#the first plane was you go too fast for me

[bucketgetter535]

No Margin for Error: Chapter Nine

WC: 5.9k

CW: None

Notes: Long time no seeeeee. Send thoughts to my anons plz it’s my fav part of the day… might even motivate me to get ch 10 out sooner

The hum of the plane engine had become background noise an hour ago, steady and hypnotic, like the rhythm of breath. Paige had her legs folded beneath her on the cream leather seat, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her knuckles, a half-empty bottle of water rolling gently near her ankle every time the jet shifted altitude. She didn’t bother to catch it. Just watched it drift like it had somewhere better to be.

The cabin was dim except for the soft blue glow of the windows and the yellow-white reading light Azzi had on across from her, illuminating the pages of whatever novel she was pretending to focus on. Her socked feet were propped up on the seat in front of her, posture lazy in the way only someone completely at home in this kind of space could manage.

Azzi’s jet was nice. Quiet. Private. Which made it all the more jarring when Paige’s phone buzzed in her lap with three back-to-back notifications. First from ESPN. Then The Race. Then a push alert from her own F1 app.

Her stomach dropped a little when she read the headline.

“BREAKING: Red Bull’s Top Driver to Retire at End of Season.”

She blinked, tapped into the article without thinking, skimming the lines about “tenure” and “graceful exit” and “opening the door for a new generation.” The typical send-off language. But that wasn’t what her brain stuck on.

It stuck on the last sentence of the third paragraph.

“…likely to spark immediate interest from top-tier drivers currently in contract negotiations.”

“Azzi,” Paige said, too casually.

Azzi didn’t look up from her book. “Hm?”

“You see the Red Bull thing?”

Azzi’s eyes flicked up now, sharp and curious. “What thing?”

Paige angled her phone screen toward her. “He’s retiring.”

That got Azzi’s attention. She leaned forward, taking the phone from Paige’s hand and squinting down at the headline like maybe she hadn’t read it right the first time. She exhaled low through her nose. “Damn.”

“Right?”

“Didn’t see that coming.”

“Neither did I.”

Paige took her phone back, but before she could lock it again, a new email appeared — top of the inbox, urgent flag marked red.

Subject: Meeting Inquiry: Red Bull Racing

Her mouth went dry.

She clicked into it.

Hi Paige,

Hope you’re well. We’d like to schedule a brief conversation this week, if possible, no pressure, of course, but we’re evaluating options and would love to hear your thoughts.

Best,

Helmut Marko.

Driver Development, Red Bull Racing

She stared at it a little longer than necessary. Not because she didn’t know what it meant, but because some part of her — the part that had started all of this at nineteen, when she didn’t know better — still couldn’t believe this was her life.

Azzi was watching her now. The quiet kind of watching. The “I know something just changed” kind.

Paige closed her phone slowly and didn’t look up. “I just got an email.”

“From who?”

“…Red Bull.”

Azzi sat still for a beat.

And then: “Do they want a meeting?”

Paige nodded.

There was a silence between them now, not awkward exactly, but heavy. The kind that made your ears ring just a little.

Azzi set her book down on the armrest. “Do you want to go to Red Bull?”

The question was simple. Too simple. It hit Paige harder than she expected.

She looked at her lap, hands twisting the hem of her hoodie, heart knocking a little too fast against her ribs. She wasn’t supposed to say it out loud. She hadn’t even decided anything yet. But some part of her deep down (the unguarded part, the one she only seemed to access around Azzi) wanted to let her in anyway.

“I don’t know,” Paige said.

She meant it.

Azzi waited.

“They’d probably offer more money,” Paige added after a second. “And they’re Red Bull. The car’s always fast. Always evolving. They’re ruthless about it.”

Azzi’s voice was quiet. “But?”

Paige hesitated. “I’m used to the Ferrari car. The handling. The engineers. Luka. You. I know how to win in this car.”

Azzi didn’t smile. She didn’t tease or joke or pretend it wasn’t a big deal. She just nodded once, like she’d already played out this entire conversation in her head and was waiting for Paige to catch up.

Paige exhaled. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I’m glad you did.”

That surprised her.

Azzi leaned her head back against the seat, gaze shifting to the ceiling like she was talking more to herself now. “I’d rather know than guess.”

Paige didn’t answer. She didn’t trust her voice enough.

The plane continued east across the Atlantic, clouds scattered below them like pieces of some forgotten quilt. The air up here felt cleaner. Lighter. But no altitude in the world could stop Paige’s stomach from twisting into the shape of a question mark.

She stared out the window for a long time.

She was headed to New York first. Then Minnesota. Then probably Italy again, or Japan, or wherever the hell the next GP was. Her life, as always, was measured in terminals and tire compounds.

But somewhere between the breaking news and the unread email and Azzi’s eyes on her, Paige realized she was standing on the edge of something. Something big. Something she hadn’t planned for.

And maybe the part that scared her most was how badly she wanted to take Azzi with her, wherever she went.

–

The landing was smooth, quieter than Paige expected for a private jet touching down at JFK. She blinked against the sunlight as it streamed through the windows, golden and warm despite the haze of city smog. Azzi was already halfway through her phone the second the wheels hit the runway, thumb scrolling through emails like they’d never left Europe. Her focus, as always, moved faster than the plane.

The car waiting for them outside was black and sleek and forgettable in that New York way that screamed wealth through silence. Paige climbed in after Azzi and let her head fall back against the leather, eyes half-lidded as the skyline began to unfold in front of them. Azzi’s driver knew where to go without being told — straight to the penthouse.

Azzi’s place was exactly what Paige remembered and also somehow not at all. High ceilings. Cold marble. A wall of windows framing the city like a movie still. Everything smelled faintly like vanilla and something expensive Paige couldn’t name.

She dropped her bag by the couch and stretched her arms up toward the ceiling with a groan. “I’m starving.”

Azzi glanced up from where she was unlacing her shoes. “Me too. Let’s go eat.”

Paige blinked at her. “Right now?”

“Yes,” Azzi said. Then she paused, surveyed Paige’s wrinkled hoodie and sweatpants. “But, like, get real clothes on.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “These are real clothes.”

Azzi smirked, already heading for her closet. “Not dinner-in-Manhattan clothes.”

Paige made a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh but followed her toward the guest room anyway. Fifteen minutes later, they emerged from their rooms. Paige was in dark slacks and a crisp navy button-up. Her hair was tied back in a low bun, collar open just enough to pass as effortless.

Azzi grinned when she saw her. “Wow. You’re actually wearing something real tonight?”

Paige rolled her eyes. “You went full outfit. I’m just balancing it out.”

“Sure you are.”

The restaurant was a few blocks from the penthouse, upscale but quiet, one of those places you only knew if you knew. Inside, the lights were low and warm, the air perfumed citrus something. A waiter led them to a booth in the corner, just private enough to feel separate from the rest of the world.

The menus were handed out and barely touched. Azzi knew what she wanted before she sat down.

As the drinks arrived, sparkling water for Paige and some fruity mocktail for Azzi, the conversation shifted. It wasn’t about racing. Or sponsors. Or media days. It was light and slow, looping through stories they hadn’t had time to tell all season. Paige noticed it in the small things — the way Azzi tilted toward her slightly when she spoke, the way their knees brushed under the table, the way neither of them checked their phones unless they were mid-laugh or reaching for their drinks.

Halfway through the main course, Paige caught a flash of something near the window, the glint of a camera lens in the hands of a man sitting alone at a neighboring table.

She didn’t make a show of it. Just leaned in slightly and murmured, “Don’t look now, but camera guy, two tables down.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. Just reached for her fork and smiled like Paige had said something funny. “Got it.”

For a few minutes, they talked around it. Then the food arrived: steak for Paige, some complicated pasta dish for Azzi that smelled like heaven.

“This is so good,” Azzi said around a mouthful. “I’m never eating airport food again.”

“Liar,” Paige said.

“Okay, fine. But I’m dreaming of this next time we’re stuck in Belgium.”

They were laughing again by the time the waiter came back. “Any dessert for the table?” he asked, poised with his little notepad.

Azzi lit up instantly. “Yes. Absolutely.”

Paige gave her a look. “You’re still hungry?”

“I have a sweet tooth,” Azzi said, unapologetic.

“I’m good,” Paige said to the waiter, who nodded and turned to Azzi expectantly.

Azzi tilted her head, mock-betrayed. “Wow. So you’re calling me fat.”

“What?” Paige blinked. “No—”

“I just said I want dessert and you said I’m good, which is code for I don’t need dessert, which is code for some people do, which is code for—”

“Oh my god, Azzi.” Paige ran a hand down her face, laughing now. “You’re impossible.”

Azzi grinned, victorious. “I’ll have the chocolate thing. And she’ll have one too.”

The waiter nodded, utterly unfazed, and disappeared.

Paige gave her a look. “I said I didn’t want dessert.”

“You said it. But you didn’t mean it.”

Paige shook her head, but when the plate arrived, she picked up her spoon without another word. The chocolate was warm and rich and exactly what she hadn’t realized she wanted.

Azzi leaned her chin on her hand and watched her take the first bite.

“Told you.”

And Paige, in spite of everything, couldn’t stop smiling.

–

Back at Azzi’s apartment, the lights were low, and the sounds of the city were muffled through thick glass. Paige dropped her jacket by the couch again and toed off her shoes with a quiet sigh, already feeling the warm hush of late-night softness settle over the penthouse. Azzi disappeared into the kitchen, the refrigerator door opening and closing with the easy rhythm of someone at home. Paige didn’t follow right away. She just stood there for a second, absorbing it. The quiet. The casualness. The fact that she could walk in like this and not ask permission.

Azzi came back with two waters and handed one over wordlessly. Paige took it with a small smile, brushing her fingers against Azzi’s for a moment longer than necessary.

“Hey,” Azzi said, leaning against the counter. “When’s your flight to Minnesota?”

Paige twisted the cap off the bottle. “Whenever I want.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Right. Millionaire life.”

Paige shrugged, sipping her water. “Perks.”

Azzi held her gaze for a beat. “So… is that you saying you don’t have to leave tonight?”

Paige blinked, then smiled faintly. “Is that you asking me to stay the night?”

“Yes,” Azzi said, without missing a beat.

Paige’s smile curved wider. “Then okay.”

Azzi’s shoulders loosened, just a little. She nodded toward the hallway. “Fair warning though. My parents are coming over tomorrow.”

Paige stilled. Just a second. Barely noticeable. But something tightened behind her ribs.

“Oh. Nice,” she said, setting the bottle down.

Azzi didn’t catch it — or if she did, she let it slide. She was already halfway to the couch, flopping down with a sigh, her long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. “They want to see me before we head out to Azerbaijan. I figured we’d do brunch or something.”

“Cool,” Paige said, easing down beside her. “Sounds chill.”

It did not sound chill.

Azzi’s parents. Tomorrow morning. Paige let her head tip back on the cushion and stared at the ceiling. She shouldn’t care. They weren’t dating. They hadn’t talked about it like that. There was no label, no pressure, no anything. But still.

She felt it again — that quiet, rising panic in her chest. Not the kind she felt before a race. Not adrenaline. This was different. Deeper. Harder to explain.

The idea of meeting Azzi’s parents didn’t scare her because she thought they’d dislike her.

It scared her because somewhere in the back of her mind, Paige was starting to realize she wanted them to like her.

And that was… not a casual thought.

They’d been orbiting this not-quite-friends, not-quite-something-else thing for months now. Neither of them naming it. Both of them pretending that the in-between space was enough. And maybe it was — for Azzi. She was so effortlessly open, so fine with just being seen, being known. She didn’t flinch when her friends asked if she and Paige were something. She didn’t hesitate when she put her hand on Paige’s back in public, or wore her hoodie that no one knows is her hoodie because it’s just a Ferrari team sweatshirt.

And Paige wasn’t like that.

Not with anyone but her dad and Drew. They knew. But no one else. Not really. Not the media, not her extended family, not even most of her friends back in Minnesota. She hadn’t meant for it to be a secret. It just hadn’t come up, and then it kept not coming up, and then it got harder to bring up at all.

But now she was here, about to stay the night again, and tomorrow she’d sit across from Azzi’s parents and pretend this was nothing. Or maybe not pretend. Maybe just exist in the weird space between pretending and hoping.

Azzi turned to look at her, her eyes soft in the lamplight.

“You okay?”

Paige nodded, a little too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Azzi leaned her head gently against Paige’s shoulder. Paige didn’t move.

She just sat there, suddenly feeling the weight of something unspoken pressing into her ribs. Wanting to say something, anything, and knowing she wouldn’t. Not tonight.

So instead, she leaned her cheek against Azzi’s hair and closed her eyes.

And let herself stay.

–

Brunch was at a small corner spot that smelled like lavender and espresso and fresh bread. It was the kind of place Azzi didn’t even need to look up directions to, she just knew it by heart, like half of New York. Paige followed her through the glass doors, head slightly ducked, even though it didn’t matter anymore. They’d already been seen. Photographed. Edited into slow-motion montages over TikTok sounds. She could hide her face, but a lot of damage had been done a long time ago.

Inside, the place buzzed with quiet conversation and the sound of cutlery tapping plates. Paige spotted Azzi’s parents right away. Katie and Tim Fudd were at a corner table, both standing halfway as Azzi approached, arms open, smiles already on.

Paige braced herself.

She’d never said it out loud — not to Azzi, not even to her dad who she texted this morning — but some part of her had expected this to go poorly. Not dramatic, just… off. The stiff politeness of people trying not to say what they really thought. The overcorrection of guarded approval. The silent evaluation of her outfit or her championship standings or her carefully ambiguous Instagram captions.

Instead, Tim gave her a warm nod and said, “Nice to see you again, Paige,” like they’d had brunch last week instead of never. And Katie pulled her into a brief, not-overbearing hug before they all sat down.

And then it was just… easy.

Not fake-easy, not tension-smoothed easy. Just real.

They ordered quickly. Pancakes for Azzi, a veggie omelet for Katie, black coffee for Tim, and whatever sounded least like food for Paige, which turned out to be eggs and toast. Then the conversation started, and to Paige’s surprise, it didn’t revolve around racing. Not at first.

Katie asked about Minnesota, about Paige’s dad, about what it was like to grow up with “so much snow and so little coffee.” Tim wanted to know what books she’d been reading lately, and Paige fumbled, caught off-guard, before muttering something about having started some novel and then abandoning it halfway through a flight to Monaco. That got a laugh out of Tim. Not a mocking one, just understanding. Then somehow they were all talking about bad travel reads and books people lied about finishing.

It was bizarre. In a good way.

Then the talk drifted back to F1. Not in the press conference kind of way, but more curious. Tim asked if Ferrari felt different this year. Katie asked Azzi if the pink helmet had been a branding move or just because she liked it. Paige waited for the tension to return, for the questions to circle back to contracts or media coverage or what it was like to be twenty-two and under a microscope.

But it didn’t. They just… talked.

And Paige found herself liking them.

Katie had Azzi’s calm, watchful energy. The kind that made you feel seen even if she hadn’t said a word. And Tim was like a low-stakes ESPN commentator, the kind of person who probably had opinions on your golf swing but would keep them to himself unless you asked. They loved Azzi. That was obvious. But it wasn’t overbearing. It was a quiet kind of pride, the kind that didn’t need to be stated.

And Paige… Paige didn’t feel tested.

She felt included.

At one point, while Azzi was busy explaining tire degradation to a very amused Tim, Katie leaned slightly toward Paige and said, “You’re different in person. More relaxed.”

Paige blinked. “Uh. Good different?”

Katie smiled, sipping her tea. “Very.”

There was no follow-up. No pointed glances or motherly warnings. Just that.

Later, Paige excused herself to the bathroom, more out of needing a breath than anything else. She leaned on the marble sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked tired, maybe. Or just unguarded.

Azzi had made it look easy. Paige wasn’t sure if that was a skill or just who she was. But somehow this had gone… well. Better than well.

When she came back out, Azzi had stolen a bite of everyone’s food and was grinning unapologetically while Katie fake-scolded her. Paige slid back into her seat and caught Azzi’s eye.

And Azzi — completely relaxed, pancake syrup on the side of her mouth — leaned in close enough that only Paige could hear.

“They like you,” she said softly, like it was just a neutral truth.

Paige picked up her toast and replied without thinking, “I think I like them too.”

And when she looked up again, Azzi was already smiling.

–

Paige hadn’t intended to go to Montana.

Not really. Not officially. The flight was booked late at night on a whim, sometime after Azzi had fallen asleep beside her in the apartment and Paige had watched the skyline for hours, wide awake and heavy with something she couldn’t name. The car met her at JFK just before sunrise, no public post, no press to catch it. She arrived under low clouds and quieter thoughts, and she didn’t text her mom until the wheels hit the tarmac.

Paige: u home?

Amy called two minutes later. Paige answered before the first ring ended.

She hadn’t seen her mom since the off-season. Since before testing. Before Ferrari. Before Azzi. Before everything got loud again like last time. Like F3. The driveway looked the same. It was cracked in the same corner it always had been, gravel spitting up under the tires of the rental SUV. The mountains hovered in the distance like they’d been waiting.

Amy opened the front door the moment Paige’s feet hit the porch. And Paige, despite being twenty-two years old and leading the F1 world championship, dropped her bags and just let herself be hugged.

It didn’t fix anything. But it helped.

They made tea and sat at the kitchen island like nothing had changed. Like Paige hadn’t just flown across the country on a Tuesday with nothing but a carry-on and a handful of feelings she didn’t understand.

“So,” Amy said eventually, one eyebrow raised, “you wanna tell me what’s going on, or should I guess?”

Paige gave her a lopsided smile. “You’d guess right.”

Amy took a sip from her mug. “Try me anyway.”

And Paige did.

It came out slower than she meant, with a lot of pauses and not a lot of eye contact. But Amy didn’t rush her, didn’t fill the silences. Paige talked about Ferrari. About Monza. About what it felt like to lose by less than a second to someone you might actually be in love with and not even know it. She talked about the Red Bull thing—how they wanted a meeting, how her name was suddenly in headlines again like she didn’t still have a season to finish.

And then she talked about Azzi.

Not like gossip. Not even like a crush. Just… truthfully.

“She’s the best driver I’ve ever raced,” Paige said quietly. “And also the best person I’ve ever been around. And that’s… complicated.”

Amy didn’t speak, just pressed her hand lightly against Paige’s back. Paige kept going.

“She’s so comfortable. With herself. With people. She doesn’t even think about it, and I… I’m still hiding everything from half the world. I’m hiding what I have with her, I guess.” A pause. “And that’s not her fault.”

Amy just nodded.

Then Paige mentioned the concussion. The one from July. The one she brushed off because the team cleared her after a week and she didn’t want to miss Silverstone. She told Amy about the headaches that still came sometimes, about the way light sometimes made her flinch in the garage, about how her balance felt slightly off on stairs when she was tired.

Amy’s silence was different then. Sharper.

“Paige Madison.”

“Yeah,” Paige muttered, sheepish.

