#we'll see how things go on as the series airs!

[skaruresonic]

Apologies for rambling, but I feel the need to get this off my chest.

I decided long ago I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for HL3, to the point where I had no idea Half-Life: Alyx had even been a thing until my boyfriend notified me of its release the day that it dropped. There are several reasons for this.

Firstly, because putting all of your hopes and dreams in the hands of a corporation is seldom a good idea, even if it is Valve we're talking about. What if they make something mediocre? Then we'll have waited and wished and hoped for nothing over the past seventeen years.

Secondly, because good art takes time. If they never drop HL3, cool, because I'll still have had mods and art and fanfic to fill that hole. If they do, also great, but overall my emotional well-being shouldn't hinge on it. I would be fine if HL3 never arrived. At this point it would be a pleasant surprise, but it's not like I'm going to die without it. I actually kind of think if my attitude was more the latter, it'd only sour the experience if anything was less than perfect with the game.

Thirdly, because it's annoying to see people work themselves into a lather every time Valve so much as moves their desks around.

There's getting hyped, there's making memes, and then there's visiting a psychic while mentally LARPing as Gordon Freeman just to get a crumb of information on a game they may or may not be developing and writing a freaking VICE article about it:

In fact, I'd wager this kind of self-sustaining hype bubble may be part of the reason why the team's creative enthusiasm for HL3 has waned over the years. Not to say they don't bear any culpability in the delays and such, but it is understandable that the sheer conspiracy surrounding the title would become off-putting.

Ending stories is difficult even in the best of circumstances, and they'd be developing the game in a pressure cooker. There are so many loose ends they'd have to tie up, so many mysteries to solve, all while providing an entertaining experience and implementing innovative gameplay and bringing the entire series to a satisfying conclusion.

Given Valve's general standards of quality, it's almost like they fear anything short of an orgasm in digital form will crash and burn: a notion the internet does absolutely nothing to refute when people tweak out over the most minute of signs.

Of course they drifted toward lower-stakes projects. You can't create anything with room to grow and breathe when your fandom is constantly setting the stakes that high.

Which brings me to my next point: why are we waiting on Valve to tell us how this ends, anyway? Any version of HL3 they could make will never live up to the version of HL3 you have in your head, by simple virtue of their inability to mind-read.

Especially salient, since I genuinely believe the tone of HL3 will retroactively dictate the tone of the rest of the series. Was it always a treatise on human resilience? Cosmic horror? Who knows? It's still up in the air. They still have space to back out of any corners they've written themselves into. Once they commit to a plot, that's it. They can't walk it back.

Valve have waited too long to put a period on that sentence; the hype that has built up in its absence is astronomical. And while I generally respect their policy of "suck is forever" and agree that it'd be better to wait for high-quality games than to see them pump out slop at a faster rate, they might also be shooting themselves in the foot by thinking every new title needs to be a genre-bending pioneer. Perfect is the enemy of good and all that.

And, frankly, between Epistle 3 and the fact that HLA was essentially a means of retconning the end of Episode 2, I'm starting to doubt that Valve themselves even know how the story ends. This is like, the fifth game now where G-Man swoops in to pluck the characters off the tabletop and set them down elsewhere, without a single hint as to where any of this leads. The constant kicking of the can down the road is starting to wear a little thin.

That being said, I wouldn't want them to conclude the series unless they had a crystal-clear vision of what they wanted to do, and only if they had a deep intrinsic desire to work on the project. Which, honestly, at this point may be impossible.

I mean... They were surprised that players grew emotionally attached to Barney Calhoun, a comedic relief side character who they probably didn't put much thought into, over more major characters they spent time fleshing out (cough, Alyx). If HL3 had released back in 2017 and followed Marc Laidlaw's written treatment, Barney wouldn't have appeared, which probably would have gone over like a lead balloon. The creators' priorities inherently are not going to 100% align with fan interests.

I literally could not think of anything worse than an HL3 made just to shut us up, you know what I mean? Not that they ever would, of course, but seeing various other IPs deteriorate due to a desire to keep the tapes rolling has made me appreciate the value of a good self-contained story all the more.

All this to say, if you want HL3, don't rage against Valve for failing to deliver on promises they never purported to make in the first place. Channel that energy toward more productive ends. Write fic. Read fic. Support promising mods like Interlude. You have more control here than you think.

look at the r/halflife subreddit Right Now, so that every time youre dissappinted at your unrealistic expectations of a nintendo direct, you can remember back to it and realize it could always be worse

[backjustforberena]

Reading your tags, re: Rhaenys' roles, and pondering how hard she fights internally to keep those sub-personalities of hers separated.

The grandmother's grief wants to feed the warrior's rage, but the advisor quiets them both? Oof. 🤯

I think Rhaenys is a big compartmentaliser. It's a survival mechanism, as well as a result of her training and background. She's all about control, especially over her own emotions. And we've seen, all throughout Series 01, she never, ever lets her emotions get in the way of politics. She's never sentimental, she's always pragmatic. This can go from her loving a person to her hating a person. It can be about a great injustice or a great ambition. It doesn't matter. If it's a safe, smart path that is in her best interests, then she'll do it.

But her lack of emotionally-driven choices doesn't negate the emotions that she feels. Eve said, when Rhaenys wasn't picked at Harrenhal, Rhaenys's spirit wanted to get on a dragon and burn the whole place down. She didn't. She's repeatedly described the choice as a deep, deep wound. She's suspected and hated Rhaenyra for a role in her son's death. She was in torment at her daughter's death. There have been so many emotions that she's felt and does feel. The control comes from not losing herself to them.

And the easiest way to do that is to repress it. To box it away and not look at it, to make those pragmatic choices easier.

Rhaenys and Daemon's conversation is interesting because Rhaenys empathises with and understands both parties. She recognises Rhaenyra's instincts and grief. She identifies with it. But she also observes and interacts with Daemon's grief; his violent impulses. She's aware of them and responds to them. Is compassionate about them. Likely because she knows them.

So, yeah, I think you've summed it up very easily: The grandmother's grief wants to feed the warrior's rage, but the advisor quiets them both. I think, also, that they cancel one another out... a little? When she's on Meleys (as a warrior) patrolling the Gullet, she can zero in on that. She doesn't have time to think about her grief/rage but nor does she have the burden of thinking about the psyche of the others left of Dragonstone or the bigger picture. When she's an advisor, she has to let her cool head prevail, she looks at the bigger picture but that means disengaging from any instinct and emotion. But when she's a grandmother... she's just that. She doesn't need to be anything else. She looks after the children, after her husband, after herself.

But, in all these roles, she is not prioritising herself or what she needs. Only what others need from her.

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Fandom things I'm looking forward to:

Kingdom Hearts IV and Missing Link

Final Fantasy VII Rebirth

Final Fantasy IX Remake

Final Fantasy Tactics Remaster or Remake (whichever it is. I've heard both things)

The fourth Madoka Magica movie, whenever that comes out (seriously. Where is it? First it was announced as the Concept movie. Then it was re-announced years later with a new name, and it's still missing)

The Percy Jackson TV show

The Infernal Devices TV show

Maybe the Twilight TV show. Maybe.

The animated Smallville continuation that Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum are working on, whenever it comes out

I was going to put Baron and Toluca on this list (that's, like, a spiritual successor to the OG "Roswell" TV show. Majandra Delfino who played Maria in the show wrote the script, and she and Brendan Fehr who played Michael star in it. They're also planning for more Roswell cameos in later episodes), but it came out and I didn't even know it? But I have no idea how to watch it, though, as I guess it only came out in theaters in Albuquerque. Here's hoping it comes out on DVD or something...

The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes

The alleged Firefly reboot

The new Daredevil show

The Batman Part II

The next part in Tom Holland's Spider-Man movies

The DCU, starting with Superman Legacy in 2025

The Five Nights at Freddy's movie and Help Wanted 2

The Iron Lung movie

The TV show that it sounds like Markiplier will be working on after he's done with the Iron Lung movie

The next Bendy and the Ink Machine thing being worked on

MAYBE the Hello Neighbor sequel. I know. I KNOW! (It's really only because the second game had to end on a cliffhanger.)

Five Nights at Candy's 4

Frozen III

Disney's "Wish"

The next and final season of the Clear Card arc of Cardcaptor Sakura

The new Avatar series (the one about the third Avatar in the cycle: the Earth bender)

The live-action Avatar: The Last Airbender series, perhaps

The Chosen season 4

[highdramas]

a guard dog with a death wish | jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!widow!reader warnings: EXTREME ANGST. like seriously. reader is very distraught. death of a partner, mention of suicidal ideation, language, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), there will be an eventual happy ending <3 word count: 2.6k summary: at a grief support group that you never wanted to attend in the first place, jack abbot finds you, and pulls you up by your-- admittedly-- quite sad and pathetic boot straps. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with any of my work or this fic. yay i've finally posted a new fic!!! this is the first part of a new series! yay! not a ton of jack x reader in this part, but it lays the ground work for what is to come <3 i sincerely hope you all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 parts that are to follow may be non-linear on reader's healing journey, but i haven't gotten that far yet so we'll just have to see hehe

the thing that no one thought to warn you about grief is that, a year may pass since the worst moment of your entire life, and you’ll still pat yourself on the back when you get yourself to swallow a bowl of fruity pebbles. the thing they didn’t think to tell you is that two hours of sleep will seem like a miracle– bonus points if the two hours are continuous. the thing that they should put in the pamphlet is that your world is going to end, but everyone else is going to, somehow, miraculously, be so much more put together than you.

you ascertained that you were not doing this whole grief thing right six months ago. when the looks that you received stopped being empathetic, and began to be outright concern. when the texts were more frantic. when it was easier to disconnect from all of it– friends, family, loved ones. how could you explain this feeling to them?

how could you explain that your heart was living somewhere else, outside of your body, so far out of your grasp? how could you explain that every night a future that was never yours, could never be yours, played on a loop in your brain until you were reduced to hot, angry tears? how could you explain any of this to someone and have them understand it, understand you?

it’s not like you thought you were the only person in the world who was grieving tucker. it felt like the whole world was grieving him– that was the type of person he was. but he was your person, first and foremost. he was the person who you sat on the couch with and watched survivor every wednesday night. he was the person who always put the groceries away. he was the person that you lived your mundane little life with– it wasn’t perfect. you didn’t need it to be perfect. that fact that you shared it with him was all that you needed.

it was tucker’s mom who sent you the information for the grief support group. there was a pang of emotion when you saw the text– you hadn’t even seen her since the funeral. you knew, deep down, that she understood. but it didn’t make your feelings of frustration with yourself dissipate.

she could get herself together, and she gave birth to tucker. you were falling apart while she held herself together. it was embarrassing.

the invitation, most likely created on canva, was sent to you in a well-meaning text alongside the words, he loved you more than anyone, or anything. he wouldn’t want you to live like this. if you won’t talk to anyone you know, talk to someone you don’t.

the words, as tough-loved as they were designed to be, didn’t bring you any comfort or resolve for making yourself better. that may be what tucker would’ve wanted– but he died, and you were left behind without the one person who made you feel like you were coming up for air.

tucker sunday was a good man. he was a good man who had loved you entirely and completely and with no reservations, from the moment the two of you met in the first grade. you were new to school, having been relocated to the pittsburgh suburbs from boston. everything felt different and scary– you sat alone on the playground with your hands in your lap, looking from left to right, right to left, hoping that someone might come up to you.

and then there was tucker. gap-toothed and freckled and with a pair of glasses perched on his tiny nose. he plopped beside you with a copy of the lord of the rings in his hand– advanced for a first grader, but that was just how tucker was.

he sat down beside you that sunny day on the playground and he never left.

that was the thing that you think people don’t understand. tucker had been your world, every day– and not in a codependent way. you each had your own, full lives. your own friends and your own families that knew just the right way to blend and merge. you were a librarian at a high school. he was a teacher at an elementary school. you couldn’t carry a tune or play an instrument to save your life. he was the best at the guitar. you loved to bake. he loved to cook.

you balanced one another. and now, the scales have tipped so fast, in such a fervent freefall… how do you climb such a steep mountain back to where you were? when you don’t have someone keeping you even?

you look at the looming building from your place where the bus dropped you off. your hands tremble as you make sure that you have the correct address– you do, of course, because despite your grief, you are still meticulously type a, somewhere inside of yourself.

“my little planner.”

his voice rattles in your head and you have to physically shake your shoulders before you walk through the doors and down the hall, turning left into a room with probably fifteen chairs in a circle. only six are occupied.

a woman turns her head to you and smiles brightly, too brightly for a room filled with such, presumably, weary souls. “hi there,” she gestures towards the empty chairs. “come on in. have a seat.”

your fingers grip your bag tighter, eyes popping from each individual to the next. there’s two people huddled together– sisters, you think. an older gentleman with kind eyes and a long beard who is wearing a veteran hat. a woman in her mid-fifties, if you had to guess, with legs crossed and peering at her phone down the bridge of her nose.

none of them glance up at you, but one.

he’s sitting in the chair facing directly to the door, alert. his eyes don’t leave you for even one singular second as you pad into the room, half wounded animal, half woman. his arms are crossed over his chest and his legs are slightly spread and there’s a camo backpack leaned against his leg. you have to question if you have something on your face or if he just has a staring problem. you decide it must be the latter.

you don’t glare at him in return, but you don’t not glare at him, either. you take tentative step after tentative step until you take a seat one away from him, fixing your hands into your lap and casting your eyes down to them. you look left to right, right to left. you fiddle shakily with the ring that weighs heavy on your left hand. you twirl it and twirl it and twirl it until your skin feels irritated.

introductions begin to happen, but you don’t quite hear them. you’re still staring down at that ring and everything surges at you suddenly, a tidal wave of anguish that takes you by the ankle and drags you under. you don’t realize you’re crying until it’s your turn to introduce yourself and you’re faced with the tell-tale signs of an emotion that you always seem to see, these days.

pity. pity from the sisters, who you presume is the facilitator of the group, and from the two older attendees. pity from all five of them.

your eyes dart over to the man who couldn’t quit looking at you when you entered. you’re momentarily jarred because he’s not looking at you with pity. he looks intense, yes, but not sad for you. you open and close your mouth and for a second, you think it must be because things are going blurry through your tears– but he gives you a small nod of his head.

your mouth falls open again, still hesitant, and he nods again.

heart tumbling over itself, you rub your hands on your pants and share your name. “i’m sorry, what else am i supposed to answer?” you ask, looking to the facilitator. natasha, her nametag reads to you.

“anything that feels right.”

you’re almost certain there were structured questions, but you feel a distant thankfulness for her flexibility. “um…” you wipe away stray tears. “i lost tucker.” you look back down at your lap. “and–” you’re cut off by a box of tissues being placed on the seat beside you. it’s the man with the staring problem, again. your silent encourager. you take one of the tissues and dab at your eyes. you’re not a delicate crier, but you’d like to pretend you are. “tucker was my husband. and–” your vision is gone again, swept away by salt and the smudging of the mascara you put on yesterday when you tried to fool yourself into thinking you were someone who wore mascara and wore cute outfits and took care of herself. “and i lost him almost a year ago. in a car accident. and– and i’m not doing well.” you laugh a little bit, but there’s nothing funny. not even a little bit. “if you couldn’t tell.”

you manage a crackling inhale before you continue on. “and his mom– god, i love her, she sent me the flyer for this. and i don’t want to be here,” you admit, laughing again. “i don’t want to be anywhere. i want to be where he is. still. and no one seems to understand that. i don’t mean it in a scary, i’m going to hurt myself way. i mean it… i mean it in a, i don’t know what’s left of me without him, way.” you blink and look around the circle. “does that make sense?”

every single person nods their head, and for a moment, you feel comforted. the man with the intense eyes nods with a fervor and you’re drawn to meet his gaze, as sad as you think you must look. the corner of his mouth turns up at you.

“anyway,” you sigh, exhausted from the onslaught of emotional upheaval you’ve just experienced. “that’s me.”

the only person left is him. he clears his throat and says, “man. how do i follow that up?”

it should offend you. but there’s a level of light in his eyes that you hope one day you could achieve again, and it makes you laugh and shake your head and look down at your hands while he speaks.

“my name is jack abbot. my wife, annie, died in 2016. i’ve been coming here every week since 2017.”

the rest of the meeting keeps you quiet. you take a handful of tissues and make your best attempt at cleaning up what you imagine is a true sight on your face. the rest of the meeting passes with very little fanfare– everyone shares, and you half-listen, and you can’t muster up the guilt to feel for being so disinterested in everyone else’s grief. you’d accepted, long ago, that your mourning had made you self centered. where once upon a time, you would be mortified at the thought of anyone thinking you to be selfish– you can’t find it within yourself to care, not anymore. you are selfish. you are self centered. grief had made you someone you didn’t recognize.

by the time natasha dismisses everyone, you all but run out to the street. you suck in a deep breath and you sink into a crouching position, covering your mouth with your hand. heavy boot-clad feet come into your line of sight. when you trail your eyes up, you’re met with that storm cloud gaze. jack.

he doesn’t say a word. but he scoops up your tote bag and he slings it over one shoulder, turns heel, and walks off.

your brows furrow, and you have to decide if it’s worth the effort– but ultimately, you stand, the wind stinging your tear-streaked cheeks. “hey,” you call. “that’s my bag.”

he doesn’t turn around. he keeps a steady, casual pace. not running, but not waiting for you to catch up with him, either. “hey!” you call, growing more frustrated. “what, do you just steal bags for a living?”

jack takes a look at you over his shoulder. “yeah, something like that.”

you pick up your speed so that you can fall into step with him. “what the hell are you doing?”

“i’m going to take you to go eat something. because, no offense, you don’t look great.” he looks you up and down while he continues to walk. “when’s the last time that you ate something with some substance? protein, have you ever heard of it?”

your silence is his answer and he grips the totebag a little tighter. “figured you’d say no if i asked. so…”

“so you stole my bag.”

“not stolen,” he says with a disarming smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “i’m gonna give it back. don’t worry.”

“but…” you try and rack your brain for some excuse.

there wasn’t all too much for you to cite. your work hours had been reduced way back in the weeks after tucker passed. you still worked enough to get by, but not so much that you were drowning in work on top of drowning in your own pain. your friends and family were constantly making attempts to make plans with you, but you were diligent in your efforts to firmly stick out an arm and keep them at that length. easier this way, you told yourself. easier for them to be far far away where they cannot see just how damaged you have become. their worry is the last thing that you want, or need.

coming up empty, jack’s smirk spreads on his face. “yeah, that’s what i thought.”

–

jack’s eyes are like a blanket on you while you push around the eggs on your plate, take a tentative bite of your toast. your stomach is still in knots, as it always is, so ultimately, you set down your fork, your toast, and push your plate away. you turn your gaze to look out the window. your body is there, in that diner, but your mind is far away when jack’s voice brings you back.

“so. husband.”

your eyes snap over to his before they slide back to the window. “yeah.”

“i know a little something about that.”

your brows furrow and your eyes narrow and you lean in towards him. “you don’t know shit about me, or about what i’m going through.” you huff out a disbelieving laugh. “bold of you to think you do. seriously, wow.”

“no, i know. i know this song and dance. i lived it.” he gestures towards you, and then towards himself, and his look is still not pitying. if anything, he seems more annoyed. “it’s addicting, isn’t it? feeling like shit?”

your mouth drops open and you stare at him, trying to muster the words, but they don’t come. he continues talking. “i bet everyone is coddling you. keeping a safe distance from you, lest you snap. not wanting to push you too hard. right? they’re treating you like something breakable. well, you know what i think?”

“you don’t know a god damn–”

“i think that you need someone who’s going to hold you accountable.”

“accountable?” you reel backwards.

“yeah. accountable. accountable of taking care of yourself. accountable of eating. accountable of dragging yourself out of this hole that you’re in. and i don’t think that anyone is stepping up and doing it.”

you grow silent. it’s not that they’re not stepping up– you’re not letting them. maybe jack knows that, too, since he seems to be able to read you like a well-loved and memorized book.

he folds his hands, one on top of the other, staring at you. “and i’m gonna be that person.”

scoffing, you cross your arms over your chest. everything about your body language screams defensive. “why?” you finally ask. you raise your eyebrows up at him.

he shrugs his shoulders. “what can i say,” he stabs his fork into the eggs on your plate, taking a big bite. “i like strays.”

[miniimight]

I need more dad Sukuna and mom reader fics / headcsnons, I love the way you wrote for them!!

hey anon thank you! i'm thinking about making this a series, if you guys have any ideas/requests/prompts lmk <3

PICKING UP BABY FROM SCHOOL oops, toddlers can't ride motorcyles! (dad!sukuna x mom!reader)

sukuna rolled up about twenty minutes before his daughter's school got out, deploying the kickstand of his pitch black motorcycle against the rainbow colored fencing. he pulled off his helmet, sighing deeply when he met fresh air again.

his phone buzzed against his thigh. he pulled it out of his tight cargo pocket, answering immediately when he saw your caller ID. "hey, doll."

"you got there okay?" you asked.

"mhm."

"and you're on the right side of the building? that's where her class comes out."

"mhm."

"great." you exhaled. "m'sorry i couldn't make it this time—"

"stop." he says gruffly, his phone between his shoulder and ear as he pulls off his gloves. "what are you sorry for, silly girl? you're sick and should rest."

he doesn't mind anything when it comes to his two girls, not the fifteen minute commute to her school or the half hour of waiting just to get a parking spot nice and close to the doors.

your laugh was warbled over the phone. "at least the car is air conditioned. it's been getting warmer lately."

"..." he looked down at his bike.

"ryo, baby?" you hummed.

"hm?"

"you did take the car, right?"

"..."

his silence was all you needed to hear. he tuned out your worried rambling about how the hell is your daughter going to get home on that thing in order to process. toddlers don't usually use motorcycles as a mode of transportation... and he should've thought of this before!

"it'd be fine if i had an extra seat." he mused, debating on how he could manage this situation without having to call you to get them.

"an extra seat?! not even an extra helmet?" you shrieked. "baby, i swear, if you're actually thinking about driving with my baby girl on that thing—"

"relax, doll," he grumbled, pushing down the traces of embarrassment burning at his ears. "the brat will be fine, s'just a couple blocks away. she can handle the wind."

"..."

the bell rang and the doors swung open, children pouring out of the hallway and buzzing around in search of their parents.

"she's out, we'll see you soon." he was about to hang up when he heard,

"i'm literally about to come get you, do NOT go anywhere."

he frowns, his eyes scouring the crowd of midgets for his kid. he didn't mean to make you so upset and worried. he just... overlooked important details sometimes. not his fault, he's trying his best :(

"y/n, you will sit your ass down in bed. when i come home, you better be laying down exactly how i left you." he warned. he heard your breath hitch. "you trust me, don't you, baby?"

"yes... unfortunately."

he nodded. "we'll be home soon."

"in one piece?"

he rolled his eyes, grumbling. "yes, woman."

"hm." you huffed and hung up.

he strolled into the compound. as soon as he saw those pretty eyes that creased happily when they landed on him, he smiled and crouched down.

she ran over to him, her backpack jostling behind her. she held up a painting she made. "daddy, look!"

"i see." he pulled her closer, holding the backpack off her back and letting her walk off it. he slung the bedazzled bratz backpack over his shoulder, lifting her up in his arms. "what is it?"

"for mama."

"oh. all your crafts seem to be for mama. still nothing for me." he complained with a drawn out sigh.

she rolled her eyes, and he swore he was looking at you for a second.

"don't roll your eyes at me, brat." he scoffed. "who the hell even taught you that?" he muttered under his breath.

sukuna finally stopped in front of his bike. her eyes lit up as her legs started to kick in excitement. she's only ever seen daddy ride off on this thing, now she gets to ride with him?

he swung his leg over the bike, ignoring the mix of distasteful and flirtatious looks thrown at him. "okay, kid." he exhaled, shrugging off his jacket and holding it up to her. "gotta put this on."

she turned up her nose. "stinky."

his jaw dropped open. "i showered before i came to wait half an hour for you, chubby brat. the hell do you think you're talking to?"

she looked at him as if it were obvious.

"you'll put this on now. give me mama's painting, i'll put it in your bag." he said gruffly yet gently slid the painting into her backpack with the utmost care.

the jacket drowned her, the sleeves near triple the length of her arms. sukuna zipped her up and put the helmet on her head.

she started to whine. "stinky." she wailed.

"hush." he hissed, slapping some shades on and holding her towards her chest firmly. with her protected as best as he could with what he had, and with the jeweled backpack strapped to his back, he began to roll out into the road.

that drive home was the longest thirty minutes of his life. he had never drove so slow before.

you were waiting by the front door, running down to meet them as your husband pulled into the driveway.

"oh my god oh my god," you ripped your baby from his arms, tossing the helmet off her head. "are you okay, baby?" you smoothed away the sweaty hair from her face, your lips pursing when you hear her sniffles.

"my poor baby. daddy's never gonna pick you up again, don't you worry." you peppered her face with kisses.

sukuna caught the helmet before it crashed to the ground, walking behind you with his hands in his pockets. he kissed your temple as he leaned over your shoulder to peer down at his daughter. "daddy didn't do so bad."

you glare at him, cradling your daughter's head against your chest. you whirl away and storm into the house.

he sighed.

after many apologetic kisses and a good amount of groveling, you let him do pick-ups and drop-offs again. though you made sure to watch him get into the car before he drove off.

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[solifloris]

≡;-꒰ 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒆

╰┈➤ ❝ zayne x afab!reader | VALENTINE'S EVENT !

tags : established relationship, light kisses, hurt/comfort, angst with fluff, reader has a bad day, kinda slight references to 'hidden motive', it's like if the "youtiful" series had no smut LMAO, use of pet names "love" "sweetheart". ((also... unedited... i finished this at like 2:30am... AHFNNSNF))

wc : 3k (haha......)

an : so i have. been on a bit of writer's block since i recovered from my sick week, but i did somehow get the urge to write something a little angsty… so this was actually the perfect request to work on and i had sm fun with this!! TYTYYY FOR REQUESTING @deepspacenova ILY <333 (also i know canonically valentine's day is azure's echo day but… for consistency we'll stick with valentine's :D)

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

ko-fi jar / commissions

Valentine's Day wasn't supposed to go like this.

When you woke up, the space beside you was empty.

The curtains were drawn, and the room had been left relatively dark despite the little rays of sunshine peeking through. Comforting, in a sense, but—your hand reached out to run through the sheets beside you, now cold and devoid of the warmth of his presence. He'd left it like this on purpose; you knew that.

And it was quiet without him.

The kind of quiet that was loud, the kind of quiet that was uncomfortable.

Your eyes drifted towards the clock on the nightstand, and your heart sank at the realization—you'd slept in, and completely missed seeing him off. On Valentine's Day.

You'd both known from the start that he wouldn't be getting a day off despite the occasion, and you'd accepted it, but you had promised yourself to be present for him in the morning. What kind of girlfriend would let him leave just like that, right?

There was a note on the stand.

You reached out to grab it, and something about the emptiness in the bedroom made you feel so small. Even though you'd always been fond of the neutral colors surrounding you, they looked drearier and gloomier than they'd ever been. Your arms twitched with the urge to reach out for a hug—

There was no one there.

Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well? I noticed you've been very tired lately, so please get some rest. Don't feel too bad that you didn't see me this morning. I'll be home in time for dinner, let me know when you wake up.

It was so sweet. So Zayne. Yet the heaviness in your heart didn't seem to lighten in the least, because the circumstances didn't change:

It was Valentine's Day. And you were spending it all alone.

In retrospect, you could never place the blame on your boyfriend. It had been this way from the start; you'd talked about it, accepted it, that with all of this came his busy schedules and the ever-present possibility that he would miss days like this without having much of a choice himself. You, yourself, weren't exempt to the setup, anyway—normally, your own work hours would have you out of the house in a similar manner. It was only that, this time… the mere prospect of having to spend a majority of the day alone with your thoughts had your skin crawling.

It had to be today.

It had to be now.

You could beg for a new work assignment to come in and save you from drowning, but you had been ordered to take a rest.

…Was this resting?

The air was stifling. You could breathe, but only barely.

You felt nailed to the bed, your head heavy, your body heavy, the tension in your shoulders nearly having you want to cry out if only you could muster a sound.

It had to be today.

It had to be now.

On Valentine's Day, the day of love. You would feel so pathetic, and needy, and so desperate to feel him next to you when you knew that it could not be so and you understood that this was simply the way things were. How they always have been. And it took every ounce of your energy to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill, because what kind of girlfriend would be like this, and why couldn't today be a day you felt normal?

You had to hastily wipe your tears with the sleeve of your sweater, and your hands reached for the phone next.

A simple good morning, a little how-are-you.

You would make yourself be normal today if you could help it.

So you did the only thing you could think of:

You redirected.

Pushing yourself out of bed was a task difficult enough to do, but you grit your teeth through it. Feet touched upon the soft carpet, footsteps padding across the room and towards the door. If you had the majority of the day to yourself, you could do something productive, couldn't you? You could still do that, couldn't you? You could still be the simplest, simplest form of a functioning human being… couldn't you?

A mantra repeated in your head as you made your way to the kitchen.

A list of things: you could clean, you could organize, you could read, you could play… You could cook something, maybe even bake, just so he could have some sort of surprise waiting when he got back.

It sounded like a good plan.

…

It was a difficult plan.

Deep breaths weren't enough to calm you down. Sure, every movement pulled you out of the rubble of your thoughts for a moment, allowed you to continue being for a moment. But a moment was merely a moment. And once that moment was over, then it was over. The wreckage dangling above your head would come crashing.

It was a terrifying, terrifying thing to be alone.

Every so often your eyes would drift towards your phone in hopes for a text; even a simple update, anything, anything—

You liked the quiet, but you liked it when he was around.

You liked the slowness of things, but you liked it when he was around.

On days like these, then only when all this empty space could be filled by the warmth of his presence… that was when everything else could be bearable.

And you stirred the cookie batter absentmindedly, only barely paying attention to what you were doing, when—

Ding!

Your heart jumped.

Immediately, you dropped the spatula back into bowl and turned towards your phone.

—heeeeyyyy, happy valentine's, bestieee!!! —hope you get to have a sweeeett, sweet time with your boyfie!

Ah.

Your racing heartbeat calmed down in slight disappointment; the last conversation you'd had with Zayne had been an hour ago, and you knew realistically enough not to expect another message so soon.

And, sure, you were disappointed, but… to Tara's defense, these texts still made you smile.

She sent a flurry more of messages; silly things, cute things, just a couple of somethings to leave in your chat log. You didn't know if she'd picked up on your own behavior being off at work, but you supposed that if Jenna had, then it was more likely that Tara hadn't overlooked it, either.

A thought rang suddenly in your mind, because you could spend the rest of your day with her. A glance at the time told you that it was only half past two in the afternoon, and you still had a couple of hours left before Zayne would be on his way home. If you were looking for a distraction, perhaps, a day out could have solved it, but—

Realization dawned.

