#yeah I wasn’t expecting that to be a tag

[paucubarsisimp]

reader x oscar where oscar reconnects with a old female friend and kind of neglects reader a little bit, at the beginning y/n gets hurt but ends up deciding to get a male friend to “make things even” so oscar gets really jealous, realizes what he’s been doing and tries to make things right? happy ending pls and maybe don’t make reader forgive him that easily?

second place

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: in which you feel mia is more important than you…

warnings: none

you didn’t expect things to change so quickly.

one minute, you and oscar were solid — late-night facetimes, good luck kisses before qualifying, sleepy grins under hotel duvets. being with him felt like quiet gravity. not loud or dramatic, just right. steady.

and then came mia.

the girl from karting days. the one who could talk race setups and tire strategies in the same breath she joked about oscar’s twelve-year-old mullet.

you weren’t threatened at first. oscar had always been honest. you weren’t insecure.

but it’s hard to stay secure when you go three days without more than a “hey, sorry, busy today” text… and then check instagram to see him tagged in a selfie with her, laughing over sushi.

you didn’t confront him right away. you weren’t that person. you trusted him — or at least, you wanted to.

but when you showed up at the paddock that friday, his reaction said everything.

he didn’t light up the way he used to.

he smiled — polite, distracted. his arm slung around mia’s shoulders like second nature.

you didn’t know whether to feel angry or embarrassed.

maybe both.

you brought it up that night, quietly, after dinner.

“she’s really been around a lot lately.”

oscar shrugged, pulling his shirt over his head. “yeah, she’s doing a piece for f1tv. like, a feature thing. it’s temporary.”

you nodded. “just… feels like you’ve kind of forgotten i exist.”

he froze for a second. “y/n, come on. don’t start this.”

that was what hurt the most — not the time he was spending with her. the fact that he brushed off your pain. as if it wasn’t real.

you went to bed with your back to him. he didn’t reach for you.

you didn’t plan to make him jealous.

you didn’t even think of marcus that way — not at first.

he was the boy who used to walk you home from school, steal fries from your lunch tray, accidentally-on-purpose hold your hand during horror movies.

you hadn’t seen him in years. but when you bumped into him at a café near the paddock, it felt like a reset. like someone was seeing you again.

like you weren’t invisible.

oscar didn’t notice you were smiling more that weekend.

but he did notice marcus.

especially when you invited him to the post-race celebration. especially when marcus leaned close to tell you a joke, and you laughed with your whole body — the way you used to laugh with oscar.

he caught your wrist later that night, voice tense. “is this supposed to be a message?”

you stared at him. “no. but i guess it’s working.”

the fight came two days later.

oscar had been cold. distant. until he snapped.

“so what, you just bring some guy around to get my attention? that’s mature.”

your blood ran hot. “don’t pretend you have the high ground when you’ve been mia’s shadow for three weeks!”

“she’s a friend, y/n!”

“so is marcus! or is it only okay when you’re the one doing the ignoring?”

oscar looked at you like he didn’t recognize you. and you realized — he didn’t. because he hadn’t really seen you in weeks.

“i don’t care about mia,” he said, voice strained.

“but you cared more about making her laugh than asking if i was okay.”

that shut him up.

it took time after that.

oscar started showing up again — really showing up.

small things. bringing you coffee before interviews. watching your face instead of his phone. apologizing, not with flowers, but by listening.

you let him back in slowly. not because he begged — but because he changed.

and one night, while you sat on his balcony overlooking monaco’s coast, his fingers laced with yours, he said:

“i got used to you always being there. like i couldn’t lose you. like you’d always wait.”

you didn’t answer right away.

then: “don’t give me a reason to leave, and i won’t.”

his hand tightened in yours. “you’re not second place. not to anyone. not ever again.”

you believed him. not because he said it — but because this time, he meant it.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, lmk if you want to be added!

[godmadeaterribleerror]

All I've Wanted Was You

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, smut (fingering, oral f!receiving, p in v sex), angst, light fluff, humor, no use of y/n, friends with benefits, love confessions

Summary: You have an arrangement with Bucky. You sleep together, and nothing more. Every time is supposed to be the last time. You love him too much keep this up and pretend it's not killing you.

But it might be killing him too.

Author's Note: Request from @wintersoldierchronicles! I had SO much fun with it, and it got (as expected) emotional. I am what I am. Enjoy!

Word Count: 5.7k

He’s giving you the look again. The one that he’s promised not to give you anymore, because it makes you both break promises, and shatters your heart into a million little, glowing pieces every time. 

And Bucky always picks up the pieces, after. He doesn’t know what he’s doing—or that he’s the one who broke you in the first place—but he’s good at cleaning up after himself. He makes his bed every morning. His guns and knives are always polished and well-cared for, and his plates are cleaned with his hands before he puts them in the dishwasher, because that’s how his ma raised him. He folds all his laundry, never has dust on his floor, and never wears boxer two days in a row. All his trash finds it’s way into the can, and then the bag gets taken out over his shoulder because no matter how many times Tony tells him he has robots and people to do that instead, Bucky insists on doing it himself. 

It’s one of the reasons you love him. 

And that’s exactly why he can’t give you that look. He promised he’d stop it. You’d promised you’d stop indulging it.

But if Bucky’s good at cleaning up, you’re good at making messes. There’s always a little wrapper empty can on your desk—Bucky always throws it out for you—and you tend to wait until you can smell it to change your sheets. You’ve been wearing the same bra for two weeks, and you have one pair of heeled boots where the sole is coming apart, but they still work, so you’re still using them. You had to throw out your last laptop, because five coffee spills were apparently too much for it to handle. People don’t hand you weapons anymore, after Nat gave you a dart gun for safety and you ended up shooting yourself in the thigh. Tony has an extra robot for your apartment.

But Bucky cleans it anyway, whenever he gives you the look, and finds his way back into your bed.

“Don’t know how it’s this bad every time,” he’d muttered a few weeks back, folding your towels with a small frown.

He didn’t need to do that. You wish he wouldn’t. It’s domestic, and it makes this—you and Bucky, though there isn’t really a you and Bucky—feel far too real.

You’d shrugged, watching him move around from the bed. “I spend every day cleaning up your messes, Barnes. That’s where all the energy for this,” You’d mad a sweeping gesture around the room. “Goes.”

“Hey.” Bucky had given you a mockingly stern look and pointed finger. “I haven’t done anything, for like a month.”

“Steve hasn’t done anything in three years.”

“Yeah, but the last thing he did was become a war criminal, doll. That had you on overtime.”

“And who did he become a war criminal for?”

Bucky had rolled his eyes. “Shut up. And the last thing I did wasn’t even that bad.”

“You punched the governor.”

“He called you a whore.” Bucky had glared down at your trash. “I woulda done worse, if I didn’t know it would come back to bite your ass.”

You’d sighed. “Bucky-“

“And I never mean to make mess for you.” He’d muttered, giving you an almost puppy-like look, and you’d wanted to vault off the bed so you could wrap yourself around him and never let go. “Just happens. If I was in charge, we’d all be on perfect fuckin’ behavior, all the time.”

“Well, thank you.” You’d given him a soft, gentle smile, and he’d relaxed slightly. “And I’m not mad about it, Bucky. It’s my job. And I’m good at it.”

“You are.” He’d said under his breath, his tongue flicking out between his lips, and his words had sounded like they were mostly for himself. “Use a lot of pretty words, when you do it. Could make a man jump off a cliff just by asking him to believe the wind would catch him.”

You’d blinked at him, having no fucking idea what that meant, but Bucky just continued, his voice raising back up.

“But I make it harder-“

“No, you don’t. It’s not your fault people are dumb and don’t understand how brainwashing works.” You’d given him a pointed look. “And nothing you do could be worse than the Nat Burrito-Stripper-Arson incident. And she never cleans up my room for me.”

Bucky’s lip had twitched. You’d counted it as a victory. “I’m gonna do your laundry too.”

“What a gentleman.”

“Only for you, doll.” He’d shrugged, and gone back to his self-inflicted mission.

That was one of the ways he picks up the pieces. Even if he doesn’t love you, Bucky really does care about you. So much. It’s one of the reasons this can’t happen. You don’t know what you’ll do if you lose him forever. 

But the look is getting more pleading. Shining blue eyes on yours, raised brows that have a question and a promise, something dangerously close to hope all over his handsome features. 

You don’t know how to say no to him. You’ve been trying to get better at it, but you also love him, and want him always. So you’re not quite there yet. 

When you smile at him, the recognition flashes over Bucky as his jaw clenches, he blinks once—which, for Bucky, is basically jumping with joy—and turns back to his conversation with Steve and Sam. 

You both have to get through the rest of the night. One of Tony’s dumb little cocktail parties that’s mandatory, for a united front, and neither of you will be able to escape. You’d tried once, and that’s the only time you’d almost gotten caught. Steve had gone looking for Bucky because it was Steve, and Tony had gone looking for you because apparently the head of PR needed to be easily accessible.

You and Bucky had made promises that time, too.

“That was…” He’d looked at you over the kitchen counter that morning, his words slow and measured. “Close. Last night.”

You’d hummed, staring down at the coffee in your mug. It had long gone cold. You’d been clinging to it and pretending to drink it for an hour, because it gave you a good excuse to wait for Bucky. But it was bitter. And a little shitty, because Tony had been fucking with the machine again. 

“We shouldn’t do that again.” Bucky had muttered, and you’d only nodded. “I don’t want to get caught, and then have Steve and Stark down our necks-“

“I know.” You’d whispered, forcing your gaze onto his. And that was a different look, in his eyes. Further away. Untouchable.

Reminding you that, at the end of the day, Bucky’s not yours to touch or have or wait for. Just like you don’t have a good enough reason to be his.

“That was the last time.” You’d said it like it didn’t rip you in half, and Bucky had nodded.

“Alright. Good.” He hadn’t walked away. You’d wish he would. 

You could’ve fallen apart again in peace, if he had.

“Are we still good for the whole aquarium thing tomorrow?” He’d asked, and you’d shrugged.

“It’s a team event. I organized it. You have to be there.”

“Yeah, but, uh-“ Bucky had cleared his throat, his tongue flicking out between his lips, his gaze dropping to the kitchen counter. “I was kind of plannin’ on just following you around.”

God. He kept saying things like that. All the fucking time, and it was a little cruel, but you know he didn’t mean it be. He had—has—no idea that you dream about him and feel colder when he’s not there and look for him in every room, even when you know he’s not going to be there. Just in case, you always look.

He’d muttered your name, and you’d just given him a small smile.

“As long as we look at the jellyfish.”

Bucky had nodded slowly. “Jellyfish. Got it.” Then he’d smiled. A wide, toothy, real smile that so few people got to see. You don’t know how you earned Bucky’s smile-list. 

You know you’re never going to risk your spot on it. So you’d smiled back, and said nothing else because the words might transform into I love you.

After he’d left the kitchen, you’d dumped the coffee down the sink, and sworn to yourself that that, the close call, was really the last time.

It’s been six more last times since then. There had been the last time at the aquarium, and the last time after a meeting, three last times on random days where nothing had happened, but you’d caved anyway, and the last time when he’d shown up at your door after a mission, and you’d taken him in without a question.

And now it’s seven last times.

But this one, this one for certain, will be the real last time. To save yourself, this has to be the real last time. 

So you might as well make it count. 

You drift through the rest of the party, smiling at the people Tony tells you to smile at, shaking hands and making soft-edged jokes about your job, keeping Bucky in your periphery because you can’t fucking help yourself. You tell yourself it’s to see when he gives the signal, but in reality, it’s because you need to see him. Need to torture yourself every time a pretty woman glides over to his side and touches his arm—never the metal one, they never touch the metal arm and it makes you hate them—because maybe he’ll change his mind and want her instead. 

It would be a mercy, in a way. Take away the torment of knowing you’re going to have him, then need to leave before morning.

You always leave before morning. The only time you’re allowed to linger is when you’ve fucked in the daylight, and you start talking like nothing’s happened at all. It breaks you a little more every time.

But you still go. You love him, and you don’t have the strength of all the gods and heroes around you, so you always go.

The night starts to die down. Couples drift off with their hands tangled together, or they drop onto the couch and give each other little smiles—the kind that tells you that, to them, they’re the only two people into the world—and you stand in the corner, alone. 

