#now that I think of it almost all of my AU ideas have been sparked by conversations on Lukey cord

[milk459]

To those who it may concern, I am making a the realm smp elements of harmony assignment big yap post. Idk how detailed I want it to be but it’s like a pharagraph each so far, I might add more specific examples and possibly video clips because I am SO normal about MLP🙂 😪✨☝🏾mhm! SO NORMAL :)

I already have the assignments picked out, I’m a bit iffy on two of them but the more I think about it the more it works so I’m sticking to my gut here and going for it ✨

And just to be clear this not a character assignment, my choices for that are completely different. This is solely like, if the elements of harmony existed in the realm who would embody each one the most. Although I will say some of the character attributes line up and I think that’s very fun :3c

Will post soon :3 !!!! ( I have tons of other AU assignment thingys to post but like no time, one day I’ll get to it 😭😭😭)

Also feel free to guess who I picked for what 👀 or share your own elements of harmony assignments, I’m very curious 👀👀👀

[kpopfanfictrash]

Clichés and Canapés (Teaser)

Genre: best friends to lovers; fake dating; billionaire au

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); smut

Summary: After twenty years of friendship, you’d think you were used to Seokjin’s proposals by now. In the past he’s forced you to participate in skydiving, skinny dipping, and even staging a rescue from the local shelter. Seokjin has always had big ideas but this time, even he may have gone too far. Granted, break-ups are stressful, and Seokjin’s latest one up was bad. Really bad. As in, they-ended-things-in-December-and-now-she’s-dating-his-brother bad.

It almost makes sense then, when Seokjin asks you to come home with him for his parents' party. Almost makes sense when he says his family assumed you were dating, and he didn't correct them. What doesn’t make sense is the longer you fake things, the more you find yourself wondering if this was real all along.

[ Part of the In Bloom Collaboration ]

Estimated WC: 37K

Teaser WC: 2K

Posting Date: April 20th, 2025

Content Creator: thank you @kithtaehyung for the BEST BANNER!

[ Author's Note: this scene is not the first scene in the story; for sake of brevity, I thought this would be best for a teaser. I hope you enjoy, and am so excited to post again! ]

Your heart pounds in the silence, unnaturally loud. Placing your phone on the table, you stare at the wallpaper – a photo of the city skyline you took last fall. Before that it was a photo of you and Seokjin. Your screensaver has always been you and Seokjin, something you never questioned until last year. Last summer, to be precise.

“Get ahold of yourself,” you mutter.

Taking a deep breath, your fingers hover over his name. You press call before you can second-guess yourself, Seokjin’s name filling the screen. He answers almost immediately.

“Hello?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Seokjin sounds out of breath, deeper than you remember. How unfair would it be for him to experience a second puberty burst. The first was torture enough for you as a teenager. Overnight, Seokjin transformed from your nerdy best friend to a soft-spoken, hilarious man the entire school wanted.

“… Y/N?”

Opening your eyes, you scoop up your phone and take it off speaker. “Oh, hey – yeah, it’s me.”

He chuckles. “I figured when I saw your name calling.”

“You never know.” Aimless, you pick at the lint of your apron. “Maybe I was in a tragic accident, and someone found my phone at the scene of the crime.”

“Does that mean I’m your emergency contact, Y/N? I’m touched.”

Your cheeks heat since yes, you’re not sure you ever changed that. What you say though, is, “Don’t get cocky. I have all my phone contacts listed as emergency contacts. I like to hedge my bets.”

He laughs, louder this time. “Hey, no judgement here. Pretty sure you’re still mine.”

Your fingers still on your apron. You shouldn’t be his contact – not after everything. Harshly, you stamp out the hope rising within you. Seokjin’s lack of foresight and planning shouldn’t be taken as anything but.

“Right.” You pause. “Sorry – is this a bad time? I should have texted back, but I’m at work, and thought it’d be easier to call…”

“You’re at work? Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

“I’m on a break, don’t worry about it.”

A long pause. At last, Seokjin sighs and the knot in your chest tightens. You can count on one hand the number of times you’ve seen him upset. Once when your parents were getting divorced and you ignored his texts for a week. Another, when he and his high school girlfriend broke up their first semester of college. Another when his mom was diagnosed with breast cancer (currently in remission). And then once more, when your ex cheated on you with your supposed best friend. Seokjin drove across state lines all night to be on your campus by morning.

This might be the fifth time.

“Yeah.” Seokjin exhales. “You thought this conversation would be better in person, and as always, you were right, Y/N.”

The way he says your name sparks wistful familiarity. It also reminds you of a darkened hallway, whiskey on Seokjin’s breath and – you stop the memory from continuing.

“What happened?” you press. “I just… damn, Seokjin. The last time I saw you and Emilia, the two of you seemed so, um… so…”

“Coupled?”

“I was going to say nauseating, but yeah.”

Seokjin barks out a laugh. “Way to kick a guy when he’s down, Y/N.”

“Sorry,” you say, but your lips twitch. “Although… I don’t mean to be rude, but… you don’t sound down? You sound… surprisingly chipper for a man who was cuckolded.”

The truth of this statement resonates within you. Seokjin sounded tired when he answered, but everything since then has felt almost normal. Almost – because the elephant in the room has not gotten smaller.

The last time you spoke face-to-face was December.

“Whoa, whoa – hang on,” he sputters. “Who said anything about cuckolding?”

“Were you not? Le cuckold, as the French say?”

“Wait.” Seokjin sounds amused. “To be clear, which party is the cuckold? The guy who cheats or the guy who gets cheated on? Also – why is there no name for the woman in this scenario?”

“Oh, there are plenty of names for the woman. They’re just not as fun, and heavily drenched in misogyny.”

“Right, right. The patriarchy, etc. – but seriously, Emilia didn’t cheat on me. Or she says she didn’t, and I’m inclined to agree.” He pauses. “I think.”

“You think?”

“I do believe her. But… well, even if she didn’t technically cheat… even if we broke up in December, then they waited a respectable period of time and then they started dating – it still feels weird. Like, was she into him the entire time we dated? Was my brother into her?”

“No good answers come from that line of questioning,” you say grimly.

“I know.” Seokjin groans, and you imagine him dragging a hand down his face. “You’re right, but I can’t stop picturing it. And they didn’t.”

“They didn’t what?”

“Wait a respectable amount of time,” he mutters. “Emilia and I broke up in December, and they told me at the end of March they were dating. Meaning they started dating before and only deemed it serious enough to tell me in March.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Hence the thinking.”

“About the timeframe, or the general weirdness?” you prompt.

In the back of your mind, you can't help wondering what made Seokjin reach out. According to what he just said, Seokjin has known about Jaesuk and Emilia since March. Granted, everything about this is strange and it's valid to vent, but you haven't spoken to Seokjin in months. And even before the break-up, it's been months since you spoke about anything real.

“Both,” Seokjin says in answer to your question.

“Not… anything else?”

“What else would I be thinking about, Y/N?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you huff, twisting the thread of your apron. “Are you still in love with Emilia? It’s hard to be around an ex normally, but this…” Trailing off, you shake your head.

“What? No. I mean, yeah – it’s not fun to be around them. But no,” Seokjin says, decisive. “I’m not in love with her.”

Your lips tighten, unsure what to believe. Still, you decide not to push him. Years of experience have taught you if Seokjin isn’t ready to talk about something, you won’t get a peep out of him. If it were you, though, five months isn’t enough to fall out of love.

“Okay,” is all you say. Glancing at the staff door, you watch Jimin hand the customer their drink. Your break will be over soon, one way or another.

“I’m… actually glad you called me, Y/N.”

The hesitancy in his voice draws you back. “You are?”

“Yeah.” Seokjin clears his throat, a nervous tic. “Jaesuk called me yesterday. You know how my parents’ anniversary is in May?”

“Of course.”

Obviously, you know. Seokjin’s parents are strange for many reasons, not least of which is their genuine love for one another. They are also – you can say this after many years working in consulting – the most normal rich people you’ve ever encountered. Most of their wealth is donated each year, with a small stipend (still an insane amount) granted to each family member.

The weekend of their anniversary is the exception to this rule. Seokjin’s parents go all out, spending an entire week at their lake house, hosting lavish parties cumulating in the main event on the weekend. Growing up, you attended as Seokjin’s plus one. This all changed when Seokjin got his first girlfriend, although you still attended for a few years as the date of his sister, Seohyun.

“Yeah.” Seokjin again clears his throat. “So, uh, my brother called and… at first, he and Emilia weren’t going to come. They decided to skip this year because of the obvious.”

“The cuckoldom, yes.”

“I said the obvious,” Seokjin says drily. “But anyways. Well.” He exhales, and you remember again that between the two of you, Seokjin is more mild-mannered. “Jaesuk called and wanted to know if it would be okay with me if they came together. Emilia’s parents were invited, and they thought it might be weird for them to attend without her…”

Your jaw has dropped again. “How would that be weirder than Emilia attending with your brother?”

“I don’t know,” he groans, and from the way his voice muffles, you imagine him laying his head on his desk. Seokjin usually grades papers in the afternoon.

His apartment is gigantic, a three-story brownstone located in Hyde Park with a view of Lake Michigan. His study (yes, he has a study) always reminded you of the library in Beauty and the Beast. Perhaps a bit smaller, with less fiction on the walls.

Dimly, it registers that Seokjin’s parents invited the Astors. Granted, Emilia’s parents run in the same circle, but the invitation feels odd. Odd – and cruel, to invite Seokjin’s ex-slash-Jaesuk’s-current girlfriend.

What a mess.

Numbly, you shake your head. “They want you to spend an entire week together? Alone? In the middle of the wilderness?”

“Michigan isn’t exactly Siberia, Y/N.”

“But… you, your brother, and the woman you’ve both slept with – in one house?”

“I probably wouldn’t put it like that, but sure.”

“You… said no, right?”

A long, awkward pause follows.

Your voice rises. “Right?” you demand, gripping the phone tighter.

“No.” Seokjin’s voice muffles again. “I told them I wasn’t sure, but I’d let them know.”

“Seokjin! You absolutely cannot spend an entire week with them alone.”

“Aha!”

“What?” you ask, blinking at his note of triumph.

“You’re absolutely right. I can’t spend the week with them… alone.”

Your brows furrow. “So… you agree with me?”

“No, Y/N,” Seokjin repeats. “I can’t spend the week with them alone. But… with someone else…”

A beat passes.

“Are you dating someone new?” you ask, bewildered. “Is that it? You’re going to bring some poor, unsuspecting person to your Shakespearean family drama?”

“Not a poor, unsuspecting person, no…”

Suspicion slowly dawns. “Seokjin…”

“Yes?”

“You can’t be serious.”

His throat clears. “I was thinking… maybe... you could join.”

The silence stretches for so long, Seokjin seems to grow concerned. “Y/N?” His voice dims, like he's checking the call hadn’t dropped. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” you croak. “Physically, here. Mentally, I think something has cracked, because I just heard you ask me something insane.”

“See!” Seokjin exclaims. “This is why I need you there. You’re so good at making things less awkward. And my family loves you – their attention would all be on you, and not on how weird and insane my life is.”

Groaning out loud, you sink further into the chair. This is a bad idea. Truly abysmal, but…

You already know you’ll say yes. Saying no to Seokjin has never really been an option.

Back in college, you joined his family trips all the time. In those days, your dad wasn’t taking care of himself, your mom had run off with her new boyfriend, and you had nowhere to go during summer holidays. Frequently, the Kim’s referred to you as their second daughter – but that was ages ago.

Seokjin didn’t even call you when he and Emilia broke up.

“Seokjin,” you sigh. “Why are you asking me this?”

A long pause. “I just told you why.”

“No. I mean… I didn’t even know you were single.” You hesitate, then barrel on. “This is the first time we’ve talked on the phone since – god, I don’t even know. Last year?”

Seokjin’s ensuing silence is damning. An unspoken question hovers between you: Has anything changed since the last time we saw each other?

"I’m… sorry, Y/N." He hesitates. "I know… I should have reached out to you sooner. I just… just couldn’t.”

Your lips purse, staring at the door. Your break must be done, but luckily, Jimin has given you space to process. As much as he pretends to be needy, his ability to read the room is remarkable.

“Ugh,” you groan, head tipping back. Your eyes close. “Let me think about it.”

“Wait – really?” Seokjin blurts. “Thank you, Y/N! You won’t regret this – I swear.”

“I haven’t agreed to it yet!”

“Right, sure. Of course,” he hastens, attempting to sound mollified.

Your lips twitch. “I have to get back to my shift.”

“Yes. Make that money.”

“Eh.”

“Make… that minimum wage plus tips?”

“Closer,” you sigh, pushing yourself to stand. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Okay. And Y/N?”

You hover near the door. “Yeah?”

Seokjin pauses. “There are a lot of logical reasons why it’d be great if you came, but honestly?” His voice thickens slightly. “I just… want you there.”

There’s an ache in your chest you wish could say was a stranger. In truth though, the feeling is exactly why you should say no.

You never had a great sense of self-preservation, though. Instead, find yourself saying–

“Yes.”

[ TO BE CONTINUED ] © kpopfanfictrash, 2025. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[inkdrippeddreams]

In Your Corner Part 1

Part 2 , Part 3

Pairing: Adonis Creed x Black Journalist OC!

Warnings: none right now. Past mentions of trauma, nothing tew crazy.

Summary: Athena, a guarded and sharp-tongued journalist, is reluctantly assigned to interview Adonis Creed, a boxer whose painful past mirrors her own. What starts as a tense professional encounter soon shifts into something unexpectedly personal, as Creed’s vulnerability disarms Athena and a flirtatious challenge turns into undeniable chemistry. With unresolved family trauma, journalistic pressure, and a spark neither saw coming, both realize this interview might change far more than a headline.

Notes: takes place after the 2nd Drago fight, Bianca doesn’t exist in this AU 😭Guys, I wrote this in one day, it's not proofread and probably poorly written, forgive me for my mistakes, college courses just ended, and I'm like exhausted, but I've been inspired to write, lmk if you want to be tagged in pt 2! Also, I really need to learn how to work Tumblr, y'alls posts are super cute and I don't know how to add any colors or different fonts, someone TEACH ME I beg

******************************************************

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” 

Athena watched as her boss, Christian, walked angrily to her office holding a stack of papers, her latest article, actually, that she had placed neatly on his desk this morning before he came in. His assistant, poor Sherri, who happened to be her only friend since moving to LA, was following behind him closely, subtly warning Athena as she tripped over her heels to follow the man’s long strides. Athena braced herself in her office chair before releasing the tension in her shoulders and placing a cool smile on her face just as he made it to the door. \

“Athena, what the hell is this?” Christian wheezed angrily, trying to gather his breath as he threw the papers back on her desk.

“An article, just how you wanted, sir,” Athena tried to sound at ease, but the way her tone trailed off at the end, she knew she was cracking slowly. Sherri gave her a nervous smile before sitting in one of the office chairs.

“Athena, I don’t pay you to write bullshit about people, you’re one of the best senior writers I have, and when I ask you to write about the most popular boxer in the United States right now, you resort to using Google. For what? Because you’re too scared to interview him?”

Her demeanor fell, Athena refused to look at him; in all honesty, her eyes darted everywhere besides his face. Adonis Creed was one of her toughest stories yet, not only because she hates writing about boxing, the violence wasn't her thing, but because she related to him in more ways than one. The abandonment, the single parent, the humble upbringing—she feared that by learning about his trauma, she’d have to relive her own, which wasn’t a step she was ready to take just yet, even after all the years of therapy. She looked at Sherri, who was smiling sadly at her. She knew of Athena’s trauma and knew why she didn’t want the story in the first place, but she would refuse to go against the likes of Christian while he was in this state.

“Honestly, Christian, while I am extremely lucky to be working at this company, and even happier to be given this story, I find it disrespectful to make this man relive his childhood trauma right after he just fought the son of the man who killed his father in the ring. I know he won and he’s still the “Heavyweight Champion,” but this was a rematch after he, too, was almost killed by a Drago. I just don’t really think it’s a great idea and might come across as distasteful, especially with the way we’ve been trying to make the company come across as more serious,” Athena leaned forward onto her desk, folding her arms over the other as her cardigan stretched in the sleeves as she spoke. Christian sighed and sat on the cushioned chair next to Sherri, rubbing his forehead before clapping his hands. 

“Athena,” he spoke lowly, elbows on his knees, Athena watching as the fabric stretches around his forearms, “You do this interview that I set up, or I’ll give it to a Junior writer and see if they deserve this office more than you do.” Christian stands, as Athena whispers a small “yes, sir,” beckoning Sherri to follow him. Sherri stands, nodding at Athena, mouthing a quick “we’ll talk after work,” before quickly following her boss out of the office. 

Leaning back in her Athena let out a deep breath before groaning. This is going to be the longest week of her life.

******************************************************************************

“The interview is scheduled for tomorrow at 2 PM, at the Delphi Gym. Questions have already been screened by his team. Make sure you’re there 15 minutes before to get a look at the gym. 

Athena, don’t make me regret giving you this promotion.

Christian.

Athena stared at the screen as if it had bitten her. Sitting on her couch in her favorite cotton shorts and big t-shirt combo, she was exhausted. This actually couldn’t be real, she was doomed. She stood, closing her computer, and walked towards the kitchen of her high-rise apartment located in Downtown LA, one that she wouldn’t have been able to afford had she still been in Atlanta. Athena would have to admit, the job at LimeLight Wire paid handsomely. Enough for rent in a two-bedroom sky-rise with the perfect view of the Hollywood sign, floor-to-ceiling windows, and 24-hour security in her apartment building. Her apartment was decorated with plants and earthy decor, reminding her so much of her home in Georgia. Los Angeles was fun, but there was nothing like the Georgia air and southern charm.

Once in her kitchen, she grabbed herself a wine glass from her top cabinet before opening her fridge, grabbing her favorite bottle of cheap wine, it was cheap, but the buzz got the job done, and she didn’t care enough to spend so much on a bottle, especially when she didn’t feel like it was worth it. After pouring herself a glass, she walked back to her couch, plopping down with a huff and sipping her drink, she stared into space for a moment. She didn’t like this. She adored the job as a journalist, but not when she felt like she was being forced to do something. Google had enough about Creed for her to write a full article about him, but that wasn’t good enough for Christian.  She had heard all about Adonis Creed, how his first fights went, how much trouble he had as a child, always knowing who his father was but never knowing him, even him almost dying in his first fight with Drago. Before she could get lost in her thoughts, her phone rang. She slid it off the glass center table she had, glancing at the screen, Dad. 

She answered, slipping back into her facade, “Hi, Daddy!”

“Baby, how are you?” his southern accent glided through the phone, “you know your granny miss you.”

“I know, Daddy,” Athena sighed, “I’ll be back to visit sometime this Fall, I’ll even try to make it for Thanksgiving.”

 “Baby, that’s over 6 months from now. Now I know Georgia ain’t got much to offer you, but you have a family, as small as it may be,” her dad spoke softly. She would never tell her dad, but there was a reason she avoided home, and he would never tell her, but he knew what the reason was.

“I know, Daddy, work been busy and I’ve just been trying to keep up with the quota, I’ve got a big interview coming up, actually, you’ll be excited to know who it is.” Athena tried her best to gently redirect the conversation.

“Wesley Snipes? Boy, you know I loved him  in Blade!”

“No, daddy,” Athena laughs, “It’s with the Creed guy, the boxer.” Her Dad paused before laughing.

“I know him! Watched him fight that big Drago boy. I don’t know how that boy won that fight, looked like he was going through pure-dee-hell tryna take that big ass boy down,” He laughed, “But congratulations baby girl! We so proud of you!”

“Thank you, Daddy,” she smiles over the phone, “please tell Granny that I love her and will be home soon as I can, matter of fact, I’ll just call her tomorrow.” Athena took a sip of her wine, grabbed her computer, and walked to her bedroom, deciding to just call it a night.

“Yeah, baby, you should call her, and I know you guys don’t talk, but you should check in on your brother, you know, he proposed to Olivia,” he drawls, his voice now more serious.

“Daddy, that’s good for them. I’ll send flowers, I promise,” she shot back, almost immediately, not really wanting to have that conversation at the moment, “I love you, I gotta go.” 

She sighed, hanging up her phone and climbing into bed.

“Fuckkkkkk.” 

****************************************************************************

“Just go inside, be nice, smile, from what I’ve heard, he’s a nice guy, just don’t worry about it, Thena,” Sherri said over the phone. Athena sat in her car right outside the Delphi gym. She had opted to dress casually so as not to make herself seem too formal. She went for a brown bottom-up tucked into boot cut jeans and black boots. Her hair was pulled back into a slick puff with tiny gold earrings lighting up her look. 

“I’m not worried about whether he’s nice, Sherri, I just don’t want to seem disrespectful,” Athena replied, turning off the car and opening her door. She looked down at her gold watch, 1:38 PM. “Let me call you when I’m done, I’m gonna head in.” On the other end, Sherri mumbles a response and hangs up. Athena grabbed her purse and got out of the car. Looking up at the glass windows with the Apollo Creed mural on the front, she closed her door.

Walking into the gym was truly something. She looked around at the gym equipment everywhere, the walls covered in gray paint. Grunting catches her attention, and she turns, beginning to watch the men in the ring sparring intently, something about the way they moved so calculatedly entranced her.

“Hey, you must be Athena,” a voice says behind her, startling her. She turned, staring at the dark skin man behind her.

“That’s me,” she gulps, clutching her purse closer to her shoulder.

“ Nice to meet you,” she smiles at him before nodding, “The name's Duke, I took over the gym after my Pops, he trained Apollo, now I train Donnie. But you’re not here to interview me. Donnie’s upstairs getting ready, I’ll give you a tour of the gym while we wait for the okay.” 

Duke leads around the gym, showing Athena each piece of equipment and how you’re supposed to be trained on them. By the time he’s finished, Athena has laughed enough times to give herself the hiccups, she’s also sure that she could take an exam on boxing and pass with flying colors. Duke had also tried to convince her to come back sometime to take some boxing classes, to which she refused, as tickled as she was by the offer.

“Duke! He's ready!” A female-voiced call from upstairs.

“We coming,” Duke yells back, beckoning Athena to follow him up the stairs. Once inside the office upstairs, Athena immediately sees him, tall, muscular, brown skin warm and glowing under the gym lights, and looking like a walking Nike ad in a white sleeveless tee and basketball shorts. Moisturized to the gods, she notes—that man clearly owns lotion. Her eyes trail to the gauze around his knuckles, the bandage on his eyebrow, the angry swell still hugging his left eye. He looked like he lost the fight, but carried himself like he won.

She grits her teeth. This interview was not a good idea at all.

Before she could spin on her heel and bolt to her car, he speaks.

“I’m Adonis, but you can call me Donnie if you want. You’re very pretty, by the way. I like the fit.”

His voice is low and playful, but she hears the smile behind it.

Athena blushes. “I know.”

His eyebrows raise, clearly thrown. She scrambles.

“Well, obviously I don’t know that you think I’m pretty or that you like the fit, but I do know your name is Adonis because I’m here to interview you, and it’d be really stupid if I didn’t, so that’s not what I meant—I’m rambling. Let me start over.”

She drops her purse onto the chair with an uneasy laugh, slyly wiping her face, then gives him a nervous smile.

“I’m Athena. Senior journalist with LimeLight Wire. Just here to interview you.”

Adonis leans back with a full grin, flashing perfect teeth. “You sure? ’Cause right now it feels like you’re here to make me blush.”

That makes her laugh—an unexpected, genuine sound—and Adonis eats it up like a post-fight meal.

