#[Hello thank you for filling this in this is the best way of doing the bingo I have ever seen ever]

[chrzzboo]

are ur requests open??? (if not don’t respond to this lol)

but if they r, could you do kind of an angst fic. Like maybe pedri and reader are twins (maybe a small ferran x reader???🤭) where like readers on barca F and they win Liga f and reader rly hopes for pedri to be there and when he’s not they have like a huge arguement and stuff and ferran comforts her?

Broken promises

Summary: after the reader wins her first ever Liga she couldn’t help but be over the moon. Expected to celebrate her win with her twin brother Pedri took an unexpected turn.

Note: hi hey yeah hello, I’m back from the death. I had a very busy period but everything has slowed down a bit so, here I’m with a new fic. I hope you guys enjoy it!!!

Reader x Pedri (siblings) Ferran x reader

Genre: Fluff/angst

Y/N and the rest of the Barca Feminine team celebrated on the pitch, victorious after winning the Liga F. The crowd cheered and chanted, ecstatic for the team's achievement. Y/N should have felt the same, but there was something missing – Pedri, her twin brother, was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed, Y/N's happiness turned to mild irritation.

She thought, "Of all days, why isn't he here?"

Pedri had promised to be there to celebrate Y/N's victory. He even had a perfect seat, but as usual, he couldn't keep his word. He was always too occupied with his own team and career.

Pedri sat on the team bus, exhausted and frustrated as the team got ready to leave. He knew Y/N would be upset, but he couldn't help it. He tried to shake off the guilt, reasoning with himself, "I'll apologize later. She'll understand. She always does."

Y/N had no idea why she even expected Pedri to show up. He had failed her countless times before, but she always got her hopes up anyway. She looked around the celebrating team, trying to enjoy the moment. Suddenly, Ferran approached her, apparently he didn't join the rest of the team on the bus. A warm smile on his face.

"Hey, congratulations!" he said, his voice filled with genuine excitement.

Y/N forced a smile, trying to hide her disappointment. "Thanks," she replied, her voice a bit strained. Ferran noticed the hint of sadness in her eyes. "You okay?" he asked, his expression turning inquisitive.

Ferran frowned, noticing Pedri nowhere, clearly not impressed with Pedri's absence. "Seriously? Again?" he commented, shaking his head disapprovingly. "He promised he'd be here, right?"

Y/N nodded, the disappointment returning stronger. "Yes, he did. But, well, here we are," she said with a shrug, trying to play it off. She didn't want to dwell on it, especially not in front of Ferran.

Ferran could tell that Y/N was trying to hide her frustration, but he knew her well enough to see through it. "Hey, don't worry about it. I mean, you guys won, that's awesome," he said, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

"Yeah, you're right," Y/N agreed, a slight smile appearing on her face. She appreciated Ferran's attempt to cheer her up. He had a knack for making her feel better, even in the midst of her disappointment. "You were amazing out there by the way," Ferran added, giving her a friendly nudge. His compliment caught her off guard, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

"Oh, thanks, I... uh, I just did my best," Y/N stuttered, a bit taken aback by his compliment. She wasn't used to being praised, especially not by a player from the main team.

Ferran chuckled at her reaction, clearly enjoying her blush. "Don't be modest," he teased. "You led your team to victory. That's nothing to brush off."

Y/N's heartbeat quickened as she looked at Ferran. He always had this effect on her, making her heart race and her stomach flutter. She tried to downplay it, but she couldn't deny the undeniable attraction she felt towards him.

As they continued talking, Y/N found herself feeling more at ease. Ferran's easygoing nature and kind words made her forget, albeit temporarily, about Pedri's absence. However, the thought of her twin brother still nagged at the back of her mind.

Just then, the team bus started pulling away from the stadium. Y/N noticed the vehicle as it rolled past them, her disappointment returning with a sharp pang. Pedri was there.

"Looks like he's on his way," she muttered sarcastically, but loud enough for Ferran to hear.

"Huh," Ferran said, glancing at the moving bus. He then turned back to Y/N, the concern obvious in his eyes. "Are you gonna confront him?" he asked, his voice gentle yet worried.

Y/N sighed, a mixture of frustration and fatigue taking over. "Honestly, I don't know," she admitted. "I want to talk to him, but I'm tired of all the arguing. We've been through this countless times before. I just... I don't know if it's worth it."

Ferran placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring. "You know," he began, "Pedri can be a bit... self-absorbed at times. He gets so wrapped up in his own world that he forgets about the people around him."

Y/N nodded in agreement, appreciating Ferran's understanding. "Yeah, I know," she replied, running a frustrated hand through her hair. "It just feels like he doesn't care. He keeps breaking his promises, and I... I don't know how much more of this I can take."

Ferran's expression softened as he saw the hurt in Y/N's eyes. "I get it," he said softly. "But maybe you should talk to him. You two are siblings, after all. You don't want this to create a rift between you guys, right?"

Y/N let out a deep sigh, leaning back against the wall behind her. "I know I should," she admitted, her voice tinged with resignation. "But it's just so exhausting. Every time I bring it up, it turns into a full-blown argument. I'm tired of constantly reminding him about his promises, you know?"

Ferran nodded, understanding her frustration but still urging her to address the issue. "I get it, but sometimes, uncomfortable conversations are necessary," he advised. "If you don't talk to him, this resentment will build and eventually boil over. It's not healthy for either of you."

Y/N knew Ferran was right, but she didn't want to face the confrontation. She knew it would end in a fight, and she just didn't have the energy for it right now. "You're right," she acquiesced with a sigh. "But I can't deal with this tonight. I'm mentally exhausted and emotionally drained. I need some time to cool down first."

Ferran smiled sympathetically, recognizing her need for space. "That's fair," he said reassuringly. "You don't have to confront him right now. Give yourself some time to rest and gather your thoughts. But don't let this fester, okay? Promise me you'll talk to him soon."

Y/N nodded, appreciation for Ferran's understanding evident in her eyes. "I will," she assured him. "I promise I'll talk to him. Just... not tonight. I need some time to calm down first."

Ferran smiled, satisfied with her promise. He knew Y/N was stubborn, but he also knew she would keep her word. "Good," he replied with a nod. "You don't want this to become a long-term problem. The sooner you and Pedri talk about this, the better."

Y/N managed a small smile, touched by his concern. "Thanks, Ferran," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "I appreciate you listening and giving me some perspective. It's nice to have someone to talk to."

Ferran shrugged nonchalantly, his usual easy smile on his face. "Hey, that's what friends are for, right?" he replied, the casualness of his tone only somewhat hiding the warmth in his gaze.

Y/N couldn't help but feel a flutter in her chest at his words. The way he looked at her, with such a gentle, caring expression, stirred something in her that she'd been trying to ignore for a long time.

"Yeah, friends," she muttered, her voice a bit shaky. She quickly looked down, hoping that Ferran didn't notice her momentary weakness.

But Ferran did notice. He saw the way her eyes darted down, the way her cheeks reddened ever so slightly. He knew Y/N better than she realized, and he could tell that his words had an effect on her, despite her attempts to hide it.

However, he chose not to point it out, instead maintaining his casual demeanor. "You know, you did great out there today," he said, changing the subject. "You were like a lioness on that field."

Y/N's heart still pounded from his previous statement, but she managed to regain her composure. "Oh, thanks," she replied, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. "It was a team effort, you know. We wouldn't have won without everyone's hard work."

"True, but you were the MVP," Ferran teased, nudging her playfully. "You scored the winning goal, after all."

Y/N blushed at his compliment, still not used to such attention. "I was just in the right place at the right time," she insisted, trying to downplay her achievement.

Ferran chuckled at her modesty, finding it endearing. "Oh, come on. Don't be so humble. You had that goal in you. The way you positioned yourself, timed your shot... it was all skill."

He shifted slightly closer to her, his gaze fixed intently on her.

Y/N felt her heart race faster as he moved closer. The way he looked at her, with that intense gaze and warm smile, made her stomach flutter. She tried to ignore the effect he had on her, but it was getting increasingly harder to do so. "I... I guess I got lucky," she muttered, her voice betraying her nervousness.

Ferran shook his head, his smile becoming more wolfish. "No, it wasn't luck," he insisted, his voice lowering just a tad. "It was talent. You have a real gift, you know that?"

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart now jumping in her throat. His words, his proximity, the way he was looking at her... It was all too much. "You're just saying that," she muttered, unable to meet his gaze.

Ferran chuckled softly, amused by her reaction. He inched even closer, his breath now warm on her cheek as he spoke. "No, I'm not just saying that," he murmured, his voice a low timbre that sent shivers down her spine. "You underestimate yourself."

Y/N's breath hitched in her throat as he closed the remaining distance between them. His proximity was intoxicating, and she found it hard to form a coherent thought. "I... I don't know what to say," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Ferran's smile widened at her flustered state. He found great pleasure in seeing her usual composed demeanor crumble because of him. He leaned in even closer, his words but a breath against her ear. "You don't have to say anything," he whispered back. "Just take the compliment."

Y/N shivered at the feel of his breath on her skin. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, her pulse racing. She couldn't recall ever feeling this way because of someone's presence. It was overwhelming yet thrilling at the same time.

"Ferran," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I..."

Ferran pulled back just enough to look at her, his gaze now holding a mixture of heat and curiosity. "Yeah?" he prompted, his voice laced with a subtle hint of challenge. He wanted to hear what she was struggling to say, even though he had a feeling he already knew.

Y/N swallowed hard, gathering her courage. She looked into Ferran's eyes, her own filled with a mixture of confusion and... something else. Something she wasn't quite ready to acknowledge. "I... I don't know," she repeated, the words getting tangled in her throat. "I can't think straight when you're so close."

