#she just sat back and looked so confused and offended

[noorpersona]

Confessions: Kageyama

It started with borrowed notes and ended with a study group. Well—started might be generous. It accidentally evolved into a study group.

You hadn’t been trying to be helpful, exactly. Yachi had asked if she could borrow your English notes one afternoon after class, frazzled and muttering about upcoming quizzes and something about Hinata writing “past tentacle” instead of “past participle.” That part might’ve been a joke. Or maybe it wasn’t.

“I just— I think they need someone who’s not already burned out,” she said, waving her hands while balancing her notebook and a pen. “They listen to me, but it’s like… they hear English and immediately go blank. You’re good at this. Could you maybe... help?”

You’d agreed, mostly because it seemed cruel not to. And that’s how you ended up in the back corner of the library, sitting across from Kageyama Tobio and Hinata Shouyou as they squinted at their textbooks like the words had personally offended them.

At first, it was just the three of you. You tried to keep things light — patient examples, color-coded worksheets, and a rotating snack selection that Hinata always finished by the halfway mark. Kageyama didn’t talk much. But he listened, sharp-eyed and silent, only interrupting to ask dead-serious grammar questions like, “Why does this rule exist if no one uses it?”

(You didn’t have an answer. You never had an answer for that.)

A week later, Yamaguchi drifted over with his usual quiet smile and a question about conditional clauses. The next session, Tsukishima showed up, leaned against the end of the table, and said, “You’re all hopeless. Move over.”

And just like that, it was a group.

You started looking forward to the sessions — not because of the grammar (which remained abysmal across the board), but because it felt easy.

Even Tsukishima, for all his sarcasm, had a rhythm to him. Yachi jotted notes and brought candy. Yamaguchi helped quiz people with a soft, steady voice. Hinata vibrated with caffeine and overconfidence. And Kageyama… Kageyama sat next to you every time, his chair just a little closer than strictly necessary.

He didn’t say much. Not when everyone was there. But he always paid attention. Always lingered a little longer after cleanup. Always walked you partway out, even when the others took a different exit.

You weren’t blind. You noticed it — the way he turned toward you when you talked, how he never interrupted, how his ears turned faintly pink when you gave him a compliment. But he never said anything. And you never asked.

Until the afternoon it all cracked wide open.

It had been a long session. Hinata had gotten into a minor (loud) debate with Tsukishima over the pronunciation of “colonel,” and Yachi had spilled water on someone’s handouts. When the group started packing up, you offered to return a few library books to the front. You weren’t gone long — maybe two or three minutes — but when you came back, the table was already half-empty.

You rounded the bookshelf toward your usual spot—

“—just tell her you like her already,” Hinata was saying.

You froze.

Kageyama let out a low, warning sound. “Hinata.”

“What?” Hinata groaned. “You’re so obvious about it. You sit next to her every time, you remember everything she says, you start blushing if she even looks at you—”

“Hinata.”

“You like her, dude!”

Silence.

Then your voice, flat and confused:

“…Uh. What?”

Hinata looked up like a man just realizing he’d walked into oncoming traffic.

You stood there, clutching your tote bag, eyes wide.

He blinked. “Oh no.”

You blinked back.

Then Hinata ran.

Not a slow backpedal. Not a stammered excuse. He bolted, arms flailing like he thought he could outrun the memory of what he just said. “I’M SORRY!” echoed behind him as he vanished down the hallway.

Kageyama hadn’t moved.

Neither had you.

A heavy silence fell between you, padded only by the distant slam of a library door.

Kageyama shifted, his hands at his sides, stiff and tense.

“…I didn’t mean for you to hear that,” he said quietly.

You let out a slow breath, heart thudding. “Okay.”

“I mean, it’s true,” he added, eyes still locked somewhere near your shoes. “But I wasn’t going to say anything. Not yet.”

You stepped forward, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because?”

“Because I didn’t want to ruin anything.”

His words were simple. But the weight of them hit your chest like a stone.

He finally met your gaze — hesitant, blue eyes clear and unflinching despite the visible tension in his jaw. “I like the group. I like studying with you. I like being around you. A lot.”

Something tightened in your throat.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you said.

“I didn’t plan it,” he rushed out. “I just— you’re good at explaining things. You don’t make me feel stupid. You’re calm. You listen. And I started noticing other stuff, too.”

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

He hesitated. “Your notes. You write neatly, but your margins are always crooked. You tap your pen when you’re thinking but never when you’re reading. You always bring something sweet to the group but pretend you didn’t mean to share.”

Your face grew warm.

“I notice that when you smile after Tsukishima says something rude, it’s because you’re trying not to laugh. And when Hinata stresses you out, you do that thing where you rub the bridge of your nose.”

You stared at him.

“I notice you,” he finished simply.

Silence fell again, but it was a different kind of quiet this time — not strained, not shocked, but soft. Full.

You stepped a little closer.

“…You never made it weird.”

Kageyama blinked. “Huh?”

“I mean, if you liked me this whole time… you didn’t make it weird.” Your voice faltered just slightly. “You were just… present. Thoughtful. I always felt comfortable with you.”

His mouth twitched. “That’s good. Because I felt like I was dying inside.”

You did laugh then, one hand curling around the strap of your bag.

Kageyama looked down, but not away.

“So,” he said cautiously, “do you hate me now?”

You rolled your eyes. “No. I don’t hate you.”

His shoulders loosened a fraction.

You bit the inside of your cheek before you added, “I might like you too.”

His eyes widened.

“I wasn’t planning to,” you added, “but you’re kind. You’re quiet, but you listen better than anyone. And when you’re serious about something, you go all in. I noticed too.”

His breath caught just slightly.

You smiled. “So. Maybe… if you wanted to walk me home sometime, or split snacks before a session, or sit a little closer—”

“You’re literally within arm’s reach,” he said.

“I know,” you said, grinning. “But now it’d be on purpose.”

He blinked. Then, after a moment, he nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

A pause.

“…Want to chase after Hinata and make him cry?”

Kageyama smirked faintly. “A little.”

You laughed again, feeling the last of the nerves melt away.

And when you stepped back into the hallway, your arms brushed.

This time, neither of you moved away.

[pb5luvr]

p being whipped asf also there’s a bunch of tumblr pages with writing prompts if that helps!

only for you

a/n: apparently azzi left for the cruise today so have fun bbg and bring back some bikini pics for me and paige pls 🙏🙏🙏

3rd POV

today was the equivalent of hell for the uconn women’s basketball team. it was a thursday afternoon and the team had just gotten back from a tough loss on the road. while the loss stung, it also meant extra suicides and conditioning for the team. the kind of conditioning that made the players question if they’d be able to walk the next morning. however, it was all geno’s tactic—no loss, no running. simple as that.

“i genuinely don’t know if i’m gonna be able to walk to my dorm,” kk said as she trudged into the locker room.

the rest of the team slowly made their way into the locker room as well, practically dragging their feet across the floor while sweat was still heading down their faces.

“tell me about it,” ice muttered.

azzi was just finishing packing her bag by the time most of the team departed, hurrying to get back to their dorms before their legs gave out. paige had been done and ready to go a while ago, but as always, she was waiting for azzi.

azzi was about to sling her bag over her shoulder before paige stopped her, “i got it,” she said like it was normal.

no one said anything, just a few glances were exchanged between ice, kk, and sarah.

“so you gonna carry my stuff too?” aubrey muttered as she watched paige grab azzi’s water bottle from her hand as well. paige only shot her a look in return.

“me and azzi are heading out if anyone else wants to walk with us,” paige said as they made their way to the door.

the remaining teammates in the locker—ice, kk, aubrey, and sarah—all got up and caught up to paige and azzi before they left.

midway through the walk, azzi let out a deep sigh. one deep enough for paige notice.

“what’s up?” she asked as she nudged azzi gently, just enough to get her attention.

“just tired and sore already,” azzi muttered.

“i’m sorry baby,” paige said sympathetically, “we can cuddle and i can give you a massage when we get back to the dorm?” she offered as if her own body wasn’t just as tired as azzi’s was.

“is that a joke?” sarah spoke up behind them.

“what?” paige asked, genuinely confused.

“you’re gonna give her a massage? where’s my massage?” sarah asked.

“you don’t get a massage dumbass,” paige rolled her eyes.

“oh but she does,” kk chimed in.

“yeah because she’s azzi,” paige replied, like it was obvious.

azzi looked down at her feet as she tried to hide the blush that crept up on her face.

“and i’m kk, so what difference does that make?” kk asked offended.

“azzi’s not just anyone,” paige said with a small smile, “i gotta keep her looking perfect.”

“oh my god you are seriously so whipped,” ice fake gagged.

“only for her,” paige said as her smile grew bigger, turning her head to look at azzi.

when everyone got back to their respective dorms, paige gave azzi what she promised—cuddles and a massage.

azzi laid on the couch with her legs stretched over paige’s lap, staring at the tv—which was obviously playing frozen—while paige had her back to the cushions and was kneading her fingers into azzi’s, already sore, thigh.

when she finished massaging both of azzi’s legs, she opened her arms for azzi to lay in and started to lazily drag her fingertips up and down azzi’s back. they sat in a comfortable silence, eyes laser focused on the movie in front of them, azzi absentmindedly playing with paige’s fingers.

azzi eventually spoke up, “you know,” she started, “ice is kind of right.”

paige went to brush a strand of hair out of azzi’s face before responding, “whatcha mean?”

“you are kind of whipped,” azzi said with s soft smile.

paige rolled her eyes playfully and gave azzi a lazy smile, “like i said before,” she pressed a lingering kiss to azzi’s temple, “only for you azzi fudd,” pressing another kiss to azzi’s temple, “only for you.”

[thebubblesareevil]

Mistaken identity

We’ve all seen Danny getting mistaken for a bat. But what about a bat being mistaken for a Fenton.

When Danny took responsibility for Dan the first thing they did was get him a human form that wasn’t his corpse. Between vlad, clockwork, and his parents they managed to get him a new body that had him looking more alive than ever.

He was a bit tanner than expected, but they figured that came from Danny’s ghostly side.

When it came time for Danny to go to Gotham for school, he refused to leave Dan behind. Instead, using the funds he got from the ghost kings treasury and child support from Vlad, Danny got them a studio apartment close to campus.

His parents outfitted the apartment with all the latest security, of course.

Everything was going great, all expect for one thing…

People in amity park accepted Dan and adapted almost immediately, having gotten used to the many quirks of ghosts long ago. Gotham….was a bit less understanding.

Luckily for him, unlucky for the rest of Gotham, the police there were incredibly corrupt and easy to bribe anytime he had to bail Dan out or, in the case of that one Karen that decided to give Dan shit for painting his nails, bail himself out of any trouble they came across.

Danny did his best to spend plenty of time with Dan, even when he was exhausted, he refused to ignore his little brother.

So after going through hell during finals week, Danny decided to take Dan to the zoo. Danny did his best to keep an eye on Dan, he really did! He had only sat down for a moment, just to rest his eyes, next thing he knew though he could hear someone yelling about violent kids.

Danny immediately jumped to his brother’s aid.

“I’m sorry,” Danny started as he interrupted the screeching woman. “Is there a problem here?”

Dan tried to speak up but the woman wouldn’t let him.

“This brat pushed me out of the way while I was looking at the exhibit and then spewed profanities at me!” She howled.

Danny flinched at the offensive noise on his sensitive hearing.

“No offense mam, but somehow I highly doubt that. My brother may not have the best manners, but he sure as hell wouldn’t push someone for no reason.” He couldn’t comment about the language, Dan knew more curse words in more languages that this woman could speak thanks to ghost speech, and he used every one of them.

“You little brat! How dare-“

“Of course, if you feel that strongly about it, we could always ask to see the cameras.” Danny suggested with a smirk. “I for one would LOVE to see what they have to show us.”

The woman paled before turning away in a huff. “I don’t have time to deal with annoying brats like you.” She said before turning away.

Danny’s eye twitched, “Good, because I don’t have time to deal with an entitled bitch like you.” Danny replied, ignoring the woman’s offended screech.

“C’mon Dan, let’s go get a snack and go see the penguins.”

——

Damien was thoroughly confused by what was going on. This was not how he was expecting this day to go.

He had snuck out of the Manor earlier, desperate to get away from his families judging eyes. The night before, he had encountered a smuggling ring, and after seeing the state the animals were in, he didn’t hold back against the traffickers. It was only because of his training with father that they hadn’t died.

His father called it overkill, he called it Justice.

After what he saw the previous night he decided to spend the afternoon at the zoo and bask in the presence of the animals, knowing that they were all well cared for.

And then the annoying shrew decided to ruin his day. He was ready to verbally eviscerate her when a large man stepped in. One that decided to claim him as his brother.

The man grabbed him by the hand after chewing out the woman and walked him over to the penguin exhibit, only stopping to pick up snow cones.

“I could have handled her on my own.” Damian said, before taking a bite of his treat, “you didn’t need to lie.”

Damian took a good look at the man before him, he had basically collapsed onto the bench when they stopped, the bags under his eyes made drake look well rested.

“What are you talking about?” The man asked before releasing a massive yawn. “I didn’t lie. Believe it or not, you’ve improved a lot since you came home to us. Sure, I could see you pushing someone out of the way a few years ago, but now?”

The man grabbed him by the arm, tugging him into a hug. Damien was too stunned to push back as the man gave him the most comforting, caring hug he had ever had.

“We’re all so proud of you Dan, you’ve come a really long way.”

Damien suddenly felt a pit form in his stomach as realization struck.

He carefully extricated himself from the hug.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding, my name is not Dan.” Damian explained, pulling down the hood on his hoodie.

The man looked at him confused before rubbing his eyes. Taking a second look, his eyes went wide.

“Fuck.” He then proceeded to pull out his wallet. “Do I have enough to bribe a cop?”

Damian frowned, “why exactly would you be bribing the police?”

“Because I apparently just kidnapped a kid.” The man shrugged. “My names Danny by the way.” He said before sluggishly getting up from his seat. “Let’s go see if we can find your parents and my brother.”

“My father is not aware of my current location.”

Danny paused, giving Damian a long look before nodding, “We’ll if your gonna sneak out, at least you went someplace educational.”

Damian looked at him confused as the man stretched.

“Well then, let’s go find Dan and get something to eat before we get you home. I’m sure your father is worried sick.”

Danny then grabbed Damian by the hand and started to lead them back the way they came. The crowds parting at the sight of the large man.

“I do not need an escort, I am more than capable of returning home on my own.”

“That may be so,” the man started. “But I wouldn’t be able to get any sleep tonight if I didn’t make sure you got home safe. You wouldn’t want me to be deprived of sleep, would you?”

Damian considered the statement. The man was clearly on the brink of collapse. “Very well.” He nodded.

The approached the tiger exhibit to pure chaos as the animal handlers tried to retrieve a boy from the tiger cage. Danny sighed before Damian could try to sneak away and jump into action.

“And here I thought I wouldn’t have to bribe anyone today.” Before he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted “DAN FENTON! IF YOU DONT GET OUT HERE IN THE NEXT 2 MINUTES, ILL TELL JAZZ!!”

The zoo keepers nearly panicked as the boy immediately jumped up, completely ignoring the tigers and climbed out to join his brother.

[gf2bellamy]

Hiii first of all just wanted you to know that you are the best fluff writer I've ever seen secondly i had this cute idea about bau reader and spencer outing their relationship by accident when she shows up wearing one of spencer's mismatched socks like she’s wearing one and he's wearing the other and the team reaction to it specifically morgan and penelope

matching — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: teasing from the team , secret relationship a/n: hii !! thank you so so much thats such an honor and i hope you like this <3

"I love your apartment," you said with a smile as you slipped off your shoes, stepping onto the plush carpet of Penelope Garcia’s cozy home.

"Why, thank you very much!" Garcia beamed, twirling slightly in excitement. "This is my sacred palace, my whimsical wonderland, my fortress of fabulousness!"

You laughed at her enthusiasm, setting your bag down. She had invited the BAU team over for a small get-together, but judging by the lack of noise , it seemed you were the first to arrive.

"Need help with anything?" you offered, making your way toward the kitchen.

Garcia waved a hand dismissively. "No, no, everything is fine. Completely fine." She smiled. Well, tried to smile. It was the kind of forced expression that made your profiler instincts tingle.

"Penelope," you said knowingly, tilting your head, practically demanding she spill whatever was on her mind.

She let out a dramatic sigh before reaching into the fridge and pulling out—well, something. A cake? A tragic attempt at one? You stared at it, searching for the right words but coming up empty. It was lopsided, unevenly frosted, and slightly collapsed on one side.

"What… happened?" You fought the urge to laugh, biting your lip because this—this was a disaster. And Garcia, who prided herself on being a self-proclaimed Cake Boss, was probably not in the mood for teasing.

"I got distracted," she muttered, poking at the cake with a defeated sigh.

"By…?" you prompted, raising an eyebrow.

She hesitated for a second before mumbling under her breath, "My neighbor."

Your eyes widened. "No way."

Garcia winced, realizing what she just admitted.

"You have a hot neighbor and you didn’t tell me?" you gasped dramatically, placing your hands on your hips as if personally offended. "Penelope Garcia, I thought we were best friends!"

"I was going to tell you!" Garcia defended, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

The two of you turned back to the cake, staring at it like it was a crime scene.

"Well… it doesn’t look that bad," you offered weakly.

Garcia shot you a pointed look, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"I mean, if you put enough frosting on it, maybe you can fix it?" You shrugged, trying to sound hopeful.

She let out a dramatic sigh, leaning against the counter. "There is no hope. It's a lost cause. A cake tragedy," she lamented, waving a hand over the mess.

You were about to reassure her when she suddenly narrowed her eyes at you, eyebrows raising in suspicion. "Wait a second… what on earth are you wearing?"

Confused, you followed her gaze, only to realize what she was looking at. Your socks. Or rather, your mismatched socks.

One was a plain dark blue. Totally normal. The other? A black sock covered in bright white physics equations.

Garcia pointed at it like she had just discovered a federal crime. "Excuse me, ma’am, is that… math?"

Your heart nearly stopped.

"Oh—uhm…" You cleared your throat, scrambling for an excuse. "It looked cute, so I got it," you mumbled.

A blatant lie.

Because the truth? The truth was something you and Spencer had agreed to keep between just the two of you. A small, silly little secret.

You had been dating for months now, and this morning, in the rush of getting ready, you had grabbed a random sock from Spencer’s drawer without thinking , before you sat down for breakfast—half-burnt pancakes he had attempted to make, which you had teased him about relentlessly before eating them anyway.

Because, well… he tried. And that was what mattered.

Garcia’s eyes stayed locked onto your sock, her red-framed glasses slipping slightly down her nose as she raised an eyebrow.

"Those letters and numbers are cute to you?" she asked, her tone dripping with suspicion.

"Yes?" You dragged out the word, hoping it sounded somewhat believable.

Then, suddenly—she gasped.

You barely had time to react before she squealed, clapping her hands together like she had just uncovered the biggest scoop of her life.

"I know what this is about!"

Your eyes went wide with panic. "Wait—what?"

"You bought those socks because they reminded you of our very own young Doctor Reid!" She placed a dramatic hand over her heart. "Oh, young love!"

Your stomach flipped.

"Oh, no—no, no, no—"

"You two need to get together!" she cut you off, pointing an accusing finger at you as if you were the one making bad choices and not the person currently clutching a failed cake.

You stared at her, mind scrambling for a response. Denying it would just make her more suspicious. And honestly? The idea of her thinking you just had a hopeless crush on Spencer was a lot safer than the truth—that you were already together.

So, with the best nonchalant face you could muster, you threw your hands up in surrender. "Okay, nope, let’s drop this topic." You forced a laugh, acting like she had totally nailed it.

Garcia squinted at you, clearly not buying how quickly you caved. But before she could pry any further, you seized the opportunity to change the subject.

"So," you said, quickly pointing at the crime scene of a cake, "do you have anything else besides that?"

Garcia let out a huff but allowed you to steer the conversation away. "Do I have anything else? Please." She flipped her hair dramatically. "I have cupcakes, chips, chocolate cookies, vanilla cookies—oh, I even have ice cream! And pizza! And—"

You held up a hand, laughing. "Okay, Penelope, I think we’ll be fine without the cake. That’s way more than enough food."

Before she could reply, the doorbell rang.

Garcia’s eyes lit up. "Our guests have arrived!"

She rushed to the door, and you followed close behind. As she swung it open, two familiar faces greeted you—Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid.

"Hello to my two favorite men!" Garcia beamed, stepping aside to let them in.

"Hey, you two pretty ladies," Derek greeted smoothly, flashing his signature grin.

Garcia wasted no time latching onto his arm. "Come with me," she commanded, already leading him toward the kitchen. "I need your opinion on something, and no, you don’t get to laugh at me."

You watched as she practically dragged him away, no doubt to show off the tragic cake she had created. The moment they disappeared from view, you turned to Spencer, already stepping into his space.

His arms were around you in an instant.

"Hi," he murmured into your hair, his hand gently rubbing your back.

You leaned back slightly to look at him, a small smile on your lips. "Hey. I missed you."

Before he could respond, the sound of Garcia and Derek’s voices echoing from the kitchen reminded you both to be careful. You took a quick step back just in case they suddenly reappeared.

Spencer, however, still looked amused. "You saw me four hours ago," he pointed out.

"Four hours are too long," you countered without hesitation.

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head as his curls bounced slightly with the motion. "I missed you too," he admitted, his voice softer. "Are you coming over tonight?"

The two of you started walking toward the kitchen, keeping your conversation low.

"Are you going to try and make me eat your burnt pancakes again?" you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Spencer scoffed. "I never made you eat them."

"You literally guilt-tripped me into it," you shot back, smirking.

"I offered them. You chose to eat them."

"Because you pouted, Spencer."

Spencer opened his mouth to argue, but the debate was cut short as you both stepped into the kitchen, immediately taking in the sight before you.

Derek stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, holding a spatula covered in frosting as he attempted—and failed—to salvage Garcia’s cake. His expression was one of deep concentration, but the results were… questionable, at best.

