#time to live in more constant anxiety than i already do

[starsinthesky5]

in you are in love

can we get a reader meets joes parents for the first time

that's my whole world || joe burrow x reader

description: ask sums it up! a flashback blurb to meeting joe's parents for the first time

a/n: she met his parents in febuary (7 months since the day they started dating). they knew there was a girl in the picture, and he had told them about her on numerous occasions. but they didn't meet until the time was right :)

word count: 3.4k

series: you are in love

warnings: none

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

she was a complete mess. like she genuinely had never been so nervous for something in her life.

joe had been trying to reassure her all week that everything would be okay, but she couldn't help the nerves from twisting in her stomach at the mention of...the dinner. she wanted to believe him, but the voice inside her head told her a different story.

it was a constant tug of war in her mind between the side of her that thought this would be a complete disaster, whispering things like "i'm too much for them," or even, "they're going to hate me and everything i bring with me...all the attention, prying eyes, the drama. they seem so nice and normal, so calm. i can't do this...why did i think i could do this?".

and the side that was bringing ice to the searing anxiety in her chest, whispering, "joe loves you. he chooses you. they will too,".

but god, it was just so hard to believe that when she knew exactly how not normal her life was. she wasn't just any girl meeting her boyfriend's parents for the first time. she was her. the woman whose entire existence and being was scrutinized by the world, whose biggest fails and fatal flaws were aired out like dirty laundry. she brought even more flashing cameras, headlines, rumors, and attention to joe's life, even more than he was already dealing with. that couldn't be appealing to the parents of any child, especially since they knew how much joe had already struggled to balance privacy since he came into the league.

and the burrows? they were so normal. warm, kind, small-town folks who lived a quiet life outside of the football world that engrossed every single one of their weekends since joe could walk. they were the embodiment of home, at least from everything joe had told her--from his mom’s famous snicker salads to his dad’s lengthy football spiels, always delivered from his signature reclining rocking chair whenever joe visited. it was an established routine that joe valued, because it was one of the few constants in his life. no matter how much his world changed--draft nights, contract extensions, playoff games, becoming the designated heartthrob of the NFL--the burrow household remained the same. his parents still sat on the porch in the evenings, still had their favorite local diner they went to every sunday morning for brunch, still called him joey like he was six years old running around in the backyard.

this was one aspect of his life that never changed...that couldn't change.

athens.

his family.

his home.

until she came into the picture.

he made space for her, not only in his heart, not only in his closet, but in his home. physically and metaphorically. he had never done that for a girl before, but he did for her. and that meant something.

even though she knew all that, she still had never felt this much self-doubt in months, but don't get it twisted, this wasn't caused by a person this time (previously, her self-doubt was often implanted within her from those around her). this time, she was just getting in her head, going over every possible scenario where she could embarrass herself or rub them the wrong way.

and joe did everything he could to calm her nerves, to ease her into his family by first introducing her to his brothers and wives (who absolutely adored her). but she was the biggest overthinker he knew, so he knew that it wouldn't be that easy to bring her back from the ledge.

"baby, my parents are going to love you. like immediately. just like i did," he laughed, rubbing his hand along her thigh in an attempt to calm her frayed nerves.

she stayed silent as she watched them pull up to his childhood home. the anxiety boiling under her skin, threatened to explode once she saw the first glimpse of their picture-perfect porch, the porch where joe said his mom and dad would spend hours watching him practice his little peewee throws with his older brothers when he was a kid.

his mom and dad.

his mom...and dad.

his mom.

oh right, this wasn't just meeting his parents. it was meeting robin burrow. joe's mom, his biggest supporter, the woman he adored more than anything in the world. the woman who moved mountains to make sure joe could get to where he needed to be. she had heard firsthand how much respect and love he had for her, how he spoke about her with so much admiration. she knew how close they were, how much her opinion mattered to him.

and that is precisely why this dinner felt like the most important test of her life.

it was honestly funny how nervous she was. i mean, she had met some of the most famous individuals on the planet, sold out stadiums and arenas, but somehow, this felt bigger than all of that. more intimate.

--

the second they stepped inside, everything shifted. the warm scent of home-cooked food lingered in the air, a mix of sweet and savory, and the cozy lighting cast a golden hue over the living room. numerous framed photos decorated the walls--baby joe photos, football related snapshots, family moments frozen in time. you know, the usual.

she had seen a glimpse of his childhood through his stories, but standing here, in the house that built him, made it all so real.

robin was the first to greet them, moving right past her baby boy to first hug the woman who had stolen his precious heart. "finally! we've heard so much about you, sweetheart," she squealed.

her breath hitched while she almost broke a sweat, her smile however, remaining as steady as her feet. (thank years and years of practice for the paparazzi for that). "all good things, i hope," she beamed.

robin chuckled, "oh, only the best," while giving her a warm squeeze. "it's about time we got to meet the woman that got joey to learn the difference between dark and light wash denim,".

jimmy snorted, shaking his head. "and got him to wear something other than sweats in public,".

she laughed at the silly jabs at joe, glancing up at him, whose face was already contorted in playful annoyance. "okay, we’re already starting with this?" he muttered, rolling his eyes.

robin gently let go of her before turning to face her son, "you know we love you joe, but she got you to give up the gray jeans and the sweats? screw being the best thing that happened to you," she smiled, then faced her again, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, "she's the best thing to happen to us,".

she couldn't even process what was happening because it felt so...easy. easier than she had thought. off the bat, the banter and vibe that had been established for years in the burrow household was engraved into her system. and it literally had only been 5 minutes.

his mom was so...comforting? she just had this vibe about her that immediately calmed her nerves, no matter how loud the voice inside her head was. and you know what's funny? only one person could do that for her.

joe.

now she knows where he got that from ;)

jimmy, joe’s dad, was just as comforting, shaking her hand with a firm grip and an easy grin. "you must have some real patience if you’re dating my son,".

joe groaned, rolling his eyes. "thanks, dad,".

she laughed, already feeling the warmth of their family dynamic, the way they teased but loved fiercely. it was easy. effortless.

and then, suddenly, she wasn’t her. she wasn’t the woman who graced magazine covers, wasn’t the person whose lyrics echoed through sold-out stadiums, wasn’t the figure people screamed for in arenas. she was just joe’s girl, standing in the warmth of his childhood home, being welcomed into his family like she had always been there.

she couldn't even remember why she was so worried in the first place? it's not like they would come out with pitchforks and a lighter incase she said the wrong thing. this was joe's family. the ones who made the person she was so madly in love with, who he was.

--

his parents could see how infatuated he was with her right off the bat. they could tell she was special to him from the way he spoke about her, but actually seeing it was a different story.

joe barely let go of her the entire night too. at dinner, his arm rested along the back of her chair, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against her shoulder. every so often, he leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek, murmuring something soft in her ear that made her heart flutter and a giggle to come to her lips. he knew she was nervous, so he made sure to do anything and everything he could to remind her it was okay...and he was right here.

the conversation flowed easily--stories from joe’s childhood, football talk, the occasional embarrassing story from robin that made joe groan.

"mom, seriously?" he complained after she detailed an elaborate story about him dressing up as batman for nearly three years straight as a kid.

jimmy chuckled, shaking his head. "he’d even wear the cape to bed. wouldn’t go anywhere without it,".

she turned to joe, wide-eyed with happiness. "oh, this is gold,".

robin smirked, taking a sip of her drink. "oh, honey, i have plenty more where that came from,".

joe sighed dramatically, slumping against his chair. "i walked right into this,".

she reached under the table, giving his knee a reassuring squeeze. "it’s okay, babe. i still think you’re cool,".

his eyes narrowed playfully as his hand joined hers, fingers entwining under the table. then he have her three squeezes. "i don’t believe you. i just lost so much cred with that,".

joe was even clingier after dinner, practically attached to her as they settled onto the couch. his fingers still laced with hers, thumb brushing softly over her knuckles. every so often, he’d press a lingering kiss to her hair, like he couldn’t help himself.

oh, and then there was that moment--one she’d remember forever--when his parents started playing home videos of joe’s childhood. everyone was huddled around the TV, the warm glow flickering across their faces while joe, ever the gentleman, was finishing up the dishes.

her eyes were glued to the screen, completely transfixed, as if she were watching the most important film of her life. baby joe babbled at the camera, a toy football clutched in his tiny hands, making incoherent little sounds through a drool-covered grin. his dinosaur shirt was stained with whatever snack he’d been munching on, and his chubby cheeks were impossibly round. she felt something deep in her chest tighten at the sight--it was him, the boy who would grow up to become the man she loved.

she was so caught up in the moment, she didn’t even notice when joe snuck up behind her, his arms wrapping securely around her waist. he rested his chin on her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin, watching the screen from her perspective. for him, it was surreal--seeing these memories through her eyes, seeing her watch him at his most innocent, his most unguarded.

soft kisses pressed along her jaw, slow and affectionate, but she didn’t take her eyes off the screen. instead, she shifted one hand up, her fingers trailing over his jaw, nails scratching lightly in that way she knew he loved--a silent i feel you, i love you, i know you’re here.

his parents, however, fully noticed.

they turned to face joe and her, completely in awe of how touchy-feely he was being with her.

jimmy chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "well, would you look at that," he mused, nudging robin with his elbow. "our boy's turned into a big ol’ sap,".

robin grinned, her eyes twinkling as she took in the sight of her son clinging to his girlfriend like she was the only thing grounding him to earth. "i don’t think i’ve ever seen him like this," she said, her voice laced with warmth.

joe groaned against her shoulder but didn’t make a move to pull away. instead, he tightened his hold on her waist, pressing another soft kiss beneath her ear. "you guys act like i don’t have ears," he muttered, lips brushing against her skin.

she giggled, finally tearing her gaze away from the screen to look at him. "they’re just observing, baby,".

jimmy laughed. "oh, so baby is what we’re calling him now?".

joe shot his dad a deadpan look, but it was hard to look intimidating when he was literally nuzzling into her neck like some love-sick puppy. "you’re both insufferable,".

she laughed, turning her head just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. "you’re kinda proving their point, joey,".

robin sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. "oh, it’s just so nice to see him like this. all affectionate and soft. i mean, he’s always been sweet, but this? this is new,".

she wasn't wrong. everyone knew how joe was opposed to PDA and being so soft in front of other people. but with her, he didn't give two fucks. and that was beautiful.

"this is disgusting," joe grumbled, though it was completely contradicted by the way he was practically melting into her touch.

"oh, hush," robin scolded, waving a hand at him. "you love it,".

he didn’t argue. he just held her a little closer, completely unbothered by his parents' teasing, because deep down, he knew they were right.

and his parents shot each other knowing glances all throughout the night, their hearts overflowing with happiness and gratitude.

later in the evening, while joe was off showing jimmy something on his phone, robin gently touched her arm, "come help me with refills?".

she followed her into the kitchen, her nerves creeping back in like the first time she stepped on stage, the weight of the spotlight reaching down on her and the unsure hint of adrenaline in her chest. it was also like trying out a new song live for the first time, unsure how the crowd would react, only this time, the crowd was one very important person--joe's mom. but robin didn’t jump into anything serious right away. instead, she moved around the space like she had a hundred times before, topping off drinks, grabbing extra napkins. then, finally, she turned, leaning against the counter with an easy smile.

"i just want to tell you how happy i am that joe has you,".

she blinked, caught off guard. "oh."

robin’s smile softened. "he’s always been focused, always had big dreams that revolved around football. but there’s something different about him with you. i see it in the way he looks at you, the way he talks about you," she reached out, squeezing her hand. "you make him so happy, sweetheart. you make him dream of a future beyond football, and for that, we're forever grateful,".

her chest tightened--not with nerves, but something warmer, something deeper. she swallowed hard. "i love him a lot," she admitted, voice softer than before.

robin nodded, as if she already knew. "and he loves you. that’s all a mom could ever hope for. we were so worried he'd get so caught up in football, miss out on the other aspects of his life like love, a family," she said, reaching out to grab the 'j' initial necklace which sat around her neck. "but then you came around,".

she exhaled a small laugh, shaking her head. "i was really nervous to meet you,".

robin raised an eyebrow. "why? because of who i am? honey, you’re the famous one,".

she shrugged, chewing on her bottom lip. "because of how much joe loves you. how much he looks up to you. i didn’t want to mess this up, you know?".

robin’s expression melted into something even softer, her thumb running over the surface of the pendant. "the only way you could ever mess this up is by not being yourself. but from what i can tell, and mother's intuition is never wrong, you’re perfect for him,".

before she could stop herself, she wrapped robin in a hug, this one even more meaningful than the one at the door. and then, the damn of emotion flew open. "thank you. thank so much you for making him who he is. i don't know what i would do without joe,".

robin's arms tightened around her in response, holding her as if she was already family. "oh, sweetheart, you don't have to thank me for that. joe’s always had a big heart, and he’s always known what he wants--he just needed someone like you to bring out the best in him," her voice cracked slightly, emotion clear in her tone. "he's been so much more himself since you came into his life,". she pulled away slightly, but her hands stayed on her shoulders, a steady presence. "you complete him, and we all see it. no matter who you are, what your life is like, screw the cameras and the attention. you're you. and we all know that. he knows that." robin added, her voice dense with emotion.

one thing echoed deep within her throughout the night--her career was never brought up. her fame, her music, the whirlwind of headlines that followed her everywhere she went. not a single mention. not even a passing comment.

because here, she wasn’t a superstar.

she was just a girl in love, spending time with the people who loved him first.

robin’s lips curled into a smirk, mischief twinkling in her eyes. "but just so you know, if you ever need to gang up on him, i’m always available,".

she blinked, surprised at first, but then a laugh bubbled up from her chest, light and effortless. she wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, warmth spreading through her like the glow of the kitchen light above them. "i might take you up on that," she admitted, voice laced with something softer--something that felt like relief.

robin squeezed her hand one last time, a silent reassurance, before stepping back to grab their drinks. and just like that, the last bit of nerves melted away, dissolving into the love that filled the room.

joe found her a few minutes later, his presence known before he even touched her. the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering warmth from the oven, and then, suddenly, his arms were around her, strong and steady. he pulled her into his chest, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her cheek. "what were you two talking about?{ he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with curiosity.

robin grinned, her gaze flicking between them, and then she smirked. "just how much we love you, joey,".

joe hummed, nuzzling into the crook of her neck like he belonged there. "you better not have been scaring her off, mom,".

robin gasped, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. "me? never!".

she giggled, leaning further into joe’s embrace, feeling the way his hands instinctively tightened around her waist, as if he needed to anchor himself to her. he had been like this all night--touching her in soft, subtle ways, like he couldn’t quite believe she was here, with him, in the house he grew up in, surrounded by the people who had shaped him.

and then she realized that there was absolutely nothing to be so nervous about, now that she thought about it.

you know why?

because joe chose her. and they saw that. he chose her for a reason. and they knew that. he loved her, and that was everything they had ever wanted for him.

she felt it in the way robin had hugged her like she was already family, in the way jimmy had teased joe about being whipped, in the way they had welcomed her into their home without hesitation, without expectation--just love.

because at the end of the day, it wasn’t about who she was to the world. it wasn’t about the bright lights or the sold-out shows, the cameras flashing or the headlines screaming her name.

it was just about this.

the warmth of joe’s arms around her. robin’s knowing smile. jimmy’s easy laughter. the quiet hum of the house that had built the man she loved.

"it's you and me, that's my whole world,".

joe’s whole world was under this roof.

and somehow, she had become a part of it.

--the end--

[miserye]

oh man

[harryspet]

buy me presents | r. cameron

[warnings] dark!mafia!rafe x spoiled!bratty!reader, ex-convict!rafe, rafe has a spoiling kink, topper thornton x reader, kidnapping/confinement, bondage, mentions of death/violence, toxic relationship, NONCON, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: merry christmas eve! gif credit: @/janesarahspidey

In which Rafe is more dangerous than ever and he interrupts your honeymoon with your new husband.

word count: 6.2k

rafe cameron masterlist

Somewhere like Greece seemed like a much better option for your honeymoon. Your husband, Topper, insisted that spending the end of year at a cozy, cabin in the mountains would be much more intimate.  Besides that, you’d gotten married so late into the year that a tropical honeymoon was probably out of the question. You bargained for a trip to Greece in the spring and decided not to pout. At least a cozy mountain trip meant cute two-piece lounge sets with fur-line boots and adorable ear muffs. 

That morning, he’d lugged all four of your suitcases into the back of his SUV, and you drove 4 hours from Figure 8 to the mountains. The car heater hummed softly as you stared out the window, the serenity of the trip barely masking your true feelings. You had the perfect winter wedding, a huge oval diamond on your ring, you’d snagged the most eligible bachelor in Kildare, and yet, you were still hoping for more. 

Topper was all smiles when you arrived, chivalrously carrying all your things inside. The “cabin” he picked was less than low-key, which impressed you, from the outside it was covered in snow but you could tell there were at least seven bedrooms. Shivering you followed him inside. The moment the door slammed shut behind you, the noise felt strangely final, like you were trapped in a cage of wood and snow. 

Your husband went to work on the fireplace, and still shivering, you wandered through the luxurious cabin’s living room. It was adorned with over-stuffed furniture, red-plaid blanket throws, deep leather couches, and velvet armchairs. A bear skin rug sat before the fireplace, a deer head placed ceremoniously over the mantle, “I was thinking we could decorate the place for Christmas. Make it real cozy. What do you think?”

You nodded, a small smile on your lips, “Yeah … where are we gonna get decorations?” You crossed your arms as you continued to shiver. Moving closer to him, you were hoping a spark would appear soon. 

Topper glanced over at you, his face lighting up with excitement. "I figured we could take a drive into town tomorrow, get a real tree, maybe a few things for the mantel. It'll be perfect. You know, all the little touches."

The fire crackled in front of you as Topper carefully stoked the flames, his focus on making sure it blazed high. His back was to you, his arms flexing as he worked, and for a moment, you found yourself staring at him. Topper was handsome, successful, and undoubtedly a good man. You let yourself feel grateful that he’d put so much thought into this trip.

Planning your dream wedding had completely consumed your thoughts this year, bringing you unimaginable anxiety. Every decision, every detail had been meticulously planned, from the dress to the flowers, the venue, and every single guest on the guest list. You’d sacrificed sleep, health, and sanity in pursuit of perfection. But now, the wedding was behind you, and the weight of it all seemed to evaporate in the crisp mountain air.

You decided that this was the time to finally let go of the constant pressure and to simply enjoy being married, “Sounds perfect,” You responded, and at the same time, you saw the first spark. Topper stoked the fire, letting it grow, and you finally felt the comforting heat, “The tree has to be at least nine feet, okay? With red and gold bulbs and big poinsettias. I want my sister to totally freak out when I send her photos.” You said it with a small smirk, imagining her wide-eyed reaction to the grandeur of it all. You were already picturing the perfect holiday setup, one that would leave no room for comparison.

“You got it,” He stood up from his place kneeling by the fireplace, dusting off his pants, and leaned in to kiss you softly. His voice was low, reassuring, and you picked out the way his eyes soften at the sight of you. Topper Thornton was madly in love with you, “What sounds good for dinner?”

“Steak?” You offered, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Outside, through tall glass windows, you watched snow fall down on the landscape. 

“Steak it is. I’m gonna make you an amazing dinner and then we’re going to have the coziest night in.” He leaned down to kiss you on your forehead and you watched as he made his way to the kitchen. 

“I will …unpack,” You declared, staring around the room, already envisioning where you would settle.

The master suite was tucked away on the upper floor, accessed by a grand staircase with a dark wood banister that creaked softly under your footsteps. The soft glow from the chandelier above cast a warm light over you. The stairs led to a long hallway that ended in double doors, adorned with heavy brass handles. 

At the center of the room stood a four-poster king-sized bed with a thick down comforter and piles of plush pillows, framed by an elegant dark wood bed frame. Across the room was yet another fireplace and you imagined a warm, cozy consummation of your marriage. You were no virgin, and Topper hadn’t proposed to you before sampling what he intended to lock down for the rest of his life, but you wanted it to be special. 

Your eyes wandered to the private balcony accessed through French doors offered views of the snow-covered expanse but was too cold to truly enjoy. Instead, you turned your attention to unpacking yours and Topper’s luggage, organizing your belongings in the spacious walk-in closet. The expansive vanity soon became a canvas for your collection of beauty trinkets and makeup, each item finding its place as you settled into your new surroundings.

You joined Topper for dinner, the mouth watering aroma already having reached you upstairs. Topper was good at being doting, remembering to pull out your chair for you, making sure your glass of red wine never fully emptied. Part of your heart fluttered, the other, more realistic half was skeptical. You couldn’t help but reflect on the endless conversations you’d had with your therapist. She’d pointed out time and time again that you struggled to let people fully in, even the ones who loved you.

This was the time, Y/N, to finally let someone in. What better person than the one you agreed to marry? 

Dinner was more than pleasant, and as the wine started to warm your cheeks, the conversation turned light. It was fun. Sometimes you forgot how much fun Topper could be. 

Topper’s voice was low and teasing, “If you could switch lives with anyone for a day, no strings attached, no responsibilities, no commitments, who would it be and why?”

You paused, the question hanging in the air for a moment. Topper leaned forward slightly, clearly enjoying the challenge he’d just given you. You could tell he was genuinely curious, but also hoping to catch a glimpse of something unexpected, something about the woman he’d married that maybe even you hadn’t fully explored.

Your fingers played with the stem of your wine glass as you thought, the question pulling you into a brief moment of reflection.

“Hmmm…” you mused, your heartbeat picking up, though you kept your face neutral, “I think… I’d pick my oldest sister. She does everything right. She’s got it all together. At least, that’s what my Mom and Dad always say.”

“Really?” Topper smiled, taking a sip from his wine, “Your sister?”

“Yeah,” Maybe because you felt no judgement at all, you kept speaking, “I mean, it’s not like I don’t love my life now. But all I wanted when I was a teenager was to be the godliest woman, to get married young, and you know, do all the things a pastor’s daughter is supposed to do. And I watched all three of my sisters do it and…they’ve just never approved of my decisions.”

You were sitting across from the only decision your parent’s approved of but you weren’t always Topper Thornton’s wife. For years, they’d considered you “lost”. 

Topper gave you a soft smile. “I’m surprised but it’s kind of nice to … to know you more. I want to know your more, Y/N,” You understood what he meant. You did your best to come across only how you wanted others to perceive you, “You know, you’re exactly where you need to be, right here with me. And I’m sorry, but your parents are idiots.”

You nodded, laughing, before you down the rest of your wine, “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?” Topper’s eyes widened, “Is it upstairs?”

You nodded, standing from the table. “Yes. I’m going to get ready. Toss these dishes in the sink, I’ll clean them tomorrow, and meet me upstairs in… five minutes, okay?”

“Can’t wait, Mrs. Thornton,” He winked and you scurried away from the table with a mischievous smile. 

It took you a lot longer than five minutes to get ready and you were lucky that Topper had known you well enough to give you more time. You chose an outfit you’d been waiting to pull out since the beginning of planning for your wedding. The nightgown was crafted from soft, white silky fabric, it’s neck plunged and the neckline was adorned by lace. The hem ended just before the middle of your thighs, teasing yet tasteful, and the robe that accompanied it was made from the same light, airy material. You tied the robe lazily in front, letting the fabric cascade over your body. 