Bucky gives you the signal, as he moves to the door. Two hands casually behind his back one gloved palm splayed open.

Five minutes, before you can follow him.

They’re the longest five minutes of your life. You chew on the ice at the bottom of your glass until your fingers are sort of numb, but you don’t really care.

Bucky will warm them up.

It’s hard not to run to his room, when you know he’s waiting. For you. 

Bucky’s waiting for you.

You’ve barely even knocked on the door when it swings open, and Bucky pulls you inside.

There’s no foreplay. There’s never foreplay, because that would imply something intimate and sacred. 

But this is sacred. Only to you, but all the same. Every single second Bucky offers you is holy. To him it’s just hunger. A god starved, asking you to leave him an offering while you’re still in his favor.

That’s what this is supposed to be. You’re supposed to kiss with teeth for a minute, then you’ll fall to your knees to please him. He’ll take a fist full of your hair and guide you up and down his cock, fucking your mouth until you’re choking on him and moaning, before he pulls almost all the way out, and cums.

He never settles for only cumming in your mouth or on your tits. He has a habit of angling himself perfectly so that you swallow half of it, and the rest spreads everywhere. Then he’s supposed to drag up into another violent kiss, and fuck you however he wants.

But that’s not what’s happening.

This kiss is longer. Deeper. Bucky’s mouth almost fully overtakes yours, his tongue pressing on you lower lip until you open for him, and then he’s running it over your teeth and down your throat, like he’s trying to plant himself into you. His hands are handling you softly. Holding you at the curve of your back and pressing your body right into his, until all you can sense is Bucky. All you can hear are his slow grunts rolling through you—born from only kissing you—and all you can taste is the whiskey on his breath, that he probably only drank because Nat handed it to him, and he’s scared of her. And you can smell his cologne, and when your eyes flutter open for half a second you can watch his nose bump yours, and feel-

You can feel Bucky everywhere. The hand that’s not holding you is starting to trail over your thighs, closer to where you’re aching for him, and-

This isn’t right. You’re supposed to get on your knees, and then earn him fingering you back. And you try to pull away and sink down, but Bucky just tugs you right back up, and slams his lips back over yours.

“Bucky,” you gasp, pushing a little on his chest because this isn’t supposed to be about you. “Wait-“

He stops immediately, his furrowing in concern. “Are you o-“

“I’m okay.” You mumble, playing with the fabric of his shirt. “You didn’t do anything, Buck, I just- I’m-“ Supposed to isn’t right. That makes it sound like he makes you, and he doesn’t. “What about you?”

Bucky frowns, his hand still resting on your thigh. “What about me?”

“You’re- You know.” You flush, keeping your gaze firmly fixed on your hands as your voice drops to a whisper. “Blowjob.”

He relaxes against you immediately, and you don’t get it. You’ve done something wrong. You’re supposed to be serving him.

And you definitely don’t get his low chuckle, or why his expression is so soft when he tugs your hair back, forcing your gaze onto his.

“We can skip the blowjob tonight, babygirl.”

That’s not fair. He can’t babygirl you right now. “But-“

“Look, I-“ He sighs, shaking his head at something you don’t understand. “I know you wanna, and I don’t not want it, you’re- Jesus, you’re so fucking good at that, but tonight, lemme take care of you. Please.”

That’s not what this is about. And he said tonight like there will be more nights, and there will be, but you’re not supposed to acknowledge that. 

But he said please.  

And he pulled out the babygirl.

You nod, the movement smaller than you want it to be, and Bucky grins.

“Good. Alright- Yeah.” He presses another perfect, too-soft kiss to your lips. “Tell me what you want.”

Whatever he wants. As long as Bucky’s offering it, you want it.

You don’t think he’ll care for that answer. 

“I- I dunno-“

“Yeah, you do.” He’s kissing a line down your throat as he speaks. That’s not fair either, because it makes your head fuzzy, and you forget how to lie. “C’mon, doll. Tell me what you want.”

“You.” 

Your answer slips out without thought, and you’re lucky. Bucky doesn’t read into it. He just groans, and you feel his bulge twitch slightly against you. 

His hand slides up to cup your pussy, right over your underwear, and you moan lewdly into his ear.

“So fucking wet already.” He mutters against your neck, and you nod a little stupidly in agreement. “C’mon. Be creative. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

He slaps your cunt once, and your nails dig into his shoulders as you try to stay upright. “Bucky-“

“You can do it, babygirl. Anythin’ you want, just tell me and I’ll get it for you.” Bucky starts to rub his palm back and forth, and you might fly out of your skin. “Use all those pretty words you’ve got, tell me.”

That’s his Sargent voice. 

You don’t know how to disobey his Sargent voice.

“I want you to touch me.” You whisper, and Bucky’s eyes shoot back up to yours. “With the metal arm. Until I can’t fucking stand. Then toss me around. And catch me. And taste me, fuck-“ You’re turning yourself on, and Bucky’s blown-out, lustful gaze isn’t helping. “I want you to taste me, Bucky, you- you do this fucking thing with your tongue all the time and I love it and I want it on me and shit-“

Bucky mutters your name in a low warning, but you’re on a roll, and you don’t know how to stop.

“I was to cum on your face, because sometimes it- Fuck, it gets caught in your beard and that’s so hot, and then I was you to fuck me stupid and hard and rough, and keep touching me, don’t stop touching me, Bucky, please. I want to feel it, baby, I need to feel you tomorrow, please.”

You take a long, heavy breath, and maybe you pushed it too far. He’s just staring at you. What if he’d expected you to say something gentle, and you said that. What if that was a test, and you failed it. And Bucky wouldn’t test you like that, but he’s still staring at you, and it’s a hungry, borderline animalistic stare, but he’s not moving or speaking or-

“Tell me if it’s too much.” He mutters, and it’s almost a growl. “I need you to promise me you’ll tell me if it’s too much.”

You nod, trying not to show your eager desperation on your face. “I promise. Please, Bucky. Please.”

His throat bobs, his metal fingers slowly hooking around your panties. “Hold on.”

Your arms wrap around Bucky’s neck right as his fingers shove into your cunt, and he hadn’t lied.

He’s giving you exactly what you asked for.

Not a single part of your instructions gets neglected or ignore. Bucky seems to have given himself a mission to follow them, and he already knows what you like, and this might kill you.

He starts with the touching. Your underwear is ripped off with your entire dress, and tossed into a far, unimportant corner of the room. A metal finger pushes right into your cunt, pumping in and out, faster and faster until you’re moaning. His palm still rubbing right against your clit, his fingers never slowing, and you can feel it, already you can feel the pleasure in your core-

“Want more, doll?” 

You moan at Bucky’s voice, right in your ear, and grind down onto his hand. 

His chuckle is dark, and you know he understands. “Yes, ma’am.”

Two fingers. You’re so fucking full and it’s only two fingers, but he’s moving so fast and your knees feel weak, your nails scratching and clawing at Bucky’s neck to remain on your feet-

“Let go,” Bucky mutters your name in your ear, and you’re a little worried he can read your mind. “I’ve got you.”

He’s got you. Bucky’s got you.

Your orgasm hits you with a heady warmth that spreads everywhere, over your nerves and into your mouth as a you moan, right to your fingers as you cling to Bucky, and your legs give out. 

He catches you. He’s got you, and his touch is so gentle as he continues to roll your clit between his thumb and forefinger, pushing you right back up to the edge.

“Bucky,” you whine, shivering slightly as he kisses over your collarbone. “I- I’m gonna cum again-“

“Hold it.” He mutters, and you squeak as he fucking pinches your clit. “You’re cumming on my face next, babygirl, and you need to be ready-“

“I am ready-“

“Nah.” He draws back up, giving you a grin that can only be described as wicked. “Not for what I’m plannin’ with you.”

Your eyes widen, but Bucky’s already moving on. 

Tossing you down onto the bed, barely giving you a second to settle before he’s prowling over you, shoving your thighs apart and looking at your dripping pussy with something impossibly close to awe.

“So fucking wet for me, doll.” He mutters, shaking his head. “I can’t- You’re a damn angel, letting me taste you-“

“Bucky,” you whine again. It’s dangerous, how easy he does this to you. “Please-“

His grip on your thighs tightens, as you start to grind up into the air. “Need you to stay still. Can you be good for me and stay still?”

Oh, God. “Yes,” you whisper, and his grin is dangerous. 

“Yes, what?”

You hate it when he does that. There’s nothing in the world that’s going to stop you from giving him what he wants, and he fucking knows it, too. 

Asshole. Handsome, perfect, stupid James Barnes is an asshole, and you’re going to give him exactly what he wants. 

“Yes, sir.”

“There you go.” Bucky hums, running two fingers between the puffy lips of your cunt. “Good girl.”

He dives down before you can think of something smart to say. Then thinking flies out the window all together, because he’s going to make you fly out of your skin and fucking ascend. 

He’s doing the tongue thing. Bucky’s doing the tongue thing, right against you, over and over as he eats you out like it’s the end of the fucking world if he doesn’t. Working you into a frenzy on your clit before dropping to your cunt and tongue-fucking you until you’re humping his face. He’s not trying to restrain your movements. Given how he’s groaning, and his hips are jerking against the bed, he’s liking how your thighs are squeezing his head and you’re writhing below him.

And you’re so close. So fast, you’re right back on the edge, and the heat building is a little different, and fuck, he’s so fucking good at this, why is he so fucking good at this-

You make a high sound that’s supposed to be a warning, but just comes out a raw sound of need.

Bucky understands. 

And he doubles down. 

A new coil in your stomach snaps, when Bucky’s tongue presses flat on your clit, rolling it, and this orgasm is hot and wet. You’ve never been this wet in your fucking life, and never been the wet from before until you met Bucky, but this is different. This like a flood between your legs, and your back is arching off the bed as Bucky keeps his face pressed right against your sex, and you feel a little molten and gooey as it fades, and you’re not sure what just happened, but it felt good.

“You squirted.” Bucky’s voice is low as he rises back up, and he has to be reading your mind. “Shit, I fucking knew it- You’re always so wet, and- That was beautiful, babygirl, tasted to fucking good, wait-“

His lips crash right over yours, and you moan a little stupidly as you taste yourself on his tongue. You’re already limp on the bed, and it feels like heaven, but Bucky notices and draws away.

“You sure you want more?” His question is genuine. And if you tell him to stop there, he will.

But you can see your release, glinting on his dark stubble.

You’re this far gone anyway.

“More.” You whisper, and Bucky’s eyes flash. “Please, Bucky. Need more. I can take it, please-“

It’s a good thing he kisses you when he does. You were embarrassingly close to crying.

It’s another long, slow, fucking passionate kiss. You’re pretty sure this night is a dream. You don’t want to wake up.

“Still got you, babygirl.” He murmurs against your lips. “Gonna take good care of you. You still want it, uh, rough?”

You nod, your head already clear of all thoughts but Bucky, and he lets out a long breath, pressing one last kiss to the space between your eyes as he draws back up. 

You don’t know why, but you thought he’d flip you over. Maybe spank you a little before spreading your ass cheeks open and fucking you like an animal from behind.

He doesn’t move from about you. Bucky strokes himself a few times—his own clothing long joined yours in rags on the floor—lining up at your entrance with a deep breath.

You’re getting one last chance to push him away. 

You don’t want it.

And when he sees that, something in Bucky seems to snap. You ask for rough. He promised it.

Rough is what you get.

Bucky slams into you with one movement, not bothering to give you time to adjust before he’s fucking you at a brutal pace, his cock driving deep enough to hit your cervix and press right against your g-spot, setting you on fucking fire. He’s holding himself over you with the metal arm, his gaze locked on yours as he watches himself cleave you open, and you have to close your eyes, or you’ll lose your mind. There’s something too deep in his gaze, and it’s going to drive you insane. Being filled up and fucked until you’re drooling, all while Bucky groan pure filth above you, is more than enough.

“Taking my cock so fucking well, you were made for me, doll, made to be fucked so good- Look at me.” Bucky growls, grabbing your jaw, and there’s no more hiding. Bucky’s eyes are dark and hungry on yours, and you can feel him everywhere as he splits you open. “Open.”

It takes one squeeze of your jaw for you to understand, but then you’re obeying without thought. 

“Let me hear you.” Bucky groans, his dick slamming right into that deep part of you. “C’mon, make all your pretty fuckin’ sounds for me babydoll-“

You let out a high, loud whine, and Bucky grins, the bed squeaking as his pace picks up. 

