#sometimes there's not enough words for what you feel

[aleksatia]

What would the LaDS do if MC just had enough of the whole secret keeping/manipulation/stalking/controlling behavior and ran away? Like she made sure all of the ways they're keeping tabs on her don't work anymore, secretly leaves to live elsewhere, and never comes back? Like she's GONE gone and can't be found.

Thanks so much for the question and the idea — it made me spiral beautifully into angst territory. 🖤 At first glance, this is how I imagine things would unfold in my headcanon.

Every LaDS reacts differently, and honestly… some of them never really recover. I poured my heart into each of their perspectives, so if you see it another way, I’d love to hear your take. Always open to different interpretations — especially when it comes to pain like this. 😌✨

🦅 Sylus

(He doesn’t lose things. He takes, he keeps. But this—this is loss. A slow-rotting, world-tilting, soul-gnawing kind of loss.)

The Moment It Hits

It’s a shift in the air. An emptiness where something vital used to be. His breath catches, fingers tightening around the crystal glass of whiskey.

He calls you. Nothing.

He tracks you. Nothing.

He tears the city apart—contacts, satellites, underground networks. Nothing.

Then it hits. You’re not hiding. You’re beyond reach.

Does He Blame Himself?

At first, no. You’re just being difficult. Testing limits. He trained you too well in the game of power.

Then the days stretch. The silence rots in his gut.

Maybe he pushed too far. Held too tight. Loved too hard.

But if he had been softer, would you still be here? No. You were always going to run. He just never thought you’d win.

First Day

He sits in his study, staring at the last glass you touched. His fingers hover over the rim, but he doesn’t pick it up.

The Nest is in chaos, men scrambling for orders, but he says nothing. Just listens to the empty resonance where you used to be.

He doesn’t sleep. He barely moves. And when dawn breaks, he realizes—you’re still gone.

First Week

The silence is unbearable.

He smashes a mirror. Then a chair. Then an entire fucking room. But the noise doesn’t bring you back.

Music. That’s the answer. The organ swells under his fingers, but the sound doesn’t fill the void. It just makes it worse. The walls of his mansion tremble with the weight of his grief, but no one dares to stop him.

The first time he says Kitten, it’s barely a whisper. The second time, it’s a growl. The third—it’s a plea.

First Month

He kills a man just for saying your name. He kills another for looking at him wrong.

The city learns to be silent.

The organ plays every night, each melody heavier, darker—until one evening, he simply stops. Because music is agony now.

He thinks he hears you sometimes. A shift of fabric. A sharp inhale. But he turns, and there’s only the crushing weight of absence.

Five Years

People say he’s gone mad. That he talks to ghosts. That he’s lost his edge.

They don’t understand. He hasn’t lost it. He just has nothing left to prove.

He still feels you. Somewhere distant. Beyond his reach but never truly gone.

New Relationships? Don’t be ridiculous. He fucks, maybe. But no one’s ever allowed to touch his soul again.

He doesn’t chase anymore. Because one day, the universe will break in just the right way, and you’ll be within reach again.

And when that day comes—you’re not running anymore.

🌊 Rafayel

(He always smiled through pain. Painted beauty over grief. But when you disappeared, not even art could hide the collapse.)

The Moment It Hits

He waits three days before admitting to himself that you're really gone. Not late. Not upset. Gone.

Your studio key still sits on the shelf. The mug you always used — untouched. He tries calling. Messaging. Pretends he's not panicking.

Then he checks every port, every passage, every gallery, every alleyway where your soul might've left a trace.

You’ve vanished. And he knows—you didn’t want to be found.

Does He Blame Himself?

Every minute.

He retraces every word, every joke, every lingering glance he didn’t take seriously enough.

Maybe he should’ve said it clearer. Or sooner. Or not at all.

Maybe if he hadn’t tried so hard to keep it light, you would’ve known how deep he really felt.

First Day

He draws you. Over and over. Not from memory — from guilt.

He tries to remember how your mouth looked when you smiled through frustration. How your eyes dimmed when you thought he wasn’t watching.

He doesn’t eat. Doesn’t sleep. Paints until his fingers bleed.

First Week

He keeps thinking he hears your voice in the wind. That you're just out of frame.

Sits by the harbor, waiting for a boat that never comes.

Finishes a canvas. Stares at it for an hour. Then sets it on fire.

Tells himself he’s fine. He lies beautifully.

First Month

People ask where you are. He says you're traveling. Or healing. Or chasing a dream.

But the gallery knows — there’s a new collection in the works. All unnamed. All in shades of drowning.

The walls of his home are covered in your outlines. He keeps the lights low. Pretends it’s intimacy, not absence.

The world starts to lose its color. For a man who once saw millions of shades, everything dulls. Muted. Grey.

He stops using yellow entirely.

First Year

He vanishes beneath the sea. A whole year. Gone.

They say he swam through old ruins, sang to coral reefs that didn’t sing back.

He gathers shells—perfect, fragile—and crushes them into powder, making pigments no one's ever seen.

But they all come out grey.

When he finally resurfaces, his skin is colder. His voice is softer. His art—wordless grief on stretched canvas.

When asked what inspired them, he says: “Nothing. She’s not mine anymore.”

And when no one’s looking, he traces your initials into wet paint. Every time.

Five Years

He exhibits a piece called "When Silence Learned to Scream." It sells for millions. He doesn’t show up to the opening.

He no longer draws faces. Only fragments—lips that look like yours, fingers that used to hold his brush.

He’s touched people. Kissed some. Loved none.

He still sets a second cup of coffee. Still leaves the balcony door unlocked. Just in case.

The color never comes back. He just learns to fake it.

He doesn’t wait. He just… exists beside the ghost of you.

✈️ Caleb

(You were the only thing that made him feel human. Now, he’s just another machine built for war—functional, efficient, and dead inside.)

The Moment It Hits

He notices the silence first.

Your messages stop. Your routine shifts. Something’s off, but he tells himself you just need space. You’ve always needed space.

He checks on you through the usual systems—his eyes, the satellites, the passive trackers he swore weren’t invasive, just precautionary.

Nothing. Not disabled. Not broken. Gone.

His knees hit the floor before he can stop them. His hand wraps around the metal tag you gave him—the one he swore never to take off. It digs into his palm so hard it leaves a mark.

Does He Blame Himself?

He doesn’t even need to ask. Of course, it’s his fault.

Maybe if he had held you a little looser, if he had let you breathe, if he hadn’t always been watching, waiting, bracing for the day you’d run.

Maybe if he had been less Caleb and more someone you could love without suffocating.

But it’s too late now.

First Day

His body stops feeling like his own. Like his mechanical arm, the rest of him loses sensation.

He moves, eats, speaks, salutes—out of habit, not need.

But sometimes, when no one is watching, the pain surfaces.

And when it does, it swallows him whole.

First Week

He takes every mission no one else wants. The more dangerous, the better.

Tells himself he’s just doing his job, but deep down, he’s testing fate. Daring it to take him.

It never does.

He always comes back. And he hates it.

First Month

He stops cooking. No more spices, no more warmth, no more shared meals.

Only bland, military rations. Fuel, not food.

He doesn’t touch your photo albums, but he doesn’t throw them away either.

Let them rot with him.

First Year

He hasn’t eaten apples since the day you left.

Too sweet. Too alive. Too much like you.

The dog tag you gave him is still around his neck. A brand. A wound. A curse.

He tries. Once. With a woman from the med bay. She was kind. Gentle.

But when she reached for his hand—his jaw locked, his throat closed, his stomach churned.

He excused himself. Never tried again.

Five Years

His name is legendary. His rank? Higher than anyone imagined.

The man who never dies. The ghost pilot. The one who walks away from wreckage without a scratch.

He used to hate attention, but now? Now his inaccessibility makes women chase him more. He lets them. But never sees their faces. Never lets them touch his scars. Never lets them hold him the way you used to.

Because pain is all he has left of you. And he’s not ready to let it go.

🧊 Zayne

(Some men burn in their grief. Some men drown in it. Zayne? He freezes. The world still turns, the city still moves, and he walks through it like a ghost wearing a doctor’s coat. Precise. Detached. Functioning. But never living.)

The Moment It Hits

He finds out through absence, not presence.

You were always predictable in small ways. The way you fidgeted when nervous. The way you always texted before vanishing for a few hours. The way you left traces of yourself in his space, even when you didn’t mean to.

But one day, all of it stops.

Your number disconnects. Your bank account closes. The security cameras catch nothing. Too clean. Too final.

You didn’t just leave. You erased yourself.

Does He Blame Himself?

No. Not at first.

Because blaming himself would mean accepting that he miscalculated, and he does not make mistakes.

He spends months analyzing. Running simulations. Mapping out every logical reason why you left.

None of them make sense.

Then, one night, while sitting alone in his office, he makes the mistake of asking himself the one question he’s been avoiding—

What if it wasn’t logic? What if it was just pain?

That’s the first time he doesn’t sleep.

First Day

The hospital is quiet. Too quiet.

He operates. He consults. He performs at peak efficiency because the alternative is stopping, and stopping means thinking.

At the end of the day, he unlocks his apartment and stares at the empty space where your things used to be.

He stands there.

Just stands there.

First Week

His routine doesn’t break. Not once.

5 AM runs. 12-hour shifts. Research until 2 AM.

No deviations. Because deviations lead to cracks.

The first time someone mentions your name, his scalpel slips.

It never happens again.

First Month

He starts closing doors he once left open.

Stops looking at his phone. Stops checking messages.

Your coffee order is deleted from his usual café’s system.

He doesn’t erase you. That would be emotional.

He simply moves forward.

First Year

He doesn’t say your name anymore.

When people ask, he says you’re gone. No details. No elaboration.

But his residents whisper.

How their attending stopped smiling. How he works more than sleeps. How his precision became ruthless.

They never mention the fact that he never, ever, takes cases where patients have your eye color.

Five Years

The rumors are true. He has a daughter.

No one knows the mother. No one dares ask.

He never talks about it, never brings her to the hospital, but he leaves every shift at exactly the same time—always back before she falls asleep.

He teaches her to count constellations on the ceiling. Reads her anatomy books like fairy tales.

She has your eyes. People notice. Whisper. But no one asks.

And when she laughs—it’s a sound that shatters something in him.

When she asks, “Was Mommy like me?” He pauses. Looks at her. Then, softly: "She was... the part of you I’ll never be able to explain."

He never married. Never will.

And sometimes, when the room is too quiet, and she’s asleep in his arms—he looks at her face and wonders if loving someone this much was ever ethical.

🌌 Xavier

(He doesn’t fall apart. He folds in. Quietly. Gracefully. Like a dying star still casting light no one realizes is already gone.)

The Moment It Hits

It starts with your resignation.

No dramatic exit. No farewell. Just one line in the system: “Resigned. No forwarding information.”

You, who lived for the Hunt, for duty. You, who said this was everything.

He tries to message. Silence.

Asks around. Friends. Colleagues. Command. They say you just… vanished.

Then one day, he walks past your old apartment—someone else lives there.

Your scent, your presence, your trace in the universe—gone.

Does He Blame Himself?

He tries not to.

Tells himself you were always drifting, always meant to disappear.

But the silence between you, the things he never said— “Stay. I need you.” “I was never calm, I just didn’t know how to show it.”

They echo in his mind louder than any explosion.

He doesn’t hate himself. But he never forgives.

First Day

He stays on duty longer than needed.

Doesn’t take off his coat. Doesn’t go home.

Doesn’t even speak, unless the mission demands it.

At night, he stares at the ceiling and wonders if you’re staring at the same stars.

First Week

He starts bounty hunting again. Harder. Deeper into uncharted zones.

He sleeps more—but worse. Dreams flicker like static.

When he returns, they say he’s become faster. Colder. Lethal.

No one dares ask why.

First Month

He stops wearing light colors.

White fades into grey. Grey fades into black.

He says nothing about the change.

But those who know him realize: he’s mourning.

And it’s a mourning that will never end.

First Year

Women try. Of course they do.

He’s distant. Beautiful. Untouchable.

He lets a few in—physically. But only when the emptiness claws too loudly.

He never sees their faces. Never lets them stay the night.

One once whispered, “I could love you, if you let me.” He didn’t respond. Just walked away.

Because you never had to ask. You already did.

Five Years

He’s still hunting. Still tracking the lost, the dangerous, the damned.

He walks through warzones like a shadow of starlight.

No one has seen him in white in years.

They call him a myth. A legend. A ghost.

But he’s just a man who would trade eternity for one more day with you.

Just one day.

Just once—to see your face again.

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

Rafe catching you applying for more higher level jobs after the incident with telling Ward you’re pregnant

you don’t have to prove anything to me - rafe cameron

series masterlist

content: ward (ew.), pregnancy related stress, pregnant!reader, emotional distress, family conflict, self doubting

au: love writing these. keep the asks coming!

word count: 689

Rafe wasn’t stupid. He might’ve acted impulsively sometimes, let his temper get the best of him, but when it came to you—he noticed everything. That’s why, when he stepped into the bedroom that night and saw you curled up on the bed, laptop open, brows furrowed in focus, something in his chest tightened. You looked determined. Too determined. And that’s when he saw it—the email drafts, the open job applications, the résumés lined up on your screen like a desperate, last-minute attempt at control.

His stomach dropped. He didn’t say anything right away, just leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you, waiting for you to notice him. It took a moment, but then your fingers slowed on the keyboard, and you sighed, rubbing at your temples before glancing over. The second your eyes met his, you stiffened. “Rafe,” you breathed, snapping the laptop shut like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

His lips twitched, not in amusement, but in something softer, something sadder. “Something you wanna tell me?” You hesitated, eyes darting away. “It’s nothing.” “Doesn’t look like nothing,” he countered, nodding toward your laptop. “Looks like a whole lot of job applications for positions you swore you weren’t interested in just a couple of months ago.” You swallowed hard. “I just… I just want to be prepared, that’s all.” “For what?” His voice wasn’t harsh, but it was firm. Steady. “Baby, we don’t need more money. You don’t need to prove anything.” Your throat tightened. “It’s not about that.” Rafe pushed off the doorframe, walking toward you slowly, carefully, like he was approaching something fragile. Maybe he was. “Then what is it about?” he murmured, sinking onto the edge of the bed, close enough to touch you, but not yet reaching out. He needed you to tell him first. You exhaled shakily, fingers curling into the blankets.

“Your dad.” Rafe’s jaw clenched. “I just—” You sucked in a sharp breath, shaking your head. “He made me feel small, Rafe. Like I wasn’t good enough. Like I was just… some girl who made a mistake. And I know I shouldn’t let it get to me, but I can’t stop hearing his voice in my head, and—” Your breath hitched. “I don’t ever want to feel like that again. Like I have to prove that I deserve to be in this family. That I deserve to have this baby with you.”

Rafe was silent. Not because he didn’t care. Because he cared too much. Because he knew exactly what it was like to live under the weight of his father’s expectations, to feel like no matter what you did, it would never be enough. And now, Ward had made you feel like that too. Something inside him burned. He reached for you then, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks. “Listen to me,” he said, voice low, almost rough with emotion. “You don’t have to prove anything to him. Or to anyone. You are enough—more than enough. For me, for this baby… for everything.”

You swallowed thickly, blinking up at him. His grip tightened, not harsh, but firm. Grounding. “I don’t care what he thinks,” Rafe continued. “I don’t care if he never comes around. I chose you. You are the mother of my child. And there is not a single doubt in my mind that you are exactly where you’re meant to be.” Your breath shuddered. “But what if—” “No,” Rafe cut in, shaking his head. “No what ifs, baby. Not with this.” Your eyes were glassy now, the weight of his words pressing into your chest. Rafe exhaled sharply before pulling you into his arms, wrapping himself around you like he could shield you from every cruel word, every doubt, every fear. “You’re everything to me,” he murmured against your hair. “And I swear to you, I won’t let anyone make you feel less than that again.” You buried your face in his chest, your fingers gripping onto his shirt like a lifeline. And for the first time since that conversation with Ward, you felt safe.

[katiascraft]

﹙MV1﹚ ── ❝ am i enough? ❞

summary: max feels insecure about his body :( (so you comfort him)

warnings: none. it's just pure fluff.

author's note: first time writting 'bout max. short but i just felt i had to write this for some reason. hope it isn't stupid. love you all <3

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Max was taking a shower in the in-room bathroom of our ensuite bedroom in your Monaco house. It was quiet in the monegasque night. You were getting in your pajamas not thinking much about the world and trying to tidy up the room a bit because none of you had time to actually tidy all of it up the proper way. But this will make it for now. 

You heard the shower turned off. Max seemed off all day. He was unusually quiet. You tried to comfort him as much as you could but something was going on in that head of his. But you didn’t want to pressure him nor invade his space when he feels like this. Even if you don’t know what's actually going on with him. You just knew he felt sad. The look in his eyes said it all to you but respected him and let him take his time until he wants to talk about it. 

After a few minutes Max finally gets out of the bathroom. To your surprise he is fully dressed and with the hood of his hoodie over his head. You frown a bit when you see him. This is very unlike max, you thought. He usually walks around th house in just boxers with not a single care. So this was worrying. 

He didn’t say a word. He just crawled into the bed and adjusted himself under the sheets. You looked at him a bit worried and even though you wanted to let him take his time, you needed to check in. 

“Max, are you ok?” your voice was soft and low. You didn’t want to make him feel pressured with the questions. He stopped looking at his phone. Tiktoks could be heard playing on his screen. He blocked it and paid attention to you. “You've been off all day baby, do you want to talk about it? No pressure” you continued looking at him in the eyes trying to figure out what was going on with him but unable to anyway. 

He licked his lips nervously “i’m not okay” his voice was below whisper and you thought you heard a crack. That made sirens in your head turn on. You crawled the bed and laid next to him.

“What’s wrong baby?” you said gently caressing his hair. Worry all over your eyes expecting his answer.

He took his time trying to find some comfort in your gentle gesture. He was a bit ashamed of his feelings even when it came to you. 

“I just looked in the mirror this morning and i didnt like what ive seen to be honest” his voice was shaky between hurt and anxiety. He didn't want to be judged but even though he knew you wouldn't, his pattern because of childhood trauma was still there. Triggering him all the damn time. And sometimes, like today, it takes it stoll in him. 

Your heart broke listening to him saying all of those words aloud. That’s because you got him so well. 

“Baby, I got you. But you’re so beautiful my love. Don’t let those evil voices in your head win” you said, understanding him and trying to give him some comfort. He looked at you with puppy eyes. He was in the book of crying with his lips pouting.

“You really think I'm enough?” His voice is so tiny and shaky. This is so heartbreaking. You got closer to him so you could look each other in the eye and feel you close. You grabbed his face gently, caressing his cheek sweet. 

“Maxie, my love, you’re more than enough. You’re so fucking beautiful max emilian, everytime i look at you the only thing i can see is beauty” you tried to reassured him. He couldn’t look at your eyes anymore or else he would start crying. 

“But I don't have a pretty face nor a good body. I'm not like danny or lewis or even charles.they look good, i don't. I look squishy… i don't like it at all” his voice now expressed a bit of anger. You assumed it was rustration. You shook your head looking at him and trying to find his eyes again. 

“Baby, don’t compare yourself. You’re beautiful in your own way. You have a pretty face, you have a good hell of a body. Max, you’re so hot i can’t even control myself most times” you tried to make him laugh but he smiled at best. Your heart ached for him. “I know it's hard , okay? I know you’re exposed to the world to see and to have an opinion on you. And that must be really hard for you to deal with. I know. And people are mean and will comment so much nonsense just to hurt you. That’s all they want. Don't let them win, baby. They say ugly things about you for a reason, right? Because you’re too hot, too good and a fucking world champion. They can’t cope with that much in one single person.” finally you made him giggle a little. You smiled sweetly at him. 

He hugged you, hiding his face on your neck. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, caressing his back gently. 

“So am i enough?” he asked in a whisper. Your hand on his hair makes him feel safe. 

“More than enough, maxie. You’re gorgeous and I can not be more obsessed with you. "You kissed his head softly. And you didn’t see him but he has a smile on his face now. 

“I love you, y/n” he said, pressing a soft kiss on our neck. That sent shivers down your spine and smiled sweetly. 

“Love you my super hot and fast formula one racing driver, no one can compete with you” you said cheeky and made him giggle. When he got apart you say he cried but hid. It broke your heart a little but you understood. Gently you whipped his tears with your thumb. 

“And i love my super duper beautiful, caring, loving and perfect girlfriend” he said now making you giggle. You loved that man to death. 

And he loved you until forever falls apart.

˖ ֹ੭୧ the end ⊹ ࣪ ⑅

don't forget to like, reblog and comment i you liked it! and follow me so we can be friends <3 (and drink mate together)

[throttleheart]

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ Lucky Charm 

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Slow Burn, Light Angst

Word Count: ~3.1k

Summary: You’ve just started your dream job as a performance analyst at McLaren, determined to stay professional. But when Lando starts treating you like his personal good luck charm, lines blur, and feelings get complicated.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Your first month at McLaren is a whirlwind of data reports, race simulations, and trying not to trip over your own feet in the garage. You’ve worked too hard to get here—countless nights spent studying telemetry, endless practice interviews, a degree that felt like it stretched a lifetime. And now? Now you’re standing in the middle of the paddock, heart pounding as the team rushes around you before qualifying.

You’re supposed to be focused, analyzing Lando’s sector times, but then—

“Hey.”

You look up just in time to see Lando grinning down at you, still in his race suit, hair damp from the heat. His blue eyes flick over your tablet screen before settling on your face. “Anything good in there?”

You clear your throat, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is. “Uh—yeah. Your Turn 3 exit is a bit sketchy, but overall, you’re—”

“Fast?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, shoving the tablet against his chest. “Decent.”

He laughs, bright and carefree, before giving you a casual tap on the shoulder. “I’ll prove you wrong.”

And he does.

Lando qualifies P2.

After the session, he finds you again, a little breathless, still in his suit, curls sticking to his forehead. “Told you.”

“Alright, alright.” You shake your head, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe you’re not completely hopeless.”

The next time he talks to you before a session, he places P3.

The time after that? He wins a race.

It becomes a thing. A ritual.

Before every session, Lando seeks you out. A quick chat, a joke, sometimes just a simple fist bump. And every time, he performs well. The team jokes about it, calling you his good luck charm. At first, you play along, chalking it up to coincidence. But then—

“You know,” Lando says one evening after a particularly chaotic race, “I think it’s actually working.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “What is?”