You were applying lipgloss in the mirror when you heard the closing of a car door. You paused for a moment, wondering why he had gone out to the car. Deciding you were presentable enough, you left the room. At the top of the stairs, you heard the shuffling of feet and assumed Topper had made his way back inside. 

“Babe?” You inquired as you made your way down the stairs. Your stomach dropped the moment that your bare feet hit the bottom step. You gripped the stair railing as your eyes tried to make sense of the movement in the dimly lit downstairs. All you could really tell was that Topper was not alone and dark figures had crowded the living room. 

Then your heard a painful grunt and recognized the sound as belonging to Topper. Abort, abort, abort, the little voice in your head said. When you turned around, there was a dark figure standing at the top of the stairs now. You immediately recognized the cold, calculating look in his eyes. He was one of Rafe's men. You couldn’t remember his name, but the air around him was thick with malice. He didn’t need to say a word for you to understand his intent: you weren’t going anywhere.

A scream left your lips before you could cover your mouth with a shaky hand. “Stay still,” the man at the top of the stairs said in a low, gruff voice. His hand moved toward his waistband, and your stomach twisted as you feared the worst.

You moved forward despite his words. The shuffling from the living room intensified, followed by another grunt from Topper, which made your legs nearly buckle beneath you. You were so, so, so close to the door but a few steps in that direction made you realize there were two other men blocking that exit. You turned around slowly, following their line of the sight, and moved in the only direction there was. 

You padded closer to the living room, a crackling fire the only source of light in the room. Rafe Cameron stood, tall and commanding, gun pointed to your husband’s temple. He already owned every inch of the space. 

Topper’s eyes flicked toward you, panic and fear evident in them, but he didn’t speak, not while Rafe’s gun was so close to his head. His jaw clenched, and he shifted uncomfortably in place, his hands bound behind him. Two other dark figures stood nearby and you quickly processed that they were most likely the ones who overpowered your husband. 

Cold, calculating eyes locked on you. Oh god, you thought, you’d really done it now. 

It wasn’t love at first sight with Rafe Cameron. Not even close. But it was fire—raw, passionate, and all-consuming. You were at the end of your rebellious phase, days away from moving back home, and finally agreeing to go to that Christian college your parents always wanted you to go to.

It really started with a pair of diamond earrings. Not a conversation, not a connection, just a gesture that hit you like a freight train. 

He presented them after he’d given you three earth-shattering, bed-frame-slamming orgasms in a row, and you’d dozed off in his bedroom, tangled in the sheets, not caring that it was a late-night rendezvous that was never supposed to mean anything. The earrings were tucked inside a velvet box that seemed almost out of place with the raw, unrestrained chaos of the night.

“Are you paying me for sex? Like a hooker?”

“You’d think I’d buy diamond earrings for a hooker?” His voice was steady, as if he hadn’t just spent hours making your legs shake. “No, this is an investment. I want my future wife to know I can give her nice things.”

"Shut up," you muttered, not trying to keep the sting out of your voice. You weren’t his property. You weren’t someone’s investment.

Rafe only smirked, eyes predatory but amused. You accepted, of course, and you tried them on just minutes later. You’d never owned anything so … sparkly. They were the opposite of modest, the opposite of the world you were so close to entering again. 

There was no amusement in the look Rafe Cameron was giving you now, his black suit molding perfectly to his tall, muscular frame. “And here she is,” Rafe announced, a smile on his lips with absolutely know joy behind it, “The beautiful bride!” 

“Rafe …” You steadied your breathing as much as possible, “What are you doing?”

You couldn’t help but notice his hair—buzzed short, a sharp contrast to the way he used to wear it. It gave him a more rugged and dangerous look, one that matched the quiet menace he often carried in his demeanor.

“What does it look like? I came to congratulate you two.” 

“Put the gun away,” You stepped closer, arms wrapping around yourself, wanting to conceal your vulnerable form from the men in the room, “He didn’t do anything. You know he didn’t. I’m the one who–”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I did consider him a good friend of mine, you know? S’pose to look after my girl while I did my time. Guess you thought I was giving you permission to fuck her,” The barrel of the gun pressed harder into Topper’s temple and you cringed. His icy blue eyes pinned you in place as he scanned over you. You wanted to scream, to throw yourself at Rafe and tear the gun from his hand, but something in you knew that it wasn’t that simple. It never had been with Rafe.

“No, you don’t get to do this,” You declared, raising your voice as much as your body would let you, “You went away. I ended things. You don’t get to tear everything down just because you can’t let go.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched and you could see the nerve you’d struck written all over his face, “She’s not your girl anymore,” Topper spoke through gritted teeth, “You can’t–”

Rafe’s eyes flashed with a fury that turned his features hard and before you could take another breath, he moved with lightning speed, raising the gun in his hand. The crack of metal meeting flesh filled the room as Rafe pistol-whipped Topper across the face, sending him crumbling to the floor.

“Fuck!” You cursed, tears stinging your eyes. You fought the urge to keel over and release the contents of your stomach at the sight of the blood gushing from Topper’s face. A blind rage came over you as you started to struggle to breathe. 

“Neither of you get to tell me what the fuck to do,” Rafe’s eyes bore into you. 

You moved closer, wanting to check and at least make sure your husband was still breathing. Before you knew it, Rafe’s gun was pointing at you. 

“No, leave him. You. Sit,” He gestured the gun towards the leather couch. 

You hesitated and Rafe easily pointed the gun back at Topper. A threat. Shakily, you stepped away from Topper’s figure, and sat down on the living room couch. You tried to steady yourself, stop yourself from vibrating with anger, to calm your nerves so you could think rationally. 

Across the room, Rafe did the same, though his movements were more restless, more frantic. He paced back and forth, his boots thudding softly against the carpet. The gun never left his hand, his fingers curling tighter around it as he muttered under his breath, words too quiet to make out.

It was a scene you had witnessed before. Rafe trying to calm down after doing something reckless. Something violent. You wanted nice things, sure. But not like this. Not at the cost of your peace, your sanity. And certainly not at the cost of your safety.

The realization hit you then. The crazy that came with Rafe Cameron? You had never wanted it, not really. 

“What do you want from us?” You asked, lips trembling. 

“Nothing from him,” Rafe decided quickly, “From you. There is no limit to all that I want from you, Y/N.”

You breathed deeply, “What do you want me to say? You want me to lie to you, Rafe?”

Rafe nodded his head as he thought about your words, “I want that ring off your finger …” He trailed off, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

You look down at your left hand as it sat on your lap. You quickly covered your left hand with your right, “Take if off,” He continued and when you didn’t budge, he added, “I’m not asking. Do it or-”

Angrily, you kept your eyes on him. You pulled off your engagement ring and wedding band, tossing the two at his feet. 

“Good,” he muttered under his breath, his gaze narrowing, though he still smirked. "You’ll regret that."

He leaned down to take the rings into his hand, “Hmm, you always told me you wanted a pear shape. I know you didn’t change your mind that quickly. Let me guess …you mentioned it but he never remembered. And you were just so grateful that he even got down on one knee for you.” 

Rafe’s words stung, his mockery of your past with Topper hitting harder than you expected. 

“I love it. You know all I really care about is a big diamond, Rafe,” You spoke through a painful smile.

“I know I’m not the only man in the world with money,” Rafe said, his voice tight with controlled anger. “But what you don’t understand is, he wouldn’t have anything without me. That new real estate venture of his? The one he’s so proud of now? It started with me. And what does he do? He swoops in, steals my girl, and then steals five million dollars from me. That’s what all of this is about, sweet girl. I’m here to collect what’s owed to me.”

His words hit like a slap, each sentence dripping with resentment and possessiveness. The revelation about the money, about the real reason for everything that had led to this moment, twisted in your stomach like a blade. 

“He didn’t steal me,” You countered bitterly, “I was never going to be yours. You’re a criminal.”

There was a dangerous intensity in Rafe’s eyes. Your arms crossed now out of defiance. Rafe nodded, smiling, “You’re right about one of those things. Wrong about you never being mine. But you’re right about me being a criminal.” 

Rafe crossed the room and your heart leapt from your chest as your leapt from your seat. Rafe Cameron introduced you to a violence you’d never known, and in less than a second, completely broke your heart. Topper, already passed out and crumpled on the floor, didn’t stand a chance. Standing over his body, gun angled to the ground, Rafe shot your husband in the head. 

Another second later, he was handing your rings over to one of his henchman standing nearby, “Go ahead and bury these with him.” 

Your knees buckled at the sight …the parts of his brain that were scattered all over the carpet. our hand trembled as you reached for him, but the second you touched his skin, the realization that he was gone set in.

You heard Rafe’s voice, his focus was elsewhere. You thought you might’ve heard his laugh. The sound was the last thing you heard before everything went still.

Ropes bit into your wrists. You tried to pull yourself up, the softness of the mattress making you sink further, and then you felt a strong hand on your waist holding you in place. Turning your head rapidly, you saw both your wrists tied to the opposite ends of the wooden bed. Looking down, not only did you see your lingerie still in place, but Rafe Cameron was kneeling between your legs. 

He’d remove his clothes except for his slacks though you could see his belt was loosened. You pressed your head back into the mattress, pulling at your restraints, “This is low, even for you,” You breathed out.

“Low? You’re being dramatic.”

“You killed my husband,” you whispered, the weight of the truth settling like a stone in your stomach. Slowly, he crawled on top of your, shirtless and even more sculpted than you remembered. His frame, lean and muscular bathed in the warm glow of the room's lighting. His chest was broad and defined with every line of his torso sharp. Your eyes found his shoulders, broad and powerful, tapering down to a narrow waist. Prison had not only hardened his frown lines, it had hardened every part of him. 

Rafe’s eyes flickered as he looked down at you, a brief flash of something—guilt, maybe? That look was gone quickly, replaced with something colder, harder. 

Unable to hide the panic in your voice now, you continued, “Rafe …don’t … please-” 

He searched your face, “Please?” He raised an eyebrow, “My spoiled brat remembers her manners?”

“I hate you,” You tried to blink away the tears that were forming in your eyes. Rafe caressed your face, thumb dragging over your cheeks, “God, I fucking hate you.”

His hand moved to your neck, his grip tightening there, “You didn’t give a shit about him. I know you. You were settling.”

“You don’t–”

“You forget,” He squeezed tighter, "Stop pretending I don’t know you. I see right through the act. I know what excites you, what gets your heart racing. That ring? It was never what you wanted. This whole life you’ve been pretending to want. You play innocent in front of everyone-”

“Get off me–”

He squeezed harder, his grip forcing your breath to catch in your throat. Your eyes widened in panic, but his gaze never wavered. “You want the private jets, the black card, the shopping sprees that never end, the villas in Italy, the lifestyle that makes everyone look twice when you walk into a room. You want to be the center of attention, the prettiest thing in every room. You want to be seen—on someone’s arm, my fucking arm. You crave the power that comes with being with a man like me.”

“A man who can kill and get away with it. Who has the power to have someone else do all his dirty work,” His voice had grown sensual, and his dark words caressed your ear now. You weren’t breathing right but your chest did not heave up and down, you remained in the trance that his words put you in, “What would I feel if I put my hands between your legs right now?” 

“Rafe…” You whispered.

“What baby?” He purred. 

“You’re a narcissist,” To your shock, he smiled, a slow, wicked curve of his lips. And in that moment, you knew: you’d already lost.

Rafe attacked the side of your face with his mouth, leaving kisses along your jawline, before he forced his lips on yours. He tasted the same, you realized that quickly, and you were transported to a time in your life that you’d been trying to suppress the last two years. You struggled beneath him as he pressed his lower half into your, pinning you fully. 

The restraints were the cherry on top of your misery. Rafe could hold you down with no problem and yet he wanted to remind you that you were being punished. 

“You don’t have to worry about me going away again,” He whispered through warm kisses against your skin, “I’m running a tighter operation, okay?”

Your attempts to turn your face away were futile, as your bare neck became his next target. You already felt betrayed by your body. Your body remembered Rafe, and certainly remembered your weakest spot. You pulled at your restraints, stifling the moan that was threatening to leave your lips. 

“No,” you bit out, yanking at your restraints as if sheer willpower could set you free.

But Rafe only pressed more of his weight against you, pinning you further beneath him. “No?” he echoed mockingly, “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not until you come for me. A few times, at least,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. “Gotta make up for lost time, don’t we?”

You wanted to scream at him, to spit out how impossible his demand was, how utterly absurd it was to think you could find any pleasure with the man who had done something so unforgivable, so monstrous to someone you cared for.

But the words caught in your throat, strangled by the heat coursing through you. His mouth trailed lower, and your resolve wavered. “That’s it,” he coaxed, his tone dripping with smug confidence, “don’t fight it. You know I always get what I want, baby.”

You searched your brain for the right words. “Rafe Cameron. Don’t. I won’t forgive you if you do this!” 

“I don’t need your forgiveness, baby,” He kissed the skin between your breasts, your plunging neckline leaving you vulnerable, “You’re scared you’re going to like it. That I’m right. C’mon, let Daddy take care of you.”

Rafe’s body moved lower and your panic continued. Strong, thick arms, kept your thighs pinned as Rafe teasing kisses on the outside of your thighs. If your thighs were pressed together, you had no doubt you’d feel a stickiness between them. Your body was ready even if your mind wasn’t. 

When he lifted your thin nightgown and pulled your panties to the side, you tilted your head back in defeat. Now, the battle was in not completely losing your mind. Feeling his warm breath against your most sensitive organ made you realize you’d lose that battle too and quickly. His initial movements were a clear attempt to savor you. Slowly, so painfully slow. 

The intimacy was something you weren’t prepared for. The way Rafe Cameron moved his mouth against you was extremely personal. His touch went from light and slow, gradually building up to something that was sharp and intentional. Something that didn’t change, something often left out of yours and Topper’s sex life, was a steady rhythm. 

Unfortunately, you’d been so busy with the wedding, even your wedding night was too chaotic to consummate the marriage. You hadn’t had an orgasm in weeks. 

Your first orgasm came so quickly that you hadn’t realized it was happening until your body started to convulse and a yelp was on your tongue, “Fuck, fuck, fuck” You cursed. You refused to look down at him but you couldn’t bear to look at his wicked grin. His tongue trailed down to your entrance momentarily but soon he was relentlessly attacking your sore bud again. Rafe was consuming you, “Rafe, please …okay, okay, I came. You can stop now!”

“Why would I stop, baby, when I’m giving you everything you deserve?”

He responded to every reaction. Every attempt to pull away, he kept you steady. You struggled as much as you could and let out frustrated screams. Every attempt to pull away, he kept you steady. He pulled you closer to his mouth, using your hips as an anchor. When you inevitably felt you had nothing left to give him, he forced it out of you. 

He talked to you, coaxing you through the orgasms you were struggling to give him.

“When I’m done with you, I’ll take you home, buy you every little thing you’ve ever wanted.”

Warm and wet, that’s all your body could focus on. You were embarrassingly wet. Your entire body was warm. Your toes curled and you breathed so heavily that you thought you were having a panic attack. You were a sweaty, shaking, cursing mess by the time he finally let you go. 

After Rafe, gently undid your restraints, the coaxing continued. “Daddy’s gonna make sure you’re taken care of. Spa days. Vacations. Real ones. Anything for my girl.”

The silent treatment had never been your style. You were outspoken to a fault, the kind of person who always had something to say, even when you shouldn't. But now, the words were stuck in your throat. You curled your body away from him, your knees pulled to your chest, still trembling from the aftershocks of his touch.

The weight of the last 24 hours pressed down on you. You tried to rationalize, to convince yourself you hadn’t done anything wrong. You hadn’t pulled the trigger. But none of that mattered now. Someone was dead, and the blood felt like it was on your hands, too.

You turned your face into the pillow, desperate to block out the sight of Rafe sitting on the edge of the bed, calm and composed as if nothing had happened. Rafe Cameron didn’t earn his money honestly; you’d always known that. But the full extent of his power, the lengths to which his influence stretched, were incomprehensible. He had people who would bury bodies for him, without question, without hesitation. Who was he now? What had he become in the years since you’d last truly known him?

Your mind wandered to the kind of money he must have. Enough to make men loyal to him beyond reason. Enough to buy silence, loyalty, and the kind of life most people couldn’t even dream of. Maybe he was serious about the private jet and villas in Italy. 

You felt it in the hand he placed on your upper thigh. Power. 

 “Gonna run you a bath, baby.”

As soon as he was out of your sight, you pulled yourself up from the bed. Your eyes locked in on your bruised wrist and then lingered on your empty ring finger. Throwing weak and wobbly legs over the side of the bed, you made a dash for the bedroom doors. 

Maybe you could make it. Do the right thing. Get help-

But as you pushed open the door, the sight of a man standing just outside stopped you cold. He was armed, his posture too relaxed for someone holding that kind of power in his hands. He didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. His presence alone was the warning: Don’t even think about it.

You heard stomping, heavy footsteps of a brute you use to love, before arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you backwards. Heavy wood doors slammed and made your heart jump. 

“Running, huh?” Rafe growled in your ear, “After I’ve been so sweet to you?”

You struggled to the point that Rafe had to tackle you to the floor. You thought about Topper. You thought about the man outside the door listening to everything happening in this room. You thought about how gentle Rafe had been with you in comparison to now. You made a mistake. Running was a mistake. 

“Hey!” Rafe’s voice snapped you from your panic and you stared up at him with wide eyes, “You’re okay. These guys are here to protect you. That’s it. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

His words clashed with everything you’d seen, everything you felt. Protect you? From what? From who? The only danger in this room was him.

Rafe released one of your wrists to brush your hair from your face, the gesture at odds with the raw power still holding you down. “I’m not mad, baby,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “But don’t make me chase you again. Don’t wanna hurt you. Now, you up for that bath?”

There was no choice in the matter, you simply just gritted your teeth. You feared the second option would be to be tied up again. 

To your dismay, you undressed from your thin layer of clothing, and stepped into the bath. The warmth was a reminder of this entire home’s original purpose. Rafe seemed to have no shame about completely destroying your honeymoon. Your body was stiff and you didn’t meet his eyes as he kneeled by the tub, running his fingers through the water, before he caressed your arm, “See, not so bad,” Rafe said, “I missed you, Y/N.”

“I’m sure you missed a lot of things in jail,” Pulling your knees up cover your chest, you kept your eyes focused on the bubbles in the water. 

“I think I missed your smart mouth most of all,” You jumped at the sound of him slapping his hand against the porcelain of the tub. He rose from his kneeling position and turned in the direction of the room, “Finish up. I got you some stuff. Want you to see it.” 

You exhaled shakily, your heart pounding in your chest. The warmth of the bath felt suffocating now, the scent of lavender and vanilla in the air. You sank lower into the water, trying to collect your thoughts. 

You hated him. Hated the way he controlled you, the way he twisted every situation to suit his needs. But deep down, buried beneath the fear and anger, was the part of you that had always craved the kind of life only someone like Rafe could provide. And it scared you to realize that even now, when you should want nothing more than to escape, some small, selfish part of you still wanted to see what he had waiting for you.

Taking your time, you scrubbed away the scent of Rafe, although you still couldn’t shake that feeling of his mouth on you. You felt as if you had completely come undone. A part of you feared that he might have ruined you with how relentless he’d been. 

Taking back some of your modesty, you dressed in sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt. He was waiting for you, immediately crossing the room, as you opened the bathroom door. Placing a gentle hand on your back, he ushered you forward, “Been thinking about this the whole time I was gone.”

On the bed was a collection of boxes, neatly arranged like a display in a high-end boutique. Your breath hitched as your eyes scanned over them. Velvet jewelry cases, designer shopping bags, and a shoebox with the logo of a luxury brand you’d only ever admired from afar. 

You turned your head to look up at him. You attempted to convey something serious, a warning, a please stop and yet you were sure you could only display uncertainty in that moment. “Don’t be shy, baby. These are for you.”

Your feet carried you forward reluctantly, your mind warring with itself. You didn’t want to feed into his delusions that he could buy your affection. But the truth was, a part of you wanted to see.

He reached for a small box first, flipping it open to reveal a ring. The diamond was massive, glittering under the light in a pear shape that was both elegant and extravagant, “I know it’s not the ring you got but it’s the one you deserve.” 

“Rafe,” you exhaled, his name slipping from your lips with a softness that startled even you. The sound was far more intimate than you intended, like an instinct you couldn’t control

Like a magnet, your hand moved towards the box. Before you could reach it, Rafe flashed you a smirk, before he took the ring of the box and gestured for your hand. Your fingers trembled. He slid the ring onto your finger with deliberate care, his touch lingering just long enough to make your pulse race.

Your lips parted in awe as you marveled down at the at least. “Oh my god, it’s perfect.”

“Told you,” he said, his voice low and full of promise. “Nothing but the best for you, baby.”

It was so beautiful, so perfect, it almost made you forget the ugliness of how it had ended up on your hand.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, barely recognizing your own voice. Whether the gratitude was genuine or forced, you couldn’t even tell anymore.

Rafe tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were trying to read the thoughts behind your expression. “You deserve it,” he said softly, “You deserve everything.”

You weren’t sure if he was right but he was offering something you knew no one else could. And it scared you how much you wanted it.

Reblogs are much appreciated if you enjoyed!!

