#managed to create a reaction with every word

[mariasont]

Early seasons Spencer’s gf joining the team and quickly realizing just how used to Spencer she is bc the rest of the team’s reactions to him are so different from hers

Cinnamon Sticks - S.R

a/n: obsessed with the idea of baby spencie having a gf who just gets him while he's still an awkward, nerdy little genius! thanks for requesting bestie so sorry it took so long i am the worst LOL

masterlist

pairings: early!seasons!spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, secret relationship, relationship being exposed bc these two are just so in love

wc: 1.7k

Garcia burst into the bullpen like some sort of whirlwind that was practically painted in neon, her scarf fluttering behind her almost like a cape. She juggled a precariously full cup of coffee, while her phone teetered between ear and shoulder as if testing the limits of human dexterity.

"I swear to all that is holy, if my life doesn't slow down in the next five minutes —"

The sentence derailed as she misjudged her pace, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the cup. She stopped abruptly, but not quick enough to stop the scalding liquid from spilling over and searing her fingers.

"Oh, fantastic! Just what I needed!" she huffed, waving her hand like it might stop the sting.

She threw herself into the closest chair with a dejected sigh, slumping back and fixing the coffee cup with a murderous glare, like this was just another tally in a long line of grievances.

Your eyes darted up from your work, only for a moment, enough to confirm what you already knew. You hadn't been working here long, but it was long enough to recognize the phenomenon that was Garcia: a blur of movement and words, mid-rant before anyone had the chance to catch up. It was like clockwork really.

You risked a glance across the desk at Spencer, who was so absorbed in his notebook it was a wonder he even remembered to breathe. If Garcia's antics registered as white noise to anyone, it was him. But then, almost like he had a radar for being watched, he looked up, catching your gaze.

His eyebrows lifted into a subtle what can you do? expression, and you couldn't help but smile back.

That was the thing about Spencer. He had this uncanny knack for knowing exactly what you were thinking, almost as if he had a cheat sheet for your brain. And maybe he did, like his brain worked three times faster than everyone else's in the room (which, let's face it, it definitely did). But instead of that being intimidating, it was oddly reassuring.

"At this rate, I'm one bad email away from alphabetizing my entire pantry for stress relief."

Spencer's notebook hit the desk, and there it was, the shift you loved to look for. His shoulders drew back, face lighting up, the kind of thing that signaled his mini-lecture was incoming.

"Organizing your pantry is actually a practical stress management technique. By categorizing items, you create a structured environment that reduces decision fatigue. Its why people feel calmer in tidy spaces, it's psychological."

Morgan held up a hand. "Psychological, huh? Sounds like you’re just trying to justify your weird love affair with labels, pretty boy.”

“Don’t forget,” you added absently, flipping a page in your report, “it also saves time when you’re cooking. I think you called it practical efficiency."

The words slipped out without much thought, but as soon as they did, the bullpen stilled. You glanced up, heart sinking as you saw every face turned in your direction.

Morgan’s grin was the first thing you notice, wide and knowing, stretching across his face. He tilted his head, eyes bouncing between you and Spencer like he was putting pieces together in real time.

“Wait a minute,” he said, sitting forward with a gleam in his eye. “Did you just quote him? Like, word for word?”

Your cheeks heated instantly. “What? No. I mean — maybe. I don’t know.”

“Pretty sure you did,” Morgan shot back, smirking. “Man, what else has he been teaching you? You got the periodic table memorized too?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, please. If you’ve been around Spencer long enough, you’re bound to pick up a few things. He’s like a walking encyclopedia.”

“Well,” Spencer said, his head tilting slightly as he spoke, “your cinnamon sticks always end up at the back of your pantry. That’s why I figured you might appreciate the idea of organizing by use frequency. Like I said, practical efficiency.”

The moment the words left his mouth, you knew he’d made a tactical error.

Garcia gasped, her eyes lighting up like she’d just been handed the juiciest piece of gossip of her life. 

“Oh. My. God. Spencer Reid, how exactly do you know what the back of her pantry looks like?”

You froze, rooted to the spot as the realization hit you like a cartoon anvil. 

This was bad.

Spencer’s expression mirrored yours for half a second, bug-eyed panic, but he quickly scrambled for an answer. 

“It’s, um… a logical assumption,” he stammered, his fingers toying with the pen in his hand, a nervous tell he couldn’t quite suppress. “Spices like cinnamon sticks always seem to migrate to the back of the pantry unless there’s an intentional system in place.”

Morgan let out a long, low whistle, rocking back in his chair with enough force to make it creak.

“Nice save. But I don’t think Garcia’s buying it.”

Garcia tapped her chin, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “Oh, no, no, no. This is too good. I mean, logical assumption  my fabulous behind! Cinnamon sticks in the back of her pantry? Really? What’s next? A detailed analysis of how she stacks her cereal boxes?”

You laughed, though it sounded more like a bark than anything natural. “You’re all reading way too much into this. Spencer just knows weirdly specific things about, well, everything. That’s kind of his thing, remember?”

“Mmhmm,” Garcia hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Alright, genius, I’ll let it slide this time. But I’m watching you.”

“Please don’t,” Spencer muttered under his breath, earning a round of laughter from the team.

Garcia spent a solid ten minutes in full interrogation mode after that, her eyes narrowing with each and every pointed question she lobbed your way. Morgan, of course, was no help. He leaned back, grinning like a kid with a front-row seat to the circus, his smirk practically screaming that he knew they were this close to striking a nerve.

Spencer and you had been so careful. You'd been dating long before you joined the BAU, but the moment Hotch had called to offer you the position, you both knew you'd have to keep things under wraps. Dating a coworker was one thing; dating Spencer Reid, a genius with an accidentally too-honest mouth, was an entirely different challenge.

You hadn't expected it to be this hard, though. Keeping the secret wasn't the worst part, it was pretending he wasn't the center of your universe every time you walked into the room. It was keeping your hands to yourself when all you wanted to do was smooth out the messy strands of hair that always fell into his eyes. It was biting your tongue when someone interrupted his long-winded tangents because the truth was, you loved hearing him talk.

The hours stretched on, and the bullpen slowly thinned out. Garcia was the first to leave, blowing a kiss to the room. Morgan left soon after, pausing to flash you one last grin before disappearing. Even Prentiss packed up for the night, muttering something about needed an extra shot of espresso tomorrow morning.

"You handled that well."

You looked up from your report to find Spencer by your desk, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other skimming lightly along the edge of the divider. His expression was surprisingly soft, almost bashful, as though he had been waiting to get you alone.

"Handled that well?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You were the one who almost blew it, Spencer. Cinnamon sticks? Really?"

He smiled, lips twitching upward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Okay, I'll admit that wasn't my most subtle moment. But in my defense, they do end up at the back of most pantries."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head as you leaned back in your chair. 

"We're lucky Garcia got distracted. If she'd pushed any harder..." Your voice drifted into a soft sigh. "That could've been bad."

"That was a close one."

The quiet that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but it felt a little more substantial, if that was the word, filled with that miniscule ache that always bloomed in your chest when he was near. 

Spencer stepped closer, his hand brushing against the edge of your desk. His body angled toward you, like even when you weren’t touching, he couldn’t help but gravitate toward you.

“You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I don’t think she actually suspects anything. But we should probably be more careful.”

"Probably," you replied, drawing out the word in a teasing, sing-song tone. “Unless you’d rather keep showing off how ridiculously well you know me.”

His cheeks flushed a soft pink, but he didn’t look away. Instead, that shy, boyish smile, the one that always made you a little breathless, spread across his lips.

"That's going to be hard," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I noticed a lot about you."

You could feel the flush creeping up to your neck, and you mentally cursed him for how easily he was able to do this to you.

"You're lucky I like you."

His smile widened, and his eyes crinkled at the corners in that way they only came out at specific moments. Like when he successfully performed a card trick for the team or when he stumbled across an original copy of a book at a library sale. 

The same one you'd seen when he talked about his mom on her good days, or when you asked him on a date. 

You leaned forward. "And since I like you, any chance you'd want to kiss me right now?"

"How could I not, with you looking at me like that?"

The angle was clumsy, your chair too low, his frame leaning awkwardly over, but all of that melted away the second his hands found your face. His thumbs brushed soft circles against the place where your cheek met your jaw.

His lips were soft against yours at first, testing, before growing firmer, more sure. The kind of confidence that came with a hundred familiar kisses before. 

Time seemed to slow, or at least for you it did, the rest of the world nonexistent.

The sound of a throat clearing broke the spell, and you jerked back from Spencer, your chair wobbling slightly as you turned toward the sound. You immediately regretted it — your lips felt swollen, your face hot, and there was Prentiss, leaning against the doorframe.

"We were... uh, testing something," you blurted, avidly avoiding eye contact. "You know, like... oxygen exchange! For scientific purposes."

Spencer blinked, then mumbled, "Oxygen exchange? That's the best you got?"

"Shut it," you hissed through gritted teeth, not daring to look at him.

Prentiss arched a brow. "Relax, lovebirds. If this is your idea of scientific research, I'll make sure Garcia doesn't find out. You're welcome."

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[ripcupid]

Sevika is now a council member, why not make it smut 🤷🏾‍♀️

- I honestly don’t know how I feel abt this or even the ending of arcane but fuck it btw I have another sev fic i should finish soon. 🤞🏾

Send request if you have any 🤍

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” You pants, holding Sevika's shoulders as she fervently kisses your neck, pressing you against the table, her breath hot against your skin. "You have a meeting soon, what if someone walks in?"

Sevika pulls back to you, her eyes dark with desire as a mischievous smile plays on her lips. "I don't care, let them," Sevika smirks, lifting you easily onto the table and wrapping your arms around her neck before saying, "You know why? Cause I'm a fucking councillor now, I make the rules, baby.

You giggle at her boldness, unable to push aside the ache growing between your thighs at the possibility of the rest of the council walking in on you. "Please just be quick, Sev," you plead, playing with her hair as she leans in closer, her lips brushing against your jaw.

"I can't promise that, babe," she chuckles, kissing along your jaw as her hands slips under your shirt, pulling you closer.

You can't help but moan softly as she nips and sucks at your neck, moving your head to give her better access as you give in to her touch. Sevika's hands move with urgency, making quick work of your shirt and bra, tossing them to the floor before standing back to get a good look at you.

"Fuck, baby" she breathes, trailing her eyes over your exposed chest with hunger in her gaze. "Take those off for me," she demands, her eyes locked on your every move as you eagerly comply, stripping yourself of your jeans, leaving you in just your underwear. You blush at her staring, shying away slightly before meeting her eyes with a shy smile.

"Stop being shy, c'mere," she murmurs, stepping forward, her hands tracing your waist before settling on your hips. "You’re so fucking hot," she says against your lips making you giggle before pulling you into a passionate kiss, her lips moving hungrily against yours.

Sevika guides you to her designated chair around the table, pulling you onto her lap as she deepens the kiss, her hands resting on the curve of your ass. You wrap your arms around her neck, subtly grinding against her thigh as she kneads your ass, giving you a playful spank. You tuck your head into the crook of her neck, hiding the whimper that escapes your lips as she rubs over the now sensitive skin.

"Don't hide from me, baby," Sevika demands, spanking your ass again, making you gasp. You face flushes as you meet her intense gaze, feeling a surge of arousal at her hands slowly guiding you to grind against her thick thigh. Your clothed clit rubs against your panties, the damp fabric creating a delicious friction that makes you twitch in her lap.

"Oh fuck, Sev," you moan, bunching Sevika's shirt in your fists as you grind harder against her. The feeling of her strong thigh against your throbbing clit fogs your brain, forgetting about the meeting starting soon, only able to think about how badly you want to cum.

"Does it feel good, baby?" Sevika coos, brushing back your hair and holding your face in her hand. You nod, unable to form words, the only sounds escaping your lips being desperate whimpers and cries. "Yeah, you wanna cum for me?"

"Yes, please," you manage to gasp out, your hips faltering when Sevika flexes her thigh against you, increasing the pressure on your throbbing clit. Sevika's hand leaves your face, trailing her fingers down your neck to your tits, teasingly circling your hardened nipples.

You twitch as she pinches the sensitive buds, chuckling softly at your reaction. She leans back in her chair to watch you squirm in her lap, a wicked smile playing on her lips as she taunts, "My meeting starts soon and I would hate to leave you like this." You whimper in frustration, feeling the heat pooling between your legs as Sevika's finger trails even lower.

"No, please, I'm so close," you cry, humping against her thigh desperately. Sevika's grin widens as she pulls your panties up against your dripping core, reveling in the way you writhe and moan under her touch. As your orgasm builds, Sevika guides your hips to move faster, feeling you drip onto her thigh.

"Can I cum, Sevika, please? " you beg, your voice shaky with need as your head drops against her chest, feeling the tension building in your belly.

Sevika chuckles, stroking your hair gently as she whispers, "Of course, baby." With her encouragement, you finally reach the edge, tucking your head in her neck to muffle the cries of pleasure as your body trembles.

As you come down from your high, you face Sevika again, a shy smile on your lips as you give her a quick kiss before getting off her lap with shaky legs. "You need help?" Sevika jokes, watching you stumble slightly before getting up to help.

"I'm good, just need a minute," you pant using the table to steady yourself.

"Let me help," Sevika insists, picking up your clothes and carefully dressing you.

"Thank you," you whisper, once she's done, leaning up to kiss her once more before heading towards the door, "Have a good meeting,” you wink as you exit, running into another council member as you speed down the hall

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ gods and monsters ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x wife!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you cherished your husband, your family, and the life you had created together. hwang in-ho was a man of contradictions, capable of immense love and devotion. he treated you with such care, as though you were the most precious thing in his world. his adoration was tangible in every gesture, every lingering glance. yet beneath that tenderness was a darkness you struggled to reconcile. this same man, who held your hand with precious affection, was also the masked overseer of the squid game, a series of merciless challenges where the desperate competed, often at the cost of their lives, for a staggering cash prize.

˚ ༘♡ you could never truly fathom it. the man who pressed sweet kisses to your forehead at night was the same monster who orchestrated a spectacle of death and suffering. he claimed no pleasure in it, but the mere fact of his involvement unsettled you. the gleaming black mask, the command he held over every horrific detail, it was a world so far removed from the comfort of your home, yet it belonged to him all the same.

˚ ༘♡ only once had he asked if you wished to attend, to see what he called “his other life.” the question had terrified you to your core, your lips parting in silent dismay. you hadn’t needed to answer. the way your expression shifted, the way fright and disapproval glared across your pallid face, was enough. he never brought it up again, never risked shattering the fragile balance he had created between his two identities.

˚ ༘♡ you were a mother to a healthy three-year-old son, who filled your days with laughter and energy, and you were carrying another child, though you had yet to tell your husband. the news remained a quiet secret, one you turned over in your mind during the solitude of the evening. it wasn’t fear of his reaction that kept you silent. hwang in-ho adored his family, there was no question of that, but the thought of bringing another life into the shadow of the games unsettled you.

˚ ༘♡ you tried to focus on being the woman you wanted to be, a loving mother, a supportive partner. in many ways, you succeeded. you tucked your son in every night with whispered stories and soft lullabies, kept your home warm and welcoming, and met your husband’s gaze with as much love as you could muster, even when doubts crept into the corners of your mind.

˚ ༘♡ when your worries became too much to bear, he would sense it, always. he would take your hands in his, his voice calm, his tone measured. “think of me as two men,” he would say, his words a plea for understanding. “there is hwang in-ho, your husband, your partner, the father of our children. and then there is the front man, a role i play, a mask i wear.”

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to believe him, to hold on to the idea that the man who kissed you tenderly each morning could be separate from the one who orchestrated so much pain. but no matter how you tried to comprehend it, there were nights when the thought of who he was beyond your shared walls kept you awake, your heart aching with questions you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

˚ ༘♡ you tried with all your might to separate the two sides of the man you loved, the front man and your husband, hwang in-ho. but when he told you he wouldn’t be able to contact you during this year’s games, the delicate balance you had worked so hard to maintain crumbled. the weight of his words refused to settle, tearing at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to simply let it go.

˚ ༘♡ “every year, you’ve managed to visit after the game for the day. what’s different this time?” you asked, your voice trembling with desperation.

˚ ༘♡ at first, he deflected, his tone dismissive as if your concerns were unwarranted. but as your worry grew, it became impossible for him to ignore. the strain in your expression, the way your voice cracked when you spoke, it was enough to wear him down. even your son had begun to notice, his small hands tugging at your sleeve, his innocent eyes filled with confusion at the tension that filled the air.

˚ ༘♡ with a frustrated sigh, in-ho finally relented. his hand enveloped yours, warm and steady against your trembling fingers. “i will be there this year,” he admitted, his voice hushed and measured. “as a player.”

˚ ༘♡ the words sent a chill through you, and your breath caught in your throat. “what? why?” you asked, your disbelief slicing through the tension.

˚ ༘♡ his gaze locked onto yours. “there is someone returning to the games this year,” he began, his tone careful. “a former player, a winner in fact. he’s likely to cause complications, and… i can’t deny the intrigue of watching him. this year will be different. i’ve decided to stay close by instead of observing from a distance.”

˚ ༘♡ fury and agony surged within you, and your hands shook as you lightly struck his chest, the beating driven by hysteria. “you idiot!” you yelled. “you can’t guarantee you’ll be safe! have you even thought about your family? what about our son?”

˚ ༘♡ he caught your wrist gently, his grip cautious, his face softening as he pulled you closer. “i will not be in danger,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “i promise you that.”

˚ ༘♡ still, his assurance wasn’t enough. it didn’t stop the knot in your stomach from tightening or the ache in your chest from growing far more intense. the words you spoke next tumbled out before you had a chance to think them through. “if that’s true, then you won’t have any problem with me coming along!”

˚ ༘♡ the declaration hung in the air, sharp and sudden. even you were startled by it, your heart pounding in your chest as the misery of your demand settled between you. fear and anger had driven you to say it, but now it was too late to take it back. you searched his face for a reaction, your pulse racing.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t speak such nonsense again," he said firmly, his tone cutting through the tension in the room. "you have our son to think about. i am going, and i’ll return in a week. this is final."

˚ ༘♡ “no!” you shot back, the tremor in your voice betraying your growing panic. “if you’re going, then i’m coming with you. you told me it’s safe.” your eyes darted toward your son, who had long fallen asleep, blissfully unaware of the battle unfolding. a wave of guilt swept over you, tightening your throat. “he can stay with the household staff for a week. do you think i could take care of him properly while i’m sick with worry about you?”

˚ ༘♡ his brow furrowed, the sharp lines of irritation creasing his weary face. “you’re being unreasonable,” he said, his voice hard, though it faltered slightly as he began pacing the room. each step was measured, purposeful, as though he were trying to walk away from the argument itself. “this is dangerous enough without you there complicating things.”

˚ ༘♡ “and you’re being infuriating,” you countered, your tone rising as desperation overtook your earlier composure. “do you think I’d forgive myself if something happened to you while i stayed here and did nothing? you’re asking too much of me.” your voice cracked, the weight of your despair spilling into the room.

˚ ༘♡ the argument carried on into the late hour, a nightmare of clashing scorn and unresolved fears. he tried to dismiss you, to shut you down with reason, but you refused to back down. your agony, raw and untamed, eventually drove you to the brink. “if you go without me, i’ll leave,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i’ll take our son, and i’ll leave.”

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was deafening. he froze, his gaze snapping to yours, searching your face for the truth. you hated the lie, the hollowness of your own threat, but it was all you had left. leaving him wasn’t something you could ever do, but the thought of him walking into danger alone was unbearable.

˚ ༘♡ he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the burden of his dilemma. “fine,” he said at last, his voice clipped and low. “if you’re coming, then there are conditions… rules that have to be carefully followed.”

˚ ༘♡ your relief was immediate but short-lived as his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. “what conditions?” you asked, your voice softer now, cautious.

˚ ༘♡ “we’ll need to use false identities," he explained, his tone deliberate, each word chosen with care. "to everyone involved, we’re strangers. no one can know who we are, not even that we’re connected."

˚ ༘♡ the practicality of his demand sent a shiver down your spine, even as you nodded in agreement. the idea of pretending he was nothing more than a stranger felt unnatural, wrong, but you couldn’t argue. “i understand,” you murmured, though the knot in your stomach tightened with every passing second.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as though considering whether you truly grasped what you were stepping into. when he finally looked away, you felt no sense of victory, only the forthcoming horror of what lay ahead.

˚ ༘♡ the games were set to begin in exactly one week, and each passing day left you feeling more unsettled. every time your husband pulled you into his arms, the unease lingered beneath the surface, making it difficult to fully surrender to his warmth. though you tried to find comfort in his presence, the thought of what lay ahead clouded every shared moment.

˚ ༘♡ you had entrusted your son to the most reliable and loyal members of the household staff, ensuring that he would be cared for in your absence. you also took great care to conceal any sign of your pregnancy. if in-ho discovered the truth, he would never allow you to join him, and staying behind was not an option you could accept.

˚ ༘♡ he had laid out the plan with meticulous precision. the two of you would arrive after the chaos of the first game, red light, green light. as he explained it, a large portion of the participants would undoubtedly be eliminated once they grasped the deadly reality of the games. the aftermath of that horror would provide cover for your entrance, allowing you to integrate without raising suspicion.

˚ ༘♡ your husband would take on the identity of player 001, an unassuming participant with no visible ties to you. your alias would be player 077, your stories carefully crafted to fit the narrative. his fabricated reason for joining the games was both haunting and ironic, he claimed he needed money for his pregnant wife. when he first told you this, a wave of panic washed over you, thinking he might have discovered your secret. but as you studied his expression, his calm demeanor revealed no hint of realization.

˚ ༘♡ for your feigned story, he decided you would play the role of a young woman drowning in debt, struggling to pay off the burdens left behind by your late father. the lie felt strangely fitting, yet it unsettled you all the same. every detail he crafted for your cover seemed so calculated, so detached, it was as though he had rehearsed this for far longer than he let on. this game of life and death was nothing more than a facade for him.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded along as he explained the plan, his voice unwavering. though the words were spoken with care, they failed to soothe the growing tension within you. each step of the plan felt cold, clinical, designed to strip away any sense of the life you shared outside these games. with every passing day, the distance between hwang in-ho, your husband, and the front man became more glaring, and you wondered if you could truly separate the two when it mattered most.

˚ ༘♡ you knelt by your son’s bedside, planting a soft kiss against his forehead. his small hand clung to your finger, and for a vanishing moment, you felt the crushing weight of guilt threaten to undo you. you whispered promises you weren’t sure you could keep, telling him you would be back soon, that everything would be fine. as his breathing slowed in sleep, you lingered a minute longer, memorizing the curve of his face and the delicate skin of his tiny hand before slipping away with your husband.

˚ ༘♡ the player uniforms were a tight, oppressive reminder of the role you had agreed to take on. the white and forest-green fabric felt rough against your skin, the stitched numbers, 001 on him, 077 on you, marking you both as part of this wicked charade. the air between you was dense with unspoken tension as you followed his lead into the heart of the games.

˚ ༘♡ the aftermath of the first game hit you like a physical blow. scarlet-red blood smeared the walls, the metallic stench thick enough to taste. lifeless bodies were being dragged away by masked figures, their uniforms pristine against the carnage. your stomach churned violently, and you had to bite down hard to keep from retching. your husband walked ahead, his pace measured, his face a mask of icy detachment.

˚ ༘♡ yet, even as he feigned indifference, you noticed the subtle tension p his clenched fists and the hard line of his jaw. no matter how disciplined and resolute he was, pretending you were a stranger clearly cost him some of his will power.

˚ ༘♡ you entered the massive dormitory, a cavernous space where the remaining players huddled in groups, their expressions etched with terror and disbelief. the room was alive with murmurs, frantic whispers of confusion and distress as they tried to process what had happened. the realization of the deadly nature of the games hung over the crowd, suffocating and inescapable.

˚ ༘♡ abruptly, a piercing voice broke through the calamity, commanding and filled with urgency. all eyes turned to player 456, a man whose presence seemed to dominate the room. his words were bold, calling for a vote in accordance with the consent clause, a chance for the players to decide whether they would continue or abandon the games. the idea rippled through the crowd, igniting faint glimmers of hope in some and deepening the despair in others.

˚ ༘♡ your husband moved slightly, a subtle shift in his stance catching your attention. his gaze flicked toward you, so brief it was almost imperceptible. then, with deliberate movements, he traced a small circle on the back of his hand, an action so precise it disturbed you. he turned away before you could react, his focus now on the masked enforcers who were setting up the voting station.

˚ ༘♡ it took you a moment to understand the message. he wanted you to vote in favor of continuing the games. the realization landed suddenly. you clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to steady yourself. the thought of condemning the remaining players to more death and suffering was unbearable, but you understood what his silent gesture meant. if the games ended now, everything he had planned, every risk he had taken, would amount to nothing.

˚ ༘♡ the apprehension caused your chest to tighten further as the masked figures prepared the voting station, their movements mechanical and precise. the voices of the players rose, some pleading for an end, others arguing to stay. you felt your pulse quicken, the enormity of what you were about to do pressing down on you as you prepared to cast a vote that would decide not only the fate of the players but the course of your husband’s dangerous mission.

a/n: the winner of the fanfiction vote, but i will definitely be writing for cho sang-woo as well! i hope you all enjoy reading! let me know if you have anymore requests! 🤍

[lemonlover1110]

𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀!

Sylus

Pairing: Sylus x f!Reader

Summary: You leave a memento for Sylus before your business trip

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! Smut, Oral Sex (m. receiving), FILMING (aka they make a sex tape), Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Cockwarming, Nipple Play, Praising

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

Sylus gets pouty when he realizes you’ll be gone for a week. He doesn’t know how he ever survived without you. The thought almost seems impractical now. 

The issue with Sylus is that you notice he’s upset, but nobody else does. Sylus successfully manages to suppress any and all of his feelings. To everyone else he looks normal, but you notice that something is off with him. His lips are slightly pursed together instead of being in their typical straight line. His eyebrows are more together than usual, and you can’t help but notice how he subtly wrinkles his nose when you mention that you’ll be gone for a week.

He’s upset, but every time that you mention it Sylus completely denies it. He typically laughs, as if you’ve told some sort of joke when you’ve simply pointed out your observations. He keeps up the facade that he’s a big and strong man that won’t get upset by his girlfriend leaving him; even if it’s with you. You won’t push the matter though, if he claims that he isn’t upset then he’s not upset.

“Is everything packed?” Sylus asks, staring at the pink bag that contains all of your stuff for the week. Sure, it’s big but not enough for a week’s worth of clothes and necessities. It surprises him when you nod. “Sweetie, I know you aren’t low maintenance…”

“You act like I’ll be gone for a month. It’s just a week, and I’ll mostly be in uniform.” You respond, and you watch as his face contorts. He’s upset. Your eye could twitch at his reaction– It’s not that you’re mad that he’s upset, you’re mad because he denies it. No matter what you say he’ll deny it.

