#we will all pretend like they never looked like this

[crimsonnsstuff]

Dark thanos x babysitter reader she came to babysit thanos ' little sister. 'Cause his parents believe he's not responsible enough to take care of his little sister. Reader tried to befriend thanos but after finding out he's an active drug addict after overhearing his parents convo. So she started to stay away from him. Doing everything possible to Stay out of his sight. When parents are overseas and reader has to work overnight. That's when the took his chance with her. She tells him off she has a bf but thanos doesn't care. Non Con pls <333

It’s not exactly as you requested, but I’m lazy! <3

You recently got a new babysitting job. You were babysitting Thanos’s little sister. Thanos was a grade above him, but you have never talked to him. You’ve heard other people talk about him, and how he’s a junkie, but you didn’t think that was true. Sure, he was a bit eccentric.

You knock on the door. To your surprise, Thanos opens the door. You haven’t really seen him before. He had a controller in his hands and a set of headphones on. He lifts one of the muffs up. “What?” “Oh, hi. I’m here for my babysitting job” you mutter. He opens the door, letting you in.

He plops down on the couch. “My parents will be out in a sec.” He groans before going back to his game. You nod and stand there awkwardly. Suddenly, his parents come out, suitcase in hands. “Oh, hi dear!” His mom exclaims. “Hi,” you say softly.

“Sorry, we are in a rush. Make sure yun-hee is in bed before 9. No food or drinks before 7” she says. You nod, “okay, sounds good!” You say smiling. They both rush out the door. You turn to Thanos.

“Where’s Yun-hee?” You ask. He lifts one muff off his ear. “Who knows, probably sleeping. All that little shit does is sleep.” He groans, putting the muffin back over his ear and going back to playing his video games. You sigh, sitting down on the couch next to him and scrolling on your phone.

The rest of the day you played with Yun-hee, having pretend tea parties, letting her braid your hair. You woke up in the middle of the night. You look over at the clock on the nightstand. It was 2am. You stand up. You were only wearing a pair of underwear and a T-shirt. You throw on a pair of shorts.

You quietly tip-toe out of the guest room. You walk into the kitchen, flicking the light on. There was Thanos, in nothing but grey sweatpants. You gulp. “What are you doing up?” He asks. “I’m thirsty. “Where are the cups?” “Top left cabinet.”

You open the cabinet, pulling out a glass. You put it under the tap, filling it up with water. You turn back to look at Thanos and see him putting something in his mouth. “What’s that?” You ask. He holds up a ziploc baggy with several different colored pills, shaking it. “That shits not good for you.” “Why do you care? You’re not my damn mom.”

You sigh and turn back, sipping out of your glass. You feel two cold hands on your waist. You flinch and turn around. “What the hell are you doing!?” You ask, bringing your hand up to slap him, but he catches it before you do. “Playin around.” He says.

He grabs your other hand, pinning them both in front of you with one hand. He brings his other hand up and squeezes your breast through your shirt. “Thanos..!” You whisper-yell. “I-I have a boyfriend!” He looks around the room. “I don’t see him anywhere.” He says, smirking.

Your heart drops. Was this really about to happen? Your eyes tear up. He grins and picks you up, setting you on the counter. “For me?” He says, looking down at your thin shorts. You sniffle. “Don’t cry yet.” He growls.

He pulls your shorts down, along with your panties. “You’re already wet. You like this.” He says, quirking a brow. “N-no, I don’t!” “Yes you do.” He says, plunging 2 fingers into your core, making you double over in pain and pleasure.

He starts to thrust that roughly. His fingers dig into your insides, making you whimper. You grip onto his arm, sobbing softly. He smirks and pulls his fingers out, reaching up and wiping them in your face.

He pulls you off the counter, spinning you around and bending you over it. He yanks his sweatpants down. He pumps his cock a few times. He taps it on your clit and you sniffle. He grunts as he slides into you, your pussy squeezing him so tight. You yelp and he slaps your ass. “Shut up, slut. You want this.” He growls.

You start to think about your boyfriend. What would he do if he saw you like this, bent over a counter while getting railed by this purple haired fuck. Thanos wasn’t even moving, but your legs were shaking from how deep he was. You grunt softly as you feel him tearing your pussy up.

He thrusts in and out roughly and you whimper. He grabs your hair and slams your face down into the counter. Your tears fall onto the marble counter, sobs falling past your lips. He grunts, throwing his head back. “You sound so pretty when you’re crying.” He growls, getting off on your sadness.

He grips your hips, pulling you back onto him in time with his thrusts, completely using you for his pleasure. You squirt on his cock and he snorts from how quick you came, but he doesn’t stop thrusting. “For someone who has a boyfriend, you sure love this.” He says.

You shake your head, unable to get words out. He pushes a hand down on your back, forcing you to arch it more. He slaps your ass, leaving a red handprint. “Fuck, this view..”

You leans down, chest pressing against your back. He pulls your hair, giving himself access to your neck. He bites down on it, making you yelp. He pulls back and lick a tear that was falling down your cheek. He leans back, pulling your hands behind you back and thrusting into you harder.

“Gonna ruin you for your boyfriend..” he grunts out, thrusting deeper and faster, stretching you to the limits. “Shit, shit, shit!” He murmers, cumming deep into your pussy. He keeps thrusting, fuckign his cum deeper into you.

He pulls out, tucking himself back into his pants. He pulls your panties and shorts back up. “Let that drip out and I’m gonna fuck your ass until you can’t walk.” He says, walking out of the kitchen.

[goldenroutledge]

we were liars

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

word count: 8.4k

summary: inspired by taylor swift’s cruel summer.

warning(s): angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, baku ‘24 crash, mutual pining, two stubborn idiots in love basically.

a/n: this has been a long time coming! longest thing i’ve written in years and i loved every minute of it! enjoy <3

They say there’s no place like home. Whether that’s a person or a feeling, it’s hard to tell. Every summer allows you to figure that out, but at what point do you lose hope in trying? At what point do you resign to the feeling of wanting someone so badly, knowing they’re impossible to have? At what point do you stop torturing yourself into facing that fact?

Seeing as it was impossible to decline Carlos’ invitation to join his summer vacation, finding answers would be a hopeless pursuit. Not that you were paying close attention or anything, but plans were always tentative around this time of year. Knowing that whenever he calls, you’ll answer. It’s always around mid-late July, many nights during the race weekends that have you awake in the middle of the night, on the receiving end of his late night thoughts. It’s by that point in the season that Carlos begins to feel restless, carrying more doubts in his ability than he’d care to admit.

But he’s only human. He needs a break. He needs to retreat back to the solace that calms the soul, an unfamiliar peace that he doesn’t stop craving until he sees you again. For most months out of the year, Carlos settles on the sight of you running through his imagination until he musters the courage to give you a call. He settles once again when he wishes you sweet dreams to mask the three words and eight letters that rest on the tip of his tongue. Just friends or not, Carlos settles for having you in his life any way he can. You’ve already attended the many races he’s asked you to come to, sometimes with less than a day’s notice. Summer break is the reunion you both can count on, always overdue no matter how much time you’d spent apart.

The journey to the house has your mind buzzing with possibilities, or theories, as to how your dynamic with Carlos will be. Will you pick up like you never left off? Will you keep pretending that nothing’s changed between you two? For now, you’d have to put that on hold. Given that Lando had been accepted as an honorary member of the Sainz family, it was no surprise to see him, tan as ever, answering the door at Carlos' vacation home. “Y/n! Long time no see!” He greets you with a bright smile and a hug, offering to help you with some of your bags.

“No kidding, it’s nice to see you too!” You smile warmly, eyes instinctively drifting past him in search of his best friend and former teammate. “How’s your break so far?”

“Much needed.” He sighs, gathering your bags in an attempt to take them all in one trip. Lando starts rambling about his triumphs and defeats so far this season at McLaren, feeling comfortable enough to divulge his true thoughts in your company, sans the media training.

Any remarks you had in response suddenly leave you, heart melting under the gaze of those gorgeous brown eyes you know so well. Carlos’ lips turn up into a smile at the sight of you, eagerly opening his arms to meet you in a crushing embrace. “Look who made it to Mallorca!”

Your smile spreads so wide that your cheeks begin to hurt, not that you care. “I wouldn’t miss it. You know I’m not one to pass on a free vacation.”

“Ah, come on.” He grumbles at your teasing words. “Tell me you didn’t miss me, too.” You both relax in each other’s arms, never pulling too far away. To see him like this, up close and personal, feels like a dream. His hair hasn’t been cut in a while and you admire how handsome the length looks on him.

“Maybe a little bit. But it’s not like we haven’t been on the phone nonstop. We always keep in touch.”

“That’s true, but those phone calls don’t beat the real thing. They’re not even close.” Carlos runs a finger underneath your chin, so quickly that if he didn’t have your full attention, you would’ve missed it. “It’s great to see you again.”

“Who would’ve thought you would be so happy to see little old me when you’re rubbing elbows with the rich and famous every weekend. You have it all.”

He smiles, but shakes his head in playful disagreement. “Not everything.”

“Ahem.” Lando clears his throat, still visibly struggling with your luggage at the front door. “Hate to burst your little love bubble but would anyone care to help me carry this?”

His interruption startles you and Carlos, causing you both to retract from the other’s hold and stand at a very platonic and appropriate distance away from each other. Not that you were just caught in anything unusual, but it sure felt like your parents just saw your prom date kissing you goodnight on the front porch.

“Jesus Y/n, is your suitcase full of bricks or something?”

“Just bikinis.” You laugh, not missing the way Carlos wiggles his eyebrows at you before going to help poor Lando carry your bags upstairs. “Gotta get my money’s worth out of them. Not all of us get paid millions to drive in circles, you know.”

Lando scoffs. “We’re only here for a week. How many of them could you possibly need?”

“She needs options, cabrón.”

“See, Carlos gets it. What’s wrong with you?”

“Sure. Defend her.” Lando snides at the Spaniard. “I’ll remember that.”

—

The summer holiday not only gave you an opportunity to restore your serotonin levels and forget that the outside world existed, but it was also a chance to reconnect with the people you hold dear. (Sometimes) Lando, Carlos, and of course his sister Ana. Being close with Carlos’ family was a packaged deal with anyone he was also close to himself. The four of you together made for unforgettable memories. The day had been spent on the water, with Carlos showing off his ability to pilot something other than a Formula 1 car.

“Enough of the boring conversation please!” Ana interjects Lando & Carlos’ chatter about their latest golf game, wanting to revert the conversation back to something interesting at dinner. “I have a burning question I need to ask Y/n. And I know that somebody here would love to know the answer. So, who are you dating?”

Her question changes the mood suddenly, a mix of interest and curiosity filling the atmosphere. It takes you by surprise even though you don’t have to pause to think about it because the answer is simple. It’s not complicated, even if your feelings for the man sitting across from you are anything but.

“I’m not dating anyone.”

This draws a dramatic gasp from your friend beside you, one that conceals a subconscious sigh of relief from Carlos.

“What do you mean? How is that even possible?”

You chuckle at Ana’s amazement, feeling unexpectedly shy with your love life being the topic of conversation. “It just is. I’m not really interested in dating anybody right now.” As if Carlos wasn’t listening closely before, he sure is now. The inquisitive looks you receive from each of your friends prompts you to explain yourself further. “I mean what’s the point, you know? If I don’t see a future with someone, why would I put myself through that? Knowing it’s gonna end in disappointment.”

“I’m just saying, you’re way too hot to be single. Isn’t that right, Carlos?” Ana defends, smirking at the harmless embarrassment she’s pushing on her brother. He shoots her a sharp look and draws a pained gasp from her when he (harmlessly) kicks her shin under the table. Carlos clears his throat to hide it, but their interaction is evident, and ever true to their sibling dynamic.

“She’s right. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

The tips of your ears burn at his compliment, but you know he’s only saving himself. He’s the gentleman everyone knows him to be and adores him for by giving you a line that’s been written into romantic comedies since they came to be. “Thanks, Carlos.”

His heart clenches at your words, unable to tell if you really believe it or not. He knows that his statement was vague and it toes the line of friendship more than he would like, but he’s also at a loss. How could he even begin to describe the ways he loves you, or notices everything about you, big and small? How he lied when he said anyone would be lucky to have you, knowing that most people wouldn’t even come close to deserving the love you have to offer. He knows that he’s not supposed to feel this way, let alone tell you and destroy the friendship you have. Locking eyes with you across the table, he wishes you could read his mind. Instead, he settles for a polite smile.

—

Once the boat is docked, it doesn’t feel right to abandon the sunset and head back to the house. The air on the beach is crisp, smelling of the clear waters and reflecting the pink and golden hues of the setting sun. Lando and Carlos are the last to leave the boat, carrying a beer cooler to where you and Ana sit down in the sand.

Carlos hands you a drink before taking a comfortable seat next to you. The silence is tranquil as you rest your head on his shoulder, admiring the gifts that Mother Nature has to offer. A warm feeling envelopes Carlos as he peers down at you, one that he can’t pass off as just the alcohol starting to move through his system. He wants to commit this moment to memory. If he’s settling for this, then he isn’t settling at all.

“We should play Truth or Dare.” Lando suggests, growing bored of the silence, though it was nice while it lasted. His expression turns puzzled at the looks he receives from the rest of you. “What? It’s fun.”

“If you weren’t a Formula 1 driver, you would’ve made one hell of a frat boy.” You tease, Ana and Carlos agreeing with you.

Lando sighs. “I know. What a waste right?”

“But then we would’ve never become teammates.”

“You’re right.” Lando chuckles, toasting his drink with Carlos’ at the realization.

“I’ll go first.” Ana speaks up, interrupting the boys before they could get too deep into their side chatter. Judging by the closeness she’s seen from you and her brother, what’s the harm in trying to help things along? “Carlos, truth or dare?”

Carlos takes a sip of his drink before throwing his head back dramatically. By his sister’s not so subtle hints throughout the night, and really every time you are in each other’s presence, he can feel where this is going. Yet a part of him isn’t mad at it.

“Truth.”

“Boooor-ing.” Lando sneers and you can’t help but giggle. Ana gives him a look as if to say, not so fast.

“Are you in love?”

Lando regrets ever saying anything in protest, as he nearly chokes on his beer once Ana finishes her sentence. Given what he knows, it’s impossible for him to not die of laughter at the scenario. Watching Carlos fight for his life on this question tops any interview moment they’ve had inside a Formula 1 paddock. Carlos pauses, which luckily for him can be passed off as pure concern for his best friend that’s currently gasping for air.

Your chest feels tight at the question, not expecting Ana to go there. You know Carlos’ life being on the road as a very rich and attractive athlete probably isn’t one of abstinence, but you can’t deny that it doesn’t crush you to imagine someone else having the key to his heart. You take a few gulps from your drink and it makes you worry that if this keeps up all night, there won’t be any alcohol left for you to drown your feelings in. They’ll just stay trapped inside of you with nowhere to go.

“Yes. I’m in love… with life.” Carlos professes, looking around with gratitude, raising his arms up as if to give thanks to the beautiful scenery around you.

Ana scoffs. “That’s not my question! I asked are you in love. As in, with someone. Perhaps even someone next to you.” She speaks the last part quickly, feigning innocence as she looks between you.

“Please, Carlos and I are just friends.” You brush off her words, knowing how she can be sometimes when she believes in something. Relentless; just like Carlos is. A trait you can’t help but admire in them both. Lando laughs in disbelief, making kissing sounds to contradict you. Carlos’ smile falters, eyebrows scrunching together ever so slightly. It’s impossible to tell if he’s hurt at your dismissal of only seeing him as a friend, or just annoyed at the antics that are a nuisance to what was supposed to be a peaceful evening.

“We talk all the time, Anita. I think you already know the answer.”

Ana shrugs. “It’s the rules, Carlos. You picked truth, so you have to answer.”

“Yeah! Spill the beans, Carlos.” Lando encourages. “And don’t worry about me, I can take it.”

“Easy, cabrón.” He warns, glancing between his best friend and his impatient sister as they wait for him to answer. Finally, his gaze lands on you, quietly sitting beside him through all of their quips. He’d be lying if he said it doesn’t hurt to know you don’t hold him in a higher regard than friendship entails. Yet the weight pulling at his heartstrings isn’t one he feels the need to bear anymore. You may never know the full truth, but that’s just another thing Carlos feels the need to let go of. “The answer is yes. I am in love.”

While the summer weather is nothing but serene, the storm inside of you is the complete opposite. You feel like throwing up. Leave it to Lando to suggest a fun, light-hearted game to stir things up. You paste on a smile, trying with everything you have to hold Carlos’ gaze and make your ‘just friends’ statement feel like reality. The emotion glossing over your eyes betrays you. “That’s great, Carlos. I’m happy for you.”

He can’t shake the unsettling feeling that’s consuming him. Whether it’s the guilt of omitting a very important detail to that answer or the fact that you don’t seem disturbed at the thought of him with someone else. Ana and Lando share an incredulous look, unable to understand how two people can be so oblivious to one another while also being unable to look away from them. “So that’s it?” Lando mumbles, but his quiet tone isn’t much competition for the silence that’s fallen over the group.

Carlos pretends that he can’t feel the disappointment in the air, turning his attention to his friend and choosing to carry on with the game. “Lando, truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Lando says cooly like it’s obvious.

“Okay.” Carlos ponders, thinking carefully as to how he’s gonna get his payback. The awkward tension between you could’ve been avoided entirely had Lando not mentioned this stupid game at all. “I dare you to… jump into the water with all your clothes on.”

“So the opposite of skinny dipping? But we have no towels!”

“Exactly.” Carlos raises his eyebrows pointedly. He can’t think of a better punishment than to make Lando sit here shivering until he can find comfort under a scalding hot shower. “Unless you are too scared…”

“Never too scared.” Lando argues, already making a mold in the sand for his drink to sit while he’s gone. “I’ll do it, on one condition. Y/n comes with me.”

“No.” Carlos answers for you, almost immediately. “That’s not in the rules, remember?”

“Come on, live a little.” Lando looks between the two of you, hoping he can make a convincing argument. If he doesn’t liven up the mood now, he’ll consider this game a wash. “How about this, if you join me, you don’t have to answer any questions or do any dares. You’ll have immunity.”

You raise your eyebrows at his idea, intrigued. You’d do almost anything to distract yourself from what just happened with Carlos. “How can I say no to that?”

“You can’t.”

“You can.” Carlos objects, placing a protective hand on your shoulder. “And you will. Come on Y/n, you could get sick. It’s getting chilly out.”

Lando scoffs at his hypocrisy. “Oh, so now you’re concerned? Because who cares if I get sick, right?”

You look between the two men, and then to Ana, who shrugs undecidedly as if to say it’s up to you. Carlos’ eyes are pleading, hoping to get through to you before you do something you might regret. Then again, these are the same eyes that looked into yours minutes ago and told you he’s in love with someone else. You don’t need to listen to his concerns, you don’t owe that to him. Drinking what’s left in your bottle, you accept Lando’s hand to help you up before making a run for it towards the water.

The two of you disappear under what’s now the nighttime sky, the moonlight shining bright enough to lead the way. It isn’t until you’re just about there, that one wrong step onto a bottle hiding in the sand halts your movements, causing a sharp cry to escape your throat as a sharper cut of glass slices into your foot. Lando barely makes it to the water when he realizes you’re no longer beside him, instantly turning around to see that you’re bleeding. “Oh fuck, are you alright?” He places a hand on your shoulder, trying to examine the injury but comfort you the best way he can.

A string of curses fall from your lips, language more characteristic of a sailor than your normal self. “What does it look like? Holy shit, it hurts!”

“Carlos!” Lando calls out, unable to peel his eyes away from your foot.

Both Carlos and Ana were already watching the scene unfold, and Carlos wasted no time in rushing to your side within seconds, Ana following closely behind from down the beach. “Y/n? What happened?”

“I stepped on this– fuck– that bottle.” You nod over to the bottle, a couple feet away from you. Carlos’ heartbeat quickens at the sight of you, clearly distressed and in pain, but knows he can’t afford a freezing moment of panic. He removes the thin linen shirt he’s wearing to wrap around your foot and compress it, in hopes the bleeding will stop.

Lando takes a step back when you remove your hands from where they clutched your injury, trying to catch his breath as he feels lightheaded at the sight, glass piercing your skin deeply. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Carlos and Ana pay him no mind, as Ana rests a hand on your knee soothingly while Carlos goes to wrap up your foot with his shirt. But you are just as quick to stop him. “It hurts, Carlos.”

“I know, I know, but we have to stop the bleeding. This cut is deep.”

“Removing the glass will only make it worse.” Ana falters, knowingly it’s not what you want to hear. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“You’re probably right, I think I need stitches.”

“We will get you there.” Carlos assures. “Just breathe with me, can you do that?”

You nod, fighting the pull of unconsciousness as your eyelids flutter shut. Clearly Lando has to do the same, feeling dizzy at the sight. He wanders over to where the bottle lay broken in the sand, a wave of guilt washing over him when he realizes the label reads Estrella Galicia. Carlos’ favorite beer, the same one they happened to have an abundance of in the cooler today. A bottle they must’ve dropped by accident when making their way up the beach.

Ana tells you that she’s going up to the house to find Carlos’ keys to drive you all to the emergency room. Lando finishes picking up the pieces of the broken bottle, heading inside to dispose of them. It’s just you and Carlos now. Not that you bothered to care who you were alone with at this moment, but you feel safe.

You notice your heavy breathing has slowed down in tune with his as he gently secures the fabric around your foot. “You will be okay Y/n, I promise.” Considering how out of it you are, you nearly miss the feeling of his lips kissing your forehead chastely. Before you can wonder how the hell you would be walking up the beach, Carlos is effortlessly lifting you off the ground and carrying you in his arms. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”

—

“Don’t do that.” Ana nudges her brother’s shoulder, trying to snap him out of his thoughts.

“Do what?”

“Get in your head like you do. She’s gonna be fine.”

“She’s right.” Lando chimes in. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, it’s your fault.” Carlos snaps back at him.

“What did I do?”

“I told you not to take her with you. It wasn’t a good idea and clearly I was right.”

Lando rolls his eyes. “She wanted to. And if you wanna talk about fault, it was an Estrella Galicia she stepped on. That bottle fell out of our cooler.”

Carlos felt that tightening feeling in his chest again, a mix of guilt and shame brewing into something far more intoxicating than what he’s had to drink tonight. “I would never be so careless.”

“None of us would be. It was an accident, that’s the point. It’s not like she blames any of us for what happened.”

“She might.”

“Carlos, stop it.” Ana interjects, watching him with concern as he leans forward, hands clasped together while his mind is in deep thought. “She would probably slap both of you if she heard what you’re saying right now.” Ana proceeds to retrieve some money from the bag she hurriedly grabbed before leaving for the hospital, asking Carlos to get some chips from the vending machine. There wasn’t much she could do about the bickering between him and Lando except try to diffuse it by separating them. She knows how stubborn her brother can be and knows that his attitude won’t go anywhere until he sees you.