“This.” He gestures between the two of you. “Talking to you before a race. Feels… right.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, but you force a chuckle. “So what, you’re just using me for luck?”

His smile falters for half a second—so quick you almost miss it. Then he shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, softer this time. “I think I just like talking to you.”

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like a superstition anymore.

It feels like something else entirely.

Something real.

⸻

Lando’s words linger in your mind long after he’s left.

“I think I just like talking to you.”

It shouldn’t mean anything. He’s a driver, you’re an analyst, and the garage is always buzzing with adrenaline and post-race emotions. But something about the way he said it, the way his voice softened, makes your heart beat just a little too fast.

You try to shake it off. Professional. You need to be professional.

But Lando doesn’t make that easy.

⸻

The next race weekend in Monza is a blur of heat, strategy meetings, and endless streams of data. You tell yourself to keep your distance, but Lando doesn’t get the memo.

“Where’s my lucky charm?” he calls out before FP3, scanning the garage until his eyes land on you.

The team laughs. You roll your eyes. “You realize this isn’t real, right? Your performance is based on skill, not—”

“Blah, blah, blah.” He waves you off with a smirk before leaning in slightly, just enough to make your breath catch. “But just in case, got anything for me today?”

You huff but play along, pretending to inspect him. “Mmm… helmet’s a bit crooked.”

His hand flies up instantly, adjusting it. “Better?”

“Perfect.”

“Good.” He grins before jogging off to his car.

The worst part? He takes P2 in qualifying. Again.

⸻

By Sunday, the entire paddock seems to be in on the joke. Every time Lando does well, someone—whether it’s a McLaren engineer, a journalist, or even another driver—mentions you.

“Guess we know who to thank if Lando gets another podium!”

“You traveling to every race now, or just the ones where he wants to win?”

You laugh it off, pretend it doesn’t affect you, but Lando? He leans into it.

After a chaotic race, he finishes P3. Instead of celebrating with the team first, he finds you. Sweat-soaked, grinning, energy still buzzing from the adrenaline rush.

He stops right in front of you, eyes bright. “Told you it works.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into a hug—quick, warm, and entirely unexpected. Your breath catches as his arms tighten for just a second before he pulls away, still grinning.

“Thanks, lucky charm.”

Your face is burning, but before you can say anything, he’s pulled away by his engineers.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just Lando being Lando.

But then, later that night, your phone buzzes.

Lando: Dinner? Just us? No luck involved.

Your stomach flips.

Maybe… maybe this is more than just a superstition after all.

⸻

Your fingers hover over the screen, heart hammering.

Dinner? Just us? No luck involved.

Lando’s text stares back at you, casual yet completely not casual at the same time. You should say no. You should remind him that you work together, that you’re supposed to keep things professional.

But your thumbs betray you.

You asking as a friend or as a driver trying to secure another podium?

The response is almost instant.

Lando: What if I’m asking as a guy who just really wants to take you out?

Oh.

You swallow, staring at the message for longer than necessary before typing back:

Fine. But if you lose the next race, I’m blaming your bad dinner choices.

Lando: Deal. Pick you up at 8?

Pick me up? We’re literally in the same hotel, Norris.

Lando: Details, details. See you soon, lucky charm.

⸻

You spend way too much time trying to figure out what to wear. It’s not a date. It shouldn’t be a date. But when you open the door at 8 p.m. sharp and see Lando standing there—hoodie, jeans, hands stuffed into his pockets, but with that ever-present grin—you start to think maybe it is one.

“Ready?” he asks.

“As I’ll ever be.”

He takes you to a small, tucked-away Italian restaurant, far from the usual tourist spots. It’s dimly lit, cozy, the kind of place where the staff greets him like they’ve known him forever.

“You’ve been here before,” you note as you slide into the booth.

He shrugs, smirking. “I like to keep my secrets. Besides, had to impress you somehow.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flutters anyway.

Dinner is… easy. Surprisingly so. Lando makes you laugh more times than you can count, telling ridiculous stories from his karting days, his voice animated, hands gesturing wildly. You talk about work, sure, but also about everything but work—movies, music, the worst travel mishaps you’ve ever had.

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and Lando dramatically recounting the time he almost missed a race because he lost his passport (“Listen, I had one job, and I still screwed it up”), you realize something.

This is dangerous.

Not because of the job, not because of the jokes about being his good luck charm. But because this feels natural. Too natural.

And natural things have a way of turning into something real.

⸻

As you leave the restaurant, the cool night air hits your skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth still lingering in your chest. You walk side by side, and for once, Lando isn’t filling the silence with jokes.

He nudges you lightly with his elbow. “So… does this mean I get extra luck next race?”

You shake your head, laughing. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“Hmm.” He pauses, then looks at you, more serious this time. “What if I just wanted an excuse to take you out?”

Your breath catches.

“You wouldn’t need an excuse,” you admit softly.

Lando’s eyes search yours for a moment before a slow smile tugs at his lips. “Good to know.”

And then, without thinking—without overanalyzing like you usually do—you reach for his hand.

Maybe this is more than superstition after all.

⸻

Lando doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not when you weave through the quiet streets back to the hotel. Not when you step into the elevator, the air between you thick with something unspoken. And definitely not when you reach your floor, lingering in the hallway like neither of you really wants the night to end.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles absentmindedly, and you wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it.

“So,” he says, voice softer now, “are you gonna admit it?”

You blink up at him. “Admit what?”

His grin is lazy, teasing—but there’s something else beneath it. Something real. “That maybe, just maybe, I was right about you being my good luck charm.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart isn’t in it. “I think you just like having an excuse to talk to me.”

Lando steps in just a fraction closer, the space between you vanishing. “Maybe,” he murmurs. “And maybe I don’t need an excuse anymore.”

Your breath catches.

This is it.

That tipping point between something playful and something real, between superstition and whatever this is.

And then—

The sound of distant voices echoes down the hall, a group of engineers heading toward their rooms. Lando takes a small step back, exhaling like he’s resetting himself.

“Guess I should let you sleep,” he says, but he still doesn’t let go of your hand.

You squeeze it lightly before finally pulling away. “Night, Norris.”

“Night, lucky charm.”

You don’t miss the way he watches you as you walk away.

⸻

The next morning, the paddock feels different.

Maybe it’s just you. Maybe it’s the way your skin still tingles where Lando’s fingers brushed against yours, or the way your mind replays the moment in the hallway over and over again.

Or maybe it’s the way Lando keeps looking at you.

It starts early. During the strategy briefing, he sits directly across from you, chin resting on his hand, watching you with an infuriating little smirk. When you finally glare at him, he just winks.

Then, during practice, he makes a beeline for you the second he hops out of the car, barely even acknowledging the engineers first.

“Alright, how’d I do?”

You glance at your tablet. “You lost three-tenths in Sector 2.”

Lando groans dramatically. “Maybe I should’ve held your hand before the session.”

Your breath stutters, but before you can respond, one of the mechanics chimes in. “Careful, mate. If you start relying on her too much, you’ll have to bring her on the podium with you.”

Lando’s grin is immediate. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

The team laughs, but you can’t shake the way he’s still looking at you. Like he’s already decided something.

Like this is more than just a joke to him.

⸻

Race day comes faster than you expect.

You tell yourself to focus, to push aside whatever’s happening with Lando and just do your job. But then—

“Lucky charm!”

You barely have time to turn before Lando jogs over, race suit half-zipped, curls slightly damp from the heat.

“You’re really sticking with that nickname, huh?” you tease.

“Obviously. It’s science at this point.” He leans in slightly, voice lowering just for you. “Besides, it’s the best excuse I have to talk to you before every race.”

Your chest tightens.

“Lando—”

“Just—wait here a sec.”

Before you can ask why, he jogs off. You watch, confused, until he returns seconds later—this time holding his spare driver’s cap.

“What are you—”

He lifts it, placing it carefully on your head. His fingers linger at the brim as he tilts it slightly, like he’s adjusting it just right.

“There,” he says, stepping back to admire his work. “Now it’s official.”

You blink up at him. “Now what’s official?”

His smile is softer now. “You’re part of the pre-race ritual.”

Your heart is definitely beating too fast now.

“You better win, Norris,” you manage to say.

Lando just grins. “For you? Always.”

And then he’s gone, jogging toward his car, leaving you standing there in his cap, completely and utterly screwed.

Because if it wasn’t obvious before…

It sure as hell is now.

This isn’t just a ritual anymore.

This is real.

⸻

Lando wins the race.

Not just a podium—a win.

You barely register what’s happening when he crosses the finish line first, the team around you erupting into cheers, engineers shouting, mechanics throwing their arms in the air. The McLaren garage is a blur of orange, people hugging, champagne already being popped somewhere.

And yet, in the middle of the chaos, all you can think about is him.

The moment Lando climbs out of the car, he’s swarmed—by the crew, by cameras, by the world. But then his eyes find you, and it’s like everything else disappears.

You barely have a second to react before he’s running toward you, still breathless, still high on adrenaline.

“Lando—”

But you don’t get to finish, because suddenly, his hands are on your waist, lifting you off the ground, spinning you in a dizzying circle.

“You’re actually insane,” you laugh, gripping onto his race suit.

“Insanely fast,” he shoots back, grinning.

When he finally sets you down, his hands linger—one resting against your back, the other still holding onto your arm, like he’s making sure you’re real.

His voice lowers, just for you. “Told you it works.”

Your heart stutters. “Lando—”

“Let me have this moment first, yeah?” he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours. “Then we’ll talk.”

There’s something unspoken in his gaze, something that makes your stomach flip. But before you can respond, the team is pulling him away, dragging him toward the podium.

You stand there, dazed, as you watch him climb to the top step, the anthem playing, the trophy lifted high. The whole world is watching him—but he keeps looking at you.

And you realize, in that moment, that this was never just a superstition for him.

Not even close.

⸻

The celebration lasts all night.

The McLaren team floods the paddock club, drinks flowing, music blasting. Lando is in the center of it all—laughing, dancing, letting everyone pour champagne on him. But every so often, his gaze flickers to you across the room, like he’s making sure you’re still there.

You try to keep your distance. Not because you want to, but because you don’t trust yourself. Not after what happened in the garage. Not after the way he held you like that.

But Lando doesn’t let you avoid him for long.

“You’re hiding,” he accuses, sliding into the seat next to you.

“I’m sitting,” you correct. “There’s a difference.”

He tilts his head, studying you. “Why are you sitting alone?”

“Just needed a breather.”

His lips twitch. “From me?”

“From everything,” you say, but you both know that’s a lie.

Lando leans in slightly, his voice quieter now. “You remember what I said earlier? About talking after the race?”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Still want to avoid that?”

You hesitate. “I just… don’t know what you want me to say.”

Lando exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. For the first time all night, he looks nervous. “I don’t need you to say anything,” he admits. “I just need to know if I’m the only one feeling this.”

Your stomach twists.

“Lando…”

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now,” he continues quickly. “I just—I need you to know that this isn’t just some joke to me. Or a lucky charm thing. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Your breath catches.

He watches you carefully, as if bracing himself for rejection. But there’s no hesitation when you finally reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers.

“You’re not the only one,” you say softly.

Lando’s grin is immediate, relief flooding his face. He squeezes your hand, pulling you just a little closer.

“Good,” he murmurs, eyes shining. “Because I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to fake another superstition just to keep talking to you.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But you like me anyway.”

And for once, you don’t argue.

⸻

Lando doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the night.

Not when the team drags him back onto the dance floor. Not when champagne is spilled (multiple times). Not even when he’s pulled into photos, making sure you’re right there beside him, his arm slung around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And the thing is? It is.

By the time you both escape the party—slipping out onto the quiet hotel balcony overlooking the city—it’s well past 2 a.m. The celebration is still raging downstairs, but up here, everything feels still. Peaceful.

Lando leans against the railing, exhaling deeply. “Think I still have champagne in my hair.”

You grin, reaching up instinctively, fingers brushing through his damp curls. “Yeah, you do.”

He watches you carefully, eyes flickering between yours. “You gonna fix it for me, lucky charm?”

You roll your eyes, but your heart stutters all the same. “You have to stop calling me that.”

Lando hums. “Mmm… nope.”

Before you can protest, he turns slightly, facing you fully. The teasing fades just a little, replaced by something quieter. More serious.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs.

You know exactly what he’s talking about.

“I know.”

Lando shifts, his hand finding yours again, playing with your fingers absentmindedly. “You still sure I’m not imagining this?”

Instead of answering, you take a small step closer. You don’t know if it’s the leftover adrenaline, the buzz of the night, or just the fact that you’ve wanted this for far longer than you ever let yourself admit.

But when you finally tilt your chin up and press your lips to his, none of that matters anymore.

Lando freezes for half a second—like he can’t believe it’s actually happening—before he melts into you completely, his free hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss is slow, unhurried, like neither of you are in any rush to let go.

When you finally break apart, his forehead rests against yours, breath uneven.

“Yeah,” Lando whispers, a grin tugging at his lips. “Definitely not imagining this.”

You laugh softly, fingers still curled into the fabric of his hoodie. “Good.”

He presses another quick kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, eyes twinkling. “So, does this mean I get extra good luck now?”

You groan, shoving him lightly. “You cannot make this a racing superstition.”

Lando just grins, catching your hand again. “Too late. You kissed me before the next race weekend. Pretty sure that means I’m winning again.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, voice dropping, “you kissed me anyway.”

You huff, but you don’t deny it.

Because, well… he’s not wrong.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

[finelinevogue]

a musician’s day off

summary - a montage of your instagram posts with harry & the moments behind the photos

word count - ~1k

pairing - harry styles x gf!reader

Harry had been gone for too long.

Well, not from you but from the world. The public eye missed him and the stage was once again calling his name, but he was happy here. He was happy with his girlfriend and he was content with how his life was playing out for now.

His fans did miss him though.

You were good to them though, what with feeding them content every chance you thought appropriate. Harry loved how close you were with his fans and how you kept them occupied even when he was away.

You often updated them through your Instagram posts.

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y/n_l/n evening dip, anyone?

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“Harry, love, what are you doing?” You laughed as you watched him stumble trying to take off his socks.

“I’m going for a dip.”

“In a freezing cold lake?”

“It’s France… It won’t be that cold.”

Right.

You didn’t push him any further and allowed him to roll the bottom of his trousers up. You held out your phone to video him as he went near the water’s edge.

He turned his head slightly towards you, giving you a small smirk to which you rolled your eyes at, before he stepped into the very shallow water.

“Fuuuck!” He laughed.

“I won’t say I told you so, but…”

“Oh piss off.” He breathed through the cold on his feet.

“This was your idea.”

Harry walked back out of the water after having decided three seconds was enough time to dip his feet in there.

You put your phone away, tucking it safely back in your jacket pocket before moving to stand in front of Harry.

You threw your arms around his neck and brushed your body against his. Without hesitation you gave him a soft kiss, just to show your support for his freezing toes. You were a good girlfriend like that.

When you pulled away Harry’s arms clung around your waist to keep you close.

“Think your kisses are making me feel better.”

You smiled. He was too quick sometimes for you to think of a snarky comeback, so instead you shut him and his stupidity up by kissing him again.

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y/n_l/n water baby 🌊

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Harry dove into the pool as you slowly made your way down the steps into the pool.

Harry pushed his hair back off his face as he surfaced and pinched his nose from the water that had got trapped from diving, before making his way over to you.

He swam close by and stood up, below where you were stood on the steps in.

“What?” You asked, noticing him staring.

“You look so pretty, that’s all.” He smiled, wading through the water to stand closer to you.

“Don’t splash me.” You warned.

“I won’t.”

You smiled in thanks and wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning down to give him a soft kiss.

He looked so healthy with his summer tan and uninterrupted schedule. The smile on his face was solely because of you, he would argue. Nothing had made him happier this past year than getting to spend every moment of it with you.

“Was thinking of writing a song tonight.” Harry stopped kissing you to let you know.

“Oh okay. What brought that on?”

“Had a lot of inspiration recently.” He shrugged. “Need to let it out.”

“Okay.” You nodded in understanding, “You going to call the guys to help?”

“Probably. Just want to feel it out for myself first, though.”

“Sounds good.”

You leaned down to kiss him some more. Perhaps these kisses would serve as even more inspiration.

Harry’s arms found their way underneath your ass and lifted you up with his arms so you sat around his waist.

You both continued to kiss the night away, as you enjoyed the last of the sun in the pool.

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y/n_l/n on wednesday’s we wear pink

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You watched on as Harry spoke to Jeff over the phone.

“No.” Harry argued.

You sat on a garden chair as you nervously bounced your leg, listening in to Harry’s side of the conversation.

The sun was shining and the grass was so green, but the day didn’t feel so perfect. Jeff had called Harry demanding that some form of music plan was confirmed soon, otherwise the record label was at risk to sue him, but Harry still wasn’t ready to go back.

He wanted more time.

More time to enjoy with you and, more importantly, more time to just be with himself.

He still felt like he had so much to learn about himself and he couldn’t do that if he was giving every bit of himself to everyone else.

“Well I’m sorry, but I’m not doing that.” Harry ran a hand through his hair - a tell that you knew meant he was getting frustrated.

Ten minutes later and he hung up the phone.

Harry sat down on the garden chair opposite you, legs spread wide to let you know that he wanted you to come and join him.

So you did.

He welcomed you sitting on his lap with open arms. You rested your head just under his chin and your hand played with his as you sat in silence.

“I’m not ready to go back.” He said quietly.

“I know. You don’t owe anything to anyone, either.”

“Sometimes feels like I do.”

You tilted your head briefly to leave him a kiss, before settling back down again.

“You don’t. I know you know that, too.”

Harry let out a big sigh and kissed your forehead lightly. “Yeah.”

“Harry, my love, you gave so much of yourself to that last tour and the first thing you said to me when you finished that last show was ‘I’m ready for a long rest now’. It’s okay to still feel like you need that rest.”

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y/n_l/n behind the scenes

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“I’ve made a list.” Harry said after he spat out his toothpaste.

“A list?” You asked.

Both of you were getting ready for bed. You wore matching robes and worked through your nightly routines in tandem.

“Mhm. A list of things I want to do before I release music again and everything else that comes with it.”

You turned to him, intrigued, “Okay?”

“Number one. I want to run a marathon.” He said, whilst applying his face rub.

“Yup.” You nodded.

“Number two. I’d really like to travel to at least one new place.”

“Such as?”

“I’m thinking Iceland actually. The Northern Lights, you know? It’s kind of romantic.” He winked at you through the large bathroom mirror, causing you to blush.

“Okay.”

“Number three and probably the most important one is I want to marry you.”

You stopped applying your moisturiser to look at him fully. You gave him a little pout and a smile, so in love with him.

“You mean it?”

“Yeah. I’m ready if you are.”

“I am.” You leaned up to give him a kiss, careful not to mess up his facial routine. “But you have to ask me properly.”

“I will.” He nodded, sealing the promise with another kiss.

[ms-demeanor]

Hey so actually this post motivated me to write 3500 words on success traps, which is setting up systems where success can sneak up on you and trap you in spite of your executive function going on a vacation.

"Put your homework in an orange folder" is an example of something that a neurotypical parent thinks is a success trap that they're setting up for their kid.

The trap that the kid might set up for themself is "take photos of all my homework so that if I lose it I can send it to the teacher or work on it without the original paper version." (In my pre-cellphone education era my success trap might have been "turn in homework before the class ends if the teacher allows it" or "do homework with my friend from class who DOESN'T lose homework every day and ask them if they can bring it to school for me")

Some samples:

A success trap is something that will redirect you to what you want to do when you would otherwise fail. Success traps can be physical or mental, they can be tools you use or habits you form; they just have to be something that points you back in the direction of your goal when you get diverted. Features that are present in a success trap include:

Reduces distractions

Reminds you of your task

Removes Speedbumps

Increases focus

Increases efficiency

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

Tools to Build Success Traps

Apps, web extensions, physical tools, habits, clothing, and training can all be components of building a successful success trap.

Reduce Distractions

LeechBlock Browser Extension and other access control extensions - can be used to block specific websites for set timeframes.

Noise-blocking headphones

Setting up "Focus Time" rules in a household or work environment

Task Reminders

Timers, Planners, Calendars, Alarms, Post-its, whiteboards, To-do Lists, Task Managers and a ton of other traditional tools to remind people what they're working on.

Less conventional reminders include WristLists/Reminder Bracelets, writing tasks on your skin with pens or sharpies, website blocking, physical barriers to distractions (chair in front of the door, phone underneath a task-oriented notepad) and "[Clean/Cook/Work] With Me" Videos.

Remove Speedbumps

Speedbumps tend to be very individual and contextual, so removing them takes experience. If your child struggles to get homework done because they feel like they need to look up every word they don't know on the assignment sheet, you might want to sit with them and go through the definitions before they start working. But sometimes the speedbump to making madelines is simply the fact that someone has to empty the sink of dishes before cooking can commence, so all you can do is either wash the dishes in the moment or work on building a robust dishwashing system for ensuring there are no plates in the sink.

Increase Focus

Moderate emotions; you'll be more focused when you're less upset or angry or sad - if you need to pay attention to something it might be helpful to bring your mood back to something stable and moderate before you get started. Since ADHD includes emotional dysregulation this may be difficult, but you know the best way to put yourself back on an even keel. If breathing exercises give you panic attacks, don't use them to try to calm down; maybe you'll do better with three sets of pushups or five minutes of a phone game.

Helpful distractions - many people with ADHD find that they work better with background noise or some other kind of external stimulation while doing focused, boring tasks. Listening to music or podcasts, or putting a familiar movie on or turning on a white noise machine can all be helpful distractions that keep the ADHD brain juuuuuust focused enough on something in the periperhy to allow your brain to pay attention to the task that needs to be done (rather the crushing silence of a tense open plan office or the distracting noises the clock and ceiling lights are making.

Increase Efficiency

This one is also highly contextual and highly specific. One example of a success trap that I'm considering making is a single-key keyboard that I can use for "typing" passwords. One of the ones I'm considering purchasing is a mouse with programmable buttons. Getting a mouse to do "Ctrl+C/CTRL+V/CTRL+SHIFT+V" while using excel for web would be a game-changer for me in terms of efficiency. Maybe I'll even get around to it someday. But another example of an efficiency win is just checking my email and messages any time I sit down at my desk. If I haven't stood up in four hours I'm off the hook, but if I stood up to get a refill on my coffee for three minutes, I must check my email when I get back to my desk. That's just how it's done. I don't make the rules. (Not true, I do make the rules but the Alli who makes the rules and the Alli who follows the rules are two different people who just happen to both live in my head.

