#and has to send him home and say goodbye again!!!

[bumpen-underbeds]

You were just meant to help him adjust to having three little ones, now they're calling you momma and their dad has this look in his eye...

This is not written with a gendered reader in mind, but I think it's funny if regardless of what your gender is they call you momma cause they have a dad so that means you must be mum.

This is a longer one cause I wanted to really establish the idea more.

Part 2 of (This)

The first few days are the hardest, having to shadow the father of the three little hybrid kids and figure out what needed to be done to help and what needed to remain firmly in his domain. Bathtime is for the dad, and bedtime can be done together. Breakfast is better handled by you than by Dad, as he needs to adjust to getting ready for his new job instead of scrambling to rangle the kids, and tussling with the little ones is easy so long as you can remember what each one likes doing.

The youngest is sleepy and tends to spend the most time napping, but don't let them nap too much else bedtime is hard. The middle kit is more of a reader than a talker when on his own, but with the other two kids, he is a chatterbox. The oldest is the most energetic and needs to be entertained and worn out over the day so that bedtime is as easy as tucking them in and turning off the lights.

Working out how you can help the dad is harder.

Waking him up is not an issue; he's accustomed to early mornings, as the little ones often end up in his bed during the night for various reasons, and preparing food for them is a good start. Taking breakfast off his shoulders and having a decent lunch waiting to grab and go will work wonders, as is prepping dinner for when he returns home.

It takes a week or two for your routine to settle in and become part of the household chaos.

Waking up and making breakfast for all of you and packing the dads lunch as the family comes to the table to eat, wrangling the kids into helping with the dishes in exchange for a trip to the park or setting up a movie for them, making sure they say goodbye to their dad as he leaves and making sure he takes his lunch with him before he leaves for his new job.

Sitting outside with the youngest on your hip as he has a doze, the middle child and eldest doing tricks and showing off to you as they chatter and squabble, having to break up tug of wars and little fights over petty things.

Some reading with the kids in the afternoon and a nap for the middle and eldest as the youngest has his lunch, getting them up for a round of 'human questions' as they clamber all over you again, asking about the difference between them and you in every way they can think of, even if that just means asking where your tail is four times in a row with no changes to how they ask.

Then their dad is home, and it's his turn to be climbed on and have tiny claws digging into his legs as they hug and jump around him, giving him privacy to spend time with the kids while you make dinner.

After dinner, you join them in their bedtime routine, helping the kids brush their tails and clean their teeth. There are still attempts to talk with their toothbrushes in their mouths. Still, mostly now it is when you help brush out their tails that you get more 'human questions', you mostly watch as their dad applies oils to their ears and tails, mostly just holding the bottles and distracting whichever kit is still energetic and just a little too awake for bedtime.

The routine works, and you have come to enjoy your days with the kids and the free time you get on the weekends when their dad takes over and fills in all the time he missed out on as he has worked during the week.

Around a month into being the family's helper you make a report and send it off to the coordinator behind the scheme, noting the progress and how things will change when the kids are school-aged, suggesting a change to the contract when that comes around and perhaps even a change in support personnel to be a more baby sitter role them live in helper like you are currently.

It's around the youngest birthday that it begins to shift slightly in the house, the kids look at you and tilt their heads, sometimes switching between calling you by your name and calling you momma. Even with gentle reminders that you're not their mother or even a parent to them, it continues, and you have to chalk it up to being as young as they are and not quite understanding the idea of a helper just yet.

Eventually, you begin to respond when they call you momma, knowing that it isn't helping, but their father promised that he has been trying to tell them not to call you that, but there have been a few crying tantrums after even the most gently used words to tell them to stop.

It's about six months into your helping that you're sitting on the couch writing your progress report, the family out and enjoying the good weather, that you realise that it's not just the kids calling you momma anymore.

Recently, their father had begun to call you that as well.

Settling to try and lay this to rest when they come home, you pick up your phone and send a text to the fox hybrid you're helping and ask what the little ones want for lunch when they get back.

Standing in the kitchen with the father, his tail wrapped around your leg as the two of you watch the kids make a mess of the requested baked beans and toast for lunch, you speak quietly and look at the side of his face as you ask him why he had started to call you momma as well.

Watching as his ears flick, he heard you, you know he had, but he doesn't respond, unwinding his tail from your legs and heading over to the table to get the boys to settle in for an afternoon nap. Sighing as you resign yourself to waiting for him to come back before you press the issue any more, if you're honest with yourself, you don't mind, but it's still slightly abrupt to be called momma after what feels like such a short amount of time.

Leaning against the kitchen bench, watching as the father returns to the kitchen, you can read the anxiety on him now. The tail twitches and hangs almost straight behind him, his ears swivel and move as if listening for threats, despite the house only having his kids and the two of you in it, he's anxious and nervous, but it almost seems like excitement as well.

He sits himself across from you and reaches out, gently holding your hand as he hangs his head, steadying himself for whatever he is going to tell you or reveal, but when he looks up at you, there is hidden hope in his eyes.

He explained that he had been the one to tell the kids to call you momma, and that he was sorry if you didn't like it and the they could think of another term to use for you if made things better but since the moment you had walked through the door and handled his kits he had felt like you should have a more permanent role in their family, not just as the hired human helper from some government scheme or someone he has around till he can do it alone again.

He wanted you to fill the role of the other parent, and the kids did too.

The entire time he is talking he is gently rubbing his thumb across your knuckles and squeezing your fingers, ears flicking and twitching wildly as he keeps speaking and asks if he could take you out one evening, hire a proper baby sitter and try his hand at courting you like he should have been since before he started getting the kids to call you by a title you might not have been ready for yet.

There's nothing that comes from you in response as you look down at him, genuinely flabbergasted by this revelation, but beginning to connect the dots on things that had stood out to you, helping the little ones oil and brush their tails probably was a very intimate thing for parent and child, but he had been guiding you on it since the third week, there were other smaller actions and decisions that make things clearer to you.

Squeezing his hand back gently as you take a deep breath and kneel to his level, placing a hand on his shoulder like you had that first day, reassuring him as you take note of the panic blooming on his features, soothing him before gently telling him you would have to think about it and that you had grown attached to the little ones over the time here but it would be a big step to go from helper to actual co-parenting them as equals.

Letting your words sink in you stand and try to let him gather himself a little more, pulling away for a second before he stands and wraps his arms around you, hugging you as he burries his face into your shoulder, sniffling and whimpering for you not to leave them, he needs you, his kits need you, they cant loose you after just getting used to you.

Sighing as you return the hug, supporting the hybrid that likely had done so much alone and not with adequate support, was latching onto the first person that stayed and helped, even if you were getting paid to do so.

Once the sniffles stop and his shoulders steady out, you tell him that the kids can keep calling you that, but he needs to use your name, and that you will genuinely think about his offer of making you "officially" family. Watching as he pulls back, arms still around your waist and tail wrapped around your leg, he takes a deep breath and looks at your eyes, determined before he leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek.

Mumbling about making it an easy choice as he unwinds himself from you, hearing the sounds of the kids coming running down the stairs as he turns and smiles at them, picking up the youngest as he turns to face your stunned form, inviting you to come out into the yard to play with them as the other two kits run circles around you.

[songbirdseung]

GONNA KILL ME - NISHIMURA RIKI ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

"thanks for the heart attack, i'll never believe you ever again" ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ n.rk x reader 𖹭 sometimes extra context would help a lot, yn 𖹭.ᐟ

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾

he was already so exhausted, adrenaline still pumping so fast through his veins. the sweat was making his tee annoyingly cling to his skin. his body started to ache mid rehearsal already. riki just wanted to go home and rest but that feeling went straight out the door when his phone buzzed and he took it out and read your text.

YN [22: 32] i'm in the hospital...

yup, just that. no type of follow up nor explanation, no nothing. it made his heart drop and his mind rush to the worse scenarios.

the room seemed to begin spinningas he started to register his emotions. he just kept re-reading your text over and over again. hoping you'd follow up, watching the bottom of the screen, waiting for the typing bubble to show up. "what the f-" his throat has gotten drier not like it wasn't already damaged from rehearsals.

next thing he knows, he's up and running, grabbing his bag and running out the room, not even saying goodbye to his members nor staff, not even getting the second to look at their confused reactions.

not even getting out a full sentence as he's rushing to pack his stuff in his bag.

"dude, riki. relax, what's the rush?" jake asked, trying to reach for him, trying to hold him back.

riki replies and gosh, the poor man's voice is now shaky just like his hands. "i- fu- i gotta go. yn is at the hospital" once he finished flimsily packed his stuff, he reaches for his phone and tries to call you.

now jungwon stood up as well, his expression concerned. "huh? what happened to yn?"

“i don’t know, she just texted that. no details. i’m calling her. shit, shit... come on, pick up,” he muttered, phone pressed to his ear.

again, there was no answer.

that's it. he didn’t even wait to explain more. he was already halfway out the door, heart jackhammering in his chest, thoughts spiraling. Was she in an accident? Did she faint? Was it serious? Did she get rushed there in an ambulance? Why didn’t she say anything?

once he got to the hospital, he burst through, making a bug appearance as if he's forgotten he was a well-known accomplished idol. he was breathless like he ran there, flushed and dizzy.

“hello, excuse me. i’m looking for a patient, her name is yn ln. kind of short, beautiful- uh... she texted me she was here, please, I need to know where she is.”

the poor nurse blinked at him, startled and statstruck but ecided to keep it professional to keep her job. after fumbling it all out, he was directed down a room and there he goes running through halls until he finally gets to a internal medicine wing of the hospital. the name making him panic even more. what do you mean internal? was she okay? now he was the one feeling sick.

taking a deep breath before twisting the door open.

and there she was.

on a standard check up bed, sitting while swinging her feet, looking... relaxed and okay.

you were in you little cardigan and baggy jeans, your hair tucked behind one ear, phone in hand as you scrolled with a calm little pout, like you were waiting for a coffee order and not like you did not just send you boyfriend into cardiac arrest.

then you eyes flicked up and saw riki, face lit up. “hh! you’re here.”

riki took a step forward, voice strangled. “of course, i- you texted me ‘I’m at the hospital’ and that’s it?”

“yeah. i didn’t wanna over-explain.”

riki actually groaned out of frustration. chest still heaving. “do you have any idea what that did to me, yn??”

"but did i lie though?"

"oh my gosh, yeah. like that's the point here, yn" riki rolled his eyes then dragging a hand down his face. "what is this even for, babe?"

scanning you through like an MRI. "why are you here?"

“just a check-up because i’ve been feeling lightheaded a lot recently so I thought i’d do a quick blood test. nothing too big, no drama.”

“no drama?” riki echoed, heart finally starting to slow down. “baby, I thought.... i actually started thinking if you were dying.”

you gave him a little shrug. “i just wanted you to come and see me." giggling and tugging on the front of his hoodie, guiding him closer until he stood between you legs. “hey baby. i’m sorry for scaring you," voice softening now that he was closer. your fingers snuck under the hem of his shirt, tracing the sweat-cooled line of his stomach. “but i’m okay. promise.”

his hands went to rest on both side of your hips. “you better be. you almost made me cry in the taxi.”

[cloudyzeusy]

Can you maybe write for sugar baby bakugou again maybe with the CEO reader having to go on a business trip and wouldn’t be home for a week of so?

One Week Too Long

pairing: sugar baby!katsuki X top male reader

It was late at night and the click of your suitcase was to be heard in your room, over the distant hum of Tokyo traffic.

Beyond the glass windows, the city glowed softly- alive and constant, indifferent to the silence inside.

Bakugo was currently shirtless, in just sweatpants. His arms were crossed, jaw clenched, leg bouncing. You tried to ignore the weight of his gaze burning into the side of your face- fustrated.

He shifted for the fifth time, arms crossed like a grumpy statue carved from gold and muscle.

Bakugou had been lying on your bed for twenty minutes or so, saying nothing- but sulking so loudly you could hear it.

He has also taken to sighing loudly clearly fishing for your attention. But nothing was going to change your mind.

Finally he broke the silence."Why the fuck do you need to be gone that long? Can’t you send one of your damn assistant drones to handle it?” He grumbled.

You weren't fazed by his irritation, you had seen every side of after all.

After folding the last piece into your suitcase, you got up and walked toward the bed. “It’s an important merger. If I don’t go, the deal falls apart. I’ll only be gone for seven days.” You explaind gently but firmly for the tenth time.“You can survive without me for a little while, can’t you?”

As you passed him to grab your phone he grabbed your wrist. “But this whole week’s bullshit.” His brow furrowed, he was trying to act tough, but it didn’t quite land he looked more like a sulky boyfriend than 'Dynamight'.

You moved closer to him running a hand through his hair. He leaned into it despite the eye roll he sent your way. You knelt at the edge of the bed so you could properly comfort him. “I’ll call you every day. Morning and night. No excuses.”

“Tch. The bed’s gonna be cold without you.” He muttered but you knew what he actually meant 'I'll miss you'.

“You know I hate leaving you. I’ll bring back that whiskey you like. And maybe a few surprises.” You promised softly.

“I’m not some pet you throw money at when you’re busy.” He snorted but didn’t pull away. Then a few seconds later...

“Better be fuckin’ good surprises.”

You smirked at that and leaned in for a goodbye kiss, letting your fingers slide into his hair—soft, thick, just a little messy from how many times he’d run his hands through it tonight. Katsuki’s arms came around your waist instantly, tight and possessive, like if he just held you hard enough, maybe you wouldn’t go.

Your mouths hovered a breath apart, your noses brushing. His breath hitched- sharp and shallow and you felt it ghost across your lips, warm and impatient.

When you finally kissed him, it was slow and steady. His lips were warm and just a little chapped, like he’d been chewing at them the whole time you were packing.

He made a sound low in his throat, not quite a growl but more like a hum of relief. As if your mouth on his was the only thing grounding him.

Your hand tightened in his hair as his grip on your waist pulled you even closer. Just the way he clung to you like he was afraid the second you pulled away, you’d disappear.

After Bakugou slightly moved back to say raspily. “Call me every night. No excuses. Or I’m flying my ass out there.”

“Promise. Every night.” You brushed your thumb over his cheek.

You zipped up your suitcase and turned toward the bedroom light. Bakugou tugged the blanket over his lap like it might replace your warmth.

“Seven days,” You whispered. “Just seven.”

“Too fuckin’ long,” he muttered, eyes never leaving you, even as you closed the door behind you.

It was day 3 of your trip and Katsuki laid on your side of the bed, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. The glow of his phone screen was the only light in the dark room. 1:42 a.m. Yet there was still nothing.

He had kept checking his phone throughout the day for any new missed calls, new messages- but other than the one blurry photo you sent earlier with the caption “crazy day. miss u,” there was nothing.

He had then taken to scrolling through texts. Rereading voice messages from Day 2.

He swiped down on the screen again. Still no new messages. His thumb hovered over your contact name for the hundredth time.

“Tch,” He muttered, rolling to his side. “ You said you’d call.”

He kept tossing the blanket off, then pulling them back on as he couldn’t sleep.

Finally he had had enough pulling up your number. He stared at the mic button for a long second, then pressed it.

“You forgot.” The words came out sharper than he meant.“Bet you’re too busy-” he scoffed under his breath. “-wearin’ that tight-ass blazer, flashin’ that look you only give me…”

Yes he sounded pouty and jealous bit he sidnt care at this point. He was a sugar baby after all(he had gotten used to saying that).

He stared at the blinking mic icon again, thumb hovering. This time, his voice came out softer.

“...Just wanna hear your voice, dumbass.”

He got up rummaging through your closet and found one of your shirts, half-folded on the closet shelf, and pulled it close.

It smelled like you- clean, expensive. It was the only thing in the room that did.

He curled up on the bed, one hand fisted in the fabric, the other still holding the phone.

“Call me, damn it,” He whispered to the dark, even though he knew you wouldn’t hear it. Wrapped in your scent, Katsuki finally closed his eyes.

The champagne flute twirled in your fingers as you nodded through another pointless conversation.

You had been to 3 of these cocktail parties already to 'keep up appearances' as your first assistant put it. But you had had enough they were all the same exact thing.

You didn’t even hear anything he said. You were too busy imagining Katsuki's voice instead.

It didn't help the sleazy executive's case that he was trying to flirt with you. He was getting on your nerves with his loud laugh, cheap cologne and how he kept touching your arm.

You finally had enough when he called you “handsome” with a smirk.

You pulled out your phone under the table to tease Katsuki over text.

> This guy’s trying to flirt with me. You’d hate him.

As soon as you sent the text he read it immediately as if he was just waiting for you to text.

His FaceTime request popped up within seconds. And he didn't even bother to greet you.

You smiled softly as you accepted and Bakugou’s face filled the screen- lit by his bedside lamp, glaring at you.

“Show me his face so I know who to kill.” He bit out, definitely not joking.

You let out a low laugh, discreetly tipping your phone toward the guy just for fun.

“You’re so dramatic. He doesn’t even bench half what you do.”

“I don’t care who talks to you. At the end of the night, I’m the only one you come home to.”

“Go somewhere private. Now. I don’t care if it’s the damn coat closet. Move.”

You excuse yourself from the crowd with a polite nod and a half-hearted smile, barely listening as the exec keeps talking. Katsuki’s face was still frozen on the screen, eyes sharp like he’s seconds away from flying out to find you himself.

Your voice is low, almost a warning: “Don’t hang up.”

You weave through the maze of people, past clinking glasses and fake laughter, until you slip out a side door into a quiet hallway. There was a few potted plants, some abstract art, but most importantly privacy.

You spot a tucked-away corner just before the restrooms and duck into it. There was a low light and no footsteps nearby.

“Better?” You murmured into the camera. “No one else here but you.”

Katsuki's smirk is slow and dangerous.

“Good. Now put the phone somewhere steady. I want both your hands free.”

You leaned against the cool wall of the empty hallway, phone balanced in your hand as Bakugou’s face filled the screen. He wasn’t lounging anymore. He had one arm behind his head, abs flexed, the other resting idly by his side.

His eyes dragged over you through the screen, hungry.

“You miss me, don’t you?”

His voice came through your phone’s speaker, low and rasping. You exhaled hard, letting your head fall back against the wall.

“Bet your cock’s hard just from hearing my voice.”

You didn’t answer, just bit your lip, your free hand moving to loosen your tie. You slipped the knot loose and reached for your shirt buttons, undoing them slowly with one hand, eyes locked on him the whole time.

He watched silently, fire in his gaze. “Touch yourself. Think of me. Let me hear how much you miss me.”

Your fingers slipped lower. The buckle of your belt clinked open loud in the quiet space around you.

You hissed softly as you palmed yourself through the fabric of your slacks, the pressure instantly relieving.

You pulled out your cock from your boxers camera angled towards it so Katsuki could see exactly what he was missing.

Katsuki’s voice was commanding as he said “Stroke it slow. I wanna hear how desperate you are.”

You obeyed without thinking, hand wrapping around yourself as you let out a quiet, shuddering breath. The soft, slick sound of your movements filled the space between you, echoed faintly through the phone.

Katsuki didn’t touch himself. He didn’t need to. His pleasure was in watching, in hearing you unravel from nothing but his voice.

He licked his lips slowly, eyes half-lidded, hungry. “Yeah... just like that. Don’t fuckin’ rush it.”

Your hips twitched, the tightness building far too fast. You groaned low in your throat, breath catching.

“Don’t cum until I say so.”

His tone sharpened, low and cutting. You forced your hand to slow, trembling with the effort.

“Katsuki...” You gasped, voice hoarse. “I need you.”

That made him smirk- cocky and cruel in the way only he could be. But his eyes softened just enough to let the truth slip through: he missed you just as much.

“Say it again.”

“I need you.”

“Say my name.”

You moaned for him, wrecked and breathless. “Katsuki...”

“Louder.”

“Katsuki-” You bit your lip, head falling back against the wall. “Can’t wait ‘til I’m home. Gonna ruin you.”

He growled softly, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, though he still didn’t touch himself.

“You better. You fuckin’ better ruin me, daddy.”

And then, quieter: “Now. Come for me.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Your body tensed, jaw clenching as the climax ripped through you. You came with a low groan, hand tight around yourself, back arching off the wall.

The aftershocks made your thighs tremble. You blinked up at the ceiling, chest heaving, the quiet of the hallway pulling you back down.

And through the speaker low, and so smug- his voice cut through the haze.

“Good. You’re mine. No one else gets you like that.”

You glanced down at the screen. Bakugou hadn’t moved, hadn’t touched himself, but his eyes burned like he had. He was smirking now, lazy and proud, lips parted just enough to show teeth.

“You better be on the first flight home. I want you here. In this bed. Tomorrow.”

You wiped your hand on your inner shirt, fingers still shaking a little as you caught your breath. The sight of him- stretched out on your bed in your shirt, made your mouth dry all over again.

You exhaled slowly, dragging your fingers through your hair as your breath evened out. You zipped up your trousers back up.

You brought the phone back to your ear, voice still rough, but steady this time.

“Last meeting’s tomorrow,” You said, tucking your shirt back in with one hand. “I’ll be home before you wake up.”

There was a pause- long enough to make you think the call had dropped- until you heard his voice again.

“Damn right you will. And you’re not leavin’ me again.”

Then the line went dead.

You stared at your reflection in the dark glass of the nearby window, lips twitching into a small smile.

Not a chance in hell.

You unlocked the penthouse door as quietly as you could, rolling your suitcase in behind you. The lights were low, golden and soft just the way he liked them when winding down for the night.

You had expected silence or maybe the distant hum of the city through the windows. Maybe Bakugou asleep, curled into your side of the bed like he’d done on the nights you missed your calls.

Instead, you saw him sitting on the couch waiting impatiently.

The low table in front of him held your favorite whiskey. One glass in his hand and another beside it was left untouched.

His eyes cut to you the second the door clicked shut.

You dropped your keys onto the entryway tray, voice low. “I missed you.”

He didn’t say a damn word.

Didn’t ask how the trip went.

Didn’t ask about the flight.

Didn’t ask if you were tired.

He slammed the glass down, stood in one sharp motion, and strode to you like he was ready to fight.

You barely had time to take a breath before his hands fisted in your shirt, dragging you down into a kiss. His mouth crashed against yours, frantic and you let him take what he needed.

His hands roamed up your chest, nails scratching over fabric, and you pressed him back into the nearest wall, pinning him there like gravity itself was helping you prove a point.

“I fuckin’ hate you,” He breathed between kisses, lips swollen. “Hate when you’re gone. Hate when my chest hurts like this.”

“I know,” You whispered, dragging your mouth along his throat. “I’m home now.”

“Not good enough.”

Your mouth found his again, teeth clashing. He pulled at your jacket like it personally offended him, like every layer separating you was the enemy. You hoisted him up by the thighs, his legs instinctively locking around your waist as you walked him toward the bedroom, never once breaking the kiss.

His thighs trembled around your waist, still caged there from when you carried him in. You had him laid out against the sheets now back arched, mouth open and panting like you’d taken all the air out of the room just by touching him.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Bakugou muttered, trying to sound annoyed, but his voice cracked on the last syllable. “Leavin’ me all fuckin’ week and comin’ home lookin’ like that.”

“Like what?” You murmured, dragging your mouth along the sharp line of his jaw, then lower, over the flushed stretch of his throat.

“Like you’re gonna fuckin’ devour me.”

Your grin wolfish.“That’s the idea.”

He gasped when your teeth scraped his collarbone. Your other hand gripped his hip tight, pressing him down against the mattress as you ground your hips between his legs- just once and he swore, head tipping back like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to curse you or beg.

“Katsuki.” Your voice was low, gravel-edged from need. “Look at me.”

He did. Red eyes glossy, pupils blown wide, lips bitten pink and trembling.

“Tell me whose you are.”

“You already- fuck you already know,” He choked out, bucking against you.

"Say it anyway.”

You slid down his body slowly, savouring the way his breath hitched every time your lips brushed his skin. His chest heaved when you kissed just under his navel, his fists clutching the sheets tight.