“Good girl.”

You were already sensitive from his mouth and fingers. And that’s enough. You fly back over the edge with a weak sound, your pussy squeezing and fluttering around Bucky’s cock, and somewhere far in the distance you can hear him roar your name as he slams home. 

It sends another, smaller aftershock orgasm through you again. It’s going to hurt to sit tomorrow. 

Good.

Bucky has the same habit when he cums in your pussy that he does with your mouth. Pulling just far enough out that he’s still pumping you full of him, all while allowing the rest of it to dribble down your thighs and onto your ass. The only difference is that with this, he’ll roll his cock right back into you, letting out a long groan as his brow drops to your shoulder.

You don’t know how long you both lay there. Bucky’s cock still filling you up, everything about him everywhere around you, your head lost in a daze of Bucky. So fucking good, and warm, and—in this stolen moment—yours.

Bucky takes a long, ragged breath, and slowly pulls out, leaving you a little aching and empty.

“Stay here, baby.” He mutters, and you hum. You’ll have to go soon. 

For now, you’re indulging yourself. 

Bucky’s cleaning up after himself, just like he always does. A warm, wet washcloth between your legs, and a kiss to your inner thigh that’s far too gentle. A little water and chocolate that he sits you up to eat, holding it out and glaring until you take it.

You sigh. “Bucky-“

“You need it.” He grunts. “You know you need it.”

He wasn’t wrong. You’re still a little lightheaded, and he’s left bruises on your hips that you love, and you know Bucky hates. He thinks they’re hurting you. It doesn’t matter that you asked him for it, he’s still going to hate them. 

He doesn’t know you fucking cry, like some pathetic, lovesick idiot, whenever they fade. To you, they’re proof he touched you. 

But you still take the water and food. Bucky wants you to, and you’ll do anything for him.

You’ll even participate in the dance where he crawls back into bed, pulls you into his body with his arms around your stomach, and presses a kiss to your shoulder. The game you both play where you pretend this is really the last time, and that you’re not going to be gone the moment Bucky’s asleep. It’s an odd game. He’s holding you because he’s pretending he’ll care if you go. You’re letting him because you want him to make you stay. You leave because you have to, if you want to survive. Bucky doesn’t stop you, because right now—if you ask either of you—that was the last time.

It won’t be. You always say it is, and you both know you’re far from the last time, but you also know that one day, there will be a last time. And it will break you, and Bucky won’t clean you up, and then you’ll just have to… Keep going.

And this is the worst part.

Bucky’s breathing is even behind you, and his body is relaxed. He’s done his part, and fallen asleep. Now you have to do yours, and leave. This was the last time—and even as you think it, you know it’s not the truth, but you have to pretend it is—and now you have to leave.

You start by trying to squirm away from him, but Bucky’s muscles flex, and suddenly you’re pinned tighter to his chest. Then you try to roll, and his legs tangle into yours. Prying arms away just makes him drag you closer. Trying to scramble quickly ends with him half on top of you.

This isn’t how the dance is supposed to go. 

You’re supposed to just leave. Without a fight, or resistance. Bucky’s supposed to stay asleep as you gather your clothing and slip out the door. He’s supposed to bunch all the blankets in his arm to replace where you’d been, and breathe out a little sigh of your name that makes you cry in the shower a few hours later.

He’s not supposed to be looking at you, when you roll over in his arms. 

“What are you doing?” You whisper.

“Tried to fuck you good enough you couldn’t walk away.” He mutters, watching you so fucking carefully. Like he’s afraid you’ll turn into nothing but air if he says the wrong thing. “Guess I shoulda known better.”

“Bucky-“

“You never stay.” He scans over your face, something painful in his eyes you don’t want to stare at for too long, or you’ll start crying. “Nothin’ I do is ever enough to make you stop leaving.”

“I leave because you never ask me to stay.” You whisper, and Bucky sighs.

“I never ask you to stay cause I think you want to leave.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You’re staring at each other, and being the first one to move—away or deeper into Bucky—is the most terrifying thought in the world. You could leave, and this will be the last time. And you’ll lose him. You’ll stay, and he’ll want you now but not later, and you’ll lose him. You’re going to lose him, because there’s no world where something this good just happens, and you want to stay but the most important thing about this has been never losing Bucky-

“If I ask you to stay,” Bucky mutters, tracing metal fingers carefully over your cheekbone. “What would you say? And before you answer,” he adds in a rushed tone. “I want to tell you something.”

You frown at him, your confusion obviously written all over your face, and Bucky sighs. 

“I’m not telling you because I’m tryin’ to make you stay. If you wanna go, you’re free. Won’t drag you back, no matter how much I want to.”

“Bucky,” you whisper, and you’re lying down, but you’re still a little dizzy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“I love you.” His words are soft, but firm. Certain. And the world might have stopped moving. “I don’t know a lot, you know I don’t, but I know I love you. I’d do anythin’ for you, and that includes letting you go. If that’s what you want.”

“Bu-“

“Wait,” he shakes his head, holding your gaze. “I do want you to stay. If that’s what you’ve been waiting for, if that’s all I’ve had to do, then I love you,” he says your name, and the world must have stopped. This can only have happened because the world stopped, and everything dies, and now you’re in heaven. 

But Bucky’s warm and strong around you. And he feels real. Looks real. Tastes real, still lingering on your tongue.

You swallow. You have to speak slowly, or this might all slip through your fingers. “Are asking me to stay?”

“Think so.” He gives you a small, slightly nervous grin. “And let me love you. Be my girl. You know, if you’ll have me-“

“Of course I’ll have you.” The words fall out of you like you’re a waterfall, spilling into the river, but that’s just how this is. There’s gravity, so of course the water goes down. You love Bucky, so there’s no world where you don’t have him. 

Bucky raises his brows. “Of course?”

You nod, trying to ride the wave of frantic confidence, not allowing yourself to look anywhere but Bucky. “Yeah. I- I love you too.”

It’s good to say. You’ve spent so long choking on it, and now it’s free, and you can breathe so easily. You’d forgotten what it was like, to not be strangling yourself with your own secret. It’s like having a fruit after years of only eating ash.

But Bucky’s just staring at you with wide, deep, blue eyes, his lips parted and fingers still so carefully on your cheek.

He looks a little like an angel.

“You sure?” His voice is hoarse, but there’s something soft under it, and it’s the same thing you can feel in your heart.

Fear. Of losing something you’ve barely even had. 

But you want it. And Bucky wants you. 

So there’s nowhere else to go. All you have to do is stay here.

“Yeah,” you give him a small smile, and his grin splits his face. “I’m sure.”

You’ll talk later. For now Bucky just pulls you further into his body, and kisses the top of your head. In a way, that was the last time. And the first. 

Because you stay.

All through the night, and a long, long, long while after, you stay.

End Note: how many times do I have to write something like this before it happens to me?

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[yvaineseleneposts]

Split Ends and New Beginnings

A/N: Just a fluffy piece. It's a slow burn.

Requested: no

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Reader

Words: 7k

Warning(s): none

Nico Hischier didn’t usually tag along for errands like this. A salon appointment wasn’t exactly high on his list of weekend priorities — especially during a rare break in the season. But when his sister Nina asked if he wanted to come with her to get her hair done, he said yes without hesitation.

Time with her had been scarce lately, and he missed her — the normalcy of her voice, the way she kept him grounded when the schedule got too hectic or the noise of his career got too loud. And maybe, if he was honest with himself, there was another reason too. One she hadn’t let go unnoticed.

“You’ll come with me?” she asked. “I swear, you’ll like the place. My hairdresser’s your type, if that’s even still a thing for you.”

He’d just laughed her off. But now, standing inside the small salon with its warm, plant-filled corners and quiet ambient music, Nico understood what she meant.

She was standing at the front when they arrived — effortlessly composed, with a smudge of dark color on her wrist and a teasing look in her eye when Nina introduced them. Her handshake was light but confident. There was no gushing about hockey, no awkward glances. She met his gaze and held it, like she had no idea who he was — or didn’t care.

That alone made him sit up straighter.

“So you’re the brother,” she said with a smile, turning to Nina. “I see the family resemblance. Except he’s got a lot more hair to manage.”

Nico laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been kind of letting it do its thing.”

“Well,” she said, eyes scanning his head like she was already making mental notes, “it’s got good shape… under the chaos.”

He sat quietly while Nina got her hair done, sneaking glances at the mirror, at the way her hands moved — quick, precise, creative. She talked to Nina like they’d known each other forever, slipping between jokes and gentle instructions. Every so often, her eyes flicked to Nico, just for a second. Nothing suggestive. Just... curious. Familiar, almost. He caught himself watching more than once.

As they were leaving, she looked over at him. “You ever think of getting that cleaned up? I do guys’ cuts too. You know, if you ever get tired of that whole shaggy hockey mystique.”

Nico raised an eyebrow. “That an offer?”

“Just a professional observation,” she said, already turning back to the front desk. “But if you want to read into it, that’s on you.”

He did.

____

A week passed. Then ten days. Nico tried not to think too much about it, but he found himself lingering in the mirror a little longer. Pushing his hair back. Wondering if he should do something about it. Or if going back too soon would make him look obvious. When he finally returned, he made up some excuse about needing a trim before a shoot. The salon was quieter this time — no sister to hide behind, just him and the sound of scissors snipping in another room.

She looked up from the chair she was finishing. Her surprise was subtle, but there.

“Back so soon?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Figured I should see what all the hype was about.”

She motioned him over. “Sit down, mystery man.”

As she ran her hands through his hair, Nico found himself relaxing in a way he didn’t expect. The conversation flowed again, naturally — slower this time. She asked about the team, but not in that bright, fan-girl way he was used to. Just interest. Just listening.

He didn’t flirt — not really. She didn’t either. But their words skimmed close to something unspoken, something easy but loaded. The kind of thing that settles in the chest and stays there for a while.

By the time she spun him toward the mirror and he saw himself — lighter, cleaner, more like himself — he wasn’t thinking about how his hair looked anymore. He was thinking about how good it felt to sit still. To be seen without performance. And how rare it was, in his world, to leave somewhere not wanting to move on too quickly.

She handed him a card with his next appointment time scribbled on the back.

“Come back in four weeks,” she said, and then, after a pause, added, “Or sooner, if you feel like it.”

He took the card and smiled.

“Sooner sounds good.”

____

It wasn’t quite four weeks. More like two and a half.

Nico showed up on a quiet Thursday, no hood, no sunglasses this time. The weather had turned brisk, that strange in-between phase where you can still pretend it's not fully fall, but you know it’s coming. He stepped into the salon, instantly greeted by that familiar smell — something warm and botanical, grounding.

She looked up from the counter, surprised, but not displeased.

“You again,” she said, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t I tell you four weeks?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling as he slipped off his jacket, “but I’m bad at waiting.”

She waved him toward the chair. “Clearly.”

It wasn’t even about the haircut, not really. His hair hadn’t changed much. But he didn’t offer excuses. And she didn’t ask. Instead, they picked up right where they left off — no small talk, just a gentle slide into the kind of conversation people usually save for late nights or long drives.

She talked about the salon — how she’d started sweeping floors at sixteen, how it wasn’t what she expected to love, but she did. She mentioned her mom in passing — something about how she used to cut her bangs in the kitchen with sewing scissors, laughing too hard to care about symmetry. She didn’t say much more, and Nico didn’t press.

In return, he shared pieces of the road. Not the headlines or game highlights — she didn’t care about those — but the quiet parts. The way hotels all start to smell the same. The weird comfort of being anonymous in certain cities. The way he still called his sister when the travel started to feel like floating. Their banter softened that day, less sharp, more honest.

“I used to think people like you were untouchable,” she said, combing through his hair near the end. “You know. Hockey players. Athletes. The kind of people who exist on screens.”

“And now?” he asked, voice low.

She tilted her head, pretending to assess the back of his neck. “Now I think maybe you just need someone to tell you when you’ve got product buildup.”

He laughed, but something in her tone lingered — like maybe she had thought he was untouchable, once. And maybe now she wasn’t sure what to do with the fact that he wasn’t.

When he left that day, she didn’t give him a card. She just looked at him, one eyebrow raised, and said, “You’ll come back when you need to.”

He nodded. But the truth was, he already knew when he would.