[lambilegs]

✮🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺✮

striking a deal (sevika x reader)

contains: sevika being a jackass (what's new tho I still love her), gambling, reader sort of being a hater against gambling due to the negative impacts its had on their friend, enemies-with-a-bit-of-desire sort of vibe going on, reader is called a "girlfriend," very sfw, not much explicit romance and just a bit of flirting + attraction

a/n: hiii pookies so this is my first fic for miss sevika!! I hope it's accurate to her character and you all enjoy <33 would love to hear what y'all think hehe

art: four gentlemen of high rank playing primero

✮🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺✮

"hey, do you know where I can find sevika?" you tentatively ask the bartender. he's some nervous looking kid who's probably going to quit after two weeks of witnessing the shit show that is the last drop since vander was killed.

not that you can blame him. you rarely frequent this part of the undercity, avoiding it for both the sake of safety and your own sense of sanity. you couldn't stand half the crap that went down here -- all the drunken fights, the sloshing of alcohol spilling and soaking through nearly every visitor's clothes, the lewd public displays that sent your face burning and ducking down -- and, of course, the gambling.

the damn gambling you had been imploring your friend, zafar, to put aside for almost half a year now. ever since he had lost his younger sister to an "intervention" enforcers had made at a party a year ago, every bad habit of his that had once been a small spring in the ground, roots shallow, had blossomed into a rotten, ugly plant that had spread faster than the blink of an eye could capture. you tried to be there for him, you did, but you also had your own family to take care of, and with his new friends being nothing but a bunch of enablers, he had now landed himself into a world of debt.

why, you ask? he had made the stupid decision to play with one of silco's little henchmen, sevika, whose reputation at cards is so notorious that even you've heard of it from your dinky little corner, far away from this place. you had heard rumours of her, some admiring, others downright terrifying. her help in smuggling shimmer, the ass-whooping she did for silco, how she was a constant presence when it came to the drug lord. that was enough to drain you of any admiration you could've beheld for such a strong woman. you had seen what shimmer did, the power it had in crumbling people's bodies, mental states, and their ability to keep living. you don't approve of anyone who's involved in the horrors of it.

the only reason you're here now is because zafar came to you sobbing this morning, grief heavy in his eyes over the money he had lost. he claimed sevika cheated it out of him, and while you still aren't sure as to how true that is, you'd at least try to set the record straight with her. you want to do something, anything, for standing around and watching zafar self-destruct no longer feels like a valid option. you promised him you'd try to see if you could convince her to return his money, under the condition of him avoiding gambling as best as he could and beginning to work part-time at the shop where you worked so he could have a more reliable source of income.

you can only hope this shitty plan will be in your favour. already, your stomach is tightening with anxiety, the knot circling and circling to bulge against your gut and make you slightly nauseated. but, you try to, at least physically, keep your cool, schooling your features to be calm, levelled and devoid of any jitters or twitches.

the bartender cocks his head to a dark corner near the jukebox. "right there. why, you've got business with her?"

a spring of irritation flickers through you at his prodding. the less he knows, the better. "in a way." you nod your thanks, then make your way to her.

you had seen flashes of sevika before. rallies, protests, gang fights. a blur of dark hair, a murky red cape and swinging fists. that's all she ever was to you. so, now, to behold her in her full state, feels... intimidating, to say the least. she carries herself as though the rickety wooden boards and worn out hinges of this place are her prized palace and she's the hailing king, rightfully seated on her throne. her dark lips are twisted into a leering smirk, haughtily bringing her cigar to them and taking a prideful puff from it. you swallow hard. you're definitely out of your league.

you linger nearby, watching through the crowd and awaiting an opportunity to approach her. when the men around her slam their palms down on the shared table, groaning and shutting their eyes in clear loss, her arm tossing towards them cockily, you stiffen up. you have an opening.

as the losers begin to file away, shoulders slumped in defeat, you can't help but feel a twinge of pity for them. everyone in this city struggles, one way or another. to have those struggles tied off with a loss in poker is a downright cursed fate. you try not to meet their eyes, sliding through the sweaty bodies until you reach her table.

you pause in front of her, hands twiddling as she collects the coins. you wait for her to look up, and when a few seconds pass and no such thing happens, you clear your throat.

eyes still casted onto the table, she speaks. her voice is like sand that's fallen through the surface of the ocean, rough and textured, impossibly deep and smooth. "you waited your turn long enough. what do you want?"

you flinch. "waited my turn?"

she tilts her head in the direction you came from. "you were lurking there. just watching, or is there something you need?"

jesus, and here you had thought you were at least a bit subtle. "oh, I--"

"didn't think I'd notice you?" she scoffs, scooping up the coins and pouring them into a small sack. "you almost fell head-first when bunny-face bumped into you."

your eye nearly twitches. "okay, well, good observation, I guess." honestly, it's impressive. you had expected her to be all brawn, no brain. "I'm here to talk to you about something."

her eyes finally meet yours. they're nearly silver, a dark grey that flashes under the colourful lights. her gaze is piercing, punctuated all the more by her dark eyebrows that are drawn in curiosity. "make it quick."

that's all you need. "okay, well, my friend, zafar, gambled with you last night."

"okay."

"well, you won, and took a bunch of his money." you wobble on your feet, hesitation seizing at you due to the accusation you're about to lay out. she could probably snap your neck in less than a millisecond. you've heard of her ability to totally crush any enemy designated to her by silco. definitely not a person whose bad side you want to get on. hopefully, nothing of the sort will happen if you express yourself in enough of a civilized way. "he, I don't know if it's true, but he says you cheated." you avert your eyes, the hand in your pocket gripping tightly onto the handle of your dagger. you haven't had to use it, not yet, at least, but in the undercity, it's better to be safe than sorry. and, frankly, you're expecting the worse from her.

which is why you nearly flinch when the corner of her lip twists up, and she says, "a common scapegoat for losers."

protectiveness immediately kicks in, searing through your body and urging you through your fear. you know it's hypocritical, considering you, too, don't fully believe him. but, still, you at least know his character, whereas she's just riding off her assumptions. "he could just as well be telling the truth."

"oh, yeah? is that why he sent his little girlfriend to save his ass?"

gross. the insinuation feels nearly as offensive as her insults towards him. "I'm not his girlfriend. and I volunteered to come here myself."

her eyes flicker up to you, and you rear back when they linger on your face, skimming over your features before settling back down to the table. "and while that's nice, and well, pretty stupid of you, I didn't do any cheating. anything he lost was because he couldn't play his hand well."

you grit your teeth together. "I'm not stupid. I just came here for a friend."

"a friend who clearly is a sloppy poker player and likely to lose to anyone who has the playing ability of a child." she snickers, and you catch sight of the split between her two front teeth, a little gap protruding. you force yourself to meet her eyes. the last thing you'd want is for her to catch you staring at her mouth.

what's worse is that you can't even argue back with her on this. for all you know, zafar very well may be a shit player. probably is, in all honesty. it wouldn't surprise you -- he always was impulsive as hell, and you wouldn't bat an eye to discover that challenging sevika had been an in-the-moment decision of his. but, you know what he's been through. you know how down in the dumps he is financially, and just how desperate he's gotten. his mourning has only made it worse.

"okay, well," you trail off, not really knowing where to continue. you didn't really lay a plan for yourself, and now that she's swiftly shut you down in a manner which you have no rebuttals for, you're not sure how to proceed.

"was that all?"

"no." you force your shoulders to straighten, hoping you sound somewhat firm, maybe even dignified. "is there any way you can return his money? he's been through a lot this year, and--"

she cuts you off with a bark of laughter, the raspy noise of it harsh and grating to your ears. the anger it's stirring in you probably isn't helping either. "okay. listen, friend of...?"

deadpan, you respond, "zafar."

she nods. "yeah, whatever his name is. this game comes with risks, and one of them is losing all your shit if you play with no tact."

you suck in a sharp breath at the condescension in her tone. "I'm well aware of that. but, listen, he's had a hard time of it lately, and--"

"and what? we've all had a hard time of it lately. if he chose to put his life's worth on the table, that isn't my problem."

"I'm not saying it is, but c'mon, can't you have a little empathy now and return his money?" you stick an incredulous finger at the table. "you have enough as is! no need to drain every zaunite of their hard-earned money before you're satisfied."

her eyes flutter in what seems to be exasperation, but you firmly planted, both on your feet and in your stance. physically, you can't do shit against this mass of muscle. but, maybe, just maybe, you can verbally get somewhere.

she stares up at you, elbows propped on her knees. "if it's so hard-earned, why did your friend gamble it away? are you asking me to return someone's money because they were an idiot?"

frustration begins to gnaw at your stomach, a burning sensation swarming through your insides and making you tense up. "I'm telling you, he's not in his right mind right now. things have happened in his family lately, and it's been hard for him."

"are you forgetting where you live? things happen in every family here. being smart is how you survive. if your friend can't do that..." she shrugs, continuing to sweep the coins into the opening of the sack. "then, that's not my problem."

"being a decent person helps in surviving in this place, too. being there for each other and our community. don't you care about that?"

her movements halt for a second, eyes flicking between you and the table. you nearly crack a grin and do a little rejoicing dance. bingo.

you add a sticky sweet tone to your voice, pleading and coaxing. you've heard she frequents babette's brothel, and if that's any indication about where her romantic interests lie, maybe you'll be able to woe her into complacency. "c'mon, I promise, he'll never gamble with you again, and if he does, take anything and keep it. but, please, just this one time, help him out, hm? do it for him, do it for your people."

her face, which was stoic only moments ago, shatters into a loud round of laughter, her palm smacking against her knee. "I gotta hand it to you, the 'for your people' thing was a nice touch." she stands up, and you try not to blink too hard at the sight of her towering over you. jesus, she's gigantic. no wonder people are scared shitless of her. no wonder you were scared shitless of her. "now, be honest. was the money yours? boyfriend left you and stole from the cookie jar? told you you had to come and get it back yourself?"

the more she talks, the more you get the sense that to her, this conversation is simply something to toy with, and just engage with as a playful little pastime. it only causes more anger to ooze within you, fiery and hot within your guts, like lava. this isn't a game. this is about people's lives, people's financial sustenance. she must earn a decent amount of time for her work for silco, and yet here she is, milking the people of zaun who don't know any better or who are too entrenched in their habits to put a stop to their gambling.

you want to make a jab at her that's as harsh as the blow to your ego was. it might risk you a limb, but you're praying the surprising amount of calm she's shown so far is a sign that your safety is secure. "you know what? I was stupid for coming here in the first place. to think one of silco's little servants would actually have a moral compass."

unfortunately, her irritatingly cool collection not only keeps your physical wellbeing in check, but does the complete opposite to your pride. for all she does is stare down at you, the long, blue scar seeping through her cheek curling as she chuckles, the noise husky and rough, like crushed velvet. "ouch. good one. anyone else might've gotten offended by that." her stormy eyes skip to your lips for a split second. "quite the mouth you have on you."

what the fuck is that supposed to mean? is that a pass or a genuine comment on your temper, which is very much flaring up? either way, you're determined to try harder to goad her. "yeah, well, I'm sure it has no impact on you, right? after all, you spend your days contributing to half the shit going down in this fucked up city."

her jaw suddenly clenches, mouth pressing together. you would've thought someone in this business would be a bit more discreet with the physical manifestations of their moods. but, sevika is like an open book, grey eyes wide, and eyebrows sunk down, her newfound disdain clear as day. "what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"the shimmer," you answer, squinting at her, praying the expression conveys how stupid you think she is. "your little boss has just tossed it to this city and watches the damages of it unfold without doing shit. wasn't his glorious plan to make this city a better place, not fuck us over even more?"

"the shimmer is helping," she retorts, her voice harder than before, lined with a firm pressure that had been absent in her prior teasing and casual dismissal. "we have something that topside could only wish for, something that gives us an advantage."

"an advantage?" you laugh bitterly. the injustice of it all, the agony you see your people in everyday -- it all floods your insides, wracking you from within. "it's been years since it's come about, and nothing has changed. piltover is still on top, and in addition to that, they have hextech." you make sure your eyes pointedly lock onto hers, hoping she feels every single fibre of your rage. "just admit it. you guys haven't done shit."

"and what exactly are you doing?" her voice is lowered to a heavy whisper, and you feel the noises surrounding you two melt away into a light, background buzz. the iciness of her voice feels almost worst than any other stupid tone she's taken since you started interacting.

"something you and your boss don't seem to be helping at all with." you give her a tight-lipped smile, your gums aching with how hard your teeth press in together, the disjointed shapes of them uncomfortable and crooked as they mash at the edges. "trying to survive."

her nostrils flare, her burning glare pulsing through the barrier of your skin and making your insides turn from the onslaught of anxiety that enters. god, will she unleash some goons on you now or something?

"sevika!"

you jerk at the sudden sound, whereas sevika simply blinks down at you, gaze unrelenting. "what?" she calls out.

uncomfortable at having her eyes still pointed at you, you turn to the voice, seeing a man with small, rectangular glasses hanging off his nose looking awfully mopey.

"you promised us another round," the guy wails, tossing his hands in the air.

you swallow hard at the silence that ensues, still feeling her stormy eyes hooked onto you. after a moment, she says, "maybe later."

the man's shoulders sag as he heaves a dramatic sigh, turning to who seems to be his friend, whimpering, "she's too busy with her date."

you grimace at the mistake, though the disgust you feel at it is fused with an irritation directed at the way your stomach spins at the word 'date.' you're not stupid -- sevika is, objectively, pretty attractive. hot, some people might say. but, jesus, she's a bitch too. and working with silco, which makes for a very unappealing combination.

"come on," she drawls out. you turn back to her, the anger from before now replaced with a wide smirk, one sharp eyebrow lifted up inquisitively. "I can't be all that bad, can I?"

you roll your eyes. this conversation has strayed too much as is, and you're not about to let it tiptoe off into flirtatious territory. "are you going to give my friend back his money or not?"

"hm," she ponders, and lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. you can immediately catch a whiff of the falsehood in the gesture, and tap your foot, waiting for her to just solidify your assumption. "no, I won't. but, do give him my regards."

you grunt, shaking your head. despite your expectancy of it, you can't help but feel a stone of disappointment sink through the waters of your body, falling to the bottom with more impact than you'd like. you shouldn't expect anything of her, there's no reason for you to feel disappointment. your expectations shouldn't have gotten this high in the first place. "of course. have a good day."

as you whirl around to leave, she grabs your forearm, callouses brushing against your skin. "hey, I just turned down a poker game for you."

"uh, yeah, and as a reward, you get a departure from me that doesn't include a kick to the shin." you snatch your arm from her grasp, trying to direct your thoughts to her shitty words as a desperate attempt to ignore the warmth in your stomach. "you're welcome."

with her snarky laugh ringing in your ears, you practically dash to the door, wanting to get out as soon as possible.

it's awful, but at the opening, something in you whispers for you to look back once more. it's okay -- it's reasonable, right? you barely frequent this place, anyone would want to catch one last glance at such a notorious woman in your city, no matter how degenerate and callous she is.

the only con to this is as soon as you find sight of her through your tentative search of the crowd, she's already staring back at you. at being caught, you internally cringe, the feeling only intensified by a tenfold when she tips her head at you with a grin.

ugh. never again.

two weeks later, you find a crisp envelope laying out on the mat outside your front door. in neat, cursive writing, it reads:

A thank you gift for the free business consultation. Do with it what you will. Whether you or someone else needs it. - S

[vettelsvee]

YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN YOUR FACE | Sebastian Vettel

Sebastian Vettel x Pregnant Wife!Reader

SUMMARY: Seb's wife is pregnant, but she hasn't told him yet since she doesn't seem ready. However, after he almost crashed pretty badly during a Free Practice session, she can't help but tell him in not the best way possible ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Okay but can you imagine Sebs wife being pregnant but she has not told him yet. He does some dangerous and bold move on a drive and she gets mad and scared and just some fluff when he finds out :)

WORD COUNT: 1804

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of anxiety, overthinking about Formula 1 crashes (?), pregnancy, Ferrari Seb in general (if you know, you know)

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @herdetectivetheorist @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: Hi guys! Finally back to posting fics! This year I don't only want to write more, but also establish some kind of writing routine because I've been dealing with anxiety over Christmas for some personal problems family related and found out that I missed distressing with writing. Also, thank you so much for all the support you've been showing me lately! Appreciate it a lot since I wasn't feeling very comfortable with my writing. Let me know your thoughts on this one <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

Despite being quite far from the pit lane, you could hear nothing but the deafening roar of the engines, the clatter of tools on Kimi's car, and the curses of the race engineers at the constant stunts Seb had decided to pull during the free practice session.  

Your husband's red car seemed not just to race but to fly around the track. FP2 had started barely twenty minutes ago, but Seb had already come within inches of crashing into the walls far too many times after going off track more often than you could count.  

You couldn't deny that you had loved watching Seb race ever since you met and you learned he was a driver in one of the most dangerous sports in the world. Today, however, luck was not on your side, and anxiety was consuming you. The nausea, uncontrollable on its own, felt even worse than usual. Not to mention, you felt on the verge of a panic attack.  

"Are you okay?"  

You turned at the sound of Riccardo Adami’s voice, Seb’s race engineer. The Italian removed one side of his headset and covered the microphone to ensure the driver wouldn’t hear anything.  

"Yes, yes, of course," you replied hastily, forcing a smile and suppressing the urge to gag as you felt it rising in your throat. "I’m just a bit more nervous than usual today, that’s all."  

"Seb knows what he’s doing. Don’t worry about that."  

You nodded, but as soon as Adami turned his attention back to his screen, you rolled your eyes and did the same.  

"You know, sometimes he thinks that he’s a cat and has seven lives," you muttered under your breath. "Someone should remind him he’s in an actual Formula 1 car, not in a simulator."  

"Don’t worry, I’ll remind him in the post-session briefing," the engineer joked, flashing a smile before immersing himself back into Vettel's driving.  

You didn’t pay him much attention. Once again, you were entirely engrossed in both your husband’s onboard camera and the telemetry, even though you didn’t understand much aside from the fact that he was setting purple sectors, which was undoubtedly a good sign.  

You didn’t know much about the inner workings of the cars, but after so many years with Seb, you knew that the faster his times were, the higher the risks became.  

You were also acutely aware that your husband was pushing himself too hard in those moments.  

You began to tremble slightly, fidgeting with your hands in an attempt to calm your anxiety, but it didn’t work. Instinctively, and trying not to draw much attention, you placed your hands on your belly and prayed that your child wouldn’t give you any scares like his father was giving you.  

"Sector two in purple as well, Seb!"  

Even though the garage erupted into cheers and applause, you remained motionless. Instead, you couldn’t take your eyes off the screen, which now showed your husband’s car in full view.  

Your panic peaked the moment Seb lost control of the rear of his car and went off the track. You swore that if it hadn’t been for the sudden braking, he would have ended up in the barriers with a wrecked car and himself heading to the medical center because the crash would have likely exceeded the G-force limits.  

When Seb didn’t respond immediately, your heart stopped.  

"I’m fine, I’m fine..." Seb finally said in a disappointed tone. "But I can’t say the same for the car. I think it’s more damaged than it looks."  

"Can you bring it back, Sebastian?" Riccardo asked in a tone that was a mix of irritation and disappointment.  

"Yeah, no problem. Coming back. Sorry, guys."  

Just as no one on the team said anything to you, you, who had forced yourself to sit down because your legs were trembling too much and you felt dizzy, also remained silent until your husband returned and got out of the car.  

Seb removed his helmet, revealing an expression that was hard to decipher. You stood up carefully and approached him, trying to keep your composure. Without giving him a chance to say anything, you grabbed his hand and led him toward his driver room, ignoring Britta's protests to talk after interviews were done.  

"It could have been worse, right?" 

Sebastian closed the door behind him and turned to face you. You stood there with your arms crossed, visibly upset. Your glare alone was enough to tell Seb he was seconds away from one of your infamous scoldings.  

The problem? He had no idea why. You had never acted so strangely over something as common as a collision during a race weekend.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you exploded, your voice filled with frustration. “Fuck, Seb, can you explain what that was all about?!”  

“What do you mean, what was that? I was... racing, like I always do, babe,” he replied cautiously, still clueless about what he'd done wrong.  

You, however, didn’t know what was bothering you more: your husband’s calm demeanor or the sight of a few Ferrari team members peeking through the window to catch the drama unfolding between the two of you.  

“You were so close to slamming into a wall, Sebastian, that’s what happened!” you shot back, yanking the curtains shut and flipping off the nosy onlookers. “Are you out of your mind or what?!”  

“Come on, love, I had it under control. What you saw on the onboard might’ve looked bad, but I swear it wasn’t as dangerous as it seemed.”  

“Not as bad as it seemed? Are you seriously telling me that?” you retorted, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you think driving is just like playing a video game now? Do you have any idea what it would’ve meant if you hadn’t reacted in time? Do you know what it would’ve meant for me and for—”  

You stopped yourself mid-sentence, refusing to continue.  

You knew your emotions were running wild because of your pregnancy hormones, but you forced yourself to calm down. Getting so worked up would only lead to a pointless argument with Seb and wasn’t good for you or the baby.  

“For who, Y/N?” Seb asked, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his.  

“For... me! Who else?” you replied quickly. 

Sebastian didn’t know how to respond. He’d never seen you so distressed about his racing, and while he tried to stay calm, inside he was battling a storm of worry and confusion.  

“This stress isn’t good for me or for the situation you and, well... you’ve gotten me into,” you said, your voice cracking.  

“Y/N, babe, I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about. Fuck, I’m pretty worried about you right now with all this shit, but if you don’t tell me what’s going on—”  

“Damn it, Seb! I’m pregnant!”  

You looked down, tears streaming down your face. You clenched your fists tightly, furious at yourself for revealing such big news in such an emotional, unplanned way.  

Sebastian, meanwhile, stood frozen, his eyes wide in shock at the unexpected news. Slowly, everything started to make sense: your morning sickness, falling asleep all the time, constantly complaining about being tired, and the flimsy excuses you gave for not drinking wine, something you normally loved.  

He cursed himself for not realizing it sooner and for believing your weak justifications about bad leftovers being the cause of everything.  

“You’re... pregnant?” His voice was barely audible, almost afraid to say the words out loud because they didn’t feel real.  

You wiped your tears and sniffled, doing your best to meet your husband’s gaze without feeling ashamed.  

“Yes...” you said timidly. “I wanted to tell you in a special way... you know, by giving you a baby onesie in a box with the positive pregnancy test inside, but...” You shook your head and finally looked him in the eyes. “I thought you were going to die out there today and leave your child and me alone. The thought of losing you, now of all times, just...”  

“You’re really pregnant? We’re going to have a baby?”  

You nodded, and Seb couldn’t hold back his tears. He pulled you into a tight embrace and began kissing you tenderly. You melted into his arms, feeling an immense weight lifted from your shoulders.  

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you admitted. “I swear I wanted it to be special, but seeing you out there today, thinking something could happen to you...” Your voice broke again. “I was terrified, Seb, like never before watching you race.”  

“I’m so sorry, love. I really am,” he said sincerely, cupping your cheeks gently and kissing you over and over. “If I’d known, I would’ve been more careful. God, love, this is incredible... This is the best news I’ve ever received.”  

“You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you sooner? You should’ve seen your face earlier...”  

“Mad? That you didn’t tell me sooner?” You shrugged, your insecurity showing despite your years together. Seb tilted his head, understanding this was one of your rare but extreme moments of doubt. “I’m just... in shock. I can’t believe we’re going to be parents...”  

Sebastian hesitantly touched your stomach, and you burst into fresh tears at the tenderness of his gesture.  

“Now you have to promise me something, Seb,” you said, playing with his hair as he knelt before you, leaving kisses on your belly.  

“Anything for you and our little one.”  

“You need to be more careful from now on. Stop thinking so much with your adrenaline and testosterone, and start using your brain more,” you said, trying not to sound too harsh. “I know Formula 1 and racing is your whole life, but I don’t want you risking it when we’re bringing a new one into the world. I’m eight weeks along, and we still have 32 to go assuming everything follows the perfect pregnancy script.”  

Seb stood and gazed at you, trying to convey the calm you both could only find in each other.  

“Love, I promise,” he whispered softly. “For you, for the baby... I love winning, but today, and even more so when our child is born, I’ll have won the second most important race of my life.”  

You frowned, confused.  

“If that’s the second, what’s the most important race of your life then?”  

He chuckled and scooped you into his arms, kissing you again as he laid you both on the couch behind you.  

“The race I ran for so many years to win your heart,” he murmured between slow, deliberate kisses that said more than words ever could. “After all those years trying to get you to go out with me in high school, and now we’re eight months away from having a baby... what else could it be, mama?”  

