#the world she’s in doesn’t take her softness away

[cherryxbooo]

Yeah, I’m the lucky one

Summary: Hiding it when you're sick from your boyfriend is one thing, but hiding it from your clingy boyfriend is a whole other challenge.

Reader x Lando Norris

Genre: fluff

The paddock is alive with energy, buzzing with anticipation, the sound of engines roaring in the distance, and the hum of the crowd outside.

Lando is in his element, calm yet radiating an excitement that’s palpable.

The focus in his eyes is like nothing I’ve ever seen, and it’s clear that today matters more to him than most.

The weight of the race, the pressure of the expectations, and the fire in his heart are all simmering beneath the surface.

It's a mix of raw determination and adrenaline, and it brings out the best in him.

But me? Well, I feel the complete opposite.

I woke up feeling off, my head pounding and my body aching with a fever I couldn't shake.

I knew I should stay in bed, but I couldn’t. Not today.

Not with everything he’s worked for. I couldn’t let something as trivial as being sick get in the way of him having the best race of his career.

He’s been talking about this day for weeks, getting ready for it with an intensity that I’ve only seen in the world of motorsport.

But as I made my way through the paddock, trying my best to act normal, I felt the weight of my own discomfort pulling me down.

I’ve been silently counting the minutes until I can just crawl into a quiet corner and hide.

But the last thing I want is for him to see me like this. He’d immediately worry, go into panic mode, and lose focus.

Lando, with his big heart, would put everything aside just to take care of me, and I don’t want to do that to him.

Not today. Today is about him.

As I stand next to his family, making small talk with his friends, I feel dizzy.

The lights are a little too bright, and the sounds a little too loud.

I try to steady myself, offering a weak smile whenever someone glances my way, but the effort feels exhausting.

Lando’s mum catches my eye, and for a brief moment, I see a flicker of concern in her expression.

But she doesn’t say anything, just gives me a warm, reassuring smile. I’m grateful, but I can tell she knows something’s off.

Then, out of nowhere, I feel a familiar hand on my back. A small shiver runs down my spine as I turn to face Lando, and I instantly feel a warmth spread through me, despite the fever still creeping in.

“Hey baby, you okay?” His voice is soft, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes, like he’s always aware of everything around him, especially me.

I don’t want to worry him. I can’t.

So I give him a smile that’s more practiced than I’d like to admit,

“Yeah, just a little tired. Big day, huh?”

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

He studies me for a second, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual, his hand gently squeezing my back.

The touch is warm, comforting. “You sure? You don’t look so great.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You focus on the race. I’m just here to cheer you on.”

Lando hesitates, his lips pressed into a thin line as if trying to gauge if I’m really okay.

But then he nods slowly, though his concern doesn’t quite vanish.

“Alright… but if you need anything, you let me know, okay?”

His voice is almost a whisper, like he’s trying not to give away just how much he cares.

“I will,” I promise, trying to keep my tone light and convincing.

But as he walks away to prepare for the race, a sense of loneliness settles over me.

The noise around me feels overwhelming, and the crowd only amplifies the ache in my head.

I find a quiet corner, away from the chaos, hoping to just breathe for a moment.

I didn't realize that I had been hiding away for a while already.

But before I know it, Lando’s voice cuts through the distance.

“You’ve been hiding from me.”

I turn to see him standing there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed with a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

His presence alone seems to calm the storm inside me.

“I wasn’t hiding,” I protest weakly, though my voice cracks just slightly.

“Just… taking a break.”

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“Taking a break from what? From me?”

He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch my cheek, his fingers warm against my skin.

I close my eyes for a second, leaning into the touch, even though I feel like I might collapse at any moment.

“From the chaos of the paddock,” I admitted softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze softens, the teasing in his eyes fading. He steps in closer, his body brushing against mine as he gently cups my face with both hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Hey…” His voice is tender now, a deep, comforting lull.

“Are you really feeling okay love?"

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat suddenly unbearable.

“Yes, don't worry Lan. I'm fine.”

I whisper, my voice slightly breaking as I fight the urge to lean on him completely.

I stare up at him, feeling a mix of love and pain.

I don’t want to be the one who holds him back, but I can’t deny how much I crave the support and warmth he gives me without even thinking.

Lando lowers his hands, but not without giving me one last comforting touch, his fingers brushing my wrist.

“You need to rest,” he says firmly, but there’s a hint of playfulness behind his words now.

“I’m not going to let you make it through today without me taking care of you at least once.”

I laugh softly, despite the dizziness still swirling in my head.

“I’m fine, Lando. You go be amazing out there.”

He looks at me, his eyes soft but filled with determination. “I will be. But only because you’re here.”

Before I can say anything else, he leans in, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll make sure to get at least P3 for you.”

And with that, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of engineers and teammates.

But the moment he’s out of sight, I feel my energy drain completely.

Regardless of how I felt I still made my way to the rest so I could support Lando and be there for him.

Everywhere I look, there’s movement, excitement, and a sense of urgency.

Lando’s already suited up and surrounded by his team, getting ready to focus on the race that could mean everything for his career.

I’m supposed to be the one cheering him on, being his support, his calm, but instead, all I can do is try to survive the overwhelming wave of heat coursing through me.

Every few seconds, my head spins, my chest feels like it's on fire, and the nausea rolls in like a tide.

It’s getting harder to keep it together, but I’m trying. I can’t let anything distract him.

I can't make this his problem today, not when he’s been working so hard for this moment.

I take a seat next to Max and Pietra, hoping the three of us can keep the mood light and give Lando a little peace before he heads into the race.

I force myself to laugh at Max's joke about the weather, but it comes out more like a wheeze.

My throat feels like it’s coated in something dry and scratchy, and each breath feels like I’m not getting enough air.

Max doesn’t notice, but Pietra does.

She’s always been that way, observant, kind, and so very perceptive.

I’ve always admired how in tune she is with people.

She shifts in her seat beside me, her eyes narrowing as she studies my face.

“You okay, Y/n?” she asks gently, her voice laced with concern.

“You look a little pale.”

I immediately try to put on a smile, but it feels like the most exhausting thing I’ve done all day.

“I’m fine, really,” I say, hoping I can convince her.

“Just a little tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Pietra doesn’t buy it, not even for a second.

She leans in closer, her gaze steady as she inspects my face, my trembling hands.

“You sure?” she presses, her brow furrowing.

“You don’t look fine. Maybe you should lay down for a bit?”

The room suddenly feels like it’s closing in on me.

The dizziness that had been simmering beneath the surface is starting to take hold, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes focused on her.

I swallow hard, trying to push the wave of nausea down, but it’s impossible to ignore now.

I nod weakly, doing my best to stay composed.

“I’m okay, Pietra. Just... a little dizzy. I think I’ll sit down for a moment.”

Max, still glued to his phone, glances up briefly, probably sensing the shift in the air.

His eyes scan me quickly before he leans closer to Pietra, muttering something under his breath, probably about how pale I look.

I’m about to wave it off, to reassure them both that it’s nothing, when Pietra’s soft hand touches my shoulder.

It’s warm and grounding, her touch gentle but insistent.

“No, you’re not okay, Y/n,” she says firmly.

“You’re not fooling me. You need to go back to the hotel and rest. Max and I will handle everything here. Don’t worry about Lando. He’ll understand. He doesn’t need to know right now, and you’re not helping him by pretending you’re fine.”

My heart clenches at her words. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to make him worry.

He’s about to race, about to compete for something so important to him.

The last thing I want is to make this about me. But Pietra’s expression leaves no room for argument.

Her hand squeezes my shoulder, and I feel a wave of guilt hit me hard.

“I... I can’t just leave,” I whisper, my voice shaky.

“I don’t want him to—”

“Y/n,” Pietra interrupts, her voice soft but full of authority.

“Lando will be fine. He’ll be more upset if you stay here, pretending to be okay when you’re not. Let us take care of everything. He doesn’t need the distraction. He needs you to get better, not to keep pretending.”

I shake my head, still fighting it. “But he’s going to think I don’t care.”

“He knows you care. You don’t have to prove it by running yourself into the ground,” she says, her tone firm yet reassuring.

“You need to listen to your body. Max and I can make sure everything’s fine here.”

I hesitate for a moment, my vision swimming in and out of focus, and then I feel it, the dizziness getting worse.

My stomach turns violently, and I barely suppress a gasp. Before I can protest, Pietra’s up and at my side, helping me stand.

“Max,” she calls out to him, her voice tinged with urgency.

Max looks up from his phone, his attention now fully on us. He doesn’t need to ask questions.

Without a word, he stands, motions to security, and gestures for them to clear a path.

“We’re getting you back to the hotel,” Max says, his voice gentle but decisive.

“No arguments.”

I open my mouth to protest, to tell them I’m fine, but the dizziness overtakes me again.

I feel my legs wobble, my knees threatening to give way beneath me. The nausea is so strong now that I can’t hold it back any longer.

My head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and my heart races as I fight to keep everything together.

“Okay,” I whisper, too weak to resist any longer. “Okay, let’s go.”

Max’s arm wraps around my shoulder, steadying me as Pietra follows closely behind.

I glance over my shoulder at the paddock, seeing the hustle and bustle of the team preparing for the race.

And even though I want nothing more than to stay and support Lando, I know Pietra’s right, he doesn’t need to see me like this.

As we make our way out of the paddock, past the busy crew and excited fans, the world seems to blur again.

All I can think about is Lando, how much he’s worked for this, and how much I wish I could be there cheering him on.

But right now, all I can do is focus on getting back to the hotel and trying to heal.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Pietra murmurs, sensing my anxiety.

“Lando will understand. We’ll make sure he stays focused.”

“Thank you,” I whisper back, squeezing her hand.

Max looks over at me, offering a reassuring smile.

“No problem, Y/n. We’ve got you.”

And as they guide me toward the exit, the sound of the engines roaring to life in the distance feels far away, almost like a distant memory.

All I can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that, by the time Lando crosses the finish line, I’ll be okay.

Meanwhile,

The race was intense, there was no other way to describe it.

Lando’s heart was pounding, his breath coming in quick bursts as he fought to stay focused on the track ahead.

Each corner, each straightaway felt like it mattered more than the last.

The roar of the engine under him, the vibration in his hands as he gripped the wheel,it was like the world was screaming at him to push harder, to get everything he had into every lap.

And he did.

Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, the world outside of his car becoming a blur of colors and sounds.

But amidst the chaos, there was something else tugging at his mind, something he couldn’t quite shake.

Just before the race started, he had caught sight of Y/n sitting among their friends, looking beautiful as always, but something was... off.

Maybe it was the way she had looked at him, her tired eyes betraying a sense of exhaustion that didn’t quite match the energy of the day.

Or how quiet she seemed, like a flicker of something hidden behind her usual smile. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but something wasn’t right.

But there was no time for that.

He pushed those thoughts away, focusing back on the race, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the track with everything he had.

He couldn’t afford to think about anything but the next corner, the next lap, the next move.

And when he crossed the finish line, the elation of victory should’ve been enough to make everything feel perfect.

After all, he had gotten P2.

The cheers, the confetti, the roar of the crowd, it was everything he’d been working for, everything he’d dreamed of.

But in the midst of it all, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought of Y/n.

His gaze searched the area, instinctively looking for her.

He was surrounded by teammates, sponsors, friends, but all he wanted in that moment was to see her smile, to know she was okay.

He scanned the area again, but she wasn’t there.

Not where he had left her. His stomach tightened, his mind racing. Something wasn’t right.

Lando quickly moved through the crowd, dodging everyone on his way, his eyes darting between faces, searching for any sign of her.

He was so focused on finding her, he almost didn’t see Max and Pietra standing off to the side.

When he finally noticed them, his heart skipped a beat. You weren't there.

Lando’s pace quickened as he approached them, his voice betraying the worry he couldn’t hide.

“Where’s Y/n?” he asked, his words coming out sharper than he intended.

Pietra exchanged a glance with Max before she sighed, the look on her face telling Lando everything he needed to know.

"She wasn’t feeling well," she said softly, her eyes clouded with concern.

"We had to send her back to the hotel."

Lando’s chest tightened, a heavy weight settling over him.

His pulse quickened, the sudden rush of guilt and worry clouding his thoughts.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice rising slightly, not in anger, but in genuine confusion.

Max stepped forward, his expression calm but serious.

"Mate she didn’t want to distract you. She said it was important not to take your focus away from the race."

Lando’s mind was spinning now, the elation of his victory evaporating as quickly as it had come.

Guilt was flooding him, he couldn’t believe Y/n had been struggling, that she’d hidden it from him.

She’d always been there for him, supportive, understanding, even when he was caught up in his own world.

And now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let her down.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the weight of the situation was suffocating.

He didn’t know what to say.

All he could think about was how she had been sitting there, probably feeling miserable, and he hadn’t even noticed.

The race, his career, all of it felt so insignificant compared to the thought of Y/n being alone and sick.

“Why didn’t she just tell me? I would’ve understood. I could’ve—”

Pietra stepped forward, her hand gently resting on his arm, grounding him in the moment.

“Lando, she didn’t want you to worry. She knew how much today meant to you. She didn’t want to take that away from you.”

Max nodded in agreement.

“She’s always there for you. But she’s not the type to let herself be a distraction, not when you’re in the zone like that. You know how she is, she cares about you more than anything, but she didn’t want to pull you away from your focus.”

Lando let out a long breath, feeling like the weight of the world was pressing down on his chest.

“I should’ve noticed,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to the ground.

"I should’ve been paying more attention."

"You’re not a mind reader, Lando," Pietra said, her voice calm but firm.

Lando realized that she was right.

He quickly greeted the rest of his family and did some other duties before changing and heading back to the hotel.

Lando arrived at the hotel room, his body still buzzing from the race, but his mind consumed by a different kind of worry.

As soon as he entered, the first thing he did was quietly close the door behind him.

The soft hum of the air conditioning and the dim light from the lamps were the only sounds in the room.

His eyes immediately fell on your figure, still asleep, your peaceful face glowing softly under the sheets.

The sight of you, so vulnerable yet so beautiful, made his heart ache with both affection and guilt.

He quietly pulled a chair from the small desk and sat down beside the bed, never taking his eyes off you.

He wanted to be close to his girl, but he didn’t want to wake you.

He knew you needed rest, but the worry of the day, the worry about you, hadn’t let up.

He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face.

His fingers lingered there for a second before he let out a soft breath, resting his chin in his hand, his elbow on his knee.

He could almost hear the questions running through his mind, wondering why you hadn’t told him what you had been feeling.

He could feel the weight of your absence, the quiet ache in his chest from not knowing exactly what had been going on with you.

The minutes seemed to stretch on, each tick of the clock amplifying his thoughts.

He hated this uncertainty, this feeling that something had been left unsaid.

Then, after what felt like forever, a soft groan escaped from your lips, and Lando’s attention snapped to her immediately.

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dim light in the room.

Your gaze slowly focused on him, confusion settling on her face as she took in her surroundings.

Lando watched her with a mix of relief and concern, his heart lightening at the sight of you waking up but still heavy with the questions that lingered in his mind.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Lando said softly, his voice full of warmth and affection.

My vision cleared, and I smiled sleepily at him.

Lando’s heart squeezed.

"You’re awake. I’ve been here waiting for you to wake up for, like, ages now." He chuckled softly, though his eyes were still filled with concern.

"But seriously… why didn’t you tell me?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing on me.

My hand reached for his, finding his fingers weakly, and I squeezed them, my fingers trembling a bit.

"I didn’t want to be a burden," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn’t want to ruin your day or take away from the race. It was important to you. I just… I didn’t want to distract you."

Lando smiled at me softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand.

"You’re never a burden, Y/n." He looked at me with such sincerity, it made my heart ache in the best way.

"You are always my priority, okay? Not the race, not the fans, not the win. You. Always."

I felt my heart flutter at his words, my eyes softening as I looked back at him.

The tears I’d been holding back threatened to spill, and I could feel them welling up.

Being sick just makes people extra emotional, give it a break yeah?

"I’m sorry," I murmured, my voice breaking slightly.

Lando shook his head, his heart aching.

He leaned closer, cupping my cheek gently, his thumb brushing over my skin.

"You don’t have to apologize," he whispered.

"You never have to hide anything from me, especially not when it comes to you."

I felt the weight of his words, the tenderness in his touch, and I wanted so badly to just melt into him.

I was so grateful for him, for the way he always made me feel safe, loved, and heard.

Lando sat beside me on the bed, leaning back just enough to grab the water and medicine he’d set out earlier.

"You need to drink this," he said softly, his voice gentle but firm.

"Get some rest, and I’ll be right here with you. Just take it easy."

I hesitated for a moment, but then reached for the glass of water he held out to me.

My fingers were still shaking slightly, but I took it from him gratefully.

There was a small, tired smile on my lips as I drank, and Lando’s eyes never left me.

He was watching me closely, making sure I was okay. It felt nice to be looked after this way.

After I finished the water, Lando sat back down next to me again, his hand finding mine once more.

"You don’t ever have to hide something like that from me, okay?" he said, his voice soft but serious.

"If something’s wrong, you have to tell me. Promise me you’ll tell me next time."

I looked up at him, my eyes full of emotion, and I nodded slowly.

The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over, and I felt a few of them slide down my cheeks.

Before I could say anything, Lando quickly wiped them away with his thumb, his touch light, tender.

"I’m sorry," I whispered again, my voice barely audible.

He slightly laughed, "You're such a crybaby when you're sick babe."

Lando leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

"You don’t have to apologize," he said, his voice full of love and affection.

"I love you, baby. I love you, and that’s all that matters." His voice was quiet but strong, filled with reassurance.

I pulled him closer, resting my head against his chest, letting out a small, exaggerated sigh.

"Mmm, this is the best pillow ever," I mumbled, half-laughing, half-groaning in exhaustion.

Lando wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in tighter.

His chin rested on top of my head, and he chuckled softly.

"You come first," he said with a mock-serious tone, trying to sound all deep and dramatic.

"Always."

I snuggled in a little closer, feeling his warmth.

"Oh, I know now," I said, glancing up at him with a grin.

"You’re basically my personal butler, aren’t you? Always there when I need you."

He let out a dramatic gasp. "But of course! My whole existence is to serve you, my queen."

I rolled my eyes, fighting back a laugh.

"Thank you for being here," I said, the words half-sweet, half-teasing.

Lando smirked, pressing a kiss to my hair.

"Please don't cry again... and well yeah, where else would I be? I’m not going anywhere."

Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added,

"Besides, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. You know that, right?"

I couldn’t help but laugh lightly, feeling him grin against the top of my head.

"Oh, I know," I said, playfully tapping his chest.

"You're my big soft marshmallow. I practically own you."

Lando chuckled, his arms tightening around me. "You absolutely do. And you’re not even sorry about it."

I smirked, rolling my eyes. "Well, I am your number one priority, aren’t I?"

His eyes sparkled with affection, and he pulled me a little closer.

"You’re my number one everything, Y/n. No competition."

I snorted, unable to help the grin that spread across my face.

"Good. Glad we’re clear on that."

As we sat there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside felt miles away.

All that mattered was us, his heartbeat, my tired sighs, and the way we fit together like we’d always been meant to.

For a moment, everything else faded, and all I could think was: Yeah, I’m the lucky one.

The end

[hottiesforhockey]

mutual pining pt 2 ⎜n.hischier

pairings: nico hischier x reader genre: fluff ⎜ sequel ⎜smut ⎜ warnings: jealous nico ⎜ mentions of drinking ⎜praise as per usual ⎜ rushed sex ⎜ nico being needy and whiny ⎜ p in v ⎜ oral (m!receiving) ⎜nico is a physical touch boy ⎜unprotected sex (wrap it, ladies and gents) synopsis: 3 months after leaving nico behind in Switzerland after your whirlwind romance, you can't help but miss his stupid big brown eyes - maybe a trip to new jersey is in order. word count: 7.5k authors note:  this is the sequel to mutual pining - it's definitely a way to wrap up the original for the people that wanted to see them reunited! I hope everyone enjoys.

(unedited)

“Did everything get there safely?” Your sister’s voice carries through your AirPods as you weave through the crowds in the airport, dragging your oversized luggage behind you. 

“Seems like it — I’ll have to double check it at the hotel but it should be good.” You speak softly sending a quick smile to the security guard pressing the open button to the door. 

“And you got the tickets Luca sent?” Mia asks again, a rustling noise cutting through the phone as Luca’s voice fills your ears. 

“You should have the email with the tickets and the meet and greet pass — they shouldn’t give you any trouble.” Luca says softly, his voice filled with excitement as you let out a soft chuckle. 

“I did, it looks like everything is in order.” You agree, hailing down a taxi as soon as you hit the curb, the driver rushing out of the car to help you place your bags in the trunk and you tell the driver where to take you. 

“He’s not going to be expecting this.” Luca chuckles, the older brother in him bursting with pride at your plan to surprise Nico at one of his games. “He never shuts up about you.” He adds, quickly, the sound of a slap resonating as the phone rustles again your sisters voice coming back to your ears. 

“Everything is going to go fine. Nico will be excited to see you and Luca’s right, he doesn’t shut up about you.” She says teasingly, you can almost see the way she sticks her tongue out at her fiancee. 

“Look, I’m on the way to the hotel now, I’ll let you know how it goes after the game.” 

You lean your head back against the taxi seat, heart racing as you take in the unfamiliar cityscape rushing past your window. The streets of Newark blur by, a patchwork of neon signs, weathered brick buildings, and yellow cabs jostling for space. Everything feels heightened, like the world is holding its breath along with you. You can still hear Mia and Luca’s words echoing in your head — he never shuts up about you. Your heart twists with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

The driver glances at you in the rearview mirror, offering a polite smile.

“First time here?” he asks, his voice friendly.

You nod, barely able to keep your excitement contained. “Yeah, visiting a friend.”

The driver chuckles knowingly. “Lucky person. Visiting for business or pleasure?”

“Definitely pleasure,” you say with a soft laugh, your fingers drumming against your thigh as you glance at your phone. The email with the tickets and meet-and-greet pass sits at the top of your inbox, a glaring reminder of what’s waiting just hours away.

By the time you arrive at the hotel, the sun has dipped low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the city. You thank the driver and pull your suitcase out of the trunk, nerves flaring again as you step into the lobby. Everything feels surreal — the grand chandeliers, the polished marble floors, the hushed conversations of travellers coming and going. You check in quickly, the receptionist handing you your room key with a cheerful smile.

You melt into the bed after placing your suitcase on the chair in the corner in the room - the twenty four hour travelling definitely taking a toll on your body - your back begging from a break as you take out your phone and start scrolling, liking the images from the New Jersey Devils admin on instagram, smiling at the photo of Nico bundled up in his coat and beanie - smiling at something his teammate is saying. 

The doubt creeps in slowly at first and then all at once. 

What if he’s not excited to see me? 

Maybe he wants to keep what happened over the summer a secret? 

Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. 

You phone dings with a message. 

Luca😇: don’t overthink this… his brain's going to implode when he sees you. 

You smile at the message, your soon to be brother in law already knowing you better then most people. When you had told Luca about your plan to meet back up with Nico he was ecstatic, the older brother going in depth about how devastated Nico was when you left. 

Someday.

You two had agreed upon and it had become a lifeline for you both according to Luca. 

Mia 😈: Wear something sexy.

Your phone dings again the message from your older sister lighting up the screen as you let out a snort of laughter, throwing your phone to the side as you let your eyes close and your body to melt further into the bed. 

Fuck, you’d kill for a nap right now. 

+

+

You don’t remember falling asleep, but the sound of your alarm jolts you awake. It’s already dark outside, the city lights casting a soft glow through the sheer hotel curtains. The nerves settle back in your chest the moment you blink away the sleep, but this time, they’re tangled with excitement. You’re really doing this.

You sit up, stretching your sore muscles before grabbing your phone. There are a few more messages waiting for you.

Mia 😈: Don’t be late!! 

Luca😇: Remember what I said — he’s been waiting for this. Trust me

With a deep breath, you push yourself off the bed and head to the closet, rifling through your suitcase for the outfit you meticulously picked for this moment. Something that would make you feel confident, something that would remind Nico of summer nights and quiet moments shared away from the world

After a quick shower, you stand in front of the mirror, smoothing out your outfit, the skin tight black bodysuit tucked into your denim cargo pants, your trust black converse on your feet. Your heart races as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, giving yourself a small pep talk.

“You’ve got this. He wants to see you. This is what you both wanted.”

The ride to Prudential Center feels like a dream. The city hums with life outside the car window, and you can’t help but imagine Nico somewhere inside that arena, completely unaware of the surprise waiting for him. The thought brings a smile to your lips.

When you arrive, the street is buzzing with fans decked out in Devils gear, laughing and chatting as they make their way inside. You clutch your meet-and-greet pass tightly, your palms slightly sweaty. The staff at the entrance scans your pass - handing you one of the VIP lanyards before directing you toward a section of the stands where fans can watch the players warm up before the game, and explaining how to get to the meet and greet section after the game. The arena feels larger than life, the ice glistening under the bright lights. You find a spot close to the glass, your heart pounding as the players begin to trickle onto the ice. 

Your eyes search for him amongst the bodies —and then you see him.

The black retro jersey’s were one of your favourites from the moment you had seen it during your FaceTime hockey lessons with Luca, the sleek black uniforms standing out on the ice. Nico skates smoothly around the ice, occasionally stopping to read a sign or throw a puck over the glass - finally finding a spot besides his teammates on the other side of the ice, dropping into a kneeling position as he starts stretching. 

“He’s doing that on purpose — look at him putting on a show.” One of the fans besides your squeals as she films Nico on her phone, his stretching routine looking overly sexual as her friend besides her joins in on the squealing. They both turn towards you, taking in your lanyard in surprise, whispering between themselves before turning back to you. 

