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svthui · 3 days ago

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Like Real People Do

Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!Reader

Synopsis: He was just your kind, taken coworker — until he wasn’t. Now he’s looking at you differently, and hope is harder to ignore.

Genre: Coworker AU, coworkers to lovers, slow-burn romance, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, modern office setting, angst, fluff.

Content Warnings: MDNI; strong language, themes of longing and emotional healing, soft smut. Please read responsibly.

note: fulfilling my fantasy of nanami as a finance bro but not the cringe type of finance bro

PART 1 >>>

PART TWO

The retreat ended.

The games, the fire, the late-night confessions — all packed away with the empty beer bottles and leftover chips. Life returned to fluorescent lights, expense reports, and awkward hallway nods from people you’d seen singing karaoke at 2 a.m.

Everything was normal again.

Almost.

Except Nanami.

He didn’t change, exactly. He still arrived fifteen minutes early. Still wore his crisp button-downs and corrected sloppy spreadsheet formulas with that calm, methodical air of someone who’d long since accepted mediocrity as a personal offense.

But there was something different now.

Maybe it was the way he started stopping by your desk more often — not for urgent work, but just... to ask how your morning was. Or to pass along an article he thought you’d like. Or to mention that the coffee from the new shop across the street was slightly better than the one in the building café.

Polite, as always. But it lingered now. His presence. His words.

He lingered.

And then one Tuesday, just as you were shutting your laptop for lunch, he appeared beside your desk — quiet, like always.

“Are you free?” he asked.

You blinked up at him. “Uh—?”

“For lunch,” he clarified. “I was going to the Italian place near the station. Thought maybe you’d want to join.”

Your brain stuttered. Tripped. Slid down a metaphorical hill.

Because yes, of course you’d want to join. You’d join him for jury duty if he asked. But this wasn’t a work lunch. He didn’t say we need to talk about the team debrief or can I run through the proposal one more time.

He just said lunch.

You stared at him. Probably too long.

“…Sure,” you managed.

He nodded. “Alright. I’ll wait by the elevator.”

He walked away.

You stared at your monitor like it held answers.

It didn’t.

You didn’t even get a full thirty seconds of internal screaming before Utahime plopped into the seat beside yours, Shoko trailing just behind her with a cup of tea and that smirk on her face.

“You’re going to lunch with Nanami?” Utahime asked, not bothering to hide her glee.

You blinked. “How—”

“We have ears,” Shoko replied. “And eyes.”

“You’re glowing,” Utahime added.

“I’m not—”

“Oh, you are,” she sing-songed, leaning closer. “So. Did he finally realize you’re in love with him, or is he just suddenly craving company over carbs?”

“I’m not—” you tried, then stopped yourself.

Because what was the point?

They knew.

They’d always known.

And now they were looking at you like something had shifted — like all your quiet, careful longing might finally have moved an inch toward being seen.

But you couldn’t let it be more than what it was.

It was just lunch.

Right?

“He’s probably just being nice,” you muttered. “We worked together on the retreat. Maybe it’s a thank-you thing.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “You mean a thank-you that couldn’t have been handled by email?”

Utahime snorted. “He likes you.”

You stared down at your phone, pretending to check messages. “He had a girlfriend for years. I’m not just going to assume—”

“She’s his ex, now,” Shoko cut in, sipping her tea. “And he’s a grown man. If he didn’t want to spend time with you, he wouldn’t ask.”

“Still,” you whispered. “Why now? Why me?”

Utahime softened. “Why not you?”

You didn’t have an answer.

Because the truth was — you’d spent so long loving him silently, quietly, behind the polite veil of coworker distance, that even this — this tiny inch of closeness — felt like too much.

Like if you reached for it, it might break.

Like maybe hoping was still dangerous.

But still… you found yourself checking your reflection before you headed to the elevator. Fixing your hair. Smoothing your shirt. Pressing your lips together to hide a smile you weren’t supposed to wear yet.

He was already waiting when you stepped out.

And he smiled — small, soft, but real.

“Ready?” he asked.

And somehow, despite the chaos in your chest, you nodded.

“Yeah,” you said.

Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Even though nothing about it felt easy at all.

It started happening every day.

Just before lunch, Nanami would appear like clockwork by your desk, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable but warm.

“Are you free?”

You always were. Even when you weren’t, you found a way to be.

At first, you thought it was a fluke. A one-off. Maybe he was just easing back into post-breakup normalcy and you were the safest option — the polite coworker, the familiar lunch companion who knew how to make a boring conversation about budget forecasts less soul-crushing.

But when it happened the next day… and then the day after… and then again, every day for a week — you stopped pretending it didn’t mean something.

Even if you still didn’t know what it meant.

Utahime pouted dramatically behind her bento box, arms crossed and a tragic expression on her face. “You’re abandoning us. For a man.”

Shoko stole a fry off her tray. “She’s not abandoning us. She’s just consistently choosing Nanami over us.”

“That’s worse!” Utahime hissed, then turned to you with mock betrayal in her eyes. “We used to talk about bad dates and annoying managers and how Gojo definitely doesn’t do real CEO work—now you’re having candlelit lunches with your crush of three years.”

“There are no candles,” you deadpanned.

“Give it a week,” Shoko muttered.

You tried to laugh it off, but your face was warm.

You knew what they were doing — teasing, but gently. Encouraging, but not pushing.

You appreciated it more than you could say.

Still, you lowered your voice.

“It’s not… like that. He’s just being nice. It’s probably a phase.”

Utahime snorted. “He doesn’t do phases. Nanami is the most consistent man alive. If he didn’t want to have lunch with you every day, he wouldn’t.”

You hated how much that made your stomach flip.

But you didn’t argue.

Because deep down, you wanted it to be true.

Friday came.

The office was unusually quiet for end-of-week, and you were halfway through proofreading a quarterly update when you heard his voice again, soft and low.

“Lunch?”

You didn’t even blink anymore.

“Let me grab my wallet.”

He waited for you like he always did. No rush. No pressure. Just… waiting.

And again, like always, you went.

Lunch was warm that day — late summer sun spilling across the table outside the café, the buzz of people passing by.

He ordered your usual. Didn’t ask. Just… remembered.

And halfway through discussing how overdone team-building emails had become, he paused and looked at you with a thoughtful sort of calm.

“Do you have plans this weekend?”

You blinked. Fork halfway to your mouth.

“Um… not really?”

He nodded once, then took a sip of his drink. “There’s a flea market downtown on Sunday. I usually go in the mornings.”

You said nothing.

He went on.

“They’ve got decent coffee and some old books sometimes. I thought—if you’re free, maybe you’d want to come?”

There it was.

Not just lunch anymore.

Something that stepped one toe over the line of routine and into something else entirely.

You stared at him, unsure if you’d heard him right. If your brain was adding details that weren’t really there.

He was calm. Casual.

But you weren’t.

Your pulse was racing, your thoughts scrambled.

And worst of all—you were terrified to say yes.

Because if you did… if you accepted what sounded like not just a friendly outing, and he took it back or clarified that it wasn’t that kind of thing, you weren’t sure you’d recover your dignity.

So you said, carefully,

“Are you sure?”

Nanami tilted his head slightly. “About the market?”

You tried not to fidget. “About asking me.”

His brow furrowed.

Then something shifted — just slightly — in his eyes.

Softened.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Nodded once, trying not to look too hopeful.

“Alright,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I’ll come.”

And then he smiled.

Really smiled.

Not the polite one he wore during meetings. Not the barely-there one he gave during polite office banter.

But the kind of smile you’d seen once — by the campfire, when the world was quiet and you were both a little too honest.

The kind that made your chest ache in the best way.

“Good,” he said.

And you pretended your hands weren’t trembling under the table.

***

The text came at 9:04 AM.

Nanami: Outside.

Outside?

You sat frozen on the edge of your bed, halfway through curling your lashes, still in your pajama shorts and an oversized, very worn out T-shirt that you had since high school and had holes in them.

Your phone buzzed again.

Nanami: I figured I’d drive. The market’s a bit crowded for parking. Hope that’s alright.

You stared at the message like it might rewrite itself.

He never said he’d pick you up.

There’d been no logistics. No meet here at 10 or I’ll text when I’m leaving. You thought you’d have time to agonize over your outfit, run through ten different ways to act normal, and spiral in peace.

But he was already downstairs.

Waiting.

Outside your apartment.

You practically screamed as you dashed back to the mirror, knocking over a bottle of moisturizer in your panic.

You: I’m not ready yet oh my god you didn’t say you’d pick me up.

The reply came seconds later.

Nanami: That’s okay. Take your time.

Take your time.

Of course he’d say that. Of course he’d be calm and patient while you were sprinting through your apartment like your building was on fire.

You finally made it downstairs thirty minutes later, hair brushed, lashes curled, wearing the kind of outfit that looked casual enough to say this isn’t a date but good enough to make you spiral about whether it secretly was.

Nanami was leaning against his car, scrolling through his phone. He looked up the moment he heard you approaching.

You opened your mouth to apologize, but he just smiled — that quiet, real smile that made you forget how to function.

“You didn’t have to rush,” he said, and his voice was warm. “It’s Sunday.”

“I wasn’t rushing,” you lied, breathless.

He huffed something like a laugh, then tilted his head.

“You’ve got a little…” He gestured vaguely toward the side of your mouth. “Lipstick.”

You panicked again, fumbling with your sleeve, wiping at your lips like a maniac.

But before you could do more damage, he stepped in.

“Here,” he said gently, and raised his hand.

He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb — careful, slow, barely touching you at all.

But it was enough to short-circuit your entire nervous system.

“There,” he murmured. “All good.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

“Thanks,” you said finally, eyes not quite meeting his.

He opened the car door for you like a damn gentleman, and you slid in before your knees could give out.

The drive was quiet. Comfortably so.

Jazz played softly through the speakers. The sun was bright but gentle, filtered through the trees as the city woke up around you.

You stared out the window, heart doing gymnastics.

This isn’t a date.

It couldn’t be.

You were just coworkers. Friends, maybe. Friends who had lunch together. Friends who shared moments. Friends who…

Who wiped lipstick off your mouth and picked you up on a Sunday morning.

You snuck a glance at him.

Nanami had one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. He looked so relaxed, so natural — like this wasn’t strange at all. Like this was normal.

You wondered if his heart was racing too.

But you didn’t ask.

You just pressed your hands into your lap and stared at the passing streets.

Trying to remind yourself: this isn’t a date.

Even if, somewhere deep down, a part of you was quietly wishing it was.

Brunch happened before the market.

You didn’t plan it that way. You’d assumed you'd grab coffee from a stall, maybe split a crepe or something.

But Nanami parked in front of a quiet, cozy café tucked into a street that smelled like flowers and fresh bread.

“They have good omelets,” he said simply, as he opened the door for you.

It was small and warm inside, the kind of place that served coffee in mismatched mugs and played soft 80s music over gentle clatter from the kitchen. Somehow, it suited him — not flashy, not loud, just… comfortable.

He let you order first. Then his.

And when the food came, you talked. About things that didn’t feel like small talk. About what made you feel rested. What books you pretended to finish. He asked you if you liked your job, and you laughed like you didn’t know how to answer that.

But through it all, he was close.

Too close.

Every time you shifted in your seat, he did too — subtly, gently, always keeping just a little distance but never enough. When you stepped out into the street again, sunlight painting the sidewalks, you felt the electricity between your arms without ever touching.

You adjusted your tote bag on your shoulder and caught him glancing down at it.

“Let me carry that,” he said.

You blinked. “It’s fine, really.”

Nanami just held out his hand, patient as always. “I know it’s fine. I still want to.”

You didn’t know how to argue with that. Not when his voice was so calm. Not when he was looking at you like he meant it.

You handed it over, and your fingers brushed his in the transfer.

He held it by the straps, close to his side like it belonged there.

Like you belonged there.

The flea market sprawled over three blocks — packed with stalls, vintage booths, small local artists tucked between food carts and antique bookshelves. The air smelled like kettle corn and old wood and the sharp, sweet tang of ripe fruit.

Nanami stayed close as you walked, always beside you, like he was keeping watch. His presence was grounding, almost quieting, and yet your nerves never stopped buzzing.

You pointed out strange sculptures. He mocked them. You lingered by a ceramic stall and he nodded thoughtfully, then asked the vendor a question about glaze drying times.

You were turning toward a used book booth when you caught sight of a tiny stall tucked into a corner, its velvet display trays sparkling under the mid-morning sun.

Delicate chains. Gold and silver. Rings in tiny rows. Pearl pins, little charms.

You found yourself slowing.

Drawn in.

One bracelet caught your eye — silver chain, fine and soft-looking, with a small opal stone in the center. Iridescent. Pretty in a quiet kind of way.

You lingered for only a second before you moved on — but Nanami had already stopped.

“You liked that one,” he said simply.

You tried to wave it off. “It’s nice, but it’s okay.”

He looked at you. A long, unreadable moment. Then—

“You should get it.”

Your heart did something stupid in your chest.

“It’s okay,” you said again, quieter. “I don’t really—”

“I’ll buy it for you,” he said, already pulling his wallet out of his coat pocket like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You stared at him.

“Nanami—”

“It suits you,” he said, cutting off your protest before you could finish it. “And I want to.”

The vendor was already smiling, box in hand.

You wanted to stop him.

You should have stopped him.

But then his eyes flicked to yours — steady and warm, something like soft insistence beneath the calm.

And you let him.

You didn’t wear it immediately.

He didn’t ask you to.

But as you walked together through the rest of the market, your wrist tingled.

The sun began to climb higher, painting the market in golden heat. The stalls started to crowd with more people, voices layered over each other, children darting between displays with popsicles and sticky fingers.

You walked slowly through the vintage book aisle with Nanami, fingers grazing old spines and yellowing covers, the scent of paper and age warming the air.

He paused in front of a wooden crate of classics — leather-bound and worn at the edges.

You watched him run a thoughtful hand over the top of a copy of Les Misérables, the kind with gilded edges and someone’s scribbled name on the inside cover.

"You like that one?" you asked.

He nodded once. "I used to read it every year in college. I lost my copy in a move."

He didn’t say anything more, just moved on to the next shelf.

But you didn’t.

You reached in quietly, pulled the book from the crate, and turned it over in your hands. The price was scratched in pencil on the back — affordable. Barely more than a coffee.

You paid for it before he even noticed.

When you returned to his side, you nudged the book toward him.

"A thank-you. For the bracelet."

He blinked. Looked down at the book in your hands, then back at you.

"You didn’t have to—"

"I know," you said softly. "I still wanted to."

His expression flickered — just a moment — something quiet, something touched.

He took it gently, thumb brushing the edge.

"Thank you," he said, voice warm. “Now we’re even.”

You smiled, even though something about that made your chest ache.

Because you didn’t want to be even.

You wanted to owe him more. Or maybe — selfishly — you wanted him to owe you.

The sun was high now, and the heat had thickened, bouncing off the pavement. Nanami noticed your slight squint and gesture to wipe your brow.

"Come on," he said. "Let’s sit somewhere. I know a place."

He led you a block off the market trail — to a tucked-away café with tall glass windows and humming air conditioning, quiet despite the crowd outside.

Inside, the light was gentler. Soft. Diffused. The coolness settled over your skin like a blessing.

Nanami ordered an iced black coffee. You asked for a fruit tea with honey.

When your drinks came, he passed you yours first without a word, then settled into the seat across from you. The book sat between you on the table, still unopened. The little bracelet box was zipped into your bag, close to your chest.

Outside, the world buzzed.

Inside, it was still.

You sat for a while just like that, sipping your drinks, not needing to speak.

And yet the silence didn’t feel empty.

It felt like something waiting to be understood.

The café was calm — golden sunlight filtering through the windows, soft clinks of cutlery and quiet conversations surrounding you both like background music. You were seated across from Nanami, the table between you now scattered with empty glasses, napkins, and the old book he hadn’t stopped glancing at.

He hadn’t said much in the last few minutes — only watched you with that unreadable softness of his, sipping his coffee as if waiting for something.

And then his gaze flicked toward your bag.

“You’re not going to wear it?” he asked.

You blinked. “What?”

“The bracelet.”

Your fingers curled over the strap of your tote, warmth blooming at the base of your throat. “Oh. I— I was going to… later.”

A ghost of a smile touched the corners of his mouth.

“You should put it on now,” he said gently, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it didn’t feel like your heart was going to lurch out of your chest.

You hesitated. “Here?”

“Here’s fine.”

You gave him a wary glance, but he just sipped his coffee, like this wasn’t throwing your entire emotional equilibrium out the window.

So you reached into your bag and pulled out the little velvet box. It felt absurdly small and delicate in your hands.

Nanami watched as you unclasped the bracelet and fumbled briefly with the latch — fingers slightly trembling, the opal stone catching the light with every shift.

“Here,” he said, already reaching over. “Let me.”

You froze as he gently took the bracelet from you, his fingers brushing yours again — warm, steady.

He clasped it around your wrist in one fluid, practiced movement. Like he’d done it before. Like it was second nature.

The chain felt cold against your skin. You stared at it, dazed.

“It suits you,” he said again.

You looked up at him, smiling shyly.

That’s when you heard the click.

Your smile dropped. “Wait—did you just—”

He lowered his phone, entirely unapologetic.

“Did you just take a picture of me?!”

Nanami looked down at the screen and gave the faintest huff of laughter — the rare kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“You looked… happy.”

“Delete it,” you said, flustered beyond belief.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

You stared at him, scandalized, half-laughing. “Nanami—”

“I’m keeping it.”

You tried to lunge across the table to grab his phone. He simply tilted his body away, effortlessly dodging, clearly too practiced in calm evasion.

“I’ll sue,” you warned.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“You’re going to keep a photo of me looking like a lovestruck idiot over a bracelet?”

“You weren’t looking like an idiot,” he said plainly, eyes meeting yours. “You looked beautiful.”

The air stilled.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Neither of you said anything after that. Not for a long moment.

And maybe he didn’t mean it that way. Maybe he just meant it kindly, gently, the way Nanami always was.

But he smiled again, smaller now, quieter, like he knew exactly what he’d said and meant it all the same.

Your heart thudded painfully behind your ribs.

You looked down at your tea, then at the bracelet, and finally—at the man across from you who took a picture because he wanted to remember the exact way you looked in that moment.

And for the first time, you didn’t tell yourself to stop hoping.

Not yet.

You were still nursing the last of your tea, swirling the ice with your straw as the bracelet around your wrist shimmered in the dappled sunlight.

Nanami sat across from you, still calm, still warm — his elbows on the table, phone set aside, that small smile from earlier still lingering around the edges of his mouth.

You talked about the flea market. About how the kettle corn vendor tried to upsell you a family-sized bag. About how one of the vintage clothing stalls accidentally charged Nanami twice, and how he politely corrected them without missing a beat.

You laughed with him. You caught yourself smiling too easily.

And then— His gaze shifted past your shoulder, out the window.

Something in his posture changed.

Not tense — just alert. Familiar, even.

You turned, following his line of sight.

And you saw her.

His ex.

She was across the street, weaving through the crowd. Her hair was swept back, wearing a sundress that fluttered in the breeze. She looked like she belonged in this part of the city — effortless, lovely.

She hadn’t seen you yet.

But she’d definitely seen him.

She smiled.

And you felt your stomach quietly drop through the floor.

Nanami sat back in his seat, expression unreadable now. He let out a quiet breath.

“I should say hi,” he said, as if the air hadn’t shifted, as if your chest hadn’t just squeezed in on itself.

You tried to smile. You managed half of one. “Of course. I mean—yeah.”

“She probably just wants to catch up,” he added, already standing. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

You nodded like it didn’t hurt.

Like it wasn’t already unraveling the soft, sweet thread of whatever you’d been weaving together all day.

You watched him cross the street. Saw her light up when he reached her. They talked.

They laughed.

And something twisted in you.

You looked down at your hands, fingers fidgeting with the condensation on your glass. The bracelet caught the light again — a dull flash of silver and opal.

Fuck.

You swallowed hard.

Okay. Yeah. It’s not a date. It was never a date.

Just coworkers hanging out. That’s all it ever was. That’s all it could be.

They were together for years. Since high school. That kind of relationship doesn’t just… vanish. Not really. People like that always found their way back to each other. Some part of you always knew that.

You’d just… forgotten for a moment.

You looked back out the window.

She was tucking her hair behind her ear and smiling at him. His hand briefly touched her arm — just a gesture. Familiar. Too familiar.

You didn’t want to keep watching.

But you didn’t know where else to look.

So you sat there, alone in that quiet café, your tea watered down and your heart quieter still.

Reminding yourself that the bracelet on your wrist was just a gift.

That the smile he captured wasn’t proof of anything real.

That even when someone holds your bag and buys you something pretty and makes you laugh until your chest aches—

It still doesn’t mean anything.

Not really.

The little bell above the café door jingled softly.

You didn’t look up right away, but you felt it — the shift in the air. The weight of his presence again. The way the silence stretched, held, then settled like dust over your skin.

Nanami returned quietly, slipping back into his seat.

He didn’t speak at first.

You finally glanced at him.

His expression was soft — careful, even. Like he knew. Like he sensed something had shifted.

“She just wanted to say hi,” he said.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“And to return a book I forgot at her place,” he added, unnecessarily.

“Right.”

You smiled — or tried to. But you could feel it wavering at the corners.

“I forgot how close this café is to her apartment,” he continued. “Didn’t think we’d run into each other.”

“Sure.”

A pause.

He wasn’t stupid. You weren’t subtle.

Your fingers reached for your bag before you’d even decided what to say.

“I think I should head out,” you murmured, standing a little too quickly.

Nanami blinked, sitting up straighter. “Oh—already?”

“I just… I forgot I have to meet someone. Later.” You swallowed the guilt down fast, not even bothering to make the lie sound convincing. “A friend.”

His gaze searched your face.

You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Let me take you back,” he offered gently. “It’s no trouble.”

You shook your head too quickly. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just take the pass. The train’s faster this time of day, anyway.”

You could see the way his shoulders lowered. Just slightly. Like he didn’t want to let you go — not yet — but also didn’t want to push.

You hated that you were running.

You hated that he noticed.

“…All right,” he said after a beat. His voice was quiet, resigned. “Text me when you get home.”

You nodded, clutching your bag tighter.

You turned to go.

Then paused. Glanced over your shoulder.

And there it was — that look in his eyes. Something quietly hurt, but understanding. Not angry. Not bitter. Just… disappointed.

He didn’t stop you.

You wished he would.

But instead, he just watched you walk away — the bracelet still warm on your wrist, your heart sinking with every step toward the exit.

You stepped back into the sunlight and told yourself it was better this way.

Safer.

Cleaner.

Even if everything inside you screamed otherwise.

***

Monday came too fast.

The usual chaos of the office returned — reports piling in, slack messages pinging nonstop, meetings scheduled too early and running too long. Everything felt like it should’ve been normal.

Except you weren’t.

And neither was he.

Nanami greeted you that morning like he always did — a quiet “good morning” as he passed by your desk, a coffee in hand, his sleeves already rolled up, a blue pen tucked behind his ear.

You smiled.

Politely.

Not the way you used to. Not the way that reached your eyes. Just a small, thin, professional curve of your lips.

He paused, like he wanted to say something else — and then didn’t.

You went back to your screen.

The same thing happened in your shared morning meeting. He sat beside you, like he always did, even pulled your chair closer like it was second nature.

You thanked him.

Too formally.

He didn’t say anything, but he noticed.

Because Nanami wasn’t clueless. He just respected boundaries.

At exactly twelve noon, he stopped by your desk again. Casual. Warm.

“Lunch?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I’m having lunch with Utahime and Shoko today.”

There was a flicker — so quick you almost missed it. A pause in his breath, a slight shift in his stance. Not shock, not sadness — just the smallest fracture in his usual calm.

He nodded once. “I see.”

And then he walked away.

You turned back to your monitor.

Heart aching, throat tight.

But whatever.

So what if he was disappointed?

It shouldn’t mean anything. He shouldn’t mean anything.

This went on for days.

Every morning, he’d greet you like always — and you’d reply, pleasant and measured. Polite. So polite it almost felt cold.

He still pulled out your chair. Still handed you notes during meetings. Still passed you his pen without being asked.

But lunch invitations were fewer now. Less direct. Just quiet looks that didn’t always become words. And when he did ask — you always had plans.

You always had somewhere else to be.

Even if sometimes… you didn’t.

Shoko noticed first. She gave you a look over her sandwich that Wednesday and said, “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not,” you replied, biting into your food with unnecessary determination.

Utahime snorted. “You’re being weird on purpose.”

You ignored them both.

But later, when you passed Nanami in the hallway and he didn’t slow down the way he used to — when he only gave you a small nod instead of his usual, “Going somewhere?” — it stung more than you expected.

You told yourself you needed distance. You told yourself it was better this way.

But god, why did it feel like you were punishing the both of you?

***

The invitation came through late Friday afternoon.

Team dinner. Congrats on surviving the fiscal quarter.

Gojo’s message, of course — informal, overly enthusiastic, and signed off with three emojis and an accidental spreadsheet attachment.

You weren’t going to go.

Until Shoko peeked over your cubicle wall with her beer already half-finished and said, “You’re coming.”

Utahime leaned on the edge of your desk, smirking. “Don’t make us drag you.”

So you went.

The place was one of those casual izakayas just a block from the office — all warm lights, wood-paneled walls, and the smell of grilled meat and sesame oil already thick in the air. Someone was already shouting “cheers!” by the time you got there.

Nanami was already seated at the far end of the long table.

Of course.

And, of course, there was only one seat left open.

Right next to him.

You considered turning around. You really did.

But Utahime nudged you forward with her elbow and Shoko threw an arm around your shoulder, dragging you toward the noise, toward the people, toward him.

“Drink,” Shoko said, sliding a bottle toward you.

Nanami turned to you as you sat down — calm, collected as always. “Evening.”

You smiled. Polite. “Evening.”

He didn’t look at you again for the next twenty minutes.

Not when everyone laughed at something Gojo said. Not when someone ordered a round of sake bombs. Not even when Shoko leaned over and whispered something about a coworker’s ugly dating app bio.

He was talking to Haibara. Laughing quietly. Patiently listening to Ijichi retell the same boring story from a meeting last week. Pouring drinks for others.

Not for you.

You shouldn’t care. You had no right to care. You were the one who started this polite little wall between the two of you.

So why did it feel like you were the only one who kept glancing?

The night wore on.

The table got louder. Messier. Someone knocked over a sauce dish. Gojo was trying to convince Utahime to sing karaoke next door.

Shoko leaned into you at one point and muttered, “He keeps looking when you’re not looking.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t dare look.

Until someone passed you a bottle and you felt the faintest brush of his knuckles against yours.

You looked up, startled.

Nanami was watching you now.

Really watching.

His brow slightly furrowed, expression unreadable but gentle. Always so goddamn gentle.

He leaned closer, voice low — only for you.

“Can we talk?”

You froze.

“…Now?”

He nodded toward the side corridor. “Just for a minute.”

You didn’t move at first.

But eventually, you followed him.

The hallway was quieter. Dimmer. The noise of your coworkers was still faint in the background — someone was singing off-key and Gojo was probably leading the chaos — but here, it was just you and him.

Nanami turned to you, hands in his pockets.

“I didn’t want to bring this up at work,” he said, steady but careful. “Or rush you. But I need to ask.”

You swallowed. “Okay.”

He looked at you for a long, long moment.

Then asked, softly, “Did I do something wrong?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Did I make you uncomfortable that day?” he said. “At the café. Or before that. Because something changed. And I can’t stop wondering if I—”

“No,” you cut in, too quickly. “No, it’s not… you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then what happened?”

His voice wasn’t accusatory. It wasn’t frustrated or angry. Just… hurt. And trying very hard not to sound like it.

You looked away. “I just… I realized I was getting too close.”

His silence was like an exhale.

“I thought I could handle it,” you said. “Lunches. Working with you. Hanging out on weekends. But then I saw her. Your ex. And I remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

You hesitated. “That you’re not mine. That you were hers for so long. That you probably still—”

“I don’t.”

You looked up, heart lurching.

He was still watching you. Still calm. But there was something sharp in his gaze now — something honest.

“I don’t still love her. Not the way I used to.”

You shook your head. “That’s not the point. I just… I didn’t want to mistake kindness for something else. I didn’t want to hope.”

Nanami stepped closer. Not touching. Just near.

“I wasn’t just being kind.”

The words struck like a held breath finally released.

“I wasn’t just buying you bracelets,” he continued. “Or taking you to brunch. Or choosing the seat next to you every time. That wasn’t politeness.”

You felt your throat close. “Then what was it?”

His eyes searched yours.

“I think you know,” he said gently. “But I can’t keep trying if you keep pulling away. I won’t push. But I need to know if there’s still something left to reach for.”

The hallway was quiet.

You stared at him — this man you had quietly adored for years. This man who was always patient, always kind, and now finally, finally saying the things you never let yourself believe.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to do anything right now,” he replied. “I just wanted to be honest.”

And he was.

So painfully, beautifully honest.

You could feel your pulse in your wrists, in your throat, in the space between you.

He didn’t ask for anything more.

Just waited.

Waited for you to decide what happened next.

The silence after his words wasn’t peaceful — it throbbed between you like something raw, something hanging in the air with too many sharp edges.

You let out a shaky breath and took a small step back, needing the space. Not because you didn’t want him close — but because he felt too close.

Like the truth might come out just from the way he looked at you.

“We’re coworkers,” you said finally. It came out smaller than you wanted it to, but you didn’t stop. “And this… this is weird. I don’t even know what this is.”

His brows furrowed, gently. Still listening. Still patient.

“I’m not trying to assume anything,” you went on, voice tightening. “But I can’t be your rebound, Nanami.”

That made him pause. You watched something shift behind his eyes.

You shook your head quickly, trying to swallow the lump forming in your throat. “Or whatever the hell this is. I don’t even know what it is.”

He opened his mouth to speak — but you weren’t done. The dam cracked, and now it was spilling out, faster, warmer, shaking.

“I’ve liked you for years,” you said.

Quiet. But enough.

He went still.

Your hands were curled into fists at your sides. “I liked you even when I shouldn’t have. When you had a girlfriend. And I never—I never did anything. I never crossed a line. I didn’t even let myself think about it most days. I was careful. So careful.”

You looked away, blinking hard.

“And then you were single. And I thought… maybe. Just maybe. And then you started asking me to lunch, and spending time with me, and I—I hoped. For the first time I really, really let myself hope.”

You exhaled sharply, like the words tasted bitter.

“But then I saw you with her again. And you were laughing. And it made sense.” Your voice cracked. “You’ve been together since high school. People like that don’t just stay broken up. You go back to each other. Because you have history. Because that’s how it works.”

You finally looked up at him again.

“And I just—I can’t sit here and let myself believe I mean something to you if I’m just something temporary.”

The silence that followed felt like the moment right after a car crash. Still. Ringing. Tense.

Nanami didn’t interrupt once.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t step away.

He stood there, every word you said sinking into him like stone into water.

Then, very quietly, he said,

“She dropped by because she wanted closure.”

Your breath caught.

“She wanted to say goodbye properly. We didn’t do that the first time. That’s all it was.”

He took a step closer again. Measured. Careful.

“I’m not the kind of man who lies about his feelings. Or who strings people along. And I wouldn’t ask you to lunch, or buy you bracelets, or take photos of you smiling like an idiot if I didn’t mean it.”

You let out a breathless, helpless laugh. “You did take that photo.”

He smiled. Soft. Fond.

“I still have it.”

You shook your head. “Nanami—”

“I’m not asking for anything you’re not ready to give,” he said gently. “But I don’t want you to think you imagined this. That you were reading too much into it. Because you weren’t.”

His voice dropped slightly. Sincere. Earnest.

“You’re not a rebound. You never could be.”

Your heart beat loud in your chest, like it was trying to break out of your ribs.

His words didn’t fix everything.

But they mattered.

They mattered more than anything.

He stepped back finally, giving you space again.

“I’ll leave it there,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything. Just… don’t lie to yourself the way I did for so long.”

And with that, he turned to go.

He didn’t expect an answer tonight.

But he gave you the truth — all of it.

And left you standing in that quiet hallway, the noise of your coworkers behind you, and your entire world tilted slightly toward hope.

***

The next day was normal.

Annoyingly, painfully normal.

The office buzzed with the usual start-of-week haze—meetings, emails, the stale scent of too much coffee and not enough sleep. Gojo was already making jokes by the copier. Ijichi was already dropping his documents.

And Nanami was already at his desk when you walked in.

Like nothing happened.

Like you hadn’t poured your heart out in a hallway and then watched him quietly, gracefully walk away without demanding anything back.

You didn’t talk to him that morning. Just a polite nod across the office. That same smile you used to give him when you were still pretending your feelings weren’t real.

You had your lunch plans all set. Shoko and Utahime were waiting for you in the break room like a safety net. Like your buffer.

Until he appeared by your desk.

“Would you like to have lunch?”

He asked it just as he always did. Calm. Gentle. No pressure.

You looked up from your screen, trying not to flinch. “Ah—I already have plans.”

He nodded once. No pushback. “Of course.”

And that should’ve been that.

Except… it wasn’t.

Because five minutes later, when you returned to your desk from the printer, there was a small, neatly wrapped snack container on your keyboard. A triangle onigiri, your favorite kind, you realized when you read the tiny sticky note stuck to the plastic wrap.

Don’t forget to eat. — K

You stared at the handwriting for a long time.

Nanami never said a word about it.

And when lunch came, you still went to the break room, still sat between Shoko and Utahime, still laughed along to Shoko’s sarcastic story about HR and someone’s terribly photoshopped ID picture.

But you kept thinking about the note in your drawer.

The next day, it was a bottle of your favorite iced tea.

The day after that, a perfectly ripened banana with a sticky note that just said, Packed too many, you’re doing me a favor.

You never asked for these things. Never responded.

But you never threw them away either.

Shoko caught on by the second snack. “Let me guess,” she said casually, sipping her drink, “he’s playing the long game now?”

“I told him I didn’t want to be a rebound,” you muttered.

Utahime leaned forward, grinning. “Yeah, and now he’s proving he’s not.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“No,” Shoko agreed. “But he’s being stubborn about it.”

You sighed. “He doesn’t have to keep doing this.”

Shoko raised a brow. “You think this is something he has to do? He’s Nanami. The man would rather suffer in silence than be caught in unnecessary drama. If he’s still showing up like this…”

Utahime smirked. “It means he means it.”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t want to admit that your heart had started racing every time you heard footsteps near your desk. That your eyes had started searching the office around noon without meaning to.

That you were starting to believe he wasn’t going anywhere—not until you were ready.

And maybe… even after that.

The office after dark always felt quieter than it should’ve. Still. Hollow. The kind of silence that made you aware of every sound — the soft hum of the printer, the distant echo of a door closing two floors below, the low buzz of the vending machine light.

You sat at your desk, typing slowly. The glow of your monitor reflected off your glasses, casting shadows over your eyes that made it easier to pretend you weren’t stealing glances toward the other end of the office.

Where Nanami sat.

Still here.

Still quiet.

Still him.

You didn’t know why it surprised you.

After all, he always stayed when you did. Always insisted he could help — even when it was nothing more than formatting or running the final numbers. He never said much, just quietly worked next to you until the job was done. But tonight… after everything, after what you said — after you told him you liked him, that you’d liked him for years, you really thought he wouldn’t stay.

He had every reason to keep his distance now.

And yet.

“Did you eat anything?” his voice broke the quiet, low and even. Not demanding. Not overbearing. Just… Nanami.

You blinked. Looked up.

He was standing by the divider between your desks, two packaged onigiri in his hand. His tie was off. Sleeves rolled. Hair slightly mussed from hours of working without pause. He looked comfortable.

Too comfortable, like nothing had changed.

“Not really,” you mumbled, unsure how to meet his gaze. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“You never feel like it when you’re upset,” he said, placing one of the onigiri on the corner of your desk.

You frowned. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he said gently, and sat back down at his desk. Not pushing. Not waiting for a thank you. Just… knowing.

You stared at the food. “You didn’t have to stay tonight.”

“I know.”

“You should’ve gone home.”

“I didn’t want to.”

You said nothing. He didn’t look away from his screen, but you could see his posture had shifted — a little more relaxed than before, like he was giving you space but also… not giving up on being near you.

“I meant what I said earlier,” you said suddenly, surprising even yourself.

“I know,” he replied.

You turned your chair halfway, not fully facing him. “Then why are you still here?”

This time, he looked up.

“I’ve always been here,” he said softly. “You’re the one who started pulling away.”

You swallowed.

He stood slowly, stepping closer but not too close, careful with the distance, like he always was. Respectful. Gentle.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he continued. “But I don’t regret what’s been happening between us. And I don’t want you to pretend it didn’t.”

You exhaled shakily. “I just don’t want to be something temporary. I’m not asking for anything, but I also can’t do this halfway. I can’t let myself hope if there’s nothing here for me.”

“There’s something,” he said without missing a beat. “You know there is.”

“Then what is it?” you whispered.

He stepped a little closer. His voice dropped lower, warmer.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But I want to find out. With you.”

You looked up at him — and for once, you didn’t feel the need to shrink back. His gaze didn’t waver. Didn’t rush. Just held you there like he always had: solid, patient, steady.

Something in your chest loosened.

Quiet stretched between you again. Comfortable this time.

You glanced at the onigiri and gave a faint, wry smile. “This is your idea of comfort food?”

“It’s your favorite.”

That made your heart ache in a different way.

You unwrapped it slowly. Took a bite.

“…Still warm,” you said softly.

“I picked it up twenty minutes ago,” he murmured. “Before I came back.”

Your eyes flicked up. “You left the office?”

He nodded. “I thought you might need something. Even if you didn’t want to see me.”

Your chest tightened again, this time with something far more dangerous than sadness.

Hope.

He sat down across from you again — not too far, not too close. Just within reach.

You didn’t say anything after that.

You didn’t need to.

You just kept working, side by side, long past the hour when anyone else would have stayed. Sharing silence, sharing warmth, sharing something that didn’t quite have a name yet — but wasn’t nothing.

And for now, that was enough.

***

It was Saturday evening when your phone buzzed. The sun had already dipped past the skyline, leaving behind amber streaks through your apartment window. You were curled up on the couch, mismatched socks on, hair undone, a comfort movie queued up as background noise.

You didn’t expect a message.

Nanami Kento:

I’ll pick you up in an hour. Dinner.

You sat up.

Stared.

Read it again.

He didn’t ask.

He always asked.

Lunch on weekdays? He asked if you were free. Asked what you were craving. Asked if you were okay with him joining.

But this?

This wasn’t a question.

This was him deciding — without waiting for permission. And it made your stomach flip in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

You texted back quickly.

You:

Wait what dinner?? You didn’t ask

His reply came almost immediately.

Nanami Kento:

Is that a no?

You bit your lip. Fingers hovered.

No heart emoji. No question marks. Just four words and your own heartbeat kicking up in your chest like he was already here.

You:

…Give me 30 minutes.

He was waiting downstairs when you stepped out of your building, arms crossed, leaning against the passenger door of his car. The streetlamp cast long shadows over his frame, catching the lines of his jaw, the way his shirt sleeves were rolled past his elbows again, like they always were when he wanted comfort.

He straightened as you approached.

“You’re early,” he said, even though he was the one who texted first.

“You’re the one who didn’t give me time to overthink,” you replied, brushing your hair behind your ear as you slid into the passenger seat.

“I did it on purpose.”

You looked at him.

He didn’t smile.

But his eyes told the truth.

You swallowed. “So… dinner?”

“I found a place I think you’ll like.”

“Have I become your test subject now?”

“No,” he said simply. “I just wanted to see you outside work. Without excuses this time.”

You looked away, cheeks warming, pretending to fidget with your seatbelt. “You always say things like that so easily.”

“I don’t.”

You glanced at him again.

His grip tightened slightly on the wheel. Eyes forward. Voice lower.

“I just say them when I mean them.”

And like that, the car ride passed in that familiar Nanami kind of silence — not awkward, not rushed. Just quiet. Safe. Laced with something gentle sitting between you both like a breath waiting to be exhaled.

The restaurant was small — tucked away on a quiet street with warm light spilling through old windows, the kind of place that didn’t need a sign to be known.

Inside, the seats were low and the atmosphere cozy. A low jazz record played somewhere behind the kitchen, and the scent of garlic and sesame lingered in the air. You slid into a booth near the corner, still a little dazed.

He didn’t look at a menu.

He ordered for both of you — dishes he knew you liked, ones he remembered.

And you realized something.

This wasn’t casual anymore.

This wasn’t “just coworkers” or even two people pretending not to know how deep they were falling.

This was him — choosing.

And you — letting him.

Halfway through dinner, while the waiter refilled your tea, he leaned slightly closer across the table.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable earlier,” he said. “I just… wanted tonight to be easy.”

You nodded slowly, hands wrapped around your cup. “It is. Just… surprising.”

“Is that bad?”

“No,” you said. “It’s kind of the opposite.”

And when he smiled — small, soft, but certain — it felt like something shifted again.

You weren’t sure what would happen next.

But tonight, he didn’t ask.

And you didn’t run.

After dinner, neither of you really wanted the night to end. Nanami offered dessert — you hesitated, but when he pointed out the gelato place a block away, something about the way he said it — hopeful, not pushy — made it easy to say yes.

Now here you were.

Walking beside him under the soft glow of streetlights, gelato in hand, the night air just cool enough to make you tuck your free hand in your coat pocket. His steps matched yours. Always had.

You looked ahead. You weren’t brave enough to look at him when you spoke.

“I like you,” you said, quiet. Honest. “You know that.”

His steps didn’t falter.

“But I also can’t ignore the fact that you’ve been with someone for years. You broke up just recently, and now you want me?” The words came out sharper than you intended — not accusatory, but real. Unfiltered. The way your heart had been stewing in it since the cafe.

He stopped walking.

You turned to look at him finally.

The streetlamp cast a soft golden halo over his blonde hair. He didn’t look surprised. Or offended.

Just… calm.

“I know,” he said. “And I don’t blame you for thinking that. But I told you before — we fell out of love a long time ago. The breakup only happened recently, yes, but we weren’t really together for quite a while. We just didn’t know how to let go.”

You stayed silent.

He stepped a little closer. Still holding his gelato. Still Nanami.

“You’re not a rebound,” he said. “And you’re not a replacement. This—us—it’s not about forgetting her. It’s not about proving something to anyone. It’s just… about you. Me, wanting you.”

You looked away, overwhelmed, heart pounding, and he kept going, his voice low and certain.

“I still care about her. But it’s the way I care about old friends. People I wish well. There’s no bitterness, no revenge. And if she ever finds someone new, I’ll be happy for her.”

He looked right at you.

“But what I want now is here. With you.”

Your breath hitched.

His honesty was devastating.

Not dramatic, not sweeping — just real. Quiet and solid and undeniable in the way that only Nanami could be.

“I really like you,” he said again, softer now. “And I know it’s not fair to ask you to believe me just because I say it. But I’ll keep showing you, if you let me.”

You stared down at your gelato, now half-melted. Then looked up at him again.

“You always say the exact thing I need to hear,” you whispered.

“I only say what I mean,” he replied.

A beat passed.

Then, without thinking too hard, you leaned your head lightly against his shoulder as you both started walking again. He didn’t tense. He just shifted the angle of his arm slightly so you had more space to lean.

The night moved quietly around you — soft laughter from other couples, the hum of cars down the street, the rustle of wind between buildings.

You didn’t know what would happen next.

But maybe… you didn’t need to know.

Not tonight.

The ride back was quiet, but not tense. Not heavy. Just… warm. Like something had settled between you both. No questions left hanging in the air, no careful tiptoeing around unspoken feelings.

You leaned your elbow against the door, head turned slightly to glance at him when the city lights caught his profile. He looked relaxed — one hand on the wheel, the other resting comfortably as he drove through familiar streets. No forced conversation. No pretense.

Just the two of you.

When he pulled up in front of your apartment building, he shifted into park but didn’t immediately unbuckle or reach for the door. The dashboard light cast a low glow between you both. You turned to thank him, but the way he looked at you — eyes soft, lingering — made your words catch somewhere in your throat.

“I had a really good time,” you said finally.

His gaze flickered down to your lips for just a moment. Barely.

He cleared his throat, voice steady but quieter than usual. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked.

There it was — that polite, impossibly Nanami way of asking.

And it made you laugh. Not because it was funny, but because it was so him.