“I’m yours,” he finally rasped. “I’m always yours. Only yours.”

You shoved his legs apart and licked into the sweat-slick crease of his thigh like a man starved. He let out a desperate noise- one you’d only ever dragged out of him when he was like this: needy.

You didn’t make him wait long.

One slick push in and his back arched off the mattress with a broken gasp. His thighs trembled around your hips. You kissed hickeys all over his body, while your hands pinned him down and your hips began to move.

It wasn’t fast. Not at first.

You wanted him to feel every inch of you inside him, every bit of the stretch. Wanted desperately to imprint yourself on him again, like your body could convince him you weren’t going anywhere.

“You miss this?” You whispered into the shell of his ear. “Miss me inside you?”

He whimpered. Couldn’t even speak. Just nodded fast and clung to your arms like he’d fall apart without you.

“Didn’t even touch yourself, did you?” You groaned, nipping at his neck. “Wanted to save it for me.”

His voice was thin and cracking when he said, “Wasn’t the same. It’s never the fuckin’ same.”

You kissed him again, harder this time your rhythm picking up, pace growing punishing. And Bakugou was loud now, no longer trying to hold it in. He was panting your name between moans, his hands tangling in your hair as you rocked into him again and again.

“Fuck, fuck- I’m gonna-”

“Let go, Katsuki. I’ve got you.”

He came with a strangled cry, body locking tight around you. You kept fucking him through it, riding out every wave of it, until you were barely holding yourself together.

You spilled inside him with a low groan, buried so deep in him it felt like there was no part of him that wasn’t yours.

You didn’t pull out right away.

You just stayed there, holding him close, your breath ragged in his ear.

You cleaned him up carefully, letting him hiss when the washcloth passed over sensitive skin. He mumbled something snarky, but he was too tired to sound convincing and when you pulled the blankets over both of you, he immediately curled into your chest like muscle memory.

His fingers fisted your shirt. He didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“One fuckin’ week,” he muttered again, voice half-slurred with exhaustion. “And I was losin’ my damn mind…”

“I know,” You whispered into his hair. “I’m not leaving you like that again.”

“You better not,” he grumbled. “I’ll riot and handcuff myself to your suitcase.”

You laughed softly and kissed the top of his head. “Deal.”

He drifted off like that—wrapped in your arms, still fisting your shirt like he was scared you’d slip away in the night.

But you weren't ever leaving.

You never wanted to go through that week apart again.

So, quietly you started rearranging your schedule. Cutting down on those long trips that was longer than a day, moving meetings around, and booking flights only when absolutely necessary.

Every decision you made had him in the back of your mind- his face, that fierce gaze, the way he held onto you like he was afraid you’d disappear.

The first big change was giving him a key to your office.

He didn’t ask for it outright. You just showed up one day, key in hand, and watched his eyes sharpen with something like surprise but maybe grudging approval.

“Now you can come whenever,” you said with a smirk.

He didn’t smile. Instead, he took the key and said, “Good.”

From then on, he started tagging along more.

Sometimes he’d sit silently in the corner, arms crossed, glaring down anyone who dared interrupt your calls or meetings. Other times, he’d lean back on the office couch, scrolling through his phone or just watching you work.

(Like a true sugar baby)

One evening, you found yourself working late again. The glow of your laptop screen was the only light in the room.

Katsuki was curled up on the couch beside you, head resting on your lap, his breathing slow and even.

You reached down to run your fingers through his hair, careful not to wake him.

He was yours- stubborn and fiercely protective- and here, in this small quiet moment, you wouldn’t change it for anything.

[soft4changbin]

Honey, you’re adorable

Mingi x girlfriend!reader

Summary: Mingi spends a cozy day teasing and adoring his cute girlfriend, from a lazy morning to sweet messages and cuddles at night, completely smitten by her charm.

Word count: 603

The first thing Mingi says when he sees you that morning is, “You’re too cute. It’s a problem.”

Still half-asleep, you blink at him in confusion, one sock on, the other missing, hair sticking up like you’ve wrestled your pillow and lost. “What?”

He leans against the doorway, arms crossed, head tilted with that lazy smile of his. “You. You look like a sleepy bunny, and it’s making it very hard for me to be a functioning adult right now.”

You throw your sock at him. “Go to practice.”

He catches it with one hand, laughing. “I have ten minutes. That’s ten minutes of boyfriend time.”

Ten minutes turns into fifteen, because he insists on helping you find your missing sock, even though he mostly just walks around the room going, “Here, socky socky,” like it’s going to crawl out and greet him. You end up finding it under the bed yourself.

Still, he plops beside you on the couch like he did all the work, pulling you into his lap. “I don’t want to go.”

“You’ll be late.”

“I’m already late. Might as well get a proper goodbye.”

You roll your eyes but smile as you lean in. He kisses you softly, like he has all the time in the world. His hand brushes against your cheek, warm and gentle, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. When he pulls back, his grin has softened into something more tender.

“You always look like that when you kiss me,” you mumble.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m made of sugar and stars.”

Mingi laughs, low and warm. “Maybe you are.”

You push your face into his shoulder to hide how hot your cheeks are. He laughs again, clearly satisfied with himself. “Told you. Too cute.”

Later that evening, you send him a photo of the tiny heart-shaped pancake you made for dinner. Just one. The rest turned out like lumpy blobs.

Mingi replies with a flurry of emojis and then, “YOU’RE SO CUTE I’M GONNA CRY.”

You send a voice note laughing. “You’re dramatic.”

He sends one back. “I miss you. Pancakes look lonely. Come here.”

You hear the whine in his voice and bite back your smile. “You’re still at practice, Mingi.”

“Exactly. Come fix it.”

When he finally gets home, he all but tackles you into a hug, lifting you off the floor with a happy noise.

“You smell like syrup,” he says into your hair.

“You smell like sweat.”

“Perfect match,” he grins.

You cuddle on the couch, legs tangled, a blanket wrapped around you both. He talks about practice, the new choreo, the moment he forgot what move came next because he was thinking about you holding a heart pancake like it was a national treasure.

“You’re obsessed with me,” you tease.

He presses his forehead to yours. “You’re soft and sweet and sleepy and always accidentally matching your socks wrong. How could I not be obsessed?”

“You’re such a sap.”

“I’m your sap.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is doing that fluttery thing it always does around him. You tuck your face into his chest, letting yourself melt into his warmth.

Mingi sighs contentedly and squeezes you tighter.

“I hope you always let me love you like this,” he whispers.

Your answer is muffled, sleepy, but certain: “Always.”

And just like that, in the quiet of your shared space, tangled in soft blankets and each other, the world fades away—and it’s just you and Mingi, two hearts beating in perfect, cuddly harmony.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 20

Source for pic

Imperfect 20

Word Count: 6545

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: Oh, gosh. We've reached chapter 20. Send help! Also, I've been doing the math of chapter versus plot ratio, and I reckon we've got about 5 or 6 chapters to go before the end. I hope you're ready to say goodbye, because I'm not! 😭 Oh! Do enjoy this chapter. We all deserve a little break from the angst.

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

The rest of your shift drags endlessly. Hongo apologized repeatedly for having misread the situation, but assured you that he would do it all over again, as it was the right thing to do given the information he had at the time. You assured him everything was fine and you’d handle the situation. Then you promised him you’d speak with Shanks about Kid, too.

Eventually. 

By the time you leave the bar, already making peace with the fact that Kid isn’t going to be waiting for you on his bike, you are feeling distraught and forlorn, ready to crawl into bed and immediately fall asleep. 

However, after a short drive, as you pull up by the dirt driveway, you see a hunched shadow sitting on the front steps, purposefully away from the porch light. Your first thought is that it’s Kid, but you quickly realize it can’t be him, so it has to be your father, since an intruder wouldn’t be sitting there waiting for you.

Right?

As soon as you get close enough to discern the shadow, your heart skips a beat. It is Kid.

He’s sitting rigidly, his elbows resting on his knees as he clenches his hands together in a nervous gesture, the metal of the prosthetic arm gleaming dimly under the yellow light. You can’t see his face, though, like those shadows are too dark and too deep to read through the windshield. 

Cutting the engine, you take a deep breath, ready to launch into a rapid-fire explanation about what happened and what he thinks he saw. As you get out of the car and he lifts his head to look at you, your stomach churns with apprehension and dread. 

There’s a dark bruise already forming under his eye, and his bottom lip is split open.

You sit by his side, angling your body toward him, your stomach knotting further when the scent of liquor hits your nostrils—he’s been drinking, though it doesn’t appear he’s drunk.

“I wasn’t—”

“No,” Kid warns, cutting off your explanation even before you begin. You swallow hard, fearful that all that slow progress you’ve been making together has been thrown out the window. 

Instead, he turns to you, holding your gaze with a determination you haven’t seen in his eyes in weeks. 

“I… let me speak first,” he says. You nod and fight the urge to speak. In the distance, an owl hoots, marking the slow passing of time as he gathers his thoughts.

“I was headed straight to Hellpit,” Kid starts. “It’s a… a sort of underground fight club, some nasty shit, anyway…” He shakes his head. “Couldn’t get inside. Somethin’ about the promise I made to Kill about never goin’ back didn’t sit right with me, so I turned away. But I was still too angry to go home.”

You flinch and open your mouth to respond, but he doesn’t let you speak.

“Ended up in a shitty bar at the docks. Got what I was lookin’ for there: cheap whiskey and a fight. Drank more than I should’ve, which was any, and goaded ‘nother drunk asshole into a fight.”

Kid sighs heavily, his eyes shying away from yours for a moment before he finds the courage to hold your gaze again. He should know better than to expect any kind of judgment on your part. 

“I didn’t even think. I just wanted numbness to wash over me and drown away the fuckin’ ghosts. Anythin’ to shut ‘em up, anythin’ to take the image of you and—fuck.”

You open your mouth yet again, ready to tell him it was all a misunderstanding, but he raises his flesh hand in the air, shaking his head gently. 

“Just let me finish, aye?” he asks, his voice gravelly and very raw. You nod, your eyes already starting to prickle because all of this could’ve been avoided. “The first punch hit me square in the face. I didn’t even try to stop it; it was exactly what I wanted.” Kid lets out a bitter laugh. “But, fuck, did it open my eyes.”

He runs his fingers through his hair—it’s disheveled enough to tell you he’s been doing the same gesture nonstop all night.

“I realized three important things right then.” Kid raises one finger, his eyes never leaving yours now. “One: I’m a real fuckin’ asshole. Shouldn’t be much of a surprise there, but the realization hit hard.” Kid scoffs and holds another finger up. “Two: I shouldn’t have to think ye’ll be willin’ to wait for me to get my shit together forever. Yer free to move on. To live yer life and be… happy. I ain’t gotta be mad about shit when I pushed ye away in the first place.”

Your throat feels tight, the prickling in your eyes increases, and as much as you want to interrupt him, you know he needs to get all of this off his chest before you speak.

Kid holds his third finger up, fully turning his body to you, and his eyes soften a little bit as he holds your gaze. 

“Three… the most fuckin’ important shit I figured tonight… I’m never gonna stop fightin’ for ye.” Your heart slams against your ribs. “Even when I know I don’t fuckin’ deserve it, even if I should just let ye move on with yer life… I won’t. I can’t. I’m not gonna sit back and watch as ye move on. I’m gonna fight this time. Like I should’ve fought since day fuckin’ one.”

You hold each other’s gaze for a long while, and a single tear falls freely down your cheek. He just said the words you’ve been wanting to hear since the beginning: that he’ll fight for you, for what you have.

You release the breath you were holding, only now realizing the pressure on your chest was more than just your heart bursting with feelings. The movement makes Kid break eye contact and look at his feet. He finished what he wanted to say, and now he’s expecting you to break his heart. 

“Kid…” you start, hesitating before reaching and grasping his forearm. “Hongo was just helping me with pool… My stance was all wrong, and he was correcting it.” Your inhale turns into a small sob, and Kid turns to face you, his nose scrunched up in confusion. “When you showed up, he was just being protective. Shanks talked to him about what happened with us before, and he was acting like a dad. That’s all, I swear.”

Kid holds your gaze for a moment. Then he lets out a long, relieved exhale.

“I never told my dad about the latest developments between us. I… well… you know how Dad is… he’s on a need-to-know basis when it comes to you, so I kept him in the dark. Hongo told me he could kick you out if you were making me uncomfortable. When I cleared it up with him and looked for you… you were gone.”

Kid settles his hand over yours, and inhales deeply, as if the air feels less thick now. 

“I thought… fuck… I really thought I was losin’ ye.”

“That’s not possible…” you whisper. 

His jaw clenches as his whole body tenses up. You watch as his eyes slowly fall towards your lips and linger. As if he’s imagining kissing you, and by all that is sacred, how you want him to. 

You don’t even care if you’re rushing things. In fact, it can’t be rushing if it feels right. 

Kid leans in, and his hand leaves yours. You only feel its absence for a second because in the next instant, that same hand is climbing up the back of your neck, his fingers curling with the strands of your hair in a gesture so familiar you nearly weep. 

Your lashes flutter close, your lower lip trembles in tandem with the jumbled beats of your heart. Kid’s fingers tremble, too, and that’s a whole new level of vulnerability you aren’t used to. 

You feel his hot breath on your lips for a fraction of a second, and then…

Nothing.

“Fuck,” he mutters. When you open your eyes, he’s leaning away. His hand leaves a ghost of a touch on the back of your neck, and your heart aches for a whole other reason.

“This can’t happen. Not like this, fuck.” Kid runs his hand over his face, shaking his head, trying to dispel whatever fog was hovering above both of you. “It can’t happen when I smell like cheap booze and look like I lost a fuckin’ fight.”

“Kid—” you try, your heart still hanging on the edge of a precipice, ready to jump without any safety net or parachute. 

“No. I ain’t kissin’ ye when I look like shit and feel like a fuckin’ loser. Ye deserve me at my best, or at least better than this, aye?” Kid’s voice comes out raw and filled with guilt and shame. It makes your stomach churn and your heart clench, but you can understand where he’s coming from. 

“I want…” Kid clenches his fist, something flickers across his expression, and his cheeks seem to darken with a bit of color. Is he embarrassed? “I want our next kiss to mean somethin’,” he groans, rolling his eyes to the back of his head like he hated the words that came out of his mouth. He doesn’t take them back, though. 

You finally smile, nodding softly. You can definitely understand why he wants to do this. You asked him to be the man you believe he can be. And that’s what he’ll deliver to you. 

Nothing less. 

“We can do that,” you assure him in a soft voice. 

He exhales in relief again, closing his eyes and nodding at you. When he opens them again and looks at you, they’re full of longing and restraint. Once, a lifetime ago, he told you how hard it was to stop kissing you, to stop touching you. And you can see that same desperation and yearning in his eyes. But this time he’s holding back.

Because he wants to be worthy.

Of you.

-*-

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you decide it’s about time you had an overdue chat with Shanks. So you’re sitting on the porch, in the exact spot you and Kid almost kissed yesterday, two glasses of iced tea by your side, waiting for your dad to wrangle the horses back inside the barn and into their pens. 

The earth feels warm after a hot day, the sound of cicadas a gentle lull as the sun arches lower in the sky. There are still a few hours left before sunset, but less time before you head to work.

You’re not sure if Hongo spoke to your dad after last night (he probably did), and you don’t want any more misunderstandings. Shanks has been avoiding talking about Kid like he’s the plague, so you don’t really know where his mind’s at regarding it. 

After a few minutes, Shanks comes out of the barn, shaking his straw hat and hitting it against his leg to scatter the dust. When he plops down next to you, he releases a sigh that’s half-grunt and leans back on his elbow.

“I’m ready for a beer,” he states with a grin.

You hand him the iced tea with a wicked smile, and he laughs. 

“Close enough.” He takes a sip in silence, watching the trees sway softly in the warm breeze. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

You’re not even going to ask how he knows you want to speak about something. Shanks has always had great intuition, at least when you were still living together. 

“Hongo told you Kid’s been dropping by at the bar, right?” 

Shanks sighs and closes his eyes, as if he already knows this is what you want to talk about and he’d rather get surgery on his hernia without anesthesia than sit through it. 

“He did. He’s been there every day, right? Roux said he stays ‘till closing time.”

How much does your dad know? 

“Yeah…” you agree with a soft nod. “He’s… he’s been working on himself. He’s different.”

Shanks scoffs, setting down the glass and pursing his lips. “He would say that, wouldn’t he?”

“No, Dad, I’m serious. Killer says he’s been getting help and—” you hold your breath. “We’ve been hanging out and… talking…”

You surreptitiously look at your father, trying to gauge how pissed off he is by this knowledge. He opens and closes his mouth three times before groaning and running his hand through his hair. 

“I can’t tell you what to do, but I can ask you to be careful. That man came into your life like a freaking wildfire and burned everything down in the process. I’ve watched you rise from the ashes and start to rebuild. Don’t let him tear everything down again.” He locks eyes with you. “Please.”

You run a hand over your throat, trying to alleviate the pressure that just formed there, and stare at your feet. 

“I know… but… but I knew what I was getting into. He told me he was messed up and broken, and I still stayed. I chose to believe him and—”

“And he tore you to pieces,” Shanks finishes for you.

“Yeah, he did,” you sigh. “But he’s showing up, Dad. He’s not demanding anything. He’s just… there. Showing me how different he is, how he’s trying to be the man I know he can be.”

The pain you see in Shanks’ eyes speaks of nights spent without sleeping, of mornings worrying when you would eat, of afternoons spent agonizing about the future. Kid hurt him too, back then, and it seems Shanks isn’t yet ready to forgive.

“I’m not telling you this to ask permission, Dad, you know that. I just want you to know what I’m trying to build back up, even if you don’t approve.” And that stings a little bit, because the little girl in you will always seek daddy’s approval. 

“I know…” he admits. “And it’s your life, Bug. I’m just here as your pit crew, cheering you on and patching you up when you need it.” He exhales heavily, trying to force a smile that comes out looking more grimace-like than something else. “I can’t forgive him yet. I don’t trust him, don’t know if I ever will again, but I trust you. And if you feel this is the right path to take… then I’ll be right here by the pit stop, just in case you need me.”

Your heart clenches in your chest as warmth floods through your veins. It’s the closest to approval he can give you, and you’ll take it. Trust can be built and rebuilt. Shanks will trust Kid again. Eventually. 

“I still kind of want to knock his teeth out, though,” Shanks mumbles, finishing the iced tea in his glass.

“Of course you do, Dad,” you snort. “But I like his face just the way it is. Don’t mess it up.”

“No promises,” he retorts, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand and then flicking your nose with a grin on his lips. 

-*-

Your next shift comes with a surprise—a surprise with a perfect body, a flirty smile, and baby-blue eyes. “Sweetheart,” Hongo starts. “This is Porche. I’m sure you’ve heard of her; she usually works the afternoon shift, but since I’m going to finally take that week off that I’ve been talking about for ages, she’s going to cover for me.”

You smile and extend your hand to your new female coworker. Your first reaction is genuine happiness. Nami, Robin, and Vivi have been crazy busy lately, and with the differences in your work hours, it’s been very hard for you to get some girl time with them. Female companionship sounds amazing. 

“Hi Porche, nice to meet you!” you tell her your name, and she shakes your hand with a smile, tossing her blue hair behind one shoulder and saying ‘Hi’ back. 

Yeah, seems nice enough. 

You should’ve known better.

It takes less than ten minutes for euphoria to disintegrate into disappointment. Porche is loud. In fact, she’s too much of everything. She laughs too hard at jokes that aren’t even funny, sways her hips like she’s walking the runway, and emphasizes her cleavage by leaning on counters and tables. 

Your patience starts to dwindle once the orders pile up because she spends more time flirting and calling patrons things like ‘handsome,’ and ‘sugar,’ and you could even swear you heard her call a white-haired man ‘daddy.’

But after seeing how she gets a lot of tips treating patrons like that, you don’t want to say anything. Whatever works for her, you guess. Maybe this is just the persona she creates because it works. You end up just asking her to be a little bit faster with the orders, and try not to be annoyed over the rest.

You’re about to spend a full week with her and would rather make a friend than an enemy. 

Until that familiar rush of air from the door catches your attention. 

You’re distracted, polishing a few glasses that came out of the washing machine. The cloth stops mid-motion, and you lift your head.

It’s Kid. 

The world stops for a few moments, as it usually does whenever he arrives and nods at you in greeting, already a small smile threatening to curve your lips up. And then—

“Oh, wow! Who the hell is that piece of walking sin?” Your brow twitches, and your smile is immediately forgotten. Porche leans on the counter next to you, eating Kid up with her big, blue eyes. “Yum! He’s sooo my type! Tall, angry, broad—” Porche uses her hand to fan herself as you set the glass down with such force you hear it crack. “I need to climb that man like a tree.”

And just like that, she’s gone. Sashaying away to the corner of the bar where Kid sits. You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the way your blood is boiling. Kid is not yours. You’re not in a committed relationship—or any relationship, for that matter—so he can do whatever he wants. 

Maybe he’ll be his usual gruff self to her and she’ll leave him alone. Yeah, that can work. 

Her shrill laugh manages to raise the hairs on the back of your neck. You look over the corner of your eye at what got her so happy and find her leaning on the counter, one hand over Kid’s forearm while the other one shamelessly twirls with a lock of her hair. 

Kid didn’t tell her to get lost.

Why?

With the green little jealousy monster nipping at your ankles, you turn away from the scene to clean up some tables, trying to ignore anything that might be happening where they’re standing. Maybe you can avoid looking there for the rest of the night.

…

You can’t. 

It’s only after ten agonizing minutes pass that Porche joins you behind the bar, her eyes glinting and her smile wicked. 

“Christ, that man is fire!” She groans and drinks a tall glass of water, as if she just finished running a marathon. You ignore her and continue to load up the dishwasher with dirty glasses, but she doesn’t even care if you’re paying attention or not. 

“Ugh, he’s so… everything! I need to know more about him!” Porche twirls on the spot dramatically, one hand over her forehead.

“Yeah, get in line…” you mutter, your head inside the dishwasher because there’s a spoon stuck somewhere, and the tray isn’t sliding back. 

She doesn’t even acknowledge your words. 

“I bet he fucks like a goddamned beast,” she says nonchalantly. 

You slam your head under the counter, a tirade of curse words escaping your lips as you try to process the pain and the words Porche said. You don’t even try to understand if the prickling in your eyes comes from frustration, jealousy, or the throbbing in your head. 

“Yeah, I’m going to have to find that out tonight,” she says with determination, stomping her way back to him. You stand there on your knees, with teary eyes and clutching your head, in pure disbelief. 

When your eyes follow her form and end up on Kid, the throb lowers from your head to your chest, and the sting of jealousy feels more like the sting of betrayal. He’s actually listening to what she’s babbling and nodding along to her nonsense. 

Why isn’t he telling her to fuck off?

And why does that hurt so much?

-*-

For the rest of the night, Porsche doesn’t let up. She’s constantly hovering around Kid, like a goddamn vulture. She laughs constantly, like he keeps telling her the funniest joke of all time, when all he does is grunt and fucking breathe. She takes all opportunities to touch him, winks and flirts without any ounce of shame, and you swear she brushed her chest against his back while cleaning tables. 

You’ve paid more attention than you should’ve, and you’re seething. Kid, to his credit, barely speaks to her. He doesn’t flirt back, never touches her, and doesn’t even smile. But he doesn’t tell her to get lost either, and that’s what’s bothering you the most. 

“Ugh, I need him!” Porche whines like you’re her confidant. “I need to feel how rough those hands are on my skin!”

CRASH!

“Shit,” you curse, staring at the pieces of shattered glass inside the sink. It slipped right out of your hands. You close your eyes and count to ten. One more hour. You can make it one more hour. 

…

And another week… it’s no big deal. You won’t have to murder her… or Kid. No. You’ll be fine. 