“How did you get that?” One of them asks pointing down to your lanyard. 

“Umm, a friend got it for me.” You respond quickly, looking down at the lanyard nervously. 

“Do you like know the players or something?” The other asks, your head shaking immediately, their attention quickly stolen as the players begin skating around the ice again, their hands pounding on the glass to try and catch the attention of the players closest to you. 

Your breath catches in your chest as you watch Nico skid to a stop in front of the two girls, taking in their sign with a smile as he reaches down to grab a puck off the ice, preparing to throw it over the glass towards them. His gaze flicks over to your for a second, his attention going back to the two girls before he double takes, his eyes locking with yours as you send him a shy smile. 

Nico’s mouth falls open a little as he takes you in, you hand waving to send him a small wave as he shakes his head, his eyes squeezing shut as he whispers something under his breath before skating straight off the ice, his hand rubbing his eyes as he makes his way back down the tunnel. 

“Well, that didn’t go to plan.” You huff, as you look down at your ticket making quick work of finding your seat amongst the crowds before the game starts. 

The buzz of the crowd fills the arena as you make your way to your seat, your nerves still buzzing, but now with a different kind of energy. You can't help but replay the moment over and over in your mind. Nico's reaction, that brief second of recognition before he skated off... it almost felt like time stood still, like the universe had paused to allow for that one perfect moment.

You settle into your seat, trying to steady your breathing, but your heart is racing. The game is about to start, and the lights dim, plunging the arena into darkness except for the gleaming ice and the spotlights following the players as they prepare for the opening face-off. The energy in the building shifts, becoming a living thing, vibrating with anticipation. Fans are chanting, clapping, and waving signs.

The arena feels alive, the sounds of skates slicing through ice, the thud of pucks against sticks, the roar of the crowd... it all feels so surreal, like you’re in the middle of something you’ve only ever seen from the outside.

A sudden pang of longing hits you — Nico, somewhere out there, likely focused on the game, unaware of your presence, unaware that you’re just a few feet away. You glance down at your meet-and-greet pass again, your thumb grazing the laminate. You can't shake the feeling that maybe he’s still processing the surprise, still trying to make sense of the fact that you’re here, after all these months.

Just before the game begins, you hear a voice over the loudspeaker announcing the start of the first period, and your eyes flick back to the ice. Nico’s already out there, his movements smooth and practiced, but there’s a noticeable energy to him tonight. A sharpness. 

Maybe it's the game. 

Maybe it's the surprise. 

Maybe it's you.

You watch him as he skates across the rink, focused, determined, but every once in a while, your eyes meet, even if only for a fraction of a second, and it feels like something unspoken passes between you. The connection that’s been there all along, even when you were miles apart, seems to hum in the air around you, settling into your chest like it never left.

The game plays on, the tension building as each team fights for dominance. You cheer when the Devils score, feeling your heart swell with the crowd, but your mind is elsewhere, still floating between the excitement of being here and the uncertainty of what comes next.

The final whistle blows, signalling the end of the game, and the arena erupts in cheers. You grab your things, your heartbeat quickening again as you make your way toward the meet-and-greet area. Staff direct you down a narrow hallway that leads to a small lounge area. The walls are lined with photos of past players, some famous moments frozen in time, a shrine to the history of the team. There’s a small group of fans gathered around, all eagerly chatting, waiting for their moment with the players. You stand there, trying to calm your nerves, trying to steady the rapid pace of your heart, but it’s hard. The anticipation is palpable, and you can feel it crawling under your skin, an hour ticking by as you stick close to the walls of the room - watching the fans interact with each other, excited over being able to meet their favourite players. 

And then, the door opens.

The players all trickle in, dressed in casual clothes as they find their space behind the table set up at the front of the room, the rest of the fans quickly falling into a queue as they make their way over to the table. The queue moves quickly, the staff ushering the fans along if their take over five minutes with each player, your gaze flicking over to Nico as you step up to the table, placing the jersey you bought down on the table as you look towards the player in front of you with a smile. 

“First time here?” He asks softly, your head nodding as your gaze flicks back to Nico, the captain conversing with a young fan animatedly, your own smile growing as you watch him. “Our captain does tend to capture the attention of all the pretty girls.” The player in front of you murmurs with a laugh, quickly signing before passing the jersey to the player besides him. 

“Hey, do I know you?” The next player asks, his voice clouded with a slight barely there accent as your gaze is torn away from Nico, looking down at the large player with a tilt of your head. 

“Ummm, I don’t think so.” You say softly. 

“No, I swear I’ve seen you before.” He starts again, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks over you, his eyes lighting up in recognition as he leans against the table shooting a look towards his captain before turning back to you with a knowing smile. “The lock screen.” He whispers before coughing slightly to cover up his words, signing your jersey and passing it down the line again. 

The players leans over whispering into the next mans ear, whose face lights up as he signs your jersey and passes it off again mimicking the movements of the man next to him as he continues the whispers down the line. The speed of the hockey players in surprising as they work hard to fast track you to their captain, each shooting you a shit eating grin until you stand to the left of him, his focus entirely on the young girl in front of him, the girl handing her phone off to a staff member as Nico rounds the table to stand besides her as the staff member snaps the photos, Nico giving the young girl a long hug before leaving her to run off the her parent, sliding back into his seat as he slides your jersey in front of him. 

“Thank you for coming.” Nico says softly as he searches for a spot to sign, “How’s your day been so far?” He questions, his eyes still glued on the fabric as he finds an empty spot on the large ’13’ on the back of the jersey. 

“It’s been pretty good so far, just got off a really long flight earlier today though.” You respond, your heart pounding against your chest as Nico’s pen pauses, his whole body locked tight as he takes in a deep breath, his eyes shooting up to yours as he jolts into a standing position the jersey forgotten on the table. 

“Schatz.” His voice is barely a whisper as he takes you in. 

“Hi Nico.” You smile, Nico’s hands tremble as he rounds the table, his dark eyes wide and disbelieving. For a moment, it seems like he doesn’t know what to do — whether to pull you into a hug or simply keep staring, afraid you might disappear like a dream. His lips part, but no words come out. His teammates glance over, nudging each other with knowing smiles, but the noise of the room fades to the background. It’s just you and him now.

“I can’t believe…” His voice cracks slightly as he steps closer. “You’re actually here.”

You nod, a lump forming in your throat as you take a shaky breath. “Someday came a little sooner then I thought.” You glance around the room, all the attention on the two of you as you send him a small smile and flick your head back towards the crowd. “I think you’ve still got some work to do, captain.” You tease, his eyes moving back to the group with a grimace. 

“You’ll wait?” He questions softly, slowly taking steps back around the table until he sinks in his chair, finishing off his signature before holding his jersey out for you, holding it tight as you try to pull it out of his grip. 

“I’ll wait.” You confirm, Nico only releasing the jersey once he’s sure you’re telling the truth. 

The meet-and-greet eventually winds down, and Nico finishes signing the last few jerseys and taking pictures with the remaining fans. But his eyes keep flicking back to you, checking, making sure you haven’t left. The second the event is officially over, he excuses himself from his teammates and heads straight for you, his hand already reaching for yours before he even thinks twice about it.

“Come with me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, but there’s something pleading in it, something raw.

You nod, letting him lace his fingers through yours as he tugs you toward a side door. The hallways are dimly lit, the buzz of the arena distant now as he leads you deeper into the private areas of the facility. He doesn’t say much, but his grip is firm, like he’s afraid to let go, afraid that if he does, you might disappear again.

He pushes open a door, revealing a quiet locker room, the air still carrying the faint scent of sweat and cologne. It’s empty, save for the two of you. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, the tension that’s been simmering all night boils over.

Nico turns to you, eyes dark and searching. "I thought I was dreaming when I saw you," he admits, voice husky. "I still can't believe you're here."

You take a step closer, your heart pounding. "I’m here, Nico."

A shaky breath leaves him as he lifts a hand to your face, his fingers ghosting over your cheek before trailing down to your jaw, then to your lips. He’s hesitant at first, like he’s memorising you all over again, but when you tilt your head slightly, leaning into his touch, something in him snaps.

His lips crash into yours, desperate and hungry, years of longing pouring into the kiss. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the tension in his muscles, the way he’s holding himself back, barely keeping himself in check. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and he groans into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

“God, I missed you,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming your back, pressing you even closer.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you kiss him again, letting your body tell him everything you can’t quite say yet. The weight of the past few months, the ache of missing each other, the relief of finally being together again—it all melts into this moment, into the way his hands grip your hips, the way your fingers trail down his chest.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath ragged. "I don’t want to let you go again."

You cup his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek. "Then don’t."

Nico exhales sharply, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. He kisses you again, slower this time, savouring it, like he’s trying to make up for lost time. The world outside the locker room fades away, leaving just the two of you, tangled in each other, in the heat of something that feels like coming home.

“Um… sorry to interrupt but you’re in a public space.” A nervous laugh cuts through the locker room, Nico pulling away from you with a grown - his glare flicking over to his teammate, his fingers digging into your hips in a squeeze before he releases you, tucking you against his side as he turns to face his teammate. 

“Jack —” he acknowledges, “What do you want?” He grits out, the grumpy tone surprising you - Nico was anything but grumpy and it took everything you had to stifle your laugh, Jack’s eyes shooting to yours as a mischievous grin spread on his face before he looks back towards his captain. 

“We were all going to that bar downtown but wanted to know if you would come along?” Jack starts, taking a deep breath before he adds, “we have so many questions for her.” Nico tenses again, your hand slipping into his as you shoot a smile Jack’s way. 

“We would love to meet you there — trust me I’ve got plenty of my own questions.” Jack nods slowly, hesitating until you add, “Would you mind giving us a second, we’ll be there soon.” Jack takes the suggestion with a nod slowly slipping away from the two of you. 

You don’t get a chance to fully turn towards Nico before he’s is kissing you again, deeper this time, his desperation palpable. Your fingers tighten on his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, as if you can make up for all the lost time in this moment alone.

When he finally breaks away, his forehead presses against yours, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. His hands remain locked around your waist, thumbs tracing absentminded patterns against the fabric of your shirt.

“I missed you too,” you finally whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “More than you know.” Nico exhales sharply, like he’s been holding in a breath for months, and then he’s wrapping his arms around you, hugging you tightly against his chest. 

“You left,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with something that sounds like heartbreak. “And I didn’t know if someday would ever come.”

Your eyes squeeze shut at the raw honesty in his voice. “I didn’t either,” you admit, gripping the back of his hoodie. “But I’m here now.” Nico pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, studying you as if to reassure himself you’re real. His thumb strokes your cheek, and his lips quirk into a soft, almost disbelieving smile.

“I have so many things I want to say,” he murmurs, his dark eyes locked onto yours. “But I also don’t want to waste a single second talking.”

A breathless laugh escapes you. “We have time, Nico. We have time now.” 

+

+

The bar is loud and bustling by the time you get there - Nico keeping you tucked closely into his back as he leads you over to the corner booth where his friends already gather - each of them letting out loud hollers as they spot their captain pushing through the crowds, their smiles lighting up as Nico pulls you in front of him, tucking you into the booth. 

“I’ll go get us some drinks.” He says softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head as his friends let out low whistles, your neck burning pink as you clear your throat. 

“So…” Jack starts, the smile on his face seeming contagious as it spreads across the group, all of them turning towards you. “Tell us everything — why has cap been such a sad sack since he got back from summer vacation?” Jack starts the rest of the group jumping in. 

“Oh, did he profess his love and you rejected him?” One of the players theorises your throat bobbing as you turn to the next one who speaks. 

“What about his lock screen? Is he your lock screen too?” Another player pipes in, your mouth falling open as you look around at the grown men in confusion. 

“I never knew hockey players were such gossips.” You laugh taking a breath before addressing each question individually. “I think it’s partially my fault Nico been so sad, and I didn’t reject him but I wasn’t as accepting as I should’ve been and he isn’t my lock screen and I had no idea I was his.” You answer the questions with a grimace, the players sitting back with a quick nod, accepting your answers with smiles. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” Jack interjects quickly, “I’ve never seen him so happy before.” 

“I’m glad I’m here too.” You agree as Nico reaches the table, popping your ice cold coke in front of you with a smile.

“No alcohol.” He confirms, looking at each of his teammates with a pinched expression, “I hope they weren’t too hard on you.” He says, you head shaking as you scoot over in the booth, patting the seat besides you for him to sit down. 

“Nope, just curious.” 

Nico slides in next to you, his arm immediately wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body against yours feels like coming home after a long journey. His teammates exchange knowing glances, their smiles widening.

"So, mysterious girl," one of them leans forward, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "how did you and our captain here meet?"

You glance at Nico, a silent question in your eyes. He nods, giving you permission to share. "We met last summer," you begin, a soft smile playing on your lips as the memory washes over you. "I was on vacation with my sister and her fiancé, who happens to be Nico's brother.”

"Ah, the infamous Swiss getaway," Jack chimes in, wiggling his eyebrows. "No wonder cap came back all moony-eyed and distracted."

Nico rolls his eyes, but there's no real annoyance behind it. His thumb traces lazy circles on your hip, a constant reminder of his presence. "It wasn't like that," he says, but the soft look he gives you betrays his words.

"Oh really?" another teammate chimes in. "Then why did you spend the first month back staring at your phone like it held the secrets of the universe?" A chorus of laughter erupts from the table, and you can't help but join in. Nico's cheeks flush slightly, but he doesn't deny it. Instead, he pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Can you blame me?" he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. The tenderness in his voice makes your heart skip a beat. The conversation flows easily after that, the team's curiosity about you mixing with playful jabs at Nico. You find yourself relaxing, laughing along with their jokes and sharing small anecdotes from your summer together. Nico's hand never leaves your waist, his thumb tracing small circles on your hip, a constant reminder of his presence.

“Hey, I’m just gonna go get another drink, want anything?” You question, sliding yourself over Nico’s lap, his hands holding you steady as you slip out of the booth - Nico shakes his head, motioning to his still half drunk beer he had been nursing for most of the night. You nod as you start to squeeze through the crowd, slipping your way past numerous large groups until you find a spot to brace against the bar, waiting for one of the workers to catch their attention.

As you wait at the bar, you feel the heat of the crowded room pressing in around you. The bartender is busy, so you glance over your shoulder, just barely able to spot Nico at the booth, his eyes tracking your every move. You send him a reassuring smile before turning back to the bar, where a tall man with an easy smile has taken up the space beside you.

"Hey there," the stranger greets, leaning against the bar as he gives you a once-over. "Haven't seen you around here before. You new?"

You offer a polite smile, stepping slightly away without making it obvious. "Just visiting some friends."

"Lucky friends," he says, tilting his head. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"No, thanks," you reply firmly, turning your focus back to the bar, hoping he’ll take the hint. But he doesn’t.

"Come on," he coaxes, stepping closer than necessary. "Just one drink. I don’t bite." You stiffen as his fingers brush your arm, a forced chuckle leaving his lips when you recoil. 

"I said no," you repeat, sharper this time, your patience wearing thin.

His smirk falters for a split second before returning, more insistent now. "Relax, sweetheart. No need to be so uptight. Just trying to be friendly."

"And I’m trying to be clear," you snap, shifting to put more space between you, but he moves with you, blocking your path. "Back off." Before the tension can escalate further, a strong arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you flush against a solid chest. The scent of cologne and something distinctly Nico floods your senses before you even look up to confirm who it is.

"She’s taken," Nico’s voice is firm, edged with something dark, something possessive. His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly as he levels the man with a stare that is nothing short of lethal.

The stranger raises his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips. "No offence, man. Just being friendly."

Nico doesn't respond immediately, his jaw set tight. His fingers flex against your hip, a silent claim. "Then be friendly somewhere else."

The tension in the air is thick, but the stranger chuckles, shaking his head before muttering, "Alright, alright, message received." With that, he steps back and disappears into the crowd. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, turning in Nico’s arms to face him. His eyes are still stormy, flickering with something unreadable. 

"Nico��"

"I didn’t like that," he admits bluntly, his accent thicker with emotion. "I didn’t like the way he was looking at you."

You soften, reaching up to cup his face, fingers grazing over the sharp edge of his jaw. “I think you’re overthinking things a little bit?” He exhales, his forehead dropping to rest against yours for a brief moment. 

"I know. But that doesn’t mean I have to like other guys thinking they have a chance."

Your lips twitch, amusement dancing in your eyes. "Possessive much?"

He tilts his head, a slow smirk finally breaking through his jealousy. "Maybe a little."

You press a quick kiss to his cheek, feeling the last of the tension melt from his shoulders. "Come on, captain," you tease, nodding toward the table. "Your friends are probably placing bets on whether or not you threw a punch."

“Or…” Nico starts, his gaze shooting over to the table of his teammates before locking back on yours, “We could go home?” 

A shiver runs down your spine at the word 'home'. It's a simple word, yet it carries so much weight when Nico says it. It's not just about a place; it's about the feeling of belonging, of safety, of finally being where you're supposed to be. The thought of leaving the crowded bar, of escaping the prying eyes and the boisterous laughter, and going somewhere private with Nico... it's incredibly tempting. You glance at the table. His teammates are engrossed in their own conversations, oblivious to the silent exchange happening between you and Nico. They'd probably tease him mercilessly if he left so soon, but...

"What about your friends?" you ask, even though you already know what you want.

Nico shrugs, his arm tightening around your waist. "They'll understand. Besides," he adds, a playful glint in his eyes, "they'll have plenty to gossip about tomorrow anyway." You can't help but laugh. He's right. His teammates are probably already compiling a detailed report of every interaction you've had with Nico tonight, ready to dissect it at their next practice.

"Okay," you say, a smile spreading across your face. "Let's go home."

Nico's smile mirrors yours, a mixture of relief and anticipation. He leans down, pressing a quick, lingering kiss to your lips. "Let's go," he whispers, his voice husky.

He takes your hand, and together, you navigate your way through the crowded bar, his body shielding you from the jostling crowd. As you step out into the cool night air, the city lights twinkling around you, a sense of calm washes over you. The noise and the chaos of the bar fade into the background, replaced by the quiet intimacy of being alone with Nico.

The walk back to his apartment is short, but it feels like an eternity. Every step you take brings you closer to being alone with him, closer to finally having some time to yourselves, away from the prying eyes and the curious questions.

As you reach his building, Nico pulls you close, his arm wrapping around your waist. "I've been waiting for this all night," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, his lips grazing the side of your neck.

You lean into him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Me too," you whisper back.

The elevator ride up to his apartment is filled with a charged silence. You can feel the anticipation building between you, a tangible energy that crackles in the air. When the doors finally open on his floor, Nico doesn't hesitate. He takes your hand again, leading you down the hallway to his door. The moment the door to Nico's apartment closes behind you, the last of the restraint you've both been holding onto snaps. His hands are on you in an instant, fingers digging into your hips as he presses you against the wall, his lips crashing into yours with a desperation that steals your breath away.

You fingers take tight grip of his shirt, pulling him as close as he can get as his hands leave your body, bracing himself on the wall besides your head as he lets out a choked groan. “You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured this.” He groans into your mouth, his hips trapping yours against the wall, his head pulling back for just long enough to glance down at you, his need for your reassurance gleaming in his eyes as you shoot him a soft smile. 

“I wasn’t lying last time we were together.” Nico whispers, “I would give anything to keep you with me, right here, forever.” Your eyes widen for a second, Nico’s widening as well as the words fall out of his mouth, his mouth pursing shut as he grimaces his face scrunching as the weight of what he says lingers between you. 

“Me too.” You breathe out, your hands releasing his shirt, skimming up his torso until you cup his cheeks, “I would give anything to stay, right here, forever.” You confirm, Nico traps his bottom lip between his teeth as your thumbs stroke his cheeks, his eyes squeeze shut as he drops his head against your shoulder, letting out a shuddered breath. 

“Schatzi.” He whispers as you nods, your hands running gently through his hair as you let out a soft chuckle. 

“I know.” You pulls his head away from your shoulder, gently pushing his body away from yours. “It’s my turn to take care of you this time.” You smile, taking his hand in yours as you pull him behind you down the hallway, the sight of his bedroom speeding up your steps, “clothes off.” you say quickly releasing his hand, watching as he strips the fabric off his body quickly, his cock bobbing against his abdomen as he pulls off his underwear. 

“Sit on the bed, Nico.” You say with a tilt of your head, watching as the large hockey player takes a seat on the edge of the mattress, his eyes widening as you sink to your knees in front of him, flicking your hair over your shoulder. 

“Wait— you don’t hav—” 

“I want to.” You confirm, shuffling forwards until your slip between his legs, your hands bracing on your thighs as you look up at him with a smile. 

You take a moment to admire the sight in front of you, Nico's muscular body tense with anticipation. His cock twitches under your gaze, making you smile. You love the effect you have on him, the way his body responds to your every touch.

Slowly, teasingly, you lean forward, letting your breath ghost over his hard length. Nico shivers, a soft groan escaping his lips.

"Please," he whispers, his voice rough with desire.

You don't make him wait any longer. Leaning in, you press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, tasting the bead of pre-cum that's gathered there. Nico's hips jerk at the contact, a sharp inhale filling the room.

"So good," he murmurs, his hand coming to rest gently on your head, not pushing, just a reassuring presence. “Please.” He pleads again, “I’ll beg if you want me to.” Ignoring his words you take your time, you lick a stripe up the underside of his cock, savouring the way it throbs under your tongue. Nico's praise continues, spurring you on, making you feel powerful and wanted.

"Your mouth is incredible," he breathes as you finally take him into your mouth, your lips stretching around his girth. "So hot, so tight." His hands move slowly, gathering your hair away from your face, his grip ever so gentle as he stops it from getting in your way.

You moan your approval, the sound vibrating around his cock, and you can feel him shudder. Slowly, you start to move, bobbing your head up and down, taking him deeper with every pass. Your hands find their way to his thighs, feeling the muscles bunch and flex under your touch.

"Fuck, just like that," Nico encourages, his voice strained. "You're doing so well, Schatzi.”

His praise fills you with warmth, making you want to please him even more. You redouble your efforts, using every trick you know to make him feel good. You swirl your tongue around his head, you hollow your cheeks for suction, you even let him slip into your throat, relishing the choked moan it earns you.

“Wait...” He yelps, you mouth pausing on his, Nicos hands slipping under your arms as he pulls you off of him and into a standing position, his pupils blown out as he looks down at you. “I need to be inside of you.” He groans, his hands tucking your hair behind your ears as you nod. 

“I don’t have a condom.” He says quickly as he watches you undo the button on your pants, sliding them down your legs, your eyes flicking back up to his as you take in his panic. “I didn’t think I was going to need one.” He says with a tight laugh, his hand raising to rub at the back of his neck. 

You smile as your raise your brows, kicking your pants away as you raise your hands to the hem of your body suit, pulling it up and over your head once you undo the clasps, your bralette catching all of Nico’s attention, another choked groan leaving his mouth at the sight of you in your underwear. 

“Didn’t you hear me?” He continues, a frown forming on his face as his eyes follow your motions, your hands pulling the bralette over your head, your boobs bouncing free of their confines, your hands slipping down to the edges of your panties next. 

“I heard you.” You confirm, sliding your cotton underwear down your legs, a teasing smile on your face as you add, “I just don’t care.” 

“But we should use protection.” Nico says in confusion, his head tilting as you walk towards his bed, perching down on the edge as you look up at him. 

“We should.” You agree, “But we don’t have any, and I’m not about to tell you to stop.” You confirm, Nico’s mouth falling open in surprise, “I have an IUD, and I assume we’re both clean.” You say, leaning back on your hands as you watching Nico’s gaze trail across your body. He nods quickly at your words, hesitating for another moment as you slide further back onto his mattress, opening your arms to him as you fall onto your back. 

“Then fuck me like you mean it.” You coo, Nico not wasting time in delving onto the mattress on top of you.

Nico's eyes darken with lust at your words, and he doesn't hesitate any longer. He settles himself between your legs, his cock hot and hard against your inner thigh.

"You're sure?" he asks one last time, needing to hear you say it.

In response, you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I've never been more sure of anything," you say, your voice thick with desire. That's all the encouragement he needs. With a groan, he lines himself up with your entrance and pushes inside. You're wet and ready for him, but the stretch still burns. In the best way.

"Oh, Schatzi," Nico breathes, his forehead dropping to yours. "You feel incredible. Just like I remember.” He pulls out slowly, then thrusts back in, making both of you moan.

“Mhm,” you encourage, your hands finding purchase on the muscles of his back. "Just like that. Don't hold back." Nico nods, his hips starting to move with purpose. Each thrust is deep and powerful, his pelvis grinding against your clit just right. It's perfection, and your moans echo around the room, mixing with his.

"More," you beg, your nails digging into his skin. "Harder. I need more."

"So greedy," Nico chuckles, his speed increasing. The bed creaks under the force of his thrusts, and the sound is almost as erotic as the wet slap of flesh against flesh.

"Only for you," you manage to pant out, the coiling tension in your gut making it hard to think, let alone speak.

"Good," Nico growls, his hips moving at a punishing pace now. "You're mine, aren't you? This pussy is all mine."

"Yours," you agree shamelessly. "All yours." It's the truth. In this moment, you are entirely his. 

"This is going to be quick," he warns, his voice guttural. “I’ve been waiting too long.”  You can only nod frantically, your arms shaking as you try to hold yourself up on your elbows, your fingers linking with his as he leans down to catch your lips again. Nico's hands grip yours bruisingly tight, holding you still as he slams into you again and again.

“Come for me, Nico.” You whisper against his mouth, your pussy squeezing so tightly against him, his hips stutter. 