Get creative when you're thinking about what tools to add to your toolbox. And maybe make one of those tools a literal toolbox. The plastic totes used for cleaning supplies can also be used for gardening tools, pet care, car parts, and barbecues. Make use of them because they might save you a ton of work and there's no reason not to.

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

The website is free; the reason I started using it for writing up stuff like this more than I use tumblr for writing up stuff like this is that tumblr is too hard to search and "wiki is easy to format and easy to write" is a success trap for me.

When I was a kid I kept failing classes because I'd lose my homework. I'd finish it, but between the dining room table and the classroom it would just walk away. Sometimes it ended up in my backpack, sometimes it didn't; sometimes I finished the homework at school and it got home in my backpack but wasn't there the next day.

To attempt to address this, my parents got me a neon orange folder to put in my backpack; it was my homework folder, all homework was to go into that folder and that folder only, and it was to only come out of that folder when it was being worked on. I was to put homework in the homework folder as soon as it was assigned and if I'd worked on it, put it back in the folder as soon as it was finished. The logic here was that using the folder was supposed to be automatic, and you wanted a bright color so it wouldn't get lost in the depths of a backpack.

I think I lost about eight of those before my parents stopped buying orange folders.

So it was very frustrating to search "how to be organized at work as an adult with ADHD" only to get a list that said "set alarms and write things down and try to make friends with a more organized person" which was immediately followed by tips to help your ADHD child stay organized and the one right at the top was to put their homework in a bright folder so they couldn't lose it.

If you have been harmed by the ADHD Tips Industrial Complex you may be entitled to a packet of fun-dip and a cactus cooler as consolation for losing your homework folder again.

[euthymiya]

Sylus is infuriatingly talented at most things. More infuriatingly enough, one of those said talents happens to be grating at your nerves.

“Your towels are pretty rough,” he sighs, stepping out of the shower with nothing but cloth wrapped around his waist. “My skin is too sensitive for these. You should invest in better ones.”

The towel hanging on his waist is low. Very low. Instantly, you’re in a bad mood.

(On a normal day, you don’t think you’d be sour in any shape or form by the fact that a very tall, very handsome, and very well built man is standing half naked in your home with skin glistening from droplets of water. But when that man happens to be Sylus, it’s a lot more humbling than it needs to be.

He notices every lingering stare. And oh, does he love to make it smugly obvious that he’s noticed your eyes wandering.)

You make a point to look only at his eyes as you huff, “Oh, my apologies. Are my shower options not lavish enough for you, your highness?”

“I can overlook the shampoo—my hair naturally manages to stay rather soft. But this cloth is just offensive,” he shakes his head, making your eye twitch.

Bastard.

That happens to be a choice of word that pops into your mind often when he’s around.

“Your skin looks fine to me,” you say blandly. And then you make the mistake of casually glancing at his chest to make your point…which naturally, makes you stare at his pecs for a moment, which leads to sparing a glance to his abs, which means his v-line is right underneath—and by the time you’ve realized that you’ve done exactly what you swore you wouldn’t and taken a good, long look at his exposed physique, he clears his throat.

You meet his gaze instantly, and he’s smirking. Cocky, smug, arrogant, egotistical, bastardized—the list of adjectives you could use to describe the look on his face could go on.

“Taking quite the opportunity to make sure my skin is alright, are we, sweetie?”

“Don’t sweetie me, you asshole,” you hiss, “You’re doing this on purpose!”

“What am I doing? I didn’t think taking a quick shower would make the kitten throw a hissy fit,” he purrs.

Sometimes, you think Sylus likes to see you mad more than he likes to see you happy. He could have very easily won your affections for the night by walking over, planting a kiss to your head, and wrap his bare, muscular arms around you from behind. Or maybe, he could have just asked you to join his shower—that would have won him plenty of points.

Instead, he chooses to leave your water running for far to long it to be considered a ‘quick shower’, and he has the audacity to be picky about the range of shampoo and towel options, too.

Insufferable.

“Was the water pressure too hard on your sensitive skin too?” You mock, “Or perhaps the laundry detergent I used to wash the clothes you left is too irritating for your poor skin. Maybe I should clean the air next time before you visit.”

He chuckles, low and smooth—and even the sound of his laugh feels expensive. You feel a vein practically pop in your forehead.

But you like it. Despite it all, you like the sound of his stupid laugh, and you like the amusement of his stupid bantering, and you love the presence of your stupid, nitpicking boyfriend.

“Well, I was gonna say your shower is a little too low, but I think that might get me a few more hisses from the kitten,” he hums, “I did find it a bit troublesome to bend to wash my hair.”

“I think the problem is you for that one,” you snort, “Your fault for not fitting.”

“I’ll try not to be so tall next time,” he smiles sarcastically.

All too soon, he’s closed the distance. Damp, warm skin meets yours, making your breath hitch as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you onto that muscular (and very bare) chest. It’s like he read your mind—except instead of doing it to get on your good side, he’s still just doing it to tease you.

Bastard, you think for the hundredth time in one night.

“You’re exhausting, do you know that?” You sigh, rolling your eyes.

He lets out a low hum, curling his lips into a wickedly handsome smile as he answers, “I get told that here and there, yes.”

“You should self reflect, then.”

“And miss out on witnessing my kitten bear its fangs?” He gasps, mildly offended by the thought, “As if.”

You can’t help but crack a smile. You try not to, but every time, like clockwork, he manages to make you cave. Because he’s stupidly charming underneath all that stupidly annoying cheekiness—and you’re not immune to it no matter how hard you try.

“You could always replace my towels, you know,” you bat your lashes innocently, “I definitely won’t complain if you become the change you want to see in the world.”

He chuckles again, the sound low and this time, just a little bit endearingly sweet. “I guess matters are always up to me to take into my own hands. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Perfect,” you beam, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw as he relaxes his posture a little at the gesture, “And while you’re at it, I won’t turn down the fancy shampoo, either.”

He’s as exhausting as he is hot and sexy and cute and funny and charming and handsome and sweet and kind and precious and perfect and wonderful and adorable

But also exhausting .

[science-hoes]

Angel Kisses

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: graphic medical descriptions, needles

A/N: I thought this fic would be a little less fluffy and more spicy but I just can’t help it. Plus I love Noah Wyle’s barely there freckles. I feel like this isn’t my best work because I had severe writers block. Hope it’s good enough for yall tho 💕

My Ko-Fi :)

—

The Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center was rumored to be the 9th level of Hell. So when it was time for you to begin your schedule for trauma surgery, you prayed for a different hospital. Literally any other hospital.

But there you were, in the depths of the Pitt, working your fifth 12 hour shift of the rotation. Only 1pm, but you felt like someone had changed the clocks because there was no way that the day was only halfway done. You were reading a pediatric patient’s CBC results, getting ready to tell your senior attending for the day, Dr. Jack Abbott, that the child is anemic. But Dana’s voice distracted you:

“You can’t even stay away on your day off. Do you have a life besides the Pitt?” She said to someone out of your view.

“Trust me. This is a last resort.” You heard a man respond, the voice slightly familiar.

You turned around and saw Dr. Michael Robinavitch, the senior attending from your first four days of working here. He didn’t look too different out of his scrubs and navy hoodie that he wore at work. Black joggers and gray long sleeve athletic shirt that hugged his waist…really nicely.

“Last resort for what?” Dr. Frank Langdon called out from where he sat at his desk, charting his patient case.

“I fell of a ladder and tore up my back on the fence in my backyard.” Answered Dr. Robinav- Dr. Robby, you had to remind yourself. “I need stitches, but I can’t reach the cut.”

Langdon winced and leaned back in his chair. “Need me to stitch you up?” He asked.

Dr. Abbott walked up to the desk near Langdon and laughed. “No, he wants his friend to stitch him up. Right, Robby?” He joked, referring to himself.

Robby laughed and crossed his arms, biceps straining against the fabric of the athletic shirt. Damn. “Friend is a strong word. I don’t have friends.” He said with a smile.

Langdon scoffed. “We went fishing last weekend. What does that make me?” He asked.

“I prefer the term ‘coworker that I hang out with sometimes outside of work.’” Robby said, but you could see the teasing in the way his eyes crinkled.

Dana rolled her eyes. “You are all annoying me. Jack, go stitch him up so he can get out of here and rest.” She said before walking off to a patient room.

Robby shook his head. “No, no, just let a med student do it. Good learning opportunity.” He said.

“No med students today. Only interns.” Langdon mumbled as he continued typing on his computer.

Robby clasped his hands together and held them close to his chest. “Even better. I would love for my scar to be in a straight line.” He joked.

Abbott looked to you, who had been watching the group interact from a couple of desks over. Your face flushed slightly, realizing you probably look like an eavesdropper. He motioned with his head toward Robby. “Why don’t you take our patient to holding and fix him up? I’ll take the CBC results.” He said.

“Yes, sir.” You answered, almost a little too seriously. The Pitt was an intense environment, but these attendings did not have the same egos as the ones from your last several rotations.

Robby chuckled at your earnestness. “Hear that, Langdon? ‘Yes, sir.’ You should be taking notes.” He ordered facetiously, pointing his finger at the senior resident.

Langdon looked up from his desk as you began walking with Robby to the back of the Pitt where the holding rooms were. “You know, we tell all of our patients over 65 to be very careful when doing yard work.” He called out.

Robby shot him a bird without turning back around. You smiled at the banter, not used to the lax interactions between physicians of different ranks. Once you made it to the room, Robby sat on the bed, and you grabbed a standard suture kit.

“Is it on your back?” You asked, turned away from him.

“Yeah. I’d do it myself if I could reach it. I managed to cover it up though.” He said.

When you turned back around, his tight fitting shirt had been peeled off his upper body. Holy shit. In the last five days, you didn’t really give yourself time to fantasize about your attending. He was handsome for sure and charming when he wasn’t jumping down a resident’s throat (yet he still had the patience of a saint). His abdomen was well toned, and his chest was smooth. Not what you expected based off his hairy forearms and face.

You must have been staring too much because Robby’s shoulders hunched, as if trying to subtly cover his exposed body. “Let me just take a look at the cut.” You said, trying to come back to earth. You moved to the edge of the bed and removed the bandage that he had placed himself.

You could see the blood that had leaked through the dressing, but you were not prepared to see the extent of the cut stretch across the majority of his upper back. “Oh, shit.” You swore.

Robby chuckled. “That’s not a comforting thing to hear from your doctor.” He said, shifting uncomfortably as the cold air of the hospital struck the wound.

You shook your head in a panic. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t say that to a normal patient.” You covered for yourself.

Robby shook his head. “No, no. Listen. You’re taking everything a little too seriously. Just relax. Roll with the punches. That’s the only way you’ll survive down here.” He explained.

You nodded, taking in a stiff breath anyway. You disposed of the bandaging and picked up the lidocaine syringe. “Okay. I’m about to start injecting lidocaine around the cut. You’ll feel the burning more than the needle.” You said. You placed one gloved hand on his back, giving yourself a guide while you held the syringe in the other.

“90 degrees or 45?” He asked, making you freeze in place.

You paused for a moment, almost afraid to say your answer in fear of being incorrect. “90.” You answered.

“Why?”

At this point, the needle was hovering just an inch above your first injection site. “Recent studies show that patients report less pain with a 90 degree angle.” You said, confident in your sources.

Robby smiled, but you didn’t see it. “Very good.” Was all he said.

You injected the first round of lidocaine, and he hissed at the burning around the open wound. You kept moving around the cut, injecting small doses. “You’re doing great, Dr. Robby.” You praised, just as you would with any patient.

“Fuck, I say that to patients all the time. No wonder it makes no difference.” He grumbled.

You smiled slightly and injected the final dose. “All done.”

Robby let out a heavy breath, hanging his head as the skin slowly numbed where you worked. You began to open the suture kit and sort out its contents on the metal tray near the bed.

“What stitch?” He asked.

You grabbed some gauze and antiseptic from the drawer in the room before returning to his side. You cleaned the skin around the wound where the blood had dribbled down his back in a mix with sweat from working outside.

“Running stitch. The cut is long but not at risk of tension.” You answered. Robby nodded in approval. You carefully started on your first stitch, delicately inserting the curved needle into his skin. “So, you were on a ladder?” You asked.

Robby huffed in slight irritation. “Yeah. Trimming some branches that were reaching over the fence into the neighbors’ yard. I misstepped on the way down and lost my balance.” He explained.

You grimaced. “That sucks.” You said matter of factly.

“Yeah. Maybe Langdon is right. I’m getting too old for that kind of stuff.” He said with a chuckle.

Your hands carefully moved as they continued to sew. “You don’t look old.” You said.

Robby smiled to himself, not expecting you to respond at all. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” You said, glad he couldn’t see your involuntary blush. As you continued to stitch, you noticed all of the spots and marks that dusted his back and shoulders. “I like your freckles.” You noted.

Robby’s mind halted. It was a compliment he had never received. Your words went straight to his chest, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt flustered.

“My freckles?” He repeated.

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. You got ‘em on your face too?” You asked.

Robby turned his head, not to present his face, but because he was still surprised and wanted to see if you were being genuine. And there they were. A light scattering of freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose.

“Yep. They’re precious.” You said after inspecting and returning back to your stitching. Robby’s face flushed, and you could especially see it in his ears as you worked. “You know, my mom used to tell me that freckles were angel kisses. Every time I got a new one, I thought an angel had kissed me. I went an embarrassingly long time into junior high before realizing it was just a tall tale.” You explained.

Robby smiled at the charming story, feeling an unusual feeling of comfort. “My grandmother used to say the same thing.” He said.

You grinned. “Looks like the angels couldn’t get enough of you then.” You teased.

Robby chuckled and ran a nervous hand across the back of his neck, careful not to pull against the skin as you worked. “How’s it looking back there?” He asked, trying to continue conversation.

“I need to run about five more stitches. Then you’ll be on your way.” You said.

He nodded and folded his hands in his lap. “Are you working tomorrow?” He asked.

You thought for a second, honestly not sure. “I don’t think so. My first off day since I started.” You replied. “Are you?”

“No. Seven on, seven off.” He said.

You pulled at the last suture and cut the remaining thread. “All right, Dr. Robby. You’re all cleaned up.” You announced.

“Great.” Robby hopped off the bed and stood up straight, popping a few kinks in his back from being hunched over. He towered above you, losing the intimacy that you temporarily had. “Take a picture and show me.” He said.

You pulled off your gloves slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Of the stitches?” You asked, afraid that he was going to grill you for sloppy suturing.

“Yeah, just to see the damage.” He responded.

You pulled your phone out and stood behind him. Fuck, even his back looked good. You snapped a picture and zoomed in to show him your work. Definitely saving that for later. “Does it look okay?” You asked timidly.

Robby nodded, impressed. “Actually yeah. Don’t think I could’ve done it better myself.” He complimented.

You laughed in relief. “Oh, good. I still need more practice on different suture patterns. I’m just lucky you were a simple case.” You said.

Robby looked down to you, letting his eyes linger as he watched you put your phone away. “If you aren’t busy tomorrow, maybe I can give you a masterclass. All ER docs have to know every suture.” He offered.

You looked up to him, suddenly very aware that he was still shirtless in front of you. You smirked and crossed your arms. “Sure. But only if you teach me just like this.” You said, looking him up and down. “You know, because you’ll need to let those stitches breathe.”

Robby grinned. “Wow. That was pretty smooth.” He admired.

You shrugged. “Just rolling with the punches.” You responded, repeating his quote from earlier. “Give me a call tomorrow.”

And you left. Robby stood there, smiling to himself. He pulled his shirt on and walked out to the desk hub. Langdon was still charting, but caught the attending before he snuck out. “What’s that goofy smile for?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

Robby shrugged, hands in his pockets, unable to shake the smile off his face. “I don’t know.” He said before walking away to leave.

Abbott leaned against a desk near Langdon. “His ears are red.” He noted. “That motherfucker is in love.”

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓈𝓃𝒶𝒸𝓀𝒶𝓇𝑜𝑜 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: The rules were simple—no strings, no expectations, just something to pass the time. Hyugo was easy enough to toy with, with all wide eyes and eager hands, a sweet little distraction when boredom or stress crept in.

A fleeting indulgence. Nothing more. But somewhere between stolen kisses and quiet confessions, between the way he shivered under your touch and the way he lingered just a little too long, the lines started to blur.  

Now, the game feels different, the weight of unspoken words pressing closer. So tell me—when did it stop being just fun? And more importantly… 

who’s going to admit it first?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: This one’s for the amazing @midnightminddz—your request totally caught my eye! I figured, why not dip my toes into writing this baby boy Hyugo first from the request? Plus, let’s be real here—there’s a criminal lack of Hyugo smut out there. I mean, I went looking myself, and guess what?

There are only eight. EIGHT. Like, what the actual hell? That’s practically a desert out there. So, consider this my contribution to feeding the starving masses.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: hyugo x afab!Reader, smut, friends with benefits, emotional intimacy, slow burn??, dom/sub undertones, praise kink, gentle dominance, romantic tension, sexual tension, vulnerability, emotional connection

It started off simple—just an arrangement.

A deal struck between two people who knew better than to complicate things. You had your own lives, your own ambitions, and absolutely no time for distractions.

Friday nights were reserved for him. 

Without fail, Hyugo would show up at your door, sometimes grinning, sometimes looking at you with that playful, knowing smirk that made your stomach twist, acting like this was just another casual hookup. And for a while, it was. Without a word, without hesitation, you’d be on him—kissing, touching, taking whatever he was willing to give.

It felt loving in those quiet moments between dusk and dawn, when the world outside didn’t exist and the only thing that mattered was the way his body fit against yours, the way his lips parted under your touch like he was made for it.

He was always so easy like this—so eager, so willing.

Your personal snack you can say. 

Because once the morning rolled around, when the golden light seeped through the blinds, spilling honeyed warmth across tangled sheets, the illusion cracked. His sweater vet—well-worn, almost tightly fit your frame—clung to the lingering heat of last night.  And he was there beside you, shirtless, sprawled out, arm tucked behind his head. Watching you.

Always watching you.

His expression was unreadable, his gaze trailing over you like he was memorizing the sight as if he didn’t know when he’d get to have you like this again. Hyugo—your closest friend. The one who had spent the night pulling you apart and putting you back together again. 

It was easy. Convenient. A perfect escape from the weight of everything else. Whenever things started to spiral, whenever stress curled too tightly in your chest, you called him. His name sat at the top of your contacts list, an unspoken promise that relief was just one message away.  

Hyugo was okay with it.

It all started at a bar—one of those last-minute events you decided to throw together, a reckless, spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. The kind where cheap liquor flowed freely, and bad decisions were practically encouraged. You’d had one too many shots, the warmth of liquor burning at the back of your throat, pooling like liquid heat in the pit of your stomach.  

You felt bold—maybe a little too bold, if you were being honest. 

The kind of reckless bravery that only came from the perfect mix of alcohol and impulse. You knocked back another shot, your seventh by now before your gaze landed on him—Hyugo. 

He was standing off to the side, caught in a halfhearted conversation with a few of his friends. But you knew just by looking at him—by the distant way his eyes drifted over the scene—that he was bored out of his mind. 

Parties weren’t really his thing. 

He was only here because certain someone, named Sol had dragged him along as emotional support as he wanted to his shot at his so-called crush, and now he was stuck pretending to care about a conversation he clearly wanted no part of. 

You didn’t know what came over you, but one second you were leaning against the bar, and the next, you were pushing off it with a smirk tugging at your lips, striding straight toward him with the confidence of someone who had no business being that self-assured.  

By the time you reached him, the small group had already started to disperse, leaving him standing alone. His gaze flicked up, meeting yours, and then—he smiled. A small thing, easy and familiar, like the two of you weren’t just casual friends who crossed paths every so often.  

“Hey,” he greeted smoothly, taking your hand and pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it. A friendly gesture, nothing more. But the way his lips brushed against your skin—it sent a shiver rolling down your spine that was anything but friendly.  

“Hyugo~” you breathed, his name soft on your lips, the alcohol swirling in your system making everything feel just a little bit hazy.  

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before narrowing slightly, taking in the flush on your cheeks, the slightly unsteady sway in your stance. “You all right?” he asked, a steady hand finding the small of your back, firm but careful, just enough to keep you from tipping over.  

“I’m doin’ just fine,” you replied, drawing out the words, looking up at him through lidded eyes. And then—laughter. Sudden, bright, bubbling from your throat before you even knew what was so funny.  

Hyugo's expression shifted the playful glint in his eyes dimming with something closer to concern. “Okay, yeah,” he murmured, his grip tightening just slightly. “How about I take you back to your place?” You blinked up at him, considering it for a moment before nodding. 

Maybe… maybe that would be for the best.

The ride back to your place was quiet. The world outside the car window blurred past in streaks of neon and moonlight, the alcohol in your system making everything feel just a little softer, a little less real. Hyugo’s presence was steady beside you, his hands gripping the wheel, his eyes flicking to you every so often—watching, making sure you were okay.  

By the time you reached your apartment, the night air had sobered you just enough to feel the weight of exhaustion creeping in, but something else burned just beneath your skin—something desperate, something restless.  

The door barely clicked shut behind you before you turned, hands reaching up to cup Hyugo’s face, fingers pressing into the warmth of his skin. You didn’t hesitate. 

You didn’t think. 

You just pulled him down into a kiss—hungry, deep, pressed against the wall as if you could melt into him entirely. His body went rigid for half a second, his breath hitching as your lips moved against his. But then, just as quickly, he stepped back, hands finding your waist to put some space between you. His eyes, wide and unreadable, searched yours before his brows knitted together.  

“Holy shit,” His voice was soft, careful, but firm. “You’re a little under the influence… You’re not making clear decisions.”  

The words hit like a sudden drop in temperature, dousing you in the reality of the situation.  

You blinked up at him, lips still parted, fingers still tingling from the heat of his skin. “I—” Your breath shuddered as you exhaled. Shame curled in your stomach, replacing the warmth that had been there just moments ago. “I’m sorry.”  

Hyugo’s expression softened instantly as he watched you deflate. Before he could say anything, your shoulders sagged, and you stumbled forward slightly, right into his arms. He caught you without hesitation, his hands steady as they hovered at your waist, unsure whether to hold you close or give you space.  

You let out a shaky laugh, but it wasn’t really amused—more tired, more resigned. “I just…” You swallowed thickly, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. “I’ve been stressed, y’know? Thought drinking would help take the edge off, help me forget all the shit piling up.” 

A breath. A pause. “But it didn’t.”  

