#season one was a lifetime ago

[generaltano]

anyone else feel like that finale wasn't real?

[lilidawnonthemoon]

10 YEARS WITH GFRIEND 🤍🩵💜

January 16th 2015

« I may seem like a clear glass bead but I won’t break that easily »

[secondhandlovers]

Decided to start rewatching Hannibal tonight

[unopenablebox]

attempting to figure out what to get my dad for father’s day. unfortunately his main hobby is flyfishing & fly-tying, which is like knitting in that each person has an extremely specific set of things that they would like or use, and unless you have an opportunity to go rummage thru their desk there’s absolutely no chance you guess the right thing, and even then you probably still don’t

[jezebelblues]

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 | 𝐇.𝐒 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐧’𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐬. [nov’18–may’19]

requested!! thank u anon, i hope u enjoy :)

𝐂𝐖: unexpected pregnancy, labor + labor pains, fem!reader. i think that’s it!!

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 12.3k

❏ hope yall don’t mind that i included louis in this. i miss him fr. also, thank u again anon <3 hope this wasn’t too long

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

Life had slowed, but only just—somehow still breezy with that undercurrent of momentum that carried him from One Direction fevered heights, to the steady rhythm of his own solo journey. Fame was no stranger, but this? These moments were the ones he cherished most. He glanced at his wife, her eyes twinkling as she sat with their son. The simple joy of this evening reminded him of how far they had come. The quiet, intimate wedding in Holmes Chapel five years ago, the shockwaves it sent through the internet because they had managed to keep it so private, and then, only a year later, the unexpected news that YN was pregnant with Atlas.

He could still remember the exact moment he found out about their little surprise, how the world had seemed to tilt on its axis when she told him. It had been unplanned, a complete shock, but one that had filled him with a profound sense of love and responsibility.

Five years ago felt like a lifetime ago, yet it also felt like yesterday.

Five Years Earlier – November first, Holmes Chapel

The cold was sharp outside, but the small cottage Harry and YN had rented for the holiday season felt warm, cozy even. A fire crackled softly in the fireplace, and YN sat curled up on the couch, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. Outside, a gentle snow, the first of the season, had started to fall, covering the village in a blanket of white.

Harry had been out all day, helping his mother with some last-minute holiday preparations. The quiet of the house felt calming to YN, but there was something on her mind, something that had been gnawing at her for the past month. Her period was late—later than it had ever been.

She had noticed other small things too. A slight queasiness in the mornings that she initially brushed off as stress from the hectic, upcoming holiday season. But now, as she sat there, the weight of realization started to sink in. She might be pregnant.

Her heart pounded as she thought about it. They hadn’t planned for this. They had only been married for about a year, and though they had talked about children, it had always been a vague, distant future sort of conversation. But now, the possibility was staring her in the face, and she wasn’t sure how Harry would react.

Would he be excited? Nervous? Overwhelmed?

She glanced at her phone, considering whether to text him and ask him to pick up a pregnancy test on his way home. No, that felt too impersonal.

She had paced the empty hallways of the cottage, occasionally texting her husband back or scrolling through instagram. She knew Harry like the back of her hand, he wouldn’t be upset—perhaps a bit overwhelmed, but upset? No, from the years they’ve known each other, he loved children. She couldn’t count on her fingers the amount of dance sessions, hide and go seeks, and cartoon watching she’d walk in on when he was with the children of his family or friends. And from the discussions they’ve shared of their own future children, she knew he’d be ecstatic—she just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

A few hours later, the front door creaked open, and Harry’s voice echoed through the small cottage. “Lovey, y’here? S’cold as hell out there.”

She stood, wrapping Harry’s sweater tighter around her frame, trying to keep her nerves in check as she walked towards him. He looked so carefree, a light dusting of snow in his hair, his cheeks rosy from the cold, a grin already stretching across his face when he saw her.

“Got y’favorite mince pies from the bakery,” he announced, holding up a small paper bag as he walked towards her. “Mum says we need to fatten you up f’the winter.”

YN laughed softly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She could feel the words bubbling up in her throat, but she didn’t know how to say them. Instead, she took the bag from him and set it on the counter.

He began to shuffle around the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a few glasses. He absentmindedly hummed a tune his wife didn’t quite recognize as he floated toward the freezer, pulling out a frosted glass bottle of rum with a smile. “Mum said she would’ve made it herself but–” He laughed, shaking his head as he set the bottle down on the counter with a heavy clank. “She’s decorating the house. Looks like autumn threw up in there.”

YN only responded in a gentle chuckle, one that made him look up with his eyebrows furrowed. Harry frowned, immediately noticing the shift in her demeanor. He paused, his eyes scanning her face with concern. “Everything alright, sweet girl?”

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. Her eyes burrowed into his, shifting gaze from one eye to the other. Her lips parted, unsure of how to form the words that sat heavily in her throat. She exhaled, managing a smile as she shook her head. “Just a bit tired, thats all.”

She couldn’t tell him until she was sure. If he were to be overjoyed, she didn’t want to get his hopes up on the off-chance she wasn’t pregnant.

Harry paused for a moment, not fully convinced, but he didn’t want to push. If something was wrong, she’d tell him when she felt ready. So, he only smiled back as he unscrewed the rum and poured into the square glasses. He looked at her expectantly as he raised his eyebrows, bringing her a glass.

She stared at it as if it would jump out at her, her reflection waning in the amber liquid. She pulled her lips between her teeth, shaking her head as her cheeks flushed. “Not feeling it tonight.”

At that point, Harry knew something was wrong. He furrowed his eyebrows, setting her—well, what was supposed to be hers—drink on the counter before he took a sip of his. “You sure y’alright?”

She brushed it off with a laugh, stepping toward him as he remained leaning against the counter. YN pressed a gentle kiss on his rum-slicked lips, cold to the touch. “You worry too much.”

He wrapped his arm around her head, pulling her into his chest with a sigh. “Rightfully so, m’love. Stubborn as a mule, you are.”

She scoffed, though only humor was laced in her tone. She pushed back from him, folding her arms over her chest with a feigned frown.

“What?” He smiled, taking another sip. “Should be titled an archeologist the way I dig for your heart.”

“Oh shut it, Styles. You’ve done no such thing.”

He laughed, placing his glass on the counter behind him and gently holding onto the edges. “You’re only proving my point, lovey.”

She rolled her eyes, flicking his chest before she began to step off toward the bedroom. YN looked over her shoulder expectantly with a sly smile. “You’re not gonna join me?”

She didn’t need to ask him twice.

He tugged his shirt off, tossing it aside as his wife’s laughter echoed down the hallway. She darted toward their bedroom, her giggles trailing behind her like music. Grabbing his glass from the counter and kicking off his shoes, he chased after her, a wide, mischievous grin lighting up his face.

There was a gloomy, gray sky the next morning, the kind where the clouds stretched thick across the sky, holding back any hint of sun. YN had woken up before dawn with a gnawing queasiness—a feeling that had been creeping up more often lately. She pressed her hand to her stomach, trying to calm the discomfort.

She reached into the plastic bag, pulling out the small pregnancy test she ordered from doordash before the sun rose. She had tipped the dasher generously before staring at it in the restroom for what felt like hours. Her mind buzzed, unsteady with thoughts she couldn’t quite wrangle. The idea of being pregnant had only crossed her mind like a shooting star. She was nervous. They were still basking in the simplicity of their life, the unexpected quiet of their year-old marriage. This hadn’t been in the plan.

But here she was, two minutes ticking by like hours as she stared at the test resting on the edge of the sink.

And then, there it was.

Two blue lines.

Her heart raced, a mix of emotions she could barely process flooded her chest. She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel—excitement, worry, fear? It was all tangled together in a knot she didn’t have the strength to untangle. She felt a hint of guilt wash over her; how could she feel uncertain about something so beautiful? But it was real, and she knew it. This was so real.

She sank to the edge of the clawfoot tub in the small bathroom, hugging her arms around herself. She let herself sit there for a while, just breathing in and out, letting the realization wash over her like waves on a shore, eroding her hesitation bit by bit. Eventually, she felt a warmth begin to spread, a tentative but growing love, a sense that maybe, just maybe, this was meant to be.

Oh, god—but Harry.

Mere discussions about a hazy future never felt so prophetic.

Footsteps on the old wooden floor outside the bathroom brought her back to reality. Harry’s voice called from the kitchen, warm and sleepy, a mug clinking on the counter. “Love, you up?”

Her stomach twisted again, this time more with nerves than nausea. She took a deep breath, tucking the test in her hand and opening the door. As she stepped out, she found her husband leaning against the counter, his hair tousled from sleep, a soft smile on his face as he sipped from his mug.

“Couldn’t fall back asleep,” she murmured, her voice just above a whisper.

Harry raised an eyebrow, setting down his mug as he studied her face, his expression shifting to one of gentle concern. ”You’ve been off since yesterday, please, just tell me what’s wrong?”

YN took a breath, feeling the weight of the words she was about to speak. She crossed the small space between them, the floorboards creaking softly under her bare feet. Her hands trembled as she reached for his, and he immediately stilled, sensing her unease.

“Don’t freak out, okay?“ She said, her voice breaking ever so slightly.

Harry’s gaze softened, his fingers curling around hers. “Alright,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. “Swear it.”

She swallowed, her eyes dropping to where their hands joined, and finally, she managed to say it. “I’m–” she sighed, “I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air between them, and she felt his hand go still, his thumb pausing mid-stroke. She dared a glance up at his face, and in his eyes, she saw the shock she’d been expecting. His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

It was the longest silence she’d ever felt.

And then, slowly, a smile began to break across his face, soft at first, hesitant, but growing. His eyes sparkled with something she hadn’t expected—something gentle and pure, and so, so warm. “You’re… serious?”

She nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips, a mix of nerves and relief. “Yeah. I know it’s not what we planned, and I—”

Harry pulled her into his arms, wrapping her up tightly as if he never wanted to let go. She felt his heartbeat racing against her cheek, felt the slight tremor in his breath as he held her.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes glassy with emotion. “This is… I mean, I wasn’t expecting this, but…” He paused, his voice catching. “But, YN, this—this is everything.”

A smile broke across her face, the warmth in her chest growing, all her fears melting as she looked up at him. “Are you sure?”

Harry laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. “I’m sure.” His eyes held hers, full of something she could only describe as love beyond anything she’d known before. “I mean, look at us. We’ve done everything backwards and upside down, haven’t we?” He chuckled, his dimples deepening. “Why not this too?”

They laughed together, and in that moment, all her worries felt so small, so distant. Harry pressed his forehead against hers, his hands holding her gently. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “We’re going to be parents?”

YN nodded, her own laughter mingling with tears she hadn’t realized were there. “I guess we are.”

Harry wrapped her up again, his arms strong and sure around her. “Our little family.” He looked around, a spark of excitement lighting his gaze. “The start of everything, right here.”

They stood there, wrapped up in each other, in the quiet of the small cottage, a peacefulness settling over them. The morning light had started to creep in through the windows, casting a soft glow over them, and for a moment, the world felt perfectly still.

But as the initial excitement settled, the reality of the situation hit her hard. Morning sickness, which was more like all day sickness for YN, kicked in with a vengeance. She wondered what crime she may have committed in a past life to deserve such a karma.

She spent most of her mornings hunched over the toilet, her stomach in knots, while Harry hovered nearby, rubbing her back and murmuring soothing words. “It’ll pass, baby.” He would say, though there was a flicker of worry in his eyes every time she retched.

The first trimester was rough. YN felt exhausted all the time, her body aching and her emotions all over the place. There were days when she could barely keep food down, and the nausea was so overwhelming that she couldn’t even stand the smell of Harry’s cologne.

But through it all, he was a constant source of support. He made her ginger tea in the mornings, rubbed her feet when they swelled, and stayed up late with her on the nights when she couldn’t sleep. He even held her hair back during the worst bouts of sickness, never once complaining or losing his patience.

Still, telling their friends and family was daunting. Anne had been thrilled, of course, immediately launching into grandma mode, talking about knitting booties and baby blankets. But YN worried about telling the public. Harry had always been fiercely protective of their privacy, and the idea of sharing something so intimate with the world felt overwhelming.

“I don’t want people to think anything bad of me.” She admitted to him one night as they lay in bed. She had spent the entire day feeling nauseous, and her nerves were frayed.

Harry propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her with a gentle smile. “No one’s going to think like that, baby.. And if they do, then screw ‘em. This is our family. No one else’s.”

His words, simple as they were, helped ease some of the anxiety gnawing at her. They would announce it when they were ready, and in the meantime, they would enjoy these private, intimate moments together.

A few weeks later, when YN was finally starting to feel a little better, they gathered their closest friends and family to tell them the news. Harry’s friend’s were among the first to know. They had gathered at their place in London, a casual get-together that didn’t feel too obvious or formal.

Jeff had been the first to catch on, his brow furrowing as he noticed YN sipping ginger ale instead of her usual glass of wine on occasions like these. “Wait a minute…” he began, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he glanced between them. Oh God, you’re pregnant aren’t you?”

The room fell silent for a moment as Harry and YN exchanged a glance, a grin tugging at Harry’s lips. “Surprise!”

The room erupted into chaos. Mitch nearly fell out of his chair, laughing and shouting congratulations at the same time. Pauli looked like he might cry, and Sarah immediately started teasing Harry about how he’d better get used to sleepless nights.

“You two are gonna be knackered for the next eighteen years,” she quipped, though there was a deep affection in her eyes as she clapped Harry on the back. “But you’ll be great parents. I know it.”

As the weeks continued to pass and YN’s belly began to show, Harry’s excitement seemed to grow right along with it. He took over more and more of the household chores, practically hovering over her with a devotion that was both endearing and—just occasionally—a little over the top. But that was Harry; he never did anything halfway, and preparing to become a dad was no exception.

One evening, after a long day, they lay in bed, YN nestled against Harry’s chest as he rested a hand on her belly. His fingers traced slow, absentminded circles over her small bump, his gaze softening as he looked down at her.

“Have y’thought about names?” he asked quietly, voice almost a murmur. There was a trace of wonder in his eyes, as if he were asking the question for the first time.

She smiled, shrugging lightly. The idea of names had been floating around in her mind for a while, but nothing had quite felt right yet. “Mm, I’ve got a few in mind,” she said with a teasing glint in her eye. “Think I’m just gonna call ’em Fetus for now.”

Harry let out a laugh, his face lighting up as he shook his head. “Poor kid,” he said, voice full of warmth. He shifted lower, pressing a soft kiss to her belly. “Fetus Styles,” he whispered against her skin, his lips brushing her gently, sending a spark of laughter through her.

Her smile never faltered, fingers combing through his curls as he settled his head on her bump, gazing up at her through his lashes. He held her gaze for a moment, then suddenly broke into a grin, blowing raspberries onto her belly with glint in his eye.

She laughed, Harry faltering into her growing tummy as his phone began to ting with a mess of texts. He grabbed his phone that lay upon his wife’s thighs, sitting up beside her against the headboard with a wide smile as the phone illuminated his face.

She knit her eyebrows together, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Who has you smiling?”

He unlocked his phone, “Lou. I told him I had to talk to him tonight.”

She laughed as Harry clicked on the contact, pressing the facetime icon as the ringing filled the air. “It’s what..?” She trailed off, flickering her eyes in thought. “Noon in LA? Surprised he’s even up.”

After a beat, the screen flashed to life, and there he was—Louis, bleary-eyed, half-sprawled across his couch, nursing a mug of tea. He squinted at the screen, a smirk forming as he took them both in.

“Bloody ‘ell, look at you two all cozy!” He drawled, taking a sip. “Thought I was interrupting somethin’.” He chuckled, giving them a teasing wink.

Harry rolled his eyes, holding the phone between them. “Shut up. We’re just havin’ a quiet night in.” He glanced over at YN, then back at the screen, his grin a little wider. “‘Nd I needed to talk t’you, yeah?”

Louis’s smirk softened, curiosity lighting up his expression. “Right. What’s this then?”

He took a quick breath, almost unable to keep the smile off his face as he turned the phone back to YN, who gave Louis a warm smile before glancing at Harry. He squeezed her shoulder, then looked back to the screen, letting the words tumble out. “We’re havin’ a baby!”

For a moment, Louis just stared, the mug paused halfway to his lips as he absorbed the words. His mouth broke into a grin, and he let out a laugh. “Oi, you’re pullin’ my leg!” He leaned closer, shaking his head. “Wait, wait, you’re serious, aren’t ya?”

“Dead serious,” YN said, her voice gentle as she leaned in closer to Harry. “We’ve known for a few weeks now, but wanted to tell you ourselves.”

He sat up straighter, rubbing a hand over his face as he took it in, his grin somehow widening. “Jesus, Haz. A dad,” he mused, a playful sparkle in his eye. “I mean, didn’t see this comin’ back when you were too busy worryin’ about a pair of blue suede shoes to think about nappies.”

Harry let out a laugh, playfully nudging YN. “See, I’m just followin’ y’example, mate.”

Louis snorted, giving a mock scowl. “Better be—Freddie’s halfway to graduating high school it feels like. You’ve got some catchin’ up to do.” He settled back into the couch, softening as he looked at them both. “But seriously, this is brilliant, you two. Gonna make one hell of a mum and dad, aren’t ya?”

Harry glanced over at YN, his gaze lingering, soft and full of a quiet pride. “Hope so,” he said, smiling down at her before turning back to Louis. “Just been… sittin’ with it. So many things I wanna teach ’em, y’know?”

“Best get started on that lullaby playlist, then,” Lou teased, though there was warmth in his tone. “Bet you’re already plannin’ that first guitar lesson.”

YN laughed, rubbing a hand over her belly. “It’s just been a whirlwind, honestly. We haven’t even found out the gender yet.”

Louis grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Surprise ’n all? Makes it even better. Though if y’need tips on anythin’, I’ve got all the dad tricks—like what not to say when they’re askin’ questions in front of their mum.”

“Great,” Harry chuckled. “Start a whole book for me, will ya?”

Lou winked, lifting his mug. “Already makin’ notes. First chapter’s on nappies and the art of avoidin’ baby food on your shirt.” Then, his expression softened as he leaned closer. “Nah, for real. Couldn’t be happier for you two. And for that kid, too. Already got the best start with you both.”

Harry swallowed, his hand finding YN’s, giving it a gentle squeeze as he held his friend’s gaze through the screen. “Means a lot, you’ll be his grumpy, old uncle, yeah?”

Louis grinned, nodding with a playful glint in his eye. “Best be—I’ll have ’em singin’ the chorus to No Control by the time I’m done. YN, darling, don’t you worry—I’ll keep him in line.”

YN chuckled, leaning her head on Harry’s shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that, Lou.”

“Damn right you will,” Louis shot back, settling back against his couch, eyes full of pride and a mischievous excitement. “And when I’m back over, s’gonna be you two doin’ the nappies, while I teach that kid how to annoy his dad.”

Harry feigned a groan, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Cheers, mate.” Louis raised his mug, a glimmer of something genuine in his gaze. “Can’t wait. Love you both, yeah?”

Harry grinned, feeling the weight of Louis’s words. “Love you, too, Lou. Cheers.”

And as they hung up, YN nestled closer, both of them feeling the joy of sharing their secret with someone who’d been there for it all.

A few months had passed, and YN was officially eighteen weeks pregnant. The kitchen was quiet, filled with the warm scent of vanilla as Harry carefully set a single white cupcake on the counter. He’d insisted on something private, just the two of them. No big reveal party or confetti—just a simple cupcake with the surprise hidden inside. YN stood beside him, hands resting on her bump, a grin tugging at her lips as she watched him fuss over it.

“You’re really gonna make me cry over a cupcake, aren’t you?” she teased, nudging him lightly.

Harry’s eyes sparkled as he looked over at her, dimples deepening. “Just y’wait.” He handed her the small knife, his fingers brushing hers, and his voice softened. “Ready?”

She nodded, her heartbeat picking up as she sliced through the cupcake. Slowly, she pulled the two halves apart, then stared down at the filling inside.

Bright green.

For a moment, they both froze, staring down in complete confusion. Harry tilted his head, mouth slightly open, brow furrowed as he looked at her, then back at the cupcake. “Uh… m’pretty sure green wasn’t one of the options.”

YN snorted, a laugh bubbling out as she lifted the cupcake up to inspect it. “Maybe they’re tellin’ us we’re having a little Niall?”

Harry’s eyes crinkled as he burst into laughter, clutching his chest. “God help us if there’s a little Irish guitar player in there.”

She grinned, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. “You think they’ll come out singin’ ‘Mull of Kintyre’?”

Harry laughed, covering his face with his hand. “First words’ll be potato, just y’watch.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “This is what we get for trustin’ a bloody cupcake.”

She rolled her eyes, reaching for her bag on the counter. “Should’ve gone with the doctor’s letter instead of dessert.” After a moment of rummaging, she triumphantly held up the small, folded envelope, smiling. “Alright, now you ready?”

Harry nodded, moving closer, his hand resting gently over hers as she slowly unfolded the paper. They both took a breath, glancing at each other before reading the bold, printed words inside.

Right underneath a blurry ultrasound picture printed onto the visit summary, there it was written.

Fetal sex: Male

For a heartbeat, they both just stared at the words, the realization washing over them like a warm tide.

“A little boy,” Harry murmured, his voice filled with awe as he shook his head in disbelief. “We’re gonna have a son.”

YN’s eyes sparkled as she looked at him, a wide smile breaking across her face. “A son,” she repeated softly, her hand covering his on her belly. Already, she could see him—a little boy with Harry’s eyes, his laughter, his kindness.

Harry swallowed, his own eyes misty as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, then resting his against hers. “Think we’re ready for him?”

She let out a soft laugh, brushing away a tear. “Not even close,” she whispered, her fingers lacing with his over her belly. “But I think we’ll do just fine.”

It was mid February by this point, a few weeks after celebrating Harry’s twenty-fifth birthday. The air had a sharp chill, and YN readjusted Harry’s oversized hoodie that hung off her growing frame, something that hid her bump well. They were dressed comfy and warm, Harry in a pair of sunnies with his hoodie pulled over his head. She nestled closer into her husband as they walked through the quiet side streets of London. They’d just finished lunch at their favorite café, savoring the rare chance to slip out together unnoticed. She pulled the hoodie over her head as a gust of wind brushed by.