“That was two months ago.”

“I know.”

“You don’t wait two months to say something like that.”

“I didn’t wait,” Paige argued half-heartedly. “I just… didn’t bring it up.”

Amy gave her a look, one Paige remembered from middle school when she forgot to ice her knees. Then she stood behind her and placed both hands gently on Paige’s neck.

Paige didn’t protest.

Amy’s thumbs worked over the knots at the base of her skull, exactly like she used to when Paige was twelve and spent too long karting after dark. There was something about it. About being home, about being touched with that kind of care that made something in her eyes sting. But she blinked it away.

“I didn’t want to sit alone at my house.” she said softly.

Amy didn’t stop massaging. “I know. That’s why you came here.”

“Yeah.”

“You staying long?”

Paige shrugged. “Just a couple days. Then I’m back to New York. Or Maranello. Or wherever.”

Amy pressed into her shoulder blade, then eased up. “You ever think about slowing down?”

“All the time.”

“And?”

“I don’t know how.”

Amy kissed the top of her head. “You don’t have to know. But maybe try.”

Paige let herself close her eyes. Just for a minute.

It didn’t solve anything. Not the Azzi situation. Not the Red Bull meeting. Not the press or the performance pressure or the concussion symptoms she should’ve told her team about weeks ago. But sitting there, with her mother’s hands on her shoulders and the smell of home in her hair, it felt like something was okay. Even if just for now.

–

Baku.

There was something about the city circuit in Azerbaijan that Paige liked more than she meant to. It wasn’t just the long straights or the tricky, blind corners. It was the way the city felt alive around her when she was strapped in. Like she was flying through a place still moving, still breathing, the world flashing by in colored lights and old stone.

The castle walls came up faster than she remembered. That tight left-right-left flick through the medieval section always made her nervous her first year in Formula One. Now, it just made her grin.

“Okay, that’s green in Sector Two,” Luka’s voice crackled in her ear, all calm efficiency. “Car’s responding well.”

“Feels good,” she replied, flicking her wrist lightly on exit. “Bit of understeer if I push into that uphill right, but otherwise nice.”

Another pause on the line. “Copy. Tyre temps?”

“Stable. Tell Fred I’m better at managing now.”

“You say that every weekend,” Luka deadpanned.

Paige smirked. “Yeah, but this time it’s true.”

Luka’s laugh was a little more real this time, brief in her ears. “We’ll see in twenty laps.”

Practice was going smooth. No heavy traffic, no weird bumps, and the Ferrari was humming through the corners like it wanted to run. They’d done a good job on the setup this week, she could tell already. Braking felt crisp. Rear traction was right there. No wobble.

Azzi was already on track ahead of her, a few laps into her first run of the evening. Paige glanced down the straight and caught a flash of her teammate’s car disappearing around the turn. Same red livery as hers, low under the lights, moving like it was skating on rails.

She didn’t mean to say anything. It just kind of came out.

“Where’s Azzi on the delta?”

And it was the way she said it.

The tone. The way her voice dipped around the name , softer, quieter, like she was asking about someone she knew from before all this. Luka didn’t answer right away, and Paige knew she’d just told on herself in the dumbest possible way.

“Oh,” Luka finally said, casual and unbothered in that dangerous way. “Now you care where Azzi’s running?”

Paige huffed, fake annoyed but not exactly denying anything. “I always care.”

“Mmhmm. She’s P4 right now. Two-tenths behind you.”

“Okay.” She clicked a paddle shift with unnecessary force. “Copy.”

“McLaren’s ahead of both of you. Gotta keep it tight.”

“Yeah, I saw. They’re on a tear.”

She adjusted her line on the next corner, just to shave off a tenth, maybe two. It worked. The Ferrari responded like it had something to prove, the kind of balance she hadn’t felt since Monza. Still, the McLarens looked quick — maybe too quick for comfort. Paige didn’t mind, not really. It made things interesting.

And besides, she was leading the world championship.

And Ferrari was running away with the constructors’.

She didn’t need to dominate every weekend. She just needed to finish higher than Azzi.

And that was becoming harder.

“She’s closing in,” Luka said a few laps later, a mild warning in his tone.

Paige didn’t answer. Just opened the throttle on exit and pushed.

–

Dr. Liao’s office was always cold, no matter what country they were racing in. Paige knew better than to complain when the doctor liked it that way. “Keeps the brain alert,” she always said, which didn’t make a ton of sense to Paige, but she wasn’t the one with two medical degrees and a license to ground drivers.

So she just sat still on the edge of the padded exam table, hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows, waiting for the light to turn green on the retinal scan.

“Still a little photophobic?” Dr. Liao asked gently, tapping something into her tablet without looking up.

“Less than I was,” Paige said. “More when I’m tired. Or if I forget my tinted visor.”

“You haven’t forgotten it, though.”

“No,” Paige smirked. “Scared of you.”

Dr. Liao smiled. “Good. I like that you’re scared of me.”

They moved through the rest of the checkup, reflexes, balance, peripheral tests. It was routine by now. Paige knew the drill and the doctor knew her, enough to know when something small was off. This time, there wasn’t. Paige passed clean.

“You rested well during the break?” Dr. Liao asked, her tone lighter now.

Paige shrugged, stretching her neck as the doctor wrote a final note. “Montana for a bit. With my mom.”

Dr. Liao raised a brow, but not unkindly. “That’s new.”

“Yeah, I know,” Paige said. “Just… wanted to see her.”

“How was it?”

“Nice. Cold. My mom gave me a lecture.”

“As she should,” Dr. Liao replied, smiling. “You’re good to go. Try not to hit anything hard.”

“Only curbs.”

“That’s a lie.”

Paige laughed.

–

The meeting room smelled faintly of engine grease and lemon cleaner. Azzi’s engineer, Mateo, always brought a bottle of something citrus-scented and sprayed the corners like a dad preparing for houseguests. Luka was already seated, coffee in hand, and Azzi had her legs kicked up on the chair next to hers, scrolling through data on her iPad.

Fred was running point on the strategy discussion. Calm, clipped French-English, all business. The McLarens had shown top-line speed in practice — more than expected — but both cars had struggled with degradation. Tire wear was going to matter, and the engineers knew it.

“It’s a long-game race,” Mateo said. “We don’t win this in the first fifteen laps.”

Luka nodded. “We can take them. They’ll push early, try to break you. Let them. Make them overheat.”

Paige watched Azzi glance at her then, just once, like they were both already thinking the same thing. They’d done this dance before. Managed races better than anyone else on the grid. The Ferrari wasn’t just fast now. It was smart. Smooth. Balanced.

Paige felt it in her ribs already. They could win this.

The meeting wrapped and most of the engineers filtered out. Some off to brief the mechanics, others to check real-time sims. Azzi lingered, eyes still scanning her tablet. Paige had her AirPods in, low but clear. A beat-heavy R&B track hummed gently in her ears.

Azzi looked up. “What do you listen to before meetings?”

Paige blinked, pulling out one bud. “Music.”

Azzi deadpanned. “No kidding.”

Paige smirked. “Mostly R&B. Sometimes gospel.”

Azzi gave her a look — a curious one, not mocking. “Gospel?”

“Yeah,” Paige shrugged. “When I’m stressed. Or if the flights are bad. Just… helps.”

Azzi nodded slowly, like she was adding it to some invisible file in her head.

“You in the gym a lot?” she asked after a beat.

Paige tilted her head, amused by the sudden pivot. “Between seasons, yeah. Like…five, six days a week. During the season? Less. I try to get a lift in when we’re not traveling but…”

“But you’re always traveling.”

“Exactly.”

Azzi nodded. “You can tell, though.”

Paige blinked. “Tell what?”

“That you lift,” Azzi said plainly. “Your arms.”

Paige looked at her, unsure if that was meant to be neutral or not, and Azzi didn’t elaborate. Just turned her attention back to her screen like she hadn’t just said something that made Paige hyper-aware of how close they were standing.

It hung there a second, unsaid, before Azzi stood and brushed her hoodie sleeves down.

“I’ll see you at briefing.”

“Yeah,” Paige said, still holding the AirPod in her hand. “See you.”

–

This might be the worst (or best) decision of Paige’s life.

It was late, but not late enough for the world to sleep. The streets below were still awake with the hum of Baku’s nightlife, headlights catching on wet cobblestones and music spilling from narrow windows. The hotel hallway was quieter, carpeted and still, muffled enough that Paige could hear the small knock of her own heartbeat in her ears as she lifted her hand and knocked gently on the door.

She didn’t wait long.

The door swung open and there was Azzi, barefoot in black sweatshorts and a threadbare Georgetown hoodie, curls pulled back and eyes soft like she’d been half expecting this.

“Hey, P,” she said, voice low.

Paige stepped inside without a word, just nodded, lips pressed tight together in a way she knew would betray her nerves. Azzi let the door fall shut behind them and leaned her back against it, folding her arms loosely across her chest.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The hotel room smelled faintly of vanilla lotion and whatever tea Azzi had brewed earlier. The scent was warm, lived-in, hers.

Paige didn’t sit down. She stood there like she had to say it on her feet.

“I don’t know what we are,” she said finally, quietly. “I think I want to. Know, I mean.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

Paige swallowed. “I didn’t come here for anything casual. Not tonight. Not anymore.”

Azzi’s mouth twitched, not into a smile, but something close. “You don’t have to say it P. I know.”

“Well… I did,” Paige said. “Because I’ve been… holding back. From you. And I think you’ve known it. And I think you let me.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “I didn’t want you to have to tell anyone anything you weren’t ready to say out loud. Especially not about being gay.”

Paige looked down, thumb brushing the inside of her palm. “I told my mom… About us, I mean.”

Azzi’s eyebrows lifted, just slightly. “Yeah?”

“She might’ve… nudged me.”

Now Azzi did laugh, soft and warm and familiar. “I figured.”

There was a pause, the kind that only made sense when two people had lived in the same small tension for months. Azzi pushed off the door finally, walked closer — not fast, not slow — and stopped in front of Paige, close enough that Paige could smell her shampoo. Close enough that her fingers itched to touch her.

“You came to me,” Azzi said, searching her face. “I waited for that. I’m proud of you for that..”

“I know.”

“I want to be with you,” Azzi said simply. “Not for anyone else. Not for the media. Just for me and you.”

“I want that too,” Paige said, and her voice cracked just slightly on the last word. “Even if I’m still… you know..”

“I know that too.”

They stood there, barely apart, the city still humming outside but far, far away from this room.

“It’s better to be private anyway,” Azzi said. “Cleaner. Easier. And we don’t have to care what anyone else thinks. I just want… you.”

Paige let her breath go — shaky, but full. She took one step forward and Azzi didn’t move, just let her. Their foreheads touched, then Azzi’s hand slid to Paige’s wrist.

Then her gaze dipped.

“Alright,” Azzi said with a little smirk. “Now I wanna see those biceps without the sweatshirt in the way.”

Paige let out a laugh, shaky but real.

“You’ve been thinking about my arms?”

Azzi didn’t blink. “They haunt me.”

Paige grinned, finally, and reached down to peel off the hoodie. Her t-shirt underneath clung to her skin. Warm from nerves and night and maybe from how hard her heart was still pounding.

Azzi’s eyes lingered.

Paige flushed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m sincere,” Azzi said. “And sincere people deserve front row seats.”

“Is that so?”

Azzi’s fingers curled into the hem of Paige’s shirt. “You’re the one who came over at midnight babe.”

Paige exhaled. “Yeah. I did.”

And she didn’t regret it.

Not even for a second.

[purrvaire]

no because crowley literally is the strongest soldier of god herself because NOT ONLY my guy has been pining for aix thousand years, now that they can rely on each other freely and Heaven and Hell are out of the picture HE HIT THE JEALOUSY TROPE honestly I would spontaneously self combust or something

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

Me, yesterday, 5:30 PM: wow I’m honestly doing so great at my adult tasks; I’ve gotten some homework done, I went grocery shopping, my laundry is almost dry. I spent so many spoons and I barely feel tired! Maybe I’m finally fully recovering from burnout!

Me, yesterday, 6:00 PM: oh.

[breeberrypies]

rbing bc there were too many tags so it wouldn’t show in my art tag. LET ME SPEAK MY TRUTH ABT MY SHOW⁉️⁉️

++(also you guys should totally not pirate this tv series nobody cares about anymore on wcostream.tv)

THEY TOOK VOLTRON OFF NETFLIX.

[ilovolderman]

Playing It Cool

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam’s getting way too suspicious about your secret relationship with Bucky.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, laundry room shenanigans, sam wilson being done

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". It doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6 thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sam didn’t sleep well.

It wasn’t the coffee. It wasn’t even the lingering PTSD from a week spent chasing Hydra remnants. No, this was different.

This was gut feeling. Instinct.

He was standing in the kitchen, hair wild, hoodie misaligned, and eyes like a war veteran who’d seen things and couldn’t unsee them. The clock blinked a smug 7:03 a.m. He poured black coffee like a man betrayed by the very concept of sleep.

That’s when he saw it.

Two mugs on the counter.

One had your initials. The other—a vintage WWII fighter plane sticker. It hadn’t been there last night. He knew, because he always did a final kitchen sweep before bed. Counters clean. Dishes put away. Mugs? Accounted for.

His eye twitched.

“…Barnes,” Sam whispered.

He crouched slowly, inspecting the mugs like they might start confessing their crimes.

Then the hallway creaked. Sam turned so fast he sloshed coffee onto his hoodie.

You entered the room, yawning dramatically, hoodie sleeves engulfing your hands.

“Morning,” you mumbled.

Sam squinted. “Is it? Is it really?”

You blinked. “…Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, with the exact tone of a man who was absolutely not fine. He walked to the table and pulled out a chair like it owed him money. “Sit.”

“Why?”

“Because I have questions.”

“I’m not under interrogation.”

“You are now.”

“…Sam.”

“Tell me what you were doing between 0500 and 0700 hours.”

“Sleeping.”

“Alone?”

You squinted. “What kind of creepy follow-up—?”

Sam narrowed his eyes like a raccoon about to steal a whole rotisserie chicken. “I knew it. There’s a cover-up.”

You grabbed a piece of toast and headed for the hallway. “There’s a cover-up on your brain, Wilson.”

“I’ve seen the signs,” Sam called after you. “The glances! The whispers! The ‘accidental’ brush of hands during mission briefings!”

“Maybe I’m just clumsy!” you yelled.

“And matching mugs?”

“That sticker was mine first!”

Before Sam could yell something, Bucky entered the room, with aexpression criminally smug. He looked like the kind of man who had just done something worth hiding.

“Morning,” Bucky said, voice low and gravelly. He moved to the coffee pot.

Sam’s eyes followed him like a hawk on its sixth espresso.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

“I’m great,” Sam replied. “Y/N just left.”

“Cool.”

“Came in lookin’ real tired.”

“People get tired.”

“You look real tired.”

Bucky paused, looked Sam dead in the eye. “You implying something?”

Sam sipped his coffee. “I don’t know. You implying something?”

They stared each other down. The air crackled. Somewhere in the distance, a tumbleweed rolled by. A raven cawed.

“You need sleep,” Bucky muttered.

“I’ll sleep when the truth sleeps,” Sam snapped back.

Then Sam dramatically left the room—only to storm back in ten seconds later to grab a banana. He peeled it with authority and left again.

Later that morning, when Sam had finally left for a jog��or more accurately, a neighborhood reconnaissance mission—you found yourself back in the kitchen. You were putting away a dish, humming quietly to yourself, when a pair of warm arms slid around your waist.

You didn’t jump. You never did when it was him.

“Hey,” Bucky murmured against your neck, voice soft now, stripped of the earlier smugness he reserved for sparring with Sam. His lips brushed your skin like a secret.

“Hey yourself,” you whispered, leaning back into his chest. “You’re not worried Sam’s going to install surveillance cameras?”

“He probably already has.” You both laughed.

He rested his chin on your shoulder. “I left my mug out on purpose, you know.”

You turned your head to look at him, brow raised. “Seriously?”

Bucky shrugged, expression boyishly proud. “He’s been circling for weeks. Figured we’d give him a trail to follow. Let the man feel like he cracked the case.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You are so chaotic.”

He grinned. “You love it.”

You turned in his arms, resting your hands on his chest. “Yeah… I kinda do.”

He kissed you then. Slow. Sweet. Familiar. The kind of kiss that said, even with a super-spy roommate and questionable mugs, this? This is real.

Later that night you bumped into Sam, sitting on the couch. He was hunched forward, elbows on knees, staring ahead

“Where are you going?” he asked, voice low and suspicious, eyes narrowing like you’d just confessed to treason.

You froze. “Uh. Laundry?”

“Interesting,” he said, voice dripping with suspicion. “You know who else said they had laundry tonight?”

You blinked. “…Literally everyone who owns clothes?”

Sam didn’t smile. He leaned in, voice lowering like he was revealing national security secrets. “Barnes. Same night. Same floor. Same time.”

You paused just long enough to regret getting out of your room.

“It’s a laundry room, Sam,” you said flatly. “That’s how they work. People… use it.”

“Mmmhm,” he replied, writing something cryptic in his notebook. The pen squeaked aggressively against the page.

Just then, the door swung open—and in walked Bucky Barnes, freshly showered, damp hair swept back like a shampoo commercial, whistling something suspiciously upbeat.

 “Y/N. Wilson,” he greeted smoothly.

“Barnes,” Sam said, staring like he was trying to burn a hole through his soul with his eyes.

You smiled. Just a regular smile. Harmless. No romantic undertones. Just two coworkers… being cordial.

Totally.

 “You know... I was asking Y/N here,” Sam said, still squinting, “about her suspiciously coordinated laundry schedule.”

Bucky didn’t miss a beat. “Must be fate.”

You coughed, choking down a laugh.

Sam slammed his notebook shut with the kind of theatrical flair that screamed “I was born for this drama.”

“Enough. You think I’m not onto you. But I see things.”

Bucky raised a brow. “You seeing ghosts again?”

“I’m seeing clues, Barnes. Don’t play dumb. You two doing laundry together. The mugs. The vanishing act during last Tuesday’s debrief—twenty minutes. Both of you. Gone.”

You opened your mouth, searching for a reasonable explanation, but let’s be honest—this was Sam. There was no “reasonable” left. This man had turned your laundry schedule into a covert op.

You crossed your arms. “We went to get snacks.”

“Snacks,” Sam echoed flatly.

“Yes,” you said, trying to maintain dignity. “You know. Human food. Fuel. Chips. The sacred post-mission ritual.”

Sam’s expression didn’t change. “For twenty minutes.”

“There was a vending machine incident,” Bucky added smoothly, stepping closer, unbothered. “Y/N had a standoff with a bag of peanut M&Ms. It got intense.”

You rolled your eyes as Bucky leaned casually against the doorframe, looking way too smug for someone being accused of laundry-based espionage.

Sam was relentless. “You think this is a game? Because I’ve got spreadsheets. I’ve got charts. I have timestamps.”

“I’m flattered,” Bucky replied, folding his arms. “Didn’t realize I was your top case file.”