“Nice to meet you, Athena,” he says, holding his side as he lowers into the chair across from her, smile still wide. “Have a seat and we’ll start. Duke, y’all can go ahead, we’ll be fine.”

Duke and the brown-skinned woman Athena had seen downstairs exit the room with smiles that feel a little too knowing.

“We’ll just be out watching them spar, Donnie. Call if you need anything,” the woman says with a wink. Athena clocks her as probably his agent or PR specialist.

“Thank you, Janine,” Adonis says.

Athena sits down, pulling her laptop from her purse and opening the interview notes. She taps record on her voice memos.

“So, Donnie, before we get started, I know you’ve seen the questions, but just know if anything makes you uncomfortable, you’re welcome to say so. I’ll immediately redirect or come up with a different question.”

“Not a problem. Let’s go ahead and get started.”

He folds his arms, muscles flexing just enough to make her feel ridiculous for noticing, and leans back casually.

“Okay, first question,” she laughs lightly. “How does it feel to move from training with Rocky full-time to now being a part of the Delphi Gym, knowing the legacy?”

“I miss Rock most days, but we still call. He got family in Canada that he wanted to see. It’s been an adjustment, but I like it here. Closer to my moms, and I feel like I’m getting to know my pops even more… even though he ain’t here, he’s here though, every bag, the walls, and even the ring.”

Athena types out his answer quickly, tongue caught at the corner of her mouth in concentration. Adonis watches her over the rim of his water bottle as he takes a sip, amused. She’s so different from every reporter he’s had, no fake professionalism, no cold detachment. Real. Sharp. Gorgeous, and God, those curves in those Jeans.

And that smile she gives after his answer? Deadly.

“Question 2,” she announces, acrylic nail tapping her keyboard.  “You haven’t talked much about the fight with Drago since the rematch, in fact, you declined to interview afterwards, is there a reason for this?”

“Yes, actually, the win wasn’t about me, it was about avenging my Father, proving that a Creed could beat a Drago, specifically me. It wasn’t my best fight, but I had something to prove, to everyone in that moment. But Drago and I, we’re cool, we’re more than who our Dads are, and it’s what we’re both trying to prove.”

Athena smiles, “Well said,” before she begins clicking on her keyboard again. Something about her smile was infectious, and Adonis knew she was reeling him in already; he didn’t mind it, though.

“A year ago, you were in a public fight after a man called you 'baby Creed.' You’ve also been publicly upset about the notion of being called ‘baby Creed' and fighting under the name of Creed. Why is this?”

“When I started boxing, I didn’t even use the Creed name, I didn’t want to. I always knew that was my Dad, but I decided to use my biological mom's maiden name. I wanted to start my legacy and build from there, shit, I don’t know if I would be fighting under the Creed name now if it wasn’t for them leaking my identity. It wasn’t me wanting to be bigger than Apollo, it was about me wanting to be different, something on my own. I’m not Apollo Creed’s son, I’m Adonis Creed, period.” Questions went along like that for the next several minutes, Athena asking questions and Adonis answering them with a smile on his face. It wasn’t until Athena got to the last question. Athena looks up at Adonis nervously as she reads the next question on her computer, “you don’t have to answer this one if it’s too uncomfortable.” Adonis nods, giving her a reassuring smile.

“You’ve said that so many times already, and I’m yet to be uncomfortable. Ask away.”

Athena clears her throat, “We all know that you are Apollo’s illegitimate son, and he had a separate family during that time. You have siblings, but we never see them with you. Do you all speak?” Adonis sits up, gripping his side as he adjusts.

“Nah, we don’t,” he strains, much to Athena’s dismay, “They never really cared for me when my Mama got me; refused to see me as family. I don’t blame them, though; I wouldn’t be okay with it either if it were me. But I got love for them, they’re my siblings either way. I don’t think they hate me, they just keep their distance. Didn’t really have much family growing up anyway, but I was okay with that.”

Athena, ever the attentive one, noticed his body tensing as he winced at the story.

“Hey,” she spoke softly, “we can stop for now, pick up at a later date if it’ll help.”

“Nah, I’m good, ribs just still hurting from the fight, and I don’t usually talk about home life, I can answer another one, only on one condition though,” Adonis speaks with a smile. Athena immediately begins to nod.

“Whatever you need, as long as you’re comfortable.”

“You go out to dinner with me.”

Athena blushes with surprise, with her brown skin, there’s only a tinge of pink, Adonis notices though. She laughs, closing her laptop. She only stops when she sees that Adonis is being completely serious and was not laughing with her at all.

“Wait for real?” Adonis laughs, nodding his head.

“Yeah, and you gotta let me ask my own questions to you.” 

“Like a professional dinner, though, right?” Athena breathes, closing her computer.

“Only if you want it to be.”

@jazziejax (idk if you wanted to be tagged queen, I did just in case)

[bitchface24-7]

HE’S A WHAT?! - VIKTOR X READER

synopsis: You're an exhausted student, plagued with too much assignments and riddled with insomnia. You've found an amazing ASMR artist called "The-Herald", their ASMR puts you to sleep almost instantly. Their voice immediately putting you into a drowsy state. So when you see a Patreon link regarding more videos, one specifically titled "Talking you through it | NSFW Audio (1mil subscriber) Special" It sparks your attention. Now you're hooked. Instead of being Pavloved into drowsiness, you've pavloved yourself into arousal. His voice sounds familiar though...

warnings: NSFW audio mentions, voice kink, masturbation, obsession, neediness, realizations, suggestiveness, grammarly is my beta, adding youtube and patreon to the arcane verse so lowkey a modern au! ???

genre: m/f

p.s. @melisshivering sent me a DM with a HOT Viktor NSFW audio (literally sounds so similar to him it's INSANE) and I came up with the idea with them for this fic. So send them some thanks as well if you enjoy this fic. I'll put the link at the end of the fic

As a top academy student alongside your friends Sky, Viktor, and Jayce, you're completely burnt out. Hours upon hours of studying, assignments, and working on the campus library to help pay for your tuition. You're riddled with exhaustion that just won't go away, and insomnia is kicking your ass.

"The-Herald" has been your saving grace. His ASMR videos captivating you, helping you quiet your mind as you fall asleep. He keeps his face out of the frame in all his videos, but you can imagine how attractive he is; especially due to his voice. It kind of reminds you of Viktor's.

Are you hyper fixating on this creator due to his voice and your massive crush on Viktor? No. Shut up.

So imagine your surprise when you see a Patreon link for more content, NSFW content specifically. Well... it wouldn't hurt to check it out...

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You're addicted. Holy shit that audio couldn't have been any hotter. The orders, the praise, the degradation, the growly tone of his voice, the sound design.

Fuck... you don't think you've ever cum that hard before.

Your whining pants, your messy cunt, your aching wrist, and noisy bullet vibrator. You came in like ten minutes, you came again in less than two.

Who needs hookups when you've got The-Herald calling you a good girl in his sexy accent as he praises you for being good, and degrades you for being his personal slut.

Hopefully nobody finds out about your new obsession.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It's becoming bad how dependent you are on this man. You're constantly thinking about him. His voice, his words, how he makes you feel. He's honestly rivaling Viktor at this point for how bad of a crush you have on him; and you don't even know what he looks like.

You're down horrendous.

Like your entire libido revolves around this man.

You get one hell of a surprise on your next shift at the campus library.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Here you are, doing your due diligence and retuning books to their proper shelves as you stop every once in a while to chat with your friends. Everything is awesome, it's great! Until Jayce throws a bomb at you.

"So, when're next uploading V?"

You pause your ministrations as Sky continues to work and the two men have a small conversation. Upload? What is Jayce talking about?

"Tonight, actually."

"Really? I though you only posted on Thursdays."

"Eh, I post when I want."

You butt in. No way... there's no way! "Uhhh... Post where? If you don't mind me asking." Jayce looks at Viktor and Viktor casually shrugs, "I run an ASMR channel. It helps me pay my tuition here, it's called The-Herald. Maybe you heard of it? It's been trending these past few weeks."

You accidentally drop a book.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

You've been masturbating to your friends voice, your crushes voice. You've pavloved yourself into arousal if Viktor says anything demeaning, praising, or that can pass as an order. You fucked up BIG TIME.

"What is wrong with you? Pick that up. You could've accidentally hurt yourself. Those textbooks aren't light you know?"

No goddamnit why?! It's like he can read your mind! You shudder out a sigh as you bend down and pick the textbook up, putting it away.

"Good girl."

A wheeze escapes you. Oh Viktor's just teasing you now and being an asshole about it. You look over your shoulder and see Sky and Jayce working together, Viktor is staring you down.

You quickly add, "Yeah I've seen it on my recommended tab. You've gotten quite popular, congrats!"

"Thanks, sweetheart." Viktor casually states, his eyes narrowed onto you as he smirks. He knows. He's gotta know! He's eyeing you down like you're a steak and he's starving.

Another hour passes by and you can feel Viktor's stare on you the entire time. Jayce and Sky pack up, Viktor stays behind.

His one reasoning being, "I don't have class tomorrow until three pm, the two of you have a class for seven in the morning. I can stay behind and make sure she gets home safe, you two can't."

Jayce and Sky can't argue with that logic, so they leave with some hugs and heartfelt goodbyes. Now it's just you and Viktor in this massive empty library.

"You're not very subtle you know." Viktor states as he runs a finger across multiple spines on the shelf, You put your tongue into your cheek, "What do you mean?"

"You've known about my channel for a while."

"You can't know that."

You turn around and Viktor's a few centimeters away from you, your noses are almost brushing together. His voice is quiet, but it damn near echoes in the silent library, "You shouldn't use a well-known nickname as your user ID. It kind of gives you away."

A sharp inhale is what he gets in response. Fuck. You didn't think about that. You assumed The-Herald was some stranger, not your friend. Not your crush.

"I didn't know it was you."

Viktor's eyebrow quirks up as he huffs in amusement, "You didn't know it was me? Wouldn't my voice give me away? My ah... accent isn't very common here."

"I didn't want to assume."

"So you subscribed to my NSFW channel, just cause?"

"I did that cause your voice is hot and it makes me cum quick."

Viktor steps back in some shock, his eyes minutely widened, "That was much more blunt than I expected."

You shrug, "It's the truth. I have a massive crush on you, this person's voice is remarkably similar to yours, there's dirty videos. One plus one equals two."

"You have a massive crush on me?"

You look down, trying to hide your face; Viktor doesn't let you. He pushes your head back up with his fingers under your chin, "Tell me sweetheart, be honest."

"Y— Yes."

Viktor hums in satisfaction, "Well I have a crush on you too."

A beaming grin overtakes your face. Your eyes glittery, you're even lightly bouncing on the balls of your feet. He likes you back!

"I have a question for you. Would you like to join me on my NSFW channel? I'm getting tired of using my hand and imagining you. I can have you for real now; only thing is you'll need to stay quiet."

You just nod, giggling in excitement. Holy shit, Viktor's your boyfriend now. You get that glorious voice everyday. You get him.

"Good girl."

Ahhh, he's gonna kill you one day.

You're not complaining, what a way to go!

I speed-wrote this so if there is any grammar or spelling mistakes, no there isn't.

Here’s the link 😏:

[enigmatist17]

Continuation/just ideas I have of the Mecha Pilot Jazz Au by @keferon

First part can be found here :)

A03 version -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/60978709

---

No one is really sure what to think when Jazz finally returns to the general populace, the crowded common room he steps into with Prowl at his side going silent at the mech's arrival.

No, not a mech, a frame piloted by an organic Wheeljack swore to the Pit and back was smaller than most of their servos.

"Soooo, what's up?" Jazz leaned against the closest table as Prowl got himself some energon, no longer keeping up the pretense he needed such liquid.

"That's what you have to say?" Starscream gawked from his seat, the seeker looking like he wanted to start dissecting Jazz's mecha as much as pry the pilot out. "Are all organics from your planet this...this flippant?"

"Not really?" Jazz shrugged, glad no one could see the grin on his face when Prowl rejoined him, placing himself between Jazz and everyone else in the room with a minute flick of his doorwings. "Hell, you sound like one of my commanders, he'd be having a fit right about now."

"Rightfully so, I should say." Mirage commented from behind Jazz, the pilot grinning to himself when he turned, only to see what was supposedly a blank wall. "Then again, you seem to be the type of bo - organic to cause mayhem on the regular."

"Human." Jazz could hear more than a few processors whir at the strange term, and after a moment, grabs a seat at the table next to him. "Organic sounds weird to me, so you can call me human or just my name, I'm not picky."

"Human...weird." Jazz isn't sure who spoke as his visor offlined, ensuring his mecha was supported before fully breaking the connection. The entire room went silent when Jazz's chassis made a soft click before opening, noises of alarm escaping vocalizers as they expected to see a spark, wondering what in Primus' name the org - human was thinking when something moved. What should have been a spark chamber was something else entirely, the central interior some sort of piloting seat that housed the human they'd all come to trust and fight alongside, who waved as he undid a harness. Prowl was the only thing stopping the Cybertronians around Jazz from moving any closer, his doorwings up in a sharp V when he carefully placed one of his servos just below Jazz, Mirage shimmering into view on the other side of Jazz's mecha when the human hopped onto the limb.

"Hey, fellas." Prowl kept his hold on Jazz as he stepped back from the temporarily deactivated suit, setting him on the table's surface as carefully as possible. "Aw, thanks Prowler!"

"You look strange for an organic." Thundercracker tilted his helm slightly, wanting a closer look but not stupid enough to test how close he could actually get.

"I guess?" Jazz reached up to unlatch his helmet, biting back a laugh when there were a few surprised vents at the reveal of his hair. "Back home, I'd say I'm about the best we humans can look."

"With an ego to match." Mirage cycled his optics with a smirk, eyeing his friend curiously while keeping himself between any bot stupid enough to try and sneak up on Prowl's blindside. "Your frame suits you."

"And don't I know it." Jazz winked, setting his helmet on the table by his feet. "Man, you guys are just...so much bigger in person. I mean I know you are, it's just weird ta see it with my own eyes, er optics."

"Trust me, it's weird for us too." Sideswipe commented from his spot among the crowd, amused more than anything when the inevitable questions started pouring in. To his credit, Jazz tries to answer some of them, but he steps back when Prowl draws himself to his full height and silences almost everyone when he crosses his arms, smiling to himself when the bot speaks.

"If you have any further questions, you can ask them another time, most of you are late for your assigned duty shifts, Jazz included."

"Ya wound me Prowler!" The human let out a whine at the supposed betrayal, but the grin never left his face as he turned to his mecha. "I guess I could get movin', don't want to keep Brawn too late."

"Indeed." Prowl offered his servo once more, aware of the many prying optics watching as Jazz hopped onto his palm, slipping his strange helm covering back on as he was safely delivered back to his larger frame. They watched Jazz buckle himself back into the harness within the spa - piloting chamber, the chassis closing up when something connected with the back of his helm covering, the visor on the frame they were all accustomed to lighting up with a slight hum.

"Fun time's over." Jazz waved his servo, everyone murmuring to each other while they slowly dispersed. "Man that was fun."

"You find most activities fun, dangerous or otherwise." Prowl shook his helm in exasperation as Jazz laughed, the human leaning over to gently bonk his helm against Prowl's.

"I'll see you later, gorgeous." With that Jazz sweeps out of the room, Prowl watching him go with a look that made Mirage do a double take.

"You definitely chose someone...interesting." The saboteur chuckled, saving the image of a soft smile on Prowl's face for some future use.

"So I have..."

---

Jazz had wondered what Prowl's face felt like from the moment the met, in awe at how the metal creased and smoothed out much like his own skin did. Would it be cold and stiff, or warm and pliable? Ah the thought plagued him from time to time, becoming worse when he fell for said mech.

So, when he comes across Prowl asleep (no recharge) at his desk, a data pad clutched in his clawed hands, Jazz grins. Locking the door to Prowl's office, more for the tactician's peace of mind than his own, Jazz quietly grabs the only other chair in the room and sets it down on the other side of Prowl's desk, resting one arm on top of the table. Prowl is still asleep when Jazz powers down the link with his mecha, shivering at the sensation of becoming so small before slowly unbuckling himself, setting his helmet aside before starting the (admittedly) long journey across the room. Thankfully his magnetic lock boots made his journey down the arm of his faithful mecha relatively safe, staring up at his boyfriend (boybot? Ugh no, no way in hell) with an amused smile.

"Always gonna be the smallest huh?"

Now, here comes the hard part, one that could end up getting him flung across the room or smashed into paste if he triggered the wrong response from his sleeping partner. Okay, deep breath, and with a quick crossing of his fingers, Jazz activated the magnetics in his gloves before placing them on Prowl's arm as a test run. One doorwing twitched at the initial contact, but Prowl remained still, and with a deep breath Jazz started climbing, climbing up his mech's arm nice and slow. It was a little tricky when he reached Prowl's shoulder, but with a little awkward shuffling and a twist of his upper body, Jazz was within reach of his partner's face.

Now here comes the Hard Part Two: Electric Boogaloo.

It took a few tries to unwrap the base of his glove with his teeth, heart racing when he was only attached to Prowl via his shoes and magnetized knee pads in order to free his hand, but soon he was ready to do the biggest thing he's wanted to since he first laid eyes on Prowl. His hand is shaking slightly, but that doesn't matter when it makes contact with Prowl's cheek, brain short circuiting at how...soft and warm the metal was to his touch. While it didn't exactly move with his touch, Jazz could feel the nanites that were on the outer surface of every Cybertronian react, twitching when he felt a buzzing under his finger tips. He becomes used to the buzz as he takes his time mapping out the dips and curves of Prowl's face, missing the cycling of optics before a loud chirp breaks the silence, Jazz yelping as he jerked back in surprise far enough to detach from Prowl's shoulder. He doesn't fall very far when he lands on a hand (servo dude) with a grunt, Prowl looking worried as Jazz propped himself up on one arm.

"Are you alright?"

"Yep! Next time I need ta clip a harness on you or somethin', don't want to fall again." Jazz waved with his uncovered hand, sitting cross-legged on Prowl's palm. "Saw you asleep, an' I couldn't resist."

"Resist what?" A quick look at his chronometer showed he'd not been asleep too long, optics flickering down to his partner when he felt something strange touch one of his digits.

"This might sound kinda weird, but I've wanted ta touch your face since we met." Jazz had uncovered his second hand and was touching the closest digit, a look he couldn't classify crossing Jazz's face when he gave it a squeeze. "Weird, these are warm, but not as warm as your face."

"Did you enjoy your...examination?" Something fluttered in his spark at the smile Jazz gave him, and once again gave thanks to Primus that he'd been given a chance.

"Mhm! I'd love to again some time, see those pretty lil' optics of yours." Jazz winked, watching doorwings give a full on flutter. "Glad we both agree."

"You shall be the end of me, Jazz." Embarrassment colors Prowl's words as he sits back in his chair, watching Jazz lay back on his palm, hands underneath his head as he sighs happily.

"Your hand is pretty comfy...not a sentence I ever expected to say to my boyfriend, but it is what it is."

"I suppose you shall have to make yourself comfortable then, I still have some reports to finish." Prowl clicked, grabbing the pad he'd been reading before he fell asleep.

"Gives me an excuse to nap then." Jazz moved to remove the outer layer that supported his pedes, his processor supplying the word shoe as Jazz resumed his position with a yawn. "Have fun Prowler."

"Have a pleasant recharge, Jazz."

Jazz doesn't need to know he had already completed his work before his "nap", merely settling in for a novel he'd wanted to get through as his partner slept in his grasp.

[its-in-the-woods]

Reach For Me - Meeting

Masterlist

-Part 1 , Part 2

Universe: AU- post Captain America The Winter Soldier, except we skip Civil War, Bucky comes to live in the tower to help the Avengers as much as he can. He has not gone to Wakanada.

Pairing: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x You/x reader (afab) no use of y/n

Word count: 3.1k

Synopsis: You are starting a new job, courtesy of one Tony Stark. Tasked with becoming the head of medical and research for the Avengers and their companions. What you don't expect is to get under the skin of one ex assassin turned good guy, James Barnes.

Author notes: Hi 👋 I've never written MCU... so umm here we go...Nothing I write is short, this will be multi-chapter. Slow slow slow burn, they may not even like each other that much to start. Any characters from the MCU may appear. I will not note them cause there are too many, k. I will also not tag spoilers... be warned. This will be graphic, sad, and tragic... but there will be sparks I promise.

MINORS and AI dickbags GET OUT.

Rating/Warning: Missing limbs, prosthetic, wounds, ptsd, long silences, brooding, Bucky (you know why), mentions of past torture, physical and mental.

All mistakes, grammar, and plot holes are my own.

You sit in your Corolla looking up at the massive building a block away. There was parking under the building for you, had your name on it and everything. Least that’s what Stark told you, Tony Goddamn Stark. He’d rolled into your lab one day and tossed your whole world upside down. You’d had no idea he had been funding the university's research into neurolink prosthetics, or that he was the one that had backed your grant to get you through medical school. Now he wants you to be the head of medical at his infamous Stark Tower, keep an eye on the health of the Avengers.

Well it was more complicated than that. He wanted you specifically because you were a jack of all trades, you’d served in the military as a medic, done several years in New York's largest ER, before you’d decided to go back to your roots in neuro-science specifically to do with prosthetics bio-connections. That’s what he needed. Also someone who wasn’t scared to stare super-soldiers down and not flinch.

The last part you’d assumed to be a joke, but now sitting here you weren’t as sure. Drumming your fingers over the steering wheel you debated whether you should go in or not. How had you even ended up here? A doctor to the Avengers? It sounded comical just thinking about it.

How was it possible that you were more nervous than when you were jumping out of the back of a plane? Maybe you’d get to do that here too.

“Fuck it,” You murmur, shifting the car into drive you head to your new job.

***

It was a whirl of paperwork, most of it you didn’t understand, really should have brought it to a lawyer. The non-disclosure agreements were lengthy and in depth, but Pepper had summed them up as ‘What happens in the tower stays in the tower’. It felt vaguely threatening, but the paperwork was almost soothing at this point. The tower is massive, it has full medical facilities, dozens of labs, lawyers on payroll, and then there was the Avenger’s end of things. You have been given a special pass to work up there. You have a small team of medical professionals you would be working with. Along with the team of assistance and crew of speciality staff that kept everyone from fighting with each other.

The first day is just that, paperwork, here is your clinic, this is the labs, please file things here and here. This is how the emergency system works, if you see an alien no you didn’t.

You rubbed at your face as you sat in the small ‘clinic room’.White walls, that mix with metal paneling, behind you was a large glass window that looks out over the city. Beside you is your home monitor, the back would be facing the patient. Beside you were four others that you could use to pull up any images or information you needed to show the patient. You’d already decide that you need at least one or two plants here, yes it was a clinical setting but it wasn’t a jail cell either.

To your right was a door that leads into a small medical bay. It has a patient bed, and enough supplies for a full operation if needed. It was overkill really. You were dealing with gods, super soldiers, a green hulk, and the occasional super spy. Besides, there is already an operating theatre on this level that could be staffed within minutes; but it wasn’t your money to burn.

Closing out your computer you grab the tablet that had all your new patients information. Most of it was standard, blood test, x-rays, ct-scan, injury lists and more. All neatly packaged inside a metal and glass case, with an encrypt password and fingerprint scan. You want to go over all the notes in detail, make sure there was nothing that was a miss.

Keys, and bag in hand you close up the clinic door and head towards the elevator. The place was quiet for such a large building, you would occasionally see agents, assistance, and others but for the most part it was empty. You were sure when the world was being threatened by alien invaders it was a hot spot, but right now it just felt cold.