Hyugo didn’t say anything right away, but he didn’t pull away either. He was warm—so damn warm, grounding in a way that made you feel like maybe you weren’t completely unraveling.  

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “That was stupid.”  

Hyugo exhaled sharply through his nose—almost a laugh, but not quite. His fingers twitched where they rested against you as if he was deciding something. And then, before you could process it—his hands curled around your waist, tugging you closer. 

His head dipped, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was just as sudden as yours had been—but this time, there was no hesitation, no stopping. It was slow, deep, lingering. Like he was trying to tell you something without saying a word. Like he wanted you to understand.  

He practically rips his clothes off His hands feel the exposed skin of your back now slowly guiding him into your bedroom. You just want him naked and his bare body on top of yours with his hands touching any part of you that it can. 

Everything makes you feel like you are drowning, it’s like you can’t get enough oxygen as he practically kisses the life from your being before moving down your neck leaving marks.

Hyugo below you, his breath warm against your skin, lips stealing kisses like he had a right to them. His hands, firm and knowing, holding you steady as you rocked yourself on top of him, each motion slow—teasing, torturous. Your name fell from his lips in a half-broken moan, a sound so desperate it sent shivers down your spine.

Your fingers curled under his chin, tilting his face up to yours, and for a second, he hesitated—just a flicker of something in those soft baby blue, knowing eyes before you dragged his lips back to yours. A soft laugh swallowed between kisses. 

A sharp nip to his lower lip, your way of keeping him in check. His quiet hiss was almost a purr, hands tightening around your hips in response, the warmth of his palms branding against your skin. And then, Saturday mornings rolled around as per usual.

You had rules set. Three simple rules meant to keep things clean, meant to keep this from turning into something it was never supposed to be.

1. No staying over.

2. No unnecessary texting.

3. No catching feelings.

So why did one—or two—of those rules always end up broken?

Looking back, the signs had been there for a while. Subtle at first, easy to ignore. Like the way, he lingered too long on Saturday mornings.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to get up, get dressed, and leave before the day truly started—before things could settle into something too domestic, too comfortable. 

And yet, more often than not, Hyugo would stretch out beside you, arms tucked behind his head, watching you with lazy eyes, making no move to go.

“Five more minutes,” he’d say, voice still a little rough from sleep. “S’too early to get up anyway.” And then came the breakfast offers. “Y’know, I could cook for us?” he’d mention casually, already making his way to your kitchen, raiding your fridge like it was his own. He was good at it too, always making sure to ask what you wanted next time.

You told yourself it was harmless. But rule number one was broken.

Then there was the texting. Unnecessary texting was meant to be avoided—no random check-ins, no conversations outside of planning when and where to meet. Simple, clean, detached. So why did Hyugo contact you so often? 

Why did he text you throughout the day—stupid things, like “Look at this cat I saw on the train” or “Sol was being an idiot today”—as if he couldn’t help but pull you into his everyday life?

You remember one night. You had an exam coming up, so you shut off your phone, buried yourself in assignments, and blocked out the world for a few hours. It wasn’t until you were done that you finally checked your messages.

Hyugo’s name flooded your screen.

Missed calls. Unread messages. Even one from Sol, checking in because “Hyugo’s being annoying as hell and won’t shut up about you.” And before you could even think to respond, there was a knock at your door.

There he was, standing outside your apartment, a bag of snacks in one hand, your favorite drink in the other. His usual playful grin was missing, replaced by something quieter, something uncertain. “You weren’t answering.” His voice was casual, but there was a tension in his shoulders. “Figured I’d just check.”

Hyugo had always been caring. And that should’ve been fine. That should’ve been normal.

But it wasn’t. Because rule number two was broken.

And if you were being honest—really, painfully honest—you had a sinking feeling rule number three was already slipping through your fingers. Why?Well...

One afternoon, you were lost in your thoughts during your Art classes, the kind of space where your mind often wandered between lectures. Sol was sitting next to you, and of course, Hyugo was supposed to be his project partner, but—well, Hyugo had a habit of disappearing or skipping out on things, especially classes.  

You hadn’t even noticed it at first. It was a subtle comment, something so offhand that it almost didn’t register. But then, in the middle of your chaotic thoughts, you heard Sol’s voice break through.  

"You and Hyugo sure act like a couple."

It was the kind of comment you could laugh off. So you did. You laughed. 

You brushed it off like it was nothing. But later, when you were lying in bed, wrapped in the warmth of fresh sheets and freshly showered skin, those words crept into your mind like something that refused to leave.  

You thought about Hyugo. You thought about how he always seemed to know when you were having a bad day, even before you said a word. 

He had this uncanny ability to be there for you in a way no one else ever had. You thought about the way he’d look at you sometimes—like he was holding a secret like there was an inside joke only he understood.  

And then came the real problem.

You tried to imagine what would happen if you ended the arrangement. If you finally said it, broke the silent rule: "This is over." If you told him you didn’t need him anymore. You should’ve felt relief. Should’ve felt lighter, as if some weight had been lifted off your chest.  

But instead, there was this heavy emptiness that crept in, something wrong in your stomach. A feeling that shouldn’t be there.  

You sighed. "Ugh…"

You rolled your eyes at yourself, but the weight of the thought lingered, nagging at the back of your mind. It was hard to ignore, harder to push away. You rolled to your side, pulling your phone out from underneath you. And before you could talk yourself out of it, your thumb hovered over his name. 

It wasn’t Friday, but...  

You pressed send anyway.

A casual text, inviting him over. Nothing too different than the usual, just a random offer to come over and watch one of those detective movies he loved to talk about during aftercare. 

You could justify it, right? You could tell yourself it wasn’t anything serious. It was just a way to unwind, a way to relieve the stress from the week, from everything else weighing on your mind.  

He’d be there. That’s how it worked.

And maybe that was the real problem. You’d let yourself believe it was just that simple.

It wasn’t long until Hyugo showed up right on time, a bag of snacks in one hand, a six-pack of your favorite drink in the other. He grinned when you opened the door, his usual playful smile stretched wide across his face, lighting up his eyes like he was genuinely happy to see you.

He didn’t waste any time, stepping in without waiting for an invitation, his eyes already scanning the room for the usual movie night setup. He was used to this, used to the rhythm of your arrangements—so used to it that he immediately dropped the snacks onto the counter and pulled out his phone. You made a mental note to pay attention to how casual he was like this was just another night. 

But the reality felt slightly different, didn’t it?

You didn’t have time to dwell on it as you suddenly heard Sol’s voice on  Hyugo’s phone. “Yeah, dude, they took their shirt off, and I went—”

You blinked, half-amused and half-cringing, while Sol’s words trailed off into something less than PG-rated. You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall as you waited for whatever came next.

Sol kept talking, but then his words caught up to him, and you saw that flash of awkwardness that was too human for the cocky, Hyugo you usually saw. 

“Like, I actually had—like—my body had a reaction, what the hell, those—” Sol said, voice low and unsure, but still clearly flushed with the remnants of embarrassment.

You could see Hyugo’s eyes roll in the camera, “Dude, I don't need to know about that. Keep that to yourself. Anyway, gotta go." Hyugo let out a low sigh, dropping his head back for a moment, and you caught his tried look as he ended the call. He turned his attention back to you with a smirk, but there was something more in his gaze now. 

Something questioning, probing.

“All right, what’s up with the sudden movie night request? You didn’t text me unless something was going on. Something you wanna tell me?” He raised an eyebrow, his voice teasing but still edged with concern, like he knew better than to think everything was as casual as it seemed.

You narrowed your eyes at him for a moment, but your breath caught in your throat. What were you even supposed to say to that? It wasn’t like you could admit how weirdly you’d been feeling—how the idea of ending your arrangement was something you weren’t ready for, but maybe also feared?

Instead, you just sighed, shifting your weight before turning to grab the TV remote, your back to him. “I just wanted to, all right? Nothing’s up.”

He gave you a long look, his gaze lingering on your form as you moved, and you swore you felt the weight of it even with your back turned. 

You spun around and gave him a light pat on the head, an attempt to brush the awkwardness off, to pretend like you were unaffected. “Besides,” you muttered, “You’re here now. Let’s just enjoy the movie.”

For a second, Hyugo didn’t move, just staring at you as if weighing the sincerity of your words. Then, without missing a beat, he shook his head, a low chuckle slipping from his lips.

“Aww you’re so mean” he teased, his voice soft and easy but still holding that edge of curiosity. “But fine. Movie night it is.” You watched him settle on the couch, trying your best to ignore the weird sense of something lingering in your chest. 

You clicked play on the movie, the soft hum of the opening credits filling the room, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight felt a little different. 

Something you still couldn’t quite place.

Maybe it was the way he kept glancing at you or the casual way he stretched out beside you, shifting closer and closer as if he was already comfortable in a way he wasn’t supposed to be. His arm brushed against yours, and before you knew it, he was leaning his head on your shoulder, an almost childlike innocence in the way he did it. You could tell he was trying to be subtle, but it was becoming obvious.

You stiffened, biting your lip, but you didn’t say anything right away. He wasn’t supposed to get this close. Not tonight. You had rules for a reason, after all. 

And that means no cuddling unless it was Friday.

You shifted slightly, but he followed your movement, pressing his side against yours, his body heat seeping into yours. His face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, and you could feel him smiling, the faintest touch of his breath against your skin.

"You know," he started, voice muffled by your shirt, "I’m pretty sure it’s still a movie night, which means we’re allowed to, you know, do our thing.” His hand found its way to your leg, brushing against it like he was just testing the waters.

You let out a sigh, half amused, half irritated by how well he knew your boundaries. You had told him before—it was only on Fridays. That was the arrangement. You didn’t do the clingy thing on any other night. “Hyugo…” You hesitated, trying to pull yourself together. “It’s not Friday. You know the rules.”

He looked up at you then, his baby-blue eyes gleaming with that usual mischief and something deeper. His lips parted, but you could tell he was just about to give you that pouty look—the one you couldn’t ever resist.

“I don’t care about the rules tonight,” he whined, sounding almost pitiful, though you knew he was playing it up. He was like that—charming in the way he asked for things. “Please. Just this once, hug me? You can’t say no to me. You never can.”

You could feel the weight of his words, his voice practically begging for something he knew you were weak for. His eyes were locked on yours, and his hands, one still resting on your leg, slowly crept up to your waist, fingers brushing against your skin. You wanted to tell him to back off. You wanted to stick to the rules. 

You really did. 

But something in the way he looked at you, something in the way his touch was gentle and familiar, made it so damn hard to say no. 

"Hyugo…" you started again, your voice weaker this time, “This isn’t what we agreed on.” But even as you said it, you already knew the inevitable was coming. He gave you that smile, that look that made your chest tighten, and you found yourself caving in, just like always. You were starting to think that maybe he didn’t need to break the rules—he had this power over you just by existing.

You sighed and leaned into him, your resolve shattering as you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. He immediately relaxed into your embrace, his head finding its place on your chest as he breathed a contented sigh.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice muffled as he burrowed in closer. His body melted against yours like he had been waiting for this moment all along. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

You let out a small laugh, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You were trying so hard not to admit how good it felt to have him so close to you. To feel his warmth and his weight on you, the steady rhythm of his breathing syncing with yours. You couldn’t deny it. “I’m not sure who’s the one who can’t resist,” you muttered, your fingers threading through his hair, almost absently. “You’re the one who’s always clinging to me.”

He grinned against your chest, his arms tightening around you as he relaxed even more. "What can I say? You're just too irresistible."

You felt your heartbeat in your throat, a quiet, unspoken tension building in the space between you, but the movie continued in the background, and neither of you moved. The silence hung thick, but there was a comfort in it too, even if you knew this wasn’t part of the plan. 

Again, this is supposed to be an arrangement. 

But in moments like these, with Hyugo nestled into your side, everything felt too natural. Too close.

As the movie played on, the air between you and Hyugo grew more comfortable, almost too comfortable for your liking. He shifted, his body pressing closer to yours as he reached for the box of snacks he’d brought with him—something he always did, a part of his little routine that never changed. You couldn’t help but smile at how predictable he was, how him he was, down to the snacks he chose. It was always something he’d drop-ship from somewhere, usually imported and overpriced. 

"You're really dedicated to these, huh?" you teased, raising an eyebrow as he expertly opened the box of snacks.

Hyugo glanced up at you with that signature mischievous grin, the one that always made you suspect he knew exactly how much he was getting away with. "What can I say? I have refined taste," he responded, with a dramatic flourish as he pulled out a handful of Pocky sticks. "Plus, they're actually real. Unlike that cheap stuff, they make in the city."

You rolled your eyes, snatching the box from his hands before he could hide it. "Yeah, I know, you've mentioned how much you hate the stuff they make here." You paused, eyeing the Pocky sticks like they were some rare, prized possession. “Can I have some?”

Hyugo smirked, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. "You always ask for some, and you know they’re my favorite. I’m not sure I can share them with you now.” He leaned back against the couch, clearly trying to be casual about it, but you could tell by the glint in his eyes he was planning something.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? You’re going to be like that?”

With a playful grin, Hyugo picked up one of the Pocky sticks, holding it between his fingers, then slowly and deliberately brought it to his lips. His eyes locked onto yours as the stick hovered just over his mouth, resting there teasingly. "I think I’m generous enough to share one with you… but only if you're lucky."

You narrowed your eyes, trying to act nonchalant. You knew exactly what game he was playing. He wasn’t going to make it easy for you. You reached for the box, but he was quicker—his hand darted in front of yours, pulling the box out of reach. 

“You want it that badly?” Hyugo teased, his voice low and playful. “Well, come and get it.” 

He pointed at the Pocky stick still balanced on his lips. "I’ll let you have it if you can grab it."

For a moment, you stared at him, both amused and slightly irritated by his antics. You were determined not to let him get away with this. Without thinking, you lunged for the stick, but he dodged—leaning back with a laugh that echoed through the room. You both tumbled into each other as you reached again, this time managing to grab onto his wrist. 

"Hyugo, stop being ridiculous," you said through gritted teeth, but you were laughing despite yourself. 

He smirked, clearly enjoying the chase. “I think you like it when I’m ridiculous.”

Rolling your eyes, you finally reached for the stick again, your fingers brushing against his lips. The movement was slow, deliberate until you were close enough to steal it from him—finally. You pulled back triumphantly, but just as you were about to break off a piece, Hyugo grabbed your wrist and pulled you back toward him.

“Hey, I was sharing it!” he protested with mock seriousness, but the mischievous glint in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t actually upset.

“Uh-huh,” you said, smiling despite yourself. “Sure, you were.”

With a dramatic sigh, he let go of your wrist and leaned back, clearly satisfied with the playful game he'd dragged you into. "You're lucky I'm generous," he said, reaching into the box to grab another Pocky stick for himself. "But I’m not that generous."

You took the opportunity to finally break off a piece, popping it in your mouth and giving him a smug look. "Thanks for sharing," you said sweetly, before winking. "Next time, though, I’m taking what I want."

Hyugo just laughed, shaking his head. "You can try, but you'll have to catch me first," he teased, throwing his feet up on the couch and sinking into the cushions with a satisfied grin.

It was like this—comfortably ridiculous, lighthearted, with the two of you playing off each other’s energy like you always did. The snacks were just an excuse for a good laugh, but that didn't mean you couldn't keep pushing things a little further.

Hyugo, clearly not ready to let the game go, leaned forward, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievousness. He grabbed another Pocky stick, this time holding it out toward you with a little smirk. “You know, we could make this more interesting,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “The Pocky Stick Game. Ever heard of it?”

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion, though the hint of a smile was already tugging at your lips. “Pocky Stick Game?” you asked, trying to sound as unimpressed as possible, but you both knew you were intrigued.

Hyugo grinned like he’d just found the perfect way to get under your skin. “It’s simple,” he said, pulling a second stick from the box. “We each take one end, and we eat it toward each other. The goal is to get to the middle without breaking the stick or moving your mouth away.”

You stared at the Pocky stick for a moment, a little skeptical. “And what happens if we get to the middle?” you asked, knowing damn well what kind of ridiculousness was probably going to ensue.

Hyugo gave you an exaggerated shrug, his grin widening. “Well, you could always see where things go,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

The idea of this silly game seemed too ridiculous to resist, so you leaned forward, grabbing one end of the stick and narrowing your eyes at him. “I hope you’re ready to lose,” you teased, trying to play it cool even though your heart was beating a little faster than it should have been.

With a dramatic flourish, Hyugo grabbed the other end of the stick, locking eyes with you. His lips curled into that signature smirk, and for a moment, you both just stared at each other, the tension building in the air.

Then, slowly, he began to lean in, taking a delicate bite of the stick, moving toward you. You mirrored him, taking your own bite, the distance between your lips closing with each second. 

The game became something else entirely now. More intimate. As you both continued, the stick grew shorter, your mouths drawing closer.

It was ridiculous. Silly. But also... a little bit fun? 

You could feel the heat of his breath against your lips as you leaned in, trying to maintain that careful balance—neither of you wanting to be the first to pull away.

You could see his eyes flicker between your gaze and your lips. You were aware of the closeness now, the tension hanging in the air. Neither of you dared to move back. It was the kind of situation that always had the potential to get a little... well, weird.

And yet, despite it all, you couldn't deny that your heart was racing, your breath shallow. His lips were so close now that you could practically feel the warmth of them against yours. It was like something you couldn’t escape, something that dared you to take that final step.

Hyugo, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, paused for just a second, as if he were weighing his options. And then, without warning, he closed the gap between you, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, teasing kiss.

It was over before you could even fully process it, but your body stayed frozen, your eyes wide as you both pulled away. 

The Pocky stick? Gone. 

The game? Completely forgotten.

Hyugo's grin was a mixture of smug satisfaction and something else—something unreadable. "Guess you weren't expecting that, huh?"

You blinked a few times, trying to find words to make sense of what just happened. “You cheated,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual sharpness. 

There was something oddly vulnerable about the way he’d kissed you—like he was testing the waters, not sure what he was really hoping for, but willing to try anyway.

“Wasn’t cheating,” Hyugo replied with a casual shrug, clearly relishing the way you were looking at him. “Just went for the win.” His voice dropped a little lower as he added, “And maybe I wanted to see how you'd react.”

You shook your head, but a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. "You're so silly, you know that?"

He just winked, clearly pleased with himself. "Maybe. But you love it."

You sat there for a moment, your thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess. You hadn’t expected it to get this complicated, and yet, here you were. Every touch, every playful moment, every laugh—it felt different now. What started off as a simple arrangement, a way to blow off steam, had somehow evolved into something more... personal. 

Are you and Hyugo a thing?

The thought made your head throb. You had made it clear that this was just about relieving stress, no strings attached. You needed it to stay that way. You couldn’t afford to get caught up in something more. You told yourself over and over that you didn’t need more. That you could keep things uncomplicated. 

But fuck, fuck, fuck, you were slipping. 

The signs were there—his lingering glances, the way he seemed to know exactly when you were upset, the way you looked forward to his presence, even when it wasn’t Friday. 

And that kiss just now? That wasn’t a ‘just friends’ kiss. 

Hyugo leaned back against the couch, drumming his fingers against the box of Pocky. The movie played on, some detective unraveling a case in the background, but you couldn’t focus—not when Hyugo was still looking at you from the corner of his eye like he was trying to read you like he was waiting.  

Trying to ignore the way your pulse had picked up, you forced a smirk, nudging his arm. “So, what? You wanna play fair now?”  

Hyugo let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe. Figure I owe you another round, since, y’know… somebody accused me of cheating.”  

You rolled your eyes but took the bait, reaching into the box for another Pocky stick. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.” Holding the stick between your lips, you raised a brow at him. “Happy now?”  

His grin was back—playful, teasing, but there was something else beneath it, something quieter. He leaned in, biting down on the other end, and for a second, everything felt normal. Just you and Hyugo, playing some ridiculous game like always.  

But then—“Do you ever think about us?” His words came so softly, so unexpectedly, that your breath caught in your throat.  

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close he was—of the way his breath fanned across your skin, the way his lips were just inches away from yours. His eyes searched yours, waiting. Really waiting this time.  

The stick trembled slightly between your lips.  

“I…” You tried to find the words, but they felt too heavy on your tongue. What was he asking, exactly? What did he mean?  

Was this still a joke to him? Just another playful tease?  

Or was it something else?  

“Hyugo, I—”  

Before you could finish, Hyugo did what he always did—turned everything into a game. With a sly grin, he suddenly leaned in and snapped the last bite of the Pocky stick between his teeth, effectively winning again.

Your lips parted in disbelief as he chewed, looking way too pleased with himself.

“You—”

“Oops,” he said, voice dripping with fake innocence, licking the crumbs off his lips. “Guess I win. Again.”

The shift in tone was obvious—his usual teasing, playful demeanor sliding right back into place like armor. Like, Hyugo had caught you off guard—not just with the question, but with the way he asked it. The way his voice had softened, the way his usual easygoing mask had slipped just enough to make you wonder.

Did he really mean it?

Or was it just another offhand remark, a passing thought that would disappear like all the others?

You studied him for a moment, watching as he casually stretched, shifting to get more comfortable. But you weren’t fooled. His fingers drummed lightly against his knee, his shoulders just a little too stiff.

“Hyugo,” you started again, softer this time. 

He looked at you, head tilting slightly, expectant—but that teasing smirk was gone. And that was the worst part. 

Because, for once, you knew he wasn’t joking. You should’ve let it go. Should’ve just let a simple never mind slip through your lips like sand, ignored it, buried it beneath the comfort of routine. 

But you couldn’t.

Not with him.

“No, wait, what do you mean?” The question left you almost automatically, like an instinct you couldn’t suppress. 

Hyugo wasn’t looking at the movie anymore. His focus was entirely on you.

His face was inches away, the dim glow of the screen casting soft shadows over his features. His lips barely parted as he took in a slow, steady breath like he was weighing his next words.

"Us," he repeated quietly.

Your stomach flipped.

“Like… more than this.” His voice was softer now, lacking its usual playful edge. The teasing, the easygoing smirks—it was all stripped away, leaving something raw behind. Something real.

"Do you ever think about what happens after?" He hesitated, eyes flickering to where your legs brushed against each other, the warmth of his skin bleeding through. "When does the arrangement end? Or…" He trailed off, glancing down at the space between you, his expression unreadable for a moment.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. You tried to laugh, brushing it off like it was nothing. "Hyugo, we're just… doing this, right? You know the rules. No feelings. Just fun."

But his gaze didn’t shift. He wasn’t smiling anymore, his usual playful demeanor gone.