“Wish we had days like this more often,” Harry murmured, his fingers lacing through hers as they made their way back to the car. “Just us, y’know?”

She smiled, leaning into him. “You mean just the two of us and fetus?”

Harry squeaked out a laugh that sounded like the ones from his early days in the x-factor, squeezing her hand. “Right, fetus. Can’t forget our little tagalong now.”

But as they turned onto the next street, something shifted—a distant hum of voices, then a sharp click of a camera. Before they could react, the quiet street filled with flashes, and a group of paparazzi materialized around them, spilling onto the sidewalk.

It wasn’t a swarm, just about five or so that were tipped off about Harry walking about the city in a pair of sunnies, as if that could keep him hidden.

“Harry! Harry! Just one photo!” A bald man shouted, pushing forward. The camera flashes came in rapid succession, blinding in the midday light.

He immediately shifted, drawing YN closer to his side, his hand protectively resting into her waist as he tried to steer her forward. “Alright, mate, that’s close enough,” he called out, his voice tense but calm.

“Harry, are the rumors true?” another voice shouted, barely inches from them, more cameras held up like a barrier.

“Just please let us through, yeah?” Harry’s voice was firmer now, his hand moving to shield YN’s face, pressing her into his chest as the crowd closed in tighter.

A jostle from the side sent her stumbling, and Harry’s arm tightened around her, his jaw clenched. “Hey, enough!” he barked, his voice sharper than she’d ever heard it. He guided her forward, his body acting as a buffer as he tried to clear a path.

“Just one shot, Harry!” a paparazzo persisted, his lens pointed squarely at YN, his hand cupping her cheek as he pressed her face further into his chest, her heart pounding as she held onto Harry.

He shot a glare of his shoulder, jaw clenched as he remained silent, maneuvering his wife past the cameras, his hand never leaving her. He kept his eyes trained ahead as he led her through the last stretch to his car.

Finally reaching the door, he opened it for her, a quick but steady gesture, ushering her in and following right after. The cameras pressed in one last time as he shut the door firmly, finally sealing them off from the swarm outside.

Inside, the car was quiet, insulated from the chaos that still buzzed outside, windows tinted as legally possible. YN let out a shaky breath, her hands in her hoodie pocket as she glanced over at Harry. His face was flushed, a mix of worry and lingering frustration in his eyes.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice gentler now, his hand pulling hers out of the pocket, thumb brushing over her knuckles as he studied her face.

She nodded with a faint smile, trying to steady herself. “Not our first rodeo, H.” She tried to joke. And it was true, it surely wasn’t the first time they’ve been bombarded by paps. YN wasn’t famous prior to meeting Harry, a smart girl as beautiful as she, he simply couldn’t ignore.

She was a friend of Anne’s best friend’s daughter, bumping into each other at a family gathering in 2014, immediately becoming close friends. He offered her a ride home that night, and when she thanked him profusely and offered to give him gas money, he knew then and there he was going to fall in love with this woman.

Fans and paps galore started delving into her life in late 2015, when a grainy picture of them kissing at a bar after a London show exploded on twitter. Since then, she always known about the lack of privacy in Harry’s life. And honestly, she’s still trying to adjust to it.

He exhaled, his fingers tightening around hers. “Hate that they got that close to you. Wish they’d just..” He trailed off, clenching his jaw as he glanced out the window, his gaze hardening when he saw the cameras still lingering in the distance.

She squeezed his hand, her voice soft. “It’s alright, baby. I’m alright.” She could see the tension in his shoulders slowly easing, though he still held her hand as if anchoring himself. “They don’t know, and that’s okay for now. It’s just us, remember?”

Harry nodded as he pulled from the curb, driving down the narrow street toward the red light. He turned back to her, his green eyes softening, and he nodded slowly. “Just us. Right.” His shoulders relaxed a little more, a trace of a smile returning to his face as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead while the light was still red.

But before he could pull away, she let out a small gasp, eyes widening as she felt a firm, insistent little nudge low on her belly. She looked up at him, her own hand moving instinctively to her bump.

Green illuminated over them, a honking echoing from behind as he froze in concern. “What?” He breathed, turning a corner to head to the grocery store in the distance, seeking a temporary refuge in the parking lot. He glanced between YN and the road, heart beating in his ears. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He raised his voice, though it wasn’t out of anger, just an anxiety that threatened to boil over.

She shook her head, her face breaking into a soft smile. “Nothing’s wrong, Harry. He just kicked.”

Harry’s eyes lit up instantly, his frustration melting away as he stared at her, a grin forming slowly. “He did?”

She nodded, pulling his hand to her belly as he parked. “Right here. Just now.”

He held his breath, his palm pressed against her bump, waiting. And there it was again—a tiny but unmistakable kick, nudging firmly against his hand.

Harry’s face broke into a radiant smile, his whole expression softening with awe. “Oi, there’s my little striker,” he mused, his voice thick with affection as he looked down at her belly. “We’ll have you in a Man United kit before you’re out of nappies, won’t we?”

She laughed, his words melting away the last traces of tension from the encounter outside. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you? Picking his team and all?”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling with pure excitement. “No chance he’ll be an Arsenal player.. First kicks mean we’ve got a future midfielder on our hands, yeah?” He grinned, “Dads gonna make sure y’got the right colors on you, bub.”

YN couldn’t help but laugh, her heart swelling as she watched the joy take over his face. She reached up, tucking a curl behind his ear, her fingers lingering against his cheek. “He’s already got you wrapped around his tiny little foot.”

Harry chuckled, leaning in to kiss her, his hand still resting against her belly, feeling another small nudge. “S’pose I’ll let him get away with it. Just this once.”

*

March arrived in a blink.

It was early, the kind of early that still belonged to the night, when Harry’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. The world outside was still draped in darkness, the streets silent, as if London itself hadn’t quite woken up. Harry stirred, slowly pulled from the depths of sleep by the vibration of his phone. He squinted in the dim light, his vision blurry, barely able to make out the name on the screen. Jeff.

With a quiet sigh, Harry picked up the phone, pressing it to his ear and trying to shake off the last bits of sleep that clung to him. He glanced over to YN, who lay nestled beside him, her breathing soft and even, lost in a peaceful slumber. Gently, he reached out and brushed his fingers along her cheek, a tired but adoring smile tugging at his lips. She stirred slightly, her head nuzzling into his hand, and he felt a warmth rise in his chest. Moments like this felt sacred, untouched by the outside world.

But then Jeff’s voice broke through the stillness, sharp and apologetic.

“Harry,” Jeff said, his tone low and serious, as if he wished he were calling for any other reason. “Listen, I hate to do this to you, but we’ve got a situation.”

Harry straightened, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. “What is it, mate?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, unwilling to wake YN just yet. He kept his hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing gently along her skin, grounding himself as he listened.

“There’s a magazine,” Jeff continued with a hesitant sigh. “They got photos of you and YN leaving the clinic yesterday after the ultrasound. They’re planning to release them tomorrow—noon sharp.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Harry’s jaw tightened after he took a shaky breath, his eyes falling back on YN, still blissfully asleep. They’d planned everything so carefully, wanting to share the news of their son on their own terms. They’d waited for the perfect moment, wanting to protect this piece of their life from the relentless intrusion of the outside world. And now, it was slipping out of their hands.

“Tomorrow?” he murmured, his heart pounding. He felt a surge of anger rising, and he closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. Jeff waited in silence on the other end of the line, letting him process the news.

“Yeah,” Jeff said softly. “I wanted to give you a heads-up. Figured you’d want to tell people yourselves, do it in a way that feels right.”

Harry nodded, even though Jeff couldn’t see him, his fingers still resting on YN’s cheek, feeling the soft warmth of her skin. “Thanks, Jeff,” he finally whispered, his voice tight. “I’ll–erm–we’ll figure it out.”

He ended the call and placed the phone back on the table, his shoulders slumping as he tried to process what to do next. He looked down at YN, her face peaceful in the darkness, and he felt a pang of guilt at the thought of waking her. She deserved this moment of rest, free from worry and the weight of the world pressing in on them. But he knew he couldn’t keep this from her. Not when it was about their son.

Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his hand moving to cradle her cheek as he murmured softly, “Baby, wake up.”

She stirred, her brows knitting together as she blinked up at him, still half-asleep, a faint smile gracing her lips as she registered his face. “H?” she whispered, her voice groggy and warm. “What time is it?”

“Too early,” he murmured, his own voice weighed down by the news he had to deliver. “Sorry t’wake you, but there’s something we need t‘talk about.”

Her eyes focused, a flicker of concern replacing the drowsiness as she sat up a bit, her hand resting on his. “What’s wrong?”

Harry took a deep breath, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “It’s the pictures,” he paused with a sigh, “from yesterday, after our appointment. Paparazzi took photos, and they’re planning to release them by noon tomorrow.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and she let out a quiet sigh, her gaze dropping to the bed. They’d known this was a possibility—their lives were never entirely private—but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. She leaned into his touch, her fingers lacing through his as they both sat there in the stillness of the early morning, grappling with the realization that their hand was being forced.

“What do we do?” she asked softly, looking up at him with a mixture of worry and sadness.

Harry’s hand moved to hold hers, his grip gentle but steady. “We tell everyone ourselves. Today. We’ll release it before they can, on our own terms.” He paused, his voice softening. “It’s not what we planned, but, at least we can still share him with the world our way.”

YN gave him a small nod, her eyes meeting his with a quiet resilience. They both knew they didn’t have any other choice. She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they took a moment to steady themselves, finding strength in each other.

“Okay,” she murmured after a beat. “I trust you.”

They spent the next hour in the quiet sanctuary of their bedroom, talking about how to share the news. Eventually, Harry decided on something simple, something that would feel personal without giving too much away. He reached for his phone and opened the photo gallery, scrolling until he found the ultrasound image from their last appointment. It was a grainy black-and-white shot, but to him, it was beautiful—a glimpse of their son, small and precious, already loved beyond measure.

He glanced at YN, who gave him a reassuring nod, and then he took a deep breath, opening Instagram. With his fingers hovering over the screen, he crafted the caption, choosing each word carefully, his heart pounding in his chest.

I’ve been waiting to share this part of our journey with you all for a while now. YN and I are expecting a son, and we couldn’t be happier to welcome him into the world soon. Thank you for your love and support—can’t wait for you to meet him.

Love, H

He read it over, then looked at YN, who leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. She gave him a small smile, her fingers brushing his arm. “It’s perfect, baby”

With a final deep breath, he hit post, setting the phone down and letting out a long, steadying exhale. They sat there in the quiet of their room, wrapped up in each other as the reality of what they’d just done settled over them. This was the first time they were sharing their son with the world, and it felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

Within moments, notifications began to flood in, messages of excitement, love, and support from fans around the world who had been waiting eagerly for news like this. Harry glanced at YN, his hand finding hers once more as he gave her a small, relieved smile.

”Cats out’v the bag.” He laughed softly.

She leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “They love you, H. They’ll love him, too.” She reassured.

As the sun finally began to rise outside their window, casting a gentle warmth over the room, Harry held her close, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t expected. Despite the forced timing, despite the circumstances, they had done this together. And from this moment on, they would continue this journ, hand in hand, as a family.

Weeks passed by, and it another chilly March evening, and soft candlelight flickered in the bathroom, casting a warm glow over the walls as steam rose lazily from the tub. The couple sat tucked into the water, surrounded by a mountain of bubbles that floated between them. The bathroom was cozy as Harry’s arms wrapped around her from behind, she leaned back against his chest, her bump nestled between them.

He’d insisted on running the bath for her, adding just the right amount of lavender oil to soothe her muscles, and now they were enveloped in that warm, calming scent, the soft sounds of water lapping around them. Harry’s hands rested gently on her belly, his fingers tracing light circles over the stretched skin as he hummed contentedly, clearly lost in thought.

After a few minutes of quiet, he dipped his head to press a kiss to her shoulder, murmuring, “You know, we haven’t really settled on a name yet.”

YN grinned, biting back a laugh. "Sure we have. Fetus Styles—don’t you remember?”

Harry groaned dramatically, his head falling back against the tub. "God help this boy."

She chuckled, turning her head to look at him. "Fine, fine. So, what do you have in mind, love?"

Harry hummed thoughtfully, his fingers still tracing light circles over her bump. "I dunno. Something that isn’t Fetus or something basic, like David.”

"Otis?" she suggested with a playful smirk. She knew he hated the name.

He snorted, his chest vibrating against her back, shaking his head. "Baby, Otis is the name of that big slobbery dog at the park. Our son deserves better than being named after a drool machine."

She playfully splashed a few bubbles toward him, her laughter filling the room.. "Alright, alright. So, we're vetoing Otis and Fetus, oh wise one.”

“Good,” he said, lowering his head ever so slightly and nibbling her shoulders gently. “So, what else is on your list, then?”

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, looking up at the ceiling as she tried to recall some of the names she’d been turning over in her mind. “I do like Ezra.”

“Ezra,” he repeated, as if tasting the sound of it. “It’s alright. But it sounds like he’d be in a jazz band or something.”

“Maybe he’ll be in a jazz band,” she countered, grinning as she nudged his arm. “A little musician just like his dad.”

Harry hummed, his fingers lightly drumming a rhythm against her belly. “Alright, fair point. Ezra can be a maybe. What else?”

She let out a thoughtful hum, swirling her hand through the bubbles. “What about August?”

“August’s alright I guess,” he said slowly, tilting his head as he considered it. “But I don’t know. August Styles..feels like he’d be a mischievous little troublemaker.”

“Like his dad, you mean?” she teased, glancing up at him with a knowing smile.

He grinned, shrugging. “If he takes after me, he’ll definitely be one,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But I dunno. Still doesn’t feel quite right. But I do like the idea of an A name.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, each of them lost in their thoughts as the water lapped softly around them. Harry’s hands moved back to her belly, his touch gentle and reverent, as if he were trying to connect with their son through the warm water and the growing curve of her bump. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the warmth of the bath and the feeling of his arms around her.

After a while, Harry spoke again, his voice soft and thoughtful. “What about Atlas?”

YN opened her eyes, blinking up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Atlas?”

“Yeah.” He shifted slightly, his hand still resting on her belly as he looked at her, his eyes warm. “It’s strong, y’know? Unique. I like the idea of him having a name that feels like he could carry the world if he wanted to.”

YN let the name settle, repeating it to herself, and feeling it take root, becoming more than just a word. “Atlas Styles,” she said softly, letting the sound roll off her tongue. “It fits him, I think. Strong like his kicks.” She giggled.

Harry’s face lit up as he grinned down at her, his dimples deepening, a twinkle of something unspoken sparking in his eyes. “Exactly,” he murmured, trailing a hand gently over her bump. “Atlas Styles. Got the name of a proper legend already. Manchester United should be countin’ themselves lucky.”

YN laughed again, rolling her eyes as she turned to face him. “Oh, really? Our boy is still going to save Manchester United, is he?”

“Obviously,” Harry said, his grin widening. “Just imagine it—Atlas Styles, midfield maestro, dominating the pitch. The crowd chanting his name.” He mimics the sound of a roaring crowd in a hush, “‘Atlas! Atlas!” He chanted in a whisper, “United will have never seen anything like him. They’d be winning the league every season with a name like that.”

She shook her head, fighting a laugh as she slipped a few bubbles onto his nose. “Right, because he won’t be busy enough carrying the world. He’ll just take Manchester United on his back too?”

Harry shrugged, brushing the bubbles away with a look of mock seriousness. “Our little Atlas can handle it all. With a name like that, he’ll be unstoppable.” He leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “But, if he’s not into football, I s’pose that’s alright too.”

YN smiled, squeezing his hand, warmth spreading through her as she thought of their little Atlas and all the dreams they had for him—footballer or not, world-bearer or not, he would be loved beyond measure.

*

The rain pattered softly against the window as April rolled in, casting a gentle gray light over the nursery. YN stood by the door, watching Harry wrestle with the crib pieces scattered across the floor. She cradled her belly, which had grown significantly in the last month. Her due date was set for mid-May, only a few weeks away, and she could feel the weight of their son settling lower, as if he, too, was getting ready for the journey ahead.

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, brow furrowed in intense concentration as he squinted at the instruction manual. The crib, which he had eagerly declared would be a breeze to assemble, now looked more like puzzle pieces that lay scattered around him, screws and wooden slats in disarray, as he muttered under his breath.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” YN asked with a soft grin, leaning against the doorway as she watched him struggle.

He looked up, shooting her a playful glare. “I’ve got it, thanks,” he insisted, though he seemed far from convinced himself. He twisted a screwdriver, only for the wood to creak ominously in protest. Harry’s cheeks flushed, and YN bit her lip, stifling a laugh.

“Sure you do,” she teased, crossing her arms over her bump. “Maybe our son will be crawling by the time you figure that out.”

Harry chuckled, dropping the screwdriver with a resigned sigh. “Alright, alright,” he said, running a hand through his curls as he gave her a dramatic pout. “Go on, laugh at the man trying his best to be a good dad. Just what I need, huh?”

She laughed, stepping into the room to get a closer look at his progress—or lack thereof. “You’re doing great, honey,” she said, her tone light. “Maybe just… not great at building cribs?”

He rolled his eyes, but the hint of a grin played at the corners of his mouth. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue,” he mumbled. Then, before she could respond, he reached out, gently tugging her down to sit beside him.

“Hey!” she gasped, though she let him guide her down, leaning into his arms. Her back rested against his chest, and Harry wrapped his arms around her middle, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

He maneuvered her gently onto the carpet, hovering over as his hands resting on either side of her, leaning close, his face only inches from hers, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe I should distract you so y’can’t mock me,” he murmured, his voice teasing.

Before she could respond, he started peppering her face with kisses—one on her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her chin. She squealed, laughing as he continued, his lips brushing against her skin, his stubble tickling her and sending her into a fit of giggles.

“Harry!” she gasped between breaths, her hands on his shoulders as she tried to squirm away. “You’re ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous?” he repeated, grinning as he planted a kiss just above her lips. “Maybe. But it’s working, isn’t it?”

She gave him a playful shove, but he only laughed, pulling her closer as he trailed his kisses down to her neck, the weight of him comforting as he hovered over her, his hands gentle on her sides. Finally, when her laughter had softened, he leaned back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze warm and full of affection.

God, how he loved her.

After a moment, he brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. “Alright,” he said with a sigh, glancing over at the mess of crib parts. “Maybe I could use those hands of yours.”

YN smiled, brushing her hand down his chest. “Hm,” she hummed, “where?”

“Oi!” The brunette giggled, swatting her wandering hand away as he sat up, shifting to be beside her. “Wicked woman, you are. Get to work.”

She huffed, although there was no anger residing in her. Maybe an ache between her thighs, but that’s something she could sort out with her husband later. She sat up, sitting cross legged beside Harry as he reached for the instruction manual.

The two of them sat side by side on the nursery floor, her hand resting over his as they sorted through the crib parts. Harry studied the instructions once more, pointing out the next few steps with a renewed confidence that was helped by her steady presence beside him. YN held the pieces steady while Harry carefully tightened each screw, the two of them working together, their laughter filling the room whenever something went slightly wrong.

Finally, after some teamwork, a bit of trial and error, and more than a few shared smiles, they placed the last piece into place, and the crib stood finished in front of them. They both sat back, admiring their handiwork, their hands intertwined as they took in the sight of the nursery coming together, piece by piece.

Harry looked over at YN, his gaze soft as he took in her face, still flushed from laughter. “Not bad for a couple of first-timers, huh?”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, holding her hands out in front of them and wiggling her fingers. “Thanks to these.”

He snorted, gently taking her chin in his grasp to force her to look at him. “Shut up and kiss me.”

As time passed by quicker than ever, spring took the city by full force, it was finally May. Flowers bloomed in their garden, trees shook with the delicate breeze of a looming summer. The sun fell behind the hills later and later, still offering a golden glow as they ate dinner.

A gentle rain drummed against the windows as YN and Harry shared a cozy dinner on the sofa, the warm light of a movie and fading sunlight flickering across their faces. They were nestled together, plates balanced on laps (and bump) as they laughed at an old comedy. Outside, the world felt comfortably distant. Everything about this moment felt ordinary, like the calm before a long-anticipated storm.

But YN hadn’t been entirely honest with Harry tonight. She had felt a dull ache creeping into her lower back and belly since late afternoon, a sensation she had brushed off as yet another round of Braxton Hicks contractions. Her OB had warned her that false alarms would be common in these final weeks, and she’d already had a few where they’d rushed to the hospital only to be sent back home. So tonight, she’d told herself that it was nothing—just her body practicing, nothing more. But as they watched the movie, she found herself shifting uncomfortably, her breaths deepening whenever another wave rolled through her.

The contractions had grown stronger as they ate, each one hitting her lower back with a dull, throbbing ache before tightening sharply across her belly. She bit her lip, forcing a smile whenever Harry glanced her way, trying to play it off. But she couldn’t ignore the way her body tensed or the cold bead of sweat she felt on her brow as she worked to stay composed.

As they finished their dinner, Harry stretched and stood, gathering their plates with a grin. “Think I’ll wash these up. You just sit there and relax, yeah?”

She smiled, nodding as he carried their dishes into the kitchen. He hummed softly to himself as he washed the plates, oblivious to the intensity of the pain building within her. She took a deep breath, gripping the edge of the sofa as a new wave hit, this one sharper than before, radiating from her lower back and spreading between her hips, each pulse making her muscles contract and tighten. She fought to keep her breathing steady, her mind racing as she tried to convince herself it was nothing.

But then, as she watched Harry rinse a glass, her vision blurred with another wave of pain—deeper, sharper, as if her body was tightening from the inside out. Her breath hitched, and this time she couldn’t hide the small gasp that escaped her. She braced herself against the sofa, her fingers digging into the fabric as she fought to breathe through it.

Harry looked over, his brow furrowing as he noticed the tension on her face. He set the glass down in the sink, wiping his hands on a towel as he stepped back into the living room. “Love?” he asked, a hint of worry creeping into his voice. “You alright?”