Your smile widened. “You’re seriously asking?”

His eyes crinkled faintly at the corners, like he was fighting back his own smile. “Yes. I don’t assume.”

You didn’t answer right away.

You leaned closer instead.

Just enough so he could take that last bit of space — which he did. Slowly, like he didn’t want to rush you. Like he’d wait forever, if that’s what it took.

The kiss was soft.

Not deep, not hurried.

Just his hand brushing the side of your face and the warm press of his lips against yours, like a question and an answer all at once.

He pulled back just slightly, not too far, eyes searching yours like he was memorizing something. “Thank you,” he said under his breath.

You exhaled, dazed, heart thudding in your chest. “You’re really polite even when kissing someone.”

He chuckled — quiet and real.

“I like you,” he said again. “A lot.”

And for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like hope was something to run from.

***

Months later, it was almost laughable how natural everything felt.

The thing with Nanami — you and Nanami — had settled into a quiet rhythm. Not loud or boastful. Not marked by grand declarations. But you saw it in the little things.

The way he always waited for you by the elevator after work. The way he carried your bag even when you said it was fine. How he had a spare toothbrush at your place. How you kept his favorite tea stocked in your cupboard without thinking twice.

It wasn’t a secret anymore either.

Shoko and Utahime had found out weeks ago, despite your attempt to keep things lowkey.

“Well,” Shoko had said over lunch, not even trying to hide her smug grin, “finally.”

Utahime had let out a dramatic groan. “We were dying watching you pine after him like a lovesick intern. This is a win for workplace slow burns everywhere.”

You hadn’t even tried to deny it.

Because yes — finally.And it was worth everything.

Friday night had always felt sacred after a long week, but it felt even more so now, with Nanami beside you.

It had become your routine — walking home together, picking up dinner or cooking something half-hearted but comforting, ending the evening on your couch, limbs tangled under a shared blanket, the city humming softly outside your window.

He looked so effortlessly at home in your space. His tie discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, hair slightly tousled from the wind. You were still getting used to seeing this version of him — soft and real and yours.

Dinner had come and gone, laughter lingering like spice in the air. Now the two of you sat together on your sofa, wine glasses half-full, the playlist playing low in the background.

You looked at him — really looked — and felt something shift.

Not new. Not sudden. But inevitable.

When you leaned in, it was slow. Careful. Like you didn’t want to wake a dream. But the way his eyes darkened the moment your lips brushed his told you it was real. That he’d been waiting, too.

The kiss deepened almost immediately — a release after weeks of stolen glances and careful restraint. His hands came to your waist, pulling you closer, and you climbed over his lap without thinking, knees bracketing his thighs. You kissed him like you’d been holding your breath for years.

And maybe you had.

His mouth was warm, insistent, yet patient. Like he wanted to taste everything you'd never said. When your tongue met his, he groaned softly against your lips — a sound you hadn’t heard before but wanted to hear again, wanted to draw out of him until it was the only thing filling the room.

“Kento,” you breathed between kisses, fingers slipping into his hair. He looked up at you with something raw, something devoted.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, voice low and gravelly, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

You kissed him again — harder this time — and he responded immediately, hands roaming up your back, sliding under your shirt, fingers brushing the soft skin just below your bra strap. His touch was reverent. You gasped when he ground up against you, the friction sending a bolt of pleasure through your core.

Your shirt came off first, followed by his. You didn’t rush — the two of you unraveled each other like a secret. His hands cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples through your bra, and the soft moan that slipped from your lips made his jaw clench.

He unclasped your bra slowly, gaze never leaving yours, and pressed a kiss to your shoulder as it slid off your arms.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, mouth warm against your collarbone, then lower — over your chest, between your breasts, sucking gently at the swell until your back arched.

You tugged at his belt, and he let you undo it, eyes watching you with something dark and tender. When your hands brushed against the bulge in his slacks, he exhaled — sharp, restrained. Like he’d been waiting to fall apart for you.

Somehow, you made it to the bedroom, half-laughing as you bumped into the hallway wall, still kissing like you couldn’t bear to stop. He laid you down with care but climbed over you like a man starved.

You tugged off his pants. He slid down yours. There was nothing between you now but heat and breath and years of silent longing.

When he sank into you, he did it slowly, giving you time — kissing your cheek, your jaw, your lips — as your body opened for him.

Your gasp was swallowed by his mouth. He held your hips, his forehead pressed against yours, and began to move.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t rough. It was deep. Intimate. The kind of sex that felt like a question being answered. You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, fingernails digging into his back as you moaned his name over and over.

“Kento—please—”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “Let me take care of you.”

And he did.

You came with a shudder, wrapped tight around him, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. He followed not long after, groaning into your neck, holding you as if letting go would break him.

Afterward, you stayed tangled in the sheets, skin warm, breath shallow, limbs entwined like it had always been this way.

He kissed your shoulder. Your cheek. Your knuckles.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

You smiled, touched his chest where his heart still raced.

“I know,” you whispered. “I love you too.”

He stayed the night — of course he did. He’d been staying for weeks now. And when morning came, it didn’t feel like anything new.

It felt like home.

taglist: @nanamin-chan

#jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #romance #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen nanami #kento x reader #kento x y/n #kento nanami #jjk gojo #jjk shoko #jjk utahime

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avengxrz · 8 hours ago

Text

the seven polaroids ; bucky barnes x reader

pairings: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 14.2k words

summary: you spend seven days with bucky barnes, just the two of you, tucked between memory and quiet places. there’s laughter, old stories, polaroids in soft light, and moments that feel like they might last forever. you don’t talk about what’s coming. you just stay, while the world gently lets you.

warnings: mentions of grief, emotional intimacy, quiet heartbreak, memory-heavy themes, soft angst, platonic affection, slow pacing, rooftop sunsets, found family energy, and one old camera that sees everything.

notes: i wrote this with my whole chest and maybe a little too much love. it’s soft, slow, and stitched together with quiet moments that mattered. this has been sitting in my drafts for almost two months now, and i finally let it go. thank you for reading something that doesn’t shout, but stays. keep this one close. it’s meant to linger.

masterlist

Day One: Monday

It started with a knock so aggressive, Bucky briefly considered pretending he wasn’t home. The sound rattled his front door, three hard slams followed by the muffled weight of your palm flat against the wood.

He exhaled slowly, staring at the closed door like it might grow teeth.

But then came the voice, your voice, sharp, annoyed, and far too awake for a Monday morning.

“James Buchanan Barnes, if you don’t open this damn door, I will break it down with my bare hands, and then make you pay for it.”

With a muttered curse and the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, he opened it. You were already halfway through pushing your way in, one hand holding a paper bag that smelled suspiciously like fresh pastries, and the other dragging a coat across his hardwood floor like a rebellious teenager.

"Put some pants on," you said, eyeing his sweats. "We’re going."

Bucky blinked. “Going where?”

“You’ll see,” you replied, far too pleased with yourself. You tossed the bag onto his kitchen counter like it belonged there, then wandered over to open his fridge and judge its contents.

Meanwhile, Bucky stared at you as if you were some minor natural disaster that had arrived unannounced; loud, chaotic, and somehow carrying croissants.

“You can’t just show up and demand I go somewhere.”

“I brought carbs.”

“That’s not—”

“And coffee. From that place you pretend you don’t like but always finish your cup.”

He looked at the to-go tray you’d deposited beside the sink. The logo gave you away. He hated that he was already reaching for it. Then, he hated that he didn’t hate it.

Five minutes later, he was dressed; a hoodie, boots, and a look that said he regretted every life choice that led him to this moment. You, on the other hand, were practically buzzing with a weird kind of energy.

Not manic, not nervous. Just… determined. Like you were on a mission you hadn’t bothered to explain.

The car ride was quiet, save for the low hum of the radio and the occasional sip of lukewarm coffee. You didn’t talk much, which was unusual.

Normally, you’d fill the silence with something, some stupid memory, or a comment about how Bucky’s playlists were secretly sentimental. Instead, you just drove, eyes on the road, fingers tapping against the steering wheel in a slow, thoughtful rhythm.

Then, somewhere past the city limits, he glanced over at you and asked, “Where are we going?”

You gave a small shrug. “Somewhere nice.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

He sighed, but didn’t press. Not yet. Instead, he leaned his head back against the seat and let the passing scenery blur into soft greens and greys.

Trees lined the road, wind tugging gently at their edges. The sky looked like it might rain, but hadn’t decided yet.

Eventually, you pulled into a gravel path surrounded by nothing but open space and stubborn wildflowers. It wasn’t much, just a bench under an old tree and a view that stretched all the way to the hills.

“You used to come here with Steve,” you said softly as you stepped out. “Told me about it once, back when I couldn’t sleep.”

Bucky paused, standing beside the car for a moment too long before walking toward you. “Yeah,” he said. “We’d come out here after long missions. Steve said the quiet helped.”

“And you?”

“I liked the way it didn’t ask anything from me.”

You sat down on the bench without another word, patting the space beside you. He joined you, reluctantly at first, but then he settled, arms crossed loosely over his chest, eyes scanning the horizon like it might offer him a secret.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. There was only wind and the occasional chirp of some brave little bird too stubborn to migrate. Then you nudged his shoulder lightly with your own.

“I missed this.”

He looked over, brows furrowed slightly. “What, the outdoors? The bugs?”

“You,” you said. Then, with a small smile, “And the bugs.”

He huffed a laugh under his breath, almost surprised by it. Then you leaned your head on his shoulder, just lightly, just for a second. And he didn’t move.

The air settled warm around you both, that late-morning hush where the breeze carried just enough weight to keep you grounded.

You could hear it in the way the leaves rustled, the way the gravel crunched under the distant weight of time, like the world itself was sighing with you.

You stayed like that for a while, your head against Bucky’s shoulder, his breath steady beneath the fabric of his hoodie, the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward, just… full. Comfortable.

Then, your voice broke through it, soft but curious, like it had been circling your mind for a while. “Hey, Buck?”

“Mm?”

“What was it really like? The ’40s, I mean. Not the war stuff. The real life stuff. You ever go dancing or wear stupid hats or smoke cigars like the old movies make it look?”

Bucky let out a low, amused sound through his nose. Then he tilted his head back slightly, like he was trying to remember a different life, one with color and music and warmth, instead of blood and frost and silence.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, his voice quieter than usual. “I did all that. Wore the hats, smoked the cigars. Took girls dancing, though I was better at faking confidence than actually leading.”

He glanced sideways at you, a small ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Steve would get all nervous and just sort of hover near the wall. I'd have to nudge him onto the dance floor. Poor punk had two left feet until he didn’t.”

You grinned at the image, Steve Rogers, future Captain America, awkward and shuffling in a smoky dance hall while Bucky tried to play matchmaker. The thought warmed something in your chest. It made the space around you feel a little softer, like the bench had turned into a time machine.

“You miss it?” you asked, not accusing, not pressing, just wondering.

He shrugged one shoulder beneath you, his gaze still fixed somewhere distant. “Parts of it. Not everything. People act like the past was golden, but they forget all the ugly stuff that came with it. The ration lines, the fear, the way everything moved too fast but nothing changed.”

He paused, then added, “I miss the simplicity, I guess. The way people danced even when the world was on fire. Felt like maybe if you danced hard enough, the bombs wouldn’t find you.”

That hit you harder than you expected. You sat with it for a second, letting his words sink in like the cold at the bottom of a lake. Then you murmured, “That’s poetic as hell, Barnes.”

He scoffed lightly, but there was no sharpness to it. “Don’t get used to it.”

You turned your head enough to see him clearly, his hair tucked behind his ear, the sharp lines of his profile softened by the filtered sunlight through the tree branches above.

He looked older than he used to, but still impossibly young for someone who’d lived a hundred years. There was something timeless in him. Something that never quite settled.

“Did you ever think,” you asked quietly, “that you’d survive all of it? The war, Hydra, Thanos... the fallout?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked, the muscle twitching slightly before he finally said, “No. I think I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Kept expecting to die. But the world just kept spinning, and I just… didn’t.”

You nodded, your cheek brushing his shoulder again. Then, in a voice that barely carried past the wind, you said, “It’s a weird kind of miracle, isn’t it? Still being here.”

He didn’t speak, but his hand found yours on the bench between you. And he held it, not tightly, not possessively. Just enough to make sure you knew he heard you. That you were still here, too.

The silence stretched again, long and gentle, until the wind shifted and brought with it the faint scent of something blooming nearby, maybe wild sage, maybe something sweeter.

You sat up slowly, stretching your arms above your head with a faint groan, like the weight of your own body was heavier than it used to be.

Bucky’s hand slipped away from yours as you moved, but his eyes stayed on you, half-watching, half-waiting, like he’d learned not to ask questions when you got quiet like that.

Then you reached into your bag and pulled out an old, beat-up Polaroid camera, chunky, scratched, the kind of thing you couldn’t believe still worked. You waved it in his direction, smirking. “I brought this.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because we don’t have any pictures together. Not real ones. Not the kind you can hold.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “We have like… missions and SHIELD file stuff—”

“I don’t mean surveillance photos where you’re half-covered in blood and I’ve got raccoon eyes from smoke damage. I mean normal ones. Silly ones. The kind people keep in wallets and shove into drawers and forget about until ten years later.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, but there was something soft underneath the skepticism. “You’re getting sentimental.”

“You like it,” you shot back, already adjusting the camera settings. “Now scoot closer.”

With a dramatic sigh that didn’t match the slight smile tugging at his mouth, Bucky leaned in. The bench wasn’t very big, but somehow it still felt like there was always space between you two until now.

You nudged your knee against his and raised the camera with one hand, angling it just right. He looked resigned. You looked too proud of yourself.

Then the shutter clicked and whirred, the Polaroid humming before it spat out the first photo. You held it carefully, waving it in the air like that actually helped.

Bucky peered over your shoulder to look. The picture was slightly off-center, your smile crooked, his expression somewhere between irritated and fond.

“I look like I’m about to punch you,” he muttered.

“You always look like that.”

“Fair.”

Still grinning, you shifted the camera again. “Okay, now do one where you’re not scowling.”

“I wasn’t scowling, woman.”

“You literally have angry eyebrows. Loosen them.”

“I don’t know how to do that on command.”

“Then fake it. You’ve been fake-smiling in government briefings for years, you can give me one warm expression.”

He rolled his eyes but leaned in again, closer this time. You could feel the warmth of his arm brushing yours, could hear the quiet huff of breath through his nose as he tried to look halfway normal. Then, just before you clicked the shutter, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to your temple.

The camera snapped with a loud click, capturing the moment before you could react.

When the photo slid out, you stared down at it in silence. His lips still hovering near your hair. Your eyes half-lidded in surprise. Something unspeakably tender in the curve of your mouth.

You held it out to him without a word.

He took it slowly, studied it like it might vanish if he blinked. Then he folded the photo in half, carefully, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket. No one said anything about it. You didn’t need to.

“Okay,” you said after a beat. “One more. But this time, funny faces.”

Bucky groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are.”

He grumbled, but this time when the shutter clicked, he was already halfway into a ridiculous grimace, eyebrows high, tongue out, you flashing a peace sign like you were fifteen again.

The photo was ugly. You both laughed so hard you nearly dropped the camera.

Day Two: Tuesday

The next morning came slow and blue, the kind of Tuesday that smelled like rain before it even touched the ground. You woke first, not suddenly, not sharply, just gradually rising into consciousness as the light filtered through the old curtains in Bucky’s living room.

You’d taken the couch without argument, despite his grumbling about guest rooms, and sometime after midnight, he’d fallen asleep in the armchair nearby, one hand resting on his stomach, the other draped over the side like he was still halfway alert.

You watched him for a moment, your cheek pressed against the cushion, heart aching with a kind of fondness that didn’t need explaining.

His face in sleep was a different story altogether, less guarded, the years peeled back. He looked like someone you used to know, someone who smiled easier.

Then, carefully, you sat up, stretching out stiff joints and quietly padding toward the kitchen. You made coffee the way he liked it, dark, no sugar, a little cinnamon if he didn’t catch you doing it. The sound of the machine finally stirred him, his body shifting with a grunt as he blinked blearily in your direction.

“You slept like a rock,” you said, not turning around.

“I don’t remember falling asleep,” he muttered, voice still half-dream.

“You never do.”

He stood slowly, working out the tension in his shoulder with a twist and a low pop, then walked over to lean beside you on the counter. You handed him a mug before he asked. For a few minutes, you stood in silence, both sipping quietly, the only sound being the drip of rain beginning to tap against the window.

Eventually, he glanced over at you, eyes a little clearer now. “So. What’s on your grand agenda today? More emotional torture?”

You grinned behind the rim of your mug. “Nah. Just thought we’d take a walk. You know. Get rained on. Be dramatic. Maybe kiss in the street like we’re in some sad French film.”

He snorted, but there was no bite to it. “You want to walk in the rain?”

“Yes.”

“In July?”

“Yes.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Yes,” you said again, stepping away and grabbing his jacket from the hook by the door. “But you like me that way.”

An hour later, the two of you were soaked from the knees down, wandering through a quiet neighborhood where the trees were thick and the flowers leaned out like they were trying to listen.

The rain wasn’t heavy, just persistent, a fine mist that coated everything in silver. You walked beside him with your hands stuffed into the sleeves of your hoodie, the camera slung around your neck.

He carried a little umbrella he wasn’t using, insisting you were both already too wet for it to matter.

As you turned a corner, you spotted an old bookstore, and it was still open, light flickering faintly in the fogged window. Without asking, you grabbed Bucky’s arm and pulled him toward it, nearly slipping on the wet curb.

He caught you easily, one hand steady on your waist, the other reaching to open the door before you could fumble with it.

Inside, it smelled like dust and stories. The kind of place time forgot, with narrow aisles and crooked shelves and a sleepy old man behind the counter who didn’t look up when you entered.

You wandered slowly, fingers trailing along spines, Bucky keeping close like always. You found the poetry section first and slid a book off the shelf at random, cracking it open without checking the title. A few pages in, you whispered a line aloud, one you didn’t quite understand but liked the shape of anyway.

Then you turned, holding the book up. “Want me to read you something sad and beautiful, or are you going to make fun of me?”

Bucky met your gaze with something like amusement, but not mockery. He tilted his head slightly, eyes soft. “Read.”

So you did. Right there in the aisle, you read him a poem about faded summers and people who leave without goodbye. He didn’t say a word until you were done. Then, very gently, he reached out and brushed a piece of hair from your cheek, his knuckles damp and cold.

“You always find the good ones,” he murmured.

“You always say that like you mean it.”

“I do.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Just full again. Full of everything you didn’t say out loud.

And when you stepped closer, just slightly, enough to press a kiss to his cheek, he didn’t pull away. He turned into it instead, closing his eyes like the weight of it was too much to carry.

You stayed there for longer than either of you expected, the rain outside thickening to a steady rhythm against the windowpanes, a soft percussion that made the shop feel more like a memory than a real place.

Eventually, you wandered toward the back where the ceiling dipped lower and the shelves narrowed. You found a stack of old vinyls and dusty cassette tapes, most unlabeled, some still wrapped in cracked cellophane.

You sifted through them with mild curiosity, while Bucky leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that unreadable look he wore when he didn’t know how to say something out loud.

Then, without looking up, you asked, “Do you ever feel like you missed too much?”

He hesitated, then shifted his weight like the question had physically landed in his chest. “All the time.”

You nodded, still flipping through records. “I think about that a lot lately. How many normal things we skipped. Holidays. Road trips. Bad birthday cakes. Grocery lists. Just… life.”

There was a pause. Then he stepped into the space beside you, his fingers brushing yours as he reached for a record. “You’re the only person who’s ever said that to me out loud. Everyone else talks about the fights. The missions. Like that’s all we ever had.”

“That’s not living,” you said, quieter now.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”

You didn’t speak after that. Instead, you picked out a few records, ones with covers you liked, nothing too deep, and brought them to the counter.

The old man rang them up wordlessly, as if he sensed something fragile between you that he didn’t want to disturb. Bucky paid, despite your half-hearted protests, and you left the shop with a paper bag full of scratched music and a silence that clung to your clothes like the rain.

By the time you got back to the apartment, the sky was dimming. Bucky lit one of the candles you kept teasing him about, lavender and cedar, the scent oddly comforting, and set the record player humming with static.

The first track was soft and slow, some old jazz tune you didn’t recognize, and the two of you sank onto the couch without saying much, the kind of tired that came from more than just walking in the rain.

Then, after a few minutes, you turned toward him, your knees pulled up beneath you. “Dance with me.”

Bucky blinked. “What?”

You reached out a hand. “Come on. Don’t make me beg.”

He narrowed his eyes, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You’ll mock me the entire time.”

“I absolutely will. But I’ll also be very impressed.”

He sighed like he was the most burdened man alive, then stood and offered you his hand. You took it with a grin, letting him pull you to your feet. The living room wasn’t big, just enough space to sway, just enough floor to pretend.

You rested your hands on his shoulders, and he settled his on your waist, the two of you moving clumsily at first, like you were remembering how bodies worked.

Then, slowly, you found a rhythm.

Meanwhile, the rain kept falling, and the music curled around you like smoke, and Bucky’s grip at your waist tightened just a little whenever you stumbled.

He was warm under your palms, steady in a way you hadn’t felt in years.

It wasn’t romantic, not exactly, but it was close.

Close enough that when you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the edge of his jaw, he didn’t flinch.

Instead, he closed his eyes.

The record crackled faintly in the background, the song slowing into the next track like a thought changing direction.

Bucky didn’t say anything when your head came to rest lightly against his shoulder, didn’t pull back when your fingers slid from his shoulder down to his forearm, holding on with something gentler than gravity.

You just moved together; barefoot, tired, content in that fragile, flickering way that only happens when two people know how rare this kind of quiet is.

Then, without pulling away, you murmured, “Wait, wait. Stay right there.”

He froze mid-step, brows pulling together. “What?”

You gently untangled yourself from his arms, already reaching toward the bookshelf where you’d dropped the Polaroid earlier. It sat face-down on a pile of dog-eared paperbacks, right where you left it.

You picked it up with the kind of care usually reserved for delicate glass, then turned back toward him, eyes already narrowed in mock warning.

“I want a photo.”

Bucky groaned instantly. “You already got one yesterday.”

“And I want another,” you replied, walking toward him backwards, adjusting the flash and settings. “The light’s soft. The moment’s sweet. You look like you’re not actively plotting murder. I need to document this.”

“I swear, you’re gonna run out of film before the week’s over.”

“I brought backups.”

“Of course you did.”

He didn’t move as you lifted the camera, but he also didn’t roll his eyes this time. That, in itself, felt like a tiny miracle.

You walked closer again, slipping your free hand into his and tugging him gently toward the center of the room.

The music hummed beneath your feet, a saxophone winding somewhere behind you like a ribbon.

Then, right before you snapped the photo, you stepped up on your toes and kissed his cheek again, slower this time, your nose brushing his skin as you whispered, “Smile.”

The camera clicked and whirred, a flash blooming in the space between you. The photo spat out with a soft hiss, warm in your hands as you caught it before it fluttered to the floor.

You didn’t look at it right away.

Instead, you leaned your forehead against his for a beat, letting your eyes flutter closed. Bucky’s hands hovered near your sides like he didn’t quite know where to put them. Eventually, one settled lightly at your lower back, grounding you both.

“I’m gonna make a scrapbook,” you mumbled against his skin.

He huffed. “You would.”

“You’re going in the front. Like a warning label.”

This time, he didn’t even bother to hide the laugh.

You finally looked at the photo. The colors were muted, as always, washed-out warmth, the kind of tint that made everything feel older than it was.

You and Bucky in mid-embrace, your smile pressed into his cheek, his eyes not looking at the camera but at you. Like you were the only thing in focus.

Without a word, you handed it to him.

He stared at it for a long while, then tucked it into the back of the same jacket pocket where he’d put yesterday’s photo. No comment, no explanation. Just another secret he’d carry with him.

Then, as the record kept spinning and the storm outside rolled softly on, he pulled you back into that loose sway again—your arms draped over his shoulders, his touch slow and hesitant and real.

Day Three: Wednesday

Wednesday arrived with sun-soaked windows and the scent of something warm from the bakery down the block. You stirred slowly, blinking into the golden light spilling through the blinds, and for a moment, it was easy to pretend this was just a regular week.

No countdown.

No reason to hold your breath between heartbeats. Just summer light and the faint clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen.

Bucky had woken earlier. You could hear him moving, drawer sliding open, kettle whistling low, the fridge opening with a dull thud. You didn’t rush to join him.

Instead, you stayed curled up on the couch a little longer, letting the warmth seep into your skin.

When you finally dragged yourself up, the apartment smelled like toast and jam and something vaguely citrusy, like he’d remembered you liked lemon tea even though you hadn’t asked for it.

He glanced over as you stepped into the room, one brow raised like he was pretending not to care. “You sleep okay?”

“Like a corpse,” you said, yawning. “In a good way.”

He slid a mug across the counter toward you. “That’s morbid.”

“You love it.”

He didn’t argue.

The morning passed slowly, the kind of slow you only get when neither of you had anywhere else to be. You stayed in the kitchen for a while, passing your phones back and forth, trading dumb videos and old songs.

At one point, you ended up leaning against him on the stool, sharing earbuds while he tried, and failed, not to hum along to a Sam Cooke song he insisted he hadn’t heard in years.

Then, sometime near noon, you stood up abruptly and clapped your hands. “Okay. Get dressed.”

Bucky blinked at you mid-sip of tea. “For what?”

“We’re going out.”

“To…?”

You pointed toward the door like you had a plan. “You’ll see.”

He groaned, but he didn’t argue. Not really. He’d stopped asking questions by now, or maybe he just trusted you enough to follow without needing a map.

You took the train, mostly because you liked the sound of it. The clatter of the rails, the blur of the tunnels, the way it made the city feel smaller, like something you could hold in your hands if you squeezed tight enough.

Bucky stood beside you, one arm looped through the overhead bar, the other tucked loosely in the pocket of his jacket. You leaned against his side, eyes closed for most of the ride.

Then, when you finally emerged from the subway station, the boardwalk stretched out in front of you, glittering in the sunlight like it had been waiting for you both.

He stopped in his tracks, squinting toward the sea. “You brought me to Coney Island?”

“Yes.”

“You know this place is full of children and overpriced churros, right?”

“That’s the point.”

He didn’t fight you. Not really. You bought cotton candy that melted too fast and lemonade that was mostly ice, and he won you a stuffed bear at the ring toss after you failed miserably three times in a row.

Then you dragged him onto the Ferris wheel, despite his muttered complaints and very real suspicion about the structural integrity of the whole thing.

Halfway up, the city spread out behind you like a painting; blue skies, skyline in the distance, the boardwalk tiny beneath your feet. You leaned against the rail, wind tugging at your hair, and glanced at him sideways.

“Kind of pretty up here,” you said.

He didn’t look at the view. His gaze was already on you.

“You should take a picture,” you added, reaching for the Polaroid.

Bucky groaned. “Again?”

“Yes, again.”

“You know people usually wait at least a few days between photo shoots.”

“I’ve only got five left,” you said—then stopped, blinking.

He went still.

You cleared your throat, tried to cover the slip with a half-smile. “I mean, film. I’ve only got five shots left. You gonna take it or not?”

He didn’t press. Just took the camera from your hands, lifted it slowly, and captured the moment right there; your hair caught in the breeze, your fingers curled around the edge of the seat, the faintest smile still lingering at the corners of your mouth like you were holding something back.

Then, after the click and whir of the camera, he lowered it and said quietly, “That one’s mine.”

You didn’t argue.

After the Ferris wheel, it was like something in both of you cracked open. Whatever tension had lingered at the edges of the day, the heaviness, the shadows under your smiles, lifted.

Maybe it was the height.

Maybe it was the sugar.

Maybe it was just the way Bucky looked at you like he hadn’t let himself have a good day in years and had just remembered how.

You pulled him toward the carousel next, one of those old, creaky ones that looked like it belonged in a sepia photograph.

He rolled his eyes as you practically climbed onto the nearest painted horse, your legs too long for the child-sized stirrups, your laugh loud enough to turn a few heads.

Bucky, after a long moment of considering his life choices, mounted the horse beside you, grumbling the entire time but not really meaning it.

When the ride started, slow and circling, you turned to look at him, both hands on the pole, your face stretched into something bright and alive. “You look like you’re in pain.”

“That’s because I am.”

“You’re riding a horse named Pickles, Buck. You can’t be sad on Pickles.”

His scowl deepened, but the corner of his mouth twitched in betrayal.

Then came bumper cars. You ran like a menace, dragging him along before he could protest. And once the ride started, you showed no mercy.

You slammed into him at full speed, laughing like you were ten years old, watching him spin out while trying, and failing, to look annoyed.

Bucky tried to retaliate, but you were faster, ducking and weaving with all the tactical grace of a former Avenger with something to prove.

When the ride ended, you were breathless with laughter, nearly doubled over as you stumbled out of the car.

“You’re deranged,” he told you, pulling his hair back into a messy tie with one hand.

“And victorious,” you countered. “Don’t forget victorious.”

You wandered after that, through rows of boardwalk games and food stalls, past kids with painted faces and couples eating ice cream out of waffle cones.

Somewhere along the way, you shared a basket of curly fries and bought matching sunglasses from a vendor who barely looked up from his crossword. They were gaudy and heart-shaped and far too pink.

Bucky didn’t even flinch as you slid a pair onto his face.

“You’re so full of surprises,” you said, admiring your handiwork.

“I'm exhausted,” he muttered, but he didn’t take them off.

Then, just as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, you found the swings, the kind that soared high above the ground in slow circles, turning the whole boardwalk into a blur of gold and wind.

You grabbed his hand without asking and tugged him into line, still laughing from whatever story you’d just told, your smile curling around the syllables like it didn’t want to leave.

When the swings lifted, you both leaned back into the air. The city fell away beneath your feet. The sky opened up wide and deep and blue. And for a few moments, you felt like you could float there forever; above the noise, above the ground, above everything.

Bucky shouted something you couldn’t quite hear over the wind, but it made you laugh so hard your ribs ached.

Later, when your feet finally touched the ground again, you staggered against him, dizzy and breathless and glowing from the inside out.

He steadied you with a hand at your waist, shaking his head but smiling fully now; one of those rare smiles that made him look younger, less haunted.

“I needed this,” you whispered without thinking.

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you like maybe he had, too.

By the time the lights flickered on across the boardwalk, the sky was painting itself in slow streaks of peach and lavender. The crowd had thinned a little, leaving the air cooler, quieter.

You both wandered back toward the edge of the pier with the last of your snacks in hand, salted caramel popcorn and a single melting scoop of pistachio ice cream that Bucky kept pretending he didn’t want until you offered it to him directly.

“You’re like a raccoon,” you said, watching him sneak another bite. “You won’t admit you want it, but you keep circling the trash can.”

“You’re calling this trash?” he asked, scandalized.

“I’m saying I saw the way you hovered.”

“I did not hover.”

“You hovered with purpose.”

He rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t pass out, but there was no heat behind it. Just that familiar, soft amusement that came when he stopped pretending not to enjoy himself.

The two of you leaned against the railing then, looking out over the water. The sea shimmered dark and restless under the city lights, and the breeze smelled like salt and fried food and summer.

Bucky rested his forearms against the metal bar, his sunglasses still perched stupidly on his head, his hair a little windswept, cheeks pink from the sun and the laughter and maybe something deeper.

You pulled the Polaroid from your bag and wordlessly lifted it again.

“No warning?” he asked.

“Nope.”

The click echoed soft in the open air, and the photo fluttered out like a sigh. You didn’t even look at it yet. You let it develop slowly in your hand, still watching him.

Then, after a long stretch of silence, you leaned your head on his shoulder and said, “This one’s for the scrapbook.”

He glanced at you sideways. “You’re really making one?”

“Of course I am.”

“You going to put captions under the photos?”

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes. “Already thinking of them.”

“And what’s the caption for this one?” he asked, voice a little rougher now, like it was catching on something in his throat.

You smiled and replied softly, “Wednesday. Took him to the sea. Forgot the world for a while.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just let out a breath, slow and low, and pressed a kiss to the side of your head before you could say anything else.

And that night, back at the apartment, he fell asleep on the couch this time, face tilted toward yours, your Polaroids scattered across the coffee table like a breadcrumb trail through time.

You stayed up a little longer, tucking the new photo between the pages of a worn notebook, writing that caption in pen, your fingers trembling only slightly.

Tomorrow would come. But tonight? Tonight was still yours.

Day Four: Thursday

Thursday began later than planned. You slept in, deeper than usual, the kind of sleep that left you tangled in the sheets and groggy at the edges.

Your limbs felt heavier than you remembered, like your bones had soaked up the rain from the night before.

Still, you managed to drag yourself into the kitchen with a yawn and a blanket slung around your shoulders like a cape, finding Bucky already half-through a crossword and chewing on the end of a pen like he wanted to fight it.

“Twenty across,” you said, blinking at the newspaper. “It’s hibiscus.”

He looked up slowly, narrowing his eyes. “You serious?”

You gave him a sleepy grin. “Dead serious. It was my mom’s favorite flower.”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, something about show-offs, but he filled in the word anyway and passed you a mug already steeped with tea.

He’d remembered the lemon.

That made you smile, even though it took more effort than you’d admit. You didn’t mention the way your fingers felt stiff on the handle, or how your knees ached more than usual when you slid into your seat.

Just a slow morning, you told yourself. Just tired.

After breakfast, you convinced him to come to the museum.

“It’s Thursday,” you explained while tying your shoes, slower than usual. “Nobody goes on Thursdays. It’ll be just us and retired professors judging the brushstrokes.”

He hesitated in the doorway, clearly skeptical. “You sure you’re up for that?”

You stood, carefully masking the slight sway in your balance with a half-laugh. “What do you think I am, eighty?”

He gave you a look.

“Okay, rude.”

But he let it go, just like he always did. You knew he noticed. Knew he watched the way you leaned against the railing on the subway, how you took the elevator instead of the stairs without comment.

But he didn’t say a word, just walked beside you like he was your shadow, like he was bracing himself for something without knowing why.

The museum was quiet, just like you hoped. Pale light filtered through the tall windows, the kind of lighting that made even dust feel like it belonged.

You moved through the galleries slowly, pausing in front of every painting that made you feel anything; grief, longing, nostalgia you couldn’t place.

Bucky kept pace beside you, sometimes close enough that your arms touched, sometimes hanging back a step like he didn’t want to intrude.

In the sculpture hall, you stopped in front of a piece that looked like motion frozen in stone; a dancer mid-leap, her body curved like she was about to break free.

“She looks like she’s flying,” you said, voice soft. “Like she didn’t even need wings.”

Bucky glanced at the sculpture, then at you. “Maybe she didn’t.”

You didn’t look at him when you replied, “Most people do.”

Later, you found a bench and sank into it more heavily than intended. The ache had crept further now; shoulders, spine, the base of your neck, but you forced a smile and looked up at him. “Your turn. Pick a favorite.”

He nodded, eyes lingering on you for a second too long before turning away. “Alright.”

He wandered off into the next gallery, leaving you a moment alone.

You closed your eyes briefly, hands resting in your lap, breathing slow and deliberate.

There was a pulse behind your ribs you didn’t like. A strange hum in your skin like something was winding down.

But when Bucky returned, holding a postcard print of a painting with blue skies and fields of golden grass, you opened your eyes like nothing had changed.

You held the postcard between you both. “This the one?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Reminds me of that trip we never took.”

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Still time.”

He nodded, but he didn’t say anything.

You left the museum as the sun began to lower, the light turning everything a kind of honey gold.

The streets outside were quieter than usual, like the world had slowed to match your pace.

You clung to that.

You walked arm-in-arm, your steps slightly off but steady enough, your shoulder leaning a little more into Bucky’s than the day before.

He didn’t comment on it. He just adjusted to fit you better.

“I want a picture here,” you said, nodding toward the museum steps. “Before we leave.”

He gave you a sideways glance. “Of the building?”

“Of us, dumbass.”

He sighed like it was the biggest favor in the world, but the smile pulling at his mouth gave him away. You handed him the Polaroid, already half-joking about angles and framing, but then you moved to sit on the stone steps and patted the space beside you.

When he joined you, the two of you leaned in close, the sky behind you streaked orange and pink. The camera clicked, whirred, and spit the photo out into your waiting hands. You waited for the image to develop while he nudged your knee with his.

“You’re getting slower,” he said quietly, not unkind.

You didn’t answer at first. Just looked down at the photo as your silhouettes came into view, both of you sitting side by side, your head tilted toward him, his eyes fixed not on the lens, but again on you.

“I know,” you whispered. “I feel it.”

He nodded once. The silence between you was still soft, still intact, but this time it was heavy, too. Weighted with things that weren’t being said.

Later, you found your way to a little café with a terrace wrapped in string lights, the kind of place that played jazz on a loop and served drinks in glasses too fancy for their contents. You picked a table in the corner, half-hidden by ivy, and ordered something warm just to feel it in your hands.

You took another picture there, this one of him laughing halfway through a bite of dessert you swore he wouldn’t like. The photo caught him mid-protest, mouth open, fork in hand, pure disbelief on his face.

You labeled it right away on the back: Bucky discovers crème brûlée is not, in fact, the enemy.

He rolled his eyes, but he didn’t make you stop.

Then, sometime after the plates were cleared and the stars blinked into the sky, you set the camera down and leaned across the table, resting your chin on your hand.

“Do you ever wish things had gone differently?” you asked.

His answer was immediate. “All the time.”

You nodded slowly. “Me too. But I don’t know if I’d trade this.”

He looked at you long, the kind of look that peeled you open without needing to touch you. “Not even for more time?”

You hesitated. Then you reached across and took his hand.

“I don’t want more time if it’s not with you in it.”

He blinked hard, but didn’t look away. Instead, he turned your hand over gently, brushing his thumb across your knuckles.

And when you left the café, wandering back through the quiet streets, you didn’t take another photo. Some moments were meant to stay unwritten.

But when you got home and emptied your bag out onto the coffee table, the photos spilled like a story, steps in a farewell you weren’t quite ready to speak.

Bucky helped you arrange them into stacks, his fingers careful, your names scrawled on the back in your messy handwriting. And when he tucked the museum photo into the cover of your old sketchbook, you felt that ache bloom again, slow, familiar, ever-present.

Still, you smiled. Just barely. Because today had been a good day.

Day Five: Friday

Friday arrived with rain again, the kind that drizzled without purpose, like the sky couldn’t make up its mind. You didn’t wake until almost ten, blinking slowly at the ceiling like you weren’t quite sure what day it was.

Your body felt sluggish beneath the blankets, your breath a little shallower, but the weight of the morning didn’t scare you, not yet. It just meant you stayed curled up a little longer.

Bucky had already gotten up, his footsteps soft somewhere down the hall, the scent of eggs and coffee drifting in like a memory.

When you finally shuffled into the kitchen, wrapped in one of his oversized sweatshirts and thick socks, he looked up from the stove with that same furrowed brow he always wore when he was pretending not to worry.

“Sleep okay?” he asked, already scooping eggs onto your plate.

You gave a lopsided shrug, reaching for the orange juice instead of answering. “I think I dreamed about you in clown makeup.”

“Absolutely not.”

“No, seriously. You had the nose and everything.”

He slid the plate across the table, shaking his head. “That’s not a dream, that’s a threat.”

You laughed quietly, leaning against the counter instead of sitting right away. Your legs felt shaky, like they weren’t quite yours.

But Bucky didn’t rush you. He just started telling you about a podcast he’d listened to the night before, something about deep-sea creatures and glowing jellyfish, and you let his voice carry the weight of the morning.

Eventually, you sat down and ate slowly, careful with every bite. You didn’t finish your toast.

Later that day, you wandered to the nearby park. You used to jog here once. Now, you just walked with Bucky at your side, the both of you moving at a pace that felt closer to reverence than exercise.

You stopped often, sometimes to rest, sometimes just to sit and watch the breeze move through the trees like they were breathing.

At one point, you found a bench near the duck pond, the one with the crooked slats and chipped green paint.

You sat down with a sigh that you tried to disguise as casual, letting your hands rest in your lap. The ducks weren’t out, but the water rippled quietly, and the world felt like it had taken a breath just for the two of you.

“Do you remember the mission in Prague?” you asked suddenly, eyes fixed on the pond.

Bucky huffed out a breath. “Which one? The one with the exploding wine cellar or the one where Clint got stuck in a dumbwaiter?”

“The dumbwaiter.”

“You mean the one you rigged so he’d get stuck?”

You grinned. “Justice.”

He let out a quiet laugh, then leaned back on the bench, arms stretched across the backrest, his knuckles just brushing your shoulder.

The clouds hung low above the water, the air damp but not unpleasant.

You felt like you could sit here for hours. So you did.

Eventually, you pulled the Polaroid out again, your fingers slower on the buttons now. You motioned for Bucky to scoot closer, and he did without a word, sliding in until your thighs touched.

You raised the camera, pausing before clicking.

“You always take the picture right when I blink,” he muttered.

“Then stop blinking.”

“I’m literally human.”

“That’s debatable.”

The flash snapped and captured the moment anyway, your expression half-smile, his almost-serious, the two of you framed by a soft gray sky and crooked trees. You waited for the photo to develop while he leaned his head back, eyes closed, face turned toward the breeze.

When the image finally appeared, you held it up to show him.

He studied it a moment, then nodded. “We look like trouble.”

“We are trouble,” you said. “We just got better at hiding it.”

You didn’t take another picture after that. Just tucked the photo carefully into your coat pocket and stood slowly, Bucky already rising to steady you by the elbow. You didn’t say thank you. He didn’t ask if you needed help.

It was already understood.

You spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the small local shops that dotted the street beyond the park.

Most of them you’d passed a hundred times without going in, but today you moved through them like a museum, pausing to look, to touch, to ask the names of plants in little ceramic pots or run your fingers across old postcards with curling edges.

Bucky followed without protest, one hand shoved into his jacket pocket, the other always ready to catch you if your steps faltered. You didn’t need him to, not yet, but you saw the way he hovered nearby, like a shadow that refused to leave.

Inside a dusty antique shop, tucked between a thrift bookstore and a diner you both swore to try someday, you found a box of old costume jewelry and started digging through it like a kid in a sandbox.

Bucky leaned against a cabinet nearby, arms crossed, watching with mild amusement as you lifted up gaudy rings and plastic brooches.

“Look at this,” you said, holding up a necklace with fake pearls the size of marbles. “I could be a debutante.”

“You’d be terrifying,” he said, voice dry.

You laughed, but your hand trembled slightly as you set the necklace back. He noticed. Of course he noticed. But he said nothing, just moved closer, his shoulder brushing yours as you both looked down into the chaos of the jewelry box.

“Pick one,” you said suddenly. “Anything. I’ll wear it.”

He looked skeptical. “Even the giant sunflower pin?”

“Especially the giant sunflower pin.”

Eventually, he chose a simple metal bracelet; old and tarnished, probably brass. It had tiny etchings along the side, half-faded. You slipped it over your wrist and held it up like it was solid gold.

“There,” you said. “Now I’m accessorized. This is character development.”

He didn’t say anything. But when you moved to pay, he beat you to the counter.

You wanted to argue, but the moment passed too quickly. The woman at the register wrapped the bracelet in paper even though you were already wearing it.

She smiled at you like she knew. Like she didn’t need to ask why someone would buy something so small with such care.

By the time you got back to the apartment, the sky had dimmed again, the clouds dragging their feet across the horizon.

You collapsed onto the couch with a sigh, your legs curled under you, the old bracelet now resting against the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

Bucky sat beside you, close but not crowding, flipping through the pages of that little notebook you kept stuffing your Polaroids into.

“I’m running out of space,” he muttered.

You looked over. “That’s the point.”

He turned a page carefully, gaze tracing the edges of the most recent photo, the one from the pond. “Gonna need a second book.”

“Then we’ll get one,” you said, voice quiet. “There’s a whole stack of them at the corner store. Blue covers. Yellow thread binding.”

He didn’t ask how you knew that. He just kept flipping, slower now.

You watched him for a long while, your body sinking heavier into the cushions, your heartbeat ticking a little louder in your ears.

The room was warm, lit only by the soft overhead light and the faint buzz of the radio playing something old, something without lyrics.

Then, with a tired smile, you asked, “Can we just stay in tonight?”

Bucky looked up at you—really looked. And whatever he saw there made him nod.

“Yeah,” he said. “We can.”