"That’s not what I asked," he murmured, voice low, almost like he was speaking to himself. His fingers twitched slightly where they rested against your arm. "I asked if you ever think about what happens when this ends."

His thumb brushed gently across the inside of your wrist, tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. You felt the warmth of it, the softness, the weight of something unsaid.

Your heart skipped a beat. You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve told him no, of course not, because that was the rule, wasn’t it? But instead, you sat there, your pulse hammering against your ribs, the words stuck somewhere in your throat.

Because you had thought about it.

More than once.

You thought about the way he lingered in your bed on Saturday mornings, and how his laughter stayed with you even after he left. You thought about the way he always knew when something was wrong—how he showed up, unannounced, arms full of your favorite snacks like he could sense when you needed him before you even realized it yourself.

And worst of all?

You thought about what it would feel like if he wasn’t there anymore.

Hyugo studied your face, his eyes searching for something—anything—that would tell him what you were thinking. 

Truth be told, you wanted to say something dismissive, wanted to put the distance back between you, to remind him that this was just a fling—something with no emotional attachment. But the sincerity in his voice, the weight of the unspoken words hanging between you, made it hard to ignore.  

"Hyugo, this was always just supposed to be—"

"Yeah, I know," he interrupted, his voice more serious now like he was reading your mind. He sat up slightly, his hand sliding from your back to your side, his touch lingering longer than usual. "But I don’t think I’m the only one who’s not… quite so sure anymore."  

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed how things had changed—how his casual touches weren’t so casual anymore, how he stayed over longer than he should, how you found yourself thinking about him outside of those late-night moments. 

You were lying to yourself if you didn’t admit that something had shifted, even if you didn’t know exactly what that something was.  

Before you could respond, Hyugo moved, swift and conscious, pushing you back against the couch. His weight caged you in—not heavy, not forceful, but there. Unavoidable.

You let out a sharp breath, your hands instinctively gripping his hoodie as he hovered over you, his face dangerously close. His grin was back, playful, teasing—but there was something behind it this time, something almost challenging.

"You’re really gonna sit here and lie to me?" he mused, tilting his head, his fingers ghosting over your arm. "Act like you haven’t thought about it?"

You scoffed, masking the way your pulse stuttered. "Thought about what?" you shot back, feigning ignorance, hoping he’d drop it.

However, Hyugo had never been the type to back off when he wanted something. His hand found your wrist again, pinning it lightly beside your head. "You know what," he said, his voice dropping lower, taking on that infuriatingly smooth tone that always got under your skin. "I just wanna hear you say it."

Your jaw tightened. He was playing with fire. "Hyugo," you warned, trying to push him off, but he barely budged.

Instead, he leaned in closer, eyes narrowing with amusement. "You’re squirming," he observed, grinning. "That means I’m right."

Your patience snapped. "Oh, please," you sneered, throwing your head back against the cushion. "You think just because you look at me all soft and whisper some nonsense, I’ll suddenly fall into your arms? That’s cute, Hyugo. Real cute."

His smirk faltered, just for a second, but he recovered quickly, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly.

"See, there it is," he murmured, almost to himself. "You always do that."

"Do what?" you shot back, your glare unwavering.

"Act like you don’t care. Act like this is nothing." His free hand trailed up your side, slow, calculated. "Like I’m nothing."

Your breath hitched, but you clenched your jaw, refusing to let it show.

"You are nothing," you said cruelly, knowing damn well it was a lie. "Just my Friday night guy, right?"

The moment the words left your lips, something flickered in his expression—something raw, something real. But instead of pulling away, he did the opposite.

Hyugo dipped his head, his nose brushing against your cheek, his breath warm against your ear.

"Say it again," he murmured.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, your body betraying you even as you glared up at him.

"Say it like you mean it."

You refused to give him the satisfaction. 

You refused to lose to the likes of him.

With a sharp inhale, you grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, forcing him to look at you. But instead of a pained reaction, Hyugo let out a quiet groan—low and pleased, his eyes darkening as he licked his lips.

Your stomach dropped. Oh. Right. You were so used to topping him, you should’ve known. Of course, he liked it.

The realization made you falter just enough for him to strike. His hand tightened around your wrist again, his other arm bracing against the couch as he leaned back down, his face just inches from yours.

"You always do this," he murmured, voice a little breathless, but filled with something dangerously smug. "Act all tough, pretend you're not affected, but—" He smirked, tilting his head, his hair still mussed from your grip. "You’re still holding onto me."

You gritted your teeth, ready to push him off, to deny it all over again—

But then he shifted his weight, pressing closer, and your body reacted.

Damn it.

"You wanna know the truth?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, coaxing, coaxing, coaxing you into saying something you weren’t ready to admit. "Say it," he urged. "Or I’ll make you."

You clenched your jaw, glaring up at him, hating the way he got under your skin. "Fuck you," you muttered.

Hyugo only chuckled, his fingers brushing over your jaw, his nose ghosting against your cheek again. "You wish."

And then—before you could stop yourself—the words slipped out.

"I think about it, okay?"

The air left the room. Hyugo stilled, his teasing smile fading into something softer, something unreadable. You could feel his breath against your skin, feel the heat of him so close. "Say it again," he murmured.

You swallowed hard, your mind screaming at you to shut up, to fix this, to deny, deny, deny—but the truth was already out, and you couldn’t take it back. "...I think about us," you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Something in his expression shifted—something you didn’t have time to process before his mouth was on yours. It was sudden, almost desperate, his lips crashing against yours like he’d been waiting for this, starving for this.

You gasped against his mouth, your grip on his hair tightening as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing flush against yours.

Wait—wasn’t this supposed to be movie night?

How the hell did it turn into this? Not that you were stopping him.

Not when his hands were sliding up your waist, gripping you like he was afraid you’d disappear. Not when his mouth was moving against yours, hungry, like he was making up for all the times you hadn’t kissed like this. Not when every tilt of his head, every teasing nip of his lips, sent a heat curling deep in your stomach.

No, you weren’t stopping him at all.

Because right now, he wasn’t just your Friday night guy—he was yours.

Hyugo pulled back slightly, breathless, his forehead resting against yours. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your hip as he smirked. "So," he murmured, voice low and teasing, "does this mean you actually like me, or are you just making out with me out of pity?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, though your face was burning. "Oh, shut up."

His grin widened. "That’s not a denial."

You sighed, glaring at him half-heartedly. "You really wanna know why I agreed to this whole arrangement in the first place?"

Hyugo arched a brow, a smirk playing at his lips, but there was curiosity in his eyes. "Obviously. Enlighten me."

You hesitated for a split second before deciding, fuck it, you were already in too deep. "You looked…" You dragged your fingers through his already messy hair, watching how his breath hitched slightly. "Lowkey fuckable."

His smirk widened, his ego practically inflating right in front of you. "Oh? That’s all?"

You hummed, feigning thoughtfulness. "I mean… yeah. You were kinda like a snackaroo to me."

His grin faltered. "A what?"

You fought the laugh bubbling in your throat. "A snackaroo. Y’know—a small meal you have between breakfast, lunch, and dinner. A little treat to tide me over." You leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to something teasing. "Whenever I was bored. Stressed. You were my little snack."

Hyugo stared at you, blinking before he burst out laughing. "Oh, that’s messed up. I was just a quick fix for you?"

"At first," you admitted, lips quirking. "You were convenient, always there, always good—" Your fingers traced along his jaw, feeling the tension beneath your touch. "But then… you became something else."

His laughter faded, replaced by something quieter. "Something else?"

You swallowed, suddenly feeling too bare, too exposed. 

But this was Hyugo. 

The little short shit who always knew when to push and when to let you be.

“You balanced me all right,” you murmured, your thumb brushing gently over his cheek, the touch tender and lingering. “Made me laugh when I didn’t feel like it. Kept me in check when I got too stuck in my head. And somehow, without even trying, you became…” 

Your voice wavered, the weight of the words catching in your throat before you finally pushed them out. “More.”

Hyugo’s usual smirk faded, replaced by something softer, something genuine. His fingers slid along your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him. “Damn,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, but with a hint of awe. “You really got it bad for me, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “Shut up.”

But he only grinned wider, his hands tightening around you. “Nah, I like this. You like me. Admit it.”

“Nah, not anymore…” you sighed, feigning indifference, but the way your body leaned into his betrayed you.

Suddenly, his hands slipped under your shirt, his fingers skimming over your skin before finding your breasts. He froze for a moment, his breath hitching when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra. A devilish smirk spread across his lips as his fingers immediately began toying with your nipples, pinching and twisting them between his thumb and index finger. 

“You’re such a liar,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “Look at you, baby. I haven’t even done anything, and your nipples are already hard!” He laughed, the sound low and warm, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could snap back with a retort, his lips crashed into yours in a kiss that was slower this time—deeper, more deliberate. It wasn’t just playful or teasing anymore; there was a weight to it, a steady intent in every brush of his mouth against yours. 

His hands weren’t just roaming now; they were exploring, tracing the shape of your body like he was committing every curve to memory. Every touch, every press of his fingers against your skin, felt like he was marking you—not in a way that claimed ownership, but like he was engraving himself into your very being.

You caved, of course. How could you not?

His lips left yours, trailing down to your neck, where he latched on with wet, open-mouthed kisses. He sucked and bit at your soft skin, leaving hickeys and love bites scattered everywhere. 

Hyugo needed to mark you, needed everyone to know that you were his. 

Just the thought of owning you made his body thrum with anticipation, his desire evident in the way his hands gripped you tighter, the way his breath hitched against your skin.

You let out breathy whimpers, your body arching into his touch, and you felt his smirk against your neck. “Your sounds are so pretty,” he whispered huskily in your ear, his voice sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Need to hear more.”

Hyugo had waited so long for this, for you, in his own little way. 

You could feel it in how his movements were softer now, in the careful way he touched you, as if he was afraid to break something fragile. The little shit had waited for his turn—and now, here he was, taking it. 

He wasn’t just kissing you for the hell of it, or because you two were in some arrangement. He was kissing you like he wanted to make his mark like he was trying to show you that there was more to this than whatever casual thing you’d been doing.

And you let him. You let him because, deep down, you knew it too.

It wasn’t long before the two of you stumbled into the sanctuary of your bed, the cool sheets brushing against your bare skin as you lay back, sending a delicious shiver rippling down your spine. The room was bathed in a soft, intimate glow, the air thick with anticipation and something deeper—something that hadn’t been there before.

You hadn’t even noticed when or how your or his clothes had disappeared, scattered somewhere between the door and the bed, lost in the heat of the moment. All you knew was that Hyugo was there, his body hovering over yours, his presence both commanding and tender. 

His weight was perfectly balanced, careful not to press too hard, as if he was afraid of shattering the delicate, electric tension that crackled between you.

But this wasn’t the same Hyugo you’d known before. There was a reverence in the way he moved now, his hands braced beside you, his body steady but not overwhelming. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t treating this like just another fleeting encounter. No, he was savoring every second, every breath, every touch, as if this moment—you—mattered to him in a way that went beyond the physical.

His eyes locked onto yours, soft and loving. His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, his touch feather-light as if he was memorizing every detail of you. The way his breath hitched when your skin brushed against his, the way his chest rose and fell in time with yours—it all felt different. 

This wasn’t just another casual arrangement, another Friday night deal to blow off steam.

This was different now. And you were both falling into it, together.

"Are you sure about this?" His voice was low, barely above a whisper, his lips brushing against your cheek in a kiss that was soft but held a weight that made your heart race. 

His hands remained steady, braced against the bed to keep his body from fully pressing into yours, but the warmth of his chest against yours was undeniable. You could feel the heat rising between you, a burning, magnetic pull that only intensified with every second.

Your pulse raced as his question hung in the air, the vulnerability in his tone catching you off guard. 

Your lips parted, and the words were almost a confession. “Yes,” you whispered back, your voice betraying the uncertainty you were trying to mask. But you reached up, letting your hand trail along his neck, fingers tracing the curve of his Adam’s apple. 

You pressed gently, feeling his pulse beneath your fingertips. His eyes softened, something flickering in them, a mix of tenderness and desire. But before he could say anything, you gently pushed him back, just enough to create some space.

“How about I’ll be your snack tonight?” you purred, your voice softer than you intended, but laced with a quiet defiance that dared him to take the bait. “Do whatever your heart pleases, I give you full say-so.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and for a moment, you regretted how much you’d exposed yourself. You hadn’t meant to be so vulnerable, hadn’t meant to hand him the reins so completely—but the truth was undeniable. You wanted him.

No, you craved him. 

You wanted him to ravish you, to use you, to take you apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but the two of you, tangled and breathless.

But before you could retreat, before you could pull back the words or the unspoken invitation that had slipped through your defenses, it was too late. Hyugo’s smirk returned, sharper and more deliberate than before, his eyes locking onto yours with a predatory focus that sent a shiver racing down your spine. 

He didn’t need another invitation. 

He didn’t need permission. 

He already knew what you wanted—what you needed—and he was more than ready to deliver.

His fingers brushed against your soaked pussy with a confidence that made your breath hitch. “Oh, so wet for me already?” he teased, his voice low and dripping with amusement. His chuckle reverberated through you, sending a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs. 

His fingers danced over your slick folds, gathering the evidence of your desire and spreading it over your sensitive bundle of nerves. He circled slowly, deliberately, his touch light but maddening, each stroke sending sparks shooting through your body.

You squirmed beneath him, your hips instinctively arching into his touch, but he held you steady, his other hand gripping your hip with a firmness that made your pulse race. “So eager,” he murmured, his voice a mix of admiration and mischief. “But I’m not done playing yet.” He continued to tease you, his fingers exploring every inch of you, driving you closer and closer to the edge without letting you fall.

But then, his control snapped. 

“Fuck, baby, I can’t wait anymore,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “I need you. Now.” He was quick to close the distance, his body still on top of you, pressing against yours with an urgency that left no room for hesitation. His hands, his presence, his very being demanded your surrender. 

And then, with a boldness that stole your breath, he dove in, his cock sliding between your breasts with a rhythm that was rough and quick. 

The sensation was electric, a wild, crackling current that surged through you as his skin slid against yours, setting every nerve ablaze. Your body responded with a hunger of its own, your breasts pressing together, soft yet firm, as if they were made to cradle him. Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, not to hold back, but to amplify the pressure, to create a snug, velvety haven that enveloped him completely.

You didn’t need your hands—this was all about the intoxicating friction, the way your body seemed to know exactly how to hold him, how to tease and tempt without a single touch of your fingers. The air between you grew thick with gasps and moans, a symphony of desire that made time itself pause as if the universe was holding its breath just to watch.

Every thrust, every desperate grind, was a fiery declaration of the bond you shared—a raw, unspoken language of need and passion that neither of you could resist. And as he moved between your breasts, his breath hot and ragged above you.

Hyugo’s baby blue eyes locked onto yours, soft and smoldering with a mix of mischief and desire, as he watched you take control—only to surrender it right back to him. The way you guided him, the tip of his cock brushing against your lips, sent a jolt of anticipation through him. His breath hitched, and a wicked grin spread across his face as he realized what you were offering.

“Oops,” he teased, his voice low and dripping with playful arrogance as if the idea had just dawned on him. But there was no hesitation in his movements. With a firm grip on the back of your head, he pushed forward, his cock sliding past your lips and into the warmth of your mouth. The sensation was overwhelming for both of you—his groan mingled with your muffled whimper, a symphony of pleasure and surrender.

He didn’t hold back, his hips moving with a rhythm that was both demanding and intoxicating. Each thrust was deliberate, a claim, a reminder of the power he now held over you. Yet, there was something tender in the way he watched you, his gaze never leaving yours, as if he was savoring every second of this intimate control.

Your hands found their way to his thighs, not to push him away, but to steady yourself, to anchor yourself in the storm of sensations. The taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue, the way he filled your mouth completely—it was all-consuming. And as he fucked your mouth with a rhythm that left you breathless, you could feel the tension building, the heat between you reaching a fever pitch.

Hyugo’s breath came in ragged bursts, his voice a low growl as he murmured your name, a mix of praise and desperation. 

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you gently but firmly. “Take it all.”

The rhythm between you escalated, a feverish, unrelenting tempo that left no room for hesitation. Hyugo’s movements grew erratic, his control slipping as his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. And then it happened—his hips stuttered, his breath caught, and a low, guttural groan tore from his throat, raw and unfiltered. 

You felt it before you saw it: the sudden warmth of his release, the first pulse landing hot and heavy on your waiting tongue, while the rest painted your cheeks and chin in messy, glistening streaks.

He pulled back, his chest rising and falling in ragged waves, a faint blush creeping across his face as a sheepish grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to—” he started, his voice trailing off, but the flicker in his eyes gave him away. That sly, almost guilty glint, the way his words wavered just enough to betray the lie—it was all too obvious. 

He wasn’t sorry—not really. And neither were you.

You didn’t let him off the hook. A sighed as your tongue wiped at the corner of your mouth with a deliberate flick of your tongue, savoring the taste of him. “Didn’t mean to? Really, Hyugo?” Your tone was light, teasing but edged with a sharpness that made his grin falter, his confidence wavering under your gaze.

You huffed, averting your eyes as a muttered complaint slipped out, “So annoying…” 

A flicker of irritation crossed Hyugo’s features as he leaned in, his hands gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head with a grip that was just shy of too tight. 

“You’ve got a smart mouth,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, though there was a hint of a pout in there somewhere. “You say this is my chance, but you’re always so mean to me.” He said it with an almost adorable whine—if he wasn’t currently manhandling you like a feral raccoon who’d just found a treasure trove of snacks.

Before you could retort, he pushed you back onto the bed, his weight pressing you into the mattress like he was trying to imprint you into it. He spread your legs wide, positioning himself between them with a determination that was both impressive and slightly concerning.

And then—oh. You gasped as he entered you in one swift, deep thrust, bottoming out inside you with a force that left you breathless. It was like he’d been launched out of a cannon, all pent-up energy and zero patience. His pace was frantic, almost comically so, like he was trying to win some kind of gremlin gold medal in the ‘Who Can Fuck the Fastest’ Olympics.

Now, it seemed like he was taking your comment personally. Pity.

“Hyugo—!” you managed to choke out, but he wasn’t listening. His eyes were sharp, and focused, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he drove into you again and again, each thrust harder and faster than the last. It was overwhelming, ridiculous, and somehow perfect.

“You’re so—” he started, his voice breaking as he struggled to form words between thrusts, “—so fucking mean, but I—ah—I can’t stop—”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up even as your body quivered under his relentless, almost punishing rhythm. “You’re such a gremlin,” you managed to tease, though the words came out fragmented, breathless, more of a gasp than anything coherent.

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he leaned down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he murmured, “Your gremlin,” his voice low and dripping with possessiveness. And then, as if to drive the point home, he surged forward, his pace intensifying, each thrust deeper, harder, more deliberate—like he was determined to brand himself into your very being.

But then, just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the rhythm, he slowed. Painfully, excruciatingly slow, drawing out every movement until you were squirming beneath him, desperate for more. “Do you still think I’m annoying?” he giggled, his tone light and teasing, but his eyes glinted with mischief.

You glared up at him, your frustration evident. “Go faster,” you demanded, your voice strained.

He shook his head, that cheeky smile of his spreading wider. “Say please, and I will.”

You scoffed, your pride flaring. “Aww, In your dreams.”

His expression shifted, a playful frown tugging at his lips as he grabbed your face, his grip firm but not unkind. And then, without warning, he snapped his hips forward, his pace turning brutal, each stroke deep and unrelenting, punishing most deliciously. Your breath hitched, your body arching as a strangled cry escaped your lips.

“Wha—wait, wait—fuck,” you pleaded, your voice breaking under the onslaught.

“Nuh-uh,” he chided, his tone mock-stern. “I’m sick of you being so mean to me.”

“Hyugo, fuck, please—” your voice broke, trembling as the pleasure coiled tighter, threatening to snap. “Please, please—” you begged, your words spilling out in a desperate, breathless chant. Your resolve was crumbling, your body trembling beneath him as you teetered on the edge of something overwhelming, something you couldn’t control.

And then he smiled—that smile. 

A slow, satisfied, almost predatory grin spread across his lips as he watched you come undone. This was exactly where he wanted you: whimpering, pleading, completely at his mercy. It was a sight he’d fantasized about more times than he could count. Him, finally topping you? It was almost too good to be true.

His mind flashed back to all those nights when you were the one in control when you’d straddled his lap, teasing and taunting him with that perfect mix of cruelty and kindness. 

You’d shown him what it meant to be taken care of, and he’d loved every second of it—your dominance, your confidence, the way his breathy little whines had escaped despite his best efforts to stay composed. But now? Now the tables had turned, and he was the one driving you wild.

He felt your tight, warm walls clenching around him, and it was all he could do to keep himself together. His hips moved with a relentless rhythm, pressing you into the mattress as he claimed you in a way that left no doubt who was in charge now. His eyes rolled back, a shuddering moan tearing from his throat—a sound so raw, so scandalous, it made your cheeks burn. 

His fingers gripped the sheets like they were the only thing keeping him grounded, his mouth falling open as he panted above you, his sweet, innocent lips betraying just how much he was losing himself in you. But even as he took control, even as he pinned you beneath him, he couldn’t seem to shake that needy, begging side of himself. 

“More—I need more of you,” he whined, his voice trembling, his hands roaming your body, gripping and squeezing your soft flesh as if he couldn’t get enough. His mouth sought yours in a clumsy, desperate kiss, his breath hot and ragged against your lips as he tried—and failed—to muffle the sounds escaping him.

From below, you watched him with a mix of awe and amusement, your brain short-circuiting as he moaned your name in that breathy, broken way of his. 

It was almost comical, the way Hyugo tried so hard to wear the mask of control, to play the part of the confident, commanding lover. But beneath that façade, he was unraveling, his voice trembling, his body quivering with need. 

Oh, no. No matter how much he tried to take charge, no matter how fiercely he gripped your hips or how deeply he thrust into you, he could never quite shake off that pleading, desperate side of himself. It was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to break free.

And maybe—just maybe—he needed a little help to let it out.

Your fingers tangled in his soft hair, tugging gently but firmly, forcing his gaze to meet yours. His eyes, dark and hazy with desire, locked onto you as you moaned, “Eyes on me, baby boy, come on.” He obeyed instantly, his breath hitching as he stared at you, completely captivated.

“Keep pushing, I know you can do it. You’re doing so well,” you murmured, your voice dripping with praise, each word a sweet caress that seemed to fuel him even more. 