The doors to the elevator open up and you come face to face with Captain America himself and The Winter Soldier. Your heart pounds for a moment, but you quickly push that down, the mask of professionalism slipping on as you walk in. They stood in running gear, Captain in all blue, and Soldier in all black.

“Hi, I am Steven Rogers,” Captain America, Steve, said with a grin holding out his hand. “Hi,” You reply, giving him your title and shaking his hand firmly, before turning to The Winter Soldier. Steve gestures with his thumb. “That’s James Barnes, we are just heading out for a run,” Steve smiles, Bucky nodding at you but keeping his hands firmly folded across his chest.

“Nice to meet you,” You nod at James, who stays silent, just staring back at you. Shuffling over you stand by the far side of the door, you remember the headlines about what happened to him. HYDRA, you’d heard enough about them to wonder how James was still standing upright.

You mentally note to go over his file in detail this evening. The elevator shifts into a mostly comfortable silence, you don’t force conservation, and both men seem more than okay with that. You can’t help that your heart is hammering. Would be difficult for anyone to stand in a small box with two Super Soldiers at their back. Least that’s what you tell yourself. A chime at the main floor and the two men go to get off.

“Nice to meet you,” Steve says, with his signature smile. “We’ll see you around.”

“Have a good evening,” You reply, resisting the urge to slam the close door button. James looks over his shoulder once, his eyes connecting with yours before turning back to Steve. You tell yourself that it was just a silent acknowledgement, but it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like he is making sure you know that you’re being watched.

***

The room was small white, with the smell of metal and disinfectant hanging everywhere. One wall has four monitors, a small 3D model of him spun on one, another had his health stats, some just blank. He was interested in the one that showed what was left of his left arm and the one of his socket that attached the metal arm. He squints trying to read the little text boxes that hover over each point as they spin. Some highlight damages, others things that could be upgraded. The Doc had done her homework.

Looking at the images made him feel itchy, his hand going up to rub along where the metal seamed to his flesh. He mentally braces for pain to shoot through his neck, surprised when nothing happens, he'd gotten so used to them stopping him from touching it. The amount of times he'd tried to peel it off, ripe it out of his flesh, had led them to add tech that made it even more painful to try and remove.

He wasn’t pleased to be there, why did he need some doctor to tell him what he already knew? The arm had been acting up yes, but he was sure Stark with all his money and tech could fix it.

Yet here he was sitting in a chair with no exit strategy, beside jumping out the window. Fingers tapping along the arm rest of the chair, hoping that things could be over soon.

A quiet knock on the door has him sitting up straight. He adjusts his shirt, hoping the wrinkles didn't show where he'd been rubbing.

“Hi, James,” You say, slowly opening the door and walking in. Giving him a small smile as you walk over to the chair in front of the monitors. “Do you like James? Or would you prefer a different name?”

“Uh- James, James is fine,” He mumbles, just loud enough to be heard. Unsure how to feel now that you are standing in front of him.

He'd seen you a few times since the first meeting in the elevator. You mostly kept to yourself, saying ‘hi’ to anyone that crossed your path, making polite conversation, and generally fitting in. He'd also spotted you hanging with Tony going over tech, and helping him modify different gear. You always smile at him and say hello, even if he barely replies. Never treating him any differently than anyone else. It was refreshing.

Steve had said you had a good air about you. Natasha hadn't scoffed, even called you pleasant. So after nearly a month of you requesting him to come by he had caved and come down.

“Alright, so Mr. Stark has asked me to take a look at the arm you've had installed.” You chatter away, you wear casual clothes, a button-up purple shirt, and black slacks. No white coat or name tag. “He noted that it was uncomfortable, and wasn’t operating as smoothly. Do you want to tell me about that?”

Swallowing, he held his breath as you looked at him. There was no intention behind your eyes, you weren't mining for intel or assessing if he was going to explode, just a simple question. Yet he could barely find words to say.

“It's not bad, just needs some maintenance.” Bucky said flatly, his jaw clicking as he kept himself stiff. He wasn't going to go into detail to some stranger, despite how calm and cordial you were.

Or tell you that the pain kept him up at night, how it aches like it was frozen, or the nightmares. Shifting, he pushes those thoughts down, bringing him back to the present.

You nod, typing a few things into the computer. Not pressing him to answer or bombarding him with more questions.

“James, I know this is all still really new. You're still settling in and learning about us, and well probably whether you can trust us.” You take a breath, his eyes watching you look at the screen. A small wrinkle appears between your brows as you focus. It shouldn’t make his skin tingle when you look like that. “Plus I am new here, so it’s all new.”

You hesitate, lip worrying between your teeth, Bucky was definitely not filing all the little quirks you had, cause there was no reason for that. “I don't work for anyone, but you. Technically Stark pays me, but he doesn't meddle with what I do, there is no overreach. If you're not comfortable with the prosthetic I want to know.”

Bucky sits there, his eyes moving to yours, his body still as rigid as ever. “It's fine.”

It wasn't fine, but he had dealt with it long enough and didn't need anyone's help.

“Okay,” You reply, he can see you holding back a sigh. Disappointment flickering under the uncertainty. Why the hell did you care so much?

“Could I take a look at your arm? Please, tell me no if you're uncomfortable.”

Bucky shifts a little, his face scrunching at the words, he wasn’t used to someone giving him space. No one had pressed him to do anything he didn't want in the tower, but there were expectations of him. With you though, that didn't seem to be the case.

He shifts to the side, moving his right hand over to his left arm, the metal reacting to his touch. Gripping the metal he shifts and twists it so that it pops off the joint. Taking the arm he lays it out gently on the glass table with a clunk.

You roll over on your chair, not looking at the prosthetic, instead coming to look at the compression sleeve.

“Are you okay if I manipulate your arm?”He nods, but winces when you touch over the residual limb. The skin is sensitive, sore, and has deep bruises, he forces himself to stay still and not move away.

You carefully look over the shoulder joint. The sleeve on it was worn, and he knew you could feel the swelling happening underneath it. “I am going to remove the sleeve, take a closer look at the skin.”

You talk to him, despite his limited replies. He watches as you carefully pull the cuff down. The joint is swollen, covered with crude scarring, there are several pressure sores that ache.

You grab gloves and carefully feeling the joint and bone, fingers feeling the rigid metal that has been used to reinforce the bone.

Bucky shifts a little as your hand pushes against one of the sores. He can feel the line of his shoulders tightening up, as you continue to palpate it.

“I would like to do a scan of the joint,” You say, as you lift and move the arm. Carefully watching how it rotates and moves. As if you hadn’t just dropped a bomb on him.

“The socket shouldn't leave these pressure sores. Especially with the advanced healing you have, I have a feeling the bone and metal are causing the discomfort."

“I can’t do scans,” He swallows, his right hand shaking without his consent. The sound of the magnets flying around his head start to echo around him. Stomach twisting and tightening as he tries to suppress the urge to run.

You blink, sliding back just a little, giving him some space. “Okay.”

He watches the way you shift, how you carefully take off your gloves and toss them into the bin. “You are not going to want to talk about it, which is fine. I am going to talk through some steps we could take so we could get scans.”

His right hand clenches into a fist, sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Using everything in his power to stay seated. You’re speaking but the worlds are not sinking in. He shakes his head, he wants to say something but all the words have been trapped somewhere in his throat. The panic is rising up the back of his neck like fire, he feels encased, stuck, breath and heart rate elevating.

“James,” You say quietly, moving so that you were directly in front of him. “We don’t need to do anything right now. Or even in a week.”

He looks right at you, trying to see past any mask you might be hiding behind. “I can get you a new sleeve, we don’t need scans for that.”

Trying to relax, he nods his head, hoping that you will keep to your word. His eyes move away staring at the floor, the pattern of the swirling speckled vinyl. His mind is a mess of images and sounds, the thumping of the magnets, the pulse of the electrical surge. The feeling of it buzzing through his head, the pain surging passed his skin and up his neck, how his molars ground against the mouth guard.

You move away rolling over to the prosthetic, looking down into where his arm latches. Examining internal workings, you go to pick it up and struggle. For some reason it snaps him out of his daze.

“I wasn’t expecting it to be that heavy,” You squint at it, rolling it over the glass surface with a clunk. Bucky picks it up and holds it out for you to look closer at.

You look surprised for a moment but then take the moment to place your hand inside where his nub goes in.

“Oh, yeah there are latches in here.” You move over to where he is sitting, you don’t touch him just exam, lining up where his pressure sores are and the latches.

“That should actually be a relatively easy fix. Would you mind coming to the lab-” You roll back to the computer, humming as you look at it. “Let’s do next Tuesday, Lab C, it’s on level seventy-eight.”

“Sure,” Buck says, his voice a gruff whisper. He takes his arm and clicks it back into place, rotating it and twisting it.

***

The door clicks and you slump into the chair, rubbing your hand over your face. That had gone as well as could be expected, the man was a ball of trauma wrapped in stone, and dipped in concrete.

Steve had warned you that Bucky was leery of new people, and took a long time to warm up. At least he hadn’t gone running the moment you asked a question.

Taking a breath you go back to your notes, you put in to have an assistant with you next Tuesday to adjust Bucky’s arm. It should be relatively easy, something that should have been caught weeks ago. Though, judging by the lack of notes from any previous Doctors, on James Barnes, they hadn’t spent much time with him.

You plug away sipping on coffee, you need to reread the notes that had been gathered about James. Well, if they could even be called notes.

You had seen the few videos that had been found. Had taken a good chunk of first week to sit and force yourself to watch them. To see what had been done to him. Stark had warned you, everyone had, but you wanted to know. To understand why James was the way he was, this was something you took pride in. Knowing who your patients were, what they had been through, and how it affected their day to day life mattered.

The videos ended up being the worst thing you’d ever seen, they had purposefully kept him partially aware of what was happening. They had used the pain to help brainwash him, making his body be in a constant state of fight, while not being able to fight at all. As they peeled open his body, shoving metal and wires into him over and over.

Then without any recovery time they’d freeze him, putting him under for an undetermined length of time.

Didn’t even cover the neuro trauma that had happened, the machine that used a combination of electric pulse and sound waves to affect memory. No wonder he didn’t want anything to do with CT scans, you shouldn’t have even brought it up. Groaning, you try not to beat yourself up over the misstep.

The machine they used wasn’t even completely understood, Hydra had of course destroyed it before anyone could get their hands on it. Maybe if you had it you could have worked at undoing the damage. Instead you were left with half ass notes, and grainy videos.

Pushing away from the computer, you decide it was time to go home. It had been a long day already, and you wanted to be in your own space. The drive back should be uneventful, meaning you could get to the lengthy amount of notes to spill over in your mind. Hopefully it would give you enough info to help James.

Part 2

~☆~☆~

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@hiddlebatchedloki

[hannahbarberra162]

can i request more apex alpha shanks PLEASE 😩 idk but this is the first time ive read any abo literature with this like level and it was amazingly written

if you somehow find the time to write maybe just some hcs or something of apex alpha shanks x omega reader (maybe a diff scenario where its just them and their relationship with consideration of all the other world dynamics (w rare omegas n whatnot 🙂‍↕️)maybe not yandere if possible idk)

But see Nonnie, how can I write my other things when y'all keep dropping excellent ideas? Also lol literature, you glaze me Nonnie <3 Hmmmm....basically nice Shanks AU? Hope this scratches your itch...

Emperor's Prize AU: Kind Shanks :)

All the other chapters / AUs

This is set before Kid finds the Omega, she's still in hiding / nothing bad has happened to her.

Shoutout to @sordidmusings for hyping me and editing this, thank you @gouraminnow for reading it and beta-ing it as well.

Shanks loved docking at Beta Island - it was one of his favorite places on the Grand Line. He liked most of the islands in his territory, almost all were filled with people more than willing to open their bottles, cupboards, and bedroom doors to welcome the Red Haired Pirates. But there was always some lingering tension at every island. He didn’t think it was intentional, but aside from his own crew, his presence always set other Alphas off. 

Sure, they would be deferential like any of his subordinate crews or islands, but his mere presence would have Alphas posturing or growling or throwing off pheromones like crazy. He didn’t fault the Alphas for their behaviors but it all added up to a massive headache if he wasn’t able to get away back to the ship for at least a few hours and cool off from the constant threat of a confrontation. Shanks had excellent self control but even he could get annoyed after a while.

But not on Beta Island. Oh, no. On Beta Island there were no Alphas to contend with and since all Omegas had been taken by the World Government for the Celestial Dragons, there were none of them either. It was all Betas as far as the eyes could see since only Betas had permission from the local government to live on the island. Shanks could really let his hair loose and party because he didn’t have to worry about sparking any power struggles between himself and the other Alphas on the island. He got to enjoy what it would be like to be almost like everyone else, if only for a little bit.

And this week was one such time. It was their second day on the island and Shanks was enjoying the last of the afternoon sun as the day changed into evening. Many stores were closing for the night, eager to begin celebrating with the Emperor and his crew. Shanks was also excited for the night’s revelry but had one final errand to run per Benn. Well, he’d only been assigned one errand for the duration of their docking but he’d forgotten about it for most of the day after one too many margaritas. Now Shanks had to make sure to hit the candle store before it closed lest Beckman gripe at him again for “not being able to read at night” or “not being able to balance the books” or whatever it was Benn did in his cabin after dark. 

Shanks walked along the sidewalk, whistling an old tune Buggy had taught him as a kid when he spotted the candle store. A particularly small Beta woman had her keys out as she shut the door, looking for the right key to turn in the lock.

“Hey! Wait!” Shanks said, breaking into a light jog. He really didn’t want to hear another earful from Benn about how he couldn’t do his one errand for the crew. You hadn’t been expecting anyone to yell out so you jumped at the sudden noise and dropped your keys on the ground. 

“Oof, sorry! Didn’t mean to frighten you,” Shanks said, reaching for the keys on the ground. You were reaching for them at the same time, your eyes meeting his when you looked up. Pretty, thought Shanks. He stood up and offered you the keys on the open palm of his hand. 

“S-sorry, Emperor,” you stammered, using the tips of your fingers to take the keys from his hand as if to prevent your fingers from touching him too much.

“Nothing to be sorry for, I’m the one who scared you,” Shanks said with an easy smile. You smiled in return but it didn’t reach your eyes. You were backing away from him even though he wasn’t approaching. Was that…fear he scented on the evening breeze? 

“Sorry to be a bother, I know you’re closing in the next…” Shanks said as he pretended to look at his missing forearm as a joke, “now, but would you be willing to sell me just a few candles? I really need them or my crew's gonna make me walk the plank,” he said, flashing his million beri smile. You stared at him, your eyes growing wider with every word. Shanks was a little taken aback - usually those jokes killed, and no woman could hold out against his charm. What was with you? Maybe you had a bad run in with Alphas before?

You didn't answer but your tongue darted out to lick your lips. After a moment of hesitation, you nodded your head. 

“Alright, come in.” You opened the door for him and waited until he went inside before following him into the cluttered shop. Candles were crammed onto every open surface, the air thick with the smell of wax and paraffin. Shanks’s own cabin was organized chaos but this was simply chaos. There were dressers, cabinets, shelves, containers, every inch was filled with candles. Not only that, there was the cloying scent of the perfume used in the candles mixing in the wax and paraffin. Shanks had a difficult time being in the store for a few minutes, only a Beta could work in such a place with their dulled sense of smell. Even the loveseat by the front display had candles on the arms.

Looking around, Shanks saw that some candles were figures of animals, flowers, and even famous people, but all he needed were standard sticks for reading at night. In the moments he'd been staring at the wares, you'd slipped behind the long counter and were watching him with wary eyes, as if ready to bolt. 

“Where are your, I don't know, just - regular candles?” Shanks asked, touching the tip of a carefully crafted griffin candle.

“Over here, on the shelves next to the window,” you replied in a small voice, removing yourself even farther away from him. The air felt heavy with all the scents as Shanks continued into the store and the smells irritated Shanks after a day spent outside in the fresh air. 

“Would you mind opening the window? The perfume from the scented candles is a lot for me right now, I'm not strong like you,” Shanks said, running a hand through his hair with a cheeky grin. Again you gave him a blank face but did as he asked and opened the window behind you, letting in some of the evening breeze.

The light of the golden hour was behind you, illuminating your features like an angel. Yes, he had been right, you were pretty. But there was something more than pretty, Shanks thought to himself. There was something about you that was calling to him, more than other Betas would. He wanted to know why you weren't responding to him, why you weren't smiling back or at least being pleasant. Did he do something wrong? He felt the pressing urge to address your problems, even though it was likely he himself was causing them.

Shanks walked over to the inset cabinet and rifled through the drawers but only found red column candles. Benn usually bought white but they were the Red Haired pirates so red would have to do. Shanks wanted to solve the problem of the Beta, he was done with the candle hunt.

“I'll grab some of these -” he said jovially, bent over the cabinet. But that was before the breeze caught his nose, causing him to stand upright near instantly. He looked at you as your eyes flicked to his own, the scent of fear growing stronger in the shop. But that wasn’t what Shanks had scented first.

“What was that?” Shanks asked calmly, candles forgotten in the cabinet. Something emitted a scent more lovely than anything he’d ever scented before - floral and earthy and sharp and bright and sweet. He’d been on the seas his whole life and never had anything come close to that smell. He needed to find the source and he was fairly sure it was you.

“Wh-what? The candles?” you asked, biting your lip in worry.

“No. What was the other scent?” Shanks’s easy going attitude dropped as he turned to face you fully. Your face paled and you looked faint as Shanks directly confronted you. He didn’t want to scare you but he needed an answer.

“I….I -” Your eyes darted at the door as you turned your feet. Shanks had seen that look a hundred times on a hundred different islands - you were going to try to run. Shanks didn’t have to calculate the distance to the door to know he was stronger and faster; he could catch you before you could make it past the counter. He wasn’t in the mood for games, he needed that scent again. He wanted to bathe in it, to douse everything he owned in it and roll around, he had to smell it again.

“Come here,” Shanks Commanded. Your eyebrows knitted together like you were going to cry and Shanks was struck with the sudden urge to apologize and comfort you. You slowly made your way around the counter to stand right in front of him, staring at his sandaled feet with your fingers picking at your nails. Shanks knew he could be imposing, but he tried to soften his frown so as not to frighten you further. 

“Come here, little Beta,” he offered this time without a Command, holding his hand out to you. You didn’t look up or take his hand but did take a step closer to him. Now less than a foot away, Shanks detected a hint of the earlier ambrosia. A memory came to mind, something Roger had said about Rouge long ago.

“You’re not a Beta, are you?” Shanks said quietly, tilting his head to the side. Now your head snapped up to look at his face. Your eyes were wide and pupils blown as tears filled your lashline.

“I - I am! I have the papers to prove it! I’m -”

“You’re not.” A tear tracked down your face as Shanks reached to wipe it away with his thumb. You flinched but let him touch your face, something unspoken clicking into place for Shanks. Keeping his hand on you, he cupped your chin and tilted your head up. You looked like you were a few words away from a breakdown but he needed to push you just a little more.

“Look at me,” he said softly. “I can protect you. Just tell me the truth,” He tried to put weight into his words but given how flighty you already were he wasn’t sure you’d listen.

“I c-can’t, I can’t, I’m -” you stuttered as your lip started to wobble. Shanks’s inner Alpha roared to life, demanding that he take care of you and console you. Gritting his teeth, he instead led you to the loveseat by the front window and sat you down, perching right next to you. Shanks wanted to give you space, he really did, but the Alpha in him needed to soothe your pains, either physically or emotionally. 

“It’ll be ok, just tell me.” Shanks shook his head, trying to clear the scent from his lungs before he answered. He had so much he wanted to say but the only thing he could think about was your scent wrapping around him and clouding his mind.

“I’m…I’m - I’m an Omega,” you whispered, your shoulders hunching in as if to ward off an attack. Shanks’s impassive face didn’t change but his mind rapidly filled with questions he needed answers to. 

“How have you been able to hide it? Even here someone would have smelled you,” he asked, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. His body was releasing his own pheromones now to soothe your sadness. There wasn’t anything he could do to stop it - it was a purely biological function - but he hoped you’d find some solace in it anyway.

“I, um, make my own s-suppressants. Well, I used to, b-but now I can’t get the - all the things I need. And I work at this store. Like you said, the smell is overpowering so, I um, it helps with the scents.” You looked up at him through your lashes while curling in on yourself, as if waiting for him to grab you or strike you.

“Nothing bad’s going to happen,” Shanks said, pulling you closer to him. He would rather lose his remaining arm before forcing you into mating but being physically close to an Alpha like him would likely help you calm down. Actually, now that he thought about it, he decided to do something he’d never done for a woman before. He’d never even tried it outside a few times in childhood - and that was just to annoy Buggy.

Shanks purred for you. 

The effect was near immediate. You sagged against his side, face in your palms as you accepted the comfort he offered you. Shanks covered you with his cloak, the two of you sitting in silence as Shanks thought through potential solutions, purring all the while. You rubbed your face on the soft material of his cloak like a little cat, even as tears trickled down your face. You started to sniffle, his shirt getting wet but Shanks didn’t mind and let you have your time to process the situation. 

After a few moments, to his surprise, you crawled into his lap and pushed your face against his chest in an effort to get closer to the rumbling emanating from him. Shanks knew your actions weren’t personal - it wasn’t him you wanted - you were fulfilling a need due to your respective designations. You were an Omega and he an Alpha and you wanted to seek comfort where you could find it. Still, he allowed himself a small measure of satisfaction to calm the Alpha within him. He held you against his warm body, though not tightly in case you wished to move back to the loveseat. 

You were still crying quietly but the purr was helping you to calm down, his hand now running up and down your back in an effort to soothe you. His fingers skimmed your arms where your stained work shirt didn’t cover and it took all his effort not to dip his hand beneath the hem. Your skin was so soft, much softer than any Alpha or Beta he’d ever had the privilege of touching before.

He’d never been this close to an Omega before and the effect on his inner Alpha was heady. His body was ready to toss you into the closest bed and make you feel better in any way he could, but the man in him would never cross that line. After several minutes, you broke the silence. “S-so are you g-gonna sell me? K-keep me?” you sniffled into his chest.

“I would never sell you. Never,” Shanks said, his words making goosebumps appear on your skin. He continued to run his calloused hand over your arm, speaking soft but sincerely. “We do need to talk about what to do next. I don’t think you’re safe on your own, not even on Beta Island. I’m not the only Alpha who stops here - I know the island trades with merchants and all it takes is for one of them to smell you. Even if you could get the materials for your suppressants, I don’t think it’s a good idea. The consequences of you being discovered are high,” he explained. If you were found, you’d be turned over to the World Government and sold off to the highest bidder. Shanks shuddered to think of the fate you’d suffer at the hands of the Celestial Dragons.

“S-so what do - what’s g-going to happen?” you asked, still leaning against his chest. Shanks hummed. He’d only come to one solution that worked during all of his brainstorming.

“I can take you with me on the Red Force, if you wish. I’ll keep you safe there until we find a more permanent solution. It wouldn’t be forever, just until we found somewhere you could live in peace.” Shanks hoped that was true but he couldn’t think of anywhere on the planet that was safe from the reach of the Celestial Dragons and habitable. His inner Alpha was raging at him for his suggestion to let you go but he would never limit your freedom because of your designation. You picked your head up and swallowed thickly. You hadn’t said yes or no, so he continued to make his case.

“Come with me, please Omega? It’s not so bad on the Red Force,” he said with a small smile. You gave him a weary look but didn’t frown or outright refuse. “You can watch Beckman boss me around and even come to my defense if I deserve it. He’s partially to blame for all this anyway,” Shanks said with false annoyance. “He’s the one who asked me to buy candles since I might have used them all up to read a romance novel in the bath one night,” he said with a huff. You gave him a watery smile, which Shanks took as encouragement.