Ferran's smile grew. He knew he was affecting her, and it made his heart race. "Maybe that's the point," he teased, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. He took another half-step closer, reducing the space between them to mere inches.

Y/N's breath was coming in short gasps now, her chest rising and falling with each labored inhale. She could feel the heat radiating off of Ferran, the air between them charged with an electric tension. "You're such a tease," she managed to say, her voice hoarse.

"And you love it," Ferran shot back, his tone filled with a mix of confidence and playfulness. He reached out his hand, gently tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. His touch sent tingles down her spine, and she unconsciously leaned into his touch.

Y/N closed her eyes, a small sigh escaping her lips at his touch. The way he could stir her emotions with just a simple gesture was dizzying. She knew she should step back, maintain some distance, but her body refused to cooperate. Instead, she found herself drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. The thought of confronting Pedri long forgotten.

"You're not the only one affected, you know," Ferran murmured, his voice lowered to a husky whisper. His fingers traced a light path along her jawline, trailing down to the base of her neck. "You're driving me crazy right now."

Y/N's eyes shot open, her breath catching in her chest. His words, coupled with his soft touch, felt like molten fire running through her veins. She was struggling to keep a hold on her sanity, her control slipping further and further. "You're not playing fair," she breathed, her voice betraying her growing desire.

"When have I ever played fair?" Ferran asked, a sly grin on his lips. His fingers continued their feather-light caress, moving now to her collarbone. He knew he was pushing her boundaries, testing her limits, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted her, and he was enjoying every shiver, every hitched breath he pulled from her.

In a swift, almost desperate move, Y/N closed the remaining distance between them, her body pressing tightly against his. Her hands found their way to his chest, gripping his shirt as if anchoring herself to reality. Ferran responded in kind, his arms encircling her waist, pulling her closer, tighter.

Their lips met, and it was like a shock to the system. The kiss was fierce and hungry, a clash of lips, teeth, and tongue. Y/N surrendered to the sensation, her inhibitions slipping away like waves on shore. Her heart pounded in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears, drowning out all other sounds but the thumping of their hearts beating in tandem.

Ferran matched her fervor, his hands roaming over her body, exploring the curves and lines that had haunted his dreams. He nipped at her bottom lip, wanting more, craving more. Y/N responded by burying her fingers in his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp, drawing a guttural moan from him.

They were a tangle of limbs and desire, each touch fanning the flames of their growing ardor. Ferran's mouth left a trail of kisses down her neck, each one more heated than the last. Y/N arched into him, her body seeking the closest contact, the most intense sensations.

The world beyond them faded, time becoming a hazy concept. The only thing that mattered was the feel of each other, the taste of their lips intertwined. Their bodies moved together in a rhythm fueled by desire, each touch and sigh stoking the fire between them.

But eventually, the need for air became overwhelming. Reluctantly, they pulled apart, panting and breathless. Ferran's forehead rested against Y/N's, his eyes locking onto hers, a mixture of awe and desire in his gaze.

"You're going to be the death of me," Ferran murmured, his voice thick with residual passion. His hands were still holding her hips, keeping her flush against him. Y/N could only respond with a breathless laugh, her heart racing and her body still humming with unfulfilled desire.

Ferran's smirk softened into a genuine smile as he gazed into Y/N's eyes. He knew he had to say something, to express the tumultuous feelings bubbling within him. Taking a deep breath, he slowly spoke.

"I... I need to tell you something," he began, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. Y/N's heart skipped a beat, sensing the weight behind his words. She simply gave him a nod, encouraging him to continue.

Ferran took a moment to collect his thoughts. It was now or never. "For a while now, I've been struggling with something. A... a feeling, I guess you could say." He paused, his eyes searching hers, gauging her reaction.

Y/N's heart thudded in her chest, hanging onto every word he said. She could tell whatever he was about to say was important, momentous even.

Ferran went on, his words tumbling out now in a rush of honesty. "I've tried to ignore it, to push it down, but I can't do it anymore. I... I have feelings for you, Y/N. Deep, intense feelings. More than just friendship."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she simply stared at him, the words echoing in her mind. Did she hear him right? Had he just admitted to having feelings for her, just like she harbored for him?

Ferran watched her, his expression a mix of hope and anxiety. He waited for her response, his heart in his throat.

Y/N, still trying to process his confession, found her voice. "You... you have feelings for me?" she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ferran nodded, his eyes filled with an earnestness that made her heart flutter. "Yes," he replied simply. "I've tried to ignore it, to convince myself it was just a temporary thing, but... it's not. My feelings for you have only grown stronger. I... I've fallen for you, Y/N."

She could see how nervous he was, she never expected the Ferran to be this nervous especially since she was used to see him dominate the pitch. “I have put my feeling off for too many times Ferran, and I’m glad to share the same feelings as you.” She ended the confession with a confident smile.

“So now I have the right to call you mi novia huh.” He says with a smirk. “You have every right Mi tiburón.” She smiles at him.

She laughs at him. "Okay enough with the cheesy cringe confessions." They both laugh finally having found each other.

It was safe to say that the day ended in a perfect way, way better than both of them could’ve imagined.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day:

The morning after Ferran's confession, Y/N found herself at home, still reeling from the previous night's events. Her mind was spinning with a whirlwind of emotions, replaying Ferran's words over and over in her head. But as much as she wanted to lose herself in the memories of his touch and his confession, Y/N knew she needed to face another problem. Her twin brother, Pedri, and his tendency to break promises.

As a result, Y/N's mood was on edge. She tried to hide it, but her annoyance was evident as she saw Pedri lounging on the couch.

"Hey," Pedri greeted her with his usual carefree tone, not noticing the storm brewing in her eyes.

Y/N didn't respond immediately, her jaw clenching. She took a deep breath, trying to suppress the irritation rising within her.

Seeing her silence, Pedri sat up a bit, a puzzled expression on his face. "Something wrong?" he asked, finally noticing her tense demeanor.

Y/N took another deep breath, silently counting to ten to maintain her composure. When she spoke, her voice was calm, but there was a coolness to it. "We need to talk," she said, fixing Pedri with a stern gaze.

Pedri's eyebrows raised in surprise. He could sense the seriousness in her tone. "Okay," he replied cautiously, his easy-going smile fading slightly. "What did I do this time?"

Y/N clenched her fists, reminding herself to stay calm. "You know exactly what," she replied, her voice now holding a hint of sharpness. "It's about the promises you keep breaking. You know how much it bothers me, yet you continue to do it."

Pedri winced at her words. He knew he had a habit of making promises he couldn't keep, but he didn't like being reminded of it, especially in this manner.

"Hey, come on," he started, trying to downplay it. "It's not like I do it on purpose. Things just... happen, you know?"

Y/N's eyes flashed, her irritation growing. "No, that's just an excuse," she shot back, her voice rising slightly. "You promise things, and then you don't follow through. It's disrespectful and infuriating. I know you’re upset about not winning your title but that doesn’t give you the right to ignore my succes.”

Pedri ran a hand through his hair, visibly uncomfortable now. He knew she was right, but he didn't want to admit it. "I'm sorry, okay? I don't mean to make you upset."

Y/N took a step closer, her eyes never leaving his. "But you do upset me, every time you break your word. And it's not just about me. It's about respect, trust, and keeping your commitments."

Pedri's own annoyance flared up at her words, his defenses rising. "Fine, I get it, I mess up sometimes! But what about you, huh? You're always so perfect, so damn put together. Can't make a mistake, can you?"

Y/N stiffened, her eyes narrowing. "This isn't about me, Pedri. It's about you and your lack of responsibility."

Pedri huffed, his anger growing. "Oh, of course. Because everything is always my fault, right? You never do anything wrong."

Y/N's own patience was wearing thin, the calm veneer slipping away. "This isn't about whose fault it is, Pedri," she retorted. "It's about fixing the issue. And you can't just brush it off with sarcasm and deflection."

Pedri, now fully on the defensive, let his anger get the better of him. "Oh, so now you're playing the saint, huh? Always so righteous, so damn judgmental."

Y/N's temper flared as well. "And you're acting like a child, avoiding responsibility at all costs!"

Pedri clenched his jaw, his voice raising. "And what about you? Always so cold, so damn unapproachable. Can't you lighten up a bit?"

Y/N was on the verge of losing her composure completely. "This isn't about being fun or easygoing, Pedri. It's about being reliable and trustworthy!"

Pedri huffed, his frustration boiling over. "Oh, and I suppose you're the epitome of reliability, aren't you? Never make a mistake in your perfect little world."

Y/N's eyes flashed with anger, her own temper pushed to the brink. "No, I'm not perfect, but at least I don't make promises I can't keep! All you do is give me broken promises"

Frustrated and hurt by the argument with Pedri, Y/N stormed out of the house, tears pricking her eyes. She needed to get away, to clear her head and find some comfort. Only one person came to mind: Ferran.

With a resolute stride, she walked towards Ferran's house, her heart racing with a mix of hurt and anticipation.

As soon as Y/N slammed the door shut, Pedri knew he fucked it up but he was too stubborn to apologise and admit that he’s in the wrong.

As Y/N approached Ferran's house, she took a few deep breaths to compose herself, wiping away the stray tears with the back of her hand. She could see the familiar house in the distance, and her heart ached with a strange mixture of comfort and worry. What if he wasn't home? What if he was busy? Doubt and worry churned in her stomach, but she was too raw and emotionally exhausted to turn back now.

Gathering her courage, Y/N walked up to the door and knocked lightly. She waited anxiously, the sound of her pounding heart echoing in her ears. A moment later, the door opened, revealing Ferran, surprise etched on his face.

"Y/N?" he asked, concern evident in his voice. "Is everything okay?"

Y/N's breath hitched at seeing him, his concerned expression only making her emotions come to the surface even more. She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat, and a small sob escaped her instead.