"You’re trusting Morgan with your cake?" you asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow at Garcia.

Garcia huffed, arms crossed. "I am running out of options here."

Derek turned, pointing the frosting-covered spatula at you. "I’ll have you know, sweetheart, I am excellent at—"

And that’s when he accidentally knocked over the bowl of frosting, sending a massive glob straight onto the floor.

Derek froze.

Garcia gasped.

You burst out laughing.

"Derek Morgan!" Garcia scolded, staring at the mess in horror.

Derek sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, that might have been my bad."

Spencer leaned toward you, voice barely above a whisper. "I’d like to point out that I never make this much of a mess when I cook."

You bit your lip to keep from laughing again. "That’s because you just burn things before they have a chance to make a mess."

Spencer rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless.

Spencer, ever the gentleman, grabbed a handful of tissues and crouched down, diligently wiping up the frosting disaster while Garcia stood and dusted off her hands. Derek, still determined to salvage what remained of the cake, muttered to himself as he spread frosting across the lopsided layers.

You stood in the doorway, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smile.

But that smile vanished in an instant.

Garcia froze. Her eyes locked onto something.

“Your sock,” she said, her voice eerily calm.

Your stomach dropped.

She wasn’t looking at your sock this time. No—she was pointing at Spencer, who had just finished tossing the tissue into the trash.

“My sock?” Spencer repeated, confused, as he followed her gaze down to his feet.

The sock in question—the one covered in physics equations—sat comfortably on his left foot.

The exact same design as the one currently hidden beneath your pant leg.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Garcia’s head snapped up, eyes locking onto yours. Her expression changed instantly—realization flooding over her as she noticed the wide, guilty look on your face.

Her lips parted slightly in shock. "Oh my god," she whispered under her breath.

Spencer straightened up, now thoroughly lost. “What? What’s happening?”

Derek, finally sensing that something was going down, stopped his attempt at cake decoration and turned toward Garcia, his hands still coated in frosting. “Uh… what’s going on?”

Garcia ignored him, still staring at you.

“You lied,” she murmured, eyes narrowing.

The room was dead silent.

Derek turned his attention to you, his head tilting slightly. "Sweetheart, what is happening right now?" he asked slowly.

Garcia, on the other hand, was already spiraling. Her hand shot out, finger trembling as she pointed between you and Spencer, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

"They—they—" she sputtered, eyes wide.

Spencer took a cautious step back from her, moving instinctively closer to you as if that would somehow protect him from Garcia’s inevitable explosion. "What is happening?" he muttered under his breath, barely audible.

And then—

"They're wearing matching socks!"

Garcia's yell practically shook the apartment walls, making Spencer physically jump.

"They’re—oh my god—they’re wearing one sock each from the same set! That means—they swapped! That means—"

Her eyes practically bulged out of her head as the realization fully hit her.

"Oh. My. God. You're dating!"

Derek’s gaze snapped downward, confirming what Garcia had just screamed into existence. His eyes flickered from your foot to Spencer’s, then back up at you two.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. "No way," he drawled, shaking his head in disbelief.

Spencer, who had remained mostly silent through this entire catastrophe, finally looked down at his own foot. Then yours. Then back up.

His mouth fell open.

And then it closed.

Then opened again.

Oh no.

He looked horrified.

Which, honestly, wasn’t the best reaction right now.

Panic seized your brain. Without thinking, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"No, we’re not."

The words left your lips so fast it was almost impressive.

Except… yeah. That was the worst attempt at a lie in human history.

Because standing right next to you, Spencer Reid—Dr. Genius IQ Spencer Reid—was standing frozen, mouth still slightly open, his brain seemingly buffering at an alarming rate.

Which, to Garcia and Derek, said more than enough.

Garcia gasped. Derek laughed.

Spencer blinked. "Wait, are we—are we lying? Are we—"

"Yes!" You whisper-hissed. "Lie, Spencer!"

But it was too late.

Derek leaned against the counter, arms crossed, shaking his head with a smug look on his face. "Damn, pretty boy. Never thought I’d see the day."

Garcia, on the other hand, squealed, practically vibrating on the spot. "How long?! How long have you been together?!Who made the first move?! Oh my god, were there love letters? Did he quote Shakespeare?! Tell me everything."

Spencer looked at you, helpless. You looked at him, equally helpless.

The interrogation was relentless. Garcia and Derek took turns, firing off question after question as you and Spencer sat there like two deer caught in headlights.

“How long?”

“Who made the first move?”

“How was your first date?”

Spencer had handled questioning criminals far better than this. But right now he was crumbling under Garcia’s sheer determination.

You were no better. Every time you tried to dodge a question, Garcia found another way to corner you.

And the moment JJ walked in?

Garcia didn’t even greet her. Didn’t even pretend to act normal.

"JJ!" she practically shrieked, making the blonde woman pause mid-step. "Forget hello, forget small talk—did you know these two are dating?!"

JJ blinked, eyes darting between you and Spencer. "What?"

"Matching socks. Lying. Stammering. Busted!" Garcia announced dramatically, pointing at you like she had just solved a murder case.

JJ’s expression shifted immediately into surprise, then amusement. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at her lips. "Oh," she said, crossing her arms. "That makes so much sense."

And it didn’t stop there.

Each time a new member of the team arrived, Garcia immediately hit them with the bombshell, practically vibrating with excitement.

Emily? "Did you know these two have been secretly together?!"

Rossi? "our resident genius has a girlfriend! I repeat—a girlfriend!!"

Hotch? "Hotch! I know you don't like drama but this is important! These two are in love!"

You and Spencer just stood there, completely shocked, as the team celebrated your relationship.

[dismalflo]

all the reasons we're not in love

James potter x fem!reader ✩ 4.6k words

summary: You and James are best fucking friends—nothing more, nothing less. So why does everyone act like you're secretly in love, like it's some kind of undeniable fact?

cw: fluff, a pinch of angst, steamy makeout but no smut, best friends to lovers, idiots in love.

James gets up from the booth and leans down to ruffle your hair just because he knows it’ll annoy you. All sat around a too small booth in the back of the pub with a few chairs pulled up to accommodate the large group. It’s James' turn to buy a round, and you make a show of swatting his hand away as he goes, tracking his movements all the way to the bar. 

You have a second to take in the dingy lights and the rowdy regulars in the local before Lily scares you half to death, leaning into your field of view. Eyes alight with mischief and an impish smile on her lip.

“So…” she says, dragging out the vowel, “what's going on?”

“What's going on with what?” you laugh, confused but delighted by Lily after a few drinks. 

“You and James!” she practically squeals, shaking your arm with gleeful energy. “You’ve been giggling like schoolkids all night. He had his arm around you! Just admit it already—you like each other.”

You groan. “Lils, we always do that.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically, clearly fed up with your refusal to see what she sees. And you? You’re fed up with everyone constantly implying that you and James must fancy each other. As if friendship isn’t enough.

“James and I are friends. That’s—”

“Best fucking friends,” James announces cheerfully, appearing out of nowhere and sliding your drink in front of you before placing the rest in the middle of the table.

“Exactly! Thank you,” you say, gesturing to him like he’s just proved your point.

Lily exhales sharply, throwing you a meaningful look before turning back to the group.

James sinks back into the booth beside you, draping an arm casually along the backrest behind your shoulders

“Try this,” he says, nudging his glass toward you. He’s been working his way through the list of ridiculous specialty mocktails on the menu and insists you sample every one. “It’s strawberry… something. You’ll like it.”

You take a sip. He’s right, obviously—it’s sweet and bright and tastes like summer. You smile up at him, pleased. “That’s really good. I’m getting one next round.”

He grins, radiant. “You can have that one, angel.”

You try to push the glass back, but he doesn’t let you. He’s about to insist again—mouth open, eyes soft—when a familiar voice cuts in.

“Why don’t you share your drinks like that with me, Moony?” Sirius whines from across the table, looking genuinely offended.

Remus sighs—meaning to sound exasperated, probably—but the fond look he gives his boyfriend tells a different story.

“We’ve been drinking the same thing all night, that’s why,” he replies, a smile starting to bloom on his lips. “And…” He glances your way with a teasing glint in his eye. “We’re not an old married couple like them.”

“Yeah,” Sirius mutters, barely above a breath, like it's a tragedy, “good thing they’re both fit.”

You let out a loud laugh. “We’re friends—”

“Best fucking friends.”

“—Not an old married couple. And honestly, you can’t say anything, Remus ‘Knitwear’ Lupin.”

“She’s not wrong,” James says with a quiet chuckle, sliding his hand to your back, fingers moving in lazy, absent-minded circles.

Remus only laughs, shaking his head, while Sirius looks scandalized—utterly betrayed on his boyfriend’s behalf.

“I like Rem’s knitwear, Trouble,” Sirius says, fixing you with a glare that would be more effective if his cheeks weren’t flushed from the drinks. “And I’d be very careful, or I’ll convince him to stop knitting your presents. Then all you’ll get are boring gift cards.” He nods solemnly, clearly impressed with his own threat.

You gasp dramatically, hand to your chest like he’s wounded you. “You wouldn’t.”

Sirius just giggles in response—giggles, which is never a good sign—so you turn to Remus, eyes wide, appealing.

“You wouldn’t let him, would you? You’ll still knit me things, Rem?”

Remus chuckles, shaking his head with a smile that promises yes, always.

That’s when you notice James—usually the loudest one at the table—has gone quiet. You turn toward him, curious, and catch the way he’s watching you. Soft eyes. That funny little smile he only wears when he thinks no one’s looking.

“You okay?” you ask, voice gentling with concern.

The question seems to pull him out of whatever haze he was in. His grin returns, bright and easy, like it never left.

“I’m great, angel.” He leans in, dropping his voice so only you can hear. “If Moony stopped knitting for you... I’d learn how to.”

You blink at him. “You? Knitting?”

He nods solemnly, one hand still warm against your back, and raises the other as if swearing an oath. “I’d do it for you. Even if it meant stabbing myself with the needles every five minutes. That’s how committed I am.”

You laugh, unable to help yourself. “You’re so dramatic.”

You’re laughing, and your cheeks are warm, and James is still looking at you like you’ve hung the stars—but you brush it off like you always do.

Because this is what you and James do. Banter, teasing, little smiles no one else gets—your own language that you’ve been speaking fluently for years. It’s not new. It doesn’t mean anything.

He nudges your knee with his own, still grinning like he’s won something. Like your laugh is enough.

And maybe it is. Maybe it always has been.

But then Lily shoots you another look across the table, all smug eyebrows and that annoying “I told you so” glint in her eye, and it hits you again like it always does—this sudden awareness of how everyone else sees you. You and James. As if it’s already written somewhere, carved into the stars or tucked between the pages of your shared history.

You take a sip of the strawberry-whatever to stall, trying not to frown. Because the truth is, you know how this looks from the outside. All the little things he does, the way you lean into him without thinking, the endless inside jokes—it paints a picture. A certain type of story.

Because he’s James. And you’re... you.

And no matter how many times Sirius winks or Mary raises a knowing brow or Lily insists you're in love, you don’t think there’s a universe where you and James actually get together. Not really.

You’re best friends. That’s it.

And maybe there’s something sacred in that. Something worth protecting.

Besides—he doesn’t fancy you. Not like that. And you certainly don’t fancy him. No matter how charming he is. Or how warm his laugh makes you feel. Or how he always saves you the last piece of your favourite treats even when he pretends he won’t. Or how he’s looking at you now like he’d burn down the world just to keep you smiling.

No. You don’t fancy each other. That would be... messy. Complicated. The end of everything easy and good between you.

And James Potter may be a lot of things, but he’s not your ending.

He’s your always.

So you take another sip of the mocktail he gave you and bump his shoulder with your own, like nothing ever passed through your mind. He bumps you back, that lazy smirk still on his lips.

-

The pub starts to empty in waves, voices thinning out as people stumble toward coat racks and lingering goodbyes. You're nestled deeper into the booth than you realized, lulled by warmth and easy laughter and the comfort of being surrounded by your people.

Eventually, someone suggests calling it. Mary’s already halfway into her coat, Sirius is trying to coax Remus into stealing pint glasses for their flat –something about the collection– and Lily kisses you on the cheek with a meaningful look before grabbing Marlene’s arm and disappearing toward the door in a burst of cold air and laughter.

And James?

James is exactly where he’s been all night—at your side, elbow brushing yours every time he moves. When you pull your coat on, he reaches over without thinking and helps tug the hood into place for you.

“You ready?” he asks, and it’s easy, familiar.

“Yeah. Thanks for driving.” You smile, a little sleepy now that the buzz is fading.

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Wouldn’t trust anyone else to make sure you get home.”

-

The drive is quiet, but it’s not uncomfortable. Music hums low through the speakers—something you’ve heard a million times over, something James mumbles along to under his breath when he thinks you’re not listening. He’s one of those annoyingly good drivers too. One hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely between the seats, fingers drumming to the beat.

You glance over once and catch him mid-yawn, eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins at the road.

“Wanna come in?” you hear yourself ask when he pulls up in front of your place, your voice softer than you expect. “Just for a bit? I might put on a film.”

James looks at you, searching your face for something. Whatever he finds, it makes him smile—gentler than before. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”

You flick on the lights when you step inside, and it’s like muscle memory from there: shoes off, jacket thrown over the arm of the sofa, kettle filled. James leans against your kitchen counter like he belongs there. And he kind of does. There’s a mug he always uses in your cupboard. A hoodie of his in your laundry pile.

“What are we watching?” he asks, already padding into your living room, socked feet silent on the floorboards.

“Something easy,” you say. “Something we’ve seen before so I don’t actually have to pay attention.”

James shoots you a grin over his shoulder. “That for me or for you?”

You ignore the question, toss him the remote. “Dealer’s choice.”

You end up on opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled somewhere in the middle because it’s late and it’s cold and this is what you do. It’s not new.

The movie starts playing, dim blue light casting soft shadows across his face. You watch it for a while—or try to—but your thoughts start running at a mile a minute instead.

You try to focus on the movie. Really, you do. But all you can hear is Lily’s voice echoing in your head: “Just admit it already—you like each other.”

It’s not just her. It’s everyone.

Sirius, with his loud, theatrical gasps every time James passes you a drink. Marlene muttering “just kiss already” under her breath like it’s an inside joke. Even Remus, who’s supposed to be the voice of reason, always quirking a brow when James tosses an arm around your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Which it is. It’s normal. It doesn’t mean anything.

But now? Now it’s stuck in your head. Every glance, every smile, every stupid joke he laughs too hard at—it’s all tinged with the weight of everyone else's expectations.

You lean your head back on the cushion and sigh.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” James asks, voice soft and scratchy with tiredness.

You glance at him. His eyes are still on the TV, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he already knows you’re spiraling.

You hesitate, then sit up a little. “Can I ask you something?”

His gaze flicks to you instantly. “Course.”

“Do you ever get… tired of everyone thinking we’re in love?”

James lets out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “All the fucking time.”

You nod, almost relieved. “Right? It’s like—just because we’re close doesn’t mean we’re secretly pining.”

“Exactly!” James says, animated now, like he’s been waiting for someone to validate this. “Like, we literally watched Sirius throw himself at Rem for years and no one said shit, but I pass you a drink and suddenly it’s like—‘When’s the wedding, James?’”

You snort, finally smiling. “It’s exhausting.”

“Truly.”

Silence falls again, but it’s different now. 

“I just…” you start, voice quieter. “I wish there was a way to prove it, you know? That we don’t fancy each other. That this—” you gesture vaguely between the two of you “—this is just friendship.”

James raises a brow, half-amused. “You want, like… a presentation?”

You giggle. “Maybe.”

“Bullet points and everything?”

“‘All the reasons James Potter is categorically not in love with me.’”

“‘Exhibit A: the time I ate her last slice of pizza.’”

“‘Exhibit B: he never laughs at my best jokes.’”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

Another beat passes. You look at each other.

There’s a flicker in James’ eyes—just a spark of something you can’t name—and it hits you, sudden and sharp, how close you are. His knee is still pressed against yours. His fingers are brushing your ankle like it’s nothing. Like it always has been.

You lick your lips. Heart hammering. And then—

“…We should kiss.”

James blinks. “What?”

You’re not even sure where the words came from. They just—slipped out. But now that they’re here, they feel oddly right. Inevitable.

You swallow. “We should kiss. Just once. To prove there’s nothing there.”

He stares at you, stunned into silence.

You rush to explain. “I mean—everyone keeps saying there is. And maybe if we just… did it, and it was awkward or bad or whatever, we could tell them and they’d drop it. They’d finally stop acting like we’re in some secret relationship.”

James is still staring, mouth slightly open.

You flush, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s stupid, forget it—”

“I’ll do it,” he says suddenly.

Your breath catches. “You will?”

He nods, slowly, like he’s still catching up with himself. “Yeah. If it’ll prove a point.”

You try to ignore the way your pulse spikes. “Right. Okay.”

With the room still mostly shrouded in darkness, it's difficult to make out the features of his face clearly. He shifts closer to you whilst manoeuvring your legs to settle beside you properly. There's little time to recognise the shift in his gaze as it pins to your lips before he's grinning and speaking again.

“What happens when you fall in love with me because of this?”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “Your ego’s fucking massive Potter, I’ll be fine.” you say, gently slapping his arm. “Not sure about you though.” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head at you, acting like you're the biggest nuisance in the world.

“Come on then.” you say, impatiently. James sighs, then nods, before he's raising a hand to cup your jaw. His touch is gentle, like he's holding something fragile, priceless. And then he's leaning in so slowly, allowing you the time to pull away in case you’d been joking.

You let your eyes fall shut, expecting his kiss as your hand drifts to rest on his knee. You don’t notice the faint hitch in his breath at your touch—it’s so subtle, it nearly slips past you. The kiss comes and goes in a heartbeat, a fleeting, chaste peck that barely brushes your lips. When his hand pulls away and he clears his throat, your eyes open. He doesn’t say a word.

Despite the fact you should feel happy that you felt nothing, there's a strange twisting feeling in your stomach. Like when you startle awake after dreaming that you're falling. Then it comes to you, that kiss wasn’t a real one it can’t prove anything. 

“That wasn’t a proper kiss, James.” you say while looking down at your hands, not wanting to face him.

“You’re right.” you look up to see his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and you're startled by the sudden fascination with his mouth. 

“You have to kiss me like you’d kiss someone you're in love with.”

James’ gaze drops to your lips and stays pinned there as he’s silent, thinking. 

“I can do that… I think.” 

“Come on then.” you joke as you take a deeper breath in.

James exhales, slow and steady, but you can see it—the way his fingers twitch slightly, like he’s restraining something. Like there’s a weight behind your words neither of you wants to name just yet.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice quieter now, with none of that usual cocky lilt. It’s careful. Measured. He’s giving you one last out.

You nod. “It’s just a kiss.”

But it’s not. You both know that. It hasn’t been just a kiss since the moment you suggested it.

Still, you say it anyway, because it’s easier to pretend it’s simple.

James shifts closer, knees brushing yours again, the space between you shrinking by the second. His hand finds your jaw again—just like before—but this time his thumb lingers at your cheekbone, the pad of it brushing soft circles that make your heart lurch. There’s something almost reverent in his touch now, like he’s memorising every inch of you.

When he leans in this time, it’s slower. Like he’s moving through water. Like the world around you doesn’t matter anymore.

And when he finally kisses you, it’s nothing like the first time.

It’s not hesitant or performative or brief. It’s warm and aching and real.

James kisses you like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it. Like this isn’t about proving anything or making a point—it’s about you. About this.

His lips are soft and sure against yours, and when your hand slips up to grip the front of his jumper, he deepens the kiss with a low hum in the back of his throat, like he’s been holding that sound in for too long.

One of his hands slips down to your hip, shifting you closer, settling you on his lap. You go willingly, knees digging into the sofa at either side of his thighs as he tilts his head back to reach you better. Completely lost in each other, forgetting, you’re sure your lips will soon turn numb.

Your hands drift upward to settle around his neck and lightly tug the hair at the nape of his neck. James pulls you closer by the waist, chests flush and his mouth remains probing and searching on your own.

There’s the feeling of a smile in the kiss but you can’t tell who’s it is. You’ve fallen into a steady rhythm, easy and sweet, but when a noise is pulled from his throat you freeze, pulling away. 

Looking down at him your face sits somewhere between concern and confusion. James stares right back at you panting, but otherwise seemingly unaffected.

“Forgive a man for getting distracted, angel.” he defends, like it's all your fault. 

You know you should move away from him now. Really, you know. But there's a strange standoff happening where neither of you look away and neither of you move. Until you do. 

It's hard to tell who moves in first, but the other reciprocates and you’re kissing again. James kisses you like a man starved. It's feverish and intense. It's everything. 

You can’t help but grab hold of his hair, curls silky and soft through your fingers, giving them the slightest tug experimentally. It makes James shamelessly grind up against you. Nails digging lightly into the back of his neck, you gasp when his mouth leaves yours properly and latches onto your neck, lost in the bliss of it all, you grind down against him.

“Fuck, don’t do that,” His breath sounds strained. “can’t take it—“ His murmur is a rumble against your skin. You flush at the idea that he can’t contain himself because of this. Because of you. 

When he pulls away, finished ravishing your neck, you come back down to earth, scrambling to remove yourself from his lap. His hair is messy, messier than usual, from your touch and his lips are red and kiss bitten. 

You look to the far corner before you speak, unable to look at him now. 

“... I guess we’ve proved we don’t fancy each other, then.” 

You’re a liar and you know you are.

-

It’s been two days since the kiss. Two long, excruciating days where you haven’t spoken to James once. Not a text. Not a call.

You’ve replayed that night over and over in your head, hoping it would start to blur around the edges, lose its sharpness. But it hasn’t. If anything, it’s crystal clear—every touch, every sound, every look he gave you. And worst of all? You don’t even regret it.

You’re halfway through nursing a lukewarm coffee at the back corner of a café when Sirius slides into the seat across from you like he owns the place, all leather jacket and smug grin.