Carlos certainly doesn’t feel like himself, sluggishly moving down the hall, unable to break his train of thought. The fact that you got hurt on his watch, still unaware of how he feels about you has his heartstrings tangled in knots. The most unbelievable part being that despite the intensity of his Formula 1 career, he’s never felt as on edge as he does right now. It’s both exciting and scary that you’ve seemed to wedge yourself a little closer to his heart than the sport that’s defined his life.

When he sees you with Ana or Lando, he envies them. He envies the authenticity that defines your friendships with them, the feeling of being able to say what’s on your mind without a care, knowing they’ll never lose you. He wonders what that’s like, he craves to have that with you. He struggles to remember when his feelings began to get in the way of that. Now he has no choice but to face it, feeling further away from you than he ever has. The longer this goes on, that distance will only worsen until you don’t know each other at all. A part of him wants to do everything in his power to stop that; another part tells him that he’s powerless when it comes to you.

His head hangs low, finding it easy to get lost in the glow of the vending machine. Behind him in line, the sound of a kid deliberately tapping his foot snaps him out of his trance, prompting him to hurry up with the chips. Heading back towards the waiting room, he notices Ana and Lando speaking to a doctor. By the looks of it, they’re hanging on her every word, urging him to pick up his pace so he doesn’t miss any updates on you.

—

The hospital room is cold and uninviting. Quite the opposite of an ideal place to spend your summer vacation. You lay there alone for what feels like hours, wishing nothing more than to have Carlos at your bedside. You know he’s here, and so are your friends, but it’s not the same. The heart monitor beeps routinely every couple seconds, and your blood pressure cuff squeezes your arm every fifteen minutes, making it impossible to doze off even if you wanted to. The pain in your foot is better, though not gone completely, after having the glass removed by a doctor and your wound properly stitched up. Given how late it was, they’d keep you until the morning, needing to monitor the wound for a possible infection.

When you ask for your friends in the waiting room, your nurse looks like she’s seen a ghost at the mention of Carlos Sainz. Once you had reassured her that you had no head injury whatsoever, she reluctantly left to go find your description of him. ‘Tall, dark and handsome. You’ll see him.’

And so taking a deep breath, Carlos is standing in front of your room, tapping his knuckles gently to the wooden door. “Knock, knock.”

You smile instinctively at the sound of his voice, eager to see someone familiar in what has been a lonely couple of hours. “Come in.”

He opens the door immediately before laying eyes on you sitting up in the hospital bed, hurt and exhausted from the day’s events. He swallows down the guilt that creeps up his throat, hoping that it doesn’t show. He doesn’t deserve to throw a pity party right now when you're the one that’s in pain. His words don’t get that memo as he laments. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, feeling helpless. “Maybe if I went too, it would’ve been me instead.”

You roll your eyes at his stubbornness, patting the foot of your bed so he will sit down. “I won’t let you think about the what if’s, Carlos, you need your feet to drive remember? Though knowing your resilience, you’d probably come back and win, glass in your foot be damned. They don’t call you the Smooth Operator for nothing.”

His heart warms at how you know just what to say to lift his spirits. “I could win only if you’re there to cheer me on.”

“Just say the word and I will be. I wouldn’t fly around the world on a moment’s notice for just anyone, you know.”

“I don’t want ‘just anyone’. Just you.” Your smile beams, and all of a sudden you feel the need to be close to him, holding a hand out to him that he instantly takes in his own. “Can I say something? And can you promise you won’t get mad at me for it?”

“Tonight can’t get much worse, can it?”

He faintly smiles at your quip, but it also worries him that your relationship may always be limited to just that, laughter and clever jokes. He needs you to know that he’s serious. And it wouldn’t be so bad to hear that in return from you either, just this once. “I love you.”

You freeze, probably looking like a deer in headlights. There must be some truth to the theory that people tend to be more honest at night. The exhaustion from the day wears on the brain while the world falls asleep, leaving the two of you to face the lingering vulnerability intertwining itself deeper into your friendship. You’d been denying it for as long as you can remember. A part of you wonders if he’s just tired of fighting it, if he’s just giving in to what everyone expects to happen between you. Even though Carlos is a terrible liar, you can’t shake the doubt that tells you his admission isn’t what it seems.

“Don’t say that. You don’t need to say that just because you feel bad. I understand.”

“It’s not about that, Y/n. I’m telling you how I feel– no, how I’ve felt– for a long time now, and I refuse to hide it from you anymore.”

“And how can you say that when a few hours ago you said you were in love with somebody else? Does that ring a bell to you?”

The realization hits Carlos, now he can understand why you’re so skeptical. “I never said I was in love with somebody else, it’s you! I was talking about you. When I said that I am in love, I meant to say that I was in love with you.” He sighs, finally feeling the weight being lifted off his chest.

The feeling that comes over you is paralyzing, unable to breathe a word in his direction. Those damn eyes that he’s giving you only complicate things. As badly as you want to express your love for him in return, you can’t. Not when the past several months, if not years, of your life have revolved around falling in love with Carlos and not being able to stop. Not being able to save yourself from the inevitable rejection that would break your foolish heart in two. Each day, the feeling buries itself deeper but comes alive in bursts. If your body didn’t remind you of it with a quickened heartbeat and a fuzzy feeling when he’s near, you wouldn’t know the difference between your ‘best friend’ Carlos and the confused one sitting at the foot of your hospital bed.

“Y/n, please. Say something. Tell me to get out or tell me you love me too.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. I know there’s something behind your eyes. There’s something you’re hiding from me, I can feel it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Y/n, you forget that I know you.” He states obviously. “We’ve been best friends for years now, so the question is how could I not?”

“Is that not enough for you?”

“Having you is more than enough. But you have to understand that I can’t go on like this. I want to love you and never hide it. For as long as you let me.” His eyes bare into yours, nearly feeling claustrophobic as he takes both of your hands in his. “Please just talk to me.”

“I don’t know, Carlos. I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out as a mumble instead of the vibrato you wished to have right about now. Tears gloss over your eyes, but you don’t welcome them. The downturn of his frown and the emptiness that’s seeping into his expression claws at your chest. “We shouldn’t talk about this now.” He opens his mouth to say something, be it out of apology or anger, you’ll never know.

Three resounding knocks to your hospital room door cut through the tension like a knife. “Come in!”

It’s Lando and Ana, the soft smiles on their faces falling as they look between you and Carlos, sensing that something isn’t right. “Are we interrupting? We thought we’d check on you before they kick us out for the night.”

“Not at all.” You put on a smile for them in reassurance, yet fooling no one. The suspense in the air is palpable enough to leave all of you feeling awkward to say the least. It’s enough to make Carlos split the distance between his best friend and sister, leaving the room without a word.

Carlos walks as fast as his feet will take him, eventually landing on the familiar chair in the waiting room he sat in when he arrived. For the first time tonight, his mind isn’t racing and anxiety isn’t coursing through his veins. He is defeated, worse than he’s ever been before. Be it a race-ending issue with the car or losing out on his Ferrari seat, those are losses that he can at least come back from. This one’s a dead end.

“Want some? You look like you could use a snack.”

His attention swivels to a boy in the seat nearby, who he now recognizes from the vending machine earlier, snacking away on his bag of Ruffles. Carlos shakes his head, but still smiles softly at the consideration. “No thank you, not hungry.”

“Do you like chips?”

“I prefer cookies.”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“And why’s that?”

“I dunno, you’re Carlos Sainz. Chili. I thought you’d go for anything salty or spicy. I guess you really do learn something new everyday.”

Carlos sighs, remembering his current troubles. His eyes flicker over to the hallway containing your room, expecting to see a familiar face at some point. “Tell me about it.”

The boy, whose backpack is embroidered with the name ‘Samuel’, gives Carlos a puzzled look. “What did you learn today?”

The question leaves him clueless as to how he can answer, without trauma dumping onto Samuel who is none the wiser to the conundrum he’s in. He clears his throat before answering, eyeing the vending machine as an analogy comes to his mind. “I love chocolate chip cookies, but they don’t love me back. My job doesn’t allow me to have them because they are too sweet for me. I try to stay away from the cookies, but I can’t. I wish I could be selfish and have them all to myself, but it’s just impossible. I can’t win.”

“Maybe try a different kind? Something healthier for you then.”

“Good idea, but that would never work. I’ll always love the chocolate chip cookie. Nothing else compares to her.”

“Are you talking about a girl?”

“No, no.” Carlos tries to cover, heat rising to his cheeks. “Still talking about the cookies.”

“You could always try baking your own.” He suggests. “When my mamá bakes cookies, they’re better than anything else because she makes them with love.”

Carlos nods along, and thanks Samuel for his words of advice. He’s off in his own world right now, desperate enough for guidance that he’s willing to imagine the ridiculous analogy between chocolate chip cookies and his relationship with you.

Minutes turn into hours, and Carlos finds himself in your room once again, sitting in a chair near your bedside. He reassured Ana and Lando earlier to go home as he insisted on staying with you overnight. Visiting hours were far from over, but a small bribe for your nurse was all it took for an exception to be made for Carlos Sainz.

The sun is up before you know it, but that’s not what shocks you. It’s the man slumped over in the chair overcome with fatigue. You wish it was all a dream. That stupid game of truth or dare, stepping on the glass bottle, pushing Carlos away when in hindsight, you should’ve surrendered too. You should’ve given in the same way he did, it surely would’ve made for a less awkward ride home. It’s not his words from last night that cloud the space in your mind, it’s your own. Seeing him now, he looks tranquil. Like the weight of the world can’t touch him when he’s already said his peace. You’ll continue longing to feel the same, knowing that your chance might’ve just come and gone.

—

AZERBAIJAN GRAND PRIX 2024

“Care to tell me why you’re really here?”

A puzzled raise of your eyebrows tells Lando everything he needs to know before you can even say it. “I’m sorry, I can’t support McLaren now? One of my best friends happens to drive for them.”

“Another happens to drive for their rival, too.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s nothing personal. Orange looks better on me.”

“Carlos would beg to differ.”

“Will you stop that? It isn’t about him.”

“Fine. But it’s not not about him, admit that.” He gives you a knowing look, one that’s skeptical of how much you’ve been avoiding Carlos lately, ever since the vacation you all took together. What was once a lively group chat between you three now consists of the occasional meme or reaction photo. “Come on, something happened between you two. Admit it.”

You sigh, eyes tearing away from him as you feel pressure under his interrogation. “Nothing happened. It’s probably more about what didn’t happen.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Like your bestie hasn’t already filled you in.”

Lando shrugs, never giving away too much. “There’s two sides to every story.”

“He just misspoke. He told me he loved me after I injured my foot over the summer. I brushed him off, and we’re pretending like it never happened.” Lando’s eyes are wide and he doesn’t realize his jaw is hanging open until you press two fingers under his chin. “And that includes you. Deal? Not a word about this to anyone.”

“Damn, that’s even worse than I thought! You’re avoiding him because he loves you?”

“He doesn’t love me, doofus. He felt guilty because I stepped on a bottle that one of you probably dropped.” Three sharp pokes to the Brit’s chest emphasize your point, the narrative you’ve spent months now convincing yourself is true. “It’s just been a little tense, we haven’t really been the same since then. He thinks I’m being cold about the whole thing.”

“Are you?”

“No! I just know him better than he knows himself and he refuses to admit it. He’s stubborn, as you know, and he won’t let me forget it. He’s probably messing with my head until I cave in.”

“Cave in to what? Admitting you love him too?”

You gulp, brain scattering while you feel for some reason, like you’re being found out. “Where would you get that idea?”

“You haven’t denied it. Isn’t that all he wants anyway? I’m sure if you told him you didn’t feel the same way, this would all be over. Which won’t happen because you do, in fact, love Carlos Sainz.”

You resist the urge to give Lando a good whack to any tender part of his body, by the way a McLaren team member accidentally eavesdrops on your conversation in passing, obviously trying to look away before you notice. “Don’t use his full name.” You warn in a hushed whisper. “Word travels fast around here, you know.”

“Please don’t injure me before the race. I’m just saying, would it hurt to speak to him for more than five minutes at a time?”

“He’ll get over it. Hell, he might already be over it. I just think a little more space wouldn’t hurt either of us right now.”

“Well, you know what they say about space.” Lando gives you a knowing look, before dramatically breaking out into his best Nick Jonas impersonation. “Space is just a word made up by someone who’s afraid to get close.”

“Very nice, Lando.”

“Just don’t look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel anything for him. You must think I’m some kind of idiot.”

“It’s better for our friendship this way, okay? Imagine had I said it back, what kind of damage that would do to all of us when it goes to shit. It would never work between us, and I refuse to set us up for failure. I’d rather keep things the same. And he would too, he just doesn’t know it yet. This year hasn’t been the easiest for him, you know? He’s just trying to cling on to what’s familiar. He might think that he loves me, but it’s a phase. In a year from now, he’ll be in a new team, a new era of his life and career, and we won’t even remember this.”

“Really? Because I think, if he had it his way, he’d be with you forever.”

“And I feel terrible about pushing him away, but it’s for the best, okay? You’ll see.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” Lando nods slowly but unconvincingly, taking some steps backwards and away from you, leaving to do the pre-race preparations he should probably be focused on instead.

—

“For the best?!” Carlos exclaims, his eyes wide and hinting a mix of disappointment, hurt, and frustration at the turn your friendship has taken.

“I know, I had the same look. It doesn’t even sound like her.”

“Each excuse I hear from her is more ridiculous than the last. I miss when I could just talk to her, you know? Without thinking about how she’s gonna push me away this time.”

“You should just tell her to stop inventing.” Lando giggles, biting his lip to keep from breaking out into full hysterical laughter in the middle of the driver’s parade.

Carlos shoots a warning glare to his friend. “It’s one thing if she didn’t feel anything for me, but she’s been avoiding me as if we haven’t been best friends for years now. I can’t figure it out.”

“Maybe she’s scared to lose you, have you ever thought of that? What would happen in case it doesn’t work out? I think she’d rather have you as a friend than not at all.”

“I’m the same person I’ve always been, though. She knows me. I thought I knew her, too.”

“You do. I, for one, think you’re perfect for each other.” Lando tries to offer some consolation, but he knows that Carlos can’t and won’t settle for the silver lining in all of this.

“I used to think so too. But hey, she might be onto something. Maybe it is for the best.”

—

The race doesn’t disappoint, keeping in line with the chaotic patterns the 2024 season has had to offer. Nearing the end of the race, the pit wall, mechanics, and spectators alike can breathe a sigh of relief that the position of their driver won’t be threatened. Oscar leads by 10 seconds, making it a great weekend to be a guest of McLaren for the weekend. The garage bustles with excitement as the cars begin the last lap.

It was looking like a fight to the checkered flag between Checo and Carlos, closely rounding Turn 2 just behind Charles, racing wheel to wheel down the straight before the two cars clash, the Red Bull of Checo sending the Ferrari of Carlos into the concrete barrier at 300 kilometers per hour.

A wave of adrenaline strikes you instantly, audible gasps sounding through the garage at the brutal and unexpected impact. The same sight of the crash had to be on every monitor throughout the entire paddock, leaving everyone on the edge of their seat. Carlos being a beloved member in the McLaren family certainly intensified things, you weren’t the only one who couldn’t tear their eyes away from the screen. A flash of heat burns through you as you see Checo seemingly confront Carlos and walk off, but your worries don’t dissipate until you see the man in red get out of his car, slowly but steadily.

—

It’s almost night by the time you arrive back at your hotel, Lando having stayed back in the paddock for team photos and celebrations of Oscar’s win. It’s a short walk back to the nearby hotel, and you could use the fresh air to help clear your mind anyway. Mindlessly, you open your messages with Carlos. Typing, then erasing, then typing again.

‘Glad you’re okay.’ No, too short.

‘Are you okay? Sorry about your race.’ No, too impersonal.

‘I love you too. I should’ve said it sooner.’ No, too risky. Too permanent. You’re not ready for what comes next. Who knows if he even wants to talk to you, especially about this. Don’t be selfish.

Your earlier conversation with Lando creeps up on you, giving you more to worry about than you had previously considered. Could it be guilt or pure heartache, you’re not sure. All that is certain is you can’t carry on with your relationship like this either. It only took you a few months and a crash to fuel you with the same passion he felt for you over the summer, when he confessed. Facing the truth is scary, but you won’t be able to forgive yourself if you let him go. You can’t live with knowing that he might go so far that he never comes back.

The elevator door is open, your thoughts so entrancing that you don’t bother to look up. Until that signature red polo catches your eye, and they trail upwards to meet the brown ones you remember so well, the same ones you’ve been waiting to see again.

“Hi.” He breathes, almost in disbelief. From the mental and physical wear of today, Carlos can’t be more relieved to see your face, no matter what has gone on between you. Pure surprise sets in when you, after taking a few pauses to get a good look at him, engulf him into your arms with a passion. He winces slightly at the soreness that’s sinking into his muscles, but ultimately relaxes and wraps his arms around you.

“I’m sorry.” You mutter, trying to untangle yourself from his hold, to which he only pulls you closer.

“It’s okay, I’m fine.”

“It’s not just about that, Carlos. I haven’t been a good friend to you lately and you don’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“No.”

“I should be the one apologizing.”

“For what?”

“I pushed you away when I told you how I feel. But you need to know that I’m not sorry I said it. I’m not taking it back.”

“Why not?”

He scoffs. “This again? Why won’t I take it back? Because it’s the truth! I love you! I wish you could see it. I wish you could feel how badly I’ve been wanting to say it and hear it back from you. I’m man enough to understand if you don’t feel the same way, but you won’t even give me a conversation. You refuse to talk to me and I don’t know whether to take that as rejection or an admission. Because if you really didn’t believe a thing I said that night, we wouldn’t be here. Things would’ve stayed the same.” You stay silent, trying to process each of his words and their meanings, a mistake you’ve made one too many times. “Just talk to me, please.” His voice cracks slightly in his last word, and his plea brings tears to your eyes. “Not what you think I need to hear. Tell me what you’ve been holding inside.”

This is exactly what scares you about Carlos. His ability to understand your innermost thoughts without a word. His skepticism is more than enough to rattle you. Having him as a best friend is one thing, but leaving your heart to be broken in his hands is another. “I just don’t want things to change, Carlos. At the end of the day, we still have our own lives, our own goals and ambitions. It doesn’t matter how I feel when there’s plenty standing in the way of it.”

“Like hell it doesn’t matter. I’ve spent every waking moment wondering how all of those things could be ours, together. I fell in love with you and you’re punishing me for it, I can’t for the life of me figure out why. Does it scare you? Is that why you want to sabotage our relationship before it has a chance? You need to understand that I didn’t tell you because I felt guilty you got hurt. I told you because I refuse to look you in the eyes and lie anymore than I already have.”

“I know.” You sigh, a tear slipping away from you. “I know that.”

“Then why are you only admitting this to me now? We’ve been wasting time dancing around this long enough.”

“I know how you feel because I feel it, too. Watching your car slam into the wall like that… I didn’t want another second to go by without you knowing the truth. I don’t want to feel guilty anymore about avoiding you, about lying to you, about any of it.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I love you too, Carlos. It should’ve been the first thing out of my mouth when you told me but I just panicked. All I could picture was how this ends a million different ways and each of them were more heartbreaking than the last. But the longer I waited, I just thought it would be too late.”

“It’s never too late, Y/n.” Carlos whispers, brown eyes glossing over as they admire yours. Honestly, unabashedly, and lovingly, for the first time in a while. “I’m still here, aren’t I? After all this time.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not, remember? Some things are worth waiting for.” He holds your face in his hands, brushing his thumb across your cheek to wipe away your fallen tear. “You are worth every second.”

You don’t hold back any longer, closing the gap and kissing him with all that you have. All of the emotions that for too long, had nowhere to go, have now found their home. Your hands tangle in his hair, and the hum of approval he gives you is delicious. If it were at all possible, you feel as close to him as you’ve ever felt, and him to you. Kissing him, feeling your love be reciprocated calms your head and sends your heart ablaze. You’d reckon the wall that stood between you, was always ready to be knocked over with the slightest gust of wind, had you not spent so much time trying to hold it up. Letting go was your best decision to date, the feeling of his lips on yours just confirms that.

It isn’t until the sound of the elevator dings that you pull away, realizing neither of you had pressed a single button upon entry. To your surprise it’s Lando, his grin smug like he’d just pulled off some kind of heist. You and Carlos instinctively try to put an appropriate amount of distance between the two of you, only this time, nobody would believe there’s anything platonic about you two. By the looks of Carlos’ tousled hair and the smudges of your once perfect lip gloss, Lando needs no explanation from either of you.

“Don’t worry, you can carry on.” Lando laughs, reaching inside and pressing the ‘Close Doors’ button. “I’ll take the stairs.”

💌: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! thank you for reading <3

[rose24207]

Heyyy, i’ve got an idea for a Lando x reader fic!

Basically Lando and the reader have been friends their whole life since their parents are good friends and they go on vacations together all that shit. And the reader has had a crush on Lando for some time now and what she doesn’t know is that Lando likes her too and one night they’re celebrating midsummers (or whatever) and he tells her he likes her and they kiss and talk all night and cuddle and stuff like that, but the next day Lando is ignoring the reader and pretends like nothing happened and goes on to ignore her for like a good year or two until one night they talk and he says he’s sorry for all that and they have their happy ending. Super angsty and sad but fluff at the end!

Don’t feel obligated to write this if you don’t want to, it’s just something i came up with and could never write myself (i can’t write to save my life) but i really like your fics and thought you could!

I‘ve missed this

Summary: Lando confesses his love on midsummer night but pushes you away for years before finally apologizing and winning you back.

Genre: angst, fluff

Lando x f!reader

TW: None!

A/N: DW girl I got your back!! again sorry that you had to wait! School is kicking my ass and I’m about to crash out because of my driver license (that shit is expensive af) English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist pt. 2

The golden glow of the midsummer sun bathed the lawn in a warm, ethereal light. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed overhead, and laughter filled the air as family and friends celebrated another year of togetherness.

You sat at the edge of the garden, the sound of the waves from the nearby lake mingling with the music. Your eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on him—Lando Norris.

He stood by the fire pit, laughing with a group of friends, the amber glow highlighting his cheekbones and the soft curls that framed his face. You’d known him your entire life, thanks to your parents’ friendship. Vacations, holidays, birthdays—he’d always been there, your constant companion.

And somewhere along the way, you’d fallen for him.

It wasn’t just his boyish charm or his crooked smile that made your heart race. It was the way he made you laugh when you wanted to cry, the way he always seemed to know what you needed without you having to say it.

But he didn’t know how you felt. And you weren’t sure he ever would.

“Why are you sitting here alone?”

His voice startled you, and you turned to see him standing there, hands shoved in his pockets. He tilted his head, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

“Just… thinking,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Thinking, huh?” He dropped down onto the grass beside you, his knee brushing yours. “Care to share?”

You hesitated, glancing down at your hands. “It’s nothing important.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, you can tell me anything.”

You looked up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his eyes sparkled in the fading light.

“Alright,” you said, forcing a smile. “I was just thinking about how much has changed since we were kids.”

His expression softened, and he nodded. “Yeah. Feels like yesterday we were building sandcastles and arguing over who got the last popsicle.”