Ferran's eyes widened, and he immediately pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. "Hey, hey, it's alright," he murmured, his voice soothing. His strong arms wrapped around her, providing a comforting embrace.

Y/N buried her face in his chest, her tears now flowing freely. She clung to him, the weight of her argument with Pedri and the turmoil of her emotions overwhelming her. Ferran held her close, murmuring reassurances and rubbing comforting circles on her back.

With her face still buried in his chest, Y/N recounted the argument with Pedri, her voice tremulous. She spoke of the broken promises, the frustration, and the hurt that had led her to his doorstep. Ferran listened silently, his arms tight around her, providing a silent anchor.

After she finished speaking, Y/N pulled back a little, looking up at Ferran with tear-streaked cheeks. Her voice was small when she spoke. "I'm sorry to just show up like this... I didn't know where else to go."

Ferran's expression softened further, his eyes filled with understanding. "You don't have to apologize," he said gently, wiping a tear off her cheek with his thumb. "I'm glad you came to me. You don't have to face things alone, you know that, right?"

Y/N nodded, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over. Ferran's words, his caring demeanor, were what she needed. She leaned into him again, needing that physical reassurance.

"I just feel so tired and frustrated," she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest.

"I know," Ferran replied, his voice low and comforting. He lifted a hand, gently running his fingers through her hair. "But it's going to be alright. You'll figure it out."

Y/N looked up at him then, her eyes vulnerable. "How can you be so sure?" she asked, a hint of despair in her voice.

Ferran smiled down at her, his gaze unwavering. "Because I know you," he said simply. "You're strong, amor, stronger than you give yourself credit for. And whatever obstacles you face, you'll find a way to overcome them. You always do."

Y/N's lower lip trembled slightly at his words. She knew Ferran believed in her, and his faith was both humbling and bolstering. She clung to his words, letting them soothe her frayed nerves.

"But what do I do about Pedri?" she asked, her voice small.

Ferran thought for a moment, his hand still gently stroking her hair. "You can talk to him again when you both have cooled down," he suggested. "Try to explain how his broken promises affect you. But also, listen to his perspective. Communication is key in resolving conflicts."

Y/N nodded again, appreciating his advice. It made sense to talk to Pedri when they were both calmer. But the thought of another argument filled her with trepidation.

"What if he doesn't listen?" she asked, her voice betraying her anxiety.

Ferran's expression was one of gentle reassurance. "Then you've done everything you can," he said firmly. "You've tried to reach out, express how you feel, and that's all you can do. At the end of the day, it's up to him to listen and make an effort."

He paused, then added, "But remember, you're not alone. You have me, and I'm here for you, no matter what."

Eventually after a few hours at Ferran’s , Y/N decided to head back home. Ferran dropped her off and she went straight to bed, not caring about anything or anyone else.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day

The following day, Y/N woke up feeling a bit more composed after her tumultuous day. The argument with Pedri still weighed on her mind, but she had Ferran's reassurance and support to bolster her.

Pedri, too, was feeling the aftereffects of their argument. With a night's sleep, he had cooled down and realized the depth of his mistakes. In the morning, he couldn't bear the guilt and tension that hung over the house.

As Y/N sat at the kitchen table, quietly sipping her morning coffee, Pedri approached her, looking uncharacteristically contrite.

"Y/N," he began, his voice unusually quiet. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Y/N looked up, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. Seeing his demeanor, her defenses softened a bit, and she nodded. "Sure," she replied, gesturing to the chair opposite her.

Pedri sat down, a deep sigh escaping him. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. "I... I wanted to apologize. For yesterday."

Y/N remained silent, her eyes fixed on him, assessing his words. But she allowed him to continue.

Pedri continued, his eyes downcast. "I know I should have been there for you, but I was..." He took a deep breath, his voice quiet. "I was having a rough day too. I lost an important title, and I let my own disappointment and frustration get the better of me."

He glanced up at her, regret evident in his eyes. "It's no excuse, I know. But it's the truth."

Y/N listened, her expression softening further as he explained. She understood the disappointment of losing a match, the pressure and the expectations that went with it. It didn't excuse his broken promise, but it certainly shed new light on the situation.

She took a moment to process his words, then responded softly, "I appreciate your apology. And I understand that you were upset about the match."

"But," she added firmly, "That doesn't erase the fact that you broke your promise. I needed you, and you weren't there. My feelings were hurt, and your own disappointment doesn't negate that."

Pedri nodded, his head bowed in agreement. "I know. I messed up, and I let you down. I should have been there, no matter what."

He looked up at her, the remorse clear on his face. "But I want to make it up to you. If you'll allow me."

Y/N studied him for a moment. The genuine remorse in his eyes tugged at her, making forgiving him a lot easier.

"I'll allow it," she replied quietly. "But understand, this is a chance. One more broken promise, and I won't be as receptive."

Pedri's shoulders loosened with relief, a small smile on his face. He hadn't expected forgiveness to come this easily, but he was grateful for it.

"I understand," he reassured her. "I won't let you down again, I promise. I'll be there for you, no matter what hermana."

After their conversation, Pedri gathered his courage and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around his twin in a tight hug. He held her close, his voice a soft murmur.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he said again, his voice gruff with emotion. "I'm sorry for breaking my promise, and I'm sorry for not being there for you when you needed me."

Y/N, feeling the weight of his words and the sincerity in his embrace, hugged him back, a mixture of relief and affection welling up in her.

"I forgive you," she murmured against his shoulder, the words holding not just forgiveness but also a note of understanding. "Just... don't do it again."

Pedri nodded, pulling back from the hug but still holding her by the shoulders, a small but genuine smile on his face. "I won't. I swear."

There was still much to talk about, many things to work through between them, but in this moment, they had taken the first step towards repairing their bond.

As they pulled away from the hug, Pedri couldn't contain his curiosity. He had a sly smile on his face as he looked at his sister.

"So," he began, clearly angling for some information, "What's up with you and Ferran?"

Y/N, catching on to his playful tone, rolled her eyes but couldn't help a small smile from forming.

"None of your business," she replied, but there was a hint of a blush on her cheeks that betrayed her words.

Pedri, encouraged by her reaction, continued to tease her. "Oh, come onnnn. You're not denying it, which means I'm right!" Y/N blushes slightly not really knowing how to answer her twin. “You’re not mad are you?”

Pedri's teasing smile softened into a more genuine one. "Nah, I'm not mad," he reassured her, although there was a hint of a teasing lilt to his voice. "Although, I do feel somewhat betrayed by my best friend for not telling me about this development between him and my sister."

He wagged a finger mock-scoldingly. "Next time, don't keep me in the dark, alright?"

Y/N laughed, feeling a little more relaxed now that they were back on their usual banter terms. "Oh, so now you're jealous that you weren't the first to know?"

Pedri feigned indignation, putting a hand over his heart. "Jealous? Me? I am deeply offended by that accusation!"

Y/N chuckled again, shaking her head. "Sure, sure. Just admit it, you're dying to know the details."

Pedri leaned against the kitchen counter, wearing an exaggeratedly dramatic expression. "Well, since you asked so nicely... yes, I am dying to know. Spill it!"

Y/N regales Pedri with the story of how she and Ferran got together, from the initial friendship to the blossoming romance. Pedri listens intently, interjecting with the occasional teasing comment or cheeky question.

As she finishes, Pedri grins widely. "Well, looks like love is in the air."

Y/N rolls her eyes, but there's a smile on her face. "Shut up."

Pedri laughs, then pulls her into a one-armed hug, his tone serious now. "I'm happy for you, you know. You deserve to be happy."

Y/N hugged him back, the love and gratitude she felt for her brother evident in her smile. "Thanks, Pedri. I appreciate that."

Pedri tousled her hair affectionately. "Anytime. Just remember, if that Ferran breaks your heart, I'll kick his ass."

Y/N laughed, pushing him jokingly. "Noted."

The end.

[hcreath]

Are you Tamar's type? // @rake-rake

"I know that I shouldn't be impressed, but look at that loyalty."

And sadly, anyone willing to fight her ex-husband is on her list of favourite people by default. Congratulations on being her new favourite person.

[weareuniqueandimportant]

I HAVE SEEN THE REAL WINX CLUB... THEY'RE ALL FAIRY... AND LESBIAN... AND THERE ARE 14 OF THEM... ALL VERY INTERESTING AND PROGRESSIVE ASWELL AS FEMINIST AND EMPOVERING AND RELATABLE AND WOKE... I EVEN KNOW ALL THEIR NAMES... AND WHAT FAIRIES THEY ARE... THEY ARE... INTERESTING... MAKING MYSELF FEEL... RELATABLE... VERY SWEET AND REAL... DEPRESSING AND CRAZY... UNBELIABABLE... SHOCKING... AWESOME... RADQUEER FEMINIST COMMUNIST ANARCHIST... JUST LIKE WE'RE... THERE ARE MORE... I CAN FEEL THEM...

[bunnis-monsters]

Yandere wolf breeding willing bunny reader😚

He couldn’t help but take you away to his den after seeing you all alone, your fluffy bunny ears twitching from the cold.

You had lost your way, separated from your fellow bunny hybrids and had been fending for yourself for nearly a week now.

At first you had been waiting, sure that the others would return to save you… but winter was approaching, and as snow started fall, you realized they wouldn’t jeopardize themselves to help you.

Now, you were trying your best to prepare for winter all by yourself. It was no easy task, your fat barely able to keep you from freezing as you scavenged.

Nothing was growing anymore, and all the other hybrids had long since barricaded themselves in their own homes.

The wolf hybrid had been out on a hunt when he spotted you. He had followed your scent and was ready to pounce, but one look had him ready to pounce on you in a very different way.