She forced a smile, trying to play it off, but her voice came out strained. “I’m fine. Just–“ She grunted, “Braxton Hicks, I think.” But even as she spoke, it was like an aftershock of an earthquake, stealing her breath, the pain sharper than before. Her hand flew to her belly, fingers pressing down instinctively, and she had to close her eyes, focusing all her energy on breathing through it.

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he knelt beside her, his hand moving to rest on her knee. “That doesn’t look like Braxton Hicks,” he said gently, his voice laced with concern. “How long’s this been going on?”

She hesitated, looking down as she tried to keep her breathing composed. “Since– since earlier this afternoon,” she admitted, wincing as the pain reached its peak, leaving her feeling helpless and raw. “I thought it was nothing, really. But it’s–I dunno– it’s getting worse.”

Harry’s face shifted from concern to something closer to alarm. He was quiet for a moment, clearly trying to process her words, before his gaze softened, and he slid his hand to hers, squeezing it gently. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice steadying. “We’re not going to take any chances.”

YN nodded, relief flooding her at the calm resolve in his voice, but as she tried to stand, another contraction gripped her—this time harder than any before. It started as a dull ache that quickly sharpened into an almost searing pressure, as though her whole belly was clenching in waves she couldn’t control. She gasped, her knees buckling slightly as she clutched Harry’s arm.

Harry’s eyes widened as he caught her, his face shifting into a worried frown. “It’s happening, isn’t it?” he whispered, almost to himself, before shaking off the shock and focusing on her. He wrapped an arm around her, guiding her back down to the sofa with a gentle firmness. “We’re going t’breathe through this one, yeah? Just like we practiced.”

She clung to his hand, squeezing hard as she fought to steady her breathing, but the pain was relentless, each wave feeling sharper than the last. Her body felt like it was working against her, every muscle tightening until she was gasping, unable to fully catch her breath. She buried her face against his shoulder, her voice a shaky whisper. “H, this hurts more than I thought it would.”

He brushed a hand through her hair, his voice soft but unwavering as he held her close. “I know, baby. You’re doing so well. Just focus on breathing, alright? I’ve got you.”

As the contraction faded, she managed to catch her breath, slumping slightly against him, feeling a mix of exhaustion and dread for what was coming next. She felt his hand at the small of her back, steadying her, and she was grateful for the warmth of his touch, the calm he radiated even as she could see the worry flickering in his eyes.

“We’re calling the OB,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “This doesn’t feel like false labor, does it?”

She shook her head, unable to deny the reality that had settled in. “No..I think this is real.”

Harry’s face softened, a mix of pride and worry as he watched her breathe through everything. When the pain passed, he took her face in his hands, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice steady. “We’re going to get you through this, love. One breath at a time.”

With that, he stood, reaching for his phone and dialing their OB, staying right by her side as the call connected. He answered each of the doctor’s questions carefully, glancing at YN between each answer, his hand never leaving hers. After a few minutes, he hung up and turned back to her, a mixture of excitement and resolve in his gaze.

“She says it sounds like early labor,” he told her softly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “We’re going t’the hospital. Just you and me, hm?”

YN nodded, taking a steadying breath as she leaned into him, his strength anchoring her. With Harry’s arms wrapped around her, she knew that she had everything she needed to get through this.

The rain had softened to a gentle drizzle as Harry helped YN into the car, settling her carefully into the passenger seat, his hands gentle but steady. Her breaths were deep and focused, each one an effort to keep herself calm as the contractions continued, not close enough to urge a rush but strong enough to leave her nerves buzzing with anticipation. Harry buckled her in, his gaze warm and reassuring as he brushed his hand over her shoulder.

“You’re doing great, sweet girl,” he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Next stop, hospital. Just you, me, and our little Atlas.”

YN managed a faint smile, squeezing his hand as he lingered beside her for a moment before closing the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. The car pulled away from their quiet street, its headlights cutting through the misty drizzle, as they made their way into the city. She leaned her head back against the seat, focusing on the rhythm of the rain tapping against the windows, letting the steady sound settle her mind.

As they drove, Harry glanced over at her frequently, his hand occasionally drifting from the wheel to hold hers. “Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or if I need to pull over. Anything at all.”

He rambled when he was nervous.

YN nodded, keeping her eyes closed, breathing slowly. Another contraction started, gripping her with that same deep ache that radiated from her back to her belly. She clenched his hand, squeezing as she focused on her breathing, her fingers white-knuckling against his. It was painful, but she willed herself to relax, to breathe through the intensity, letting her breath match the gentle rhythm of the rain.

Harry squeezed her hand back, his thumb tracing small circles on her skin. “Out of all women in the world who gave birth, you’re the most beautiful.” He smiled warily. His stupid compliment even made him want to smack himself upside the head. But he looked at his wife expectantly.

When the contraction passed, she released a shaky breath. Part of her wanted to shoot daggers into him with a glare, but looking at that goofy smile she fell in love with, the way his cheeks flushed pink and eyes looked unsure, she couldn’t. She mustered out a weak, breathy laugh.”Shut up.” She whispered.

They reached the hospital, and Harry pulled up to the lot, parking the car before rushing around to help her out. He wrapped an arm around her, guiding her through the automatic doors, his gaze steady and protective as he led her to the reception desk. The lobby was quiet, lit by soft fluorescent lights that made the polished floors gleam. Harry gently rubbed her back as they reached the counter, where a man with glasses and a walkie looked up with a polite smile.

“Hi,” Harry said, his voice calm but firm, “we’re here for an admission. Our OB requested it.” He grinned lightly, seeking to be polite despite his nerves. He gave his wife’s name through his smile.

The receptionist nodded, typing something into the computer before glancing back at YN, who was gripping Harry’s hand, her face pale and tense. After a moment, the man looked up. “Alright, we have you here. Just a moment.”

He picked up the phone, speaking briefly with someone before hanging up and nodding toward them. “Patient transport is on the way. We’ll get you into a wheelchair and up to the maternity ward to get settled.”

Harry thanked him, his hand resting on the small of her back, he murmured, “y’doing so well, my sweet girl.”

She leaned into him, exhaling a shaky breath as another mild contraction started to creep in, but before she could fully brace herself, a transport worker arrived with a wheelchair.

Harry helped her ease down into it, kneeling beside her and brushing his thumb over her hand. She looked down at him, her expression a mix of pain and determination. “I’m alright,” she whispered, her words braver than she felt.

He met her gaze, his eyes full of pride and unwavering support. “I know you are,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before he stood and walked beside her as they made their way to the elevator. The ride up was quiet, each floor lighting up in sequence as they ascended to the maternity ward, and she found herself counting each breath, each second, each floor, until they finally reached the unit.

Once inside the labor and delivery ward, they were greeted by a nurse who led them into a dimly lit room that felt strangely peaceful, its walls painted a soft pink, the lights warm and low. The nurse introduced herself, her voice calm and soothing as she helped YN settle onto the bed, helping her into a hospital gown before taking her vital signs and asking a series of questions, jotting down notes while Harry sat by her side, holding her hand.

“Let’s get you as comfortable as we can,” the nurse said gently, adjusting the bed’s settings. “Now, you’re still in early labor, so we’re going to monitor you closely, but it could be a while yet.”

YN nodded, feeling both grateful and anxious at the prospect of waiting. The contractions continued, rolling in like waves, growing in intensity but not yet regular enough to signal active labor. Each one required her full focus; she found herself closing her eyes, breathing deeply as she squeezed Harry’s hand, centering herself with each wave of pain.

Hours passed, the pain deepening with each contraction as her body adjusted, stretching and preparing for the arrival of their son. The nurse checked in periodically, taking notes, adjusting her position, and checking her dilation with gentle reassurance, but progress was slow. The contractions were more frequent now, each one a sharp, relentless pressure that seemed to radiate from deep within her, pulling her to the very edge of her endurance.

Harry never left her side, his hand a steady anchor as he held hers, his voice low and soothing, guiding her through each breath. “I love you,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers as they breathed together. “Just a bit longer, yeah? You got it.”

At one point, the pain became so overwhelming that she couldn’t bear to sit still. Harry helped her stand, wrapping his arms around her as she leaned into him, her face pressed against his chest. Her arms draped over his shoulders, clinging to him as she rocked back and forth, swaying through each contraction, finding relief in the gentle rhythm. He whispered words of encouragement, his hands rubbing her back as she trembled against him, each wave of pain stealing her breath and leaving her gasping.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice a steady hum that she latched onto, focusing on the warmth of his words as the pain pulsed through her. “Just lean on me. I’ve got you.”

She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as the pain reached a peak, her knees weakening under the weight of it. But Harry held her up, his arms strong and steady, supporting her fully as she swayed, letting the movement carry her through each contraction. She pressed her forehead into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, grounding her, keeping her anchored in the storm of pain.

When the nurse checked again, the news was disheartening—only a few more centimeters dilated. YN felt exhaustion beginning to creep in, the hours of labor sapping her strength, but Harry was there, brushing damp strands of hair from her face, whispering soft reassurances as she closed her eyes, her head resting against his shoulder.

As the hours ticked by, the contractions grew sharper, more intense, each one like a wave crashing against her, forcing her to draw deeper into herself just to withstand the pain. Harry eased her back onto the bed, pulling a mask toward her face, releasing a gas that would help the pain. Her mind blurred under the relentless rhythm of labor. Yet, every time she opened her eyes, he was there—his gaze steady, his hand in hers, his words like an anchor.

She held the mask to her face with her other hand, breathing it in deeply. As backward as it sounded, even laboring and pushing out a baby, the thought of a seven inch needle being put into her spine scared her even more. The thought of an epidural was tempting, being numbed from the waist down—but it made her stomach churn with anxiety, too. She had enough of that already, so she stuck to the gas.

YN lifted the gas from her nose, staring at Harry through half lidded eyes. “Can’t wait to have sex with you in six weeks.” She mumbled, her voice hazy.

Harry eased the mask back onto her, his cheeks growing red from her clouded words. He let out a breathy laugh, “Okay, one step at a time, hm?”

At last, as dawn began to break outside, the sunlight bleak, barely there. The nurse’s expression shifted as she checked YN’s progress. She smiled, looking up with gentle relief. “We’re almost there,” she said softly. “Just a little bit longer.”

Harry’s face lit up, his eyes shining as he looked down at YN, his voice soft and full of pride. He pressed a kiss to her sweaty forehead, brushing strands of her hair back. “Hear that? Final stretch, baby.”

YN nodded, too exhausted to respond, but the warmth in his eyes gave her the strength to keep going. With every ounce of willpower she had left, she faced the final contractions, the pain almost blinding but her determination carrying her through, and Harry’s voice guiding her every step of the way.

Once she was ten centimeters, a team rushed in. Two nurses and the OB. Her legs were placed into stirrups, her gown bunched up over her tummy.

It was the longest, most intense thirteen hours of her life, but as she felt the final waves of pain, the medical staff guided her through the last moments, she clung to Harry, his hand a lifeline, his presence a comfort that wrapped around her like a shield. And with one last surge, a cry filled the room, and she knew it was all worth it.

“Oh.” She whimpered, her own cry emitting from her as her son was placed onto her bare chest for the first time. A nurse wiped him down as he wriggled against YN, Harry leaning down by her shoulder, staring in awe.

That was his boy, his son. A piece of him and the love of his life brought forth into the world. He wouldn’t be able to explain the feeling he felt as he flickered his gaze between his wife’s and Atlas’s.

Sparse stands of brown locks sat atop his head, a color matching his fathers. He gently placed his hand atop it, his thumb rubbing against his forehead as the little boy continued to cry.

His eyes resembled his mothers, as did his nose. But everything else? That was all Harry. He cooed at him, whispering soft nothings to to his baby boy before the nurse approached him with medical scissors. “Would you like to cut the cord, dad?”

Dad.

Butterflies surged through his tummy.

He drew a deep breath, looking at YN for silent encouragement, to which she only smiled at him. Her husband, the father of her son.

He gently grabbed the scissors from the nurse, hesitantly approaching where he was told to cut. He looked at his Atlas who seemed to calm down a bit, slowly coming to terms with being brought out into the world. He steadied himself, and then with a delicate snip, he cut the cord.

As he handed them back to the nurse, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the enormity of the moment settling over him. He looked down at the two he loved most in the world, lightly grasping onto his little feet and silently counting his tiny toes.

“Sit.” YN softly ordered, holding the boy against her chest with one hand and patting the small spot beside her with the other.

He nodded slowly, easing himself down into the spot after lowering the right side bar so he’d fit. He leaned against YN, his feet still upon the floor.

The baby was swaddled into a pale blue blanket before she handed him over to Harry, his heart melting instantly. He cradled him against his chest, tucking his head down to place delicate kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. “I love you so much.” He whispered, hesitantly ripping his gaze away from his son onto his wife.

His lip quivered as he placed a kiss against her sweaty hair, “Thank you so much.” His voice was delicate, a murmur. “I owe you everything.”

This was all he needed. His heart swelled with a love so profound, it felt almost overwhelming, as if the sheer depth of it might consume him. It was a love that stretched beyond anything he’d known, powerful enough to break him apart and put him back together all at once. But he embraced it, letting it fill every part of him, savoring each precious drop. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt exactly where he was meant to be.

This was home.

[readwritealldayallnight]

It’s been months since Simon has been home

All he wants is to see you, his sweet girl, so much so that he loses track of what the actual date on the calendar is, in favour of counting down the days, hours, and minutes until you’re in his arms again

That’s why Simon’s surprise when he walks in to the local shops is genuine, before quickly turning into annoyance, when he notices that almost all the shelves are stocked with things for Valentine’s Day

Bright red, pink, and purple gifts covered in glitter and sparkles, sequins and jewels, all of them screaming out one word, over and over and over again for shoppers to see

Love

It’s a word Simon tries not to think about too often, in spite of it being part of his daily vocabulary

Yes, while your hunk of a man’s favourite pet name for you has always been love, it’s a word he has yet to say to you outside of being anything more than a name, a word he has yet to say he feels for you, even though his heart spells it out with ease each time he is with you

It’s hard for him because he can remember exactly the last time he told someone that three word sentence

Christmas Eve, a lifetime ago, he’d just gotten off the phone with his brother, sister-in-law, and nephew, hearing the young boy shout out into the receiver that he loved his uncle Si, a light hearted chuckle slipping past the Lieutenants lips before he’d replied back without issue that he loved him too, before he hung up and never heard his family’s voices ever again

He wants to say it to you because it’s true

He does love you more than anything, but he just can’t bring himself to say it

Those memories have become so tangled up in trauma, his mind associating darker times with those three goddamn words, the ones he knows would mean so much for you to hear he just can’t bring himself to speak aloud

He has dreams where he forces himself to say it, where he tells you a thousand times over that he loves you, whispers it in your ear, shouts it from the rooftops, writes it down everywhere for you to see and even etches it into his flesh with a needle and ink, until the dreams become nightmares and he’s yelling those words at your bloody corpse, writing it in the snow dusting your tombstone, waking up in a cold sweat, dreading the day you say those three words to him and he can’t explain why he can’t say them back

And while he can’t yet explain to you all of the demons that continue to call his skull their home, he finds himself not needing to, not with you

With you, there is no pressure to say things that cause him more pain than joy, there is no need to explain things that he struggles to fully comprehend himself, there is no need to perform or act in any way that isn’t true to him, not with you, his sweet girl who somehow understands him more than he feels he understands himself most days

Instead, with you, he gets to say things that are his own version of I love you, no matter how grand or small:

“I see you”

“You’re the best thing I’ve ever had”

“I can’t believe I get to call you mine”

“You make me so happy”

“Let me carry that for you”

“Put your seatbelt on”

“I made dinner”

“I’ll do the dishes, you go sit”

When the 14th of February eventually rolls around, you aren’t expecting anything out of the ordinary, never having acknowledged the upcoming gimmick of a holiday with Simon

Which is why you’re so surprised when you wake up to find the spot next to you in bed empty, noises in the kitchen letting you know Simon hasn’t gone far

Bare feet slowly padding towards the sounds of a grand breakfast being prepared with much frustration from a seasoned soldier who struggles to use seasoning, you can’t help the overwhelming grin that takes over you face when you see nothing more than a simple card standing up on the dining table, no bells or whistles, no flower petals thrown all over the flat, no orchestra serenading you awake, just you and Simon, all you need, all you want

Reading the card stretches your smile further than you thought possible, quickly sneaking up on your love to wrap your arms around him from behind, his own matching smile etched upon his face as he scrambles up the eggs, imagining you enjoyed the card, which reads in his scratchy handwriting:

“ I ♥️ you ”

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ oh captain, my captain ] q. hughes

day 2 of kinktober (captain kink w/ quinn hughes)

➾ paring : Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

➾ summary : Quinn’s girlfriend calls him "Cap" after hearing the nickname come from his teammates, and Quinn reacts totally normally

➾ warning(s) : smut !! captain kink, light dom!quinn, nicknames during sex, oral (m receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), very slight hair pulling (blink and you'll miss it)

➾ author’s note : i am Not gonna lie … this has been living in a word doc unfilnished for months so i thought that this would be the perfect time to finish it and let it out to see the light of day. enjoy :)))

kinktober schedule

༺──────────────༻

When her boyfriend asked her a few weeks ago to accompany him to an event that the Canucks were holding, she was not looking forward to it at all. It's a very private event that the Canucks hold at the start of every season for new Canucks to get to know their new teammates and for returning Canucks to catch up. She's managed to be busy on this day for the past two years of their relationship so she didn't have to go, but she can't dodge the event any longer. Especially now that Quinn is captain.

The dress she bought for this event is stunning and she couldn't wait to wear it to the event. It's a sparkly navy blue number that hugs her curves. The thin straps hold up a plunging v-neckline that shows off her cleavage in a way that Quinn loves. There's a high slit in the skirt that goes about halfway up her thigh.

She feels like she could've dressed a little more modestly when she walks into the ballroom and finds that a lot of the women dressed in more high cut and full length gowns. She crosses her arms over her chest in an attempt to cover her exposed cleavage.

A couple of Quinn's teammates greet their captain as soon as the two of them walk into the large room decorated in blue, green, and white. She hears the nickname "Cap" thrown around as a few of the veteran Canucks greet him. That's a new nickname that catches her attention immediately.

The significant others of the teammates that greet Quinn greet her. She does her best to hold a conversation with the group of women but her eyes continue to shift toward her boyfriend in his suit. He has on one of his game day suits from last season that doesn't really fit him anymore so it hugs his arms and thighs nicely.

"Your dress is beautiful, by the way," Lexie Demko compliments. She turns her attention to Thatcher's wife. "I mean it. It's stunning. I guess it's to be expected for the captain's girlfriend to sparkle." The group of women laugh and she forces a smile.

Sometimes she questions if she should be the one leading this group of women because she's only 23 and still kind of young. It's one thing for Quinn to lead the Canucks because he's a natural leader and knew he was probably going captain this team one day. He's had a lifetime of experience because he's the oldest of three brothers.

She was kind of thrust into the role of lead WAG with his captaincy appointment last season. Her version of being a leader means being the one that plans the parties and plans the playoff attire. Making sure all the other wives and girlfriends are okay, making sure they catch their flights to make it to whatever city they're following their boyfriend or husband to so she can watch him play. It's no NHL team, but it takes up a lot of her time. Especially party and playoff jacket planning.

Quinn looks over at her and her brain immediately goes blank. He's still surrounded by his teammates, but he's looking at her like that. It should be illegal to look like that.

She excuses herself from the group of wives and girlfriends to approach her boyfriend. She tries not to feel tiny among a group of hockey players, but she is.

"Cap," she teases with a smile. "I'm kinda hungry so can we go grab something to eat?" Quinn's cheeks turn bright red at the use of his new nickname. His teammates snicker around him at his reaction.

All he can do is nod in response to her and grab her hand. He guides her away without a single word, but his cheeks remain tomato red.

She's rendered him speechless. All by calling him "Cap." Maybe she'll have to start doing that more often if this is how he reacts.

They grab a plate of food and head to their table. No one else is sitting at the table but she knows that it's her, Quinn, JT, JT's wife, Brock, Thatcher, and Lexie at the table. Their tablemates are still mingling amongst the players and coaches in the room while they sit and eat.

Quinn leans over to her and says softly in her ear, "I'm going to need you to not call me 'Cap' again while we're here."

"Oh," she breathes out. "So your teammates can call you Cap, but I can't?"

He presses his lips in a line and meets her eyes. "It doesn't sound sexy coming out of their mouths like it does yours," he mumbles. "So, please don't call me Cap or Captain while we're here or you'll find yourself on your knees in the bathroom helping me with my little problem."

A small smirk forms on her lips as she takes a bite of pasta. "It's not a 'little' problem, Quinn," she tells him. "It's a pretty big problem."

Quinn groans and rubs his hands over his face. "You're killing me," he groans. "Oh my God."

She giggles and takes another bite of pasta like the conversation isn't ruining the panties she has on under the dress. Quinn follows suit and begins to eat his plate of food.

Their tablemates join them a few minutes later with their own plates. She converses with Lexie and Natalie Miller while their husbands talk with Quinn and Brock. She laughs with them, but the entire time, she thinks about the little conversation she and Quinn had about calling him Cap or Captain.

She's absolutely trying it when they get home to see what kind of reaction she gets out of him when he isn't surrounded by his friends.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

They leave the event once Quinn gives a little speech to hype up his teammates. Tocchet also gives a speech once Quinn was done, but he needed to stay until he was done talking. He orders an Uber back to their Vancouver apartment before Tocchet is even done his speech so they can leave as soon as he's done.

The Canucks applaud their head coach for his speech and they make a break for the door before anyone can stop them. Quinn has her hand in his as they make their way outside. Their Uber is waiting for them when they exit the building.

Quinn slides in first and she follows him. One of her hands rests on his knee and she leans over to say, "You looked good while you were giving your little speech." She pauses for a beat. "Captain Quinn."

His head snaps in her direction. "What did I tell you-"

"Just wanted to see something," she giggles as she glances down at the growing bulge in his already tight pants. "And I see what I wanted to see." Her voice drops a couple of octaves so only he can hear. "Do you like when I call you Captain, Quinn?"