[lieslab]

I'm stuck with a phobia

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Og8 X gn reader

Summary: You're struggling with your anxiety when your boyfriend comforts you.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 5.3K

Anxiety resources

Trigger warning: General anxiety, testing anxiety, anxiety surrounding hospitals and doctors/nurses, brief mention of insecurities, social anxiety, and over-stimulation.

A/N: To whoever requested this, you requested 3racha members specifically, but I didn't want to leave the other members out, so they're all here. Each scenario is different and most are based on different scenarios that can cause anxiety/anxiety attacks. Some of these are a little more serious than others, but I think you get the gist.

_ _ _

Chan: 

You couldn’t remember the last time that you weren’t in a constant state of anxiety. Anxiety always draped over your shoulders like a shawl you couldn't rip off. A suffocating scarf that grew tighter and tighter around your throat. 

Your heart bucked against your chest, a weak attempt at trying to dislodge from the anxiety in your body. It never worked. It tried and tried and tried, but your sternum was far too strong. 

Despite being there, you learned to live with it. You learned to try to ignore the heavy thumps and distract yourself with simplicities; anything to get away from the feeling of your soul being caged. Usually, you could distract yourself, but tonight was different. 

It uprooted from nowhere. A current of anxiety pulled you into the depths of your head and suddenly, still half-asleep in the middle of the night, the what-ifs were coming back. What if you weren’t good enough? What if you weren’t a great person? What if Chan’s love for you was all a lie? 

Beside you, Chan’s eyelashes cast shadows on his sleeping face. Soft lips pressed together and, for once in his life, that furrow of concentration didn’t hang in his brow. That grit of determination was gone. For tonight, he wasn't just a leader. He wasn’t a member; he wasn’t anything other than Chan, your boyfriend. 

You tried to be quiet as you shifted the blankets and attempted to leave the bed. The squeak of the bed frame and the dip of the bed stirred his sleep. Your name left his lips and a hand stretched out to touch you, but you were already standing up. 

“Baby?” His half-lidded eyes open. Darkness swarmed his vision and you froze. He blinked and blinked and blinked, trying to cast shapes to the shadows. “Baby?” 

“I’m right here,” you finally whispered. “Go back to sleep. It’s too early to get up.” 

“Where are you going?” 

“To get a glass of water.” Your voice came out groggy and unconvincing. 

He reached up, rubbed his eyes, and his mouth stretched into a yawn. “What are you really doing?” 

“I’m anxious and I can’t sleep. It’s never ending and I’ve been trying to sleep, but over the past few hours, I kept waking up. I’m not sure what it is, but it won’t go away. Go back to sleep, I’m going to-” 

His arms stretched out in your direction. A silent and simple command, come here. You hesitated and didn’t budge from your spot. “You should go back to sleep. Seriously, Chan, you have to be up early tomorrow.” 

“You either get in my arms or I follow you to the couch.” 

He was so stubborn. You didn’t know if it made you hate him or love him. So stubborn, so determined, such a pain in your ass. A constant nag and a forever reminder that you weren’t alone. 

You sighed, stepped back, and crawled back into the bed. He wrapped his muscular arms around you and pulled you closer. The scent of his body wash was faint, but the woodsy masculine scent still lingered. 

“Close your eyes.” 

You let your eyes fall and sighed again. He pressed a quick kiss to the side of your head before softly beginning to sing. The worry in your heart melted away instantly. You began to relax and let his sleepy voice lull you back to sleep. 

Dating a singer had more perks than you’d like to admit. 

_ _ _ 

Minho: 

“What is wrong with you?” Minho asked. 

The two of you were sitting in his living room and watching a movie. Halfway through, you shifted in your chair and became fidgety. You shrugged and waved him off, not wanting to distract him. 

His eyes narrowed at you, but he didn’t prod. Knowing you, you probably just needed to adjust your spot or something. You were never great at sitting still for long periods of time. After a few more minutes, you shifted again. Your nails curled into your palms and the sharp edges bit into your skin. 

You shifted to comfort yourself a few seconds later. When your knee started bouncing, Minho grabbed the television remote and paused the screen. “What are you doing?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Don’t do that. Your thing-” He gestured towards you. “You’re anxious or something. Your knee is bouncing and you can’t sit still. Why are you anxious?” 

“Because I’ve never seen this movie and what if my favorite character dies?” You slumped back in the seat with a frown. “Don’t you have a heart? How are you not anxious about this?” 

“So anxious, to where you can’t stop moving?” 

Your hand went up in defeat. “I can’t help it! I’m always like this when I don’t know the ending of a movie. I’m trying not to look up how it ends, but I want to. I can't stand the suspense!” 

“Hold on.” 

You watched as Minho slid across the hardwood floor and disappeared into the kitchen. Upon his return, he presented you with Dori's familiar black and brown coating. His feet dangled helplessly as Minho approached. 

“Have a cat.” 

“What is-” 

“Hold on.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, but you grabbed Dori anyway. You shifted, trying to keep him comfortable. Small paws pressed into your lower stomach. He tried to pull away from you to lie on your thighs. 

Your head poked up at the sound of incoming footsteps. When you looked up, an unhappy Soonie glared at you. You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. “What is this?” 

“Have a cat.” 

“Minho, this is-” 

“Wait.” 

You tried not to laugh as he disappeared again. Dori shifted and Soonie’s head went back with a loud meow of distress. You reached up and gently patted his head, trying to calm him down. 

Footsteps patted your way for a final time and when you looked up, the sleepy eyes of Doongie were staring back, full of obvious annoyance. Minho pressed him further, nearly pushing into your nose. “Here, have a cat.” 

You let him place Doongie on your chest. He reached out and used a finger to tap the top of each of their heads. “One cat, two cats, three cats, and-” 

You glanced up and, to your surprise, he tapped the tip of your nose. “Four cats.” 

“I’m not a cat!” 

“Four cats.” 

You grumbled and complained, your anxiety long forgotten about. Doongie shifted, nearly falling off your chest. You quickly grabbed him and leaned back so he wouldn’t roll. “There are too many cats in my lap.” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

You opened your mouth to bicker, but your words halted. Minho shifted Dori and Soonie, so he could squirm into your lap with them. Your eyes widened as he sat across your lap. “What are you-” 

“Five cats.” 

“Lee Minho!” 

“Sorry, I only speak cat.” He picked up Dori’s paw and waved it in your direction. Garbled meows in various pitches fell from his lips. All you could do was stare at him blankly as he took Dori’s paw and gently booped your nose with it. 

Clearly, growing up as an only child with three cats has drastic effects on the human psyche. 

_ _ _ 

Changbin: 

You decided when you were a kid that quizzes were your worst enemy. Ever since you were in elementary school and colorful motivational posters plastered the walls, you knew you’d always hate tests. Tests. Quizzes. Finals. All of it. 

As you grew up and enrolled in college, things didn’t change. Your kitchen table was full of opened textbooks and sticky note reminders. Highlighters swept over topics in notebooks. A headache had been pulsing behind your left eye since you started. 

You were drowning in academics. Even worse, you were drowning alone. Changbin was out at a photoshoot and you were on your own until sometime late tonight. It was perfect in your head. You were two weeks away from finals and now you had plenty of time to study. 

You were trying your best. You did what you could, but the more you pressured yourself into studying more, the more the content wasn’t sticking. There was too much stuff for each subject and not enough space in your head. Everything you just spent two hours drilling into your frontal cortex; it was gone. 

You scanned the pages of the textbooks, reading the words, but never truly soaking them in. Words and words and words and words. Some are more complex than others, but it was all the same. You were so focused and anxious about forgetting and failing; it was the only thing taking up space in your head. 

You shoved everything away from you in a fit of rage. A textbook snapped shut and hit the floor with a loud thud. Your neatly stacked vocabulary cards that were in alphabetical order, they slipped over the edge too. The twenty minutes you spent organizing them were all for nothing. They scattered in every direction and brought tears to your eyes. 

Your face found your hands and that’s where they stayed. Elementary tests were far different from college tests. Twenty percent of these finals went to your final grades. Your final grades were important, especially in the classes you really struggled with. The difference between passing and failing was huge. 

“Honey, I’m home!” Changbin called out. “I’m home and I brought food! Have you eaten anything?” Footsteps echoed from the living room and moved closer. 

You didn’t bother looking up. On the verge of bursting into sobs, you stayed buried in your hands. Changbin’s eyes went to everything covering the table. “Woah! What’s all this?” 

He placed the plastic bag on the side of the counter and approached you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” A comforting hand found your shoulder. “Why are your note cards and textbook on the floor? Did something happen?” 

You pulled your face away from your hands with tears in your eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m stressed and anxious. As you can see, I’m trying to study, but nothing is sticking.” You sniffled and wiped away a tear. “Why are you home from the shoot early? Did something happen?” 

“No, we finished early. Apparently, we all behaved well and behaving means getting work done earlier. That’s not the point. Do you have tests coming up?” His fingers started at your crown and gently tugged back your hair. 

“Finals. They’re two weeks away and I could use the head start, but-” You gestured at the mess, “it’s not going so well.” 

“I can see that. How about-” He gently grabbed a fistful of your hair and leaned your head back to face him. “We clean this up and we eat. After dinner, we’ll pick one subject and start there. I’ve heard that if you can successfully teach what you’re learning to someone, it means you’ve mastered understanding it.” 

Your lips tugged into a pouting frown. More tears filled your eyes and you reached up to wipe them away. Changbin followed your reaction with his own frown. “Why are you crying?” 

“Because you’re sweet and sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you.” 

“Nonsense, everyone deserves their own Changbinnie.” He reached down and placed a soft kiss against your pouty lips. “Go clean up and I’m going to stack these on the counter.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too. Now hurry!” He pulled away and shooed you. “The food is going to get cold and you know how I feel about cold food. Bleh.” 

_ _ _ 

Hyunjin: 

“Sweetheart, you can’t stay in the car the entire day.” Hyunjin hung against the wide open passenger door with an amused smile. “You know I’m stronger than you, right? I could just simply lean down and tug you straight out of there.” 

You threw him a weak side eye. This morning, you woke up feeling awful. Since it was his day off, Hyunjin had been taking care of you the entire evening. Every few hours, he had been taking your temperature. When it spiked three degrees in ‌a few hours, he insisted on taking you to the hospital. 

The only issue? You hated hospitals and doctors. Not once in your life had you ever trusted a nurse. In the middle of your fever, your anxiety sky-rocketed. You begged him not to take you, but here the two of you were now. He parked right beside the emergency room door, but you refused to get out of his car. 

“What if I go in there and they only give me twenty-four hours to live?” You hoarsely uttered. 

“Then we better get in there to make sure you have twenty-four hours and not twenty-three.” 

“What if they tell me I have cancer?” 

“Sweetheart-” 

“Or what if it’s worse than that? What if I have a broken bone that I’m not aware of? My foot has been hurting since I rolled it a few days ago and maybe it healed wrong. What if they have to break it again and it goes wrong? What if it gets infected and I lose my entire leg?” 

He called your name, but you didn’t respond. You were too busy voicing your concerns out loud. “What if,” you continued, “they find out I’m really sick and they have to give me a shot in the butt?” 

He blinked, completely surprised. “What if they what?” 

“You heard me, Hyunjin! What if they have to give me a shot in the ass? Why can’t we just go back to that sweet pink medicine that was stored in the fridge? Why do doctors cause misery?” You threw your head back against the seat and continued whining. 

You knew you were being dramatic, but between your high fever and your anxiety, you were spiraling. Just thinking about going in and being poked and prodded in your state.  It was unfathomable. 

“Or, I know this sounds crazy, but what if you just go in, they diagnose you, give you some medicine, and we go back home?” 

“Why would they do that? They’re evil doctors,” you whined as your head slumped to your chest. You were exhausted and trying to fight with Hyunjin, it was getting harder and harder to stay on topic. Your body ached and wanted to nod off. 

“They’re not evil and I’ll be right there with you the entire time.” He reached down and scooped you into his arms. “Do you think I’d let them hurt you? No way.” 

You groaned as your head shifted against the warmth of his chest. “They’re gonna kill me, probably. Kill me and rip my limbs apart. They’re going to feed me my feet and they’re going to-” 

He snorted and squeezed you tighter. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about? Doctors wouldn’t do such an outrageous thing. They want to help you, not feed you your own feet.” 

“I forgot you’d eat my feet.” 

“Huh?” 

“You ate Minho’s foot in that one photo.” 

“Honey, I think you’re delirious from your fever.” 

Your eyes drooped and the emergency doors swung open. The scent of disinfectant hit you and your eyes slipped shut. You mumbled his name, but he didn’t stop walking to the front desk. He started explaining the situation to a nurse. 

That didn’t stop you from trying to explain how you needed your feet as you succumbed to sleep. 

_ _ _ 

Han: 

“I’m anxious,” you uttered as you laid on the living room floor. Your limbs sprawled out and your gaze caught the spinning ceiling fan. Wooden panels whirled around so fast that they were a giant blur. 

“Me too.” Han agreed as he laid a few feet away from you. “I don’t know what I’m anxious about. What are you anxious about?” 

“The future, I think. How does it happen? What if it goes wrong? What if I make the wrong mistakes? What if I fuck it up?” 

Han’s eyes widened and his adam’s apple bobbed with a gulp. “Okay, cool. Now you have me anxious about the future, too.” 

“What if we break up?” 

“What if we’re together for the rest of our lives?” He countered. 

“Woah, are we prepared for that? For this forever? I want to say that I am, but forever is an awfully long time.” 

“Isn’t it a good thing?” 

“Listen, I’ve been a victim of your farts.” 

He reached over and playfully slapped his hand on your shoulder, causing you to laugh. “Shut up!” He whined. “Yours are ten times worse than mine.” 

“Nuh-uh!” 

“Yeah-huh!” 

“Prove it!” You challenged. 

“Stage one, denial.” 

You burst into a fit of giggles and he followed. Your hands curled up over your stomach as you shook. For a few brief moments, you pushed the anxiety from the front of your head. You sucked in a deep breath and let it out. 

“But really,” you continued, “how do you stop your anxiety?” 

“I ignore it by watching anime. How do you stop yours when it’s bad?” He shifted so he could stare at you. You didn’t move from laying on your back. His arm moved up to prop his head. 

“I do whatever I can to escape reality. Most of the time, it’s social media or shoving my nose in a book.” 

“Sometimes I bother one of the guys. Life feels better when I’m with them. Even if it’s just one, I feel less stressed. We’re always laughing together so…” 

“I understand, it’s a really special bond that you have with the other group members. I’ll admit that it makes me jealous. It just sounds nice and what you have, it’s so authentic and real, you know? You don’t just have one good person, you have seven. I’m sure you have more than that, but-” 

“It really is special, isn’t it?” He smiled to himself and shifted back onto his back. 

“Yeah.” 

“Sometimes when I’m really stressed, I go visit Minho. Every now and then, we’ll go to his parents’ house to see his cats. That’s my favorite way to ease anxiety.” 

“If only you had a pet.” 

He nodded in agreement and the two of you sat in silence again. Tangled in your own thoughts, your eyes went back to the spinning ceiling fan. You watched it spin around and around and around and-

“Holy shit!” You jerked upright with wide eyes. “Han Jisung, you idiot!” 

“Huh?” 

“You have a dog!” 

“I have a dog?” 

“Bbama!” 

“Obama?” He echoed, feeling more confused. “The former president of the-” His eyebrows furrowed until he gasped and slammed a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god, I have a dog!” He shoved himself to his feet and grabbed your arm. “Come on, we gotta go visit Bbama!” 

“Obama,” you mocked him as you followed. 

He turned around and stuck his tongue out at you. Yours poked out and caused him to huff. “Shut up,” he finally grumbled. “So I forgot I had a dog! Sue me!” 

“Bbama might.” 

_ _ _ 

Felix: 

“It’s not funny!” You childishly stomped your foot and placed your hands on your hips. 

Across the way, there were tears in Felix’s eyes. The two of you had been posing in front of Hyunjin’s camera and trying to take cute photos together. The last one came out with your eyes in two different directions and half-closed. 

Hyunjin was trying not to laugh, for your sake, but Felix was losing it. For the past two minutes, he’d been on the ground with a hand on his stomach. Just when he thought he composed himself, laughter broke back out. 

“Baby, p-please,” he weakly uttered. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to-” His words cut off with more laughter. 

You didn’t want to do this because of this reason. The two of you were supposed to go official with your relationship and you wanted a cute photo to announce it on Instagram. Hyunjin offered to take it, but none of them were coming out right. 

You were anxious, worried that the photos would all come out ugly, and here you were actually living that scenario. Your cheeks were red with humiliation, but it didn’t seem to bother Felix. He was still cracking into fits of giggles. 

“It’s not funny,” you mumbled again, feeling more and more miserable. “I told you this was a bad idea.” 

Felix shook his head and blonde tendrils went flying. “No, i-it wasn’t a bad idea. This was the best idea. I just wasn’t expecting that angle. It was one poor photo and-” 

“It feels like every photo has been a poor photo. I’m not doing it right. I don’t know how to pose like you do. I’m not used to-” 

“Hey,” he shoved himself off the ground, “it’s okay, really.” 

“No, it’s not. You keep laughing at me. I feel like we’re wasting Hyunjin’s time. So much of his time that he just disappeared to go find a snack while we recouped.” 

“Hyunjin is a growing man. You couldn’t help that if you wanted to. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, I just-” He reached forward and gently cupped your cheeks. “I love you so much, you don’t understand it.” 

“I don’t like being laughed at, even if it’s just a silly photo. I’m always afraid that-” 

His head shook. “I’m not laughing at you. I mean, I am, but I’m laughing at the pose you ended up in. Think about it. Wouldn’t you laugh if Hyunjin snapped a photo of me in that same pose?” 

“I guess.” He narrowed his eyebrows at you. “Okay, I guess if the roles were reversed, I’d probably laugh a lot. I look like an idiot.” 

“Exactly.” He pressed on your cheeks and caused your lips to press together. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I love you so much.” 

Your cheeks went red and your lips grew into a smile. He grinned and leaned forward and then- 

Flash! 

Felix jerked away with a groan and you blinked rapidly, trying to gain your vision back. His hands went up to rub his eyes. “Hyunjin?” 

“I got it! This is the perfect photo! Oh, you guys are just so cute!” He squealed as he stared at the screen on his camera. “That speech? Disgustingly cute. This photo? Fan wars are going to be caused.” 

“Hyunjin,” Felix warned. 

“What? I’m just saying.” He shrugged and spun the lens towards the two of you. “What do you think?” 

As you stared at the photo of Felix’s twinkling eyes, a smile on his face, and your own blushing smile; you knew he was right, it was perfect. _ _ _ 

Seungmin: 

“And this.” Seungmin grabbed an item from the shelf and placed it in the grocery cart. “And this. One of these,” he picked up two more items and dropped them into the cart. “Three of these and-” 

Your arms curled around yourself tighter. To Seungmin, grocery shopping was a necessity. To you? It was, but specifically, when the store wasn’t thriving with customers. Showing up around five on a Friday evening was the worst thing you agreed to do. 

Seungmin had the list and he was carefully marking items off one-by-one. You were behind him and stressed out. The moment you walked into the store beside him, you swore you could feel the pulsing and stressful energy of the crowd. 

People were rushing in and out of the aisles. Some were getting pushy while waiting for their turn to look at a specific product. Seungmin didn’t seem to mind the chaos. Maybe he did and he just tuned it out somehow, but you? You didn’t work like that. 

You were feeling stressed and wanting to cry. More and more people were slowly entering the front of the aisle that you just came down. You swore you could feel the annoyance of some. It didn’t help that Seungmin kept stopping every few feet to check off an item and calculate the prices of everything. 

“Seungmin?” You spoke up nervously as you glanced over your shoulder. 

“Hm?” 

“Can we please leave this aisle?” 

“Hold on, let me add these two numbers together.” 

You sighed, but continued waiting. Your brain screamed and begged you to get out of the aisle, but you stayed close to Seungmin. You shut your eyes to focus on your irregular breaths and when you opened them a few moments later, Seungmin was gone. 

Your eyes widened and you stepped forward, but before you got far, a cart hurried past you. You jumped, side-stepping, and trying to get out of the way as a random woman sped by. Your hands curled into fists and you pressed yourself against the colorful cereal boxes, trying to make yourself smaller and take up less space. 

Out of the aisle, you glanced around, but Seungmin was missing. Cursing beneath your breath, you hurried to the next aisle and glanced down at it, only to find it void of the light blue hoodie he was wearing. 

You searched and the more you searched, the more your anxiety grew. The overhead lights were too white and too bright. The chattering of people grew louder and louder. Your own heartbeat hammered against your ears. 

A lump built in your throat, but you forced yourself to swallow it. You hated crowds; you hated the congestion of people, and more importantly, you hated that feeling of suffocation that sat upon the top of your chest. It compressed your lungs and made breathing barely operable. 

Blinking rapidly, you tried to focus on the task at hand. Walking around felt nearly impossible. Too many people had carts and weren’t paying attention. Someone was texting and another one was making a phone call. Someone else stopped in the middle of an aisle and pressed buttons on their phone. 

“Excuse me,” you uttered as you walked around them. 

You squeezed your eyes shut at the huff that left their mouth. “Some people have no manners,” they grumbled. Unaware that they did anything wrong, they hurried away, only to stop in front of the opening of another aisle to pull out their phone again. 

You wandered around again, trying to find Seungmin, but to no avail. Your hand reached into your back pocket to grab your phone. Just as you considered talking to him, you pulled your hand away from your phone. He shut his phone off at the beginning of the trip, not wanting to be interrupted. 

Frustrated and too upset to function, you checked a few more aisles, but you couldn’t find him. You began to head towards the door, assuming you’d just wait in the car until he got back. You walked and walked and walked until a car bumped into the back of your ass. 

You wheeled around and there stood Seungmin. His grin fell when he took in your teary eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” 

“There’s too many people. I couldn’t find you and I’m so overstimulated. I thought you were a stranger and I just-” 

“Breathe,” he reminded you as he stepped out from behind the cart. “I’m sorry. I thought you were behind me when I left the cereal aisle. I turned around and you were gone. I was grabbing items in another aisle and I figured you’d find me. I didn’t think-” 

“It’s not your fault. I can’t help my social anxiety, it’s just so busy. Some woman was so rude to me. I just want to go wait outside. I feel overwhelmed and it’s becoming a struggle to breathe.” 

“Do you want me to go with-” 

Your head shook. “Finish shopping and I’ll wait for you in the car. I’m sorry, I wanted to help you, but-” 

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. I should have considered how busy the store is at this time of the night. You go to the car and I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?” 

“I love you.” 

Not caring that he was in the middle of the store, he leaned up, grabbed your cheeks, and pressed his lips against yours in a soft kiss. A sweet unexpected gesture that tasted like spearmint and your salted tears. 

“I love you too. Now get out of my store,” he grinned. “No adult supervision. I’m going to get dino nuggets.” 

_ _ _ 

Jeongin: 

Jeongin had seen a lot of stupidity over the years. He saw it in his fellow idol members. He saw it blatantly stamped all over the idol industry. It was rare that the stupidity came from you, but today was different. 

