#like I was genuinely surprised when they had him do that whole song and dance about not doing it and then he actually just. didn't do it

[camellcat]

WTFFF I thought thirteen would be my new girl crush love of my life heart eyes wife you-came-after-twelve-you-must-be-better-than-they're-all-saying bbygirl and then I had to sit down and watch as she told a man who (if he were not a murderer, of course) literally every regeneration before her would've LOVED and FULLY SUPPORTED that "the systems aren't the problem. how people use and exploit the system, that's the problem. people like you" </33333 !?!?

[motorsportbarbie13]

Hurricane - Part Three

{Emma blinks in surprise but manages to hold eye contact with Max. “I wasn't aware 'emotional support assistant' was my new job title.” She quips, grin ghosting at the edge of her lips. For what feels like the first time all weekend, Max laughs. It’s loud and genuine and sends a shiver of pleasure dancing over Emma’s skin. He shakes his head, scrubbing at his tired face with his rough, calloused hands. “I don’t want to be alone and I don’t want to go with anyone else.” }

warnings/notes: no warnings in this one, its pretty fluffy. thank you to my writing therapist @lestapiastrisgirl for holding my hand as i crash out on a nightly basis and reassuing me that i do not, in fact, suck at this whole writing thing. pairing: max verstappen x emma meyer (fem original character) word count: 4.6k words

read hurricane on ao3 hurricane master list main master list ask me anything

Max slept in the next morning, something he didn’t often allow himself to do. He was drained from the past week, despite it being an off week, so he figured he had earned a little respite. Between the struggles he’d been having in the car since mid-last season to the drama around the second Red Bull seat, Max felt wrung out emotionally and just wanted to have a moment to breathe. Leaving Milton Keynes early the day before had been a start and even just one night in his own bed had him feeling back on the road to feeling better. 

The earthy scent of his favorite coffee brewing mixed with the smell of something sticky sweet drew him out of the deep sleep he’d been in. After coming home last night and hearing Emma play, the pair had spent a quiet evening with takeout and a movie before Max had turned in early, exhaustion from the week’s excitement making his bones ache. 

He’d woken up around 1am to the sounds of Clair de Lune floating through the cracks in his bedroom door and had stayed up longer than necessary listening to Emma play. It was a song he knew well and he had recognized it the second his eyes blinked open. His mother had played the song frequently when he was growing up along with a lot of classical music and the strains of the song provided him with a sense of nostalgic comfort that he’d been craving lately. The memories that the notes elicited grounded him in a way that nothing had been able to do in a very long time. 

The sunlight streamed into the bay windows that lined one of the walls of his bedroom as Max dug around in his closet for a clean t-shirt and shorts before wandering out to the open-concept kitchen. He paused in the archway, just out of Emma’s sight, as he watched her float around the kitchen. All four burners on the stove were switched on and Max strained to see that there were sausages and bacon sizzling away, what looked to be French toast nearly ready to be flipped, and scrambled eggs frying up in a pan. Two coffee mugs sat on the counter, one full of the dark liquid, the other sitting empty, presumably waiting for Max to wake up. 

Emma had on an ancient looking crewneck sweater, the vibrant crimson color faded to almost a purplish pink, sleeves shoved up above her elbows to keep them out of the feast she was in the middle of preparing. Half of her hair was tied up and away from her face, secured in place by a giant claw clip that managed to handle the thick locks without breaking. Her legs were nearly bare, the sleep shorts she wore were sinfully short, her mile long tanned legs on display for only Max to see. 

He swallowed thickly at the sight in front of him, the sheer domesticity of it making something in his chest ache for a life he never knew he yearned for. He’d never been one to dream about the day he settled down, got married, had kids and a home. It wasn’t him, wasn’t how he was raised. Jos always told him there would be time for that after racing and that if he allowed anything to get in the way of his laser sharp focus, Max’s career would suffer. 

The song Emma hummed in the back of her throat was familiar but not something he could totally place and the look on her face was open, bright, beautiful. She seemed so comfortable in his space, so at home in a kitchen that was usually sterile and bare and the way she brought life into Max’s home with barely any effort made Max’s chest ache in the most unfamiliar way. 

Max didn’t know how long he stood there, watching Emma move around his kitchen with a practiced grace that spoke of quiet confidence in a space where she felt like she belonged. It was heart achingly familiar and brightly brand new all at once, almost too much for Max to handle.

Eventually though, the spell was broken as Emma sensed she wasn’t alone anymore. When her eyes snagged on his frame, the smile that fluttered across her face nearly sent Max into cardiac arrest. 

“Good morning, sleepy head.” She teased, turning around to take the waiting coffee pot off the warmer and pour a generous amount into the waiting cup. “Milk? Sugar? There wasn’t any creamer in the fridge when you left so I didn’t know how you usually take your coffee or what to buy as a replacement.” 

The gesture was nice on the surface but Max knew there was an underlying anxiety to her monologue. From the short amount of time he’d spent with Emma, he’d clocked the fact that Emma was a textbook definition of people pleaser, almost to a painful level. She was constantly looking to him for approval, for confirmation that she’d done a good job or that Max wasn’t mad at her. The history behind those habits were an unknown to Max but he recognized a coping mechanism when he saw it.

“Whatever milk you have is fine. Sugar too.” 

Emma looked relieved as she turned to the fridge to get the small carton of milk. A bowl of sugar appeared shortly after too, in a ceramic dish that Max hadn’t even known he owned. They were quiet for a beat as Emma turned away to make sure the sausage wasn’t burning. 

“You’re in a good mood this morning.” Max commented over the rim of his mug, eyes not leaving Emma for a moment longer than necessary. 

Emma turned around, gaze instantly flicking towards the piano in the corner of the living room before darting back to look at Max. Those normally stormy gray eyes were bright this morning, happier than Max had seen them the entire time she’d been staying with him. A small smile tugged at the corner of Emma’s lips as she took a sip of her coffee. “Yeah,” She breathed, the sound sending a shudder down Max’s spine, “I guess I am.” 

There’s another lengthy pause, the silence blanketing the pair comfortably before Emma pushes a plate of French toast towards Max. “I know you’re probably on some sort of super strict diet for the season but once I start cooking it’s a little hard for me to stop.” 

Max grins as he stabs a piece of French toast with his fork before reaching for the butter. Emma slides the syrup over. “I think we can make an exception for this spread. Everything looks so good, Em.” 

Emma preened at the praise that tumbles from Max’s lips like it was the first time she’d ever heard a positive affirmation in her life. Not for the first time since Emma had come to stay with him did Max want to throttle whoever had caused her to behave like she was constantly making mistakes. 

 After one bite, Max hums, the sound low and satisfied, working it’s way across Emma’s skin. “And it tastes even better.” He says around the mouthful of food. 

As he digs into the plate Emma had piled high with food, his eyes wander around the expansive kitchen and living room. For the first time since arriving home, Max noticed something was different about his apartment. Nothing obvious, just a few quiet things that anyone else might’ve never notice. It was still his apartment of course. Nothing major had been moved or tucked away, it still felt like the place that he had settled into over the last few years.  

The cords on his sim right were a little more tidy, the brand new citrus candle that was burning low in the living room, the twin cat beds that had appeared underneath the piano while he had been gone. It made the apartment feel cozier somehow, like the place had been missing these small, gentle touches of a feminine hand. It should have had the hackles on the back of his neck rising, having someone that deep in the place he guarded so closely but having Emma there felt natural, like she was the last piece of the puzzle he’d been missing. 

Swaying a bit at the overwhelming realization, Max blinks and shakes his head in a desperate attempt to clear away the cobwebs of dangerous attraction that had no business being in on his mind. 

“I hope you don’t mind the cat beds I bought. Jimmy and Sassy kept trying to climb into the piano while I was playing and it was the only way I could keep them out and still practice.” Emma says halfway through the meal. 

Max grins in that genuine, open way does when he’s truly pleased. The corners of his eyes crinkled up, lips curling up in a lopsided boyish smile. “I appreciate you taking care of them, they’re social cats and I hate leaving them. They seem to be quite taken with you.” 

Emma leaned down scratch at Sassy’s ears after she had wandered into the kitchen as if she knew she was being discussed. “They kept me company while I had my quarter-life crisis on your couch for two days. We bonded.” 

“And what did you come up with while experiencing this crisis? Anything life changing?” Max hadn’t wanted to push last night to talk about the future. He hadn’t want to bring up Emma leaving because if he was being honest, and he quite often wasn’t with himself, he was enjoying having her here. It had been less than a week but she’d already imbued herself deeper into his life than he could have ever anticipated. 

“I’ve decided I’m going to marry rich and become a trophy wife.” She announced, eyes glittering as a wicked smirk kicked up at the edge of her mouth.

Max was so startled by her declaration, he choked out a laugh so loud Sassy went flying across the kitchen floor in a startled terror. 

Emma made a sound of offense before rolling her eyes. “I’m insulted you think my goal of being a trophy wife is so lofty. Am I really that hideous?”

When she sticks out her bottom lip in a pout, Max had to physically restrain himself to keep from reaching out and swiping his thumb across her outstretched lip, his fingers digging into the sides of his chair so hard his knuckles went white. Before he can come up with a response though, Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Reluctantly pulling it out, he’s unable to bite back the groan that starts in the back of his throat. 

“Everything okay?” Emma asks before popping a bite of bacon into her mouth. 

“Christian won’t stop emailing me about the stupidest shit after hours and on weekends. Marko too. It’s never anything important and most of the time could wait until I see them again.” Max frowns, reading the subject line: ‘NEW PR IDEAS FOR YUKI’. “I’m about to block them both.” 

Emma reaches out with her hand, motioning for him to hand over his phone, “I have an idea, can I try something?” 

Max easily slides the phone across the counter and watches, mesmerized, as Emma starts tapping away at his phone for several moments, her eyes fixed on the screen. As she works, she catches her bottom lip in between her teeth, nearly sending Max into another spiral so quickly he has to look away. 

“And…done! There you go, that should take care of your problems.” Emma looks up, sly grin stretching across her face as she hands back the phone. “I created a few rules in your inbox. Now anything that Christian and Helmut send you after hours will go directly into a separate folder instead of in your main inbox so you can choose when you want to look at their stuff instead of being bothered by their lack of boundaries.” 

Max tilts his head, eyes narrowed as he lifts his gaze from his phone to meet Emma’s eager expression. He’s quiet for so long that Emma shifts uncomfortably, wondering if she’d crossed a line. Maybe he didn’t like his things messed with. Maybe she had gone too far with her desire to help and it had made him angry. 

Why was she always messing everything up?

“Marry me.” Max mutters finally, half joking and half deadly serious and Emma blinks over at him. “Marry me and become my trophy wife, please.” 

Emma can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of her at the sheer ridiculousness of the request. “You’re insane.” 

Max just smirks, sinking into the sound of her laughter. It’s light, sweet, and everything that he craves as the sound rakes itself over his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I’m serious. You come in here, clean up my place and make it look like someone actually lives here, fill my fridge with all of my favorite things, and banish my bosses emails to a folder I never have to look at? That’s wife behavior right there, schat.” 

Emma’s cheeks go crimson but she manages to roll her eyes, “That sounds a lot like personal assistant behavior to me and if you need a lecture in the differences between wifey and assistant behavior, we have bigger problems on our hands, Verstappen.” 

“Then be my assistant.” 

Emma doesn’t have a response to that because she can’t quite tell if Max is still teasing her or not. The look on his face shifts into something more serious though and she struggles to catch up. She was still trying to recover from the faux proposal moments ago, the thought of marrying Max suddenly making her throat feel tight and cheeks feel hot. “Wait. What?” 

Max shrugs, feigning nonchalance as best as he can. “Horner has been after my ass for years to hire a personal assistant. He claims I miss too much and am spread too thin. To be honest, he’s probably just bitter I never return any of his emails but he does have a point.” He pauses, flipping his phone around in his hands as a way to channel the nervous energy buzzing through his veins. He hadn’t meant to ask her to be his assistant but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he didn’t want to take them back. 

“I don’t have any experience in your world, Max.” Emma says, worrying the corner of her lip. 

“You don’t need experience in motorsport to help me run my life. You need a job, a place to stay, a steady paycheck, right? I can give all of those things to you, Em. Let me help?” 

Emma drops her gaze away from Max’s for a moment, contemplating the offer. He was right, of course. She had nothing holding her back, no prospects. She’d spent the better part of the time alone in Max’s place searching for something, anything for her to do. Jobs that she was qualified for were few and far between in Monaco. The thought of going back to teaching and the politics that came along with it, made her stomach churn. Working for Max would save her from having to go back home with her tail tucked between her legs. 

“At least until you figure out what you want to do going forward.” He says quickly to fill the silence that filled the space between them. “You don’t have to be my assistant forever, just until you get back on your feet and decide what’s next.” 

A small grin ticks up at the corner of Emma’s lips and Max knows he’s got her.

“Alright, yeah.” She pauses, drawing in a deep inhale. There was a significant shift in the air as she studied Max sitting across from her, it was charged with something that neither of them were quite ready to face yet but they both knew was meaningful in a way they hadn’t ever anticipated.

“And who knows, maybe I’ll even find a rich race car driver to trophy wife me up, right?” 

Emma winks over at Max but the only thing that scuttles through his mind in response is ‘yeah, and that man will be me.’ 

The sun in Bahrain was relentless. While Emma considered herself relatively well traveled, she’d never been to the Middle East before. After going to Japan last week with Max, her head was spinning with how different her life had become literally overnight. 

After she had accepted Max’s offer, it had been decided that the easiest thing to do was hire Emma via Red Bull and pay her that way. This protected everyone involved and gave Emma the stability she’d been craving since being fired from her nightmare of a nannying job. It also gave legitimacy to her being in the paddock and the access to places where Max needed her to be. 

It was a simple enough job when it all came together. Manage Max’s email and personal schedule, make sure his meals were what his trainer needed them to be, when they needed to be there, ensure Jimmy and Sassy were visited by the pet sitter 3 to 4 times a day, handle his personal appearance requests that didn’t go through the Red Bull PR department. The tasks were easy for someone as organized and type A as Emma and she fell into the role seamlessly. 

Japan had been easy because Max had a mega weekend and the team was on the upswing. 

And then Bahrain happened. 

Emma was walking towards the parking lot of the paddock after the race Sunday night with another Red Bull employee when the shouts of someone calling her name stopped her in her tracks. The race had gone horribly wrong for Max and he’d told her to go ahead to the hotel without him because he’d be at the track for hours pouring over data with GP and the engineering team. Emma had wanted to get a head start on packing, for both Max and her anyway, so she had agreed and found a ride back with someone else. 

She turned around to see one of the PR interned sprinting after her, wild panic in her eyes. 

“Laurie, what’s wrong?” Anxiety fluttered in her chest briefly. Max had made it out of the car in one piece and as far as she was concerned her job was finished for the night.

Laurie struggled to catch her breath as stopped short of Emma and Rachel, the engineer she was getting a ride with. “Max. Refusing to do media. Won’t talk to anyone but you.” 

“What?” Emma shot a confused look at Rachel before returning her gaze back to the young woman. “Laurie, take a few deep breaths. Did you run here from the media pen?” 

Laurie nodded before dragging in a few more ragged breaths. It took a few more moments but eventually, her chest stopped heaving like she had just finished a marathon. 

“Ok, now slow down.” Emma started, placing a hand on Laurie’s shoulder. “What is going on? Where’s Max?” 

“He’s refusing to go to the media pen and do his interviews. The FIA officials are threatening fines, Horner is about to combust, and he says he’ll only talk to you.” 

Emma’s brows rose into her hairline as she exchanged another surprised look with Rachel. “Well, I guess I’m not going back to pack right now, am I? Go ahead without me, I’ll get a ride back with Max. Thanks Rachel.” 

Rachel nodded before wishing her good luck and turning back towards the parking lot. 

Emma turned back to Laurie, “Okay, where is he?” 

“Driver’s room.” 

“Okay, go to the pen and tell everyone Max wasn’t feeling well after the race. Blame the heat or something? And that he’ll be along in less than 20 minutes.” 

Laurie nodded before jogging off towards the media tent. Emma turned down a quiet alleyway on her way to Red Bull’s hospitality. 

It only took a few more minutes before she was standing in front of Max’s drivers room on the second floor of the suite. She’d spent most of her time in the room this weekend, watching the practice sessions and qualifying while working on getting Max’s inbox under control (something that was still a work in progress and causing her almost as many headaches as the driver who was currently throwing a tantrum). As she stood in front of the closed door though, there was a heavy air of anxiety and anger that hummed through the space. She knew what she’d find behind the door, had seen the way Max had looked furious when he’d gotten out of the car. 

Emma only had to wait a few moments after knocking softly to hear a strangled “Come in.” 

Pushing the door open with a gentle shove, Emma took a few steps into the room before spotting Max. Her heart ached when she saw the way he was folded in on himself, shoulders hunched, race suit still half-on, head in his hands. Despite it being a rough weekend for the team, Max had tried to take most of it on the chin. His temper had flared a few times here and there, a few stiff words for GP during the race, a few angry glances lobbed at a mechanic that happened to be in his way. No one had thought much of it as it happened. They were used to his moods, GP assured Emma a few dozen times there was nothing she could do to help. It was just something Max had to work through on his own. He’d done it before and he’d do it again. 

But this? The way he was curled in on himself like he wanted to shrink down to a size that couldn’t be seen, the way he refused to look up when Emma stepped into the room, the way his fingers gripped at his hair like he was trying to rip the pain away from his head? This was all a new side of Max that Emma had the feeling not many people had ever seen. 

In a flash, she was crossing the room before crouching in front of him. She doesn’t touch him, despite every inch of her body screaming that she should. She didn’t quite trust herself in that moment. Didn’t quite trust herself to be able to stop with a simple touch on the back of his hand. Emma was worried she’d want more and that? That was dangerous. 

“Max, what’s going on?” 

“I can’t do this.” He laments, eyes finally lifting up to meet hers. 

The pain and embarrassment sitting so plainly in his eyes had Emma’s heart squeezing painfully.  

“The car is just…I can’t drive it. I lost count of how many laps I spent stuck behind a fucking Alpine. An Alpine, Emma!” 

Emma nodded like she knew what that meant as Max stood to pace the small room. “Max,” She tries to placate, knowing that the time is limited and he was staring down the face of a hefty fine. “I bought you some time with the FIA but they’re out there yelling about fines and I think Horner might be close to having a stroke.” 

Max turns on her, eyes wild with rage and something else that looks a lot like anguish. “Well that makes two of us then.” He says miserably. “I’m not going to Jeddah.” 

The statement stops Emma in her tracks. “Wait, what? Max, I know the race was bad but you can’t just quit four races into the season.” 

“I’m not quitting, Em.” He says with a roll of his eyes and Emma resists the urge to swat at him for the sass. “I just need a few days to clear my head before I go straight into another race weekend.” 

“Okay, I can work with that. Let me get on the phone with your pilot and see what your options are while you’re doing media. I’ll figure out a place where you can go for a few days while I head to Jeddah to make sure everything is set up for you.” 

Max shakes his head, “No.” 

Emma pinches at the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. “Oh, God bless it.” She sighs deeply, shaking her head. “The hell do you mean, ‘no’? You literally just said you didn’t want to go to Jeddah?” 