The rest of the evening passed slowly, the kind of slow that comes with mutual exhaustion, not just of the body, but of the soul. Y

ou stayed curled up on the couch together for a while, half-watching some old movie playing on the tiny living room TV.

Neither of you really paid attention. The dialogue blurred into background noise, a soft lull behind the rustle of blankets and the creak of old floorboards.

Eventually, Bucky rose to his feet, stretched his arms overhead, and let out a quiet groan.

You stayed where you were, eyes half-closed, your body heavier than it had been all day.

Then he looked over his shoulder and asked, voice gentler than you expected, “C’mon. You should sleep somewhere with a mattress tonight.”

You didn’t argue. You just nodded slowly, unfolding yourself from the couch like someone made of paper. He waited for you, didn’t rush, didn’t hover, just let you take your time.

You padded toward the bedroom, the air cooler now that the windows were cracked open to let in the night breeze.

The curtains danced lightly against the frame, and the moonlight spilled in through the gaps.

The bed was already made, the sheets freshly washed, the pillows fluffed with quiet intention.

You climbed in first, settling onto your side with your back to the window, hands curled loosely beneath your chin.

Bucky stood there for a moment, watching you. Then, without a word, he walked around to the other side and lay down beside you, careful, slow, like the act itself felt sacred.

For a few moments, neither of you moved.

Then you shifted closer, just an inch or two, your body aching in quiet ways it hadn’t before. He felt it. Without needing to ask, he reached for you, looping one arm around your waist and pulling you in gently.

Not possessive, not urgent. Just there.

You tucked your face into his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of laundry soap and something distinctly him, old cologne, metal, pine.

His hand rubbed slow circles into your back, his thumb tracing absentminded patterns like he’d done this a thousand times before, even if neither of you had ever admitted to it.

Meanwhile, outside, the wind picked up slightly, brushing the building like a lullaby. The night deepened. The city dimmed. And in that quiet space between breaths, between aches, between what was and what might come next, you felt your body relax for the first time all day.

Then Bucky whispered, “You okay?”

You nodded against his shirt, too tired to speak, your fingers lightly gripping the edge of his sleeve.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re alright.”

You didn’t say anything.

But you believed him.

And slowly, wrapped in his warmth, you drifted to sleep—not quite whole, not quite strong, but safe.

Day Five: Saturday

Saturday began with silence.

No alarms, no clatter from the kitchen, no voices outside the window. Just stillness and the sound of your breathing, slightly uneven now, but calm enough.

The sunlight poured in slow and warm through the curtains, casting long streaks across the wooden floor and the foot of the bed. You blinked awake slowly, eyes adjusting to the quiet glow.

For a while, you didn’t move at all. You just lay there, cocooned in sheets, watching the dust dance in the golden light like snowflakes with nowhere to land.

Bucky was still beside you, not fully asleep but not awake either. One arm lay across your waist, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that helped guide your own.

When you finally stirred, his eyes opened just enough to find you.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and gravelly from sleep.

You gave a slow nod. “Just… slow morning.”

He hummed softly, pulling you in a little closer. “We can stay here. As long as you want.”

You didn’t answer right away. The truth was, staying in bed all day didn’t sound like a bad idea.

Your limbs were heavy, your breath tight in your chest. But something in you still itched to keep going, to do, to see, to hold onto what little time felt left, even if you weren’t naming it out loud.

Eventually, after a long stretch of quiet, you sat up carefully, swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

Bucky followed without a word, rubbing his face with both hands before stretching like someone much older than he looked.

You glanced over at him, hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, expression bleary, and smiled.

“You look like you’ve been through a war.”

“I have,” he said, deadpan. “You kept kicking me in your sleep.”

“I was fighting ghosts.”

“You were fighting me.”

You grinned, then pushed yourself to your feet, slow and steady. The floor was cold, but the ache in your body had grown familiar now, like an old friend you didn’t exactly invite but had learned how to live beside.

You both moved through the morning without rush, showering, changing, eating something small. Everything took longer than it used to. But Bucky never looked at the clock.

Later, he helped you lace up your boots; fingers nimble, expression unreadable. When you reached for the camera, he arched a brow.

“We’re going out?”

“We’re going up,” you said.

The roof wasn’t far. Just a short flight of stairs and an old hatch door that creaked on its hinges.

Bucky opened it for you, and you stepped out into the wind together, greeted by open sky and rows of bricks worn soft by time.

The rooftop garden was modest; just a few potted herbs, a broken bench, and some wildflowers someone had planted long ago and forgotten.

But the view stretched wide across the city, rooftops stacked like dominoes, clouds drifting like they had nowhere else to be.

You sat down on a faded blanket someone had left behind, pulling your knees to your chest. Bucky sat beside you, legs stretched out, arms braced behind him as he tilted his face toward the sun.

For a long while, you said nothing.

Then, with a tired breath, you asked, “Do you think we were ever meant to make it this far?”

Bucky didn’t open his eyes. “Some of us weren’t.”

You turned your head toward him, studying the lines on his face. “But you did.”

“So did you.”

You didn’t respond to that. Instead, you pulled out the Polaroid again and snapped a picture of the skyline, the clouds, the rusted fire escape curling beside the wall.

And then, turning slightly, you caught him in frame too, face turned to the sun, eyes closed, expression soft in a way most people never saw.

The photo clicked and slid out, and you cradled it gently between your palms like something sacred.

He opened his eyes then, glancing at you.

“You’re still taking photos of me without warning.”

“I want to remember,” you said simply.

He didn’t ask what.

After a while, the breeze picked up, tugging gently at your sleeves and the corners of the blanket.

You reached into the canvas tote you’d brought and pulled out a small set of travel watercolors, the ones Bucky had found in the back of a thrift shop two weeks ago and brought home like he’d struck gold.

The little metal tin rattled with dried pigments, and the sketchpad that followed looked worn at the edges, its pages soft from too much use.

Bucky glanced over, raising a brow. “You planning to paint me again?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you replied, though your grin gave you away. “I’m painting the skyline.”

He leaned back with a hum, watching you wet the brush and swirl it through a faded blue. “Last time you said that, I ended up looking like a sad tree.”

“You were slouching,” you said, dipping the brush again.

You didn’t have the energy for big strokes or full pages, so you started small; just the edge of a building, the slope of the fire escape, the way the sky bled pale pink behind the clouds.

Bucky watched in silence for a while, then reached beside him and pulled a pencil from the tin, flipping to the next page in your sketchpad.

You arched a brow. “You’re going to draw?”

“I used to sketch,” he said, almost sheepishly. “A long time ago. During the war.”

“That’s kind of hot,” you said.

He gave you a deadpan look. “That’s not the reaction I expected.”

You laughed softly, the sound curling up into the breeze. Then, for a long stretch of time, there were no words, just the soft scratching of pencil on paper, the whisper of your brush against the page, the distant hum of city life far below.

You glanced over once, just to peek at what he was drawing, and saw his brow furrowed in concentration, the pencil moving slowly as he tried to trace the curve of a chimney or maybe the horizon itself.

Then, without warning, you dipped your brush into a sunny yellow and reached out to dab a little color right on the bridge of his nose.

He flinched, blinking hard. “Are you serious?”

“Sun-kissed,” you said, biting back a laugh. “Very summery.”

“You’re a menace.”

But there was a flicker of something warm in his eyes now, something fond that he didn’t bother hiding.

He snatched the brush from your hand, dipped it into the leftover blue, and drew a single, smudged streak across your cheekbone.

You gasped. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

He grinned. Grinned. “Payback.”

What followed could only be described as gentle chaos.

You were both careful not to spill the water jar, but your hands and faces were soon smeared in shades of pink and green, your fingers stained with laughter.

It wasn’t a fight, not really. Just a moment of silliness that left you breathless, your limbs aching but your chest full.

Eventually, you collapsed back onto the blanket, your painting half-finished and beautiful in its own messy way. Bucky lay beside you, smudged and smiling, the sun now dipping toward late afternoon.

You pulled the Polaroid from your side, aimed it without warning, and snapped a picture of him lying there, shirt rumpled, cheek streaked with gold, his pencil tucked behind one ear like it belonged there.

“Don’t you dare write a caption for that one,” he warned.

You were already scribbling on the back.

The sun began to settle lower in the sky, casting the rooftop in amber light that made everything look softer than it was gentler, almost surreal. The air turned cooler, but not unkind, brushing across your skin like a lullaby.

You stayed lying down on the blanket, eyes half-closed, chest rising in slow rhythm as Bucky cleaned up the mess you both had made. He didn’t say anything about your stillness.

Just moved carefully, collecting the brushes, tucking the tin back into your bag, wiping a smear of pink from your sleeve with the edge of his own shirt.

Then he lay back down beside you, stretching his legs out so his boots knocked gently into yours. You were quiet for a while, just listening to the wind, the creaking rooftop garden gate, the faint buzz of the city below.

The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but full. Full of what hadn’t been said. Full of what didn’t need to be.

After a while, you rolled onto your side to face him. “Can I ask you something?”

His eyes flicked toward you, cautious but open. “Always.”

You hesitated, fingers curling into the edge of the blanket between you. “If we’d met in another life, one where there weren’t wars, or HYDRA, or powers, or… any of it, do you think we’d still end up here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out and brushed his thumb gently across your cheek, where a faint streak of green still lingered beneath your eye.

Then his hand dropped, and he stared up at the sky again like he was trying to read the answer in the clouds.

“I think,” he said finally, voice steady, “that no matter the version of the world, you’d still pull me toward you.”

You blinked, throat tight. “Even if I was a librarian?”

“Especially if you were a librarian.”

You laughed then, the sound raw and real, your shoulders shaking from it. And God, it felt good to laugh like that, to let it bubble out from under the weight, to see him smiling because of it.

Eventually, you sat up again, your muscles slow to cooperate but not protesting just yet. The city was beginning to glow, streetlights flickering on, windows shining gold, everything bathed in that last stretch of day before it gave in to dusk.

You took one last photo on the rooftop before heading down. This one wasn’t posed. Just the view from where you sat, your paint-stained knees, the blanket, Bucky’s hand resting on the corner of your sketchpad, steady and strong.

You didn’t need faces to remember the moment. The softness was all there, captured between fading light and shadow.

When you returned to the apartment, you made tea, hands shaking only slightly now, and sat on the couch while Bucky opened all the windows to let the breeze drift through.

The two of you curled up again, closer this time, the paint still on your skin, the photo drying on the table beside your mug.

You leaned against him, cheek to his shoulder, breathing in quiet.

And when he pressed a kiss to your hair, it wasn’t with urgency.

It was with something softer.

Like memory.

Like home.

Day Seven: Sunday

Sunday began before the sun had risen.

The apartment was still cloaked in quiet shadow, the city outside not yet fully awake. You rose slowly, shoulders aching, your chest heavier than it had been all week.

But still, you moved with purpose, reaching for your bag and the old hoodie that smelled faintly like lavender and old paper. The air felt different today, clearer, colder, like the sky had been rinsed clean overnight.

Bucky was already in the kitchen when you stepped out, back turned to you as he poured two mugs of coffee. He must’ve heard you stir.

You watched him for a moment, the way he moved so naturally in your space, like it had always been his too. The light caught in the streaks of silver in his hair, and for a second, it was hard to breathe, but not from sadness, not exactly. Just the weight of it all.

“Big day?” he asked, turning and handing you the mug.

You nodded. “Want to go on a trip?”

He gave you a look. “Define trip.”

“Memory lane.”

He didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.

By late morning, the two of you were standing at the base of the Watchtower. It used to be Stark Tower, once gleaming and arrogant and brilliant.

Now, it was something else, rebuilt and quiet, humming with the ghosts of the past.

You hadn’t been back in years. Not since it all ended.

Not since Tony’s voice had last filled the halls with sarcasm and plans and that unshakable belief that the world could be saved, even by broken people.

The building stood tall, untouched by the chaos of newer wars, a monument of what once was. There were still pieces of the old team inside, photos that had somehow survived, blueprints etched into glass, a memorial wall tucked away near the old lab. You wandered slowly, letting your fingertips drift across metal and stone and memory.

Bucky followed you in silence. He didn’t need to ask what this place meant. He already knew.

You paused in front of an old digital display, long dormant now, but still faintly glowing. The names flickered across the screen; Natasha. Tony. Steve. Others. You stared at it for a long time, until your hand found Bucky’s and stayed there.

“I thought I’d feel more sad,” you whispered.

“Do you?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I just feel… full.”

Then, without waiting for a response, you tugged him gently toward the elevator, keying in the old override code that Tony had once jokingly named after your least favorite song.

The ride up was quiet, the floor numbers ticking slowly, the hum of the machinery old but steady.

When the doors opened, the wind hit first.

The balcony stretched wide, high above the city, just like it always had. The railings had been repaired, the garden pots refilled with lavender and rosemary and other things that didn’t mind being forgotten. The view was still the same; Manhattan sprawled in every direction, brilliant and alive and humming with chaos.

You stepped out first, inhaling deeply. The air up here was sharper, purer. The kind that could cut through anything clouded. Behind you, Bucky stepped forward, letting the door close with a soft hiss.

Then, without needing to be asked, he handed you the Polaroid camera.

“One more?” he said.

You looked at him, eyes glassy but calm. “One more.”

You lifted the camera and took a photo of the city, the skyline burning in soft light. Then you turned it on him again, and this time, he didn’t complain.

He just looked at you and smiled, something quiet, something steady. The picture snapped and slipped out, and you caught it like it might disappear if you were too slow.

While the photo developed, you both walked toward the edge of the balcony, leaning against the cool metal railing. The breeze lifted your hair, carried it across your cheeks, and you closed your eyes for a moment just to feel it.

“Do you remember the first time we stood here?” you asked softly.

He nodded. “Yeah. You punched Tony in the arm for calling you ‘kid.’”

“And then Steve laughed and dropped his shield.”

“And Nat made us all take shots after.”

You smiled, eyes still shut. “Feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It was.”

Then the silence stretched again, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of what had been, what would never be again, and what little was still left between the two of you.

You stayed at the edge of the balcony for a while, letting the city stretch endlessly beneath you. The sound of cars far below mixed with the rustle of wind against glass and steel, the heartbeat of a place that never truly rested.

But up here, it felt like the world had paused for you, like it knew what today meant, even if it didn’t know why.

Bucky leaned on the railing beside you, arms folded, eyes scanning the skyline like he could name every building, every street. There was a peacefulness to him now, a steadiness carved from years of chaos, and you found comfort in that.

In him.

For a long time, he’d been your reminder that healing didn’t have to look loud. Sometimes it looked like survival. Sometimes it looked like showing up.

You pulled another photo from your jacket pocket, one of the older ones, creased at the corners, faded from sun and time.

It was from your first year with the Avengers, taken in the common room one late night after a mission gone sideways.

Tony’s eyes were red from laughing.

Natasha was halfway out of frame.

Bruce had a shy smile.

Steve had frosting on his nose from a smashed cupcake.

Thor looked like a confused golden retriever.

And you; young, tired, but glowing, were laughing into a cup of coffee with Clint hanging off your shoulders like a drunk cat.

You held it out to Bucky.

He took it without a word and stared at it, his jaw tightening slightly before it eased.

“God, we were ridiculous,” you said, lips curling.

He nodded. “We were a mess.”

“But we were us.” You reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes. “We really thought we could save everything, didn’t we?”

“You did save everything,” he said, voice firm.

You looked at him, and something in your chest flickered. “Did we?”

He met your gaze and didn’t flinch. “Enough of it to matter.”

The words settled between you like a blanket, warm despite the cold.

You both fell quiet again, the weight of shared history pressing soft against your shoulders.

There was something about standing here, where so many beginnings and endings had collided, that made everything else feel far away.

Eventually, you wandered back to the bench near the balcony garden, easing down slowly, your body aching with that quiet heaviness you’d been carrying all week.

Bucky followed, sitting beside you, the wooden planks creaking gently under his weight.

You tilted your head onto his shoulder without asking. He shifted just enough to make the angle comfortable.

Meanwhile, the photo from earlier finished developing, resting in your lap.

You looked down at it, just the two of you against a city that never stopped moving.

No filters.

No perfect lighting.

Just you and him, weathered and still here.

“I should’ve brought something better to leave behind,” you murmured.

“You did,” he said simply.

You frowned a little. “What?”

He reached down, plucked the photo from your lap, and tucked it gently between the pages of your sketchpad beside you. “You.”

You didn’t speak after that. You didn’t need to.

You just sat together, in the last place that still felt like home, surrounded by memories that didn’t haunt but held you.

And for now, that was enough.

You both sat there long after the light had begun to shift, the sun curling lower toward the edge of the city, staining the sky in soft orange and the palest lavender.

The breeze carried the scent of rosemary from the garden planters, mixing with that faint smell of old concrete and rain still drying on glass. The world below you kept moving; horns, footsteps, distant sirens, but up here, it was quiet.

Sacred, even. Like the past had folded itself around you in soft arms and said, you can rest for a little while longer.

Your shoulder still rested against Bucky’s, and he hadn’t moved since you’d leaned into him.

His hand was resting loosely on your knee, not possessive, just there. Just steady.

“What do you think it all meant?” you asked after a long stretch of silence. Your voice was soft, half-lost in the wind.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his gaze still fixed somewhere beyond the skyline. “Life?”

“Yeah. All of it. The missions. The chaos. The loss. The weird alien battles. The quiet after. Everything.”

He let out a slow breath, chest rising and falling under the weight of the question. “I used to think it was supposed to be about redemption. Like... if I could do enough good, it’d erase the bad. Balance it out.”

You glanced up at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was somewhere else, somewhere between memory and hope.

“But it’s not like that,” he continued, voice low. “You don’t cancel out the past. You just carry it better.”

You nodded slowly, fingers brushing the edge of your sleeve. “I think... I always hoped it would mean something. That we were building toward something better. That we’d look back and say—there, that was worth it.”

“And do you?” he asked gently.

You smiled, tired but sure. “Yeah, I do.”

Then, after a pause, you added, “I think I was always afraid I’d disappear without mattering. That everything I was would just... vanish. Like smoke.”

“You didn’t vanish,” Bucky said. “You lit things up.”

His words hung there for a second too long, hitting something behind your ribs that had stayed untouched all week. You blinked hard, trying not to let the silence crack around it.

“And you?” you asked. “If you weren’t the Soldier, or the ghost of someone’s war... who would you be?”

He gave a soft laugh under his breath, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just a guy from Brooklyn. Grew up on bad coffee and jazz. Got into fights for people smaller than me. Had a best friend who couldn’t stop jumping on grenades.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder again, the weight of him grounding you.

“I think I would’ve liked that guy,” you whispered.

“I think he would’ve loved you,” he replied, just as quiet.

You both sat there, the sky beginning to dim, stars slowly peeking out like they were curious.

And for a moment, the years fell away.

The battles.

The pain.

The powers.

The deaths.

It was just two souls, side by side, asking the questions everyone asks when the sun begins to set: Did I do enough? Did I love well? Will someone remember I was here?

Then Bucky turned slightly, just enough to press a kiss to your temple. Gentle. Unrushed. “You were here,” he said.

The stars were brighter now.

They always were from the Watchtower’s balcony, something about the height, maybe, or the way the air thinned just enough to make you feel like you could almost reach them.

The city still pulsed beneath you, alive in its own way, but up here, time moved slower. Like it knew you needed just a little more.

Your fingers traced the rim of your mug, long gone cold now. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been holding it. You didn’t even remember what the tea had tasted like.

“I have regrets,” you said suddenly. The words came out like breath, like confession.

Bucky didn’t look surprised. He didn’t flinch or fill the silence. He just nodded once and waited.

You stared ahead, out into the glittering lights and chaos. “I regret not calling my mom more. I regret missing Clint’s last kid’s birthday because I was chasing a Hydra cell. I regret that last fight I had with Bruce, I think he thought I hated him. I regret not going with Steve when he left. And I regret not holding Nat’s hand the night before she went.”

The list spilled out quiet and slow, like water from a cracked glass.

“I regret that I thought we had more time. That we always thought we’d have more.”

Beside you, Bucky exhaled through his nose. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Time’s a liar.”

Then he shifted slightly, his hand brushing yours on the bench. “I regret a lot, too.”

You looked over, surprised by how tired he sounded, not just in his voice, but in the shape of his shoulders, the lines around his eyes.

The kind of tired that goes deeper than bones.

The kind that lives in your soul.

“I regret that I let Hydra steal decades of me, and that when I got free, I didn’t know how to come back. I regret that I didn’t write to Steve more before he… left. I regret pushing Sam away when he tried to help. I regret every time I told myself I didn’t deserve good things, and every time I believed it.”

His voice stayed steady, but the tremor was in the stillness of him. You could feel it.

“I regret not showing up for you sooner,” he added, quieter now.

You reached over then, taking his hand with a grip that was firm despite the dull ache in your fingers. “You showed up when it mattered.”

His eyes met yours, something stormy and gentle all at once. “But maybe I could’ve given you more. When you still had more.”

You held his gaze, letting the truth settle between you.

“Maybe,” you said. “But you gave me this. You gave me now.”

And it was true. Because here you were, still breathing, still feeling, still able to remember the warmth of a hand in yours and the way the wind felt on your face at the end of all things.

Bucky looked down at your joined hands. “Do you think we were ever meant to get happy endings?”

You smiled sadly. “Maybe not, but I think we were meant to find peace. Even if it came late.”

The wind brushed across your face, cooler now. You shivered slightly, and without a word,

Bucky pulled off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. It still held the shape of him, the scent of leather and cold metal and something steady.

You leaned into him again, head resting against his chest this time, feeling the soft thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

“I don’t regret loving this world,” you whispered. “Even when it hurt.”

And Bucky, arms wrapping around you like a promise, replied softly, “It was better because you were in it.”

You didn’t say anything for a while.

The silence between you was heavy, but not in a bad way. It was the kind of silence that came after truth. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.

You just listened to the way the wind moved through the balcony railings, to the rustle of leaves in the planters, to Bucky’s breathing, steady and sure beside you.

Then, slowly, you shifted just enough to look up at him.

His eyes met yours, soft, open, tired in the way that only people who’ve lived too many lives can be. He didn’t speak, just waited.

That’s what he’d always done with you.

Waited.

No rush.

No pressure.

Just presence.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice raw around the edges.

Bucky blinked. “For what?”

“For staying.”

His brow furrowed like he didn’t understand. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t know what it meant, for someone like him, someone like you, to have stayed.

To have chosen to stay, day after day, in a world that kept burning down.

You gave a slow breath, the words steady now. “You could’ve walked away. You could’ve disappeared, like so many of us did, but you stayed. You stayed when everyone else was gone. You stayed this week. With me. Even when I didn’t ask.”

He looked down at his hands, then at yours. His voice was quiet, barely there. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

That broke something small in you.

Not in a painful way, but in the way you’d been holding everything too tightly, too long.

Your throat tightened, and your eyes burned, and still, you managed to smile.

“You know,” you said, brushing a thumb across his knuckles, “people always say they’ll be there at the end, but... most of them don’t know what that means. You do.”

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“I’m not.” You looked up at him again, eyes glassy, voice stronger now. “I’m not, because you’re here.”

Then, without thinking, without planning, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

His skin was warm under your lips, rough from stubble and wind, and he didn’t move away. He didn’t even blink.

When you pulled back, he turned just enough to kiss your forehead, slow and careful, like he didn’t want to break you. Or maybe himself.

“I meant it,” he whispered. “When I said you lit things up.”

You leaned into him again, this time with your arms loosely around his middle, letting the weight of him anchor you.

“You helped me remember who I was,” you said. “Even when I didn’t know anymore.”

Bucky didn’t reply, not with words, but the way he held you closer, the way his fingers curled into the back of your shirt like he was afraid you’d float away, it said more than language ever could.

And under the stars, on the edge of everything, you let the moment stretch.

Quiet.

Full.

Eternal.

The wind had gone quiet.

The sky above had deepened to navy, stars flickering in clusters across the heavens like scattered prayers. The kind of night that made you feel both infinite and small.

You stayed wrapped in Bucky’s arms, your body tucked against his side, the warmth of him grounding you as the cold crept into your fingers and bones.

But still, you didn’t move. Neither of you did. There was nothing urgent now.

No more running. No more saving the world. Just being.

Just breathing.

Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the slow churn of the river, the quiet hum of streetlights flickering on, the last stirrings of birds settling into their nests.

The city carried on beneath you, unaware of the fragile moment unfolding high above it.

Maybe that was how it was always meant to be, big things happening quietly, without fanfare. The end not as an explosion, but as a breath slowly leaving the lungs.

You tilted your head back slightly, watching the stars with tired eyes.

Your hand found Bucky’s again, and he held it without needing to look.

His thumb traced lazy circles against your knuckles, a silent rhythm that told you he was still there. Still with you. Always with you.

“Do you think they’re out there?” you asked softly, voice barely above the wind.

He turned to you. “Who?”

“Steve. Nat. Tony.” You smiled faintly. “The others.”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, after a long pause, he said, “If they are... they’re watching. And they’re proud.”

You closed your eyes, letting that live in your chest for a moment.

You liked the idea of them watching, not from some celestial throne, not as ghosts, but just... nearby. As if they never really left.

“I’d like to see them again,” you murmured.

“I know.”

Time stretched then, slow and golden and forgiving. You leaned your head against Bucky’s shoulder, your breathing soft and shallow now, but steady.

He shifted just enough to make you comfortable, his hand brushing a loose strand of hair from your face with infinite care.

You didn’t speak again.

There was nothing left to say.

Everything important had already been said in the quiet, in the stillness, in the way he held you like the last precious thing on Earth.

The city lights flickered, then steadied.

The stars blinked, and the sky kept turning.

And then—

You fall asleep with your head on his shoulder.

Your breath slows gently, fading like the final notes of a lullaby hummed into twilight.

The hush of the world cradles you, the distant hum of the city below, the whisper of wind brushing through balcony railings, the steady heartbeat of the man beside you.

Your lashes rest against your cheeks, your lips parted just slightly as if you’d meant to say one last thing, then chose peace instead.

And when you don’t wake up, Bucky doesn’t cry.

He just sits there, still and steady, the weight of you nestled against him like something sacred.

The stars wheel silently above, and the night air carries no sound but the rustle of rosemary in the planters and the quiet sigh of a life now passed.

His eyes stay on the horizon, but his soul stays with you, anchored to the final warmth of your presence.

Then, without ceremony, without trembling, he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft, sure, like he’s done a hundred times before.

Not goodbye.

Just love.

“I hope you find them,” he murmurs, voice rough with memory. “Wherever you are.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #sebastian stan angst #james buchanan barnes #avengers x reader #avengxrz

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marinehero · 1 year ago

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Stares off into the distance. Garp believes in Luffy so much. Believe isn't even the right word, he knows. He knew Roger. He knows if there's anyone who's going to do it, it's Luffy. He knew it early on and it terrified him. Just as he knew Roger's sotry, he knows how this story ends. He's terrified. He loves his grandson. He knows who he works for. He knows the powers in charge. But Luffy kept proving the world wrong again and again and again and even he couldn't deny anymore that if there's anyone who can make it and survive, it's Luffy. He's so damn proud, he always has been. Luffy's going to be the one and he knows it to be a fact as given as the sea.

#{ ooc } ✗ 「 wenp reporter 」#[ logs on for the first time in a while #[ immedietly sees lala's reply to the bingo #[ has a real normal one for a moment #[ RAGH. garp going im proud of him @ sengoku garp saying you haven't seen anything yet at the levely #[ garp constantly being shown of being proud and happy for luffy when he's not. around luffy. raaghhhhhhhh #[ he is so messed up #[ i will die on the hill that when shirahoshi referred to him by 'luffy's grandfather' instead of 'vice-admiral garp' 'garp the fist/hero'-#[ -etc. was one of the best days in his life. this man is a living legend and he'll go down in history as luffy's grandfather and he'd be #[ so damn happy ab it #[ gh! fucked up old man learn how to show how much you love your family to your family instead of your coworkers Now!!!#[ gh. okay normal moment is over <- sorray guys im dying a thousand deaths and havent rp'd in so long :(#[ every know in then i will think ab my fucked up old man from the trenches (gh. get me out of here) and i will be so os normal about it #[ Sighs. once again apologizes for absences and hopes everyone taking care

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0scarp1astr1 · 24 days ago

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˖ 𐔌 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬࿐ .۫

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Lando is loving his new life as a family man, making time and moments with them count. With his baby girl in the picture now, life couldn't be more perfect. Until, the media crosses a line it shouldn't. ||

Change it all ((Read First if you haven't))

ᯓ★ (Husband!) Lando Norris x Fem! (Wife) Reader

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Fluff, Angst

ᯓ★ Warning: Sad Sebastian, pissed off Lando, but nothing really major.

ᯓ★ Requested? Yes

Author Note: Here for you all! Maybe one day, I can make a fic where all the kids to the drivers spend time together. Feel free to request any time you want. Here is Lando being a dad again, and by far a good one.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

It was early morning in the Norris flat nestled in the hills of Monaco, where the sky glowed with a soft pastel light and the sea reflected gold from the slowly rising sun. The hush of dawn hadn’t yet been broken — the kind of peace that felt borrowed, fleeting, like the quiet before a favorite song starts. It was moments like these that made everything feel real. Lando’s arm was draped across your waist, his breath warm against your shoulder, the covers tangled between your legs.

What was once a sleek and stylish bachelor’s flat had transformed into something entirely different over the past few years — still elegant, still Monaco — but lived-in now, softened by crayon marks on walls that wouldn’t wash off, scattered Lego bricks in the corners, and the sound of little feet that never really stopped moving.

What remained just as surreal as the view outside was how completely Lando had embraced his role as a father — to both your children. He had stepped into Sebastian’s life when your son was only three, never once blinking at the challenge of loving a child that wasn’t biologically his. And now, with Lyla — his own daughter — nothing had changed. If anything, he seemed more determined to make sure Sebastian never felt a difference. He claimed him proudly, in every interview, every post, every loving gesture that quietly said: this boy is mine.

You felt his fingers flex sleepily around your waist, his face buried into your neck.

“I hear those feet…” you murmured with a tired grin.

Lando groaned in reply, eyes still shut, his curls tickling your shoulder as he shifted. “I’ll count down from five…”

You laughed softly. “No need. They’re moving at the speed of light.”

Before either of you could react, the door swung open with the force of a hurricane. Seven-year-old Sebastian shot into the room like a missile, socks skidding against hardwood before he leapt onto the bed with zero hesitation. The mattress bounced with the impact, jostling both of you as Lando let out a dramatic oof and you burst into giggles.

Trailing behind him, in a much gentler and wobblier fashion, was Lyla — her two-year-old curls still tousled from sleep, thumb halfway to her mouth, but her determination never wavering. She used the edge of the bed to hoist herself up, little knees clambering with practiced effort until she was nestled beside you.

Sebastian grinned wide, face already lit with excitement. “Do you know what today is?!” he asked, bouncing on his knees as if it were Christmas morning.

Lando blinked sleepily at him. “Hmm… let me guess, buddy… your birthday?”

Sebastian collapsed dramatically across Lando’s chest. “Nooo! Guess again!”

“My birthday?” Lando teased, pointing at himself.

Sebastian giggled, shaking his head. “No, Daddy! It’s practice day! For my race!”

Lando gasped with mock horror. “You’re right! How could I forget? That’s way more important than a birthday!”

You watched them with a smile, pulling Lyla into your arms as she giggled softly and tucked her head under your chin. You kissed the top of her curls and rocked gently.

“Well, you two boys have a busy day,” you said with a knowing smirk.

Lando shook his head, sitting up with Sebastian still draped across him like a backpack. “We all do! Come on, let’s go out afterward! Make a day of it.”

You raised a brow. “You know how Lyla does in public,” you said gently, voice full of motherly concern. “She gets overwhelmed, and—”

He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing soft circles across your palm. “I’ll be there. I’ve got her. I’ve got all of you. Always.” His voice was low but full of that quiet conviction that never failed to ground you.

You leaned in, kissing him softly. A moment shared — peaceful and full of promise.

“Ew!” Sebastian whined loudly, slapping his hands over his eyes. “Mommy, don’t! That’s so nasty!”

You and Lando burst out laughing, the kind that made your ribs hurt and your heart feel full.

“Okay, you two,” you said, wiping your eyes as you sat up straighter. “Time to get moving. I’m in charge of breakfast this morning. And Daddy…” you glanced at Lando with a smug smile, “…is on bath duty.”

Sebastian groaned. “Noooo! He takes forever! He sings and makes it a whole concert!”

Lando threw up his hands. “Hey, those bath-time concerts are award-winning, thank you very much!”

Lyla clapped her hands together and squealed, “Dada!” as she wrapped her arms around his neck, giggling as Sebastian squished himself into the cuddle pile, too.

You watched them — your people. Your chaotic, messy, absolutely perfect morning crew — and for the thousandth time, you felt that deep swell in your chest. Not just love. Not just gratitude.

You moved with ease around the kitchen, the familiar rhythm of cooking grounding you as the smell of cinnamon, scrambled eggs, and warm toast filled the air. The stovetop sizzled softly, and you balanced flipping pancakes with keeping an ear open for the usual chaos that trailed your mornings like a shadow.

Lyla was happily soaking in the tub just down the hall, her rubber duckies bobbing lazily across the sea of bubbles. You could hear her humming to herself, splashing now and then, her high-pitched giggles bouncing off the tiled walls. Meanwhile, from the adjacent bedroom, came the sound of father and son negotiations — or, more accurately, a fashion debate.

“All the girls are gonna want me looking this good!” Sebastian declared proudly, his voice echoing slightly through the open doors.

Lando laughed. “You're absolutely right, champ. It’s exactly how I won over your mom.”

You paused mid-stir, brow raised, lips twitching into a half-smile as you rolled your eyes toward the ceiling. “He’s really using that line this early in the morning?” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head with amusement.

“She fell hard for the curls,” Lando continued dramatically, fluffing Sebastian’s hair as if he were preparing him for a red carpet event.

“I knew it!” Sebastian said, puffing out his chest in front of the mirror. “Girls love cool hair.”

Back in the kitchen, you moved to plate breakfast with practiced grace, sliding fluffy pancakes onto warm dishes, eggs just the way Sebastian liked — slightly runny but not “gooey” as he insisted — and a few cut strawberries on the side for Lyla. You were used to this: multitasking like a magician with a wand in one hand and a spatula in the other.

Soon enough, the family made their way to the table — Lando drying his hands on a dish towel, Sebastian practically skipping with excitement, and Lyla toddling in behind them, curls still damp and cheeks pink from her bath. You had her sit in her booster seat at the end of the table and gently wrapped a towel around her tiny shoulders to catch any drips.

As she munched happily on her pancakes, you stood behind her, carefully sectioning her hair with nimble fingers, your voice low and soothing.

“Let’s try something cute today, hmm?” you murmured, twisting soft little curls into a half-up bun, securing it with a gentle clip that matched her tiny shirt — a pale blue one with little clouds on it.

“She looks like a doll,” Lando said with a grin, watching as Lyla turned to flash him a syrupy smile, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

“Dada,” she giggled, smearing her fingers on her tray.

“Okay, helmet?” Lando said, turning back to Sebastian and tapping into race dad mode. “Gloves? Shoes? Suit? Water?”

Sebastian nodded along confidently, his mouth full of toast. “Helmet, check. Gloves, check. Suit, double check. And I already put my water in the bag. See?” He held up a small bottle with cartoon lightning bolts on it, grinning as Lando gave him a mock salute.

“You’re on it, little champ,” Lando said, reaching out to tousle his hair again — carefully, of course, so as not to undo the masterpiece they had just created.

You finished pinning Lyla’s bun, stepping back to admire your handiwork before letting out a soft sigh. “You two go over that list every morning like you’re heading into space instead of a kart track,” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you leaned on the back of Lyla’s chair.

Lando leaned back in his seat, throwing his arm casually around Sebastian’s shoulders. “Well, we could be astronauts. You never know what kind of traffic we’ll hit on the way.”

Sebastian laughed. “Space traffic!”

You shook your head, chuckling. “Mmm, sounds like someone’s been watching too much sci-fi with their dad.”

“Never too much,” Lando said with a wink. “Besides, if he’s going to be the youngest world champion in karting history, he’s got to be prepared for everything. Meteor showers. Tire punctures. Mid-race alien invasions.”

“You two are hopeless,” you said, brushing a crumb off Lyla’s bib before leaning down to kiss her cheek. She turned to smoosh her pancake against your chin in response.

“See?” Lando said, watching the sticky chaos unfold. “This is why you’re in charge of breakfast, and I’m in charge of bath-time concerts and emotional support.”

“You do bring the chaos and the comedy,” you said, laughing as you wiped your chin with a napkin.

Lando stood and stretched, his shirt rising just slightly over his stomach as he groaned like an old man. “Alright, team. Finish up, grab your things, and let’s get this show on the road!”

Sebastian hopped up with an enthusiastic, “Yes, sir!” and darted off to find his shoes.

Lando leaned in as you helped Lyla down from her seat, planting a kiss at your temple. “We make a good team, huh?”

You smiled, glancing down at your daughter’s syrup-stained curls. “The best.”

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Sebastian sat in the backseat with his head leaned gently against the window, his dark curls freshly brushed and bouncing slightly every time the car hit a bump in the road. He watched the trees blur by, his little face glowing with joy, occasionally pointing out passing birds or funny-shaped clouds. The soft hum of his humming, offbeat and sweet, filled the car like background music to a peaceful morning.

Beside him, Lyla sat in her car seat clutching her plush bunny in one hand, the other rubbing her tired eyes. Her lashes were still damp from her bath, and her tiny mouth hung open in a sleepy pout. You glanced back at her with a soft smile before turning your head toward Lando, your arm resting lazily on the center console as the morning sun spilled into the car.

"You know," you began, your voice quiet and careful, "about that upcoming race… are we gonna talk about it?"

Lando didn’t glance at you — his focus stayed on the road, jaw slightly tightening. His hands adjusted subtly on the wheel, knuckles tensing for just a second. "Not in front of the kids," he muttered, almost under his breath. "Would be nice to just… have a peaceful drive."

You hummed in understanding, nodding slowly. He wasn’t wrong. You’d learned by now that Sebastian didn’t handle his absence well — not even short trips. The kid was emotionally aware, always had been. And as much as Lando tried to explain race weekends and schedules, it always came back to one thing: Why can’t you just stay home with us?

You looked over your shoulder again at Lyla, who was still fighting sleep. Her thumb rested near her lips, and you could see the way her small frame stiffened every time the car rolled past more people on the sidewalks. You sighed.

“She’s already tired, poor thing,” you murmured.

"Yeah, she was that way after her breakfast." He pointed.

You nodded again. “She’s still not comfortable in crowds.”

The car grew quiet. You both hated that part — not because you minded adjusting for her, but because it hurt to see her so afraid of the world. Your arms were her hiding place, your scent the only thing that calmed her when strangers’ eyes overwhelmed her. There were times she'd sob, clinging to you like her life depended on it, and only Lando’s calm voice and protective arms could slowly settle her.

“I still don’t understand it,” you said softly, shaking your head. “We never pushed her. Never forced her into loud spaces or too many people…”

“Sometimes it’s just how they’re wired,” Lando offered, his voice calm but laced with concern. “It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong with her. She’s sensitive. She feels things deeper than other kids. That’s not a flaw.”

You smiled faintly, reaching over to squeeze his hand on the gearshift. “Well, I want you to know… we’ll be expecting you to come home.”

He finally looked at you then, just for a second — his eyes warm and filled with love. “I love my family,” he said firmly. “I'd be a fool not to wanna be home with you guys.”

A peaceful silence fell over the car. You soaked in the moment — Sebastian's quiet joy, Lyla’s sleepy breathing, the comfort of Lando’s presence beside you. The kind of moment you wish you could bottle up forever.

Then your phone buzzed sharply in your bag, breaking the stillness. You glanced at it, saw the name light up on the screen, and tucked it back into your purse without a word.

Lando noticed. His eyes darted to you, then back to the road. “Who was that?” he asked, his tone casual — but just barely.

You exhaled. “You know who’s dad…”

His grip on the wheel tightened slightly. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared out ahead, jaw flexing. His shoulders tensed, the kind of reaction that told you he was fighting the urge to say something harsh — not in front of the kids.

“He has no reason to call,” Lando said at last, his voice low, controlled.

You nodded, your lips pressing together. “His excuse is he wants to build a bond with Sebastian.”

Lando scoffed, his laugh bitter and humorless. “Bullshit,” he spat. “Build something with him? Firstly, that’s my son.”

You stayed silent, listening — because you knew what was coming, and he had every right to say it.

“I don’t recall him claiming Sebastian when I came into his life at three years old,” Lando continued, eyes hard on the road. “Where was he then? Hm? When Sebastian was asking why his dad didn’t come to the school play? When he needed someone to tie his shoes or wipe his tears or sit through every damn dentist appointment?”

You reached across the console and laid a hand on his arm. His voice cracked slightly.

“He needs to find someone else to play parent with,” he said, a tremor of protectiveness in his throat. “Because it won’t be my son.”

You let the words linger for a moment, feeling the weight of them settle in the car like dust.

“I know,” you said quietly. “I didn’t answer. I won’t. Not until I know Sebastian is safe. Emotionally, mentally… he doesn’t get to mess with his heart just because he’s feeling guilty or left out now.”

Lando glanced at you again, softer now. “You always protect them.”

“So do you,” you whispered, smiling faintly.

From the backseat, Sebastian’s voice chimed in, unaware of the heaviness in the front.

“Are we almost there?” he asked, kicking his feet happily.

“Almost, champ,” Lando called back, voice instantly warmer. “You ready to win today?”

“Always!” Sebastian grinned.

Lyla blinked her eyes open, her gaze locking on you. You reached back and brushed a curl from her cheek, watching as her face relaxed at your touch.

“Oh! I like this song!” Sebastian piped up from the backseat, his little voice bubbling with excitement.

Lando glanced at the rearview mirror and smirked, reaching forward to turn the volume knob up just a little. “Classic,” he said with a grin, recognizing the tune.

Sebastian immediately started singing along — a little off-key, but enthusiastic nonetheless, his shoulders bouncing with every beat. Lando, unable to resist, joined in, throwing in a dramatic harmony that made Sebastian laugh.

You turned your head to watch the two of them for a moment — your son with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and the man who’d become his entire world, belting out lyrics like they were the headliners of a sold-out concert.

“You two are something else,” you murmured with a fond smile, shaking your head.

The front of the car erupted in playful chaos, with Lando drumming his hands on the wheel and Sebastian pretending to play air guitar. You pulled out your phone, instinctively hitting record. You captured it — the laughter, the music, the sunlight dancing across their faces — and posted it to your Instagram story with a simple caption: my boys 💛

There was something so peaceful about that moment. You didn’t need anything more. It was messy and loud and filled with love.

When you finally arrived, the hum of excitement still buzzed between all of you. Sebastian jumped out first, eyes wide and full of anticipation. Lando stepped out after him, grabbing the gear bag with one hand and Sebastian’s smaller one with the other. You moved to the back to get Lyla, who was still curled up in her car seat, her bunny clutched tightly to her chest.

You gently lifted her out, her body molding instantly to yours, her head tucking into your neck as her tiny hand gripped your hoodie.

“She’ll be okay,” you whispered softly, kissing her temple.

Lando came around to your side, brushing a hand down Lyla’s back as he looked at you. “It’s just a crowd,” he echoed quietly, as if saying it would make it true. “She’s gonna be okay...we’re here.”

You both nodded, but it was more for yourselves than anyone else.

Lyla whimpered a little as voices swelled in the distance, and you adjusted her in your arms, shushing her gently. You found a seat away from the crowd, tucked near the fence, giving her the space she needed to feel safe while still watching everything unfold.

Meanwhile, Lando led Sebastian toward check-in, walking side by side as if this were their own little pre-race ritual. He helped him unzip the duffle, pulling out the race suit and setting it down over the bench.

“Alright,” Lando said, kneeling down beside him as he began helping Sebastian into his suit. “You got this. I know you do. But remember, don’t push too hard. If someone’s being reckless, let them pass. We’re not here to crash. We’re here to finish.”

Sebastian nodded, his expression serious. “You always say that,” he muttered, pulling one arm through his sleeve.

Lando smirked. “Because it’s true. Some of these kids? They don’t play fair. But you do. You’ve got a good heart, and good instincts. That’ll take you farther than a shortcut ever will.”