He shielded the top of his head with his arm to block the rain from his vision. The keys jingled in his hand and his shoe squeaked on the entry to your shared home. He grumbled and ripped off his damp coat. 

The rain hadn’t stopped pouring for what seemed like hours. A constant downpour that was steadily sprinkled with thunder and lightning. Earlier, the power to his company’s building went down after lightning struck a nearby power cord. He finished the rest of his schedule via a backup generator. 

He kicked off his shoes and called your name. He expected you to be taking a nap. On certain evenings, you did. Some days, you stayed up late, came home, and indulged in a few hour nap. He grew used to the routine, but you weren’t on the couch. 

He headed to your shared room and, to his surprise, you weren’t there either. You had to be home, he knew that. Your phone was there on the nightstand and face down. Your shoes, he put his own right next to them. 

He called your name, but you didn't respond. Just as he was about to call your name again, there was a flash. Through the glass sliding door, the balcony lit up and there you were. Squatting on the ground, huddled around yourself, and soaking wet, you sat in a small ball. 

His eyes widened and he rushed forward. He tugged on the balcony door, only to find it locked. He cursed, flipped the lock, and swung the door open. “What are you doing out here? Get inside now!” He called out over the loud sound of heavy rain. 

Your eyes half-opened at the sound of your name. You glanced over to find a worried Jeongin. He grabbed your forearm and tugged your dripping and shivering body back inside. His eyes scanned you up and down. 

“What happened to you? What did you do? Why were you locked on the balcony?” 

“I was anxious,” you mumbled. “I went out to get fresh air and I must have slammed the door shut too hard and the lock flipped. When I went out, it wasn’t raining.” 

“But it’s been raining for hours!” 

“Has it? I just woke up freezing cold a few minutes ago, I think. It’s not too bad after you get used to being soaked.” 

He sighed and grabbed the end of your shirt. “Arms up.” 

You didn’t fight him tugging off your shirt. “You’re such an idiot,” he mumbled. “You’re going to catch a cold by wearing these soaking wet clothes. You’re going to wake up with a fever and sniffles.” 

“On the bright side of things, I don’t feel anxious anymore.” 

“Because you’re too cold to feel it.” He sighed and grabbed the warmest blanket he could find. “From now on, if you go out onto the balcony when I’m gone, crack the door.” 

“Okay.” 

“What were you anxious about, anyway?” 

“I don’t know. I’m too cold to remember, but this blanket is so warm. Have I ever told you I love you?” 

“Sometimes I think I should reconsider my offer.” 

“That’s not nice.” 

“You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same way at certain times.” 

“Only when you wear ugly shoes.” 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[rose24207]

Reader left Mafia lando and when lando tracks her down he finds not only her but a baby boy. She left pregnant because she was scared but lando promises to protect them both.

He‘s mine

Summary: Lando tracks you down after two years and discovers your son, vowing to protect you both and rebuild your trust.

Genre: Mafia!Dad!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, Running away, mentions of pregnancy

A/N: let me know if you love it! Or not. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The rain pounds against the window of your small London flat as you tuck your son, Noah, into bed.

He’s just turned two, his curls damp from his evening bath, his soft little hands clutching the edges of his blanket.

His eyes flutter closed as you hum a lullaby, the same one your mother used to sing to you when you were small.

For a moment, everything is calm. The world outside might be full of danger and shadows, but here, in this room, it’s just you and Noah.

“Mama?” he mumbles sleepily, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, baby?”

“Love you,” he murmurs, a small yawn escaping his lips.

Your heart clenches. “I love you too, Noah. So much.”

You press a kiss to his forehead and tiptoe out of the room, leaving the door open just a crack. In the dim hallway, you take a deep breath, resting your hand against the wall to steady yourself.

Every day is a balancing act, a constant effort to keep the life you’ve built for him intact.

But tonight feels different.

A strange energy hangs in the air, setting your nerves on edge. Shaking it off, you head to the small living room, pulling a blanket around yourself as you sit on the worn sofa.

The rain continues its steady rhythm outside, lulling you into a fragile sense of peace.

Until you hear the knock.

It’s soft at first, almost hesitant. For a second, you think it’s your imagination, but then it comes again—firmer this time.

Your heart races as you stand, your hand instinctively reaching for the small kitchen drawer where you keep a canister of pepper spray.

You approach the door cautiously, the tiny peephole distorting the figure standing on your doorstep.

But even through the rain and distorted glass, you’d know that silhouette anywhere.

Lando.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare, frozen in place. He’s here. After all this time, he’s here.

You want to run, to hide, to pretend you’re not home, but you know it’s useless. Lando doesn’t show up somewhere unless he’s already certain you’re there.

With trembling hands, you unlock the door but keep the chain latched. The door opens just a crack, revealing his face—sharper now, more weathered, but unmistakably his. His curls are damp from the rain, his dark coat dripping water onto your doorstep.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice low and steady.

“Lando,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

He studies you through the narrow gap, his jaw tight. “Can we talk?”

You glance over your shoulder toward Noah’s room, anxiety bubbling in your chest. “This isn’t a good time.”

His expression hardens. “I’ve been looking for you for two years. I’m not leaving until we talk.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, the weight of them settling heavily in the small space between you.

For a moment, you consider slamming the door in his face. But you know Lando better than that.

He won’t leave.

Reluctantly, you close the door just long enough to undo the chain before opening it again.

The tension inside the flat is suffocating as you lead him to the living room. He stands there awkwardly, his eyes scanning the small space. You wonder if he’s judging it, comparing it to the luxurious penthouse you used to share in Monaco.

“Nice place,” he says finally, his tone unreadable.

You fold your arms over your chest, trying to mask your nerves. “What do you want, Lando?”

He looks at you, his piercing blue eyes searching yours. “Why did you leave?”

You’ve imagined this conversation countless times, but now that it’s here, you don’t know where to start. “I... I couldn’t stay,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Your world—it’s dangerous, Lando. I couldn’t raise a child in that.”

His expression falters, his brows knitting together. “A child?”

Before you can respond, a small voice cuts through the tension.

“Mama?”

Both of you turn to see Noah standing in the hallway, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He’s clutching a worn stuffed bunny in one hand, his curls messy from the pillow.

Lando freezes, his eyes widening as he looks at the boy. It’s as if the world has stopped spinning, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.

“Mama, who’s that?” Noah asks, his voice curious but shy.

You swallow hard, your hands trembling as you walk over and scoop him into your arms. “This is... This is Lando,” you say carefully.

Noah blinks at him, tilting his head. “Lando?”

Lando takes a hesitant step forward, his eyes locked on Noah. “Hey, buddy,” he says softly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Noah stares at him for a moment, then buries his face in your shoulder, shy as always around strangers. You rub his back soothingly, but your own heart is pounding.

“He’s mine,” Lando says quietly, though it’s not a question.

You nod, tears welling in your eyes. “His name is Noah.”

For a moment, Lando doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He just stands there, staring at the child in your arms as if trying to process the enormity of it all.

“Noah,” he repeats, his voice breaking slightly.

Noah peeks out from your shoulder, his wide eyes studying Lando curiously. “Are you my friend?” he asks innocently.

Lando’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Yeah, little man. I’m your friend.”

The hours that follow are a blur of emotion and uncertainty. Noah eventually warms up to Lando, his natural curiosity overpowering his initial shyness.

Before long, he’s showing Lando his favorite toys, dragging him to the small play corner in the living room.

“This is Bunny,” Noah announces, holding up the stuffed rabbit proudly. “He’s my best friend.”

“Bunny, huh?” Lando says, crouching down to Noah’s level. “He looks like a good friend.”

“He is,” Noah says seriously. “But he gets scared of monsters.”

Lando’s eyes flicker to you for a moment before he turns back to Noah. “Don’t worry, bud. I’ll keep the monsters away.”

You watch from the kitchen, your heart aching at the sight of them together. Lando has always been good with kids, but seeing him with your son—with his son—is almost too much to bear.

Later that evening, after Noah is tucked back into bed, you and Lando sit together in the living room. The tension has eased slightly, but the unspoken questions between you are still heavy.

“You should have told me,” Lando says quietly, his voice filled with a mixture of hurt and anger.

You lower your gaze, unable to meet his eyes. “I wanted to,” you admit. “But I was scared, Lando. I was scared of what your world would do to him, of what it would do to us.”

“You didn’t trust me to protect you,” he says, his voice raw.

“It’s not that simple,” you say, your voice trembling. “You can’t just protect us from everything. Your world is dangerous, Lando. People get hurt. People die. I couldn’t take that risk—not for him.”

He leans back, running a hand through his curls in frustration. “I would’ve left it all behind,” he says after a moment. “For you. For him. If you’d just told me.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Lando...”

“I’m not asking you to come back,” he says, cutting you off. “Not yet. But I can’t be away from him. From you. Let me stay. Let me be a part of his life.”

You hesitate, your mind racing. You’ve spent the past two years building a life for Noah, keeping him safe from the dangers of Lando’s world. Letting him in feels like opening a door to all the things you’ve tried so hard to keep out.

But then you think of Noah’s smile when he showed Lando his toys, the way he laughed when Lando made silly voices for Bunny.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “But we take it slow. For Noah’s sake.”

Lando nods, relief washing over his face. “Thank you,” he says softly.

The days that follow are a whirlwind of adjustments. Lando stays in a small hotel nearby but spends nearly every waking moment at your flat, bonding with Noah.

At first, Noah is cautious, his shy nature making him hesitant to open up. But Lando’s patience and charm win him over quickly.

Before long, Noah is dragging Lando outside to play in the small garden, laughing as Lando pretends to be a monster chasing him around.

“Mama, look!” Noah shouts one afternoon, holding up a flower he picked. “For you!”

You smile, kneeling down to take it. “Thank you, sweetheart. It’s beautiful.”

“Lando helped me find it,” Noah says proudly, pointing to where Lando is crouched nearby, dirt smudged on his hands.

Lando grins, his eyes meeting yours. “He’s got a good eye,” he says.

So do you, you think, though you don’t say it aloud.

One evening, as the three of you sit together on the sofa watching a cartoon, Noah crawls into Lando’s lap, his little hand clutching Lando’s shirt.

Your heart tightens at the sight, a mix of joy and fear swirling in your chest.

Lando meets your gaze over Noah’s head, his expression soft but serious. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly, as if reading your mind.

For the first time in a long time, you start to believe him.

Thank you for reading!

[vigilskeep]

hey harker! very much enjoying the lucanis/illario/general crow posting, and im gonna encourage more: now that you’ve had some time to sit with the game i was really curious to hear more about your opinion on lucanis becoming first talon. i can’t help but feel like it’s completely glossed over that lucanis is definitely going to get chewed up by this job in most save states. i have mixed feelings about it personally - but setting those aside because i’m asking about yours.

i TRULY cannot express this enough: that villa is a tomb and if we do not get him out of there we are burying him in it

lucanis does not want this job. he has straight up canonically always avoided thinking about this by assuming he would die before it becomes something he has to deal with. he reacts with paralysed disbelief to being given it and seems to have barely registered it for the rest of the game. and even if he did want it, lucanis is not capable of this job. none of his skillsets are managing people, or making ruthless calls, or watching out for himself. the only driving force behind him being pushed into this is caterina, who will not be around to do the admin and protect him from external threats forever. and she only wants him to do it in the first place because she had a good heir—his mother—and has needed to project that dead daughter onto lucanis for his whole life, to believe she hasn’t already gambled and irrevocably lost her family’s future decades ago. but lucanis’ incapacity to ever say no to her, which is what lets him stay that eternal teacher’s pet, is one of the most obvious shining examples why he would be so bad for the job!

it would be an uphill battle for anyone to recover control of an assassin house that until last week was being run by your cousin who tried to kill you. it would be an uphill battle for anyone to lead the crows in the aftermath of the antaam occupation. it would be an uphill battle for anyone to cope with the fact that relying on viago and teia—which lucanis with his resources and skills has no choice but to do here, even if he didn’t simply like them and make choices based on liking people because he is not a strategist—presents them as an alliance that any other ambitious talon must cut down to get anywhere. three out of eight of the talons is such a ludicrously dangerous number. it does not take an overwhelmingly brilliant mind to notice that there’s more of us than there are of them

the best man for the job would still be fighting for their life, and lucanis is far from the best man. caterina was! and she still lost five children and six grandchildren holding it! that’s so many! have you guys ever seen that one post about people who kept getting a new outdoor cat every time the last one got eaten by cougars and it was pointed out they were basically just feeding cats to the cougars. that’s what caterina dellamorte was doing having kids

the points in lucanis’ favour off the top of my head are the weight of the dellamorte name and reputation, that his victory over illario was decisive and public, and simply the fear factor that he is a god slayer and, lest we forget, a fucking abomination. is that enough to keep him alive? for how long? under what level of constant anxiety and moral degradation for his very soft over-caffeinated heart? all for the questionable gain of several large and empty villas and the privilege of dragging out the slow and lingering death of a family that, you guessed it, you love it, it’s the thedas favourite: has no! next! generation! heirs! at all!!!

(unless illario has a bunch of kids somewhere. i think that would be objectively pretty funny, a sentence i managed to type most of before feeling ill. oh god we need to get them out.)

i apologise that my tone here is somewhat hysterical but i have been living in the mind of my rook, a character very aware of the realities of crow politics who loves lucanis very much. it does not surprise me that lucanis was once again incapable of even conceptualising saying no to his grandmother and accepted the title, or that the idea of abandoning her legacy and his family would seem insurmountable to him when he has been raised to believe it’s all he’s for and he is the last one shouldering the weight. but i am saying this with total and absolute confidence: this is another prison and he is going to die in there if nobody gets him out.

[talkbycolor]

I deserve this

A/N; at this point its obvious that i inspire in rebzyyx songs

Pairing; "Your Boyfriend" x AFAB!Reader (cus people are scared of the word trans)

CW; reader becomes willing at the end i swear / unhealthy, obsessive and possesive love / sensitive topics such as mental health, depression, anxiety, fear of abandonment, dissociation, suicidal thoughts / a crazy concept: he talks about his emotions!! / non-con, violence, like, i cry while i masturbate

It's quite blurry trying to remember how it all started, it seemed harmless to accept a date from a stranger, he gave you a beautiful rose and was quite kind to you.

Feeling that people could like you, that someone could be romantically interested in you, because of who you are, your personality, that they knew your… desires?

Because you had dreams, of course.

…

Your dream was to live, to live a quiet life, a stable, pleasant job, with good pay, a normal and peaceful life, where the deep emptiness in your heart was non-existent, years had passed and the monotonous feeling did not disappear, you had already accepted the pain, after all, if you felt that constantly it was probably because you did something wrong at some point, right?

But that was a personal dream that would never be shared.

And it's not like that matters now, not when you're in… A room, that's funny, your last memory is of Peter slamming you against the table to tie your limbs since their last date didn't end as expected and It was time to go home.

Return to an empty home, for what? Peter was more than willing to take care of you, why was he so scary? Accepting it would have made things easier, but you ruined everything by trying to run away, you even fought tooth and nail, that was too pathetic now that you remember it, maybe you DO deserve all the shit that is happening.

You could have saved yourself so much terror and attacks.

"PETER ENOUGH! PLEASE! LET ME GO! NO! NO! FUCK, PLEASE!" You tore out your throat with terrified screams and tried to claw at his skin until your fingers were bloody, biting the hands that tried to stop your screams, hitting his face with your elbows and kicking him away, crawling like a dying animal away from him. "PETER!" You sobbed sharply before losing consciousness.

But nothing worked, resisting only made all that shit worse and now you were tied up, in Your boyfriend's old clothes.

You barely remember how you got to that place, or if time passed, anyway that doesn't matter anymore, from one day to the next you find a very small piece of clothing that turned out to be yours, time passed, your body grew but your mind didn't, they keep lying but you know that your life will depend on how well you do it.

And you're not doing it right, you tried to adopt toxic happiness but you couldn't even maintain it for a while before exploding, sadness was already an everyday thing and you just weren't feeling it anymore.

"Dear?"

Just peace please, how hard could that be? It was annoying, you even felt angry for feeling so empty, because people were so rude and the constant rejection killed you socially.

It was hard to breathe, wasn't it?

"Love? Do you hear me?"

It feels like the end, your soul is bleeding, you wish your stupid job made you feel a little more alive and motivated to continue.

And now you have done so many things to escape from that monster that pulls you back to the room to devour you under the bed.

"Darling!" Your boyfriend's voice echoed through the room, making you look at him once and for all, your eyes tired despite having been unconscious most of the time.

"…" You wanted to respond, really, but what were you supposed to say?

"You must be exhausted, you didn't even touch dinner" It was a tricky phrase, he had tried to feed you since you were tied up.

"Peter-…"

"I already told you that I prefer to be called other way, honey" He responded with a smile and a definitely not irritated tone.

"I want to sleep" He left your lips, he was being so caring, taking care of your health.

He kidnapped you.

And you couldn't even thank him for it.

He knocked you out.

You really were an ungrateful shit, weren't you?

He locked you up.

You wanted to return the signs of affection.

Soon the ropes left your body, Peter helped you stand up and you both walked to the bedroom, he was still carrying a small plate with a light dinner, he refused to let you go to bed without having eaten dinner.

Once in bed, he made sure that you had a proper dinner, and he helped you change your clothes so that you would be comfortable in bed, he also did the same with his attire and now you were both lying down. It always made your stomach churn when he looked at your half-naked body.

"Dear" He murmured next to you while you tried to sleep as soon as possible, so many things had happened those last few days that the only way out was to sleep, you had probably already been fired from your job for not showing up. "Honey, love, darling," he said sweetly as his hand went up to your cheek, he simply looked at you with a huge and probably painful smile on his face, almost tattooed, you made him so happy with your mere presence.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked, your mind still cloudy enough to refuse anything, so you just went up to kiss him, the room was very dark and there weren't even crickets echoing at night, the amount of silence was overwhelming… of course, that didn't count the lip-smacking they shared.

So it continued.

For a long time.

"Pet-…uhm, I mean, honey, I'm tired and I want to sleep" You interrupted the honey session.

"Please, you don't have to do anything, just let me love you, darling" his voice was soft, soothing to that darkness but not to the painful weight in your heart and the knot in your stomach, his touches felt strange.

You know that's wrong, you don't like it.

You didn't stop him, just like he said, you let him love you as you closed your eyes and a buzzing sound echoed in your head, like television static, your bottom clothes had disappeared, but that didn't matter.

You couldn't hear anything, you didn't see anything, your body reacted but your mind was very far from that place, you wandered through your memories, fantasies of a life you were never going to have.

It was really digging into your cunt, huh? Even when your mind wanted to flee somewhere else, it was undeniable how he held your thighs and you gasped heavily with each thrust.

His member was still dripping his seed, did he use protection? You don't know, you don't care.

It doesn't matter.

B e cau se s oon y o u w il l b e d ea d.

"Honey? Didn't you enjoy it?" Peter asked with a worried frown.

What the hell is wrong with you? Do you no longer have respect for yourself? You know it's going to hurt you.

Don't you mind dying? You lost hope and you don't even try to help yourself anymore, damned and pathetic attempt at being human, really unnecessary.

"Honey…" Peter caressed your cheeks and brought his forehead to yours, sighing softly and carrying your body to the bathroom in the room.

You didn't say anything either, you just felt how it was cleaning your body, the water was warm, the bathtub full of bubbles, and it smelled pretty good, like coconut soap. Peter hummed quietly as he treated your body with the utmost affection, you were sure he was whispering things in your ear but you were barely aware of your surroundings.

When your eyes finally focused on something you could see the ceiling of the room thanks to the moonlight, Peter was behind you, hugging your body, caressing your hair, and sniffing the soapy fragrance.

"You are so sweet, so unique, so kind, so special to me, a truly exceptional person, I will do everything to make you feel comfortable, darling, I love you so much, my adorable-…"

"Peter"

"… Yes love?" This time he didn't argue about that name, you were finally talking and that was good.

"I'm sorry I feel so alone, I know you're here but…" You wish you could give him an answer but that was something even you hadn't figured out yet.

"It's okay, honey, I'll be with you to hold you, forever."

♡

[lay-z]

I'm sad for some reason I think I'm getting close to getting my period, so... I'm yearning for a fictional man and I'm hurting, because I can't have him 🥺❤️‍🩹 Also, I'd like to explore some slow burn type of romance and keep Simon's past traumas in mind! Pairing: civvie!F!Reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley Warnings/Info: Reader is demisexual; cussing; tw: mental issues; insecurities; slow burn; awkwardness; humor Word count: 3.5k The one where two broken people connect.

You've already decided that you've given up on finding, not love, but companionship.

You've given up on love a long time ago, long before you'd reached your late 20s.

An old, creative and gentle soul, weighted down and scarred by childhood bullying, constant criticism by your family, societies bloody beauty standards and things you suffer from which you didn't even know how to describe let alone name in your youth.

Demisexuality? Body dysmorphia? Eating disorders? Anxiety? Insecurities, so deeply rooted, that they border on self-hatred?

And no, you never went to therapy – no. Gods, no, because if you go to therapy, you're mental, right? And how can your poor mother tell the rest of the family that you're mentally unstable? That something is wrong with her little, darling daughter? Hm?

So, no therapy, because your hyper-independence got your back. You're used to that, learned it in your younger years; always there for others, but no one ever stepped up for you, except yourself. Yet you're cursed to be an empath, so you never stopped caring for others, even if it killed you inside.

Giving. Giving. Giving. Tearing yourself apart to please and give up the love that brimmed in your kind heart. Never receiving anything good and soft, like some cheap whore, until there was little left of love to give.

Now you've turned cynical, cold, and lonely – or that's what you keep telling yourself to keep the façade up. Hiding behind humour and feigned nonchalance, because you're an entertainer. Always have been. You would've been an amazing actress, but when you were younger, your mother told you that you could never be the love interest, so why bother go to acting school and actually do something you enjoy?

You rarely wallow in self-pity anymore; only occasionally, right before you get your period and your hormones make you feel sad and depressed, make you break and hate yourself. Quiet and in secrecy, in the safety of your dark bedroom, or in front of the bathroom mirror – just to play out a sad scene in your delusional mind. Probably with a fictional man, someone who'd never hurt you – in your alternate universe.

Accept. Adapt. Overcome. Repeat.

It isn't ideal, but you've found coping mechanisms that work for you, albeit some unhealthy ones and you've survived so far. Emphasis on survived, not lived.

You're so deep in your thoughts, on the brink of dissociation, that you don't even realize you've been staring – again.

Your eyes flutter briefly, focusing back on the here and now until you realize what or, rather, who you have been staring at like some creep.

Fuck.

It's that man with the skull mask, not a ski mask, but a balaclava – you've googled it the first time you'd seen him around the café. You'd even researched if face coverings like that are illegal in the UK – turns out they're not, unless you refuse to take it off when a police officer orders you to.

He's staring right back at you; dark brown eyes unblinking, skin around the eye holes covered up by some black smudge – combat or war paint, probably. Sitting at the table right across from you by the cafés large windows; incredibly out of place for such a soft and quaint establishment. Nursing a tea, looking menacing and intimidating with his massive physique and black clothing, yet his eyes hold something more than stoicism in them. You know, because you see it yourself when you look into any mirror.

