#so I gave it to her and noticed she didn’t really react

[neuvilette-tea-party]

I absolutely loved the Naga fic with both of the yans! I hope to see more in the future if you’re up to it! I do have a question, if reader were to escape or have a chance to leave how would the yans react? I hope you have a great day!

Oohoohoohoo... not a good idea, nononononononononono... How will reader survive such offense? Well... She just might!

Yandere! Naga Lord x Prisoner F!reader x Yandere! Naga Captain — MDNI! TW: Fantasy setting, Nagas!yandere, power imbalance, nobility and prisoner, one-sided affection, escape attempt, hybrid pregnancy

[Part 1]

“I suggest you choose your next words very carefully.” Lord Hael spoke coldly, looking down at the Naga bowing before him, forehead on the ground. 

“She escaped, my Lord.” The trembling servant says with a shaking voice. 

“And how she managed to do that, if you care to explain?” 

“I do not know my Lord...” 

“I gave you the instruction to monitor her at all times, did I not?” Hael demands with a voice so sweet, only poison could be tasted. 

“Ye-Yes, you did, My Lord...” A noticeable shiver courses the servant’s spine under the slitted gaze of his master. 

“My my, what am I to do with you, I wonder...” Hael feels his claws digging in the golden rock of his throne as the pitiful rat trembles before him. 

Awaiting its fate. 

“I am terribly sorry, my Lord” 

“I know you are. This is the least you should be after disappointing me in such a dire way.” The Naga Lord simply waves away, standing up and lazily slithering around the poor fella. 

He circles the servant slowly. 

Intently 

Menacingly... 

Hael knew... 

When he opened his eyes in his nest this morning, he knew. 

You fled 

How you managed it was a mystery he intends to discover later, for now he needed to locate you and bring you back to his lair. 

If he is right... 

If what he smelled on you is correct and you manage to escape his grip... 

“I am eager to correct my faults.” 

“I hope you are.” He snarls, “For your own survival, I really hope so...” 

His little pet... All alone and lost in the Nagas’ territory, pursued and hunted down. 

Such a fragile flower at the arm’s reach of such crude animals. 

The Lord tsks, annoyed. 

You really chose your timing, didn’t you? Escaping right on the verge of an all war against the human kingdoms, where he will be the most preoccupied. You really hoped he would have no time to give to find a poor little human help who escaped his lair. 

Too bad, you will learn he can focus on two problems at the same time.  

You are not just a help, you are his possession. 

 His  

And his alone. 

And if he doesn’t mind breaking his toys into pieces, he simply hates losing them. 

“We will detach a squad of soldiers and get her back. You will help them, and if you bring her back, I will show mercy on your soul.” 

“Yes, my Lord! Thank you, my Lord.” The servant grabs Hael’s hand to reverently kiss it, before pressing it to his forehead. 

The Lord looks down at the Naga unimpressed and is about to send him away when he smells something. Incredulous, he sticks his slitted tongue out to taste the air. 

Tssssss... Not him... 

“My Lord.” A third Naga appears at the door of the throne room, bowing to Hael in respect. 

This Naga is young and large, deadly, a prodigy on the battlefield, his long black hair framing his chiseled face. 

“Why are you here, Captain Breezeler?” He demands, his fury at the impertinence of the soldier well hidden behind a mask of indifference. “You are supposed to supervise the front.” 

“I smelled her disappearance.” The officer simply explains. 

Like her disappearance was enough of a justification for him to abandon his duties toward his people in such a way! 

“We have the situation under control, soldier.” He lets him, dismissing the incompetent fool who lost his little pet. 

“Oh? You know where she hides?” Breezeler tilts his head, scrutinizing his Lord. 

Hael turns his head to the young man, ready to berate him. But as their eyes cross, he realizes Breezeler did not mean disrespect for the only reason that he is simply too incompetent in politics to know his attitude holds so much disrespect. 

Hael rolls his eyes and looks toward the opening in the wall, observing the thick forest under them. 

“We do not. The teams have been searching the Palace and my Lair up and down all morning and just came back to me, by all evidence, she already crossed the frontier to her human kingdoms.” 

“I can find her.” 

“You.” Hael hisses dangerously, “Need to learn your place. You will return to your front and fight those punny humans. Your competencies lie in War and battles, not rescue missions. You nagged me for months to let you lead this assault and not my general. You got what you wanted, now go.” 

“How curious...” Breezeler says, holding his chin pensively, “I thought you would have qualified it as a hunting mission, not a rescue one...” 

Hael gives him a warning look, reminding him who sits on the throne and who obeys in this room. 

The Captain slithers closer. 

“My Lord, I know I can find her.” 

“Are you a hound now?” He sniggers acidly, before turning away, “Return to your troops and wait for my orders, the battle will start in two days, the soldiers will want you at their side.” 

Hael may deeply dislike this young officer, but he will always have respect for his cunning attitude and ability to lead his troop through mutual respect and not fear. 

“If I may, my Lord. I can find her today.” The taller Naga insists. 

Hael keeps his back turned to Breezeler, looking down the window regally, his hands clasped behind his back. 

“She can’t direct herself in our territories, by all accounts her advancement his minimal.” 

“I already ordered a group of guards to find her.” 

“I can find her alone. I know of her, I tasted her skin, inhaled her scent deep into my lungs, and know her heartbeat by heart.” 

Hael sighs once, pinching the bridge of his nose before spinning toward the young Naga. 

“24h.” He orders icily, “You have 24h, not a second more. If you fail, you return to the battlefront and leave my general to lead the troops. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, my Lord. Thank you.” 

And the Captain bows, slithering back into the shadows, leaving his Lord to admire his lair and contemplate what punishment would fit such a grave offense. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

You are definitely and irremediably... 

Lost. 

Every place in this forest looks alike, and you keep returning to the same small river. You fall to your knees, exhausted, and splash water on your face, desperate for some freshness.  

You are so fucked... 

You look at your reflection in the clear water, contemplating how your life derailed so spectacularly. You just went out to find medicinal herbs... And now... 

Your hand lays on your bately swollen stomach 

Now... Your menses are late… 

Worryingly late. 

You sigh... 

Lost, tears in your eyes 

If what you fear comes true, how are you going to survive? 

You bend over and dive your face into the cold water and scream all that you have. You feel each bubble rolling on your face before piercing the surface. You take it out with a huge gasp for air, panting like after a run. 

You jump, hearing a crow flying from far, far away… maybe one of them…. 

Surely even... 

You crawl back, too fatigued to run and freeze when you hit a trunk, blocking your escape. You look around and find a bush of red berries… 

Poisonous berries… 

You look toward where the crow took off and listen. 

A low hiss… 

You grab one berry and gulp. Better dead than a fiend’s mother!  

You gulp one more time and bring the berry to you mou- An arrow just comes and tears it off your grip, striking into the trunk behind you.  

You look at the berry, now exploded onto the arrow’s head thrusted into the bark. It… it did not even brush your skin! 

Such a perfect shot can only come from one man... One Naga. 

And sure enough, you see his tall frame detach itself from the shadows of the trees in front of you. 

Captain Breezeler. 

You are stuck in a freeze response, stupidly exposed to the monster that approaches you with the hardest face you have ever seen him. 

He slithers closer and closer with a low hiss, slitted flaming eyes darting on poor you, on the hunt, excited by the blood and the fear. 

“There you are, my Lady.” He greets politely, like it were a mundane meeting. 

You tear off the arrow and aim the sharp end at him, hoping it could pierce such thick skin and scales, but here you are, rabid and cornered. 

“Stop you beast!” You scream. 

The Captain stops, eyes closed like he did not hear you. He sniffs the air, taking out his slitted tongue to better taste it. 

You see his eye twitch a single time before recovering perfect control. 

He keeps moving forward, his long tail flowing among obstacles like water flows around rocks. 

“I was worried for your safety, and I was right, given your situation.” He lets you know, voice suave and placid. 

“Do not move any closer!” You insist, taking a step back. 

You bump against the large trunk. 

“Running around Nagas’ territories pregnant is like begging to get your throat slit.” He lets you know, not slowing down. 

So you were right… Your worst fear did come true… 

You switch strategy and aim the point toward your belly. 

This time 

He stops 

Deadly focused on you. 

“Let me go!” You negotiate, “I will tell nothing of what I know of the Naga’s territories and maps!” 

“Letting you go? While pregnant with our heirs?” He tilts his head at you, “Do you know what your kin will do to you when you give birth and reveal their ascendance?” 

The tone is not haughty, not even mocking. 

It is simply... serious and factual. 

Like he already seen it before. 

“I am human, like them! They will get rid of the monsters inside of me and tend to my wounds!” 

“You seem to believe in your kin as noble beings, always ready to help and extend a hand.” He counters, back straight and head high, “You should know better.” 

“We help each other!” 

“Until they see the eggs.” 

You want to throw out merely thinking about eggs in your stomach. 

“Ho… How did you find me?” you ask, terrified, hands trembling. 

He raises an eyebrow and merely taps the tip of his nose. 

“I know of your scent, of your musk… It was easy to track you down. And I so dear hoped the pregnant pheromones were from you.” He deeply inhales, eyes closed and tongue out, “Delicious… Absolutely ravishing” 

You twitch. 

Better dead… Than a fiend’s mother! 

You raise the arrow up and slam it down on your stomach…! 

Or rather try... 

With speed you never knew of them, the Naga oscillates in your direction and jumps on you. 

Before the arrow’s head could reach your tender tummy, you are slammed into the ground with such force that your breath gets cut off. 

“Ah…!” 

“What do you hope to achieve exactly, (Y/n)?” Breezeler hisses on top of you, his long serpentine tongue tasting the salt of your face’s skin, tasting your pheromone all around. 

“Leave me alone, demon!” 

“You thought I would not react when you tried to kill our heirs? Or yourself? You are with us now… Till your death.”  

His voice his that of a deadly warrior who’s seen a thousand battles and more deaths, authoritarian and deadly. But … you think you can hear the tiniest hint of a plaint in it 

Like… 

Begging 

You are hallucinating and giving him intentions he does not have. Get a hold of yourself, girl! 

You try to kick him off, punch him away, clawing your way out of his embrace. But you are nothing in front of this giant freak of nature. 

He scoops you up easily despite all your struggles, and he heads back toward your wretched prison, holding you like you weigh absolutely nothing. 

[julietsf1]

Strawberry Season - Lando Norris x Reader

summary: she was his plus-one, his accessory, his afterthought. but Lando Norris? he made her laugh before her boyfriend even noticed she’d stopped smiling (6.7k words)

content: sad/comfort, slow burn, he falls first, stuck in bad relationship (non-graphic), mutual pining, mention of fish!

AN: I was having a nostalgic day and suddenly I remembered Shawn Mendes exists. listened to Treat You Better and now boom this was made. big kiss to you all!! don't forget you deserve someone who makes you smile <3

--------------------------------------------------

The Hôtel Hermitage had a way of dressing the evening in silk and scent—amber light dancing off champagne flutes, velvet murmurs weaving between notes of string quartets, the faint hush of the sea just beyond the terrace.

You arrived on your boyfriend's arm, perfectly polished, smelling faintly of oud and confidence. Your gown—a midnight blue silk with delicate beading at the shoulders—glistened like the reflection of stars on still water. He, in a tuxedo he hadn’t even ironed himself, gave you a cursory once-over, the kind usually reserved for window displays or weather forecasts.

"You clean up well. When you try," he remarked, the words soaked in backhanded charm and just enough volume to make the sommelier glance over with subtle disapproval. "Didn’t expect that dress to actually work on you."

Then he kissed your temple like one might stamp a document—detached, obligatory—and peeled off toward a group of men with hedge funds and zero personalities, tossing the comment like a grenade dipped in cologne. He chuckled at his own wit before they even reacted, already anticipating the hollow laughter of men who mistook cruelty for charisma.

You blinked once, twice, then turned on your heel and made for the bar.

"One strawberry martini, please," you said to the bartender, your voice calm and glossy, though your chest felt like it was holding its breath. The bartender gave a subtle nod and began working in quiet sympathy.

You leaned your elbow on the marble and exhaled. Your reflection in the mirrored back wall looked elegant and mildly amused. That, at least, you could live with.

"Your boyfriend’s tux looks like it’s been through customs, dry-cleaned with a rock, and ironed with a shoe."

You turned. The man beside you held a glass of something expensive and looked far too pleased with himself. He was, annoyingly, the kind of handsome that didn’t need to try. Hair—perfectly careless. Smile—dangerously self-aware. The overall vibe? Trouble, tailored in what I assume is Tom Ford.

You laughed, sharp and immediate. "Do you know I spent half the afternoon trying to convince him to iron that shirt? Offered him a steamer. He looked personally victimized by the concept of chores. Hopeless."

He looked delighted. "So this was a collaborative failure. Now I feel bad for mocking it. Sort of."

"Don’t. I made one polite suggestion and he acted like I’d insulted his entire lineage. I refuse to be held responsible for his fashion choices," you said, the corners of your mouth finally giving in to a smile. The knot in your chest loosened just a little—this was the most fun you’d had all evening.

"I can’t tie my own ties," he offered casually. "So really, who am I to talk?"

"What do you do, then? Just let your girlfriend do it for you?"

"No girlfriend, just clip-ons. Or my mate George. He’s so posh he probably learned to tie a bow tie before he could tie his own shoes."

You laughed again, lighter this time. The sound surprised you with how easy it felt.

"Well," you said, "I can't even walk in my So Kates for an hour, so I’m in no position to judge anyone tonight."

His eyebrows lifted like you'd said you walked here barefoot. "That’s borderline inhumane. Those are incredibly uncomfortable, right?"

"Horrible," you admitted, sipping your drink. "But the real perk is that I now have a perfectly valid excuse to leave this party in about thirty minutes."

He tapped his glass against yours. "To noble suffering."

"And men who can’t tie ties."

"Ouch. That was personal."

You grinned, the martini smoothing out something tight in your chest. The conversation rolled along like it had always been waiting for an excuse to begin.

"Lando," he said suddenly, extending a hand.

"Nice to meet you, Lando," you replied, taking it, your grip easy, your smile laced with light amusement.

You tilted your head slightly. "I think I recognise you—from the racing, right?"

His brow quirked, caught somewhere between pleased and intrigued. "Guilty."

You sipped your drink, eyes glinting. "Well, it’s easy to remember a face like that."

"In the positive way?"

You rolled your eyes at him. "Please."

His posture straightened just a touch. The smirk didn’t leave his face, but something about it softened at the edges.

"I’ll try not to let that go to my head," he said, a beat late, his voice just a little warmer, his eyes twinkling amused. 

"You already did."

"Unfair. That was disarming. You’re very good at this."

"At what?" you said, feigning innocence.

"Catching me off guard in a way that’s... annoyingly effective."

"I have a talent," you said, sipping your drink.

"You do," he replied, gaze lingering just a second too long before he added, "and you’re very distracting."

You arched a brow. "Good distracting or 'tripped-over-my-own-feet' distracting?"

"Bit of both. Still deciding."

You laughed, shaking your head, the edge of your smile refusing to leave.

And just like that, the night took on a different hue. The room still sparkled, but its edges softened. You talked about Monaco in winter, about awful hotel carpets, about how Lando once tried to cook pasta in a kettle. There were no pauses, no polite silences. It was ridiculous and lovely and utterly unserious.

At some point, your boyfriend reappeared in the distance, laughing too loudly with someone whose blazer had dragons embroidered on the sleeves.

Lando clocked it instantly. "Should I spill something on him? Not on purpose, obviously. But also maybe very much on purpose."

"Tempting," you said.

He set his glass down. "But we’re too elegant for that."

"Allegedly."

The music swelled, a slow turn from something glittering into something that signaled the end of the night.

You sighed and glanced at the crowd. "I should go find him."

Lando leaned against the bar with a smirk. "Are you sure? He gives off strong 'brings up his net worth in casual conversation' energy."

You smirked. "You’re terrible."

"But right."

"No comment."

As you walked away, he called after you, "Next time, I’m bringing backup shoes for you."

You didn’t turn. But your smile stayed with you, long after the violins began their last swell.

…

The paddock terrace buzzed with the sort of energy only Monaco could host—where money didn’t whisper, it practically shouted through linen suits and Hermès bags, and everything smelled faintly of jet fuel and overpriced champagne.

You arrived on your boyfriend’s arm, your heels clicking softly on the polished concrete, your dress catching the breeze in a way that had drawn more than a few glances already. The adrenaline in the air was contagious. You couldn’t help it—you were excited. This was your home turf, after all. Monaco at its absolute peak.

You leaned over slightly, catching your first glimpse of the pit lane just below the terrace’s glass railing. The sound, the scent, the movement—it all made your heart flicker.

“This is amazing,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “I can actually feel the vibration of the engines from here.”

Your boyfriend barely glanced up from his phone. “Yeah it’s whatever,” he muttered. “Look—those guys in the corner, that’s who I need to speak to. Go entertain yourself, will you?”

You opened your mouth, but he was already off, striding toward a group of Loro Piana-clad finance types who looked like they’d never broken a sweat in their lives. One of them gave you a cursory glance before turning his attention back to whatever new tax loophole they were dissecting.

Left alone, you drifted toward the edge of the terrace, your fingers lightly brushing the glass. You looked in the distance, taking in the beautiful track. The air that smelled like tyre smoke. Somewhere, a commentator’s voice crackled through loudspeakers.

Then you heard it—cutting through the din like it was aimed just for you.

“Hey, Strawberry!”

You blinked, turned your head.

Down in the pit lane, Lando was looking directly at you, leaning casually against the garage barrier with his helmet tucked under one arm and a grin that bordered on criminal. “Good to see you again!” he called up, already looking far too pleased with himself.

Your smile widened despite yourself.

He pointed upward, voice still carrying. “What? You thought I’d forget your cocktail of choice? Strawberry martini, wasn’t it?”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled out of you. A few heads turned to see who he was yelling at. You gave a little wave, pretending not to enjoy the attention.

"Fancy seeing you here."

“You look bored up there!” he shouted, cupping a hand around his mouth for dramatic flair. “Wanna come down and see where the fun actually happens?”

You raised an eyebrow, half amused, half intrigued.

He motioned toward the stairs behind you. “Come on, Strawberry. I’ll even let you wear the team radio.”

You glanced back toward the terrace. Your boyfriend was still deep in conversation, probably pitching himself like a startup, laughing with one hand in his pocket and the other balancing a drink he hadn’t even offered you.

So, you turned back to Lando—who was now dramatically miming putting on headphones like he was in a music video—and tilted your head like you were still considering it.

"Alright then," you called down. "But if I trip in these heels, I’m blaming you."

"I'll catch you," he yelled back, utterly unfazed. “Or I’ll sue the FIA for putting stairs in a paddock. Either way—worth it.”

You made your way down the metal staircase, the heels clicking like castanets, and by the time you reached the bottom, Lando was already holding out a pair of headphones and an access bracelet with a kind of smug reverence.

“For you, madame,” he said, bowing slightly. “Your official ticket to the chaos.”

You put on the bracelet with a smile, already feeling a little lighter.

“For the record,” he said, holding out the headset, “I don’t offer these to just anyone.”

You took them. “Oh, so I’m special.”

“Undoubtedly.”

You slipped the headphones on as he stepped back, hands in the pockets of his race suit, clearly satisfied.

“Let me guess,” you said, voice a little louder now with the headset in place, “you do this for all the guests who look mildly unimpressed by the view upstairs?”

“No,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Just the ones I secretly hope stick around.”

You gave him a look—curious, not skeptical—and he added quickly, “Because you’ve got good race-watching energy. Very calm. Slightly elegant. Makes the garage look better.”

“Right,” you said, clearly amused. “You just want me to make you look cool.”

“Impossible task,” he admitted with a grin. “But I admire your optimism.”

The garage buzzed around you—technicians moving with purpose, radios crackling, tyres getting shuffled like oversized poker chips. And yet, somehow, everything in your little corner felt... light.

“Not gonna lie,” he murmured, lowering his voice, “I like stealing a few quiet minutes when I can.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s a lot during weekends like this I can imagine.”

He glanced at you, thoughtful for a moment, like he wanted to ask something but decided against it. Then his expression shifted back to its usual mischief.

“Want to see something fun?”

You blinked. “Fun in a normal person way, or in a ‘you drive 300km/h for fun’ way?”

“Both,” he said, tilting his head toward the car in the middle of the garage—sleek, low, and absolutely radiating menace. “Come on. Get in. You’ve earned it.”

You blinked. “Earned it how?”

“For surviving the upstairs crowd without launching yourself off the terrace,” he said, already grinning. “Also, I feel like you'd suit it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You just want to see me try to climb into that thing in a dress.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, unapologetic. “But I’ll make it look like I’m being a gentleman helping you in. Good for my PR.”

You laughed but still let him offer his hand. His grip was steady, warm, guiding you in with an ease that made the whole moment feel weirdly... natural.

Inside, the cockpit felt surreal—like slipping into another universe. Tight, sharp, oddly comfortable in a way that made you sit up straighter.

You looked up at him. “I feel like I need clearance from air traffic control.”

Lando smirked. “You look good in it.”

You raised a brow. “Is this part of your usual garage tour?” He grinned. “Only the deluxe version. Very limited availability.” 

“Mm-hmm.”

He crouched beside the car, arms resting on the edge, expression suddenly playful. “Alright—race start. Lights out. Whole world watching. What’s your move?”

You pretended to think. “Adjust my lip gloss. Then floor it.”

He burst out laughing. “Unreal. No notes.”

You smiled, settling back slightly in the seat, the hum of the garage around you fading into a softer kind of focus. His eyes lingered on you just a second longer than necessary, making you feel a bit warmer than you would’ve liked to admit. 

“Okay,” you said eventually. “I like your version of fun.”

“Told you.”

Just then, you heard your name.

Lando glanced up behind you, his smile dimming just slightly.

You followed his gaze.

There, at the top of the stairs, your boyfriend had finally noticed. Arms folded. Sunglasses pushed down just enough to show a flicker of something more than irritation. 

You shifted slightly in the seat, your back instinctively straightening, your smile thinning.

“I should probably head back,” you murmured, glancing up again. “Before that turns into a thing.”

Lando’s eyes were still on you.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice low and smooth. “I kind of like that I get under his skin.”

You gave him a warning look, but your smile gave you away.

“He’s... not great with this sort of thing.”

Lando leaned one arm casually against the car, just close enough that his shoulder brushed the edge of yours. “What sort of thing? Someone actually talking to you? Enjoying you?”

You swallowed. “He’s just protective.”

“He didn’t look all that interested twenty minutes ago.”

You didn’t respond.

Lando straightened up slightly, his grin flickering into something more assured, less teasing. “You don’t have to explain it. But I’m not sorry for this.”

You looked at him—really looked at him—and for a second, you forgot the tension humming above the pit lane.

You laughed softly. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he said, grinning.

You climbed out carefully—again with his help, though he tried very hard not to smirk when your heel caught slightly on the floor.

“Thanks for inviting me down,” you said, adjusting your dress.

He nodded. “Anytime. Next time you should stay for the race.”

You paused at that, surprised, amused, and... something else. Then you turned, stepping away, the noise of the pit building back around you.

“Bye, Strawberry!” he called after you, voice light and full of sunshine. “Try not to break hearts on your way up!”

…

The lunch reservation was for 13:00. The cancellation came at 12:52.

“Something came up. Just a quick game at the club. Have to raincheck.”

You stared at the message like it might change if you blinked hard enough. It didn’t. The text sat there on your screen, casual and infuriating, like a shrug in Helvetica.

The maître d’ at the café had already asked if you’d like to be seated twice. You smiled politely, murmured a no thank you, and slipped out before you started feeling more humiliated than hungry.

The sky was unfairly pretty for a bad day—clear and soft, with sunbeams brushing the cobblestones as if Monaco itself had no idea someone had just bailed on you for nine holes and overpriced cigars.

You didn’t want to go home. You weren’t angry, not quite. Just tired in a way that lingered behind your ribs. So, instead, you wandered a few streets over—past a bookstore, a gelato stand, and finally, a small flower shop with wide windows and hydrangeas stacked like frosting.

You paused. Then pushed the door open.

The scent hit you first—green, sweet, almost cold from the water buckets lining the floor. Peonies, roses, lavender, tulips. All in quiet conversation. The florist gave you a gentle bonjour from behind a counter cluttered with ribbon and stems.

You wandered aimlessly. No plan. No occasion. You just needed to feel like something soft could still be held in your hands.

You reached toward a bouquet of pale pink peonies—petals feathered and ruffled, like they were mid-sigh.

“I was hoping you’d go for those.”

You turned—half startled, half already smiling.

Lando was standing in the doorway, sunglasses pushed up into his curls, a grin threatening the corner of his mouth. He was wearing a zip-up and trainers, casually gorgeous in the way some people just are when they’re not trying.

“I was going to say,” he added, stepping further inside, “you look like someone who could use a bouquet.”

“You following me now?”

He shrugged. “Just happened to be across the street. Monaco’s small and you have a way of catching my eye.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you.

Lando stepped past you and plucked the peonies from the bucket like he’d been sent here by divine instruction.

“Don’t,” you started, watching as he pulled out his card.

“I insist,” he said smoothly, not even looking back. “They look like you.”

That made you pause. “Soft and overpriced?”

He smirked. “Chic, delicate, vaguely intimidating… but in a very classy way.”

You huffed a laugh and shook your head as he paid, thanked the florist with a grin that probably earned him three free carnations, and handed the bouquet to you like it was an Olympic medal.

“You really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.”

You looked down at the flowers, then back at him. “I was just trying to walk off a lunch that didn’t happen.”

“Rough day?”

You nodded once.

He hesitated. Then: “Come on. Let me walk you home. Or somewhere. I’m excellent at distracting people.”

You blinked. “Aren’t you busy?”

“Not even a little.”

You stepped outside together, the late sun catching the edge of your bouquet. He fell into step beside you like it was instinct.

“So,” he said, as you turned the corner, “what car would you never be caught dead in?”

You squinted. “Like… ever?”

“Yes. Immediate judgment. Go.”

You thought. “Anything that looks like it was designed by someone who hates joy. Or a Fiat Multipla.”

“Very specific. I respect it.” He nodded solemnly. “For me, it’s the ones with faces. Like, cartoon villain faces. Headlights that judge you.”

You burst out laughing. “What kind of car trauma are you working through?”

“Deep and unresolved,” he said gravely. “I once had a rental that made me feel like it wanted to eat me. Never again.”

The conversation spiraled from there—into ugly rims, hideous spoilers, the tragedy of beige leather interiors. Every few steps, Lando pointed out a car and gave it a nickname. 

"That one’s definitely a Greg. Greg works in insurance and never tips."

You laughed. Actually laughed. The kind that catches you off guard and warms your ribs a little.

And then—your phone buzzed in your bag.

You glanced down. His name lit up the screen.

Lando noticed the pause.

You looked at the call. Then pressed the side button, letting it disappear. You didn’t say anything about it, and he didn’t ask.

But he smiled. Just slightly.

It was the quietest rebellion you’d made in a while. And it felt... right.

A few minutes later, as you reached your street, you slowed.

“This is me.”

He nodded, eyes flicking up toward the front of your building like he was memorising it for later. Or just being nosy. Hard to say.

“Thanks for—well, for all of that,” you said, lifting the peonies slightly.

“Anytime,” he replied, and you believed him.

You turned to go.

“Oh, and hey,” he called, stepping backwards down the street, that familiar grin slipping into place. “If you ever need help judging more terrible cars…”

You raised an eyebrow, amused.

He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it lightly in your direction. You caught it—his number, scribbled on a business card with Lando (flower expert) scrawled beneath in messy handwriting.

“…now you know where to find me,” he finished.