“You’re not,” Sam snapped. “You’re just the most suspicious.”

You shook your head, already backing toward the hallway. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go… do the thing. With the clothes. Like a normal human person.”

“Sure you are,” Sam muttered, squinting again like he was two seconds away from installing security cameras.

“Goodnight, Wilson,” Bucky said with a wink. And then—because of course—he followed you out.

“Hey!” Sam called. “This isn’t over!”

You didn’t turn around, but you did hear the sound of him furiously scribbling in that cursed notebook again.

You and Bucky sat side by side on top of the industrial dryer, the hum of the spinning machines filling the quiet room. A single overhead light flickered occasionally, casting a soft glow over the laundry baskets at your feet. The scent of fabric softener lingered in the warm air.

“He’s going to lose his mind,” you murmured, folding a hoodie with unnecessary precision.

“He already has,” Bucky said, smirking. “Tried to stick a tracker in my jacket this morning.”

You laughed, bumping your shoulder into his. “We should start leaving fake clues. Plant a puzzle piece under his pillow. Hang a tie in the garage.”

“I already put a sock in the fridge,” Bucky said casually, reaching over to pull a warm towel from the dryer.

You turned to look at him, mouth open in delight. “You didn’t.”

“I did. Red. Argyle. No explanation.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “I love you.”

Bucky chuckled, leaning in to kiss your temple. “I know.”

You went quiet for a beat, letting the rhythm of the machines and the safe warmth between you fill the space. His knee rested against yours. The scent of his cologne barely clung to the edge of his freshly laundered shirt.

He reached for your hand, twining his fingers through yours beneath the basket of still-warm socks. “He’s getting close, though. We are getting pretty obvious.”

“You wanna stop?” you asked, turning toward him.

He looked at you—really looked. And it was all soft eyes, steady presence, and a patience you hadn’t known you needed until him.

“Not a chance.”

Bucky smiled, warm and easy, and pressed his forehead lightly to yours.

“So,” you whispered, “what are we going to do when Sam actually proves something?”

“We deny everything.”

You laughed. “Even under interrogation?”

“Especially under interrogation.”

One day, he’d prove it.

But not today.

Meanwhile in the living room, Sam was writing in his notebook. On the top of the page:

CASE #110: They’re DEFINITELY Dating. And beneath it, scrawled in increasingly frantic handwriting:

shared laundry = suspicious

“Coincidentally” always sitting next to each other

Y/N smiled at him like he invented air.

Bucky smiled back.

FRIDAY pinged softly. “Sir, your blood pressure is elevated.”

“Because there’s a LIE in this house, Friday!”

War was still on.

But as long as you had Bucky Barnes looking at you like you were his whole world?

You were definitely still winning.

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2

A/N: it's me again, hi. just wanted to say a big thank you for all the comments and feedback i've been getting from all of you. never thought that a one-shot could turn into a series with already SEVEN PARTS. anyway, just thank you all again. i hope you're liking where this is going. see you next chapter <3

next part

[humanjarvis]

i'm sorry for scaring you

synopsis: caleb shows a new side of himself during one of your fights. it almost makes you believe he's changed.

tags: angst, suggestive (psychologically), fluff (sorta kinda), caleb kneels, caleb crawls, caleb is pathetic, caleb is overprotective and unwell pairing: farspace colonel!caleb x reader word count: 1.7k

a/n: this is angstier than i intended i wanted it to be hot, maybe it's still hot, when he tries to lock u up in his house but he has lethal booboo face ⬆️

“I didn't ask for any of this! I didn’t ask for your protection, and I sure as hell don’t want it.”

“You not wanting it doesn’t change the fact that you need it,” Caleb replied blankly. 

In the four months since you’d reunited with Caleb in Skyhaven, your relationship had taken a hit. In the first few weeks, you’d barely seen each other; he’d stop by to check on you, assume you thought him the scum of the earth, and abruptly retreat back home. It wasn’t until you’d grown fed up with the awkwardness and uncertainty that you began approaching him again—asking him about his day, initiating phone calls, and even starting the rare video call, if he was lucky. 

Around the last month or so, things had gotten better. During your increasingly frequent visits, you’d gone out together several times—to see the new cyberpunk action movie, to window shop in the pet store, to marvel at the Skyhaven nightscape from the safety of his personal aircraft. Just as you thought you’d both been making progress adapting to your new dynamic, a wave of highly dangerous wanderers had infiltrated the city, and Caleb had had the nerve to essentially place you on house arrest until the threat was dealt with. Fast forward to now, his composure threatening to overpower your impassioned rebuttals. 

“Did you honestly think I’d let you leave right now?” he asked. “You’re here for a week. The Fleet will take the next couple of days to sort out the problem, and we can go out together when it’s done.”

“We can go out together. Right. So you can rush me back here the second someone looks at me the wrong way?”

“No one will look at you the wrong way. Not here. Not while you’re with me. But you need to understand, Pipsqueak: you came to Skyhaven for me. You’re in skyhaven for me. I won’t stand by and watch you put yourself in danger, and you won’t change my mind,” he replied, his large frame looming over you as he stepped closer. 

You’d had enough. You’d spent almost an hour on the losing side of this back-and-forth, and you were too exhausted to pull your punches anymore. “My first time seeing you after the explosion,” you started, voice trembling. “Do you know how it felt? When you stepped off that plane, when you interrogated me behaving like you never have in your life—I didn’t know what to think. But when you brought me back here? Started spewing off that shit about a world where my only world is you? I was scared, Caleb. I thought I’d needed to be afraid for you, but I was afraid of you. That you’d lock me in this house forever, that I'd only see the sun when you decided it wasn’t top bright for me. I was afraid that I’d die here having grown to hate the person I’d wanted to live for,” you finished, your words dripping with venom.

Seething, you spun around, ready to storm out of the kitchen and into the quiet of the guest room Caleb had remodeled for you. 

You’d taken three steps toward the door when you heard something hit the ground with a heavy thud. 

Body still facing the door, you stopped in your tracks. This was new. Unexpected. You’d been prepared to hear a few calls of your name, some “Wait!”s, maybe even a “Don't walk away from me.” Worst case, you’d expected him to pin you in place with his Evol, preventing your exit and prolonging your fight. 

But a thud? A thud could mean many things. Enough things for you to remain frozen contemplating the possibilities before the voice in the back of your head broke through your thoughts, reminding you of the very real chance that you’d spiked Caleb's blood pressure so much that he’d fainted.

The fear that he was hurt made you finally turn around, only for Caleb to catch you off guard yet again.

Caleb the Loathsome, the overprotective, obsessive, now cold-blooded colonel of the Farspace Fleet, was on the floor before you. Kneeling.

All at once, your anger dissipated, melting into shock at the assertive man before you’s sudden display of submission. 

Realizing you’d turned around, Caleb lifted his head, meeting your flustered expression with his pained one. His furrowed brows, shining eyes, and pouted lips—he looked pitiful, honestly. And as much as it tugged at your heartstrings, it awakened something dormant inside you. 

It made you feel powerful. It gave you an idea. 

Biting the inside of your bottom lip, you took several steps toward Caleb’s kneeling form, closing the distance you'd been so eager to put between you all of ten minutes ago. A slight gasp escaped Caleb at your movement, and he swiftly lowered his gaze back to the floor, as if worried that daring to watch your approaching form would make you retreat. 

When you came to a stop, you were just in front of his knees, looking down your nose at his bowed head. For a few moments, Caleb’s heavy breaths were the only sounds between you, thickening the cold air in the room. 

Then, finally—finally—you touched him, lifting his chin up before resting your palm on his cheek. At your touch, he leaned forward, nuzzling his head against your thigh. 

“…You want this that bad, huh? Want me that bad?”

“More than anything,” he breathed. 

You stared at him. 

“Please,” he whispered, turning his head into your hand to brush his lips across your fingers. 

At this, you hummed softly, running your thumb across his cheek twice before turning away from him once more. When you break contact, Caleb freezes in the midst of rubbing his face on your leg, his eyes popping open in panic. He only calms when he sees you heading for the armchair tucked into the right back corner of the room, slowly taking a seat, your legs spread. 

“Relax,” you call out, settling in your chair. He didn’t move a muscle.

You decided you’d had enough of the tense silence after a few more beats. It was time to test him.

“…Come here, Caleb.”

In an instant, his head snapped up. His gaze, abruptly ending its budding relationship with the floor tiles, held yours for more than a few seconds this time, your slight smirk challenging his slight disbelief.

Caleb had all the cunning in the world. Since joining the Fleet, nothing got by him—and on the rare chance that it did, he’d chase it down and make it beg for mercy. He was a prideful man. He was a calculated man. So when you called for him in your sweet voice, slightly breathy with unadmitted nerves, he figured you out quite quickly. 

You were testing him—to see if he’d walk or crawl to you—and he knew it. 

And unfortunately for his dignity, any reservation he held about the latter was overshadowed by his desire for you: to be in your space, to breathe your air, to be close enough to feel you—even if he rarely did now, out of fear that his touch would repulse you.

He needed you to need him. So he crawled. 

Inch by inch, Caleb crawled toward you, the only person who would ever see him reduced to this. The only person who could reduce him to this. And all the while, as the fabric of his dark pants dragged across the floor, his violet eyes never left yours. In them, you saw resignation. You saw anticipation. You saw the shattered remnants of a pride that he’d let be broken, and you saw them rebuild themselves in lust the closer he came.

A few inches away from you, Caleb stops, sitting demurely on his heels. His hands twitch in hesitation before falling into his lap. His vulnerability is palpable, and you can feel him banishing himself back to his hell of self-deprecation, the guilt-eroded space in his mind where he repeats how little he deserves you. Before he can lower his gaze again, you beckon him upwards,  guiding his palms to rest on your knees. His kneeling form almost equals your seated one in height.

“I used to love watching you scare off the boys who were mean to me,” you tell him, placing your palm back on his cheek. “But as much as I like you intimidating, this little act might be my new favorite.” 

His nervous breaths come to a momentary halt before he brightens slightly, chasing your touch. He nuzzles into your palm like he did your leg earlier, and you sigh. 

“You scared me, Caleb,” you murmur. 

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“I know you want to keep me safe, that you have kept me safe for as long as either of us can remember,” you say, continuing to stroke his head. “But I don’t want to be afraid of you, Caleb. I won't be afraid of you. So if you want to keep doing this, if you want us to move on, if you want me—it can’t happen again. Tell me it won’t happen again.”

Your movements still as you tighten your grip on his jaw, forcing him to meet your eyes. A grimace flashes across his face as he goes quiet for a moment. But you wait for him. You have to. As exhilarating as it’d been to see him crawl before you, this was the true test—if you extend your trust, will he extend his lenience? You have to believe that he will. To give him the chance to. 

And as you’re wrapped up in your optimism, your fantasies that he’ll acquiesce and let your relationship go back to normal, Caleb responds. 

“...I’m sorry for scaring you.” 

[yanderedrabbles]

Foreign Yandere x Air Hostess Reader

He's beyond shady. Got connections and friends in all the lowest places. But you're just a little too slow to realise it.

Foreign Yandere who sees you for the first time on his first flight out of the country. He’s a sketchy guy, got a pack of fake passports in a hidden compartment in his bag, but you smile at him like you don’t see the tattoos, the scarred knuckles, the too quick hands.

Oh, you’re pretty. All the cabin crew are, but you’re something new. Exotic almost. Got him wondering exactly how different you are in bed too, got him wondering if you’d put up a fuss if he cornered you in the bathroom. Hell, you might like it. Folk always said foreign girls were down for so much more.

It’s a long-haul flight and your supervisor is bitchy about damn near everything you do. Passengers aren’t much better after twelve hours with their legs cramped up and only shitty plane chow to eat. He can see it wearing on you, can see the way your smile gets tighter after every too sharp complaint. Makes him want to beat their faces into a pulp.

His last straw comes at hour sixteen, when you’re clearly exhausted and one passenger just won’t let up. Practically screaming at you about not getting his specially ordered meal. You’re dealing with it as best you can, but everyone has a limit. He can see the tears starting to brim behind your waterline, can see you struggling to fight them back.

He stands so fast that his seat mate actually flinches. Comes to stand behind you and glares at the troublemaker. The man doesn’t let up, just switches his anger to him.

“You got a problem, huh?”

Foreign Yandere who doesn’t have a lot of English, but he knows a threat when he hears one. He leans down, shoots the man a smile filled with all the menace of a streetfighter.

“What did you say to me?” he asks, in his own language. It isn’t the standard dialect. It’s the regional kind, the type that’s as rough ‘round the edges as its speakers.

The man quails.

 “Sorry,” he mutters. But that’s not good enough.

Foreign Yandere who jerks his head at you, his message clear even across the language barrier.

Apologise to her.

The guy does. Red in the face, resentful about it, spitting his sorry through his teeth like an insult.

You look up at him, the foreigner with the hard eyes, and thank him. In his own language.

Your accent is thick, the pronunciation too rounded on the vowels. But he’ll be damned if it ain’t just fucking adorable.

“Anytime,” he tells you.

It’s not long after he’s back in his seat that you bring him a complimentary cup of coffee and a muffin. The good stuff too, not the swill that usually gets served in economy. He grabs your wrist before you can leave, grip just a little too tight without meaning to be.

“Can I see you again?”

Your grasp of the language isn’t the best, and it takes you a minute to puzzle out what he's asked. When you finally get it, you smile at him and shake your head. Rueful.

“Against company policy to meet the passengers after the flight ends.”

He lets it go. Sighs and says he understands, wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. A surprisingly polite answer from a man who looks like he never hears the word no without following it with a punch to the teeth.

But he doesn’t let it go. Not really. After the plane is deboarded, he skips lines and almost skips customs to keep his eye on you. When you get into a shuttle bus with the rest of your coworkers, he takes careful note of the hotel name scrawled on the side.

His business goes well - if you can call smuggling business that is. The boys he’s dealing with have their own plane to get him home. The kind of small jet that never lands at any airport marked on a map. He slips them all a little something extra under the table and asks if he can bring a guest.

“Will they be conscious?”

He grins. “Not if I can help it.”

Getting you is the tricky part. He borrows a suit and cleans himself up. Shows up at the hotel desk in the middle of the night and tells them he’s here to pick you up for an unscheduled early flight. He knows your name, your company, even your damn rank in the crew. Everything he says checks out. And if the receptionist that calls you thinks he looks a little rough to be a driver, she doesn’t mention it.

You show up with your uniform a tiny bit askew and a sock sticking out of your suitcase. You must have scrambled out of bed without even bothering to double check with your supervisor. Good. The less people that know the better.

He mostly keeps his back to you. Doesn’t want you to recognise him too soon. He shouldn’t have worried. You’re too jetlagged and blurry eyed to even recognise your own mother.

It’s only when you’re in his car and speeding down the wrong highway that you start to get suspicious. Start to come awake fully.

“Which company did you say you work for again?”

He doesn’t reply. You’re going to have to put more effort into learning and speaking his language. No point encouraging you by answering.

“Excuse me?”

You lean forward to get his attention and when he hears your little gasp, he knows the game is up. That you recognise him. Honestly, he’s a little offended that it took you this long. He could keep track of you through a sea of faces back at the airport after all.

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re here. But please stop the car.”

See? You’re speaking his language a bit better already.

“No chance sweetheart. You’re coming home with me.”

He can almost admire your guts when you go straight for the door, despite the speedometer showing over 200. Locked of course. He’s not an idiot.

When he finally arrives at the hangar, it takes him and two other thugs to finally hold you still.

“Fucking feisty thing,” one of them snarls when you land a good kick to his knee.

When he finally manages to prick the injection into your neck, you’re crying so hard that your mascara is running.

“You put up a good fight baby,” he comforts you as you go limp in his arms. “But I just want this more than you.”

His buddies smirk when they look at your body sprawled out on the seat.

“Nice catch. I’m mad I didn’t see her first.”

“You gonna be nice and share?”

That makes him grin. “We’ll see. If she’s too much to handle, well…”

That makes them snicker.

You shouldn’t assume someone’s a thug just ‘cause of the way they look. But in his case, those scars weren’t earned through gentle accidents.

And when he gets you home, someplace probably tropical, someplace where a missing foreigner isn't that surprising a thing, he'll show you exactly how dangerous it is to smile at a criminal and expect him to just let it go.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Too Precious | LN4

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Lando loves the party life. She prefers quiet nights in. When their differences start to build, so does the tension.

A/N: This is part of my Playlist Roulette series, where I shuffle my playlists and write a story inspired by the first song that pops up. This story is inspired by the song Too Precious by Em Beihold.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

'Cause according to you, I'm too precious You're wishin' that I was more reckless You're wishin' that I would smoke 'til I'm high And play with the guys, regret this You're wishin' that I was more trouble Sorry for being a struggle I do what I want and may not be your type Sorry I can't be a person you like

Lando had always been the type to take things too far.

He lived for the noise. Loud music, louder people, places where the drinks never stopped flowing and sleep was something you caught on a plane. It was easier that way. Fill every second, don’t let your mind slow down enough to catch up.

Since he was sixteen, life had been a blur of tracks and cameras and fake smiles at dinners with sponsors. So when the weekends came, when the pressure finally let up, he wanted to feel like he had some control. He wanted to drink, to laugh too hard, to forget.

And at first, she hadn’t minded. She was different from everyone else in his circle. Calm. Private. Comfortable in silence. Lando had thought it was refreshing. Being with Lando meant fast flights to Ibiza, impulsive parties, nights where the sunrise came too soon. But the novelty wore off. Now she just felt tired. Like she was always trying to catch up to a version of him that wouldn’t sit still. She’d thought maybe he’d slow down for her. He thought she’d go along with him.

They were both wrong.

"Just try it," he said, holding out the glass. "It’s literally one drink."

She didn’t even look at it. "I’m fine."

"You always say that."

"And I always mean it."

Lando leaned back against the kitchen counter, the glass still in his hand. "You’re kind of allergic to fun, aren’t you?"

She glanced up, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

He took a sip and shrugged. "Nothing. Just... you’re too precious sometimes."

She blinked, like she wasn’t sure she heard him right. "Too precious?"

"Yeah." He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Too good for all this. For drinks, for staying out past midnight, for letting loose like the rest of us."

She crossed her arms. "That’s not fair."

"It’s not an insult."

"It sounds like one."

Lando tossed the rest of his drink back, ignoring the way her face tightened.

"I’m not going to pretend I’m into something I’m not. That’s not fair to either of us."

He pulled back slightly. "Right. Of course. You're too precious."

"Stop saying that."

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Why? If the label fits."

Another night, another party.

She sat in the corner of the room, watching him move through the crowd like he belonged to everyone. He was surrounded by friends, or at least people who laughed when he made a joke and handed him a joint without asking questions.

One of the guys passed it to her.

"I’m good," she said quickly, waving it away.

Lando saw from across the room and walked over, slightly buzzed and way too confident.

"Come on," he said, voice low against her ear. "One puff won't turn you into a delinquent."