Sebastian was quiet as he finished adjusting the suit around his waist, fiddling with the zipper. Lando’s brow furrowed slightly. He knew that silence — it wasn’t focus. It was doubt.

“Hey,” Lando said, crouching down again and lowering his voice. “What’s going on in that head of yours, kiddo?”

Sebastian looked up at him, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “It’s just…” he hesitated. “The other kids… they say I’m only good because of you. That I don’t actually work hard. Some of the parents too. I didn’t mean to listen in but… they talk loud enough.”

Lando’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. He didn’t speak for a moment, processing it.

“They say it’s just handed to me,” Sebastian continued, looking down. “And when I win or do something good, no one really cheers for me… not like they do for the others.”

Lando blew out a slow breath through his nose, trying not to let his anger show too much. He knelt fully now, hands resting on Sebastian’s shoulders.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice firm but gentle. “You are good because you work for it. I don’t care what any of them say. I help you — I coach you, yeah — but I’m not the one on that track. You are. You’re the one who gets in the kart. You’re the one who focuses. You’re the one who takes what we practice and makes it happen.”

Sebastian’s eyes welled slightly, and he looked away, embarrassed. “But what if they’re right? What if I’m only good because you’re… you?”

Lando shook his head immediately. “No. Absolutely not. You think being my son guarantees anything? You’ve got no idea how hard you��ve worked to be here, how much discipline it takes for someone your age to handle this pressure.”

He smiled gently now, brushing a piece of hair out of Sebastian’s face.

“You’re doing amazing, Seb. And honestly? They’re just mad that you’ve got someone in your corner who believes in you. That’s what they’re really jealous of.”

Sebastian sniffled once, nodding slowly.

“And you know what?” Lando added with a mischievous grin. “When I have you as the face of McLaren in a few years, those same people? They’ll be the ones begging for your autograph.”

That got a smile.

“For real?” Sebastian whispered.

“For real,” Lando said. “Now, c’mon. Let’s show them exactly why you’re the one to watch.”

He offered his fist, and Sebastian bumped it with his own, a new fire in his eyes.

From the stands, you watched the whole thing unfold — Lando kneeling beside Sebastian, talking to him like he was the most important person in the world. And to both of you, he was.

You looked down at Lyla in your arms, her breathing even and her little fingers still clutching her bunny, and kissed her forehead.

You stood near the edge of the karting track, sunlight glinting off the safety barriers, the breeze carrying the smell of fresh rubber and excitement. Lyla sat comfortably on your hip, playing absently with your necklace, her curls a soft halo in the golden light. From your vantage point, you could see everything — the track, the other kids prepping, and most importantly: Sebastian.

His kart zoomed around the bend, hugging the corner with precision beyond his years, and Lando stood tall beside you, his arms folded, pride practically radiating from him.

“God, he looks good out there,” you said with a soft smile, not taking your eyes off Sebastian’s small figure in the kart. “He’s grown so much. His lines are cleaner than they’ve ever been.”

Lando nodded, his mouth twitching into a proud grin. “He’s smoother, more confident... and he’s reading the track. That’s not something you can force into a kid. He wants this.”

You glanced at him, your gaze lingering. “That’s because of you. You’ve been in his corner since the day you met him. He listens to you.”

He exhaled a breath, voice dropping a little. “It’s all him. I just gave him the tools. He did the rest.”

“No,” you said, wrapping your arm through his. “You gave him a dad. That’s what he needed most.”

Lando didn’t answer right away. He simply looked at you with something tender in his eyes — something unspoken but understood. Then, Sebastian flew by again, his kart perfectly balanced as he handled a tricky chicane without flinching.

“He’s killing it,” Lando muttered with pride.

“He’s so little, yet so fearless,” you said with a light laugh, adjusting Lyla who had begun to rest her head on your shoulder. “And he’s got your determination.”

Lando chuckled. “He’s got your heart.”

Sebastian finished another lap, slowing as he coasted into the pit area. His helmet tilted your way, and even behind the visor, you knew he was beaming.

Lando turned to you, taking Lyla gently from your arms and cradling her against his chest. “I’m going to go talk to him — he’ll want to review that last corner. I think he was pushing for a tighter exit.”

You watched him approach Sebastian with warmth in your chest, your boys side by side, your daughter tucked securely in Lando’s arms.

Sebastian pulled off his helmet, his face flushed and glowing with pride. “Did you see me?!” he asked excitedly as Lando crouched down beside him.

“I did,” Lando grinned, ruffling his hair. “You nailed the back corner. That’s the cleanest I’ve seen you take it. I’m seriously impressed.”

“Can we watch the footage later?” Sebastian asked. “I wanna see how I can make my line even better.”

“Of course,” Lando replied. “We’ll break it down, see where you can gain time. But today? You did everything right.”

From where you stood, you could hear their conversation, and it made your heart swell. Sebastian wasn’t just driving — he was growing, thriving, becoming someone with confidence and focus, and so much of that came from Lando’s gentle, steady guidance.

You walked over and knelt beside them. “We saw you out there, baby,” you said, brushing a hand through his curls. “You were incredible. Smooth, fast… and smart.”

Sebastian looked up at you, shy but proud. “Thanks, Mom. It felt really good today. I didn’t even get scared when I had to pass that older kid.”

“That’s because you’re brave,” you said, kissing the top of his head. “And you’ve got the best coach in the world.”

He turned to Lando, grinning. “Can we get ice cream? You said good laps mean good treats.”

Lando chuckled. “I believe I did say that. Alright, one scoop for a good lap... two scoops for a great one.”

“Then I get three,” Sebastian declared with a cheeky smile.

You all laughed as you took Lando’s free hand in yours, his thumb brushing softly against your knuckles. Lyla yawned in his arms, her tiny body curled into his chest like it was her safest place.

Looking at the three of them — Lando kneeling beside Sebastian, Lyla dozing in his arms, the proud look on his face as he juggled being a coach, a father, and your partner — you couldn’t help but feel full. Of love, of peace, of something that felt like forever.

After a successful day at the track, Sebastian chattered endlessly from the backseat, recounting every twist, turn, and overtake he had made during practice. His hands moved animatedly, mimicking his steering, his words tumbling out faster than his kart had gone. You and Lando exchanged soft glances as you sat in the front — it was one of those small, sweet moments that made parenthood feel so full.

“And then I passed him right before the curve, and I didn’t even have to brake that much! I just— vroom— took the inside and boom! Gone!” Sebastian beamed, eyes wide with excitement.

“Don’t have a sugar rush or a sugar crash, mate,” Lando chuckled, giving him a teasing glance in the rearview mirror.

“I won’t,” Sebastian promised quickly, though the giant scoop of chocolate ice cream in his hand said otherwise.

It only took a few more minutes and half a cone before the inevitable happened — Sebastian’s head lolled to the side, ice cream wiped away, his mouth slightly open as he slept soundly. Lyla, tucked in her car seat beside him with her thumb near her mouth and her little bunny plush clutched to her chest, was already out like a light, her soft breaths the only sound beside the hum of the car.

With both kids asleep and the city lights beginning to dim under the setting sun, you turned your gaze toward Lando. His hands rested calmly on the wheel, his eyes fixed ahead, the soft orange-pink hues from the sky reflecting gently off his face.

It was the perfect time to talk.

“So…” you began softly, careful not to disturb the peaceful air. “When do you head out for your race?”

Lando didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed, barely noticeable, and then he let out a low sigh. “Next weekend,” he muttered.

You frowned slightly, chewing the inside of your cheek. “You’ll be back before Sebastian’s next race, right?” you asked, a little tentative, but hopeful.

He sighed again, deeper this time. “I hope so,” he said truthfully. “I really do. It just depends how the travel and schedule plays out. But I promise you, I’m trying.”

You could hear the frustration behind his voice, not directed at you — never at you — but toward the situation he was tangled in. Racing, family, responsibility... the weight of being in two places at once. You reached over and rested your hand on his thigh gently.

“I know,” you said softly. “We’re not mad, baby.”

Lando’s fingers gripped the wheel a little tighter. “I just…” he paused, searching for the words. “I’m upset. Upset that I’ve got this race and I know I can’t take you guys with me — not because I don’t want you there. But Lyla… she doesn’t like crowds. She gets overwhelmed and anxious, and I’d never forgive myself if she had a meltdown because I forced her into that kind of environment.”

You nodded, heart aching at how much he carried inside. “We know, Lando. You’re always doing what’s best for us. Lyla’s well-being comes first, and Sebastian understands. He might miss you when you're gone, but he knows how much you love him.”

“I just hate not being there,” he said, voice a little quieter now. “Putting Lyla down at night, handling Sebastian’s school, meals, practice — it all falls on you when I’m away, and I know that has to get exhausting.”

You turned your body slightly toward him, brushing your thumb over his hand where it rested between gears. “It gets hard, yeah. But I’d do it again and again because this is our life. I love our life, even the messy parts.”

Lando looked over at you briefly, the corners of his mouth lifting just a little.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured. “A real break. Just us. Somewhere warm, quiet, no press, no race schedule. I’ll book it after the next GP. Sebastian and Lyla can stay with my parents — they’ll be spoiled rotten and so happy to see their cousins.”

You laughed under your breath, brushing your hair out of your face as the breeze from the slightly open window caught it. “You’re too sweet for your own good sometimes, Norris.”

“I try,” he smiled, glancing over at you again. “But I mean it. You need rest too, babe. Not just sleep. Real rest. Sun. A slow morning. A long bath. No tiny humans yelling about cereal or needing their race suit zipped up.”

You laughed again, quieter this time, as you looked over your shoulder at the sleeping kids. Sebastian’s mouth was still open, Lyla clutching her bunny with a peaceful expression on her face.

“You’re an amazing dad, Lando,” you said, your voice warm, full of sincerity. “Even when you’re gone, we still feel your love around us. That’s something special.”

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Later that evening, the sky outside the windows had turned a rich, velvety navy. Inside the house, the atmosphere was warm but quietly heavy — a kind of stillness you felt more than heard. The television murmured in the background, but it barely registered over the small voices drifting from down the hall.

Lando was in the bedroom, packing slowly. His suitcase lay open on the bed, half-filled with race gear, socks, and shirts all folded with methodical care — but he wasn’t focused. Not really. Every few minutes, he paused, sighing softly to himself, glancing toward the hallway like he could feel time running too quickly.

“I can fit here,” Sebastian declared from beside the bed, pointing at the remaining space in the suitcase with a hopeful look on his face. “Right here, next to your shoes. I’ll be still.”

Lando managed a weak chuckle. “You can’t, bud. I’m sorry.”

“But if I curl up really small—”

“Seb…” Lando’s voice cracked just slightly, guilt tugging at his chest. “I wish I could take you, I do. But I can’t this time.”

Before the moment could settle, Lyla toddled over, latching herself around Lando’s leg and hugging tightly. “Dada,” she said in a tiny whimper. She didn’t quite understand what was happening — just that her father had a suitcase out again. And that was never a good sign.

You heard them from the living room and stood, walking toward the bedroom doorway quietly. The second you appeared, Lando looked up at you, and his eyes said everything: I can’t do this… please help.

“Alright, kiddos,” you said gently, crouching down to their level. “Daddy needs to pack. He’s not going for long, but he needs to be ready.”

“I wanna go with him!” Sebastian said again, louder this time, tears pricking at his eyes.

“I know you do,” you murmured, brushing some of his curls from his face. “But you’ve got school, remember? And karting, and Lyla—she doesn’t do well in big crowds, sweetie. So we’ll stay here, and when Daddy’s done with his race, he’ll come right back to us. Just like always.”

Sebastian stood still for a moment, eyes on the floor. His fists were clenched tight at his sides. “But… what if this time he doesn’t?”

The words landed like ice water to the chest. You exchanged a quiet glance with Lando before quickly crouching closer.

“What do you mean by that, baby?” you asked softly.

Sebastian shrugged, jaw trembling.

“Seb… talk to us. What’s going on in that big heart of yours?” you coaxed.

But his silence thickened, lips pressed into a tight line. He shook his head hard and took a step back, eyes starting to brim with tears.

“Sebastian…” Lando started gently, “Hey, look at me, buddy.”

But the boy turned suddenly, wiping at his cheeks and darting toward the door. “I don’t wanna talk about it!” he shouted, voice cracking as he ran down the hallway. His bedroom door slammed a moment later, muffled sobs barely audible behind it.

Lando stood frozen, his hand halfway out like he could reach for him. “Shit,” he breathed, swallowing hard. “I didn’t mean for him to feel like this.”

You moved slowly toward him, Lyla still tucked into your arms as her big eyes watched you both. “He’s scared,” you whispered. “And he doesn’t know how to say it yet.”

“I would never leave him!” Lando said again, his voice strained, eyes shining as he tried to hold himself together. “Not on purpose. Not ever.”

You stepped closer, gently reaching for his hand. “Baby, we know that,” you murmured, voice soft. “He knows that too… deep down. But he’s just… going through a lot right now. He’s young, and this is all a lot to take in. He’s scared, but Lando…” you looked at him with all the tenderness in your heart, “he loves you so much.”

Lando let out a breathy laugh, but it didn’t hold much humor. “So much he thinks I’m trying to leave him on purpose,” he said bitterly, shaking his head.

You felt your chest ache, your heart twisting at the pain that passed across his face. It wasn’t fair — not to Lando, and not to Sebastian. You both tried so hard to give the kids a life full of love and security, and yet somehow, fear still crept in through the cracks.

“I don’t even know where this came from,” you admitted, your voice catching. “What made him say that? Is someone saying things to him? Did he overhear something? It’s bothering me, Lando. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Lando was quiet for a moment, jaw clenched. He hated the unknown of it too — hated that Sebastian was hurting in ways they couldn’t immediately fix.

“Go talk to him,” you finally said, gently nudging his hand. “Before bed. He needs to hear from you. He needs that reassurance. And tomorrow… please, while you’re away, think about how this even happened. Figure out what he’s feeling and why. Because this—” you shook your head, “—this isn’t something we can let fester.”

Lando nodded slowly, pulling you into a tight hug before stepping back with a heavy sigh. “You’re right,” he said. “He shouldn’t have to carry this. Not at his age.”

His feet carried him quietly down the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached Sebastian’s room, the soft hum of the nightlight cast little race cars in orange light against the walls. Sebastian was curled up in his race car bed, turned toward the wall, clutching his pillow tightly. His shoulders were trembling, the occasional hiccup giving away his tears.

“Sebastian…” Lando said gently from the doorway.

No answer.

He stepped inside, kneeling beside the bed slowly. “Listen to me, buddy,” Lando said, voice low but steady. “You are my son. Okay? Nothing about that is temporary. Nothing about that is going to change.”

Sebastian sniffled but didn’t respond, his small body tense under the covers.

“I don’t know why you’re feeling like this, or what made you think that I’d leave you. But I need you to hear me — I would never, ever leave you on purpose. This racing stuff… it’s part of what I do. But it’s not more important than you. Or your sister. Or your mom. You three are everything to me.”

Sebastian gave the faintest shake of his head, still not turning around.

“I came into your life when you were just three,” Lando continued, his voice softening even more. “You probably don’t remember all of it, but I do. I remember meeting you. I remember how loud and happy you were, how curious. I remember how your little hand fit in mine the first time we crossed the street together. And I remember thinking, I’m going to protect this kid. Always.”

There was a pause, then a sniff from Sebastian.

“You know… before I met you and your mom, my life was a lot faster than it is now,” Lando confessed. “I was partying, flying everywhere, being wild and selfish and not really thinking about anything long term. But then I met you two… and everything changed. You made me want to be different.”

Finally, Sebastian stirred. His little hand poked out from under the blanket, wiping at his eyes. Lando reached out and rested his hand gently on the bed.

“When I asked your mom to marry me, I didn’t just ask to be her husband. I asked to be your dad, too. Because by then… you weren’t just some kid I was helping raise. You were mine. You are mine. I love you, Sebastian, more than I can explain. You’re my first son. You’re my world.”

Sebastian finally turned over, his face blotchy and red-eyed. “Then why do you keep leaving?” he whispered, voice trembling. “Why do you have to go?”

Lando swallowed hard and reached for him, brushing his hair from his face. “Because that’s part of what I do right now. But it’s not forever. And I promise, I hate being away from you just as much as you hate it. I miss your voice, your jokes, your excitement over karting. I miss bedtime and hugging you goodnight. I don’t leave because I want to. I go because it’s my job — but I always come home. Always.”

Sebastian’s lower lip quivered. “You’re not like my other dad?”

“Not even close,” Lando said, shaking his head firmly. “Your other dad left when things got hard. I stay. I’ll always stay. I don’t care how far away I have to go, you’re my son, and I’m coming back to you. Every single time.”

Sebastian finally launched himself forward, wrapping his arms tight around Lando’s neck. “Okay,” he whispered against his shoulder. “I believe you.”

Lando held him just as tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, eyes stinging.

“I love you, little man,” he murmured. “More than words. And I’m always coming home to you.”

Outside the door, you wiped a tear from your cheek, quietly backing away to give them the moment they both needed. Inside that room, a little boy’s fears began to melt, just a little — warmed by the voice of the man who never once thought of him as anything less than his own.

The house was wrapped in stillness, the soft hum of the night filling the quiet as the children slept peacefully in their rooms. You lay tucked under the covers, curled close against Lando’s chest, his arm draped around you protectively. His warmth, his heartbeat, the calm of being next to him after such an emotionally draining day — it was everything you needed.

Your fingers gently traced circles on his chest, your voice soft as you murmured, “We’ll be expecting that win, you know.”

Lando let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing the top of your head. “I’ll win,” he promised, his tone full of tired certainty. “You have my word.”

You smiled faintly, but your heart was still heavy. “So…” you began, hesitating for a second, “Did he give in? Did he tell you where he heard it?”

Lando’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling slowly as he pulled you a little closer. “No,” he said quietly. “He never told me where he learned it from.” He exhaled sharply through his nose, his frustration evident even in the dim light. “But I’ll figure it out. Someone’s spreading bullshit about him not being my son. I don’t care if it’s some nosy gossip mom at the karting track or someone we actually know... Someone’s putting that idea in his head, and I won’t let it slide.”

You looked up at him, catching the slight furrow of his brow in the soft light from the hallway. He was trying to stay calm — for you, for the kids — but you knew him well enough to recognize the storm brewing behind his eyes.

You sighed, your hand slipping up to cup his jaw gently. “He’s still a kid, Lan. A sensitive one. All it takes is one sentence, one nasty comment… and it sticks. We just have to keep showing him what’s true. Every single day.”

Lando turned his face into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm. “I know,” he murmured. “It just kills me that anyone could make him feel like that. Like he’s not wanted, or not mine. I’ve been there since he was three. I’ve changed nappies, made lunch boxes, sat by his bed when he was sick. That kid is mine.”

Your eyes softened. “I know, love. He knows it too. Deep down, he does. He just needed to hear it out loud tonight.”

Lando looked at the ceiling, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve said it more. I should say it every day.”

“You say it in how you show up,” you whispered, laying your head back on his chest. “In how you coach him, how you pick him up from school, how you wrestle with him in the living room like an overgrown kid. That’s what he remembers, Lando. That’s what counts.”

He wrapped both arms around you now, tighter than before, and let the silence linger for a moment — the kind of silence that spoke love more deeply than words ever could.

“Let’s just get some sleep,” you said softly, a yawn escaping as you nestled further into his embrace.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The airport buzzed with travelers and rolling suitcases, but in the middle of it all, Lando stood still, a backpack slung over one shoulder and his race bag at his feet, watching his little family like he didn’t want to blink and miss a second of them. The sunlight streamed in through the massive windows, casting a warm golden glow on the polished floors and the group of you gathered just by the lounge entrance.

You shifted Lyla gently in your arms, her small arms wrapped around your neck and her cheek pressed against your shoulder, peeking every so often only to immediately hide again. Her curls tickled your chin as you smiled, rocking slightly on your feet to soothe her. “I swear, if this airport had a softer carpet, she’d be napping right now,” you muttered, causing Lando to snort.

Sebastian stood at Lando’s side, bouncing on the balls of his feet, full of energy and curiosity. “So you travel with Oscar?” he asked, eyes wide with fascination like the idea of teammates sharing an airport adventure was just the coolest thing ever.

“Yeah, buddy,” Lando nodded with a grin, ruffling Sebastian’s hair. “He’s my teammate. We fly together, practice together, complain about food together…”

“Do you sit together on the plane?” Sebastian cut in.

Lando blinked. “Only if he gets there on time. Otherwise, I claim the window seat and he sulks in the middle.”

You laughed under your breath, the sound bright and warm. “Classic Oscar,” you said with a smirk. “Lyla, you’ll end up liking Oscar. He’s quiet — not many words, very mellow — so he won’t scare you. You could honestly make him your emotional support adult.”

Lyla, predictably, burrowed her face deeper into your neck like you’d just told her Oscar was a walking jump scare. “Okay, okay,” you whispered into her curls, pressing a kiss to her head. “Take your time.”

As if the universe were on cue, Oscar Piastri strolled into view — calm, composed, holding his suitcase like it weighed nothing, dressed in comfy layers and holding a coffee like he absolutely woke up ten minutes before arriving.

“Look who finally made it!” Lando quipped, throwing his arms out. “Only mildly fashionably late.”

Oscar raised a brow, completely unbothered. “Lando, I was on time. You were just here twenty minutes early because you’re emotionally unstable without your family.”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand. “He’s not wrong.”

“I am not emotionally unstable,” Lando protested. “I’m emotionally… organized.”

“Sure,” Oscar deadpanned. “Very organized meltdown last time your daughter FaceTimed you and then hung up mid-sentence.”

Lyla peeked up again, this time catching a glimpse of Oscar, only to retreat immediately. Oscar noticed, offering a small, kind smile and a little wave, like he’d read a guidebook on communicating with toddlers. “Hi, Lyla,” he said gently. “I won’t talk too much. Promise.”

“Uncle Oscar is learning,” you said proudly.

Sebastian, meanwhile, practically threw himself at Oscar, grabbing his hand. “I saw you win that one time and my dad was like, ‘Yeah, yeah, okay, good job’ but I was like ‘LET’S GOOO’ and then I made a drawing of you and I forgot to bring it.”

Oscar blinked. “That’s...very sweet. Also, you should be in PR.”

“Trying to be just like Dad,” Sebastian said proudly, making Lando grin ear to ear.

Lando then reached out, hands open like a kid about to ask for a puppy. “Can I just take Lyla?” he pleaded.

You gave him the most exaggerated look of faux-shock. “Oh sure, let me just hand over our clingy, sleep-fighting, tiny-anxiety-ball daughter to a man who doesn’t even remember to pack his own socks half the time.”

“I remember my socks... now,” he muttered.

You stepped closer, brushing his hair gently back from his forehead. “I know you miss her when you travel. I know you’d take us all in your suitcase if you could.”

Lando's eyes softened, that teasing glint replaced by something real and vulnerable. “I just hate the part where I leave,” he murmured. “Everything else is manageable, but walking away from you three? That’s the worst part of my job.”

You leaned up to kiss him softly, Lyla squirming slightly in your arms as if sensing the emotion. “Go win. Come home. That’s all we ask of you.”

He smiled, wrapping one arm around your waist, kissing Lyla’s cheek, and ruffling Sebastian’s hair one last time. “I’ll bring back souvenirs.”

“Better be food,” Sebastian said.

“Better be diamonds,” you added with a grin.

Oscar sighed beside you both, already done. “Can we please go before you all start crying and I have to stand here pretending not to care?”

Lando threw an arm around his teammate’s shoulder. “Admit it, you love us.”

Oscar shrugged. “You’re...tolerable.”

“Progress!” you cheered.

As Lando began to walk away, he turned back one last time, catching your eyes — a silent promise exchanged between the two of you in that fleeting glance. He mouthed I love you, and you whispered it right back.

And just like that, he was gone for now — but never really gone. Not in the ways that mattered.

Once the plane had taxied down the runway and lifted into the clouds, the familiar hum of the engines filled the cabin, creating that oddly peaceful quiet that only seemed to exist once wheels left the ground. Lando sat back in his seat, letting out a slow breath as he adjusted his cap and glanced out the window for a second — but all he could picture was Lyla’s sleepy little face nuzzled into your neck, and Sebastian’s teary eyes looking up at him just hours ago at home.

He turned toward Oscar, who was already halfway reclined and lazily sipping a ginger ale like they weren’t thirty thousand feet in the sky. “I miss them already,” Lando muttered, not really trying to hide it.

Oscar glanced sideways at him, his expression softening. “Sebastian’s growing up fast,” he said, voice low and thoughtful. “Last time I saw him properly, he was just this tiny three-year-old clinging to your leg, trying to ‘help’ you clean your helmet with baby wipes.”

Lando chuckled, rubbing at his jaw. “Yeah… he’s seven now. Whole personality built in. Witty, quick on his feet, obsessed with racing. It’s like looking in a mirror — except better.” His eyes lingered out the window, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips before it slowly faded. “Y/n’s sad he’s getting older. I am too. He’s not my little guy forever. And then there’s Lyla… she just turned two, and she’s already more emotionally aware than half the grid.”

Oscar huffed a soft laugh, but he could tell from the tension in Lando’s voice that something was weighing heavier than normal.

“What’s eating at you?” Oscar asked gently, setting his drink aside.

Lando hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “Sebastian’s been… weird lately. About me leaving. He gets upset. He thinks… he thinks I won’t come back. That I’ll leave him like his biological dad did.”

Oscar’s brows pulled together in concern. “Shit,” he muttered. “That’s heavy for a seven-year-old.”

“Tell me about it.” Lando’s voice cracked slightly. “He won’t talk about it much either. Y/n says he’s scared. And I get it, I do. He’s trying to protect himself. But when he said it last night, when he asked if I was leaving like his other dad…” He trailed off, blinking rapidly. “It felt like someone punched a hole through my chest.”

Oscar didn’t interrupt. He just listened, giving Lando the space to vent.

“I’ve given him reassurance, every time,” Lando continued. “I tuck him in, I talk to him about my schedule, I FaceTime them from the paddock, I bring him souvenirs — hell, I’d tattoo his name on my forehead if I thought it’d help. And Y/n… she says I’m doing great. But it doesn’t make it hurt less. I’m not mad at him. I’m just… frustrated. Heartbroken.”

Oscar nodded slowly, choosing his words carefully. “You love that kid like he’s yours. And he is, Lando. You’ve raised him. Anyone with eyes can see that. But he’s old enough now to start feeling uncertainty. He probably overheard something. Or maybe it’s just all these changes, the travel, Lyla being little and needing more attention, growing up in general… it’s a lot for a kid.”

Lando leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling. “I hate that I have to filter everything I say or do. Not around him — around everyone else. I hold back online. I avoid talking about him sometimes in interviews. Because the moment people know the full story, they’ll twist it. Gossip about his real dad. Make up stories about me and Y/n. And he’ll hear it. And I can't shield him from all of it forever.”

Oscar gave a solemn hum. “People can hate on you, yeah. But your family’s different. It’s the soft spot. I get that.”

“I don’t care what they say about me,” Lando said, voice tight. “Call me overhyped, say I’ll never be a world champion, criticize everything — fine. But the second they talk about Y/n? About Sebastian? Lyla? That’s my red line.”

There was a silence that stretched for a moment, filled only by the low buzz of the plane.

Oscar broke it with a quiet, honest comment. “You’re a better dad than most, Lando. Hell, you’re a better man than most. Seb will figure that out — if he hasn’t already. Kids are smart, and he’s yours. In the ways that count.”

Lando let out a breath, one hand dragging down his face. “Yeah… thanks, mate.”

Oscar gave him a side glance. “Just don’t cry on me. I can’t handle that mid-flight.”

Lando scoffed and wiped his eye. “I’m not crying. You’re crying.”

“I’m crying from having to hear about feelings on an airplane,” Oscar muttered dryly.

That got a laugh out of Lando, finally. One that shook the tension loose in his shoulders.

He pulled out his phone, unlocking it and glancing down at the screen where he’d set a lock screen of the four of you at the beach — Sebastian covered in sand, Lyla curled up in your lap, you smiling toward the camera as Lando held it out with wind-tousled hair and a cheeky grin.

He stared at the picture for a long moment before nodding to himself.

“I’ll win this weekend,” he said, more to himself than to Oscar. “For them.”

The familiar winding roads of Monaco stretched before you, the sea glittering off in the distance and the sunlight casting a warm glow across the dashboard. You let out a soft sigh, one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently in your lap as the comforting hum of the car filled the silence. The air was calm, the kind that settled in only after a long morning of goodbyes — the kind that reminded you someone was missing from the seat beside you.

From the backseat, the soft sounds of Sebastian quietly humming drifted forward. He was mumbling the theme song to one of his favorite cartoons, his fingers rhythmically drumming on the armrest beside him. Lyla, tucked snugly into her car seat, swung her little legs gently back and forth, her favorite stuffed bunny cradled in her arms, as her eyes flicked between the sun-drenched buildings outside and her big brother beside her.

You glanced into the rearview mirror, watching them with a soft smile before speaking up. “Alright, kiddos,” you said, voice warm and teasing. “Since Daddy’s off flying through the skies to go race fast cars, how about we go do something fun of our own while he’s gone?”

Sebastian perked up, peeking his head up a little more in his booster seat. “Like what?”

You shrugged playfully. “I don’t know… what if we went skating?”

There was a short pause before Sebastian gave a thoughtful frown. “Mmm… I don’t think Lyla can skate. She’s too tiny. She’d probably fall.”

Lyla, catching on to her name, simply squeaked out, “Fall!” and then giggled, not even understanding but joining in the fun anyway.

You chuckled, glancing at them again in the mirror. “Fair point. Alright, no skating. What about…” You tapped your chin theatrically. “What about Lego shopping?”

The reaction was instant.

Sebastian gasped, eyes lighting up like someone flipped a switch. “Really? We can go today?!”

You grinned. “Of course. We’ll swing by that toy store you love — you know, the one where you always find the big sets hidden in the back.”

“Yes!” he beamed, practically bouncing in his seat. “And Lyla can get a toy too!”

Lyla kicked her legs a little more excitedly now. “Toy!”

“Exactly,” you nodded. “We’ll get you both something, then head home, order pizza — the kind with the stuffed crust that you love — and we’ll set up a movie marathon. I’m thinking popcorn, pillows on the floor, and one of those movies you’ve seen a hundred times but still laugh at anyway.”

“Movie night!!” Sebastian turned toward his sister with wide eyes. “Lyla, we’re gonna have a movie night!”

Lyla clapped her hands, though it was more like soft patting, her stuffed bunny flopping with each motion. “Moobee!”

You laughed, the warmth of their joy radiating through the car and straight into your heart. Moments like these — these tiny, quiet, ordinary ones — made everything else worth it. The tears, the tough conversations, the goodbyes at the airport.

As you slowed at a red light, your eyes caught them again in the mirror — Sebastian now holding his sister’s hand across their seats. It wasn’t perfect, she was barely reaching with her tiny fingers, but he had his arm stretched out, patient and gentle, as she grasped a few of his fingers in hers and smiled.

You felt your chest tighten with that familiar ache of love.

“Hey,” you said softly, eyes on the mirror. “I love you two so much.”

Sebastian gave a goofy grin. “We love you too, Mama.”

Lyla chimed in softly, her voice a little more clumsy but full of meaning. “Lub you.”

And in that moment, as you turned down the street toward the toy store, your heart — though missing one person who was flying far away — felt completely full.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The toy store buzzed with the low chatter of parents and the excited squeals of children, shelves stacked high with colorful boxes and glittering plastic, the occasional jingle of a motion-activated toy going off somewhere in the aisles. You stood beside your children, Sebastian inspecting a complicated LEGO Technic set while Lyla pointed curiously at a plush unicorn that blinked and sang when touched. Her little fingers barely reached the shelf, but she tried anyway.

You smiled, watching them, when a familiar voice interrupted your quiet moment.

“Y/n?”

You turned, blinking in surprise before your face lit up. “The one and only… Alexandra Saint Mleux.”

She laughed gently and stepped forward for a hug, her ever-elegant frame wrapped in a long cream coat, a small designer purse slung over her shoulder. “It’s been ages,” she smiled, her soft French accent still intact despite living in Monaco for so long.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” you admitted as you stepped back. “I figured you’d be flying out to watch the race.”

Alexandra nodded and sighed. “That was the plan, but work got in the way. Some last-minute clients. I’m heartbroken to miss this one… but I’ll survive.” Her eyes wandered to the kids, warm and understanding. “So… how are they doing? You know, with Lando being away?”

Your smile faltered just a bit. “We’re managing,” you said, lowering your voice to a private hush. “Keeping them busy helps. I don’t know how bedtime will go — it never really gets easier, not when they’re used to him doing stories, doing his silly voices and games… but we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Alexandra nodded solemnly. “You’re doing beautifully, Y/n. Truly.”

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed in your coat pocket. The name on the screen made your stomach knot.

Sebastian’s Father.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, masking the moment with a smile toward Alexandra. “Would you mind staying with them while they pick their toys? I’ll just be a moment.”

“Of course,” she said without hesitation. “Take your time.”

You stepped away from the aisle, finding a quieter corner near a display of puzzles. The buzzing continued in your hand. With a deep breath, you hit accept.

You didn’t wait for a greeting. “Can you stop calling?” you said sharply, keeping your voice low but laced with steel.

A familiar voice crackled on the other end. “Y/n, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for weeks. I want to speak to my son.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it physically hurt. “Your son?” you spat, turning your back toward the toy aisle and gripping the phone tighter. “Since when?”

He sighed, as if he was the one carrying the burden. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to sit back and see pictures of him with some other guy? Videos of him calling someone else dad?”

“Oh, cry me a river,” you snapped, your voice sharp now, tempered only by the awareness you were still in public. “That other guy is my husband. The man who has raised Sebastian with love, patience, and every ounce of care you never had the courage to give.”

“Y/n…”

“Y/n Norris,” you corrected, your voice cold now. “You lost the right to say my name the day you walked out and left me with a baby and no fucking idea what to do. No help. No money. No check-ins. You abandoned us, and now you think you can just call and insert yourself into his life because he’s old enough to form memories now?”

Silence.

“I made every bottle. I held him through every night terror. I worked two jobs while praying I wouldn’t miss another milestone. And then I met Lando — who didn’t have to step in, but chose to. Who didn’t just love me, but loved him. Who tucks him into bed every night he’s home, who taught him how to ride a bike and how to read a clock, and who kisses him on the forehead even when he thinks no one’s watching.”

“You think I don’t regret what I did?” his voice cracked, but you didn’t flinch. “I wasn’t ready—”

“You think I was?” you whispered harshly, voice shaking now. “You think I had a manual for being a mom at twenty-five? You ran. I stayed. And now you have the audacity to ask me to just… hand him over for a chat, like it’s that easy?”

“I just want to talk—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice final. “He’s happy. He’s safe. And he doesn’t need you to confuse him now that he’s finally finding solid ground. Especially when all you want to do is soothe your own guilt, not actually be a father.”

“I’m his father whether you like it or not,” he hissed.

“No,” you said, eyes burning. “Lando is his father. He’s earned that title every single day, with love, not DNA.”

"I want to see him, speak to him. Sebastian is my son." he huffed.

"Take that up with his father if you feel so brave now, but I'm sure I know Lando's answer."

You didn’t give him the chance to respond. You hit end call, your hand trembling slightly as the call disconnected.

You stood there for a moment, collecting yourself, breathing through your nose as you tucked your phone back into your pocket. A soft noise caught your attention — a giggle from the kids.

You returned to the aisle to find Alexandra kneeling beside Lyla, who was now clutching a soft stuffed fox with velvety fur, her face glowing with delight. Sebastian held the LEGO box like it was made of gold.

“There’s my mama,” Sebastian said with a grin. “Is this one okay?”

You smiled, blinking back emotion. “That one’s perfect, bud.”

“Can we go home now and build it?” he asked.

You nodded, gathering them in close. “Yeah, let’s go home. We’ve got some pizza to order and movies to watch.”

Alexandra gave you a knowing look, a supportive warmth in her gaze.

You mouthed a soft thank you to her.

Time passed like a warm breeze, slow and golden, wrapping around the three of you with the kind of peace you hadn't felt in a while. After the toy store, you’d made a spontaneous day of it — a little ice cream, a detour to the duck pond where Lyla screamed “DUCKIES!” so loudly she startled a few of them into waddling chaos, and a stroll down the pier with the salty sea air brushing your cheeks. You snapped pictures constantly — Sebastian holding up his LEGO box triumphantly, Lyla wearing oversized sunglasses she found in a boutique and refusing to take them off, even a silly selfie with all three of your faces smushed together under the caption: “We miss you already, daddy 💛”

Even though Lando had only been gone since morning, the ache of his absence was already settled in your chest. You could feel it in the way you kept glancing at your phone, like you needed to send another photo, another text — partly for your reassurance, partly for his. Because if you missed him like this, you could only imagine how heavy his heart felt, knowing he left with Sebastian upset, Lyla too little to really understand goodbyes, and you… trying to hold it all together like you always did.

After the duck pond and walk, you stopped by a children’s boutique where Sebastian’s eyes lit up at the sight of a rack full of pajamas. “Can I get the race car ones?” he asked, already clutching them like treasure.

“Of course, baby,” you smiled.

Lyla chose a soft, cottony pink set with little teddy bears, hugging it to her chest with a proud little smile, even letting out a tiny squeal that melted your heart.

By the time the sky started darkening, you were all a little tired but happy — the kind of happy that made the silence in the car on the way home feel peaceful instead of awkward. You chuckled as you helped them out of the car, herding them into the flat.

“Alright, pajamas!” you called, clapping your hands. “Go get them on! I’m ordering the pizza and picking the movie. Then you two can come back in here and play with your toys.”

Sebastian darted to his room, practically airborne in excitement, clutching his pajama set. Lyla, however, clung to your leg like a little koala, dragging her pajamas on the floor behind her.

You gently ruffled her curls. “Come on, you too, missy. I’ll help you get dressed in a minute.”

Your phone rang, buzzing softly in your pocket. When you saw the name on the screen, your heart warmed.

Best Husband 💛

You answered with a smile already tugging at your lips. “My love.”

A tired sigh of relief echoed through the speaker. “God, I needed to hear your voice. Are the kids asleep?”

You glanced toward the hallway where Sebastian was noisily dragging open drawers. “Nope, we just got home. We’ve been out all day. You should see Lyla’s new sunglasses. I swear she thinks she’s a movie star.”

Lando chuckled, and you could practically hear the smile in his voice. “That sounds like her already. God, I miss you all so much… I want to speak to them, if that’s okay.”

But your smile faded slightly, the warmth in your chest twisting into something more uncertain.

“I actually need to speak with you first,” you murmured, tone quiet and serious.

Lando picked up on it immediately. “What’s going on?”

You stepped into the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to make sure the kids were still occupied. You lowered your voice.

“His father called.”

The line went dead quiet for a few seconds, and then Lando exhaled sharply, almost like he had to physically calm himself. “He what?”

“Said he wants to talk. See him. And you know…” you trailed off, biting your lip. “Same guilt-tripping, same dramatics. He brought up the fact that we post pictures of you and Sebastian together, like it’s supposed to be some crime.”

“He’s an asshole,” Lando snapped without hesitation. “I would prefer he never sees Sebastian again. Period. I know you didn’t block him before — maybe part of you thought one day things could be different, or maybe for Sebastian’s sake… but now’s the time to block him. For good.”

You could feel the raw emotion behind his words — the frustration, the protectiveness, the love.

“I don’t care how selfish I sound, okay? Listen to me,” Lando continued, voice low and tight. “I love him. I love Sebastian like he’s my own. He is my own. And he’s clearly hurt and confused enough as it is right now. The last thing he needs is that man worming his way in and stirring up more shit.”

“I want to say the same thing, honey, I do,” you said softly. “But I think we need to be careful. This didn’t come out of nowhere. Someone planted this idea in Sebastian’s head — someone’s been talking behind our backs, and it’s eating at me. I don’t know if he overheard something or if it’s…”

“The media,” Lando muttered.

“I’ve been thinking that too,” you said. “He doesn’t have access to the internet, he’s seven. But… maybe something slipped through on the TV, or someone said something in public. It only takes one headline. And even if we limit comments, we can’t control everything.”

“I said the same thing,” Oscar piped up from the background, his voice distant but clear.

Lando groaned. “I mean come on — we’re careful. I hardly talk about the kids publicly. And when I do, it’s always vague or safe. I never name names or post anything personal.”

“I know, baby,” you said gently. “But not everyone cares about respecting boundaries. Some people just love digging where they don’t belong.”

There was a pause. You could hear the quiet buzz of the hotel room on the other end — the hum of a minibar, maybe the faint flicker of the TV in the background. You imagined Lando sitting on the edge of the bed, face in his hands, shoulders tight with worry.

“I hate this,” he finally said. “I hate that I’m away and you’re dealing with this. I hate that Sebastian’s even thinking about this. I hate that some faceless asshole behind a screen or a reporter with a notepad can get into my son’s head.”

“He’s just scared, Lan,” you murmured. “But he loves you. I see it every day. And you’re doing right by him — we both are. That’s what matters.”

You could hear him nodding, even if he didn’t speak.

“I ordered the pizza,” you added softly, trying to lighten the mood. “We’re watching Toy Story 2 tonight. Sebastian said it’s your favorite.”

Lando’s voice cracked with a small laugh. “It is my favorite. Tell him I said that’s a solid choice.”

“I will. After they’re in pajamas. Lyla’s currently pretending her leg doesn’t work because she doesn’t want to get changed.”

Lando laughed again, and this time it was lighter, like he was really smiling now. “She gets that from you.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said playfully, and for a second the weight lifted.

“Hey,” he added, voice gentle now. “Thanks for everything. For keeping them grounded… for being you. I know this isn’t easy.”

You closed your eyes. “It’s not. But we’re a team. Even miles away, we’ve still got this. And tomorrow, we figure out what the hell is actually going on.”

“Damn right,” he said. “And I’ll bring back a win, too. Just for you guys.”

You smiled, heart full.

“Then you better buckle in, Norris. Because Toy Story, pajamas, and pizza nights are hard to beat.”

“Impossible,” he replied. “But I’m coming home to try.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Lando being gone wasn’t new.

It was never easy, but it was familiar — a rhythm that ebbed and flowed like the tide. The early flights, the packed bags by the door, the quiet “I love you”s whispered over sleepy heads and soft kisses before the sun even broke the horizon. You’d grown used to the ache, the temporary emptiness of the house. What you never grew used to, though, was waking up and not having him there.

The bed felt far too big without him.

Sebastian had crawled into the middle during the night, tangled in the sheets like a little tornado of limbs and heat. His head rested on Lando’s pillow. Lyla, small and warm, was curled up in the crook of your arm like a kitten, her stuffed bunny pressed against her cheek.

You carefully untangled yourself, slipping out of bed with practiced ease. Neither of them stirred — a small blessing. These were the pockets of peace you counted on. The house was still, the morning light barely filtering through the curtains, and the silence was thick but comforting.

It was always like this on the first morning without him. Quiet. Empty, but full of purpose. You stood for a moment in the bathroom, hands braced on the sink, staring at your reflection. You could see the soft weariness around your eyes, the evidence of another night where you’d reached across the bed and found nothing but cool sheets.

“He’s not gone forever,” you murmured aloud, a mantra, not a reminder. Just a soft truth you whispered to yourself.

You showered slowly, letting the steam loosen your tense shoulders, letting your mind wander. There was always a to-do list playing quietly in the back of your head: school drop-offs, meals, cleaning, playtime, phone calls, maybe a grocery run, and somewhere in the middle of all that — time to feel his absence and push forward anyway.

By the time you wrapped yourself in your robe, hair damp, you were ready. You padded into the living room and curled into the couch with your phone, letting yourself fall into the mindless scroll for just a little while. Social media, messages from friends, a few missed texts from Lando sent at 2 a.m. his time.

Still up thinking about you. Tell Seb I love him. Kiss Lyla for me. I miss my girls.

You clutched the phone to your chest for a second, your breath catching. Then, quietly, you smiled.

After about an hour of peace, you placed the phone on the side table, stood up, and entered the kitchen. The hum of familiarity buzzed in your ears like a song you’d memorized long ago.

You didn’t need to think anymore — your hands just moved. You poured Lyla’s apple juice into her bunny sippy cup. It had a little bow drawn onto it with pink permanent marker — something she insisted on one afternoon when she decided all her toys needed to be “fancy.”