“Please, Omega? You won’t to live in fear anymore, looking over your shoulder at every turn. You’ll be free,” Shanks urged you, holding himself back from kissing your forehead. He couldn’t imagine the stress you were under, hiding your designation from everyone you knew and working in this putrid smelling candle store on top of it. You pressed your lips together and gave a small nod of your head.

“A-alright,” you whispered against his skin. Shanks wanted to roar in pleasure at your acceptance of his protection.

“You won’t regret choosing freedom. You won’t regret choosing me.”

Taglist: @v1ennie @staarflowerr @treelogirl @rebeccawinters @nocturnalrorobin @mochiclouds @cursedforlife666 @epochal-oracle @whore-of-many-hot-men @one-piecelover @anemonyee @joana7654-blog@mfreedomstuff@littlelovebug98@hannya-writes@babi-lamb@sanjisleggy@princessuta061108@twismare@iamrgo@littlelovebug98@anonymousmuffinbear

Also, please let me know if you don't wanna be tagged for AUs and only the main story, don't wanna annoy you <3

[writemekpop]

Cuffed | Mark Lee

Summary: Mark is the dumbest police detective you've ever worked with. What's worse, he's cold and awkward around you. One steamy night, you find out his true feelings.

Genre: Suggestive, Fluff, Police detective AU

Word count: >1k

You dangled the keys in front of Mark, who stared at them, his black eyes puppy-wide.

Ugh, you thought. Not this idiot again.

You made a driving motion with your hands. “Toot toot. You drive car.”

“Ah. Right,” Mark said, letting the keys fall into his palm rather than touch you.

You hated Mark.

You got promoted to police detective through bloody hard work. He got promoted because he was a man - and, you had to admit, his classical good looks and weekly blueberry muffins made him a favourite in the office.

“Let's just do this stakeout, alright?” you said, as Mark drove to the alley where you would be parked for the night.

As the hours passed, you started to get angry.

Mark would barely make eye contact with you, he shuddered when your hand brushed his on the camera… he was stiff with distaste.

“Look,” you said. “Let's have it out, yeah? What is your problem with me?”

Mark's eyes shot open, then he looked down. “Problem?”

“Yep,” you said, lifting his chin with one hand to force him to look at you. “You obviously hate me. So why?”

“I don't… I mean… ” Mark stuttered.

“Tongue-tied? Hmm?” you said, bitterly, pinching Mark's cheek. He stiffened, and a spark jumped inside you, so you didn't move your hand.

Instead, you cupped his cheek, then let your thumb graze over the shell of his ear. He was shuddering. You liked how nervous he was.

A light flashed in the corner of your eye. A car was approaching.

“Damn it,” you hissed. “Get down.”

You grabbed Mark's collar, and pulled him down, pressing your back to the seat so you wouldn't be seen. His face hovered inches from yours, his black eyes almost crossing.

Without meaning to, you noticed the feeling of his body against yours - light but full of energy, like a wire stretched to breaking point.

For a moment, there was no sound, and you thought you'd got away with it.

Then, you heard footsteps coming up to the car.

You cursed furiously. Suddenly, Mark stared straight into your eyes, his dark brows furrowed.

“I have an idea, okay?” he said.

You nodded.

And he pulled your face to his and kissed you.

Not a bad idea, you thought. A couple getting down to it in a dingy car park - it's believable.

Then all of a sudden, Mark was pulling you closer to him, his mouth meeting yours again and again, and you weren't thinking anymore. Mark gave everything to you in that kiss, sucking your top lip raw, like he wanted to erase the space between you. The stiffness in his body was gone, as he melted into action.

You were a little ashamed to hear a moan sound in your throat.

God, why should you feel guilty for this? You could never really get a twenty-something like Mark, even a stupid one, and you hadn't been touched in so long.

It was a very long time before you pulled back, and an even longer time before you realised what this meant.

Mark fancied you! It was so obvious now. You were way too old for him, but that still felt nice.

Mark leaned back, gulping as he patted down his chaotic black hair. Splotches of light caught the ripple of his Adam’s apple, and turned his skin a deep gold. His ridiculous blue suit was crumpled, and a hint of chest hair peeked out from his shirt.

You rapped the steering wheel. “Right. Um. They left a long…long time ago, right?”

Mark nodded.

“Okay. I'm going to… walk back to the station. Clear my head,” you said, and left the car, ignoring whatever Mark was about to say.

As you trudged back, you lit a cigarette with unsteady hands.

That kiss was just a blip. You and Mark? No bloody way. He had too much…. hope. He probably believed in world peace - and Santa.

You knew what would happen. Mark would meet some starry eyed girl with no violent ex husband or borderline drinking problem. They would have idiotically gorgeous children together, and you would hate-like their pictures on Instagram at 3AM.

That was what was right. That was the way things were meant to be.

Acid surged in your stomach.

Damn what was right. You wanted Mark - maybe you had for too long - and you were having him.

You strode into the near-deserted station, and saw Mark leaning in the corridor, sipping from a paper cup.

You walked towards him. “Why did you treat me like that?”

He gulped. “Huh?”

“If you - fancied me - why didnt I get any of your happy-dappy bullshit? Why weren't you nice to me?”

Mark smiled at his shoes. “You said niceness is for air hostesses and rent boys.”

“And I stand by that,” you said softly. “You're certainly not an air hostess.”

Mark whole face darkened in a blush. “I just… like you so much. I didn't want you to hate me.”

You brushed off his shoulders. “Yeah, well…maybe I like your nice side. Maybe I want the princess treatment too.”

Mark's grin took up his whole face. “You really mean it? Because I baked a batch of lemon bars I think you'll love. Ooh, and I know a great matcha place for our first date-”

“Dear lord,” you said, wrapping an arm around his waist as you left the station together. You squeezed his butt, making him jump. “At least you've got one hell of an arse.”

—

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[soleilpinto]

Close to You (Ollie Bearman) ⋆˚✿🍒𐙚⋆˚

“Pull the trigger on the gun I gave you when we met. I wanna be close to you” (Close to You, Gracie Abrams)‧˚꒰🍷💋ྀིྀི ꒱༘‧

Synopsis: You joined Haas for the love of racing, not knowing you'd find something softer in the fast-paced chaos. Oliver Bearman wasn't part of the plan—just the rookie with a crooked smile and a heart that felt too familiar. But somewhere between camera clicks, late-night edits, and everything unspoken, something real began to grow. And maybe, just maybe, it was worth falling for.

Genre: Fluff, Slowburn, Romance

AU: None

Pairing: Ollie Bearman x Social Media Admin!Reader

Warnings: Bearman admitting to credit card fraud.

Note: This idea came on a whim because I didn’t want to listen during my science period a month ago, so I thought, why not give you guys another gift for supporting my Oscar fic? As always, every like + reblog is appreciated because your support is the reason why I continue to do what I love on this app.

You didn’t expect to start the new year as Haas F1 Team’s newest social media hire. But life had a funny way of steering you straight into plot twists, and this one had a name:

Oliver Bearman.

Ollie was sunshine bottled up in human form. He lit up every room he walked into—warm, easygoing, charming in that casual Gen Z way that made media duties second nature to him.

Being the same age didn’t help either. It created a spark you couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard you tried to keep things professional.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you two aren’t a thing yet,” Lia, your closest friend on the team, mused as she leaned back in her chair.

You gave her a look, tossing a scrap of paper her way. She dodged it with a laugh.

“As if. I’m probably just the annoying admin who follows him and Esteban around with a camera and a checklist,” you grumbled.

Francine glanced up from her screen across the room, smirking.

“You’re literally the youngest person here, and pretty enough to be scouted on the grid. We’ve all seen the way he looks at you during media shoots. He’s into you, babe.”

You opened your mouth to respond—but the universe had other plans.

Right on cue, Ollie strolled in alongside Esteban and Ayao Komatsu. Lia’s eyes sparkled as she glanced at you with a smug grin.

“Speak of the devil,” she whispered.

Francine immediately walked over to brief them on the shoot, and as you stood to prep for the long day ahead, she turned back and called out, “Y/N! Ollie’s looking for you!”

You internally cursed her timing but pasted on your most composed smile as you stepped toward the makeshift studio.

Ollie stood mid-conversation with Esteban, but his gaze locked onto yours almost instantly. He excused himself and made a beeline straight to you.

His boyish grin tugged at your heart a little more than it should have.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than you expected. “Did Francine tell you I was looking for you?”

“She did,” you replied with a quiet laugh. “You need anything? I’m sticking with you most of the day, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Ollie rubbed the back of his neck, a rare flicker of sheepishness on his usually confident face.

“Not really… I just wanted to see you. It’s been a while since the off-season. Wanted to check in. Maybe… we could grab lunch later?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice—and the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

“I’d love that,” you replied, heart doing a backflip. “Thanks, Ollie.”

You nodded toward Lia, who was waving a mic in your direction. “Now go. You’ve got fans to charm on camera.”

He gave a shy smile before walking off to get mic’d up, leaving you stunned but smiling.

Francine elbowed you lightly. “He’s so whipped.”

You didn’t answer—not out loud anyway. But you were starting to think… maybe you were too.

Lunch came as a small break from the whirlwind of filming, shooting, and briefing sessions, and you were more than grateful for it.

The Haas cafeteria was quiet during the midday lull—just a few engineers and staff scattered around, low voices murmuring over bowls of pasta and rice.

You spotted Ollie already seated at a table near the back, two trays set out, one of them untouched. He glanced up the moment you entered and waved you over with a smile that had no right to be as boyish and disarming as it was.

“Saved you a seat,” he said casually as you sat across from him.

“You really didn’t have to,” you replied, trying not to focus too hard on how warm your face felt.

“I know. But I wanted to.”

You busied yourself with your utensils, trying to ignore how those six simple words managed to root themselves deeper than they should have. But Ollie didn’t seem to notice—he was already digging into his food like a man who hadn’t eaten in days.

Halfway through lunch, with conversation bouncing between the new season schedule and the chaos of media prep, he leaned back in his seat with a laugh, eyes shining with that mischievous glint you were slowly learning to recognize.

“Okay, you wanna hear something absolutely mental?” he asked, mouth curving upward.

You raised an eyebrow. “Always.”

“So back in F2—like, peak chaos mode—Kimi and I may have… kind of stolen my trainer’s credit card.”

Your jaw dropped mid-sip of your drink. “What?!”

“Okay, hear me out!” he said through a laugh, clearly reveling in the shock on your face.

“We didn’t actually steal it. He left it lying around when we were staying at this hotel for a race weekend, and Kimi dared me to order snacks from room service. Next thing we know, we’ve got a literal feast delivered to the room.”

You stared at him, equal parts horrified and entertained.

“Please tell me this only happened once.”

Ollie winced. “Twice.”

You smacked your hand over your mouth in disbelief, laughter bubbling in your throat.

“Ollie!”

“We replaced it before he noticed!” he insisted, eyes wide.

“Well… before he formally noticed. I think he suspected it was us when a $48 bill for Haribo and chocolate milk showed up.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you said between laughs, your stomach aching from how hard you were laughing.

“But admit it, you’d have done the same,” he teased.

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Maybe. I just wouldn’t have gotten caught.”

For a moment, the two of you locked eyes—and the atmosphere shifted. It wasn’t sudden or overwhelming. Just something soft. Something quiet. Like the kind of silence that settles between two people who understand each other a little too well.

The way Ollie was looking at you now made the rest of the room blur around the edges. It was the look of someone who wasn’t just fond of you… But maybe a little scared of how much.

You could feel the weight of someone’s stare and instinctively glanced over your shoulder.

Francine and Lia sat a few tables away from a few other team members. Lia was leaning forward slightly, her smirk barely hidden, as she whispered something to Francine, who visibly rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

“They’re watching us,” you muttered under your breath.

“I know,” Ollie said without taking his eyes off you.

“And you’re not doing anything about it?”

He shrugged with that same signature smirk. “Should I?”

You fought the heat creeping up your neck and busied yourself with your drink again, but Ollie leaned forward now, elbows on the table.

“Jokes aside… It’s nice being around you again,” he said, voice gentler now. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it until today.”

The weight of his words sank into your chest like a stone.

You didn’t have the right words—you weren’t sure there were words for the strange, giddy ache in your chest, the one that twisted every time he smiled at you like that.

Instead, you just nodded, offering a quiet, sincere, “Yeah. I missed this, too.”

And somehow, that felt like the beginning of something neither of you was quite ready to name just yet.

Your camera bag hung loosely off your shoulder as you trudged across the start-finish straight, half-blinded by the rising sun bouncing off the asphalt.

Melbourne's skies were clear, birds were chirping, and the Haas team was already scattered along the track, all bundled up in their branded jackets.

You were still half-asleep when Francine shoved the filming schedule into your hands with a pointed, “Ollie’s segment is your responsibility today. Good luck with the ‘Bearman Broadcast.’”

And here you were—armed with your DSLR, your mic, your dignity (hanging by a thread), and a rookie driver who looked far too good for this early in the morning.

Ollie was already grinning when he spotted you.

“You ready for me, Spielberg?” he called out, adjusting his cap and bouncing on his heels like a golden retriever high on adrenaline.

“Just try not to flirt with the camera this time,” you shot back, hoping your voice didn’t betray how much you meant don’t flirt with me, I’m the one holding the camera. “We don’t have all day.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” he said with a wink, grabbing the mic from your hand.

God help you.

You hit record.

Take One.

“Good morning from sunny Albert Park! I’m Ollie Bearman and I’ll be your tour guide-slash-mic-hog for today’s track walk. Behind the camera is our brilliant media manager, Y/N, who deserves a raise for putting up with me—”

“Cut,” you said immediately, groaning.

“What? That was wholesome.”

“You’re not supposed to mention me.”

“But it’s true.”

Take Two.

“So here we are on the main straight—where I plan to overtake at least three cars and maybe steal a few hearts.”

You lowered the camera. “Ollie.”

“What?” he said, blinking innocently. “It’s a multi-purpose strategy.”

You pointed at the mic. “Focus on the track, Bearman.”

“Fine, fine. Professional voice. Got it.”

Take Three.

He managed an entire thirty seconds of serious commentary—talking about braking zones and tire wear—before he glanced at you mid-sentence and said, “And right about here is where I’ll lock up after Y/N distracts me with her eyes from the pit wall.”

“Oliver.”

“I’m visualizing race conditions,” he said with mock sincerity. “Very immersive.”

You turned the camera off and stared at him. “I swear if I have to reshoot this one more time—”

“I’m trying to make the fans happy!” he insisted, hands raised in defense. “They love chemistry.”

You blinked. “What chemistry?”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

You could feel your soul leave your body.

Around you, the engineers walking the track had begun to steal glances your way. Then, Ollie’s race engineer passed by and gave Ollie the most resigned dad-look you’d ever seen, like this is your problem now. Esteban gave you a thumbs-up from several meters away and muttered, “Good luck, lovebirds,” under his breath.

You briefly considered using your mic cable as a lasso to throttle your driver.

Take Four.

You didn’t even let him finish his intro this time before he added, “Also, single file is recommended in sector two… unless you’re Y/N, then you’re allowed to hold my hand if it gets too tight.”

You spun around, face flushed, voice clipped. “Cut. You’re walking back to the paddock.”

“I regret nothing!” he called after you as you stormed off. “This is gold footage!”

You flipped him off behind your back.

But when you turned slightly, you caught him watching you with a satisfied grin—like teasing you was better than winning practice.

And unfortunately, your heart agreed.

The track walk had ended, the sun had softened behind the Melbourne skyline, and you were tucked into a corner of the Haas media room with your laptop balanced on your knees, earphones dangling around your neck.

The blooper reel from the morning’s chaos was halfway done rendering when you felt a warm presence hover beside you.

“You editing the stuff from earlier?” Ollie’s voice was casual, but the smile tugging at the corners of his lips betrayed how not casual he was about it.

You didn’t even look up. “If by ‘stuff’ you mean the seven unusable takes of you treating the mic like a dating app, then yes. I’m editing the stuff.”

He plopped into the chair beside you, knees brushing yours. “Let me guess—you kept the bit about you distracting me on track with your eyes?”

You side-eyed him. “Do you want to get fired?”

“Depends. Would you miss me if I were gone?” He grinned, leaning slightly closer to try to peek at your screen.

You huffed a laugh, but your heart fluttered—traitorously—at the way his shoulder grazed yours, casual like he didn’t even notice. (You did.)

You hit play. The blooper reel rolled.

First clip: Ollie trying to be serious, only to flash a cheeky smile when he mentioned your name.

You groaned, smacking his shoulder lightly. “Do you ever listen?”

He winced playfully, rubbing the spot. “Hey! I was being complimentary.”

Second clip: “Right about here is where I’ll lock up after Y/N distracts me with her eyes—”

You buried your face in your hands. “I cannot post this.”

“Why not? It’s romantic,” he said, and then added, “Kinda.”

You peered at him through your fingers. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m a visionary,” he corrected, then bumped his shoulder into yours again—this time more deliberately. “C’mon, admit it. You love this stuff.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling, and Ollie noticed. His gaze lingered longer than necessary. He looked at you like he was memorizing your expressions in real time—like you were more interesting than his own highlight reel.

The next clip played: Ollie winking into the camera after declaring “fans love chemistry.”

You paused it right on the wink and turned the laptop toward him. “Explain yourself.”

“I have no explanation,” he said, but he was laughing now, eyes crinkling, cheeks flushed. “Also, that was for you, not the fans.”

You shoved his arm again, this time harder.

“Violent,” he chuckled, then leaned in conspiratorially. “You realize every time you hit me, you end up laughing after, right?”

“That’s because I’m trying to cope.”

“With my charm?”

“With your nerve,” you replied, but your shoulder remained pressed to his now, and neither of you moved away.

Another clip rolled. The part where you stormed off and Ollie yelled after you — “This is gold footage!”

You both watched that one in silence before you turned to him and said softly, “You are kind of entertaining when you’re not insufferable.”

He smiled slowly. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He bumped his knee against yours this time, watching your reaction carefully. “Too late.”

You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve nudged him off the chair, called him annoying, and reset the professional boundaries. But you didn’t.

Instead, you hit play again. This time, Ollie leaned in a bit more — enough that his arm brushed yours from shoulder to wrist, and neither of you flinched. The space between you felt smaller than it had all day. Cozy, almost.

You were too focused on not looking flustered when Francine suddenly poked her head in and deadpanned, “Should I leave you two alone, or...?”

You jerked away, immediately pretending to click around the timeline. “We’re editing. Working. Normal things.”

Ollie just smirked and muttered, “Jealousy’s a disease, Francine.”

Francine rolled her eyes and disappeared again.

You stole a glance at him. He was still watching the screen, but you caught the faintest, most sincere smile on his face — like he couldn’t help himself.

And god help you, you smiled too.

The next day, the Haas garage buzzed with energy, a symphony of pre-race sounds. Engineers shouting over the whirr of tire guns, strategists reviewing last-minute simulations, and the rhythmic clatter of tools filled the air.

You stood near the back, camera in hand, panning over the controlled chaos, catching B-roll for the team's socials.

Esteban sat on the folding bench, halfway into his race suit, a bottle of water in one hand and his other tugging at the collar of his fireproof undershirt. Ollie was beside him, zipping up his suit in slow, exaggerated movements that made it clear he knew he was being watched.

He had caught you filming ten seconds ago. And of course, he was going to make the most of it.

You tried to keep your camera steady, focusing the shot on both drivers—balanced, professional, all clean lines and corporate branding. But Ollie’s smug little grin as he adjusted his gloves deliberately slowly was making your job impossible.

“Don’t look at the camera,” you mumbled under your breath. “Just… be normal.”

Esteban caught your muttering and glanced up with a curious brow. “You okay?”

“She’s fine,” Ollie piped up before you could answer. “Just struggling to focus, aren’t you, Y/N?”

You narrowed your eyes behind the camera. “Only because someone’s being a menace.”

Esteban snorted. “I feel like I should leave the garage. This feels like a lovers’ quarrel.”

You choked on air. “It’s not.”

Ollie, without missing a beat, winked directly into the lens. “Give the fans what they want, right?”

Your face flushed instantly. “Ollie.”

“Oh come on, Y/N,” he said, stepping just a bit closer, enough that his face now filled most of your camera’s viewfinder. “You don’t want to post the boring stuff. You need charisma. Sparkle. Maybe a bit of charm.”

“You’re insufferable,” you mumbled, trying to steady the camera despite your hands practically trembling with laughter.

He just gave you that smug little look—the one where his lips curved ever so slightly, and his eyes glinted like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Then he dramatically struck a model-esque pose with his helmet in hand, chin tilted up, shoulders squared. “How about now? I’m giving GQ meets motorsport.”

Esteban groaned. “I’m begging you to be serious for five minutes, mate.”

“Five minutes is a long time when Y/N’s this distracting,” Ollie teased, and you nearly dropped the camera from how flustered you got.

“I swear I’m going to start charging you for every take I have to reshoot,” you muttered.

Ollie grinned. “Totally worth it.”

“Y/N!” Lia’s voice rang from behind you just as you were trying to hide your face behind the camera. She strolled in, coffee in hand, expression flat. “At this point, you and Ollie are a full-blown HR nightmare.”

Ollie didn’t even flinch. “And yet, we boost engagement by at least 30%. That’s gotta be worth something, yeah?”

You turned slowly to glare at Lia, who was very clearly enjoying this.

She just smirked. “When you two finally kiss on camera, I’m posting it without a caption.”

You gasped. “LIA!”

Esteban raised both brows. “Wait, finally?”

“I’m not listening to this,” you huffed, already walking away with your camera in tow, ears burning. Behind you, you could hear Ollie call out:

“You still filming my good side, yeah? Because I’ve got a great one lined up after quali!”

Lia cackled. Esteban sighed. You didn’t look back—but the camera was still rolling.

And so was something else entirely.

The paddock was unusually quiet around the Haas motorhome.

You’d been in the back corner room most of the afternoon, downloading footage, trying not to think too hard about the pit in your stomach ever since Ollie failed to get a time in during qualifying. 

A red flag had come out just as he was pushing on his hot lap, and with time slipping away, he never got another shot. The disappointment had been written all over his face when he stepped out of the car.

You watched the interview from the media pen earlier, catching the subtle tension in his jaw and the practiced tone of someone trying very hard to be professional while keeping it together. It made you ache a little, watching him pretend like it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

You weren’t expecting the quiet knock.

Three soft taps on the door.

“Come in?” you called gently, not bothering to look up right away.

When you did, Ollie was already stepping inside, still in half his race gear, the top half of his suit peeled down to his waist, his white fireproofs damp with sweat. His hair was messier than usual, and the moment your eyes met, all the breath you had been holding left you.

He shut the door behind him without a word, leaned against it for a moment like he didn’t trust his legs to move forward just yet.

His usual playfulness, the cheeky glint that lit up every room—gone. Instead, he looked tired. Not physically, but the kind of tired that sat heavy in your chest when nothing had gone right.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he said quietly, almost apologetically.

You stood slowly, walking over to him without thinking. “You don’t need to explain.”

“I just…” Ollie trailed off, dragging a hand through his curls. “I know I’m supposed to shake it off, move on. Rookie year and all that. But that was supposed to be my moment. I’d worked so hard for that lap. And it was… it was there, y’know?”

You nodded, your chest tightening as you reached out and gently touched his arm.

“I know.”