“I’m not going without you.” 

Emma blinks in surprise but manages to hold eye contact with Max. “I wasn't aware 'emotional support assistant' was my new job title.” She quips, grin ghosting at the edge of her lips.

For what feels like the first time all weekend, Max laughs. It’s loud and genuine and sends a shiver of pleasure dancing over Emma’s skin. He shakes his head, scrubbing at his tired face with his rough, calloused hands. “I don’t want to be alone and I don’t want to go with anyone else.” 

Again, Emma found herself narrowing her eyes in a vain attempt to understand the man in front of her. “That…makes no sense. You want to be alone but you want me to come with you?” 

“I don’t want to go with anyone else.” Max pouts. 

Pouts. The four-time world champion that was known to make even the most experienced mechanic cower pouts at Emma. 

“Will you go out to the media pen and not be a sarcastic brute to the reporters if I agree to this?” 

A sly grin slips onto Max’s face as he nods, realizing he’s won. 

Emma sighs, the fight draining out of her as quickly as the tension seemed to be leaving Max’s body. “Fine.” She relents, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “But you owe me, big time. I had planned to spend the next few days comatose in a hotel room doing nothing but watching bad reality tv and eating even worse takeout.” 

Max’s grin widens, the relief evident in his suddenly brighter eyes. “I promise I will make sure I buy you the best takeout wherever we end up and you can even pick the TV we watch.” 

Emma levels a pointed look at him as she throws a bottle of water his way, “And you! You will be polite out there. You will answer their questions, even the stupid ones, without rolling your eyes so hard you risk a sprain. And you will not, under any circumstances, blame Jack or Pierre for your…unfortunate race. Got it?” 

“Deal.” Max agrees quickly, already moving towards the door. The heavy cloud of anger that had clung to him all weekend seemed to have lifted, replaced by a restless energy that was something Emma could make work. “What are we thinking? Somewhere with a good beach? I haven’t spent a day near the ocean in too long.” 

Emma follows him, grabbing his discarded team jacket from the back of a chair before wrapping herself up in the oversized garment. “Hold your horses, Verstappen. You still have about fifteen minutes of explaining to do to a very angry and tired contingent of journalists. Lets get through that first and then your ‘emotional support assistant’ will work her magic and find us the perfect escape.” 

As the pair walks out into the paddock and towards the media tent, a small smile plays on Emma’s lips. Emotional support assistant. She had to admit, the title had a certain ring to it, even if it made her sound completely ridiculous. And if it meant seeing that genuine smile on Max’s face again, she was willing to take on the role. Jeddah could wait an extra few days. Some bad TV and questionable takeout with a surprisingly vulnerable racing driver suddenly sounded like a far more interesting proposition. 

Tag list: @shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164 @xoxomansee

[thewritetofreespeech]

hello. I read your bg3 marriage headcanons and was wondering if you could do a follow-up on what their first anniversary would be like? also add rolan, even though he wasn't in the original. only if you want to.

BG3 - 1st Anniversary Headcanons

[original ask in question X]

Gale

What does Gale ‘grand gestures are my love language’ Dekarios have planned for your first anniversary? Oh nothing special.

Just all your favorite meals cooked & ready for you. Starting with breakfast in bed. A small, light picnic at your favorite shoreline spot to watch the tides come in and enjoy the sea air. Ending with a romantic candlelight dinner that would put some of the finest Baldurian restaurants to shame.

He gives you a book of love poems as your present. Paper is traditional for the first anniversary after all. It is furthermore inscribed with his own, original poem on the front cover for you.

Astarion

He actually isn’t aware it’s your anniversary. Until he is reminded by someone. It’s not that it’s not important to him. Astarion has just never celebrated one before. How could he, when none of his previous lovers ever even stayed the whole night?

He has to work fast. But luckily Astarion is extremely clever and resourceful.

Playing it off like it was his plan all along to ‘pretend’ to forget, only for you to be further surprised is simply part of his plan. He plays it off so well that you believe him when he tells you that he got you a new necklace because ‘it reminded him of your eyes’. He makes a mental note to remember next year and be more genuine in his efforts.

A!Astarion

Of course, Astarion remembers the day you officially became his. Body, soul, and now legally.

Part of it may just be the celebration of having something that’s his. He hasn’t had anything for so long that he goes overboard. And with you, his most prized treasure, he can’t help it either.

The day, like all your days, is just about the two of you. He has a portrait commissioned for the two of you and commits to having one done every year, so you remember what you look like & how happy you are together. The old ones are kept in an archive below for safe keeping.

Wyll

He’s been looking forward to this day almost as much as getting married to you, the love of his life.

If he chose to stay in the Gate and become the new Grand Duke Ravengard, Wyll will host a ball so that you can celebrate with all those you hold dear. Old and new friends. He has the bard’s college compose a new song to commemorate the occasion, one that he can lead his partner out to the dance floor with and waltz them around all night.

If he went to Avernus to continue as the Blade, they will waltz together, alone, on the stoney rocks of the Hells. While Wyll hums a private tune between them to keep the music going.

Halsin

Halsin isn’t much for ceremonies or constructs of time. Nature and time move hand-in-hand with one another without making much note of their relationship, and he feels that they should do the same.

But…he can appreciate that something like this should be marked & remembered.

He will make time to get away from his duties as ‘Daddy Halsin’ to be a husband for a while; no matter how short it might be. He carves them a beautiful ornament. Something of a remembrance of their year to hang on a tree by their home. Halsin tells them that he hopes, one day, it will be filled with as many happy memories as leaves. The tree growing as with their love for years to come.

+Rolan

Who has time for such frivolities? Rolan has an acclaimed magic shop & literary archive to run, along with the magical commitments he has as the new caretaker of Ramazith's Tower. Surely, as his partner, they must understand that.

Lia gives him an extremely firm talking to about how selfish and narrow-minded he is being. That it’s not just about him anymore it’s about them.

Though Rolan will never admit that she’s right, he does make it up to his spouse. Apologizing to them for being so callous and making an effort to be more ‘traditionally romantic’. He presents them with a single white rose. Enchanted, so that it will never die, never wilt, and never fade. “It will always be as pure and radiant as my love for you. Should I forget to tell you every day, look upon it and remember. Though, I will try to remember to tell you everyday until my last ones.”

[jjkilll]

———--✫CINDERELLA | JJK✫--———

— pairing | idol jk x singer y/n (feat. 127's idol mark lee and mentions of idol jaehyun)

— summary | The Golden release party was filled to the brim, the whole night being about Jungkook and the release of his first solo album. It's hard for him to focus when you look that damn good and when other guys are checking you out.

—  warning | smut, name-calling, rough sex, jealous jk, choking, unprotected sex (please use condoms i'm begging), creampie, oral (f receiving)

— word count | 1.3K

— song | Cinderella - Mac Miller

You and Jungkook had been fucking around for a few months. So naturally when it came time for his release party, you were one of the first to be invited.

Jungkook didn't think he was jealous, But then again people do have a hard time acknowledging their flaws. Seeing Mark chatting you up at the bar in the loft made his neck heat up. Mark Lee was a guy you went on a few dates with when you first got to Korea. He was a nice, funny guy but you two just didn't click like you and Jungkook did.

"You look great Y/n, How've you been. I haven't seen you in a while." He explains with a smile. "Thanks, Mark you're too sweet. I've been good. You?" You respond before taking a sip of your drink. "I'm good too, you know working, company's got me pretty busy." You nod. "Yeah I heard, Jaehyun told me all about you guys' tour, I'm surprised you're even here." He chuckles shrugging. The silence between you two is comfortable before he clears his throat. "So, um you seeing anybody." Before you could respond you hear a voice behind you. "Mark! Thanks for coming out man! I know how busy you and Jae are having you here means a lot bro!" He nods "For sure man," a little irritated that Jungkook interrupted. Jungkook puts his arm around your shoulder. "I see you met Y/n." You look at him and he smiles. "She's great right?" He asks before planting a kiss on your cheek. You look at him eyes widening a bit before looking back to Mark. "Yeah, we met last year... So, just catching up." He smiles lightly at you. "Well I'd hate to interrupt but could I borrow you for a second Y/n?" You hum giving Mark a small smile before Jungkook takes you by the hand pulling you away.

He walks up the stairs past idols hyping him and congratulating him on his release. He thanks them genuinely and you smile trailing behind him, his hand still in yours. You reach his bedroom and he pulls you in.

He backs you up to the shut door and kisses you deeply, almost hungry. "Jungkook," You say breaking the kiss. "Why were you talking to him?" He asks kissing you again. You bring your hand up to his face pulling him in while he kisses you, you wanted him just as badly. You use your free hand to undo his pants. Breaking the kiss, Jungkook kisses your neck. "You're jealous." You say your breathing hitches as he sucks your neck leaving a hickey. "I just don't like to share." He says quickly before going back to kiss your neck. "You aren't my boyfriend, Jungkook," you remind him. He hums, "We can change that." He whispers in your ear sending shivers down your spine.

He grips your waist pulling you closer before he lifts you. He kisses you sloppily, your tongues dancing together. He sets you on the bed shuffling your tiny dress up and pulling your panties down. You watch him kiss the inners of your thighs teasing. He grazes his thumb against your clit and you whimper. "He does it better than me?" He speaks softly. You shake your head quickly, his eyes are low as he smiles. "Words baby." He warns. "N-no he isn't! Please Jungkook, touch me." You beg him getting needier the more he traces his fingers along your skin. "I need you, only you." You say desperately.

He plunges two fingers into your wet cunt. "So wet baby." You moan as he curls his fingers inside of you, hitting the spot you love so much. His lips close around your clit as he fucks into you. You grab a handful of his hair as he eats you. "Fuck fuck fuck." you breathe out, getting so close to falling over the edge. You pull his hair as his tongue swirls around your clit. He moans like eating you pleases him (It does). "I'm going to come, please Jungkook I'm so fucking close," You cry out. "come for me baby, come on my tongue," He says quickening his pace. "Right there, right there, f-fuckkk." You come all over his tongue and he continues licking your clit until you come down. "S-stop I'm so sensitive." You push his head away as he smiles. You sit up on your elbows, looking at him at as he sits up. You notice how hard he is, his pants a little tighter displaying his thick cock. A little wet spot where his dick in tucked in his pants.

"Kook you're dripping." You tell him. "I know I almost came in my pants." He chuckles and you smile. "I'm serious, I only want you," you speak. "Say you'll be mine." He speaks crawling over you. "I'm yours, Kook." You say examining his face your eyes trailing from his to his lips. "Fuck me, Daddy." You say suddenly. He kisses you hungrily. "Fuck I'm gonna ruin you, baby." He sits up quickly taking his pants off and tossing them somewhere in the room. His cock is painfully hard, his tip red and leaking with pre-cum. He strokes himself a few times before lining himself up between your legs. He pushes his cock inside slowly giving you time to adjust to him.

you moan pornographically, and he shushes you. "Quiet baby, you don't want everyone to hear, do you?" You don't respond caught up in the feeling of being stretched out by him. "Move please Kook," you moan. "Suck a little slut begging for my cock, look at you." He starts fucking you at a steady pace. "Yes! Yes, Daddy please." He fucks into it a few times before pulling out. You groan at the loss of pleasure, whining. "Turn around." You quickly obey. He slides back into you fucking you deeply and quicker than before. "Fuck baby it's like your pussy was made for me." He throws his head back his orgasm coming closer. He pushes your head into the mattress making his strokes longer and slower, he feels deeper than ever before. "Oh shit, Jungkook, I-I'm gonna-" You come on his cock shaking as he fucks you and he groans as he empties himself inside you. "Fuck, baby." He slowly pulls out flopping beside you.

You look at each other and smile both chuckling lightly. "You're so pretty." He says softly. You blush hiding your face with your hands. "Don't be shy, my little Boston Creme." You hit his chest. "Really." You say laughing.

Suddenly you hear a knock at the door. "Jungkook!" It's Taehyung. "Come on bro, You're the man of the hour, you can fuck your little girlfriend later." He shouts through the door. You giggle as he rushes to get up. "Come on baby. They've noticed we left." He says putting his pants back on. "I'm sure they heard us Jungkook, we weren't exactly quiet." You remind him.

"Good. Mark will know you're mine." He flashes a smile helping you straighten out your dress. "You can't be this jealous all the time Kook, I told you I only want you.'

"I was not jealous." He protests.

"If that's what helps you sleep at night baby," you say with a chuckle. You leave the room and join the party. After a while you find yourself talking with Mark again. "So you and Jungkook." He starts, "Yeah, we're pretty close." You say innocently. "I can tell." He points to your neck and you quickly look in the mirror on the wall. A purple hickey clear as day on your neck. Your eyes widen as you look. Jungkook finds himself behind you again. "Sorry not sorry baby." He says hugging you from behind.

You smile to yourself, happy everyone knows you're his and his only.

✫ ------------------------✫

a/n: Thanks for reading, I'm only a writer's high rn hehe... feedback and requests are appreciated.

[black-dhalias]

Hello!!!

I just read your “Until Dawn” fic and it had me SEATEDDDDD. And when I saw ur requests were open I got really excited lolll. So I was wondering if u could write a Legolas x reader where they meet at a tavern and the reader is gets the whole tavern dancing once the band starts playing. Similar to the scene in Tangled when Rapunzel gets the townsfolk to start dancing in the circle! Hope this makes sense lol

Take as much time needed and have a wonderful day 💗

By the Babbling Water

Legolas Greenleaf X human!Reader

The tavern was louder than most places Legolas Greenleaf had ever set foot in. Earthy scents of spiced mead and roasting meat mingled with laughter and off-key singing, humans crammed elbow to elbow in a warmth that no Elven hall could replicate. It was strange… and oddly comforting.

Aragorn sat beside him, nursing a drink with his usual ease, though his eyes scanned the room out of old habit. Legolas, however, sat still, ever the watchful observer. Until you passed by.

You weren’t just another figure moving through the crowd. You glided. A tray balanced with impossible grace in one hand, hair tucked behind your ears in a way that framed the brightness in your eyes. Your laughter rang out like chimes in the wind, and it was so genuine—so inviting—that people leaned toward it like sunflowers seeking warmth.

Legolas stared. He didn't mean to, but he did.

“Careful, my friend,” Aragorn muttered, following his gaze. “You’re staring like a stunned deer.”

“I…” Legolas’s voice faltered. “She laughed. The room shifted when she did.”

“You’ve been traveling too long if that surprises you.”

But it did surprise him. In a world filled with shadows and scars, you were a flame that didn’t flicker. There was life in your step, kindness in the way you remembered every patron’s name, and something enchanting about the way people *gravitated* to you, like you held court and didn’t even know it.

And then your eyes met his.

It was brief, a flicker of recognition—he hadn’t spoken a word to you, yet you smiled, like you already knew him. Like his face was one you wouldn’t forget.

“You two traveling through?” you asked when you finally made it to their table. The tilt of your head was playful, curious, and Legolas found himself at a loss for words. “Haven’t seen you before, but I never forget a face.”

“We are,” Aragorn replied, clearly enjoying the rare sight of his Elven friend struck dumb. “Passing through to the north.”

You turned to Legolas. “You’ve got a look to you,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Like you belong in a song.”

His lips parted slightly. “I… do not sing often.”

You laughed, delighted. “Pity. You’ve got the eyes for it.”

His gaze lingered on yours longer than it should have, but you didn’t shy away. In fact, you leaned in slightly, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “I always know when someone’s more than they seem.”

Before he could gather his wits, you were off again, swept into a tide of patrons calling your name, laughter trailing in your wake. Legolas watched you move, that quiet little smile still ghosting his lips.

Aragorn leaned over, voice low. “She’s got the heart of a fire, that one. Careful you don’t get burned.”

“I do not fear the flame,” Legolas murmured, still watching you. “Only that I will not feel its warmth again once I leave.”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. “Then perhaps you should stay a little longer.”

Legolas didn’t answer—but the next evening, he was back. And the evening after that. And every evening until you were the one saying, voice gentle, “You don’t have to leave when the road calls. Sometimes, the road leads you where you’re meant to stay.”

And for the first time, the prince of the Woodland Realm wondered if perhaps the world of men, with its clamor and song and fire-hearted barmaids, had something to teach him after all.

They came again, like always—just before the fire was lit and the mugs had begun to overflow, boots wet with road dust and wind in their cloaks.

You were already in the thick of it—greeting the man who’d lost his wife last winter with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, handing off warm cider to the merchant’s twins who always shared one between them, slipping behind the bar to kiss the cook on the cheek and tease a plate of bread from him.

It was like watching someone command a kingdom built of stories and laughter, of faces you never forgot and names you always remembered.

When your eyes met Legolas’s across the tavern, your smile bloomed like it always did—like seeing him was part of your ritual.

“Well look who the wind dragged back,” you said as you approached their table, swiping a mug off a tray and setting it down in front of Aragorn without asking. “Starting to think you two are putting down roots.”

“Not roots,” Aragorn replied with a grin. “Just fond of good company.”

“And better dancing,” you added, tossing Legolas a playful look. “What do you say, my lord of the woods? Think you’ve got another jig in you?”

“I survived the last,” Legolas replied, voice low, though his eyes never left your face.

You laughed, radiant, and leaned in just slightly, enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath. “Then you’ll survive this one too.”

As if summoned by your words, the music struck up again—quick and lovely, the kind of tavern song that needed no introduction. Just a beat. A clap. A stomp.

You straightened with a grin. “That’s my cue.”

And just like that, you were off.

The crowd parted without protest, a hush of eager anticipation giving way to cheers as you moved into the center of the room. Your skirts twirled with every step, and you clapped your hands once—sharp and sure.

“Come on now!” you called. “Don’t make me dance alone!”

The old man by the hearth was first. You caught his hand and spun him gently, laughing when he stumbled on purpose. A young girl next, all freckles and wide eyes. Then a woman with a baby on her hip who managed to sway with you as the music built.

Then a farmer. A boy barely tall enough to reach your waist. An old woman with silver in her braid and laughter on her lips. One by one, you pulled them in, weaving a circle of stomping feet, flushed cheeks, and joy so real it made the tavern walls feel too small to contain it.

Legolas didn’t move.

He just watched.

Watched the way you danced without care for grace, how your steps were uneven but sure, how your laughter sparked every time someone missed a beat or made up their own. How you never paused, never hesitated—how you belonged.

It was all too human. Messy and alive. Fleeting.

And somehow, watching you felt like aching.

“You’re staring again,” Aragorn said under his breath, smiling into his mug.

Legolas didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because the room spun with you, filled with the noise of hands clapping and feet stamping, and for a heartbeat, it was as if the whole world had been reduced to this moment. To you. To the sound of your laughter wrapped in fiddle strings and the weightless pull of something he didn’t have a name for.

You caught his eye again. Not by accident. A look passed between you—playful, knowing, soft.

And even as the dance went on without pause, it was clear:

You didn’t need to take his hand to pull him in.

You already had.

The music didn’t stop. If anything, it soared—fiddle climbing, drum thumping, boots slapping the old floorboards like they’d been waiting all week for this very song. The tavern was alight, hearts pounding, ale sloshing, voices raised in tune and laughter.

You spun again, cheeks flushed, hair wild with movement. The circle was wide now, a glorious mess of partners changing hands, people twirling and stomping in the wrong places and not caring a bit.

