright?” 

“Slight headache.” 

A pause. She can feel Langdon inspecting her with his eyes, which has always been a peculiar feeling. 

“That guy earlier wasn’t bothering you, was he?” 

Mel frowns again. She should stop, she knows. She once had a tiktok influencer patient who kept pointing out whenever she did it, which was often enough she jumps a little now when she frowns as if expecting someone to bark at her to quit it because of the ‘wrinkles.’

“Which guy?” she asks, picking at her cuticles. 

“The blonde dude.” A sour look flashes on his face, then changes as Langdon clenches his jaw, as if he’s putting a considerable amount of effort to hide how he’s really feeling. “Frat boy looking fucker.” 

Mel is confused. “Weren’t you a fratboy?” 

He’d told that to her once, even showed her a picture on his phone. It had been a bad day – a little girl dead after pushing her brother out of the way from an oncoming car – and he’d found her out on the roof kneeling, head between her knees as she struggled to breathe. The picture had been old, but she’d been able to make out Langdon with his backwards cap and wide grin, wearing a tight blue t-shirt with Greek letters on it. He was holding – somehow – five beers in his hands along with a bong. Fratboy through and through. 

She’d spent several hours later after Becca had gone to sleep researching the initiation/hazing process, and by the time the sun had risen had texted him at least five articles talking about the danger of swallowing a live goldfish and how a few first-years had done to the hospital to get their stomach pumped because of it. 

How did you know about that???? Was what he’d texted.

Mel wrinkles her nose thinking about it. She’d never judge anyone for their dietary habits, but swallowing something alive gives her the heebie-jeebies.

“That’s not the point,” Langdon says quickly. “He looked like he was bothering you. Flappy hair, red face, unattractive—” 

“You mean Hunter?” 

“Of course his name is fucking Hunter,” Langdon mutters. “Wait, you know him?” 

“Not really,” Mel replies, trying not to sound nervous. Perhaps seeing Hunter had affected her more than she thought. “He knew someone I… was once familiar with.” 

Langdon’s face grows blank. “Once familiar with?” 

Mel blushes deeply. “We were uhm – intimately acquainted.” 

“You dated a frat boy?” He sounds mortally offended on her behalf, which Mel doesn’t know what to make of. 

She takes off her glasses, giving her an excuse not to look at him, and reaches in her pocket for the wipe so she can clean the lenses properly. 

“Mel?” he prompts. 

“He wasn’t a fratboy,” she says. “He was in marine biology.”

“He?” 

“Leonard,” Mel answers. She takes a little longer to clean her glasses than normal. “We dated when I was in med school for around a year.” She hadn’t seen or spoken to Leonard in years. She hadn’t seen the point beyond engaging in pleasantries when they bumped into each other. 

Langdon repeats the name as though he’s disgusted. 

“He was a nice guy,” Mel protests. “Really, we just weren’t best suited for each other, is all.” And that was mostly true. Leonard had an older brother who lived in a care home from when he was very young, so he understood Mel’s responsibilities to some degree. He always brought her flowers and never yelled at her or pressured her to do something she didn’t want to do. Perhaps that was the bare minimum, but Mel had appreciated it nonetheless. 

She relays this to Langdon, who makes a deep grumbling sound in his chest. 

“He sounds like a dick,” he says. “Who the fuck names their child Leonard?” 

“Many people,” Mel replies, puzzled. “There’s Leonard Cohen, Leonard Nimoy, Leonardo is the root name, of course which there are Dicaprio—” 

“I get it,” Langdon says. “What happened, then?” He nudges her again with his foot. “You know all about my shitty divorce.” 

That was true, except also not really. She knew that Langdon and Abby met in college in his last year of undergrad and fucked around – his words – for a few years on and off while occasionally seeing other people before they seemed to just click in his second year of med school. They married by the time he was an M4, and she was already four months pregnant. Then, according to Langdon, things began to implode when she found out about his addiction. “Final death bell of my marriage,” he’d sighed. He’d looked so upset while trying not to be that Mel waited until the end of their shift before she corrected him, “death knell.” 

Things had been falling apart before that though, according to him. He never spoke a lot about that though. Mel knew the timeline, but the intimate details she suspects he only tells his mandated therapist and maybe the group sessions in NA. Or maybe to his sponsor, McKay, who had stepped up to the challenge without missing a beat. 

“Nothing, really,” she says, flushing yet again. She feels oddly embarrassed thinking about Leonard. He had been sweet and kind and nice and yet—

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” 

Mel laughs a little. She feels dizzy suddenly, like she’s just bumped her head. Langdon reaches for his own water bottle – he always kept a plastic one in his lower leg left pocket for some reason, even squished it together so it would fit better – and takes a sip. 

It’s only when he looks away that she finds the strength to respond. 

“Well, he made me think I was asexual.” 

Langdon spits out his water. 

[ijustwannabecool]

Somewhere Only We Know - Part 1

Lando Norris x Reader

Based upon this request:

Hi!!! First of all, I love love loooove your stories. I don't know if you're open to writing for Lando. Just wanted to maybe suggest this: we all know he's spiraling at the moment, maybe someone who he meets and steadies him? I know he has that typical athlete fboy image. But maybe someone who he changes for and really helps him mentally as well. Seeing that change from an outside perspective from people in F1 or fans would be pretty cool. Just a thought that popped up! Thanks! Will be anxiously waiting for your next uploads!

Summary... He wasn’t looking for anything when he found you — just a diner, a coffee, a moment to breathe — but somehow you became everything. This is the story of how he fell, how you stayed, and how together you built something louder than the noise trying to tear you apart.

A/N: I hope this story does justice to your request! I wrote it like a book, so it has chapters within the story. Also, the story was so long that I had to split it into two parts because Tumblr would not allow me to post it. I had such a blast writing it, and I hope you all have just as much fun reading it. As always, thank you so much for being here, for supporting these little worlds we create, and for sharing your love with the characters too.

Happy reading, and have a beautiful day today!! 🖤✨

If you enjoyed the story and feel like supporting my writing, you can donate a strawberry matcha through my Ko-fi! 🍓🍵 (No pressure at all — your kindness is already everything.)

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy (:

Chapter 1: Quiet Places

The hotel room was suffocating. Walls too close, lights too harsh, the buzzing in his head louder than anything outside.

Lando sat on the edge of the bed, hoodie half-pulled over his head, staring at the carpet like it might offer answers. His phone buzzed once. Then again. Group chats. Team messages. Notifications about another headline he didn’t want to read.

Partying again. Lando Norris spotted leaving club at 3 AM. Is McLaren’s golden boy losing focus?

He scrubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t entirely true. It didn’t matter how lonely the nights felt after race weekends that didn’t go the way they were supposed to. It didn’t matter that sometimes the noise in his head got so loud, he just needed somewhere — anywhere — to drown it out.

Tonight, even the noise couldn’t fix it.

His chest felt tight. His breathing shallow. I need air.

Without thinking, Lando grabbed his room key, shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, pulled his hoodie tighter around him, and slipped out into the night.

—

The city hummed in a way hotels never could. A low, steady thrum of life: streetlights blinking through misty air, taxis splashing through puddles, people moving in and out of places he didn’t know. It was cold — not winter cold, but enough to bite at his fingers.

He walked without a destination. Past neon-lit bars, past groups laughing too loud, past windows that showed lives he didn’t belong to. His sneakers splashed through a puddle, and he didn’t even care.

Just keep walking. Maybe if he kept walking, the buzzing in his brain would go quiet.

It didn’t.

Not until he saw it.

A diner. Tiny. Wedged between two dark shops, almost hidden except for a flickering OPEN sign that fought to stay alive against the night.

Above the door, in faded, curling blue paint, a small sign read: The Bluebird Diner.

There was even a little bluebird painted near the handle — tiny and easy to miss, but somehow it caught his eye.

Inside, the air smelled like coffee and pancakes. Warm. Safe. Real.

He tugged his hoodie lower over his forehead and pushed the door open, the bell above it giving a sad little jingle.

He slid into the booth furthest from the windows, shoulders hunched, head low. Just a guy looking to be left alone. He pulled out his phone out of habit, but the screen glare felt too bright. He turned it face-down on the table.

That’s when he noticed her.

Sitting alone at the counter, a few stools down, a girl — about his age maybe — stirring her coffee absentmindedly with a spoon. A book sat open in front of her, its pages stained and loved. She didn’t look up when the door jingled. Didn’t stare. Didn’t gasp. Didn’t even seem to care.

For once, someone wasn’t looking at him like him.

It was... strange. And weirdly grounding.

He stared at the laminated menu without reading a word, mind drifting somewhere fuzzier, quieter.

Until—

"You look like you lost a fight with a thunderstorm."

The voice came from the counter. Light. Almost teasing.

Lando blinked, looking up slowly. The girl — the stranger — was smiling at him, just a little. Not mocking. Just... seeing.

He coughed awkwardly, dragging a hand over his jaw. "Something like that," he muttered.

She nodded like she understood. Like she wasn’t going to ask for details.

"You want coffee?" she offered, tilting her mug slightly like a peace treaty. "It's terrible, but it’s hot."

A laugh — real, cracked around the edges — escaped him before he could stop it. The first laugh in what felt like forever.

He shook his head, smiling under his hoodie. "Sure. Why not."

The girl slid off her stool with a soft scrape of leather boots against tile. She crossed the diner in slow, unhurried steps, refilling her coffee mug behind the counter before grabbing a second chipped white cup for him.

No one else was there. No waitress in sight. Just the jukebox playing something old and sad, the rain starting to splatter softly against the windows, and her — a small anchor in a world that felt like it was spinning too fast.

She set the cup down in front of him without ceremony.

"No judgment," she said lightly, curling into the opposite booth seat without being invited. "Just company."

Lando blinked at her again, unsure whether to laugh, thank her, or pull his hoodie lower. Instead, he mumbled, "You always hand out coffee to sad strangers?"

She grinned into her mug. "Only the ones who look like they need it more than me."

A silence stretched between them — but not uncomfortable. A soft kind of silence. The kind that lets you breathe without pretending.

"I’m L—" He caught himself. Old habit.

She arched a brow, playful. "Let me guess. Lucas? Logan? Liam?"

He huffed a laugh, ducking his head. "Something like that."

She didn’t push. Didn’t pry. Just sipped her coffee like it didn’t matter.

"You don’t have to tell me," she shrugged. "You can be whoever you want here. Pretty sure that's the whole point of a place like this."

He stared at her for a beat longer than he meant to. Whoever you want to be. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone gave him that option.

The neon sign buzzed faintly behind her, casting a golden halo around her hair. She looked real. Solid. Untouched by the headlines and chaos he lived in.

"You from around here?" he asked finally, voice scratchy.

She shook her head, setting her cup down. "Passing through. Like you, I guess."

He wondered if she was running from something too.

Outside, a car whooshed by, sending spray across the pavement. The rain came harder now, drumming against the windows like a heartbeat.

The girl glanced at him again — really looked this time — and her smile softened into something quieter. More knowing.

"You don't have to tell me what's wrong," she said. "But if you want to — I’m a good listener. World's worst advice giver, though."

He barked a short, broken laugh.

"Good," he said, cracking a ghost of a smile. "I'm not looking for advice."

She leaned back in the booth, tucking one knee up against the vinyl seat.

"Then we’re a perfect match," she said, toasting him with her mug.

Lando watched her for a long moment. The way she didn’t push. The way she didn’t want anything from him. The way she offered nothing more complicated than a crappy cup of coffee and a seat across from her.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed that.

He wrapped his hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into his cold fingers. His hoodie still shadowed his face, but for the first time in days, maybe weeks, he didn't feel the need to hide.

Not from her.

Not here.

At The Bluebird Diner.

Somewhere between the broken race weekends and the headlines he couldn't outrun, Lando Norris started to breathe again. And it started with a stranger who never asked for his name.

———

Chapter 2: Rain Between Us

The coffee was terrible. Burnt, watery, exactly what you’d expect from a diner fighting to survive the 2 a.m. quiet. But somehow, with her sitting across from him, it tasted like the best thing he'd had in weeks.

He took a sip, grimaced, and set the cup down. She laughed under her breath, hiding it behind her own mug.

"Told you," she said, voice warm with amusement.

"You weren't kidding," Lando muttered, tapping a finger against the chipped rim.

The jukebox crooned something old and broken-hearted, a perfect soundtrack for the flickering neon, the rain outside, the shared silence stretching between them.

"So," she said after a moment, stirring her coffee like she wasn't even drinking it, "Mysterious Almost-Lucas. You just wandering, or are you running?"

The question was soft. Not a trap. He could lie if he wanted. Hell, he could get up and leave and she wouldn’t chase him.

Still — he found himself shrugging, the truth spilling out without much thought.

"Little bit of both," he said, voice rough.

She nodded like she understood. Like she'd been there too.

"Sometimes you have to get a little lost," she mused, tracing the edge of her mug with a fingertip, "before you figure out where you're supposed to be."

Lando watched her. The way she spoke without pretending she had all the answers. The way she sat like she belonged to no one and nowhere, perfectly at peace with it.