He gnaws on his bottom lip. "You're playing a very dangerous game right now," he warns her. "I'm not trying to ruin these pants."

She leans into him and says against his ear, "Then maybe you shouldn't like to be called 'captain' by your girlfriend." Her lips touch the swell of his ear as she talks. Quinn shivers under her lips before she pulls back to meet his eyes. She finds his usually bright eyes dark with lust.

She's not sure she's going to make it into the apartment if she keeps playing this game with him.

"You are ..." Quinn trails off with a smile and a shake of his head. She grins while he tries to find the words to say. "Something else." His fingers trace the slit in her dress, leaving goosebumps behind where he touches her skin.

The Uber comes to a stop two minutes later. She doesn't risk saying another word until they're in the building. The elevator is probably not the best place to say anything either.

Still, it doesn't stop her from poking the bear though.

"Captain Quinn Hughes," she pretends to think out loud. "Even after a year, it still roles off the tongue. Don't you think, Cap?"

"Oh my fucking God," Quinn groans as he turns to face his girlfriend.

Before she can react, Quinn cups her cheeks and pulls her into a hot kiss. He steps so her back is pressed against the wall of the elevator. She grips his jacket as he presses his chest completely against hers. Quinn shoves a thigh between her legs, moving the dress to the side so his thigh presses against her already damp core.

This is a side of Quinn she's pretty sure she hasn't seen in their two and a half years together. He's very particular about his touches and his movements. Slightly rougher with them as well. She might like this side of Quinn.

The elevator dings once it arrives at their floor. Quinn pulls back and grabs her hand as the doors slide open. "Let's go, pretty girl," he says to her, voice soft. "You need to help me with my not-so-little problem before it ruins these pants."

She giggles as Quinn leads her out of the elevator and down the hall to their apartment. It's a moment before Quinn gets the door open but once he does, he pulls her inside and pins her against the door to shut it.

Quinn holds her chin between his thumb and pointer finger. "I hope this dress didn't cost a lot," he says. "Because it might end up torn and on the floor tonight.”

“Quinn Hughes, you better not rip this dress because if you do, you’re buying me a new one,” she warns him. “I mean it too. You better not.”

He grins and hooks his fingers around the spaghetti straps that sits on her shoulders. “I guess I’ll be nice,” he sighs as he pulls the strap off her shoulders. Quinn's eyes fall to the fabric that he pulls down to expose her breasts.

There's about one second between when the fabric pools around her waist and when Quinn crashes his lips to hers in a heated kiss. Their lips mold against each other and his hands cup her breasts. She groans into the kiss and he takes full advantage to explore her mouth with his tongue.

She pulls his suit jacket off his body and it falls to the floor with a light thud. She pushes him toward their bedroom without breaking the kiss.

In the very short trip from their front door to their bedroom, she loses her heels and dress in the hallway while Quinn's tie ends up on the living room floor and his button up gets unbuttoned and untucked as they enter their bedroom. She jumps and wraps her legs around his waist. He kicks the door shut and walks toward their bed.

"What do you want me to do, Cap?" she questions between kisses.

"You know, every time one of my teammates calls me Cap, I'm going to think of you and it's going to end in endless teasing for me," Quinn points out as he sits on the mattress. He pulls back to look at her. "If my teammates mess with me because I get hard after one of them refers to me as Cap, it won't end well for you since it'll be your fault."

She feigns being hurt. "Ouch, Quinn," she says. "I guess I'll never call you Cap ever again."

"I didn't say that," Quinn very quickly replies. "Just letting you know what will happen."

“I’m so scared,” she teases.

“Shut up and get on your knees, pretty girl.”

His stern voice when he says that shoots straight down to her core. She bites her bottom lip as she slides off of Quinn’s lap and to her knees on the carpeted floor below her.

Her fingers work at unbuttoning his dress pants. She pulls them down along with his boxers. His hard dick stands up against his stomach when it’s free from the confines of his underwear. She takes him in her hand and looks up at him. She gnaws on her lip before she says, “Whatever you say, Cap.”

Quinn groans at the same time she wraps her lips around the fiery red tip. She tastes some precome that has leaked as she takes more of his dick in her mouth. His fingers curl in her wavy locks as she hollows her cheeks and sucks. She looks up at him as he throws his head back in pleasure.

"Fuck," Quinn breathes out. The reaction she gets out of him causes her to speed up her actions. Her hands are splayed over his thighs so she has something to hold on to. Not to mention that she just loves his thighs.

She manages to take all of him in her mouth without choking, and Quinn loves every second of it. He gnaws on his bottom lip and soft sounds rise from his throat. It's music to her ears as she takers him completely in her mouth and hums around him.

Quinn can't seem to get enough.

When her knees start screaming at her from being on the carpet for too long, she ignores it. What Quinn wants, Quinn gets. She's done this so many times that the pain doesn't get to her like it used to, but sometimes it .

She hollows out her cheeks and Quinn hums before he pulls her off his dick by her hair. She hums and looks up at her. His thumbs brush her probably swollen lips and she kisses the pads of his thumbs.

"Was that okay?" she questions like she always does after she sucks him off. Quinn raises his eyebrows at her and she grins. "Cap."

He nods and leans down to kiss her. His kiss is softer this time as he helps her back up so she's straddling his thighs. She runs her fingers through his styled hair and Quinn falls so he's lying on his back. His dick pokes her thigh and she wiggles her hips to tease him.

"These need to come off, pretty girl," he mumbles against her lips at the same time he taps the waistband of her panties. "I'm sure they're ruined at this point anyway."

She stands up to push the ruined fabric off her body. Quinn moves back so his head rests on the pillows. She presses her lips together in a line as she crawls back onto the mattress. She straddles his waist and leans over to press a long, deep kiss to his lips. Quinn hums and cups her jaw with his hands so she can't go anywhere.

Without breaking the kiss, she lifts her hips and rests the tip of his dick at her entrance. He slips right in because of how wet she is. A grin forms on her lips as she says, "Wanna ride you, Cap. Please."

"You don't need my permission, pretty girl," Quinn replies between hot kisses.

She hums as she lowers herself onto him. The familiar and welcomed stretch greets her. Quinn's hands land on her waist so she doesn't lose her balance. He bottoms out in her and she allows herself a few seconds to adjust before moving her hips.

The room is quickly filled with her soft moans as she rolls her hips. He helps her keep a steady pace that works for both of them. The kiss breaks but she doesn't go very far. Her forehead rests on his and her lips ghost his every time she moves.

Despite how they got here, she loves when she falls into bed with her boyfriend. No matter the reason, Quinn always focuses on both their pleasure. He makes sure that both of them feel good for however long they go.

Adding a little spice in the bedroom, like this captain thing that Quinn has going on right now, is one of her favorite things too. She's never against trying new things. She's not against this captain thing that he has going on.

Quinn starts moving his hips to match her pace. She groans and pushes herself up so she's sitting on his waist. She keeps her pace though. Her head is thrown back in pleasure and Quinn's hands roam her body.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes out. "You look so good riding my dick, pretty girl."

He moves one of his hands until he's rubbing her clit. She cries out his name and rests her hands on his torso. "Quinn," she gasps. "Oh my God." He stops. "Cap. Captain. Captain Quinn. Don't stop. Please." Those words pass her lips before her brain processes what she wants to say, but her end goal remained the same. Quinn continues rubbing her clit and she hums.

Her movements get frantic and inconsistent as she gets closer to her orgasm. Quinn wraps his arms around her waist and rolls them over so her head is on the pillow. He throws her legs over his shoulders and begins moving his hips.

The new angle has her legs shaking because his dick hits her favorite spot. She grabs his arms and cries out his name. "Oh my- fuck," she gasps. "Quinn, Quinn Quinn. Oh my God." He doesn't stop this time, but he slows down. "Cap, I'm so close. Please."

"Come for me, pretty girl," Quinn pants. "Want you to make a mess on my dick."

It's not very long after that when she comes. Her entire body clenches and she cries out Quinn's name so loud that their neighbors absolutely heard her. Her vision whitens and she's in cloud 9 from how hard she comes.

She's so out of it that she doesn't realize that Quinn pulls out and comes on her thighs. She has no idea that he cleans her up, only that he touches her sensitive core with a wet cloth. Her body melts into the mattress as she recovers.

When she comes to, Quinn is crawling back into bed. She musters up enough strength to turn her head and look at him.

"You okay?" he asks with a smile on his swollen lips. "Lost you for a moment."

She nods and rolls so she's curled up next to Quinn. "You really like when I call you Cap," she teases him. His cheeks turn red. "It's fine, Quinn. You don't need to get all flustered about it. If it's your thing, then it's my thing too. I wouldn't mind doing that again. It showed me a whole new side of you that I think I like."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Then we might have to do that again," Quinn tells her. "But please. For the love of everything, do not call me Cap or Captain around the team. It's going to take me a second to get over tonight, or get used to those words leaving your mouth."

She giggles and throws her leg over his waist so she's laying on his chest. "You say the word and I'll start using your nickname," she tells him. "Cap."

Quinn rolls his eyes, but she knows he loves it.

༺──────────────༻

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[punkshort]

Christmas in the City

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: As if your holiday season couldn't get any worse, you get lost on your way to the first day of your new job. Lucky for you, a handsome and flirty stranger finds you on the verge of tears and walks you to your office building, turning your day around instantly.

Warnings: language, fluff, meet-cute, Narcos AU (I basically plucked out the character, stripped him of his DEA credentials, and gave him a different (but similar) job and home), cheesy hallmark vibes, flirting

WC: 2.8K

A/N: This story is inspired by a small thread I found on Twitter ages ago. A girl told a similar story, although there was no romantic element. If anyone recognizes this story can you send it to me so I can credit it?

Your day was turning out to be an absolute nightmare.

Washington, D.C. was still a big and foreign city to you, so it was hardly your fault. You mapped out the walk to work over the weekend, timed how long it would take you to get to your new job from your little apartment, but that was before the snow fell. Now, everything looked completely different and you lost your sense of direction almost immediately.

In the distance, through the mountains of snow pushed between the sidewalks and streets, you thought you saw the glow of a coffee shop you recognized, so you tucked your arms against your chest and pushed on, praying you were headed in the right direction.

It took a few minutes before the light changed and you were safe to cross the street. Seconds kept chipping away and you tried not to stress about the time. You had to resign yourself to the fact that you were going to make a horrible first impression on your boss and be late for your very first day of work at the F.B.I.

And although you knew it was out of your control at that point, you still felt tears sting your eyes when you approached the coffee shop and realized it was, in fact, not the one you recognized from your dry run over the weekend.

You wanted to blame it on the sharp winter wind that bit at your cheeks that made the first tears fall, but deep down you knew the truth. You were a stranger in a busy city about to start a job you had hoped you could make into a successful career, but with your poor planning and horrible sense of direction, you likely just ruined your chances at the position of a lifetime.

"Hey, are you okay?"

You whipped around at the deep voice behind you, but not before swiping quickly at the wet tears on your cheeks with your gloved hand.

"Oh," you breathed when you first laid eyes on the concerned bystander. For one brief moment, you forgot all your worries because the man was gorgeous. Tall and lean with beautiful, soft brown eyes and a prominent mustache decorating his lip, your handsome stranger had you temporarily forgetting your misery as you got lost in his eyes.

"Um, I'm fine," you insisted with a tremble to your voice once you blinked and snapped yourself out of your daydream.

"You sure? You look a little lost," he said with a furrow to his brow.

And maybe it was the stress from the morning that got to you, or maybe it was the looming cloud in the back of your mind reminding you this would be your first Christmas all alone without your family, but suddenly you couldn't stop the hot tears that streamed down your cheeks.

The man's eyes widened in surprise before he glanced around nervously. You buried your face in your hands, knowing you must have been smearing your makeup, but at that point you didn't care. Your day was already ruined.

"Come on, you're alright," he said soothingly. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and steered you in the direction of the coffee shop. "You need something to warm you up, let's go," he added before swinging the door open for you.

"I-I'm already going to be so late," you protested, but he shushed you and pressed a hand against your middle back, giving you a gentle push inside the cozy café.

"If you're already late, what's another ten minutes?" he replied before approaching the counter and taking his gloves off. It was at that point you noticed he was dressed very nicely in an expensive looking three piece suit with a long, black wool overcoat. The only thing out of place were his clunky winter boots, and the sight actually managed to make the corner of your mouth turn up a bit.

"Two hot chocolates, please," he said before fishing out his wallet. Then he glanced back at you before adding, "and a blueberry muffin."

"Oh, you don't have to, I can pay for mine," you said, fumbling for your purse. He shook his head and swiped his card before you could say another word.

"Not a chance."

You smiled up at him, eyes still glistening with tears. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied before handing you your drink and muffin. "Well worth the five bucks to see you smile."

Your face flushed with heat from his kind compliment. You looked around the shop for a place to sit, hoping to hide your embarrassment for just a moment. The pair of you sat down at a table by the window and you took a deep, steadying breath before bringing the cup to your lips and taking a grateful sip.

"I'm Javier," he said, and with a smirk, he stretched his arm across the small table. Your face warmed again when you realized you hadn't even remembered to introduce yourself. You took his hand and shook it, telling him your name while silently marveling at how warm his hands were, despite the weather. He must have very high quality gloves, you thought.

"Well, thank you again, Javier," you said before splitting the muffin and handing him half. He smiled and plucked it from your fingers with a nod.

"You're welcome. Now, what's got you so sad this beautiful morning?" he asked. You laughed, glancing out the window at the anything but beautiful morning waiting for you outside.

"I'm supposed to start my new job today and I'm completely lost," you explained while picking at the muffin. "I just moved here and I'm not familiar with the city. I thought I knew my way to work, but I got turned around and I'm pretty sure I'm going to get fired, now."

Javier huffed and took a sip from his cup. "Where do you work?"

"The F.B.I," you said. If it weren't D.C., you were sure there would have been a stronger reaction to your place of employment, but the city was filled with people who worked for the federal government, so it was far from uncommon.

"Ah, I know where that building is," he said before wiping his mouth with a napkin and crumpling it up. "Why don't I walk you over? It's not far."

"Oh, no," you said with a shake of your head. "You're probably late for work, too. And by the looks of it, you're someone important."

Javier grinned and leaned back in his chair. The café was decorated for Christmas, garland and twinkle lights were wound around every ledge and window. When he looked at you, his eyes sparkled with their reflection, and it was impossible to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest.

"I'll be alright. It's not too far. C'mon," he said, standing after you finished your muffin. He stretched out a hand for you after pulling his gloves back on and you smiled before taking it and joining him.

"What did you get hired to do for the F.B.I?" he asked once you were back out on the busy sidewalk. He kept a tight hold on your hand, each of you still clutching your hot chocolate with the other. Anybody walking by might guess you were a couple based on how easily you leaned into each other as you dodged pedestrians from the opposite direction and the thought made you giddy.

"Oh, nothing exciting. Just a secretary for a higher level agent," you said with a shrug.

"Yeah? Nice guy?" he asked curiously. When you came to a stop at the corner, waiting for the light to change, you took the opportunity to look up at him once again. His cheeks were slightly pink from the cold, as well as the tip of his angular nose, and you found it incredibly endearing for some reason.

"I haven't actually met him," you admitted. "I only interviewed with Human Resources and the woman I was replacing. Can't imagine being almost thirty minutes late is going to leave a positive impression, though."

"Don't sweat it. If he's a reasonable guy, he'd understand. Besides, he'd be stupid to let you go," he said, eyes scanning you up and down with a teasing lilt to his voice. Your mouth dropped open the slightest bit, giving away your surprise when it occurred to you for the first time this guy might have actually been flirting with you. It was loud on the streets, the sounds of people talking and laughing combined with the road noise made it impossible to hear him chuckle, but the foggy exhale from his nose when he smirked told you he found your reaction amusing and hopefully adorable.

"You're being too nice," you warned him, then the light changed and you let him lead you across the street, his hand still tightly clutching yours. "You don't even know me. I could be a terrible worker."

"I doubt that," he scoffed before tugging your hand around a corner, leading you back north. It was around then you realized you would have been walking for an hour before you found the right direction.

"Yeah? Why's that?"

Javier grinned but kept his eyes fixed straight ahead.

"You were crying in the street about being late for a job as a secretary, sweetheart. You can be a secretary anywhere, right? So only thing I can think is you hate to let people down, which, to me, is an important quality in a good worker."

You laughed and held onto his hand a little tighter, pausing to toss both of your empty cups in the trash before continuing your snowy walk.

"What is it that you do, Javier?" you asked, dreamily looking up at him. He opened his mouth to answer but he was cut short by a man's panicked voice.

"Whoa, watch out!"

A courier bike has been racing down the street, and at the last second, jumped the curb to avoid getting hit by a taxi. You hardly had time to register the messenger's warning when a sharp tug came from Javier, who had pulled you out of the way without hesitation. You stumbled to the side, narrowly missing getting knocked over, and fell right into Javier's arms. Due to your momentum, he spun you both around so you wouldn't fall and in the blink of an eye, your back was pressed against the frosty glass storefront of a bakery with Javier accidentally pinning you with his body.

"Are you alright?" he asked breathlessly. You nodded, heart racing in your chest.

"Yeah. Shit. Thank you," you mumbled.

"Sorry!" came the distant apology from the bike messenger, already halfway down the block. Javier lifted his chin to scowl in his direction, allowing your brain a chance to catch up, and you immediately grew flustered when you realized the compromising position you were in. His body was firm and broad underneath his suit and coat. You could feel his strength even underneath all the layers between you. Glancing up, you saw his one forearm was braced above your head while his other hand had found a home on your lower back.

Your gaze traveled slowly up his torso, noticing for the first time your hands were clutching at his coat for dear life, a fact that added to the many reasons your cheeks felt so warm.

When Javier turned to look down at you, you could see the moment he realized how close you had become, but instead of growing shy, his eyes darkened and he swallowed tightly.

"You got a little-"

Javier released your waist and pulled off his glove with his teeth so he could swipe his thumb gently under your eye, fixing your smeared mascara from your earlier bouts of tears. Your eyelids fluttered from his careful touch and your breath got caught in your throat when you noticed the way his hand lingered on your face for a moment longer than necessary before he pulled his hand away and stepped backwards.

He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his thick, dark brown hair before shoving his hand back in his glove.

"Alright, trouble, we're almost there."

You blinked and nodded before forcing yourself off the window to join him. Your hand fidgeted at your side, wishing you had the guts to take his hand again, but much to your delight, Javier's fingers laced with yours after half a block, making you both smile shyly when you caught each other's eye.

"Any big plans for the holidays?" Javier asked you. You shook your head sadly.

"I just moved here and my family all lives in a small town outside of Albany," you explained. "If I do still have a job, I certainly couldn't ask for time off already. And if I don't, well," you laughed lightly and shook your head. "I don't exactly have the money to travel, so... quiet Christmas this year. What about you?"

"No big plans. I don't have much family, but the ones I do have are in Texas. Wasn't planning on traveling home this year, so... quiet Christmas for me, too."

You tried, you really did, to come up with the courage to ask for his number or give him yours. For the entirety of the walk to your building, you kept rehearsing things you could say: Maybe we can get together if we're both in town? I'd love to get you a hot chocolate to repay the favor... or something stronger. Ugh. Dumb. Hey, since I'm new around here and it sounds like we'll both have time on our hands, why don't you show me around? Nope. Too bold. Why don't you give me your number so I can let you know if I kept my job after all?

Yes. That was the one. Light hearted and kind of funny. But when you found yourselves standing outside the familiar looking building, moments away from saying your goodbyes, you chickened out.

"Well, thank you again," you said nervously. He dropped your hand and opened the front door to the lobby, holding it for you so you could walk inside. It was quiet in the expansive lobby due to the odd hour. Most employees had already arrived for the day and were somewhere in the depths of the building, along with a very likely irate HR recruiter wondering where you were.

"No problem, happy to help out," he said with a lopsided grin. You didn't even question why he was still walking with you towards the front desk, far too preoccupied with the fact you were going to lose your job before it even started. When you got close enough to the receptionist, she glanced up from her computer and gave you both a warm smile.

"Hi, good morning," you told her while clasping your hands on top of the tall counter. You gave her your name and the name of your HR recruiter, letting her know you were a little late and you had run into some trouble with the weather.

"Alrighty, give me one moment and I'll have Carly meet you to review your onboarding paperwork. I see you've already met Agent Peña - good morning, Javier," she added with a flirty smile in his direction. Your jaw dropped and you swiveled to your left but he was already calling the elevator a short distance away.

"Morning, Laura," he called, locking eyes with you for just a brief moment before the elevators dinged. You stood frozen in shock, unable to form a single thing to say when he added, "I better get upstairs. My new secretary's supposed to start today. It'd look terrible if I were late."

Javier stepped into the car and tapped a number along with a plastic ID card. His gaze found yours once more and she shot you a playful wink right before the doors slid shut, leaving you to your stunned silence.

"Is- is that..." you trailed off, still staring blankly at the closed elevator. "Is that the agent I'm assigned to?"

Laura had just set her phone down in the cradle. "Yeah," she said dreamily before glancing around the empty room and leaning forward. "Lucky girl. His other secretary was with him for ages. I heard when she announced her retirement, HR got, like, thirty internal resumes for the job," she giggled.

"Oh, wow," was all you could muster before the elevator reopened and out stepped Carly.

"Good morning!" she said cheerily. "Sorry to hear you ran into some tough weather but I'm glad you made it. Don't worry, Agent Peña just got here, too."

You still apologized profusely for your tardiness as you followed her onto the elevator, your mind and pulse racing at the sudden turn of events.

"He's very nice, I think you'll get along great," Carly added while watching the numbers above the elevator door.

"Yeah, I think so, too," you replied, trying to hide the excitement from your voice.

Maybe your first day wasn't going to be a complete nightmare, after all.

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[kookiecrumb]

Too Big.

cw: adult content (18+), smut

pairing: Jungkook x Y/N

wc: <1000

tags: light smacking, it hurts for like a second, graphic language, looooove (bf!jungkook), one shot, short fic, unbetaed, written in about an hour, bigdick!jungkook, idol au

summary: you fly out to meet your boyfriend after being long distance for a while and to do something special for the first time.

a/n: here!