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath, closing his eyes as he drops his head to your shoulder, his hips still moving as he shakes his head, holding off his orgasm. “I think I’m in love with you.” He whispers against the soft skin of your shoulder, his teeth digging into the skin there as he finds his release - one of your hands releasing his as your run your fingers through his hair, whispering soft praise in his ear as you collapse against the mattress, Nico still pressed tightly against you as he lets out a shaky breath. 

“I just said that out loud, didn’t I?” Nico questions brings a bubble of laughter out of your mouth, yours hands still smoothing against his hair as you feels his hips shift, his dick sliding out of you as he rolls off your body, his cheeks flushed a bright red as he throws his arm over his face. 

“You did.” You confirm, letting out another small laugh as you turn on your side to face him, sliding his sheet up and over both your bodies as you tug on his arm, pulling it away from his face with a lot of effort. “I think I’m in love with you too.” You whisper, as you lean forwards to press a soft kiss to his temple before sliding off the mattress, gliding into the bathroom. 

“You can’t just drop that bomb and then leave me here.” He says through a groan, tuning his head against his bed to watch you walk away.  His big brown eyes pleading as you turn in the doorway to his ensuite. 

Those stupid big brown eyes. 

“Then come after me.” You say letting out a soft squeal as Nico launches himself off the mattress after you, the man needing no more of an invitation to follow behind you. 

“I’m grateful for someday.” Nico whispers as he tugs you under the hot spray of the shower, his arms wrapped around your waist as the water drenches your bodies, washing the smell of sex and sweat off both of you. “I want someday to last for as long as it can.” He continues, one arm stay wrapped around you as he reaches for the loofa. 

“Someday starts now.” You confirm - turning in his arms to look up at him, his eyes shining as he catches your lips with his, your bodies pressed impossibly close as you add, “Someday can last for as long as we want it to.” 

[jiminomenon]

money talks

pairing: jang wonyoung x female reader

tag(s): ceo! wonyoung, sugar mommy! wonyoung, sugar baby! reader, power dynamics, wonielle makes an appearance

word count: 4.4k

summary: y/n sneaks into an exclusive gala, where she unexpectedly saves wonyoung, a powerful ceo, from a heated confrontation. this chance encounter leads to a life-changing sugar baby arrangement that pulls y/n into a world of luxury and complexity. as their relationship deepens, the lines between business and emotion blur, with wonyoung’s charm and generosity making it harder for y/n to see their arrangement as purely transactional, and both women find themselves drawn to each other in ways they never expected.

a/n: there’s 200 of you now which is insane 🤯 i’m honestly quite overwhelmed bc where on earth did you guys come from? 🤨 i didn’t even have time to write smth for my 100 followers special so take sugar mommy! wonyoung as a treat. lowkey kinda gave up in the end tho but hope you guys enjoy lmfao, happy reading 🎀✨

the grand ballroom of the city’s most exclusive hotel sparkled under the glow of crystal chandeliers. the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the sound of clinking champagne glasses. the room was filled with the city’s elite—celebrities, business moguls, and socialites mingling effortlessly, their laughter echoing off the marble floors. it was the kind of event y/n could only dream of attending, and yet, here she was, standing awkwardly in the corner, clutching a glass of champagne she didn’t dare drink.

“this was a terrible idea,” y/n muttered under her breath, glancing around nervously. her friends, hanni and yunjin, had convinced her to sneak into the gala, promising it would be a night to remember. they’d borrowed dresses from a thrift store, done their makeup in the back of an uber, and somehow managed to slip past security by blending in with a group of influencers. but now, as y/n scanned the crowd, she realized she’d lost sight of her friends entirely.

“great,” she sighed, setting her untouched champagne on a passing waiter’s tray. “just great.”

she wandered through the crowd, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. the opulence of the event was overwhelming—gold-trimmed tables, towering floral arrangements, and waiters circulating with trays of caviar and truffles. y/n felt like a fraud, her thrift store dress suddenly feeling cheap and out of place. she was about to turn around and head for the exit when a commotion caught her attention.

near the edge of the room, partially hidden by a towering potted plant, stood a woman y/n recognized immediately. it was jang wonyoung, the ceo of starship industries and one of the most powerful women in the city. she was dressed in a sleek, tailored suit, her sharp features illuminated by the soft glow of the chandeliers. but what caught y/n’s attention was the tension in the air. wonyoung was speaking to a younger man, her expression cold and unreadable.

“you’re boring,” wonyoung said, her voice low but cutting. “i don’t have time for boring.”

the man’s face twisted in anger, his hands clenching into fists. “you think you can just toss me aside like that? after everything i’ve done for you?”

wonyoung raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “done for me? please. you’ve done nothing but drain my bank account and waste my time.”

the man’s anger boiled over, and he lunged at her, grabbing her arm roughly. y/n’s heart leapt into her throat. without thinking, she rushed forward, grabbing the man’s shoulder and pulling him away.

“hey!” y/n snapped, her voice shaking but firm. “let her go!”

the man turned to glare at her, his grip on wonyoung loosening. “who the hell are you?”

“someone who doesn’t think it’s okay to put your hands on someone else,” y/n shot back, stepping between him and wonyoung. her heart was pounding, but she stood her ground, her fists clenched at her sides.

the man hesitated, his eyes darting between y/n and wonyoung. for a moment, it looked like he might argue, but then he scoffed, releasing wonyoung’s arm with a rough shove. “whatever. she’s not worth it anyway.”

the man stormed off, leaving y/n and wonyoung alone. y/n turned to wonyoung, her breath coming in short gasps. “are you okay?”

wonyoung studied her with an unreadable expression, her sharp eyes scanning y/n’s face. “i’m fine,” she said finally, her voice calm and measured. “but you… you’re not supposed to be here, are you?”

y/n’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “i—uh—”

before she could stammer out an explanation, a security guard appeared, his walkie-talkie crackling as he spoke into it. “we found her,” he said, his voice gruff and authoritative. he turned to y/n, his expression stern. “you’re coming with me.”

y/n’s stomach dropped. this was it. she was going to be thrown out, humiliated in front of everyone. the guard grabbed her arm, his grip firm and unyielding. “let’s go.”

“wait—” y/n started, but the guard cut her off.

“no excuses. you’re trespassing, and you’re coming with me.”

y/n’s heart raced as the guard began to drag her away, the eyes of the crowd starting to turn toward the commotion. she felt a wave of panic wash over her, her mind scrambling for a way out. but before the guard could take more than a few steps, a voice cut through the noise like a blade.

“let her go.”

the guard froze, turning to see wonyoung standing there, her arms crossed and her expression icy. “m-ms. jang, this woman is trespassing. i’m just doing my job.”

“and your job,” wonyoung said, her voice low and dangerous, “is to listen to me when i tell you to let her go.”

the guard hesitated, his grip on y/n loosening slightly. “with all due respect, ms. jang, she’s not on the guest list. i have to remove her.”

wonyoung stepped closer, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. she tilted her head, a sly smile playing on her lips. “are you really going to argue with me about this? in front of all these people?” the guard glanced around, noticing the curious stares of the guests. he shifted uncomfortably, his confidence wavering. “i… i’m just following protocol.”

“protocol?” wonyoung repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “let me make this simple for you. she’s with me. she’s my plus one. and if you don’t let her go right now, i’ll make sure you’re looking for a new job tomorrow. understood?”

the guard’s face paled, and he immediately released y/n’s arm, stepping back. “of course, ms. jang. my apologies.”

wonyoung’s smile widened, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “good. now, if you’ll excuse us.”

the guard nodded quickly, muttering another apology before retreating into the crowd. y/n stared at wonyoung, her mind reeling. ���why did you do that?”

wonyoung turned to her, her expression softening. “because you just saved me from a very unpleasant situation. consider it a thank you.”

y/n blinked, still trying to process what had just happened. “i… you’re welcome?”

wonyoung chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down y/n’s spine. “you’re interesting. most people wouldn’t have stepped in like that.”

“i couldn’t just stand there and do nothing,” y/n said, her voice firm despite the nervous flutter in her chest.

wonyoung tilted her head, studying y/n with a curious expression. “what’s your name?”

“y/n.”

“y/n,” wonyoung repeated, as if testing the sound of it. she stepped closer, her gaze intense. “tell me, y/n… how would you like to be my new sugar baby?”

y/n’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open in shock. “i—what?”

wonyoung’s smirk widened, her confidence unwavering. “you heard me. i’m in need of someone… interesting. and you’ve just proven yourself to be exactly that.” she reached out, brushing a strand of hair from y/n’s face, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through y/n’s body. “so, what do you say?”

y/n’s mind raced, her heart pounding in her chest. this was insane. completely, utterly insane. but as she looked into wonyoung’s sharp, calculating eyes, she realized she didn’t have it in her to say no.

“okay,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “i’ll do it.”

wonyoung’s smile was triumphant, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “good. you won’t regret it.”

the morning after the gala, y/n woke up in a daze, her mind still reeling from the whirlwind of events. wonyoung had given her a ride home in her sleek black car, the interior smelling of leather and expensive perfume. before dropping her off, wonyoung had handed her a business card with an address and a time scribbled on the back.

“be here at 8 pm sharp,” wonyoung had said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “don’t be late.”

now, as y/n stood in front of the towering skyscraper that housed wonyoung’s penthouse, she felt a mix of nerves and excitement. she smoothed down the front of her dress—a simple black number she’d borrowed from mina—and took a deep breath before stepping into the lobby.

the doorman greeted her with a polite nod. “miss y/n? ms. jang is expecting you. take the private elevator to the top floor.”

y/n nodded, her heart pounding as she stepped into the elevator. the ride up was smooth and silent, the glass walls offering a breathtaking view of the city lights. when the doors slid open, she was greeted by the sight of wonyoung’s penthouse—a sprawling, minimalist space filled with floor-to-ceiling windows, modern art, and sleek furniture.

wonyoung stood by the window, a glass of wine in her hand. she turned as y/n stepped out of the elevator, a small smile playing on her lips. “you’re right on time. i like that.”

“i didn’t want to keep you waiting,” y/n said, her voice slightly shaky.

wonyoung gestured for her to come closer. “relax. you’re not here for an interview. well, not exactly.”

y/n walked over, her eyes darting around the room. “this place is… incredible.”

“it’s home,” wonyoung said with a shrug, as if it were nothing. she handed y/n a glass of wine, their fingers brushing briefly. “sit. we have some things to discuss.”

y/n sat down on the plush white sofa, her hands clutching the glass tightly. wonyoung took a seat across from her, crossing her legs elegantly. she reached for a sleek black folder on the coffee table and slid it toward y/n.

“this,” wonyoung said, “is your contract.”

y/n’s eyes widened. “contract?”

“of course,” wonyoung said, her tone matter-of-fact. “this is a business arrangement, after all. i need to make sure we’re both on the same page.”

y/n opened the folder, her eyes scanning the neatly typed pages. the terms were lavish—generous monthly allowance, a luxury apartment, access to wonyoung’s world—but there were also rules. y/n would be expected to accompany wonyoung to events, be available when needed, and maintain a certain level of discretion.

“this is… a lot,” y/n said, her voice barely above a whisper.

wonyoung leaned forward, her gaze intense. “it’s a fair deal. you get financial security, and i get… companionship. someone interesting. someone who isn’t afraid to stand up for me.”

y/n looked up, meeting wonyoung’s eyes. “and if i say no?”

wonyoung smirked. “you won’t.”

y/n hesitated, her mind racing. this was insane. completely, utterly insane. but as she looked around the penthouse, at the life wonyoung was offering her, she realized she didn’t have it in her to say no.

“okay,” she said finally, her voice steady. “i’ll do it.”

wonyoung’s smile was triumphant. “good. i knew you’d see it my way.” she reached for a pen and handed it to y/n. “sign here.”

y/n took the pen, her hand trembling slightly as she signed her name. when she was done, wonyoung took the contract and set it aside, her expression softening.

“now that that’s out of the way,” wonyoung said, standing up, “let’s celebrate. i have reservations at a place i think you’ll like.”

y/n blinked. “right now?”

“why not?” wonyoung said, her tone playful. “consider it your first official outing as my sugar baby.”

the restaurant was everything y/n had imagined and more—a Michelin-starred establishment with dim lighting, soft music, and a menu filled with dishes she couldn’t pronounce. wonyoung ordered for both of them, her confidence effortless as she chatted with the waiter.

“you’re not allergic to anything, are you?” wonyoung asked, glancing at y/n.

“no,” y/n said, shaking her head. “but i’ve never been to a place like this before.”

wonyoung smirked. “get used to it. this is your life now.”

the food arrived, each course more exquisite than the last. y/n tried to keep up with wonyoung’s easy conversation, but she couldn’t help feeling out of place. wonyoung noticed, her sharp eyes catching every nervous fidget.

“relax,” wonyoung said, reaching across the table to touch y/n’s hand. “you’re doing fine.”

y/n’s breath hitched at the contact, her cheeks flushing. “it’s just… a lot to take in.”

wonyoung’s smile was soft, almost tender. “i know. but you’ll get used to it. and i’ll be here to guide you.”

the rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter, wine, and stolen glances. by the time they left the restaurant, y/n felt a little more at ease, though the weight of her new reality still lingered.

as they stepped into the cool night air, wonyoung turned to y/n, her expression unreadable. “you did well tonight.”

“thanks,” y/n said, her voice barely above a whisper. “i’m glad i didn’t embarrass you.”

wonyoung chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down y/n’s spine. “you could never embarrass me. in fact, i think you might just be exactly what i’ve been looking for.”

y/n’s heart skipped a beat, her mind racing with possibilities. as wonyoung’s driver pulled up to the curb, y/n realized that her life was about to change in ways she couldn’t even imagine.

the weeks that followed the signing of the contract were a whirlwind of luxury and excess. y/n moved into a sleek, modern apartment in one of the city’s most exclusive neighborhoods, courtesy of wonyoung. the space was everything she could have dreamed of—floor-to-ceiling windows, a marble kitchen, and a walk-in closet filled with designer clothes. it was a far cry from her cramped, cluttered apartment, and yet, y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong.

wonyoung had been true to her word, taking y/n to high-profile events and introducing her to a world she’d only ever seen in magazines. there were galas, charity auctions, and private parties, each more extravagant than the last. y/n learned to navigate the social scene with a practiced smile, her hand always resting lightly on wonyoung’s arm. she was the perfect accessory—beautiful, poised, and just interesting enough to keep wonyoung entertained.

but beneath the surface, y/n was struggling. the pressure to maintain the image wonyoung expected was exhausting. she spent hours practicing her posture, memorizing the names of influential people, and perfecting the art of small talk. she felt like an imposter, constantly waiting for someone to expose her as a fraud.

one evening, wonyoung took y/n to an art gallery opening, the kind of event where the champagne flowed freely and the art was secondary to the socializing. y/n wore a stunning emerald green dress that wonyoung had picked out for her, the fabric clinging to her curves in all the right places. she felt beautiful, but the weight of wonyoung’s expectations was heavy on her shoulders.

“remember,” wonyoung had said as they stepped out of the car, “smile, but don’t overdo it. you’re here to impress, not to blend in.”

y/n nodded, her stomach churning with nerves. she followed wonyoung into the gallery, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. the room was filled with the city’s elite, their laughter and chatter creating a low hum of energy. wonyoung moved through the crowd with ease, her presence commanding attention wherever she went.

“ms. jang!” a man in a tailored suit greeted them, his smile wide and practiced. “it’s been too long. and who is this lovely creature?”

“this is y/n,” wonyoung said, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “my… companion.”

the man’s eyebrows rose, his gaze flickering between wonyoung and y/n. “charmed,” he said, taking y/n’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “any companion of ms. jang’s is a friend of mine.”

y/n forced a smile, her cheeks burning. she hated the way people looked at her, like she was a shiny new toy wonyoung had acquired. but she kept her composure, nodding politely as the man launched into a monologue about the art on display.

as the night wore on, y/n found herself growing more comfortable. she even managed to hold her own in a conversation with a well-known art critic, surprising herself with how much she knew about the pieces on display. wonyoung watched her from across the room, a small smile playing on her lips.

“you did well tonight,” wonyoung said later, as they stepped into the car. “i’m impressed.”

y/n’s heart swelled with pride, but she quickly pushed the feeling down. “thanks. i’m just trying to keep up.”

wonyoung chuckled, the sound low and warm. “you’re doing more than keeping up. you’re thriving.”

a few days later, wonyoung took y/n to a charity gala at a luxury hotel. the event was even more extravagant than the gallery opening, with crystal chandeliers, live music, and a guest list that included some of the most powerful people in the city. y/n wore a sleek black gown, her hair styled in loose waves that cascaded down her back. she felt like a princess, but the illusion was shattered the moment she met *her*.

“well, well,” a voice purred from behind y/n. “if it isn’t the new girl.”

y/n turned to see a woman standing there, her golden dress hugging her figure like a second skin. she was stunning, with soft features but a confidence that made y/n feel instantly inferior. the woman’s long, dark hair framed her face perfectly, and her gentle eyes sparkled with an unreadable intensity. she smiled—a smile that felt effortless, almost intimidating in its beauty.

“i’m sorry,” y/n said, forcing a polite smile. “do i know you?”

the woman laughed, the sound cold and mocking. “oh, honey, you don’t need to know me. i know *you*. you’re wonyoung’s latest little project, aren’t you?”

y/n’s smile faltered, her stomach twisting into knots. “i… i don’t know what you mean.”

“don’t play dumb,” the woman said, stepping closer. “i was in your shoes once. wonyoung’s sugar baby, the center of her world… until she got bored and tossed me aside. and trust me, she *will* get bored. it’s only a matter of time.”

y/n’s heart raced, her mind reeling. she wanted to argue, to defend wonyoung, but the woman’s words struck a nerve. before she could respond, wonyoung appeared at her side, her expression icy.

“danielle,” wonyoung said, her voice sharp. “i see you’ve met y/n.”

the woman—danielle—smirked, her eyes glinting with malice. “i was just welcoming her to the club. you know, giving her a heads-up about how this little arrangement of yours usually ends.”

wonyoung’s jaw tightened, her hand resting possessively on y/n’s waist. “y/n is different. and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of her way.”

danielle laughed, but there was no humor in it. “we’ll see how long that lasts.” with that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd.

y/n felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her. she turned to wonyoung, her voice trembling. “is that true? will you just… get bored of me?”

wonyoung’s expression softened, her hand moving to cup y/n’s cheek. “don’t listen to her. she’s bitter and jealous. you’re not like her. you’re… different.”

y/n wanted to believe her, but the doubt had already taken root. as the night went on, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was just another replaceable part of wonyoung’s world.

months had passed since y/n signed the contract, and her life had become a carefully curated blend of luxury and performance. she attended events with wonyoung, played the part of the perfect companion, and tried to ignore the growing sense of emptiness inside her. the apartment, the clothes, the attention—it was everything she’d ever wanted, and yet, it felt like she was living someone else’s life.

the turning point came on a rainy evening, after a particularly draining charity gala. y/n had spent the night smiling and nodding, her cheeks aching from the effort. wonyoung had been her usual composed self, commanding the room with ease, but y/n had noticed the way her eyes lingered on danielle, who had been there with a new sugar mommy. the sight had stirred something ugly in y/n’s chest—a mix of jealousy, insecurity, and resentment.

now, back at wonyoung’s penthouse, y/n stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the city lights. the rain streaked down the glass, distorting the view, and she felt like she was looking at her own reflection—blurred, fragmented, and unrecognizable.

“you’ve been quiet tonight,” wonyoung said, her voice cutting through the silence. she stood a few feet away, a glass of wine in her hand. “is something wrong?”

y/n turned to face her, her arms crossed over her chest. “do you ever get tired of this?”

wonyoung raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. “tired of what?”

“this,” y/n said, gesturing vaguely at the room. “the parties, the pretending, the… the performance. don’t you ever feel like it’s all just… empty?”

wonyoung’s lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “it’s part of the life we’ve chosen. you knew that when you signed the contract.”

“did i?” y/n shot back, her voice rising. “because i don’t think i really understood what i was getting into. i didn’t realize i’d have to give up everything—my friends, my independence, my sense of self—just to be your perfect little accessory.”

wonyoung’s smile faded, her expression hardening. “you’re not an accessory, y/n. you’re my companion. my partner. i’ve given you everything you could ever want.”

“except the truth,” y/n said, her voice trembling. “except the freedom to be myself. i feel like i’m losing who i am, wonyoung. and i don’t know if it’s worth it anymore.”

there was a long silence, the weight of y/n’s words hanging heavy in the air. wonyoung set her glass down on the coffee table, her movements deliberate. when she finally spoke, her voice was low and measured.

“what are you saying, y/n?”

y/n took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. “i’m saying… i can’t keep doing this. i can’t keep pretending to be someone i’m not. i need to figure out who i am outside of this… this arrangement.”

wonyoung’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something—anger? hurt?—crossing her face. “so that’s it? you’re just going to walk away?”

“i don’t know,” y/n admitted, her voice breaking. “but i can’t keep living like this. i need… i need to find myself again.”

wonyoung stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. then, to y/n’s surprise, she let out a soft, bitter laugh. “you think i don’t know what that feels like? to lose yourself?”

y/n blinked, caught off guard. “what do you mean?”

wonyoung turned away, her gaze fixed on the city lights outside. “do you think i’ve always been like this? respected, controlled, untouchable? i wasn’t always this person, y/n. i had to become her. i had to build this… this fortress around myself to survive in this world. and sometimes, even now, i feel like i’m drowning.”

y/n’s anger faltered, replaced by a pang of sympathy. “wonyoung…”

“i didn’t expect you,” wonyoung continued, her voice softer now. “i didn’t expect to feel… anything. but you… you’re different. you’re not like the others. you’re not afraid to challenge me, to push back. and for the first time in a long time, i felt like maybe… maybe i didn’t have to be alone.”

y/n’s breath caught in her throat, her heart aching at the vulnerability in wonyoung’s voice. “wonyoung…”

wonyoung turned to face her, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “i don’t want to lose you, y/n. but i also don’t want to trap you. if you need to leave… if you need to find yourself… i won’t stop you. but i want you to know that what i feel for you… it’s real. it’s not part of the arrangement. it’s just… you.”

y/n felt tears welling up in her own eyes, the weight of wonyoung’s confession settling over her like a warm blanket. “i don’t know what to say.”

“you don’t have to say anything,” wonyoung said, her voice barely above a whisper. “just… think about it. and whatever you decide, i’ll respect it.”

y/n swallowed hard, staring at wonyoung—the woman who had, against all odds, become so much more than just a contract. she had been so sure that leaving was the only way to find herself again, but now, looking at wonyoung’s raw honesty, she wasn’t so sure anymore. maybe she had been looking at this all wrong.

maybe she wasn’t losing herself—maybe she had just been too scared to admit that she had already found something worth holding onto.

a shaky breath escaped her lips. “i don’t want to leave.”

wonyoung’s eyes widened slightly, the first crack in her composed mask. “you don’t?”

y/n shook her head, stepping closer. “no. i just… i don’t want this to be fake. i don’t want to be with you because of a contract. i want to be with you because it’s real.”

wonyoung exhaled, almost like she had been holding her breath, before a small, hopeful smile tugged at her lips. “then let’s make it real.”

y/n’s heart pounded. “what do you mean?”

wonyoung reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “no more contract. no more pretending. just you and me, figuring it out… together.”

y/n stared at her, searching for any hesitation, but all she saw was sincerity. warmth spread through her chest, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could breathe. she squeezed wonyoung’s hand, a slow smile forming on her lips.

“together,” she agreed.

wonyoung let out a soft laugh, her eyes shimmering. “you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to hear that.

y/n chuckled, pulling her closer. “well, you’re going to have to wait a little longer… because i’m going to kiss you first.”

wonyoung’s breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. “then what are you waiting for?”

y/n didn’t need to be told twice. she closed the distance between them, capturing wonyoung’s lips in a kiss that was slow, deep, and full of everything they had been too afraid to say.

this time, there were no contracts, no expectations—just them.

[00valentina-writes00]

I just thought about this and thought it was so fuckin cute. Ambessa (I’m so obsessed with her I’m sorry) x reader who likes to play in her hair? Just running her fingers through it and maybe styling it just to take it out later.

I love your work so much, you’re so talented but remember to take breaks every now and then. As usual, thank you. 🖤🖤🖤

This is really cute ngl-

LITTLE rant rq: I love running my hands through peoples hair, or just messing with it in general. It’s SO SO SO- comforting and fun to do. Literally I could sit next to someone for hours with a brush and just style their hair if they would let me.

✞⛧Tresses of Power and Softness✞⛧

Warnings: None! Just fluff

You’ve always found solace in the simple things—the quiet moments, the stillness, the warmth. And tonight, that solace comes in the form of Ambessa Medarda. The cold, commanding warlord who takes what she wants and leaves no room for weakness. Tonight, however, she’s different. Tonight, you see her as she rarely allows anyone else to: soft, vulnerable, and still.

Ambessa sits in front of you, her powerful frame a mix of elegance and strength. The dim light from the candles flickers in her sharp eyes, casting shadows that accentuate the sculpted lines of her face. You sit behind her, your knees grazing the back of her chair, fingers poised to do what feels natural in this moment—run through her hair.

Her hair is short, practical, waves of dark, silky locks that are streaked with silver at the temples, adding a depth to the dark hue. You love it. Love how it feels between your fingers, the texture different from the severity of her usual demeanor. With every brush of your hand through it, you can feel her tension slowly fade away.

You start gently, your fingers tracing along the lines of her scalp, carefully moving through the short waves. Ambessa doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. She simply leans back, resting her head on your chest, allowing you to touch her in this intimate way.