You'd have to put on something pretty, spend a couple of minutes doing makeup. You'd have to speak with people, interact with them, seem normal to them… and then maybe, then, you'd be more conscious of the fact that you were blatantly masking in front of people you held close to your heart.

Vulnerability was a fickle thing.

Though you could desperately want to be so, it was difficult to know where to begin.

It was something to accept—you didn't have the energy to… be.

Not today.

Maybe Zayne was right; you did need to rest.

And the realization furthered in that really, truly, all that you wanted was to spend a moment curled up in his lap, maybe watch a movie, maybe sit in silence… Just enough to recharge, just enough to feel safe enough to be.

You wouldn't have had to think of anything else.

But, he wasn't… Here.

He wasn't here.

Hours passed by in a similar manner, then. A cycle of distracting yourself, and failing, and trying again, and failing… You had gotten a few things done, in your defense. The kitchen and the bedroom had both been cleaned spotless. Your newly-baked batch of chocolate-chip cookies sat to cool on the counter, a treat for your boyfriend, something to remind you of what day it was today. You were proud of yourself for it, of course; despite everything, you could still do a little something.

But the feeling in your chest, the heaviness of it, the burden you bore that you couldn't quite place, yourself… it was still there. Unmistakably, still there.

And then it was late.

Later than you knew his shift to be.

You glanced at your phone once, twice—thrice, and a few times more.

The message you'd sent had received no reply.

It must have been an emergency.

You understood; really, you understood. It was like this. He had no access to his phone when things were busy, and especially not when something had come up. You knew this. You knew.

And so you grabbed a blanket from the bedroom to drape over yourself, as you curled up on the couch.

You could wait.

You could.

You could.

…You could, right?

Surfing through channels proved easy enough.

Not that one.

Not that one.

No, not that one, either.

You huffed as each channel played a show that didn't particularly interest you, the sound of their dialogue merely causing you to be irritated rather than successfully distracted. You had little to no choice but to passively play on a show, lower the volume—and at this point, truly… it was difficult to take.

You curled up, drew your knees up to your chest.

The blanket smelled like him.

You could recall how often it had been like this; it had been busy at the hospital, as much as it had been busy at work… The two of you had barely any time to spend with each other these past few days, and undeniably it had started to take a toll on you.

Because it had to line up with the way that you'd been feeling.

Useless. Worthless. A little bit less like yourself.

Thoughts like these were easy to ignore when you had the capacity to, but you didn't anymore. Once again, the space around you was too big; too heavy; too much. It cemented on you all these feelings of helplessness, the way you were left in the middle of this cold, empty space with nothing to offer solace. It was pathetic to feel this way, you thought, but you no longer had the ability to rationalize it.

You didn't like it here without him.

You missed him—a feeling that had built up all these days spent away from each other.

And then the tears started to fall.

Silent tears, an occasional sniffle here and there… Your eyes glazed over as you continued to hug your knees to your chest, head resting upon them. You weren't focusing. The television remained what it was—white noise. You could barely remember what channel you had left it on in the first place.

Your phone lit up a couple of times.

You no longer noticed it.

—

A light shaking could be felt over your body.

It was a colder touch, you could feel it through even the blanket. Your eyes stirred open. Yet, truly, even before your gaze could focus enough on the figure next to you, you knew this touch.

Zayne.

He had his hand on your arm, having nudged you awake, and you could see the faint outline of a bouquet of flowers seated right next to him. Your favorites, no less.

In front of you, the television had been turned off, and a quick glance at your phone to the side showed several missed calls and texts from him. The time flashed as eight in the evening. You had fallen asleep. Your eyes were likely puffy, and you probably looked exhausted…

Yet, these things, despite how much you had noticed and despite how much you were still thinking—

They didn't matter anymore.

The moment of silence between you two, the way he didn't ask, the way he waited, the way he watched… A wave of understanding passed over the both of you before he pulled you into his arms, and that was it.

This was home.

It wasn't dark, and gloomy, and empty, and cold—

It was warm. Comforting. Full of his presence, just the way you had been longing it to be since you'd woken up. The smell of his cologne was one familiar enough to make you tighten your hold on him, make you snuggle deeper into his chest. It was secure. It was safe.

You'd missed him, truly.

And there was no need for words, not really. Instead, he stroked your hair, patiently, lovingly. A gentle kiss to the top of your head. A little reassuring squeeze of your hand.

"Zayne…"

"Mn. I'm here."

Another moment of stillness.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

You could still hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, but this time, it didn't bother you. Not when you could just as well hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, not when his quiet words of reassurance could resound in your head like a lullaby.

And a stray tear fell.

Maybe, it was the relief of it. Maybe, it was how everything had bubbled up to crash into you like this.

But—

You lips trembled, and you cried.

You cried, and cried, and cried.

And it was such a stupid way to spend the day of love.

"You're… You're home, hic, I-I'm sorry, I didn't— hic— I fell asleep, a-and then—"

"Shh. It's okay, my love."

His voice was low. Soft.

"B-but I was… It's Valentine's Day, I should've…!"

"No, you do not owe me anything. On the contrary, I, too, have not been a satisfactory partner… I apologize, sweetheart. I wish I could have spent the day with you."

"It's… It's not your fault…"

"Then, it is not your fault, either."

He paused.

"You… feel unwell. You've been unwell. Haven't you? Aren't you?"

Slowly, gently, he coaxed your head up to look at him. His thumb raised, moving to wipe away your tears; to draw you closer by your chin and place a chaste kiss on the tip of your nose.

You sniffled slightly. "I… I didn't want to be needy… I know it's been busy at the hospital, and I thought I could manage, a-and I'm sorry, I know I should be more understanding! I-I should be better, be good, be someone who can give you the world like you deserve, be— something more worth of the comfort you give me, than this…"

The words flowed out before you could stop them, and, in the end, you appreciated that you could be vulnerable with him. But it still tore at your heart to have him listen. Because what if it was silly? What if it was stupid? In the back of your mind, even though you thought these things, you were hoping for him to tell you otherwise. And what would you do if he didn't? If he agreed with you? What if these words, these insecurities, would make him think less of you, or find it irritating, or…

You were spiraling.

You could see yourself drowning, reflected in the very window of his gaze.

But he gripped your shoulders—he wouldn't let you.

"I never asked for you to give me the world."

It was firm this time, and not necessarily gentle... Yet, the look in his eyes told you everything even before he spoke.

Slow, careful words, and his eyes never strayed from yours:

"All I've ever wanted was you."

Your breath hitched.

You waited, quiet, a little stunned; watched as he leaned in to give you a soft kiss. One to your forehead, one on your eyelids. Your cheek, the corner of your lips—

"I ask nothing of you, if only to know that you are okay. If only to know that you understand… that I will cherish you, and care for you, for as long as you are alive. Do you remember that?"

A memory stirred.

I should think about… how to live my life to the fullest. Because in this world, there's someone who'll like me for as long as I'm alive…

Those were your words.

A wave of warmth washed over you once more as he brought back memories from that day, one that, likely, was one that he thought of often himself.

"The moon…" he mumbled. Gently, he nudged your head sideways to allow you to glance out the window. He'd drawn the curtains back, and the night sky showed itself in full view to you. "Is beautiful tonight. Just as you are. Less than you are. Because you always shine brighter. And, to me… That is all of the world that I need."

"Zayne…"

"I bought you flowers, and I saw the cookies that you left on the table. However… how much you mean to me is not meant to be celebrated for simply one day of the year, and I don't plan to do that. I would celebrate it every day, every minute, every hour of my life. Besides… no matter how hectic things get, I will always want to see you."

This time, he pulled you back to him, gently easing his lips onto yours. A quick kiss, but a meaningful one. One that made the world disappear, your troubles disappear… at least, enough for you to focus on him, and all the love that he offered— to you.

"…Zayne?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

You snuggled into his chest, curling into his warmth.

It felt lighter, now. Perhaps, not to be completely freed from the chains you had put on yourself, but… it felt lighter. More bearable. No longer suffocating.

No longer difficult.

"I love you," you repeated. You would whisper the words, quiet as you focused on his heartbeat. "I love you, twice… thrice… and more times… Because saying it once wouldn't be enough."

"And I love you, sweetheart." Once more, he pressed his lips to the crown of your head. "Twice, and thrice, and more. And, for tonight… We can do whatever you want. My time is all yours."

And perhaps, you thought, he was your world just as much as you were his.

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[dreamsteddie]

AITA Steddie Au Part Three

Part Two

Hello! Sorry for the delay! This week was very busy with student conferences and my own midterms so I haven't had a lot of time to work on this. This is more of an interlude building up to bigger things, but I hope you enjoy it!

Also! Get in the comments if you have any ideas of an actual name for this series so I can stop calling it AITA Steeddie Au. I can't think of anything good 😓

------

Eddie takes Steve on that second date.

And then a third and a fourth and eventually he stops counting because he's seeing Steve as often as he can between their jobs and other responsibilities. He feels high off it, giddy with possibility and hope for this new thing that he's never had before.

Eddie has done relationships before, a couple of times. A small handful of boys and girls he took out on dates and tried his best to woo all went up in flames one way or another, but none of those relationships left him feeling so gone so fast. He felt like he was always holding himself back from giving himself up completely, too afraid of falling without a safety net to reach for that deep devotion he's always craved.

Steve makes him feel like they're plunging into that unknown together.

Still, no matter how much he's been trying to avoid it, the looming specter of what the hell to do about his friends is looming over his head.

------

"Are you fucking serious right now dude?" Eddie asks, a complicated mix of righteous anger, humiliation for himself and Steve, and complete disbelief at Gareth's unwillingness to back down from this making it increasingly difficult to keep his cool.

"Look man, all I'm saying is that Steve is like, the complete antithesis of literally everything we stand for. He's a nepo baby business major who's never had an original thought in his life! I would know! I've read one of his papers." Gareth says, forced nonchalance coloring his tone and riling Eddie up even more.

He rears up, shoulders pushing back and hands grasping at the air like he could pull down his frustration from the either and condense it into a solid ball he could lob at Garteth's head to finally knock some goddamn sense into his brain.

"Hey, hey, hey. Okay, Eddie, I'm really sorry about this. It was a fucked up idea, I don't know what we were thinking." Jeff interveins before the frustrated banshy noises Eddie is letting out turn into another yelling match that won't get anyone anywhere.

"I think we just got too caught up wanting to help you get out of this rut and it all turned into something completely insane. You don't gotta forgive us Eddie, but if there's anything we can do to try and make up for it, we'll do it. Isn't that right Gareth?" Jeff pointedly asked with a look that says agree with me right now or else.

Gareth doesn't say anything.

The thing about all of this that Eddie just can't wrap his head around is the why. Why would his friends, his sheepies, do something so cruel? He knows none of them have ever looked kindly at people like Steve. Too many traumatizing high school humiliations behind them all to trust when someone who looks so much like all the guys who bullied them in high school tries to reach out, but Gareth and Jeff have never tried something like this. In fact, it's used to be Eddie doing most of the anti-jock revenge planning back in the day, even if nothing ever actually came from it.

He thought, incorrectly it seems, that they had grown out of the worst of it by now. It's been three years since Garteth graduated, and five since Eddie made his final attempt, and leaving their hometown behind did a lot to heal old hurts.

So why this? Why now?

"Is this seriously how it's going to be man? You won't tell me what the fuck any of this was really about and you're not even going to try and apologize? Seriously?" The righteous anger is starting to seep out of him, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion.

Gareth just continues to stare at him defiantly, not saying a word.

Eddie pinches his nose and takes a deep breath, "You know what? Fine. Whatever. If this is how it's going to be then I'm out. Jeff, I'll talk to you later, probably not for a little bit though. Gareth?" The other man lifts his head from where he'd been looking down at his shoes. There were tears in his eyes, just a little bit but enough for Eddie to clock it. Face red from some unnamed cocktail of emotions Eddie doesn't have the energy or desire to interrogate right now. "Call me when you're ready to grow the fuck up. I've got a second date to plan."

With that, Eddie turned on his heel and made for the open garage door.

"What about the band, man?!" Gareth called.

Eddie kept walking.

-------

That was over four weeks ago.

He hasn't spoken to Gareth for most of that time. The first couple of days he blew up his phone with angry to half-apologizing texts that Eddie promptly ignored. After the second day, he sent a single text back letting him know he didn't want to talk unless he had a real explanation and apology to give both him and Steve and that he was going to block his number for a little while. He could let Freak know if he was ever ready to talk like adults. Eddie trusted him to tell if Gareth was being genuine.

In other news.

Waking up to strong arms secured around his naked waist is fast becoming Eddie's favorite way to start the day. He and Steve slept together for the first time last week, and since then it's like neither of them can get enough of each other.

"Hey, baby." Steve rasps in his ear, tilting his head down to smear sleepy kisses onto his shoulder. The hand that was resting against his ribs meanders its way down to the trail of hair under his navel, scratching just a little and making Eddie feel like a contented mutt. He's not sure if he should feel horny or like he could sink into the mattress and sleep for another full 8 if Steve keeps holding him like his.

"Mornin' sweetheart." he says deciding that a couple more hours of sleep is definitely the way to go. Steve, it seems, has other idead.

"What you thinkin' about this early in the morning?" He asks, hand continuing to scratch lazily at Eddie's stomach like he's not completely destroying Eddie's will and ability to focus on anything but the warm body behind him.

But it's been a long time coming, and as much as he doesn't want to, Eddie needs to start thinking about what he wants to do about his friends? former friends? estranged family? band and Steve deserves to be a part of the conversation.

Eddie sits up, bringing Steve up with him to rest against the headboard. "I've been thinking about the band. Gareth and Jeff, that is." He pauses, waits for some kind of reaction that doesn't come. Steve looks concerned, but not in the way he thought he would.

"Ok." Steve responds, waiting for more.

"I guess I just don't know what to do." He looks out into the middle distance of Steve's bedroom. Takes in the display of swim, basketball, and baseball trophies displayed proudly on a shelf, catching the early morning light. "I'm still so fucking mad. It's honestly kind of irritating how mad it makes me to think of what they did. It was so fucking stupid."

Steve hums a little, letting Eddie get it out.

"But at the same time I can't help but fucking miss them. Miss the music and the campaigns and everything else." It's honestly been eating him alive, the mix of anger and longing he's been feeling for his friends. The constant longing to go back in time and stop them from concocting this shit show but also, like, stalk Gareth to his 8 AM Business class so he can run into Steve and they can fall in love at first sight or some shit.

Silence.

Steve shifts. Moves so he can look Eddie right in the face. He looks thoughtful in a way that Eddie had to get used to. Sometimes when Steve is thinking hard about something, he scrunches his face in such a way that it makes him look like he's judging you. He isn't, it's just an unfortunate fact of life that his baby has a resting Judgemental Face™.

Steve heaves out a big breath, bringing Eddie back down to earth. "I mean, I don't want to, like, cloud your judgement or whatever but maybe you should try and talk to them one more time. Jeff appologized right?"

And, ok that's definetly not what Eddie was expecting to hear. It must show on his face because Steve is suddenly looking away, embaraced.

"I just..." He trails off, taking his own turn staring out at the dull shine of his old acomplishments. Eddie watches as his face once again turns pensive as he stares harder at the remnents of his high school acheivements.

"I used to be a pretty shitty guy. Did the same kind of shit your buddies did a couple of times." This isn't necessarily news to Eddie. They've talked a little about who Steve was in high school and how much work he put into himself before he decided to go back to college. It's still a bit of a shock to hear, though.

"So I get how someone can make a mistake like that, y'know? So if you want to try and talk it out, I won't be offended. I know we're in this together, now." Peace said, Steve reaches for Eddie's hand and gives it a squeeze.

It hits Eddie again, just how good Steve Harrington is. It hasn't been long, not really, since they got together but they've fallen together so completley, so easily, that it's easy to forget that there's still so much they have to learn, so many layers for Eddie to peal back. Behind every judgemental remark and complaint about the frequent phone calls he gets from chuldren he used to babysit in his hometown is a man who cares deeply and is capable of great forgiveness, even if it hasn't been earned yet.

Eddie squeezes his hand back.

"Are you sure?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah, it's not we have to totally forgive them, right? But I think you need to get a real answer from both of them about why it happened. Maybe you can find a way past it, maybe they'll say something that puts the nail in the coffin." He responds.

Eddie takes a deep breath, and thinks.

Steve is right. Eddie isn't satisfied with any of the answers he got last time, and he knows that there has to be more to the story than "trying to get Eddie out of a rut" and he's not going to be able to put any of this to rest until he understands.

"Ok, yeah. I'll call them." Steve gives him an encouraging smile at that, rubbing the back of Eddie's hand where they haven't let go yet.

"Good, I'm glad. And I can come with you if you want. Hit em from both sides." he says. Eddie think's he'll take him up on that offer, but right now he had more imporant things to do. Namely, tackling his sweet boyfriend onto the mattress and having a mid morning tousle.

"We'll see. Right now I've got more imporant things to do." He says in his best aproximation of a sultry voice. He doesn't know how good it really is, but it seems to work based on the way Steve's eyes get hooded and he looks down at Eddie's mouth.

Gotcha.

Before Steve can lean down and kiss him, Eddie snaps his hands down to his boyfriend's sides in a well executed tickle atack. Steve immedietly jolts and starts howling with laughter, yelling between breaths that Eddie is "a fucking asshole" as he continues his relentless atacks.

Eventually, Steve manages to regain his bearings and go on the offence, turning them over and trapping his boyfriend's hands beneath his knees so he can atack Eddie's equally ticklish sides.

Once the late morning has passes into early noon and they've both settled back into Steve's signifigantly more rumpled be, Eddie takes one more moment to think about the furute to come before he shelves it. He knows that whatever conversation is to come, it won't be easy, and even if things go as smoothly as possible with Gareth and Jeff, things will never be the same between them all.

Looking down at Steve, who is sporting the most outrageous bedhead in human history, laughing at the stream of reals Robin sent him in the middle of the night, he thinks he'll be okay either way.

Tag List

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[woso-dreamzzz]

Ma'am: Christmas

Aitana Bonmatí x Royal!Reader

Summary: Christmas in the Ma'am Universe

"Is it worth setting Real Madrid on fire?" You wonder aloud as you lay across three different seats in the friends and family box, throwing a tennis ball up and down thoughtfully.

"I'm afraid that might cause a diplomatic incident, ma'am," Your ever present bodyguard says gruffly," It doesn't belong to you."

You sigh, long and drawn out. "I guess." You think for a moment before sitting up. "Should I buy it? And then set it on fire?"

Your bodyguard, tall and serious and dressed entirely in black and wearing shades you're ninety percent sure means he can't see anything when the sun goes down, doesn't even let his lip twitch. You suppose he's meant to be intimidating with his stocky shoulders and large frame but he's holding your puppy Rufus, fast asleep in his arms, and shivering slightly in the cold air.

"Well?"

He sighs. "Why would you want to do that, ma'am?"

"For a Christmas present. For Aitana. It would make her happy, I think. For Real Madrid not to exist anymore."

"Has Her Royal Highness asked you that?"

"Well...no...but-"

"Then perhaps it's best that you refrain from that, ma'am."

You huff. "I don't think I want you holding the prince anymore."

That manages to get an upwards quirk of the lip from him though as you take poor sleepy Rufus from his arms. "Don't worry, Rufus," You whisper to him as you both watch Aitana walk onto the pitch with the team," We'll find something for your Mami that she'll love for Christmas."

Christmas for you have always involved pomp and ceremony and now that includes Aitana too. The family had their traditions and you were expected to abide by them.

Aitana hadn't really thought about how her life would change by marrying you. A lot of it hadn't. She could stay in Spain and with Barcelona and still play football. She could come home to the apartment you and her lived in with yappy little Rufus where you'll be at the stove, cooking up some monstrosity that she would eventually save you from after showering.

But this was Christmas and you were both expected at the Sandringham Estate to celebrate with the family so it wasn't going to be a quiet, private Christmas spent with just the two of you.

You had your traditions, which is what Aitana assumed this was.

"A present? It's the start of December."

"I can't give my wife a gift?"

No matter how many times you said it, Aitana could never stop the smile appearing on her face at that word.

Wife.

Your wife.

It was the new title that Aitana loved the most.

Because that was what she was.

Your wife.

"I...I haven't gotten you anything extra," She says," Was I meant to?"

You shake your head, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her lips. "I'm the one that's changing Christmas for you. It's going to be different this year so I'm sorry. It's the least I could do."

"You're so sweet."

You grin. "I was planning on setting Real Madrid on fire but I was persuaded not to."

Aitana laughs, another kiss landing on you.

The gifts pile up after that.

For every day leading up to Christmas. Not one day is missed and you're both there to watch her open it, in front of the Christmas tree and happy little Rufus and his silly little puppy smile.

Jewellery, clothes and more practical things like a new pair of boots because her own were getting worn out or a book series she'd only mentioned wanting once in parting.

The gifts piled up and you didn't even seem to care for anything in return except for maybe a kiss.

"Tell me what we're doing later," Aitana says as you both lay back on the bed in the private jet," What should I expect?"

You'd delayed it as long as possible, letting Aitana have that private holiday season she had wanted. But you couldn't delay it forever so early Christmas Eve, had you both (and Rufus) flying back to England to join your family.

Aitana's fingers trace a pattern over the skin of your arm as you relax back into the pillows.

"Well William likes to play a game of football before dinner," You tell her," I expect you to show him how it's done and win. He's so excited to see your skills up close. But he'll be wearing stupid Aston Villa socks so be sure to tell him he looks stupid."

"So win a football match? I can do that."

"We do presents on Christmas Eve too. And then when all the kids go to bed we have a black tie dinner. I checked with Father though and our son can stay up and come."

Aitana laughs. "You don't have to keep referring to Rufus as our son, you know."

You frown. "Why wouldn't I? He is our son."

She laughs again. "What's next? Christmas Day? What do we do then?"

"Well, we usually go to a Christmas service but you don't have to come if you don't want to. After that, we'll have to go back to Buckingham Palace. That's where Father wants to broadcast his speech from this year."

"And we're coming too?"

You grin at her, biting your lip and leaning close to whisper in her ear. "I'm saving up a present for you. But you can't tell anyone."

"I can keep a secret."

And it's a secret Aitana does keep for the next day.

She does end up on a cold, English football pitch against your eldest brother and she does end up humiliating him much to your delight.

She plays circles around everyone like the professional she is and chooses William wearing the Barcelona kit instead of his favoured Aston Villa one as her forfeit.

Her pile of presents is large and not even all of them are from you but the ones that are, are her favourite.

Your own presents range from things you actual enjoy and want (from people like your father and auntie Anne) to gag gifts like one particular shirt planted with Aitana's face from your brother that you wear proudly before being forced to take it off for dinner.

"See," You whisper to Aitana with a grin," Not all English food is bad."

She looks down at her roast thoughtfully and purses her lips, fighting back a smile.

You poke her cheek. "Is that a grin? Is it? I think it is! I knew I would convince you one day!"

Aitana allows a weak smile on her face. "There's outliers in every cuisine," Is all she offers," I stand by what I said. Spanish food is better."

"Yeah," You laugh," That's why you've been eating all the Yorkshire puddings."

"They're nice! You should make these at home."

You kiss her hand with a wink. "As Her Royal Highness commands."

It's not the first time Aitana's been to Buckingham Palace but there's a different feel to it during the holidays. There's a tree in practically every room and festive lights hung up everywhere they can be fit.

You're giggling as you lead her through the halls, a pretty smile on your red cheeked face. You had a bit of liquid courage earlier in the form of a spiked eggnog that Kate had given to you before you and Aitana set off back to London with your father and his wife.

"Where are we going?" Atiana giggles as well," What is it?"

"Okay," You say, finally skidding to a halt in front of a pair of ornate doors," Close your eyes."

"You can't be serious-"

"Please? It'll ruin the surprise!"

"Fine."

Atiana closes her eyes and allows you to lead her into the room.

"Careful," You warn her," We're going up some steps. And then turn...Yeah, like that...And sit."

"Can I open my eyes now?"

"Just give me a moment."

Something is placed on her head and Aitana gets the feeling that she knows where she is.

"Okay," You say," Open."

You're on your knees in front of her, head pillowed on her thigh as you sit between her legs on the little dais.

"Beautiful," You say.

"You know I'm not meant to be sitting on this," Aitana says though she makes no movement to lift herself off the throne.

"But it suits you."

Aitana hums, lips pressed together thoughtfully as you plant a small kiss on the inside of her thigh. "You spoil me."

"Yes."

She frowns. "You'd do anything I asked."

"Don't say it like it's a bad thing," You say, eyes wide earnestly," It's not a bad thing. I'll do anything for you."

"Even now?"

You nod. "Even now."

Aitana grins at you, some of her own liquid courage swirling around her body as she widens her legs and fists her hand in your hair.

"I think you know where I want you."

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 29 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley returns home to good news and an exhausted wife. Making plans for the future is something he lives for now, but thoughts from his week in Fort Worth seem to linger.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, masturbation, oral sex, smut, pregnancy topics, lactation kink

Length: 3100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Sweetheart," Bradley sighed. His heart rate finally calmed down after trying several times to reach you by phone. "How are you? How's the Nugget?"

You were quiet for a beat before saying, "We're okay." You did not sound happy, and it was probably because he'd missed several of your calls over the past few days. It wasn't like he meant to, there was just a lot of work and other distractions for him here. 

"Yeah? Not amazing?" He couldn't tell if your laugh was one of annoyance, so he plowed on as he stood from the steps outside the barracks, still sweaty from his run. "I'll be home the day after tomorrow, and then I'll take care of Rosie and everything at the house."

You sighed. "First thing we need to do when you get home is talk."

Bradley froze, brow creased in concern as his hand froze on the door handle. "About what?"

Another soft beat of silence. "We'll figure it out when you get back."

"Figure what out?" He didn't know if you were intentionally being vague, but it was irritating him a bit. "Can't we just talk about it now?"

"Shit." He could hear Rose starting to wail in the background, and it sounded like you dropped your phone. "Roo, I need to go. She had another blowout. I love you."

"I love you, too, Baby Girl."

The call ended before he got to tell you about his week. He was hoping you'd ask him about work, but you didn't even check to see if his first few days fully engrossed in his new role were going well.

You were either stressed close to your breaking point, or something else was bothering you. He went back inside to hit the shower, but his thoughts lingered even when the hot water streamed along his skin. Like there was something he was supposed to remember. He couldn't focus on any one thing, which was irritating in itself. He was ready to head home and get back to work in North Island, but he also wanted to make sure he left Texas with everything in order. He and the admirals needed to make their final selections tomorrow, and then he would know who would be joining him in San Diego in a few weeks.

In his opinion, there were ten exceptional pilots here that would be a good fit at Top Gun. Indigo and Rex were at the top of the list with very promising careers ahead of them, and Bradley was looking forward to eventually joining them in the air.

He really wanted to get home to you and Rose, but he had to get through a dinner in his dress blues first. The young pilots would probably be surprised when he finally joined them for a drink.

When he eventually got into bed, he looked through all of the pictures of his daughter on his phone. There were hundreds of them, which seemed impressive for someone just a few months old. Then he scrolled through wedding photos. And then honeymoon photos, not all of which were rated PG.

"Oh, I remember that night," he murmured to himself when he got to a beautiful collection of pictures of you with your ass in the air, looking back at him over your shoulder. "I remember it very well."

Jesus. You looked so good in these photos, it was absolutely insane. Even the PG ones were hotter than hell. But when you wore that red bikini? Perfection. And now he was hard and already searching for the video you and he made together many, many months ago.

He jerked off in the extra long twin bed, getting harder as he watched the recording of him spanking you and calling you his filthy slut. Then he came all over his abs, thinking about how many times he took you rough in his barracks room in San Diego early on in your relationship. When he thought about the Craftsman house he bought for you more than for himself, he couldn't stop smiling. You made it the first home he had since his mom died. And now he had a daughter.

Counting his blessings was pointless when he knew they all came from you. One more long day and he'd be home with his family. He couldn't stop yawning as he cleaned himself up, and he passed out for the night as soon as he was under the covers.

The next day was a flutter of activity. There was a classroom session in the morning that Bradley had to lead. He wasn't used to talking so much and actually found it exhausting. And everywhere he looked around the room, he could feel indigo eyes on him.

Then the afternoon was filled with flight analysis which solidified in his mind the pilots he wanted to select. After a quick conversation with the admirals when everyone else was dismissed, they were all in agreement.

Later that night at dinner, Bradley got to announce to everyone who had been chosen. There were definitely some unhappy expressions, but he was met with Indigo's smile as she shook his hand after the champagne had been served.

"Congratulations," he told her, juggling his champagne flute to his other hand. 

"Lieutenant Commander," she replied. "You'll have to let me in on the secret of the best bar in Coronado so I know where to hang out in a few weeks. You found the best one here on your own, after all."

He had to chuckle. He hadn't been back to that bar since his first night in Texas, despite the best efforts of some of the officers. "I have no doubt you'll find it without my help."

She released his hand, eyes roaming his face before settling on his mustache. "I'm sure I will. Are you sticking around for another drink?" she asked hopefully when he set his empty glass on a passing tray.

"Early flight tomorrow morning," he shrugged. "And I'm still not used to this time zone, so I shouldn't. I don't want to miss it."

She nodded once as he turned to leave, and her parting words stuck in his mind. "I can't wait to see you at Top Gun, Lieutenant Commander."

Bradley was going to have to keep an eye on her. He didn't want her trying to gain any sort of advantage over the others. Her gaze was warm on his back as he headed to the silent barracks alone.

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

The flight to San Diego was turbulent. You would have hated it, but Bradley slept the whole time like a pro. He should have spent the time reading his notes for work on Monday, but he decided it was more important to get a nap in so he could let you rest for the weekend. He had everything planned out on his mind, including making dinner tonight and taking Rose and Tramp for a beach walk tomorrow. That would give you sufficient time to rest.

He was expecting you to look worn out, but when he rushed through baggage claim to find you, he was still surprised by what he found. Rose was crying in your arms, and you looked on the verge of tears yourself. You were wearing one of his ratty shirts he reserved for days he was doing yardwork, and you had on his sweatpants which were rolled up and tied at your waist.

"Baby Girl," he called out, drawing your gaze to his. There was spit up on the burp cloth draped over your shoulder, and Rose seemed to cry louder the closer he got. "Are you okay?"

When you started nodding, it quickly turned into you shaking your head as he got close enough to wrap his arms around both of you. Bradley was immediately lost in the sweet smell of his daughter as he buried his nose against her fuzzy hair and inhaled. He let his lips trail soft kisses along her forehead before taking her from your arms.

"Tell me what's wrong," he whispered, kissing your lips. "Tell me so I can fix it."