Sebastian’s orange juice went into his dinosaur cup — the same one he refused to drink out of unless it was “the dino one with the T-Rex not the triceratops.” You smirked a little at the thought as you set it on the table.

Then came the rest: pancakes for Lyla, perfectly golden and cut into tiny bite-sized hearts the way she liked them, with a side of blueberries she always pushed to the edge of her plate. For Sebastian, toast lightly browned, eggs just barely runny (any more and he would call them “slime eggs”), and two strips of crispy bacon he’d probably try and feed one to the cat even though you told him not to.

Everything was where it should be. Like muscle memory.

A sound behind you — groggy feet shuffling across the floor.

“Mama?” Sebastian mumbled, his curls sticking up in every direction, pajama pants slightly twisted around his legs.

You didn’t even turn around, just hummed as you flipped the final pancake. “Practice is going to happen soon,” you said softly, “you know they have to adjust, get themselves ready.”

He climbed onto the stool at the counter and rested his chin on the marble. “I miss him.”

You finally turned, wiping your hands and leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “Me too,” you said quietly. “But he misses us just as much. Maybe even more.”

Lyla padded out a moment later, dragging her blanket behind her, eyes still puffy from sleep.

“Good morning, sunshine,” you cooed, sweeping her up into your arms.

“Dada?” she mumbled against your shoulder, her thumb slipping into her mouth.

“Soon, sweet girl,” you whispered. “You’ll see him soon.”

As they settled at the table, Sebastian perked up, watching you with those curious brown eyes.

“Are we gonna talk to Grandma today?”

You nodded, glancing at the clock. “We’ve got time. After I drop you off at school, Lyla and I are going to call her. You know she misses you two terribly.”

He grinned a little, the kind of smile only grandmothers could pull out of children. “Can I send her a picture of my dinosaur cup?”

You laughed. “Absolutely.”

It was all clockwork. Predictable. But it still hurt sometimes — to do all of this without Lando, to smile through it even when your chest ached and your throat tightened unexpectedly.

But you managed.

You always did.

Because your kids were watching. Because their little hearts depended on you. Because Lando, miles away and probably staring at a calendar on his phone, counting down the days until he could be back, needed to know you could hold it all together.

And you would.

Just like every other morning.

Motherhood had a way of testing your limits and then rewarding you in small, quiet ways. After you dropped Sebastian off at school — his usual chatter about karting practice and Lego sets still echoing in your ears — the rest of your day unfolded like a long, busy stretch of survival mode. You managed a video call with Cisca, who filled your morning with soft smiles and much-needed comfort. Lyla’s meltdown over her empty bunny sippy cup had you on your knees, trying to calm her down while preparing breakfast and unloading the dishwasher at the same time. It was one of those mornings where time seemed to slip through your fingers.

The car got cleaned, though that required strategic maneuvering with a clingy toddler on your hip. You made a small grocery run, holding her hand tightly while she stared cautiously at every passing stranger. Then you walked her around the quiet park near your building, hoping the fresh air would calm her nerves. And it did — a little. She let go of your hand for all of five minutes before gluing herself to your leg again.

Eventually, you made it back to the flat. You swept and mopped floors, wiped down counters, and sorted laundry while Lyla played quietly with her toys in the living room. She had picked out a stuffed bunny, a wooden puzzle, and one of Sebastian’s smaller race cars — and all three were lined up next to her as she sprawled out on the floor.

And just like that… she was asleep.

Not in her bed, not on the couch — but flat on the playmat, one hand still resting on the toy bunny. Her tiny chest rose and fell slowly, lashes resting like feathers against her cheeks. You stood there for a moment, arms crossed, soft smile tugging at your lips. Then you carefully picked her up, mindful not to wake her, and tucked her into bed. You kissed her forehead, lingered there for a beat, then finally had a moment of peace to yourself.

And that’s when you called him.

The screen rang only once before Lando’s tired but joyful face filled your screen, his curls a little messy under a cap, eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

“My favorite girl,” he greeted, voice warm and smooth, as if it could wrap you up.

You let out a small, relieved breath, your shoulders finally dropping. “I was calling just to see if you’re surviving,” you teased lightly, your voice soft, your love clear even in the distance.

He let out a short laugh. “Yeah, just about. Got some practice coming up. You know how leading into a race weekend is — mind on a thousand things.”

You nodded. “I figured. Sebastian’s at school, and Lyla’s down for a nap… finally.” You leaned back on the couch, rubbing your temple.

“She’s sleeping a lot lately?” Lando asked gently, concern twitching at his brow.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your smile fading. “I think the anxiety’s wearing her out. I mean, it’s not dramatic all the time — she’s not screaming or crying. But she clings to me like I’m her anchor, and when she’s like that… I can tell her brain’s on overload.”

His jaw tensed slightly, the helplessness setting into his eyes. “I hate that I’m not there. I hate not being able to help her when she’s like that.”

You sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You help more than you know, even just by existing as her safe space. But I won’t lie… it’s getting hard, Lando. I don’t want this to feel normal for her.”

“I know, baby,” he said quietly. “Let’s talk more about getting her a child therapist when I get home. Someone trained in early social anxiety, someone who’ll take it slow. She doesn’t need to feel like the world’s too loud for her forever.”

You nodded slowly, your throat tightening. “That’d help… thank you.”

There was a brief silence between you — not uncomfortable, just full of unspoken longing — until you finally exhaled again and shifted the conversation.

“Anyway,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, “Sebastian has more practices coming up. I’m hoping you’ll be home in time for his competition.”

Lando’s face softened with guilt. “Yeah. I know. I’m doing everything I can to make sure I’m there. Even if it means I have to sprint off the track and hop on a plane. I’ll deal with the team's reaction after. I won’t miss it.”

“You promise?” you asked, needing to hear it aloud.

He smiled. “Cross my heart. I’m his biggest fan. I wouldn’t miss watching our boy race for anything.”

You felt a swell of affection in your chest, unable to hide your smile. “Good. He’ll want you there — he already asked twice this morning if you’d make it.”

“Tell him yes,” Lando said firmly. “Tell him I’ll be there with bells on.”

You laughed softly, then glanced at the time. “So, um… your mom and I talked earlier. She wants to have Sebastian and Lyla for the summer. Says she misses the chaos.”

Lando’s eyes widened a bit. “I figured she’d bring that up.”

“She’s already planning beach days and movie nights, Lando. I think she’s ready for full grandma mode,” you joked.

“They’ll love being with her,” Lando said with a grin. “They’ll be with their cousins, run around outside, no cameras, no pressure. It’ll be good for them.”

You quirked a brow. “And what will we be doing?”

He leaned closer to the camera, eyes dancing. “Well, I was thinking… maybe I take you somewhere sunny, just us, no responsibilities…”

You laughed again. “You say that, but I know what’s going on in that head of yours. Keep it in your pants.”

Lando feigned innocence, wiggling his brows mischievously. “Mmm, I don’t know, love… baby number three doesn’t sound so bad.”

You gasped, half-joking, half-serious. “Lando Norris! Sebastian is seven and Lyla is two!”

“And?” he smirked. “That’s perfect spacing. You’d be glowing again, and we already know how good I am at naming kids.”

You shook your head, cheeks warm with laughter. “You're unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he added smoothly, gaze softening.

You fell quiet for a beat, letting his words settle in your chest.

“I miss you,” you whispered.

“I miss you more,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse. “But I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

And as the call continued, you found yourself feeling lighter — knowing that even when things felt heavy, you didn’t have to carry it all alone.

“You guys’ll be watching the race, huh?”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “When do we ever miss your races? We watch every single one. Whether it’s on the couch, the tablet in the car, or Lyla yelling ‘Dada!’ at the screen in the middle of the grid walk.”

He laughed softly, his eyes glowing with that boyish charm that never seemed to fade. “You’re gonna be watching me win then?”

You smirked. “We’re going to be watching you win with snacks, and matching shirts, and banners Sebastian insists on hanging from the window like it’s a football match.”

Lando leaned his chin into his palm, clearly imagining it all. “God, I love that. I love you guys.”

“And when you come home…” you started.

“We’ll celebrate,” he said in unison, and your face lit up as you nodded. “All of us,” you added.

He raised a brow with a mischievous tilt of his lips. “So, no just you and me then? No little alone time?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Mr. Norris.”

He laughed at the way you said it, all mock-serious and slightly amused.

He countered with a grin, “Mrs. Norris.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Husband.”

He leaned closer to the camera, eyes soft, teasing, “Wife.”

Silence fell for a beat — the kind of silence wrapped in warmth and longing — before you both let out small, soft chuckles, laughing at nothing in particular, just the comfort of each other.

He sighed gently, his eyes darting away for a second, then back to you. “What is with you wanting another baby?” you asked, arching a curious brow. “Lyla is two. And she’s still in diapers!”

He shrugged, that knowing, cheeky smirk forming again. “I don’t know… I think I’m growing into this whole ‘loving family man’ thing.”

You tilted your head, amused but still listening.

“I mean, I still love going out, hanging with the guys, laughing till we cry — you know that. But something about you, and them…” His voice lowered a bit, softer now. “Something about our life together. I don’t know. It hits different. Like, I never knew coming home to sticky hands and toy cars on the couch would feel better than champagne and lights and music.”

You smiled, hand absentmindedly playing with the necklace around your neck. “You’ve changed. In a good way.”

“I am changing,” he agreed, “but I still love who I’ve always been. I’m just loving this part of me more. The part that watches you sing while folding laundry, or kisses Lyla’s curls when she falls asleep on my chest, or watches Sebastian explain why one dinosaur could totally beat another in a race.”

You chuckled, teary-eyed and full of love. “You’re soft.”

He smirked, “I’m a marshmallow for you. And them. Completely useless without you guys.”

You nodded slowly, eyes glinting with emotion. “We’re useless without you too.”

Then, of course, came the turn.

“And I think I do want another baby,” he added, more serious this time, eyes not leaving yours.

You let out a slow sigh. “Maybe one day, Lando. Maybe when you retire… When you’re actually home more than gone.”

He shrugged innocently. “Mmm, if I can just pull out enough—”

“Lando Norris!” you scolded sharply, eyes wide.

He burst into laughter, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m kidding! I swear. Kind of. Half kidding.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to suppress your smile but failing.

“I just…” He leaned back slightly, his gaze softening. “I love what we’ve built. I love what we’re still building. And if I’m being honest, even the hard days — the tantrums, the late-night feedings, the exhausting travel — I’d do it all again with you.”

Your breath caught for a moment, a knot forming in your throat as his words settled.

“I’d do it all again with you too,” you whispered.

He exhaled, smiling.

"I have to go, but I love you and you have to watch the race" he said

"we wouldn't miss it for the world"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The tension had built up for days.

In the quiet stillness of your Monaco flat, it was race day. You could feel it in the air, thick with excitement and nerves. The living room was decked out in your usual Norris-family race day tradition — soft throws on the couch, little flags in the corner, and three matching shirts that read “Team Norris” in bold navy lettering. Lyla had one much too big for her tiny frame, but she wore it anyway, content on your lap, her thumb in her mouth and her wide eyes fixed on the TV screen. Sebastian, meanwhile, was nearly bouncing in place, his eyes shining, his hair still a little mussed from sleep.

You hadn't heard much from Lando since the night before — just a quick "I love you" text with a photo of him on the grid in the early prep stages — but you understood. This was the one. The big one. And you knew where his mind had to be. It still didn’t stop you from missing him.

"He has to win!" Sebastian said again with conviction, this time louder, his feet tucked under the blanket and his eyes already locked on the pre-race footage.

You gave a soft smile, brushing your hand over Lyla’s curls before standing. “Just give it some time, sweetheart. I'll get your snacks — popcorn or goldfish?”

“Both!” Sebastian shouted after you as you headed into the kitchen.

Back in the living room, Sebastian leaned closer to his baby sister, a grin spreading across his face. “Daddy’s gonna win, I just know it,” he whispered like it was a sacred truth. “And I’ll prove my point to Matteo from school, who said Daddy’s only second-best. Hah! Wait till he sees this.”

Lyla blinked at him, offering a toothy grin and a little clumsy clap as she watched the colorful cars roll out onto the formation lap.

Meanwhile, across the world, on the grid.

Lando pulled on his gloves, taking one last breath as the helmet was lowered onto his head. The outside world dimmed.

The engineers around him buzzed with activity, last-minute data checks, and tire temps, but Lando was quiet, focused. One AirPod still in, playing the last voice note you had sent him — Lyla babbling in the background, Sebastian yelling "Bring home a trophy, Dad!" and you, soft and reassuring, saying, “No matter the result, we’re watching, and we’re proud.”

He closed his eyes. That was all he needed.

Oscar passed by with a thumbs up, and Lando nodded, his jaw tight but a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

He climbed into the cockpit, strapping in.

“Radio check,” his engineer’s voice buzzed.

“Radio check, loud and clear,” Lando replied.

“Alright, Lando. You know the target. Eyes forward.”

Back in Monaco…

You returned with two bowls, setting them on the coffee table as the lights on the screen counted down.

“Okay guys… here we go,” you said, dropping to the couch and wrapping one arm around Lyla, the other rubbing Sebastian’s back.

“Lights out and away we go!”

Lap 1-10:

Lando got off to a strong start, holding his position in P2, close behind Verstappen. The first few laps were all about rhythm, getting into the groove. You leaned forward as you watched him maneuver confidently, hugging apexes, defending perfectly from Leclerc who trailed behind in P3.

“He’s doing good, right?” Sebastian asked, clutching a little toy McLaren car in his hands.

“He’s doing amazing,” you smiled, heart pounding.

Lap 11-25:

The tension began to build. Lando was gaining time in Sector 2 — fast, precise, pushing the limits.

Then came the first big move: DRS open, Lando dove down the inside of Max at Turn 4 — bold, committed, clean. He took the lead.

You stood up instinctively, nearly knocking the popcorn bowl over. “Oh my God! He did it!” you gasped, hands over your mouth.

Sebastian jumped up and down on the couch. “HE’S IN FIRST! MAMA! HE’S IN FIRST!”

Lyla clapped again, amused by the yelling more than the race itself.

Lap 26-40:

Pit stops came and went. The team got Lando out just in time to cover an undercut from Carlos Sainz. It was tight, the kind of strategy that made your hands sweat and your heart ache, but it worked.

Lando stayed ahead.

You texted him a quick message even though you knew he wouldn’t see it till hours later: “We’re screaming. In the best way. Keep going, baby.”

Lap 41-55:

Fatigue started to show on track. Tire wear became an issue for nearly everyone — except Lando. He managed his tires like a master, something you knew he’d been working on.

Oscar came up on the radio: “Keep pushing, mate. Clean sectors. He’s not gaining.”

Back in Monaco, you were chewing on a nail, leaning forward, whispering, “Come on, come on, come on...”

Sebastian sat completely still, eyes locked, absorbing everything, while Lyla dozed slightly against your arm.

Lap 56-60:

A late Virtual Safety Car nearly ruined everything — a spin from Tsunoda meant Lando had to hold his nerve for a restart with just four laps to go.

“You got this, baby,” you whispered.

Lando held the restart beautifully.

Max tried to pressure him. Leclerc was still lurking. But it wasn’t enough.

You saw it coming — last lap, still leading, gap stable — and your heart rose into your throat.

Final Lap.

“He’s going to do it, he’s going to do it,” you repeated like a prayer, holding Lyla tighter as she shifted awake.

Sebastian stood tall on the couch, arms raised before the car even crossed the line.

Lando Norris takes the win!

The living room erupted.

You scooped Sebastian into your arms, both of you yelling, laughing. Lyla squealed at the noise, bouncing in your grip as you kissed her forehead.

“That’s your dad!” you said, tears pricking your eyes. “That’s our guy!”

Sebastian was fist-pumping, dancing around. “He did it! I TOLD YOU! I TOLD EVERYONE!”

The energy from the win still surged through Lando like electricity.

Champagne soaked his fire suit, the fizzy scent clinging to his skin, and the weight of the first-place trophy still tingled in his fingers. It had been a long, grueling season, but this moment—this victory—made every drop of sweat, every frustrating finish, every near miss worth it.

He had stood on the top step of the podium, the national anthem ringing in his ears, flanked by rivals who, in that moment, were just shadows in his periphery. He’d closed his eyes as the crowd roared, tilting his head back to the sky, arms raised—this one was for them. For you. For Sebastian. For Lyla.

The after-race buzz carried him into the media pen, where bright lights flashed and microphones lined up like waiting mouths.

He knew the drill. Praise, performance, statistics. But this time, it felt different. More personal.

The interviewer greeted him warmly, microphone in hand, and Lando offered her his usual winning grin, wiping a stray drop of champagne from his cheek.

"That race was amazing! You did good out there, congratulations on your win."

“Ah, thank you,” Lando said, voice steady but still glowing with pride. “We’ve been working hard as a team. McLaren has been putting in the effort. I think this is a result we absolutely deserve. We’ve come a long way and I’m proud of all of us.”

"You made some great overtakes, looked pretty smooth on the track out there,” she added.

He chuckled, brushing a hand through his damp curls. “Yeah, I agree. I did enjoy that. Smooth. Confident. Covered in champagne now,” he added playfully, gesturing to the soaked suit.

The interviewer laughed lightly. “So, onto a serious question—what pushed your focus today?”

Lando’s smile softened. “My family back home,” he said without hesitation. “My wife and our kids. Every time I race, I know they’re watching. That matters more than anything else. My son’s probably bouncing off the walls right now, and my daughter... well, she’s probably clapping and not really understanding why,” he laughed gently.

“Speaking of,” the interviewer said, voice shifting slightly, “Lyla has grown a lot, hasn’t she? She’s your first child, correct?”

Lando tilted his head, surprised. “Lyla’s my youngest. Sebastian’s the first,” he corrected with ease.

The interviewer’s expression stiffened slightly, a subtle shift in tone as she pressed forward. “Right, but... Sebastian isn’t biologically yours, is he? That’s been talked about online a lot. It’s everywhere on social media, so we were just wondering if you could confirm it. Are you... a bonus dad, then?”

There was a pause.

The sparkle in Lando’s eyes dimmed instantly. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he simply stared at her. The celebratory atmosphere turned cold.

“Where are you getting your information?” he asked, voice clipped, firm.

She blinked. “It’s all over the internet. Just speculation, and we’ve talked about it before in smaller settings—”

“You’ve talked about it,” Lando interrupted, his tone sharper now. “Without us. Without permission. Without context. That’s not speculation. That’s invasion.”

The camera continued rolling, capturing every twitch of his expression as it darkened.

“I’m sorry,” he said, more composed now but pointed. “What part of this interview gives you the right to belittle my son? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

The interviewer seemed to falter, caught off-guard.

“I don’t race for this,” Lando said, voice steady but seething. “I don’t climb into that car, risk my life, give my everything—just to sit here and hear you disrespect a little boy who’s probably wearing my name on his back right now.”

He took a deep breath, visibly trying to steady the anger that surged beneath the surface. “I’ve been in his life since he was three. I’ve tucked him in every night I’m home. I’ve been at his karting races, holding his helmet, tying his shoes, patching his scraped knees. I’ve wiped his tears and celebrated his victories. That is my son. Period.”

The interviewer tried to speak, “I was just—”

“Digging,” Lando cut her off coldly. “You were digging. For drama. For a soundbite. Let me make something clear. Your job is to ask me about this—” he gestured around the paddock, the track, the microphones—“not about my family. Not about my wife. Not about my children.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His words, low and calm, cut sharper than anything else could.

“I’m not a ‘bonus dad.’ I’m just his dad,” he continued, emotion cracking just slightly in his voice. “If you can’t understand that, then you’re not qualified to sit behind that microphone. And if any of you out there are scrolling through my wife’s social media trying to create stories out of our life, just know — it ends here. Her account will be private by tonight, and I’ll make damn sure of that.”

Lando stared her down, jaw tight. “I love my family. I protect my family. You don’t get to question that.”

And with that, he pushed the mic gently aside and turned, walking off, his soaked fire suit leaving damp footprints on the concrete. The cameras followed him, the silence of the interviewer deafening behind him.

At home, you had pulled Sebastian into your lap, shielding him from some of the awkward silence, but he had heard enough to understand that his dad had defended him.

Your heart swelled with love. You pressed your lips to Sebastian’s temple.

“He’s the best,” Sebastian whispered, resting his head against your shoulder.

“He really is,” you whispered back, eyes misty.

And as the screen faded to coverage of the next driver interview, the three of you sat there in silence — proud, warm, protected.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was well past midnight when the front door clicked open.

The Monaco flat was dimly lit, the soft hum of the city outside barely reaching through the thick windows. Lando stepped inside quietly, careful not to let the door slam behind him. He stood still for a moment, shoulders heavy with travel and the weight of the last few days, just breathing it all in.

Home.

It smelled like lavender and laundry detergent. Like calm. Like you.

He dropped his bag gently by the wall, toes sinking into the familiar rug. The place was quiet—so quiet it almost made him hesitate. But then—

“Lando?”

Your voice came softly from down the hall, thick with sleep but unmistakable. He turned toward it just in time to see you stepping out from the bedroom, wearing one of his hoodies, your hair messy, eyes puffy from sleep.

“You’re awake?” he asked, surprised but touched.

You didn’t answer right away. You just walked to him, arms wrapping around his torso as your head found his chest. He let out a long breath, holding you tightly, his hand smoothing over your back like he’d been aching to do it for weeks.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you whispered. “Not till I knew you were home safe.”

He kissed the top of your head, quietly. “I’m here now.”

You looked up at him after a beat. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked gently, brow furrowing.

You swallowed, stepping back just enough to look into his eyes. “For defending Sebastian... in that interview after the race. I watched it live. I—I cried, Lando. You stood up for him like he was born yours. I think you gave him something that day that words can’t explain. Closure. Pride. Love.”

His face softened. “You don’t need to thank me for loving my own kid.”

You took his hand, giving it a small squeeze. “Come on, sit with me.”

You both moved to the living room, the silence between you filled only with the late-night hum of the world outside. Lando sank into the couch beside you and pulled something out of his backpack—a large envelope.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said, handing it to you. “But during this trip... I finally did it.”

You opened the envelope slowly. Your breath caught when you saw the words printed at the top of the first page.

Petition for Adoption.

Your hand flew to your mouth as your eyes began to water. “Lando…”

“I want to adopt Sebastian,” he said firmly. “Not just emotionally. Not just in practice. I want him to know, for the rest of his life, that he’s mine. In every way. I want him to carry my name proudly, not just because it’s what he’s always known—but because I chose him. Because he’s my son.”

You blinked through your tears, heart aching in the most beautiful way.

“He is your son,” you whispered. “He always has been, but... yes. Yes, of course you can adopt him. His biological father gave up any rights years ago. This... it’ll just make it official.”

Lando smiled, relief and love rushing over his face like a wave.

“I want him to see his name on paper and know that he was never second choice. That I was never filling a space. That I am his dad.”

You reached for him, pulling him into another hug, both of you holding onto each other tightly.

“He’s going to love this,” you murmured against his shoulder. “He’ll be so proud.”

After a moment, he kissed the top of your head and leaned back, looking toward the dark hallway.

“Where are they?”

“In our bed,” you said with a sleepy laugh. “They didn’t know you’d be home tonight, so they both passed out in your spot.”

Lando chuckled quietly. “Of course they did. I should’ve guessed.”

He stood and stretched, running a hand through his messy curls, then glanced back at you with a tired but happy smile.

“I’ll crawl in beside them. I missed that.”

You nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll put the papers somewhere safe.”

As he disappeared down the hallway toward your shared bedroom, you lingered on the couch a little longer, fingers brushing over the envelope in your lap. The adoption papers felt like more than just forms. They were proof of love, of choice, of a bond deeper than blood.

Lando Norris wasn’t just a driver. He wasn’t just a husband.

He was a father—one who had chosen your son with his whole heart.

And soon, the world would know it, too.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was a bright, golden Saturday morning, the kind where the sun felt warmer just from the happiness in the air. The buzz of excitement surrounded the karting track as parents gathered along the fences, kids zipped around in anticipation, and the low hum of engines created a constant vibration in the atmosphere.

You stood at the edge of the crowd, gently rocking Lyla in your arms. Her little fists clung to your hoodie, her face buried against your neck as the loudness of the event overwhelmed her small, sensitive self. Her curls tickled your cheek as she whimpered softly, the noise too much, the people too many.

“I know, baby girl,” you murmured, swaying gently with her. “You’re okay. Mama’s got you. We’re just watching your big brother, and I promise you’re safe. Deep breaths, just like we practiced.”

You could feel her breathing start to match yours, still uneven, but getting there.

Not far away, Lando crouched in front of Sebastian, who stood in his racing boots, looking up at his stepdad with wide, focused eyes. Lando held out the fresh, custom McLaren-orange-and-black racing suit with his name stitched across the chest: Sebastian Norris.

“Here, champ. Get this on,” Lando said with a grin, his eyes gleaming with pride.

Sebastian’s smile was immediate—half excitement, half nerves—as he slipped into the suit with Lando’s help. Lando zipped it up and adjusted the collar, smoothing out the sleeves like he was dressing him for battle.

“Remember,” Lando began, placing a hand over Sebastian’s shoulder, “you’ve got this. You’re fast, you’re smart, and you’re brave. Everything I taught you in practice—that was just guidance. But today? This is your race. It’s your hands on the wheel. You own every second out there. Be proud of yourself no matter what.”

You stepped closer, giving Sebastian a warm smile. “And remember something else too, baby. Even if you don’t come first, we’re always proud of you. You’re our superstar no matter what place you get, okay?”

Sebastian, eyes big with emotion, suddenly launched himself forward and wrapped his arms around both of you, burying his face between you and Lando. It was tight and fast and full of love.

“Love you both,” he said into the hug.

“We love you more,” you both echoed at the same time, grinning.

Just then, a familiar voice called out beside you. “Am I missing anything?”

You turned to see Oscar Piastri, sunglasses pushed into his curls and a grin on his face. He was holding a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, like he’d rushed to get there just in time.

“You showed up at the right moment,” you said, nodding toward the track. “Taking the uncle role seriously?”

Oscar glanced at Lyla, who peeked up at him briefly before hiding again. “Trying,” he said, a little awkwardly, patting her gently on the back like he wasn’t quite sure how to comfort a toddler.

You chuckled. “She’ll warm up to you. She’s got anxiety, so she’s on edge right now, but... just wait. She’s going to adore you. You’re already one of her favorite people—we just haven’t told her yet.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow playfully. “Guess I better live up to it.”

Meanwhile, Sebastian climbed into his kart with Lando by his side. The helmet went on. Visor down. Gloves tightened. It was the kind of moment that made your heart swell—watching a boy take after the man who raised him, inspired by him.

Lando leaned in for one last word, tapping Sebastian’s helmet twice. “Have fun out there, alright? Do it for yourself.”

Then the engines roared.

The race began.

You, Lando, and Oscar stood at the rail, eyes locked on the track. The karts whizzed by, and you could barely keep up with how fast they were moving. Sebastian got a decent start but was caught behind a few karts early on, stuck in the middle pack. Lando’s hands clenched the fence, but his voice remained calm.

“You’re okay, son! You’ve got time. Stay smart, find your line,” he called out.

Sebastian, laser-focused, didn’t respond, but you knew he heard him. You could tell by the way he adjusted his line and began picking up pace. Lap after lap, he pushed harder, smoothly maneuvering the corners and creeping up on the front two.

“He’s holding steady,” Oscar muttered. “Smart kid.”

On the final lap, everything changed.

Sebastian saw the opening at the hairpin—a risky move, the kind Lando had pulled once years ago in Formula 1. With confidence far beyond his years, Sebastian went for it, cutting in sharply and overtaking both drivers with stunning precision. The crowd erupted.

You screamed. “THAT’S MY BABY!”

Lando pumped his fists into the air, grabbing Lyla out of your arms and lifting her up with joy.

“HE DID IT! That’s my boy!” Lando laughed, peppering kisses all over Lyla’s cheek as she giggled, her anxiety forgotten for a moment. “Your brother did it, little bug! This means we’re gonna celebrate!”

You felt your throat tighten with pride as the announcer echoed the final call over the speakers:

“Sebastian Norris takes the win! What an incredible overtake! What a finish!”

Sebastian pulled into the finish area, lifting his helmet off to reveal a glowing, flushed face and the biggest grin you’d ever seen. His eyes searched the crowd—he wasn’t looking for the trophy.

He was looking for his family.

And you were already running.

The day had been filled with celebration—post-race chatter with other parents, Sebastian glowing under the praise, Lyla surprisingly soothed by the familiar warmth of family even in the crowd. You all went out for lunch, somewhere simple and kid-friendly, where Sebastian insisted on ordering the “victory pancakes” and got whipped cream on his nose. Lando let him wear his medal around his neck the entire time.

Now, hours later, the sun hanging gently above the Monaco skyline, the flat was filled with a peace that only came after a day well-spent.

You sat curled up on the couch with Lando, your legs across his lap and his fingers lazily tracing circles on your ankle. The golden glow from the windows bathed the room in light, and across from you, in the display case that Lando had meticulously organized, sat Sebastian’s first-ever karting trophy. It gleamed under the soft light—placed proudly in the center, as if it belonged in a museum.

“We did it,” Lando said softly, breaking the silence with a small, awed chuckle. “He won.”

You smiled and leaned your head against his shoulder, watching the way his eyes lingered on the trophy with that soft fatherly pride that never got old. “He did. And he earned it. You both did.”

Lando looked at you with a grin, then glanced toward the hallway. “He’s been jumping on his bed for the past ten minutes, I swear.”

“He’s seven,” you laughed. “He might still be jumping when he’s seventeen.”

“Honestly, he’s got something special,” Lando said. “Just at seven... imagine what kind of skill he’ll have when he’s older. He’s going to be unstoppable.”

Your fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt. “I believe it. And Lyla… well, hopefully she picks something a little less... tire-screeching. Maybe something quiet. Like painting or reading books.”

Lando laughed. “Please. I am begging the universe for that.”

“She’s only two and already doesn’t like loud noises,” you reminded him, nodding toward her room where soft music was playing and little clinks of plastic toys could be heard as she played peacefully. “Let’s pray it sticks.”

Lando’s arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “You still haven’t rewarded me,” he teased, voice low and cheeky.

You raised a brow with a smirk. “Rewarded you for what?”

He grinned. “For raising a champion, obviously. For all my hard work. The late nights. The endless pep talks. The helmet adjusting.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, pretending to consider. “So... what are you asking for exactly?”

His eyebrows wiggled, and you knew exactly where this was going. “Well,” he said, leaning in. “The kids will be asleep tonight... it’ll just be me and you... in our bed...”

You snorted, swatting his chest. “Lando!”

“I’m just saying!” he laughed. “It’s the perfect time to discuss a possible baby number three... maybe even a name list.”

You pulled back, eyes wide and playful. “We are not having another baby, Lando.”

He gasped in mock betrayal. “Mrs. Norris, how dare you deny your devoted husband more offspring!”

You burst out laughing. “You are being needy.”

“And you,” he leaned in to kiss you, “are being difficult.”

Just as you kissed him back, the sweet moment was interrupted by a voice yelling from down the hall: “MOM! DAD! Come look! I made a racetrack out of my LEGOs!”

You looked at Lando, who just gave a breathless chuckle, resting his forehead against yours. “Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.

“Because I’m just... happy,” he said, voice soft. “He’s a Norris now. Really a Norris. Legally. Officially. My boy.”

Your heart swelled at the way his voice cracked ever so slightly at the word my. You reached up to kiss him again, fingers brushing his cheek.

“He always was,” you whispered. “Even before the papers. But now... it’s forever.”

Lando’s lips curved into a proud smile. “Yeah. Forever.”

Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he leaned back and added, “And baby three will be too—”

You grabbed the nearest couch pillow and chucked it at him, hitting him square in the chest.

“Your baby fever is at an all-time high,” you warned, grinning as he laughed and threw his hands up.

“Get it fixed, Norris.”

“Can’t help it!” he said, holding the pillow like a prize. “You made this life too good.”

And somewhere down the hall, a little boy was yelling about tires and turns, a little girl was humming with her toys, and in that living room—surrounded by trophies, laughter, and the soft kind of love that lasts—Lando Norris sat beside his forever family, more proud than he ever imagined he could be.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

TAG LIST: @aunslie @fastandcurious16

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 fluff #formula 1 fanfic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #f1 dad au #f1 as dads #dad! lando norris #one shot fanfic #formula 1 x reader

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requiemforthepoets · 1 month ago

Text

you say good morning, when its midnight ⟢ OP81 (part 3)

main masterlist | fic playlist | series masterlist

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and oscar grew up together, and despite being neighbors and best friends with her sister, hattie, you never really talked or had a conversation with him. until one day, where he randomly texted you out of nowhere.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: use of y/n, photos are all taken from pinterest, no consistent face claims, fluff, humor-ish, kind of a slow burn fic, inaccurate information, time and date stamps are not relevant, and minor typographical errors

WORD COUNT: none

AUTHOR'S NOTE: part 3! i'm really happy that you like this socmed au for oscar! 🥺 i hope that i'll be able to deliver updates that are up to standards. I'll try to incorporate everything, since tumblr has a limit of 30 photos only per post. taglist for this series is open. enjoy!

hattiepiastri posted in their story!

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, yourmom, and others

oscarpiastri take good care of her

hattiepiastri ?????????

hattiepiastri isn't it supposed to be the other way around?????

oscarpiastri we both know that she's too soft for the chaos you bring

hattiepiastri excuse you???? fyi, remind me or not, i'm always gonna be protecting her

oscarpiastri 👍🏻

nicolepiastri oh my goodness, look at her! she's all grown up. i still remember when you two used to dress up and she would braid your hair

hattiepiastri i shed a little tear when i saw her again in person after so many years

nicolepiastri tell her i said hi, that i miss seeing her around and that she looks beautiful

nicolepiastri i'm so happy that you two are together again!

hattiepiastri will do mum. she says hi back.

hattiepiastri we're now in our bestie singapore honeymoon

yourmom oh my heart! she really made that sign? thank you for posting this, hattie. i might be crying in the kitchen now! 🤣

hattiepiastri she was literally bouncing the moment she saw me!

yourmom please tell her to call me when she settles you in

yourmom and while you're there, please make sure that she eats actual food and not just noodles and bubble teas

hattiepiastri promise!

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

hattiepiastri

📍Haji Lane, Singapore

liked by yn.jpg, oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, and 879 others

tagged: yn.jpg

hattiepiastri week into the bestie singapore honeymoon 🤩

view all comments

yn.jpg look at us, maximizing our joint slay 😮‍💨💖

hattiepiastri indeed 🤩

nicolepiastri you both look so wonderful! enjoy and take good care of her

oscarpiastri like i said hattiepiastri

hattiepiastri no need to tag me???? bc i can literally see the reply???????

yn.jpg 🔒

liked by oscarpiastri, yourmom, yourbrother, nicolepiastri, hattiepiastri, and 256 others

tagged: hattiepiastri

yn.jpg all the love, from singapore ♡

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yourmom why is it that you never smile? but the photos look very stunning, and you are stunning!

yn.jpg 🥺🥺🥺🥺

hattiepiastri i stand by my photography skills, should've watermarked these 😔💔

yn.jpg exquisite photography skills indeed! been staring at how good it is 🥹🤚🏻

nicolepiastri so gorgeous!

yn.jpg auntie! thank you so much, i miss you!

yourbrother ok, gotta admit that this photo of you looks cool af. but i miss the gremlin that i used to chase around the house with a nerf gun. bring her back 💔

yn.jpg you and your dramatic ass! 😭

oscarpiastri you do look different

oscarpiastri in a good way. (sorry, clicked the enter button accidentally)

oscarpiastri the not-smiling thing suits you more than it should

hattiepiastri mate, u good?????

oscarpiastri what? am i not allowed to say that she looks nice?

yourbrother i will die on this hill

yn.jpg okay wow 😭 was not expecting a full family panel in the replies. love u all, but can u all pls calm down? 😭

nathanleong these were worth the wait 😮‍💨

yn.jpg 😂😂😂😂

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

hattiepiastri posted in their story!

liked by yn.jpg, oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, and 23 others

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

hattiepiastri

liked by yn.jpg, oscarpiastri, yourmom, nicolepiastri, and 457 others

tagged: yn.jpg

hattiepiastri singaporean nightlife. i'm in love 💖

taglist: @uuoozzii , @freyathehuntress , @littlemisskavities , @elieanana , @rexit-mo , @imagine-it-was-us , @satorinnie , @pessismisticpotato , @milkysoop , @random-movie , @supersanelyromantic , @greantii , @chirpchirp69 , @purplephantomwolf , @mimisweetz , @frogiemushr0om , @angxedxtz , @hevzo8 , @pandora108 , @ms-darcy23 , @sluttybitch , @proudshinsoukinnie , @pinklemonade34 , @gemi-boi , @elizamoe133 , @sideboobrry11 , @mrrayjay , @curlylando , @soleilgrec , @nothingjustaninchidentt , @suns3treading , @dramallama9 , @1-queenofpotatoes-1 , @suibianupyourass , @armystay89 , @verstappen-leclerc-inchident , @landossainz , @martygraciesversion381 , @larkkyoris

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gloomwitchwrites · 2 months ago

Note

Ok ok

Hear me out

Dying in their arms

ANGST ANGST ANGST

I might be answering this one ask, but there were four other people with this exact prompt idea. FOUR. Y'all asked for angst and pain and I'm delivering. Here you go! Eat it up!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x 141!Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (MDNI): angst, hurt/no comfort, swearing, canon-typical violence, 141!reader, mild blood & injury, reader death

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

John clutches you to his chest, uncaring of the carnage around him. Chains hang from the ceiling. They’re rusty, caked with dried blood and other things.

“I’m sorry,” whispers Price, smoothing your hair out of your eyes.

Your breathing is shallow, and your eyelids are heavy. Death is waiting for you—an invisible interloper. Price would happily hand himself over if it meant you could walk out of here alive and whole.

But that is not to be. There is no coming back from what has happened to you. He can only ease your suffering with soft words.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

You try to smile. There is only a hint of white amongst the red. “It’s okay, John. I forgive you.”

He doesn’t want your forgiveness. He’d rather have you healthy—not near the end.

Your next breath is a shudder. “I’m cold,” you whimper. “And it’s—dark.”

John cradles your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a slow back-and-forth motion. “It’ll pass,” he reassures. “I’m right here.”

“I love you.”

That shatters him. John lowers his forehead to yours, tears falling from his eyes. “I love you, too.”

But you do not hear him.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Where’s the evac!”

The comm is dead quiet. Not even static answers him.

He presses down on the button again. “Where’s the fucking evac!” screams Kyle.

“Kyle,” you gasp, voice wet and bubbly. You cough, and dark red explodes from your mouth, splattering the front of Kyle’s bullet-proof vest.

Blood is everywhere. It stains your clothes and face and hair. There are long stretches of it on Kyle as if he’s been clawed by a large animal. None of it is his, but he wishes it was.

Your eyes are open. Going glassy. Growing distant.

“Stay with me,” he pleads, voice cracking on a sob. “Stay with me. Please. Please. Please.”

The hand that grips him eases, fingers loosening as the life leaves your face.

“Please,” he begs, tearful desperation clinging to his breath. “Look at me. I’m right here.”

But you do not look at him. There is no gasping movement. You are still and cold and silent.

“It’s too late.”

Captain Price.

Kyle’s chest heaves. Everything narrows, becoming a dark pinpoint. “No. No!” He shoves at Price, tears staining his cheeks, fists landing. “Call them! Call them!”

“I’m sorry, Gaz,” murmurs Price, grasping his shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost follows you with his scope, picking off enemies.

“Forty meters and you’re free,” says Ghost into his comm.

There’s a crackle, followed by your laughter. “Thanks for the countdown.”

“Pleasure,” replies Ghost, smirking behind the mask.

He returns his eye to the scope, and—

Ghost blinks, draws back, checks again. “Where the fuck are you?” he mutters.

One moment you were on your feet and in his line of sight. There’s no bloody way you’ve up and disappeared. His heartrate spikes, becomes a pounding thing that thuds in his ears. Ghost slows his sweep—watching the ground.

He inhales sharply and rockets to his feet, charging down the hill, screaming into his comms. Ghost uses your callsign over and over—and when you don’t respond—he uses your name. In his ear Price, Johnny, and Gaz are jabbering away, clear panic in their voices.

You’re in the dirt. Face down.

Ghost drops to his knees, picks you up, drags you to cover. He touches your face, but your gaze is vacant, and there is nothing to the back of your head. Placing his hand on your chest, Ghost sits in silence with you as the useless med evac approaches.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny claps your hand—hard. If he holds on tight enough, maybe you won’t slip away.

“I’m here. Right here,” he reassures, as if his words alone will heal you.

Blood oozes from between your clasped palms. The both of you are covered in dirt and debris but only one of you is unharmed. Johnny will come out of this whole ordeal with a few bruises. You are full of holes. Broken. Bleeding out.

The evac won’t arrive in time. Even if it did, you wouldn’t make it. That’s the hardest part of it, knowing there is no hope. These final moments are all Johnny has with you. There will be no more gentle afternoons, lazy walks, or mornings tangled up in one another.

All of that is done.

Obsolete.

“Johnny,” you whimper.

“Right here,” he soothes, hating how your gaze is unfocused, searching for him even though he’s right here. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Johnny shifts you in his lap, cradling you close. He whispers all his love to you, recounting your short but wonderful life together. He keeps talking. Even when your chest stops moving. Even when you go limp. Talking. Talking even in the dead silence.

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monster-disaster · 10 months ago

Note

I would love if you could write something about a dragon having a girl for a mate and praising/ pleasing her with his tongue with in tune gets him off as well

Request 2: Could I request a dragon story? The reader gets forced by her village as an offering to a dragon to keep him at bay. He takes her as an offering and instead of torturing her as she thought he claims her as his life long mate and wishes to please her and praise her? Mainly by eating her out constantly

dragon!Diman x human!Reader Good to know: size difference, smut, dead animals

You should have seen this coming.

You noticed the glances, the whispers behind your back, and the cold silence that followed you among the villagers. The signs were all there. And most importantly, you rejected one of the elders' sons when he asked for your hand in marriage. That sealed your fate.

Even now, bound and frightened, you don't regret it, though. Not one bit.

Being offered to a dragon, whether as a toy or a snack, you can't be sure, still feels like a brighter future than living under that man's thumb for the rest of your life. The thought of enduring him as a husband, dirty and loud, is more terrifying than anything else you might face now. Cooking for him, bearing his children... No. You'd rather face a thousand monsters than live that kind of life.

"Are you still sure of your decision?" He asks, pulling you from your thoughts. His piggy eyes are fixated on you. The pale color of his irises reflects the silvery light of the moon in the dark sky.

"Yes," you reply, your voice almost drowned out by the noise of the villagers gathered at the foot of the hill. You have to force your expression to remain indifferent, hiding your disgust as you look at him. His double chin obscures the line of his jaw. His round face is covered with stubble and small gashes from his clumsy attempts to shave.

"You'll regret it," he huffs. His grip is bruisingly tight around your arm as he uses you to haul himself up the hill. With every step, you sink back a few inches under his weight.

No, you think, but don't say it out loud. I won't.

No matter what happens when the dragon arrives, it's still better than the image in your head of the man panting and moving above you in bed. Even the thought of it makes your stomach turn with disgust and bile. His stubby fingers would fumble over you, grasping all the wrong places, and you’re not even sure if he could manage to put it in with his large stomach in the way. But, of course, his looks are the least of your concerns. If he had a lovable personality, it might have been bearable. But he’s rotten to the core. He could be more like the son of one of the hunters; a big guy too, with a mess of blonde locks on the top of his head and bright blue eyes that always shine with humor and happiness. His chubbiness only makes him look several years younger, adding to his boyish charm. But you aren't that lucky. He’s in love with your neighbor.

And this, all of this, leaves you for the dragon.

When you reach the top of the hill, your legs are sore, and lungs tight from panting. The man behind you shoves you to the ground. The impact hurts, but it's still better than the feel of his sweaty palm on your bare skin.

"Don't even try to run," he warns. The words leave his lips in heavy puffs. "If you do, we have hunters ready to shoot you."