____

The visits kept happening. Not regular enough to feel scheduled, not close enough to call intentional. But always… just in time.

Sometimes she’d be finishing up with someone else and he'd sit quietly in the corner, watching the way she moved, the way she listened. Other times, it was just the two of them — long appointments that should’ve taken 30 minutes but somehow lasted an hour.

They didn’t flirt, not in the way people usually do. There were no dramatic glances or lines. Just… closeness. Familiarity. Shared silences that felt full instead of awkward.

One rainy evening, she paused midway through trimming around his ear and said, quietly, “You ever feel like your life’s happening somewhere slightly to the left of where you are?”

Nico blinked. “All the time.”

She nodded, not explaining. He didn’t ask, but he remembered that moment more than anything else she said that day.

It would be months before anything shifted clearly between them. But in that slow build — appointment by appointment, word by word — something unshakable was growing. It didn’t need declarations. Just time.

And Nico, for the first time in a long while, was willing to wait.

____

By the time January came around, Nico had been to the salon more times than he could reasonably explain — especially to himself. His hair didn’t need trimming that often. But still, he showed up. Every few weeks. Always with something casual to say, always with the quiet hope she’d still smile when he walked in.

She always did.

It had started to snow that day — not the dramatic kind that shut down cities, just a soft curtain falling steadily, muting the outside world. He came in a little later than usual, the sleeves of his coat dusted white. She was alone in the space, her last client already gone. The lights were low, music playing something soft and piano-heavy through the speakers.

“Forgot I had you today,” she said, brushing hair off her apron. But her voice didn’t sound annoyed. If anything, it sounded like maybe she'd needed the interruption.

“Lucky me,” Nico said, pulling off his coat.

She didn’t ask what he wanted done — she never really did anymore. They both knew the appointments had become something else. He sat in the chair, and she moved behind him, fingers combing through his hair like she’d done a dozen times before.

But something was different this time. He was quiet. More than usual. She noticed.

“Tired?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Long road trip. Weird energy. Hard to explain.”

She didn’t push. Just kept working, the comb gliding through his hair, fingertips grazing the side of his neck.

Then, halfway through the cut, her hand stilled.

“You okay?” he asked, turning slightly.

She was quiet for a beat. Then: “Do you ever wonder if you’re making it harder for yourself? By not saying things?”

Nico froze.

His chest tightened with a rush of recognition — not panic, but something close. A pressure that had been quietly building since the day they met. He met her eyes in the mirror.

“All the time,” he said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was certain.

She looked back at him — not coy, not flirty. Just there, open and vulnerable in a way that felt more intimate than any touch.

“I think I’ve been coming here for reasons that have nothing to do with my hair,” he added, almost a whisper.

A soft smile tugged at her lips. “I know.”

The air shifted. Not with drama or declarations — but with the simple truth of being seen, finally, at the same time.

She set the scissors down, brushed the loose strands off his shoulders. The haircut was technically finished, but neither of them moved. Not for a while. Something had settled between them — warm and fragile. A weightless kind of gravity.

Outside, the snowfall had thickened, soft and steady. The city felt slower, quieter. Nico glanced toward the window, then back at her.

“You done for the night?” he asked.

She nodded, starting to sweep around the chair, but he gently took the broom from her hands.

“Come walk with me,” he said. “Just for a bit.”

She hesitated, just for a second, then reached for her coat. “Alright.”

The cold hit them in the face at first, but it wasn’t sharp — it was the kind of cold that wrapped around you, crisp but clean. They walked without much of a destination, their footsteps muffled by the snow underfoot. The city lights glowed soft gold through the haze.

They didn’t talk at first. Just walked shoulder to shoulder, hands deep in their pockets, both content with the quiet. But Nico felt something pressing behind his ribs. A truth, not heavy, just waiting.

“I leave tomorrow,” he said finally, voice low.

She looked at him, but didn’t stop walking. “Where to?”

“West coast swing. Couple weeks on the road. Then All-Star break, then back again.”

She nodded slowly. “You’ll be gone a while.”

He watched her profile in the low light. “Yeah.”

A pause stretched between them, filled with breath and snowfall.

“I wasn’t sure if I should say anything,” he added. “But… I really like being around you. Talking to you. It’s been the only thing lately that’s felt—” he exhaled, searching, “—normal. But in a good way.”

Her eyes softened. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I know I don’t,” he said, more firmly now. “That’s why I am.”

She stopped walking. Turned toward him. “So what are you saying, exactly?”

He looked down, smiled. Then back up at her with a quiet certainty that surprised even himself.

“I’d really like to keep talking to you. Even when I’m not here.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at him for a moment, eyes searching. Then she reached into her coat pocket, pulled out her phone, and handed it to him without a word. Nico took it, thumbed in his number, and handed it back.

“No pressure,” he said, stuffing his hands back into his coat. “You don’t have to text. Just… if you feel like it.”

She gave a soft, almost amused smile. “I think I’ll feel like it.”

They started walking again, this time a little closer than before.

And as the snow thickened around them, the city blurred into silence — but the space between them felt clearer than it ever had.

____

The first text came the night Nico left.

Nico: Made it to L.A. In-flight movie was awful. The lady next to me sneezed no less than 14 times. Hope your night was better.

She smiled when she saw it. Not just because it was funny — though it was — but because it felt like him. Easy. Familiar. Like he was still near.

She waited ten minutes before responding. Not because she was playing games, but because she read it three times first.

Her: Quiet salon today. One client canceled, another brought her dog. He wore a sweater and judged me the entire time. 9/10 experience.

From there, it didn’t stop.

Some nights it was short — a photo of the pregame meal, a sarcastic “rate this hotel carpet,” or a blurry picture of the sky from the team bus. Other nights, it was longer. He told her about the quiet between games, about the pressure that crept in at 3 a.m. when no one was watching. She sent voice memos sometimes — little rants about weird clients or the music she played in the salon when no one was around.

And then one night, she caught herself staring at her phone. Hoping for the little buzz. Missing it when it didn’t come.

Missing him.

____

It was two days before she said it, tucked inside something else, like maybe if she disguised it well enough, it wouldn’t feel like too much.

Her: Had a long day. Wouldn’t have minded one of our weird hair-salon therapy chats right about now. Guess I’m getting used to having you around.

She didn’t expect a reply right away — time zones and game schedules — but it came quicker than usual.

Nico: You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.

Then, a second message.

Nico: I miss it too. Talking to you. Walking with you. Just… you.

She stared at the screen for a long time before responding.

Her: I didn’t expect to miss someone I barely knew. But here we are, huh?

Nico: Feels like I know you more than most people I’ve known for years.

She didn’t answer right away. She didn’t need to.

Because by then, the silence between texts wasn’t empty anymore. It was full — with everything they hadn’t said yet. And somewhere between his late-night hotel rooms and her quiet evening closes, something soft and real was beginning to take shape.

Not rushed or labelled, but real.

____

The snow hadn’t let up much. It came in waves — soft and endless, like the city itself was trying to slow everything down.

She was in the salon late again. Winter did that — clients shuffled in after work, delayed by weather, and lingered longer than they should’ve. She didn’t mind. It gave her time to think. To wonder if he was thinking about her too.

She hadn’t heard from him yet that day. That wasn’t unusual. Game days were packed. Still, she found herself glancing at her phone more than she wanted to admit.

Just after eight, the doorbell chimed.

She looked up, halfway expecting a walk-in she’d have to turn away. But it was Nico.

Snow in his hair. Backpack slung over his shoulder. Tired, but smiling in that quiet, boyish way that had started to live in the back of her mind.

Her breath caught. “You’re—what?”

He shrugged, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Flight bumped up. Got in a few hours ago. I figured... I don’t know, maybe I’d just show up.”

She didn’t move for a second. Just took him in — real, here, more grounded than he’d seemed on the screen.

“I didn’t expect you,” she said.

“I know.” He took a step closer. “But I wanted to see you. Before anything else.”

A pause. Not tense, just full.

“Clients?” he asked, gesturing at the empty chairs.

“Last one left twenty minutes ago.”

“Good,” he said softly. “I was kind of hoping you’d still be here.”

She reached out then — not fully, just a light touch on the sleeve of his jacket, grounding herself in the fact that he was real.

“I missed you,” she said, quiet like a confession. “More than I thought I would.”

Nico’s eyes softened. “Me too. You don’t realize how much space someone takes up until you’re halfway across the country wondering if they’re thinking about you too.”

She smiled, that familiar tug of warmth rising up between them again. “I thought about you more than I’d like to admit.”

There was nothing dramatic after that. No kiss. No music swelling in the background. Just her walking to the back to hang up his coat. Him watching her like she was the only calm in a world full of noise.

And then — like it was the most natural thing in the world — she made tea. He swept hair off the floor. They talked, slow and close, like people with no reason to rush.

Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, something finally — fully — began.

The salon lights clicked off with a quiet hum, and they stepped back into the cold.

Nico held her coat out without a word, and she slipped into it, the silence between them soft, like a worn-in sweater. No pressure. No question marks. Just two people quietly orbiting the same truth.

“You look wiped,” she said as they reached the curb.

“I am,” he admitted. “But not in a bad way.”

She smiled. “That’s specific.”

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “It’s like… I’m tired, but I don’t want the night to be over.”

They stood like that for a moment, streetlight catching the edge of her breath.

Then he said, “You want to come over? Nothing big. Just a movie. Maybe fall asleep halfway through and pretend we watched the whole thing.”

She gave a soft laugh, but didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. That actually sounds perfect.”

His apartment was quiet, dimly lit, still a bit in post-road-trip disarray. She didn’t seem to mind. Kicked off her boots by the door, slipped into the corner of his couch like she’d been there a hundred times.

Nico tossed her a blanket and set a mug of tea in front of her without asking. She looked at it, then at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Since when do hockey players drink chamomile?”

“Since I started talking to someone who makes fun of me if I don’t.”

She smirked. “Sounds like she’s very wise.”

“Oh, definitely. And ruthless.”

The movie they picked didn’t matter. Something familiar and soft around the edges — just enough story to justify the quiet, not enough to compete with the weight of the day.

Twenty minutes in, her head drifted against his shoulder. He stilled. Not because he didn’t want her there — but because he did, so much, and he didn’t want to move a muscle that might make her leave it.

She murmured something unintelligible. A half-dream sentence. He looked down, caught the way her hand had curled beneath the blanket, one knuckle brushing his thigh like an unconscious tether.

And that was it. No kiss. No rush. Just her breathing even beside him. Him watching the screen but not really seeing it. He reached down slowly, threading his pinky with hers. Not to wake her. Just to feel it. Just to know she was there.

The morning arrived like a whisper. Pale winter light slipped through the edges of the curtains, casting soft shadows across Nico’s living room. The TV was still playing — some looping screensaver, muted and glowing — and the air held that quiet stillness reserved for the earliest hours.

She woke first.

Blanket half-tangled around her legs, head resting against something warm and solid. It took her a second to place it — the slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint smell of cedar and clean cotton. And then her eyes opened fully. Nico was still asleep, head tilted slightly, mouth parted just enough to give him away.

She froze. Her immediate instinct was panic. Not the real kind — just the kind that whispers, God, I fell asleep on him, and Was I snoring? and Did I drool? Quiet mortification in the shape of every self-conscious voice she'd tried to ignore.

She sat up slowly, careful not to wake him. Too late.

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then locking onto her. A sleepy half-smile tugged at his lips. “Morning,” he said, voice rough and low.

“I—” she started, brushing her hair out of her face, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to crash like that. I was just... tired, I guess.”

“You’re allowed to be tired,” he said, still smiling. “It’s not a crime.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest, trying to hide the flush creeping into her face. “Still. Not my most graceful moment.”

He leaned his head back on the couch cushion, watching her with that calm, steady gaze that never rushed her.

“Truth?” he said.

She glanced at him. “Okay.”

“I slept better last night than I have in weeks.”

The words settled between them, warm and real.

She blinked. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He reached for the mug on the coffee table — cold by now — and shrugged. “Maybe it was the chamomile. Or maybe it was falling asleep next to someone who doesn’t need anything from me but... this.”

She didn’t say anything for a beat. Then softly: “I liked it too.”

He smiled again, that quiet one she was starting to think was reserved just for her. Neither of them moved for a while. There was no pressure to. The kind of silence that used to feel heavy now felt like peace.