He hushed Rose and kept his face close to yours as you cried softly. "Nothing's wrong. Or maybe... I don't know, Roo. I'm fucking pregnant," you sobbed.

Surely he'd misheard. "What did you say?" he gasped, arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you in tighter as you cried and nodded. "You're seriously pregnant?"

"Yes."

"Holy shit." A dizzying smile curled along his lips. "Hell yes!" This was incredible news as far as he was concerned, but you were still crying as your face came to rest against his chest. Then his stomach lurched, because he'd missed several of your calls this week. You must have known for days as you'd been trying to reach him.

He bounced Rose gently in the crook of his arm, listening to her cries soften until she settled against him as well. "Sweetheart. You're not happy about this?"

Your tear streaked cheeks drew his lips as you looked up at him. "I don't know, Bradley," you whispered, voice harsh. "I just don't know what to think at all. I'm sure it happened in La Jolla, when I was supposed to be on the pill."

When your voice broke on a fresh sob, Bradley led you toward his duffle bag which had appeared on the baggage carousel, and he scooped it up seamlessly. Somehow he kept both of his girls close all the way to your red Bronco, his heart hammering the whole time. He was obsessed with his role as a father, and to him this was a best case scenario. He just needed you to understand how he felt about this.

After buckling Rose into her car seat, she was immediately asleep. Then he laced his fingers with yours, leading you around to the passenger side door, kissing your forehead.

"I love you, Sweetheart," he promised, tipping your face up to meet his eyes. "And I'd love another baby. Is this what we needed to talk about?"

"Yeah," you whispered. "This week was so long, and Rose has been miserable. And I could barely reach you on the phone, and-"

"I'm home now. Let me take care of my family." He let his hand trail down to your belly as he kissed you hard.

Once you were buckled in as well, you were sound asleep before Bradley had the Bronco out of the airport loop. By the end of the weekend, he would have your doubts about baby number two erased, replaced with the joy he felt over growing his family. 

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

You weren't sure how he managed to get both you and Rose inside the house without you waking up, but he did it. Hours later, you rolled over in bed, eyes cracking open when you heard Bradley playing with the baby in the living room. Your whole body ached from exhaustion, but it was your tender breasts that sent you to find them so you could get some relief.

The fact that you still didn't know how you felt about the positive pregnancy test now that Bradley knew about it as well just added to your fatigue. It was almost too much to consider at the moment. Another baby. Another smaller baby crying at night. A chorus of cries, and two babies spitting up.

When you found your shirtless husband laying on the floor with Rose giggling as she balanced on his chest while Tramp licked his face, you couldn't help but smile. He was singing a ridiculous song and tickling her sides. You felt guilty for being so scared about having a second child when you let your fingers rest on your tummy and watched him. He was a natural. Sometimes you felt like you were struggling through parenting, but Bradley made it seem so easy.

"I know it's a lot of responsibility for someone so small, but you're already getting your first rank promotion," he murmured, leaning up to kiss her cheek. "Big sister Bradshaw, you need to report for duty next year."

When you found yourself laughing, Bradley met your eyes and smiled. "How was your nap, Mommy?"

"I feel a lot better," you replied, yanking your shirt over your head, drawing your husband's gaze to your chest as you unhooked your bra. "How did you get her to calm down?"

Bradley looked a bit dazed as he stared at your bare chest. "The Nugget just missed me," he murmured, breathing a little heavy. His cheeks were tinged with pink as you reached for Rose to feed her. "Holy fucking shit, Sweetheart. We're having another baby." You nodded a bit helplessly, feeling so overwhelmed as your daughter latched on to eat as soon as you were sitting on the couch. "Two Nuggets," he said, petting Tramp as he stood. "And another year or more of my wife lactating."

You were dreading the weight gain and nausea and lack of sleep, but when he looked at you like this, it was hard to feel unappealing. Bradley's eyes were absolutely fixed on the beads of milk rolling down to your belly as Rose eventually switched sides.

"Can I have a turn when she naps?" he rasped, adjusting his gym shorts, absolutely unashamed. "It's been a week. I need it."

Soon enough, you had him in bed, practically curled up on your lap with his lips all over your breasts. "We're supposed to be talking about plans for another baby," you whispered, loving the scrape of his mustache against your skin. "I have a lot of concerns."

Bradley moaned, releasing you with a soft pop. "We can talk while I enjoy you," he promised. "What are you concerned about?"

He ran his nose along your taut nipple, and you moaned his name. "Bradley. One baby is expensive. How are we going to manage two? And we'll need to get another crib. And I have to make an appointment with Dr. Morris. And I can't believe you got me pregnant again while Rose is still a baby."

His lips grazed along your sensitive skin, and you were helpless to do anything but let your fingers thread through his hair. "What's so hard to believe?" he whispered. "We worked at it for months to have Rose, so this seems fair. And it's not like I can keep my dick out of your pussy. It was bound to happen whether you missed a pill or not." His tongue was warm as he lapped at you, his big hand splayed low on your belly. "I couldn't be fucking happier."

"Bradley," you gasped, back arching at his touch.

"We'll figure it out. I promise," he crooned. "Two babies. I'm so in love, Baby Girl. And you'll be nice and round again soon. Holy hell."

You didn't want to point out that your belly was still chubby and your hips were still round. Not when he was praising everything about you and the situation the two of you were caught up in. Two babies. Two. He was whining your name and rubbing himself against you, and next thing you knew, he had you on your back, legs flung over his shoulders. 

He ate your pussy, taking his sweet time about it while his thumb traced your tattoo. He drew out your orgasm slowly. His lips were latched onto your clit as his big hands kept you spread wide. "Missed you. Love you," he hummed, kissing his way along your slick. "Making me a Daddy all over again, Sweetheart."

"Roo," you whispered, keeping him where you needed him with your hands in his hair. "Daddy."

You came on his face, pussy needy and clenching at nothing before he shoved his cock inside you. The feral sound you made as your orgasm intensified, gripping him as he groaned and grunted in your ear, was loud enough to wake Rose from her nap. But you couldn't stop when he made you feel so good you nearly blacked out.

"I love you. And Rose. And our perfect baby we haven't met quite yet."

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

By the end of the weekend, you were smiling more. The naps you were afforded by having Bradley back home definitely helped, he could tell. But you seemed more at ease with the idea of two children close in age the more you and he talked about it.

"We have some options," he whispered, kissing you as you snuggled up with him on the couch on Sunday night. The episode of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills was playing in the background, but he'd lost interest in it before it even started. "We can move Rose to the bedroom by the stairs, or we can turn that into nursery number two."

You crinkled your nose. "That's so far away from our bedroom."

"But we can't move Rose upstairs yet."

"No way," you agreed. "Maybe they can share a room?"

"Hmm. That would make it easier for Tramp to nap with both of them at the same time."

Your laughter made him feel so much better as he snuggled you closer. He could happily fall asleep like this until it was time to go to work tomorrow.

"Oh," you murmured, "I didn't even ask about your time in Texas."

Bradley immediately pictured startlingly blue eyes as you laced your fingers with his. "Was good," he replied, realizing just how much busier his life was about to become. A new role at work and a new baby. Students to teach and two kids at home.

"Tell me all about it," you murmured, stifling a yawn.

He found there wasn't much to talk about other than Indigo and Rex, and he didn't want to bore you. "Maybe I was a bit stingy, but I only invited ten pilots to come to Top Gun. Two will more than likely make it through the program. The rest... we'll see."

"Who are the two that will make it through?" 

Your yawns grew in intensity as you closed your eyes, and he knew you needed to get plenty of sleep. Bradley kissed the tip of your nose, figuring you would be asleep before he finished his sentence. "Rex and Indigo, but Indigo is the best."

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

Baby number two! The Nuggets are multiplying! Roo needs to keep his head in the game if he wants a happy wife. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 30

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[wbbfannnnnn13]

Almost Always // Chapter 16

A/N: Finally finished this chapter, low key was just feeling some type of way, so this is a pretty steamy chapter... but there is still plot I promise! We're getting close to the end of the series, probably going to make the next 2 chapters a little longer to close it out at 18, but we'll see, sometimes I'll get random ideas while writing. Also shoutout to the anon who came up with the idea for the end of this chapter :)

WC: 5.7K+

Warnings: Minors DNI, Smut (like most of this chapter is just that so sorry if you aren't into that -- I haven't written it much, but sometimes it just be fun to so yeah), Cussing

Chapter 16: Always Been Yours 

The food containers were still open, their contents half-finished, crumpled napkins and wooden chopsticks strewn across Paige’s coffee table like soft remnants of a night that hadn’t rushed. A half-burned candle flickered beside an empty water glass, its wax pooling slow and lazy in the dish. The playlist hummed low in the background—smooth, crackling R&B threading beneath the city noise outside, like the room had found its own pulse.

The TV was off. Phones untouched. No distractions left—just the two of them, curled into the couch like gravity had drawn them back together on instinct. Their legs were tangled in that effortless, familiar way. The scent of sesame, jasmine rice, and melted candle wax clung to the air like memory. Everything around them felt lived-in again. Like the pause had ended and they were finally letting themselves press play.

Azzi leaned back against the armrest, her legs stretched across the couch and tangled with Paige’s. A half-laugh slipped from her lips—soft, easy, like the echo of something funny Paige had said a minute ago. But it didn’t reach her eyes. Not fully. There was a flicker there, something too alert, like her mind hadn’t let go of the last thread of silence between them.

“So…” Paige started, voice low, thumb rubbing over Azzi’s knee like she was grounding them both. “The press conference.”

Azzi’s jaw tensed. “You watched the whole thing?”

Paige nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I saw it when it started making the rounds. You were a little fired up, but nothing wrong with that. 

Azzi let out a short laugh. “Tell that to the media.”

“I’m not talking about them,” Paige said quietly. “I’m talking about me.”

That gave Azzi pause. Her gaze dropped to her hands. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I wasn’t trying to cause anything… it just happened. I was tired and frustrated, and the question hit harder than I thought. And then it was everywhere.”

“They always ask about me,” Paige said, quieter this time. “Even when it’s not about me.”

Azzi let out a short laugh, no humor in it. “Story of my life, right?”

Paige’s voice dropped. “I wish it wasn’t. I really do.”

Azzi studied her for a moment. “It gets tiring, you know? Always feeling like I’m the afterthought. Like I have to push just to be noticed. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that… but maybe I needed to let it out.”

Paige nodded again, slower this time. “I know. And for what it’s worth, I think the people who matter understood…”

Azzi chewed on her lip. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be upset. Like I threw shade at you or something.”

“You didn’t,” Paige said firmly. “You were telling your truth. I can respect that, even if it stings a little.”

Azzi tilted her head. “It stung?”

Paige exhaled. “Not because of what you said. Because it reminded me how much I’ve taken for granted. I’m always saying I’ve got your back, but I haven’t always stepped out of the spotlight when I should have.”

“That’s not your fault,” Azzi said, her voice softening. “People gravitate to you naturally. You’ve always had that kind of light. And I love that about you.”

“I don’t want my light to dim yours,” Paige said.

Azzi shook her head, voice steady now. “It doesn’t. But I think I needed to say it out loud to believe that. And maybe to remind you too.”

They let the silence stretch, not awkward, just full—like the air between them needed time to recalibrate. Outside, a siren wailed faintly in the distance, and somewhere below, a dog barked once, sharp and distant. Paige’s thumb was still tracing lazy circles against Azzi’s knee.

Azzi leaned her head back, eyes on the ceiling. “You know… I used to think being next to you meant I had to shrink a little. Make space.”

Paige turned, her brows drawing together.

“But tonight?” Azzi said, glancing at her with the faintest smile. “Doesn’t feel like that.”

Paige’s hand stilled. A slow smile tugged at her mouth, something quiet and grateful blooming in her chest.

“I’m really proud of you,” she said.

Azzi bumped her knee against Paige’s. “Even after I completely crashed out?”

Paige snorted. “Especially after that.”

Azzi laughed, the sound finally real. Paige grinned, the tension between them softening into something easier, lighter.

And then Paige leaned back, resting her arm behind Azzi’s shoulders, a teasing glint in her eye.

“Well,” she said, “guess it’s official. I’m in my WAG era now.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, amused. “Your what?”

Paige grinned. “WAG era. You know—wives and girlfriends. Courtside fits. Sappy Instagram captions. Giving unsolicited but elite game notes between film sessions.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head as she leaned into Paige’s side. “You really giving me notes now?”

“Oh, I’ve got a whole doc saved,” Paige said, grinning. “Stuff your coaches don’t even see.”

Azzi tilted her head. “You been watching my film like that?”

Paige nodded, her voice dropping just slightly. “Every game. Can’t help it. I see things. Like when your shot’s just a little off because your balance is too front-loaded. Or how you hesitate when your defender goes under the screen—but you shouldn’t. You’ve got the range.”

Azzi stilled, the smile lingering, but her eyes softening. “You really do that?”

“I know your game,” Paige said. “I’ve always known it. Probably better than I know my own.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away, but her hand found Paige’s where it rested on her leg. She laced their fingers together, slow and intentional.

“You know how hot that is, right?”

Paige’s laugh was low, surprised. “Giving scouting tips?”

Azzi leaned in, their foreheads nearly brushing. “Yeah. That. You believing in me like that.”

Paige’s thumb brushed over the back of her hand. “Always have.”

Azzi’s eyes dropped, just for a second—to the faded TEAM AZZI jersey hanging loose on Paige’s frame, like it belonged there all along. Her breath hitched.

“I can’t believe you still have that,” she said, her voice soft, touched.

Paige glanced down, then back up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Couldn’t get rid of this.”

Azzi shook her head, smile growing. “You’re unreal.”

Paige leaned in, her voice warm and low. “Only when it comes to you.”

The space between them pulsed with something heavier now—tender, sure, but charged, like a current they’d both stopped trying to resist. Time felt slower, quieter, like the world beyond Paige’s living room had slipped into another frequency.

Paige’s free hand drifted to Azzi’s waist, her touch feather-light, deliberate. Not rushed. Like she was learning the shape of her all over again, memorizing muscle and breath and warmth. Her fingertips traced just beneath the hem of Azzi’s sweatshirt, brushing against skin—soft, electric, familiar.

Azzi inhaled, slow and shallow, her eyes never leaving Paige’s. Her heart thudded in her chest, not from surprise but from the gravity of it—how every inch closer felt like something she’d been aching toward for months.

Paige leaned in, their knees still touching, her forehead nearly resting against Azzi’s. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Everything was in her touch, in the way her thumb circled slow and steady over Azzi’s side, grounding and inviting all at once.

The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was full of heat and history and want.

Azzi tilted her head, her voice barely a whisper. “So what’s the next play?”

Paige leaned in until her lips nearly brushed Azzi’s. “Pretty sure it starts with this.”

Azzi’s hand lifted, fingers finding the curve of Paige’s jaw, anchoring there like she needed something solid. Her thumb brushed over Paige’s cheekbone.

Paige turned her head just enough to press a kiss against Azzi’s palm, a breath of contact that made Azzi’s stomach twist in that aching, familiar way. Like falling, but steadier. Like breathing, but deeper.

Azzi leaned in first, closing the last sliver of space between them, her lips brushing against Paige’s—tentative, testing. A question asked in touch rather than words.

Paige answered without hesitation, tilting her head and pressing in with a slow, deliberate kiss that sent a shiver sliding down Azzi’s spine. It was nothing like urgency. It was a slow burn, the kind of kiss that deepened with every heartbeat, with every tiny shift closer.

Paige’s hand splayed wider at Azzi’s waist, tugging her gently across the couch until Azzi was half-straddling her, knees bracketing Paige’s hips. Their bodies slotted together like they were made for it. Because they were.

Azzi pulled back just enough to look at her, their foreheads brushing, breaths mingling in the slivered space between them.

“I missed you,” she whispered, voice raw around the edges.

Paige’s hands were already moving, slow and deliberate, gliding up her back beneath the loose hem of her shirt. Her touch sparked across Azzi’s skin like memory made real. “I’m right here, baby,” she whispered back.

Azzi kissed her again—deeper this time. It was messier now, more certain, like neither of them wanted to waste another second pretending they didn’t need this. Her hands slipped beneath Paige’s jersey, dragging up the fabric until her fingers brushed bare skin.

Paige let out a soft, breathy laugh against her mouth. “Wait,” she murmured, smiling. “Aren’t we supposed to be working through our emotional baggage or something?”

Azzi pulled back just far enough to smirk. “You wanna pause and unpack feelings while I’m on top of you?”

Paige tilted her head, grinning. “I mean... no… but we gotta talk about all the feelings and shit at some point.”

Azzi laughed, low and warm. “Okay, well... here’s one feeling I can definitely name.”

She shifted her hips, slow and deliberate, until her body pressed flush against Paige’s. Paige inhaled sharply, her grin faltering into something needier.

“Thought so,” Azzi said, voice soft and smug.

Paige’s hands flexed at her waist, pulling her closer. “You’re a menace,” she murmured.

“And you love it.”

“Yeah,” Paige whispered, just before Azzi kissed her again—longer this time, deeper, tongue brushing against hers in a way that made her head fall back against the cushions.

Their laughter dissolved into something heavier, the space between them folding in until there was nothing left to hold back. The conversation could wait. 

Azzi leaned back to take her in—bare skin, steady eyes, that open, unguarded smile that was only ever for her.

Paige let her look, let her linger, her hands gliding slow and steady up Azzi’s thighs, under her sweatshirt now, mapping familiar territory.

Azzi shivered at the contact, not from cold but from how easily Paige made her feel known. Undone.

“You’re so beautiful,” Paige said, voice hoarse with it.

Azzi bent down and kissed her again, harder this time, pouring all the months of missed moments and the weight of uncertainty into the press of her mouth. Paige’s hands found their way under her shirt, pushing it higher until Azzi had to pull back just long enough to yank it off over her head, tossing it somewhere behind the couch.

They kissed like they had time to make up for. Like they had something to prove and something to promise all at once.

Paige’s hands explored without hurry, fingers trailing down Azzi’s back, over the curve of her hips, savoring. Azzi’s breath hitched as Paige's mouth moved from her lips to her jaw, to the pulse point just beneath her ear, each kiss a quiet vow.

Azzi pulled her even closer, no space left between them, her hands threading through Paige’s hair as Paige mapped a slow, aching path down her neck.

She was dizzy from it—in the best way. Like Paige was everywhere at once: hands, mouth, breath, heartbeat.

“Paige,” Azzi whispered, like a prayer, a plea, a homecoming.

Paige pulled back just enough to look at her, her thumb brushing Azzi’s lower lip.

“I still can’t believe you’re mine,” she murmured, voice thick with awe.

Azzi smiled, soft and sure, pressing her forehead to Paige’s. “I’ve always been yours.”

Paige kissed her again, and then they were moving together—shedding the last of the space, the last of the clothes—until it was only skin and breath and the quiet symphony of two hearts finally, finally beating in rhythm.

Azzi was the first to lean back, just far enough to let her eyes trail over Paige—bare, warm, flushed from neck to hip in candlelight. She traced her fingers lightly down the center of her chest, watching the goosebumps rise in their wake.

“God, you’re unreal,” Azzi murmured.

Paige’s hands slid along the backs of her thighs, pulling her closer again, until Azzi was straddling her completely, pressed flush and trembling in all the right ways. “So are you,” Paige whispered, voice husky. “You always have been.”

Azzi leaned in to kiss her again—deeper this time, more searching. Her hips rolled, instinctive and aching, and Paige’s breath caught, fingers digging gently into her skin.

Paige’s mouth broke from hers only to move lower, dragging slow, open-mouthed kisses along Azzi’s throat, her collarbone, her chest—each one softer than the last, like she was marking every inch with devotion, not desperation.

Azzi’s head tipped back, a shaky breath catching in her chest, her whole body attuned to every point where Paige touched her. Paige’s hands moved deliberately, one sliding up to cup the swell of her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple in slow, teasing circles that made Azzi’s stomach tighten. The other hand gripped her hip, firm but coaxing, guiding her into a slow, grinding rhythm against her lap. Azzi gasped, a low, helpless sound rising from the back of her throat, her hands threading into Paige’s hair, tugging just enough to ground herself as her body arched into Paige’s touch. Heat pooled low in her belly, each roll of her hips sending sparks skittering up her spine, each brush of Paige’s thumb setting her nerves alight like a fuse burning closer and closer to detonation.

“You feel so good,” Paige breathed, her voice barely more than air.

Azzi nodded, too far gone for words. She could only feel—Paige’s mouth closing around her nipple, warm and wet and consuming, her tongue flicking in slow strokes before her teeth scraped lightly against the sensitive peak. The jolt of pleasure ripped through Azzi’s body, making her hips stutter against Paige’s lap. 

Paige groaned low in her throat at the reaction, the sound vibrating through Azzi’s chest and making her whimper. Her hand never stopped moving, gripping Azzi’s waist, guiding her grinding rhythm harder, slower, deeper… anchoring her even as she came undone. Every suck, every graze of teeth, every slow, punishing roll of her hips dragged Azzi closer to the edge, her thighs trembling.

When Paige laid her back on the couch cushions, Azzi went willingly, pulling her down with her. They moved together like muscle memory, like instinct honed over the years spent together. Her thighs fell open instinctively, wide and wanting, her body practically pulling her under. She wrapped her legs around Paige’s hips, the motion fluid—her heels digging in like she couldn’t stand to be apart for even a second.

“Fuck,” Azzi breathed, head falling back, fingers twisting into the couch cushion, chest rising and falling like she’d just sprinted the length of the court.

Paige groaned against her neck, the sound low and wrecked. Her hands slid up Azzi’s legs, slow and firm, thumbs brushing dangerously close to the heat between her thighs. Every movement was intentional. Focused. Like Paige knew exactly what Azzi needed and was going to make her feel every second of it.

Paige shifted lower between Azzi’s legs, the couch dipping with her movement. Nothing between them now—no fabric, no friction lost in layers—just bare skin and the kind of tension that tasted like electricity in the air. Azzi was open beneath her, thighs already slick and parted around Paige’s shoulders like her body had been waiting for this.

Paige dragged her palms up Azzi’s thighs again, slower this time, fingers curling just slightly to grip and ground her, to hold her there. She pressed a kiss to the crease where thigh met hip, then another—so close it made Azzi gasp, hips twitching up, needing more.

“Paige,” she breathed, not even a plea—just her name, wrecked and wanting.

Paige didn’t make her wait anymore.

She leaned in and dragged her tongue through Azzi’s folds in one slow, unbroken stroke—flat, deliberate, claiming. A low moan vibrated from Paige’s throat at the taste, like it knocked the air from her lungs. Azzi cried out, sharp and unguarded, her hips jerking up into the contact. Her fingers flew to Paige’s hair, fisting tight, not to guide her—just to hold on. To feel.

But Paige didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. She ate like she was starving, slow and thorough, her tongue exploring every inch of Azzi’s slick heat. She circled her clit with maddening patience, then flattened her tongue and licked harder, deeper, drawing out each sound that fell from Azzi’s mouth with ruthless precision. Her mouth moved like she knew every response before Azzi gave it—like she'd memorized the way her body spiraled toward climax and was in no rush to get her there.

Azzi was soaked, her thighs trembling on either side of Paige’s head, her whole body tensed and straining. Every flick of Paige’s tongue, every shift in pressure made her moan louder, higher, until she was panting, broken open beneath her.

Paige groaned and sealed her mouth around Azzi’s clit, sucking her in deep, her lips and tongue working in sync—wet, focused, relentless. Her grip on Azzi’s thighs tightened, fingers digging in as she held her still, letting Azzi grind against her face with helpless, desperate rhythm.

Azzi was losing it.

Her head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut, one hand still tangled in Paige’s hair while the other reached back, scrabbling for something to anchor her. “F-fuck, Paige—don't stop—please—”

Paige didn’t. Instead, she groaned against her, voice husky and reverent. “God, you taste so fucking good…”

Saying it out loud only seemed to spur her on more, flicking her tongue faster now, humming softly against her until Azzi’s entire body shook, legs quivering around her ears, every muscle tight and ready to snap. Paige kept her there, right on the edge, until Azzi gasped her name again, raw and shaking, and then—

Paige slid one hand from Azzi’s trembling thigh to between her legs, her fingers slick immediately from how wet she was. She teased her entrance with two fingers, slow and deliberate, feeling Azzi’s body flutter and clench at the anticipation. Then, with a steady, devastating pressure, she pushed inside.

Azzi broke.

A raw, helpless sob escaped her throat as her walls tightened around Paige’s fingers, her whole body bowing up off the couch. Paige didn’t give her time to recover—she found a rhythm immediately, firm and sure, thrusting deep and curling her fingers just right, dragging against that spot that made Azzi see stars.

“Oh my god—Paige—" Azzi gasped, voice cracking as her hips rolled in frantic, uneven circles, chasing the pressure, the pleasure.

Paige’s mouth stayed locked to her clit, tongue circling in slow spirals that matched the rhythm of her fingers—press, curl, retreat—over and over until Azzi was spiraling, caught between the overwhelming drag of her mouth and the relentless thrust of her hand.

Azzi was gone.

Her back arched violently, thighs shaking around Paige’s head, heels digging into the couch cushions as if she could anchor herself against the onslaught. One hand yanked Paige’s hair, hard enough to make her groan into her, the other grabbing at the edge of the sofa, knuckles white with the effort of holding on.

The heat inside her coiled tighter, impossibly tight, until it felt like every nerve ending in her body was on fire, every breath a broken moan.

“Paige—fuck—I’m gonna—” she cried, voice wrecked, desperate.

Paige moaned against her, the sound sending vibrations straight through Azzi’s core, and that was it.

Azzi shattered.

Her orgasm slammed into her, fast and brutal, ripping a ragged scream from her chest. Her body convulsed, thighs squeezing tight around Paige’s head, spine arching like a drawn bow before collapsing back into the cushions. She came hard, clenching around Paige’s fingers, her whole body trembling, helpless against the waves tearing through her.

Paige didn’t stop. She rode it out with her, fingers still thrusting slow and deep, tongue still dragging lazy, grounding circles against her clit, coaxing every last aftershock until Azzi was sobbing into the crook of her arm, too wrecked to speak, too full to breathe.

Only when Azzi’s legs finally went limp around her did Paige ease her mouth away, withdrawing her fingers with a slow, careful slide that left Azzi whimpering at the sudden loss.

When Paige finally pulled back, her mouth was wet, her lips swollen and parted, her eyes glazed with heat and something deeper, something that felt dangerously close to reverence. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, slow and sure, then tilted her head with a crooked smile. “Did I do okay?” she asked, voice low and teasing—like she didn’t need the answer, but wanted to hear it anyway.

Azzi let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-moan, her fingers still tangled in the sheets. “You know damn well you did,” she said, her voice wrecked and full of wonder. “Stop fishing for compliments and come back here.”

Slowly, Paige crawled back up her body, dragging open-mouthed kisses along Azzi’s stomach, her ribs, the underside of her breasts. She kissed every inch like she couldn’t stand the thought of leaving any part of her untouched, like she was stitching her back together one kiss at a time.

Azzi threaded her fingers through Paige’s hair the second she was close enough, tugging her up the rest of the way, pulling her into a kiss that was messy and all-consuming. She could taste herself on Paige’s tongue—salty, slick, electric—but it only made her moan into her mouth, deepening it, needing her closer, needing all of her.

Paige kissed her back just as hungrily, her hands cradling Azzi’s face, like she was something too precious to hold roughly. Azzi could feel the tremble still running through Paige’s body—the leftover tension, the want—and it only made her heart beat harder against her ribs.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, their foreheads pressed together, noses brushing in the smallest, sweetest touch.

“God, I love you,” Azzi whispered, her voice thick with everything she couldn’t say out loud.

Paige’s smile was soft and wrecked and impossibly full of love. She tucked a hand into her curls and kissed the side of her head. “I love you. So much.”

They stayed like that, tangled and breathless, until Azzi’s hands began to wander again, slow and sure and full of promise.

And Paige let her.

She lay back, one arm still loosely around Azzi’s shoulders, the other sliding across her lower back. Her chest rose and fell beneath Azzi’s touch, soft breaths that caught slightly as Azzi kissed her collarbone, then lower, retracing the path Paige had taken not long before, but with her own rhythm. Her own intent.

Azzi shifted until she was hovering over her, eyes locked with Paige’s, lips brushing just beneath her jaw. “I want to take my time,” she whispered, voice low and steady. “I want to memorize you.”

“You already have,” Paige murmured back, dazed and aching. “But I won’t stop you.” Then, grinning, she added, “Just don’t take too long, you know patience isn’t my strong suit.”

Azzi smiled—barely there, soft and wrecked—and then kissed her. Slow. Deep. Like she was trying to carve herself into Paige’s memory cell by cell.

She kissed down her neck, her chest, her stomach, dragging her hands along the curve of Paige’s sides, pausing only to drink in the way Paige moved under her touch—how her fingers flexed against the fabric of the couch, how her breath hitched when Azzi’s tongue flicked against her skin.

Azzi didn’t rush. She worshipped.

When she reached Paige’s thighs, she kissed the inside of one, then the other, and smiled against the skin when Paige whispered something half-sounded, half-broken.

She looked up, eyes meeting Paige’s. “You good?”

Paige gave a shaky laugh, her hand threading through Azzi’s curls. “If I wasn’t, that’d be on me.”

Azzi kissed the inside of her thigh again, slower this time, higher. “Just checking.”

And then she moved.

Azzi’s tongue met Paige’s center in one long, slow stroke—broad, heavy, deliberate—dragging through her folds with a pressure that made Paige’s hips jerk violently off the couch. A ragged gasp tore from Paige’s mouth, and her hand flew to Azzi’s hair, not just holding, but gripping hard, yanking her closer with a rough, desperate pull like she couldn’t stand even an inch of distance between them.

Azzi groaned into her, the sound vibrating right through Paige’s body, making her legs tremble around Azzi’s shoulders. Without hesitation, Azzi dipped her tongue lower, teasing at Paige’s entrance, swirling and pressing in, shallow and slow, until Paige let out a broken sob, her whole body shaking beneath her. She pulled back just enough to flatten her tongue and lick up through her folds again, relentless, savoring every slick, needy reaction she coaxed out of her.

She knew Paige too well—every sharp inhale, every arch of her back, the way her thighs would start to tremble before she completely lost control. And Azzi was merciless now. She built it slow and brutal: teasing flicks, then firmer, deeper strokes. Her hand slid under Paige’s thigh, gripping hard, tilting her hips higher, giving herself even better access.

She never looked away. Not once.

Azzi locked eyes with her, tongue lashing over her clit now, sucking her into her mouth with a deep, greedy pull that made Paige’s head fall back hard against the cushions.

“Azzi—fuck—” Paige gasped, the sound wrecked, guttural, her hips bucking helplessly against Azzi’s mouth.