Your eyes found his, right where he stood—statue-still, too composed, golden hair catching the firelight like something ancient and unwilling to give in.

You turned as you danced, facing him fully.

“Gonna make me ask, little leaf?”

It was loud, clear, and shameless. Half the room laughed. The other half watched with baited breath.

Legolas blinked. Something flickered behind his eyes—surprise, something like indignation, and something else too: heat.

Then a woman caught him—literally. A short redhead from the far end of the room grabbed his arm with a shout of delight. “Come on, pretty thing! Don’t let her down now!”

And he was in.

He stumbled, just once—his boots not made for this kind of clatter—but his instincts were quick, and his grace never failed him long. He found the rhythm, awkward for only a breath before he spun the redhead expertly into the arms of another, and was swept toward a broad-shouldered farmer, who grinned and slapped him on the back before sending him spinning again.

You laughed, breathless, catching glimpses of him between partners—tall, lean, so out of place in this raucous dance but trying. Trying because you asked.

And he was watching you too. Every time a new partner took your hand, he found you again. Every spin, every clap, every laughing stumble that passed between you both—you found each other. Again and again and again.

It became a game. Who could catch the other’s eye fastest. Who could hold the longest. Who could hide the smile and who couldn't.

The music was rising now—faster, brighter, louder. The final stretch of the song. The room whirled, people tossed from hand to hand in a joyful chaos of bodies and movement and song.

And finally—finally—as the last beat built to a crescendo, you turned—

And he was there.

Right in front of you. Chest heaving. Eyes bright. Hair disheveled. A flush in his cheeks that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

You didn’t hesitate. Both your hands slid into his, your fingers curling firm around his palms, and with a shared breath, you spun together. The music crashed into its final note—feet stomped, hands clapped, voices shouted—

And the room roared.

You landed breathless, grinning, still holding him. He didn’t let go either.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” you teased, laughing.

Legolas, winded and dazed, looked down at your hands in his. “I am… frequently underestimated.”

You leaned in just enough for your smile to soften. “Not by me.”

For a beat, neither of you moved.

The tavern was still ringing with applause, but for a moment, all Legolas could hear was the echo of your voice, and the thunder of his own heart.

And for the first time, maybe, he realized something.

He hadn’t just been caught in the dance.

He’d been claimed.

The tavern had settled into a gentler rhythm now—mugs clinked, voices dropped to soft hums, and the musicians had retired to a corner, the last song still echoing in everyone’s bones. A few regulars lingered, half-asleep by the hearth or curled into quiet conversation over lukewarm cider.

You were drying mugs behind the bar when you saw him—still there.

Legolas, seated by the fire, hair loose from the dance, boots dusted and damp, his cloak draped across the back of his chair. He looked like he belonged in a forest clearing, not this room full of noise and stories and spilled drink—but there was something in his posture now, in the way his shoulders weren’t quite so tense, that made him seem closer. As though, without quite meaning to, he’d let the place in.

You wiped your hands and made your way to him without fanfare.

He looked up as you approached, that same unreadable softness behind his gaze.

You didn’t sit right away. Instead, you offered him a steaming mug, fresh and fragrant. “Mulled cider. With a splash of something sharper,” you said, smiling. “On the house. For surviving the dance.”

His lips twitched. “You have many talents. Humility is not among them.”

You grinned. “What fun would that be?”

You sat beside him, just close enough to feel the warmth from the fire—and from him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The crackle of the logs, the low murmur of distant laughter, the pop of pine in the hearth. You let the silence stretch, not awkward, just easy. Like both of you were still catching your breath.

Finally, you spoke, quieter now. “You did well, you know. Most men fall flat on their backs trying to keep up with that tune.”

“I had a good reason to try,” he replied.

You looked at him then, surprised—but not too much.

His gaze held yours. Calm, steady. Like he wasn’t afraid of silence anymore. Like he wanted to sit in it with you.

“You know,” you said after a beat, your voice softer than before, “You’ve been coming here for nights now, always quiet, always watching. I’ve met enough travelers to know most keep moving, especially elves. But you… stay.”

A pause. Firelight flickered across his cheekbones. “The world has many wonders,” he said, almost like he was speaking to himself. “Mountains that breathe mist, forests that sing. And still…”

He turned his head, eyes finding yours again.

“…somehow, this place calls me back.”

You could feel your pulse in your throat. Not fast. Just aware.

“Is it the cider?” you teased lightly, just to ease the weight in your chest.

“No,” he said, barely a whisper. “It’s you.”

The words hung in the air, fragile and too-honest. Not dressed up or guarded. Just true.

You didn’t know what to say to that. For once, words felt too small.

So you just sat there. Close. Warm. Quiet.

Outside, the wind brushed against the tavern walls. Inside, the fire crackled low.

And Legolas, Prince of the Woodland Realm, stayed at your side long after the last mug was emptied.

[volklana]

The Wedding Date

Title: Based on the movie from 2005, forced to attend your sister's wedding where you have to face a family that are perpetually disappointed in you, and your ex who treated you like crap, you hire someone to be your date from an escort site so you don't have to face the ordeal alone.

I also listened to this song the whole way through writing.

Modern!Sihtric x Reader

Warnings: Brief mentions of domestic abuse. Reader's family are horrible.

You felt stupid, waiting in the station watching the boards to show the arrival of a train from London, a scalding hot coffee in hand. 

Two hour long calls was all you had ever had with this man and now you were here anxiously waiting for him to arrive.

You were so engrossed in searching the boards that a voice calling your name nearly startled you half to death.

“Sihtric?” you questioned, taking in his appearance, long hair pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck, black skinny jeans ripped at the knees and a leather jacket open over a white v-neck t-shirt and your mouth almost went dry. 

That was before you even honed in on the tattoos.

“Hey,” he smiled, a genuine smile that reached the whole way up to his mismatched eyes, and you couldn’t help but smile too.

“You mentioned on the call that you liked your coffee black,” you fumbled with the cup before handing it over to him and he smiled gratefully.

“That’s so thoughtful, thank you,” he smiled almost sadly and you motioned to the exit.

“The car is right this way, should we?”

“Of course,” he nodded, taking a huge gulp of coffee “Lead the way.” 

You drove in silence for a while. 

Sihtric settled into his seat winding it back a little to relax, you offered him to play his music and he was busy queuing up songs on his phone not really paying attention to much else. You couldn’t help but glance over at him while he wasn’t looking, he was one of the most beautiful men you had ever seen, he genuinely looked as though he had been carved from the gods, but then again that is exactly why you had chosen him.

“May I?” he asked, holding up a pack of cigarettes and you wanted to say no but the way he was looking at you almost like a kid afraid of getting in trouble, you couldn’t say no.

“Sure, just roll down the window,” you relented and he smiled big and bright as he cranked the window down, and stuck his head out to smoke.

The city was long left behind and now the open countryside was rolling into view and Sihtric seemed to be taking it all in, his cigarette was almost gone when he turned to face you, and was surprised to find you already looking his way, but he did not miss the way your cheeks tinged red as you hastily looked away.

“So,” he said, relaxing back into his seat “You got any questions for me, or have you done this before?” 

You gripped the steering wheel as you swallowed hard “I have never done this before,” you answered voice shaking “I don’t even know why- I don’t know what I’m doing,” you were nervous and Sihtric wanted so badly to put you at ease, so he rolled his seat up so he was sitting upright again.

“It’s alright,” he promised reassuringly “You can ask me anything you need to know.”

“How does it usually go?” you asked, cheeks still tinged pink and he smiled.

“For the entirety of our time together I am whatever you want me to be. You want me to tell people I’m an investment banker..I’m an investment banker. You wanna create a backstory for us, I’ll learn it off. I’ll hold your hand in public, I’ll dance with you, I’ll do anything that you need me to do in order for people to believe this is real.”

You nodded, taking that in and he smiled.

“No sex,” he continued and you nodded in agreement, staring straight ahead, hands like a vice grip on the steering wheel, “Or that will cost you extra,” he winked cheekily, it was a cheap shot at making you squirm,  but it was worth it to watch the blush spread all across your face for him.

“Do you have any rules, or I guess boundaries that we shouldn’t cross?” you asked gently and he smiled that almost-sad smile your way again, almost like he was in awe of how considerate you were being.

“I guess kissing feels very personal to me, so I would ask you not to do that.”

“It’s done,” you replied without missing a beat and he watched you from the corner of his eye again.

You drove in silence for a little while more until he interrupted the peace again.

“I’m sorry I gotta ask. You’re an attractive woman and you seem super nice and with your shit together, you telling me you couldn’t find a date to this wedding off your own bat?” 

You huffed out a breathy laugh, “If you only knew the half of my bad luck with men,” you cringed “And worst of all, my ex is one of the groomsmen and he is a bit of a prick” you trailed off but Sihtric knew what you were getting at.

“So I’m here to make your ex jealous,” he deduced and you deadpanned with a pained laugh.

“It’s even sadder when you say it out loud,” you whined and he couldn’t help but laugh, and despite yourself you laughed too.

You pulled down the long winding lane that led to the country estate you had grown up on; a Georgian Manor House nestled among acres of ancient woodland and set in the backdrop of rolling hills and lakes.

It was the perfect place for a wedding, and the last place on earth you ever wanted to be again.

“Close your mouth,” you swiped at Sihtric as you struggled with your bags and he reached in over you with a “Here let me,” as he pulled them easily out and sat them on the ground, before diving back in for his own.

Standing back up to re-inspect his surroundings he muttered “Shoulda charged more,” and you shot him a dirty look,but laughed when he smiled that huge smile your way. 

He insisted on dragging your bags up the steps to the door for you and when you suddenly stopped and patted yourself down, taking deep but uneasy breaths he could see that you were shaking like a leaf.

“This was a mistake,” you suddenly panicked and took off back down the way you had come, abandoning the bags in a heap he took off after you, you didn’t stop at the car, you continued sprinting down the path through the trees until you reached the shores of the lake and could run no further, and Sihtric burst out through the trees to find you absolutely freaking out, pacing back and forward trying to force air into your lungs.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you panted, pacing before him and he tried to reach out a hand but he wasn’t sure how best to comfort you, he didn’t even know you.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here, Sihtric. It was cruel. You don���t know these people, they make my life hell, they’ll do the same to you.”

“Hey, I don’t care what they say to me,” he hushed and you stopped pacing to glance at him, and shook your head.

“It’s not fair to ask this of you, Sihtric, you seem like a nice guy and I feel wrong forcing you into this, I know you were joking earlier but you are really going to want to charge me extra once you’ve spent a few days here and I won’t blame you.” 

“You didn’t force me Y/N,” he finally reached out to place a hand on your arm and made you look at him “You told me exactly what I was in for on the phone, and I still took the job, you haven’t tricked me and you’re not forcing me to do anything. And I could be speaking out of turn here but are you sure you want to put yourself through this, if this is how they make you feel?” 

“I have no choice,” you cried and Sihtric sniffed and then nodded.

“So we get through it together then?” he nodded, eyes boring into yours in a way that told you everything would be fine.

“Okay,” you eventually whispered and allowed him to lead you back up the path and up to your discarded bags. 

��Your parents took in Sihtric’s appearance and he didn’t miss the way your Father scrunched up his nose as if something stank, your heart thumped in your chest but you said nothing.

“You should freshen up before dinner,” your stepmother announced with a forced smile, “You are in the west wing.”

“Why not my room?” you quipped and she looked at you incredulously before smirking wryly,

“Honey, that ceased to be your room the day you turned down Cambridge to pursue that little art career of yours, besides your sister needs it for her new in-laws.” 

Sihtric followed you up the stairs and into the room on the west wing of the house, not facing out to the lakes, but rather the forest of ancient trees to the back.

“So you’re an artist?” Sihtric asked you from his position on the bed, arms locked behind his head, staring up at the ceiling while you freshened up in the wash basin in the ensuite.

“A failed one,” you laughed back, before joining him in the room again, “I work for a publishing house as an editor now, and I do art in my spare time.” 

“Anyone who creates is not a failure. It’s only failing if you don’t do it,” he answered as if it wasn’t the most profound thing you had heard in ages.

“What about you?” you asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and examining him, “How did you end up in this line of work?” 

He considered you for a moment, he couldn’t explain why but he felt like he could tell you his whole story and you wouldn’t judge him, but he decided to give you the long story short.

“I was modelling on the side to make some extra money to get out of an incredibly shitty situation, and then my friend Uhtred put me on to this and I was making so much more this way I decided to pursue it. Surprisingly, I’ve never been short of work-”

-”With sad cases like me, incapable of finding a man on their own,” you were joking and he knew that, but something deep down inside of him wished you wouldn’t speak about yourself like that.

“So what do I do?” he laughed tapping you with his knee “Investment banking? Insurance? Hedge Fund Manager? Oh maybe I could work for a Consultancy Agency?”

“I was leaning more toward architect,” you suggested, pushing his leg off playfully, and he grinned at you “Always wanted to be an architect actually,” he mused and then he looked at you seriously “Okay, you are a fantastic editor and painter and I am a highly successful architect we live in a penthouse apartment in the city and we are very happy together. Drinks down the pub every Saturday with my friends Uhtred and Finan and Osferth and Sundays we spend browsing the markets and art galleries.” 

“On Wednesdays I go to a jewelry making class,” you chimed in, that part was true and he made a mental note of it.

“We’re going to make this work, it’ll all be over before you know it and I promise I won’t leave you to face it alone.”

Dinner was a horrible affair.

Everyone talked over each other and Sihtric was questioned within an inch of his life, but he never faltered, that quiet confidence he carried himself with was such a breath of fresh air to you and you could not deny he looked absolutely and sinfully gorgeous in his dinner slacks and black shirt, which the top few buttons had been left open on.

“Where did you find him?” your sister asked in a hushed tone, openly ogling Sihtric like he was a piece of fresh meat.

“London,” was all you offered by way of explanation and she raked her eyes up and down his form, “He is delicious,” she mewled “Aethelred is going to simply die when he sees you two together.”

You took a monstrous gulp of wine from the glass in front of you, and Sihtric placed a hand on your knee and squeezed it once in reassurance, your sister nearly squealed beside you and you prayed dinner would end soon so you could be excused to the reprise of your room.

You weren’t paying mind to the conversations taking place around you, but Sihtric had been locked in conversation with your uncle for the past twenty minutes about Viking history and mythology and he laughed for the first time since you had met him, really laughed, and it lit up the whole room, and you couldn’t help the smile that broke out across your own face in response to it.

“Isn’t that right Lettie?” Your Father’s booming voice pulled you from your Sihtric induced haze and you whirled as your stepmother laughed out loud at the nickname.

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped and your stepmother rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

“It’s just a nickname Let,” your sister offered and you were grasping the wine glass so hard in your hand, you thought it would shatter.

“What was the question?” you cut over the tension and your dad repeated his statement “Life is very hard for the struggling artist. Do you remember that god awful bedsit you were staying in when you first moved to the city? Thank God Aethelred got you out of there, the landlady was a god awful plump woman.”

“She was a lovely woman,” you cried “She looked after me like I was her own.”

“All the same-” Your father interjected “Thank Goodness for Aethelred.”

“She never did tell us how she managed to mess that one up,” your stepmother whispered to your sister, but whispered was too kind of a word because anyone within ten feet of her could hear it, Sihtric looked at you questiongly and you knew he had heard it too, you just shook your head in way of answering him.

You downed your wine and placed the glass down, “I’m absolutely shattered from today’s travels I’m going to call it a night,” you announced and Sihtric turned to face you.

“I’ll come too darling,” he shook your uncle's hand and promised him they would continue their chat tomorrow, he patted him soundly on the back and when he turned to you he smiled kindly, “You’ve found a good one there, Lettie.” 

You and Sihtric decided to tuck and tail, he was at the top and you were down the end of the bed.

Lying in the darkness you tossed and turned for a bit, sighing loudly when you realised you could not fall asleep.

“Why do they call you Lettie?” Sihtric asked softly into the darkness and you couldn’t help the tears that sprang to your eyes.

“Piglet,” you eventually answered, voice barely above a whisper, “When I first met her, my stepmother, I never stopped crying apparently. Squealing, as she called it… like a piglet. I was four and my mother was dead and the nickname stuck.” 

Sihtric felt a pain in his chest and he didn’t know what to say, “I’m so sorry, that is so beyond awful.” 

“She was an artist,” you eventually spoke again after moments of silence, “My mother, she was incredible. I still have some of her work, well what’s left of it anyway. ”

“Is that why you pursue it?” Sihtric questioned and you hummed in response.

“I never knew my mother,” he added, “She died when I was a baby, but I don’t remember her, I’ve only ever seen pictures.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the darkness and Sihtric rustled about in the bed a bit until he found your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

When you awoke in the morning it was to a feeling of warmth all around you and you were startled to find yourself fully wrapped up in Sihtric’s arms, who was still sleeping soundly beside you. 

“Sihtric?” you whispered panicked, but all he did was nuzzle further into you. 

“S’too early, go back to sleep,” he mumbled into your hair and groaned when you sat fully up in the bed, pulling the duvet with you.

“What's wrong?” he sighed running his hands through his loose curls and you sighed because it was genuinely cruel for a man to look that good first thing in the morning. 

“Look,” he reasoned, picking at a loose thread on the spread “You were tossing and turning all night, and I just figured you would be exhausted today if you didn't get some proper rest so I came down here and I held you and you stopped fussing and didn't move a muscle the rest of the night, and if you lay back down we could actually catch another hour or two, it's still early.”

You suddenly seemed very interested in the pattern on the duvet and were refusing to meet his eye. 

“Just c’’mere,” he urged gently, scooting back down and making room for you, and after what felt like an hour you lost the battle with your better judgement and crawled back into his waiting arms and he scooted back up behind you, throwing an arm over you and pulling you close. 

“Close your eyes,” he commanded softly and when your eyes finally fluttered closed you couldn't help but hope he couldn't feel how fast your heart was beating out of your chest.

The smell of coffee pulled you from the depths of sleep and you opened your eyes to find Sihtric struggling with a breakfast tray filled with pastries and two massive cups of coffee.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” he teased, gently settling the tray down on the bed and taking a seat down the end.

He huffed a laugh as you gasped “Thank you! Bless you!” and immediately took a huge chug of your coffee.

You both ate in a peaceful silence for a while before Sihtric finally spoke, “So I was thinking. Maybe it might be nice if we took a walk in the woods today. Get away from all the madness before dinner tonight, and maybe get to know each other a little better.” 

“Yeah,” you smiled lazily “That would actually be really nice, Sihtric.”

You took Sihtric along your favourite trail, one you hadn’t been back to since you were a teen and it was surprising how easily the conversation flowed and just what good company he really was. 

There was an openness and freeness to Sihtric that you really envied as he swapped stories about some of the antics he had gotten up to with his friends and you realised with a heaviness in your chest that nobody had made you feel this carefree in your entire life, especially at a time that was meant to be the most painful and stressful for you.

“Look I gotta ask,” Sihtric eventually stopped walking and turned completely to face you, “Why did you hire me? Surely there is some colleague or fellow artist out there who is dying for a chance to date you. We both know you would have no trouble finding a date, you didn’t need me.”