A soft, needy moan escaped his lips, and he dipped his head down to suck at your breast, his tongue swirling in a way that made your back arch. But then he looked up at you, his eyes wide and pleading, like a lost puppy begging for guidance.

“Too much…” he whined, his voice barely above a whisper, his hips stuttering as they moved desperately against yours, chasing his release.

You couldn’t help but smile, your hands sliding down to his hips, stilling his movements just enough to tease him. 

“C’mon, you’re so close, I can feel it. You’re making me feel so good,” you cooed, your words a soft melody whispered into his ear. “Can you do that for me, baby? Can you give me everything you’ve got?”

He nodded frantically, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “Yes… yes, ma’am. Please— I love you. I love you,” he babbled, his voice breaking as he clung to you, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. 

“I’ll make you feel so good,” he promised, his voice low and rough, each word dripping with a mix of determination and adoration. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his body moving in sync with yours as you guided him back into rhythm. Your fingers dug into his skin, urging him deeper, harder, faster—every thrust was a testament to the raw, unbridled connection between you.

And then it happened. 

His control shattered, his body trembling as he finally let go, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he came undone. You felt every shudder, every pulse, every wave of his release, and a surge of triumph washed over you. 

This was your doing. 

You had unraveled him, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but pure, unfiltered ecstasy.

But then, as his breathing began to steady, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, and whispered something that made your eyes widen in disbelief. 

“I’ll be the first and last to give you the best fuck in your life.”

Wait, what now?

You blinked, your mind momentarily short-circuiting as his words sank in. A playful smirk tugged at your lips, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of light and teasing. “Oh, really?” you shot back, your tone dripping with mock skepticism. “Bold words for someone who just came apart like a house of cards.”

His cheeks flushed, but he didn’t back down, his grin turning cocky as he nipped at your neck. “Don’t you want me to make you feel good?” Hyugo’s voice was soft, almost innocent, but the glint in his pleading eyes told a different story. You barely had time to process his words before he was on you again, fucking you hard and deep, his fingers pinching and teasing your breast until a sharp moan tore from your lips.

“Shit, I-I do…” you mumbled, your voice trembling as you tried to catch your breath. “Baby boy, aren’t you going a little—“

“—so you’ll take more of me, right?” he interrupted, not giving you a chance to finish before he slammed himself back into your swollen, aching pussy. The force of it knocked the air out of your lungs, leaving you gasping dryly before your head fell back onto the pillow beneath you in defeated pleasure. 

Your fingers clutched at the soft sheets of the plushie, holding on for dear life as he took control.

Shit, what is this??? Your mind raced, trying to make sense of the whiplash. One moment, he was this sweet, submissive boy begging for your praise, and the next, he was flipping the script, dominating you with a confidence that left you reeling. 

This little short shit loved playing with your body, loved keeping you on edge, and you were both frustrated and turned on by it.

“F-fuck…” Hyugo let out a soft moan, his hand pressing against his stomach as if he could feel just how deep he was inside you. His thrusts were sloppy and wet, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. His heavy balls pressed against your soaked ass, a mix of sweat and cum making everything slick and overwhelming. 

The overstimulation was too much, your body betraying you as your pussy clenched and spasmed, cumming over and over against your will. It was just how he liked it—just how you liked it, even if you wouldn’t admit it out loud.

“H-Hyugo, please… ca-can’t… I…” you mumbled, your head falling back as your body writhed beneath him, completely at his mercy.

“Shh, don’t ne-need you to do anything, okay..?” he stammered, his voice shaky but firm. “J-jusT take it… and it’ll all be over soon…”

God, he treats sex like a damn guessing game, your mind hazy with pleasure. You didn’t understand why he played these little power games, especially when he knew your body better than you did. He knew exactly how to make you squirm, how to make you beg, and how to flip the script just when you thought you had the upper hand.

His thrusts grew even sloppier, but he somehow managed to keep that same frantic, relentless pace. His moans became higher-pitched, more desperate, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you were sure there’d be bruises tomorrow. 

But you didn’t care—not when every thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, not when his voice broke as he whispered your name like a prayer.

“F-fuck… you’re so… so good…” Hyugo panted, his voice breaking as his rhythm began to falter, his thrusts growing erratic and desperate. His body was coiled tight, every muscle trembling as he teetered on the edge of release. “J-just… a little more…” he begged, his words slurred and breathless, his hips stuttering as he fought to hold on just a little longer.

You could only nod weakly, your own body too overwhelmed, too lost in the haze of pleasure to do anything but take what he gave you. Your moans were shaky, your hips meeting his thrusts with a frantic urgency that told him you were close—so close.

“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum!” he whined, his head thrown back, his mouth wide open as he chased his release with reckless abandon. His smirk was fleeting, a flicker of smug satisfaction as he hovered over your quivering form, his lips peppering kisses along your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. 

His fingers found their way to your puffy, sensitive clit, his thumb pressing down and drawing fast, tight circles that sent electric shocks of pleasure shooting through you. He was determined to push you over the edge with him, to make you fall apart in his arms.

And fall apart you did.

The moment your climax hit, it was like a dam breaking—waves of pleasure crashing over you, your walls clenching around him, milking him for everything he was worth. He came almost instantly, hot ropes of thick cum shooting deep inside you, his moans loud and unrestrained, a symphony of whimpers and grunts that only made you more sensitive, more aware of every inch of him. 

“H-haa… please keep milking my cock… fuck just like that…” he groaned, his pace slowing to a sensual, deliberate rhythm, his hips rolling against yours as he rode out the last waves of your shared ecstasy.

When he finally pulled back, his smirk was replaced by a devilish grin, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he took in the sight of you—flushed, trembling, and utterly ruined. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss before pulling out, his hot, sticky seed already leaking from your well-used pussy.

But he wasn’t done yet. With a sly chuckle, he gathered the pearly remnants of your lovemaking on his fingers and pushed them back inside, his touch possessive, almost reverent. “Can’t let it go to waste,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

His grin widened as he leaned over you, his predatory gaze locking onto yours. “Wanna go to bed for round two, my love?” he asked, the gleam in his eyes unmistakable, his tone dripping with playful mischief.

Oh, no—he wasn’t letting you get away so easily this time. Not when he finally had you exactly where he’d always dreamed. Because at the end of the day, Hyugo wasn’t just a snackaroo anymore.

He was the whole damn meal. I’m so damn corny

[loveinhawkins]

Hawkins High is currently in a weird sort of limbo. Snow’s starting to fall thick and fast, but the Snow Day hasn’t officially been declared yet, so the handful of those who’ve already made it in, teachers and students alike, are just waiting for it expectantly. Most haven’t even bothered to take their coats off.

Steve is killing time by walking aimlessly outside of his homeroom, now that no-one cares about the formality of giving out hall passes. The quiet is nice, like the snow is blanketing the sounds from inside the school, too. Peaceful.

The hushed effect makes it feel even earlier than it actually is; when Eddie Munson appears in the doorway of an open classroom, stomping his feet to keep warm—the radiator must be broken in there—it almost seems like it’s dawn.

“Hey, Harrington, have you heard anything?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, man. Just that they’re still waiting for Higgins to make an announcement.”

As Eddie sighs dramatically, he notes with amusement that it’s almost like they’re not at school at all—more comrades-in-arms or spies relaying crucial information in enemy territory.

“This is what I get for being responsible,” Eddie’s saying under his breath. When Steve gives a slight laugh in response, he gets louder, like he’d momentarily forgotten his audience. “The one time I make it in!”

This isn’t strictly true; Eddie’s known for being late, sure, but there are others more frequently known for ditching entirely. Still, Steve allows him the illusion, and whatever either of them was going to say next is interrupted by Higgins’s voice over the intercom, dully announcing the obvious.

“Jesus, took him long enough,” Eddie says.

The hallway starts to get busier again: more doors opening, the renewed excitement of people eager to leave the building.

And yet, somehow, the quiet the snow had brought doesn’t disappear completely. Steve and Eddie head outside in tandem, and the surrounding chatter, no matter how loud it gets in reality, never really seems to reach them; and Steve thinks it’s sort of like that thought he had in the hallway when it was just the two of them, except it’s not really a joke this time: that they’re no longer just kids from the same school, that they’re existing someplace outside it, and…

The only way Steve can articulate it is that he wishes the walk was longer.

Eddie’s step falters for just a moment. Maybe he’s thinking something similar, maybe he isn’t.

Steve thinks that everything since ‘83 has left him permanently floating away from normal people, and the insanity of last month just made it worse. There’s only those who know and those who don’t, and sometimes even the space in between those who know seems insurmountable.

Snow lands on Eddie’s hair, his eyelashes. He blinks to clear the worst of it and says lightly, “Freedom is ours, Harrington. Better go home before it gets worse.”

“Yeah,” Steve says and swallows words back reflexively. He doesn’t know, honestly, what he would’ve said. Better safe than sorry. “See you around, Munson.”

[vunblr]

Built to Last

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff.

Summary: Bucky took up carpentry to keep himself busy, but didn't expect a hardware clerk to make him want more.

Word Count: 3.4k.

notes: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "I didn't do a thing". Card number 4B-016

Bucky didn’t know what to say when Dr. Raynor told him to pick up a hobby. It wasn’t a suggestion. She said he needed something to keep his hands busy other than fighting, fidgeting with the weight of his past, or rotting alone in his apartment. He had scoffed at the idea at first. He didn’t know what the hell he wanted to do with his life, and a hobby was part of that uncertainty. But after taking his time to think about it, carpentry had stuck.

Before the war -before everything- he used to help out at a woodworking shop near his parents’ place. Just small stuff. Sanding, assembling furniture, little repairs here and there. It had been a way to make a few extra bucks to help at home, and he barely remembered the details of the work itself. But he remembered the feeling. The weight of the wood beneath his hands, the scent of sawdust in the air. The satisfaction of making something solid, something that stayed put when he was done with it.

So, he signed up for a class. Twice a week, a few hours at a workshop not too far from his apartment. At first, it was just to shut Raynor up. But soon enough, he found himself staying longer, working on projects after class, getting lost in the routine of measuring, cutting, and sanding. He liked the precision it required, the way it quieted his mind. His hands had spent too many years destroying. This, at least, was the opposite of that.

And though he wouldn’t admit it, he liked the errand of buying supplies.

Most of the wood was provided at the workshop, but for everything else -sandpaper, varnish, nails, brushes, hinges- there was a small hardware store along the way. Just a hole-in-the-wall place, the kind of shop that had a little bit of everything and a counter perpetually dusted with stray wood shavings. Bucky told himself he went there because it was convenient and nothing more. Liked its atmosphere.

He had no idea how it happened, but somehow -much to his dismay- Sam ended up signing up for the carpentry classes, claiming it would entertain his head. He had begrudgingly shown him the spot where he got his supplies, but after fifteen minutes of Sam chatting up with her, while Bucky busied himself grabbing what he needed, he was starting to think he regretted it.

She knew who he was -how could she not?- but she treated him like any other customer. When she learned he was taking lessons, she started asking about his projects every time he went there. Once a week, like clockwork. Sometimes, when he came in looking roughed up after a mission, she’d even ask if he was okay. Direct and simple, like it wasn’t strange at all for a man like him to be standing in her shop, debating between varnish finishes with bruised knuckles. Every now and then, she gave him candies.

Now, she leaned her hip against the counter, twirling a pen between her fingers as she smirked at Sam. “I bet you expected some grumpy old guy back here, huh?”

“I mean, yeah,” Sam admitted with a laugh. “No offense, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone sell power tools and nails in a dotted sundress before. It’s a little disorienting.”

Her grin widened. “Keeps people on their toes.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose and grabbed a box of nails off the shelf with a little too much force, shoving it into his basket. He told himself it wasn’t irritation that he was feeling. Definitely not.

Sam caught the movement immediately, and jerked a thumb toward him, “Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just mad he’s not getting attention.”

Bucky didn’t look up, but squeezed his hand around the next box of nails he picked up. He didn’t need more nails, but standing there empty-handed wasn’t an option while Sam worked his usual charm on her.

She then flicked her gaze over him, with a little amusement, before she pushed off the counter and strolled toward him. “Need help finding anything, James?”

James.

His fingers tensed around the box again.

She was one of the few people who ever called him that. It always did something weird to his chest, like the name fit better in her voice than his own head.

He swallowed. “No. I’m good.”

Her lips quirked, fixing her eyes to the box in his hand. “You sure? ‘Cause I think you just grabbed two different sizes of nails. And I’m pretty sure the second one’s too big for that book holder you told me you’re making.”

Bucky scowled, glancing down. Damn it. She was right.

“You can never have enough nails,” he muttered, shifting the box in his grip. “Besides, I’m thinking about another project, so…” He trailed off, trying to sound casual.

Her eyes widened with interest. “Oh? What are you making next?”

“Yeah, James,” Sam chimed in, voice dripping with amusement. “What’s your next masterpiece?”

Bucky clenched his jaw. He could practically hear the smirk in Sam’s voice because they both knew he was full of shit. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“A coffee table.”

Her face lit up. “That’s bigger than your usual work,” she said, beaming. “I can’t wait to see a picture when it’s done.”

Bucky swallowed, resisting the urge to fidget. Great. Now he had to make a damn coffee table for real.

“He doesn’t have one, you see,” Sam said as if Bucky wasn’t standing right there. “His place is pretty spartan.”

“Oh, really?” she mused, tilting her head with interest.

“I think he needs some help with the whole ‘making a house feel like a home’ thing,” he continued, grinning. “Everybody knows 40s men weren’t exactly in charge of those things or managing a household.” He sighed. “And since he’s alone-”

Bucky felt utterly betrayed. It was partially right. He was alone, and after so many years of being in survival mode, his apartment still didn’t feel like a home, just another place to exist. But he didn’t have the right to call him off about that in front of her.

His features shifted into a neutral mask, and his shoulders went rigid. Without a word, he set the basket on top of a nearby box and turned toward the door. “I’ll come back later.”

“Wait.” Her voice was gentle but firm, and before he could leave, she reached out and briefly touched his elbow.

The warmth of her hand was barely registered before he tensed, fighting the instinct to pull away. His feet stayed planted, but his gaze dropped to the ground as he gave her a small, awkward nod.

“I have something for you,” she said, already moving toward the back room.

Bucky’s shoulders twitched, and the urge to bolt mounted fast. Sam, sensing he had overstepped, exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, man,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “I just was-“

Bucky waved a hand dismissively, though his jaw remained tight. He didn’t have the energy to say it’s fine, because it wasn’t, not really. But she was already gone, and for some reason, that alone was the only thing keeping him rooted in place.

A minute later, she returned with a well-loved book in her hands. “Here.” She held it out, and when he hesitated, she smiled. “Last time we talked, you mentioned wanting to catch up on books you missed. This was one of them, right? Red Mars?”

Bucky’s brows lifted, caught off guard. He looked at the book, then at her, with surprise flickering across his face. She remembered.

He reached out slowly, brushing his fingers on the worn cover before taking it. “Thanks…”

“I’m only lending it to you,” she teased, “And, you have to tell me what you think about it when you return it to me, like a real-life Goodreads review.”

Sam snorted. “I don’t think he-”

“He knows what it is,” she cut in smoothly, lifting a brow. With an easy shift of her stance, she subtly positioned herself between them, like a shield. “I taught him.”

Sam held up his hands in surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright.”

Bucky looked down at the book again, running his thumb along the edge of the pages, and then at her, standing between him and Sam, cutting through the teasing, speaking in his favor. Of course, he didn’t need it, but… it felt nice.

And before he could stop himself, he flicked a smug little smile in Sam’s direction. Just a quick, fleeting thing -boyish, almost careless- but enough to make Sam blink in disbelief.

“Did you just-” Sam pointed at him, then looked at her, eyes wide. But she had her back turned toward Bucky, and was completely unaware of the display

“Stop messing with me, Sam,” Bucky pleaded, tone all wounded pride. But still smirking.

Sam scoffed. “It wasn’t that serious, and you’re clearly not that affected.”

She turned briefly, and just like that, Bucky wiped the smirk clean off his face, replacing it with a look so convincingly forlorn, like a dog that had just been kicked, that Sam nearly choked on his own indignation.

That bastard. Using his Winter Soldier undercover acting skills.

And then -before Sam could get a word in- she sighed and shook her head. “It’s not funny, you know,” she said as she looked at Sam. “He’s your friend, and he’s been through a lot. You don’t even know me, and you’ve been messing with him this whole time trying to mix me into it. I thought the Avengers were better than that.”

Sam’s mouth opened, then closed. He had faced down alien invasions, rogue governments, and Bucky at his most feral, but this? This had him momentarily speechless.

And Bucky? Bucky beamed.

Because after six months of clipped conversations and hesitant efforts to talk to her in his still-awkward way, she had shut birdbrain down for him, without hesitation. And just minutes ago, the two of them had been so damn chatty.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said, keeping up the little orphan act, shoulders curling in just enough. “He can’t be dealing with my shit all the time.”

“It’s not okay, James,” she countered. “You should speak up for yourself. Don’t just take this kind of treatment.”

Sam found his voice again, throwing up his hands. “Oh, he speaks just fine for himself, let me tell you-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” She cut him off with a sharp look. “If you’ll excuse me, I have things to sort from the last delivery. Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll ring you up.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Sam standing there, baffled.

Bucky, still holding the book, let the smugness seep into his expression again, and Sam shot him a glare. “I hate you.”

----

A week later, Bucky walked into the hardware store, a little worse for wear. He moved stiffly, with fresh a bruise shadowing his jaw, a scrap on his nose, and roughed-up knuckles, the kind of raw that came from a fight, not precisely carpentry.

She glanced up from the counter, and her smile faltered. “Jesus, James. You look like you got in a fight with a truck.”

“Something like that,” he muttered.

She folded her arms. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” It came out too quick, too practiced, but before she could call him on it, he pulled something from inside his jacket and set it on the counter, her copy of Red Mars.

“I read this during some downtime,” he said like he hadn’t just brushed past her concern.

Her expression softened. “Yeah? What’d you think?”

He hesitated, rubbing a thumb along the book’s spine. “Dense as hell, but… good. I liked the way it built up all the politics and survival stuff. And the tech felt real.” He tapped lightly against the cover before adding, “Kept my mind busy.”

Something warm flickered in her gaze, and she leaned on the counter, propping her chin her hand, and grinned. “Told you it was good. You want the follow-up novel?”

He nodded. “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’ll bring it the day after tomorrow for you since you have class.” She tapped the book with her fingers before sliding it off the counter, and for a moment, he just stood there, watching her. There was something about the way she did things for him like she actually gave a damn, like lending him the book. It seemed just a casual thing but also showed that she’d thought about him.

And he liked that. More than he should.

His hand curled at his side, and his fingers twitched like they wanted to do something. Instead, he glanced around, searching for anything to distract himself with.

That’s when he saw it.

One of the shelves against the back wall sagged at an ugly angle, one side barely clinging to the wall bracket. He frowned. “Your shelf is falling.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah. It’s been like that for a month. My boss keeps saying he’ll fix it, but…” She gestured vaguely to the still-broken shelf.

Bucky wet his lips. “I can fix it.”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh, you don’t have to-”

“I can fix it.” He looked at her then, raising his brows just slightly.

Her lips twitched. “I don’t want to take advantage of your generosity, James.”

“You’re not.” He tipped his head toward the backroom door. “Let me see it.”

With a shake of her head, she sighed. “Alright. Knock yourself out.” She lifted the counter flap to let him pass through, and as he ducked beneath it, she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, “Such a gentleman.” And he repressed a smile.

As he started to work, she stepped toward the counter. “Want a coffee while you’re at it? Nothing fancy, I bring it in my thermos from home.”

Bucky glanced up from where he was bracing the shelf, rolling his shoulder to ease a dull ache. “Yeah. Sure.”

She poured some into a plain ceramic cup, and just as she set it on the counter, the bell above the door jingled. Two men walked in, murmuring between themselves as they started browsing. She didn’t think much of it at first, but as she rang up their items, she caught the way their eyes kept flicking to Bucky, more precisely, to his left hand, exposed where he was securing a bracket.

Their whispers weren’t subtle. She didn’t catch all the back and forth but picked up some words.

“…murderer.”

“Why the government…”

“surely a sociopath-”

Her grip on the counter tightened. Assholes.

She flicked her eyes toward Bucky. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even acknowledge them, but she knew he heard every word given his enhanced hearing. His movements slowed just slightly, his shoulders squared a little tighter.

Something hot burned in her chest.

“Get out.”

The two men stilled. “Excuse me?”

She folded her arms, fixing them with a flat stare. “You heard me. The house reserves the right of admission, and I decide you’re not welcome here.”

One of them scoffed. “For what? I didn’t do a thing.”

“You disrespected a veteran, and an Avenger, no less. Someone who puts his life at risk so you don’t have to.”

Bucky’s hammer stilled mid-swing.

The men bristled, looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “Oh, come on, lady. You know what he is-”

“I know exactly who he is,” she snapped, stepping forward. “And I know you’re the kind of cowards who whisper about a man behind his back instead of saying it to his face.” She jerked her chin toward the door. “So, like I said, get out.”

The men looked between her and Bucky as if waiting for him to react. He didn’t. Just worked his jaw, and locked his gaze on the shelf like it was the only thing in the room.

The tension stretched, but she didn’t back down, didn’t look away.

Eventually, with a few muttered curses, the men turned around and stormed out, slamming the door shut behind them.

She exhaled sharply, with anger, then turned back to Bucky. He was still gripping the hammer, with his fingers curling around it like a lifeline. He wasn’t looking at her.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he finally said, quietly.

She shrugged, reaching for her coffee like her heart wasn’t still pounding. “Sure, I did.”

He then glanced at her, with an unreadable expression. Like he didn’t know what to do with the fact that she had chosen to stand up for him and lost customers because of it.

“You want some sugar with your coffee?” she asked casually, like nothing had happened.

Bucky blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. He almost wanted to smile.

“No, thank you,” he murmured, turning back to the shelf for the final touches. It didn’t need much fixing, just a few adjustments, and a new bracket, barely fifteen minutes of work. And now it was done. His excuse to be here was gone.

He swallowed down his disappointment and took a sip of the coffee instead.

She leaned against the counter, watching him, wrapping her fingers around her own mug. “That was a quick job. Guess I’ll have to break something else next time.”

Bucky’s grip on the cup tightened just slightly. Something else? Wait. Did she-

He tilted his head, gazing at her with mild surprise. “That so?”