“Right, it’s just a week.” He answers. Comforting yet distressful words. 

“But maybe you’re right, in case I need to stay for longer I should pack–” You begin but before you can even finish the thought, the man cuts you off.

“Why would you need to stay for longer?” His words almost come out jumbled from how fast he speaks. He notices how he acts and corrects his speech, “Doesn’t the association have other hunters? Why would they exclusively force you to stay?”

“I’m important at my job, Sylus.” You point out, getting pouty yourself. However, you should be happy. You can see the distress in his eyes by the mere suggestion that you might have to stay for longer. “And since you won’t miss me around, I might just stay longer.”

“You’re more than welcome to.” He crosses his arms, not willing to let you win in this petty game that you have suddenly created. 

“Fine.” You frown, grabbing your bag from the bedroom and heading toward the door.

“Where are you going?” He questions as you begin to walk away.

“I’m sleeping in the guest room.” You announce, and you watch as he clenches his jaw; yet, he won’t say a thing. He nods. He’ll let you have your way.

You expect Sylus to be in your room within thirty minutes, but he’s nowhere to be seen. You know him enough to know that he’ll show up to your room eventually, you’re just not sure that you’ll be awake for when that happens. Your eyes are getting heavy, before you know it, you’ll be asleep.

Luckily, at thirty-one minutes, you feel a heavy weight settle in beside you. He’ll continue to deny that he’s upset. But he doesn’t have to admit that he’s upset for you to know– What difference will it make if he admits it?

“Are you asleep?” He whispers as his arm goes over your body, bringing you closer to him. You hum in response, quickly followed by a giggle from you. “Does that mean you don’t want to talk?”

“Will you admit that you’ll miss me?” You ask him as you feel his cold hand going under your shirt, looking for warmth. You nearly squeal at the cold hands, but you’re used to them. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, answering your question in the most unusual manner.

“Who’s going to warm me up?” He responds.

“Mephisto.” You joke, but he can’t find any humor in your words. He’s serious, yet you’re laughing.

“And who’ll keep me company?” He continues while your hand caresses his arm. He’s letting himself be soft, a pleasure that only you get to witness. He’d call it his weak side, but you think it’s his finest trait.

“I’m only one call away.” You remind him, but you understand that it’s not the same. You take his hand out of your shirt and turn on your side to look at him. He’s looking down at you with soft eyes, completely filled with worry.

“I want to see your face.” He says, and your hand goes to his cheek, pinching it. 

“Your phone has a camera, silly. You’re always calling me on facetime.” He’s finding issues with anything and everything, all which has a solution. Your lips land on the tip of his nose before you ask, “Is it because you’re going to miss my kisses and undivided attention?”

He stays quiet, and you peck his lips. You kiss him over and over again. You’ll do it until he asks you to stop, but Sylus is never going to stop you. As long as you’re all over him, he’s happy. 

“Kiss your hand whenever you miss me.” Your thumb caresses his cheek, and he looks at you with adoring eyes. You press your forehead against his, while his arm brings you closer to him.

“What if I’m missing more than just your kisses?” He asks, and your brows perk up. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s insinuating, but you choose to act stupid. You want to hear the exact words.

“Hmm… What do you mean?” You sit up, batting your eyelashes at him. A smirk comes to his lips, noting the mischief in your eyes. You get on top of him, knees on either side of him while his hands go to your waist.

“You know exactly what I mean, kitten.” He responds, his hands going under your shirt once again– This time, they aren’t looking for warmth; they’re being naughty and trailing up your skin. “What will I do when I need more than your kisses?”

“You have the internet.” You remind him, reaching into his pocket to pull out his precious phone. You input the password, one that so perfectly matches with your birthday, and open the browser on his phone. Before you can begin typing, he snatches the phone from your hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sylus’ eyes narrow as he stares at the tiny screen. You bite down your lip, suppressing a smirk. His eyes look back and forth between you and his phone.

“I was going to show you where you can go whenever you need a little bit more–” You begin, but he cuts you off. He’s almost offended that you were about to even suggest that.

“Why would I want to watch anyone that isn’t you, kitten?” He raises an eyebrow, and you feel your cheeks get warm at his comment. His hand goes under your chin, tilting your head to look directly down at him. “Do you understand my frustration?”

“It’s only a week.” Your words bring little to no comfort to him. 7 days. 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. 604,800 seconds. It’s not just a week. “What else can I do? It’s my job.”

“I told you that you can always quit– But since you don’t want to do that… Nothing.” He ends up sighing. You’d almost feel bad for Sylus, if he weren’t overreacting. You’ve lost count of the amount of times the amount suddenly disappeared for days on end.

“You’ll survive.” You tell him, as your eyes land on his phone. An idea comes to your mind, but you don’t have the guts to outright suggest it. You peck his lips before you whisper, “If you tell me you’ll miss me then I’ll do you a favor.”

“Which is?” He questions, and he watches your eyes land on his phone. He doesn’t need to be told twice, or in this case, not even once. He moves your hair out of the way and kisses your forehead, lips moving down to the tip of your nose and then your lips. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

“Now you can admit it.” You joke, lips landing on his, more intensely than any kiss you’ve shared tonight. His breathing gets heavy, body temperature suddenly rising as he feels your lips on yours. The moment an opening comes to you, your tongue enters his mouth and presses against his own. 

His hands roam through your body, going under your shirt and landing on your tits. Fingers circle and lightly pinch your nipples while his teeth bite down your bottom lip before pulling away. Sylus can’t properly enjoy himself before you push his hands away from your breasts,

You grab his phone, opening the camera and beginning the video, before forcing him to take it. You smile at the camera before your hands lift up your shirt, putting on a show for the screen. Sylus’ free hand can’t help itself, quickly fondling your chest.

“Make sure you get my good angle.” You adjust the camera before your body moves down. You begin to kiss his lower abdomen, moving down until his briefs stop you. Your finger hooks under the waist band, pulling down and freeing his cock from its restraints. 

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, giving it a couple of strokes before you spit on it. Your head moves down, tongue circling the tip of his dick, earning a groan from him. He tries to keep the phone still, not wanting to look back at the footage and watch blurry footage, but it’s hard to keep still when he’s so sensitive. 

Eyes look up at him as your mouth wraps around his length, taking in as much as you can. You slowly bob your head, each movement earning a sound from the man. You’re putting on a show for him– Making a memorable video for him. It’ll be his most prized possession, yet the most confidential.

“Good job.” He praises, almost out of breath as your mouth gags on his cock. Tears well up in your eyes, his dick too much for you to handle. You’re trying to outdo yourself for the audience, taking all of him while you know that you can’t.

“You’re such a good girl.” He tells you while you take your mouth off his cock, spit coating your chin as you gasp for air. 

“Is it good, baby? Will you be thinking of this while I’m gone?” Your eyes are focused on the camera, not even bothering on looking at your boyfriend. Sylus would complain, if his eyes weren’t rolling to the back of his head. Your lips kiss the tip before your tongue circles around his cock again.

His voice gets louder as your mouth sets just the right pace. His breath gets caught up in his chest, slowly losing control. Your hand massages his balls as you watch Sylus’ face contort with pleasure.

Sylus moans your name as his cum hits the back of your throat. He groans as he empties himself inside your mouth. You take your mouth off his cock, making sure to swallow every last drop of his cum and sticking your tongue out so the camera can see how much of a good girl you are.

“Good girl, making sure to not waste a single drop.” Sylus says, his hand going down to your mouth and wiping the corner of your mouth. Your face goes up, lips landing on his own, which he happily receives. When he pulls away, he reminds you, “You have to complete the show, kitten.”

“Put the phone on the nightstand.” You tell him, and while he tries to find the perfect position, you take off your pants. His hands get shaky, desperate to continue. It’s the last time he’ll see you like this for a week, and he’ll make sure to enjoy every single minute. 

“Fuck– Fuck!” He curses as the phone falls, something that he’ll have to edit out of the video– Is he seriously thinking about editing his sex tape? He can simply fast forward, but that’ll just ruin his mood.

“Will you hurry?” You whine, getting desperate to feel him inside of you. You can’t wait for him to find the perfect position. Just as he settles the phone down perfectly, you push your panties to the side. You align his cock with your entrance, and slowly settle down on his length. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as his cock fills you up.

“Fuck…” He mutters, out of breath as he feels your cunt wrap around him. As much as he loves your mouth, it truly can’t compare. Oh, he could cry knowing that he’ll only have his hand for a week. He’ll make do with what you’ve given him.

“Oh, fuck.” You moan, adjusting to his dick before you begin to move. You’re bouncing on his cock, setting a slow pace. His hands grip your ass while he lifts his face to bury it between your tits. He’ll make sure to enjoy his last few moments with you; it’s why you call him overdramatic, he acts as if he’ll never see you again. Though, right now you can’t complain about the way he acts. His tongue licks your cleavage before his mouth successfully latches onto your nipple.

Sylus moves his hips, moving much faster than you. You meet him half way, moans getting louder as his cock hits every right spot. Maybe you’re putting on such a show because you want the video yourself, you’ll definitely need it. You grab a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back which causes him to bite down before pulling away. The pain adds to the pleasure.

“You’re doing such a good job.” You talk to him as if he were a pathetic little pet. A tone of voice which he hates to admit he enjoys. “Are you my good boy, Sylus?”

“Yes.” He admits, sex brain getting the best of him– No, it’s something that he’d admit at any other time with you… Not with people around, but regardless, he’d admit it. “I’m your good boy, kitten.”

You smile, eyes darting directly at the tiny camera that captures the moment. Surely, he’ll deny that he ever said those words but luckily, you have an audience this time around.

“You feel so good.” He tells you, one hand going down to play with your clit. Your breath hitches, your hands wrapping to the back of his neck as your lips land on his. He’s met with pure carnal desire, a side of you that he rarely comes across with. A side that he thoroughly enjoys. 

“I’m gonna– Fuck–” You begin as you pull away, but you can’t finish your sentence. You begin to tighten around him, your orgasm rapidly approaching and taking over you. 

“Come all over me, sweetheart.” His eyes look down at his cock, watching as your pussy wraps around it. A sight that he’ll be thinking about for 604,800 seconds. His phone will do no justice. 

“Sylus– It’s so fucking good!” You’re practically screaming, surely making a spectacle of yourself. You’d make a great actress, that’s for sure. You throw your head back, mouth falling agape as pleasure consumes you.

“Good job, kitten. Good job.” He praises you as your orgasm consumes you and you make a mess all over him. He can’t help but grab the phone and practically show off to where your two bodies meet. It’s a sight that he never wants to forget about.

“Look at you, you made such a mess.” He clicks his tongue, but it’s a mess that he appreciates, especially with how your pussy feels around him. Your lips meet once again, while his thrusts become unregulated. 

“I’m gonna come inside you, okay?” He tells you, making you frantically nod in response. Before you know it, Sylus’ seed coats your insides. The man is unwilling to pull out until he makes sure that every last drop of his cum is inside of you– Though that’s hard as it drips out of your cunt and coats his cock. 

Sylus makes sure to get one last frame of your pussy, before panning the camera to your face. You smile at the camera, winking before you kiss the lens. That’s when Sylus decides to end the perfect video. 

“Is that enough for you?” You ask as you try to lift yourself up from his cock, but his hands hold you down.

“Let’s stay like this for a bit.” You swear you see a pout on his lips once again. He doesn’t want to let you go just yet.

“Fine.” You agree as his lips peck yours ever-so-lovingly.

“I’ll miss you.” He finally admits, and you smile before kissing him again. You had imagined the revelation to be more romantic… But this will make do.

“I love you, Sylus.”

“I love you too.”

[justsomestuffreally]

I think the Batkids reaction to a Bruce who isn't de-aged to 8 but rather 29 (pre-Jason death, post his adoption) would be fascinating. 

Their reaction would vary wildly:

Dick: Oh. Bruce is soft again. Bruce calls them ‘chum’ and ‘buddy’ and gives head pats for no reason. He still isn’t perfect, his communication skills are still a work in progress, but compared to his future self? Without actively dying Dick is hugged plenty. Bruce asks him to go to the zoo, unrelated to any case, just to spend time together. Dick is hit with more nostalgia and longing for the past than he knows what to do with.

Also notable: his dad is younger than him. That is something. Second, holy existential crisis Batman, his dad is younger than him and already one adult and one teenage kid??? Dick is not ready to feel this old yet. Third, Dick has absolutely no idea how Bruce managed to stay patient through his no-pants years. He is going to thank reason every day from now on that Damian wears full protection.

Jason: After his death and League he clung to an image of Bruce. One many tried to beat out of him, but he still kept it somewhere close to his heart, buried deep enough even he couldn’t see it. When he came back Bruce wasn’t like this idea of him. How stupid of him to believe the mind of a traumatized kid. Trying to create one good thing before the kid drew his last breath. Making up memories that never even existed.

But they did. Every smile and hug and even his words reflect the image tugged safely against his still-beating heart. His dad very clearly, very deeply loves him. Which is so much worse. Because he can understand why a Bruce, who never cared, didn’t kill the Joker. But he cares. So why the fuck did he not kill the Joker?

Tim: The reason he joined the family, the reason why he became Robin in the first place was because he saw a problem when Bruce started self-destructing and thought ‘Someone needs to fix that!’. Therefore he went and collected Dick, who didn’t seem keen on fixing it. So, the job fell to him to fix it.

He thought he did a good job, he thought he fixed the problem. Except now he sees who Bruce was, and he knows he failed. Their Bruce is less soft, less affectionate, less like he was before. Batman needs a Robin and Tim didn’t manage to be good enough of one to save him. 

[Or: Tim has a guilt complex a hundred miles wide and blames himself for things that aren’t his fault part 52]

Steph: Jason and she are very similar. Both come from the Narrows, both have a mother addicted to drugs and a shitty father. The differences start when Steph keeps waiting on the roof of their apartment for Batman to whisk her away, while Jason tries to steal the tires of the Batmobile and is taken in.

When Steph started out as Spoiler Bruce tried to keep her off the field, and obviously this one would too (even if he would probably be less paranoid about it), but she knows this Bruce would have also taken her in. This Bruce would be the father she always wished for when she sat on their roof and couldn’t see any stars. 

And she didn’t get to have this because Jason went ahead and died. (Of course, she knows she isn’t fair to the guy. Dying isn’t fun… And she knows the only reason she lived is because he died. When Batman rescued her from Black Mask she was in such terrible shape that Leslie managed to convince the World’s Greatest Detective that she died. If Jason hadn’t died Bruce wouldn’t have been as paranoid, wouldn’t have noticed her missing so soon, wouldn’t have been as urgent in his response. Would have been just a minute slower, a minute which would have killed her. Just as it had Jason.)

For her, this Bruce is a distorted mirror into a past which never was. 

Cass: This Bruce and B are not the same person. They don’t move the same. In a fight, this Bruce is younger, faster, stronger. Doesn’t compensate for a previously broken spine. Less experienced. Still one of the most experienced she knows, but less. 

He still moves differently, outside a fight, less pain. More likely to engage in physical affection, more likely to hug and pat and talk. He talks more than B. B knows what she means without words. This Bruce doesn’t.

She likes this Bruce, warmth, and softness. But not as much as B. He knows what she means, when she wants a hug, when she tells him ‘I love you’ without words. B doesn’t need words. This Bruce doesn’t know her, doesn’t communicate like her. She wants B back.

Damian: At first, when this version of his father seemed uncanny and oddly familiar, he assumed it to be due to the stories of his mother. After all, she always told him tales about his father. He simply did not have the frame of reference to understand the kindness she spoke of. Clearly, the clash between the ideals of the League and the ones of his father causes these feelings, just as they did when he first entered the manor.

He presumed this to be the case until one day on patrol Batman laid a hand on his shoulder and told him he did a good job after no particularly impressive fight and he nearly called him ‘Grayson’. Because the stories of his mother may have painted the picture of this version of his father, however, it wasn’t what made it familiar; no, he knew this kindness. These hugs and compliments one would bestow upon a child. Compliments which, despite the indignity, still warm him. Because Grayson learned how to be a… caregiver from his father.

His father used to be like Grayson, used to be until his grief hardened him. Damian could have had this. Damian could have a brother and father who would- But he doesn’t because of Todd. He loathes Todd. Loathes him for ruining the life he could have had.

Why did he die anyway? Damian certainly wouldn’t have a problem escaping bonds created by the Joker, Damian would have disarmed the bomb in time, Damian would have never thrown this life away like he did.

[Or: Damian is a child who was raised by assassins and has unreasonable standards for fighting abilities and also is a child who needs to focus his rage on someone.]

Duke: He was neither there before Jason died nor in the aftermath [according to my math he was around 4 when Jason died] he joined the family when Jason was already back for 4 years or so. He mostly skipped all the drama. For him, Bruce is the way Bruce is because he is Bruce. It’s weird to see him so different, to see how grief shaped parts of Bruce which Duke assumed were just Bruce things.

He’s glad this Bruce is brighter, or not because it just highlights how much that light will dim? Who knows, certainly not him. 

What he does know is that, with their Bruce, he has a distance which, with his parents still alive, he appreciates. With this Bruce, he can understand why Dick struggled so much whether he wants to be his ward or son, how he doesn’t want to replace his parents but still have this Bruce as a dad. It definitely explained the ted talk Dick tried to give him after Bruce officially took him in as a ward.

He likes this Bruce well enough, but he doesn’t necessarily want him to stay this way. Yes, their Bruce is less happy, less open but he did heal, he did grow. Duke met a Bruce who tried to learn from his mistakes, learned to communicate better, and learned when to pull and when to push. For Tim, Damian, Dick, and certainly Jason there is too much baggage, too much history in their relationships, it’s difficult for them to ever move past- anything really.

Sure, when Dick and Bruce are on the same page they are essentially invincible but then the past catches up again and they don’t talk to each other for months. And honestly? Apart from Cass, Duke’s pretty sure he has one of the best relationships with Bruce simply because he got to know him at a better time.

Duke doesn’t mind this Bruce. But their Bruce loved Jason, cared for him so deeply the scars still show to this day. And he still chooses to open up again even if just a bit by bit. Even if just Duke can see it. He is used to being the only one that can see.

And maybe knowing this care extends to him, this love even grief can’t shake? Maybe it makes him feel just a little bit safer, a little bit warmer, a little bit brighter.

[ohmy-gojo]

firm believer that nanami should have a cooking account on social medias

one thing about nanami, hes really good at cooking (tho its not surprising) he was a decent cook before he met you, just whipping up some salad for lunch and baking bread for a treat once in a while

but when you came to his life, along came your late night food cravings. not that he ever complained, he loved every little quirks of yours. dating since high school and still together, hes proud to say his cooking has gotten much better than before. and now he cooks not because he needs to, but because he enjoys it and has someone who appreciates it so much (with eyes who look at him as if he hangs the stars in the sky and ofc, endless kisses)

in your opinion though, hes the best cook ever. not only aiding to your cravings, but also getting creative with it. he manages to make everything look so simple and easy yet so cute. it feels illegal to enjoy his work alone. and since youre no gatekeeper, you decided to bring it up one day

"do you ever think of creating a cooking channel?"

nanami paused for a moment before returning back to his work, which was making pompompurin themed mozzarella buns for you. he hummed softly

"the thought didnt really cross my mind. why do you say that though?"

you sat up straight, ready to bring out your powerpoint presentation on how hes the best cook ever and should be cherished like the king he is.

"duh are you seriously asking why? you cook so good and i feel like you should be, i dont know, seen and applauded and, and- appreciated for your talent!" you rambled

a small smile and a blush, which you missed since his back was turned, graced his face

"but you do that plenty you know," he said teasingly "you appreciate me quite much and quite well."

you blushed at his words knowing well what he was implying to then furrowed your brows stubbornly

"dont make this about me now! just maybe.. think about this okay? i know how much you enjoy cooking and if you ever feel like sharing your art with the world, know that im always by your side." you finished with a soft smile

that night, after finishing dinner and the treats he made for you, he mulled over your words instead of reading his novels during bedtime like he usually did as he waited for you to finish your skincare routine. he thought and thought and suddenly it wasnt a bad idea? getting to share the love of cooking for the love of his life as long his face isnt shown? hes down.

when he bought this up during breakfast next day, you almost choked on the omelette he made for you (ofc added a smiley face with sauce) and stared at him through wide eyes. he chuckled at your reaction and handed you oreo milkshake.

you took the responsibility of acting as his social media manager of course as a supportive wifey. you made sure the profile was him, simple and sophisticated also cute as hell and when it was time for the filming

"just be yourself ken," you smiled gently at him, seeing him subtly furrowing his brows, a gesture which meant he was nervous. "people will love you!"

he smiled back at you and pecked your forehead "just so you know that whatever happens, im still only cooking for you and only you in my mind."

thus you pressed the record button. for the first video of his account, he made your favorite food. paired with his classical music playlist playing in the background, the cozy atmosphere and his gentle hands, you had no doubt that the video was gonna blow up

and blow up it did. because in the first two days, the first and only video he created garnered over a million views and 800k likes as well as quite a lot of followers. even though you expected just as much, he seemed to be in shock at the growing numbers

"see!? youre a celebrity already! remember me when you get famous ken."

he chuckled at your words, shaking his head fondly and returned back to his work, making a healthy salad recipe for you since you (🫵🏻) always neglect your veggies.

[softtdaisy]

do they know about us / Aaron Hotchner

summary. The five times the team almost learned about Hotch dating the babysitter, the one time they did.

words count. 6 027

what to expect. honestly pure fluff, hotch is a teen in love with his girlfriend, a little angst at the end but nothing too serious

a/n. this is officially the longest fic I have ever written here and I'm really happy about sharing it with you, I couldn't say goodbye to hotch and the babysitter so here it is 🥹 and here is the first one about them in case you want to read it

criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

1. The message

After Hotch started dating you, he realized how hard it was to keep something private with the team. Every single thing seemed suspicious to him.

Speaking about the babysitter felt weird now. He had to think about the words he used to talk about you. To not say too much but not speak less either, so the team won’t ask questions. He also realized he used a different tone to speak about you now. So he tried to be more careful when you were in the conversation.

But sometimes, he couldn’t avoid the signs that something different was going on.

Emily was the first one to notice it. They were coming back from a case, still on the jet, when he got a text from you. More exactly, pictures of you and Jack.

You brought him to a Mardi Gras event at the local library. And if Hotch remembered that Jack had to be dressed up, his son never wanted to tell him the costume. He kept saying it would be a surprise. Sadly, Hotch couldn’t be there to see it, but you promised to send pictures through the day. And so he did receive them during the flight. Pictures of Jack and you dressed as FBI agents. 

“Jack said we only miss our chief to be the greatest team.”

“You’re the chief, btw.”

“But I told him we did a great job together without you; we don’t need a chief.”

He laughed at your pun, which made Emily look up in confusion. Most of the team was sleeping or doing something else; she was the only one that noticed the change in Hotch's behavior. Emily knew her chief wasn’t the type to watch silly videos on his phone. “So what is making you so happy?” he asked.

And for a second, Hotch considered lying. He loved the idea of keeping this moment for himself. Like a kind of bubble only he could enjoy. 

Yet, his phone was already in Emily’s hand to see the picture before he could change his mind and find an excuse. 

He wasn’t surprised to see a smile grow on her face; you two looked absolutely adorable. If you tried to keep a straight face, Jack was all smiles, too proud to dress as his dad. Hotch didn’t know how since he couldn’t remember showing you his badge, but you even managed to create one similar for Jack. The time you were taking to make everything for his son was warming his heart. 

But then he noticed a sudden change in her expression. And heard her laugh. “Lucky you,” she teased him, handing him back his phone. Right away, he started questioning the meaning of it. He guessed it has something to do with you—but what? Was it because you were taking care of Jack so dearly? Because you were a very great babysitter? Was it about your look, your nice behavior?

There were so many things to be lucky for about you, and he couldn’t put his finger on the specific one Emily saw. So Hotch stayed confused. At least, until he saw the last text you sent him a few seconds ago.

“It’s a joke; please come home to us safely; we miss you xx.”

He could feel the heat in his cheeks, blushing. And nothing could have prevented the smile growing on his lips when he read it. This lasted for a second before he built his stoic figure back. 

But it was too late. Emily saw his reaction. Out of respect, she moved and closed her eyes to give him privacy. She still heard the way his fingers were tapping a text quickly, like a teenager trying to hide something from his parents.

“I miss you too.”

2. The blunder

“He looks happier.” Hotch heard JJ say next to him.

Rossi had invited everyone to his mansion after another rough case. They all clearly needed a moment to put work aside and enjoy each other's company. Rossi had insisted on making it a family moment, so they all brought their partners and kids. Well, Hotch brought Jack with him. 

He considered inviting you too; he even talked about it with you after he came back from Indiana with the offer. 

“It’s not that I don’t want Aaron; let’s agree on that.” you started your argument with. You were still in bed, your hand running through his chest with tenderness. You might have added more to make sure he knew it wasn’t a question of feelings or shame about your relationship. “But it might be confusing for them that you brought the babysitter, but she’s not the babysitter, she’s your girlfriend, see what I mean? They have all seen me taking care of Jack and might expect me to do the same that night. And I would probably feel obligated to do it too, because I’m not part of your team.”

When you looked up, you saw that Hotch was looking at you, concentrating on your words. But the way his hand was still brushing your hair softly, you knew he wasn’t mad about what you were saying.

“And you would probably feel a little lost on how to act with me, with them, and I don’t want that for you.” you added. You moved a little so you could rest against him, your chin on his chest. “You’re not mad?”

“Never,” he replied with the softest smile.

And at the dinner, Hotch was impressed by how you perfectly pointed out the situation. It was obvious now that everything you said would have happened, even if he tried to work against it. There was always someone playing with Jack and Henry—this time being Spencer—and it would have been you most of the time if you were here.

He didn’t realize immediately that JJ had joined him in the contemplation of the two kids playing. Not until now. He turned around, asking for precision by simply frowning. “Jack,” she said. “He looks happier these days.”

Hotch couldn’t deny it. If Jack had always been a happy kid, a pure sunshine in his life, he noticed a change in his behavior these past months. He seemed even more open, his laugh always echoing in the house. 

The years following Haley’s disappearance haven’t been easy, neither for Hotch nor for Jack. And with the amount of effort he was putting in to make his son feel better, he knew he didn’t have all the cards to fulfill his mom’s absence. 

And not that Hotch ever thought you could replace Haley. It had never been the topic, either before or even now that you started dating. Haley would always be his only mother, and Hotch would make sure to keep her memory alive as long as he was on Earth.