Eventually, he stood, stretched, and offered a hand.

“Come on. I make terrible coffee. You should witness it.”

She took his hand, fingers lacing with his easily now.

“I’ll rate it out of ten,” she said.

“Oh, it’s a three. But the company’s a solid nine-point-eight.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And the point-two deduction?”

“For falling asleep during the movie.”

She laughed, and he looked at her like it was the best sound he’d heard in weeks.

____

It had been a few weeks since that morning on the couch — since that sleepy, accidental closeness started shifting into something neither of them wanted to name too quickly. They hadn’t talked about it outright. Not yet. The tension was still wrapped in light touches, lingering glances, shared meals that stretched longer than they should have.

And that would’ve been enough. Until it wasn’t.

It started small. A missed text. Then another.

Then a day where he didn’t come by, even though she’d said she was keeping the evening free. By the third day, she was trying to convince herself not to care. He didn’t owe her anything. They hadn’t defined this. She wasn’t his girlfriend. But that didn’t stop her chest from tightening when the salon doorbell chimed and it was someone else. Again.

He finally showed up after closing, face drawn from travel and practice and something else he hadn’t said out loud.

She didn’t turn when he walked in. Just kept sweeping hair into the pan.

“I tried to call,” he said quietly.

She nodded, but didn’t look at him.

“I’ve been—” he started.

“Busy,” she said, cutting him off. “I know. I get it.”

He stepped closer. “You’re upset.”

She dropped the broom, turning around. Not angry — just tired in a way that came from caring too much, too quietly.

“I’m not upset that you were busy,” she said. “I’m upset that you didn’t say anything. You pulled back, Nico. And I felt it.”

His face flickered with guilt. “I didn’t mean to. I just… when things get crazy with the season, I go on autopilot. I shut down. And I didn’t want to drag you into that.”

“I was already in it,” she said, voice softer now. “I was already in this. Whatever this is.”

A long pause stretched between them. Then, finally, he said it.

“I was scared.”

She looked at him, unsure.

“Scared that I’d mess it up,” he added. “That if I let this become real, I’d ruin it. That you’d see me in the worst parts of the season — the tired, burnt out, closed-off parts — and decide it’s not worth it.”

She exhaled, some of the tension easing from her shoulders.

“I already see you,” she said. “Even the messy parts. That’s not what I’m scared of.”

“What are you scared of?” he asked.

She hesitated.

“That you don’t feel it as much as I do.”

He stepped in, close enough to erase the air between them.

“I do,” he said, voice low and steady. “I feel it every damn time I see you. Every time I don’t see you.”

Her breath caught. He reached for her, not quickly, but carefully — like asking a question he already knew the answer to. She didn’t back away. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing just beneath her cheek. Then, finally, like it had been waiting in the wings all this time — he kissed her. Soft, but certain. Not rushed. Just right.

She melted into him, hands fisting lightly in his jacket, her mouth finding his like it had known the way all along. It wasn’t perfect — it was breathless and raw and a little shaky — but it was real.

And when they pulled apart, she didn’t look away. Neither did he.

____

One day she decided that she wanted to watch him play. See what all the fuzz was about. The arena felt louder than she expected. Not just from the crowd, but from the way the sound echoed inside her — the music, the announcements, the scrape of skates against ice. It was a world she didn’t quite belong to, not really. But she was here for him.

She sat near the glass, a friend of his had arranged the seat — not center ice, not VIP, but close enough to see everything. Close enough to see him.

She hadn’t told him she was coming.

Not because it was a surprise. Not really. But because part of her didn’t want to make it about her. This was his space. His rhythm. She just wanted to be part of it — to witness it without interrupting.

And then he skated out for warmups, and she caught herself holding her breath. He moved like someone born to it — fast, sharp, effortless. The Nico she knew, but somehow different too. More focused. More contained. But she could still see him in there — the way he tapped a teammate’s glove, the tilt of his head during drills, the quiet smile he gave to the equipment guy.

He didn’t see her. Not at first. But then — during a break in warmups — he coasted toward the glass, wiping his face with his glove. And when he glanced into the crowd, his eyes landed on her.

He stopped. Just for a second.

Surprise flickered across his face, followed by something warmer. Something he didn’t bother hiding.

He skated off again without a signal, but it didn’t matter.

She saw it in the way his shoulders dropped a little. In the way he moved after that — looser, lighter. Like knowing she was there gave him just enough more.

The game was a blur of noise and tension. He played hard. Took a few hits. Made a sharp assist in the second period that brought the crowd to its feet.

She didn’t yell, didn’t cheer like the fans around her. But she smiled when he looked up after that pass, and for a split second — even across all the noise — he looked like he was searching for her again.

____

After the game, the tunnels were a maze of concrete and controlled chaos. She waited near the players’ entrance, hoodie pulled up, pretending to scroll through her phone. A staff member had said he’d come out that way. When he finally did — hair still damp, suit jacket slung over one shoulder — he spotted her instantly.

“Hey,” he said, walking straight to her.

“Hey,” she echoed, voice light. “Good game.”

He stopped just short of touching her — public space, people everywhere — but the look in his eyes said what he couldn’t.

“You came.”

“I did,” she said. “You looked good out there.”

His smile was slow, a little crooked. “I always feel better when you’re watching.”

She rolled her eyes softly, but couldn’t hide the blush.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head toward the exit. “Let’s get out of here.”

She fell into step beside him, and as they disappeared into the cold night, he reached for her hand — casually at first, like it didn’t mean anything. But it did, it meant everything.

____

It started with a photo.

Nothing dramatic. Just a candid — Nico, in jeans and a beanie, walking out of a downtown café. She was beside him, laughing at something he’d said, their hands barely touching.

Someone caught it. Posted it. By the next morning, it was everywhere.

“Devils Captain Spotted With Mystery Woman — Who’s She?” “Hischier’s Off-Ice Chemistry Heating Up?” “Hockey’s Most Private Star Might Not Be So Private Anymore.”

She didn’t even know until a friend from the salon texted her with a screenshot.

is this you???

Her stomach dropped.

Nico called her five minutes later.

“Hey,” he said, before she could say anything. “You saw it?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry,” he added. “I didn’t think that would happen. I should’ve warned you it might.”

She sat on the edge of her bed, phone pressed to her ear, heart doing something complicated and unnameable. “It’s not your fault. We weren’t doing anything.”

“I know,” he said, quietly. “But that doesn’t matter to them.”

There was another pause — not strained, just full of something new. A shift.

She cleared her throat. “So... what now?”

He hesitated.

And then: “That depends. Are you okay with people knowing?”

She blinked. “Are you?”

“I wasn’t sure,” he admitted. “I’ve always kept this part of my life locked down. But with you...”

A breath.

“I don’t want to keep you a secret.”

The words landed with more weight than either of them expected.

She smiled, even as nerves danced under her skin. “That’s a very un-hockey-player thing to say.”

He laughed softly. “Yeah, well. You’ve been a bad influence.”

A beat passed, warm and honest.

“I want to do this right,” he added. “If you’re in — I’m in. Fully.”

She let the quiet settle between them. Then: “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’m in too.”

They didn’t make a statement. They didn’t need to. But the next time he walked into the arena, she was beside him. Not tucked behind. Not rushed in a back entrance. Beside him.

And when someone called her name — the press had found it by then — Nico didn’t flinch. He glanced at her, then down at their joined hands, and he smiled. Let them see.

He didn’t make a big deal of it. That’s what made her nervous.

Nico mentioned it offhand one morning while she was brushing her teeth in his apartment — toothpaste still in his mouth, voice muffled.

“My sister’s coming into town this weekend,” he said. “And my mom too. I was thinking… you could come by. Say hi.”

She blinked at him through the mirror. “You want me to meet your family?”

He shrugged, rinsing. “You’ve met my team. This feels less scary.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve cut your teammates’ hair, Nico. I wasn’t emotionally invested.”

He leaned against the doorway, grinning. “You’re saying you’re emotionally invested now?”

She tried to glare, failed, and nudged him out of the bathroom with a laugh.

When Saturday came, her nerves hit at the door.

He was calm — casual jeans, sweater, sleeves pushed up, completely unbothered. But she felt it in her chest: that low, persistent hum of what if they don’t like me? or what if I say something weird and ruin it all in thirty seconds?

She held a bottle of wine so tightly her knuckles went white.

“You’re not going into battle,” Nico said gently, noticing. “You’re just meeting my mom.”

“That is a kind of battle,” she muttered.

He grinned and kissed her temple. “Trust me. She’s going to love you.”

His mom opened the door, and the first thing she did was smile — warm and kind, with the same eyes Nico had when he was tired but happy.

“You must be her,” she said in a soft Swiss accent, pulling her into a hug before she could panic.

Dinner was cozy. Real food. Real laughs. His sister teased him mercilessly — which felt like a rite of passage — and his mom told stories that made Nico bury his face in his hands.

She didn’t speak much at first, but every time she looked at him, Nico gave her a small nod, like, You’re okay. I’ve got you.

Halfway through dessert, his sister leaned toward her, grinning.

“He’s lighter around you,” she said quietly. “We’ve seen it. We like it.”

Something in her chest unclenched.

After everyone had left, the apartment was quiet again. She sat on the couch in her socks, finishing a glass of wine.

Nico dropped beside her, thigh brushing hers.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “I think I survived.”

He smiled, and after a moment, added, “My mom already asked if you’ll come next time we’re home.”

She laughed softly. “She’s fast.”

“She likes you. They all did.”

There was a beat of silence, comfortable now.

Then she leaned her head against his shoulder. “It’s weird. Tonight felt... normal.”

“In a good way?”

“In the best way.”

He took her hand, lacing their fingers, then kissed the top of her head.

“Get used to it,” he murmured.

____

The road trip was long — two weeks, five cities, and enough flights to make Nico forget what day it was most of the time. She knew the schedule. He’d sent it to her with highlights, times they might FaceTime, cities that had decent Wi-Fi. But even with the planning, the missing crept in early.

They had been through distance before — in the beginning, when things were still new, still unsaid.

But now?

Now it felt different. He didn’t just miss her presence. He missed the feeling of her. The grounding. The way she touched his arm without thinking, or made fun of his playlists, or stole his hoodies and left them at her place like breadcrumbs.

She missed him too — but not in that dreamy, butterflies-in-the-stomach way. It was heavier. Like looking at an empty chair across the room and knowing it should be filled. By day four, their texts had shifted.

Nico: did you eat today?

Her: barely. salon’s slammed. you?

Nico: protein bar and a pretzel. crushing it.

Her: i miss you in an annoying, obvious kind of way.

Nico: yeah. same. come to pittsburgh?

She stared at the message longer than she should have.

Her: what?

Nico: next game. I’ll book the hotel. flight. everything. just say yes.

Her: nico…

Nico: i know. it’s a lot. but i hate missing you like this. and it’s not just about the game. i want you around. my world feels better with you in it.

She stared at the screen, heart pounding.

It wasn’t just about a plane ticket. It was about what they were becoming — no more pauses, no more halfway in.

She typed, deleted, retyped.

Her: okay. send me the flight info.

The hotel room smelled like him — faint cologne, laundry soap, and something warm underneath it all. He met her in the lobby, ball cap pulled low, hand reaching for hers before either of them said a word.

They didn’t kiss right away. They just held on. A tight hug. Like breath after too long underwater.

“Hi,” she whispered against his chest.

“Hi,” he murmured back, eyes closing.

It was the best part of the trip — not the game, not the hotel, not even the room service pancakes the next morning.

Just this. Being in the same room again and realizing that the missing hadn’t broken anything.

It had only proved what they already knew.

____

She didn’t fully understand the game, but she understood him.

And that was enough.

Pittsburgh was loud. Electric. The Devils played hard — Nico harder than usual — and when the final buzzer sounded and they’d edged out a win in overtime, the entire bench erupted.

He didn’t look for the cameras or the crowd. He looked for her. Found her.

She was on her feet in the third row, clapping, beaming — cheeks flushed, eyes wide. And when their gazes met across the glass, she didn’t mouth anything.

She just smiled like she was proud. That was better than any cheer.

He found her waiting in the same hotel lobby afterward, damp hair from the post-game shower, jacket half-zipped, grin wide.

“I’m starting to think you’re my lucky charm,” he said, pulling her into him.