You don't respond, turning your head away from him and only looking back when he finally turns to leave you there. Oh, how you wish he’d trip and roll all the way down into the crowd of villagers below. He’d knock them down like a huge ball. A sweaty, hairy ball. You are sure he would sound like the pigs too, crying and wailing.

Adjusting yourself on your knees, you straighten your back and scan the view in front of you. You don’t attempt to escape. You have no doubt the hunters would stop you if you tried anything. And where would you even go? Your home is the village, with all your possessions left behind in your small hut. And with your hands tied behind your back, you wouldn’t survive the night in the woods. The villagers would hunt you down like an animal. You would become the pig, dying in the dirt. The thought makes your heart ache with betrayal. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You once believed the village and its people were your home, your safe haven. Now, you are nothing more to them than something they can sacrifice.

With a heavy sigh, you gaze over the woods stretching out before you; a tangle of shadows with sharp edges and twisted shapes. Behind them, the tall, looming mountains' jagged silhouettes reach skyward as if trying to pierce the darkness. The familiar view that once gave you a sense of safety now leaves you with a cold, gnawing unease in your stomach as you wait. The villagers, whom you know all too well, are silent now, waiting just like you.

And none of you have to wait for long.

The sight of the dragon in the dark sky takes your breath away. The moon’s silvery light catches its enormous body, revealing the scales in sharp detail. You see its muscles shifting and moving beneath the hard skin. Each powerful stroke of its wide wings sends ripples through the night air. You hear every rhythmic beat growing louder as it gets closer and closer. Its large head, long and sharp, is supported by a thick neck that connects to broad shoulders. Along its spine, sharp ridges jut out prominently, extending all the way to the tip of its swinging tail. It cuts into the darkness with a fluid grace.

Your chest heaves as you try to get air into your burning lungs, but it seems that even the sight of him alone is enough to leave you breathless. His formidable presence commands awe, respect, and fear. Each powerful movement echoes his sheer strength. When he lands not far from you, the ground shakes and trembles beneath his massive weight. The vibrations crawl up through your bones.

"You are my payment," he says. His voice is deep and rumbling.

The word choice makes you flinch, and though it’s not a question, you nod in response anyway. "Yes."

Living so close to a dragon is always a risk, but as far as you know, most places find ways to protect themselves from the wrath of these huge creatures. The villages offer them gold, food, or humans.

For a long, long second, the dragon looks over you with his almond-shaped eyes. The weight of his gaze is heavy on you as well as his next words. "You will do."

For what, you want to ask but decide to stay quiet instead.

"Will you try something silly if I cut your bounds?" He asks with amusement.

You shake your head. "No." What could you do against him? Run? Fight?

"Good," he hums, reaching behind you to slice through the ropes around your wrists with a quick flick of his claw. Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden closeness, and you dare not move, terrified of the damage he could inflict if you were to make a wrong move.

"Do you want to say your goodbye?" He asks, watching you rubbing your wrist where the robes cut into your skin.

You frown. "No." The word escapes your lips as a harsh spat.

He almost laughs. You can feel the deep rumble under your feet. "Good."

A loud, high-pitched squeal escapes your lips as he grabs you with a swift motion. His large hand envelops your entire body, fingers curling around you with ease. He lifts you off the ground effortlessly as his wings start to beat, raising you both into the air. You want to grab onto his fingers automatically, but his hold around you is so tight that you can't move.

"Wait, wait," you gasp hurriedly, and to your surprise, he stops in mid-air.

"For what?" The dragon asks. His golden eyes with black slits in the middle survey you waitingly, but when you open and close your lips several times without saying anything, he turns his attention away from you to continue his journey back to his home.

You want to take one last look at your village, the place that was your home until tonight, but your position in his hand makes it impossible. All you can see is the underside of his thick neck and head, along with the towering mountains in the distance. The late-night wind is cold on your face, yet his large palm around your body keeps you warm and secure in the air. Despite his size, he flies effortlessly, and soon, instead of the familiar hill and clearing, you find the dark wood underneath you.

His lair is nestled in a cove within one of the largest mountains. The air here is colder, and the wind is stronger, too, as he sets you down well away from the rocky edge, and you lose the warmth of his hold around you. After being carried, you feel unsure on your own feet as you look back to see the dark view of the landscape bathed in the moonlight. You can see your village in the distance, small and insignificant.

"Come," he breaks the silence. "It's warmer inside."

Going into a dark cave with a dragon several your size doesn't seem the brightest idea, but looking down the steep mountain beneath, you don't really have any other option.

"Wait," he says, making you stop immediately. "You need some light," he says as if reminding himself. "You humans barely see anything."

Without waiting for your response, he takes a deep breath, and before you can react, the dark hole is suddenly illuminated by the intense flames bursting from his massive jaws. The fire roars to life, casting flickering shadows across the cave's walls. Thick smoke surges into the cold night air, smothering you with its warm, acrid smell that stings your eyes and clings to your skin. When he finally closes his mouth, the flames recede, leaving the cave bathed in the dim, flickering light of burning torches mounted on the rugged walls. With the newfound illumination, you realize the cavern is even bigger than you first thought. Of course, a massive creature like the dragon standing before you requires as much space as he can get to move around freely.

"Come," he says, not even looking at you to check if you follow him.

Both of you know you don't really have any other option.

The dragon's lair is a maze that winds deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain. Steep slopes and jagged inclines alternate with vast, rocky halls that are filled with rusty weapons, tarnished armor, and forgotten trinkets. The air is thick with the scent of the stone walls and smoke. Each breath you take feels heavy and warm. As you follow the dragon, the torches he lits along the way cast flickering shadows on the walls. By the time he finally halts, you're out of breath, coughing from the smoky air.

"Where are we?" You ask him when you find your voice. It's hoarse and tight.

"Does it matter?" He asks. "You can't leave anyway."

You don't know where you get the courage to scowl at him. "Rude."

The dragon scoffs, amused. "We are in the heart of the mountain," he says.

The place resembles a grand hall with towering walls and thick, imposing columns that stretch up into the shadows above. The ground is littered with various objects, shiny ones, and old ones. Piles of gold gleam under the dim light, scattered carelessly among the mess. Books are strewn about haphazardly, their pages yellowed and edges worn, as if they’ve been forgotten in the chaos. At the center of the hall is a massive nest, sprawling and chaotic, made from a jumble of materials and what-not.

The dragon gives you a moment to take in your surroundings, but the silence only heightens your anxiety. Is this really it? Is this where you’ll meet your end? You can't help but imagine your clothes and bones tossed carelessly into the pile of treasure where the dragon sleeps. The thought that nobody will ever find you, that no one will even search, gnaws at you. You’ll be forgotten, just another insignificant meal for the beast.

"Are you going to faint?" The dragon's voice suddenly rumbles through the cavern, making you jump. The sound echoes off the stone walls and ripples down your spine.

"No," you manage to gulp out. "Why?"

"You look like someone who is ready to faint," he says. His tone is so casual that it’s almost infuriating. You are surprised you can feel anything else besides fear.

"Do you see a lot of humans faint before you?"

His grin is slow, almost mechanical, revealing sharp teeth that glint under the dim light. "You could say that."

"So," you begin, licking your lips nervously, "what do you want to do with me?"

His grin widens, and your heart races. "Let's sleep for now, hm?"

Your eyes widen in surprise. Sleep? That wasn’t the answer you expected.

"What?"

The dragon rolls his large, golden eyes, clearly bored with your reaction. With a graceful, feline-like motion, he climbs into his nest, settling down with a heavy thud that makes the ground shake beneath your feet. His massive body curls in on itself, his tail wrapping around him as his head rests on a pile of treasure. Or trash. You can't decide.

That’s it? You think, bewildered. He just wants to sleep?

When you remain frozen in place, your legs trembling beneath you, the dragon lets out a scoff. In one swift motion, he reaches out, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you off the ground. Your startled squeal echoes through the hall, but he ignores it. He just places you close to his head with a gentle but firm grunt.

"Sleep." His warm breath washes over you, providing a stark contrast to the cold, unyielding walls of the mountain.

You’re too stunned to resist, and the strange warmth of his breath is oddly comforting in the darkness.

As you soon find out, the dragon has entirely different plans for you than your village, which was so eager to throw you into the beast's arms. Or mouth.

Two days later, you finally gather the courage to ask. "When do you plan to... kill me?"

The dragon's response is not what you expect. He laughs, a loud, rumbling sound that echoes through the cavern and lingers long enough to make your skin burn with embarrassment.

"Eat you?" He asks, still chuckling. "Why would I do that, little morsel? You're so small... not even enough for a quick snack."

"Well..." you clear your throat, searching for words. "Isn't that what dragons do?"

He hums thoughtfully. "I won't lie," he admits. "The taste of human flesh is not... unfamiliar to me, but no, I don't plan to eat you." His laughter bubbles up again, and you scowl at his obvious amusement.

"Then why are you keeping me?" You press. Confusion and frustration mix in your voice.

He pauses for a moment, considering. "To entertain me."

"Entertain you?" You repeat, incredulous.

"Yes."

"What?" You scoff, disbelief creeping into your tone.

The dragon huffs as he leans closer to you. His massive head is now just inches away. Each exhale ruffles your hair, the warm breath unsettling yet somehow familiar after two days of spending time with him.

"Do you think you're the first human who has been given to me?" He asks, not waiting for your reply. "You’ll stay here with me until I tire of you."

"And after that?" You whisper, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

"I will let you go," he says. He almost sounds bored. "Just as I let the others go when they could no longer amuse me."

"You let them go? Alive?" You ask, hardly daring to believe it. You've never met anyone who was captured by a dragon and got out without a fight.

"Yes," he replies, rolling his eyes at your disbelief.

When you don’t respond, he turns away from you. His tail nearly knocks you off your feet as he heads toward one of the corridors.

"Where are you going?" You call after him, watching his massive form disappear into the shadows.

"I’ll get you some food," he says, laughing again. "Stay there."

"I don't even know your name!" You shout after him. You can hear your voice echo in the distance.

"Diman, little morsel."

Diman.

You're not sure how long he's been away. In the deepest part of the mountain, you can't see the sky, and not knowing whether it's day or night is starting to drive you mad. The dragon is rude and blunt, but you're beginning to think he won't be your biggest problem if you have to stay here with him.

When Diman returns, you feel a pang of disappointment as you see he has come back empty-handed. Your stomach growls with hunger, but before you can voice your frustration, he stops in front of you. With a deep breath, his large mouth opens, and two rabbits tumble onto the ground.

They're covered in his saliva, and they are unmistakably dead.

"You know what to do with them, right?"

"Yeah," you reply, trying to suppress the grimace threatening to spread across your face. "Thanks."

You grab the rabbits by their hind legs, searching the cavern for anything that might help you prepare them.

"You can find knives..." he muses for a moment. "Anywhere, I guess."

You glance at him, surprised by his nonchalant response. He smirks. His eyes gleam with a predatory glint, and the slits of his pupils widen slightly as he takes in your reaction. "You couldn't hurt me even if you wanted to," he adds with obvious amusement.

Without saying a word, you sigh and turn your attention back to the task at hand. You have dragon-saliva-soaked rabbits to prepare.

"Can I clean myself somewhere?" You ask.

After several days in the dragon's lair, you've yet to see the outside world, something you'll need to address with him eventually, but you have more important things in your mind. You've grown increasingly uncomfortable in your own skin. Your clothes reek of smoke and sweat.

Diman surprises you by standing up in his nest. "Good. I was starting to think you preferred being... like this."

You frown at him, feeling a mix of frustration and weariness. If this continues, your irritation with the dragon might become more than just a fleeting emotion. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you liked being stinky," he replies with a shrug. His muscular body, covered in thick, scaly skin, moves fluidly as he stretches.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" You splutter, annoyed and embarrassed at the same time.

"I didn't want to be rude," he says with an air of nonchalance.

You can’t help but scoff at his response, unable to hide your frustration.

"Come on, then."

The dragon leads you through the corridors. His massive strides force you to almost run just to keep up with him, and you have to watch out for his tail, too. It swings left and right in front of you with every step he takes.

For a long while, you wonder if he’s taking you out into the woods to find a river. But when he finally stops, and you step out behind him, you gasp in awe.

Before you is a new cave, even larger than the main hall at the heart of the mountain. Sunlight streams through natural openings in the walls, casting a warm glow on the time-carved columns that support the rough ceiling. The light dances across the surface of several pools of varying sizes scattered throughout the space. The water in them is crystal clear, reflecting the rugged walls with shimmering ripples. The air is thick with warmth and steam, which rises gently from the springs.

"Oh," you gasp, taking in the unexpected sight. "I didn’t know about this."

"Of course, you didn’t," Diman replies, his tone matter-of-fact. You give him a look, but he is not the type to shy away. "Do you want to bathe or not?"

"Yes," you reply, "I do. Do you have a change of clothes for me?"

"I’m sure I’ll find something," he says, and with that, he leaves you alone in the cave.

"Like a maid," he adds under his breath.

With his departure, you waste no time stripping off your clothes and stepping into one of the pools. The water laps gently against your bare skin, and you can feel your muscles and joints relaxing as the warmth envelops you. Leaning against the edge, you face the openings in the wall, allowing the sunlight and fresh air to wash over you.

When your village cast you out, you never imagined you'd end up here. You can’t help but think about how the others must assume you are long dead by now. You had thought so too, that your fate would be sealed and your life cut short. Yet here you are, unexpectedly alive and soaking in comfort. The irony of your situation is not lost on you.

You’re almost asleep when Diman returns, his heavy footsteps echoing softly in the cave. Something soft lands on the ground beside you silently. Opening your eyes, you see what looks like a nightgown spread out on the floor.

"And I brought you towels," he adds, his voice low and gruff.

You sit up, blinking in curiosity. "Why do you have towels?"

He shrugs, the movement causing the thick plates of his muscles to shift. "I have many things I have no idea how I got."

"Yeah. I saw."

Diman catches the subtle change in your tone and tilts his head. "Do you have a problem with it, little morsel?"

"It's... messy," you reply cautiously, watching his reaction. While Diman can be blunt and intimidating, he hasn’t harmed you yet, and you’re careful not to overstep.

"And it should bother me because...?"

"I didn’t say it should bother you," you tell him softly, trying to choose your words carefully. "But it’s not really... homey."

"It’s a cave," he retorts as if that explains everything.

"But it’s still your home," you reason.

Diman considers this, his gaze thoughtful. "Okay then," he agrees with a slow nod. "You’ll be here for a while, you might as well clean up if you want to."

Great, you think sarcastically. Just what you wanted, a never-ending cleaning project.

"Now," you say after a while, breaking the silence with a bit of hesitation, "can you leave?"

Diman frowns. "What?"

"I’m naked!" You exclaim, pointing out the obvious. With nothing else to distract you, you’re acutely aware of the fact that you’re completely bare in front of him, even though the pool and the water offer some privacy.

"So?" His tone is indifferent.

"Out!" You insist, your voice rising a bit in embarrassment.

For a long moment, Diman just stares at you, half-serious, half-amused. When you add a soft, "Please," his expression softens slightly.

He sighs but begins to move anyway. His large frame shifts with a resigned grace. "It is my lair, you know? You can’t just order me around."

It seems you can, but you wisely keep that thought to yourself.

Later, you find yourself nestled in Diman’s nest, a place that was initially intimidating but has become oddly comforting. You didn’t dare say anything about sleeping here at first, but now you don’t mind it. His warmth is a blessing against the cold mountain nights. A cocoon of heat that keeps the chill at bay.

"Read me something," Diman’s voice rumbles, breaking the silence.

"Read you something?" You ask, turning your head to look at him. His massive head rests on a pile of unidentifiable objects, his golden eyes reflecting the flickering firelight.

"Yes," he replies with a hint of impatience in his tone. "There are tons of books all over. Find something."

"Okay," you agree. You are not really sleepy either and glad for something to occupy your mind.

You rise from the nest, your nightgown swishing around your legs as you begin to sift through the scattered piles of belongings.

Diman watches you silently. There’s a quiet contentment in the way he observes you without saying anything. His tail curls slightly around himself some more. The sight of you in the soft, flowing nightgown fills him with a strange sense of peace. It’s almost enough to lull him to sleep, but he’s not quite ready for that yet.

As you pick through the mess, carefully avoiding knocking over anything, you come across a book that catches your eye. The cover is worn, and the title is barely readable, but it feels right in your hands. You bring it back to the nest and settle in beside Diman. Opening the book, you begin to read aloud, and soon, your voice fills the cavern. The dragon listens, his eyes half-lidded, and his breathing is slow and steady.

He spent the last decade mostly asleep, lost in the deep slumber of his kind. But now, with you here, being awake doesn’t feel like a burden anymore.

You and the dragon fall into a routine surprisingly quickly. The strange part isn't how easily you've adjusted to your new life, but how little you miss your old one. Yes, you miss your cottage, its cozy walls, and familiar smells, but you don’t miss the villagers. Why would you? They threw you away like garbage. With a few exceptions, they can rot where they are. You were right, though, choosing to be with a dragon is still a better option than staying with that fool of a man.

"What are you doing?" The sudden voice of Diman makes you jump. You almost drop the bundle of clothes in your hands. His large frame looms in the entrance. Shadows play and stretch on his scales in the dim light.

"Cleaning," you reply, steadying yourself after a second. You notice the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. "You're home early."

"There was a storm last night," he explains. His answer rumbles through the walls like a distant thunder. "It means plenty of fish."

Without further ado, he opens his massive jaws and drops a writhing pile of fish onto the stone floor. They flop and gasp, their silver scales glinting as a thin layer of water and dragon saliva spreads beneath them.

"Oh, god," you groan, stepping back in disgust. "They’re still alive!"

Diman tilts his head, watching you with a curious glint in his eyes. "You don't like it?"

"I do," you say, though your gaze remains fixed on the pile of struggling fish. "I just... I hate killing them."

"What?" He asks, genuinely puzzled.

"They're so wiggly!" You groan again, shuddering at the thought of touching their slimy bodies.

The dragon laughs. The deep, resonant sound echoes off the rugged walls. "I see. I’ll take care of them while you finish cleaning then."

You blink in surprise at his offer, but quickly nod anyway. You won't argue about this. "Thank you."

While he effortlessly handles the fish with his massive talons, you return to organizing the books you’ve been gathering from around the lair. You’ve created a neat pile in a corner. Diman could have a full library, though you’re not sure if dragons can even read.

"You’ve been busy today," he comments, his eyes flickering over to you as he lights a fire for cooking. Doing it in the heart of a mountain might not be the best idea, but for now, it’s your only option.

"Yeah," you sigh, placing your hands on your hips as you survey the hall. The place is still a chaos, but it’s better than before. "What do you do with so much gold?" You ask, nodding towards another glittering pile that catches the warm glow of the torches.

Diman shrugs. "They’re pretty."

"And the books? Or the clothes?" You continue, settling down next to him by the fire. Your stomach growls at the sight of the fish, now neatly arranged and ready to cook. "I understand the weapons and shields, but everything else seems so random."

He shrugs again. "I take what I find interesting or pretty. I mean, you’re here too, no?"

His words catch you off guard, a rush of warmth rising to your cheeks. "Well, yeah," you mumble, flustered.

Diman grins, revealing rows of sharp teeth. "You look better when you’re not trying to faint from fear."

You scoff. The moment between you two passes as quickly as it came. "Shut up."

He chuckles but falls silent, allowing a peaceful quiet to settle over you both as you begin cooking dinner. The fish sizzles over the fire, filling the cavern with a mouth-watering aroma.

"You seem to like it," Diman teases, watching you tear into the white flesh with both hands. Your hunger overwhelms your manners.

"Sorry," you mumble, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "I didn’t get to eat fish often back in the village. The river was far, and when people caught something, they sold it too expensive for me."

Diman’s gaze softens slightly. "Did you have problems there?"

"Not really," you reply between two bites. "I didn’t have much, but it was enough, you know?"

He hums in understanding, lowering his massive head to the ground as you continue eating.

"Do you want some?" You ask, holding out a piece of fish on your plate toward him. "It’s delicious."

The moment the words leave your mouth, time seems to stop. Diman stares at you, shock clear on his face. You have no idea what you’ve just offered him. Offering food among dragons is a gesture of profound significance, far beyond the simple act as it is for humans. It’s a symbol of trust, of bonding, of something deeper that you can’t even begin to comprehend.

For a long moment, Diman hesitates, torn between his instincts and the awareness that you don’t understand the weight of your gesture.

"No," he finally says, though his voice is softer, almost tender. He relaxes back onto the ground, his massive form curling slightly around you. "Eat, little morsel."

You continue eating, unaware of the change between you and the dragon and the silent vow Diman has made to himself. He will make sure you never leave him, even if you don’t fully understand the bond you’re forming yet.

“When will you get bored of me?” You ask the dragon after two months of living with him. The two of you sit at the entrance of his cave, basking in the last golden rays of the summer sun as it slowly dips behind the horizon. His emerald scales shimmer under the warm light. He sprawls on the ground, seemingly at ease.

At your question, his muscles tense, and he lifts his massive head to look at you. “Do you want to leave, little human?” He asks. The question rumbles with a barely suppressed growl of disapproval.

In truth, you have no desire to leave him. The thought of him sending you away gnaws at you daily. Where would you even go? Your old life was left behind, abandoned along with your cottage. Now, this cave, with its towering stone walls and the dragon who lives in it, is the only home you know.

A long, silent moment stretches between you as he watches you intently. Slowly, you gather your courage and shake your head. “No,” you admit, your voice steady. “That’s why I’m asking.”

His gaze softens slightly. “You don’t want to leave me?” He asks again as if needing to hear it twice to believe it.

You shake your head once more.

Living with Diman has been surprisingly comfortable. Despite his size and the sharpness of his claws, he’s become a constant presence around you, a source of safety. He’s often infuriating, teasing you just for the fun of it, but there’s warmth in his companionship that you’ve come to cherish. The thought of leaving him, of leaving this mountain, fills you with anxiety.

“Would you let me go if I wanted to leave?” You ask suddenly, the question escaping before you can stop it.

Diman sighs, his eyes drifting over the darkening landscape. “That would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?” He muses aloud.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I guess.”

He meets your gaze with a guilty smile. The corners of his large mouth curve up. “I say yes, as long as you promise not to test it.”

Diman has always been quick to let go of the men and women offered to him over the years. A lot of them stayed only a few days before he grew bored and sent them on their way. But with you, it’s different. He has no intention of letting you go. It’s not just about the entertainment you provide, though, you do make him laugh more than he has in years. No, it’s more than that. You make his cave feel like a home, and every time he leaves to hunt, he finds himself eager to return. When he sleeps, he looks forward to waking up, knowing you’ll be there. You’ve brought something into his life he didn’t know he was missing.

To his surprise, you laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “I won’t test it.”

And with that, the conversation ends. You lean back against his thick arm, closing your eyes with a contented sigh.

That night, the two of you drift off to sleep with anticipation and some lightness in your hearts.

"When will you be back?" You ask Diman, standing under the entrance of the cave as the rain pours down in heavy sheets. The dark clouds above rumble and flash with lightning every few minutes, casting brief, eerie illuminations across the landscape. The forest below is still green, but it looks weary and tired as the autumn approaches.

Diman turns to you, a grin spreading across his massive face, revealing his sharp teeth. "Are you worried about me?" He teases, expecting your usual playful retort, but when you don’t respond with your typical energy, his expression softens, and he answers more seriously. "I’ll be fine," he assures you. "This weather is nothing to me."

You nod, but the sigh that escapes you betrays your concern. "Okay."

"I’ll be back soon," he adds, trying to reassure you. "It shouldn’t be more than a week. Maybe two."

You don’t like the uncertainty in his answer, but you nod again anyway. "Okay."

"Take care of yourself while I’m away," he says, his voice gentle, as if trying to ease your worry.

"I will," you reply, though the words feel hollow.

Diman has to leave to hunt and prepare for the approaching winter. With his large appetite, he needs to be mindful of the animal population and cover more land before he accidentally empties the surrounding forest. And while you understand the necessity, you don't like it. You’ve grown used to his presence, his constant warmth. The thought of him being gone, even for a short while, leaves you feeling strangely vulnerable.

But you know it’s something he must do. So, you watch him as he spreads his enormous wings. The muscles in his body flex in preparation for flight, and with a powerful leap, he takes to the sky.

You watch him until his form is swallowed by the stormy clouds.

As you retreat back into the cave, it feels emptier without him. Colder somehow. You wrap yourself in a blanket, trying to shake off the unease settling in your chest. You tell yourself he’ll be back soon, just as he promised, but until then, the cave, and you, feel just a little lonelier.

While Diman is away, you continue to tidy up the cave, but it becomes increasingly difficult as the days drag on. Without his presence, the mountain walls feel heavy and claustrophobic. They close in on you more and more with each passing day. The silence is deafening, and the nights are too cold without the dragon’s warmth beside you. The cave now feels more like a prison, its stone walls offering little comfort against the loneliness that gnaws at you.

As the end of the first week without him approaches, you find yourself spending more and more time at the entrance of the cave, staring out at the still-raging storm and the dark sky and hoping to catch a glimpse of the returning dragon. Nature seems to be shedding its lush greens at an alarming speed. The forest below transforms into shades of orange and brown as autumn takes hold.

One day, you sit at the entrance of the cave, wrapped tightly in a blanket as the storm continues its relentless assault on the world outside. The sky above is dark, and heavy with clouds. The wind howls, and the rain pounds against the rocks, but you barely notice it anymore. Your thoughts are far away, lost in worry and longing for Diman's return.

The rumble of the ground beneath you is subtle at first, a faint vibration that you almost dismiss as part of the storm. But then it intensifies. The mountain itself groans under the pressure of some unseen force. You stand up, alarmed and with a racing heart as the tremors grow stronger. For several seconds, you stand there, frozen in place until the rocks around you begin to shudder. Dust and small pebbles rain down from the ceiling. A deafening roar echoes through the cave, and the ground lurches violently beneath your feet. The entrance, your only connection to the outside world, begins to crumble too. The rocks above shift and crack, and with a thunderous crash, they fall. The cacophony of stone grinding against stone drowns out everything else.

You barely have time to leap out of the way as the massive boulders come crashing down, sealing off the entrance in a cloud of dust and debris. You hurl yourself to the ground, rolling to the side and curling into a tight ball in the midst of the chaos. Your heart pounds as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your muscles are tense as you pull your knees to your chest. One arm wraps protectively around your head, while the other digs into your legs, anchoring you as the world around you crumbles.

When it finally stops, the silence is absolute, broken only by the muffled sound of the storm outside.

Coughing and gasping for breath, you push yourself up with a groan. Darkness surrounds you, thick and impenetrable. The air is heavy with dust, making it hard to breathe. Your hands scrape against the rough stone floor. You reach out, feeling your way through the pitch-black void, but your fingers meet only cold, solid rock and hard edges. Desperately, you search for any sliver of light, any gap that might offer a way out, but there’s nothing. The cave is sealed tight, and you are alone in the stifling blackness. The once-open space is now filled with a thick wall of stone.

You sink back to the ground with a rising panic in your chest while trying to steady your breathing. Your shoulders feel heavy as you force your mind to think. Diman will come back, you tell yourself. He’ll know something’s wrong. He’ll dig you out. You are safe with no injuries besides a few bruises and cuts here and there, and for now, all you can do is wait, alone in the darkness, hoping that Diman will return sooner rather than later to save you.

Hours pass in suffocating darkness. You sit, knees drawn to your chest, straining to hear anything beyond the silence. Every creak and groan of the mountain around you sends a jolt of hope through your heart, but it’s always nothing. Your dragon is probably far away, having no idea of the situation you are in. Your mind races with worry and fear, but as time drags on with no sign of Diman, a cold, grim resolve begins to take hold of you. You can’t just sit here, waiting. You have to do something.

With a deep breath, you push yourself to your feet. Your hands reach out to the rough, familiar walls of the cave, guiding you as you navigate through the pitch-black corridors. Every torch is blown out, making each step you take slow and careful. It feels like an eternity by the time you reach the grand hall. You can’t see it, but you know the space by heart.

First, you need fire. The torch is hard to find. Your hands are shaking when your fingers finally close around one, but lighting it is even more difficult. You are clumsy, trembling with cold and fear, but after several tries, a spark catches, and a small, flickering flame bursts to life.

The light is weak, barely enough to push back the darkness, but it’s something. It gives you the courage to move forward.

You gather as much supply as you can carry, stuffing them into a small sack before making your way to the baths. The walls here are punctuated by holes that let in some natural light, even though it's not much now with the storm outside. It's better than nothing, though.

You set your torch in a holder on the wall, letting the warm, flickering light mix with the cool, natural glow filtering in. The bath hall is a large, cavernous room with several pools fed by underground springs.

Okay, you think. It's much better. You have light, clean air, food and water. You will be fine until Diman comes back.

You lay out the blankets, creating a small nest for sleep. The air here is warmer, the water giving off a gentle steam that eases the chill in your bones. You take a deep breath, the first one since forever that doesn’t feel suffocating. The fear and loneliness are still there, gnawing at the back of your mind, but it’s easier to push them aside now that you are safe and out of the dark.

Diman will come back. He has to.

As the second week draws to a close, the storm that has raged on for weeks finally begins to ease. For the first time in days, you feel a small sense of relief. Being able to see the sky helps soothe the anxiety that has been eating at you. The knowledge that the world beyond the mountain still exists and turns is a comfort you didn't know you needed so much.

It's early Friday morning when a deep rumble shakes the cave, jolting you awake. Your stomach tightens with fear. The memory of the last collapse flashes through your mind as you brace yourself for the worst but this time, the ground doesn’t give way, and as the rumbling continues, you realize it’s not the mountain. It’s Diman’s voice, echoing through the labyrinth of stone.

A gasp escapes your lips as you scramble from your makeshift bed, your heart pounding with a mixture of relief and anticipation. You hesitate at the entrance of the cave that opens to the baths, unsure whether to move or stay put. You have to keep your tensing and twitching muscles from running. The maze of tunnels and chambers could make it harder for him to find you if you wander too far.

You call his name, your voice trembling as it bounces off the rugged walls, merging with his deep, booming calls.

“Y/N!” His voice is closer now, filled with urgency and worry.

Tears well up and spill down your cheeks as you see his massive form emerge at the end of the corridor. His eyes are wide and frantic as he spots you. Relief washes over you like a wave as you rush toward him, your arms stretching out instinctively.

“I’m here,” you cry out. Your voice breaks with emotion just as his large head presses into your embrace. You wrap your arms around him as best as you can, feeling the cool, rough texture of his scales under your fingers. Your feet lift off the ground for a moment as you cling to him. His deep, rumbling hum vibrates through your body as he tries to calm himself.

“I saw the entrance,” he says, his voice choked with fear and lingering panic. “I thought- I saw your blanket between the rocks- and- ”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, caressing the thick scales beneath his eyes. “I was lucky; it didn’t hurt me.”

“Why were you even there?”

“I was waiting for you,” you reply.

“Little morsel,” he sighs, snuggling even closer. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I promise." His large, gleaming eyes soften as you continue to stroke his scales. “I’m fine now that you’re here,” you whisper. The warmth of his presence chases away the lingering fear and loneliness that had weighed on you for so long.

Diman hums again, a low, soothing sound that vibrates through the air. It wraps you in a cocoon of safety.

“I’ll never leave you like that again,” he promises, his voice firm and unwavering.

You smile, wiping away the last of your tears as you nod. “It's fine by me.”

For a while, both of you bask in each other's embrace while talking quietly about the last two weeks. Diman needs a long time to calm down and believe that you are really okay.

"I will go and take care of the entrance," he says after a while. "And lit some fire."

"Okay," you nod even though you have to force yourself to let him go.

"Stay there until then," he says. "I will come back and get you."

As Diman busies himself, you slip away to take a bath. The warm water washes away the grime and stress of the past weeks, and as you change into clean clothes, a sense of relief settles over you. The knowledge that Diman is back, safe and sound, lifts the heavy burden that had weighed on your heart. Even as you hear the rumble of debris being cleared and feel the tremors beneath your feet, the fear that once accompanied these sensations is replaced by contentment. The mountain, which had felt like a prison in his absence, now feels secure and comforting again.

By the time you finish, Diman has completed his work. The entrance to the cave is clear once again, and as you step into the great hall, the fire’s orange glow flickers warmly on the walls, bringing a sense of normalcy back to your life.

"We need to change a few things around here," Diman says, his mind clearly racing with ideas. "I want you to have an escape route even when I'm not here. You need more light and—"

"It's okay," you interrupt gently, smoothing your palm over his thick arm. The texture of his scales is rough beneath your hand. "We can figure everything out later. Are you hungry?"

He looks at you, surprised. "I just came back from hunting."

You shrug, settling into your usual spot near his nest. The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and while you miss the open view of the outside world, the warmth and light bring a sense of peace. "You worked a lot today."

His smile is gentle, and there’s a new light in his yellow eyes that you’ve never seen before, something soft and tender. "No," he replies after a pause, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not hungry, but let me feed you."

"Oh," you say, surprised by his offer. "Okay," you add, smiling at him as he moves to prepare your meal.

Despite the obvious difference in size between him and the portion you eat, he works with surprising speed and care, and soon, the cave is filled with the mouthwatering aroma of vegetables and fish. Your stomach growls in response, reminding you how long it’s been since you’ve had a proper meal.

"Where did you get fish?" You ask, watching him with curiosity. You had finished all the meat in the last two weeks before it could spoil.

"On my way back," he replies with a nonchalant shrug. "Now, eat."

You take the plate he offers, the food warm and inviting. As you savor each bite, you glance up at Diman. His eyes are fixed on you, watching with a kind of quiet contentment that makes your heart swell. You’ve never seen him look at you like this before, and it fills you with a warmth that has nothing to do with the fire.

"Thank you," you say softly, and Diman responds with a deep, comforting hum that reverberates through the cave. The sound is rich and soothing, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. "Are you sure you don't want some?" You ask, holding up a piece of fish between your fingers. You could use a fork, but Diman doesn’t care about etiquette, and you quickly grew tired of searching for usable cutlery in the vastness of his home.

As the words leave your lips, the air between you shifts. Something unspoken and electric crackles in the silence as your eyes meet, holding each other's gaze a moment longer than usual.

"Do you know what you're offering me, little morsel?" Diman's voice deepens, resonating with a gravity that makes your heart skip a beat. The black slits of his pupils widen, nearly overtaking the molten gold of his eyes.

You hesitate. The answer is on the tip of your tongue. "No?" You say instead.

"Sharing food in my culture is an offer to share everything," he explains, his gaze never wavering. "It’s a bond between family and mates."

"Oh," you manage. Your throat tightens at the realization. "So..." you croak, still holding up your hand with the small offering. "Do you want some?"

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his lips, revealing the sharp edges of his teeth as he grins down at you. There’s a predatory glint in his eyes as he leans in, his massive head drawing closer. His tongue flicks out, surprisingly gentle, as he licks up the morsel from your hand. It’s likely not even enough for him to taste, but the significance isn’t lost on either of you. You’ve offered something sacred, something profound, and he’s accepted it with a puffed-out chest and a heart swelling with warmth.

As you watch him, a thought strikes you. "Wait," you say, your voice breaking the quiet. "But you..."

Diman watches you with amusement, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Yes, little mate?"

"You prepared my food so many times."

"I have," he agrees, his voice steady and sure.

"Well," you clear your throat, feeling a little foolish but pressing on. Your heart races in your chest at the silent change between you and the dragon. "Do you want some more?"

Diman chuckles. "No," he replies with affection. "Eat now." But even as he speaks, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stays close, his head rubbing gently against your side and arms, careful not to knock you over with his size and strength.

His gaze never leaves yours as you take a sip of water, trying to calm yourself after your last bite. Your stomach twists into a tight but excited knot. Your hands tremble as you reach out, letting your fingers trace the space between his nostrils, feeling the rough, resilient scales that shield him from nearly everything.

Diman hums softly, a deep, resonant sound that vibrates through the air and ripples down your spine. “Lay down, Y/N,” he murmurs, nudging you gently with his head. “I hunger for something else.”

A quiet “oh” escapes your lips. It's more of a breath than a word, but you obey without trying to say anything else. Your movements are slow and deliberate as you lower yourself to the ground. Your eyes are still locked in his intense gaze. The cold, uneven ground presses against your skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown. It barely offers any protection from the roughness and the cold beneath you. Goosebumps wake on your skin, but you are sure it has more to do with the dragon than anything else. You’re very aware of how exposed you are, both physically and emotionally, as you settle down before him. Diman watches you with a look that’s a mix of hunger and intent. His eyes glow with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His attention is heavy and burning. His massive form shifts closer. His breath is warm against your skin. There’s a powerful, magnetic pull between you two that sparkles under the silence that settled over the hall in the last few minutes. It's primal and impatient. His gaze sweeps over you, taking in every detail and every breath you take, and for a long moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The cave, the firelight, the very air around you, all of them fade into the background. Your nipples harden into tight peaks under the white fabric you wear. Your arms start to move to hide yourself, but you decide against it at the last moment. Instead, you rest your hands on your stomach and open your legs without Diman having to tell you what to do. The mix of the cold mountain air and his warm breath fans over your center, making your pussy clench around nothing. The sudden feeling takes your breath away for several seconds. The dragon didn't even touch you yet, but you are already damp and eager. The muscles of your thighs are hard, and your insides tremble with anticipation. Your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, pushing the soft globes of your breasts against the nightgown. The fabric clings to your skin as Diman's golden eyes trace over your form. His gaze is intense as he takes in the sight of you laid out before him. He hasn’t touched you yet, but the promise of what’s to come hangs thick in the air, a palpable tension that has your heart racing. You can feel his warmth and his presence, so close yet not close enough, and it drives your desire even higher.

"Good, mate," Diman rumbles with satisfaction. "Open up for me even more."

With a shaky breath, you obey, forcing your legs further apart. You can feel the stretch of your tendons, the pull of your muscles as you do exactly as he commands. The hem of your nightgown slips down, gathering around the base of your thighs, leaving you bare and utterly vulnerable before him. Your lips are dry as you wait for his reaction, and your cheeks are hot with need and a hint of embarrassment.

His eyes rove over your exposed form once again. His warm breath fans over your center, over your whole body, making you quiver with anticipation.

"Such a beautiful sight," the dragon murmurs. His voice is a low growl that makes your pussy clench with need. He leans in closer, his large head hovering just above your thighs. The approval in his gaze makes you feel both cherished and possessed.

Your heart races, each beat echoing in your ears as you lay there, completely exposed. The rough texture of the ground beneath you only serves to remind you of the dragon's power above. His large form makes the cave look small as you look up at him with anticipation. Your whole body is tense as you wait for him to do something.

And when he does, you forget how to breathe.

Diman's tongue flicks out. The tip barely brushes against your inner thighs, and yet, it sends a jolt of pleasure through your body. Your back arches instinctively, and a soft moan escapes your lips. Maybe if your mind would be clearer, you would be embarrassed because of your reaction, but the haze is already too thick in your head to care. He moves slowly and exploratory. His tongue traces patterns across your skin but never goes further up than the base of your thighs. Each touch and caress is something new you both try to savor.

"You're perfect, little mate," Diman whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

His presence is overwhelming, his scales cool and firm against your skin, while the heat of his breath washes over you in waves when finally, his enormous head settles down between your legs. You feel the sheer magnitude of his closeness in every fiber of your body.

His tongue, wide and powerful, flicks out to tease you. The rough texture sends jolts of pleasure through your core. He starts slowly, almost lazily, trailing his tongue along your inner thighs, leaving a tingling, wet path of warmth in its wake. The contrast between his cool scales and the heat of your arousal is intoxicating.

When you waited for him at the top of the hill, you never imagined it would lead to this, that you would end up breathless and aroused beneath the beast. A wry smile tugs at your lips, thinking of the people you once knew. They have no idea how much of a favor they’ve done for you.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as his tongue finally makes contact with your pussy and cuts the train of your thoughts. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine. His tongue is wet and rough just enough the make you buck your hips against him while he watches your every reaction with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. His molten gold eyes are filled with a hunger that only stokes the fire within you. The black slits of his pupils are almost orbs as he tries to take you in.

He takes his time, exploring you with slow movements that leave you on the edge of madness. The rough texture of his tongue adds a delicious friction that makes you moan with need. Your hips lift again, seeking more of his touch, but Diman holds you in place with a gentle but unyielding pressure, savoring the control he has over your body.

“Diman,” you breathe, his name escaping your lips in a desperate plea. The tension inside you coils tighter with each teasing stroke. Your body aches for release.

“Patience, little mate,” he rumbles, his deep voice vibrating through you like a physical caress. Your back arches at the feeling. The sound alone sends a pulse of arousal straight to your core, making you clench around nothing. His words only heighten the anticipation building inside of you.

He dips lower, circling your entrance with agonizing slowness, making you gasp and writhe beneath him. The tip of his tongue traces your folds, gathering your wetness and savoring your taste with a low, approving hum that resonates through you. He flicks your clit over and over again until your thighs tighten around his large jaw and nose. He teases you restlessly, slipping down across your folds and going straight to your entrance. He prods you there for an endless moment, making you whine and fidget with impatience bubbling in your chest.

The dragon laughs at that, and the rumble of his chuckle echoes in your body. The feeling punches a moan out of your lips, and you barely have time to come back to your senses when his tongue slides inside you with a slow, deliberate push. He fills you up in a way that’s both overwhelming and strange. The wet muscle penetrates you, making you cry out breathlessly. Your back arches off the ground almost painfully, and your walls clench around the thickness of his tongue, only making it rub over your sensitive spots even more. He moves in and out of you as he fucks you with a measured, unhurried pace. He lets his tongue soak in your arousal while he listens to the sweet sounds you make. You are the prettiest thing he has ever seen with your half-closed eyes and trembling muscles. He can feel every flutter of your pussy around his tongue as he pushes deeper, finding every spot that makes your voice go higher with several octaves.

The pleasure is intense, almost too much to bear. Your body is stretched and filled by the sheer size of his tongue. Each of his movements is precise, calculated to drive you to the brink without ever pushing you over the edge. You can feel every inch of him, every ripple and curve of his tongue as it slides in and out of you. The sensation swirls the world around you once, twice, three times.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need-” The end of your sentence is drowned by the ragged breath that bursts out of your lips as you wheeze and pant.

Diman’s response is a low, satisfied growl that reverberates through your entire body. He increases the pace slightly, his tongue fucking you with a slow, steady rhythm that has you gasping for air. The pressure builds inside you, a hot, insistent ache that demands release, and your body tightens with each thrust. You feel like a drawn bow.

And...

and...

He pulls back just enough to flick his tongue over your clit. His touch is electric, sending shockwaves through your entire body, yet you cry out in frustration. Tears gather in your eyes, and your hips buck up against him as you chase the high that’s just got out of reach. Diman seems to relish in your desperation, his tongue alternating between fucking you deep and teasing your clit with a maddening, feather-light touch.

The tension coils tighter and tighter inside you, every muscle in your body straining as you teeter on the edge of release. The dragon's tongue works you with a relentless, skillful precision, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until you’re a quivering, breathless mess beneath him.

“Let go,” he murmurs. His voice is like a deep, soothing rumble that wraps around you like a warm embrace. “I want to feel you come for me, little mate.”

His words are the final push you need as his tongue finds its way inside you with a quick, bullying motion. Your body surrenders to the overwhelming pleasure that crashes over you like a tidal wave. The orgasm tears through you, leaving you breathless and shaking. Your muscles contract and release in a rhythm that matches the waves of ecstasy flooding your veins. You, your body, and your orgasm are in sync with the rapid thrust of his tongue that pounds in and out of you as you fall over the edge.

Diman doesn’t stop. His tongue continues to fuck you through your orgasm, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re left trembling and spent beneath him. Your body is a live wire of sensation, every touch sending aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you. Your climax and his saliva are a mess of mix between your thighs, soaking the floor underneath.

When he pulls back, his eyes glow with a satisfied light as he watches you catch your breath. His chest expands with pride at the sight of you. Your gown clings to your skin, highlighting the hard peaks of your nipples. A thin layer of sweat glistens on your skin under the orange glow of the fire. You are beautiful, and something in him, something primal and demanding, awakens again, but instead of burying himself between your soft thighs again, he just licks his lips to savor your taste while you slowly get back to your senses.

"Diman?" You breathe out his name, searching for him even though your eyes are still closed.

"I'm here, my love," he hums. "I won't go anywhere."