You laughed, the memory warming your chest. “You always took it, by the way.”

“Only because you let me,” he teased, nudging you gently.

Silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The sounds of the celebration faded into the background as you both stared at the lake, its surface shimmering like molten gold.

“I’ve missed this,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet.

“Missed what?”

“Us.” He turned to you, his eyes searching yours. “It feels like we’ve both been so busy with life lately. I hate that we don’t get to spend as much time together anymore.”

Your chest tightened, his words hitting a tender spot in your heart. “Me too.”

He reached out, his hand brushing yours. The simple touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you had to fight to keep your composure.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “What is it?”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to your intertwined hands. “I’ve been trying to find the right moment to say this, but… I like you, Y/N. More than a friend should.”

The world seemed to stand still, his words hanging in the air.

“You… what?” you managed to say, your voice shaking.

He smiled nervously, his fingers tightening around yours. “I like you. I have for a while now. I just—”

You didn’t let him finish. Before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

For a moment, he froze, and you thought you’d made a terrible mistake. But then his hands cupped your face, pulling you closer as he kissed you back with a fervor that made your head spin.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Wow,” he murmured, a soft laugh escaping him.

You smiled, your cheeks burning. “Wow.”

That night, the two of you talked for hours, sharing secrets and dreams you’d never spoken aloud. When the celebration wound down, you ended up curled in his arms under the stars, your heart feeling fuller than it had in years.

The next morning, you woke up with a smile, memories of the night replaying in your mind. You couldn’t wait to see Lando, to talk about what this meant for you both.

But when you went to find him, he was distant.

At breakfast, he barely met your gaze. Throughout the day, he kept conversations short, avoiding any moment that might leave you alone together.

By the end of the week, he was gone, leaving you with a hollow ache in your chest.

The weeks turned into months, and the months stretched into years. Lando’s career in Formula 1 took off, and you watched from afar as he became a household name.

He texted occasionally, but it was never personal. Just polite pleasantries, as if you were mere acquaintances. The memory of that midsummer night haunted you, the unanswered questions gnawing at your heart.

Why had he pulled away?

It wasn’t until two years later, during another midsummer celebration, that you saw him again.

He was standing by the same fire pit, his posture tense as he stared into the flames. Your heart ached at the sight of him, the familiar longing resurfacing like a wave crashing over you.

Before you could stop yourself, you approached him.

“Lando.”

He turned, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of you. “Y/N.”

The sound of your name on his lips sent a shiver down your spine.

“Can we talk?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

He hesitated but then nodded, leading you away from the crowd to a quieter spot by the lake.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension between you was palpable, years of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your throat tightened, and you looked away. “Why, Lando? Why did you pull away? After everything that happened… I thought—”

“I was scared,” he admitted, cutting you off. “That night… it meant everything to me. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how much I had to lose if I screwed things up between us. You’re my best friend, Y/N. I couldn’t risk losing you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, his words both a balm and a dagger to your heart. “So you thought ignoring me for two years was the better option?”

“I thought it would be easier for both of us if I put distance between us,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “But I was wrong. God, I was so wrong.”

You wiped at your eyes, the weight of his apology sinking in. “Lando… do you have any idea how much that hurt me? How much I missed you?”

He stepped closer, his hands trembling as he reached for yours. “I missed you too. Every single day. And I hated myself for what I did. But I was stupid and scared, and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. Despite everything, you still loved him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You closed your eyes, your tears mingling with his. “You really hurt me, Lando.”

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “But I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

For a moment, you hesitated. But then you thought of the boy who’d been your rock for so many years, the boy who’d held your hand when you were scared and made you laugh when you wanted to cry.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you might disappear. “I missed you too.”

That night, as you sat by the lake with his arms around you, the pain of the past began to fade.

For the first time in years, you felt whole again.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

AH-CHOO!

phainon has noticed something weird with his buddy, mydei, and takes it upon himself to do something about it.

gn reader but told from phainon's pov (it's a mydei x reader i prommy)

content warning(s): amphoreus spoilers

THE FIRST TIME Phainon suspected that something might be up with Mydei was when he received word that Mydei had been spending quite a bit of time listening to songs from Lipos, Okhema’s traveling bard. 

It wasn’t like it was an unusual thing for Mydei to indulge in Okhema’s many cultural offerings, but what threw Phainon off was receiving word that Mydei had been listening to love songs.

And a good variety too, if his sources were correct. So it was only natural for Phainon to check up on his friend with his own two eyes. Keeping his distance, he followed his friend from a few paces, being very careful so that Mydei wouldn’t detect his presence. 

Lo and behold, on a beautiful sunny day in Okhema, was none other than the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos sulking in the plaza. If Lipos suspected something was wrong, he didn’t show any sign. The bard expertly strummed at his lyre, the closing melodies of his current song filling every corner of the air.

Phainon held his breath from his hiding place behind some bushes. 

The final notes of the song reverberate in the air, and Mydei claps slowly once Lipos opens his eyes and looks towards the strawberry blond man expectantly. Phainon isn’t sure if he’s seeting things correctly, but from the angle he’s at, he could have sworn he saw a bit of pink dusting the Kremnoan man’s face and neck.

Whatever it was that Lipos was singing, it must have struck a chord with Mydei.

“Any other requests?” Lipos glanced at Mydei and offered the prince a coy smile. Mydei visibly swallowed thickly and let out a loud exhale through his nose. He glances around the plaza once, twice, as if making sure no one was watching him in secret. Phainon held his breath again, not wanting to disturb even a single leaf of the bush he was using as a barrier. 

“If you insist…,” Mydei mumbled back, “...Could you do the one song I requested last time? The one about Mnestia…”

Lipos’ face brightened. “Yes, of course, dear Prince! I know exactly which one you’re talking about! Yes, yes, the one in which Mnestia laments that their feelings towards Ceres may never be returned and just how deep their emotions stirred inside their chest-”

“-Not so loud…!” Mydei hissed, instinctively stepping forward as if he wanted to shove his hand over the bard’s mouth and silence him for nearly spilling his secret. “Just play the song. I… have some thinking I have to do.”

Phainon’s brain was operating at full speed as Lipos poorly stifled a giggle and strummed the lyre. So it was true that Mydei was seeking out the bard and spending copious amounts of time outside of his training to listen to various love songs. And in this case, he had specifically requested a song about unrequited love.

Something was definitely up with Mydei. But this was enough to prove Phainon’s growing suspicions and before he could risk his luck any further, the silver-haired man decided to make a ‘tactical retreat’ to gather his bearings and continue his snooping.

…

THE SECOND TIME Phainon suspected that something might be up with Mydei was when one of the kids brought it up with him. It had started off as nothing more than Phainon heading into the city to run some errands and taking a seat on the curb to snack on some fruit when a group of kids ran up to him. Some of them were whispering amongst themselves while barely containing their peals of laughter.

Phainon, ever the gentleman, greeted them with a smile. “You all better be staying out of trouble! What are you guys giggling about now?”

“It’s nothing!” One kid blurted loudly. 

“Mydei will scold us if we do!” Another remarked before hiding their face behind their pudgy hands, barely hiding the big grin on their face. 

Phainon exaggeratedly puffed his cheeks out and pretended to pout. He had an inkling as to what it could be that was plaguing Mydei’s mind ever since his little espionage session, but if it was to the point that even the neighborhood’s kids might be onto it, it had to have gotten pretty obvious. At least, maybe to his eye—after all, Mydei could be stubbornly difficult to read at times. 

“Oh, c’mon, guys,” Phainon waved his hand nonchalantly. “Do you not trust me? I can keep a secret! Besides, Mydei and I are like the bestest of friends! I’m bound to find out anything that has to do with him sooner or later.”

The kids sheepishly looked at each other, almost as if debating if their juicy secret was worth handing over to Phainon. He struck up an unassuming grin, the same one he’s used countless of times during his long journey across Amphoreus. He liked to think that it was convincing enough, especially when it’s brought him this far.

“Okay, but you gotta pinky promise not to tell anyone first!” One brave kid stepped forward, and Phainon found a chubby pinky finger stuck right in front of his face. Phainon let out a small chuckle and wrapped his own finger in a tight hook around the child’s.

“You have my word.”

The kid beckoned for Phainon to lower his head a bit further, and Phainon turned his face to offer the child his ear. The kid cupped their hands and went on their tiptoes to whisper into Phainon’s ears: “Mydei’s has a crush on someone!”

Phainon’s eyes widened, and he bit down slightly on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something impulsively. The kid stepped back, only to stifle another round of laughter amongst their friends.

“What makes you think that? Can I know?” The silver-haired man quipped innocently. The group of kids stole glances amongst themselves before exclaiming in a hurry:

“He’s been blushing a lot!”

“And when we tease him about it, he gets all defensive!”

“Mhm! Normally Big Brother Mydei wouldn’t react, but now he gets all huffy and puffy!”

“But we don’t know who it is… He won’t tell us!”

Interesting. Phainon tried to memorize as many details as the kids were able to divulge, and after them demanding a truckload of snacks as repayment for their information, he finally was able to sit down by himself to ruminate over his findings of the day.

Mydei was in love.

What existed only as a mere hypothesis was now practically set in stone. And all that was left for Phainon was to figure out who exactly it was that could have captured Mydei’s guarded heart.

…

THE THIRD AND FINAL TIME Phainon suspected that something might be up with Mydei was when he was stuck doing paperwork at a nearby eatery. Aglaea had dropped a big stack of papers into his arms, mentioning that “even a Chrysos Heir must do their fair share of administrative tasks” before dismissing him quietly. 

He’d probably get his work done more quickly if he wasn’t so distracted though. Only about a quarter of his thoughts were occupied with getting the paperwork filled out. The other 75% was focused on discreetly observing the man working behind the counter as much as Phainon possibly could.

But, if the scowl on said man’s face said anything, Phainon was being far from discreet.

“What is wrong with you?” Mydei growled, crossing his arms over the little apron he was sporting. “Are you here to mock me, Deliverer? See the once proud prince of Castrum Kremnos serve up pancakes like a layman?”

So much for being discreet. Well, it would have been hard to be discreet given that he was the only patron in the cafe right now. Phainon threw his hands up in mock surrender. “N-No! I am genuinely trying to do work here! Just figured I’d come down here to get some free food while I do it too.”

That was only a partial truth. If Mydei was to find out that Phainon was spying on him to find out who had ensnared the prince’s heart, the Kremnoan might strike him down harder than Nikador had done. Phainon flashed a tiny smile as a peace offering in hopes that it would be convincing enough.

Mydei thankfully didn’t press on it any further. He let out a small “hmph” and leered at Phainon as if to call him a weirdo but was none the wiser to Phainon’s greater motive. Phainon wondered who it could be that had caught Mydei’s eye. He had suspected it might have been one of Okhema’s soldiers, but observing all of Mydei’s training and sparring sessions didn’t come up with anything. It had to be someone Mydei interacted with outside of his princely duties, which was why Phainon had suspected it was someone he met during his pancake-model-cafe-worker gig, but the lack of eligible coworkers ruled that one out faster than he had expected.

Phainon sighed and stuck a hand in his hair. He gripped his pen firmly, and his eyes glossed lifelessly over the endless lines of nonsensical administrative jargon in front of him. Maybe he had truly hit a dead end. Maybe Mydei was better at concealing his secret than Phainon had initially given him credit for. Maybe he should quit trying to play matchmaker and actually focus on the work in front of him, no matter how boring it was and how much Phainon would rather to anything else than see another page of hogwash seemingly printed for the sole reason of melting his poor brain—

—”Is the cafe open?”

A polite voice broke through Phainon’s messy thoughts. He raised his eyes, only for them to widen slightly when he noticed that someone had entered the cafe. And someone rather familiar too.

He hadn’t expected you to show up.

But before he could process anything, for some reason, his intuition screamed at him to look at Mydei. He swung his head around towards his friend, and for once in his life, his intuition had done something good for him.

Starstruck. 

That was the only word Phainon thought fitting to describe his friend. The way Mydei’s normally rough face softened up the instant his gaze fell on you was something that Phainon had never seen before. All you had done was stick your head into the cafe and ask if it was okay for you to come in, and Mydei was gawking at you as if he had forgotten how to act like a normal human being. You might as well have strung up the stars and the sun in the sky in Mydei’s eyes, and Phainon would have believed you.

“Oh! Great! Looks like you guys are open!” You laughed carefree before making your way in front of Mydei. Phainon pretended to bury his head into his paperwork but continued to peek over at what the two of you were doing. Hell, he wasn’t the one with the crush, but seeing Mydei’s infatuation playing out in real time was making the silver-haired man nervous for no good reason.

“And it’s good to see you here too! You make the best pancakes. Could I get a stack of ‘em? Seriously, nobody else in Okhema makes them as good as you do!” you remarked cheerfully, wiggling into a seat on the counter. Right across from Mydei, no less. Phainon couldn’t help but think if Mydei’s face got any more red, the prince would be putting the bright red color of his beloved pomegranate juice to shame. 

The tension was thick enough for even Phainon to feel it. Poor Mydei. Not only was the prince already awful with expressing his true emotions, he was already rough around the edges as he was. And as if to add insult to injury, you seemed hopelessly oblivious to Mydei’s pining. You rambled on and on about your day and all the chores you had to get through before you could go home, and all Mydei could do was listen to your honeyed voice and barely stifle back the violent tremblings of his heart.

Phainon could barely sit still in his seat. He knew Mydei would have his head if he were to interfere, but this made things so much more interesting for him. Any doubts from earlier than had plagued his head were gone, replaced with countless schemes and ideas that he could utilize to give his dear friend a nudge in the right direction. 

Now with all the puzzle pieces on the table, Phainon painted the clearest picture he could.

Mydei was in love, and he was in love with you.

Phainon had done his homework sneaking around and piecing together the scraps of information he could collect. With this part complete, that meant Phainon could finally move onto the next part of his plan.

And that was to concoct up a perfect way to get you two together.

Wasn’t Mydei so lucky to have such a caring friend?

x

[yaniluvs]

𝒾𝒾𝒾 ⁞ AS WE ARE “𝑎 𝑏𝘰𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑦, 𝑠𝑎𝜈𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑦𝘰𝑢𝑟 𝘰𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝘰𝑛𝑙𝑦.” ── hang out. libraries. kids. food. turns out, baseball guy isn't only a baseball guy..?

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𓍯 baseballcapt!seungmin ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ）9.1k── ༯ SERIES uni au, slow paced & slow burn, curiosity, fluff, strangers to friends to ???, small town, slight angst, language, skz ensemble, very long, y/n is a foreigner/has mixed ethnicity, angsty, humour. ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ a month and 5 days to the last update of this fic omg !!!!! yes it is finally here and it's very long. IM SORRY but i love this chapter sm im actually so proud of myself with this :3 hope you all like it !! <3 i love seungmin sm guys, pls tag me if you find any good seungmo fics mwah. also when i posted the last chapter, i had only crossed 300 followers. right now, as of when im posting this, i actually just passed 600 of you, oh my god. in a span of 36 days, thank you so much to every single one of you ! this really motivates me a lot :(( i am also posting the requested fics soon loves, please be patient !!! comments, likes, req/asks and reblogs are always appreciated ! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading <3

the sun hung low in the sky, its warm rays stretching lazily over the quiet baseball field. a faint breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees, carrying with it the distant hum of voices from the university festival on the other side of town.

y/n strolled across the usual field with her usual carefree stride, her satchel slung over one shoulder and a grande paper cup of peach tea in her hand. her gaze caught a familiar figure, who she may have been hoping to find.

he stood on the pitcher’s mound, his cap pulled low over his face as usual, a baseball gripped loosely in his hand. his focus was sharp, his movements practiced and fluid as he wound up and pitched the ball toward the net. the satisfying smack of the ball hitting its target echoed across the empty field.

she paused for a moment, watching him. he looked so at ease here, like the field was an extension of himself. she smiled to herself before calling out, “practicing alone again?”

seungmin turned at the sound of her voice, his expression softening slightly when he saw her. “car girl, again,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

she rolled her eyes at the nickname, though she couldn’t help but smile. “that nickname is never going away, is it?”

“not a chance,” he said, turning back to the net and throwing another pitch.

she began teasingly, walking closer to the netted boundary of the field. “so, has this time now become your usual or are you just excited to see your new friend everyday now?”

he shrugged, tossing the ball idly in one hand. “don't flatter yourself, maybe it's because i'm actually bored for once.”

“oh well, didn't hurt to try,” she laughed softly, the sound light and warm like the breeze that rustled the trees surrounding the field. she stopped a few feet away from him, crossing her arms as she watched the ball sail cleanly into the net. “your friends aren't here today?”

“nope,” he replied, brushing a bit of dirt off his palm. “they’re at some event thing on campus. didn’t feel like going.”

“why not?” she asked, genuinely curious.

he shrugged, retrieving another ball from the bucket nearby. “not my scene.”

she tilted her head, a teasing smile on her lips. “you say that about a lot of things.”

“that’s because it’s true about a lot of things,”

“so, instead of loud festivals, you decided to spend your evening throwing balls alone?”

“better than standing around pretending to have fun,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint smirk as he pitched the ball again.

“you really do have a grumpy streak, don’t you?”

“i’m not grumpy,” he shot back, catching the ball as it rebounded off the glove.

“you keep saying that,” she said, her voice light with amusement. “but i’m not convinced.”

seungmin glanced at her, shaking his head. “you talk too much.”

“again, only because you talk too little,” she countered easily, her grin widening.

he let out a soft huff—somewhere between a sigh and a laugh—before walking over to grab the ball again. this time, instead of pitching, he sat down on the grass near her, resting his elbows on his knees.

she blinked in mild surprise but quickly recovered, sitting up straighter. “taking a break?”

“something like that,” he said, spinning the ball absently in his hands.

“so,” she began, tucking her legs beneath her and leaning forward slightly. “if you don’t like festivals or loud places, what do you like?”

he gave her a sidelong glance, as if deciding whether to answer. “quiet places. like the library.”

“oh, so you did like the library,” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

he shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “i liked that it was quiet.”

“and because it had me,” she joked, “and what else? besides quiet places?”

he was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting to the horizon where the sun hung low, casting long shadows across the field. “baseball,” he said eventually. “obviously.”

“obviously,” she echoed with a playful smile. “what else?”

“you’re really nosy,” he said, though his tone lacked any real bite.

“i prefer ‘curious,’” she said with a shrug. “come on, there’s gotta be more to you than baseball and quiet places.”

he didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, she thought he might not answer at all. but then he said, almost reluctantly, “music.”

her eyes lit up. “really? what kind?”

“depends,” he said, turning the ball in his hands. “mostly calm stuff. acoustic, sometimes jazz.”

“same!” she said excitedly, leaning forward. “do you play anything?”

he glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “guitar. a little, a friend is helping me.”

“seriously?” she asked, her excitement growing. “that’s really cool. i tried to play piano in elementary.. but let's just say i'm not too good with two hands and multitasking.”

"well, guess it’s a good thing breathing only takes one set of lungs."

“you're mean.”

“i prefer honest.”

“what about singing?” she asked again, her voice softer now.

he raised an eyebrow. “what about it?”

“do you sing?”

he shook his head. “not really.”

“not really or not at all?”

“not at all,” he said firmly, though there was a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“hm, interesting.” she mumbled under her breath, as he looked at her for a bit, and then stood up, dusting the dirt off his tracks and walking back to the field.

“so, what’s your plan? just… keep throwing balls at a net until sunset?”

“pretty much,” he said, glancing at her. “unless you’ve got a better idea.”

“are you admitting to wanting to be in my company?”

“no, i'm simply taking your offer from yesterday. you know, if i ever need help venturing around.”

“oh, did i say that?”

“you compared yourself to dor-”

“it's a rhetorical question!” her cheeks warmed up, at the realisation of her random 'boldness' from the previous day.

“but.. fair enough,” she shrugged, “in that case, i might have a better idea or a few.” she said, her grin widening mischievously.

he raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but willing to entertain her suggestion. “oh yeah? let’s hear it.”

“well, it’s not much of a plan yet,” she admitted, resting her chin on her knees. “but you could hang out with your beloved library-worker-plus-her-who's-mysteriously-at-the-field-every-day-now-turned-friend, later. you know, after you’re done being all serious and athletic.”

he paused, the ball in his hand, and looked at her fully for a moment. “hang out?”

“yeah,” she said casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “you’re bored and free, i’m bored and free… why not?”

he considered her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “you’re pretty straightforward, you know that?”

she grinned, unfazed. “pretty? check. straightforward? definitely check. so yeah, what do you say?”

“i’ll think about it,” he said, turning back to the net.

“wow,” she said, pretending to be offended. “that’s the most noncommittal answer and rejection i’ve ever heard.”

he smirked slightly, not looking at her. “better than a no.”

“fine.” she said with a shrug, leaning back on her hands.

they fell into a comfortable silence after that, the rhythmic thwack of the ball hitting the net filling the air. the sun hung lower in the sky now, casting long shadows across the field and painting everything in shades of gold and orange.

eventually, the guy had straightened up, stretching his arms over his head. He glanced over at y/n, who was still sitting in the grass, absentmindedly twisting a strand of hair around her finger as she watched the sky.

“you’re still here,” he said, his tone more surprised than accusatory.

“oh you're done!” she replied, smiling up at him. “and yeah, of course, i was waiting for your answer.”

he shook his head slightly, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “you're not gonna leave unless i say no, are you?”

“glad to know you're catching up! but i know you were never gonna say no, if you had a choice too.” her face lit up instantly, her grin so bright it could’ve rivaled the setting sun. “i promise i won’t be too annoying, by the way.”

“somehow, i don’t believe that,” he said, though there was no real bite to his words.

she laughed, springing to her feet and brushing the grass off her skirt. “you’ll survive. come on, let’s go, baseball boy.”

he rolled his eyes but followed her off the field, the faintest hint of a smile still lingering on his lips.

“call me a creep,” she said with a grin, glancing back at him as he tried to catch up with her. “but i did see a messy stack of crumpled music sheets under your backpack the other day. so i know you're not good at lying.”

seungmin froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed her words. he stopped walking, turning his head slowly to look at her with a mixture of suspicion and amusement.

“you what?” he asked, voice laced with disbelief but not quite sharp.

y/n stopped a few paces ahead of him, spinning around to face him with an innocent shrug and a playful grin. “you heard me.” she leaned slightly toward him as if to emphasize her point.

he blinked at her, “you really are a creep.”

“hey!” she exclaimed, laughing as she placed a hand over her chest in mock offense. “i wasn’t snooping or anything. i just.. happened to see it while you were busy.”

“you just happened to notice crumpled music sheets under my backpack? that’s oddly specific.”

“call it observational skills,” she said matter-of-factly, tilting her head as she smiled at him again. “besides, you’re dodging the point.”

“which is?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“you’re not good at lying,” she said, her tone teasing but her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “you said you didn’t play anything? but clearly, you’ve got something going on with music.”

he stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. she could tell he was debating whether or not to admit anything. finally, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked off to the side while they walked slower.