He laughed, but it was a soft, hollow thing. “It’s stupid. There are worse things. But I’m just—God, I’m frustrated. I feel like I let everyone down. Ayao. The team. You.”

“Hey,” you whispered, stepping in closer now, your hand sliding to his wrist. “You didn’t let anyone down. Especially not me.”

Ollie looked down at where your fingers rested against his skin. His eyes were darker than usual—glassier. “Why does it matter so much what you think?”

The air between you shifted. Your fingers curled slightly.

“Maybe because we’re not just coworkers anymore,” you said softly. “Maybe because I care more than I should.”

His jaw clenched. “Yeah. Me too.”

He looked up again, his eyes meeting yours properly this time, and the moment stretched into something wordless. Raw. Honest.

You could see the war in his expression—between pulling you into his arms and holding back for your sake. So you made the choice for both of you, stepping forward to close the distance and pressing your forehead gently to his.

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it all day. Then his hand came up to cradle the side of your neck, thumb brushing softly just below your ear.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t need to.

The silence held everything that hadn’t been said out loud yet. All the teasing and playful tension, the shared glances, the near-confessions. This was different. This was real.

“I didn’t get my lap in,” Ollie whispered against your hair, “but this… this feels like something I did get right.”

You smiled into his chest as you finally let your arms wrap around him. “Then we’ll call it a win.”

And for the first time all day, Ollie’s breath came out steady.

The paddock was buzzing.

Shanghai’s return to the calendar meant everyone was high-energy, and media day was in full swing. Between the driver photo ops, camera crews, and sponsor booths vying for content, it was a chaotic symphony of noise and laughter.

But the Haas social media team? Thriving.

You had your camera bag slung across your shoulder and your phone steady in your hand, already in full “content goblin” mode as you called it.

You’d snagged a few chaotic clips of Esteban accidentally knocking over a stack of water bottles earlier and even convinced Ayao to do a finger heart for the camera (after three takes and one very unimpressed sigh).

Now, you were standing near the Aramco mini basketball court — a small activation booth that had become the unofficial playground for half the grid.

“Watch and learn,” Ollie smirked as he grabbed a basketball and turned to you with the full force of a cocky, too-pretty-for-his-own-good grin.

You raised your camera. “Please. If you make all three, I’ll edit this reel to the Space Jam theme.”

He laughed. “Deal.”

You hit record.

The first shot?

Miss.

It bounced off the rim and rolled sideways, nearly hitting a cameraman’s foot. You zoomed in on his expression — a picture of betrayal.

“Solid start, Steph Curry,” you teased off-camera.

Ollie held up a finger, mock-scolding. “That was a warm-up. Don’t put that in the reel.”

“Oh, it’s already in the cloud, baby,” you replied sweetly.

The second shot?

Swish.

Nothing but net. Ollie turned to you with a triumphant grin and raised both arms like he’d just scored a game-winning three-pointer at the buzzer.

“Ohhh, okay. Calm down, LeBron,” you laughed. “You’ve got one more. Let’s see if you’re actually clutch.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “I’m him.”

He lined up. You zoomed in.

Clang.

The ball hit the backboard and ricocheted hard to the side, narrowly missing Lia in the background as she struggles to take photos of him. Ollie looked back at you, wide-eyed.

You died laughing.

“That’s going in the reel twice,” you snorted, lowering your phone just enough to tease him properly. “Once in real time, and again in slow motion with sad violin music.”

Ollie crossed his arms. “You’re evil.”

“Don’t dish it if you can’t take it.”

He walked over and bumped your hip with his lightly, eyes playful. “You better be careful. I know where all your old TikToks are.”

You gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would. I saw that one where you’re lip-syncing High School Musical 2 in a face mask.”

“You are banned from the Dropbox,” you warned, pointing a finger at his chest.

“Too late. I already have the admin login.”

Your jaw dropped, and he winked before tossing the ball over his shoulder — it missed, again.

Francine, who had been watching from the side, leaned in with a grin. “This is either going to end in HR intervention or a wedding.”

Ollie caught your eye.

“Hopefully not in that order,” he said under his breath with a small smirk.

You caught that on camera, too.

Oh, yeah. That reel was going viral.

Golden hour was draping soft light over the circuit’s towering infrastructure, casting long shadows on the asphalt.

Media day had officially wrapped, and the once-buzzing paddock had settled into a more peaceful hum as teams trickled out, staff chatting about the day or heading for team debriefs and dinners.

You stretched your arms above your head, your camera gear finally tucked away in your backpack.

Your phone was packed with content—some of it hilariously unusable, most of it pure gold. You were already mentally editing the basketball reel.

Next to you, Ollie pulled on a Haas hoodie over his team shirt, glancing around as if half-expecting more cameras to pop out.

"Well," he said, offering you a lazy smile, "that was fun. Embarrassing. But fun."

You grinned, nudging his arm. “You’re lucky I’m nice. That last shot was tragic.”

“Please don’t use the violin,” he begged as you both started walking down the path toward the exit gates.

“No promises,” you laughed.

A soft breeze picked up as the city skyline in the distance began to glow. The two of you walked side by side, a comfortable rhythm forming without even thinking about it—one that had been building since winter testing.

His shoulder occasionally brushed yours when he leaned in to talk, and neither of you moved away.

“You eaten yet?” he asked casually, glancing over.

You shook your head. “Not since lunch.”

He nodded. “Let’s do room service. My hotel’s menu has these weird bao buns Jack swore by. We can debrief, edit stuff… you know, multitask.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“You’re inviting me to your room under the pretense of bao buns and editing?”

He laughed, that familiar, breathy laugh that made your stomach flutter. “Yes. Entirely professional. Bao-first, always.”

You agreed.

You were cross-legged on the sofa while Ollie sat on the floor, leaning against the bed as a spread of room service trays covered the table in front of you—bao buns, fried rice, chicken skewers, and an experimental tofu dish that neither of you dared to try first.

The TV was on mute, some race replay running in the background, while your phone’s screen lit up with clips from earlier.

You played one of Ollie trying to spin the basketball on his finger and dropping it straight onto his foot.

You cracked up. “This is elite-tier clumsiness.”

“That was Kimi’s fault,” he said, pointing an accusing chopstick at the screen. “He said something in Italian right before I shot, cursed me.”

You snorted. “I’d believe that.”

He grinned, leaning back.

“Speaking of Kimi… he and Isack spent the entire media morning trying to convince Gabriel to do a fake British accent during the F1TV skits. Poor Gabri. He panicked and said ‘oi, bruv’ and then immediately apologized.”

You laughed, almost choking on a piece of rice. “Gabriel apologizing for saying ‘oi, bruv’ might be the most Gabriel thing ever.”

“Oh, 100%. Then Jack walked by and asked if they were bullying his son again.”

“Not his son,” you corrected, eyes playful. “His ‘golden retriever protégé.’”

Ollie chuckled. “Same thing.”

The laughter slowly faded into a more comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t feel heavy. You glanced at him as he stared ahead at the muted TV, the flicker of color reflecting softly in his eyes.

“Y’know,” he started, voice lower, more thoughtful, “I’ve been thinking a lot about sprint quali.”

You leaned in slightly, sensing the shift.

“I know it’s just another format and all, but… it’s been messing with my head a little,” he admitted.

“There’s less time to ease into things. If I mess up one run, that’s it. It’s over. I hate how fast everything moves. I feel like I’m still catching up.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, setting your food down. Then, gently, “That makes sense. It’s a lot of pressure, especially when people already expect so much from you.”

His eyes flicked to yours.

“And I know everyone says you’re doing great—and you are—but that doesn’t make it feel easier,” you added.

“You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed. It doesn’t make you weak.”

He let out a quiet breath, and then his voice softened. “You always say the right things.”

You smiled gently, then reached down to squeeze his hand.

Just for a moment. Just enough to remind him he wasn’t doing this alone.

He looked at your hands, then back at you. “You help more than you know.”

You didn’t say anything—just gave his fingers a small squeeze before letting go.

He walked you back to your door, hoodie sleeves pushed up and hair a little messy from running his hand through it too many times.

The hallway was dimly lit, the distant hum of hotel activity low in the background.

You turned to him, unlocking your door.

“Thanks for dinner,” you said. “And the stories. And letting me bully your basketball skills.”

He chuckled. “Thanks for not using the violin. Yet.”

He scratched the back of his neck again—the telltale Ollie Bearman nervous tic you were starting to recognize.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Seriously. Thank you. For tonight. I didn’t know I needed to laugh this much.”

You softened. “Anytime, Bearman.”

There was a beat of stillness. A moment suspended in the warm silence of the hallway.

Then he smiled, stepping back. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Ollie.”

And with one last glance, he turned down the corridor—leaving your heart a little lighter, and your camera roll a little fuller.

The garage was still buzzing, the scent of tire rubber and brake dust lingering in the air as Ollie tugged off his gloves, cheeks flushed beneath the edges of his helmet hair.

Sprint Qualifying had just wrapped, and it had gone well—better than expected.

P12 wasn’t pole, but the lap was strong, the car felt alive underneath him, and for the first time all weekend, Ollie actually looked relaxed.

You had your camera raised before he even saw you, catching the moment he slung his helmet onto the counter and unzipped his suit halfway.

There was a gleam in his eyes—the post-session glow of someone who’d wrung every drop out of the car and knew it.

“Car felt good,” he told one of the engineers, voice still slightly elevated from the adrenaline.

“Hooked up in Sectors 1 and 2. Bit of understeer through the final corner, but nothing we can’t work around.”

You filmed him through the debrief, staying out of the way, switching to your second lens to catch the softer details: the way he tapped the edge of the tablet while reviewing data, the little grin he flashed Kimi when they fist-bumped on the way out.

The footage was going to be gold.

After the team media wrap, you caught up with him just as he stepped off the media pen carpet, fiddling with the velcro on his gloves.

"That went well," you said, camera still rolling.

Ollie turned to you, all bright eyes and wind-tousled hair. “Told you the car would come alive once it stopped raining.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You also told me this morning you had a bad feeling about Turn 13.”

He smirked. “Reverse psychology. I played myself.”

The mic was still clipped to his suit, so you kept rolling as he continued his little victory monologue, gesturing dramatically as he described how he "summoned the spirit of Alonso" through the middle sector.

It was all very standard Ollie Bearman behavior—until you signaled that the clip was good and reached up to unclip the mic.

As you did, he leaned in, dropping his voice slightly, almost conspiratorial. “You know, I think I drive better when I know you're watching.”

Your fingers froze just slightly on the clip.

He gave you a tiny smirk, catching the hesitation. His voice stayed low. “Makes me wanna show off a little.”

You rolled your eyes, lips twitching upward.

“You say that like it isn’t already painfully obvious.”

He took the mic from your hand and stepped closer—not dramatically, but just enough to make the air between you buzz.

“You’re just lucky I keep it PG when the camera's on. Otherwise…”

You arched a brow. “Otherwise, what?”

He grinned. “HR might actually have to get involved.”

You choked on a laugh, pushing at his shoulder.

“Ollie.”

“That wasn’t a no,” he said, beaming.

Before you could retaliate with a clever jab, Lia passed by with her headset still half-on, a tablet under one arm. She took one glance at the two of you—him smug, you trying (and failing) not to smile—and didn’t miss a beat.

“I swear to God,” she muttered, “you two are one flirty exchange away from being a full-blown HR nightmare.”

You and Ollie both burst into laughter, the tension cracking like sunlight through clouds. She rolled her eyes and kept walking.

“I like her,” Ollie said, still grinning.

“You would,” you replied. “She sees right through you.”

Ollie leaned back, hands on his hips. “Doesn’t mean I’m not charming.”

You raised your camera again and aimed it at his face.

“Say that again for the reel?”

He struck a mock-model pose. “Ollie Bearman, charming and quick. Spread the word.”

You shook your head fondly behind the lens, laughing as you captured him in that exact moment—race suit half-zipped, hair a mess, cheeks flushed with pride and adrenaline, and eyes sparkling with just a bit too much mischief for his own good.

It was chaos. Predictable, flirty chaos.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You hadn’t expected the team dinner plans to dissolve so quickly after landing, but jet lag hit harder than expected.

Everyone had either retreated to their rooms for sleep or mumbled promises of “next time” as they peeled off into the hotel lobby.

Except Ollie.

He’d looked over at you as you both lingered by the elevators—hair slightly messed from the flight, hoodie half-zipped over a faded white tee—and asked, “Still up for food?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

He grinned, clearly relieved. “Perfect. I saw a place a block over—tiny, but it’s supposed to be good.”

And now, here you were—sitting across from him in a dimly lit booth, warm yellow paper lanterns hanging overhead, a half-eaten plate of yakitori between you and two tall glasses of iced oolong tea sweating on the table.

You poked at a skewer with your chopsticks. “You really just wanted food, or were you hoping to escape the jet lag spiral?”

He smirked, eyes warm. “Both. And I figured I’d take my chances asking you first.”

You tilted your head, amused. “Why me?”

His lips twitched.

“Because you always say yes when it comes to food.”

You laughed, reaching to flick a sesame seed at him from your plate.

“Not wrong.”

There was a lull, but not an awkward one. The kind where the air felt charged but familiar. Ollie looked… peaceful.

Not performing for cameras or joking with engineers. Just Ollie, twenty minutes after landing, skin flushed from the cold outside, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows.

He leaned back against the wooden booth, eyes drifting for a moment to the street outside, where faint neon buzzed beyond the frosted windows. Then he looked at you again—longer, softer.

“You know,” he said, voice dropping slightly, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You set your chopsticks down slowly. “That sounds serious.”

“It kind of is.”

You gave a small, teasing smile. “You didn’t forget to submit your media requests again, did you?”

He didn’t laugh this time. Instead, he held your gaze, mouth pulling into something more vulnerable.

“No. I mean—this isn’t about work.”

Your heartbeat picked up, but you didn’t say anything. You just waited.

Ollie exhaled, fingers brushing over the condensation on his glass.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Honestly, since before the season started. And I didn’t want to make things weird because… we’re around each other all the time. And you’re one of the only people who makes this job feel normal.”

He paused, watching your face. You nodded slightly, silently telling him to go on.

“And at first I thought it was just because we’re close in age, or we get each other. But then we started spending more time together. Lunches, dinners, stupid mic tests where I couldn’t stop teasing you because you looked so—” he broke off with a soft laugh, rubbing his jaw.

“God. You looked so serious, and I liked getting reactions out of you.”

You ducked your head, cheeks burning.

“And then it became… more,” he said quietly.

“Like, I’d look for you without realizing. I’d want you around, even when things weren’t going great. Like when I didn’t that time in Melbourne and the first person I wanted to see was you. That kind of thing doesn’t just happen for no reason.”

Your heart felt like it was fluttering in your throat.

Ollie leaned forward a little, elbows on the table.

“I like you. A lot. And I know we’re in this crazy environment with cameras and flights and people always watching, but tonight—when everyone else said no and it was just you and me—I realized I didn’t want to keep waiting for the perfect moment. Because I think this might be it.”

Silence fell between you, but not the suffocating kind. The soft, shaky kind that sits between two people on the edge of something good.

You smiled, slowly, hand brushing your glass just to keep it steady. “So you planned to charm me with food and lantern lighting, huh?”

He grinned, but there was something nervous in it.

“Did it work?”

You didn’t speak. Instead, you reached across the table, gently wrapping your fingers around his.

Ollie blinked, then looked down at your joined hands—like he wasn’t sure if it was real.

“It worked,” you said softly. “It worked a while ago.”

He exhaled shakily, the tension melting from his shoulders, and his thumb brushed yours in a quiet, grateful way.

Outside, the street was starting to empty. A couple staggered past on bicycles, laughing.

You and Ollie just sat there, hands linked across an empty plate, the last flickers of nerves replaced with something calm, something certain.

And when you walked back to the hotel side by side—his arm brushing yours every few steps—it was quieter than usual. But in the best way.

Just before you reached your door, he stopped.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said, voice low.

You looked up at him, smiling. “Thanks for the confession.”

His cheeks flushed. He gave a soft, bashful laugh. “Yeah, I’m gonna replay that in my head a thousand times tonight.”

“Good,” you said, unlocking your door. “I will too.”

He hesitated, then—gently, slowly—tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Ollie.”

And when the door clicked shut behind you, your heart was still racing.

The shift between you two over the course of the weekend wasn’t drastic, but it was obvious.

It started with the way Ollie carried himself during media day. Still his usual charming self on camera, still cracking jokes about his playlist choices and his tragic attempts at origami for the “Japanese culture challenge” — but with you, there was something gentler.

A soft layer under his banter. Like his smiles landed just a beat longer when your camera focused on him. Like he didn’t care who saw anymore.

You weren’t exactly hiding either. And the team? The team noticed.

By Saturday, Esteban had raised an eyebrow when he caught Ollie lingering too long by the media tent.

“Didn’t realize we were doing interviews and puppy eyes now.”

Gabriel chimed in with a snort. “That’s not puppy eyes. That’s in love eyes.”

“Shut up,” Ollie muttered, cheeks pink, but he didn’t deny it.

You were behind the camera laughing, biting your lip to keep the shot steady as Isack whispered, “HR’s gonna have a field day,” before winking at you.

Even Lia had a moment during the driver mic checks, adjusting her headset and muttering just loud enough:

“You two are a walking HR nightmare and I’m so proud of you.”

Everyone teased, but it was lighthearted — celebratory, even. Like they'd all known it would happen eventually.

Because now, it wasn’t just glances. It was you handing Ollie a bottle of water after a session and him tapping your fingers with his in thanks.

It was you fixing his mic cord and him whispering, “You’re good at that, you know,” with a grin meant only for you.

It was walking a few steps apart through the paddock, only for him to nudge your elbow just slightly — a secret shared in a crowd.

Even during the race, he kept looking for your face in the garage. Between the chaos of comms and tire calls, he’d glance toward the media pit, just to check if you were there.

And when he crossed the line, not on the podium but in points, he pumped a fist — then looked at you with the kind of grin that said it still meant everything.

The sun was setting slowly over Suzuka, casting warm gold across the paddock as teams packed up.

Equipment cases thudded onto trolleys, pit carts rolled past, and most of the crew had already changed out of uniforms and into hoodies, prepping for the long haul out.

You were wrapping cables, still high off the adrenaline of the weekend, when your radio buzzed and someone said, “He’s looking for you, by the pit exit.”

You didn’t have to ask who.

When you got there, Ollie was leaning against the concrete barrier, one hand tucked in his hoodie pocket, the other holding his phone loosely by his side.

The minute he saw you, he lit up.

“There you are.”

“Didn’t think you’d wait,” you teased.

“I always wait for you,” he said easily.

You walked up beside him, close enough for his arm to brush yours. Close enough to feel how warm he was despite the breeze that had picked up.

“Think we survived Suzuka?” you asked, bumping his shoulder.

He nodded. “Just barely. Between quali, sprint drama, and everyone suddenly deciding our love life is their favorite new hobby…”

You laughed. “To be fair, they were right.”

Ollie looked at you then, fully — no rush, no nerves, just that wide-open, boyish gaze that made your heart flutter like it was day one.

“They were,” he agreed softly. “But I’m glad we didn’t rush it. Feels… right now. Doesn’t it?”

You nodded, smile soft. “It really does.”

He reached down and took your hand without a second thought, fingers lacing through yours like it was second nature.

“Come on,” he said, tugging gently. “Let’s go find dinner.”

“Another confession night?” you teased.

“Nah,” he said with a smirk. “You already said yes.”

© soleilpinto 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[ro-writesstuff]

decisions, decisions - matty healy

a/n: i love the concept of married!matty au PLEASE send ideas if you have them 🙏🏼happy reading loves 🩷

summary: on the third day of your honeymoon, you and matty try to figure out what you want to do.

content warning: mentions of smut, cursing, some fluff

minors do not interact, all fics are 18+.

***

the sun peeks through the curtains of your hotel room as you turn your head to look at the time. 10:47.

matty had been awake for about thirty minutes, taking in your sleeping figure. although he was an early riser, the tiring yet exciting events from the past few days were catching up to him. needless to say, he was happy you were stirring awake now.

you stretched your body outwardly as you turn your body to him, a smile appearing on Matty’s face as you pull yourself closer to him as a content sigh leaves your lips. birds chirp outside, and matty can’t think enough how lucky he is. he tucks a few strands of hair behind your ear, wanting to see your beautiful face.

you almost giggle at the contact. “good morning my handsome husband.”

he smiles, placing a quick kiss on your forehead, then tilts your chin upwards at him, his brown eyes full of love and desire as he plants a sweet kiss on your lips.

“mornin’ my gorgeous wife.”

he never fails at causing butterflies in your stomach.

you take a breath, trying to rid of that giddy feeling in your stomach. “so what are we going to do today?” you ask.

matty decides to be cheeky.

he slides his arms between your back and the mattress his figure now on top of you. your legs cage his body on either side as your admire and trace over his prominent back muscles.

“oh i thought we already decided,” he says with an undertone of playfulness.

you give him a confused look.

“thought we were staying in and having sex all day.” he states with a sly smile.

you laugh at his words. “matty, we-”

he cuts you off by cupping your breast as you let out a soft whimper. his fingers hook onto your underwear as you lift your hips, the material sliding off you and being thrown across the room. matty’s lips travel down, down, down as you start to feel a pulsing in your lower stomach.

his breath is hot against your skin as you try to squirm away from him, but his strong grip holds your hips down.

“could be fun,” his eyes peel away from your skin and stare intensely at yours, “mrs. healy.”

your new name same sends a spark of excitement down your spine as you smile. you become entranced by his movements, unable to look away. he places kisses on the inside of your thighs, lips hover over where you need him most.

his lips plant itself to the inside of your knee, fingers teasing the outside of your dripping cunt, “your call, gorgeous.”

you sigh, glancing outside looking at the sun that was getting closed in my a set of clouds. the weather was starting to become dreary and maybe he was right: it was best to stay inside.

“fine.”

“knew you’d cave,” he says as he hooks your legs around his shoulders. “can’t resist me,” he says with a wink.

“shut up healy.”

[bianotbia]

— 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 [ 𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐧 ]

main masterlist

˗ˏˋ you promised yourself to never fall for jeonghan, but when new feelings bloom inside you have to make a very painful decision ˎˊ˗

⤷ a/n : this was actually the first ever fanfic I wrote and, after I lost my previous account, I swore to myself I would try to rewrite it. even though I spent months in it and used a little bit of help from chat gpt to help me rewrite some parts, I couldn't be happier with how it turned out ^_^

⤷ contains : office crush!jeonghan x gn!reader, office au, hanahaki disease, full angst because I'm sad, mentions of blood and bruises [ wc : 2.6k ]

⤷ now playing : daisy by pentagon

Spring arrived in a hush of pink petals, drifting weightlessly through the air before settling on the pavement like forgotten confessions. A warm breeze carried the scent of earth and blossoms, yet all I could focus on was Jeonghan—his head tilted back, eyes half-lidded as if caught between daydreams and reality.

“Jeonghan,” I nudged him lightly, pretending not to notice the way my chest tightened at his absentminded smile. “Did you read the report I sent you this morning?”

He turned to me, lips curling at the corners in that easy, unshaken way of his. “I will,” he promised. “After lunch.” And just like that, I let myself believe, if only for this fleeting moment, that we existed in a world where he would look at me the same way he looked at the cherry blossoms—like something worth pausing for.

Half an hour later, we made our way back to the office after the lunch break ended, walking alongside the blooming cherry blossoms that painted the path towards it. He nudged closer with a spark in his eyes, as if he just came up with a brilliant idea. “Why don't we go out for some drinks tonight? We can celebrate spring and you can take your head off work for a bit.”