"What about you?" You ask him, and the dragon can't help but chuckle. His own arousal is still hard and leaking between his hind legs, but there is no way you are up to explore the physical possibilities between the two of you.

"I can wait," he says, hauling you up in his hand gently to settle down in his nest with you close to his massive head. "Sleep, my mate."

As the new mate of the dragon living among the clouds and resting in the mountains, your old life becomes a quickly fading memory. And when your love starts to rebuild his cave just to make it more of a home for you, you never look back. Not once.

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #sweet asks #monster smut #monster fucker #teratophillia #terat0philliac #exophelia #monsterfucker #terato #monster kink #monster lover #dragon x reader #dragon x human #dragon boyfriend #dragon smut

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chibinasuu · 5 months ago

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Unexpectedly | Law x Reader

★ requested by @supernatural-hunter1

Summary: You and Law never expected to fall in love with each other. Tags: sfw, strawhat!reader, takes place from sabaody to end of wano told through drabbles, GN but written with F!reader in mind, no use of y/n

Law never believed in love at first sight.

Hell, he never expected to fall in love with anyone at all, much less a rival pirate he never even talked to.

But the moment he got a glimpse of you outside that Auction House at the Sabaody Archipelago, for the first time in his life, he felt his heart somersaulting in his chest.

That somewhat crazy glint in your eyes as you gracefully fought your way through the throng of Marines… Well, Law nearly took a bullet to the chest, the way he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Law convinced himself that it couldn't have been love.

Attraction, sure, but certainly not love.

And then you disappeared without a trace. For two years.

He tried not to think much about you.

You were nobody to him, after all.

Law focused all of his time on his goal.

He became a Warlord of the Sea, and his grand scheme was finally in motion.

You were completely out of his mind by then, but suddenly, out of nowhere, fate brought you together again.

There you were, standing beside your Captain in your cute stolen winter coat, peering at Law disapprovingly as he extended his alliance proposition.

“I don’t trust you,” were the first words you gave him, a finger pointed accusingly in his direction.

Definitely not love, Law thought as annoyance started to rise within his chest.

“Believe me, I don’t trust you, either.” Law had scoffed in reply.

He would be a fool to immediately put his trust in you, no matter how kind and gentle you appeared to be towards your crewmates. It pissed him off to no end that he was the only one you were being hostile with. You weren't even that unfriendly toward the G-5 Marines!

Law tried to return your hostility with the same fervor, and outwardly, he seemed to have succeeded.

He would never admit that his heart still skipped a beat when you stared him down as if his Warlord title meant nothing, all the while threatening to end his life if he so much as betrayed your Captain.

It wasn’t until the Battle of Dressrosa that you started to see Law in a different light.

His tenacity and determination moved you, and you would be lying if you said that didn’t make you curious to know more about him.

As you sleeplessly laid—packed together with your crew and allies in Kyros’ little house on the hill—you reminded yourself that this alliance was only temporary, and there was always a chance that Law would betray the Straw Hats.

He got what he wanted all along—Doflamingo toppled and in chains. What would prevent him from just turning around on his promise to work together to defeat Kaido?

Soft groans sounded from somewhere on your right.

In the dark night, with everyone deep in slumber, it was hard for you to identify who they belonged to, until someone suddenly jerked upright, clearly woken up from a nightmare.

Law.

His chest heaved as he tried to steady his breath, a hand wiping beads of sweat from his forehead.

Before you could stop yourself, and against better judgment, you whispered, “Are you alright?”

The word “yes” almost flew out of his mouth—the standard response. But somehow, he found himself unable to lie to you.

“No.” He ended up choking out.

The room was silent for a few moments before your voice rang out, firmly, but softly.

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

Law knew your words were mostly customary—the standard response. But his heart felt more at ease anyway.

“Are you alright?”

It was Law’s turn to ask when he found you in the woods on the outskirts of the Guardians’ residential district in Zou.

You immediately wiped your eyes with the back of your hands, a bit embarrassed at getting caught crying.

You smiled humorlessly up at him, “No.”

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

You chuckled at the way Law parroted your words from back at Dressrosa.

“Straw Hat-ya is going to get him back.”

“Oh, I know.” You said, accompanied by a more genuine smile this time, “I don’t doubt him one bit.”

Law raised his eyebrows, silently asking, why are you sobbing alone in the woods then?

“It’s just…” You sighed, “I can’t imagine what Sanji’s going through right now. What burden he must’ve been carrying this whole time.”

Law padded towards you hesitantly, like approaching a wounded animal.

You patted the ground next to you.

He took you up on the offer and sat down, leaving a respectable distance between you.

“He’s going to be okay.”

You didn’t know what came over you, but you leaned your head on his shoulder, finding comfort in this man you barely knew anything about, “I know.”

For a hunk of metal engulfed miles beneath the ocean’s surface, the Polar Tang felt surprisingly warm and homey.

It had only been a few days into your journey to Wano, but you already found yourself attached to the Heart Pirates’ library. Well, it was mostly Law’s library, to be fair.

There was no point in worrying anymore about what was going on at Whole Cake Island. There was nobody you trusted more than Luffy and your crewmates. They would get Sanji back, you were sure of it.

Now, the only thing you could do was focus on your next moves and ensure the plan to defeat Kaido was already set by the time they met up with your side at Wano in a few weeks.

As might be expected, planning for war was not what you would call fun. Everybody was exhausted, tense, and anxious about what was coming.

The library became your refuge in the evenings, a hideout after the days that were filled with meetings, and meetings, and more meetings.

You were perusing one of Law’s medical books when a voice interrupted you, “You’re interested in learning medicine?”

The Captain and Doctor of the Heart Pirates was leaning against the door, arms folded in front of his chest.

You gave him a small smile, “I’m interested in learning. Period.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his feet unsurely stepping forward, then back, before he finally decided to fully come into the room, pink blush adorning his cheeks.

“I can teach you more, if you like.”

“I’d love that.”

It wasn’t long until the library rendezvous became your solace, something to look forward to at the end of every day.

It wasn’t long until the conversations about complicated medical procedures turned into subtle flirting.

It wasn’t long until the “accidental” touches—of your fingers as you passed a book back and forth, of your knees beneath the table—became more purposeful.

It wasn’t long until you started trading whispered stories late into the night, learning things about each other that no other people knew—the dim library a comforting haven for the unlikely pair.

“Don’t forget the fact that you doubted the loyalty of my crew.” Law coldly told Shinobu, “If we can’t trust each other in moments like this… then I can��t expect to entrust my safety to you when the fighting is fierce!”

The room was quiet as Law stormed outside, no doubt immediately heading towards the Flower Capital, where his crewmates had allegedly been detained as prisoners.

You hurried out after him, catching his arm before he could run off even further, “You know it’s a trap, right?”

Desperation dripped from his voice as he replied, “What else can I do? I can’t just leave them to be tortured by Orochi’s men.”

You knew you would've done the same if you were in his position—if it were your crewmates who had been captured. It would've been hypocritical of you to try and stop him.

You slid your hand down to grasp his, “Be careful.”

He nodded.

He squeezed once, then you let him go.

When Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi eventually returned without him, it felt like someone had ripped your heart out and broken it into one thousand pieces.

On the day of the Fire Festival, you couldn't stop the tears of relief that ran down your face when you caught sight of that familiar yellow submarine in the distance, its Captain safe and sound, standing proudly on its hull.

It felt like a boulder had been lifted from your chest, the tightness in your heart replaced by a ferocious pounding.

The knot in your stomach loosened, and in its place, butterflies ran amok.

And there was no denying it anymore.

You had, unexpectedly, completely and unequivocally fallen in love with Trafalgar Law.

Cheers echoed throughout the Skull Dome as Luffy's victory against Kaido was confirmed.

Chopper was bandaging your arm, the skin ripped to shreds by Ulti's claws, but you could hardly feel the pain anymore.

Luffy won. Every single member of your crew was safe.

Yet, you couldn't fully relax. Not yet.

Your eyes darted across the open floor, praying for a glimpse of a fluffy spotted hat, or a blue feathered cape, or a bright yellow shirt. Anything.

You bolted from your seat the second Chopper finished tending to your injuries.

You needed to find him. You needed to see with your own eyes that he was alive.

Moving through the masses of samurai and pirates, your heart clenched tighter each second that you could not see him.

And then, among the crowd of thousands, you heard him.

Your name, shouted out with a joyous lilt that you had never heard from that deep, familiar voice.

The heat of the moment, the thrill you felt when your eyes finally found his, the exceedingly fast rhythm of your heart when you saw the huge smile on his face.

You didn't think twice as you ran over, flung your arms around his neck, and crashed your lips against his.

Law's surprise lasted but a second before he kissed you back fervently, his arms pulling you impossibly close to his body.

The gasps of the onlookers did not reach your ears—it was as if you and he were trapped in your own little bubble, oblivious to whatever was happening outside.

“People will talk, you know.” He managed to let out between kisses.

“Let them. I don't care.” You answered, feeling his smirk as you captured his lips again.

The Heart Pirates had started giggling and whispering among themselves, some even running off to find your crewmates to spread the gossip, but you and Law were too far gone to notice.

Law's steady hands moved to cup your cheeks, and you let him angle your face so he could kiss you deeper, his tongue seeking yours desperately.

Even Bepo's awkward cough wasn't enough to tear you apart, prompting the mink to tap Law's shoulder hesitantly instead to gain his attention.

Without breaking the kiss, the Captain swatted the fluffy hand away in annoyance, but Bepo was insistent.

"Excuse me!" He shouted, the sheer volume of his voice finally bringing some sense back into you.

You instantly jumped away from Law in surprise, face burning in embarrassment.

"Sorry, I really didn't want to interrupt but..." He pointed to your arm, where the fresh bandage was already soaked with red, "I just think you shouldn't… agitate the wound too much. Sorry!"

As Law redressed your wounds, you couldn't help but stare at his face, then shifted your eyes up and down his body, taking inventory of the injuries he sustained after facing off two Emperors.

"You're okay." You finally declared, letting out a relieved breath.

"We're okay." He said as he tightened the knot of your bandage, before taking your hand and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Dawn never looked as beautiful as it did in Wano.

You sat with Law on top of the hill just outside the Flower Capital, watching as the first sparks of sunlight peeked out from the horizon, streaking the purplish sky with tinges of orange and yellow.

The beats of the drums and the bright melodies of the flutes and the strings continued to flow in the distance, in harmony with the cheers and laughter of the freed people of Wano.

The celebration had been going on for seven days and seven nights now, but there were no signs of it stopping just yet.

Come morning, the Straw Hat Pirates, the Heart Pirates, and the Kid Pirates would all go separate ways, each taking a different route from the log pose.

You and Law both knew each other well enough to know that he wouldn't ask you to join his crew and that you wouldn't say yes even if he did.

Yamato had kindly made Vivre Cards for the two of you. A piece of his now belonged to you, and yours to him. That would have to be enough for now.

Although, you did have one more thing you wanted to give him.

You reached into your pocket and pulled something out. Taking Law's hand, you placed the small item on his open palm.

Law stared at the golden coin, one side engraved with a picture of a town, and the other with the name of your birth island.

You had shown it to him, at one of your library sessions, when he admitted to you that he collected coins from the various islands he visited.

Law also remembered you saying that this was the only memento you had left of your hometown.

“I can’t—”

“Take it.” You closed his fist over it, dramatically proclaiming, “To remember me by."

Law scoffed, "It's not as if we're just never going to meet again."

"Yeah, but who knows when that'll be." You bumped your shoulder against his teasingly, "It might even be after Luffy becomes King of the Pirates."

“Don’t be so sure.” He smirked, “I could still become the Pirate King, you know?”

You barked out a laugh, giving him a pat on the cheek, “Keep dreaming, honey.”

Law twirled the coin around between his fingers, his smile dropping into a slight frown.

“I’m going to miss you.”

The words were so softly spoken that you almost missed them.

You hugged his arm that was closest to you, snuggling into his side, “Me too.”

You felt his lips on your forehead before his head moved to rest against yours.

Fingers intertwined, you both watched as the sun crept higher and higher into the sky.

Yes, in a mere few hours, you would go your separate ways. But there was no doubt in your mind, and heart, that you would surely meet again, someday.

You knew it as sure as the ocean was blue and the grass was green.

Your story was nowhere near its end.

a/n: guess who started writing a new law fic before finishing the part 2 of her existing one? 🙋🏻‍♀️ i can't help it, this request was too tempting. i feel like this fic is a little bit different from my usual writing style, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! <3 (i am now going to pretend law didn't get his ass beat not even a week after they parted ways shhhh that didn't happen in this timeline)

↳ masterlist

#law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece fanfic #op fanfic #chibinasuu fics

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norrisidous · 2 months ago

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run for the hills

The hotel room was dimly lit, the city below glowing like a secret you weren’t ready to share. Lando’s hoodie hung off your frame as you curled up on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. He had left for media early that morning, promising to be back before dinner. Promising he’d stay low, like always.

“Can’t risk a photo, not yet,” he’d whispered that first night after Monaco. And you’d agreed—too much noise, too many headlines. But hiding had started to feel like suffocating.

The door clicked open quietly, and his voice filled the silence.

“Miss me?”

You looked up, trying to be annoyed, but the stupid smile was already tugging at your lips. He kicked off his shoes, hair still messy from his cap, and crossed the room in three strides, planting a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re late.”

“You love me anyway.”

You tried not to roll your eyes, but it was hard to argue when his hands slipped under the hoodie, cold fingers pressing against your warm skin.

“I saw a tweet about you today,” you said casually, not missing the way he tensed for a split second.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Someone said you were dating a model.”

He snorted. “You are model-level hot. Technically, they’re not wrong.”

“Lando,” you warned.

He sighed, sitting beside you and taking your hand. “I know. I hate this too. The hiding. The sneaking around like we’re doing something wrong.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “We’re not.”

“I know. But you’ve seen what it’s like. The cameras. The DMs. The gossip accounts.” He paused. “You’re not a secret because I’m ashamed. You’re a secret because I’m terrified of what the world will do to you once they know.”

Your throat tightened. You understood, you really did. But that didn’t stop the ache every time you had to walk behind him in a crowd or pretend you were just a “friend of a friend” at race weekends.

“I hate lying to people,” you whispered.

He turned to look at you, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Then maybe we stop lying.”

You blinked, heart thudding louder. “You mean—?”

He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t want to keep this part of my life hidden. You’re the best part of it.”

Your eyes stung unexpectedly, and he smiled, pressing his forehead to yours.

“But if you’re not ready, I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

You kissed him softly, fingers curling into his curls. “No more waiting"

The next morning, your fingers trembled slightly as you handed him the phone.

“You’re really doing it?” you asked

Lando nodded, already opening Instagram. “No captions. Just this.” He showed you the photo—it was one from your Polaroid stash. You were wearing his hoodie, perched on his lap, mid-laugh with his nose pressed into your cheek. Pure joy. Unfiltered.

He tapped “Share.”

Your stomach flipped.

The internet, as expected, went wild.

There were screenshots on Twitter within seconds. Edits on TikTok. “Hard launch” memes flooding the replies. And yet, amidst the chaos, there was also love. Fans who said it made sense. People who pointed out how happy he looked. How soft.

You and Lando didn’t say much that day. You stayed curled up in bed, your phones buzzing constantly, but your hands were laced together, calm despite the storm.

“Feels weird,” you admitted.

“Yeah,” he said. “But also kind of freeing.”

He glanced at you then. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “I think… I feel like I can finally breathe.”

He smiled, brushing a kiss to your knuckles. “Told you. No more hiding.”

—

The first public paddock appearance together happened in Silverstone, of all places.

You wore a papaya crop top under your denim jacket, and Lando hadn’t let go of your hand once since you stepped out of the car. People stared. Cameras clicked. But he only had eyes for you.

As you stood by the McLaren hospitality entrance, he leaned in and said, “You know, you can still run for the hills if this gets too much.”

You raised a brow. “And leave you to do this solo?”

He grinned. “So you’re saying I’m worth the chaos?”

“You’re worth everything,” you said without hesitation.

The smile that broke across his face could have powered the entire garage.

That night, after the race (a P3 finish and a podium grin that had everything to do with you waiting at the end of parc fermé), you lay in bed beside him, tangled in sheets and sunlight from the setting sky.

“I love you,” he murmured against your shoulder.

You turned, brushing your fingers across his cheek. “I love you too.”

He kissed you like it was the first time. No more secrets. No more hiding. Just soft, golden light and hearts full of something steady.

“I’m glad we stayed,” you whispered later.

“Where else would we go?” he replied. “We didn’t need to run. We just needed to hold on.”

And so you did.

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris x you

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mindless-existence1 · 6 months ago

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Live Action Movie Shadow x reader

Summery: You give him head scratches while watching a movie.

Authors note: My first sonic fic, this is suggesting romance where reader and Shadow have crushes on eachother but neither knows.

After the chaos of Eggman’s defeat, life in Green Hills had finally started to settle. Tom and Maddie had been kind enough to take Shadow in, giving him a place to stay alongside Sonic, Tails, Knuckles—and you. The house was lively, to say the least, but today, it was unusually quiet.

Tom had taken Sonic, Knuckles, and Tails out for a hike to “burn off some energy,” leaving you and Shadow alone. Not that Shadow minded the peace. He always seemed to prefer solitude, though you noticed he never complained when you were around.

You glanced over at him as he sat on the couch, his arms crossed and his usual stern expression in place.

“Hey, Shadow,” you said, holding up a DVD. “Wanna watch a movie?”

He turned his crimson gaze to you, his ears twitching slightly. “What kind of movie?”

“Your pick,” you replied with a shrug.

The two of you settled on an action-packed thriller—something you figured would hold his attention. As the movie started, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him. Even in a relaxed setting like this, Shadow carried himself with an air of quiet intensity that you found… oddly endearing.

About halfway through the movie, you noticed how his ears twitched every time the sound effects got loud. You hesitated, then decided to ask something that had been on your mind.“Shadow?”

“Hm?” he replied, not looking away from the screen. “Can I… pet your head?” That got his attention. He turned to you, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. “Why would you want to do that?”

You smiled sheepishly. “I don’t know. Your fur looks really soft. And… you look like you could use some relaxation.” He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Just as you were about to backtrack and say it was a dumb idea, he surprised you by sighing and shifting slightly.

“Do as you wish,” he muttered, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink.Your heart skipped a beat as you reached out tentatively, your fingers brushing through the fur on his head.

It was just as soft as you’d imagined, and Shadow let out a barely audible hum of approval. Emboldened, you continued, gently scratching behind his ears.

To your surprise, Shadow leaned into your touch, his usually rigid posture softening. After a moment, he shifted again, lying down and resting his head in your lap.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down at him. He had his eyes closed now, his expression peaceful in a way you’d never seen before.

“Is this okay?” you asked softly.He opened one eye to look up at you, his voice low and almost shy. “It’s… nice.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering as you continued to run your fingers through his fur. For a while, neither of you spoke, the only sounds coming from the movie playing in the background.

As you absentmindedly scratched behind his ears, you found yourself wondering if Shadow could hear how fast your heart was beating. You’d had a crush on him for a while now, but moments like this made it harder to keep your feelings to yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Shadow was having similar thoughts. He hadn’t understood why your presence always seemed to calm him or why he found himself seeking you out more often than not.

But as he lay there, feeling your gentle touch, he started to wonder if this was what peace felt like.“Y/N,” he said quietly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?” you replied, looking down at him.

“...Thank you.”Your cheeks flushed. “For what?”

“For staying,” he said simply, his eyes closing again.You smiled softly, your fingers tracing gentle patterns through his fur. “Always.”

Neither of you said anything after that, but the unspoken feelings between you lingered in the air, a quiet promise that maybe—just maybe—neither of you would have to be alone anymore.

#shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog #Shadow the hedgehog #Shadow the hedgehog x reader #Sonic 3 #Sonic live action movies #Sonic 3 was peak #sonic universe x reader

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astonmartinii · 7 months ago

Text

day five: santa community service | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem single mum!reader

max swore in a press conference and now he's a mall santa with an itchy beard

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

maxverstappen1

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 893,092 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: don't swear kids.... on a serious note, i had so much fun meeting the amazing kids of amsterdam (and delivering some gifts)

view all comments

user2: ummmmmm who is that woman ????

user3: that's what you've taken away from FOUR TIME WORLD CHAMPION MAX VERSTAPPEN BEING A MALL SANTA IN PUNISHMENT FOR SAYING FUCK

user4: ummmm yeah she's snug as a bug in a rug in the back of max's car that's REAL FUCKING INTERESTING

landonorris: why no picture of you as santa... pussy

maxverstappen1: gotta leave some girls for you haven't i mate?

landonorris: well by the looks of the third slide you've already got a girl so it's free range for me right?

maxverstappen1: third slide?

maxverstappen1: OH FUCK

maxverstappen1: she's never going to speak to me again now

landonorris: well you've just sworn again so maybe you'll get more community service and meet her again

maxverstappen1: i'm not dumb i got her number but like now she's going to see this and think i'm a freak :(

landonorris: you'll have to whip out that max verstappen charm again i guess

maxverstappen1: life is a prison

user5: NO ONE POST THE PICTURES OF MAX WITH THE KIDS IT WILL DO IRREPARABLE DAMAGE TO MY OVARIES

user6: i need dad max more than air at this point

danielricciardo: what is this depression session in the comment section maximus - you're a catch even with the creepy instagram etiquette

maxverstappen1: i had to do so much work to convince i wasn't a dork while in a FULL SANTA COSTUME and now i'm not even at step one i'm at step minus 100000000

danielricciardo: that's not very christmas spirit of you maxie

maxverstappen1: life is unfortunately not a hallmark movie so like she'll be a normal person, see that i've posted a pic of her sleeping to my 13 million followers and run for the hills

danielricciardo: okay humble brag

maxverstappen1: DANIEL HELP

danielricciardo: i think you'll be just fine

maxverstappen1: well thanks for nothing - USELESS

user7: oh so max gets generational headloss in all settings

user8: he's so real for that tho

user9: if this doesn't sort itself out i pray for george russell

georgerussell63: ???

user10: he is going to take it out on you ❤️

georgerussell63: oh fuck

maxverstappen1: @fia get him

yourusername

liked by landonorris, user11 and 2,457 others

yourusername: went for the mall santa and met her hero, how will i ever top this now?

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user12: FOUND YOU

yourusername: this is very creepy who are you

user12: oh i'm just a humble f1 fan who watched max verstappen crash out over thinking he fumbled you

yourusername: fumbling me? has he seen himself?

user12: oh girl i've just stalked your entire account your face card is insane

yourusername: i do not know what that means

user13: YOU HAVE A KID ????

yourusername: yes?

user13: so we could feasibly get step dad max - DILF MAX?

yourusername: are you people okay?

user13: he's down bad for you queen you gotta get in there

yourusername: excuse me?

user14: WAIT - you don't have a husband right?

yourusername: no...

yourusername: wait why am i replying to you people?

landonorris: how did they find you first i put so much effort into my investigation

oscarpiastri: you annoyed max until he gave you her name?

landonorris: RIGOROUS

yourusername: you people have a lot of followers, what are you doing here?

landonorris: max is your daughter's hero and you don't know me?

yourusername: damn that's an ego

landonorris: excuse me ?

yourusername: idk maybe my daughter loves max because he's plastered everywhere in the netherlands - she watches the races with my friends

landonorris: we drive the orange cars

yourusername: oh she hates yall

yourusername: i might have to block you two

oscarpiastri: I DID NOTHING IT WAS ALL HIM

maxverstappen1: ummm hi!

maxverstappen1: I'M SO SORRY PLEASE DON'T THINK I'M A CREEP

yourusername: why would i think you're a creep?

maxverstappen1: NO REASON

maxverstappen1: so that coffee?

yourusername: okay .....

yourusername: i was going to text you but yk kids and she's addicted to the games and has held my phone hostage

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, danielricciardo and 702,300 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & yourusername

landonorris: didn't leave monaco fast enough and now i'm stuck third wheeling - AND lola still hates me :(

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user16: CAN WE SLOW DOWN WE'RE GOING SO FUCKING FAST

yourusername: isn't that kinda their job?

user16: oh you gagged me there, congrats queen

user17: okay well now i'm obsessed with them and i need to know why lola hates lando so much

landonorris: she's a hater - just like her mother

maxverstappen1: y/n is allowed to hate you. in fact i'll support her in all of her hating i don't care

landonorris: i literally stayed for an extra day so we could all do something fun for christmas and HERE WE ARE

yourusername: i don't hate you lando, but i have to support my daughter in her dreams

landonorris: SHE SAID HER DREAMS WERE HER EXPLODING MY CAR WITH HER MIND

yourusername: LOL

landonorris: that is not 'LOL' that's attempted murder - i'm going to put your child in jail

maxverstappen1: woah lando that's too far

landonorris: and telepathic murder isn't ?

maxverstappen1: first of all it's telekinesis and second of all - lola can do what she wants

user18: oh boy he got attached quick

yourusername: this is nothing compared to lola

maxverstappen1: what? i love my biggest fan

danielricciardo: well fuck me i guess

maxverstappen1: yes

danielricciardo: max! y/n is right there (text me later)

maxverstappen1: oh wait ewwww

maxverstappen1: i meant get fucked.

yourusername: you can complain about third wheeling all you want but i'll deal with it if you keep taking these cute ass photos

landonorris: it's torture being an artist 💔

maxverstappen1: we also paid for everything lando, you can deal with watching your best friend being in love

landonorris: we're best friends ???

maxverstappen1: i'm your best friend - you're third at most

landonorris: ????

maxverstappen1: 1. lola 2. y/n 3. lando (maybe)

yourusername: awwwwww you're so sweet darling

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 14,859 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: i support the fia's wrongs because they brought you to me

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user19: okay miss girl this is cute but i will NEVER let the fia live

yourusername: oh this is their one pass, next time i'll unleash lola's telekinesis

user19: tell lola that we thank her for her service

user20: but please don't blow up lando please

yourusername: she said orange cars - sorry osc

landonorris: what about a red car?

yourusername: oh she likes charles so no chance

charles_leclerc: taste 💅

maxverstappen1: i guess i'll let them off just this once because i love you

yourusername: you're so generous

georgerussell63: wanna forgive me as well

maxverstappen1: why would i do that?

maxverstappen1: also we're declaring our love for each other do you wanna GET THE FUCK OUT

georgerussell63: lola is talking about blowing up f1 cars with her mind i don't want to be a victim

yourusername: oh she won't blow your car up

georgerussell63: phew

yourusername: she'll bite you in person

georgerussell63: CRIKEY

georgerussell63: well i guess you guys can go back to declaring love now ...

yourusername: thanks i guess?

yourusername: love you maxy, i'm so glad we met you

maxverstappen1: i love you more, i love having both of you in my life

user21: this was very fast but this is also very cute

user22: i think we gotta get lola on sky sports - maybe she'll bite the british bias out of them

yourusername: do NOT threaten her with a good time

yourusername: however, i will say, lola doesn't actually bite she's very well behaved and just has a bit of a feral way about her

maxverstappen1: but it's so adorable :(

hulkhulkenberg: so ... paddock play dates

maxverstappen1: WE'RE THERE

yourusername: that would make the paddock a lot less intimidating for me

hulkhulkenberg: my daughter also prays on the downfall of everyone but me so they'll have that in common

maxverstappen1

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 1,245,038 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: maybe santa is real ... love of my life was top of my list this year

view all comments

user25: idk about you guys but i've never seen him happier

user26: after this season i'm so glad the christmas break has treated him so well

user27: i can't wait for the rest of the grid to think he might let up now and then mad max get released first corner in melbourne

maxverstappen1: whatever i gotta do to get that winners trophy for lola

yourusername: this is the happiest holidays we've ever had, you've made my dreams come true and truly are the best person i'd ever want around lola. i love you <3

maxverstappen1: i wouldn't want to be with anyone else now, you guys are it for me x

maxverstappen1: now come downstairs i'm strategically placed underneath the mistletoe

yourusername: there's mistletoe?

maxverstappen1: .... the christmas fairy must of put it up ?

yourusername: you know you don't need an excuse to kiss me right?

maxverstappen1: hehehehehehehehehehe

user28: wow he's such a loser i love him

yourusername: he's * my loser and * he LOVES ME

yourusername: sorry that was rude

yourusername: but he's so worth showing off

maxverstappen1: i can't wait to show you off to the world on international tv - i gotta mark my territory

yourusername: as if i would ever look anywhere but at you

landonorris: fine! you guys are cute! i'm taking all the credit for connecting you two

maxverstappen1: and just how did you do that?

landonorris: i found y/n's instagram duh!

yourusername: actually @user12 found my instagram

user12: omg shout out

maxverstappen1: i also had y/n's number the whole time...

landonorris: CAN YOU GUYS JUST LET ME HAVE THIS? IT'S CHRISTMAS?

yourusername: you got us socks for christmas ??? (thanks tbf)

landonorris: ALL MY BUDGET WENT TO LOLA'S PRESENT I HAD TO GET ON HER SIDE

maxverstappen1: you mean the mini MCL36 that she's been glaring at since she opened it?

yourusername: i think she's practicing her telekinesis for 2025 ❤️

landonorris: FUCK

yourusername: she just wants maxy to win lando, you can't deny her that

landonorris: i can feel her puppy dog eyes through the phone

maxverstappen1: i'll do anything to win for her - ANYTHING. merry christmas xx

landonorris: that's so threatening

yourusername: that's so romantic

fin.

note: ENJOY

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen

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fushiguro-megloomy · 7 months ago

Text

strawberry wine

[part 2] pairing: modern au!viktor x artist!reader prompt: “if somebody were to kiss me, i’d want that person to be you” tags: you're jayces childhood bff, no use of y/n, alcohol, heavy kissing, drunk kissing, basically just a bunch of buildup towards a smutty fwb part two???, viktor being a menace wc: 4k notes: AU where nobody is sick or dying yay! also i think i managed to keep this pretty gn!reader but any future parts will be afab/fem art is from pinterest, dividers from chachachannah & webc00re

You never meant for things to get this far. You told yourself it was just a little fun, harmless and fleeting—nothing more. You had a career to focus on, friendships in the balance. But now, here you are, pacing the living room carpet thin, your cuticles raw from nervous chewing, and your thoughts spiraling into places you swore they’d never go.

It feels juvenile, almost laughable, like some smitten teenager waiting by the phone and sneaking kisses in shadowed corners. You were supposed to be above this, weren’t you? I mean, as a grown adult you should know how to keep it casual, uncomplicated.

But nothing about this is simple anymore. Not the friendship. Not the secrets. And certainly not the way your heart betrays you every time his name crosses your mind.

It definitely wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Moving back to the city hadn’t been on the bingo card for this year, but here you were. Your life had been tucked away in the quiet of rural landscapes, where your art had room to breathe—endless skies, rolling hills, and the kind of solitude that made inspiration flow without any distractions. But your career had expanded, and with that expansion came the relentless pressure of galleries, art buyers, and a future that demanded more from you than that peaceful escape ever could.

So, the city had called you back. Concrete towers, crowded streets, the city offered more. Shows. Opportunities. Jayce. The only thing about this cold, steel jungle that still felt like home. Jayce—your childhood friend, your constant in a world that had never stopped changing. Thrown together since you were practically in diapers, he was the one piece of your old life that had somehow survived the years and distance between you two. And now, after what felt like an eternity, here he was, sprawled across your tiny couch, looking too comfortable for someone who was just supposed to be a guest. The apartment was a bit small, as city apartments tended to be—packed between towering neighbors—but Jayce’s presence was the only thing about it that felt remotely like home.

"You know," he said, half-lounging. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

You didn’t look up from your canvas, your brush already dipping into the paints like second nature. “Who?”

“Viktor”

You paused, only long enough for your brush to hover midair before you flicked your gaze in his direction. “Ah, yes. The famous business partner.”

Jayce’s grin didn’t falter, but there was something softer behind it now. “Yeah, something like that. But seriously, he’s a good guy. Brilliant, actually. You two would get along.”

You didn’t reply at first. Instead, you let the brush finish its arc, eyes back on your work, moving with the rhythm of a familiar task. “mhm” you murmured, distracted by the way the strokes of paint were bleeding together. “If he’s anything like you, how bad can it be?”

But Jayce, of course, wasn’t done. His voice took on that soft tone he reserved for moments when he really wanted to get his point across. “I’m serious, okay? I want you two to meet. You both mean a lot to me, and I think you’ll really hit it off.”

You didn’t look up, but you felt a weight behind his words, pushing against you with silent pressure. “Yeah? I’m sure it’ll happen, then.”

Jayce’s eyes lit up, a flash of triumph in them, like he’d just won some small but important battle. “You’ll see. I’m telling you—when you meet him, you’ll click. I know it.”

You leaned back in your chair, releasing a slow exhale, the kind that said everything without saying anything at all. A nonchalant nod was all you offered, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of saying more. “Fine. Fine. I’ll meet him. But don’t make a whole thing out of it.”

Jayce chuckled, and there was an odd note of relief in the sound, like he’d just been granted some unspoken permission. “No big deal, I swear. But you’ll see. You two are more alike than you think.”

When you finally did meet Viktor, Jayce was practically vibrating, his energy as unsubtle as ever. It had been after one of your gallery openings, a night you’d half-dragged yourself through on fumes and politeness. Your heels had barely cleared the threshold of his apartment before the faintest twinge of suspicion began to creep in—something about the way he hovered, grinning like a man with a secret.

“You deserve a good meal after tonight,” Jayce had said, ushering you in with the kind of charm that usually preceded one of his schemes. “Thought you’d want to celebrate somewhere that doesn’t reek of overpriced wine and small talk.”

You rolled your eyes but let yourself be corralled, the promise of food outweighing the odd note in his voice. His large apartment, at least, was familiar territory: warm, cluttered with bits of tech and sentimental junk from years past, the faint scent of whatever candles he refused to admit he hoarded lingering in the air.

And then you heard it—the low murmur of another voice, sharp-edged and vaguely amused, drifting from the kitchen.

Jayce froze, his grin faltering for a split second before it reappeared, brighter than ever. “Oh, right,” he said, far too casually. “Viktor’s here.”

You blinked, narrowing your eyes at him. “You conveniently forgot to mention that part.”

“Come on,” he pushed, throwing an arm around your shoulders and steering you toward the source of the voice. “It’s no big deal. Just dinner. You’ll like him, I promise.”

And there he was, perched by the kitchen counter with a faintly perplexed look on his face. He was slimmer than you’d expected, pale and sharp-featured, with hair that looked like it hadn’t met a comb in days. His amber eyes flicked up to meet yours, narrowing slightly as if he were trying to solve a puzzle that had just been placed in front of him.

“Ah,” he said, his accent lilting and crisp, “so this is the infamous artist.”

You shot a glare at Jayce, who was already heading for the stove with the kind of forced cheer that made it painfully clear he’d orchestrated the whole thing. “You owe me for this,” you muttered under your breath, stepping further into the kitchen.

Viktor’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk appearing. “And here I thought I was being ambushed. Seems we’re both victims of his enthusiasm.”

Jayce turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand, his expression utterly unrepentant. “You’ll thank me later.”

The dinner was simple but undeniably good—Jayce’s doing, of course. The man couldn’t let anyone step into his apartment without insisting they be properly fed, and tonight was no exception. Roast chicken, buttery vegetables with rice, warm bread that filled the space with its yeasty aroma—it was the kind of meal that made you feel at home even when you weren’t.

Conversation flowed easily around the table, mostly carried by Jayce, but Viktor wasn’t exactly quiet, either. He had a way of chiming in at just the right moment, his dry humor landing squarely between Jayce’s more exuberant anecdotes and your own occasional contributions.

“You mean to tell me,” Viktor said at one point, leaning back slightly in his chair, “that Jayce still hasn’t learned to cook rice without burning it? After all these years?”

Jayce, halfway through explaining some disastrous culinary attempt from his youth, turned to glare at him. “Excuse me, this rice was cooked perfectly.”

“It was fine,” you agreed, though the memory of a slightly crunchy bite or two made your lips twitch in amusement.

Viktor’s amber eyes sparkled as he gestured broadly. “Oh, fine! A glowing review, truly. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Jayce groaned, but there was no real bite to it. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Viktor said, raising his glass in a mock toast, “here I am. Invited to dinner. Again.”

Jayce just rolled his eyes and went back to his story, leaving you to glance at Viktor with a small smile. He caught it, of course, and gave a little shrug as if to say, what can you do? For all his sharp humor, he was easy to talk to, his wit balanced by an underlying warmth that kept him from coming off as too cutting.

Which was why you were only mildly surprised when the spoon incident happened.

Dinner was winding down, Jayce had disappeared into the kitchen to fuss over coffee, leaving you and Viktor to handle the cleanup.

He moved with a surprising ease, balancing a stack of plates in one hand, his cane steady in the other. It was a casual sort of competence, as though he’d long since adapted to whatever limitations life had handed him. You hadn’t thought much of it, impressed by how naturally he maneuvered, until the soft clatter of a spoon hitting the floor broke the quiet rhythm of tidying.

“Ah,” Viktor said, glancing down at the rogue utensil with a faint frown as he set down the plate stack. “Of course.”

You paused mid-step, glancing between him and the spoon. “Need a hand?”

He tilted his head, his expression a little too innocent. “If it’s not too much trouble. You know, the leg and all...”

“Oh, for—” Jayce’s voice floated from the kitchen, half-annoyed but not quite committed to intervening.

You sighed, setting down the napkins you’d been folding. “Yeah, sure. I’ve got it.”

But just as you crouched down, Viktor shifted. A casual tap of his cane sent the spoon skittering across the floor, its metallic clink faintly echoing as it landed farther away.

You froze, staring at the spoon in disbelief, then turned your gaze to him slowly. “You’re kidding.”

Viktor’s lips twitched, the faintest glimmer of amusement flickering across his face. “What?”

“You just—”

“What?” he repeated, wider-eyed this time, his free hand gesturing vaguely toward his cane. “I’m handicapped.”

Jayce reappeared in the doorway, a coffee pot in hand and a look of pure exasperation on his face. “Viktor.”

“What?” Viktor said again, his voice laced with mock indignation. “I am!”

Jayce muttered something unintelligible as he poured coffee, his focus shifting between you and Viktor like he couldn’t decide which one of you deserved his scolding more. Meanwhile, you straightened, crossing your arms as a grin tugged at the corners of your mouth despite your best efforts.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” you said, stepping across the room to retrieve the spoon—again.

“Very generous,” Viktor agreed, his tone breezy. “Honestly, it’s quite inspiring. Jayce, you should take notes.”

Jayce groaned, setting the coffee pot down with a little too much force. “You’re both ridiculous.”

But you were already laughing, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. As you returned the spoon to the table with a pointed look, Viktor gave you a small, almost triumphant smile. And maybe, you could see what Jayce meant when he’d said you’d get along.

The first time you realized you might feel more than just friendship for Viktor was when you noticed the way your sketches had started to change.

It had been weeks—maybe even a couple of months—since that dinner with Jayce, when you had awkwardly danced around each other, getting to know one another. The initial weirdness had faded into easy companionship, and you found yourself spending more time with Viktor than you expected. You hadn’t quite noticed it happening, but somewhere along the line, you’d become an unintentional trio. Jayce had been bursting with barely-contained glee at how easily the two of you seemed to get along, and it made your chest warm, knowing how much that mattered to him. It felt... right, this newfound ease between the three of you, a quiet sort of harmony that made you smile more than you expected.

But as the days passed, something shifted without you realizing it. You were at home one evening, flipping through your sketchbook, the soft pastel dust smudging the edges of the pages as your fingers moved. The forms you’d drawn were abstract models, capturing shapes and shadows in a fluid, organic way. It wasn’t anything new—nothing that stood out. But then, you stopped.

There, in the shadows of the page, you saw it.

The subtle arch of a jawline. The curve of lips that you knew too well. Even the moles, small and almost unremarkable, but there they were—on the page, right beneath your fingertips. You blinked and flipped to another sketch, only to see it again. A line here, a shadow there. It wasn’t him exactly, but it was.

To the untrained eye, maybe it wouldn’t have been obvious. Hell, maybe even to you on any other day, it might’ve gone unnoticed. But now, in the quiet of your studio, the shapes were almost unmistakable. The soft angle of his nose, the way his eyes looked when he was thinking too hard, the way his smile would pull up on one side when he was being particularly smug.

You frowned, setting the sketchbook down, your hands hovering above it as if it had betrayed you. Was this some kind of coincidence? Or was it something more, something you had been avoiding realizing? You’d never consciously set out to draw him, but there he was, tucked into the lines and curves of your art like an uninvited guest you hadn’t known you were entertaining.

It was ridiculous, you told yourself. Of course it was just... coincidence. But even as you tried to convince yourself, there was a small, unspoken truth sitting in your chest, heavy and undeniable, and the first time you realized Viktor might see you as more than just a friend was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it hit you all the same.

He mentioned a piece you’d shown him, his tone thoughtful. “You’ve been doing something different lately. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s a change. It’s...” His gaze flickered to yours, then dropped back to the floor, but the brief flash in his eyes sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. “...more. More than what you usually show.”

The words themselves were harmless, even complimentary, but it was the way they hung between you that made something inside you stir—something you couldn’t name, not yet. You didn’t think much of it at first, but the way his eyes lingered just a second longer than necessary made your breath catch. The way the corners of his mouth lifted into a half-smile, not teasing, but... fond.

It was a simple thing. A fleeting moment. And yet, it lingered in your mind as you retreated to your apartment, your thoughts whirling with the possibility that Viktor—your friend, the one you had so casually laughed and bantered with for months—might be seeing you differently, too.

The shift was subtle, but it was there. And it unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

Everything came to a boiling point one night at your apartment. You’d ventured into town earlier that day, mostly for a change of scenery, and happened upon a small farmers market. You couldn’t resist grabbing a few bottles of strawberry wine, its sweetness and fruity undertones practically calling your name. Jayce had scoffed at it when you got back, claiming it was too sugary to have any real punch. “There’s no way I’ll even get drunk off this,” he’d muttered with a dismissive wave.

An hour later, he was sprawled out on your pullout, snoring softly with a stupid grin plastered across his face. You and Viktor stood nearby, both trying—and failing—to suppress your amusement at how quickly Jayce had succumbed to the wine’s effects. For all his size, Jayce was a surprising lightweight.

“I swear, every time,” you said, laughing quietly.

Viktor, leaning against the doorway, gave a soft chuckle. “Some people just don’t know when to stop.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing over at the slumbering man. “Guess we let him sleep it off.”

“Let him have his beauty rest,” Viktor teased, his voice light as he nodded toward the bottles. “We can always finish it ourselves.”

So you did, winding up on the roof with the cold night air around you. The worn-out couch up there had seen better days, but it was still enough to settle into and talk, a simple quiet comfort settling over you both. The soft glow of string lights and the silvered moonlight made the world feel like it was wrapped in a quiet hush despite the never ending sounds of the city. You both settled into the couch, the cushions sinking in the middle, which pushed you just a little closer to Viktor than you'd anticipated.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was easy, like you had spent years in it. You noticed how close you were sitting now—your thighs pressed together, and when you passed the bottle of wine, your fingers brushed his. A small spark of awareness ran through you each time, and you tried to ignore it, feeling your face warm despite the cool air.

The wine was sweet, fruity, and a little stronger than you expected, especially when you found yourself reaching for another sip and another, the soft buzz in your head gradually growing stronger.

By the time the bottle was halfway gone, you were both leaning more heavily into the couch, and you couldn’t help but giggle at how little wine was apparently needed to bring Jayce to the brink of passing out. You felt... lighter. Almost giddy, as if the laughter that came so easily was spilling out along with the alcohol. And Viktor, sitting just beside you, didn’t seem to be immune to it either. His face was flushed in the soft light, his lips curling into an easy smile.

“You know,” you said, leaning back and feeling the warmth of the couch soak into your bones, “I don’t do this enough. I’m so... wrapped up in work and life and... I just forget to relax.”

Viktor tilted his head, eyes slightly narrowed as he watched you. “Relaxing can be overrated,” he said with a smirk, the words a little slower than they’d been earlier. He took another drink from the bottle, his thumb brushing against the glass in an unconscious rhythm. When he passed it to you, your fingers brushed once again, and you lingered just a bit longer than necessary.

“Well, maybe for you,” you chuckled. “But, for me, it’s like... it's like a luxury, I guess. You know? I don’t remember the last time I just sat with someone and... and didn’t feel like I had to be somewhere or do something.”