"Can we not do this here?"

He straightened, irritated. "We’re just having fun."

"I know. It’s just... not my idea of fun."

His smile faded. "Right. I forgot. You don’t like anything messy."

"That’s not true."

"You say that, but every time things get a little wild, you check out. You sit on the couch and stare at your phone until it’s time to leave."

"Because I don’t want to pretend to enjoy something that makes me uncomfortable."

Lando’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned back toward the crowd. She watched him go, heart sinking.

The fight came later that week.

He showed up late to dinner, still wearing a wristband from some club he never mentioned he was going to. She had cooked for once, tried to make something that wasn’t takeout.

Lando kicked his shoes off and tossed his keys onto the table like nothing was wrong.

"You look nice," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"You’re late."

He pulled back. "Traffic."

She just stared at him. The lie was too easy.

"You said we’d have a quiet night."

"And we are."

"You went to a party."

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. "For like, an hour. Don’t make it a thing."

"You could’ve told me."

"I didn’t think I needed permission."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "That’s not what I said."

Lando set the bottle down harder than necessary. "Is this really about me being late, or is this about how I live my life again?"

She met his gaze. "It’s about you never being fully present unless there’s a camera on or a drink in your hand."

He scoffed. "There it is."

"There’s what?"

"The judgment."

"It’s not judgment."

"You keep saying that, but every word out of your mouth is just a more polite way of saying you think I’m a screw-up."

"I just think your... lifestyle. It isn’t healthy."

He blinked, like she’d slapped him. "Wow. That’s what you think of me?"

"It’s just I think you’re constantly burning the candle at both ends and pretending it doesn’t affect you."

He laughed, but it wasn’t light. "So now I need saving?"

"That’s not what I said."

"You didn’t have to."

She stepped closer, trying to stay calm. "I’m not trying to change you, Lando. I just want you to see that this isn’t sustainable."

"You think I haven’t heard that before?" His voice was rising now. "From my team, my parents, everyone who wants a piece of me? I don’t need to hear it from you too."

"I’m not trying to pile on, Lando. I just—"

"What? Want me to grow up? Stay in? Light some candles and watch a movie like everything’s normal?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Sometimes I do."

He stared at her, something shifting in his face. "You want to fix me."

"No," she whispered. "I want to reach you. But you’re always somewhere else."

He laughed, bitter. "That’s rich, coming from you."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"I want you to stop treating me like some broken kid who needs to be fixed."

"That’s not fair. I didn’t mean anything like that-"

"You know what’s not fair? You walking around acting like you’re better than all of it. Too perfect to ever mess up. Too perfect to actually live a little."

"I don’t think I’m perfect."

"You act like it. You sit there with your tea and your books and your damn moral compass, and every time I step out of line, you look at me like I’m some kind of disappointment. And now you’re trying to control how I live?"

"I’m not trying to control you."

"You told me my lifestyle isn’t healthy. You basically just said you’re embarrassed by the way I live."

"I said I’m worried."

"Yeah, sorry you can’t mold me into someone you like."

Her throat tightened. "I don’t want to mold you. I want to feel like I’m not losing you to a version of yourself you don’t even like."

"Don’t psychoanalyze me. You don’t get it."

"Partying every night isn’t healthy!"

He went still.

"There it is again!" His tone turned sharp, defensive.

"I think you’re drowning and pretending you’re swimming."

His jaw clenched. "And I think you’re a control freak who’s afraid of anything she can’t schedule two weeks in advance."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Wow."

There was a long pause. Neither of them moved.

Finally, she spoke. "I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with this."

Lando’s jaw tensed. "Then maybe you’re not the person I should be with."

She swallowed hard. "Maybe I’m not."

The silence between them stretched out like a chasm.

He picked up his keys again.

"Let me know when you’re ready to stop looking at me like I’m a problem. I’ll leave you to your quiet night" he said, and walked out the door.

She didn’t cry. Not right away.

Instead, she sat on the couch alone, staring at the plate of food that had gone cold hours ago.

She hadn’t meant to make him feel small. She just wanted him to slow down long enough to see that not everything good had to be loud and fleeting.

But maybe that was the problem.

He didn’t want quiet. And she couldn’t keep pretending to love the noise.

[gothcsz]

Hands To Myself | Javier Peña x F!Reader | ~4k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: You get to know the handsome stranger sitting next to you on your overnight flight to Mexico.

Tags: smut, reader is ovulating, hand job, fingering, dirty talk, lust at first sight again, sexual acts in public (on a plane), let's just pretend this is realistic okay, pwp, blowjob to completion, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, reader is a woman of color yet everyone is encouraged to read, no physical descriptions, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: this is all @probablyreadinsmut's fault tbh. coming into my inbox with horny thoughts, knowing i have to do something about it 😩 hehe i hope you guys like this, it's nothing special... i just need this man in any way i can get him! let me know what you thinkkkkkk🖤

You knew you were fucked the second you saw him at the gate. He isn’t just attractive—he’s ridiculously attractive. The kind of hot that only exists in movies or in passing, like some guy you make eye contact with and never see again. Except this time, he wasn’t just passing through. He was standing right there.

To make matters worse, your hormones are out of control. Peak ovulation. Just being around a man has your skin buzzing, like your body is betraying you on a biological level.

So yeah, you looked. How could you not? He’s tall, has broad shoulders, leaner than what you usually go for but still built in a way that makes your brain short-circuit.

Then the universe really had to mess with you—you are assigned the seat right next to him for the overnight flight.

Your stomach drops. Suddenly, your go-to comfy travel outfit, leggings and a cardigan, feels way too basic.

“I’m at the window seat,” you say, trying to sound normal.

He looks up, meeting your gaze, and smiles—actually smiles. His brown eyes are warm and a little intrigued as he gives you a once over.

“Okay.”

Just that one word and you are already overthinking. How good his voice would sound in your ear as he’s—

No, you won’t make things harder on yourself by having intrusive sexual thoughts about some stranger. No matter how good looking he is.

You shove your carry-on into the overhead bin and awkwardly step aside so he can stand and let you in. His body brushes against yours, and you get a whiff of his cologne, something woodsy, mixed with the unmistakable scent of whiskey from the airport bar.

Okay… so maybe you’d been watching him for longer than just at the gate. But who could blame you? The man is truly a sight to behold. It’s not like you were being a creep about it.

You mutter a soft “thanks” and sink into your seat, trying very hard to act normal while the flight attendants go through their safety spiel, though it’s hard to focus when you can feel his presence right next to you.

You need a distraction—fast. So, in a last-ditch effort to stop acting like a feral idiot, you pluck your book from your backpack and try to read.

It works, kind of. Not really.

“So, what’s waiting for you in Playa del Carmen?”

His voice, low and raspy, cuts through your attempt at reading—not that you’d absorbed a single word, still stuck on the same page since you opened it.

You glance over, and of course, he’s already looking at you. His leather jacket is gone, leaving him in a short sleeved button-down, a few undone buttons teasing the tanned skin of his neck, his thick biceps straining against the fabric.

You take too long to answer because he tilts his head slightly, lips twitching like he’s holding back a smirk. “Sorry—abrupt fuckin’ question.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You stumble over your words, mentally cringing at yourself. His brows raise slightly, amused, and you don’t miss the way his mustache tics when he presses his lips together. 

“A friend’s birthday trip. I got caught up at work, so I had to take a later flight at the last minute. What about you?”

He hums, the sound deep and thoughtful. “Work.” That’s all he offers. “Not as fun as what you’ll be getting up to, I’m sure.”

You bite your lip, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your book. “I’ve heard the beaches are beautiful. I’m excited to just lounge and take in the sun. It’s been so long since I’ve gone on a proper vacation.”

Your tongue is loose despite the way you’re vibrating under the weight of his attention.

“I know that feeling. Don’t even think my body knows what a vacation is…” He trails off, leaning back in his seat, thighs spreading in that way men do, which you usually find annoying but something about the way he does it has your pussy clenching, and you try no to let your eyes drop down to his crotch.

“How’s the book?”

You blink slowly, returning your attention to the paperback in your hand. “Got a slow start but so far it’s been alright.”

“I bet. You’ve been stuck on the same page since we took off. Must be the most riveting paragraph ever written.”

Heat creeps up your neck, and if it were anybody else, you’d be weirded out by their observation. Being hot does have its privileges. “Maybe I just like rereading. Really taking in the point the author is trying to make.”

“Uh-huh, right…” He chuckles softly and that sound triggers the desire that seeps into every pore of your skin.

The conversation continues flowing thereafter, which you definitely did not expect. His name is Javier, and he’s constantly traveling for work—though he’s vague on the details, and you’re not about to grill a stranger for his life story.

Instead, the topics meander, easy and flirtatious, both of you toeing the line between casual and something else.

You swear he’s flirting. He leans in slightly when you speak, holds your eyes captive just a beat too long, like he’s in no rush to look away.

You’re noticing everything the deeper you get into this… thing. The way lips form around each word, full and obnoxiously kissable. The way his brown eyes glint when he talks about things that should be trivial but feel interesting because he’s the one saying them. How the tendons in his forearms flex whenever he gestures, his fingers long and strong, the kind of hands that could make a woman very happy.

Your horny brain is spiraling.

“A mango marg is my go to. Preferably one of those ridiculously oversized ones with sugar on the rim.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, that tracks.”

You arch a brow. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

He scratches his jaw, flicking his tongue over his teeth. You admire how chiseled his jaw is. “Means you like to have fun. You probably get away with a lot.”

“And you think I get away with things?”

His eyes flick down to your lips, just for a second. “I think you could, if you wanted to.”

You cross your legs, shifting in your seat like that’s going to help anything. It just makes it worse. Focus. He’s just a hot stranger. A hot stranger that smells like whiskey and cedarwood and keeps throwing you these amused little glances like he knows what the fuck he’s doing to you.

You should probably end this before you embarrass yourself. But instead, you just keep talking, keep flirting, and keep waiting to see just how far this can go.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Javier’s voice snaps you back to reality, and you blink, heat settling on your cheeks as your brain scrambles to catch up.

“Sorry, what?”

His lips curve slightly like he’s fighting a grin, but his eyes give him away. “You keep staring at my mouth…” He trails off, but there’s something in the way he says it. As if he’s caught you red-handed and is enjoying watching you squirm.

Your stomach clenches. Your thighs press together on instinct.

Fuck.

Panic surges through you, and suddenly, the cabin feels way too small, the air too thick. “No, uh—there’s nothing there. I just… I zone out sometimes.” You clear your throat, fingers fumbling with your seatbelt. “Would you mind letting me get to the restroom?”

You sound as pathetic as you feel, but Javier doesn’t let up. His smirk stays put, eyes flicking over your face like he’s contemplating something.

Still, he nods. “Sure.”

He stands, stepping aside, and as you squeeze past him, his hand just barely grazes your lower back. Light enough to be innocent, intentional enough to send a full-body shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, pretending not to notice—pretending not to feel the slick heat between your legs pulse at the contact—and walk as casually as possible down the aisle.

The moment you lock the restroom door behind you, you press your palms against the tiny counter, breathing hard.

Your reflection stares back at you, pupils blown, lips parted like you just stumbled out of a damn makeout session. 

You’re hot. Turned on from nothing but a little eye contact and some shameless flirting. And the worst part? It’s not going away anytime soon. Especially since you’re sitting so fucking close to him. Your body is wound tight, aching at the worst possible time.

Your panties are soaked, borderline ruined, pussy crying to get some relief, and you actually consider slipping a hand down there and rubbing one out. But you know yourself. Getting off with your fingers is a slow, frustrating process, and the last thing you need is to be locked in an airplane restroom, chasing an orgasm while Javier is sitting just outside, existing like that.

So you suck it up. Splash some cool water on your face. Take a deep breath. Get it together.

When you step back into the aisle, he’s already standing, leaning casually against the row of seats as if his demeanor and charm aren’t totally putting you under his spell. He looks even better now than he did before you left.

You give him a tight-lipped, awkward smile as you slide back into your seat. He follows, sinking into his own with a quiet grunt, the sound low and rough enough to send another spark of pleasure straight to your cunt.

“Everything good?” He asks smoothly, but there’s an undercurrent of playfulness to it, like he already knows the answer.

You force your legs to stay still, clenching your thighs subtly as you nod.

“Mhm.”

He hums. “You don’t have to lie, you know.”

Your eyes snap up to his, heartbeat hammering. “What?”

“I know when a woman’s turned on. And you haven’t exactly been subtle about it.”

Your stomach drops, your whole body flooding with embarrassment. “That’s ridiculous—”

“Nothin’ to be embarrassed about.” He shrugs. “Been thinkin’ about how good your ass looks in those leggings since I saw you back at the airport.”

Oh, you’re so fucked.

Your breath stutters, fingers gripping the armrest as if that’ll do anything to ground you. Maybe this is a dream, it has to be. No way he’s reciprocating the horny vibes you’ve been exuding because of your damn ovulation cycle. 

“Javier…” His name falls from your lips, shaky, uncertain.

His expression doesn’t change—still cool, still lazy, but there’s a darkness to it now. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything…” His knuckles graze your thigh, featherlight, making you shiver before he pulls away. “But I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like I’m not attracted to you.”

You lick your lips, watching the way he follows the movement, how his hand balls into a fist against his leg. The cabin is dim now, most passengers lost in their own worlds or asleep, and the seats around you are conveniently unoccupied. The flight attendants have finished their last walkthrough, leaving you tucked away in a private little pocket of space.

Your pulse thrums, a decision forming in the haze of arousal clouding your mind. “What if…” You hesitate, but then let the thought take control, logic be damned. “What if I wanted to do something?”

Javier’s brows lift slightly, intrigue flashing across his face. The shift is instant—his relaxed posture stiffens, his jaw ticks, and his eyes dip just slightly as if assessing exactly how far you’re willing to go.

You’re barely breathing as he lifts the armrest between you, his body pressing in tight, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. You almost pass out.

“Yeah?” His voice is nothing but a whisper, matching the lust that’s thrumming in your veins. “Like what?”

The warmth of his breath has you letting out a soft, involuntary whimper.

“Anything,” you murmur, fidgeting with your fingers, the need unbearable. “I just need you to touch me.”

Javi exhales a low, quiet laugh through his nose, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. His lips ghost along the side of your jaw, teasing, taunting.

“I can do that.” His fingers then trail up your thigh agonizingly slow, stopping just at the hem of your leggings. “Just need you to keep quiet.”

You nod weakly, head tipping back against the seat as his mouth finds your neck. He starts slow, pressing soft kisses along the sensitive skin before sucking lightly, dragging his teeth over your pulse. You resist the urge to squirm as his large palm moves up your body, fingertips teasing along the curve of your breast over your top.

Your nipples tighten instantly, and when he pinches one between his fingers, both of you let out a quiet groan.

“So sensitive. You need more?”

You bite your lip, nodding desperately again. “Yes.”

His hand slips beneath your shirt and finally—rough fingertips meet your bare skin. He palms your breast, kneading, tugging at your nipple, sending sharp little sparks of pleasure straight to your pussy.

You shift, desperately trying to find any friction. Your horniness is maddening and he knows it.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs against your jaw, tongue flicking out to taste your skin. “So worked up already. Bet you’re soaked.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, and you whimper, hips rolling ever so slightly.

Javier groans at the movement, shifting even closer, his thigh pressing against yours as he works your tits over with a practiced hand.

His lips move up to your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. You turn your head, eyes locking with his for a brief moment before you both give in—lips crashing together, mouths desperate and hungry.

He can kiss.

His tongue slides against yours, tasting and exploring. The fingers at your breast keep working, rolling your nipple between his fingers, twisting just enough to make you gasp against his lips.

“Javi…” His name is exhaled breathlessly. “More. Please.”

He tilts his head slightly. “Yeah?” Leaving your tits, he moves down between your legs and you spread your thighs, giving him enough room to begin rubbing you over your leggings.

You let out a sharp gasp, back arching slightly. The pressure has you melting, chasing the touch you so desperately need.

Javier watches you, drinking in the slight furrow of your brow, how your lips purse. “Goddamn.” He can’t help but nip at your lower lip, gripping your thigh with his other hand as he grinds a little harder against your pussy. “You soaked right through these.”

Your fingers dig into his forearm, the teasing unbearable.

“You’re so—” You shudder, exhaling shakily and he’s living for it. “You’re so fucking hot, I couldn’t help it.”

“I could probably make you come just like this, huh? Needy little thing needs her pussy played with so bad, she’s whoring herself out on a fuckin’ plane just to get an orgasm.”

Your jaw hangs open at his filthy words.

Javier is clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. His fingers keep moving, slow and firm, while your hand drifts down, pressing against the hardness straining beneath his jeans. Even through the thick denim, he’s big, and when you squeeze just slightly, his hips jerk into your palm.

He groans into the kiss you’re sharing, enjoying your touch. “This is risky, you sure?”

You nod, struggling to think through the fog of lust clouding your mind. “I don’t care.”

That’s all it takes.

He pulls back, just enough for both of you to move quickly. You shrug off your cardigan, tucking it beneath you before slipping your leggings and panties down to your mid thigh. You’re not about to put your bare ass on this plane seat.

He unbuckles his belt, freeing himself from his jeans, and holy shit.

Your mouth goes dry. He’s thick, a swollen, flushed cock with a prominent vein running down the side, curving just enough to make your walls flutter at the thought of him fucking your cunt.

Javi catches your lingering gaze and smirks. “You just gonna look, or—?”

You drag your tongue across your palm before wrapping it around his leaking cock, your touch making him shudder. Slowly, you stroke him, spreading the precum with your thumb, gliding it over the sensitive head before giving a firm squeeze, earning a growl from deep in his chest.

His fingers slip between your thighs, spreading your pussy lips open, and he wastes no time in teasing your sensitive labia, dragging his touch up and down attentively.

You moan quietly as to not get yourself caught. He groans at the feeling of you, slick and hot, his digits smearing your arousal all over your pretty pussy before pressing against your swollen clit.

“If we weren’t on this goddamn plane I’d fuck the shit out of you.”

You can’t hold back your soft whine, your head tilting back, wrist still moving, his own fingers working magic between your thighs.

“How? Please Javi tell me how you’d fuck me.”

He buries his head into your neck, licking, biting, sucking at your skin, his thick fingers now breaching the mouth of your cunt.

It’s pure bliss—the stretch so much deeper, fuller than your own fingers ever manage. His thick digits work you open, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you. The way he drags against your inner walls has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, but it’s the relentless pressure on your fleshy pearl that wrecks you, erasing every thought but him.

“I’d have you spread out, my head buried between your legs, fucking you with my tongue until you’re wet enough to take this big cock.” His hips grind into your jerking palm to emphasize his point.

You can only imagine how his wet tongue would feel up against your flesh, tasting every crevice, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you.

“Probably start over you, wanna see that pretty face while I slide inside this tight pussy baby, fuck,” he groans, fingers now knuckles deep inside your cunt and you moan, slipping into this fantasy with him, imagining how good it’d feel to have his dick stretching you out.