Azzi moaned low and obscene against her, holding her hips down as Paige thrashed beneath her. Her other hand slid up Paige’s stomach, rough and claiming, splaying across her ribs, pinning her there, forcing her to feel every second of it.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” Azzi growled against her, her voice thick and wrecked.

Paige couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. Her body was locking up, hips stuttering wildly, moans turning into breathless, broken whimpers. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, her muscles seizing under the brutal, unrelenting pressure building higher and higher inside her.

And then she broke.

Paige came with a sob that ripped straight from her chest, her body snapping taut like a wire, one hand still yanking Azzi’s hair with shaking, brutal force as the other clung uselessly to the cushions. Pleasure crashed over her, drowning her, her whole body writhing through every wave Azzi pulled from her with her mouth, her tongue, her hands still holding her steady, grounding her while she shattered.

Azzi didn’t stop—just stayed with her, easing her down, kissing her through the aftershocks until Paige finally collapsed back into the couch, gasping, wrecked, her body trembling with every shallow, unsteady breath.

Azzi kissed her thigh one last time, then climbed back up slowly, gently, brushing sweaty strands away from Paige’s temple as she curled against her.

They stayed like that, tangled and warm, breathing each other in.

Paige opened her eyes, dazed and still catching her breath. “That was—”

Azzi kissed her. “Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

Paige blinked, then let out a slow, contented laugh. “You trying to kill me?”

Azzi grinned, brushing her nose against hers. “Little bit.”

They lay in silence after that—bare, glowing, the candlelight flickering low and soft. The world outside felt far away. All that existed was this—skin, breath, heartbeats synced again after too long apart.

Eventually, they stirred, limbs slow and heavy, like moving through water. Still dazed from the gravity of being back in each other’s orbit, they crawled beneath the sheets, laughter soft and breath hitching when their skin brushed again. Paige pulled Azzi in close, foreheads touching, fingers laced at their chests.

Nothing else was said. Just the quiet settling of something whole.

Sleep took them like that—warm, wrapped in each other, the ache finally quiet.

********

Morning came slow.

Light filtered in through the half-open blinds, painting soft golden stripes across the bedroom. The air felt still, warm, thick with the lingering haze of last night—skin, sweat, something sweeter in the spaces between. 

Azzi woke first.

Paige was still curled beside her, facing the window, one arm draped loosely across the sheets, her face half-buried in the pillow. Her hair was a mess—soft and wild from sleep, still tangled from Azzi’s hands the night before. There were marks, too—small, pink, fading already, but hers. Evidence of everything they’d said with touch before words caught up.

She looked peaceful. Like sleep was holding her gently.

Azzi blinked slowly, the morning light soft against her face, her body still heavy with afterglow. Her thighs ached. So did her jaw. Her skin felt warm in all the places Paige had kissed, had held, had taken her apart. But it wasn’t discomfort—it was something she wanted to hold onto. A lived-in ache. The kind that made the night before feel more real, more permanent. Like a page turned down in a book, she didn’t want to lose her place in.

Careful not to wake her, Azzi slipped out of bed. Paige stirred a little, mumbling something that never formed into words before settling again. Azzi smiled to herself, tugging on the white T-shirt draped over the chair—Paige’s shirt, soft from too many washes—and padded quietly through the apartment.

The plan wasn’t much. Just something small.

She’d grab coffee from the shop around the corner—Paige’s usual, maybe one of those buttery croissants she always claimed were “too much” and then somehow still finished. Something thoughtful. Something normal.

Her steps were quiet against the wood floors, the rhythm of her movement careful, like she didn’t want to disturb the tenderness still hanging in the air. The apartment was dim, lit only by the soft wash of morning light spilling in from the kitchen window, catching on dust motes and the edge of a candle left half-melted. It smelled like citrus and clean laundry—Paige’s scent woven into the air now, too. It was domestic. Lived-in. The kind of warmth that wrapped around you without asking. And something about that—about how right it felt—made Azzi’s chest pull tight in ways she couldn’t name.

She crossed to the dresser, tugging open the top drawer in search of clean underwear.

And then she saw it.

Tucked beneath a folded pair of socks, subtle but undeniably there—

Azzi froze.

Her hand hovered above it, fingers trembling slightly, caught in the hesitation between instinct and wonder. The air around her felt different—charged, like the pause before a question is asked that could change everything. The quiet of the apartment wasn’t hollow, but full—weighted with the echo of last night, of closeness still lingering in the sheets and on her skin. Everything else—the dresser, the soft hum of morning, the golden light bleeding in through the window—faded just enough to make space for this one suspended moment. One she hadn’t expected, but couldn’t look away from.

There it was. 

A box small enough to hide, yet heavy with possibility. And all at once, Azzi wasn’t sure if she was afraid… or if she was just stunned by the shape of a future she hadn’t let herself imagine until now.

She didn’t need to open it. Her fingers didn’t even graze the lid. She already knew what it was.

She knew from the shape. She knew from the weight in her chest. She knew from the way every single part of her started buzzing, like her body was trying to have six reactions at once.

Her heart picked up speed. She glanced over her shoulder toward the bed, half-expecting Paige to be standing there, watching her. But she was still asleep. Still quiet. 

It’s probably not even what I think, she told herself. It could be earrings. It could be something from her mom. Could be anything.

But she knew better.

She reached out and picked it up, slowly, carefully, like it might burn her. It was light. The light blue velvet soft against her palm. Her thumb brushed the edge of the lid, not opening it, but thinking about opening it—fighting herself with every second that passed.

She didn’t want to overthink it.

Didn’t want to pick it apart or rush toward some answer she wasn’t meant to have yet.

So she set the box back exactly where she found it, tucking it beneath the socks with gentle, almost reverent fingers. Then she closed the drawer—softly, firmly—like sealing a secret she wasn’t ready to open.

Not yet.

Because maybe it was what she thought it was. And maybe that wasn’t terrifying. Maybe it was just… a lot. A future pressed into velvet. A truth still waiting for its right moment.

She stood there for a beat, steadying herself. Then smoothed the hem of Paige’s shirt down over her thighs and turned toward the bathroom, moving on instinct. She brushed her hair back into a loose bun, splashed cold water on her face, and dabbed the corners of her eyes where sleep still lingered. No makeup, no real effort—just enough to feel like herself again.

She found clean underwear, tugged on leggings, slipped into Paige’s slides by the door. Everything was a little too big, a little too lived-in, and somehow perfect.

When she finally stepped outside, the cool morning air met her with a kind of clarity she hadn’t expected—crisp, grounding, alive. It helped.

[fillinforlater]

On her jeans (Part 1 of 3)

Male Reader x Kim Minji

Length: 3128 words

Tags: backstory, sex as payment, degradation, all things blowjob: face fuck, deep throat, gagging, chocking, throat bulging, rough face sex, training, passive hand job, master/daddy kink, desperate_trainee!Minji

TW: Minji is selling herself here kinda (oh no)

Credit: @sooyadelicacies for co-writing this crazy series with me. Mad lad!

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3-

(A/N: Hey you! I know you're reading this. Get ready for your favorite girls to get defiled one-by-one. Goon or go (or something like that, sounded cooler in my head). For everyone else, have fun!)

"Huh? Minji? What are you doing here?" 

Kazuha asks, surprised to see the still-trainee on this floor of the HYBE building, knocking on an unoccupied training room that she has nothing to do with usually.

"I-I came here to ask you about something,” the younger stutters. “I heard you were personally selected for LE SSERAFIM—and that there is some backer for your success. Even th-the group's scandal went away without a hitch. 

“Who is helping you, who is he?"

"What are you talking about?" Kazuha responds, face in scrunches. 

"I know that you know, Unnie," Minji says and catches the door before Kazuha can close it again. "I need answers, please. I-I've seen their plans, this is going to blow up, we'll be a failure, HYBE's loving stock.

"I can't fail this."

Kazuha looks at the determined young girl, her face loosening up a bit, turning from trying to defend her future spot at your side from a new rival to worrying for Minji. She curls her finger and Minji enters the otherwise empty training room.

"You have some dangerous knowledge," the Japanese woman then says. "Asking for this—I think you have no idea what you might get into."

"Doesn’t everyone say this about the industry?" Minji responds with wit and looks at Kazuha's sweaty body in the mirror. "Everyone always shares their doubts, from the moment you start. And now we are here, ready to debut. I know I have talent, but will it be enough?"

"You really want this, Minji?"

"Yes, Unnie, more than anything."

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen. Why do you—"

"I'll give you his number." Kazuha sighs deeply, but nonetheless, her words have Minji in a delighted dance. "I'll tell him that you are good, so be good, be honest to him. I'm doing you a favor here."

"Thank you so much, Unnie!"

"But be careful: he is greedy, he wants more than you can imagine, so be ready to give him everything. And also—" 

Kazuha pinches Minji's chin, tilts it towards her piercing eyes and whispers in the most kind yet threatening voice: 

"Never try to get between him and me."

# 

"Oh my—your concept, these plans. They are fucking terrible. It's going to take a lot to salvage this, even you seem to know that, Minji." There is no need for you to hold back. If you think a plan is bad, you better tell someone before they fail. You’ve seen your fair share of bad plans, but not by HYBE and not to this extreme.

"I-I know. I tried to tell them, but the managers just shut me down.” Minji puts her arms back on her thighs. They were just dramatically cast into the air to get her point across, but the young girl saw your unimpressed gaze and quickly got professional again. “They are running us straight into a brick wall."

"I've seen many examples like this. A lot of companies think they can do no wrong, especially when a lot of time has passed since their latest failure." 

You give Minji her tablet back and rest your chin on one hand, the other tapping the giant desk before you. You are deep in thought, at least Minji should believe that. Instead you are looking into her eyes, mariana trenches of passion, hopefulness, determination. Minji has a pretty face, leadership qualities, all the skills of a superstar but most importantly, she has some thick lips that will be perfect for cock sucking. 

Okay, you are getting ahead of yourselves. The other big thing she has is the willingness to trade everything for her dream, for hope, maybe for fame too. She will give her dignity for glory—and you will make her do it right fucking now.

"This is a difficult case," you say slowly, watching her expression shift a bit, not yet gloomy but getting there. "Luckily, I and HYBE still have the time and resources to make your debut a success. People will talk about it for a long time. I can even guarantee you a music show win from the get go."

"Really? Oh my God, thank you so much, sir. You are way too kind." Minji jumps from her seat and takes a deep, formal bow. "I hope I can lay all of this in your hand?"

"You sure can, Minji, but you know this comes with a price, a hefty one at that. This cannot be solved with two phone calls and some convincing. Hell, I barely have any time." You stand up from your chair and look at the young woman, upper body still tilted but her huge eyes fixed on you, now you’re in front of her. You still dwarf her and she only now knows that she is completely outmatched and will pay up.

"I-I will give you everything, as soon as I can," she stutters. "I only need some time and, and—"

"But I need it now, Minji. Right fucking now.

"Get on your knees."

"Sir?" Minji asks, shocked. "On my knees? Do-do you want me to beg?" 

You snort. “I thought you were smarter. What did Zuha tell you exactly?” 

“H-how did you know—?”

“Minji, what you're asking for requires a complete 180. Your entire concept will have to be changed. From what I’ve heard, you need some new songs too. I have someone in mind who can spearhead your group but she's a wildcard, batshit insane really, but the right kind of crazy needed for something like this. But all of this will take a lot of fucking effort, time and money. And I need you to prove your worth, now."

Push down on Minji's shoulders until she winces and sinks to the floor. Black tiles, hard, cold and somewhat reflective. You know that for a moment all of them hesitate when seeing the rough outline of their head mirrored back to them. Are they really going to do it? Is this what they have to sell? Is it worth it? 

Those that stayed are now superstars and because Minji somehow knew about it and had the guts to look for you, there is not a single doubt in you that she will devote herself to you.

"I can make your dreams come true," you proclaim calmly, yet your words put Minji under unbearable pressure. "Fame, money, success are all guaranteed, out of question, beyond that everything is possible. When you just stay there, on your knees and open your pretty mouth—"

A zip and your semi-hard cock is released, to the absolute shock of Minji, whose mental image of her face is replaced by the first phallus she has ever seen before her eyes. 

"—I'll fulfill your desires."

Minji looks up at you and gulps. She thought the auditions and training evaluations were the final tests respectively, but now her entire career comes down to this one huge cock right in front of her. She curses the producers, the managers, those idiots at Ador—their mistakes have to be redeemed by her sucking dick and lowering to the level of a desperate whore.

Minji has no option. Idols are born from hardship and this is just another step, she believes. So her lips part a little, and when she locks eyes with you, they part a lot more. With a satisfied groan, you shove your cock deep into her throat.

"From now on, you'll call me Master. Later will be Daddy, but not until you've proven worthy. Your next few weeks will be rough, new people, new songs, new choreos." The first tears form in Minji's gorgeous eyes as gags bounce through your office. "I don't care how tired or sweaty you are, when I call you, you come to me right after practice, no excuses. You will obey every fucking wish, especially because I have so much work with you."

You drag your balls over her chin, let your cock rest at the top of her mouth and open it wide. Minji is clumsy with her teeth and with the way she tries to dodge your thrust, be it intentionally or out of fear. This is of course vastly inferior compared to a blowjob from all those second and third gen stars you've made big after giving them your big cock.

The only redeeming, already great quality, are her lips. Natural, not a talent or skill. She'd be a lot better just not moving, not thinking, a fleshlight, but how should such a young woman know?

"I assume you're smart enough to understand all this," you tell her expectantly and pull out. Minji leans forward and coughs up her saliva on your floor. You grab her hair and pull it back, get ready to spit at her, but she has wit.

"Ye-yes, Master. Excuse my incompetence, I—you're so big."

"No crying? No regrets? Well, that's more impressive than your blowjob skills. How about you clean up your incompetence?"

You take a step back and pull her face down, down by the hair, onto the tiles where her spurts of saliva lay. Minji hisses out in pain, you know she stares down angrily, shocked at how rude you are to her. She grits her teeth—

"Yes, Master, sorry, Master."

—and begins to lick the floor, slowly and only with the tip of her small tongue.

You are mildly impressed that she adjusted to her situation rather quickly. It is the sign of a prodigy in bloom. 

"I am curious, baby girl. I was informed you didn't really set out to become an idol. So why put yourself through all of this?" You muse and question her. Minji's eyes widened a little, finally shifting from their bristling anger. "Oh, I know everything about you, Kim Minji. It is my job to know and then some. So tell me: what is your ambition? What is your desire?"

"Who doesn't dream of being famous?" Minji says, determination in her eyes which she has pointed at you like sharp, pointy arrows. "I want to be a star, the idol that all my classmates, parents, grown-ups have never seen in me. I want to show them how wrong they were."

"Too bad that even after joining the great and successful HYBE, you are about to be their first blunder," you taunt her and slap her forehead with your cock. "Good thing you're ready to suck cock for some adjustments of their mistakes."

Minji puckers her lips and a bit carelessly gets your cock back onto them, spreading small licks on your cockhead. "This is nothing, I know hardship."

"Oh, 

"You call this nothing?"

You tsk and slap her face with your cock.

"You know hardship? Do tell, Minji..." You grip her head and begin to plunge into her mouth. "Hardship? We haven't even started yet. I'm not even at full size, stupid girl!" 

You see her eyes widening as tears begin to form with your rough treatment. Thinking back to Minji's words, you read her well. People doubted her—you could too. She wasn't so different from the others you've trained. All they needed was education to rely on you, devotion to you and love for you and only you.

"Make sure to keep your fucking teeth off of it," you growl while your fingers search for new ways to pull at her hair, to push her away and then slam her back down on your cock which is finally hardening at the arousal her fearful face brings. The inside of Minji's mouth grows wetter, sloppier, warmer, until suddenly—

The annoyance of her teeth returns and it stings. To start with blowjobs has both been a disaster for your pleasure but intense fuel to introduce Minji to the harsh reality that is you; you and the success that you bring. Everything she has ever wanted, you can bring her, and so she fights trough the tears and accepts that you press her flat on the floor and fuck down into her mouth like it's a pussy.

"Open wide, open wide," you repeatedly command, a hand on Minji's jaw to help her make this command come true. "You useless slut, don't waste your lips on such pathetic blowjobs. Fucking hell, when I'm done with you, you better deepthroat like a mid porn star.

"Fucking waste of my time, you stupid stupid girl. This is the standard HYBE is accepting now? Fuck, maybe we can't even blame the company for your group's future failure—it will all just be on you. If you don't fucking step it up, this is the last time you will ever contact me." 

Gaze still intensely focused on her, you pull out your cell phone and unlock it. You don’t really use it for much, except for phone calls, but this alone makes this device insanely valuable. You however don’t need to make a phone call now. You only need to show Minji one thing: your contact list.

She can see you scrolling past the names of tons of people, all in the industry. Well known producers, managers, executives, staff members, but most importantly, all highlighted by a colorful array of yellow, orange, red and pink: 

The full names of hundreds of female idols. Minji scans through the list, recognizing one Unnie after the other, from nugu second gen groups to absolute super stars.

You pull out of Minji's mouth, give her time to cough up all leftover spit and wipe her tears away. Ultimately, you help her up from the cold hard floor, the only thing still laying on the floor is her pride.

"Do you get it now?" you ask and look at her, eyebrows raised with the highest of expectations.

"Yes, Master."

"Then you know what you have to do."

"De-deepthroat like a p-porn star."

"Can you do that?"

Minji hesitates, something you cannot stand for the love of everything. You grab her hips and throw her on your desk, spin her until her head is hanging off of the table. With no further warning, because she does not deserve those anymore, you press your cock on her lips and fill more than her mouth. Minji's throat starts to visibly bulge from the massive width of your cock. 

Of course she is gagging, kicking her feet but that isn't even a flight response. There is no need for you to pin her down. She wants to stay, wants to become a good slut, a stupid girl that can suck your entire cock. Sadly, her newfound eagerness isn't rewarded with success. She needs training and stretching and so you stretch Minji's throat with lazy thrust and train her nose to accept your balls on them.

"You're so silly, but finally, we have some effort, Minji," you growl and reach into the top of her shirt. "We can work from here."

You fondle her breasts, run your hands down her soft stomach. 

"Good, I can definitely work with this. You remind me of—" 

But you pause, not wanting to divulge any advantages for her to pick up on. She looks like an absolute fuck doll as her head continues hang off the table. Even upside down, it was pretty when stuffed with your cock, your balls now touching her lips with each plunge. 

"Minji, it's not enough to deepthroat like a porn star. You'll learn to deepthroat like one of my perfect sluts, whores. Porn star is a start, but it will soon be an insult to you.”

She had no idea that her consideration as a future perfect whore meant you already took a liking to her. As of now, all she knew—no, all she could think of—was your cock and that she needed to keep her teeth off of it. It needed to fuck her throat if she wanted any chance at a great career. 

And so Minji takes it, acts like a whore who willingly gets gag induced drool over her face, then fat, filled balls on her nose and accepts the greedy hands all over her midriff. Minji always thought that she needs this tight, perfect form for the approvement of the public—now it's you who decides if her body is acceptable and ripe for a fucking. 

Your seal of approval is the frantic way you tear open her shirt, then her bra and start to knead her breasts, while her tongue movements become actually enjoyable. You thrust harder, making Minji's face pale as she struggles to get air. She looks gorgeous like that, so you slap her tummy and before the choking is too hard, you back off and pull your pants up.

"That's it for today," you say as Minji still gasps for air. "From now on, you'll be here everyday after practice."

Short silence, disbelief in her eyes. "H-huh—yes, Master."

"The door will be open. Walk in and lay down on the table, just like this. You will wait until I return or have time for you. It doesn't matter what happens, you will lay there until I am finished with you."

"Yes, Master."

"A lot will change." You rub sweat and spit off her temple with a gentle hand and look at her glassy eyes. "You might not get any sleep at all. Now you will learn true adversity.

"Okay, fuck it. You don't deserve this, but I don't care."

Pull your pants back down and lower your balls onto Minji's mouth. This time, there is no hesitation, and she opens her fuckable lips wide. Her tongue starts to twirl around your sac while you begin to jerk yourself off. When Minji finally starts to suck, you feel a satisfying conclusion to this messy meeting arriving. But—

"Why would I do it myself? Get your hand here!"

You find one of Minji's hands and start to spit on each finger. Like a waterfall, it runs down until you deem it lubricated enough. Then you put them around your manhood and begin to thrust. It's a lot colder than a pussy, but Minji seems to instinctively know how to tighten the gap, the grip, her hand-pussy suddenly becomes worth cumming in.

Take a final breath and climax, each pump sending long streaks of pearly white on Minji's body. You cover her in seed until one long line, from her navel to her throat, forms and you admire how carefully she worships your balls. Wipe your cockhead clean on her hand and make a mental note to have this soft palm be a useful masturbation aid for another time.

"Who would've thought that you're already in love with my balls?" You almost crack a smile through your stone cold facade. "A good sign that you're already a whore."

"M-Master, I..."

"Shut the fuck up.

"Tomorrow, after practice. No underwear, no questions, no one is allowed to know."

[aceyalonso]

we're both winners, sweetheart - LEWIS HAMILTON

pairing : lewis hamilton x fem!reader | READ PART 1 HERE

summary : Y/n and Lewis going through the typical struggles of marriage (or in other words, the struggle of keeping up the charade of being married)

warnings : THE ANNOUNCEMENT IN THE STORY IS FAKE!!! swearing, kinda angsty, drinking, nail-biting, talking about sex (nothing too detailed), discussions of raising a family, 11-year age gap (reader is 28 years old), smut, hair pulling, unintentional overstimulation, choking, unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!)

face claim - gracie abrams

word count : 18.6k

song : agora hills - doja cat

a/n : this isn't proofread and SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, I WAS DEALING WITH SO MUCH PERSONAL STUFF OMG (this was supposed to be fore my 300 followers celebration thing | i might make a separate series for lyka and lando…………………………

July 8, Monday, 7:09 AM

Toto Wolff sits behind his desk, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern. Y/n and Lewis sit on the other side, both looking a bit sheepish and on edge. Toto looks at them, a moment of awkward silence hanging in the air before he finally speaks. "So," he begins, his voice cautious. "I have to say, this is... quite a situation you've gotten yourselves into."

Lewis clears his throat, his gaze meeting Toto's. "Yeah, we kind of... didn't see this coming," he admits, a hint of humor in his tone. "It was a very unexpected development, to say the least."

Y/n fidgets in her seat, her fingers massaging her forehead. She glances at Toto, his expression still unreadable. She tries to sound calm and rational, but her voice betrays her nervousness. "We weren't... fully sober when it happened," she offers lamely, as if it's an excuse.

Toto's eyebrow quirks at this revelation, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "Not fully sober," he repeats, his tone heavy with incredulity. "You got married... not fully sober?"

Lewis grimaces slightly at the bluntness of his words but doesn't deny it. "That... that's correct," he affirms, his voice a bit strained. "We were both a bit... impaired when we tied the knot, let's put it that way."

Toto rubs his forehead, seeming to struggle with how to respond to this information. He gathers himself and looks at them again, his expression more somber now. "And what exactly were you doing that led to this... marriage?" he asks, his tone slightly stern.

Lewis and Y/n exchange a glance, both knowing the answer will likely not help their case. Lewis speaks up first, his voice a bit sheepish. "We, ah... we were at a club. A very lively club, if you understand."

Toto leans forward in his chair, expression now a mix of thoughtfulness and strategy. "Okay," he says, "this is clearly a situation that will need some serious damage control if it gets out. We'll need the PR team to make something, anything to spin this in a way that... minimizes the impact on your image, Lewis, and the teams' reputation."

Y/n coughs, breaking the silence in the room and drawing everyone's attention. She clears her throat, feeling a bit awkward under the weight of Toto and Lewis' gazes. "Um, forgive me," she apologizes, her voice a bit hoarse. "But what... what are you suggesting?"

Toto's eyes shift to her, his expression still calculating. "Well, we need to control the narrative," he explains. "We need to get ahead of any potential media storm and craft a story that… makes this look less like a drunken mistake and more like a… a romantic love story, perhaps."

Lewis can't help but scoff slightly at this, his mouth tugging into a wry smile. "A romantic love story, huh?" he muses, skepticism in his tone. "Do you really think anyone's going to believe that?"

Toto's gaze hardens at Lewis' flippant comment. "At this point, any narrative is better than the truth," he says, his voice firm. "We need to protect your image, Lewis, and the team's reputation. We need to control the damage, and that means spinning this in a way that… makes you both look as good as possible."

Y/n mutters under her breath as Toto and Lewis continue their discussion, unable to hide her growing concern. "My dad is going to kill me," she whispers, her voice a mixture of dread and resignation. She imagines her father's reaction to this news, the fury and disappointment in his eyes.

She finally speaks up, her mind turning to her own interests in this situation. "Wait," she interjects, cutting into Lewis and Toto's discussion. They both turn to her, surprised. "If we're going to go along with this… PR plan, I want something out of it too."

Toto and Lewis look at her, a bit taken aback by her unexpected request. Toto quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "And what is it you want, exactly?" he asks, his tone a mix of curiosity and caution.

Y/n takes a deep breath, her mind racing as she formulates her request. "I want this to benefit me too," she says, her tone firm but tentative. "I don't just want to be a pawn in this charade. I want my own image to be protected, and… I want it to have a positive impact on my future, on my family's company."

Toto and Lewis exchange glances, both surprised but also understanding the logic in her request. Lewis turns to her with slight admiration, a small smile playing on his lips. "That's… very practical of you," he says, his voice carrying a hint of respect.

Y/n's response is matter-of-fact, and her expression is a mix of determination and practicality. "Business is business," she repeats, her tone resolute. "If we're going to play this game, we might as well use it to our advantage, right?"

Toto nods slightly, appreciating her mercenary approach. "You're not wrong," he concedes, a grudging respect in his voice. "If we can use this situation to our mutual benefit, then perhaps it won't be a total disaster."

Lewis looks at Y/n, a gleam of admiration in his eyes at her business-mindedness. "You've got guts," he remarks, a smirk playing on his lips. "I can respect that."

Y/n chuckles a bit at his comment, the humor beginning to shine through despite the seriousness of their situation. "Well," she says with a small laugh, "if you want to get technical, that is one reason we got married, isn't it?"

Toto glares at Y/n, his gaze is stern and reprimanding. Y/n's eyes widen in response, and she immediately feels a pang of regret, realizing she has spoken out of turn. She mutters a quick "Sorry, too soon," her voice a whisper as she shrinks down in her seat.

Toto sighs, his expression softening slightly. "Let's remain professional, please," he reminds her, his tone a bit weary. "We need you to be present at the next Grand Prix, okay? Because by then we'll have the PR statement announced. Lewis can send you the details."

Y/n nods, a bit chastened but also understanding. "Okay," she apologizes again, her voice sincere. "I'll check my schedule if I'm free on... whatever day that is."

Toto nods in acknowledgment, his expression is still weary but slightly less stern. He turns his attention back to Lewis and continues the discussion, the mood in the room now more serious and focused.

With the focus of the conversation now shifted to Lewis and Toto, Y/n pulls out her phone, sensing that she isn't needed in the immediate discussion. She scrolls through her phone, trying to distract herself from the ongoing conversation. Occasionally, she glances up, listening to bits and pieces of the talk, but mostly just biding her time.

Y/n scrolls through her Twitter feed, her eyes scanning over the various news and Tweets. Suddenly, something catches her eye, causing her to stand up from her seat and exclaim a surprised curse word.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Y/n exclaims, her voice laced with disbelief and shock. She stares down at her phone, the blood draining from her face as she processes whatever she has just seen.

Toto and Lewis' heads snap in her direction at the outburst. They look at her, startled and alarmed by her reaction. Toto's brow furrows in concern, and he asks, "What is it? What's wrong?"

Y/n holds out her phone to Toto, her face still etched with shock and disbelief. Toto takes the phone from her, his eyes widening as he looks at the screen. Lewis leans over to look as well, his expression turning serious as he reads whatever is on the screen.

Toto's jaw clenches as he looks at the image, his expression hard and guarded. He glances at Y/n, then back at the phone screen, seeming to be processing the implications of this photo.

Lewis shakes his head, his jaw clenching in annoyance. "That's just perfect," he mutters sarcastically. "As if we didn't have enough to deal with already."

Toto continues scrolling through the tweet and reading comments from fans and media alike. He pauses, seeing several comments speculating that the woman in the photo is actually Y/n. His expression darkens with concern as he reads these comments.

He glances at Y/n, then at Lewis, and sighs deeply. "This is really bad," he says, his voice a low grumble. "If people start connecting the dots… we're going to have a PR nightmare on our hands."

Y/n is silently freaking out, her mind racing with thoughts and worries. She gnaws anxiously on her nails, a nervous habit she has when feeling overwhelmed.

Toto notes her distress but focuses on the practicalities of the situation for the moment, exchanging a few more words with Lewis.

Toto and Lewis quietly discuss the next steps, trying to come up with a damage control plan. Toto occasionally glances at Y/n, noticing her anxious behavior, but doesn't interrupt his conversation with Lewis for the moment.

Y/n suddenly pipes up, interrupting Toto and Lewis' conversation. "Wait," she interjects, her tone a bit frenzied. "What if we lied? What if… what if we said we've been married for almost a year? Like, we got married during the winter break?"

Toto's expression softens slightly as he contemplates Y/n's idea. "It's a possibility," he muses, his voice measured. "Getting married during the off-season would make sense, given the hectic schedule of the drivers. It would be more logical that Lewis would take time off for a wedding rather than a drunken elopement."

Lewis nods, seeing the logic in Y/n's suggestion. "It could work," he agrees, his tone less skeptical than before. "It would at least make the whole situation seem less impulsive and foolish, and more like… a planned commitment."

Y/n continues to gnaw anxiously on her nails, her eyes flitting between Toto and Lewis as she waits for them to make a decision. The weight of the situation, the impending lie they are about to concoct, hangs heavily on her mind.

Toto notices her distress but is still wrapped up in the discussion with Lewis, he decides to address it once they have a plan. "Let's work out the details," he says, his tone business-like. "We need to make sure our story is ironclad, and our timelines line up."

He turns to Y/n, his expression stern but not unsympathetic. "And I suggest you stop chewing on your nails," he remarks matter-of-factly. "We'll need to present a united, calm front, and that doesn't include nervous fidgeting."

Though Y/n stops biting her nails as Toto advises, her anxiety doesn't diminish. She transfers her nervous energy to her palms, starting to scratch and pick nervously at the skin, leaving slight crescent-shaped marks.

Toto notices her new anxious habit but doesn't address it directly at the moment. He and Lewis continue their discussion, fine-tuning the details of the lie they are going to spin. The atmosphere in the room remains tense, but there seems to be a rough plan coming together.

As the meeting draws to a close, Toto excuses himself to take a call from the head of PR. He motions for Y/n and Lewis to wait, and they remain silent in Toto's office as he steps out to take the call.