“Oi,” he says, tugging your cup toward himself and taking a sip without asking. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

You blink, startled. “Us?

As if summoned, Remus appears beside him, calm and neat in that way that makes you feel even more frazzled by comparison. “She’s definitely been avoiding James,” he says, not unkindly, as he slides into the seat beside Sirius.

Sirius throws an arm around Remus’ shoulders with dramatic flair. “And thus—by extension—the rest of us, tragically caught in the crossfire of whatever the hell is going on.”

You frown. “Nothing is going on.”

Sirius lets out a loud, derisive snort. “Right. Tell that to James, who has been moping around the flat like a Victorian widow.”

“I’m serious,” you say quickly.

Remus raises an eyebrow. “So are we.”

You roll your eyes. “Come on. He’s not moping.”

Sirius levels you with a look, all theatrics dropped. “He didn’t even yell at me for eating his last bag of crisps yesterday. He just sighed. Like—actual sadness sighing. Who even does that?”

Your heart sinks, but you try not to let it show. “He’s probably just… tired. He drove me home from the pub that night, maybe he’s still catching up on sleep.”

Sirius and Remus share a look.

Remus tilts his head. “That’s the night it started, you know.”

“I told you,” Sirius says, grinning now like he’s cracked a case. “Something happened in that car. Or after. Did you two fight?”

“No,” you say quickly. Too quickly. “Nothing happened.”

Sirius narrows his eyes at you. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“I’m not lying,” you lie.

Remus leans in, voice quieter now, more careful. “We’re not trying to corner you. Just… we’re worried. About both of you.”

You take a long sip of your coffee, trying to buy time, but it’s cold and bitter and doesn’t help at all. You stare into the cup like it holds the answers. It doesn’t.

Sirius softens, which is somehow worse. “Look, we’re not asking for details. Just—maybe talk to him?”

You sigh. “I don’t know what I’d even say.”

“Try the truth,” Remus offers gently.

The truth is a mess, though. The truth is a blur of lips and hands and breathless gasps. It’s James’ eyes on yours in the dark, his fingers brushing your cheek like he was afraid you’d vanish. It’s the way you didn’t sleep that night, couldn’t sleep, because your skin still remembered the shape of his touch.

And the worst part? The worst part is you know what you felt wasn’t one-sided.

Sirius glances at his watch. “If you don’t call him, I’m sending him to your flat.” He threatens, leaving no room for argument.

-

You don’t call him.

You want to—God, you want to. You’ve picked up your phone half a dozen times just to stare at his name, thumb hovering over the call button like it’s going to electrocute you. But every time, something stops you. Some awful cocktail of fear and guilt and what-if. What if it was a mistake? What if he regrets it? What if he doesn’t, and you’re the one who ruins everything?

So you don’t call. You sit with the silence and let it suffocate you.

It's nearly midnight when there's a knock at your door.

Your heart jumps into your throat. For a second, you think about ignoring it, pretending you’re asleep, but you already know who it is.

You open the door anyway.

James is standing there, hoodie thrown on as if he’d left in a rush, curls messy and damp like he’d just run his hands through them a thousand times on the way over. His eyes flick across your face like he’s checking to make sure you’re real. Like he didn’t quite believe you’d actually answer.

He looks tired.

You swallow. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he echoes, voice low.

There's a silence. Tense. Tight. It stretches between you like a rubber band pulled too far.

“I wasn’t gonna come,” he says eventually, shifting on his feet. “Told myself you’d call. That I’d give you space.” He pauses. “But I waited. And waited. And you didn’t.”

Your chest aches.

“I know,” you say, barely above a whisper. “I just… I couldn’t.”

James steps past you without asking. You don’t stop him.

He makes his way into your flat like he always has- it’s muscle memory. Like he belongs here. And God, maybe he does.

“I’ve been losing my mind,” he says suddenly, turning to face you. “I thought we were okay and then it’s like you disappeared. No texts. No calls. Like it didn’t mean anything.”

“It wasn't supposed to mean anything, James.” you snap.

He flinches, like you’ve slapped him. You immediately regret it.

“I didn’t mean—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“You didn’t mean for it to mean anything,” he says, voice low. “But it did.”

You exhale shakily, crossing your arms like they can shield you from this. “We said it was just a kiss. To prove a point.”

“Yeah, well, that didn’t work,” he says, stepping closer. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”

You glance away, blinking too quickly. “That’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” he agrees. “It’s not fair that I kissed you and everything changed and you’re acting like it didn’t.”

You hate this. Hate how right he is. Hate how vulnerable he looks standing in your living room like he’s afraid to breathe too hard and scare you off.

Your voice is quiet. “I didn’t know what to say.”

He’s quiet a beat. Then:

“Say anything.”

You hesitate. Your throat feels too tight. But then you force yourself to look at him, to see him.

“I love you,” you say. “And I don’t care if it’s wrong, I just do.”

James exhales, a slow, shaky breath like he’s been waiting for this—like he wasn’t sure he’d ever get it. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” you repeat, firmer now. “I love you and I’ve been trying not to. Because I thought it would ruin everything.”

He steps forward, hands gentle as they come to rest at your waist. “I’ve always loved you, I think.”

It breaks something open in your chest. This is real. This is terrifying. This is everything.

“But what if we mess it up?” you ask, voice trembling.

James gives you a soft, crooked smile—the one that’s always undone you. “Then we mess it up. Together.”

You laugh, a watery, disbelieving thing, before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in.

And when he kisses you this time, it’s not tentative or desperate. It’s steady. Sure. Like he knows you’re his.

Like he always has.

masterlist <3

[street-smarts00]

Weirdest Place

Spencer Reid x gen neutral!reader

Summary: The team finds out you and Spencer have been dating during a night out.

WC: 1.1k

A/N: this is yet another fic based on an episode of friends, specifically a scene from the blackout episode but i added a fun twist lol

Tags: conversations about sex but not smut, established relationship between r & reid, consumption of alcohol

After the team was finished at the BAU they all went out to a local bar for drinks. As the night went on JJ and Hotch left to be at home with their kids. With their boss gone and the tipsiness from their drinks, the topic of conversation got more and more inappropriate.

“A boat?” Rossi asked

“Yes,” Derek confirmed

“A boat?” Emily spoke this time.

“Why don’t you believe me?” Derek asked, slightly offended.

Emily raised her hands in defense, “It’s not that we don’t believe you.”

“It just seemed like your weirdest place would be a bit more adventurous based on how you brought it up,” Rossi voiced.

Derek furrowed his eyebrows, “and a boat isn’t adventurous?”

“No it is,” Penelope chuckled before reaching for her drink. Of course, she’d already heard about Derek’s nautical escapades.

Derek directed his attention back to Emily, “And what about you? What’s your weirdest place?”

She leaned back in her seat with a tinge of embarrassment she tried to hide with smugness. “That’s classified,”

Rossi and Derek cringed at Emily’s diversion.

“Oh god,” Rossi chuckled before taking a sip of his drink.

“Do I even wanna know?” Derek asked half joking.

Emily shrugged instead of answering. Derek decided he was better off not pushing Emily to share her story. He then brought his attention to the man across from him.

“What about you, pretty boy?”

Spencer’s head darted to him with raised eyebrows. “Me?”

“You got a weirdest place?”

“I- um.”

His ears started to turn a shade of crimson and he stuttered on his words, or lack thereof since he was caught off guard.

“It’s probably like a library or something,” Rossi jokes, earning a bright laugh from Derek.

Penelope set her drink down, “don’t make him say it if he doesn’t- “

“Actually it was.”

Everyone froze and turned to Spencer.

Emily was the first to speak, “What?”

Spencer shifted in his seat while the courage he had before started to dwindle. His face was now officially turning red.

“Me and um- someone were at the library because I was showing her it’s Edgar Allen Poe collection. Then at some point we ended up in … um the second floor bathroom.”

“Oh my god,” Penelope giggled before placing her hand on her mouth in shock.

“I can’t believe I was right,” Rossi commented.

“I can’t believe Spencer Reid was getting freaky in a library,” Derek said with a humorous grin.

“Shut up,” Spencer squeaked in a high pitched voice.

He hoped the topic of conversation would quickly be dropped so he didn’t have to reveal too much about his love life. But he suspected that wouldn’t happen once you came back to the table.

You and Spencer had started dating a few months prior and wanted to keep things to yourselves. You both intended to figure out the beginning of your relationship without the eyes of your friends.

“The line for the bathroom was so long,” you complained as you approached the table and sat down next to Spencer. “What did I miss?”

“Oh we never heard Y/N’s place,” Penelope excitedly pointed out.

You looked at her confused, “What place?”

“I have no clue how we got here but they all started talking about the weirdest places they’ve had sex,” Emily explained.

“Wow. Well, when I’m done I need to hear all of yours,” you pointed your glass in a motion towards all of them before drinking the last sip.

“I usually don’t venture outside the bedroom but out of the few times I have I think there’s two tied for first place.”

“What’s one of them?”

“Library.”

Silence fell over the group. Spencer’s stomach dropped to the floor at your answer. His face turned cherry red and his eyes remained frozen on the table in front of him.

You on the other hand were baffled at the reaction from your friends.

“What?”

While your eyes scanned the group you were met with relatively neutral expressions that didn’t match the growing tension in the air. All of them looked as if they wanted to say something, but not one of them was ready to speak.

Embarrassment and regret were creeping their way towards you in silence. Your body tensed up and you folded your arms in front of you.

“Come on guys, it's not that weird. It’s not like we were in an aisle, we were in the bathroom,” you tried to defend yourself.

That sentence seemed to spark something in the group. Their body language started to relax but still had a bit of hesitation. They all knew at this point, but they wanted you to confirm it.

“What floor?”

You followed the voice to Emily “Excuse me?”

“What floor was the bathroom on?”

You couldn’t wrap your head around her question.

“Why does that matter?”

“It does, which floor?” Penelope questioned this time.

“Second I think,” you hesitated, still confused.

“Oh my god!” Penelope squealed. “You guys are sleeping together?”

With your eyes wide, face hot, and heart pounding, you stared at her. Trying to figure out how a story like this was one they already heard. You forgot until now that they were already playing this game before you got back.

Turning to the side you playfully smacked Spencer’s arm. “You told them that?”

He gaped at you and grabbed his arm. Face still red of course now accompanied with a crack in his voice. “I didn’t think you were gonna tell them. I thought you would have talked about the other time.”

“Why would I tell them that?” You said in a quieter tone.

“What other time?” Derek interrupted, filled with curiosity.

Rossi pipped in next, “you said two places were tied for weirdest, what’s the other place?”

You and Spencer went quiet. You looked at each other before returning your gaze to the group.

“I think this is a great time to get a refill,” you grabbed your glass and stood up. “Spencer, coming with?”

He quickly scrambled to stand up, “Absolutely.”

The two of you made your way to the bar as your friends all started murmuring.

“So, you didn’t want to tell them you had sex on a plane?” He asked with a slight smirk.

“No, of course not!” You squealed which earned a laugh from him.

“Eventually they would’ve found out we’re dating and I didn’t want them to figure out it was on the jet,” you explained.

“It’s not like any of them were there,” he said before leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“I still don’t wanna get fired.”

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (2/2) | sharing the cookie

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, yuki tsunoda, isack hadjar, and liam lawson (click here for part one) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : your f1 boyfriend agrees to try the viral cookie challenge with your toddler (or cousin...) only to be hilariously betrayed (inspo: tiktok - click for reference)

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 1230

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : its quali time.. feeling nervous gas

ʚ・kimi antonelli

“this is gonna be a disaster,” kimi whispered, side-eyeing the plate in front of his tiny cousin.

you nudged him gently. “you don’t know that. maybe she’ll surprise you.”

he leaned closer, lips at your ear. “she bit me over a stuffed bunny last week.”

fair point.

you hit record.

his little cousin sat on the floor with two big cookies in her hands, practically vibrating with excitement. kimi sat across from her on the carpet, blank plate in front of him, hands resting on his knees like he was at a press conference.

"wow," he said dryly, glancing at her cookies. "they didn’t give me any. that’s sad."

she blinked at him.

then blinked again.

then took a giant bite out of one cookie, and held the other up dramatically.

“for your girlfriend,” she said, proudly handing it straight to you.

you barely held back a laugh. “wait, not for kimi?”

she shook her head. “she’s pretty. you can have mine.”

kimi turned to look at you, fully offended. “excuse me?”

“guess i win,” you said, biting into the cookie like it was a trophy.

kimi held out his hand to his cousin. “i thought we were a team.”

she shrugged. “you have a car. you don’t need cookies.”

you doubled over laughing while kimi sat there, blinking in actual betrayal.

“you guys are evil,” he muttered. “both of you.”

later, he was caught sneaking a cookie out of the jar and whispering, “this one’s just for me. no small traitors allowed.”

ʚ・ollie bearman

“i don’t think i’ve ever been this nervous around a child,” ollie whispered to you as your little cousin climbed onto the couch with his plate of cookies.

“he’s obsessed with you,” you whispered back. “play it cool or he’ll sense it.”

you hit record.

your cousin sat proudly in the middle — one cookie in each hand — glancing between you and ollie like this was some kind of test.

ollie gave him his best sad eyes. “wait… i didn’t get any cookies?”

your cousin blinked. looked at the cookies. then at ollie.

“why not?” he asked, genuinely confused. “aren’t you a grown-up?”

you tried not to snort. ollie blinked. “well, yes, but…”

your cousin nodded solemnly, fully taking over the situation. “okay. you can have one.”

ollie looked shocked. “really?”

“but only,” your cousin said, holding a tiny finger up, “because you’re a racer. and you drive the super fast cars.” then he leaned closer and added in a whisper, “they go like vroom vroom.”

you lost it behind the camera.

ollie took the cookie carefully, like it was an award. “wow. that means a lot. thank you.”

your cousin nodded, very serious. “you’re my third favorite.”

ollie paused. “third?!”

he shrugged. “max goes faster. and my dad says lewis is a legend.”

ollie gasped. “you gave me a pity cookie.”

your cousin patted his knee. “still better than nothing, bearman.”

you were on the floor at that point, and ollie was left holding his single, hard-earned cookie like a true motorsport warrior.

ʚ・yuki tsunoda

“you really think he’s going to share?” you whispered as you handed your son two cookies and yuki none.

yuki didn’t even blink. “absolutely not. he’s me.”

you hit record.

yuki sat at the kitchen island, trying to look casual while your three-year-old climbed into the seat beside him, holding two slightly melty chocolate chip cookies like they were gold bars.

“wow,” yuki said with a dramatic sigh. “they only gave you cookies?”

his son looked at him. then at the cookies. then back at him.

yuki leaned in, hopeful. “you don’t think papa deserves one?”

the toddler narrowed his eyes.

then — and this was so tsunoda family it hurt — he said, “you’re a grown-up. you can buy your own.”

you nearly dropped your phone from laughing.

yuki blinked, fully offended. “what?! i feed you every day!”

the kid shrugged. “i eat nuggets. you don’t even cook that.”

yuki gasped. “the betrayal.”

a pause.

then, with the tiniest sigh imaginable, your son broke one cookie in half and handed yuki the smaller piece.

“okay. you can have this. but next time, i want a bite of your ramen.”

yuki took it like it was a peace treaty. “deal. but only one bite.”

your son nodded solemnly. “i’m growing. i need snacks.”

yuki looked directly into the camera. “i’m raising a villain. a tiny, polite villain.”

ʚ・isack hadjar

“they’re cute,” isack whispered, watching your 5-year-old cousin march in with two chocolate chip cookies like they were briefcases full of power. “but i don’t trust them.”

you snorted. “it’s a cookie challenge, not a mafia standoff.”

“same energy.”

you hit record.

isack sat cross-legged on the floor while your cousin plopped down across from him, cookies in hand, eyes narrowed like they were sizing up a business deal.

“wow,” isack said, feigning drama. “you got two cookies?”

his cousin nodded, slowly. “yup.”

“crazy. they gave me… none. not even a crumb.”

your cousin paused. then raised an eyebrow. “do you want one?”

isack blinked. “…yes?”

“okay,” the kid said, “but you have to do five jumping jacks.”

isack stared. “what?”

“five.”

you: already wheezing.

“are you… bartering with baked goods right now?” isack asked, genuinely baffled.

your cousin nodded like a tiny ceo. “it’s the economy.”

sighing dramatically, isack stood up and started doing half-hearted jumping jacks. “one. two. this feels like extortion. three. i hate you. four. five.”

your cousin smiled. “okay. you can have… half.”

“half the cookie after cardio?” isack muttered, taking the piece. “this is the worst gym reward system ever.”

ʚ・liam lawson

“i don’t know, she’s too sweet,” liam whispered as you handed your daughter two warm cookies and guided her toward the living room.

“that’s the point of the challenge,” you grinned. “let’s see if she’ll share with you.”

“she’d give me a kidney if i asked,” liam muttered, sinking onto the carpet. “i feel like a monster already.”

you hit record.

your daughter shuffled into the room proudly, holding the cookies with both hands, cheeks puffed with focus. she saw liam first and beamed. “papa! look!”

“ohhh, two cookies?” liam said, eyes wide in fake surprise. “that’s so many. i didn’t get any…”

she paused. looked down at both cookies. then glanced at you.

her tiny eyebrows furrowed. then, very carefully, she held out both cookies — one to liam, one to you.

“you can both have one,” she said sweetly. “i don’t need one. i already had a snack.”

liam blinked. “wait. you’re giving them both away?”

she nodded, chipper. “sharing is nice.”

you: already struggling to hold the camera steady.

liam: already looking like he might cry.

“no, no, no,” he said quickly, holding the cookie like it was made of gold. “you’re supposed to keep one, sweetheart. this is your treat.”

she smiled up at him. “but you didn’t have one. and you always give me the last bite. so now i give you the whole one.”

liam looked at you, horrified. “why would you do this challenge to me?” liam scooped his daughter into his lap immediately. “this is it. we’re retiring. i’m raising her on a farm away from the cruel world.”

your daughter giggled. “can i still have cookies on the farm?”

liam kissed her cheek. “you can have ten cookies, every day.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[my-castles-crumbling]

barty crouch jr - jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 476

James wasn’t an easily frustrated person. While he wasn’t patient, he was easygoing, and it took a lot to make him annoyed or on-edge.

However, Barty Crouch, Jr. was a special case.

He wasn’t sure why, exactly. It was just that Crouch was so…Crouch. He’d realized it around the time he’d started spending more time with Regulus. He didn’t spend any more time with Crouch– he only saw Regulus alone…and every time he saw him it was secretive and riddled with want and confusion and tension and desire, at least on James’s end. 

But it seemed that now James was noticing Regulus more, he was noticing his friends, too. And Crouch was bloody obnoxious. 

He was touchy, for one. He always had his hands on all of his friends, especially Regulus. A hand on his shoulder or in his hair. Who did that? Sure, James was touchy with his friends but not…not like that!

And he was loud. He laughed like a hyena at Regulus’s jokes and called across corridors to the other boy, practically screaming, “Oi, Reggie! How are you, darling?” It set James’s teeth on edge. His grating voice, his ridiculous laugh, his very presence.

And the way Regulus looked at Crouch, too! Like he was…like he was special! It was infuriating. 

So forgive James for being a bit cold when one day, Crouch approached him and said, “Hey Potter? Have you seen Dorcas? Meadowes? I know she hands around your friend, McKin-”

“No,” he nearly spat, not looking his way. Instead, he looked over to the table where Crouch had come from– where Regulus currently sat.

But Crouch, far from looking offended, broke into a bemused smirk. “Wand up your arse, Potter? What-?” But he broke off when he met James’s eyes and followed their gaze. “Ah,” he said, grinning widely.

James frowned. “Ah, what?” He was beginning to get really annoyed.

“Oi, Reg, darling?” Crouch called to Regulus, instantly making James flush with embarrassment. 

“What the fuck, Crouch? What are you-?” he began to protest, but he was cut off.

“What, Barty?” Regulus drawled, looking over to the two of them with an unamused expression.

“Have we ever fucked?” Barty asked loudly, causing many nearby students to gape.

James gasped and turned red from embarrassment but Regulus didn’t flinch.

“No,” he said simply, a little wrinkle forming between his eyes as he narrowed his eyebrows.

Crouch nodded. “And will we ever fuck?”

Regulus gave a short laugh. “I certainly hope not.”

And even though he was still mortified, James registered a feeling of relief flood through his body. Why-?

“Well, there you have it. So have you seen Dorcas or not?” Crouch demanded, waxing his thanks to Regulus and turning back to James.

“Erm….Gryffindor Common Room,” James mumbled, still blushing, gazing over at Regulus who was hiding a smirk behind his hand.

[cressidagrey]

The Mysterious Mrs Piastri - The "Canon" Version

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar Piastri had always been a calm, collected kind of guy. Unshakeable, even.

Lando Norris, on the other hand? Not so much.

And today? Today was the day Lando fully lost it.

Notes:

Hi! This is the reworked version of the "The mysterious Mrs. Piastri". No worries! The original is still there. The problem is, that I wrote that piece originally as a stand alone.

There was never supposed to be Bee. There was never even supposed to be Felicity, because it was originally supposed to be a reader insert.

There was never supposed to be a sequel, which is why there is a lot of social media stuff in the original that's very out of character for Felicity, but I used back then to flesh out the "character" more because again, there was never supposed to be sequel.

So here it is: The new and "improved" version:

Oscar Piastri had always been a calm, collected kind of guy. Unshakeable, even.

Lando Norris, on the other hand? Not so much.

And today? Today was the day Lando fully lost it.

It had started innocently enough, just another fan stage, just another round of questions.

“Oscar, would you rather get married or get a tattoo?”

Lando relaxed. This one was easy. Surely Oscar would say tattoo. Maybe he’d joke about getting “downforce” written across his bicep in cursive. Something normal.

Instead, Oscar said, calm as ever, “Well, I already did one of those things.”

Lando choked.

He choked.

His drink shot out of his mouth like a missile. “YOU GOT A TATTOO?!”

Oscar turned to him, eyebrows creased in confusion. “What? No.”

And then it happened.