Yet, he wouldn’t be honest if he said you didn’t have a great effect on Jack. You were treating Jack as a friend and taking care of him like he was your own child. He could never be thankful enough for your presence in their life.

Hotch bit his tongue, almost calling you by your name. “His babysitter does a very great job with him.” 

“I should consider hiring her too.” JJ said, which made Hotch choke on his drink. Hopefully, the boys running to them made that moment go unnoticed.

“What are you talking about, Mommy?” Henry asked when JJ took him in her arms. Hotch loved the way she said it was about you, like you were some magical creature. He felt that way about you too.

He went straight back to reality when he heard Jack ask, “Is she sleeping at home tonight? I love when she does!” He sounded genuinely happy and excited at the idea of having you around. Which was reassuring, in some way. But Hotch noticed JJ's reaction in the corner of his eyes. How she was pinching her lips to not laugh or make any remark. 

He kneeled in front of his son, putting a hand on his shoulder nicely. “I don’t think so, buddy.” When Jack pouted, Hotch looked around even if it was already too late to change what JJ had heard. “But we can call her tomorrow if you want.” More than the idea of asking for the babysitter when he wasn’t working, tomorrow was Sunday. You weren’t supposed to be working. JJ wasn’t an idiot; she knew that too.

The implication being that it was too big to be ignored. Yet, she still decided to act like nothing happened to not embarrass Hotch even more. Soon, the subject changed, and you weren’t part of any conversation.

But when they arrived at Hotch’s place after the dinner, Jack’s wish happened. You were sitting in the corridor, beside the door. Waiting with your phone in hand. 

“You realized you could have waited inside?” He asked in a low voice once he moved closer to you.

You looked up to him and melted at the view of him carrying Jack in his arms so easily. The boy was asleep against him, his little face buried in Hotch’s neck. You couldn’t resist taking his little hand and squeezing it softly once you got up. There was something so familiar in being welcomed by this view. By these men. Your men.

“I didn’t want to show up uninvited,” you whispered, still brushing Jack’s hand while looking up at your boyfriend.

Hotch gave you a kiss on the forehead. Something he got used to doing with you, especially when Jack was around. Even if the boy was sleeping, none of you felt comfortable kissing in front of him. “You’re always welcome.”

You followed him inside and were left alone while he went to Jack’s bedroom to put him in bed. You just got the time to get comfortable and sat on the couch when he came back. He put another kiss on your hair before sitting next to you. You didn’t waste another second before cuddling against him. You loved the way his cologne was still captivating after hours. You could stay with your nose buried in his neck all night.

“Jack told JJ that you often sleep here,” he said, running his hand on your lower back. You looked up with confusion and a playful smile. He then told you how much he wanted you to be here and how happy he would be tomorrow morning to see you.

“I’m glad to be there with you too.” your smile never left your lips, not when you moved to kiss Hotch.

A kiss he used to show you how happy he was that you were.

3. The stains

The whole morning has been just a big race against time for Hotch.

You went on a date last night in a very classy restaurant. One of the few real dates you got to do since you started dating. Not that any of you minded; spending time with each other was already a perfect date. 

This one was really special. It reminded you that sure, Hotch was older than you, but he had the manners and the ways that no other men ever had with you. Holding every door for you, pulling the chair at the restaurant, showing affection without being too possessive, and always making sure you were the only thing in his mind the whole night.

If he had to bring you home after it, you had classes very early the next morning; things got hot in his car. It had been a long time since Hotch let his desire speak for him outside his very private apartment. But locked in the car with you looking this beautiful, he couldn’t resist it. 

When he went to sleep, you were still all he could think about. The way your hand went down his chest to his crotch, making him feel good while your lips couldn’t leave his neck. He couldn’t even remember if he did much for you; all he knew was that you put him first. And he couldn’t thank you enough for that.

But it was only 5 am when his phone rang, a new case for the team. 

Hotch had too much to think about. Getting dressed. Taking his travel bag. Calling Jessica to ask her to keep Jack while he was away and preparing stuff she could grab for his son during the day. Making sure everything was safe at his place. Telling you that he was leaving and you didn’t have to take care of Jack. Driving safely, too. 

When he arrived in the office, everybody but Derek was there. “So what do we have?” Hotch asked, as he sat in the same chair; he felt like he left only hours ago.

But nobody answered. Actually, they were all looking at him with a mix of surprised and amused expressions. Something he didn’t understand until the missing member entered the room.

“Sorry, I had a hard time leaving my girl behind.” Derek with a flirty tone, which made Emily roll her eyes. But before he sat, he landed his eyes on Hotch and let out a laugh. “Apparently I’m not the only one,” he added, pointing to his chief.

Hotch looked down, trying to understand the private joke he was the center of. And then he saw it. 

The red lipstick stains on his very white collar.

In the haste, he grabbed the shirt he had last night with you. And he for sure missed the marks you let on him. Not that he was surprised about them; he could perfectly remember how you couldn’t stop kissing him in the car. 

Actually, he even started blushing at the thought of the little biting mark he probably still had on his neck. He had to fight hard against the need to put a hand on his skin to feel it. He couldn’t even remember having a hickey when he was younger, and certainly not that type of mark. But apparently there was no age to have a first time. 

He cleared his throat and put both his hands on the table, acting like this was just a normal thing to see. “So what do we have?” he repeated, once again.

He saw the different expressions on each member of the team: the pride on Rossi’s face, Emily and Derek being amused, Spencer trying to follow the whole conversation, and the understanding smile on JJ, who probably understood what happened. 

And during the whole brief, all Hotch could think about was changing his shirt before he got on the plane.

And sending you a text to tell you all about it.

4. The phone call

Passing your test successfully was the first sunray of this beautiful day.

Having Hotch come to pick you up at university was the whole sunshine.

You wished there was a way to memorize forever the image of him, standing against his car, in his casual dark blue polo and dark blue jeans, wearing his sunglasses and being on his phone, patiently waiting for you. He looked like some movie star. And proud was a euphemism when you heard some of your classmates wondering who the hot dad was waiting for.

You quickly ran to him, just at the right pace to see the smile growing on his face when he saw you. Once you were close, his hands were soon on your hips to keep you against him. “We did it?” he asked with a proud voice. 

“We fucking nailed it,” you replied, crossing your arms around his neck.

The “good girl” he whispered before kissing you with so much tenderness gave you chills that you didn’t even know could be this big. But mostly prepared you for what was coming.

You spend the whole ride telling him about your day and your exam with his hand firmly on your thigh. Sometimes his fingers would brush it softly; per moment, he would squeeze it, already thinking about all the things he wanted to do to you.

So there was no surprise when you arrived at his place that Hotch would take things in hand. And the only thing on his mind is you. 

He moved to your side of the car to open the door and offered his hand to help you. But soon, the gentleman was out of view.

“Aaron!” you laughed when he put his hands under your thighs to lift you up and held you against him. He made you feel like you were as light as a feather by carrying you around so easily. You loved the cheeky smile on his face when he put a kiss on your lips before walking to his house.

“What if the neighbors see us?” you said, playing with the short in his neck. If you barely see anyone when you come here, and you spend a lot of time in this building, most people still know that you were the babysitter. And that you were clearly younger than Hotch. Not that you cared about people’s opinions, but the man looking at you like his favorite dessert was more concerned about that from what you knew.

“What would they say?” he asked, calling the elevator. Once inside, he started kissing your skin, his face buried in your neck. You loved the feeling of his soft but a little dry lips against your skin; it was a feeling only he could give you. 

“I don’t know that you’re fucking the babysitter?” You replied, but you were containing your moans so hard that you weren’t even sure you spoke clearly. 

Not until he stopped kissing you to look up at you. “Would they be wrong?”

“Aaron Hotchner, I didn’t know you were that type of man,” you replied with a fake shocked look on your face. But the laugh you caused him made you break, because at the end that was all you wanted to see. He is happy and carefree.

The whole journey from the elevator to his place was a distant memory. All you knew was that soon you were sitting on his counter, your legs around his waist. His hands were all over you. 

It amazed you how composed this man was. Because Hotch was losing his mind kissing you again and again but still managed to take off your shirt without missing a single button. And the moment he took to appreciate the view of you, just in your bra, all ready for him. The aroused look he gave you, like you were the most beautiful gift he had ever seen, was the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

Yet, the moment soon came to an end. Because of one thing.

His phone rang.

You noticed the hesitation on his face. You even felt it in his kiss, the way he was still tracing down your chest with his lips but was doing it more slowly. And for a second, with your hand still grabbing his hair, you considered letting him continue. F

But you weren’t like that. And neither was he.

This was why you brought yourself closer against him only to grab his phone in his back pocket. “Answer, Aaron,” you whispered, putting a kiss right on the little piece of skin his polo collar was showing.

He ran his tongue through his lips, thinking about it again. It was supposed to be your moment, just you two together at least for the night. But you didn’t give him the choice, finally answering in the last ring before it was too late.

“Someone’s waiting for you,” you said with a soft laugh, to which he gave you a fake mad look but mostly a smirk.

“Aaron?” You heard Rossi say before Hotch brought his phone to his ear. 

His hand was still on your waist, brushing your skin slowly and listening to Rossi’s speech. You maybe had a little too much fun playing with him while he was on the phone. Your foot was brushing along his leg, coming closer and closer to his crotch. He suddenly grabbed your ankle with a warning look. “Stop it,” he whispered. He meant to mouth, but when he heard Rossi asking if he was disturbing something, he realized he hadn’t been so smooth.

You looked at him, fluttering your eyelashes to wait for his answer. You didn’t expect him to say that he was indeed trying to get the babysitter in his bed. But you clearly didn’t expect his answer. 

“No, it’s fine, I… I’m home. Alone. Jack isn’t here; I can come.” His tone was harsh, and you had no idea if he was trying to convince his colleague or punishing you for almost letting him know about you.

You looked away so he couldn’t see the little pain in your face hearing him still not acknowledging you. But his hand moved to your cheek so you would look at him again. You still cuddled against him. But he stayed silent while he agreed to be at the bureau in less than thirty minutes. 

“I’m sorry,” he simply said, putting a kiss on your forehead. You knew what he was doing. Hotch wasn’t pushing you away. He was simply trying to avoid the truth that he disappointed yet another woman in his life because of his job. 

But you grabbed his hand before he went away. “Don’t. I’m not mad you’re leaving.” You said with a little sad smile on your lips. You put his hand back on your thigh so you could button your shirt up again. Hotch tilted his head with a confused look. “It’s just…your neighbors can learn about us, but not your team.”

“That’s not…” he started, having a hard time finding his words. Because he could easily understand why it was upsetting you. He felt a little relieved knowing his job wasn’t the issue, something he couldn’t have changed if it was. But still feel bad that he made you sad for something he was indeed responsible for. He felt like he couldn’t do anything right when it came to relationships.

You were quick at putting a hand on top of his and squeezing his fingers gently. “It’s ok, Aaron, I get it.” You leaned to give him a small kiss. A promise that things were still good between the two of you.

When he arrived at the bureau, Rossi asked him again if he was sure he was alone when he called him. But Hotch denied everything. Just before sending you a text to apologize and promise you he would make it up to you the next time.

5. The ice cream

“Jack-Jack, be careful, please!” you screamed at the boy, who was running after a squirrel in the park. You were soon stopped in your walking by a big hand landing on your stomach. A hand that you knew pretty damn well since it was on your shoulder minutes ago and pretty much everywhere else a few nights ago.

“Wait a minute.” Hotch started, putting himself in front of you. “Are you the reason my son thinks he’s a child with superpowers?” 

There was something funny in the view of Hotch being in his inspector mode yet looking so casual.

It was one of the few days off he had, and he proposed to spend it together, the three of you. He was still trying to make things go easy for Jack, so you didn’t meet them until lunch. His son loved you; this was undeniable. But he could easily guess that it wasn’t easy for his little head to understand why the babysitter suddenly spent all her time at his home, even when Hotch was here to take care of him.

Even if Jack was far from an idiot. He noticed the way his dad was looking at you and the little acts of tenderness he had for you. He still hasn't shown his dad the drawing he did of you three, happily standing together. Like a family.

At this point, the two Hotchner boys were pretending the other didn’t know what they knew. 

After lunch, you decided to go to the park to enjoy the sunny weather. Hotch clearly stole your heart with his look, with a simple navy blue short that was fitting his biceps so nicely or the sunglasses that were lying on his nose so perfectly. Not to mention the chocolate ice cream you had bought and that looked so tiny in his hands compared to yours. 

“Well, for what it takes,” you started replying after taking a lick of your ice cream. “I think your son has superpowers.”

You loved the smile that grew on his lips. An amused one that portrayed how he felt about you. “Imagine if we had two Jacks!” you said, hitting his chest to prove your point. 

He grabbed your hand softly, his fingers circling your wrist and his thumb brushing your skin. “Would you want to take care of two Jacks?” he asked with a little laugh. But your answer took him by surprise.

“Well, two Jacks is more of him. More of him means more of you, and that’s an idea I love.”

You stayed like that, looking at each other. This question had more levels than just the idea of Jack being capable of duplicating himself. It was a consideration of what the future might look like for the two of you.

It wasn’t about having another Jack. It was about having another child. Your child. 

Even if it was not happening today, nor tomorrow or the following year, it was just a kind of agreement that you both wanted the same thing at some point. 

You could tell from the way his smile softened that this went straight to his heart. It meant more than Hotch wanted to tell that you saw your relationship with him being long-lasting.

He leaned closer to you, giving you a very short kiss before you both pulled away at the feeling of the ice cream melting in your hands.

“I’ll go grab some napkins.” You laughed at this disgusted face before walking away. And Hotch couldn’t stop looking at you, thinking how lucky he felt that you chose him, out of anybody. But his thought was soon interrupted when Jack ran straight to his legs. “Daddy, look who’s here!” he almost screamed, too excited for the man walking behind him.

“I didn’t remember Jack could be this persuasive; he refused to let me go.” Spencer said with a sweet laugh, ruffling the boy’s hair. That man was great with children, so it didn’t surprise Hotch that not only did Jack see him in the middle of the big park, but he also managed to convince him to come say hi.

For a moment, Hotch wondered if Spencer saw you before you went away. He knew for a fact that he wouldn’t make any remarks about it if he did; Spencer wasn’t the type to discuss each other’s private lives. But then he said something that proved to Hotch that he had no idea about your presence here.

“It’s great that you’re having a father and son day.” Hotch could tell from his tone that he was indeed very pleased that his boss took the time to have this kind of day after everything they went through. 

And so they talked for a minute or two about each other’s day—that was how he learned that Spencer had spent his whole afternoon reading in the park. They didn’t chat for too long. Actually, long enough that you didn’t come back until Spencer had left. 

“Can you believe I was stuck behind people just for some napkins?” you sighed, handing him one. But before he grabbed it, he put his arm around your waist to bring you closer and kiss you on the forehead. 

For the first time, Hotch realized he wasn’t as relieved that fate postponed the team learning about you. Maybe it was time that you finally found a way to be happy together and not hidden anymore.

+1

In the rankings of the worst day of your life, that day was clearly in the top 3. And it probably wasn’t the third.

Neither was it for Hotch.

You were stressed about him going on a case most of the time. You found out that treating it as any other job was easier for you. Sure, you always invited him to talk about what was on his mind when he came home from a difficult one. And you naturally had treated some wounds he got. But apart from this, you had to put that away when he wasn’t around so you didn’t spend your whole day stressing about it.

When Jessica called you right when you got in your car, you knew that something wasn’t right. Hotch left two days ago, and like he always does when it happens, Jack is staying with his aunt. It’s easier for everyone. Now that Jessica knew that you and Hotch were a real thing, you agreed that you could still spend some time with the boy. 

Usually, you would pick him up after school, spend the rest of the afternoon with him, and then bring him to Jessica for dinner at least once while his dad was away.

“Do you…do you think you could bring Jack here when you pick him up?” She asked right when you answered. Your silence spoke for your confusion, so she added. “Something happened; I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. I’m sorry.” 

She repeated these three words multiple times. Explaining that it had nothing to do with your skills to take care of Jack or that she didn’t trust you. Far from that. The situation was just bigger than you.

So you agreed. You went to school and took Jack with you. You pretended everything was fine when he told you about his day and asked about yours—when you actually couldn’t remember anything you did before the phone call. And when you arrived at Jessica’s place, you noticed how pale she looked. For a moment, you imagined the worst.

And you weren’t far from it.

“Aaron has been taken hostage,” she finally told you once Jack went to his bedroom, the one she made for him since he spent a lot of time here. “From what I know, it started around noon, but I don't have much news.” 

The following hours were the hardest, waiting to have just the slightest news about the man you love. And if it was hard to lie to Jack about his dad, you were still glad he was around to keep you entertained. You tried your hardest not to cry at the idea that the boy could lose his other parent. In your heart, you have all the faith in Hotch to go back home safely. Even if this time, everything wasn’t in his hands.

It was around 8 p.m. when Jessica got another call from the bureau saying that the hostage was over, Hotch was saved, and the team was already on the flight back to Quantico. And you didn’t realize you were hugging her after she told you this until you felt her hands caressing your back softly.

“Thank you,” you whispered. For telling you, for inviting you here, for making you part of this family without a judgment.

You chose not to stay any longer. But if you first thought about going home to your place, you soon were driving to the BAU to see Hotch as soon as he landed. You remember that in your first weeks working here, he put your name on the list in case something happened with Jack and you needed to come. 

You always felt guilty about taking that advantage and only used it once. Jack had been crying the whole afternoon about missing his mom and being scared for his dad, and so Hotch allowed you to come.

Yet, in front of the reception desk, you didn’t know how to introduce yourself. The same issue was repeated again and again. 

That was until you felt a hand on your shoulder, a movement that could be heard from the numerous bracelets on the woman’s arms. 

“She can come with me,” you heard Penelope say to the receptionist. “She’s with me. We’ll just wait on the team.” 

You found it funny how the day you finally put a foot in Hotch’s world, you were only met by people willing to help you feel at your place. You had every right to be scared or to feel the need to see him after such a disastrous moment. You had every right to love him the way you did.

And so you waited with Penelope for a good hour, chatting about everything there is to talk about: your classes, your life, the necklace you wore that she absolutely loved. “You know you just fulfilled a lot of people’s fantasies?” she asked you when she came back from grabbing some tea for the both of you.

You frowned, not sure to understand what she meant. “The babysitter dating her boss? That’s probably in the top 5 of people’s dreams!” You choked on your drink, which made her laugh even harder. You felt yourself blushing and a little proud of this being true.

But you didn’t get to think a lot about your feelings. Soon the team was entering the office. And soon, they all stopped at your view.

JJ was the first to notice you with Penelope. “Oh my god, I knew it,” she said to Emily, who looked around before finally landing her eyes on you. 

“Isn’t that…” she started but was cut off by Derek’s whistling.

“The babysitter!” he finished with a proud tone.

Spencer was the last one to complete the trio and looked at them with confusion. “She’s the babysitter? I saw her with Hotch at the park the other day; I thought she was just his girlfriend.” 

Emily laughed at the idea that this was in front of them the whole time, but none of them thought about sharing. 

“And you didn’t think about telling us, kiddo?” Derek asked, putting his arm around Spencer, who just shrugged.

And then came Hotch, talking with Rossi. Right from the first step he made in the office, he felt your presence. So did you, turning around to see your boyfriend standing still. You feared for a second that he might be angry that you came. That you chose for him to make this official in front of his colleagues. 

But the smile that grew on him when he realized that he wasn’t dreaming proved you different. 

You didn’t hesitate a single second before walking straight to him. The closer you got to him, the more you noticed the wounds from the day. The physical one, like the black eye growing on his left eye or the bruises on his hands. The psychological one too, how tired and empty he looked. Yet, there was still this subtle light on his face: the smile that kept on growing as you reached him.

“You’re here.” Hotch said in a low and tired voice. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he sighed, cupping your face with his hands. He needed that. To look at you after spending the day thinking he wouldn’t ever get the chance too. 

He couldn’t care less about everyone looking at you, because he knew his team, and he knew they wouldn’t look away from such a big love demonstration from the man that always kept everything for himself. Hotch realized how much he shouldn’t have kept you a secret for this long.

There was nothing to hide when it came to you.

Especially not the love he had for you.

So when he kissed you in the softest way, he felt a big relief in his heart. Knowing he made the right choice. By loving you and by showing the world you were his. 

And deep down, he knew he was ready to hear all the team jokes about him dating the babysitter.

[stylesispunk]

"The days of you and I" - part 2

Jackson! Joel Miller x fem!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: Joel’s growing pain and survivor's guilt create a widening rift between you, as harsh words leave wounds deeper than any physical injury.

w.c: 7,9k

warnings: angst, mentions of murder and revenge, emotional trauma, grief trauma, survivor's guilt, discussion of death and loss. mentions of miscarriage. It contains spoilers from season 2 of the last of us. No proofreading because, you know. No proofreading because I'm a lazy sloth.

Note: Remember this story is a sequel of this one shot "What remains of us" or you can ignore it and keep reading this one haha.

A/N: Thank you so much for all your love on this fic. As I said, this fic will touch on some heavy topics related to the aftermath of events we are already familiar with. This one is not the best, I know. But it is building the tension I talked about before. I hope you like it, and I really expect to see your reactions and comments on it. Remember I created an AO3 account where these pieces of reading are being published too. Sending hugs and love.

One, two, three, four, five. Breathe.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe.

He’s okay. He’s okay.

He is fine. He is fine.

You saved him.

Every time you closed your eyes, you still saw it. You still heart it. You still feel it.

You could sense the inevitable outcome of a nightmare with no end. Perceive the crackling of your heart, shattering, being ripped out from you.   

There was Joel lying, blood slicked across his face, his chest barely rising, his name caught somewhere between your throat and the crushing weight in your chest. The field of dreams built after these years of a quiet life, tearing apart.

Because inside, right at the back of your mind, there was still a reality from which Joel wouldn't make it out alive. That reality was still your trembling knees, touching the floor and caressing a face whose eyes couldn't meet yours.

But in those dreams, you also saw the bodies of Fireflies scattered around him, the smell of gunpowder and copper heavy in the air. His eyes flickering open, then closing again, and you knew, you knew you were too late.

You jolted awake with a gasp, your hand gripping his tighter than you’d realized, your head heavy against the sheets at the edge of his hospital bed. The room was dim, Joel’s chest rising and falling in slow. You turned your head, your cheek brushing against the rough calluses of his hand still in yours. It was warm. Real. Alive.

A broken sound slipped from your throat before you could stop it. Your lips pressed to his knuckles, over and over again, relieved washing all your body.

“You’re okay,” you whispered, voice shaking, salt from your tears mixing with the warmth of his skin. “You’re okay.”

But it wasn’t enough to calm the storm inside you. The room felt too small. The grief, the relief, the terror, too loud, crowding your lungs.

You carefully set his hand down, brushing your fingers through his hair one last time before quietly standing, the floor creaked under your boots. You slipped out the door just as Tommy was coming down the hallway.

He nearly bumped into you; his brow furrowed the moment he saw your face. “Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice low, cautious, like one wrong word might send you shattering.

You tried to speak, but your throat closed. The only thing you managed was a rough, strangled, “I—I Tommy.”

And then your hands were fisting in his jacket and you were burying your face against his chest before you could stop yourself.

“I’m so scared,” you choked out, the words spilling like blood from a wound. “I’m still so scared.”

Tommy’s arms came around you, strong and steady. He let you shake; let you break against him for a minute. “Hey now,” he murmured, “I know, I know. But listen to me — Joel’s fine. He made it. He’s in there, he is breathing thanks to you. You don’t have to keep carrying this like you been.”

You pulled back enough to look at him, your face crumpled. “I can’t,” you rasped, shaking your head. “I can’t, Tommy. If I close my eyes, I lose him. Every time. I’m terrified that I’m gonna wake up and he is going to be dead.” You looked at  him, “I cannot get back from it.”

He gave a weary, sad sort of smile. “Yeah… you can. And you need to.” He let out a breath, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “You haven’t slept, not really, in near a month. You been sitting in that chair every night like a ghost. I see you. Maria sees you. Ellie does. You need to come up for air, darling. You need to grieve what you lost, too.”

You stiffened, your stomach twisting. “I can’t… we agreed,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “We weren’t gonna—”

“I know what we agreed,” Tommy said quietly, eyes steady. “But just because you made me and Maria swear not to tell anyone, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Don’t mean it doesn’t hurt. You lost something, too.”

And for a moment you hated him for saying it out loud, for naming the grief you’d tried to bury beneath blood and terror and a flicker of hope.

But mostly you felt yourself breaking, splintering apart, because you’d been holding it together with spit and wire and now there was nowhere left to hide.

“I’m not ready to talk about it.” You replied, “My only priority is Joel’s well-being.”

Tommy nodded, a quiet, sad understanding in his eyes. He didn’t push or didn’t offer some empty platitude or tell you it was okay, because you both knew it wasn’t.

“Alright,” he said softly. “I get it. Just… don’t forget you’re still here too, alright? You can’t bleed out until there’s nothing left of you to give.”

You swallowed hard; throat thick. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie. You both knew it. But Tommy let it be, because sometimes kindness was letting someone cling to the lie a little longer.

For the sake of it.

He gave your arm a squeeze and gestured back toward the room. “I’ll sit with him for a while. Go walk it off. Get some air. Go get to change clothes. You don’t have to be strong every second, you hear me?”

You didn’t answer, just gave a small, jerky nod before moving past him down the hall, your chest tight, legs unsteady. The grief was a storm inside you, still too raw, too sharp, but for the first time in weeks, you weren’t carrying it alone.

The door creaked softly as you stepped into the house, the familiar scent of old wood, leather, and that trace of Joel that clung to everything hitting you like a blow to the chest. It was like walking into a memory you weren’t ready for; one you hadn’t realized you’d been avoiding.

The one where things had remained still, and your quiet little life hadn’t been tainted by ghost of the past he wasn’t ready to face.

You left the door half-open behind you, the quiet hum of the wind outside the only sound filling the empty space. Your boots felt too loud against the floorboards as you made your way upstairs, each step heavier than the last.

In the bedroom, it was like time had stopped.

Joel’s glasses still rested on the nightstand; one arm crooked like he’d taken them off in a hurry. An empty glass of water sat abandoned on your side of the bed. The blankets were half-pulled down, the imprint of both your bodies faint in the mattress as if neither of you had truly left.

Almost a month had passed.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, staring at the bed like it was some kind of relic. Your chest ached at the sudden, vivid memory of that night.

Joel’s rough laugh echoed across the room when Ellie had made some comment on her willing to try and forgive him for what he had done. the way his eyes had shone just a little when he said, “Maybe she’ll come around more often again.”

How you’d nearly told him.