"You some kind of fortune cookie in disguise?" he asked, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

She grinned, playful. "Nah. I just read too much."

She tapped the battered paperback lying abandoned beside her coffee.

He squinted at the title, smirking when he caught it: The Art of Getting Lost.

"Seriously?" he asked, incredulous.

She just shrugged, her smile easy and unapologetic. "Like I said," she teased, "perfect match."

Time blurred inside the diner. Minutes folding into each other until the rain outside turned from a light patter to a steady downpour. Neither of them moved to leave.

It wasn’t until a particularly loud crack of thunder rattled the windows that she glanced at the clock and sighed.

"I should probably get going," she said, sliding off the booth seat reluctantly. "Before I turn into a pumpkin or whatever tragic fairytale ending is waiting for me out there."

Lando found himself standing too, his legs stiff from sitting so long. The diner felt too big all of a sudden. Too empty without her in it.

"Where you headed?" he asked before he could stop himself.

She shrugged, slipping on a worn denim jacket. "Couple blocks over. Motel with questionable sheets and even worse cable."

A part of him — the reckless part — wanted to offer to walk her there. The smarter part knew how dangerous that could sound.

She must've seen the hesitation flicker across his face, because she tilted her head, grinning.

"You can walk me to the corner if you want," she said lightly. "I promise not to scream stranger danger."

He laughed — a real, full laugh this time — and shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.

"Deal."

—

The rain was cold, soaking into the edges of his sneakers almost immediately, but he didn’t care. They walked close but not touching, their shoulders almost brushing every few steps.

She didn’t pull out her phone. Didn’t rush. Just let the night wrap around them like a secret.

"This your thing?" he asked after a beat, pulling his hood tighter. "Late-night diners? Making sad strangers feel less sad?"

She smiled up at him, rain catching in her eyelashes. "Maybe," she said. "But only the ones who look like they might forget how to come back to themselves."

He looked at her — really looked — and felt something unfamiliar twist low in his chest.

Hope.

It scared him a little.

At the corner, under the orange glow of a flickering streetlight, she stopped and turned to him.

"This is me," she said, nodding toward the dim outline of a motel a few blocks down.

He nodded, unsure what to say.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then, impulsively, she dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out a pen — the kind hotels leave on bedside tables — and grabbed his hand.

Before he could react, she scribbled something across his wrist.

A number. A name.

Y/N.

She capped the pen with a snap and smiled, a little mischievous.

"In case you get lost again," she said. "You know where to find me."

And then — before he could say anything — she winked, turned, and disappeared into the rain.

Leaving Lando standing there, heart thudding in his ribs, staring down at the ink bleeding slowly into his skin.

Somewhere between the cold rain and the bitter coffee, he realized: Maybe getting lost wasn’t always a bad thing.

Not if it brought you to someone like her.

Not if it brought you to the Bluebird Diner.

———

Chapter 3: A Rainy Day

The hotel room smelled like cold coffee and regret. The kind of night that clung to your skin even after you showered, the kind that weighed heavy behind your ribs.

Lando sat at the small desk by the window, hoodie still damp from the rain, staring at the smudged ink on the inside of his wrist.

Y/N. A string of numbers trailing after it.

The rain dripped down the glass in slow, tired patterns. The city blinked below, indifferent to the people trying to survive it.

He grabbed a notepad — the kind every hotel left on the nightstand — and carefully, almost reverently, copied the number down. His pen hovered for a second.

Save it in your phone, his mind whispered. Text her. Call her. Do something.

But his heart was a mess. He wasn’t ready. Not yet.

Instead, he tore the paper free, folded it in half, and slipped it into the back of his phone case — tucked safe behind the transparent plastic like a secret. A promise he wasn’t brave enough to cash in yet.

"For a rainy day," he muttered to himself, voice rough.

He set his phone down screen-side up, hiding the paper from view, and collapsed back onto the bed.

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, for the first time in a long time, Lando Norris let himself hope there might be more than headlines waiting for him. Someday.

—

Two Weeks Later

The world didn’t stop spinning just because he wanted it to. It kept roaring forward — race after race, city after city, good days and bad days bleeding into each other until he barely remembered where he was half the time.

The wins were loud. The losses were louder. And somewhere in between — when the engines went silent and the hotel rooms got too big — he thought of her.

The girl at the Bluebird Diner. The one who handed him terrible coffee and a better kind of silence. The one who smiled at him like he was a person, not a headline.

Sometimes he caught himself scanning crowds, stupidly, looking for a flash of her denim jacket or the soft curve of her smile. Sometimes he dreamed of rainy streets and cracked vinyl booths.

He hadn’t pulled the paper out. Not yet.

He kept telling himself he was too busy. Too tired. Too much of a mess.

But late at night, when sleep wouldn’t come and the weight of everything pressed heavy against his chest, he found himself reaching for his phone, fingers hesitating over the case.

One night — after a brutal race weekend where nothing had gone right — he gave in.

He peeled the phone case back slowly, like uncovering something sacred.

The paper was still there. Crumpled a little. Still holding her number like a lifeline.

His heart thudded against his ribs as he stared at it.

Now or never.

He opened a blank message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Paused.

Deleted it.

Started again.

Lando: Hey. Not sure if you remember me. Coffee at 2AM. Bluebird Diner. Bad jokes, worse coffee. I’ve been carrying your number around like a fool. Mind if I cash it in?

He hit send before he could lose his nerve.

Set the phone face-down on the bed like it was going to explode.

Paced the room. Ran a hand through his hair. Cursed under his breath.

It buzzed five minutes later.

He stared at it, heart in his throat.

Y/N: Hard to forget someone who made bad coffee taste better. Where to?

He smiled. Really smiled. The kind that cracked him open a little and let the light seep in.

Maybe getting lost wasn’t the end of the world after all.

Maybe it was just the start of something better.

———

Chapter 4: After Hours

He didn’t know what he expected.

Maybe that she wouldn’t show. Maybe that he would chicken out and turn back at the door.

Instead, he found himself standing in front of a narrow storefront tucked between a closed tailor shop and a boarded-up art studio. The only light came from a cracked neon sign above the door: Ink & Ivy.

Inside, warm golden light spilled over books stacked in messy piles, fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling. It smelled like old paper and rain-soaked wood.

And there she was. Curled up on a worn armchair in the corner, thumbing through a battered novel, a soft, unreadable smile tugging at her mouth.

Y/N.

Something in his chest unclenched just seeing her.

She looked up when the door chimed, smile widening when she saw him.

"You made it," she said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Lando shrugged, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets. "Had to," he said, voice rough from nerves. "Owed you a coffee, remember?"

She grinned and stood, sliding a bookmark into the pages before tucking the novel under her arm.

"You're in luck," she said. "They make a mean hot chocolate here. Coffee's still crap, though."

He laughed, following her deeper into the shop, past shelves that leaned under the weight of forgotten stories.

There was a tiny counter at the back — barely big enough for a cash register and an old espresso machine. No other customers. Just the two of them and the endless hum of rainy-night quiet.

Y/N ordered two hot chocolates without asking what he wanted.

He didn’t mind.

It felt... good. Being led for once instead of leading.

They settled at a small table by the window, mugs steaming between them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t heavy. It was just... them.

Finally, she broke the silence.

"So," she said, stirring her drink, "did you find yourself yet?"

He smiled, a little crooked. "Working on it."

She nodded like she approved.

"I think that's the trick," she said thoughtfully, tracing the rim of her mug with a fingertip. "You don't just wake up one day and have all the answers. You kind of... stumble into them. Trip over them. Sometimes they show up in crappy coffee at 2AM."

He laughed, shaking his head. "You and your fortune cookie wisdom."

She tilted her head, pretending to think.

"Maybe I'm just psychic," she teased. "Or maybe I'm really good at pretending everything's fine."

He looked at her — really looked — and felt something tighten low in his chest.

There were shadows under her words. A mirror of his own. It made him want to know every story she kept hidden behind that easy smile.

"You don't have to pretend with me," he said before he could think better of it.

Her eyes softened, the kind of look that made you feel seen without saying anything.

"Neither do you," she whispered.

The rain outside blurred the city into watercolor smears of light and shadow. Inside, the world shrank down to just two people and a thousand unsaid things hanging between them.

He should’ve been scared of it. Of what it meant. Of what it could mean.

But sitting there — with a chipped mug warming his hands and her quiet presence filling all the empty spaces inside him — Lando thought maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be afraid.

Not tonight.

Not with her.

———

Chapter 5: Paper Moons

They stayed in the bookstore until the owner flipped the sign to "Closed" and politely pretended not to notice them still tucked into the corner.

Lando couldn't remember the last time he lost track of time without the roar of an engine or a schedule ticking in the back of his mind.

She made it too easy.

They talked about everything and nothing:

Their favorite childhood cartoons. The worst books they were forced to read in school. How pineapple absolutely does belong on pizza (her opinion) and how it absolutely does not (his).

At one point, while thumbing through a stack of battered travel guides, she glanced up at him, mischievous.

"So what is it you do, exactly?" she asked, tilting her head. "Professional traveler? Pizza connoisseur? World’s slowest book club president?"

Lando laughed, shoving a hand through his messy hair.

"Something like that," he said, half-truthful.

She narrowed her eyes, playful. "Mysterious again, I see."

"You wouldn’t believe me if I told you," he said, half under his breath.

She grinned. "Try me. My bet's still on undercover barista."

He laughed again — a real one, deep and rough and unfiltered. God, when was the last time he laughed like this without feeling like he had to perform it?

"I drive," he said finally, shrugging like it wasn’t a whole world. "A lot."

She arched a brow. "Like... truck driver? Racecar driver? Food deliveries?"

He barked another laugh, shaking his head.

"One of those," he said.

She studied him for a beat — not with suspicion, but with something lighter. Curiosity. Amusement.

Then she shrugged like it didn’t really matter.

"Well, I hope you're a better driver than you are a coffee drinker," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his as she passed by to the next shelf.

He smiled to himself, warmth blooming quietly in his chest.

She didn’t press. She didn’t treat him like a puzzle to solve. She just... accepted the pieces he offered and kept walking.

It felt like breathing again after years of holding his breath.

—

Later, they sat cross-legged in the aisle between "Travel" and "Mystery," flipping through a book of weird world records.

"Did you know," she said, tapping a finger against the page, "someone once stacked 500 doughnuts into a tower and balanced it on their forehead?"

Lando snorted. "New life goal."

She laughed, tossing a crumpled receipt at him. It bounced off his hoodie and landed in his lap.

He picked it up, pretended to examine it.

"Is this your phone number?" he teased.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "No. It’s the bill for your terrible jokes."

He grinned — wide and boyish and unguarded.

For a moment, he let himself forget the cameras, the headlines, the pressure. For a moment, he was just a boy in a bookstore, sitting next to a girl who didn’t need anything from him except what he was willing to give.

And for the first time in a long time — he wanted to give it.

———

Chapter 6: In Between Places

They never made official plans. No "meet me at 8" texts. No set routines.

They just… drifted back into each other’s lives, night after night, like gravity pulling them in without asking permission.

—

One night:

They ended up back at the Bluebird Diner, squeezed into a booth so worn it sagged in the middle. A plate of soggy fries between them. A crumpled napkin-turned-scorecard as they argued over the dumbest trivia questions pulled from a beat-up game box the diner kept behind the counter.

"Name three countries that start with 'Z'!" Y/N demanded, pointing a fry at him like a sword.

"Zimbabwe, Zambia—" Lando started confidently, then paused, face scrunching.

Y/N leaned in, grinning wide. "Clock's ticking, racer boy."

He slapped the table dramatically. "There’s not a third one! That’s cheating!"

"Zanzibar," she said smugly, popping a fry into her mouth.

"That’s not a country!" he protested, laughing so hard he nearly knocked over his drink.

She shrugged innocently. "Maybe if you traveled more, you'd know."

He choked on a laugh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Unbelievable. First you bully my coffee skills, now my geography."

She grinned and kicked him lightly under the table. "And you love it."

He couldn’t even deny it.

—

Another night:

They sat side-by-side on the hood of his car, parked on the edge of the city where the skyline blurred into open sky.

A half-eaten bag of gummy bears between them. A terrible playlist of early 2000s pop songs humming from the car speakers.

Y/N leaned back on her hands, head tilted toward the stars.

"Sometimes," she said softly, voice nearly lost in the night air, "I feel like I’m just... floating through life. Like I missed the turn somewhere but I’m too scared to go back."

Lando turned his head, watching her instead of the stars.

"I get that," he said, voice low. "I feel like that a lot too."

She glanced at him, surprised. He just shrugged, plucking a gummy bear from the bag and tossing it in the air before catching it in his mouth.

"You're not the only lost cause around here," he said, grinning crookedly.

She smiled — a real one, fragile around the edges.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone in the floating.

—

Sometimes:

They didn’t talk at all.

They just wandered through late-night bookstores, or old record shops that stayed open too late for no reason, or abandoned playgrounds where the swings creaked in the wind.