“it’s not a big deal,” he muttered, his voice quieter now.

she raised an eyebrow, her grin softening into something more genuine. “clearly, it’s a big enough deal that you’re hiding it.”

“it’s just.. something i mess around with sometimes,” he said, still avoiding her gaze. “nothing serious.”

“mess around with?” she echoed, “like ..writing? playing? singing?”

“all of the above,” he admitted reluctantly, his voice barely audible.

“that's really cool, you know.”

“it’s not,” he said quickly, looking genuinely embarrassed now. “it’s just something i do when i’m bored.”

“doesn’t matter,” she said with a shake of her head. “it’s still cool. and honestly, it makes so much sense now.”

“what does?”

“why you’re so good at reading people,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “music’s all about emotions, right? you must have a knack for it.”

he blinked at her, clearly caught off guard by her logic. “…that’s a stretch.”

“is it?” she asked, tilting her head as she looked at him again. “come on, admit it. you’re secretly a genius, aren’t you?”

he rolled his eyes, but there was a faint flush on his cheeks now, barely visible in the dimming light. “you’re really weird, you know that?”

“and you’re really deflecting,” she said, grinning as she nudged his arm with her shoulder.

silence. the field was quiet, as the pair finally exited through the rusty old gates.

“i’m not hiding it or anything,” he said after a long pause. “it’s just something i don’t really talk about. that’s all.”

she nodded, her smile softening into something more understanding. “i get it. but for the record, i think it's a great hobby. you don’t have to hide it around me.”

he glanced at her then, his expression unreadable for a moment before he let out a quiet chuckle.

the walk was simple. the quiet of the small town wrapping around them like a warm blanket. the golden-orange glow of streetlights lit up the pathway in patches, casting soft shadows as the two strolled side by side. the occasional passerby—an older man walking his dog or a young couple holding hands—added a gentle hum of life to the evening, but it was mostly just the two of them.

y/n kicked at a stray pebble on the sidewalk, the sound of it skittering ahead breaking the silence. she looked over at seungmin, who was walking with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders relaxed but his face unreadable.

“you walk like you have all the time in the world.”

he raised an eyebrow at her. “and you walk like you’re about to challenge someone to a race.”

“funny you should say that,” she grinned, already picking up her pace. “because i was just thinking—”

“y/n, no,” he said immediately, his tone flat but his eyes narrowing as if he already knew where this was going.

“oh, come on!” she laughed, already a few steps ahead of him now. she spun around to face him, walking backward as she pointed toward the distant outline of the bus stop up ahead. “race you to the bus stop. loser owes the winner a snack!”

“i’m not racing you,” he said, shaking his head.

“scared you’ll lose?” she taunted, her grin widening.

he let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair. “considering i'm the least athletic, y-” he mumbled to himself.

“fine,” she said, throwing her hands up dramatically. “guess i’ll just win by default, then!”

with that, she turned and took off, her laughter trailing behind her as she sprinted toward the bus stop.

seungmin stood there for a second, watching her with an incredulous look before muttering under his breath, “unbelievable.” despite himself, he started jogging after her, his strides quickly closing the gap between them.

she reached the bus stop just a second before him, her chest heaving as she laughed and turned to face him. “looks like you owe me—”

“nothing,” he interrupted, standing just a few feet away, barely out of breath. “you cheated.”

“what?” she exclaimed, her hands flying to her hips. “how did i cheat?”

“you gave yourself a head start,”

“excuses, excuses,” she said, waving him off as she leaned against the bus stop pole. “a loss is a loss, seungmin.”

before he could reply, the bus pulled up, its headlights cutting through the dim light. the doors hissed open, and y/n wasted no time, darting inside with the same energy as before. “i call the window seat!” she called over her shoulder.

seungmin followed her at a more relaxed pace, shaking his head. “you’re a child,” he muttered as he climbed the steps.

“aren't we all?”

inside, the bus was mostly empty, save for a small group of middle schoolers sitting near the front. they were chatting animatedly, their voices a mix of excitement and laughter. she had already claimed her spot by the window, her bag plopped down on her lap as she looked out at the darkening sky.

“don’t just stand there,” she said, looking up at him with a teasing smile. “sit.”

he sighed, sliding into the seat beside her. “you’re really full of energy today.”

“always am,” she replied cheerfully, leaning her head against the window as the bus started moving.

the middle schoolers noticed them then, their curious eyes flicking toward the older pair. one of the boys leaned forward, his face lighting up as he addressed the girl. “are you guys dating?”

seungmin nearly choked on his own breath, his head snapping toward the kid in disbelief.

y/n, however, paused, then shaking her head and senses back. “we’re friends.”

“really?” the boy asked, tilting his head. “you look like you’re dating.”

“we’re not,” seungmin said firmly, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness.

another girl from the group leaned in, grinning. “but you’d make a cute couple!”

“i swear, all kids this age only talk about crushes and dating..” he mumbled silently.

“see?” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “even kids think we’re cute together.”

“don’t encourage them.”

she laughed again, turning back to the kids. “what about you guys? why are you out so late?”

“we had cram school,” one of them replied, his tone dramatic. “it’s the worst.”

y/n gasped in mock horror, clasping her hands together. “cram school? at your age? you poor things.”

the kids laughed, clearly enjoying her playful energy. “do you go to uni?” one of the girls asked.

“yup,” she said, nodding. “and i work part-time at the library, too. it’s fun, but uni is… a lot.”

“you work at a library?” the boy from earlier asked. “that’s so cool!”

“not as cool as you think,” she said with a wink. “but it has its moments.”

as the conversation continued, seungmin found himself watching her more than he intended to. the way her eyes lit up as she talked to the kids, the easy way she laughed and made them feel comfortable—it was… nice. she had this warmth about her, this effortless ability to make people smile.

he didn’t realize he was staring until one of the kids pointed at him. “what about you, mister? what do you do?”

“baseball,” he said simply, his gaze flicking away from her as he addressed the group.

“whoa, really? are you on a team?”

“not really an official one,” he said, his tone calm but polite. “but it's with my uni friends.”

“that’s so cool!” the kids chorused, their admiration genuine.

“looks like you’ve got some fans.”

he rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“absolutely,”

as the bus continued down the quiet streets, the group fell into a comfortable rhythm, the kids’ chatter filling the space. and though seungmin wasn’t much of a talker, he found himself joining in, answering their questions and even cracking a joke or two.

she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her smile softening as she watched him interact with the kids. for someone who claimed to be reserved, he had a way of connecting with people when he let his guard down.

by the time the bus reached their stop, the middle schoolers waved goodbye with big smiles, their energy still high.

“see you around!” one of them called as they hopped off.

“bye!” y/n had replied, waving back enthusiastically.

as the two of them stepped off the bus, the quiet of the town greeted them once more. she stretched her arms above her head, a content sigh escaping her lips. “come on,” she skipped quickly.

“so,” seungmin said, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and giving her a skeptical look. “where exactly are we going? you never actually said. are you sure you’re not kidnapping me?”

“if i were kidnapping you, wouldn’t i have tied you up and thrown you in the bus trunk or something?”

he tilted his head, pretending to think. “you’ve clearly never kidnapped anyone before. that’s not how it works.”

“oh, you’re an expert now?” she shot back, her grin widening as she glanced over her shoulder at him.

“i’ve watched enough movies to know you’re doing it wrong,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching upward.

“good to know.” she gave him a mock salute before skipping a little farther down the street. “come on! i know a great street food cart around here. you’re not afraid of trying new things, are you?”

he raised an eyebrow as he followed her. “i think i’ll survive. lead the way, sunshine.”

they stopped at a small street food cart nestled on a quiet corner, the warm smell of grilled meat and savory spices filling the air. a cheerful elderly vendor greeted them with a smile, his weathered hands busy flipping skewers on the grill. the small counter was lined with colorful condiments, sauces, and steaming bowls of rice.

“ah, young love!” the vendor teased as they approached. “out for a date, y/n?”

y/n's cheeks flushed, but she recovered quickly, laughing as she leaned her elbows on the counter. “not a date. just two people enjoying good food.”

“hmm, that’s what they all say,” the man said with a wink, handing her a menu.

seungmin sighed, shaking his head. “we’re not—”

“shh,” she interrupted, whispering, nudging him with her elbow. “let the man think what he wants. who knows, we might even get a discount.”

he gave her a look but didn’t argue, instead glancing at the menu she was holding. “what’s good here?”

“everything,” she said with a grin, handing it to him. “but if i had to pick, the japchae and chicken skewers are my favorites.”

he nodded, ordering exactly what she suggested while y/n added a few other things to their order. as they waited, she leaned back against the cart, looking up at the star-dotted sky.

“you’re not from around here, are you?” seungmin asked suddenly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

she shook her head, still gazing upward. “nope.. well not exactly. had to move here after elementary. my grandparents live here, though. i’ve been staying with them.”

“must be nice,” he said, his tone soft. “having family nearby.”

she smiled at that, turning to face him. “yeah. they’re great. super nosy, though. if they knew i was out with you right now, they’d probably be interrogating me over dinner later.”

“oh, so i’m a topic of conversation now?” he teased, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

“only because they’re obsessed with matchmaking,” she replied, rolling her eyes fondly. “they're caring, though. they just.. want me to be happy.”

he studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering on the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. “you seem happy.”

“i try to be,” she said simply, her voice quiet but steady, though there was an unfamiliar flicker in her eyes as she blinked it away. “life’s too short not to find little things to smile about, you know?”

before he could respond, the vendor handed them their food, and y/n immediately brightened, clapping her hands together. “perfect timing! let’s eat.”

they found a bench nearby, the soft glow of a lamppost casting a golden halo over their little spot. she handed him his share of the food before digging into her own, her face lighting up with every bite.

“this is so good,” she said around a mouthful of cold noodles, earning a laugh from seungmin.

“you’ve got sauce on your face,” he pointed out, gesturing to the corner of his own mouth.

“where?” she asked, swiping at her face with her sleeve.

“other side,” he said, leaning forward slightly. when she still missed it, he sighed, pulling a napkin from the bag and reaching over to wipe it off himself. “honestly, you’re worse than a kid.”

she froze for a second, her cheeks warming as his fingers brushed her skin. “thanks,” she mumbled, her voice softer than usual.

he pulled back quickly, clearing his throat as he sat up straighter. “you’re welcome.”

they ate in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the town around them—distant conversations, the hum of passing cars—filling the gaps. every now and then, seungmin would glance at her out of the corner of his eye, watching the way her face lit up as she talked about her favorite foods or how she waved enthusiastically at strangers passing by.

“you’re really… outgoing,” he said finally, his tone thoughtful.

“is that a bad thing?”

“no,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “it’s just.. different. in a good way.”

her smile softened, and she looked down at her hands. “thanks. i think?”

he shrugged, taking another bite of his food. “don’t let it go to your head.”

she laughed, the sound light and musical, and he found himself smiling despite himself. for someone so different from him, she was surprisingly easy to be around.

she leaned back on the bench, her chopsticks idly stirring the remaining japchae sauce in her container. her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she turned toward seungmin, who was quietly munching on a chicken skewer.

“so,” she began, her tone playful yet pointed. “you said you did play the guitar right?”

he paused mid-bite, his brows furrowing slightly as he glanced at her. “why does it sound like an interrogation?”

“because it is,” she replied, grinning. “i mean, you didn’t mention it until i asked you. oh and what’s the deal with the music sheets under your backpack the other day? planning to start a band or something?”

he huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “hardly. i’m just.. messing around. nothing serious.”

“messing around?” she echoed, her head tilting slightly as she scrutinized him. “come on, min. you don’t just carry music sheets around for no reason. what are you working on?”

he shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze by focusing on the skewer in his hand. “i’m not working on anything. i just play a little when i have time. that’s all.”

she squinted at him, clearly unconvinced. “you’re being suspiciously vague.”

“maybe because there’s nothing more to say,” he countered, raising an eyebrow at her.

“oh, there’s definitely more to say,” she retorted, leaning closer as if trying to read his expression better. “do you write songs? or are you just playing covers? be honest—are you secretly a rockstar?”

he rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “definitely not a rockstar. and no, i’m not writing songs. i barely know enough to play properly as it is.”

“barely know enough?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “you strike me as the type who’d quietly get really good at something and then pretend you’re just ‘okay’ at it.”

he let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “i’m really not that good. i’m just learning the basics. chords, strumming patterns, that kind of stuff.”

“that’s still cool,” she said earnestly, her face softening. “everyone starts somewhere. are you teaching yourself?”

“yeah,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “i found an old guitar in the storage room at home and thought i’d give it a try. it’s.. relaxing.”

she smiled at that, leaning back against the bench. “music is good for that. it’s like.. this little world you can escape to, you know?”

“music is.. kind of magic, don’t you think?” she said, her voice tinged with awe. “like, it’s not just sounds. it’s emotion. it’s stories. it’s—” she paused, searching for the right word, “—connection. you can listen to a song in a language you don’t even understand, and still feel it. isn’t that amazing? like, how can a few notes and some words make you feel like that?”

she tilted her head back, staring up at the sky as she continued, her voice softening but growing no less passionate. “and it’s not just the big, dramatic moments, either. it’s the little ones, like how a single chord can make your chest ache, or how a melody can take you back to a memory you thought you’d forgotten. it’s so… alive. like it has this way of pulling you in, making you feel something you didn’t even know you were missing.”

he had just been listening, watching her as she spoke, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“and it’s so personal,” she said, her voice quieter now. “everyone has their own song, you know? something that feels like it’s just for them, like it knows them in a way no one else does. that’s what i love about it. music isn’t just one thing. it’s so many things, all at once. it’s chaos and comfort and beauty and sadness. it’s… everything.”

she exhaled, a small, almost sheepish smile crossing her face as she looked at him. “sorry, i’m rambling. i just—when i think about it, i can’t help it. it’s like… music’s the closest thing we have to magic.”

he glanced at her, surprised by how sincere she sounded. it was quiet for a moment, until he spoke. “do you?”

“hm?” that had gotten her attention, though the air felt slightly thicker now.

“i mean, you said earlier that you can't multitask. despite how hard i find it to believe- what i meant to ask was if you sang.. or tried playing after that or not.”

the girl only shifted her gaze and paused for a bit, exhaling as she smiled briefly again, “i did, try to play the guitar, in middle school. but i just kinda gave up after that,” she chuckled awkwardly. “and as for singing? i just hum here and there, but nothing professional or serious.”

“the way you talk about it says otherwise.”

“how do i talk about it?”

he tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her shift slightly in her seat. then, he smiled, soft and a little disbelieving, as if he couldn’t quite figure her out.

“you talk about it like it’s your whole world,” he started, his voice quieter, almost reflective. “like, when you mentioned music, your tone changed. it’s.. different. it’s not just words with you — it’s like your entire energy shifts. you sound so.. alive. like you’re describing something that’s a part of you, something you feel in your bones.”

he paused, glancing down at his hands as if he were trying to piece the rest together. “it’s in the way you look when you talk about it, too. you get this light in your eyes, like you’re remembering something important. like you’re somewhere else entirely—like music isn’t just something you like. it’s something you need. like it’s this space where nothing else matters, you know? like it’s a place that’s just yours.”

she blinked, caught off guard by the weight of his words. he ran a hand through his hair, clearing his throat as though realizing how much he’d said. but then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he continued, his gaze locking onto hers again.

his words hung in the air, heavy and quiet, as if they were something fragile. “am i wrong?” he asked finally, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced that he could be.

“for a baseball guy you're quite the poet.”

“that's not an answer.”

“i didn't mean to answer.”

“well?”

“well what?”

“am i?”

“you're not wrong. but music is just something.. i adore. like everyone else! that's all that there is to it.” she pursed her lips, getting up with the wooden bowl that was once full of japchae, to walk to the stall again and hand it to the man with a smile. seungmin followed shortly after, feeling slightly curious but he shook it off.

“seungmin!” she called out. “come on!”

then they were on the street again. she walked slightly ahead, her steps light and playful, occasionally skipping over cracks in the sidewalk. seungmin followed at a slower, more measured pace, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

“so,” she said, turning her head slightly to glance at him with a bright smile. “since we’re walking and have time, i think we should play twenty questions.”

he raised an eyebrow. “that’s a dangerous game.”

“not if you answer honestly,” she replied with a shrug, her grin widening. “come on, it’ll be fun. i’ll start. what’s your favorite color?”

he paused, thinking. “blue, i guess.”

“safe choice,” she teased. “very original.”

he rolled his eyes. “alright, my turn. why are you always so upbeat?”

“hey, that’s not a yes-or-no question!” she protested, narrowing her eyes playfully.

“neither is ‘what’s your favorite color,’” he pointed out, smirking.

she huffed, crossing her arms as she walked. “fine. i guess i’m just naturally optimistic? or maybe i just don’t see the point in being gloomy all the time. life’s too short to be grumpy.”

“are you calling me grumpy?” he asked, his tone mock-offended.

“well, you are kind of the poster child for ‘brooding baseball guy,’” she quipped, flashing him a cheeky smile.

he let out a short laugh. “i’m not brooding.”

“sure you’re not,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “alright, your turn again.”

he glanced at her, his curiosity piqued. “what made you want to work at the library?”

she tilted her head, thinking. “well, i’ve always loved books. and libraries are… peaceful, you know? there’s something magical about being surrounded by so many stories. plus, it’s a good excuse to read a lot while getting paid for it.”

“that makes sense,” he said, nodding. “what’s your favorite book, then?”

“oh, that’s impossible to answer!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up dramatically. “there are too many. but if i had to pick.. maybe white nights. classic, romantic, sad. it’s got everything.”

“romantic, hm?” he teased, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

she shot him a look. “don’t make fun of me! it’s a great book.”

“i’m not making fun,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “i just didn’t take you for a romantic. or someone who liked reading sad love stories.”

“well you'll be surprised,” she said. “i like reading everything. it's art. whether sad, or happy, or anything else.”

he noticed the shift in her tone and decided not to press further. instead, he changed the subject. “alright, my turn again. what’s something most people don’t know about you?”

she thought for a moment, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. “i have a terrible sense of direction. like, really bad. if i didn’t have my phone, i’d probably get lost on my way home.”

he snorted. “good to know. i’ll make sure to never follow you if we’re lost.”

“rude,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him. “my turn. same question. what’s something most people don’t know about you?”

he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. “well, most people don’t know that i’ve always wanted a pet, like a dog. a big one. like, a golden retriever or something.” he chuckled softly at the thought. “my friends say i resemble a dog. but can't put up with one. i guess it’s kind of random, but i don’t know. i’ve always imagined having a dog, like, after i’m out of school, you know? just someone to come home to, someone who’s always excited to see me.”

he paused, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips. “but i never really had the chance to get one, with school and everything. plus, i’m always busy with baseball or music, and i feel like i’d end up neglecting it. so… it’s one of those things that kind of stayed on the back burner.”

she had been watching him intently, her gaze fixed on him for a moment longer than usual. he didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in his own thoughts.

“hmm,” she said, breaking the silence with a light laugh. “you’d be a good pup owner, i think. you seem like the type.”

he raised an eyebrow at her, the mischievous grin returning. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

she just shrugged, her lips curling into a smile. “nothing, just.. you’ve got this calm about you. i don’t know. you’d probably spoil it.”

his grin widened, but he didn’t reply right away. instead, he sat back and looked up at the sky, clearly lost in his own thoughts for a moment.

“i see it though.”

he raises an eyebrow.

“the resemblance of you, physically, and in another way, to a dog.” she spoke, her gaze tracing his features. “you might seem mysterious to a stranger, and me, sadly, but i get a feeling you're really happy and playful around people you're close with.”

“and as for physically, when you walk like this, your hair jumps and it actually looks like puppy ears. overall your face, especially with that wide smile that you try to avoid in front of me,” she laughed, “makes you seem more like a dog. playful. familiar. friendly.. and comforting.”

he stared at her, stunned into silence for a moment. her words had caught him completely off guard, and he wasn’t sure how to respond. finally, he let out a laugh—soft, genuine, and a little disbelieving.

“well, that’s… definitely not what i expected to hear today,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks. “i don’t know if i should be offended or flattered.”

“flattered,” she replied without missing a beat, a playful glint in her eyes. “dogs are great!”

“i can’t believe you just compared me to a dog. you’re really out here calling me mysterious and playful in the same sentence.”

“it’s true, though,” she insisted, crossing her arms with a smug grin. “i’m pretty good at reading people.”

“clearly,” he said, his tone teasing, though there was a warmth in his gaze as he looked at her. then, after a pause, he added, “you know, no one’s ever said anything like that about me before. it’s.. weirdly nice to hear.”

she tilted her head, her smile softening. “you’re welcome.”

he chuckled again, shaking his head. “alright, since you’re so good at reading people, what does that make you?”

her eyes lit up at the challenge, but she hesitated for a moment, her expression growing thoughtful. “hmm.. i guess you’ll just have to figure that out for yourself,” she said with a sly smile, leaving him to wonder as she walked further and quicker, the conversation still lingering between them.

they walked in comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly. the quiet of the town felt almost intimate, like they were the only two people in the world.

“where are we going?” he finally asked, watching as she spun around to face him briefly, walking backward with an impish grin.

“you’ll see,” she replied, her voice sing-song. “it’s a surprise.”

“i don’t like surprises,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“well, you’ll like this one,” she countered, skipping ahead. “trust me.”

the library loomed ahead, its lights dimmed, the glass doors reflecting the moonlight. seungmin frowned. “wait. isn’t the library closed?”

“of course, it is,” she said casually, fishing a key out of her pocket. “but i work here, remember?”

“that doesn’t sound very legal, miss librarian.”

she laughed softly, “relax, mr. rule follower. felix closed up about half an hour ago, and i have permission to be here after hours. perks of the job.”

“okay,” she said, breaking the silence. “last question before we get there. what’s your happiest memory?”

he looked at her, caught off guard by the question. “happiest memory? that’s a tough one.”

“well, think about it,” she urged, her voice soft but insistent. “it doesn’t have to be big. just something that made you really happy.”

he thought for a moment, his gaze distant. “probably my first baseball game as a kid. my dad and grandpa took me. i remember the crowd, the excitement, the smell of popcorn. it was perfect.”

she smiled warmly. “that sounds amazing. thanks for sharing.”

he glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “what about you? what’s your happiest memory?”

she paused, her steps slowing. “probably… baking cookies with my mom when i was little. she’d let me lick the spoon, and we’d make such a mess, but it was always so much fun.”

her voice had taken on a wistful tone, and he found himself studying her face, the way her eyes softened with the memory.

“you’re really close to your mom, huh?” he asked gently.

“yeah,” she said softly, her smile bittersweet, as she didn't say more.

before he could say anything else, she stopped abruptly and turned to him with a grin. “we’re here.”

he looked up, realizing they had arrived at the library. the sight of it felt almost surreal in the quiet of the night.

“come on,” she said, pulling out her key and unlocking the door. “i’ve got something to show you.”

he followed her inside, the familiar scent of books and polished wood enveloping them. the quiet was even deeper now, the kind of silence that felt sacred. she flipped on a small desk lamp near the entrance, its warm glow casting long shadows across the shelves.