You were a chubby little thing, your cotton tail wagging as you shivered and bent over to pick up sticks for a fire. He could see your plump ass and fat thighs, your hips perfectly wide. The wolf could already imagine breeding a litter of pups into your sweet, fat bunny cunt.

He planned on using his size and your species innate fear of predators to scare you into coming with him… but went differently than he had expected.

“Hello, little one.”

You jumped at the sound of a deep voice behind you, squeaking before scurrying away. He caught you easily, holding onto on of you ears. “Slow down, bunny.”

When you finally turned to look at him, instead of screaming or pleading for him to spare your life, you teared up and wrapped your arms around him.

“D-did you come to help me?”

This made him pause. You were looking up at him with the cutest teary eyes, your chubby cheeks warm and covered in tears. He was going to reply, but you were already opening his jacket so you could burrow into it, making sweet little purrs as you snuggled him.

“Warm…”

Feeling your chubby body press against him was both comforting, and made his cock twitch in his pants. At that movement, he decided that you were his completely, discarding any thoughts of devouring you that he lingered.

“What’s a chubby little bunny like you doing out here during winter, hmm?”

He cupped your cheek, pinching it gently. He had to be careful with his sharp claws, making sure not to pierce your chubby flesh.

“M-my… my colony… they left me behind…”

Your voice was shaky, and he could feel tears soaking into his shirt. That was all he needed to hear.

With one swift movement, he scooped you up and carried you to his den, already rubbing his scent into your soft neck. Claiming you was the only thing on his mind, and he honestly wanted to mount you the second you were inside his den…

But you were cold, tired, and hungry…

He was already attached, watching you munch on some stew he prepared with great interest. The way your chubby cheeks puffed out as they filled up with food, how you sighed in happiness as you finally filled your belly after a week of barely eating… it all made him fall further in love.

His obsession was growing, and he was determined to have you all to himself.

You slept in the furs he prepared for you, so innocent and trusting. The urge to pounce on your sleeping body then and there did surface, but he pushed it away.

You were a sweet little thing, and he felt an ache in his chest when he thought about you looking at him with fear instead of the soft, thankful look you gave him.

Never before had someone instantly attached themselves to him, willingly curling up by his side and even grooming him. You slept with him every night, the two of you sharing warmth as winter came.

His sweet bun became so much more than something he wanted to fuck, he loved you with all of his heart. Everyday that passed only cemented his feelings, you were now his ray of sunshine that kept him warm during the cold, harsh winter.

So when you got ready to leave when spring came, he couldn’t have that.

“Thank you for taking care of me…”

You were hugging him, your little cotton tail wagging furiously as you softly groomed him in a sign of affection. God, he could hold you forever. Your scent was like a drug for him, making him feel woozy and needy.

“I’m sorry I took up so many of your resources… I won’t bother you any longer.”

Before you could leave, he grabbed your wrist and growled lowly, his nose burying itself in your neck.

“W-what are y-“

He placed hot kisses along your neck, nipping at your collarbone, his warm fanning against your skin. “You think you were a bother, little one? If you were a bother, I would have eaten you.”

He wasn’t surprised when you just tilted your head, your chubby cheeks warming up. You were such a sweet, innocent thing. “Really? Then… did you… like me being here?”

The wolf laughed, his chest vibrating against your back. “Oh, my sweet little rabbit… I could barely hold myself back from claiming you all winter long.”

You blinked, looking up at him in adoration, your eyes so soft and warm. God, he wanted to protect that innocence of yours… but he also desired you so carnally that he couldn’t wait to be inside of you.

“Claim me? Y-you wanna be my mate?”

He tilted up your chin, purring softly as his thumb brushed over your plump lips. “Desperately.”

Your lips met his in a hot, needy kiss. It was almost instant, the way he had you pinned down and half naked. You moaned into his mouth as he groped your breast, pinching your nipples with a bit too much force.

“Mmph!”

You squirmed a little, feeling his hand slipping into your panties to play with your fat bunny cunt, two fingers already moving in and out of you. It felt so strange, you’d never had someone touch you there before…

“How cute…”

He purred in delight, watching your eyes grow fuzzy and teary as he pushed you over the edge, his thumb rubbing your clit to help you cum.

Your first orgasm felt like fireworks going off in your belly, your hips bucking uncontrollably. His sweet little bunny, crying out and writhing under him was certainly a sight to behold.

His fat cock rested on your pussy, and you looked at it in awe. It was huge, you’d seen another bunny hybrid’s dick once or twice when they’d try to court you, but it didn’t compare to the wolf’s.

It looked so thick and red, and the way he was looking down at your little bunny cunt looked like a predator ready to devour its prey.

He quickly mounted you, his cheeks red and eyes hazy.

As the tip pressed against your tight hole, you whimpered, holding onto him. You didn’t complain or move away because you wanted to be a good mate for him… but he could tell you were afraid.

“Hush, little one. I won’t hurt you…”

He licked your cheek, nuzzling against you in an attempt to comfort you as he started to push into you.

You cried and held onto him, your plump thighs resting on his hips as he bottomed out. He couldn’t help it, immediately starting to fuck into your fat pussy, unable to stop himself.

The sounds of squelching, your squeals and moans could be heard from the den. You were so tight, he couldn’t stand it! He gripped your plump hips, eager to knot his pretty little mate.

You yelped as you were turned onto your tummy, your hips lifting as he held you up and rutted into you as your little cotton tail wagged.

He grabbed onto your fluffy bunny ears, pulling and tugging on them as the tip of his cock pressed against your cervix. Your poor cunt was being abused and used by your mate… but you just loved him so much.

And it felt way too good.

Being knotted for the first time made you cry, your already stretched out pussy having to accommodate for his swelling cock.

“F-fuck, baby… my little mate, all mine, okay? Gotta knock you up…”

As he continued to rut his swollen cock into you, he kept whispering how cute you’d look with your belly heavy with his pups, how he’d provide for you and keep his pretty little mate fat and happy.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, his knot keeping you attached for him. He groomed you, licking your hair and cheeks and cooing soft praise.

“My sweet girl, did so good… gonna be a mommy soon, aren’t you?”

Exhausted, you drifted off, happy that you had someone that would care for you, since you were a helpless little bunny that needed someone to coddle you.

He watched you sleep, his eyes narrowing as he left a bite mark on your neck, claiming you as his.

You were his little bun, and every other creature in the vicinity would know you were his entirely. No one would dare touch the wolf’s mate, dare they anger him.

————————

YANDERE TAGLIST: @katerinaval @sunset-214 @avalordream @atransmuter @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @j3llyphisching @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam

[headkiss]

fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!

a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)

𝜗𝜚

Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”

You’re not quite sure where to start.

Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.

The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.

You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.

You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.

It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.

You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”

If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.

“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.

Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.

He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.

“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”

“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”

“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”

There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.

You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.

“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”

“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”

“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”

You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”

“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”

There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay.”

“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”

“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”

Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.

But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.

“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.

-

True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.

You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.

His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”

The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”

Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”

We’ll, he says. A team.

You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.

“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.

Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”

He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.

He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”

You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”

“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.

You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.

Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.

Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.

Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.

Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.

You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.

The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.

Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.

Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.

He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.

“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.

Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.

Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.

It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.

Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.

“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.

“But the frame-”

“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”

“Steve-”

“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”

His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.

“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

-

Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.

Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’

Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.

You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.

By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.

Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.

He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.

Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”

“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.

Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.

The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.

It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.

Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”

You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.

It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.

You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”

“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.

Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”

There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.

“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.

You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.

You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.

When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.

It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.

-

You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.

He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.

It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.

This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.

After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.

Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.

You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.

Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.

If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.

He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.

You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.

That’s it.

Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.

He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.

Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.

Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.

She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.

She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.

When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.

He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”

“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”

“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”

“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.

“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”

-

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.

Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.

Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.

After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.

You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.

Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.

He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.

You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.

After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.

“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.

“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.

“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”

“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”

“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”

“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”

“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”

“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.

It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.

That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.

He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.

Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.

Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.

“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.

You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.

Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”

He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.

Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.

You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.

You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

-

On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.

“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”

“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”

You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.

You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”

“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”

“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”

“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”

“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”

So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.

He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.

You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.

“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.

He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.

At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’

After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”

“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.

They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.

“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”

“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”

“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”

“He’s not my-”

“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.

The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.

You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?

“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.

You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.

Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.

Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.

He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.

As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.

“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”

You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”

You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”

“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”

“We’re not stealing.”

“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”

You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.

Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.

He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.

“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”

“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”

Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.

You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.

He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.

“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”

His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”

You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.

-

You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)

But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.

Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.

Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.

So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.

You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.

Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.

By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.

“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.

Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”

You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.

Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.

The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.

You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”

He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”

“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.

Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”

Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.

And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.

Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.

You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.

Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.

You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.

What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.

Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.

You’ll miss it, you think.

Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.

He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.

Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”

You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”

He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

-

Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.

And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.

The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.

He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.

Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.

He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.

Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.

When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.

Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.

Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.

He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.

Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.

His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.

He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.

Steve’s never nervous around you.

“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”

“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”

You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.

What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.

It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.

When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.

Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.

Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.

“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.

You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.

This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.

When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.

“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.

Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”

“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”

“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.

His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.

-

You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.

You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.

You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.

Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.

Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”

You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.

“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”

“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”

You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”

“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”

He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”

“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”

He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.

Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”

Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.

He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.

So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”

You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”

“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”

You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”

Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.

You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.

He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.

His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.

“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.

Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”

And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.

-

You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.

Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.

Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.

As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.

His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.

In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.

It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.

“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.

“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.

“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”

“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”

“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.

“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”

Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.

He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.

It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.

You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.

“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.

You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.

It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.

You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.

Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.

Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.

You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.

It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.

You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.

Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.

You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.

What the fuck just happened?

-

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.

Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.

You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?

You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.

You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.

Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.

He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.

It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.

Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.

Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?

Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.

You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.

He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.

So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”

“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.

“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”

Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.

“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.

Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”

Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”

Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”

“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.

He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.

“What do you mean?”