~

You had to put it out of your mind that it was going to happen tonight.

After what felt like a lifetime of waiting, Jungkook was finally going to be right in front of you, completely naked, looking at you in a way that you’ve never experienced before.

Before all that, though, you needed to get picked up from the airport, arrive at his place, shower, and have something to eat.

The flight was excruciating to say the least. Your knees poked into your chest, practically, as you tried not to think too hard about how you were forced into invading your fellow passenger’s personal space by the stupid cabin engineer’s greedy design.

Whatever. It will be over soon and you’ll be up and out of this flying metal tube in the sky in a little over an hour.

You tried not to wince as you reached down for your bag to pluck a bag of seaweed snacks from one of the side pockets. They only charge so much for food at the airport because they know you don’t have any other option.

What are you gonna do? Pick up your car from the overnight parking garage two miles from the airport, drive all the way to the closest McDonald’s, repark your car, walk back to the airport and go through TSA again, all in time for your flight?

Ridiculous.

You’ve never been able to properly sleep on airplanes, so for the rest of the way to Incheon, you delicately balanced your tablet on the sad excuse of a cabin tray and watched your downloaded episodes on Netflix.

Sarah Jessica Parker was so hot back in the day. Retrospectively, though, Kristen Davis was criminally underrated in the earlier seasons. You crossed your arms and waited for the plane to hit the ground running.

—

You had this idea that you were hard to make cum. You weren’t able to do it when taking a dildo, so you figured it would be difficult for you to cum on Jungkook’s dick. No big deal. That wasn’t really the point, anyways.

Not only did you cum on Jungkook’s dick, you were able to several times while he was still inside you, pumping and smacking his hips against you in missionary position as your legs pinned his thighs, bucking upwards to take in as much of him as you physically could.

He’d hold you in his arms and look down at you with his long hair. He would look kind of cute at this angle if he didn’t have such a determined and almost fierce look on his face while he pushed on your thighs to get you to give a little bit.

He fucked you shallow. He methodically placed your hands beside your head to make sure they were out of the way of his arms, pressing into the mattress to offset his harder thrusts.

!!

That’s when you felt a sharp pain deep in your gut. “Ow!” You chirped.

“Ow?!” Jungkook echoed, alarmed. “What? Did I hurt you?!” He pulled away, breathing heavily. Jungkook was kneeling on the bed, a look of concern washing his face as he postured his cock with his right hand.

“I’m not sure…” you frowned. “What happened?”

“I was just getting all the way in. Was that not comfortable at all?”

You glanced down at Jungkook’s cock. Fully hard, he was almost 8 inches long. On top of that, he had exceptional girth. He was just a little bit bigger than the dildo you had at home.

In fact, it was that very dildo that he gifted you to practice with one day that felt so small compared to him in actuality.

After a while of no response, Jungkook added: “It felt really good. I couldn’t really get all the way in until just a second ago and that’s when you said ‘ow���.”

“I think you might be just a little bit… too big,” you hesitated, surprised at the reality of things.

“I’ve heard it before. I’m sorry for hurting you.” Jungkook said, a tinge of disappointment in his voice.

“It’s okay. I still think you’re really hot. Do you think you could help me take your size?” You ask.

“Yeah. Of course. We can do it together. Here. Let me try from the side or back,” he prompts, shifting around so that he is almost spooning you.

He moves your leg over his side and uses his thumb and index to very lightly graze your labia to find your vagina.

He’s found it.

His fat tip splits you as he dives into your sweet and tight intimacy. He scoops your arms up so that your back lay flush against his chest and nips your ear between his teeth. “Is that better?” He puffs, an intoxicated smile spreading on his tender lips.

“Yeah~” you sigh, throwing away every unrelated thought out the window as you took in every drop of sweet fucking that he was giving you.

“Good~” he groans. His hands settle down on your hips as he bottoms out on you, tangibly snug against your cervix. He thrusts experimentally, rolling in.

Again, he rolls in and firmly pressed the tip of his cock against your cervix, his large hands cupping your hips.

“Fuck— Babe,” you whine. “More—“ was all you can manage.

“More?” He teases, pulling out just to smack back into you. His arms catch you in a close embrace as he screws your tight pussy. He fucks you with his leg over your thigh, curving his long, thick cock into you in a strict rhythm.

Not missing a beat, he spreads you on the bed and digs his knees into the mattress. He is now over you, his cock shifting inside of you. “That good?” He asks briefly.

“Mhm,” you insist, your head turned against a large and fluffy pillow.

Holy fuck was this an amazing view. Jungkook balanced on one hand to quickly jiggle your ass and smack it lightly, moaning at the sight. He wanted to bury his face in your cunt and suffocate in your thighs. The idea of being able to fuck you like this with his fat cock made him want to—

“Fuck! Y/N, you’re so hot,” he mumbled as he picked up the pace, his balls slapping against you.

Your mind was in a daze. There was nothing you could focus on expect the deep, pleasurable, satisfying sensation of your boyfriend filling you. His skin felt like soft warm sand on a beach, his languid thrusts milking every bit of delectation from your body.

You swell and contract around him, constricting his cock inside of you, which earns you a drawn out groan from Jungkook. He huffs.

Without much warning, your orgasm rolls over you. Jungkook staggers and rips out a soft, exhausted groan as he cums inside of you.

—

He kisses your cheeks and lips, turning you towards him. His forehead rests on yours. “I love you. I love you very much,” he says. “I will never ever hurt you. If it hurts again, you need to tell me.”

~

fic tag: @silversparkles11 , @lvoekook @sammy-steve-btsarmyakasammy, @kooliv @koobsessed @angelwonie , @hoseokgrecns , @bangsterz @swyseren, @sxtaep , @koostarcandy @hgema , @jjkeverlast, @nglmrk @devilsbooksworld @saweetspoiled , @exactlyfuriouscoffee and @unicornbabylover

[calebsdog]

Stepping inside Caleb's place in Shyhaven for the first time you are struck with how empty everything is. It was so barren that you were half convinced the place was haunted. Anyone who made it past the entryway would be able to see the lack of love decorating his bleak walls.

You were Caleb's home. Anywhere else was a prison. There was no reason to maintain this place if you weren't there. The same way he doesn't tend to his cracked, bleeding lips when you're not around. The same way he doesn't bother to season the meals he cooks if you're not sitting across the table ready to dig into your portion.

At first, you relish in the lack of life filling his home. Let him feel the same emptiness you had felt when you believed he was dead. His place should feel as cold and lifeless as the grave you thought he had been residing in.

Unfortunately, you don't celebrate his pain for long. Just looking at the dusty shelves of his home was enough to make you feel nauseous now.

You feel like a silly kid again when you turn up to Caleb's place one day with a small, cutesy stuffed toy in your hands.

"Here." You shove the innocent plush toy into Caleb's firm chest. You always accidentally became rough whenever you felt embarrassed about something. Caleb was more familiar with that habit than most.

"I thought your place could use some company." It's a stupid explanation. Just like it was a stupid idea when you first picked the fuzzy toy off of the store shelf.

You hadn't put much thought into why you wanted to give it to Caleb. All you knew was that it hurt to walk into room after room of Caleb's home and find each one as empty as the last. And you were so, so tired of hurting. Adding a touch of color to Caleb's life would give you peace of mind as much as it would him.

Caleb studies the small stuffed creature with a weight you hadn't anticipated. The colonel cradles the gift you hadn't thought through the same way he held the necklace you gave him what feels like lifetimes ago.

"Hm." With a grin Caleb holds the plushie in one hand while the other reaches out. Petting the top of your head, careful not to ruffle your hair in a way that would piss you off.

"Thanks for trusting me with this little guy, pipsqueak. Promise I'll take good care of him." And 𝘰𝘩, how could you not trust that boyish, beloved smile? The smile that stretches his cheeks, that makes him look like the Caleb you had loved and lost and mourned.

You trusted Caleb with your heart once upon a time. And had to watch in horror as the boy you trusted the most trampled all over the sensitive organ. And you wanted to hand him the shattered pieces so he could do it all over again.

"Good," you whisper, stepping away from him. If you look into those violet eyes of his, the color of an endless universe, of bright explosive galaxies, you might forget yourself.

"I can't promise I won't hurt you if you don't."

You show up with a new stuffed toy every time you visit Skyhaven now. You shove it into Caleb's warm chest, watch him study the new inanimate member of his home, before he reaches for you with a smile to pet your scalp.

A mound of plushies grows at the end of Caleb's bed. All neatly organized, beady eyes facing the pillow Caleb rests his head on whenever sleep finds him. Their fur brushed so immaculately they look better kept than when they were bought.

[usedpidemo]

Mistakes were made, but not you (Le sserafim Yunjin)

“Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!”

While Yunjin lashes out at you, grabbing at your shirt and using you as a proxy for the world and its ill-timed misfortunes, you can’t help but wonder if your presence would have changed the situation for the better.

Probably not. It’s one of those events that has to happen for character growth. 

—————

Tonight is supposed to be a night of celebration—a commemoration to the achievements, accomplishments, and accolades of the past year. The numbers and statistics never lie. They love her work, they love her artistry. They love her for what she sells and what she represents. But truth be told, Huh Yunjin couldn’t care less about what they think.

Thunderous cheers and colorful lightsticks representing different fandoms brighten the arena as the five Le sserafim members climb up the stairs to claim their award. Minutes ago, they pulled off the performance of a lifetime—an eight minute masterclass that represents everything the group stands for. You could see the exhaustion in their faces; barely mustering the strength to smile and wave to the crowd shouting for them. 

For the most part, the acceptance speech is nothing notable. Going through the motions, thanking the fans, the staff, the company, promising to do better in the future—it’s about as cookie cutter as it gets. As Yunjin tries her hardest to keep her tears from falling while she talks, the other four can only focus on her with varying weary looks. Chaewon looks especially worried; it’s her responsibility and burden to look after every single one of them. 

From the audience’s viewpoint, it’s seen as a non-issue, but the five girls recognize deep down it’s anything but. The only noteworthy thing is how suddenly quick they are on their feet heading backstage. It’s funny how everyone chases fame: to be in the moment, the spotlight. It’s funnier, Yunjin thinks, that she’d rather be anywhere else.

Unfortunately for her and the other artists attending, they’d have to wait a little longer. There’s backstage interviews and other idol obligations to do before they are finally let go. It’s not even worth all that lost time—that one award they receive ends up being their lone win for the night.

—————

Yunjin storms into your hotel room without a word with a fierce expression on her face. She doesn’t have to say it; she’s thankful she doesn’t have to spend another minute in front of the cameras, another minute being an idol—at least for the night.

In a sea of anger and auburn, Yunjin walks past you without acknowledging you at least once. She hastily drops off her purse on the coffee table before charging straight to her room and slamming the door. It’s easy to chalk up her frustrations on the monotony of the awards season—the countless hours of practice specifically for one event, the hours spent in the makeup room, the hours of interviews and fanservice—but you know she never acts like this. Rain or shine, hell or high water, she’ll walk around with a pleasant smile on her face.

Tonight simply isn’t one of those nights. You saw the whole ordeal happen in real time, and you’re already regretting the decision not to be there. At times, watching her on screen was tough. You can tell she was visibly uncomfortable, more clingy to her members than usual, when it’s normally the other way around. Admittedly, you have to give her props for holding herself back from crying when she has every right to. It’s a cold winter night, but that’s not the reason she’s trembling and shaking. It should be a night of celebration; instead, her sullen expression resembles the aftermath of complete, utter humiliation and defeat.

And it may as well be. You look through your phone; you find the messages from friends and acquaintances telling you the exact same thing; it might as well be considered spam. 

> Yo did you see what happened to Yunjin?

> Is Yunjin okay?!

> Yunjin fell! Fuck MNET!

> BRO YUNJIN FELL FROM THE STAGE WHAT THE FUUUUCK—

> Don’t tell her but I actually laughed when she slipped XD hope she alright tho!

Of course you know. It’s all caught on camera and in living color for the whole world to see. Even if it was cut from the YouTube edit, which is highly unlikely, it’s already out there on the internet spreading like wildfire. Numerous reposts with tens of thousands of likes, multiple articles immediately written after the incident—her name and her moment will remain immortalized in K-pop history for all the wrong reasons. It has the internet making jokes, it has the internet writing thinkpieces, it has the internet creating needless fanwars—it has the internet buzzing. 

You want to throw your phone from where your room is located—all the way up on the 27th floor—and pray it lands directly on a hater’s head. 

Sure enough, when you try to enter her room, it’s locked shut. The door won’t budge. All this awkward, quiet tension between you is terrifying, and sleeping her feelings off isn’t going to help anyone, not during these trying times. She needs comfort right now more than anything else. 

You give the door a respectful knock, only to be met with silence. Trying again and again leads you nowhere. Calling her name does you zero favors. Each futile attempt cuts away at your heart, little by little. Yunjin would rather isolate herself from the world than open up to anyone with no exceptions. Obviously, you have nothing to do with what happened (that is on the production team more than anyone) but you bear the responsibility and burden of being Yunjin’s partner, always there for her during the good times and the bad.

Now is not the time to give up or sulk. She needs comfort and love more than anything. She needs a shoulder to cry on. She needs a special voice to reassure her that everything will be okay.

Rummaging through her purse, you find one of her countless hairpins. It’s the oldest trick in the book—one that she always used to get you with guaranteed success. Already bent and straightened, perfectly shaped for picking—it’s as if she wanted you to reach her. You remember the disaster that was teaching you how to pick locks; dozens destroyed, to the dismay of her apartment doors, but she knew you’d need it at some point, and tried to help you to the best of her ability.

The lock comes undone. It’s a miracle, but it’s short-lived. What welcomes you as you enter her bedroom turns your uncertainty into shock and utter disbelief.

It’s imagery you only see in nightmares. Her bedroom completely ravaged and in utter ruin. Pillows, clothes, and objects scattered throughout the room. Yunjin is curled up against the wall with a blanket draped over her, concealing everything but her eyes. Bloodshot red from spilling her heart out. Around her feet lay two opened half empty bottles of alcohol and a spilled over wine glass. It takes everything not to drop to your knees or yell out “fuck” from the depth of your lungs.

Instead, it only comes out as an airy whimper, with your throat choked up seeing the sorry state your girlfriend’s in.   

Every little step you take may as well be tiptoed. Carefully treading into uncharted territory, who knows what you’ll end up meeting. The next words you pick will be the most important ones you’ll ever say. It isn’t as simple as telling her everything will be fine—that mistakes happen, life moves on, and this will be a memory she can laugh at a few years from now. She believes she’s ruined not only her career, but also her members, when anyone with common sense thinks otherwise.

With a deep breath and a gulp of your throat, you run through all the options. You pray you make the best choice.

“Jen Jen,” you mumble, crouching down in front of her, frowning. Try as you might, you can’t bring yourself to smile. You reach your hand out to peek through the curtain; she aggressively slaps down your palm. It’s as dire as you believe it looks. She sees the world crashing down before her. 

Watching her cry and hide herself away plucks away at your heartstrings. You don’t want to see her looking this sorry, this deflated. If her members—the people she’s closest with—couldn’t get through her, then how much less can you? Even so, you have to keep trying. Not as a fan nor an acquaintance, but as her partner.

Again, you’ll have to pick your way through another lock. This time, her heart. And it’s more delicate than any physical door. 

She’s drowning in her tears to realize the tug on her wrists. Little by little, you pull them apart. Yunjin’s bloodshot eyes glare right into yours, but she does nothing. Slowly, you curl your arms around hers, reaching around her back. For a moment, she appears vulnerable. Open. You press yourself close to her—

And then she hits you square in the face. 

Yunjin assaults you with a relentless barrage of fists, with one jab directly clocking your lips. They’re not the playful ones you’re used to. The kind that’s usually thrown after a serious argument, and you’ve only experienced a handful of squabbles. She sends you staggering back to the floor, violently screeching and attacking you. “Fuck you! Leave me alone!” she yells, punching you repeatedly with no sense of direction, only rage. You try to lift a hand in self-defense, only to be sent knocking down, to the point where you just give up and allow her to rip through you.

Looking into her eyes, having turned from grim to cruel, she looks as if you were there. As if you were the stage director. As if you were the one who pressed the button on the control panel. Her punches, aimless as they are, fucking hurt. You’re on the floor, defenseless, but you deserve it. You weren’t there when you should have been. The one award show you opt not to attend happens to be the one that ends up sideways. Of course she’ll pinpoint the cause back to you. That’s blind passion. That’s love.

She grabs you by the collar of your shirt, screaming right in your face, “Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!” Angry as she is, you can tell she’s trying to restrain herself. She wants to humiliate you, but she also doesn’t want to smash your head through the marble floor. You have this ragged but innocent look on your face. The stubborn kind that would tell her that you won’t give up on her. That you’d happily take all the beating just to see her smile again. 

As it turns out, all she really needs is an outlet to air out her emotions. She has moved past her tears, and she has stopped beating you down, but everything else still remains. The glare. The dour frown. The fingers gripped to your collar. The room is silent, with the only sound filling the air is your low, airy hush of “Sorry.” Your hand rubs against her arm, conveying a message of reassurance that everything’s going to be okay.

Yunjin freezes. Unsure of how she feels, unsure of what to do. The moment stretches beyond the perception of time. You end up getting caught unprepared by what happens.

She doesn’t apologize for throwing you to the floor and verbally and physically assaulting you. You don’t really mind. A kiss is more than enough of an apology. Even more when it’s passionate, humming into your mouth before letting her tongue slip right between your lips, and her hands now pressed to your cheek. Lovemaking is how she speaks to you. Her lips do most of the talking. 

Her body does the rest.

Yunjin pushes you down to the floor. You watch her shed her leather jacket, in awe of her radiant beauty.  Her skin is porcelain, gleaming from the bedroom light. She’s a star, and shines like one. The reverence soon turns to amusement, mostly at how nonchalant she’s behaving. Minutes ago, she was hostile, out of control, threatening to turn you into a ruined mess. Instead, she’s about to leave you a ruined heap, but in a different way. 

She notices. She always does. Knows you like a book. She grins.

“You know I can’t be mad at you,” she says, lifting an eyebrow as she straddles on your lap. Smirking playfully, she’s making you double take and wonder if this was an elaborate ploy or if she was really upset. And if it’s the former, then you’d really feel betrayed and manipulated. “Sorry dear,” she adds, accompanied by a peck on your lips. “I know it’s not your fault nor mine, it’s just that we prepared so much and—”

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt, placing a hand on her bare shoulder, “I should have been there. I mean, what are the chances the one time I’m not there, this shit—”

“Shhh.” Yunjin plants a finger on your lips. “Babe shouldn’t worry about his Jen Jen’s performance. At least I looked cool falling, right?” she asks, both sweet and playful.

“Sure you did,” you chuckle, almost sucking on her fingertip as she points it directly at your lip. “Definitely the coolest fall I’ve ever seen. Will never be replicated. Ever. And I mean that.”

She laughs, heartily, even though she knows you’re flat out lying. “Yeah, because they won’t do stage designs like that ever again.” Then she kisses you again; she kisses you as if your lips are her lifeline. “I swear I’m gonna tell management not to do elevated stages when we go on tour!”

This is the Yunjin you know and love; the one that everyone knows her for. Laughs at her own jokes and her own mistakes, and smiles through it all. You’re amazed at how joined to the hip you both are when the cameras aren’t on. When you’re the only ones in the room—when she can truly be herself and not a fragmented version tailored to the public. You both have this special connection together that only you two can understand.

Her smile is so radiant, distracting even, that you recognize too little too late how tense you’re feeling.

“Jen Jen,” you tell her, looking down at her legs. She has a hand between her skirt, and her underwear is already partially down.

“What is it?”

“Can we take this somewhere else,” you tell her, flustered by your own request. There’s no skirting around the thought that you’d rather take her anywhere except for a cold floor in a messy bedroom. She hasn’t realized it yet, but you know Yunjin well; she would never let your imprints stick anywhere in her bedroom, hotel or her apartment, let alone make a mess. That, and for as much as you love the sight of her on top of you, you want to keep things on even footing—for now.

The expression she makes is priceless; it's all part of the charm. She rolls her eyes, scoffing at the thought, as if the very suggestion offends her. She takes a moment to let the notion sink in. “The audacity,” she thinks to herself, the idea seemingly harder to digest if anything else.

“You’re so unserious,” she comments, in the most blunt tone possible, it may as well be condescending. Her thighs press deeper into your jeans to further prove a point. If that’s what she wants., then you’re fine with that. It’s probably a better idea than yours, too. “You shitting me right now?”

“It couldn’t have hurt to ask.”

“Well it wouldn’t have hurt you to be here sooner,” she retorts, grinning, like those words are your biggest mistake. “Then maybe I would absolutely consider it.”

In reality, there’s nothing to consider, because you end up rolling on top of her after she first pounces on top of you. It’s how she usually greets you after a busy day: jumping straight into your arms, then it’s on to the bedroom.

But not tonight. You don’t make that far, just the table by the foyer, the chair she usually reads in, nearly tripping over the coffee table and landing somewhere more comfortable for you both in the living room. In your wake you leave behind a trail of clothes, yours and hers entangled together—mostly yours. It doesn’t take much to undress Yunjin when she’s dressed for the occasion, and by the time she’s halfway unbuttoning through your shirt, she’s on her knees, completely naked. 

She kisses you, leaves strawberry marked lips on your tummy, looking so wanton, so needy. Your eyes follow along as she continues down to your pants, before looking up to you with doe-eyed curiosity. She’s got an edge to her, they say, which really just means, “she’s really fucking hot.” Everything about her, from the attitude to the wardrobe screams fierce, someone who knows what they’re doing and doesn’t care about what others say. 

But behind closed doors, she’s more like the other girl you know. Someone she tends to look after. She looks vulnerable. It’s cute to watch her act like someone she’s not.

It’s impossible not to help yourself, to stroke your own ego, even at Yunjin’s expense. There’s no hiding that devilish grin; it’s way too obvious. Nodding, you brush your hand through her autumn colored locks as she undoes your jeans, reminding her who she really belongs to. 