When Toto returns, he appears even more tense than before. He bids both Y/n and Lewis a rushed farewell, as he needs to deal with the situation with the head of PR. The two of them are left standing in the office, the atmosphere heavy with the weight of the day's events.

Lewis glances at Y/n, her face slightly pale and tired from the stress of the situation. He can tell that she's still anxious and tense, and he reaches out to gently squeeze her hand, offering a small gesture of comfort. "Hey," he says in a soft voice, "it's going to be okay. We're… we're going to get through this."

Y/n looks up at him, her eyes weary and full of worry. She tries to force a small smile, appreciating his attempt at reassurance. "I hope so," she replies, her voice a bit shaky. "I just… I hope we can pull this off. The lie…"

Lewis nods in understanding. "I know," he says, his tone sympathetic. "It's a lot to take on. But we don't have many options at this point. If we don't control the narrative, someone else will, and…" he trails off, the implication clear.

Y/n nods, knowing that he's right. "I get it," she mutters, her voice laced with resignation. "I just… I didn't sign up for all this, you know? All this… lying, and spinning stories, and… pretending."

Y/n lets out a humorless chuckle, her voice resigned. "You're telling me," she says sarcastically. "I didn't even sign up for this marriage, not while I was sober at least... and now I have to lie about it, pretend it was pre-planned, and… play the part of the dutiful wife."

She shakes her head, the absurdity of the situation weighing heavily on her shoulders. "It's just… surreal," she continues her tone a mix of disbelief and frustration. "A few days ago, I was a private person, living my life, and now I'm suddenly… a married woman, the center of a media shitstorm, and I'm expected to lie about it all like it's no big deal."

As they walk down the halls, Y/n is still somewhat zoned out, her mind preoccupied with the stresses and worries of the day. Lewis is right beside her, his hand occasionally on her lower back, providing silent moral support. They pass by other team members and staff, and more than a few curious glances and whispers follow them, aware of the situation unfolding but unwilling to speak openly.

They reach the parking lot, and Lewis turns to Y/n, his expression concerned. "Do you want me to drive you home?" he asks gently, his tone sincere. "You look exhausted."

Y/n nods, her fatigue clearly visible in her eyes and demeanor. "Yeah," she replies, her voice a weary whisper. "That would be great, thanks. I'm… I'm feeling pretty wiped out."

Lewis nods in understanding and leads her towards his car. The trip to her home is mostly silent, both of them too emotionally drained to talk much. Lewis occasionally glances at her, checking if she is okay. Y/n just gazes out the window, her thoughts far away.

He follows the directions given by Y/n to her apartment. The car ride is quiet, neither of them speaking much due to the weight of the situation on their minds. Once they arrive at her apartment, Lewis parks the car but doesn't immediately get out. Instead, he turns to her, his expression a mixture of worry and concern.

Lewis watches as Y/n unbuckles her seatbelt and reaches for the door handle. Before she can open the door, he turns to her and asks, "You're going to be okay, right? You'll be okay alone? I can stay with you if you want."

Y/n offers a weary smile, touched by Lewis's concern. "I… I'll be fine," she assures him, her voice soft but strained. "You don't need to stay. I just… need some time to process all this. Alone."

Lewis accepts her decision to be alone, though his expression remains worried. "Okay," he says softly, "Take care of yourself, alright? And… call me if you need anything. Anytime, okay?"

She nods slightly, appreciating his offer. "Thanks, I will," she replies. "I'll… I'll be fine. I just need a bit of space to clear my head."

Y/n exits the car, her movements slow and weary. The weight of the situation seems to hang heavily on her shoulders as she stands outside her apartment, looking up at the building.

Lewis watches her from the driver's seat, a mixture of concern and sadness on his face. He waits a moment to make sure she gets inside safely before driving off.

July 8, Monday, 10:37 AM

As Y/n begins to unlock her apartment door, she hears the familiar sound of her cat meowing on the other side. The sound is both a comfort and a further reminder of her responsibilities, and she feels a pang of fondness mixed with exhaustion.

After unlocking the door, she pushes it open and is immediately met with the soft sound of her cat rubbing against her legs, meowing for attention. Y/n bends down and scoops up the cat in her arms, holding it close to her chest, seeking comfort in its presence.

She holds her cat “Extra Virgin Olive Oil” (“Evoo” for short) close, the familiar warmth and weight of her furry companion a soothing presence. The ridiculousness of the name, a result of yet another drunken decision, momentarily brings a bittersweet smile to her lips.

Y/n walks into the apartment, closing the door behind her and making her way to the living room. She sits down on the couch, setting her bag on the floor before setting Evoo down on her lap and gently stroking his white fur. The soothing motion and rhythmic purring of the cat help to calm her tumultuous thoughts.

As Y/n sits on the couch, gently stroking her cat, she begins to speak to him in a soft, quiet voice. Although it’s not unusual for people to talk to their pets, there’s an undertone of vulnerability in her words, unloading her worries to a receptive but silent companion.

“Hi, baby,” she begins, her voice laced with exhaustion. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had.” She continues to idly pet the cat in her lap, the gentle motion seeming to soothe her as much as her cat. “I… I’ve gotten myself into a real mess, you know? Things are… complicated, to say the least.”

She leans her head back against the couch, her fingers continuing to absently run through the white cat’s fur. “I know you’re just a cat, and you probably don’t understand what I’m saying. But it helps, talking to you like this. It helps to get it all out, even if you can’t talk back.”

As Y/n continues to talk, the words flow out of her in a rushed confession. “And… that’s not even the craziest, Evoo,” she murmurs, shaking her head slightly. “I got married. Can you believe that?”

Her cat, as if responding to her words, looks up at her with its large eyes, seemingly bewildered by the revelation. It tilts its head as if asking “What?!”

Y/n lets out a soft, humorless chuckle at her cat’s reaction, continuing to stroke its fur. “Yeah, I know. It’s crazy, right?” she continues, her voice still heavy with exhaustion but holding a hint of irony. “I… I got married, and I don’t even remember most of it. Isn’t that just wild?”

She pushes aside her exhaustion and moves from the couch, placing Evoo gently on the nearby rug. She then remembers to change her cat’s water bowl, her actions automatic and routine. As she fills the bowl from the kitchen sink, she glances back at her cat, still resting on the rug.

“Don’t worry, bud,” she calls out, her voice slightly less weary, “He’s… he’s a good guy. I think.”

After refilling the water bowl, Y/n returns to the living room, her mind still swirling with the day’s events. She glances at Evoo, who is now lapping up the fresh water. For a moment, she wishes her life was as simple as a cat’s, where the most pressing concern was the next meal, not an unexpected marriage and a web of lies.

Y/n rubs his head one last time before straightening up. “Alright, buddy,” she says, her tone softer now that she’s attending to her cat’s needs. “I’m going to take a bath. Be a good boy while I’m gone, alright?”

She sits in the bathtub, the water warm and comforting, surrounding her tired body in a soothing embrace. An iPad is placed on a wooden bath tray near the edge of the tub, playing a movie that she’s only partially paying attention to.

In her hand, she holds a glass of lemon water, taking small sips every now and then as she there, letting the hot water work its relaxing magic.

The scent of lavender from a bath bomb fills the room, adding to the atmosphere of calm and tranquility. However, despite the peaceful setting, Y/n’s mind remains restless, the events of the day still weighing heavily on her thoughts. Despite trying to focus on the movie, she finds her mind wandering back to the marriage, the lie, the future.

As the stream from the bath billows around her, Y/n takes another small sip from her lemon water, her mind still spinning. The bath was intended to relax her, to wash away the tension of the day, but her thoughts stubbornly refused to let her rest. She tries to force herself to watch the movie, to focus on something other than her worries, but the events of the day keep flooding back.

The heat of the bath, combined with the subtle fragrance of the lavender, should be lulling her into a tranquil state, but her mind is too chaotic, too filled with worries and regrets. She takes another sip of her lemon water, the tangy taste reminding her of the sourness she feels inside, the unease that hasn't let her go since this whole mess began.

Y/n is wrapped in a towel, her wet hair sticking to her shoulders as she steps out of her bedroom and into the living/dining space. She's surprised to see Lyka walking in with a bright smile, a stark contrast to her own weary state.

Y/n, still wrapping the towel around herself, glances up at Lyka through wet strands of hair. "You seem unusually cheerful," she remarks, her tone slightly teasing as she reaches the kitchen and sets her glass down in the sink. Evoo brushes against her leg, seeking attention, and she gives the cat a gentle pat before turning back to Lyka. "What's up?"

Lyka's eyes sparkle with excitement and a hint of pride. "The best night ever," she echoes, her smile widening. "You won't believe it, Y/n. I hooked up with the DJ."

Y/n raises her brows in surprise and recognition. "Oh, Lando?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her tone. "I saw you dancing with him at the booth last night."

Lyka blinks in surprise when Y/n says Lando's name, her excitement now mixed with a touch of curiosity. "Yeah!- Wait, how do you know his name?" she asks, her expression a mix of surprise and intrigue.

Y/n settles onto a bar stool, opening the wrapper to a small piece of chocolate. She takes a small bite of the chocolate and continues talking to Lyka as she munches on the sweet treat. "I became friends with one of Lando's friends last night," she explains, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Her playful smile fades as the memory of her marriage hits her like a ton of bricks. She chokes mid-sentence, the taste of chocolate turning bitter in her mouth. "I... um..." she stutters, her mind racing to find a way to explain.

"I... I have something to tell you," she manages to continue, her voice a bit strained. She sets the chocolate bar down, her appetite suddenly gone. "And... it's kind of a big deal. Like, a really big deal."

Lyka's expression changes as she senses the seriousness in Y/n's tone. Her eyes widened slightly, and she leaned in, her face replaced by a look of concern. "What is it?" she asks, her voice low and worried.

Y/n takes a deep breath, bracing herself for the reaction that's about to follow. "I..." she starts, her voice faltering as she struggles to find the right words. "I... I got married."

There's a moment of stunned silence as Lyka processes Y/n's confession. Her eyes widen even further, and her hand grips the countertop, her knuckles turning white. "You... you what?" she manages to stutter out, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief.

"And... it may or may not have been a friend of Lando's...." Lyka's eyes widen even further when Y/n clarifies that the person she married is a friend of Lando. "Wait..." she starts, her mind spinning with the implications. "You married one of Lando's friends? Who..."

Y/n hesitates for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She swallows hard, preparing herself for the fallout. "Lewis," she finally manages to say. "I... I married Lewis."

As Lyka tries to remember if Lando mentioned anything Lewis, a flicker of recognition appears in her eyes. "Wait..." she says, her soft soft as she recalls the conversation with Lando. "Lando mentioned something about a party of celebrate one of his friends' win. Was that Lewis?"

Y/n doesn't trust herself to speak, so she just nods in affirmation. She can see the pieces falling into place in Lyka's mind, her friend digesting the information with a mix of surprise and confusion.

Lyka lifts her hands in a gesture of disbelief, her voice filled with a mixture of amusement and incredulity. "I swear, the universe has a weird sense of humor when it comes to you and alcohol," she says, shaking her head. "Seriously, the weirdest things happen to you when you're drunk. It's like you're attracting weirdness or something."

As Y/n gets up to change, she can't help but notice that Lyka is wearing a hoodie she doesn't recognize. She decides to bring it up later, as they have plenty to discuss when they regroup in the kitchen.

"Alright, let's change and meet here in five," Y/n suggests, her tone a bit lighter now. "We'll compare our crazy nights, and you can tell me about your new hoodie too," she adds with a smile.

Lyka flushes furiously as Y/n hints at the hoodie she's wearing, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. "Oh my god, shut up," she giggles, trying to hide her embarrassment. "It's just a hoodie, okay?"

Y/n grins knowingly as she responds, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah, it's Lando's hoodie," she teases, emphasizing the name for effect. "And you're blushing like crazy."

Lyka buries her face in her hands, still blushing profusely. "Ugh, I swear, you're the worst," she groans, half-heartedly swatting at Y/n "Why do you have to point it out like that?"

Y/n laughs, enjoying the sight of her flustered friend. "Alright, alright, I'll stop teasing," she says, her voice filled with amusement. She moves towards her room, still smiling at Lyka's reaction. "You get changed, and I'll do the same. Meet you in the kitchen in five."

Y/n sits next to Lyka, a soft smile on her face. As they settle into their seats by the counter, Lyka begins recounting her night with Lando. Her cheeks are still a little flushed, betraying her excitement.

"So, about last night..." she says, her voice slightly giddy, "I had the best night ever with Lando."

Y/n takes a chip from the bowl on the counter, chewing on it as she listens to her friend's story. "Yeah?" she prompts. encouraging Lyka to continue. "Tell me more. What made it the best night ever?"

Lyka emphasizes her point, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "His hands were skilled," she repeats, her voice lowered to a whisper. "Seriously, Y/n, you have no idea. He was so fucking good."

"His touches, his moves, everything just... wow," Lyka continues, the memory clearly relived in her mind. She takes a sip of her water, her gaze distant for a moment before she focuses on Y/n. "I swear, it was like he knew exactly what to do, and how to do it."

Lyka's excitement reaches a whole new level as she starting bouncing in her seat. "Oh my god," she exclaims, her voice a mix of shock and excitement. "When he was-" She suddenly breaks off, her words catching in her throat.

She cuts off her own sentence, biting her lip as if holding back a secret. There's a mixture of delight and surprise on her face. "He... he was just-" she stammers, struggling to put the experience into words. "It was incredible," she finally manages, her voice full of awe.

Y/n listens intently, smiling at her friend's enthusiasm. She can tell that whatever Lando did, it clearly surpassed Lyka's expectations. "Incredible, huh?" she teases, raising a brow. "Sounds like Lando's got some serious skills there."

Lyka takes a moment to fan herself, the memory of her night with Lando still fresh in her mind. "Yeah... yeah I was," she says, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I was shaking like a leaf by the time it was done."

She looks down at her hands as if reliving the sensation. "It was tense," she adds, shaking her head in disbelief. "Like, seriously intense. I don't think I could have handled much more."

Lyka lets out a shaky breath, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief in her voice. "Yeah," she replies, her face still flushed. "He just... he just kept going, even when I thought I couldn't take anymore. It was... it was too much, but in the best way possible, you know?"

She takes another sip of her water, her body still feeling the after-effects of Lando's touches. "He knew exactly what he was doing," she adds, a hint of admiration in her voice. "I've never experienced anything like it before."

Y/n can't resist teasing a little more, a sly smile on her face. "Well," she says, raising a brow, "Maybe Lando was just making up for the disappointing performance your ex put on."

Lyka, still flushed and giggling, enthusiastically agrees with Y/n's assessment. "ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY!" she exclaims, her voice loud and clear. "Lando was the complete opposite of my ex. He made up for that shitshow tenfold."

She takes a moment to catch her breath, her face still glowing. She can't help but gush about Lando's attributes, her voice filled with awed excitement. "I swear, he was HUGE," she says, her voice filled with excitement.

Y/n laughs, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. "Shh, shh, keep it down," she shushes her friend, laughing as she glances toward the wall shared with their neighbors. "The whole building doesn't need to know about Lando's... size."

Lyka, still caught up in the memory of her night with Lando, continues to rave about his skills and his 'size' ''I don't even know how to describe it," she gushes, her voice filled with admiration. "There's just... no comparison. Lando's in a league of his own."

She's so caught up in her praise that she practically glows. "I never knew it could be like that," she admits, her flushed cheeks a clear indication of her satisfaction. "He knows how to handle everything."

Lyka's voice softens as she reflects on the night, her face now taking on a more tender expression. "He was so gentle and caring afterward," she says, a hint of fondness in her tone. "It was like he knew exactly what I needed."

Y/n, curious about the tender side of Lando, asks how exactly he was caring after their night together. Lyka's expression softens even more as she continues. "He was really sweet," she explains. "He held me close, and told me how amazing I was. Kept asking if I was okay, and if I needed anything. Just really took care of me, you know?"

"Oh, and he left me a shit ton of hickeys too," Lyka mentions, causing Y/n to involuntarily spit out her drink in surprise. Y/n's eyes widen as Lyka casually mentions that detail. She was taking a sip of her drink at the same moment, causing her to almost choke on the liquid, spurting it out in surprise. "Hickeys?" she exclaims, her voice slightly strained. "Lando gave you hickeys?"

Lyka grins widely, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She shifts the collar of her shirt to reveal several small, purplish marks on her collarbone and neck. "Yeah," she says, her voice a bit smug. "He marked me up, good."

Lyka lets out a cheeky giggle, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, yeah," she confirms, her voice slightly lower. "He left some on my thighs too, but Lando said those were for his eyes only."

Y/n can't help but stare at her friend in disbelief. Her mouth is still slightly agape, her eyes wide as she processes the information. "For his eyes only, huh?" she manages to say, her voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.

She shakes her head, a little bemused by Lando's possessiveness. "Sounds like Lando wants to keep you all to himself," she teases, grinning. "No sharing allowed."

Lyka grins, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, absolutely," she confirms, giggling. "We made a deal. He wants to be my friend with benefits," she says, using air quotes, "And I just have to look pretty and make him feel good." She adds with a coy smile, paraphrasing Lando's words.

Lyka brightens up even more, her voice eager and excited. "Oh, and I'm going to his next race too!" she exclaims, bouncing a little in her seat. "I'll be in the McLaren garage, of course. Lando said he wants me there."

Y/n nods, a smile on her face. "I'll be there too, slightly against my will," she confirms, "But I'll be in the Mercedes garage." She glances at her friend, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. "This is gonna be fun, watching the race from opposite ends of the garage."

"So... what about your night?" Lyka asks curiously, looking at Y/n with amusement through her eyelashes.

Y/n takes a moment, her mind flashing back to the events of her night. "My night…" she muses, her voice a little dreamy. "Well, it was… eventful, to say the least."

She lets out a soft chuckle, the memory of the night still fresh in her mind. "So, I was on the dance floor, just dancing, and Lewis came up behind me," she recalls, her voice laced with a hint of excitement.

Y/n glances at Lyka before continuing, her voice taking on a wry tone. "Yeah, it was around the time you went to dance with Lando," she says, clearly amused by the coincidence. "Lewis just appeared out of nowhere, tapped me on the shoulder, and we started dancing."

She smiles, her cheeks slightly flushed as she describes the night. "We were talking, flirting a bit," she says, her voice holding a hint of excitement. "He bought me drinks at the bar, and we just… connected, I guess."

Y/n lets out a light laugh, her cheeks flushing a little at the memory. "Yeah, so… eventually… we may have found a secluded spot and, you know, things got a bit heated," she explains, a coy smile playing on her lips. "And I may or may not have told him I'd marry him as a joke."

She shakes her head, still amused by the audacity of her own words. "I don't even know where it came from," she says. "Just a spur-of-the-moment thing, you know? A little drunken banter."

Y/n continues, her voice filled with amusement. "Well, Lewis just chuckled when I said it," she recounts. "I mean, he knew I was just joking, right? But then he just… playfully agreed, you know? Like, he said something like, 'Sure, why not? Let's get hitched.' It was all just goofing around, really."

Y/n sees the look on Lyka's face and knows her friend is judging her, but it's in a friendly way. She laughs, shaking her head. "Hey, don't give me that look," she says, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. "It was just a joke, you know that, right?"

Lyka gives Y/n a sly smile, her voice filled with mock disbelief. "A joke that turned into an actual marriage," she repeats, her tone dripping with cheeky sarcasm. "Wow, I hope Lewis doesn't mind waking up to your morning breath every day."

Y/n playfully smacks Lyka's arm, laughing. "Hey, my morning breath isn't that bad," she protests, her voice light with feigned offense.

She then swats at Lyka again, her smile broadening. "And for the record, I would make an amazing wife," she boasts, her voice half-joking, half-serious.

Y/n straightens her shoulders, posing theatrically. "I'd be, like, the perfect trophy wife. I'd look good standing next to Lewis during his press conferences and podium interviews."

Lyka laughs out loud at Y/n's confident declaration. "Oh my god," she snickers, her voice filled with mirth. "You're actually picturing yourself as a trophy wife? Standing there, looking pretty while Lewis talks about racing strategy and tire compounds?"

Y/n grins, raising a brow at Lyka. "And what about you?" she asks a hint of challenge in her voice. "Can you see yourself doing the same for Lando? Standing there, looking gorgeous, while he talks about car setup and track conditions?"

Lyka nods with conviction, a sparkle in her eyes. "Absolutely, yes," she affirms. "I can totally picture myself looking all cute and pretty, with a whole wardrobe of amazing outfits courtesy of Lando's earnings. It's all about the perks, you know?"

She grins mischievously. "Besides, watching Lando on the track, all focused and intense, and then coming home to spoil me rotten? Sounds pretty damn good to me."

Y/n nods, her lips curving into a smile. "You know what, you have a point there," she admits, her voice laced with a touch of envy. "Getting to watch Lewis race, all focused and competitive, and then having him come home and… well, show me just how much he appreciates me… yeah, I could get used to that."

She quirks an eyebrow, glancing at the calendar. "Alright, when's the next race again?" she asks, her voice slightly impatient. "I need to check if I'm free that day, cause Toto- his team principal, I believe? said that I have to be there. Some PR bullshit."

Y/n pulls out her phone, quickly searching for the race schedule. "Lemme see," she murmurs, scrolling through her screen. "There we go. The next race is two weeks from now... Let's see… yep, I'm free that day."

She puts her phone away, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "All clear," she affirms. "I'll be there, cheering on Lewis every lap of the way."

Lyka smirks, her voice dripping with playfully sarcastic praise. "Oh, you're such a good wife," she teases. "Making sure you're always available to support your husband's racing career. That's true devotion right there."

Y/n laughs, returning the teasing with a sly grin. "And what about you?" she asks, raising a brow. "Ready to be Lando's arm candy, showing off all those designer outfits he'll buy you?"

Lyka nods vigorously, her face already picturing the fancy outfits she'd wear. "Oh, absolutely," she declares, her voice oozing with enthusiasm. "I'm so ready to be Lando's arm candy, strutting around in all the gorgeous designer outfits he'll spoil me with."

Lyka takes a moment to swallow her chip and then adds, "And hey, speaking of Lando's stuff, I actually need to return that hoodie he lent me. Gotta make sure he gets it back."

She grins mischievously. "Although, maybe I'll 'accidentally' keep it a day or two longer just to remind him of me."

Y/n tsks, shaking her head in mock disapproval. "Oh, wow," she chuckles, her tone laced with feigned surprise. "That's such harlot behavior, keeping a guy's hoodie just to remind him of yourself."

Lyka looks at Y/n in exaggerated shock, her mouth dropping open in mock offense. "Harlot? Really?" she exclaims, her voice filled with laughter. "Out of all the words you could've chosen, you went with harlot! That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

Y/n shrugs, unable to keep a straight face. "What? It fits!" she replies, her voice laced with mirth. "You're deliberately keeping his hoodie longer just to keep his attention on you. If that isn’t harlot behavior, then I don't know what is."

Lyka rolls her eyes dramatically, a playful grin on her face. "Oh, please," she exclaims, batting her eyelashes dramatically. "It's not harlot behavior, it's strategic flirting. There's a difference."

Y/n chuckles, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay," she concedes, her voice still tinged with laughter. "You can call it whatever you want. Strategic flirting, friendly teasing, whatever floats your boat."

July 8, Monday, 4:51 PM

Y/n is in the middle of preparing dinner, peeling potatoes and chopping veggies, when her phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number. She glances down at it curiously, setting down her knife for a moment.

After a few moments, Y/n finishes replying to Lewis' message, a small smile on her face. She sets down her phone, the conversation with Lewis momentarily distracting her from her cooking preparations.

Y/n continues chopping vegetables, her hands moving deftly as she's suddenly interrupted by the sound of Lyka's phone ringing. She stops for a moment, looking up as Lyka grabs her phone.

Lyka's face lights up with surprise as she answers the phone, hearing Lando's voice on the line. "Oh! Hey, Lando," she replies, her voice already cheerful.

Y/n can't help but smile at Lyka's reaction, hearing the change in her tone. She continues chopping vegetables as she listens to Lyka's side of the conversation.

Lyka's voice is filled with excitement as she responds to Lando's question. "Yes, I'll get the tickets for the flight myself," she confirms, her voice slightly giddy. "I'll be there by Friday, no problem."

Her face flushes with a rosy hue as Lando brings up the subject of his hoodie. She lets out a soft, nervous chuckle and replies, a hint of playful charm in her voice, "Ah, about the hoodie… Well, I was actually thinking I might hang onto it a little longer."

Y/n, unable to contain her amusement, lets out a soft giggle, drawing Lyka's attention. She glances at her friend, a sly smile on her face.

Lyka continues the conversation with Lando, her voice taking on a flirtatious tone as she playfully teases him. "You know, if you miss the hoodie that much, you'll just have to come and get it from me yourself…"

Y/n stops mid-preparation, her eyes widening as she eavesdrops on Lyka's conversation. She gapes at her friend for a brief moment, surprised by the boldness of her response.

She can't help but chuckle to herself, thinking, "Lyka's really turning on the charm. Lando's going to be all over her when he gets that hoodie back…"

Lyka continues the conversation, her voice dropping to a sultry tone. "It seems like you miss this hoodie more than you miss me, if you're that desperate to get your hoodie back, maybe we should meet up tomorrow…"

Lyka smiles widely as Lando agrees to meet up the next day. "Great, I'll send you my address in a moment," she replies, her voice a mix of anticipation. "I need to go now, though. But I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

Y/n watches the exchange with a mixture of amusement and surprise. She can't help but shake her head in disbelief as Lyka ends the call, a cheeky smile on her face.

"Wow," Y/n says, her voice filled with admiration. "You really have Lando wrapped around your finger, don't you?"

Lyka grins, her cheeks still flushed with a hint of a blush. "What can I say? I have my ways of persuasion," she replies, a coy smirk on her face.

Y/n laughs at Lyka's response, amused by her friend's confidence. She continues preparing dinner, adding the ingredients to the pot and stirring it together in the pot, her mind temporarily preoccupied as she focuses on her cooking task. The kitchen emits a warm, savory aroma, the spices blending together to create a mouthwatering scent.

Y/n is suddenly interrupted by the sound of Lyka spitting out her tea, accompanied by an annoyed meow from Evoo. She looks up, slightly startled, setting down her spoon to look over at her friend.

"Whoa, what happened?" Y/n asks, looking at Lyka, who's wiping her mouth with a napkin. Her eyes move to the cat, who's also looking slightly grumpy from the unexpected spray.

Lyka, still catching her breath, quickly points at Y/n's phone, which is on the kitchen counter. "Check your Instagram," she says urgently, a hint of excitement in her voice.

Y/n grabs her phone from the kitchen counter, a look of curiosity on her face. She swipes through her notifications and opens Instagram, as per Lyka's instruction.

Y/n scans through her Instagram timeline and her heart skips a beat as she catches the first article. The statement from Mercedes about her marriage to Lewis is plastered right on her screen. She reads through it, disbelief and surprise etched across her face.

mercedesf1

liked by lewishamilton, george_russell, lyka.val and 563,447 others mercedesamgf1 Following the recent victory at Silverstone, unauthorized images of one of our drivers and his private life have been leaked. We respect our driver’s privacy and are addressing the situation with the seriousness it deserves. Here’s Toto’s reaction to the matter.

user44 HE'S WHAT? FOR HOW LONG?

lewishamiltonfan446427 who the fuck is y/n.... ↳ george.jpg i just searched her up, she used to be a model! she's still active on social media so it isn't that hard to find her account

mercluvr I'M SORRY???

nepobbylver ms rabbit has fainted.

y/nfan1 I'M GOING INSANE??????????????????????????

lewis.hamiltons.gf does this mean i have to change my username...?

y/nfan2 WHEN DID THEY MEET WHAT

y/nfan3 WHEN WHERE WHAT HOW WHEN HUH

rockstarlewis this is some 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 shit dude

wtfmerc so it WAS y/n

A mix of emotions floods through her as she continues reading. She feels a wave of shock, followed by a pang of confusion. Y/n grips her phone tighter, her eyes glued to the words on the screen.

Y/n looks up from her phone, her voice quivering with surprise and a hint of concern. "I didn't know they were releasing this statement today," she replies, her words tinged with a mixture of confusion and anxiety.

Her voice becomes more frantic, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. "It was just an idea I pitched! The whole 'married for 6 months' thing- it wasn't supposed to be taken seriously, not this soon at least!"

She paces around the kitchen, her heart pounding with worry and uncertainty. "I never thought they'd actually make a statement about it without speaking to me first," she mutters, her voice betraying her growing anxiety.

As Y/n continues to pace anxiously, biting on her nails, Lyka takes action. She stands up from the counter and gently grasps Y/n's shoulders, trying to anchor her in the moment.

"Hey, hey," Lyka says in a soothing tone. "Take a deep breath, okay? Panicking isn't going to help the situation."

Y/n nods, trying to steady her racing thoughts. She takes a few deep breaths, letting the air fill her lungs and gradually slowing down her frenzied heartbeat.

Y/n is snapped out of her anxious thoughts as her phone rings loudly in her hand, jolting her back to reality. She glances down at the screen, wondering who could be calling her at this moment.

Her eyes widen as she sees her father's name on the caller ID. She stares at the screen for a moment, her mind swirling with thoughts. Taking another deep breath, she swipes to answer the call.

"Hello?" she says, her voice slightly shaky as she brings the phone to her ear.

She listens intently as her father's voice comes through the other end of the line, waiting anxiously for whatever he has to say. Y/n's father's voice is stern but concerned. "Y/n," he begins, "Have you seen the statement released by Mercedes?"

Y/n holds the phone a little tightly, her heart rate increasing again. "Dad," she begins, "Yes, I just saw it on Instagram. But listen, it's not what it seems-"

Her father's voice cuts her off, filled with disbelief and disappointment. "Not what it seems? It says you've been married to Lewis for 6 months. Explain that."

Y/n hesitates for a moment, her mind racing to come up with a viable explanation. Feeling cornered, she decides to go along with the lie, knowing that the truth will lead to even more disappointment and shame from her father.

"Okay, okay," she says, her voice quivering slightly. "Yes, it's true we got married. But Dad, please understand, it wasn't a spur-of-the-moment thing. We wanted to keep it quiet, that's why we didn't tell anyone right away…"

Y/n listens to her father's scolding, her heart sinking further with each question. "I know, I know," she responds, her voice filled with guilt and remorse. "I should have told you sooner. But Dad, you have to understand, Lewis and I wanted to keep things private at first. The public attention can be overwhelming, and we wanted to enjoy our newlywed bliss in peace…"

Y/n feels a lump form in her throat as she hears the disappointment in her father's voice. This is a first for her—she's never had to lie to her father before, and the guilt starts to weigh heavily on her heart. Fresh tears well up in her eyes, but she tries to maintain her composure on the phone.