“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”

Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.

You are worth the risk to him.

“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

-

With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.

You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.

You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.

The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.

How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.

The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.

Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.

You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.

For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.

So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.

You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.

You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”

You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.

“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”

You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”

“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”

You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.

Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”

“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”

“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”

“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.

Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”

You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.

You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.

It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”

“You won’t. Not ever.”

You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.

The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”

He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”

“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”

He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.

𝜗𝜚

thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you thing!! it helps more than you know <3

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 (𝐈𝐈)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader

Summary: After you reveal the truth of what your relationship really was between you and Miguel, everyone's keen on learning more. So what better way to give a little more insight than a dinner at your shared home?

Warnings: None~ Just back again with silly shenanigans and the softest of fluff :3

A/N: Hello, everyone! After the first part of 'What's In Between' blew up (you can read it here, thank you so much by the way, you're all so sweet), many people have asked for a part two, so here it is! Enjoy <3

The moment you break the news to them, the volume of the table booms to a fever pitch as everyone begins talking at the same time.

“W-WHAT?!”

“Married? No way,” Hobie says.

“How long have you been together?” Pavitr asks.

“I can’t say I saw this coming…” Miles says, eyes widening in surprise.

Miguel had been watching you the moment you snuck up on the group, but with the newfound panic from everyone he couldn’t help but make his way over to the commotion.

“You’re all being loud, what are you yelling about now?” Miguel asks, walking over and standing by your side.

“HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL US YOU WERE MARRIED?!” Gwen shouts.

“You never asked,” he blinks, “and also, it’s none of your business.”

“Miguel, as your best friend I am deeply offended that you haven’t told me after this long, does our friendship mean nothing to you?” Peter says, hand on his chest in pretend hurt.

“You are not my best friend,” Miguel deadpans.

“After I opened up to you no less, I mean, you were the first person I told about Mayday! All the details-” he continues, ignoring the comment.

“Not by choice,” he mutters.

“Does no one know about this?? At all???” Pavitr asks, “I mean, you two are married.”

“I mean, Jess knows about it,” you gesture, and she only grins.

“And now all of you do too,” Miguel sighs. “Vida mía, I thought we talked about this,” he admonishes.

“Oh, c’mon, it was cute how they were all trying to figure it out for so long. I was starting to feel bad,” you say, smoothing your hair back. He only stares at you for a moment before sighing.

“Fine,” he relents, “Can’t do anything about it now anyway.” He smiles softly at you, and the group watches in awe as their cold leader softens in your presence, but his gaze quickly grows dark as he turns back to the group.

“One word of this to anyone outside of this group,” he says with a pointed finger before trailing off, allowing everyone to fill in the blanks as to what he might do.

Everyone’s faces pale like a sheet at the unnamed threat (well, except for Hobie, he only watches with blatant amusement on his face), but you only laugh.

“Miguel, don’t threaten the kids,” you giggle. “Don’t worry, he’s all bark and no bite,” you whisper to them with a wink.

“Hey, that’s what I say!” Peter says.

“You are his best friend after all,” you grin.

“I have never said those words a day in my life,” he scoffs, but you ignore him, eyes lighting up with an idea.

“Oh! I have a lovely idea, how about you all swing by our place for dinner later? We never have guests,” you suggest.

Gwen gasps, “Really?”

“This…maybe doesn’t seem like the best idea,” Miles says as he shrinks down in his seat at Miguel’s glare towards you.

“I have plans tonight…though I don’t think they’d mind if I cancel,” Hobie says nonchalantly, but everyone knew there was no way in hell he’d miss something like this.

“What am I, cat litter?” Jess asks. She was the only person to have been at your shared home, having joined around the same time as you, and being one of the few people Miguel fully trusts.

“You know it's not like that, Jess,” you turn to her with a grin.

“Absolutely not, it's already a liability that they know querida, now you want them traipsing into our home?” Miguel argues, and you narrow your eyes at him, never one to back down from a fight. While it got on his nerves, it's what he loved about you too. He needed someone that wouldn’t take his shit.

“Miguel,” you say, giving him a look. “All our enemies are literally in alternate universes who, aside from those small tears, have no way to go cross-dimensional, let alone find us in the expanse of a universe. Besides, I think it would be nice,” you say, and Mayday seems to agree since she climbs right up into your arms, babbling happily.

“And don’t think I don’t know you have a soft spot for this lil ragtag team,” you smile, bouncing up and down as Mayday laughs.

He huffs, “I am anything but soft, especially for them. They never listen, don’t follow protocol, are immature, and the list goes on.”

“He’s lying,” you whisper, covering your mouth from his direction as though that would stop him from happening. Mayday grabs your hand though, playing with your fingers happily. “See how his ears are turning red?”

At that, his ears turn more red and the group tries to stifle their snickers to no avail.

“Querida,” he warns. “Do you feel the need to share anything else about me? Or have you had enough,” he asks, poking your shoulder. You place a hand on his bicep with a gentle smile, and his expression softens much to his dismay.

“Honey, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you grin. “Alright, it’s settled then! You’re all coming over tonight.”

~

You hummed softly to yourself as you moved around the kitchen, preparing the food for dinnertime when everyone would be coming over.

Then, you feel the hair rise on the back of your neck as a familiar presence makes himself known, strong arms wrapping around your waist as his head rests on top of yours.

“Vida mía, the food smells good,” he says softly before sighing. “But I’m not very happy with you today.”

You let out a sigh of your own as you turn off the stove before turning around in his arms to face him.

“Miguel, my love,” you say, smoothing out the collar of the pullover he wore before looking up at him. “I know you well, don’t I?”

“More than anyone,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting the tiniest amount as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Then it’s safe to assume that you’ve been wanting to hang out with more people in the Society apart from work-related things?” you ask, placing your hand on his chest.

“I can’t afford anything like that in this line of work, you know that querida,” he sighs, that familiar hardened look in his eyes for a moment.

“Miguel, your only friends can’t be me, Lyla and Jess,” you pout.

“Vida mía, you are my wife,” he says.

“Yes, and it's miracle enough that I was able to grow close enough to you to get to that point,” you chuckle, “so my existence in your life is proof itself that you are capable of growing close to people. I’ve seen you, I think you’re ready and deep down I know you don’t always want to be perceived as the cold and unfeeling leader of the Society. Why not start with them?”

“That’s not a decision for you to make,” he says, glancing away from you.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” you apologize, feeling a bit guilty that you threw Miguel into this without warning. “I should have spoken to you about it first but who knows. Maybe this is a good thing, opening your heart a little more,” you explain. “Don’t think I realize you’re the hardest on them because you believe in them,” you smile.

He huffs before pausing to think for a moment. “Sometimes I wonder when you snuck your little way into my head, querida.”

“Admit it, you’re growing soft,” you giggle softly.

“Never,” he counters, tickling your side which makes you scrunch up your face as you laugh breathlessly.

“OKAY! Okay, you’re one soft fluffy teddy bear, happy?” you say which only makes him continue with even more fervour.

“That is the most ridiculous thing I think I have ever heard you say, querida,” he snorts but finally relents.

“Yeah….I can’t even say that with a serious face,” you chuckle. “But you do have your moments, tough guy,” you smile, leaning up on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he rolls his eyes. That’s when the doorbell rings, and immediately your eyes light up.

“Oh! They’re here!!” you say excitedly, escaping from his grasp as you move to open up the door.

“Here we go,” he murmurs to himself, and you turn to face him.

“What was that?” you ask.

“Nothing, vida mía,” he replies, and you narrow your eyes in disbelief.

“Behave, Miguel,” you tell him.

“Wouldn’t dream of anything else,” he replies, and you grin before opening up the front door.

There, you find Miles, Gwen, Pavitr, Peter (alongside Mayday of course), Hobie and Jess all standing outside, chatting amongst themselves before turning to you.

Miles almost looks like he’s in disbelief like he couldn’t really believe this was your home quite yet.

“Hi!” Gwen starts.

“Took you lot long enough,” Hobie says. “Was starting to think we'd have to build a fire and cook it ourselves.” Gwen punches his shoulder, to which he lets out a little “Ow!”

“Sorry about him,” Gwen apologizes.

You just find yourself laughing at it all though.

“No apologies needed, we were a little preoccupied. Come on in, make yourself at home,” you say, opening the door a little wider for them to make their way through.

“Not too at home though,” you hear Miguel say, leaning into the foyer from the living room, arms crossed over his chest.

“Ignore him,” you say, giving him a pointed look to which he just stares at you blankly. “Dinner will be ready soon, I just have to set the table and we can eat, alright?”

“It smells delicious,” Pavitr says, “I’m starving.”

Mayday seems to agree as she crawls up from the baby carrier onto Peter’s head, making grabby hands from the top.

“Someone’s hungry,” Peter chuckles. “Got anything she can eat?”

“I have a few things, don’t worry,” you smile.

“It really does smell really good though, but it always does,” Jess adds.

“It’s nothing special,” you say sheepishly. “Just some of Miguel’s favourites.”

You guide them all into the living room. “Settle in! I’ll be done in a snap,” you say.

As you make your way back to the kitchen (with Jess joining you to help out), back in the living room the squad of spiders settle in almost hesitantly, a watchful eye monitoring all of their reactions.

No one dares say anything, only sitting around nervously.

“So…nice weather we’re having,” Peter says, trying to lighten the mood but even Mayday gives him a deadpanned expression.

Miguel sighs. “You’re all acting like there’s a ticking time bomb waiting for you to speak before setting off,” he says, still leaning up against the doorway.

“We don’t know, mate. Is there?” Hobie jokes, but Miles’ face drops anyway.

“There isn’t, for the record. I can be harsh but I’m not evil,” Miguel scoffs before making eye contact with Pavitr who looks like he wanted to ask something but was holding back.