You looked down at the card, then back up.

“I do now,” you said, smiling—soft, amused, and something else you didn’t want to name yet.

And you didn’t look back until your door had closed behind you—and the peonies were already in water. 

…

Your birthday started with a buzz—literally, from your phone. Noon. A text.

Happy bday x

No call. No emoji. No punctuation enthusiasm. Just lowercase indifference and a kiss like a formality. Like he'd done his civic duty and could now go about his day in peace.

By the time your boyfriend actually arrived at the party—a whopping two hours late, no explanation—you were already knee-deep in hugs, flowers, Aperol spritzes, and the cake was nearly finished.

The rooftop was busy. Sun-drenched. Monaco glittered in the background like it knew it was part of the aesthetic. Friends mingled, music hummed, someone had started making mimosas in a blender for reasons no one could quite explain.

And then there was Lando.

He’d arrived on time, casually cool in a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of sunglasses perched in his curls.

You hadn’t expected him to come, not really. But you’d invited him anyway—half as a joke, half because he was one of the only people lately who made things feel lighter. Since the flower shop, you’d been texting—mostly memes, random complaints about ugly cars, and his very intense opinions on croissants. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d started looking forward to his name lighting up your screen more than you should’ve.

So when he appeared with a cheeky smile and a gift bag in tow, you nearly forgot to keep pretending you weren’t waiting for him.

“Hey, birthday girl,” he said, putting the bag on the gift table. “No refunds or returns.”

You grinned. “Perfect. I was just saying how I wanted to make my own life harder today.”

“Glad to contribute.”

Your boyfriend showed up five minutes later.

No apology, no excuse. Just sunglasses, a glance around, and a distracted kiss on the cheek before he handed you an envelope.

Inside was a gift card. For skincare.

“I figured you’d appreciate this,” he said, loud enough for the people around you to hear. “Don’t want an old lady by my side, yeah?”

Someone laughed awkwardly. You didn’t.

You smiled. Thinly. The kind that feels more like a paper cut than anything resembling joy.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, folding the card and tucking it into your bag.

Lando had seen it. The whole thing. He didn’t say anything at first—just sipped his drink, eyes glinting behind his sunglasses.

A few minutes later, he drifted close, nudged your elbow lightly, and said, “Mind if I borrow the birthday girl for a sec?”

You blinked. “Sure?”

He led you away from the crowd and toward the quieter corner of the terrace, near the railing. The music faded behind you. The breeze picked up, cool against your neck.

“I really wanted to personally give this before I have to leave.”

He pulled something small from his little gift bag.

A Cartier box.

You looked at him, suddenly cautious. “Lando, what—”

“Relax,” he said, grinning. “I didn’t mortgage a yacht or anything.”

He flipped the box open with a little dramatic flair.

Inside: a sleek, elegant watch—timeless and perfectly understated, the metal catching the sunlight just enough to glow. When you looked closer, you spotted it—on the back of the face, engraved in the corner, a tiny strawberry.

You looked back up at him.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets now. “So you know when it’s time to leave,” he said lightly, then winked. “Or when it’s time to stay.”

You laughed, a real one this time, head tipped back just slightly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I should be offended,” he murmured, carefully fastening the clasp around your wrist. “But you are right.”

“Don’t say anything yet,” he said quickly, holding up a hand. “I have a speech.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” He stepped a little closer, enough that you had to tilt your chin just slightly to keep looking at him. “Won’t say it’s well prepared, though.”

You glanced up. “No?”

He shrugged, then looked at you—not performative, just sincere with a glint of trouble behind it. “I figured you already knew. That you’re kind. And bright. And that you maybe make half of Monaco feel slightly boring in comparison.”

Your eyes caught his, something warm pooling between the humour and whatever was quietly rising beneath it.

“But also,” he added, tone shifting back to the familiar grin, “you’ve tolerated me for weeks, so I figured you deserved a prize.”

“Ah,” you said. “So it’s a pity watch.”

“It’s a prestigious pity watch,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“It’s perfect,” you said, fingers brushing over the charm. “Truly.”

A few friends called your name in the distance, but you didn’t move yet.

When you finally hugged him goodbye, it lingered. A second too long. Not enough to make it obvious—but enough that you both noticed.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, his hand pressed lightly against your back, and neither of you made a joke this time.

And that’s when it hit you. That soft, uncomfortable, quiet truth slowly creeping up on you.

You didn’t want to go back to the party.

You didn’t want to go back to him.

You just wanted to stay in that warm, safe, ridiculous moment a little longer.

…

It had been one of those dinners where the wine flowed more freely than the conversation, where the seating was all wrong, and the playlist too curated to feel spontaneous. You’d arrived on time, makeup set, dress clinging just right, genuinely hoping the night might turn things around.

He had promised he’d come.

You’d waited. You made polite conversation with strangers. You checked your phone under the table every ten minutes. At 10:14pm, a message finally came.

Running late. Take a cab? x

You stared at it. The ‘x’ annoyed you most—like it could soften the blow. Like it meant anything at this point.

You slipped out quietly, offering the host a graceful excuse. No one really noticed. You walked down the hill alone, heels clicking against wet stone. The rain started halfway to the road—first soft, then persistent, warm but unrelenting.

By the time you reached the corner, you were soaked. Your jacket was thin and decorative. Your hair clung to your cheeks. A cab passed. You raised your hand too late. Another didn’t even slow.

Then headlights curved around the bend.

A sleek black car eased up to the curb, quiet and smug.

The window rolled down.

“Need a ride, Cinderella?”

Lando.

You blinked at him through the rain.

He was in a hoodie, hair damp, wearing Nike slides like he’d rolled straight out of a student flat. His smile was all teeth and trouble, curls damp at the edges, and yet he looked exactly like what you didn’t know you needed.

You exhaled through a laugh. “What are you even doing here?”

“Padel,” he said simply, “with the boys. Charles insisted we needed some cardio. Alex brought protein shakes. It was big.”

You didn’t move.

He nudged the door open from the inside. “Get in. You look like a drenched sad poodle.”

You slid into the passenger seat, wet fabric against warm leather. The door thunked shut, muting the storm instantly.

The cabin smelled faintly of eucalyptus and sweat and jasmine air freshener. It was... comforting.

Lando glanced over. “You alright?”

You nodded, even though the answer was somewhere closer to no.

“Why were you walking?” he asked.

You stared out the window. “My ride bailed on me.”

He didn’t reply right away. Just gripped the wheel a little tighter.

Then, quieter: “Right.”

You could feel the temperature drop half a degree in the silence that followed.

He turned onto a quieter road, headlights sweeping over puddles, rain tapping steadily on the roof.

Then he cleared his throat. “Padel really roughed us all up today.”

You blinked. “Aren’t you professional athletes?”

“Oh, yeah. You’d think we’re all coordinated and elite and whatever,” he waved vaguely with one hand, “but I’ve never seen grown men lose their dignity faster than when we play anything outside of racing.”

You laughed softly. “You’re telling me Charles Leclerc isn’t good at everything?”

“God, no,” Lando said, perking up. “Charles is awful at most sports. He insists though he could’ve been a pro footballer. Brings it up every time he can.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wait, seriously?”

“Dead serious,” Lando grinned. “He once missed three serves in a row at padel, slammed the racket down, and said, ‘It’s because my reflexes are trained for football.’”

You snorted. “He did not.”

“And then there’s George,” Lando said. “Who, by the way, calls padel ‘cheap tennis for the common folks’ but still never declines an invitation.”

You laughed. “I assume this is the same George that helps you tie your bows?”

“Absolutely.” Lando continued, “And then there is Alex who has the coordination of a baby giraffe. He runs like he’s buffering.”

You were laughing now, fully, warmth curling in your chest.

“So what about you?” you asked, glancing sideways. “How much do you suck?”

“I’d like to think I’m one of the better ones in the group,” he said confidently.

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s definitely not true.”

“I’m amazing at everything, especially other sports.”

“Oh?”

“I’m a god at golf,” he added, eyes twinkling. “Elite. Practically unbeatable. Some say Tiger Woods retired just to avoid me.”

“Some say?”

“Me. Just me. But I say it with conviction.”

You grinned, resting your head against the seat, the storm outside softening under the steady purr of the engine.

“You’re good at this,” you said after a pause.

“At what?”

“Distractions.”

He smiled, but didn’t answer.

A few minutes passed like that—quiet, easy, the kind of silence that felt earned. The kind you didn’t want to break.

Then Lando turned off the main road.

You lifted your head. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, flashing you a quick glance. “Don’t worry, I’m not kidnapping you. Yet.”

“That’s reassuring.”

Two turns later, he parked in front of a small café tucked between shuttered boutiques. Soft orange light glowed from the windows. The sign above the door read Clémentine in fading script.

“I need hot chocolate,” he said. “And you, tragically, look like you do too.”

You laughed. “This your secret spot?”

He grinned. “Sort of. George’s girlfriend loves this place. Alex’s girl says it feels like a Wes Anderson film. Charles’s thinks they do the best croissants in Europe—which is wrong, but she’s charming so we let it slide.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Ah. So this is… an exclusive tier”

He gave a small, lopsided grin. “Yeah. You’d fit right in.”

You blinked, heat creeping up the back of your neck.

He looked over the roof of the car and winked. “Let’s go, Strawberry.”

…

Inside, the café was quiet and warm, the kind of place that smells like something’s always in the oven. The barista gave Lando a knowing nod.

“Deux chocolats chauds, extra cream, and an extra cookie, please,” he said as you slid into a corner table.

Your dress was still damp at the edges, and your heels had started to pinch, but the chair was soft and the lighting was kind. 

You watched him as he pulled off his hoodie—without a word—he held it out to you across the table.

“You’re shivering,” he said simply.

You hesitated, then slipped it on. It was warm, oversized, and smelled faintly like him—cologne, laundry detergent, and something like orange peel. It pooled around your wrists like it belonged there.

He dropped into the seat across from you, in a plain white t-shirt slightly creased and still damp at the collar. He looked maddeningly effortless. 

When the drinks arrived, he handed yours over carefully, fingers brushing yours as he passed the mug.

“I think you forget how extraordinary you are sometimes,” he said.

No grin. No teasing glint in his eye. Just sincerity, like it had been sitting quietly on his tongue for a while, waiting for the right moment.

You looked at him.

And for a heartbeat too long, the world went still.

Then, gently, you lowered your gaze, your hands tightening around the warmth of the mug. You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to.

Something softened in your chest. Something that hadn’t for weeks.

…

The invitation had come via text, in true Lando fashion.

Hiya there’s this art auction Friday. Charles’s girlfriend’s hosting. Could be fun. Come with? Low pressure, high snacks.

You hadn’t even known Lando liked art, let alone attended charity auctions hosted by the Monaco elite, but the message made you smile. You’d read it twice. Maybe three times.

He followed up, minutes later:

Bring your boyfriend, if he won’t spontaneously combust in a room without talking about stocks.

That was how you ended up on the guest list for a night you weren’t supposed to remember as the one where everything finally snapped.

You didn’t know Alexandra—not really. You’d seen her tagged in posts with Charles, always in Dior or vintage Alaïa, always looking like she’d been drawn rather than born. But the invite felt personal in a way you couldn’t explain. Like Lando had meant for you to have something nice.

You showed up with your boyfriend.

He was already half-distracted before you arrived, scrolling his phone as the car pulled up outside the villa, barely glancing at the curated sculpture garden or the warm lighting glowing out from the glass facade.

“Art shows, what a waste of time and money,” he said, adjusting his watch, not even pretending to be excited about going with you. “Hope I can do some decent networking, make something of my night at least.”

As expected, he made a beeline for the restroom the moment you stepped inside. You hated how much relief washed over you—but deep down, you just didn’t want his sulking to cloud your first impression.

But then—you spotted Lando.

He was standing near the champagne tower, wearing a charcoal jacket with the sleeves half-rolled and a grin like he’d been waiting for you.

He caught your eye and made a show of pretending to squint. “Strawberry?” he said dramatically as you approached. “Wow. Look at you, pretending not to know me in front of the important people.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was hoping you’d stay over there a little longer.”

“That’s fair,” he nodded solemnly. “But then I wouldn’t get to tell you how unreasonably hot you look.”

You gave him a dry smile. “You’re terrible at compliments.”

“And yet, somehow, you keep showing up.”

Just then, a lilting voice cut in—velvety, amused.

“Is this the infamous Strawberry?”

You turned.

She was every bit the Monaco fantasy: Alexandra, in vintage Saint Laurent, hair pinned like a Vogue spread, a glass of champagne in one hand and the quiet confidence of someone who knew every art dealer in the room—and their secrets. And yet, the way she looked at you felt nothing but warm.

“I’ve heard things,” she said, leaning in for a kiss on each cheek. “Mostly from this one, who dramatically insists he doesn’t talk about you, and then does. A lot.”

You laughed, surprised. “Doesn’t sound like him at all.”

Lando raised his eyebrows in mock betrayal. “Unbelievable slander in my own presence.”

Alexandra gave you an approving once-over, eyes twinkling. “You look incredible, by the way. Please tell me you’re staying for the cocktails after. We have a pianist who’ll play Taylor Swift if you bribe him with compliments or €20.”

“That might be the most compelling reason I’ve ever been given to stay at a party,” you said, grinning.

Alexandra gave you a grin from ear to ear, amused. “I’m really so happy to finally meet you! I can already tell we are going to be great friends! You should meet my dog.”

You smiled. “Oh my god! I would love to!”

“Already regretting introducing you two,” Lando said. “Feels like I’m third wheeling.”

“That’s your own fault, Norris,” Alexandra said, sipping her champagne. “You have been hyping her up for weeks, of course I’m excited.”

You looked at him. “Oh really?”

Lando didn’t even blink. “All good things. Mostly.”

Alexandra raised her eyebrows at you. “He actually tried to be subtle about it. It was cute.”

You bit back a smile. “I can imagine.”

“I’ll come find you later,” Alexandra added, brushing your arm. “Got to make sure Charles hasn’t lost Leo yet. So nice to meet you, lovely!”

She slipped off into the crowd with the grace of someone born to host art auctions and mild chaos.

“She’s my new favourite person,” you said.

“I’m going to pretend that doesn’t hurt,” Lando said. “But only because you look stupidly good tonight.”

He sipped his champagne, eyes back on the crowd like he hadn’t just said something that made your pulse tick strangely in your wrist.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t think of anything clever fast enough.

But the flush in your cheeks said enough.

You gave him a side glance.

…

Laughter drifted lightly through the space, more polite than genuine, the kind of sound bred in auction houses and villas with good acoustics. You let yourself drift for a while, away from the main crush of guests and the low buzz of clinking flutes and unsolicited business pitches.

Lando had disappeared into a conversation across the room—arms folded, half-listening, already looking for an escape route. You wandered along the perimeter, letting your eyes pass over sculpture and canvas, nothing really sticking—until something did.

A Monet.

Not loud. Not the centrepiece of the evening. Just tucked off to the side, quietly luminous. The colour was soft, the light dreamlike, and it hit you all at once—how rare it was to stand still in front of something that didn’t need to impress anyone to be worth something.

You didn’t smile, but you didn’t move either.

And then, out of nowhere, a voice landed at your side.

“You’re not seriously getting emotional over that, are you?”

You blinked once.

Your boyfriend had materialised beside you, the corner of his mouth turned up in that smug, half-bored way he always wore at events that weren’t about him.

“It’s just some smudged garden scene,” he added, barely sparing it a glance. “Looks like the guy couldn’t be bothered to finish it.”

You said nothing.

He chuckled, nudging your elbow like he was letting you in on a joke. “Honestly, my niece brought home something just like this last week—finger paints, but same idea.”

You turned toward him.

And for once, your voice didn’t waiver. “Do you ever get tired?”

He raised a brow. “Of what?”

“Of being so obnoxious.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “I was joking—”

“I know you were not. You just have to be an asshole all the time,” you said, stepping back. “I’m so done with this.”

You handed him your untouched champagne without looking at him again.

And then you walked.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Just… forward. Certain.

Across the room, Lando caught sight of you. He paused mid-sentence, head tilting ever so slightly, eyes following the clean line of your exit. He didn’t know what had happened. But he knew enough.

And he didn’t see the man behind you calling your name, confusion creeping into frustration, his voice rising in your wake.

…

The days following the gala blurred into a haze of solitude. You hadn't anticipated the weight of ending a relationship that had, for too long, been a source of discomfort rather than joy. Even though it felt like a relief to be free, the fresh perspective you had now gained made looking back on the relationship seemingly harder, being disappointed in yourself for sticking around so long.The walls of your apartment seemed to close in, each corner echoing with memories you'd rather forget.

Then, an unexpected message illuminated your phone screen. It was from Alexandra.

Hii! I know we've only met once, Charles is hosting a yacht party this weekend. I'd love for you to come. It'll be fun, and I think you could use a night out. What do you say?

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Alexandra's warmth was palpable, even through text. The idea of attending a lavish yacht party was daunting, especially solo, but the prospect of genuine company was tempting. Before you could overthink it, you quickly responded you’d be there.

…

The evening of the party arrived with a golden sunset casting its glow over Monaco's harbor. As you approached the yacht, its grandeur was undeniable. Laughter and the clinking of glasses floated through the air, mingling with the soft strains of music. Taking a deep breath, you stepped aboard, the gentle sway beneath your feet reminding you of the fluidity of the moment.

You hadn’t arrived with a dramatic entrance, but you may as well have. There was something in the way you carried yourself—unhurried, unbothered, glowing without trying—that turned heads. The white sundress moved like water around your legs. Your hair was soft, undone. You looked like summer had chosen you personally.

"Hey! You made it!" Alexandra's voice rang out, genuine delight evident as she approached, her embrace warm and reassuring.

She beamed the moment she saw you. “You look like revenge dressed in satin. Come ruin someone's night—in a good way.”

"Thank you! I’m so excited!" you replied, grateful for her presence.

She linked her arm with yours, guiding you through the throng. "Come on, let's get you a drink and introduce you to some people."

So you mingled.

You laughed. You listened. You accepted compliments with a smile that didn’t flicker with doubt this time. The isolation of the past few days had left you sharper, oddly steadier. You hadn’t expected to feel so… grounded. You were alone, technically. But not lonely.

And then—across the deck—you felt it.

Someone watching.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

But you did anyway.

Lando stood near the upper rail, half-leaning into conversation with Charles and George, drink in hand, curls damp like he’d only recently dried off. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to be suggestive without meaning to be, and he was laughing at something George was saying—until he saw you.

Then he stopped laughing.

His eyes softened. Lit up. Like you’d just stepped out of a dream he wasn’t finished having.

He didn't move immediately. Just watched. And when you finally gave him a smile—small, knowing—he excused himself, barely disguising it.

You turned back to your conversation, heart thudding quietly.

When he reached you, it was casual. Or it would’ve been, if not for the very specific way he looked at you. As if seeing you tonight had knocked the wind out of him slightly.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, voice easy, but with that familiar edge of amusement.

You tilted your head. “Trying my best. Alexandra told me to come ruin someone’s night tonight.”

Lando’s gaze swept over you, amused. “I’ve got a pretty good candidate.”

You met his look head-on. “You volunteering?”

“I’m begging.”

You took a step closer, just enough. “Careful. I take those kinds of requests seriously.”

His voice dipped. “I was hoping you would.”

You laughed.

He smiled, pleased.

“I was wondering if you’d come,” he said, a little quieter now. “I didn’t want to push.”

“I needed a few days,” you replied honestly. “To unpick a few things.”

Lando nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something more, something gentler, but didn’t want to risk it here.

“Want to see the good part of the boat?” he offered instead, gesturing subtly toward the back. “It’s less busy, better view of the sea.”

“Are you offering a tour or an escape plan?”

“Both,” he said. “But this is not my boat so don’t blame me if we get lost mid-tour.”

You smiled, setting your glass down. “Alright. Lead the way.”

He offered his hand this time. Not his arm. His hand. Like it was only natural you’d take it.

And you did.

…

The further you got from the music and noise, the more the sea became the soundtrack. The laughter and clinking glasses behind you faded into something muted and unimportant. Lando walked beside you—not rushing, not talking. His thumb brushed against yours every few steps, like a quiet question he didn’t need answered yet.

At the stern, it opened up—a wide, quiet deck, low to the water, with just enough light to see but not enough to distract from the stars. The sea lapped gently around the hull. It smelled like salt and sun.

You leaned against the railing, feeling the breeze touch your skin. Lando stood beside you, but not too close.

“Nice out here,” you murmured, looking up.

He glanced over at you. “You suit starlight. That’s unfair.”

You gave him a look. “You’re laying it on thick.”

“Absolutely,” he said, eyes warm. “I’ve been holding back for weeks.”

You laughed, quiet and real. He grinned, pleased.

But then, after a second, he sobered. His gaze drifted down, toward the water, and when he spoke again, his voice had shifted.

“You look happy,” Lando said lightly, almost teasing. “I almost didn’t recognise you without the polite ‘I’m-fine’ smile.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Wow. Go ahead and expose me.”

“I’m serious,” he said, this time softer. “It’s good to see you like this.”

You glanced at him, and for a moment, he didn’t try to dodge the feeling in the air. He looked out at the sea and back again.

“I hated seeing you pretend,” he said finally. “These past few months… at the garage, the brunch, the auction—you were always there, but it felt like part of you was somewhere else. You still smiled, still made jokes, still looked beautiful, but…”

He trailed off. Not because he didn’t know what to say. Just because he meant all of it.

You didn’t speak right away.

“You wanted to throw him in the harbour, didn’t you.”

A beat.

“Every single time,” Lando said, with no apology.

That made you laugh again, but quieter this time. Almost sad.

You looked down at the rail, fingers brushing the edge. “I wasn’t really fooling anyone, was I.”

“You fooled plenty,” he said. “Just not me.”

You looked away for a beat. Then quietly, “I haven’t been unhappy around you, though.”

Lando froze.

When you turned your head back, he was watching you like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.

“Say that again,” he said, almost joking. Almost.

You smiled, small and real. “You’ve been the exception, Lando. You’ve always felt like... a relief. Like I could let out a breath I never knew I was holding.”

His expression cracked open at the edges—something flickering across it, equal parts surprise and affection.

“I’ve been trying not to say something,” he said eventually, his voice lower now. “But it’s getting... impossible.”

You arched a brow. “To me or to you?”

He looked at you deeply, green eyes soft but with a sparkle. “Me. Definitely me.”

There was a beat of silence, hanging between you like a held breath.

“You just keep making it harder,” he added, almost laughing at himself. “Showing up looking like this. Laughing at my stupid jokes.”

You stared at him. He raised his hands, just slightly.

“I know I joke around a lot,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s easy to hide behind that. But I’m not playing with this. I’m not here to push or expect anything you’re not ready for.” He paused, letting the words settle. “I just… I need you to know. I’ve been falling for you since the gala.”

The words didn’t feel rehearsed or dramatic—just honest. And they landed like something you’d been waiting to hear without realising.

You stayed still, listening.

“Since the dress,” he went on, his smile tugging softly at the corner of his mouth. “Since the strawberry drink. Since you made fun of my bow tie.”

You laughed—quiet and barely there. But it was real.

“Since you made me want to stick around,” he added, “even when you were barely looking at me.”

His eyes met yours fully now. “You’re magnetic,” he said, simple as anything. “Warm. Sharp. And really hot even when you look like a drenched puppy.” He exhaled lightly. “And I just… I didn’t want summer to end without you knowing.”

You stepped closer.

Close enough to feel the change in the air, the shift in his breathing.

You placed your hand on his chest, light but certain.

“Lando.”

He didn’t move.

“If I kiss you, is it going to be a problem?”

His answer was immediate, and sure. “No.”

Then, softer. “But only if you want to.”

You looked at him for a long, quiet second.

“I do.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding it since May. Maybe longer.

And then you kissed him.

Slow, at first. Curious. The kind of kiss that asks before it takes. His hand hovered near your waist, the other brushing your jaw with the gentlest touch—as if he still couldn’t believe he was allowed.

But the second your fingers curled into his shirt and your lips parted slightly, that control cracked.

His arm wrapped fully around you then, the kiss deepening with a sudden warmth that made your stomach twist. He kissed you like he’d wanted to for weeks. Like he'd held every grin, every brush of your arm, every stolen look in his chest—and finally let them out all at once.

You felt it in the way his hand slid up your back, in the way his mouth moved with yours like he already knew the rhythm.

When you finally pulled apart, your breath hitched.

His forehead leaned against yours. Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then you smiled, just a little. “So… did I ruin your night after all?”

Lando let out a low, breathless laugh. “You can ruin my life, for all I care.”

He leaned in again, this time without hesitation.

And then he kissed you—like he had nothing left to hold back. Like the wait had been worth it. Like it had always been leading to this.

…

It was the kind of Sunday that felt like a soft breeze. The kind where you woke up to Lando already beside you, hair a mess, voice rough with sleep as he offered to make pancakes—and then promptly convinced you to go out for groceries instead. A domestic detour. A small adventure disguised as an errand. Like you had so many of these past weeks with him.

You hadn’t argued. Not really.

Now, somewhere between the mangoes and the melons in your favourite Carrefour, you were watching Lando shake a pineapple like it had personally offended him.

“That’s not how you check if it’s ripe,” you said, barely holding in a laugh.

He looked genuinely betrayed. “It’s not? Then why did that woman on YouTube tell me to do it?”

“You watched a pineapple tutorial?”

“Research is key,” he said, placing it carefully into the cart. “Anyway, I came prepared.”

“You’re such a dork.” You rolled your eyes, smiling. “You pick the snacks, I’ll handle dinner?”

He winked. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Then promptly wandered off to the crisps aisle like a man on a mission.

You lingered in the herb section, still debating parsley versus basil, when a voice behind you slid into your spine like cold water.

“Well. You look good.”

You turned.

He looked the same—your ex. A little too polished, sunglasses indoors, holding a bottle of overpriced green juice that screamed aesthetic punishment.

“Thanks,” you said simply. “I’ve been feeling better.”

It wasn’t petty. Just honest.

He blinked, clearly not expecting honesty.

You were just about to step away when—

“Oh, no. No no no,” Lando groaned from the next aisle, appearing with a look of theatrical dismay. “There’s a full seafood crime scene back there. Half the ocean’s laid out. I’ve never seen so much salmon.”

He stopped short when he saw you. And him.

His entire posture shifted.

He stepped up beside you, one hand sliding effortlessly around your waist, grounding and easy. He didn’t force it. Just filled the space.

“Hi,” Lando said, his tone calm, eyes flicking to the man in front of you. “I’m Lando.”

Your ex gave a tight nod, straightening slightly. “We’ve met.”

Lando’s gaze dipped to the man’s basket—almond milk, snack bars, and two tubs of something suspiciously protein-packed and aggressively vanilla.

“Solid haul,” Lando said, casual. Then, after the smallest pause, “Though I’d go easy on the sugar. Causes hair loss, you know. Wouldn’t want to risk it, considering your current situation.”

He didn’t smile. Just winked. Cheeky enough to pass for humour. Sharp enough to land exactly where it needed to.

Your ex blinked again. Offered no reply. Just turned back toward the juice aisle with the grace of someone trying not to trip over his own ego.

“Lovely to see you,” Lando called politely, already nudging the cart forward—his hand still warm around your waist.

You let him guide you down the aisle, heart flickering with quiet satisfaction.

“Hair loss?” you asked, giggling, once you were out of earshot.

He shrugged, eyes forward, lips twitching. “What? It was observational science.”

“You’re awful.”

“Mm,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your temple. “But I’m yours.”

You laughed, soft and real, tucking into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Could I request dad Alex with a two year old and her uncle George keeps stealing her away to the Mercedes garage?