Sometimes Y/N would tell him about the cities she wanted to see but never had the money to visit.

Sometimes Lando would tell her stories about places he’d been — twisting them into ridiculous adventures just to make her laugh.

He left out the race tracks. The fame. The noise.

It wasn’t lying. Not really.

It was protecting something he wasn’t ready to lose.

Not yet.

—

One night:

Sitting on a swingset at some forgotten park, boots dragging lazy lines in the sand, Y/N turned to him with a thoughtful look.

"You know," she said, nudging his shoulder with hers, "you’re not half as mysterious as you think you are."

He raised a brow, grinning. "Yeah?"

She nodded sagely. "You’re just a guy who’s a little lost, a little tired, and way too competitive about trivia games."

He laughed, the sound bubbling out of him before he could stop it.

"Maybe," he said, kicking at the sand. "And you’re just a girl who’s smarter than she lets on and drinks way too much terrible coffee."

She gasped mock-offended. "I tolerate terrible coffee. There’s a difference."

He shook his head, smiling at her like she hung the stars.

And maybe, just maybe, she did.

Little by little, the walls between them cracked.

Little by little, they learned each other’s rhythms.

Little by little, two lost souls stopped floating alone.

And neither of them even realized it was happening — not until it was too late to turn back.

———

Chapter 7: Cracks in the Armor

The night had fallen into one of their easy silences.

Sitting on the swings again, bundled in too-thin jackets, hot drinks warming their hands, they watched the city breathe around them.

Somewhere far away, a siren wailed. Closer, the breeze whispered through the trees, tugging at Y/N’s hair.

"You ever think about just... leaving?" she asked, her voice soft and faraway. "Packing up and disappearing somewhere no one knows you?"

Lando stared at the dark sky.

"All the time," he said quietly.

She glanced at him, catching the rawness in his voice.

"You could," she said gently. "If you wanted to."

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"It’s harder than it sounds," he admitted. "When the world... expects things from you."

She nodded slowly, sipping her drink.

"You don’t owe the world anything," she said simply.

The words hit harder than he expected.

Like maybe — just maybe — she meant them.

He fiddled with the sleeve of his hoodie, debating.

Then — impulsively, stupidly — he said:

"I travel for work. A lot. Different countries every week sometimes. Cameras, interviews... noise."

He didn’t look at her when he said it. Couldn’t.

The air shifted between them. Not colder. Not tenser. Just... aware.

Y/N set her drink down carefully in the sand between them.

"You a rockstar or something?" she teased lightly, trying to keep the moment easy.

Lando huffed a laugh. "Not exactly."

She bumped his shoulder with hers, playful.

"Secret agent?"

He smiled a little, finally looking at her.

"Something like that."

Y/N studied him for a beat, the city lights flickering in her eyes.

She could have asked. She could have pushed.

Instead, she just shrugged, easy and sure.

"Whatever it is," she said, picking her drink back up, "you’re still the guy who sucks at trivia and drinks hot chocolate like it’s a competitive sport."

He stared at her, something hot and unfamiliar swelling in his chest.

"You’re not curious?" he asked, surprised.

"Oh, I’m curious," she said, grinning. "But... I figure if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me."

Simple. No pressure. No performance.

Just a choice — left in his hands.

For the first time in a long, long time, Lando felt like he wasn’t being cornered into being someone.

He could just be.

And maybe — Maybe that was the whole point of her.

A lighthouse when the rest of the world just wanted to watch him drown.

—

Later, as they walked back toward the car, Y/N kicked a rock along the sidewalk, hands stuffed deep into her pockets.

"You know," she said casually, not looking at him, "you’re kinda like a bluebird."

He blinked, thrown.

"A what?"

She shrugged, smiling faintly. "You show up when people need hope the most. You just... don’t know it yet."

Lando stopped walking.

Just stared at her.

The Bluebird Diner. The paper tucked behind his phone case. The way she made him feel like he was finding pieces of himself he thought he lost.

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

"You’re wrong," he said, voice rough.

She arched a brow. "Oh?"

He smiled — wide, real, and a little sad.

"I think you’re the bluebird."

She blushed, looking away, pretending to be annoyed.

"Great. Now I sound like a Disney character."

He laughed again, bumping her shoulder lightly.

But deep down — he knew he meant it.

Even if she didn’t understand yet, even if he couldn’t say it properly

She was his bluebird. And he was already terrified of losing her.

———

Chapter 8: The Fast Lane

It started with a text.

Lando: You busy tomorrow?

Y/N: Define "busy."

Lando: I know a place. Not far. Not fancy. Bring sneakers.

Y/N: ...You’re not going to murder me, right?

Lando: 50/50.

She sent back a laughing emoji, and he smiled at his screen for a solid minute before remembering he was supposed to be cool about this.

He wasn’t.

Not even a little.

—

The next afternoon was gray and crisp — a rare stretch of calm between rainstorms — when he picked her up.

No fancy cars. No entourage.

Just a beat-up old black SUV he borrowed from a friend because it didn’t scream his name at every intersection.

Y/N climbed in, wrinkling her nose playfully at the state of the floorboards.

"Should I be concerned about tetanus?" she teased, buckling in.

Lando grinned, heart kicking against his ribs.

"Only if you plan on licking the gearshift," he shot back.

She laughed — easy, bright — and he felt the knot in his chest loosen.

This was why he wanted her here. Because with her, everything felt... lighter.

They pulled up to a private karting track just outside the city.

Quiet. Empty except for a few staff members and a handful of guys milling around near the pit lane, helmets tucked under their arms.

Lando killed the engine and rubbed his palms against his jeans.

"Okay," he said, turning to her. "Don't freak out."

She raised a brow. "Should I be freaking out?"

He shrugged, trying to play it off. "I might have a bit of a reputation around here."

Y/N smirked. "Lemme guess. World's Slowest Kart Driver."

He barked a laugh, nerves unraveling a little.

"Something like that," he said, climbing out.

She followed, looking around curiously.

The place was small — nothing glitzy — but even she could tell it wasn’t some random rental track. It was built for serious drivers. The kind who lived and breathed competition.

A tall guy with a messy head of curls jogged over, clapping Lando on the back.

"Mate, finally!" he said, grinning. "And you brought a friend."

His eyes flicked to Y/N, friendly but curious.

"Max, this is Y/N," Lando said casually. "Y/N, Max."

She smiled easily, sticking out a hand. "Nice to meet you."

Max shot Lando a quick look — the kind that said we’re going to talk about this later — but just shook her hand and winked.

"Good luck surviving him on the track," Max said to her with mock seriousness.

Y/N snorted. "Oh, please. I can handle him."

Lando raised a brow. "Big talk for someone who’s never seen me drive."

She just grinned, all innocent. "Big ego for someone who needed a second coffee to beat me at trivia."

Max laughed outright, slinging an arm around Lando’s shoulder. "I like her," he said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.

Lando flushed — actual, real color flooding his cheeks — and shrugged him off, muttering, "Piss off," under his breath.

Y/N watched the exchange, a knowing smile tugging at her mouth.

She didn’t say anything.

But she saw it — the way Lando relaxed around these people. The way he lit up.

The way they lit up seeing him like this.

They geared up quickly — helmets, gloves, coveralls.

Y/N struggled with the zipper on her suit, muttering curses under her breath, and Lando doubled over laughing.

"Shut up!" she yelled, trying to wrangle the stubborn metal tab.

He was still chuckling when he came over and helped her, fingers brushing her wrist.

A tiny touch.

A stupid, electric jolt straight to his ribs.

He pretended not to notice.

She pretended not to blush.

Neither of them said a word about it.

On the track, she was... terrible.

Absolutely, gloriously terrible.

She stalled twice, took corners like a drunken giraffe, and very nearly spun herself into the grass on lap three.

But when she pulled into the pit lane, yanking her helmet off with a huge grin, Lando swore he’d never seen anyone look more beautiful.

"I almost died!" she announced proudly.

"You almost killed me," he corrected, laughing.

She shrugged, unbothered. "Minor details."

He looked at her — flushed cheeks, wild hair, laughing eyes — and thought:

This. This is what it’s supposed to feel like.

Later, sitting on the pit wall swinging their legs like kids, they shared a bottle of lukewarm water and watched the sky turn pink with sunset.

Max and the others were off somewhere, giving them space without saying they were giving them space.

"You’re... good at this," Y/N said, nodding toward the track.

Lando shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter. "Been doing it a while."

She sipped the water, thinking.

"Not just good," she said thoughtfully. "You look... happy out there."

He stared at her, thrown.

Because she didn’t say "famous." She didn’t say "fast." She said happy.

And he realized — with a pang so fierce it nearly knocked the air out of him — that he was.

When she was around, he was.

———

Chapter 9: Cracks in the Bubble

The second time Y/N got into a kart, she looked determined.

Deadly serious.

"Okay," she said, yanking her helmet down with a snap. "No more driving like a drunk baby giraffe."

Lando bit back a laugh.

"You sure?" he teased, hopping into his own kart with practiced ease. "I was kinda looking forward to seeing if you could set a world record for most spins in one lap."

She flipped him off cheerfully, gunning her little kart forward with a wild screech of tires.

He laughed so hard he almost forgot to start his own.

—

The next thirty minutes were chaos.

Y/N barreling into corners like she had a personal vendetta against gravity. Lando weaving around her, slowing down to tease her, tapping her bumper lightly with his kart whenever he passed just to mess with her.

She screamed fake outrage every time.

At one point, she tried to block him from overtaking by swinging wildly across the track like a Mario Kart character.

He narrowly avoided crashing into her, throwing his hands up dramatically.

"THAT'S ILLEGAL!" he yelled over the roar of the engines.

She laughed so hard she nearly spun out — again.

—

Eventually, red flags waved them back into the pit lane.

Y/N pulled off her helmet, hair a wild mess, cheeks flushed from adrenaline and laughter.

Lando pulled up next to her, helmet under his arm, grinning like an idiot.

"Improvement," he said, nodding seriously.

She beamed. "Didn't die this time!"

Max wandered over, towel slung around his neck, smirking.

"You guys looked like the world's worst synchronized kart dancers," he said, mock-stern.

Y/N bowed dramatically. "Thank you, thank you. We try."

Max elbowed Lando lightly. "Mate," he said in a low voice, smirking. "You're smiling so much it’s scaring the staff."

Lando rolled his eyes but couldn't wipe the grin off his face if he tried.

Max clapped him on the shoulder and wandered off, laughing.

Y/N watched the exchange, something soft flickering in her eyes. But she didn’t say anything.

She just tossed Lando his helmet and said, "Rematch?"

And he thought — not for the first time — I’m so screwed.

—

After they cleaned up and changed back into their normal clothes, Lando suggested grabbing a bite at the tiny café across the street.

Nothing fancy. Greasy fries. Plastic tables. Exactly what he needed.

They sat by the window, sharing a basket of fries, teasing each other about their "racing skills" when it happened.

A teenager — probably fifteen, maybe sixteen — walked past the window, did a double-take, and froze.

Eyes wide. Mouth opening slightly.

Lando stiffened automatically, years of instinct kicking in.

He glanced at Y/N — ready for the shift. The awkwardness. The questions. The change.

Instead, Y/N just smiled warmly at the kid, nudging the basket of fries closer to Lando like nothing was happening.

Giving him space.

Letting him decide.

The kid edged closer, nervous.

"Um... excuse me?" he said, voice cracking slightly. "Are you... are you Lando Norris?"

Lando smiled — small, tired, but real.

"Yeah, mate," he said, easy. "What's up?"

The kid fumbled a phone out of his pocket. "Could I, uh... get a photo? If that's okay?"

"Of course," Lando said, standing up and clapping the kid lightly on the shoulder. "No problem."

They snapped a quick picture. The kid practically vibrated with excitement, thanking him about ten times before hurrying off down the street.

Lando sat back down slowly.

Y/N popped a fry into her mouth, still acting like nothing had happened.

"You’re famous," she said casually, like she was observing the weather.

He stared at her, thrown.

"You're... not freaking out?"

She shrugged, smiling faintly. "Should I?"

He blinked, scrambling for words.

"I mean — most people — it’s just..." He trailed off, frustrated with himself.

Y/N leaned her chin on her hand, watching him with quiet amusement.

"I figured you did something cool," she said. "Didn't figure you for a kart salesman."

He barked a surprised laugh.

She grinned, kicking his shin lightly under the table.

"Relax, Speed Racer," she said. "I’m still gonna beat your ass at trivia next week."

He stared at her — open, vulnerable — and realized in that exact moment: She’s different. She’s safe.

She didn't want a piece of the spotlight. She didn't want anything from him except the pieces he willingly gave her.

And for someone who had spent years being looked at like a prize to win or a headline to write it was terrifying.

And it was everything.

—

Later, walking back to the car, Y/N bumped his shoulder lightly with hers.

"For what it's worth," she said, glancing up at him under the streetlights, "I think you're pretty cool. Fame or no fame."

Lando swallowed hard.

"You too," he said, voice thick.