“One question,” he says simply with a nod.

“How long have you two been together?”

“…a little over 4 years now,” he replies.

“How did you meet?” Gwen asks.

“I said one question,” he says before your voice cuts in.

“My universe was one of the first he visited! He hated me back then, though,” you laugh as you walk back in. “Speaking of which!! I have some things you might all want to see after dinner,” you grin mischievously.

“I thought you said I was the one that had to behave, mi corazón,” Miguel says, a warning tone in his voice.

“And I am, aren’t I?” you say, poking his side playfully. “Anyway, dinner’s ready,” you say, leading them to the dining room. “I know it's not much but-”

“How in the hell is this not much??” Hobie exclaims, and you just shrug. “You should see dinner with my family, then you will think that it’s not much,” you say with a chuckle.

On the table sat a wide expanse of food, all of Miguel’s favourites from Mexico. Empanadas as the appetizer, alongside pozole, ceviche, enchiladas, and chicken with mole poblano all served with a side of rice, beans, or homemade corn tortillas depending on each person’s preference.

You can see Miguel’s eyes visibly brighten as he looks at the food, settling in at the head of the table with you by his side.

“Come eat!” As you say that, everyone sits down before beginning to eat, everyone heading straight to what appealed to them the most.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Miles says, eyes closed in bliss.

“Oye, don’t let your Mother hear that, kid,” Miguel says, but the corner of his lip was upturned in the tiniest of smiles. The most he would allow himself around this many people.

“Thank you, Miles,” you smile.

“This, uhh, how do you say it again? Poh-zuhl?” Gwen asks, and you laugh out loud as she turns pink, meanwhile both Miguel and Miles cringe slightly.

“I’m sorry for laughing, sweetheart. You’re almost there; it’s pronounced like ‘poh-zoh-lay’,” you say kindly.

“Ohh, okay gotcha. Pozole. It’s really good! Feels…comforting, almost,” she says.

“Yes,” you say, glancing at your husband with a soft smile, “it’s Miguel’s favourite. Says it ‘tastes like home’.” A chorus of ‘awws’ go around the table, while Miguel only holds the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“Alright, alright. Enough with the cheesy stuff, let’s get back to eating, yeah?” Hobie says before shoving his fork back into his mouth.

~

Once dinner was finished (and after both Miles and Gwen insisted that they did the dishes despite much argument from you), everyone was settled again in the living room laughing and talking together, and while Miguel only said a few things here and there and sat by your side like a lost puppy, he did seem to be enjoying himself.

“Alright! Now, before everyone goes back home, I have one more thing I’d like to show you,” you say once it quiets down a bit. Standing up, you make your way over to a large bookshelf you and Miguel had built together when you first moved in together.

“I’ve gotten tired of having only myself to show these photos to, so this is the perfect opportunity,” you smile.

“Querida-” Miguel says, holding out a hand to block your way but you look at him with pleading eyes, and he can’t do anything but relent. He couldn’t say no when you looked at him like that.

With a triumphant ‘haha!’ you grab a photo album labelled with a date and a single word; ‘Ours’.

Everyone crowds around as you place it down on the coffee table, and you open it up to the first page.

Gwen is the one that gasps first, eyes wide with awe.

“You both look so beautiful,” she says softly.

There, front and centre was a photo of you and Miguel on your wedding day. You were smiling wide at the camera, a bouquet of your favourite flowers in hand while Miguel only looked at you with an expression so in awe it was as though you painted the stars in the sky.

“You clean up nicely, big man,” Hobie comments, and Pavitr nods.

“Weddings, my favourite,” Jess says, a fond expression on her face as she thinks back to her own husband.

“I had a bird fly into my face at my wedding…but they are nice,” Peter says, rocking Mayday gently as she naps away after the hearty dinner even despite the commotion.

You continue to flip through the photobook, pausing periodically for a little anecdote about each one. Miguel had long stood up to make room for everyone else, but he looked at you in the same way he did on your wedding day.

Like you were the light of his life, the one good thing he had amongst the millions of universes parallel to his own. Like you were his everything.

~

“Admit it, you like them,” you smile, the house finally quiet after everyone headed home. He only rolls his eyes before pulling you into his lap, his face going into the crook of your neck as he holds you close.

“There is a big difference between ‘liking’ and ‘tolerating’, sweetheart,” he says, rubbing circles into your hip soothingly.

“Yeah, yeah, tough guy. Whatever you say,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his neck and settling into his touch with a happy sigh.

You both sit there for a moment in silence, the two of you weren’t ones to fill silence with mindless chatter. If words needn’t be said then they weren’t.

“That was…nice, though,” he admits softly after a little while.

“I know,” you whisper.

~

~

~

“That won’t happen again for a long while though,” he says, pulling away to look at you, crimson eyes pleading with you wordlessly.

You can’t do anything but laugh.

Taglist (for those who requested a part two): @lotustv @mars-ifuknowmeirlplsgoaway @elliewilliamsactualgf @randomhumans-blog @iluvkonig @phillygraves @gothgirlziez

[bamsara]

Hello! I was wondering what company you use for your sticker sheets? I bough one from your Ko-Fi shop and really like the quality, and the pricing you were able to sell at is waaaaaay more reasonable compared to any of the companies I've seen and used myself. Is it a POD company, or a mass purchase of them to sell on your own?

Thank you for your time if you're able to respond!

I'm really glad you like the quality, because I actually make them by hand at home! (Please forgive the lighting, my bedroom is my office lmao.)

I don't use a company (and Idk what a POD company is sorry!) but making them at home gives a lot more freedom of stock, just be wary it can be very time consuming depending on how many you need to make.

I've had other people ask before, so here's a rundown of how I make my stickers at home: At most you'll need:

Printer

Sticker paper (this is the type that I use)

Laminator and lamination paper (the lamination paper that I use.) You can also use adhesive non-heat lamination paper if you don't have a laminator, gives you the same result, just be careful of bubbles. You will get double your worth out of a pack because we are splitting the pouches to cover two sticker sheets.

Your choice of a sticker cutting machine or just using scissors.

First, I use Cricut's software to print out the sticker sheet with the guidelines around the corners so the machine can read it. If you do NOT have a Cricut machine, open up your art program, make a canvas of 2550x3300 and fill it up with your sticker design with some cutting space between them. This the 8.5x11 size for the sticker page.

I usually have bleed selected so the cut comes out cleaner. Tip for non-Cricut users below: Increase the border around your sticker design to fake the 'bleed' effect for a cleaner cut.

These are the print settings I use for my printer. I use the 'use system dialogue' to make sure I can adjust the settings otherwise it prints out low quality by default. Make sure if you're using the above paper that you have 'matte' selected, and 'best quality' selected, these aren't usually selected by default.

So you have your sticker sheet printed! Next is the lamination part. I use a hot laminator that was gifted to me, but there is no-heat types of lamination you can peel and stick on yourself if that's not an option.

(This is for protection and makes the colors pop, but if you prefer your stickers matte, you can skip to the cutting process.)

Important for Cricut users or those planning to get a Cricut: You're going to cut the lamination page to cover the stickers while also not covering the guidelines in the corners. First, take your lamination page and lay it over the sheet, take marker/pen and mark were the edges of your stickers are, and cut off the excess:

(I save the scrap to use for smaller stickers or bonuses later on)

After you've cut out your lamination rectangle, separate the two layers and lay one down on your sticker sheet over your stickers with matte side down, shiny side up. (Save the other sheet for another sticker page)

The gloss of the lamination will prevent the machine from reading the guidelines, so be careful not to lay it over them. It also helps to cut the corners afterwards to prevent accidentally interfering with the guidelines.

Now put that bad boy in the laminator! (Or self seal if you are using non-heat adhesive lamination)

Congrats! You now have a laminated page full of stickers.

For non-cricut/folks cutting them out by hand: this is the part where you start going ham on the page with scisscors. Have fun~

Cutting machine: I put the page on a cutting mat and keep it aligned in the corner, and feed it into the machine. For laminated pages I go between 'cardstock' and 'poster board' so that it cuts all the way through without any issues, but for non-laminated pages or thinner pages, I stick for 'vinyl' and 'light card stock'. Kinda test around.

Now I smash that go button:

You have a sticker now!

The pros of making stickers at home is that you save some cost, and you have more control of your stock and how soon you can make new designs. (I can't really afford to factory produce my stickers anyway)

However, this can be a very time consuming, tedious process especially if you have to make a lot of them. There is also a LOT chance for some errors (misprints, miscuts, lamination bubbles, ect) that will leave you with B-grade or otherwise not-so-perfect or damaged stickers. (Little note, if you have page mess up in printing and can't be fed into the cricut machine, you can still laminate it and cut it out by hand too.)

I have to do a lot of sticker cutting by hand, so if you don't have a cricut don't stress too much about it. I have an entire drawer filled to the top of miscuts/misprints. I keep them because I don't want to be wasteful, so maybe one day they'll find another home. Sucks for my hand though.

But yeah! This is how I make my stickers at home! Hope this is helpful to anyone curious

[stllmnstr]

every fragile thing

pairing: park sunghoon x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, figure skating au, college/university au

word count: 12.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, jealousy, non graphic descriptions/depictions of injuries, use of the american (usa) university system, a kiss or five

soundtrack: get him back! / brutal / jealousy, jealousy / good 4 u / the grudge / bad idea right? / drivers license - olivia rodrigo

After an ankle injury lands you in mandated physical therapy sessions instead of on the ice where you should be training for nationals, you're absolutely certain you must be the most frustrated, emotionally volatile figure skater on the planet. Park Sunghoon proves you wrong.

or,

every fragile thing has one of two choices: become stronger or shatter into a million pieces.

note: hi hello yes this is me on a new blog with the same name. I deleted my old one and wasn't sure if I planned on remaking/reposting but here we are! if you've read this before, then I hope you enjoy just as much this time around. and if you haven't, I hope you love figure skater sunghoon just as much as I do! happy reading ♡

Silence. One word, two syllables. A fairly straightforward term with a meaning that can be easily deduced from a quick scan of its Merriam-Webster definition. 