“The size of that arm alone… and that cool metal one? I mean!” She continues as you pick up the small shards. “I bet he could throw me around like a ragdoll! Wouldn’t even care where he’d throw me, I can tell you that!”

“Yeah, me either… down a cliff, or the bottom of the sea…” you mumble beneath your breath, not sure if she hears you or not, and not even caring at this point. 

“God!” She shrieks and your jaw snaps shut with tension. “I’m going to be thinking about him pounding me into the mattress all night. Bet he—”

“I need five!” you say, dropping the shards of broken glass into the bin and pulling out the trash bag, going out the back door with the excuse of throwing out the garbage. 

You can’t deal with her anymore. This has to be a special circle of hell. You can’t stand to hear her talk about Kid like that, but you can’t tell her to stop either because, as much as you want to, he’s not yours. You have no claim.

But jealousy is eating you alive. 

And there’s nothing you can do about it. 

-*-

The last hour goes by at a snail’s pace. 

You try to pretend you don’t care about what’s going on but find yourself glaring daggers at both of them. Porche gets louder and flirtier with every minute, and Kid keeps indulging her. 

Okay, maybe you’re not being exactly fair. He’s not flirting back, but he still doesn’t shut her down. 

And you don’t like what that fact is doing to your insecurities. Could he be entertaining the possibility of going home with her? After everything that happened between you two?

Your heart says no. A big, vehement no—he would never do that. But your head… your traitorous little brain keeps taunting you, no matter how hard you try to ignore it. 

When the last patron leaves and the doors are locked, you sigh in relief. One day down, four more to go. You can do this.

“I really thought he was going to ask me to go home with him. I’m so upset,” Porche grumbles, half-heartedly mopping the floor.

“Yeah, well, thank God you’re a big girl. Let’s finish this so we can go home,” you reply as you grab a rag and start wiping down tables. She keeps mumbling, but you do your best to ignore her and clean the bar in record time. 

By the time you’re out the door and lock it behind you, your patience is at its very limit. 

Porche’s shriek nearly makes you drop your keys. “He waited! Oh, heck yes! He owns a bike! I’m definitely riding that tonight!”

You turn around, dread and jealousy clenching your stomach and, sure enough, Kid’s leaning against his bike, as usual. And he’s holding two helmets. Your heart slams against your ribcage. You know it’s for you, it has to be, you know it. 

But that small, insignificant flicker of doubt makes you hesitate.

Porche, however, doesn’t hesitate at all. With her hips swinging, she strides towards Kid as if the helmet has her name written on it. Letting out another one of those high-pitched laughs, she extends her hand, reaching for the helmet. 

“A ride? Oh, I don’t mind it at all. In fact, I was really looking forward to having something so big and powerful between my legs tonight.”

Kid lifts the helmet away from her reach, his eyes narrowing, his expression unreadable. Then, he speaks. “It’s not for ye.” Kid’s eyes finally meet yours, and you let out a pesky little exhale that makes your lips tremble and your eyes prickle. 

Why the hell did you doubt him at all?

“What?” Porche says indignantly. “Her?” Her disdain is clear. She half-turns towards you, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “She’s so boring! What the hell do you see in her? I’ve worked with her all shift, and she barely said two words! How can you be into that?”

Now she’s just asking to be punched.

You clench your fists, anger surging through you, but Kid speaks again.

“The fuck yer talkin’ ‘bout?” he nearly growls, his jaw ticking as he sets his fiery eyes back on Porche. “Ain’t ye her friend?”

She almost shrinks with the force of his gaze, but then puffs out her chest and flips her hair. “Friend? Ugh, God no.” She gives you a dirty look. “She’s been judging me all night. You think I didn’t notice how jealous she was of all the attention you were giving me?”

Kid leans away from his bike, his full figure intimidating, and stares Porche down. 

“That’s good. Really thought ye two were friends.” He sounds relieved. “In that case, I ain’t gotta pretend anymore.”

“Wait, what?” Porche stammers.

“I only listened to yer bullshite ‘cause I thought ye were her friend and I didn’t wanna be fuckin’ rude,” Kid snaps, a growl of irritation leaving his lips. “Get fuckin’ lost, will ye?”

Porche’s mouth opens so wide you would find it comical if you weren’t so pissed off at the moment. 

“I’m not following…” she says, disbelief written all over her face. Maybe this is the first time she ever got rejected by someone. 

“Jesus fuck,” Kid mutters and gestures to the space between them. “This ain’t happenin’. Fuck off.”

Kid looks at you again, and the little green monster holding the banner of all your insecurities dissolves into a green puddle, leaving you smirking. Porche lets out an indignant sound, and you don’t even try to contain the smug smile as you pass by her and accept the helmet Kid’s holding out for you.

“Thanks for waiting, Kid,” you tell him, completely ignoring Porche and her stunned expression. Kid’s gaze finally softens, and he helps you with the helmet strap, more out of habit than need at this point.

“I’ll always wait for ye.”

And at this point of the night, you stop caring about Porche and her antics. There’s only you and Kid. 

And the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only important thing in the world. 

-*-

Judging by the road he’s taking, you know he’s bringing you to the overlook again, and it’s like he’s a mind reader because the night is so dark, with the new moon hidden away in plain sight, that it’s the perfect opportunity for some stargazing. 

Kid purposefully takes the turns a little sharper, making sure you cling to him and squeeze your thighs against his waist. You can almost feel him rumble beneath your hands with the way he’s chuckling. 

He pulls into the same spot as before, and you swing your leg off the bike, adrenaline still rushing through your veins. Kid takes the helmet off your hands once you remove it and leans back on his bike while you pace the small spot, releasing the extra energy just like last time. 

His face wears a little amused grin, and you try to ignore it, but of course he doesn’t let up. He outright starts to chuckle. 

“Wanna let me know what’s so damn funny?”

That just makes him cackle a little harder, and your heart warms all over. It’s been a while since you’ve heard him laugh this carefreely. You almost want him to keep chuckling like that for the rest of the night. 

“Aye. Ye were jealous, weren’t ya, Sparkles?”

Fuck, yeah!

“Pfshh! Why would I be jealous? Not at all!” 

Kid raises a brow, crossing his arms and staring holes at you. 

“Fine!” you admit. “She was being obnoxious. She was treating you like a freaking object! You should’ve listened to the things that came out of that woman’s mouth!”

You stop when you realize Kid’s smug grin turned into a full smile. 

“You’re messing with me,” you deadpan.

“Aye. Ye look pretty cute all riled up like that.” A flush warms your cheeks as your heart does a spectacular somersault. Things definitely seem easier between you. 

“Well,” you sigh. “She was all over you all night… and you—” didn’t push her away. That’s what you want to say. But don’t.

“I thought she was yer friend. I mean it. I didn’t want to be the asshole who told yer friend to fuck off.” Kid’s smile disappears, and he looks at you sternly. “I mean it,” he adds again, as if you need reassurance. 

You hold each other’s gaze for a while, all previous banter forgotten, then you nod softly.

“I know. Sorry if I overreacted.”

Kid’s lips twitch into a small grin again. “I’m not. It was great entertainment.”

“Oh, shut up!”

He does. But only after he lets out a loud laugh. 

And fuck if that sound doesn’t warm your heart even further. 

-*-

You wanted to see the stars. But as soon as you mentioned lying on the ground, Kid would hear none of that. 

“It’s way more fun like this,” he says, patting the seat of the bike. You eye him wearily. You want to lie down so you can see the sky properly, not sit. “Hop on,” he urges. With a sigh, you do what he says. You sit sideways, legs dangling, and raise a brow at him. 

Then, he takes off his jacket and rolls it up, placing it between the handlebars. “Lie back, yer head here, butt where it is, legs there.” He points at the back of the bike. He wants you to lie on the bike like it’s a bed. 

Huh.

You do as he says, feeling how the bike barely moves beneath you. Besides, Kid’s by your side, one hand on the handlebar, another hovering over your body, never touching. 

You settle. Then look up and sigh. You can see stars and constellations you can name, then more stars and constellations you can’t name. It’s beautiful. Overwhelming. Magical. 

Kid looks up, too, leaning slightly on the bike, his hand close to your face. You can feel his presence grounding you, the silence stretching comfortably like it now does every time you’re together. Something you’ve both become good at. 

After a long while, Kid shifts, and you sense he’s mulling over something. Sure enough, a few moments later he lets out a long sigh, giving up on holding back whatever he needs to say. 

“Ye told me ye loved me… once. Before…” Kid takes a deep breath as if recalling the situation. Your chest tightens as you recall it, too. You were trying to make him see reason, at that fated party when… when it all went to hell. “Why? How?”

You try to swallow the lump forming in your throat, even though it seems like the hardest thing to do at this moment. 

“I mean,” he stammers. “Ye could’ve had anyone, fuck. I… I was fuckin’ unlovable. I was a fuckin’ mess. More wreckage than man, more broken pieces than a whole person… I… why?”

You let silence stretch again, your eyes following the path of an airplane flying high. Then you sit up, your legs dangling to the side so you can meet his eyes. 

“Yeah, you were a mess, Kid.”

“Still am—” he starts, but you interrupt him, reaching for his hand. 

“You were a mess, but you got my attention exactly because of that. I was so used to perfection, to everything being so damn polished, that when you showed up—raw, real, gruff—I was smitten.” You chuckle softly, squeezing his hand in the process. 

Then you seek his eyes until he meets your gaze, pursing your lips so he understands how serious you’re being. “I saw the real you between the cracks. When light shone down on all those jagged edges, I saw you there. Behind all the anger and the hurt. Behind the broken shell you used to push everyone away.”

He looks down at your linked hands, his throat bobbing up and down as he tries to work his feelings out. You raise your other hand and use it to push a strand of red hair away from his face. 

“I saw you when you were still too blind to see yourself, Kid,” you whisper. You open your mouth to add more words. 

I still love you.

You want to say it, you do. But deep down, you’re still so scared that those are the words that push him away again. So you bite your lower lip and swallow them, praying that the words you used are enough for now. 

“I’m… I’m really fuckin’ sorry,” he confesses. This time he doesn’t look away. There’s still shame and guilt lingering in the shadows of his eyes, but he owns them; he doesn’t shy away from them. He holds your gaze and begs your forgiveness. “I hate myself for what I did to ye. I’m so fuckin’ sorry. For all the times, not just that last time at the party. For every fuckin’ thing, for every time I raised my voice, for every time I pushed ye away, for every time I should’ve let ye in and shut ye out instead.” Kid lets out a loud exhale and grips your hand tighter. “I mean it.”

“I forgive you, Kid. I do,” you whisper, and the relief in his eyes is palpable. 

Silence fills the gaps again, and Kid’s throat keeps working like crazy. You can see him struggling to keep himself in check. He wants to speak, but nothing comes out, though you think you can guess what he wants to say.

It’s those exact three words you didn’t want to say earlier. Afraid they’d push him over. 

Maybe it’s not time for those yet. 

Instead, you try something else. Something that’s been long overdue. It’s time to do things right. 

“I think it’s time we stop pretending to guess what we are, Kid…” He quirks his brow, not quite following your train of thought. “You were jealous of Hongo.” Kid grunts in agreement, pursing his lips. “I was slightly annoyed at Porche,” you deadpan, and he huffs a laugh. Slightly annoyed is the understatement of the century. “And it was all because we haven’t defined anything… I mean—”

You inhale deeply, angling your body towards him and, unconsciously, opening up your legs, leaving enough room for him to slot there and stand closer to you.

If he wants. 

“What are we?” you ask in a small voice. “We keep dancing around this, too afraid to move too fast when it’s clear neither of us is going anywhere. I’m here for the long run and you… you told me as much yesterday. So… what are we?”

Kid looks at your legs, at that perfect space you created for him, and then back at your eyes. He swallows. Then he moves slowly. 

The way your heart is beating against your ribs is making you dizzy. Your breath comes out in harsh puffs as Kid snuggles closer to you. His flesh hand remains locked with yours, but his prosthetic one timidly lands on your waist. You realize he still fits perfectly between your legs—the feel of his body nestled against yours, so close to home. 

He leans in; you can feel his breath fanning your eyelids as you tilt your head to look at him. 

“What am I, Kid?” you ask, breathlessly. You don’t even know if there’s a right answer for this. You just want him to say you mean something. Something that solidifies this unsteady ground you’ve both been stepping on. Something real and tangible. 

Kid leans down, your noses brush, and you hold your breath. It’s been so long since you last kissed. So, so long. 

“Mine.”

His word echoes in a space so open it shouldn’t be possible. Unshed tears sting your eyes and your lower lip trembles relentlessly. You know you’re ready to move forward. It’s been long enough. Your heart yearns for Kid, and you know he’s trying really hard to hold himself together. 

He won’t push you away this time. You have to believe him.

Still. 

“Kid,” you whisper, and your lips nearly touch his. “Kid, please—please! Don’t push me away anymore.”

He groans softly, like the simple mention is enough to make him upset. “Never again.”

“Yours…” you whimper before your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him towards your mouth, the world stopping still with the clashing of your lips. For a small second, that’s all there is. Just your lips pressed together. And then the kiss turns desperate, messy, and all-consuming. 

Kid has his prosthetic hand still gripping your waist, his other hand cupping your head, tilting it back so he can devour you properly. Your teeth clash before your tongues meet, and Kid kisses you like he’s sealing a promise, like he’s laying a claim, like he’s taking back all the lost time and replacing your pain with something much warmer. 

By the time you pull back, his hair is a mess, your lips are swollen, and your heart is about to take flight out of your chest. Kid presses his forehead against yours, letting out a trembling breath and laying a kiss on your palm when you cup his cheek. 

“Never again,” he repeats, and you smile against his lips, joining them once more. 

You feel complete again. As if all this time apart from Kid was akin to living without a piece of your soul. 

Now you’re reunited. You’re complete. 

And so very his.

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[pocketramblr]

World's finest Clark wants to be a dad soooooo bad *twirls my hair* its so cute so how can I torment him more with this

[starfruitii]

cws & notes. fluff. post-timeskip. iwaizumi hajime x gn!reader, + special guest appearances from the seijoh 4 because i love them. 800+ words.

“Wait. Wait a second.” Oikawa squints at you, then at Iwaizumi, then back at you again. “Something's different.”

“First time we see you in almost a year, and you're already acting weird.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, pulling out two chairs for you both to sit down. “Nothing's different.”

“Glad to see leaving Japan hasn't changed you, Oikawa.” You chime in, sliding into your seat. It was a nice little cafe, not too crowded, but not empty either. The table Oikawa had chosen was tucked away in the back, right by a window overlooking the street, giving you a perfect opportunity to watch the people walking by.

“No.... no, something is definitely off.” Oikawa looks over to the other two occupied seats, searching for some sort of agreement from his companions. “You two see it, don't you? Something has definitely changed since our last meet-up.”

“Our last meet-up was last September. I think it would be weirder if we hadn't changed a little since then,” Matsukawa laughs, waving him off. “I mean, look at Makki's haircut.”

Hanamaki looks thoughtful for a moment, nodding at Oikawa. “Nah, I think he's got a point. You two seem a little—Wait, what do you mean? What's wrong with my hair, asshole?”

“Hey, I didn't say it was bad! Just... different.”

“So, different in a good way?”

“Uh... sure, if that's what you want to go with.”

“You—”

“This isn't about Makki's hair!” Oikawa interrupts, pointing an accusing finger towards Iwaizumi. He looks up from the menu in his hands, glaring back at Oikawa. “It's about them. Something happened between you two, didn't it?”

“Maybe they got engaged.” Hanamaki suggests.

“They have to be dating before they get engaged.” Matsukawa pauses, realization on his face. “Wait, is that it? Did you guys actually start dating? Do I owe Makki ¥2000?”

“You're all imagining things.” Iwaizumi says bluntly. “Now, are we going to order or not?”

Oikawa's suspicion doesn't waver, but the mention of food distracts him enough to begrudgingly let the topic go. He waves over a waitress, ordering drinks and snacks for the whole table. Once she is gone, the conversation shifts to Matsukawa's work, then Hanamaki's lack of work, then everything Oikawa has been up to in Argentina.

Throughout the visit, you sit back and relax, chiming in with your own anecdotes and comments every now and then. For the most part, you keep quiet, content with listening to your friends as they catch up. Ever since graduation, when you all went your separate ways, reunions with all five of you were few and far between, so you were just happy to be together once again.

You barely notice the time passing at all, until Oikawa is five-minutes deep into a rant about his new team. Iwaizumi looks at his watch and balks, standing up from his seat.

“It's already five.” He says, cutting off Oikawa's voice. “I gotta get going soon.”

“Me too,” You sigh.

“Already?” Matsukawa groans.

“Both of you?” Hanamaki asks, raising an eyebrow. “You have plans you'd like to share?”

“He's my ride home.” You shrug, gathering up your things. “It was great seeing you guys though. We'll have to hang out again when you're all free.”

After your goodbyes, the two of you leave the cafe and walk the short distance to Iwaizumi's car. Once you're alone, you settle into a comfortable silence, accompanied by the quiet sounds of the city in the background. Without your friends' scrutinizing gaze, Iwaizumi walks a little closer to you, until your shoulders lightly brush. The slight touch sends a shiver down your spine, but you make no effort to move away.

“So, Oikawa seems to think something is up.” You say casually, watching Iwaizumi frown at the mention of his friend.

“He can think whatever he wants to think.” He rolls his eyes, holding open the side door of his car. “We don't owe him anything.”

“We do have to tell them at some point, don't we?” You continue, as you climbed into the passenger seat. “You of all people should know he's not going to shut up about it until we do.”

“Of course I know that.” Iwaizumi grumbled, as soon as he was sat in his own seat.

“So...?”

“So what?” He adjusts his mirrors, glancing over at you.

“Is he right?” There's a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It's clear you find it much more amusing than he does. You lean closer, whispering the words like they're a grand secret. “Is something different, Hajime?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head a little, but can't hide the small smirk on his face. His hand reaches out to grasp your chin, tilting your face upwards so he can press a slow, sweet kiss to your lips. As he leans back, there's a light pink dusting his cheeks. “I don't know. Has something changed?”

You laugh lightly, savouring the taste of his lips on your own. “Nope. Nothing at all.”

do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai. reblogs are appreciated <3

[svnriseblvdd]

neighbour! clark kent x new girl! reader

the highly requested expansion on this post, in which your neighbour clark kent is so helpful, and so adorably awkward that you can't help but tease him.

mildly suggestive, mdni

part one! part two!

Your parents decided to move out of the city to this small, unknown farming town for whatever reason. You're in a new place, no friends, nothing to do. Then your mother sends you to pick up a food order from a nearby farm. Thinking about Mrs Kent calling for her son Clark to come help you with all these heavy boxes and bags and this gorgeous 6-foot-something boy comes out all tall and muscular with the sweetest smile. He's in that tight white t-shirt and jeans with a belt combo, tied together with that boyish charm that has you nearly swooning as he comes over. 

“Hey, mom.” 

“Can you help carry all of this? I don't want her struggling all the way home.” 

You think that a long walk like that with someone as pretty as Clark Kent might kill you. “Oh  really, Mrs Kent-” Mrs Kent gives you a look “- Martha, it's not a problem. I don't live that far, I think I can do it.” 

“No, no, I insist. Clark will help you.” 

You look to Clark and offer a smile which he returns. Oh, he's far too cute. You're pretty sure your heart is close to bursting out of your chest. Damn the Kents and their hot-as-hell farmboy son. Damn Smallville for thrusting this man upon you. Damn the powers that be for dangling him in front of you, teasing you with his existence. 

“Thank you, Martha,” you say, and she nods with a smile before heading back inside with a goodbye and a well-wish. 

Clark bends down to grab the crates, which he stacks on top of each other, ladening his arms with bags as well, leaving a very small percentage of the order to be carried by you. “Uh, I can take some of that if you-” 

“No, totally fine. It’s not that heavy.” 

Your eyebrows raise, eyes briefly flitting down to look at his biceps, now flexed and really pressing against the confines of his sleeves. Then you blink back to reality and bend down to pick up the other bags, beginning the walk with Clark at your side. 

“I’m Clark, by the way,” he introduces himself, and you give him your name. “Right, you guys just moved here from Central City?” 

“Yeah, how did you-” 

“Not much really passes for gossip around here. So, how are you liking Smallville?” 

“Oh, it’s great. Real party town. Cream corn capital of the world, I hear,” you remark sarcastically, and Clark chuckles, shaking his head. “No, it’s definitely a change of pace. Not exactly a totally welcome one, but I don’t think it can get much worse.” 

“Are you not settling in?” 

“Oh, I’m settled. Totally. Just that it’s not really easy being in a new place and knowing nobody.” 

“Well, now you’ve got me.” 

“Oh, do I now?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I could be a horrible person, Clark. You can’t just go around letting total strangers into your life like this.” 

He shrugs. “You know, I think it’d be a little more obvious if you were evil.” 

You hold up a finger. “I didn’t say evil, just horrible.” 

“Well, I don’t think you’re horrible either. I’d like to think I have a pretty good sense for these things.” 

“Yeah, well. You can never be too careful around complete strangers.” 

“I’m pretty sure I could handle myself if you turned out to be a serial killer or a bandit or something,” Clark says. 

You eye his physique again. “Yeah, probably. I mean, what do you bench, a tractor?” Clark laughs a little awkwardly, and you feel yourself turning hot with embarrassment. “Sorry. I wasn’t - I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and I wasn’t checking you out or anything. It’s just that you’re very noticeably strong.” 

He gives another one of those charming smiles. “Don’t worry, you’re okay.” 

Somehow, it seems Clark is more embarrassed by the situation than you are. 

And when you finally reach your house, and Clark helps carry everything inside, you decide to test something. 

You’re putting away something in a low cupboard, bending at the waist, ass right in front of him, and when you stand straight and turn around, Clark has turned a bright shade of red and avoids eye contact as best as possible. 

And before he leaves, you voice your gratitude, going above and beyond to tell him that you’re so grateful for him being there to help. “Thank you so much, Clark. You were so helpful. Just let me know how I can return the favour, I’ll help any way I can.” 

And then you’re giving him a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and a happy goodbye, watching him leave with empty crates and a blush on his cheeks. He’s far too cute. 

You like Clark Kent. Not just because of his smile or his biceps or eyes or hair. Because he’s kind, funny, and oh so helpful. It doesn’t hurt that you also like how he turns red. 

[yurizq]

X Links. — JJK MEN (PT.1)

Summary: nsfw twt/x links w your favorite jjk men. afab reader. minors do not interact!!

Note: I really did expect my gojo post to get over 1k likes, like Omgg thank you! I’m really happy people actually liked it I decided to do it again. I hope you enjoy it!

Request; Masterlist; Contact;

TOJI FUSHIGURO / SUKUNA RYOMEN

★ cw ; size kink, rough sex, bondage/ropes, MDNI,

ෆ How he sounds.

ෆ he can’t help himself when you tied up for him like a gift.

ෆ His dick is just too big for you! Of course he needs to record his pretty girl with a tummy bulge

ෆ After an argument you two had, you gave him the silent treatment. He decided to say sorry in a different way

ෆ He loves how squishy and soft your ass is while he has you over his lap and his finger digging inside

ෆ He got bored and wanted to send something. teasing for not giving him a goodbye kiss this morning

ෆ Acting like an annoying brat and denying that you'll cum for him... he'll prove you wrong

GETO SUGURU / SATORU GOJO

☆ cw ; bondage, toys, creampie, CNC, dubcon, begging, cockwarming

ෆ How he sounds.

ෆ He cant say no to you even if that means not being able to touch or see you while you tie him up and have your way with him

ෆ He offered to help you study but he suggested something new. Every time you get a answer correct he would finger you

ෆ You two were assigned a mission together but of course he begs and pleads for a quickie before you two leave

ෆ He’s imagining that his sucky silicon toy is your ass

ෆ Cumming inside of his sweet baby after desperate pleas and begging

NANAMI KENTO / HIGURUMA HIROMI

★ cw ; Fingering, spanking, drunk sex, lingerie play, clit play, attitude correction

ෆ How he sounds.