“you said you write and like literature, right? so what made you start writing in the first place?” seungmin asks her.

she paused mid-step as they walked through the library aisle, the soft glow of her phone flashlight illuminating the dust particles that floated lazily in the air. she turned her head to glance at seungmin, her expression thoughtful, as if the question had unlocked a memory she hadn’t revisited in a while.

“wow,” she said, breaking into a small smile, “that’s a deep question. you’re really pulling out the big guns tonight.”

seungmin leaned casually against the nearest bookshelf, crossing his arms with a faint smirk. “what can i say? i’m curious. you seem like the type who’d have a good story behind it.”

“flattery will get you nowhere,” she teased, sticking her tongue out at him. but then her expression softened as she considered his question more seriously. “i guess… it all started when i was little. mum loved stories. she’d always read to me before bed—fairy tales, myths, even poems sometimes. and she’d make up her own stories too, ones that no one else could tell like she did.”

seungmin nodded, his gaze steady on her as she spoke. he didn’t interrupt, sensing there was more to this than just bedtime stories.

“she had this way of making the ordinary feel magical,” she continued, her voice quieter now, as if she were speaking more to herself than to him. “when i was about seven, i remember her telling me that everyone has a story worth sharing. that stuck with me. writing became my way of… i don’t know, capturing moments, feelings, the things i was afraid i’d forget.”

there was a brief silence, the kind that felt heavy but not uncomfortable. seungmin tilted his head slightly, his voice softer than usual. “and you still feel that way. that everyone has a story.”

she turned to him fully, her lips curving into a small, sincere smile. “yeah, i do. even if someone thinks their life is boring or unimportant, there’s always something unique about how they see the world. i think that’s worth writing down.”

his expression shifted slightly, his usual neutral demeanor replaced with something warmer, more introspective. “that’s… a nice way to look at it.”

she chuckled lightly, breaking the intensity of the moment. “you sound surprised.”

“i’m not,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “it just makes sense. it sounds like you.”

she blinked, taken aback for a second, before a faint flush crept up her cheeks. “well, thanks, i guess. so, mr. musician slash baseball guy, your turn. what made you pick up the guitar?” she said, still walking around the dark library, slowly, as he followed behind.

seungmin shifted his weight, suddenly looking a little sheepish. “honestly? i think it started because i wanted to impress someone.”

she raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “oh? do tell.”

he let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “it’s not that exciting. back in middle school, i had this.. huge crush on someone. she played piano, and i thought maybe if i learned guitar, we could do some duet thing.”

she burst into laughter, the sound light and infectious. “that’s so cute! did it work?”

“not at all,” he admitted, his own laugh mingling with hers. “i was terrible back then. and she moved schools before i even got the courage to play in front of her.”

she grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “well, at least you stuck with it. now you’re here, a brooding baseball player with a secret musical side. very intriguing.”

“brooding again?” he teased, narrowing his eyes at her playfully.

“hey, it’s your aesthetic,” she said with a mock-serious shrug. “don’t fight it.”

they both laughed, the sound echoing softly through the quiet library. after a moment, she nudged his arm. “but seriously, i think it’s cool that you play. even if you started for, uh, questionable reasons.”

“questionable?” he repeated, pretending to be offended.

“okay, fine, romantic reasons,” she corrected, grinning. “but you must’ve kept playing for more than just that, right?”

he hesitated, looking down at the worn wooden floor beneath them. “yeah. after a while, it stopped being about anyone else. i started to enjoy it for what it was. there’s something calming about it, you know? like it’s just you and the music.”

her smile softened, her voice gentle. “i get that. music has a way of making everything else disappear, even if it’s just for a little while.”

her back and his chest collided suddenly, when she paused her footsteps to look around. their eyes met briefly, and for a moment, the space between them felt charged with an unspoken understanding. then she cleared her throat, breaking the moment with a grin. “alright, enough with the deep talk. we’re here.”

she gestured to a row of shelves, her excitement bubbling up again. seungmin watched as she reached up, pulling down a few old, dusty books and placing them on a nearby table, after turning the lights on.

“these,” she said, running her fingers over the faded covers, “belonged to my mom. she loved music almost as much as she loved literature.”

he approached the table, his curiosity evident as he looked at the books. “why are you showing me this?”

“because,” she said, her tone soft but earnest, “you’re still learning, right? these might help. and i don’t know, it just felt right to share them with you.”

seungmin glanced at her, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “bold of you to assume i'm gonna take something that belongs to someone who has more passion for music than i do.”

“bold of you to assume i'm letting you leave without it.”

she smiled, softly. “these books, seungmin, helped her a lot. now, it's no use to her because she's learnt all from them. so, giving this to you seems as the best option, especially when compared to letting them catch dust in these shelves.”

seungmin picked up one of the books, flipping through the yellowed pages. the notes in the margins and the slight creases on the edges gave it a sense of history. he hesitated, then glanced back at her. “you know, you make it sound like this is some kind of inheritance or something. like i’m supposed to treat this like a family heirloom.”

she chuckled lightly. “well, maybe it is, in a way. but if anyone’s going to appreciate it, i figured it’d be you.”

he tilted his head, giving her a curious look. “why me? there are probably a hundred other people who’d jump at the chance to take something like this. people who might actually deserve it.”

her gaze softened as she met his eyes. “because you care,” she said simply. “even if you try to hide it, i can see it. music means something to you. and i think that’s enough of a reason.”

he looked at her for a moment, the words sinking in. then, with a small smirk, he set the book back on the table. “you’re really good at guilt-tripping, you know that?”

“it’s not guilt-tripping!” she said, crossing her arms with a playful smile. “it’s… persuasion.”

seungmin let out a breath, shaking his head in amusement. “fine. but only if you let me return them when i’m done. deal?”

“deal,” she said, her smile widening. “but i don’t think you’ll want to give them back. just saying.”

he laughed, picking up the book again and tucking it under his arm. “you really don’t let people argue with you, do you?”

“not when i know i’m right,” she quipped, earning a small shake of his head and a smile as he started for the door.

“hey,” he softly reached out, “thank you.”

she turned to him, her grin returning. “you’re welcome. but you owe me now.”

he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “what do i owe you?”

“hmmm,” she pretended to think. “how about.. a song? once you learn something new from these books, you have to play it for me.”

his lips quirked up in a small, reluctant smile. “deal.”

seungmin carried the stack of books they’d borrowed from the library, his expression as neutral as ever, but there was an unmistakable warmth to his presence. she walked beside him, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, her usual smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“thanks for helping me with the books,” she said, glancing sideways at him.

“no problem,” he replied casually. then, after a beat, he smirked. “i mean, it’s only fair since you’re sharing your mom’s secret stash with me.”

she chuckled, bumping her shoulder lightly against his. “it’s not really a ‘secret stash.’ it’s just stuff that mattered to her. stuff that matters to me.”

he looked at her, his gaze softer now. “that’s what makes it important.”

her steps faltered slightly, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. she recovered quickly, brushing it off with a small laugh. “look at you, mr. philosophical. spending time with me is really rubbing off on you, huh?”

“i think i deserve some credit,” he teased. “i was already pretty deep before.”

“sure,” she said with exaggerated skepticism. “if by ‘deep,’ you mean good at dodging questions about yourself.”

“i answer questions,” he defended, raising an eyebrow at her.

“uh-huh,” she shot back, grinning. “vague answers don’t count.”

their banter was interrupted by the sound of excited chatter. up ahead, near an open lot, a group of kids and a few elderly folks were gathered, their laughter mingling with the occasional crackle of fireworks. sparklers lit up the night, little bursts of light spinning in the hands of children as they ran around, their faces glowing with pure joy.

she slowed her pace, her eyes lighting up as she took in the scene. “oh, that looks so fun.”

“really?” seungmin asked, raising an eyebrow as he followed her gaze. “it’s just sparklers.”

“just sparklers?” she echoed, feigning offense. “excuse me, but sparklers are the most magical thing ever. you clearly don’t understand their charm.”

before he could respond, one of the kids noticed them and waved enthusiastically. “noona! hyung! do you want to play with us?”

her face broke into a wide grin. “of course! seungmin, come on!”

he hesitated, looking a little awkward. “i don’t think—”

“don’t think, just come,” she interrupted, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward the group. he stumbled slightly but didn’t resist, letting her drag him along.

the kids and elders greeted them warmly, handing them sparklers and showing them where to place their books and bags safely away from the fireworks. y/n immediately lit her sparkler, holding it up and twirling it around with a delighted laugh.

“see?” she said, looking over at seungmin. “magic.”

he couldn’t help but smile at her, even as he reluctantly lit his own sparkler. “if you say so.”

“come on, you have to at least try to have fun,” she teased, stepping closer to him. “look, like this.” she moved her arm in a sweeping motion, drawing a glowing pattern in the air with her sparkler. “isn’t it pretty?”

he watched her, his sparkler momentarily forgotten in his hand. the orange-golden light reflected in her eyes, her face alight with joy. she looked so completely in her element, like the world around her had faded away, and she was just… glowing.

“you’re staring,” one of the elders said suddenly, catching him off guard. his tone was teasing, and his cheeks flushed as he was caught.

“a-ah sorry. i wasn’t,” he lied, quickly focusing on his sparkler. “i was just lost.. in thought!”

“you seem to have feelings for her, don't you?” the ahjussi asked.

“we're just friends.”

“that's what they all say, kid,” the ahjussi laughed, “and that's what i said when i met her, too.” he pointed towards a lady of the same age as him. “she was, is, and always will be everything to me.”

seungmin only glanced between them, gaze softening, and the moment being interrupted by y/n's voice.

“seungmin!” she called, giggling with the kids, “look! we fused all the colors of all the sparklers together and it made a rainbow!”

seungmin could only stare at her with a smile.

“good luck, kid.”

one of the kids ran up to them, holding out a small box of colorful sparklers. “noona, hyung! these ones make a big circle when you spin them really fast!”

y/n took one eagerly, thanking the child before lighting it and spinning it around. she let out a delighted laugh as it created a bright, shimmering circle in the air. “seungmin, try it!”

he took one reluctantly, lighting it and attempting the same motion. his first try was clumsy, earning a giggle from her.

“okay, that was terrible,” she said, stepping closer. “here, let me show you.”

before he could protest, she reached out, her hand brushing against his as she guided his arm. “like this,” she said, her voice softer now. the proximity between them suddenly felt charged, the air around them growing quieter despite the noise of the sparklers and laughter.

he followed her lead, their hands moving together in a smooth arc. the sparkler drew a perfect circle in the air, its light casting a warm glow over their faces.

“there,” she said, her smile bright and triumphant. “much better.”

“thanks to you,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

their eyes met for a moment, the sparkler’s glow reflecting in both their gazes. it was one of those moments where time seemed to slow, the world around them fading into the background.

then, one of the kids yelled, “noona, hyung! look at this!” breaking the spell. she stepped back, laughing nervously as she turned to watch the child show off their new sparkler trick.

seungmin exhaled softly, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched her. even in the chaos of sparklers and children’s laughter, she was like a beacon of light, drawing everyone—and him—toward her.

as the night wore on, they stayed with the group, laughing, playing, and creating memories under the starry sky. and though neither of them said it out loud, they both knew this evening would stay with them for a long, long time.

and maybe, just maybe, something shifted in the quiet corners of both their hearts that night.

taglists ୨୧ (mt) @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @woozarts (st) @vixensss @miyeonna

!! please let me know under this chapter post, or this one, if i forgot you in the taglist, my inactivity made me lose track, i'm really sorry !!

[redisaid]

In Dreams 1 of ???

It's never just coffee

Not me starting another Sylvaina project in the cursed year of 2025.

Feel free to guess at what's actually going on here.

NSFW

4024 Words

Read it on Ao3!

Mm, in dreams, I have lain in sin, just to be the cracked and cared for.

“You’re here again?”

The question--almost an accusation, really--caused Jaina’s eyes to focus again, drawing away from the blur of cold darkness and warm lamplight outside the window and toward the familiar voice that spoke it.

Vereesa was here. Of course she was.

“I wanted coffee,” Jaina protested, shaking her nearly empty to-go cup at her friend. The one she’d never actually gone anywhere with, as she was still very much sitting in the same cafe it had come from.'

The very window she’d been looking out of was emblazoned with the same logo as the cup, a cute cartoonish hawkstrider, running away from the words Windrunner Cafe. Running, perhaps, as Jaina should have.

Vereesa was standing by the door, shaking the rain off of her umbrella, the words of her own last name shadowed onto her by the streetlights outside like an unwanted tattoo. She set down her umbrella near Jaina’s vigil, still dripping onto the wooden floor. Her eyes darted, specifically to the counter, then avoiding the woman who stood behind it.

And as for Sylvanas, she was kind enough to all involved to pretend she didn’t see her sister enter her place of business, though Jaina knew that she certainly had noticed.

“It’s never just coffee,” Vereesa muttered as she took a seat on the leather sofa next to Jaina.

Denying that was futile. Vereesa was right. Jaina wasn’t here for coffee. She ignored the comment.

Instead she asked, “Do you still like a macchiato? I was going to get a refill.”

“I don’t want anything,” Vereesa sighed. She seemed to sink deeply into the leather like it was the first time she’d been able to sit down all day. Yet Jaina could sense she was still deeply uncomfortable--her posture stiff and rigid to the bone, unable to relax.

She didn’t blame her. Vereesa almost never spoke to her sister in her own coffee shop when she visited. She always seemed deeply disappointed to find Jaina there, and that seemed to be the sole purpose of those visits--being disappointed. But Jaina was an adult. She could make her own decisions about whether she wanted to frequent her ex’s cafe, even if her best friend and the sister of said ex wasn’t thrilled about it.

Vereesa sat upright from the leather sinkhole she was falling into and blinked against the warm light of the cafe. “I just want you to think hard about all of this, Jaina,” she told her. “Does it seem right to you?”

“Right is a complicated term,” Jaina replied. “Something I think we can both understand.”

“Look around you,” Vereesa implored, sitting up straighter and looking around the cafe herself.

Jaina followed suit. It was no different than it always was. The atmosphere had always been calm and inviting. White walls were covered with murals and hanging art to the point where one hardly knew they were white anymore. Wooden floors were covered with plush rugs by the lounge seating, their finish polished to a dull shine by the tables and the counter. Soft leather couches dominated one side of the cafe, accompanied by patterned fabric armchairs, while the other half was rife with tall bar tables that couples lingered around on late evening coffee dates. And of course the warm smell of that coffee, the richness of it that made the air seem heavy, but in a pleasant way. Like a thick blanket protecting soft skin from the cold.

And Sylvanas, patiently waiting, ignoring them on purpose. She was busy making a drink for a weary-looking student in Kirin Tor purple and gold. The same colors that Jaina had worn when she’d wandered in here the first time, still a student herself.

“I don’t see anything different,” Jaina told her. She no longer wore purple and gold on the daily. Today, it was a sweater the color of cream, much the same as most of her hair. Only a small streak of gold remained to that too.

“That’s the problem,” Vereesa said. She folded in on herself, hunching forward, elbows on her knees. “It’s always the same with you.”

Jaina could only guess at what she really meant, but she didn’t have to guess much. Vereesa likely knew she wasn’t here because she wanted coffee. Well, Sylvanas did still make it like no one else in Dalaran, but Jaina could be honest with herself. That wasn’t the reason. Not this late at night, anyway.

“I don’t have to justify myself to you,” Jaina told her. “And I don’t think you want me to.”

“I don’t get it,” was all Vereesa had to say to that. She ducked her head down and rubbed at her neck. “You have so much else going on. You’re so smart. This isn’t you.”

Smart didn’t mean Jaina avoided her ex. It didn’t mean that she wasn’t constantly drawn to the coffee scent of her--how it lingered in her platinum blonde hair, or the taste of it on her wicked tongue. They did not work. That had been obvious from the start, but they tried to defy it for years. Too long. Enough that it hurt them both and everyone around them, including Vereesa.

Still, Jaina came here now and then. For coffee, but not for coffee.

“What if it is me?” was a question for herself as much as it was for Vereesa.

Vereesa looked up again, this time pointedly at the counter, as if daring her sister to look back to answer for that. But Sylvanas was busy. She was always busy when Vereesa was here. She was counting change, or grinding beans, or washing dishes, or dealing with a delivery. Always something.

“I have to go. I don’t know how to fix this, how to fix you. I don’t know how I can help anymore,” Vereesa said.

She stood quickly, purposefully, and with such disruption to the slow, quiet richness of the cafe that Jaina didn’t feel she could even catch her. And why should she try? Just to be chastised?

Either way, it wasn’t going to stop the inevitable pull of what brought her here. She and Sylvanas had a gravity to them. They were two objects, orbiting one another slowly until those orbits would eventually decay into one another. They would always crash into each other, part ways just as violently, only to return to those inescapable ellipticals again.

Jaina would have moved on if she could have. She was sure Sylvanas felt the same. If anyone else could make her coffee like this. If anyone else could pull her in so deeply.

But no one else could.

While lost in those thoughts, she missed Vereesa leaving. The only evidence of her ever being there at all was a still dripping umbrella, abandoned and forgotten. Jaina picked it up, leaning it against the low table in front of the couch. Maybe she’d come back for it. Maybe not. What did it matter?

It was getting late anyway.

Jaina didn’t get her refill. Sylvanas was still busy, or pretending to be. She was a good actor, so it was hard to tell. But act or not, she’d keep it up until closing time. That, at least, they could be responsible about. That, at least, Jaina could rely on her for.

People began to slowly filter out of the shop. Those lingering coffee dates lingered on a while longer, one couple even staying a few minutes past nine. They seemed to forget the world around them existed, or that it had rules they needed to follow, places they could and should not be.

Jaina understood what it was like to forget such things, or at least to want to. She waited, reading a book on portal theory she’d brought along, swishing the last bit of coffee in her cup around, and pretending that she was one to judge.

Last to leave, as always, even later than the couple, was that odd regular. The elven woman with her gaudy, jeweled fish purse. She’d always stare Jaina down, as if knowing she was waiting for her, and then smile. It was a polite smile, but odd. Unnerving. Strange.

Strange as the fact that she’d always order a pastry of some kind and leave it untouched. No coffee either.

Today, it was a slice of almond cake, still pristine on the little white dish it had been served to her on. The silver fork was untouched, balanced across the top of the plate from rim to rim, just as Sylvanas would have placed it.

Jaina made herself useful and picked up the uneaten cake, bringing it to the counter.

“She never even touches it,” she noted as she placed it down in front of Sylvanas.

The signal was given. The act was dropped. Sylvanas seemed to come into herself, taking shape behind the elf in the apron and button up shirt beneath it, her sleeves rolled her elbows. A life sparked in her now that she and Jaina were alone. It started, as it had the first time, with a smirk.

Followed by, “She never does.”

Sylvanas’ voice was distinctly more accented than her sister’s. Elven and haughty sounding, her actions were anything but that.

Sylvanas took the plate from Jaina, discarding the cake in a garbage bin, then tossing the dish and fork into a soapy sink.

“So, here we are again,” Sylvanas noted as she came back over to the counter, leaning on the padding of gathered sleeves at her elbows, chin coming to rest in one hand.

Still with that smirk.

“I can go,” Jaina offered. “If you’d rather we not be here again.”

“That’s up to you,” Sylvanas told her. She fished into the pocket of her apron and handed Jaina a set of keys.

A carved wooden hawkstrider matching the shop’s logo dangled from the end of the keychain. It was always Jaina’s choice: lock up for her, with herself inside, or leave.

Jaina took the keys. She locked the front door, not even fumbling to catch the tricky deadbolt. They were old friends. She knew what to do.

She never just left.

Jaina handed the keys back to Sylvanas, who had finally come out from the protection the counter offered her against the world to turn off the lights.

Now it was only them, decisions made.

The last of the lights flicked off. “I guess I’ll finish cleaning tomorrow,” Sylvanas announced.

“I guess you will.”

It was like a dance. An old routine of steps their bodies knew so well that no one had to say anything. No hands were offered to guide. No excuses were made.

Jaina just followed Sylvanas to the back room. Amidst walls lined with shelves, boxes of napkins and wooden stirrers on the floor, spare aprons hung on hooks, there was room enough for a couch and a desk. The couch used to be out front, before a customer had ripped a hole in one of the cushions somehow. It had been hastily patched, then moved here years ago.

But now it served to catch them when they fell.

Jaina’s lips were on Sylvanas already, drinking in the coffee scent that clung to her skin, like she was the frothed cream that hid decadence and the promises of future energy below. Jaina--ever the caffeine addict--was here for her fix. And what a fix it was.

Strong arms held her to an apron that hadn’t yet had the opportunity to come off, but those same arms still somehow had the time to brace their inevitable fall into the couch. Warmth radiated from her, indulgent and calming. Pale blonde eyelashes tickled against Jaina’s skin as Sylvanas returned her kiss, then swiftly moved for her neck.

She knew what to do. Jaina didn’t have to tell her. She didn’t have to guide. She didn’t have to do anything but feel.

Maybe that was the appeal of it. Maybe that was what kept her coming back. Not the coffee. Not the tinge of shame that blossomed in her belly, but spread into a deep warmth and was so soon forgotten.

No, it was nice to be fucked by someone who knew how to fuck her as easily as if it were breathing.

Teeth grazed her skin, elven fangs only hinting at what they were capable of. For Jaina, the reminder was enough, and Sylvanas knew that well. She didn’t need to be bitten, only to know that she could be.

Communicating that to anyone else in this world seemed so exhausting, so wholly unnecessary. Why would she bother, when she could get it with the best cup of coffee in town?

Sylvanas knew her body like she knew her favorite drink. Hot hands were the espresso, warming and exciting each bit of skin they explored, like liquid as they lifted clothing up and out of the way. Steamed milk followed with gentle kisses along her jawline, over her clavicles and along the tops of her breasts, just brushing the lace of Jaina’s bra. The two mixed as clasps were freed from their hold on one another, and tongue and teeth and hands alike were free to ripple a pattern in the mug of Jaina’s chest. Swirls of pleasure and relief filled Jaina equally, as Sylvanas poured the flat white of her into the dusty couch in the back office.

“What do you want?” was whispered against her ear, with the length of an elven ear in turn pressing itself to Jaina’s cheek.

When Sylvanas asked this question, it wasn’t a draining experience. Jaina knew her words would be heeded, swiftly and expertly. With anyone else, the explanation was lengthy and didn’t yield the results she wanted, or that she desperately needed.

“Your mouth,” was all she had to say.

The couch was hardly enough space for this. The office wasn’t either. They needed a royal suite. A penthouse. A bed whose soft expanse was beyond ridiculous.

But a couch in the back room was all they were getting. And Sylvanas knew how to make do.

In short order, Jaina’s sweater and the soft camisole she’d worn beneath were on the floor. Her bra joined the pile. She could only assume they were there, because her eyes were screwed shut now, not daring to interrupt feeling with sight. Sylvanas was pulling down her leggings and her panties with them, wasting no time.

How many times had they fucked on this couch? Jaina didn’t know. Perhaps she didn’t want to. It happened before they broke up, and many more times after. It all blurred together, honestly. Time and space and who and when and where and why. What did it matter?