You sighed and then laughed “I have given up on love and dating forever. I’m really happy on my own and I guess if I invited someone to a wedding with me, it might give them the wrong idea. Plus my family are so much to deal with- hell I don’t even wanna deal with them. Just seemed cruel to inflict that on another person.” 

“Forever?” Sihtric asked with a cock of his eyebrow.

“Forever,” you confirmed adamantly. 

“Come on,” he reasoned “You don’t deserve to be alone forever.”

“Less painful that way though,” you tried to play it off as a joke walking on ahead of him again, but he could see the truth veiled thinly behind the words. 

He caught your hand as you went a little bit ahead and swirled you around.

“You have given up on yourself,” he tutted and pulled you closer “Don’t you remember how love feels, the butterflies, the longing, the aching. Don’t you ever want to feel that again?” he was almost whispering, eyes flicking down to your lips, “The rush of a first kiss,” he trailed off, pressing a slow, languid kiss to the side of your face, hand rising up to cup your face, and as he broke away he gently placed a kiss to each of your closed eyelids. But much to your disappointment his lips never met yours.

“You’re lying to yourself,” he whispered “You haven’t given up on love, you’ve given up on yourself and that breaks my fucking heart.” 

When your eyes fluttered open, they were glassy with tears and Sihtric’s face crumpled, he stroked your cheek with his thumb.

This isn't real, you had to remind yourself. 

That evening marked the arrival of Athelred and you were a ball of nerves all evening.

“Can you zip me up please?” you asked Sihtric who was waiting on the bed for you to finish getting ready, his fingers ghosted over the bare skin of your back and you watched him carefully in the mirror, as he gently slid the zipper up, he caught your eyes in the mirror and you were suddenly blushing furiously. He turned you around to face him.

“Do you want him back?” he asked softly, “If he tries to get you alone tonight, where do I stand? Do I let you go with him or do I come save you?” 

“Come save me,” you answered, voice shaking slightly, “Please don’t leave me on my own with him.”

“I won’t leave your side,” he promised, and then he looked like he was going to kiss you again, but refrained.

As usual the whirlwind that was Athelred swept in and caught everyone up in its orbit. Your stepmother and sister swooned around him, but Sihtric, true to his word, stuck by your side all night. Rubbing reassuring patterns on your knee or holding your hand whenever he sensed your unease. 

“So, Sihtric,” Athelred called from across the table disrupting the conversation the two of you were having, “I hear you are an architect,” it was hard to tell if he was smiling or sneering.

“I am,” Sihtric answered back, confidence bordering on cockiness.

“Oh? At what firm?” 

“Ragnarsson & Brothers,” Sihtric replied without missing a beat.

“Funny, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them,” there it was you thought, the snobbish, judgemental sneering, you were so accustomed to.

“That is funny,” Sihtric replied, leaning his elbows on the table, “Y/n never mentioned you were so interested in architecture.” 

Athelred seemed like he wanted to press the issue but he could see now was not the time or place.

“And how exactly did you two meet?” he went back to faking a smile again.

Sihtric took your hand in his and smiled widely “We met at a jewelry making class,” he brought your hand to his lips and placed a kiss to your knuckle and you couldn’t help the smile that broke out across your face.

“We’ve just recently started another one, haven’t we darling, every Wednesday evening.” 

Your heart was thumping in your chest because how had he even remembered a point so trivial you had mentioned in passing?

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. 

You were repeating it like a mantra in your mind but yet you could not stop the familiar feeling of butterflies in your stomach. 

After dinner, there was dancing in the marquee and you were tipsy.

Twirling around the floor with Sihtric, arms locked around each other and laughing so much your sides were beginning to hurt.

For someone so objectively sexy, he was a goofball and he was not afraid to dance with you even when there were no other men on the floor, he didn’t care for trying to be cool and that made him infinitely…cooler.

He dipped away to get you both drinks and you were dancing with your sister when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You thought it was Sihtric, you spun around but the smile immediately slipped off your face when you realised it was Athelred.

“May I?” he grinned like a shark and you searched the crowd for Sihtric but you couldn’t find him anywhere.

“Oh, come on, I’m sure your lover boy can spare you for one dance,” he mocked and grasped your hand in his and pulled you out into the middle of the floor.

You saw your stepmother's eyes visibly light up and felt as though all eyes were on you, you silently prayed that Sihtric would hurry up and come back.

“You know why they invited me this weekend don’t you? They’re hoping we will rekindle our little romance, and I can’t deny I was hoping for the same.” 

“I’m with Sihtric,” you cut him off, “Besides, there is nothing to rekindle.”

“Oh come on y/n,” he scoffed. “Girls like you don’t end up with guys like him. Look at him, the tattoos, the hair, what on earth does he have to offer you in terms of prospect and comfort.”

“How about love and safety?” you cut back and he scoffed again.

“Oh come off it you’re running around with ruffians, doing your little art on the side, we all know it’s just a protest and one of these days you will have to settle down.”

You tried to pull your hand from his, but his grip tightened, and you gasped at the pain, “Don’t be stupid, I am offering you a second chance here.” 

“You’re offering me a second chance?” you spat trying again to wrench your hand back, “You gave me a black eye and destroyed my mother’s paintings, it should be you begging me for a second chance, which by the way you wouldn’t get if you were the last man left alive,”

“Shh,” he warned, jerking you angrily “I warned you not to bring that up again. Ever.”

“Let go of me!” you spat, pulling your hand ferociously but he would not relent.

“She said Let.Go,” you heard Sihtric’s commanding voice behind you and you ran to him the moment Athelered released you and he caught you in his arms.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Athelred spat between his teeth.

“My girl is my concern,” Sihtric spat “And if she tells you to take your hands off her you had better do it quicker in future, or you won’t have hands anymore.” 

Athelred smiled his fake shark like smile and rose his hands in surrender, mindful of the people watching, “Just a little misunderstanding between two past lovers,” he moved away and Sihtric finally gave his full attention to you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, hooking a finger under your chin to make you look at him, you were trying to play it off but eventually you shook your head and Sihtric pulled you into a hug.

“You wanna get out of here?” he drawled and you nodded into his chest and let him lead you off the dancefloor into the gardens, twinkling with the fairy lights draped overhead. 

You walked hand in hand for a while through the edges and down towards the lake, before you finally felt like talking.

“He wanted to give me a second chance,” you laughed bitterly, “Like I’m the one who was in the wrong, like I didn’t have to sneak out of our house in the middle of the night to escape him.”

“What happened?” Sihtric asked, he wasn’t prying but he wanted to help.

“He came home drunk, smelling like another woman, and it was no secret he was cheating on me the entire relationship, but this time I had had enough, I packed my bags, but as I went to walk out the door, he grabbed me,” you stopped because it was truly embarrassing and you had never told another soul this in your entire life, “And he punched me as hard as he could, and while I was crying, nursing the cut on my cheek, he destroyed my mother’s paintings in rage. All I had left of her, destroyed in an instant.”

Your words from the other night came back to stab Sihtric in the chest “What’s left of it anyway… ” 

Sihtric was suddenly seething “I will kill him if he lays another finger on you. I should go back up there and knock that fucking smirk off his face.”

“Don't,” you begged, reaching for him, “We just have two more days to get through and then I never have to see him or any of these hypocrites ever again. But I can't do it without you, you're the only thing keeping me sane right now and if you go up there and punch him -”

-”No of course, you're right. It just makes me sick that he could hurt you like that and yet your family would want you to take him back.”

“They don't know. You're actually the only person I've ever told.”

Sihtric’s face crumpled and he reached out for you, “Okay,” he whispered, “But I don't think I can look at him again tonight without ripping his head clean off his shoulders. So,” he proposed “How about we steal two bottles of that expensive champagne and have our own party in our room.”

“Sounds like the best idea you've ever had Kjartansson.”

The music was blaring and Sihtric was hanging out the window smoking a cigarette. 

“Those things are gonna be the death of you,” you teased from the bed and he turned around to face you, you had long discarded your heels and were sprawled across the bed, one arm lazily draped over your forehead listening in a drunken haze to the songs he had selected. 

He wished it was the drink, really wished it was, but it wasn't.

It really wasn't the drink that had him focusing on the way your hair fell down around your shoulders, the way your lashes fanned against your cheeks when you blinked or the way your bare legs looked like satin just begging to be touched, and it sent his head into overspin. 

“You're gonna be the death of me,” he groaned and you had the cheek to cock your head innocently as if you didn't understand what he was talking about. 

He stalked his way over to you, and you sat back eyeing him suspiciously. 

He stopped before you and reached out his hand, “Dance with me,” he drawled and you allowed him to pull you up, and locked your arms around his neck, as he swayed you gently to the music, his mismatched eyes smouldering into yours, he fisted his hand up into your hair and brushed his thumb across your lips, you all but whimpered under his touch and before you could overthink it, you pressed up onto your tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. 

“I'm sorry,” you gushed “I'm so sorry you said no kiss-”

He cut you off by pressing his lips back to yours and it was needy and passionate and your head was spinning, not from the alcohol. 

Uhtred’s voice flashed like a warning in Sihtric’s head but he rushed it away, “Rule number one, never catch feelings for a client.”

You weren't sure when kissing became discarded clothes, and being pinned down under the weight of Sihtric’s body, or nail marks down his back and bite marks on your skin that you were hoping concealer would cover for your sister’s wedding, and you definitely weren't sure how one time became two, or how you ended up in the shower of your ensuite together, warm water running down your aching muscles. 

But as you lay wrapped up in his arms that night, you had to repeat that same mantra that haunted you this entire week. 

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. 

But no matter how much you said it, you knew this was only going to lead to you getting hurt.

“My father killed my mother,” Sihtric whispered into the night and you twisted in his arms to face him, “He used to beat her black and blue, and when she wasn’t around anymore he did it to me. That’s why I wanted to kill Aethelred earlier because the thought of someone hurting you like that makes me sick.”

You caressed his face with your thumb and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, “I’m sorry,” you told him truthfully and he nuzzled into your neck.

“The shitty situation I was running from, was because I beat him to a pulp, left him for dead but the bastard survived, almost killed me in return, kicked me out into the street and I had nowhere to go. This job allowed me the financial freedom to escape him and I’ve been doing it ever since. I just need you to know that that’s the man you are laying with. That’s my baggage.”

“I don’t care,” you cried, “We are not our families and we survived the best way we knew how, I would never judge you for what you’ve had to do to get by.”

He burrowed into you and you wrapped your arms around him.

“I need to ask-” you said but wished you could take it back because his mismatched eyes were glistening in the moonlight and the moment was so fragile you were afraid what you said next would shatter everything, and when he nodded for you to continue, you swallowed thickly.

“Have you ever done this with another client? Kissed them, lay with them? I’m not judging- I just. I just need to know that this is real.”

“Never,” he told you solemnly “You are the first and only. The only one who has never tried to take advantage. The first to respect my boundaries and not pressure me into doing things I don’t want to do.”

You released the breath you didn’t even realise you were holding and he took your hand in his and placed it on his chest, over his heart “And this is real.” 

“Let me show you,” he mumbled, climbing on top of you, brushing his fingers through your hair as he kissed his way down your aching body, disappearing between the sheets to nip at the skin on your thighs and you gasped as he parted them, hands tangling in his mass of loose curls as he lapped at the skin of your most sensitive parts and he offered no reprieve until you were a panting, sweaty mess as you came around him, climbing triumphantly up the bed to rest his head on your chest and your arms locked around him, and for the first time in all your time together you ignored the mantra you had been repeating all week. 

“Good morning beautiful,” Sihtric husked, kissing any piece of bare skin his lips could reach and you giggled in his arms. 

“Our second last day together,” you pouted and Sihtric chuckled. “I wouldn't be so sure of that,” he kissed the pout off your lips. 

“Although I do remember telling you that sex would cost you extra,” he teased and you looked at him in mock hurt. 

“How much more?” you shrieked and he pretended to think about it carefully for a moment. 

“Hmm, how about a date when all of this is over? I mean I know you have sworn off dating forever and all,l but I figured you might make an exception,” he mused and you turned in his arms to take in his beauty in the morning light. 

“I will make an exception, just for you,” you told him genuinely and the smile that broke out across his face was absolutely radiant. 

His heart fluttered in his chest, he knew he had been crossing boundaries with you all weekend, he had been the first to kiss you yesterday, albeit not on the lips, but he had still broken his own most important rule within two days of knowing you. You had slept together last night and that had been another boundary crossed, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. He had been attracted to you from the moment he’d met you on the platform, coffee in hand waiting for him, and god dammit if you weren’t the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

Sihtric tagged along with you to the city to go pick up the bridesmaid dresses from the tailors.

He held your hand in the car, he opened your door for you and he kissed you at every possible moment, hands tangled up in yours, arm slung around your shoulder, or hand placed delicately on your lower back, you soon learned that physical touch was his love language, he simply had to be touching you and for the first time in your whole life you didn’t mind the feeling of a man’s hands on you at all times.

When you had stopped for coffee, he insisted on paying and it was genuinely nice to have someone want to take care of you this way.

Your stomach would lurch every time you thought about this week ending, would you be able to make it work on the outside? Would he feel the same about you once he was back in the ‘real world,’  and had the freedom to see whoever he wanted? You didn’t want those doubts to creep in but Sihtric was an absolute God amongst men and you had not been treated well by much lesser of men.

“Hmm?” you chimed, pulled from your thoughts on the drive home by something Sihtric had said.

“I just said, would you maybe like to come for drinks with my friends some night after our proper date that is?” 

You paused for a moment, your heart swelling with the cuteness of this man and you turned your head to smile his way “I would love that,” you smiled genuinely and his face erupted with a huge grin.

“Good, because they will absolutely adore you. You’re going to want to leave me for Finan but I won’t allow it because you’re all mine!” 

You laughed because this man was ridiculous, as if you would even look at another man when this man was on your arm. 

Tonight was the night before the wedding, and there was a huge rehearsal dinner planned. It was almost a mini wedding itself.

You watched Sihtric dress in dinner slacks and a white shirt and your heart fluttered with adoration as he fumbled with his tie, you moved into his space and began to arrange his tie for him, his eyes kept flicking down to your lips and he moved into your space and kissed you.

“Do you think if we had met under different circumstances you would have given me a chance?” he suddenly asked and you stopped his ministrations on his tie.

“Sihtric,” you stressed “Why would you even ask such a thing?”

“Look at you,” he mused, turning you around to face the mirror as his arms circled around your stomach “You are so out of my league,” he spoke into the skin of your neck “I don’t even deserve to look at you, let alone touch you. With my job, with what I do, are you not ashamed? You could do so much better than this. Than me.” 

You turned in his arms and locked your own around his neck, “I’m not ashamed of you, and I couldn’t do better than you if I tried,” you told him honestly and you meant it, and that seemed to satiate him enough to put his mind somewhat at ease, “More than that, I don’t want anyone else but you.”

You were slightly late making your way down to dinner because as soon as you had put your dinner dress on, Sihtric had removed it and your sister sent you a knowing smirk as soon as you sat down. 

“Sorry I’m late,” you muttered slightly bashful and she shrugged you off, “It’s alright we’re still waiting for Aethelred,” she told you and you searched the table, silently noting that he was indeed absent. 

Sihtric grabbed your chair and pulled you as physically close as possible, you were absorbed in your own little conversation and barely even noticed Aethelred’s arrival until a folder landed with a thump in front of you and his figure loomed over you.

“I’m sorry to do this here but I think you deserve to know the truth,” he rushed and you looked between the folder on the table and him.

“What is this?” you quirked and Sihtric went to reach for the files.

Aethelred began to raise his voice and you began to suspect there was about to be a performance.

“You deserve to know the truth,” he spoke and then pointed his index directly into Sihtric’s face “About this con artist. He is not who he says he is!” he spat and continued “He is not an architect, he is a hooker and has been lying to your face from the moment he met you!”

With trembling fingers you opened the folder and there in black and white was Sihtric’s escort profile and you felt like you were trapped in a glass dome that was coming crashing down in sharp shards all around you.

Your stepmother swiped the folder from your hands and her eyes flew between the printed pages in front of her and Sihtric who had gone completely rigid beside you.

“You swine!” she shrieked “You dishonest swine, you would lie to her like this just to worm your way in and all this time you are whoring yourself out to sad cases who can’t find a man of their own?”

You felt white hot rage surge through your body and you glared into Aethelred’s smug face.

“I’m so sorry to do this you Let, but you deserved to know the truth.” 

“He’s a hooker?” you heard someone whisper down the table and you were rising to your feet in an instant.

“He is not the one who has been lying!” you spat “I’ve known who he was from the moment I met him. And he is the most honest, decent man sitting at this table.” 

You were shaking with rage and you watched the realisation wash over Aethelred’s face and he began to laugh, “Oh my God, you never thought he was an architect…you booked him.”

“I did!” you spat, “And how dare you humiliate him like this, with your fake bullshit concern, you didn’t do this for me but for your sick gratification you fucking tiny, insignificant man.”

“You brought a hooker to your own sister’s wedding?” your step mother guffawed and you rounded on her.

“I did, and he is the best man I have ever met. He is worth 10 of every single one of you sat here tonight and I am ashamed to even call you my family.”

“You know you don’t get extra for pretending to care for her,” Aethelred mocked, “Worming your way into her knickers is one thing but worming your way into your heart, now that was a good one, and she’s so fucking gullible, it was the perfect crime and you nearly got away with it.”

Sihtric was out of his seat and had his hands on Aethelred before you could even react.

In the scuffle that ensued Aethelred’s lip was bloodied and Sihtric’s hair had come free from his bun in loose, unruly curls.

“You fucking beat her black and blue. You destroyed her mother’s paintings and you stand here judging me?” Sihtric was roaring as he was being pulled away from a sneering Aethelred, “I might be a fucking hooker but I would rather die, than touch one hair on her head. You scumbag!” 

Your sister and mother were looking horrified between both men and then your sister’s worried eyes landed on yours, “This is why you left him?” she almost cried and all you could do in the moment was nod, Sihtric was being held back by your father, his chest rising and falling in anger and he spat on the ground.

“You fucking hypocrites. You give her a cruel nickname that she can’t stand. You allow her to be abused by this piece of weasel shit and you stand here now and judge her? I am what I am but at least I can be honest with myself, you are all sitting here in a house of bullshit and you can’t even see the amazing, kind hearted girl right here in front of you.”

He shrugged your father off violently and stormed off across the grass and you followed in pursuit, but he didn’t stop until he made his way the whole way to your room, flinging the door open and throwing clothes into his bag.

“You’re leaving?” you cried when you finally reached him and he whirled on you like you were crazy.

“Of course I’m leaving!” he spat rushing around the room picking up discarded items and flinging them into his bag, “And you’d be a fool not to too!”

“It’s my sister’s wedding tomorrow,” you tried to reason, “I’m a bridesmaid, I can’t just up and abandon her.”

“Your choice,” he simply scoffed and you tried to reach for him.

“I’m sorry,” you cried and it sounded like begging, “Please don’t leave.”

He shrugged out of your grasp and began furiously zipping up his suitcase.

“Don’t,” he warned when you tried to reach for him again and when he realised he was packed he turned to you, “Are you coming, or not?” 

“Sihtric I can’t,” you cried, “Please I am so sorry about Aethelred. I’m sorry about it all, but please we can face it together. I have to stay for her, but I can’t do it on my own. I need you.”