Panda Poe

The paddock was already buzzing by the time Alex arrived, carrying his sugar-sweet little girl in his arms. Yn, all of two years old, blinked up at the early morning lights in her oversized bucket hat, clutching her stuffed panda to her chest. Her long lashes fluttered as she surveyed the bustling chaos around her, a little overwhelmed but comforted by the warmth of her father's hold.

Next to them, Carlos adjusted his sunglasses and stretched, a coffee cup already in hand. "She looks sleepy," he commented, peering at Yn, who gave a quiet yawn and snuggled closer to Alex's shoulder.

"She fell asleep in the car," Alex said, smiling as he rubbed circles on her back. "Didn’t want to wake her, but she insisted on coming with me this morning."

Carlos chuckled. "She's got your determination."

They had just stepped into the main stretch of the paddock when it happened—again.

"Oi!"

Alex didn't even get a chance to react. George appeared seemingly out of thin air, striding over with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Without saying a word, he reached out and plucked Yn from Alex’s arms with the practiced ease of someone who had clearly done this many times before.

Yn blinked up at her godfather, recognized him, and gave the faintest smile. "Uncle Georgie," she whispered, pressing her cheek against his shoulder.

"Hello, sweetheart," George cooed, completely ignoring the baffled look on Alex’s face.

"Hey!" Alex called, laughing. "You can’t just keep stealing my daughter like this!"

"Too late! She’s mine now!" George called over his shoulder, already making a beeline for the Mercedes garage.

Carlos stared after them, eyes wide. "Did he just... kidnap your kid?"

"Every. Damn. Race," Alex muttered, sighing as he adjusted his backpack. "She barely gets a moment in the Williams garage anymore."

"At least she likes him."

"She loves him," Alex said. "He’s her favorite. I’m not even mad about it. Just... mildly offended."

—

Inside the sleek silver world of the Mercedes garage, George was already parading Yn around like she was a royal guest.

"She’s in her quiet mood today," he told one of the engineers, cradling her carefully as she observed everything with wide, curious eyes. "But if you talk to her about pandas, she might say something."

"Panda?" the engineer asked softly.

Yn looked at him, blinked, and shyly held out her toy. "This... Poe."

"Oh! He has a name! Poe, huh? That’s a very important-looking panda."

George smiled proudly. "She named him herself. Genius, this one."

From across the room, Toto approached with a rare, soft smile on his face. "And how is my favorite little guest today?"

Yn, still quiet, peered up at him and gave a small wave.

Toto leaned down and gently brushed his knuckles over her cheek. "You are being very brave, coming to this loud place."

George shifted her gently so she could lean back against his chest. "She’s used to it now. I think she likes the buzz."

Yn turned her head toward George. "Buzz," she repeated softly.

"See? She talks to me," George teased, winking.

In the corner, Kimi stood awkwardly, half behind one of the tires, watching Yn like she was a rare animal he wasn’t sure how to approach.

George noticed. "Kimi! Come here. She doesn’t bite, promise."

Kimi stepped forward, still tentative. He was young, incredibly fast, and utterly fearless on track, but the tiny human in George’s arms seemed to mystify him.

"She’s really little," Kimi said.

"She’s two. That’s standard issue," George replied with a grin.

Yn stared at Kimi with serious eyes, studying him. Then, slowly, she lifted Poe and offered him.

Kimi blinked. "For me?"

She nodded.

George beamed. "That’s the highest honor you can receive. You’ve officially been accepted."

Kimi took Poe gently, holding him with the care one might offer a Fabergé egg. "Thanks," he said, awkward but genuine.

"She’s quiet, but she watches everything," George said, shifting her so she could sit more comfortably in the crook of his arm. "Like someone else I know."

Kimi flushed slightly. "Not that quiet."

"Oh, you're a chatterbox compared to her."

Yn leaned her head against George’s collarbone, eyes starting to droop. It was barely past nine in the morning.

George looked down at her fondly. "Think she’ll nap again. This is my favorite part."

—

Meanwhile, Alex finally arrived at the Williams hospitality area, only to be met by his team principal.

"Let me guess," the man said with a smirk. "George?"

"George," Alex confirmed. "I swear, I’m going to start putting a tracker on my own daughter."

Carlos laughed behind him. "You know what’s wild? She doesn’t even fight it. She just goes with him. Like he’s some sort of baby whisperer."

Alex exhaled heavily, pulling out his phone. "At least he always sends me photos."

Sure enough, a notification blinked on his screen—George had sent a picture of Yn curled up on his chest, eyes closed, Poe tucked under her chin. The caption read: We’re taking our pre-FP1 nap. Will return the princess at lunch.

Alex rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

—

Back in the Mercedes garage, George had settled himself into a quiet corner with Yn asleep against him. Kimi, after a few minutes of pretending not to care, sat beside him.

"She’s really calm. Doesn’t cry or fuss."

"Only when she’s hungry or tired," George said. "She likes quiet people. You should talk to her sometime when she’s awake. She’d like you."

Kimi glanced at the small girl. "What if I say the wrong thing?"

George grinned. "Mate, you’re talking to someone who panicked the first time she sneezed. You’ll be fine."

A few of the mechanics passed by, smiling or waving. Yn had become a bit of a paddock legend—tiny, quiet, and always dressed in soft colors and sunhats.

Toto walked by again, giving the duo a warm look. "I hope you plan to return her eventually, George."

"Eventually," George said. "But maybe after qualifying. Maybe."

Yn stirred slightly and opened her eyes, looking around sleepily.

George kissed the top of her head. "Hey, starlight. You woke up just in time. Want to see the car?"

She nodded slowly, thumb in her mouth.

George stood carefully and carried her over to the edge of the garage, pointing out his car. "That one’s mine. And Kimi’s is next to it. See the shiny wheels?"

Yn blinked at the car, then turned to George. "You fast?"

He laughed, eyes crinkling. "The fastest, sweetheart."

She looked back at the car, then whispered, "Zoom."

George glanced at Kimi, who was standing nearby. "I told you. Baby genius."

Kimi nodded solemnly. "Zoom."

And Yn giggled. A soft, delighted sound that made everyone within earshot smile.

George beamed. "That’s it. You’re never getting her back, Alex. She’s ours now."

Somewhere, in the Williams hospitality suite, Alex sneezed.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey guys. I hope you enjoyed reading this. I had so much fun writing this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🤍🦢

[starktonyx]

Alone in this shitty world (Bucky Barnes x Reader x John Walker)

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Word count: 2.4k

Description: After Yelena’s sudden outburst, the group scatters around the streets of New York. And, as if this wasn’t already the weirdest day of your life, you find yourself reaching to comfort the last person you ever thought you'd feel sorry for, John Walker. And Bucky is as confused as you are.

Content warnings: Supersoldier!reader, John Walker being a bitch as usual, protective boyfriend Bucky, mental health talk, hurt/comfort.

Note: After watching Walker’s storyline in this movie I felt like I needed to write some hurt/comfort with him. Enjoy!

Masterlist

"So, what kind of super serum you both get?" Alexei's thick accent cuts through the silence.

You were sharing the front cabin of a stolen truck, Bucky behind the wheel, you in the middle, and Alexei by the window. He'd already declared the ride to Valentina's location a 'super soldier party', clearly over the moon about the whole thing.

"I ... uh don't know. Regular? Hydra" Bucky is the first to answer, quickly brushing off what he considered to be an irrelevant topic. Alexei on the other hand, reacted like it was the only thing he'd been wanting to know the whole time.

"Hydra! Ohh, fancy" Alexei grinned wide, Bucky just huffed at his excitement. "I got something mixed, still good, still powerful" he puffed his chest a little. "And you, pretty one, what is your serum ah?"

"Uh ... mine was Shield's. It was developed from Steve's dna" You reply. Alexei's face lights up with more amazement. 

"Ayy Shield! Straight from captain Rogers. She gets the premium brand, ah winter soldier?" He speaks to Bucky like he was breaking news, the latter just nodded absentmindedly.

"A super soldier couple, ha! what are the odds? you two lovely creatures made for each other, strong, beautiful and dangerous. Like spy movie" his laugh booms through the cabin as he pats a heavy hand on Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky pretends to ignore him, eyes still on the road, but his smirk was undeniable.

You just gave Alexie an amused smile, then gently squeezed Bucky's hand resting on the wheel. Without hesitation, he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on it without taking his eyes off the road. Alexei just watched with a knowing grin.

Bucky kept driving in silence, enjoying the calm before of the storm, because once you found Valentina, and her new shiny creation, at the former avengers tower, all hell broke loose.

God, how you missed being back in that truck.

Now, you were limping away from the tower where Bob– or Sentry now, whatever the hell Valentina was calling him now, had beaten the living shit out of all you. Your thoughts were cut short when you noticed Yelena snapping at everyone.

"What, it's my turn now?" Walker asked defensively, his tone only adding fuel to Yelena's anger.

"Oh no, you already know you're a piece of shit. And your family knows too" Yelena shots back without missing a beat.

"Wow" he muttered, his eyes dropping to the bent shield in his hands. He didn't argue to that, he didn’t know how to.

"Yelena, you're not alone in this–" you started, but she cut you off before you could finish.

"You shut up! We're all alone in this shitty world, you only say that cause you have Bucky" She cries out, her finger pointed at you like a dagger.

You didn't fight back to her, you knew she wasn't lashing out at you, not really. Maybe it was the pressure, maybe it was the just the fear taking over her.

Bucky turned to you, curious about your reaction, but your small smile was enough to say 'I'm okay'. She wasn't wrong, after all.

Then your gaze drifted to John, when you noticed from the corner of your eye his posture had shifted. It wasn't only anger you saw in him, it was something heavier. Something that stuck with you longer than it should've.

Normally you would just ignore Walker, silence had always been your preferred way to keep your sanity intact around him. But this time you couldn't help it, you kept your eyes on him a little bit longer.

And you saw it.

The way mentioning his family made his entire demeanor shift. The same reaction you saw the first time Bucky brought them up. And now Yelena had rubbed it in, like salt in an open wound.

You couldn't believe it, and would probably never admit it out loud, but you felt something for John Walker.

Pity.

The next thing you knew, the group had scattered, everyone going in different directions after Yelena's outburst.

And without really thinking, with Bucky walking by your side, you walked towards the same direction Walker had taken. You didn't exactly know why, but you felt like you needed to say something to him.

"This is a mess, doll" Bucky sighs, eyes scanning around like he would find an answer in the clueless people walking by. "I didn't think I'd come to this, but I think I should call Sam"

"Uh huh. Sure, let's call Sam. He can totally take down Sentry" Your tone was half sarcastic half distracted, as your gaze darted around trying to find John, who had walked fast enough to get lost in the busy streets of New York.

"I think he might know something– wait, are you okay, doll? What are you looking for?" Bucky stopped walking, but you didn't, giving him no choice but to catch up.

"Huh?" You ask, barely registering the question.

And then you spotted it, a flash of black and red cutting through the crowd, stomping rather than walking.

"There he is!" Your voice lit up, picking up your pace to reach your target. "Walker!" You shouted his name, loud and clear. No way he didn't hear you, not with his enhanced hearing. The way he sped up to get further from you confirmed it.

"Okay now, Walker?" Bucky asks, completely baffled. As far as he knew none of you could stand the guy.

"Listen honey" You say softly, weaving between pedestrians "I love you, but it wasn't cool to bring up in front of everyone that his wife took his baby and left him. They're just gonna keep throwing it in his face now"

Bucky shifted slightly, but still defensive. "Yeah well, he doesn't exactly make it easy not to"

"I know" you admitted. "But weirdly enough we're all stuck in this shit show together. We might as well try to work with him" You pause for a second, knowing you could catch up to Walker anytime now. "Just give me a second with him Buck, please babe?" You bat your eyelashes at him.

He gave you a long look, raising an eyebrow, clearly ready to protest. But he knew what you were doing. And you knew he knew.

"Alright" he grunts, rolling his eyes. "I'll be right behind you. With my favorite knife. In case you need me to stab him for you, doll" He flashed you an ironic smile, and you nodded back amused.

You turned back around and quickened your pace, finally catching up to Walker. Bucky kept his promise, a hand resting on his knife holder as he trailed behind you at what he considered a safe distance.

"Walker!" You called again, now standing just behind him.

"For fuck's sake, give me a break!" He came to an abrupt halt, turning around to face you, but still keeping his distance. "What, Y/N?” His harsh tone pulled you straight out of your rush.

"Wow, okay. I didn't really think this through" you admitted, realizing you hadn't actually planned what to say.

"You know what? I'm done. I'm done with everyone making fun of me. I get it, okay? I suck. What's new?" He threw his hands in the air dramatically, bitterly trash-talking himself.

"About what Yelena said—"

"Oh, I heard her just fine. And she's right, isn't she? You're all right. I'm a fucking asshole. That's why my family left, why everyone hates me" He continues letting the anger speak for himself.

But now that you stared at him for a little longer, instead of seeing the prick he portrayed in front of everyone, you could see underneath all that rage, there was something much softer.

Hurt.

So you didn't get defensive, instead, you speak softly to him.

"That's not true, John"

He froze. Taken aback by the fact that you've never called him by his first name before.

"Really? Be fucking honest with me" His voice cracked just slightly. "Cause everyone's made it pretty damn clear"

"We don't hate you" you said carefully. "You're just... hard to be around sometimes" You explain, his brows lifted at your honesty. "Look, I'm not trying anything here. I just want to talk, okay?. That's all"

He looks around, hesitant at first, but decides to drops his guard. He rolls his eyes before taking a step closer to you, never admitting he was curious about what you had to say. You pretend to not notice the sheen in his eyes once he's close to you.

He looks behind you, catching a sight of Bucky in the distance, arms on his hips, watching your interaction like a hawk.

"Don't worry about him, he's keeping watch" you brush it off, slightly amused.

And after a deep breath, you start. 

"So, you know how the serum works, right? It …enhances everything"

He gave a faint nod, prompting you to continue.

"It can make the good parts of you better, but it can also make the worst parts unbearable" you continue, letting memories you had buried down a long time ago, come to the surface. " When I first lost Bucky and Steve, back in the 40's, I was completely consumed by grief, by this ...” You pause for a second, searching for the right word. “Emptiness” you continued.

“They were all I had back then, and suddenly all my days just went by, all alone. Until one day Peggy Carter contacted me, offering me a spot on a super serum program. She said it was developed from the last blood sample taken of Steve” That seemed to finally peak his interest.

“It was quite experimental but I didn't mind, I had nothing left to lose. So I said yes, because I felt like that was my way to honor them, but deep down, I just wanted to be strong enough to destroy Hydra myself." You let out a bitter breath.

"As you can imagine, I was in no condition to take the serum. But once I did? that emptiness only grew louder. I lost control. I let all my pain out on the battlefield, told myself it was for the greater good. But really, I just wanted to hurt the world as much as it had hurt me" You confess to him, not being able to make eye contact. He didn't mind, he just listened attentively, finding he related to you in more ways than he could have ever imagined. "It went on like that for a long time, and I thought I would never stop feeling that anger. And then one day, the loss felt lighter, the emptiness began to fade away. That's when I finally stared seeing things clearer" You finally lift your gaze to meet his eyes through your glassy ones.

"That anger you feel inside you? It's real, it's the serum turning the volume up on your worst pain, but it's not everything you will ever be" You explain, and now it's his turn to drop his gaze to the floor. "I know what it feels like to drown in that, I know how hard it is to climb out of it, but trust me, it will fade eventually. I got Bucky back. I got my miracle. Maybe you'll get yours one day"

He bitterly chuckles.

"It doesn't feel that way. I'm just ... too messed up" He mumbles, and you shake your head.

"Look around, Walker. Every one of us is messed up too" you chuckle ironically, gesturing vaguely behind you. "We're all running on red numbers here. The only difference is, our worst mistakes weren't, you know... broadcasted to the whole world" You carefully admit, remembering his public incident back in Latvia.

You paused, then added softly. "I'm sorry yours were"

He didn't say anything right away, just blinked a few times, processing everything you told him.

"Thank you" It came out quiet, but it was honest.

It was is the kindest someone had treated him since the day his wife left.

"You know, it's never too late to start over with us" You admit, referring to the new dysfunctional group you had accidentally became a part of. “So, are you? with us?" You question.

He lingers for a second, before he gives you a small nod. He didn't have to say much, you could see how much your words meant to him by the way he looked at you. It was different than before.

You patted his shoulder gently and nod happily, before turning to head back to Bucky.

Walker notices Bucky's face shift into a smile the second he saw you coming. And just before you were too far away, you hear his voice once again.

"You know... I can see why he's so protective of you. He's lucky to share this shitty world with you" He grants, hinting back at what Yelena said earlier.  A smile tugs at your lips.

Before you could turn around to respond, a sudden explosion cracked through the air, followed by pedestrian’s screams. Chaos erupted in the streets as people began running in every direction.

You barely had time to process it before you caught the sound of something heavy crashing down, a huge chunk of concrete, straight above you.

In less than a second, two super soldiers blocked the blow, Walker with his dented shield raised above you and Bucky with his vibranium arm braced against the falling debris that shattered around them.

Even though you were as much of a super soldier as he was, Bucky still protected you like you were made of glass.

"Are you okay, doll?" he asked immediately. His hands swiftly dusting away little rests of concrete off your suit, eyes scanning your body for any injuries.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Walker doing the same, he was more subtle, but still watching you closely, making sure you weren't hurt.

"Yes. Thank you. Both of you." You nodded quickly, still catching your breath.

Bucky gave a short nod in Walker's direction, a silent acknowledgment.

Then your eyes lifted, and your heart dropped.

"Oh my god" You exclaimed, horrified at the sight. The people who had been running were now vanishing. One by one, melted into silhouettes.

You looked back to Walker, desperation setting in.

"You're with us, right?" You ask one more time.

This time, his nod came without hesitation.

"Great" you said, turning now towards Bucky. He nodded firmly, ready to jump into action. "Let's go"

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comments and reblogs save author’s lives, thank you so much for reading <3

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I BITE MY TONGUE, IT'S A BAD HABIT

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai doesn't care about stupid holidays, but when he sees everyone but him being gifted chocolates from you, he starts to find himself severely bothered. it's the principle, he tells himself—nothing more, nothing less, just the principle.... right?

(wordcount: 6.9k; fem!reader, sfw, dazai is jealous and silly. unedited.)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: HAPPY LATE VALENTINE'S DAY, take pmreader and dazai being silly teens in love who refuse to tell each other how they feel in words. i had this posted on valentine's day but then turned into a big baby and deleted </3 i am still a big baby but i am a big baby who is going to leave the post up this time HAHAAH

Dazai doesn’t care about stupid holidays. 

In fact, Dazai can count the things he cares about on one hand—he cares about Odasaku and Ango because they’re his friends, he cares about crab because he likes eating crab and he can recite every known fun fact about them off the top of his head, he cares about the arcade a few streets over because his favorite video game is there and he beats Chuuya every time and it’s funny watching him get mad, and he cares about you because you’re also his friend and you gave him a room in your apartment even though he could have his own but is just stubborn about not wanting to be in Mori’s building.

So, he’s not sure why his feet are rooted to the ground in Mori’s office as he stares down at the small round box of chocolates sitting on top of his desk. There’s a note on top of it that’s partially blocked from his line of view, but he can very much see your signature at the bottom of it. 

You complain about Mori all the time, so it doesn’t take him long to put together that there must be a reason why you went out of your way to get him chocolates even though he knows you’ve been busy with some conflict happening in Russia. It’s not Mori’s birthday, and Dazai’s mind quickly tracks back to the stands of chocolate he saw set up on the same corner that the arcade is on.

Valentine’s Day, he realizes, eyes narrowing down on the chocolate.

“Such a dear she is. She dropped it off for me this morning,” Mori sighs when he realizes what Dazai is looking at. “Elise-chan hasn’t gotten me chocolates yet.”

“That’s because you don’t deserve chocolates, stupid Rintarou,” Elise’s familiar pitched voice comes from Dazai’s left—he hadn’t even noticed her sitting on the ground coloring because his gaze was pinned to the chocolate the moment he stepped into the room. Elise looks up at Dazai with a smile that’s just a bit too sweet, “Aw, she didn’t get you any? That’s too bad, Dazai-kun.”

Dazai’s jaw twitches at the snide comment, and he looks away from Elise back to Mori, who looks oddly intrigued by Dazai’s reaction, which is enough to let him know that he’s over-reacting, so he’s quick to smooth out his expression, even if the irritation in his chest continues to swell. He doesn’t even know why he’s so bothered—he doesn’t care about stupid holidays, and he doesn’t care about chocolate. It’s really not a big deal, but he can’t seem to snuff out the growing annoyance.

“I’m sure she’ll give you one later, Dazai-kun,” Mori says with a placating smile that almost sends Dazai over the edge. “No need to fret.”

“I’m not-” he starts to say, but is cut off quickly by Elise.

“Or, maybe she just doesn’t like him enough to give him any,” Elise says with gleeful giggle. “How did she word it again? Oh, yeah, you forced your way into her life, didn’t you?”

Dazai doesn’t take anything anyone says to him or about him to heart, but he especially knows not to take anything Elise says to heart, considering the girl’s ardent distaste for him. He’s never been sure why she hates him so much, but he figures that it’s because he can make her disappear with his ability, and he’s half-tempted to grab her arm and do just that, but he knows it’ll only make Mori even more interested in why he’s so emotional over this. That’s the last thing he wants considering he doesn’t even know why he’s getting so worked up about it.

But what did Elise even mean? Why would you tell them that he forced his way into your life? If anything, you’re the one who forced yourself into his life when you showed up at his shipping compartment during that winter storm a few months ago. He just… capitalized on it, that’s all. You would’ve kicked him out if you didn't want him hanging around, but you didn’t. And Elise is known for twisting the truth, but then… Why didn’t you give him chocolates? That’s the whole point of the holiday, right? To show appreciation for the people in your life?

It’s not the holiday that’s bothering him, it’s the principle. 

Dazai is suddenly ten times more antsy than he was when he first noticed the chocolates. There must be a logical explanation for this—maybe you really are giving him them later, or maybe you’re only giving them to Mori because you have to. Snidely, he notes that the chocolates you gave him looked like they could be bought at a convenience store, so it’s not like you put much effort into it. 

“Elise-chan,” Mori chides, although he still sounds terribly amused, violet eyes glittering as he scrutinizes Dazai. “Don’t say such cruel things. I taught our hime to have good manners, Dazai-kun will get chocolates from her, even if they’re just obligatory.”

Obligatory, Dazai has to force himself not to physically blanch at the word. He thinks he would almost prefer not to get chocolates from you. How are you just going to give obligatory chocolates to someone you live with? You guys are friends, aren’t you? He doesn’t know much at all about Valentine’s Day, but he does know that there’s different types of chocolate depending on your relationship with the person, and he thinks he’ll jump off the roof if you give Chuuya nicer chocolates than him.

Chuuya.

“I have to go,” Dazai says abruptly, turning to leave.

“Goodbye, Dazai-kun,” Mori sings, much to Dazai’s surprise. He was half-expecting Mori to tell him to sit back down so they could go over whatever he was called to his office for. He still doesn’t even know why the man called him up here—maybe it was just to flaunt the chocolates he received, Dazai thinks bitterly. “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“I would!” Elise calls after him as he lets the door slam shut behind him, but Dazai doesn’t pay her any mind.

Surely Chuuya wouldn’t have gotten chocolates if he didn’t, right?

———

“Give me those right now.”

Chuuya pauses from where he’s about to pop a round chocolate into his mouth, eyes cutting to the side in irritation when he realizes that Dazai is standing in the doorframe of his office. Dazai is tense and jittery all at the same time—he’s not even looking at Chuuya, he’s staring at the set of chocolates sitting open on his desk and the familiar handwriting on the note next to it. Chuuya’s set is much nicer than Mori’s; they’re his favorite truffles, imported in from Belgium, and there’s a red wine on his desk to go along with it.

It makes Dazai sick. 

“The fuck?” Chuuya asks, sitting up a bit straighter and giving Dazai a weird look before pointedly eating the chocolate in his hand. Dazai’s eye twitches. “What’s your problem this time, you freak?”

“I said give me those right now,” Dazai repeats, inhaling deeply as he takes a few steps closer. “Give me them.”

Chuuya looks a bit concerned now, grabbing the chocolates you gave him and dragging them closer to him. Dazai is undeterred, stalking forward and reaching quickly for them. Chuuya reacts faster, snatching them off the table and holding them close to his chest.

“Fuck off,” Chuuya spits, sounding confused and irritated all at the same time. “What the hell is your problem?”

Dazai could think of an excuse—they’ve been tampered with, poisoned, you accidentally gave him the wrong ones and you sent him here to grab them before Chuuya ate them all—but the only thing that escapes his lips is the same demand.

“Give me the chocolates.”

“What?” Chuuya demands. “No, you fucking psycho, get out of my office.”

Dazai’s hand instinctively twitches in the direction of his gun, and Chuuya catches it from the way his eyes shoot open.

“Yo,” Chuuya says loudly, rising to his feet. “What the fuck, Dazai?”

Logically, Dazai knows that whether he gets the chocolates from Chuuya or not, it won’t change anything. It’s the principle of it that’s the issue. Even if he manages to get his hands on the chocolates, you gave them to Chuuya and you didn’t give them to Dazai, but still, the sight of Chuuya with them is setting Dazai off in ways that he just can’t seem to get under wraps. 

“Give me-”

Chuuya’s face twists in irritation and he slams the chocolates down on his desk before walking around it in Dazai’s direction. Instead of making a smart decision and running out of his office before he can get a faceful of Chuuya’s fist, he takes the opportunity to dart forward and grab the chocolates he put down, throwing them onto the ground and driving his heel right into the box. 

“You bastard,” Chuuya shouts, grabbing Dazai by the collar of his jacket hard and throwing him hard into the side of his desk. Dazai barely withholds a wince as the corner of Chuuya’s desk drives deep into his side, crumpling to the ground hard. Chuuya kneels down to see if there’s anything left to salvage of the chocolates you gave him, but finds himself sorely disappointed. “What’s your fucking issue, Dazai?”

Stubbornly, Dazai doesn’t respond, raising his chin and meeting Chuuya’s gaze, trying to pretend that there is no issue and like he isn’t acting deranged over chocolates. 

Not chocolates, he reminds himself, the principle.

“I knew you were weird about her but jeez,” Chuuya scoffs, picking up the mess of chocolates on his floor, brows furrowed in irritation. “You can’t even handle her giving someone else chocolates on Valentine’s Day. You need some serious fucking help, man. It’s the whole point of the goddamn day. You gonna go around and take everyone’s chocolates, you possessive freak?”

Dazai cringes and can’t stop himself as he asks quietly, “How many people has she given them too?”

Instantly, he knows he’s made a mistake—his voice came out all wrong and Chuuya notices it from the way he squints and frowns. He forces his expression to clear of any possible emotions and rises back to his feet, tilting his head to the side as he dares Chuuya to point out that his voice wavered when he asked the question.

“I don’t fucking know,” Chuuya shrugs, side-eyeing him suspiciously but choosing not to point out the weird tone he asked the question in. “She came in with a ton this morning, figured I was the last since she didn’t have any left with her when she came up here before.”

Oh, Dazai thinks, staring at Chuuya absently. Dazai didn’t anticipate that. At once, both of his theories to explain why you didn’t give him chocolates are disproven, and Dazai falters. If you came in with all of them at once and had none left by the time you got to Chuuya, then all signs pointed to that you’re just not giving Dazai chocolate for Valentine’s Day.

But why? Dazai doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong lately—in fact, he’s barely even had time to talk to you lately because you’ve been busy talking with your informants in Eastern Russia. You spent most days in Tokyo, and by the time you got back to your apartment, Dazai was out on his own missions. He hasn’t had the chance to do anything wrong, unless him just being around you is wrong.