Lyka sees the tears in Y/n's eyes and immediately takes notice, her face filled with concern. She walks over to her friend and starts rubbing her back soothingly, a silent show of support and solidarity.

Y/n's father continues to press, his tone slightly more subdued now, "And when can we meet Lewis? Your mother deserves to meet him as soon as possible. We can't just be finding out about your husband on social media, for goodness sake!"

Y/n swallows hard, the weight of the lie becoming more palpable. She racks her brain for an answer, trying to come up with a believable timeframe. "Uh, well, we're actually not together right now... he's still... with his family...," she says, her voice still shaky. "Maybe… Maybe this week? Or when their summer break begins?"

Her father remains silent for a moment, mulling over the proposed timeline. "Very well," he finally responds, his voice still edged with disappointment. "We'll plan something for next week then. I expect a proper introduction and explanation. No more secrets, understood?"

Y/n nods, even though her father can't see her. "Yes, Dad, understood. No more secrets," she mutters, her voice tinged with a mix of guilt and resignation.

After the call ends, Y/n closes her phone, a deep sigh escaping her lips. The weight of the lie and the disappointment from her father hang heavily on her shoulders. She feels like a guilty teenager all over again.

Lyka sees the distress etched on Y/n's face and quickly strides over to her, wrapping her arms around her in a comforting hug. "It's going to be okay," she whispers softly, trying to soothe her friend's troubled heart.

Y/n takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts and trying to rein in her emotions. She then looks over at Lyka, a newfound determination etched on her face. "I need to let Lewis know about the situation with my father," she says, her voice steadying slightly.

She swiftly opens her phone and navigates to Lewis' contact. She knows she needs to inform him about the recent turn of events. Her fingers grip the phone tighter as she starts typing a message to him.

Y/n closes her phone and sighs, her body still feeling the emotional toll from the conversation with her father. Seeing that Lyka has taken over the cooking, Y/n moves to a nearby chair and plops down, still mulling over the recent developments.

While sitting on the chair, she takes a moment to mentally process everything that has happened. Her mind is filled with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions - the lie, the need to maintain the facade, the guilt of deceiving her father, and the impending meeting with Lewis and her parents.

July 14th, 5:34 PM

The two sit in the car, the engine idling in the driveway of Y/n's childhood home. The atmosphere in the car is tense, and both of them are dreading the upcoming meeting with Y/n's parents.

She takes a deep breath, stealing a glance at Lewis before speaking up. "Okay, here's the plan," she begins, her voice a mixture of conviction and anxiety.

Y/n goes over the 'story' again, recapping the timeline of their 'relationship.' "We met during my vacation- your Christmas break of 2022, and became friends for about two months before you started courting me for three more months," she reminds Lewis. "We started dating after that, dated for five months, got engaged for around two months, and then got married in mid-January. Got it?"

Lewis nods, taking in the timeline and details of their fictional relationship. He's clearly trying to commit everything to memory, fully aware of the importance of maintaining a consistent story in front of Y/n's parents.

Y/n takes another deep breath, her hand fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "Just remember, the key is to stay consistent and make it believable," she adds, her voice a tad shakier than before.

Lewis reaches out and takes Y/n's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We can do this," he says, his voice filled with determination and reassurance. "We just have to stick to the story and not let our nerves get the better of us."

Y/n nods, reassured by Lewis' words and the gentle squeeze of his hand. "You're right," she says, her voice steadier now. "Stick to the story, stay cool, and we'll get through this."

Lewis turns off the ignition, and the engine falls silent. Both of them unbuckle their seatbelts and get out of the car. Standing in the driveway, they take a moment to glance at each other, preparing themselves for the upcoming interaction.

Y/n's heart pounds in her chest as she and Lewis approach the front door. The familiar surroundings of her childhood home bring back a mixture of emotions—nostalgia, nervousness, and the weight of the lie they're about to perpetuate.

She reaches out and rings the doorbell, the sound echoing through the peaceful neighborhood. They wait for a few moments, the anticipation growing with each passing second.

The maid opens the door and greets Y/n and Lewis warmly. "Hello, welcome," she says with a friendly smile. "Your father is still in his study doing some paperwork and your mother is helping the chefs with the dishes. They should be finished soon."

Y/n thanks the maid and glances at Lewis, a hint of anxiety in her eyes. She leads him into the house, the familiar scent of her childhood home filling her nostrils.

She takes Lewis' hand and leads him into the living room. The spacious room is tastefully decorated with a mix of antique and modern furniture, a reflection of her family's taste and style. She guides him to a cozy sofa and motions for him to take a seat.

As they settle onto the sofa, the maid follows behind them and asks, "Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, water, perhaps?"

Y/n turns to the maid and responds, her voice a bit tense. "I'll have cold water, please. Thank you."

She then turns to Lewis, trying to keep a semblance of normalcy despite her inner turmoil. "Would you like anything, Lewis? Water, coffee, tea…?"

Lewis looks at Y/n and then at the maid and replies, "I'll have tea, please. Thank you."

As the maid exits the living room Lewis sidles closer to Y/n on the sofa, draping an arm around her in a comforting gesture. He leans in and whispers something in her ear, his voice low and barely audible to anyone else.

In a quiet voice, Lewis whispers to Y/n, "Are there any cameras in the living room?" He asks the question, his gaze subtly glancing around for any visible signs of surveillance equipment.

Y/n is slightly taken aback by Lewis' arm around her, but she collects herself quickly. In a hushed tone, she whispers back, "Yes, there are cameras. They're hidden in various spots around the room, my father has access to the cameras from his study."

Lewis places a soft kiss on Y/n's temple and then pulls her closer, his voice a low murmur. "I know, I probably should have asked for your permission before doing that, but I thought it might help our act. For all we know, your father could be watching us on those cameras at this very moment."

Y/n can feel her heart rate increase a bit at Lewis' proximity and his reasoning behind the kiss. She glances at the hidden cameras, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. She nods subtly, understanding the necessity of keeping up the act.

The two of them maintain their close position on the couch, trying to appear as a married couple who are comfortable in each other's company. Y/n glances around discreetly, wondering how her father is handling the surveillance footage.

Just as they are about to continue their conversation, the maid re-enters the living room, carrying a tray with their drinks. She sets the tray down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, placing a glass of cold water next to Y/n and a steaming cup of tea next to Lewis.

The maid arranges the drinks on the coffee table, the sound of the glass clinking against the tray cutting through the silence in the room. She then smiles politely at them before discretely exiting the living room again, leaving Y/n and Lewis alone with their beverages.

Y/n watches the maid exit, her heart rate slightly elevated. She picks up her glass and takes a small sip of water, her mind racing with a million thoughts. The sound of Lewis' tea cup being placed back on the coffee table breaks the silence, drawing her attention back to him.

As Y/n starts to bite her nail, Lewis reaches out and gently moves her hand away from her mouth, his gaze meeting hers with reassurance. "Hey," he whispers "It's going to be okay. I'm here with you, every step of the way. We'll get through this together, alright?"

The simple act of Lewis gently stopping her from biting her nail serves as a small anchor, bringing Y/n back from the edge of her nervousness. She glances at him, his steady presence offering a small sense of comfort. She nods subtly, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and anxiety.

Y/n's breathing remains somewhat labored, the anxiety still coursing through her. Lewis takes her hand in his and begins rubbing his thumb against hers, a soothing motion that seems to ease her nerves, if only a little.

As she gazes at their intertwined hands, her eyes move up to the rings and tattoos adorning Lewis' fingers. The sight of them adds another layer to their carefully crafted pretense, the evidence of her supposed marriage right there on display for anyone who looks closely enough.

Their moment is interrupted as Y/n's mother walks into the living room. Her mother's presence brings Y/n back to reality, and the nerves come rushing back. She straightens up immediately, letting go of Lewis' hand to brush off any dust on her shirt and pants.

Y/n's mother enters the living room, her eyes lighting up as she sees her daughter and Lewis sitting together on the sofa. A warm smile graces her lips as she approaches them. "Hello, you two," she greets them, her voice filled with genuine affection.

As Y/m/n approaches, Y/n rises from the sofa, her movement slightly jerky due to her nerves. She tries to force a smile, hoping to appear normal, but the tension in her body is palpable.

Lewis follows Y/n as she nods, his hand gently moving to rest on her back, a small comfort in the face of the inevitable confrontation with her father.

He extends his hand towards Y/n's mother, his demeanor is polite and friendly. "Hello, it's lovely to meet you in person," he says with a warm smile. Y/n watches the interaction, her heart thumping loudly in her chest.

The introduction occurs, Lewis offering his hand in greeting and Y/n's mother shaking it warmly. Y/n stands nearby, the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears drowning out almost everything else.

As Lewis shakes her mother's hand and exchanges greetings, Y/n's heart pounds louder in her ears. Her eyes flicker between the two, the casual interaction between her mother and Lewis standing in stark contrast to the turmoil of emotions churning within her.

Y/n watches as Lewis engages in pleasantries with her mother, and the polite exchange is a far cry from the anxiety that grips Y/n's insides. The sound of their voices and the sight of their interaction blur into the background as Y/n struggles to keep herself together.

Y/m/n gestures towards the dining room, saying, "Follow me to the dining room, please. Your father will join us in about five minutes." With a nod, Y/n and Lewis follow silently behind her, the nerves tightening in Y/n's stomach.

Lewis takes Y/n's hand again, his touch providing a source of comfort in the midst of the mounting tension. With a subtle gesture, he begins rubbing his thumb against hers, offering a silent reassurance.

The gentle, soothing motion of Lewis rubbing her thumb helps to ground Y/n, and the simple action is a small balm against the anxiety that threatens to consume her. She glances at him, silently expressing her gratitude through her eyes.

They enter the dining room, and Lewis takes a seat next to Y/n, his presence a silent comfort. Y/n sits down across from her mother, leaving her father's chair vacant. The sight of the empty chair sends a jolt of anxiety through Y/n, her palms beginning to sweat.

Y/n sits across from her mother, her eyes darting to the empty chair that her father is bound to occupy shortly. The sight of the vacant seat is a ghost of the man who is about to confront the facade they've created. Y/n's palms begin to sweat, and the nervous energy builds rapidly within her.

The silence in the dining room is nearly deafening. Y/n's mother makes small talk, but Y/n's mind is elsewhere, consumed by the impending arrival of her father. She glances again at the empty chair, the seconds ticking by like hours as they wait for him to join them.

The wait seems endless, Y/n's mother's attempts at small talk falling on deaf ears as Y/n's mind races with thoughts. Every sound seems magnified, and every breath echoes. The empty chair looms over the table like a storm cloud, its absence speaking louder than any words could.

It seems almost too well-timed. Just as the silence is about to become unbearably awkward, the butlers enter the room, gracefully serving the meals that have been prepared. The aroma of the food fills the air, but Y/n's stomach is in knots, the thought of eating almost impossible.

As they express gratitude to the butlers, Y/n's father proceeds to place food on his plate, his hands moving deftly. Still in the midst of his task, he begins to ask questions, his voice laced with authority and curiosity.

Y/n's father continues to plate his food as he asks questions, his words almost nonchalant, but his tone hinting at hidden scrutiny. "So, Lewis, how did you and Y/n meet?"

Lewis responds calmly to Y/n's father's question, his tone matter-of-fact. "We met back in 2022, during Y/n's Christmas vacation," he says. "It was a coincidence, really. We just sorta bumped into each other and started talking."

Her father nods, seemingly taking in the information, still focused on loading food onto his plate. His next question comes with a hint of intensity, "And when did you decide to get married?"

Y/n's father's question about their marriage takes her slightly off-guard. As her mind races, she accidentally drops her spoon, the metallic clatter bouncing off the walls of the quiet dining room. Her heart sinks, the unexpected question leaving her feeling even more exposed.

Y/n apologizes for the dropped spoon, her voice a bit shaky. Lewis takes over, answering her father's question calmly. "We decided to get married after being engaged for two months," he explains. "We actually got married right before the off-season started. It was quite a whirlwind, to be honest."

Y/n's mother interjects, curious about the term 'off-season.' "What do you mean by off-season?" she asks, her tone casually curious.

Lewis responds to Y/n's mother's question, his tone casually informative. "The off-season is sort of like Christmas break," he says. "It's the time of year when school is out, and everything kind of slows down for a while."

Y/n's mother nods, absorbing the explanation, and then proceeds to take a bite of her food. She seems reasonably content with the answer, her focus shifting back to her meal.

Y/n's father, seemingly unsatisfied with the previous answers, resumes asking his questions. His gaze remains fixed on a spoonful of soup, but his voice drips with a sense of authoritative interrogation.

He continues to question Lewis, his eyes focused on his bowl of soup as his voice pierces the air. "So, you're an athlete, correct?" he asks, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer.

Lewis nods in confirmation, his demeanor still poised. "Yes, I am," he answers, his response firm.

Y/n's father persists with his questions, delving into practicalities. "How are you going to provide for Y/n when you're constantly traveling and training?" he probes, his tone skeptical.

Y/n's mother chimes in, gently nudging her husband and scolding him playfully. "Darling, you're acting as if Lewis is going to be your personal assistant," she admonishes, adding a little humor to the conversation.

Lewis chuckles lightly, finding a bit of humor in the situation. Y/n, on the other hand, lets out a somewhat awkward laugh, the tension still palpable beneath the facade of casual banter.

He responds to her father's question, his tone confident. "I have a well-established career, sir," he says. "I'm well-paid, and I can certainly provide for Y/n and any future family we might have."

As Lewis mentions potentially having a family, Y/n is caught off-guard and inadvertently causes herself to cough, the water going down the wrong pipe. She quickly composes herself while both their parents look at her in concern.

While Y/n recovers from her coughing fit, Lewis gently pats her back, a look of concern etched on his face. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine worry.

Y/n responds nervously, her voice a bit shaky. "Yeah, I'm fine," she reassures, trying to brush off the incident, her eyes darting between Lewis, her parents, and the water in her glass.

Y/n's mother chimes in with a question, her tone light yet curious. "So, have you two thought about how big of a family you'd like to have?" she inquires, her eyes flitting between Lewis and Y/n.

Lewis expresses his thoughts on starting a family, his voice filled with warmth and optimism. "I'd really like a big family," he admits, "maybe 2-3 kids or more, and a few pets too. But ultimately, it'll be Y/n's call since she'll be the one carrying and giving birth to the children." He smiles affectionately at her, adding, "It's her decision, and I'll support whatever she chooses."

Y/n's gaze softens, her heart warmed by Lewis's words. Despite the awkward family setting, the way he looks at her, coupled with his last statement, touches her deeply. It's a small but significant gesture, emphasizing his support and understanding, something she didn't fully anticipate.

Y/n's father nods in approval, clearly satisfied with Lewis's response. "Good man," he remarks, appreciating the thoughtfulness behind Lewis's words. "Always considerate of your wife's feelings, as you should be."

As Y/n's father praises Lewis, a sigh of relief escapes her lips. The approval from her father seems to ease some of the tension, and she shoots Lewis a grateful glance, silently expressing her relief.

Y/n's mother chimes in with a question, her tone casual but slightly concerned. "Have you two thought about moving in together soon?" she asks. "I recall Y/n mentioning she's still staying with Lyka."

Y/n responds, her voice laced with a hint of anxiety, explaining the reasons behind their decision. "We haven't moved in together yet," she begins, "due to Lewis's job. With him traveling all over the world for most of the year, it would be quite lonely for me. I have some of my stuff at his place, but we agreed that I'll stay with him when he's home and stay at my apartment with Lyka when he's away."

The explanation seems to make sense to both Y/n's parents and her father nods in understanding. He seems to comprehend the challenges that come with Lewis's job, and the reasoning behind their living arrangement makes sense in their circumstances.

The dinner gradually comes to an end, and Y/n and Lewis bid farewell to her parents. There's a sense of relief in the air, mixed with a hint of lingering tension. As they part ways, Y/n's mother gives them both a warm smile, while her father offers a firm nod.

"Thanks," she says, smiling at his gesture, appreciating the small act of chivalry. She pulls out her phone from her bag before taking a seat in the car, the soft leather of the seats molding to her body.

As Lewis closes the car door, Y/n notices Lyka's name popping up on her phone's screen. She taps on the answer button, the phone pressed to her ear. "Hello?" she says, her voice slightly weary.

Lyka's voice comes through the line, sounding a mix of anxious and excited. "H-hi," she greets, her tone bordering on the guilty, like a child trying to conceal their mischief.

Y/n listens to Lyka's nervous greeting and responds, curiosity in her voice. "What's up?" she asks, setting the phone on speaker and placing it on the dash. Just as she does so, Lewis gets into the car, and they both focus on the now-speaker conversation.

Lyka's voice, sounding a bit unsure, asks, "Are you heading home now?" The question lingers in the air, suggesting that there may be something on Lyka's mind.

Y/n shoots Lewis a glance, their eyes meeting briefly as he maneuvers the car out of the gates. She's silent for a moment, contemplating Lyka's request and the implications of staying over at Lewis's place tonight.

Y/n turns her attention to Lewis, asking the question aloud, even though he had already overheard the conversation. She takes the phone off the dashboard, holding it in her hand as she speaks, her voice quieter than before. "Lyka's asking if I can stay over at your place tonight because Lando is a bit too drunk to go home."

Lewis responds, keeping his focus on the road, his voice calm and unwavering. "Sure," he says, seeming amenable to the idea. "You can stay over at my place tonight."

She relays the response to Lyka, conveying the okay from Lewis. "Okay," she says, her voice a bit lighter now. "I can stay at Lewis's place tonight."

Lyka's voice comes through the phone, brimming with gratitude and a hint of apology. "Thank you so much," she expresses, her tone sincere. "I'm really sorry for the sudden request. We just, uh…" Her voice trails off, leaving the rest unspoken.

Y/n chuckles, still on the phone with Lyka, and teases her gently. "Yeah, yeah, just make sure you take care of your 'boyfriend,'" she says, a hint of playfulness in her voice. "I'll be with Lewis."

Lyka's embarrassed screech comes through the phone, her voice full of flustered denial. "DUDE, SHUT UP!" she practically yells, her annoyance tinged with a hint of humor. "HE'S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!"

Y/n responds, a playful tone in her voice. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Lyka," she teases. "You can tell that to the flowers he's been sending you every day." Her tone takes on a mock serious note. "Anyways, I've gotta go now."

Lyka's frustrated scream comes through the line, her voice muffled as she probably covers her face with her hands. Y/n laughs, having heard this reaction countless times over the years, knowing it's a clear sign of Lyka's embarrassment. "Bye," Lyka manages to say, her voice still tinged with flusteredness before ending the call.

Y/n looks at her phone, opening the text messages app to find the flurry of texts Lyka sent just moments ago before the call. Her eyes scan over the screen, curious to see what kind of messages her flustered best friend sent, no doubt venting about what was happening.

Lewis breaks the brief silence that had settled in the car, starting with a casual, "So…" His tone is conversational, suggesting he has something to talk about. He keeps his focus on the road, but his voice is filled with curiosity and a hint of anticipation.

Y/n sighs, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and uncertainty. She closes her phone screen, resting it on her lap before responding. "Honestly, I'm not even sure," she admits, her tone reflecting a hint of frustration at her friends' complex relationship.

Y/n tries to explain the complicated nature of Lyka and Lando's relationship, her voice trying to convey the complexity of it all. "They're more than friends, but less than lovers," she clarifies, her tone thoughtful. "It's a bit confusing, really. They're stuck somewhere in between."

Lewis chuckles, reflecting on the implications of the "stuck in between" situation. He offers a playful observation. "Well, that could go one of two ways, right?" he muses. "Either it's really good, or really bad."

Y/n smirks, agreeing with Lewis's assessment. "Yeah, you're right," she concedes, her voice hinting at the complexities of Lyka and Lando's dynamics. "It's either going to work out amazingly or explode in their faces."

The car falls back into a moment of silence, the low hum of the engine filling the space. Lewis keeps driving, his focus on the road, his mind likely contemplating the complexities of relationships and the uncertainty of the future.

Y/n breaks the silence again, her voice carrying a hint of hesitation. "Uh…" she begins, her tone a bit uncertain, but there's a question lingering behind it.

Y/n's voice softens with gratitude as she addresses Lewis, her tone sincere. "Thanks," she says, her appreciation evident. "For, you know, not making a big deal about me staying over."

Y/n's voice takes on a more grateful tone, her appreciation clear. "And thank you for saving my ass at the dinner," she says, a hint of relief in her voice. "I really appreciate you having my back."

Lewis responds with a warm smile, his tone easy and hospitable. "It's no problem, sweetheart," he says. "You're always welcome at my place, even when I'm not around. I'll give you a key soon so you can come and go as you please."

Y/n turns her head swiftly, her gaze now locked on him. She repeats his term of endearment, "Sweetheart?" Her voice is tinged with a hint of surprise, her head slightly tilted to the side as she processes the familiarity of the word coming from his lips.

Lewis's eyes widen momentarily upon hearing her question, clearly surprised by the inquiry. He quickly recovers and responds, his tone questioning yet gentle, "Oh, is it okay if I call you that?" His voice carries a note of concern, clearly wanting to ensure he hasn't crossed any boundaries.

She lets out a soft laugh, the tension easing away. "Yeah, it's fine," she assures him, her tone tinged with a hint of amusement. "It's actually better that way. I won't be caught off guard when you call me that in public. It'll make our act more believable for the press."

Lewis nods, the concern in his eyes replaced by a hint of relief and a touch of playfulness. "That's true," he agrees, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It'll make it more convincing when we're around people. Plus, it's kind of nice…" His voice trails off, a slight implication behind his words.

A smile dances on Y/n’s lips, and she decides to tease him a bit. “Oh really? I feel like you have a big crush on me Sir Lewis,” she asks, feigning surprise, her tone lighthearted. Her eyes glimmer with playfulness, expecting him to respond with a playful banter.

His voice takes on a playfully challenging tone as he responds to Y/n’s teasing question. “And what if I do?” he says, his eyes briefly meeting hers before turning back to the road. “What would you do about it?” There’s a hint of a challenge in his tone but also a flicker of genuine curiosity, as if he’s eager to see how she would react if her teasing was based on truth.

Y/n responds with confidence, her eyes locked into his. “Oh, I have a few ideas,” she says, her tone dripping with a hint of mystery. Her voice drops lower, filled with playful tease, as if she’s already planning something.

Lewis raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued by Y/n’s response. He can’t help but wonder what kind of ideas she has in mind. “Oh yeah? And what ideas do you have in that pretty mind of yours, sweetheart?” he asks, a smile playing on his lips.

Her smile widens, her eyes glimmering mischievously. She remains coy, not revealing too much. “Oh, I can’t give away all my secrets,” she teases, her voice playful. “You’ll have to wait and find out.”

Lewis chuckles, enjoying the banter between them. "Fair enough," he responds, his tone playful. "I guess I'll just have to wait and see what you have up your sleeve, sweetheart."

Y/n smirks at the term of endearment, the name rolling off his tongue with a familiar ease. "Oh, you'll see," she teases back, her voice filled with confidence. "I promise it'll be worth the wait."

Lewis brings the car into the parking lot of the condominium building, the wheels smoothly coming to a stop. He turns off the engine, the sound of the vehicle falling silent as he shifts his gaze over to Y/n sitting next to him.

"We're here," he announces, his tone casual. He unbuckles his seatbelt and glances over at Y/n. "Ready to head inside?"

Y/n nods, the teasing banter settling into a comfortable quiet. She unbuckles her own seatbelt and prepares to get out of the car. "Yeah, let's go."

Lewis opens the car door and steps out, stretching briefly before closing the door behind him. He then walks over to Y/n's side and opens the passenger door for her, offering his hand to help her out of the car.

She smiles appreciatively, taking his hand and stepping out of the car. "Thank you," she says, her voice tinged with gratefulness. She then follows him as they head towards the entrance of the condominium building.

As they walk into Lewis's penthouse, the faint sound of a low thumping becomes perceptible. Y/n glances around, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. She looks over at Lewis, a quizzical expression on her face, silently asking if he hears it too.

Lewis catches Y/n's curious look and can't help but smile to himself, fully aware of what's about to occur. He says nothing for a moment, amused by the fact that she hasn't figured it out yet.

Out of nowhere, a chubby bulldog appears, sprinting toward Lewis with excitement. Its short, muscular legs carry it swiftly across the floor, its paws creating a thumping sound as they hit the ground. The bulldog clearly recognizes its owner and makes a beeline straight for him, tail wagging joyfully.

Lewis crouches down to meet Roscoe, his face breaking into a wide smile as the dog happily rolls onto his belly, begging for some attention. Lewis laughs and begins to scratch the dog's belly, his fingers rubbing the animal's belly fur affectionately.

"Hey, buddy," Lewis coos affectionately, his voice filled with warmth as he speaks to Roscoe. "Did you miss me?" The bulldog responds with a slobbery grin and continues to wiggle his short, stub tail on the floor in bliss.

Roscoe looks up at Lewis with big, soulful eyes, his tongue hanging out, clearly thrilled to be in the presence of his owner. He playfully licks Lewis's hand, expressing his happiness in the only way he knows how.

Roscoe, in the middle of his display of excitement towards Lewis, suddenly halts, his furry head tilting to the side as he notices Y/n's presence. His wide eyes focus on her, his gaze inquisitive and a little cautious, as if wondering who this new person in his home is.

Y/n stands there, a mix of surprise and uncertainty on her face, not quite knowing how to greet the curious bulldog. She looks over at Lewis, silently seeking some guidance on how to approach his pet.

He notices the change in Roscoe's behavior and the puzzled look on Y/n's face. He stands up and gestures for her to come closer, a reassuring smile on his face. "It's okay," he says, his tone comforting. "He's just curious. Come closer."

Y/n steps closer, her nerves palpable as she admits to Lewis that she isn't particularly fond of dogs. "Um, is this a good time to say I'm not really a dog person?" she mumbles, her voice tinged with slight unease.

Lewis chuckles, a mix of amusement and understanding in his eyes. He glances down at Roscoe, who is still sitting and watching Y/n intently. "Oh, really? Well, that might be a problem," he teases jokingly.

She cautiously moves closer and gives Roscoe a tentative pat on the head, her touch light and tentative. The bulldog responds by closing his eyes in the pleasure of the unexpected attention, his stumpy tail wagging once again as he basks in the affection.

Lewis watches the interaction and smiles, finding the scene amusing yet endearing. "See?" he says, his voice encouraging. "He likes you already."

He stands up, motioning for Y/n to follow him into the kitchen. "C'mon," he says, gesturing towards the kitchen. "I'll grab us some drinks."

Y/n follows Lewis into the kitchen, her face transforming into a surprised smile as she asks a question. "Why do we need drinks?" There's a hint of curiosity in her voice, as if she's secretly hoping for a particular reason.

Lewis uncorks the bottle, taking out two wine glasses from the overhead cabinet. As he pours the wine into the glasses, he glances over at Y/n, his eyes holding a playful twinkle. "Besides," he says, a sly smile on his lips, "we need to celebrate our marriage properly, don't we?"

He passes a wine glass to her, his fingertips lightly brushing against hers for a moment as he does so. The atmosphere in the kitchen suddenly feels a tad heated as the implications of his words hang in the air between them.

Y/n takes the offered glass, her heart skipping a beat as their fingers touch briefly. The look in his eyes and the undercurrent of flirtation in his tone are hard to ignore. The words "we need to celebrate our marriage properly" echo in her head, causing a flutter of anticipation in her stomach.

Lewis pours himself a glass of wine, then pours another for Y/n as she settles into her seat. He moves around the counter, the wine glass in his hand, and takes a seat next to her. The silence is comfortable, but the air is charged with a simmering tension, the earlier flirtation not yet faded.

Y/n holds up her wine glass, lifting it slightly in his direction. "Cheers," she says, her voice carrying a note of excitement. The clinking sound of their glasses meeting fills the air, the act oddly intimate and charged with unspoken desires.

Their eyes meet over the rims of their glasses, the moment charged with a mix of tension and anticipation. Y/n takes a sip of her wine, the liquid smooth and cool as it touches her lips, but it's the man sitting next to her that leaves her feeling flushed and warm.

Time has passed, and the wine has taken its toll. Both Y/n and Lewis are visibly tipsy, their cheeks flushed and their inhibitions lowered. She finds herself in a slightly drunken state, her speech more slurry than Lewis's. They're exchanging stories, the wine loosening their tongues and making them more susceptible to sharing their secrets and embarrassing anecdotes.

Y/n continues her story, her voice a bit slurry from the wine but filled with amusement. "So, there I was, planning to go grocery shopping, right? But then Lyka calls and invites me out for drinks. And well, as you can imagine, one drink turns into several, and the next thing I know, it's been three hours. I completely forgot about the grocery shopping. Then, instead of coming home with actual groceries, I end up bringing home this stray white cat I found. And thus, my cat Extra Virgin Olive Oil was born."

Lewis can't help but chuckle lightly as he listens to Y/n's story, finding it both absurd and endearing. He leans his face against his palm, his elbow propped up on the counter, his eyes sparkling with tipsy amusement. He glances at her, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "You named your cat what?" he asks, his voice tinged with playful disbelief.

His laughter continues, the image of Y/n coming home with a cat instead of groceries amusing him more than it probably should in his current state of drunkenness. "You named your cat Extra Virgin Olive Oil because you forgot about grocery shopping and got drunk instead?" he asks, grinning widely, clearly finding the situation hilarious.

Y/n grins widely, nodding enthusiastically in affirmation. "Yep, that's right," she says, her voice filled with tipsy mirth. "Extra Virgin Olive Oil. And let me tell you, he's the most spoiled cat ever. All because I couldn't stick to my grocery shopping plans."

She feels a sudden brush of fur against her leg, her gaze dropping down. But before she can even react, Roscoe takes off like a shot, darting away with one of her high heels clenched in his mouth. Y/n's eyes widen, and a tipsy laugh escapes her lips.

Y/n jumps out of her seat, a tipsy grin on her face. "Roscoe!" she yells, giggling as she tries to catch the dog who's now prancing away with her high heel. Lewis watches the scene unfold, his laughter joining hers, finding the whole situation hilariously adorable.

Y/n's pursuit of Roscoe continues, her steps a bit unsteady from the alcohol. She tries to catch him, but her foot catches on the edge of the rug, her already tipsy balance getting the better of her. She trips over, her body stumbling forward, a yelp of surprise escaping her.

Lewis sees Y/n's fall, her carefree chase after the dog abruptly interrupted by her slip on the rug. He gets up from his seat, a slight worry crossing his face. But before he can make a move, Y/n raises an arm up from the floor, and yells out, "I'm okay!" Her voice is slightly slurred but there's a sense of pride in her tone, as if she's proud of her resilient demeanor despite her tipsy state.