Lando watched, in real-time, as his brain caught up with Oscar’s words. “Wait.” His voice cracked. “WAIT.”

He stood up. Actually stood up. “YOU’RE MARRIED?!”

Oscar just nodded. Calm. Chill. Like he’d just announced what time breakfast was, not that his entire personal life was something Lando apparently had zero clue about.

Lando was spiraling. “WHAT?”

Even the interviewer sat forward, sensing blood in the water. “Wait—married married? Like, legally?”

Oscar looked almost offended by the clarification. “Is there another kind?”

Lando’s hands flew to his head. His whole worldview was crumbling. “SINCE WHEN?!”

Oscar shrugged like they were discussing tire strategy. “A while now.”

Lando looked to the crowd for help. The crowd was screaming. Phones were recording. PR was probably out back crying.

“I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend!” Lando yelled.

Oscar squinted at him. “You know that.”

“I DO NOT KNOW THAT.” Lando was full-blown shrieking now. “WHEN HAVE YOU EVER MENTIONED A GIRLFRIEND—LET ALONE A WIFE?!”

Oscar just shrugged again, that same infuriating calm on his face. “Well. I do. She’s amazing. 10/10. Would always marry her again.”

Lando’s soul left his body. “YOU HAVE A WIFE?!”

The interviewer was thriving. “We need details. How long have you been together?”

Oscar, ever consistent: “Since we were fifteen.”

Lando wheezed. “FIFTEEN?!” He sounded like he was being personally attacked. Oscar nodded like that was a normal answer.

“Where did you meet?”

Oscar blinked. “School?”

Lando turned to the audience, pointing like he needed witnesses. “Look at this guy! Of course he’s been secretly married this whole time. Of course!”

“When did you get married?” the interviewer asked, beaming like she’d just uncovered the next great F1 scandal.

Oscar: “When I was eighteen.”

The crowd erupted. Lando clutched his chest. “EIGHTEEN?! WHY?!”

Oscar: “Because I wanted to? Because I love her?”

Lando physically recoiled. “What, like… straight out of high school?!”

“Not straight out,” Oscar said thoughtfully. “We waited.”

“How long is a bit, Oscar?”

Oscar tilted his head. “Three weeks after graduation?”

Lando made a noise he was pretty sure only dolphins could hear. “THAT’S NOT A BIT, THAT’S A BLINK.”

The interviewer was practically in Oscar’s lap at this point. “How did you propose?”

Oscar shrugged. “I asked her to marry me.”

Lando stared. “That’s it? That’s the whole story?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah.”

“Where?” the interviewer prompted.

“At home.”

“…At home?”

“On the bed.”

Lando threw his hands in the air. “YOU ABSOLUTE ROBOT.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “She said yes.”

“That poor woman,” Lando muttered.

Then came the worst part.

“How did you manage to keep this a secret for so long?” the interviewer asked.

Oscar gave the most Piastri answer imaginable: “No one asked.”

Lando screamed.

“Who is she?!” the interviewer asked, practically vibrating. “What’s her name? Where’s she from?”

Oscar, completely useless: “My wife?”

Lando looked ready to launch himself into the stratosphere. “YES, BUT WHO IS SHE? WHY HAVE I NEVER MET HER?!”

Oscar blinked. “I thought it was obvious?”

“OBVIOUS TO WHO?!”

Oscar just shrugged again.

Lando was losing it. “Okay, but why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew,” Oscar said, like that wasn’t the most unhinged thing he could possibly say.

“How would I have known?!” Lando shouted. “Do I look like a mind reader to you?!”

Oscar just looked at him, completely unbothered. The calmest chaos Lando had ever known.

Finally, Lando gave in. “You have to introduce me to her. Like, actually. You can’t just be married and expect me not to meet her.”

Oscar sighed, clearly seeing the writing on the wall. “Fine.”

“Good.” Lando sat back. Then narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Does anyone else know?”

Oscar considered. “I think Zak does.”

Lando shrieked. “WHY DOES ZAK KNOW?!”

“Because he’s my boss?”

“I’M YOUR FRIEND!”

Somewhere, McLaren PR was having the worst day of their careers.

Oscar Piastri, the most low-maintenance driver in the paddock, had just casually revealed on live fan stage that he had a wife—and had had one since he was eighteen.

And Lando?

Lando was never going to emotionally recover from this.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/FormulaTea: 🚨OSCAR PIASTRI JUST CASUALLY ANNOUNCED ON FAN STAGE THAT HE’S BEEN MARRIED SINCE HE WAS 18??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN. WHAT.

@/chaoticf1brain: not oscar piastri saying “i already did one of those” to a “married or tattoo?” question and lando immediately short-circuiting. THIS IS CINEMA.

@/pitlaneprincess: the fact that oscar piastri’s marriage reveal came from a game of “would you rather get married or get a tattoo” is so unintentionally iconic. robot behavior. absolute king.

@/mclarensburner: no like. imagine being oscar’s teammate, sharing hotel gyms and debriefs and flights and NEVER KNOWING he was out here with a whole ass wife since he was a teenager. i’d scream too.

@/lanxiety_norris: Lando’s live meltdown over not knowing Oscar was married has already entered my top 5 F1 moments of all time. He spat out his drink. He screamed. I will be studying this footage for the rest of my life.

@/drivehivehq: oscar saying “she’s amazing. 10/10. would always marry her again.” in the middle of lando’s breakdown 😭💍

why is he lowkey husband goals???

@tiretalkpod: Oscar Piastri being married for FIVE YEARS and no one knowing is somehow more chaotic than any on-track drama we’ve had in the past 3 seasons. This man kept a whole wife secret like it was tire strategy.

@/piastrified: oscar: “how did i keep it a secret? no one asked.” the ENTIRE INTERNET: now asking every possible question at once

@/PRnightmare:  McLaren PR right now: 🧍‍♂️💻💥🔥🧯📉📉📉📉📉

@landosocial:  lando literally said “I’M YOUR FRIEND” like a hurt Victorian child finding out his best mate got married without telling him i’m sobbing 😭😭😭

@/f1brainrot:  we don’t know her name. we don’t know her face. we just know she said yes to a man who proposed “at home. on the bed.” and honestly? she’s a legend.

@/gridwivesunite:  Oscar said “I proposed at home. On the bed.” Oscar also said “she said yes.” Sir??? Why is this accidentally the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard???

@/tracklimitsandtea:  Me watching Oscar drop five years of marital lore in one fan stage while Lando has a nervous breakdown: 👁️👄👁️

@/buzzingtonstan: IF THIS MAN HAS A WHOLE WIFE, DOES THAT MEAN HE ALSO HAS A KID?? IS THERE A BABY PIASTRI OUT THERE??? OSCAR. BLINK TWICE.

@/landodrama: someone make the Netflix episode of this IMMEDIATELY. title it “How Oscar Piastri Crashed the Internet in 6 Words”

@/flannelanddownforceWHO IS THE MYSTERIOUS MRS PIASTRI!?!?

@/nicolepiastri:  I see the internet is discovering my son is married. Welcome to the club. I, too, found out after the fact 5 years ago. 👍

↪️@/piastriluv: NICOLE PLEASE TELL US YOU’RE KIDDING 😭😭😭

@/landochaotic:   Did he at least call you after the ceremony or did you find out via a tax form?!

***

Oscar Piastri was a man of routine.

He liked predictability. Consistency. A life largely free of unnecessary chaos.

Which was exactly why, after the complete meltdown that was today’s fan stage, he had retreated to his driver’s room, shut the door, and pulled out his phone. If there was one thing in his life that wasn’t chaotic, it was his wife.

The call barely rang twice before Felicity picked up, her face appearing on-screen, framed by the garage lighting. She had her hair tied up and was wearing one of his old hoodies—his favorite one, judging by the faded McLaren logo on the sleeve.

Just seeing her calmed him down instantly.

“Hey, Oz,” she said, smiling like she already knew he needed it.

Oscar slumped back against the couch, head tilted to rest against the wall. “Hey, Fliss.”

She studied him for a second. “So. How was your day?”

Oscar closed his eyes for a beat. “Lando found out we’re married.”

Her eyebrows lifted in slow, amused surprise. “Oh.” A pause. “He… didn’t know?”

Oscar opened one eye. “Apparently not.”

That earned a full laugh, soft and familiar. “How the hell did you think he knew?”

Oscar shrugged. “I dunno. We’ve been married for, what, five years now? I figured… someone would’ve told him.”

Felicity gave him a long, fond look. “Oz. You’re about as subtle as a torque wrench, and somehow also the most emotionally secretive man alive.”

“I can be romantic,” Oscar huffed, immediately defensive.

Before she could reply, there was a loud, unmistakable bang on the door. Followed by—

“LET ME IN, PIASTRI!”

Oscar closed his eyes again and muttered under his breath, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

On-screen, Felicity was trying very hard not to laugh. “Is that…?”

“YOU HAVE THREE SECONDS BEFORE I BREAK THIS DOOR DOWN AND DEMAND ANSWERS—”

Oscar tilted the phone so she could see the ceiling. “Yes.”

Now she was laughing freely, and it was a beautiful sound—one he’d always liked more than any podium cheer.

The banging continued. “STOP IGNORING ME, OSCAR. I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. I CAN HEAR YOU BREATHING.”

“You should probably let him in,” Felicity said, lips twitching. “Before he combusts.”

Oscar sighed the sigh of a man who had accepted his fate. He got up, opened the door—

—and Lando barreled in like a man on a mission.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Lando demanded. “I NEED TO SEE HER WITH MY OWN EYES.”

Oscar didn’t even flinch. Just held up the phone like it was Exhibit A. “She’s on FaceTime. Calm down, lunatic.”

Lando whipped around so fast he nearly tripped, then launched himself onto the couch, staring at the screen with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Silence.

Felicity gave him a polite, amused smile. “Hi. You must be Lando.”

Lando stared. Then pointed. “You’re real.”

She laughed. “I hope so.”

He turned to Oscar, looking betrayed on a spiritual level. “SHE’S REAL.”

Oscar sighed. “I know.”

Lando turned back to the screen. “And you married him? At eighteen?”

Felicity shrugged, her smile fond. “Yep.”

“WHY?!” Lando looked genuinely baffled.

Felicity tilted her head. “Because I love him?”

Lando looked like his entire world had been completely shaken. “You love him,” he repeated, staring incredulously down at her.

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Oi, mate, why’s that so hard to believe?”

Lando just groaned in exasperation. “You do not understand how hard it is, being friends with a guy for literal years, and never knowing he had a girlfriend—let alone a WIFE.”

“Mate, I’m pretty sure that says more about you than me,” Oscar told him bluntly.

Lando shot him a glare. “Oh, and you’re what? Mister Emotional Intelligence? You’ve been hiding this for years!”

Oscar shrugged. “Never came up in conversation.”

Lando looked horrified. “Don’t put this on me!”

Oscar shrugged. “You never asked.”

Lando flopped onto the couch, rubbing his face. “Unbelievable.”

Felicity stifled a laugh, the corners of her mouth tugging upward as she watched Lando in his current state.

Oscar side-eyed Lando. “What’s so hard to believe?”

Lando just flailed his arms. “You’ve been my friend for years and I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend, let alone a wife!”

Oscar folded his arms. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Oh, and now I’m the emotionally unaware one?”

“Yes.”

Lando flopped back on the couch like his entire world had been shaken. “You never told me!”

“You never asked.”

Lando, meanwhile, had moved to the “trying to wrap his head around this situation” portion of his breakdown.

“Okay, no. We’re fixing this. Immediately.”

Oscar looked at him flatly. “You’re meeting her. Right now.”

“No. In person. I need proof she’s not a deepfake generated by your PR team to make you seem like a human being.”

Oscar deadpanned, “No PR team is that good.”

Lando pointed to the phone. “Mrs. Piastri, I will see you soon.”

She laughed. “Looking forward to it.”

Lando nodded firmly, then turned back to Oscar. “I will be grilling you for details later.”

Oscar sighed. “Of course you will.”

Lando stood dramatically. “Good. Carry on.” And then he walked out like he had just personally fixed the situation.

Oscar turned back to Fliss, who was fully laughing.

“You were not kidding about him,” she said.

Oscar sighed. “I regret everything.”

She smirked. “Love you.”

Oscar huffed. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

And somewhere, in the distance, Lando was plotting.

****

@/oscarpiastri ✅

Caption:

So, the internet (and, more importantly, Lando) just found out I’m married.

To be honest, I didn’t think it was a secret. I’ve been married for years. I assumed people knew. Turns out, I was very, very wrong.

Yes, I’m married. Have been for five years this summer.

So, meet my wife- Felicity—my best friend, my favorite person in the world, and the only one who has somehow put up with me for this long.

We met when we were 14. Two kids at boarding school, thrown together by pure chance. The only open seat in class was next to me, so she took it. I stole a pen from her once—completely by accident—but she still let me borrow her pens after that. Eventually, she started carrying a second one just for me. I told myself that meant something.

She always knew when I was having a bad day, even when I hadn’t said a word. She made school bearable, made exams feel less stressful, made me laugh even when all I wanted to do was complain. Somewhere between stolen lunch breaks and long walks back to the dorms, between late-night study sessions and whispered conversations about the future, I fell in love with her. Quietly, all at once and over time. I knew by the time we were 15—maybe even before then.

She was my best friend first. The person I trusted most. The one who understood the parts of my life that didn’t always make sense to everyone else. By the time I worked up the nerve to tell her how I felt, she just smiled and said, ‘I was wondering when you’d figure that out.’ Like she had known all along.

When I left school to chase this ridiculous dream, she didn’t ask me to stay. She just told me she’d be there, no matter how far I went. And she was. Through every win, every loss, every moment of self-doubt.

So when we turned 18, we didn’t wait. Three weeks after graduation, we walked into a registry office in London, signed a piece of paper, and walked out married. No grand ceremony, no expensive dress. Just us, two rings we picked out in under twenty minutes, and a promise we already knew we’d keep.

We told our families afterward. Some took it better than others.

I know getting married at 18 sounds a little mad. People told us we were too young, that we should wait, that we were being reckless. But why? I had no doubt in my mind then, and I have none now.

Fliss is still the first person I call after every race, no matter the result. She’s the one who tells me to go to bed when I’m up too late on the sim, who reminds me to eat when I forget, who talks me down when I start overthinking. She’s been with me through everything. Through junior categories to F1, through every high and every low, through the moments I wanted to quit and the ones where I felt like I was on top of the world.

She’s my best friend, my greatest love, the only person who can call me out on my nonsense and get away with it.

So, no, I don’t have a tattoo. But I do have a wife. The person who still looks at me like I’m just that 15-year-old kid stealing a pen and falling in love before he even realizes it’s happening.

I have no idea how I convinced her to marry me, but I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

10/10, would always marry her again. ❤️

@/felicitypiastri

Comments:

@/landonorris: FIVE YEARS??? YOU HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR FIVE YEARS???↪️ @/oscarpiastri: I assumed you knew. ↪️ @/landonorris: WHEN HAVE YOU EVER MENTIONED HAVING A WIFE???↪️ @/felicitypiastri: He does this thing where he forgets people don’t just know things.

@/danielricciardo: High school sweethearts. Eloped at 18. Best plot twist of the season.

@/mclaren: We have so many questions.↪️ @/felicitypiastri: Submit them in an organized document, I’ll answer the best ones.

@/f1updates: Today in ‘Oscar Piastri casually drops life-changing information’—he has a whole wife. Lando learned this at the same time as the rest of us.

@/landoscult: Not Lando finding out with the fans and having a full existential crisis on stage 💀💀💀

@/thef1editz: POV: You just found out your best friend has been MARRIED FOR YEARS and never told you (attached video of Lando’s reaction with dramatic music)

@/wagsf1: WE NEED A FULL BOARDING SCHOOL LOVE STORY IMMEDIATELY.

@/f1tea: No thoughts, just Lando yelling ‘WHO GETS MARRIED AT 18’ like he was personally betrayed.

@/padlockthegrid: We’ve been watching this man for YEARS and never once suspected a wife??

@/georgerussell63: I feel like this is something you announce at a dinner, not in front of an audience.↪️ @/oscarpiastri: I thought I had mentioned it. ↪️ @/landonorris: YOU DID NOT.

@/charles_leclerc: This is the greatest plot twist in F1 history.

@/fernandoalo_oficial: I respect this level of secrecy.

@/chaoticneutralf1: Oscar Piastri is terrifying. He just DOES things and assumes people KNOW.

@/mclaren: Oscar, any other life-altering facts you’ve forgotten to mention?↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Not that I can think of.↪️ @/landonorris: I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT.

@/felicitypiastri: 10/10, would marry you again. (Even if you forget to tell people.)↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Love you too. ❤️

@/danielricciardo: Oscar, mate, do you have any other shocking secrets? ↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Not really. ↪️ @/landonorris: I AM NOT CONVINCED.

@/chaoticgrid: I will think about this every day for the rest of my life.

***

@/felicitypiastri Instagram Post

Caption:

So. Yesterday happened.

Since Oscar apparently forgot that telling people you’re married is something you actually have to do, I’ve spent the last 24 hours watching the internet lose its collective mind. You guys have questions. Lots of them. So, let’s go:

1. Wait… Oscar is MARRIED?!

Yes. Since we were 18. I know, I know. We should have made a big announcement. Or at the very least told his teammate. Oops.

2. When did you get married?!Right after we graduated. We were 18, ran off to London, signed a piece of paper, and then told our families. In hindsight, we probably should have done that last part beforehand, but hey, we were young and in love.

3. Why so young?Because we were sure. It wasn’t impulsive—it was inevitable. People told us we were crazy, that we should wait, that we’d change. But we didn’t. We grew up together, and we only ever grew toward each other. If I had to choose again, I’d do it exactly the same way.

3. How did you two meet?We were 15, stuck at boarding school, and Oscar stole my pen. He swears it was an accident. I maintain that it was the moment he decided to make me fall in love with him.

5. Did you really not tell Lando?I thought he knew! Everyone close to us does! I assumed Oscar had mentioned it at some point, but, well… you all saw what happened. Apparently, Oscar’s ‘private life’ policy extended to his teammate of nearly two years. Which is why we all got to witness his public breakdown in real-time.

5. Does this mean you’re an F1 WAG?Technically? Yes. Do I have the outfit coordination and expensive handbag collection to back it up? No. I do steal Oscar’s team hoodies, so that counts, right?

6. What’s your favorite thing about Oscar?The way he loves—quietly, steadily, with his whole heart. He still waits up for me if I’m out late, still kisses my forehead when he thinks I’m asleep, still tucks handwritten notes into his race gloves like he did back when he was karting. I’ve loved him for so long that I can’t imagine my life any other way.

7. And since Oscar said ‘10/10 would always marry her again,’ what’s your answer?10/10. No regrets, no hesitation, no doubt. I’d marry him a thousand times over.

Comments: 

@/landonorris: I’M STILL NOT OVER THIS. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: I’m never going to live this down, am I? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Nope. But I love you anyway.

@/danielricciardo: This is the kind of romance novel material I expect from an F1 WAG.

@/mclaren: We demand a Netflix special on this.

@/wagsf1: This is the cutest thing we’ve ever seen. Please post more.

@/f1updates: The way she said ‘10/10’ like it was the easiest question ever 😭💖

@/wagsf1: He still tucks handwritten notes into his race gloves??? I’M GONNA CRY.

@/f1updates: This woman just broke the internet by being casually, devastatingly in love.

@/f1fangirl92: The way this man has been secretly in love since he was FIFTEEN is actually lethal.”

@/fanaccountoscarpiastri: So what I’m getting is that Oscar is out here winning races and marriage. I respect it.

@/fanofeverything: Why did Oscar keep it a secret??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: It wasn’t a secret so much as… he never felt the need to bring it up? It’s not like he was hiding me in a basement somewhere. He just doesn’t talk about personal stuff unless someone asks directly. Which, apparently, no one did.

@/paddockinsider: Did Oscar just assume that everyone knew you guys were married? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. 100%. This man did not think to mention it because he thought it was ‘obvious. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OBVIOUS TO WHO?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: To him. He just figured if someone asked if he was married, he’d say yes. But since no one did, he saw no need to bring it up. ↪️@/landonorris: HOW IS THAT YOUR LOGIC. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: No one asked. ↪️@/landonorris: I’M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND.

@/paddockgossip: Did ANY other drivers know??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Oscar’s Prema teammates figured it out. The rest of the grid? Oblivious. ↪️@/landonorris: How did Oscar never accidentally spill?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He doesn’t overshare. Meanwhile, I am still in awe that he just assumed people knew.

@/mclarenfanatic: Did he really think Lando knew? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: 100%. I asked him and he was like, ‘Well, I didn’t HIDE it?’ And I was like, ‘Oscar. That is not the same thing as telling people.’

@/pitstopqueen: What was your first impression of Oscar? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Honestly? I thought he was too quiet. Then he made some dry, sarcastic comment under his breath in class, and I immediately knew we’d get along.

@/tracksidegossip: How long did you actually plan the wedding? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: A week. And ‘plan’ is a generous term. We just Googled how to get married in London, booked the appointment, and that was that.

@/f1chaos: Oscar, be so honest, did you really think people would just ‘figure it out’ without you ever saying anything?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. Yes, he did.

@/gridgirlgossip: Oscar Piastri, the man who quietly eloped at 18, dealt with family drama, and then just went racing like nothing happened.

@/drsdiva: This is the wildest reveal in F1 history. Netflix, do your job.

@/f1softies: The fact that Oscar has been in wife guy mode for YEARS and we had no idea.

@/lando4lyf: Lando: ‘YOU GOT A TATTOO?!’ Oscar: ‘No, I’m married.’ Lando: internal system crash

@/piastriupdates: Lando Norris finding out live on stage that his teammate has been MARRIED FOR FIVE YEARS is the funniest thing to ever happen in F1.

@/f1memesdaily: Oscar Piastri eloped at 18, never told anyone, and assumed people would figure it out while Lando was out here thinking he was a single man. I respect the commitment to quiet chaos.