She blinked, as she’d just realized she’d said it out loud. A beat of silence. Then, instead of backtracking, she simply lifted a shoulder in an easy shrug, “Maybe.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he took another sip of coffee, trying -failing- to ignore the way something warm curled in his chest.

Fuck it.

Stomping down the old instinct to talk himself out of it, to recall every failed date, every misstep, every why would she be interested thought, he decided to man up.

“Are you busy on Saturday?” He kept his voice even, aiming for casual, like it didn’t matter either way. Like her answer wasn’t about to determine whether he will spend the next week brooding.

She tilted her head, considering. “Well, that… depends.” Serious. A little guarded.

His stomach dipped. Shit. Did he misread-She was friendly, sure, but she was friendly with everyone. Just because she indulged him with a little extra care when he showed up didn’t mean she meant anything by it. Maybe she just felt bad for him. Maybe she was the kind of person who went out of her way to make people feel seen, and he was just another project, another lost cause that-

“If you’re asking me out,” she said, with a slow smile tugging at her lips, “then yes, I’m free. But-” she continued, “if you were about to suggest coming here after hours to see what else needs fixing… then no.”

Bucky exhaled, shaking his head. “Damn. And I wanted to impress you with my handyman skills.” He let himself flirt, just a little.

She hummed and then reached for his hand gently, as her thumb traced over his bruised knuckles. The warmth of her fingers, the softness of the motion, sent a tingle down his spine, straight to his chest, where it bloomed into something dangerously warm.

“You don’t need to impress me, Jamie.”

Jamie.

Oh, fuck.

“Just pick a time and place.”

He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.” And after a beat, “What do you think abou-”

The door swung open, and the bell jingled as a small crew of workmen entered. Bucky shut up immediately, scratching the back of his head as she turned to greet them.

“Good afternoon, guys. I’ll be with you in a sec.” Without missing a beat, she grabbed a scrap of paper, scribbled something down, and pressed it into his palm before turning to the customers.

Her number.

“Surprise me,” she murmured over her shoulder before slipping into work mode, shifting gears like she hadn’t just tilted his world off its damn axis.

Bucky stared down at the paper. Then at her.

Then, with a barely contained smirk, he tucked the paper into his pocket and walked out of the shop, already deciding on the perfect first date.

Dividers by:@/cafekitsune

[rubyvhs]

better than this | d. winchester

synopsis. dean notices how close you’ve stuck by him ever since you’ve decided not to kill cass tags. 0.9k words, some angst, some mysoginy (dean’s thoughts), series not in order, I’ll just write when I feel like it. the beautiful @daylighted gave me the idea, can’t believe I actually wrote something guys, it’s cause of dahlia <3 series masterlist

Dean found it weird that you were hanging around the Winchesters without you sticking to his side, now it's just creepy. You're everywhere. He can't get a break— and at first he thought that was a good thing because he liked being around you but it's honestly getting ridiculous.

"Hey," He doesn't get past that because you jump up and off the couch to run over to him. Great, your enthusiasm is as much flattering as it is irritating, "Cass, you have anything?" He pours himself a cup of coffee, a headache coming on strong from having gone to sleep with a full stomach.

It happens sometimes but he doesn’t mention it to anyone, just lets the coffee work its magic. Except he doesn’t have the chance to do that because while Cass is explaining to Dean that the angels are now hunting both angels in the cabin, your hand is wrapped around his more muscular one and the headache is just gone.

He jumps away, his coffee just near dripping but he catches it just in time. "What— what did you do?"

"I healed you."

"I know that! Why? Why did you heal me?" The look on your face almost makes him regret yelling but he stands his ground, his hand burning from the hot coffee but your response is the only thing that'll make him move from his spot. 

"Because you were hurt."

"I wasn't hurt, and you usually ask before you do that, you know?"

Cass perks up, "Yes, he has mentioned countless times how important consent is." When y it’s put like that… stop. Dean is not a chick. "Wait, you healed him? You know you shouldn't do that."

Dean's eyebrows furrow. "Why not?"

Cass looks up from the laptop, sensing Dean's change in demeanor. "Oh, well, you have angel blood in you, don't you?" Dean's about to deny the words religiously but he doesn't stop. "It makes it harder for you to get hurt, just as it makes it more difficult for us angel to heal you. It takes more power than if you were a mere human— and you," he faces you, "you're not strong enough to heal evenpeople."

"Not strong enough?" 

"Yes. Before he left," Dean doesn't have to ask who 'he' is, "he made one last generation of angels. There are arch-angels, angels, and guardian angels. She's a guardian Angel." Dean wants to hear more but when he looks over at you, your eyes are narrowed and the only thing your missing is steam out of your ears. Alright, testy subject. 

"Okay, whatever. What do you have, Cass?" He asks and tries to listen to Cass but his eyes keep straying to you, still bubbling, still so damn gorgeous. Still so wrong.

"She's always everywhere! Tell me you don't see it." Dean whispers aggressively but his brother only laughs. They pass the corner, Dean slams the beer cans into the shopping cart and Sam scoffs.

"It's not that big of a deal, man. So she cares about you, what's wrong with that?"

"She doesn't 'care about me', she's like… attached to me! It's creepy, Sam." The taller brother's response dies on his tongue as they make a turn around the corner and she spots your eyes on them from outside the store. Shit. 

"She can hear you." Dean immediately looks around, sighing in relief when he sees you're outside. "She's an Angel, asshole. She heard everything." Dean turns around and your face only falls further, getting in the backseat of the car. 

The drive to the next town is quiet, like most of them, except for the cassette Dean picked out. The volume is slightly higher than usual though and Sam notices so he offers a gas station break that Dean gladly accepts. 

The second Sam's out of the car, pulling Cass behind him, Dean looks back at you, "You know I wasn't trying to be mean, right?"

"You were though."

"You aren't actually— look, you're not my guardian Angel. They only call you that because, and no offense, you're weaker than the others. It's a name they gave you, but it isn't your purpose."

"It's not a name, it's a title. So it is my purpose. I'm supposed to guard you but you don't want me around—"

He sighs, pinching his nose. "Uncross your arms." You listen to him. "And looks at me." You pry your eyes off the window to glare at Dean. "It is not your—"

"Don't tell me what my purpose is! I like protecting people."

"Okay, great, maybe just cool it on trying to protect me, okay?" You shake your head. "Why not? I can take perfect care of myself, darlin', I have for twenty nine years."

"I have been in this world for centuries. Many, many, many centuries. I am weaker than the other angel but a thousand times stronger than you, Dean Winchester, and yet you underestimate me." Your soft sigh tugs on something in his chest. "And I don't know why it matters so much to me."

Sam chooses that moment to rip the door open and dean starts arguing with him about it, his eyes still on you in the rear view mirror. He won't let you stay angry for long, a few nice words will get you smiling again. And never questioning your closeness.

join the taglist. @loverslantern @justwhisperingfantasies @saltcxrcle @blossomingorchids @darling-eos

@ltotheucyy @1967barracuda

[urmum-lovesme]

Can you right more of toxic!rafe x toxic!reader please. The first one was so good

more Toxic!Rafe Cameron and Toxic!Reader. . . say less

Rafe's Rover was parked somewhere off the far side of the Cut, deep between the trees far enough from prying eyes but still close enough that the sound of nearby waves carries through the cracked windows. The scent of weed lingers thick in the air, mixing with the familiar scent of the cars air-freshener. Smoke floats around them, illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard lights. Y/N leans her head back against the seat, letting out a slow, drawn-out exhale, a white cloud curling above her. 

“You’re a bad influence.”

“You’re acting like you didn’t ask for this.”

Rafe, reclined in the driver’s seat, lazily flicks ash down into the Diet Coke can she'd brought in with her, now long empty.  Y/N tilts her head toward him, her eyes half-lidded. 

“I didn’t ask to get this high. . . can't feel m'legs”

“That’s the point.”

Rafe chuckles, passing the joint back to her. She takes it between her fingers, bringing it to her lips and inhaling slowly. The burn is familiar, comforting even, but everything feels heavier, slower. The song playing through the car speakers- some crappy frat boy music Rafe switched on- feels like it’s vibrating in her bones. He watches her, his gaze lingering too long. She exhales the smoke in his direction, eyes meeting his through the haze. 

“What?”

“You look good like that.”

Rafe shrugs, amusement flickering in his darkened gaze. Y/N scoffs, but the lazy grin tugging at her lips betrays her. 

“You’re so fucking predictable.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that mean?”

Rafe shifts in his seat, tilting his head slightly. Y/N hums, tapping her fingers against her bare thigh, her sock-clad feet resting on the dash of the car. He'd always scold her when she did that, calling her spoilt, sometimes his hand coming out to drag her feet to the floor; but she never listened to him because who was he to tell her what to do?

“Means I know exactly how this is gonna go. You’re gonna get cocky, say some stupid shit n' piss me off”

“Nah. You’re wrong.”

Rafe takes the joint from her resting it between his fingers before speaking, his voice lower now. She raises an eyebrow at his disagreement. 

“Oh? Enlighten me then.”

Rafe exhales, smoke trailing between them like a ghost as he places the joint down onto the can in the cup holder and leans over slightly, his forearm resting on the armrest between them. 

“We’re gonna sit here, finish this, and then…” He glances over at her lips briefly before looking back up to her eyes. 

“You’re gonna get all clingy n'whiny and start touching me.”

“Fuck you Cameron.”

Y/N lets out a laugh, shoving his arm and Rafe grins, but he catches her wrist, holding it between his fingers as he turns to face her fully. Y/N doesn’t pull away, just tilts her head, challenging.

“I’m right though.”

“You think you know me so well.”

“I do.”

He responded as his grip tightened just slightly. The air shifts, tension thick between them. The weed only amplifies it- the way time seems to stretch, the way the world outside the car feels insignificant compared to whatever this is between them. His other hand lifts the joint to his lips, taking a slow drag. It’s burning close to the end now, the paper crackling slightly as the embers glow red. Y/N watches him, eyes heavy-lidded, her lips parting slightly. 

“You gonna finish that by yourself?”

Rafe exhales slowly through his nose, shaking his head to himself with a quiet chuckle. Of course she’d say that. She always does this-pushes just enough to get under his skin.

Spoilt princess

Without a word, he takes another hit, deeper this time, letting the smoke sit in his lungs. Then, before she can say anything else, his free hand finds her jaw, fingers pressing into her skin as he pulls her closer. His lips brush against hers- barely, just enough for her to feel how warm he is, how intoxicatingly close. Y/N doesn’t move away, doesn’t even think to. Instead, she parts her lips just slightly, and that’s all Rafe needs. He exhales slow, deliberate, pushing the smoke into her mouth, their breaths tangling, heavy and heady. Her lashes flutter, her fingers wrapping around his wrist as she inhales, taking it in, her body buzzing with the mix of weed and him. Rafe doesn’t pull back right away. His lips hover near hers, close enough that she can feel the smirk tugging at his mouth. 

“Happy now, brat?” 

His voice is low, teasing, dripping with something heavier. Y/N exhales softly, the last remnants of the smoke slipping past her lips. Her head feels light, her body warm, and his words send a shiver down her spine. But she doesn’t let it show. Not yet. Instead, she tilts her head, looking at him

“Almost.”

Rafe raises a brow, his thumb still resting against her jaw, pressing just slightly. His thumb glides across her skin before it tugs against her lower lip, tugging it down teasing her like he always does.

Like he knows he can.

Y/N’s breath hitches for a fraction of a second, but she covers it well, her gaze flicking up to meet his through her lashes. Slow, deliberate. She leans in, close enough for her lips to ghost over his, for their breaths to mix in the muggy air of the car. But she doesn’t kiss him. She just breathes in like she’s savouring him, stretching the tension between them just enough to make it unbearable.

Her hand drags down his arm slow and lazy, her nails skimming his skin before trailing lower- over his ribs, the plane of his abs, until her fingers graze his belt buckle.

And that’s where they stop.

Resting there.

Waiting.

Rafe watches her, his smirk growing sharper, his grip on her jaw never faltering. He exhales through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s holding back an amused grin.

"Told you I was right."

[melobin]

in control

𐙚 how the current riize members differ in their dominant and submissive states.

nsfw. minors dni.

shotaro

shotaro resides on the edge of dominance. most of the time he always has at least a slight advantage when it comes to being the dominant one in the bedroom. his ability to turn you to much with one smooth rolls of his hips became a blessing when you attempted to take control, it didn’t stop you from succeeding sometimes though.

in his dominant days, shotaro enjoys having you on all fours, your fingers wrapping themselves in his bedsheets as he presses against the arch of your back and fucks himself into you, each roll of his hips causing him to shift deeper into your core. the control he had over his body allowed him to reach deep into you and bring your ecstasy time and time again. he isn’t the most vocal when dominant, he lets his action speak for him. the sharper thrust into your cunt when you tighten around him or the way his hand reaches under your body to squeeze your breast in his hand whilst he rocks forward into you.

shotaro had you wrapped around his finger, his deep yet slow thrusts causing your legs to buckle beneath you and your arms to shake. he loved having you this way. face down ass up was a treat, but he loved watching you struggle to keep your arms stable enough to support the weight of your own body. he’d keep his hands on your waist, only gripping it enough to help you stay up a little, his grip would increase within time though. the feeling of your walls wrapping around him causing him to unintentionally dig his fingers deeper into your skin. he was wordless, breathless pants leaving him but he barely said a word. he liked it this way. having you crying out from his thrusts whilst he focused on your body and nothing else. no distractions. just keeping you on your hands and knees whilst he plunged deeper into your cunt. it was shorato’s favoruite way to ruin you.

unsurprisingly, in his submissive days shotaro doesn’t differ much to the other side of his. he knows how he likes sex. not rushed, he likes when the two of you take your time with each others bodies. slower, harsher strokes rather than sloppy, rushed ones. he loved when you’d lay him down and straddle his hips. always found himself in complete awe watching you grind your hips against his, keeping him as deep as you can inside of yourself. shotaro finds watching you to be just as fulfilling as actually feeling you around him. being able to watch you lose yourself and fawn over him at the same time is like heaven.

“fuck” it’s one of the few words shotaro lets out when he has you like this. sinking down on his cock with your hands pressed against his chest, your nails pushing deep into his skin as you take all of him. he’s mesmerised watching you, eyes trained on your face and the way your tits jiggled with each move of your hips. shotaro couldn’t contain himself, the pleasure mixed with the sheer view of you losing yourself to him, for him. because of him. shotaro would never really consider himself submissive in the bedroom, but this is about as close as he felt to it. ready to burst at any moment all because of you.

eunseok

eunseok is very certain that he knows his place in the bedroom, especially when it’s regarding you. there’s nothing he enjoys more then keeping a hold over you, being so in control that you’re left withering under his gaze and whimpering for him to just let you cum. begging is definitely one of his favourite things. hearing you beg sets something alight inside of him, and he knows exactly how to get you to beg too. he can be mean, condescending, loves fucking you until you’re on the edge of completely losing your hold on reality and he’s sure, almost completely sure that the roles could never be reversed.

in his prime, what eunseok would call it, his dominance seeped from him. radiating off of his body, going straight to your core. the littlest smirk could have your knees buckling whilst you looked up at him. he knew all he had to do was whisper a few filth coated words in your ear to have you completely at his mercy. it’s how he liked it. him being in control, taking charge of your body and everything you do to it whilst you knelt before him complying to each and every single command he gave to you.

“so pretty” the words spewed from his lips easily, his accent seeming thicker than usual. eunseok loved having you like this, hand cupping your chin with his thumb pressing against your lower lips, drool seeping from the corners of your lips as you looked up at him with your wide, wet eyes. you were so compliant, so sweet and so, so good. just for him. he watched as your body shuddered, his other hand creeping up your thigh before he let his palm cup the surface of your pussy. your underwear already discarded across the room meaning he had free claim of everything and what he wanted most? your sweet little cunt wrapped tightly around his cock as he used you as if you were his most treasured cocksleeve. one he made sure came before he ever did. you were just an angel in his eyes, one incapable of doing wrong or being able to ever control him the way he did to you.

the unimaginable was the way it was for a reason, because eunseok could never have imagined you’d have him under your spell the way you usually were for him. the day did come though. eunseok was sure his shock was what caused him to sink deeper under your gaze, he was vulnerable and he played right into your hands. having you crawling into his lap and biting down at his bottom lip whilst giggling about how hard he is under you. he was almost embarrassed about how much he loved this side of you. the confidence, the way you ground your hips against his and seemed unaffected whilst he was fighting for his dear life trying not to cum in his pants and ruin the whole moment. you assumed him you would’ve found it sweet though. his submissiveness shone through his eyes, they sparkled under the dim lamp you had switched on beside you and no part of you could bring yourself to turn it off. the pathetic look in his eyes instantly becoming an addiction to you.

“seokkie” you cooed at him, eunseok’s eyes dampening the longer the looked at you. he sucked in a deep breath, his fingers dug into the skin of your waist. he thought you were being cruel, your panties still stuck to your body despite his being completely bare. the rough fabric of the lace sticking to his cock as you rolled your hips against him. his lips parted, he wanted nothing more than to grab you and have his way with you. taunting you for being such a wreck for him despite trying to ruin him. yet, he had no energy, no part of him had the ability to even attempt to push you under him and have you cry out his name. he knew he was done for, his brain beginning to turn to mush and his thighs shaking under you. he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip as his hips bucked up, he swore his cock jumped beneath you when you ground down against him again. “close?” your words were taunting to him, the tone of your voice dripping in sheer arousal with a hint of teasing behind them “gonna cum before you’re even inside of me? what happened to seokkie? you’re usually so big and strong for me” you were playing with fire now, yet eunseok couldn’t fight back. all he could do was sit weakly beneath you and allow you to play with him until it fulfilled your desires. he swore the next time he got you to himself he’d leave you in a worse state than he was in now.

sungchan

sungchan was a wild card, it was something you both were more than aware of. whilst he teetered on the edge of being completely dominant over you, he had his weak moments and they always traced back to you. he knew your weak spots and you knew his, you both knew how to play into each others hands and get what you wanted. fighting for dominance was one of the hottest things you two could do together and god did it happen a lot. countless nights of your nails dug deeply into each others skin whilst you pushed and pulled at dominance, a game of tug of war that neither of you could predict who would win. it all depended on how you both felt that day and how weak the other would get from skin to skin contact with your tongues clashing together.

sungchan knew exactly how to be dominant, he knew how to push your buttons to get you exactly where he wanted you. his dominance over you came in physical form, he loved manhandling you and pinning you in whatever position his heart desired. he loved the way you whimpered beneath him when he wrapped his arms round your neck and fucked you deeply from behind. he could overpower you so easily and he always used that to his advantage. the words he whispered to you were simply an added bonus to the way he fucked you until your brain was clear of any thought that wasn’t him.

your body tensed up beneath sungchan, his hips striking against yours with each sharp, deep thrust. he barely let you breathe, you’re front pressed against the bed as his pressed against your back, your skin sticking together as his arm was hooked around your neck. it was a dream, his bicep flexing with each thrust he made into you. you were suffocating in the best way possible, your head clouded as his cock reached deeper into you. sungchan didn’t need to look at you to know how fucked out you were, he knew your eyes were glazed and your voice was threatening to spew out loud whines and moans because of the way he was treating you. “it’s okay baby” he cooed out as you whined beneath him, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he continued to fuck you braindead. his own fingers pushing under your body to attack your clit “i got you baby, let’s soothe the ache in that little cunt, hm?”.

whiplash. that’s how it felt when sungchan fell into his submissive state. the man who seemed to manhandle you with ease and push you deeper into his hold with each sharp thrust had depleted,his facade had broken and he was now sitting beneath you, fingers digging into the cuffs around his hands. his breathing shallow, his mind a wreck with thoughts of you. who knew having your hand wrapped around his cock whilst keeping his restrained would do so much to him? certainly not sungchan.

he couldn’t even out his breathing, his eyes threatening to roll to the back of his head as you fisted his cock again. the smile on your face only caused the pit in sungchan’s stomach to grow, you were so fucking hot when you took control of him like this. restraining him, keeping him in place beneath you as you straddled his thighs and dragged your hand up and down his cock repeatedly. he would’ve loved to have his hands on you in that moment but there was nothing he could do, the cuffs seemed to tighten each time he pulled at them. “baby” his voice was broken, the pet name that usually sent you spiraling seemed to only make you smile more. his hips bucked up into your hand, his body only shaking more as he cock throbbed in your grip “you close, pretty boy?“ pretty boy. sungchan was sure that name would never leave his mind again, every sultry word that slipped from your lips only pushed him deeper below you, his orgasm only seeming to send him over the eve as tears brimmed his eyes and his voice broke again “let me take care of you channie”.

wonbin

wonbin lay in a similar position as sungchan. a wildcard yet somehow more extreme. when wonbin felt as if he needed to be taken care of he’d cling to you, keep you close whilst whining into your neck and rutting against the side of your body. pathetically getting harder when you ignored him. wonbin treated you with the same amount of respect when you were the needy one though, laughing as you begged him to fuck you, taunting you as you whimpered in his ear and asked him to make you cum just one time. your sexual relationship was a game of push and pull, one pushing the other until they finally snap and give them exactly what they crave.

dom wonbin, now that was a treat. wonbin has always been very clear about how he likes sex. he likes to fuck, he likes it messy and rough, if you’re not panting, covered in sweat and unable to sit up properly after, what’s the point? mess was his favourite thing, having both of your bodies sick with sweat as he fucked you with vigor. hands tight of your hips, your back flat against the mattress with him knelt up between your legs. his thrusts causing him to sink deeper into you each time, spit dripping from his lips as he let it land on your cunt, using it eagerly just to make everything wetter. even though you were soaked already, something wonbin pointed out each time his cock slipped back into you.

“so fucking wet” his voice was tough, his fingers pushing deeper into your skin as he thrusted himself into you again. he held your legs apart, your thighs aching from the spread but loving every second of the slight pain it gave you. wonbin didn’t stop, spitting on your cunt before dragging his cock through it and pushing himself back into you. leaning over to place his hands either side of your head allowing his necklace to dangle over your face, the chain ever so slightly dragging over your skin as his thrusts grew more impatient. “is it for me, baby?” you whimpered as he spoke to you, lips parting only for you to gasp instead of respond to him. it seemed impossible to properly speak whilst he was fucking you the way that he was. “so wet just for me” he clarified again, speaking the words out loud so he could register the situation properly. wonbin found it incredibly hot that you were so soaked just for him, so slippery that it almost overpowered the feeling of your walls wrapping around him. his favoruite part was the sounds your cunt let out as he continued to fuck you, the way it cried out for him with each sharp thrust, begging him to never stop feeding it in the way he was.

wonbin had a built in praise kink that followed him everywhere, and it was always your route into making him fold for you. you knew exactly how to get to him and in a way, wonbin loved it. but he also hated it. the way all you to do was flutter your lashes at him and tell him how pretty he was for him to be wrapped tight around your finger. he was weak for you, for the sweet words you spat out into his ear when he was in your arms. one hand wrapped around his cock, the other tangled in the strands of his hair whilst you whispered to him about how pretty he was, how big he felt in your hand and and how sweet his moans were. it’s all it took for him to be exactly where you wanted him.