“Not really a missionary girl but I know you’d make me feel good, Javi.”

His thumb is slick with your sticky wetness, allowing him to swirl your clit around, massaging it and making your pussy drool even more. Your nipples are hardened and oversensitive, adding to the bliss when they brush against the fabric of your shirt with every deep inhale and exhale you take. 

Javi’s fingers begin to thrust into you more earnestly, the soft squelch of your pussy getting finger fucked thankfully drowned out by the hum of the plane. “How would you want it then? Tell me how you’d take it.”

Another bead of precum dollops from his slit and your mouth waters, picking up the pace to match the stroking of his fingers inside you.

“On top. I’d bounce on your cock until you’re filling me up. Put my tits in your face, make you suck on them.”

A thin sheen of sweat clings to your temples, the heat of his kisses still lingering on your neck making your temperature spike like a fever you don’t want to break.

Javier gets desperate, leaning in to put his lips on yours, imagining the way your pussy would feel while you rode him. You clench around his fingers, your orgasm on the brink of making a mess all over his hand.

“You’d let me come inside you?” His voice is a husky murmur, almost taunting, laden with lust as he cups your jaw with his other hand before sliding lower, wrapping firmly around your throat. Not squeezing, just holding, keeping you in place as he curls his fingers, brazen eyes boring into yours.

Your breath stutters as ecstacy coils impossibly tight. “Mhm,” you nod weakly, tears welling in your eyes from how good it all feels.

A wicked smirk spreads across his lips, his grip keeping you steady as he drags you closer. “Naughty girl,” he murmurs. “Fuckin’ love that.”

His lips crash against yours again, swallowing your cries as his fingers work you harder, scissoring inside you, his fat thumb flicking your clit rapidly. 

It sends you tumbling over the edge, your entire body clenches, muscles locking as waves of pleasure ripple through you, your release coating his fingers while you moan into his mouth, trying to keep quiet, trying not to let the whole damn plane know what he’s doing to you.

Your grip on his cock tightens but you lose your rhythm as he lets you ride out your orgasm, whispering praises against your lips, not seeming bothered by the lack of attention at his shaft.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you attempt to catch your breath, blinking away the stars clouding your vision while he pulls his fingers out, a sticky web following.

Javier lifts his fingers between you, still slick with your release, dark eyes flicking to yours as he takes in the scent of your pussy before he’s licking at them, using the hold he still has on your neck to bring you in so you’re both making out with his wet fingers between the two of you, your tongue moving sinfully, getting lost in the act.

You break away when his fingers are licked clean, attempting to catch your breath. After regaining some control, you continue to work his cock, urging him to slide into the unoccupied third seat by the aisle so you have room to take him in your mouth.

Javi blinks, caught off guard, dick twitching in your grasp as he registers what you’re suggesting.

“You sure?” His hands flex like he’s barely holding himself back.

“Yes. Don’t want to make a mess, right? Just make sure no one’s looking.” You purr, pulling your legging and underwear back up before shifting your body and bending over to lick at his tip, circling around his head before you’re taking as much as you can into your mouth.

The positioning is a little cramped and awkward, but you don’t care. He tastes so good, feels even better on your tongue. The blood is roaring in your ears, you can’t even hear any of the quieted noises you’re pulling from him but you do feel his hand landing on the back of your neck and he pushes you further down, forcing you to take almost the entirety of his cock down your throat.

You fondle his balls, sucking in your cheeks and bobbing up and down quickly. His stomach tightens and before you know it, ropes of warm and salty cum are filling your mouth, his fingers digging into your skin. You moan around him, slurping him up before pulling away with a soft pop, wiping at the corners of your mouth where the fluids had smeared.

He looks just as wrecked as you had when you came, his cheeks a little pink, eyes dilated, breathing heavily. He exhales a quiet, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair before tucking himself back into his pants, watching you with something dangerously close to admiration.

You lean in, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to his lips, returning the favor and letting him taste the last traces of himself.

“Where are you staying? This can’t be the last time I see you.”

You tell him the name of the resort, watching as that familiar cocky smirk creeps back onto his face.

“Okay,” he murmurs, mind already made up. “Can’t let you walk away after that. Pussy’s too good. Hope your friends don’t mind me stealing you for a night or two.”

He caresses your cheek and you melt into him, resting your chin on his shoulder, staring up at him with starry eyes. You already know you’re going to get the lecturing of your life once you disclose what just transpired to your homegirls.

“They will. Maybe I should extend my stay just a little longer…” Your fingers fidget with the buttons on his shirt.

“I’ll pay for it. Anything to see you again.”

Oh god, is this irresponsible of you? Probably. But you’re not thinking with your brain right now, no, you’re straight up thinking with your pussy.

“Deal.”

@almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @persephone-girl . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7. @mandaloriankait . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @almostfoxglove . @thundermartini . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @clubsoft . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @joelmillerisapunk . @theestorm . @pasc4lfuzz . @manuymesut . @biapascal . @angiewatson .

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 700

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. this is just a short prologue to show how things end (yay happy endings!), but the two have a lot of trauma to go through before they reach endgame. i love kinich's character and design so i'm excited for this! interaction is highly appreciated :)

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

Kinich thinks he’s loved you since forever.

He has no way of proving that, of course; those years are long gone, and even if he had the opportunity to ask, he’s not sure his younger self would have a comprehensible answer. He can only see now that he’s come so far, when the memories are too murky to make sense of but the warmth remains—when he thinks of your smile and feels something akin to the weightlessness of grappling and flying through the trees.

He says “forever” because he really has no idea when it started—the realization came far after the feeling. He’d been before school age when he met you for the first time, and it’s been over a decade since then.

“Kinich!”

Your call interrupts his thoughts, and his gaze is drawn skyward—you’re standing somewhere far above him, on one of the walkways lining the cliffs of the Scions of the Canopy. You’re waving so wildly and ridiculously that it almost makes him smile.

“Are you coming down?” he calls through cupped hands, well-acquainted with this kind of long-distance communication. Sound tends to echo well between the cliffs here, and he’s sure you heard him when you offer an enthusiastic thumbs-up in return. 

“Yup! I bought a few things, so I was hoping you could help me carry them home!”

Kinich rolls his eyes teasingly. “Somehow I doubt that you have enough Mora left to afford my services.”

You pout in reply. Ajaw decides to appear then, a malicious puff of smoke over Kinich’s shoulder. “Of course not! You better not be making fun of me, letting some mortal treat you like a servant! The Almighty Dragonlord, K’uhul Ajaw, won’t take this kind of disrespect—”

Ignoring his wordy introduction, you call down to Kinich again. “I’m coming down! Think fast!”

“—Don’t make me lau—wait, what?!”

Even Ajaw yelps in surprise as you take a running leap off the walkway, freefalling fast down the plane of the cliff. If he were any younger, Kinich might’ve had a heart attack. But you’ve been pushing your luck with him for years, and it comes as instinct when Kinich grapples up, deftly catching you in his arms with a light ‘oof’.

You’re holding a few boxes in your arms, he notices, and you smile. 

“I bought some Puff Pops for us to share later. I was thinking we can do some climbing, or there’s this cave I’ve been meaning to explore.”

His heart does a sort of flip that cannot be attributed to the way you fly through the sky. It’s all so much: the sensation of your warmth pressed against him, the scent of the wind rushing past, and the laughter of his tribe members below. Their eyes shine as they watch the two of you pass above them, chuckling at the familiar sight. 

And really, he can’t remember ever being this happy. When he thinks of how much it took to reach this point, the heartbreak and trauma aren’t the first things to come to mind. Instead, it’s you. The way you held him, the way you cried for him, the way you chased him. Always laughing, always in love.

Too lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice your curious stare for a moment. You poke at his cheek, and he startles, nearly dropping you both.

“Is something wrong?” you ask shyly, suddenly self-conscious of the box in your hands. “We don’t have to do any of that. Really, if you have a high-value job or something, I understand.”

Ajaw decides to butt-in again, reddened with rage. “Yes, all of that sucks! I mean, seriously, don’t you have anything better to do—”

“No, it’s great,” Kinich murmurs in reply, flicking Ajaw away with a strong hand—the Saurian’s roar dissipates with the wind. He holds you tighter against his chest. There’s nothing worth more to him than you. “That all sounds really, really amazing.”

As the two of you burst through the trees, laughing the whole way, he thinks that it doesn’t really matter when he started to love you. All that matters is that he doesn’t stop.

Kinich thinks he’ll love you forever.

[natsaffection]

Ghosted by You. | N.R

Spy!Natasha x Innocent!Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, stab wound

Word count: 3,7k

A/N: It’s based on this ask here! I tried to create the dynamics exactly like in the movie, but somehow also needed seriousness..🥸

You should’ve stayed home. You really should’ve stayed home..But no. Your brain, in its infinite wisdom, decided that after one amazing date, Natasha disappearing from your life had to mean something dramatic. That she was in trouble. That she needed you.

That she hadn’t just ghosted you because..oh, I don’t know, maybe she didn’t want to see you again. But did that logic stop you? No. Because instead of letting it go like a normal person, you tracked a random transaction on her credit card, hopped on a plane, and landed in London. And now? Now, you were tied to a goddamn chair in a dimly lit basement, with very angry men staring you down.

One of them paced in front of you, arms crossed. His accent was thick, British but rough, the kind that made you instinctively gulp. “Who sent you?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Who. Sent. You?” He leaned in, his breath hot against your face. “We know you work for the CIA.”

Your heart nearly stopped. “THE WHAT?!”

The second man sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes like you were personally wasting his time. “This one’s gonna be difficult.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Wait, wait- hold on a second, you think I’m in the CIA?!” You let out a weak, breathless laugh. “Oh my God. Wait, I think I’m gonna throw up..”

“Cut the act.” The first man grabbed the chair, tilting it back so that you were nearly falling. “We know you were following Romanoff. What were you planning?”

Your what now? “Natasha? Natasha Romanoff?” You nearly choked on your own breath. “She’s, she’s a spy?!” The two men exchanged glances before the first one grumbled, “Great. The kid doesn’t even know.”

“Wait, hold on.” Your breathing was turning erratic, panic rising in your throat. “She told me she was a florist..?” The second man pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ.” You were spiraling. Your hands shook against the restraints, your brain struggling to process what the hell was happening.

“No! Wait, you don’t understand..” you stammered, words tumbling out too fast. “I literally just followed her because she ghosted me! I thought she wasn’t answering because she was in trouble! I-I thought I was being romantic!”

The first man just stared at you. “You followed a CIA agent across the world because she didn’t text you back?”

“…Yes?” For a second, neither man spoke. Then the first one turned to the other and said, “We should just kill her.”

“W-WHAT?! NO! No, that’s not necessary!” You wriggled against the ropes, full-on panicking. “I’m not a spy! I barely passed high school! I cried last week because my WiFi went out! Does that s-sound like someone who works for the CIA?!”

The second man pulled out a knife, twirling it between his fingers. “Too bad.” You squeezed your eyes shut. God, I’m gonna die. I’m actually gonna die because I followed a hot woman to London like a freaking idiot..

The door exploded inward. The first guy turned just in time for a bullet to tear straight through his shoulder. He collapsed with a scream. The second one lunged for his gun, but before he could even blink, Natasha stepped into the room, raised her pistol, and shot him twice in the chest.

Your brain short-circuited. Natasha didn’t hesitate. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink as she put a bullet between someone’s ribs. “Oh my God..” you whispered, eyes darting between the two men, one dead, one groaning in pain. “Oh my God, you!! You just killed-”

“Not now!” She stormed forward, cutting through your restraints with a huge-ass knife. “Are you hurt ?”

“YOU JUST SHOT TWO PEOPL-”She grabbed your wrist, yanking you to your feet. “I swear to God, Y/n, I will have this conversation later. Right now? Move.” She shoved you toward the door, and your legs felt like Jell-O. “I-I don’t think I can walk..” you stammered.

“Then crawl, I don’t care!” Gunfire erupted outside. Natasha grabbed your wrist and dragged you behind her as she stormed into the hallway, firing with precision. One man barely turned the corner before she put a bullet straight between his eyes. You screamed again. “Y/n, I will leave you here if you don’t MOVE!” she barked.

“What-” you whispered, watching people DROP like flies. “Don't look at them.” she snapped, grabbing your face and physically turning it away. “What the hell is happening?” Your breathing was getting worse, your chest tightening. “I—Natasha, I don’t- I don’t understand-”

She groaned. “Oh, for fu-”Before you could process, she picked you up. “N-Natasha!”

“Shut up!” She kicked a door open, carrying you like a sack of potatoes. “I can shoot faster when you’re not slowing me down!”

“I CAN RUN!”

“Clearly NOT!”

Gunfire shattered the walls behind you. Natasha spun, firing two bullets into the men chasing you. They collapsed instantly. Your breath hitched. “You’re killing them..” you whispered. Natasha didn’t hesitate. “And I’ll kill ten more if it gets us out of here alive!” Her coldness made your stomach drop.

You saw it now. The emptiness in her eyes, the precision, the way she fired without flinching. The woman you had been falling for, the one who had smiled at you over dinner, who had kissed you so softly..was a killer.

She caught your expression, saw the fear on your face and for a moment, her own softened. But there wasn’t time. She threw you into a stolen car, slammed the door, and sped into the streets. For a long time, you couldn’t speak.

“You’re scared of me now.” she said flatly, breaking the silence. Your mouth opened—closed. “You should be.” she muttered. Her hands were still covered in blood. You pressed yourself against the door, heartbeat pounding.

This wasn’t the Natasha you knew. This was someone else entirely. And you had no idea what you had just gotten yourself into. The car ride was dead silent. You sat rigidly in the passenger seat, hands curled into fists on your lap, still shaking.

Natasha gripped the steering wheel like she wanted to break it in half. Her knuckles were white, her jaw clenched, and her entire body radiated fury. But you didn’t say anything. Because you were terrified. Your brain replayed it all on an endless loop, the gunfire, the bodies dropping, the blood on her hands.

You had thought she was a florist. You had kissed her, flirted with her, trusted her, And she had just killed six people without flinching. Your stomach churned. “Say something.” Natasha finally snapped, eyes still locked on the road. You swallowed, voice weak. “Where are we going?”

“A safe house.” A safe house. Right. Because that’s a normal thing to have. You nodded slowly, gripping the door handle like you might have to jump out of the moving car. Natasha let out a harsh breath, running a hand through her hair. “You’re still scared of me.” You flinched. Her grip on the wheel tightened. “I just saved your life, Y/n.”

“You also ended six others.” you whispered. The air in the car shifted. Her eyes flicked to you, calculating, cold. “That’s how this works.” You swallowed hard. “This?”

She exhaled sharply, looking back at the road. “You’re in my world now. You don’t get to judge me for doing what I have to do.”

“I didn’t ask to be in your world!” She let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, really? Because flying across the world to follow me sure as hell says otherwise.”

Your face flushed with anger. “I followed you because I thought you were in danger! Not because I wanted to be thrown into some goddamn murder spree!” Her grip on the wheel tightened.

“You think I wanted this?” Her voice was eerily calm. You hesitated. “I don’t- I don’t know what to think, Natasha.” She went silent.

The weight of the situation pressed down on you. The reality that you had just witnessed multiple murders. That you had watched Natasha—the woman you had been falling for, kill like it was nothing. Your chest tightened. Natasha let out a long, exhausted sigh and muttered, “We’ll talk when we get there.”

She parked in a dark alleyway, leading you through a maze of backstreets until you reached an abandoned-looking building. The second she closed the door behind you, she turned, eyes blazing. “What the hell were you even thinking?!”

You jumped. “Excuse me?!”

“You followed me across an ocean. You got kidnapped. You almost died!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE A SPY!”

“THAT DOESN’T MAKE IT BETTER!”

She stalked forward, and for the first time, you actually backed away. Her face immediately fell. You weren’t just arguing.

You were afraid of her. Natasha inhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Y/N…”

You pressed your back against the wall, shaking your head. “I don’t..” You swallowed hard, voice trembling. “I don’t know who you are.” Pain flickered across her face, but it was gone just as fast. She turned away from you, exhaling through her nose. “You shouldn’t have come.” she muttered.

“You could have just told me the truth!” She spun back, eyes flashing. “Are you out of your mind?! If I had told you- if you had known- you would’ve been in even more danger!”

Your stomach twisted. “Oh yeah? And what now?” You threw up your hands. “I know now, Natasha! I was just kidnapped and almost killed!” She winced. Just for a second.

Then, she stepped closer, voice dangerously low. “You want to know the truth?” she murmured. You swallowed. “No-”

“You would’ve been fine.” Her voice was cold, calculated. “If you had just stayed home. If you had just let me go. But now?” Her jaw clenched. “Now, you’re a target.”

Your stomach dropped. “Wait, what?” She sighed, rolling her shoulders. “They think you’re CIA. They think you know something. You don’t, but that doesn’t matter anymore.”

Your heartbeat thundered. “So- so what? What happens now?” She gave you a pointed look. “Now? I clean up your mess.” She grabbed a first aid kit and tossed it onto the table.

“Sit.”

“I’m fine-”

“Sit down.”

You gulped and sat. She grabbed your arm, not gentle but not rough and started cleaning the scrapes from where they had tied you up. The silence between you burned. You stared at her. At the red stains on her shirt. The blood on her hands. The way her shoulders were still tense from the fight.

She was different now. The Natasha who had laughed at your stupid jokes? The one who had kissed you in the rain? That Natasha was gone. Or maybe…maybe she was never real. She caught you staring. “What?” she muttered.

You hesitated. “Were you ever going to tell me?” Her hands froze. Then, she dropped the antiseptic, stood up, and turned away.

“…It was never supposed to go this far.” she admitted. Something inside you ached. Because deep down, you knew, this meant goodbye.

She exhaled sharply. “I’ll get you back to the States. I’ll make sure they lose your trail.” Your heart clenched. “You’re just sending me away?”

“Yes.”

“But I-” Your voice cracked. “What about you?” She looked away. “I’ll handle it.” Tears burned your eyes. “Natasha-”

“This isn’t your life, Y/n.” she said firmly. “It can’t be.” Your chest ached. You had risked everything to find her. And now, she was pushing you away. But deep down, you knew she was right. You weren’t built for this. For her. And it broke you. Natasha sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll get you home tomorrow. Get some rest.”

Well..You and Natasha had been on the run for three days. Three days of gunfire, stolen cars, dodging assassins, and sleeping in dingy safe houses with barely enough time to breathe. Somewhere between nearly dying for the second time, sneaking across borders, and sharing a stolen coat for warmth, something between you shifted.

You weren’t just running anymore. You were running together. Natasha was still infuriating. She still rolled her eyes at your bad decisions, still called you reckless, still snapped at you for asking stupid questions. But now? Now she also held your hand when you got too cold. She taught you how to fire a gun, not that you were good at it, but she didn’t make fun of you when you missed.