“Come with me,” he reasoned “Come with me or stay, but either way I am leaving.”

Your head was spinning because you always knew, deep down, that this day was going to come, you knew he would see enough, or wake up enough to know that he deserved better than you and he would leave.

He sniffed and then nodded in acceptance that you were not going to leave and flung his bag up onto his back and then pulled his suitcase from the bed.

“Fine stay, and let them walk all over you as always. What’s it got to do with me anyway?” 

“You’re hurt and you have every reason to be, but you’re lashing out at me, but you know I have no choice here.”

“You have a choice,” he scoffed “And you’re making the wrong one.”

“I’m staying,” you said defiantly, even though your whole body was shaking. “Because I am sick of running. I’m sick of letting them dictate who I should be. I am not ashamed of you, or our time together and I will not let them make me feel embarrassed another moment of my life, and I will stand by my little sister’s side tomorrow and I will do her proud, with or without you. But I really wish it was with, so I am begging you, please stay with me?”

He seemed to consider you for a moment but he was too angry to take in what you were really asking of him.

“I would like to be paid now,” he sniffed again, as if he had disregarded everything you had just said.

“Paid?” you asked, voice small.

“Yeah. I am a hooker in case you needed reminding and I would like to be paid for my services.”

“Right,” you blinked quickly, feeling the dagger twist in your chest, “Right of course.”

You ruffled in your nightstand until you found the pale brown envelope you had kept from the moment you had booked Sihtric, you had put some extra in there over the week as time progressed and now your hands shook as you passed it his way and he snatched it from your hands, and tears sprang to your eyes as he made his way towards the door.

“Is this really how it ends?” you couldn’t help but cry as he reached for the handle,and Sihtric’s face softened ever so slightly.

“We’ve been fooling ourselves all week. Talking about us as if we were ever real. Carrying on as if this wasn’t the way it was always supposed to end” he replied, “In a way Aethered did us both a favour to snap us out of it.” 

And there it was, the sickening proof that what you had been reminding yourself all week had been true. 

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. 

When you didn’t respond he pulled the door open and made his way outside into the hall.

“Goodbye Y/n, good luck with everything. I hope one day you find what you deserve and the right man to give it to you. But I think we both know that’s not me.” 

There had been no more trains going to London by the time Sihtric arrived at the station and he huffed in anger as he flung his bags down, realising he would have to sleep in the station.

“Good,” he muttered as he settled down on the waiting room floor, anything was better than staying in that bullshit place with your snivelling excuse of an ex, he only wished he had gotten one more swing at him before anyone else stepped in but he was satisfied that at least some of his blows had landed.

He pulled his jacket around him to protect him from the chill and pulled the envelope he had hastily stuffed in his pocket out and emptied the contents into his hands.

He ruffled through the wads of cash and realised with a turn of his stomach that there was way more than the agreed upon price there and finally a tiny hand written note.

“For keeping me sane this week and not running no matter how tough it got xx”

His heart sank down to his toes, he couldn’t shake the image of your shaking form in the bedroom as he threw shots intended to hurt your way. He thought if he could convince you that none of it was real, he would believe it too.

He had been a fool and worse than that he had been cruel and for what? All because Aethelred had wounded his pride and humiliated him.

You had defended him in front of your whole family, refused to be ashamed of him, pleaded with him to stay and he had thrown it all back in your face, all because you had the bravery to stand and face what he was too embarrassed to.

He broke his one promise to you, that he wouldn’t leave you on your own and all because he couldn’t take two minutes to sit with his feelings and cool down.

Maybe it was because everyone had spoken his worst fears out loud and Aethelred had laid it all out in black and white for everyone to see, he wasn’t good enough for you, and if you had never booked him, he would never have even had a seat at that table with you.

But he had laid himself bare for you in the moonlight and you hadn’t rejected him, and now as the sun rose you would be left to deal with his shame and shortcomings all on your own.

And he had broken every single rule in the book from the moment he realised he had feelings for you, and then it hit him like a brick and all at once, he had fallen in love with you and now it was all over.

His fingers shook as he bought his ticket and texted Uhtred asking to pick him up once his train landed in London.

He had gone too far, messed up too badly to come back and ask you for forgiveness so he took the cowardly way out, he did what he always did when things got real, he ran.

And so the train to London pulled in, he took one last breath and released it as it departed.

Your eyes were red and puffy from crying, and the makeup artist scolded you, asking if you’d had any sleep at all, but you weren’t about to tell her you had cried yourself to sleep that night.

You slapped a smile on your face for all the photos of getting ready with the bridal party, and despite the filthy looks your stepmother was throwing your way nobody brought up the antics of last night, until your sister came to sit beside you and handed you a champagne flute.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried “About the nickname, about pushing you to get back with Aethelred, for everything. Sihtric was right about everything, we’ve treated you so cruelly and I promise you I will never make you feel like that again.” 

“Today is about you,” you squeezed her hand through your tears and she shook her head.

“I couldn’t do this without you,” she protested “You’ve always been by my side no matter what, no matter how horrible Mum and Dad are, you’ve never abandoned me and I’ve taken you so for granted. I wouldn’t have blamed you for cutting and running today, but I’m eternally grateful that you didn’t.”

You smiled her way and shook your head “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sihtric?” she tried and you shook your head, refusing to meet her eye.

“Gone,” was all you offered and she pulled you to her in a bruising hug.

“For what it matters and despite what anyone else may say, it is impossible for anyone to fake the way he looked at you all week, I think he genuinely fell for you.”

“Maybe he did,” you said weakly, “But Aethelred killed it all dead, there was no going back from that humiliation.”

The bridal music began to play and you watched the first bridesmaid make her way up the aisle, followed by the second and when it was your turn you took a huge breath, nodded and held your head high as you began the ascent. You knew all eyes were on you and you ignored them all, but the wind was knocked completely from your lungs when you took your place at the top of the aisle and there standing in the back row, two- pleading- mismatched eyes locked with yours and it took everything in you not to cry there and then, so much so you could barely focus on your sister’s grand entrance.

Once the vows were swapped and the couple were deemed man and wife, you followed the procession down the aisle, eyes locked on Sihtric, afraid that if you took your eyes off him for just one second he would disappear.

He made his way over to you as soon as you cleared the aisle and you were struggling to find the words.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, the fragile hope in your voice almost shattered the tiny ounce of resolve he had.

“I promised I wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“But you did,” you cried and grief carved its way across his face.

“I did,” he replied, voice raw and cracked, almost like it pained him to say, “But I came back for you and I won’t leave you again, until you send me away.”

“Sihtric,” you cried, tears pooling in your eyes “You told me it wasn’t real and I begged you- I begged you to stay.”

“I lied,” he rushed, words fast and desperate “I lied. I pushed you away because that made it easier for me to run. I was cruel. I was embarrassed and I lied. I know I have no right to even be here but I needed you to know that it was real for me, and the thought of leaving you to face this all on your own made me want to tear my own skin off. Even if you never want me again, I just needed to be here for you.”

“Sihtric, I don’t know,” you cried, hurt etched all over your features “You’re here and you’re saying all the right things, but I am shattered, I so desperately want to believe you but I’m scared,” he nodded, eyes boring pleadingly into yours, but he fumbled in his suit jacket pocket and pulled the envelope you had given him the night before and thrust it into your hands.

“I’m never gonna leave your side again, if you allow me. And I don’t know how else to prove to you right now that my feelings for you are real but to say I don’t want this- I just want you.”

You looked at the envelope in your hand and went to argue but he cut you off by repeating, “I just want you.” 

Your name being called caught your attention and you hastily wiped your eyes, and thrust the envelope back into his hands.

“Can you please..stay. We will talk later I promise. Just. Please stay.”

“How long are you going to make him suffer?” your sister asked gently, after the speeches had ended and the band began to play, and you followed her line of sight to where Sihtric was sat alone, head down-turned, but still here.

“I don’t want him to suffer, I just need time to figure it all out.”

“Y/n, he came back for you. Despite what everyone here thinks of him and did to him last night. He’s here, and he’s here for you.”

“I think I’m in love with him,” you finally admitted and your sister smiled a small sympathetic smile “Of course you are,” she sighed “And I think you should go for it. You deserve to be happy,” she looked in disgust to where Aethelred was sat at the other end of the top table, “You never laughed with him the way you do with Sihtric, he lights you up and you deserve every second of it.” 

“What if he breaks my heart?” you cried and your sister squeezed your knee.

“You’re breaking your own by not giving him a second chance,” she quipped, and you knew she was right..

You had barely stepped into his line of sight when he was up from his chair and standing to attention.

“Okay,” you replied, voice small and he was stepping into your space with a childlike excitement.

“Okay?” he repeated.

“Okay,” you nodded “I want this. I want us to try again. I want you-”

You hadn’t even finished your sentence when he was scooping you up and peppering kisses all over your face, each one dissipating the worry you had buried in your chest.

You took the band from his hair and freed his curls from the bun they were trapped in, you tore his tie off and threw it aside and he watched you with a curious quirk of his head.

“But the real you- not the one we were trying to impress my family with,” you popped open the top two buttons of his shirt to reveal his neck tattoo, and ran your hand over his pecs under his shirt.

“Not Sihtric the perfect date. Not Sihtric the architect. But my Sihtric.”

He smiled his huge, breathtaking smile and dove in to kiss you.

“I’m just warning you,” he mumbled against your skin “I’m never gonna leave your side again.”

“Good,” you laughed. “Because you are my date to every single event I can think of for the foreseeable future.”

“And you’re my last,” he told you and he shook his head “I’m getting out of this game, I’m tired of running, I’ve found everything I’ve been looking for and I won’t risk losing you again. You remember when I told you you were the first and only client I’ve ever kissed, I want you to be my last client, and the first girl I give my all to.”

You kissed him, because you could, because he was yours to kiss and when you pulled away you looked at him honestly.

“What will you do for work?” 

“I had been saving up to open my own motorcycle work shop with Uhtred and Finan, Uhtred got out last year, and now it’s my time.”

“Sihtric the mechanic,” you smiled and he smiled too.

“But first I have to dance with my girl,” he grinned and before you could protest he was pulling you out into the middle of the floor, spinning you around under the lights and for the first time since you arrived at this godforsaken place, you didn’t care who was watching.

In fact you hoped they all were.

Tagging:

@canyonmoon-2 @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @thenameswinter99 @foxyanon

@acdassenza @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @gemini-mama

@troyottonick @alexagirlie

a-beaverhausen nebulamorada izzydlb knight-of-flowerss

justcuriousandbored @leftoverp1zza @cheesesandwichsanto

[waitingandwishing]

since prom season is here, i was wondering if you could write romantic headcannons for the SBG kids with f reader at prom?how they ask, what they wear, and generally what they do and how they have fun at prom

ooh yes!!

-> context: Prom, prom, prom

-> fandom: school bus graveyard

-> warnings: none?

ASHLYNN:

Oh my lord did this girl overthink things. She spent days thinking about it before eventually asking, "Would you go to prom with me?" Fortunately, you said yes, and her parents were so excited when they found out you were her date to prom!

Honestly, she's pretty nervous. She didn't really think this far since she was so sure you would say no, so she had no idea what she was doing. Thankfully, you didn't know either.

For Ashlynn's outfit, she wore her hair up in a high pony tail and wore a suit. (Like that one art that Red posted I believe!)

She's not really a big dancing person, especially with the loud speakers and stuff like that, but if you asked her too she'd do it for you. She's actually really light on her feet (Obviously because she did ballet) and you too had a great time together! "Thanks for... Doing this with me."

AIDEN:

This one’s not subtle. He goes big. Tbh, I'm just imagining Aiden show up at your house with a loud speaker playing that one song that goes, 'What is LOOOVE baby don't hurt me' or something like that with a huge sign with puns like “Out of All the Fish in the Sea… Will You Go to Prom With Me?” or “I Know This is Cheesy, But I’d Relish Going to Prom With You!”

Even though he seems pretty excited, that's mostly because he's nervous. You're just so charming and stunning, what if he passes out?!

He probably wears a suit, much to his dismay. His tie is loose, his hair is messy, but he still looks much more put together then usual. You're not used to seeing him clean up well so it's a surprise.

I swear he's everywhere at once. His energy is slightly overwhelming, but never boring. He drags you onto the dance floor IMMEDIATELY and even afterwards he WILL try to dance with you every 10 minutes. But you two enjoyed every minute of it because what was better then spending time with someone you love? "This is better then I imagined it to be, y'know?" (Platonically or romantically)

LOGAN:

He overprepared. Runs through a whole script in their head and still forgets half of it when the moment comes. But he did give you an adorable bouquet of flowers from his grandparents, “I-I made this… it’s okay if you say no, I just thought maybe… You would go to prom with me?" It was awkward, but so genuine that it was impossible not to smile and say no (Not like you were planning to anyways).

Obviously he was nervous, who wouldn't have been? He wasn't sure why you said yes or why he even asked you in the first place! Well, he knew why. You were kind, breathtaking, and so amazing it was hard to NOT ask you!

He wore a classic suit that’s just slightly too big since it was his grandfathers from when he was younger (That surpisingly fit him). His hair was fussed with too much, then immediately messed up by nerve but you loved it.

He started the night super stiff and unsure of what to do. Kind of hugs the wall or hovers near the snacks. He's also very sweet and respectful and nervously offers his hand for slow dances. "I'm really glad you came with me.”

TAYLOR:

She didn't need a huge stunt, she just wanted to make you feel special. Probably does something simple but meaningful like bringing flowers and a handmade sign with an inside joke.

She likes you a lot. You're honestly the best friend (Maybe???) she ever had and she had been looking forward to asking you out for prom. She doesn't exactly know what she's doing but she wants to make sure you're having a good time with her as much as she will with you!

Probably wore a flowy dress, something that feels easy and bright. Her hair was probably soft and styled up in a low bun. She looked so effortlessly cute and sort of 'spring-themed'.

Greeted you with a hug and a compliment. On the dance floor, she knew all the lyrics and danced kind of clumsily (But you loved it anyways) with zero shame because why would she be ashamed when she was having a great time with you?

At some point, you caught her staring at you with a small smile while holding your hand. “This is a good night.”

TYLER:

Absolutely NOT the kind to plan a big promposal. They’d rather be set on fire. But it's you. And you're the best. So he'll try plan something (With Taylor's help of course). Of course, he got embarrassed halfway through and abandoned the fancy stuff and just handed you the gift instead.

He's trying to be chill but is definitely dying inside. He's definitely brushing off his emotions though since he doesn't know exactly what to do.

His suit is pretty minimalist, it was his dads (Bittersweet, I know), and he didn't know how his family or you were going to react. His mom almost cried but smiled and told him he looked just like his dad, his sister teased him all night. He says he's not dressing up for anyone but then proceeds to look amazing.

He pretends that his doesn't care about prom but he show up. On time. Looking great. On the dance floor, he makes comments about how stupid the slow dance is but will sway along with you during prom with a small smile on his face when you look away (He's whipped).

BEN

He's actually such a chill guy I'm not even joking bro. He'd give you a small music box, sheet music, or a handmade card that says something like: “I can’t say it out loud… But will you go to prom with me?” (Yes Aiden pushed him to ask you out) or play a song on the guitar beforehand (And yes Tyler had to teach him)

Probably would wear a classy suit of course but would match whatever color your wearing as well. There's a sort of soft elegance that Ben has whenever you see him.

Prom is a sensory experience for him. He feels it deeply. The music vibrating through his chest, lights pulsing like a heartbeat, people laughing and dancing.

He'll tap you on the shoulder and point at the dancefloor. You'll gladly dance with him, and sway with him. Your practically glowing in his eyes, laughing and smiling and looking at him. Your here for him.

(A/n: I really liked doing this one for some reason lol)

[bamgyuuuri]

⤷ perfectly strange ┈ cyj.

sypnosis. your boyfriend, yeonjun, was weird—not in a joking way, no, the man was genuinely strange. even so, you wouldn’t want him any other way.

pairings and tags. boyfriend!choi yeonjun x fond!reader (f/m) . established relationship . fluff . yeonjun is straight up weird but in an adorable way . domestic fluff. humor (i tried)

word count. 1.1k

short note … based off of that one trend from twt hehe,, also okay maybe it's not exactly a Drabble drabble but still ^_^ just an appreciation fic for this man because i genuinely love him and his little quirks so much sigh yeonjun please never ever change your ways

your boyfriend, yeonjun, was weird. no, not the kind of weird you’d casually call quirky or charming, but genuinely strange in a way that made you both laugh and wonder how on earth he ended up in your life. it wasn’t just his random acts or the way he would suddenly burst into song at the most unexpected times; it was his whole vibe. 

yeonjun had a knack for making even the most mundane moments feel like an adventure, turning every day into something full of surprises. his oddball antics made life with him feel like a never-ending comedy show, and somehow, you found yourself completely in love and utterly smitten with his unpredictability.

it wasn’t unusual to find him in the middle of the living room, wiggling his body like a noodle to some beat only he could hear. the music was in his head, but you could see it in the way his shoulders jerked in a rhythmic dance, the way his legs would shuffle like he was about to break into a full-on jig. you couldn’t help but stare, your mouth slightly agape as you tried to figure out whether he was serious or not. but yeonjun? he was dead serious, as if this impromptu performance was the most natural thing in the world.

“jjunie,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “what on earth are you doing?”

without missing a beat, he’d stop mid-dance, flash you a goofy grin, and respond with utter confidence, “oh, you know, just... feeling the beat.” then, he’d continue his weird little dance, making it seem as if the world around him didn’t exist. but despite how odd his little dance was, he still somehow made it look good.

the fun didn’t stop there, though. yeonjun’s talents extended to something as simple as charades. while most people would act out words with subtle gestures or nods, yeonjun’s version of charades was nothing short of a one-man theater performance; his facial expressions were exaggerated, his body movements outlandish, and the absurdity of it all was contagious. you would watch as he pretended to be a flamingo trying to fly or an octopus attempting to play basketball—his face contorting in the silliest of ways.

“you’re an absolute menace,” you’d tease him, struggling to hold back your laughter. and he’d just grin like he knew exactly how ridiculous he looked, yet not minding one bit as long as he sees you break into a smile.

there was a time, though, when he completely outdid himself. 

the time he decided to “spice up” your evening by transforming the living room into a “romantic candlelit dinner.” it wasn’t that he lacked the intention; he’d thoughtfully placed a dozen candles around the room, but it was the way he did it that had you in stitches. 

instead of lighting them properly, he’d taken the easy route and used a lighter, resulting in one candle that was slightly lopsided, another that had wax dripping down in bizarre angles, and a third that was already flickering out. the best part? yeonjun was sitting cross-legged on the floor, smiling and watching in complete seriousness as if he’d just planned the most sophisticated, luxurious dinner.