How did she word it again? Oh, yeah, you forced your way into her life, didn’t you?

Elise is known for twisting the truth, she doesn’t usually lie about things—why did you tell them that he forced himself into your life? Do you not want him staying at your apartment? Mori did mention that he taught you to have good manners and he never says anything without there being an ulterior motive behind it. Was he trying to imply that you’re just being polite in letting him stay? Dazai doesn’t know; he’s always struggled to read you, but you’ve always made him feel welcome and wanted more than anyone else. It disconcerted him for a while, but he’s grown used to it in a way that he probably shouldn’t have. 

Now, he’s doubting it all.

Chuuya’s eyes suddenly widen, his small brain clearly realizing something it wasn’t meant to. Dazai’s gaze hardens as he waits for Chuuya to say whatever it is he wants to say, but instead of speaking, the slug snorts. His hand flies to his mouth to smother the noise, but he just can’t stop himself from bursting into laughter. Dazai bristles.

“What?” he demands.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Chuuya howls, eyes tearing up as he laughs so hard that he wheezes. Dazai stiffens but otherwise doesn’t say anything, and that’s evidently an answer enough for him. “God, shitty Dazai, you’d think you of all people would know better. Get the fuck out of my office.”

Dazai doesn’t want to admit he has no idea what Chuuya’s talking about, but he also isn’t going to let Chuuya order him around, so he stands there stubbornly until Chuuya rises to his feet to grab Dazai by the back of his jacket again. Dazai instinctively drives his elbow hard into Chuuya’s chest, but he’s unbothered by it, shoving Dazai forward through the door of his office.

Chuuya gives him a mocking smile and goads, “How about you go ask her why she didn’t give you chocolates?” 

Before Dazai has the chance to shoot back a snide comment, Chuuya slams the door right in his face. It’s not the principle that’s bothering him, Dazai realizes glumly, it’s the implication that maybe he’s been wrong about his friendship with you this whole time.

———

Dazai doesn’t even get out of the main building before he runs into someone else who has chocolates that are definitely gifted by you considering it’s your new partner. Itou Asahi is lounging in the lobby of headquarters with Hirotsu and a few members of the Black Lizards that Dazai doesn’t recognize. Dazai has never particularly liked the man—in fact, Dazai despises him and he despises how you seem to think the world of him—but now, his jaw is tight as he glares at the man from across the lobby.

Itou seems to be able to feel the daggers being shot in his direction. He looks up as he pops a chocolate into his mouth, eyes narrow as he tries to pinpoint who exactly is staring at him so intensely and pauses when he notices Dazai. He nudges Hirotsu, and to Dazai’s horror, he realizes that Hirotsu also has a set of chocolates that he hasn’t opened on the couch next to where he’s sitting with a note that Dazai can’t read from the distance but is the same pale pink parchment that Mori’s and Chuuya’s were written on.

Mori. Chuuya. Itou. Hirotsu. Why not him? What did he do?

Dazai sneers in Itou’s direction when the man lifts his hand and awkwardly waves, turning on his feet to leave the building. He had been planning on going to your apartment to sulk to see if you notice that he’s wildly irritated over the fact that he’s not received chocolates from you, but instead, he’s going to go grab a cheap bottle of whiskey from the nearest liquor store and drown himself in his misery back at his shipping container.

He doesn’t know what he did to you, and he thought if he did something wrong, you would’ve said something to him instead of icing him out. Isn’t that what you preach to him? Communication? Yes, Dazai sucks at it and has made no attempts to be better about it, but since you’re the one preaching it, you should at least have the decency to act as you preach. 

You’re such a hypocrite, Dazai thinks bitterly, his throat feels clogged and his chest feels tight and his side hurts a shit ton—he doesn’t like any of this, and with each passing second, he’s becoming increasingly more bothered by this situation. 

He’s not irritated anymore, he’s just hurt.

———

Dazai doesn’t end up going right to the shipping container. It’s late afternoon on a Friday, so when he’s halfway to the convenience store, he decides to make a pitstop at Bar Lupin to see if Odasaku and Ango are already hanging there. Luckily, one thing can go right for him today, because the two of them are in fact already sitting in their designated stools drinking their alcohol of choice.

Neither of them have said much of anything to him since he’s arrived besides greeting him. He wonders if he interrupted them—very extremely sour, he thinks that he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case considering he seems to be a burden on just about every single person he thinks is his friend. 

“I didn’t think you’d be free today,” Odasaku finally says. “We would’ve texted you.”

“I didn’t have a mission scheduled for today,” Dazai replies flatly, unable to muster the energy to put on an energetic front for the two of them. Usually, he doesn’t need to fake it around them because he does genuinely have a good time with them, but he’s just in such a bad mood because of everything with you and all of the newfound doubts plaguing him that it’s impossible for him to take his mind off of it. “Why would I be busy?”

Odasaku and Ango share a look with one another, Dazai catches the way Ango subtly shakes his head and is instantly suspicious. Odasaku either doesn’t pick up on it or doesn’t care, because he says, “It’s Valentine’s Day. I thought you’d be spending it with…”

Odasaku trails off when Ango’s headshakes become more frequent, but Dazai already knows what he was about to say. Stiffly, he asks, “Why would I spend Valentine’s Day with her?”

Ango’s smile is unsure as he shares another look with Odasaku before turning his attention toward Dazai and prodding, “Did something happen?”

“No.” Neither of them respond to his sharp answer, and after a few moments, Dazai blurts out, “She doesn’t want me living at her apartment anymore.”

“What-” Ango begins before seemingly rethinking his question, letting out a sigh. “Did she tell you that?”

“No,” Dazai says after a second, “but I know.”

“How do you know?” Ango presses. “Did you overhear her talking to someone?”

“Well, no,” Dazai responds awkwardly, “but I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she didn’t get me chocolates,” Dazai finally explodes, voicing the words that have been bothering him all day. “She got Mori chocolates. She got the slug chocolates. She got her moron of a partner chocolates. She even got Hirotsu chocolates, but she didn’t get me chocolates. And Elise said that she told her and Mori that I forced my way into her life. Isn’t that rich? She’s the one that forced her way into my life. I don’t need her, I never did. I just liked her stupid apartment. I could get my own if I wanted to, I just didn’t want to put in the work.”

Dazai thought maybe getting all of his complaints out would make him feel better, but he only feels worse, because half of that isn’t even true. He likes being able to bother you at night instead of rotting alone in his shitty shipping container, and he likes when you make him coffee in the morning before heading out to a meeting. He likes Friday night movies and he likes forcing you to play video games just so he could beat you and brag about it. You told him that you were his friend, so shouldn’t you like doing all of that with him too instead of it being a burden?

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Odasaku asks bluntly, never one to mince his words. Dazai slowly turns his head to look at the older man, barely catching the way Ango briefly shuts his eyes in exasperation. “I mean, you don’t even know if she’s not getting you any yet. You’re just assuming. The day isn’t over.”

Odasaku is usually logical, and he’s one of the few people who Dazai will take the advice of without question, but this time, Dazai shakes his head. He knows that’s not the case, you brought all of your chocolates to headquarters, and you handed them all out and didn’t give any to him. You knew he didn’t have a mission today so it’s not like he was busy, and even if he was, you could’ve given them to him this morning before he left. And either way, it’s not like that explains what Elise said.

“You should head back to her apartment,” Odasaku continues. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“You know what, you’re right,” Dazai says, becoming increasingly more incensed with each passing second. He knew befriending you was a bad idea—nobody actually wants to be Dazai’s friend once they get to know him, it’s been true his whole life, he’s still half-convinced that Odasaku and Ango only humor him because they think he’ll just kill himself. Once people start to see how odd and fucked in the head he really is, they start to distance themselves from him; you can’t distance yourself from him since he’s living with you, so this is just your way of silently telling him you’ve had enough. He knew things would turn out this way, and he hates the way it still makes his chest hurt. He rises to his feet abruptly, “I am going to head back to her apartment—so I can pack my stuff and leave.”

“Dazai,” Ango calls after him, but Dazai doesn’t respond, storming out of Bar Lupin without another word.

He doesn’t need you, he tells himself again, willing the pain in his chest to turn into something more manageable—anger, resentment, but preferably, he just wants to be indifferent. He doesn’t need you and he knew this was going to happen, so it’s time for him to just take the hint and go on his way, back to how things were before you forced yourself into his life.

———

You’re not there when he gets back to your apartment and you’re not there by the time he gets his things together and leaves. He was especially frustrated when he found himself disappointed by that, because he realized he was unintentionally wasting time packing his things because he was hoping you would show up and stop him. 

But you didn’t, so Dazai is now back at his shipping container huddled under a blanket because it’s cold. He’s almost done with his first bottle of whiskey, trying to numb the pain in his side and all of the shitty emotions he just can’t seem to rid himself of. It’s been three hours since he moved his stuff back into his shipping container; you should be back at the apartment by now—it’s thirty minutes off when the two of you watch your Friday night movies, and you’re usually back at your apartment getting snacks together with him by now.

You’ve realized he’s gone by now. Dazai hasn’t checked his phone, mostly because he doesn’t want to know if you cared enough to reach out. If he’s right about all of this, you’ll just take it as a blessing and move on, not wanting to risk an opportunity arising where you’d have to be polite and ask him to come back. As if he would. If Odasaku is right though… No, Dazai isn’t even going to go down that route, the last thing he needs is-

He’s startled when he hears three loud bangs on the metal wall of his shipping container. Instantly, his gaze focuses on the door. He knows it can only be one of two people, because you and Chuuya are the only ones shameless enough to come by without warning. Odasaku and Ango would text first and everyone else is too wary of him to come anywhere near the shipping yard, much less bang right on his door.

“Dazai, open up! What the hell?” He hears you shout from the other side of the thin wall. “It’s cold, come on! What are you even doing out here?”

You came looking for him, Dazai realizes, swallowing thickly. Dazai isn’t often wrong about things, so he doesn’t dare get his hopes up and he doesn’t respond to you. The roll up door rattles as you try to pull it up, but Dazai doesn’t budge to help you. It’s locked, so you won’t be able to open it and Dazai just waits for you to leave so he can go back to sulking in peace. 

“Dazai, come on,” you complain. “What’s wrong? I was waiting for you back at the apartment, why didn’t you come home?”

Though Dazai intended on just ignoring you until you went away, he can’t help the snide comment that escapes his lips, “Home? You mean your apartment?” 

He immediately takes another swig of whiskey, but the burn of the alcohol does nothing to take away from the bitter taste the words leave on his tongue. From the way you pause, you seem to realize something is wrong—extra snidely, he wonders when you became as slow as Chuuya.

“Yeah, my apartment, the place you’ve been living at for three months?” you say incredulously and Dazai winces. “What’s your problem?” 

“My problem?” Dazai asks coolly. “Maybe you should be answering that instead. You’re a hypocrite.”

He knows that will set you off—he’s always been good at getting under people’s skin—and he’s noticed how you bristle whenever Mori hits you with “Now, dear, let’s not be hypocritical.” He can almost imagine the way you go stiff and the way your face goes cold, but it doesn’t bring him the malicious satisfaction he expects.

 Instead, he only feels heavier.

Unfair, he thinks tightly. You’re always so unfair.

“Can you let me in?” you ask after a few moments of silence. Dazai is even more bothered now that he didn’t get the reaction he expected, gaze lowering to the ground. “I’d prefer not to freeze to death out here.”

This time when you ask, Dazai finds himself rising to his feet. He hasn’t drank enough yet to be unsteady, but he can certainly feel the blood rush to his head as soon as he stands up.

He makes his way over to the door, only fumbling once with the lock. He doesn’t slide it open for you just to be petty, but he doesn’t need to anyway—as soon as you hear the lock click open, you’re pulling open the door and Dazai pointedly turns his back to you before you can step in.

“Seriously?” you ask. Much to Dazai’s pleasure, you do sound a bit irritated now. “Dazai, what the hell? Why are you acting so weird?”

“Me?” Dazai demands, voice shrill at the sheer audacity you have coming to his shipping container and insulting him after what you did. Didn’t do. Same thing. He whips around to face you, a barrage of snide comments about to fall from his lips only to hesitate when he sees a fancy box in your hands. “... What is that?”

Your gaze sharpens and your brows furrow. You move the box out of sight behind your back, but Dazai dances around you to try to get a better look at it. The two of you play a game of swivels and twists for a few moments, but Dazai has to call it quits when the pain in his side gets worse and the alcohol goes right to his head. 

You give him a concerned look, but don’t press about the way he winces. Instead, you say, “Tell me what your problem is first. Why are you drinking here alone in the dark?”

“... No,” Dazai says after a second. “What’s in the box?”

Dazai really doesn’t want to get his hopes up, so he chews the inside of his cheek and rocks back and forth from his toes to heels, hands clasped behind his back as he tries to distract himself. You roll your eyes, but your lips curl up into a fond smile that almost eases all of the stress Dazai has felt all day. Almost.

After what feels like an eternity, you pass the box over to him and Dazai immediately darts forward to grab it before you can change your mind. Though he knows what it is before he opens it, he can’t control the relief that floods him when he sees the expensive chocolates sitting inside the box—most of them are shaped in the typical Valentine’s Day heart, but some of them are-

“They’re crabs,” Dazai says gleefully, a genuine smile spreading widely across his lips as he reaches down to pluck one out of the box and pop it into his mouth. The chocolate is soft and creamy, it melts in his mouth the moment it touches his tongue and he lets out a delighted hum. He eats another, and then another after that. “How did you get them crab shaped?”

You don’t answer the question; you stare at the chocolates, conflicted, and Dazai isn’t sure why. You seem to be trying to decide whether or not you want to say something, but you let out a sigh, seemingly deciding against it. 

Instead of whatever you were debating on saying, you rest your hand on your hip and ask him, “Why did you take all of your stuff out of your room?” 

Your room, Dazai swallows the chocolate in his mouth as he tries to figure out how to respond to your question. He doesn’t really want to admit that he had a meltdown triggered by the chocolate that you just handed him, and you do seem genuinely put off by the fact that he left. Maybe he was wrong, he thinks, pressing his lips together as he considers the possibility. He’s hardly ever wrong, but he supposes it wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve managed to surprise him; since the day he met you, he feels like his mind is dulled when you’re around. He hates it.

So, he throws Elise under the bus.

“Elise said that you told her I forced myself into your life,” he says, voice coming out far more bitter than he intended for it to. He raises his chin stubbornly. “I wouldn’t want to keep imposing.”

Your expression flickers momentarily and you look a bit hurt, Dazai immediately swallows another chocolate, hopeful that he’ll swallow the sudden guilt he feels along with it. He doesn’t.

“Mori was trying to get me to convince you to live in the apartment he has set up for you in the main building,” you explain quietly after a few moments, crossing your arms over your chest. “I told him that he was better off trying to convince you himself because it was your decision to stay at mine. I didn’t have much of a say in it.”

Dazai lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and because he has no self control, he starts to ask, “But if you did have a say in it…”

Your expression softens in a way that makes Dazai’s stomach turn in on itself and your eyes flicker down to the box he’s holding before you quickly look back up at him. The box of chocolates in his hands suddenly feels a lot heavier, and his grip instinctively tightens around it.

“I… my apartment is a bit too big to live in alone,” you answer, and then add, “I would prefer you stayed.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, but his gaze does dart down to the three bags of clothes he brought back to the shipping container with him, all still packed. It wasn’t all of his stuff, just enough for it to be noticeable to you when you went to his room looking for him. Maybe he had been hoping you would come bring him back.

“I don’t have a movie picked out for tonight, if you want to pick,” you offer when the silence stretches on.

Dazai glances down at the chocolates you gave him again and then he says, “The Discovery channel has a new documentary on -”

“No.”

“What?” Dazai demands. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I am not watching another crab documentary, Dazai.”

“The last one was good.”

“The last one bored me to tears.”

Dazai rolls his eyes, leaning down to pick up one of his bags and you grab the other two after sending a narrowed look to his left side, slinging them over your shoulder as you step outside of the shipping container. Dazai follows you, rolling the door back down before giving you a mocking look.

“So you just want to watch one of those stupid superhero movies again? The only one actually entertained by them is bird-brained Chuuya, anyone with two brain cells knows how it ends just from the first scene,” he says snidely, enjoying the way you immediately scowl at him.

“Just because you know how it’s going to end doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining,” you argue. “You can be entertained by something predictable.”

“Not me,” Dazai sings as he follows you out of the shipping container yard and to the road. Much to Dazai’s displeasure, he realizes that you did not come here alone—your new partner is sitting in the front seat of the car waiting on the side of the road, scrolling through his phone. Distastefully, he demands, “Why is he here?”

“He drove me,” you say like it’s obvious. “What’s your problem with him anyway?”

“Nothing,” Dazai mutters, making sure to give the older boy a dark look as he slides into the back seat. 

He expects you to get into the passenger seat, but instead you move to sit in the back with him. Before you do, he stiffens as he remembers his clothes were not the only thing he stole from your apartment. Your eyes narrow in suspicion and you place your hand on your hip.

“What else did you take before leaving?”

Dazai sulks at how easily you figured out what the issue is and lies when he repeats, “Nothing.”

“If we get back home and immediately have to come back out here, I’m going to waterboard you, Dazai,” you say flatly.

“I’ve been waterboarded before,” he says stubbornly.

“Not by me,” you threaten.

 Dazai sighs dramatically, letting his head fall back against the headrest.

“I stole all of the remotes in the apartment,” he admits, shifting to push himself up to walk back over to the shipping container, wincing again when he shifts the wrong way. He pauses when you roll your eyes and hold your hand up to stop him.

“I’ll get them,” you say. “Stay here.”

“Don’t leave me with him,” Dazai complains, but you slam the door in his face.

Instantly, the light and playful expression drops from his face as he turns his attention to the rear view mirror, eyes locking with Itou Asahi. The blonde raises his eyebrows tauntingly, as if he’s daring Dazai to say something to him, and Dazai has half a mind to reach for the gun stuffed in the pocket of his black jacket. He refrains if only because he doesn’t want to piss you off even more.

After a moment, Itou twists in his seat to look at Dazai. Dazai’s eye twitches in irritation, realizing that he’s about to speak to him.

He nods to the box of chocolates. “She spent a month at my place trying to get it right.”

Though Dazai planned on ignoring him, he can’t stop the quiet, “What?” that slips from his mouth.

“The chocolates,” Itou says like Dazai is stupid, which irritates him but he’s still confused so he’s forced to wait for him to explain. “She tried custom ordering the crab shaped ones but had a tantrum because they looked ugly. So she spent a month learning how to make them so she could mold them on her own. She only just finished this batch today—still isn’t satisfied with how they came out, but ran out of time.”

Dazai’s throat swells up as he stares down at the chocolates, an odd warmth spreading through his chest that he can’t snuff out. Scrutinizing them more carefully now, he sees all of the tiny imperfections that wouldn’t be there if you’d store bought them—the hearts aren’t all perfectly even, some of the legs on the crabs are longer than others, there’s an indent on the back of the heart shaped chocolate he’s holding like you’d touched it while it was too soft.

His fingers close around it carefully, lips parting to speak but he can’t find any words. When did you have the time though? You’ve had so many missions lately-

Oh.

“All the missions in Tokyo…”

“Her missions were learning how to fucking make chocolate and they were in my apartment, not Tokyo,” Itou scoffs. “I’m never going to be able to eat chocolate again in my life the amount she’s force fed me. I can hardly stand the smell of it now. I had to send her to Nakahara for him to taste test the last few batches.”

Dazai’s gaze sharpens, obscenely bothered at the thought of Itou Ashi and Nakahara Chuuya being your taste testers and Itou is complaining about it. “You should be grateful you got to try her chocolate,” he snaps immediately.

Itou’s jaw drops and he immediately shakes his head. “You two are so fucking-” he starts to say but cuts himself off when he sees you approaching the car again. 

Dazai squints at him, almost wanting to dare him to continue, but his expression lightens when you open the door, remotes in hand and an irritated expression still painted on your face.

He only moves over enough to give you room to sit instead of moving to sit behind the driver’s seat. You squint at him, but Dazai gives you a small smile and says quietly, “My chocolates are much nicer than Chuuya’s.”

Your expression immediately softens and your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze—the telltale sign of you being flustered. Dazai’s lips part to say something else, but no words come out, gaze pinned on the pretty glow the moonlight casts over your face. You look like you want to say something as you look down at the chocolates again, but again, you seem to decide against it.

“How do you even know what Chuuya got?” you ask suddenly, clearing your throat. Dazai freezes. “And what happened to your side? Every time you move you’re wincing.”

“I… stopped by his office and saw them?” he offers, his next smile is too sweet, and you catch it from the way your eyes narrow. Defensively, he says, “The slug didn’t deserve chocolates from you.”

“Oh my god, Dazai,” you complain, burying your face in your hands. 

Dazai’s face flames up, and he shoots a dirty look in Itou’s direction when the older boy bursts into laughter. 

“Slugs can’t eat chocolate,” Dazai insists. “I was helping him, really.” 

“I can’t stand you,” you sigh, but when you shift in your seat, you shift so that you’re sitting a little closer to Dazai, shoulder pressed against his and thighs knocking together.

He glances down at the box of chocolates in his lap again, and the chocolate heart resting in his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, he passes it over to you. You give him a questioning look, but Dazai pointedly looks away as he wills his cheeks not to reflect his flustered thoughts, waiting for you to take it. His breath catches when your fingers brush his hand as you take it from him.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

Instead of directly responding, Dazai prods, “So, about the crab documentary…”

You let out a heavy sigh as you side eye him. “Fine,” you agree, “but you’re doing the garbage this week.”

“What?!” he demands. “It’s not my turn.”

“The price you pay for forcing me to watch nature documentaries for movie night.”

“It’s not just nature, it’s crabs.”

“Deal or no deal?”

“Fine. Deal.”

“Good,” you say with a saccharine smile that Dazai doesn’t like because he knows you’re thinking something bad. “Deal.”

After a few moments, you add, “I would’ve put it on even if you didn’t agree.”

“I’m going back to my shipping container.”

You laugh loudly, and Dazai’s heart skips a beat at the sound of it. He very much ignores the way Itou shoots an amused look back at them, focusing instead on the way your eyes glitter as your laughs fizzle into soft giggles.

“As if,” you say, knocking your shoulder into his. “I’ll just drag you back again. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

His lips curl up into a small smile in response to your words, gaze dropping back down to the chocolates sitting in his lap, and then back to you.

“Will you?” he asks quietly, a bit too seriously.

Your smile softens, and Dazai’s heart lodges right in his throat. “Count on it.”

[dokyumms]

eyes on you

pairing: ot13 x fem!14thmember!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 1.4k

cw: brief violence (album is thrown at reader), carats are mean to reader 😔, cursing, nightmares, protective svt ?, carat calls svt “oppa” and it’s the cringiest line i’ve ever written.

a/n: been getting some requests for 14th member reader so here yall go! couldn't find a good pic for this theme so just enjoy the winter photo lolol, have no idea if relationship between svt and reader is platonic or not so it's up to interpretation... i don't know if i like this or not....

fan signs were usually fun.

key word: usually. you really did enjoy interacting with fans, playing with toy guns and whatever props you were given, but there was just one thing that would always happen.

it was normally something small, just a weird look or an obvious difference in the mood of a fan when they'd get to you, but no matter what it was, it was always noticeable.

you were used to it by now, the hate that came with being the only female member of the group. thankfully, it'd died down since debut, and over time, you learned how to ignore the comments. the members were your family, and you were theirs, why should people online dictate how you live your life?

however, there was always something different about when it happened in person. maybe it was the way you could see the joy in their face drain at the sight of you or how someone would look at you as if you had hurt them. you didn't know, but just that coming from one person would keep you awake for nights, no matter how many fans you met after.

but maybe today would be different, or at least that's what you told yourself as you sat down between vernon and minghao earlier that morning. these two were some of the calmest members of the group, so surely someone wouldn't dare to piss them off by insulting you, right?

well, just about half an hour in, a girl shoved an album before you. you had your hands out in front of you, just fidgeting around while you waited for minghao to finish up with her before she nearly knocked out your fingers.

you were taken aback a little, but you gave her the benefit of the doubt and didn't react to it, just greeting her as usual. looking down at the album, you read the name written on a sticky note. "your name is gaeun? how pretty," you commented, uncapping your marker to sign the album when she stopped you.

"don't." she warned sternly, grabbing ahold of your wrist. you tried to retract it, looking around for help, but to your dismay, the venue seemed to be understaffed. there were only two managers to help out, and they both happened to be at the very ends of the table, slowly making their way down the row as if they have all the time in the world.

you looked back at her. “i’m sorry?” you said, trying to figure out what was going on, but she didn’t budge. “okay, okay, i’m not going to sign it.” you backed off, holding your other hand up in surrender.

“good. i don’t need your nasty hands on it either. give it back!” she snapped, snatching back the album as if she hadn’t been the one to place it in front of you. the noise garnered the attention of minghao, who looked at her before turning his head toward you.

he raised an eyebrow, confused, but you shook your head. nothing was wrong, just some weirdly aggressive hater. what was new?

then the girl, or gaeun now that you knew her name, all of the sudden lit up at the sudden glance from minghao. “ohh oppa~ there’s nothing to worry about! you look so handsome today~” she cooed.

you could see him try to keep a neutral facial expression as you held back laughter yourself. he nodded awkwardly before turning his attention back to the person in front of him. honestly, you were unsure of what to do now. the other fans you had come across before may not have liked you, but they at least let you sign their albums.

thankfully, there shouldn't be much time before the fans have to switch members, so you just kept yourself occupied by eavesdropping on the conversation vernon and the girl in front of him were having. clearly, yours didn't want anything to do with you.

"come on, entertain me, bitch."

your head snapped back at her, noticing the two members beside you do the same as you gave her a puzzled look. she didn't seem to notice them, though, fully focused on you.

"what are you just staring at me for? you can't do your one job? no wonder so many people hate-"

"don't. don't you dare say another word to her."

you turned toward the voice, quite shocked to find the owner of it to be vernon out of all people. he and minghao both glared at the girl, filling the room with silent tension.

by now, the timer had went off, meaning it was time to switch members, but the girl wouldn't move, causing a line of people to form to the side of her. the managers made their way toward her to stop the delay, and now most of the members' attention was on you and her.

"god, you're pathetic," she scoffed, ignoring vernon's warning and the amount of stares directed at her. she made a quick glance at the managers, and as some sort of 'last laugh' before she got kicked out of the venue, she chucked the album- straight at your face.

by some miracle, yet slow reflexes, you managed to avoid getting poked in the eye, taking a hit to the temple instead. it's quiet for a couple of seconds, then all chaos commences. fans were yelling, probably at the girl as the managers practically dragged her away, and the members started to stand up and crowd around you.

before she was fully dragged out, the girl mouthed something at you, but you really couldn’t make sense of it right now.

this hadn't happened recently, the last incident being when someone shoved an album at joshua a couple years ago. and since then, pledis had put out strict warning about it, so it was even more shocking that someone had done it again.

you turned away from the audience, attempting to conceal yourself as you shut your eyes at the pain that began to spread from your head. voices overlapped over one another until you felt someone pull you into a warm embrace, hands falling onto your ears.

finally, all the noise seemed to die down. you opened your eyes, curious as to who was holding you.

joshua smiled as you met his eyes; his hands fell to your shoulders.