ෆ he loves rubbing your clit as he fucks you nicely after tearing off your favorite lingerie.

ෆ Come home with an attitude? No problem he’ll just fuck the attitude right out of you.

ෆ You can’t even wait till you get home seeing how handsome he is just turns you on.

ෆ You where so drunk tonight, while he was sobber, so to have some fun, he fucked you without mercy the whole night.

ෆ you deserve a spanking after annoying and being naughty to him.

CHOSO KAMO / INO TAKUMA

☆ cw ; lazy sex, clothed sex, soft missionary, rough sex,

How he sounds.

making him cum through his boxers because you’re both were too lazy to take everything off.

slow and soft missionary before bedtime, because he misses you sooooo much.

You were being mean to him earlier so now he’s being meaner by fucking you rough.

[xvii85ko-skz]

𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐋𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐃𝐎 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐂 𖦹

—𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬★𖦹

ok so it's no secret that sylus is 100000% a lover boy, so he would definitely be into goodbye kisses and "i love you's".

either if you are talking on the phone or leaving his house or he's leaving yours, he'll hit you with a cute little "i love you. mwah."

of course you're confused the first time he says it, but after a while it becomes a custom between you two.

the little air kisses you will blow to each other from across the room if you were on a mission and happened to see him there (like in valleydream bloom).

or even if he's in a hurry. he'll kiss your cheek and say "i love you" while leaving.

GAHHHAJADAJFKUHAIDHJN. i love him so much😭

—𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞★𖦹

zayne, my sugar king

he totally slips a candy in your pockets whenever you visit him at the hospital.

you thought it was a one-time thing till' he asked if you have been eating the candies he had given you.

you pulled one out of your pocket and waved it around, "i don't know for some reason, sweet treats don't taste as good when i'm eating them by myself..."

to which you both came to a ultimatum of enjoying little candies together.

now, you keep all the candies in a little jar in your house labelled "zaynie-treaties" for the both of you to enjoy whenever he comes over.

—𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛★𖦹

i feel like caleb is the type of guy to send you "good morning" and "good night" texts or just constantly messages you just because.

if he's worried about you? just came back from a dangerous mission with the fleet? sees your watch indicating that your stressed? just made food and thought about you? bored?

he'll text, trust me.

you respond back almost immediately every time as well. you two just can't get enough of each other lol.

these text messages go on for like hours on end, basically to the point that one of you just calls the other because the conversation was just that good lmao.

—𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥★𖦹

i saw this raph headcannon on tiktok that said raphael would somehow always have seashells (or other things like that) from the beach in his pockets, without knowing when or where he picked it up from and i agree!!

but he would always pick his favorite out of the bunch when he comes home and gives it to you whenever he sees you again.

one time he gave you a heart shaped one and said, "from my heart to your pockets" while hitting this goofy pose, dramatically placing the back of his hand on his forehead, outreaching his hand to you.

let's just say that the two of you end up in a fit of giggles afterwards.

—𝐱𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫★𖦹

the first time he does it you think he's just being cute but then everytime you see each other xavier boops your nose.

he's a little cutie patootie so he definitely does the little "boop" sound effect while doing it.

now you have to get him back, so you and him start the "booping wars"

whoever gets the first boop on the nose is the loser and has to do whatever the winner says for 10 minutes.

this is too cute, bye 😭

[fadedtoneverland]

d&g’s prince | c.sn

❤︎ synopsis — your boyfriend is away at milan for another fashion show. you’re lowkey (highkey) missing him very much, until he facetimes you to check in on you… wearing something a little too sexy

pairing: choi san x fem!reader

theme: fluff ✿ , suggestive ❤︎, slight crack ✦ (if you squint)

a/n: seeing the clips of him circling around online in this outfit …. i went a lil’ too crazy … i didn’t want to post another smut fanfic of san, so i just went for the suggestive route

cw: reader makes lots of sex jokes cuz they’re feral. implied sex at the ending. mostly teasing and shi

you never knew true boredom and desperation.

well, at least not ‘till this week.

your absolutely stunning, gorgeous, panty-dropping enigma of a man, choi san, had left your poor self all alone in your apartment. not intentionally, of course. being a hot idol that’s constantly in the spotlight, was a busy lifestyle that you completely understood.

and san just so happened to get invited to one of dolce & gabbana’s latest fashion week shows, a brand that san has modeled for numerous times.

he was over the moon, absolutely beaming about going to milan again. you were happy for him too. only problem is, he couldn’t take you with him. san being san, wouldn’t stop whining about how he couldn’t take his “absolute unit of a partner” with him, but you reassured him everything would be fine back home in seoul, and you’d regularly text.

even then, sending off san with kisses and goodbyes at the airport didn’t stop you from missing him. because, he’s choi san. who wouldn’t miss their boyfriend if he was choi san.

so now here you were, curled up in your plush, king sized bed underneath the duvet. a jellycat goose tucked underneath your chin while you scrolled through your texts with san.

sannie <3 [12:03am]: baby

sannie <3 [12:03am]: are u up ??

sannie <3 [12:03am]: just finished a pop live

sannie <3 [12:04am]: come facetime me i wanna say hiiii :33

sannie <3 [12:05am]: do it >:((

you couldn’t hold back your smile. oh san, that lovable little dork. despite being the hottest person to literally grace god’s green earth, he was still a clingy goofball of a man.

your fingers glides across your screen as you typed back

y/n [12:07am]: omg i will

y/n [12:08am]: so needy, ur lucky ur cute

sannie <3 [12:10am]: ik i am <3

sannie <3 [12:11am]: open ur laptop, baby. i’ll be on soon

and you did as you were told, getting comfy underneath your duvet while pulling out your sticker-infested laptop. snuggled in san’s favorite hoodie that had a faint scent of his sandalwood cologne, you eagerly opened the screen and clicked on the bright green facetime icon, waiting for him to call you up.

you were incredibly giddy too, trying to act like you weren’t delusional and the most sane person on planet earth. and well- you weren’t really being delusional, considering that you were dating the choi san himself.

the incoming call icon popped up on your screen, and you quickly shifted to sit up while hovering your cursor over the green button, clicking it, and watching as the screen expanded to reveal your stunning boyfriend.

“hi, baby!” san called out, waving to you. his voice smooth as honey. ugh, you could listen to him forever, especially when he sounds so happy.

“my man,” you sighed dreamily while giving him a little finger wave, resting your cheek on your palm. “i seriously felt like i was gonna die if i went another day without hearing your voice.”

san laughed, the sound light and teasing. “oh, really? and you’re calling me needy? can’t even go a week without hearing my angelic voice, y/n.”

“yeah? well—“ you were about to retort wittily to his teasing, but the grainy web camera on san’s end cleared up a bit more, showing off a bit more details of the black outfit he was wearing. the sight made you effectively stop talking, which san took notice of.

“baby?” san called out, smirk faltering a bit from concern. “you alright—?”

“stand up.” you suddenly said.

your boyfriend blinked.

“i- wha—“

“i said stand up, choi san,” you interrupted firmly. “show me what kind of slutty fit you have on.”

san blinked once. then twice. he did a little head shake before chuckling, slowly standing up from his swivel chair and adhering to your hasty demands.

“whatever you want, angel.” san sang teasingly, pushing the chair away from his desk and stepping back to give you a tantalizing view of the outfit. the camera cut out his face, and the desk cropped up to his thighs, not showing you the full body, but showing just enough details to make you go feral.

san always looked good in black, made his features pop more, and just dripped him out in sin and scandal. but your eyes roved hungrily over the expanse of his muscles that were very much defined by his shirt.

his top, thin cotton fabric in the form of the sexiest blouse you’ve seen him wear. the middle part dipped down just enough to reveal a flirty little chest window for your lucky eyes. some black stringed ribbon was tied together nearly at the front of his shirt, creating a more sinful feel, knowing he can just untie those strings and flash you with his glorious tits at any given moment.

and the jeans? tight, leather, and fucking whorish. even when he did a little spin in front of the web cam to give you the whole galore of his outfit, you couldn’t stop thinking about how those jeans fitted perfectly along his hips and curve of his ass.

you were destroyed completely, reduced to nothing but a horny little dog who felt like they were gonna howl at the moon any second. and san seemed to notice, due to your lack of speaking after he showed off his stripper fit.

“uhh… y/n?” san called out while leaning down so his face was in view of the webcam. “are you okay?”

a beat of silence. one breath. then two.

and…

“you little shit.” you suddenly blurted out.

san was baffled. “… huh???”

“who told you that you could dress up like a hooker??”

silence.

then san shook his head, blinking furiously. “i— w-what?!”

your devastatingly hot boyfriend practically lurched himself back in the rolling chair, completely bewildered by your bold, yet astronomically down bad statement for him. meanwhile, you just stared at the camera, completely serious.

“babe, this is so unfair. you can’t dress up looking like a full-course meal and not expect me to go feral,” you said, practically whining with how devastated you were. “and you’re in milan too? ugh, even worse. who’s gonna suck your dick ‘till the skin falls off now??”

san choked on his own saliva. “until the skin falls off—?! baby- it’s just a shirt!!”

“yeah, a shirt that’s making my pussy way too wet. there’s a whole damn tsunami down there.”

“princess—“

“if i was a man i’d be popping the biggest boner right now, i’m just saying.”

san was crying with laughter. laughter from both disbelief and amusement. he’s heard you say all sorts of diabolical stuff regarding many things, but never to this level of down bad. maybe this was your glorious way of reminding him who gives him the best blowjobs while he’s gone.

“baby— honey—“ san laughed, rubbing the tears of joy out of his eyes. “you- you can’t just say stuff like that! it hasn’t even been that long since i left korea.”

you scoffed, and turned your head dramatically away from the virtual image of your boyfriend. “yeah, but it’s been long enough since i last saw you, and you have the audacity to come on here and flash me??”

san blinked. again.

“flash you???”

“uh, yeah? i’m getting the whole front row view of your twelve inch dick through those slutty pants, babe.”

“i— twelve inches!?”

“god created men and sent you as an apology, baby. you’re the whole package and i’m about to unwrap your boxers like one. i’ve gone too long without your glorious presence.”

san’s jaw was practically on the floor with that one, and you looked unfazed. composed, cool, collected, despite the sheer diabolical-ness of your filthy words.

remind him why you were his girlfriend again?

“okay, okay. if you really want to come see me, you can catch the closest flight to milan,” san said, leaning closer to the screen, flashing those cheeky dimples, “but it won’t be any cake walk trying to get alone time with me, baby.”

“fine by me,” you declared, smirking back at him. “i can be stealthy.”

san raised an eyebrow, amused. “i doubt it.”

“are you saying you don’t trust me?” you retort teasingly.

“no~ im just stating the facts, the fact that your chances of sneaking past all the guards and paparazzi and staff to be with yours truly is slim.”

“slim but never zero, baby. come on, i’ve done this plenty of times during tours. i can do it again for fashion week~”

and you just had to pull out those sparkly, mischievous eyes that you know san loves so much. god, he was a weak man when it came to you. but who could blame him? he was also dying to have you near him soon, especially with how busy the d&g fashion week as gotten him.

“i better see you here soon then, baby,” san said, grinning ear-to-ear while leaning back. “and wear an outfit that’s easy to rip off.”

you smiled devilishly, knowing you’ve won.

“already looking for tickets to milan, prince.”

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fadedtoneverland © 2025 | do not steal, modify or repost ANY of my work.

[pucksandpower]

Princess Protection Program

Logan Sargeant x Princess of England!Reader

Summary: when your safety is compromised due to escalating threats, the decision is made to send you overseas for your own protection, with one caveat: no one can know about your true identity (aka the fix-it fic we desperately need right now)

The sun streams through the ornate windows of Buckingham Palace as you pace anxiously in your private chambers. Your fingers fidget with the hem of your designer blouse, a habit you’ve developed when stress creeps in. The weight of the situation hangs heavy in the air, thicker than the plush carpet beneath your feet.

A sharp knock at the door makes you jump. “Come in,” you call, trying to keep your voice steady.

Your father, King Edward, enters with a grim expression etched on his face. Behind him, your mother, Queen Charlotte, follows closely, her usual poise wavering slightly.

“Darling,” your mother begins, her voice soft but strained. “We need to talk.”

You sink into a nearby armchair, bracing yourself. “Is this about the threats?”

Your father nods, his jaw tightening. “I’m afraid so. The situation has ... escalated.”

“How bad is it?” You ask, dreading the answer.

The King exchanges a look with your mother before responding. “Bad enough that we can no longer ignore it. The security team believes your life is in genuine danger.”

Your heart races, but you force yourself to remain composed. “What does that mean for me?”

Your mother moves closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We think it’s best if you leave London for a while, sweetheart. Just until we can neutralize the threat.”

You stand abruptly, shaking your head. “Leave? But I can’t! I have responsibilities here, engagements planned for the entire summer!”

“Your safety is our top priority,” your father interjects firmly. “Everything else can wait.”

“Where would I even go?” You ask, exasperation creeping into your voice.

Your mother hesitates before answering. “We’ve been discussing options with the security team. We think it’s best if you go somewhere ... unexpected.”

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity momentarily overriding your anxiety. “Unexpected how?”

“Florida.”

You blink, certain you’ve misheard. “I’m sorry, did you say Florida?”

Your mother nods, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the gravity of the situation. “Your Aunt Maggie and Uncle George have that lovely beach house in Fort Lauderdale, remember? We visited when you were younger.”

“But ... Florida?” You repeat, still struggling to process the idea. “It’s so ... American.”

Your father chuckles softly. “Exactly. No one would think to look for you there. It’s the perfect cover.”

You begin pacing again, your mind racing. “For how long?”

“We’re not sure yet,” your mother admits. “But we promise to bring you home as soon as it’s safe.”

You pause, turning to face your parents. The concern in their eyes is palpable, and it hits you just how serious this situation must be for them to suggest such a drastic measure.

“Can’t I just stay here? Increase security or something?” you plead, making one last attempt.

Your father shakes his head firmly. “The palace is too exposed. There are too many variables, too many potential weak points. We need you somewhere more ... inconspicuous.”

You sigh heavily, knowing deep down that they’re right. “When do I leave?”

“Tonight,” your mother says softly. “We’ve already begun making arrangements.”

Your eyes widen. “Tonight? But I haven’t packed, I haven’t said goodbye to anyone-”

“I know it’s sudden,” your father interrupts gently, “but the quicker we move, the safer you’ll be.”

You nod slowly, reality sinking in. “I understand.”

Your mother pulls you into a tight embrace. “Oh, darling. I know this is difficult, but please try to think of it as an adventure. A chance to experience a different kind of life for a while.”

You lean into her hug, drawing comfort from her familiar perfume. “I’ll try, Mum.”

As she pulls away, your father clears his throat. “There’s one more thing. While you’re there, you’ll need to ... blend in.”

You furrow your brow. “What do you mean?”

“We think it’s best if you adopt a different identity,” he explains. “Just temporarily, of course. To throw off anyone who might be looking for you.”

“A different identity?” You repeat, the concept both thrilling and terrifying. “Like ... a commoner?”

Your mother nods encouragingly. “Exactly. You’ll be staying with Maggie and George, of course, but to the rest of the world, you’ll just be their niece visiting for the summer.”

You take a deep breath, trying to wrap your head around it all. “I suppose I could use a break from royal duties,” you admit with a small smile.

Your father’s face softens with relief. “That’s my girl. Always looking on the bright side.”

A knock at the door interrupts the moment. “Your Majesties,” a voice calls from outside. “The security team is ready for the briefing.”

Your father sighs. “We’d better go. Darling, start packing what you can. Someone will be up shortly to help you with the rest.”

As your parents move towards the door, you call out, “Wait!”

They turn back, concern etched on their faces.

“I just ... I love you both,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “And I know you’re just trying to protect me.”

Your mother’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as she rushes back to embrace you once more. “We love you too, sweetheart. More than anything in this world.”

Your father joins the hug, his strong arms encircling both of you. For a moment, you’re not a princess facing a crisis, but simply a daughter cherishing her parents’ love.

As they reluctantly pull away, your father says, “Remember, this is only temporary. Before you know it, you’ll be back home, safe and sound.”

You nod, forcing a brave smile. “I know. I’ll make the best of it, I promise.”

With one last loving look, your parents exit the room, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts and a suitcase to pack.

You move to your closet, running your hands along the rows of designer gowns and tailored suits. How do normal people dress in Florida? You wonder, realizing just how much you’ll need to adapt.

As you begin selecting clothes, a bittersweet excitement begins to bubble up alongside your anxiety. It’s terrifying, leaving everything you know behind, but there’s a tiny part of you that can’t help but wonder what adventures await in this unexpected journey.

You’re lost in thought when another knock sounds at the door. “Come in,” you call, expecting to see one of the staff sent to help you pack.

Instead, your best friend and lady-in-waiting, Olivia, bursts into the room. “Is it true?” She demands without preamble. “Are they really shipping you off to America?”

You sigh, nodding reluctantly. “Florida, to be exact.”

Olivia’s eyes widen. “Florida? Land of alligators and questionable fashion choices? Oh, darling, no.”

Despite everything, you can’t help but laugh. “It’s not that bad. I hope.”

Olivia moves to your side, helping you fold a blouse. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Until they catch whoever’s behind the threats, I suppose.”

Olivia’s face softens with concern. “Are you scared?”

You pause, considering the question. “A little,” you confess. “But also ... I don’t know. Maybe a tiny bit excited? Is that weird?”

Olivia shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Not at all. It’s like your own personal Princess Protection Program, but with better weather and beach access.”

You snort, grateful for her ability to find humor even in the darkest situations. “I’m going to miss you so much, Liv.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffs, though her eyes are suspiciously shiny. “You’ll be having so much fun living your secret Florida life, you’ll forget all about little old me.”

“Never,” you promise, pulling her into a fierce hug.

As you embrace, Olivia whispers, “Just promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” you reply without hesitation.

“If you meet some devastatingly handsome American and fall madly in love, you have to tell me every single detail.”

You pull back, laughing. “Liv, I’m going there to hide, not find romance!”

Olivia winks mischievously. “The best love stories always happen when you least expect them, darling. Trust me on this.”

As you continue packing, chatting and joking with Olivia, the weight on your shoulders begins to lift slightly. Yes, you’re leaving behind everything you know. Yes, there’s danger lurking in the shadows. But with the love of your family and friends behind you, you feel a flicker of hope.

Whatever awaits you in Fort Lauderdale, you’ll face it head-on. After all, you’re not just any ordinary girl — you’re a princess. And princesses, as you’ve always been taught, are made of stronger stuff.

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across your room, you zip up the last of your suitcases. Olivia helps you change into a simple outfit — jeans and a t-shirt, clothes that won’t draw attention during your journey.

A soft knock at the door signals the arrival of your security detail. “Your Highness,” a voice calls. “It’s time.”

You take a deep breath, looking around your room one last time. “Well,” you say to Olivia, your voice barely above a whisper, “I guess this is it.”

Olivia pulls you into one last fierce hug. “Go show those Floridians what British royalty is made of,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “And don’t you dare come back with an American accent.”

You laugh, wiping away a stray tear. “I’ll do my best. Take care of everything while I’m gone, okay?”

“Of course,” Olivia promises. “Now go, before I change my mind and hide you in my closet instead.”

With one last smile, you open the door. Your security team waits outside, their faces a mask of professional calm. As you follow them through the winding corridors of the palace, each step feels both like an ending and a beginning.

At the private exit, your parents wait. Your mother pulls you into a tight embrace, whispering words of love and encouragement. Your father, ever the king, maintains his composure, but you can see the emotion swimming in his eyes as he kisses your forehead.

“Remember,” he says softly, “no matter where you are, you carry the strength of your ancestors with you. You are a princess of the realm, even if you’re pretending not to be for a while.”

You nod, standing a little straighter. “I won’t let you down.”

“You never could,” your mother assures you.

With one last look at your family, at the only home you’ve ever known, you step into the waiting car. As it pulls away from the palace, you don’t look back. Instead, you fix your gaze forward, towards the unknown adventure that awaits.

Florida, you think with a mix of trepidation and excitement, I hope you’re ready for me.

***

The Florida sun beats down mercilessly as you step out of the air-conditioned car, squinting against the bright light. The humid air immediately wraps around you like a warm, damp blanket, a stark contrast to London’s typically cool climate.

“Welcome to Fort Lauderdale, sweetheart!” Your Aunt Maggie’s voice rings out, full of warmth and excitement.

You turn to see her hurrying down the driveway of an impressive Mediterranean-style villa, arms outstretched. Behind her, your Uncle George follows at a more leisurely pace, a wide grin on his face.

“Aunt Maggie, Uncle George,” you greet them, trying to infuse your voice with enthusiasm despite your jet lag and lingering anxiety. “Thank you so much for having me.”

Aunt Maggie pulls you into a tight hug, her floral perfume momentarily overwhelming your senses. “Oh, darling, we’re thrilled to have you. Aren’t we, George?”

Uncle George nods, giving you a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Absolutely. Our home is your home, princess. Er, I mean-”

“Just Y/N,” you remind him quietly, glancing around to ensure no one overheard. “Remember, I’m just your normal, everyday niece visiting for the summer.”

“Right, right,” Uncle George says, lowering his voice. “Sorry about that. Old habits, you know.”

Aunt Maggie loops her arm through yours, leading you towards the house. “Don’t you worry, dear. We’ve briefed all the neighbors. As far as they know, you’re our lovely niece from England, taking some time to experience life across the pond.”

You nod, grateful for their thoughtfulness. As you enter the house, the cool air conditioning washes over you, providing instant relief from the oppressive heat outside.

“Now,” Aunt Maggie continues, “I know this must all be very overwhelming for you. Why don’t you freshen up, and then we’ll give you the grand tour?”

“That sounds lovely,” you agree, realizing just how grimy you feel after the long journey.

Uncle George appears with your suitcases. “I’ll show you to your room. It’s got a great view of the pool.”

As you follow him up the stairs, you can’t help but marvel at the casual opulence of the house. It’s certainly luxurious, but in a relaxed, lived-in way that feels worlds apart from the formal grandeur of the palace.

Your room, as promised, is beautiful. Large windows overlook a sparkling pool surrounded by swaying palm trees. For a moment, you feel like you’ve stepped into a holiday brochure.

“I’ll let you get settled,” Uncle George says, setting down your bags. “Take your time, we’re on Florida time now. No rush.”

As the door closes behind him, you sink onto the plush bed, finally allowing yourself a moment to process everything. You’re here, in Florida, thousands of miles from home and everything familiar. The reality of your situation hits you anew, and you feel a lump forming in your throat.

A soft knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. “Y/N, dear?” Aunt Maggie calls. “I’ve brought you some iced tea. May I come in?”

“Of course,” you reply, quickly composing yourself.

Aunt Maggie enters, carrying a tall glass of tea so cold that condensation is already forming on the outside. She hands it to you with a warm smile. “I thought you might need this. The Florida heat can be quite a shock to the system.”

You take a sip, the sweet, refreshing liquid instantly soothing your parched throat. “Thank you, Aunt Maggie. This is delicious.”

She sits beside you on the bed, her face softening with concern. “How are you really doing, sweetheart? I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

For a moment, you consider maintaining your composed facade. But something about Aunt Maggie’s gentle demeanor breaks through your defenses. “I’m ... scared,” you admit quietly. “And I miss home already. But I’m trying to be brave.”

Aunt Maggie wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Oh, my dear. It’s okay to be scared. What you’re going through, it’s not easy. But you are brave, just by being here.”

You lean into her embrace, allowing yourself this moment of vulnerability. “I just feel so ... out of place. I don’t know how to be a normal person.”

Aunt Maggie chuckles softly. “Well, I’ve got news for you. None of us really know how to be normal. We’re all just figuring it out as we go along.”

Her words bring a small smile to your face. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Tell you what,” she says, giving your shoulders a squeeze. “Why don’t you get changed into something cool and comfortable, and then we’ll show you around the neighborhood? It might help you feel more settled.”