As she stands up with a wide smile on her face, she doesn't realize the small cut on her elbow until Lewis points it out. Y/n glances down, noticing the slight trickle of blood on her arm. She touches the spot, a little surprised, but the alcohol has numbed the pain, giving her a false sense of invincibility. She giggles, looking at the cut with amused detachment.

Despite her stumble and the small cut on her elbow, Y/n's demeanor remains carefree, her eyes blinking in a slightly confused manner. The alcohol has dulled her senses, so pain feels distant and the reality of the fall hasn't quite registered in her mind yet. She looks up at Lewis, a slightly bewildered expression on her face as if she's not quite sure how she ended up on the floor in the first place.

Lewis lets out a small, playful exhale and saunters over to Y/n, gesturing for her to sit on the couch. "Alright, come on, sit down," he instructs, his voice laced with a hint of amused frustration. He guides her over to the couch, steadying her a bit as she clumsily flops down onto the cushions.

He turns away, giving her a warm smile, and says, "Okay, sit tight. I'll be right back. I'll get a bandage for that cut on your elbow." He strides out of the room, leaving Y/n slumped on the couch, a little drunk and a bit bewildered.

Y/n lounges on the couch in a slightly disheveled manner, her body stretched out like a starfish. She looks like a ragdoll, her limbs flung about in a completely comfortable yet chaotic way. The alcohol has made her feel relaxed and carefree, completely unbothered by the fact that she's lying haphazardly on the couch, waiting for Lewis to return with a bandage for her now-forgotten cut.

After 5 minutes, Lewis enters the room carrying a small first-aid kit. He looks over at Y/n, noticing that she's a bit more composed compared to a few moments ago. The alcohol's effect seems to have subsided a bit, perhaps due to the short break in time. He walks over to her, sitting down on the couch next to her, the first-aid Kit in his hand.

"Seems like you're getting a bit more sober now," he observes, his tone gentle as he opens the first-aid kit. He takes out an antiseptic wipe and a small adhesive bandage, preparing to clean and cover the cut on her elbow.

"Hold still for a moment," he says, his voice soft. He gently takes her arm and begins cleaning the wound with the antiseptic wipe. The cool touch of the solution stings a little, but he's careful not to cause her any unnecessary pain.

Y/n winces a bit as the antiseptic wipe touches the cut, a small "ow" escaping her lips. The alcohol has numbed her a bit, but the sting of the antiseptic still registers. She looks at her arm, watching as Lewis carefully cleans the cut, his touch light yet deliberate.

"It's alright," he soothes, his tone gentle. "I'm almost done." He continues to clean the cut, making sure it's free of any dirt or debris before gently placing the bandaid over the cut. His touch is light and careful, his fingers grazing the soft skin of her arm.

Once the bandaid is placed, he gently pats the area around the cut, securing it in place. He then releases her arm, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. He looks up at her, a small, reassuring smile on his lips.

Y/n gazes at Lewis, her eyes studying his face intently. She takes in every detail - the curve of his lips, the flecks of gold in his eyes, the slight stubble on his chin. The alcohol still in her system has lowered her inhibitions, making her bolder and more observant. She continues to stare at him, not saying a word.

Lewis notices Y/n's unwavering gaze, her eyes taking in every feature of his face. He raises an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in his expression. Seeing her silent observation, he jokingly asks, "Got something on my face?" His voice is light, and his words are filled with humor.

Y/n shakes her head, continuing her silent observation, her gaze still fixated on his features. And then, in a surprising move, she leans forward, her lips brushing against his in a soft, slow kiss. The alcohol in her system lowers her inhibitions, making her actions more impulsive and carefree. The kiss is unexpected but filled with an undercurrent of desire and affection.

Lewis is taken aback for a moment, caught off guard by her unexpected kiss. But then, he relaxes into it, his eyes closing as he responds to her contact. His hand comes up to cup the back of her head, his fingers lightly brushing through her hair. The kiss deepens, the alcohol in their systems making it heady and impulsive.

Y/n, emboldened by the alcohol and the heat of the moment, makes another bold move. Without breaking the kiss, she shifts her position, straddling his lap, a leg on either side of him. Her body presses against his, her hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer as she continues kissing him, her actions driven by a combination of intoxication and desire.

She suddenly pulls away from the kiss, the reality of her actions sinking in. Her blush spreads across her face, a mixture of embarrassment and desire filling her. She looks at him, her eyes wide, her breathing slightly ragged from the intensity of the kiss. The alcohol in her system has lowered her inhibitions, making her bolder and more impetuous, but she still feels a mix of shyness and confusion at her own behavior.

Lewis looks at Y/n, a hint of confusion and surprise in his eyes. He gently cups her face with his hand, his thumb tracing the contour of her cheek. He asks her softly, "Why did you stop?" His voice is a mix of curiosity and tenderness, his gaze holding hers as he waits for her response.

Despite the buzz of alcohol in her system, Y/n hesitates, her actions and her desires at war within her. The kiss had been spontaneous, driven by a heady mixture of alcohol and desire, but now she feels a sense of self-consciousness and insecurity. Her blush deepens under his touch, and she looks into his eyes, trying to find the words to explain her sudden break in their intimate moment.

"I…I don't know," she stutters out, her voice small and unsure. "It's just…I don't know…" Her gaze flickers away from his, unable to hold his intense, questioning stare. The alcohol and the heat of the moment have made her impulsive, but now she feels exposed, vulnerable in her straddling position, her guard faltering under his soft but insistent touch.

Lewis gives her a reassuring smile, his hand still cupping her face. Seeing her hesitant, he gently draws her back towards him, his other hand coming up to rest on her hip. He pulls her down, bringing her face closer to his, and kisses her again, his lips pressing against hers with a soft but determined pressure. The kiss is slow, tender, and deliberate, his tongue slipping out to caress her lower lip, seeking more.

With a swift movement, Lewis stands up, still not breaking the kiss, his hands holding onto Y/n's thighs to keep her stable. The shift in positioning causes her to tighten her arms around his neck, and their bodies press even closer together. Lewis's grip is firm but gentle, his strength evident as he holds her up with ease, the kiss continuing unhindered.

He walks with purpose towards the bedroom door, his strength and balance holding Y/n securely in his arms. In a move that seems completely effortless, he keeps one hand on her thigh, supporting her weight, while his other free hand reaches out, unlocks the door, and swings it open. He strides across the threshold, carrying her into the room, the kiss never once breaking.

Inside the bedroom, he kicks the door closed behind them, shutting out the rest of the world. The only sounds filling the room are the soft gasps and sighs exchanged between them as the kiss deepens, fueled by a heady mixture of desire and alcohol. Lewis shifts his grip slightly, his hand sliding from her thigh to her waist, holding her steadily as he guides her towards the bed.

Lewis gently sets Y/n down on her feet, helping her regain her balance. Then, with a soft yet firm pressure on her shoulders, he eases her backward until she sits on the edge of the bed. He stands in front of her, his body looming over hers in a way that is both dominant and protective. He looks down at her, his gaze darkened with desire, his breathing slightly heavy.

With a subtle but deliberate action, Lewis's hand moves up to Y/n's neck, his fingers wrapping around the delicate skin in a light but firm grip. He squeezes gently, not enough to cut off her air, but enough to assert a sense of control and possessiveness. The kiss that follows is quick, fierce, and possessive, his tongue invading her mouth in a dominant, needy manner.

Y/n whimpers into the kiss, the sound caught between a protest and a moan of pleasure. Lewis's dominant grip on her neck, the way he claims her mouth in a possessive kiss, fuels the fire within her. Her hands come up to cling to his shoulders, the mixture of pleasure and submission washing over her in waves.

Too caught up in the intensity of the moment, she grips the loops of Lewis's pants, her fingers hooking onto them as if anchoring herself. The action is both needy and desperate, a silent plea for more as she looks up at him, her eyes burning with desire and anticipation.

Lewis glances down at Y/n, noticing her fingers gripping his pant loops, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. Teasingly, he leans down, his face close to hers, and whispers, "So needy, aren't you?" His voice is a low, gravelly murmur, his words carrying a hint of possessive satisfaction.

She looks up at Lewis with wide, innocent, doe-like eyes, her expression a mixture of need and submission. She doesn't respond, her voice caught in her throat, but her grip on his pant loops tightens just a fraction, her body silently begging for more. The contrast between her innocent gaze and her needy actions is striking, and the heat in her eyes speaks volumes.

Lewis continues to look down at her, his eyes taking in her beautiful, vulnerable expression. He reaches out a hand, tracing the line of her neck with his fingers, but the touch light is barely there. He can hear her soft, ragged breaths, can feel her pulse quickening under his touch, and his own need, his own desire, increases exponentially.

He leans in, his lips moving to her ear, his breath against her skin as he whispers, "You're so gorgeous like this, so needy for me." He kisses her ear, his lips moving down to her jaw, leaving a trail of soft, hot kisses down the delicate curve of her neck.

Lewis continues to kiss along her neck, his mouth nipping and sucking gently at her skin, his tongue darting out to taste her sweetness. His hands slide down her body, caressing her sides, his touch both tender and possessive, his own need growing with every soft sound that escapes her lips.

He bites gently at her pulse point, a small, possessive act that makes her gasp and whine softly. His hands move to the hem of her shirt, his fingers tracing the line of exposed skin, his touch both gentle and firm. "I want you," he whispers against her skin, his voice rough and full of desire, "so badly."

His hands slide underneath her shirt, his palms pressing against her skin, feeling her warmth and softness against his touch. He feels her shiver at the contact, her body responding to his touch like a perfectly tuned instrument. He kisses her collarbone, his mouth moving down to the hollow of her throat, his lips trailing along her skin with increasing need.

His hands move higher, his fingers tracing the contour of her stomach, her ribcage, her breasts. He feels her arch into his touch, her body craving more contact, more of his touch, his caress, his attention. He can feel her need, her desire, the way her breath hitches at his touch, and it only fuels his own fire, his own burning need for her.

Lewis pushes her gently back onto the bed, his body hovering over her, his weight propped up on his forearms. He looks down at her, his eyes roaming over her face, her body, taking in the sight of her beneath him, soft and yielding, yet filled with an undeniable fire and desire.

His fingers move to the buttons of her shirt, his touch slow and deliberate as he unfastens them one by one, revealing her bare skin inch by inch, his lips following the path of his fingers, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin.

Y/n's breathing becomes ragged as Lewis' hands reach the last button, freeing her breasts from the confines of her shirt. She pushes the fabric off her shoulders, tossing it aside, her nipples hard and aching for his touch.

Lewis' hands cup her breasts, his thumbs teasing her sensitive nipples. Y/n moans, her head falling back as she arches into his touch. Her hands roam over his body, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.

She slides her hand inside, gripping his erection through his boxers. Lewis groans, his hips bucking into her hand. Y/n pulls him closer, their lips meeting in a rushed kiss as she fumbles with his boxers, freeing his hard cock.

She strokes him slowly, her thumb rubbing over the head, making him moan into her mouth. Lewi's hands leave her breasts, training down her sides to her waistband. He hooks his thumbs into her pants, pulling them down her legs, leaving her completely naked.

Y/n steps out of her pants, her body trembling with desire. Lewis' eyes roam over her, drinking in the sight of her before he pulls her back against him. He reaches around, unfastening his braided belt, letting it fall to the floor.

He pushes her onto the bed, following her down, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, his hand guiding his cock to her entrance. Y/n's breath hitches, her legs parting, welcoming him.

Lewis positions himself at her entrance, his eyes locked on hers, filled with lust and desire. He pushes inside her, slowly at first, allowing her body to adjust to his size. Y/n gasps, her nails digging into the sheets as he fills her completely.

Y/n bites her lip, her eyes widening as she feels the full extent of Lewis' size. "Fuck, you're huge," she hisses, a mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through her.

Lewis smirks, his hands gripping her hips as he begins to thrust, his rhythm slow and deliberate. "Like it sweetheart?" he growls, his voice deep and seductive.

Y/n nods, her eyes fluttering shut as she adjusts to his size. "Yeah, I... I love it," she admits, her voice breathy and needy.

Lewis grins, his hand sliding around Y/n's neck, applying gentle pressure. "Good," he murmurs, his thrusts growing faster and more forceful.

Y/n's eyes widen at the added sensation, her body arching off the bed as her arousal intensifies. "Lewis," she whispers, her nails digging into his back, "don't stop."

He doesn't, his thrusts becoming more aggressive, his hand tightening around her neck just enough to heighten her arousal. Y/n's moans grow louder, her body trembling in anticipation of her impending orgasm.

Y/n's voice is barely a whisper as she gasps, "I'm... I'm close, Lewis."

Lewis, however, is lost in the sensations, his focus solely on the feel of Y/n's tight, wet pussy wrapped around his cock. He continues to thrust, his hand still tightly around her neck, his body moving in perfect unison with hers.

Y/n's orgasm hits her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as she cries out, her nails digging into Lewis' bicep. Her walls clench around his cock, milking him as he continues to thrust.

Lewis' thrusts grow more erratic, his grip on Y/n's neck tightening as he feels her orgasm grip his cock. Her shaking only serves to fuel his desire, his release drawing near.

He pulls out of her, Y/n's protest cut off by the loss of his cock. He positions himself at her entrance once more, his cock glistening with her juices. "On your knees, sweetheart," he commands, his voice thick with lust.

Y/n obeys, her body still trembling as she gets onto her hands and knees. Lewis lines up his cock with her wet pussy, thrusting back inside her, this time from behind.

His hand leaves her neck, instead gripping her hair, pulling her head back as he begins fuck her with renewed vigor. Y/n's moans fill the room, her body responding to her every thrust,

Lewis' thrusts become more rushed, his breathing heavy. "You're such a good girl, taking my big cock like that," he praises, his voice thick with desire.

Y/n's body shudders, her arousal building once more as she feels him fill her from behind. "Mmm, Lewis," she moans, her voice thick with lust.

Lewis' hand tightens in her hair, his thrusts growing more urgent. "Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum for me one more time," he says, voice a mixture of command and desire.

Y/n's body responds to his words, her orgasm building once more. "I... I'm close," she gasps, her nails digging into the bedsheets.

Lewis feels his own release building, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Come for me," he demands, his cock pulsing inside her.

Y/n's body convulses, her orgasm washing over her like a tidal wave. Lewis can no longer hold back, his cock pulsing as he releases his hot seed deep inside her. He collapses onto her back, his breathing heavy as he tries to regain his composure.

Her body shudders, her mind swimming in the aftermath of her orgasm. Lewis slowly pulls out of her, his cock leaving a trail of cum between her legs. He rolls off her, pulling her into his arms, their bodies entwined.

They lie there, their bodies intertwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. Both are out of breath, their hearts still racing from the intensity of the experience. Lewis is holding Y/n close, her head resting on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. The room is quiet, the only sound being their ragged breathing, the sound gradually slowing and evening out as they regain their composure.

Y/n breaks the silence, her voice a bit hoarse but weary. She looks up at Lewis, her head still pillowed on his chest, and says, "That sobered me up real fast." Her words are a mixture of exhaustion and satiation, the aftermath of their passionate encounter leaving her both depleted and fulfilled.

Lewis gives a soft laugh, his fingers still tracing patterns on her back. He nods, agreeing with her words. "I guess that's one way to sober up," he replies, his voice still a little breathless. He gently brushes a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch soft and affectionate.

Y/n jokes, a weary but playful smile on her face. "Well," she says, "that was like our very own little honeymoon night, wasn't it?" Her comment, although lighthearted, carries a hint of seriousness, a nod to the intense and passionate connection they had just shared.

Lewis chuckles softly, a smile on his lips. He gently pulls her closer, his arms tightening around her. "I guess you could say that," he responds, his voice warm and gentle. "We definitely made some memories tonight." He looks down at her, his gaze filled with tenderness and affection.

Y/n hisses as she adjusts her position, a slight wince on her face. Her body is likely still sensitive from their passionate encounter, and she moves gingerly, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Lewis notices her hiss and the wince on her face, his expression immediately becoming one of concern. He asks her gently, "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" His voice is laced with worry and concern, his fingers lightly coming up to caress her cheek.

Y/n shakes her head, her eyes meeting his. "No, I'm alright," she reassures him. "Just a little sore, I guess. But it was worth it," she adds with a sleepy smile.

Lewis continues to look at her, his eyes searching her face for any signs of discomfort. He asks again, his voice filled with concern, "Are you sure you're alright? Soreness is normal, but I don't want to hurt you." He gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch tender and caring.

Y/n nods, a small smile on her face, and jokingly says, "Well, I guess there's an easy fix for that. Just take me out on a shopping spree, and I'll feel like a million bucks again." Her tone is light and humorous, indicating that she's not entirely serious but also hinting at her desire for some pampering and shopping therapy.

Without hesitation, Lewis reaches for the nightstand near the bed and grabs his wallet. He opens it and pulls out a credit card, then hands it to Y/n with a smile. "There," he says, his voice lighthearted, "your ticket to feeling a million bucks. Go wild."

Y/n's eyes widened as she took his credit card. She playfully gasps, a mischievous smile on her face. "Are you serious? You're giving me carte blanche with this?" she says, holding the card up and examining it like it's a precious gem.

Lewis nods, a smirk on his face. "Dead serious," he confirms, leaning back against the headboard. "Go nuts. Buy whatever you want, and don't hold back. It's on me."

Y/n places the credit card on the nightstand, her smile playful. "Oh, it can definitely wait till tomorrow," she says. "I think we should both rest and recover from tonight's… activities." Her tone is teasing, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.

Lewis chuckles, a knowing smile on his face. "I agree," he replies, his voice deep and gravelly. "We definitely need some rest after tonight. But tomorrow…tomorrow is all yours. Shopping sprees, pampering, the works. I can't have you sore for too long, can I?"

Y/n smirks at his words, her eyes narrowing mischievously. "You know, you might be starting to regret giving me that credit card already," she teases. "You're creating a little monster here."

Lewis laughs heartily. "Oh, I'm fully aware of the monster I'm creating," he replies, still sporting a smile. "But honestly, I find it kind of hot. The thought of you going on a shopping spree, spending my money without a care in the world… it's strangely alluring."

Y/n teases, a mischievous grin on her face. "Oh, don't worry, I plan on getting something for you too," she says. "After all, a good shopping spree isn't complete without a little gift for the guy who's footing the bill."

Lewis pulls her back towards him, drawing her close against his chest. He settles back against the pillows, his arm wrapping around her in a protective, comforting embrace. Y/n's head rests against his chest, her body tucked snugly against his, and he gently kisses the top of her head. "Sweet dreams," he whispers, his voice soft and affectionate.

yn.ln

liked by lewishamilton, lyka.val, george_russell and 644,819 others yn.ln Shopping sprees, a hot best friend, and an even hotter husband? I'm winning. tagged lewishamilton, lyka.val

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[diamonddaze01]

⸸ SKYFALL ⸸

⸸ PAIRING: httyd! jeonghan x fem! reader ⸸ WC: 0.9K ⸸ A/N: got lots of asks to continue httyd jeonghan so surprise! might go insane and make this a whole series. we'll see!

"You’re not scared, are you?" Seungkwan leans against his dragon, arms crossed, his grin sharp with mischief.

Jeonghan doesn’t even look up from adjusting Luma’s saddle. “Of you? Never.”

"Not me—" Seungkwan tilts his chin toward you. "Her."

Nox shifts beneath you, muscles tensing like he can already sense the challenge thickening the air. You lean forward, fingers trailing absentmindedly over the worn leather of your reins. “Oh, I think the Chief is just worried his title’s in danger.”

Jeonghan barely lifts his head, but you catch the flicker of amusement in his eyes. It vanishes quickly, replaced by something more calculating. "You’re talking big for someone who still struggles with sharp turns."

"And you’re stalling for someone who’s supposed to be the fastest rider in Berk."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Race to the cliffs," he says, swinging onto Luma’s back with effortless ease. His voice is low, steady—like he already knows how this will end. "Winner gets bragging rights."

Seungkwan whoops, and Hansol mutters something about how this is how people die, but it’s already decided.

The second your dragons take off, the world narrows to sky and speed.

Wind roars in your ears, a sharp howl that cuts through the sky as Nox surges forward. The first burst of flight slams into your chest, exhilarating and electric, your heart pounding in time with each powerful wingbeat. The world below blurs into greens and blues, the cliffs shrinking beneath you as you push higher, faster, chasing the rush of open air.

And Jeonghan is right beside you.

You don’t need to look to know. His presence is a force—a flicker of dark scales and fluid movement in your periphery. Luma moves like a shadow, slicing effortlessly through the air, sleek and controlled, a predator in her element. Jeonghan doesn’t chase; he stalks, gliding just behind you with infuriating ease, unhurried, unbothered, as if he’s letting you lead for his own amusement.

Then his voice—sharp and clear over the wind.

"Falling behind, love?"

The smugness in his tone is unbearable.

You grit your teeth, pressing closer to your dragon’s back, urging him into a steeper dive. The wind bites at your skin, the ground rushing up too fast, but you don’t flinch. The maneuver pays off—Nox pulls up at the last possible second, wings snapping outward, the sheer momentum rocketing you forward.

And for the first time, Jeonghan doesn’t have the lead.

A laugh escapes you, breathless and wild. You can already picture the look on his face, the slight twitch of his brows, the way he tilts his head in that slow, assessing way—

But then Luma dips too close.

Too calculated. Too intentional.

The shift in air pressure is subtle, but Nox reacts instantly, flaring their wings to avoid a collision. The adjustment throws you off balance, just slightly, just enough that you have to grip the reins tighter, correct your course—

And Jeonghan catches it.

You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smiling.

"Oh, I know you didn’t just—"

"What?" His voice is all innocence, the perfect picture of feigned surprise. "I didn’t do anything, love. Maybe you should work on your handling."

He doesn’t even pretend to play fair now.

Luma sweeps in again, not enough to send you spiraling, but enough to make you hesitate. The smallest adjustments—drifting into your flight path, shifting the wind currents just so—subtle things that force you to pull back, slow down, lose that razor-thin edge of momentum.

He’s toying with you.

"Cheating wasn’t in the rules," you bite out, urging your dragon forward.

"Neither was losing," he fires back, laughing.

You growl under your breath, your grip tightening on the reins as you push harder. The cliffs loom ahead, the finish line so close you can almost taste victory. But Jeonghan is still there—smirking, infuriating, always a step ahead.

Then he does it.

He turns his head just slightly, catching your eye with that knowing look, the one that sends your pulse skittering. And then—

He winks.

It’s such a small, fleeting thing, but it hits its mark.

Nox reacts to your split-second distraction, a minuscule shift in weight that throws off your angle. It’s not much. Barely a fraction of a second.

But it’s enough.

"You—!"

"Oops." He doesn’t even try to hold back his grin. "Got a little distracted, did we?"

Oh, he’s insufferable.

But you’re desperate.

So you make a decision.

A reckless, impulsive, probably stupid decision.

You yank the reins sharply, forcing Nox into a near-vertical roll—too tight, too fast, the sky and sea flipping in a dizzying blur. Your stomach lurches, your body tilting dangerously off-balance, but if you can just—

The second it happens, you know.

Wind howls past your ears, the weightless drop yanking the breath from your lungs. Your dragon lets out a panicked shriek, wings beating wildly to correct the motion, but your grip slips—

And then there’s Jeonghan.

One second, you’re plummeting. The next, a strong arm locks around your waist, yanking you against a solid chest with a force that knocks the air out of you.

His grip is ironclad, unrelenting, his warmth stark against the cold wind still tearing past your skin. Luma levels out beneath you both, wings steady and controlled, but Jeonghan’s fingers don’t loosen.

"I should throw you in the ocean for that stunt," he growls, voice lower now, rough around the edges.

You’re still catching your breath, heart hammering wildly, but you manage a smirk. “Let me go, then.”

His arms tighten.

"Not a chance."

Your body is still pressed against his, his breath uneven where it fans against your ear. Even after the sky steadies, even after Luma glides effortlessly toward the cliffs, he doesn’t let go.

And just before you land, you feel it—

The slow, deliberate press of his lips against your temple.

A silent warning.

Or maybe—

A promise.

[shadowbriar]

Bob Reynolds — Catalyst II

Pairing : Robert "Bob" Reynolds x (she/her) doctor!Reader Word Count : more than 200 words. Warning : Thunderbolts spoilers. Sets during Bob's Project Sentry era. Mentions of medical procedures. Not proofread cause I'm doing this on my phone. Synopsis : For once, he actually let himself grow comfortable in the gentleness of another. Notes : i think i've gathered the rough idea for this short series. be mindful that i might not update as fast as you'd like, so drop a comment if you'd wanna be tagged for future chapters! please donate to my kofi so I can get a new laptop and write properly cause drafting though phone is hell, i tell you.

↞ Part I

Bob's hands were always cold. That's one of the first things she noticed about him.

At first, she thought it was just because he was nervous or that the room was too cold for him to stay in. They have to keep the temperature a little below the average to minimise the chance of contamination in the lab, but as she learned more about him, reading all the substance abuse and his history of mental illnesses, his cold hands were certainly caused by something greater than just the cold air.

Bob wasn't even supposed to be one of her patients. He was one of the junior doctors'. A subject that they didn't even expect to be able to survive the first trial—seeing the many potential underlying health issues he might have from his previous lifestyle—but it just so happened that she came to the lab the morning his procedure was being done, and one look at those innocent, terrified eyes, and she knew she couldn't leave him out of her sight.

"Do you feel any pain right now, Mr. Reynolds?"

"No," he answers, looking down to the many cables attached to his chest right now "and— uh, please don't call me Mr. Reynolds,"

"Okay, what would you like to be called then?" she asked as she fixed his IV drip.

"Bob, please call me Bob,"

"Okay, then, Bob," she nods, putting her hands in her coat pocket as she speaks to him "I've seen that you've got quite the history with substances, and since there have been cases where patients grow certain level of drug resistance from substance abuse, I'm going to have to keep a close eye on you,"

Bob looks at her with quite the fright in his eyes, barely blinking as he tries to understand her words.

"Look, I'm not here to judge or snitch on you to anyone. I just want to make sure that you're okay and will be okay," she smiles softly, hoping he wouldn't feel threatened anyhow "and since we'll be seeing a lot of each other, I figure we might as well be friends,"

"Friends..?"

She nods, giving him her first name, "I'll call you Bob, and you can call me that. And since we're calling each other by our first names, technically, we're already friends,"

Bob smiles hesitantly.

She watches him a little closely. Bob's smile lines were deep. There's a shy dimple on his right cheek that would only appear if he was fully grinning. The curls on the corner of his lips rarely reach his eyes, but when they do, she finds it hard to peel her eyes off him. She also notices that he speaks louder to himself than when he was conversing with anyone. Bob always speaks in question, as if he was afraid to be persistent or cause any disturbance to anyone. A habit that she couldn’t help but to feel a little sad of for there must be a persisting cause to have moulded him into this hesitant man.

"Do you think this test is as true as how they promote it?" Bob asks, looking down to his IV-ed hand.

"How do they promote it?"

"That it'll make you better," he answers, looking up to her "they say it's for people who wants to make something better out of themselves,"

She remained quiet, watching him intently.

"Do you think it'll make me better?" Bob asks once again.

"I don't know," she shakes her head, answering his question truthfully "but what I do know, is that I will do all that I can to make sure that you'll be okay. That you're not hurt in any way,"

"That's not really what I signed up for," he replies, not meeting her eyes. There was a clear disappointment in his heart as he let out a sigh, picking on his nails as if he was regretting the decision he’s made. She wonders if she should just excuse herself or try to offer him any better words of comfort, but before she could say anything, Bob finally looks up with half a smile on his face "at least, I gained a friend,"

She smiles back at him, hoping that it looks as genuine as the fondness she feels for the man, "I'll try my best, Bob,"

And that's how it all started. How she unknowingly committed herself to a patient like never before. Every time she came to make notes of his progress, every time she checked his blood pressure—even though she knew that the nurses have done it prior to her visit—she would always touch his hand to see if they were getting warmer.

There's a lot of wounds Bob has that he hasn't shared with her, lots of things she wished he would let her heal, but trying to fix his cold hands feels like the right first step. She wanted to make sure that he was getting better, that she was healing the causes of his cold hands, whichever it might be. Perhaps it was the drug doing all the work, but even then, knowing that she developed it and monitoring his progress now, still made her feel content on the little help she could offer for him.

"Your hands are getting warmer," she notes with a smile.

"I— yeah, they are, aren't they?" Bob says, rubbing his hands together from the pleasant surprise "I've always had cold hands all my life,"

She smiles, feeling happy from his beaming response.

"Do you have cold hands, as well?" Bob asks.

"Never as cold as yours were," she answers, opening her palms "do you want to touch my hand?"

Bob looks up to see her eyes. There was evident surprise written on his face, as if he never expected anyone to share him such an offer. He looks back down to her open, inviting hand, hesitating, "Can I?"

"Of course,"

Bob's fingers were shaking a little as he reached for her hand. He places his palm on top of hers, laying it flat as if he doesn't know how to properly touch her. The size of his hand could easily envelop hers, a little warmer than ever, but still colder than hers.

"You're warm," he mentions, eyes still glued to their hands "small, but warm,"

She smiles at him, watching as he lets out a little sigh of satisfaction, "You'll get there. We'll get your hands warm soon, Bob,"

—-

The dizziness in her head seeps in as she slowly regains her consciousness. The lights above her head were blinding, scorching her pupils as it showered her with unnecessary brightness. She tried to cover her eyes with her hands, but her body was bound tight to the bed she's laying at. Strapped down to the point that she couldn't even turn her body.

"You're awake," a voice calls "I'm very sorry, Kid, but you left me no choice,"

She turned her head to see the man, head still hazy from the subdued tranquilliser, "You're a sick man, Houston,"

He shows a pitied smile, looking as if he knew himself just how much he's disappointed her.

"Let me go," she demands weakly, moaning as the ache on her body starts to settle "get these straps off me,"

The man shakes his head with regret, "I can't do that,"

"You— you're killing these people.. how could you?" she asks with a louder voice, struggling to free herself "I thought we were doing something good here, something important that would help the world. Why would you alter my serums, Houston, why?"

"Because you only wanted to make people better, not best," he begins, standing from his seat and turning to back her. He runs his hand through his white hair, frustrated of the circumstances they've found themselves in "you— you're too good, too kind, and we can't afford to be that. Not right now,"

She watches him without a word, confused as to what he’s trying to explain.

"We don't need better people. Better, is not enough. We need the best, and you can't be the best if there's plenty of you,"

"So, what, you let these people die and hope that one of them would survive?"