Maybe more than pretty cool. Maybe the coolest thing that had ever happened to him.

———

Chapter 10: The Things We Carry

It started because he was curious.

They were sprawled across her tiny living room floor one night, surrounded by half-eaten pizza, empty soda cans, and the remnants of a half-serious movie marathon.

At some point, between arguing about whether animated movies counted as “real cinema” (they absolutely did, according to Y/N) and who had the worst taste in music (definitely Lando, according to Y/N), she pulled out a battered old sketchbook.

He caught the flash of it out of the corner of his eye — the frayed edges, the bent corners, the cover smeared with fingerprints.

"What’s that?" he asked, nodding toward it.

She hesitated. Just for a second.

Then shrugged, casual, like it didn’t matter.

"Sketchbook," she said, flipping it open and showing him a page without ceremony.

Pencil sketches filled the paper — messy but alive, full of motion and feeling. Faces. Cities. Dreamscapes.

Lando blinked, stunned.

"You did all this?" he asked, voice softer than he meant it to be.

She smiled, a little self-conscious. "Yeah."

He flipped through a few more pages, handling the book like it was made of glass.

"You’re insane," he said, awe creeping into his voice. "This is... this is amazing."

She shrugged again, brushing it off, but he could see the faint blush creeping up her neck.

"You wanna try?" she asked suddenly, tossing him a blank page and a pencil.

He stared at it like it was a bomb.

"Me? Draw?"

She grinned wickedly. "Come on, Speed Racer. How hard can it be?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Famous last words."

—

It was a disaster.

An absolute, hilarious disaster.

Lando’s hand cramped within minutes. His "dog" looked like a melting sock puppet. His "car" resembled a very angry toaster.

Y/N laughed so hard she nearly fell over, clutching her stomach as she tried — and failed — to offer helpful critique.

"Okay, okay," she wheezed between giggles. "Maybe stick to driving."

He threw a crumpled piece of paper at her, pretending to be offended.

But inside — he felt lighter than he had in months.

Because she didn’t care that he was terrible. Because here, in this tiny messy apartment, surrounded by pizza boxes and bad art, he wasn’t Lando Norris the racer.

He was just Lando.

And she was just Y/N.

Two people slowly stitching themselves back together in each other’s company.

—

Later that week, back at the McLaren simulator center, Oscar cornered him.

"Mate," Oscar said, arms crossed, smirking. "I don't know what's going on with you, but you're like... different."

Lando raised a brow. "Different how?"

Oscar waved a hand vaguely. "You're not snapping at the engineers every ten minutes. You’re smiling for no reason. You’re even letting Zac beat you at table tennis. It’s creepy."

Lando rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the small smile tugging at his mouth.

"Maybe I’m just... happier," he said, almost daring Oscar to make fun of him.

Oscar stared at him for a beat longer than necessary. Then he smiled — real and wide — and clapped Lando on the shoulder.

"'Bout time," he said simply.

And Lando felt it, deep in his bones — the way change sneaks in when you’re not looking.

—

The whispers started then.

Tiny things.

Jon joking during a debrief about Lando "finally being a human again." A mechanic muttering under his breath, "Whatever he’s doing lately, it’s working."

No one said her name. No one knew.

But Lando did.

Every smile. Every lighter step. Every deep breath that didn't feel like it might choke him —

It all traced back to her.

To the girl who handed him a terrible cup of diner coffee. To the girl who laughed at his terrible drawings and beat him at trivia. To the girl who never once asked him to be anyone but himself.

The things he carried used to be heavy. Expectations. Guilt. Fear.

Now he was starting to carry something else.

Hope. Home. Her.

And for once, he wasn’t afraid of the weight.

———

Chapter 11: The Space Between Us

It should have been just another night.

Pizza. A stupid romcom playing on her tiny TV. Them fighting over who got the last slice (he let her win, obviously).

Nothing special. Nothing earth-shattering.

Except, everything about her was starting to feel like home.

—

Y/N was sitting cross-legged on the couch, sketching lazily on a cheap canvas balanced on her knees. Not serious, just doodles, jokes, lines that curled and stretched into something messy and alive.

Lando sprawled beside her, feet kicked up on the coffee table, tossing a gummy bear up in the air and trying (badly) to catch it in his mouth.

He missed.

Again.

She snorted, not even looking up. "World-class athlete, huh?"

"Don’t mock me," he muttered, launching another gummy with more dramatic flair.

It bounced off his nose.

She laughed so hard she had to put the canvas down.

He grinned, basking in it — the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes crinkled at the edges, the easy way she existed around him without expecting anything.

God, he thought, chest tight, how am I supposed to tell her?

Because he had to.

He couldn't keep her in the dark anymore. Not when she mattered this much.

Not when he was falling for her so fast it left him breathless.

—

His phone buzzed.

He ignored it at first, tossing another gummy bear and — miracle of miracles — actually catching it.

"Finally!" she cheered mockingly, raising her arms like a referee signaling a goal.

He bowed deeply from the couch, grinning like an idiot.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

She frowned, reaching over and tapping the screen.

He moved too late.

A string of notifications flashed across it — Zak Brown: "Need you to review media schedule for Monaco ASAP." Jon: "Sky Sports wants the updated PR package, don't forget..." McLaren PR: "Final approval needed for your feature story."

Her hand froze mid-tap.

Their eyes met.

For a long second, neither of them said anything.

The movie kept playing — a background hum — but the room had shifted.

The bubble they lived in cracked just a little.

Not broken. Not shattered.

Just… cracked.

Enough to let the truth start to bleed through.

"You..." she started, voice slow, careful. "You're... not just a karting guy, are you?"

Lando swallowed hard.

"No," he said softly.

He sat up, hands knotting in his lap.

"I should've told you sooner," he said, voice rough around the edges. "I didn't want to lie, I just... I liked being 'just me' with you for a while."

She set the canvas aside, facing him fully now.

Waiting.

Not judging. Not running.

Waiting.

He blew out a breath.

"I'm a Formula 1 driver," he said finally. "For McLaren."

Silence.

Only the ticking of the clock on the wall, and the movie’s muffled dialogue filling the space between them.

Y/N blinked once.

Twice.

Then, to his complete shock — she smiled.

Small. Soft. A little sad, but sure.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "That... makes sense."

He stared at her, heart hammering so hard he thought it might crack his ribs.

"You’re not..." He couldn’t even finish the sentence. Not freaking out. Not treating him differently. Not shrinking away.

She shook her head slowly.

"You’re still you," she said simply. "Still the guy who sucks at drawing and cheats at trivia and eats more gummy bears than anyone should legally consume."

He let out a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a laugh and maybe something else. Something wrecked and grateful and so in love he didn’t know what to do with it.

"You’re not mad?" he asked, voice breaking slightly.

She smiled wider, bumping his knee with hers.

"I’m only mad you didn't trust me sooner."

The words hit him like a gut punch.

Because she was right. And because she still wasn’t walking away.

She was still here. Still choosing him.

Lando scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to pull himself together.

"I’m sorry," he said thickly. "I was scared."

Y/N’s voice softened.

"I get scared too, you know."

He looked up sharply.

She shrugged, eyes shining with something he couldn’t name yet.

"Scared that if I let someone close," she said quietly, "they'll leave when they see the mess."

He exhaled shakily.

"I’m not leaving," he said without thinking.

The words slipped out — raw, unvarnished, real.

And she looked at him like maybe — just maybe — she believed him.

—

They didn’t say much after that.

They didn’t need to.

They just sat there knees brushing, hearts pounding, the space between them growing smaller with every shared breath.

And somewhere in that cracked, messy, beautiful night, Lando realized something he couldn't take back:

He wasn’t just falling.

He had already fallen.

———

Chapter 12: Somewhere Only We Know

The days after Lando told her the truth felt... different.

Not bad. Not awkward.

Just more.

More glances held a little too long. More touches that lingered longer than necessary. More silences that said everything without saying a word.

—

One night, they ended up at the same diner where it all began — the Bluebird Diner — tucked into their old booth, pretending not to notice how their knees brushed under the table.

Y/N doodled absentmindedly on a napkin, humming along to the jukebox in the background.

Lando watched her — the way her hair fell across her face, the soft curve of her smile — and felt something so sharp and tender in his chest it almost hurt.

He wanted to bottle this moment. Save it for when the world inevitably tried to tear it apart.

Because it would. He knew it would.

Nothing this good ever stayed untouched.

—

Outside, the night buzzed with the low hum of neon signs and distant traffic. They lingered by his car, neither wanting to leave first.

"You know," she said, voice light but eyes serious, "you don’t have to keep pretending the world isn’t watching."

He stiffened.

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged, kicking a pebble across the parking lot. "I mean... I see it. The looks. The whispers. The people snapping pictures when they think you’re not paying attention."

He looked away, throat tight.

"I hate it," he muttered. "I hate that it touches you, too."

She stepped closer, bumping her shoulder against his.

"Hey," she said softly. "You don't have to protect me from your world. I'm not afraid of it."

He closed his eyes briefly, fighting the surge of emotion that rose up.

"I'm afraid of losing this," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "This — us — whatever we are... it feels like the only real thing I have left sometimes."

She reached out, fingers brushing his hand.

"You’re not losing me," she said simply.

And he believed her. God help him, he believed her.

—

But reality had other plans.

The next morning, the headlines started.

Not full-blown scandal. Just... whispers.

Grainy photos snapped by some kid outside the diner. A blurry shot of Lando holding the door open for Y/N. Another one of them laughing by the car, heads tilted close together.

The captions were worse.

"New girl? Mystery companion? Has Lando Norris finally been tamed?"

Lando stared at his phone screen, a sick feeling curling low in his stomach.

It wasn't her fault. It was never her fault.

But he knew what came next. The curiosity. The questions. The pressure.

He couldn't — wouldn't — drag her into that world unless she chose it.

And he hated that choice was even necessary.

—

That night, he picked her up without saying where they were going.

Just,

"Pack a bag. Something comfortable. Trust me."

She didn’t question it.

Just grabbed a backpack, threw on a hoodie, and climbed into the passenger seat with a smile that cracked him open a little more.

—

They drove for hours — past city lights, past towns that flickered and faded, into the wild, open darkness of nowhere.

Finally, he pulled off a side road, tires crunching over gravel, and parked near a cluster of old cabins nestled against a quiet lake.

No paparazzi. No fans. No noise.

Just them.

The real world — the hungry, clawing, endless real world — left behind like a bad dream.

Y/N climbed out, stretching her arms over her head, staring up at the blanket of stars above them.

"This is..." she breathed, spinning slowly in the gravel. "This is magic."

He watched her, heart in his throat.

"It's ours," he said quietly. "Just ours."

She smiled at him — wide, unguarded, beautiful.

And in that moment, Lando swore he’d do anything to protect this. Her. Them.

No matter what came next.

Even if the whole world tried to tear it down — he was ready to fight for it.

For her.

———

Chapter 13: Everything All at Once

The swing creaked under them as they rocked lazily back and forth.

The mug of hot chocolate sat forgotten between them, the stars blinking overhead, the lake whispering against the shore.

Y/N tugged the blanket higher around her shoulders, nudging his side with her elbow.

"You’re quiet," she said softly.

Lando leaned back against the swing’s chains, staring up at the sky.

"Just thinking."

"That’s dangerous," she teased, a smile pulling at her mouth.

He snorted, bumping her back lightly. "Harsh."

She shrugged, grinning. "You set yourself up for it."

He smiled — real, wide, the kind that made her chest ache — and let the silence stretch for a beat before speaking again.

"You ever think about how small we are?" he asked quietly. "Like... look at all that," he gestured up at the sky, "and we’re just... here."

Y/N tilted her head, looking up. "Yeah. I think about it all the time."

"You scared of it?" he asked, glancing sideways at her.

She shook her head. "Nah. It's kinda beautiful, isn't it? Being small. Means you can still choose where you want to go."

Lando looked at her — really looked at her — and felt something shift low in his chest.

God, how did he get so lucky?

How did he find her when he didn’t even know what he was looking for?

—

He noticed her shiver, just barely, and before he even thought about it, he reached out and tugged the blanket tighter around her.

Their hands brushed. Paused.

Stayed.

She looked up at him, eyes wide, vulnerable.

He swallowed hard, his heart thudding so loud he was sure she could hear it.

"I don't want to lose this," he said suddenly, voice rough and broken around the edges.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring herself to him without even realizing it.

"You’re not going to," she whispered back. "You’re stuck with me now."

He let out a shaky laugh — part relief, part terror — and leaned in before he could talk himself out of it.

The kiss was soft at first.

Gentle.

Almost hesitant.

Like asking a question neither of them had the words for yet.

But she answered — God, she answered — pressing closer, threading her fingers through his hair, breathing him in like he was air and she had been drowning.

The swing creaked under them, the blanket slipped off their shoulders, but neither of them cared.

They were too busy trying to memorize the shape of each other.

—

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, Lando closed his eyes and whispered against her skin.

"I think I was falling before I even knew it."

Y/N smiled — small and stunned and beautiful — and whispered back,

"Me too."