@/danielricciardo: Mate. You were MARRIED this whole time?? I thought you were just too focused on racing to date anyone, and instead you were out here with a whole WIFE???

@/charles_leclerc: You were married at 18? And Oscar thought that was a normal thing to do?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. 

@/alex_albon: Tbh, I respect it. Absolute power move. Eloping at 18, casually keeping it a secret, and then just dropping it on Lando like that?? Unreal. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: See? Alex gets it.

@/robertschwartzman: Oh, now everyone suddenly cares. Meanwhile, WE KNEW THE WHOLE TIME. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: To be fair, you were basically forced to know. ↪️@/robertschwartzman: Yeah, because he wouldn’t shut up about you. ‘Oh, I can’t come to dinner, I have to call my wife.’ ‘Oh, I’m flying to London to see my wife.’ Mate, we were 19, and you were out here married like a 40-year-old. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He still does that, btw.↪️@/robertschwartzman: Not surprised. The man has been whipped since day one.

@/arthur_leclerc: The funniest part was watching Oscar just assume we all knew. Like we’d be talking about normal 19-year-old things, and he’d casually drop, ‘Yeah, my wife said the same thing.’ ↪️@/felicitypiastri: And did any of you ever ask for clarification? ↪️@/arthur_leclerc: Oh, we asked. His response? ‘What about it?’ LIKE SIR. ↪️@/robertschwartzman: “One time, I straight-up said, ‘Mate, do you realize you’re married?’ and he just blinked at me and said, ‘Yeah.’ As if that was a totally normal thing for a teenage racing driver. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Sounds about right. ↪️@/logansergeant: “Honestly, we stopped questioning it after a while. He was just so chill about it. ↪️@/arthur_leclerc: Yeah, it was like, ‘Oh, Oscar’s in a committed marriage while we’re all just trying to survive? Cool, cool.’

@/f1updates: So you eloped… but do you think you’ll ever have a big wedding? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Not really. Oscar and I don’t love being the center of attention, so a big wedding never appealed to us. ↪️@/landonorris: THEN CAN I HAVE A BIG PARTY ON YOUR BEHALF??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: We literally just had a wedding reveal by accident and you want to throw an even bigger event??? ↪️@/landonorris: YES.

@/f1updates: Why doesn’t Oscar wear a wedding ring? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He does! He just doesn’t wear it when driving. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: Okay but I have never seen this man wear a ring in my life. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He wears it in the off-season. Also, fun fact: he has a silicone one for training that he keeps losing.

@/f1updates: Serious question—why don’t you ever go to races?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: I like my privacy. Nobody needs to see my terrified facial expressions. Also, I am busy at home. ↪️@/f1memes: You really married a professional racing driver and said no thanks to the circus.” ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yep.  

↪️@/mclarenmemes: And Oscar’s fine with that??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He knew what he was signing up for.

@/landonorris: So I still haven’t met you because??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Because you are chaos incarnate and I am scared. ↪️@/landonorris: I AM DELIGHTFUL. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Oscar tells me otherwise. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OSCAR, SAY IT AIN’T SO. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: No comment.

@/mclarenmemes: So you just send him off to work and watch from home like it’s the Super Bowl? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. ↪️@/f1memes: AND HE’S FINE WITH THAT??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He comes home, I feed him, we watch race replays together, and he tells me all the paddock gossip. We have an excellent system. ↪️@/f1updates: Oscar, confirm or deny? ↪️@/oscarpiastri: Confirmed.

@/f1updates: So, will we ever see you at a race? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Maybe. One day. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OSCAR, MAKE HER COME TO ONE. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: She does whatever she wants. I learned that a long time ago.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/piastrified: oscar posting a heartfelt essay about marrying the love of his life felicity posting a selfie from their wedding day and casually mentioning he stole her pen we are in a ROMANCE NOVEL people

@/tifosibutsoft:  not to be dramatic but i would lay down my life for felicity piastri and her 20-photo instagram grid.

@/formulafeminism: her instagram goes: 🧠 page-long math caption 🐔 chicken in a knitted sweater?! 🛠️ engine restoration 🍞 perfect sourdough crumb 💍 wedding ring in engine grease this woman is unhinged. i love her.

@/landoslostmind: lando finding out oscar is married via fan stage chaos the internet finding out felicity is better than ALL of us via a grid that has exactly zero curated content same vibe.

@/chaosinturn1:  felicity: “technically i’m an f1 wag” also felicity: wears oil-stained jeans, builds a gearbox, and bakes bread from scratch at 3am this woman is a weapon

@/garagegirlsupreme:  Felicity Piastri’s whole vibe is: “I could kill you with this torque wrench or love you for the rest of my life. Either way, you’re eating homemade banana bread.” 10/10 no notes.

@/formula1tumblr: Oscar: “I’d marry her again in a heartbeat.” Felicity: “We were inevitable.” Me: sob crying into an old hoodie I pretend is Oscar’s

@/pitwallposters:  you know she’s terrifyingly brilliant bc her instagram isn’t even TRYING to be aesthetic and it still made us fall in love with her

@/felicityspanner: people are out here thirst-following felicity for hot girl math & carburetors and you know what? same

@/softoscarpiastri:  Oscar: “I assumed people knew.” Felicity: “Oops.” Me, holding back tears while reading both their posts like it’s a Nicholas Sparks adaptation: 🧍‍♀️

@/beehivetheory:  felicity piastri’s instagram is the most confusing and impressive thing i’ve ever seen. one post: her holding a sourdough starter like it’s her child. next post: her under a 1967 alfa romeo spider with a wrench in her mouth. next: her proving a theorem i don’t have the qualifications to read.

@/mclarenbrainrot:  i think the best part is that felicity’s account is just soft lighting, feral captions, old cars, and a literal chicken coop.

@/chaoticgoodfelicity:  “Technically I’m a WAG. I steal Oscar’s hoodies so that counts right?” felicity i want to be you SO BAD.

@/formulanope:  I don’t know who I want to be more:

Oscar, who married the love of his life at 18 and thought everyone just knew

Felicity, who loves cars, chickens, and spreadsheets more than media attention

@/speedmathqueen people are shocked oscar married a genius but felicity’s instagram LITERALLY has a video where she’s like “just fixing a differential while calculating gravitational drag on a whiteboard” and then makes banana bread like it’s nbd how is this woman real

@/lanlanf1:  every team principal right now reading oscar’s caption like: “okay so not only is he unshakeable on track but also writes like a poet, has been married since 18, and literally fixed himself by 15. great. fantastic. my drivers can’t even commit to a protein shake.”

@/gpbutemotional:  Zak Brown: “we support family at McLaren.” Andrea Stella, quietly reprinting Oscar’s driver bio with “married to a woman smarter than all of us combined”

@/justpitthings:  the fact that felicity Piastri could win an engine-rebuild competition, a bake-off, and a theoretical physics conference in the same weekend AND look bored while doing it… she’s what every gifted kid from tumblr wanted to become

@/tinfoilfelicity:  convinced felicity is the reason oscar is so calm. you grow up married to someone who organizes her maths notes in color-coded hexadecimal and has chicken and suddenly nothing in life phases you anymore.

@/piastriupdates:  what do you mean oscar’s love language is handwritten notes inside his gloves before every race i’m actually going to cry in the middle of a petrol station

[foxtrology]

bette davis eyes (2)

harry castillo x reader

series

word count: 9.1k

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader, fluff, smut.

Harry Castillo still didn’t know her name.

And it was driving him insane.

It had been three days.

Three days since he sat on the steps of The Met, seething over Lucy’s engagement only to stumble into a conversation with the most aggravating woman he had ever met.

Three days since she stepped out of his car.

"If you find me again, maybe I’ll say yes."

He had taken it as a challenge.

Of course he did.

He had spent years making impossible things happen. He had turned himself into one of the richest hedge fund managers in the country. He dictated the movement of money on Wall Street with a flick of his wrist. People waited months to get a meeting with him.

When he wanted something, he got it.

But he still didn’t know her goddamn name.

He had spent hours.

Hours, going through his friends’ Instagram followings, convinced that she had to be in there somewhere. She had been outside that party on those steps. That meant she knew someone.

Right?

Wrong.

Instead, all he got was accidentally following half a dozen people he didn’t even like and no clue how to unfollow them.

"You could just Google it," Danny had suggested, watching as Harry scrolled through Instagram with the confusion of a man trying to defuse a bomb.

"I shouldn’t have to Google basic fucking technology," Harry snapped.

Danny had just laughed. "This is why Lucy did everything for you."

Lucy.

Right.

Harry shut his phone off and tossed it onto the table like it had personally offended him.

He needed to let this go.

She was just a stranger.

A nobody.

But...

She wasn’t.

She was somebody, at least to him. Someone who had looked at him like he wasn’t some billionaire hedge fund manager but just a man sitting on the steps of The Met, sulking about his ex.

And that was risky.

Because for the first time in a long time he wanted to know more.

She was balancing a tray when she spotted him.

Harry Castillo.

Sitting at the corner of the high end Manhattan restaurant she was currently serving at, looking like he would rather die than be here.

Her grip on the tray tightened. No fucking way.

She had spent the last three days assuming she would never see him again.

Rich men didn’t go looking for strangers they met outside of parties. Not unless they had some weird obsession or a savior complex. And he didn’t seem like the type.

Yet, here he was.

Dark suit. Sharp jaw. Brooding like the miserable, wealthy asshole she suspected he was.

And worst of all—he didn’t see her.

Not yet.

She had to get out of here before he did.

Her name tag was visible.

If he saw it, if he recognized her—

"Table six, go," her manager barked, pointing toward the very table Harry was sitting at.

Fuck.

She briefly considered quitting her job on the spot. Just throwing her apron at the nearest wall and storming out.

But unfortunately, she had rent to pay.

So with a deep inhale, she straightened her shoulders, gripped the tray tighter, and walked straight toward him.

Harry wasn’t paying attention.

Not to the menu. Not to his surroundings.

His mind was still back in his office, replaying every attempt he had made to find her.

And failing.

His phone buzzed. Another news notification. Probably some article about the market or a New York Times op-ed about billionaires ruining the economy. He didn’t care.

Then—

A shadow passed over him.

Someone setting a drink down.

And before he even looked up—before his brain even processed it—he heard her voice.

“Whiskey neat.”

His head snapped up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

And there she was.

Standing right in front of him.

His breath hitched.

Her.

Her.

His eyes flicked to her name tag, sharp and laser focused.

Finally.

She saw where he was looking and immediately reached for it, ripping the tag off with a sharp tug before shoving it into her pocket.

“Not a chance,” she said, shaking her head.

His lips twitched.

“Afraid?”

“Of you?” She snorted, shifting the tray in her hands. “Not even a little.”

He exhaled, leaning back in his chair.

“You work here.”

She raised a brow. “Clearly.”

“You were at the Met party.”

“I was working the Met party.”

Realization dawned.

She wasn’t a guest. She wasn’t friends with anyone there.

She was a server.

A server.

Harry’s fingers tapped against the edge of his glass.

He didn’t know why that made something settle inside him. Maybe because it explained why she hadn’t given a shit about who he was. Maybe because it meant she wasn’t part of his world, wasn’t another socialite or heiress looking for an investment banker to marry.

Maybe because it meant that night was real.

“You’ve been looking for me.”

It wasn’t a question.

His eyes lifted to hers.

She was smirking.

She was amused.

And he hated how much he liked that.

Harry exhaled slowly. “Maybe.”

“Well. Now you found me.”

He studied her.

The restaurant bustled around them. The clink of glasses, the low hum of conversation, the scent of expensive wine and seared steak filling the air.

But none of it mattered.

Not when she was standing in front of him, arms crossed, head tilted, watching him like he was the one on display.

He reached for his drink, swirling the liquid before taking a slow sip.

Then—

“Have dinner with me.”

She blinked.

Paused.

Then laughed.

Again.

Like he had just told the funniest joke in the world.

Again.

“You really don’t like being told no, huh?”

His jaw ticked. “That’s not an answer.”

She tilted her head. “What do you think I’m gonna do? Take off my apron and sit down at your table? I’m working, Castillo.”

The way she said his name made something tighten in his chest.

Harry leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Then when do you get off?”

Her lips twitched.

“You gonna wait here all night?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

She exhaled, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

A pause.

“Fine.”

Harry’s brows lifted.

Her eyes flicked to the clock on the restaurant wall before settling back on him.

“I’m off in an hour.” She turned, already walking away. “Let’s see if you’re still here by then.”

He watched her go.

Watched as she weaved through tables, balancing drinks, chatting with customers, completely at ease.

And for the first time in three days—

He felt at ease.

Because this time, she wasn’t getting away.

Harry wasn’t a patient man.

He had built an empire on control, on precision, on the ability to anticipate movements before they happened. That was how he stayed ahead, how he won.

Yet here he was, sitting at a table in an upscale Manhattan restaurant waiting for a woman who barely spared him a second glance.

A woman whose name he still didn’t know.

He leaned back in his chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass, watching as she moved effortlessly through the restaurant.

She was good at her job.

Efficient, quick on her feet, balancing trays with ease.

And she smiled at customers.

Not the way she had smirked at him earlier. Not with that sharp edged amusement that made something itch beneath his skin.

No, these smiles were polite. Professional. A little forced, maybe, but nothing that suggested she was even remotely bothered by his presence.

It annoyed the hell out of him.

Because he was bothered.

She had been stuck in his head for three days.

And here she was, acting like their encounter meant nothing.

Like he meant nothing.

It was infuriating.

And intriguing.

And maybe—just maybe—exactly what he needed.

His fingers tapped against the rim of his glass.

An hour.

He could wait an hour.

Hell, he had waited longer for board meetings that didn’t even matter.

So he settled in.

And watched.

She could feel his eyes on her.

The weight of his gaze followed her everywhere.

She ignored it.

Or at least, she pretended to.

Because if she acknowledged it, if she met his gaze, if she let herself wonder why he was still sitting there—then she would have to admit that she cared.

And she didn’t.

Not really.

Not about Harry Castillo.

Not about his perfectly tailored suit or the way his dark eyes followed her every movement like she was some kind of puzzle he was determined to solve.

Not about the way her heart had kicked up just a little when she realized he had actually been looking for her.

Nope.

Didn’t care.

Not at all.

She refilled a wine glass at table twelve, smiled at a group of finance bros who didn’t deserve it, dodged her coworker carrying a tray of desserts, and did not look at the man still sitting at table six.

But she could feel him.

And it was driving her crazy.

Harry was losing his mind.

Every time she passed his table without sparing him a glance, something inside him tightened.

This was ridiculous.

He didn’t wait for people.

People waited for him.

He could leave right now. Get up, walk out, and be done with this whole thing.

But he wouldn’t.

Because she had said one hour.

And he was going to make sure she kept her word.

His phone buzzed.

He ignored it.

Buzzed again.

Danny.

Danny: Why are you ignoring my texts?

Danny: Did you figure out how to unfollow people yet or are you still stuck?

Danny: Are you seriously still looking for that girl?

Danny: …You are, aren’t you?

Danny: I hate you.

Danny: Text me when you’re done being pathetic.

Harry rolled his eyes and slid his phone facedown on the table.

The hour crawled by.

And then—

Finally—

She walked back toward his table.

Apron off. Jacket on. Bag slung over one shoulder.

Her shift was over.

And Harry sat up a little straighter.

“You actually waited.”

She didn’t sound surprised.

More amused.

Like she had expected him to wait but still found it funny.

He lifted a brow. “You said an hour.”

“And you’re a man who listens?”

“I can be.”

She huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Dangerous skill.”

Harry smirked. “You have no idea.”

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched.

It wasn’t a no.

Wasn’t a go home, Castillo.

It was something else.

Something better.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “So?”

“So.”

“What now?”

Harry exhaled, watching her carefully.

She was testing him.

Waiting to see if he was serious.

If he was worth the trouble.

And Harry Castillo never backed down from a challenge.

“Dinner,” he said simply.

She arched a brow. “You just ate.”

“You were working. I don’t eat alone.”

She crossed her arms. “That’s a dumb rule.”

He shrugged. “It’s my rule.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

Then—

“Fine.”

A single word.

But it sent something sharp and victorious rushing through his chest.

He stood, pulling a few crisp hundreds from his wallet and tossing them onto the table without a second glance.

She eyed the money but didn’t say anything.

Just turned on her heel and walked toward the door.

Harry followed.

The wind cut sharp against his skin as they stepped out onto the Manhattan sidewalk, the world around them alive with the hum of the city at night. A taxi honked a block away, a couple laughed as they passed, and the crisp scent of winter curled into the air.

She shivered, pulling her coat tighter around her body.

Harry didn’t shiver.

He barely felt the cold.

His eyes flicked toward her, noting the way she huddled into herself slightly, as if suddenly self conscious. She had been confident inside the restaurant sharp, unbothered, teasing—but now, beneath the glow of the streetlights, something in her had shifted.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She scoffed. “You think I’m just gonna tell you that?”

His jaw twitched.

She was impossible.

And yet, somehow, he found himself waiting for her answer anyway.

She sighed, exhaling into the cold air. “It’s just…I just got off a shift. I’m not exactly dressed for whatever expensive place you’re about to drag me to.”

Harry blinked.

Then looked her over.

Dark jeans. A fitted black sweater. Scuffed up ballet flats.

She looked fine.

Better than fine.

She looked real.

She looked like her.

And that, he realized, was the problem.

She didn’t belong in his world.

Didn’t fit into the mold of women he was usually seen with.

She wasn’t draped in designer. She didn’t have a last name people recognized. She didn’t float through life with the quiet, effortless privilege of someone born into money.

But she was still the most interesting person he had met in years.

And that was dangerous.

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I don’t care.”

She blinked up at him.

“What?”

“I don’t care what you’re wearing.”

She hesitated.

Her eyes searched his, looking for—what? Lies? Pity? Some hidden agenda?

She wouldn’t find any of those.

He had none to give.

Instead, he tilted his head. “Are you hungry or not?”

She rolled her eyes. “I just worked a ten hour shift. What do you think?”

His lips twitched.

Without another word, he turned and started walking.

And after a beat—she followed.

To her surprise, Harry didn’t take her somewhere suffocatingly high end.

No pretentious Michelin starred establishment. No reservations only steakhouse with white tablecloths and chandeliers worth more than her apartment.

God, her roommate was in for a treat when she gets home.

Instead, they ended up at a cozy, tucked away bistro on a quiet side street. The kind of place that didn’t have a dress code. The kind of place where people actually talked instead of posing for Instagram photos.

She narrowed her eyes as she followed him inside. “How do you even know about a place like this?”

Harry didn’t answer.

Of course he didn’t.

Instead, he pulled out a chair for her like some old fashioned gentleman and waited for her to sit.

She hesitated, lips twitching in amusement. “Wow. Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

He ignored that too.

She sat.

He took the seat across from her.

A waiter appeared almost instantly.

Harry ordered whiskey.

She ordered a glass of wine.

She knew her wine, he'll give her that.

And then—for the first time since they met—there was silence.

Not uncomfortable silence.

But silence nonetheless.

She leaned back in her chair, watching him.

Harry was hard to read.

Brooding. Intense. Reserved.

The kind of man who looked like he had a thousand thoughts running through his head but no intention of saying any of them out loud.

The kind of man who could crush someone with a single, well calculated decision in his office during the day and then sit across from her in a dimly lit restaurant at night like none of it mattered.

She tapped her fingers against the table. “So, are you gonna ask me anything? Or are we just gonna sit here and stare at each other?”

Harry’s brow lifted slightly.

“I don’t ask questions I don’t care about the answers to.”

She blinked.

Then huffed out a small laugh. “Jesus. You’re insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of wine.

He watched her over the rim of his own glass, studying the way she moved.

She wasn’t nervous.

She wasn’t trying to impress him.

And he hated how much he liked that.

She started talking first.

Not because he asked.

But because she wanted to.

“So, what do you think I do?” she asked, resting her chin on her hand.

Harry took a slow sip of whiskey. “You’re a server.”

She smirked. “Wow. Good job, detective.”

His jaw twitched. “That’s not a real question.”

“Fine. How long have I been doing it?”

He studied her.

Noticed the way she held herself, the way she had moved through the restaurant earlier, the way she hadn’t hesitated when her manager snapped at her.

“Years,” he said simply.

Her smirk faltered.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Since I was nineteen.”

Something flickered in her eyes.

Something he didn’t understand.

Didn’t push.

But still—he noticed.

She exhaled, rolling her wine glass between her fingers. “It wasn’t supposed to be permanent.”

Harry’s fingers drummed against the table. “It never is.”

She lifted a brow. “You say that like you know.”

He didn’t answer.

Because he did know.

But he didn’t talk about it.

Didn’t talk about the nights he spent as a kid listening to his mother cry in the next room because she didn’t have the money for rent.

Didn’t talk about how she had worked three jobs just to keep food on the table.

Didn’t talk about how she got sick.

How the bills stacked up.

How money would have saved her.

But he didn’t say any of that.

He never did.

She watched him for a moment, like she was trying to figure him out.

Then she leaned back in her chair, lips curling slightly. “You don’t talk much, huh?”

Harry exhaled. “Not if I can help it.”

She grinned. “Well, lucky for you, I talk enough for the both of us.”

And she did.

She told him about the worst customers she’d ever had. The ridiculous things people asked for at restaurants. The way rich men treated servers like they were invisible.

She didn’t include him in that category.

And for some reason, that mattered.

She laughed at her own stories.

Harry didn’t laugh.

But he listened.

More than he should have.

More than he ever did.

She didn’t push him to share.

Didn’t ask him about his life, his money, his past.

She just talked.

And it was the first time in a long time that Harry didn’t mind someone filling the silence.

When their food came, she didn’t pick at it like the women he usually dined with.

She ate.

Finished her entire burger.

Made a satisfied noise as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

Harry’s lips twitched. He wanted to smile. But he didn't.

By the time they left the restaurant, it was late.

The air was even colder now, the city quieter.

She shoved her hands into her pockets. “Alright, big shot. Where’s your driver?”

Harry exhaled, glancing down the street.

James was waiting, parked at the curb.