“Fuck—oh God—” you moan, allowing Yunjin to do what she does best: use her lips to praise your cock. No preamble, no foreplay—just immediately taking you straight into her mouth. You were already hard, so it doesn’t take much effort for her to swallow you up. Both of you using your pent up frustration and impatience after weeks where it seemed as if you were worlds apart. 

Leaning back against the wall, you can only imagine how Yunjin looks taking it. Your hand firmly grips the back of her head, while she rubs her fingers along the length of your shaft. She forces out every curse and word of appreciation out of you with a deep tone, it’s almost concerning. 

“Slow down,” you mutter, knowing full well she won’t listen. Not for anything. Not for you. She wants this as much as you do. 

At first glance, it doesn’t really show—not in the playful, satisfied hums while she blows you nor in the slow, deliberate pump of her fingers around your base. It’s a little too leisurely for someone to act desperate. Then you peek through the curtain of sensory overload, and that’s when everything becomes clear. The furrow of her eyebrows, the fixated attention on your cock, the spread of spit and precum all over your erection. 

Maybe she does have a point after all.

She catches you staring, catches you slipping. Her eyes flutter open, then shut. In a flash, she goes from sipping on your cock to choking on it. Forcing you deep in her throat without your input. It leaves your head spinning, back at square one, with no control of Yunjin nor yourself, clinging your hands to the walls for support. 

“Jen Jen, shit—” you mouth, but it's near silent in comparison to the sloppy sound she makes gagging. It’s as if she’s laughing at you for looking so helpless against her.

The sensation of her slick mouth burns. Her ever increasing tempo and lack of care or comfort relentlessly pluck away at your resolve and restraint. Her eyes water as she violently pushes her own boundaries, her own limits. Stains gradually pile around her lips and chin, a mixture of her spit, seed, and lipstick. You have her hair wrapped around the print of your fingers, holding loose strands away from her gleaming face. Despite your best efforts, you aren’t able to see her beyond blurry little flashes and brief snapshots. Deep down, you’re set ablaze, with nothing to extinguish you. You look to the ceiling, to the side, anywhere but beneath you, trying to find some reprieve from the agony and tension pulling at your loins.

You end up finding it down there, where you want it the least.

Yunjin has you right where she wants you to be—tightly sealed between her strawberry lips as you helplessly cry out her name in a sea of curses and praise. Anticipating the moment you finally break, she zealously works around her gag reflex to keep you deep in her throat. It doesn’t help that she has your balls around her hand, rubbing away and humming in satisfaction at the big hot load that she’ll receive soon. At points, she’s pouting at the fact that you refuse to surrender yourself entirely to her, that you’re still fighting.

It’s a losing effort that ultimately delays the inevitable.

An echoed shout, a wide drop of your jaw, and right there, lightning strikes—you come undone. Yunjin welcomes you with an open mouth; your thick hot load spills down her throat without a single wasted drop. You’re left wide-eyed, shuddering, panting as your orgasm washes over you. Even so, she continues to squeeze away at your balls without remorse, pumping your cock to unload more cum down her thirsty, needy maw. 

Yunjin can’t hold in her delight and laughter after she licks your underside for any leftovers. You cushion back against the wall, your energy completely drained as she laps her lips and chin clean. Just like that, any remnant of what transpired hours ago, completely forgotten. It’s not a healthy coping mechanism—not in the slightest—but if it works, it works. 

That’s one department where Yunjin won’t let you down. 

“I wasn’t ready,” you huff, palming a hand on your thumping chest, cumbrously catching your breath. You mindlessly stare at the living room light, struggling to gather yourself. “Shit, Jen Jen, that was—”

“And we’re only getting started,” she interjects, quickly rising to her feet, pushing you upright. The grin on her face doubles down on the intent. “I’m not going to bed in a dour mood tonight, and you’re gonna help me feel better.”

God, she’s so damn good at this whole setting the mood thing.

You’re no different than anyone else, folding so easily as her fingers map out your body. Continuous circles around every part that belongs to her: from your hair, to your shoulders, arms, chest, down to your tummy, around your back, and everything else in between. Yunjin demands everything about you, her fiery gaze keeping you in tow. You’re tensing up, letting out these strained gasps, watching her watchful eyes dictate your every little move, reminding you who’s carrying the stick in the relationship.

She has you by the balls, quite literally—pumping you back to hardness—and she’s enjoying every moment of it. Teasing you with her flattering mien, she has every intention to leave you more tired and spent tonight than any day she’s worked in her life.

Then, a phone rings. It’s not the hotel landline, but from the pile around your legs. Suddenly, a lightbulb appears over Yunjin’s head, and the smirk on her lips is anything but subtle. 

“Would you look at that,” she teases, her grin growing an extra inch wider, and her ironclad grip loosens. Still, you have no room to breathe when she crouches down to dig your rumbling phone out of the pocket of your pants. She makes it a point to act shocked in response to the incoming caller, then shows her to you.

Kim Chaewon.

It’s an open secret within the group—how important of a piece she is between you two, the perfect reprieve and voice of reason when the other isn’t around. You’ve gotten tangled up with both Chaewon and Yunjin a few times, under the same guise of stress relief. In a way, they’ve grown closer together thanks to you. But the rather scornful frown she has tells you otherwise. As if she’s going to lose the one last thing keeping her head straight. Forget that Chaewon is respectful of your relationship; if she gets in the way between her and your dick, she’ll cut her down, and that goes for anyone else too, friendship be damned.

“Be a good boy and take care of the call, will you?” she asks, tone playful, handing the phone over to you. You have no say, other than to follow her command. In the process, you feel your groin tense up. You look down and find your cock sandwiched between her heavenly thighs, choking up from the new sensation of her creamy skin. 

When you try to look away, she redirects your eyes back to hers. Her palm meets your chin. Hard. She curls her lips, expressing disdain and reinforcing her control. There’s your first and last warning. 

You’ve never struggled so much just opening your own phone. It’s not that Yunjin just hacked into it; her imprints are everywhere. The very lockscreen is her kissing you, your face cropped out of frame and your homescreen is a candid photo of her more bold outfits.  If not for the texts from the other members and loved ones, you’d look like the creepiest, most obsessive stalker ever. You can feed tabloids and news outlets day-to-day information, down to the most intricate details. She’s a huge part of you, and it’s gonna eventually ruin you—

“Hurry up, dipshit.” 

Yunjin’s stern tone snaps you from your daze. Hard to maintain a steady head when she’s slowly choking you out and she’s thrusting your cock in and out of her legs, still sore from her blowjob and while you’re still reeling from your orgasm. She’s perfectly built for fucking for hours on end; you’re surprised you hasn’t caught on after so long.

“Hello?” Chaewon’s voice pulls your focus away, but only briefly. Almost instinctively, Yunjin’s legs press tighter against your hard cock in response. She raises her eyebrows, shaking her head, demanding you answer the call. No context clues, no verbal cues, just wing it. 

“He-ey, Chae.” Your voice comes out gruff, airy. A brief glimpse down and you find the growing stain on Yunjin’s thighs. Your cock entering and exiting the comfort of her legs. She doesn’t appear satisfied, not even a little. 

“Is Yunjin there with you? She’s been gone after we got back to our rooms. She's not been herself after—you know—and we’ve been trying to comfort her to no avail.”

“Yeah, she’s here with me—” you say, looking directly at her, and she nods, still stiff and sour. She leans forward, her tongue pressing against your skin, mumbling something incomprehensible on your neck. Somewhere along the lines of “If you tell her, I’m going to fucking kill you,” and she sounds like she means it.

Try to suppress your gasps and whine, you can’t hold yourself back. It affects your inflection, from gravelly and small to high-pitched and nasally. You’re one wrong move away from meeting disaster, and Yunjin is the one goading you to your own pitfall. She revels running you around in circles, leading you like sheep to a shepard. You can’t think straight from all this built up pressure. “She’s good! She’s doing just fine—”

Out of nowhere, she moans. Loud. Her tone is so obvious, it can’t be anyone but her. Any sort of illusion or pretense is immediately dashed, right then and there. You almost drop your phone, barely managing to save it with a glint of clarity.

You don’t hear from Chaewon for a bit, letting you indulge in Yunjin’s seductive motions. Your body is the perfect outlet for her pleasure: kissing and marking around her neck, her fingers tracing your arms to your chest, and your cock comfortably snug between her sculpted legs. You regain some semblance of control by pumping away between her warmth, but it’s hollow; she lets her thighs press down while you thrust quicker and quicker. At first, she’d been the one bringing all the friction, until your hips begin to glide involuntarily, the wetness dripping from her thighs and around your cock making the transition near-flawless. 

Soon, the room fills with the sound of her moans, till it becomes oh-so clear you’re fucking her. The call remains active, but you still hear nothing from Chaewon’s side. The phone in your hand is what’s holding you back, but even you feel your control slip away again; against Yunjin’s demand to pretend everything’s normal, when there’s nothing normal about the position you’re in. The only thing unusual is the fact that Chaewon isn’t there to watch, preferably while pleasuring herself.

“Shit, Yunjin, you feel so fucking good—” you sputter, clutching Yunjin’s nape as she curses and whines against your shoulder. Suddenly, you hear Chaewon again, but you’ve practically stopped caring. She’d understand.

“Yeah, well, I don’t blame her for going to you. I’d do the same right now, but I gotta take care of the girls as the leader.” Chaewon sounds so diplomatic about the matter, it’s almost surprising. “Just—” she pauses when Yunjin loudly kisses you, cooing and moaning about how big you are in the direction of your phone. “Please tell her to come back here by morning, all right?”

“Sure—thing.” Your tone jumps on the second word, as your cock hits a particularly deep stroke that teases the outline of her cunt. 

“Oh, and Kkura said hi, by the way.” 

You’re amazed at how understanding she is.

“Okay.” You look down and you see Yunjin adjust your cock around the entrance of her pussy with her hand, impatient and done with the teasing. All the possible replies to maintain normalcy and your best response ends up being a simple, hurried “Hi.”

“Bye.” 

You drop your phone right as Chaewon hangs up the call. Yunjin immediately kisses you straight in the lips, sliding her tongue between your lips. She lets out this strained whine when you grab her ass, lightly pushing her away. Miraculously, she doesn’t fight back or lash out. 

“Don’t you wanna cum right in my pussy?”

“No, Jen Jen. Let me finish right in your thighs.”  

Yunjin flashes this sad, deflated frown, but she ultimately concedes. She’s this multifaceted character only you might ever hope to understand. She's a perfectionist and wants things her way, but she’s also soft and vulnerable. You feel guilty making this rather huge request, but she reassures you by pressing your cock comfortably between her legs. Your worries soon disappear when the friction of her heat keeps your hips moving. The sight of your dick moving in-and-out keeps you preoccupied. 

Even she forgets about her disappointment too, hypnotized by the continuous rhythm of your cock. She pulls your head in, moans all these profanities of varying tones in your ear. The way you both pull each other’s bodies apart, your expressions twisting in pleasure, demanding more—you might as well be in bed, and not breaking your knees and backs against the living room wall. 

You’re not sure what’s going to break first—your legs, your back, your hips, or your cock.

“Oh—fuck—Yunjin,” you groan, losing yourself in her asphyxiating heat of her skin, on the verge of another climax. You have one hand marking her ass as you both grind into each other’s bodies. God, you’re both made for one another. Drowning in her tightness, you thrust deep between her legs. Same spot, same stroke, same result. You remember where and how well you’ve fucked her, it’s almost muscle memory to you. It drives Yunjin crazy. 

She senses your incoming orgasm and shouts. The need for you to cum isn’t a request, but a full demand. Something to be expected. Her voice hits those familiar high notes that aren’t far off from her usual recordings, and she firmly clings to you. As if you ever had any other thought than to finish on her pencilike legs. You let yourself succumb to the sensation, let all the pent up pressure set itself off while you bask in that delirious high.

The way Yunjin clenches her thighs around your cock, she may as well have snapped it off.

You both mirror each other’s expressions; eyes completely shut, jaw completely agape, resting in each other’s bodies. The only difference being that Yunjin is way, way louder than you. Your mind goes completely blank, with nothing but her name drawn out from the curve of your lips. Your back is aching; your knees are tingling, ready to fail at any time. Nothing registers for you except her voice, her endless moan that rings in your ear. It’s only after her legs involuntarily slacken their grip that you fall.

To the floor, that is.

And you stay down—a minute, maybe several, completely shaken up and your head still riding that high. Somewhere in limbo. One hand gripped to her waist, the other on her leg. You forget to breathe. Your brain doesn’t register the concept of exhaling, only taking in air. The world around you appears to pause completely. 

And then your phone beeps. Still dazed, you completely ignore it.

Yunjin brings you back to life. She has one hand gripped against the wall, the other on your hair—which you now just realize—gasping for much needed air. She can’t muster up the strength to open her eyes, so you assess the damage. It’s as disastrous as it looks: a huge splatter of cum around her legs, dripping down to her feet. To the floor. To your pants. 

You don’t say a word; you don’t really have anything meaningful or productive to add. The simple question of whether or not she feels better, but you know she’ll say it won’t be enough. That she wants your cum right in her pussy, no matter how spent or sore you are. Maybe you can quietly weave your way out of a nightlong bedroom session.

So you look at your phone, removing yourself from the situation. There’s two new messages, both from the same person—Chaewon. Nothing noteworthy, just the reminder to send Yunjin back early in the morning. The idol life never really stops.

Yunjin calls out to you, abruptly intercepting your attention. “Hey.”

You look up and find her looking down at the details, slowly gathering her bearings. She runs a finger on a sticky patch on her skin, then tastes your seed with her tongue. “What’s up?”

She ignores you for a moment to gather more cum to lap, then stares directly at you. “We should have done this in front of a mirror.”

You pause. It’s hard to believe Yunjin telling you this, when she’s been the biggest skeptic. She’d rather have it in bed, on the table—anywhere that won’t allow her to see herself. The uncanny image of a prim, desirable idol bent over while someone uses her.

With that in mind, you chuckle. “We do it all the time. Give it a break.” 

—————

You both end up doing it anyway.

It’s two in the morning, and you vividly have Chaewon’s request at the back of your mind. The group’s flight back home is in six hours, and Yunjin has to be there with them for breakfast. It’s not like you’ll be away long term; she has three days-off after today. Days when you can spend all the time in the world together to your heart’s content. But fuck, Yunjin is so goddamn insatiable, she can’t go at least three hours without your cock somehow around her. You don’t end up getting sleep, because she’s so needy for your cock she can’t help but stroke it or blow it back to hardness. 

Your suggestion? A late night coffee run that ends in predictable fashion: you, fucking Yunjin from behind in the comfort of a cafe restroom. 

Yunjin’s outfit barely qualifies as casual; if anything, it’s her performance fit (a sports bra and a short skirt) from earlier, topped only by the leather jacket she went to your room with. Yet none of that matters when they’re pooled on the floor, with your hand squeezing her bare breast and the other pressed on her shapely ass. And there’s your hard cock, pounding away at her soaked cunt like it’s second nature—which it is—and it’s quite the motivating sight. Watching it appear and disappear in her pussy, hearing her hushed pleas, echoed cries, and every lewd sound in between.

The cafe across your hotel is completely empty, which is to be expected. You can count the number of working staff on one hand, and most of them are fast asleep or busy on their phone. You’re not making any excuses for fucking Yunjin at a place like this; you’re merely laying out the scene. 

You can blame Yunjin for your precarious position. Any attempt to make some small talk she makes it about you. About missing your cock so much, about how she wants you to fill her pussy up and make her feel better. As if two orgasms wasn’t enough. You wouldn’t be surprised if she asked you to fuck her right then and there, in front of the cafe where everyone can see. You end up agreeing to a compromise, but it’s merely delaying the inevitable. The door is locked shut, nobody’s around to hear, and no one really cares.

If only it were that simple.

“Fuck—so—fucking—big!” cries out Yunjin, as if you were in the privacy of your hotel room and not in front of a public restroom. She gives it to you again, praises you in both murmurs and screams, her hands glued on the edges of the sink, eyes fluttering open and closed with her jaw agape on the surface. It’s as filthy as you imagined, if not more. Only you can see the full extent of the damage you’re making, and it is breathtaking. 

She beckons you to fuck her harder, give her more, tells you not to stop. The idea never crosses your mind. When she yells and mewls, she’s making sure each one is louder than the last. You can tell she has nothing to lose. If she’s going down, she’ll drag you down with her. 

“You’re so fucking tight, Jen Jen,” you groan out, looking at your entangled bodies in the mirror, at her arched back, at the curvature of her ass, at your cock spearing her hard. You puncture each of your next three words with increasing emphasis. “So—fucking—tight.”

As the sex dissolves into deeper madness, so does your restraint. You’re fucking her through the sink, pounding away with reckless abandon, with zero care for comfort. Thoughtless, impulsive drops of ‘tight,’ ‘fuck,’ and even a single ‘slut’ bomb—words that can get you cancelled on-air. Yunjin shudders, letting out this drawn out ‘yes’ in response, as if admitting the truth—to your utter surprise (sarcasm). Her core clenches against your cock, stretching her out. So wet, so needy—

It’s a strange thing to believe, but this is Yunjin’s first orgasm of the night. Her lands lay flat on the sink, and her mouth lolls wide, screaming your name like you’re the most important person in the world. The intense heat, the suffocating pulse of her cunt, drowning your cock—

Fuck, it’s too much for your already aching cock. And her thighs and lips were brutal in their own right. 

Moments after hers, your very own climax follows. You’ve already struggled holding back twice; whatever amount of resolve you had left is non-existent. Moving from her chest at some point, the hand on her hair yanks harder. Pushing your hips as far as they can go, wishing your cock can somehow enter her womb—you ignore the possibility that you might be hurting her. 

‘Hurts so good’ exists for a reason.

The remnants of your orgasm continue to leave Yunjin in shambles. A brief look at the aftermath, and the first impression is that you didn’t fuck her hard enough. Your hot cum spilling from her splayed, ruined hole, her clothes on the other side of the restroom, and your pants receiving some of her hot slick. Yunjin remains bent on the sink, huffing through her own climax, your hand deeply imprinted on her ass, and marks, scratches, and rosy patches on her back—vestiges of hours gone by. 

You remain like this for a little while longer: cuddling up against her frame while she rests on the sink, softly kissing around her ear, brushing strands of loose red hair. She’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that. When she performs, when she’s being herself, when she’s getting pounded hard—but she looks best when she’s calm, when she’s at her softest, at her most vulnerable. When you’re all alone and you both have nothing to hide. At the end of the day, you both need each other. For everything.

—————

You and Yunjin might as well be strangers. 

It’s as if the past seven hours happened in a different timeline. Both of you casually lounge in the still lifeless cafe, drinking the nonexistent traces of your iced coffee. You scroll through social media; Yunjin still dominates the trends and new reposts of the viral accident pop-up like they’re produced from a factory. She’s doing the same, reading through all the comments. Some memes, some praising her professionalism, some simply to get that verified ad revenue. 

This will be completely forgotten in a week. Yunjin’s career will come out unscathed. People move on. She will, too.

Yet you still remain awkward with her, completely undecided on the words that she really needs right now. She needs you more than just your body. 

“Jen Jen,” you whisper, before you freeze up at her anxious gaze. She waits for a follow-up, a sentence, anything. It never comes. 

She frowns. She’s not mad, only disappointed.

The sun begins to rise over the city, signaling the start of a new day. Knowing this, Yunjin adjusts her jacket and rises from her seat. You never told her once.

She walks through the door, and steps outside—but not before turning and taking one last concerned look at you. You quietly mouth ‘Love you,’ and surprisingly, she smiles. The Yunjin you know and love.

‘Love ya.’ 

—————

(A/N: againsorryfornotpostingmuchlatelyohgodivebeensobusy—

Ginger/red hair Yunjin didn't grow on me at first. Then the Good Bones teaser dropped. The strut. The attitude. The fact they allowed her to walk around in her bra and panties. What the fuck. I've been so down bad for her lately, and so are you. Looking forward to their new music! Thank you for reading!)

[13atoms]

Working Late (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)

Summary: After a busy few weeks, you spend a friday night in the office catching up on the never-ending pile of paperwork which appears whenever the team are whisked away on a case. To your surprise, a colleague decides to join you.

Contains: Fluff, very gentle friends-to-lovers, early seasons spencer, food | 2k words.

If you listened for long enough, you could hear the distant hum of the vending machine.

The office was empty. It was long past the time where other departments turned their lights off, and it became acceptable to sling your shoes off and pad around in socks. The BAU was in high demand lately, and it felt as though the last three cases had been back-to-back-to-back. You could hardly remember what your bed looked like, your apartment floor was covered in clothes from hastily repacking suitcases, and the thought of cleaning it up was enough to keep you in the office.

At 7:30pm, even the most dedicated of your colleagues had rightfully headed home to partners, or sports clubs, or kids. That only left you, and the team’s mountain of paperwork which only grew each time you headed out on a case.

I’ll work late tonight, catch up on everything, then crash for the whole weekend, you’d promised Garcia at lunch. In one breath, she’d claimed that was impressive, that everyone would love you forever for getting it done, and warned you to take care of yourself.

Sometimes it was hard to know how to. You felt dreadful being here, you'd feel worse if you went home, thinking about the work hanging over you. For a moment you lay with your head on your forearm, idly massaging out the headache that had started to form.

Dinner, you realised. You hadn’t eaten dinner. Maybe that was why you felt dreadful.

The temptation to just go home would be too strong if you went out to get it, so you headed for the drawer in the kitchen full of takeout menus.

While you were flicking through the pile for the least sticky menus, the elevator doors opened.

It was almost certainly security checking to see who was still up here, or a cleaner making their rounds. Nonetheless, with half the building dark, it was hard not to suddenly be on high alert. In socked feet, you tiptoed back along the corridor until you could see the doors, already sliding closed with the carriage empty.

You crept further forward, until you could see a man, hair slightly damp around his face and a satchel looped over his body. Reid. He was stood behind your desk, peering at the computer you had left on, as though he was confused.

“Evening,” you offered, pushing against the warm fondness you felt as he jolted away from your chair in surprise.