But unlike many words, silence is one that’s typically learned through experience. Through stilted moments, pregnant pauses, dreamlike moments in the dead of night while the world around you is at a standstill. 

In the moments just before the music starts, when it feels as if the audience around you is holding their breath. And you stand at the center of it all, blades of your tightly laced skates against ice, chest rising and falling in time with your heartbeat, mind spinning with possibility. In those moments, your long trained muscles take over, following the memory of countless repetitions as your body prepares to do what it knows best. 

There’s a question in that silence. One that’s asked with baited breath. 

Will I land this skill? Will I go home with a medal around my neck, cold weight a familiar comfort against my skin? Will this be my best performance yet? Will they love it? Love me?

That, as you’ve come to learn, is your favorite kind of silence. The kind that’s filled with endless possibility, with the promise of something beautiful or disastrous or some odd mix of the two to come. 

The feeling of freedom, of flying as blade cuts through ice, as your body defies gravity with every jump, every spin. 

But that is very much not the kind of silence that greets you where Dr. Min eyes you warily over the top of his pristine clipboard, a crease forming between his dark eyebrows. Frowning, he glances at the paper once more before returning his gaze to you. 

“You’re sure you’ve been resting? No weight on the fracture at all?”

It takes a good chunk of your willpower not to roll your eyes. Mostly because you’re lying through your teeth, but who’s keeping track? 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Gesturing to the thick black boot the lower part of your left leg and foot have been imprisoned in for the better part of a month, you add, “This thing’s still coming off in two weeks, right?”

Two weeks is pushing it, but you’ve done more with less. Two weeks puts you exactly three months out from regionals, which gives you exactly ninety-one days to pull together the most jaw dropping program you or the judges have ever seen. One that’s certain to land you on the podium and secure a spot at nationals. 

Once again, you thank your lucky stars for Coach Lee. She’s been with you since you were still struggling to lace your own skates, and there’s no one else you’d trust to have you ready for regionals in such a short time frame. No one else you’d bet your fate on like this. 

“That was our original time frame, yes…” Dr. Min trails off, avoiding your gaze in a way that has your stomach dropping unpleasantly. 

“And we’ll be sticking to it, I’m sure.” You hate the way the end of your phrase turns up like a question. 

Dr. Min sighs. “Look, ___, our original time frame was ambitious to begin with, and I hate to tell you this, but your ankle is not healing as well as we’d hoped. Fractures don’t heal overnight, and the best thing for you right now is rest.” 

The argument is already forming on your tongue. “But—”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not trying to ruin your life, ___. Truly. I’m saying this to you as the parent of an athlete and a former athlete myself. Pushing yourself now will only lead to reinjury in the future and will also very likely shorten your career. Your ankle needs to heal before you skate on it again. It needs to heal before you so much as put weight on it. And you need to let it heal completely.” The sincerity in his voice is hard to stomach when he says, “Believe me when I tell you that you’ll regret it for the rest of life if you don’t.”

And logically, you know he’s right. Know that this will be nothing but a minor setback if you allow it to run its course. If you follow his advice to rest and heal. But skating has never been something you’ve done with the logical parts of yourself. And Dr. Min doesn’t get it. You tell him as much. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do. Regionals are in less than four months, and—”

“I hear you. Believe me, I do. But this is your third year of university, which means you have another shot at nationals next year. If you push it and try to skate before you’re ready, you may very well lose that chance too.”

“So I’m supposed to do what? Sit around and do nothing until my ankle decides to cooperate?” Even voicing the possibility has you suppressing a grimace. 

But Dr. Min has different thoughts. “Yes. That is exactly what you need to do.”

You don’t avert your gaze. Neither does he. Finally, after a moment, he sighs. “My recommendation at this point is still rest, but—”

“But?” Your excitement is impossible to contain fully. 

Dr. Min levels you with a cautionary look over his clipboard. “But, if you’re going to do anything, our athletics department does also run a physical therapy program, which I think could be beneficial. It would help to retain flexibility, mobility, and agility in the areas of your leg that support your ankle. It could help get you back on the ice faster and maintain the leg strength you’ve built. There’s a group session that runs on Tuesday afternoons—”

“Yes,” you nod, not bothering to hear the end of his statement. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“I… okay.” As much as you want to hate him for it, Dr. Min has a point. And while you doubt physical therapy will be anywhere near as grueling as your usual workouts, it sounds a hell of a lot better than doing nothing. 

…

You’ve never liked hospitals. The odd juxtaposition of white, lifeless sterility and a culmination of some of life’s most painful moments has always left an unpleasant taste on your tongue. 

It’s one that has you double checking the address Dr. Min forwarded to you as you enter the oddly cheerful building that is apparently home to a renowned athletics physical therapy facility. Despite the medical purpose, there’s a distinct liveliness that envelops the space. 

The woman at reception informs you that this is indeed the right building and the session you’re attending has just begun in the room to your left. 

Pausing at the door, you’re struck with a sudden timidness. A physical therapy group for athletes will obviously be filled with, well, athletes. And although you can’t speak too harshly on that particular subsect of people, being one yourself, they can be intimidating. It must be the competitiveness, you think. The drive to push, succeed, win that gives off such a distinct aura.

Steeling yourself with one last breath, you remind yourself that’s why you’re here. To get back to that version of you that has everyone else feeling a little shier. That version of you that eats, breathes, and sleeps with ice skates laced on your feet and visions of the top of a podium driving your every decision. 

With determination straightening your brow, you push open the door. 

And immediately find yourself grateful for the mental preparation as three heads snap in your direction.  

Hitching your bag up an inch on your shoulder, you try not to melt under the sudden awkwardness. Thankfully, one of them is better at breaking ice than you.

“Hi,” the boy closest to you is the first to fill the silence. He’s all smiles where he gives you a friendly wave, moving a stray hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head as he tells you, “I’m Jungwon.”

You offer your name in return, trying on a smile to match his friendliness. You have a feeling it comes more naturally to him than it ever will to you, though. 

Regardless, he offers an equally cheerful, “Nice to meet you.” Glancing over to where the second boy is moving through a series of stretches, Jungwon makes eye contact, silently telling him he’s up next. 

Even mid-stretch, he acquiesces. “I’m Niki,” the second boy follows. 

“And I’m Jake.” The last boy doesn’t need any prompting from Jungwon. Nodding towards the walking boot that covers the bottom half of your left leg, he glances at a similar one that he wears on his own. “Looks like we’re twins. Tore up my achilles pretty bad in my last soccer match,” he explains. “What about you?”

“Fractured my ankle,” you return, a rueful smile dragging your lips up. “Figure skater.”

“Ah, man.” Jungwon winces. “That sucks.”

You shrug, forcing a nonchalance you don’t feel. “No worse than a busted achilles.” 

“That’s cool that you skate though,” Jake offers. “Kind of a funny coincidence, actually. There’s another—”

Whatever it is, he doesn’t get to finish the thought. At that moment, the door opens again, this time revealing a middle aged woman in a white physician’s coat. Her name tag reads Dr. Kim, and she introduces herself as such to you. 

“Looks like everyone’s here, including our new members.” She gives another cursory nod in your direction. “Welcome again.” Glancing around, the instructor pauses. “Oh, wait. Except for—”

“I’m here, I’m here.” For the second time in the span of a minute, the door behind you opens. You don’t miss the glance that passes between Niki and Jake. You turn to face the new arrival, but his back is to you as he sets his bag down and begins the process of switching his shoes. 

The way the new member enters with a dismissive wave of his hand and lack of proper greeting has you thinking tardiness is not an uncommon trait of his. Even from behind, you can feel the waves of arrogance he exudes. That seems to align more with your preconceived notions of athletes. 

Studying him for another second, a sinking feeling of dread begins to build in the pit of your stomach. Long, dark hair. Unnaturally graceful movements, even if all he’s doing is digging through his bag. Tall stature, broad shoulders, long legs. 

An athlete’s build through and through. Perfectly suited for the ice. 

“Great.” Despite the statement, Dr. Kim’s tone is flat. “Well, we were just getting started and introducing ourselves since we have someone new joining us today.”

“Hi,” he offers, still fixated on his bag, yet to offer as much as a glance in your direction. If anything, it only serves as a confirmation of his identity. “I’m—” You don’t even need to hear him say it. 

“Sunghoon?”

At that, he does finally look up. 

Gaze locking with yours, a moment of confusion is quickly replaced by a furrow in his brow, the slight downturn of his lips. He’s not thrilled to see you either. 

A beat passes. 

Two. 

Neither of you break eye contact. 

The silence extends to the point of discomfort for all four onlookers, each of them hesitant to break the tension that’s rising by the second. 

Finally, Dr. Kim takes a knife to the tension. “Do you two know each other?” 

Park Sunghoon. Renowned figure skater at your rival university. Someone with such a natural knack for carving lines through ice that whispers of prodigy have been shadowing his footsteps since the minute he put them on a rink. 

Someone with his head so far up his own ass you’re not sure how he can see half the time, much less keep his hair looking so perfect. 

Oh, you know him alright. 

“___?”

And it would seem he remembers you as well. 

It also answers Dr. Kim’s question well enough. 

“Ah, good.” It sounds like a question, like she’s hoping your acquaintance will be a positive thing instead of a disaster. You don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. “The figure skating community is tight knit, I suppose.”

You suppress a scoff. That’s one word for it, you guess. 