“Do you always find such quiet joy in the small things?” Ambessa’s voice is low, gravelly, as though she’s still adjusting to the feeling of relaxation. You notice the slight amusement in her tone, but there’s a softness there, too. An openness.

You smile, shifting your fingers so they begin to weave into her hair. “Maybe,” you answer, your voice equally soft. “It’s just… nice, you know? The way it feels to be here, with you.”

She hums in response, and you continue your slow, deliberate movements. You gather sections of her hair, carefully styling it the way you like it, always with an eye toward the moment you’ll undo it. She lets you, never questioning your hands.

The first time you did this, you weren’t sure what to expect. It felt intimate—too intimate. Yet, when you brushed your fingers through her hair, you realized just how human she could be. It was an act of care, and something about her letting you do it spoke volumes. Ambessa, who commands armies, who runs Noxus with a firm hand, submitting to this small act of affection.

Ambessa shifts slightly, one of her strong hands resting on your thigh, fingers curling lightly, as if to anchor herself in this moment. The contrast between the weight of her touch and the tenderness in the way she allows you to handle her hair is striking, and you can’t help but smile to yourself.

“I never thought I’d be in a position to trust anyone with something so… trivial,” Ambessa murmurs, her voice barely a whisper, but her words weigh heavily in the air. “But you,” she pauses, her breath steadying, “you’ve found a way.”

You pause, your fingers stilling for a brief moment, feeling the pulse of her breath beneath your touch. There’s something almost sacred about this moment, something you both know but neither of you speak aloud. Trust. Vulnerability. It’s a rare thing in the world of power she inhabits, and yet here she is, letting you care for her in this simple, quiet way.

It doesn’t escape you how different she is when she’s with you, how much more human, how much more like the woman you’ve come to love. A woman who isn’t just a warlord or a general, but someone who can relax in your presence, allow herself to be touched without the weight of expectations.

You resume your work, weaving another section of hair through your fingers, shaping it and twisting it gently. It’s almost a game at this point—styling her hair and taking it out again, a cycle that’s as soothing to you as it seems to be to her.

“Why do you like it?” Ambessa asks suddenly, her tone still soft but curious. Her voice holds an edge of something—something deeper than her usual tactician’s precision.

You smile, your fingers catching a stray lock of hair and carefully smoothing it back into place. “I like the way it feels,” you say, your voice low and unhurried. “I like how it looks when it’s styled, but I like undoing it, too. It’s… comforting, I suppose. To touch you in a way that doesn’t demand anything.”

Ambessa is quiet for a moment, and you feel her muscles, once stiff and tense, gradually soften beneath your hands. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter than before, touched with something rare—vulnerability.

“I didn’t think I could let anyone in like this,” she admits, her fingers tightening slightly on your thigh. “I’ve spent so long keeping others at arm’s length.”

“I know,” you reply softly, not needing to explain. She has always been a fortress, and perhaps that’s part of why you love her so much—the complexity of the woman who holds the world in her hands but, with you, lets it go, if only for a little while.

You twist her hair into another small braid, each movement slow, deliberate, mindful of the way she reacts to your touch. Her breathing has evened out, a sign that she’s not only relaxed but letting herself be cared for.

You finish the braid, pulling it gently through her fingers, watching as she examines it. She turns her head slightly, peering into the reflection in the polished metal of a nearby desk. Her eyes narrow as she inspects the work, the edges of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“It’s… fine,” she says after a beat, her voice soft but laced with approval.

You laugh quietly, brushing your fingers over the braid one more time. “Fine, huh? Well, I think it looks good.”

Ambessa’s lips curl into a faint, knowing smile. “You always think the best of your work.”

You nod, pleased by her rare acknowledgment, but then you let your fingers fall through the braid, undoing the delicate strands, letting the lock of hair fall loose once again.

Ambessa watches you, unbothered by the undone work, a sense of ease settling into her posture. It’s as if the act of letting you touch her hair and undo what you’ve done is as much a part of the ritual as anything else.

“You know,” she says, her tone shifting back to something teasing, “you could do this forever, and I’d still find a way to let you. I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse, but I’m starting to think it’s both.”

You laugh again, the sound light and easy. There’s a comfort in it, a softness that you haven’t seen from her very often. She’s a woman of power, of wars and strategy, but with you, in these moments, she lets herself be something else.

And for you, that’s enough. That’s everything.

As you run your fingers through her hair once more, styling and undoing, she leans back into you, a quiet contentment radiating from her. The rest of the world could be falling apart, but in this moment, it doesn’t matter.

Ambessa Medarda is yours, in a way that few can claim. Strong, untouchable, but here, in your arms, she is something else. Vulnerable. Trusting. And utterly, profoundly yours.

[narcissisticsmoker]

The bass pounds, deep and steady, vibrating through my ribs, sinking into my bloodstream like a drug. The heat of the club wraps around me, thick with sweat, smoke, and sin. Lights flicker, casting bodies into flashes of red and blue, shadows dancing against the walls. But none of it matters.

Because I see her.

She leans against the bar, one leg crossed over the other, a glass in her hand filled with something dark and smooth. Her lips press against the rim, sipping slow, savoring, like she has all the time in the world. Pale blue eyes flicker under the shifting lights, cold and unreadable, but they find me. They hold me. They burn into me.

She knows.

She watches as I move, pushing through the bodies, deliberate and unhurried. Letting her take me in. Letting her feel the weight of my presence before I even reach her. She doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch. That mouth curves, just slightly, enough to send a sharp pulse of need straight to my core.

I stop close. Close enough to breathe her in, the scent of something rich and intoxicating.

“Having fun?” My voice is low, meant just for her.

She tilts her head, one perfect brow lifting. “Could be better.”

I smirk. My fingers ghost over her waist as I reach past her for my drink. Just a brush, the lightest touch, but I feel the way she tenses. I hear the small catch of her breath.

I set my glass down and take her hand. No hesitation. No question. Just taking. She lets me. Her fingers curl around mine, grip firm, nails biting into my palm. I lead her through the crowd, into the heat, into the music, into me.

Her body presses against mine, fitting like she was made for this, for me. She moves with precision, rolling her hips, her thigh slipping between my legs, the friction sharp and electric. My grip tightens on her waist, fingers digging into soft fabric, soft skin, pulling her even closer.

She tilts her head back, throat exposed, eyes half-lidded. Daring me. Begging me.

I lean in, my lips grazing the shell of her ear. “You taste like trouble.” My voice is rough, thick with restraint.

She laughs, breathless, nails dragging over my shoulders, down my spine. A warning. A promise.

I trail my hand up her back, curling my fingers around the nape of her neck, tilting her face toward mine. Her breath is warm, lips parted, close enough that I could take what I want.

But I don’t.

Not yet.

I make her wait. Make her feel the ache, the tension, the hunger clawing between us. Her nails dig in deeper, body pressing harder, desperate for the next move.

She doesn’t realize she’s already mine.

And I will devour her.

[just-shairahhh]

Wings and Venom; Part II

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader.

Part: Two of (Undecided Yet).

A/N: Hi, I'm so excited for this! I really, really hope you guys like it. I did go a little overboard. The word count on it is 7K words. It is however, a slow build romance. So, I hope you read through. And well, Happy Reading!

Part One

The Slytherin common room was quieter than usual, the crackling fire the only sound in the dimly lit space. A few students were scattered around the room; some casually flipping through their reading material, others sloppily scribbling in their parchments, finishing their homework on the last minute. Mattheo Riddle was sprawled on one of the couches in the darker corners, fast asleep, a book over his face; a book he was supposed to read for tomorrow’s Transfiguration test. Theodore Nott sat on the edge of a plush armchair, across the fireplace, his elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped together. His gaze was fixed on the flickering flames, but his mind was far away— the weight of his thoughts already suffocating him. But he could not stop thinking. His father’s letter still sat unopened in his pocket, a decision waiting to be made. But that was not true was it, Theo thought and chuckled humourlessly.

The decision was made long before he was born. There were no decisions to be made, only orders to be followed. Now that he had begun his fourth year, the letters had only increased. Theo knew what was approaching and his body shuddered involuntarily just as the thought crossed his mind. When he finally couldn’t take it anymore, he let his mind drift to Y/n, just like he always did. She had become his quiet refuge when the weight of the world grew too heavy.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, when he closed his eyes, he didn’t find solace in her presence. He didn’t feel the quiet reassurance that usually steadied him. Instead, all he saw was her face—hurt, crushed, slipping away from him. And just like that, the future, the one he had let himself foolishly imagine, felt futile. Theo held his face in his palm and let out a soft groan. He could feel a headache coming on.

A faint creak at the door broke his reverie. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Enzo always entered a room with an effortless confidence, his steps light yet purposeful, a stark contrast to the heavy, purposeful strides of the other Slytherin boys. Enzo had never needed to make an entrance; he was always simply… heard. Theo had always admired that about his best friend—how he could walk into any room and immediately command attention without needing to demand it. Enzo never hesitated, never doubted himself when it came to others, especially relationships. Theo, on the other hand, had built walls around himself—this thick, impenetrable walls that he’d convinced himself kept him safe. But now, those walls felt less like protection and more like a cage.

Enzo stopped when he saw Theo, his eyes narrowing slightly. With a low sigh, he walked towards his best friend and dropped into the chair across from him, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“It was our third year here, at Hogwarts,” Enzo began, lightly. Theo gave him a sharp glance, the "Not now" look flashing in his eyes, but Enzo didn’t flinch. He only kept on smiling, that knowing glint in his eye suggesting he knew something Theo didn’t.

Maybe he did. With Enzo, you never know. While Theo was always the most observant out of all the Slytherin boys, Enzo was always the most perceptive.

"When I first saw Y/n, I thought she was just like every Ravenclaw—a little too wrapped up in her books, a little too perfect, like most of them. But she wasn’t like most other people I’d met, not at all. It didn’t take long to see that she had something… something real about her, even at our age. She’s not just clever or poised. She’s got this way of making people feel like they matter. Even if she doesn’t realize it.”

Theo looked up at him, his brow furrowing slightly, unsure where this conversation was headed.

“There was this one day," Enzo continued, his eyes distant now, as though lost in the memory. "you and I were in the library. We’d been struggling with this Herbology assignment—and no matter how hard we tried, we just couldn’t get it right. And the assignment was due the next morning. We were just about to give up, you remember? And then Y/n... she came over. Just slid her notes in front of you without saying a word.” Enzo paused, a nostalgic smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “She didn’t even ask us if we needed help. She just... knew. And there you were, looking at her like she had brought down the stars and not the notes to ‘The Role of Puffapods in Magical Botany’. She smiled at you, then at me and left just as quick as she’d come. You smiled through that entire week and some more, after that day.”

Theo’s chest tightened, a strange ache building as he listened. He could remember it like it was yesterday—you, effortlessly kind in the way only you knew how.

Enzo shifted slightly, looking knowingly at Theo before continuing again. “You had called her a sweetheart that day, albeit slowly and to me but some people in the library had overheard. The big, grumpy Slytherin calling someone a sweetheart, was so shocking to them, that word started going around and before long, she got nicknamed the ‘Ravenclaw Sweetheart’. I don’t even think she knows, till date, that it was you who had started it” Enzo chuckled softly.

“Remember that time in our second year, when Mr. Grumpy over here would not talk to us for a week and just snap at anybody who would try to talk to him?”

Theo snapped his head to the right to see Mattheo sliding onto the chair next to him. He had woken up from his nap, his book forgotten in a corner.

“Don’t you have a test you didn’t study for?” Theo rolled his eyes at him.

“Don’t you have a girl you didn’t confess to, whom you have liked for a shameful number of years now?” Mattheo counters before going back to whatever he was saying, “Anyway, he comes back one evening, happy and in a good mood, smiling for maybe the first time. He would not tell us what had happened that evening and he still won’t but we saw him stare at Y/n like a lovesick puppy from the next day and we knew it had something to do with her.”

“There was no lovesick look OR a puppy involved.” Theo defended himself rather poorly.

Enzo smiled and leaned forward, his eyes locking with Theo’s. “I’ve seen you, Theo. I’ve seen how you look at her, mate. Maybe it’s time you tell her how you feel?”

Theo swallowed before whispering, his voice barely audible “I messed up this time. I said some things I shouldn’t have. I don’t know how to fix this,”

“I would say to forget this and get some good pu-” Mattheo started before wandering off when Theo glares at him. “I mean, get some good company. But, I don’t think that’s what you want. So, why don’t you get out of here and do the thing that you actually do want?”

Theo’s chest tightened, the internal conflict pressing down on him like a physical weight. He stood up abruptly, his mind a blur of fear and determination. He wasn’t sure how it would turn out, but his friends were right—he had to do something.

Without saying another word, he walked out of the common room, heading straight for the corridor that led to the Ravenclaw Tower. His heart hammered in his chest as he walked through the corridors, every step feeling heavier than the last. But he knew, deep down, that this was the only way forward.

.

.

.

From her spot by the window in the Ravenclaw common room, Elena watched with sharp, curious eyes as Theodore Nott slipped into their common room, the highest tower of the castle, behind a Prefect. Elena frowned, her quill pausing mid-sentence. What was he doing here? Is he actually here to hook up with someone else after what went down with Y/n the other day? Where DO men get such audacity!? Her internal monologue took a pause when she saw him looking around.

Her eyes followed him as he approached the Ravenclaw girl, a fifth-year who was already blushing furiously at the sight of him. Seriously? Apparently, even a senior was not immune to the charms of Theodore Nott. Elena scoffed, internally. She couldn't hear their conversation very clearly, but it was apparent that Nott was in control of it. His tone was low and smooth, his body language calm yet deliberate. The girl giggled, entirely too dazzled to notice when Nott's sharp eyes flicked to the parchment she was holding. A subtle charm later, and he had the room number he wanted, all without ever mentioning who he was asking about.

Elena's lips tightened as she leaned back, watching the Slytherin boy's retreating figure. If he wanted to, he could’ve guessed the answer to the riddle guarding their tower entrance—someone like him could have solved it in minutes, maybe not as quickly as other Ravenclaws but Elena was sure that he could have. But that wasn’t his goal, she observed. He wanted to apologise. And he wanted to do it quickly.

Elena's gaze lingered on him as he looked around, trying to figure out what was probably their dorm number. "What are you up to, Theo Nott?" she murmured to herself, but a faint, knowing smile tugged at her lips this time.

With a smirk, Elena watched as Theo bolted up their flight of stairs, his usually composed demeanour replaced with an almost frantic energy. Her smirk grew wider—what a sight to see the cool, brooding Slytherin look so... out of place.

But then he came back down. Her smirk vanished in an instant, replaced by a furrowed brow. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” she muttered under her breath, glaring at him from her spot.

Just as she cursed his apparent retreat, he darted up the stairs again. Her smile crept back as she leaned forward, intrigued. He was persistent, she’d give him that. With an approving nod, Elena decided she’d seen enough entertainment for the night and turned back to her book.

Until she heard the footsteps again.

Her head snapped up, and there he was—coming back down for a second time. She groaned in exasperation, slamming her book shut and preparing to march up the stairs herself to put an end to this ridiculous display.

But before she could move, he sprinted up again, this time two steps at a time, his determination practically radiating off of him. Elena arched an eyebrow as she heard him knock, finally.

Leaning back into her chair with an amused grin, she muttered to herself, “Well, at least cardio isn’t a problem for him. Good for Y/n.”

.

.

.

You had just set your quill down, your eyes heavy from hours of Transfiguration notes swirling through your mind. Tomorrow’s test loomed over you, but sleep was beckoning. You were ready to call it a night when an unexpected knock shattered the quiet.

You jolted upright, startled. "Elena?" You muttered aloud. It didn’t make sense—Elena had stationed herself in the common room, a rule you'd both established long ago after realizing that your joint study sessions always dissolved into fits of laughter and gossip. But why would Elena be knocking?

Your brow furrowed as you crossed the room and opened the door, only to find... a back? Huh? Albeit a tall, well-built back. And clad in a Slytherin uniform too?

“What…?” you whispered, utterly baffled. Was Elena studying Transfiguration with practicality now, as a living, breathing subject?

You opened your mouth to speak something, anything, but before you could, the figure turned, and you froze. It wasn’t just anyone—it was Theodore Nott. Why would he be here?

Your breath hitched the moment your eyes met his. For a second, the world tilted—just slightly—as if your mind needed time to catch up with what you were seeing. He stood there, ruffled hair falling over his forehead like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His tie hung loose around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing just enough to make your mouth go dry. His sharp jawline caught the dim light, and you hated the way your gaze lingered, tracing the curve of it down to the way his throat bobbed when he exhaled.

Heat curled low in your stomach, unexpected but not so unwelcome.

But then the shock hit just as hard, slicing through the moment like a blade. Your heart slammed against your ribs, torn between disbelief and something far more dangerous. “Um, Elena?” you managed, voice uneven, barely above a whisper.

Theo turned an even deeper shade of pink than the one he was already sporting. He started pawing at his face, his cheeks flushed, even more nervous now, betrayed by the way he rubbed his jawline proving just out of his element he was. He shifted awkwardly under your gaze.

“I, uh… I don’t think so?” he replied, his voice uncertain, and somehow just as confused as you felt. For a minute, the two of you simply stared at each other. He is here. He is actually here. Your senses completely abandon you as you keep staring at him, not able to say anything.

Theo stood there too, every nerve alight, his usual calm unravelling as he searched for words that didn’t sound hollow. His hands twitched at his sides—he wasn’t used to this, to standing in the doorway of someone who wasn’t supposed to matter this much.

“I…” he started, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, his gaze falling to the floor before daring to meet yours. “I owe you an apology.”

You cross your arms, your stance guarded yet you can feel the vulnerability seeping through. You compose yourself and don't say anything, simply wait. The silence stretched, and he felt it like a rope tightening around his throat.

Theo inhaled sharply, forcing himself to start speaking. “What I said yesterday—it was…” He faltered, clenching his jaw before continuing. “It was disgusting. And it’s not who I am. Not who I want to be. It wasn’t even about you—it was about me. About everything else. And that doesn’t make it better, I know. But I need you to know that I don’t believe in any of that pureblood nonsense.”

His words tumbled out, faster now, like he was afraid they’d stop coming if he paused too long. “I’ve spent my whole life being taught things I don’t believe in, being moulded into someone I don’t want to be. But... you know that already." He states but he sounds unsure. He doubts if you even remember. It happened so long ago. But of course, you remember. But you don't interrupt him. You simply nod, softly. "And yesterday, I was angry, and I let myself become that person—the one I hate the most. I said something cruel because I thought it would hurt less if I pushed you away first.”

He stepped closer, his hands now curled into fists at his sides, desperate to keep himself grounded. “But I was wrong. It didn’t hurt less—it hurt more. Because…” His voice dropped, and for a moment, he looked almost broken. “Because I hurt the one person who doesn’t see me as a name, a title, or a legacy. You don’t look at me with fear, or that hollow, brainwashed respect because I’m the heir to some ancient, power-starved bloodline. You don’t reduce me to a face, a presence, something pretty to look at and nothing more. With you, I feel like I can be something different—someone better. You make me feel like there’s more to me than the weight of my name, like I could be more than what I’ve been taught to be. And I ruined that. I destroyed something... good with one stupid, careless moment.”

His throat tightened, but he forced himself to finish. “I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. We’ve never been friends—not really. But just know that I’ve always wanted to be. I just… I always knew you were too good for me. I knew that from the start. But I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—let things end like this. You deserve better than that. You’ve always deserved better."

Theo’s voice grew quieter, softer, like the weight of his own words was crushing him. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For all of it. For the words, for the hurt… for making you think, even for a second, that you’re not extraordinary.”

He finally fell silent, his breathing uneven as he stood there for another second, before he turned to leave again. You simply stood there, frozen, dumbfounded and speechless, the weight of his confession pressing down on you.

This is the first time he'd spoken so much to you. And everything carried so much depth that for a moment, you were blown away by the genuineness of his words and the sincerity of his tone. Warmth seeped into your cheeks and stomach at his words. It’s funny how what you wanted to hear for so long, can leave you frozen when it actually happens. You wanted to scream that you forgive him. But somehow, you just remained rooted to your place. Theo obviously took it as a rejection. Not wanting to bother you anymore, he hastily turned around and starts descending the stairs. Finally, you manage to whisper, almost unsure, “Theodo—”

He stops in his tracks but doesn’t turn around. His voice, low and strained, cuts through the thick silence. “Theo. It’s Theo.”

And then, before you can gather your thoughts or summon a response, he’s gone, leaving you rooted to the spot, the echo of his words and the ache they carried lingering in the room like a ghost.

.

.

.

Elena slipped into the room an hour later, her footsteps soft but purposeful. “Y/n, are you awake?” she whispered into the dimly lit space.

You stayed silent, lying still under the covers. You weren’t in the mood to talk. The weight of the day hung heavy on your chest, and the words Theo had spoken to you played on repeat in your head like a broken record.

"I’ve spent my whole life being taught things I don’t believe in, being moulded into someone I don’t want to be. But you know that already."

And you did. The memory lingered now, vivid and raw, as you lay in bed. Back then, you hadn’t known what to make of him. You’d dismissed it as a moment of weakness from someone who was usually so composed and untouchable. Because he had dismissed it first. But now, with the weight of his confession tonight, it all began to make sense.

Your mind drifted back to your second year, after the chaos with the basilisk and the haunting stillness of your best friend frozen in Madam Pomfrey’s infirmary last week. Everything had felt overwhelming, suffocating, so you’d done the only thing you could think of: you’d escaped to the Astronomy Tower.

You hadn’t expected to find anyone there, but as you stepped into the cold night air, your gaze landed on a boy sitting in the corner, staring down at something in his hand. It took you a moment to realize what it was—a cigarette.

“Seriously?” you had deadpanned, unable to keep the judgment out of your voice. “Is Charms really stressing you out that much that a second-year needs that?”

His head snapped up at your words, and for a brief moment, you thought he might lash out or throw some snarky comment your way. But he didn’t. Instead, he looked at you with an odd vulnerability that caught you off guard.

“It’s not Charms,” he muttered after a long pause. His voice was quiet, barely audible over the wind. “It’s… my charming Father.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You stared at him, unsure of what to say. He looked just as shocked as you felt, like he couldn’t believe he’d just admitted that to you.

“What do you mean?” you asked softly, taking a cautious step closer.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. He tossed the cigarette aside, letting it roll across the floor. “Forget I said anything.”

But you didn’t move. Something about the way he said it—the bitterness, the exhaustion—it pulled at you.

“Theo,” you said gently, sitting down a few feet away from him. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “You don’t have to tell me, but… I’m here. If you want to.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared out at the night sky, his jaw tight. But then, to your surprise, he started to speak.

“Do you know what it’s like,” he began, his voice hollow, “to feel like your whole life has already been decided for you?"

"Um, well. My parents are professors. And while they've been very supportive of the path I've paved for myself, I don't think a witch with a waving wand and a broomstick was top of their "Elder daughter's Career To-do List". Minus the crooked witch hat, obviously." You joke, with a serious tone.

"Obviously" he agrees and there it was. The first genuine smile you'd seen Theo crack in the two years you'd known him.

“My father,” he continued after a while, his tone bitter, “is one of the most powerful men in the wizarding world. Or so he likes to think. He has this… vision of who I’m supposed to be. What I’m supposed to believe. And if I don’t live up to it, if I don’t… fit into the mould he’s made for me…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“What happens if you don’t?” you asked carefully.

He let out a humourless laugh. “Let’s just say disappointment doesn’t sit well with him.”

You didn’t know what to say. The pain in his voice, the weight he was carrying—it was so much heavier than you had expected.

“I don’t want to be like him,” Theo said quietly, but the resignation and hurt was so deep in his voice that you wanted to reach out and give him a hug. But you remained seated and let him continue. “But sometimes… I don’t know if I have a choice.”

“Theo," you murmured, leaning forward just slightly, "your father made his choices. And you get to make yours." "You are not him. You never were. And the fact that you’re even afraid of becoming him? That means you never will." You said with surprising conviction in your voice.

Theo stared at you, his gaze intense, almost like he was trying to see through you. His eyes softened, but there was something else there—a question, a hesitation. Finally, his lips parted, and in a voice much quieter than before, he asked, “How do you know that?”

You met his gaze firmly. “Because I believe it.”

The silence lingered, the weight of his words still hanging in the air. You could feel the tension between you, but you didn’t want to just sit in it. There was more you needed to say, more you needed to get off your chest.

“So,” he began softly, cutting through the silence. “Why are you here? They say only lost souls seek the stars, finding quiet refuge in them. Do you know why?”

You shook your head.

He continued, “Because it’s only the stars that can silently promise you’re not alone. There are so many stars in the universe, all so far apart from each other, never knowing there’s one just like them, drifting through their lives.”

He looked at you sheepishly when he finished, “Too cheesy?” He blushed.

“Just enough.” You promised softly.

Theo looked at you again, brows raised, as if silently saying that you had the floor.

“I’ve been drowning… especially this year,” you exhaled, shaking your head. “Everything just feels so… heavy. I always loved reading and studying. It was my escape, my refuge. But now, it’s like everyone expects so much from me—teachers, friends, people I barely know—and there’s this constant pressure, this anxiety, weighing me down. I am so afraid that studying one day will feel like a chore instead of something I enjoy. And I... I can’t stop my mind from overthinking every little thing, every action, every detail. At the end of the day, I don’t even think anyone others would notice or care to check how I’m doing. And honestly? I don’t even know if I have the energy to care anymore and I don’t want to be that person.”

Theo didn’t interrupt, didn’t say a word. He just watched you, his expression softening with each word you spoke.