She laughed softly, fingers curling into his sleeves. “One win and I’m a charm now?”

“Absolutely,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “You’re coming to every road game from now on.”

“You’re not that rich.”

“I will be if you keep showing up.”

They both laughed, but there was something else under it. A look they hadn’t shared yet. A weight. An invitation.

Back in the room, the noise of the world dulled. They didn’t rush.

He kissed her slow, like there was time. Like they could stretch it out across hours. Her shirt came off first — soft cotton, then warm skin — and she leaned into his hands like she already knew the shape of what they were building.

He traced every inch of her like he’d been memorizing her since day one.

When they made love — and it was that, unmistakably — there was nothing performative about it. No pressure. No script. Just quiet gasps, long glances, whispered encouragement.

After, she lay curled beside him, one leg tangled over his, fingers resting over his heartbeat. Neither of them said anything for a long time. Then, in the hush of post-game adrenaline and shared breath, Nico murmured into her hair, “I don’t know how I did any of this before you.”

She lifted her head to look at him, eyes soft, searching.

“You don’t have to anymore,” she whispered.

And he didn’t say it out loud — I love you — not yet.

But it lived in that moment.

In the stillness, in the way they held each other until sleep pulled them under, in the feeling that for the first time in a long while, home wasn’t a place.

It was a person.

[pankowcrumbs]

Stylist X Lando Norris (Requested)

MasterList

F1 Masterlist

Request: Lando Norris x Reader: Reader is the Stylist for the them and it is love at first sight.

There’s a kind of chaos that exists in the world of Formula 1 that most people never really see. The roaring engines, the flashing cameras, the pit lane buzz all of that’s just surface noise. The real frenzy happens backstage fittings, last-minute wardrobe emergencies, PR shoots that turn into full-blown campaigns overnight.

And somewhere in the middle of it all: me.

I’ve been working as a personal stylist for about four years now. When McLaren offered me the chance to style both of their drivers Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri I said yes before the email had even finished loading. I'd worked with athletes before, but this? This was something else. These two weren’t just racers they were brands. And I was about to dress them like they owned every room they walked into.

The first time I met Lando was in a hotel suite in Monaco, three days before the Grand Prix. I was sorting through suits, hanging a few casual pieces near the wardrobe when I heard the door open behind me.

I turned and there he was.

Messy curls, warm hazel eyes, tan skin that made my breath catch. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he looked at me. Like he’d forgotten what he came in for.

"Hi," he said, blinking like he was pulling himself back to earth. "You're… not what I expected."

I raised a brow. “What did you expect?”

“I dunno some guy named Trevor with measuring tape around his neck, I guess.”

I laughed, shaking his hand. “Y/N. I’m here to make sure you don’t end up wearing shoes two sizes too big in front of a billion people.”

He grinned. “Then thank God for you.”

That was it the spark. Instant. Unmistakable. It danced in the air between us, subtle but alive.

Oscar arrived minutes later and, thankfully, didn't seem to notice the way I kept stealing glances at Lando while adjusting their jackets. Or how he kept glancing at me through the mirror while I worked.

“You have a favourite?” Lando asked later, as I fussed with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Driver or suit?”

He smirked. “Both.”

I hummed like I was thinking hard. “Oscar’s very cooperative. Doesn’t argue about colour theory. And this navy double-breasted on him? Magic.”

Lando placed a hand on his chest, mock-offended. “Harsh.”

I tilted my head, pretending to assess him. “But you? You wear the hell out of anything I put you in. Even when you whinge about skinny trousers.”

He laughed, full and boyish. “Fair enough.”

We were flirting. Obviously. But nothing about it felt forced. It was… effortless. The kind of connection you don’t question because it just fits.

By the end of the weekend, I was gone for him.

And judging by the way he pulled me aside after the race, still flushed from adrenaline, I wasn’t alone.

“I know this is probably unprofessional,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “but I’d regret it forever if I didn’t ask”

“Yes,” I cut in.

He blinked. “I haven’t even said what I was asking.”

“You were going to ask me out, right?”

He smiled, slow and crooked. “Yeah. I was.”

“Then yes.”

He looked stunned for half a second, then laughed again. “Okay, wow. Great. I didn’t expect this to work.”

I grinned. “Neither did Trevor.”

We kept things quiet at first. The paddock is a rumour mill, and the last thing I wanted was to look like I’d slept my way into the job. But behind closed doors, it was magic.

Lando was everything I didn’t expect. Thoughtful, self-aware, hilarious. He’d text me photos of ridiculous fashion items

“This bucket hat. Yes or hell no?”

I’d show up to fittings with inside jokes written on the garment tags just to make him laugh.

We stole moments after media days, during travel days, in hotel corridors when no one was looking. And each one made it harder not to fall completely.

Then came Silverstone.

It was a massive weekend. His home race. Pressure everywhere.

I was backstage helping Oscar with his last-minute tie adjustment when Lando appeared in the doorway, already dressed, looking far too good in a sharp charcoal suit I’d custom selected just for him.

“Y/N,” he said, nodding toward the hallway. “Quick word?”

Oscar raised his brows but didn’t say anything.

Out in the hallway, Lando ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, voice low.

“Dangerous,” I teased.

He smirked, but the nerves were there. Real ones.

“I want to stop hiding it,” he said. “Us. I don’t want to act like you’re just my stylist anymore. You mean more than that.”

I swallowed hard. “Lando…”

“I know the timing’s crap and the world’s always watching, but I’m tired of pretending you’re not the first person I look for when I walk into a room.”

I blinked, heart thudding.

“I’m not asking you to post a picture or walk the grid holding my hand,” he added. “Just… let’s stop being afraid of it.”

I took a breath. The risk was real. The headlines would be brutal. But standing there, looking into those honest, earnest eyes I knew I couldn’t say no.

“Okay,” I whispered.

His smile could’ve powered the whole circuit.

We didn’t make a big announcement. Just started being a little more… obvious. Sitting closer during briefings. Sharing the odd touch. And yes, a few photos did slip through the cracks one of me laughing in the background while he beamed at me, one of us walking out of a restaurant late at night, hand in hand.

The media storm came fast, as expected.

“Lando Norris Dating McLaren Stylist?” “Love on the Grid: Fans Divided Over Norris’ Romance” “Should Teams Allow Relationships This Close to Home?”

We read them all, shared a bottle of wine, and decided to go on a proper date anyway.

Because for all the noise, the truth was this: we’d found something rare. And it was worth protecting, not hiding.

Eventually, the fuss died down. People got bored. And in its place came something warmer support, even. Fans commenting on how happy he looked. Journalists noting his improved focus. Some even calling me a “lucky charm.”

And maybe I was.

Because a year later, Lando stood at the Monaco GP in a tailored white linen shirt I’d helped pick out, sunglasses perched on his nose, and pulled me into a kiss in full view of half the paddock.

He smiled against my lips. “Still think Oscar’s your favourite?”

“Close second,” I teased, resting my forehead against his.

And just like that, the world faded again.

Because in a life full of chaos and engines and cameras, somehow I’d found peace in the one person who could never sit still.

Lando Norris.

Tailored perfectly to me.

[mullermilkshake]

Even praise hurts

Part 5 <- Part 6 -> Part 7

The association dinner goes mostly the way Jinwoo expects, yet he suspects that something darker is at play.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags - Mentions of unprotected sex/public sex/gore and violence/murder/drowning, mentions of babies/pregnancy, dark thoughts, intrusive thoughts, mild treats, alcohol, drinking

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

“What took you guys so long?” Baek leant on the bar with a whiskey swirling in his hand.

Jinwoo thought it best to say nothing. If he had it his way, he’d tell the whole restaurant and bar exactly where he was and how deep, just for his own entertainment. Though he doubted you would have appreciated it.

“Traffic.” You said casually, your hand still in Jinwoo’s like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hm,” He did not sound convinced. “Sounds about right. There’s always jackasses on the road. Glad you’re here, we’re all sitting in the back room waiting for you.”

Jinwoo fought hard to hold in his smugness, keeping everyone waiting whilst his load was dribbling from your thighs was potentially one of his top five moments in his life so far. He led the way behind Hunter Baek right through to the back room where the others were talking and smiling, Jong-in noticed you immediately and smiled, putting Jinwoo's back up immediately.

So irritating. 

“You’re here,” he grinned with his glass. “We almost thought you’d gotten lost.”

“Lots of traffic.” An adorable laugh left your lips. “Lots and lots of traffic.”

When you grinned back, Jinwoo watched Jong-in closely. Were those kind eyes, or ‘fuck me’ eyes he was giving you? Yeah, they were definitely ‘fuck me’ eyes. Just what the hell was that?

“It’s good that you’re finally here Hunter Sung, we were beginning to worry.” The Chairman did not address Jinwoo directly, rather he was looking at your hand entwined with his, a knowing stare that flitted every so often.

“We apologise, Chairman. It wasn’t our intention to arrive late.”

Jinwoo took his glances as a contest, doing the exact same towards him and Jin-chul, an all knowing glance for the conversation preciously, noting how he was studying you and Jinwoo just as closely.

The Chairman grinned and allowed you and Jinwoo to sit. “It’s quite alright, now we can make a toast to the happy couple.”

Happy couple… that’s rich coming from a man that gave them no choice.  

Hunter Lim sat next to Jin-chul, totally impassive. His arms folded the way they were signalled that he wasn’t entirely present, not until he took notice of Jinwoo. “Hey, glad you two finally made it, Yoonho’s been boring the hell out of me with random crap.”

“Were you waiting long?” Jinwoo asked with caution, according to his calculations, you and he were only late by ten minutes.

“Eh, we all decided to meet a little earlier, you didn’t get the message? So its more like forty minutes, no one could reach either of you.”

Oh shit. Well, in this case, you and Jinwoo would have arrived late regardless if he’d fucked you in his car or not, somehow it didn’t make the situation as dire as it could have been.

“Oh,” Jinwoo pulled out his phone and pretended to check through it like it actually mattered. “No, I didn’t get anything sent to me.”

Lim dismissed it and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Maybe you’ll see Yoonho get drunk this time, that can be entertaining.”

“Right… uh, where’s Hunter Ma?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s off somewhere. He couldn’t wait much longer for you so I think he went to get a light bite. He’ll be back shortly… but I guess we can get to celebrating the happy couple as happy as they can be, being forced into this like they have.”

Out of the two, Jinwoo had faith that you and he would be happy, but he saw right through the facade that Jong-in and Hae-in put up, and it fascinated him. So much so that he let one of his shadows go and attach itself to Jong-in. Just out of curiosity behind closed doors.

Jinwoo pulled out your seat for you and only then did you let go of his hand, he waited until you were seated properly. He watched the interactions between them as a toast was announced, you said something to Hae-in but his concentration picked up on the little things.

Despite popular belief, You and Hae-in rarely spoke the last two months, and even before then, it seemed to be more of a show for the public eye rather than a genuine friendship. The act of survival when one’s life is threatened to change often brings people together, and Jinwoo saw that it was that case with you and Hae-in.

She wasn’t entirely invested, it was obvious by the extra few inches distance her chair sat from jong-in, never touching hands, always at her side unless picking up her glass of water. Jong-in was more invested in you than the mother of his child, barely making eye contact with her or exchanging more than a word or two.

Trouble in paradise. And the chairman thinks it’s appropriate to berate us, instead?  

“Hey, guys!”

“Oh,” Lim snorted. “There you are, big guy. Thought you got lost too.”

Ma chuckled and flopped down in the seat next to Baek with a satisfied grin and a fleck of sauce on his cheek. He noticed you and Jinwoo and waved. “Hey you two, thought you were never gettin’ here!”

Before anyone could address that elephant in the room further, the Chairman stood up to command the room with his scotch glass. “Let’s toast to the first step in the reclaiming of our country's security and the future of the Hunter’s association… To Hunter Choi and Hunter Cha!”

Everyone toasted, raising their glasses whilst the Chairman ordered food and ordered everything to fill out the table. The mood seemed fruitful, enthusiastic, despite the ominous response to it two months ago. Even you seemed more on board with it now, chatting more and smiling a little warmer than previous weeks.

The others might not have seen it, not even you, yet Jinwoo could think of nothing else. Chairman Go and Jin-chul’s watchful eyes on everything across the table. Watching closely, Jinwoo found that as the night progressed, Jong-in and Hae-in became touchy.