You nod, feeling a flicker of curiosity despite your apprehension. “I’d like that.”

After Aunt Maggie leaves, you dig through your suitcase, realizing with a start that you have no idea what constitutes “cool and comfortable” in Florida. You eventually settle on a light sundress and sandals, hoping it’s appropriate.

Downstairs, Aunt Maggie and Uncle George are waiting. “Oh, don’t you look lovely,” Aunt Maggie coos. “Very Floridian chic.”

Uncle George grabs a set of keys from a hook by the door. “Shall we take the golf cart? It’s the preferred mode of transportation around here.”

You blink in surprise. “We’re allowed to drive golf carts on the streets?”

“Welcome to Florida, kiddo,” Uncle George laughs. “Different rules apply here.”

The next hour is a whirlwind tour of the neighborhood. You zip along palm-lined streets in the golf cart, waving at neighbors who call out cheerful greetings. Aunt Maggie provides a running commentary.

“That’s the Johnsons’ place — lovely people, but their dog is a menace to squirrels everywhere. Oh, and over there is the community pool, although everyone just uses their own pools, really. And that’s where we have our neighborhood barbecues ...”

As if on cue, a man watering his impeccably manicured lawn calls out, “Hey, Maggie! George! Don’t forget the barbecue tonight!”

Aunt Maggie turns to you with a bright smile. “Oh, that’s perfect timing! What do you say, Y/N? Feel up to a little neighborhood gathering?”

You hesitate, anxiety bubbling up at the thought of meeting so many new people. But you remind yourself that this is part of your cover, part of being normal. “Sure,” you say, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Why not?”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of unpacking and preparation. Before you know it, you’re walking down the street with your aunt and uncle, a dish of something called “ambrosia salad” in your hands.

The barbecue is in full swing when you arrive. The air is filled with the smell of grilling meat and the sound of laughter and cheerful conversation. Children splash in a nearby pool while adults mingle, cold drinks in hand.

“George! Maggie!” A jovial man with a impressive mustache approaches, clapping Uncle George on the back. “Glad you could make it. And this must be your niece!”

You smile politely, remembering your cover story. “Yes, hello. I’m Y/N. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood, Y/N,” the man says warmly. “I’m Bill, by the way. Now, let me introduce you to some folks. Can’t have you standing around like a wallflower, can we?”

Before you can protest, Bill is leading you through the crowd, making introductions left and right. You smile and nod, trying desperately to remember names and keep your story straight.

“And this here is Logan,” Bill says, stopping in front of a young man about your age. “Logan’s our local celebrity, drives race cars for a living.”

You look up, meeting a pair of startlingly green eyes. The young man — Logan — smiles, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“Hi there,” Logan says, his voice a pleasant drawl. “Logan Sargeant. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Hello,” you manage, suddenly very aware of your accent. “You’re a race car driver?”

Logan nods, a hint of pride in his smile. “Formula 1, yeah. I drive for Williams Racing.”

Your eyes widen in recognition. You’ve attended a few F1 events in your official capacity, though you’ve never paid much attention to the drivers themselves. “That’s impressive,” you say genuinely.

“Ah, it’s just a job,” Logan says with a self-deprecating shrug, though his eyes sparkle with obvious passion. “What brings you to our little slice of paradise?”

You launch into your prepared story about traveling abroad, surprised at how easily the words flow. Logan listens attentively, asking questions that show genuine interest.

Just as you’re starting to relax into the conversation, Aunt Maggie appears at your elbow. “Y/N, dear, come meet the Hendersons. They’ve got a daughter about your age.”

You turn back to Logan with an apologetic smile. “It was nice meeting you, Logan.”

“Likewise,” he replies, that charming grin still in place. “Hope to see you around, Y/N.”

As Aunt Maggie leads you away, you can’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan is still watching you, and when your eyes meet, he gives a little wave.

For the rest of the evening, you find yourself scanning the crowd, hoping for another glimpse of those green eyes. But between meeting what feels like the entire neighborhood and helping Aunt Maggie with hostess duties, you don’t get another chance to talk to Logan.

As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow over the gathering, you feel a mix of emotions washing over you. There’s still a lingering sadness, a homesickness that sits heavy in your chest. But there’s also a tiny spark of excitement, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, this unexpected adventure might not be so bad after all.

Uncle George finds you as the party begins to wind down. “How you holding up, kiddo?” He asks gently.

You consider the question for a moment. “I’m okay,” you say, surprising yourself with how true it feels. “It’s all very different, but ... I think I might be able to get used to it.”

Uncle George smiles, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “That’s my girl. Now, what do you say we head home? I don’t know about you, but all this socializing has worn me out.”

You nod gratefully, suddenly aware of how tired you are. As you walk home with your aunt and uncle, the warm night air filled with the sound of cicadas, you feel a sense of calm settling over you.

This isn’t home, not really. But maybe, for now, it can be enough. And as you climb into bed that night, your mind drifts to a pair of green eyes and a charming smile, wondering what other surprises Florida might have in store for you.

***

The Florida sun has barely crested the horizon when you step out of your aunt and uncle’s house, running shoes laced tight. You’ve taken to early morning jogs as a way to clear your head and adjust to the new time zone. The neighborhood is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of exotic birds and the distant hum of sprinklers.

As you round the corner, lost in thought, you nearly collide with another runner coming from the opposite direction.

“Whoa there!” A familiar voice calls out, hands reaching out to steady you.

You look up, startled, into the green eyes of Logan Sargeant. He’s dressed in running gear, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Oh! Logan, I’m so sorry,” you stammer, feeling heat rise to your cheeks that has nothing to do with the morning warmth.

Logan grins, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before dropping away. “No harm done. I didn’t know you were a runner.”

You shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m not really. Just trying to ... acclimate, I suppose.”

“To the heat or to Florida in general?” Logan asks, falling into step beside you as you both slow to a walk.

“Both, I think,” you admit with a small laugh. “It’s quite different from home.”

Logan nods understandingly. “I bet. I’ve been to England quite a bit since Williams is based there. Beautiful country, but yeah, not exactly known for its tropical climate.”

You’re about to respond when your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl. Logan’s eyebrows shoot up in amusement.

“Sounds like someone worked up an appetite,” he chuckles. “Have you tried the coffee shop down on Atlantic Boulevard yet? They make a mean breakfast burrito.”

You shake your head, realizing you haven’t ventured much beyond the immediate neighborhood.

Logan’s face lights up. “Well, we can’t have that. What do you say we grab some breakfast? My treat, to make up for almost running you over.”

You hesitate for a moment, your ingrained caution warring with the genuine warmth in Logan’s smile. “I wouldn’t want to impose ...”

“Not at all,” Logan insists. “Besides, I could use a coffee after this run. What do you say?”

Against your better judgment, you find yourself nodding. “Alright, that sounds lovely. Thank you.”

The walk to the coffee shop is filled with easy conversation. Logan asks about your impressions of Florida so far, and you find yourself relaxing as you share some of your culture shock moments.

“Wait, you’ve never had a key lime pie before?” Logan asks incredulously as you approach the quaint storefront of the coffee shop.

You shake your head, laughing. “I had never even heard of it! Aunt Maggie was scandalized.”

Logan holds the door open for you, the aroma of fresh coffee and baked goods washing over you as you enter. “Well, we’ll have to remedy that. They make a pretty decent one here, actually.”

As you settle into a cozy booth by the window, you can’t help but marvel at how ... normal this feels. Sitting in a cafe with a handsome boy, discussing pastries and local cuisine. It’s a far cry from formal state dinners and carefully orchestrated public appearances.

“So,” Logan says after you’ve placed your orders, “what brings you to Fort Lauderdale? Your aunt mentioned something about you taking some time off?”

You nod, reciting the cover story you’ve practiced. “Yes, I wanted to experience life outside of England for a bit before graduate school. My aunt and uncle were kind enough to let me stay with them.”

Logan leans forward, genuinely interested. “That’s cool. Any specific plans while you’re here?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Not really. Just ... experiencing life, I suppose. What about you? Shouldn’t you be off racing cars somewhere exotic?”

Logan grins, a spark of excitement lighting up his eyes. “Usually, yeah. But it’s the summer shutdown right now. All the teams take a break for a few weeks. I always try to come home when I can.”

“That must be nice,” you say softly, a pang of homesickness hitting you unexpectedly.

Logan’s expression softens. “You miss home?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak for a moment. Logan reaches across the table, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hey, it’s okay. Homesickness is rough. But you know what helps?”

You look up, meeting his eyes. “What’s that?”

“Making some good memories in your new place,” Logan says with a warm smile. “And I happen to be an expert in South Florida fun.”

You can’t help but smile back. “Is that so?”

Logan nods solemnly. “Oh yeah. In fact, I’d be happy to be your official tour guide. If you’re interested, that is.”

Before you can respond, your food arrives. The conversation flows easily as you eat, Logan regaling you with tales of his racing adventures and you sharing carefully edited stories of life in England.

As you finish your meal, Logan glances at his watch. “I hate to eat and run, but I’ve got a training session in an hour. But hey, if you’re free later, maybe we could meet up at the beach? I could show you some of the best spots.”

You hesitate, knowing you should probably decline. But the thought of spending more time with Logan, of experiencing a slice of normal life, is too tempting to resist.

“That sounds wonderful,” you find yourself saying. “What time were you thinking?”

Logan’s face lights up. “How about three? I can meet you at the public access point near your aunt and uncle’s place.”

You nod, already looking forward to it. “Three it is.”

As you part ways outside the cafe, Logan gives you another heart-melting smile. “See you later, Y/N. And welcome to Fort Lauderdale.”

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. You help Aunt Maggie with some gardening, your mind constantly drifting to thoughts of green eyes and easy smiles. By the time 3 o’clock rolls around, you’re a bundle of nervous energy.

You spot Logan waiting by the beach access, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He waves as you approach, that now-familiar grin spreading across his face.

“Ready for Beach Life 101?” He asks as you fall into step beside him.

You nod, breathing in the salty air. “Lead the way, Professor Sargeant.”

Logan laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, I like that. Maybe I’ve found my post-racing career.”

As you walk along the shoreline, Logan points out various landmarks and shares local trivia. You find yourself captivated, not just by the information, but by the passion with which he speaks about his hometown.

“And over there,” Logan says, pointing to a stretch of beach dotted with volleyball nets, “is where I learned that I am absolutely terrible at beach volleyball.”

You giggle, the sound surprising even yourself. “Oh? Do tell.”

Logan dramatically recounts a particularly disastrous game from his teenage days, complete with exaggerated gestures. You’re laughing so hard you barely notice when you stumble over a piece of driftwood.

Logan’s arm shoots out, steadying you. “Whoa there. You okay?”

You nod, suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing. “Yes, thank you. I’m not usually this clumsy.”

“Must be my sparkling wit distracting you,” Logan teases, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before dropping away.

As the afternoon wears on, you find yourself relaxing more and more in Logan’s company. He’s easy to talk to, genuinely interested in your thoughts and experiences. For a few blissful hours, you almost forget about the circumstances that brought you here.

As the sun begins to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, Logan leads you to a quiet spot away from the main beach.

“This,” he says with a flourish, “is the best place to watch the sunset in all of Fort Lauderdale.”

You settle onto the sand, marveling at the view. “It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

Logan sits beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his sun-kissed skin. “Yeah, it really is.”

For a moment, you sit in comfortable silence, watching as the sun slowly sinks into the ocean. Then Logan turns to you, his expression suddenly serious.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod, a flicker of nervousness igniting in your chest. “Of course.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more to your story than you’re letting on?”

Your heart races, panic threatening to overwhelm you. “What do you mean?”

Logan shrugs, his eyes searching your face. “I don’t know. There’s just something about you. The way you carry yourself, the things you say ... or don’t say. It’s like you’re holding part of yourself back.”

You look away, focusing on the horizon. “I’m just ... adjusting. To being here, I mean.”

Logan nods slowly. “I get that. And hey, if there are things you don’t want to share, that’s cool. I just want you to know that you can trust me. If you want to, that is.”

You turn back to him, struck by the sincerity in his eyes. For a wild moment, you consider telling him everything — who you really are, why you’re here. But the weight of your family’s expectations, the very real danger that drove you here, holds you back.

Instead, you offer him a small smile. “Thank you, Logan. That means a lot.”

He returns your smile, reaching out to squeeze your hand gently. “Anytime. Whatever brought you here, I’m glad it did. It’s been really nice getting to know you.”

As the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the waves, you find yourself wishing you could freeze this moment. Here, with the sound of the ocean in your ears and Logan’s hand warm in yours, you feel more like yourself than you have in years.

But as the sky darkens and the first stars begin to appear, reality starts to creep back in. You know you can’t stay in this bubble forever.

“We should probably head back,” you say reluctantly, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled between you.

Logan nods, standing and offering you a hand up. “Yeah, I guess so. But this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing. Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

You smile, surprising yourself with how much you want that. “I’d like that very much.”

As you walk back along the beach, Logan’s hand brushes against yours. After a moment’s hesitation, you let your fingers intertwine with his. It’s a small gesture, but it feels monumental.

At the edge of your aunt and uncle’s property, you pause. “Thank you for today, Logan. It was ... wonderful.”

Logan’s smile is soft in the dim light. “I’m glad. And if you ever need a break from acclimating, you know where to find me.”

Before you can overthink it, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Logan.”

As you hurry inside, your heart pounding, you catch a glimpse of Logan touching his cheek, a dazed smile on his face.

In your room, you sink onto the bed, a whirlwind of emotions swirling through you. You know you’re treading dangerous waters. Logan is everything you shouldn’t want — a distraction, a complication, a risk to your cover.

But as you drift off to sleep, your dreams are filled with green eyes and the sound of waves crashing on the shore. And for the first time since arriving in Florida, you find yourself looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.

***

The gentle lapping of waves against the hull of the boat fills the comfortable silence between you and Logan. You’re sprawled on the deck, basking in the warm afternoon sun, while Logan sits nearby, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Logan’s voice breaks through your reverie.

You turn your head to look at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Just thinking about how surreal this all feels. A few weeks ago, I never could have imagined ... this.”

Logan’s eyebrows quirk up in amusement. “What, lying on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic? Or spending time with an incredibly charming race car driver?”

You laugh, playfully swatting his arm. “Both, I suppose. Though I’m not sure about the ‘incredibly charming’ part.”

“Ouch,” Logan clutches his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me.”

Sitting up, you lean against the boat’s railing, taking in the endless expanse of blue around you. “It’s just ... I’ve never felt this free before. This ... unburdened.”

Logan’s expression softens as he moves to sit beside you. “What do you mean?”

You bite your lip, choosing your words carefully. “Back home, there’s always ... expectations. Responsibilities. Here, with you, I feel like I can just be myself.”

Logan nods thoughtfully. “I get that. It’s kind of like how I feel when I’m racing. When I’m in the car, nothing else matters. It’s just me, the track, and the speed.”

“That sounds exhilarating,” you say, genuinely curious. “Is that why you love it so much?”

Logan’s eyes light up with passion. “Partly, yeah. But it’s more than that. It’s the challenge, you know? Pushing yourself to the absolute limit, always striving to be better, faster.”

You listen intently as Logan delves into the intricacies of Formula 1 racing, marveling at the depth of his knowledge and the intensity of his enthusiasm.

“Sorry,” he says suddenly, looking a bit sheepish. “I tend to ramble when it comes to racing. I’m probably boring you.”

You shake your head emphatically. “Not at all! I love hearing you talk about it. Your passion is ... inspiring.”

Logan’s smile is warm as he takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Thanks. You know, it’s nice to be able to talk about this stuff with someone who actually listens. Most people just hear ‘Formula 1 driver’ and make assumptions.”

“What kind of assumptions?” you ask, curious.

Logan shrugs. “Oh, you know. That I’m some adrenaline junkie who doesn’t take anything seriously. Or that I’m living some glamorous, carefree life.”

You squeeze his hand gently. “But it’s not like that at all, is it?”

“Not even close,” Logan admits. “Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. But the pressure ... it can be overwhelming sometimes.”

“How so?” You prompt, recognizing the weight in his voice.

Logan leans back, his gaze distant. “It’s not just about driving fast, you know? There’s the physical training, the technical knowledge, the media obligations. And then there’s the constant pressure to perform. Everyone always questioning whether you deserve your seat.”

You nod, understanding all too well the burden of constant scrutiny. “That sounds incredibly stressful.”

“It can be,” Logan agrees. “But then I remember how lucky I am to be living my dream, and it puts things in perspective.”

You smile, admiring his positive outlook. “That’s a wonderful way of looking at it.”

Logan turns to you, his green eyes intense. “What about you? What’s your dream?”

The question catches you off guard. For so long, your life has been dictated by duty and expectation. The concept of a personal dream feels almost foreign.

“I ... I’m not sure,” you admit quietly. “I’ve never really thought about it in those terms.”

Logan’s brow furrows in concern. “Really? There must be something you’re passionate about, something you’d love to do if you could do anything in the world.”

You ponder the question, thinking back to the interests and passions you’ve had to set aside for your royal duties. “I’ve always loved art,” you say finally. “Painting, specifically. But it’s always been more of a hobby than a serious pursuit.”

Logan’s face lights up. “That’s awesome! Have you painted anything since you’ve been here?”

You shake your head, a twinge of regret in your chest. “No, I ... I didn’t bring any supplies with me.”

“Well, we’ll have to fix that,” Logan says decisively. “I’m sure there’s an art supply store in town. We could go tomorrow if you want?”

The thought of picking up a paintbrush again sends a thrill of excitement through you. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

Logan laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Mind? Y/N, I’d love to see this side of you. Maybe you could even paint me sometime,” he adds with a wink.

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “I’m not sure you’d want that. I’m terribly out of practice.”

“I’m sure you’re amazing,” Logan says with such conviction that you can’t help but believe him a little.

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only by the sound of the waves and the occasional cry of a seagull. You find yourself studying Logan’s profile, admiring the way the sunlight catches in his hair and highlights the strong line of his jaw.

As if sensing your gaze, Logan turns to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, returning his smile. “I’m just ... happy.”

Logan’s expression becomes tender as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah? Me too.”

The moment stretches between you, charged with unspoken emotion. Logan leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. But you don’t want to. Instead, you meet him halfway, your lips brushing together in a soft, sweet kiss.

When you part, Logan rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” he admits.

You laugh softly, your heart feeling lighter than it has in years. “Me too.”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of conversation, laughter, and stolen kisses. As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, Logan steers the boat back towards the docks.

“So,” he says as you dock, “what do you say we go on a proper date tomorrow? Dinner, maybe? After our art supply shopping trip, of course.”

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “That sounds wonderful.”

As Logan walks you back to your aunt and uncle’s house, his hand warm in yours, you can’t help but marvel at how much your life has changed in just a few short weeks. The weight of your royal responsibilities, the constant fear from the threats that drove you here — it all feels distant, like a half-remembered dream.

At your doorstep, Logan pulls you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Logan,” you reply, reluctant to let go of his hand.

Inside, you lean against the closed door, your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and an emotion you’re not quite ready to name. For the first time in your life, you’re experiencing something that’s wholly yours — not dictated by duty or protocol, but born from genuine connection and shared moments.

The next few weeks pass in a whirlwind of stolen moments and shared adventures. True to his word, Logan takes you to the art supply store, insisting on buying you the best paints and brushes despite your protests.

You find yourself rediscovering your passion for art, spending hours capturing the vibrant colors and energy of Fort Lauderdale on canvas. Logan is always eager to see your latest creations, his genuine enthusiasm bolstering your confidence.

One evening, as you sit on the beach watching the sunset, Logan turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “What do you say we go for a swim?”

You laugh, gesturing at your sundress. “Now? We’re not exactly dressed for it.”

Logan shrugs, his grin widening. “So? Live a little, Y/N. When was the last time you went swimming in your clothes?”

You think back, realizing with a start that you’ve never done anything so spontaneous. “I ... never, actually.”

“Well then,” Logan says, standing and offering you his hand, “there’s no time like the present.”

Before you can overthink it, you take his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Together, you run towards the water, laughing as the cool waves crash around your ankles.

Logan pulls you deeper, until you’re both waist-deep in the ocean. The water is refreshing against your sun-warmed skin, and you can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all.

“See?” Logan says, pulling you close. “Isn’t this fun?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. “It’s perfect.”

As you float together in the gentle waves, the last rays of sunlight painting the sky in brilliant hues, you’re struck by a sudden, overwhelming realization. You’re falling in love with Logan Sargeant.

The thought should terrify you. After all, you know this can’t last forever. Your real life, your responsibilities, they’re all waiting for you back in England. But in this moment, with Logan’s arms around you and the vast ocean stretching out before you, you can’t bring yourself to care about the future.

“What are you thinking about?” Logan asks softly, his fingers tracing patterns on your back.

You look up at him, taking in the warmth in his green eyes, the gentle curve of his smile. “Just ... how happy I am right now. How I wish this moment could last forever.”

Logan’s expression softens as he leans in to kiss you. It’s a kiss full of unspoken emotion, of shared dreams and secret hopes. When you part, Logan rests his forehead against yours.

“Me too, Y/N,” he whispers. “Me too.”

As you float in the warm Florida waters, the stars beginning to twinkle overhead, you allow yourself to fully embrace the moment. You know that reality will intrude eventually, that the carefree days of this Florida summer can’t last forever. But for now, in Logan’s arms, you feel truly, completely free.

And for the first time in your life, you dare to dream of a future shaped by your own desires rather than the expectations of others. It’s a dangerous thought, a seed of hope that you know might lead to heartbreak. But as Logan pulls you in for another kiss, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

For now, you’re just a girl falling in love under the Florida stars. And for now, that’s enough.

***

The sun is setting over Fort Lauderdale as you and Logan stroll hand in hand along Las Olas Boulevard. The street is alive with the buzz of restaurants and boutiques, but you’re barely aware of your surroundings, lost in thought about the conversation you know you need to have.

Logan’s voice breaks through your reverie. “Earth to Y/N,” he says, gently nudging your shoulder. “You okay? You’ve been pretty quiet tonight.”

You force a smile, trying to quell the anxiety bubbling in your chest. “I’m fine. Just ... thinking.”

Logan’s brow furrows with concern. “Anything you want to talk about?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Actually, yes. Logan, there’s something I need to tell you-”

But before you can continue, a flash goes off nearby, startling you both. You turn to see a man with a camera, his lens pointed directly at you.

“Princess Y/N?” The photographer calls out, his voice a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Is that you?”

Your blood runs cold as more flashes go off. Suddenly, it seems like cameras are appearing from every direction, voices calling out your name and title.

Logan’s hand tightens around yours. “Princess?” He repeats, confusion evident in his voice. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

You feel panic rising in your throat. This isn’t how you wanted him to find out. “Logan, I can explain-”

But Logan’s already pulling you away from the growing crowd, his jaw set in a hard line. He leads you down a side street, away from the main thoroughfare, until you reach a quiet park.

As soon as you’re alone, Logan drops your hand, turning to face you with a mixture of hurt and bewilderment in his eyes. “Princess Y/N? That’s who you are?”

You nod, your heart racing. “Yes. Logan, I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you-”

“When?” Logan interrupts, his voice sharp. “When were you planning on telling me that everything about you has been a lie?”

“Not everything,” you protest, reaching for his hand, but he pulls away. “My feelings for you are real, Logan. That’s not a lie.”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me? Did you think this was funny? Playing at being a normal girl, slumming it with the commoner?”

His words sting, and you feel tears pricking at your eyes. “No! Of course not. It wasn’t like that at all.”

“Then what was it like?” Logan demands. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been playing me for a fool this entire time.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “I came here because my life was in danger. There were threats, serious ones. My family thought it would be safer if I disappeared for a while, if I lived like a normal person.”

Logan’s expression softens slightly, but the hurt is still evident in his eyes. “Okay, I can understand that. But why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me the truth?”