Bottled up emotions, a myriad of them, simmering just below the surface like a dormant volcano, ready to erupt someday.

You narrow your eyes then, force yourself not to tilt your head to the side like a curious puppy would do, because you don't want him to know that you're actually perceiving him this time – and not merely daydreaming and brooding like you usually do. Cursing internally, when you eventually lose this staring competition that you've completely just made up in your mind, because his eyes are too intense and he's obviously immune to social awkwardness, you reach for your lukewarm  matcha latte, taking a small sip as you turn your head away to stare out of the large shop windows, pretending to watch passers-by.

You force yourself to focus on the shitty UK weather outside, resting your chin on the back of your hand, elbow propped up on the cheap table. Rain and wind and colourful leaves grazing the wet pavement as the seasons start changing and autumn begins creeping in. You like autumn, prefer it over summer every year – and your mind begins to drift again, distracted by random strangers outside, grey clouds in the sky and fat raindrops pitter-pattering against the windows.

Meanwhile, his eyes never waver from you, and Simon catches himself wondering, what you might be thinking about now.

Time passes, and you try to keep your routine up – going out for a coffee once or twice every week, so you won't die of loneliness or isolation. At least, the café is nice, the baristas as well, it's not far from your flat and it's usually not that crowded nor busy.

Or so it was during summer.

Now, all people want to do is drink their coffees and teas inside, apparently, since the temperatures have dropped, along with the leaves.

After ordering your matcha latte, you turn around to see that your favourite spot by the window has been occupied in the past six minutes of standing by the counter. If only the lady in front of you had ordered her bloody tea and biscuits a smidge faster, but nah, you're not that lucky.

Groaning internally, you move to the table across from your fave, pulling one of the two plastic chairs out with more force than necessary because you're petty and annoyed. It's loud – not too loud, actually, but louder than it usually is – and you curse yourself for going out. You should've just stayed in this afternoon, curled up on your couch, playing some Baldur's Gate or so.

Some minutes pass after receiving your hot beverage and you've managed to drown out the noises and successfully ignore the sudden hubbub around the café.

That is until you notice a looming presence next to you; aura thick like molasses and prominent like the smell of gasoline, you don't know if you like it or not. It does catch your attention, though, and you turn your head to the left, eye-level with his denim-clad crotch, perhaps a little too close for the acceptable social standards.

Furrowing your brows in both confusion and offense, you have to tilt your head back and lean back in your chair to meet his eyes. How can those eyes be soft and aloof at the same time?

"Uh, hi?" You say then, brows still furrowed; not a greeting but an out for him to excuse himself for getting too close and fuck off again.

"Yer in me seat." He counters bluntly, voice incredibly rough and accented and muffled by the fabric of his mask as he gestures at the table with his gloved hand and holding a small coaster with a steaming cup of tea on top of it in the other one delicately. It looks comical and stupid, yet somehow endearing.

You're dumbfounded for a moment, blinking up at him in disbelief before finding your wit again, nodding your chin at the two chatting women sitting at your favourite table.

"And they're in mine," you say matter of factly, "If we go by that logic." You add dryly, picking up your latte, because the conversation is surely over.

He stays by your side, unmoving like a marble statue, dark eyes flickering somewhat nervously between you and the empty chair across from yours. Simon doesn't know how to properly interact with a civilian anymore; let alone a female civvie, and he ponders for a moment if he should just leave again, have a cuppa at his own flat.

But Simon's therapist had advised him, pleaded with him, to at least try and make a friendly connection with someone outside of his military comfort zone and well, here you are. At least your face is familiar already and you look harmless...safe.

"May I...sit with ye, lass?" He almost grits through his teeth, doing his best to ignore the way his heart beats hard against his ribcage as he waits for your rejection.

You pick up on the vulnerability in his voice, his demeanour, as if asking costs him some courage; truth be told, it would cost you some, too. Perhaps it's the fact that you've become silent acquaintances over the past few weeks; meeting up at this place without even meaning to. Each of you alone, always.

You stop in your movements, lifting the rim of your mug just to your lips before lowering it again, holding his gaze without taking a sip.

Sit with me? You muse to yourself, surveying him up close briefly and for the first time, at least consciously. He shifts on his feet some, heavy black boots – always boots, always layers of dark clothing, always the skull balaclava, no matter the temperature.

However, despite his looks, despite his authoritative and all-consuming aura and your better judgement, you nod once, cursing your intuition and empathy, nudging the empty chair away from the table from beneath it with your foot – a wordless permission, or perhaps an invitation?

And Simon exhales a long breath through his nose, jaw unclenching slightly as he gives a curt nod, sets his tea on the table and takes a seat on the offered chair. Easy.

And that is that.

The next time you're at the café, you breathe a sigh of relief to find it relatively empty for the time, except for some elderly customers and students working in silence on their laptops.

You're delighted to find your favourite table empty again and you order your usual matcha latte with coconut milk before eagerly sinking into the chair at 'your' table with a contented sigh and a good view on the people and life outside the cosy café.

Then your peace is once again disturbed by the soft clink of a tea cup being placed on the table, followed by the empty chair across from you scraping over the old hardwood floor, before he slips into the seat with a quiet huff.

"Your table is free," you tell him immediately, leaning to the side to look past his massive frame at the unoccupied table behind him.

"Aye, I know," he responds gruffly, folding his forearms on the table while he looks outside the window, "Figured we can ah safe space by sitting together." He suggests with a nonchalant shrug, though internally, Simon's stomach is clenching with nerves and anxiety. He despises feeling awkward and being in situations he cannot control.

Yes, it does feel incredibly awkward, but deep down you're too nice to tell him to fuck off, because he hasn't given you a reason to do so. When you were forced to share a table last time, you sat in somewhat comfortable silence, though you'd definitely finished your drink faster than usual back then before uttering a polite goodbye and slipping away.

"I guess so," you mutter in return because he's already sat down anyway.

Silence ensues, but you can't ignore the sudden tension of unasked questions and the pressure of social interactions. Then, it's too quiet in the establishment, and you both suddenly and silently hate it.

"Ye enjoy observin' people?"

His question catches you off guard because he sounds genuinely interested in you answer, and it's unnerving.

"Yeah, you could say that," you answer curtly, crossing your legs at your ankles under the table and leaning back into the cheap chair to feign nonchalance, even though you're currently anything but, "I find it relaxing."

"That's...strange," Simon retorts, quirking an eyebrow behind the safety of his balaclava, because he does that, too, and he never thought you'd blatantly admit that. Is people watching a thing among civvies? Then you shoot him an offended look and he can't help but cringe internally.

"Didn't mean it like that, lass." He assures you in a mumble, eyes flickering down to his steaming cup of Earl Grey tea.

Your first instinct is to mock him for his silly mask, ask him if he's a thug or cosplaying as one or some hooligan, but you bite your tongue, because you know better, and you feel like he could make you regret your sass. Especially if one of those assumptions proofs true.

"And what do you always do around here, hm? Never see you read a book or newspaper, let alone play with your phone," you ask instead, not even hiding the accusatory undertone as you turn your upper body towards the window. You're involuntarily dismissive, because it's been a while since you talked to a stranger like that, let alone a man.

"Same as ye, lass," he grumbles, "Thinkin', observin'...enjoyin' the peace." As if internal peace could ever be achieved in his case.

There's another moment of awkward silence and your mind is racing, riddled with anxiety, though unbeknownst to you, so is his. Simon is so out of his element and yet he forces himself to stay, unless you blatantly tell him to fuck off – which, deep down, he hopes you will.

"You're not some creep are you? 'Cause I swear, I'll clock you if you try anything or follow me home after this," you tell him with an edge to your voice, like you mean it. You're not opposed or afraid of violence. You grew up with older brothers and cousins.

Simon snorts at your threat, genuinely. He's taken off guard by your fierceness and he's absolutely sure you're serious about this, and he hates to know that he's capable of taking you down if he wanted to, even if you'd fight tooth and nail. It makes him feel guilty, makes his gut twist and churn because of those dark thoughts coming up in his brain like some black pest, even though he'd never ever do anything to hurt you.

"'m not," he assures you, eyes flickering over to study your face, your expression. You look tense and standoffish, and he can't help but admire that; to know that you're not afraid, that you can take care of yourself if push comes to shove.

"Name's Simon." He offers it like an oblation, a small yet important piece of himself, putting his given name and some trust into the hands of a stranger, and asking nothing in return.

You're once again dumbfounded and yet your mistrust and suspicious nature get triggered; squinting your eyes as him, your heart and brain are in utter turmoil.

"Didn't ask," you eventually retort coolly, like a proper arsehole, even though, deep down, it hurts yourself, hurts you to be rude like that, especially as you see something flicker in his dark eyes. Surprise? Hurt? Anger? You can't tell, but he leans back in his seat, gives a curt nod, accepting your snappish response just like that, and you think he'll leave, but he stays seated.

"I'm...sorry," you utter suddenly, fidgeting with the hem of your grey oversized hoodie, "That was...unnecessarily rude." You admit with a deep sigh. But was it, though? He's a stranger, some bloke with a mask, who just randomly decided to sit with you and introduce himself–

"It's fine, lass," he says, pulling you from your spiralling thoughts with his deep gravelly voice, "A reasonable reaction, really."

It is, Simon thinks. He might have questioned you about your thoughts on self-preservation and your survival instinct, if you wouldn't have reacted the way you just did.

He contemplates lifting his mask to finally take as sip of his tea, but like always, it costs him every ounce of courage to do so while you're looking at him so shamelessly with your alert eyes and that slight frown on your face, and Simon rubs his gloved palms over his thighs below the table to soothe himself as you keep scrutinizing him.

But then you utter your name in return, albeit hesitantly, and his eyes flicker up to meet your gaze, noticing the hint of curiosity in your eyes.

You don't see him, Simon, for several weeks after that and after some contemplation, you decide that he must've found a new café to hang out at or perhaps he got arrested eventually. You don't care either way.

But then, why do your eyes keep flickering around the shop whenever you drink your matcha latte? Why do you stare at the empty chair at his 'favourite table'? Why do you keep wondering what happened to him?

You don't want to accept it, don't want to acknowledge it, but deep down, you actually enjoyed having a proper chat with him the last time you saw him. When he so randomly decide to sit with you and introduce himself. You swiftly fix the slight purse of your lips as your mind keeps pondering about this stranger and you force yourself to enjoy your hot beverage until you can get back home and feel accomplished for actually having spent time outside your comfort zones, namely your flat and workspace.

But it's lonely. Always lonely.

In those few moments you'd shared with Simon, despite the awkwardness and that uncomfortable feeling of being perceived by someone, you'd realized that something has been missing in your life. Perhaps you should give your parents and siblings a call back; perhaps you should answer all those ignored messages in your phone; messages that have become less and less, because the people closest to you will eventually stop reaching out. You know that spiel already, yet you're having so much trouble actually pulling yourself out of this hole of self-isolation, a hole that's become suffocating, draining the colour from your life while you keep telling yourself that you're fine, that you want it this way.

"Lass?"

His voice cuts through your overthinking mind like a hot knife through butter and your eyes immediately find his gaze, that unwavering, piercing stare of his.

"Simon," you say in return, more like a greeting if it wouldn't be for the shocked pitch lacing your voice. You can faintly see his tired eyes crinkle slightly as he rests one gloved hand on the backrest of the empty chair across from you and you wonder if he's smiling behind his mask.

"Remember me name, aye?" He asks gruffly, almost playfully, the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of his chapped lips beneath his mask as he pulls out the chair, waiting for your permission.

"Tsk. Obviously," you answer with a scoff and an eye roll before giving him a short nod. "No tea?" You remark as he sits down without it, raising an eyebrow as you sip on your own drink.

"Err, no. Not stayin' for one," he answers, shaking his head, "Was jus' in the area," he lies, "Figured I could drop by and say 'ello." He adds with a shrug, feeling utterly stupid now, because Simon definitely was not in the area.

He came home from a deployment last night and wanted to check on you for some reason, see if you're still coming here, see if you’re doing alright – but of course, you are.

"Mhm," you hum affirmingly, though more suspicious than ever as you survey him. You want to spit out Why?,  the question burning on the tip of your tongue, but you’re somehow too distracted by his overall appearance.

The paint around his eyes has faded, as if rubbed and smudged too many times. He smells an awful lot of tobacco and something else you can't quite pinpoint. Even in his usual attire of some type of black jacket or hoodie, jeans, boots and his balaclava, he looks terribly dishevelled and messy.

"Where have you been?" You find yourself asking before you can stop your mouth from moving. "If you don't mind me asking." You add casually, for good measure.

“Deployed.” Simon answers offhandedly, sounding colder than he intended to, and you do pick up on the shift in attitude; he doesn’t want to elaborate.

“Okay,” you retort with a nod, though your curiosity is sparked, and you click your tongue, pondering, before you confuse him as you let out a little snort.

Of course, he's a fucking soldier, you muse to yourself, should've figured that out myself.

You can practically see him raise his eyebrows in confusion, noticing how the fabric of his bloody mask shifts slightly.

“Ye laughin’ at me for servin’ me country?” He asks and desperately hopes that you pick up on the teasing tone in his voice, though it’s still hoarse from barking orders at his men for days on end.

“No,” you answer uncharacteristically soft, flashing him a rare genuine and sheepish smile, “I always wanted to join the military myself.”

Simon doesn’t know if it’s the smile you shoot him, catching him off guard, because he’s never seen that expression on your face before, let alone that sudden twinkle in your eyes as you admit that you’ve thought about enlisting in your past, but he suddenly feels even more intrigued by you; this secluded, lovely civilian in front of him, and he finds himself asking then,

“Why didn’t ye enlist?”

Perhaps he should get that tea after all.

Part 2 ?

[httpvomitello]

hey so how do you think the bayverse boys would deal with having a s/o where on the news, it says that the apartment above their’s, someone got murdered. And then suddenly with weird timing, they just hear something rolling behind them and someone huff and sit on their couch. They look over and see their s/o with a suitcase and saying “I’m gonna live here now”. They’re staying here for the next month or two cuz you know, murderers might still be in the building and s/o doesn’t wanna be next. Also if the boys want to deal with it, s/o basically knows what went down and can tell them?

Hello, hello! I hope you like it ♡♡♡♡

Leonardo

When you walk in with a suitcase and tell him someone got murdered in your building, Leo’s calm on the outside but inside, he's panicking

His first thought?

I should’ve been there to protect you

He won’t let you leave the lair for anything

"You’re staying here. No arguments.”

His tone leaves no room for negotiation

The thought of you being anywhere near that danger makes him feel sick

The longer you stay with him, the more on edge Leo gets

He’s constantly worrying about whether the murderer will come after you next

Leo wants to protect you but struggles with not being able to solve everything

He hates that you had to come to him in fear

"I should've stopped it before it even happened," he mutters one night

You remind him it’s not his fault, but he doesn’t seem convinced

Despite everything, you know Leo won't stop until he finds the killer

But one night, you ended up giving him a little earful, making him calm down a little.

Raphael

When you tell him what happened, Raph’s first reaction is pure rage

“Wait, you’re tellin’ me there was a murder right above you? And you’re just NOW telling me?”

He’s angry, at the situation, not you, but you can tell he’s freaked out inside

He won’t show it at first, but Raph feels guilty

The fact that you were that close to danger eats at him.

He’s punching the training dummy harder than usual, throwing himself into workouts as a way to blow off steam

“I shoulda been there.”

You staying with him makes him feel more protective, but also more on edge

He tries to act like it’s no big deal, but deep down, he’s scared of losing you

"If anything happens to you…"

He doesn't finish the sentence, but you know what he means

One night, you catch him snapping at his brothers and pacing the lair like a caged animal

"I hate this. You being in danger, and me not being able to do a damn thing about it!"

He doesn’t want to admit how scared he is, but you can see it in his eyes

He only managed to calm down when you dragged him to the bedroom and lay down together

For the rest of the night, you were the one calming Raph down and reassuring him that everything was going to be okay.

Donatello

The moment you tell Donnie about the murder, he’s already thinking about how to secure your old apartment

“Did they catch the guy? No? Okay, you’re staying here. No question.”

Donnie tries to play it cool, but his anxiety is through the roof

He spends hours obsessively monitoring your building through hacked security feeds and checking news reports

He doesn't mind spending a few more days awake just to catch the killer who can hurt you too

He can’t relax until he knows the threat is gone, and even then, he’s still tense

You wake up a few nights to find Donnie hunched over his computers, working on something

"Donnie, it’s 3 AM," you say, rubbing your eyes

He barely looks up. "I need to make sure everything’s secure before you even think about going back."

There’s a tremble in his voice, he’s scared to let you go

The stress finally gets to him

One night, after days of little sleep and constant worry, Donnie breaks down

"I-I can’t lose you. What if they come after you next? What if I’m not fast enough to stop it?"

You have to remind him that he’s already done everything he can to keep you safe

You had to ask Master Splinter for help to get Donnie into bed, but when he finally did, it didn't take long for him to close his eyes and fall asleep

And as you lay down next to him, your worry eased a little

The following afternoon, the killer was arrested.

Michelangelo

Mikey’s first reaction is shock

"Whoa, wait—someone got murdered?!"

He’s usually the carefree one, but the idea that something so dangerous happened near you?

It freaks him out more than he lets on

He tries to keep things light when you move in

“Guess you’re moving in with me then, huh? Roomies!”

But deep down, Mikey’s scared. He doesn’t know what he’d do if something happened to you

One night, after everyone else is asleep, Mikey quietly admits how scared he is

"I know I act like it’s all cool, but... I’m terrified, y'know? What if that guy comes after you next? What if I’m not fast enough to help you?"

Hearing him confess his fears hits hard

Mikey sticks close to you, always wanting to be near

He’s always checking in

“Need anything? Another pizza? Some nunchucks?”

He’ll distract you with his usual antics, but his hugs linger a little longer, and you can see the fear behind his smile

So, to calm him down, you proposed an all-night video game marathon

And it worked...

Until Master Splinter shows up and tells you off for being up so late at night

But it was worth it, because in the end, Mikey seemed to be calmer than he had been on other days.

[alwayscorvus]

Hi!! Can I request Jiyan from Wuwa with a scary reader? I mean, the other Midnight Rangers might be scared of the reader because of her/his constant smile in ABSOLUTELY any situation

Jiyan x scary reader

scary!malereader x Jiyan, fluff;

Bruh I got 4 request for Jiyan on the same day (02.10) and I am absolutely excited and terrified at the same time. Imma write everything at some point, but uni has started so it can take a while. Thanks a lot anon! Hope it's acceptable

M/N was definitely a special figure in the ranks of Midnight Rangers. Although he didn't hold the highest position and wasn't making the most important decisions, his name was known to everyone. And it brought a real fear among the Midnight Rangers.

But what's quite surprising, all this terror wasn't caused by his strength, outstanding achievements on battlefield, demanding nature or nasty character. No, M/N was a total opposite of cocky, narcissistic or mean. He was just-... kind. Too kind.

And as ridiculous as it may sound, everyone who screwed something up, always begged deep inside that their punishment wouldn't be handled by M/N. Even general himself, who mustered up a demanding manner in face of crisis, seemed like much safer option than you and your legendary approach.

Rumor had it that one day, many years ago, when a military traitor was brought back to the camp, cries of suffering had no end. Witnesses mentioned a small, shabby building, set far from a center of base. That's where the man, who betrayed entire army by leading them into a trap and taking their lives, got placed. Bitter soldiers - victims who lost they family, friends, disciples - visited this place numerous times. And although, eventually, traitor survived and lived to see a fair sentence, it all didn't go without bruises.

In order to keep military self-judgment from being too harsh someone had to guard a traitor. Several of youngest recruits were assigned to do this task. One of them was M/N. Many were worried about how this gruesome sights might affect such a young man, with an optimistic approach to life. Who always burst with positive energy and found advantages in every situation, even the worst.

However, all fears died when they saw a face of M/N, crossing the doorstep of a building. Smile adorned his face.

Anxiety was born.

For the record, there was also a moment when more than one person fought for general's heart and favor. And not every candidate was fair in their actions. Even though it was already known behind the scenes that Jiyan and M/N had a thing for each other and that they were forming a relationship, someone was shameless enough to interfere in that.

Intruder's ploys were extremely nasty. Especially when looking at M/N's vulnerability, due to the fact that both partners were still young and not ranked high enough to be able to reveal themselves in front of military authorities.

However, it was hard to tell what was more shocking. Intruder's actions or M/N's reaction.

Because to everything, M/N responded in one only way:

Intruder “accidentally” poured hot soup on M/N?

Smile.

Intruder questioned M/N's abilities and brought up his fails?

Smile.

Intruder claimed that he would be a better partner for Jiyan?

Smile.

Intruder allowed himself for too much in a bar and grabbed Jiyan at the end of his back?

Smile.

And leave intruder with a twisted arm. But, that's a topic for another story.

Whatever happened one thing was certain. No matter how much it annoyed M/N, upset or made him angry, M/N still managed to react with a smile. And that's precisely what was most horrifying about him.

That big, wide smile combined with blank eyes. Sight that gave chills.

Belive me when I tell you that in the whole Midnight Rangers there was no one more scary than M/N. If new generations of soldiers had children in the future, they would definitely scare them with frightening stories about M/N.

Despite the fact that M/N was only one of many coaches in army, it was hard to find a person more respected. Even if this respest was brought by fear… After all, in order to submit, the most rebellious soldiers needed something more than admiration towards the great Jiyan.

Like in the past, todays also, M/N's dark aura was working wonders.

It was truly naive to think that anyone could avoid training with M/N by lies.

Two skinny boys shook with fright as they saw at whom they had just bumped into. Panicked, they were shifting their gaze from one to another.

-Oh boys. Where are you running like that? - you asked with fake confusion - Didn't our training begin just a minute ago?

Your disciples swallowed their saliva with a big difficulty. What were you doing here?! Weren't you supposed to be with the rest?

-Ah right! -you started with excitement, almost as if you had just recalled something- Your teammates reported that you were bedridden sick.

Youngest began to stutter.

-But wait! This isn't a bed, is it?

Boys could barely stand the tension. Whole lives flew before their eyes. And all possible punishments they could receive for insubordination. Starting with bathroom cleaning, month's service as kitchen help, plenty of extra push-ups or worst of all... individual hand-to-hand combat training with M/N himself… not even to mention about reporting to top units.

But instead of hearing a stern reprimand or punishment, M/N blessed them with nothing else than a smile. Beaming, barely natural.

Recruits' knees softened under your murderous, almost insane stare. Controlled by anxiety, they quickly bent in half, heads almost reaching the ground. Hysterical apologies and pleas for mercy reached your ears.

You frowned at this and tilted your head slightly to the side, truly amazed.

-Jiiiyaaan - miserable, you cried out your partner's name and he turned towards you with curiosity.

Without much delaying, you snuggled into your sitting partner's back.

-I think that they don't like me...

You announced with a pouty face and hid your head in the crook of his neck. Jiyan stroked your hair with affection.