Jaina knew what she wanted. She knew where she could feel alive again. It didn’t matter if she could be proud about it. It didn’t matter that it was all very messy. Life was messy. People were too.

Sylvanas even, with her stuttering breaths hot and wet against Jaina’s bare thigh, wasn’t perfect. If she was, Jaina would have married her. If she was, they wouldn’t be fucking in the back office of a coffee shop, hiding from the world.

Sylvanas’ tongue was messy too, but in all the right ways. The first brush of it made Jaina gasp. She always forgot how good this felt, the electric wave of energy that shot up her spine. And then there was the low groan that would inevitably follow when Sylvanas chuckled softly at her own prowess. The vibrations of that laugh reverberated through Jaina’s core like she was a hollow thing, an instrument ready to be strummed.

And Sylvanas could play her like no one else.

Shoulders still rough with apron straps braced themselves against the back of her thighs. Hands equal parts rough with dishwater and shiny smooth from steam burns found Jaina’s, lacing fingers between her own. They urged her away from tugging at patched leather, and placed their combined might upon bare thighs. Sylvanas stroked across them for both of them, establishing a rhythm she matched with lips and tongue.

Jaina was already drowning in her. The bold intensity of coffee, the soft silk of cream. The knowledge that she would be overwhelmed soon, all doubts banished into nothingness, swirling into liquid dark.

It didn’t take long. It wasn’t too short. It was just enough. Jaina was bucking against her, thighs squeezing ears perked high in arousal. Hands held her hands, pulling their bodies taut together where they connected, unwilling to let even an ounce of precious friction escape in this crucial moment.

It was almost too much, too good, too hot. Sylvanas threatened to burn her each time, scalding, but she never did. She let Jaina go, hands and mouth and skin alike. She let her breathe shallow, shuddering breaths in the inches between them.

Sylvanas knelt up, and wiped smirking lips on the back of her hand.

It felt like a lifetime ago, and Jaina couldn’t exactly recall when, but it was that smirk that had gotten her attention the first time. The light in those soft grey eyes. The quirking lip, playful, inviting, challenging. Too challenging sometimes when it wasn’t silenced like this.

Sylvanas was better this way, drinking Jaina in like she was something to savor, too decadent to swallow quickly. A white chocolate peppermint mocha. A perfectly foamy cappuccino.

But the one thing Jaina could do without was her ruining it, and that was always a service Sylvanas was willing to provide.

“You needed that, huh?” she asked, still smirking, her knees tangled with Jaina’s stripped off leggings.

“Shut up,” Jaina breathed, shooting to her own knees in a way that was probably not wise for the shakiness of them. Still, she managed. “It’s your turn.”

She covered Sylvanas’ lips with her own, pressing her back onto the other end of the couch. She covered the stained canvas of her apron with her bare flesh, still hot and flushed and tingling. Jaina wouldn’t abide by that for long, and found the ties of the cursed thing while her tongue kept Sylvanas’ from ruining this any further. She flung it to the side, not caring if it landed with the other aprons, on the desk, or tangled itself in the shelves.

Jaina skipped the button up entirely, only ghosting her hands across the pane of it. There would be time to strip Sylvanas bare later, and she didn’t need her to gloat over the flat and muscled plane of her abs right now. She needed her to come, and for it to be because Jaina made her.

She pulled the shirt loose from where it was tucked into tight trousers in one motion, and in the next, plunged her hand under the waistband.

Sylvanas was wet and hot and ready. She always liked to get Jaina off first, and that had been just fine. It was a treat to find just how much she’d enjoyed the act later on, the wet warmth of her an extra shot of espresso at the end of a long day.

Jaina sunk two fingers into it, finding little resistance and only a moan of encouragement coming from Sylvanas. A nip against her lip, a groan, a shudder, and finally an arching up and into her until Jaina added the friction of her thumb against where it was being asked for, but not yet begged for.

She rocked deep within Sylvanas, relishing in the fact that she could do exactly what Sylvanas did for her, to her. She could give her what she wanted without being asked. She could hold her steady just before the peak, as she liked. She could silence any more words that could possibly stand between them by turning them to keens and moans, breaths sucked in and held to heighten the feeling.

Sylvanas found her own whirlpool, gripping at Jaina’s bare back, holding her close as the deep dark of her held Jaina’s fingers within, neither letting go for several long moments. Her body was taut, letting out only a single shaking breath and a curse muffled into Jaina’s neck.

It was over too soon and yet it took too long. Jaina wanted to fuck her forever, but she couldn’t stand her. She loved her, but she wanted to love anything else.

It all felt like a dream, hazy and coffee-stained. It didn’t make sense, but then again, neither did she.

Neither did Sylvans, who only pushed Jaina off her to strip off her own shirt. She reached back for her again just as quickly, drawing skin to skin. She held her as they both liked to be held after sex, as they both knew the other did.

Sylvanas traced patterns on Jaina’s shoulders. She brushed white hair and its streak of gold from pale skin. She kissed a freckle or two. She lingered.

Jaina wanted her not to say anything. It was always too complicated when either of them said anything. But she knew that she would eventually open her mouth.

And Jaina was too tired now, too languid and swimming in silky blonde hair that smelled of sex and sweat and shampoo and coffee.

“I don’t understand it,” was what Sylvanas finally muttered to ruin things this time.

“What’s there to understand?” Jaina asked her.

It was starting to get cold as the flush of sex left her skin. Hot shame might have flooded her instead, long ago. Regret as a cold pit in her stomach was only a memory. No, this had been going on too long for either of those to come for her now.

But Sylvanas’ hand was still warm as it brushed across her back, nails softly scratching along with it.

“Why me?” she asked.

“There’s no one else. You know that,” Jaina told her. “I try and try, and no one else works. No one else understands what I need.”

“I don’t work,” Sylvanas told her. “You don’t even realize how much I don’t work.”

“I know you don’t. I don’t care.”

“So why me?”

They both knew the answer. Well, Jaina was sure she did, but, “you fuck me like no one else ever can and will,” would sound crass, too pointed and correct to be uttered.

“I like your coffee too much,” was what she answered instead.

Sylvanas laughed at that. Jaina always loved that laugh. Too bad she heard it more often than not when Sylvanas was laughing at her own terrible jokes. Her self-confidence had been sexy once. Now she found it grating.

Still, it was nice to have it rumble through her, and for the smirk that followed to press a kiss to her cheek.

Even if Sylvanas told her, “You don’t like my coffee. You don’t even like me. You must fucking hate me. That’s why I don’t get it.”

“So stop trying,” Jaina recommended. She rallied herself, sliding a hand between them to find Sylvanas’ breasts, nipples stiff from the cold of the office, or maybe from a desire for round two.

Well, Jaina could provide either a distraction or what was wanted but not yet asked for. Anything to stop her talking.

“I can’t stop trying,” Sylvanas told her.

She seemed to be trying to sit up and pull Jaina along with her.

Jaina resisted, pressing herself and Sylvanas beneath her into the couch, thumb and fingers pinching away the cold and the thought of anything else. Nails demanding attention to the right things--to what should and should not be.

But Sylvanas was strong. She was determined. She was going to ruin it anyway. She always did.

She sat up, her hands on Jaina’s waist guiding her up, demanding her to follow suit. Grey eyes peered into hers.

For a second, Jaina could swear they flashed red.

“We need you, Jaina. As much as I enjoy these visions of yours, and don’t understand them at all, we still need you. You need to wake up,” Sylvanas pleaded.

Ruined again, the vision swirled into nothing--an ink-dark and swallowing void.

[gloomglimmer]

𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓  𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃  𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒  .  .  .  (𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭  𝐨𝐟  𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐬  —  𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬  𝐨𝐟  𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞)         These  prompts  draw  from  the  emotional  depth  and  symbolism  of  the  Page,  Knight,  Queen,  and  King  of  Cups.         Each  prompt  captures  a  moment  where  the  sender  confesses  their  love  to  the  receiver.          →  ∗  ⁽  ¹  ⁾  Find  the  collection  of  tarot-based  scene  starters  here!

⁽  *  ⁾   𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄  𝐎𝐅  𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐒   →  soft  &  gentle

"I’ve  cared  for  you  far  longer  than  I  should  have,  but  I  couldn’t  hold  it  in  anymore.”

“Every  time  I  look  at  you,  it  feels  like  the  world  quiets  down.  And  if  that’s  not  love,  I  don’t  know  what  is.”

“I’ve  held  these  feelings  for  so  long,  afraid  of  what  might  happen  if  I  spoke  them.”

“I  would  do  it  all  for  us.”

“You  deserve  to  be  held  with  love  and  not  such  content.” 

“Please  do  not  treat  our  love  as  a  forbidden  fruit.”

⁽  *  ⁾   𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  𝐎𝐅  𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐒  →  protective  &  reassuring 

“This  is  for  you.  I’ve  crossed  lands,  braved  storms,  and  risked  everything  because  I  love  you.”

“I  have  risked  everything  and  it  was  all  worth  it.” 

“Do  you  think  I  regret  the  way  I  feel?  Because  I  don’t.  I  can’t.  Even  if  this  is  the  last  time  I  can  hold  you  like  this.”

“You  cannot  dare  say  you  are  blind  in  the  way  you  have  bewitched  me.” 

“I’m  not  asking  for  forgiveness.  I’m  simply  telling  you  that  no  one  has  ever  touched  me  like  you  do,  and  no  one  ever  will.  You’ve  bound  my  soul  to  yours,  willingly  or  not.”

“I  killed  for  you  and  I  dare  say  I  would  do  it  again.” 

“Our  love  is  by  our  own  undoing.” 

“Nothing  will  ever  happen  to  you.” 

⁽  *  ⁾   𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍  𝐎𝐅  𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐒  →  forbidden  &  passionate

“I  know  we  shouldn’t,  but  I  can’t  keep  pretending  that  I  don’t  want  this.  My  heart  has  been  yours,  even  if  I  had  to  hide  it  away.”

“There  are  things  in  this  world  I’m  willing  to  risk...  and  you  are  the  biggest  of  them.  I’ve  never  been  more  certain  of  anything  in  my  life.”

“Release  me  if  you  truly  do  not  love  me.”

“I  love  you  so  dearly  so”

“I  can’t  hide  it  anymore.  The  fire  I  feel  when  I’m  near  you,  the  longing  in  every  touch—it's  all  too  much,  but  it's  always  been  real.”

“Do  you  think  I  chose  this?  I  didn't.  But  here  I  am,  loving  you  in  the  way  that  feels  like  i'm  on  fire  and  yet,  I  can’t  seem  to  care.”

“I’ve  wanted  you  for  so  long,  even  when  I  knew  I  shouldn’t"

⁽  *  ⁾   𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐎𝐅  𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐒  →  passionate  &  soul  bounding

“My  soul  cannot  be  free  of  you.”

“Look  me  in  the  eyes  and  dare  tell  me  you  don't  love  me  back.”

“I’ve  spent  so  long  fighting  this,  pretending  I  could  live  without  you..”

“My  heart  doesn’t  belong  to  me  anymore.  It  belongs  to  you.”

“You  think  I’m  afraid  of  what’s  between  us,  but  I’m  not.  I’m  terrified  of  what  life  would  be  without  you.  I’ve  never  felt  more  alive,  more  connected,  more  me  than  when  I’m  with  you.”

“Love?  You're  not  the  love  of  my  life.  You  are  my  life.”

[queen-of-hawkins-why-ler]

When you bring up the lack of attraction that Mike demonstrates towards women, the Milkvans of reddit will say shit like, "Mike is Elsexual," "Mike chose El from the very beginning," "Mike loved El from the moment he saw her" etc. etc. and I just have to laugh bc even Mike himself says that this isn't true lmfao. "It wasn't fate. It wasn't destiny. It was simple dumb luck."

The difference between Mike's relationship with El and his relationship with Will is CHOICE. Mike chose alright, and he chose WILL and continues to choose Will again and again. What makes Mike and El's relationship special is that Mike didn't choose El. El showed up at his doorstep at a time when she was vulnerable and endangered, and Mike took her in and loved and accepted her unconditionally. Will, on the other hand, didn't stumble into Mike's life. From the very beginning, he was hand-picked: "So I asked. I asked if you wanted to be my friend. And you said yes. You said yes. It was the best thing I've ever done."

There has yet to be a time in the series when Mike chooses El over Will for more than a temporary amount of time. In s1, Mike cares for El, but his priority is always finding Will, even to the point at which he is willing to defame El and decimate his relationship with her when he believes her to be responsible for bad things happening to Will. In s2, Mike is always at Will's side, even sleeping next to him and constantly wanting to protect Will from the harm others are trying to cause him. In s3, Max says that Mike will "come crawling back" to El after the fight, but Mike actually ends up ignoring his conflict with El so that he can go apologize to and mend his relationship with Will. Similar thing happens in s4. He seems to "choose" El initially in Lenora, but he spends the rest of the season rekindling and nurturing his relationship with Will. Will Will Will. It's always been Will for him and it will always be Will.

Milkvans really have an easier time believing that Mike is a heterosexual boy who magically, whimsically, mysteriously is only attracted to one girl he met when he was twelve years old than that he MIGHT be not be 100% straight. It's bizarre bc what they're proposing would be so much more unusual than Mike just being queer. Like, us Bylers, we believe that Mike is in love with Will, but we don't deny Mike his sexuality and pretend that he's only ever been allowed to feel attraction for Will lmao. Take one look at that boy in s4 and it's so easy to tell that he is a gay disaster who likes putting posters of muscly men on his walls and watching men get sweaty and wrestle each other. That little shit is GAYYYYY as hell, in love with Will or not. But you expect me to believe that Mike is a HETEROSEXUAL boy who does not experience any feelings or attraction to any girl besides El??? Now THAT would be infinitely more of a stretch and more unusual than Mike just being gay or bi. Allo cisheterosexual men aren't exactly known for displaying a lack of attraction or horniness towards women. Even if El WERE the only person Mike ever experiences attraction towards, it would be a stretch atp to call Mike allo and cishet. He'd be ace-spec or demisexual and probably still roped into the queer umbrella lmao. But that's a narrative that the Milkvans are equally uncomfortable with bc they'd rather leap over the moon to conjecture that Mike, against all odds, logic, evidence, and reasoning, is an allo cisheterosexual man than admit that he is queer. Make it make sense.

But by all means, if y'all redditors want to push the ace-spec Mike agenda, please do so, I will support it. But something tells me that's not quite the case and that you'd rather live in this fantasy world where your perfectly good, perfectly allo cishet, perfectly conforming version of Mike Wheeler is exclusively, only attracted to El Hopper. In reality, Mike doesn't choose El and never did. He chooses and is demonstrably attracted to Will throughout the entire show.

[hazelira]

when love feels like goodbye

Jake’s flight was in the early morning, a time when everything felt too real. You stood at the airport gate, the weight of your unspoken words hanging heavily between you. There was no grand declaration of love, no desperate pleading. Just the soft hum of the world moving on without you.

“I’ll miss you, you know,” you said, keeping your voice light as you both tried to pretend this was just a temporary goodbye.

Jake smiled, but it was sadder than you remembered. “I’ll miss you, too.”

That was the last time you spoke before he left, the words unsaid choking in your throat. You’d tried to convince yourself that this wasn’t the end, that you would somehow make it work. But deep down, you knew that his dreams lay far beyond the borders of your small town, and you were just a chapter in his life—a chapter he would someday close.

And you did your best to move on, even as every corner of your life felt empty without Jake.

Years passed. Jake lived his life—studied abroad, traveled the world, made new friends. Meanwhile, you stayed behind, growing into someone else, someone you didn’t recognize. But you never stopped thinking about him. Never stopped missing the warmth of his presence, the way his hand fit so perfectly in yours.

When he came back, it was as if no time had passed at all.

But things had changed. You had changed.

You stood in the coffee shop, eyes locked on the man who was now standing right in front of you. But there was a ring on your finger. A promise you had made to someone else. Someone who wasn’t Jake.

“I can’t believe you’re back,” you said, your voice trembling.

Jake smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s been too long. I’ve missed this place.”

The silence between you was thick with things unsaid. Years of history that you both tried to ignore.

“You look different,” Jake said, his eyes tracing the changes in you—the maturity, the way you held yourself, the engagement ring on your finger.

“I’m not the same person I was when you left,” you answered softly, biting your lip to keep it from trembling.

And you weren’t. You had grown, had learned to live without him, to accept that maybe love wasn’t meant for you and Jake.

But Jake’s gaze never wavered. His heart, it seemed, hadn’t moved on.

That night, Jake found you sitting alone by the lake—just like old times, when you used to share secrets and dreams beneath the stars. Only this time, there was a wall between you, a ring on your finger, and the reality that you had moved on from him.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Jake confessed, his voice hoarse. “I’ve been trying to stay away, trying to convince myself that it was better this way. But every time I see you, I remember everything we had. And it’s killing me.”

You looked away, not able to meet his eyes. “Jake... I’m with someone else now. I’m getting married.”

“I know,” he said, his tone strained. “I’ve seen it. And I don’t have the right to ask for anything more. But I can’t help it. I can’t stop thinking about what we could’ve been.”

Your heart shattered at his words, the depth of his feelings almost more than you could bear.

“I’ve waited for you,” Jake continued, stepping closer. “I thought maybe I could let go, that I could move on. But I can’t. I don’t want to lose you forever. I thought if I kept my distance, it wouldn’t hurt this much. But I’m here now, and losing you is going to break me either way.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you whispered, “Jake, I’m not the same person I was. I thought I’d be okay, but I’m not. I don’t know how to choose between you and him.”

Jake’s eyes softened, his pain reflected in yours. “You don’t have to choose. I just... I needed you to know. You were always the one who made me feel like I was enough.”

The days that followed were a blur of emotions. You tried to pretend everything was normal, that you could carry on with your life as if Jake’s return hadn’t torn open old wounds you had spent years burying. But every moment with him felt like a reminder of what you could never have.

Jake didn’t push. He didn’t demand an answer. But the more time you spent together, the more you realized how deeply you had loved him, how that love had never truly gone away.

But you had already promised someone else your heart.

One evening, after a long day of pretending everything was fine, you found Jake sitting alone in the park, staring at the stars.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, your voice breaking. “I can’t love you the way you want me to.”

Jake’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed deeply. “I know. I’ve always known.”

“But you’re not the one I’m supposed to be with,” you said, as much to yourself as to him. “You’re the one who got away. The one I couldn’t forget. But the life we were supposed to have is already gone.”

“I understand,” Jake replied softly, his voice steady despite the hurt in his eyes. “I just wanted you to know how much I care. And that I’ll always care. Even if you’re not mine.”

And with that, you both stood in the silence of the night, the weight of love unspoken, of a love that couldn’t be. A love that would remain only in the shadows of your hearts.

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[beijodefrade]

Caryn goes to the kitchen to make coffee. In the way, Filbrick passes by her, stomping towards the pawn shop. His face is impasse as always, but his anger is evident on his loud steps.

Ahead, she sees Stanley. He looks awful. There's blood on his mouth from a split lip, blood on his nose that's looking slightly crooked, and his left eye is turning purple.

"Stanley! What happened to you?”

He gives his mother a small smile. It's hesitant, as if he's ashamed.

"Pissed off the wrong person at boxing practice. You know how I am.”

"Oh, sweetie, what did you do?”

He laughs it off. It's a rough sound, and her worry grows at the insincerity of it.

"Believe me, Ma, you don't wanna know.”

She disagrees, but doesn't push the subject. Instead, she frets.

"Let me fix you up.”

She takes him to the bathroom, where they keep the first aid kit. They'll need to buy a new one soon, it's contents almost all used up. Always on Stanley. He gets hurt a lot, ever since he was a little kid.

He has a a knack for getting into trouble. Sometimes he can't help himself, and takes things that don't belong to him. Most of the time, it's because he got into a fight.

He has a short temper (it runs in the family).

Caryn sees a small gash on her son's cheek. It makes her think whoever punched him was wearing a ring.

But at boxing, they wear gloves.

Maybe it was after practice.

As she looks at the gash, her hands starts to shake. When she cleans it, she knows it stings. Stanley doesn't flinch from the pain.

There isn't much she can do for the bruises, other than icing them. Taking a closer look at his nose, it might be broken.

Someone broke her little boy's nose. The tremor in her hands gets worse, because as she's looking at his face, there is no anger. He simply looks sad.

"We might have to go to the hospital... I think your nose is broken, dear.”

Instinctually to hearing an idea he doesn't like, Stanley wrinkles his nose. Then he forgets himself and hisses at the pain.

She hears the sound in her heart, and pets his hair. The affection, somehow, makes it easier for him to breathe. He hadn't noticed the strain of his lungs.

Suddenly, he feels small.

"Ma, do you..." he swallows, eyes glued to the floor. "You'll always love me, right?”

Caryn gasps.

"Of course!”

"Promise? Even if I never stop screwing things up?”

She uses her other hand to lift his head, her fingers under his chin. She needs him to see her face.

"Oh, pumpkin, nothing could ever make me stop loving you. I promise that'll never change.”

In this moment, he believes her. He smiles. She thinks about a hand and a ring.

Caryn sighs, feeling a little scared.

"Your Pa looked quite angry when I saw him... Right before I found you." she moves her hand from his chin, and puts it on the side if his face. The one without the gash. "I know he's harsh on you.”

He leans into her hand, comforted in her warmth. Even so, his eyes fill with tears. So do hers. Shiny eyes meet shiny eyes.

"C'mon, Ma..." his voice trembles a little, and they both pretend they don't notice. "You know Pa wouldn't go this far.”

A few tears escape her. His tears stay trapped. She nods, and kisses his forehead.

Caryn can't stop shaking for the rest of the day. She avoids looking at her husband's hands.

Stanley starts to get used to a heavy feeling inside his chest.

[insaeculaseaculorum]

We know Trina was fully aware that godhood would be a prison for Miquella.

The thing about prison is, you don't get what you want in there. You don't get to be who you want to be, or spend your life with your loved ones, or save anyone outside while you can barely save yourself. You don't get to avoid violence just because you have good intentions because violence is all around you and prison itself is part of a violent cycle that never breaks from within.

We know Trina was Miquella's other self, literally "half of the body". Surely Trina's knowledge used to be Miquella's knowledge too.

We know Trina thought Miquella must be killed and in fact instructed us to kill him. We know Miquella wanted to kill her too and in fact left her behind to bleed, wither and die, likely after having pushed her down a cliff.

When half of you and the other half took actions to kill each other, it's not murder. It's a suicide.

Many agreed the whole "no cost too great" mindset for ascension in the DLC felt very disconnected and disingenuous. Indeed Miquella showed no interest in becoming a god in the base game, since abandoning fundamentalism they have been more focused on materials - physical, tangible things rather than wrestling with concepts and philosophies. Instead of relying on their identity as an empyrean, they preferred using their own hands and knowledge to practice crafts as a sage and a scholar.

Then we were told what they thought of godhood via Trina. We followed their blood trail of literal total self destruction and reached the spot where they attempted suicide. We saw and heard them hold back a desperate cry when they said "I will become a god", alone in a memory space that's stripped of all colours.