“I wanted to,” you say softly. “So many times. But I was scared. Scared of how you’d react, scared of ruining what we had.”

“What we had,” Logan repeats, his voice bitter. “And what exactly was that, Y/N? Or should I call you ‘Your Highness’ now?”

You flinch at his tone. “Logan, please. What we have is real. My feelings for you are real.”

“Are they?” Logan challenges. “Because the Y/N I thought I knew wouldn’t have lied to me for weeks. The Y/N I was falling in love with wouldn’t have let me make a fool of myself, talking about my problems like they were anything compared to being actual royalty.”

His words hit you like a physical blow. “Falling in love with?” You repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s expression crumples for a moment before he schools it back into anger. “Yeah, well. I guess that just shows how stupid I’ve been.”

“You’re not stupid,” you insist, taking a step towards him. “Logan, I love you too. That’s why I was so scared to tell you the truth. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Logan laughs humorlessly. “Well, great job there. Because finding out like this? With paparazzi swarming us? That’s so much better.”

You feel tears starting to fall, but you make no move to wipe them away. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Logan asks, his voice softer now but still laced with hurt. “Did you think we could just keep playing pretend forever? That your real life wouldn’t come crashing back in eventually?”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of your reality pressing down on you. “No, I ... I don’t know what I thought. I just knew that when I was with you, I felt free. I felt like myself for the first time in my life.”

Logan’s expression wavers between anger and sympathy. “And who is that, Y/N? Because I’m not sure I know anymore.”

“I’m still me,” you insist. “The girl who loves art and quiet moments on the beach. The girl who laughs at your terrible jokes and feels safest when she’s in your arms. That’s all real, Logan. The only thing that’s different is my title.”

Logan scoffs. “Only your title? Y/N, you’re a princess. Do you have any idea what this means? The media frenzy, the scrutiny, the expectations ... it’s not just your title that’s different. It’s your entire world.”

You feel a flicker of frustration ignite in your chest. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t lived with that pressure every day of my life? That’s why being here, being with you, has meant so much to me. For once, I got to just be myself.”

“But it wasn’t really yourself, was it?” Logan counters. “It was a version of you. A version without the weight of a crown.”

His words hit too close to home, and you feel your own anger rising. “And what about you? You talk about pressure and expectations like I couldn’t possibly understand. But I do understand, Logan. More than you know.”

Logan shakes his head, his voice rising. “It’s not the same thing, Y/N! I chose this life. I worked for it. You ... you were born into it. And you lied about it. To me, to everyone here.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” You shout, surprising yourself with the intensity of your emotion. “Do you think I wanted to lie? Do you think I enjoyed keeping this secret? I was trying to stay alive, Logan. I was trying to protect myself and the people I care about. Including you!”

Logan takes a step back, his eyes wide. For a moment, silence hangs heavy between you.

“Protect me?” He finally says, his voice low. “How does lying to me protect me?”

You take a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself. “The less you knew, the safer you were. And ... the more I fell for you, the more I wanted to keep you separate from that part of my life. To keep this — us — untainted by all of that.”

Logan’s expression softens slightly, but the hurt is still evident in his eyes. “Y/N ... I get that you were in a difficult position. I do. But relationships are built on trust. How can I trust you now?”

His words cut deep, and you feel fresh tears welling up. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “But I want to try. Logan, please. What we have ... it’s worth fighting for, isn’t it?”

Logan runs a hand over his face, looking suddenly tired. “I don’t know, Y/N. This is ... it’s a lot to process. I need time to think.”

You nod, your heart sinking. “I understand. I just ... I hope you can forgive me. Eventually.”

Logan looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I hope so too. But right now I think we both need some space.”

As he turns to walk away, you feel a piece of your heart go with him. “Logan,” you call out, your voice breaking.

He pauses but doesn’t turn back. “Yeah?”

“I really do love you,” you say softly. “That was never a lie.”

Logan’s shoulders slump slightly. “I know,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. And then he’s gone, disappearing into the growing darkness of the park.

You stand there for a long moment, tears streaming down your face, feeling more alone than you ever have before. The sound of distant camera shutters reminds you that your private world has well and truly shattered.

With a heavy heart, you pull out your phone to call your aunt and uncle. It’s time to face the music, to deal with the fallout of your exposed identity. But as you dial, all you can think about is the look of betrayal in Logan’s eyes, wondering if you’ve lost him for good.

As you wait for your aunt to pick up, you gaze out at the Florida skyline, the twinkling lights now seeming cold and distant. For a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to imagine a different life — one where you’re just Y/N, an ordinary girl in love with a boy who races cars. But reality crashes back in as your aunt’s worried voice comes through the phone.

“It’s time to come home,” she says, and you know she doesn’t just mean back to the house.

Your summer of freedom, of love and normalcy, is coming to an end. As you give your aunt your location for pickup, you can’t help but wonder … was it worth it? The joy, the love, the heartbreak — would you do it all again, knowing how it would end?

As you spot your uncle’s car approaching, you realize with a start that yes, you would. Because for a brief, shining moment, you knew what it was like to be truly, completely yourself. And no crown, no duty, no threat could ever take that away from you.

***

The Florida sun beats down mercilessly as you sit on the porch swing of your aunt and uncle’s house, listlessly flipping through a magazine. It’s been a week since the paparazzi incident, a week since your world turned upside down. The threats back home have been neutralized, your security team assures you, but it feels like a hollow victory.

Your aunt’s voice drifts from inside the house. “Y/N, darling, are you sure you don’t want to come to the beach with us?”

“I’m sure, Aunt Maggie,” you call back, forcing a cheerfulness you don’t feel into your voice. “You and Uncle George go ahead. I’m fine here.”

As the sound of their car fades away, you let out a heavy sigh. Fine is the last thing you are. With only a week left before your scheduled return to England, you feel like you’re in limbo, caught between two worlds and belonging to neither.

The sudden roar of an engine pulls you from your melancholy thoughts. A sleek sports car you recognize all too well pulls up in front of the house. Your heart leaps into your throat as Logan steps out, looking as devastatingly handsome as ever in jeans and a simple t-shirt.

For a moment, you both freeze, eyes locked on each other. Then Logan takes a hesitant step forward. “Hi,” he says, his voice carrying a mix of nervousness and determination.

“Hi,” you reply, barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’ve come to recognize as a sign of his anxiety. “I ... I needed to see you. To talk to you. Can we ...” He gestures vaguely towards the porch.

You nod, moving over on the swing to make room for him. Logan sits, careful to leave space between you, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

Finally, Logan breaks the silence. “I owe you an apology,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “The way I reacted when I found out ... it wasn’t fair to you.”

You shake your head, feeling a lump form in your throat. “No, Logan. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I lied to you, kept this huge part of my life secret. You had every right to be angry.”

Logan turns to face you, his green eyes intense. “Maybe. But I’ve had time to think. To really process everything. And I realized something important.”

“What’s that?” You ask, hardly daring to breathe.

“That it doesn’t matter,” Logan says simply. “Princess, commoner, whatever — it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Because the girl I fell in love with? She’s real. Royal title or not.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. “Logan ...”

He reaches out, taking your hand in his. “Let me finish, please. I talked to my family, tried to sort out my feelings. And I kept coming back to one thing — how I feel when I’m with you. How you make me laugh, how you challenge me, how you see me for who I am, not just what I do.”

“I feel the same way,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “Being with you ... it’s the freest I’ve ever felt.”

Logan’s thumb traces circles on your palm, sending shivers up your arm. “I know we have a lot to figure out. The distance, the media attention, our careers ... it won’t be easy. But Y/N, I think what we have is worth fighting for. If you’ll have me, that is.”

You can’t hold back your tears any longer. They fall freely as you launch yourself into Logan’s arms, burying your face in his neck. “Of course I’ll have you, you idiot,” you mumble against his skin.

Logan’s arms tighten around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank God,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I could bear losing you again.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. “I’m so sorry. For lying, for putting you in this position. I never meant to hurt you.”

Logan cups your face gently, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. “I know, sweetheart. And I’m sorry too, for not giving you a chance to explain. For letting my hurt and pride get in the way of what really matters.”

“And what’s that?” You ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“Us,” Logan says simply. “You and me. Everything else ... we’ll figure it out together.”

You lean in, pressing your forehead against his. “Together,” you repeat, loving the sound of it. “I like that.”

Logan’s lips curve into a smile. “Me too. Now, can I please kiss you? Because I’ve been dying to do that since the moment I saw you on this porch.”

You laugh, a sound of pure joy and relief. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As Logan’s lips meet yours, you feel like you’re coming home. The kiss is tender and passionate all at once, an apology and a promise wrapped into one. When you finally part, you’re both breathless.

“So,” Logan says, his arms still wrapped around you. “What now, Princess? Because I have to say, I’m a little out of my depth here. Is there some royal protocol for dating I should know about?”

You can’t help but giggle at the mix of humor and genuine concern in his voice. “Well, traditionally, you’d have to ask my father for permission to court me. Preferably while wearing a powdered wig and breeches.”

Logan’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

You pat his cheek affectionately. “About the wig and breeches, yes. About talking to my father ... that might actually have to happen at some point.”

Logan gulps audibly. “Right. Talking to the King of England. No pressure or anything.”

You snuggle closer to him on the swing. “He’ll love you. How could he not?”

“I hope you’re right,” Logan says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Because I’m not giving you up without a fight, royal decree or not.”

You sit in comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying the simple pleasure of being in each other’s arms again. But reality begins to creep in, and you feel Logan tense slightly.

“Y/N,” he says softly. “What about ... I mean, you’re leaving in a week, right?”

You nod, feeling a pang in your chest. “Yes. The jet is being sent to pick me up next Saturday.”

Logan takes a deep breath. “And then what? I mean, for us?”

You sit up, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I want to make this work, Logan. More than anything. But I won’t lie to you — it won’t be easy.”

Logan nods, his expression serious. “I know. The distance, our schedules ... not to mention the media circus that’s bound to happen when word gets out.”

“Are you sure you want to deal with all that?” You ask, voicing the fear that’s been nagging at you. “It’s not too late to back out, to go back to your normal life.”

Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek. “Y/N, look at me.” When you meet his gaze, he continues, “My life stopped being normal the moment I met you. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Whatever challenges we face, we’ll face them together. Okay?”

You lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Okay,” you agree softly.

“Besides,” Logan adds with a mischievous grin, “dating a princess might actually be good for my image. Think of all the sponsorship deals I could get.”

You gasp in mock outrage, swatting his arm. “Logan Sargeant! Is that all I am to you? A ticket to better endorsements?”

Logan laughs, pulling you back into his arms. “Busted. It was all an elaborate scheme to get my face on a tea towel.”

You can’t help but join in his laughter, marveling at how easily he can lift your spirits. As your giggles subside, a thought occurs to you.

“You know,” you say slowly, “there might be a way to make the distance a little more manageable, at least for a while.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “I’m all ears, Princess.”

You take a deep breath, hoping you’re not overstepping. “Well, the F1 season isn’t over yet, right? There are still races in Europe ...”

Logan’s eyes light up as he catches on. “Races where a certain princess might be able to make an appearance?”

You nod, feeling a flutter of excitement. “It would be a good opportunity to show support for British motorsport. Purely diplomatic reasons, of course.”

Logan’s grin widens. “Of course. Very diplomatic. I’m sure the press won’t read anything into the Princess of Wales suddenly becoming a racing enthusiast.”

You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Let them talk. As long as I get to see you, I don’t care what they say.”

Logan’s expression softens. “You really mean that, don’t you? You’re willing to face all the scrutiny, the gossip, just to be with me?”

You nod, your voice firm. “You’re worth it. We’re worth it.”

Logan pulls you close, burying his face in your hair. “I love you,” he murmurs. “God, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion. “More than I ever thought possible.”

As you sit there on the porch swing, wrapped in each other’s arms, you know that the road ahead won’t be easy. There will be challenges, obstacles, moments of doubt. But looking into Logan’s eyes, seeing the love and determination there, you know you can face anything as long as you’re together.

The sound of a car approaching breaks the moment. You recognize your aunt and uncle’s vehicle coming up the driveway.

Logan tenses slightly. “Should I ... do you want me to leave?”

You shake your head firmly. “No. Stay. It’s time they met the real you, not just the boy next door.”

As your aunt and uncle pull up, looking surprised to see Logan there, you stand up, hand-in-hand with the man you love. You’re ready to face whatever comes next, be it nosy relatives, prying media, or the complexities of a long-distance relationship between a princess and an F1 driver.

Because now you know — home isn’t a place. It’s not a palace in England or a beach house in Florida. Home is wherever you and Logan are together. And that’s a feeling worth fighting for.

***

The Florida sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon as Logan’s car pulls up to the private airstrip. The sleek private jet waiting on the tarmac is a reminder of the reality you’re about to step back into. Logan cuts the engine, but neither of you move to get out, both reluctant to face the inevitable goodbye.

“So,” Logan says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I guess this is it, huh?”

You turn to him, taking in every detail of his face as if trying to memorize it. “Not it,” you insist. “Just ... see you later.”

Logan manages a small smile, reaching out to take your hand. “Right. See you later. In England. Where you’ll be a princess again.”

You squeeze his hand. “I’ll always be me, Logan. Title or no title.”

“I know,” he says softly. “It’s just ... it’s going to be different, isn’t it? You’ll have responsibilities, obligations. And I’ll be ...”

“The man I love,” you interrupt firmly. “No matter what.”

Logan’s eyes soften at your words. “I love you too. I’m going to miss you so much.”

You lean across the center console, pressing your forehead against his. “I’m going to miss you too. But we’ve got a plan, remember?”

Logan nods, his breath warm against your skin. “Right. The plan. Want to run through it one more time? You know, just to make sure we’ve got it down.”

You can’t help but smile at his attempt to prolong the moment. “Okay, let’s see. You’ve got ten more races this season, right?”

“Yep,” Logan confirms. “Zandvoort, Monza, Baku, Singapore, COTA, Mexico, Brazil, Vegas, Qatar, and Abu Dhabi.”

“And I,” you say, sitting back slightly to meet his gaze, “will be making surprise appearances to as many as I can. To support British motorsport, of course.”

Logan grins. “Of course. Very diplomatic of you.”

“Then,” you continue, “once the season’s over, you’ll be spending more time at the Williams headquarters in Grove.”

“Which, coincidentally, is just a short drive from London,” Logan adds with a wink.

You nod, feeling a flutter of excitement despite the impending separation. “And I’ll make sure to have plenty of reasons to visit Grove. Lots of ... local businesses to support.”

Logan laughs, the sound warming your heart. “I’m sure the people of Grove will greatly appreciate the royal attention.”

“Then there’s Christmas,” you say softly. “I talked to my parents, and ... they want to meet you. Properly.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly. “Christmas with the royal family. No pressure or anything.”

You cup his cheek gently. “They’ll love you, Logan. How could they not?”

He leans into your touch. “I hope you’re right. Because I plan on sticking around for a long time, Princess.”

“Good,” you say firmly. “Because I’m not letting you go that easily.”

Logan’s smile fades slightly as his gaze drifts to the waiting plane. “We should probably ...”

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah. We should.”

With a deep breath, you both step out of the car. Logan moves to the trunk to retrieve your luggage while you take a moment to compose yourself. As he joins you, bags in hand, you’re struck by how domestic this feels — and how much you wish this was just a normal trip, not a return to a life an ocean away.

“Your chariot awaits, Your Highness,” Logan says with an exaggerated bow, trying to lighten the mood.

You roll your eyes fondly, but play along. “Why thank you, kind sir. Your service to the Crown is most appreciated.”

As you walk towards the plane, Logan’s free hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers. “You know,” he says casually, “I’ve been thinking about taking some flying lessons. Might come in handy for, oh, I don’t know ... surprise visits to England?”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Logan Sargeant, are you planning on becoming my personal pilot?”

He grins, that mischievous sparkle you love so much dancing in his eyes. “Well, I figure if I can handle an F1 car at 200 miles per hour, a plane can’t be that much harder, right?”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” you say, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“Details, details,” Logan waves his free hand dismissively. “The point is, I’m going to find ways to see you. Even if I have to learn to fly, sail, or ... I don’t know, teleport.”

You stop walking, tugging on his hand to make him face you. “You know you don’t have to do all that, right? I mean, I love that you want to, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to change your whole life for me.”

Logan sets down your bags, taking both your hands in his. “Y/N, listen to me. You are worth changing my whole life for. But that’s not what this is about. It’s about finding ways to make our lives fit together. Because that’s what I want — a life with you in it.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes. “I want that too. So much.”

Logan reaches up to brush away a tear that’s escaped. “Then we’ll make it work. Whatever it takes.”

You nod, leaning into his touch. “Whatever it takes,” you repeat softly.

The sound of someone clearing their throat breaks the moment. You turn to see the pilot standing a respectful distance away.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Highness,” he says, “but we need to begin boarding if we’re to make our departure time.”

You nod, straightening your shoulders. “Of course. Thank you, Captain. I’ll be right there.”

As the pilot retreats, you turn back to Logan. “I guess this is really goodbye.”

Logan pulls you close, wrapping his arms tightly around you. “Not goodbye. Never goodbye. Just ... until next time.”

You bury your face in his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. “Next time,” you murmur. “The Netherlands, right?”

“The Netherlands,” Logan confirms, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll be the one in the Williams car, trying not to crash while looking for you in the stands.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as tears threaten to fall again. “Please don’t crash. I quite like you in one piece.”

Logan pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “No promises. You’re pretty distracting, Princess.”

Before you can retort, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that takes your breath away. It’s tender and passionate, a promise and a farewell all at once. When you finally part, you’re both breathless.

“I love you,” you whisper, your foreheads still pressed together.

“I love you too,” Logan replies. “Now go, before I decide to jump in the cockpit of that plane and fly us both to some remote island where we can just be us.”

You laugh, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace. “Don’t tempt me. That sounds pretty perfect right now.”

Logan picks up your bags again, walking with you the last few steps to the plane’s stairs. “Your royal carriage, m’lady,” he says with another exaggerated bow.

You shake your head fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” he counters with a grin.

“I do,” you admit softly. “I really do.”

With one last lingering look, you start up the stairs. At the top, you turn back. Logan is still there, watching you with a mix of love and longing that makes your heart ache.

“Hey, Logan?” You call down.

“Yeah?”

You smile, feeling a sudden surge of certainty despite the impending separation. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

Logan’s answering smile is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “Yeah, Princess. We’re going to be more than okay. We’re going to be amazing.”

With those words echoing in your heart, you finally step into the plane. As you settle into your seat, you watch through the window as Logan returns to his car. He stands there, hand raised in farewell, until the plane begins to taxi.

As the ground falls away beneath you, you close your eyes, already counting the days until the Dutch Grand Prix. The path ahead won’t be easy — you know there will be challenges, misunderstandings, moments of doubt. But you also know that what you and Logan have is worth fighting for.

You’re leaving behind the carefree summer days of Florida, returning to the responsibilities and expectations of your royal life. But you’re taking with you something precious — the knowledge that you are loved for who you are, not what you are. And that, you realize, is the greatest gift of all.

As the plane soars over the Atlantic, you allow yourself to dream of the future — of stolen moments at race tracks, of quiet evenings in London, of a love that bridges oceans and transcends titles. It won’t be easy, but then again, the best things in life rarely are.

You’re a princess and he’s a race car driver. On paper, it shouldn’t work. But as you drift off to sleep, Logan’s last words replay in your mind.

“We’re going to be amazing.”

And you believe him. Because with Logan by your side, how could you be anything else?

***

The Texas sun beats down mercilessly on the Circuit of the Americas as Logan adjusts his fireproofs, preparing for another round of interviews. It’s his home race and the pressure is palpable. He’s been struggling all season, the weight of expectations and the constant comparisons to his teammate wearing him down.

As he walks towards the waiting journalists, Logan can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. You had told him you couldn’t make it to this race, citing royal obligations back in England. He understands, of course, but the thought of racing on home soil without you in the stands feels hollow somehow.

“Logan! Over here!” A reporter waves him over, microphone at the ready. “How are you feeling about today’s race?”

Logan pastes on his media-ready smile, falling into the familiar rhythm of pre-race interviews. “I’m feeling good, you know? It’s always special racing at home, and the energy here at COTA is incredible.”

“There’s been a lot of talk about your future with Williams,” another journalist chimes in. “Any comments on the rumors that your seat might be in jeopardy for next season?”

Logan’s smile falters slightly, but he recovers quickly. “I’m focused on doing my best in every race, including today’s. The future will take care of itself.”

As he continues answering questions, Logan’s gaze drifts over the bustling pit lane. Mechanics scurry about, making last-minute adjustments to the cars. Team personnel hurry back and forth, clipboards and tablets in hand. It’s a familiar scene, one he’s witnessed countless times before.

But then, something catches his eye. A flash of familiar hair, a silhouette he’d recognize anywhere. Logan blinks, sure he must be seeing things. But no — there you are, walking down the pit lane as if you belong there (which, he supposes, you do in a way).

“Logan?” The interviewer’s voice seems distant. “Logan, can you tell us about your strategy for today’s-”

But Logan isn’t listening anymore. His jaw goes slack, eyes wide with disbelief as he watches you approach. You’re dressed casually in a flowing maxi dress, your hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. To Logan, you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“I ... uh ...” Logan stammers, completely losing his train of thought. The interviewer follows his gaze, her own eyes widening as she recognizes you.

A hush falls over the pit lane as heads turn to watch your progress. You seem oblivious to the attention, your eyes locked on Logan. A brilliant smile lights up your face as you break into a run.

Logan barely has time to brace himself before you’re launching yourself into his arms. He catches you instinctively, spinning you around as laughter bubbles up from his chest.

“Surprise!” You exclaim, pulling back just enough to see his face. “Did you really think I’d miss your home race?”

Logan shakes his head in amazement, still not quite believing you’re here. “But you said ... how did you ...”

You grin mischievously. “I may have told a tiny white lie. Royal prerogative and all that.”

Logan laughs, setting you down but keeping his arms wrapped firmly around your waist. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” you reply with a wink.

It’s only then that Logan becomes aware of your surroundings again. The entire pit lane has gone silent, all eyes on the two of you. Cameras flash incessantly, capturing what must be the most undignified public display the Princess of England has ever made.

Logan feels a moment of panic. “Y/N,” he whispers, “everyone’s watching.”

You shrug, seemingly unconcerned. “Let them watch. I’m just a girl supporting her boyfriend at his home race.”

The casual use of the word ‘boyfriend’ sends a thrill through Logan. Despite the months you’ve been together, sometimes he still can’t quite believe this is real.

A throat clearing nearby breaks the moment. Logan turns to see James Vowles approaching with a bemused expression.

“Your Highness,” James says with a slight bow. “This is ... an unexpected honor.”

You turn to face him, your arm still wrapped around Logan’s waist. “Mr. Vowles,” you greet him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping in unannounced. I was just so eager to see how our British team is faring.”

James nods, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “Of course, we’re always delighted to host you. Perhaps you’d like a tour of the garage?”

“That would be lovely,” you reply, your voice sweet but with an undercurrent of steel that makes Logan’s eyebrows raise. “I’m particularly interested in discussing team strategy. And driver management.”

Logan feels you tense slightly beside him, and he suddenly realizes what you’re doing. His heart swells with a mixture of love and awe.

James seems to pick up on the shift in atmosphere as well. “I see,” he says carefully. “Well, I’m sure we can arrange a meeting after the race-”

“Oh, I think now would be perfect,” you interrupt, your smile never wavering. “After all, I’m quite invested in the success of this team. Particularly when it comes to nurturing young talent.”

Logan watches in fascination as James visibly squirms under your gaze. He’s never seen his usually unflappable team principal so wrong-footed.

“Of course, Your Highness,” James finally manages. “Shall we step into the hospitality area for some privacy?”

You nod graciously, but before following James, you turn back to Logan. “For luck,” you murmur, pulling him down for a quick kiss that leaves him breathless and the watching crowd buzzing with excitement.