She touched you more. Small, quick touches, her hand on your back, her fingers brushing yours. And most of all? She looked at you differently. Like she actually cared. Like sending you away wasn’t an option anymore. “We’re almost there.” Natasha muttered, pressing her hand to her earpiece. You both crouched behind a pile of rubble in an abandoned city square, panting from the last disaster of a shootout.

“Tell me ‘almost’ means we’re five minutes away from hot showers and real food..” you whispered. She gave you a dry look. “Try ten minutes and two more obstacles.”

You groaned. “Of course.”

“Look.” She pointed toward the far end of the square. A black helicopter was parked near an old church, CIA agents waiting by the doors. Your chest lightened. The helicopter was right there. You could hear the roar of the blades, see the CIA agents waiting, their weapons ready. Safety was so close you could taste it.

But of course..It was never that easy. You heard footsteps. Too many. And then, before you could react, an arm wrapped around your neck. Cold steel pressed against your throat. Your breath hitched. Natasha whipped around, gun raised. But it was too late.

The man holding you was grinning. He was tall, strong, covered in tactical gear. His knife dug into your skin just enough to make your pulse spike. More men emerged from the surrounding buildings, mercenaries, armed to the teeth. Your stomach twisted. You had walked right into a trap.

“Drop your weapons!!” the man holding you barked. The CIA agents hesitated. Natasha didn’t move. She stood rigid, her gun aimed directly at the man’s head. Her eyes burned. “If you touch her..” she said, voice dangerously low, “I’ll put a bullet between your eyes before you even think about blinking.”

The man chuckled. “Oh, Agent Romanoff. You care about this one, don’t you?” Her jaw clenched. “Drop. Your. Guns.” he ordered again. The agents exchanged glances. Natasha’s finger hovered over the trigger. You could feel her rage. The barely controlled violence. She was waiting for the right moment.

“Natasha.” you whispered, trying not to move against the blade. “Just go.” Her eyes snapped to you. And the way she looked at you, it was the kind of look that said she would burn the entire world down before leaving you behind.

“Not happening.” she said. Your heart clenched. Chaos Breaks Loose And then, everything happened at once. Natasha moved first. The bullet hit its mark, straight through the mercenary’s shoulder. His grip loosened just for a second. And that was all she needed.

You ripped yourself free, stumbling forward as gunfire exploded around you. The CIA agents opened fire. Natasha was a blur, taking down enemies like they were nothing. You scrambled backward, searching for cover, but the mercenary wasn’t done. He lunged.

And before you could react, the knife sank into your stomach. The second the knife plunged into your stomach, the world snapped into sharp, unbearable agony. You gasped, choking on your own breath, as fire erupted through your entire body. The blade twisted.

A raw, animalistic scream ripped from your throat. You collapsed, your legs giving out, your body feeling like it had been set on fire from the inside. The mercenary smirked. “Oops.” A bullet tore through his skull before he could even take another breath. His body dropped.

Her hands immediately pressed against your stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. Her face was wild with panic, her breaths coming too fast, her usual iron control completely shattered. “No. No, no, no-” You couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone had shoved glass into your stomach, and every breath dragged shards deeper into you.

“Nat..” Your voice broke. “It- It hurts..”

“I know, I know..” she nearly screamed, pressing down harder. The pain spiked. You choked, nearly blacking out right there. “Stay awake, Y/N!” Her voice was frantic, almost desperate. “Do you hear me? Stay awake!”

Your ears rang. You barely registered the CIA agents rushing toward you. “We have to move-” one of them started. Natasha snarled. “Get a Stretcher on that helicopter NOW!”

Your vision blurred at the edges. Your limbs felt too heavy, your fingers tingling as the blood poured out of you. You could hear shouting. Gunfire? More soldiers? More fighting? You didn’t know. All you knew was that you were cold. And so fucking tired.

Natasha’s arms wrapped around you as she hauled you up. “I got you, I got you.” she kept muttering, her voice wavering. You let out a weak whimper as she lifted you. The pain was indescribable. Like your entire insides had been ripped apart, burning, splitting, bleeding. “I know, just hold on, okay?” Her voice cracked badly.

She ran with you, gun still raised, still firing behind her. You felt the cold metal ramp beneath you as Natasha threw herself onto the aircraft, clutching you close. “Get us out of here!” she roared. The helicopter lurched. You barely registered it. All you could feel was pain. Someone was grabbing at you, pressing too hard on the wound.

“S-Stop..” you whimpered, the pressure making you see stars. Natasha snapped. “Be careful!”

“We’re trying to stop the bleeding!” a medic barked back. Natasha was breathing too fast. “She’s losing too much blood-”

“We know!” Your fingers trembled, reaching out. You didn’t even realize what you were doing until Natasha grabbed your hand. Her grip was tight and desperate. You tried to squeeze back, but you were too weak. That was when you saw it. The look in her eyes. The pure, unfiltered fear. Natasha was scared. Not of the bullets. Not of the mercenaries.

But of losing you. “Nat…” You barely got the word out. “Shh, it’s okay..” she whispered, pressing her forehead against yours. “Don’t talk. Just stay with me.” Your breath hitched. Everything was spinning. The medic’s voice faded. Your eyes fluttered shut.

Your body felt heavy. Everything ached. The dull beeping of a heart monitor filled the room. The scent of disinfectant burned your nose. You blinked against the blinding white light, your brain foggy, sluggish. Then, you heard her. “You better wake up soon, because if I did all of that for nothing, I swear to God-”

Her voice shook. Your lips parted. “Nat..?” The chair beside your bed screeched as someone jumped up. Hovering over you, her eyes wide, raw, frantic. “Oh my God.” You barely registered the way her hand grabbed yours, gripping it like she was afraid you’d disappear. You blinked up at her, throat dry. “Where…?”

“You’re in a hospital.” she said, her voice hoarse. You could tell she’d been awake for a long time. Your brows furrowed. “How long?”

Natasha hesitated. “…Three days.” Your breath hitched. “Three..?”

“You almost died, Y/N.” Her jaw clenched. “Do you have any idea how stupid that was?!” Ah. There it was. The anger. The Romanoff rage. You offered a weak smile. “Saved your life, though.” Her eyes flashed. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t joke about this!” Her grip on your hand tightened. You swallowed, watching her. Because beneath the anger…She looked wrecked. Dark circles under her eyes. Hair a mess. Still wearing the same clothes from the extraction. “Have you even left this room?” you asked quietly. She exhaled sharply, avoiding your gaze.

You sighed, shifting slightly, then immediately regretted it. White-hot pain tore through your stomach, forcing a shaky breath from your lips. Natasha’s head snapped back toward you. “Hey, hey-” She reached out, pressing a hand against your shoulder to keep you from moving. “Don’t do that. Just..stay still.”

“…Natasha.” you murmured. “It’s not your fault.” Her jaw tightened. “Yes, it is.” Guilt..The Romanoff Way of Suffering She stood up, pacing.

“You were supposed to be safe. You were supposed to be on the helicopter. Not..Not bleeding out in my arms..” You watched her. “You saved me.” you pointed out.

She let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? And look at you now.” You exhaled, trying to push through the pain. “You would have died.” you said softly. “That guy was gonna kill you, Nat.”

Her eyes snapped to you. And something cracked. “Then maybe I should have let him.” Your stomach dropped. “No.”

She shook her head, running a shaky hand through her hair. “I should have protected you. I should have been faster. I should have-”

“Stop.” She froze. You struggled to sit up, ignoring the way your body screamed in protest. “Natasha, look at me.”

She did. Her expression was so raw, so pained. “You think I regret saving you?” you whispered. She swallowed, lips pressed together. You reached out, grabbing her wrist. “You think I’d rather be lying in a grave than here?” She exhaled sharply. “…You almost were.”

“But I’m not.” you murmured. “Because of you.” She looked away. You squeezed her hand. “Nat.” Nothing.

“Natasha.” Her jaw tensed. Finally, after what felt like forever, she turned back. And the moment she met your gaze, something inside her broke. Because suddenly, her arms were around you. Holding you so tight it should have hurt, but you didn’t care. You felt her shudder.

“Hey..” you murmured, pressing your face against her shoulder. “I’m okay.” She shook her head. “You almost weren’t..”

“But I am.” She let out a shaky breath. Her grip didn’t loosen. You hesitated, then turned your head slightly, whispering against her skin. “I’d do it again.”

She stiffened. Then, she pulled back, her eyes burning. “If you ever do something that reckless again, I will personally kill you myself.”

You grinned. “I swear to God, Y/N-” You grabbed the front of her jacket and kissed her.

-

-

-

-

[hs-is-loml]

Secret Never Meant To Be Told. (s.w)

Pairing: Sensei Wolf/Feng Xiao x Fem!Reader

Summary: A former Cobra Kai/Miyagi-Do student joins the Iron Dragons, intent on uncovering more about Terry Silver. But along the way, she finds herself drawn to someone she never expected. Her new sensei. Fast forward to the Sekai Taikai, and her carefully balanced double life begins to crack. When Wolf catches her speaking to someone she shouldn’t, suspicion flares, forcing a confrontation she isn’t ready for.

Type: one-shot

Warnings: READER IS LEGAL AGE, age-gap, minor slow burn for a one-shot, everyone knows except for them, forbidden kiss, friendship with Axel because he needs a friend, UNEDITED.

a/n: i'm back with my latest hyper-fixation. i also didn’t expect this to be this long, but i hope you all enjoy! 

Word Count: 5.4k

masterlist

Your phone buzzes in your hand while you’re waiting to board the plane to Barcelona, and you notice Robby’s contact pop up on the screen. You hesitantly look around to see if anyone who would get you in trouble is around but find no one aside from Axel near, you decide to answer the call. “Cover for me for a few?” you whisper to Axel while standing up from your seat.

“Yeah, be quick.” Axel nods reassuringly to you.

“Y/n? You there?” Robby’s concerned voice comes through the phone. You hear in the background, “Dude, I told you it wouldn’t be a good time to call!” sounding like Miguel.

“Yes. Sorry, just making sure I won’t get caught,” you mutter in a low voice, finding an empty spot near the gate. “I can’t talk for long. I board in 15 mins.”

“I’m with Miguel right now, and we just wanted to check in on you. How are you holding up?” 

You let out a sigh before a small smile settles on your lips, “As good as I can be. Sore as hell, though Wolf’s no joke with training. He has Axel and me up by 5 a.m. every day to train for the past two week since he’s named us captains.” You look over your shoulder to see Axel signaling to you to hurry up. “Silver hasn’t shown up in the dojo lately, but he keeps in contact with me for updates on the tournament. He’s meeting us in Barcelona on the first day of full events.”

“I wish we could do something to help you, Y/n. They’ve been keeping you on this too long,” Robby says, frustrated with his dad and Mr. LaRusso. “Be safe, okay? We’ll see you soon,” and the line goes dead.  

When you turn around to start heading back, you’re met with Wolf’s hard stare piercing into you as he approaches Axel and your seats. You see him say something to Axel but can’t make out the words.  

“Personal call?” Wolf questioned you in a dry, unimpressed voice as you sat back down. “I thought I said no distractions,” he leaned down to coldly mutter close to your ear while placing a firm grip on your shoulder, causing you to lean back and meet his eyes again.

“It wasn’t one, Sensei,” you answered through the loud announcements to tell passengers that boarding would start soon, causing him to release his tight grip and sneer while walking away from you.

Axel let out a breath of relief next to you, “Always lucky. If that were me, I would’ve paid the price by now.”

“Axel-” You warn.

“I am just saying no one could get away with the things you do,” he remarked while grabbing both your bags and leading the way to the plane entrance. “I mean, come on. He let it go, just like that? No way. Not to mention he doesn’t even like it when we’re too close together.”

While we were waiting for the people in front of us to find their seats, my neck snapped to turn to him taken aback by what he just said, “Now, you’re going too far-” I scoffed.

“Am I?” Axel breathed down by your ear pressing closer to your back with his front. “Look up.”

Sparked by curiosity, you tilt your chin up and look around the plane and find Wolf’s icy glare already on you and Axel. You look long enough to see him clench his jaw. “I’m still not getting your point...”

“You will soon enough. He’ll snap sooner rather than later,” he let out a deep chuckle. 

You stand next to Axel and Zara, waiting for your bags to come out. Zara points out her luggage to Axel, asking if he can help her get it, leaving you alone waiting for your suitcase. You see it finally drop down to the conveyor belt and you wait for it to come around to your side. You lean down to reach for the handle, but you see a tattooed hand grab it for you. “I could’ve taken it.”

“I’m sure you could,” Wolf smirked, setting your bag down beside you before walking off.

Before you can think too much about what just happened, your phone screen lights up with a new message from Miguel saying landing in 3 hours! sensei larusso said that he’ll text you our room numbers later if you find a moment to get away from the team

You hear your name being called, so you begin walking over to the team and like Miguel’s message before putting your phone away. “Texting a boyfriend?” Zara teased, raising her eyebrow to you in curiosity. 

You turn to glare at her before replying, “Wouldn’t you love to know.”

“Can’t have our captain distracted with a long-distance boyfriend, now can we?” she questioned back as the team started to make their way to the bus that was taking everyone to the hotel.

“Enough, Zara, keep your voice down,” you warned, giving her a pointed look.

“I don’t know how you got the captain’s spot after suddenly showing up a few months ago, but I won’t have you embarrassing us during the tournament.”

“If I remember it correctly, I beat you for this spot,” you reminded her before making your way to sit next to Axel, who saved you a spot near the front of the bus.

“Do you always have to argue? Is it an American thing?” Axel shook his head at you in amusement as you settled in your seat. “You know I think you would be happier if you just ignored her.”

You scoffed lightly. “I need some type of entertainment, and it just so happens that arguing is the most interesting thing that happens around here.” 

The speakers boom as Gunther begins his introduction for the Sekai Taikai, “Welcome, competitors, senseis, sponsors, and esteemed guests to Barcelona, this year's home of the world's greatest karate tournament, the Sekai Taikai.” He pauses as loud cheering erupts in the arena room. “The Sekai Taikai boasts a rich and proud history. And if you are here, it's because you embody all that the Sekai Taikai stands for. Leadership, respect, sportsmanship. Captains, step forward and tie on your headbands.”

The room tensed the moment the captains stepped forward onto the mat. Conversations stuttered, eyes narrowing as teammates straightened their shoulders. You glanced at Axel before he gave you a nod of reassurance. You center the headband in your hands then raising to your forehead to tie it back. 

“Captains, you will have the honor and privilege to compete in our televised tournament of champions. But that is only if your dojo does well enough in our team competitions to make it to the final four. Once the tournament is over, we will then tally all the points your dojos have earned. The dojo with the most points wins the Sekai Taikai. Team events begin tomorrow,” Gunther adds to his speech. “Each event counts. They will all be a surprise. But today, it's about enjoying our host city and making new friends.”

You break your focus away from Gunther speaking and catch Tory’s stare. You felt your pulse jump. It takes you aback for a moment, realizing what gi she has on. Even more so when you look behind her to see John Kreese smirking back at you. 

“We have a field trip arranged for our competitors. And for our senseis, a cocktail mixer with our distinguished sponsors, some of the world's finest martial arts brands. It's a beautiful day to make a first impression. And I suggest you enjoy it, because tomorrow, your lives will change forever. Good luck, and welcome to the Sekai Taikai!” Gunther finished sending everyone off to figure out where to go next. 

You planned not to go on the stupid field trip and instead find some solace in your hotel room, but by the looks of it, Wolf knew what you were thinking to do. “I’m not going.”

“You will go,” you could tell in his voice that there wasn’t any room for you to argue. “You will represent the team and show you are better than every single one of them. I saw that girl who surprised you from the Cobra Kai dojo. I will not have you show any weaknesses. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sensei,” you hissed out in reply. 

“Good girl. Now go make sure the team comes back in time for last-minute training after dinner tonight,” he murmured, his voice dipping slightly. 

“Y/n!” you glance behind you to see who called your name, to find Tory alone in by the aquarium with you. 

“Tory-” you breathed out in ease. You quickly approach the girl and pull her into a quick embrace. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry about your mom.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, Tory. Don’t do that to yourself. It’s okay to not be okay,” you leaned back to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

“You couldn’t have known,” she shook her head and looked down before telling you, “I think I made a mistake coming here. I’ve ruined every relationship I have by coming here with Cobra Kai.”

“I understand why you did it, and I don’t blame you for it. You deserve the spot of being captain. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

“They hate me-”

“No. They just need to get over themselves and realize this isn’t about them.”

“I’ve missed you.”

“Me too, Tory. It’s been hell being in Hong Kong these past few months, but I don’t regret it,” you admitted to her. “The training they have us do is on another level. Not to mention, Silver trusts me more now, away from everyone.”

“I’m sure it helps that your other sensei likes you,” she told you jokingly.

You let out a small snort, “No.”

“Oh, I saw the way he pulled you to the side earlier after we were dismissed from the introduction ceremony…” she revealed, but before she could continue, you heard a loud commotion, causing you to dart away from Tory to see what was going on.

You come to find people crowded together and see Robby talking to a guy from Cobra Kai, “What, I gotta kick above that line?” you heard Robby ask.

“Oh, what have you gotten yourself into,” you muttered under your breath. “Robby,” you called out in warning, catching people's attention in the room. 

You felt a nudge at your side, “You know him?” Zara points to Robby with a smirk, “Wanna introduce me?” Axel stood next to her and gave you a look of disapproval. You ignored 

At first, Robby didn’t really notice her. But then, his eyes flicked back. For a second, it was enough to make him forget what he was about to say. The others behind him let their gaze flicker over their old teammate with careful neutrality, lingering just long enough for a silent exchange. Miguel looked over like he wanted to say something but knew it wasn’t the right time. “Y/n,” Robby muttered lowly, but the silence in the room allowed for many to hear, confirming any suspicions of us knowing each other. “I got this,” he said before taking a step back to focus on his kick. He landed higher than the rest, but as you side-glanced to the Cobra Kai guys, you could tell they weren’t worried. 

Before Kwon goes up to make his kick, you blurt out, “Care to make things interesting and let me go after you? I get the rooms if you lose, and you get two if I do.”

“For you, princess, sure,” he smirked at you doubting your abilities. He chalked his shoe and kicked, which landed higher than Robby’s. You knew this was a risky call, given the circumstances. “All you, now.”

Axel exhaled sharply, shaking his head just enough to make a point. Next to him, Zara had muscle twitched in her jaw with her expression screaming, ‘Are you serious?’ You just hoped deep down no one would tell Wolf about this once you guys got back, but you knew better than to hope for such things. You took a running start and grunted, “Ais!” as you kicked the board. You let out a heavy breath as you land back on your feet. 

“No way…” you heard someone say.

“Unbelievable,” Zara let out in disbelief. 

“Who is she?” “Did you see that??” “I didn’t know someone could kick that high.” “What dojo is she from?” murmurs filled the room, causing you to look at your mark that was just above Kwon’s kick. You let out a laugh and smirked at the Cobra Kai guys while holding out your hand for their cards. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll leave your bags in the hallway,” you grinned, taking the hotel cards. 