The pounding inside my chest echoed in my ears after hearing those words, feeling a flush painting my face almost the same color as the pink rain falling around us. It wasn't unusual for us to meet each other for drinks after work. Sometimes our other colleagues at the office would come along and other times we would go on by ourselves, but lately he hadn't been going out much.

I slightly nodded my head, trying to brush away the sharp pain that stung my heart as I wished I had never met Jeonghan, just so that the heartbreak of knowing he would never return my feelings for him wouldn’t make me slowly wither every day.

A dark shade of blue covered the sky, gracing it with stars invisible to our eyes blinded by the city lights. The scent of alcohol took over the streets along with the sound of slurred voices laughing over nothing. Already on our third glass, the conversation barely consisted of meaningless giggles and words that surely would get lost into the night.

“What’s your favorite flower?” He asked, a confused frown settled in my face which made him laugh at my reaction. “C’mon…it’s spring! Get in the vibes.” His body felt warmer—closer than it had ever been—as if one faint touch could send me on a maddening spiral of passion.

“Cherry blossoms…I think.” He hummed, a low sound that traveled through my body and made it even more limp thanks to the empty glasses spread around our table.

“What about you, Han?” I gazed at him, searching for the slightest slip of any hidden emotion that might only show when someone is drunk. He giggled and downed the remains of his beer, and from that moment on the only thing I could remember on the following day was the one word that came from his teasing smile.

“Daisies.”

The weekend faded into a grayish and gloomy monday morning, as if an incoming storm was getting closer at each second. Flashes of last friday night still swirled inside my mind and his laugh still echoed in my heart along with a conversation that seemed to go on all night long. There wasn't anything not to love about him—pretty face, smart comebacks, mischievous smile—how could I not fall in love?

Yet something always tightened inside my chest whenever he was around, something that drowned out any kind of words that conceived how much I liked him, how much I longed to have him close to me.

“Hey, did you see it?” I heard as soon as I arrived at my desk, mindlessly turning to my grinning colleague, Yena, who leaned over her own desk, “Mr. Yoon brought flowers to Haerin today.” She tried to cover a growing smile that quickly turned into a pout “They are so cute together! Oh, now I want a boyfriend to give me flowers too.”

“Boyfriend?” That word played over and over in my mind as I still tried to process everything she just said.

“Yeah! Apparently they just started going out in the past few weeks.” For a second, sitting in that cold office, all of the air inside my lungs seemed to vanish.

“Wh–what flowers did he give her?” I couldn’t keep my voice non-chalant, but she didn't notice anyway, just humming to herself while trying to remember what she saw.

“I think they were pink” cheerfully nodding her head, “Uh-hum, I'm pretty sure they were cherry blossoms.”

In the corner of my eyes I saw a shadow approaching us, Yena glanced up with a sparkling smile, one I tried to imitate as I realized who came over.

“Hi Mr. Yoon! We were just talking about you and Haerin. We're so happy for both of you!” He gave her a polite smirk, but quickly turned to me with a worried look. “Are you feeling alright? You seem quite pale.”

Any words I had to say to him got caught on the back of my throat. I felt my head nodding and could only hope that the tears pooling in my eyes wouldn't cross my cheeks in front of him.

That evening, my apartment was eerily quiet, the air cold and the room dimly lit. The only sounds were the relentless storm that had been pouring since lunchtime and the steady rush of water filling my bathtub. As I sank into its warmth, the sensation faintly reminded me of the rain dripping over my coat as I waited for Jeonghan at our usual meeting spot in front of the building. Only, this time, he didn’t show up.

As I neared the restaurant we often went to, my eyes caught a glimpse of him and Haerin. They laughed together, his usually sleepy eyes shining with a liveliness I had never seen before. I kept walking, eventually settling on another place to eat. Yet, even as the rain soaked through my clothes, the thing that bothered me most wasn’t the cold creeping into my bones—it was a strange itch at the back of my throat.

I heated up some soup after the bath, hoping to fend off this possible spring fever. But the itch remained, growing worse at every second and every cough that came out of me. Finally, something emerged from my mouth—a single daisy petal resting on my lips. It felt like a cruel joke while I forced myself to finish my meal.

Later, as I lay in bed and my thoughts slowly drifted away to dreamland, I could only cling to one desperate hope—that by morning, the delicate white petal would have disappeared, as if it had never been there—just like a bittersweet memory.

Unfortunately, the flower was still sitting at my nightstand as I woke up, alongside the annoying scratch that came from within my throat. I hurried to get dressed trying to ignore the suffocating sensation that made me feel even more ill while riding the crowded train, its constant rhythmic movement barely matching my ragged breaths.

The bitter feeling faded by the time I walked into the building, leaving just that unbearable sensation of something lodged in my throat. An itch I couldn’t scratch. A weight I needed to expel, as if letting it go was the only way to keep moving forward.

I ran into Haerin as I arrived at the office. The concern in her eyes told me I must have looked as awful as I felt. Time dragged mercilessly, stretching an hour into what felt like days. Had I already gone to lunch? Caught the train? Made it home? Or was I still lost, wandering through the remnants of a forgotten memory?

Then, once again, that suffocating feeling clawed its way up from my lungs to my throat—the desperate urge to rid myself of whatever was trapped inside. Not wanting to draw attention or fuel office gossip, I bolted to the restroom on the other floor.

Alone at last, my lungs felt like they were being filled with a hundred thorns, my throat suddenly surrounded by weeds that choked every airway. The coughing worsened and didn’t stop—not until flowers slipped through my fingers just as the tears that dripped from my eyes. The amount of them could probably make the decoration of a small wedding–their wedding.

By the end of that painful episode I was sitting on the cold tiled floor surrounded by white petals, a tear stained face and a bouquet full of daisies hanging on my shaky hands.

Everyday I saw Jeonghan mildly flirting with Haerin at the office, everyday I feigned a smile, and everyday I got home and felt flowers and more flowers coming from inside me. However, something started to worry me more than having to clean the white petals off my bathroom—was that daisies weren’t thorny flowers—yet as blood stained my hands and pain settled in the back of my throat, I knew this wasn’t some uncanny spring fever I could just brush off.

I couldn’t keep living like this—pretending that nothing had changed. I couldn’t keep going out with everyone after work and seeing both of them laugh at an inside joke they shared with each other, knowing that I wasn’t the one he looked at with such loving eyes.

The rain had poured relentlessly all day, a dull gray sky stretching endlessly above. That evening, Jeonghan invited me out for some drinks, just like old times, insisting I had been too distant lately. I only hoped the dim bar lights would be enough to hide the exhaustion in my eyes and the bruises in my lips.

“It’s been so long since we’ve gone out together. Feels like we’re not even friends anymore,” he said, nudging me playfully. I forced out a tired laugh, but it faded almost as soon as it escaped my lips.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Han.” My voice wavered as I met his gaze.

He frowned slightly. “That sounds serious—are you okay? You don’t look like yourself these past few weeks.”

A deep sigh left me as I looked away, the weight of everything I had been carrying pressing down on me. “I’m leaving the company. I found… something better. The people are nice, and the pay is good too.”

His face froze. He blinked once—twice—before finally speaking. “Oh…well…why are you saying it as if it’s something bad? You should be happy about it, right? Let's drink up to that.” We clinked our glasses while his gaze still lingered on me, a fading laughter from a night far away still echoed in the night.

As we got out of the bar the rain hadn't stopped and a sudden wave of longing rushed right through me. “There's…something else I wanted to say to you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. But I couldn’t speak. The words were caught in my throat, tangled in the thorns tightening around it, suffocating any attempt to express what I truly felt.

“Actually, never mind. It wasn’t that important.” He chuckled softly, the sound light and effortless, and we continued walking along the pink-strewn path of fallen cherry blossoms.

The next few days passed in a blur, an empty void where time moved, but I remained still. I saw them together at the office—smiling, happy—and let all my unsaid words spill out only when I was alone at home. As my last days at work dwindled, I barely managed to say proper goodbyes to my colleagues, promising to keep in touch with everyone, even Jeonghan—but deep down, I knew that was a lie I couldn’t keep telling myself.

The moment my final paycheck hit my account, I made the call. A hospital I found online—one that specialized in Hanahaki disease. They told me the procedure to remove the flowers from my lungs was costly and could have irreversible effects on my mind. But after everything that I went through, it didn’t feel like the worst idea.

As a single tear traced down my cheek while I entered the surgery room, the doctor assured me it was a simple procedure. That when I woke up the next morning, everything would feel just the same. Everything—except for one thing. He would be gone. Every memory, every moment we had shared—erased as if they had never existed at all, like a forgotten dream.

As the voices in the room faded into the background and the bright lights dissolved into darkness, the last thing I heard was Jeonghan’s laughter—followed by a sharp, piercing white noise.

When I opened my eyes, sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. I took a deep breath, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on my chest was gone. My lungs, once suffocated, now welcomed the air freely—light, empty, and unburdened.

Slightly sore from the surgery, I listened to the soft sounds coming through the window. Outside, summer was in its final stretch, clinging to its last few scorching days before making way for autumn. The pink trees swayed gently in the warm breeze, like a distant, faded memory fluttering somewhere in the depths of my heart.

As I looked to the side, something caught my eye—a vase of white daisies. A small note from the doctor rested beside it: “As much as it might hurt to see them, these were too beautiful to throw away.”

Something deep inside me stirred. I knew what he meant by it. And yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t quite grasp who I was trying to remember. Only the distant echo of a familiar voice lingered—faint, unreachable, already slipping away.

Summer’s final days passed in a golden haze as I settled into my new job, adjusting to the unfamiliar faces and surroundings. This weekend, I had plans to meet up with Yena, just a casual get-together, a chance to catch up on all the latest gossip.

I stepped out of the chocolate shop, a small bag of gifts in hand, when I accidentally bumped into a young man. He took a long look at me before his face lit up with a bright smile. “Oh my god, how long has it been? It feels like ages! How have you been?”

For a brief moment, I furrowed my brows in confusion. “I’m sorry, sir, but I think you have the wrong person.”

He chuckled at my puzzled expression, reaching slightly for my hand, but I instinctively pulled away. “What are you talking about? It hasn’t even been that long... It’s me, Jeonghan.” His once cheerful expression wavered, slowly shifting into something more uncertain, almost desperate.

There was something in his eyes, something pleading, as if silently begging me to remember. But I had nothing else to say to him.

“Sorry, I really don’t think I’m who you’re looking for,” I said, my voice polite but distant. “I should get going. I hope you find them again. Have a great day.” With a quick bow, I muttered another apology and walked away, leaving the stranger standing there.

Jeonghan remained frozen in place, his breath hitching as he watched me disappear down the tree-lined path. His vision blurred, the world around him smearing into shades of green and pink as tears welled in his eyes. A tightness coiled around his throat, sharp and suffocating. And then, finally, he felt it—a strange itch clawing its way up from deep inside him. Coughing lightly, he reached up, and from his lips, he pulled a single delicate petal.

A sakura blossom. Resting on his trembling palm.

the images aren't mine! all rights reserved to © bianotbia 2025. please do not claim, translate, copy or modify any of my works as your own. reblogs are appreciated! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[aventurineswife]

hi! if you still write for obey me i'd like to make a request (if not then uhm ignore this CAUSE THATS SO EMBARRASSING)

anyways.. i was wondering if you could do an mc who's like.. black pearl cookie (but obviously dont make the mc a cookie😭) it would be pretty cool cause in her story they were betrayed by a cookie pirate causing her to turn evil, and in this au the mc could have been betrayed a demon (for the funsies, yk)

then again its completely up to you about what you wish to write! these were just some cool ideas in my head because im getting a little too hyperfixated on black pearl cookie! thanks for looking at my idea!

The Monster Beneath the Waves

Tags: Lucifer x Reader, Mammon x Reader, Barbatos x Reader, Angst, Betrayal, Emotional Struggles, Dark Themes, Hurt/Comfort, Vulnerability, Regret, Complex Relationships, Redemption Arc.

Warnings: Mild language, Emotional manipulation, Betrayal, Self-isolation, Dark emotional themes, Strained relationships, Potential triggering content around trust issues and past trauma.

You stand at the edge of the Devildom’s cliffs, your eyes fixed on the horizon, the sea of chaos stretching out before you. Your once gentle heart now only knows the bitterness of betrayal, and the vast ocean seems like the only place where you could drown out the memories of a love lost, a trust broken.

Lucifer steps behind you, his footsteps silent, but you can feel his presence like a weight settling next to you. His overcoat billows in the wind, his eyes narrowing at you, studying you like an intricate puzzle. He knows you’ve changed. He saw it when the once-soft light in your eyes turned cold. The day you were betrayed, he had warned you, but you never listened.

"Do you think," Lucifer’s voice breaks the silence, his tone low and calculating, "that running away will truly erase it?"

You turn to him, your emotions carefully masked beneath the steely surface. "I don’t need anyone anymore, Lucifer. The ocean will be my sanctuary, away from all this chaos you call family. Away from him. Away from everything."

Lucifer watches you carefully, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than usual. "You speak of peace, but what you truly seek is revenge, isn't it?" He steps closer, his voice taking on an edge you can’t ignore. "I can help you, if that’s truly what you want. But know this—once you follow this path, there is no turning back."

You swallow hard, your eyes welling with the bitter memories of the demon who shattered your trust. "I have nothing left to lose."

Lucifer smirks, as if he’s seen this before. His fingers brush the top of your hand, cold yet deliberate, almost as if to claim you. "Then you shall have everything you desire, for I, too, know the weight of betrayal."

Mammon leans against the wall, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous shine, but beneath the surface, he senses something different about you. Since that day—the day he betrayed you, everything changed.

"Ya know," Mammon says with his usual cocky grin, "if yer looking for something to do, The Great Mammon is always up for a little treasure hunt. Could be a way to fill that… void ya got, ya know?"

You glance at him, your expression blank. Mammon notices that familiar spark of warmth in your eyes that used to be there, but now it’s only a reflection of the icy seas you once called home.

"Don’t," you snap, voice cracking for a moment before you regain control. "Don’t pretend like I’m the same. You weren’t there. You didn’t see him sell the last thing I trusted. You didn’t feel what it was like to be used."

Mammon's smirk falters, and his eyes soften. He pushes himself off the wall, moving closer, trying to bridge the gap between the two of you.

"Ya think I don’t regret it? That I don’t know I messed up?" Mammon’s voice becomes quieter, and for once, the usual bravado fades away. "I didn’t mean to hurt ya… I didn't… I just—"

"Don’t," you cut him off again, shaking your head. "It’s too late for apologies, Mammon. I’m done with the likes of you."

Mammon’s shoulders slump as if the weight of your words crushes him. "If ya really think ya can find peace out there, in that cold sea, then fine. But don’t forget, I was the one who tried to keep ya from sinking."

Barbatos’s soft footsteps echo down the marble halls of the Demon Lord’s Castle. He had always been the picture of calm, but lately, there’s a quiet anxiety in his movements whenever he sees you. The sharp edge to your demeanor, the coldness you now wear like a shield, hasn’t escaped his notice.

He stands by your side, watching as you stare at the grand clock, its ticking only serving to remind you of the seconds slipping away. There’s a tension between you two, a distance that wasn’t there before. Your heart had once been pure, unbroken, but now… now it’s filled with something darker.

"Perhaps," Barbatos begins softly, his gaze never leaving your face, "you’ve forgotten the path you once walked. But I haven't. I remember the kindness you used to show, the trust you had, and I can't help but mourn its loss."

You turn your eyes to him, and Barbatos’s breath hitches as he sees the pain in your gaze, mingled with the twisted resolve that’s taken root.

"Don’t pity me," you whisper, your voice laced with a venom that sends a chill down his spine. "You don’t understand. He betrayed me. A demon I once trusted. He took something I gave in good faith, and I’ll never forgive him for that. Never."

Barbatos’s expression softens, but there’s no pity in his eyes—only an understanding, a subtle sadness. "I cannot undo what has been done," he says quietly, stepping closer. "But I do know that turning your back on everything you once believed in will only lead you down a darker path."

"I’ve already walked that path," you reply, your eyes flashing with a dangerous glint. "And I’ll make sure no one will ever hurt me again. Not even you."

Barbatos’s hand reaches out, almost imperceptibly, as if he hopes to touch the remnants of the person you once were. "I would never hurt you," he says, his voice a soft plea. "But if you insist on walking this path of vengeance, know that I will stand by you, even if I have to face the consequences."

You meet his gaze, and for a moment, you see the flicker of something—something that could have been love, if only things had turned out differently.

[uyuartik]

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader)

tags: slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT, mentions of oral sex (fem and male receiving), mentions of fingering, piv sex, dom!obi?, i really don't know what to write here it is just filth and it is gonna get filthier

a/n: HII! so i became haunted by historical!obi au's and spent six months writing a short series... this is the first chapter out of three, so i hope you stay tuned for the upcoming one (it is FILTHIER than this and about 19k words)

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

enjoy!!!

part one | part two | part three | ao3

word count: 5.4K

chapter one: see you tonight?

“…Fuck, just like that-“

That voice. Yes, that’s how you ended up here, you think, as you roll your hips, feeling the exquisite contours of Obi Wan’s cock stretching your walls and pulling pleasure out of every cell in your body, and possibly from your soul too.

Ehem. Lord Kenobi.

And truth be told, that’s not exactly how things led here. Of course, his rich voice and the manner in which he used it were notable factors. The way he camouflaged his remarks under sweet quips never failed to make you giggle into the next day, and regardless of the topic (ashamedly, it was mostly about the other people in the room, and their rather obscene behaviors), the comments he made always reflected the intelligence behind it. He played the serious bit perfectly too, even though his reverent sentences carried some poetry, never pompous, yet deep enough to convey its origin and the realness of his sincerity… That’s why you started spending hours with him at balls in the first place. Ten minutes alone with him, undoing all the prejudice you had against the man. All the rumors about him were proven wrong, or at least, half true. And you liked that remaining part of the truth.

Only after that, came the subject of his charms. Not quite surprising, considering that there was no lack of handsome faces around, but a lack of brains in them. Or a true heart. You hated the hypocrisy of it all, and it was a blessing to find someone who shared that sentiment. Not to mention the benefit of him deflecting any unwanted company.

Likewise, he must've thought the same about you, thus your current position. It was obvious that both of you two had similar standards, even in these lewd matters. People didn’t call him a heartbreaker because he pursued a lot of women, but when he did and it came to an inevitable end, they were the shell of whom they used to be, like a person could be mummified by the absence of the joy he charmed people with it. And you, you weren’t the type to have somebody just because you could. No, you looked for a special connection, a click, and when you got lucky and found one among the countless candidates, you treasured it. Now, even the word click sounded wanting, there were sparks present between the two of you, a considerable, good dynamic you two had built, and that made everything just better.

You were almost sad thinking this was a one-time event, already knowing this is a moment you'll remember your entire life. (You weren't gonna push your luck on getting caught.) If there were such deals, two of you keeping it to each other forever in this aspect of life, you’d have signed that contract in a blink.

“Thought you said you were tired.” He breathes out, clearly an effort, yet the smug grin on his face leaves no room for doubt or pity.

“I’ve been sitting all day.” That’s how travel works in carriages, after all. “I think stretching my legs, is what I need.” You emphasize by raising yourself higher and slowly sink back down a few times, a motion that pulls moans from both of your mouths.

Travel. It took you half a day to reach your aunt’s estate, and you were fairly certain you wouldn’t attend the ball that is currently taking place. Then, you realized there was no way your gracious hostesses would see you tonight, you were forced to enter the saloon. It would be a quick in and out, maybe greeting a few more people, no dance, with the very valid excuse of I’ve been on the road all day and I am quite exhausted ready on your lips at any interaction. This was why you didn’t even bother to put much effort into your looks, opting for a change of dress, and nothing more. No jewelry, no retouches to your hair. After all, it would just add to your part if you seemed slightly off.

Somehow, it turned out to be a regrettable decision, when numerous eyes turned to you as you took a step into the room, and even longer after that. Maybe not every head turned or the music came to an abrupt stop, the sprouting silence broken by collective whispers, but it happened, subtle yet enough to make itself known. You were given the same treatment for years at this point, but there was no getting used to it. Color that had been settling in your cheeks seemed to be permanent, at least for the night, not leaving your side as you took your place among your relatives. The expensive fan you were gifted by- God knows who, you were in no mood to remember it now, did nothing to relieve your suffering. 

And, countless other greetings don't help either. You fastened the movement of your hand, curling your lips into a forced smile. You could truly get tired from all these repeated words and gestures.

"I'm afraid I forgot to bring my dance card." You said again, to the third man who came with the same offer, Duke Caldo, all true except the part "forgot". You left it, willingly, just in front of your vanity mirror. The mirror which you desperately wanted to see yourself in right now, away from the ball. 

"A great pity." The exclamation didn't come from him, though. 

Your fan dropped from your hand and closed itself when it hit your wrist, dangling from the loop around your forearm as you heard that voice, no introduction ever needed. Perhaps, not even his voice was required, for there was always that unexplainable change in the quality of air in the rooms he occupied, like he was casting a spell on those around him, trickling magic dust with every step, a rare perfume. You wouldn’t use such metaphors if it wasn’t for the simple fact that your body always figured out his presence before your mind, catching a sense of that hypnotic essence. You often realized all the hairs on your arm standing up, or a tingling sensation in the back of your neck, breathing getting a bit harder, only to quickly locate him in your eyesight. 

"Lord Kenobi." It is said in a contemptful respect, a greeting and a goodbye. “Goodnight, my Lady.”

You didn’t even bother to mutter a proper response, and frankly, the Duke didn’t wait for one either. So, all your focus can be reserved on the man in front of you. 

You raised your arm as if intending to extend it so he could complete his small tradition of placing a kiss on the back of your hand, like he has done every time your paths crossed, even multiple times a day (that’s exactly how you noticed it was more than a simple salutation), (honestly, you liked it, his daring movement revealing a lot about his nature), only to flick it to reopen your fan. The gentlest gust of it licking your skin was more than enough now, making it all too pleasing to watch him save himself with a deep bow of his head, the annoyance quickly turning into a satisfied grin, like he didn’t expect anything less from you. 

“That looks even more beautiful in your hand.” He pointed at it, but his eyes wandered all over your body. You did the same, though there was little notice, his usual beige suit far too familiar. Your focus was always on the fact that he looked so good in it, taking in the broadness of his shoulders, or his defined arms exquisitely pronounced over the fabric.

Right. So it was his gift. Why did you ever entertain other possibilities?

You weren’t going to disappoint him by mentioning it is only here because your panicked maid accidentally packed the first item she saw, for you never took anonymous gifts. You didn’t need the attention they brought.

"And I couldn't thank you enough for it. I can practically name it my savior tonight." You answered, making a show of lavishing yourself in the stream it creates.

"My only source of pride is the fact that it perfectly blends with the rest of your attire. Now, I can proudly say I know your taste."

Classic Obi Wan. Even his compliments, far from usual, borderline scandalous. He's been peppering you with them ever since the start of your friendship and you were never immune to them. You outright enjoyed them. Especially now, they didn’t help the simmering tingles forming at the depths of your belly, amplified by weeks of solitude. “Only a part of it I’m afraid, but you’ll learn the rest in no time, don’t worry.”

“Can’t wait.” He grinned and scanned the room for prying eyes. Finding none, he made himself more comfortable by your side, hoping to spend the rest of his night with you. 

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” You admitted, somehow managing not to sound like you’re overly joyous of that not happening.

“I could say the same about you.” Was that excitement, or disappointment in his voice? Was he planning of politely ravishing other women, when you were not present to entertain him? Something told you those were not among his intentions, the smile on his face too honest, his twinkling gaze focused solely on you. 