-Who do you mean?

-Everyone

You broke down more and squeezed your boyfriend tighter. Frustration in your voice contrasted significantly with Jiyan's deep calmness.

Jiyan bit his lip slightly. He quickly recalled his conversation with Ningwei from the past.

They were sitting in a military bar at the time. Though late hour made all the other soldiers return to their bunks, it was also an ideal opportunity to reveal a few secrets in a honest talk.

Jiyan wasn't first to start topic like that. He didn't feel a need to inform everyone about his relationship status. It was your private business. And if anyone really wanted to know about it, they could figure it out by themselves. In the end, after many years of knowing each other and being in relationship, you two became more and more bold in displaying your feelings for each other. Or rather more reckless… Without even knowing, you started to share scraps of your routine with world outside of your abode. Some began to notice that two of you had something more in common than just a simple friendship. But no one had the courage to say it out loud.

Except for Ningwei. His personality and history with Jiyan allowed him to do more. Besides, he was worried about his captain. And he wasn't the only one. Everyone in crew was concerned, even just by your close "friendship". They were anxious about leaving their beloved general alone with you. Jiyan was such a good person. Always caring for others and putting they well-being above his own. He made sure that soldiers lived in good conditions,. Tried to send them on leave as often as possible. And never failed to extend a helping hand to any victim who lost their home in the fires of battle.

They feared that in his generosity, Jiyan might be naive, forcibly seeking kindness hidden in others. In their blind imagination, they felt as if they were leaving a helpless lamb to be devoured by a big, scary wolf.

-You nad M/N... are you- are you sure about?

Jiyan tilted his head slightly to the side and sent him a questioning look.

-Are you sure that you two are a good match? You know, M/N is-… he is- he's-…. -though it never happened to Ningwei, this time he couldn't get words out of his mouth. He was too afraid of Jiyan's reaction. He didn't know how Jiyan could respond to bad words about a person most important to him. Or rather, Ningwei knew. Tragically. Not in Jiyan's peaceful way.

Ningwei slowly sank down into his chair under Jiyan's gaze. Suddenly, a predatory side of general, usually revealed only in heat of a battle, became more and more real.

-...scary?

He finally finished, without much confidence, and Jiyan only furrowed his eyebrows more. He didn't quite understand what Ningwei meant. Were they really talking about the same loving M/N? This man was smiling even when others did him wrong. When they accidentally tore his jacket or forget about a gift for him.

Jiyan also recalled that one situation in the bar.

When that one soldier…, Jiyan couldn't really remember his name, got a little too close to him.

At first Jiyan didn't think too much of it. But when he felt a touch on his back, in a place meant only for you, he immediately tensed up.

You responded almost instantly. Before Jiyan had a chance to do anything, you were already by his side, grabbing stranger's wrist in an iron grip. You gritted your teeth and sent intruder a deadly glare. Man hurriedly straightened up and took a few steps back. But it was too late. A frantic smile crossed your face.

And although a whole bar had to separate you (including a panicked Jiyan), at the time, general was feeling oddly proud of his caring partner.

-I am sure that they like you very much... Maybe they are just only a little-… - he wanted to add a word “afraid” but eventually he bit his tongue and didn't finish.

He didn't want to make you upset. He himself didn't know if you did it on purpose or unintentionally. Whether it was just your act. Way to gain respect. Desire to make fun of squad. Or perhaps simple innocence in attempt to show kindness by most obvious gesture - smile.

After all, in private of his company you were a completely different person. You treated him like a real treasure. Spoiling him and being the sweetest boyfriend possible.

Jiyan truly couldn't understand what they all were talking about.

[stari-hun]

Isokania

The biggest issue between Kakania and Isolde is a lack of understanding between the two. Kakania enjoys her close bond with Isolde they consider each other the closest person to them. But they don’t have an understanding of each other. Isolde thinks Kakania is the answer to all of her problems, he golden key, and almost idolifies her at times, and Kakania sees Isolde as a good person going through constant tragedy. The two of them mutually have a false idea of who the other truly is. In 6.17 Kakania talks about Isolde’s art of channeling spirits and how she uses it to be the star of Vienna. However what Kakania doesn’t know is how Isolde doesn’t stop channeling when she’s off stage, the CGs of Book 6 even ellude to how Isolde sees ever place in public view as a stage. Kakania has never once considered that Isolde wasn’t the person she portrays herself to be, and Isolde refuses to consider that Kakania isn’t the one she’s been waiting for.

Isolde and Kakania are also extremely stubborn people. Kakania is stubborn as a job hazard of having to fight for her own credibility, and Isolde’s natural temperament is reserved stubbornness. She decides what she believes in and without consulting others or stating her stance, Isolde sticks to it resolutely. Kakania acts in accordance to what she knows and learns, she's very stubborn about her morals and values of justice. Kakania is headstrong about her way being the correct way while Isolde is the same. Isolde is a reserved person as a job hazard of being a celebrity. Not only has she actively seen what stardom can bring through Playwright, she was raised to expect and ignore it. As such, Isolde is very resolute in who she places her trust in. Once she’s decided to consciously let someone in she waits at her Door for them to come in to her inner world. The tragedy for them is that she decided to let in someone who already thought she had seen Isolde’s inner world. Isolde refuses to believe anyone could ever understand let alone heal her besides Kakania. Isolde doesn’t believe anyone can save her besides Kakania, even when Theopil predicted Isolde’s mental state would deteriorate and sought out a way to help her.

Another reason they were doomed is the fact Kakania believed too much in Isolde. Kakania sincerely believed in Isolde and chose to believe that the rumors surrounding her following in Evangeline’s footsteps. To her credit, at that time the rumors weren’t true. But I feel like the issue also wrapped around to the fact Kakania was an unprofessional therapist to Isolde. @schneiderenjoyer talks about it at length in their live analysis. She underestimated the depths of Isolde’s mental instability because she didn’t think there was any larger problem than depression from the rapid deaths in her family. As a follower of Freud’s theories and an arcanist, Kakania should’ve been more aware that disrupting a person's ID and SUPEREGO could lead to consequences. She figured Isolde’s tears and initial confession about Theopil coming at her while on fire was the depths of her ID or unconscious instinct without morals. But Kakania is an arcanist, in 1914 no less, she had to face a lot of legal issues concerning people using dirty tactics either to tear her down or get their way. She believed in Isolde too much that her worst would be intrusive thoughts about harming herself due to guilt because of her proximity to Isolde. But Kakania didn’t consider her past in an environment of violence and family disposition.

Isolde also lacks proper coping mechanisms. There are quite a few arcanists with mental illnesses we see in the game however they all have some kind of coping mechanism to help self-soothe. It's not the same situation but Mesmer Jr. talks about how her anxiety is uncurable, but she has a lot of anxious tics to self soothe which we see her do in the series. Semmelweis who's similar to Isolde, with her condition growing worse with time, shows in [Echoes Into the Mountain] that she consistently reality checks her surroundings and mental state. Isolde however, doesn't have any coping mechanisms outside seeking out Kakania for her comforting presence.

It’s unclear exactly when or if she got acting lessons from Mr. Karl (if she had it be between 13-15), but Isolde uses acting as a defense mechanism. The Star of Vienna is a persona for her and something she’ll always fall back into when panicking instead of actually feeling her emotions. She'll separate herself from her urges and emotions, or tell spirits to possess her “whether willing to or not” so she can have a break. Isolde is unable to be clearly open, as shown in her character event. She acts Kakania if she noticed a door in her house, personifying herself as an unnoticeable within the Dittarsdorf house. Even after Kakania doesn’t give her the answer she wants, Isolde ignores it in a way. Stating Kakania will still be “the golden key to open her door.” Isolde was likely content to wait until Kakania finally “saw her,” or until she manipulated Kakania into being her key.

[luciferlightbringer]

Love in a Hopeless Place

Chapter 4

Thanks again to all of my readers and new followers! I get more excited with every chapter. Here is Chapter 4! (Chapter 5 already basically done because the brainrot is so bad rn. Should I make the simps wait or should I post it tomorrow?) xoxo, Dany <3

Chapter 3|Chapter 4|Chapter 5|Updated through Chapter 12

Lucifer x prostitute fem!reader Word Count: 4.2k CW: Slowburn, Prostitution, Hurt/comfort, trauma, fluff, cuddles, depression, anxiety, family drama

Before long, you were back in the same black car again on the way to see Lucifer, a little more nervous and excited than you were last time. The last week felt both slow and quick at the same time. It was weird having something that you kinda looked forward to, instead of just living day to day in the torturous monotony that you had gotten used to in your short time in hell.

You wore your same jacket from the last time, but beneath you opted for a soft, baby blue, crop-top sweater and tightly fitting, black pants, with some more simple lingerie underneath. You dressed more simple and comfortable this time because you did not expect it to go in a sexual route, but your outfit was still alluring if that was the route he wanted to go down. It is the type of outfit that might get some confused looks from Larry and the other girls, but since it was all covered by a jacket, no one commented on it as you made your way out of the Lounge. You still did your makeup and hair the same though, even though it felt a little over the top for the type of setting you anticipated for the night.

You made a little more effort to strike up a conversation with the driver this time, both to give you something to focus on, and to be nice since he would most likely be making this route more regularly, and because you always tried to be nice to people in the types of jobs that were more likely to get ignored or yelled at. At least on Earth. You could tell the driver was not much of a talker, but he still reciprocated in light conversation.

Soon you arrived once again at the big, beautiful manor, and the driver escorted you up the stairs to the front door. This time, you were surprised to see Lucifer standing in the hallway, about 20 feet in from the doorway, waiting for you. As you entered, you saw a warm nervous smile form across his face, and he started to walk towards you as you handed your coat to the driver as you had done before.

"Welcome back," he said, now standing before you, a glimmer of joy in his eyes. "It's good to see you again."

You smiled back at him, "It's good to see you again too. I hope you have been doing well since our last encounter?" you ask with warm curiosity in your eyes.

"Yes, I have, thank you" Lucifer responded. Lucifer had started to look over you again, still the same person as last time, but something felt different about you. Your outfit and form was still as attractive as last time, but it was more simple, comforting, even the way your face looked was softer. Everything about the person you were now in front of him felt like a softer, less sharp version of yourself than the one that he had first laid eyes upon a week prior. Even the energy of your words felt different. Like the sharp bite of sensuality and dominance that had lingered on every word that had escaped your lips previous, now felt sanded down to something more soft and warm, like the way sharp rocks turned to sand after enduring the constant crashing of the waves.

He held out one of his black hands to you and you took it, and he pulled your hand up to his lips, and gave a soft kiss on your knuckles. His lips were soft against your skin, and your skin was soft against his lips. Both of you felt little butterflies in your stomachs from the contact, but you both just gave the other a smile.

Lucifer once again escorted you up to his room, talking a little bit more about each other's week. You let Lucifer do most of the talking since he was the customer and, besides, you did not really like to talk about work. Pretty much all you did besides work, was sleep and hang out with one or two of the girls that you had become close with at the Lounge.

You both arrived in Lucifer's room and he turned to close the door. He then sighed and allowed his posture to slouch. He turned back to look at you, his expression now full of sadness and... guilt? What just happened? He was chatting and laughing up a storm just a minute ago? He looked up at you, nervously fiddling with his cane.

"I... uhhh... I wanted to apologize for last time," he said before looking back at the floor. Apologize? For what?

"I just... I don't know what happened. Something set me off and... it was really scary... It had nothing to do with you. Its my stuff... I'm not used to that happening around other people. And I'm not used to crying that much... especially not in front of people...," he covered his face with his hands and took in a jagged breath.

'Was he really apologizing for having a panic attack and then crying at receiving comfort?' You heart ached to see this gentle angelic creature full of so much pain in front of you. It also made you angry, but now was not the time for that. Without another thought you closed the gap between the two of you, pulling him in and wrapping him a soft embrace.

Lucifer flinched at the sudden embrace, peaking out from behind his hands, looking up at you with eyes that were already on their way to forming more tears.

"Listen to me. I don't normally tell people what they can and can't do, but you will not apologize to me for crying, feeling bad, needing comfort, or anything of that sort in my presence... Do you understand me?" you say softly but sternly as you hold him.

Lucifer remained frozen in your arms, processing your words, as more tears started to well up in his eyes.

"I am not going to stand here and pretend that I know what you are going through, but I know what it's like to feel alone, unseen, and to want for once to have someone listen to me or just fucking hold me. So please..." You open your arms a little, move his hands away from his face, and tip Lucifer's face up to look at you. "If this helps, which, does it?"

Lucifer gives you a soft nod as you hold up his chin as he gives you a soft, sad 'mhmm', his eyes swimming with sorrow and joy.

"Then don't you ever fucking apologize to me. Got it?" you whisper to him.

He nodded, as the dam that was holding back this next round of tears broke. He buried his head against the soft skin of your neck and melted into you as he sobbed. Through some of the sobs he tried to talk and explain things that had happened before, but it was hard to understand through the hard breathing and hicks of air between the sobs. You softly shushed him and told him that you did not have to try to tell it all to you now.

After a few minutes, he calmed down enough for you to ask if he wanted to get more comfortable so that you did not have to put him to bed in his suit clothes again if he ended up falling asleep again. He said he wasn't going to fall asleep again, but he agreed that snuggling up to you in more comfortable clothes would be nice also you did not trust that he would not fall asleep again.

He changed into a baggy sweater and some sweatpants and walked back into the room to see you sitting on the edge of his bed. You smiled and giggled to yourself as he walked back in the room. You never expected to see the King of Hell looking so casual, he looked so sweet and innocent, especially in a sweater that looked a little too big for him. He crossed his arms and pouted as you laughed.

"What's so funny?" he said, raising an eyebrow. You suddenly realize how your laugh may have some off to someone who most likely harbors some level of self esteem issues beneath his normal vailed charismatic character.

"Oh! I'm sorry. You just look really cute," you say with a sheepish smile. "it's just... not a look that I ever imagined you in."

A blush ripped across Lucifer's cheeks. He loved compliments but still didn't expect them from you, especially with how blunt they were. But he figured it was probably something you did a lot. He walked over to a record player that was against one of the walls of his room, and put on a record to play in the background. Its sounded like... Swan Lake? Or something close to it. Did they actually know about Swan Lake in hell?

You both talked about where he wanted you to be, and you moved to sit over the spot where Lucifer normally slept, and sat criss-cross. You looked at Lucifer, opening you arms to him as an invitation. Lucifer crawled up onto the bed and curled up into your lap with his head against your chest. You arms enveloped him again as your warm body heat made him melt into you again.

Everything about you felt so gentle and plush, you had a soft scent about you, kinda like... what was it... Lavendar and Shea Butter? Something like that. Your sweater was soft too. He missed the dress you wore last week, but that would have just turned him on and that was not what he was wanting right now. He still enjoyed your simple beauty, and appreciated that it seemed you had understood his cryptic message he had told your boss.

"So, it seems my message to you got through ok?" he asked sleepily.

"It did," you replied softly smiling down at him.

"And you are ok this this? You won't get in trouble for doing this instead of sexual things, right?" he asked, looking up with sleepy concern.

You ran card your fingers through his hair, "No, mostly because it's no ones business what I do on house calls, as long as you are happy."

Right, because its what the customer wants. Something about that made his chest tighten, but he let it go. The 'why' of the situation didn't matter right now, he felt cared for and that's what he needed right now.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, outside of the gentle music that played in the background, for some time. For how long, you had no idea, but every moment was bliss. You watched as Lucifer shed a few more tears in the comfort of your arms, his breathing started to slow and his eyelids started to grow heavy. Then you felt him shift and look up at you.

"Oh, I had a question..." Lucifer said, half asleep.

"What's up?" you said, god he was so cute when he was fighting back sleep.

"How much... is too much?" he asked with half open eyes.

You looked at him confused, "How much is too much, what?"

"Time," he said, "Time with you?"

You were starting to understand the question a little more, "Like tonight?"

He shook his head, "No like... nights, amount of nights."

"Oh! Like how often can you request for me to come over?" you say.

He nods as his head laid back down on you chest.

"As often as you would like," you say softly with a chuckle, running your fingers through his hair again.

Lucifer thought for a second and hummed at the sensation of your fingers in his hair, "Like... two or three times a week? I don't wanna be... weird and ask for too much." He was trying so hard to finish his thoughts and stay awake.

"It's cute that you would think I would find anything weird. But yes, two or three times a week is fine. You will just have to let Larry though so that I don't get scheduled with anyone else, ok?"

He nodded, and his eyelids fell heavy. A few minutes later, Lucifer was once again asleep in your arms. It seemed as if it was really important for him to ask that question before he fell asleep.

Once again, you took a few minutes to look at his sleeping face, so soft and peaceful. You were glad that tonight seemed to work out better than last time. You were so curious as to what pains it was that plagued his mind. I'm sure some of it had to do with the whole 'fallen angel' thing, but the way he reacted to intimacy felt like it held something deeper. He hoped he would tell you at some point as you are allowed to continue to be there for him, but that was for him to decide, and you needed to be careful. Lucifer held the power in the dynamic, one wrong move, and the relationship would be snuffed out. You wanted to make sure you did everything to make sure that did not happen too soon. You knew this dynamic could never last forever, but something about him made you want to be there, to help him feel better in this small way that it seems you had started to, for him, and, selfishly, a little bit for yourself.

It was time, and soon you slipped out from under him, and tucked him in as you had done the previous time. You wrote out another small note, letting him know that he can request for you 2 or 3 times a week, because you didn't trust that his sleepy memory would have held onto that conversation super well, and you left it on his bedside table again before leaving for the night. The driver was prepared this time to make sure you got paid for the night before you left the car.

Lucifer would wake up the next morning, feeling fluttery and rested again, to find your note again on the bedside table. He would immediately call to schedule his next few appointments. He didn't want to have to fight anyone for his time with you.

_____________________________________________________________

Over the next several weeks, you and Lucifer would meet up your agreed upon 2 to 3 nights a week, it ended up normally being close to every other night, and you were perfectly fine with that. You enjoyed having half of your evenings being more chill, less sex oriented than your other nights of work, and after a while, it almost felt like it wasn't work at all. More like... hanging out with a friend who just happened to pay for your time. Sometimes that made you feel guilty, but that was your job, he never said anything about it, and it gave you some level of protection in case something ever did go wrong.

You gradually started do less and less with your hair and makeup when you would go over, or you would just clean it off in the car or at Lucifer's place. Lucifer liked getting to see your natural facial features, but he never told you that directly. Every time you would walk in the door, Lucifer felt like the worries of his life would almost cease to exist, things felt more tolerable, even the pains of his past.

It took a few more nights before Lucifer could get past the hug turning into tears and cuddles until he fell asleep, but eventually he did. He didn't realize just how starved for affection he was until you starting coming around, and over time he felt the desperation for it that would send him into tears start to wane and become more tolerable. He still always feel asleep, but then again, you always stayed up late with him. Plus, he mentioned that he normally struggled to fall asleep on his own, and the nights with you made the sleep come much more easily.

The sessions of crying turned into nights of hanging out, having dinner, being introduced to his study full of ducks, helping him try to organize the ducks so that he could actually use his office a little more, playing board games, watching tv, and telling stories, including stories about Lucifer's past.

The first one started after he off-handedly mentioned needing to text Charlie.

"Who is Charlie?" you asked one night while you guys ate dinner on the couch while watching a show.

Lucifer slumped a little in his seat, and started to fidget with his phone, "She... well... she's my daughter."

Charlie Morningstar. Ugh, duh. You definitely knew he had a daughter. It was just surprising that he had not spoken at all about her. Lilith she could understand him not wanting to talk about, but why not Charlie? She was still in hell, and very active in its community.

"Oh right! I heard something on the news a few months ago about her... running a hotel of some kind, right? I don't remember much about it" you said. You remembered people at the brothel making fun of her for a couple of days because of a really awkward pitch she had made about it on the news, but that was a while ago, and of course you wouldn't tell Lucifer that.

Lucifer continued to mess with his phone, not looking up at you, "Uhh, ya... something like that... I'm not really sure," he sighed, "We don't talk much..."

You think for a minute, wanting to choose your next words carefully, "Why not?"

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply.

"I'm sorry, we don't-" you start to say.

"No no, its fine, its just... hard. Umm... Our family... used to be the best thing in the world, Lilith, Charlie, and I. We were… so happy, I had the best girls in the nine circles by my side. But I was busy, being the King and what-not, so I did not get as much time with Charlie. Lilith mostly took care of her, raised her, and Charlie grew up kinda distanced from me. I... barely know that much about her, especially now, and the stuff she does tell me, doesn't seem to fucking stick in my brain half the time, and I just feel like I'm a deadbeat father who just calls her to ask her to do things for me sometimes and I-" he stopped and sucked in a long breath, then exhaled. He could tell he was starting to talk fast and get really upset, and he didn't want that. He never talked about this part of his life with anyone and he really wanted to tell you, because with you he actually felt safe enough to talk about it.

He finally turned to look at you, "When Lilith left me 7 years ago, I felt like I lost any basic connection I had with Charlie... because she is so much closer with her mother. I... I want to talk to her, I want to know her... I just... I don't know how... I thought I used to but now... I'm just broken and useless to her..." Lucifers eyes slid back down to his lap and covered his face with his hands.

You looked at Lucifer for a minute, before opening you arms to invite him into your lap, as you usually did when he started to get sad again. Lucifer looked up at you, and soon crawled into your lap.

"I think, the next time you get the chance, try to ask her what she has been up to, how she is doing, maybe see if she wants to hang out or something? I'm sure she misses you too, maybe wants to get to know you too but also does not know how to start that conversation either. That's how I would feel about it anyway." you say as you stroke his hair.

"Why, so I can embarrass her and prove to her in person that I am a loser, deadbeat father? A walking trash pile of a person?" he pouted with a sniffle.

"Lucifer Morningstar," you say sternly looking down at him. You felt him flinch as you use his full name. "You stop that right now, that is not true and you are only hurting yourself and getting in your own way. You aren't doing anything to fix the problem if you don't at least try."

Lucifer groaned and pouted as he laid against your chest, "But it's scary though."

"Yes, and you are the King of Hell. You are apparently to scariest being in all of creation, and you are going to pout and cry into my chest and tell me you are scared of... trying to talk to your daughter?" you say with some sass.

Lucifer laid silently in you chest for a minute, starting to fidget with the soft fabric of your sweater, "Well... when you put it that way..."

"I make sense? I know, I'm a genius," you say with a sarcastic tone, "Look, if you try and she brushes you away, that's one thing. But you don't know if you don't try, ok?"

Lucifer continued to pout in you lap before giving you a begrudging "ok..."

"Good, I'm sure a good opportunity will arise at some point for you to try. I'm here for you when or if you need support around that," you reward him by nuzzling the top of his head and playing with his hair as you went back to watching your show. You felt Lucifer soften and purr as he enjoyed the sensory of you playing with his hair until, you guessed it, he fell asleep on your lap.

______________________________________________________________

Well, it did not take long for your little conversation to move into action. A couple weeks later, while at work, Larry came running in to find you in the mid-afternoon after one of your in-house sessions, a bit of urgency in his walk and face as he approached you.