“The computer screens turn themselves off after five minutes of inactivity, and you never leave yours unlocked. I figured something must have happened.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to your socked feet, then back to your face.

“Evening.”

“I just went to get menus,” you held them up limply, and Reid smiled.

“Have you not been home yet?”

“No, I can’t believe you’ve been home!”

“I actually went home early,” he admitted the fact as though he was embarrassed. You were fairly sure Hotch had shoved him out of the elevator doors.

“You’ve snuck back in, them?”

Finally you crossed the bullpen, sinking back into your office chair. Reid perched on the next desk over.

“Couldn’t settle – I figured I could get through everything quickly, save everyone the job…”

“Especially after we’re inevitably called in over the weekend, and all these cases feel like a lifetime ago.”

He smiled grimly.

“Exactly.”

For a moment it was silent, and you felt a little caught at Reid finding you in the office alone like this. Your headphones lay out on the desk, music blaring tinnily from them, and you felt your face grow warm as you reached across to turn the music off.

“So you’re getting food?” he hadn’t moved, gesturing at the menus.

“Yeah. Have you had dinner?”

“Not really. If you don’t mind me joining you…”

“Not at all,” you insisted, “please.”

He glanced over the options you’d laid out, over the three piles on your desk. You wondered how long ago he’d showered, his hair was straighter than usual with the weight of being damp. He was wearing one of his usual jumpers, but he must have put a t-shirt on underneath it. There was something odd about seeing him without a shirt collar. Some insight into what Spencer wore when he wanted to be comfortable, when he thought he wouldn’t be seen.

“I– Thank you. I don’t mind going out to get it?”

“I usually just order it in, and then get security call me down and accept it.”

Reid frowned, no doubt prepared to reel off dozens of stats about security risks.

“Is that allowed?”

“No one’s ever stopped me,” you shrugged, only to delight in Reid’s wide, nervous smile.

 He’d never had the chance to be a naughty schoolboy, you’d often reflected, it was why he often seemed to look like he was being called into the principal’s office.

“So long as you make the call…”

“Don’t want to get in trouble?” you teased, and Spencer laughed.

“Absolutely not! That’s the last thing I need.”

“Well then, in that case I’m choosing Chinese. Pick something.”

You tossed him a menu, and he glanced it over before looking up to think. You’d never quite get over the way his mind worked.

Once the order was placed and Spencer had laughed over your stomach grumbling, reality sunk back in. Sat at your desk, on a Friday night, under fluorescent lights.

“Isn’t it funny to have your dream job, and it’s still so boring most of the time,” you mused, and Spencer just chuckled.

He still hadn’t moved to start his work.

“I know what you mean.”

He paused for a moment.

“Was this your dream job?”

Oh, no.

“Is that lame? I assumed this was everyone here’s dream job,” you admitted.

Spencer shrugged, and you found yourself watching him desperately for any kind of redemption from the ache of embarrassment you were feeling in your chest. It shouldn’t matter, whether Spencer thought you were lame. Somehow, it seemed like the only thing that did matter.

“I suppose I never knew where I’d end up, but I’m glad it was here.”

You nodded, waiting for him to speak more. Spencer spoke a lot, defended himself with constant talking. It was something different, rare, when he was talking about his own past.

“What am I talking about? Yeah,” he was smiling, and that meant you were smiling right back at him, all toothy and lame, “this is my dream job.”

“If it was really a dream job, they’d pay for our dinners,” you teased, and Spencer laughed.

“That’s true enough. Oh!”

He rifled through his wallet, pulling out a twenty and hunting for more.

“My half,” he offered, “thank you for letting me crash your dinner.”

“Not at all, it’s nice the you’re here! And I wasn’t angling for you to pay me back, Spencer. Don’t be daft.”

“No, you just reminded me, is all.”

He put the cash down beside your hand with an eyebrow raise, and you laughed.

“Thank you.”

You wondered how someone sourced bills so clean, it wasn’t as ratty as the cash you grabbed from your wallet.

“I’ll take it as danger money, in case security squeal on us for ordering takeout.”

“I’m not sure the late night paperwork should the riskiest part of the job.”

He laughed, and finally made a move to stand up. Suddenly you were overcome by the need to stop him from going anywhere.

“What have you got left to do?” you asked.

“Case reports, a few bits of random paperwork, I think there’s a security review and some statements to type up…”

As you talked over the workload, you realised you’d done some of the work Spencer had intended to. He offered to take over on some things, and you knew he’d complete the work perfectly, until finally the workload split between the two of you felt manageable. He pulled a chair over to share your desk, and by the time the food had arrived, you felt far better about your odds of getting home before midnight.

“Do you want to try some of this?” you offered Spencer, catching him watching you.

“Oh, um, yeah actually.”

You hadn’t really meant it. Spencer didn’t share, you’d already double-dipped and your chopsticks had been in your mouth and…

“Do you want a spring roll? These are amazing.”

You let him use his chopsticks to drop a spring roll into your container, and you smiled your thanks as he did. His face was suddenly far closer to you than you’d realised, knees inches apart as  you struggled to share one desk.

“Hm,” you mumbled, “that is good!”

“Right!”

For a while you ate in silence, and if you forgot about the fluorescent lights and stale scent of office, it was like you were sharing dinner together by choice. Spencer in his casuals, you still shoe-less, perched casually on your chair, it was nice.

“So, do you have weekend plans?”

He’d be silent for so long, you hardly heard him.

“Hm?”

“Weekend plans,” his voice dropped quieter, less stable. “What are you up to?”

Spencer was asking what your weekend plans were. Spencer.

“I just thought… asking about… asking about your weekend shows that I care for your wellbeing and builds social rapport between colleagues, or… I mean, I think we’re friends at this point? Too? So I just wanted to know what your weekend plans were.”

He was bright red and staring down at his noodles, you could see the rise and fall of his chest, the panic growing in him.

“No, Spencer, I appreciate you asking. I’m, uh, just planning on crashing to be honest. I have to clean my apartment, do all my laundry. Nothing too exciting. And my building’s laundry room is flooded – again – so I guess it’s a long wait at the laundromat.”

Desperate to say anything, to make Spencer feel better – and make sure he didn’t regret talking to you – you found yourself rambling on and on, until he was smiling nervously. Still avoiding your eye, he interrupted you gently.

“Public laundromats have all kinds of risks. My biggest concern is always bed bugs – even commercial machines in laundromats often can’t kill bed bug eggs, leading them to be transferred between customers…”

“Oh, god Spencer, that’s really not making me feel better!”

“No! I just mean… I have in-unit, for that reason. Disinfected regularly.”

You looked at him, bemused, the warm food in your lap forgotten. He paused, and met your eyes, a lock of hair falling over his face. He brushed it back.

“Oh! I meant, I wasn’t bragging about my washer being clean. Uh, you’re welcome to use mine, if you’d rather.”

It was the strangest thing that had ever made your heart clench with fondness. He was still blushing, clearly afraid he’d said the wrong thing, done something weird again. It was your first instinct not to bother him, but at the innocent look in his wide, brown eyes, you found yourself accepting.

“That would be amazing, if you wouldn’t mind, Spencer. Be warned, I’ve got a lot of laundry to do, you can kick me out anytime you get sick of me,” you teased.

“I know, from all the travelling. You’re wearing clothes you never normally wear, presumably because all your favourites need washing.”

You stared at him, processing for a moment. You could see his finger tapping against the side of his thigh, the smile he was trying to hide.

“You can stay as long as you like,” he clarified.

“Maybe we can watch a boxset or something, if you like?”

The raise of his eyebrows was enough to make you laugh, and he quickly looked away, taking another mouthful of rice.

“Doctor Who?”

There was nothing you wouldn’t have watched with Spencer, as you woke up the next morning blessedly free of work calls and lazily made your way to his apartment with two suitcases full of washing and a huge bags of Skittles for Reid. He’d surprised you with a made lunch, and with a freshly cleaned washer and dryer. Despite the way he made himself scarce when you pulled out underwear and bundled it into his washing machine, two hours later, he was brave enough to sneak an arm around your shoulder.

You sank your face to his chest, and listened to the pounding of his heart. By the time Christopher Eccleston had met his first Dalek, you knew a lot of your future  would be spent on this couch.

[esouliie]

that’s when i could finally breathe.

(wandanat x reader)

summary | you didn’t know having the best surgeons in the world as girlfriends usually meant being the loneliest person.

tags | hurt/comfort, poor mental health, hospital au, wanda is so gentle with reader, fic is inspired by taylor swift!!

Summer had always been your favourite season. The heat of the sun, the taste of ice cream melting on your tongue, and the sensation of warm sand beneath your feet—it was when you felt most alive. Your wardrobe was a testament to this: light dresses, miniskirts, and shorts that flattered your sun-kissed skin. But now, it had become your favourite for a different reason. It was summer when you first moved in with Natasha and Wanda. Their beach house was like that of a dream, larger than anything you’d ever lived in before. It stood tall and proud on the beachfront, its white shell-coloured walls and soft blue accents blending seamlessly with the surrounding environment. Inside, the house was open and airy, sunlight flooding in through the large windows, which offered an unobstructed view of the shimmering ocean. The seagulls' calls echoed in the distance, a constant reminder of the peaceful life you'd found here with your girlfriends.

You remembered how that first week had been pure bliss. The three of you had spent days "christening" each room, the laughter and love you shared echoing off the walls as you tangled in each other’s embrace. During the day, you would lounge together on the beach, Natasha daring you to swim out farther into the ocean while Wanda kept a watchful eye, her smile soft and affectionate. It was everything you’d ever dreamed of—a home filled with love, a future filled with endless possibilities.

But that summer felt like a lifetime ago.

The days passed in a blur, each one blending into the next. You went through the motions, but your mind was elsewhere, lost in a fog you couldn’t seem to shake. Natasha was out more often than not, her career as a cardiologist taking her away for long hours, sometimes even multiple days at a time. Up to becoming the next Head Chief of Surgery, she was a force of nature at work, tirelessly moving from one critical case to the next. Wanda, a neonatalogist, was around more often, but recently her presence was like a ghost in the house—she was always preoccupied, her thoughts wrapped around the delicate lives she fought to save every day. Her latest case being quadruplets with their own unique life threatening disorders that required assistance from doctors all over the hospital. You could see how exhausted she was, her eyes sunken beneath her glasses for when she’s been straining her eyes too much.

And you understood the importance of their work, you really did. They were saving lives, making a difference, and that was something you had always admired about them. But lately, admiration had been replaced with a growing emptiness that gnawed at you. The house felt colder, larger, and the silence between you three had become almost unbearable. Meals together were rare, but even when they did happen, you felt like you were dining alone. You sat at the table, picking at your food, barely tasting it, while Natasha and Wanda exchanged brief conversations about work—medical jargon that you used to find fascinating, but now only served to remind you how far apart you were growing. You wanted to speak, to tell them how you were feeling, but the words never seemed to come. Instead, you would just nod, smile when appropriate, and try to pretend everything was okay.

It wasn’t.

Tonight was supposed to be different, though. It was the night before your semester started again, and they had promised to be home early for dinner, with no work talk. You had spent the afternoon preparing a meal, something simple but special—your way of bringing back a piece of normalcy, a piece of the life you missed so much. As the clock ticked on and the evening slipped away, hope slowly faded. You sat at the dinner table, the food untouched, candles flickering softly. The silence was deafening. No texts, no calls—just empty chairs where Wanda and Natasha were supposed to be. You forced yourself to eat, each bite tasting like ash in your mouth. You kept glancing at the door, hoping to hear the familiar sound of their voices, the comforting click of the door unlocking. But the only sound was the distant crash of waves and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

By the time you realised they weren’t coming, tears were already blurring your vision. You cleaned up in a haze, your movements mechanical. You packed away the uneaten food for them when they come home, put the dishes in the sink, and blew out the candles, the scent of melted vanilla wax mingling with the salt of your tears. You didn’t even bother with dessert, your appetite gone along with the last shred of your hope for the night. This was it. Your relationship slipping away from underneath you. Heading to bed, you felt like a ghost drifting through the house. You crawled under the covers, curling up into yourself, the loneliness a cold weight on your chest. Sleep didn’t come easy, and when it did, it was restless, filled with dreams of empty spaces and silent room.

Weeks passed like this, with you becoming more and more of a shell. Your thoughts spiraled downward, a mixture of poor mental health, the overwhelming work load from school, and the crushing loneliness that came from being around the people you loved who seemed to be slipping away. They didn’t notice. Or maybe they did, but there was always something more pressing—an emergency at the hospital that had them leaving in the middle of movie night, or a case that couldn’t wait as they left you lonely at the dinner table. And so, you sank further into yourself, your once vibrant spirit now dulled by the weight of it all.

One afternoon, Wanda came home early – a rare occurrence that would have made you happy, once. She walked into the house, the usual tension in her shoulders softened by a rare quiet day at the hospital. She called out for you, her voice echoing through the silent rooms, but you didn’t respond. Maybe you were still at school she initially thought, but something tugged at her, an intuition she couldn’t ignore, and she followed it outside.

The sight of you on the beach, sitting alone with your knees pulled to your chest, caught her off guard. The waves lapped at the shore gently, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside you. You didn’t hear her approach; you were too lost in your thoughts, the tears streaming down your face as you sobbed freely, salt stinging as the wind whipped at your skin.

“Hey,” she whispered, kneeling beside you, her voice gentle but laced with concern. You looked up, startled, and quickly wiped your tears, but it was too late. She had already seen them, “why are you crying?”

You tried to find the words, but they were tangled in your throat. Wanda reached out, her hand cradling the back of your neck, before wiping away a stray tear you missed. That simple touch was enough to make you crumble. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Wanda’s eyes softened, her usual composure cracking as she realised just how much she had missed. “Do what, honey?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Everything. All of it. I feel like I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to stop it. I know you and Nat are busy, I understand and I’m so proud of you both, but my head won’t stop telling me all these things, that you don’t love me anymore, and I’ve been so lonely, Wands- I miss you,” you hiccupped, “and Natty.”

You met her gaze finally, noticing the gloss of her own eyes as she holds back her tears. Her heart broke at your words, guilt washing over her like a tidal wave. She had been so consumed by her work, by the endless demands of her job, that she hadn’t seen what was happening right in front of her. She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as if trying to piece you back together.

“My baby,” she whispered into your hair, trembling as she kept her emotions at bay, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t notice you were hurting. I love you. So much.”

You wanted to tell her it was okay, that you understood, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you just cried harder, the weight of all the loneliness, all the pain, finally spilling out. You clung to her, the warmth of her embrace a stark contrast to the cold emptiness you had been feeling for so long. “It’s not your fault,” you choked out, “I hid it from you guys because I didn’t want to be a burden. You both have so much going on, I didn’t want to add to that.”

Wanda shook her head, pulling back enough to look you in the eyes, delicate hands cupping your cheeks. “No, sweetheart, you’re never a burden. We’ve been so focused on work that we’ve neglected the most important thing to us —you. I promise you, this stops now, okay?”

You went to reply, a rebuttal already ready at the edge of your tongue, when Wanda’s phone rang. The sound cut through the moment like a knife, and she sighed, pressing a long kiss to your forehead, before pulling away out to check who was calling. Her eyes softened as she looked at the screen, showing you a picture of the three of you together. It was one of your favorites—a candid shot of you asleep with your head on Wanda’s lap, her fingers playing with your hair, while Natasha grinned at the camera, her arm wrapped around the both of you. “It’s Nat,” Wanda said, her voice gentle. She stood up, keeping one hand on your shoulder. “Stay right here, baby. I’m just gonna tell her she needs to come home, okay?”

You nodded, watching as she stepped away to take the call, her voice low and urgent. You could hear bits and pieces of her conversation—something about coming home right now, about how you needed them both. It made your heart ache, but in a different way this time. Wanda returned a few moments later, her expression determined. “Nat’s on her way,” she said, taking your hand and pulling you up to stand with her. “Let’s go inside, alright? We’ll wait for her together.” You let her lead you back inside, the warmth of her hand in yours a small comfort. As you sat down on the couch, Wanda wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. The two of you sat in silence, the only sound the distant crash of the waves and your favourite tv show low in the background.

That evening, when Natasha returned, the three of you sat together. She listened intently as you and Wanda explained what had been happening, her eyes filled with regret as she realised how distant she had become. How she could’ve been a better girlfriend to you. She reached out, taking both your hand and Wanda’s, her grip firm and reassuring. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, my love.” Natasha said, her voice raw and broken, “I promise to do better by you. I love you. We’ll figure this out together. I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re alone in this. We’re a team, remember?” Wanda squeezed your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, before she said, “We’ll always be a team.”

And they meant it. The following weeks, they took time off from work, dedicating their days to you, to each other. It wasn’t a magic fix, the path to healing rarely is, but it was a start. You spent your days together, and when you weren’t in classes, you were rediscovering the small joys that had once been the foundation of your relationship. Walks on the beach, movie nights curled up on the couch, late-night talks that stretched into the early hours of the morning, slow kisses under the stars as you undressed each other, declaring your love to one another once again.

At night, you lay in bed between them, their arms wrapped around you, the weight on your chest finally began to lift, the crushing pressure easing as you drifted off. The path ahead was still uncertain; you knew there would be hard days, especially as they were soon to return to work, but for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again. And upon your girlfriend’s chest, you realised you didn’t have to carry the burden alone, because they were here with you.

You weren’t alone anymore, and that made all the difference.

[raphaelsrightarm]

Could we get a little something on the spicy side, maybe Raph just taking care of himself during a particularly annoying mating season, hes yearling after reader (who’s his bestie) and he’s feels all types of wrong but the more he does it, the worse (all too real) his desires get for him.

Watch

Ok so like usual this one got away from me, I played a bit further into the "all too real" than I had intended, I hope you enjoy!

Words: 1362

Warning: NSWF 18+, implied attraction between characters

Three weeks. 

The pulsing ache that burrowed inside of him would leave after three weeks. The tension in his muscles would slip away, his irritability would return to its normal state, and life would resume as normal. Or as normal as it ever was. 

Raphael usually stuck to his weight set for hours at a time before returning to his room to attempt to ease the stiffness that built up after a single day. That had become his routine whenever this time of year came around, and though he knew it was going to be a reoccurring thing, he dreaded it every time the weather started to warm. 

Yet something new has happened since last year. Something that had brought a new complication into this tortuous few weeks. You.

They had met you by accident, and you remaining so close to them hadn’t been part of the plan either. Some days Raph felt so grateful that such a thing happened to them that it overwhelmed him, and he usually had to distract himself for a bit until the fullness inside his chest slipped away.

Other days, he cursed the world for it. You had opened a door inside him that he had locked for years. The feelings that he never thought he would have to deal with in his lifetime, now being something that trailed behind him closer than his own shadow.

He liked to believe he might be haunting you the same way. There were moments between the two of you that he labeled as your close calls. Times when you had brushed against him, times when you grabbed his arm while laughing and your hand lingered on his skin, thumb brushing briefly before leaving. Times that left him wondering if this was something more or if he was creating something new entirely. 

Now, when he felt the beginning signs of springtime, he knew it was going to be worse. The thoughts that floated back to you used to be mostly harmless, now they dug into him like blades. 

A few weeks ago, he had told you some bullshit excuse to keep you out of the lair while they were able to push through the weeks of unbearable horniness. He felt bad lying to you, but he felt it might be easier than to remind you of just how unhuman he was. 

On one of the first days, he abused his punching bag until the chain broke. He lifted weights until his limbs burned, waiting until just before the sun set to touch himself. 

When that time came around, he shut himself in his room. He slowly undressed, then lounged back on his bed. With his eyes shut, he slipped into the easy motions he had gone on many times before. 

His cock was already hard just by the thought of what he was about to do. He wrapped his hand around it, his head falling back just from the feeling that provided. 

He stroked himself slowly at first, squeezing his hand around the head to use his precum as lube. 

That was when his mind strayed to you, and though he feared it would be unavoidable, it still made him feel like he was crossing a line he could never come back across. He had imagined being with you, of course, he craved to know what your legs would feel like slung over his shoulders. He wanted to know what you sounded like when you came, what you tasted like.

But something felt different about this. His hand moved faster as he imagined being inside of you. Your face buried in a pillow, muffling your cries for him to fuck you harder. He imagined cumming inside of you. How it would spill out of you when he pulled out, how full you would be of him. 

He thought of your voice, smooth and beautiful. Your moans would be just as sweet, full of lust and pleads. He thought of your smell, something that managed to remain anywhere you touched just to taunt him. He could imagine it now, the silky aroma that drifted off of your skin. It felt so vivid to him now, so close to him it drove him crazy. 

He was so close now it was nearly unbearable. His stomach had tightened, a cord stretching further and further. He heard your voice saying his name, and he pushed himself further into the fantasy of you touching him, of you yearning to see him cum, and he whispered your name in return. 

Through his closed eyes, he noticed the room brighten a bit. When he lifted his head, his first sight was you. At first he thought he had imagined you there, eyes wide as you watched him. Reality sank in shortly after, and he jerked to sit up.  

He blurted your name out in a panic.“What are you doing here?” He grabbed his pants off the floor and brought them over his lap. His blood roared in his ears as he waited for you to respond, to do anything but stand there. It was horrible of him, but the sight of you made his cock twitch beneath his clothes, reminding him of the visions he’d seen, how close he was just moments ago.   

You were silent for a moment, before stepping inside his room, and, to his complete shock, closing the door behind you, pressing your back against it. 

“What are you…” His words trailed off, breaths heaving. You clasped your hands together, but not before he noticed a slight tremor.

“You said my name. I heard you.” Your voice was quiet, and though you tried hiding it, he could tell you were nervous. “Were you thinking about me?” 

 Raph was silent, eyes wide. But you looked at him, waiting. After a moment, he nodded, still unsure if he had imagined you there at all. 

“Can I watch?” 

His heart nearly stopped, his body felt like it turned into clouds. He answered you by slowly taking the pants from his lap. You moved carefully, not taking your eyes off of him, and sat in the beanbag chair against the wall across from him. 