“And you know what’s worse?” you continued, voice quieter now. “It’s like I’m constantly pretending. I’m pretending I can keep up, pretending I don’t feel completely out of place sometimes. Pretending I’m okay. And I think that’s what everyone else does too. We all just put on these masks, hoping no one notices that we’re all falling apart inside.”

Theo was silent for a moment, processing your words, and for the first time in a long while, you felt like someone understood, like your frustrations weren’t just falling on deaf ears.

He finally spoke, his voice surprisingly steady. “That’s… a lot to carry.” You simply nod.

"I can’t fix it for you," he said, his tone soft but firm, “but... I’m here. If you need someone to listen. And, maybe... it’s okay to not always have everything figured out. You don’t have to pretend. Sometimes, just taking things one step at a time helps—focus on what you can control, and let the rest fall away. You don’t owe anyone more than that. The only person you owe something to, is yourself and you owe it to yourself to give yourself the space you are out here, creating for others, if not more.”

He hesitated for a moment, like he was gathering his thoughts. “I know it’s hard, but… trying to do it all at once? It’s never going to work. You’re allowed to have limits, to need a break. Don’t be afraid to give yourself one. It’s not weakness. It’s surviving. Sometimes the strongest people are the ones who know when to step back, take a breath, and just... exist for a little while.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the tension in your chest start to loosen. For a moment, the two of you just sat there in silence, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Neither of you knew what else to say, so you just stayed, offering each other comfort and company instead of empty reassurances.

Eventually, he stood up, brushing off his robes. “Thanks,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes.

You nodded. “You don't need to say that. Sorry you couldn’t use that cigarette.” You smiled.

“It’s fine. I found something better.” He smiled back.

He hesitated—just for a moment—like he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. And then, without another glance, he turned and walked away, leaving you there with the lingering weight of a conversation that felt far bigger than either of you had realized.

That night, when you returned to your dorm, you found Elena sitting cross-legged on her bed, flipping through a book she clearly wasn’t reading. You barely had time to set your things down and flung yourself down on the bed before the words tumbled out of you.

"I think I met someone today."

Elena looked up, intrigued. “Oh?”

You hesitated, biting the inside of your cheek before sitting down across from her. “Not like that,” you clarified quickly. “I just… I don’t know. He’s different. He’s quiet but not in an empty way—more like there’s too much in his head.

Elena tilted her head, considering. "That’s oddly poetic."

You sighed, letting your head drop onto your pillow. "He listens," you murmured, mostly to yourself. "Like, really listens. And I don’t think a lot of people do that—not the way he does."

Elena smiled warmly. "You sound impressed."

You let out a soft laugh. "Maybe I am," you admitted. "I just feel like—like maybe we could be friends. Maybe we should be."

It had felt like a certainty at the time. A quiet, unshakable belief that somehow, in some way, your lives were meant to overlap.

But looking back now? You almost laughed at how naive you had been.

You never became friends. Not really. Instead, you spent years standing at the edges of each other’s lives, always near enough to feel the pull but never close enough to bridge the gap. Like two stars drifting in the vastness of space—so close, yet so far apart. There were stolen glances, almost-conversations, unspoken words that hung in the air between you like ghosts. And when the distance between you started to stretch wider, when the quiet understanding turned into quiet avoidance, neither of you did anything, simply watched as time faded into nothingness… Just like the stars, shining in the dark, but never reaching each other. And that...

It hurt.

And you never understood why. Or maybe you did. Maybe you had always known.

You snapped back to reality, the remnants of the memory fading as quickly as they had appeared. Theo had been distant again lately, his mind clearly elsewhere, the bags under his eyes heavier. What had his father done this time to hurt him? He’d said something earlier, hadn’t he? Something that had made Theo’s eyes cloud over with that familiar, unreadable expression. But just as you were about to pull at the threads of the conversation today, trying to piece it together, the exhaustion of the day caught up with you. Sleep crept in, stealing your thoughts before you could recall the words that had troubled him so.

.

.

.

Exhausted, you hauled your book bag onto your shoulder, the familiar ache in your muscles reminding you just how long the day had been. The Transfiguration test had gone well—but Merlin, it had been draining. And now, your feet were dragging you to the last class of the day: Binns’ History of Magic. The idea of sitting through one of his monotonous lectures made you want to cry.

Still, as you approached the classroom, the resolve you’d built overnight kicked in. Enough avoiding, enough pretending. It was time to face the snake head-on. No more skirting around Theo Nott.

When you stepped into the room, the usual chatter greeted you. Theo was at his usual spot in the back corner, Mattheo to his left. Blaise and Enzo were sitting behind them, followed by the rest of their Slytherin entourage. Mattheo was laughing at something Blaise had said, and Blaise was already grinning like he’d won some unspoken challenge. Typical. They were like a pack of wolves, basking in their effortless charm and superiority.

Your eyes briefly flickered to Theo. He wasn’t laughing, but his lips curved faintly at the edges, like he was amused by the chaos around him. Looking back on it now, you had hardly ever seen him laughing out loud. Coming to the present, his sharp profile caught the dim lighting of the classroom, and it took your breath away, how effortlessly good he looked, sitting there like he didn’t have a care in the world. But you’d also seen the flicker of exhaustion in his eyes yesterday. He wasn’t as unshaken as he wanted people to think.

Taking a deep breath, you walked straight toward them, your steps confident despite the butterflies dancing in your stomach.

The moment you reached their table, you placed a hand firmly on the desk in front of Mattheo, who was turned on his back, looking behind him, mid-conversation with Blaise. He didn’t notice you at first, too caught up in whatever joke Blaise had cracked. But Blaise’s voice suddenly trailed off when he saw you, his eyes widening slightly before he elbowed Enzo. Enzo was nose deep in a novel and did a literal double take when he saw you. He quickly regained himself and eyed Mattheo to stop. Mattheo however, was too engrossed in the conversation to notice anything around him. Without a warning, Enzo reached forward and hit Mattheo on the head.

“Oi, what the—” Mattheo grumbled, rubbing the back of his head as he turned, only to freeze when he saw you. Then, that flirty grin of his spread across his face like clockwork. “Well, well, if it isn’t the Ravenclaw sweetheart,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair. “Hi, princess.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, but you could already feel the heat crawling up your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Theo go rigid, his gaze narrowing. The room seemed to hush slightly, like everyone was waiting to see what you’d do.

“Don’t call me that,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the tension. Gods, where did that nickname even come from?

A surprised look crossed Mattheo’s face before his grin widened, clearly enjoying the attention. “Whatever you say, princess. Now, what can I do YOU for... I mean- what can I do for youu-uuuaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh" He was quickly cut off by a rather stone faced Theo who had very subtly stepped on Mattheo's feet.

Quickly composing himself, Mattheo gets back to you. "I truly meant how can I help you? Advice? A good joke? Maybe a—”

“You can’t help me,” you interrupted coolly. “But you can move. Why don’t you go sit with Pansy? She looks a little lonely back there. Go.”

“Blimey, sunshine,” Mattheo groaned dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d physically wounded him. “What did I do to deserve this heat?”

Before you could reply, there was a sudden shove from his right. Mattheo stumbled slightly, as Theo gave him a sharp nudge.

“Get up, Mattheo,” Theo said quietly, his voice calm but firm.

Mattheo raised his hands in surrender, though the teasing smirk never left his face. “Alright, alright, don’t hex me, mate.” With a mock bow in your direction, he stepped aside, limping a little and clutching his right shoulder. But instead of joining Pansy, he shoved Blaise over and squeezed into the two-person desk with him and Enzo. The three of them now stared at you with different expressions. Mattheo had his signature smirk on, Enzo was giving you a knowing smile and Blaise looked serious, as if a little apprehensive of what was going on. But three of them had one common look, an expression that was practically screaming, Oh, this is gonna be interesting.

You ignored them, slipping into the seat beside Theo and dropping your book bag onto the desk. Professor Binns began his lecture in his usual monotone drawl—something about goblin rebellions, though you weren’t really listening.

From further up the room, you caught a flash of movement—Elena. She turned in her seat, just enough to give you a cheeky wink before turning back to her notes. You’d spent a good hour talking with her this morning, hashing out how to handle this; the situation, your emotions. And now, here you were. No more running. No more avoiding.

You sat stiffly at first, hyper-aware of Theo’s presence beside you. From the corner of your eye, you noticed how he kept his gaze fixed forward, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, so subtle you nearly missed it, he shifted ever so slightly—a millimetre closer to you.

The gesture was so small, so unnoticeable to anyone else, but it made your heart flutter and you let yourself relax a little more.

You tried, really tried, to focus on the lesson, but it was impossible. Every so often, your gaze would flicker to him out of the corner of your eye—still, but with an edge to his presence that felt almost magnetic. It was a quiet intensity, a presence that filled the space between you both without a single word spoken.

The air felt heavier, thick with unspoken things, and the all-too-familiar emotions after that night on the Astronomy Tower in second year began to creep back. What if this too remains an unspoken tremor between you two? What if it lingers like a forgotten promise that neither of you dares to claim? It’s not just the pull, the quiet magnetism, but the fear that this—whatever it was—might never come to the surface. That it might always remain a delicate undercurrent, impossible to name or tame, just like it had that night.

And there you were, sitting right next to him, feeling all of it again—the anxiety coming back, the weight, the space, the distance between you that somehow felt both too close and impossibly far.

And then suddenly, in the quiet stillness that seemed to settle over you both, Theo's voice broke through the silence. He leaned just a bit closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. A spark shot through you, and suddenly, your stomach was filled with those damn butterflies. You could feel the warmth of his presence beside you, so close, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

Your body instinctively angled itself towards him, and you couldn’t help but notice how your head nearly brushed against his as he leaned in, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver racing down your spine, and your pulse quickened, like it could hear the sudden rush of your heart.

"Do you know," Theo whispered, his voice a low murmur, sending a tingle across your skin, "why Binns can never tell a good joke?"

You looked up at him, your gaze caught somewhere between confusion and something else entirely, trying desperately not to focus on how dangerously close his lips hovered over yours. You could feel the heat of him just inches away, and it was so tempting to close that gap, to lean in just a little—no. You quickly shook the thought off, attempting to focus on the moment. "No, why?"

Theo shot you a sidelong glance, a mischievous glint in his eyes, his lips twitching into that infuriatingly confident smirk you’d come to recognize. “Because he’s dead on delivery.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected humour, surprised by the sheer audacity of his words. For a moment, the tension shifted, and without warning, you snorted. The sound escaped you before you could stop it, and despite the intensity of the atmosphere, you couldn't help it. The way he said it—so nonchalantly—was just absurd enough to break through.

And then, almost without realizing it, you found yourself on the verge of laughing out loud.

It would have been a full-on laugh if not for the fact that Professor Binns was still droning on in his usual monotone, entirely oblivious to the small, chaotic moment unfolding just a few desks away. His lecture about goblin rebellions continued, his ghostly figure as unchanging as always. He might as well have been reading the room with zero interest—completely missing the small flicker of laughter that now danced between you and Theo.

You swallowed your laugh, but the smile lingered, and for a moment, it felt as though the world outside of that classroom had stopped moving. Theo's smirk deepened, his eyes meeting yours, the unspoken connection hanging between you both like an electric charge. You glanced at him again, a soft smile playing on your lips, but this time, you didn’t look away. You didn’t want to.

Theo didn’t make any effort to move, to shift, to break the moment. Neither did you. You both remained there, shoulder to shoulder, and all the remaining tension dissipated from your shoulders as you relaxed against him. The proximity was not familiar but comforting, and for once, you didn’t feel the need to run from it.

The silence stretched on, until suddenly, Mattheo's voice pierced through the calm. “Um, I don’t think I can see the board with these two people in front of me. Maybe they should move apart or something like... Owww—Come on, mate!”

Enzo's slap followed, and the noise was enough to make you glance back at the two of them. Mattheo was rubbing his arm, clearly irritated, while Enzo just shot you a sheepish look. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, a little more hopeful, a little less guarded.

It felt like the whole room was waiting for something to shift, but maybe, just maybe, this time, the shift had already happened.

And you couldn’t help but wonder, as you glanced back at Theo—what even happens when stars collide?

.

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Taglist: @nottinmyheart @whosyourgnomie

Thank you for all the love and support, you guys. I hope you like it <3

[lucygxybaird]

billy x reader - reader is very shy

As you cling to Billy’s arm, one hand in his and the other grasping his elbow, you think — with undeniable yearning — of your armchair by the hearth, your book resting on the worn leather cushion. You can even picture the piece of ribbon you’ve been using to mark your place. You imagine a fire crackling merrily in the grate, warming your feet as you immerse yourself in the safe, familiar world of the printed page. 

Billy squeezes your hand, bringing you back to the moment. “You alright, darlin’?” he murmurs, leaning down to speak in your ear. 

You nod, peeking up at him from the corner of your eye. “I’m okay.”

“We won’t stay long, I promise,” he says, as the two of you approach the front door. “It’s just that Mr. Tunstall invited me — well, invited us — personally, and I didn’t wanna put him off.”

Your brow furrows. “He invited me?” you press, nibbling on your lip. Billy knocks on the door, so in a rush you whisper: “Not-just-you-he-specifically-said-me-too?” 

He smiles. “Specifically you,” he says. “He likes you.” 

You’re torn between delight and anxiety at the news. On the one hand, you do like Tunstall. You like to think you’re good at reading people, at sensing who they really are, the way some can scent a rainstorm coming in the air. If Tunstall is rain, he’s a gentle spring shower. Kind, warm, with a soft way about him that belies the strength underneath. He’s exactly the kind of man Billy needs in his life. 

On the other — 

You have no idea what you did to make Tunstall like you, and that makes you nervous. If you don’t know what you did, how are you supposed to keep doing it? And if you don’t keep doing it, does that mean he won’t like you anymore? If he doesn’t like you anymore, will he take it out on Billy? You don’t think he will — he doesn’t strike you as that sort of man, but what if—? 

“You with me, sweetheart?” Billy says softly, ducking his head to look you in the eye. “If you really wanna go home, we—”

You shake your head firmly. You don’t want to go home, not least of all because you know Billy really wants to stay; it’s hard for you, to be around people you don’t know very well, but Billy is the type of man who has never met a stranger. He likes parties like this (at least ones that are given by his friends, rather than — for example — a selfish, self-serving smarmy slimeball with an Irish accent and a proclivity for taking what doesn’t belong to him). 

You’re determined to stay at least an hour for him, maybe two if you can manage it. You know you’re going to be exhausted by the end of the evening, wrung out like a rag hung on the line, but you want to stick it out for Billy’s sake. 

It does help that he looks good. You love to see him in his neatly pressed shirt and waistcoat, the string tie — which you helped knot — around his neck, his hair neatly combed and smelling faintly of the apple-scented pomade he uses to make that sweet little cowlick he has lay flat. As if he’s reading your mind, Billy leans down further, his lips brushing against your ear. 

“Everybody’s gonna be jealous of me, walkin’ in with you on my arm,” he says. “Stick close to me, honey. I don’t want anyone stealing you away.” 

You only have time to giggle before the door is swinging open, revealing one of Tunstall’s maids. She gestures for you to come inside, and by the time you’ve flashed her a small, tight smile, people have already come up to Billy. You relax a little when you realize you recognize some of them — Manuela and Charlie, Tom, Mr. McSween and his wife, Susan. 

“You look lovely,” Susan says, smiling softly as she cups your elbow.

Your heart gives a little uneven thud, and you swallow. “Thank you,” you murmur, the corners of your mouth flickering briefly in return. “So — so do you.” 

You don’t let go of Billy’s arms as Charlie and Billy start talking about the last herd of cattle they moved for Tunstall, with Manuela and Susan chiming in every now and then — how Charlie came home late one evening, a cow pie smeared all over his boots and the seat of his pants; how Susan remembers one summer when she stayed with her uncle, who raised cows, and she gave them all flower names. 

You have a story yourself, one about your father trying (and failing) to get a cow up a flight of stairs to play a trick on a friend of his, but you can’t quite get your mouth to work. 

Even though you know these people, your throat still feels a little tight, the pit of your stomach going hollow, like you’re balancing on a tightrope. A part of you knows you’re being ridiculous. It’s the part that sounds an awful lot like your mother, when she would tell you to speak up, to enunciate, to stop hunching your shoulders. 

You wish you could explain it to her — to anyone — but it’s so difficult to put into words. 

Sometimes you feel as though who you really are is wrapped up in all these layers, wound around and around you, bound up so tight that it can be suffocating. You have to fight tooth and nail to drag out the same words, the same smiles, that seem to come so easily to everyone else. 

It takes time, to get through those layers, and not many people seem to want to put forth the effort. Certainly not at a gathering like this, where they’re just trying to have fun. And you can’t really blame them for that. You yourself have often wondered if what they find is worth the effort. 

Then, of course, there’s Billy. He’s never once made you feel like getting to know you, working through the awkward pauses and nervous huffs of laughter, the uncertain silences, is anything less than a pleasure. As if all that is nothing but a treasure map, and you’re the fortune waiting on the other end.

He doesn’t seem to mind acting as your interpreter, either. Walking around the party, he steps in when you stammer answering a question, or bends down so he can catch your words, lightly and easily as if he’s catching a snowflake in his palm. That’s how it is with him, when he’s guiding you through an evening like this. He never lets on, even for a moment, that he’s annoyed with you, that he finds it tiring or remotely taxing that he has to be your voice.

“You look familiar,” a man is saying to you. “Do you work at Tunstall’s store?”

You hesitate, as if this isn’t a straightforward question. “Um,” you say. “I — yes, I do.”

Billy presses his shoulder against yours, a wordless gesture of comfort. “She sure does,” he confirms. “Lucky for me, too. That’s where we met.” 

You smile. Lucky for me. Lucky for you, more like. You’re entirely convinced that Billy could have anyone he wanted — not only is he gorgeous, but his heart is just as lovely, if not lovelier. Not that you’ve ever told anyone this, because you would rather die than admit to harboring such maudlin thoughts, but he’s often reminded you of leather. 

Masculine and tough, sure, and sometimes bearing scars and damage right on the surface, whether it’s a gunfire flash of temper (never, ever directed at you, but at people like his stepfather, at Riley or Murphy) or guilt written in his eyes. But he can also be incredibly soft, his very touch a luxury, wrapping you up warm and making you feel so safe.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when the man clears his throat, making you give a little jump, as if someone has unexpectedly turned a corner down the hall ahead of you, coming right for you. “Do you know if there’s any jobs available down there?” he says. “My son-in-law is lookin’ for something, and I understand Tunstall is a good boss.”

“Oh—” Your tongue immediately finds itself in knots, and you feel the pit of your stomach tilt away as if it’s about to drop to your feet. “I mean, I — I think — I could ask…”

At your side, Billy smiles. “I’m sure Mr. Tunstall could always use help at the store,” he says. “Or if your son-in-law is any good with horses, the gang would never say no to another pair of hands. Y’never know when an extra man would come in useful herding cattle.”

You have to fight the urge to bury your face against Billy’s shoulder. Your cheeks are unbearably warm, and you can’t bring yourself to focus on the man in front of you, who smiles back at Billy and ambles away. You don’t even have to say anything. Without thinking about it, you tighten your hold on Billy’s arm, and he knows.

“It’s okay, darlin’,” he says softly, reaching with his free hand to turn your face toward his, gently grasping your chin. “That was a lot to ask of you out of nowhere. I didn’t mind steppin’ in.”

You curl your fingers into the material of his sleeve, offering him a small smile. “Thank you,” you murmur.

Billy tightens his grip on your chin just a little, so you can’t look away. “You don’t gotta thank me,” he says. “I would do anything for you, I hope you know that.”

“I do,” you tell him. 

He turns to face you, taking you by the waist and tugging you closer. You can’t help but giggle, even as you flush and look around. “Billy…”

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” he reminds you. “I’m just holdin’ onto my girl, that’s all.”

“I know,” you murmur, absently smoothing down his collar. He smiles, shrugging one shoulder as though to bump your hand back in that direction. You brush your fingertips over the curve of his neck, tentatively caressing the curls at his nape. “I just don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

Billy gives your hips a little squeeze. “The only one I care about bein’ uncomfortable is you,” he says. “Are you?”

The truth is, you’re once again of two minds. You certainly don’t want to let go of Billy; you never do. Before, you weren’t really one to feel particularly comfortable with physical affection, but with him, it’s different. It just feels so…natural, as if your body is the tide and his is the shore. Being in his arms soothes you and softens you, even now, when nerves are crawling and pinching in the hollow spaces between your ribs. 

But the idea of people noticing you — of drawing attention to yourself, even if it’s positive, like playful ribbing from one of the boys — makes you feel as if you’ve been holding your breath for a moment too long. 

“No,” you murmur finally, pressing against him. “I just wish…”

Well, frankly, you wish nobody else was here, that it was just the two of you. But you usually wish for that. Or if it was just the two of you, at home, with the Bowdres and the McSweens. Since you’re more comfortable with them than you are with strangers, in the comfort of a familiar environment, you would actually be able to talk to them. To relax, enjoy yourself. 

Tunstall is well-liked — as he should be — and so nearly everyone on the guest list appears to have shown up tonight. With so many people here, you can’t help but feel like you’re waiting in the wings for a performance you didn’t expect to be putting on. Which means you’ll just end up being embarrassed in one way or another. 

Billy frames your face between his hands, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know,” he says. He offers you a smile. “Why don’t I go get us something to drink? Maybe some ginger ale to settle your stomach?”

He must see it when your heart gives a little leap of alarm in your chest, like a hare startling in the grass a fox gets closer. “I’ll be right back,” he promises. “Just…look, why don’t you wait for me in here?”

With his hand at the small of your back, he turns you toward an open doorway, which looks into Tunstall’s little personal library. “I’m sure Mr. Tunstall won’t mind,” he says. “You can see how many of these books you’ve already read. He’d probably like someone to talk about them with.” 

You manage to smile. If this was coming from anyone else, you would feel like a child being pacified with a piece of candy; but you know Billy means well, and besides, the idea of spending a few moments in this oasis of a room strikes you as perfectly fine. 

Still — 

“Hurry back,” you murmur, bracing your hands on his shoulders. 

Billy leans down and presses his lips against your forehead. “I will, honey, I swear.”

There’s a certain comfort in being known so well, you muse, as you step into the little room. You already feel better with the brunt of the party behind you, and the sight of the wall-to-wall shelves, filled with beautiful leather-bound volumes, makes you feel at home. There’s even an overstuffed armchair by the hearth, not too different to the one you have. 

You drift over to the shelves, brushing your fingers over the spine of a forest-green book whose title is printed in gold leaf: Leaves of Grass.

“Have you read it?” 

You would scream if not for the fact that your throat has suddenly narrowed to the width of an apple stem. A strangled squeak manages to escape as you whirl around, your hand to your pounding heart. You manage a deep breath when you see it’s only Mr. Tunstall.

“Oh, my dear girl, I’m so sorry,” he says, his face creasing in concern as he crosses the room toward you. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you alright?”

You nod, massaging at the base of your throat, where you can still feel your heartbeat fluttering like a trapped hummingbird. “I — yes,” you say. “I didn’t realize…”

Mr. Tunstall smiles. “It’s getting rather rowdy out there,” he says, gesturing with a tilt of his head toward the party behind him. “I needed a little bit of a break.”

You smile. “Me too,” you say. “Billy thought I might…”

“Wait in here?” Tunstall smiles again. “Yes, he told me. I hope I’m not intruding.”

A small laugh, more like a huff of air, escapes you. “Mr. Tunstall—”

“John,” he corrects gently.

You nibble on your lip, a shy little grin brushing against your lips. “John,” you say, fighting the urge to giggle again, like a child who swears under her breath in church. “It’s your house.”

“And, at the moment, this part of it is your refuge,” he says, with a courtly little bow that actually does get another giggle out of you.

“You aren’t intruding,” you assure him. “I was just admiring your books.” You gesture at the Whitman sitting on the shelf behind you. “I have read this one. I love it. I usually…” You smile self-consciously as one hand worries absently with a tendril of hair that has escaped your coiffure. “I usually read histories, but Whitman’s verse is so beautiful.”

Tunstall nods thoughtfully, another smile warming his face. “History is your milieu, is it?” he says, and his interest seems so genuine that you actually feel a little wriggle of excitement. “Any particular era?”

You feel a little silly admitting this to a proper Englishman, but you say, “The Tudors. And the Plantagenets, the Wars of the Roses.” You pause. “The Stuarts, a little.” You seesaw your hand from side to side to indicate that your interest in that scion of the royal family isn’t solid. 

“Ah!” Tunstall moves to another section of shelves, pulling a book from its place among its fellows. “I assume, then, you’ve read A History of England by Hume?”

You smile. “Oh, yes,” you say. “I think it’s fascinating, especially since he doesn’t really seem to see a particular difference between the Tudors and the Stuarts.” 

“You do?” Tunstall says, perching on the edge of a table tucked up into the corner. 

“Well, sure,” you say. “There has to be. For one thing, until Edward’s reign, the Tudors were essentially Catholic — even Henry VIII only diverted religious policy from the traditional doctrine where it suited him. Some of his advisors wanted to go farther, maybe, and they played on his — well, he was a bit full of himself — ”

Tunstall smiles again. “A bit,” he agrees.

“And they played on that, making it seem like he was like a Moses leading his people to the light,” you say. “But not only was James I a Protestant, he had something that the last three Tudor monarchs didn’t have.” 

“And that was?”

“Heirs,” you say. “A nursery full of children. That alone means he was in a very different place than either Edward, Mary, or Elizabeth.”