People started to flow out of the space, and you let out a yelp of surprise as Miguel and Hawk took you in their arms in cheers. “Oh, thank god you were here.”

“Had to make sure you idiots didn’t get yourselves in trouble,” you laughed. “It seems I was cutting it a bit close on timing. Anyway, here are their hotel cards. I don’t need it.”

“You don’t want your own room?” Demetri questioned while Robby took the cards from your hand.

“No. I have my own room already,” you told them.

They raise their eyebrows at you skeptically, and Miguel asks you, “How’d you manage that?”

“Silver is to thank for my room,” you revealed. “He wanted to make sure I had no distractions while I’m here.”

“Of course, he did,” Robby scoffed at the mention of Silver. “What else does that maniac have you do lately?”

“Train until I feel like my legs are going to fall off,” you joked, trying to lighten up the tension. “I know he has people watching me to make sure I’m 'on track' with progress. He reminds me every time that if I lose here, that won’t be the worst thing I experience-”

“You’ve got to tell Sensei LaRusso and Lawerence about this,” Miguel butts in concern.

“I can handle this, Miguel. I’m already too far in. Anyway, I got to go and make sure my team is back in time for training. I’ll see you guys out on the mat, okay?” I turn walking away from them.

It was late. Too late for training, but no one dared to complain. Tomorrow was the first of team events, and every second counted. “Just wait until Sensei Wolf hears about what you pulled earlier,” Zara sneered at you loudly as the team filled the space.

Wolf entered the room looking directly at you, “Hear about what?”

“Nothing. I did what you said to do earlier. I showed them I’m better,” you said, voice firm and unwavering while crossing your arms in front of you. 

“And how did you do that?” he walked up until he was close enough to stare down at you.

“I won. Doesn’t matter how.”

“Fine,” he backed off before turning back to face everyone in the room. “Tomorrow will be the first day of team events. You will all show them we do not lose. That we are invincible.”

“Yes, Sensei,” people responded around the room. The team dropped into fighting stances, getting ready as they launched into synchronized movements, their punches and kicks slicing through the air. You’re faced against Zara, who lunges at you. Managing to block her attempt, you, in a blur of motion, struck back with a controlled sweep to her legs. Zara barely had time to react before she hit the mat, hard.

Sensei Wolf circled them like a predator, his sharp eyes scanning for weakness. When someone faltered, he noticed. He always noticed. He tsked in disappointment as Zara pushed herself off the mat. 

“You’re going to pay for that one, bitch,” she spat out at you.

“I don’t think I will.” your eyes met Sensei’s, and he gave a sharp nod. 

Wolf studied you for a long moment before speaking. “Again. All of you. Faster. No hesitation.”

We stood stone-faced as Gunther introduced the round of events. “Welcome to our first event. I hope you’re all well-rested and ready for a new and unique competition. We call it the “Captain’s War.” We told you how important your captains will be, So let’s see how well you protect them.” From the corner of your eye, you see Miyagi-Do look at each other nervously. “Four dojos will take the mat. Only one will be left standing. If you hit the mat, you’re out. If one of your captains hits the mat, your entire team is out for this round. Check the boards to see your group, decided by random draw. Group A, you’re up.”

“You know what to do,” Wolf growled as he gripped onto mine and Axel’s arms. He let go of Axel, pulled me back for a moment, and leaned down to my ear, “Let them come to you. Then, take them out. Don’t let them get back up.”

You listen for the other dojos' plans for attack and take note of Kwon’s as he tells his team, “We take Miyagi-Do first. They're weakest. Let them come to us. Then we fight the other dojos.” You already know that won’t work, and Tory knows it too.

You switched your attention to Miyagi-Do and saw the words “Protect the egg” fall from Miguel’s mouth. “Ready? Begin!” Gunther booms from the speakers.

You stay back with your team as you watch the others take each other out one by one. You can tell that Miyagi-Do won’t last long when Tory breaks straight through their front line. Everyone can see the team arguing with each other, unable to agree on their next move. The other Cobra Kai members went after another opposing team. None of them seemed to notice us as we stood tall, waiting for our moment.

“Falchi Della Notte captain down. They are out. Only Cobra Kai and the Iron Dragons remain alive,” came through the announcers.

“All six are still standing,” Tory mumbled in disbelief. 

“What is your strategy now?”

“Same as before. We’re outnumbered two to one. Pierce the front line, go straight for the captain,” you hear her say to the two guys while she looks directly at you. 

“Okay.”

No words were needed between you and Tory but the tight line of your mouth said enough. Your teammates break their form as Tory, Kwon, and Yoon begin to charge, halting them mid-in their tracks. “What are they doing?” Sensei Kim questions from the side. You keep eye contact with Tory as your teammates begin to walk around you and Axel. 

“I’ll take the girl. You two get the big guy.”

The fight erupted between the guys. Cobra Kai spread out trying to divide and conquer, but they realized it didn’t matter that they outnumbered us. Axel sidestepped Kwon’s punch with ease, his counterstrike landing hard against the guy’s ribs. A sharp exhale of pain followed, but Axel didn’t give him a second to recover. Then, he switched with a quick sweep to Yoon, and he hit the mat with a solid thud. Tory looked away from you to notice her teammate down. You take a moment to glance at Axel but don’t dare to spare another second looking.

Axel’s expression was calm but calculating. He shot forward like lightning, closing the gap before Kwon could reset. A quick one-two punch to Kwon’s stomach doubled him over, allowing Axel to make the quick grab to push him, and Kwon’s back crashed down, hitting the mat. 

Tory knew she had to play this smart. You were faster, sharper, and you had the skill of waiting for the right moment before attacking. Tory tested the waters first. She sent a quick jab, a feint, then a real strike.

You didn’t even flinch. You weaved between the attacks, your footwork crisp, light as air. Then, you struck. A snap kick that Tory barely blocked in time, stumbling back from the impact. Tory grunted, adjusting her stance. She needed a better approach. She stepped in again, faster, aiming for your ribs, then your head.

Blocked. Blocked.

Tory’s stomach twisted, she could tell you were reading her like a book. Before she could rethink her approach, you made your move. A fake low kick then a switch-up. Tory reacted to the low feint, but you were already airborne. A spinning roundhouse.

The heel of your foot crashed against Tory’s temple. Tory’s vision blurred and her balance wavered. She barely had time to react before you swept her feet out from under her. Tory landed on the mat hard. Hitting it in frustration. 

The crowd’s cheers were distant, muffled beneath the pounding in your ears. The referee’s hand rose to signal the victory, but none of that mattered. Not yet. “Both Cobra Kai captains go down. The Iron Dragons win.”

You turn to look for Wolf and realize he’s already watching you. He smirks at you, giving you a nod of approval. Your stomach flipped, and your breath hitched, your heart slamming against your ribs. The weight of his gaze pinned you in place, more intense than the fight itself.

You make your way to the elevators to head back to your hotel room for a quick shower before the next event. When you were close to reaching the doors, a hand grabbed you from behind you, causing you to yelp before you could realize that it was Miguel pulling you to a private room. 

“Miguel! You can’t do that here!” you screeched, hitting his arms. “I was this close to punching you,” you huffed out while pinching your fingers close together as an example.

Miguel let out a laugh, watching you get worked up. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I just didn’t know when I would get another chance to see you alone. You are either always with the giant brute or your killer sensei. Who, by the way, I think is completely into you.”

“Who? Axel? He’s like the big friendly giant.”

“No, pendeja!” he flicked you on the forehead. “Your sensei! That man never takes his eyes off you. Like, ever.”

“Wolf? No, he’s just like that,” you played off. 

“So he looks at everyone like he wants to devour them?”

“Miguel!”

“What? I’m just stating the obvious here. Which you want to pretend isn’t true.” Your cheeks flush with heat as you think about Wolf. “See, you’re blushing!”

“No, I’m not,” your hand flew to cover your cheeks.

“Whatever. Enough about them. I want to talk about the captain’s war from earlier. I need advice.”

“Like the fact you should’ve been captain and it’s super obvious that Robby isn’t focused because of Tory being Cobra Kai?”

Miguel shook his head in amusement, “Yes, exactly that.”

“I think you guys need to all sort your shit out before you come back onto the mat because it’s ruining you guys from actually having a chance here. Everyone can tell that you’re not together as a team, and they will use that to their advantage every single time.”

“What, like how the Iron Dragons are a team?” he scoffed, remembering how you and Axel took the fight. 

“No, that’s different. Axel and I are enough as captains alone. But you guys have Robby whose head is so far away from the tournament and Sam barely even looks like she wants to be here,” you tried to explain to him. “The rest of you need to work together to make sure they don’t bring you down, unlike how the captain’s war went for you guys today.”

“Bring us down?”

“Miguel, I saw what happened earlier. Everyone did. You took two guys from Cobra Kai at once today, but Robby couldn’t even get past Kwon. I just don’t want to see you fail. I know how much this tournament means to you,” your voice came out sharp, exasperated like you’ve been holding it in for too long. “Forget about Stanford. Forget about the team issues. Forget about everything. Just fight and do it for yourself. Prove to them the leader you are.”

“Okay,” his voice was hesitant, as if unsure of the words. You took it as a sign to pull him back in for another hug, leaning your head on his shoulder, “You should take some of your own advice and do something for yourself,” you heard him murmur into your hair.

“If only it were that easy,” you sighed while pulling away.

“It could be.”

“Not with him. Not with Silver whispering into his ear,” you scoffed at the thought.

“Maybe after all of this then?”

“Maybe,” you said wistfully.

Miguel walked out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You let them linger in your mind, thinking about the what you were risking by starting something with Wolf. You had a mission while being here. To prove you have what it takes to be a champion, and you weren’t going to let anyone take that away from you. This could risk you everything you worked for these past few months and ruin your cover to learn more about Silver. If Wolf found out, you wouldn’t just be losing your spot in the tournament. You’d lose him before you even had a chance to have him.

But maybe he was worth the risk.

You stepped out of the room and looked around carefully to see if anyone you knew was around. Just your luck, you saw Sensei Wolf talking to a group of what looked like other senseis in the lobby. His eyes flickered to the side, catching you. His head tilted like he was confused or more like processing something. 

You beelined for the elevator in hopes of avoiding him. You were close to making it alone in the elevator, but a foot stopped the doors from closing. To only reveal Wolf with a sinister look written across his face. He stepped in, and the doors closed behind him. He continued to close the gap between you until you were trapped leaning against the wall with your face turned away from him.

His hand flew to your neck, applying a firm but gentle pressure, guiding your gaze back onto him. “What were you doing in that room?” Wolf hummed, eyes scanning your face.

“Needed a moment alone,” you let out quietly.

“Alone?” he drawled. His grip on your throat tightened for a second, and you noticed his jaw clenched with tension.

“Yes.”

“Do you think I am a fool?” he jeered, making no effort to hide his disdain.

“No, sensei,” you replied in a breathy tone as you tried to push yourself more into the wall to gain some distance between you two.

The elevator rang and opened its doors to your floor, and Wolf dragged you into the hallway. His grip now fell onto your wrist, leading you to your hotel room. “Open the door.”

You fumbled around your bag for your keycard. You quickly unlock the door and walk in, setting your bag on the bed. He comes in, slamming the door behind him shut. You stay silent, not knowing what to say that won’t anger him more. You already knew you got caught, but you didn’t know how much he knew.

“I am going to give you one more chance. What were you doing in that room?” his voice ringed with steel behind each word. “Do not lie to me again.” he sounded low but forceful, voice tight with suppressed anger.

You let out a breathe you were holding, rubbing your temples when you answered him with, “Why does it matter? I give you the results you want. So why does it matter what I do?” You were pushing your luck, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of giving in. 

Wolf let out a single, humorless chuckle, “It matters when I think you’re not here to win.”

“This tournament is everything. I will not fail.”

He closed the distance in two sharp steps, stopping just short of colliding. His breath was warm against your face as he growled, “Then tell me what were you doing in that room.” 

“I was talking to a friend-” your voice failing you at the end as your breath hitched at the close proximity between you two. 

“Friend. Is that why you looked so guilty walking out?” he spat out.

You broke your gaze from him and turned your face away, “Nothing happened.”

“Say that again,” Wolf used his finger to redirect your face to meet his eyes.

“We only talked. Nothing happened.” you were hesitant, paused between words, voice softer than usual.

“Then what are you hiding.”

“Nothing.”

“I SAID DO NOT LIE TO ME AGAIN,” he yelled into your face, making you take a step back until your legs hit against the end of the bed. 

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” you tensed.

“And you don’t get to lie to me. So tell me what you were doing with that boy from the pathetic Miyagi-Do,” he sneered. “Wouldn’t want him to get hurt now?”

“He’s nothing, Wolf. He’s just a means to an end,” you explained cautiously, lying through your teeth.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed all the secret looks and phone calls and the constant hiding of your phone from anyone who could see,” Wolf pointed out. “I know you’re hiding something.”

“If you knew then, why do you care now?” your voice was tight, wondering if you really want to the answer to this or not.

“You’re my champion,” he stated slow and deliberately. 

“Yet, I don’t know what you want from me anymore,” you sighed.

“Everything.” Wolf pulled you to him by your hips, making you gulp at the action. You’re holding on by a thread to your self-restraint. His lips broke out in a small smirk that was close enough to brush against your lips, mumbling, “Give in.” 

Your breath was uneven, hot against his skin as you whispered, “I shouldn’t.”

“But you can.” and neither of you moved away.

Instead, he raised one hand to brush his fingers against your jaw, featherlight, as if memorizing the shape of you, as if giving you one last chance to walk away. Your lips parted slightly, a breath caught between want and restraint.

Then it snapped. 

He crashed into you, his lips searing against yours. You gasped into the kiss, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more. His grip tightened at your hip, anchoring you to him.

You knew you were being reckless, but at the moment you couldn’t care anymore. You were doing this for yourself. You move your hands to go around his neck to try and pull yourself up to him. The kiss was fast and feverish, making you gasp slightly and allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. You kissed until all the breath left your lungs and even then you never wanted him to stop.

His teeth grazed your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine. Your hands found his hair, pulling it with need. The world blurred around you. The way you fit together like a secret never meant to be told.

Then a noise. A knock against your hotel door.

A reminder of reality.

You tore apart, chests heaving, eyes wild. His lips were red, swollen, his pupils blown wide as he stared at you, something raw and untamed in his gaze.

Heavy silence stretched between you.

“We shouldn’t have-” you started, voice barely a whisper.

His thumb brushed your lip, tracing where his kiss had just been. Claiming.

“I know.” His voice was low, rough. And yet, neither of you held any regret. 

[sweetdispatch]

Who’s the boy? - C. Bedard

Next door hearts pairing: Connor Bedard x Hughes!reader summary: It's summer time and you need to face your brothers and admit to them who's your mysterious boyfriend warning: swear word note: finally the longer version! feel free to send more ideas to this AU🧸

Knowing that you’re gonna return to Chicago, you packed only essentials. All the clothes have at home and there’s no need to bring more. You were thankful that your parents helped you to rent an apartment and you don’t have to take all your belongings back home to bring them back after summer. Connor drove you to the airport and you felt bizarre. It was the first time in the 5 months since you knew each other you'll be apart for more than two weeks. 

“I don’t know if I want to go home” You admitted and Connor looked at you surprised.

“Why? I thought you miss your family” 

“I do but… I would love to spend these free months with you without worrying about our schedules” You sighed. 

“Hey” Connor grabbed your hand. “We’ll be back together soon. You can’t prioritisering me over your family. Look, you have to return in the middle of August to Chicago, I’ll fly there too and we can spent my last free weeks together” 

“I can’t ask you to do that. You have to spend as much time as you have with your family” You protested.

“It’s my decision and I already made up my mind about it” Connor said and you laughed.

“You’re ridiculous” You looked at him with love in your eyes. 

You walked out of the car and Connor went to grab your suitcase. You hugged him tightly and kissed him goodbye. You knew that you two would talk every single day for the next couple of months but you still didn’t want to leave him. You were well aware that you’ll miss him but that was also a learning experience for you. The whole time you were in the plane, you were thinking about your relationship with Connor and how to tell it to your brothers.

Thankfully, your parents came to pick you up from the airport and not your brothers. You ran towards them and hugged them. In all the craziness, you forgot about your parents and how much you missed them. You were excited to cook with your mom and golf with your dad. In the car, you break the news to them.

“I met a guy in Chicago and he asked me to be his girlfriend so basically I’m in a relationship” You said and your mum turned to face you.

“That’s amazing sweetie! Why didn't you bring him with you?” You mum asked and before you could answer your dad spoke. 

“I bet he’s a hockey player since you were working for them” You knew he said this as a joke but he was right.

“He is a hockey player and he wanted to spend time with his family” The car stopped at a red light and your dad turned to face you.

“Which one?” He said and you couldn’t recognize his voice. 

“Connor Bedard” Your dad turned away his eyes back on the road. “Are you mad?”

“No, I’m happy for you…” Before he could finish, your mum spoke.

“We’re happy for you and we can’t wait to meet him. Did you tell your brothers?”

“No and I’m scared to do it. You know how protective they are” Your mum laughed. 

“That’s their job, they’re your brothers and they don’t want you to get hurt” 

“I know, can you not tell them? I want to do it by myself when the time is right” 

“Sure sweetie but it’s better to do it fast before they’ll figure it out by themselves” Your mum said and you nodded. 

The rest of the drive you were telling your parents about Chicago and how life looks there. Before you could see, you already parked in the driveway and you left the car. You took a deep breath and walked into the house. Your brothers ran to the door to question you about your last instagram post but your mum stopped them. 

“Give her a break, she just arrived” You smiled at her and took your suitcase to your room. 

You laid in the bed and started thinking about how to break the news to your brothers. For now, you decided to keep your mouth shut. You thought to yourself that tomorrow you’ll tell them about everything. For now, you need to rest. You send a quick message to Connor that you’re at home. 

The next day, you woke up and decided to go for a run. It was your tradition during summer. Around 9AM, you left the house and after an hour you returned. You saw that your parents' car is not in the driveway which meant you’re alone with your brothers. The first thing after you opened the door was the smell of breakfast. Your brothers are up and you can’t escape them. Slowly, you walked into the kitchen and felt all eyes on you. 

“How was Chicago?” That's the first question you heard from Quinn when you entered the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. You took a sip before you spoke.

“Great! I love the city and the job and…” You didn't finish your sentence because Jack interrupted you.

“Later you’ll tell us about it. We have more important things to discuss. What does the caption mean under your post?” Jack asked you.

“Umm… I meant that I fell in love with the city” You lied and judging by their faces, you knew they’re not buying this.

“Bullshit, tell the truth” Luke said and you were surprised at this outburst. You expected this from Jack, even Quinn but not Luke.

“Okay I have a boyfriend. Happy?” You were done with this conversation already and it hasn't even started. You walked out and started going upstairs. Your brothers followed you.

“Who’s the boy?” Quinn asked you and you took a deep breath.