But for some reason—

For some stupid reason—

He didn’t want the night to end yet.

So instead of answering, he met her gaze.

And said, “Let’s walk.”

She blinked.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

And just like that—

Harry Castillo found himself walking through the city with a woman he barely knew.

And, for once, he didn’t hate it.

The streets of Manhattan were quieter at this hour.

The usual chaos—the honking taxis, the chatter of impatient pedestrians, the ever present hum of a city that never slept had settled into something softer. The streetlights cast golden pools of light on the pavement and every now and then, a stray gust of wind sent a flurry of dry leaves skittering across the sidewalk.

She walked beside him, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, her unhurried.

Harry had no idea where they were going.

She was talking again, the words flowing effortlessly, her voice filling the quiet space between them like it belonged there.

“I don’t know how people live alone in this city,” she mused, her breath visible in the cold air. “I mean, sure if you’re a billionaire hedge fund guy, then yeah, easy. But for the rest of us mortals? Forget it.”

Harry glanced at her. “So you have a roommate.”

She huffed out a small laugh. “More like a personal angel disguised as a roommate.”

His brow lifted slightly.

She kicked a small pebble across the pavement as they walked. “Her name’s Maya and she’s the only reason I can even afford to be in New York. She’s an artist—one of those ridiculously talented people who’s always sketching on napkins or leaving paint stains on everything.”

Harry hummed, tucking his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. “And she sells her work?”

“Oh, yeah. To people like you,” she teased, smirking up at him.

His jaw flexed slightly. “Like me?”

She shrugged. “Rich. Intimidating. Definitely the type to spend five grand on a painting because some gallery curator convinced you it was ‘evocative of the human condition.’”

Harry let out a sharp exhale, something just short of a laugh. “I don’t buy art.”

She gave him a pointed look. “So you just have blank walls in your penthouse?”

He hesitated.

She gasped, dramatic. “Oh my God, you do!”

His jaw twitched. “I don’t see the point.”

She groaned, shaking her head. “That is actually the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”

Harry smirked slightly. “Maya sounds lucky to have you as her publicist.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not her publicist. Just her number one fan. And her unpaid assistant, apparently, because every time she has a gallery showing, I end up playing bartender.”

“You work events for her?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, I mean... I don’t want to be useless.”

Harry frowned slightly at that. “You’re not useless.”

She blinked up at him, something flickering behind her expression like maybe she wasn’t used to hearing that.

She recovered quickly, exhaling through her nose. “Try telling that to the people who snap their fingers at me when they want a refill.”

Harry’s jaw tightened.

There was something about that, about the idea of her being treated like she was nothing, about people looking past her like she didn’t matter.

That irritated him more than it should have.

But he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he glanced over at her, taking her in.

Her hair was slightly tousled from the wind, strands curling around her face. The dim glow of the streetlights softened her features, casting a warm hue against her skin. She looked…

Gorgeous.

Pretty.

She caught him staring and arched a brow. “What?”

Harry looked straight ahead. “Nothing.”

She huffed a small laugh, bumping her shoulder lightly against his. “You’re weird.”

“Good to know.”

She grinned but didn’t push it.

They kept walking.

They hadn’t planned on stopping anywhere, but when she spotted a small, hole in the wall coffee shop still open, she made a beeline for it.

Harry watched as she pressed her hands against the glass, peering inside like a kid outside a toy store.

She turned back to him, eyes bright. “I need something warm.”

Harry exhaled. “You could’ve just said that.”

She grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He sighed but followed her inside anyway.

The shop was small, filled with the comforting scent of coffee and fresh pastries. A tired looking barista was wiping down the counter, clearly ready to close up for the night but she bounced up to the register without hesitation.

“One hot chocolate, please.”

Harry stared. “Hot chocolate?”

She flashed him a look. “What?”

“You’re a grown woman.”

“Wow, ageism?” she gasped. “How very hedge fund of you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Hot chocolate is for children.”

She smirked. “And yet, I bet I’m gonna enjoy my drink way more than whatever depressing black coffee you’re about to order.”

Harry clenched his jaw.

Then turned to the barista.

“…Make it two.”

She lit up.

Not a smirk, not a teasing quip...just a genuine, unfiltered grin. “See? You’re not completely soulless after all.”

Harry huffed but said nothing.

They sat by the window, watching the street outside as their drinks cooled.

She took the first sip and sighed dramatically. “Oh my God."

Harry lifted a brow but took a sip of his own.

It was…warm. Smooth. A little too sweet.

Not terrible.

She grinned at him over the rim of her cup. “You love it.”

He set his cup down. “I tolerate it.”

She snorted. “Liar.”

Harry exhaled, shaking his head.

He was lying.

But he wasn’t about to admit that to her.

By the time they finally made it to her place, it was late.

The entrance to her building was old but well kept, tucked into a quieter side street. The kind of place that probably had thin walls and a temperamental landlord.

She stopped at the door, turning to face him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then—

“You gonna be weird about this?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Harry tilted his head slightly. “Weird about what?”

She smirked. “You look like the kind of guy who doesn’t walk a woman home unless he’s expecting to come up.”

His jaw clenched. “I wasn’t—”

She grinned, cutting him off. “Relax. I’m messing with you.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Hilarious.”

She stepped back, pressing her shoulder against the doorframe. “But hey…thanks. For dinner. And the hot chocolate.”

Harry held her gaze.

She was looking at him like she wasn’t sure what to make of him yet.

Like she hadn’t quite figured him out.

And that, somehow, made him want to see her again.

Before he could say anything, she yawned, stretching her arms above her head.

“You gonna try to find me again?”

His jaw tightened.

But his lips twitched.

“I already did once.”

She hummed, tilting her head. “Then maybe next time, I’ll let you find out something about me.”

Harry exhaled.

He should have left.

Should have walked away.

But instead, he lingered just long enough to watch her disappear into the building, just long enough to hear her footsteps fade.

And then, finally—

He turned.

And walked away.

He still didn't get her name.

But he knew where to find her.

Harry had gone back to the restaurant.

But she wasn’t there.

Two days.

Two entire days of walking into that overpriced Manhattan restaurant, sitting at the same damn table, ordering the same damn whiskey neat, only for some random server—not her—to take his order.

It was infuriating.

He didn’t know her name.

Didn’t have her number.

Didn’t know anything except where she lived.

And that made something settle in his chest that he wasn’t ready to examine.

Danny noticed.

Of course he did.

“You’re sulking,” he said, lazily swirling his cocktail at their usual bar.

Harry scowled. “I don’t sulk.”

Danny smirked. “Right. You just glare at your drink like it owes you money.”

Harry clenched his jaw.

Then exhaled sharply. “She’s not at work.”

Danny blinked. Then grinned. “Oh my God, you are sulking.”

Harry resisted the urge to throw his whiskey at him.

Instead, he pulled out his phone and stared at her building’s address for the fiftieth time.

Danny sighed, tilting his head. “You know, if you really wanted to, you could—”

“I’m not hiring a private investigator,” Harry muttered.

Danny huffed. “I was gonna say Google it. Jesus, man.”

Harry scowled.

But he did Google it.

Or rather, he, Danny, and James—his driver, the only person in his life with more patience than a saint—spent two hours tracking down any lead they could.

It was a long, painful process.

But finally—Maya.

Maya Klein.

Her roommate.

Her best friend.

Her very online best friend.

It wasn’t hard to find her art portfolio.

Okay, maybe it was a little hard.

But after squinting through three different Instagram accounts, a Tumblr page, and a very outdated LinkedIn profile, they found it.

And in bold, clean font on her website—

GALLERY SHOWING TOMORROW.

TRIBECA

8PM-11PM

Harry leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against his desk.

“She bartends for her friend’s events,” he murmured.

Danny’s brows lifted. “And you’re planning on showing up.”

Harry exhaled. “I want to see her again.”

Danny smirked. “Wow. You’re down bad.”

Harry ignored him.

He stuck out like a sore thumb the moment he stepped inside.

Danny, of course, fit right in. Already drifting off into the crowd, chatting up a woman in a fringed leather jacket holding a glass of something overpriced.

James had stayed outside, leaning against the Maybach with a cigarette between his fingers, avoiding any part of this ridiculous endeavor.

And Harry?

Harry stood in the middle of an art gallery, surrounded by people who clearly hated him.

The walls were filled with abstract pieces. Raw depictions of capitalism and greed, of money and power and the corruption that came with it.

A statement.

A big fuck you to billionaires.

A big fuck you to him.

And here he was—one of the richest men in the country—standing in the middle of it.

He definitely stuck out.

Eyes flickered toward him.

Some curious. Some amused.

But most?

Judgmental.

Harry sighed.

Danny was gonna love this.

He scanned the room.

And then—

He saw her.

Behind the bar.

Her hair pulled back in a clip, sleeves rolled up, effortlessly balancing bottles and glasses, moving like she had done this a million times.

His jaw unclenched.

Something settled inside him.

Something he didn’t have the time—or patience—to name.

He walked over.

She didn’t see him at first.

Not until he was standing right in front of her.

Then—

Her eyes lifted.

And froze.

Her fingers stilled over the cocktail shaker, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

Then, slow and deliberate...

She smirked.

“You again.”

Harry exhaled. “Me again.”

She hummed, setting the shaker down. “Didn’t peg you for an art guy.”

“I’m not.”

Her smirk widened. “So you’re here for the free drinks?”

He tilted his head. “No.”

Her lips pressed together, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Then why are you here?”

Harry held her gaze.

And then—

She sighed, shaking her head.

“You really don’t like answering questions, do you?”

He exhaled. “You weren’t at work.”

Her brows lifted slightly.

Harry leaned forward, resting his hands against the bar. “I noticed.”

Her expression softened just for a second.

Then she sighed, rolling her eyes. “My legs gave out.”

His jaw tensed. “What?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “It happens. I overworked myself too much. I needed a break.”

His fingers curled against the bar.

Harry didn’t like that.

Didn’t like the idea of her pushing herself until she physically collapsed.

Didn’t like the fact that she was still working tonight.

Didn’t like any of it.

She noticed.

“You’re brooding.”

“I don’t brood.”

She arched a brow. “You definitely brood.”

Harry exhaled sharply.

She smirked.

Then casually, she grabbed a napkin, scribbled something on it, and slid it across the bar.

He frowned. “What’s this?”

She smiled.

“My name.”

His fingers brushed the paper.

His jaw flexed.

Finally.

Finally.

Then—

Across the room, a conversation caught his ear.

Loud. Purposeful. Like it was meant for him to hear.

It definitely was meant for him to hear.

“I don’t understand how these people live with themselves.”

Harry’s fingers stilled.

He turned slightly, gaze narrowing at a group gathered near one of the paintings.

“They show up, throw their money around, act like they’re saving the industry when they’re the ones who ruined it in the first place.”

Another voice chimed in. “It’s capitalism at its finest.”

Harry exhaled through his nose.

Same conversation. Different setting.

Nothing he hadn’t heard before.

He should have ignored it.

But then—

Then, he heard her.

Her voice.

Sharp. Defiant.

“You do realize the only reason these paintings are selling at all is because of the people you hate, right?”

Silence.

Harry blinked.

His gaze snapped back to her.

She wasn’t looking at him.

She was facing them, eyes narrowed, jaw set.

The guy—some twenty-something in a turtleneck—sputtered. “That’s not the—”

“No, go ahead,” she said, tilting her head. “Explain to me how you think art survives without the rich. Who do you think is buying these paintings? Who do you think is keeping galleries open? I’ll wait.”

The group shifted uncomfortably.

Harry smirked.

The guy scoffed. “That’s not the point.”

She arched a brow. “Then what is the point?”

More silence.

She exhaled. “Look, I get it. The system’s fucked. But if you really hate capitalism so much then maybe don’t take a paycheck from a company that thrives on it.”

The guy’s face turned red.

Then, huffing, he spun on his heel and walked away.

Harry exhaled through his nose.

And when she turned back to him—

He was looking at her.

Really looking at her.

She raised a brow. “What?”

Harry’s jaw ticked.

Then, slow—steady—

He reached for the napkin with her name.

Folded it.

Slipped it into his pocket.

“Nothing,” he murmured.

And, for the first time in months—

Harry Castillo smiled.

Actually let out a smile.

It was a rare thing. Unpracticed. A little uneven.

And it caught her off guard so much she forgot to breathe for a second.

That smile.

The real kind, not the smirk, not the polite billionaire press photo kind. It was all quiet softness and amusement, like a secret between the two of them. It was the kind of smile you could fall into if you weren’t careful.

“Wow,” she murmured, recovering. “You do know how to do that.”

Harry’s smile didn’t falter, but he said nothing.

Typical.

The gallery began to thin out as the night wore on. Coats were retrieved from racks, the sound of shoes echoed across the polished concrete floor, and people began floating toward the exit in clumps, cheeks flushed from wine and conversations.

Harry stayed.

He didn’t know why he stayed.

He could’ve left after thirty minutes like most of the other well dressed nuts in the room. But something about the way she moved behind the bar—tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, laughing quietly when Maya came over to whisper something in her ear—held him in place.

She kept sneaking glances at him too.

Never long. Never obvious.

But enough.

He stayed perched in a corner, away from the art critics and the performative intellectuals with their wine sick grins and disdain for everything they secretly wanted. He watched her wipe down glasses and stack them methodically, her body moving slower than usual now, more deliberate. Her energy was dwindling down.

She was tired.

Exhausted, actually.

He could see it in the way her shoulders sagged when she thought no one was watching.

Around midnight, the final few stragglers filtered out. Maya was surrounded by compliments, champagne, and laughter as she waved people goodbye. She was magnetic.

But Harry’s focus was only on one person.

Her.

She was drying a wine glass with a rag that had seen better days when he approached the bar again.

“You’re still here?” she asked without looking up.

“I tend to see things through.”

She scoffed. “That doesn’t sound exhausting at all.”

Harry didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his coat and placed something on the bar. A lemon ginger lozenge.

She stared at it. “What is this?”

“You’ve been clearing your throat for the last hour. Thought you might be getting sick.”

She blinked.

And then quietly, “Thanks.”

He nodded once. “You ready to go?”

She furrowed her brows. “Go?”

“You were going to walk home, weren’t you?”

“I—” She hesitated. “Yeah. I was.”

“Not happening.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Harry—”

“Maya said she’s having people over.”

Her mouth opened. “She what?”

As if on cue, Maya bounced over, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. “There you are! Just wanted to let you know we’re having a tiny get together back at the apartment. You’re coming, right?”

She forced a smile. “Yeah…totally.”

Maya beamed. “Perfect! I’ll see you there!” And just like that, she twirled away in her silk pants and heeled boots like a whirlwind of chaos and charm.

Harry looked at her, quiet.

“You don’t want to go,” he said plainly.

She paused. “No, I mean—I don’t mind—”

“You need rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re exhausted.”

She made a face. “Thanks.”

“It wasn’t an insult.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t sound like a compliment.”

“It was. You’ve been on your feet all night and still managed to argue with an entire table of art anarchists without flinching.”

She blinked. “You were listening?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m observant.”

Something warm crept up her neck. “That’s actually…kind of sweet.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Still is.”

He exhaled, glancing toward the door. “Let me take you somewhere quiet.”

She looked at him carefully. "Okay." She nodded.

Harry smiled. “Come on.”

As they walked toward the exit, a low whistle echoed across the room.

“Ooooh, look who’s leaving together,” Danny called out, arm slung lazily around a girl wearing metallic eyeshadow and an alarming amount of lip gloss.

Harry cringed visibly. “Ignore him.”

“Oh, I planned on it,” she muttered, quickening her step.

Outside, James was leaning against the Maybach, his cigarette burning low between his fingers.

He straightened when he saw them. “Evening,” he said coolly, holding the door open without a single question.

Once inside the car, she leaned her head against the window, legs tucked beneath her. The car purred beneath them as it slid through the streets like a shadow.

“You always have a driver?” she asked after a moment.

“Yes.”

“Even when you’re just, like…getting groceries?”

Harry looked at her. “Do I look like I get groceries?”

She snorted. “Fair.”

He glanced at her again. “Do you want me to take you home?”

She paused. Her apartment would be loud. Crowded. Too many people, too much laughter, and she was tired.

Bone tired.

“I…wouldn’t mind going somewhere quiet,” she said softly.

Harry didn’t reply. Just gave James a nod. And James didn’t need to be told twice.

The car ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. The city lights flickered through the windows as they sped through Manhattan, the hum of the engine steady beneath them.

She was curled up in the passenger seat, head resting against the cool glass, eyes flickering between exhaustion and quiet thought.

Harry didn’t say anything. Didn’t push.

He liked the silence with her.

When they finally pulled up to his building, James barely looked surprised. He simply put the car in park, gave Harry a knowing look and muttered, “Have a good night, sir.”

Harry ignored him.

She hesitated when the elevator doors opened, glancing up at him.

“You sure about this?” she murmured.

Harry met her gaze. “You need rest.”

She exhaled. “You’re really committed to this whole taking care of me thing, huh?”

Harry didn’t answer. Just stepped into the elevator.

After a beat—she followed.

The penthouse was quiet when they entered.

It was huge.

Dimly lit, the skyline of Manhattan stretching out before them through the floor to ceiling windows. She looked around, taking in the sleek design, the impossibly neat kitchen, the pristine furniture.

Then—

“You really don’t have anything on the walls.”

Harry exhaled. “We’ve been over this.”

She smirked. “Still depressing.”

Harry ignored her, shrugging off his coat before turning to her.

“Go take a bath.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

Harry huffed. “You need to relax.”

She scoffed. “I’m fine.”

He raised a brow. “You’ve been on your feet for how many hours straight. Worked so long your legs gave out.”

She rolled her eyes. “I said I’m fine.”

Harry’s jaw clenched.

Then, slowly, pointedly, he turned and started walking toward the bathroom.

“What are you—”

“Follow me.”

Against her better judgment—she did.

The bathroom was nothing short of luxurious.

A massive tub sat beneath a soft glowing light, marble countertops lining the space. The air smelled faintly of something expensive, probably whatever soap billionaires used.

Harry turned on the water, letting the tub fill, steam curling into the air.

She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “You really think I’m about to take a bath?”

Harry gave her a look. “Yes.”

She scoffed. “Why?”

“Because you deserve to rest.”

Something flickered in her expression.

Soft. Unreadable.

Harry stepped back, nodding toward the tub. “Take your time.”

She hesitated.

Then—finally—sighed. “Fine.”

Harry nodded once before leaving the room.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the tub, at the ridiculous luxury of it all.

Then—she caught sight of the robe hanging by the sink.

A man’s robe.

His.

She swallowed.

Slowly, she peeled off her clothes, stepping into the warm water letting the heat soak into her muscles, melting the exhaustion from her bones.

She leaned back, closing her eyes.

And then—

She caught the scent of something in the air.

His shampoo.

His body wash.

Without thinking, she reached for the bottle, pouring a small amount into her palm before lathering it into her hair.

She didn’t know why she did it.

Didn’t know why the idea of smelling like him made something tighten in her chest.

But she didn’t stop.

Not until the scent of Harry Castillo was wrapped around her.

The warmth from the bath had seeped into her bones, leaving her skin flushed, her limbs loose.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt good.

Not just better—good.

Rested.

Weightless.

And wrapped in the scent of him.

She exhaled slowly, fingers dragging through her damp hair as she stepped out of the tub. Water dripped from her skin, soaking into the thick, plush bath mat beneath her feet.

She reached for the robe hanging by the door.

His robe.

It was heavy, rich, expensive fabric, meant for a man built like Harry.

She pulled it on anyway, wrapping herself in it, feeling swallowed whole by the warmth of something that belonged to him.

Something about that made her stomach twist.

Not in a bad way.

Not in a way she could name.

She let her fingers toy with the fabric as she padded quietly out of the bathroom, stepping into the dim glow of his penthouse.

Harry was waiting.

Not in a way that was obvious, but in a way that was distinctly him.

His posture was casual, leaning against the back of his couch, one hand resting lightly on the armrest. He had changed, too—no longer in his suit jacket, just his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the veins in his forearms, the carefully restrained tension in his body.

His gaze flickered over her, slow like he was taking his time, committing every detail to memory.

She knew what he saw.

Bare legs peeking out from beneath his robe. Damp hair curling against her collarbone. The softened edges of her normally sharp expression.

And for once—

For once, she let him look.

She watched his throat bob slightly, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes before he exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Come here.”

Her lips twitched. “Bossy.”

He didn’t deny it. Just waited.

She crossed the room, bare feet pressing against the smooth floor, stopping when she was just a few inches away.

Harry’s hands curled into fists against the couch for a second, like he was fighting the urge to touch her.

Then without a word he turned, disappearing into his bedroom.

She blinked, startled.

Then—

He came back.

With clothes.

A pair of sweatpants.

A plain black T-shirt.

Things that were clearly his, judging by the size of them.

He handed them to her, jaw tight. “Put these on.”

She took them, amused. “You actually own sweatpants?”

Harry exhaled through his nose, running a hand along his jaw. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t sleep in a tux.”

She grinned. “Shocking.”

He said nothing.

Just watched as she took the bundle of clothing and walked back toward the bathroom to change.

His sweatpants hung low on her hips, the waistband tied in a loose knot to keep them from slipping. The shirt was too big, drowning her frame, the fabric worn in and soft against her skin.

It felt like being wrapped in him.

Warmth lingered in the cotton, in the faint scent of his cologne. Something expensive.

She padded barefoot through the penthouse, fingers fidgeting with the hem of the shirt. The city glittered outside the floor to ceiling windows.

Everything about this place was so immaculate. So clean. So structured. It screamed of control��of a man who ruled his world with precision.

But the moment she entered it some of that control seemed to slip.

She could feel it in the way Harry watched her, the way his fingers twitched when she walked past him, as if resisting the urge to reach out and keep her close.

She stopped in front of the window, arms crossing over her chest, her breath fogging slightly against the cool glass. “You can see everything from here.”

Harry was behind her, watching her quietly. “You like it?”

She exhaled, eyes scanning the skyline. “Yeah. But…”

His brow lifted slightly. “But?”