Now that you’ve run out of steam, you feel a warmth creeping over the nape of your neck, climbing into your face. “I — sorry,” you murmur. “I’m sure you didn’t…”

“Oh, no, no, don’t apologize, my dear,” he says. “I agree with you, for one. And for another, it’s always a pleasure to talk with you. You’re very clever.”

Your blush only deepens, and you immediately duck your head in an undoubtedly futile attempt to hide it. “Thank you,” you murmur.

When you peek up at him again, Mr. Tunstall is looking at you with a thoughtful, gentle expression. “And I think,” he says, “you’re exactly what Billy needs. I’m enormously fond of that young man, and I like to think I know him quite well by now. He’s a good man, exceptionally so, but he can be…impetuous. Reckless. There is a fire in his belly, which is an admirable quality. But sometimes, it can burn him.”

You nod. You certainly agree. 

“He needs you,” Tunstall goes on, smiling softly once more. “You have a gentle nature. You are thoughtful, and you measure your words. The two of you — well, I would say opposites attract, but perhaps you are not so dichotomous as one may think.” He smiles again. “I believe you have plenty of fire yourself, and Billy has a gentle heart. I know all he wants is peace.”

“He does,” you murmur. Your throat feels rather full, but you find that you don’t mind it. Not really, not about this. “I so…I so very much want to give that to him.”

“Oh, my dear,” Tunstall says softly, and he moves closer to you, reaching out to take your hand. “I can assure you that you do. I have never seen him so happy, or so content with himself. I have no doubt that you are the reason for that.”

You feel like you might cry, but in the happiest way possible. “Thank you,” you say again. “That means…” You swallow. “That means very much, coming from you. I hope you know...” You smile, clearing your throat. “I hope you know how much you mean to him.”

Before Tunstall can muster any answer besides a smile of his own, you hear the door creak and you turn to find Billy filling the doorway, a glass of ginger ale in one hand and a tumbler of scotch in the other. Only Tunstall still grasping his hand in your own prevents you from flying across the room to him. 

“You’re not makin’ any moves on my girl, are you, sir?” 

Tunstall chuckles and lets go of your hand. “I would never presume to think someone so young and so lovely would ever look twice at an old man like me, even if she were available,” he says, and the flush in your cheeks returns full force. “In any case, even if I were a young man, I know when I am beaten. The two of you are made for each other.”

Your face might actually, at this point, be on fire, but you don’t mind all that much when you look up to see the way Billy is smiling. He hands you the ginger ale, slides his palm one or twice against his shirt to rid it of condensation, and slides it around your waist to pull you closer. 

“Well, I think so, too,” he says, the smile still on his face. 

You press close to him and hopes he understands you feel the same. Judging by the kiss he presses to your hair, he does. 

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Tunstall says, giving them a little bow of his head, smiling softly. “I’m sure I’ll see you two out there later.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy promises. 

Tunstall closes the door behind him, and as soon as it clicks shut, Billy has set his own drink aside and he’s taken hold of your waist again. “Have I mentioned lately,” he murmurs, “how very much I love you?”

You giggle. “I’m sure you have,” you say. “But I do like hearing it.”

You don’t protest when he takes your un-sipped ginger ale and puts it on the same little table as his scotch, nor do you demur when he kisses you softly on the mouth. “I love you,” he says. 

“I love you, too,” you say, winding your arms around his neck. “Very much.”

He kisses you again, lingering so that you can’t see anything else except his face. Which you certainly don’t mind. “Thank you for comin’ out with me tonight,” he says. “Everybody is real glad to see you.”

You blink, your intent to say he doesn’t have to thank you dissolving on your tongue. “They are? Who?”

Billy chuckles. “Everybody,” he says again. “Mrs. McSween was sayin’ how she thinks you’re just about the sweetest girl she’s ever met. I had to convince her not to ask us over for dinner tomorrow night, so we could have the time to ourselves. I think we settled on Saturday instead.”

It’s such a little thing, this consideration that you would like to have a night at home after this party, but it means the world to you. And only Billy would think of it.

You lean up to kiss him. “I love you,” you say again. 

He places a hand against your cheek, thumb sweeping over your skin. “My sweet girl,” he murmurs. “I love you.” 

Eventually, after a few more kisses and sweet, whispered words, the two of you head back out to the party. You keep hold of Billy’s hand all night, but you don’t think he has any complaints — he laces his fingers with yours, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles every now and again, as if to reassure you that he’s right here. 

You keep hearing his words in your mind — everybody is real glad to see you — and it loosens you up, just a little. You even manage to crack a few jokes, making the people around you laugh. Most importantly, you hear Billy’s sweet, warm chuckle in your ear. 

By the time the party winds down, and it’s time for everyone to go home, the stars are out and the air has grown cool. After handing you up into the wagon, Billy grabs a blanket from the back and wraps it around your shoulders, making you giggle. “You don’t have to swaddle me like a baby,” you tease.

He grins at you, giving the blanket a playful little tug. “I just want you to be warm,” he says. “I gotta take care of my girl.”

As soon as he’s beside you in the front seat, you snuggle up to him, your head on his shoulder. “You do,” you assure him, thinking of the way he never hesitates to speak for you, or speak up for you, how he always thinks of your peace of mind and your comfort.

Clicking his tongue and giving the reins a little flick to get the horses moving, Billy leans his cheek against your hair. “I told you, honey. Anything for you,” he murmurs. “Anything for you.” 

[casedclosedbye]

The Scent of her

Spencer reid x reader

Fluff

Wc: 2k

Summary: Spencer Reid, the brilliant but often reserved mind, has found something that makes him feel alive. It's not the cases, not the logic or the numbers. It’s her. The scent of her skin, the feel of her in his arms, the way she’s become the steady heartbeat of calmness within him.

The alarm blares, but Spencer doesn’t move right away. His eyes remain closed as the sound fills the room, his body still in that warm cocoon of sleep. He’s not even aware of it at first, but then it hits him—the soft scent of her skin, mixed with the faint trace of her lavender perfume.

His fingers, almost instinctively, find their way toward the space beside him. The sheets are cool, but there’s a trace of warmth where she’s been, an imprint that lingers even when she’s not there. He inhales, taking in the air around him. The familiar, comforting scent fills his lungs—her scent.

Spencer, always the one to overthink everything, doesn’t want to leave the bed. Every morning, it’s harder and harder for him to break free from the desire to stay wrapped up in her. The world outside his apartment feels so far away, so far removed from the simple peace he finds in her presence. The thought of work, the case files, the day ahead—it all seems insignificant in comparison to how much he loves being here, in this small, quiet moment with her.

He shifts carefully to avoid waking her, but his movements are slow, deliberate, as he lets himself breathe her in one more time. The scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, even the lingering traces of the perfume she wears—it all pulls him in. He’s so used to the antiseptic cleanliness of the world outside that her scent, natural and uniquely hers, is like a balm to his soul.

When her eyelids flutter open, his heart jumps. He doesn’t even have to see her face to know she’s awake. Her scent has already enveloped him, her presence a tangible thing in the room. He smiles softly, wanting to reach for her, needing to.

But instead, he simply turns toward her, his eyes locked on hers. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The bond between them is more than words. It’s the way he leans into her, the way his hands instinctively move to trace the curve of her back. He’s a little more possessive in the mornings, a little more clingy than he might be in front of others. There’s something about these early moments when the world is still sleeping, and it's just the two of them.

Her fingers run through his messy hair, and that’s it. Spencer can’t stop the needy little sigh that escapes his lips. Her scent, her touch, they anchor him in a way that nothing else does. “Stay,” he mutters against her skin, his voice barely a whisper. His lips press against the soft skin of her neck, inhaling deeply.

She laughs softly, her fingers brushing against his arm. “I have to go, Spencer. You have work too.”

“I don’t want to,” he murmurs, almost childlike in his tone, clinging to her a little tighter. “Please. Just a few more minutes…”

Her laugh is warm, but there’s a tenderness in it as she presses her lips to his forehead, a soft kiss that makes him feel like he could stay there forever. He’s never been this clingy with anyone—not even with his mother or any of his past relationships—but with her? It’s different. Everything about her makes him feel safe. She’s the one thing in his life that doesn’t make him feel so… out of place.

He doesn’t care how pathetic it might seem. He’s needy for her touch. He wants to absorb every inch of her, hold onto her like he’s afraid she might disappear if he lets go. Her scent has become a tether. Her presence is what calms his swirling mind, the constant hum of thoughts that never quite stop.

The day drags on. Spencer’s head is filled with the case, the details, the analysis, but it’s her scent that’s never far from his mind. It’s like a drug to him—soft, comforting, addictive. He can still feel the faint remnants of her perfume on his skin from their morning together. It lingers in the fabric of his shirt, in his hair. Every now and then, when he absentmindedly brushes his fingers through his hair, the scent hits him again, and it makes his chest ache with longing.

His thoughts drift to her, and his eyes search the office for a moment, only to find himself lost in the feeling of her presence. His gaze lands on the elevator, waiting for that moment when she’ll show up, when he can see her again, even if only for a few minutes. He hates the distance of the day, the hours between their stolen moments. He feels almost frantic about it—like the longer he’s away from her, the more he’s going to lose something.

And then the elevator dings.

His heart skips a beat before he can even register what’s happening. The scent hits him first—faint but unmistakable—like the first breath of fresh air after being stuck inside for too long. It’s like a magnet, pulling him in.

She steps out, and Spencer’s breath catches. Her presence floods the room, and he doesn’t even wait. He stands up immediately, his body moving of its own accord. Her scent is everywhere—the lavender, the citrus, her skin—and it’s all he can do to keep from reaching out for her, to wrap his arms around her and just breathe her in. The thought of her absence today had been unbearable, and now that she’s here, standing in front of him, he’s not sure how to contain the rush of relief that surges through him.

His fingers itch to touch her. He doesn’t wait for her to say anything, doesn’t wait for her to move toward him. He steps forward and cups her face with his hands, pulling her toward him with a sudden intensity that catches her by surprise. His lips meet hers in a soft, almost desperate kiss, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of her, every molecule of her presence.

“I missed you,” he breathes against her lips, his voice thick with an emotion that’s almost too raw. “I can’t think straight when you’re not near me.”

She doesn’t say anything at first, just smiles gently, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. Spencer’s body relaxes a little at the touch, but only slightly. His arms find their way around her waist, holding her to him tightly as if afraid she might slip away.

“Spence,” she whispers softly, her hands tracing over his arms, the feeling grounding him. “I’m right here.”

He nods, not wanting to let go. He wants to stay like this, tangled up in her arms forever. The way she smells, the way she feels in his arms—it’s like everything else fades away. The noise of the office, the world outside—they don’t matter when he’s with her. Her scent fills his lungs, and he feels like he can finally breathe.

Later that night, when Spencer finally returns home, he can’t help but feel the weight of the day on him. But it’s different now—her presence is there. She’s sitting on the couch, watching TV, but her eyes flick to him as he walks through the door, her smile soft, inviting. The minute he steps into the apartment, it’s as if the air shifts. His senses are heightened, his mind flooded with the calming warmth of her.

“I thought I’d wait up for you,” she says, her voice low and warm.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he steps toward her, and without a word, he sinks down beside her, curling into her side like a child looking for reassurance. Her scent wraps around him, and for the first time in hours, he feels like he can relax.

“You always smell so good,” he mutters, his fingers tracing absentmindedly over her skin. He can’t help it. Her scent is all-consuming, and he finds himself pressing his face into her neck, inhaling deeply. “I can’t stop thinking about you… about the way you smell. It’s like I’m addicted to it.”

Her hand gently runs through his hair, and he leans into her touch, his arms tightening around her. He needs her. He needs her scent, her touch, the feeling of her body next to his. Everything about her makes him feel whole.

“I don’t want to let go,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not ever.”

She simply presses a soft kiss to the top of his head, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him even closer. And Spencer lets himself sink into her embrace, his body perfectly molded to hers, the scent of her wrapping around him like a protective cocoon. In this moment, he doesn’t care about anything else. The world can wait.

As long as he has her—her scent, her touch, her love—nothing else matters.

[heliosunny]

Yandere!Aglaea x Reader

Your first memory was a vision of gold. Golden light, golden hair and eyes that gleamed with unwavering devotion. Aglaea was there when you opened your eyes, her radiant smile the only anchor in a sea of confusion.

“My love” she whispered, her voice soft as the first bloom of spring. “You’re back. I’ve waited so long for this moment.”

Her words felt warm, comforting even, but they slid into the cracks of your fragmented mind like whispers in the dark. Back? From where? Who were you?

You tried to speak, to ask the questions burning in your chest, but she pressed a delicate finger to your lips, shushing you gently. “No need to overthink, darling. You’ve been through so much. Just rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

And she did. Aglaea became your world. Every day, she tended to you with unwavering attention, her affection like a gilded cocoon keeping you safe. You trusted her, clung to her, because there was nothing else to hold on to. Every time you asked about your past, she’d deflect with a tender smile.

“Your old life doesn’t matter anymore” she’d say, her tone as sweet as honey. “What matters is that you’re here now with me. That’s all you need to remember.”

At first, you believed her. After all, what reason would she have to lie? But as the days turned to weeks, a gnawing emptiness began to creep into your heart. You felt like a painting with half its canvas missing, a puzzle with pieces intentionally hidden.

One afternoon, while Aglaea was away, you stumbled upon a door you’d never noticed before. It was tucked away behind a heavy velvet curtain, its golden handle cold beneath your touch. Something compelled you to open it.

Inside, you found a room filled with memories you didn’t recognize. An ornate album sat on a pedestal, its cover adorned with intricate golden patterns. Next to it lay a worn leather-bound diary. Both called to you, their presence heavy with the weight of something important, something Aglaea hadn’t told you.

With trembling hands, you opened the album first. Photographs of you filled its pages, each one more unsettling than the last. In some, you were smiling alongside people you didn’t recognize. In others, you looked… lifeless. Your body limp in Aglaea’s arms, her face twisted in a mixture of anguish and obsession.

“No...” you whispered, your heart pounding as you flipped through the pages. “What is this?”

The diary offered no solace. It was written in your own handwriting, the entries filled with your thoughts, fears, and dreams. But as you read, you began to piece together the truth: you had died. Or at least, you were supposed to have. Aglaea had brought you back, weaving your memories into a tapestry that suited her vision of perfection.

“I couldn’t let you go” one of her entries read, scrawled in an elegant hand that wasn’t yours. “You belong to me. You always have.”

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, and panic seized your chest. Aglaea’s voice called out, sickly sweet. “Darling? Where are you?”

You scrambled to hide the evidence, but it was too late. The door creaked open, and there she stood, her golden eyes narrowing as they landed on the album in your hands.

“Oh, my love” she said, her voice calm but laced with menace. “You shouldn’t have seen that.”

Her smile returned, wider now, almost unhinged. “But it’s okay. I’ll fix this. I’ll fix you, just like I always do.”

The room seemed to glow brighter as she stepped toward you, her golden aura suffocating, inescapable.

[helvegen-s]

crossing lines | five

index

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC

Summary: In the dizzying world of Formula 1, where speed and competition dominate every second, Carlos Sainz Jr., a young Spanish driver with undeniable talent, struggles to find his place amidst the pressure and expectations. Livia Visconti, heiress to an Italian fashion empire, moves with the same determination in a universe of elegance and power. Two opposing worlds, two strong personalities, an inevitable clash that will ignite a spark between them. But in a world where image and success are everything, can they risk it all for a love that defies the rules of the game?

WC: 4.3k

Warnings: emotional abuse, verbal abuse, toxic relationships, past trauma

A/N: this is coming to an end!! i planed this story to be short (two more parts), since it's the first time i've ever written anything f1 related. i hope you are liking it :))

Livia sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers gently swirling the wine in her glass. Her friends, gathered around the room, watched her with curious smiles, waiting for her to speak. The night had been magical, and now it was her turn to share.

"So... what happened?" Chiara asked, leaning forward with excitement. "Tell us everything!"

Livia smiled, her heart still fluttering from the events of the evening. She took a deep breath, her gaze distant for a moment as she remembered Carlos's touch, his tenderness. It was as if everything felt... different now.

"It was... perfect," Livia began softly, her voice betraying the happiness she hadn’t allowed herself to fully feel in a long time. "We walked along the harbor, talked about everything and nothing... It just felt... easy, you know? Like we were on the same page. And when he kissed me..." She paused, a smile tugging at her lips. "It was like everything else faded away. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could just... breathe."

Her friends exchanged knowing glances, their smiles widening. Chiara raised an eyebrow. "So, what does that mean for you and him?"

Livia took a sip of wine, her thoughts momentarily drifting to the man who had made her feel like this. "I don’t know. But for the first time in... forever, I feel like something can actually go right. That maybe, just maybe, I can have something real, something that makes sense. It’s... refreshing."

"Real?" Serena asked, tilting her head slightly. "I thought you didn’t do real anymore."

Livia smiled, but there was a quiet sadness in her eyes. "I didn’t think I could, either. After everything..." She trailed off, the weight of her past suddenly clouding her moment of happiness.

Chiara looked at her closely. "What do you mean?"

Livia’s gaze lowered, as though searching for the right words. "My ex... He destroyed so much of my trust. I didn’t even realize how much until recently. It wasn’t just the relationship; it was everything that came with it. The way he controlled everything, manipulated me. It was like I was suffocating, and I didn’t even know how to breathe on my own anymore." She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. "That’s why I’ve always been so guarded, why I kept people at arm's length. I didn’t know how to let anyone in after that. I was too scared."

Her friends sat quietly, taking in her words. Chiara finally spoke, her voice soft but firm. "I get it, Liv. But Carlos... he’s not him. You know that, right?"

Livia nodded, her heart swelling with a mix of hope and hesitation. "I know. That’s the part that scares me. But with Carlos, it’s different. He doesn’t want to change me. He just... gets me. For once, someone isn’t judging me or pushing me to be something I’m not. He understands what it’s like to always have eyes on you. It’s like... like we don’t have to explain ourselves to each other."

Martina smiled knowingly, her voice teasing. "Well, it sounds like someone’s already falling."

Livia laughed, a playful lightness returning to her tone. "Maybe I am. But I’m taking it slow. I don’t want to rush into anything."

"Of course," Chiara said with a knowing wink. "But don’t forget to enjoy it. You deserve to feel good, Liv. After everything, you deserve something real."

Livia smiled at her friends, her heart lighter than it had been in a long time. For the first time in years, she felt like she could truly embrace the possibility of something better. And maybe, just maybe, Carlos was the person who would make that possible.

The Amalfi sun bathed the coastline in its warm glow, and Livia began to notice something she hadn’t felt in a long time—her laughter came naturally, free of any weight. Every day with Carlos felt like a little adventure, and as they explored together, she felt the walls she had built around herself slowly crumble.

They filled their days with all kinds of plans. One morning, Carlos rented a small sailboat, and not far from the harbor, they found a hidden cove where they spent the afternoon swimming and laughing. Another day, they drove to a nearby town, wandering through its narrow streets and poking around in charming souvenir shops.

Each day brought a new excuse to steal kisses, share subtle touches, and enjoy the thrill of discovering each other in ways they hadn’t before.

The idea of horseback riding came up casually over breakfast on a terrace overlooking the sea. Livia had mentioned, with visible excitement, how riding had always been one of her favorite activities growing up—a source of peace.

Carlos, not one to back down from an adventure, agreed to the plan but confessed he’d never been on a horse before.

“Never?” Livia asked, both surprised and amused.

“Never,” Carlos admitted, laughing. “But I’m willing to give it a shot. Just don’t laugh if I fall.”

At the stable, nestled among green hills with breathtaking views of the Mediterranean, Livia took the lead. Dressed in light riding pants and boots, she greeted the owner, an old family friend, with a natural confidence. She quickly picked out a calm horse for Carlos.

“This is Nero,” she said, stroking the neck of a dark brown horse. “He’s gentle and perfect for beginners. Don’t worry—he won��t bite.”

“And what if I outrun you?” Carlos teased, eyeing Nero as if sizing up an opponent.

“Then I’ll have to show you what years of practice can do,” Livia quipped, mounting her white horse with ease.

The ride started slowly, with Livia explaining the basics. “Sit straight, but stay relaxed. Keep the reins firm, but don’t pull too hard. And please, don’t try to go faster unless you’re sure of yourself.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Any more advice, or are you just trying to prove I’m a rookie?”

“Don’t get defensive!” she shot back with a playful smile. “Come on, Nero’s your teammate now.”

Carlos moved stiffly at first, every step of the horse making him wobble awkwardly. Meanwhile, Livia glided gracefully, her years of experience evident.

“Having fun?” she called back, pausing to let him catch up.

“Absolutely,” Carlos replied, feigning confidence. “Though I think my legs are going to hate me tomorrow.”

After some practice, Livia suggested a gentle trot. “Come on, try to keep up,” she challenged.

“If I fall, you have to promise not to laugh.”

“No promises,” she said with a mischievous grin before urging her horse forward.

To his credit, Carlos managed to keep up, his determination earning Livia’s admiration. By the end of the ride, with the sun setting over the hills, he dismounted clumsily but with a genuine smile.

“Well, I survived. That counts as an achievement, right?”

Livia approached him, still laughing softly. “You did well for your first time. Though I think Nero deserves most of the credit.”

“So the horse is the favorite, huh?” Carlos teased, brushing dust off his pants.

Livia smiled warmly. “You might have to visit Amalfi more often. I never thought I’d see you on a horse.”

Carlos shrugged. “What can I say? For you, I’ll try anything.”

As they walked back together, the horses trailing behind, the fading sunlight painted the sky in shades of gold and pink. Livia felt a rare sense of contentment, knowing these moments with Carlos were what truly mattered.

They didn’t spend all their time alone. Some nights, Livia joined Carlos at gatherings with his childhood friends. One evening, at a beachside bar, a group of musicians began improvising a song, and Livia, encouraged by the wine and the festive atmosphere, joined in singing. From his spot at the bar, Carlos watched her, captivated by the ease and joy she radiated.

“Is she always like this?” one of his friends asked.

“Not at all,” Carlos replied with a smile, his eyes never leaving Livia. “But I love seeing her this way.”

On another occasion, Livia introduced Carlos to her friends. They spent an afternoon at the beach, playing volleyball and sharing stories. The day was perfect—the sun glittering on the water and laughter filling the air. As they sat on the sand with cold drinks and a relaxed vibe, Chiara decided it was the perfect moment to "interrogate" Carlos.

“Well, Carlos, since you’re the most interesting person at the table and, clearly, the only man here, I have some important questions for you,” Chiara said, her grin wide enough to make Livia immediately suspicious.

Carlos leaned forward, amused and intrigued. “Go ahead, Chiara. I’m ready.”

Chiara shifted in her seat, as if preparing to moderate a press conference. “First: how many drivers on the grid are single? And if there are any, who would you say is the most handsome? Purely professional curiosity.”

Carlos burst into laughter as Livia covered her face with her hand, caught between embarrassment and amusement.

“Well,” Carlos began, trying not to laugh too hard, “there are a few single ones, but I’m not sure who’s looking for someone... Or should I just tell you who’s the most handsome?”

“Please!” Chiara exclaimed, raising her hands. “Let me make it easier for you. If you had to play matchmaker, who would you pair me with? I want options—and phone numbers.”

“Chiara, for the love of God…” Livia interjected, attempting to sound serious but failing to hide her smile.

Carlos took it in stride. “Alright, let’s see. I think Pierre would be thrilled. He’s fun, loves fashion, and always has a joke ready. Or maybe Lando, if you’re into younger guys with charisma.”

Chiara pretended to jot down notes in the air. “Hmm, interesting. Though I’m not sure about the ‘younger’ part.”

One afternoon, while Livia and Carlos were relaxing on a terrace overlooking the harbor, Livia glanced at her phone and noticed a message from an unknown number. A wave of unease washed over her instantly. Opening the message, its contents struck her like a blow from the past:

"So, you're in Amalfi with a driver now. Looking for another story for the public? You know how these things end."

The message was brief, but its intention was clear. It was her ex. The carefully chosen, stinging words disrupted the peace she had been building.

Carlos, sitting across from her, noticed the change in her expression.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.

"I don’t know," Livia admitted, vulnerability creeping into her tone. "He stopped bothering me a while ago, but he always knows when to reappear to..."

Livia looked up, attempting a smile, but it didn’t convince him. She hesitated for a moment before showing him the message. Carlos read it, his jaw tightening as his eyes scanned the words.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked calmly, though his voice carried an edge.

"To try to control your life," Carlos finished, his gaze sharp and protective.

Carlos set the phone down on the table and leaned closer, taking her hand firmly. "Livia, you don’t have to deal with this alone. If he bothers you again, we’ll handle it together. I’m not going to let him drag you down again."

Carlos gave her a small smile, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "I don’t know if I always do, but I know this: I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not while I’m here."

Livia looked at him, surprised by his determination. She had expected discomfort, maybe even a suggestion to ignore the problem, but his response disarmed her.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. "I don’t know how you always know exactly what to say."

The Amalfi vacation came to an end faster than either of them would have liked. On their last afternoon together, sitting by the sea, Livia and Carlos discussed what they had started to build.

"What do we do now?" Livia asked, gazing at the horizon. The breeze gently played with her hair, and while her voice was calm, there was a note of uncertainty in it.

Carlos looked at her, his fingers idly playing with a small shell he had picked up on the beach. "I think the best thing is to keep this between us, at least for now. The press always finds a way to ruin something good."

Livia nodded, relieved that they were on the same page. "I don’t want what we have to become a spectacle. I want us to decide when, how, and if we share it with the world."

Carlos took her hand, intertwining their fingers. "Then that’s what we’ll do. Just us. At least until we’re ready."