He kissed her again because there was no other way to survive it.

Because love had been blooming quietly between them for weeks — in stolen glances, stupid trivia games, late-night coffee, and messy drawings.

And now it was here.

Messy. Breathless. Unstoppable.

Everything. All at once.

———

PART 2

[hellfire--cult]

Edit of Eddie: pitifulbaby

Chapters: Masterlist (Go here to see list of chapters, plotline and general warnings.)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Slow burn, Modern!AU, Mechanic!Eddie

⚠️18+: angst, so much angst, grieving, talk about loss, softness, fluff, lots of feelings, smut implications at the end, thanks

wc: 11.6k

A/N: Welp, WELP, after so long, one of my main visions is finally written. Thank you @andvys for proofreading and correcting my grammar mistakessss. Sorry, I lied last chapter, next one is when the omegaverse omegaverses a bit... or did i lie?

Anyways, Enjoy! ❤️ And don't forget to always support me by hitting the reblog button or leave a comment!

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CHAPTER 25

You were restless. 

Your nails were between your lips as you paced your apartment, waiting for Eddie to message you back. You found out about the news through Steve, who messaged the entire group. Your heart plummeted to the depths of your stomach, and you didn’t know how to process the news. Tears ran down your cheeks before you could stop them, and the sadness shook all over your body. 

You messaged Eddie then, but you didn’t get any response. You waited and waited, and only a day later, he answered in the morning. 

‘I’m having the funeral now.’

Words could not be enough to express how you felt. He was there in Hawkins, alone, and you wanted to get into your car and drive those three hours to get to where he was so he wouldn’t be by himself. But you had to think clearly, not drastically. You told him to message you whenever he needed, and that he could call you at any time.

He didn’t.

You pushed your negative feelings towards Steve aside, bothering him every day to tell you if he knew anything about Eddie, or when he was going to return, but Steve was as clueless as you were. 

It had been a week since Wayne’s birthday, two since his funeral. You knew by now that Eddie liked to deal with these kinds of things alone, but you didn’t think he would leave Steve aside. Robin told you how distraught Steve was. He deeply cared for Wayne, too, and he was wrecked that he wasn’t attending his funeral. You felt sad for Steve because Wayne must have been like an uncle to him, a second family.

But Steve told you that he couldn’t be mad at Eddie for it. It wasn’t something easy, much less after everything they both went through together. He could visit Wayne’s grave later, and he was glad that the last memory he had of the old man was a red tint on his cheeks from the whiskey and a smile on his face. 

You should feel the same, but the worry for Eddie only kept growing the more you didn’t know about his whereabouts. Now, you were debating calling off from work in the next three days, needing to go find Eddie for yourself, at least ask him if he is okay, and leave. You didn’t need anything else. You just needed to know that Eddie was fine.

The week had been excruciating for you because you couldn’t focus on work. How could you? The man you have feelings for is not answering any of your texts, and he just lost his last family member. How could you be relaxed in a situation like that? Now Saturday, you hadn’t stopped thinking about Eddie a single second. Your stomach was in knots, screaming at you to do something, anything to make the nerves calm down. 

But what could you possibly do? 

Your phone started beeping, and you quickly took it out of your pocket to see Robin calling you. You gasped, answering in a hurried manner.

“Robs? Any news?” “We are coming to pick you up! Eddie is at home! We just passed by his house, and his car is there!” You sighed with relief, and you quickly rushed to grab your purse, your phone, and keys, not caring about anything else. Nothing else really mattered. You needed to make sure he was alive, and he was fine, and that he didn’t need anything else, at least for now.

“Okay! I’m heading down!” You hung up, feeling your heart thumping at your chest with desperation, and you rushed out of your house. You couldn’t even think straight or rationally; you just wanted to see Eddie. You had to see Eddie. There was this pull at your chest that was making you feel hopeless by not knowing where he was. You felt numb and empty after a week of complete radio silence.

It was an understandable situation, but he could at least tell you all that he was fine. He could tell you all when he was going to return or when he did, like now. You had passed by his house many times, and the day you didn’t, he returned. For fucks sake. 

You were out of your building, looking towards the street, your feet bouncing in place as you bit your bottom lip. The anxiety was overwhelming you, because if Eddie hadn’t talked to any of you about his comeback, it was because he definitely wanted to be alone. You wished you could let him have his privacy, but you were worried. Too worried, and Steve was too. 

You saw the BMW pulling up, rather quickly, and it stopped right in front of you with a slight screech. Robin moved her hands for you to get in, and you rushed into the backseat of the car. You felt your heart in your throat as you clung onto Robin’s headrest. 

Steve turned his head to look at you once before he started to drive. You had bags under your eyes, you looked spent, as if something had been sucked out of your body and left you limp. 

Your breathing was heavy as Steve drove, and you could hear Robin asking you if you were fine, but you kept shaking your head. You weren’t. You weren’t going to be until you knew what was going on with Eddie. The depths of your feelings were more than what you had thought, but it was not time to think about those right now. No.

You arrived at Eddie’s in record time, and Steve pulled the brake quickly, before unbuckling himself and getting out. You followed at the same speed, Robin right behind you two. You three rushed up the stairs, and you saw Steve deliberating whether to knock on the door or use the spare key in his hand. 

He decided to knock a few times, desperately. You were waiting expectantly outside, gulping as you three stood in front of the door.

“EDDIE! It’s us! We– We saw your car, we just want to make sure you’re okay!” Steve tried, and he waited for a bit, licking his lips as nervousness rushed all over his body. He cursed under his breath, looking at the key in his hand and–

The door clicked, and you held your breath in. Slowly, it opened, and Eddie stood on the other side. He looked… He looked void. Empty. A vessel made out of a human corpse. You frowned at the sight, not being able to hold back on your worry, on how your heart tugged in desperation of wanting to pull him into your arms.

Steve gulped as he stared at his friend, who had yet to look up at him. Robin grabbed your hand from behind Steve, silently telling you that she was here with you, and you couldn’t be more grateful because you felt as if your knees were about to break on you. 

“Eddie–” Steve talked, and Eddie had his hair down, wearing a white buttoned-up long-sleeved formal shirt and black dress pants. He never changed out of the funeral clothes. The mourning ones. It’s been two days. Your jaw clenched as you tried to look for his eyes, but he wasn’t looking at any of you.

“I’m alive.” He slowly stepped back, turning around to give his back to the three of you. You wanted to rush forward and hug him, but you knew that Eddie was vulnerable, very susceptible. You didn’t want to overstep the boundaries he probably had right now but– but fuck.

Steve was the first to slowly step in, and his heart clenched when he saw boxes inside Eddie’s home, one in particular with the word ‘Mugs’ on it. He knew that was Wayne’s collection, and Eddie had also done the moving of his stuff by himself. He wanted to curse at his best friend, but it wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the right moment.

You followed Steve, looking around with tears filling your eyes. You couldn’t help it. How could you when you knew the man you care for deeply might be suffering in silence? Your eyes fell back on Eddie’s back, seeing his hair cascading all over the white shirt. Steve licked his lips as he measured his words.

“We wanted… We wanted to make sure you were okay– We are here if you need us. You need to know that we are here.” He tried, trying to make Eddie budge, yet the man didn’t turn around. You felt your heart clench in pain as you looked at Steve, begging him to keep trying. Steve winced, gulping before he continued. “Eddie, please–”

“I want to do this alone. I will be fine in a few days. You guys don’t need to worry about me.” His voice was cold, emotionless. Your bottom lip trembled as you softly called out to him.

“Eddie…” You saw his body tensing slightly at your voice. You took a step forward, not caring for the boundaries anymore, but a hand over your chest stopped you. Steve was looking at you in pain, and you knew that he actually didn’t want to stop you, but he knew Eddie better than you did in this stuff. He knew how to handle Eddie when he became like this. 

Your foot slowly retreated, painfully so. You didn’t want to go. You wanted to run and hug him and take care of him. You wanted to hold him tight and comfort him. But you couldn’t do it if he didn’t open up to you, and you couldn’t make him do so. Steve also looked pained, but Robin put a hand on his shoulder for support, giving him a small comforting smile.

The brown haired man sighed, shaking his head a bit with a sigh. He admitted defeat as he looked down at the floor.

“At least try to message us back. Let us know you are alright. We are here if you need anything at all, Eddie.” With that, Steve turned around and looked at you with a frown. His words were not there, but it was enough for you to understand. ‘We can’t do more than this.’

It pained you. Your eyes filled with silent tears as you looked at Eddie, who didn’t turn around for a single second. You gulped and nodded, turning back around to finally leave with Steve and Robin. You felt defeated as you three walked to the door, and you should be happy with knowing he was here, alive, and breathing, but it wasn’t enough. You weren’t satisfied, you weren't relieved. You knew Steve felt the exact same, but the three of you couldn’t break the wall Eddie had built so easily. 

You were about to cross the front door, right after Robin, only to be stopped by a sudden pull.

Your eyes widened when you felt a rough hand grab onto your left one, tightly. You slowly turned around to see Eddie, getting closer to you as he pulled you towards him, his other hand joining his hold on you, as if to make sure you weren't going to slip away. Steve and Robin turned around, stunned, eyes wide as they looked at the interaction. 

“Peach…” It was silent, rough, and his eyebrows were meeting in the middle. Your heartstrings tightened at the sight, and Eddie’s body flushed against your side, like a puppy looking for comfort. 

You turned to look at Steve and Robin, and Steve’s eyes went back and forth between you and Eddie. You didn’t know what was going on through his mind, but Eddie was showing that he wanted you to stay. Only you.

“I’m… I’m staying here with him. I’ll keep you guys updated, okay?” You said softly, the hands around your left one tightening, silently begging you to hurry and come inside. Steve’s eyes drifted towards Eddie, who was looking at the top of your head, magnetized to you, in need of you. Steve’s jaw clenched, his words soft as he spoke to you.

“Okay. Take care of him, alright?” 

You were surprised by his words, not really expecting him to give you such a big green light after how he had been with you the past weeks. Robin smiled at you, giving you a nod.

“Tell me if you need anything from your apartment.” You gave her a nod, and she waved at you, walking down the stairs with Steve right behind her. The man turned around one last time at the bottom of the stairs, seeing you urging Eddie inside with soft words. The door closed, and Steve took a deep breath before going back to the car.

Inside the house, your instincts kicked in, your right hand grabbing onto his forearm to try to make him look at you. His eyes found yours, and you saw the ticking bomb that resided in them. You had to act fast. You needed to make it comfortable for him so he could rest, or better yet, let it all out.

“Eds, let’s go to your room, get you out of those clothes, and get into bed, okay?” You softly spoke, which Eddie nodded slowly. He never let go of your hand as you guided him upstairs. Once you two reached his room, you made him sit on the bed, kissing his hands so he could let go of yours. He reluctantly did so, and you moved towards the dresser to get some sweatpants out for him to wear. 

You walked towards him and started unbuttoning his shirt, then his cuffs, so you could pull it off his body. Fuck, was he thinner? Has he eaten in the past week? Worry ran over your body, but you kept it down with a gulp as you helped him remove his shoes and pants. It was not the time for any questions. As he put on the sweatpants, you took the opportunity to get yourself comfortable. You took off your own pants and shirt, and Eddie was not even looking at you as you did. You put on a shirt of his and grabbed his hands to guide him to the side of the bed, opening the blanket for him.

“Come on…” He moved at your command, slowly, but he got into the bed as his eyes searched for you. You pulled the blanket over him and rushed around the bed to get in on the other side.

Your heart was aching, and your instincts, your feelings, were talking for you. You moved a bit further up into the pillow, opening your arm as you reached for him with the other, “Come here…”

He slowly moved closer to you, and he almost looked as if he were in a state of shock. You realized that maybe he was. He definitely was. His head came in contact with your chest, and your arms wrapped around him, tightly. You wanted to sob, finally having him back in your arms, and you wished he wasn’t feeling like this. You wished that the circumstances were different because you didn’t want him to be in pain. You didn’t want him to hurt.

“Wayne.” He said as your hand ran over his hair, starting to gently rub as your chin pressed at the top of his head. Tears filled your eyes as you gave him a short nod.

“Yeah… Let it out, Eddie…” 

And his body started shaking, his arms wrapping around you like a vice, holding onto you for dear life. You clenched your eyes as you heard his first sob. Then another. Then loud cries of pain, of anguish, of loss. His nails were digging into your back, but you didn’t even feel them. You couldn’t care less. He needed this. He needed you. 

You have never thought you would hear him cry like this. Mouth open as he let out his sobs, his wails, his whimpers. You felt the front of your shirt dampen more and more each second that passed, and all you could do was hold him. You rocked him gently, trying to soothe him, but you never shushed him. You never tried to calm him down when all he needed was to cry.

Your throat was closed up as you tried to hold your own sobs in, but your tears fell freely. He cried and cried for what seemed like hours. Sob, through sob, and when you thought he had fallen asleep or calmed down, they started back up again. You held him through it, and your movements never stopped. Your hand running over his hair, the slight rocking of your body, your legs tangling with his, so he would feel your warmth all over his body.