You tilted your head and curled your lips. Touché. “It is nice to attend the ball your acquaintances are throwing, even if you arrive late. But for you, sir, I'm afraid people will actually think you're looking for a wife."

He rolled his eyes. There was a hint of offense in them just at the mentioning of the subject, but the playful type, not the exasperated type he uses for others. 

"Curious. The diamond of the season is also here. Isn't it strange that she still hasn't found someone, it's nearly the end of the season?" You inhaled sharply, dramatizing further. "Do you have something to do with it, Lord Kenobi?"

He scoffed, the impossibility of it reflected in his voice. "The diamond of the season?-"

"I thought you deserve nothing less." You explained, but he interjected.

"I'm only interested in one diamond." He said, initiating intense eye contact.

It was your turn to scoff, and run away from his gaze. "I was never the diamond."

"Only because you saw how better you were than the rest, and fled just before the start of the season." His eyebrows were raised, begging for a denial.

"I had planned that trip months ago." You simply stated. "And I came back halfway through summer, didn't I?"

"Just like now."

"Do I need to remind you who you have been spending time with since June?" 

"And where were you coming from tonight, ending your visit of- how long was it?"

"I am fond of traveling. Balls and banquets can entertain someone so far. " You shrugged, "Lord Kenobi, are you trying to say that you missed me?" 

"I could never claim otherwise." 

That was true from your perspective as well. All these years of constant traveling, and this year was the first time you missed what you left behind at home, even during the buzzing, pretense-filled months. None of it seemed that intolerable, and somewhat fun, if you dare to admit. You knew this impression was his doing, and now after your while spent apart, the feeling came back tenfold, almost making you squirm over such loose confessions.

That was it. That was the turning point of the night.

“Truth be told, the night is going much better than I dreamed of, and I almost regret forgetting my dance card.” You raised your chin, and sent him a look. “Would you be so kind to help me find it?” 

You could basically see the gears turning, a fire behind his eyes, fueling the desire growing in the depths of your belly. His gaze was piercing, even after he’d long decided, the truth known to both of you. Your heartbeats must’ve been visible, you imagined, and felt it skip a beat as he licked his lip. “Lead the way.”

Now that’s, how you ended up here.

However, as you look down at his face, the story gets blurry, perhaps outright loses its importance, abandoning your mind. His hair is tousled, a rebel strand in front of his eyes, and moves with every bounce. Your hands are too busy to hold onto his sweaty chest, slightly tugging on the auburn fuzz. You wanted to do that ever since he took his shirt off.

(Then again, you’re not sorry for the amount of time you couldn’t, drowning in him. The moment you felt his expert lips on yours, all your will to protest anything had died. Later, as his fingers joined the show, you quickly realized you were fine with what he gave, but he, ever the gentleman, let you prevail.)

It is a sight. And the moans that fall from his lips surpass the delicate melody the musicians are playing downstairs in every way, which can still faintly be heard. (You never thought an orchestra would accompany you during this, but here you were. It is a detail you’ll remember with a smile while looking back at it, but now, you couldn’t care any less.)

“You’re taking me so well.”  He starts to thrust his hips up slightly, meeting your rhythm, but never overtaking it.

“I know.” You giggle, but the reaction he’s taken notice of is your fingertips digging in further, and your walls fluttering around his cock.

When you start to falter a bit, perhaps due to the fatigue settling on your muscles embarrassingly not long after his words, or his mere presence clouding your brain, his fingers that have been resting on your thighs slowly ascend to your hips. The fingers drenched in your juices, another element that has the coil in your belly tighter. The next few strokes, with his guiding hand, touch something deep inside you, and your jaw hangs open.

“Fuck…” is the only word you can mutter, and he chuckles at it.

“Is that so?” He mocks, but brushes your loose ringlets with a single hand, and caresses your nipple on its way down. The latter shows his true disposition, and that drives you to be more vocal, if you weren’t already.

“You feel… so… good.” You can hardly say, as your puffy clit drag against his skin all so deliciously like this.

He twitches inside you at the compliment, and you throw your head back with a whine. Despite the fact that he would kill to see your face, he doesn’t push, enjoying the state he’s putting you in with his voice. Every praise that falls from his lips earns him a melodic moan, along with the feeling of you tensing and relaxing, always responding to his call in one way or another.

You’re one step away from being a doll at his bend, though you couldn’t care any less, not when you are this close.

He likes it, very very much. Yet, not enough to silence his wishes of how to ruin you, in the best way.

In a blink, you find yourself on your back, and him on top of you. That’s not the first thing you see, though. It is his hand, lifted from wherever it fell, catching your chin to turn your head to him. Sounds of panting are all there is, no movement, no words, not even your rapid heartbeats drumming in your ears seconds ago as if the world stopped for a second.  

His thumb caresses your lower lip, and you let it slip in. God, you can still taste yourself. The revelation has your objections at the change dead, your face twisting, yet he tsks thrice, capturing your attention.

“Let me see those eyes.” Obi Wan commands, and you have no choice but to oblige. “You look so good beneath me.” 

Somehow, his words have you flushing and squirming as if that was the most inappropriate thing happening in this room. Funny, how he breaks your will, and you let it. Against all the talk of your friendship, until an hour ago, you’d have lashed out at an equivalent demeanor, even said in affectionate terms. (Any other way is simply impossible, anyway.)  But, that hour proved itself to be much precious, and now with that glossy gaze, snatched right from the brink of climax, you focus on the doting aspect, how he cannot get enough of the image of you.

You start to writhe, the new emptiness inside you unbearable. “Touch me, Obi Wan…”

He's not proud of the way your begging has his cock leaking, though that hardly stops him. He lives for mutual pleasure, even just yours at the moment, yet you look so pretty like this, grasping the sheets. 

"Like this?" He slides his thumb further into your mouth, relishing the feeling of your tongue swirling around it immediately. Or course he wasn't expecting you to suck him off if you didn't want to, nor would he ever ask for it, he can't help but imagine the feeling, his hips rolling in seek of stimulation.

You shake your head, and his finger is freed with a pop. You frown as the sole contact you have with him is lost. It is a warning sign for him, the fragility of your dream-like state, a reminder of how he has to do better, if he wants to take control. As a gentleman, he wanted to give you everything you desired, but since it was your first time together, a terra incognita, he had to be sure of your limits, so he followed your wishes gladly. The wishes which were masterfully balanced versions of both of your needs. The same problem troubled you too of course, but you were a quick learner, a connoisseur of his taste in no time. The fact that it was very similar to yours was an exciting discovery, certainly a pleasant one, and was a great help, so great that it almost felt like cheating. While he took no issue with your tricks; the urge to take you on his terms, the compulsion to show you how he wants to cherish you couldn’t be suppressed any longer. He had to let you know.

He leans in closer, his arms bend as yours find his shoulders like a habit, “Like this?” He murmurs, right before brushing his lips against yours, effectively swallowing your whine. Though it was a sound of protest, all complementary sentiments die when he nips at your lower lip, and you open your mouth, lost in the sensation of his tongue licking yours, and his sweet essence. In contrast to his other needs taken good care of, he hadn’t taken enough of the feeling of our mouths joining. God, he spent hours imagining your mouth, curling into every shape as smart words spilled from it, enhancing his fascination with you. It fires the flames of haze further, even if he’s not actually properly touching you. Your hand roams his neck, then etches itself into his silky hair. You’ve done that a few times now (and found his response most addicting), but it is hardly satisfactory compared to the amounts you dreamed of doing during these last couple of months. You saw him prim and proper mostly, not a strand out of place, making you marvel at its excellence, and the itch to mess it up growing stronger each instance, a stark contrast to your surroundings. Also, there were times the infamous piece fell in front of his eyes, and sometimes even more disheveled than that, riding a horse, enjoying sports with his friends, and once after a bath, when your family visit started a little earlier than planned. You were always admiring the way it reflected light, creating almost a halo around his head, especially in sunlight. It is the first thing your eye is drawn to whenever you’re in the same place, a beacon of sorts. You never thought you’d be this amazed by hair, yet the moans he produces when you tug on it, add to your astonishment, and you’re not sure if you can look at it again, without being reminded of this moment.

He breaks the kiss as for you to catch your breath, for he has long kept you away from it. Still, he continues to pepper you with tons of them, scattered all across your jaw and neck, in search of that sweet spot that has you cursing. It is not a serious journey, in fact, he does more than press his lips against your skin properly, tease you with his open mouth, drag his tongue along the taut muscle, nip and outright bite, once.

“No marks-“ You protest. Futile. You should’ve warned before he started to nibble, way before he sank his teeth, but it has happened after all, and you can already feel blood settling on the sites of his attack. “What I am going to tell my maid now?”

“The truth.” He retorts. “Of how you led Lord Kenobi into our bed, and did dirty, unspeakable things with him.”

That earns him a harsh pull at his scalp, and a pat on his shoulder. He meets with your glaring gaze, and cheeks redder than a minute ago. So, he’s still on your good side. Barely.

“Apologies, my dear.” He takes the hand that smacked him, and places a peck onto your palm before placing it back. You can’t break the eye contact as he does so, something about his appearance, perhaps his position, or the charming contours of his face, or the way he deals with your anger keeps you from kicking him out. Caressing your open legs, he massages them ‘til they relax afresh, squeezing at the soft flesh. You hiss when his movement nears your inner thighs, thanks to his beard, and the climax it brought you. The gesture hints, still, there’s the matter of fire burning in your belly. “Couldn’t resist, you know me. Let me make it up to you.”

He wastes one more second to carve this image inside his head, then fulfills his promise. He likes the way you tremble while you wait, a whimper leaving your mouth at him taking his cock into his hand and stroking it a few times. God, how you wish that was your hand. Damn your stubbornness, and demand for compensation. You put extreme effort into staying still, releasing a shaky breath when he places the tip at your entrance.

Remember when he said “ruin”?

He doesn’t push it in, instead letting it slide up your slick folds, and tap against your clit. You nearly jolt at the touch, yet again tasting bliss, even if it is in mere drops. He repeats the action, and you sob, digging your nails into his shoulders. Maybe you’re the one leaving marks now, but you don’t care. Eye for an eye you can say, in retrospect.

“You’re so wet.” He can’t stop looking into your glistening core. He also can hear it, the squelching sounds echoing at his every movement. He knows you can too, that it calms your nerves, though they act up for different reasons. “All this for me?”

Unfortunately, you are late to realize he doesn’t take your moans for an answer. You can’t help it, you are unable to form words. Even if you gather the strength, they die out at your throat, especially under his piercing look. Fuck, he loves how cockdumb you’ve become for him.

He takes pity on you then, dropping his cock to briefly rest on your opening, and forces his fat tip in.

Your back arches, a throaty sound filling the room. He shushes right next to your ear, in an effort to calm you down as he slips the rest in. It is as if you’re taking him the first time, like you weren’t riding him moments ago.

“Fuck-“ That’s the only reaction, the only answer he needs. You fall back into the sheets, the first time he rolls his hips, and sets a new rhythm, a slow one to kindle the flame once more. Your hair probably getting tangled from the way it’s rubbing against the sheets, and your legs are split wide open. You feel every vein and ridge moving against your walls, the slight resistance disappearing in no time. His chest brushes against yours, and combined with the warmth of his breath, so close to yours, it’s easy to let go of your worries.

This is why you ended up here.

“Faster!” While he already feels great, it’s not the exact pattern to provide that sweet release, not in the timeframe you hoped.

“I want this to last, dear.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. A part of it due to irritation. Being subjected to that response before, he snickers to see you’re still you, even when you’re literally fucked out of your mind. As he does so, his lips skim yours. You take it, greedily, one hand first on his neck to ensure he stays, then to his unruly tress, aspiring to compel him into the middle ground. That earns you a few groans, yes, but his will doesn’t seem to falter even a little bit.

Perseverance, is a mutual quality, as you already know.

You slowly release the grip you have on his head, emphasis on slowly. It goes unnoticed, thanks to your timely bite, the same assault he once carried out. You don’t waste the access to his tongue, sucking on it. You’re not sure if his moans are increased in number, or if it feels more because you swallow every single one of them, but the fact that his beard starts to prick your cheeks harder gives you an idea.

Your free hand falls into sheets and slithers across the length of your body. Just a little more- you’re almost about to touch your –

His fingers wrap around your wrist instantly, dragging it up, a little further away from your face. You twist your neck, a wail coming out as you reject his kiss.

Only to be met by the sight of that said fingers running up your palm, and interlock themselves among yours.

Your breath hitches, for reasons unknown to you.

“Ah- ah -ah.” He tuts, though there’s not a hint of disappointment in his voice. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I let you do all the work?”

You can’t believe one physical contact, and his words, are enough to carry you to that previous peak. Your pussy contracts around him, beyond your control, an indication of your closeness, nothing compared to before.

“Ngh- that’s it.” He encourages, “Just relax and take it.” That’s more sincerity than you’ve ever heard from him.

It goes on and on for a while, him doing exactly what he promised to do, and fulfilling his wishes in the process. He already knows this could go on ‘til morning, and he still wouldn’t be completely satisfied, longing for your presence the second he leaves the bed. Still, he continues, pushing himself to his limit, and that’s getting quite harder when you clamp on him that hard. He feels his cock leaking, begging for that sweet end.

When his arm that’s not supporting his weight travels down, caressing your hip before pressing his thumb to your clit, finally, you reward it with a whisper of his name, a sound he won’t dare to forget. Your back arches impossibly higher, and he has to lean back, abandoning his other hold.

Your limb stays in the spot he left it.

He curses at the realization, perhaps its effect mirroring yours when he first initiated the contact. Fuck, how are you so perfect? He snaps his hips harder, and circles his thumb, feeling it throb.

“Obi Wan-I’m c-“

He loves how your words are cut with the need to scream that you gulp down, only resigned to breathing as your face contorts with pleasure. “Cum for me, love.”

Your moans blend into each other, as he cannot stay still at the feeling of your walls squeezing him so tight. He holds your trembling thigh, fondling the soft flesh, adoring the way it spills from his grip. He doesn’t stop ‘til they settle again once more, and even a little longer than that, pulling out in the last minute to cover your belly with his spend. 

That act keeps you from turning to your side, and feeds the desire to hug the sheets, a soft but firm ground for your senses to return. You're not complainant of it anyways, you have a far better view in front of you, defined muscles undulating with each heavy breath, glistening due to the light coat of sweat covering them, lips puffy and slightly flushed with blood, as well as his cheeks. You always thought he was devilishly handsome, but this, this is something else. The world should consider itself lucky, or it would bend to his will just from his looks. Or unlucky, for the honor is bestowed upon a handful of people. 

He believes he's blessed with the sight upon him, too. Still holding onto your thigh, he delights in spontaneous tremors that possess it. If he looks closely, he's sure he can see the faint mark he left. Your hair is sprawled around, much in contrast to the delicate up-dos you and every noblewoman fashioned, its most natural form, and the intimacy of it definitely causes a small breakdown. You belong in a painting, depicting goddesses and nymphs, a grace outside the limits of time and culture. Your droopy lids and tired pull at the corners of your mouth fill his chest with pride and more adoration, like after his every successful attempt to elicit a reaction from you. It happens often, thanks to the understanding that grows between the two of you, but every example is still treasured in in his mind.

“Well, I don’t know any better way to spend the night.”

You giggle. “I agree.”

“We should’ve done this before.”

Your lifted brows are the perfect answer. Like it’s that easy.

But he has a point, too.

In the comfortable silence, he gets up from bed, a sigh at the roar coming from downstairs, drowning the music. That’s still going, huh? You watch as he wets the nearest towel, and returns, cleaning the mess with unexpected gentleness that it almost tickles. There’s no aim to steal one more touch at his movements, no personal gain except an easy conscience, and even that is a stretch because it’s most natural to him, his understanding of tenderness.

“Well, thank you, sir.” You sit up, with a yawn, and scooch backward to your pillows as he retreats to give himself the same treatment. “And my nightgown, please.” You point to it, and amusingly follow his subtle headshake, and efforts to hand it over. He hesitates for a second at the last minute, considering rebellion, a last joke. You see it, and snatch the fabric from his grip before he can tighten it. He can feel it sliding over his skin, the light material flying. You slip it on, aware of his voyeur. with a victorious smile cut too short as exhaustion creeps into your bones. You’re no different, in any case, settling into the fluffy pillows, curiously examining each piece of clothing he puts on from afar, the unwritten rule of his habits, his hidden glances at your mirror in a feeble pursuit to tame his messy hair. You’re willing to be charged guilty for that.

He stalls, though, you can feel it after a while, around the time sleep clouds your vision. How could anyone blame him for not wanting to leave, carve your picture to his mind, and calm his yet again straining cock at it?

“You should be going. Servants are going to be wandering these corridors for orders, soon.” Your heart winces at the warning, because he's not the type to need it, or disregard you to put you at any risk. But your cognation runs thin, and he needs to know the dangers he might face. 

"True. Right. You're correct." Is that a stutter? "Good night, my lady."

"Good night, Lord Kenobi.

"Glad to be of help in stretching your legs." 

The cushion falls short to exactly hit him, but the sentiment is clear. 

In the morning, you uncover the reasons behind his diversion. 

Bastard signed every slot in your dance card.

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | July 1st-14th 2024

Work has been kicking my ass. Can't wait for my vacation! Hope you're all doing well!!

Complete

what if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh? by heartbeatdiaz/ @loserdiaz (Fanart, PWP | <1K | Explicit): “I'm gonna ride you,” Eddie says, flicking his wrist. “Okay, baby?” When Eddie straddles Buck's lap and sinks down, his eyes closed, he doesn’t fuck himself down onto Buck like he normally would— he wants to drag it out, tease his boyfriend untill he's a whimpering mess underneath him.

Sparks Fly by Inell/ @inell (Reporter Buck AU | <1K | Teen): Eddie meets his match when reporter Buck shadows the 118

Seeing Stars by Inell (Astronauts AU | <1K | Teen): Buck and Eddie are best friends who have been pining for a while when Buck finally makes a move.

when it all melts down by bucksclipboard/ @excuseme-greentea (Post-S7, Getting Together | 2K | Teen): Buck thinks a beach day is the perfect distraction from an empty house and a lack of summer plans. Eddie thinks if Buck walks out of the ocean like a Greek god one more time, he might just lose his mind. or: there’s only one cure for a frozen tongue after too much ice cream

The Moment is Here by Inell (Post-S7, Getting Together | 2K | Teen): Eddie has been in love with Buck for longer than he cares to remember but he’s been scared to jeopardize their friendship. Lucky for him, Buck is feeling brave this morning.

i'll never give you away ('cause i've already made that mistake) by Iover_of_mine (I_almost_do)/ @lover-of-mine (Post-S7, Love Confessions | 3K | General): Buck almost kissed Eddie at the bachelor party and forgot about it. Until he remembered.

this postcard tells you where we've been by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S7 | 3K | General): Eddie finds a collection of postcards Buck sent to Chris over his summer in El Paso.

pauses, then says you're my best friend (you knew what it was) by instantcaramel/ @buddiekinard (Social Media Fic, Post-S7 | 4K | General): buck drags eddie to a taylor swift concert. wackiness ensues.

Cursebreaker by Inell/ @inell (Post-S7, First Date | 4K | Teen): Buck is nervous about his apparent dating curse ruining his first date with Eddie. Lucky for him, Eddie doesn’t believe in curses.

A Love As True As Mine by Inell (Post-7x10: All Fall Down, Getting Together | 4K | Teen): After Buck gets injured during a call, he overcomes some personal issues and ideas of love with Eddie’s help.

One Look at You by Inell (Post-S7, Getting Together | 4K | Teen): Eddie and Buck are enjoying a night out when lines get blurred and feelings are finally admitted.

And There You Were by Inell (Post-S7, Getting Together, Fluff | 4K | Teen): After admitting their feelings for each other and spending the night together, Eddie wakes up to find Buck in the kitchen and decides to distract him. 

I Can See Clearly Now by Inell (Post-S7, Getting Together | 5K | Teen): During a simple call, Buck finds himself locked in a lab after a possible exposure with Eddie and the rest of his team on the other side of the glass doors.

Pumpkin by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Canon Divergent, Dad Buck | 5K | General): “You were just telling us about your dog, Pumpkin. Three years old. You’re taking her to the park this weekend?” And, oh. Buck wanted to laugh. Hen thought Pumpkin was a dog. He did laugh; loud and wheezing. “Right, you’re right. Pumpkin. How could I forget?” Buck wiped a tear from his eye. He didn’t know why it was so funny, maybe he had bumped his head a little, but for some reason, Hen mistaking his three-year-old daughter for a dog was just about the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

🔥 bark like you want it by colonoscopys/ @colonoscopys (Soulmates AU, Crack | 7K | General): The first time Eddie Diaz hears his soulmate’s voice, he hears him say Damn, that’s a nice ass.

🔥 the book of love by colonoscopys (Time Loop, Getting Together | 8K | General): It was a pretty regular day. He had an eight hour shift the day before, slept in a little bit, ate dry toast and drank a black coffee before dropping Chris off at physical therapy for an hour. If he had known he was gonna die, he would have sprung for the hashbrowns in the freezer.

🔥 trying hard not to act a fool by arcanaphora (Didn't Know They Were Dating, Post-S7 | 10K | Teen): Or: 5 times Eddie jokes to Buck about marrying him + 1 time where Buck doesn't think it's very funny anymore

The heat of the moment by JamesPearce911/ @diazsdimples (PWP | 10K | Explicit): Tired and frustrated after a long shift, Buck and Eddie take an impromptu trip to the sauna. Only problem is, it's a nude sauna, which Buck didn't notice when he booked them in. Thankfully the boys handle the slip up gracefully, and possible break a few public sex laws in the process.

What if this storm ends? by JJK / @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Post-6x12: Recovery, Getting Together | 11K | Teen): After the lightning strike, Buck grapples with the fact that he's still alive, that he's hopelessly in love with Eddie, and that more than anything he wishes Eddie and Christopher could be his family. Too bad Eddie doesn't feel the same way, right? But then Buck chaperones Christopher's school trip and an injury shakes things up.

🔥 if i said you could never touch me by marviless/ @marviless (Established Buddie | 15K | Mature): “Buck. What’s wrong?” Buck closes his eyes, then blinks them open. “Nothing,” he says, because he doesn’t know how to tell the truth. He doesn’t know what the truth even is. “Everything’s, uh—everything’s fine. I just—” he chews on his lip. “I was just thinking that, uh, maybe we shouldn’t go any further tonight? You know, not with Christopher in the house.”

What is Love For $2000? by fayevian/ @fayevian (Canon Divergent, Jeopardy Contestant!Buck | 17K | Mature): One night when Eddie can't sleep, he discovers the hottest Jeopardy contestant of all time (objectively). With the "help" of his team and his fairly good working knowledge of Twitter, they devise a plan to get Evan (from Jeopardy) to slide into Eddie's DMs. It works surprisingly well.

🔥 keeping score by arcanaphora (Post-S7, Fake Relationship | 23K | Mature): After getting dumped, Buck is left with two tickets to a weeklong cruise. Eddie steps in to support a friend in need, but complications arise when his friend becomes his fake husband. All's fair in love, war, and trivia.

🔥 Steal My Sunshine by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Altered Memories | 30K | Mature): Memories hazy and unreliable, Eddie Diaz wakes up every morning in a house at the end of a cul de sac, goes to his office job at a petroleum engineering company, and comes home to his wife and son. But something is missing, and the more Eddie begins to put the pieces together, the stranger the predicament he finds himself in. 