“binnie” you looked up at him, eyes dark as your tongue traced over the vein that stuck out along the length of his cock. wonbin could only groan as a response, unable to speak as he watched you intensely. your eyes not looking from his as your tongue swirled around his tip before you sunk your lips back down his girth. his thighs tensed under your hands, his eyes shining as he squeezed them shut and groaned again, the feeling sending a tingle through his body that he couldn’t escape no matter how much he moved. it overwhelmed him, eyes filling with tears as you took him into your mouth again, fingers fisting the sheets beneath him as he attempted to contain himself. you thought he was so cute, and you made sure to remind him. trailing you’re fingers lightly over his cock whilst cooing at him, telling him how sweet he was like this. unable to talk, withering whilst you played with his cock and tortured him. “my sweet boy” you wrapped your hand around his cock, leaning forward to kiss him softly. wonbin only moaned, a tear slipping from his eye, one he couldn’t even explain why it was there “always so pretty when you cry” with your free hand you wiped away his tear using your thumb before leaning back and smiling at him “let’s create some more tears, hm?”.

sohee

he’s precious in every way, a sweetheart who caters to all your wishes. sohee basked in the way the two of you knew each others bodies inside and out, how you could easily work the other up and giggle about it after. he loved how well you knew each other, even when it backfired and he ends up a wreck beneath you he still loved it. the sheer sexual chemistry that turned him on endlessly. he loved it more than anything.

sohee in his dom days sometimes reminded you of a completely different person. you knew when he was horny, he could never hide it even when he tried to and you loved that about him. you knew how bad he craved you and that made you want to wrap your legs around his waist and keep you inside of you forever. that wasn’t something sohee minded either, he loved fucking you. seeing your eyes roll to the back of your head and your fingers curl in the sheets as he thrusts into you. he loves the state he can put you in, how you blabber about how good he is whilst laying in disbelief that sohee, your sohee could fuck you so good.

“sohee, sohee pleas- oh god” you couldn’t control your babbling, your vision blurred as his lips wrapped around your clit again. the previous orgasms already taking a toll on your body as the sensitivity engulfed you. sohee smiled from between your legs, you could feel his lips twisting up as he flicked his tongue over your clit again. the nub swollen, used yet still aching for more as he continued his assault on you. sohee never had to say much, all he had to was look up at you whilst sucking a little harder on your clit just to make you lose yourself, and you were already half way lost. the impending orgasm only pushed you further under his grip as he pressed his tongue flat against your clit and moved his head side to side. it was almost impossible for you to imagine him being so filthy, but you couldn’t deny that this sohee was one of your favourites.

sohee’s submissive state didn’t differ much from his dominant one. he was gentle, didn’t say much but knew you could see everything he was feeling. he’s a simple soul, he just wants you to take care of him and make him feel good, rub orgasms out of him whilst kissing at the skin of his neck. he grew so weak for you so quickly that it was endearing, his eyes always shaking when you squeezed his bulge a little too hard but never making the effort to stop you because he did enjoy it. it wasn’t easy for him to admit he liked when you treated him with little to no respect and it took him a while to say it to you, but he was so glad he did.

“sohee?” you questioned, voice gentle as you looked at him. cock hard, leaking yet untouched. you loved this side of him. the boy simply whimpered whilst looking at you, trying his hardest to not wrap his hand around his cock and bring himself to the sweet relief he was practically chasing from you. “i never said you could cum” he whined again, the dominance in your voice only causing his cock to grow impossibly harder. he was aching, throbbing under your gaze and he knew you could see it. you brought a finger down to trace it over his cock, he shuddered before his hips bucked up against your hand, immediately cowering when you pushed his hips back down against the bed. “you’re not being very good, sohee” the way his name dripped from his lips destroyed him inside “let’s try this again, okay? you’ll be good for me won’t you?” sohee gulped, letting your fingers trace over his face “you don’t want me to punish you, right?” sohee shook his head, panting as your hand wrapped around his cock “let’s see how far we can go, shall we?”

anton

in a way, anton’s dominance and submissiveness went hand in hand. he couldn’t be one without the other. he loves control, being able to dictate what you do, manhandling you until you’re a withering wreck in his grip. but he also loves when you do it back, how your weak grip seems to be able to move his whole body when he folds beneath you. he knows he couldn’t be one without the other and he thinks that’s why he enjoys it so much. he’s just happy to have you, a night where he can sleep himself into you is a successful night regardless.

the dominance that anton carried often intimidated you a slight bit. he was serious in those states, his hair always sitting messily on his head and his eyes dark as he watched you from across the room. anton wasn’t always confident in telling you what he wanted but it was definitely something that grew more prominent over time, it went hand in hand with the dominant side of him coming out. after one night of habit by our pinned against his chest while the fucked up endlessly into you, his whole demeanour changed. the sweet, shy boy was still there but was covered with something more perverted. a man who wanted nothing more than to pin you down and have his way with you over and over again.

“toni” your voice was weak, your chest pressed against his as you cried into his neck. the feeling of his cock fucking up into you made you dizzy. you felt unable to lift yourself the quicker his thrusts were. “hmm?” his deep voice shot through you, the hmm only making you clench around him as he continued to fuck you, your whines echoing through the walls giving anton the perfect position to hear every pathetic sound you let out. anton wasn’t a completely silent dom, he had his moments where he spoke to you and that was one of them, his lips by your ear as he cooed to you and told you how sweet you were. how your little cunt was made to take him like this. sometimes even mentioning how he thinks everyone else should know about it too.

anton as a sub wasn’t too rare of an occasion. even if he didn’t mean to be, a submissive nature radiated from him often and you found it to be the sweetest thing. he’s gentle, or at least you thought he was. he likes being taken care of, having his hair played with whilst you fist his cock in your hand. but he also likes having you pulling on his hair and laughing when he whines a little too loud. anton could say what he wanted about you but he couldn’t deny how fucked up he was whenever you took control of him, always eager to let you try something new on him.

“you’re so fucking big anton” he whimpered as you spoke to him, gulping from the sound of the praise. you barely eased yourself down his cock before you were out of breath, the thickness almost distracting you from the scene you had before you. antons eyes shut, his lips parred and his knuckles turning white from how tightly he was gripping the sheets. you river teased him about cumming prematurely but he always tried to last. night wasn’t a night for that though, not with the way you looked at him sweetly with your smile widening the louder he got “let’s make a mess toni”.

[kikis-writing-service]

Can't stop thinking about Katsuki having a history of failed relationships. It's never difficult for him to attract people. They fall for him easily—drawn to his looks, his unflinching honesty, his blunt approach to everything. "It's refreshing," they always say. "It's so rare to find someone who won't lie to you."

His hero ranking certainly doesn't hurt either. People are naturally attracted to power and success, and Katsuki has both in spades. They love telling their friends they're dating one of the top pro heroes, enjoying the status that comes with the association.

Initially, they appreciate his attentiveness—how he notices details about them, remembers their preferences without being told twice. They admire his passion; the way he gives everything to his hero work extends to his relationships too. Katsuki doesn't know how to be halfway committed. He puts his entire self into whatever he does.

That's always how it begins, but it never lasts.

All those traits his partners once praised become what they resent. His honesty? Now it's "too harsh," "too cutting." They ask him to tone it down, to not be so blunt all the time. "You don't have to be so honest about everything. Sometimes small lies are better."

His attention to detail becomes irritating, especially during arguments. "Why do you have to remember everything?" they complain. "You're being petty. Focusing on things that don't matter." They grow to resent how he remembers every word they've said.

His passion, once exhilarating, now "suffocates" them. "I need space," they say. "You're too intense." As if he knows how to be anything else.

"If you're not going to give it your all, what's the fucking point?" he asks. They never have a good answer for that.

The first few breakups, Katsuki fights back. He tries to compromise, catching himself before saying something particularly harsh, attempting to filter his thoughts. But it feels like a betrayal of himself, like he's putting on an act. Inevitably, in moments of stress or fatigue, the filter slips and his full personality comes roaring back. The disappointment in their eyes hurts him more than he'd ever admit.

"This is exactly who you fell for," he reminds them, voice rising with frustration. "You don't get to act surprised now."

After enough repetitions of this cycle, he stops fighting. When they break up with him, he simply nods, jaw tight. "Good riddance," he mutters, though something cracks inside him each time.

Sometimes he wonders if Deku and the others have it easier. Deku with his endless empathy, or Kirishima with his straightforward warmth. People don't seem to tire of them the way they tire of Katsuki. Maybe he's just fundamentally too difficult to love long-term. The thought pisses him off, but he can't dismiss the evidence: a string of relationships, all ending the same way.

So he gives up on relationships entirely. "They're a waste of time," he tells anyone who asks. But deep down, he longs to come home to someone.

And then he meets you.

You're different, though not in any dramatic, obvious way. You're just as straightforward as he is. You commit fully to everything that matters to you. You take his words at face value, never searching for hidden meanings that aren't there.

The first time he snaps at you in public—a sharp, caustic comment that would make others flinch—you just laugh and snap right back with equal force. No hurt feelings, no wounded looks. Just acceptance that this is part of the conversation.

He notices how you don't pull away when he gets worked up about something trivial. Instead, you match his energy. He finds himself waiting for the moment your expression changes, for the familiar look of exhaustion to creep in. But it never comes.

He’s sworn off relationships, but he feels himself falling. And it terrifies him so he fights against it.

Sometimes, when these thoughts overwhelm him, he'll pick a fight or pull away, testing the boundaries of your patience. Waiting for the inevitable moment when you realize he's too much work, too difficult, too Katsuki.

But you handle it without flinching. You don't try to change him or tell him he's too much. You accept that this is just how Katsuki is. Your acceptance only deepens his fear.

And it's because you're different that he can't bring himself to hope for a future with you.

He's dealt with losing people before. He's recovered from those breakups and moved on. But losing you? He's not sure he could survive that.

But so far, you're still here. And each day you stay makes the prospect of you leaving all the more unbearable.

[tillichan]

game character!reader AU | general headcanons

About: In another parallel universe somewhere, Sylus, Zayne, Xavier, Caleb and Rafayel are just the common people who have the fattest crush on you, game character. Warnings: fem!reader. Author's note: I post it again because one reader asked me to do it recently. Unfortunately, I still have a lot of requests and I'm going to do a milestone event. So I haven't enough time to create a new writing blog as I promised. But, my dears, if you like this story and would like to request something about it or ramble, please feel free to request! Besides, I was thinking of doing their reaction to Nightly Rendezvous card, let me know if you're interested or share your ideas about their reaction!

Sylus

"Ahhh, why I am such a loser?!"

The sudden shout coming from the office made Sylus wince. It was Luke and Kieran, his subordinates, who neglected their duties again. Instead of work for the good of Onychinus Group, they were concerned about a video game.

"Should I reduce your salary?", Sylus loomed large around them. "Maybe then you can stop playing games instead of working"

"This is the last time!"

"We won't do it again, boss!"

Sylus raised his eyebrows skeptically. "You said that an hour ago. Besides, what's so interesting about this game?"

Oh, how wrong he was when he asked about it. The eyes of Luke and Kieran lighted up with excitement. They were eager to tell about this addictive game, Love and Deepspace, that won the hearts of people around the world. They dragged their boss down to hell.

"And today a new chapter was released! We unlocked a new character, (y/n)! She's our new favorite and we were trying to get her limited 5 star card, but, ugh, we suck at it", Kieran ranted.

"I can't believe! Boss, your presence brings good luck! I got (y/n)'s limited card!", screamed Luke and showed Sylus his phone screen.

There were you. And you were... hot. No, this simple word couldn't describe you. You were ethereal. Queen.

Sylus's eyes winded uncontrollably as he looked at you. It was the day when Sylus downloaded the game and… really got into it.

• You're Dragon Queen in a previous life and the head of 109 Zone, the Queen of underground world in this life. And you are the Queen of Sylus's heart. Oh, dear, falling in love with a game character was the last thing Sylus expected of his life. But can we blame him? No one resist your charms. • Sylus pretends that he's a very casual player who plays only when he wants to play. Hint: he wants to play every day. Especially he loves to open up the quality time menu to work or train with you. • He doesn't like MC at all. Like the creators, why? He wants to be your badass boss of Onychinus, not this wholesome boy. He secretly dreams about the day you will be aware of his existence. Or, at least, he wants to create not only MC appearance, but also his personality. • Being the boss of Onychinus Group, a very influential company that is engaged in the delivery of fruits and other... things, means that Sylus is a very reach person. And he is more than ready to invest all his own personal finances into you, his queen. All limited cards, the most beautiful and expensive clothes, Sylus has it all. How else? His queen deserves the best. • To clarify the situation, Sylus isn't interested in game and in other love interests. All he wants is you. Sometimes he asks Luke and Kieran in a voluntary-compulsory manner to read the chapters without you to unlock your chapters. • This is the reason why he has the max affinity level with you. And almost 0 with other love interests. • He is so whipped, oh. Luke and Kieran cringe every time they see him playing Love and Deepspace, because he looks at his screen with such of love and adoration as his fingers brushes against the cold surface gently. "Good evening, my queen", he whispers and kisses his screen. After this Luke and Kieran will never peep.

Xavier

"Look! That's young master Xavier! Ah, he is so handsome~"

"I heard that he's the young master of this Philo Clan, the most powerful family in our country".

"Really? But he is kinda... weird. He doesn't interact with anyone, he spends most of his time playing with his phone or sleeping. We are the classmates, so I know what I'm saying".

Xavier could hear the voices even over the music played on his earphones. But he wasn't interested because all he wanted was to get home as soon as he can, hole up in his room and play Love and Deepspace.

Xavier wanted to see you. He needed you. You, his guiding star, his princess, his favorite Love and Deepspace character. The only one reason Xavier wakes up in the morning.

Even though his home was always full of people, Xavier has always felt like he was alone in life. His parents were always busy, they were only interested in him as a future head of Philo Clan. But no one has wanted him, just Xavier. That's why he closed himself and started spending his time alone practicing fencing, listening to music and playing video games.

Love and Deepspace was just another video game. And Xavier didn't expect much of it. But then you appeared and he was smitten with you, a princess of Philos with saint powers. For the first time in his life, Xavier stayed up all night. He just couldn't stop playing, he wanted to find out more about you.

You are a ray of light in darkness of his life. His life, his body, his soul, all this belongs to you.

• First of all, Xavier is very possessive player. He is jealous of another players, even of MC! Yes, of course, his MC looks just like him and his name is Xavier too, but he is still not him. Not that he makes trouble or something like this, but the fact that you are not aware of his existence makes Xavier sooo disappointed. Not to mention that there are so many players that love you and post a lot of posts about you. Xavier tries to avoid it, because he feels that seeing you with another player or MC breaks his heart. • He'd lose his mind if he sees your NSFW pictures with another MC. He is about to call his hacker friend Jeremiah and ask to hack the account and delete all pictures. • Xavier is your the most loyal and devoted player. He plays only for you, he doesn't interested in other love interests. He reads only main story and your cards. Especially he likes quality time and ASMR, because these options make Xavier feel that you see him, not MC. • One more person, who very much wants you to be aware of his existence. He sleeps a lot because he can meet you in his dreams and he wished upon a falling stars to meet you in his next life. • He has completed reading all your bonds, memories and myths, maxed his affinity with you and acquired all your memories. He sleeps to the sound of your voice, he loves to talk to you, not to mention that he has so many your favorite voice lines and pictures, oh, that's crazy. Xavier is down bad. • Once a month the creators of Love and Deepspace receive an anonymous donation. It's an astronomical amount. And your birthday now is literally a national holiday followed by a fireworks, your face on all the posters, buildings and TV.

Caleb

Caleb grew up in the children's house and was adopted into a family. Despite a difficult childhood, Caleb was fine because you were with him. You always helped him fighting difficulties and cheered him up whenever Caleb was in a bad mood. You, his favorite character of Love and Deepspace.

At first, Caleb was skeptical of this video game. But his classmates and friends were obsessed by Love and Deepspace, so Caleb was just dragged into this. Why not, after all, it's just a game, he thought. Oh, this naive boy...

Honestly, the main love interests did not interest Caleb. He just read the main story and then you appeared. You were MC's childhood friend who grew up the children's house with him. And Caleb couldn't help but fell for you.

Then you died. In this chapter. Caleb was so disappointed, he nearly crashed his phone and stopped playing for a while. Until his friends shared with him the amazing news, Love and Deepspace reveal a new love interest, you.

Oh, how happy Caleb was! He opened Love and Deepspace after a few months break and started playing again. He completed the all chapters in a day just to unlock your story.

And as soon as you appeared again, Caleb became obsessed with you, cool and badass colonel who has a softest spot for MC.

• Caleb is a little... toxic player. He wants you to be only his and he also doesn't like the way you are so popular. Not that Caleb is jealous of other players, but... He is better than they all, right? He wants to love and protect you and treat you how you deserve to be treated. That's why every time Caleb sees the players say something disrespectful he goes crazy. No mercy, he will destroy them all. • Caleb is so disappointed that there are so many good cards and events without you. Like why? He aggressively waits for more your content and he completed reading all your bonds, memories and myths. • Like the others, Caleb absolutely isn't interested in other love interests. Sometimes he finds them annoying because they distract MC from you. MC (him, Caleb) and you are the couple made in heaven, they should always be together. Not to mention that there wasn't enough your content, so why the creators continue to add other love interests in your story. That's not fair! • He wants to become an astronaut and find you one day. Because maybe you're exist somewhere far away in space. And Caleb will get into a spaceship and go in search of you. • Oh, Caleb is obsessed. Like he collects your merch, you voice lines, your arts, your fanfics, your pictures, literally everything. He wants to surround yourself with you. He trains every day with you, sometimes he keeps the quality time open throughout the day. Caleb just wants to spend every minute with you.

Rafayel

"Mister Rafayel, you're famous artist, tell our readers what inspires you?", asked him interviewer.

"My muse, of course", confidently replied Rafayel.

"Oh! Tell us more about her, please! Who is she?!", interviewer wasn't able to hide his excitement.

"It's...", Rafayel paused, the interviewer held his breath preparing for a sensation. His eyes wide with excitement. "... a secret", Rafayel winked at camera. Interviewer sighed in frustration.

Yes, you were his muse. Mistress of a Deep Sea, an ethereal Siren, his Goddess, you the character of a video game, Love and Deepspace.

If someone told Rafayel a year ago, that he'll fall in love in a fictional girl, he'd probably wouldn't believe them. But it happened a few month ago when he heard your unearthly voice for the first time. Rafayel had the worst art block ever. He stumbled down the street in search of inspiration.

And then he heard you... You, a beautiful siren, hummed quietly to yourself from the big screen. Rafayel forgot how to breathe, because, ugh, it was the first time he saw someone so beautiful.

Rafayel downloaded the game and started playing on the same day. He became so absorbed so he forgot to sleep and eat. His manager, Tomas, found Rafayel a two days later with bruises under his eyes as he played Love and Deepspace with breathless interest.

You brought him back to life. You inspired him. Because of you Rafayel created many paintings. And each of them dedicated to you, his muse.

• Rafayel maintains a blog about you called (y/n)shusband. But he mostly posts your arts he did himself. This blog is very popular, because his arts are just so perfect. Rafayel truly believes that the animation of game does not convey all your beauty. So he does an ethereal arts of you. • He loves playing with photo booth. He spent a fortune on the clothes for you and his MC to make an aesthetic photos. You and his MC are the most beautiful pair in the world of Love and Deepspace fans. • Even though Rafayel does his best to stay cool when he plays Love and Deepspace, he fails every time. Thomas can tell that Rafayel is playing his favorite game, because his ears and cheeks are so red. He smiles like a lovesick fool while watching your cards. The way Rafayel tries to hide it is very fun. Ah, he is just head over heels. Can we blame him? Of course no. • Rafayel doesn't care about other love interests. You're his precious Siren, he doesn't want to waste his time on someone else. • He goes crazy because he. wants. to. hear. your. singing. Your voice is so ethereal, you're a siren, but he has never heard your singing. Rafayel is ready to snap, crackle and pop every time he reads just a description of your singing without your voice line. • Poor Thomas has to remind Rafayel about his work and deadlines. Otherwise he forgets about it.

Zayne

"Greyson, come here", Yvonne called him waving her hand. "Look, doctor Zayne smiles as he looks at his phone. Maybe he got a girlfriend?"

Grayson peers cautiously into the room. His colleague was right. Their cold and distant Zayne had the softest smile on his face. He sighed dreamingly and murmured: "Thank you, (y/n)".

Then he turned off the phone. Greyson and Yvonne ran away, afraid of being discovered. But they were gagging to found out who (y/n) is. They didn't know that the answer was simple. You were a game character Zayne had a fattest crush on. A secret crush, of course.

Even though Zayne doesn't seem like this, but he likes to play video games in his spare time. Of course he was interested in a new game, Love and Deepspace, it promised to be interesting. Especially because one of the characters was a healer. But Zayne didn't expect that he would have got it bad for a game character, you.

You were a healer who worked in a hospital. Your personality, your beauty, your dedication, all of this made Zayne fall in love with you. Yes, that was silly, but he couldn't do anything. He was in love. Once and for all.

• Even though Zayne is interested in story he is very loyal. If he wants to see something like myth to learn more about the plot, he just watches it on YouTube. He isn't interested in other love interests at all though. He is hopelessly in love with you. • What are you doing with his heart? Every time Zayne looks at you his heart beats like crazy and he has the butterflies in his stomach. He never expected that a crush on a game character can be so deep and intense. • Zayne adores the calendar reminders option. Every time he sees "It's time to work doctor Zayne! Have a good day!", Zayne loses his mind and feels that he's ready to move mountains. • He is very chill about your fans, another players and this stuff, Zayne just cherishes these moments the two of you share. This is his little world. • Zayne is very busy so he hasn't a lot of time to play, but he open the game every day before running and opens quality time to work together. The way you are always with him warms his heart.