Back in their respective lives, Livia and Carlos found ways to stay connected. Long nightly calls filled with laughter and spontaneous messages throughout the day became part of their routine. Carlos sent photos from the circuits, often with sarcastic comments about paddock gossips, while Livia shared images of her latest designs or small everyday moments she thought might make him smile.

It didn’t take long for eagle-eyed fans to start noticing coincidences in their Instagram posts. A photo of Livia enjoying gelato in Amalfi suspiciously matched another of Carlos at the same spot, posted just hours apart. A sunset on the beach, an Italian restaurant... the clues were enough for theories to start swirling.

Despite this, neither Livia nor Carlos commented publicly. When journalists tried to broach the subject during interviews, both deflected with calculated responses.

Months later, the Italian Grand Prix at Monza was a whirlwind of emotions. Ferrari secured an incredible home victory with Charles Leclerc crossing the finish line first, while Carlos finished a respectable fourth after an intense battle on track. Although he didn’t make the podium, his performance was solid, and the paddock buzzed with pride and celebration.

Livia had followed the race from a private hospitality suite, staying discreet but feeling every moment of excitement. When Carlos crossed the finish line, she couldn’t help but applaud, admiring his determination on such a demanding circuit.

That evening, Ferrari hosted a gala dinner in Milan to commemorate the triumph. Livia received an invitation through her professional circle, and while she knew attending could fuel rumors, she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to be there.

The event took place in a luxurious palace in the heart of the city. Golden lights illuminated the façade as elegantly dressed guests arrived in sleek cars.

Carlos was already there, surrounded by teammates and industry figures. He wore a flawlessly tailored Visconti dark blue suit, though his attention was clearly divided. He couldn’t stop glancing around, wondering when Livia might appear.

The sound of animated conversation filled the hall as Carlos chatted with Lando, George, and Charles. Then, the grand doors opened, and Livia entered, arm-in-arm with her father.

She wore an elegant black dress that enhanced her natural poise, her smile lighting up the room. Carlos couldn’t help but watch as she moved with that unmistakable grace he had always associated with her. But now, there was no trace of the skepticism or irritation she had once inspired in him. Instead, he found himself captivated, unable to look away.

"You’re missing something, Sainz," Lando said with a sly grin, following Carlos’s gaze. "But don’t worry, just keep staring. That’ll fix it."

Carlos rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the comments, though his focus remained on Livia as she greeted familiar faces and exchanged pleasantries with her father.

Moments later, Livia approached their group with a warm smile, her tone bright yet composed, as though she had always belonged in their circle.

"Good evening," she said graciously, greeting the group. "First of all, congratulations, Lando. McLaren has been making quite the impression lately."

"Thank you," Lando replied, beaming with pride. "We’re working hard to stay competitive."

"And Charles," she continued, turning to Leclerc. "An amazing victory today. Ferrari needed that in front of its home crowd. It was thrilling to see you on the podium."

Charles nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, Livia. Monza is always special, but winning here... it’s something else entirely."

The conversation flowed naturally as Livia spoke with a mix of knowledge and charisma that captured everyone’s attention. Carlos, though silent, couldn’t stop admiring her. There was something about the way she navigated the discussion, making everyone feel valued, that left him utterly entranced.

The evening seemed perfect until an unexpected voice shattered the harmony.

“You always knew how to be the center of attention, didn’t you, Livia?”

The sharp tone made Livia tense instantly. Slowly, she turned to find Matteo, her ex-partner, walking toward the group. With his impeccable suit and false smile, he radiated the arrogance that Livia had long learned to despise.

“Matteo,” Livia said with her characteristic poised air, straightening up immediately. “I didn’t know you were invited.”

“I’m surprised you were,” Matteo replied, his smile turning even more bitter. “Then again, you’ve always known how to sneak into places you don’t belong.”

“If I’m here, it’s because I earned it,” Livia shot back, not losing her composure. “Unlike others, I don’t need money to open doors for me.”

The pilots exchanged surprised glances. The tension was palpable, but Livia continued to project that unwavering confidence she was known for—or at least seemed to.

“Always so quick with words,” Matteo continued, stepping closer. “But behind all that charm and facade, you’re still the same insecure little girl who needs everyone’s attention to feel validated.”

Livia narrowed her eyes, her jaw tightening, but she didn’t miss a beat. “I’d rather be an ‘insecure little girl’ than someone incapable of entering a relationship without destroying the other person’s life.”

The group fell silent, processing the blow Livia had delivered. But Matteo wasn’t finished.

“Relationship? Call it what it was, Livia: a performance, and you were the star. Always so good at pretending everything was fine. And look at you now, with your new ‘friends.’ What are you doing here? Looking for another name to add to your collection? The richer, the better, right?”

Matteo’s words hit like a sledgehammer. For a moment, Livia seemed to lose her breath. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The scars from her past with him, which she thought had healed, suddenly tore open again.

“That’s enough,” Carlos intervened, stepping forward. His tone was calm, but there was a sharpness in his voice that made Matteo sneer.

“And who are you to tell me what to do?” Matteo sneered, turning to face Carlos. “Another idiot who buys into her act?”

Lando joined Carlos, crossing his arms. “I think we all know who the real idiot is here.”

Charles added coldly, “What I don’t understand is why you’re still here. It’s clear you’re not welcome.”

“Welcome?” Matteo laughed mockingly. “How amusing. None of you know the real Livia. Always so good at pretending to be strong, but let me tell you something: no matter who she surrounds herself with, she’ll always be the same broken person.”

Matteo’s cruel words made Livia take a small step back, as though they had physically struck her.

Carlos stepped closer, his gaze fixed on Matteo. “That’s enough. If you have a problem with Livia, this is neither the time nor the place. And believe me, it’s not in your best interest to continue.”

“Oh, really? And what are you going to do about it, guard dog?” Matteo provoked, stepping toward Carlos.

Before the situation could escalate, Charles placed a hand on Carlos’s arm, holding him back. “Leave it, Carlos,” he said in a low but firm voice. “He’s not worth it.”

Matteo looked around, noticing the defiant expressions of the pilots surrounding him. Despite his arrogance, even he knew when to back down.

“This isn’t over, Livia,” he said finally, throwing her one last look before turning and walking away.

When Matteo disappeared into the crowd, Livia stood still, her eyes glassy but fixed on the ground. Carlos turned to her, his face filled with concern.

"Livia," he said softly, placing a hand on her arm.

She looked up, but the words seemed trapped in her throat. Finally, she murmured, "I need to get out of here."

Carlos nodded immediately. "Let's go."

Without letting go of her, he guided her toward the exit under the curious gaze of those present, leaving the noise of the hall behind. Once outside, the cool night air wrapped around them. Livia took a few steps forward, pulling away a little, trying to control the tears that threatened to overflow.

"Livia," Carlos said, approaching her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I didn't want this to happen... I didn’t want..."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Carlos interrupted firmly. "He was the problem, not you."

The tears finally fell, and Livia tried to cover her face, embarrassed. But Carlos wrapped her in a hug, allowing her to lean on him as her emotions overwhelmed her.

"My God, how embarrassing. Why do I always end up crying when I'm with you? You should know that this isn't usually me."

Carlos chuckled softly as he looked at Livia, wiping her tears with the handkerchief from his suit. With his hand still on her back, he leaned slightly to meet her gaze. "Are you feeling better?" he asked gently, as though fearing to push too much.

Livia weakly nodded, carefully wiping her tears. "I'm sorry for ruining the night. I didn't want to..."

"Hey," Carlos interrupted, placing a hand under her chin to make her look at him. "None of this is your fault, okay? And the night isn’t ruined. I'm here with you, and that's all that matters."

She looked at him, her eyes still shining with emotion, but now there was something else: a warmth that came from Carlos's words, from his presence. He kissed her forehead as he hugged her again, enjoying the way their bodies fit together perfectly.

"You always know what to say, don't you? Is it a natural talent, or have you practiced a lot?" Livia said with a small smile, though still a little shaky.

Carlos laughed softly, gently brushing Livia's hair. "Let’s say it’s something I save for special occasions."

Livia let out a small, more genuine laugh this time, pulling away just enough to look him in the eyes. "Thanks for not leaving me alone in there. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I should go back and thank the guys too, it was really sweet of them to stand up for me."

Carlos tilted his head, seeking her gaze. "You don’t need to thank anyone. I'm here because I want to be. And I’m not going anywhere."

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted the moment.

"Wow, now this is a dramatic scene. Should I be worried?"

Livia quickly turned to find her father, watching them with a mix of humor and curiosity. He was swinging his cane in his right hand as he slowly approached them.

"Dad," Livia said, her voice still weak but with a hint of concern. "What are you doing here? You should be inside."

"And miss this?" he replied, raising an eyebrow. "I've been bored all night listening to men in suits talk about engines. At least out here, it seems like something interesting is going on."

Carlos, feeling uncomfortable but maintaining his composure, took a small step back. "Sir, I apologize if we’ve caused any worry."

Livia's father studied him closely before flashing a smile. "Worry? Not at all. Though I must say, you’ve handled this situation better than I would have. If the scene had lasted any longer, I’d have kicked that rude Matteo’s ass with my cane myself."

"Dad," Livia interrupted, clearly embarrassed.

"Relax, my love," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm just saying I’m impressed. This guy has style. And patience. Something, if I’m honest, that’s not easy to find."

Carlos let out a small chuckle. "I do what I can."

Livia’s father turned to her and, with a tremendous physical effort, kissed the top of her head, his tone now softer. "Are you okay?"

Livia nodded, although her eyes were still shining. "Yeah. Thanks, Dad."

"Good," he said, looking back at Carlos. "Then I trust you’ll take good care of her. Because if not, you’ll have to face me. And believe me, I can be a lot worse than Matteo."

Livia let out a laugh, though still moved by the moment. "Dad, don’t scare Carlos."

"Scare him? No way," her father replied, smiling knowingly at the driver. "This guy has more guts than I thought. I think he can handle anything."

Carlos smiled, nodding in a gesture of respect. "I’ll do my best not to disappoint."

Livia’s father watched them for a moment before letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, I guess this is the moment where I say something wise and profound, right?"

Livia raised an eyebrow, confused. "What do you mean, Dad?"

He looked at her, then at Carlos, and gave a mischievous smile. "I mean that this gala is terribly boring, and after everything that just happened, I think we need something… more authentic."

Carlos looked at him curiously. "Something more authentic?"

"Exactly," the man said, crossing his arms. "There’s a place not far from here, a little joint I used to frequent when I was young. They make the best burgers you’ll ever taste. No foie gras or carpaccio. Just meat, cheese, and fries. What do you say? Shall we get out of here?"

Livia blinked, clearly surprised. "Are you suggesting we leave the Ferrari gala to eat burgers?"

"Exactly that," her father replied with a wide grin. "Come on, Liv. You said yourself the night’s already been pretty eventful. Why not finish it off in an even more memorable way?"

Carlos let out a laugh, impressed by the man’s spontaneity. "Sounds like a good plan, sir."

"That’s the spirit!" her father exclaimed, giving Carlos a pat on the shoulder. "See, Livia? He gets it. Plus, after everything you’ve been through tonight, I think you deserve a good burger. I’ll call the driver. Or are you driving, pretty boy?" he said, pointing at Carlos.

Livia couldn’t help but laugh at her father’s comment, and Carlos laughed along with her.

"I’ll go get the car," said the Spanish driver.

Taglist:

@smoooothoperator @leptitlu

if you want to be added to the taglist, let me now!!

[buckysouvenir]

call it what you want

pairing: bucky barnes x y/n authors note: day tree!

the valentine’s day collection 2025: for the first 14 days of february, i’ll be posting a series of short stories inspired by songs, all centered around bucky barnes.

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

The world was quiet for once, but Bucky’s mind was anything but. 

The Winter Soldier. Hydra’s weapon. A killer. They had a picture of him so dark, even he had a hard time believing there was anything else left.

So, he disappeared. For months, nobody heard from him. Not Steve. Not Sam. He needed the silence more than he needed air. He needed to figure out who he was without the ghosts of the past clawing at him, dragging him back into the dark.

But then, there was her.

Y/N walked into my life when I wasn’t even looking. She wasn’t afraid of me like so many others were. She didn’t flinch at the sight of my metal arm, didn’t hesitate to stand by me when I thought I didn’t deserve anyone’s kindness.

She saw me. The real me.

I don’t know how she does it, but when Y/N looks at me, it’s like the weight of the world lifts off my shoulders. She makes me forget the noise—the whispers of those who doubt me, the accusations, the labels. All the liars fade into nothing when I look at her.

And she’s beautiful. God, she’s beautiful. She’s got this way about her, like she doesn’t even realize how much light she brings into a room. She’s fit like a daydream, moving through life with a kind of quiet strength that leaves me breathless.

Sometimes, I catch myself staring. It’s not just her smile or the way her eyes light up when she’s excited. It’s the little things—how her lips twitch when she’s trying not to laugh, or how she tilts her head when she’s listening to someone talk.

And she loves me. Not in the way people love an idea of someone, but the real me. She loves me like I’m someone brand new.

I don’t deserve her. I know that. I’ve made the same mistakes over and over, burned bridges I didn’t even try to fix. And maybe I’ll never learn, but at least I did one thing right: her.

One night, we were sitting by the fire. The compound was quiet for once, the kind of peaceful stillness I rarely experienced. She was leaning against my side, her hand brushing mine, and the words just slipped out before I could stop them.

“Would you run away with me?”

I wasn’t sure why I said it. Maybe it was because, for the first time in forever, I felt like I could breathe around her. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to share her with the rest of the world.

She turned to look at me, her eyes wide, searching my face for something. And then she smiled, this soft, radiant smile that made my chest ache.

“Wherever you go,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’ll follow.”

When you first met Bucky Barnes, you didn’t know what to expect. He was quiet, his head always down, like the weight of the world was pressing down on him. He moved like he didn’t want anyone to notice him, but you did.

You saw him.

He had this way of making himself small, like he thought he didn’t deserve to take up space. But when he looked up, when those stormy blue eyes met mine, something shifted.

He’s the kind of person who hides his heart, but when he trusts you, it’s like being let into a secret. And somehow, you became the person he walked to.

Bucky isn’t what the world thinks he is. He’s kind, in ways people don’t notice. Like the way he remembers the little things—how you take my coffee, which books you like to read, even the songs you hum under my breath.

One night, when the compound’s heating system failed during a snowstorm, he built a fire just to keep you warm. He sat there for hours, feeding the flames, making sure you wouldn’t shiver.

It wasn’t just the fire, though. It was him. Always showing up, always caring in ways he didn’t think anyone noticed.

You started wearing his initial around your neck not long after that. A small silver chain with a simple charm. It wasn’t because he owned you or anything like that—it was because he knew you. Really knew you.

Bucky saw through all the walls you’d built around yourself. He saw the parts of you kept hidden, the pieces you thought no one would ever want. And he stayed.

One night, you sat by the fire again, the same warmth wrapping around you. He looked at you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“Would you run away with me?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in his words. He didn’t ask because he thought you needed saving or because he wanted to escape. He asked because, for the first time, he felt like we could have something that was just yours.

“Wherever you go,” you whispered, “I’ll follow.”

#taglist: @cjand10

[pinkslipxox]

Under The Weather:

Summary: baby Camila is sick and you and Miko take care of her ❤️‍🩹

Warnings: fluffy Mama Miko 😘🫶

——————————————————————————

The soft sound of rain pattering against the window creates a soothing backdrop in your cozy living room in Puerto Rico. Outside, the world is shrouded in a warm embrace of gray clouds, but inside, a different warmth envelops you and your family. You glance over at Miko, your wife, whose tattoos and strong presence are calming even in this weariness.

Your heart aches as you look at your five-month-old daughter, Camila, nestled closely in Miko's arms, her little frame wrapped in a soft blanket. Today has been tough; Camila has caught a cold, leaving both you and Miko worried and exhausted. Your sweet baby’s sniffs and soft whimpers tug at your heartstrings, and you’re grateful for Miko’s unyielding strength by your side.

“Ya, mamita, it’s going to be okay,” Miko murmurs, her voice low and soothing as she rocks Camila gently. You watch in awe as she leans down to press a gentle kiss to Camila’s forehead, a small smile playing on her lips as your little girl coos, comforted by her mother’s touch.

“Eres tan fuerte, baby girl,” Miko continues, the affection in her voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, and you feel a rush of gratitude wash over you. In the midst of the worrying, Miko always finds a way to be soft, her fierce exterior melting away whenever it comes to Camila.

You shuffle closer to Miko, feeling the warmth radiating from her body as she snuggles Camila deeper against her chest. “I wish I could take her sickness away,” you murmur, your voice a whisper filled with concern. Miko’s brow furrows slightly, and she holds you both a little tighter.

“Mami’s got you, mi princesita,” she reassures Camila, her anger towards the situation evident in her tone. “No one messes with my girls, right?” A playful smirk dances across her lips, and you can’t help but chuckle despite the exhaustion.

“Yeah, right! You’re invincible,” you tease, leaning into her solid frame. Miko’s muscular arms cradle both you and Camila, the comfort of her strength putting you at ease even as the worry gnaws at your heart.

Miko’s gaze softens as she looks down at you, her expression mirroring the care she has for your daughter. “No more worrying, pequeña. We’ll figure it out. Camila is strong, just like you.” She runs her fingers through your hair gently, a familiar calming gesture that reminds you of the countless nights you’ve spent wrapped in her arms, although this time it’s filled with concern for your little girl.

You lean further into her touch, letting her warmth seep into your bones and momentarily distract you from the worry. Yet your motherly instincts are far from being relaxed.

“What if she doesn’t get better soon?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Then we fight it together,” Miko says firmly, her expression steeling for just a moment before softening once more. “This isn’t the first fight, and it won’t be the last. We’re a team, remember?” She kisses your forehead, and you can’t help but smile.

Camila coos again, almost as if she understands the bond that envelops her, her tiny fingers gripping the fabric of Miko’s shirt as she settles against her mother. Miko chuckles softly, her fierce exterior still present, but it’s tinged with the softness she shows only for you and their daughter.

"Eres la más fuerte y hermosa, mi reina," Miko whispers to Camila, her voice melting in the stillness of the room.

As the rain continues to dance on the window, Miko holds you both tightly. In these moments, surrounded by love and warmth—no matter how tired or concerned you may be—you know you’ll always face the storm together.

“Let’s get some rest, okay?” Miko suggests, her voice steady as she shifts, anchoring Camila securely. You nod, feeling the weight of exhaustion creeping in. Miko gently rises from the couch, cradling both you and Camila as she walks toward the bedroom, a protective embrace for both her girls.

With Miko by your side, you find solace in the realization that no matter how tough things get, together you can weather any storm.

[enchaentingly]

        relief flutters weakly at his answer, but it doesn’t help to make her world any more vibrant, sharp, and clear. it’s still fuzzy. at least if he wanted to hurt her, it would’ve made sense. she knows she deserves it. there’s enough time for her to protest his claim, surely, not at all plagued by the confusion he keeps trying to tell her about. she is confused, but not about this. she’s confused, and heartbroken as to why he feels unwelcome. why he feels rejected and cast out, unwanted. she’s the only one to deserve feeling that way.  “ n- no, i do. i do want you here. you’ve been so kind, you have to let me thank you, i … there has to be something … ”  she needs him to understand, but allie can’t find any more words.

        she’s not as strong as she thinks. still sitting up, she presses her hands into the soft feeling of her covers, only finding sensation on one side. it’s not very grounding at all, the plushness sh underneath the searching pads. she squeezes her eyes shut, tries to keep from ruminating on the cycles of pain, and guilt soaked regret. the reality of the gore that stains her neck, and traveling down. it comes to the closure of half magic, half ruin. allie doesn’t have to comprehend the rapid signals her body sends her to know what she needs. her eyes open, cloudy with tears, falling in between one blink and the next. still, her gaze pulls to the sight of him, again. he looks so uncomfortable, grounding himself into the wood of the floor instead of anything else. her insides shred with the panic that something is wrong, and she can’t figure it out. there’s too much to go through. and he hasn’t given her anything besides the truth that he knew her mother and the urge to get home, and to be safe, without him. she watches his face, and can’t place anything but bravery and resolve. she remembers, when she had been closer to him, after the fall, she hadn’t heard his heart. she remembers seeing him flinch away from the open wound, bending. allie makes a desperate guess that would hush her prickling senses.

         everything after that feels like it could be happening all at the same time. he’s feeding her instructions with a stern voice that makes her feel just as small as he seems to remember, he turns, he’s going to leave. he’s going to leave. and he’s not going to come back, and neither will she, and now that the bleeding stopped, the pain turns bone dry and unsolved. every bit of her screams, even while allie knows she can’t. she can’t, but she does cry, and pours, all the same. frustration piles high in her so deep that she burns. she might even be angry, the ugliest feeling of all.  “ just- just, wait, please! ”  she does him the simple favor of not trying to stand again, but she shakes, ceaselessly, even without the movement of her limbs.  “ please. please, i haven’t seen her in- in seven years and i haven’t even come looking for her, this time. and you’re- you’re here. i don’t know anyone else that knows her, i’ve followed her everywhere i could, and- and her stories but none of it’s ever done anything and i … ”  her sob turns choked up, mangled. she doesn’t want it to leave, anyway.  “ i just want my mom. ”  in the leave of her grief, silence comes, and she can’t look at him any more. allie’s eyes, filled with tears, fall to her bare knees. somehow, she hadn’t skinned those. it doesn’t take long at all for the worry that he’ll go, anyway, take over the sadness, the emptiness. she has to do something.  “ i can close the wound, i can- so you can stay or- or you could come back, i just … i can’t lose you, i only just found you. ”  the flower flower, unlike the root, is stored on the other side of the bed. allie shoves this, too down her throat, anticipating the sour burn despite the sweetpea exterior, protests from something meant to be used on the outside, gone on the inside of something alive. it doesn’t matter, she knows she won’t mend fast enough for it to be worth it.  “ can you- can you come back? or … or leave something? so i can find you again? ”  again, her body’s greedy, sagging at the edge of her bed at the smallest notion of rest.

Frowning, Reid recognises the spike in her heartbeat. "I didn't get you all the way back here, to hurt you," Damn, he hopes he doesn't at the end of all this. She's putting ideas in his head, and he's squeezing his eyes shut, shunning the depraved imagery. It's been overwhelming enough without her fears dousing her with cortisol; it's a feral trait to know that like it's syrup in a coffee.

She barely understands what she's asking him. "You don't want me here," Statement. Fact. Her friend is supposed to be here, so it's not him burdened with responsibility. Reid finds he's in the gravity of too many witches. Some are familiar with dragging him through the rocky plains of hell and back. Even more than that like to see him squirm under the weight of his desperation.

He's close to crossing the room and stopping the young witch's movements. But he fixes himself still, feet rooted to the floor — almost like the magic in the house has curled around his boots and crawled inside his bones; claimed him as a piece in Allie's little realm.

It's odd, watching her magic at work. He's seen so much of it, years of it, in the futile search for a cure. But it's all very different from the next; no black-and-white law. No mantra that Reid's used to in which he's clear on everything. Once it has been as easy as right and wrong had once been. Witchcraft just a mess of energy that prickles against him; Allie's ingredients aren't like power that envelops the room. He's felt that too, from some. The monster chasing answers in the darker practices; grimoires in stacks at the apartment; frantic hunts for an answer to his affliction. All he's got from it is nightmares and memories of agony.

"Allie." He uses it again, so she might listen this time. The violence at her throat stops its weak trickle as the root and flower do its work but she's vulnerable. She's been that, this whole time.

His instructions are clearer, the second time: "Lay back down. Call your friend. Rest."

And then, he rips his boots up from the invisible binds that had him there for far too long. The cavern in his chest tells him it's wrong to leave her exposed, but he doesn't have another option. He can't stay.

Reid pivots, nodding towards the bed expectantly, as he turns to leave. "Take care."

[sweetestberryofthebunch]

Your turn!! Fave ahs character of all time and why AND if you’d fuck them!?!

This was soooo hard cause there is so many different characters love to analyze and break down throughout the series, but I settled on Lana Winters as my favourite.

That is a survivor, that’s the finalest of final girls ever. The fact she’s still alive and kicking by the end of Asylum is literally insane, my girl did not let the, break her.

Her story kind of traumatised me ngl Asylum made its characters suffer like no other season did, but that made the end where she leaves and swears to fucking end that place with her story so so so cathartic and satisfying. And like, little closeted me living in a very Christian place really needed to see this lesbian on screen, I genuinely think she changed something in my brain chemistry that then made me accept my own sexuality as a fact of life. I was just able to pull A LOT of relatability out of the things they put her through in this season and I guess she just stuck with me as a bad bitch who lived on anyway.

Overall I love Lana banana so much even though I will never rewatch this season because of how much it terrified me back then. But my queen conquered all of that 😌

I’d fuck her if she let me do the honour, but I’d take her out for dinner first ;)

[00valentina-writes00]

✞⛧ Commanding Presence ✞⛧

Warnings: NSFW, explicit content, fingering, dominance/submission, intimacy in public setting

Word count: 1.1k

“You’re trembling.” Mel’s voice is low, almost a purr, her breath brushing against the shell of your ear. Her fingers trail down your arm, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. The grand hall’s murmurs are a distant hum, but all you can focus on is her—the way she’s looking at you, the way her touch makes your skin tingle.

“I’m fine,” you say, your voice wavering despite your best efforts. You try to straighten your posture, but your legs feel like jelly, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

Mel’s lips curve into a knowing smile, her golden eyes glinting with something unreadable. “You don’t have to lie to me, love. I can feel it in the way you’re holding yourself.” Her hand moves to your lower back, her touch firm and grounding. “Let me fix it.”