You never once separated yourself from him.

Only when he fell asleep, you managed to slip away so you could wash your face and relieve yourself in the toilet. You took deep breaths as you looked at your reflection in the mirror, weighing your options. You couldn’t leave Eddie alone. Your body could not physically do it, even if your mind told you that you had to at some point. 

You had to make sure he ate, you had to make sure that he took care of himself, and you had to help him with everything he brought back from Hawkins. It wasn’t going to be easy, mentally, physically, and emotionally, and you knew that he would need support. You brushed your teeth before heading back into the bedroom, seeing Eddie clutching onto the blanket, his entire body in a ball position, all turned into itself.

Your heart ached, and you walked towards your phone to text Robin. You messaged her that everything was alright, but Eddie needed support. You told her to bring you some clothes for the day and for work, and necessities the next day, so you could stay at Eddie’s for as much as he needed. 

You went back into the bed, trying not to wake him up, but as soon as you got in, his body sought yours. His arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling you into his chest, and you sighed with delight, knowing that he was alright and in your arms. Your eyes closed instantly, and you let the darkness take you away, falling asleep to Eddie’s soft breaths.

The next day, you awoke first at 9 AM, untangling yourself from him so you could put on a pair of his shorts before heading downstairs. You looked around, seeing all the boxes, the suitcases, and you knew this was going to be a journey. This was going to be something tough, and you wondered if you could even do this by yourself. 

You decided to cook something and try to make Eddie eat before even tackling any conversation. You prepared some scrambled eggs, toast, coffee, and juice, taking your time to do so. You left your plate and your coffee on the kitchen’s island counter, and you bit your lip as you put all of that on a tray, praying to whatever god was up there not to let you fall down the stairs.

The tray clanked a bit as you walked slowly up the stairs, focusing on not letting anything drop or fall. You sighed with relief once you got to the top, moving towards the bedroom to see Eddie sitting up on his bed. His hair was disheveled from sleep. You two went to sleep rather early, and now it was 10:30 AM. 

“Hey, I made you some breakfast…” You softly spoke as you walked towards the bed, sat down next to him, and placed the tray of food on the bed. He looked at it, his eyes bloodshot and puffy, the scruff on his chin longer and unkept. His voice was rough and raspy, and you saw him gulp at the sight of food.

“Not really hungry, Peach…” 

“You gotta eat.” Eddie shot a glare your way, but you kept your stance, pointing at the food. “I made this for you.”

“So because you made it for me, I gotta eat it?” 

“Yes.” 

He fell silent for a second, but then he moved, placing the tray on his lap. He frowned for a second and then looked back up at you.

“Where’s yours?” He asked, and you pointed down.

“Downstairs, didn’t fit in the tray–” He crossed his arms over his chest and laid back on the headboard of his bed. Your mouth fell open, and you rolled your eyes at him. “Seriously? You aren’t going to eat?”

“If you bring your breakfast up here and eat with me, yes.” You couldn’t help but feel a little tug on your lips going upwards, finding this rather endearing than childish. 

“God, such a kid.” You got up from the bed and went back downstairs to get another tray and do another silent prayer before returning to the bedroom. Once you returned, he was still in the same position as before.

“So slow.” You shot a glare his way as you walked to the bed, sitting down next to him with the tray on your lap.

“Do you know how much balancing I have to do walking up the stairs with this?” He gave a chuckle. Just one. It was enough to make your hopes rise again, a small weight being lifted off your shoulders. It was a small win, but a win nonetheless. 

“Skill issue.” Was his short answer, and you saw how he started eating his food. He started slow, only to then start devouring it all. You held in a sigh of relief when you saw him finally ingesting something in his system, not really knowing when was the last time he did so. 

You ate in silence, inspecting his movements, inspecting the way he ate. You drank your coffee, and once it was all finished, you turned to look at Eddie, who was rubbing his eyes. Your heart clenched as you pushed the trays aside, getting up from the bed, rounding it to get to Eddie. Your hands reached for his, thumbs rubbing against the top of his palms.

“Come on, you want a bath or a shower?” He didn’t answer, so you gave him a small tug, making him groan.

“I don’t want to shower.”

“Well, you’re stinky. So a bath it is.” You let go of his hands to go to the bathroom to get the bath ready. You made it not too hot like you would have liked it, knowing Eddie takes colder showers. You waited for the bath to fill up, hearing Eddie’s steps coming towards the bathroom. You turned to look at him, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit broken by looking at him in this state. You wanted to fix it, to make it better, and you were hoping that you were.

You stood up as the sound of the water splashing in the tub filled the room, the bit of steam making it warm up. The shampoo and conditioner were all there for him to use, but he didn’t make a move to take his pants off. You tilted your head, knowing he wanted to say something, but he wasn’t doing so. But you knew what he needed. 

Your hands came to rip the shirt off your body, as well as taking your pants off. His eyes moved to find yours, and he shook his head slowly, grabbing your hand to stop you from taking your underwear off as well.

“It’s cold for you.”

“I’m a big girl. I can handle a bit of cold.” You were happy he remembered how you liked the temperature of your water, but for him, you would dip yourself in the Arctic Ocean. He needed you right now. You weren’t going to let temperatures or commodities get in between you and him. 

You two got in the bath together, and you made sure not to wet your hair, not wanting to wash it just yet, but you helped Eddie wash his. As you rubbed the shampoo into his hair, you could hear sniffles coming from him, and you let him cry. You heard him take deep breaths as if to try to calm himself down a couple of times, but the sniffles came back. When you faced him to wash his face, tears were streaming down his cheeks, breaking your heart. He looked at you almost helplessly, and you just wanted to wrap your arms around him and never let go. Not even for a second.

But the water turned colder and colder, and you had to. You got out first, wrapping a towel around your body. He got out and wrapped one as well around his waist, before grabbing another one for his hair. You snatched it from his hands, making him raise an eyebrow your way.

You didn’t say a word as you walked out of the bathroom and then into the bedroom. You sat down on the edge of the bed, and you nodded towards the floor. Eddie immediately understood and sat down at your feet. You dried his hair with the towel, rubbing your hands all over and shaking it, making a few chuckles escape him as well as some winces. 

The day went on, and you prepared lunch for the two of you. Some quick pasta, but you told Eddie that you two had to eat something healthy at night, so you would have to go out and get groceries. 

“Please, don’t…” He winced at his own words, at his own plea. He didn’t want you to leave, but maybe he felt selfish by requesting this from you. You bit your lip and nodded, grabbing his hand over the counter.

“Okay, Robin is coming over just to bring me some clothes and things. I’ll tell her to go to the market to get me some food. I’m staying here until you kick me out, Munson.” You tried saying in a lighthearted manner, but his grip on your hand tightened, and then, his lips found your temple. Your heart burst into flames in your chest, and you hummed in appreciation.

“Thank you…” 

When Robin came by a few hours later, she tried asking a few things, but mostly if there was anything else she could do, as well as Steve. The others have been wanting to reach out to Eddie as well, but it seemed as if everyone knew that all he needed was time. You thanked Robin, closing the door and walking to the couch with her bag of clothes. 

He had a photo album on his lap as ‘The Office’ played in the background. He looked up at you when he heard the zip of the bag, and you scrunched up your nose at the clothes your best friend picked up for you. 

“God damnit, Robin.” He tilted his head, trying to look over to see what the problem was.

“What is it?”

“Let’s say that she grabbed the first things she saw out of my work clothes drawer and stashed them inside this bag.” You sighed, shaking your head. “I will have to get some clothes before going to work tomorrow–” 

And you heard his breath hitch. Your eyes found his, and he looked lost, desperate, as if he wanted to say something. Your heart clenched tightly in your chest, the pit of your stomach just becoming hollow. You sighed, getting your phone out of your back pocket, texting your boss. Eddie snapped out of his shock, so it seemed, and he stuttered as he spoke to you.

“What are you doing?”

“Just a sec.” You asked as you waited for your boss to answer to you. Eddie was really your demise, wasn’t he? Your phone dinged, and you nodded, sitting down next to him. “Okay, I’m not going to work this week.”

His eyes widened, shaking his head at you.

“You have the training, your boss is going on leave soon–”

“And I am an impeccable worker who has no job left undone. I told her I needed to take care of a personal matter that might take a while, regarding a loss.” You brushed a stray hair that fell on the side of his face, putting it behind his ear. “It’s fine.”

You gave him an encouraging smile, and he was just looking at you as if you weren’t even there. As if you were a figment of his imagination. You opened your mouth to talk again, but both his hands came up to cradle your cheeks, and then his lips came to rest on top of yours, tenderly and very softly.

Your body got goosebumps all over, electricity running through your entire spine that made everything feel more intense than before. It was the first kiss he gave you after he came back from Hawkins, the first kiss after his Uncle’s birthday party. The world was silent around you two, and when he pulled away, his lips still hovering over yours, you knew you couldn’t be free of Eddie. Not anymore.

“Thank you… Thank you so much, Peach…”

Three days passed, and Eddie started to slowly come back to himself. 

You helped him clean the house, fix the schedule for his shop, and even went to get groceries with him. You wondered what Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle thought of you staying in his house, or maybe they didn’t even know you were there. 

Steve had been messaging you all this time, asking you to keep him updated on Eddie’s health and how he was acting. It broke your heart knowing Steve wanted to be there for his best friend as well, but Eddie was making no moves on inviting more people over or getting out of the house to do so. 

But you were completely thrown back when he stood next to you as he dried the glasses you finished cleaning in the sink.

“I’ll invite Steve over today. I want him to help me sort out… the boxes.” You were almost wide-eyed in surprise when you heard that. The boxes were the one thing you dreaded the most, knowing how hard that would be for Eddie, but now, your chest filled with warmth, knowing he wanted to do it with his best friend. 

You nodded in agreement, kissing his bicep as he let out a sigh of what seemed like relief. You turned off the water, drying your hands on a kitchen cloth.

“You want me out for that?” You asked, and his head whipped quickly your way, a frown forming in his eyebrows. He looked almost comical, but you held the giggle back.

“No. You are not allowed to leave.” You scoffed, shaking your head at him.

“I should call the police, I’m being held hostage.” You joked, and he dropped the cloth with a slam on the counter, and his arms came to wrap tightly around your waist, making you giggle in surprise as he raised you, lifting you in the air, smiling up at you. Your feet kicked as he walked towards the living room. “Okay, put me down!”

“Nope, I want you to fully give your vocal consent, you're staying out of your own free will.” You giggled as his arms were still tightly wrapped around you, and you saw his smile as you tried to wiggle yourself free from his grasp. 

“Fine, fine! I’m staying out of my own free will! I’m not being held hostage!” He gave a huff of approval before putting you down on the ground again. You were pouting at him, and he shook his head, leaning down to kiss you softly.

“Don’t pout at me.” His phone gave a small ding, and he pulled it out, not hiding the screen from you, which only made you feel proud. You saw it was Steve, responding to Eddie’s text. “He is free today.”

You gave him a nod, and you saw how he hesitated on typing the message out. His thumb was over the letters, and your hands squeezed his waist in encouragement. You heard him take a sharp intake of breath before his thumb started moving. ‘Will you come over to help me out with Wayne’s boxes?’

You knew that simple text was a lot for Eddie. You could hear his breathing becoming shaky, and you waited right there with him for Steve’s response. His eyes were not moving away from his phone screen, while yours were not moving away from him. Once Steve agreed to come over, you saw Eddie sigh in relief, putting his phone back into his pocket.

“So, he’s coming?” Eddie looked at you, a small smirk appearing on his lips as he opened his mouth, but you quickly covered it with your hand, glaring at him. “Can you not make it dirty?”

“I ws–fnna–say, he isff.” He mumbled into your palm, and you nodded, taking it away from him. “But who knows, maybe he was busy before and that’s why he took some time to answer–”

You left his side, turning instantly, acting as if you were fed up with his commentary, but deep down, you were grateful his comedic side was coming back up. He was slowly returning to himself, but you were still taking care of his actions. He sometimes zoned out or took a while in the shower, more than he was accustomed to. But the jokes started back up this morning, when he woke up and told you that you farted in your sleep.

He said it with a laugh, so you don’t really know if it was the truth or not, and even in your embarrassment, you were happy to see that cheeky smile on him again. 

Now, another kind of situation was coming up, which was the fact that Eddie did not want you to leave despite Steve coming over. You weren’t sure how that conversation was going to turn out, but you still hoped that Steve being here would help Eddie as well. Your thoughts were cut off when two strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you close to a chest, tightly.

“I said you were not allowed to leave.” He said, mimicking a growl. You giggled, shaking your head, rolling your eyes at his attitude.

“Definitely held hostage.”

“Fine, guilty as fucking charged, Peach.” And then he bit your neck, gently, but it was enough to send a shiver all over your body, goosebumps rising on your skin, hair standing on your arms. Your belly flipped over, and you couldn’t help but feel so blissful despite the situation. 

“What are you? A vampire?” 