You remembered sitting on the edge of the bed, hand brushing his, your heart hammering as you tried to work up the nerve to say the words that had been eating you alive for days. You hadn’t gotten the chance. The attack came that morning. And everything after that was blood, screams, and a world you didn’t recognize anymore.

Your hand came up to your face, covering your mouth, as if you could press the grief back in.

Not now.

You turned away from the bed, your throat tight, and made your way into the bathroom. The light buzzed softly when you flicked it on. You gripped the edge of the sink, staring at your reflection. You looked wrecked. Hollow-eyed, pale, a shadow of the person you’d been a month ago.

A quiet, bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “Get it together,” you muttered to yourself.

But it wasn’t that easy. It never had been.

You splashed cold water on your face, trying to chase away the ghosts. The house felt too quiet without Joel in it. Too big. Too wrong.

You dried your face, took a steadying breath, and for the first time in weeks, allowed yourself to murmur the thing you’d almost said that night, so soft, even the walls couldn’t hear.

“I was pregnant.” You murmured; your voice broke on the process.

You made your way to the dresser with, every step heavier each time, like your bones knew what was coming before your heart did. The top drawer still held your clothes, neatly folded the way Joel always teased you about.

Your fingers brushed over a worn t-shirt before you pushed it aside, pulling out a clean pair of jeans, tugging them on with monotonous movements. Your hands shook as you reached for a simple tank top. It felt too thin, too unfamiliar against your skin.

Without even thinking, you crossed the room to Joel’s side of the closet, the side you hadn’t touched since that night.

His scent hit you again, sharp and familiar: cedar, soap, something distinctly him. Your chest tightened, throat burning as you reached out and pulled one of his old flannels from the hanger. The one he wore when it got cold around the house, sleeves rolled up, collar a little frayed.

You shrugged it on over your tank top, the fabric heavy and too big around your frame. The sleeves hung past your hands, the scent of him wrapping around you like a hug you weren’t sure you would even feel again.

Your fingers gripped the lapels of the shirt, holding it closed like armor.

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror then, wearing his clothes, eyes rimmed red, hair messy, face drawn.

You pressed a hand to your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart under your palm.

He’s alive.

He’s breathing.

And you’re still here.

A tear slipped down your cheek, but this time, you let it fall.

You grabbed your jacket from the hook by the door, not bothering to wipe your face. The cold evening air would take care of that. 

And then you walked out, because you couldn’t stay in that house one more goddamn minute.

You headed back to the hospital.

Because wherever Joel Miller was, that’s where you belonged.

You didn’t bother taking the main path. Your feet knew the way, cutting through the back alleys and between old buildings like muscle memory. Every step closer to that hospital felt like pulling yourself out of a grave, but you kept going.

Because he was still there and walking to the hospital felt relieving. Jackson was still recovering from the attack, but nothing mattered to you.

It was like if you had become selfish.

You reached his room and hesitated at the door, hand on the knob, heart pounding like it wanted to crawl out of your chest.

One, two, three, four, five. Breathe.

The memory of your nightmare flickered in the back of your mind. Joel, bloody. The Fireflies on the floor. The way your hands shook as you fired again and again, the sound of someone begging.

You swallowed hard and pushed the door open.

Tommy was sitting in the chair by the bed, elbow propped on his knee, head bowed like he’d been carrying a weight too heavy for one man alone. The soft light entering from the window, accentuated some of the lines in his face, made him look older than you remembered. He lifted his head when he heard the door, and his eyes softened when he saw you standing there, Joel’s flannel drowning your frame.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just gave you that sad, understanding look that made your throat tighten all over again.

“He’s been sleeping,” Tommy murmured, his voice rough, like gravel. “He woke up before, but it seems like he is tired.”

You nodded, your eyes sliding past him to Joel. His face had recovered the same color it had before, but the wounds and scars would settle past him. Your eyes settled on his lips parted as he breathed deep and even.

You crossed the room quietly, your hand brushing over the edge of the bed as you made your way to Joel’s side, needing to see him up close, to confirm with your own eyes what Tommy had said. His chest rose and fell, slow but steady. The faint furrow between his brow had eased in sleep.

It loosened something in your chest, if only a little.

“How’s the fixing going?” you asked softly, not taking your eyes off Joel. “With Jackson, I mean.”

Tommy let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s… going good. Roof repairs, patching the wall on the south side. Got a couple of new folks stepping up too. But it’s not the same without you both around.”

You finally looked at him, brow drawn.

“You know,” he went on, his voice gentler now, “your help would be useful. It might even help you, being out there. With your hands busy. With people. Jackson still needs you. And so does he.”

His eyes flickered to Joel, then back to you.

And you felt it, that ache in your bones, that pull between needing to be right here and knowing the world kept moving outside these four walls, that grief didn’t wait for anyone to be ready.

“I don’t know if I can yet,” you admitted, voice small. “I feel like… if I leave this room, even for a minute, something might happen. I can’t— I don’t wanna miss it.”

Tommy gave you a soft, sad smile. “I get it. I do. But you aren’t going to disappear into this room to prove you love him. You already did the hard thing. You kept him here.”

You swallowed, blinking fast. You hated how constantly you were reminded of what you had done to kept him here.

He stood up then, resting a hand on your shoulder as he passed. “When you’re ready,” he murmured. “We’ll be waiting, alright?”

And then he slipped out, leaving you alone in the soft light and steady rhythm of Joel’s breathing.

You let out a trembling breath, pulling Joel’s hand into yours, and leaned down, pressing your forehead to the back of his knuckles.

“I’ll come back to the world soon,” you whispered. “Just not without you.”

The days bled together after that. Sleep came in snatches, food tasted like nothing, and the house still smelled like Joel. You’d started to force yourself to step outside, help with repairs, take walks around the perimeter of Jackson. Tommy was right. It didn’t fix anything, but it dulled the sharp edges of grief for a little while.

And Ellie… Ellie had finally come around.

It wasn’t easy for her either, carrying her own ghosts and regrets, the heaviness between them too tangled and fraught to name. But she’d shown up, a little bruised, one arm hugged around her middle where cracked ribs still ached.

You came back to the hospital late that afternoon, sun just beginning to dip, the sky streaked with orange and pale pink. The moment you stepped through the door; you could hear voices. Joel’s still hoarse, Ellie’s quieter than you remembered, both of them cautious but trying.

You made your way there, pausing by the door before they noticed you.

“—still think you should read that stupid comic,” Joel rasped, a ghost of a smile in his voice. “It isn’t as half as bad as you make it out to be.”

“I don’t know man,” Ellie shot back. “You say that now, but last time you fell asleep halfway through.”

“I was resting my eyes.”

“Yeah, sure.”

You felt your throat tighten, an ache blooming in your chest. It was such a small, ordinary thing, a normal conversation in a world that had been anything but. And it hit you how long it’d been since you’d heard them like this.

Joel caught sight of you then, his gaze softening. “Hey,” he murmured, reaching his hand out weakly toward you like instinct.

Ellie twisted in her chair, a sheepish look on her face like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be. “Hey… sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” you shook your head quickly, offering them both a smile that barely held. “No, I’m glad you’re here.”

Ellie’s lips twitched, and she gave Joel a small nudge. “Told you she wouldn’t be mad.”

Joel’s fingers brushed yours when you reached for his hand. “We were talking abou that comic we found back in those old days of us on the road.” he murmured; his voice still rough but warmer than it’d been in weeks. “It’s good, her being here.”

“I know,” you said, voice soft, squeezing his hand.

Ellie stood then, stretching with a grimace. “I should… get back. I promised Dina I wouldn’t be out too long. She says I need to take it slow.”

Joel’s expression flickered, something close to reluctant, but he just nodded. “Will you come back again?”

“Yeah,” she said, looking between the two of you. “I will.”

And with a last glance, she ducked out the door, leaving you in the quiet again, but this time, it didn’t feel quite so heavy.

That’s what you wanted to believe.

You pulled Joel’s hand to your chest, resting it over your heart. “She loves you; you know?”

Joel’s eyes closed, a tear slipping from the corner. “I’m not sure how I deserve it.”

You kissed the back of his hand. “None of us deserve half the things we get, Joel Miller.”

His brow furrowed faintly at your words, his rough thumb instinctively brushing over your skin, like he could soothe whatever storm had just crossed your mind.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice soft, fragile in a way you didn’t often hear from him.

But your gaze had already drifted, landing somewhere past him, past the room, past yourself. You smiled then, small, sad, a little tired, the kind of smile that felt like old wounds and memories too sharp to hold for long.

“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head like it could scatter the ache away. You squeezed his hand, brought it to your lips one more time, and didn’t let him ask again. Because you knew if you said it out loud, if you told him what you lost, what you gave up, what you carried so he wouldn’t have to, you might break apart in a way you couldn’t put back together.

And right now, he needed you whole. Or at least, what was left of you.

So, you just kept his hand pressed to your heart and murmured, “You just rest, Joel. I get you.”

Three days later, the room smelled clean, and old wood, the soft hum of life returning to a place that had been far too quiet for too long. Joel sat propped up in a chair by the window, the pale light of morning painting his face in soft golds and silvers. He still looked worn, the bruises faded to ugly yellows and greens, but his eyes were clearer now.

The exercises had started that morning.

Mara, a woman in her middle thirties just as you, one who’d lost her sister in the attack, had volunteered to help with Joel’s physical therapy. It wasn’t easy for her, you could see it in the tightness of her jaw and the flicker of grief in her gaze when their hands met, but she did it. Carefully, gently, guiding Joel’s arm through its slow range of motion, mindful of the broken ribs, the healing bullet wound in his leg.

Joel winced but didn’t complain, his jaw set, sweat beading at his hairline. Ellie sat on the floor nearby, legs crossed, making sarcastic remarks when she thought he needed distraction and staying silent when she could tell he didn’t.

Tommy leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his face unreadable but his presence steady as ever. Watching, like he always did. Taking care of his big brother, switching places this time. 

And you, you’d given Gail another chance.

It hadn’t been easy, but you’d found her by the gates a couple days before, asking for a way to help. The bitterness between you hung in the air like smoke, but you let her through it. Because grief made ghosts out of people, and neither of you needed another enemy.

You were at her house. The air between you still felt heavy, like a storm waiting to break, but you’d come anyway. Because maybe you didn’t know how to tend some wounds you had on your soul.

Gail handed you a cup of coffee, her hands trembling just enough for you to notice. You took it in silence, standing by the window that looked out toward the mountains.

“How’s he doing?” she asked after a while, her voice rough, like it hurt to say the words.

You didn’t look at her, kept your eyes on the way the snow clung to the branches outside. “He is trying. Still hurts like hell. Can’t move much on his own yet. But he is fighting.” You took a slow sip of the bitter coffee. “Ellie had come. They talked. First real conversation since it happened.”

“And you?” She asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m glad he is fine.” You replied, no meeting her eyes.

Gail was quiet for a moment, the silence between you thick and aching. The wind outside rattled against the windowpane, a ghost of a sound in the quiet room.

“I don’t think he could,” she said softly, like she was testing the words, seeing if they sounded true spoken out loud. “A man doesn’t fight his way back from the death like that for someone he hates.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, your eyes still locked on the white-dusted branches swaying in the wind. “He didn’t. I was the one who…” you murmured. “What I did. What I… what I gave up.”

At that, you finally turned your head, your gaze meeting hers. There was no malice there now, just an old, worn kind of sadness you both carried like extra weight. She gave you a small, sad smile, and you felt something loosen in your chest — not forgiveness, not yet, but something close to it.

“I was afraid, you know,” you admitted quietly, voice trembling. “Still am. That when he looks at me, he’ll see what I cost him.”

“Maybe,” Gail said, taking a sip from her cup, her eyes never leaving yours. “Or maybe he’ll just see the woman who sat at his bedside every night. The one who wouldn’t let go.”

“Do you think he could come to resent me?” you asked her, meeting her gaze.

Gail let out a long breath, setting her cup down with a soft clink on the table. She rubbed her hands together like she was trying to find the right words, or maybe the courage to say them.

“I have no answer for that.” she admitted, honest in a way that stung. “People carry and react to things in different ways. Joel…He might be angry he doesn’t have the control on his hands. He might be hurt. He might not even know how to feel about it yet.”

You felt your stomach twist, a sick kind of dread curling low in your gut.

“But,” she continued, leaning forward a little, her voice softer, steadier, “I don’t think he’ll resent you for saving his life. For loving him enough to do whatever it took. I think… deep down, he’ll understand. You burn for them. You bleed for them. And I don’t think he is stranger to that kind of love.”

You bit your lip, your eyes stinging as you looked down at your cup. “I just… I don’t wanna be another scar on him.”

Gail gave a small, sad smile. “But you already are. But that’s no the same as a wound”

You sat there a moment, her words settling in your chest like a stone and a balm all at once.

“Do you still resent him for what he did to Eugene?”

“I will always despise him for it,” Gail said again, her voice steady, like she’d made peace with her anger. “But I’ll accept that you don’t deserve to lose him because of what I feel. I loved Eugene. You love Joel too. And that kind of love, well. Loving is tragic sometimes.”

Your throat felt tight. You swallowed hard, not trusting your voice right away.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you whispered.

Gail gave a sad little smile. “None of us did. We just get what’s left after the world takes what it wants.”

For a long moment, you both just sat there, two women bound by grief and blood and the ache of what couldn’t be undone.

“I had a miscarriage,” you confessed, like if you didn’t say it out loud it might not be entirely real. “The night we brought Joel back. Only Tommy and Maria know.”

Gail set her cup down with a shaking hand, leaning her elbows onto her knees, staring at the floor. “Jesus,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you—?”

“Because I couldn’t,” you breathed, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes. “I couldn’t deal with losing him and… and that baby. I didn’t even tell Joel. I just… shoved it down. Buried it under everything else. Because he needed me. Ellie needed me. There wasn’t room for me to fall apart.”

The room was silent, save for the ticking of the old clock on the wall. Then, softly, Gail spoke, voice rough as gravel. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, wiping a tear off your cheek. “It’s just one more thing, right? One more grave I’ll carry around in my chest.”

“No,” she said, and this time there was steel under it. “It’s not just one more thing. It matters.”

You looked at her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was no anger in her gaze. Just a tired, broken woman who understood what it meant to lose pieces of yourself you’d never get back.

“Don’t tell this to anyone,” you said, standing up, your voice steady even though your chest felt like it might cave in.

Gail didn’t argue. Didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep. She just nodded, solemn, the lines around her eyes deepening as she looked up at you.

“I won’t,” she murmured. “It’s not my place.”

You gave a tight nod, setting the empty cup down on the table. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls too close, so you crossed to the door, your hand hovering on the knob for a second.

“You ever need to… you know where to find me,” Gail said, her voice softer now, almost gentle.

You didn’t answer. Just gave a faint, weary smile over your shoulder and left, stepping out into the cold evening air. The chill hit you like a wall, but it was easier to breathe out here. Easier to feel like the world was still turning.

When you made it back to the infirmary, the late afternoon light was slipping through the blinds in thin, tired lines. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paper, and there was the soft shuffle of movement, the faint sound of labored breathing.

Joel was gripping Mara’s hand, his knuckles pale as she helped him ease through another stretch, working his upper body with a focus that made your throat tighten. His face was drawn tight with effort, sweat beading along his temple, but his jaw was set, and his eyes, those goddamn eyes, burned with stubborn, quiet determination.

“You’re doing good,” Mara was murmuring, steady and calm. “One more. You got it, Joel.”

He let out a ragged breath, brow furrowed, and pushed through it. And you felt something twist in your chest. Because even after everything, even when his body betrayed him, Joel Miller still didn’t know how to quit.

You stepped inside quietly, but his gaze found you anyway. Those storm-grey eyes flickered to you, and for a moment, his hand almost faltered.

You forced a smile, crossing the room and settling on the other side of the bed. You reached out, your fingers brushing over the back of his wrist where his pulse thudded wildly.

“Look at you,” you said softly, voice thick. “You’re doing good.”

And it hit you like a blow to the ribs, not the pain of a wound, but something heavier, deeper. The kind of ache that settled behind your sternum and made your hands feel too empty, your throat too tight.

Because in that flicker of a look, no warmth, no smile, no spark of that easy, familiar ache you knew so well, you saw it. The doubt. The distance. The quiet, gnawing thing you’d been terrified of since the night you dragged him back, half-dead, bleeding out in the snow.

And maybe it wasn’t resentment. Maybe it wasn’t hate. But it was something. Something colder.

You forced your smile to stay, even though it felt brittle as glass. Let your thumb drag along his wrist, feeling his pulse there like a frantic little drum, as if it mattered. As if you could hold him to this world by sheer will alone.

“You’re almost through it,” you whispered, and your voice cracked on the last word. “I told you I wasn’t gonna let you go.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you a moment longer, something unreadable passing through those tired, storm-dark eyes before he dropped his gaze back to his lap, letting Mara guide his arm down carefully.

You swallowed hard and stood, backing toward the door.

“I’ll… I’ll come back later,” you managed, already hating yourself for the way your voice shook.

And before either of them could say anything else, you slipped out into the hallway. Pressed your back to the cold wall and closed your eyes, because you didn’t want to cry here. Not where someone might see.

But Tommy noticed.

Ellie too.

Perhaps this was the beginning of the aftermath you didn’t want to face.

Tommy’s footsteps were quiet but deliberate as he came to stand beside you. Without a word, he leaned his shoulder against the wall, close enough that you could feel the steady weight of his presence.

“He is…It has been a difficult day for him” he said.

You nodded slowly; your breath still uneven. “I see it in his eyes. Like he’s somewhere far away, and maybe… maybe resenting being here.”

Tommy’s gaze was steady, his voice low and rough. “He’s scared. Not just about his body. About what’s left of him, who he is now. It’s a hell of a thing, knowing you survived but feel like a ghost.”

“You had tried to keep it hidden, the blood seeping through your shirt from a wound you got during a scuffle with some smugglers. You thought you were careful, but Joel had that sixth sense, the one that made it impossible to hide anything from him.

That evening, you’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to clean the cut with water, heart pounding from the pain and the fear of being discovered. You heard footsteps before you saw him.

Joel crouched down beside you, eyes narrowing as he took in the dark stain spreading across your shirt. “Are you trying to hide that from me?” His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of concern and frustration all at once.

You shook your head, forcing a weak smile. “Didn’t want to worry you.”

He grabbed your hand gently, pulling you up. “You don’t have to do that.”

You looked away, feeling the sting of tears, not just from the wound, but from the raw truth in his words. That night, he stayed with you, helping patch up the wound, silently promising to watch over you no matter what.

That was the moment you knew Joel was never going to let you face the world alone.

That was the moment you realized you loved him.”

The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the hospital room blinds, casting pale stripes across the worn floor. You stirred awake, your body aching from hours spent curled up in the hard chair beside Joel’s bed. Your eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, everything felt still, until you caught his gaze.

Joel was watching you, eyes sharp and clear, a faint crease of both worry and irritation etched across his brow.

“You should stop sleeping on that chair,” he said, voice low but edged with annoyance. “I’m alive. Just like you wanted.”

There was a pause, a soft breath between you. His words were blunt, but beneath them, you heard something softer, relief, and maybe even a hint of gratitude.

You managed a tired smile, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “I just want to make sure you’re still here.”

Joel’s eyes softened for a fleeting second, the weight of his pain briefly giving way to something gentler. He squeezed your hand back, his grip still weak but steady.

“You worry too much,” he muttered, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You shifted in the chair, trying to find a more comfortable position but mostly just staring at him. “I can’t help it,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m afraid I’ll wake up and you won’t be here.”

He looked away, jaw tightening. “I’m stubborn. You should’ve known that by now.”

You were about to say something when Mara appeared quietly in the doorway, clipboard in hand and a reassuring smile on her face.

“Good morning, Joel. Ready to get started?” she asked gently.

Joel glanced at you, then back at Mara, a mix of relief and determination flickering in his eyes. You squeezed his hand once more before standing up.

“I’ll be just outside if you need me,” you said softly, stepping back to give them space.

Joel nodded, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer.

“You can stay.”

“I... okay,” you said quietly, moving to pull up a chair beside the bed.

Joel shifted slightly, the effort causing a faint wince, but his eyes held steady on you.

“Don’t make it a habit,” he warned, voice rough but teasing.

You smiled softly, squeezing his hand.

The days blurred together after that. Snowfall, dim afternoons, the creak of old wood floors, the sharp scent of antiseptic in every room. Joel was healing, slowly, stubbornly, as everyone expected he would.

He was soft with Ellie. She came by every other day now, bringing comics or talking about new skills she was learning with Dina. Joel would ruffle her hair, tease her about how much taller she’d gotten. There was a warmth in his voice when he spoke to her, something aching and tender you remembered so clearly from before.

He was patient with Tommy too, with his brother’s worry, with the way Tommy hovered and cracked bad jokes to fill the silence. And with Mara, the doctor helping on his rehab, Joel offered polite thank-yous and that old, quiet grit of his, never complaining even when the pain was plain in his face.

But with you… now it was different.

It was in the way his eyes slid past yours when you walked into the room. The way his voice turned clipped and careful when you spoke. The way his hands, once so instinctively reaching for you in sleep or conversation, now stayed neatly folded in his lap.

He wasn’t cruel. Joel Miller never was. But there was a distance. A wall he had lifted. And it hurt worse than anything you could’ve braced for.

It was in the little things too, like when Ellie asked about that old guitar Joel kept at your house, and he just said, "I’ll get it sometime," like it wasn’t something that had once lived between your lives like a promise.

Or when Tommy cracked a joke about you two being thick as thieves again once Joel was back on his feet, and Joel’s answering smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You kept showing up. Because you had to. Because you loved him.

But every day it got harder. And it felt like you were both pretending not to feel it.

It started with Joel’s nightmares and how he neglected the comfort you offered.

The first time, you woke to the sound of his ragged breathing, a low, broken sound like a wounded animal caught in its last fight. His hand clutched the blanket, face contorted in some terrible, unseen memory.

You reached for him without thinking, murmuring his name, fingers brushing his damp hair from his brow.

But he jerked away. With force enough to freeze your hand mid-air, enough to make the ache bloom in your chest like something sour.

“I’m fine,” he’d muttered, eyes still glassy, staring anywhere but at you. And when you tried again, when you offered a whispered "Hey, it’s just me," Joel had turned his face to the wall.

Night after night it was the same.

You’d stay when Tommy or Ellie left. You’d sit in that chair by his bed, or sometimes at the window, and when his sleep turned restless, you’d rise and cross the room.

And every time — every goddamn time — he brushed you off.

"Go home."

 "Don’t need you watching me."

A warning flicker in those tired eyes that begged you not to push.

But you did. Because you couldn’t not.

And that was when it started to fray, that quiet war between wanting to be what he needed and realizing he wouldn’t let you anymore.

Ellie could hold his hand. Tommy could steady him through the worst of the spasms when the pain gripped his leg. Even Mara could coax a ragged laugh from him when he managed to hold something strongly.

But you…You were the one thing he refused.

And it broke something in you. Little by little, day after day.

Because you knew the ache in his eyes wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t even disappointment.

It was grief and resentment.

And every time you looked at him, you were a reminder of all the ways he’d nearly slipped away.

Of all the things unsaid.

And that maybe… just maybe… you saving him had cost you both more than you realized.

You were kneeling beside him, one hand steadying his wrist while the other guided the small rubber ball he was supposed to squeeze, a simple exercise, but every movement made his jaw clench, sweat prick at his hairline.

The ball slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud and rolling toward the edge of the room.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice low, tight with frustration.

“I got it,” you said quickly, already moving, reaching for it before it could roll too far.

But something in the way you said it, too fast, too practiced, like you’d spent weeks catching the things he dropped, making it easier for him to avoid asking, made him still.

When you straightened, ball in hand, you caught the flicker in his eyes. There was irritation.

“You don’t have to… you know,” Joel rasped, his voice rough around the edges, “keep picking up after me like I’m… like I can’t do it.”

Your breath caught.

“I’m not,” you said, even though you both knew you were.

He let out a slow breath, his hand flexing open and closed like the weight of it was more than just his busted bones. “Stop pitying me.”

Your hand tightened around the ball, heart stumbling in your chest at the edge in his voice.

“I’m not pitying you, Joel,” you said quietly, the words rough like gravel. “I’m here because I love you. Because you matter to me, not because I feel sorry for you.”

His jaw worked, a muscle ticking there. He looked away, and for a second you thought maybe it would stop there, like all the other half-finished conversations the two of you had let die in the quiet. But it didn’t.

“Bullshit,” Joel muttered, shaking his head, his fingers flexing uselessly. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”

“Then help me understand,” you bit back, voice trembling. “Stop shutting me out.”

His eyes snapped up to yours, and there was something raw in them, grief, anger, shame, it bled out in every word.

“I can’t even… I can’t manage to make love to you anymore,” he ground out, like it physically hurt to admit it. “I can’t touch you without feeling like a goddamn shell of who I was. And you sitting there, looking at me like I’m still him… it’s killing me.”

The words knocked the air out of your lungs. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The room felt too small, too bright, too heavy with things that’d been left unsaid for too long.

“I never asked you to be who you were,” you managed, your voice breaking. “I just wanted you. All of you.”

Joel’s face crumpled, his hands gripping the edge of the chair like he might tear the damn thing apart.

“You deserve better than this,” he whispered.

“I don’t want better,” you shot back, voice sharp, trembling. “I want you.”

For a long second, all you could hear was the ragged rise and fall of his breathing, the distance between you still there, but cracked now, fissured with something desperate and bleeding and real.

“I should have died.” He said, “And you brought me back because you’re selfish.”

The words hit like a fist to the chest.

Your breath stuttered, eyes burning as they locked on his. There was no venom in his voice,  just raw, bone-deep hurt, the kind of grief that twisted a man up from the inside out.

And still, it felt like a knife.

“I brought you back because I love you,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Because losing you would’ve killed me too. And I didn’t—I couldn’t let that happen.”

Joel shook his head, his jaw tight, eyes glassy but refusing to fall. “You should’ve. You should’ve let me go.”

“No,” you said, the word sharp and final, your throat tight and aching. “I will never be sorry for saving you. Never. You can hate me for it, Joel, you can push me away, but I’ll carry that. Because I still wake up every day and thank whoever’s out there that you’re still breathing.”

His face twisted, pain and anger and love and loss all tangled in a single shattered look. “You don’t know what it feels like,” he rasped. “To be stuck in this… this broken thing that ain’t even a man anymore. To see you looking for a man who is not here.”

Your heart felt like it was splintering clean in half. You crossed the room slowly, not touching him yet, not forcing it, but close enough that he couldn’t avoid your voice.

“I’m not looking for the man you used to be, Joel,” you said, quietly, steadily. “I’m in love with the man right in front of me.”