“hey, it’s okay, they’re moving everyone out of the venue. we’re not going to finish the fan sign.” he explained assuringly, but the comment sort of made you embarrassed. maybe if you took care of the situation better, everyone wouldn’t have had to leave.

you were frustrated, upset, scared, all of the above. you hated that someone disliked you so much to the point that this would even happen. why did so many people have a problem with you, and only you?

but there was one thing bothering you the most, something that kept your heart racing. deciding that you didn't need everyone worrying about you again, you kept your mouth shut as the managers came back and announced that you all were done for the day.

but that night, you dreamt of it.

you were at the fan sign, living through all the moments again. the girl is dragged away as she mouths to you,

"next time, i won't miss."

you couldn't move, frozen in fear as she began to laugh hysterically.

"y/n? y/n, wake up."

seungcheol shook you awake, stepping back when you yelped. "it's okay, you were having a nightmare." he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking your hair. "what was it about?"

trying to move on from the conversation, you said that it was just about what had happened earlier, but he stopped you.

"you were saying something, though. you kept repeating 'no', y/n, did something else happen?"

oh, you had no idea that happened, and now you were stuck. taking your hesitance as an answer, he took your hand into his.

"y/n, you can tell me. i don't want you to be scared anymore, okay?"

you sighed, giving in and telling him about the threat the girl made. his eyebrows furrowed as you explained it. truly, there was nothing the two of you could do about it, and it made him frustrated.

"it's fine, though. it was a shallow threat anyway, i don't know why i was so scared."

"no, it's not fine," seungcheol argued, pulling you into a tight hug.

"i promise you, i won't let anything happen to you. never again."

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

I LOVED THE WAY YOU WROTE RAFE IN UR LAST BLURB. just seeing how your body had changed in front of him and he didn’t even noticed makes him feel guilty about not nothing earlier or how you probably couldn’t eat your usual meals because your baby would make you sick if you even thought of it. and one night (maybe that night.OH the night you probably told ward and rose, and ward made a snide comment about how inattentive rafe was or something) rafe just loses it on himself

i don’t give a shit about him - rafe cameron x pregnant!pogue!reader

series masterlist

warnings: pregnancy, angst, WARD & ROSE, mentions of drug use, suggestive

au: thank you for this request!! i honestly loved writing the last one so this one was really really fun to write

word count: 1.6k

Dinner at Tannyhill had been planned for a week. You and Rafe both knew it was coming. But what Ward and Rose didn’t know—yet—was that this wasn’t just any dinner. You had spent all day trying to quiet the nerves twisting in your stomach, rehearsing how you were going to say it, how you were going to answer their inevitable questions. Rafe, on the other hand, barely spoke on the drive over, his grip tight on the steering wheel, his jaw locked in that way it always did when he was bracing himself for something.

When you arrived, everything was already set. Rose greeted you with a polite smile, air-kissing your cheek before leading you into the dining room. Ward barely looked up from his phone, only acknowledging Rafe with a quick, “You’re late.” You weren’t late. But you knew by now that, to Ward Cameron, Rafe was always doing something wrong.

Dinner started like any other—forced conversation, stiff smiles, Ward subtly nitpicking at Rafe’s job, his responsibilities, his choices. But the whole time, your heart was pounding, your fingers fidgeting with the napkin in your lap. Rafe noticed. Halfway through dinner, his hand found yours under the table, squeezing once.

It was time.

You took a shaky breath, setting your fork down. “Um… there’s something we need to tell you.” Both Ward and Rose looked up at the same time. Rafe’s grip on your hand tightened. He exhaled through his nose and just said it. “She’s pregnant.” The room fell into complete silence. Rose blinked, her wine glass pausing halfway to her lips. Ward’s brows pulled together slightly, as if trying to process what he just heard. Then, finally, Rose spoke. “Oh.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the flat, almost hesitant reaction still sent a sharp pang through your chest. Ward, on the other hand, exhaled sharply, setting his drink down with an audible clink. He leaned back in his chair, gaze flicking between you and Rafe. “Well,” he started, voice low and calculated. “I suppose the real question is… what’s the plan?” You swallowed hard. Rafe straightened in his seat. “We’re keeping it.” Ward scoffed. “That much is obvious. But I meant, what’s your plan? How do you expect to take care of a child when you can barely take care of yourselves?”

Rafe’s entire body tensed. Rose cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Ward—” “No, I think it’s a fair question,” Ward continued, his sharp gaze landing back on his son. “Do you even have the slightest idea what this kind of responsibility entails? Or were you just going to wing it like you do everything else?” Rafe didn’t react. He sat perfectly still, his expression blank, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “I work for the company,” he said finally, his voice low, controlled. “I have a salary. I can provide for her and the baby.”

Ward let out a humorless chuckle. “A job? Rafe, I gave you that job. You think that’s enough?” He shook his head, taking a slow sip of his drink before muttering, “God, you can’t even show up to work focused half the time.” Your stomach twisted. Rafe inhaled sharply through his nose. “I’m clean.” Ward raised a brow, unimpressed. “For how long this time?” Silence. You felt Rafe’s muscles go rigid beside you, but he didn’t break. His expression didn’t waver. “Six months,” he muttered, voice clipped.

Ward hummed, unconvinced, before finally turning his attention to you. “And you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “What’s your plan now?” You blinked. “What?” “Well,” Ward continued, voice eerily calm, “I assume you’ll be quitting your little bartending job. Not much of a long-term career path there.” His gaze swept over you, scrutinizing. “Or were you expecting Rafe to shoulder everything while you sit back?”

That’s when Rafe finally snapped. His chair scraped back abruptly, the sound cutting through the tense air. His hands slammed onto the table, rattling the glasses. “Don’t,” Rafe snapped, his voice sharp, warning. “Don’t talk to her like that.” Ward barely reacted, only raising a brow in slight amusement. “I’m just asking a reasonable question—” “No, you’re being a condescending asshole,” Rafe bit out. Rose inhaled sharply. “Rafe.” “No,” he growled. “I don’t give a shit what you think about me, but you don’t get to sit here and act like she’s some fucking gold digger just because I’m the one making more money.”

Ward sighed, exasperated. “Oh, grow up, Rafe.” “No, how about you grow up?” Rafe shot back, his voice rising. “How about you actually try being a fucking dad instead of sitting here and treating me like shit every time I do something you don’t agree with?” Your breath caught in your throat. You had seen Rafe angry before. But this wasn’t his usual reckless rage—this wasn’t wild and unpredictable. This was calculated. Controlled. And then Ward said, “I hate to break it to you, son, but being a father takes more than throwing a tantrum at the dinner table.” Rafe’s entire body went still.

His hands were shaking, his breathing uneven. His jaw clenched so tight you were surprised he didn’t crack a tooth. But then… he turned. And his eyes met yours. And that’s when he saw it. You weren’t just sitting there, unaffected. You were tense, your breath coming in short, uneven exhales, your fingers curled into the fabric of your dress—clutching your stomach. Rafe’s anger disappeared instantly. His chest tightened, his stomach twisting in guilt. His voice softened, barely above a whisper.

“Baby.” You swallowed hard, shaking your head quickly. “It’s okay,” you whispered. But your voice was small. And Rafe hated that. His father, his rage, none of it mattered anymore. The only thing that mattered was you. Rafe exhaled sharply before turning back to Ward. “You don’t get to have an opinion on this,” he muttered. “Not about me. Not about her. Not about our kid.” Ward’s expression remained unreadable, but for once, he stayed silent. Rafe didn’t wait for a response. He turned back to you, his voice gentle. “Let’s go.” You hesitated, glancing between him and Ward. “You don’t have to stay and listen to this,” Rafe said softly. “I’m not letting him sit here and act like he has any control over our lives.” And for the first time that night, you actually believed him. So you nodded. Rafe didn’t let go of your hand once as he led you out the door.

The drive was silent at first. Rafe’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel, his grip so tight you thought he might snap it in half. But then, finally, he exhaled sharply and muttered, “I fucking hate him.” You looked over at him. “Rafe…” His grip loosened slightly. His jaw clenched and unclenched, frustration still rolling off of him. But then, he reached over, resting his palm against your thigh. “I don’t care what he says,” Rafe murmured. “I don’t care what anyone says. We’re gonna be okay.”

The moment you walked through the front door, exhaustion hit you like a brick wall. You barely took two steps inside before Rafe was pulling you into him, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. He buried his face into your neck, inhaling deeply. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against your skin. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “For what?” “For letting him talk to you like that.” His voice was low, strained. “For not getting us out of there sooner.” You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. His blue eyes were still clouded with frustration, but underneath that…there was guilt. “You don’t have to apologize,” you whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

Rafe’s lips parted like he wanted to argue, but instead, he just shook his head and cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs tracing gently over your cheekbones. His gaze was intense, scanning your face like he was searching for something—reassurance, maybe. Proof that you weren’t second-guessing everything because of Ward’s words. But you knew Rafe. And you knew that no matter how much you reassured him, it wouldn’t erase the fact that he still blamed himself. After a moment, he exhaled sharply. “Come here.”

His grip on your waist tightened as he guided you toward the bedroom, his movements slower, more deliberate now. When you reached the edge of the bed, he turned you to face him completely. “I need to make it up to you,” he murmured. Your brows furrowed. “Rafe, you don’t—”

“I do.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. “I need you to know how much I love you. How much I love this—” His hands slid down, palms resting against your still-flat stomach. His gaze softened. “Our baby.” Your chest tightened. Slowly, Rafe leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then your temple. Your cheek. His lips lingered for a second before he trailed down, kissing the sensitive spot just beneath your ear.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered. His hands moved with deliberate slowness as he slipped the straps of your dress down your arms, his lips trailing every inch of exposed skin. Every kiss was reverent, every touch gentle, worshipping. Like he was making a silent promise to you—to both of you. When he finally laid you down, his body covering yours, you knew this wasn’t just about making love. It was about making sure you knew. Knew that nothing else mattered. That no words from anyone—not Ward, not Rose, not anyone—would change the way Rafe felt about you. That no matter what, you weren’t in this alone. And as he held you that night, his arms wrapped around you protectively, you let yourself believe it.

[webslinger-holland]

Hi lovely, I love your preferences/headcanons and was wondeinf if you could write the Thunderbolts reacting to you having 'girl dinner' when you cant be bothered cooking or its too late for a full meal?

Prompt: The Thunderbolts react to you having 'girl dinner'

Warning: none really, just fluff

Note: I love this request and I loved writing it! Please enjoy! Also, I love Yelena (that gif is so fitting) vvv

Thunderbolts Masterlist

It was late at night. You were exhausted in that numb, low-battery kind of way where every small task felt like climbing uphill in deep mud. Cooking sounded like a battle and cleaning the dishes afterwards always felt like a tiresome chore.

The fridge felt judgmental. You had ingredients, technically, but not the energy to turn them into anything that resembled a proper meal. Instead, you grabbed the jar of pickles and sliced a semi-stale apple. You crumbled some cheese onto a paper towel like that made it a “platter.”

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was something. A handful of random things that didn’t require heat, thought, or emotional investment. Just enough to quiet your stomach and keep you upright.

Call it lazy. Call it survival. Tonight, it was the best you could do. Tonight, it was girl dinner.

Yelena: When Yelena walked into the kitchen and spotted you hunched over the kitchen island, she froze mid-step. Her mouth dropped open in shock.

"You're doing girl dinner?" Yelena gasped in exaggeration. She put a hand to her chest like she was offended. "Without me?!"

You didn’t look up. Just gave a tiny nod and muttered, “I didn’t feel like cooking.”

She just watched you eat for a moment, arms crossed, head tilted like she was studying a rare animal in the wild. She padded over in socked feet, rounded the island, and leaned forward on her elbows beside you. Her tone stayed light, but she didn’t tease.

“You forgot crunch,” she says, after noticing all the fruits and cheeses. “And spice. Very important for emotional balance.”

"Didn't want to go through your stash," you commented with a mouth full of peanuts. She rolled her eyes, pushing off the island and heading towards her cupboard where she hid her snacks.

She took out a bag of spicy chips, a tiny jar of pickled onions, two pieces of dark chocolate wrapped like treasure. She lays them down beside your food and sits next to you on the counter, legs swinging.

"Girl dinner," Yelena sings, puts her hands up, and does a little dance. You look at her utterly amused, unable to fight off a smile.

So the two of you indulge yourselves in a tasty effortless meal that you made together.

Bucky: He’d only come down to the kitchen for some water, maybe a late-night tea if he was feeling generous. The place was usually dead quiet after midnight. But as he rounded the corner, bare feet silent on the tile, he saw the dim lamp by the island was already on.

And then he saw you.

Sitting cross-legged on one of the stools, hunched slightly, your elbows resting on the counter like they were the only thing keeping you upright. You were still in pajamas — soft, oversized, familiar. In front of you sat a sad little spread: crackers, cheese that hadn’t been sliced all the way through, two limp baby carrots, and a soda can half-crushed in your grip.

You didn’t even look up as you absentmindedly dragged a carrot through some ranch dressing, chewing slowly. Your eyes distant. You weren’t crying. You weren’t visibly upset. But something about the quiet slump of your shoulders pulled at something deep in his chest.

"That dinner?" Bucky's voice came out low and careful.

“Sort of.” You shrugged.

He cautiously approached the kitchen island, leaning his forearms agaisnt it so he could really gauge at your whole spread. "Let me guess— you didn't feel like cooking anything for yourself tonight?"

You let out a small laugh. "Yeah. You got that right."

His lips curved into a gentle smile because there you were in front of him. Your words were soft, small, and honest. He let the silence stretch for a moment before finally muttering:

“You know I’d cook for you, right? All you’d have to do is ask.” Bucky offered.

“I don't need a full meal, not tonight.” Your lips twitched — not quite a smile. More like the ghost of one.

That did it. Something in his chest squeezed a little tighter.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just exhaled slowly through his nose and walked around the island. You watched him curiously as he pulled open the fridge and started gathering things: Alexei's takeout leftovers, some old rice, half an avocado, and a piece of naan folded up in tinfoil.

He silently joined beside you and started constructing his own version of 'girl dinner.'

John: Initially, John thought it was odd finding the kitchen light on when it was so late. Most of the team had long since crashed— even Alexei, who snored loud enough to rattle the walls. But when he rounded the corner, it made sense.

There you were, sitting at the kitchen island, elbow propped up on the counter, spoon dangling from your fingers like you’d forgotten it was there. A mostly-empty jar of peanut butter sat in front of you, surrounded by a sad little constellation of snack foods: three crackers, a few grapes, a slice of cheese not even fully unwrapped, and a single pickle spear.

You didn’t look at him when he stepped in, just let out a quiet sigh and plucked a grape off the counter like it weighed ten pounds. You even had a glass of half drunken wine, but then you cracked open a can of some highly carbonated drink.

John pauses.

"That's disgusting," John said flatly. He observes your spread of junk food. "None of this looks healthy."

You finally looked up at him with a tired blink, dragging the can toward your mouth for another sip like you just couldn't bother to care. Then you proceeded to shove some crackers in your mouth.

"It's girl dinner," you corrected him. “It’s not supposed to make sense.”

“That’s not dinner. That’s… an existential cry for help in snack form.”

You sipped your wine, then chased it with the soda again, and watched his face twist in real-time.

“Oh my god—stop doing that!" John pleaded. His voice sharp with genuine distress. His nose wrinkled, his whole face twisting as if he'd just witnessed a car crash in slow motion.

You looked back down at your snack pile, grabbed a baby carrot, and dunked it in the peanut butter without hesitation. "I just didn't feel like cooking," you shrugged.

"You eat like a raccoon," John claimed shaking his head with theatrical disappointment. “A drunk raccoon that broke into a gas station.”

You finally glanced up at him, unimpressed. “You act like I don’t hear you eat cold pizza in the gym hallway at two in the morning."

He pointed a finger, jaw dropping slightly. “That’s different. That’s recovery fuel.”

“Yours is pizza, mine is pickles. Let me live.”

He stared at you, mouth opening like he wanted to argue—but then he looked at your face. He saw the way your shoulders drooped and the distant look in your eyes. It looked like you were barely holding yourself together with carbs and carbonation.

"Let me guess—bad day?" John wondered.

“Didn’t feel like dealing with anything else,” you said finally. “Dinner included.”

He turned and opened the fridge without another word. You furrowed your brows in confusion.

“What are you doing?” you asked quietly.

“Making you real food,” he said over his shoulder. “You’re not ending the night with a dinner that looks like a toddler’s dream and a nutritionist’s nightmare.”

“You don’t have to—”

He smiled more to himself. “Yeah, I do.”

Ava: She found you lounging on the couch in your pajamas with a paper plate of snack food in your lap. You stared off into the distance mindlessly, blinding grabbing another cracker to feed yourself.

Slowly, Ava came to approach you and crouches beside you on the couch. She spares a glance down at your plate of cold snacks with a furrowed brow, but no criticism.

"Rough day?" Ava asks. You gave a small, tired nod.

Ava sighed and brushed a loose strand of hair off your face, her fingers cool and gentle against your cheek. She didn’t push, didn’t ask why. She just saw you.

"I could always cook something for us," she gently offered. When you shake your head again, she takes a strawberry off your plate and lies back beside you on the couch. “Then I’m eating this with you.”

She quickly found the hummus and pretzels, helping herself to some food. Still keeping your eyes ahead, you silently offered your wine glass to her which she gladly accepted and took a long swig of it herself.

You let your head drift against her collarbone as your eyes slid half-shut. She took another bite of something off your plate, humming softly at the taste. The two of you passed grapes back and forth without looking, the comfort of her presence so seamless it felt like breathing.

She doesn’t get the appeal, but she gets you, and that’s all that matters. You end up curled together, sharing quiet bites.

Bob: The hallway was silent. He had meant to pass through— maybe grab some tea, check the news, disappear back into the safety of silence before anyone noticed him. He preferred the world quiet like this. Like nothing could break or ask too much of him.

But the kitchen light was on. And so was the sound— soft, almost imperceptible. A sniff. A wet breath held a little too long.

He stepped in gently. You didn’t see him right away.

You were curled into yourself at the kitchen table, shoulders hunched, a paper plate of snacks in front of you— nothing warm, nothing properly nutritious. You still had two apple slices left, a stack of dried crackers, a carbonated drink that had gone stale, and an assortment of cheeses.

It looked like you'd been crying for a while, not the messy or loud kind. Just this slow, quiet ache of tears that slid down your face like they’d been there a while. You didn’t wipe them away. You just stared at your food, trying to chew through the lump in your throat like maybe that would help.

Bob stood in the doorway for a second, just breathing. Then he crossed the room.

No words. No sudden moves. He pulled out the chair beside you and sat, his presence warm and unintrusive. He didn’t touch you. Didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t force you to look up. He just sat there.

For a while, it was only the sound of your quiet breathing, the occasional sniff, the crackle of the soda can shifting as condensation slid down the side.

Eventually, he reached out slowly, steadily and picked a cracker off your plate. Ate it like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like this was dinner. Like this was okay.

When you finally glanced at him, eyes rimmed red, he met your gaze with a gentle, understanding smile. "Mind if I join you?" Bob asked hopeful.

Your chin trembled. You shook your head. You watched him take one of your apple slices.

"I like the red apples best. They’re always much sweeter than the green ones— I don't want to bite into a fruit and it'd be sour." Bob spoke so casually and lightheartedly that it was quite refreshing.

It certainly caught you off guard. A small, wet breath escaped you— not quite a laugh, but close enough. He smiled back at you and stared for just a second.

Then he leaned back, arms folded loosely, gaze drifting to the far window where the sky had turned black and soft with stars.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said after a moment, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t owe me an explanation. I just… don’t want you to feel alone.”

That’s what undid you. Not the comfort. Not the silence. But the quiet knowing behind it— the way he saw you without reaching in, without prying. Just being there, steady as gravity, kind as light.

You leaned toward him— not asking, not warning — and he shifted only to let your head rest against his shoulder. He stayed still. Let you breathe. Let you cry, if you still needed to. Let your paper plate of snack food sit untouched on the table as the minutes passed like clouds.

Eventually, you felt his voice near your temple, soft as a secret: “Tomorrow, I’ll cook for you. Just say the word.”

[guiltyandashamed]

headcannons: insecure about yourself after seeing someone else (brothers + side characters)

(2.7k words) It happens on one of those rare, quiet afternoons when the two of you are out in the Devildom, The conversation is easy. Until it isn’t. She passes you like she owns the street, tall, poised, beautiful in a way that feels otherworldly. A succubus, maybe, or a siren, or some other kind of woman with an enchanting beauty, with the kind of confidence you’ve never had. Her smile lingers on them for a second too long, and though they barely glance her way, your stomach sinks. You know it's irrational, but suddenly you're hyper aware of everything you're not. You laugh a little too quickly at his next joke. You nod without really hearing. You hide it well, at least, you think you do.

Lucifer

He catches the shift in you almost immediately. The falter in your tone, the way your gaze drops to the ground, hands suddenly too still. He’s attuned to subtle changes, he’s had to be, as the eldest, the one who notices when things go unspoken. And when he sees you look at that passing woman with something quiet and sharp in your eyes, it clicks. He doesn’t comment right away. Instead, he adjusts his pace so that you’re closer to his side. The back of his hand brushes yours.

“You know,” he says softly, “I’ve spent centuries surrounded by beings who try to manipulate attention. But I’ve never once been distracted from what I choose to keep close.” He pauses, turning his head to look at you. “And that’s you.”

Lucifer isn’t always good at emotional tenderness. But when he sees you shrinking into yourself, it rattles him more than he shows. He doesn’t press for explanation. He simply gives you his steadiness, his presence, and a hand that lingers a little longer when he reaches for yours.

Mammon

At first, he doesn’t get it. You go quiet, your smile fades a bit, but you’re still walking next to him, still laughing at his dumb jokes, just a little less like yourself. Then it hits him. He remembers the look you gave that other woman, the way your eyes followed her, then dropped away like you didn’t want to be caught comparing. Mammon isn’t the best with emotional nuance, but when it comes to you? He notices everything.

He panics a little internally. Did he say something wrong? Did someone look at you weird? Why’re you suddenly not smiling the way you usually do when you’re with him?

So he stops walking, right in the middle of the street. “Oi. What’s with the face?” he asks, softer than usual. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.” You try to wave it off, but he shakes his head. “Look, I don’t care who walks by. You think anyone else even exists when you’re around?” His voice cracks a bit from the sincerity. “You’re it, alright? You’re my favorite damn view.”

Then he grabs your hand and keeps walking like nothing happened, but his grip stays firm the rest of the way.

Leviathan

Levi doesn’t catch on at first. He’s too in his head, muttering about a limited-edition figurine he spotted in a shop window. But when he looks over and you’re not reacting like you normally would, he stumbles. “Did I… say something weird?” he asks, immediately assuming it’s his fault. Then he remembers her, the siren who walked past with all the self-assured grace he thinks he’ll never have. And he sees how you looked after her, the quick withdrawal into yourself. His stomach turns. He knows that feeling. He lives that feeling. Being second-best. Invisible. Not enough.

So he sidesteps his usual awkwardness. “Hey, um… if you’re feeling... y’know, weird or off or like, not... good enough or whatever... can I just say—that’s a total crit fail on your perception roll.” You blink, caught off guard, and he rushes on, red in the face. “You’re like... S-tier. I mean that. You’re the only one I feel like I can be this version of me around.” He offers you his sleeve to hold instead of his hand, because he’s still Levi. But the sentiment couldn’t be more real.

Satan

It’s a fleeting moment, but he sees it. The stillness in your expression after the woman passes, the way your voice flattens ever so slightly. You think you’re hiding it well, but Satan knows you too intimately not to notice the cracks. And what really cuts is how you don’t say anything. You just swallow it down like it’s not worth bringing up. He walks in silence for a beat, processing. Then, softly: “She wasn’t even half as radiant as you are when you talk about something you love.”

You glance at him, surprised, and he meets your gaze without flinching. “I know you won’t tell me what you’re thinking. But I want you to know... I saw it. And I see you.” He reaches for your hand, not to pull you along, but just to hold it in his own. “You don’t have to be louder, or flashier, or anything other than who you are when you’re with me.”

He doesn’t push the topic, doesn’t ask you to explain. He just slows down his pace, like he’s willing to match your mood and walk with it for however long it takes.

Asmodeus

He absolutely notices the woman. It’s hard not to, she’s practically dripping with seduction magic. But Asmo’s glance is automatic, casual, already forgotten… until he sees the way you tense beside him. You mask it well, but not to him. You go quiet. You stop making eye contact. His heart sinks. “Oh, darling,” he says, suddenly stopping short and turning to face you. “You felt that, didn’t you?”

He can feel the shift in your energy, the way you’re pulling into yourself. His voice gentles, loses the usual lilt. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re not enough. Even I get insecure sometimes.” He offers a small, honest smile. “But when I look at you… there’s no one else I’d rather have beside me.”

Then he does something uncharacteristically quiet: he leans in, rests his forehead against yours, and whispers, “You’re beautiful. In ways she’ll never understand.”He doesn’t need you to say anything back. He just slips his arm around yours and holds on, tighter than before.

Beelzebub

He doesn’t notice the woman at all. He’s too focused on whether you’ve had enough to eat, if your shoes are comfortable, if you’re enjoying the walk. But he notices you, how your energy shifts, how your smile fades into something tight and practiced. You try to hide it, but Beel knows the rhythm of your emotions like he knows the beat of his own heart.

He slows his steps, gently bumping your shoulder. “You okay?” he asks, voice low and careful. You nod, of course. You always nod. He stares ahead for a while, chewing on the silence like it’s something hard to swallow.

“I don’t really care what anyone else looks like,” he says eventually. “I care about you. I care about how you laugh, and how you sit beside me even when I’m eating enough for five people. That means more than anything." Then, in that gentle, unwavering way of his, he takes your hand and carries the silence for you. No pressure. No expectations. Just warmth. Just Beel, anchoring you when you start to drift.

Belphegor

He sees her. He sees you seeing her. And he sees you instantly pull away from him in that quiet, invisible way: how your hand doesn’t quite brush his anymore, how your expression dulls like you’ve slipped into some private shadow you don’t want to name.

Belphie gets angry about it, not at you, but at the world that made you feel like you had to compare. That made you feel like less. His hand finds yours again, firmly. “You thinking dumb shit again?” he murmurs, voice heavy with sleep and something else… something protective.

You try to brush it off, but he doesn’t let go. “You’re not allowed to hate yourself around me,” he says simply. “That’s the rule.” He tugs you just a little closer, leaning his head on your shoulder as you walk. “If you’re gonna shut down, I’m still staying right here. Might even take a nap standing up just to prove a point.” It’s his way of saying: I see you. And I’m not going anywhere.

Diavolo

He notices the other woman, sure, but only because your hand suddenly feels smaller in his, your steps a little slower. You don't say anything, but Diavolo's joy dims as he watches you retreat into yourself. He’s not oblivious. His life has been full of people trying to catch his eye, but yours is the presence he’s grown to crave.

“Hey,” he says gently, stopping the both of you. “Look at me.” When you do, reluctantly, quietly, he leans down a bit to meet your gaze. “There is no spell, no charm, no allure that compares to you.” His tone is softer than usual, reverent even. “Do you think I fell for you because of some illusion? I’ve ruled a kingdom for centuries. I’ve seen beauty in a thousand forms. But no one has ever made me laugh the way you do. Or made me feel understood.”

He brushes a hand against your cheek with heartbreaking gentleness. “You don’t have to say what you’re thinking. Just… let me remind you of who you are to me.” He tucks your hand into his arm like it belongs there and walks on, making the whole Devildom feel like it orbits around you.

Barbatos

He senses the change in your mood before you even feel it fully. Your steps become measured, your energy tight. Barbatos is deeply attuned to the unspoken, and though he notices the woman too, he’s far more focused on how you subtly retreat into yourself. He doesn’t draw attention to it immediately. He simply shifts his body closer to yours, not pressing but present.