A hand brush every so often, a little whisper in her ear with a smile sweeter than treacle to rot the entire table’s teeth for endless cavities. Though when those moments vanished, Jong-in was clinging on to you, with the hope of what, exactly? That he’d eventually come clean to how in love he was with you, or try to convince you that he was a better person despite having a child with another woman?

Just the thought made Jinwoo brood, grit his teeth through the boring dinner during parts he wasn’t listening just to think of ways he’d kill the man in a fit of fuelled jealousy that Jong-in even had the gall to talk to you with such familiarity-

“Jinwoo.” 

He blinked, looking down at you with softer eyes. “Hm?”

You leant closer and whispered. “You’re spacing out… are you feeling okay?” 

God… Those eyes staring up at him so innocently when Jinwoo knew you weren’t the innocent persona you allowed the public to perceive you as. If only publix sex was legal, and he definitely would have had you over the dinner table and no one could have stopped him. That would have set Jong-in straight.

“Y-yeah… I’m okay. Just tired, I think.”

You seemed to buy it. “Okay… we’ll leave soon?” 

“Sounds good.”

The Chairman cleared his throat and addressed Jinwoo properly for the first time with full eye contact. “So, Hunter Sung, when will you greet the association with the good news?”

This went against Jin-chul’s advice on keeping the night about the Hae-in's pregnancy. It was a direct threat too. Every hunter alive treated the Chairman with the respect and decency someone of his position and temperament dictated, but Jinwoo saw straight through it like glass.

By this threat, Jinwoo suspected that the Chairman had another agenda.

Why is he so hellbent on getting results this eagerly?

He glanced up at the system's quest screen, still unchanged. It wouldn’t give him an unobtainable quest so pregnancy was still possible, but with the Chairman’s urgency, something told his gut to shut it down immediately.

At the end of the day, whenever you finally fell pregnant, you and he were keeping the baby close.

“Well, we’re trying our best, Chairman. Each week we’re hopeful.”

In other words, it translated to, back off old man. 

“Well I look forward to the happy news, I have high hopes for you both.”

Long story short, what he meant to say was, hurry the hell up you two, I’m growing impatient. 

“You’ll be the first to know, Chairman-” The eruption of Jong-in’s laugh pulled Jinwoo out of the conversation.

“It’s true! Ask Yoonho.”

“Don’t ask me anything.” Baek turned away and chugged his drink with heavy eyes.

Jong-in chuckled and took a sip of his own drink, clearly giddy. “While we’re guild rivals, we get on better than others think, even Tae-gyu knows what I’m talking about- oh… maybe not.”

Hunter Lim snored away on the table, dribbling and nursing a bottle of Soju. The table acknowledged the humor and Hunter Ma commanded the table with anecdotes. Jinwoo wanted to join in, he did, because it made him understand the people he spent the most time with, but his gut told him to observe Jong-in closely.

You were unaware of this, watching Ma chuckle and tell embarrassing stories of a drunken and foolish Baek. Jong-in stole brief glances at you now and then, each time softer than the last. What was he thinking about?

About you? Friendly or intimate- no doubt there were intimate thoughts going through that head of his like a neanderthal. 

He bet Jong-in had all kinds of lewd thoughts up there in that head of his, all fabricated of course. Seeing as Jinwoo had seen you naked, touched the curves of your body and came inside you most nights, whatever Jong-in could conjure up in his mind sure as hell wouldn’t be anywhere near the real thing. Jinwoo had that edge over him, though it never got rid of the intrusive thoughts. The darker side he’d been battling with since he killed that staff member, well, even before then. Maybe after the first person he'd killed.

Each thought darker and more violent than the last though he never usually acted on them.

Since having you in his grasp, Jinwoo found them cropping up more and more often and the thought of being in a position that he’d be expected to let you go in a month didn’t help alleviate the symptoms.

It made his eye twitch, seeing another man look at you the way Jong-in did, he wanted to hurt him in a way he'd never recover with all of the mage healing in the world. He wanted him gone from your life completely, eradicated and wiped from existence.

How could he look at you the way he was doing right now when the time came and you had a newborn baby in your arms? Jong-in had a reputation to uphold as a guildmaster and having a child of his own would make quite the scandal if he was pursuing another woman.

Though Jinwoo simply wouldn’t have it, he couldn’t just get rid of him in the way he was fantasising about.

A quick dagger slice to his throat to watch the red slip out all over the floor, to see Jong-in gargle and panic because his mana would slip away with his consciousness and no amount of stupid fire would save him.

Maybe drowning him in a water dungeon, so that the only way his fire attacks would serve him any purpose would boil the water until his flesh melted from his face.

It had to be something slow… something painful. Something memorable-

“Jinwoo? Are you ready to go?”

Had he zoned out again? “Yeah, let’s get going.”

“I’ll see you in a few weeks, Hunter Sung.”

Another threat from the Chairman. Jinwoo saw it on the shining rim of his scotch glass, Jin-chul watched him too over the edge of his sunglasses. He stood and waited for the Chairman, allowing him space to pass and land a firm hand on Jinwoo’s shoulder.

“I’m counting on you.”

I bet you are, Chairman Go. 

Jinwoo was counting on it as well, to keep you close to him and take care of you. There was a lot to think about, much to discuss with you. Many concerns he wasn’t so sure he should come out with until he could investigate further.

Though his quest remained the same.

To get you pregnant within the next month.

Part 5 <- Part 6 -> Part 7

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! Thanks so much for all the support on this likes, reblog and comments appreciated! ❤️

Tag list - @bubera974, @snowy-violet, @sky2lar, @starrynights23x, @minh907

@yessirr7, @aussie-boys-wife, @yihona-san06, @mashiromochi, @daiyanomochi

@justatimidcreator, @alia-17, @otomegamesforlife @m00n-estelle, @towomatos

@stormnightingale, @johnnysactualgf, @solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved, @johnnysactualgf, @notleclerc

@minkuro, @misakicchi, @lovingyeet, @soft-dots, @gina239

@sabrina-senpai, @tsukimoon-chan, @afkmylajah, @livelaughlovekuni, @keiva1000

@delusionillusion322, @dreamingoftomorrow, @gina239,@blxuqueenie, @stardust0709

@chahaezii, @athanasia10

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[arkaiveofurown]

The Call He Didn’t End

Pairing: Sabo x Reader

Sabo’s always had a habit of ending calls abruptly—even with you. After a dangerous mission, you call to check in, expecting the usual quick exchange. But this time, he doesn’t hang up. Instead, he stays on the line, asking about your day. It’s a small change, but it means everything. In that quiet moment, you realize he’s beginning to let his guard down—with you.

Word Count: ~2,200

tags: fluff, pre-relationship, romance

my masterlist here ♡

⸻

The ship rocked gently as you sat near the railing, the sun sinking below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the deck. You pulled out your device and quickly dialed Sabo’s number. It had been a few days since you’d heard from him, and after hearing about the dangerous mission he’d been on, you couldn’t help but worry.

The call didn’t take long to connect. As usual, Sabo’s voice crackled through, sounding calm but tired. “Yeah?” His tone was clipped, like he was ready to end the conversation before it even began.

“Hey, it’s me,” you said, forcing a lightness into your voice despite the anxiety gnawing at you. “I just wanted to check in. How’s everything? Are you okay?”

The silence that followed made you wonder if he was about to hang up right then. But after a beat, he spoke again, his voice softer than usual. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

That was the thing with Sabo. He was always so composed, so unwilling to let anyone see the cracks in his cool exterior. It was a habit, something he did with everyone. He had a way of keeping his emotions at bay, keeping everything short and simple. And yet, something felt different tonight.

“Are you sure?” you asked gently. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you. I know that mission was risky.”

“Yeah, it was.” He paused for a moment, but instead of the usual abrupt end, he continued, “But it’s over now. We’re good.”

You hesitated for a moment. “Good. But, um, how about you? How are you really doing?”

For a split second, there was a silence on the other end, and you thought he might hang up. But he didn’t.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, but this time it was quieter. More… thoughtful. “How’s your day been?”

That threw you off. Sabo had never asked you about your day before. His calls were always about him, about making sure everything was okay on his end, then quickly ending the conversation. But tonight, he was changing the routine.

You smiled, leaning back slightly against the railing. “Well, I’ve just been doing some work on the ship, nothing too exciting. But I’m glad you called.”

“You sound like you’ve been busy,” he noted, his voice lighter now, like he was actually paying attention to you. “What kind of work?”

“Just some repairs. You know how it is,” you replied, trying to keep it casual. “But really, I’ve been thinking about you… and hoping you’re doing alright after the mission.”

There was a slight shift in his tone. “You’ve been thinking about me?”

“Of course,” you said, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “You’re hard to miss, you know? The guy with the ridiculously cool hat and the fancy fireball moves.”

You could almost hear him chuckling on the other end. “You always know how to make me laugh, even after a rough mission.”

That laugh of his—it wasn’t something you heard often. It was usually reserved for when he was with his crew, his friends. But tonight, it felt like he was letting his guard down just a little. A small but significant change.

——

The conversation continued, and for the first time in a long time, Sabo wasn’t rushing to hang up. He was actually… asking about you.

“How are they doing?” he asked after a while, his tone genuinely curious.

“They’re all good,” you replied. “Busy, but that’s the usual.“

Sabo chuckled at the thought of his younger brother. “Yeah, I can imagine. But it sounds like you’ve been keeping things under control.”

“Well, someone has to,” you teased. “Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on the ‘Great Sabo’ from afar, right?”

He snorted, a sound that made your chest warm. “You’re probably the only one who’d say that to me.”

“Well, it’s the truth,” you replied with a smile, trying to picture his reaction. “You get too serious sometimes. Someone has to keep you grounded.”

Sabo was quiet for a moment. Then, as though testing the waters, he asked, “And what about you? Who keeps you grounded?”

The question caught you off guard, and you found yourself smiling softly. “I guess it’s you,” you said before you could stop yourself. “Even if you’re always hanging up on me.”

He paused. The usual playful tone was absent from his voice now. “I never meant to hang up on you, Y/N. It’s just… easier that way. But maybe… maybe I’m starting to like these long calls.”

You swallowed, your heart skipping a beat. Did he just…?

“Maybe?” you repeated, your voice teasing but with an underlying softness.

“Yeah,” he replied, his tone a little more tentative now. “I’m not used to it, but I don’t mind it when it’s with you.”

——

The conversation moved forward, but you couldn’t shake the shift in Sabo’s tone. The once sharp, distant manner in which he spoke was softening, becoming warmer. He was asking questions, actually engaging in the conversation, not just giving short responses.

“What was the hardest part of the mission?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

There was a slight hesitation on his end, before he replied, “I’m just glad it’s over. Missions like that always leave a mark on you, you know? But it’s worth it if we’re able to make a difference.”

You could hear the sincerity in his voice, and it made your heart ache a little. “I’m proud of you,” you said, your words genuine. “I don’t think you hear that enough, do you?”

He was quiet for a moment, and then, in his usual calm but honest way, he said, “I don’t really expect praise. But I appreciate it, Y/N. More than you know.”

The air between you two felt charged now, the conversation hanging on a delicate thread, something unspoken between you. His words were softer, as if he trusted you just a little more than before.

——

It was getting late, and the call had stretched on far longer than either of you were used to. Still, Sabo didn’t hang up. Instead, he lingered on the line, the usual sharpness gone from his voice.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “I’m glad you called.”

Your heart fluttered at the sincerity in his tone. “I’m glad you didn’t hang up,” you teased gently.

He chuckled, but it was softer than usual. “I guess I’m starting to like our calls more than I thought.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I like them too,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks warm.

There was another silence, but this one felt comfortable. Neither of you seemed in a rush to end the call, and for the first time, it felt like you were truly connecting.

——

As the call neared its end, you found yourself more relaxed than you’d been in a long time. You hadn’t expected tonight to be different, but somehow it was.

“Well, I should let you go,” You said after a long stretch of silence. “It’s late, and I’m sure you have things to do.”

Sabo hesitated. “Actually, I kind of don’t want to hang up.” His voice softened. “But… we can always talk again tomorrow, right?”

“Of course,” You replied, your heart light. “I’ll be here.”

Sabo let out a quiet breath, as if he was finally letting himself relax. “Good. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t end the call abruptly. Instead, he said something that made your heart skip a beat: “Y/N… I’m glad you’re here. I don’t say it enough, but you mean a lot to me.”