As you walk away with James, Logan overhears snippets of your conversation.

“I do hope, Mr. Vowles,” you’re saying, your voice light but with a clear edge, “that Williams is committed to giving all its drivers equal opportunities to succeed. It would be such a shame if rumors of ... unequal treatment were to reach certain ears.”

Logan watches in awe as James nods frantically, clearly understanding the implied threat behind your words.

“And these whispers about potentially dropping Logan,” you continue, your smile never faltering. “I’m sure they’re just baseless rumors. After all, it would be terribly short-sighted to let go of such promising talent, don’t you think?”

As your voice fades into the distance, Logan stands rooted to the spot, a goofy grin spreading across his face. He’s vaguely aware of the chaos around him — journalists clamoring for comments, team members and rivals alike shooting him curious glances — but all he can think about is you.

You, who flew across an ocean to surprise him. You, who jumped into his arms without a care for protocol or propriety. You, who’s currently backing his team principal into a corner with a smile and a veiled royal threat.

In that moment, Logan Sargeant knows without a doubt that he has never been more in love.

A hand on his shoulder startles him out of his reverie. He turns to see Alex grinning at him.

“Mate,” Alex says, shaking his head in disbelief, “when you said you were dating a princess, I thought you were having us on. But that? That was ...”

“Yeah,” Logan agrees, still a bit dazed. “She’s something else.”

Alex laughs. “Understatement of the century. You better hold onto that one, Sargeant. And maybe put in a good word for the rest of us with her royal highness? I wouldn’t mind having that kind of backing in contract negotiations.”

Logan chuckles, finally snapping out of his stupor. “Sorry, Albon. This princess is spoken for.”

As Alex walks away, still shaking his head and laughing, Logan takes a deep breath. The pre-race nerves that had been plaguing him all morning have vanished, replaced by a surge of confidence and determination.

He may not know what the future holds — for his career or for his relationship with you — but in this moment, he feels invincible. Because no matter what challenges lie ahead, he knows he has you in his corner.

With renewed purpose, Logan heads towards the garage. He has a race to prepare for, after all. And now, more than ever, he’s determined to prove himself worthy of the faith you’ve placed in him.

As he reaches the garage entrance, he catches sight of you emerging from the hospitality area, James trailing behind you looking slightly shell-shocked. You spot Logan and wink, giving him a thumbs up.

Logan grins, blowing you a kiss before disappearing into the garage. He has a feeling this is going to be his best race yet. And win or lose, he knows he’ll have you waiting for him at the finish line.

And really, what more could a guy ask for?

[gf2bellamy]

hi athena I've been reading your shy!reader fics and I had this idea about them hugging or something and the reader is like overheating because she's so nervous and spencer thinks she's sick and she has to awkwardly explain why? whether they're dating yet or not is up to you but it's been running through my head all day lol

as always love your work <333

hug — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: just fluff a/n: hiii !!! i love love love shy!reader so so so much so i loved this idea <3

You never regretted smiling at Spencer Reid. Why would you? He always smiled back, and his smile, soft, genuine, a little shy, was your favorite thing in the world.

But right now, as you stood in front of your apartment, his arms wrapped around you, you weren’t so sure.

The day had been long, filled with lots of paperwork. Spencer had been quieter than usual, though most people wouldn’t have noticed. But you did. You always did. Maybe it was the way he only rambled three times instead of his usual five, or how his fingers fidgeted just a little more than normal. Or maybe it was just that you paid too much attention, because having a hopeless, all-consuming crush on him made you hyperaware of everything he did. So when you were walking out of work together, you’d mustered up the courage to ask.

"Hey, there's this new coffee shop a few blocks away. Want to check it out with me?"

His face had brightened instantly, as if you’d flipped a switch. "Yes! I'd love to."

And just like that, he was back. Rambling, animated, in his element. And you just smiled, nodding along, listening to every word like it was the most interesting thing in the world, because to you, it was.

The coffee shop had been perfect. Spencer had ordered something with way too much caffeine, and you’d teased him about it. He’d told you about a study on caffeine metabolism, and you’d pretended to understand even though you were mostly distracted by how nice it was to see him happy again.

And now, here you were.

Outside of your apartment door. Spencer had insisted on walking you home, and you hadn’t argued, secretly loving the idea of a few more minutes with him. You turned to say goodbye with a smile, expecting the usual awkward wave or maybe even a hesitant "see you tomorrow." But instead, he smiled, soft, fond, and before you could process it, he was hugging you.

It wasn’t a brief, polite hug. It was warm and lingering, his arms firm but gentle, as if he wasn’t in any rush to let go. "Thank you," Spencer mumbled, his voice quiet.

He knew.

You could tell by the way his grip on you lingered, by the way his head dipped just slightly closer to yours. He had understood exactly what you had tried to do, how you’d casually pointed out the little bookstore on the way back, pretending you wanted to take a look inside, when really, you just knew that walking into a bookshop always lifted his mood.

You hugged him back, trying not to tremble too much as the warmth of his body seeped into yours. And then you felt it, the soft press of his lips against your shoulder, barely there but enough to send a shockwave through you. His hands, resting at your waist, brushed against the fabric of your clothes, and you prayed he didn’t notice how tense you’d gone. Or how your body was reacting in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature outside.

But, of course, he did.

Spencer pulled back slightly, his hands lingering at your waist as he studied you. His brows furrowed, eyes scanning your face before he hesitated, then lifted one hand to your forehead.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his fingers cool against your burning skin. "You're warm."

You swallowed hard. If you were warm before, you were practically on fire now. The way his hand rested against your forehead, the concern in his eyes, it was all too much.

"Y-yeah," you stammered, biting your lip nervously. "I'm fine, Spencer."

But he didn’t believe you. You could see it in the way his lips pressed together, the way his head tilted slightly as if analyzing every little detail of your expression. His hand slid from your forehead to your cheek, his palm cradling it gently.

"Are you sick?" he asked, completely ignoring your weak attempt at reassurance. His thumb brushed absently over your skin, and you nearly forgot how to breathe.

It wasn’t fair. How could he touch you like this, look at you like this, and not realize what he was doing to you?

"I'm not—" You started to deny it again, but your voice faltered, betraying you.

Spencer's brows were still furrowed, his lips parted as if about to launch into some kind of explanation about temperatures, fevers, or some obscure medical fact you wouldn’t have a chance of keeping up with.

"I’m not sick, Spencer." You said, your voice firmer this time, even though you could feel the heat of your own cheeks betraying you. Spencer's hand slowly dropped from your cheek, but his gaze never left you. You closed your eyes for a moment, bracing yourself.

"I’m just..." You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words you were about to speak. "I‘m just nervous." When you opened your eyes again, you focused on his dark blue tie, avoiding his gaze at all costs. You could feel your heart racing, could hear the deafening pulse in your ears.

Why were you even saying this? How had it come to this?

Spencer stood completely still. His eyes widened slightly, and the faintest hint of confusion flitted across his face. "Nervous? Why?" His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

Oh God, did you really have to spell it out for him? Why was this happening? Why couldn’t you just stay composed for once?

"Because of you?" The words came out more as a question than a statement, and you immediately regretted it. You squinted, not meeting his gaze, still staring at his tie like it was the most important thing in the world.

Spencer blinked, his eyebrows shooting up in genuine surprise. "Me?" His voice was almost a whisper, the disbelief evident. You slowly nodded, still too terrified to look him in the eyes. Spencer stepped back just slightly. His hand reached up, brushing through his messy brown hair as if he was trying to process what you had just said.

"Why would you be nervous because of me?" he asked, his voice quieter now, softer, as if he was genuinely trying to understand.

You immediately regretted every choice that had led you to this point. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Spencer..." You breathed out, a whisper of defeat in your voice, hoping, praying, that he’d get it. That somehow, he’d understand without you needing to explain it further. But he didn’t.

"Yeah?" he asked, still waiting for you to continue, his voice filled with a quiet curiosity.

You glanced up at him, tilting your head ever so slightly, as if to silently say, Please, just don’t make me spell it out for you.

Spencer knew how to read your face, he always had, and once you finally met his eyes, he finally caught on. His expression shifted, the light dawning in his eyes

"Oh," he said simply, as if the realization had just clicked into place.

You bit your lip, feeling a rush of heat flood your body, and the silence between you both stretched out longer than it should’ve. You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, or your heart, or your thoughts, all of it was so overwhelming. You were about to turn to open the door, desperate for an escape from the growing tension when Spencer suddenly spoke again, his voice a little too quick.

"If I ask you out on a date, would that be our second date?" he asked, his words tumbling out in a rush.

You froze, blinking up at him, your mouth slightly open in surprise.

He winced slightly as if embarrassed by his own question, and then, with a nervous laugh, he added, "I mean, today felt like a first date..." He adjusted his tie as if it would somehow make the moment less excruciating. His eyes darted around, anywhere but your face. "To me, at least."

You couldn’t help it; you just stared at him, utterly caught off guard. This wasn’t exactly the direction you’d imagined this conversation going.

"I like you," he said plainly, as if his earlier sentences hadn’t been clear enough. His voice was quieter now, more vulnerable.

"I might not heat up—" he added, a slight smile pulling at his lips. You quickly looked away, embarrassed by how warm your body was suddenly feeling. "—but you do make me nervous too," he finished, the smile turning into something gentler, more vulnerable.

"I make you nervous?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked back at him, stunned. He nodded.

But then, it hit you. Your own fear of him not liking you back had kept you from seeing it all along. You had been so wrapped up in your own anxiety, you hadn’t noticed the signs.

You glanced down at his foot, tapping nervously on the ground. His fingers were practically picking at his satchel bag, pulling at the strap as if he was trying to distract himself. His eyes, when they finally met yours, darted away almost immediately, and you saw the flush coloring his cheeks.

"Oh," you murmured, the realization hitting you all at once. Now it was your turn to use the word. "I guess we’re both nervous, then," you said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Spencer’s eyes softened as he took a small step forward, still unsure, but less guarded than before. "Yeah. I think so." His voice was quieter now, almost shy.

With a final glance at him, you smiled, stepping closer again. "So," you began, your voice affectionate, "about that second date…"

Spencer's face broke into a grin, his nerves seemingly forgotten for a moment. "Yeah?" His voice was hopeful, his smile almost playful.

"Yeah," you confirmed, smiling. "I think I’d like that."

[strawberrysohn]

“quite an impression” | taste — jjk (pt 1)

series summary: your best friend (with benefits) has a new girlfriend...little does she know, you were and would always be there first.

what to expect for this part: fuckbuddy! jk, y/n is kind of a bad person (sorry), cheating, fingering, slight degradation (m receiving), doing it in a public restroom stall (ew!) you guys can also imagine 2018/2019 jungkook for this whole series tyvm!!

no word count...it's just a lot of words ok!!

enjoy!

"you're gonna wear that to meet my girlfriend?"

y/n turns around to greet her friend with a smile. "jungkookie, you told me to look nice," she pouts before doing a little twirl. "you don't think i look nice?"

jungkook shakes his head quickly. "no, no," he sticks his hands in his jeans pockets. "no, you look nice. so nice. it's just..." he purses his lips trying to find the words. "don't you think it's kinda..."

"revealing?"

jungkook nods sheepishly. "yeah," he looks down at the ground momentarily before he perks up again. "i mean, it shouldn't be too bad. we are going clubbing afterwards, right?"

y/n hums in response. "mhm, that's right," she looks at herself in the mirror again. she runs her hands over her curves, seeing the way the leathery fabric clings to her. the swooping neckline of her dress not leaving much to the imagination. "where did you say she works? waffle house or something?"

the male laughs, running a hand through his neatly brushed hair. "no, it's just a diner. you know the one...by jimin's old place?"

y/n stifles a laugh. "geez, really?" she recalls the old, dumpy looking diner on the corner a few streets down. "how much does she make, two dollars a week?" she looks through the mirror at her friend, who's no longer smiling.

"you don't have to make fun of her, you know," jungkook's voice was quieter. "you haven't even met her yet."

feeling "empathetic", y/n mimics his frown and approaches him, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck. "oh, jungkookie..." she looks up at him with big, innocent eyes. "it was meant to be a joke. i'm sure seyeon is really nice."

"siyeon."

"hm?"

jungkook clears his throat. "her name is siyeon."

"what did i say?" y/n cocks her head to the side.

"seyeon," jungkook fiddles with his fingers, his hands ghosting over their familiar home of y/n's hips. "it's siyeon."

y/n forces a laugh. "oh, silly me!" she shakes her head at herself before looking back up at him. "my mistake, jungkook." she boops his nose teasingly before pulling away from him and grabbing her purse and phone. "all ready to go?"

jungkook stands still and stares at her for a little longer before blinking and nodding, turning towards the door. he opens it for y/n, trying his best not to watch her as she walked out.

"bye, minah!" y/n waves goodbye to her roommate, who barely acknowledges the two leaving. "i'll be back after midnight so leave the door unlocked, okay?"

jungkook opens the door again for her, sending a polite smile to minah, who rolls her eyes.

"i don't think your roommate likes me."

"it's not you yourself..." y/n trails off, her heels clacking on the pavement as they approached the diner. "she's just a stickler for morals, you know?"

"oh." jungkook gulps. "well, i don't know what she's upset about...it's not like we've fooled around recently. i'm with siyeon. i haven't cheated on her."

y/n smirks, but jungkook doesn't see it. "yeah, well, she probably assumes that you will," she shrugs. "i mean, she's plenty familiar with you."

"how? we haven't met?" jungkook tries to recall actually being introduced to his friend's roommate, but can't.

"i'm sure she knows your name from me moaning it nonstop last semester," y/n speaks, nonchalantly letting the words fall from her mouth. she looks up at jungkook with innocent eyes. "maybe that's it."

he gulps, his throat feeling dry. "y-yeah, sure," he calms himself down by force as they get to the diner where siyeon works.

he pulls open the door for y/n, who walks past him closely, "accidentally" rubbing herself against him on the way in.

jungkook leads y/n over to the counter, where an average height woman is wiping things down. she has dark brown hair, tied into a tight low ponytail. she looks up when jungkook approaches, her tired eyes lighting up just a little. "hey, babe," she smiles as he leans in for a quick peck. her eyes fall to y/n, giving her the once over, her eyes widening slightly at her outfit. "who is this?"

jungkook smiles and gestures to y/n. "siyeon, this is–"

"hi, i'm y/n!" she takes the chance to introduce herself. she holds out her hand for siyeon to shake. "i'm jungkook's best friend, i'm sure he's mentioned me."

"he has," siyeon replies, tentatively shaking y/n's hand. "it's, um, nice to meet you. i'm siyeon."

"so i hear," y/n stifles a small chuckle as she looks around the place. still as dumpy as she remembered. "so, you work here, huh?" there was a hint of a demeaning tone in her voice that she tried to mask as much as she could.

jungkook steps closer to the counter. closer to siyeon, who instinctively places a hand on his arm, almost possessively. y/n almost laughs again at that, the small gesture showing more insecurity than she bet siyeon wanted to show.

"siyeon, y/n and i are hanging out tonight," jungkook explains to his girlfriend. he glances back at y/n who continues to watch siyeon with a gleam in her eyes. jungkook continues, "we're going clubbing. it's tradition."

"tradition? what tradition?" siyeon looks at jungkook with big, confused eyes.

"it's the anniversary of when we became friends," jungkook replies quickly. so quickly that y/n can't help but giggle, earning a quick glance from siyeon. "we celebrate every year since sophomore year of high school."

siyeon nods, understanding. her boyfriend was just so kind and considerate. she knew she didn't have to worry about him. to be fair, it wasn't him she was worried about...

y/n checks the time on her phone. "jungkookie, we should get going," she flips her phone screen around so he can see the time, making sure that the photo of her and jungkook on her locks reen was visible to siyeon.

the photo was of the two of them from two summers ago on the beach. in the photo, y/n was hoisted up by jungkook, her legs wrapped around his waist. it was quite the precarious photo for a pair of friends, because from the outside, that's all they were.

jungkook nods. "yeah, the club should open soon," he leans in to kiss his girlfriend again, this time in a parting gesture. when he pulls away, siyeon pulls him back, kissing him deeply. it was clearly a message, yet y/n just watched, unfazed.

when siyeon breaks the kiss, she glances at y/n, who is checking her nails, unbothered. she looks up, impatient. "ready?" she glances at jungkook, who rubs the back of his neck nervously.

the male nods, smiling at y/n. "yep!" he glances at siyeon again. "bye, baby. see you tomorrow sometime."

y/n waves enthusiastically to siyeon. "bye, siyeon! it was lovely meeting you!" she gives the girl the once over again, her expression still polite, though if you looked long enough, you could see the hint of a smirk on her face as she looked at the other.

“yeah, nice meeting you,” siyeon replies to y/n. “you sure leave quite an impression.”

y/n grins at her words, then looks to jungkook as they head out. once again, he holds the door for her and she slides out past him. jungkook lets the door of the diner swing closed, the bell above the doorway dinging.

“the anniversary of when became friends?” y/n asks him, a hint of amusement evident in her tone. “quick thinking on your part, jungkookie.”

“forgive me for not wanting to tell my girlfriend that today is the anniversary of when we had sex for the first time,” jungkook retorts, waiting until they were far enough from the diner to walk closer to y/n, his hands in his pockets as he nudges her with his elbow. “feels hard to explain that, don’t you think?”

y/n shrugs. “i thought honesty was important in a relationship,” she teases. “but if you want to keep secrets from your partner, that’s your choice.”

jungkook rolls his eyes as the neon light marquee of the club comes into view. “you’re so annoying, y/n,” he smiles through his words. “you know that?”

“i’ve been told,” she shrugs, before laughing as she shakes her head. “god, did you see the way she got kinda possessive over you? that was so pathetic.”

“she has a right to be concerned about you, you know.”

“no duh.”

jungkook sighs. “y/n, let’s not do anything stupid tonight,” he speaks, his voice serious. y/n glances at him, an amused gleam in her eyes. “okay?”

“holy shit,” y/n looks at him in disbelief. she stifles a laugh. “you really like that girl, don’t you?” she teases, watching the small blush appear on his cheeks.

“this is my first actual girlfriend,” he explains. “i’d like to keep her, if you don’t mind.”

y/n nods in mock understanding. “yeah, sure,” she looks up at him one last time before facing forward again. "whatever you say..."

they get to the front doors, present the bouncer with their fake id's, and head inside the club.

the music pounds through the whole building, the floor shaking. y/n turns to jungkook immediately, tilting her head at him. "come on, jungkookie," she pouts. "dance with me?"

the male smiles and grabs y/n's hands, leading her towards the big mob of people. "i know you love this song," he watches as she starts to get into the music, really feeling herself.

"i know you love watching me dance," she speaks above the music. her eyes locked on his before she turns around, dancing against jungkook sensually.

he hisses as her ass rubs against him. "y/n, what did i say—" he's cut off as she turns around, placing a finger on his lips.

"shh, jungkookie..." she smirks up at him. "relax! have a little fun, yeah?" she drapes her arms over his shoulders again, this time his hands find her hips quickly.

"y/n, i can't tonight, okay?"

"can't what?"

jungkook grits his teeth. "can't have sex with you," he keeps his voice low, directly in her ear. "we can't do it."

she nods. "i know," she reminds him. "i didn't say we should. you're the one that keeps telling me."

jungkook's face hardens. he knew they shouldn't—no, couldn't. he had a girlfriend now. he vowed to be a loyal partner to siyeon. he knew that nothing could happen tonight between he and y/n—his best friend. it couldn't.

but he also knew that it very well could.

jungkook pushes y/n up against the door to the bathroom once they're both inside, his lips immediately crashing onto her neck. she can't hide the victorious smirk on her face.

"you really had to—" he sucks on her skin. "—flirt with that guy, huh?" jungkook pulls his lips away to stare her in the face, his eyes bouncing from her eyes to her lips. she could smell the faint scent of alcohol on his breath.

"he flirted with me, jungkook," she explains. "what was i supposed to do? not take the compliment?"

"it's this outfit," jungkook's shaky hands find her hips again. "god, you look so hot." he practically groans as he buries his face in her neck again. he was breathing hard and heavy, his control finally having snapped.

she hums as one of her hands slides down to teasingly rub his growing hardness through his pants. he lets out a whispered sigh right in her ear, his possessive grip on her hips loosening. "y-y/n..."

he decides to return the favor, his hand slipping under the short skirt of her dress. he lifts his head to look at her, pupils big and eyebrows furrowed. shit, he already looked a mess. "n-no panties...?"

she shakes her head, biting her lip. "it's tradition," she smirks up at him, seeing the way his eyes roll back slightly. his internal (and external, at this point) struggle was so arousing to her.

"shit..." his fingers find her wet folds and he slides past them with his pointer finger. her hand continues to tease him through the denim fabric of his jeans, the friction making his vision a little blurry. without another thought, he enters one finger into her wetness, feeling her free hand grip his bicep tight.

"mm, jungkook," she moans his name softly, once again unable to hide the satisfied grin on her face. she had won, of course. to be honest, she didn't have to try hard. jungkook had been a ticking time bomb since he saw her dress earlier that evening. she grips his bicep as his finger fucks into her, shortly joined by a second.

the sound of her wetness, his soft groans, and her moans fill the luckily empty bathroom, the bass still booming through the heavy door. he pushes his middle and ring finger into her faster, the squelching sounds heightening in volume.

"jungkookie, ah—" she exclaims, her eyebrows furrowed at his movements. "mm, fuck, baby..." she whines as she digs her nails into his arm, something he'd probably have to cover up.

jungkook leans in to kiss her, her lips happily welcoming his. the kiss is messy quickly, both of their tongues fighting for dominance. y/n's wins as jungkook whines into the kiss, his free hand shaky against her hip. it really was so fun to watch him break.

y/n pulls away from the kiss, reaching down to pull his fingers out of her. he watches her with a puzzled expression. she lifts his slick covered fingers to her lips and sucks them dry, her eyes locked on his. she sees the way his eyelids flutter halfway closed and he has to fight to keep them open so he can keep watching her.

"w-why did you...?" is all he can muster as she pulls his fingers from her mouth.

"i'd rather cum around your cock."

jungkook feels his head start to spin. the power she held over him should be researched, truly. the magnetic pull towards her he felt whenever she appeared...it wasn't healthy. it wasn't good for his relationship with siyeon, and it definitely wasn't good for his health.

"you're unbelievable, y/n," he tells her and she shrugs. nothing she didn't already know. "i don't know how you do it...i don't care how i just..."

she knew what came next.

he looks down at her, his eyes with that usual desperate gleam in them. "i need you," he's pleading, pathetic and needy. how could she say no?

"mm, i bet you do," y/n smirks. she grabs the back of jungkook's neck, pulling him in for another kiss. he sighs happily against her lips before she pulls away. "want you inside me." she whispers against his lips and he whines like a hungry puppy.

she grabs his hand and pulls him into the nearest stall—not the handicap stall, they couldn't be so lucky.

as soon as the lock is on the door, jungkook toys with his jean buttons and zipper, fumbling a few times due to his rushing. he was already sweating. his shaky fingers finally get his pants undone, and he glances at y/n, who watches him, trying not to chuckle at his clearly frazzled and desperate state.

he grabs her waist and pulls her on top of him as he sits down on the toilet, y/n immediately straddling his hips. she hums at the position and reaches down to pull her dress up enough to where her core is exposed. she finds his open jeans and slips her hand in, pulling his aching length through his boxers and through the opening in his pants. god, he was so hard and leaking precum. his cock was desperate for her too.

clearly given up on his own morals by now, jungkook grips his length, watching as y/n lifts her hips up, aligning herself with his tip. she teases a little, sliding past his tip a few times, hearing him groan in distress.

"please, baby, no more teasing," jungkook nearly whines. "just let me—oh, shit..."

she had cut him off, of course, by finally sinking down on him, his cock instantly stretching her. her arms find his shoulders, draping her arms around them. "mm, there we go..." she hums as she sinks down further, his whole length inside her now.