"Babydoll! Change of plans to your schedule today, 'Lance' requested your start time be moved earlier and he said money was no object, so I'm cuttin' you loose to be with him for the rest of the day. Sounded like he was desperate for you today," said Larry in a hurry, but adding a little wiggle of his brows to the end of his statement.

That didn't sound good. Did something happen to him? "Uh, ok, no problem. How long until the car comes?"

Larry looked at his watch, "Five minutes."

Five minutes?! What the fuck Lucifer?!

You ran up to your room, got changed into more casual clothes, threw on your jacket, and ran out the down. Cynthhhhia tried to snark something at you on your way out the door, something about where you were going off in such a hurry with a bare face, but you didn't pay her any mind as you ran outside.

You saw the car and jumped into it, only to be surprised to see Lucifer sitting in the back of the car greeting you with a nervous smile.

"Lucifer!" you say after you close the door to that car, "Are you ok?! What's going on, you have never requested me early before. What is happening?!" You looked over him, nothing seemed to be physically wrong, he looked ok, just really nervous and... sweating a little?

Lucifer fidgeted nervously with his cane as he smiled at you, "Well, uhhh... Funny story! So, uh... Charlie called me, and... said she needed my help with something involving her hotel, and she invited me over, and I said yes!"

"Great!" you beamed, but you were still confused, you waited for the next part of the statement, but he just remained sitting with the big nervous smile on his face. "So... what does that have to do with me?"

Lucifer messed with his collar, "Well... uhhh... I said yes, and then I got off the phone, and I mayyyyy have started freaking out a little, and I did not want to go over there by myself, so I wanted to bring someone with me, and all I could think of who I could trust was you. So I called your boss, bought out your time for the rest of the day at double your usual price and now you are coming with me to see my daughter... right now." Lucifer sped through before ending with a big, very nervous smile.

Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell, had hired you, his regular prostitute, to go with him to see his estranged daughter that he had not really talked to in years, in public, at her hotel?!

Oh my fucking god.

_____________________________________________________________

As usual, leave a comment if you want added to the taglist so that you can get notifications when future chapters drop!

Taglist: @froggybich @wonderlandangelsposts @glowinthedarkbones1150 @marydragneell @crescent-z @superdinosaurnacho @jam0001 @kyo-kyo1 @so-get-this-sammy @lilzebeth

[ssuburban-legendss]

please, please, please | m.v

summary: it's race week in hungary and the house of red bull is breaking down 

word count: 3k+

- July 20th, 2024. Hungary. -

There was nothing like a race weekend.

Milliseconds seemed to stretch for lifetimes, and a mere blink could last for an eternity. The hum of blood rushing in one’s ears, the burning, beating heart… it was everything. Every race was just as thrilling as it was terrifying and tense. 

Even now—even after years of living between breaths, you still weren’t used to the singing adrenaline. Maybe you never would be. 

How could one get used to screaming wheels and blinding lights? How could one stand that ache in the chest and tension of the heart? And how could you overcome the worry and fear that consumed your very being every time Max stepped into that car? 

Oh, Max. 

You sat in the garage, staring up at the live feed and cradling a crackling headset over your ears. Around you, various crew members were watching the televisions closely or busying themselves with screens and tools. Everyone else was along the pit wall, crafting magic in real-time. 

Part of you wished that you could listen to their live chatter instead of the F1 TV broadcast, but an even greater part of you knew that such constant and unfiltered coverage would make your head spin. There was already too much happening on television; you didn’t need extra noise.

In some ways, qualifying was worse than the actual race. The desperation for a faster lap, the frustration, and the bubbling tension. Some days, it was just too much. And today, with the rain and the endless media coverage… 

Maybe you needed more coffee.

“Mate, I don’t think we can improve like this.” Max’s voice crackled across your headphones, flooding through your ears and sparking your nerves alight. He sounded… nervous. Or maybe it was tension. You weren’t sure, but neither emotion was appealing.

Even from a distance, you could imagine the furrow between Max’s brow and the slight pout of his lip. His every expression was known to you, but what good would that do now? You felt trapped behind glass, watching him spin circles as his voice echoed in your ears. The only person that could reach him now was GP, and even then…

The past few weeks had been tense. Between the constant media attention and the slow decline in form, cracks were beginning to sprout in the marble pillars of Red Bull’s house. Even Max seemed less sure lately, falling behind on the circuits he once called home. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to forget the exhaustion in his voice. It was only Q1, yet it felt like you had been here for days.

“What’s your concern?” GP responded, his tone steady and smooth. “The temperatures or the…”

“The rain! The rain!” Max shouted back, instantly turning all nerves into boiling blood and burning rage. The sharpness of his words made you cringe, and a slight nervous nausea began to bloom in your stomach. Oh dear. A million thoughts rushed through your head at once, mixing into a crumbled cloud of anxiety. 

It was hard to pull Max back down once the frustration bubbled over. There was no such thing as “Mad Max”—at least not to you, but the anger was real, and it was hard to take or tame. And it was unending. Rage clouded some people’s judgment, but not Max. If anything, he seemed to find clarity in burning breath and bitter words. The ache and anger could keep him going for hours on end—lap after lap. But it also sent him spiraling downward, lost in his head and a faraway place you couldn’t find. He was unreachable in those moments, and you hated it. 

“Okay, calm down, Max.” GP replied, “Then, if you’re concerned about the rain, we can box. We can come back to the garage, it’s not a problem—“

Another voice cut through the conversation, screaming in your headset and flashing across the live feed, “Perez!”

You refocused your attention on the present and scanned the screens, looking for the F1 News Feed. At last, your eyes landed on the television, and the camera zoomed in hungrily on Checo’s smoking car. 

Red Flag.

One of the workers along the barrier gave a thumbs up. Okay. He was okay. A strangely tense sigh left your throat. 

“One Red Bull driver being calmed down on the radio, the other one—in the part of the track that we were just referencing—finds the barrier. And as a driver under pressure coming into the weekend—“

You turned off your headset and ignored the rest of the broadcast. Checo was fine, and that was all that mattered. You made a mental note to call Carola later and tried to keep your face indifferent and easy. You were certain that cameras were scanning the garage now, looking for some misplaced expression or glance to sensationalize into another disaster or distraction. 

Oh, disaster. 

One Red Bull driver being calmed down on the radio... You heard the commentary echoing in your head over and over. Was everyone thinking the same thing as you? Was everyone worried that Max was slipping into inconsolable anger? He had never been good at hiding his frustration, but now was not the time for such lapses in judgment. You mentally begged for his ease of heart but knew such things were impossible. The stress was beginning to cut into everyone’s skin. 

After a few moments, Max returned to the garage and his car was pulled back into place. Now, all anyone could do was hurry up and wait. 

It was hard being so close to Max and yet so far away. Being in the garage was a blessing, but sometimes it felt like you were forced apart and held at arm's length. Sometimes, the two of you could talk between sessions and during 

breaks, but it was probably best to stay out of everyone’s way with things so tense. 

Before you could search for a distraction, however, one of the engineers waved you over and nodded to Max’s car. A helmet covered the man’s face, and it was hard to focus completely on anything, but the message of his gesture was clear: pep talk time. 

Oh. That bad, huh?

You wove your way through the mess of technology and restless bodies and found yourself beside the still humming car. Endless words drifted around your head, but choosing the right thing to say felt impossible. Things had been tense for weeks, and today felt like the final straw. Control was slipping, and Max was sinking back into the unease of his youth. You could already see the headlines and tweets. You could already see the comments under your posts. You could already hear the commentary. Mad Max. Mad Max. Mad Max.

Taking a deep breath, you stuck your head into the cockpit and flipped up Max’s visor, trying to seem bubbly and calm—yet Max was already glaring. 

“Hi.” You said, making sure to enunciate the word. He couldn’t hear you, but it didn’t matter—you just wanted to see him, and you hoped that was enough. 

Max blinked, his blond eyelashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks. His gaze softened slightly at your words, but the ice in his eyes didn’t melt entirely. Hi. 

A million words flashed through your mind. What now? What could you possibly say now that would change all this? How did you pull Max back from the edge? Thousands of statistics and hundreds of practiced speeches floated through your thoughts, but none seemed good enough. All you could think about was the tension in his voice and the mocking commentary and—

“I love you.” Your heart spoke without permission, pulling forth the only thing that truly mattered. “I love you, okay?”

A slight crease wove between Max’s brow as he watched your mouth—trying to decode your words through the senseless sound. After a delayed second, realization twinkled in his eyes, and he smiled. Instantly, the cold glare faded from his gaze, and he seemed like your Max again, with flushed cheeks and crinkling eyes under the blinding garage lights. I love you, too.

———

Later that night, the waves of uncertainty returned. 

P3. 

The position rattled around in your head and made your heart sting. Last year, this race had been easy. Though qualifying had ended with Lewis on pole, Max had regained the position on Sunday and crafted a lead of thirty-three seconds. That had been his best gap all season. So, how had thirty-three seconds turned into P3? Of course, the position wasn’t terrible, but something was definitely wrong. Everything felt wrong these days. You just hoped that Max would keep his head long enough to correct it. 

You glanced across the table, carefully observing the strain in Max’s expression. His brows were furrowed and tense, hanging low over his eyes and casting deep shadows across his face. Even his gaze seemed cloudy, as the clear blue-green of his eyes appeared dull and distant. An exhausted flush still stained his cheeks, but the red made him look sickly and sad in the fading daylight. 

Seeing him like this was agony. 

The media and the internet could rave about “Mad Max” all they wanted, yet you saw the truth in the dim light of his trailer. The anger and sharp edges masked a trembling lip and bleary eyes.   Your Max was lost somewhere in his head, caught between the kart from years before and the car of today—and it hurt. 

“You did your best.” You said, pushing scraps of dinner around on your plate. “It’s just a hard run, yeah?” Despite yourself, your voice cracked. It had been at least an hour since either of you spoke, and between the emotion and strain, your words shattered in the tense air. 

“It’s a shit run.” Max corrected sharply, pointing his spoon at you, “I don’t think everyone understands that. It’s a fucking shit run.” Though his eyes were set on your face, Max’s gaze seemed miles away, and the bitterness of his words felt directionless. 

Still angry, then. Not your Max, just Mad Max. 

“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, m’just saying,” You replied, pushing his accusing spoon away with yours, “You just do your best tomorrow. News said there shouldn’t be rain, so that’ll be good.” 

Max huffed, unconvinced and frustrated, “We’ll see.” 

He was fighting with himself again, battling ghosts in his chest and competing against a past that would never truly fade. Yet the sinking spiral and flames of rage wouldn’t do any good. The media was crazy enough right now, and frankly, you felt crazy too. You needed him beside you, and you needed him to be calm. You wanted your Max back. If the car, the team, and the whole thing were going to hell, you just wanted him to make it out. 

You thought about Carola, stuck at home while her husband’s car smoked and sizzled on live TV. You didn’t want to remember how that felt. You didn’t want to recall the trembling hands and shaking breath. You needed Max steady and safe. Mad Max crashed cars and sent your head spinning—your Max needed to be something more.

With a tired sigh, you leaned across the table and kissed his cheek, relishing in the warmth of his skin below your lips. Some of the tension in his expression melted below your touch, “Just be good, please.” You breathed, hoping the warmth of your words against his flushed face would find a place in his heart. “And safe.” 

Max pulled back and smiled a little too brightly—his eyes glittering with mischief, “I’m very good.” 

With a huff, you sat back down and gave him a playful kick under the table, “Yeah, right. You’re yelling at GP, and suddenly everyone on Twitter is going on about Mad—“

“It’s actually X.” Max corrected in a superior tone. 

“Don’t start.” You tried to sound serious, but a teasing smile bloomed on your face, and laughter bubbled from your chest. It was nice to see him relaxed, even just a little. “I’m trying to scold you.”

With a laugh, Max leaned back in his chair and stretched slightly, reaching for something unseeable. The casual motion and the gentle crinkle of his face eased you a little, soothing something in your pounding heart. This is the Max you needed on the track tomorrow—this is the Max you needed in the media pen and in the garage. This is the Max that would live long enough to come home. 

“I’m going to play,” Max said, breaking your spiraling thoughts, “You’ll come?”

You glanced at your watch. It was getting late, but you hadn’t spent extended time together in weeks. You hummed and gave in, “Sure, just for a bit.”

Max beamed, and suddenly, everything was worth it—the extra coffee you’d have to drink tomorrow, the extra time you’d have to spend getting ready. It was all worth five more seconds of peace and grins. Still smiling, Max pressed several disorganized kisses to your face until you were beaming, too. 

———

Max’s gaming room was connected to the main living space, overflowing with electronics and blinking lights. 

You trailed behind Max, swinging your linked hands and flicking on your phone so you could scroll through social media. The qualifying results consumed most of your feed, as did senseless speculation.

“Did you get a look at Checo’s car?” You asked, still looking at your phone and curling into a chair beside the computer. “I’m sure the boys will be up all night on that.” 

Max let go of your linked hands and settled into his seat. From this angle, you were just out of the camera’s vision, but still within Max’s peripheral. Though he hardly spared anything else a glance during streams or gaming sessions, you quickly realized that he didn’t like being alone. Max seemed more at ease even when the two of you simply sat in silence. Besides, you didn’t really like being on camera anyway—the very last thing Red Bull needed right now was extra attention or scrutiny. The common narrative that having a girlfriend only distracted athletes always arrived just in time to bite you in the ass. You didn’t need that right now. Max didn’t need that right now. You were barely hanging on as it was. 

“Might have to start in the pit tomorrow,” Max said, slowly flipping switches and bringing his computer to life. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something else, but he simply shrugged, “Shit weekend.” 

You hummed, scrolling through your phone and trying to change the subject. He had relaxed slightly after dinner, and you didn’t want him falling back into despair and rage, “How long you got until lights out?”

During race weekends, every second was meticulously arranged. Meals were crafted according to specific weight and energy requirements, interviews were slotted between breaths, and curfew was enforced so drivers met perfectly planned out sleep schedules. 

Technically, you weren’t even allowed in here after dark, but you and Max stole seconds whenever possible. 

“Don’t care,” Max replied, shooting you a pleased, dazzling grin. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, trying to fight a scarlet blush, “Alright.”

His manager would certainly have something to say about that, but you let it go. There was no point in arguing. It had been a long day for both of you, and this was how Max relaxed—video games and vitriol. 

The following two hours passed by in a blink. Max played and chatted with his friends while you relished in the happiness of his cheers and the joy in his laughter. He seemed most himself in these moments—late at night, away from the garage and speaking nonsense with his friends. He loved racing, you knew he loved racing, but in soft seconds like this, you wished he would just retire. You would give anything to sit with him all day long, intertwining your legs under the table and smiling while he laughed. You would give anything just to kill time with him. 

Eventually, though, your yawns and bleary eyes won out over your heart. You needed sleep. He needed sleep. Ugh, if only you could sleep here. How much was that fine again? 

Unwilling to find out, you sent Max a text: Camera Off. 

After a slight delay, a chime sounded through the room, and Max glanced sideways at his phone. Without hesitation, he mumbled a quick dismissal and switched off his camera and microphone. 

“What?” He blinked at you, hanging on your every word. For a second, he seemed tense—still half on the track. 

“I gotta go,” You said, standing. “Getting late.” You reached for Max’s face and brushed a light touch along his cheek, trying to memorize the curves of his features to hold you off until tomorrow. Oh, how you wished the ease in his eyes would last forever. 

“Going to bed?” He asked, leaning into your touch immediately and staring up at you with electric blue-green eyes. He wanted you to stay. 

You laughed lightly, gently combing a hand through his hair and twisting blond strands around your fingertips, “I was gonna call Carola but m’tired. I should be sleeping. You too. Long day tomorrow.”

Max rolled his eyes, though the gesture had no malice behind it, just playful exhaustion. He leaned forward and rested his chin on your stomach with a childish sigh and slight pout, “Whatever.”

His easy closeness made your neck flush with warmth, and suddenly, that imaginary fine didn’t seem so steep. All reason and reality melted away as your eyes scanned the sunspots on his face and traced the twinkling in his eyes. 

Then you remembered the yelling, Checo’s crash, reporters, endless speculation, and… You needed to stay focused. 

Summer break was coming up fast. You could wait until summer break. All the light and laughter in the world could wait a few more days. 

“I’ll see you later,” You said, running your fingertips across his features, “Go to bed soon, okay? Please.”

“Okay,” Max said brightly—definitely lying. He quickly kissed the inside of your wrist as you traced an invisible line down his nose, “Night.”

There was no such thing as “Mad Max”—at least not to you, at least not right now. 

“Night.”

[atydblack]

"demure" part 2

best friends dad! james x reader

masterlist (requests open!!!)

PART 1

glad u guys liked part 1 because i can not stop thinking about this version of james .

warnings: age gap, cheating, rough sex (not too much smut in this one tho soz), jamie is kinda a dick, everyone is of age!!!

MDNI

---

It had been 3 days.

3 whole days since the night you spent with James and he hadn't spoken one word to you.

In the grand scheme of things, 3 days isn't too long. But when those 3 days are spent longing after someone who is pretending you don't exist it is.

You were frustrated in every sense of the word, and with just over a week until you go back to Hogwarts - you were becoming desperate.

Every one was floating in between the kitchen and living room. It was rare that there was ever a quiet moment at the Potter's which made it even more difficult to find James alone.

You sat with your head resting lightly on Ron's shoulder whilst him and Hermione chatted about something you couldn't even focus on, your mind a million miles away.

Surprisingly, you had barely felt any guilt towards your actions a few nights prior. Every time you felt a bit bad about what you'd done, Ron would piss you off and it all made sense again.

You had even tried to somewhat recreate the incident with Ron, actually trying it on with him every single night but he would just make fun of you or would already be asleep before you'd even had the chance to touch him.

"Y/N?" Ron pushed you off his shoulder. "I said, are you okay?"

"Yeah," you half heartedly smiled. "I'm just gonna grab some water."

"I can get it for you-"

"No, it's fine."

You stood to your feet and wandered through to the kitchen and there he stood.

James was leaning against the kitchen counter, a mirrored image of how he was stood just a few nights ago.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

A white shirt hung from his body as he had just gotten back from his job at the ministry under an hour ago. A half empty glass of red wine sat in his hand as he spoke intently to Remus.

When he noticed you enter, he stopped talking and his jaw tightened.

He had been on your mind 24/7. The way his hands felt on you, the way he spoke softly into your ear, the way he made you feel.

It was constant, you couldn't think of anything other than James.

James broke eye contact after a brief moment. He muttered something inaudible to Remus before quickly walking past you.

James' heavy footsteps echoed through the house as he almost stormed up the stairs.

Remus nodded his head at you. You couldn't tell wether he was indicating for you to follow him or if it was just a simple greeting.

You didn't care either way, you were bored of being ignored.

Turning swiftly, you padded quietly up the stairs after James.

You were unsure of what exactly you were going to say to him, but something was better than nothing.

The house was huge and you weren't exactly sure which room he had gone into.

You decided on his bedroom.

You slowly opened the big oak door before entering quietly.

He wasn't in there, but it still caught your attention.

A strange feeling overwhelmed you as you took in the detail of the room James shared with his wife.

Jealousy? Guilt? You couldn't quite put your finger on it.

Everything was perfectly clean. On one bedside table sat a picture from their wedding day and the other was a picture of Harry.

Chewing your cheek out of anxiety, you stepped closer to the one of James and Lilly's wedding.

You had always been under the impression that they were so in love, so happy. Yet James had done this.

It almost felt like you had dreamt it all.

The door to the bedroom opened, making you jump.

You turned around to see James stood there with an angry look on his face.

"What are you doing?" James grumbled, stepping forward.

"I-I don't know." You muttered, your cheeks growing red.

"You can't do this, Y/N." He demanded, almost like he was telling you off. "I- What happened between us... it can't happen again."

He was frustrated, breathing heavy with his eyebrows furrowed.

You stood there twiddling your thumbs, unsure of what to reply.

"I fucking mean it-" James began pacing back and forth. "Shit, I could get in so much trouble for this, Y/N, you don't understand."

A ball of anger was whirling up inside you uncontrollably at his words.

A little voice inside your head telling you that he used you, he regrets you, he's embarrassed of you.

"You can't just ignore me!" You spat out. "I'm not just someone you can touch like that and then pretend doesn't exist!"

"I don't have a fucking option, Y/N." He came closer to you. "What did you think was going to happen? This can't be anything."

"What did you think was going to happen, James?" You bit back, sick of him talking down to you.

He was taken aback at your words, veins almost popping out of his forehead as he looked as if he was at war with himself.

"Fuck!" He spat, turning his back to you.

You weren't scared of him, he couldn't just use you and act like it never happened.

"You need to stop fucking doing this to me, Y/N." James muttered.

"I-I'm not doing anything!" You expressed, "I just want you to-"

Before you had the chance to finish your sentence, you were pressed up against the wall with his mouth on yours.

It happened all to quickly.

He lifted you up, legs wrapped around him.

James connected his tongue with yours, hands travelling all over you.

"I can't stop fucking thinking about you, Y/N." James muttered against your lips.

You could feel his hard cock pressing into you through his trousers as he pushed himself closer to you.

"Your sweet little moans,"

He pushed your dress up to your waist, hands travelling underneath to your breasts.

"Your tight little pussy,"

You let out a gasp as his cold hands brushed over your nipples.

"You think I haven't always noticed the way you look at me?"

In a swift movement he had you pressed up against the wall, ready to take you from behind. Your dress pushed up to your waist and his trousers around his ankles.

"Not so fucking innocent around you, Y/N?"

You must be dreaming. You must have dreamt this whole thing. There was no way your fantasy was unravelling in front of you.

"Do you want this, baby?"

You nodded with no hesitation.

"Words, kitten."

"Yes, James." You groaned. "I want you."

"Good girl." He muttered as he pushed his cock into you.

You gasped, he was much bigger than you'd ever had before.

It took a second for you to adjust but soon he was thrusting into you.

James couldn't contain himself, fucking you relentlessly as you moaned his name over and over.

"Have you been thinking about this, baby?" James groaned, choking you from behind. "I bet you have."

He was like an animal with stamina you didn't know existed.

"You gonna cum for me, sweet girl?"

You couldn't muster any words in response, just a loud moan harmonising with the clapping of him pounding into you.

It wasn't long before you were riding out your high, another unexplainable feeling he'd given you for the second time.

You tightened around him, only causing him to quicken his pace.

"Fuck-" He choked out as you felt his warm cum between your legs, his thrusts slowing down.

You both stood there attempting to catch your breath.

"No matter how hard I try," James said after a short moment. "I can't get you off of my mind."

"Likewise." You muttered.

"Y/N?" You heard a voice from the hallway. It was Ron.

"Shit." You whispered. "You- You stay here."

You quickly tried to fix your hair, pulling your dress down and trying your hardest to act like you didn't have James cum dripping into your panties.

You walked out to the hallway and smiled at Ron.

"What were you doing in there?"

"Just snooping." You shrugged, grabbing his hand and quickly pulling him back downstairs.

-

part 3 will be up tomorrow!