Then, after a quiet beat, he speaks. “It’s interesting, isn’t it?” he muses aloud. “How easily we mistake someone else’s flash for our own dimness.” You glance at him, startled, but he offers only a small, knowing smile.

“You shine differently. Not loudly. Not demanding. But with depth. Grace. Thoughtfulness. Anyone can catch the eye, but not everyone holds the heart.” Barbatos pauses, as though considering time itself. “And you hold mine.”

He doesn’t say much more, he rarely needs to. But when he offers you his arm again, you feel the strength of it, a quiet anchor reminding you: he chose you. And he always would.

Solomon

He notices everything, the woman, your reaction, the subtle shift in your posture. You’re trying so hard to hide it, but he knows the signs. He’s been around long enough to see that kind of pain wear grooves into people.

He doesn’t call it out directly. Instead, he tilts his head and says, “You know, I’ve met sirens who could stop armies with a single glance. But not one of them has ever made me want to stay.” He lets that hang in the air for a moment before adding, “You do.”

When you blink, unsure how to respond, he offers a rare, genuine smile, less teasing, more honest. “You’ve got a stubborn light in you. The kind that doesn’t need to scream to be felt. That’s what caught me.”

He’ll nudge your hand, light against his own, as if offering you the choice: speak or stay silent. Either way, he’s not going anywhere. “Come on,” he says, softer now. “Let’s go somewhere quieter. Just us.”

Simeon

He notices, not just the other woman, but the way you go quiet. How you withdraw without a word, folding into yourself like a page creased by habit. His heart aches, not just for your sadness but for the effort you make to hide it.

He slows his pace to match yours, letting the quiet settle before saying, “There’s a kind of beauty no glamour can touch.” You glance at him, unsure whether to brush it off. He offers you a gentle smile, the kind that makes it feel like the sun’s peeking through your clouds.

“I’ve lived among angels, watched starlight bloom in the Celestial Realm… but none of it has ever made me feel the way I do when I see you.” His words are soft, unflinching. “And I see you. Even when you try to disappear.”

Then, without asking, he loops his pinky with yours, quietly grounding, quietly sincere. “You don’t need to say anything. But I’m here. Always.”

Mephistopheles

He doesn’t notice right away, too busy monologuing about something minor and theatrical, until you suddenly stop contributing. It takes a few seconds for the silence to register, and then he glances at you. Your face is neutral. Too neutral. “Oi,” he mutters, nudging your side. “Where’d you go just now?”

You give him a practiced smile. It’s almost enough to fool him. He follows your gaze, sees the woman walking away, and instantly connects the dots. His jaw clenches, not out of jealousy, but fury at the self-doubt flickering in your eyes. “Pfft,” he scoffs, too loud on purpose. “Overdressed and underwhelming. Wouldn’t last a second in a real conversation. You? You could destroy me with one look, and that’s before you’ve had your morning tea.”

He says it like a joke, but his eyes betray the sincerity. “Next time your thoughts try to trick you like that… just tell them to shut up. Or let me do it for you.” Then he threads your arm through his dramatically. “Now come along, my love. You’ve got a face worth showing off.”

Thirteen

Thirteen clocks the siren in an instant, and rolls her eyes so hard it’s a wonder they stay in her skull. But when she looks back at you and sees the way you’ve suddenly gone quiet, the light dimmed in your expression, she stops dead in her tracks. “Hey. Don’t do that.”

You blink at her, startled. “Do what?” She squints at you, then squints harder. “That thing where you act like you're fine but you’re actually spiraling over some glittery bitch who couldn’t outsmart a single one of my traps.” You try to brush her off, but she doesn’t let you.

“Seriously,” she mutters, moving to stand in front of you. “I’ve seen you face down demons, chaos, me—and that’s what gets you? That?” She jerks her thumb back toward the siren. Then, more softly, “You don’t see it, but you level me. Every time you laugh. Every time you keep showing up.” She nudges you with her elbow. “You don’t gotta talk. Just… don’t disappear, okay?” Then she throws her arm around your shoulder and grins. “Let’s go cause trouble. Hot people like us can get away with anything.”

Raphael

He notices the subtle shift immediately, your quiet withdrawal, the way your gaze drops when the other woman passes by. He’s always been keen on observing the small details, and this one pulls at something deeper in him. Raphael rarely speaks out of turn, preferring to keep his thoughts measured and precise, but when he senses your mood darkening, he allows himself to be a little more direct. “Is something troubling you?” His voice is calm, steady—a gentle anchor in the swirling discomfort you feel.

You try to brush it off, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he stays close, matching his pace to yours as you walk. “You often doubt yourself,” he says quietly, “but I see strength in you that you don’t even realize you have.”

He pauses, looking at you with unshaken sincerity. “The world might throw illusions of beauty your way, but what matters most isn’t what you show on the surface. It’s the kindness you carry, the care you give, the healing you inspire. Those things don’t fade, no matter who passes by.”

Raphael offers you a small, rare smile, not the serene healer’s smile, but a warmer one meant only for you. “You are more than enough. And I am here, always ready to remind you of that.”

[urvampygf]

UNFINISHED BUSINESS

( Bsf!Chris x Inexperienced!Reader )

after getting interrupted by Matt and Nick before they could go all the way, Reader and Chris find a way to continue where they left off, pushing the finally boundary.

Pt. 1 / Pt. 2 / Pt. 3 / Pt. 3.5

-`✮´- 5.9k

contains. tension, pining, flirting, teasing, making out, fingering, protected p in v. getting caught?

Chris's hair was still messy, face lightly flushed like he just jogged a mile. His brothers noticed, but neither of them cared enough to ask.

No matter how hard she tried, Y/N's eyes always found their way back to him, like her body hadn’t caught up to the part where they stopped.

Just forty minutes ago, his jaw had gone slack. Eyebrows drawn tight. So lost in the pleasure she gave him, he didn’t even care how he looked.

That image kept replaying—over and over again—burned into her mind. She couldn't stop thinking about him.

Ever the clueless motherfucker, he was sprawled on the couch, hand casually half-down his sweatpants, lazily scrolling through his socials like he wasn’t a living reminder of what they left hanging. He was totally oblivious to what the sight of him did to her.

“I’m fuckin’ tired…” Matt mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he stood up and stretched.

“Kid, it’s only ten,” Chris said, looking up at him with a confused squint.

Matt didn’t bother responding—just shuffled off to his room without another word.

Chris glanced over at Nick, who offered a lazy shrug. “He was whinin’ about bein’ tired the entire fucking car ride.”

Chris scoffed under his breath, shaking his head.

A beat of silence settled over the three of them—awkward for two, unnoticed by one.

Nick stayed glued to his phone, scrolling through TikTok comments without a clue.

Chris’s eyes drifted to Y/N. His hand slid down to his thigh, rubbing awkwardly over the fabric with his palms like he's trying to think up something to say.

“Can we do something? The silence is killing me,” Y/N said, her voice a little smaller than usual.

“Whaddaya wanna do? Watch a movie? Watch RuPaul?..” Nick offered, muttering the last part like he was trying to hide it under the rest.

Chris groaned, throwing his head back and dragging his palms over his face. “We’re not watching RuPaul.”

He didn’t realize it, but the way his neck stretched, the low whine in his voice, the way his shirt rode up just a little—none of it was helping Y/N keep her mind clean.

Her eyes darted quickly away, like that would help.

“Well, fuck me then! I’m just throwin’ shit out there!” Nick exclaimed, flailing his arms toward Chris like he was shooing off a particularly annoying bug.

Y/N bit back a grin, an idea forming. “We could watch a show…” she offered, mimicking Nick’s mutter and smiling to herself.

“What show?” Chris asked, finally dropping his head to look at her. His arms sprawled across the back of the couch.

She just wiggles her eyebrows with a smile.

Chris narrowed his eyes. “If you say Supernatural—so help me God.”

“Whaaaat? It’s a good show!”

“You literally only watch it ‘cause you think Jared Padalecki is hot.”

Nick snorted, shaking his head at them like they were kids on a sugar high.

“Okay, yeah, that’s why I started, but I stayed 'cause the plot.”

“The plot being the six-foot-four star of the show? Yeah, okay—sure,” Chris shot back, his tone full of mock annoyance.

Nick stood with a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the popcorn.”

“Why do you know his exact height, weirdo?” Y/N teased, eyes narrowing with a grin.

Chris pushed off the couch without warning, moving to sit beside her—closer than necessary.

She barely had time to react, assuming he was just annoyed enough to want to argue at arm’s reach.

But really, he’d just been waiting for a reason to be near her again.

“Just one measly google search’ll tell ya,” he muttered, voice lower now, tone shifting between them.

Y/N swallowed, nervously looking off to the side, attempting to escape his proximity.

Chris knows he’s got her now.

A slow, proud grin creeps onto his face as he leans in just enough to make her nervous.

He nods toward her, squinting his eye just a bit.

“What’d you mean earlier?” he asks, tone light but undeniably loaded. “Ya said, ‘you will.’ I will what, hm?”

Y/N’s breath hitches.

“I–… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled, eyes falling to his pink lips before she could stop herself.

Chris’s grin only widened. He gave a single, smug nod before leaning back against the couch, arms spread lazily like he knew he won.

“Sure ya don’t.”

“YOU WANT BUTTER ON THE POPCORN?” Nick shouted from the kitchen, his voice trying—and failing—to rise above the microwave.

The tension between them shattered instantly.

Both of them burst into stifled laughter, hands flying up to cover their mouths as their heads drop, shoulders shaking.

“Sure!” Chris called back, his voice cracking with the effort of holding it together.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Chris slouched into the couch cushion beside her, arms crossed like it physically pained him to give in.

“One episode,” he grumbled. “This is gonna be so dumb.”

Chris and Nick sat on either side of Y/N, the three of them squished together on the couch, the TV casting a faint blue glow across their faces.

“You’ll survive,” Y/N said with a triumphant grin, unable to hide her satisfaction as she pressed play.

Chris behaved for the first twenty minutes of the episode—arms crossed, head tilted back, only occasionally rolling his eyes. But when he noticed both Nick and Y/N were fully absorbed in the screen, he decided to push his luck.

Under the blanket draped across their laps, his hand drifted toward Y/N’s thigh—slow and casual, like he wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary.

She didn’t react.

So he let it creep higher, fingertips tracing slow, lazy circles into her skin.

Y/N’s breathing faltered—soft and shaky. Her eyes flicked over to him for half a second before snapping back to the screen, her posture straightening just enough to give her away.

Chris smirked, but said nothing. His gaze was still fixed on the TV, although he wasn't pretending to pay attention anymore.

Y/N darts her eyes between the brothers, heart pounding as she checked whether Nick had noticed what Chris was doing under the blanket. He hadn’t.

Hesitantly, she slowly spread her legs, just enough to make room for his touch. Her upper body stayed rigid, jaw tight and shoulders tense.

She didn’t dare look at Chris. She couldn’t. The embarrassment forced a heat to her cheeks. All she could do was stare at the screen, pretending she was still following the plot.

Y/N kept her composure—even as his fingers toyed with the waistband of her shorts, slow and unhurried. She glanced over at him, trying to be subtle.

He didn’t meet her gaze. Just sat there, eyes on the screen, that stupid fucking smile playing on his lips like he was proud of himself.

Her heart rate quickened. He was enjoying this—way too much.

His hand slipped beneath her shorts, warm fingers brushing against bare skin. Y/N let out a soft gasp before she could stop herself.

Somehow, Nick didn’t notice.

But Chris did.

Without missing a beat, his fingers kept moving slowly, deliberately. His eyes never left the screen, but that cocky, barely-there smile remained.

Y/N pressed her thighs together instinctively, her breath hitching again. Her face burned, but she didn’t stop him.

“Ugh, I’m so fucking tired. I’m sorry, Y/N, I gotta stop—I’m like passin’ out over here.”

Nick’s voice cut through the quiet, causing Chris to flinch, quickly pulling his hand from her panties. He let it rest casually on her thigh, trying not to draw attention.

Y/N could hear him sigh, soft and irritated. She watched him shift his hips, subtly adjusting himself.

“Aww… you can't thug it out for ten more minutes?” she teased, giving Nick a mock pout—like that was what she was upset about.

“Maybe we can finish it tomorrow?” Nick mumbled, already heading upstairs.

“Okay, we can do that,” Y/N replied softly, forcing a small smile even though her excitement was clearly lost on the room.

She watched him disappear down the hall, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“I’ve been tryna get y’all to watch this fuckin’ show with me for months…” Y/N murmured, not exactly sad—just tired.

Chris blinked slowly, then tilted his head toward her. “M’sorry. Wanna finish the episode?”

He finally looked at her. Really looked.

His eyes were soft, apologetic in a way that made her heart flutter.

She shrugged, lips twitching into a faint smile. “You’ll just complain the whole time.”

“Maybe,” he muttered, nudging her leg with his knee. “But I’ll still watch it.”

“…Will you?” Y/N asks, voice barely above a whisper, eyes lifting to meet his.

“Me and you both know we’re not gonna actually watch it.”

It wasn’t a flirty line, more of a statement.

Chris’s gaze lingered, squinting subtly as her processed her words.

“You wanna elaborate on that?” he asked, lips tugging into a grin, though his voice was quieter than usual.

He turned to fully face her now, knee brushing hers beneath the blanket—teasing, sure, but the care in his expression is evident.

“Chris…”

Y/N searches his eyes, trying to force him to see it. She's too nervous to say it aloud.

He blinks slowly, like he’s gathering the courage to meet her there.

Then he moves to hold her hand in his; the touch sweet and warm.

“Yes?..” he murmurs, eyes locked on hers, his voice quieter than it’s been all night.

Y/N’s eyes fixate on his pink, pouty lips, like she can't keep them off of him.

Chris catches on, a knowing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Slowly, his hand slides to rest on her waist.

This pulls her attention back up to his face.

“Whaddaya want, hm?” He teases, his voice condescendingly sweet; he knows what he's doing.

She shifts uncomfortably, sighing and glancing away as if to escape his gaze. But her quiet, hesitant voice betrays her.

“You already know…”

Chris tilts his head, eyes scanning her face as he studies every flicker of hesitation. He leans closer and whispers,

“Yeah… but I wanna hear you say it.”

His lips graze her neck, that toothy grin never leaving his face. He presses a gentle kiss to her skin, pulling her closer by the waist.

Y/N’s eyes flutter shut, her fingers instinctively burying themselves in his soft, chocolate hair.

“C’mon… tell me.” His voice is low, a playful taunt that makes her pulse race, his lips trailing up to her jaw.

“F-fuck Chris—.. not fair…” Y/N whispers breathlessly, tilting her head back slightly as if trying to escape the tension without really wanting to.

Chris chuckles softly against the warm skin of her neck before pulling back, his eyes scanning hers with want.

“I’m not doin' anything 'til ya tell me,” he murmurs gently, a playful squint in his eyes as his cocky smirk fades into something more amused, but genuine.

He waits for her answer, but his gaze softens, almost like he’s trying to guide her through the hesitation rather than just challenge her.

Y/N looks up at him through her lashes, a small pout playing on her lips, her face flushed with warmth. Her head tilts slightly to the side, like a puppy who’s just heard a word it likes.

Chris’s smile widens, like he can’t help it. The teasing is gone now, replaced by amusement. “Why you lookin’ at me like that?” he asks, his tone playful and easy, as if this were any other regular situation.

He scans her face, his eyes flicking between hers like he’s trying to read her mind, figure out what she’s thinking that’s got her looking at him like that. She doesn’t answer right away, just shifts her eyes down to her lap.

“I don’t know…” she mumbles with a shy smile, laughing softly like she’s trying to shrug off the weight of the moment.

Chris tilts his head and leans down, ducking low enough to look up and catch her eyes—even as they try to stay hidden.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice just above a whisper, coaxing her gaze up to meet his.

“Talk t’me,” Chris says, voice low and easy. “Why you so shy? After allat big talk earlier?”

There’s no flirt in his tone—just a friendly tease, trying to make her smile and settle her nerves.

Y/N huffs a quiet laugh through her nose. “’Cause I know what comes next… 'nd I’m nervous,” she admits, voice small, eyes still glued to her hands in her lap.

Chris doesn’t respond, but his hand slips down to her thigh, warm and steady. The silence stretches between them.

“What comes next?” he asks softly, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear her say it anyway.

She finally looks up at him, her teeth catching her bottom lip. “I want it to be you, Chris,” she whispers, just loud enough for him to hear.

His expression softens. He lifts a hand to her cheek, his thumb brushing slow and sweet across her flushed skin.

“Yeah?” he murmurs. “You sure?”

Y/N nods slowly, and without missing a beat, Chris scoops her off the couch and throws her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing.

“Chris!” she squeals, laughter bubbling from her chest as he strides toward his room.

It worked. He eased her nerves, got her laughing again.

She’ll never know it, but every offbeat, ridiculous thing he does when she’s around—it’s for that smile.

He drops her onto the bed with a grin; gentle, but clearly in a rush.

Her giggles fade as he climbs over her, locking his eyes on hers.

Chris tilts his head like he’s thinking. “You getting déjà vu, or am I alone here?”

His eyes drag down her body, a dorky smile on his face, like he knows he's being annoying.

Y/N rolls her eyes with a grin. “You mean when you were jerking off to me orrr when you were begging to eat me out?”

Chris shoots her a deadpan look. “Hilarious,” he mutters, lips twitching in a flat, unamused smile.

They lock eyes, neither of them moving, just breathing in sync. “You gonna kiss me, or just keep starin'?” Y/N asks, her voice quiet but daring.

Chris scoffs in amusement. His hand slides to her waist, squeezing lightly as he leans closer, his other forearm planted beside her head.

“Say please,” he murmurs, low and deliberate.

Y/N hesitates, then mumbles a small “Please,” her voice barely above a whisper.

“Atta girl,” Chris breathes, his voice low and lazy, before leaning in and pressing his lips to hers—soft at first, then deeper, more passionate.

He wastes no time, letting his hands roam eagerly over her body, savoring the feel of her under his touch. With a firm grip, he parts her thighs, settling between them—his knee brushing up just close enough to where she needs him.

The kiss turns messy quick; hot and wet, like everything he held back earlier is finally being let loose.

“Chriiiis, c’mon…” Y/N whines beneath him, her voice soft and impatient, breath catching against his lips.

“What? Not a fan of foreplay?” he murmurs into her mouth, smirking against her plump, parted lips. His mouth drifts lower, brushing over her jaw before latching onto the skin just below it, sucking slow bruises that dive her crazy into the delicate skin.

She doesn’t play into his game. Instead, her fingers slip down to the waistband of his sweats, tugging gently, almost shy. A silent question.

Chris doesn’t slow his heated assault on her neck, lips wet and insistent as he shuffles out of his sweats. His hands move with purpose now, sliding around her back and dragging her flush against him, like he needs every inch of her close.

Y/N hisses softly when his teeth graze her neck, soothed a moment later by the warm swipe of his tongue. Chris’s hands slide beneath her shirt, thumbs pushing the fabric upward—just like last time. Only this time, there’s nothing sweet about it. His touch is hungrier, more desperate, like he’s starving for her.

Her shirt hits the floor fast, followed by her bra in the same rush. Chris’s mouth finds her nipple instantly, his tongue flicking over the sensitive nub, wet and eager. He tugs her upright without effort, and somehow—neither of them could say exactly when—she ends up straddling his lap.

Y/N’s head tips back, lips parted, eyebrows knitting tight as a soft breath escapes her. One hand curls into the back of his neck, fingers winding through his hair. Chris pulls away from her flushed skin just long enough to glance up at her with a smirk.

“Y'really like my hair, huh?”

An embarrassed scoff slips from Y/N’s lips. “Shut up,” she mutters, unable to bite down her smile.

Chris just laughs, hands tracing down her back before giving her ass a playful squeeze.

“Chris!” she squeaks, swatting his chest with wide eyes and a shocked, reluctant smile.

His lazy eyes look up at her smugly as his fingers slip under the waistband of her pants, grabbing a handful of bare skin. “What? Actin' like you didn’t already know I’m an ass man.”

Y/N shoots him a deadpan glare, but her face softens as she feels her pants being eased down.

“I’ll be gentle,” Chris mumbles, his voice low as he leans in, lips brushing against hers. “Promise.”

He lowers her onto her back, guiding her down off his lap with care. Then, with a painful slowness, he slides her pants down her legs—a deliberate contrast to the last time they were like this.

Y/N’s breath quickens as the nerves creep in, her eyes flicking up to his in search of reassurance.

Chris meets her gaze and holds it, then slowly pulls his shirt over his head—purposefully slow, like he’s teasing her with every second.

He leans over her to open the nightstand drawer, grabbing a condom and tossing it lightly onto the bed beside them. She tenses beneath him, and he catches it instantly, shaking his head with a soft laugh through his nose.

“Relax,” he murmurs, amusement behind his eyes and subtle smile but his voice warm. “I’m not gonna jump in dick first or anything. I gotchu—I’ll take my time, promise.”

Y/N nods softly, her eyes flickering across his bare chest. She’s seen him like this countless times before, but now—looming over her, leaning in to press gentle, open-mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulder—it feels different.

Suddenly, the sight of him without a shirt isn’t casual anymore. Every subtle dip and line in his torso makes her skin warm, sending a flush to her cheeks and neck.

“Ya starin’,” Chris teases, lazily smiling down at her as he sits back on his heels—like he’s presenting himself.

Y/N’s eyes go wide, heat rushing to her face. She quickly turns her head, burying it in her shoulder.

“Sorry…” she mumbles, voice meek and unsure.

Chris drops his head, biting back a laugh, shoulders shaking with the effort.

He rests his hands on her thighs, eyes darting up to meet hers with a teasing glint.

Chris leans back down, lips brushing along her jaw before trailing slowly to her collarbone. “You okay?” he asks softly between kisses, hands resting warm and steady on her waist.

She nods, a little breathless, and he grins.

“Good. Just makin’ sure. Don’t want you gettin’ all shy on me.”

“I don’t— I don’t get shy…” Y/N mumbles, embarrassment heating her cheeks even further.

Chris’s lips twitch into a grin. “Sure you don’t.”

His hand glides slowly along her waist, then dips lower to gently grip beneath her thigh, easing her legs apart.

His fingers trail over her soaked folds, middle and ring finger gathering her slick before slowly pushing them in.

“Mm.. Chris—” she moans out, the tension in her shoulders slowly melting as his fingers move inside her.

His lips trail up her jaw, nipping gently between kisses, pulling more of those quiet mewls from her throat.

Chris curls his fingers. Every movement feels featherlight, like he’s scared he might break her.

“Y’so tight,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “Ya know it’s gonna hurt a lil' no matter how careful I am, right?”

His voice is soft, laced with concern. He doesn’t want to scare her; but more than that, he doesn’t want to hurt her. Not now, not ever.

Y/N bites her lip and nods, eyes trailing slowly over his body before darting back up at his.

“Yeah… but I want this, Chris.” Her voice is soft and steady. She cups his face in both hands, thumbs brushing his cheeks.

“I want you.”

His gaze locks on hers, scanning her eyes like he’s searching for a reason to stop, an excuse to pull away and not cross that final line.

Fucking my best friend. The thought alone nearly makes him flinch.

But he doesn’t find doubt in her eyes. Only trust and love.

It almost scares him off.

Almost.

But he leans in anyway.

“I want you too… s'fucking bad, baby.” His voice is rough and breathless; he's so fucking desperate to feel her around him.

In a rush, he pushes his boxers down just enough, fumbling as he reaches for the condom on the bed. With one hand, he strokes himself a couple of times, her wetness still coating his fingers, mixing with the slick already gathering at his tip.

Y/N’s eyes flit to his aching length, and her face flushes with heat. She’s seen his cock before, just earlier today actually, but this feels real. She knows what’s about to happen, and yet it still feels impossible to prepare for.

Chris tears the condom wrapper open carefully, using his teeth to split the edge. He blows gently into the center to make sure it’s the right way around—a small gesture, but not one he usually bothers with. Normally, he’d just roll it on in a rush, too wrapped up in the moment to care. But this isn’t like before. With Y/N, he slows down. He doesn’t want to take chances, doesn’t want her to feel anything less than safe. With her, every detail matters.

Chris carefully rolls the condom down over his hard dick, making sure it’s on properly. He glances up, catching the nervous look on Y/N’s face.

“Hey, nah, don’t look like that,” he says softly, shaking his head. “You’re okay, ma. Jus' lemme take care of you.”

He leans over her, brushing a sweet, chaste kiss to her lips. “I’ma make ya feel good. Trust,” he mumbles softly as he lines himself up with her entrance. He doesn’t push in, resting there to give her time, letting her adjust to the moment.

“I know you will… I’m just—still scared,” Y/N breathes against his lips, her voice quiet and almost ashamed. Her eyes flick between his, wide and searching, like she’s holding onto his gaze for confidence.

Chris’s eyes soften as he slides the head of his cock slowly through her folds, already covered in her slick. He leans in to press a kiss to her shoulder, mumbling against her skin between warm, lingering pecks, “Don’t be. I’ll be good. Jus' tell me when you’re ready.”

He breathes in deeply through his nose, like he’s trying to keep his desire at bay.

Y/N sighs shakily, ghosting her hands up his torso, fingertips brushing lightly over the faint lines of muscle like she’s anchoring herself. “Okay… I’m ready,” she whispers.

Chris grips her hip, his thumb tracing slow, calming circles into the soft flesh as he carefully guides himself in. He pauses once the head slips past her entrance, eyes shifting up to study her face.

Y/N’s attention is fixed where their bodies connect, her breath cutting short in her throat; until the pressure overtakes her focus and she throws her head back with a sharp gasp, eyes fluttering shut as her mouth falls open.

“You doin’ alright?” Chris questions, his voice low and a little strained—like he’s holding himself back with everything he has.

Y/N nods wordlessly, eyes squeezed shut, too overwhelmed to look at him again.

“Yeah… don’t stop,” she breathes, her quiet words coming out as a needy whin.

Chris exhales softly, easing in a little more, his movements slow and careful. He's more gentle than he's ever been, not hurting her being the only thing on his mind despite the blinding ache in his cock.

Y/N hisses at the pressure, her body tightening instinctively The stretch is overwhelming, too much all at once.

“I know, I know. M'sorry… just—just breathe, take a sec. Let yourself adjust,” Chris comforts her with a soft and steady voice as he moved his hand from his dick to her other hip, no longer needing to guide himself.

She finally blinks her eyes open, meeting Chris’s heavy gaze. Just by the look on his face, it’s clear he’s holding back more than he ever has.

The sharp pain from the stretch between her legs lingers, tears welling in her eyes from the pressure alone.

Y/N’s hands come up to rest at the sides of his neck, pulling him into a needy kiss. It’s messy although softer this time, less hurried and more sensual.

He pushes in a bit further, drawing a gasp from her lips. His mouth trails along her skin, kissing and sucking sweetly at her shoulder as her hands shoot up into his hair.

Chris wants to make another snarky comment so desperately, but he refrains—choosing to whisper soft praises into her neck instead.

“Ya doin’ s’good f’me, mama… so fuckin’ good,” he groans out, voice slurred and heavy with need. “You’ll feel good in a bit, promise…”

He pushes in deeper, nearly bottoming out. Y/N lets out a quiet, strained whine that makes him freeze. Chris pulls away from her neck, searching her face with wide, worried eyes.

“Did I hurt you? M’so fuckin’ sorry, baby.”

His voice is heavy with guilt as he presses a soft kiss to her lips, the gesture an apology all on its own.

“I—I’m okay,” she whispers, her voice breathy and small. “Please… don’t stop.”

The way the words leave her lips makes it sound like she’s almost ashamed of how badly she wants him; so quiet and desperate, pathetic even.