"That's the idea, yes," he answers as he faces her again "Project Sentry needs to produce a hero that is the best. A god, if not something greater. And we can't have that if they can't even survive a little molecular alteration from the serum,"

"You're injecting them with cancer," she argues, closing her eyes as the weight of guilt washes over her "no one is going to be able to come out of this experiment alive,"

"I fear you've underestimated yourself, Kid," Dr. Houston says with a little smile, walking closer to her "not only did you develop the serum, but you also took care of the man until he survived it. You healed and made him greater, at the same time,"

She looks at him with confounded expression, feeling her heartbeat rising as she realises who he's talking about, "No.. Bob—,"

"He's in great hands. You don't need to worry about him," he cuts in "Robert is our most valuable asset, the answer to OXE Group's need, and we have you, and only you, to thank for,"

"Don't you— if you touch Bob—," she begins to panic, squirming under the straps until it chaffed her skin "you're killing him! No one can survive that serum, no one! You're only setting him up for death!"

"Perhaps, but he's been thriving in all our physical tests, and I believe it's time for us to call Valentina. Show her about our breakthrough,"

"No—," her yelling fell to Houston's deaf ears as the man walks away, heading to the door "Houston, come back here and untie me! Let me go! You're killing him! Let me go! Houston—,"

She yelled and begged until her voice was gone. Her throat is now sore, and the exposed skin that met the edges of the strap was now bleeding from how hard she tries to pry herself out. She was exhausted, confused, and above all, scared of what's going to happen for Bob. Part of her feels guilty to have unknowingly put him in such a dangerous spot, but a bigger part of her, the more vulnerable and shy part of her, was scared that she would never get to see him again. The idea of never looking into those blue eyes again, to never see his smile lines, or touch his now warm hands, scare her more than whatever it is Houston might do to her.

Because if it wasn't for her to come and rescue Bob, who else would?

—-

The concept of time has practically gone pointless when you're tied in a room with no windows. She wasn't sure how long she has been trapped in this room, how long since she was injected with whatever it is Houston used to immobilised her, nor how long has it been since he last came in. The only time anyone ever comes in and out of that one door is to feed her and to walk her to the restroom, and that is done with rough, high security manner.

As she stared at the empty wall, she noticed that the light in the room was flickering. Not the kind of flickers that happened when the lamps were about to go out, but the kind of flicker you see when the electrical power was being messed with. She knew that the lab has backup generators, they couldn't afford a full outage if there should ever be any issue with the electricity, so the flickering lights certainly made her raise her brows.

At first, this flicker happens rarely during the day, but as time goes by, the more days she spends trapped in the room, the more frequent this flickering happens. Sometimes, the blackout lasts longer than three seconds, and she could only imagine just how many of her samples would've gone spoilt in the lab if she was still working. It's odd to know that Houston is doing nothing to fix that persisting electrical issue.

"You have some serious issues with those lamps," she comments as Houston finally revisits "are we running out of money to pay for the electricity bills?"

Houston shows a meaningful smile, one that holds a thousand secret she couldn't decipher, "Isn't it magnificent?"

Her brows rose, "What is?"

"The miracles Robert could do for us,"

"Bob did this..? But— how—,"

"I’ve told you, you're underestimating yourself,"

"What— what did you do to him?" she demands, tossing herself around to wiggle off the straps once again "let me go, Houston, let me see him!"

"He's doing fine, Kid," Houston chuckled a little, taking a seat "as I said, he's OXE Group's most valuable asset. We wouldn’t do anything to harm him, not when we’re so close to achieving our goal. We're taking good care of him, don’t worry,"

She looks away, trying to digest Houston's words. It's true, Bob is their only surviving subject. They wouldn't do anything to jeopardise their project, now that they're a step closer towards their mission. But it would be too risky to take Houston's words as it is. There's no limit to the eagerness and optimism OXE Group has for Project Sentry. One wrong decision and it would spoil all their hard work. Worse, it might actually harm Bob.

"You're bleeding again," Houston says as he notices the skin that was scarred by the straps "you need to stop hurting yourself this way, Kid,"

"Well, then, get me off of these and let me free,"

"And have you kidnapped our subject? Get him out of this building and make him disappear?" the older man asks, smiling triumphantly when he sees her surprised face "Robert told me about your plan to get him out of his room,"

"I never thought of kidnapping him, I just wanted to get him out of that depressing room," she defends "he's a person, Houston. Treat him like one,"

"Oh, we're treating him much better than that. He's to be a God, remember?"

She smiles a little, mocking, "And what then? When you've successfully turned him into a God, what then? What makes you think that a God would listen to you? To Val? To anyone?"

Houston's smile waters, looking caught off guard.

"You don't know what you're doing, Houston," she continues, pouring petrol to the flame "that's your problem: you just do, you never think. You should be ashamed of yourself. You're not even a doctor. You're just a puppet,"

"Well, we've all made mistakes with this project," he shrugs, acting as if her words didn't sting "at least, I'm not the one trapped and strapped in a room,"

"I'm here because of you," she spat bitterly.

"No, you're here because of yourself," he corrected as he pointed at her in a disapproving manner "you grew too close, Kid. You know the first rule of working in this industry is to never get personal. Not to your peers, not to your subjects, and yet, here you are, risking your life for a man you've only met for a couple weeks,"

She glares at him, "He's my patient, I have to care for him,"

"Is that all he really is?"

She remains quiet, looking away as she swallows her own saliva in shame. She knew that Houston was right. She's long crossed the one line she shouldn't have toyed with in the first place. A doctor should never grow personal to their patient, especially when the nature of your relationship was not as simple. Bob wasn't just a man who scrapped his knee and came to her for a band aid. He was a man who knew the risks of admitting himself to this program, and she was the doctor who was responsible for just observing him. Nothing more, nothing less. And yet here she is, days away from sunlight with her mind plagued with one thing only: Bob.

"You need to remember who you are," Houston continues with a gentler tone "you're not just a doctor here, Kid. You're a scientist, too, and as scientists, we're bound to lose our subjects, be it through success or failure,"

With a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, Houston stood from his seat. He gave her a smile, a conflicted one that tells her it pains him to have her treated this way, too, but he's left with no other choice. He couldn't risk her putting the project on the line or cause any more damage to herself.

"Wait," she called before he could reach for the doorknob "does he.. does he ever ask about me?"

Houston turns to face her, showing another apologetic smile as he shakes his head, "No,"

She blinks, finding his answer to be hard to accept, but it would be a lie to say she didn't expect it. Supposed she should feel glad that she's not putting Bob in any kind of stress from her disappearance that might disturb his great progress, yet it stings still to know that she never held that much importance to him as she would like. It was childish of her to take any promises they've made any more serious than just some casual nonsense. She's the one who left, after all. She, too, would stop looking for someone if they suddenly leave without an explanation. It was the one thing she promised most for him, that she would be there for him always, and yet she's gone. Even if it was against her wishes.

"I'm sorry, Kid," Houston apologises.

She looks up to him, forcing a smile and pretending as if none of this conversation hurts her, "He's just a patient,"

The man nods, showing a last apologetic smile before he leaves.

The room feels as if it's grown as the door shuts. She looks up to the ceiling, trying not to let the tears that were starting to form on her eyes fall. It is sad to cry for a man you barely know, but even more pathetic to not being able to wipe your tears off.

Houston was right. The serum worked, and Bob is thriving with his new powers. They should all triumph in the success of the project, popping bottles of champagne in celebration and planning for their upcoming overdue vacations. But why does she find it hard to find any fraction of happiness in her heart? Why does she feel reluctant to take any pride in the success of this project? Shouldn't she be happy that Bob's trial worked and that he doesn't need her anymore?

Perhaps it was the guilt of everybody else who didn't survive the test that made her this hesitant, but to say it out loud would be the biggest lie she'd ever confess to the world. Sure, the passing patients would become the demons she has to fight every night in her sleep, but this wasn't about them, was it? It wasn't about the other patients—it was about Bob. It was about the hope of leaving this place with him. It was about the idea of having that walk around the city and trying out new places with him. It was about seeing the smile lines on his face and feeling the warmth on his hands.

It was about the fact that she now realised such hope was nothing more than a reverie.

Taglist: @babybabygrogu @wqrzew @minnieminnieee1 @youdontknowe @jesterlaughingstock @idohknow @foreverchangingmind @heartcower @mquituisaca @artandpunishment @x3zerochanx3 @yujyujj @baylegend6 @websterss

[thezombieprostitute]

Just for You

Summary: When moving from Steve fails because of proximity, you decide to make some changes in your life.

Follow up to Unrequited.

Word Count: ~1.8k

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Warnings: Angst. Please let me know if I missed any.

You settled in to your new office. After trying and failing to get over your crush on Steve, you asked for a switch in office partners. Barnes and Steve had projects that were more in line with each other so making them office-mates made sense.

"Trying to get rid of me?" Steve teased when you told him about the move.

"Steve, let's be serious here." His smile drops at your tone. "I asked you out, you said you weren't interested and I continued to try to flirt. I refused to take 'no' for an answer. I even went so far as to try to push you into a dance with me but you probably picked up on that so you danced with everyone else."

Steve's nods in memory of that night.

"Since then, I've tried my damnedest to be professional. To kill the crush. But I can't do that if I'm sitting across from you every single day. Yeah, down the hall isn't much better, but it's something."

"If you ever need a friend--"

"I know, Steve. I promise, I know." You put up a fake smile as you finish packing up your things to trade offices with Barnes.

The next month goes by a lot easier for you. There's still some lingering sadness, but that's the norm for being rejected, right? Every time you see Steve is easier than the last. Nothing but nods shared between the two of you.

A departmental meeting is called by the Department Dean. It's in a small board room but the Dean promises it'll be quick so no one gets too claustrophobic.

"We're going to have a guest in the department next week," he announces. "A famous author who's looking to get some historical accuracy for his next book."

There were some murmurings in the crowded room, comments wondering who the author was.

"His family has donated a lot f money to our university, including our department, so I expect everyone to be polite."

The murmurings become grumblings. If the Dean has to warn you like this, you're not sure this author is worth knowing.

He points to you, "the book he's writing is centered in the period of history you're studying so expect him to be around you more than others. I've told him to respect office hours, but we'll see how that goes."

You nod in understanding as the Dean points to a few others who might be visited. You're not looking forward to this.

There's a single knock at your office door before the visitor comes in and sits across from you. He looks vaguely familiar and has the air of someone who's used to doing what he wants.

"You must be the author I was told was visiting," you say with a customer service smile.

He smiles in return, his less forced. "Yup," he replies, making the "p" pop. "Do you know me? Have you read my works?"

"You look familiar, but I can't place you," you admit.

He smirks and removes his sunglasses. "How about now?"

"Oh! Drysdale!" your eyes widen. "You wrote the Clint Barton Series of urban fantasy mystery novels!"

"You're a fan," he says with a wink. "I think I'm going to like working with you."

"We'll see," you chuckle. "I do have classes to teach, papers to grade and research of my own to do so, going forward, would it be possible to schedule meetings instead of having you drop in unannounced?"

"I prefer to come and go as I please," he purrs. "But I suppose I can make an exception. Just for you." He winks and heat rushes to your face.

As the semester continues Ransom ends up spending more and more time with you, in and out of your office. Sure, he could put on airs and act like an ass, but he was never like that towards you. He even pulled back on his asshole nature when he saw how it could upset you. He kept his mouth shut when your students showed up asking for extensions because they "forgot there was even a paper assigned." Instead he'd joke about it with you afterwards.

It was Ransom's idea to continue your discussion at a restaurant off campus. You were legitimately enjoying talking with him so you agreed. He even offered to drive you there in his BMW that you were scared to touch in case you somehow damaged it.

On the way you asked, "do you always take fans out to dinner?"

Ransom smirks, "I'm making an exception. Just for you."

"I'm honored," you smile as you look away nervously.

"Did you let your boyfriend know where we're going?"

"Oh, I'm not seeing anyone," you're quick to correct him.

He raises an eyebrow. "How the hell are you single? Too busy with work and school or something?"

You shrug. "It just...didn't work out. He wasn't interested."

Ransom scoffs and shakes his head. "Then he's an idiot."

"Or I'm just not his type. I have to accept that."

"No you don't," Ransom counters. "You are allowed to be super petty. You're gorgeous, intelligent and a good person. How is that not someone's type? Is he some bitch boy who needs to be the smart one in the relationship? I'll bet he's an asshole and you're better off."

"He's a good guy," you argue. "Maybe he's gay? Maybe he prefers someone with different interests? It doesn't matter because he's not interested and I've been working hard to move on."

"So you got yourself a rebound? Nice."

"What? No! I'm not that kind of person." You cross your arms, suddenly wondering if this dinner was a good idea.

"That's fair," he backs down. "Though I still maintain you should let yourself be at least a little petty if you interact with him again."

A small smile forms on your face. "I did let myself get more pedantic when he asked for help with his thesis."

Ransom smirks, "very nice."

After that first dinner, Ransom started offering to take you out more often claiming he enjoyed the conversation. You can't deny that you enjoy it as well. Ransom has the ability to make you feel like you're the most important person in the room. At first it made you feel shy, having someone so focused on you. But as you continued to meet for his book, as you continued the conversations outside of your office, you became more and more comfortable around him.

For his part, Ransom continued to soften when he was around you. And only you. When it was just the two of you, he was able to drop the mask of haughtiness and disinterest completely. Even if someone interrupted, he wasn't as mean about it as he once had been.

And then there were the gifts. The end of the semester brought with it final exams for yourself and your students. Ransom promised he was okay with not meeting up for a bit, that he'd use this as time to focus on writing, "using all of the lessons learned from our talks." And while he didn't show up to your office, there were regular food deliveries with a note from him reminding you to take care of yourself. He also bought your department a couple electric kettles so you wouldn't have to microwave water to make your tea as well as a keurig machine. The Dean had made sure to pull you aside to thank you for all the time you put in with Ransom.

But it's not like it was all that difficult for you. Once you worked past his icy, better-than-you exterior, he was actually pretty pleasant to be around. During the time apart, when you'd message him to thank him for the food, you'd sometimes get up the courage to say you missed chatting with him. He really knew how to make you feel special, listened to, appreciated. You didn't realize how much you needed that. And it really helped when you felt like you were drowning in papers to read, grade, research and write!

When things finally died down enough to meet again, Ransom apparently dropped everything so he could visit you. You messaged him that your schedule was now more open and after only an hour he was knocking on your door.

"You look exhausted," he states. "How about a spa treatment? On me."

You chuckle as your face heats up, "that does sound lovely but I've still got things to do. How have you been?"

"Honestly? Miserable." Your eyes soften in sympathy and concern. "I've missed you, too. And, at the risk of making an idiot of myself, I'd like to be more than work partners, more than friends."

"I'd love to date you, Ransom," you state.

"But?"

"But what?" you shake your head, confused. "I really enjoy your company. You're good to me. You make me feel like I matter. There's no 'but' here."

Ransom's expression switches to one of relief as his shoulders relax. "I can't tell you how good it is to hear that."

He closes the space between you, puts a hand behind your head and brings you in for a kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck and eagerly return his affection.

There's a knock and a polite cough at the door, making you break the kiss, irritation written all over your face and Ransom's at the interruption.

"What?"

In the doorway stands Steve, holding a flyer. Taken aback at the attitude he backs up a step. "Um...I just...There's another themed dance to celebrate the end of the school year. Just thought...maybe you'd want to know about it."

He hands you the flyer and quickly walks out.

"You like dancing?" Ransom asks, glancing at the flyer.

"I did," you pout.

"What happened?"

With a sigh you tell Ransom the story of the New Year's Eve disaster. He coos, reassures, and comforts as you recount your pain and embarrassment, finally pulling you in for a hug as his hand gently rubs up and down your back.

When you finish the story, Ransom pulls away just enough to look you in the eyes. "You remember what I said about your right to be petty?"

"Yeah?"

"We're gonna get you that spa treatment, a brand new dress, just for the dance, and I'll make sure you don't have to worry about sitting out for any dance because I'll be on your arm all night. He's gonna realize what he could have had and you're going to feel good about yourself, as you deserve."

"You dance?"

"Not really," he admits. "But I'll make an exception. Just for you."

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[lortsyall]

Echoes of Eywa's Child.

chapter 1.

(Neteyam x Human!Reader series)

Pending....Pending....

Date: December 21st,2174.

Location: Office,Unit 4,Avatar Department,Human Outpost Biolab,Hallelujah Mountains,Pandora.

Time: 10:15 AM.

A long time has passed since I've known about this once alien planet. 4.4 light years away,a world full of life,like a lost paradise,sat idly in silence,away from the death and destruction that has scattered over Earth like a goddamn plague.

The ones before us saw the danger of it all,and yet they turned a blind eye,all because the climate change and the fractures in the atmosphere caused by the heightened levels of carbon dioxide wouldn’t affect them in the long run. They’d be dead anyway by the time it got too serious. So much for doing the right thing.

I wasn’t even born when they discovered Pandora,though until I actually got a grasp of reality and gained consciousness like everybody does at 5 years old,I’ve actually wondered if the so-called “Goldilocks Zone” existed somewhere else. If God smiled upon the universe and gave another planet the privilege of life.

Trust me,I have no idea how I even got here. So much time has passed since I’ve breathed in the polluted air of Earth,but I guess it’s for the benefit of all.

Guess we'll do it like they always do,huh?Start from the beginning of it all.

Pending...Pending...

Date: January 26th,2170

Location: Home,New York,USA, Earth.

Time: 12:43 PM.

Nobody ever thought that a girl like me would end up as the head leader of the Avatar Department,or an important person in the Resistance. And I gotta say,I never quite imagined myself becoming this. I dreamt of stages full of fans,as my fingers gave birth to heart-shattering riffs. Of poetry books released under my very own name,painting the pages with complicated feelings and sensations,all of a broken and imperfect human heart. Of having my own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame,making my country proud as a well known actress overseas. Though all those dreams were scattered away,like a feather in the wind,the moment I decided to do what any other scared yet artistically talented person who wants to make her parents proud does.

I got into STEM. Mechanical and Biological Engineering.

And between the sleepless nights of studying,drowning myself in math equations and lab reports,I got a one-way ticket to Pandora in my first year of college,from the one and only Parker Selfridge. Head administrator of the RDA’s operation in Pandora. I can still feel the anxiety lingering on my tongue. They never came with internships for first years,so what was he here for?

He came in to give out 5 internships at my college,yet he left with a new potential piece for this chess game. Me. All thanks to a question he asked that I knew the answer of. And to think I almost didn't say the answer because I thought everyone knew it,but as it turns out,only I did. I sat in the hallway with my friends,staring dumbfoundedly at the bussiness card he gave me.

Only back then,the RDA were treated as heroes,important people who made way for a better life. For an undead Earth. The propaganda was all enough to trick a little mind like mine,though it’s funny how I always thought I was a step ahead of everyone. Life on Earth as I remember it was,to say the least…grey.

The cities were gray. The people were gray. The sky was…well,grey. And between spending the rest of my life here,with my dreams crumbling before my very own eyes,and going out there to actually fight for a new home for humanity,you can guess why I chose the latter.

Nothing out of the ordinary was happening for me here anyway. Gorgeous girl,great personality,they all said,but nobody ever settled. Nobody ever stopped in their tracks to take in the pure and total beauty of the chaos that is me,so I never had a serious partner before. And…I guess I was also excited to see if the stories are true.

How an actual human betrayed his own race for a…Na’vi tribe princess?At least that’s how they put it,and I don’t even want to mention how embarrassing it was for the RDA to come back to Earth with their tails between their legs back in 2154. No unobtanium. No money. No Avatars. No nothing. I was three when that happened,and I remember playing with my cousins with our cardboard toys as our parents watched the TV in confusion and…disappointment,so you can guess why they made Jake Sully seem like an actual demon,and the death of a colonel was a pretty big deal,after all.

Thing is,the RDA only shows you the pearl in their hands,and not the mouth getting ready to swallow you whole. And now I know why they were so understaffed. That total failure after 2154 made people lose trust in the RDA over the years. But to me?

The decision came easily. I needed something new.

What didn’t,though,was the pure work I’d have to do in just 6 months. Learning the language of the natives,the Na’vi. Getting to understand the differences between our anatomy and theirs. The fauna and flora. The tribes. The ecosystems. And…of course,Eywa herself,though I learned that from Dr. Grace Augustine’s botany books,not from the RDA’s training program. I honestly don’t know what Selfridge saw in me,when I know I have friends better in college than me,but I better not question it too much.

I tried telling myself that as soon as I got in cryo,it wouldn’t be a goodbye,rather a…see you later. Looking back at it now,I think it was just wishful thinking. For now,I was me,the girl nobody ever really took seriously. Just another face in a sea of others. Next time I wake up,I’d have to work in an entire department with people twice my age.

Pending...Pending...

Date: July 31st,2174

Location: Pandora????

Time: ?????

The cryo-sleep thaw was a nightmare and a miracle all at once. My lungs burned as they dragged in air for the first time in four years, my throat raw and dry, every breath tasting metallic. My joints ached as if I’d aged a century.

“Subject revived.” the sterile voice of the AI announced, flat and emotionless. I tried sitting up, only to slump back down against the cryo pod’s restraints. My body wasn’t mine yet—not entirely.

“You’ll feel like shit for a while,” said a woman in a crisp lab coat, her voice muffled as she checked my vitals. “Side effects of long-term cryo. It’ll pass. Welcome to the ISV Valkyrie, and congrats on making it to Pandora.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and surreal. Pandora.

The next few hours were a blur of debriefings and medical checkups. My body eventually began to cooperate, but my mind lagged behind. I shuffled through endless corridors with other groggy personnel, each of us too stunned to speak. We were like ghosts wandering through a ship that pulsed with life—technicians barking orders, holograms buzzing with real-time scans of the moon’s surface, the low hum of engines preparing for atmospheric descent.

When the ship finally broke through Pandora’s atmosphere, I felt it in my chest. The vibrations reverberated through every bolt, every panel, and through me. The world outside the viewport was alive. The dense, green forests sprawled endlessly beneath the floating Hallelujah Mountains, their bases wreathed in ethereal clouds. The sky shifted from pink to blue in the blink of an eye, its colors alien yet breathtakingly familiar.

For a moment, the hum of engines and the chatter of voices faded away. It was just me and the sight of this strange, beautiful moon—a place that could have been paradise if we weren’t here to ruin it.

The ship landed with a jarring shudder, and the real work began.

Adjusting to life on Pandora was like learning to breathe all over again. Everything about this place demanded respect—the gravity was lighter, the air richer, and the biology... unfathomable. Days blurred into weeks as I threw myself into the work at the Avatar Department.

My mornings began with syncing sessions in the link pods, my mind slipping into my Avatar body like stepping into a cold pool. It wasn’t seamless—at first, every movement felt foreign. I stumbled through training exercises, my longer legs and stronger muscles betraying me at every turn. But slowly, the body became mine.

Afternoons were spent reading over files on Na’vi biology, studying their neural networks and learning their language. The words felt clumsy on my tongue, but I persisted. When I wasn’t in the lab or out on field assignments to observe Pandora’s ecosystems, I was immersed in RDA briefings.

That’s where I first heard his name again.

Jake Sully.

The briefings spoke of him like a ghost, a legend who had long since passed into myth. But here, his name was a warning.

“Resistance forces led by Sully attacked the rail line near Sector 7 again,” one of the military officers growled during lunch at the canteen. “Three shipments of amp suits lost. That bastard and his little insurgents are crippling our operations.”

The room buzzed with tension as reports of attacks piled up. Sabotaged trains, stolen supplies, and destroyed equipment—it was chaos. To the RDA, Sully wasn’t just a traitor. He was the personification of everything standing in the way of their plans.

But the more I learned, the more conflicted I felt. The propaganda painted him as a terrorist, a man who had betrayed his own kind for a primitive cause. But every whisper I caught from the scientists who had been here longer told a different story.

“Maybe Sully isn’t the villain they make him out to be,” I muttered to Dr. Ellison one evening as we worked late in the lab.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable as he pointed towards a CCTV with his head,as if to say "Shut up. They're listening."

"That’s dangerous talk,you know. Keep your head down. Do your work. They don't like questions.”

I nodded, but the seed of doubt had already taken root.

The attacks continued, each one more brazen than the last. The RDA ramped up their operations in response, sending more troops and machinery into the wilds of Pandora. But for every move they made, the Resistance seemed to be one step ahead.

And then there was the tension between the people I worked with. Some were diehard loyalists, determined to see the mission succeed no matter the cost. Others—mostly the scientists—spoke in hushed tones about the beauty of the Na’vi culture, the interconnectedness of the flora and fauna, and the destruction we were bringing to this world.

I kept my head down, just as Ellison had warned. But at night, as I lay in my bunk staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but wonder: which side of history would I be on?

Pandora had a way of getting under your skin. The longer I stayed, the more I realized it wasn’t just a place. It was a mirror, reflecting humanity’s best and worst instincts back at us. And somewhere in the middle of it all was me—a girl who had come here for a fresh start, only to find herself caught in a war she didn’t fully understand.

The attacks became more than background noise; they became a constant undercurrent to life on Pandora. At first, they were just distant explosions, reports in the briefing room, or muttered curses from the military personnel in the mess hall. But over time, the Resistance started to feel like a presence, a shadow that loomed over everything the RDA tried to accomplish.

Jake Sully wasn’t just a name anymore—he was a force of nature.

The first time I felt the Resistance's impact directly was during a supply run. It was supposed to be routine—a quick trip to outpost Beta-5 to deliver Avatar-linked monitoring equipment. I was tagging along as part of my training, mostly to observe.

But the Resistance didn’t care about schedules or safety zones.

The attack was fast and chaotic. One moment, the AMP suits ahead of us were trudging through the dense forest, their movements mechanical and predictable. The next, arrows rained down from the trees, followed by explosions that sent the towering machines toppling like broken toys.

The ambush hit like a storm—sudden, violent, and unstoppable.

One moment, I was riding in the back of the supply truck, surrounded by crates of equipment and two guards sharing a nervous laugh. The next, the forest erupted in chaos.

The first explosion flipped the lead AMP suit, its towering frame crashing to the ground with a deafening roar. The convoy came to an abrupt halt as arrows rained down from the trees, their sharp points glinting like falling stars.

“Get down!” someone yelled.

I hit the truck bed hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me. My mask rattled against the metal floor as I scrambled for cover behind a crate. The world around me dissolved into a cacophony of gunfire, shouting, and the eerie war cries of the Na’vi.

The guards fired blindly into the trees, their exo-packs hissing as they struggled to maintain their aim under the pressure. I peeked over the edge of the crate just in time to see one of the AMP suits stagger, an arrow embedded in its cockpit.

Panic set in. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst. I wasn’t a soldier. I wasn’t trained for this. My human body was fragile here—one wrong move, and I’d be dead.

I clutched the sidearm they’d insisted I carry, though my hands were shaking too much to use it. What was I even doing here? This wasn’t supposed to be my fight.

A shadow passed overhead. My breath hitched as I looked up to see a Na’vi warrior leaping from a tree, his bow drawn, his movements impossibly fluid. He landed on the roof of the truck with barely a sound, his golden eyes scanning the scene below.

And then, those eyes locked onto mine.

For a moment, the chaos of the ambush melted away, leaving only silence between us.

He stood above me, perched on the edge of the truck’s roof, silhouetted against the glowing forest. His figure was tall and commanding, every line of his body taut with a warrior’s grace. The flickering bioluminescence of the nearby trees played off his skin, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across his lean, muscular frame.

His face was angular and strong, the high cheekbones and sharp jawline unmistakably Na’vi, yet there was something softer in his expression. His golden eyes, large and luminous, fixed on me with an intensity that felt like a physical force. They weren’t filled with rage or cruelty but something far more unnerving—calculated curiosity, as though he were trying to read my soul in that single moment.

The streaks of blue war paint decorating his face didn’t fully mask the smooth, rich azure of his skin, which gleamed faintly under the pale light of Pandora’s twin moons. His braids, adorned with small beads and feathers, swayed gently with each subtle movement, a testament to the culture he carried with him like armor.

But it wasn’t just his appearance that struck me—it was his presence.

He radiated confidence, a quiet power that demanded attention without arrogance. It was the kind of aura that made the world around him seem smaller, less significant. The chaos raging around us felt like a distant hum compared to the weight of his gaze.

And yet, beneath that commanding presence, there was something deeper—an unmistakable grief, perhaps, or a burden that someone so young should never have to carry. It was in the set of his shoulders, the faint downturn of his mouth, and the way his hands gripped the bow with both precision and purpose.

“Drop it,” he said, his voice deep and steady, but with a softness that caught me off guard.

The words hit me like a command, though they weren’t barked or shouted. It was the tone of someone who expected to be obeyed—not out of fear, but respect.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. The sidearm in my trembling hands felt heavier than it should, as if the very act of holding it was a betrayal. His gaze flicked to the weapon, then back to me, and I realized with a jolt that he wasn’t looking at me like an enemy. He was looking at me like a question.

“You are… different,” he said, tilting his head slightly, the movement as fluid and deliberate as everything else about him. His accent curled around the words, each syllable infused with the lyrical cadence of his native tongue.

I wanted to speak, to ask him what he meant, but my throat felt dry, my voice lost in the weight of the moment.

He crouched slightly, lowering himself onto one knee so we were nearly at eye level. Even then, his presence dwarfed mine. Up close, the details became sharper—the faint patterns of his skin, the slight twitch of his ears as they picked up the sounds of the battle behind him, the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“You do not fight,” he observed, the faintest hint of curiosity threading through his words. His eyes lingered on mine, their golden glow unwavering. “And you… fear.”

It wasn’t an accusation. It was a statement of fact, delivered with neither judgment nor malice.

His hand shifted slightly, and I flinched, but he didn’t reach for me. Instead, he pointed at the weapon still lying on the ground between us.

The Na’vi reacted instantly. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet with startling gentleness.

“You do not belong here,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Run.”

“What—”

“Go!”

He released me and darted back into the fray, moving with the grace of a predator and the determination of someone who had everything to lose.

I didn’t run. Not immediately. Instead, I crouched behind the truck, my legs trembling as I watched the battle unfold.

He moved like the forest itself, blending into the chaos with a skill that seemed almost supernatural. He wasn’t just fighting—he was leading. The other Na’vi warriors followed his signals, their coordinated strikes overwhelming the RDA forces.

For every bullet fired, they had an arrow. For every shout of anger, they answered with a battle cry that sent chills down my spine.

And yet, amidst the violence, there was something strangely... noble about them. They didn’t kill indiscriminately. They targeted the machines, the vehicles, the weapons. It was as if they were trying to make a point rather than simply annihilate us.

When the ambush finally ended, the Resistance had melted back into the forest, leaving behind a convoy in ruins. Smoke rose from the wreckage, and the air was thick with the smell of burning fuel.

I stumbled out from behind the truck, my legs barely holding me up. Around me, the survivors were regrouping, their faces pale and shell-shocked.

“Medic!” someone called, dragging a wounded soldier from the wreckage.

But I couldn’t move. My mind was stuck on him—the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d spared me when he could have easily ended my life.

“You do not belong here,” he’d said.

The words echoed in my head as I stared at the destruction around me. For the first time, I began to wonder if he was right.