For a moment, he looked like he might come apart entirely, like those words knocked something loose inside him he didn’t know how to hold anymore.

“I’m so goddamn tired,” he whispered, a crack in his voice you hadn’t heard since the outbreak years. “What you did to keep me here… you shouldn’t have done it.”

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t look away. Couldn’t. “You would have done the same for me, Joel,” you said, steady, though your voice wavered on the edges. “As you did for Ellie. At Salt Lake. When you lost it because you thought we were losing her.”

You watched something shutter behind his eyes. A flicker of the man you knew, of the truth that hung thick and sharp between you , and then he killed it. Buried it like he’d buried so many other parts of himself.

“No,” Joel said, low and cold and cruel in a way that wasn’t real, in a way he needed to be. “I wouldn’t have done that for you.”

It was a lie. A brutal, deliberate lie.

And you felt it, the way it landed like a blow to the gut, the way it cracked something open in your chest.

But you also saw it. The flicker of guilt in his eyes, the strain in his jaw, the way his hand trembled against the sheets.

You knew him like the palm of your hand.

He was trying to hurt you. Trying to drive you away.

Because Joel Miller knew one way to survive grief, and it was to cut the people you loved out before you lost them.

He didn’t say it, but you knew. He’d seen how tired you looked every day. How you barely slept, barely ate, how the light in your eyes had started to dim.

He saw you breaking under the weight of loving a man who wouldn’t let himself be loved.

So, he tried to kill it. Tried to make you hate him enough to leave. Because maybe if you hated him, you wouldn’t hurt so goddamn much when the world took him from you for good.

You swallowed, throat raw, the ache in your chest a steady, dull throb. But you didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Instead, you leaned in just enough for him to hear you, your voice rough, scraped clean down to the bone.

“Don’t lie to me, Joel.”

He looked away then, eyes shining with something he’d never let fall. His jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break, then his voice came, low, rough, without looking at you.

“I don’t even know if I still love you.”

It landed like a punch. Like a knife between the ribs.

Your breath caught, the room tilting for a second under the weight of it. Your fingers clenched around your own skin, nails biting into the flesh as the words echoed through you.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

And then Tommy’s voice broke the quiet, stepping into the doorway behind you.

“Hey— What’s going on in here?”

You didn’t turn around. But Joel did. And when his eyes lifted, he saw it.

The tears. Silent and steady, tracing down your cheeks like they’d been waiting for an excuse.

For a final cut.

And for the first time in days, something cracked in him. Something he couldn’t lie to anymore.

But it was too late.

You didn’t give Tommy an answer. Didn’t spare Joel another word.

You just turned, walked out, your shoulders squared, your face wet, leaving both of them in that heavy, suffocating room.

Joel’s eyes stayed locked on the empty space you’d just left; regret was written all over his face.

Tommy watched him for a long moment, then spoke quietly, “You can’t let it end like this.” He pleaded his brother.

But Joel only shook his head, the weight of his own bitterness crushing him. “It’s already broken.”

Outside, the night pressed against the windows like a warning, and somewhere beyond, a threat was waiting, ready to drag them all deeper into the darkness.

tags 💌: If you want to be removed or you're not interested in the story anymore, please tell me so I can remove you. :)

@heartpatch @jasminedragoon @picketniffler @grayandthyme @ccmoonshine

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[diz-eaze]

oughhhh... could you pretty pretty please write a little bit about yan wanderer's reaction to realizing his darling is slowly but surely falling for him as well... a good spoonful fluff would also be appreciated if you're able to make it work!!! i lauve hardcore yanderes who are at the same time caring and soft partners </3

; soft yandere, drabble, modern au, college au, roommates, not proofread. i'm sorry anon i really didn't manage to capture his reaction in detail, i fear.

when sharing a living space with someone else, care is obligatory. it's unspoken, only verbalized through the harmonious split between chores, the shared duties of cooking, and the quiet humming of moving around the apartment. though, the word 'split' is much too generous of a word, with the way your roommate constantly insists on doing more than half of the chores all the time. in the beginning, you had suspected that the roommate you had gotten from the facebook group was a clean freak, obsessed with all things meticulous and proper.

you had been wrong.

his movements when cleaning are clumsy, his cooking leans toward being charred oftentimes, and he always mixes up the colored fabrics with the white ones. for quite some time, this disparity left you perplexed. why bother insisting when he can't even execute the chores properly in the first place?

you decided you had had enough when your favorite white t-shirt ended up being a mix of pink and red.

you trudge towards his elusive room, standing in front of his locked door. you only got to knock once before the door swings open with a loud bang, scaramouche stares at you with a look you can't quite place as he asks the purpose of your visit. with a sigh, you mindlessly reach out to wrap your arm around his slender wrist - the physical contact leaves him flinching.

"come with me," you urge, not thinking much of his reaction. you guide him outside his room and into the hallway that leads to the washroom.

"wah- why?" he sputters, gaze burning holes into your fingers.

"if you're so insistent on doing the laundry each and every time, then at least let me teach you how to do it properly," you sigh out, voice exasperated yet tinged with an undeniable softness. perhaps you should have been more annoyed at him for ruining some of your clothes because of his inadequacy, yet you can't deny that you appreciate the fact that he cares.

care is obligatory. but to care to this extent... is not.

you spent the entire evening drilling into his stubborn, indigo-head the rundown of doing the laundry. amidst the strange flush in his cheeks and the sudden, shy behavior he sometimes exhibits, you come to learn more about your roommate. you even delve into letting him allow you to create breakfast - charred toast and overcooked rice can only last you so long, after all.

still, he insists on cleaning and laundry duty no matter how much you bargained.

as you finish putting in the last batch of dirty laundry into the washing machine, you realize that there are many things you wonder about scaramouche. for one, why bother living with someone else when his life, that you've seen through cracks and glimpses, is of him coming from a wealthy background?

you truly don't understand him at times. well, most times.

the two of you retire to your respective rooms. scaramouche lingers around the entrance of his room, and when you send him an inquisitive glance, he utters out a hasty 'goodnight!' before slamming the door shut in your face.

you blink in disbelief before walking back to your own room. when you shut the door close is only then did you realize something. without your knowledge, it seems that a smile had long bloomed upon your face. you don't know when it got here, but suspect it had long been present.

the following morning, scaramouche wakes up to the smell of freshly cooked rice and perfectly browned chicken thighs. he nearly bashes his head into the wall in elation when he sees you waiting patiently for him. In between passing each other chopsticks and plates of food, scaramouche doesn't miss the way you now view him with a profound softness that differs from the day before.

he excuses himself into the bathroom to jump around in utmost joy once it sinks into his mind. while he may not be the best helper around the apartment, he certainly knows how to capture his beloved's heart in the most boyfailure way possible.

[kryllia]

A Kingdom of Ash and Cold

Yandere north prince x princess reader

Art from pinterest

The inspiration for this story was a character from character.ai but before I finished writing this story I managed to lose the chat and now I can't find who created the character.

You had once been a princess of the South, heir to a kingdom known for its wealth, beauty, and diplomacy. Unlike the North, which thrived on war and conquest, your people valued peace. Your father, the king, had always believed that treaties and alliances were stronger than swords. But he had been wrong.

Felix, the war prince of the North, had proven that with fire and blood.

He attacked without warning. Rumors had spread that your kingdom held untold riches, that its lands were fertile and untouched by war. But more than anything, it was said that the South was weak. And Felix despised weakness.

He marched his armies through your lands like a storm, tearing through defenses with terrifying precision. Your knights fought bravely, but against Felix—who had spent his entire life mastering the art of war—they stood no chance.

Within weeks, your kingdom fell. Your father was slain in battle, your people either killed or enslaved. The grand palace that had once been filled with music and laughter now stood in ruins, a silent graveyard of the past.

And you—once a beloved princess—were now nothing more than a prisoner in the heart of the enemy’s castle.

Three days had passed since your capture.

The cold stone walls of your cell were suffocating. You had been stripped of your royal gowns, left in a simple dress meant for prisoners. The only light came from a small barred window, just enough to remind you that the world outside still existed.

Then, the heavy doors creaked open.

A man stepped inside, his very presence commanding the space. Even without his armor, he looked every bit the war prince the world feared. His golden hair gleamed in the dim torchlight, his sharp blue eyes holding an unsettling intensity.

Felix.

Your body tensed as he walked closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he enjoyed watching you squirm.

Then, he smirked. "You look cute in this cell, princess."

You didn’t respond.

Felix tilted his head, amused by your silence. "I expected you to beg for mercy by now. Most do."

You clenched your fists. You would never give him that satisfaction.

He chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "I like that fire in your eyes. It makes this more fun."

Then, his smirk faded, replaced by something darker. "I’ve decided." He stepped even closer, so close you could feel his warmth. "You will be my wife. The Queen of the North."

The words struck you like a blade.

Marriage?

You had expected execution, imprisonment—anything but this.

Felix watched your reaction closely, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "I won’t force you to love me," he said, almost mockingly. "But you will be mine. One way or another."

And just like that, he turned and left, locking the door behind him.

That was when the whisper came.

"Pst... Princess."

Your head snapped up.

A guard stood near your cell. Not a Northern soldier—but a knight of the South. One of the few survivors.

"Tonight, you will run."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Run, before it’s too late."

It's midnight the time of escape. The plan was simple: slip through the castle's hidden passageways and escape into the night. You knew Felix wouldn’t let you go easily, but if there was even a chance of freedom, you had to take it.

Night fell, and the soldier returned. With a silent nod, he unlocked your cell, gesturing for you to follow.

Every step was agonizingly slow. The castle was a maze of stone and shadows, but the soldier knew the way.

You were close. The exit was just ahead. Freedom—

"Where do you think you’re going?"

Your body froze.

Felix stood at the top of the staircase, his piercing blue eyes filled with cold fury.

The soldier drew his sword, stepping protectively in front of you. "Run, Princess!"

But you couldn’t move.

Felix moved first.

With terrifying speed, he descended the stairs, his blade flashing in the moonlight. The soldier swung, but Felix was faster.

The sound of steel meeting flesh filled the air. The soldier staggered back, blood spilling from his wound.

"No—" you gasped.

The knight collapsed. His body hit the floor, lifeless.

Felix stood over him, his sword dripping red. He turned to you, breathing heavily, his expression unreadable.

"You tried to leave me." His voice was eerily calm.

You took a step back, but it was useless. He was on you in an instant, his fingers gripping your wrist like a vice.

"I was being patient," he murmured. "I wanted you to want me. But now..." His grip tightened. "Now, you’ve forced my hand."

His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips. His touch was almost gentle—almost.

"You are mine, Princess. And I do not let go of what is mine."

Two days after death of solider the North Kingdom gathered in celebration.

Felix had won the war. And now, he had claimed his prize.

You stood at the grand altar, dressed in the most exquisite Northern wedding gown. Gold and silver embroidery adorned the fabric, delicate jewels woven into every thread. But none of it felt real.

Felix stood beside you, his regal presence impossible to ignore. His golden hair framed his sharp, aristocratic features, and his blue eyes never left you—not even for a second.

You were his obsession.

Among the crowd were the last survivors of the South. They watched in silence, their faces etched with sorrow. They had lost everything, and now, they were forced to witness their princess being bound to the man who had destroyed them.

The priest spoke, but you barely heard his words.

Your mind drifted back to the soldier. The man who had died for you. The man who had given you a chance at freedom.

And then, the final words cut through your thoughts.

"The groom may kiss the bride."

Your breath caught in your throat.

Felix turned to you, his expression filled with an unsettling mix of triumph and desire.

He cupped your face, his fingers possessive against your skin. And then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was desperate. Hungry. Filled with a madness that made your blood run cold.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but all you could hear was the sound of your own heart pounding.

Felix pulled away, his smirk returning. His eyes locked onto yours, victorious.

"Now, my love," he whispered, "you will never escape me again."

And in that moment, as the weight of your new reality settled over you, you knew—

He was right.

You were his.

Forever.

[agustdtown1]

FOREVER GRATEFUL | JJK

PAIRING: jeon jungkook x fem!reader.

SUMMARY: jeon jungkook was a man like no other, one that cared for you and your sinful needs more than he should, and for that you will forever be grateful.

WC: 5.6k

WARNINGS: age gap, jungkook’s older than reader (although there’s no mention of a specific age), their relationship is not the healthiest but they manage, jk’s line of work is not specified but it is hinted that it’s illegal, small (very small) mention of blood, pet names (doll, princess, pretty girl…), it is hinted —and mentioned, that reader doesn’t have much experience about sex, smut, pwp (porn with plot because I got carried away, but only here and there), restraining, blindfolding, unprotected sex (be better), fingering, light choking, biting, marking, name calling (slut, dumb), jk cumming inside reader, i kinda rushed the end so it’s not that good tbh. 18+ only!

A/N: so… this is my first time writing for the boys since I created my account, I hope this is not as bad as I think it is and that you can enjoy your reading. Lmk what you think and also, english is not my first language so if there’s any grammar/spelling mistakes pls just ignore them <3!

masterlist

“Stay still.”

A husky voice rang into your ears, making a feeling as warm as the sun start to spread through your whole body; an electrifying sensation running through your veins, while goosebumps found solace on your skin. His voice has always been your favorite sound. The raspiness and low register adorning the man’s voice often got you weak in the knees, whenever he would whisper to you or call your name. And this time was no different, however, it seemed to have a stronger power over you. As magnetic as the voice of a siren, pulling the unlucky sailors out of the safety of their boats and into the depths of the cold water of the ocean; ready to devour them in such a frenzy that the last thing you could hear from the poor men was the start of a plea that would forever be unfinished.

Regardless of the difference between scenarios, the comparison seemed to be fitting. Jeon Jungkook was often described as magnetic, with the words alluring and charming following not so far behind. It would explain why you were found in such an interesting predicament at the moment.

A chill breeze brushing over your warm, bare skin, snapped you out of your wandering thoughts. The indication was short and simple. Discard your clothes from the very first moment you walk into the room and wait for him in bed. And so, your body, as many times before, was left completely exposed to Junkook’s hungry eyes; moreover, his eagerness to devour you was crystal clear, not daring to hide his fervent desire of having another taste of your sweet body. Watching you like a predator would to its prey.

His hands were tingling with excitement, for the future adventure both of you would go through, in a matter of minutes. Tonight, like many others, was dedicated solely to you, to your enjoyment; for you to, once again, discover a part of yourself that has yet to see the morning sun and yet to taste the deliciousness of the unknown. A new experience, a new journey, a brand new feeling for you to replay over and over again in your head, during those painfully lonely nights, when you could only find calmness in the feather-like touch of your fingers, running through your needy and greedy body.

Jungkook, however, knew exactly what he was doing by making you wait until your breaking point, waiting for a whine to fall from your precious lips, or for your desperate hand to reach out to him, whatever happens first, but in a silent plea for even a sliver of his attention. He had memorized every gesture, every reaction, every movement you would do, and it entertained the man more than it should.

“You’re tense.” Jungkook pointed out, easing the knots in your shoulders with his skillful hands. “What’s gotten you this aggravated, princess?”

It was the mocking tone, the graceful touch, or even his inviting eyes; whatever it was, it served as a decisive factor to push yourself forward and wrap your arms around his empty neck, like a snake would with its prey; hard and firm.

Desperate hands were first, then.

“You.” An answer was uttered, yet there was a lack of reaction from the man in front of you.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Jungkook taunted, acknowledging the power he had over you. “But don’t think I have forgotten the order I gave you.”

It left you confused for a good second, before his strong hands reached out for yours, stripping himself off from your needy touch.

“Stay still.” Jeon ordered once again, smirking once you obeyed.

You knew better than to challenge him, knowing that your safest option was to follow his instructions with no objection, if you wanted to get your awaited reward, that is.

Who would have thought that you’d be so accustomed to this routine. If asked, then give. If given, then be grateful for it.

The older man has improved your sex life in a matter of a few months, introducing your inexperienced self to the wonders of healthy and eccentric intercourse. Jungkook has proven to you many times in the span of a few months that your negative expectations of sex were granted by your poorly skilled sexual partners. Never once experiencing a dull moment since you were left in the dangerous hands of Jeon Jungkook.

If asked, then give. If given, be grateful.

Just like a believer would with whatever God sets in their path. Just like a kid would when a gift was left under the Christmas tree. You were grateful. It was easy to be. For it was gratefulness that had been installed within you from the moment yours and Jungkook’s paths have crossed.

Nonetheless, as grateful as you were, the hesitation in the back of your head didn’t seem to want to leave. The more Jungkook gave you, the more you wondered if you deserved it. But it reasoned with you that the true cause for your indecisiveness was the premise under which your relationship with the tattooed man had developed.

They don’t make men like him anymore, it’s what your friend had told you when she first introduced you to him, and it scared you. It frightened you that your only option to survive in such a cruel world was to cling to a man that was yet to explain what his line of work was. But then again, you didn’t want to know.

If Jungkook came back from work, looking unkempt and exhausted it was none of your business. That blood stain has always been on his shirt for all you knew. His sketchy friends have never once disrespected you, and that was enough for the time being. If he has broken the law, you don't need to know.

You would never know.

If asked, then give. If given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

That’s a matter in which you could actually participate. In fact, it’s the way you were taught to be for the past few months.

You earn what you’re given, so show manners and be thankful.

Don’t question, just take. A mindset that has gotten you to where you were right now. In the bedroom of, by far, the most dangerous man in all Korea. Yet, not once has your well-being been threatened, and for that you're grateful.

And you're about to show it.

“You deserve it.” Jungkook reminded you before straying away to roam through his drawers.

The anticipation was killing you. Your eager eyes couldn’t see past his bare and muscular back facing you. Jeon thrived on the way your lustful gaze would always settle on his body, hence the lack of a shirt. Only a low waisted pair of jeans, that allowed you to see the hem of his Calvin Klein underwear, were preventing you from seeing his firm thighs.

You enjoyed the view, more than you probably should. How his muscles flexed when he moved, and the way his toned back shone under the dim light of the room.

It was such a delectable sight for your painfully sore eyes.

“You ready?” The question snapped you out of your thoughts, making you notice how close he was now.

“Yes.” You answered with light hesitation.

Your major enemy showing up once again: indecisiveness. But that wouldn’t stop you from giving yourself to the man in front of you. Not this time.

“Yes, what?” Jeon insisted. “Don’t forget your manners.”

“Yes, sir, I’m ready.” It fell naturally from your lips.

A satisfied smirk appeared on his face.

“Good girl.”

The dark haired man reached out for your wrists, placing a delicate kiss on both of them before tying them with a silky tie of his, and forcing your wandering hands to stay still once and for all.

“Do you trust me?” Jungkook gently asked.

“No, sir, I don’t.”

It was the only correct answer, and both you and Jungkook knew it.

The moment he earned your trust would be the moment he’d have to leave you behind, to fend for yourself and for you to learn how to navigate through the dark corners of your unlucky life.

Trusting him means leaving your guard down, leaving your guard down means being vulnerable, and Jungkook knew better than to be vulnerable, especially in the type of life he lived in. He didn’t want you to make that mistake, and if it meant giving you reasons to doubt him, then so be it.

“Are you gonna do as I say?” Jeon inquired.

“I will.”

“Good.” He leaned down to steal a harsh kiss from you. “You have no idea how bad I’m going to ruin you tonight.”

A slight shiver ran down your spine, knowing too well that his words were far from being an empty promise.

His tattooed hands descended on your bare body, ever so delicate, ever so tender. A stark contrast to what his real intentions were, and it left you craving more of it. Your insatiable desire for being thoroughly worshiped by his lips, his hands, all of him. It was never enough, and it will never be.

Like a stray dog in need of being fed, you needed his touch to be satisfied. Luckily for you, Jungkook was always a man to deliver everything you asked for, even if not verbally.

His eyes, never swerving from your body, took in all the reactions you gave him; from the way your lips formed a perfect o-shape, freeing the most delicious sounds, to how your back arched oh so naturally when his already trained fingers made their way towards the south part of your body. The place where he would get baptized every night, like a strong believer. Ending his thirst with the holy liquid you would suffice him with, not once asking for anything in return, but thankful of his merciful goddess showing appreciation for his dedication.

The only thing is, you weren’t a goddess and he wasn’t a believer. And the whole scenario was way more dirty in reality than what you’d often fantasize.

“Such a pretty doll.” Jungkook brought you back into reality with his husky voice, “Always so responsive.”

His middle finger traveled down to reach your entrance, teasing you with his light touch. Waiting for your reaction, waiting for you to beg. But just like he knew you so well, it was easy for you to tell when he wanted something from you. So rather than give Jungkook what he wanted, you settled for playing a game that would get you in a situation where not even God would help you.

You moved your hips ever so lightly, testing how far you could go without the tattooed man reminding you who’s in charge. Chasing his touch was easy, attaining it was a whole different story. And it was proven to you that tonight the ball was not in your court, when all you got was a chuckle from the man, while he retrieved his hand and leaned down to be face to face with you.

“Have you not learned anything yet, princess?” His dark voice made you tremble in your spot. “Or have you forgotten how things work around here, hm?”

Unwilling to answer, the only response he got from you was a strained whine, yet Jeon could see the desperation in your eyes, the fervent desire to be ruined by him, to be left defenseless and at his complete mercy. Your body wasn’t yours anymore; it stopped being yours the moment he set his eyes on you.

Jeon Jungkook owned you, that much was obvious. And as terrifying as it was, the fact was equally thrilling.

“How badly do you want me?” He tried again, with a question that drove you crazy. “Be good for me and say the words, princess.”

Wasn’t it evident? People often thought that you were too harsh to deal with, too rude, too much to handle. It didn’t offend you, nor did it crack your heart whenever someone would complain about your hot temper and crude attitude. However, at this precise moment, you were giving the man in front of you exactly what he was asking for, albeit not verbally, but your body was working on its own accord. For every light touch, Jeon would get a shiver, squirming, even a plea from your eyes. Any reaction that was in the books, you were already serving it for him.

Nonetheless, it seemed like you weren’t compliant enough for the older man.

“So bad.” You opted to respond instead, finally giving in. “I need you, I want you. Please, sir.”

It was like music to his ears. Your delightful voice, flying through the room as if it were the sweetest melody. Not even the singing of an angel would achieve the reaction that you were pulling from Jungkook right now. Just listening to you beg for him, that’s all Jeon ever wanted.

“You are being so good and polite, baby.” He praised you. “I’ll give you what you need, but…” The dark haired man drifted off, pulling out a blindfold from the back of his jeans. “I’m afraid we’ll do it my way.”

Terrifying, as looking into the depths of a deserted forest, but it was sinful enough for you to crave it. It was exciting regardless of what the whole ordeal entailed. Therefore, when the tall man approached you, with a silky blindfold resting on his hands, you were ready to follow his orders with no objections.

In a matter of seconds you were deprived of Junkook’s hard features, leaving you with a view of pure darkness, and causing your body to start squirming and moving around due to the anticipation. It was difficult to find calmness in such a stressful moment, but you managed. However, Jeon decided to start toying with you, taking advantage of the fact that you were unaware of your surroundings. And so his fingers commenced a trip down the tender flesh of your neck, rapidly traveling down your collarbones and lightly gracing your nipples, only for later on to pinch both of your buds in a harsh manner, one that ripped a strained gasp out of your mouth.

A sardonic smile took place on his face, however, you couldn’t see it. His free hand traveled up to push your cheeks together, enjoying how plump your lips looked and not being able to resist the urge to bite them.

Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his teeth sinking in the flesh of your lips, along with the way his fingers were kneading every inch of your body.

“Relax and stay still.” Jeon ordered. “I know you’ll love this.”

His soothing voice was helping you to calm down, but it wasn’t enough. The sensations that were running through your body and the lack of proper touch left you in an unbearable agony. You craved to feel him closer, for his skin touching yours, for his breath mixing with yours while your bodies were intertwined in a passionate race to free both of your souls. What he was giving you wasn’t enough, but then again, when has it been?

A greedy little thing, that’s what Jungkook has always called you. And rightfully so, because you longed for him in ways no one else had done, and it scared him. Jeon was afraid you might be too attached to him, moreover, to your own idea of him. The way you would reach for his hand, almost as second nature, when you were out and about, or how your eyes always gravitated towards his figure whenever he stepped into a room. That terrified him. Because it meant you were addicted to him in the same way he was to you, and that could only mean trouble in the long run.

Tonight, however, was not about his fears and insecurities. Tonight was meant to be for you; to supply you with the utmost pleasure you were able to handle, and even if you couldn’t, Jungkook was willing to give you more than what you asked for. So rather than letting his mind wander to places he wasn’t fond of, the man decided to grant you what you were desperately looking for.

His slender fingers slid into your warm hole, filling you up as best as possible. Moving in ways that would haunt you forever, as a reminder that no one —not even yourself, will be able to touch you and treat you like he could.

“There you go…” He muttered, so close to your ear that made you shiver. “Is that enough for my little slut?”

His husky voice echoed through every corner of the room, pulling a light gasp out of you. It wasn’t strange for you to hear him say such lewd things or call you such unspeakable names, but every single time he did, it awakened a wild sensation within you.

Answering to his question you shook your head no, adamant to get more of him, and desperately wanting to be filled to the brim with something more than his fingers.

“More…” You begged. “Please, more.”

His fingers were avidly moving, pumping in and out of your velvety walls at a steady pace. His touch seemed to be enhanced and it felt much more than any other time. Whether it was because you couldn’t see nor could you touch anything, or because of his skillful movements, you couldn’t tell. Nevertheless, there was no complaint. It felt terribly good.

“Yes, please don’t stop.”

Your whiny voice was making Jungkook experience unspeakable things. He was eager to have you, eager to touch you, eager to have a taste of you. But more importantly, so desperate to fuck you. In the same way he awakened a wild side of you with his dark stare, you drove him absolutely crazy with the little noises you made. Furthermore, having you underneath him, moaning his name while squirming in pleasure, and feeling pure bliss due to how good he made you feel, was boosting his ego.

Jeon Jungkook was a man that always strived to be praised, even for the little and insignificant things. So to say he was thrilled and satisfied by the way you were chanting his name like a sinful prayer, along with how your body was responding insanely good to his touch, would be an enormous understatement.

He was on the verge of losing control and claiming you in such an animalistic way, that would leave anyone who happened to be near his room, concerned for your well-being.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you look like this?” It was a question that didn’t need an answer.

Jungkook was entranced by the way you were reacting to his touch, watching your skin coated in goosebumps and how your legs would try to wrap around his waist to pull him closer, in need of him. It has always amazed him how innocent and clueless you looked and acted on the daily, yet somehow you knew what to do to make him act up, to drive him crazy. It was as if you were just pretending to know nothing just to tease him, just to make him never leave you, but deep down Jungkook knew you were sincere.