"g-god, y/n, i—" jungkook's mouth goes dry as his hands find familiarity on her hips, gripping tightly this time. "you feel s' good..." he slurs his words, already drunk on her pussy.

"mm, yeah?" she teases verbally as she begins to ride him, her eyes locked on his. "you feel good too, baby..."

jungkook groans lowly, watching as she moves up and down on him. he couldn't tear his hooded gaze away from her face, the way her brows were furrowed in pleasure and her lips—her beautiful lips parted in a perfect 'o' shape.

he lets out a small yelp as y/n begins to bounce quickly on his cock, his grip on her grips tightening. "s-shit–"

she chuckles at his disheveled, desperate state. "hah, should've known you'd crack so quickly," she moves her hand to grip his chin. "always so weak in the knees for me, jungkookie...it's so pathetic."

jungkook whimpers at her change in demeanor, his big doe eyes wide as he stares up at her. his throat was dry, words failing him. his face heats up, the soft pink blush on his cheeks quite obvious.

"look at you...you're blushing," y/n pouts in faux sympathy. she hears the whimpers that follow every bounce on his cock, the sound music to her ears. "face it, you'll always come crawling back to me, huh? you can't help it, can you?"

jungkook gulps and shakes his head. "l-love being inside you..." he speaks, his hips bucking up slightly, thrusting up into her.

she moans at the feeling, smirking. "you wanna fuck up into me, jungkookie?" she raises a brow and he can't nod fast enough.

"w-wanna...so bad, y/n," he whines again and she chuckles at his desperation. he bucks hips up again, this time in a rhythm with her bounces.

the mix of her moans, his whines and groans, the skin slapping, and faint sound of music playing fills the bathroom. anyone else who might have walked in wouldn't have to guess what was happening in that stall.

"fuck, jungkookie," y/n moans his name, his cock hitting her spot perfectly with every thrust. her head lolls back for a moment, his grip on her hips tightening. "you feel so good inside me, baby..." she whispers the praise in her ear and he lets out a mix of a growl and a whine, his noises growing more needy by the minute.

"holy hell, y/n, i can't—" jungkook bites his lip as his thrusts grow more sloppy. "...can't hold for much longer..."

"cum for me, jungkookie," y/n speaks, her words mixing with a moan as her sounds heighten in pitch. "fucking fill up my pussy with your cum."

"i'm gonna—i'm—oh my god..." jungkook's eyelids flutter and he leans his head back, his load shooting into her, the milky substance filling her up. y/n's own release follows, her cum mixing with his as they both groan from the pleasure of their release.

as they both catch their breaths, y/n chuckles in success. she eyes jungkook, the way his neatly combed hair had since stuck to his sweat covered forehead. the way he looked completely spent, his chest rising and falling. she looks between them, the mixed cum that leaked out of her pussy to pool around the base of his cock.

she leans in to whisper in his ear, her voice low, sending a shiver through his body. "happy anniversary, jungkookie."

jungkook blinks, looking down at the mess, the up at y/n, who eyes him with a knowing smirk. he takes a deep breath, leaning his head back as he regains his train of thought. one word can sum up how he feels.

"fuck."

tags:

@ttanniett

[megapteraurelia]

neighbour!kuroo who offers you to stay with him until you've found a new apartment — a small part of him hopes he doesn't seem too eager, another small one wondering if being so close to your ex is going to end up hurting you, but the biggest part of him really hopes that you'll say yes regardless.

who thinks that kenma would snort into his hand if he could see the level of excitement kuroo has to swallow once you agree, apologise for taking up space only to agree vehemently again.

everyday, in the morning when both of you found each other in the kitchen, he opens the newspaper wide for any new apartment postings while you scour the internet; the smell of coffee and breakfast soothing and familiar. a flat far away enough from your ex-boyfriend that you don't have to worry anymore, but secretly he hopes that it's not so far away that he won't ever see you again.

neighbour!kuroo who bids you goodbye when you leave for work first, waiting at the door until he sees you board the elevator safely lest your ex-boyfriend gets the prime idea of harassing you on your way out.

who cackles to himself at the notice hanging on the wall in the entrance hall: the landlord asking for the culprit who taped a tenant's mailbox shut to come forward for community service or to face a fine upon refusal.

kuroo thinks he's got enough money to pay double the fine. (he does plan to mess with it again — to maintain his youthfulness, of course.)

neighbour!kuroo who learns that your work place is not that far away from his own. who wonders if it's far too forward to ask you to spend lunch hour together down the street at the really good coffee shop.

whose heart stutters when he gets a call forwarded from an unknown number only for his ear to meet your voice to ask whether he wanted to meet up for lunch.

(his assistant, looking through the glass wall, raises her eyebrow at the fist pump he throws into the air; her other joining in as soon as she watches kuroo trying to tame his hair but to no avail — stubborn as the head it sits on.)

kuroo also happens to forget to mention that he doesn't like almond paste but when you excitedly show him your favourite pastry with hopeful eyes, lashes caressing your cheeks, a wide grin on your face, he can't help but put his entire life on the line fighting the blush that theatens to overtake his own.

for a second he thinks of refusing, but then he tries the almond riddled pastry, anyway.

he does not like it.

neighbour!kuroo who gets off work half an hour earlier and waits in front of your work place so that he could drive both of you home.

who, with a cocked eyebrow and a sharp retort ready on his tongue, notices a familiar loser linger around the entrance.

"i sure as hell hope you're not here to see who i think you wanna see," he says, looking down his nose at your ex. kuroo, who makes sure to bear his teeth in a resemblance of a sharp smile, who delights in the shifting of uneasy eyes, "but in case you need a reminder of why to stay away, i'm more than happy to help out."

who acts brilliantly inconspicuous once you walk towards him; your boyfriend long gone, shooed away, bullied away, sneered away. (he didn't even have to try that hard.)

neighbour!kuroo who finds it easy to match his long strides to your shorter ones; whose hand swings next to yours. now and then, your knuckles meet his for a split second in a way that makes him want to take your fingers in a tight hold so they can't tease him anymore.

you tell him about an interview you booked for an apartment viewing, excited, asking him whether he had time on the upcoming wednesday at 11 am.

he doesn't, but he says he'll be there with you, anyway.

who tries to ignore the little stab through his ribcage at the thought that he would lose out on your presence before he could even enjoy it to the fullest.

neighbour!kuroo who sends you a smile, void of any cutting edges, eyes crinkling, and tells you, "let's look for more viewings at home."

whose chest squeezes in consolation when you gift him a smile back and nod as you eat the same damn almond pastry; when you don't correct him about home.

neighbour!kuroo who innocently forgets to remind you of looking for more viewings, and instead relishes in the space you occupy on his couch next to him as you settle in with hot tea and a blanket to tackle on the many movies you borrowed from the library.

who gets into a routine with you of making breakfast, washing dishes, saying goodnight and good morning, bickering and teasing, late-night talks and dawn-kissed chats.

who thinks that really, maybe you could just stay here.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5

TAGLIST | @takes1 @origamipivo @sailanne

@monikosman1311 (i know you didn't ask for a tag, but since you asked for a continuation in the first place—)

[t-a-a-1]

Can you do bayverse optimus ?Tlk if you can.It can be whatever you want i love your scrumptious writing hehe also ignore this if you're uncomfortable!^_^

Raindrops

Summary: Optimus asks you a very important question.

A/N: Written after the happenings of TLK. 4K Words

Raindrops

....

Everyday since he met you, he’s asked himself the same question. 

“Would you come with me?”

It was a question he had imagined the answer to. A resounding ‘no’.

Optimus didn’t see any reason why you would want to go with him to Cybertron. Leaving your friends, family and career behind. All the commodities Earth provided you will be gone the moment you decide to come with him.

And it’s not like he offers you a beautiful home. Cybertron was hostile, after the war it had become ruins. He dreamed many times of showing you his home in its golden age. You would have loved the museums, the theaters, the libraries, the arts. Would you have loved them as much you love your planet? Would it be enough for you to want to stay?

“It seems Earth and Cybertron’s destiny has always been intertwined,” the sun is setting. Optimus looks at his home planet, now on Earth’s orbit. “If that had been any other celestial object, it would probably cause catastrophic events. But it seems like Cybertron was made to not disturb Earth’s gravitational pull and magnetic fields.”

Your field wasn’t physics but you had basic knowledge on how things worked. Just like he expected you to do, you started to ask the real questions. Something he was trying to avoid as long as he could. 

“But I wonder if that’s because Cybertron currently lacks a core … Maybe once we are able to restore it, Cybertron’s gravitational pull will be too strong and destroy Earth.”

You look at him but he seems lost in thought. You didn’t blame him, having his home planet back must be unbelievable. After so many years of war and lost friends, what he always wanted is right here. 

“When that happens, we’ll have to send Cybertron back to its original place in the universe.”

You expected him to continue the conversation some way or another but it's as if he wasn’t listening or rather he did not want to. Maybe he is tired of everything and wishes to leave immediately. Probably not wanting to deal with humans anymore. 

Sighing heavily, you turn around, the wind moving your hair. The smell of the grass was strong and so a new aroma. It was hard to describe. Metal but alive. It was probably Cybertron. It didn’t bother you but it was different. 

Looking back at Optimus made you realize that maybe he wanted to be alone. It is a lot of process for today. 

“Well, then I guess this is goodbye–”

And suddenly, a servo is in front of you. Stopping you from walking any further. You look back, only to find Optimus’ faceplate extremely close to you. 

“I-I … My apologies, I don’t know what took over me.”

It’s like you triggered something in him with your words. But you weren’t sure what. Now he looks confused and lost. As if I wanted to say more but can’t or don't have the words. You wanted to guess but your mind made you believe stupid ideas. Ones in which you prefer to not indulge any longer. They will only cause you unnecessary pain. 

“It’s alright, you must be emotional. That’s all.”

You wait for a few seconds in which you could see Optimus’ blue optics in all of their glory. They were beautiful as they were mysterious. So close that you could see the small circuitry and cables that make up his optics. Such intricacy that you find yourself lost in them. 

And then … you are ashamed. 

“I must go.”

You say as you look away, expecting him to move his servo but he doesn’t. 

“I must go.”

You say again and this time you see the hesitancy in his faceplace.

He slowly removes his servo and distances himself from you. His optics looks away and then looks at you in a repetitive manner. 

“Do you–”

“I–”

“Oh sorry, you go first–” You raise a hand, trying to get his attention only to be interrupted by the Prime. 

“No, you go first.”

It was awkward. And the fact that it was that way made you wonder what went wrong. In what moment did things between the two of you become so uncomfortable? Was it just the sudden realization of final peace? Was it too unrealistic for the two of you to believe? What is it? 

“Nothing, I was just wondering if there’s something you wanted to say before I leave?”

Optimus servo clutch into fits. He opens his intake but nothing would come out. It was strange to see him this way. So confused, so … innocent. As if he was a kid trying to ask for another piece of cake. Too shy to ask and yet you find these small moments to be a treasure. 

“I was just wondering …” 

He hesitates again. He closes his optics and lets out a heavy vent. Turning his entire body around, you are unable to see his faceplate. 

“When the time comes … Will you …”

His voice becomes so low that you are unable to hear him. 

“What?” 

You ask him, confused by his sudden lack of confidence. 

“Will you … me?”

He says again but the loud wind and low tone voice weren’t helping the situation. 

“... What?”

You ask once again, your voice gets louder, showing your clear annoyance at being unable to hear him.

“Will you come to Cybetron with me?!”

Suddenly, he turns around, you can see his faceplate again. 

It was that expression again. One that you had only seen a few times. That of pure distress. Worriness. Anxiety. You had seen it before. During that time you had been captured by a Decepticon, badly injured and bleeding. His troubled expression was the last thing you saw before going unconscious. 

But now? What was that distressed look for? What was he so worried about?

“I, I–”

What were you nervous for? Why were you stuttering? Your cheeks are getting hotter and you can’t speak. You can’t manage words. The expression on his faceplate had left you stunned as your brain tried to understand the reasoning behind it. 

The longer you take to answer, the more pain is evident on his faceplate. His eyebrows squish together and his optics tremble. His lips formed a thin line that slowly became an upside down smile. He is begging you to end his torment and yet you know you have to tell him the truth. 

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It’s quiet around the hangar. 

A small base had been built near Stonehenge. It was the logical thing to do after Cybertron had appeared above the ancient pillars. Although the American Government wasn’t too pleased to make negotiations with the British to let them have a base in their land. 

You weren’t even supposed to be here but due to all the commotion in the last days, they let you stay. As well, Optimus and the rest of the Autobots enjoyed your stay. No one asked you when you will leave nor ever mentioned that you were a bothered. So you decided to stay for a couple of days until things settle down. 

And because your boss had asked you to stay and bring back the full story when you are done. 

“Are we just going to pretend Prime is ok?”

“Not like we can do much either or.”

They probably didn’t see you. As they were too busy talking to each other, carrying a few boxes of what you thought to be Energon. Meanwhile, you were typing on your laptop behind some piles of metal. It’s not like you were hiding but you rather found yourself a place where you could not be bothered when you needed to concentrate. 

“I still can’t believe (Y/N) said no … I thought the two of them had a strong bond.”

“Yes but everything she knows is here,” Bumblebee puts down his box as Hot Rod walks close by.  “Besides, they were too different … things wouldn’t work out.” 

“But does she even know that Optimus’s processor has identified her as his Conjunx?” Hot Rod also puts the Energon box down and sits on top of it. “Boss-Bot won’t be able to attach to anyone ever again … Isn’t that a bit cruel?”

“Cruel?” Bumblebee inquiries. “His Conjunx is someone who lives a fraction of our lives. The universe enjoys the game and the Primes are the pawns.” 

“And they know how to play well.”

It started to rain. It wasn’t unusual for rain to come and go in England. 

The bots look at it with amusement. This was unknown in Cybertron. It will take a long time before they can rebuild Cybertron and go back home but this will be one of the things they will miss the most. 

“What is a Conjunx?”

You came out of your hiding spot, behind the bots and they quickly stumble in their steps as they look down on you. 

“What are you doing there?!”

“What is a Conjunx?”

You ask again, not caring whether Hot Rod or Bumblebee looked like they just had seen a ghost. 

“You don’t need to know that,” Bumblebee quickly starts to walk away while Hot Rod keeps looking back and forth. He looks hesitant but doesn’t speak, waiting for Bee’s next action. 

“You said Optimus saw me as his Conjunx,” you don’t move but rather speak loud enough for him to hear. 

“Yes but there’s no need–”

“She should know,” Hot Rod interrupts the talking yellow Mustang. 

“Optimus wouldn’t want it,” Bumblebee stops walking and turns to look at his comrade and you. There is certain determination in your eyes, letting him know that you won’t stop pushing it until you find the answers you were looking for. You had always been known for that, probably something Optimus likes about you. 

“Optimus will die of sadness if she doesn’t know.”

Bumblebee doesn't say a thing but just ex-vents heavily. 

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“Would you stay with me?”

That’s what you wanted to ask but you already knew the answer. A resounding ‘no’. There was nothing for him on Earth. Humanity had once betrayed him and now he is doubtful. Humanity will help rebuild Cybertron and after that the transformers will leave. It would be a selfish thing to ask him to stay. You can’t ask him to give up on everything he fought for. His home, his family and friends, everything was on Cybertron. And you just were a human who wanted him to stay. 

It’s still raining. 

But that doesn’t mean you’ll stop looking for him. 

Although you can already feel yourself getting sick. Your hair is wet and your clothes damp. 

It wasn’t unusual to rain in England but you hated how unpredictable the weather was. The wind was also strong but the base was already too far away to back away now. You had to find him. 

Suddenly, a truck you immediately recognized makes his way towards you. The bot you were looking for appeared in front of you but he aggressively stops and opens his pilot door, signaling to go in. 

You didn’t hesitate and jumped right in. Optimus closes the door and starts driving away as you are welcomed with warmness. Although you were cold and tired, you didn’t wait any longer.

“I was looking for–”

“Have you gone mad?” Optimus asks, his voice showing his clear annoyance. “ What are you doing in the rain without proper protection?”

“What? That doesn’t matter, I was–”

You wanted to start asking questions but you started to sneeze. 

“How can I leave knowing you are this helpless?”

And after that, all previous questions left your mind. 

“Excuse me? I can take care of myself.”

“Your actions tell me otherwise.”

You roll your eyes, maybe he had a point. Running in the rain to look for him was probably not the best of ideas. But you were not about to tell him that. 

“And what about you?” you sneeze again although more softly this time as to not to prove his point any further.  “Aren’t you too told to be outside without an umbrella, you could be getting rusty anytime now?”

Optimus didn’t say a word. Your words will resonate at the back of his processor. He can’t believe he ever thought you would say yes to coming to Cybertron with him. You were right, he was an old rusty robot. Too many scars, too many mistakes and injuries. He can’t provide you with anything. Not even a family. 

And yet he is selfish. 

And you sneeze again.

And again.

“Great, I think I am going to get sick.”

He hates that word. Cybertronians also get sick but rarely. But humans are different. According to his research and observations, humans tend to get sick often and tragically a lot of them die. 

Optimus didn’t want to say a word, his pride told him to stay quiet. That you don’t need his concern, you do not wish it nor want it.

But you sneeze again.

“I’ll be taking you to the closest hospital,” he says as he makes a turn, heading for the closest road. 

“I am not going to the hospital, it's just a cold–”

“You are going to the hospital and it's final,”His voice is demanding but you don’t care.

“No, I won’t–”

“Why won’t you take my feelings into consideration?!”

His inside trembles. You could feel how his engine gets louder. The air coming from his vents got warmer and for a moment you felt your heart race. Out of guilt for making the Prime lose composure.

“What if you die?” he asks again. “What would I do after you are gone?”

The more he talks, the more desperate he sounds. As if he was living the circumstances he speaks of. 

“Have you thought what my life would be like without your presence?” you feel the seatbelt across your chest get tighter. “Do you really wish for me to be tormented for eternity.”

“This isn’t about me going to the hospital, is it?”

He doesn’t respond, his silence answers your question. 

“Let me out Prime, I want to talk to you, face to faceplate.”

He drives off the road and takes you to a heavy section of a nearby forest. Raining still, the tall trees prevent the rain from fully touching the ground. But some drops still make it through. Not like you cared about getting wet, you already were but Optimus had other plans. 

Opening the door and removing the seat belt, you jump out of his alt form. You watch him transform, a scene you will never be tired of. It's beautiful as it is scary, yet he is gentle. He knows it can be scary and he moves slower, softly as if not to scare you. 

Optimus doesn’t mass shift but he tries to see you at an eye-level. It must be uncomfortable for him and before you ask him why he doesn’t size-down, you feel him move closer.

He puts one of his large servo on top of you, protecting you from any rain from touching you.

“I want you to be honest with me,” you say as your breath is agitated, your heart pumping against your chest.  “I need to hear it from you.”

“What do you feel for me?”

Without you knowing, Optimus’ spark is also pulsating strongly against his chassis. He moves his optics away for a second, only for them to return to look at you. 

“You are a valuable asset to the Autobot cause.”

“Is that all?”

“You are also an important comrade.” 

You didn’t expect him to fully understand what you were asking. But you were hoping he could read your undertones. 

“I am giving you one last chance,” you say, your hands turning into a fist. You weren’t the best at this either and if you were honest, you didn’t know what you were trying to achieve.  “Is that all you feel for me?”

The Prime has always been known to be eloquent. Especially with words. But when it comes to you, he loses all sense of vocabulary. It didn’t use to be that way. There used to be a time when you meant nothing to him but a friend. 

But you had never stopped looking for him. After the attacks in Chicago, even after Sam’s death, an occurrence in which he blamed himself, you never stopped looking for him

What is it? Why did you do it?

“Look at the rain … Can you count each drop that falls from the sky?”

Optimus moves his optics to look at his surroundings. The rain, the trees, the beauty of nature. It cannot compare to you. 

“No, I can’t,” you respond quickly, your face full of wonder.

“Then, you are the rain,” he says.  “And I am trying to count.”

He sees your hands soften. Your expression had become awkward, with now avoiding eyes and pink cheeks. He has this need to hold you but respects your anatomy. 

“I can’t tell you how I feel because there are not enough words to describe it,” he calculates his words but he finds himself taking longer to answer. “I could recite you all of Cybertronian poetry and yet that doesn't feel enough for me.”

You keep looking at him and he looks away. Your eyes were too beautiful and it distracts him immensely. 

“But if you were to ask me to count each star in the universe I would,” he lets his spark do the talking, finally subsiding the yearning it has been holding for a long time.  “If you asked me to bring you a star, I would bring you a constellation.”

“This old rusted body belongs to you but if you ask me for my silence and distance, I won’t retaliate.” 

“And if I asked you to stay with me, on Earth, would you do it?”

You know it was a selfish question. You didn’t want to make him choose between his world and you. But you just had to know if there was a small possibility, a small chance that the life you had with him could still be a possibility. 

After the accidents in Chicago, you had looked for him, only to find him broken. Sam’s death had affected him greatly but in that grieve of losing loved ones, something sparked. 

Three years. You had lived with him for three years, in an isolated cottage. Where he could have all the dandelions he wanted. Where he could care for animals and the two of you would look at the stars and try to count them. Each one of them. 

“If that’s what you wish,” Optimus says. “I would stay by your side as long as you would have me.”

“I can’t,” you look away this time. “I won’t ask you to stay with me.”

“You have a duty to complete and Cybertron is your home,” there is more to it. More doubts than you are able to articulate.  “When you asked me to go to Cybertron with you, I said no because I don’t think I am worthy to be on your side.”

“Have my actions made you feel this way?” 

“You are Optimus Prime … I think anyone would feel unworthy,” you pause, thinking about the earlier events. “But today, Bumblebee and Hot Rod told me that you see me as your Conjunx.”

Optimus opens his intake only to close it. He looks side to side, trying to evade eye contact. One of the few times you can tell he is shy. But him acting in such a way has also made your body betray you. You wonder if he can tell just how nervous you are. 

“Does that mean — You do?”

“You weren’t supposed to know,” his voice is delicate with an apologetic tone. As if you had just caught him stealing extra energon from the resource room.  “Without noticing, my processor had one day started the Conjunx Ritus and as time passed, we both successfully completed the requirements.”

“And before I knew it, my Spark belonged to you.”

“But we are so different.”

“And yet here we are,” he makes a pause and he hears the rain. He tries to calm down before asking his next question, knowing that this will break his Spark. “Does my affection displease you?”

“No, no, I just–” you stumble with your words. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Is there a possibility that perhaps, in your heart, you reciprocate my sentiments?”

And you stay silent. Mostly because you don’t fully know what is going through your heart and the implications behind it. Can this even be possible? Are your feelings even real? Can he comprehend what your feelings are? Can this … Whatever it is, be real? 

“Please end my torment,” his faceplate looks to be in distress, his optics yearning. Longing for something unknown to the both of you.  “Your silence makes me have hope and I don’t want to suffer when you destroy my delusions.”

Gently, you walk towards him. You reach out a hand and touch his faceplate. Rubbing your soft skin against his cold metal. You watch his optics close, his engine gets louder just a bit but you hear him. As if your touch had saved him, healed him from whatever his processor agonized him with. 

“You are cold,” you say as you put your forehead against his faceplate. “Until you get warm, I’ll stay with you.”

Optimus didn’t need to ask further. You didn’t have to say anything either. He just basks himself into this moment. Not knowing what the future holds but he doesn’t care as long as you are with him. This moment won’t last forever but he wants to think that one day it could be true. 

A moment were he believed he could spend eternity counting the raindrops and stars in the sky with you. 

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A/N: Sorry this took so long. I’ve seen all the Bayverse movies but TLK is a movie that is a bit hard for me to write about because I don’t understand it much lol. But I still hope you like this and that it's not too OOC?  

It was fun to write this! So thank you so much for the request! :)