She hesitated. Then with a small teasing smirk, she turned to face him. “It’s kinda depressing that you live up here all alone.”

Harry’s jaw twitched. “I’m fine.”

She huffed. “That’s what all lonely people say.”

His lips curved just slightly, something almost amused flickering behind his sharp gaze. “And you’re an expert on loneliness?”

She shrugged, moving closer, the fabric of his shirt swaying against her thighs. “I know what it looks like.”

Harry watched her approach, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “And what do I look like?”

She tilted her head, scanning him playfully. “Like a very, very rich man who doesn’t know what to do with himself outside of work.”

Harry huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Accurate.”

She grinned, victorious. “Told you.”

For a moment they just stood there.

Him watching her.

Her watching him.

The silence between them wasn’t empty.

It was heavy. Charged.

Harry’s gaze flickered to her legs, to the way his sweatpants hung off her frame, the fabric pooling at her ankles. Then to the curve of her hip, the way his T-shirt stretched over her body, swallowing her whole.

Something deep and dangerous stirred in his chest.

She looked good like this.

Too good.

Her chin tilted up, eyes meeting his. “You really don’t talk much, do you?”

His hand lifted, brushing her damp hair back behind her ear. His touch was light, barely there, but it made her breath catch.

His fingers trailed lower, down her jaw, grazing the edge of her throat.

She swallowed.

His voice was deep when he finally spoke. “I say what matters.”

Her lips parted slightly, something unspoken hanging between them.

She felt it before she realized what she was doing.

The way her body leaned into his.

The way his fingers skimmed over the fabric of his shirt against her skin, so close, yet still too far.

His touch was careful.

Like he was memorizing her.

She exhaled shakily. “You keep looking at me like that.”

Harry’s thumb brushed over her hip. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure something out.”

“I am.”

She blinked. “What?”

Harry’s hand slid lower, fingers teasing along the edge of his sweatpants on her frame. His voice was softer this time, almost dangerous.

“If I can control myself.”

Her breath hitched.

She wasn’t sure who moved first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was her.

But suddenly—

They weren’t talking anymore.

His lips crashed against hers, urgent and deep, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him. She gasped into his mouth, fingers tangling in the fabric of his dress shirt as he devoured her.

The world blurred.

She barely registered the way he picked her up, his hands firm around her thighs as he hoisted her up, murmuring quietly against her ear, “Jump.”

And she did.

Wrapped her legs around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He carried her through the penthouse with effortless strength, like she weighed nothing, like holding her close was something he’d done a thousand times before.

And then—

He walked her backward towards his bed, his mouth never leaving her skin, breath warm against her jaw.

The mattress hit the backs of her knees, sending her falling onto it in a slow, melting sprawl of limbs and want.

The soft silk duvet caught her, cool against the fever of her skin, her hair spilling across his impossibly expensive sheets. The room was dim but warm, the city humming just beyond the glass windows, the skyline glittering like a thousand secrets no one else would ever know.

Harry stood above her, his breathing deeper now, his eyes locked onto her like he was trying to memorize the moment. Like she was a painting he hadn’t expected to fall in love with.

She propped herself up on her elbows, staring back. Waiting. Wanting.

Harry’s fingers moved to his collar first. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time, revealing inch after inch of warm, lived in skin beneath it. He wasn’t carved like marble—wasn’t the chiseled fantasy that Hollywood sold in glossy posters.

He was real.

His chest was broad, his arms strong but not perfect. Age spots dotted his skin like constellations, a faint scar ran along the side of his ribs, and when his shirt slipped off his shoulders, she saw the slight softness of his belly.

A pouch.

Honest. Natural. Human.

And when her eyes lingered there—he froze.

She could tell.

The way his breath caught. The flicker of hesitation in his brow.

He was used to being looked at like a power figure. A man in suits. Behind desks. Holding titles and leverage.

But being seen like this?

Like a man—just a man—baring everything? That was different.

She sat up slowly, still watching him. She didn’t say anything, didn’t tease, didn’t fill the space with false comfort.

She just reached for him.

Her fingers skimmed across the skin of his abdomen, soft and warm beneath her touch, and she whispered, “Come here.”

Something in him shifted.

Like maybe he believed her.

That she wanted all of him.

He slid out of his slacks, slow and deliberate, leaving him in nothing but his briefs for a moment before they, too, joined the pile of fabric on the floor.

Then he reached for her.

She let him.

His hands were careful when they peeled off her borrowed T-shirt, pulling it over her head and dropping it aside. Then her body lifted instinctively as he slid the sweatpants down her hips, revealing soft skin, flushed and ready beneath him.

Now they were skin to skin.

Warm and real.

Harry hovered over her, the muscles in his arms flexing slightly as he held himself above her, his gaze moving slowly down her body.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Just like that.

No flourish. No performance.

Just a truth that had been sitting in his chest since the moment he first saw her.

She reached up and cupped his jaw, her thumb brushing just beneath his lip. “So are you.”

His breath hitched.

And then he kissed her.

Not rough. Not greedy.

Deep.

Warm.

Slow.

The kind of kiss that says I see you. I feel you. I’m here.

His hands roamed her body like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to touch first—her ribs, her hips, the soft curve of her breast beneath his palm.

And then—

He began to slide lower.

Kissing down her neck.

Dragging his lips across her collarbone.

Sinking further and further until he was kneeling between her thighs, the backs of his hands brushing gently along the insides of her legs, coaxing them apart like he was opening something sacred.

She was already breathing heavy, already undone just from the look in his eyes.

He settled between her legs like he belonged there.

And maybe—he did.

He didn’t dive in like a man with something to prove. He took his time.

Let her feel his breath first.

The heat of his mouth pressing gentle, almost shy kisses to her thighs.

Then—

He licked a slow, deliberate stripe up her center, groaning low when he tasted her.

Like she was the answer to a hunger he didn’t know he’d been carrying.

Her hips jerked. Her fingers scrambled for the sheets.

He pressed his palms to her hips, grounding her, murmuring something too quiet to make out.

Then his mouth opened on her again.

Tongue.

Lips.

Heat.

Every part of him focused on unraveling her.

She moaned, soft and choked, as his tongue circled her clit, slow at first, then faster with just the right amount of pressure.

He adjusted when she squirmed.

Groaned when she whimpered.

Moved with her, not against her.

Like this was a language only he spoke.

She looked down once—just once—and saw him watching her.

Eyes locked to hers.

Dark. Hungry. But more than that...captivated.

Like he could spend the rest of his life right here, on his knees tasting her like he needed her to survive.

His mustache scraped lightly against the tender skin of her thighs, a delicious burn. His fingers dug into her hips as his mouth worked in steady rhythm, not relenting even when she gasped, Harry, please—

Especially then.

He moaned against her like her begging was the most beautiful sound in the world.

And then—

She broke.

She came with a soft, shattered gasp, her body buckling as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. Her hands found his hair, her legs trembled, her hips rolled up into his mouth.

He held her through all of it.

Licked her through it.

Didn’t stop until she was whimpering from overstimulation, her fingers tugging weakly at his hair.

Only then—only then—did he lift his head.

His mouth was slick, his jaw tense, his chest heaving.

He crawled back up the bed, lips brushing her cheek, her neck, the corner of her mouth.

He kissed her slowly.

Didn’t try to speak.

He just laid beside her, naked and warm and quiet.

Letting her curl into him.

Letting the silence stretch.

Letting himself feel.

And when she finally caught her breath, when she looked up at him and whispered, “You okay?”

Harry gave her a look so full of tenderness it nearly undid her all over again.

“I am now,” he said.

And she believed him.

They laid there, skin to skin, her fingers tracing slow, thoughtless shapes against his chest while his hand rested on the curve of her hip not wanting to let go, grounding them both in something quiet and real.

For the first time in months, Harry hadn’t thought about Lucy.

Not once.

Not her laugh, not the space she left behind.

He only thought about the girl breathing softly in his arms, asleep against his chest like she belonged there.

And when his eyes finally closed, he felt safe.

Maybe for the first time in his life.

[enwoso]

Would do a quick oneshot of the arsenal girls hearing tiny call Leah 'Mama'

belonged | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

grumpy masterlist

training had wrapped up early, the girls having a game to play tomorrow as the rest of the girls were scattered across the pitch. alessia was sat on the grass, you perched in her lap. letting you play with the hem of her training top as the rest of the squad chatted around them.

giving you a chance to get out any bundled energy you'd built up from just watching in the sidelines, it also making for an easier afternoon for alessia — you being less energetic.

leah was kneeling a few feet away, tying her laces as she half listening to beth and katie debate about which coffee shop had the best coffee this week. it was the usual post training routine, relaxed and familiar well until you unknowingly dropped jaw dropper of a line.

"mama, can you help me?" you asked holding you water bottle up to leah with your big blue expectant eyes, leah looking down with a smile as she nodded taking the bottle from you.

a brief silence followed.

leah totally unfazed by your words, it being the normal now, took the bottle and twisted the lid off with ease, "there you go angel."

but the rest of the team? they were staring. hard.

beth's jaw was practically on the floor, katie had stopped mid sip of her own bottle as her eyes flickered between you and leah like she had just witnessed the biggest plot twist of a movie in real time. kyra actually looking on offended that she hadn't been told this information sooner.

"hold on," vic was the first to speak, waving a hand dramatically towards leah as alessia stood not too far behind, "did she just—did she just call you mama?"

leah finally noticing the attention, feeling there long stares on her, looked up with a frown not really understanding the point of their shock, "uh.. yeah?"

alessia groaned quietly, already anticipating the incoming chaos along with the questions, the team knew about alessia and leah (thanks to you) but this never seemed to be a topic of conversation. "oh here we go."

"since when?" katie demanded, moving forward like she was about to conduct an interrogation of the biggest crime.

"she's been doing it for a few months now," alessia said, rubbing your back absentmindedly as you stared off into the distance watching the goalkeeper finish their session off, "just.. clearly none of you have noticed?"

beth spluttered, shock still hitting her in waves, "and you didn't think to tell us?"

alessia raised an eyebrow, "do you expect me to make a powerpoint for you guys every time my daughter does something cute?"

"yes, actually or even just a message in the groupchat would have done" kyra deadpanned, a few of the other humming in agreement.

meanwhile, leah was still cradling your bottle, looking between the girls and then back at alessia, "how have they not noticed?"

alessia just shrugged. "they're a bit slow."

katie gasped in offense. "excuse me?" as she continued to ramble on about her great reflexes, not that anyone was really paying attention to that as they were all still in shock about the whole, 'leah, mama' situation.

beth, her mind not really wrapping around the facts, "so she just casually calls you mama, and we've never noticed?"

you, now not distracted by the goalkeepers and instead thoroughly confused by all the fuss. blinking up at beth and answering her question matter of facts, "le is mama."

leah grinned, hearing it never got old in leah's mind, as she reached over to ruffle the top of your head, "that's right, angel."

katie shook her head in disbelief, "i can't believe this. leah's just winning at life. arsenal captain, england legend and now — confirmed favourite parent and loving family."

leah smirked. "i mean, i don't like to brag, but—" alessia groaned, nudging her in the leg. "oh my god, do not start this again."

this not being the first time leah's parent ego had gotten a little too big as she teased alessia on the fact she was now the favourite but deep down alessia knew she didn't need to compete in that as she'd always edge it in a different way.

the team groaned collectively, but there was no missing the warmth in the air. because, really, it didn't matter that they'd only just noticed. what mattered was that you had known all along.

[seungfl0wer]

*Chan Calling You Clingy*

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Pairing: Bangchan x Reader (GN)

Warnings: none? I mean arguing and cursing? Not proof read

The way this one sounds like it could be real hurts me even more not gonna lie

This is part of a series Find the other members here:

Bangchan, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin

-🩵

Your boyfriend and you had just arrived in Australia. He had brought you to spend sometime with him and his family. It wasn’t often that he had time to himself it was almost unheard of though that he had time to be able to visit his home and family. This was not the first time you had met his family. You and Chan had been dating for a few years now. They treated you like family and you were comfortable around them. Chan was able to get 4 whole days here with his family and it made you so very happy to see him be able to spend time with them.

You followed him around a lot while you were there, although you were comfortable around his family it still made you nervous to be without Chan. His sister who was out in the US with friends had told you about a good food spot there that she said “you totally had to eat at before leaving.”

You asked Chan about it when you got there and he told you “you guys would stop there at some point.” The time was winding down really wanting to stop by you asked him again. He just basically sighed “babe we will” his voice low. He sounded grumpy for some reason you stared at him for a second before asking him what was wrong. He rolled his eyes “nothing y/n” he said getting up to grab his drink. He’s seemed irritated all day today and you don’t know what was wrong. Did you do something? Did someone say something?

You didn’t wanna press, you laid your head on his shoulder only for him to move it making you move your head. You looked confused offended even. What was his problem? Why the fuck won’t he talk to you about it. He looked at you “can you just leave me alone” he hissed. He got up walking to his window to look outside. His mom and dad had went to the store quick to grab a few things for lunch.

“Channie what’s wrong?” You ask voice cracking a bit. “Y/n please” he said in almost a growl. You could feel he was angry but why? It was eating away at you before you kept at it “babe talk to me? What’s wrong? Did I do something?” You asked walking towards him. He spun around “y/n what part of leave me alone don’t you get? You’ve been so clingy the whole damn time I feel like I haven’t even had a chance to spend with my family. Can you just leave me alone!” He spat out his words running together.

He’s never raised his voice at you let alone yet at you like this. You could feel your eyes weld up with tears and you nod “fine I’ll leave you alone” you said before grabbing your bag heading out the front door. You walked to the park chan and you would frequently would go to. You went to play some music to calm you down a bit realizing you forgot your phone at the house. You sat there thinking you should go back for it deciding not to. Not wanting to see Chans dumb cute face right now.

You sat in one of the swings wiping your tears away. You sat there calming yourself down for a bit before going to a spot you two had dubbed as “your spot” it was a small spot covered by trees nice and shady. You laid down underneath it your mind just racing. Thinking about how you’ve been lately. You had kinda clung to him a lot while down here, feeling awkward a bit still not wanting to be alone at his house with his parents yet.

Chan had cooled down a bit he was about to text you but his parents came home. He went to help bring in groceries helping his mom put them away. “Y/n go for a walk?” His mom asked grabbing a pan out of the drawer. He tilted his head a bit as she continued “we saw he walking towards the playground you guys go to all the time.” He breathed out a bit and just nodded not wanting to get into what happened.

He headed back to his room to grab his phone to text you to come back for dinner.

Chan ran, he ran as fast as he could. All the horrible scenarios raced through his head. He felt the tears building up as he ran. As he finally got to the park he frantically looked for you. God where were you! He couldn’t find you, his heart sank fearing the worst. Before remembering the little place you guys had a picnic here under the trees.

He raced to the spot his eyes widened as he saw you lying under it. He felt at ease a bit finally finding you. You had fallen asleep under the trees you looked so pretty but yet so sad with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks.

He softly rubbed your shoulder trying not to scare you awake. “Babe wake up” he said softly. Your eyes fluttered awake bringing your hand up to wipe at them. Trying to focus your eyes and wake yourself up you stared up only to be met with Chans gaze. You sat up looking around forgetting you had come to the park “did I fall asleep” you asked rubbing your head.

Chan almost full on tackled you wrapping his arms around you pulling you to him. “Y/n I’m so sorry for what I said to you” he said burring his face into your shoulder. “I brought you here to spend time with me and my family and all I did was be an asshole.” He said his voice sounded so sad, cracking in parts. He sniffled as he tried to choke back his tears “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, I’m just sad we have to leave. It’s so hard for me to leave.” He stuttered “I hate that I only get to visit so little. I want to spend more than a few measly days with my family you know? It’s all I ever get. The others get to see their families why can’t I”

At this point he was sobbing into the crook of your neck. You’ve never really seen him cry it’s normally only a few tears before he pushes it away. He doesn’t show this side very often not wanted to seem weak. But here he was crying so hard on your shoulder.

You rubbed the back of his head as you let him cry it out. He started to calm down a bit “Chan I’m sorry if I took away time with your family.” You said still rubbing the back of his head. He shook it no “no no don’t say that you’re part of our family now. I’m sorry for the way I acted you didn’t deserve that.” He pulled away from you wanting to look at your face. He places a hand on the side of your face as he rubbed your cheek with his thumb. “You aren’t clingy by the way, I just said it while I was mad. I know it won’t take away the hurt but please don’t make it make you pull away. I love how you are and I’d never change anything about you.”

His eyes searched your face only to be met with a small stream of tears “I just don’t wanna be to clingy to the point I push you away either.” You said through tears. “You won’t I promise you. I promise you my love. You will never push me away. You’re stuck with me remember?” He said tapping his finger at the promise ring he got you a few months ago “I’m not going anywhere.” He said before pulling you into him. “I love you angel” he said kissing your cheek. “And I love you too” you said whipping away the tears.

He helped you up giving you a big long hug before heading home to the delicious lay out of food his parent had just got done preparing. You headed to the bedroom to find your phone with all his messages. “Babe I’m sorry I never responded to you. I left my phone here” you said with puppy dog eyes looking at him. “It’s ok my love, I’m just happy you’re safe.”

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

[mackk122]

Tittle : First time (part 1).

Part.2

Pairing~Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 5k.

Warnings~ none :)

Summary~ Younger Sister to the twin Emperors.As you are forced to sit and watch the games, a certain gladiator catches your attention.

Notes: This is just a build up to the next part. Raw, next question…

.·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·.

As I sat there awaiting my brother’s speech to announce the general, my mind wandered off searching in the crowd.

‘How could so many people sit here and enjoy these brutal games?’ I thought, I could hear the commotion but cared less of what was being spoken.

Still lost in my thoughts I jumped at a hand being placed on my shoulder- it was Lucilla.

“And where does the mind of the young princess of Rome, wander off to?” She spoke softly smelling the little bundle of flowers in her hand.

“Ah, just thinking about the games” I gave a fake smile. I had to be cautious about what I said or did, for my twin brothers didn’t take criticism lightly.

She smiled and gave a soft nod, understanding where I was coming from. All of the sudden the sound of horns and the crowd’s cheers erupted, drawing me out of my mind. The gladiators all came out, these men which have not felt peace since before their homes were taken.

I noticed very quickly a young man in the center of them, from what I could see he was a natural born leader, and very handsome. He commanded the gladiators as if it were his own personal army, when he moved they moved at his discretion. As the game went on I could barely stomach the man getting throw into the pillar. I turned away only for Caracalla to speak.

“Sister you must watch, isn’t it magnificent?” He grinned devilishly. I didn’t respond, for fear I would vomit because of the gore.

“YOUR EMPEROR IS SPEAKING TO YOU!” He shouted staring at me as if I was the crazy one.

“Brother! Our sister doesn’t mean to offend, remember it is but her first time sitting here to watch” Geta replied calming our brother down. As Caracalla turned back around amused at the center of the arena, Geta gave me a warning look.

As all of this was happening the rhino then slammed into the wall, and the two gladiators began to fight. My stomach began to turn, I prayed the man I saw earlier would not be slain.

As he fell to the ground and the bigger man stood above him asking the crowd for mercy or death, my heart sank.

The crowd began to cheer ‘Mercy’, and my brother stood to his feet, he turned to Lucilla who looked as if she was terrified for this man’s life.

“Shall I spare him?” Geta asked.

“Yes!” I shouted before Lucilla could answer her face slightly confused.

“Spare him” she spoke strongly to the Emperor.

With his body now facing the crowd and arm stretched out, he began to speak the words muffled in my head only focusing to the stranger on the ground, the crowd cheered and I looked up to see he had granted him mercy, I took a breath of relief.

“No mercy! I would rather die by the sword than receive mercy from the Roman’s!” Lucius shouted as he was on his hands and knees.

My eyes widened and I turned to Lucilla, she equally fearful for this young man. And they began to fight again, this time Lucius took victory. The crowd erupted into applause at the sight of this gladiator. He looked up into where we were sitting, and our eyes locked for a moment before he walked out of the arena.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

“Lucilla” I said softly, catching up to her and the general. She turned to me with a soft smile but I knew something was wrong.

I pulled her into a hug, “That man, who is he?” I whispered in her ear. The manner of tone she used for him to be spared, was almost as if she’d known him.

“I’m afraid I know not what you speak” she spoke back pulling away. “Princess” she nodded and they continued to walk.

‘There is something she knows’ I thought to myself. I began to walk back to my brothers only for them to have left me at the colosseum.

“Fantastic” I breathed out.

“Ah, Princess” Macrinus spoke.

“Oh!” I turned stunned, not expecting him to be there. “Your gladiator is really something, what was his name?” I smiled.

Macrinus gave a sly look before responding, “He goes by Hanno…” he looked at me head turned slightly, “huh… princess” he said before leaving.

‘Hanno..’ I thought and a small smile appeared on my lips. ‘I will meet this man’ I thought to myself determined to speak to him.

.·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·.

As Lucius sat at the table getting stitched up, his mind kept wandering to the woman, behind the Emperors.

“What is on your mind gladiator?” Ravi asked him.

“That woman… not the generals wife- the other one, she is the princess… correct?” He asked staring at him.

“Yes… and why do you care?” Ravi smiled his brow raised. Lucius gave a look before it turned into a smile. Macrinus appeared

From around the corner congratulating him.

“Keep doing well and you’ll get what you want” he spoke.Lucius stopped him before he walked away.

“I want to meet the princess as well” he said stern. Macrinus chuckled and continued to walk.

[not-rigel]

The Draw

rating: M

Warnings: drinking, alcoholism tendancies, SOFT sevika, sevika comforts you

what if you're having a bad week and sevika comforts you

WC: 670

It's Tuesday night, the slowest night of the week at The Last Drop. Tuesday nights were when the crew would hang, laughing and drinking over a game of cards. But you were in no mood. Your week was horrible, bad news combined with sore muscles and minor inconveniences stole every bit of joy from you. You would've skipped out on “hang out night” but you didn't want to be questioned over your absence. So you decide to still make an appearance. 