“you know,” you said, fighting a smile, “i’m surprised the place hasn’t burnt down yet.”

yeonjun’s face lit up with his trademark smile. “hey, it looks good! and that’s the charm of it! i thought it was… avant-garde.”

you leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, giggling fondly as you sat next to him. “don’t worry. i think it looks amazing.”

it was in moments like these, when you were sitting on the floor with him, laughing about his latest dinner date experiment, that you realized just how much you absolutely adored him; his quirks, his goofy nature, and his ability to make even the simplest things feel special—all of it was what made him, him.

yet, as goofy and strange as yeonjun was, there was so much more to him. beneath his ridiculous exterior was a person full of warmth, kindness, and tenderness. yeonjun had this rare ability to balance his silliness with the kind of love that made you feel completely seen and heard.

when you were feeling down or exhausted, he would always know exactly how to cheer you up—whether it was by making you laugh with one of his absurd antics or by simply sitting beside you, holding your hand, and letting you know that everything would be okay.

whenever you had a bad day, yeonjun would show up with your favorite snack, a cup of tea, or even just a comforting smile. he’d sit next to you, ask what was bothering you, and listen intently without judgment. he had this incredible way of making you feel understood, of making you feel like you mattered in ways that few others could. there was no need for grand gestures. sometimes, just the way he looked at you was enough to make you feel loved.

and when you didn’t feel your best, yeonjun would never rush you or make you feel like a burden. he’d quietly wrap you in his arms, letting you know that he was there for you no matter what. he was patient, always willing to listen, and never pressured you to talk if you weren’t ready. but when you did talk, he always listened with the utmost attention, validating your feelings and offering support in the gentlest way possible.

you’d often find him surprising you with little things—making you a cup of hot chocolate on a cold evening, sending you a playlist of songs that reminded him of you and your time together, or even tidying up the apartment just because he knew it would make your day easier.

it was in those moments, when you least expected it, that you saw how deeply he loves you and cares for you. yeonjun was constantly thinking of ways to make your life a little brighter, and it made you feel like the luckiest person alive.

“do you need anything?” he’d ask, his voice soft but full of concern. and you’d smile, knowing that you didn’t just have a boyfriend in him—you had someone who loved you wholeheartedly, someone who made your happiness his priority.

even though he could be so ridiculously strange, in the most endearing way possible, there was never any doubt in your mind that yeonjun was the person you wanted by your side. his kindness, his humor, and his ability to make you laugh through the toughest times were gifts you cherished deeply. he made the ordinary extraordinary, and his love made every day a little brighter.

you would chuckle, the sound warm and full of affection. “you really are a weird one.”

he’d smile so brightly that your heart would swell with love for him. “i’m your weird one,” he’d say, as if that was the best thing he could be.

and he was. he truly was your weird one. your sweet, goofy, thoughtful, and incredibly loving yeonjun. 

[lowrisemiller]

she keeps me up 𐚁₊⊹

no outbreak!joel x fem!reader

chapter 2- job benefits | masterlist |

| main masterlist |

summary- Reader applies for a babysitting job, only to discover the father is Joel—the guy she recently had a fling with. Despite the surprise, they agree on the arrangement while acknowledging their mutual attraction. Later, she officially meets Joel’s daughter, Sarah, as she prepares for her first day on the job.

word count- 2.8k

a/n- hey!! so happy with how this is goin so far, I've planned out how the whole story is goin go and I released a masterlist along with a playlist and a little Pinterest board :) alsoooo I will be adding this to my ao3 account soon when I figure it out lol my tag on ao3 is millervika555 -sweetgirl out <333

p.s. you can imagine any joel miller but i’m writing sarah from the hbo series:)

warnings- SMUT YALL some finger action, grinding, and smooches. cursing and I think that's it. small mentions of divorce

“I am in need of a babysitter for my 10 year old daughter. I am a divorced parent who got promoted at work and will not be able to be there for my little girl as much as I used to. Looking for a young adult with a basic schedule.” 

Seems simple enough.

I pulled up to the house. It was cute. In a suburban little neighborhood not too far from Round Up actually. This made me ache a bit but I had to get it together.

I put on my best customer service smile and knocked on the door.

When it opened I gasped and nearly fell to my knees.

It was fucking Joel.

I could feel my face heat up as I stood there and stared. He was standing there in all his beautiful broad glory staring at me with wide eyes.

“Sweetheart?” Joel asks in the softest tone ever. I almost forgave him for not texting me all this week. Almost. But there were bigger things to worry about now.

“Joel... are you the parent in need of a babysitter?” I finally spoke even though it came out a little shaky. 

He nodded and opened his door further motioning for me to come in. 

I walked in after him. I could feel the warmth radiating off of him as I passed him. It took my breath away. 

Gosh get it together. You barely know the guy. But boy is he dreamy.

I finally took the chance to look around his home. Cozy and big. Framed photos are found on every surface, his little girl was cute. They share the same smile and the same eyes.

“So... is she here? Your daughter?” I decided to break the silence.

“Nah she’s at her mother’s.” He said while leaning on the counter now. His white t-shirt stretched across him so good. 

I give a tight lipped smile and nod. 

“Do you wanna drink darlin’?” I looked up at his face.

I nod my head up and down. He hands me a glass of water.

“Thanks, so are you actually gonna interview me or is it gonna be weird between us?” I needed to know. I couldn’t do this dancing around each other shit. If I don’t get the job, oh well now I can have a nice fling on the side with a dilf. 

But if I do get the job does that mean we pretend that we didn’t make out against the wall at Round Up? Or we sneak around hoping his sweet baby girl doesn’t see?

He leans back against his counter and sighs. Hot.

“Darlin’ I like ya I really do. And sorry for not textin’ ya I meant to but the whole thing at work had me busy.” That made me smile over the rim of the glass.

“If you’re willing to still watch Sarah, my daughter, I’ll pay ya and everythin’ obviously but… I would like to keep seein’ ya outside of this…arrangement. If that’s alright with ya. I can always find someone else to—” 

I slammed the glass against the counter. I really need the extra cash.

“No! I mean uh no, apart from… us I do really need the extra cash and I used to babysit all throughout high school. I genuinely enjoy doin, kids tend to gravitate towards me and if it seals the deal I’m in college to become a teacher.” I smile triumphantly.

His eyes widened but he calmed then he smiled.

“And… I also would like to keep seein ya. I heard our song playin on the radio twice this week. I was restless and needed to see ya again. Almost considered goin back to Round Up to track ya down.” I chuckled 

His smile widened.

“Wow sweetheart, that’s amazin’ so what’s your schedule usually look like so we can figure this out.”

He stood next to me now. He feels so warm and I’m not even touching him. He smells earthy and faintly like wood. Probably from his contractor job. 

Morning classes Mon-Wed

Work in the afternoon until 3 ⤷ watch Sarah until 8 or 9

Tues-Thurs work until 6 

Every other Friday work ⤷ watch Sarah 10am-9pm

It worked perfectly. Since Joel got promoted as manager he can leave earlier on some days but two days out of the week he has to stay later and work/fill out paperwork. A new addition to his job. 

With my classes and job at the cafe we made it work.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya sweetheart.” He said leaning in really close to me, his hand stroking my forearm. Talking business almost made me forget the lingering tension— almost.

“So uh Wednesday at 3:30?” I wanted to diffuse the tension but it was palpable. I look at him and he’s already looking at me. 

“Mhm sounds good, you in a hurry to leave darlin’?” I nodded my head side to side slowly. Truly not wanting to leave. He smirked. Smug little grin. 

God what am I getting myself into?

“Do you like beer?” He moved to his refrigerator. “Yeah I can drink a beer.” It was at 2 o’clock but surely it’s 5 o'clock somewhere. 

And with that we walked to his patio.

Two hours later…

The night had settled into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came when two people were aware of every small movement, every shift in the air. The beers had flowed, and the conversation had veered from business to casual banter, but that electric undercurrent between us had never faded. It was like a magnet, pulling us closer without either of us fully acknowledging it.

I sat back in the chair, trying to keep my mind from wandering into dangerous territory. The soft clink of his beer bottle being set down broke the silence, and when I turned, I found him watching me—no, studying me. His gaze was intense, his eyes dark in the dim light.

I shifted uncomfortably, but the tension felt…different now. It was no longer just playful; it was heavier.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, darlin’,” he said, his voice low, teasing, but with a hint of something more. “Not like you.”

I let out a short laugh, though it sounded more nervous than I intended. “I’m just enjoying the company.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up into that smug grin again. “You sure about that? Or are you just trying to ignore the fact that I’m damn good at making you squirm?”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I just shook my head, trying to hide my smile. The man knew how to read me like a book.

“So, uh,” I said, trying to change the subject, “Wednesday at 3:30, right?” I wanted to stick to business—maybe if I kept it professional, I could fight the growing urge to lean in closer.

“Mhm,” he replied, but his eyes never left mine. “Thought you weren’t in a rush to leave, sweetheart?”

I hesitated, biting my lip. The thought of leaving, of ending this strange and intoxicating night, felt wrong. The music playing softly from his house mixed with the humid air, and the last thing I wanted to do was leave. I shook my head slowly, a half-truth that I was only half aware of.

“You don’t mind staying a little longer, do you?” he asked, his tone a mix of casual curiosity and something more daring.

I looked at him, my breath hitching at the way he leaned in just a little bit closer, his body language so damn sure of itself. It made my chest tighten, and my mind buzzed with the possibilities of what could come next.

“No, I’m not in a hurry,” I admitted, voice soft, but loud enough for him to hear.

His smirk deepened, and there was that look again—that knowing glint in his eyes. He moved closer, until there was only a sliver of space between us. The air around us seemed to grow heavier, like the moment was pulling us toward something we both knew was inevitable.

“You sure about that?” he murmured, his breath brushing against my cheek.

Before I could respond, his hand was on my knee, steady and warm, sending a shock of heat straight through me. I froze, my pulse quickening. The touch was subtle, but it felt like a challenge, a question that needed an answer.

I opened my mouth to say something, but all that came out was a shaky breath. His hand slid higher, just enough to make me shiver, and that was all it took. My hand found its way to his chest, my fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my touch.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for you to make the first move,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of nerves and excitement.

He didn’t hesitate. His lips crashed against mine, hard and demanding, pulling me toward him until there was no space left between us. My heart raced as I kissed him back with equal force, my hands sliding up to his shoulders, tugging him closer, the heat of the kiss overwhelming.

He groaned, low and deep, his grip tightening on my knee as he deepened the kiss. It was a slow burn that ignited something inside me, something I hadn’t expected to feel tonight. I pulled away just long enough to catch my breath, my chest rising and falling rapidly.

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so instead, I just shook my head, unable to tear my gaze away from him. There was no going back now. And honestly? I didn’t want to.

His gaze flicked down to my lips before locking back on my eyes, the air between us thick with unspoken words. He leaned in again, slow this time, as though he was savoring every second, every inch getting closer. I held my breath, unsure of what to do, but he was pulling me in, making the choice for me.

When his lips brushed against mine this time, it was softer—gentle, almost teasing, but it didn’t take long for the teasing to melt away. His hand slid from my knee to my thigh, his touch sending another shock of heat through me. I shuddered slightly at the way his fingers pressed into my skin, as if marking his place, claiming me with every movement.

I couldn’t help it. I needed more. My hands found their way to his chest again, pushing the fabric of his shirt aside, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath. He groaned at the pressure, his hands sliding to my waist, tugging me closer. Our bodies fit together with an ease I hadn’t expected, like we were two pieces of the same puzzle.

The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, and my heart pounded so hard against my ribs I thought it might burst. Every thought in my head had faded, leaving only the sensation of him—his lips, his hands, his breath hot against my skin.

I pulled away for a second, breathless, and his lips found the sensitive spot just below my ear. I gasped, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I leaned into him, unable to stop myself.

"God, you feel..." His voice was low, rough, and it sent a thrill through me. "I can’t get enough of you."

My pulse quickened, and before I could stop myself, I pulled his face back to mine, kissing him again, harder, as if the kiss itself would silence every doubt, every lingering hesitation. His hands roamed lower, slipping under the hem of my shirt, his touch sending sparks across my skin.

I let out a soft breath, my body leaning into him with no room for hesitation now. I wasn’t thinking anymore. It was just instinct, pure and raw. He paused for a moment, his lips hovering just above mine, his breath ragged.

"You sure you’re okay with this?" he asked, his voice a little strained but still full of that same smoldering intensity.

I swallowed hard, my heart racing as I nodded. "Yeah."

He kissed me again, this time with an intensity that left me reeling. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer, urging him to take the kiss as deep as it could go. He responded instantly, his hands now roaming freely, as if they were discovering every inch of me for the first time.

I let out a small breathy laugh against his mouth, the sound teasing, light despite everything going on inside me. “You really know how to make a girl forget about time, don’t you?”

His lips were inches away from mine, the smirk on his face unmistakable. "It’s a gift."

His lips met mine again, pulling me deeper into this world where there were no distractions, no consequences, just the magnetic pull between us that neither of us was willing to resist anymore.

Things were getting heated. 

I’m on his lap now we’re still making out, his hands are roaming under my shirt and I was grinding down on his jeans. 

He was hard. He felt big too. I know this can’t go much further because we’re outside but with his mouth and his hands it didn’t feel like Joel cared all that much.

“Joel…” I couldn’t help the whine that escaped my throat.

“Yeah baby?” Oh my gosh his voice was somehow raspy and smooth all at the same time. His voice could do it for me.

But that’s a can of worms for another day.

“I-I need ya… please” I sounded so pathetic. “Aw honey you’re so good usin’ manners” Joel mumbles in my neck.

Joel adjusted me on his lap so I was sitting up right on his thick thighs. He started unbuttoning my jeans. “Is this okay sweetheart?”

I nodded. His hand slipped under the denim. I could feel the slick that pooled in my panties. His warm hands rubbing me over the front of them.

I moaned lowly. “Joel- what if someone sees?” I nervously ask.

“Don’t gotta worry, it’s just you and me baby. But you gotta be a little quiet okay?” I nodded again.

 “Ah—

Joel hears you let out a gasp when he slides in the tip of his middle finger—your walls welcoming him almost immediately. I moan his name as quietly as I can.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he groans. “You’re so wet— I could get used to this.”

 He smirks up at me. But I don’t pay attention to his smug expression. 

His fingers hit that spot I can never reach with my own fingers.

Before I could help it, my back was arching into him and I was shaking slightly.

“Joel— M’gonna come,” Joel groaned and started leaving little kisses and bites along my throat as he pumped his fingers into me faster. 

“Come f’me baby c'mon I want to feel ya.” He pulls his face away to look at me.

“Just relax,” he whispers. “I got you, baby. Always got you.” 

That did it. I came with a quiet cry, I shoved my face in his chest and rode out the waves of my orgasm. 

“Yeah baby, did so good f’me. That’s it just lay there I got ya.” He murmured into my hair.

He helped me get myself situated and walked me to my car. I was a little upset. I couldn't help him out but that’s for next time…

Wednesday 3:00 pm

I just got back to my apartment from work. I want to take a quick shower and change before I meet Sarah and watch her for a few hours. 

I settled on a simple black tank top and some jeans, wanting to be comfortable but still appropriate. 

From what Joel told me the other night, Sarah is an intelligent ten year old girl he had at a very young age. He and his ex wife pay child support and Sarah goes every other week.

Reminds me of my childhood. Mine was messier though.

I arrived at the Miller residence. Joel’s truck is here so I walk up and knock on the door.

“Hey sweetheart was just about to call ya, Sarah just got home.” He stepped aside for me to come in, I thanked him and walked inside.

“Honey! She’s here”, Joel shouts by the stairs. 

The little girl comes walking down the stairs, her coiled curls bouncing with every step she takes. 

“Go say hi sweetie.” Joel urged his daughter. I squatted down to get on her level so she feels more comfortable.

“Hey Sarah”, I introduced myself and held out my hand.

She shook my hand. “Hi Sophia! You’re really pretty,” she said quickly.

“Aw thank ya hun that was really sweet of you, so what do ya wanna do when your daddy leaves?” I asked, still crouched down in front of her.

“Hmm, can we watch Jurassic Park?” I smiled, shocked she watches films like that but nodded anyway.

“I’d love to.” I stood up and looked at Joel. He was smiling warmly at his daughter.

“Yall have fun but not too much fun”, he said kissing Sarah’s cheek and ruffling her hair.

[otissbluebearshirt]

Interrogation - [ Terry Bruno ] 18+

Summary: An interrogation with Terry turns out to be a whole lot better than you anticipated

Word Count: 2452

Warnings: female!reader, smut - [ unprotected sex, semi-public sex ]

Masterlist | Terry Masterlist

Your chair was uneven. You’d picked up on it the very second you first sat down upon the cold, metal seat and it wobbled beneath you. You had nearly slid right off when it did. Your heart leaping inside your chest when you thought you were about to topple right over and land atop the hard cement floor of the interrogation room.

You couldn’t count how many times you’d found yourself all but forced to sit in here. How many times you’d had to keep yourself occupied by tapping your fingers rhythmically on the tabletop in the tune of your favourite song, your mind growing inherently bored as you went through the same song and dance as every other time you’d ended up in this position.

“The quicker you tell me what I want to know,” Terry said, unfolding his arms and leaning forward, his palms splaying flat against the table top as he stood directly across from you. “The quicker you get to leave here.”

You rolled your eyes, your fingertips stilling in the middle of their tune as you finally glanced up at him, “I already told you, detective. I wasn’t there that night, I didn’t see anything.”

“We both know that’s a lie,” Terry said, pushing himself off the table and slowly rounding it towards you. You crossed your legs as he did, drawing his eyes immediately to the bareness of them as you shuffled back in your seat, swallowing thickly when he reached his hand towards you and gripped the back of your chair, leaning down into you. “So why don’t you save us both the trouble, and tell me the truth.”

“Is this you being polite?” You said mockingly, your eyes flicking back up to meet the harrowing gaze of his own. Your breath shuddered the second you did, the mere intensity in which his eyes rained down upon you causing a wave of goosebumps to erupt over every inch of your skin that could still feel the air around you. “Or is this your attempt at intimidation?”

At the obvious breathlessness to your tone, Terry chuckled and shook his head, “No, this is me being patient.”

“Is it? Well…” You cleared your throat, trying your best to cool yourself down from the igniting heat that was swirling between you like a tornado. “Consider me surprised, detective, as this doesn’t quite feel like a path along the road to patience.”

He shrugged, “I walk a thin line.”

“You don’t say,” You muttered, with so much sarcasm oozing from your tone that it caused Terry’s jaw to clench.

“I suggest you start talking… Before that line wears itself out,” Terry said, nothing but a genuine laugh leaving the back of your throat as he did. His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head as he increased his grip on the back of your chair, growing closer to you, “Something funny, darlin?”

“You,” You answered without hesitation, holding his hardening stare as you raised your hand, drawing your fingertip lightly across the curves and ridges of the badge that hung loose around his neck. “You think just because you wear this badge it gives you the right to boss me around?”

“Something like that,” Terry replied, unphased by your sudden attitude and if anything, it made him twitch between his legs.

“You cops are all the same,” You muttered, curling your fingers around the entirety of his badge and keeping his eye as you did. “You take…” Your grip tightened and you tugged him even closer to you, your lips barely an inch or two away from his. “And you take…but what do you give, huh? What do those of us who chose to help you get in return other than an empty thanks?”

“Stand up,” Terry whispered, his face still so dangerously close to your own that you could feel his husk-filled order ghost over your skin in a wave of intense, rippling heat.

It travelled right down the length of your body, fluttering through your stomach and pooling between your legs as you refused to move so much as an inch. You even dropped your head, finding yourself unable to keep looking at him should you melt into a puddle beneath him. That appeared to annoy Terry more than your words had and, like a switch had suddenly been flipped inside him, his eyes clouded over with a raging darkness. He lifted his hand from the back of the chair, threading his fingers through your hair and gripping it tightly as he directed you to look back up at him.