Chris’s eyes darken at her words, and he finally bottoms out with a slow, measured push before pausing to let her adjust. The sting is deep, intense—hurting so bad yet so fucking good.

“Fu-uck… so fuckin’ tight,” Chris growls lowly, dropping his head until his forehead rests against her shoulder.

The change in posture gives her a clear view of his back, the soft muscles stretched over his shoulder blades, flexing with every breath he takes.

“Please tell me I can move—” he begs hastily, cutting himself off with a sharp exhale. His voice cracks, just barely, but it’s enough.

The sound of him so whiny, breathy, and desperate makes the dull ache in her core begin to fade.

It’s the most needy he’s ever sounded. And it’s so fucking hot.

Y/N rolls her hips subtly against his, pulling a groan from deep in his throat.

“Shit—ya killin’ me here, Y/N,” he mumbles, lifting his head to look at her with soft laughter between words, like he's trying to cover up his embarrassment.

She can’t help the small smile that pulls at her lips. For once, she’s the one driving him crazy.

“Yeah? Am I?” Y/N teases, biting back a moan just to get at him.

Chris scoffs, shutting her up in his own little fucked up way. He pulls almost all the way out of her slick cunt before slowly pushing back in, getting sucked deeper with every inch. He's gentle, he knows he doesn’t need to be rough to put her in her place.

A real laugh rumbles from his chest when she gasps, whimpering and squeezing her eyes shut. The little smile disappears from her face, replaced by a harsh lip bite.

“You were saying?” he taunts, rolling his hips against hers.

“Fuck, Chris—” Y/N gasps, clawing at his back, needing something to ground herself as the pain gives way to aching pleasure.

“Mm, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” Chris mumbles, sucking in a breath before diving in to kiss her; the kiss hungry, open-mouthed, and desperate.

His hips roll gently against hers. One hand hooks under her thigh, pushing it toward her chest. The new angle makes her gasp, her back arching instinctively as he hits deeper.

Chris lets the sounds spill from her lips until she can’t kiss back anymore, her moans loud and desperate.

“Shhh… baby—don’t get me wrong, I love listenin’ to ya,” he teases, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. “But my brothers? Not so sure ’bout them.”

He cups a hand gently over her mouth, brushing a tear softly from her cheek with his ring finger, like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.

Chris pants softly above her, eyes still hazy with focus. “Feelin’ good now?” he ask smugly, although there's genuine care clear in his tone.

Y/N stares up at him, glaring past his hand still pressed gently over her mouth. Her eyes drop to it, then back up to him in a pointed silence.

He smirks, still slowly dragging in and out of her.

“Just nod.”

She nods faintly, eyes rolling back as he picks up the pace ever so slightly. Chris’s mouth falls open, a low moan escaping as his eyes squeeze shut in pleasure.

“Shit—s’fucking good,” he mumbles, dropping his head lazily against her shoulder, like he doesn’t want her to see how undone he's become for her.

Chris’s hand slips from her mouth to grip her hip instead, fingers pressing into her skin like he’s grounding himself.

“F-fuck—right there, please,” she whimpers, words straining slightly as her back arches off the bed.

Chris huffs a laugh out through his nose. It's not that he finds this funny, no. It's because he still can’t believe this is real.

Fucking his best friend. Hearing her moan and talk filthy under him. Something he’s thought about more times than he’d ever admit, but never dared to actually do.

“I gotchu,” he reassures lowly. “Jus’ let go f’me.”

He dips his head to capture her lips again, his tongue teasingly brushing over hers, deepening the kiss until she’s breathless. When he finally pulls back, his wet, parted lips linger against hers. They pant into each other’s mouths, eyelids heavy and faces flushed.

Their eyes lock, searching, studying—like they’re both trying to memorize this exact moment, which they are. Chris’s hips stutter, his rhythm faltering with his climax creeping in, but he holds on. He needs her to finish first. Needs to feel her fall apart around him.

“So pretty like this, baby… fuck,” he whispers, his voice caught between a sigh and a moan.

“Chris—oh fuck, I’m close,” she gasps, her voice trembling as her hands clutch at his shoulders, fingernails digging small, painful crescent shapes into the skin..

“Yeah? Shit—pussy’s so fuckin’ tight… like you were made for me,” his filthy words don't fall on deaf ears; and they would have caused Y/N to blush madly in any other circumstance, but now she's too caught up in how good he's making her feel.

Her breath hitches with each sharp thrust, her body trembling beneath him as her mouth forms into an "o" shape, eyes squeezed shut. “Chris… I—” Her words falter, a broken moan cutting her off as her hips jerk involuntarily, pushing back against him.

The tension in her core threatens to snap, her eyes squeezing shut as the sensation overwhelms her. Her legs shakes subtly, breath picking up, body growing hotter. She doesn’t need to say anything; he can feel it. The way her walls clench around him, the way her body tenses harder with each sloppy thrust.

“Fuck—cum f’me, baby. I gotchu—fuuuck…”

Chris’s forehead falls against her shoulder once more, his breath hot and ragged against her damp skin. His hands grip her hips like she’s the only thing keeping him alive, voice cracked and desperate like he’s holding on by a thread.

A string of curses spill from Y/N’s lips as Chris pushes her over the edge. Her body trembles beneath him, walls clenching tight as she unravels around him, pleasure crashing over her like a wave.

“Look at you… takin’ me so well. Such a good fucking girl.”

His cock pulses inside her, still hard, still aching. He kisses her again. Not as cautious this time, but still careful, rolling his hips in smooth, deliberate motions. The room is quiet except for the sound of skin on skin and their shared breaths.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, even though the look in her eyes says she wants more.

He leans down, his voice desperate, lips ghosting over hers. “Say somethin’, please… just—fuck, talk to me.”

Y/N blinks up at him through the haze, soft and spent but still trying. “You feel s'fucking good, Chris,” she whispers, broken and honest.

That’s it. That’s all it takes.

His hips stutter, rhythm breaking as he looks up at her through his lashes, a strangled moan ripping from his chest. “F-fuck, baby—m’gonna cum—”

His brows are furrowed, lips parted in a silent “o” as he mirrors the expression she wore earlier. Everything about him in that moment is hot, but what's really sexy is the eye contact. He doesn’t look away, not even for a second, staring straight through her as he cums.

Chris drives in a couple more times, then stills, his shoulders trembling as he finally lets go. His breath catches, muscles tight as he pulses inside the condom, buried deep inside her sore, used up pussy.

He groans her name into her skin like it's all he can do, hands trembling subtly where they hold her. He doesn’t move for a moment—just stays there, panting, overwhelmed, in total bliss.

“Y’okay, mama?” Chris mumbles into her neck, his voice soft and worn with exhaustion.

“Mhm,” she hums, arms looping around his neck to pull him closer, holding him against her.

He lazily lifts himself to look down at her, still catching his breath. “Good first time?” he questions, licking his parted lips.

“Better than good,” Y/N replies softly, her gaze warm as she looks into his bright blue eyes, still dark with lingering lust.

Chris smiles down at her, sighing as he slowly pulls out. The emptiness that follows makes Y/N wince, her eyes squinting as she watches his softening cock leave her.

Chris sits back on his heels, carefully rolling the condom off, tying it, and then slipping out of bed. He disappears into the bathroom for a moment, tossing it into the garbage before returning to her side.

A comfortable silence sits between them. Y/N shifts closer, wincing slightly from the soreness but craving the warmth of his skin. She nestles into his side, her voice slightly hoarse against his chest.

“Thank you.”

Chris hums in response, quiet and content, eyes fluttering shut as he rests his chin gently on top of her head.

Their breathing falls into sync. Without a word, Chris’s hand drifts up to lazily play with her hair as he reaches for his phone on the nightstand. Y/N’s eyes flutter closed, her body finally relaxing as sleepiness starts to take over.

That is, until Chris suddenly lets out a snort of laughter—sharp and unexpected—jolting her halfway back to consciousness.

“What?” Y/N mumbles, blinking up at Chris as his chest trembles with quiet laughter.

He doesn’t answer, just turns his phone toward her, one hand covering his mouth.

On the lock screen, notifications are stacked—most ignored—but one stands out in bold at the top.

A text from Matt, sent less than a minute ago:

“Fuck quietly next time please.”

a/n: heyooo!! told ya i was gonna post it today, just never said how late🌝 sososo SO sorry for the hold up, i rewrote this forty times, took a break from it, and still kind of hate it. this is the final part of my little bsf!chris x inexperienced!ready journey!! (unless yall rlly want a second trilogy👀) i thank everyone who stuck with this lil mini series and to those who r just now finding this, thx for checking me out!! if you wanna be added to my taglist for future works of mine, simply comment on this post!! (in the future i'll have specific taglists for certain series, au's etc, i promise.. im just too lazy rn😁) again, thank u sm for giving me a chance, luv ya!!

dividers: all me!! feel free to use, they're just lines and emoticons after all, nothin fancy😭

taglist!!: @courta13 @hannahsturniolo @that1fangirll @h3arts4harry @leila-marie4 @chrispycremedonut @kitkatbar1275 @classystrawberrysweets @jjmaybankswifes-blog @w-rdddd @loversrockx0 @sturnixblogger @sophand4n4

©.urvampygf

[lizard-ratt]

This is a little Steddie fic I did for funsies. if you see a mistake, no you didn't. Other than that, I hope you enjoy <3

Now on Ao3!

It is November 23rd, 1989 when Steve Harrington and his soulmate are ready to meet each other. In a world with 8 billion people, only one percent of those people are blessed enough to have a soulmate. Even less of those people are ever able to meet those soulmates. Those who do meet them tend to live in the same town, or maybe one town over from them. 

This is for a few reasons, but a big one is that in order to find your soulmate, you get chased by a incorporeal goose until you land at your soulmate’s feet, and the Goose will only disappear to leave you alone when you kiss your soulmate on the mouth. 

Steve figured that if he would have the privilege of having a soulmate, he’d land with someone in Hawkins, get married, have three and a half kids and a dog while living in a white picket fence home that had been pre-approved by his parents and work at his father’s company until he died.

Until everything else happened, and he ended up in an apartment with his best friend and went completely no contact with his parents. He stopped thinking about soulmates after that. 

So, when he woke up that morning, and he came face to face with a pissed off goose, he didn’t know how to react beyond shouting about a goose all the way out of bed and out the front door. Luckily for him, ever since the mall fire, Robin and him and both become very light sleepers, so she was able to shout, “Good luck, Dingus, love you!” before he went careening out the front door, not even able to put on a pair of shoes. 

Steve’s first hope was that he would be chased to another apartment in the building, but things didn’t pan out that way. He did, however, pass by quite a few people on their way to work. A chorus of people shouting Good luck! at him gave him little boosts, but other than that, he just focused on his breathing and getting away-away-away. 

Steve’s next hope would be that his soulmate would at least be, like, next door or something, but that didn’t pan out, either. Steve, instead found himself ushered onto a bus a few blocks away, stray pebbles digging into his bare feet as he ran. The goose didn’t let up until he sat down in the seat at the very back of the bus, the designated Goose Seat for that intended purpose. 

Someone sat nearby him and gave him a smile, ignoring the Goose entirely as it glared daggers into the side of Steve’s head. She was on the older side, maybe in her late fifties to early sixties. She carried a purse with her and sat with her ankles crossed. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, with a little flower tucked into the side. 

“The miracle of soulmates,” she said. “Everyone always talks about how exciting it is, how lucky you are to have one. No one ever talks about how miserable it is to be chased out of bed in the morning, then have to run for your life all across town.”

Steve snorted. “I couldn’t even put on a pair of shoes this morning.”

“I noticed, dear,” she replied with no less pleasantness in her voice. “My name is Delores.” 

“Steve.” He nodded at her. “When’d you meet your soulmate?”

Her smile warmed. “I was eighteen. He was nineteen. I got chased to his job, a bakery. The first thing he did was apologize to me. Told me he would have given me a ride if he knew I was coming.” Her smile had something more to it, something a little sad. “I spent twenty beautiful years with my Richard. I was so lucky to have met him.”

The bus stopped and she stood. She reached into her purse and grabbed a hard candy, passing it to Steve quickly. “There. Good luck finding your soulmate. I’m sure the running will be worth it.”

“Thank you.”

“I live just above the bakery. Come visit me once you’ve met your soulmate. It’d really make my day.”

She left and Steve’s mood soured quickly, left alone with the bus driver and the goose. There were quite a few stops before the goose rose a fuss again. Quite a few people sat near him to ask him about the chase. Couples, children, elderly folk. No one else had any story like Delores, no other person had a soulmate, but they were all curious, nonetheless. 

The best visit, in Steve’s opinion, was the nice man who handed over some sandals that he had just purchased. “You could probably use these more than me, right now.”

The bus driver passed him a water bottle on his way out, and Steve took off running again, chased onto another bus, this time headed to indianapolis. A few people passed over some snacks for Steve to munch on, while a kid passed over a copy of The Hobbit for Steve to read while he waited. 

While Steve did end up giving himself a headache, he didn’t particularly hate the book either. Still, as the bus slowed to a stop, he passed the book back to the kid and took off running the second the door was open. No one even attempted to stand until Steve was off the bus, which he appreciated. The goose, still just as pissed as it was when he woke up that morning, nipped at his heels until he climbed onto yet another bus.

He would have complained, if his only other option was traveling on foot, which sounded rather miserable. He just decided to appreciate the innovation of technology and ignore the goose as it stared daggers into the side of his head yet again. 

Of all of the places for Steve to end up, he found it rather discouraging to be herded into an airport. For two whole seconds, he let himself hope that his soulmate was someone getting off of a plane, and that he would meet them at the terminal and it’d be all dramatic, like some kind of movie, but then he showed up right as the person announced the boarding onto the plane and those hopes died. 

He hustled it to the back of the plane and sat in the designated Goose seat, and huffed angrily at the Goose. “I’m getting real sick of this,” he announced to the goose. “Just so you know.”

Planes, being the nicer form of transportation than buses, allowed Steve some more luxuries, such as a full meal, more water, and an outfit given to him by another passenger on the plane. It was a simple outfit, just some plain jeans and a t-shirt, both that were a little too tight, but it was better than wearing his pajamas, so he took them thankfully and got changed in the bathroom, much to the behest of the Goose.

Landing in New York, Steve had a very wonderful (sarcastic) feeling that he would find himself on another bus. 

He found himself on another bus.

So, after eight hours of travel, when Steve found himself running, full tilt, through a concert venue, he found himself getting excited. It didn’t even process that he was running through the back stage (barrelling past several security personnel in order to do so) he was just excited to finally be done with the Chase.

It didn’t hit him that maybe there was something more to it until he went crashing onto the stage in front of thousands of people. 

The music came to a sudden stop, loud instruments halting awkwardly. Steve would have apologized for intruding, been mortified at being observed by so many people, but he didn’t have much mental space to think because the Goose was still pissed. If he had the mental space, he would have seen, for a brief moment, a look of fear cross over the faces of the musicians as a random stranger ran onto stage, quickly replaced with understanding as the Goose followed. 

Steve didn’t see any of this, instead making a break for it to go running off the other side of the stage, but the Goose disappeared from behind him and reappeared in front of him, stopping his retreat. 

Try running the other way? Same story. 

“Woah, there, Big Boy, why don’t you take a second? It doesn’t look like the Goose is actively chasing you anymore.” The lead singer placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder and the Goose sat down, looking somewhat peaceful after hours of nothing but pure anger. 

“Oh thank God!” Steve practically fell over on top of the guy in relief. He took a few deep breaths and stood back up. “Okay, gimme a kiss, then I’ll head off stage, you can finish with your concert and we can talk after. Sound good?”

The guy in front of him, he decided, was exactly his type. It made sense, from a logical standpoint, but from an emotional standpoint it kind of pissed him off. Big brown eyes, curly hair, expressive, he checked off every box. He and his bandmates dressed like they didn’t care what others thought about them, and they all looked at Steve like they thought he was insane and they loved that about him.

The guy, who Steve would have to introduce himself to at one point or another, processed it, then nodded. He swung his guitar behind his back and leered at Steve. “Better make it good, Pretty Boy.” 

That, that Steve could do. “Of course, I have to make an impression, don’t I?”

He pulled the guy in by the front of his shirt, planted his feet, and went as far as to dip the guy, his Soulmate. If Steve were anyone else, he would have given a chaste peck to the cheeks, but he was not anyone else. He was, as lovingly described by Robin, a bit of a whore. He licked into the guy’s mouth to a background of cheering and wolf whistles from the rest of the band. 

Upon breaking the kiss and standing, the guy looked kissed out. Red painted his cheeks, his already wild hair looked even wilder after Steve ran his hands through the curls, and he looked at Steve with such a shocked expression that it was cartoonish. 

“I’ll see you after the show, Big Boy,” Steve gave Eddie a swift smack and the ass and walked off. 

He found a PA or whatever and asked for the nearest phone. She looked stressed, like she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to be treating him, seeing as he was a band member’s soulmate. Still, she took him to the green room, and gestured to a phone attached to the wall. 

He called Robin.

He barely let her speak before he jumped into it. “Robin! You will not believe where I am right now!”

“Steve! It’s been forever, where are you that it took you… eight hours?!” She sounded half stressed and half excited.

“New York City! My soulmate is a musician, I think for some rock band or something. Wait, hold on, I’m in their green room right now, there’s gotta be something… AHA! Corroded Coffin!” 

“...” 

“Robin? Do you recognize the name?” 

“...”

“Rob?”

“... you mean the band that Dustin and Mike have not shut up about since they became popular?” Robin asked slowly, as if speaking to a child. 

“Robin, you have to know by now that I filter out most of what Dustin and Mike say when they get into rant mode, because half of the time they’re talking about science I don’t understand and the other half of the time they’re talking about DnD, which I also don’t understand.” 

She huffed a laugh, which he took as a win. 

“You know Dustin’s losing his mind, right? I told everyone when you left this morning, and they’ve been checking in every hour on the hour to see if you’ve called yet.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Does your soulmate know you have kids?” She asked. 

Steve asked to consider it. “I’m sure he’ll be okay with it. I mean, the universe put us together for a reason, right?” 

Robin chuckled. “With your luck, he’s gonna have kids, too. Then, you’ll have to adopt seven more kids and be the happy parents of fourteen children.”

“Oh, god, don’t even joke about that. I think that would actually kill me.”

“Nah,” Robin huffed. “You have mom powers the likes of which the world has never seen. You’d rule at it.” 

Steve scoffed. “Let everyone know where I am. I’ll call you in a little while to see what their reactions are.”

“You are telling me everything, okay? As your platonic soulmate, it is my right to know everything that happens.”

“Obviously. I’ll call you when I call you. Love you, bye!”

“Love you!” The phone clicked and Steve grinned before following suit. 

Later, after the band finished with their concert, after Steve and Eddie got to know each other, then they got to know each other, Steve and Eddie regaled Robin with everything that happened in such brutal detail that the band vacated the green room in order to get away from hearing them talk. 

“You guys are disgusting,” was Robin’s official opinion. “I love it.”

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

(pre-relationship) Frank Langdon x Reader idea:

These two don't know yet that they like each other yet -- "I only got [Reader/Frank] a pack of sour gummy worms because they haven't eaten yet, their blood sugar is probably low and I wanted to be nice" "What do you mean 'it's weird that I gave [Reader/Frank] a long hug'? They just lost a patient, they needed the comfort" "I'm asking [Reader/Frank] all these in-depth questions because I'm their friend, it's normal for friends to want to know more about each other" etc. etc. etc. Just to set the scene. It's unbearably obvious to everyone else, but not to them.

Anyways. They're at that stage of their (inevitable) relationship. And here comes a patient -- some smarmy dude who thinks he's charismatic, but is really just a creep -- who needs a truly impressive number stitches (or a thousand pieces of gravel that needs to be picked out one by one). Reader gets stuck having to care for this guy, and he's just making it a miserable time for Reader. Reader feels trapped, not sure if they could stop and get someone else to help out instead, when Frank steps in and freaks out a little on this guy (nothing bad, but definitely not professional lmao).

Later, Dana (who's scolding Frank for his unprofessional behavior) tells him "dude. Would you even be reacting that strongly if you didn't have feelings for Reader?" Boom -- Frank's sudden epiphany that oh, maybe I do like Reader.

(Meanwhile Kiara is checking in on Reader, and due to their conversation Reader also realizes oh, maybe I do like Frank.)

Hold Up

main masterlist | the pitt masterlist

summary: you and frank realize you have feelings for each other 

pairing: dr. frank langdon x female reader

rating: R for language, pitt level heavyness

word count: 1.2k

warnings: death of a child, man being creepy toward reader, that's it i think 

author’s note: i absolutely love this idea anon, and i hope i did it justice <3

“How many hours left in this shift?” Langdon sighed and leaned next to you against the front desk.

You checked your watch; “Four hours and twenty-seven minutes,” you answered his question.

“So excited to get the fuck outta here,” he said.

“What’re you doing after work?”

“Nothing much; just me, my dog, my TV, and take out.”

“Ah, sounds like a dream, Langdon,” you said.

“Oh, it is, for sure,” he laughed. “I noticed you haven’t eaten in a while, so I got you these from the vending machine and the food cart.” He handed you a sandwich and a pack of sour gummy worms.

“My favorite! Thanks, Langdon,” you exclaimed.

“Anytime,” he replied and got right back to work.

Robby noticed the little interaction and furrowed his brows as he watched you head to the break room for a quick lunch.

“What was that about?” he asked Langdon, walking up next to him.

“Y/n hadn’t eaten yet today,” Frank replied nonchalantly. “Her blood sugar’s probably low, I was just being nice.”

“So you bought her candy?”

“I knew she wouldn’t bother eating unless I lured her in with sour gummy worms,” Frank chuckled. “Smart, right?”

“Uh… yeah. How’d you know she likes sour gummy worms?”

“Everybody does.” Frank shrugged before being called to help a patient.

“No, they don’t,” Robby mumbled to himself.

**

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” you told him. You reached out and held his hand in yours as you repeated the words. “This was not your fault.”

“I know,” he said, but you knew he didn’t believe himself. Frank had just lost a patient, a ten-year-old car accident victim.

You asked if he wanted a hug, and he replied by wrapping his arms around you. You returned the gesture and squeezed him tightly.

“Wasn’t your fault,” you said again.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

After a minute or two, he pulled away from the hug. He thanked you again before he went to help another patient.

“What was that about?” Dana asked you, her brows furrowed.

“What was what about?” you asked half-heartedly, looking up at the screens to pick out a patient.

“Why were you hugging Langdon for so long?” she asked.

“Oh, he lost a patient,” you replied.

“So you had to hug him for that long?” she chuckled a little. 

“He needed the comfort.” You shrugged. “Ooh, nose job gone wrong? I’ll take that one,” you said and went to go grab the patient.

“These two, I swear,” Dana scoffed with a laugh, shaking her head with amusement.

**

“If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?” Frank asked you.

“Ooh, that’s a tough one. I’ll get back to you on that,” you said before being whisked away to help a patient. 

“What’s up with you and Langdon?” Samira asked. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, focused on the patient and not fully paying attention to Dr. Mohan.

“Why are you and Langdon going back and forth with so many questions?”

“Oh, we’re playing this game where we ask each other a question every time we see each other. It helps pass the time.”

“Huh, strange game…”

“We’re friends,” you started, still fully focused on the patient, “we just want to get to know each other better.”

**

There was one patient no one wanted to take because they’d met him before, and all he did was hit on the women working there the whole time. You reluctantly took him as your patient (without Langdon knowing), and you had begun to despise him. His rude comments and gestures were only getting worse.

“C’mon, sweetheart; you, me, a bottle of wine at my place? Whaddaya say?” He smirked and reached out to touch you.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Frank exclaimed, much louder than he intended, and gained the attention of everyone around him. 

“Nothing–” the man started, but Frank cut him off.

“You listen here, Dr. Y/l/n is not here to date you, and by the looks of it, she doesn’t want to be here at all. Now you are gonna man up and take a ‘no’ like a normal person, or I will escort you out myself.” Langdon stood there, fuming mad. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the man gulped.

“Yes, doctor,” Langdon corrected.

“Yes, doctor,” the man replied.

“Is everything okay in here?” Robby poked his head in. 

“Everything’s fine,” Langdon said.

**

Kiara wanted to talk with you briefly after the incident, although you told her you were fine.

“I’m sure you were happy when Dr. Langdon came to your rescue,” she remarked.

“Yeah, he’s a great friend,” you said.

“I’ve been meaning to talk with you about that. You know you’re allowed to date your coworkers, right?”

“Are you asking me out?” you teased.

“I meant,” she laughed a little, “you and Langdon.”

“Oh, we’re just friends.” You furrowed your brows.

“Sure,” Kiara said. She said something else before she left, but you weren’t really listening.

Hold up… did you like Langdon?

Meanwhile, Dana was busy scolding Frank for his behavior with the patient.

“Come on, Dana, you know I was doing the right thing, standing up to that guy,” Langdon scoffed.

“We all know how annoying that man is, but you can’t threaten a patient!” Dana exclaimed.

“I was only doing what no one else had the guts to do,” he replied. “Ask anyone, they wanted to do the same thing!”

“Come on, Langdon, you’d only be reacting like this if you had feelings for Dr. Y/l/n!”

“I–” Frank stopped. Hold up… he did have feelings for you, strong feelings. “I don’t have feelings for her?”

“Sure, kiddo,” Dana said in a playfully condescending tone before she turned to walk away.

“We’re just friends!” he called out after her.

“Well, your ‘friend’ is in the breakroom if you wanna go talk to her,” Dana said, using air quotes as she continued to walk away.

“Shit,” Langdon mumbled to himself. 

“Go,” Robby said to him.

“Huh?”

“Go talk to her, I’ll cover your patients.”

“Thank you.”

**

“So… that was something,” Langdon said, as he walked into the breakroom and found you staring at the vending machine. 

“There are no sour gummy worms in this vending machine,” you pondered out loud, wondering where Langdon had gotten the bag from earlier.

“No, but the one on the second floor has them.”

“You went all the way to the second floor just to make sure I ate something?” you asked.

“Yeah.” Langdon stood in front of you. “There’s a lot I’d do for you.”

“Really?”

“I think I have feelings for you,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, I know that’s not what you want to hear.”

“I think it’s exactly what I wanna hear, Frank,” you admitted. “I think I have feelings for you, too.”

“So… what do we do now?”

“You could kiss me, if you wanna.”

His face lit up before he leaned down and kissed you deeply. His hands went to your hips as yours went to his cheeks. You stayed locked in the passionate kiss for what felt like hours before you both broke away.

“I think you might be my best friend,” Langdon whispered, making you smile widely.

“I think you might be my best friend, too, Langdon.”

[beah388love]

What’s for dinner?

Full Masterlist Lando Norris Masterlist

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!reader

Summary: lando does the “what’s for dinner bitch?” Prank on you

Warnings: swearing, bad language, yelling!!! (Please tell me if I missed any?!!!)

Lando had seen a new trending prank on tiktok and he never really liked pranking you but he wanted to see your reaction for this prank. The bf would go up to his gf and ask “what’s for dinner bitch?” And he wanted to see how you’d react, he was a little scared since you never really got mad or angry but he has seen a couple times and when you do get mad you get mad.

Lando set up the camera and his it behind a pan on the kitchen side, you hadn’t noticed him walk in yet but he could see you cooking dinner and cutting up vegetables.

The smell of whatever you was making was heavenly, lando took a breath and gave a cheeky smile to the camera.

Lando built up the courage and said it “what’s for dinner bitch?” He said quite harshly and you lifted your head slowly not looking over to him, you set down the knife in your hand and tilted your head at him.