“Vleh, vleh, vleh.” You snorted before starting to laugh hysterically. He loved Hotel Transylvania from the moment you two watched it together by chance. You just selected something random while having breakfast together one time, and he got hooked. He laughed, and he told you to never tell anyone that he liked a cartoon movie that much.

A little secret, one of the many, that you two shared together. 

An hour later, the doorbell rang. Your heart got out of your throat a bit as you knew this was going to be awkward for the two of them. You wondered if you really should be here or not. Eddie asked you not to, but you couldn’t help but believe that you weren’t supposed to. You were preparing some snacks, knowing that fixing up and arranging what’s inside the boxes would take a while. Doing these kinds of things always took someone down memory lane.

Eddie walked down the stairs, drying his wet curls with a small towel, grunting on each step. You frowned, turning your head, raising an eyebrow at him.

“What’s with the grunting?”

“He has a spare key! Why do I have to open the door?” You shook your head and turned your head to keep cutting the carrots as Eddie opened the door, revealing Steve Harrington on the other side, looking like always, but you knew he wasn’t in an extremely cheery mood. 

“I heard you, Munson. Don't know if you remember, but last time I barged in, I caught you and someone else in a little predicament.” Steve rolled his eyes, and you winced in shame. You could see how he stood there for a second, his hand moving on his side, as if he were in pain. Your heart ached, knowing Steve probably wanted to hug Eddie, to give and seek comfort. Eddie stepped out of the way, walking back inside to let Steve in.

Your eyes locked with his as he finally spotted you in the kitchen. You noticed the tension, not knowing how to act with one another. You weren’t Eddie’s girlfriend, and Steve didn’t seem to enjoy the idea of that when he found out about you two together, to the point of making Eddie doubt continuing this friends-with-benefits situation. 

He walked over to you and patted you on the shoulder, surprising you slightly.

“You alright?” He called your name, and you nodded a bit, handing him a carrot, which he took before dipping it into the cream cheese and taking a bite.

“Yeah, you?” You noticed how he didn’t respond to you for a few seconds, as if debating his answer. He then gave you a slow nod as his eyes followed Eddie heading to the boxes. He looked at you and then gave a little jerk of his head in Eddie’s direction. He was asking you about his best friend. You gave a thumbs up, followed by a small shrug. He was okay, but that can be very volatile.

Steve nodded and walked towards his best friend, looking down at the first box. You stood in the kitchen, looking over at them as they talked, starting to pull stuff out of it. It was Wayne’s cutlery, which wasn’t much, and not really that fancy, but they were used with love and care. Steve grabbed onto the penguin wine jar, lifting it up.

“I will never understand this purchase.” Eddie scrunched up his nose, looking at it as Steve showed it off. 

“Me neither… But man, did we use it.” You heard Eddie say, and Steve smiled a bit, putting it on the coffee table. You took a bite out of a chip, and the crunch made Eddie snap his head your way. He made a grabby hand at you, and you rolled your eyes, grabbing the bowl and walking towards them. 

He grabbed a handful and shoved the chips in his mouth, and you smacked him over the head. Steve snorted at the action, turning his head to hide his laughter at Eddie’s shocked face, slowly turning to look at you.

“Gentle, jesus fucking christ.” You shook your head, putting the bowl on the coffee table as well, so they could keep munching. You looked down into the box, spotting something shiny. You reached down, getting hold of it, pulling it out, and– Eddie and Steve started cracking up while you scrunched your nose at it. 

In your hand was a paper weight in the form of a tit. Nipple and all. You turned to Eddie and you showed it to him, making him cover his eyes as he laughed, as if remembering stuff when seeing it after so long.

“I can’t believe he held onto that shit.” Eddie coughed out, and Steve shook his head, wiping a tear that threatened to fall down.

“I can’t believe it either.” You were still looking at the fake breast in your hand, which was also quite heavy. Eddie calmed down, the smile still on his lips. He gently got hold of it and inspected it as he turned it over a few times.

“I gifted this to him with my first pay. I thought it was just going to be left as a joke… but he kept it.” Your frown fell immediately as he looked at the object in his hand. Steve also stopped laughing, yet his smile didn’t leave his lips. He returned to pulling things out of the box, and you opted to sit down on the couch, letting the men do it, feeling like you were inserting yourself in a moment that belonged to them only.

Items and some little pieces of furniture started coming out of the boxes, one by one, each with a small story from Eddie’s part, and sometimes, Steve would join in. Some of them didn’t have anything to tell, but others were kept in their hands for minutes as they laughed and talked, inspecting the item over and over again.

You then saw the most dreaded box being opened. The ‘Mugs’ one. For some reason, you felt like this was the one box you shouldn’t be present for. You slowly got up, and you were unnoticed as you walked up the stairs slowly, leaving the two men alone. You sat at the very top, listening to the stories Eddie told with each cup he pulled out, finding new information and new memories you didn’t know about.

Steve laughed at a few, telling Eddie how they always looked silly to him, and Eddie couldn’t agree more with him. But then, there was silence. You blinked a few times, not hearing anything at all, until finally– sniffles. Harsh breaths.

You hunched down a bit, trying not to make a sound to peek from the top of the stairs, and there you saw Steve, holding Eddie tightly against him. You pressed your hand to your chest as your eyes filled with tears. Eddie held onto Steve, his face buried in his shoulder as he cried. Steve wasn’t far behind, hearing a few of his small sobs and sniffles.

“I miss him.” Eddie confessed, as if no one really knew that. Steve nodded, and his arms tightened around his best friend.

“Yeah, I know. I know, Eddie. Me too.” Steve’s voice was broken, and you felt your own tears sliding down your cheeks as you listened to them from afar.

“I should have let you come to the funeral, I shouldn’t have–”

“You couldn’t. It’s okay, I know. You were in shock, it’s alright.” You took a deep breath in, deciding to leave them alone. You walked towards the bathroom to wash your face. You took deep breaths in as you held onto the sink, trying to center yourself. You were happy Eddie could be with his best friend, that he finally let himself be vulnerable in front of someone else. He probably needed Steve, he just didn’t realize how much.

You waited for a few more minutes, deciding to go to the bedroom to change the sheets for new ones. Then you scrolled on your phone for a while, texting Robin about Steve being there at Eddie’s. She replied she knew. She asked if there was any news or if you had talked with Eddie, but it was not the time. You weren’t going to bombard him with the ‘What are we?’ question. He needed you, and that was it, whatever that meant.

You heard a loud thump downstairs, making you sit straight up on the bed, followed by Steve’s insane laughter. You got up from the bed, rushing down the stairs only to see Eddie face down on the floor, his legs over a box he tripped over. You immediately cracked up at the sight, and you heard a grunt of pain coming from him, his hands slowly moving to press against the floor to pull himself up and glare at the both of you.

“You assholes, can’t you help me instead of laughing at me?” Steve crossed his arms over his chest and looked at you. His eyes were red from crying, but you weren’t going to point it out, nor Eddie’s red nose, be it from the fall or the crying. You smiled cheekily at Steve, shaking your head, both of you speaking at the same time.

“Nah.” 

“Wow, I thought you were going to at least be better than him, Peach.” He groaned as he got up, wincing as he rubbed his right elbow. You giggled as you walked towards him, getting hold of the elbow yourself as he pouted.

“Aw, did you do a boo boo?” Eddie only glared at you, but you didn’t miss the hint of a smile on his lips as he spoke.

“I’m gonna cause one to you as well if you don’t stop making fun of poor ol’ me.” You mocked him, still rubbing onto his elbow tenderly, something that Steve didn’t miss.

“If you don’t stop making fun of poor ol’ me, blah, blah, blah.” Your voice was nasal, and a finger of his came to poke your side, making you flinch away with a giggle. Steve just stood there, looking and inspecting every movement, but you didn’t care.

“Let’s go buy those shelves for the mugs, we need somewhere to put them.” Steve said, and Eddie turned his head, nodding. Your head turned towards the kitchen counter, seeing all the collected mugs there. 

The Garfield one was the one that stuck out the most.

Saturday.

And everyone was at Eddie’s. Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, Robin, Argyle, and Eden. Finally, Eddie agreed to see the rest of the group, letting them come over to his house for drinks. The mugs were now on shelves at the top of Eddie’s TV, and putting them up was actually a mess, and it got Steve to bandage his index finger because he missed a nail with the hammer. 

But now they were up there for everyone to see. Nancy had a private talk with Eddie when she arrived, and immediately the two of them went up to his room. When she came back down, her eyes were reddened, as well as Eddie's. Not as bad as the past few days, but it was a relief to see him back to himself, and this time, you could say, entirely.

“He seems fine.” Robin said with a smile, and you nodded, looking at Eddie talking to Argyle, who was going on about opening his own pizza place down in the city. You smiled fondly, seeing his own on his lips. Everyone came over not to talk about what happened to him, not really dismissing it either, but rather be there to bring a smile to Eddie’s face.

“Yeah, it was a rough week… He really didn’t want to be alone.” Robin nodded, putting an arm around your shoulder, her voice lowering as she swirled the whiskey and coke glass she had in her hand.

“He didn’t want YOU to leave… cause he let Steve go easily that day…” She took a sip of her drink as you looked down at your beer bottle. “You still think there’s no chance? At this point, I think you’re joking.”

“It wasn’t the appropriate time to have that conversation, Robs.” You pointed out and she nodded, murmuring an ‘I know, I know’. 

“Nancy suspects it, you know.” She confessed, and your eyes widened, looking at her. “Eddie sent a picture to her yesterday, and she spotted your jacket in the hanger. I tried telling her it might be the jacket from someone else, that yours isn’t one of a kind–”

“Fuck, but Robs, it is. She knows it.” The blue denim jacket with the Dior brand on the back. It was a gift from Liana, made specifically for you, for helping her with one of the contracts. It was done with embroidery, something you really like on clothes. Your eyes turned to look at Nancy, who was talking with Jonathan and Eden, smiling as they blabbered. Shit.

“I didn’t know if she would remember or not. She is giving Eddie the benefit of the doubt…” You felt guilt wash over you as you closed your eyes, sighing, taking a sip of your beer. “She is not going to be mad, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“How do you know?” You turned your head to look at her, and she shrugged, smiling at you.

“Cause she looked happy and excited when she saw it.” You blinked a few times, frowning as your eyes turned to look at Steve, who was preparing himself a drink at the kitchen counter in the corner. Another close friend of Eddie was happy that if he were dating someone, that would be you… So why not Steve?

“Well… Bet she will be mad at Eddie for not telling her, though.” Robin thought for a second and then nodded once.

“Yeah, that might happen.” Eddie’s eyes locked with yours after Argyle walked towards Steve to steal his drink, and then you saw him look at Robin, a frown forming on his eyebrows. You tilted your head in question as he walked towards you both, taking a sip of the beer in his hand.

“And what are you two ladies talking about?” He asked, and you opened your mouth to say something, but Robin interrupted immediately.

“About having some balls for once and doing what you feel… shit like that.” Your eyes widened as your head snapped to look at her as if she were crazy. Eddie’s eyes fell on Robin’s arm over your shoulders, and then looked down at you.

“Having balls? To do what?” Your mouth opened and closed for a few seconds, and then you felt Robin retract herself from you, humming as she walked over to Nancy.

“I have no idea, I guess about Argyle.” Eddie looked at you for one more second before giving a slow nod. His free hand came to scratch the back of his neck as he took a deep breath in.

“Um… You’re staying tonight again, right?” He asked, almost shyly, as if you would say no to him. You squinted a bit at him, acting as if you were annoyed.

“Wasn’t this a hostage situation?” He glared at you for a second before turning his head, looking around. You frowned, moving your head to see what he was looking at, only for him to turn back quickly and peck your lips, almost painfully, thanks to the force of it. You reeled back, putting your hand over your mouth. “What are you doing!?” 

“They weren’t looking, Peach. But yes, you’re staying.” Your heart skipped a beat as he looked at you in a way you didn’t quite know how to describe. Your body was lit on fire, the need to hold him rushing back into your veins like a bull stampede, and you blamed the small bit of alcohol for it. The half beer you drank. 

You two didn’t touch each other that way all week. It was just a lot of holding one another close, cuddling to sleep, watching TV, kissing every now and then, but never getting to the next level of it. It didn’t feel right to do so, and there was no need.

But tonight that need came back.

And you felt it on him, too. You felt it in the room, even with all your friends in it. There was this feeling, this intuition that something was happening tonight for the two of you, and your body was already shaking with anticipation. You wanted everyone in the room gone, immediately, but you knew you couldn’t do that. 

So you two went back to the rest of the people as if nothing had just happened, acting as if you arrived at his house before everyone else did. Your eyes kept clashing with his, the tension only rising the more time passed. You tried paying attention to Jonathan, talking to you about his new cocktails in the bar, you tried paying attention to Eden talking about how she is about to graduate in Computer Engineering, but you kept being drawn back to him, like a magnet.

Two hours later, the people started to slowly leave the house, the last ones being Steve, Robin, and Nancy. How were you going to lie to Nancy? What was your excuse for staying? Should you act like you were leaving? Should you say you were gonna go to the toilet before heading out?