He began stroking himself again, moving slow until he felt himself fall back into the motions. He found the rhythm he enjoyed, squeezing his fist at the head. At first he avoided looking at you, but he could feel you watching him. 

He opened his eyes to see you leaning further back, your legs spread slightly, hands gripping your knees. He desperately wished he could know what you were thinking, but the rich smell of your arousal reached him from across the room, answering most of his questions for him. 

It pushed him further, the fact that he could get you like this without even touching you. That just seeing him like this had gotten you wet. His hand began moving faster, he could hear you lean forward. 

“Were you thinking about me touching you like that?” 

A chuckle escaped him. “‘Was thinking about a lot more than that.”

“What else?”

“Fuck,” He put more pressure around his cock, feeling flares shoot down his legs. He saw the muscles in your legs clench, hands tightening into fists. “Thought about having you any way I want. Makin’ you say my name while I fuck you. Makin’ you cum.” He let out a sharp breath. He was almost there, the cord nearly snapping inside him. “I’d have you all to myself. Nobody else would ever fuckin’ touch you. 

You slid your hand up your thigh, your voice a dreamy whisper. “Raph,” 

Fuck.

His head fell back as he came. Ropes of cum landing across the back of his hand. The quickened rise and fall of his chest slowly began to settle

He wasn’t sure what was going to happen after today, but at the moment, with his brain clouded by the mix of his  afterglow and his own instincts, as well as the undeniable need radiating off of you, he couldn’t care less. 

“Come here,” His voice was low, eyes so intensely focused on you. 

Without hesitation, you obediently stood, taking a step toward him.

[doctorbeth]

Mimming from Singapore

A couple months ago I received an email from Mimming's person in Singapore. Mimming is an almost 40 year old teddy bear, and she's been very well loved... and hugged.

This is what Mimming looked like when she was young:

And this is what she looked like at the start of 2023:

As you can see, she lost a lot of weight and fur from hugs over the years. Her eyes have cataracts (you'll see those better later), her nose is dangling due to muzzle shrinkage, and she has some pretty significant wounds she usually keeps under her shirt. But she's still a very cuddly bear with an endearing expression.

Her person was hoping to get Mimming recovered in new fur, so she could be hugged and have adventures for at least 40 more years. A new nose and new eyes were under consideration, and we agreed starting with a spa (especially since her stuffing was so compressed, was probably in order. So... Mimming found a flight with her buddy Little Mimming to keep her company (you'll see her later) and headed across the Pacific to CA. While Mimming is well travelled, this was a first solo Pacific flight, and so it was bit scary, hence the company. It actually took less than a week for her to arrive!

She started with her bubble bath, that way new fur would match her cleaned fur color.

You can see her cataracts, particularly in her right eye, and how loose and chipped her nose is here.

Next was deciding if she would get a new nose and eyes, or keep her originals. Turns out, there were many nose options. Smooth like nose, flocked/velvety, size differences:

Her person opted for a new, velvety, triangular nose. For her eyes, there was really only one option, new or not. I can usually get pretty good color matches, but Mimming's eyes had also faded, so new eyes would be a touch brighter. Once eyes or a nose come out, they can't go back in, and with recovering it's best to remove them before recovering, so this was a decision that needed to be made before fur choice. Here's the eye option next to her original eye:

Mimming's person opted for two new eyes. We agreed to preserve her old eyes and nose in her heart with a bit of her stuffing. But first, she needed new fur. Here were some of the white fur options:

Mimming's person went with the thick white faux fur, and surgery proceeded. For her brown patch, I had furs to match all of the white fur options, so we were all set there.

Here's her heart being made and installed:

And here are the first photos of Mimming in all new fur. She still has open seams, so her chubbiness can be adjusted:

While she sits naturally like in her baby photos, she can also lay flat like she could when she arrived. Chubbiness approved, Mimming got dressed and went outside for a photo shoot. She was well traveled, but had never been to California, and she wanted some photos as souvenirs. Little Mimming joined her for the photo shoot (those were the first tulips of the season):

And those adorable knitted overalls? Those are Mimming's regular travel clothes that she arrived in. Good thing that knit stretches. I particularly liked the little teddy bear buttons to hold the straps.

Mimming and Little Mimming flew home and again, it was a fast trip, just 5 days! Here they are safe and sound, albeit a little jet lagged, with their friends:

Her person wrote:

Thank you so much!! She looks amazing! We are so happy we got to spend the rest of our lifetime with her - another 40+ years!! Thank you Doctor Beth for taking great care of her. You’re such a blessing to all of us! Praying for your good health and good life. Stay happy and blessed!

[httpsserene]

Hello hello! How are you?

I wanted to request a Yuki Tsunoda one-shot before you close your inbox.

I was thinking of a GN!Driver!Reader (if possible) and Yuki going out for a stroll after the Japanese GP in which the reader got P1. Yuki is showing them around, local places to dine and such... Seeing them be so interested in his ramblings he starts to realize some stuff and decides to act on it!

Please and thank you! Have a nice day! ☀️

𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 - 𝐲𝐭. 𝟐𝟐

summary: yuki's private tours include exclusive features, just for you. pairing: yuki tsunoda x gn!driver!reader (reader's race/ethnicity/appearance is not described but, they're bi-poc < 3)

2.7k words. oneshot & smau. yuki pov. fluff. feelings realization. pre-relationship. explicit language. alcohol consumption. flirtation. horny thoughts. author's never been to suzuka (or anywhere in japan) but did a little research for this. i apologize for anything that's incorrect or inaccurate :) requested by @anicega < 3

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. serene returns with a yuki fic/smau she was hoping to post in celebration of him being promoted to RB...have this as consolation instead. belated happy holidays and happy new year, 2025 will be all you wish it to be x

title inspo from one direction's why don't we go there (miss u liam🕊️) they were my #3 artist of 2024 and i'm not ashamed to admit that. when i read this request for the first time i instantly thought of this song and it just had the vibe of realizing you're crushing on somebody.

in other news, my 3k followers celly will serve as my v-day special this year and will last the entire month of february (this is how u properly celebrate black history month) !!! so, trying to finish writing the last of my requests so i can focus on doing the 3k celly requests :) more fics and info coming soon but in the meantime, enjoy reading xxx

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | table of contents ↻

twitter • april 7th, 2024

Yuki watches your expression bloom with awe as you take in the endless sprawl of Sakura trees within Suzuka Flower Garden. Your hand grasps his forearm gently, tugging happily and exclaiming in delight as pink and white petals float through the sky. The flowers (while not as novel to him as they are to you; he’s seen many Sakura seasons growing up in Japan) make him feel nostalgic, memories of his youth—before F1, before karting—tingling somewhere at the back of his head. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Your mouth remains open in amazement until you end up sputtering around a mouthful of blossoms, and Yuki laughs. 

“Take a picture of me, please?” Yuki accepts your phone, not complaining as you make him take hundreds of photos before you find two or three that you deem acceptable. 

Yuki remains silent during your stroll underneath the trees. He allows you space to inhale the vanilla-like scent, to marvel at the image of graceful, falling petals. Every so often, the comfortable silence is interrupted by a passing fan sharing congratulations. They smile kindly while praising your first-place finish, but grin wildly while cheering for Yuki’s first home-race point. 

“She sounded happier about your point than she did about my win,” you remarked, not offended or annoyed, but charmed. 

Yuki denied the idea, but his pink cheeks undermined his credibility. The earlier silence is absent, but not missed as Yuki begins to explain the significance and traditions of cherry blossom season in Japan. 

“The sakura is our national flower. It symbolizes Spring—the time of renewal, life and death, beauty and violence, the fleeting nature of life. The blossoms only last for two weeks, which tells us to appreciate what we have,” Yuki relays, recalling what he was taught in elementary school verbatim.

“We have cherry blossom parties,” he grins at your envious gasp, “—called hanami. The translation is ‘watching blossoms.’ It can be just a walk like we’re doing now, but we also have picnics under the trees with family, friends, and even colleagues. There is also something called yozakura, which is doing the same thing but at night. My middle school held a hanami every year.”

You come to an abrupt start, turning to look at him with pleading eyes, “Let’s do a yozakura! Can’t we have dinner here? I want to see the trees at night—it must be beautiful! ”

Sympathetically, Yuki frowns, “We don’t have enough time to have dinner here if you still want to make it to the shrine before it closes.” His resolve weakens at the growing pouty downturn of your lips, “…I guess, we can have a snack here before leaving.”

He lets you drag him to the closest takoyaki cart, pleased to see the vendor’s patience as you order in choppy Japanese. While the food is being prepared, Yuki tasks you with finding the perfect tree to sit underneath while he stays near the cart.

“The two of you make a cute couple,” the vendor comments, smiling adoringly.

Yuki chokes on his exhale.

The two of you are far from resembling anything near a couple. Or, at least, Yuki thinks so. He thinks of you as a close friend but, do you see him as a friend? What if you view him as a colleague, or worse: just another annoying, backfield, competitor? Banishing his spiraling thoughts, Yuki considers there is no need to correct the kind lady. She doesn’t seem to recognize him. And, if she did follow Formula One, she would know you two aren’t a couple.

“Arigato gozaimasu,” he utters after a beat, reaching for his wallet as she begins plating the snacks.

She refuses to accept payment, ushering him to grab the small plates, “You’ve earned this meal; for your point and their race win—it is free.”

Yuki nearly exhausts himself expressing his gratitude to the vendor as he thanks her and deeply bows. When he finds you sitting underneath the chosen tree, he realizes he forgot to correct her assumption about his relationship status. Instantly, he forgets again, as you reach toward him to tuck a blossom behind his ear with a smile.

“Kawaii, Yuki-chan~,” you tease, grabbing your takoyaki dish off his stunned-still hands. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he flusters eventually, cheeks burning at the sounds of the word cute and his name leaving your mouth in quick succession. Even if the grammar is incorrect and it’s nothing more than a joke.

Yuki practically swallows his snack in one bite. He didn’t know he was terribly longing for authentic street food until his first bite. Not wanting to rush you to finish, he busies himself by searching for the most unblemished flower he can find on the ground.

Yuki waits for the perfect moment when you're distracted by brushing away the petals clinging to your clothing and tucks the near-perfect blossom he picked behind your ear.

“Now we match; kawaii desu~,” he chirps, his grin deceptively innocent. “Close your mouth, it would be a shame if you swallowed more petals.”

Yuki snorts at your offended gasp and dodges the soft punch you throw out as you both dispose of your trash and head back to the car. 

The drive to Tsubaki Grand Shrine is filled with anecdotes about his childhood mischief on these very streets you're passing by and questions about shrine etiquette. He didn’t realize you were so concerned about acting respectfully in the temple until you forced him to quiz you on appropriate manners and the important steps. Your dedication to having the perfect etiquette makes him think you’re one of the kindest people he’s ever known. It’s characteristic of you to be mindful of different cultures and kind overall; the fact that you willingly chose to celebrate a win by letting Yuki show you around Suzuka is telling. 

Yuki parks smoothly, and soothes your worries calmly, “You have no reason to panic. It sounds like you have it memorized—and if you forget anything, that’s what I’m here for. I would be a terrible tour guide if I let you fuck around and get cursed.”

With a healthy amount of side-eye, you quip, “I will write an extremely negative review and give you one star on Yelp. If you decide to fuck around, be ready to find out! Is this your intricate plan to get me cursed with bad luck so I don’t win another race this year?”

With an appalled expression, he earnestly denies, “If I had to pick any driver to win besides myself, I would pick you,” Yuki sees your eyes soften sweetly and he swallows nervously, needing to deflect the attention, “And, maybe Pierre. Only because he would be mad if he found out I chose you over him.”

The soft tinge of your stare remains even as you roll your eyes at him and giggle, “Of course! I could never compare to your lil’ boyfriend Pierre.”

He shrugs, the two of you exiting the car and making your way to the entrance. Feeling devious, he speaks loftily, “Hey. we both know there’s nothing little about Pierre.”

Yuki can admit he deserved to be deafened by your shriek of disgust. His ears continue to ring as you adamantly state that you don’t need any image of the Frenchman in your brain besides the view of his car shrinking away in your mirrors.

The distraction was effective, your earlier panic about proper manners is nowhere to be found as you confidently navigate purifying yourself at the chozuya, only looking toward Yuki once for reassurance. While you’re busy being awestruck by the architecture and natural beauty, Yuki carefully makes sure you don’t stray into the middle of the pathway and finds himself taking candid photos of you. He knows you’ll be disappointed that you forgot to take any, but he doesn’t want to interrupt your reverence. Hopefully, his idea of what makes a beautiful picture satisfies you. He pauses at the thought, wondering if it’s odd that you’re in the forefront of all the images. 

You’ve always been attractive—photogenic, to him.

The two of you reach the shrine and Yuki lets you pay your respects first. He offers you a handful of coins to choose from, reminding you that the amount doesn’t matter, any coin will do. You decided on a 5-yen coin; Yuki’s certain you’re unaware of the belief about that coin increasing your chances of finding a significant other. Although, he is aware that it’s an urban legend. It doesn’t stop his chest from tightening when he thinks about you in a relationship, with somebody who isn’t him. He tosses a 5-yen coin in the offering box to match.

He doesn’t believe in the myth, but if there’s any chance it helps him get together with you he’ll take it.

Burning incense at the temple comes without any more romantic realizations. Buying omamori, on the other hand, has Yuki thinking that what he feels for you is more than a simple crush. He forces himself to not stare at your selections and focuses on his purchases. An en-musubi (for finding love) for himself, and he’s chosen two for you: kotsu-anzen (for safe driving—he thinks it’s a little ironic) and katsumori (for success and victory—he knows you don’t need it).

On the way to dinner, Yuki notices your shuin and asks needlessly, “Is that to remind you of visiting?”

He can feel your gaze as he watches the road in front of him, hearing you ponder over your response, “Of visiting the shrine with you? Yes. Um, I don’t know if this is weird but, I bought you a couple of omamori, if that’s okay?”

Your tone is bashful and when he spares a glance, you avoid eye contact, fiddling with the shuin anxiously. 

Yuki sighs giddily, relieved, “It’s not weird because I bought you a couple too. We can exchange at the restaurant?”

He sees the shock on your face from the corner of his eye, as if you weren’t expecting him to do the same. It angers him slightly, his previous obliviousness. If you didn’t ask him to show you around tonight, he never would have been aware of his budding feelings for you, nor the feelings he thinks you already reciprocate.

You’re overwhelmed with the number of choices at the hole-in-the-wall sushi establishment Yuki chose for the night, eventually slamming the menu shut and asking him to order for you. He sits up straighter at the responsibility, rattling off the plates he’d like to the server, mindful of any preferences and dietary restrictions you have. 

A flight of sake samples is brought to your table, and Yuki finds it fitting that you enjoy the sweetest flavor because it compliments you. The alcohol loosens the tension gathered in him, helping him maintain a semblance of a regular conversation while he refrains from thinking about the shape of your lips, your attentive shining eyes, the length of your neck, your inquisitive questions as he recalls his childhood, the dip of your waist—Yuki doesn’t take another sip after he feels his eyes straying. He’s enamored with your undivided attention and it makes him feel hotter than he was in Qatar last year. 

He asks to see the omamori you’re gifting him before you can comment on the flush spanning from his cheeks down to his collar. Receiving kotsu-anzen (for road safety) and katsumori (for success and victory) from you only serves to make him redder. He thinks about asking for your hand in marriage when he reveals he’s bought you the same and your flush blooms to match his. 

With impeccable timing, the server begins to deliver the endless amount of plates Yuki ordered and the moment passes without being addressed. He almost whimpered aloud when your eyes fluttered shut at your first bite of food, moaning appreciatively at the taste.

Desperate to distract his hindbrain, he stutters, “W-What was I talking about before?”

Yuki feels like you know what he’s trying to hide, your eyes omniscient. He spots the corner of your lips tilting upward into a smirk, but it vanishes before he can be sure and you remind him, “You were talking about beating Natori in Motegi to win the F4 title in 2018.”

The rest of the meal remains lighthearted, intrigued chatter flowing around bites of food as you compare and contrast your junior careers and hometowns. It carries to the final stop Yuki brings you tonight, Isozu Beach. The vast, dark ocean is bathed in moonlight, the salty breeze cooling the air, and the coastline is lit up with buildings. The sound of waves crashing against the shore melts away as the heart-to-heart you’re sharing becomes his sole importance. He’s holding both pairs of your shoes in one hand, listening to your occasional giggles as the tide slips high enough to wet your feet and tickle your ankles. Your lilted and somewhat slurred speech tells Yuki you’re tipsy, but you’re insistent on simply linking your arm with his to prevent yourself from stumbling as you continue to walk the length of the shoreline. The stroll resumes and you slowly lean more of your weight into him; your head nestled on his arm, hand wrapped around his bicep, and Yuki feels you shiver at the next wind gust.

Like a gentleman, Yuki pulls off his sweater and helps you into it when your arms prove to be too clumsy to manage on their own without ending up stuck. Briefly, he squeezes his eyes shut to regain his composure after you bury your nose into the collar of his sweater with a pleased hum. 

“Okay,” he says, sounding strangled, “Let’s get you back to the hotel—you’re more drunk than I thought.”

He suffers quietly during the short trip to the hotel you're staying in. The way you’re humming quietly as you play with the hem of his sweater has his grip tightening around the steering wheel, stopping him from reaching for the handbrake to halt the car and leaning over the console to kiss the tiny grin on your lips. Yuki escorts you to your room door, making sure you arrive safely.

He takes the keycard from you and unlocks the door after you fail at your first few attempts.

The door clicks open and Yuki speaks, “This was…nice. It’s the best celebration I have had in a while. We should do it again, sometime.”

You smile shyly, agreeing quietly, “I think so too. Thank you for showing me around.”

Nervously, Yuki’s voice wavers, “But, next time, I want it to be a date.”

“I think…I think I would like that,” your small smile grows into an unrestrained grin, pupils wide with infatuation.

He exhales roughly, the tight pressure in his chest lightening as it sounds like you like him, want him, too, “W-wait���really?”

Yuki looks on as you hold onto the door for stability as relieved-sounding laughter overwhelms you. Your amusement quiets when you straighten up to meet his eyes once more, probably seeing how he’s honestly shocked at your returned feelings.

“Yuki, babe—” Oh. He’s going to sing in the shower when he gets back to his hotel room. “—I tucked a cherry blossom behind your ear and called you kawaii. I know the 5-yen coin has that myth about relationships, and I bought an en-musubi omamori for myself because it’s for finding love. Obviously, Yuki—I would like to fall in love with you.”

Lost for words, and with his mouth gaping, stunned, he says, “...You do?”

You’re kind enough to spare him with a roll of your eyes, “I do.”

“I bought the en-musubi, too,” he reveals for no other reason than not knowing what to say.

“I know, babe,” Yuki’s heartbeat skips, “I saw it in the bag during the drive back here.”

“When is your flight scheduled?” He asks suddenly, a plan beginning to form in his mind.

“Tomorrow morning?” Your brows are furrowed in confusion at the change in topic, glancing down at your phone screen to confirm, “—Or this morning, I suppose, since it’s the next day already.”

He swallows, eager again all of a sudden, “Is it too soon if I ask you to cancel your flight and spend the rest of the week here with me?”

instagram • yourinstagram

liked by charles_leclerc, f1, selenagomez and 652,113 others

yourinstagram missed my flight because i got lost in suzuka. not because i got hammered 👍🏽

view comments

user1 when i put "two f1 drivers start dating e/o" on my 2024 bingo card, i meant for it to be lestappen… happy for you though haha...

user2 WHERE HAVE YOU BEEEEN ???!!!

user3 BEDS EMPTY 😡 user4 NO NOTE 😵‍💫 user5 CAR GONE 😫 user2 i was going quoting rihanna but this works too LMAO

danielricciardo well well well

yourinstagram are YOU doing well 🤨 danielricciardo i’m not the one who told their team that they needed to reschedule their flight bc of food poisoning yukitsunoda0511 it’s me! i’m food poisoning 😁🙋🏻‍♂️ user6 YUKIII PLS 😭😭😭

user7 no shot u missed your flight when u told your team to be ready for it on the radio 🤡

yourinstagram do as i say, not as i do—is the phrase, i believe :) user7 okayyy mother gothel since u know what's best 😝

oscarpiastri hey you never gave yuki his sweater back, in case you forgot 😀

yourinstagram oscar please stfu i’m never telling u anything again landonorris hey don’t speak to osc like that…he’s just a boy :( yourinstagram lando u can stfu too? tf ??? these hands are rated e for everyone 🤺 user8 the threat of violence almost distracted me from the sweater exchange…keyword being almost

user9 no post about the race win and no tag for yuki on the last photo…

-yourinstagram hey i won the suzuka gp in case anybody forgot :p -yukitsunoda0511 hey i’m in the last photo in case anybody didn’t know :3

instagram • yukitsunoda0511

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, nicorosberg and 739,926 others

yukitsunoda0511 i do private tours 🇯🇵🍣⛩️🌸🌊🌖😚🥇

view comments

pierregasly no point in asking who took that last photo 😏

yukitsunoda0511 your mom did pierregasly yuki please yukitsunoda0511 is what your mom said last night user10 your honor, my client pleads: boy best friends

user11 that’s a lotttt of emojis yuki-san

user12 he graduated from the charles leclerc school of emoji usage with honors 🧑🏻‍🎓 charles_leclerc i am a very good teacher 😊 user12 chuck legleg responded i can die happily now

yourinstagram do you have any tours available in shanghai next week?

yukitsunoda0511 there’s a spot open at a discounted price! yourinstagram how much will it cost me 🥴🤧 yukitsunoda0511 five or six kisses should cover it :) yourinstagram payment is on its way rn 🏎️💨💨💨 user13 this could have been a private whatsapp message… user14 going to say taylor swift sucks on twitter so death comes faster

visacashapprb when you tell your driver to have some decorum and he decorates his caption instead 🫠🫠🫠

user15 WAITTT WHY WAS THIS ACTUALLY A FUNNY JOKE💀💀😭 user16 when you tell your driver to score a point and he decides to score a date as well 🫠🫠🫠 pierregasly when you tell your driver to stop harassing pierre and he cyber bullies him instead 🫠🫠🫠

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