Your life has been tough, to say the least, and he knew you were in need of guidance, in need of someone to hold your hand and walk you through the crude stages of life. Jeon has never told you, but part of the reason why he took interest in you was due to his protective instinct. The older man knew you needed protection, from who or what? It wasn’t clear, but he instantly knew he was the right one to do it.

Oddly enough, there was no one better than the most dangerous man in South Korea to keep you safe.

But the way you would act so innocently drove him crazy.

Even when you tried to act confident, there was this sprinkle of hesitation every time you did something —indecisiveness striking again. And it was difficult to ignore it, moreover, it was difficult to hide it. The man could see right through your weak act, and spot your nervousness from miles away.

Even when you sucked him off in his office after a tiring meeting, he knew you were slightly scared to do such a thing.

Someone pretending to be clueless wouldn’t act as eager and clumsy as you did back then, although there has been some improvement since that time. Your teeth wouldn’t make an appearance anymore, you would use the right amount of saliva to make it messy but still look appealing for Jeon. The man loved how now you use more of your tongue to tease his tip and how far he could go into your throat. But none of that would’ve been attained without his help.

If given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

It all goes back to the same predicament: you often showing your thankfulness for every little thing Jungkook has done for you.

He saved you, in the same way that a human would take an injured bird into their home to help it heal. Only for the person to cage it after the bird it’s back on its feet. Whereas Jeon Jungkook saved you from your previous way of living, he also owned you, preventing you from leaving his side.

Your broken moan snapped the dark haired man back into reality. His eyes were glazed with lust, looking right down on you and your tempting body.

“Are you close yet, doll?”

He knew you were. Jungkook could feel you clenching on his fingers, but he wanted to hear it from you.

“Yes, I’m so close.” You whined.

Your hands were moving so much, trying to break free from the tie that was preventing you from touching him. Jeon silently enjoyed it, he enjoyed how addicted to him you were, that it was a torture for you to not touch him in any way. You were so accustomed to feeling him, every single inch, that being restrained felt like pure hell.

“Please… More, faster…” You once again begged, and this time Jungkook couldn’t handle it.

Ignoring your protests, he pulled his fingers out, rapidly stripping off the rest of his clothes to position himself in between your legs. Because yes, he was on the verge of losing control before, but now his racional side flew out the window, and so he couldn’t wait a second longer to be wrapped in the warmth of your walls, ready to take him in.

“My sweet girl, don’t be impatient.” Jungkook cooed at you. “I’ll give you something better.”

Without further ado, he thrusted into you with a hard pump. It ripped a moan out of you, making you tug at the tie even more. You were beyond annoyed that you couldn’t touch him nor could you see his beautiful figure while he fucked you, although it enhanced the rest of your senses.

You could hear his little noises more clearly, feel his touch even better than you usually would, and taste him so much more in every kiss he gave you. It was truly a blessing and a curse.

“You’re so tight, Y/n.” Jungkook gritted through his teeth, preventing himself from moving manically just yet.

Jeon could see the struggle in your face, the way you were clenching on his dick so hard that it was almost impossible for him to move. No matter how many times he’s fucked you, you would never get accustomed to his size. But in reality, the actual problem was that the man hasn’t done exactly that in a while.

Truth be told, there was a reason for your eagerness, for your desperation. For your ambition to have more of him. Jungkook has been neglecting you the past couple of days, perhaps not on purpose, but his line of work has required him to travel to the other side of the world for a whole week. And now that he was back you were ready to trap him in your limbs for as long as you could have him.

“I haven’t fucked you in a while that your pussy is already forgetting how my cock feels, huh?” He acknowledged the situation. “Maybe I’ll have to remind this tight cunt who owns it.”

Without a warning, he gave a hard thrust once again, bottoming out. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t forget how big his dick was or how good it felt. Many nights you fantasized about his fat cock pounding into you while the only thing you could use to pleasure yourself was your fingers. It was such a sad comparison, especially because it proved that what he once told you was completely true.

No one will be ever able to satisfy your carnal needs in the same way that he does. No one will be able to make you come undone with their touch. You could only daydream about Jungkook rocking into you hard and rough, during those lonely nights when the only thing you could use was your small fingers.

Luckily for you, now you have it, the real thing. Now you could feel the tip of his cock hitting every right spot the more the thrusted into you. His veiny member slamming over and over into your throbbing cunt, crying for more of him.

“So fucking greedy. My dirty slut can never get enough of me, huh?” Jungkook groaned, “Look at you, already a mess and I’ve barely done anything, sweetheart.”

It was such a true statement. Even if there was no way for you to look at yourself, you were sure of your disheveled appearance. Sweat was coating your skin, making your messy hair stick to your forehead and nape, your lips were now swollen and shiny due to the wet kisses Jeon has shared with you.

But it has always been like this. Jeon always knew what to do, what to say, how to touch you to turn you into a babbling and whiny mess, one who could only chant his name and ask for more, like the little ambitious and greedy girl you were. Regardless of the way you would sometimes demand more of his attention, more of his touch, he loved it. The tattooed man loved how ruined you looked at the end of your rendezvous, staring at your tear stained cheeks and swollen lips. Jungkook was always fascinated by how fucked out you were once he was done with everything, it was his favorite look on you.

“You like this, don’t you? Being used like a fuck toy, not being able to do anything to fight me.” The older man let out a dark chuckle, while one of his hands crept up to wrap itself around your throat. “So defenseless and needy, letting me do anything to you.”

The more he talked the closer you got. You knew it was a matter of time for you to cum. And you couldn’t be more thankful for that.

Jungkook kept rocking into you at a rapid and harsh pace, fucking your brains out while calling you names that he knew would pull a reaction out of you.

“My dumb baby, taking me so well.” He praised you. “You always know how to take my cock, willing to let me fuck this pretty pussy however I want.”

You could only nod, gasping for air and moving your hips to meet his thrusts as best as possible. It was like a race to see which one would finish first, although it was clear that the man ramming into you would not relent until you were crying and shaking underneath him.

“Fuck, you drive me crazy.” He confessed, leaning down to kiss your soft lips.

His free hand traveled down in between your legs to place his skilled thumb over your clit. His movements were like a bucket of cold water poured over your burning skin. It calmed the building fire in between your legs, just as much as it fueled your already approaching orgasm.

“You feel so amazing around my dick.” Jeon hissed over your lips, hypnotized by the way his aching cock would get lost into your soaked cunt.

“Oh god…” You moaned. “Please don’t stop, I’m so fucking close.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” A promise, far from being empty.

It was clear that Jeon was getting close as well by the way he so desperately was pounding into you, moaning lowly and leaning down to bite your neck.

His lips and teeth were doing wonders on your skin, marking you up with his bites and sucking on your flesh as well. Jungkook was devouring you, tasting you, ruining you as he promised.

“Holy shit…” He said in a raspy voice. “You’re all mine, aren’t you? Only I can make you feel like this.”

“Yes, yes, yes…” You chanted back, but it wasn’t enough for him.

“Come on, tell me, pretty girl.” He requested. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours. I’m all yours.” You slurred your words out.

It only encouraged the man to fuck you harder, meaner, faster… Exactly how you liked it. Jungkook was aware of it, he knew you like the palm of his hand, and although it was concerning how much he knew about you, it also came in handy in moments like this.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” Jungkook alerted you, snapping both of you from your wandering thoughts.

“Cum, inside me.” You croaked out, biting on your bottom lip.

It was a risky request, something that you might regret in the future, not only because you weren’t on any contraception, but it entailed being connected to him in such an intimate way, one that neither of you were ready for.

“Are you sure?” He asked with a soft tone, yet you could hear the agitation in his voice. “Are you okay with… oh fuck, with me cumming in you?”

“Yes, yes, please. Just do it, fill me up, please.” You struggled to say. “I need to feel your cum deep inside me.”

Jungkook felt like dying with the lewd words you were spewing.

You were drunk on the ecstasy of the whole experience. Not being able to look at your surroundings, being restrained, the way Jeon was pistoning into you, hitting spots that no one has ever been able to reach before; the sinful words spilling from his lips, his hand still wrapped around your neck, albeit more loosely now. Everything was clouding your mind and leaving you in such a lax state, that prevented you from forming any coherent thought.

Regardless, your consensual words were all he needed to let go, shooting his hot cum inside of your greedy pussy.

“Oh god…” Jungkook moaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

His orgasm triggered yours, throwing you over the edge in a matter of seconds, right after he came. Your whimpers were loud and high pitched, your body was burning and trembling, and you were sure the light makeup you were previously wearing was smudged by now.

You were panting, trying your best to calm your agitated breathing. Jungkook was still inside of you, with his face hidden in your neck, breathing as heavily as you were. Both still intertwined in a mess of sweaty limbs.

After a few minutes where both of you recovered from the intense orgasms you just had, Jeon finally pulled out, separating himself from you. His hands flew up to free yours, making you whine softly; he placed a soft kiss on both of your wrists, making sure the tie didn’t hurt you. The blindfold came off next, and it took a few seconds for your eyes to get used to the dim light after seeing pure darkness.

“How was it?”

A simple question, one that, in the ears of an oblivious listener, would mean nothing. An inquiry that held more significance and concern than a simple are you okay?; it was subtle but it spoke volumes the way Jeon Jungkook would still feel the need to protect you, even from himself.

He never voiced his worries properly, trying to play it cool but secretly concerned that he might have hurt you in any way. The man never learnt how to correctly communicate with others, but he would be damned if he didn’t express how much he cared for you in other ways.

“Amazing…” Was your response, albeit in a hoarse voice.

Your throat was slightly aggravated, feeling terribly dry after attempting to voice the pleasure and enjoyment from the experience, through the small space there was left from Jungkook’s hard grip on it. However, it didn’t stop you from answering his concerns.

Amazing, fascinating.

It was the only way to describe it, your mind was too foggy to think of a proper answer, but by the way he was smirking you could tell he was satisfied with your response.

“Good.” He nodded. “Don’t move, I’ll bring a towel to clean you up and a bottle of water.”

Before he could step out of the room your weak voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait…” You called for him.

If asked, then give; if given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

“Thank you.” A small whisper was all it took for the man to walk back at you, leaning down to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

“Get some rest, I’ll be right back.”

You were left alone in the big room, spread out on the mattress while your mind was trying to comprehend all the events that just happened. Your heart was filled with questions, but you knew better than to ponder over those inquiries.

Jeon Jungkook was a man like no other, one that cared for you more than he should, and for that you will be forever grateful.

[cosmicschmidt]

UNTIL I FOUND YOU

PART 2, PART 3

Coriolanus Snow x fem!Reader

Synopsis: When the 18 year old Coriolanus Snow recieves the news that he has to mentor a tribute in order to claim the Plinth Prize, he expected everything but not a shy girl from district 12 to claim his heart.

Word count: 2,4K

Warnings: Lucy Gray does not exsist in this (I´m sorry), some things might not fully add up to the movie plot ´cause I only saw it once and that was two days ago, use of Y/N, it´s implied that the reader is shorter than Coryo, small swearing, simple inhumane Hunger Games topics

Reblogs and requests are always welcomed <3 (just like pointing out grammatical mistakes :))

Coriolanus Snow did not mean for this to happen.

He did not intend to have this weird tingly feeling in his chest every time he caught a glimpse of her.

He did not mean to fall for his tribute from District 12.

As he patiently sat in his seat with his heart hammering in his chest due to not knowing if he´d receive the scholarship, adrenaline and excitement ran through his veins.

Yet, that was taken from him the moment Sejanus Plinth whispered to him that that certain day he looked forward to would not turn out as he hoped.

The Plinth Prize was won by the best mentor.

Each of them has to mentor a tribute and create the best version of them, create strategies and work on their behavior in the arena.

As all the tributes are presented, their names called alongside their mentors, Coriolanus´ hands start to sweat the longer he is not told who he has to work with.

The faces of his fellow students show different emotions, some cheer in happiness at their tributes state, others are laced with worry if their tribute even manages to walk straight.

"And last but not least, the girl from District 12, Coriolanus Snow."

His eyes shoot back to the small screen, his gaze falls to the name written underneath the short clip, Y/N L/N.

"I volunteer as tribute."

The screen shows a screaming girl, around the age of 11 as she trashes in the hold of someone else´s arms, desperately trying to escape their grasp to reach the other girl.

The other girl's face is slightly blurred due to the wide angle of the camera that is following her figure, but as the picture clears up, Coriolanus can´t help but suck in a breath.

A weird feeling boils in his chest that causes his heartbeat to pick up behind his ribcage, just as he thought it couldn´t get worse a few butterflies form in his stomach causing his white tunic to suddenly feel tighter. His hands go to the collar pulling a little on the fabric to calm his heartbeat.

The tribute from 12, stepped in for the younger girl and took her fate as her own. The girl, now known as Y/N doesn´t look back at the screaming girl, she takes small steps to the stage and steps on it the moment she reaches it.

Although her hands tremble beside her body, her eyes are stern and show no emotion, successfully keeping herself from spilling the dread that formed in her chest the moment her little sister's name was called.

"What a twist! Our first ever volunteer of 12, what an honor." the 12´s mayor speaks, yet no reaction falls from the crowd at his attempt to lighten the mood.

"I suppose that was your sister? Sweet little thing just turned 12, but luckily she has you as her big sister." Mayor Lipp tries to create small talk, but Y/N doesn´t seem to take interest in that, her eyes boring into the camera that is fixated on her face.

Everyone that surrounds Coriolanus watches intensely and waits for her next words.

Y/N´s jaw clenches a little as her gaze wanders over her district's citizens, some laugh at her situation, while others, alongside her family have tears in their eyes and hold a hand in front of their mouths to contain a sob from spilling past their lips.

Instead of words leaving her mouth, she does a mocking and overly dramatic bend forward with her arms stretched out on each side of her body.

Just as two Peacekeepers grab a hold of her arms and pull her off the stage she yells out,

"YOU CAN ALL SUCK I-" but her words muffle due to her being pulled away.

Meanwhile, everyone around Coriolanus starts to whisper.

Some voice behind him, "Who does she think she is?"

"Imagine having to work with that, guess who won´t win the Plinth Prize.." followed by laughing.

And more to his left, "The audacity, I´m telling you she´s the first to bleed out." followed by more remarks and chuckles.

Though Coriolanus can’t feel bothered by their remarks, as he watches her being dragged away from the stage with a stern look on her face.

The blonde watches with bewilderment yet with respect for her volunteering for someone else, a small smirk forming on his face as the side of his mouth pull up a little.

* ˚ ✦

Coriolanus´ gaze is fixated on the white rose in his palms, his eyes trail over each and every flaw he can spot.

Is it pretty enough?

Or is this gesture not normal in the relationship between a mentor and their tribute?

He wonders how you might react to this act of politeness, yet before he can keep up with his thoughts he´s pulled out of it when he hears the train near the train station.

There it is, it glides against the train racks before it comes to a harsh stop with a small screech, the blonde´s eyes trail over the different train carts, wondering where the certain girl from 12 is being kept.

At least a dozen armed Peacekeepers emerge from around the station, and the first cart´s handle is grabbed forcefully and shoved open, a small girl hesitantly jumps down to the ground, before she erupts into a few coughs as if she has to catch her breath from taking a run.

She´s followed by a tall boy who wears a expression he can´t read, although his brows are furrowed and a small line forms between them. The tall male´s eyes immediately find Coriolanus due to his bloody red outfit.

The male doesn´t seem to be the only one, almost everyone that already emerged from their part of the train has their eyes on him.

He fidgets with the rose again, a shiver running down his spine and all the way to his feet and then his toes.

As some tributes are escorted to the transporter outside, Coriolanus finally spots the male tribute from District 12, he remembers his name, Jessup. With a sigh of relief, he takes a few steps to him, and finally, his eyes spot the girl he so desperately tried to find the entire time.

Jessup´s hands are securely wrapped around her waist as he picks her up and helps her out of the train so she can steady herself. She smiles up at Jessup whispers a small ´thanks´ and pats him on his upper arm before she starts to take in all her surroundings.

Although their conversation is muffled, "Are you sure your neck is fine? The bite looks painful..."

Coriolanus´ breathing stops for a second, just now he notices that no camera ever will be able to take in all her beauty, his lips part a little and he can feel his mouth running dry.

Now that Y/N dusted her clothes off and had taken a look around the train station, her eyes move to her right and are met with piercing blue orbs. Although she acknowledged him, he couldn´t help but keep staring at her, the white rose in his left hand long forgotten as it rested next to his body. Confusion dawned on her face as she looked over to Jessup who offered the same expression.

The two of them share a look with a shrug before she turns her back to Coriolanus and starts to take a few steps away from him.

The blonde seems to snap out of it and with a small shake of his head and with two steps he keeps up with her smaller ones.

"Uhm- Welcome to the Capitol." he offers her a smile and holds the rose up for her to see.

Her mouth set in a hard line while her cheeks glowed a tad bit redder than before, "You don´t look like you should be here…?" she asked unsure, her eyes still trained up at his face before they fell on the flower in his hand - which slightly started to tremble -

"Uhm, I shouldn´t, my name is Coriolanus Snow, and I´m your mentor," he adds, the smile still coating his lips as he offers her the rose again.

"Mentor?" she laughs out in disbelief after she finally takes the flower out of his trembling hand and looks at it. Jessup is standing behind her, and his face still shows the same confusion it did earlier.

"Yeah, it´s my job to help you survive the arena," Coriolanus replies, the moment she took the rose out of his grasp his hand went limp and fell back to his side.

"And how exactly-" Y/N doesn´t get the opportunity to reply to his words before someone roughly pulls on her arm and drags her forcefully to the exit of the train station.

Peacekeepers decided to cut their conversation short, they pulled her with them like she weighed nothing, "I can walk by myself perfectly fine." she said loudly before she slapped the hand that was wrapped around her biceps off.

"Wait! I´m her Mentor!" Coriolanus speaks up, yet the distance between mentor and tribute is growing with each second, and the blonde picks up his steps in order to keep up with them.

A few shouts and orders are ringing through the air, the atmosphere filled with dread and an uncomfortable tension. Outside awaits a transporter for the tributes, and like pigs they are thrown and shoved into it, ready to be taken to the slaughterhouse.

The district 12 girl's eyes are trailing behind her trying to catch a glimpse of the red that coats her so-called ´mentor´, she can´t seem to see him but his shouts still reach her ringing ears.

A small hand wraps around her right hand startling the 17-year-old girl, but she quickly relaxes when she sees the small girl from District 8, Wovey. She seems scared by the loud noises, and Y/N offers her a small smile and squeeze of the hand in order to calm her down. Y/N spots a small seat at the back right corner and leads her over to it, there´s not enough space for the both of them, so she lets Wovey take it and stands beside her.

Coriolanus´ opportunity seems to flash in front of him for a split second as a tribute tries to make a run for it, the Peacekeepers running close behind, and with three steps the blonde leaps into the back of the transporter.

He runs all the way to the back of it, before he takes a few breaths trying to tame the adrenaline that shoots through his veins, his breathing calming down from the small thrill he felt.

He straightens down his clothes, and immediately spots Y/N, hand-in-hand with the little girl, her eyes holding awe, yet mostly confusion at why he just ran after her. "What are you doing here?" she whisper-yells, in order not to attract the Peacekeeper's attention.

He can´t help but draw his lower lip between his teeth, letting his actions sink in "Yeah who the hell are you?"

"Uhm-" he starts to speak up, as the other tributes´ eyes hold anger and confusion, most of them standing up and taking a few steps closer to him, cornering him a little. The red that radiates from his red clothes alerts the others.

"I suppose he´s my mentor." Y/N quickly speaks up, her voice cutting through the tension that started to build itself.

"What the hell is a mentor? And why did you get one but we didn´t?"

"Did she get one just because she was the first to volunteer?"

Y/N opens her mouth again to reply but Coriolanus beats her to it, "No, you all get a mentor, I promise the same chances are laid out for everyone." he says with a slightly raised voice so everyone hears his words.

A few unamused chuckles emerge from the ´crowd´ that formed around him, nevertheless a tall guy grabs him by the collar and slams Coriolanus back against the wall behind him pulling a gasp from his lips.

"Don´t shit talk us, what are you doing here?! Are you here to spy on us? What sick games did you plan?!" he yells in his face, although Coriolanus is taller than him, he raises his hands in surrender in order to calm the angry tribute.

Y/N sighs and softly drops Wolvey´s hand onto the girl's lap, she takes a step forward rests her hand on the tribute´s shoulder gently yet harshly, and pushes against him.

"You get your own mentor, now drop it," she says loudly, the tributes around them purse their lips and keep looking at Coriolanus like he´s some meal they can devour.

"A Capitol´s sweetheart could be helpful, why not kill him to send a fucking message." everyone around them agrees except for Y/N and a few in the back, them equally as terrified as Coriolanus.

Coriolanus laughs at their ´plan´ and breathes out a few pained breathes due to him being pressed against the wall, however, before anyone else gets the chance to speak up, the container they are kept in starts to shake a little and then does a jump that causes everyone to lose their balance. The tribute that held the blonde up against the wall let go of him, the everyone including Coriolanus hold onto the nearest thing they could find to steady themselves.

Y/N yelps at the sudden movement that throws her forward and grabs onto Coriolanus´ right arm, the boy in question sneaks his right arm around her waist to steady her and takes hold of a handle that sticks out of the metal wall.

With a rumble and another much harsher shake of the container, the doors suddenly swing open and the place they were kept in for the past 10 minutes moves upwards, changing the position from vertical to horizontal.

A few screams erupt from the group of tributes, and everyone starts to slide out like bags of flour. Y/N yelps again and tries to hold onto Coriolanus, he manages to hold both of their weights, but Y/N´s grip on him loosens when she wiggles in his grasp.

"Wait- Y/N hold on!" he hisses out, but Y/N moves in his grasp trying to get a hold of Wovey´s hand who´s close to sliding down as well.

"Grab my hand!" she yells, but Wovey slips away, and Y/N watches the little girl and Jessup move out of her view into the unknown.

Y/N removes herself from his grasp, just as Coriolanus can´t hold them up anymore due to the shaking wagon, and they all slide into whatever the Capitol planned for them.

I might consider writing a second part! I hope you enjoyed reading this <33

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

PR disaster

Hey guyss, I hope you enjoy this one-shot. Franco is one of my favourite drivers so it was time that I wrote something for him :)

From the moment Y/N was hired as Williams' new PR manager, she knew the job wouldn’t be easy, especially with Logan's departure. Managing a driver's exit was never simple, and controlling the public narrative seemed like her biggest concern. However, she quickly realized that her true challenge came in the form of Franco, the young talent who had taken Logan’s place in the team.

Franco wasn’t just an exceptional driver; he was a whirlwind of energy and charisma. For the fans and the press, he was a breath of fresh air, full of charm and wit. But for Y/N, he was a constant source of headaches. Whether he was flirting with journalists, posting cheeky comments on social media, or creating unnecessary drama, it always ended with her cleaning up the mess.

"Y/N, did you see his latest post?" One of her assistants burst into her office, waving a tablet in the air. Another post. Another reckless comment from Franco.

Y/N groaned. Of course, he couldn’t help himself. She had spent the last week trying to reign him in, explaining time and time again that his social media presence needed to be professional, not a flirt-fest with every reporter and fan that interacted with him.

"This needs to stop," she muttered to herself, standing up from her desk. She stormed through the paddock, her frustration building with every step.

When she found Franco lounging near the team garage, chatting up a group of reporters—no surprise there—she called his name sharply.

"Franco. A word." Her tone left no room for argument.

He flashed his signature grin, excusing himself from the conversation and strolling over to her. "Hey, jefa," he said casually, as if nothing was wrong. "What’s up?"

(Hey, boss)

“What’s up?” she repeated, her voice laced with exasperation. “You’re what’s up. I just had to deal with your latest ‘incident’ on social media—again.”

Franco shrugged, leaning against the wall with an easy confidence that only made her more irritated. "Ah, it was just a little fun. People like it when I’m myself."

Y/N crossed her arms. “Flirting with journalists isn’t being yourself, it’s being reckless. You need to tone it down. This is a professional environment, not… whatever you think it is.”

He raised an eyebrow, his playful demeanour never faltering. "¿Estás diciendo que no te gusta que sea encantador? No puedo evitarlo si soy irresistible." (¿Are you saying that you don't like that I'm charming? I can't help it if I'm irresistible.)

Y/N frowned, her Spanish rusty but enough to pick up on something. "What?"

Franco grinned wider, sensing an opportunity. "Nada, nada," he said, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. "You know, maybe you should try smiling more. You’re always so… serious." He tilted his head, looking her up and down in a way that made her feel like he was studying her every reaction. "Me gusta más cuando te ríes… tienes una sonrisa preciosa, ¿sabes?" (Nothing, nothing) (I like it better when you laugh … you have a beautiful smile ¿you know?)

Her brow furrowed. Okay, that part she definitely understood, and it only made her more determined to get her point across. “This isn’t about me, Franco. This is about you being impossible to manage.”

He leaned closer, his tone dropping just slightly, enough to make her feel the warmth of his presence. "¿Imposible? No, jefa. Imposible sería si intentaras resistirte a mis encantos. Aunque… lo estás haciendo muy bien." (¿Impossible? No, boss. Impossible would be if you tried to resist my charm. Even… if you are doing it well)

She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “What did you just say?”

Franco simply smiled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You know, if you want me to be more ‘professional,’ we could… work out an agreement.”

“An agreement?” she asked, wary of where this was going.

He nodded, stepping just a little too close for comfort. “Sí. I’ll behave. No more trouble. But… on one condition.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “And what’s that?”

Franco’s grin turned almost predatory, though still playful. “You go on a date with me.”

Her jaw dropped. "A date?"

"Sí, una cita. You know, dinner, maybe some wine… you can lecture me all you want. But I think you’ll find I’m much better behaved when you get to know me… fuera del trabajo." (Yes, a date) (… out of work)

Y/N could feel her face heating up, partly from the absurdity of the situation and partly because Franco’s intense gaze was starting to get to her. “You’re joking.”

Franco tilted his head, eyes sparkling. “¿Parezco que estoy bromeando, jefa?” (¿Does it look like I'm joking, boss?)

Y/N stared at him, her mind racing. There was no way he could be serious. This was just another one of his games, another flirtatious comment that she needed to brush off. But as Franco stood there, grinning like the cat that got the cream, she realized he wasn’t backing down. His eyes were locked on hers, waiting, full of that infuriating confidence.

“Absolutely not,” she snapped, turning on her heel to walk away. But as she took a step, Franco called after her.

"Well, I guess I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing then… Maybe tweet a little something extra for the fans later."

She froze, clenching her fists at her sides. This man was impossible. She could already picture the chaos his next social media stunt would cause. The endless calls, the damage control, the headaches…

Y/N spun back around to face him. “Fine,” she blurted out, her voice filled with frustration. “You want a date? You’ll get your stupid date. But only if you promise—promise—to behave.”