🔥Anywhere I Want, Just Not Home series by Daisies_and_Briars

Pennsylvania Under Me (Future Fic, Buckley Family | 22K | Teen): When unexpected circumstances require Buck to travel back to Hershey for the first time in over a decade, Eddie and Chris are right by his side. A Lot Like You (Future Fic, Buck&Bobby | 14K | General): The dynamics between everyone change when Buck and Eddie have another child and Bobby moves on from the 118. I Hold It Like a Grudge (Buck&Maddie, Future Fic | 11K | Teen): Buck and Maddie come into unexpected and unwanted conflict when their parents meet Buck's son for the first time, by surprise, when he is under Maddie's care.

WIP

The Smutty Ones by Tizniz/ @tizniz (PWP | 56/? | 23K | Explicit): A collection of smutty Buddie drabbles.

E & E: A Buddie Drabble Collection by Tizniz (Prompt fic | 105/? | 22K | General): A collection of drabbles for Buck and Eddie.

It's Me That He's Always Choosing by I_still_dont_understand_13/ @dangerpronebuddie (Prompt fic | 20/? | 8K | Explicit): A collection of smut prompts originally posted on tumblr.

🔥 boys, when my baby found me by nondz (pinkjook) (Post-S7, Presumed Dead Eddie | 2/3 | 17K | Explicit): “It just feels… I don’t know. I feel like I’m back to being an old version of me. Like I’m— fucking— Buck 2.0 again. I can’t be good to him if I’m Buck 2.0. I know that.” Eddie frowns. “I first met you when you were Buck 2.0. And you were good to me.” Or: three months later, things are mostly back to normal. And then there's an accident.

🔥 Held Up a Lightning Rod (Wonder Why I'm Struck) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Not A Firefighter Eddie, Sugar Baby Buck | 10/22 | 46K | Explicit): When Eddie Diaz stumbles his way into money, he finds himself one of the most eligible bachelors in Los Angeles - to his dismay. He needs a way to get people off his back without confessing his messy marital situation, and Shannon's still not answering his calls, so he caves to a friend's suggestion: hire someone to pretend to be his partner. Enter Evan "Buck" Buckley: sugar baby, fire fighter, and the man about to turn Eddie's world upside down.

🔥 If You Can Make the Music by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, | 3/5 | 7K | Mature): Spin-off Sequel to Evan Buckley & the Coma-Verse of Madness - Chapter 5 (Seaside): A year after a whirlwind two week love affair with bartender Buck in Galveston, Texas, Eddie Diaz finds himself coincidentally relocating to the area. But when he attempts to reconnect with Buck, he's in for an unfortunate surprise. (Part 3 of Coma-Verse)

🔥 you're almost home (i've been waiting for you to come in) by sibylsleaves/ @sibylsleaves (Post-S5, Canon Divergent - Roommates, Getting Together | 3/5 | 18K | Mature): Buck moves in. Eddie comes out. Things get a little messy.

🔥 Long Death by Daisies_and_Briars (Post-S7, Vampire AU | 5/10 | 17K | Explicit): In the summer of 2024, a never before seen form of vampirism breaks out in Los Angeles. Just as Eddie is about to get his son back. Six months later, Buck's life is permanently changed.

🔥 Any Other Way by Daisies_and_Briars (Canon Divergent, S2 | 14/19 | 71K | Mature): In a switcheroo alternate universe, Buck spends young adulthood in the military, while Eddie, who has no idea Christopher exists, spends his twenties messing around, finally enjoying freedom away from his family’s expectations. When they both end up in Los Angeles, at the 118, some things are different, and others will be the same in any universe.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briar (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 130/? | 408K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

[minisugakoobies]

It's You - Choi San | All Yours

Pairing: San x Reader Genre: smut, crack, fluff, angst, roommates to lovers, BFF’s Lil Bro!AU Series Rating: M (18+) Drabble Warnings: sneaking around continues, this is just a very soft little holiday gift from me to you, San remains the sweetest and OC remains fully whipped for him Word Count: about 900 words Disclaimers: SFW, obviously I don’t own ATZ - they just inspire me

Summary: He was only supposed to be a temporary roommate. Your best friend’s little brother, crashing on your couch for a few weeks. That’s it. How did this happen?

A/N: All San wants for Christmas is Noona 🥰 I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season if you celebrate and if you don't then I hope you have a lovely day ❄️

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment, or send me an ask to be added! You can also send me any ideas/thoughts you might have for a future scenario - who knows, it might end up in a drabble! 💕

It’s You Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ ATZ Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ Main Masterlist

It's late on Christmas Eve when the last of your family finally leaves, and you can excuse yourself from your parents and lock yourself in your bedroom. It's late, so late that you consider for a moment not calling, but you're pretty sure San's still up. He'd made you promise him several times that you would call him today. But you've been too busy dealing with nosy aunts and loud cousins at the family party to do it any earlier.

It's late, but it doesn't matter. He's as happy to see you as you are him, his dark eyes crinkling in delight, and then his smile turns shy, like he's embarrassed at how much just the sight of you lights him up inside.

There's no reason for him to be embarrassed. Your glow mirrors his.

You don't want to hang up long enough to wash your face, so he joins you at the sink. You glance at the screen while drying your face to see him delicately scrubbing his skin with sudsy fingertips, and he sees you and pulls a face, making you giggle. It almost feels like a normal night, hanging out together. Almost. You sigh.

"I miss you."

San surprises you by looking surprised at your admission.

"What? Is that news to you?" It shouldn't be. The two of you haven't stopped texting since you'd left the apartment three days ago to head home for Christmas. San and his sister had left as well to have a quiet holiday with their parents. Since then, you've had to invent a million excuses to slip away from your family and disappear into your phone. The device has barely left your hand, every alert making your heart jump, knowing San is thinking about you as much as you're thinking about him.

"No," San scoffs, face relaxing into a pleased expression, a soft half-smile that fully melts your heart. "Of course you miss me. I'm amazing."

"Nah, I changed my mind, I don't miss you," you say, pretending to frown, and San plays along, pouting dramatically, and you can't help but sigh again. "Okay, fine, I do."

"You always give in to me so easy, Noona," he informs you, that spark back in his eye, the one that makes your stomach flip. "I think I’m your weakness."

He's joking, except maybe he's not, and you both know it. You settle in your bed, burrowing under the layers of covers, shivering because your personal heater is several hundred miles away. San does the same, lying on his side as he gazes into the phone, humming lightly. If you close your eyes, it’s like he’s lying right beside you.

The two of you chat a little about your days. His was spent watching holiday movies with Hanuel while his parents prepared a big dinner together for the four of them. You talk a little about your extended family and the chaos they brought to your house today. 

This is the happiest you’ve felt all day. Even when having fun with your family earlier, you’d felt a little off, like something was missing. Making San laugh now, watching those delicate lines around his eyes crinkle with joy, fills you with such a strong contentment that you can’t stop smiling. 

San’s laughter turns to amused hums the longer you talk, and he nestles lower and lower into his pillow until his eyes are struggling to stay open. You don’t even bother to finish your story, too busy adoring the sight of him. 

"Go to sleep, San. Or Santa won't bring you what you wanted."

“Mmm,” he yawns, pressing one hand over his mouth, “but Noona, all I want is you.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” you roll your eyes, giggling.

“It’s true,” he protests, quickly growing serious, “it’s true, though. I wish you were here right now.” 

You sigh. “Stop making me miss you so much.”

Both of you fall silent, watching each other through the phone. There’s a tension now, and it makes you nervous for some reason, and there’s only one thing you can think to say to clear the air. You’re not sure if it’s the right thing to say, but it’s the truth and you really want to share it all of a sudden.

“You already have me, you know.” 

You’ve known for weeks now. Weeks full of longing glances, lingering touches, and hurried kisses -  and sometimes more, in the rare moments the two of you had the apartment to yourselves. It’s time to admit it.

San takes your confession with a long silence of his own. Just when you think you’re about to have a cardiac event waiting for his response, he speaks. “I do?”

You nod. “If you want me. I’m all yours.” Can he hear your heart pounding through the phone?

San exhales quickly. “Mine.”

It’s an agreement. A declaration. 

He traces his finger down his screen, pretending he’s stroking your cheek, and your skin buzzes from the mere suggestion. A warmth like you've never felt before spreads over you, soft and tender, so like the man gazing at you through the phone. 

Tiredness begins to tug at you. Only one more sleep ‘til Christmas, then one more ‘til you’re back home.

And back in San’s arms. 

"Merry Christmas, San," you whisper.

"Merry Christmas," he echoes softly. "Sweet dreams, Noona."

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

Taglist: @sweetnspicy-noona @krystal-a @jennylychee @hiefisch

© 2023-24 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[ln444]

spider-man!lando

cw: strangers to friends to lovers, uni au, idiots in love, fluff fluff fluff, slight angst; comfort/hurt (reader comforting lando), sad and tired lando:::(((((, mention of blood/wounds/bruises.

words: ~1,5k

notes: hii i'm finally back:D, i've been thinking about abt spiderman lando for weeks now omg!!! anyway it took me so long to write this pls don't hesitate to leave feedbacks😭 enjoy<3

playlist (to listen to for a better experience !!!): daylight by harry styles, yellow by coldplay, sparks by coldplay (my fav song in the whole world)

______________________________________________

lando norris. the adorable, clumsy guy you spot every day in class. he's always in his own world, snoozing on his desk and consistently late –somehow managing to still have good grades. you've been watching him for a few weeks now, totally fascinated by the curly boy. a goofy smile always creeps onto your face when he does something silly like accidentally bumping into people and mumbling apologies or drooling on his notes while falling asleep in class.

oh, you definitely have a small crush on lando norris — or maybe even a big one. your mind has been filled with all sorts of ideas on how to approach him –daydreaming about it during class or as you're trying to fall asleep at night, finding yourself staring at your ceiling with a stupid grin, lost in thoughts of that adorable guy you've been keeping an eye on.

today, you stayed a bit longer in class, diligently recopying your notes from the previous lecture. however, you weren't alone; a dozing lando occupied a nearby table, blissfully drooling on his notes. concentration became a struggle as you wrapped up quickly, sighing as you stole glances at the dreamy boy. rapidly packing your bag without a sound, you approach him, taking a moment to admire the sleepy boy, a smile instantly gracing your lips as your heart melts. inhaling deeply, you find the courage to gently tap his shoulder.

"hey," you softly whisper, lando whimpering and stirring slightly. patiently, you wait, hoping his eyes will finally open. when they don't, a suppressed giggle will finally open, and you tap his shoulder again, a bit more insistently this time.

"wake up!" you whisper-scream, a blush coloring your cheeks as a hint of regret surfaces –maybe it was too much, maybe you should have let him sleep, uncertain if he'd appreciate your wake-up call. his eyes eventually flutter open, struggling to grasp the situation. once he does, he clears his throat, quickly fixing his posture and adjusting his glasses. the sight makes your heart feel like it might burst out of your chest.

"class is over," you say sofly, standing in front of him, resisting the urge to run your hand through his messy hair.

"what?" he groans, still attempting to shake off his sleepy state. "already?" he glances around in confusion, seeing the empty room before turning to you, finally becoming aware of the one who put him out of his sleep and his cheeks slightly turns red.

"do you need notes?" you ask, eager to have a conversation with him. the pink on your cheeks persists since he opened his eyes, intensifying as he looks at you with big, confused and sleepy eyes. his gaze shifts down to his notes, damp with drool, and suddenly his cheeks burns. clearing his throat once more, he nervously scratches the back of his head.

"oh... right... uh," his eyes return to you, hesitantly meeting yours, and you stand there, fighting the smile on your face. "i guess i could use some of your notes," he chuckles nervously, "if that's okay for you, of course!" he quickly adds, causing your heart to race dangerously close to exploding because of how cute he is.

"of course, you can give it back to me tomorrow," you smile, your stomach tightening with the anticipation of talking to him again.

"thank you," he softly says, still clearly in a sleep state and a bit lost, but he manages to offer you a shy smile that almost brings tears to your eyes.

"see you tomorrow, then," after giving him a final smile, you turn around, hearing a small "see ya!" behind you before leaving the class, feeling happier than ever.

lando runs a hand through his hair, attempting to process what just happened. conversations with people at uni is rare for him, making it a surprise when someone approaches. he gazes at the notes you handed him, lost in his thoughts for a few more minutes before reality hits him—he just embarrassed himself in front of a pretty girl.

"fuck..." a groan filled with frustration and embarrassment escapes his lips as he buries his face in his hands, his cheeks bruning.

______________________________

since that day, you and lando start having study sessions, usually at the library or in relaxed coffee shops. the transition is a bit of a mystery; lando returned your notes, and somehow, conversations about the lecture led you to offering help, which he accepted without hesitation.

your study sessions became more and more friendly, both of you getting comfortable in each other's company. you couldn't be happier, realizing that you get the chance to see him every day and appreciate the subtle details, like the way he crunches his nose when he is thinking or how his glasses slide down when he attentively listens to your explanations.

it's the way lando consistently gives you his full attention, not just during study sessions, but also when you share bits about yourself, your interests, or even random stuff you've seen on the internet or the way he never forgets to bring two snacks, always excited to share it with you and making sure you're eating and drinking well. despite his lateness, he puts effort to be present, sincerely apologizing and making it up to you everytime.

you somehow got used to his habit of arriving late, accepting that it's a part of who he is. even though frustration and questions nag at you occasionally, you never found the courage to ask and feel like you don't have the right to say anything. of course, there have been moments when you were mad, waiting for over an hour, but you're way too whipped for him to stay mad forever.

just like that, you find yourself slowly falling for lando. what started as a silly crush turned into something more profound; it's evident when butterflies go wild in your stomach at the sight of him, and your heart races unusually fast whenever he smiles at you.

lando can't quite understand how you've become a constant presence in his thoughts. the frequency of your hangouts has become unexpectedly high, something unusual for him. being spider-man and a student was already challenging enough; adding a social life seems nearly impossible. he tried before –having friends, attending parties, socializing –but it never lasted, the fatigue and busyness making it hard to keep up.

with you, everything feels different for lando. falling this hard was unexpected from the moment he first asked you to study with him. slowly, he starts making time for you, always finding a way to see you, even if study sessions became an excuse. you became a ray of sunshine in his life, bringing light to his otherwise tiring days. whenever he feels miserable, a glance at you makes everything feels right.

beyond study sessions, you both start having dates –that's how you secretly both call your hangouts. lando takes you to the arcade, introducing you to his favorite games, while you share cherished spots in your favorite park; sitting there, watching swans, you engage in lighthearted conversations, while your hearts secretly beat for each other, missing the subtle starstruck gazes and the way your cheeks burn when your hands accidentally brush against each other.

the worst part for lando is finding himself thinking about you even in the midst of fighting villains, getting distracted more than he should. it frustrates him how he can't shake you from his mind, even when he's spider-man. at first, he hated himself for it, attempting to ignore his growing feelings. but it become undeniable the day you smiled at him with the most sincere and loving expression. in that moment, he realized he was already too deep into it and let himself drown deeper into the feeling.

________________________________

letting out a frustrated whimper, you bury your head in your hands. you've been attempting to finish this essay for hours now, but thoughts of the curly-haired boy persistently invade your mind. you've tried to push him out, if only for a moment, to focus on this stupid homework, but he always finds a way back into your thoughts. being stuck in your small apartment due to villains doesn't make the situation any easier.

sighing for the umpteenth time tonight, you stare at the almost white screen of your pc, hoping that motivation will miraculously appear. amidst your frustration, a subtle noise catch your attention. you turn around, your eyes scanning outside. you notice nothing out of the ordinary, brushing it away and convincing yourself it was just a passing bird. you had bigger problems anyway.

as you try to refocus on your work, the persistent noise grows louder, intensifying your unease. determined to dismiss it, you turn around for a second time, only to be shocked by the unexpected sight of lando. his face is covered with bruises, and he's struggling to climb the last steps of the fire escape stairs. reacting quickly, you jump from your chair, urgently guiding your steps as you open the window to lend him a hand.

"oh my god lando!" you choke on your own split, and lando lets out a pained groan, fighting to maintain his balance as he relies on you. with careful effort, he makes it to the sofa, collapsing upon it. you rush to his side, cupping his bruised face, your heart sinking as you take a look at the injuries. the sight nearly brings you to tears, a mix of concern and distress filling your stomach.

lando looks drained, the effort to keep his eyes open visible on his face. despite the weakness, he manages to maintain an unwavering gaze locked onto yours. the pain you're reading in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine, making your heart heavy.

"lando... what happened?" you say softly, your voice betraying the dryness in your throat. his response is delayed, taking a minute for lando to found the strength to answer. throughout this time, his hands grip your shirt, and his eyes remain fixed on yours, unbroken since he arrived.

"just a stupid fight... i'm fine," his voice is deep and weak, feeding your concern. despite the fatigue, he manages a small, gentle smile.

"what do you mean you're fine? are you kidding me?" you try to keep your voice soft, not wanting to add tension. "let me take care of you first, then you're going to tell me everything," with a sigh, you stand up, but lando's hands on your wrist stops you. you can't miss the painful groan that escapes him.

"i'm fine... i promise," he says weakly, his words carrying a weariness that tugs at your concern. "you're not fine, lando!" you voice unintentionally rises, a reflection of your worry, but you regret it the moment you lock your eyes with lando's softened gaze.

your hand instinctively reaches for his cheek, your thumb gently tracing the lines of his bruised skin. "it's okay, let me take care of you, please?" you implore, your voice adopting a softer tone. lando's heart seems to respond, warmth spreading as he relaxes, gently releasing your wrist.

"okay," he mumbles, too tired to resist, and you hurry to the bathroom to get your aid kit. returning swiftly, you find an exhausted lando, battling fatigue. your heart tightens, and you take a deep breath, holding back tears. lando starts regretting coming to you, the worry on your face making him feel guilty. as you come back, without a warning, you put an arm around him –and he's surprised that even in this awful state, you manage to make his heart beat faster. "let's get you on the floor," you gently suggest, doing your best to avoid hurting him. with a few soft whimpers, lando makes it to the ground, and you sit in front of him, getting the closer you can.

you gently take his chin between your fingers, inspecting the wounds again, unable to get over the extent of his injuries. lando feels his cheeks burn from the closeness and attention, his heart racing. without wasting any time, you start cleaning the bruises, handling him carefully.

your eyes shift to his white shirt, now stained with fresh blood, revealing notable marks underneath. a gasp escapes you, and you look at lando, your hands gripping the bottom of his shirt. "can i?" you timidly ask in a quiet voice, and lando don't hesitate to nod, trusting you more than anyone. you proceed to gently take off his shirt, ensuring not to cause him more pain. he winces, and your eyes fall on his wounded body, your hand instinctively covering your mouth. "oh my god..." you fingers trace the big and deep wounds, and lando watches you with remorseful eyes.

you don't add anything, wanting to take care of everything as soon as possible so he can finally rest. a comfortable silence fills the room as you begin with his face, gently cleaning and bandaging the wounds.

on the other hand, lando can't tear his eyes from you, enjoying your pouty expression because of your concentration. occasionally, he closes his eyes when you touch a sensitive area, his lips parting to release small groans. you find yourself apologizing each time, looking at him with sympathetic eyes.

you take a second look at his blood-covered body, and a million of questions race through your mind. this can't be a simple fight. lost in your thoughts, you don't notice lando's gaze or the flush on his cheeks due to your intense staring of his chest. he's about to call your name, but you're quicker than him.

"are you hiding something, lando?" you gently speak, your hands cupping his face with tenderness. you give him a soft look that seeks not just the truth but a shared vulnerability. lando opens his mouth to respond, but the words gets stuck in his throat, caught between the desire to tell you everything and the fear of exposing too much.

"i..." he starts, the weight of unspoken words evident in his eyes. sensing his struggle, you lean in closer, a soft and reassuring forming on your lips. your fingertips dance gently over his cheek. "you know you can tell me everything, right ?" you whisper, your voice filled with understanding. lando don't even dare to blink, drawn into the sincerity in your gaze.

without hesitation, he closes the gap with a tender kiss. your mind momentarily pauses, trying to process the situation. slowly, you kiss him back, feeling the heaviness of his heart in the softness of the kiss.

pulling back slowly, your eyes meet again, and there is a change in lando's expression. the warmth is replaced by a hint of concern, even sadness, making you rise an eyebrow curiously; "wh-"

"i'm spider-man."

his words hang in the air, and it takes a moment for you to process, leaving lando feeling like he's on the verge of a breakdown. completely petrified, he continues, "i understand if you don't want to see me anymore... i-"

"lando," you try to cut him off, but he's panicking, his eyes welling up, and it tugs your heart. "god, i'm so stupid," the instant regret hits him, he keeps mumbling, expressing his fear of messing everything up. it becomes too much for him, and he bursts into tears. without hesitation, you wrap your arms around him, holding him as tight as you can.

"hey, you're okay. it's okay, i'm here," you softly whisper in his ear, your hand gently rubbing his back. the sound of his sobs makes your heart ache, as if it's breaking into pieces. "i'm so tired," his voice is muffled, but you can hear all the pain and exhaustion in it. your stomach tightens, feeling your own eyes burn as you try to hold back the tears.

you let him cry in your arms for a moment, letting him take it all out, whispering sweet and reassuring words in his ears. your hand hasn't left his hair, stroking it gently. you feel him finally calm down, his sobs getting quieter.

he finally decide to look up, meeting your eyes and the sight breaks your heart; his eyes are puffed and red, accentuated by his bandaged bruises. you immediately grab his face, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of empathy and affection.

"do you still want me? even if i'm spider-man," his voice is soft, and you could feel all the exhaustion in it.

"of course, lando, why wouldn't i?" you reply without any second thought, sincerity evident in your eyes, softening lando's heart.

"i don't know... i'm always late and... tired," his voice is weak and hesitant, and you wish he'd stop talking and just rest.

"you're always late, but you're always here. you always do your best to make it." you reassure him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer with a soft smile. "it's okay to be tired, especially with your life, you should never apologize for that." your hand finds its way to his hair, "even when you're tired, you find the strength to take care of me and spend time with me. and for me, that means a lot," you gently stroke his hair, comforting him.

lando's eyes remain locked onto yours, caught in the sincerity they hold, and he swears his heart could explode at any moment just from hearing your words.

"you're so good to me..." he says in a whisper, pulling you into a quick but sweet kiss that makes both of your hearts melt. "of course, you deserve it," you whisper back, stealing a other kiss. "let me finish taking care of you, and then you can finally rest." you don't give him the time to complain, pulling back to resume cleaning his wounds.

after what felt like an eternity, you finish bandaging the last wound, looking up to find an exhausted lando. he fell asleep multiple times but insisted on staying awake until you finish. without wasting a minute, you put your arm around him to help him up, struggling to guide him to the bed where he manages to use his last drops of strength to remove his pants. once he's laid on the bed, you turn around to clean up the bandages on the floor, but lando immediately stops you, pulling you down.

"don't go," he whispers, and you smile, laying beside him without any hesitation, welcomed by his warm embraced.

you gaze at the sleepy boy beside you, your fingers gently ghosting his cheek.

"thank you," he says softly, and the sincerity in his words resonates. you offer him a loving smile, putting your lips on his for a passionate kiss. you manage to pull away just in time before lando succumbs to the sandman.

in that moment, it hits you—the boy you've fallen in love with is spider-man. a proud smile spreads across your face as you look at the peacefully sleeping lando beside you.

"i'm so proud of you," you whisper, determined to repeat those words to him tomorrow and every single day after that.

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tysm for reading! don't hesitate to leave a feedback if you liked it<3