Most of the crew doesn't notice anything off about you when you beeline for the bar. Most of them. It doesn't pass Sevika's attention that you don't wave in her table's direction. Sevika exhales the smoke from her cig and folds her hand. 

She strides over to where you're sat at the bar, “Gonna join us later?” she asks. 

You don't want to snap at her, so you take a sip of your drink before answering, “Just came for a drink. Not really in a chatting mood.” 

Her brow raised, looking you over. You look like shit, bags under your eyes and slouch to your shoulders. Beyond that, you didn't look like yourself. Your eyes held no brightness. Sevika doesn't like it. She considered going back to her game, wanting to give you the space you wanted. But it felt wrong to leave you alone. 

“Drinks on me,” she said. 

As you stare down your glass, trying to zone out from the world. But Sevika standing over your shoulder was making that impossible. You hadn't noticed but your breathing grew heavier, frustrated sighs between sips of your drink. The alcohol is not taking effect yet so you down the rest of it in one go. Sevika recognized that action. Something she's done countless times. 

“Alright, you're cut off,” she commands, talking your glass and handing it to Theiram. 

“What the fuck, Sevika?” you growl, hands clenched into fists. 

“You're not alright.” 

“Obviously,” it's mean and cruel but you can't stop the words. 

Sevika frowns. She would've been offended if she didn't understand exactly what you were going through. You didn't need to say a word to her. She just needed to be sure you didn't drown yourself in alcohol tonight. 

Guilt simmers inside of you, much less than your frustration. But its enough for you to apologize, “Look, I'm not in the mood tonight and I'm sorry for being bitchy right now. But you can't cut me off!” 

Sevika still stands over you, her stubbornness is infuriating right now. But your infuriation doesn't boil into anger. As the alcohol begins to cloud you mind, it instead cools into sadness. You feel pathetic and ridiculous and sad. You yelled your friend for fuck sake. The guilt takes over your frustration completely. 

Sevika sees the very moment you break, your eyebrows pinching and tears welling in your eyes. She needs to do something. 

“What's your favorite song? she asks. 

It's so out of place that you stop feeling sad for a moment. You answer her with a confused tone, unsure as to why she wants to talk music as you start to have a breakdown. 

“Good one. One of my favorites too.” 

“Bullshit,” you huff. 

“It's not,” she chuckles, not at you but because you know she doesn't lie. “One sec.” She pats the bar and walks over to the jukebox. When you hear the beginning notes of your favorite song, it begins to settle in that she only cares. She wants to know why. When you begin to feel the draw, the urge to pull away emotionally, you look at her. Looking for a reason to not retreat. 

So you don't verbally attack her when she walks back to you. You don't pull away when she draws you in for a hug. But you do cry when her lips press against your forehead. You cry as she pets your head, whispering “you're okay” and “I've got you” into your hair. Sevika won't go anywhere, not until you know you're okay. 

[fandom-random-help]

I'm Not Pretty

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

You posted a new picture to your Instagram. Nothing crazy, just a sweet little photo of the dress you bought at a boutique earlier that day. What you didn't know was that your ex's new girlfriend was stalking your page. Sitting around with her friends practically tearing you apart because you were the girl your ex couldn't quite get over. Especially when one of his friends would slip up and ask about you instead of her. Is it safe to say she was bitter? Yes.

The night started out simple enough. You were sitting on the couch next to your new, loving boyfriend Simon. You were scrolling on your phone while he watched a Manchester United game on the TV. Your phone dinged with a notification that someone liked a post on your Insta. You looked to see who it was and you looked puzzled at the profile. Why the hell did your ex's new girl like a picture you posted back in 2016? You just brushed it off as petty internet stalking. Wasn't affecting you, so why bother?

Then came the DM's. Not just from this girl, but from her suspected friends as well. Awful, vile messages flooded your inbox...and you read every single one. You never even met this girl or her circle, but they had a lot to say about you. One message stuck out though, it was from her that read:

"Good luck finding a man that'll put up with your ugly ass. You peaked in high school grow tf up. I would rather be caught dead than be seen in the outfits you post. You have no fashion sense and you're not pretty in the slightest."

You paused, sighed, and turned your phone off. Meanwhile Simon was watching you the whole time. How your body tensed the second he heard the notification go off. He seen how your face contorted from confusion to being straight up offended. But he also seen your eyes gloss over like you were on the brink of tears. He didn't say a word when you got up and left your phone on the couch, but he did grab it and turned it back on. He went through it trying to find what had you upset, and then he saw the messages. His chest tightened reading every. Last. One. He grumblss as he gets up and goes to the bedroom. He stops in the doorway and sees you cyrled up on the bed in tears.

You never liked it when Simon sees you cry, but he was ao quiet you barely noticed he was there. That was until you felt the bed sink underneath his weight as he sat beside you rubbing your back.

"Don't let'em get to you love. They not worth your tears." Simon was never good with words, but he always got to the point.

"B-but they were....s-so..m-mean." You said through your sobs.

"None of that babe. You're always pretty to me, gorgeous even. You always know how to catch my eye even in the most boring situations. I love you darlin', and nothing is gonna change that." He said as he laid down next to you. The rest of the night was spent in each other's arms until Simon asked. "Do you really think you peaked in high school?" You giggled at his question before replying with a simple, "Yeah right."

[errriiie]

Right now you're mine

shauna shipman x fem!reader minors DNI, all characters are 18 y.o

TW: smut, shauna shipman, jealousy, co-dependent relationships (?), dubcon extra tags: fem!reader, y/n mentions, porn with so-little-plot, jealous sex, degrading, possessiveness, fingering (r! receiving), dark themes, knife play word count: 3k not proofread english is not writer's first language!

Shadows dancing on the sheets If you obey I might give you a treat. There's something weird about you with Shauna. She's kind to you, then mean, but you never talk about it. She gives you mixed signals every damn day, and you're not quite sure what to make of it. You've been hanging out with Lottie lately because you thought it was okay. Shauna didn't like it. She made that clear. And she just wanted to wipe your nose and wipe the smug smirk off your face the way she knew how to do it best. (Also, you're a little like Mari here)

Your team won the treasure hunt. You were good at running - it was something natural, something that couldn't be taken away. You and the other girls were jumping up and down in a big happy ball, hooting happily, knowing that all day long you would finally be able to rest for at least a day from all this work for the good of your little camp. You tried not to bother anyone, although when Mari or Gen teased one of the losers once again, you did not try to hold back your smile. You finally felt some semblance of dominance, having fun with your friends and also letting off some arrogant comments. You knew that Shauna lost to you, being on the opposite team. Really, you did. But you tried to ignore her unreadable glances, from which her frown and disfavor towards you were given away only by her eyebrows, drawn together to the point of transference, when she snorted and whispered something in the ear of Melissa, who had so inopportunely formed around her.

It pricked your heart, but you couldn’t quite say why. There had never been anything formal or complete between you and Shauna one way or another. There had been some strange looks, awkward touches, but nothing serious, especially since the end of this winter, when the cabin had burned down. Shauna scared the shit out of you, but you couldn't bring it up. There was just something unnerving about her all-encompassing hatred and the way she separated herself from everyone. From you included. Well, it wasn't like you were friends or anything more. You dressed in the rags that Lottie, with whom you had grown a little closer in the last couple of weeks, called "sacred and appropriate" and proudly sat at a chair with the others. You were having a feast, followed by a ritual for those who had died in the winter. You shared grins with your team, cheerfully tapping your fingers on the table, unaware that Shauna was the one bringing you your food. You felt her presence twenty centimeters from your body as she came close. Everyone was busy with each other. In her hands was a deep bowl with something obviously tasty, and even if not, in your circumstances, you had no choice. You looked into her eyes - she looked into yours and, spat, sent a wad of saliva straight into your stew.

"Bon appetit." She placed it in front of you. You did not understand what had just happened. Your eyes widened while Shauna did not even think to move from her place. Then the realization of the disgusting gesture came. The desire to fight for justice followed.

"What the fuck, Shauna? Why did you just spit in my food?" you didn't expect your voice, fueled by the feeling of offense, to become loud enough for others to hear.

"Me? No. I'm not." The look she gave you sent shivers down your spine. She sounded like it was the most natural response, and it almost made you feel like you were the crazy one here.

"Fuck, Shauna, did you spit in her food? Seriously?" Natalie's tired and genuinely confused voice came from your side as she stood up. For some reason, you stood up too.

"No, and the mere suggestion offends me." she replied. Oh, you just got angrier. Apparently no one believed her. But Shauna didn't look like she needed it at all. "You should eat, y/n. I worked hard on this food."

You weren't going to swallow that. Not with so many curious eyes on you and Shauna. You grabbed the cup and pointedly, with one swift movement of your hand, dumped the entire contents on the ground. Shauna was furious because she clearly expected there to be no fight. She thought she knew you well. She thought you would bend to her will. The lack of the desired reaction was like the safety catch being released. Shauna leaned forward, grabbed your hair, tangling her strong fingers in the tangled mass and literally bent you over, smashing your cheek into what was left of the spilled stew. Not the smartest way to dispose of food. "I told you to eat, bitch!" she screams, letting you whine in humiliation and the efforts you make in vain to get out before the girls pull you apart. "Okay, I've had enough!" Natalie is pissed, and she's the queen, she's the leader of your little group, and you look completely confused as you try to wipe the dirt and stew off your face. "Both of you. House arrest. And no arguments. Don't ruin our evening with your bullshit." But you're hurt. You're literally the victim, you've done nothing to Shauna fucking Shipman, and you've definitely never wished her any harm, so why the fuck did she humiliate you in front of everyone and make you look so pathetic? You wrenched yourself free of the girl who was holding you and screamed furiously. "Fuck you all, this is bullshit!" you turned on your heels, trying to pick up the remains of your battered, pathetic pride and walked in the direction your tear-stained eyes were looking. Your back was literally catching sympathetic glances, especially Lottie's, and this only made you look smaller in this whole situation.

You clung to a tree, staring at the green crown of the spruce above your head. Damn Nat, who decided to punish you too. Damn everyone who decided not to intervene in time. Damn Shauna, who... the crunch of branches made you shudder and look around. You turned around, seeing a familiar figure in ordinary clothes. Dirty flannel, jeans stained with what looked like old blood, a knife... a knife? You look scared now. You stares at Shauna, takes a warning step back. "Whatever you're going to do to me, don't you fucking dare. Everyone will know." Your voice is menacing, and your eyes are watching the knife a dozen times more than they are watching Shauna's expression and intentions. "What the fuck have I ever done to you, Shipman? I didn't harm you in any way!" you try to defend yourself. Shauna's knife hand twitches at the word harm, moonlight catching the blade's serrated edge as she takes three slow steps forward. Her flannel clings to sweat-damp shoulders, that same earthy musk from pinning your face into the dirt still clinging to her knuckles.

"Done to me?" A bark of laughter scrapes her throat raw. She taps the knife's flat side against the pale line bisecting her left eyebrow—the scar from when you "accidentally" elbowed her during that stupid lake ice fight last winter. "You breathe. That's what you do."

The blade drifts lower, cold steel brushing the hollow of your throat. Shauna's other hand snakes out to fist in that infuriatingly soft shirt, yanking you close enough to smell the forest rot clinging to your hair. Her breath hitches—just once—when your noses almost touch.

Fourteen days ago. Midnight watch shift. Your laugh carrying from the tree line, leaning into Lottie's shoulder like you hadn't spent last Thursday letting Shauna braid wolfsbane into your hair.

"You wanna know what I'm gonna do?" Shauna murmurs, thumb swiping through the mud still smeared on your cheekbone. You presses yourself against the damn pine tree—or fir, it doesn't matter. You look wary, scared, and you trying to control your breathing so as not to show your fear to Shauna. Your head shoots up almost instinctively because you want to press youself against the tree trunk, just so Shauna doesn't slit your throat. "I... I actually hope you don't do anything," you says uncertainly, not knowing on what you supposed to be looking at: Shauna’s knife or Shauna’s face. "You know it'll cost you dearly if you kill me." The blade trembles—just enough to nick skin—as Shauna's mouth twists into something bitter and hungry. Pine resin sticks to your back, sharp and medicinal, mingling with the iron tang blooming at your throat.

"Cost me?" Shauna drags the knife downward, popping the first button of your shirt with surgical precision. "You think Nat gives a shit if I skin you like a rabbit?" You winces as a thin, shallow cut, small but bleeding, blooms across your throat. You can't even see it, and fear overwhelms you. You always thought this would be a rush of adrenaline, but your body just doesn't move as you mercilessly endures Shauna apparently undressing you.

"You're fucked if you kill me, I mean it," you voice is more of a tremor and a terrified bleat than anything else. The cougar bares its teeth even when cornered by a bear. "You know it's true, don't play with me."

Shauna's knife hand goes still when your breath hitches. The second button parts with a snick of steel through thread, exposing a sliver of collarbone that glows blue-white in the moonlight. Her free hand digs into your hip hard enough to bruise, pinning you against sticky bark.

"Cost," she repeats, dragging the blade lower to trace the curve of a breast through thin cotton. "You still think we're debating philosophy in the Literature class? That Becky MacCoy is gonna tattle to mr. Devis?"

The knife tip finds the third button. "They'll thank me." Cold metal slips between fabric folds, grazing nipple. "Burn your clothes for kindling. Use your bones for broth." Her knee jams between your  thighs, pressing up hard. "But you?" The blade retreats, comes to rest against your lower lip. "You'll just be... inconvenient."

You whimpers as Shauna's knee presses so nastily—and so good—on your clit. Fuck, you doesn't even know what's happening. Your mind is all mixed up with the holy and the sinful, and you doesn't understand who Shauna is to you, or if you going to die today. Or if you going to cum, either.

"W-why are you saying all this? Why are you doing all this?" you asks, looking worriedly at the knife on your bottom lip, but you has to admit, you looking into Shauna's dark eyes more often. "I don't even... hate you. Why the hell are you doing this to me, you fucking sadist?"

Shauna's thumb presses the blade flat against your tongue, metallic bitterness flooding both their mouths. Her knee grinds harder, friction burning through denim as she leans in until their foreheads touch. Sweat-damp strands of hair cling to your temple—you smells like fear and elderberries, Shauna notes with vicious satisfaction.

"Sadist?" She twists the knife handle, making light catch the saliva-slick steel. "You begged for this when you let Lottie braid those fucking daisies in your hair last week." The accusation comes out hoarse, unexpected. Her free hand snakes under your shirt, nails biting into soft belly flesh.

That afternoon by the creek. Your head in Lottie's lap, flower crowns and shared jerky. Shauna gutting rabbits twenty feet away, blood dripping hotter with each peal of laughter.

The knife withdraws. Shauna licks a stripe up the column of your throat, tasting copper and pine sap. "You want reasons?" Her teeth close around an earlobe, biting just shy of breaking skin. "I'm the butcher. You're the meat." You lets out a low moan in Shauna's ear, because it's hard not to. But your head is a storm, and you itching to defend yourself. You've always been quite the fighter. Maybe that's why Shauna wanted to break you so much. "I will be the last one to be meat. I'm the meat if I ever draw the queen card. But right now, I'm not meat at all," you mutters in Shauna's ear.

"You want to know why I was hitting on Lottie a week ago? Why I had daisies and wolfberry and sea buckthorn leaves in my hair? Because I wanted to fucking suck up to Lottie a little. I don't need her at all, if you're wondering." you speak with surprising clarity, as if there's no lie in your words. "Are you jealous of me, Shipman? Or are you jealous of her? I think if you were jealous of her, I'd be a fucking corpse right now."

Shauna's blade slips between the fourth and fifth buttons, parting fabric with a sound like cracking ice. The knife tip traces the valley between your breasts—too sharp, too precise to draw blood unless she wants to. Her other hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back against the tree.

"You think I care about your pathetic games?" The blade dips lower, slicing through waistband elastic. Cold night air hits bare skin as denim pools around your ankles. Shauna's palm slams against the tree beside your head, forearm flexing as she crowds into your space. "Jealousy's for people who don't know how to take what's theirs."

Her teeth find the juncture of neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to bloom a bruise. You twitch in pain, but to Shauna's satisfaction, you have nothing to counteract. The knife clatters to the forest floor as Shauna's hand replaces it between your thighs, fingers pressing ruthless circles through damp cotton panties. "You don't get to be meat," she breathes against the fresh bite, "until I say you're meat."

It's too much for you. You twitches, and damn Shauna for being so fucking strong compared to you. Even in the past, you had always been known for your speed and tact, but not for your strength, which Shauna had in abundance.

You moans, softly and loudly, haltingly, trying to say something but unable to start a new sentence. You whine, and feels your teeth wound ache. You see the blood from the bite mark on Shauna's lips and leans forward, kissing them and biting her bottom lip before Shipman can say anything. You didn't understand what you were doing, but you really wanted to save your life. You already understood that Shauna had no intention of killing you. Yet. Fucking you was probably more interesting. You had fantasized about it a couple of times when you had to press yourself closer to Shauna's body in the winter because you had no choice and had to endure this forced closeness. You didn't remember when exactly you started liking it. Shauna freezes when your teeth catch her lip—a split-second of stillness where the forest holds its breath. Then her hand flies to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in sweat-damp hair to crush their mouths together properly. The taste of her own blood blooms between them, metallic and primal, as she licks into your mouth with the same ruthlessness she uses to field-dress deer. The kiss tastes like violence.

Her free hand rips the remaining buttons off your shirt, nails raking down pale ribs. The abandoned knife lies forgotten between pine needles as Shauna shoves her knee higher, denim seam grinding against soaked underwear. "Still think you're not meat?" she growls against swollen lips, biting the question into your jaw. Her thumb finds the hollow beneath your ear—that spot she'd mapped weeks ago during forced proximity—and presses hard enough to make your eyes roll back.

You moans hoarsely, your hips jerking against Shauna's knee between your legs. You need more, you want more, and you both so turned on right now. "Sh-shut up..." you moans, your cheek pressed against Shauna's for a second before your hands slide under Shauna's flannel and t-shirt, your nails raking painful lines down her back. You're such a fucking mess. Both of you. "P-please, do something. Give me your fingers back." You almost begs, biting you own bottom lip. Her knee isn't enough.

Shauna's laugh comes out ragged, more breath than sound, as she drags her bloodied lip across your cheekbone. "Begging already?" Her teeth catch the shell of your ear, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp. The hand at your neck slides much lower, calloused fingers hooking into the waistband of those ruined panties.

With a sharp tug, Shauna tears the cotton aside. Her middle finger slides through slick heat in one brutal thrust, curling upward on the retreat. "This what you wanted?" she rasps, palm slapping against clit with each punishing stroke. Her other hand clamps over your mouth, muffling the sounds she'd die before admitting she's memorized. "Or you need me to carve the answer out of you?"

The forest floor swallows yours mingled breaths—pine needles crunching under shifting weight, distant owl cries drowned out by the wet slap of skin. Shauna presses her forehead to yours, brown eyes gone feral in the moonlight. "You'll take what I give," she growls, adding a second finger that stretches tight muscle, "and fucking thank me for it." You look at Shauna blurrily, your eyes unable to find focus, so bright and blue usually, so enchantingly deep now, looking so faded with sexual arousal. You moans in mild pain - it's been a long time since anyone has stretched you from the inside, and you feel sick from the unfamiliarity. That nice, fucking good feeling down there becomes clearer as you whispers. "I'm going to c-cum," you doesn't know why you warning Shauna about this, leaning almost all your entire body on her. One of your hands falls from Shauna's neck and lazily tries to pull Shauna's jeans down, but they won't budge. Of course. They're fucking buttoned. Shauna catches your wandering hand mid-hip, slamming it back against the tree with enough force to dislodge bark. "You don't touch," she snarls, the knife suddenly reappearing in her periphery—plucked from the forest floor and pressed sideways against your heaving stomach. Her fingers never stop moving inside you, the heel of her palm grinding relentless circles as sweat drips from her jaw onto exposed collarbones. "Think I'd let you sully these?" Shauna jerks her hips forward, denim-clad thigh rubbing against your bare one. The blade traces lazy patterns over damp skin without breaking it—this time. "These hands skin bears. Butcher does the taking."

Her thrusts turn jagged, knuckles whitening with the effort of keeping you pinned. The knife falls again, forgotten as Shauna's teeth find purchase on a peaked nipple through torn fabric. "Cum then," she demands against salt-damp skin, voice cracking like dry kindling. "Prove you're more than Lottie's fucking lapdog. More than just another dumb bitch who's content with her measly victory."

Moonlight catches the wild glint in brown eyes as Shauna watches—always watching—the exact moment your body betrays you. Her free hand digs into the soft flesh of your thigh, blunt nails leaving crescent promises that'll outlast dawn. You shudders, whimpers, and as if on cue, cums all over Shauna's fingers with a soft moan. Your head snaps back and hits the tree trunk. You hisses in pain, but it doesn't matter as you recovers from the intense orgasm. You doesn't even look at Shauna, simply because you afraid to look her in the eye after that.

"Was that all necessary?" you mutters, but not with aggression or irritation. It sounds like a strange question. Shauna withdraws her fingers slowly, deliberately, watching yours body twitch with oversensitivity. She brings glistening digits to her mouth, tongue swiping through the mess with a predator's grin. "Necessary?" The word drips with mockery as she steps back, adjusting her flannel with hands that don't quite steady.

She stoops to retrieve her blade, thumb wiping pine resin off the hilt. The night air bites at sweat-slick skin as she turns toward the tree line, shoulders rigid. "Don't flatter yourself." The words hang between them like a noose. "Just needed to shut you up before the coyotes came."

Her retreating footsteps crunch through underbrush, leaving you half-dressed against the pine. Dawn's first light catches the blood drying on Shauna's collar—proof of teeth marks she'll spend tomorrow's watch shift tracing with her tongue. She leaves you alone. Confused and half-naked. You awkwardly pull up your wet underwear, dress as best you can - your clothes aren't in the best condition, and you knew it was unwise to lose them like that. You came, but was it worth it?

You swallow your resentment as you slip into your hut. You just want to sleep.