“He’s my neighbour, his name is Connor” You told them, trying not to share the news that he’s a hockey player and keep it simple thinking that they’ll drop the topic. You entered your room to take clothes. 

“Like Connor Bedard? The one from the Blackhawks?” Jack asked you and you cursed under your nose. Of course they’ll connect that you said to them that you live next to the hockey player and work with the team.

“Yes” You confirmed and turned away to go into the bathroom.

“I’m cool with that” Luke replied and you looked shocked at him. That was not the reaction you expected from him, especially after his outburst earlier.

“Me too, he looks like a good guy” Quinn said it back and you froze in spot. You expected screaming from their side and they just accepted it. This felt bizarre for you.

“He better treat you right or I won’t be too careful on the ice towards him” Jack said and you laughed. Now that was the reaction you expected. 

“I’ll tell him that but Connor is treating me right. We’ve been friends for the past 5 months before he asked me to be his girlfriend. Actually he planned a super cute day for me before he even asked me the question. I’ve never been in such awe of a man” You replied, still replaying the day in your head.

“That's the most important thing, but as Jack said, he better not hurt you because we might not be too careful on the ice next time playing against Chicago” Quinn said and hugged you. You smiled, grateful that your brothers accepted Connor but also scared of them playing against Blackhawks next season. 

“Thanks guys, I appreciate it” You smiled at them. It wasn’t as scary as you thought. Went better than expected. 

“When can we meet him?” Jack asked out of nowhere. 

“Probably during the season” 

“Invite him over here, we need to meet him” Quinn said and you didn’t know what to say. 

“I don’t want to take away his time with his family” 

“Just a weekend. I bet he’ll be happy to see you” Jack said and you thought about it for a minute.

“I’ll talk with him later, okay?” All three of them nodded. “Can I take a shower now?” 

“Yes but don’t you think that you’ll get away with telling us how Chicago had been treating you” Luke replied and all of them left your room. You smiled to yourself.

[rose24207]

Hello. Can I request something where mafia Lando and reader have only been fasting for a few months but Lando knows she’s going to be the one and while the reader is out shopping she’s bumps into her ex who was toxic to her and told her she was clingy and boring before they broke up so reader distances her self from Lando and when he starts noticing he confronts her and reassures that he loves her and she not any of those things. And maybe Lando at the end planing a murder 👀

Yours to protect

Summary: After your toxic ex shakes your confidence, Lando reassures you of his love—but secretly plans to ensure your ex never hurts you again.

Genre: Mafia!Lando

TW: Mafia, plotting

A/N: Thank you for the request! I hope you like it! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome! 

Masterlist

The boutique was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of fabric as you flipped through racks of dresses. Shopping used to calm you—a distraction from your thoughts and an indulgence in a moment of self-care. But today, your mind was restless.

Things with Lando had been… incredible, almost too good to be true. You’d been dating for a few months, and he’d swept you off your feet in ways you never imagined possible. From the candlelit dinners at restaurants you couldn’t pronounce to the mornings spent tangled in bed, he made you feel special, loved, and seen.

But as the glow of new love settled, doubt began to creep in. It wasn’t him—it was you. Your past had a way of clawing back into your present, reminding you of all the ways you’d once been told you weren’t enough.

You reached for a soft blue dress when a familiar voice froze you in place.

“Well, well. Look who it is.”

Your stomach twisted. Slowly, you turned to face him.

Liam.

It had been over a year since you’d last seen him, and yet the sight of him made your skin crawl. He stood there with that same smug grin, hands shoved casually into his pockets as if he hadn’t once torn you apart piece by piece.

“Liam,” you said, your voice flat.

“Didn’t expect to run into you here,” he said, his eyes scanning you in a way that made you feel like shrinking. “You look… different. Not bad, just… different.”

You clenched your jaw, gripping the hanger tightly. “What do you want?”

He chuckled, tilting his head. “Relax. I’m just saying hi. Can’t I say hi to my ex?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” you muttered, turning your attention back to the rack.

But he wasn’t deterred. Stepping closer, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into that familiar condescending tone. “Still as feisty as ever, huh? Tell me, are you still clinging to whoever’s unfortunate enough to date you now?”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?” you asked, though you’d heard him clearly.

“Come on, don’t act surprised,” he said, smirking. “You were always a bit… much, weren’t you? Always needing attention, always so… boring. Like you couldn’t handle being on your own.”

His words hit you like a slap. You could feel your chest tightening, your confidence crumbling under the weight of memories you’d tried so hard to bury.

“I’m not doing this,” you said, stepping away.

“Hey, don’t take it so personally,” he called after you. “Just giving you some friendly advice. Guys don’t like that, you know. Being smothered. I learned that the hard way.”

You didn’t stop to listen. You walked out of the boutique, the dress forgotten, your heart pounding as his words replayed in your head.

Over the next week, the cracks began to show.

You told yourself you were being cautious, that it was better to give Lando some space rather than risk suffocating him. You stopped texting as much, replying with short, impersonal messages instead of the playful banter he loved. When he called, you kept the conversations brief, always finding an excuse to hang up early.

And when you were with him in person, you held back. You hesitated before reaching for his hand, second-guessed your jokes, and overthought every word you said.

Lando noticed.

He wasn’t one to let things slide, especially when it came to you. One evening, after a quiet dinner at your place, he leaned back in his chair and studied you.

“You’ve been different lately,” he said, his voice careful but firm.

You looked up from your plate, startled. “Different? What do you mean?”

“You’re pulling away,” he said simply. “And I want to know why.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the look in his eyes stopped you. Lando wasn’t just your boyfriend—he was smart, observant, and unafraid to confront a problem head-on.

“It’s nothing,” you said, forcing a smile. “I’ve just been… busy.”

“Busy,” he repeated, clearly unconvinced.

You nodded, hoping he’d let it go.

But Lando wasn’t the type to back down.

“Love,” he said, his voice softening as he reached for your hand. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You tried to pull your hand away, but he held on, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that made your resolve waver.

“It’s stupid,” you said quietly.

“Try me.”

You hesitated, your mind racing. Finally, you took a deep breath and said, “I ran into Liam.”

Lando’s expression darkened instantly. “What did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“It does,” he said firmly, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “What did he say?”

You swallowed hard, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “He said I was clingy. Boring. Too much.”

Lando’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as a dangerous edge crept into his expression. “He said that to you?”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “And maybe he’s right,” you added, your voice trembling. “Maybe I am too much for you. Maybe you’re just… putting up with me.”

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Lando stared at you, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he stood, pulling you to your feet. Before you could say anything, he cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t you ever say that again,” he said, his voice low but filled with emotion. “You are not too much. You are everything.”

Your breath hitched. “But—”

“No,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. “Listen to me. That guy? He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know how smart, funny, and strong you are. And he sure as hell doesn’t know how lucky I am to have you.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“Do you know what I thought when I first met you?” he continued, his voice softening. “I thought, This is it. This is the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. And every day since then, you’ve only made me more sure of that.”

Tears streamed down your face as his words sank in.

“I love you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “And I’ll spend every day proving that to you, if I have to. But I won’t let you believe those lies about yourself. Not for one second.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as sobs wracked your body. He held you tightly, whispering reassurances as he stroked your hair.

Later that night, after you’d fallen asleep in his arms, Lando slipped out of bed.

He stood by the window, his phone in hand, the cool night air brushing against his skin.

“Mateo,” he said when the call connected.

“Yes, boss?”

“I need you to find someone for me,” Lando said, his voice cold and calm. “His name is Liam. I want everything—where he works, where he lives, who he knows.”

“Understood,” Mateo replied. “What do you want me to do when I find him?”

Lando’s lips curved into a dangerous smile as he glanced back at you, asleep and peaceful.

“Leave that to me.”

Thank you for reading!

[maybankslover]

diez dias despues- jj maybank

jj maybank x fem!reader

warnings: pure angst, pregnancy, season four part two, death, in this they take his body back to the island.

summary: he's gone and now is only them.

playlist: diez dias despues by airbag (live version) / pink skies by zach bryan / walking in the wind by one direction

a/n: i translated the song it's called 'ten days later' by and argentinian band called airbag. listen to it, the rythm makes sense with the lyrics.

i just remembered i forgot to tell you the best part

tell you how i learned to say sorry, to ask for forgiveness

i can't stop myself from thinking

why life was so unfair (fragil) on you

jj's voice invaded her mind, his 'wooohooo' and his loud laugh when she told him she was pregnant two days before leaving to morocco. she wondered how they went from planning their future to planning his wake. her hands still stained with his blood, the blood of the love of her life as she watched his lifeless body being taken inside a plane where she would be flying too.

the kids are in town for a funeral was what the whispers said.

it was as nice as a funeral could be, her parents, pope's and kie's parents, the pogues, a few of the cut who appreciated the boy and rafe cameron of all people. john b's words were beautiful as far as he got to go before his voice broke and he had to sit down and let pope to continue.

"i like to think it's not so much how many years you get to live but what you do with them and jj packed it in, a whole damn life in those twenty years." he looked at the picture at the altar of the church. "he did everything for the one's he loved and if he was the king of anything, he was the king of friendship." his voice cracked and pope took it from there while his friend made his way back to his seat in between sarah and y/n who took his hand in hers.

"he is our glue, he was loyal as they come. jj maybank was the best friend we ever had." he looked up to the ceiling. "we love you bro, we'll take care of them."

i see you everywhere i go as an allucination of sorts

you didn't even warn me you were leaving

the lights are off in the city, i can't see where you're going

maybe tomorrow you'll be back

her belly grew fast, she was already three months in when he passed and she hated she didn't had anyone by her side who'd get as excited as he would've at the first kick their baby gave her.

everyone was grieving, john b and sarah had asked for permission to name their own baby 'jackson' and she gave it to them because she how could she not? john b was grieving his brother and it was something jj would've wanted.

every person she crossed paths with said how sorry they were for her loss, lies but she thanked them for it even kooks who hated jj maybank gave her their condolences. no one had the heart to be mean to a pregnant girl who had lost her boyfriend.

and she saw him everywhere, every morning in the kitchen, beside her in the nights and in the beach was were she saw him the most. any blond head surfing in the sea gave her hope it'd be him but she knew he wasn't, he was in a little box at each house of the pogues and in the sea. it was what he would've wanted.

i remember how we lost control

in the craziness and need to survive

i can't stop myself from thinking how you'd be if you were still here

her memories were all filled by him. she couldn't think of anything else, just him and his face full of life and pain when he went in front of her.

"hey baby." she smiled at the tree john b and pope had helped her to put in the backyard, she had spread some of his ashes under it to have a place where she could feel she could to talk to him. where her baby could talk to their father. "we're seven months today which means it's been four months without you."

she rubbed her belly and closed her eyes as the wind kissed her skin.

"he's in jail you know." she chuckled. "rafe, don't you dare laugh at me, caught him in morocco with the pogues, cleo almost kills the man or at least is what kie told me." a yellow butterfly flyed in front of her. "i guess this is your way to tell me you're laughing at me." the tears didn't wait to come. "and luke gave me the house, signed it to my name and said it was the least he could do for us and that he was sorry. i haven't seen him since."

"sarah and john b's baby will be called jackson, i know you'd have loved that." her head rested against the wood. "i miss you."

i see you everywhere i go as an allucination of sorts

you didn't even warn me you were leaving

the lights are off in the city, i can't see where you're going

maybe tomorrow you'll be back

a knock in her door while she ate the dinner cleo made her. she and kie continued to live at the maybank property while john b and sarah bought the house next door with the money sarah inherited from ward and pope went from cleo's room to his parents place.

the business continued but she was alone tonight for the first time in a while. she didn't expect rafe cameron to be on the other side of the door when she opened.

"rafe?"

"hey." he smiled at her. "can i come in?" things had changed a lot, sarah and her brother had made up in some weird way. no one could forget the things he did to them but he stayed true to his word and was now engaged to some girl from the cut she knew.

"sure?" she stepped to the side to let him in and closed behind him.

they sat on the couch.

"i'll cut it short because i know it's weird that i'm here." she nodded and he chuckled. "this isn't charity or pity but i want to offer you a job."

"you're kidding right?" rafe cameron offering help?

"no. i know the history we have, the history i had with maybank but none of you deserved what happened." a lump in her throat formed. "and you're pregnant." she once again nodded. "i know you're good with numbers, you did the for the country club."

"yeah what with that?"

"you could do them for a restaurant we're opening down town, i don't expect you to start right now or shortly after you give birth but you could have health inssurence if you agree and then we'll see when you'll start."

"where's the catch?" he knew she wouldn't trust him and she had the reason not to.

"there's no catch, i'm paying for sarah's inssurence and being honest none of you will be able to pay the hospital bills if you don't have one so just think about it." he stood up. "you and your kid deserve a better chance."

you were a slave in this hostil world

you were a slave in this cruel world

she talked about it with the pogues, she didn't think they'd agree with rafe.

"this isn't what jj would've wanted." she told kie.

"jj would want you both safe even if it came from rafe's." she kissed her friends cheek before leaning down to kiss her belly too. "talk to him and then you can decide."

and she found herself under the tree like every single day.

"it's not fair that i have to make all this decisions by myself maybank." she cleaned her watery eyes. "you took the easy way out j." she couldn't stop herself from sobbing, clunching onto the shark tooth necklace hanging on her neck. "give me a signal of what you think, should i take rafe's offer?"

i see you everywhere i go as an allucination of sorts

you didn't even warn me you were leaving

the lights are off in the city, i can't see where you're going

maybe tomorrow you'll be back

she woke up sweating, wanting to go back into her dream. 'take it baby, i didn't want to deprive you of my love. you need the security i can't give you.' he whispered as an angel kissing her round belly before sending her back to reality.

it wasn't my intention to deprive you of my love

i didn't want to hurt you

it was a boy, blonde mop of hair and blue eyes rested on her arms. james kailan maybank a combination of his dad's name and what his dad was.

james meant son of ther spirit and kailan, a hawaiian name kie mentioned, meant moon and ocean. jj would've loved it.

i see you everywhere i go as an allucination of sorts

you didn't even warn me you were leaving

the lights are off in the city, i can't see where you're going

maybe tomorrow you'll be back

jj would've adored his little boy.

eight years went by but she continued to be in solitud.

"i hope you can see how well jackson and him get along, is like seeing a new version of you and john b." she looked down at the tattoo on her wrist. 'jj&j'. "there's no one new, i don't think i'll ever have the heart to."

she couldn't stop herself from crying.

"he loves to hear about you, to see videos of your surfing and asked pope to teach him." she laughed. "you would've laughed at him, i did it for you, everyone laughed actually even pope."

she took a deep breath in.

"i'm still mad at the world for taking you away from me but he's just like you. you would've been such a good dad j, i love you baby."

maybe in another universe she wouldn't have to think how things would've been if he was still there. maybe in another universe she wouldn't have to think what would've jj wanted.

masterlist

taglist: @chenslucy @gillybear17 @imliterallyamirrorball @nichmeddar @gillybooboo @julczimozart @bellbottombabe @silkylovey @droppedyourhnd @jaydaaasworld @congratsloserr @carrerascameron @m1santhropicc @wearemadeofstardust0 @chiaraanatra @rlalliehayes @ijustwanttoreadlols @sunny1616 @theoraekenslover @isaidoop @ethanthequeefqueen @rafesdrew @loverdrew @frankoceanluvr11

[heich0e]

shouto has not stopped talking about his new nephew for an hour and fifty seven minutes.

you can't blame him, really, for not being able to stop rambling since he got home—you saw the photos he snapped on his phone, the sweet little boy is borderline cherubic. and it's his first nephew, after all, with touya being the first of the todoroki siblings to have any children. there's added novelty to this new arrival. the fact that the baby is so cute is just a serendipitous bonus.

"...and then he fell asleep right in my arms." shouto rinses his toothbrush under the stream of water flowing from the tap in your shared bathroom. half the story he'd just told had been lost to the froth of toothpaste in his mouth, talking around the toothbrush as he cleaned his teeth before bed, but he'd already told you this part of the story three times—so thankfully you didn't miss anything.

you smile as shouto wipes at the corner of his mouth with a towel hanging from the rail on one side of the bathroom, watching his reflection in the mirror. his eyes flicker up to meet yours in the surface of the glass, and he sees the mirthful twist at the corner of your mouth.

he turns to you in the narrow bathroom just off your bedroom and approaches you slowly, his arms winding around your waist as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. he's in his pajamas now, ready for bed, and without lifting his head or stepping away from you, he begins shuffling the two of you out the door towards your waiting bed in the next room. you can't help but giggle as you go, reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck for balance, allowing him to guide you wherever he sees fit.

shouto leans you back gently once the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress, crawling overtop of you to get to his side of the bed and then pulling you into his chest once more as he tugs the blankets up around you both.

"sounds like you had a lot of fun today," you remark quietly as you settle into bed, your fingers tracing idle patterns into the flat plane of shouto's sternum.

"i didn't expect him to be so small," shouto replies. "or to smell so good."

you want to laugh at his sincere tone of surprise, but hold it back.

"i hope i get to meet him soon, too," you say.

"touya says you're welcome any time," shouto insists. "he said i'm only welcome some of the time, though."

that really does make you laugh, because you can practically hear the eldest todoroki son's voice saying the words.

it's quiet for a while as you and shouto lay in bed, tangled up together.

"he's gonna make me the godfather," shouto finally says after a while—so softly you almost miss it. the remark, and the tenderness in his voice, makes something in your chest squeeze tight.

"that's so nice, sho," you answer.

"that means if anything ever happens to touya, we get the baby."

'we' he says—not i—like he doesn't for a second picture any future (even one where his beloved older brother has met some untimely demise) without you in it.

"don't wish anything ill on him just because you want to steal his cute baby," you tease him, lifting your head up and resting your chin against his chest so you can watch his face. he looks pensive, like he's really mulling over your words, and it makes you want to laugh again.

"but it would be nice, i think," shouto finally speaks again after his careful contemplation. "having the baby here with us."

heat floods up fast to your cheeks, and you glance away unconsciously. you're sure shouto has no idea what he's just said—still a little giddy from how smitten he is with his new nephew. but it still makes your mind go to places it shouldn't.

"no baby stealing," you reiterate firmly. flopping down again to go to sleep—if for no other reason than you suddenly find it hard to meet his gaze.

shouto sighs a little, but the sound is resigned like he's reluctantly agreeing to your terms. he eases you over onto your side so he can curl up behind you underneath the cover of your quilt, his strong arm looping over your waist.

the heat of shouto's breath hits the shell of your ear as his face rests on the pillow behind you, and you can still smell the spearmint from his toothpaste. his warmth seeps into you as he presses into your back. you close your eyes and luxuriate in the familiarity of it.

"we could have our own, you know," shouto's voice is much nearer to you than you expect it to be when he speaks again, his lips brushing against the back of your ear softly as they shape his words. his hand slips up underneath the t-shirt you wore to bed—the tips of his fingers feel scorching as they ghost across your skin. "and i bet our baby would be even cuter than touya's—no stealing required."