Max who was sat on the sofa on his phone also looked over at lando confused and looks over to you awkwardly until he remembered the trending prank on tiktok.

“What did you just call me?” You asked raising an eyebrow and he gulped fidgeting with his hand.

“I said you’re a bitch” lando said rudely again still trying his hardest not to break character and apologise to you and kiss you all over there and then.

You looked at him with furrowed brows and he rolled his eyes at you “where’s my fucking dinner? I’m hungry!” Lando yelled at you and you scoffed.

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that!” You yelled back and threw the tea towel in your hand at him before walking out the room angrily and slamming your bedroom door.

“Dude…your in deep shit��� max said as he leaned over the sofa looking over at your now locked bedroom door, lando bit back a laugh as he quickly turned off his phone. Max took a photo of lando who gave him a cheeky grin and posted it onto his insta story.

maxfewtrell added to his story

User1: what happened why’s he a bad bf?!

User2: WHATD I MISS?!

User3: check landos tiktok

Maxverstappen1: what did you do…

Maxverstappen1: you’re in trouble.

User4: LMAO

oscarpiatri: I could feel her glare through the screen.

Lewishamilton: this is why I get scared to race her…

User5: NOT THE WHOLE ASS GRID BEING SCARED OF HER

User6: LANDO UR SO MEAN

User7: I CANT BELIEVE HE DID THE PRANK

User8: HE BETTER NOT HAVE CHEATED ON OUR Y/N

“Baby? Babe…open the door!” Lando said with a teasing smirk as he pulled on the door handle.

“Baby..?” Lando said more serious and not with a playful and teasing grin.

“Y/n? Open the door.” He said again as he knocked on the door loudly all whilst max watched from leaning on the sofa.

“Y/n. Baby? Please open the door! It was a prank! I didn’t mean it! I swear- it was just for a tiktok-“ Lando was cut off by the door unlocking and your arm sticking out with a pillow.

“What’s that for?” Lando asked confused

“It’s for you. You’re sleeping on the sofa.” You said sternly as you pushed the pillow into his arms before shutting and locking the door again.

Max pursed his lips with a ‘ooh your in trouble’ look and lando sighed throwing his head back.

Lando walked over to max with his head hung low and max couldn’t help his laughs.

“It’s not funny.” Lando glared with a pout as he threw his pillow on the sofa and laid down, “your in the doghouse man” max teased and lando rolled his eyes.

“I regret making doing that stupid tiktok.” Lando pouted and max smirked at his small pout.

“At least you know she wouldn’t let you call her a bitch?” Max said poking fun and lando glared at him.

maxfewtrell added to his story

User1: Lando what did you do?!

User2: omg I just saw his TikTok-

User3: she’s scary when she’s mad.

User4: you deserve it tbh

Maxverstappen1: you deserve it man

Georgerussel: it was too much for little lando Norris

User5: LMAOOO

User6: NJSIWHSJAKK

Lando shuffled on the sofa the whole night, max had left to go into his bed and lando glared at him jealously.

Lando has fallen asleep for abt two minutes before waking up again, he couldn’t fall asleep without you in his arms or next to him. He missed feeling your feet touching his or hearing your breathing or feeling your hair touch his chest.

He huffed as he got up walking tiredly towards your door with his pillow in his arms. He knocked but the door opened from his touch…it was unlocked?

He walked in quietly and smiled when he saw you passed out on your bed hugging your pillow, lando carefully climbed in next to you but unfortunately for him it woke you up “mh…” you groaned and stirred “sh..sh baby..go back to sleep” Lando said as he pulled the pillow from your grip and put it under your head and instead snuggled you into his arms.

Placing kisses on your head and you sighed in relief “I love you…” you mumbled making him smile “I love you too” he whispered back as he pressed a long kiss to your temple.

“I’m still mad at you…” you mumbled again and he smirked at you, you was half awake but still held a grudge.

“I know. I deserve it” lando grinned as he rested his head in your neck breathing in contently.

“You know I would never call you a bitch for real though right?” Lando asked you in a serious tone and you nodded into his chest “I know lan” you smiled as he stroked his fingers up and down your back.

“Good.”

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hi🤍 could you write something about Charles toddler having a crush on one of the drivers ( one of your choice) and then she found out that the driver is taken?? A cute one where Charles " help" her go through her first heartbreak.

I love your writing ☁️

Little Heartbreak

The Ferrari garage was buzzing with activity, but Charles had only one priority—his little girl. Yn sat on the counter beside his engineers, swinging her legs back and forth, her tiny Ferrari shirt slightly oversized but still adorable. She had her favorite stuffed bunny clutched in one hand and a bright smile on her face.

“Papa, can we go see Carlos?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head up at him.

Charles chuckled, running a gentle hand through her soft curls. “You really like visiting him, don’t you, mon amour?”

Yn nodded enthusiastically. “He’s so nice to me! And he’s funny! And…” Her cheeks turned a little pink as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “I just like him a lot.”

Charles bit back a smile. He knew his daughter had a small, innocent crush on Carlos. Every time they visited the Williams garage, Yn would light up, practically bouncing on her feet when Carlos greeted her. And Carlos, always kind and playful, made time for her no matter how busy he was.

“Alright, ma princesse,” Charles said, lifting her into his arms. “Let’s go say hi.”

Yn squealed excitedly, wrapping her arms around his neck as he carried her toward the Williams garage.

When they arrived, the Williams team was working, mechanics moving around as engineers talked in hushed tones. But Yn’s eyes were locked on him—Carlos, who stood near his car, laughing with a woman.

Charles immediately recognized her—Rebecca, Carlos’ girlfriend. She was beautiful, kind, and Charles had always thought they made a lovely couple.

Just as Charles was about to get Yn’s attention, Carlos leaned in, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss on Rebecca’s lips. It wasn’t anything dramatic, just a gentle kiss filled with warmth and love.

Charles didn’t even have time to react before he felt Yn’s little body stiffen in his arms. Her tiny hands clutched his shirt tightly, and when he glanced down, he saw her big green eyes wide with surprise.

Carlos and Rebecca turned, spotting them. Carlos grinned. “Charles! Yn! Hey, come here.”

Rebecca smiled warmly. “Hi, Yn. Carlos has told me so much about you.”

Yn’s lower lip trembled, and Charles’ heart clenched. Oh, no.

Carlos took a step closer, but before he could say anything else, a tear slipped down Yn’s cheek. She sniffled, quickly rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to be brave. But Charles knew his little girl too well.

“Mon amour,” Charles murmured softly, adjusting his hold on her. “What’s wrong?”

Yn let out a tiny, shaky breath before whispering in his ear, “Il m'aime pas.” (He doesn't love me)

Charles felt his heart break in two. His little girl, experiencing her first innocent heartbreak, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Carlos’ eyes widened in realization. “Oh no, Yn, I—” He reached out, but Yn buried her face in Charles’ chest, tiny hands gripping his shirt tightly as soft sniffles escaped her.

Rebecca, noticing the situation, placed a gentle hand on Carlos’ arm, giving him a sympathetic look.

Charles gave them both an apologetic smile. “It’s okay, really. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Carlos still looked stricken. “I didn’t mean to make her sad…”

“I know,” Charles reassured him before rubbing Yn’s back soothingly. “I think we should go, mon cœur.”

Yn didn’t say anything, just nodded against his chest. Without another word, Charles turned and walked back toward the Ferrari garage, his daughter curled up in his arms, her little heart hurting for the first time.

When Charles stepped back into the Ferrari garage, Lewis was standing near the espresso machine, sipping his coffee. He took one look at Charles and Yn and immediately raised an eyebrow.

“What happened?”

Charles sighed, sitting down on the couch, keeping Yn close as she sniffled into his shoulder. “A little heartbreak,” he murmured, running his hand up and down her back.

Lewis frowned before setting his coffee down and crouching in front of them. “Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Yn peeked up at him, her eyes watery. “C-Carlos has a girlfriend…”

Lewis blinked, glancing at Charles, who just nodded. Understanding dawned on his face, and he softened immediately.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Lewis cooed, reaching out to gently wipe a tear from Yn’s cheek. “I know that must feel really sad.”

Yn sniffled, nodding. “I… I wanted to marry him.”

Lewis chuckled softly. “Oh, my love, that’s very sweet of you.” He pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back. “But I promise, one day, you’ll meet someone even more special, and they’ll love you just as much as you love them.”

Charles smiled at Lewis gratefully, watching as his daughter relaxed in the older driver’s arms.

Lewis pressed a kiss to the top of Yn’s head. “And you know what always makes me feel better?”

Yn wiped her nose. “What?”

Lewis grinned. “Flowers.”

Charles’ eyes lit up. That was it. He gently pulled Yn back into his arms. “Mon amour, will you stay with Tonton Lewlew for a few minutes?”

Yn nodded, resting her head on Lewis’ chest as the Mercedes driver rocked her gently.

Charles quickly slipped away, hurrying out of the garage.

Charles returned ten minutes later, a beautiful bouquet of colorful flowers in his hands. He smiled when he saw Lewis still cuddling Yn, quietly telling her a story.

“Mon cœur,” Charles called gently.

Yn looked up, her eyes still a little puffy but filled with curiosity when she saw what he was holding.

“These are for you,” Charles said, kneeling in front of her. “Because you are the most beautiful, sweetest girl in the whole world.”

Yn gasped softly, reaching out to touch the petals. “For me?”

Charles smiled warmly. “For you, ma princesse.”

Yn threw her tiny arms around her Papa’s neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, Papa!”

Charles kissed the top of her head. “Always, mon amour.”

Lewis ruffled her hair. “See? Flowers always make things better.”

Yn giggled, holding her bouquet close. “They’re so pretty.”

Charles smiled, relieved to see his little girl happy again.

And just like that, Yn’s heartbreak was replaced with warmth, love, and the understanding that no matter what, her Papa would always be there to make things better.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves! I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[jjkamochoso]

How You React To JJK Characters Describing You as Their Type When Todo Asks

Fluff

Request from anon! This was a super fun one, thanks again for the request!! Also, I didn't do Mai, Miwa or Momo with this one, but added in Nanami; if you would like me to add the other girls back in, lmk and I absolutely will!! :)

JK Men x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Part 2 to this fic; same premise here, the students are all in a big group when the question was asked! <3

Yuji:

“Yuji! What kind of person is your type?”

“My type? Uh, let’s see,” he said, putting his thumb and forefinger to his chin in thought. After he gave his reply, you noticed everyone glancing between him and you.

“What? Is there something on my face?” you asked, wiping your cheek.

“No, you dummy,” said Nobara, “didn’t you hear what Itadori’s type was?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So? So? He described you perfectly,” she hissed. You thought back to his answer and your eyes went wide, realizing she was right. You looked over at the pink haired boy.

“Is that true? Your type is me?” you asked him, not caring that everyone was deeply invested in your conversation.

“Yeah. Is that… okay?” he asked, nervously ruffling his hand through his hair.

“Only if you ask me on a date,” you said with a playful wink, walking away. Yuji just stared at you, hearts in his eyes, until Nobara smacked him.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go ask them!”

He hurried after you, eager to ask you out.

Megumi:

“Tell us, Fushiguro, what kind of person is your type?”

Megumi rolled his eyes. “Things like that are so unimportant. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters more than you think. It tells you everything you need to know is about a person. Like how you’re a wimp for not answering,” said Todo, crossing his arms with a triumphant smirk.

“Fine,” replied Megumi through gritted teeth, tired of Todo’s pestering, “you really wanna know? I’ll tell you.”

As he described his dream person, you felt your face get warmer and warmer.

“That, um, kind of sounds like me, doesn’t it?” you whispered to Yuji.

“There’s no ‘kind of’ about that, y/n,” he whispered back, just as surprised as you were. When Megumi saw you looking at him, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away, clearly embarrassed. You ran after him as fast as you could.

“Megumi, wait! I have to talk to you!” you exclaimed, halting him with a grip of his arm.

“I’m sorry, that was a big mistake, I shouldn’t have said anything-”

“I like you. A lot,” you confessed. “You’re my type, too.”

“R-really?” His voice squeaked and he quickly cleared his throat. “I mean, really? That’s good. Great. I’m… relieved.”

You chuckled at his adorable flustered state. “Me too. I guess Todo is good for something after all.”

Nobara:

“Kugisaki! What’s your type?”

“My type? That’s simple,” she answered, her bright bob swinging. As she described the kind of person she found attractive, you couldn’t help the giddiness bubbling up inside; she was describing you!

“Kugusaki? Can I talk to you over here for a second?” you asked, signaling her to follow you away from the group. Yuji, understanding what was happening, gave you a thumbs up.

“Do you have a crush on me?” you questioned. “Because the person you described sounded exactly like me.”

Nobara immediately went into the defensive, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Huh?! Nuh uh, that could be anybody here,” she replied, her face lighting up with a small blush.

“Oh. What a shame, I’ve had a crush on you for a long time,” you said, preparing to walk away. Nobara’s hand darted to your own, prompting you to stop.

“Wait! I… do like you, okay?” she mumbled, not meeting your eyes. “It’s just a crush, though, it’s not like I’m in love or anything stupid.”

You laughed lightly at her attitude. She was a piece of work, but if everything went well, she’d be your piece of work.

Maki:

“Zenin, spill. What kind of person is your type?”

“Do you really have nothing else rolling around in that tiny brain of yours?” Maki asked, obviously annoyed.

“Who would’ve thought someone as fearless as you would be scared by a little question, hmm?” a vicious voice from Mai said.

“I’m not scared, it’s a dumb question,” Maki replied, “but I’ll answer it anyway to get you idiots off my back.”

When she was done describing her type, you felt Yuta nudge you softly.

“Y/n, I think she likes you,” he said in a hushed tone.

“So what if I do, huh?” she said aggressively, overhearing what Yuta told you. The tension that overcame the group was uncomfortable, so much so that everyone left, leaving you and Maki by yourselves. She kept her eyes trained elsewhere, not wanting to meet yours.

“This whole thing was stupid. Forget I said anything,” she snarled.

“Maki,” you said with such softness that she actually looked at you, “I really like you. You’re my type, too.”

She scoffed as she looked away once more, hiding her warmed face. “You’re such a sap, you know that?”

Inumaki:

“Inumaki! What’s your type?”

“He can’t talk, you jerk,” you exclaimed defensively. You turned to Toge. “Just ignore him, okay? You don’t have to answer.”

“Salmon,” he responded, placing a hand on your arm to signal he was alright. He sighed as he approached Todo.

“Salmon salmon,” he told him, earning a confused look from Todo.

“Anyone care to translate?” the tall man asked. Toge rolled his eyes and tried again.

“Salmon salmon,” he said, this time making his pointing toward you more obvious.

“Your type is… L/n?” wondered Todo. Toge nodded meekly as you were overcome with butterflies in your stomach. He turned away from the group as Todo asked the same question to the next victim.

“Toge, I’m your type?” you asked, your voice shaking a little.

He nodded.

“Does that mean you like me?”

He nodded again. You immediately wrapped him in a hug, making him stumble back before wrapping his arms around you as well.

“I’ve liked you for so long now. I never thought I’d have Todo to thank for this, but I guess weirder things have happened.”

Yuta:

“Okkatsu, tell us, what kind of person is your type?”

“I can appreciate all types of people,” Yuta answered happily, making you smile. He was always so kindhearted!

“I don’t believe that,” replied Todo, narrowing his eyes. “You have to have one certain type of person you always find attractive.”

“I mean, I guess so,” he replied, starting to look nervous.

“And that is?” Todo raised an eyebrow.

“Um, let’s see…”

When Yuta was describing that person, you felt a tug on your sleeve. Inumaki was looking at you and you nodded in understanding.

“You picked up on that, too?” you asked, getting an enthusiastic nod in response. Yuta blushed when he noticed you watching him and quickly encouraged Todo to ask the question to someone else to keep him from embarrassing himself more. What he didn’t notice, until it was too late, was who Todo asked next.

“L/n! What’s your type?”

“That’s easy,” you said, your eyes never leaving Yuta’s as you smiled. “It’s Okkatsu.”

He could’ve sworn he died and went to Heaven right there!

Gojo:

“Gojo-sensei! What kind of person is your type?”

“Ooh, are we all playing a little get-to-know-each-other game?” asked Satoru excitedly. “I love it when the students bond like this.”

You were walking by the group when you overheard your fellow teacher getting involved in the kids’ antics so naturally, you stopped to watch.

“My type, hmm?” He was deep in thought, his forefinger to his chin. “Ah! Got it.”

As he was describing the person, the kids started snickering while looking at you. At first you didn’t understand why, but when it clicked, your first instinct was to grab Satoru by the back of his shirt collar and drag him away.

“Thanks for the fun!” he yelled, waving goodbye. When you were far enough away, out of sight and earshot of the students, you punched him in the arm.

“Ouch! Trouble in paradise already?” he teased.

“What the hell, Satoru? Our students aren’t supposed to know about teachers’ crushes on each other,” you reprimanded.

“What happens when we get married? They’ll know when they have to address you as Gojo-sensei. Or address me as L/n-sensei, I don’t care about the whole name situation,” he said airily, waving his hand around.

“You are truly impossible,” you said, rubbing your fingers on your forehead to ease your oncoming headache.

He poked your arm. “But you love me, don’t you?”

“I like you. And that’s trouble as it is,” you groaned, earning a smile and arm slung around your shoulder from the man.

“That’s enough for me, baby.”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“Noted.”

Noritoshi:

“Kamo! What’s your type?”

“I don’t want to play your nonsense games, Todo,” remarked Noritoshi, frustrated.

“The next head of the Kamo clan refuses to answer such an easy question? That tells me everything I need to know about your character,” smirked Todo.

Noritoshi scowled. “Don’t question my character over my disbelief in your stupid qualifications.”

“Admit it, Kamo. You’re scared,” teased Mai, which sent him over the edge. He explained his type to the group, finishing with, “-don’t ever ask me something so idiotic in the future.”

“So… your type is L/n,” said Todo.

“Yes.” Noritoshi’s eyes widened when he realized what he said. “No! Wait! I don’t…”

He stopped, coming to terms that the damage was already done.

“All of you get on my nerves,” he barked, walking away quickly. You hurried after him.

“Noritoshi,” you said after catching up with him, “I really like you. You’re exactly my type too.”

He studied your eyes for any sign of deceit, but he didn’t find any. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he let a small smile fall upon his lips.

“Maybe the brainless question was useful after all.”

Todo:

“Todo! What’s your type?” you asked the muscled man. He looked surprised at you speaking up, but immediately replaced that expression with a wide smile.

“You.”

You burst into laughter. “No, I’m being serious, Aoi. What kind of person are you into?”

“I am serious, you’re exactly my type. I think you’re really attractive.”

You were about to laugh again when you noticed he was being genuine.

“You’re not… joking?”

“You seriously didn’t know? You’re all he talks about or looks at,” said Noritoshi. “Even I’ve noticed that much.”

“So, what do you say?” Aoi addressed you with another smile. “You want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Yeah. That would be amazing,” you breathed out, still shocked at the outcome you weren’t expecting but would gladly accept.

Nanami:

“Nanami-sensei! What kind of person is your type?”

Todo’s loud voice made Kento stop abruptly in his tracks.

“I’m not a teacher so don’t address me as such,” he sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Secondly, that’s none of your business. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Nanamin!” Yuji exclaimed, blocking the exasperated man’s path. “It’s a harmless question! We just wanna know more about you.”

Kento observed the shining eyes of the children staring at him and he sighed again, this time more forcefully.

“My type is a person who is smart enough to stay far away from this troublesome group,” he grumbled, making a beeline for your laughing figure as you watched from afar.

“Not a fan of my students’ curiosity, Nanami-sensei?” you teased, causing him to groan.

“They’re much too nosy. I have no interest in delving into my love life with children.”

“How about with another adult, then?” you asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “I’d hardly call you an adult with the way you’re acting right now.”

“I’d be hurt if you weren’t right,” you replied. “C’mon, we trust each other. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Fine,” he relented, “but this isn’t how I pictured telling you. I was hoping for a more mature environment when confessing my romantic feelings towards you.”

You stood in shock at his sudden confession. You were joking with the man, not expecting him to come up with a real answer, but instead, he admitted he liked you.

“To make myself clear,” he said, noticing your lack of a reaction, “you’re my type.”

You stumbled over your words in your surprised state. “I… wow. I wasn’t expecting that.” You took in a deep breath to calm yourself. “That does make it a lot easier to say my type is overworked blondes named Kento.”

His lips quirked up into a hint of a smile. “You think I’m overworked?”

“I know you are.” You mustered up all your courage before continuing, asking, “How about you take some time off and join me for dinner later?”

Kento’s smile became much more prominent. “That was supposed to be my line, but that would be lovely nonetheless. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

[little-jana]

"She Said No"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: jealous Spencer, a guy flirting with reader, kissing

Words: 1.5k

Summary: After a case, a guy starts flirting with the reader. Spencer doesn't like that at all.

The bar was crowded, buzzing with music and voices overlapping in a chaotic harmony. The team had chosen this place to unwind after a long case, and though it wasn’t my scene, I didn’t want to be the only one to say no. I figured a couple of hours with a fruity drink and good company couldn’t hurt.

I stuck close to the bar while the others scattered—Garcia dragged Morgan to the dance floor, JJ and Will found a quieter corner to chat, and Emily and Rossi were already laughing over glasses of whiskey. Spencer was somewhere, probably lost in thought or nursing a single beer, but I couldn’t spot him right away.

I was halfway through my drink when a man slid into the seat beside me. I didn’t notice him at first, too busy scanning the room, but his voice broke through the noise.

“Looks like you’re flying solo tonight.”

I glanced at him, startled by his sudden proximity. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore an expensive suit that clashed with the casual vibe of the bar. His confidence was palpable, his smile overly polished.

“Not exactly,” I replied politely, lifting my drink. “I’m here with friends.”

“Friends?” he asked, leaning closer. “So, not a boyfriend?”

I frowned, my grip tightening around my glass. “No, just friends.”

“Good,” he said with a grin. “That makes this easier.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

He gestured to the bartender to get me another drink, ignoring the confused look on my face. “You looked like you needed some company. A guy like me can’t let a girl like you sit here all alone.”

My polite smile faltered. “I’m fine, really. But thanks.”

“Come on,” he said, undeterred. “It’s just a drink.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“She said no.”

I turned, surprised to find Spencer standing just behind me. His hands were shoved into his pockets, but the tightness in his jaw and the sharpness in his eyes told a different story.

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And who are you?”

“I’m her friend,” Spencer replied evenly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a weight that made the man pause. “And she’s not interested.”

“Friend, huh?” the man said, smirking. “Doesn’t seem like you’re her type.”

Spencer didn’t react to the jab, his expression calm but unyielding. “She already gave you her answer. I suggest you walk away.”

The man chuckled, shaking his head. “Whatever, man. Good luck.”

He turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me standing there, my heart racing.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, glancing up at Spencer.

“Yes, I did,” he said, his gaze still fixed on where the man had walked off. “He wasn’t listening to you.”

“I had it under control,” I insisted, though my voice lacked conviction.

Spencer turned to me then, his hazel eyes softening. “I know you did. But he had no right to put you in that position.”

There was something in his tone that made my breath catch. It wasn’t just protective—it was possessive in a way I’d never seen from Spencer before.

“Why does it bother you so much?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

He hesitated, his eyes darting away. “It doesn’t.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because it seemed like it did.”

His jaw tightened, and he let out a quiet sigh. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” he admitted. “Like you were… something to win.”

My heart fluttered, and I took a step closer to him without thinking. “And how do you look at me?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, finally, he sighed.

“Like someone I don’t deserve,” he said softly.

My breath caught, and I felt my cheeks flush. “Spencer…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I just… I couldn’t stand there and watch him treat you like that. I couldn’t.”

The words hung between us, heavy and charged. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process the warmth spreading through my chest.

Before I could respond, Morgan’s voice broke the silence. “Hey, Pretty Boy, you good?”

We turned to find the rest of the team watching us, their curiosity evident. Morgan raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on the tension.

“Yeah,” Spencer said quickly, stepping back. “We’re fine.”

Morgan didn’t look convinced, but he let it go, turning back to the others.

When we were alone again, I turned to Spencer, my heart still racing. “Thank you,” I said softly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, his voice quiet.

“I know,” I said, smiling. “But I want to.”

He smiled back, that shy, boyish smile that always made my heart ache.

“Can I walk you out?” he asked.

I nodded, and as we stepped out into the cool night air, I couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted between us—something I wasn’t ready to let go of.

As Spencer and I stepped into the crisp night air, the hum of the bar faded behind us, replaced by the distant sounds of the city. The cool breeze brushed against my skin, sending a slight shiver through me, but it wasn’t just the cold that made my chest feel tight. Spencer walked beside me, his hands tucked into his pockets, his head slightly bowed. There was a quiet tension between us, a palpable shift that neither of us had dared to fully acknowledge.

“Spencer,” I said softly, breaking the silence.

He glanced at me, his hazel eyes warm but uncertain. “Yeah?”

“I meant what I said earlier. Thank you.” I stopped walking, turning to face him. “Not just for stepping in tonight, but… for always looking out for me.”

He stopped too, his gaze locking with mine. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he said, his voice low. “I’d do it a hundred times over.”

The sincerity in his words sent a wave of warmth through me, and for a moment, I forgot about the chill in the air. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do.” His voice was steady, but his expression softened, as if he were letting a part of himself show that he usually kept hidden. “You mean… so much to me.”

My breath caught in my throat. He’d always been careful with his words, always measured. But there was nothing calculated about the way he was looking at me now, like he was on the edge of saying something that could change everything.

“You mean a lot to me too, Spencer,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, that shy, vulnerable smile that made my heart ache. “You know, I’m not… the best at expressing how I feel. But tonight, when that guy wouldn’t leave you alone…” He paused, running a hand through his hair, clearly searching for the right words. “It made me realize I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way about you. I can’t keep pretending I don’t—”

“Spencer,” I interrupted gently, stepping closer to him.

He froze, his eyes searching mine. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make this awkward or ruin anything, but I—”

“You’re not ruining anything,” I said, cutting him off again. “I promise.”

He blinked, his mouth opening and closing as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

So, I took the leap for both of us. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you to say something like this?” I asked, my cheeks warming as I admitted it out loud.

His eyes widened slightly. “You have?”

I nodded, a soft laugh escaping me. “You’re kind of oblivious, you know that?”

A small, embarrassed smile tugged at his lips. “I’ve been told that before.”

I stepped even closer, so close that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. “You don’t have to be afraid, Spencer. I feel the same way.”

The tension between us seemed to shift then, no longer heavy with uncertainty but something lighter, warmer, filled with hope. He let out a breath he must have been holding, and his shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Can I—” He hesitated, his voice trailing off.

“Yes,” I said softly, not needing him to finish the question.

He didn’t move right away, his eyes scanning my face as if committing every detail to memory. Then, slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against my cheek. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

And then he kissed me.

It was soft at first, tentative, like he was still afraid of crossing a line. But as I leaned into him, threading my fingers through his hair, the kiss deepened. There was something intoxicating about the way he kissed—equal parts tender and desperate, like he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as I had.

When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathless, our foreheads resting against each other. His hand was still on my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

I smiled, my heart swelling at the vulnerability in his words. “You don’t have to do anything, Spencer. You’re enough just as you are.”

His eyes searched mine, and for the first time, I saw something in them I’d never noticed before—hope.

“I don’t want this to change anything,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to lose what we have.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” I promised, my voice steady. “This just makes what we have even better.”

He smiled then, a genuine, unguarded smile that made my chest feel warm. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

I laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

We stood there for a while, wrapped in the quiet of the night and the warmth of each other. The world around us seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us in this perfect, fragile moment.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t afraid of what came next.