“You’re staying to help Eddie clean, right?” Her voice interrupted, and her eyes were on you, a smile on her lips. She knew. She wasn’t doubting. She wasn’t suspecting it. 

“Y-Yeah, I think so…” You responded as Eddie put an arm around your shoulders, showing off the amount of cups and snacks on the tables and counters with his free hand, as if presenting a masterpiece. You groaned at the display, whining as you pouted. “You all are a fucking mess, it’s literally just eight people. How can eight people do this!?”

“We’re animals, sweetheart.” You heard Nancy’s giggle, making you turn your head to see her looking at Eddie for a few seconds before grabbing Robin’s hand. Steve glanced at the both of you, but mostly, his eyes were on Eddie. You turned to look at him, only to find him staring down at you, making your stomach knot into itself.

“Well, off we go. I’m tired as fuck, and my finger is hurting again.” Steve snapped you out of your trance, making you look at him. You nodded while he gave a wave before walking out. Robin winked your way, and Nancy was still smiling as the door closed behind her.

And now, it was just you and Eddie. 

You felt your heart about to kill you from how fast it was beating. It felt as if a bomb was ticking uncontrollably now, close to detonation. You felt his arm leave your shoulders, making you look up at him. He was smiling innocently, pulling his sleeves up towards his elbows.

“Well, time to start cleaning.” Your mouth fell open, and you huffed, shaking your head. You didn’t want to clean. Not tonight. You walked towards the kitchen island counter and hopped on, crossing your arms and legs while frowning at him. He was still smiling, mimicking your arms, crossing them over his chest.

“I don’t want to clean.”

“Oh, and what does little Peach want to do, hm?” He was teasing you, testing you, and you could feel the tension slowly build up in the room, the more he stared at you. 

“Sleep.” You absolutely did not want to sleep, but even if you did feel like tonight you two might do something more than just mere touches and kisses, you didn’t want to push Eddie into it. His smile faltered slightly, and he let out a sigh, shaking his head and walking over to the other counter to start throwing the cans and bottles into the trash.

“Yeah, I guess cleaning can wait till tomorrow.” His voice was slow, making you uncross your arms from your chest as well as your legs, frowning as you stared at his back. “It was nice seeing everyone today.”

Your heart warmed up at his words, and you nodded, not caring that he couldn’t see you right now.

“It was… Was Nance… mad that she couldn’t visit you before?” You were testing him to see if he would tell you what had happened with Nancy in his room. Maybe she did confront him about you two, but by his shrug, you assumed she didn’t.

“Oh, not exactly… More like, disappointed… Told me I was an idiot for thinking I was alone in this and all…”

“But you aren’t alone. You know that.” And he went silent for a second, his movements stopping, and you felt a chill running down your spine, as if it knew that something was changing in the air right now.

“Yeah… I’m not alone anymore… Especially not with you… Right, Peach?”

He slowly turned to face you, and your breath was knocked out of your lungs as your face started heating up. He looked so serious, yet it didn’t look threatening or anything like that. It was just a serious face for a serious conversation. Your eyes averted, not being able to contain the nerves that slowly invaded you, looking at your lap.

“I… Define ‘Especially not with you’.” You wanted to know if what he meant was more than physical. If what he meant was more than just two bodies finding pleasure with one another. If what he meant was more than just getting together to satisfy each other, and that was it. 

He gulped, and you saw him take a deep breath in, making you look up at him again. He was still looking at you, his eyes never leaving your face. His hand came to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous tick you know he had by now. He was nervous. Eddie was nervous.

“I think it’s time for the two of us to have that talk.” Your world stopped. Oh, fuck. Your breathing quickened a bit, and your chest felt heavy as you felt sweat on your fingertips. Your nerves were causing havoc inside of you, and you were becoming a wreck by the second. The only way for you to maneuver over this topic was comedy.

“You’re making it sound like… It’s the end of the world.” Probably not the best joke. Not one that should be done in a moment like this, but you felt like the entire world was watching you two right now, waiting for the next move. Eddie looked at you, shaking his head, taking a deep breath in before he began talking.

“Peach… What we do it’s not something normal friends with benefits do.” Your heart was already plummeting to the floor. Have you read the signs wrong? Have you gotten hopeful for nothing? 

“I– Well, I do know that…” Your eyes were locked with his, and time stood still for a few seconds before he took a step towards you, making the hairs on your arms stand up.

“You know this is not just… that then. Right?” 

The air got knocked out of your lungs. Was he saying what you thought he was saying? Were you understanding wrong? You couldn’t disguise the desperation that lingered in your voice when you talked, feeling a lump starting to form in your throat, and you felt so stupid for becoming emotional, but– Fuck, it’s been months.

“I– What is it, then?” Eddie got taken aback by your words, his eyes showing nervousness as he took more steps your way, closing the distance, slowly.

“Peach, I think you know…” His hands finally came to touch your knees, looking at them for a few seconds as he deliberated his next words. “I— I need to know if we’re on the same page right here because–”

His jaw clenched, and you felt like you were soaring into the sky, not realizing you weren’t answering him, not even moving towards him. He was right there for you, for the taking. He was here, and he was confessing himself to you. You weren’t wrong. Robin was right. This was happening. He was happening. Due to your lack of response, he kept talking,

“I have to leave if you aren’t, Peach. I need to walk out of it before I–” And your eyes widened, your hands finding his in a rushed manner, and your legs opened to push him close to you, for him to get in between as you shook your head desperately. No. No. No. He can’t walk away from you. No.

“No– No… I’m–” Fuck, why are you so choked up? Why can’t you talk properly? Why? He just stood there, his head tilting in question. You wondered if his heart was about to explode in the same way yours was about to.

“You?” You closed your eyes as you gulped down the lump as best as you could.

“I– Fuck, you should know how I feel about you now, I– By the way I act, or– What I do…” You cringed at your words, shit. This wasn’t romantic at all. This wasn’t the amazing confession you had rehearsed in your mind a thousand times, and now that it’s here, you were acting poorly.

He wasn’t answering, so you looked up at him, his serious face slowly turning into a cheeky smile, his dimples showing off your way. You frowned slightly, wondering why he was smiling like that, even if it made your breath stutter.

“I know. I can read people like the back of my hand, remember? I just wanted you to say it out loud. Admit you are crazy for me and all that.” 

Your mouth fell open at his words, frowning in slight annoyance. Why would he play with you like that? He knew? He knew about your feelings all along? He knew how he made you feel, yet never said anything or acted upon it? Or well, maybe he was, just now how you expected, but still. You pressed your hands on his chest and pushed him slightly, away from you, which he only stumbled back one step.

“You dick! I hate–” 

Your words were cut off instantly when two rough hands came to cradle your cheeks, pulling you into a deep kiss that stole every breath and word away. A kiss that you knew was not like the others because you could feel it in every movement and in the way he held you. His body flushed against yours, and your hands moved to grip his waist, feeling your cheeks burning with happiness, with nervousness, with embarrassment.

One of his hands went to the back of your neck to pull you even deeper into the kiss. He groaned a bit into your lips as you two moved in a dance you had been rehearsing for months now. He was holding your head as if he were holding a treasure, holding you just like he held that Garfield mug. 

You could feel the heat coming off of him; the more he kissed you, the more it all intensified. His shirt was crumpling under your fists as you tried to move him closer, but it was impossible at this point. Your mind was turned into mush, the world around you was nonexistent, and it was just him. Everything was him.

His lips slowly separated from you with a smack, his breath hitting your lips as he kept stealing pecks. He was almost agitated, desperate, vulnerable.

“I like you, Peach…” Another kiss that detonated your poor heart, along with his words. Those words you were expecting to hear at one point, hoping that they were at all there. “Fuck, I– I really fucking like you…”

You didn’t know if you were breathing. It all felt like a dream. It didn’t feel real just because of how perfect it was, how perfect it felt to have your feelings be reciprocated in this manner, with the same intensity. But he had to know it too. You had to come back to your senses. You had to find your voice again.

“I really like you too, Eddie…” He smiled against your lips, prompting you to do it as well, a joyous giggle escaping you before he kissed you again. The hand behind your neck moved to cradle your other cheek once again. He pulled away, his eyes looking for your hazy ones as you two breathed heavily.

“Say you’re mine…” His eyes showed an intensity like never before, and you were still in awe at the whole situation. He gulped, scanning your face as he waited for your answer. “I need to hear it… I need to hear you say you’re mine and mine only, sweetheart.”

You didn’t know why there was any need for that. He should know it. He should know you were his and have been his for a long while now. But maybe he wanted to hear it from you. And you would comply, because either way, it was the truth.

“I’m yours, Eds… Just yours…” He smiled widely, and you thought you saw him tremble, before he pulled your face in for another searing kiss. You felt your eyes fill up with tears, but you weren’t going to fight them this time. There was no need to fight against your feelings anymore.

“Hell yes…” He cheered onto your lips, making you chuckle as he kept kissing you, never stopping. You wanted to know, too. You wanted to hear him say it too. You pulled away from the kiss, but your lips never stopped brushing his.

“What about you?” His eyes found yours, and you’ve never seen him looking down at you this way. It felt as if you were his entire world right now. Was it conceited to believe that? Was it too much to think that way? He gave a huff before talking, his voice low, rough, yet deep with emotion.

“I’m yours, Peach… I’m all yours.” His hands now wrapped tightly around your entire frame as yours wrapped around his shoulders. You could feel him rubbing your back as he kissed you again, sealing the confession. You were on cloud nine, or on another planet, from how light you felt. The nerves were still there, the turning in your stomach was still happening, but now it was for another reason entirely.

Happiness.

You were so happy. You could feel it in him too, as he kissed you, deepening the kiss after a while. His tongue danced with yours as his hips clashed against you, eliciting some small moans against his lips. The temperature around you was quickly building up, and all you wanted was to hold him in the most intimate of ways. This would be different from all those other times. This was going to be completely different.

His hands moved downwards towards the back of your thighs. You felt him grip you tightly before he did a little hop and moved away from the counter, making you gasp through the kiss and cross your legs around his waist. You pulled away from the kiss as he chuckled, walking towards the stairs. Your eyes widened, shaking your head, yet a smile was on your lips.

“I swear, Eddie, if you drop me on the stairs–”

“I am not going to drop you, Peach!” He walked while carrying you as if you were feather light. If he was putting in any effort, he was not showing it. You clung to him as you whined at each step he took on the narrow staircase. “I carried Steve up here once. Princess style.”

“What!?” Your head snapped to look at him, and he was smiling, nodding as he finally reached the top.

“He was blasted off drunk, and he couldn’t help me at all. The couch was taken by Nancy, so I had to make due. She didn’t want to sleep in my bed.” You rolled your eyes, your teeth nipping on his jaw, making him groan your way.

“I wonder why… Slut.” His eyes widened, looking at you for a few seconds as if he couldn’t believe what you had just called him. Your heart was too joyful to care about the consequences of your comment, and he glared at you before smirking.

“You’re calling me a slut, huh?” And just like that, you were thrown onto the bed, making you squeal as you bounced against the mattress. He was instantly crawling on top of you after he took his shoes off. He was smirking, and there was lust in his eyes, lots of it, but something else resided in them now, something more tender. “Guess I have to remind you just how bad of a slut you turn for me, Peach.” 

He was dirty-talking to you, but there was another tone to it. It was still the same volume, the same vibrato, the same rough, lustful implication, yet it was different. Everything was different. 

From the way that he kissed you stupid into the bed, from the way he undressed you, from the way he kissed down your entire body, from the way he didn’t hold back when marking you this time. He left hickies on your neck, on your sides, on your legs, and with these, you knew everything was actually real. It was happening. Eddie was marking you as yours. 

So you did the same. 

When you got on top of him, you made sure to mark him in the same manner, and he didn’t stop you, nor complain. In fact, it was as if Eddie was more vocal than before. He kept calling your name, over and over and over. He called you ‘Baby.’ You kissed him all over, his nose, his cheeks, his collarbones, his chest, and his legs, just everywhere. 

You rode him as he held you close, kissing your neck, nibbling in between the crook of it and your shoulder. His forehead was sweaty as you two moaned and groaned against each other. Calling one another's names over and over again.

You fluttered around him as he kissed your neck, then your shoulder, and you climaxed when he sucked on your skin, marking you up again. He tipped over the edge just a second after you did, and he was left looking at you, still holding you close to him as you straddled his hips.

“My girl.” You smiled breathlessly at the nickname, and he moved the two of you, laying you down on the bed without moving from inside of you. He kissed the tip of your nose, then your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin as if he were to bite down, pressing himself even deeper inside of you, making you choke on your breath. “Mine…”

You felt emotional, tears threatening to fill your eyes as you held him close to you. Nothing could compare to this moment. You were his, and he was yours. After this, there would be no more hiding, no more secrets, and you could go out in public, be like this with your friends, around strangers, finally introducing Eddie to your mom. You could barely believe it.

“Yours… Just yours, Eddie…”

Finally.

end of chapter 25

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