Yet many still believed this was what Miquella wanted all along. I find that extremely unlikely.

Why abandon doubt and vacillation in the first place? If there weren't multiple alternatives to begin with, they wouldn't have had to abandon vacillation i.e. the inability to make a choice among two or more options.

We know for sure one of the options was to kill Mohg and use his body as a vessel to contain Radahn's soul to return as a god, which was what they eventually went with, although they didn't kill Mohg themselves.

It's very obvious that Miquella wouldn't want to go down this path. If you look at how they thought of Marika even after knowing about the Shamans:

(Count Ymir dialogue)

They despised her. It was unkind, given Shamans' history, but they were too angry to even pretend they had any compassion for her in front of Ymir.

Many people more or less sympathised with Marika after the DLC but even with the same knowledge Miquella's verdict was that Marika was simply wrong and insane, and she was the one to blame for everyone's pain that came after. This aspiring god of compassion, who sought to embrace all, couldn't embrace what their parents did. They resented her so much that they were determined to abandon everything they inherited from her, to give away every last strand of their flesh and bleed themselves dry, just to cut all ties with her, and her age of the Erdtree.

Even after the charm broke, the vengeful hornsent who was eager to kill all Erdtree denizens still fully acknowledged Miquella's redemption. This could not have simply been done by their charm.

Leda said to us:

A seduction and a betrayal. Hornsent grandam also spoke about being "betrayed" by Marika, who she referred to as a "wanton strumpet"; a low blow, at Marika's private history. Likely, Marika "seduced" a significant member of the Hornsents to gain protection, then forsook their soul and used their body as a vessel for her other partner, and it's therefore such a personal, despicable betrayal in Hornsent grandam's eyes. If it was irrelevant, she wouldn't have made such an emphasis on how Marika was sexually unrestrained.

Miquella clearly knew this. Whether they knew it was the only way to return as a god is another matter - I tend to believe Miquella only found the secret rite scroll later on - otherwise it wouldn't have been a secret rite (hidden in the corner of s secret library) for a sealed away tower hidden in the super secret shadow lands - and when they "spoke of the beginning", they only thought it was due to Marika's cruelty and insanity that she heartlessly used someone who fully trusted them for her ascension.

They condemned Marika so much that they tore their own body apart to show everyone their determination to never even come close to Marika's path, that they would be on the side of the downtrodden. As many have rightly pointed out, killing Mohg and using his body as a vessel would just be repeating Marika's doing which renders all their sacrifice and redemption pointless. Their promises to the Hornsents would become the biggest lie that haunts them for life.

No matter how they felt towards Mohg, they would for sure hate the idea of being even remotely like Marika, not to mention doing the similar deeds as her to ascend and return as a god. They also couldn't afford having their bloodline tainted again by themselves and having their future children think of them the same way as they now think of Marika. Think about all the omen children who would eventually figure out what happened to their father. It's not possible to rely on their charm (of which the extent of power was obviously limited) forever and ever. They came here to make things right, not to start another vicious cycle.

Naturally, one of the other options would be to not go ahead with the secret rite, although if they so choose, they'd be lingering in the LoS as half flesh half spirit forever, breaking their promise to Malenia that they'd return to her.

The vessel must be a sacred, horned body, and it must be emptied and refilled with a lord's soul. It's kept vague in the English version, but relatively clear in Japanese that the vessel and the soul need to be from two separate sources.

I don't think using Mohg's body as the vessel shows how indifferent or hateful they were towards Mohg - committing a thousand years' companionship with someone's body itself is incredibly sexually intense, and says something about their preference.

We can clearly see it from their attitude toward Marika that when they truly resent someone, they would not hide it, and they would want nothing to do with them. They also believe the ways they treat flesh and bones bear meanings and emotions. Abandoning their own flesh means cutting ties with their origin. Retaining Mohg's flesh should hold the same weight. There might be other options, but they'd rather it be Mohg's body that's by their side, if it must come to that.

Only the choice between two betrayals - two loved ones - can be so impossible.

In a way, Miquella mirrored each of their followers' qualities: they were academic like Ansbach, youthful like Freyja, charismatic like Leda, and determined to be the best in their craft like Dane.

They could also be hesitant like Thiollier, indecisive like Moore, and resentful like the Hornsent. This was when they faced the exact same questions as Moore:

Should I stay sad forever (about the fact that I must betray one of them) or put it behind me (do it, and get it over with)?

They had been choosing "I don't know" for so long that they eventually abandoned the very feature of vacillation itself to get it over with.

Now the new Miquella thought without doubt and vacillation, that maybe they could accept killing Mohg, and reviving Radahn's soul. They could betray the horned people a little for now and say a big sorry later. Mohg loved them so much that he would give anything they asked for anyway.

But they didn't actually kill him. I believe when Mohg was felled by the tarnished, Miquella's blood ran cold.

Entertaining the idea of betraying someone who wholeheartedly trusts and supports you and going against everything you believe in and represent is one thing, executing such a plan and staring into the aftermath is another. They were like those who joked about killing hundreds of people a day but in fact couldn't even make themselves shoot a cow.

Out of love and respect towards themselves, they thought it was best to die.

Even without the ability to think critically, the loss was simply too much to bear. They knew they must stop now, as they haven't managed to save anyone so far, and they wouldn't be able to save anyone if they carried on as they were even more dangerous than before. Hell, they didn't want to become a god to begin with, merely saying it out loud almost made them cry as a child.

I disagree whenever someone says Miquella was cruel. They were kind enough to decide they should spare the rest of the world from themselves.

But they failed at dying too. The thing that climbed up from the bottom of the fissure wearing Miquella's face, was not Miquella or Trina anymore. It was mindless, heartless, bodiless, and so very afraid.

The final boss was only titled "Promised Consort Radahn" & "Radahn, Miquella's Consort", instead of "Radahn and Miquella" for a reason.

The last remembrance only spoke about Miquella's innocent youth, a broken memory from when they didn't even know what asking someone to be their king fully entailed, as if the rest hundreds years of their life as a prodigy and a brilliant craftsman didn't exist, for a reason.

For Miquella was not there. Just like Mohg, Miquella's soul had also been torn into pieces and mostly forsaken by themselves. Descartes said "I doubt, therefore I am; in other words, I think, therefore I am." He was quite right.

Without doubt, vacillation, love and fear, without their very being, what exactly was there left?

Only blind ambition and violence, like every other power hungry man - as reflected in Light of Miquella - submit to him, or be annihilated.

This is why killing this last bit of them was mercy and forgiveness - Miquella themselves would have hated to exist like this. It would be cruel not to put them down. We were essentially their war surgeon in the end.

We reached their voice mail, a faint echo of them from yonks ago, stripped of all nuances. The lights were still on, but they would never be home again.

[marauder-misprint]

Hi! I don't know if you'd be comfortable writing this and if you aren't feel free to disregard this request lol but I was wondering if you could write a sirius black x plus sized reader hurt/comfort? Like maybe she's comparing herself to the people he's usually seen with and thinks he'd never be interested in her only for him to confront her after a bit of avoidance on her part and tell her that he doesn't think that way at all and that she's perfect and beautiful and he wants to be with her

Again if this is uncomfy or weird it's okay to ignore me- I've just been in a bad place recently and figured I'd try my luck haha

thank you for taking the time to read this! I adore your work ( ´∀｀)

Thank you so much for the request! I really hope I did it justice. I'm sorry that you're in a bad place and I hope it passes quickly ❤︎ I didn't go as deep into negative self talk as I could've - I know how mean we can be to ourselves.

Sending my love ❤︎

Boys like Sirius

Sirius Black x Plus size reader

2k words

cw: hurt/comfort, body issues, Happy Ending

It started in third year. Professor Slughorn grew tired of the Marauders interrupting every single lesson so he assigned them seats with different partners on different sides of the room. Remus in the back, Peter in the front, James on the left and Sirius on the right. It only sort of helped. Some days, it made the chaos that followed those boys fill the entire classroom, rather than their two stations. Other days, it meant that the boys talked to and worked with students they otherwise would’ve ignored. In Sirius’ case, that was you. 

The two of you ran in completely different circles. You had never been partnered together before and when given the choice, Sirius always sat with another member of the Marauders. The first few lessons sat next to each other were filled with plenty of awkward silences, mostly because Sirius was grumpy that he was separated from his best friends during a subject he didn’t particularly care for. But slowly, he opened up and once he actually talked to you, he found that he was enjoying Potions, if not looking forward to it. You were also enjoying Potions, because who wouldn’t want the gorgeous and charming Sirius Black as their partner? 

Your new friendship with Sirius spilled out of the Potions classroom. He’d wave to you in the corridor and talk to you in between classes. You were invited to study and go to Hogsmeade with all of his other friends. There were times when you felt out of place with his friends but Sirius made an effort to make sure you were included and listened to when you talked. In the end, you usually said yes to any invite because you got to spend more time with him.

The more time you spent with Sirius and the older you got, the bigger your crush on him got. You tried to play it cool. You tried to pretend that you weren’t absolutely head-over-heels in love with him, just like half of the girls at Hogwarts. Every time he flashed his trademark grin your way, you believed you had a chance with him, that maybe the stars were aligning and you’d get your guy. Every time he gave you a cheeky compliment or let his hand linger longer than a moment on yours, your heart would flutter with hope. Every invite was accompanied with hopeful eyes and excited chatter when you accepted. How could you not read into it? 

However, with half the girls at Hogwarts in love with him, you knew your chances with Sirius were slim. It was painfully obvious in your sixth year. Girls got more brazen with their flirting. He was single and they wanted to change that. It seemed like in between every lesson and at every meal, there was a different girl twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes at Sirius. And to make it all worse, it felt like every girl was skinnier than you. 

These were the thinnest girls with teeny tiny waists. Sirius could have easily lifted any of them up without struggle. And, well, putting it lightly, you had curves. You had thighs, a stomach, a butt, arms, breasts, a body. Someone once said you just had big bones, like that actually meant something. 

Every time Sirius flirted back with one of those girls who looked like the opposite of you, you felt a knife twist in your chest. It was hard to watch the boy you love flirt endlessly with those girls. It was a cruel reminder that boys like Sirius didn’t love girls like you. You felt doomed to a life without love. At least, without his love.

To lessen your pain, you began to distance yourself from Sirius. He had continued to partner with you in Potions every since third year. You talked less during Potions, knowing you couldn’t switch partners. You still waved back to Sirius when you passed in the corridors, but only if he waved first, and if he stopped to try to talk to you, you made an excuse to keep walking. You stopped finding him in the library to study with him and his friends, you stopped going to Hogsmeade with them. If you were barely friends with him, surely it would hurt less when the girls swarmed him. 

It didn’t. 

If anything, it made it hurt more. 

Those girls had it all, and they got his attention. They got his love. 

---

After a particularly quiet Potions lesson, Sirius couldn’t take the silent treatment anymore.

“Oi, lovely, what’s happened?”

You froze as you were putting your things away. You cleared your throat as his words sunk in.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Sirius,” you said slowly. You hoped to Merlin that you sounded confused and not guilty. 

“Feels like you’ve been avoiding me,” he clarified. “Only ever see you in this class… and even then, you’re… you’re not you. You’re quiet. You won’t even look at me.”

You pursed your lips together. So, he noticed. 

“I’m just paying attention, that’s all,” you lied. 

He scoffed. “Paying attention so much you won’t study with me, ahem, us anymore? You won’t come to Hogsmeade?”

You felt the insecurities rising in you like bile in your throat. You didn’t want to talk about this. You knew it would only lead to you admitting your crush on him and his inevitable rejection of you. You could practically hear him saying already ‘I don’t feel the same about you… maybe it’s better you’ve been avoiding me if that’s how you feel.’ Boys like Sirius don’t fall for girls that look like you, you reminded yourself. 

You don’t look at Sirius. Instead, you quickly finished putting your things away.

“I need to get to my next class,” you muttered before disappearing out of the classroom.

Sirius watched you go. He ran his hand down his face. He missed you, your presence, your smile and laugh, everything. And here he was, wondering what he had done to make you avoid him so desperately. 

He found you after classes were over for the day; he knew he had to minimize your available excuses. He was going to talk to you. Sirius would be damned if he had to go another day without knowing you were acting this way. 

“Hey! Love, can we talk?” he said, grabbing your wrist gently.

“Sirius, I have to-”

“Please, I need to know what I did,” he said, beautiful grey eyes filled with worry.

“What you did?” you repeated. 

Your hesitation, although it was only a slight pause, was enough to allow Sirius to pull you down the hall and into an empty classroom. He closed the door behind you. 

“Yes, what I did. What did I do to make you avoid me? I thought we had a good thing going, you know?” 

You looked anywhere but at him. Even without seeing him, you felt yourself getting choked up. You could see his worried eyes in your mind and it was paired with the butterflies you got from him holding onto your wrist. 

“You didn’t do anything,” you managed to say, although your voice is tight, the obvious sound of someone about to cry. 

He walked toward you, putting his things down on the desk behind you and then taking your things out of your arms to put next to his. Then he held the sides of your arms. You had no choice but to look at him.

“Then why? Why have I lost you?” 

Why have I lost you? You wanted to scoff at him. You wanted to laugh dryly. Like you were ever his to lose. Could you tell him that you were just making space for all the girls that fawned over him? Could you tell him that it hurt too much to be that close to him and knowing he’d never look at you like you look at him?

“I-I… I’m protecting myself,” you decided on saying. “At least, I'm trying to.”

“Protecting yourself from what?” he asked earnestly. He paused as he looked into your eyes which were getting glassier by the second. “You know the boys would never prank you, right? I’d never let them.”

“No, not that.” You shrugged off his hands so you could turn away from him. You couldn’t bear to see him when he rejected you for what you looked like. “From… I’m protecting myself from heartbreak.”

“Heart… break…” There was a moment of silence. Then you felt his hand on your arm again. “Love, please explain what you mean.”

His voice made your heart break more than it already was. He was going to make you spell it out for him. He was going to make you say how much you loved him and that you knew he would never reciprocate it. It made your next words come out more angry than you had ever spoken to him before.

“I thought that if I put space between us, that I could stop loving you and it would hurt less to see every girl flirt with you, to see you flirt with every girl who… who doesn’t look like… like me.” Your words came out scathing like fire. It didn’t help that you could feel the hot tears streaming down your face. 

His hand dropped from your arm and you felt your stomach drop. Here it came. Here came the rejection.

“You think I’m flirting with them?” 

His voice was soft. It sounded almost insulted? It was followed by a soft disbelieving chuckle.

“Love, I may have… partaken in banter, but if I flirted, I never meant to.” His hand found your shoulder and turned you back toward him. “The only girl I’ve flirted with is in front of me.”

His other hand raised to wipe the tears from your face.

“I suppose my intentions could have been more clear, if you’re feeling this way. You should know I don’t invite just anyone to Hogsmeade.” 

You couldn’t find the words to respond. His words didn’t feel real. It felt like the world’s cruelest prank. Your uncertainty must’ve been written on your face because Sirius kept talking.

“Love, I’m gone for you. You’re the most perfect person I have ever seen and had the pleasure of knowing and spending time with. Slughorn pairing us together in third year? The biggest blessing, even if I didn’t know it at first.” 

He gave you a moment to process what he was saying, seeing if you had a response yet. You opened your mouth to try to say something but all that came out was a squeak.

“Let me be clear, I really, really, really like you. I want to take you on dates and spoil you like you deserve. I want to spend more time with you. I want to go to Hogsmeade with you and just you. I want to study with you, even if it ends up with you actually studying and me watching you… which is what usually happens when I’ve invited you in the past, in case you never noticed.”

You were beginning to smile, so he continued. 

“I want to hear you laugh. I want to talk to you in the corridors. I want to sit next to you during meals and be with you in the common room. I want to kiss you. I want to snuggle with you and hug you and hold you. I really mean it when I say you’re perfect. You’re so bloody gorgeous and if I have to blatantly flirt with you every day so that you believe it, I will. You just have to say the word.”

“Okay,” you said quietly in a shaky breath.

“Can… can I kiss you?”

You nodded and Sirius took a confident step toward you. He held your face with both of his hands before bringing your face to his. All of your insecurities don’t disappear in that moment like you’d want them to, but you felt more confident than you had in a while. You felt like you were on top of the world though. The boy you love likes you back; and you know this because you can’t fake a kiss like this.

[formosusiniquis]

never anything but sharing

For @genderthings Robin Gender Week Day 1: Sharing Pronouns

T | WC: 2123 | Genderqueer Robin (and also Steve) | Gender Identity; Fluff and Humor; Period Typical Discussion of Gender | AO3

The door of the Harrington house is unlocked when Robin storms through it. The only danger it would have any hope of delaying is seven unruly and unthankful children; today especially Robin appreciates that Steve has stopped making that effort. It makes it a lot easier to storm in and pull him off the couch by the hair and drag him into the nearest bathroom.

“Ow, Robin! The part is in the mail, the truck will be running by Sunday. Ow!” He doesn’t stop complaining until she has them in her favorite full-sized bathroom with the ugly tile and jacuzzi tub.

 He’s Steve, Robin’s Steve, so he doesn’t glare so much as pout as he runs a hand through his mussed-up hair, pretending that he’s tender-headed even though he knows Robin knows better. “You’re worse than Henderson, you had to bike to work one day.”

“First of all, don’t ever say that to me. But do you think I dragged you in here to talk about our truck, this is serious.”

He crosses his arms in that way that tries for bitchy but these days lands closer to fondly disgruntled. Parental, maternal, in that way that suits Steve. “Okay well seriously start talking then. I think you ripped out a clump.”

Robin takes in a breath, using the exhale to force out the thing that had worried itself in there like a burr at 11:57 that Saturday afternoon. “Someone called me sir at work.”

Robin can feel the slow track of Steve’s eyes as they take in the outfit. The wide-shouldered blazer and the pants in a different but complementary plaid pattern. Underneath is a t-shirt and, with the biking, Chuck Taylors had been a must though the thrifted, wingtip, dress shoes had called out from the closet begging to be worn instead.

“How do we feel about that?”

Always we. Steve hadn’t even been there and it’s a them problem, it’s easier to think in terms of them and we.

“She wasn’t looking at me from the front,” Robin says. That feels important to stress for some reason. Do they look like a sir from the front? Probably not, and Robin isn’t sure what the emotion that’s sitting below the breastbone at the thought of that is. 

“I was reshelving in Romance and she came up behind me and was all…” Trailing off all Robin can do is gesture, flapping hands leading away from a body that has become a source of confusion.

Arms still crossed, lazily now, relaxed. Cool and lean in the way Steve can be but only when the effort is accidental. He nods. “Oh, that makes more sense.”

“What does that mean?”

Steve’s hands on their shoulders, Robin is turned toward the mirror with Steve just behind in a blink. “From the back you have the same haircut as Byers.”

“You take that back right now.” Robin watches as their mouth moves in the mirror.

“It’s better, cause you steal my product. But when you don’t let me style it, it can get a little Byers-y.”

They’re in the ugly bathroom with the seafoam green tiles that have the print that makes no sense for a bathroom but Robin loves. That’s the only reason the counter beneath their fingers is bare. That it doesn’t have the accusing army of mousse and hairspray that has been slowly infiltrating the Buckley house.

“So you’re saying since I have a Byers-y haircut-”

“Not the whole haircut, just from the back and just sometimes.”

“That’s the only reason I’d be called sir.”

Steve slouches against the wall by the mirror. There’s a careful nothingness to the way he’s looking at them that means he saw something Robin didn’t mean to show. That he heard something in the forced sarcstic lilt in her voice.

“Do you want to be called sir?” The forced casualness extends to the question.

It makes Robin feel hysterical. Get prescribed a visit to the seaside, the real remedy is a good vibrator hysterical. “I’m a lesbian, Steve. That’s- I’ve always been a lesbian, it’s the one thing- So I can’t be a sir or a he-”

“Why not?”

The guidance-counselor-calm is infuriating, even as they make that mental note to add that to the list of things Steve could be good at if he wanted a traditional job. Robin could teach music, band, they wouldn't be broken up.

“Because..? Because it’s too much, isn’t it?”

He cocks his head to the side, circling Robin and their problem carefully.

“It’s not all the time, right? We’ll share.”

“What?”

“We’ll share.” Steve repeats, moving now to settle into the massive jacuzzi tub. Lounging for real in its dry basin now that, in their mind, the problem has been solved

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Robin has to be careful in refusing. The two of them don't disagree. Trying to do it now tastes like ash on the tongue. Bitter and wrong.

“Why not?” Steve challenges. Brow raised in a way that hints at something bitchy like the girls at the last slumber party she’d been invited to, before she was too weird, right before someone got the dare that they’d asked for.

“That’s my shirt you’re wearing and you stole my favorite jeans last week. You’ll borrow my he and I’ll take your she and it’ll be fine.”

“Those aren’t the same thing, that’s not those words mean something.” Robin pleads. Begs Steve to be rational because Robin can’t be. Biked the five miles here faster than anyone ever has. Broke landspeed records and possibly the sound barrier powered by the feelings caused by a single word.

“Yeah, I know.” Steve says gently. But it’s Steve and gentle gives way to a catty eye roll and, “I saw that kangaroo song as a kid too, he will mean Robin sometimes and she can mean Steve and other times it’s the otherway around. It’s fine, Robbie.”

It’s Steve, Robin has to remember. Always remembers because Steve is something they are as aware of as their arm or leg or spleen. Intrinsic.

Steve would burn Hawkins to the ground for them: Robin, The Party, anyone close enough to be family.

What then would it be to him? To claim Robin’s errant she. He is Steve Harrrington. Hawkin’s perfect son. The Keg King, the reformed prep. Perfect in his John Hughes-ian glory. Everything a perfect corn-fed, Midwestern boy should be.

“But it has to mean something, you can’t just say that we’ll share because you want me to feel better.”

“When have I ever lied to make you feel better? I just told you when you don’t do anything with your hair it looks like Jonathan’s.”

“Yeah, and you’re the kind of freak who understands what Nancy sees in him.”

“And it isn’t his hair. Our whole friendship is based on saying what we really think, even when it’s annoying.”

“I thought it was based on you inability to resist doing your Miss Piggy impression.”

“Robin.” The stone seriousness of it drops Robin to their knees in front of the tub. Close enough to Steve that big hands can cup their face. “I love you. This is your moment, so you'll just have to believe me when I say it's fine.”

“It's fine.” Robin repeats.

“We’ll share.” Steve says.

“We’ll share.”

“You're a sir.” she says.

“I’m a he.” Robin says, “Today. Today I'm a he.”

“How does that feel?” She asks him.

“Good? Good. Oh my god Steve I don’t know how to be a he. This isn’t stealing your red sweater-”

She shrieks, “I knew you had my sweater!”

But it isn't going to distract him from the bigger picture. “I can’t just slip into your guy thing like it’s your clothes, you know that was the point.”

Arms crossed, she pouts, “The point sounds like you’ve been stealing my clothes.”

“Steve!”