Those simple words hung in the air, and though he didn’t say much more, you knew it was something he’d never said to anyone else.

“Goodnight, Sabo,” you said softly, your heart full.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

And with that, the call ended—but it wasn’t the usual quick hang-up. This time, it was different. This time, there was something more. And you couldn’t wait to see where it went from here.

⸻

It had been weeks since that call, and the connection you felt with Sabo over the phone had only deepened. But today, he was finally coming to see you in person.

As the ships docked, you scanned the crowd, your eyes falling on a familiar silhouette—a tall figure with a wide-brimmed hat, his back straight, and a purposeful stride. Sabo.

Your breath caught in your throat. There was something different about seeing him in person, after all the late-night calls. The way his presence filled the space around him, the confidence that radiated from him—it made your heart beat a little faster.

He spotted you immediately, a soft smile tugging at his lips. For a moment, you just stood there, the distance between you both seeming both familiar and foreign at the same time. The conversations you’d shared over the phone seemed like an intimate secret, and now you were finally going to share the same space, share the same air.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low but warm as he approached, his usual calm demeanor still present but softened. “It’s good to finally see you again in person.”

You smiled, feeling your heart race. “It’s good to see you too, Sabo.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment, as if you both were trying to figure out the next step. Finally, he took off his hat and tucked it under his arm, his eyes softer than usual.

“You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice low.

You looked up at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

Sabo smiled, a soft, knowing smile. “The call. That night we talked. When I didn’t hang up.”

You nudge his side lightly, a playful tone in your voice. “Not that I’m complaining, but that’s a first.”

Sabo chuckled softly, turning his head toward you with a half-smile. “I guess I just didn’t want it to end this time. It felt… different.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “So, you’re telling me you’re finally capable of holding a conversation without disappearing mid-sentence?”

He smirked back, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement. “Don’t get used to it. It’s a one-time thing.”

You snorted, nudging him again. “Sure, Sabo. I’m sure I’ll hear that the next time you go radio silent.”

He didn’t respond immediately, instead, he stopped walking and turned to face you, his expression now serious. “No, really. I wanted to stay. To keep talking. It’s not something I usually do.”

There was a shift in the air, a quiet, almost tender moment as you both stood there, your gaze locking. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the unspoken words that he was finally letting slip free.

“Glad to know I’m finally worth breaking your habit for,” you teased, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Sabo’s grin widened slightly, but it was tinged with something deeper now, something more meaningful. “You always have been.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sound being the quiet of the world around you. Then, you tilted your head, pretending to be deep in thought.

“That’s it, then?” you asked, drawing his attention. “You’re telling me I finally cracked your cold, unyielding habit of hanging up mid-convo? I should feel special, huh?”

Sabo chuckled, his expression softening. “I know. It’s just a habit, I guess. I never meant to leave you hanging… I just didn’t know what to say. But that night… it felt different. I wanted to hear your voice longer.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words hitting you deeper than you expected. “So, what changed?”

Sabo stopped walking too, turning to face you fully, his eyes intense but warm. “You changed it, Y/N. You made me want to stay. To listen. To really… talk.” He took a step closer, his hand reaching out, brushing against yours. “I might just stay on the line more often… if you’re the one picking up.”

Without warning, you leaned in, brushing your lips against his, a quiet, simple kiss. When you pulled away, his eyes were slightly wide, lips curved in an amused smile.

“Is that a promise?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, giving a light shrug. “Guess you’ll have to call me and find out.”

You shook your head, a laugh escaping you. “I see how it is. I get one phone call, and now you’re already making me work for it.”

Sabo’s gaze softened, and he stepped a little closer, his voice quieter now, more earnest. “It’s not about making you work for it. It’s about wanting more. More than just words or calls. I want this—I want us. For real, not just over the phone.”

As you both continued walking, the night felt different—brighter, more full of possibilities. For once, you knew there would be no rushing off, no abrupt hang-ups. Whatever happened next, you and Sabo had found a new connection—one that neither of you was eager to end.

And that was a call you’d both gladly pick up every time.

[t0ast-ghost]

I’m biting them with my mind rn. They being bitten.

Masterpost | prev | next

[mossy-paws]

some doodles! (PHIGHTING!)

A collection of recent subspace and Medkit doodles! The final thing is actually a remake of a really silly meme I made like. God how long back in August of 2023? Geez I’ve been in the fandom for awhile,,, it’s crazy how my art has evolved since then for real!

also… these, no, no I am not giving ANY sort of explanation for them

[annoyingcat413]

Was the first cbs Watson episode great? Not reallyyy. Am I interested? Absolutely! Will keep watching

[orchestrel]

PLEASE SPOILER THINGS UGH

[iamthetruestrepairman]

I wish I just knew when/if I did something wrong

[realcowboysdrinkjuice]

barely anyone follows me so this will get zero notes but i do not care i am so excited and need to share this somewhere

I GOT MY FIRST COLLEGE ACCEPTANCE LETTER!!!!! FOR THE UK!!!!! SO NO MATTER WHAT THE OTHERS SAY I HAVE A YES!!! AND IM SO EXCITED HOLY SHIT!!!! ITS ALL I WANTED!!!!!!

and i was so fucking scared especially with covid making my gap year long and making everything scarier but i did it and no matter what happens i have a place to go and things are finally moving forward again and holy fuvk i’m going to study illustration overseas like i wanted to before shit went BAD because OOF CLASS OF 2021 NOT A GOOD YEAR especially not a good year in the united states of america where they didnt do jack all to try and prevent it DEAR GOD !!!! bUT OH MY GOD!!!!!!!

usually i’d yell to my family but everyone is asleep oops because it’s almost 6 am my sleep schedule is WRECKED RN so nobody is awake and i did. text anyway cause it was big enough to do it anyways but i was still just yelling into the void so i’m yelling into the void here too

[meerkeri]

OH MY GOD??????

[pebblesmustard]

.

[uplatescroller]

@little-bitch-detector

I went to stupid bitch island and everybody knew you

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Doting

Tags: jjk men as dads, tooth-rotting fluff, comfort drabbles

Synopsis: How the JJK men treat you while pregnant (spoiler warning- they dote on you.)

An: This is my formal apology for writing Nanami angst on the “Baby’s first words” post 😔 it will never happen again (can we stop with the death threats now?)

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI

SATORU

Oh, your loving husband is all over you while you’re pregnant. He genuinely has such a cute fascination with all the changes your body is going through. He seriously thinks you’re so strong for carrying his heir.

He loves rubbing your bump. In fact, he will always be touching it in some form or fashion while you two are together. When he’s away on missions, he has you send him pictures and updates on your pregnancy as if anything major has changed in a couple of days.

You best believe he is ready to indulge you on your every craving, no matter how strange. It’s three a.m and you’re crying because you need that specific brand of chicken wings and a can of whip cream? He’s heading to the store immediately to fetch whatever you tell him to.

He genuinely worries about being a good dad. Many nights he lays his head on your bump and talks to you about how teaching didn’t come naturally to him. He wasn’t born knowing how to meet people where they’re at. He use to expect people to be able to meet him on his level. He worries that he may inadvertently put a lot of pressure on his kid, and that’s the last thing he wants due to how he was raised. He just wants his kid to be a kid.

He’s the best, most loving and compassionate dad to your baby, more than you could ever hope for. Even if teaching didn’t come to him naturally, being a father did.

SUGURU

He’s such a “sit down and let me do it for you” while you’re pregnant. He cooks, cleans, works, and tends to you completely throughout your pregnancy.

Suguru gets hyper fixated on your health during pregnancy. He only feeds you the yummiest and healthiest foods while you’re pregnant. He encourages for you to sit on the yoga ball and do (very) light exercises. He just wants the best for you and his baby.

Whenever I said he tends to you, I genuinely mean he tends to you. He’ll gently brush your hair at night time, rub your back when your belly is becoming heavy to carry around, serve your breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed, carries around emesis bags and breath mints for if you get morning sickness while you two are out.

This man is the king of enforcing your boundaries to people when they don’t listen. That really annoying family member that insists on being there for the birth even though you’ve already explained to them that you want this to be an experience for just you and Geto? Yeah, he’s made it very clear to them that they will not be at the birth if they want to be in your kid’s life.

He is absolutely not afraid to hurt feelings if it means his wife and future child are safe and cared for. He really don’t give a fuck who anyone else is. You and his child are first priority.

TOJI

Toji is definitely the type to express his love and devotion for you in other ways than the most conventional methods.

He is so incredibly gentle while you’re pregnant. He doesn’t rile you up as much or play fight with you anymore. He constantly reminds himself that you’re carrying another life inside you and that you have enough on your plate.

This man… whew does he love seeing you pregnant. Toji’s the type of man to feel so feral when he looks at you heavily pregnant with his kid.

He adores your body. He’ll rub lotion all over you and oils to help your skin accommodate to the stretch of carrying a kid. He massages your body and absolutely worships it while he’s rubbing the lotion and oil on you.

Your breasts are sore? He’ll gently massage them until they feel better. Your back hurts? He’d be the type to lift your bump up and take the weight off you for as long as you ask him to so you can feel relaxed for a few minutes.

And look this is probably TMI but like, if you got a clogged milk duct due to breastfeeding, Toji would unfortunately be the type of man to fix that issue with his mouth. i’m sorry but he would.

Final thing is, you better believe that he doesn’t allow anyone to get too close to you. He is so unbelievably protective over you while you’re pregnant. If he could, he’d lock you up at home to prevent anyone from getting close to you.

SUKUNA

On the outside, he acts very nonchalant and unbothered by your pregnancy. On the inside, he is constantly plagued by the thought that your body may not be able to carry his heir. The thought of losing you or his child haunts him.

He will secretly observe and take notes on your body and how it is changing. If he catches you expressing any sort of short windedness, he will immediately send you off to bed rest. Though, you’re usually able to convince him to take you off of it by the next day.

The only servant he trusts to tend to you is Uraume. No one else in his court is allowed to be anywhere near you unless he gives specific instructions. Still, he hates leaving you in the care of Uraume. He trusts them, but he wants to be the one to take care of you.

He loves holding your body close to him at night. All four arms are wrapped around you and holding you closely. Since he doesn’t need much sleep, he will stay awake rubbing on your tummy all night long. One time, he felt the baby moving in your stomach while you were asleep. He was so intrigued that he woke you up and told you to “make them do it again”.

Now, he will randomly approach you at any given time while you’re heavily pregnant and hold his hand out so he can feel his baby moving around inside of you. It soothes his worry.

During birth, Sukuna was a complete mess. The amount of blood lost during birth fucking terrified him. He was panicking and yelling at anyone to do something to save you, even while everyone was assuring him that you’re okay and this was natural.

After 9 long excruciating months of extreme worry and constant fear, he finally feels peace when he’s cradling a newborn in his arm and a sleeping wife in the other arm. All of his hard work to protect you paid off he thinks.

NANAMI

Oh, to be pregnant by the king of domestic love himself.

Nanami is the type of man to immediately start working on a nursery for you as soon as you reveal to him that you’re pregnant. He immediately changes the guest bedroom into a nursery that you design for your little baby.

He reads up on all the parenting books and articles. He’s constantly compiling things to either do or to not do during pregnancy and even while raising a kid.

Like Geto, he tends to your every need. He is a total house husband all while working 40 hours a week. When he’s at work, he is constantly calling and texting you to make sure that you’re okay and taking care of yourself, but let’s be fr he literally did everything for you before he even left for work (meal prepped for you, set out your clothes for you, put out all your self care items in case you want to bathe).

When you express concerns of your body getting bigger to him, he does everything in his power to show you that he loves and respects your body for creating life. He literally cherishes and worships your body for hours if you let him.

Like Toji, Nanami is protective over you. He constantly has an arm around you if you two are in public, and he watches everyone who dares to get close to you like a hawk. If he gets a bad vibe about anyone, he’s immediately stepping in front of you and taking over the conversation.

Nanami is the best partner to have during birth. His reading of articles during your pregnancy really paid off. He is supportive without being overbearing. He listens to your needs and tends to you without question. Constant praise and encouragement while you’re giving birth. The moment he gets to snuggle with you and the baby is the moment he realizes that he cultivated the life of his dreams. He has the family he always wanted.