Franco’s grin widened, looking almost triumphant. "¡Perfecto! I knew you couldn’t resist." (¡Perfect!)

She narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms. “This isn’t about ‘resisting,’ it’s about making sure you don’t ruin the team’s reputation. One dinner, and you tone it all down.”

Franco nodded, still smiling like she’d just handed him the world on a silver platter. "You won’t regret it, jefa. I’ll be a perfect gentleman." (boss)

Y/N scoffed, turning away once more. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

As she began walking back to her office, she could hear Franco’s voice calling after her, his tone teasing and undeniably smug. "No te preocupes, jefa. I’ll be on my best behaviour… unless you want me to misbehave a little." (Don't worry boss.)

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small, almost begrudging smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. Franco was trouble, and she knew it. But for some reason, as infuriating as he was, she couldn’t help but feel a spark of something… interesting.

Grumpy or not, she’d agreed to the date. And she had a feeling this was only the beginning of whatever madness Franco had in store for her.

Here's part 2

[stzrgirl4norris]

𔓘 TIP OF MY TONGUE

summary: maybe if the stars never aligned on the dark italian skies, Lando Norris could live his life by calling you a friend and you wouldn't have to face the consequences of a well-premeditated mistake.

Lando Norris x Driver!Reader

Warnings: there is a smut scene with some mild dirty talk and praising, but it's nothing crazy. The rest is just pure angst and agony. Enjoy :)

Word Count: 9.3k

🌷🧺:･🌷🧺:･🌷🧺:･🌷🧺:･

October, 2025

“Alright, team, let’s get it on!”

The loud sound of clapping brought Lando back to the real world, all the white noise shutting off and, suddenly, he was too aware of his surroundings. No more tunnel vision, no more blurriness around his eyes. His pupils scanned the place, an involuntary reaction, he didn’t mean to leave your gaze hanging.

You have been staring, analyzing every outline on his skin, looking for signs. Signs that you got it all wrong, signs that your ego has been catching up to you and, most importantly, signs that Lando Norris did not have feelings. Unsuccessful conquest. The British driver was clueless that you were conscious of the butterflies in his stomach. You have been now ever since that drunken night in Emilia Romagna. For you, a mistake. For Lando, however, a rush of adrenaline so high not even a race win could compare.

You stood up from your chair, feeling your skin burning from the impact of his stare. There was a feeling in the pit of your gut, one which you were trying so hard to mold into tenderness and love, but it was heavy and all too acid. And it got worse when he was closer, like at that moment.

“Zak is optimistic.” 

There was no sort of excitement in his tone, he just wanted to make conversation. To talk. To get you talking.

You chuckled in response.

“You should be too! It’s Singapore, your favorite.”

You gave him a sympathetic smile, touching his bicep with your shoulder. A simple movement that made both of your hearts pump too much blood. You couldn’t act cold towards him, you had no reason to. There was no proof, the thoughts of Lando Norris having feelings for you were, for now, just conspiracy theories you created throughout your sleepless nights. It wasn’t fair for you to treat him with stoicism, after all, you were teammates and, above all, friends.

“Eh- I don’t know.”

“Come on, now, Lan… Don’t say you’re intimidated.”

“I’m not.” His voice was a focal point now that the room was empty. You didn’t even notice all the crew left. “But you’re good. I’ll give you that.”

McLaren winning the Constructor’s championship wasn’t a future thing anymore, it was just reality, every other team had already accepted their faith, for them, it was all about that second place. All of this because their two brilliant drivers were just dominating the field, much like Red Bull in the 2023 season. However, there was no Max Verstappen on the McLaren Formula 1 Team. It was just you and Lando Norris. Separated by a miserable 12 points. 

Norris was ahead, he was the favorite, he was the first driver, you were aware, the team made it clear before the season had even started. At the beginning, you were helping him and just doing your job. “Papaya Rules” they said. You kept it at P3… P2… Managed to win a race when he accidentally hit the wall in Bahrain. But you were always on the podium, next to him, every single weekend. Even when you were not racing, you were together. Like twins. You liked Lando, you liked him a lot. And sometimes you were certain that your feelings for him crossed the friendship line, or else he wouldn’t occupy every corner of your mind like he did. 

The thing is, it wasn’t hard to ignore those feelings and shove them in the back of your throat when it was all unrequited. When you were just creating scenarios before you fell asleep. You curling up his hair for photoshoots, kissing the scar on his nose, making him breakfast in bed. It was all perfect while it was far away from reality. Until that night in Italy…

🌷🧺:･🌷🧺:･

July, 2025

It wasn’t a race weekend, you were there for fun, exploring the culture. Both of you were single, tired of being lonely. None of you planned on actually ending up together. As a matter of fact, the plan was simple: you found yourself an Italian guy while Lando had fun with whatever Italian girl he wanted, maybe it would turn into a “Eat, Pray, Love” kind of situation. Emilia Romagna wasn’t exactly the personification of love, but the city was not a stranger to attractive individuals. You had your fun. So did Lando. 

On the last night of the trip, the two of you decided to have a night alone in a new wave club. Lando hated the 80’s new wave dark punk vibe, but he knew you loved it, and what is a friendship without sacrifices? If you made an effort to leave the hotel room just so he could fuck whoever he had in his arms that night, he could handle listening to Depeche Mode for a few hours.

The British driver, however, didn’t count with the fact that gin and tonic, neon green light, “Enjoy the Silence” and you were a fatal combination. He sat at the bar and spent all his night watching you. His eyes lingering through your skin, following as your hips matched the beat. It was hypnotizing, magnetic, his eyes were glued. Fuck those Italian girls, they couldn’t compare. Lando never denied to himself that you were attractive, beautiful, and if you weren’t his teammate he would’ve thrown the first cheap pickup line that he could think of when he met you. But that night, underneath fluorescent lights, body reflecting and dripping in sweat, he couldn’t give a damn about the rules of the sport.

And to be fair… Neither did you.

Hearing Lando moan another name was torture and pleasure. Sometimes you would touch yourself on the room next door to the filthy sounds he was making on the other side with whoever. It was pathetic, but it made you feel dirty and hot, and it was so intimate. Sometimes, you could swear he knew what you were doing and was putting on a show just for you. Lando knew. He was smart, you’ve been teammates for years now, he could read you like his favorite movie script. So, it was time for you to return the favor, for you to put on a show… Just for him.

The watching was unbearable. The tightness in his jeans was getting harder to control. Your eyes met his and you could see the mist of dirty thoughts flying around him like the smoke of cigarettes. You left with him that night, holding his arm like a shield. It was one of the most pleasurable nights of your life.

Lando shut the hotel room with all too much force. The two of you were giggling, thanking God the taxist didn’t speak english, because the profanities leaving your tongues were the epitome of unbiblical. 

“Do you want me?” he knew the answer to his question, but there was nothing like hearing you say it.

“I want you so much, Lan.”

“How bad?”

It was getting hard to answer with the wetness of his kisses down your neck and the roughness from his fingers applying pressure on your waist like you would vanish if he let go.

“So bad… Want you so bad…” 

Your voice was getting fused with moans, a sort of whining that was echoing on Lando’s mind like a prayer. He lied you down on the white sheets of his bed, the softness of the fabric matching perfectly with how your skin felt.

“Yeah?” He moaned, voice high. “So bad you touched yourself while hearing me fuck those girls?”

You giggled, biting down your lip. You looked at him through your eyelashes, trying to fake innocence, but there was too much naughtiness painted on your iris. Innocence was long gone. In fact, it wasn’t even there.

“Yes..”

“Yeah?” He mimicked you, but there is no denying there was a mocking tone hidden behind his simple choice of wording.

Lando took off his white t-shirt before sliding your tank top over your head. He was met with the sight of your sunburnt skin, tan lines in the form of your bikini, no bra. His mouth watered. He visited too many museums during that trip and none of those paintings compared to the art form that was you, half naked in front of him. Those racing suits for sure did not do you enough justice.

“Yeah, baby? You thought about me touching you?” You nodded, feeling intoxicated by the sweetness in his voice. “Poor girl. You could’ve just asked.”

He touched the rem of your skirt, pulling it down your legs, slowly, letting the fabric do its job of teasing you. He noticed how the shivers left textured dots on your skin and you noticed how he was feeling like a god at that moment. As you analyzed the outline of his figure, you found in Lando the expression you only saw once when you experienced your high school crush taking your virginity. The infatuation, the excitement of getting something you longed for months. It was not just sex for your teammate and you became aware of that. Suddenly, all the fake scenarios and hypothesis you created were too close, dangling in front of you like the silver chain on his neck.

Lando purposefully left you in your underwear, butter yellow lace, contrasting the olive tan you cultivated. 

“I’m gonna give you what you crave, sweet girl.”

He placed a kiss underneath your belly button, followed by a lick. You lifted your  hips, your body begging for more of him, more touch. Your heart was beating too fast. The sensations were physically consuming you, to the point every thought of “this is wrong” vanished from your mind.

“Now, be still for me.”

“No, Lan, please, just fuck me.” You pleaded in desperation. “No teasing. Need you inside of me, now.”

The need for him was too painful to bare. Normally, you liked a guy to take his time with you. Your job was already marked with speed, no need for sex to be this way, it was the one area of your life you liked to take it slow. But not that night. Because the wanting for him was too intense, too overwhelming, you never felt that way, you needed immediacy. 

As a response for your supplicances, Lando laughed, in a condescending way. It just fed up his ego more. 

“I didn’t even ask you to beg and you’re already doing it. You’re so well behaved. Who trained you like this?”

He stood up to remove his jeans and his boxers all in one movement. You licked your lips watching him, questioning how could such a perfect human being occupy this filthy, disgraceful world. He looked like a god, it was only fair that he felt like one, and that night you wanted to make sure you helped him with that.

“This is all for you.”

You chose your words carefully, making sure you said everything he wanted to hear. The power and control he exercised was fake, shallow, superficial, because deep down you were the one pulling the strings, taking advantage of his feelings. Both of you were aware of it, but you just pretended that it wasn’t real.

Lando gave you a smile out of a fairytale before leaning down to place a slow sensual kiss on your lips, tongues intertwined. He felt his stomach turning in a knot and he shut his eyes tightly, trying to think of something else quickly before the pleasure was too unbearable and ruined all the fun.

He reached out to the nightstand on the right side with a single arm stretch and opened the drawer, pulling out the piece of plastic and ripping it off with his teeth. The act was automatic, you could tell he did it without thinking, like he’d done many times before.

He was hard and practically drooling over you. His fingers traced a light trail on the inside of your thigh, only the tip of his fingerprints, before he pulled your panties to the side. Lando inhaled deeply.

“Christ, you’re wet.” His tone was theatrical, much surprise present in his voice, like he couldn’t believe you wanted him so much. 

“Lando, how about less talking and more fucking?” You demanded, voice dripping in delirium. 

“Hey.” He called out, assertive, rough. “Behave, I wouldn’t want to have to punish you now.”

Your eyes darkened and you saw that motherfucker smirking like he just ripped a dark confession off of your chest.

Lando leaned down and you felt his hips pressed against yours, feeling the fullness that made you complete and whole. His movements weren’t abrupt or aggressive, it was careful, well-thought, like a man who knew how to properly fuck. He felt too profound and sensual. However, keeping the slow pace was torturing for both of you, Lando felt a stinging pain disguised as flood that was surrounding him. 

“Oh my fucking god. Yes, baby. Ugh, you feel so fucking good.” 

His growling was loud and shameless, for a second you felt sorry if anyone was passing through the hallway, but that passed quite quickly as you closed your eyes, throwing your head back. 

“Please, Lan, I need more.” You whined, lifting your hips to add some rhythm.

“Yeah, baby? Uh-huh?” He buried his head on your shoulders while his hand pressed your hips down. You felt him tapping his left hand on the lower part of your stomach and heard a snarky little chuckle in your ear. “Hey, take a look at that, baby, I can feel me in your belly.”

You opened your eyes and dared to look down, watching as his hands rubbed the soft skin below your belly button. You moaned, the vision was too perverted and sinful, something out of a porn movie. God, if Lando wasn’t insufferable before this, he sure as hell was about to become.

“Please.” It was sort of pathetic how every other word just vanished from your vocabulary. As someone who managed to finish college while being a Formula 1 driver, your brain was foggy, you felt uneducated and stupid, in the filthiest way possible.

“Please what, love?”

“Go faster.”

Lando was torn between two scenarios that terrified and excited him at the same time. His primal instincts wanted to go faster, indeed, mindlessly, shamelessly pound into you like this was his last night on earth - it might as well be. However, the rational side of his brain that was intoxicated by how good you felt and how infatuated he was, told him to take things slowly, to savour every second, because he didn’t want the moment to end soon.

In an unthinkable move, he held you firmly and rolled both of your bodies until you were sitting on top of him. The motion stopped. You were confused because this was certainly not what you asked for.

“What the hell?”

“You wanted to dictate the pace so badly, go ahead.” He rested both of his hands behind his back and looked at you. Watched. Like you were nothing but his personal fucktoy. 

“Lan, come on…” This is not what I meant. You didn’t add this part, but your eyes made your thoughts very clear.

“No, Y/N, do it. Ride me. You’re such a good driver, this shouldn’t be a problem to you.”

You moaned, this time in frustration.

You rocked your hips in controlled swirls, trying anything to create friction, to release the scorched pain on your venter. You did, in fact, tried to go fast, but the burning feeling on your thighs was catching up and in that particular moment, being on top was not how you wanted him. You wanted him to possess you, to use whatever need for control he had.

Lando smirked in satisfaction, because he saw you were struggling to give yourself what you so desperately wanted. It was written on the contortions of your facial expressions, and the wrinkles around your eyes whenever you shut them tightly.

“For someone who wanted to go faster, you’re doing a shitty job.”

If you weren’t so horny, you probably would have slapped him.

“Why don’t you show me how it’s supposed to be done, then?”

The British driver sighed. He had enough of this game.

This time around, the rolling of the bodies was rough and vulgar. You had no time to readjust your body on the mattress before Lando started to thrust inside of you in a ferocious way. The sloppy sounds echoing throughout the room were degenerate, immoral, filthy. It was too much, you couldn’t think.

“Oh, oh my god.” You heard his voice in midst of the moaning chaos that the room had become.

You dig your nails deep in his back, trying to hold on to something and as a bonus bring him even closer - if it was any possible.

“Yes, yes, yes.” The chanting leaving your lips matched the rhythm of his pounding.

“You take me so well, you’re such a good girl.” You rolled your eyes back, closing them. The sensations were overwhelming, animalistic. “Taking my cock like a fucking slut.”

He was supposed to keep going with whatever degrading phrase he started, but there was no way he could finish that sentence because the words were getting mixed in his mind. Lucky for both of you, the degradation was enough to ignite the familiar feeling of your orgasm in your belly.

“Fuck, Lan, I’m so close. Don’t stop.”

Lando took his right hand and found a way to brush your clit with his middle finger, in circular motions. Jesus, that man would be the end of you.

Your orgasm hit you in an all-consuming wave of satisfaction. You didn’t need to announce it, the way you clenched around his cock made it well-known. Alongside the pretty whimpers leaving your lips underneath your erratic breathing.

“That’s it, baby, fucking cum on my cock like a dirty little whore.” 

The torturous thing is that, even after you came, Lando didn’t stop or slowed down. He kept his pace.

“Lan… It’s too much… I can’t-”

You squirmed, lifting your hips, trying to get off, but it was all an automatic reaction from the overbearing amount of pleasure and dopamine in your brain. You didn’t want to leave. That could be the way you died and it would be a happy ending.

“Yes, you can, you were begging for it, now fucking take it.”

He only slowed down when he came, right with you, for your second orgasm. There were tears running down your eyes that were completely drained. 

Lando didn’t leave inside you immediately after he was done. He let his body fall while his head was buried on the curve of your neck. He was taken by the realization that he never wanted that to end, to stop. But, most importantly, he never felt this way with anybody else. He knew he had some sort of feelings for you, but he thought it was just a stupid crush linked to the fact that you were a pretty girl around him almost 7 days a week every week. However, in that moment, with you wrapped around him, he was certain it was something deeper.

Lando rolled to the left side of the bed and stared at the ceiling, suddenly watching all his skeletons dance around the chandelier. 

“Are you good? Do you need water?”

He dared to look to the side and wished he didn’t, because the sight of you, naked, hair messy, skin flushed, lips swollen, all fucked out, was one he wanted to frame and hang on his bedroom wall.

You looked back at him, staring at his green eyes that were the lighting up as the flush of adrenaline vanished.

“I would actually love a hot bath and a grilled cheese.”

He laughed, finding some weak strength left to sit down on the bed.

“Make the call and I’ll turn on the bath water.”

He placed a kiss upon your shoulder before standing up and it burned your skin. The clarification was hitting you, what you did. It’s not that you regret it, but you weren’t sure if you wanted things to change. And that type of feeling you felt that night, wasn’t one to just ignore.

🌷🧺:･🌷🧺:･

After you came home from summer break and the races restarted for the other half of the season, you imagined two possible scenarios regarding your situation with Lando. He could: 1. act cold towards you and you towards him and just keep everything professional, but friendship would be completely destroyed like a car set on fire; 2. pretend like nothing happened and everything would just stay the same. You hoped for the second one. 

However, in a matter of Lando Norris, if there were two options to be chosen from, he would create a third one and roll with it.

Lando didn’t ignore you, in fact, you noticed he was even more present. He would suggest driving you up to meetings, flying together, training at the same hour and gym. He would text you memes and tik toks and eventually send you songs from his playlist. You were surprised by his conduct, specially since he used to have a reputation of shutting down every girl he hooked up with, you’ve seen it happen more than once. But, somehow, he was treating you differently.

It started out with those little things, the texts, the quality time. You didn’t mind it, it was pleasant, but you couldn’t deny to yourself that you were confused. After confronting your therapist about it, she suggested that maybe Lando wanted something more, you brushed it off, that was nonsense, that therapist was shit and she knew nothing about you or Lando Norris. Something more? Dating wasn’t a part of your vocabulary, you were always a casual girl. Casual hookups, situationships, friends with benefits, one night stands. That 's it. You loved your single life, you were in your early twenties, at the peak of your career, this was a time to live life at its fullest. At least that’s what you told yourself, instead of facing the truth that there were some deep attachment issues rooted in your core. Another thing your therapist told you. This one, however, as much as you hated to admit, she was right about.

In the same light, things weren’t so different for Norris. In your career as his teammate you’ve seen him with only one serious girlfriend and after their breakup, Lando adopted the “being single and enjoying life” mentality, or what he liked to call “The Y/N mentality.” You weren’t proud, per say, but if there was no harm to anyone, then you were both free to do whatever you wanted with your body.

Nevertheless, you started to notice more. This time, not little things, big, big things. The type of shit that made your stomach drop. Lando’s performance started to decrease. It wasn’t a drastic change, not like he went from winning races to P10 all of the sudden, but he started to miss out on a couple of poles and his race wins started to become merely third or second places. The one ahead of him? You.

At first, you thought it was all you, afterall, the car was the fastest and you were as talented as him. Maybe summer break did you good and you were relaxed enough to place yourself ahead of your teammate. Until the qualifying in Baku. McLaren sent Lando first for his flying lap in Q3, which resulted in an impressive time of 1:41.686, already at ten minutes. You did your lap after him, P4. There was still enough time to try again. Lando went back to the pit, the engineers thought he didn’t even need to try again as no one was even coming close to that time. That was until minute 4 when you hit an impressive 1:41.365. P1. Holy shit. With the clock ticking, for sure Lando would go again, seeing that he would try to get back what you took. But he didn’t. No action from the British Driver, who passively waited for quali to end, happily watching you take another pole.

During the race? You lead all through and through. Your race engineer sounded calm, guiding you and reassuring the gap between you and Lando was over 4 seconds. Then, safety car on track and all your advantage went to trash. You felt nervous looking at Lando in your rear view mirrors, mentally preparing to defend yourself from your teammate, who you’ve never seen being hungrier for a Championship victory. Nonetheless, when the safety car ended and you pushed, you noticed no fight at all. Nothing. As a matter of fact, the gap between you increased. And you won the race, easily, not even breaking a sweat.

You seemed to be the only one who noticed that. No reporters asked him any questions about not putting up a fight. Zak didn’t see a problem and neither Andrea. Lando, also, didn’t look or sounded frustrated. You couldn’t let it pass, though, there was something about your intuition that was flashing with neon lights. In a brief confrontation, Lando’s response was simple “who do you doubt yourself so much? I didn’t help you, you are just brilliant like that.”

You accepted the compliment, but your mind wasn’t put on ease.

Now, in Singapure, you knew you were faced with challenges. It was your least favorite race, particularly because it was so demanding physically. You always found yourself passing out or throwing up after the end, which is why you never got a result higher than P5. It was a weakness, one you already briefed the team about. Of course, that wasn’t going to stop you from pushing and giving it your all, specially since you had an actual chance of winning the championship, and that was what mattered the most to you.

The team was expected for the tension between you and Lando to rise. Not just the team, but every fan of the sport. There were already speculations about the falling out of the golden duo. Hell, even you were expecting Lando to treat you like shit after being so close to take from him all his dreams. But everyone was caught by surprise to see how genuinely Lando was happy for you. During media day he even said “if I’m fighting for a championship, I wouldn’t choose anyone else other than Y/N to battle it with.” It was sweet and the media loved it. They noticed the growth in Lando’s character. He stopped being an anxious boy and perpetuated such a confidence in his abilities that he was nonchalant about his teammate potentially winning his championship.

Then again, in qualifying, just like a copy and paste from Baku, you were P1 and Lando P2. After the session was done, after all the interviews and conferences, you were quick to rush into his driver’s room. Because after that shit show, the words from your therapist replayed in your mind like a religious chant. That woman needed a raise, she was good,

Lando was sitting there, shirtless, racing suit dropped to his hips, hair wet from all the sweat of the unbearing humidity. He looked surprised by your appearance, but that didn’t stop him from giving you the biggest smile. One that made you feel, not butterflies, but a whole zoo with only hungry lions.

“Oh, hey, Y/N, what are you doing here?”

The innocence in his voice made you wanted to punch something, maybe him, if given the chance.

“We need to talk.”

Those words always meant trouble. No matter how nonchalant Lando acted, how unbothered and uncared, he knew he was in trouble. Especially after seeing your face, eyes dark, cheeks red, not a smile in sight of your lips. Your body expression wasn’t tranquilizing him either, arms crossed, chest rising rapidly.

“Why does it feel like I’m in trouble?” He tried adding a bit of humor, a pathetic attempt of releasing tension.

“Why the hell are you letting me win?”

No sugarcoating, straight to the point. The question was simple, direct, there was no defleating. Lando knew you were expecting an honest answer, and you were stubborn, this was something you would push until you got him to say what you wanted to hear. 

“I’m not.”

It wasn’t particularly what he wanted to say, nor the truth.

Lando was letting you win. Because the way your face lighted up when you were standing in the podium, hearing your national anthem and singing it proudly, popping champagne and spraying it around, brought him so genuine happiness that the feeling of winning a championship could not compare. After talking to his therapist, Lando came to the obvious conclusion that he was madly, indescribably, head over heels for you, and with that he realized that all he wanted was to see you happy, even if that meant you won the championship in his place. It was poetic in a sense, at least to Lando, that love could turn someone into such a selfless person. He now knew what all the philosophers and songwriters were talking about.

“Lan, come on.” You took a deep breath and kneeled in front of him, so that you could properly look into his eyes. “It’s me. It’s you and me. There is something going on, I know it.”

Lando was taken back by how close you were and it took him a battle with himself to hold and not touch you in any way. God, you were smart, your ability of being aware about your surroundings was truly impressive. Because he was good at hiding, so good that actually no one else noticed. But to you, it was so obvious.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N.”

‘I want the truth.”

Is it better to speak or to die? Lando remembered he heard that in some film and brought up to his therapist last week. He wanted you to know about his feelings, but like anyone in love, the fear of rejection was locking him up wrapped in chains. 

He could either tell you the truth right now, open up and deal with whatever consequence came from that, or he could just lie. But he was never faced with this decision before. Because, after you, he realized he was never in love before, not even with his last girlfriend, it never felt like this. So, if he was met with an unknown situationship, what was the right thing to do? Was there even a wrong thing? Is there any wrong way to approach the matters of the heart?

Lando looked down, to his hands that were anxiously attached together, unable to face you. That act alone told you everything you needed to know.

“I am letting you win.”

The partial confession wasn’t enough to decompress his chest or satisfy your doubts.

“Why?”

He rolled his eyes. This was torture. Because you knew exactly why, but you were torturing him by making him say it. In your head, it wasn’t torture, but as much as you didn’t want to face the truth, you needed.

“It’s not like it’s that much of a work. We’re still tied in points and you are a phenomenal driver. It’s not like you’re a rookie and I’m just letting you win races in tracks you’ve never driven before.”

“Why, Lando?”

You interrupted his rambling with more authority in your voice.

“You know exactly why.”

He whispered like his confession was going to blow up the world. But he said it so softly you felt a knot in your throat. It broke your heart. 

The feelings inside you were too much, too contrasting, too confusing. You liked him, that was a known fact, you didn’t even bother to lie to yourself about that. But love? That selfless love he was feeling? It was so complicated. He was your teammate, “feelings” were not only a personal matter anymore, both of your careers were at stake. It was forbidden, a rule, drivers should not get involved with other drivers. It never happened before, but you knew the consequences would be a disaster. Press, sponsors leaving, the team breaking down and someone was getting fired. Between the golden boy who had been with McLaren for his whole career and helped the team build that current rocketship and the only female driver who was not as fast as he was, it wasn’t difficult to guess who would be dropped.

Add all of that to your anxiety attachment issues. The thought of being in a relationship, no matter with who, made you want to throw up on the streets. It was the vulnerability, the real intimacy that came with sharing a routine and a life with someone. It wasn’t because you loved your single life, or wanted to have sex with strangers, or had no feelings for Norris, it was the fact that you were terrified of being in love. So much that the times you felt it, you couldn’t tell, because you lied to yourself so many times it became a reality.

Your walls were built skyscraper high and of hard metal, and Lando Norris was quickly destroying them, with not much force.

“Lan…” You prefaced it softly, searching for the right words, if there were any. “This is so complicated.”

It wasn’t quite the response he was expecting. 

“Do you love me back?”

You looked into his eyes for what seemed like eternity, memorizing every line in his iris, and he did the same.

“I adore you.”

“But do you love me?”

Lando wasn’t angry, or agitated. He was asking you with so much calmness, because it didn’t matter, it wasn’t like his feelings would simply disappear because they weren’t reciprocated. And, also, deep down, he could tell you felt the same, but couldn’t admit to yourself.