“I said… Stand up.” As the words left his lips, Terry gave you no chance to respond willingly and instead pulled on your hair, bringing you roughly to your feet and only adding to the raging fire that burned deep in the pit of your stomach. He then kicked away your chair, the harsh scrape of the legs against the floor making you flinch as he shifted you slightly, pushing your back up against the table and using his body to keep you there. “You want me to give you something?”

You nodded, dragging your bottom lip through your teeth as your body quivered beneath you, “I want you to give me something… Want you to give me something real bad.”

Terry’s mouth quirked upwards at the obvious, yet shameless desperation that seemed to soak your flirtatious tone. But before you could so much as react to the softness that smile seemed to carry, let alone try and mirror it, he was already kissing you so vigorously that his teeth knocked hard against your own. His tongue then slipped easily between them, taking control as it delved so deep into your mouth that you could practically taste the remnants of the coffee he’d drunk not too long before.

You hummed faintly into his mouth at the rough sensation of his beard against the softness of your skin, your hands trailing up the length of his muscular back and making their way into his hair. You gripped it tightly, the shorts strands curling easily around your fingers as you used the hold to keep him close, only deepening the raging kiss that was slowly, but surely, draining every drop of the air from within your lungs.

When you eventually struggled to breath you had to pull back, gasping for air and all but disoriented from the mere way in which your head was swimming. It may have only been a kiss, but it so easily left you in such a state of euphoria that when the tickle of Terry’s beard drifted down your chin and you felt the first brush of his hot tongue against your skin, your knees all but buckled beneath you.

As your palms splayed out flat against the table to keep you steady, Terry’s own began their exploration of your body. They made their way slowly, sensually, down the curve of your waist and around your back, the pressure in which he held increasing as he guided them over the supple shape of your ass and to the back of your thighs. He then gripped them tightly — almost possessively, drawing them forward before directing his touch upwards and relishing in the breathy gasps that left your lips as he slowly hiked up your skirt.

The higher he got, and the less the grey fabric covered you, the more you could feel the cool air wash over your hot and flushing skin. Terry could feel it too: the small bumps that rose from beneath the surface of your skin at the contrast in temperatures, and it only encouraged him to explore further. To discover just how different the heat from the outside of your thighs was compared to the heat he could already feel raging on the inside.

“What’s this?” Terry mused, the husk to his voice paired with the partial smirk that tugged at his lips sending you even further into overdrive as he slowly ghosted his fingertips further along your inner thigh. “No panties? Darlin’ if I were to guess, I’d say you came here in search of a little something.”

“Would you think less of me if I did?” You whispered, tugging at his hair to draw his face back up to yours.

You kissed him the second his nose brushed alongside yours, not even giving him a chance to answer your question as you honestly didn’t need him to — not when the hardness beneath his jeans told you everything you needed to know and more, soft whimpers leaving the back of your throat each time it would brush so perfectly over you.

“Fuck…” You gasped, keeping his forehead pressed firmly against yours as you pecked another short, albeit lopsided, kiss to his lips. “Fuck, I want you…”

The mere pleading that rolled of your tongue was all Terry needed to really get himself going, the lust burning so deep into his eyes that he was all but fucking you with them already. His hands dropped to his belt and he very quickly unfastened it, popping open the button on his jeans and dragging the zip down so fast you could barely hear it. He grabbed hold of the back of your thighs again, using the leverage to help lift you from the ground and set you gently atop the table, parting your legs as he did and nestling himself snuggly between them as he pushed down his boxers.

The split second he felt the heat of your pussy radiate over his length he began to push into you, at a pace so painstakingly slow you could feel every inch of his thick cock as it spread you as wide open as you’d ever been before. Your hands shot up to grip his shoulders tight, your fingernails digging deep into his clothes covered muscles as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, allowing him to feel the tingling sensation of your soft whimpering gasps as they cascaded over his skin with every inch that disappeared inside you.

“Fuck…” Terry groaned into your ear as he dragged himself back out of you, until nothing but the tip remained inside. “You’re so perfect, darlin’.”

An unintelligible drabble of swear words then left his lips as Terry sunk back into you, lingering for a simple moment to feel you entirely before he drew back and slowly began to thrust himself into you. And whilst it felt incredible. Whilst the mere pleasure in which it sent coursing through your veins had you clench around him already, you wanted more. You needed to still feel this in the morning and so, having forced your head to lift from his chest, you pressed a few sloppy kisses to his lips and cheek before directing yourself to his ear.

“Come on, detective…” You teased, your stomach fluttering when Terry’s grasp on your hips tightened. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Just like that Terry’s eyes glazed over and he picked up the pace, thrusting so mercilessly into the tightness of your pussy that the table beneath you began to shake in place — thank God for the bolts holding it in place otherwise you’d have both ended up through the wall. You gripped his shoulders tighter, the speed at which he was moving was unlike anything you’d ever felt before as his hips slammed against your thighs, making damn good on his word of fucking you like he meant it.

You already couldn't see straight and it hadn’t even been a minute yet. But you loved every damn second of it. The slight hint of pain only added to that intense pleasure coursing even fiercer through your veins. Your lower abdomen was on fire, tightening faster than ever with each thrust of his cock, reaching deeper inside you than it ever had before and sending you to heights you never thought you’d reach.

And when your orgasm finally hit, it was as though you’d ascended to heaven. Like you were floating from your body and for a good thirty seconds, you saw nothing but white as Terry carried you through it, prolonging it to the point where you almost had to tell him to stop before it started to hurt.

Luckily though, it only took Terry two more deep thrusts to reach his own end, stilling inside you as he moaned your name in the most delectable way you’ve ever heard. He pulled out soon after, tucking himself back into his pants before all but collapsing on top of you, as though he’d just ran a marathon then chased a suspect through Central Park.

You were both sweating. Glistening, rather, and unable to fully breathe let alone speak. But that didn’t stop him from kissing you, pushing your hair back from your face as his lips worked lightly, gently, against yours. You pushed his body back a little, keeping your lips on his as you shuffled down the table and landed on your feet — barely. Terry had to catch you as your legs nearly buckled beneath you when you tugged down your skirt, but luckily, for you both, it didn't take you too long to find your sea legs.

“God that was incredible,” You whispered against his lips, planting another firm kiss against them before tilting your head and glancing up at him, adding curiously, "Are you sure you’ve never done that in here before?”

Drawing his thumb down your plump lips, Terry smiled, “You know I haven’t.”

“Just checking,” You said innocently, casually, hearing the brief chuckle Terry couldn’t help but let out as you ducked your eyes shyly away from him.

It didn’t last long though, it never did. Eventually you tilted your head back up to look at him and lifted yourself up onto your tiptoes, pressing your lips softly, yet firmly, against his own. He kissed you back happily, relishing in the simple hum that left the back of your throat before you pulled away from him entirely. You fixed your skirt a little better now that you could, making your way towards the door as Terry returned the seat you once sat on to its rightful position.

“Terry,” You called back over your shoulder, a sweet smile tugging at your lips as he glanced affectionately up at you. “Promise me you won’t stay too late tonight… I hate sleeping when you’re not there.”

Terry’s face softened, “I know, darlin’ and I promise I’ll be out of here as soon as I can.”

“Good,” You nodded in satisfaction, about to turn and walk out the door before you stopped, “Oh and detective… I love you.”

Terry smiled, “And I love you too… counsellor.”

Like Terry? Apply to his tag list so you don’t miss out on his works!

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[sehodreams]

Riize reaction to you giving them a lap dance!

Tw and tags: a couple of them are nsfw, suggestive, fluff (?)

Comment: this is how I think the boys in real life would react, hope you didn't expect anything too explicit because I was giggling the whole time I wrote and imagined this, I think it's adorable!!!

Again, please don't visit my blog if you don't enjoy mature or dark content.

Eunseok would say no to the idea the minute you tell him, "what you on? you can't even follow an easy choreo in just dance". However, when you pushed him to his seat, he'd smile with expectations, and even if he denied it, he would love every second of it, containing himself to not put his hands on you the whole time.

Sungchan would laugh out loud at first, like to the point tears would appear on his eyes, then he would shrug in his place, not believing you're actually doing it when he hears the song playing, but not much after he'd genuinely enjoy the show with a grin on his face, giving you a breathtaking kiss to thank you the minute you finished.

Shotaro would have an ear to ear smile, finding adorable how you're trying to dance in front of him. He'd try to not touch you, keeping his hands to himself as long as he could, but the minute you sat over his lap and pushed your chest in front of his face, that smile would change to a desire expression, surprising you when his hips met yours, making you a blushing mess at the end.

Anton would love every second of it, he would laugh just like Sungchan thinking it was a joke, but when he saw you put the music on he'd do his best to not laugh anymore and take you seriously, and still with with a grin on his face, he'd focus on the way your body followed the song. Also, when you were closer to him he wouldn't be afraid of touching you with his big hands, trailing with his palms all the way from your thighs to your waist, making you bounce over his half-hard member when you tried to stop him, laughing at your embarrassed expression.

Sohee would blush and laugh, not daring to look at you the second the music started, but he's just a man, and soon he wouldn't be able to apart his eyes from you, following every step of your routine, he'd sigh content when you dropped to your knees teasing him, wishing for the song to continue, admiring you down there.

Seunghan would be pretty shy and giddy about it, like he'd immediately say yes when you offered to distract him with a lap dance, and he'd even pull his chair waiting for you to start, but when he heard the music he would completely change his demeanor to a shy one, turning red for a minute to then, when he finally relaxed, shamelessly touching you every time you got closer, and if you passed your hand around his body, he would even grab them to give them a quick peck to thank you.

Wonbin wouldn't know what to say, smiling but at the same time doubtful since he had never received one before, not that the others had neither, but he'd be a lot more tense than the others, not daring to fully enjoy it until almost the end to then ask you for another one with a wide grin.

[xoxosimp]

Not For Your Eyes

Tags: Rich Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: unbeta’d, bucky is a little unhinged, ew what is this, like ew literally what is this, inspired by that one time capsule episode of Zoey 101 and a tik tok, modern au

---

Your arms ached from attempting to wrap a hair tie around your hair. It was a fucking arm workout, which is why you always underestimated how long it took to do your hair.

A sharp knock pierced the air. You place the hair tie down in defeat and make your way to the door. You unlocked and opened it, meeting your best friend’s frown.

“ Didn’t I tell you to always check the peephole?” 

You rolled your eyes and walked away. “ It’s always you, Jamie.”

“ What if it wasn’t?” he refuted, closing the door behind him. 

“But it was!”

You return to the bathroom to finish tying your hair. Bucky took note of the three journals stacked on your kitchen counter. The purple journal on top had a polaroid of you taped on it. The covers littered with various stickers and paper sticking out pages

Bucky had never seen your journals this close before. Not that he would ever invade your privacy , but you threw an (empty) water bottle at him when he came within a foot of your journals before.

“ No peeking, Barnes,” you warned him, coming out of the bathroom 

“ You know I wouldn't, gorgeous,” he said matter of factly. “ These are your journals from the past years?”

“Year.” You corrected Bucky. “ I’m selling them.” you smiled at him.

Damn, he loved that fucking smile.

“Selling your journal is kinda personal, Gorgeous.”

“Well it’s not like my diaries. I would never sell those,” you chuckled. “ These are just… compilations..?” you trailed off, looking at Bucky to see if he understood what you were trying to say. He raised an eyebrow, signaling you to finish your thought. “ … Of all the things I’ve seen, places I’ve been, and the people I’ve met.”

People?

People as in persons. Person. Bucky could very well be on one of these pages of your flamboyant journals. 

You picked up your jacket from the couch and shrugged it on. “ Is there a page about me?” he asked carefully while your back was turned.

“ More than one,” you answered honestly. 

You turned to your best friend and laughed. He wants to ask you, you know he does.  “ Don’t look at me like that,” you said in response to his glare . “ Jamie, you’re one of the most important people in life.”

Fuck. He replayed the words in his head.

You’re one of the most important people in my life. 

He wanted to taste the words from your lips.Bucky  wanted your  words etched in his skin like a tattoo. You sounded like a dream he never wanted to wake up from. You sounded like a song he never wanted to stop replaying. 

“ Can I read it?”

“No!” you answered quickly. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pulled together as he questioned “ You let other people read it but not me?”

“It isn’t just other people, Jamie, “ you retorted, “ it’s whoever buys it.” 

“Where are you selling it?” 

“Well there-” you stopped yourself. You saw the look in his eyes. His eyes danced with mischief, one brow cocked in a silent dare, though the softness around them hinted at genuine curiosity. “Nice try. I know you. If I tell you, you’ll just go and buy them all.”

“ Can you blame me, gorgeous? You tell a guy you’ve been writing about him, and he’s gonna wanna know what you've written.”

“ The whole point of selling the journals is so that in the future, other people can see how awesome my life was.” you explained. “You’re already in my life so why would I let you read it?”

“I’ll give you ten grand for each of them,” he proposed bluntly, crossing his arms. 

His offer took you by surprise. You knew damn well if you’d accepted he’d write you a check you’d be able to cash tomorrow. But paying $10,000 for one of your journals?

You shook your head and laughed, “ How about in twenty years,  I’ll tell you where I sold them,  then you can buy all of them” 

His shoulders slumped in defeat. “ Why do you tease me like this?” 

“I’m not teasing! You’re just impatient, Jamie. Now can we please go to lunch?” 

—

“ The store owner agreed to keep the journal aside,” Bucky’s personal assistant reported over the phone.

“ Great.” Bucky grinned ear to ear. “ Thank you,” he hung up the phone.

He prided himself on knowing everything about you. Your fears, your dreams, what made you tick. He knows what makes you sad and what makes you happy. One day, he’ll be forward with all the love he has for you. 

Call him obsessed. He couldn’t give a shit. But Bucky needed to know what exactly you wrote about him. He’ll be damned if anyone bought your journals before he did. 

He had his assistant scour the whole New York City area for your journals. Once his assistant found where you sold them, he made a deal with the shop owners that for every month they don’t sell the journals, they get $10,000 under the table. 

Now he just has to wait 20 years until he can buy them.

---

I have not written anything since July... yea sorry.i might delete this later

[alcapzr]

can you please write a braeden fic where they meet at lollapalooza (or another music festival) where wallows are performing and the reader is either another performer or just someone attending and her and braeden meet and spend the rest of the festival together or something like that?

please and thank you <3

p.s. i’m literally obsessed with your fics you are amazing

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑨𝒕 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑳𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 ♡︎ (Braeden Lemasters X FemReader)

Content: Fluff, Small Wallows set at Lollapalooza, Braeden watching Reader from the stage, Vibes from Before Sunrise, Chill Day

The Barricade is not a place for the faint of heart. You have to endure the shoving, the elbowing, the infernal heat, other people's sweat, and the flying beer glasses... but for you, that's worth every damn second.

Not because you're a groupie. Not because you're a hardcore fan. It's simply because you love the music up close. Because from the Barricade, you don't just hear it, you feel it. The bass drum rumbles in your stomach, the guitarists' fingers are visible in detail, the drummer's smiles feel genuine, and the singers' eyes... well, you hadn't considered those until now.

Because it turns out Braeden Lemasters' eyes are on you. And you don't know what the hell to do with it.

"They're coming, they're coming," says the girl next to you.

You just adjust the fabric band on your wrist and straighten your top, swallowing hard. You're good at enjoying concerts, dancing, singing along from a distance... but this is something else. This is being right up front, with the three of them just a few feet away.

They get on one by one. First Dylan, wearing that Shakira t-shirt. Then Cole, waving with an innocent smile. And finally him: Braeden. Striped shirt, hair a little longer than you expected, and guitar hanging low, just the way he likes it.

And you, just you, who was so calm sipping a red Gatorade as if you were watching a game, are paralyzed when his eyes lock onto yours from the first second. Not in the section. Not in the entire barricade. In YOU.

"Dude... I think he's looking at you," says the guy to your left, a guy you don't know at all and who's half-crowded with the crowd.

"What? No, don't be stupid," you reply quickly, half-laughing.

But you can't help it: you look back. And there he is. Without moving. Without blinking. Looking at you as if the fucking sun had just risen right in your face.

You look away, uncomfortable. Too bad. He's probably scanning everyone. His brain is probably processing the crowd, and it just happened to coincide.

Uh-huh. Absolutely.

"No, really. He won't take his eyes off you. It's been like three songs and the guy hasn't even blinked. Do you know him or something?" the guy insists, surprised.

"I wish!" you mumble, letting out a nervous laugh.

And then Braeden smiles. Not at the air. Not at the crowd. AT YOU.

And you... you don't know whether to smile back or splash Gatorade in your eyes to stop yourself from getting all worked up.

And then it starts. The unmistakable chords. The riff that seems to float in the air. "Pictures of Girls."

The whole crowd screams. The guy next to you jumps. The girl with the eyeliner cries. And you... well, you keep looking at him.

And he keeps looking at you. It's not that "oh, maybe it was just a coincidence" anymore.

No, no, we're already in the realm of shamelessness. Because as soon as the first line of the song begins, you notice that Braeden is still narrowing his eyes exclusively for you.

And now he comes with a new addition: that damn little smile. That... silly. Silly. Ridiculous. The one that makes you jealous because you, too, want to smile like that at someone and have them smile back.

And the smile grows. His nose wrinkles a little, his lips curl more than professionally permitted, and you feel something inside you explode.

You literally bend down and pretend to tie your sneakers so you don't melt on your feet.

"That's it. This guy's going to throw the guitar cable at you like a wedding bouquet," says the guy next to you, between laughter and envy.

"Shut up!" you say, still watching Braeden out of the corner of your eye.

And then it happens. He trips. Not like a dramatic fall. But enough for his foot to catch a cable, his guitar to shake, and Dylan to look at him with a mix of "what's up, dude?"

You cover your mouth. Braeden laughs. LAUGHS! I mean, not like "oops," but like "I don't give a shit, yeah, I got distracted watching you and I loved it."

And he sees you again. With that little smile that's more guilty than a Catholic in a motel.

He keeps playing, and while he sings the verse of "I see you there, still shy, but smilin'," he surreptitiously nods at you.

Is he flirting with you by singing that line? Is he flirting with you live? In front of thousands of people?

Your legs feel weak. You grab onto the barricade. He notices, bites his lip... and keeps playing, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to play for an entire city and look at just one person.

And you only think one thing: Either I'll have a heart attack or I'll fall in love. There's no middle ground.

The show ends on a high. One last chord, the strobe lights, the ovation, and the classic "thank you, we're Wallows" with Dylan dropping the pick, Cole smiling with sweat pouring down his eyelashes, and Braeden... well.

Braeden staring at you as if you were the only one who came.

You stand there for a while longer, holding onto the barricade as if the black plastic were the only thing holding your soul.

Until bam, the DJ set starts. An explosion of bass, neon lights, and a voice saying “MAKE SOME NOISEEEE” that honestly makes you nauseous. “Okay, no, bye,” you say. Not your vibe.

So, with your heart still beating fast and your soul half in orbit, you decide to do the most logical thing: run away.

You walk away from the main stage, your ears ringing, your top stuck to your body with sweat and Gatorade, and your mind repeating:

> “He smiled at you.” “He looked at you the whole show.” “He tripped over you!”