“You don’t have to be anything to prove that you are something. Sometimes you’re a he, you don’t have to know how to shotgun a beer or something to prove it. I will show you the right way to do a keg stand, that’s a point of pride. And you should know how to fix up the truck, change a tire, to help you pick up babes.”

It's not the worst point ever made. Probably because some of it -- the first part, not the part about car maintenance as a tool of seduction though that has its merits too he supposes and it has a butch quality that is appealing -- is familiar.

“I hate when you quote me at me.”

“When did you tell me you were going to teach me to change a tire?”

“You know what I mean, dingus.”

“You’re the smartest person I know,” Steve says through her smile, “how else am I supposed to give you advice?”

“I love you.” Its the truest truth Robin can come up with at the moment. So true it's an understatement. Love too simple a word for what he feels right now and about Steve.

“I love you too.” She says back, and Robin knows its the same kind of feeling. “And you’ll love me even more when I teach you how to scale a trellis.”

“Why would I need to scale anything, why can’t I just go in the door?”

“It doesn’t have the same Prince Charming feeling. Girls love that stuff.”

“How many times have you fallen off the side of someone’s house?”

“Not as many times as you’re going to, Vickie’s house is laid out like a nightmare.”

He settles into the tub next to Steve. The oversized jacuzzi a tight fit for both of their bodies, but Steve lets him settle into her side like she doesn’t care that the faucet is digging into her shoulder. In sync, Steve lifts her head up enough that Robin can rest his in the space where shoulder and neck meet. The sound of Steve’s heartbeat in his ear gives his a steady rhythm to settle into after the flustered panic it had worked its way up to. Share, they can share.

Some things they can share.

He sits up enough to look Steve in the eye, a half-hearted glare that she wouldn’t buy for a second on his face. “Why have you been scoping out Vickie's house?”

“For you, obviously.” She says, rolling her eyes just like Robin had imagined. “I had to figure out the best point of entry.”

“It's not a siege.”

“It's breaking and entering, and it's embarrassing when someone catches you and it doesn't look cool. Trust me.”

“Some more expertise that you're sharing?”

“I'll share anything with you, Bobbin.”

He hears what's underneath that promise. Their bond forged in chaos, in danger, in blood, in fear. But it was honed in moments like these: honest, sincere, still frightened sometimes but touched by love and laughter.

“Even your green henley?”

He hopes she hears how he knows that Steve would do or give anything for him. His shirt, his time, his bathroom, his life. 

Whatever life may mean at that time. The actual thing, defending and protecting them all from whatever the next great evil is, or the more metaphorical life, marriage and it's safety net that they’ve discussed.

“Even all my best clothes when you have nothing in your closet you could possibly share too.”

“Welcome to the time honored tradition of girlhood, the friend that’s borrowing clothes from you is doing it for a reason. I’ll teach you how dress sizes work next time we’re at the thrift store.”

“Yeah okay, but who’s going to teach you that?”

She’s smiling as she says it, and the tub is too small a space for them to get a good fight started. Grief, the teasing kind, something they’ve always been good at sharing. So he takes his lumps and settles back down into the cradle of the tub and Steve’s arms that he moves elbows first. Let’s them share how unappreciated that dig might have been, the truth in it neither here nor there. 

They’ll lay here for a little bit longer, letting the moment settle. Sharing their space, their time, their breath, and probably the gossip from his day at Family Video without Steve. When the time is right, they’ll leave the bathroom and share a meal, maybe the couch or the bed. It’s just what’s right, like Steve so often is. What’s a pronoun or two among all of that.

“I know how to find a dress that fits. Just like I know that the kangaroo song is about pronouns. How do you remember a cartoon from when we were kids but not the thing they were singing about?”

[a-rayneart]

Just finished season 4 of MASH

I know this art blog is quickly becoming a MASH rampage (not intentional, I swear) but I really want to give my thoughts on the season 4 finale and this seems like the best place to do it.

An incomplete list of every moment that struck me in S4E24: The Interview:

Hawkeye's demeanour in this episode is entirely different than in 'Yankee Doodle doctor', particularly his behaviour toward the film crew. This is unsurprising, but still significant to me.

I loved hearing Radar talk about his earthworms. I love whenever the characters engage in genuine hobbies outside of their jobs in the army, but hearing Radar babble about his earthworms was especially lovely.

"War is just killing, that's all." - Klinger

Hawkeye is so honest this episode, and he does it all with this completely checked out look, eyes glazed over.

Hawkeye also sums up his whole entire character. He talks about putting on a 'coat' of morale just to make others stop believing in where they are because it's the only way he can feel present. He also get's asked how he stays sane, which is pretty significant foreshadowing, to which he answer with a list of frankly insane things to do. It reminds me of the S1 episode where he pretended to lose it in order to get time off, but also of all the little times in episodes where he did something that was a bit outlandish, a bit crazy, and somehow also made perfect sense, like when he (briefly) pretended to be a corpse in an attempt to get back to his father.

"There's so much more to care about," and "It just doesn't matter anymore," are two things Hawk says in basically one breath and boy is that relatable.

I've already seen this clip but Mulcahy talking about the steam and the bodies in the cold hurts every time.

Genuine, non-sexual focus and appreciation for the nurses and the jobs they do.

Referencing the episode where Radar get's drunk in Tokyo and him looking so abashed about it.

"If I knew all the answers, I'd run for God." -Klinger again

More on Klinger– Usually he takes advantage of any opportunity to display his insanity to higher ups. He doesn't do that here. He talks entirely sincerely about his joy for home and his hate for the war. You can really see every emotion on his face. He is so real.

Radar's compassion for the local Koreans. There's something special about it coming from him specifically that I can't quite pinpoint but I love it. Maybe because he comes from such a similar background but is now in a position where the people he answers to tell him that he's better than them. I think Radar must feel he has more in common with the local farmers than with his own colleagues.

I've never thought about it before, but it makes so much sense that Potter misses being around people his own age, and I could probably go on about that forever but I probably shouldn't.

Father Mulcahy looks so tired.

BJ smiles when he greets his wife and daughter, but when he looks down he looks devastated. How hard must it be to talk to his family through a TV screen. The acting in this episode it amazing.

I think it was BJ who talked about being torn between his love for the people he worked with and wanting to erase them from his memory, which reminded me of a line from the MASH fanfic I wrote before I even watched this episode; 'Nothing makes me happier than having people to miss, and that they’re far enough away that I can miss them.' (Check out my short fic, it's called After Life - Hawkeye's Poem)

The narrator ends by saying that they're doing what they do best but what they'd rather not do in a place they'd rather not be and I think that's just about the point of the show

All said, amazing episode, perfect acting, did what just about every episode of MASH does and gave me a deep sense of melancholy. I've seen a lot about this episode on here and I totally get why but I think we should also give some appreciation to the episode before it (Deluge) because I genuinely believe that that was just as good.

[efexumukoroxlc]

Efe shook his head back and forth. "I mean, I like friends. I like having friends in real life. What I don't like is six rich friends who all look the same and have no real problems," he replied very seriously, giving a short nod of his head. "Hmm. Yeah, yeah. That makes sense," Efe smiled, cocking his head to one side. "Well, sometimes I think brutally honest people might like it more for the brutality than the honesty. I'm not saying you're one of those people, of course. But sure. I try to be honest. I tell people good things I admire about them because that's true too. I'm not always good at it." Efe wrinkled up his brow. "And yeah, sometimes people do things that hurt themselves, and they don't wanna hear it from me. So. I try to tell and give them what they need instead." He shrugged.

Efe smiled. "Can I? I read a lot. That's it. There's this program at the library where I volunteer to...but, well, never-mind. It's true. You're beautiful." He swayed back and forth with her, meeting her eye. "Ah, well, I'm just me. Thank you, though. I don't try to be a good guy because a lot of those kinds of guys are the worst, right? Which sounds like something one of those guys would say, so pretend I didn't. But, yeah, I'm asking you on a date. A real date. One that we keep in touch after maybe if it goes okay? What do you think? But, oh...uh, why? Did something happen? I left town for a while, and it was...well, I don't know what it was."

Efe smiled. "Luna should meet Badger. That's my dog. He's pretty well-trained except when he's not." Raising an eyebrow, Efe broke into a laugh. "Yeah, the car wash bod is why I end up as July and August. What, are they gonna put all this in a parka? Come on. I work out." He wrinkled up his nose. "Manners. Respect for your elders. Good citizenship. That kind of thing. Nerdy as hell. I read books about submarines." He grimaced before allowing the smile to grow more sincere. "I think you're great. You helped organize that whole camp, and...look, I know a lot of people were weird as shit about it. But how many of them try to do do things for the good of all their neighbors? That counts for something."

Efe gave a low sigh, shaking his head. "He had this, like, rivalry with my ex-wife. So...they were weird. And that made me weird because I was on the outside of it," he explained. "But he's cool." Efe broke into another laugh. "Maybe not buff the way I'm buff, nah, but...come on, we'd look pretty good on a beach, huh?" He rolled his eyes with this joke before beginning to sort of half-sing the song, forgetting some of the lyrics and mumbling along the way. "See, you're talking clubs. I'm talking middle school dances and other people's weddings, I think. You know what other song I don't get? 'Piano Man.' That dick's just singing about what a loser everyone else but him is."

"You don't like friends?" Her brows knitted at the thought. "Fair, but it's was a good show to learn english to," She admitted with a small shrug, having not watched a number of American sitcoms herself, but Friends had been one that was easily enough to keep up with when she first moved to the states. "Is it? I mean I think so, but people sometimes seem to be really irritated when I am. Though, really? Why?" She asked, not mincing her words as she gave him another eased shrug. "If the truth hurts their feelings that seems like a them problem. I mean isn't it worse to lie or sugarcoat things out of an assumption that they can't handle knowing how you really feel?" She reasoned.

But, as Efe began to list off a train of compliments, Elif slowed to a halt. Her eyes widened as she starred up at him in a mix of mild shock and gratitude. "You can be really good with your words, you know that?" A soft smile found its way to her lips. "Should we? Couldn't we both be drunk, but I guess you have a point there. You're a really good guy, huh Efe? Sure. Like hanging out or on a date? Because I'm down, but you should know that I might be leaving town fairly soon... well, maybe. I haven't fully decided where I'd go yet."

"But, charity is good. Luna and I volunteer at the animal shelter sometimes myself. Luna's my dog. Charity with stripping sounds better than charity without stripping, though. What about a car wash? You look like you'd be great in a car wash," She accessed, not even bothering to hide the way her eyes scanned him up and down. "Old school in what way? I wouldn't know. I don't remember much about my parents, but I think I'd be happy to be like them in any way I could," She admitted quietly. Her teeth nipping her bottom lip as she gave him another small shrug.

"He is. He's the best person I know, though weird? What do you mean weird? Why weren't you two friends right off the bat? Though sure! I can help with that. And funny! Me too! Last year, I was August. Wait, do you think it's because I'm super buff?" Her eyes widened at the thought. Before a smile broke across her lips. "Cool. How does 'Last Dance' go again? The clubs I got to always play 'Closing Time.'"

[dakotalover1]

imgonnagetyouback

Spencer Reid x Reader (Rossi's Daughter)

It’s almost effortless, the way Spencer and I toggle between being on and off. When we’re off, there’s never a question of him seeking out someone else—it’s just not who he is. For one, his casework keeps him impossibly occupied, and for another, we both know the truth: no one will ever hold him like I do. No one will ever unravel him the way I have.

People on the outside don’t get us, and I can’t blame them. To them, Spencer is the genius, the prodigy with his nose buried in books, his mind running laps around theirs. But they don’t see him the way I do. They don’t know the Spencer who can whisper something wickedly clever into my ear and leave me breathless. They don’t know the Spencer who catches me off guard with a smile that feels like a private joke. They’ll never know the man who’s sexy without trying, whose mystery keeps me coming back for more. He’s an enigma I can’t stop solving, even when I think I’ve got him figured out.

To the outside world, our relationship might look like a puzzle, fragmented and strange—one moment we’re deeply in sync, the next we’re distant like strangers. But that’s us. We’re chaos and calm, passion and hesitation, a bond that defies simple explanation.

And now, here we are again, side by side at the bar down the street from my dad’s house. My dad loves throwing these little celebrations for his team—a way to mark the end of grueling casework. This one was different, though. A two-week marathon of intensity, and now everyone’s unwinding. Normally, during one of these “off” phases, Spencer and I would fall into our usual rhythm: separate lives, no strings, letting the other disappear for a while. But this time, it’s different.

Two weeks ago, Spencer started to feel it—the shift between us, the deepening connection that neither of us could quite ignore anymore. And I saw the flicker of fear in his eyes. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared, too. I’ve been avoiding “serious” for so long, but with Spencer, it just feels...inevitable. Natural. That is, until he switches gears, pretending like we’re nothing more than casual, trying to convince himself we’re just a passing thing. But we both know the truth.

When it’s just the two of us, tangled in each other and the silence, it’s the only time he lets himself exhale. I feel it in the way his body relaxes, in the way he clings to the quiet, to me. I’m his sanctuary, his one moment of peace in a life full of chaos.

Spencer thinks I don’t notice the walls he’s built, but I do. I see through the guarded way he speaks, the way he tries to keep me at arm’s length. I know why he does it—his past, his losses. He’s afraid of getting too close, terrified of losing something he can’t bear to live without. And I understand. After all, his mother couldn’t always be there for him, and his father...well, we both know that story. Even with the team, with JJ and Morgan and the others, there’s still a part of him that longs for a different kind of connection. The kind he’s found in me.

But Spencer’s comfort in my presence—his reliance on me—has its limits. He’s gotten a little too used to the idea that I’ll always be here, waiting, and it’s started to test me. I know he feels safe with me, and I love that, but there’s a part of me that wonders how long I can keep waiting for him to realize what we have. How long before he stops pretending and lets me in completely.

Because no matter how much he tries to deny it, no one will ever know him like I do. And no one will ever love him the way I can.

I’m seated at a high-top table with the girls, laughing at whatever joke JJ just cracked, but my focus keeps slipping. I can feel Spencer’s eyes on me from across the room. He’s standing at the bar with Morgan, but it’s like his attention is tethered to me, no matter where I go. That smirk—half knowing, half teasing—has been plastered on his face since I walked in.

And why wouldn’t it be? I’m wearing a tiny skirt in his favorite shade (of course, that wasn’t an accident) and a sheer white top that offers just a peek of the delicate lace beneath. It’s the kind of outfit that drives Spencer crazy because it’s equal parts sweet and sinful. He says he doesn’t want me, but we both know better. I know better.

So, I am sitting at a little hightop table with the girls, and I can feel Spencer's eyes and smirk pointing my way from the bar he's standing at with Morgan. I'm wearing a tiny little skirt that's his favorite color (obviously on purpose), and a sheer white top that you can slightly see my lacy bralette through. You know when you just know a guy still wants you even after he says he doesn't? Yeah that's the feeling I'm getting, I know Spencer better than anyone, and that man wants me.

Normally, I’d be smug that we’re back to normal, him undressing me with his eyes while pretending we’re just friends. However, I haven't decided if I want to curse him out or take him back to my house. I think tonight, if Spencer wants me back, he's going to have to earn it.

“I think Spence is going to combust if you don’t go over there and give him some attention,” JJ teases, her voice low but full of amusement.

The table bursts into laughter, and I lean back, swirling my drink with a smirk. “Oh, he’s going to have to do a lot better than those puppy-dog eyes tonight. I’m not giving in so easily.”

“Really?” Emily chimes in, raising an eyebrow. “Because it looks like you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger already. You’re going to make him suffer, aren’t you?”

I flash a wicked smile. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just make him think I’m moving on. ‘I could be someone’s wife,’” I say dramatically, quoting the line from my head and earning more laughs from the girls. “He doesn’t get to string me along and expect me to be waiting for him whenever he’s done overthinking everything.”

Penelope, ever the romantic, sighs dramatically. “But the tension between you two? It’s chef’s kiss. And that man looks like he’d follow you anywhere if you so much as crooked your finger.”

I shrug, feigning indifference, but the truth is, I’m soaking it all in. Emily nudges me, her voice taking on a playful edge. “Well, if you’re serious about giving him a hard time, you better brace yourself, because lover boy is on his way over.”

Spencer walked up to the table and waved to the ladies, and then leaned in to whisper in your ear, "You look good tonight". You seductively smirked and grabbed his jaw line with your hand pulling his ear to your mouth. As he smirks, you whisper back, "I know". His expression changes to one of confusion, as you would usually compliment him back, but instead you drop your hand and get up. "Pen, do you want to go to the ladies room with me?", her head perks up as she pretends to not have been watching that entire interaction and replies, "Oh! Yes of course, no fabulous female should ever venture too far alone!".

I brush past Spencer, my shoulder grazing his arm, but I don’t spare him a glance. I can feel his eyes following me as I walk away, his confusion and frustration practically burning holes into my back.

Let him stew. If Spencer wants me, he’ll have to work for it.

When Penelope and I return to the table, I don’t look in Spencer’s direction, even though I know he’s still watching me. Instead, I slide into my chair with a bright smile, joining the girls in laughter like nothing’s out of the ordinary.

Across the room, my dad, Rossi, catches my eye. He’s holding court at the bar, recounting one of his famous stories to a group of agents, his glass of scotch in hand. With a quick glance at the table, I lean over to JJ. “Be right back,” I say, standing up and making my way to him.

Rossi spots me approaching and pauses mid-story, a smile spreading across his face. “Ah, there’s my favorite critic,” he says, wrapping an arm around me as I step into his side.

“Favorite? Am I your only critic, Dad?” I tease, stealing the olive from his drink and popping it into my mouth.

“Probably,” he replies with a chuckle. “But you keep me honest.”

The agents around him disperse, leaving us a moment of quiet. He glances back at the table where the team is gathered and then back at me, his expression softening. “You seem...distracted tonight. Something on your mind?”

I shrug, playing it off. “No, not really. Just the usual chaos.”

“Uh-huh.” He gives me a knowing look, the kind only a father can master. “Let me guess. It has something to do with our resident genius over there?”

I sigh, leaning against the bar. “Does it have to be that obvious?”

“To me? Yes.” He takes a sip of his drink, his tone turning serious. “Look, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but...whatever’s going on between you two, make sure it’s something you’re happy with. Don’t settle for less than you deserve.”

His words hit a little too close to home, and I nod, unable to meet his gaze. “I know, Dad. I’m not settling.”

He studies me for a moment, then smiles softly. “Good. You’re my daughter. You’ve got Rossi standards to uphold, after all.”

I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Damn right.” He winks before turning back to his drink. “Go on, sweetheart. Don’t let me keep you from the party.”

With a quick kiss on his cheek, I leave him at the bar and head back to the table, but my focus isn’t on the girls anymore. It’s on Spencer, who’s still standing with Morgan, but his attention is locked on me.

I make my way back to the table, but my seat feels too far from the real reason I came back. I can feel Spencer’s eyes tracking my every move, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking his way. I sit down with the girls, pretending to be fully engrossed in Penelope’s animated story about her latest tech snafu.

But then I hear his voice, low and soft, behind me.

“Can we talk?”

The girls exchange subtle glances, but no one says a word. I don’t look at him right away. Instead, I take a deliberate sip of my drink and lean back in my chair, looking up at him with a perfectly raised eyebrow.

“Talk? Now that’s new for us,” I say, the words laced with a teasing edge.

Spencer doesn’t smile. His gaze is steady, and there’s something vulnerable behind his usual composure. “Please,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now.

JJ gives me a little nudge under the table, and Penelope wiggles her eyebrows dramatically. I sigh, pushing back my chair and standing up. “Fine,” I say, brushing past him as I head toward the quieter side of the bar.

He follows, and the sound of his footsteps feels louder than the music in the background. I stop near a corner booth and turn to face him, crossing my arms.

“What do you want, Spencer?”

He hesitates, shifting from one foot to the other like he’s trying to decide where to start. “I... I don’t know,” he admits finally. “I just—”

“You don’t know?” I interrupt, my tone sharper than I intended. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you know exactly what you’re doing. You push me away, pull me back, and then act like I’m the one who can’t figure it out.”

His jaw tightens, and I see the flicker of frustration in his eyes. “It’s not like that,” he says, his voice a little firmer. “It’s—complicated.”

“Oh, complicated,” I say with a sarcastic laugh, stepping closer to him. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Spence. Because I’m tired of complicated.”

He looks at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine, and then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right,” he says quietly. “I’ve been... difficult. And I don’t mean to be. It’s just—”

“Spit it out,” I challenge, my voice softer now but still edged with impatience.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then he steps closer, closing the space between us. “I’m scared,” he says, so quietly I almost don’t hear it.

The words hit me like a punch to the chest, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I tilt my head, meeting his gaze. “Scared of what?”

“Of this,” he says, gesturing between us. “Of how easy it is to be with you. Of how much I... need you.” His voice cracks slightly, and he looks away, as though the admission costs him more than he expected. “And I’m scared of losing it. Losing you.”

For a moment, I don’t say anything. I just look at him, the way his shoulders slump like he’s carrying more than his share of the weight. And as much as I want to stay mad, my resolve starts to crack.

“Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it,” I say finally, my voice softer now.

He looks at me again, and the vulnerability in his eyes is almost too much to bear. “I know,” he says. “And I’m sorry. I’m not good at this, at... us. But I want to be.”

There it is. The honesty I’ve been waiting for.

I take a step closer, reaching out to gently tug at his tie. “You’re not getting off that easy, Dr. Reid,” I say with a small smirk. “If you want me, you’re going to have to prove it.”

His lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but there’s still that seriousness in his eyes. “I will,” he says, his voice steady. “If you’ll let me.”

I let go of his tie, my fingers brushing against chest, "Show me"

Spencer doesn’t move, and neither do I. The space between us feels charged, electric, like the air before a storm. My fingers linger just above his tie, not touching him but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his chest.

“Show me,” I say again, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes drop to my lips for a fraction of a second before meeting mine again. “You don’t make it easy, you know that?”

“Why should I?” I challenge, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve made me work for every ounce of your attention, Spence. Maybe it’s time you see how it feels.”

His jaw tightens, but his lips curve into the smallest of smirks. “Fair enough,” he murmurs. Then, his voice drops, low and velvety. “But don’t forget, I’m a quick learner.”

The heat between us builds, and I can feel my pulse quickening. His confidence—subtle, restrained—is maddening, and yet I can’t look away.

“You talk a big game,” I say, tilting my head slightly, “but I’m not convinced yet.”

“Not convinced?” He steps closer, and I’m acutely aware of how close we are now. His hand brushes against mine, deliberate but fleeting, and the touch sends a jolt up my spine. “Tell me, what would it take to convince you?”

The corner of my mouth curves upward, a dangerous smile playing on my lips. "I'm sure you'll figure something out."

I take my hands off of him, a slow, deliberate motion, as I turn to walk away, the air thick with the tension between us. But just as I make my move, his grip tightens on my arm, pulling me back with a force that leaves me breathless. Before I can fully process what’s happening, his body presses against mine, his lips capturing mine in a kiss so intense it steals the air from my lungs. The heat between us ignites instantly, the world around us fading as his kiss deepens, claiming me in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

He's definitely got me back.