“I don’t know.” You were honest. That was the most honest answer you could give him. Because you knew, but you didn’t know exactly what.

He smiled, with pity.

“Do you wanna know what I think?” You didn’t answer him, giving the opportunity for his speech to come. “I think that in that night, in Italy, we both caught ourselves in the middle of something that made us realize how dumb we were for not being able to tell, that after all these years together, we are desperately in love with each other. And I think that scared us and we tried our best to pretend it was nothing. But I think, I decided to just accept things for how they are and stop lying to myself and connect with how I’m feeling, while you are stuck in the route of fear, not being able to digest.”

You felt your eyes getting foggy and your throat was on fire. Without even realizing, your hands were on his knees, his palm covering your fists, with the most gentle pressure.

“And I don’t know why you are so scared of letting go and giving yourself. You have always been this way. I know love is a scaring fucking feeling, fuck, for the first nights I couldn’t sleep, I lost my whole appetite for weeks. But you can’t live life without experiencing love to its full potential, Y/N. You are depriving yourself. We could be so beautiful together.”

The words hit you like a crash wave. The tears were uncontrollable, you realized the salty taste hitting your tongue became more constant every time Lando opened and closed his mouth.

Who knew Lando Norris could be so… wise? Well thought? You expected words like this from a cheap philosopher, maybe, but certainly not from the light eyes sitting in front of you. He deserved something from you, because it was true. Every saying, every sentence, he was reading you and deciphering your feelings, something you couldn’t do it yourself. But it was so painful, agonizing, visceral. He was spilling your guts and if you could, you’d cut your organs open for him, but you didn’t know what you wanted or how to say it.

You felt his thumb brush a few tears from your cheeks. Lando was sympathetic. He didn’t know why you thought you were so unworthy of having a loving partner, of being intimate, maybe it was some trauma you never got to work on, or maybe it was a part of your nature, some fucked up dark trait inhereted by birth. Whichever one, it didn’t matter. He would love you regardless.

“I’m sorry. I went too far.”

He didn’t mean to push you like this, but the words blurted out of his chest without going through the wires on his brain first.

“This isn’t easy for me. I’ve never- Not like this. You matter to me. A lot.” Your lips trembled as you spoke, surprised you were even capable of making any sense. “It hurts me, just how much I ache for you...”

“I feel there is a but coming.” 

The way your expression softened in laceration made Lando get hit with a wave of nausea. He was feeling guilty. He said too much, pushed too far, crossed a line. Is it better to speak or to die? Well, guess speaking feels like dying so what difference does it make?

“I can’t-” You sighed. “You’re right, about what you said, everything. But I don’t feel comfortable to say what you want to hear.”

“You can’t say you’re in love with me?”

“And it’s not because I don’t feel it. It’s the opposite. It’s precisely because I feel it so much.” You heard him whisper your name softly under his breath. “I don’t know why I can’t give myself.”

The rawness in your honesty was something unexplainable by the poets and the sociologists. You loved him, to the point of not being able to define if you loved him. To the point where you wanted to deny and hide, because the vulnerability was too crystalline and open. Your blood was flooding the room alongside your tears, and by this point, Lando’s tears too.

“You don’t need to be scared. We can go slowly.”

“Lando, this would ruin everything. The whole team. Your career, my career. It’s not easy. I am not ready.”

Lando knew you were right and if love was a selfless act, he was supposed to let you go, if you were meant to each other, you would eventually find your way back. But that was lies the romantics and literature stigmatized. It was spiritualism to comfort the soul. Sometimes if you do nothing, if you just wait passively, you will lose your soulmate. Maybe there was such thing as the right place and right time.

“What if I quit?” The proposition was so absurd that you laughed shamelessly, stopping completely once you realized he was dead serious. “I’m being serious. What if I leave? You could keep your career, we could be together.”

“Lando, don’t insult me like this.” You got angry for a moment. It was shocking to you that he was just willing to throw his whole life away, because of you. “What about your dreams? Passions? Your career? You’re at your peak!”

“I only want you!”

You shook your head from side to side, standing up, pacing anxiously around the tiny room. For a good portion of minutes you forgot where you were, that there was a world going on outside that space.

“You can’t throw everything away because of somebody else. I wouldn’t let you do it.”

He stood up too, walking towards you. There was pain hidden underneath his skin but he moved with confidence, because he needed to reassure you that there would always be safe whenever he was around.

“And you can’t hide from love forever. It’s biting you, right here and right now.” 

Touché.

“Do you think you can wait ‘til the season is over? Until the whole chaos is through? Then I can have some time to… Digest… Maybe talk to my therapist.”

Lando chuckled.

“You don’t even need to ask, I would wait as long as you needed, as long as you eventually came to me.”

You nodded. The wetness in your eyes thanking him for being understandable. Maybe you needed his therapist’s number, she did some magic there.

“Also… Promise me you’re not going to throw races and let me win?”

“Only if you stop looking beautiful holding trophies.”

You narrowed your eyebrows. “I’m serious, Lando.”

“Fine. Not going to let you win. I’ll play fair.”

If that’s what you wanted, then he would give it to you. If you made ten thousand more demands, he would break himself to make them come to life.

You stood there, contemplating if you were going to kiss him, or if he was going to kiss you. Surely it was a wrong idea, it would just make things messier. But he was so close you could feel the heat coming off of him. Lando wanted to touch you like he needed air to breath, but he couldn’t cross that line. A kiss was too much.

“See you tomorrow.”

“I’ll get to you by lap 1.”

Lando watched as you closed the door behind you, then sobbed like a little kid who lost his blanket.

🌷🧺:･🌷🧺:･

January, 2026

The sun felt like a kiss on your skin. It was warm, peaceful. The sand that usually irritated you by getting under your nails was, currently, a reminder of how good it feels to get a break.

Usually, on January, you would always go to a ski trip somewhere in a cold country, most of the times in Switzerland, but this time you figured it was time for a change. You didn’t want coldness or to wear three layers of clothing, you wanted the smell of sunscreen, vodka with lime and bikini tan lines. Which is why there was nowhere else for you to be than fabulous Rio de Janeiro. Far away from all the driving drama.

You went by yourself, only notifying your parents in case of some emergency. You called it a spiritual journey, rather than “a break”. This wasn’t your therapist suggestion, although she thought it was a good idea for you to get your head clear. Little did she know you weren’t exactly healing, you were just avoiding.

See, when faced with danger, animals have two main primal instincts, fight or flight. And if you knew something about yourself was that you were, by no means, a fighter. 

The season was over. Lando kept his promise and gracefully won the Driver’s Championship that year. Throughout the road, he didn’t mention his feelings again, he didn’t act strange, both of you kept the same. At least in public. By the time you were alone there was nothing that could keep the anxiety out of the room. Every time Abu Dhabi got closer, you remembered how you gave him a deadline. You gave yourself a deadline. To be fair, you thought you would have had figured out things by now, but in an old fashion way, you just shoved your feelings away and focused too much on your job.

Which is why after attending the FIA Awards you vanished. From everything, to everyone. You got a new phone that only your mom knew the number so that you could enjoy your whole month in peace. Needless to say it didn’t work. Because there was no fucking peace when Lando Norris was living in your mind like a rooted tree.

You wrote him a thousand letters, each one with half of the page blank because you couldn’t find the right words. He was never going to see them, so it shouldn’t be hard, but you were blocked by a giant iceberg. It was frustrating. Also, for countless nights you lost sleep thinking about how you failed him, wronged him, broke his heart in ten thousand pieces. You went to the airport twice to change your plane tickets’ date, but gave up when you looked at the attendant’s face.

Enough was enough and you needed to do something about this mess of a situation that was no one’s fault but yours. He deserved better than this. You were going to try. If he didn’t leave your mind you singular minute, surely that meant something. Plus, your therapist was really helpful, really insightful, which gave you hope that you could give it a real try this time. If Lando really loved you - which he did - he would have the patience.

You picked up your flip flops from the sand and headed back to your hotel, just across the streets of Copacabana. You lost count of how many times you were approached by starry eyed brazilians that were crazy about you. Walking to the elevator, you closed your eyes before leaning back to the mirror, waiting for the door to shut, which it did right after someone walked in. Not even half a second later, you felt it… That indistinguishable scent of bergamot, leather and ginger. Holy fucking shit.

“What the-”

The body standing in front of you materialized at the same time the voice did. You thought you were going to throw up.

Lando thought the same, because after all this time, there you were.

On his side of things, Lando liked to think that he was a gentleman who waited patiently, without forcing any type of situation that could, potentially, cause a fallout. But after having spent the holidays with his family, the magic and energy of Christmas made him so desperately miss you. Still he waited and burned all by himself. By January 5th he had gone mad, stopped eating, stopped hanging out. His friends had to drag him out of his apartment. Max brought him food everyday and stood there watching him eat, or else he wouldn’t. Lando was broken.

On a random cold January night he called you, the phone rang an exact amount of thirteen times before getting to voicemail. And he called an extra twenty. To his relief, or torture agonizing pain, the other drivers couldn’t reach to you either. He was relieved because he wasn’t the only one being purposefully ignored. But what if something happened to you? Something bad? Something he couldn’t bear to think about without wanting to die. In a desperate attempt to get some news, he called your dad, who, by the graces of the universe, picked up. The weight off his shoulders disappeared so abruptly it almost felt like levitating.

Lando didn’t see you going to a foreign country on vacation completely alone as some attempt of running away, he thought you were chasing healing. He didn’t know where you were but he just hoped you were okay.

After that, with help of dear Max, he started to regain some of his sparkle. You wouldn’t disappear, you would come back when you were ready. That was the mantra Lando repeated to himself over and over again when staring at the dark Monaco skies. 

Some random week Max announced he was going to Rio with Pietra for some wedding on her family. Lando couldn’t tell why that information got stuck in his head so much, he thought about it the whole day, brooding that fact like a chewy gum. Which is why, on Wednesday night, he asked if he could go with them. Not to the wedding, he couldn’t handle a wedding, not right now, but just to Brazil, enjoy the sun, the music, the culture and the food. Of course, his best friend wouldn’t deny him that.

Call it fate, destiny, lifeline, whatever the hell the esoterics and religious named it, but it was real. Both you and Lando were now the proof. Your eyes were as wide as two globes and Lando blinked so much his vision was blurry, a few eyelashes fell on his cornea.

You were confused, extremely. How the hell did he know you were there? Did your mom tell him? Did he see it on twitter? Did he follow you there? Because surely the fans who recognized you posted the photos somewhere. In Lando’s defense, he didn’t see the posts, he was on a social media detox after his crashout post holidays. He genuinely didn’t know where you were.

“What are you doing here?” Before Lando could answer, the elevator door opened. It was your floor. “Follow me.”

He walked behind you in total madness, entering your room without thinking much.

“This is-”

“How? Why are you here?”

You interrupted him, staring deep in his eyes. You noticed how his body language was soft and the lines on his face were tender. He was smiling, like a dumb idiot, because he was so incredibly happy to see you there. Healthy, tanned, smelling like sunscreen, just like Emilia Romagna.

“Max and P are here with me. Someone from her family is getting married.”

“Did you know I was here?”

“No.”

He looked so starstruck that you had no other choice but to believe him.

You licked your lips and nodded, once again facing a situation with Lando that you were not ready to. Maybe this was the universe slapping you on your face and screaming “get a grip, bitch, life doesn’t work the way you want it, you can’t control some things.”

“How are you?”

As soon as the words came out of your mouth you wanted to jump off of the balcony. Really? How are you? Is this the best you can do?

Lando contemplated on if he was going to be honest or lie. He opted for the second choice, telling you how he was actually doing would just completely ruin the already ruined mood.

“I’m fine. Being a World Champion really brought me some peace of mind.”

You didn’t believe a single word. Being a World Champion was his main goal and purpose in life, you knew that, and he seemed fulfilled in a way actors do when they win an Oscar. But standing right in front of you, Lando, underneath all that curly hair and flushed cheeks, looked pale as if he almost got into a car accident seconds before.

“I bet it did…” The silence was killing you, making you hold on to anything, desperately. “Do you wanna sit?”

You pointed out to the small sofa in the room. Lando just followed your lead, sitting a cushion distance from you.

“How are you? You look well.” 

Well, you wouldn’t exactly put it that you were wll. But definitely better.

“I am doing better than I was I can tell you that much.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

You stared at your hands, fingers nervously intertwining. Lando noticed the not-so-subtle act and found it adorable how nervous you were, because he was feeling the exact same. He knew that you were dying inside, which is why he decided to take an upfront.

“Look, Y/N, you don’t gotta say anything if you don’t want to. I know you said you wanted to talk after the season was over. But you don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

“You sound like a prince when you talk like that.”

That wasn’t supposed to be said out loud. That was actually meant to stay inside your head, just for you, maybe you would write it down on a journal. However, it just slipped, without your consent, loud and clear enough for Lando to hear it and blush, not being able to contain a smile.

He laughed nervously, for the first time looking at the floor, taking his eyes off of you.

“I’m sorry.”

You chuckled, hiding your face with your right palm.

“Well, don’t apologize, I sure didn’t mind hearing that.”

Both of you tittered. It helped with the energy of the room, because, even though it was still filled with anxiety and unspoken clouds, there was a little pink light radiating from both your souls. Like when twin flames ignite.

“You know, I wrote you, at least, fifteen letters.”

Lando turned his face, watching you watch him with concentration and determination in your eyes.

“But you never sent them?”

“Never found words that were good enough.”

“There’s no such thing as good enough.” In a bold move, the boy slid from his place to the one next to you, breaking the distance. “I don’t need poetry, that doesn’t interest me. All you gotta do is be honest, most importantly to yourself.”

You nodded, agreeing because he was, once again, right.

“I’m sorry, words were never my thing.”

“You’re telling me? I failed english lit in high school.”

Both of you giggled. You always thanked the gods for Lando Norris’ sense of humor and charisma, because you feared the world would just be a dark place without him.

“Well, but I think I can give you something and let it talk for itself.”

There was no hesitance, but you were definitely nervous when your hands met the back of his neck and pulled him towards you, lips locked like they were meant for each other. Lando wasn’t expecting a kiss with so much passion. It wasn’t a kiss charged with sexual tension, in fact, there was none, it was very raw. Confessional. Your way of saying I love you.

When his mind caught up to the moment, his hands cupped the back of your head, tongues dancing together. A kiss that started with intensity grew to be delicate, soft as if you were both fragile pieces of art hanging in the Louvre.

Only when you were out of air in your lungs was when you pulled back, feeling all the anxiety rushing back to your bones like it never left. There was no going back now, it was done. You showed him how you felt. The ball was on his court.

“I hope this is enough for you.”

Lando felt sympathetic about your worries. He coudn’t help but smile and scrunch his nose.

“Well, I was expecting a keychain saying I love Rio or something, but I’ll take the kiss.”

You playfully threw the small sofa cushion towards him, feeling a lot lighter by his reaction. 

“You’re an idiot, Lando Norris.” Before he could open his mouth, you continued “Don’t say you’re an idiot who loves me or I’ll get up and leave.”

“I’m offended you think I’m that cheesy.” He put his hand on his chest, faking an expression. But yeah, he was definitely going to say that.

“On a serious note now. If we are going to do this, I need us to go very slow. Baby steps.”

Lando grabbed your hand and placed a soft kiss on your knuckles. The gesture made your heart flush. Your heart. Not your stomach this time around.

“You don’t have to worry about a thing. If you ever feel we are moving too quickly and you’re uncomfortable, don’t be scared of letting me know. I’m always going to be patient.”

“I have no doubts about that.”

They remained in silence. But unlike previously, it was the good kind of silence - the type that anticipated something big. Like one before your favorite track of an album starts to play. Lando smiled, with a new meaning. It hit you that your name was going to sound differently now coming from his mouth.

He touched her lips again and they were waltzing, slow but right steps.

The kiss was tender, like the whole world slowed down just to match your rhythm.  An instant that was suspended in time, full of unspoken promises. You felt that your out of sync heart was trying to match his.

It was happening, it was real and it was true. You weren’t hiding from love. You weren’t running away. The world kept spinning and you would follow Lando Norris anywhere he went, even in secret, even in quiet. Slowly creating proof of heaven, together.

[zepskies]

TASTE

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Vampire!Reader

Summary: It’s a devastating hunger. He finds you, at his own risk.

AN: Surprise! Here’s a short drabble for @chevroletdean's 500 follower celebration! (Moodboard created by Liane!) 💜🖤❤️

Word Count: 900

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, spiciness, set circa season 6, little twist ending…

A tease, a whisper of heated breath, a soft streak of cherry red lipstick drawing a lazy path to his ear; your lips brush against his jawline.

“Dean.”

His breath hitches. Perhaps it’s a reaction to the way you say his name, a sultry beckoning and a plea all at once, like a heady sip of Merlot somehow scarring down the throat.

Perhaps it’s the way you’ve caught him. He clears his throat.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, sweetheart,” he intones.

You can hear every uptick beat of his heart while his big hands find an achingly familiar stronghold on your parted thighs. You’ve always admired the strength in his hands, and the way he can move you even without their talents—with just his lips, his voice, his eyes.

He’s found you in this hovel. Deep down, you knew he would eventually. You have him trapped beneath you on this dingy couch, your long nails biting into chipped leather instead of his skin. You’re the one who’s stronger now. And no matter how many warnings blare like a fiery lashing in your mind, you can’t help yourself. You want him more than ever.

It’s a devastating hunger.

For every cell that no longer bleeds red inside you, there’s a demand for more. You crave his taste, now in more ways than one. It scares you. This scares you, more than you’ve ever been scared of anything—even though you’re the one who’s in control, grabbing his face with a slender hand. Your fingertips press into his jaw, digging firmly enough into his stubble-covered cheeks to have the jade of his eyes solely on you.

Your eyes are different now. Darker, sharper, a phantom haze of violet and crushed roses. You see the way he takes in your face, trying to find something recognizable in you besides your body.

“You shouldn’t have,” you finally reply, though there’s hesitation in your voice. Conflict. Pain. Need. A small vulnerability, slight tremble. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

And yet, that deep pit of empty, vicious craving deep in your core compels you to move, to take what you need.

“I think we both know I can handle it,” Dean says. His grin is cocky and familiar in its teasing, but his eyes hold the weight of more. He can’t just let you go. His grip tightens on your thighs to deliberately shift you against him, guiding your clothed pussy against the generous, straining bulge in his jeans. You feel the warmth of him already. You utter a soft moan, your brows knitting together.

Fuck. It’s only been days, but you’ve missed him.

Just a taste.

A threat of a kiss against his lips devolves into hungry devouring. A grunt and a groan loosen from the back of his throat. His fingers delve into your hair and slip around the strands, the same way you suck his tongue into your mouth.

Your hand slips around his back to pull him closer. Your nails rake down his spine, gripping the red flannel of his shirt. He hisses at the red lines likely carving across his skin, but his eyes open to you. They’re wild, alive in a way you can’t be.

The scent of his blood is earthy, rich, tantalizing—too much to set aside. What your flesh wants is secondary to the kind of lust that courses through you, black ink of nightshade in your veins.

Your fangs descend on reflex.

Your head moves fast, but your heart manages to win out the slightest bit; your sharp teeth nearly break the skin of his shoulder instead of tearing at his jugular, the way your instincts demand. A visceral cry for blood is trapped painfully in your throat. Your heart tears even more when you realize that you’ve failed. You couldn’t keep yourself away. You couldn’t stop yourself from—

Dean’s grip tightens in your hair, but he doesn’t bother to try and pull you back.

He just jabs the needle into your neck.

A full dose of dark crimson liquid seeps into your sluggish veins, making you gasp in pure shock. Though, you really should’ve known. Dead Man’s Blood.

Your limbs quickly fall beyond your control, and you slump against his shoulder. Your eyes begin to close, no matter how hard you fight to flutter them open. You can still hear his heart beating wildly, even as he holds you.

“Thought you were gonna take a chunk outta me, huh?” he remarks, with a flash of his wry smile. “Well, it’s been tried.”

Still, there’s more tenderness in his calloused hand when he sweeps your hair away from your cheek. He looks down at you with a note of devastation, apology, regret…but also determination. It furrows his brows and presses his lips into a line.

He sits up with you gathered in his arms, and he swiftly carries you out of this terrible old shed. It was the only place you could find in the city to hide yourself, to keep you away from living, breathing, movable feasts.

“It’s okay, baby. We found the cure,” he says. His voice is firm, reassuring, if holding the remnants of grit. “We’re gonna fix this. Just hold on…”

Your eyes have closed against your will, but his voice manages to move your heart that one inch. Hope.

Just hold on…

AN: Finally something short from me, right? 😂 Though it's actually the first time I've written a vampire reader. Felt like that's where the moodboard was leading me. 👌🏽

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[ivy-elle]

Their Acts Of Love

Ft. Albedo, Ayato, Diluc, Kazuha, Kinich, Scaramouche, Xiao

Albedo

The alchemist is known for his pragmatic approach to life

It’s evident in the way he works, functions and goes about the world

Albedo discerns what certain matters require, how to refine them and how to adjust accordingly

So naturally, as you are an essential and irreplaceable part of his life, it was important to him from the very beginning to figure you out and understand your very own kernel as well

Albedo has made it his personal little goal to identify what you need, what could make your life easier, more comfortable in various ways

He doesn’t even wait to see you struggle with something first, there have already ideas bloomed in his mind, and he’s off to spend the next hours tinkering away

It starts with small adjustments – like modifying your coat in a more practical way to keep the cold at bay and adjust better to the temperatures for when you visit him on Dragon Spine

Or he creates special compasses for you, designed in a way that they guide you straight to whatever materials you’re currently searching for

Special flowers, that never seem to wither, placed onto your desk for you to fin

Whatever you could need, he has it already at hand

He truly loves you to the point of invention

Ayato

Ayato is a very sought-after and busy man with countless responsibilities and people to attend to

And while he tries to spend as much of his free time with you, those times don’t come as commonly and as long-lasting as he (and you) might wish for

Yet, every morning without fail, even before the sun rises, he wakes up to you sleeping soundly next him in bed

He drapes his arm around your waist and softly pulls you closer to him, holding you just a bit tighter

And each time, knowing that duties are calling for him from all corners, he makes room for at least ten of those special minutes, where he spends just this one more moment with you right next to him, before rising up

Sometimes you notice him and awake as well, and it has gradually become a sort of ritual for you to spend these early minutes with him

You seldom even speak a word, instead just let gentle touches linger, and fingers intertwine as you soak in each other’s presence, tanking energy for the day yet to come

Diluc

The high quality of the Angel’s Share’s wines, drinks and beverages in general is famous and renowned all over the corners of Teyvat

And Diluc takes a lot of pride in his creation, dedicating time and love to the craft

And in the same abundance he cherishes and takes pride in having you by his side at every step as well

Sometimes he likes to convey these feelings into his world as well

That means shortly said – patrons of his tavern might need to get used to order drinks that carry your very own name very soon

Perhaps, there are even slight variations, nicknames of sorts or nods to certain insiders only to be known by you and him alone

Then again, Diluc also entrusts you to naming a lot of his latest creations as well, proudly adding them to the menu card afterwards

The extra bonus of it all is of course, catching some guests’ reactions – especially Kaeya’s, who knows more of the ‘insiders’ than he wishes for

Kazuha

Kazuha is away on travels plenty of times.

Sometimes it could be even weeks in which you’re not seeing each other at all, and while not a day goes by without exchanging letters, no amounts of words could soothe the ache you feel in his absence

And Kazuha misses your presence by his side tremendously.

So, while he can’t show you the places that he visits per se, and only manages to convey his experiences in words, he came up with a lovelier strategy

In every place Kazuha visits he gathers a bunch of different flowers, he finds to be especially fitting and prevail the essence of the scenery

But because he’s aware of how quick flowers once picked wither away, he places them carefully in between the pages of a little notebook he always carries with him and presses the flower inside

Each page with flowers is captioned in his neat handwriting with the location, the date and a little haiku – for the practice – as he claims

So, whenever he returns back home to you, you’d have also a book full of memories pressed between sheets and a bit of Kazuha’s love accompanied alongside

(Perhaps one day he could get in contact with Albedo to ask for a way to prevent flowers from withering. But then again, to prevail them in a frozen state between life and death forever, may contain its very own certain art)

Kinich

Kinich is an adventurer through and through; he knows the woods, he knows the deserts, he knows the mountains and he knows you.

He adores both of these worlds, and he loves nothing more than to combine them whenever possible

He’d like you to see the world in its wonders and adventurer and possibilities just the way he does, and if he could, he would do anything to keep that look of wonder on your face for as long as possible

Kinich brings you to many of his favourite places, he follows you to any new view you want explore and some days the both of you spend hours just walking and strolling along through different paths and places

Anything you haven’t seen yet? Here we go.

Something you haven’t experiences, yet? Well, now you have.

You mean you’ve never been bungee jumping? Consider it done.

Afterall, his bests adventures happen to be the ones he shares with you – watch out, soon he’ll consider you his personal lucky charm

He is the best guide there is, at least for you specifically, because he knows the world and he knows your heart

Scaramouche

Scaramouche isn’t exactly a man of many words in that regard

Not explicably nice ones, that is

And certainly not from the romantic sort

And yet, he cares

He cares so deeply at times, it feels it’s going to gnaw him from the inside out and set fire to his bones

And while he’s not (yet) about to let these words slip past his lips, it is his actions that carry the volume

So, no, his words might only indirectly reflect his inner turmoil and this deeply rooted sentiment, but there is no denying he is a gentleman around you.

From opening doors (although he will insist, “you’re slacking off again”), to waiting for you so you can walk to a destination side by side (“I can’t trust your sense of direction on your own”) and carrying your stuff (“Lest you end up face-first on the ground”)

And if you’re the one to ask something, it’ll be done. Reluctantly and with some grumbling perhaps, but it will be done.

Xiao

Xiao is used to solitude – it’s easier, it’s safer, it’s all he’s ever known

You somehow, slowly, delicately managed to climb through the cracks of the walls that shelter his soul and heart

Nowadays, the spot beside him on the tree of Wangshu Inn is seldom empty anymore

No longer does he has to endure seemingly endless nights, buried in his own personal torture, for there’s nothing, he desires any more now than to lay down beside you at the end of each day

You’ve managed to find your way into his heart and make him feel as if, life has some worth aside from the burdens he is bound to carry

Xiao quite literally worships the ground you walk on

As a yaksha, he sees it as part of his duty, but it extended into his very own personal mission to assure your absolute safety at all time

Especially when you’re out on your own travels and journey

Rest assured, no treasure hoarders, no hilichurls, and certainly no ruin guards will ever cross your path or pose a threat to you, as long as he has a say in it