You're so caught up in that loop of thoughts that you don't even realize your steps are leading you to a smaller stage.

One with warm lights, a live indie folk band, and a quieter audience, with blankets on the grass and couples sharing cartons of juice. Much more your vibe. You sit in a corner, take a deep breath.

You take out your phone. You send a text that says: > “Guys, I think Braeden Lemasters saw me at the show and laughed after he tripped. I'm shaking.”

But you don't get to hit send. Because a shadow falls over you. And a familiar, soft voice, one of those that has a hint of a smile even when saying simple things, says:

"Can I bother you for a second?"

You look up.

And there he is. Braeden fucking Lemasters. No guitar, no lights, no artificial smoke. With a half-empty bottle of water, damp hair, sun-kissed arms, and that "you know it's me, but I still want to surprise you" face. You fall silent. "You're the one at the barricade, aren't you?" he asks, his eyes squinting from the sun and a half-smile that should already be illegal.

Silence. Your heart screams. Your legs tremble. Your soul slides to the floor.

"Um... yeah. It was me. I guess," you manage, swallowing, in the chillest voice you can muster even though inside you're screaming.

He laughs. LAUGHS. And sits next to you as if nothing happened.

"You almost killed me today, you know?" he says, pointing at his leg. And you:

"Oh, no! Did I do something to you?"

"I almost tripped looking at you," he replies, softly, almost secretly. And he adds in a tone of sweet mockery:

"But hey, I guess it was worth it."

WAS IT WORTH IT? WAS IT WORTH WHAT, DYING FOR YOU? WHAT IS THIS MOVIE?

You laugh. You can't help it. The air smells of grass, festival dust, live music. And now it smells of him.

"Can I stay here for a while?" he asks, glancing at you as his arm brushes yours.

And you, with your heart breaking and your smile trembling, say: "Of course. Anyway, you already killed me a while ago."

The band on the small stage sounds soft, half-melancholic, with acoustic touches that seem taken from a Parisian café.

The audience is sprawled on blankets and mats, sharing glances, bottles of cheap wine, and silences worth a thousand screams.

And you're sitting on the grass, with Braeden Lemasters at your side. Not as an artist. Not as a celebrity. Like a kid with bright eyes, legs stretched out, and restless hands that don't know whether to touch you or stay still.

"Do you like these vibes?" he asks, looking at the stage with his head resting on one knee.

"Much more than the DJ set that left everyone deaf a while ago," you answer, smiling as you spy on him out of the corner of your eye. He laughs softly. And that starts the conversation flowing.

First, he asks you what band you were originally coming to see. Then, how did you get the idea to come alone? Then, if you've ever been to Europe? Then, what your favorite movie is? Then, if you think people can fall in love without really knowing each other.

And you answer everything. Honestly. Calmly. Without realizing that you've not been talking to the Wallows guitarist for a while now, but to someone who looks at you like you're a poem he doesn't want to finish reading.

The conversation is becoming more intimate, softer. The stage lights dance across his face. The wind ruffles his hair. There's something incredibly quiet about the way he looks at you. As if the world around him is on pause, or in slow motion, and he just needs you to keep talking to keep from collapsing.

"Do you believe in instant connections?" he asks you after a while. The question hangs in the air, like the last note of an old song.

"It depends," you say quietly. "Sometimes I feel like I've known someone before... even if I've never met them."

"Like an emotional déjà vu?" he asks, turning his body slightly to look at you better.

"Yeah, like that. Or like the universe already had it written down and you're just realizing it."

"Wow... that was nice."

"I don't know if it was nice. Maybe a little ridiculous."

"No. It was... real." And there you stay. A few seconds, staring at each other. With the grass flattened between you. With the murmurs of the festival in the background.

With your heart racing slowly, as if in slow motion. He reaches out a hand. Not to touch you. Not yet. Just to bring it closer, in case you want to reach it. And you, without thinking much about it, let your fingers brush his. It's not a kiss. It's not a declaration. But damn, it feels more intimate than a thousand "I love yous."

"Do you want to go for a walk?" he asks, still holding your hand.

"Go for it," you say.

And you stand with him, as the stage recedes and the lights fade. Like in those movies where two strangers get lost together... ...and find each other in the process.

Walking with him through the festival feels unreal. Not because of the idea of "oh, I'm walking with Braeden Lemasters," but because of how effortless it is. As if you don't need a manual, as if the whole world has already practiced this moment a thousand times before.

The steps flow. So do the words. You passed a homemade ice cream stand, and he wanted to try the "blueberry and lavender" even though he knew he wouldn't like it. Spoiler: he didn't like it.

He offered you the spoon with a traumatized look, and you, laughing your head off, gave him your vanilla. He ended up giving you the whole cup and kept yours. The closest thing to a kiss you'vehad so far, and you both knew it.

Then you walked among hanging lights, food trucks, and people lying on blankets, until you passed a stand selling woven bracelets.

He saw them, he saw you, and without asking, he grabbed a random one, in earthy colors, and tied it around your wrist. "So you'll remember that tonight was real," he said.

You were about to answer something kind of profound, but right after as if it weren't your fault he blurts out:

"So... do you like Wallows?"

And you stare at him. That question, in that casual tone, with his tender face waiting for an answer, was a lethal combo.

"I mean, yeah..." you say, tucking your hair behind your ear. "I don't want to sound like a fangirl or anything, but... you're my favorite."

Braeden freezes. It literally feels like his brain has reset. "Me?" he asks, genuinely surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," you laugh. "I feel like you're like... the quiet soul. Like the one who sets the mood. You're always on your trip, but when you smile on stage, it's like... ugh. I can't explain it. I find it really sweet."

Braeden dramatically puts a hand to his chest, as if he's melted from the inside out. "God, that was..." pause. "Can I record you saying that? I'll use it as my ringtone."

"Don't be ridiculous!" you say, laughing, nudging him gently.

But he's not laughing as much. He's looking at you differently. With a mixture of tenderness, interest, and something deeper he still can't say out loud.

"You know what? I'm glad I saw you from the stage."

"Did you see me?" you ask, feigning surprise.

"I saw you like... a hundred times. I remind you, I almost killed myself with a power line to see you."

And there you are again: The two of you stopping dead in front of a path lit by warm lights, with music playing in the background and your heart doing its thing. It's one of those scenes you know you'll remember even if it ends tomorrow.

Braeden looks at you. And says nothing. But deep in those eyes, there's a question he still can't bring himself to ask.

And you... you're so close to answering him. The little path you're following is lit by garlands hanging between trees. People passing by, laughter, the music from a distant stage. But you only see him.

You're talking about anything. About bad movies that turn out to be good. About food that shouldn't exist he hates pickle sandwiches, you can tolerate pancakes with bacon and honey. About childhood pets. And at one point, after you tell him your dog was named Artichoke and you had her until you were 15,

Braeden stops. He turns around. He looks at you. And out of nowhere, he blurts out:

"Hey... Can I ask you something?"

"Depends," you say, with that sly half-smile he's come to adore. He scratches the back of his neck. He's nervous.

"I don't want to be that guy. Like, that musician who flirts with fans like he's part of the after-show package. I'd be so embarrassed if you thought that. But..." He pauses, searching for words. "I had too much fun with you tonight. Like... more than I expected. And I'd love to get to know you better."

Your chest is pounding. It's a mix of nerves and surprise. The little voice in your head screaming: IS THIS HAPPENING?

"So... would you give me your number? Only if you want, obviously. But I promise I won't send you voice notes saying "what are you doing, thinking about me?" at two in the morning. Unless you ask me to."

You let out a small laugh. You have to look down because if you look at him directly, you'll melt right there. "I'll give it to you if you promise not to wait two days to text me."

"Who still does that?" he says, scandalized. "I text right away. Do you want me to text you something right now?"

"I'd think that would be very romantic," you say, handing him the unlocked phone.

Braeden grins like he's won the lottery. He types his number, puts a little heart emoji next to his name, and then sends it back to you with a smiley face that looks like it's my number, but I'm also giving my heart away with it.

And before you can say anything else, he stares at you silently. One second. Two.

"You're... like a mental break," he says. "And I don't get that very often."

Your heart swells. But in that cute way. Like someone wrapped it in gift paper and put a bow on it.

And then, without warning, he takes your hand. Just like he's done it a thousand times.

"Shall we walk a little longer?" he asks. And you can only nod, swallowing your idiotic smile.

Because yes. Braeden Lemasters is holding your hand. And you don't want this night to end.

You're sitting on a little hill away from the noise. In front of you, little lights twinkling in the sky. Fireworks from a random stage. People cheer from a distance, but you're in your own world.

Braeden leans back with his arms behind his head. You do the same. The pads of his fingers touch yours. He doesn't take your whole hand, but it's there. A tiny connection, one that says a lot without saying anything.

"I feel weird," he murmurs, looking up at the sky. You glance at him.

"Weird, good, or weird 'I want to leave'?"

"Weird, good. Very good. Like this isn't real. Like you're going to evaporate when I wake up."

"Well, I'm not a wet dream, if that helps."

"A little bit, actually," he says, and laughs softly.

And then, almost without thinking, he turns to you. He looks at you with those anxious puppy eyes. He leans in close. And with a care that breaks your heart in two, he kisses you.

It's a slightly silly kiss. Slow, gentle, without much experience but with all the desire in the world.

As if he's telling you with his mouth everything he doesn't yet dare to say with words.

When he pulls away, your eyes are still closed. And he, he has that little face that says, "Fuck off, I messed this up didn't I?"

"Was it too soon?" he whispers. "I didn't mean to be intense. It's just... I don't know. It felt good."

You open your eyes and see him. Braeden with swollen lips, red cheeks, the expression that looks like he's going to beat himself up if you don't say something soon.

You stroke his cheek with your index finger, as if his face were a painting you want to keep forever. "It felt perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're not intense. You're a nervous golden retriever who gives tender kisses. I like it."

He laughs. He closes his eyes for a second, as if processing that this is really happening. And just then, his phone vibrates. He checks it and grimaces.

"It's Dylan. He says the staff is leaving in five minutes and that either I get on the bus or I have to go back alone."

"You wouldn't survive," you say, laughing.

He reluctantly stands up, dusts off his pants, and looks at you with that "I don't want to leave, but if I stay, I'll fall more in love" face.

He helps you stand up. And before leaving, he looks at you again, this time lower, closer, his eyes shining:

"Are you going to call me, right?"

"Of course."

"Or text me. Or send me a voice note. Or a sticker."

"Would an anxious puppy do it?"

"It represents me too much," he says, smiling like a fool.

"But seriously... call me, okay? Please."

You give him one last, short kiss. Like a signature at the end of an unwritten contract.

And you watch him walk away, turning twice to look back at you.

Braeden Lemasters kissed you under the lights of a festival. He asked you to call him like his life depended on it. And you know yes, you're going to call him. Because this wasn't a fan-musician story. This was something else. And it's just beginning.

[httpvomitello]

Hello, I love APT's song. by Rose and Bruno Mars and I started to think how the turtles would react if their S/o was singing that song with turtle brother

Hello, hello! So, I have to admit that I haven't listened to this song, so I don't know exactly what it's like 🫠 but I hope you like it anyway! ♡♡♡♡

Duet Partner *⁠.⁠✧

Leo walks into the room and hears you singing with Mikey

He stops in his tracks, surprised by how harmonized you both sound

He leans against the doorway, smiling softly as he watches

He’s always admired your voice, and it’s a rare treat to hear you sing

When you glance over and notice him, you wave him over. “Enjoying the show, fearless leader?”

“You both sound great,” he says, his tone genuine. “Though I wasn’t expecting Mikey to hit those notes.”

Mikey grins. “I’ve got hidden talents, bro!”

After the song, Leo claps lightly. “You know, you should sing with me next time. I’d like to try it.”

You agree, promising to make him your next duet partner.

Raph hears your singing while passing through the lair

He peeks in to find you belting it out with Donnie

He smirks, crossing his arms as he listens. “Didn’t know you had pipes like that, Y/N.”

You laugh mid-line, giving him a playful look. “Stick around and you’ll hear more!”

Donnie continues singing, unbothered

And Raph chuckles at how seriously you both seem to be taking it

When you’re done, Raph nods approvingly.

“Not bad. If you ever need a backup singer, let me know.”

You joke, “I didn’t think you were the singing type, Raph.”

“Hey, don’t underestimate me,” he replies. “But maybe not that high-pitched stuff.”

Donnie is working in his lab when your voice carries through the lair

Curious, he steps out and follows the sound to find you singing with Raph

He stands quietly in the doorway, a small smile forming as he listens

It’s clear you’re having fun, and he’s enjoying the moment without interrupting

When the song ends, you turn and catch him standing there. “Donnie! What do you think?”

“Impressive,” he says. “You’ve got great vocal control. I didn’t know you could sing like that.”

Raph pipes up, “Tsk, obvious! I taught them everything they know.”

Donnie chuckles and shakes his head. “Sure you did, Raph.”

Later, you catch Donnie humming the melody while tinkering in his lab, and it makes you smile.

Mikey overhears you and Leo singing and immediately joins in without hesitation

Turning the duet into a trio

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! How are you guys singing without me? This is my jam!” he exclaims, jumping right in and hitting every note with exaggerated flair

You laugh as Mikey adds his signature flair to the performance, dancing around and gesturing dramatically

When the song ends, Mikey grabs your hand and spins you around

“Y/N, you’re officially my favorite singing partner!”

Leo groans, “You interrupted the whole vibe, Mikey.”

“Nah, I made it better!” Mikey says, grinning

Later, Mikey will insist on more duets with you, always hyping you up and calling you his “ultimate karaoke buddy.”

[painted-bees]

Thinking about...how Raf hates being expected to perform moderate-to-grand guestures or give things in a relationship [any relationship, platonic, romatic, whatever]--not because he dislikes doing/giving nice things for/to people--but because he hates feeling like that's all people are after with him. Upon meeting almost anyone, and whilst getting to know them, he usually acts very aloof and unobservant, just to measure how willing people are to just... enjoy moments with him. He measures their disappointment when he fails to extend his resources to offer anything grand or surprising. Also, he likes to see how much they ask from him, how they ask it... and how they respond to being told 'no'. And the more they seem to expect of him, the less he is inclined to offer. He does all this within the bounds of amiciability; he's kind, politely mannered, and tries his best to keep things fun and lighthearted, even if the vibes he is receiving begin to feel a bit rancid. But even so, this whole song and dance is a product of mental illness; "rancid vibes" arrive to him via the tiniest cues and guestures that are almost undetectable to most others, and are usually--often--not actually wholly indicative of the traits and personality types that Raf is trying to protect himself from. But...this is why he has so few friends, despite having innumerable "amiciable" aquaintences lmao.

In romantic relationships, one of the most difficult things for him to encounter is when he get the sense [real or percieved] that someone is withholding their love/joy until they get what they are hoping to receive from him. Maybe a paid compliment, a specific subject of conversation, a particular purchase?? There is a weighty sense that they have a goal in mind for this interaction that he needs to figure out and provide in order to "win" or "earn" the feeling that the other person is enjoying their time with him. He hates that lmao. His impulse, especially very early into the relationship, is to give them nothing more than he had initially planned to offer and see how they manage.

He put Margie through these paces, too. But Margie is so...oblivious and wears her love and joy so freely and expressively--Raf has never once felt like he had to work to earn it from her. She's never seemed to clock him for deliberately failing to deliver on any perceived expectations, maybe because those expectations never existed in the first place. And it's kinda funny the effect this had [and continues to have] on him--where it kinda compells him to splurge on her far, far more than he'd otherwise be comfortable with--just because he loves watching her lose her absolute shit [positive] over any extra little guesture he's able to provide. In a way, I guess it probably feels empowering. A nice dinner is nothing for him, but apparently, it is beyond expectation for her and will put her on cloud nine for weeks lmaooo. And even after years of being together, that same dinner will still make her just as happy as it did the first time lmao

He loves doing nice things for her and giving her gifts--because it genuinely feels like a gift, and not the fullfilment of an expectation. She gives him all the love he needs by just being with him in any given moment, he doesn't need to buy or earn that. He's not attempting to pour joy into a constantly draining well, he's planting flowers that'll blossom on the banks of its overflow, and the lushness of color is something they get to enjoy together.

[theemporium]

💰 with Lando or Sebastian? You can make it whatever you'd like - Seb Anon

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“Ah, darling, I was wondering when you’d call.”

Your eyes narrowed at the casualness of his words. It was like you could hear the smirk on his face, could perfectly picture the way he was leaning back in his seat, legs spread and a cockiness about him that only someone like Sebastian Vettel could pull off. 

“What are you playing at?” You asked him bluntly, huddled away in a quiet corner at work where your nosy colleagues couldn’t eavesdrop on you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, schatz.”

You bit back the witty remark and the colourful words on the tip of your tongue as you took a deep breath, your eyes falling shut as you tried to remain calm. “Sebastian.”

“Hm, say my name like that again. I like it.”

“I–” You cut yourself off.

Ironically, this had been the first time you had spoken to the German in the last week. The last time you had seen him was when he flew back from the last race, surprising you at your apartment after insisting that he needed to see you. He had made a massive song and dance about taking you out for dinner the following night, one of those fancy places with a name you couldn’t pronounce and prices that didn’t even make it on the menu.

Except, you never made it to the restaurant. 

You sat in your apartment, dolled up and ready just like Sebastian had told you to be, only for him to stand you up. You had been pissed, to put it nicely. In fact, even thinking about it again just enraged you all over again. And instead of being apologetic, he had been so nonchalant and dismissive of the whole event which only pissed you off even further.

And after a week of avoiding his calls and messages, Sebastian had enough of being ignored. But he knew you wouldn’t just call him up if he did something sweet and nice. Absolutely not.

So, Sebastian did the next best thing to catch your attention. 

Since you had stepped into the office earlier that day, it had been non-stop. An array of flowers and chocolates and wines and pastries had been delivered to your desk throughout the day. Your colleagues were getting nosy and curious. Your boss was annoyed at the constant disruption. And you were ready to strangle the German driver through the phone.

“We are fighting, Sebastian,” you deadpanned. “You can’t send me flowers when we are fighting.”

“It’s not just flowers, darling. Did you not see the necklace? I think it would look pretty with that red, lacy set you have—”

“Sebastian,” you hissed.

“Just because we are fighting doesn’t mean I have to be negligent.” There was a pause, and when his voice filled your ears again, he sounded a lot more sincere and genuine. “Baby, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have stood you up like that. But the meeting was last minute and—”

“I don’t care about the dinner,” you told him, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “I care that you were so dismissive of my feelings about it afterwards.”

“Let me make it up to you, please. Don’t shut me out, baby. Let me grovel. Let me do what it takes.” 

Your lips twitched upwards. “Then call off your men, I barely have enough space to work on my desk with all the flowers.” 

“Fine. But I’m sending them to your apartment.” 

You shook your head. “But I won’t be there.”

“But I will be. I’ll be there waiting for my pretty girl with a nice homemade dinner and a strong hope that she will let me kiss her.”

“We’ll see,” you murmured, a shy smile on your face. “Just dinner?”

“No dessert before dinner, baby. I want you nice and fed before I fill you up.”

“Sebastian!”

“I’m simply being honest, darling.”

.