“Mel, I—” you start, but she silences you with a finger against your lips.

“Shh. Trust me,” she murmurs, her voice a velvety whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. Her hand slips lower, her fingers brushing against the hem of your skirt. “You need to let go, just for a moment. Let me take care of you.”

---

It had started an hour earlier, when you’d stumbled into the council chambers, your nerves already frayed. You’d been preparing for weeks, but the weight of it all—the expectations, the scrutiny—had settled on your shoulders like a lead blanket. Mel had been there, of course, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the stakes. She’d been sitting at the head of the table, her posture regal, her fingers steepled as she listened to the debate.

“You’ve got this,” she’d said when you’d caught her eye, her voice carrying that quiet confidence that always made you feel like you could conquer the world. But as the minutes ticked by, the pressure had only grown, until you felt like you were drowning in it.

When you’d excused yourself to the backstage area, Mel had followed without a word. She’d known, of course. She always did. And now, here she was, her hands on you, her touch both gentle and commanding.

---

“I’m supposed to be giving a speech,” you whisper, your voice trembling as Mel’s fingers slide higher, skimming the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“And you will,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your jaw. “But first, you need to breathe. Let me help you.”

Her hand slips under your skirt, her fingers finding the damp fabric of your panties. You gasp, your hips jerking instinctively, but Mel’s other hand holds you steady. “Shh,” she whispers, her voice soft but firm. “Stay quiet for me.”

Your cheeks burn, but you don’t pull away. You can’t. The way she’s touching you—so deliberate, so confident—it’s impossible to resist. Her fingers slide beneath the fabric, and you let out a shaky breath as she parts your folds, her touch sending sparks through your veins.

“Mel…” you whimper, your hands gripping the edge of the table behind you.

“You’re so tense, baby,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your ear as her fingers move. “Just let go. Let me take care of you.”

Her fingers press against your entrance, and you shudder, your hips rocking against her hand. She doesn’t push inside yet, though—just teases, her thumb brushing over your clit in slow, deliberate circles. The pleasure builds, hot and slow, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan.

“That’s it,” she whispers, her voice a low, breathy purr. “You’re doing so well, love. Just let me in.”

You nod, your breath hitching as her fingers slip inside you, curling just right. The sensation is electric, and you’re trembling again, but this time it’s not from nerves. Mel’s hand moves with a rhythm that matches the wild pounding of your heart, her other arm wrapped around your waist to hold you steady.

“You feel so good,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your throat. “So perfect for me.”

The words send a jolt of heat through you, and you feel yourself clench around her fingers. She chuckles softly, her breath warm against your skin. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nod, unable to form words, your hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly your knuckles are white. Mel’s thumb presses harder against your clit, and you gasp, your hips bucking wildly.

“Come for me, baby,” she whispers, her voice low and commanding. “Let go.”

The command is all it takes. The pressure inside you snaps, and you’re falling, your body trembling as the pleasure crashes over you. You clamp your mouth shut to stifle the scream that threatens to escape, but Mel doesn’t stop, her fingers working you through the aftershocks until you’re boneless in her arms.

“There you go,” she murmurs, her lips pressed to your temple. “You’re perfect, love. Absolutely perfect.”

You’re still catching your breath when she carefully withdraws her fingers, her touch gentle as she pulls your skirt back into place. She presses a soft kiss to your lips, her hand cradling your cheek. “Ready?”

You nod, your body still thrumming with the lingering heat of her touch. Mel smiles, her golden eyes filled with a quiet pride that makes your chest swell. “Let’s go, then. Show them who you really are.”

You take a deep breath, the weight of your anxiety now a distant memory. Mel’s hand slips into yours, and you step out into the grand hall, her presence beside you like a shield. The crowd’s murmurs grow louder as you approach the podium, but all you can focus on is the warmth of her hand in yours, the steadying force of her belief in you.

Your heart is still racing, but it’s a different kind of fluttering now—less fear, more anticipation. Mel releases your hand as you step up to the podium, her touch lingering for just a moment. “You’ve got this,” she whispers, her voice carrying that quiet confidence that always makes you feel invincible.

You take a deep breath, your eyes scanning the crowd. And then, you begin. The words flow easily now, your voice steady and strong. You can feel Mel’s gaze on you, her presence a grounding force as you deliver the speech of a lifetime. And when you’re done, the hall erupts into applause, the sound deafening.

But all you can focus on is her—the way she’s looking at you, the pride in her eyes. You step down from the podium, and she’s there, pulling you into a tight embrace. “You were incredible,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your hair. “I knew you would be.”

You melt into her, your heart swelling with a warmth that has nothing to do with the applause or the accolades. It’s her. It’s always been her. And as she leads you away from the crowd, her hand in yours, you know you’re ready for whatever comes next.

“Mel,” you whisper, your voice trailing off as her lips find yours in a slow, deep kiss that leaves you breathless.

“I’m here,” she murmurs, her forehead resting against yours. “Always.”

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐞.𝐦.

This piece contains 18+ content.

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader [friends → lovers]

Summary Eddie holds good on his promise to take you out on a date, and as the night comes to a close, you realize you’re not ready to say goodbye [fluff, smut, 4.3k].

A/N This is the long-awaited continuation of come whatever may. You can read that first if you'd like, but enough context will be provided here. Spoiler alert: the sex is very soft, teasy, and desperate because they’re in l-o-v-e. Haven't written smut in nearly two years, but I evoked the muses of times past—and thus!...

PART 1

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Summer is long gone, but when you open the door to Eddie holding flowers, the warmth that rises to your cheeks makes it feel nearer than ever. It’s a vibrant bouquet composed of white roses, red lilies, baby’s breath, and leafy foliage. The wrapper crinkles as he extends them to you with an easy smile and soft hello. Your eyes flick back up to his after admiring the delicate blooms. 

There’s a healthy flush to his cheeks, his curls neat and defined. The black leather jacket he’s wearing clings to his slender frame with a polished edge. Under the weight of your gaze, he huffs out a chuckle that reminds you you’re still on earth. 

“Gonna let me in, sweetheart?” Charm drips from his voice and shimmers within his chocolate eyes. 

Nodding, you shuffle backwards, allowing him to enter and push the door shut behind himself. As he steps further inside, you can feel his gaze sweeping over your outfit. An olive-green corduroy dress layered over a beige turtleneck that’s soft against your skin. His smile grows, glinting bright enough for anyone to believe he just won the Lotto when, really, it’s just the pretty sight of you holding the flowers he bought. 

“These are beautiful.” You raise the bouquet, but Eddie’s eyes remain on you. Seeking refuge from his gaze, you tuck your nose down to inhale the sweet fragrance of the petals. “They smell amazing too.” 

“That’s all you, sweetheart.” 

You get shy when his eyes meet yours. “You like my outfit and everything?” 

Eddie swallows back a degree of his earnestness so he doesn’t sound too far gone. “Of course I do, are you kidding me?” 

Seemingly out of nowhere, Robin descends the staircase with a bag slung over her shoulder like she’s prepared to leave, hair tied up in a messy bun. Given your parents were away in Indianapolis for the weekend, you’d asked her to come over and help you get ready so you wouldn’t be alone. 

Eddie’s eyes flick to her, clearing his throat. “Did you help her pick this out, Buckley?” 

“Obviously,” she smirks. “Nice hair.” 

“It is really nice,” you agree with a soft smile. Eddie lifts a passive shoulder, chest fluttering. 

“Rob, do you think you could…” she takes the bouquet without you having to ask. The two of you had shuffled through the attic and dug out a vase earlier that afternoon. 

Eddie had promised this date, along with flowers, a week ago when you slipped away from Steve’s party to be alone. That night, he’d kissed you in the heat of the moment but wanted to backtrack and do things right. You deserved that much. 

The time you’ve been looking forward to has finally come. 

With your hands now free, the only thing you can think to do is wrap your arms around Eddie. The world goes still as he hugs you back, nerves quelling beneath your skin. For a moment, you merely enjoy the warmth of the same arms you’ve been wrapped in countless times before. With your head tucked into his chest, enveloped by the faint scent of his cologne, you release all the worries that ride on the sweeping coattails of change. For a moment, he’s just Eddie, your best friend. 

When you pull away, he leans in, tilting his head with that familiar, boyish curiosity. “You alright?” he asks quietly, searching your gaze.

You nod, a smile breaking through. He takes your hand in his and gives it a squeeze, “Just checkin’.” 

Robin soon walks back into the foyer. “I put the flowers in a vase for you,” she announces, taking her hair down and shaking it out. “Hate to admit it, but you two are actually cute. It’s disgusting.” 

“Hey,” Eddie lifts his hands, laughing. “Little victories.” 

She adjusts her bag on her shoulder with a content sigh. “Welp, I’m about to go pester Harrington at Family Video.” She turns to Eddie, playfully narrowing her eyes. “You better treat her right, ‘cause best believe I’ll be hearing all about this date.” 

When she slips out the door, Eddie smiles at you in silent assurance. 

●・○・●・○・●

The sun hasn’t quite begun to set, but orange and pink faintly blend on the horizon. A cool fall breeze flows in through the cracked windows as the radio plays softly. Eddie had asked his Uncle Wayne to borrow his pickup truck because it’d be more romantic than his bulky van. You can’t say whether he was right, only that you’re grateful to be riding shotgun with him—headed to an unknown destination, no less. 

You’d already guessed through a list of places that Eddie denied with amusement. Sighing, you look out the window to people bustling about, walking dogs and strolling out of shops. You’re coming out of the more commercial side of town, nearing Lover’s Lake and the state park.  

“I give up,” you sigh. 

Eddie chuckles, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze, ignorant to his warming effect on you. “Okay, fine, I’ll give you a hint.” That makes you peer over at him in interest. “If I had to guess, I’d say not a lot of people have had the chance to try it out yet.” 

That’s a dead giveaway. Your mouth falls open in surprise. “That new place along the lake—Stillwater Grill?” The twitch of Eddie’s lips is telling. “No way!” The excitement in your voice makes his chest tighten.

Stillwater was supposed to be good, from what you’d heard. A slightly elevated dining experience minus the formalities and steep pricing of a restaurant like Enzo’s. Where classic American favorites embrace small-town charm, according to the paper. 

Upon your arrival, the parking lot houses a pretty decent number of cars. Lover’s Lake provides a serene backdrop that catches the evening light. Couples stand outside admiring the view. Eddie opens your door and helps you out of the truck like a proper gentleman. You happily tuck yourself into him as you walk inside. 

When you were younger, you often wondered what love would be like. Books and the movies always presented countless possibilities, but you always believed it’d be special for you. So different that nothing else would be able to compare—perhaps, selfishly. One thing for sure, you never could’ve dreamed up someone like Eddie. 

As he sits across from you under the dim glow of the lights, laughter and chatter filling the air, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to put all this into words. Belly full, you realize what you’ve enjoyed even more than the food and cozy, rustic atmosphere was is company. 

Eddie has an inexplicably magnetic way. There was a magic in getting him all to yourself. In relishing the lovely sparkle in his eyes that suggested he was always on the verge of laughter. The passion he exuded made it seem like the way he loved a given thing was biblical. He could talk the ear off a cornfield if he wanted but knew instinctively when to listen. Even your passing remarks seemed to bear some semblance of importance to him.  

Conversing with him had always been easy, but without other people vying for his attention, you were truly able to admire the boy before you. To embrace the deepening attraction. 

As you wait for the waiter to bring the tab, you don’t realize you’ve grown silent and begun blinking at him with the fondest eyes. 

●・○・●・○・●

The wooden stairs of your front porch creak under both your footsteps as you climb them, stopping in front of your front door as the night settles around you. Moths flutter around the lanterns framing the door, crickets chirp in the lawn. Eddie kicks at a dead leaf, combing through a sea of thoughts in search of the right words. 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says. You wait for him to continue. His doe eyes search yours for the briefest moment, seeing right through you it seems. “Would you like to be my girlfriend? ‘Cause I think it’s gonna be hard for me to quit you.” 

Your mouth opens a couple times in a mix of giddiness and surprise. “Yeah,” you finally breathe. “Yeah, I’d love to be your girlfriend.” 

Smiling, he steps forward to capture your lips in a slow, sweet kiss that you feel everywhere. It manages to outshine the first, more desperate, kiss you’d shared a week prior. This one is steady and sure, like a promise sealed with a prim bow. When he pulls away to look into your eyes, you shyly duck your head. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” he asks, lifting your chin. 

He doesn’t want to go, instead wishing he could stall and stay right here with you. He’s parted ways with you hundreds of times before, but now he can’t seem to figure out how he ever did. That’s how he knows he’s in trouble. The best kind. 

“I’ll pick up,” you promise. 

He stands at your door until you see yourself inside. It’s quiet without him. Your eyes land on the flowers he got you, now in a vase in the living room thanks to Robin. Too quiet. The sound of your front door reopening stops Eddie in his tracks. He turns around with a slight furrow between his brows. 

“Everything okay?” he calls, mindful of his volume. 

You make a small motion for him to come back to you. He listens in a heartbeat. 

There’s a weighted look in his eyes beneath the playfulness, “Miss me already?” 

“No,” you lie. 

●・○・●・○・●

It’s a wonder how you manage to make it feel like there’s a pleasant fire kindling within him. What started out as yet another easy conversation, has turned into you straddling his lap on the couch, the fabric of your dress riding up your thighs as the TV drones in the background.

Everything feels heightened now. The brush of your lips against his, your fingers gently scratching at the nape of his neck. 

Eddie’s lips part in a soft, shuddering breath when you roll your hips over him. 

“Hold on a second, sweetheart.” His eyebrows are pinched as he pulls back from the kiss, hands stilling you. 

You blink down at him all owl-like. “Did I do something?” you murmur, purposely shifting over him again.

He restrains from canting his hips upwards. There’s a softness to his gaze even though his cheeks are flushed hot. 

“If getting me worked up counts. You’re real good at that.” His shamelessness is dizzying. “Just don’t wanna get ahead of myself.” It’s a subtle invitation, a chance for you to call things off in case you aren’t on the same page. 

But you can feel warmth pooling low in your belly. “What else am I good at?” 

He knows you’re game then. For whatever this is, whatever it’s bound to become. 

“Trying to pretend I’m not driving you crazy too.” He chuckles when you duck to hide your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the sensitive skin there. 

There’s a gentleness to the way Eddie’s hand slips beneath the hem of your dress, meeting the delicate skin of your inner thigh. 

“Eddie,” you murmur, lifting from his neck as his fingers continue their trail upwards.

“Hmm?” He pauses, thumb stroking your skin in soft circles. 

“Can we go to my room?” A slight shiver runs through you as his fingers move to trace along the crease of your thigh.

“Your call, sweetheart.” 

Before he withdraws his hand, he snaps the waistband of your panties and grins when you straighten.  

●・○・●・○・●

The lamp on your nightstand casts everything in a dim, warm glow. Eddie shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your desk chair, eyes roving over the notebooks and pens strewn about. The sight of his tattooed arms makes you move to kiss him again, letting your lips wander to the corner of his mouth and his chin in a trail of warmth. He throbs in his jeans when you slip your fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and curl them into his stomach. 

Reluctantly, he pulls away from your lips and steps back enough to pull the fabric over his head in one swift movement, muscles rippling as the dark ink on his torso is revealed. With newly disheveled hair, he kisses you backward onto the bed, crawling over top of you as you settle into the mattress with a pleased hum. 

Having the upper hand allows him to press hot kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck as you huff out sighs and caress his milky skin with buzzing fingertips. Nothing about his movements is rushed, each press of his lips intentional enough to believe he'd had them planned for years.

Eddie didn’t know your body yet, not in the way he’d like to. But he was reading it in real-time. Cataloging every writhe and hitch of your breath so he knew where to return. The obsessive part of his brain often gets on his nerves, but he’s grateful for it now. Grateful he wants to see every move and sound you can make. There’s an artistry to it, a musicality. 

An inkling of panic arises when he begins to suckle on the side of your neck as you offer it. Not because he’s being rough, but because it’s overwhelming enough to want to crawl out of your skin. A soft whimper rises up your throat as your hands find his flexed biceps, digging in. You’re unsure of whether to pull him closer or push him away. 

Eddie rises from your neck on his own accord, running a finger over the spot. “You like it when I kiss you here, huh?” There’s a slow, honeyed quality to his voice. 

When you offer a helpless nod, he leans back down again, and you shudder as his mouth laves over the same sensitive area a little ways beneath your ear. Exasperated, you blindly paw for the waistband of his jeans, fingers shaky as you fiddle with his belt buckle.

Feeling your struggle, Eddie moves to press a final kiss to your throat before pulling away from your neck. 

“Stupid thing,” you pant, pouting up at him for help. 

Chuckling, Eddie reaches down with one hand to undo it with ease. Then, watches with blown pupils as you hurry to undo the button and zipper. He slips off the bed as smoothly as he can to remove his pants, black boxers tented and straining. A spark of heat surges through you as you press your thighs together at the sight. 

No sooner is he crawling back to help you out of your clothes. The lacy underwear set you’re wearing beneath is a pretty shade of baby blue, and Eddie can’t help but palm himself. 

“Jesus,” he sounds awed and devastated at the same time. “You’re so gorgeous...” 

Before he’s even had time to process, you take off your bra, baring your chest for him to see. Your nipples pebble with the new exposure and all of two seconds pass before he’s surging forward, sending you tumbling back to the mattress in a breath of startled laughter he swallows down like a lifeline. 

You gasp into his mouth, back arching, as he cups one of your breasts, circling and rolling your nipple between his fingers. You’re barely kissing him back anymore, but he continues licking into your mouth as your lips part around shallow exhales. 

That’s when the phone begins to ring. Eddie sits back on his haunches despite your attempt to stop him. 

“Might be important.” His voice is rough. 

“They can leave a message.” 

He smirks, dragging a hand through his hair. “You sure?”

Lifting your leg, you run a careful foot over the swell of his boxers. He twitches at the contact. 

“You’re all I care about,” you murmur. “Need you, E.” There’s a desperate edge to your voice that draws him right back in.

“You’ve got me.” He runs a lone finger down the front of your panties. “Can I take these off?” You’re only half listening to his words, nodding to whatever. “Lift up for me.” The muscles of your thighs tremble as you do. 

Tossing your panties aside, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your belly button. Then another one just beneath it. A surprised sound rises up your throat when he gently spreads you open to kiss that swollen, sensitive part of you that’s pulsing with need.  

“Oh, gosh—” you stutter out, hands threading into his hair.

“Need me right here?” His voice is laced with a smile, and you can’t help a breathy laugh. Prideful warmth ignites in his chest. “Or do you need me somewhere else?” He trails playful, ticklish nips along your inner thighs, making you squirm. 

“Eddie, please…” 

He’s gracious enough to begin rubbing your clit in precise, measured circles, intently studying the pretty scrunch of your face.

“Firmer,” you instruct breathily, “—just like that, just like that.” Your legs spread wider instinctively, arching when he collects your slick with a slow, heavy finger. 

You’re already so on edge from his previous attention that it only takes a few moments before you ascend into bliss, muscles growing taut as your mouth falls agape. The strong, rhythmic pulses serve as your only touchpoint to reality along with Eddie’s tender caress at your slick, fluttering entrance. One he didn’t even have the chance to breach. 

“Look at you…” he says, voice thick. “Made it easy for me.” He laughs a little, more turned on than anything. 

“It’s not funny,” you halfheartedly assert, cheeks prickling. 

“No,” Eddie agrees. “Just super-duper hot.” 

As he raises up, you realize his other hand is tucked into his boxers, lazily stroking himself. A second wave of desire builds within you, overlapping the remnants of the first and any sense of embarrassment that had begun to kindle. It’s spurred by the deep flush of his cheeks, the way his eyes are soaking you in like he’s just witnessed the most beautiful unraveling. 

Under your hazy, watchful gaze, he scrambles off the bed. Without warning, he shoves his boxers down, kicking them from around his ankles. His arousal impressively springs up towards his stomach. You bite your lip at the rosy, leaking tip, the gorgeous vein snaking prominently along the underside. 

Eddie peeks over at you with a dazed quirk of his lips before retrieving his wallet from his jacket. He pulls out a square foil packet and promptly rips it open with his teeth. 

Upon crawling back into the bed, he isn’t expecting you to take his cock in a loose hold, stroking upwards from the curly hair at the base to circle your thumb around the tip. There’s a pleasant tug low in his gut as he kicks up in your palm. 

“Sweetheart…” His voice is soft, nearly a plea. You let your hand glide back down, this time venturing lower to cradle the soft weight hanging beneath. He nearly buckles forward. “What're you doing to me?” he rasps. 

“Nothing,” you murmur innocently, wetting your hand and giving him a few more easy strokes, enjoying the warm, veiny feel of him before withdrawing your touch. 

He curses under his breath as he rolls the condom down, his gaze never leaving you as you reposition yourself to take him. 

“Eager beaver,” you lilt as he crowds over you. 

“Yeah,” he exhales. “I am.” 

He lines up at your entrance, tip catching as he collects your slick with a wavering breath.  

You open your legs even wider. “Want you,” you murmur, breathy and sweet. 

The expression on his face is like something from a painting, raw and rapturous as he eases into your encompassing warmth. He takes it slow, giving you time to relax around him as you breathe through the dull ache of welcoming him in. A low, guttural sound escapes him once he’s buried all the way. 

Your chests brush. Tears prick in your eyes at the closeness, the feeling of being filled so completely. 

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, lips clumsy against your chin. “Like I made you up in my head.” 

He begins moving, slowly drawing back only to push back in. A steady rhythm finds him as your mouth falls open, legs hooking around his thighs. The muscles of his back ripple with his effort, and you chart every tense line with your fingertips. 

With a low groan, he makes a minor adjustment to better reach that spongy spot within you. You arch into him with a whimper, breath catching in your throat. 

“There she is,” he whispers, reaching between your bodies to rub firm, steady circles against your clit. 

“Oh, god…” It sounds like you’re in pain even though you’re the furthest thing from it. When you close your eyes, tears stream down your face in twin streaks, surprising both of you. Eddie tenderly wipes them away, gaze soft. 

“You’re okay,” he promises. “It’s just me, angel.”

Except, Eddie isn't just anything. You’ve never felt so close to someone, so in tune, and somehow, it’s Eddie—sweet, goofy, wild-haired Eddie—who knew exactly what you needed. He picks up the pace as you arch and writhe beneath him, body yielding without question.

“You feel so good,” you whimper, clenching around him. 

His groan reverberates against your neck as his hips jerk sloppily, “Can’t say stuff like that…” Those words only make you tighten around him again.

The dazed way he mouths at your shoulder lets you know he’s clinging onto composure. You’re too warm, too everything—snug, and soft, and beautiful. He’s not ready for this feeling to end. This heady, binding haze of pleasure.  

“Eddie,” you breathe softly. “Wanna ride you…” 

Your plea nearly finishes him off. “Yeah?” he croaks.

You nod, whimpering. He barely withstands the feeling of slipping from within you. Shifting onto his back allows him a moment of reprieve, but he nearly loses himself when you straddle him, sinking back down with a circle of your hips. 

You brace your hands on his ribcage, steadily rocking on top of him as your head tips back. Sweat glistens in the divot of his sternum as he attempts to move in time with you. When you speed up, he closes his eyes to calm himself down. 

“Hey…where’d you go?” You croon, grazing your nails from his chest to his quivering stomach, relishing the feeling of his warm, dewy skin beneath your fingertips.

The wrecked way he forces his eyes back open almost makes you fall apart. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips as a greater sense of urgency awakens between you. It’s in the way you speed up, both eager, desperate, chasing. He memorizes the way your body moves over top of his, the bouncy sway of your chest. 

“You look so pretty taking me like this,” he shudders. “My pretty girl.” 

“Eddie…” you coo, high and breathy. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he chokes out. “Wanna feel you come around me so bad.” He’s babbling now, “Shit, I’m not gonna last. I can’t take it anymore, angel...I can’t—” 

The earnest crack of his voice sends you tumbling over the edge, vision spotting. Pleasure radiates throughout every fiber of your being as your walls contract around him. He stills your hips with a firm hold, bucking upwards and coming undone in surging waves. You slide your hands over his abdomen to feel him flex with each strong jolt that wracks him. 

As your body begins to relax, you blink down at him, lips parted as you catch your breath. Eddie throws an arm over his face as he sucks in air, neck and chest flushed pink. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. 

Both of you shudder as you ease off him. The pleasant ache of loss pulses between your legs as you partially lay down on top of him, hooking a leg over his waist. He traces along your thigh in light, soothing passes. You can feel his chest rising and falling. 

“You okay?” he eventually murmurs.

You nod, kissing his shoulder. “You?”

“I think so,” he chuckles weakly. 

●・○・●・○・●

The afterglow brings a quiet stillness to the air. Clean and beneath the sheets, you study Eddie’s long lashes, his nose, his plush lips. He eventually cracks a self-conscious smile.  

“What?” he questions. You shake your head because you don’t know what to say. He doesn’t look like he believes you. “C’mon...” 

So, you think of something, a small truth you’re willing to give him, “I just really enjoyed spending time with you tonight.”

He hums, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. “What was your favorite part?” 

“Probably the food at Stillwater,” you say, though your fingertips are tracing along his jaw, then down his neck, trailing to his waistline to lightly brush between his hip bones as he squirms. “Best I’ve ever had,” you lilt. 

Eddie breaks into a flustered laugh, leaning over to sleepily kiss the coy smile from your lips. 

“But really, though,” you say afterward. “Thanks for tonight. Never met a guy quite like you.” 

Eddie realizes then that he’d better get a head start on counting his lucky stars. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think.

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