“You eh–... don’t have to worry about that here,” Viktor said quietly, his voice light, with that usual teasing edge. But something was different in his tone, something that made the words feel heavier than they should have been. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but the air seemed to shift, the quiet between you stretching into something almost… charged.

You took another sip, your hand a little unsteady now. The whole situation felt absurd—awkward, even, yet strangely intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. Your gaze drifted toward his lips without thinking. It was brief, but enough to send a flutter through your stomach, and suddenly, your mind couldn’t focus on anything but that soft, confident curve of his mouth. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was something else entirely, but you couldn’t seem to think straight anymore.

Viktor shifted closer again, and the couch beneath you groaned as it sank with the weight of it. The space between you closed, and you could feel the warmth of his body pressing against yours shoulder to shoulder, like the alcohol spreading through you, making your pulse quicken.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. His presence was a solid thing beside you. His eyes were locked on yours, studying, but still so calm. You could feel the punch of his gaze on you, like it was seeping through your skin, sending heat rushing to your cheeks. It wasn’t just the wine now—you could feel it all over, heat blooming beneath your skin, making you fidget slightly.

“Sometimes… you get caught up in what you’re doing, and you forget about everything else,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the way your nerves were tightening your chest. “I’ve been focused on my career and—god, I’ve probably been a little… I don’t know, closed off.” You laughed lightly, but it was nervous, unsure of where this was even coming from. But suddenly all your senses were barraged by him, his smell, his eyes.

“I just—I haven’t thought about it. Relationships, I mean. Not in a long time. I don’t know if I’m even ready for anything like that. Not now, not with everything I’m doing.” You trailed off, self-conscious, suddenly feeling like you were saying too much, rambling without stopping. The words seemed to just slip out of you, tumbling over each other.

You took another shaky breath, your heart thudding in your chest as you tried to make yourself stop, but you couldn’t. It was like you were helpless.

“And, I mean, if anybody were to kiss me…” You faltered, realizing too late just how much you were giving away. Your pulse quickened, your thoughts jumbled as your mouth just kept moving. “I would want that person to be you.”

The air between you thickened, the silence stretching long and heavy. Your heart pounded in your chest, a nervous rhythm that drowned out everything else. You waited for him to say something, to break the tension that was suffocating you. But there was nothing. Just the weight of his gaze on you, steady and searching.

When you finally dared to glance at him Viktor's expression was unreadable. One thick eyebrow was cocked slightly, and his mouth hung open just enough to suggest he was about to say something, but didn't. He was so close but somehow the distance between you felt infinite.

You opened your mouth to say something, to fill the silence, but before you could speak, his hand moved, his fingers brushing against your jaw in the gentlest touch. The sudden warmth of his palm made your breath catch, and before you could even fully process it, he was pulling you in. His lips met yours, soft at first, as though testing the waters, as if the moment itself was delicate. But that softness didn't last, between the buzz of alcohol, the closeness, the heat between you—it all blurred together. The kiss deepened, quickly turning urgent, hungry. His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the bottle slipped from your grasp, its clang against the concrete floor echoing in the quiet of the rooftop

You didn't care. You were too lost in the feeling of him against you, his lips moving against yours with a desperate kind of need. The kiss grew messier– clumsy, teeth scraping, tongues tangling. You could taste the faint sweetness of wine on him, the mix of flavors making everything feel dizzying overwhelming.

You found yourself gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, as if trying to merge your bodies together, desperate for the contact, for whatever it was that had been building between you two for so long.

The next day was a harsh slap of hangover reality. Your head pounded, your mouth was dry, and every time you glanced at Viktor across the room, your stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with the booze.

Jayce, of course, was none the wiser. He chatted away over breakfast like nothing had changed, blissfully unaware of the shift that had unraveled everything you thought you’d had under control. And you? You were wholly committed to keeping it that way. It was a one-time thing, you told yourself. Just a fleeting, drunken thing—something you could both quietly bury and move on from.

At least, that was the plan.

Until it happened again. And then again.

Now it feels like a thread being pulled tighter and tighter, until you’re not sure if you’re going to unravel completely or snap under the weight.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. But here you are. And you don’t know how to stop.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane #viktor #arcane #viktor x you #arcane x you #arcane fanfic #viktor fanfic #fwb #friends with benifits #viktor x y/n #arcane viktor #arcane fic #viktor fic #arcane x reader #lils work #mine #strawberry wine

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honeyshiddendesire · 4 months ago

Text

Just a Taste 18+

Summary: You don’t like pirates but when Shanks and his crew change your mind you can’t help but want to explore and you’re not talking about the sea.

Devil Fruit : Poison food / drink - ( Users can turn any food/drink they make into poison when they choose. Even if the victims get themselves to throw up the poison, when ingested it becomes like a glue that lines your stomach preventing it from exiting your body ) *I will be using this in other works*

Warnings: 18+!! female reader! double penetration! Threesome! Pet names! Manhandling! Praise and degradation kink! Dirty talk! Flirting! Oral sex (f receiving)! Vaginal & Anal penetration! Reader has a devil fruit and it makes Shanks mad! Pussy spanking!

Pairings: Shanks x fem!reader x Benn

Words: 9K (it was for a writing challenge lol can't believe I managed to write this much it's been a while sorry if the smut is bad!)

You owned the only bar on the whole island, no other supplier of alcohol anywhere to be found and everyone on the island knew why and none complained. You were the silent protector that they needed, years of being robbed by stupid pirates, even watching your parents become victims to their dumb conquests. You wanted so badly to run away from the island but instead you stayed, making it your life’s mission to rid the world of as many cruel pirates as you could, one meal at a time.

It was another regular day with the locals drinking and eating some of your great cooking when a young boy burst through the doors, “Y/N! Y/N! There’s pirates docking at the shore!” He was out of breath wearing swim shorts, clearly seeing them sail in from a morning of playing at the beach when the pirates appeared. You came over to him with your hands up and a gentle smile on your face, “Easy hon, breath. Remember you don’t have to be scared anymore. Just head on home and ring the bell on your way there, okay.” Giving you a quick nod, he rushes out of the bar along with the locals who give you a smile and a pat on your back.

“Go get those filthy pirates!”

“Yeah we can always count on you!” Another shouted on their way out making you smile as you shook your head at their silly antics. You were only in your mid twenties and it took a long time for everyone to trust your abilities since they all knew you since you were a child. After taking down one pirate crew all by yourself without lifting a finger though they knew they were in good hands, leaving all the pirates to you after that. So you casually clean up the bar and start wiping down the counters completely unphased by all the pirates that were coming up the hill.

Shanks marched up the hill with his crew in tow behind him, his eyes scanning around the town with curiosity. “It’s like a ghost town.” Benn at his right hummed beside him in agreement, his body itching as he cautiously looked around. “Think it’s a trap?” He asked quietly, making Shanks raise a brow as he looked around spotting no one outside.

“Not sure-” Shanks replies with a nod of his head pointing in the direction of a bar, carrying on after, “but there’s a bar.” Smirking Shanks decides to lead the way towards the bar that he planned on drinking dry. If no one was in the town, maybe the bar was empty as well. Walking closer to the old looking bar Shanks finally noticed you sitting in a chair by the door, your legs crossed as you sipped from a bottle of rum. A wide grin painting his face as his eyes scanned your body, you wore ripped tight jeans with heeled boots and a loose sweater that was off one shoulder, your hair pulled into a ponytail.

“Hello gentlemen, what can I do for ya?” You smile before you downed more of your rum, not missing the way Shanks eyes practically sparkle as he looks at you. Shanks waves a hand at you as he heads your way, “Well hello darling, I’m just looking for a place my men and I could get a bite to eat and a drink.” He takes a glance into the empty bar before looking back at you with a charming smile. “You wouldn’t mind would’ya doll?” Smiling, you stand up and head inside with the men following you close behind, “Right this way boys~” You tease with a sway of your hips, Shanks glancing at Benn with a wink and a grin.

Shanks crew waltz in taking seats at the table as Shanks and Benn follow you over to the bar watching as you go behind and start putting full bottles on the top for them to grab. “You must’ve had a long journey so please enjoy.” You smile politely making the men cheer as they start grabbing the bottles with excitement. “Very generous of you darling but I have to ask…where is everyone?” Shanks asks you as you give him and Benn a bottle. You wave your hand with a laugh, “Oh don’t worry about that love, they just get a little scared that’s all.” Your arms crossing against the bar as you lean over to distract them with an eyeful of your breast, “So~ do you handsome men wanna bite?” Benn and Shanks both couldn’t help the smirk that crossed on their faces as they both replied in unison, “Absolutely.”

A few hours passed, all the men happy in the bar with full tummies and fuzzy brains as the alcohol kept coming. You learned that they ran out of supplies faster than they intended and needed a good restock which made you wonder if after all this if they would raid your town. Your thoughts halted when Shanks leaned back in his seat with a sigh and a wide grin, “Whew! Jeez doll I gotta say- that’s the best meal I’ve had in a while!” Benn gives a nod as he lights his cigarette, “Yeah we might have to stay awhile.” Benn’s joke makes your chest tight and fist clench but you just give a smile. You let them all have as much beer, alcohol and food as they pleased before the real fun began.

“Is anyone else on your ship? Maybe they’d like to have a meal as well.” You smile politely so you don’t seem suspicious instead trying to sound as sweet as possible. “Ah just one guy- man he would be jealous if he found out how good everything is.” Shanks drunkenly admits as he slaps Benn’s arm who only smokes his cigarette used to his captain’s antics. “Well in that case here you go.” You say as you make a large container of food for someone to take to that last remaining person. “Maybe someone could bring him some while it’s still hot. A gift for you all being so respectful.” Your pretty smile just puts Shanks in a trance so strong he shouts for someone to deliver the food to the last crewmate on the ship. “Hey Rockstar, be a pal and go bring this food to LimeJuice will ya?”

“UGH~ fine I guess.” You see the man smile drunkenly as he stumbles over to take the food and deliver it to his crewmate. “Thank you hon.” You wink and watch as he leaves on his task with a wide grin. You waited about thirty minutes, which should’ve been enough time for the man named Rockstar to deliver the meal. You hoped they ate it quickly because you were starting to get antsy with the way these two guys were eyeing you. Yeah they were attractive but they were pirates, drunk ones at that, and it was only a matter of time before they started taking what they wanted.

“I gotta be honest with ya darlin… You are gorgeous.” Shanks tells you in a lustful voice as he leans closer over the bar and you put a hand to his chest shoving him roughly back in his seat. “Sit the fuck down pirate!” The way you bite out the word has Shanks sober up quickly, there was venom in your voice now, it was unmistakable.

Shanks stood up with a smirk on his face, he must’ve thought you were joking, you scuffed as you pointed at him, “Don’t even think about grabbing that sword of yours you’re already a deadman.” You step back as you grab your own bottle of rum downing a sip, before you give him a smirk, “Same with the rest of your crew.” Shanks' expression dropped to something more serious. “Easy darlin. How about you tell me what’s going on first? I thought we were having a good time.” Benn stands up with a cloud of smoke and you just know his fingers are itching to shoot you if anything goes wrong, but even a bullet to the head isn’t faster than you.

“Tch! Yeah right! Me? Having a good time with a pirate? Ha that’ll be the day! Pirates are nothing more than lowlife scum, murdering whoever they please with no remorse, not even caring if they have children or not!” Your explanation is laced with hate and pain that makes Shanks frown, you see pity in his eyes which makes you snap even more. “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what sweetheart?” His voice was so…so kind and tender, like he wanted to just come over and wrap you in his arms, it pulled at your heartstrings and you didn’t understand why.

“Like…like you pity me or something! I don’t need pity from some dumbass pirate!” You shout and Shanks only gives you a small smile. “Who did it?”

What the hell does he even mean, is he asking who killed your parents? Why the hell would that matter to him?

“It’s alright doll you can tell me.”

“I-I don’t know. I just know they were pirates, one of them had on these dumb ass blue boots. They burned more than half this town and killed my family. Ugh! It doesn’t matter who did it. What matters is that you’re all poisoned already!”

Benn scowled as he looked at you, the trust he gained while drinking with you slipping like sand in the palm of your hand. “What poison?”

“It’s my devil fruit.” You start to explain and Shanks only shakes his head in what looks like disappointment but you didn’t care, kind of. “Any food or drink I lay my hands on becomes a poison but even if you make yourself throw up the poison acts like a glue that sticks to the lining of your belly. If I want to I can activate the poison causing you all to die quickly, but if you all leave this island now without causing any damage or harm I’ll let you all go. Get your supplies somewhere else and leave us alone.”

“We didn’t mean any trouble…honestly darlin that ain’t really our speed.” Shanks’ smirk made you frustrated and you clenched your fists that rested at your sides. “Do you think I’m some kind of joke or something?” You snap and Shanks just shakes his head as he sits down. “Not at all darling, in fact I think you’re smart for not trusting us. I mean… we are pirates after all. I love seeing people protect what they care about. This town is lucky to have someone so fearless such as yourself.” Shanks grabs the bottle he was drinking and continues to chug it making your eyes widen in shock.

Why was he still drinking it even though you told him you could turn it to poison?

“What are you doing?” You question in disbelief, the gears in your brain stalling as you notice the others in the back sit down again after seeing their captain’s calm demeanor. They weren’t scared, usually when you tell pirates they’re already poisoned they just leave or you have to kill them, but these guys just carried on like nothing happened. You even notice the man who Shanks told you was named Lucky Roux kept eating too. “Shanks! What are you doing I just told you-”

“I heard what you said sweetheart…I just …don’t care.” Shanks says as he downs the rest of the bottle, nodding his chin over to the others you had behind the bar. “Like I told you already pretty, we’re just here to buy supplies. Got the money to pay for it too.”

“You…plan on paying?” Your shocked dumbfounded expression is adorable to the older men and they just smirk at you. “Yup.” Shanks grins as Benn follows in his captain’s footsteps by chugging his bottle as well before sliding it toward you empty. Taking another drag of his cigarette to speak with a cloud of smoke encircling him, “Go ahead and grab us another bottle baby doll 'cause we ain’t even close to drunk yet.”

You swallow a lump in your throat, so confused on what to do, because as much as you wanted them to leave they just made you so curious. Why do these pirates act so differently from the rest?

“Come on princess, we're getting thirsty.” Benn says snapping you out of your own thoughts and you grab the good bottle of rum you’ve been stashing then pour three shots, one for each of you cause you damn sure need it. “Cheers! To being poisoned!” Shanks cheers as he throws back his shot, the rest of his crew erupting in shouts and laughter as they take a sip of their drinks as well. You quickly have to refill your glass because this is so not what you expected when you had the town rush to their homes in hiding.

“So darling is that why the town’s hiding. Are you like the protector? You get everyone to stay in their house while they leave you here to poison whoever steps foot in this place?” Shanks asks after taking another shot which you refill in under a few seconds. You give a head nod, your eyes staring at the bar top not wanting to make eye contact at those mesmerizing eyes any longer. He should be dead but for some reason you can’t seem to do it, something about him just didn’t feel like the others you’ve encountered. “Very noble of you doll.”

“What happens if I put a bullet between your eyes?” Benn says catching you by surprise and it makes your head snap up to stare at him. From this distance you wouldn’t have the time to snap your fingers which activates the poison, you weren’t gonna tell him that but from the look on your face he knew he had you cornered. “Just curious baby.” Benn smirks to keep you on your toes.

“You’re too pretty to get your brains blown out.” Shanks winks, “Like I keep saying we’re just here for fun and supplies.” You give another nod and go to fill Benn’s glass when suddenly you hear a loud scream come from outside that causes you to drop the bottle, golden rum spilling out. Gasping as you rush outside, your face morphing into one of horror as you see fire in the distance.

“PIRATES!” You hear people screaming and see the little boy from earlier running toward you, now wearing his pajamas, tears in his eyes. “I thought you took care of them!” He yells at you but then his eyes go big as Shanks and his crew step out of the bar hearing all the commotion. “You! It must be the two that you left on your ship!” You shout back and Shanks just shakes his head.

“Ain’t no way doll. Look.” He points behind you in the opposite direction of his ship to the other end of the island. “The fires coming from over there doll, has to be another crew that just sailed in. We would’ve seen my men pass your door in order to get all the way over there. Besides my men and I don’t just start fires. You poisoned me and I still haven’t killed you.”

You want to be angry at him but know that’s not the logical response so you only look back at the boy, “Where are your parents?” His eyes water and you just pull him close. “Listen to me, now is not the time to cry, okay? You need to go back to your parents and hide somewhere safe.”

“O-okay!” He cries and runs back towards his home. Shanks catches your attention by putting a hand to your shoulder. “Hey darlin if you need a hand say the word.” You don’t know what to do as you stare at the town spreading in a fire, people running out of their homes and away from the danger. You hear gunfire in the distance getting louder and louder and your heart beats like a drum in your ears. You feel your hands shaking, your chest tight like you’re going to pass out until Benn comes to you on your other side. “You can trust us.”

“But you’re …”

“Pirates. I know. So let the blood be on our hands.” Shanks smiles kindly as you look at him, finally you give a small nod after some thinking. “Head inside for me darling. Don’t want your pretty eyes seeing my dark side or it might ruin the rest of the night.” You follow his gentle command and occupy yourself with cleaning up the bar, picking up all the empty bottles that littered the tables. Your devil fruit was useless in combat if someone wasn’t willing to take a break to drink or eat something real quick. Chaos like right now only made you shake with anxiety as all you could do was standby and hope that you could actually trust these pirates but that’s what they were…pirates.

You had the bar spotless from top to bottom in a few hours, the place smelling of a fresh pot of beef stew that you cooked on the stove. It grew low when Shanks and his crew almost ate the whole thing so you got started on a new batch just in case. You always liked to have a fresh batch just in case you have to use your powers on someone. You sat down on a bar seat and poured yourself a large shot, your buzz from early long gone unfortunately.

“Awe~ drinking without us doll? I thought we had something special.” Shanks joked as he stepped inside along with Benn trailing closely behind. “You’re back?” You didn’t mean for your voice to sound so doubtful but what can you do?

“Yeah sorry to disappoint you.” Benn smirks making you raise your hands in apology, “No I meant -”

“Easy darlin’ we’re just messin around. It’s all taken care of so don't worry that pretty head of yours.” Benn winks and you slowly sit back down with a question. “Where’s everyone else?” Shanks gives a sigh as he sits beside you along with Benn, both men caging you in. You felt the warmth radiating off of them and it made your body heat up in a slightly different way than you were used to. You’ve had sex before but never with anyone as attractive as these two men that towered over you. Or as dangerous.

Benn leans over the bar and grabs a bottle and sets it down in front of you winking at Shanks who wore a big grin. The red haired man took the initiative to speak with a chipper tone, “So for saving you how about we play a little game?”

“What kind of game?” You ask as you lean over and grab some shot glasses, both men taking the opportunity to stare at your ass and lower back that is exposed a bit from your shirt rising. Benn turned to face you with a smirk as his Captain did the same, “Oh simple, just twenty questions but we’ll make it interesting.”

“Oooh take a shot whenever we want to pass?” You suggest and the two men chuckle, Shanks shrugging his shoulder, “I was gonna suggest removing a piece of clothing but if you wanna take a shot sure.” You burst out laughing and can't help the heat that rushes to your face, “Oh my gosh! I try to poison you all and yet you’re trying to see me naked?”

Benn holds up his hands with a smirk, “What can we say? We like 'em a little crazy.”

“It makes the sex better.” Shanks adds as he leans toward your flustered face catching you off guard by his words. “I see.” You ponder their words and the whole day that has transpired and there was no doubt in your mind that you wanted them. So taking a deep breath you stand up and grab the keys to the bar as they watch you with intense curiosity. “Well I guess we could play your way but… we should probably take it upstairs to my place. I wouldn’t want anyone walking in to see me in my thong.” You tease as you head towards the door swinging the keys in your hand with newfound confidence, you don’t know where it came from but you think it was the rush of having two hotties fiend over you. Turning to look over your shoulder you winked at both pirates and gave a smirk, “You boys coming?”

“Absolutely.” They grinned and you laughed remembering them saying the same thing earlier that day.

You quickly found yourselves upstairs in your living room all sitting on the couch with more alcohol laid out on your coffee table for you all. “Okay since the game was your idea you guys should start first.”

“After you captain.” Benn says as he pulls out a cigarette placing it between his lips but pausing right as he grabs his lighter. “Do you mind?” He asks and you just shake your head as you walk over to open the window a bit, lighting a warm vanilla sugar candle on your way back to the couch. “Ooo romantic.” Shanks teases and you roll your eyes as you plop down between the two of them and crack open your bottle of choice. “Okay captain you go first.” You mock and miss the way Shanks sucks in a breath hearing you call him that but Benn doesn’t miss it and only laughs at the man while shaking his head. “Focus Red Hair.”

“Yeah…yeah okay. Hmm- how about…favorite position?”

“Ooo down to the nitty gritty huh.” You laugh and ponder the question, debating if you wanna answer or remove a piece of clothing. “It’s a tie but I’ll say only one. I’m thinking… Pronebone.” Once you answer Shanks whistles loudly, “Oooo nice and deep okay okay.”

“Ugh please hush!” You groan and Benn laughs as he nudges your shoulder, “Don’t be embarrassed baby doll…” Benn smirks before he leans toward you, “Save that for later.”

Shanks grins as he takes a shot, “You can go next darling.” You don’t even hesitate to uno reverse Shanks on question and he just smirks happily, “Easy, cowgirl. I like admiring a woman taking what she wants from me. Go ahead Benn.” Benn hums as he thinks of the question, standing to put his cigarette out in the sink, washing down his mess before sitting back down to face you. “Remember you can either answer or take off that top of yours.” You nod and he continues, “Can you deep throat?”

You felt so hot you thought you were going to burst into flames but you refused to back down and remove your clothes just yet. “Yes. Shanks your turn.”

“Well fuck me sideways and call me a bitch cause that’s good to know. Okay… soft and slow or rough and fast?” Shanks jokes and you laugh at his crazy statement before thinking of a response. Taking a sip of the drink you made you lean in close as you answer. “Tough choices. I usually like it fast and rough but with you two I wouldn’t mind seeing how you pirates handle it slow” Another sip and you turn your attention to Benn in order to ask your next question. “Have you and your Captain ever fooled around?” Benn gives Shanks a look as he answers, “Yes but it’s not really my thing, we’re better at fucking pretty girls together instead of each other.” Your mouth literally drops when you hear his words then you look over at Shanks in shock who just grins and raises his eyebrows. “What can I say, I gotta try everything at least once.”

“My turn.” Benn says, making you look over at him as he smiles, “Have you ever kissed a woman?”

Giving a shrug you recycle Shanks’ words, “Well I gotta try everything at least once.” Your answer makes the red haired man laugh with excitement. “I think we’re just perfect together darling.” Throwing his arm over your shoulder you give a little head shake as he asks his next question.

The game goes on for a while until Benn is the one who gets to ask the final question, all of you very tipsy with all your layers remaining. None of you backing down from the overly perverted questions that you all threw each other's way. “Okay baby doll final question.” His face was close to yours, the smell of alcohol heavy on his lips that you couldn’t seem to look away from. “Are you ready for a couple of pirates to fuck you nice and slow?”

At this point your body is tingling and you can feel the wetness pooling in your panties, your heart beating a mile a minute. You can feel Shanks press closer to you, his hand going to your thigh as his lips kiss your exposed shoulder. “Promise we’ll take good care of you baby.” Benn puts his hand on your other thigh and you swallow the lump in your throat as he stares into your eyes intensely waiting on your answer.

“Yes.” When you answer Benn doesn’t even waste a second to lean in and kiss you with a hunger that makes you melt. Your hands reach up to wrap around his shoulders tugging him closer towards you as Shanks’ hand runs up underneath your top with a groan. You moan into Benn’s mouth when you feel Shanks squeeze your breath over your lace bra, his calloused fingers digging into your flesh. “So pretty baby.” Shanks mumbles against your neck as Benn paws at your thigh, his tongue slipping into your mouth with a blazing passion.

You feel on fire between both men as they grope and kiss you all over, “Come on sweetheart lemme take this off.” Shanks asks tugging on the hem of your shirt and even though you don’t want to break the kiss with Benn he does as his Captain suggests. “Sorry doll the Captain doesn’t ask more than once.” You’re beyond horny and don’t give even a second thought when you remove your top and toss it across the room before pulling Shanks into a kiss. Benn takes the job of Shanks and leaves kisses all over your neck as you kiss the red haired man, your fingers tangling with his hair to give a slight tug that has him moan into your mouth.

“I wanna go to the bedroom.” You say in between the kiss and let out a surprised gasp when Benn lifts you up like you weigh nothing, Shanks following behind stripping off his top in the process. Benn throws you on the bed with a smirk, your attention drawn to the way both men strip in front of you. Even with one arm Shanks moves with such a smooth grace that has your mouth drooling, they’re both cocky and even though Benn started out so quiet he had quite the ego. When they remove their boxers your mouth literally drops as you see how large they both are in comparison to the guys you’ve fucked on your island.

“Like what you see darling?” Shanks asks but you’re so stunned to speak as you stare at the cut beauty hard between his legs, veins pulsing with need, tip just as red as his hair with a bit of cum threatening to fall. Shanks had more length than Benn but just a little bit, but what Benn missed out in length he made up for it with his girth. Benn’s cock was thick like a damn soda can and it made you swallow the lump in your throat wondering if you’d be able to take him in either one of your holes. You had a feeling though that the dear Captain would take the front while Benn would take the back. You’re caught off guard when you feel a light smack to your thigh from Benn, their cocks so mesmerizing you forgot Shanks even asked you a question.

“My Captain asked you a question, baby doll.” Benn tells you with a stern tone and you have to peel your eyes from their dicks in order to focus. “Um…what was the question?” Shanks tilts his head as he looks at you, his voice teasing you as he circles the bed. “Awe pretty girl, we haven’t even touched you yet and you’ve already gone dumb. Poor thing. Don’t worry that’s what a Captain is for, I’ll take care of you sweetheart.”

Benn climbs in bed next to you on one side as Shanks takes the other side, their hands touching you anyway they can. Benn takes care of the harder things like unclipping your bra and your jeans while the redhead pulls off your bra, kissing the skin that's underneath. His lips feel like molten lava against your skin and you gasp as his lips wrap around your hardened nipple. Benn cradles your head to the side in order to suck a mark onto your neck causing you to moan, your fingers tangling once again into Shanks hair. Your other breast gets stimulation as Shanks squeezes it in his calloused hand, Benn busies himself by massaging your thighs, slowly pulling them open for his Captain to slide between.

“You’re so beautiful.” Benn praises as his kisses reach your jaw, his large hand turning your face toward his so he can close the gap between you with a slow and deep kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth in a passionate kiss as his Captain worked his magic on your nipples, switching between both breasts causing you to whimper. Both men knew how to use their tongues which made you very curious for later.

Shanks starts to go lower and lower his mouth leaving kisses in their wake as he descends down towards your dripping pussy. His fingers move your thong to the side making you gasp into Benn’s mouth, his tongue swirling around yours with a deep groan. Shanks looks up at you just in time for Benn to pull away allowing you to look down at his Captain. Benn’s hands spread your legs open embarrassingly wide, pressing your thighs into your chest making you whine. You felt vulnerable in this position but you guessed that was what happens when you fuck a couple of pirates.

“Go ahead baby, keep your eyes on him. My Captain has a thing for being watched.” Benn smirks as he kisses your cheek, your eyes falling down to watch as Shanks lays on his stomach. His tongue licks between your dripping folds, before his tongue circles around your clit, a groan leaving him at the taste of your wetness. Spitting on his fingers he circled your usually neglected hole as he closed his mouth around your clit with a lewd moan. “How is she Captain?” Benn asks before kissing under your ear and licking the shell.

Shanks eyes roll back for a second as he takes another slow lick at your entrance before staring directly at you, “So fucking good.” You watch as Shanks licks your clit again before sucking it into his mouth. “Yeah I bet she does.” Benn groans into your neck, his hands squeezing at your spread thighs making you whine at his strength. “Shanks~” A smack to your thigh makes you gasp, your head turning to look at Benn who only shakes his head. “That ain’t what you call him in her darling.”

“Dammit sorry.” You moan out and Shanks only grins as his tongue goes lower into your neglected hole. “Oh fuck! Captain!” Your head falls back against Benn's shoulder making him chuckle at how easily you come undone on his Captain’s tongue. “Just relax darling.” Benn says kissing along your jaw, his thumb rubbing against your thigh.

Your senses hyper focused on the way Shanks ate you out, his thumb rubbing at your clit to stimulate both areas. Shanks ate you out like a mad man, switching between your ass and your pussy, you didn’t know what to focus on with the way he was working you. “Come on Captain quit hoggin her will ya.” Benn grumbled out as kissed your jaw, your eyes rolling back as you felt Shanks suck on your clit while his fingers opened up your ass. His tongue moving down to dip into your pussy to lick at your juices that started to flow from your orgasm.

“Fuck fuck fuck! Captain!” Your scream tore through your throat like never before and it was music to both men's ears. “That’s it darling cum all over his face.” Benn coaxed out of you as Shanks thrust his fingers into you in time with his tongue that worked your cunt. It was such a new sensation that sent you over the pleasurable edge you never thought you’d experience with some pirates. “Cumming!” You practically screech out and Shanks only moans into your cunt, “So fucking good! That’s it baby! Give it to me!” The vibrations of his voice makes you squirm or at least try to but the hold that Benn had on you kept you in place for the overstimulation that Shanks was giving you.

Shanks lets out a long groan as he feels your walls clamp down and pulse around his tongue, your ass twitching against his fingers as you moan loudly. Benn holds you open as you cum, his Captain just as noisy as you as you cum and he just chuckles watching the both of you. “You two are so noisy.” Benn smirks and you just turn your face toward him, your eyes barely able to focus on him but you want to kiss him so bad.

“Benn~” You moan out, “Please kiss me.” Benn gives a mocking coo as he leans down anyways to kiss you. The large man had quite the oral fixation and liked to keep himself busy either with marking up your neck or kissing you on the lips, his tongue swirling with yours. “Awe aren’t you a cutie.” Benn teases before leaning closer to kiss you on the lips, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip making you suck in a breath.

“Help me out a bit Benn.” Shanks practically moaned out as he sucked your clit, allowing room for Benn’s large fingers to dip into your throbbing cunt. Your clit tingled as your pussy became filled with Benn’s thick fingers that entered your pussy, Shanks fingers never leaving your ass and you only moaned at the feeling of them both. Benn used his free hand to hold your jaw and pull you in for a kiss, “Better keep those legs open for us pretty girl.” You sneak your hands around to hold your legs open for the men to continue their work. Your legs started to shake as both men brought you closer and closer to coming again, their fingers moving a bit faster as they noticed your walls tightening.

“There we go sweetheart, be good for your Captain and let go.” Shanks says between kisses to your clit making you moan out loudly. Your own fingers dug into your thighs as Benn stole your moans through deep kisses, his tongue swirling around yours before sucking on it with a groan. Pulling away he kisses your cheek, then your jaw before going to your neck to nip at your skin, your body shuddering from the affect you’re having. Your body shivers like a wave and you moan as your head falls back again onto Benn, your pussy creaming on his fingers that thrust into your cunt. “Benn! Ah- Shh-!” Trying to moan out the redhead's name gets cut off with a shout.

The sound of your dripping hole was loud in Shanks ear, his eyes looking up to stare at your face as you came undone. Your thighs trembled and Benn used the hand that was once on your jaw to hold your leg open, “Easy baby, we gotcha.” His eyes watched Shanks and his fingers stretch you out to take both men. They wanted to keep things nice and slow how you requested but the way your body was talking to them was starting to get pretty difficult.

“You think you’re ready to take the both of us baby doll?” Benn asks and you can’t help but nod your head like a madwoman. “Yes oh fuck yes! Please!” You shriek as Shanks nips at your clit before pulling away, removing his fingers to sit up. Benn can’t help himself when he pulls his fingers out of your pussy to give it a wet slap making you yelp. “Benn!” You moan in surprise and he just kisses your cheek. “Sorry, I couldn't help it, she just looked so cute.” Benn’s teasing and vulgar words made your body flare with heat.

“Again.” Shanks commands as he strokes his cock in front of you and you pout when you hear him, but being the second that he was did it without repeat. “But-” You try to protest but Benn hushes you, his lips against your ear. “Shh, just be a good girl darlin. It’s just one more.” Benn reassures as he smacks your pussy again, your wetness making the slap sound noisier and it only turns on Shanks more as he licks his lips. “Alright pretty let’s see how you can handle a couple of pirates.” Shanks grins as plops himself on the bed, laying on his back as Benn maneuvers you on top of him, a gasp leaving you as he just keeps carrying you like you’re nothing more than a feather.

“Take your time baby, I’m sure I’m bigger than the silly amateurs that you fuck on this island.” Shanks says confidently and you just roll your eyes despite him being right, your action makes the man laugh as he squeezes your thigh gently. “Oh sweetheart don’t be bashful I could tell when you first saw my cock that you liked it.”

“It is pretty nice.” You tease as you line yourself up with the tip of his cock, your fingers wrapped around his cock, your thumb stroking the longest vein that ran along the side. Shanks hissed as you squeezed the base and slowly ran your hand back up to the tip, “Dammit darlin you’re killing me.” You feel Benn kiss along your shoulders as he comes up behind you, his rough hands coming around to grope at your breast. “Think you can handle him baby doll?” Benn asked in a teasing tone and you just smirked down at Shanks as you slowly lowered down onto him.

You honestly thought you could handle him but once his tip slowly slid into your dripping cunt you realized how wrong you were. He felt way bigger than he looked, sucking in a sharp breath as Shanks’ cock slowly pierced through your wet walls. “F~uck!” You gasp making the redhead grin but his bravado also cracks as your walls clamp down around his cock. The feeling of your warm, wet walls squeezing his cock in a tight grip makes his head spin, his cheeks flushing and eyes rolling back. “Shit Benn, you have no idea how good her pussy feels.” Shanks’ voice is a deep groan, long and drawn out as you took more of his cock in your pussy. Moans dripped out at a loud pitch that you weren’t used to, Shanks’ cock long enough to reach depths that normally didn’t get touched. Your body lit up like fireworks just burst inside of you, your thighs trembled as you sunk down all the way on his cock.

“I’ll have to try her out another time.” Benn smirked as he squeezed your breast, his fingers toying with your nipples making you shudder. “Ugh! Fuck! Shanks~ you’re so big!” You can’t help how whiny your voice comes out as you feel his cock throb inside of you. The man smirks below you, his breathing heavy as he speaks, “Thanks darlin. Now come over here so I can kiss those pretty lips of yours.”

You bend down towards him and his hand caresses your cheek tenderly, pulling you closer till his lips push against yours. Both of your lips moving in a sensual dance that leave you breathless as he parts your lips with his sneaky experienced tongue. You gasp into his mouth as you feel Benn spit on your ass, his thumb rubbing against your tight hole in a circle to spread his saliva all over you. “Stay relaxed baby.” Benn’s voice is filled with patience as he uses his other hand to aim the tip of his dick against you. Shanks distracts you a bit with his tongue swirling into your mouth, sucking on your tongue with a groan. You whine into his mouth as you feel his hand run down your back to your ass, spreading you open for his Vice Captain.

Benn licks his lips as he slowly sinks his tip into your puckered hole, hissing as he feels your warmth gripping his cock like a glove. “Damn.” Benn’s deep voice sends chills down your spine, the new sensation of having something enter your ass makes your brain hyperfocus. You can’t help but clench around the tip of Benn’s cock, “Easy~ baby.” Benn tells you as he massages your back to get you to settle down as he sinks his cock in deeper. Shanks grinds his hips upward to stimulate you and allow you to relax for Benn to dive in deeper, drinking in the sound of your moan as the curve of his cock aims right on the spot you need him too. Benn moves his hand around your body to rub circles on your clit causing you to gasp into Shanks mouth.

“Almost there baby. Fuck you’re doing so good.” Benn groaned as his cock was halfway into your ass with Shanks grinding into your wet cunt, your juices dripping down with heighted lust. You had to pull away from the deep kiss that Shanks was giving you to catch your breath, your hands pressed against his muscled chest as he pulled his hand back to spank your ass. “Man ain’t you just the prettiest thing. Just a few hours ago you couldn’t stand the sight of a couple pirates, now look at you. Coming apart, taking two cocks at once.” Shanks teasing had you so embarrassed but when you wanted to complain Benn slammed his hips forward into your warm hole with a deep drawn out grumble. The sudden slam of his cock hitting deep inside of you forced a loud scream to leave your throat, eyes rolling back as his fingers circled your clit.

“Fuck! Benn! Oh fuck you’re both so deep!” You babble as Benn moves you up and down on Shanks cock. “Should we stop?” Benn questioned as he pressed on your clit more with harder pressure, a grind of his hips just as Shanks did the same made your jaw drop.

“No! Fuck don’t you dare stop! Please keep going!” You gasp out as your fingers unconsciously dig into Shanks chest, when his hips swirl into you. “Trust me baby we’re not stopping.” Benn smirks down at Shanks who gets the silent hint to swap hand placements, the redhead going to rub your clit as Benn puts both his hands on your hips to start lifting you up and down on their cocks as they push their hips up to meet you. The position only driving their long cocks further into you with each thrust of their skilled hips.

You never imagined there would be a day that you would think a pirate was attractive let alone two pirates yet here you were. Your body was being used perfectly as you just took what they gave you. You knew pirates took what they wanted you just never thought it would be your body and man did they take good care of it. Words of praise dripping like honey down your body, your temperature rising with every brush of their lips against your skin. Goosebumps formed as they hushed the most vulgar words you’ve ever heard into your ears. You never thought you were innocent actually you considered yourself far from it but with how they were talking to you it definitely changed your stance on the matter.

“You have such a perfect pussy, so wet and slippery on my cock. Taking my vice captain so good in that pretty ass of yours too- fuck baby.” Shanks moaned out his eyes enraptured by how beautifully wrecked you looked. Your back was pressed against Benn’s chest, your hips now moving wildly on their own accord. Wanton moans leaving you as your head was thrown back on the shooter’s shoulder, his hand gently wrapped around your throat as he sucked mark after mark onto your neck. Benn couldn’t help his constant marking, his oral fixation in hyperdrive and needing something to do. Shanks watched you both intensely, his eyes roaming every inch of your body up and down, pausing to watch the ring of cream that was forming on the base of his cock like a masterpiece.

Your arm without thinking went behind and around Benn’s neck to grip at his hair, not realizing how you ripped the cheap ponytail that held his hair up. Black strands cascading around his face as continued to slam his thick cock into you, taking your breath away as well as his at the feel of you. Benn felt his eyes roll back as you tugged on the raven locks, a deep growlish moan escaping as he bit into your neck before swirling his tongue against the mark. His thick fingers digging into the flesh of your hips making you whimper as he only rocked you down harder.

You felt the boiling in your body, the tingling in the pit of your stomach as your toes curled and thighs trembled. “Fuckfuckfuck! Im gonna~!”

“I know you are sweetheart. Just let it out baby.” Shanks breathed out with a grin. “So pretty cumming for a couple of dirty pirates. Nothing but lowlife scum but you love it huh?”

“Yes! Fuck I love your cocks so much!” You wailed out as Shanks rubbed your clit faster. “Hell yeah you do you naughty girl. Ugh fuck- you little liar want to act all tough but look at her - uh fuck- crying over some pirates fucking her so good.” Shanks moaned out trying to keep his eyes on you even though they wanted to roll in the back of his head at the feel of your walls tightening. “Shit you’re beautiful.”

“You like having pirates use this pretty body of yours don’t you baby doll?” Benn asked in your ear, turning your face towards his, your fingers still tangled into his tresses as you pathetically nod. “Prove it darling. Cum for us dirty pirates.” You couldn’t hold back the moan that ripped through you, your body shaking as Benn held you up both mens hips not stopping as they helped you ride your wave.

You never really squirted in your life but with both men drilling their gorgeous cocks into you at a fast pace you guess it was time for your body to do the unexpected. A gasp left you as your body erupted with pure ecstasy and unimaginable pleasure. You always thought pirates were good for nothing but damn did they change your mind when you felt your walls tighten and vision go blinding white. It’s like your body felt every pulse of your cock, every vein, every delicious curve and thrust that they were giving to you. The perfect tip of Shanks’ cock pounding into your g-spot with every thrust like a magnet was attached and Benn hitting your walls only pushed Shanks in deeper.

“That’s it princess there we go. Wetter pussy than the fucking ocean.” Shanks hissed as he watched the way you soaked his cut abs, his fingers rubbing your pussy causing an even bigger mess. “We picked the perfect fucking island.” Shanks grinned as he moved his hand up to lick the mess that you made all over him, eyes finally rolling back at the taste of your sticky juices. Benn groaned into your neck feeling the vice grip your ass had around his thick, veiny cock and knew he was about to cum once you tugged on his hair harder.

“Pull my hair harder baby doll. Let me have it.” Benn groaned out before smashing his lips to yours, tongues battling but clearly he was winning as your body was still lit up with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Shanks licking up the mess you made like a starved wild animal as his eyes trained on the both of you kissing messily. Drool slipping down your chin as Benn’s hands trailed down to squeeze your tights making you whine and tug on his hair harder like he requested. His hips rocked into you harder as he felt his balls tighten and pulse, “Mmm!” His hands gripped your breasts harder as he lost his rhythm a bit before sinking further into your ass.

Hot cum flooding your ass in thick sticky ropes as a long moan was shared between the two of you in a deep kiss. Shanks licked his lips as he fucked up into you harder and faster, his hand gripped your hips to force you down to meet his thrusts. Feet planting on the bed for better leverage as his jaw tightened but he needed to see you cum again.

“Benn hold her still.” Shanks’ voice sounded deeper and more stern and you quickly felt Benn drag his hands down to your hips to grip you tight. His lips leaving yours to talk in your ears, “Look at my Captain.” You don’t mean to pout but you do and Shanks sees it, his hips snapping up harder into yours snatching a gasp from you that makes you look at him.

Shanks fucks you harder like he suddenly hates your pussy and you can’t figure out why until he speaks, his thumb rubbing your clit in harsh circles. “Why the fuck did you have to eat a damn fruit!” He snaps and fucks you harder, the scowl on his face a drastic difference to his earlier sweet demeanor. “Naughty fucking girl just had to eat one of those stupid fucking things.” You couldn’t figure out why he hated them so much and honestly in that moment you could care less what his problem with devils fruits were when he was fucking you as good as he was.

“Such a perfect fucking cunt and you just had to ruin it! Uh hah! Fuckfuckfuck! Pussy fits so well around my cock! Dammit!” His words are coming out in angry growls and Benn’s grip on you tightens his lips busying themselves again to nip at your neck and mumble out words as well. “Damn shame or we could be doing this all the time.” Benn whispers in your ear before sucking on your neck. You wanted to ask them questions on what they meant but you couldn’t not with how you felt another orgasm speeding towards you. You didn’t think you had another in you but it was fast approaching. Your fingers tugged again on Benn’s hair and the man hissed as your ass clenched around his oversensitive cock.

“Bad, bad girl. Perfect pussy though.” Shanks groaned as he rammed his cock deeper.

“Shanks! Shanks, I think I’m gonna cum again!” You cry out and the man only smirks as he keeps fucking up into you and rubbing your clit. “Go ahead baby. You gonna let me cum in this pretty pussy of yours?” He asks you and as much as your brain is screaming no you can’t help but moan out a yes.

“See~ what a bad girl you are. Letting some filthy pirates cum in your little holes. A yonko at that.” Shanks grins and you just stare at him with blurry eyes, your body shaking not being able to argue with anything he’s saying. His hips thrust harder as he feels you cumming around his cock again, this time his cock twitches and ropes of his seed flood your pussy. Tingles running throughout both of your bodies as his eyes roll back into his skull. “Oh sweetheart~” His moan whimpers out at the end, feeling how tight your pussy gets and he’s gasping for air chest rising and falling rapidly.

All of you are breathing heavily as you finally snap back into reality, the situation sinking in further and you can’t believe you just had sex with two pirates, one of whom was a yonko.

Did you fuck up? Probably… but it was too good to regret. You don’t remember how you fell asleep or even when but when you woke up all traces of Shanks and his crew vanished. You wondered if everything that happened was real or not but there was no doubting the cum that dripped from your gaping used holes.

Remnants of a night you’ll never forget.

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