You remember when it felt that way to you, too. Before tight knit became too small. Back before university, when it felt like it was you and Park Sunghoon against the world, instead of against each other. Back when the two of you didn’t skate for opposing teams but instead were members of the same club. A time when you took the ice together, skated as partners until he—

You force your thoughts to stop in their tracks. Your blood pressure has spiked enough in the last few days, and thinking back on long days spent with Park Sunghoon will only send it skyrocketing again. 

If anything, you’ll use this opportunity to practice perfecting your poker face for when you inevitably run into him at future competitions. 

And future competitions means you need a healed ankle, not a bruised ego. And certainly not an unpleasant trip down memory lane. 

Turning away from Sunghoon, you’re the first one to answer when Dr. Kim asks if you’re ready to get started. 

“Yes,” you tell her, determination written across your brow, in the set of your shoulders, and perhaps most noticeably, in the way you avoid Sunghoon’s wandering gaze for the next two hours. 

…

Without the rink, days are quick to meld into one another. It may be concerning, considering that you still have a set schedule of classes and homework to follow, but your life has revolved around training for so long that it’s hard to tell Mondays from Wednesdays without a set practice schedule. 

Thankfully, you do still make it back to the clinic at the right time on the right day, this time for another session with Dr. Kim and your fellow band of broken athletes. 

Including him. 

Aside from the glaringly obvious exception, you’re not as bothered at the thought of returning as you feared you might be. 

Jungwon, Niki, and Jake have proven themself pleasant enough company, and Dr. Kim seems to have built an understanding of how difficult it is to be forcibly removed from the sport you love. As such, she’s one of the least aggravating medical professionals you’ve spent time around. 

“Hey,” Niki greets when you arrive. “Did you have a good weekend?”

You shrug. “Good enough. Mostly just catching up on homework.” Setting your bag down and switching out your shoes, you join him on the mat, beginning the series of warm-up stretches Dr. Kim instructed you through last week. “What about you?”

“Not too bad. I got some good news from my doctor, actually.” He switches legs in his stretch, and you’re almost envious of his flexibility. He’s a dancer, and an exceedingly good one at that. One with an unfortunate knee injury at the moment. “My x-rays are looking a lot better. He thinks I might be able to start easing back into regular use by next month.” 

“That’s great,” you smile, even as a pang of jealousy stabs somewhere near your gut. “I’m really happy for you, Niki.” 

“A month still feels like forever, though, doesn’t it?” He sighs. “I can’t remember the last time I was out of the studio for this long.” 

Jungwon slides down onto the mat next to you, joining in on the stretch routine. “Consider yourself lucky, man. They told me at my last check-up that I probably won’t be able to do any jumping or kicks again for at least three months even though the fracture is already mostly healed.” He shakes his head. “No jumping or kicking,” he echoes, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You know, things that are super easy to avoid in taekwondo.”

“If it’s any consolation, I just got told that I’m gonna have to sit out of regionals this year. Which means I’ll have no way of qualifying for nationals.” You wonder how many times you’ll have to admit that particular reality to yourself before the sting starts to fade. 

“That sucks.” Jake agrees, coming down to the mat and occupying the spot next to Niki. “I’ll probably have to sit for this entire season, too. I love my team, but it’s so frustrating watching them play when I know I could be an asset on the field.”

“That’s true.” You’re struck by a sudden wave of sympathy. “At least skating is an individual sport, so the only person I have to disappoint is myself.” 

“Speaking of skating,” Jungwon sounds hesitant as he approaches the subject. “Do you and Sunghoon, uh…” he pauses for a moment in search of a neutral way of framing the unmistakable tension that surfaced the last time he saw the two of you together. “Do you two know each other?”

Grimacing internally, you suppose an explanation was bound to be solicited after your icy reunion. “We skate for rival universities.” Your gaze fixes on a spot on the ground. “And before college we used to, uh, we used to skate for the same club.”

The three boys share a glance. It’s hardly an explanation for the venom you said his name with but before they can press you further, the subject in question enters the room. 

Again, he takes his time setting his bag down, getting his things ready. This time, he also pulls out an obnoxiously big pair of headphones, secures them over his ears before he bothers to turn around. Despite the fact that all three boys offer him friendly smiles and waves, he returns the gesture only with a tight smile, making his way to the mat on the opposite side of the room before he begins his stretch routine.

It’s a message that rings loud and clear. A frown passes between Jake, Jungwon, and Niki. It’s obvious to you, then, that you’re the reason he chose to set himself up as far away as physically possible. 

So be it, you think, letting the slight roll right off of you. It’s not the first time he’s given you the cold shoulder for something he plays an equal part in, and you doubt it will be the last. 

Besides, it will only make your sessions pass by quicker, if the burden of avoiding gazes and minimizing interactions falls on his shoulders instead of yours.

With nothing but a shrug, you adjust slightly, ensuring that the only view he has of you is of your back. 

…

It’s a pattern that continues as physical therapy sessions start to become a regular routine in your week. Sunghoon, with his apparent disdain for anyone’s time but his own, is always the last to arrive. He also continues his habit of picking the spot in the room furthest away from you. 

Despite the fact that you’d like to chalk it up to his social ineptitude alone, that explanation doesn’t track. Although there’s still a certain aura of aloofness that follows where he goes, it’s too often that you see him smiling at a joke cracked by Jake or sharing easy conversations with Jungwon and Niki.  

Hell, he even interacts with Dr. Kim with a level of warmth you didn’t know was possible coming from him. If there’s any disdain in their conversations, he directs it all towards his right wrist. It’s why he’s here, you assume. Encased in a brace similar to the one you wear on your left ankle, his right forearm seems to be the reason for his attendance. 

It’s hard to not be envious. While a wrist injury is nothing to scoff at, it doesn’t necessarily keep you off the ice. Not in the same way a fractured ankle does. 

Refocusing your thoughts, you push the boy across the room firmly out of mind as Dr. Kim helps adjust you into the next stretch.

“How about now?” Dr. Kim pushes your spine a fraction of an inch further, pressure light but demanding. Before, this much flexibility would have been an easy request of your body, but lack of use has your muscles feeling tight. “Any tightness or pain?”

“No.” The bead of sweat on your brow begs to differ, as does the way the negation slipped through gritted teeth. 

But you’re frustrated. Annoyed at the progress you’ve lost, at the new limits of your body, at the way you feel like a stranger in your own skin. 

Across the room, you miss the flicker of annoyance that flits over Sunghoon’s features. Headphones on as always, you imagine you’re nothing more than a blip on his radar, a pesky intruder that’s easily ignored as long as he has his back to you. 

“Hm,” Dr. Kim muses. “You’ve retained more flexibility than I expected.” She offers you a smile. “That’s a good thing, a sign of a quick recovery.”

You suppress a grimace. It should be a good thing. You should be recovering quickly. If only you could get your stupid body to cooperate. 

Stealing another glance at the boy across the room, you can’t help the way a small burst of rage bubbles in your stomach. Prodigy. Why does he always get to be the anomaly, the exception to the rule? His injury is already less severe than yours, and he’s probably recovering quickly, too. Without even having to fake it.

Easing you out of the stretch, Dr. Kim jots down a quick note. “I’ll have Dr. Min run another x-ray at your next visit.” Nodding towards your ankle, she adds, “I think there’s a good chance that things are looking a lot better, and updated x-rays will help guide our next sessions.” She pauses for a minute. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself or get your hopes up, but I think we might be able to start putting some weight back on it soon. Start getting it stronger again.” 

You’re hesitant to let your excitement grow too much. But it would be a lie if you weren’t already counting the days until your next visit with Dr. Min in your head. “Thank you,” you tell her. “I’ll hope those x-rays come back looking good, then.”

“Me too,” she smiles. “I’ll see you next week, then. Hopefully with good news.”

You nod, returning her smile before heading to the door to gather your things. Jungwon catches you on your way out. 

“Hey, ___, hold on a sec.” When you turn back towards him, he tells you, “The rest of us are gonna grab lunch at a place nearby, if you want to join.”

Your uncertainty must write itself across your features, because he’s quick to add, “Don’t worry. Sunghoon won’t be there. He’s got a class right after this.”

Slightly embarrassed by the way he read you so easily, you nod. “Sure. Lunch sounds good.” Despite their friendliness with Sunghoon, you’ve come to like the three of them. And it’s been far too long since you broke up the monotony of class, homework, and medical appointments with something as simple as lunch with friends. 

And as long as he’s not there, you imagine it will be nothing but pleasant. 

It doesn’t take long for them to prove you wrong. 

Niki barely lets you get one bite in before he asks, “So, what exactly happened between you two?” Even without the name, the question is obvious. 

Still, after choking on the sip of water you’d been taking, you answer, “Who?”

Jake just gives you a look. 

You sigh. “Like I said, we used to skate for the same club. We, uh, never really got along, I guess.” Avoiding eye contact, you add, “And now we skate for rival schools. I suppose it’s only natural to not like each other.”

Niki doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, that sounds made up.”

Jungwon swallows his bite, parts his lips like he has something to say. Internally, you heave a sigh of relief. If any of the three of them spare you, you have a feeling it would be him. “I mean, it does seem like something else must have happened.”

Or not. 

“You don’t have to tell us,” he adds. “But it’s just… I mean, the two of you can’t even look at each other.”

Sighing, you suppose the circumstances do look odd from the outside. “There was… an incident. Back when we used to skate together.”

“What?” Jake asks. “Did he steal your skates right before a show or something?” 

“No, no.” You shake your head. “It happened on the ice, actually. During a program.”

“Wait,” Niki interrupts. “You said you used to skate together. Do you mean like, as partners?”

The guilt on your face says it all. 

“No way.” Jake says. 

Jungwon’s eyes grow bigger. “What did he do?”

“Yeah,” Niki turns to face you fully. “Wouldn’t being his partner be a good thing? At least on the ice, I mean. I know he can be a little insufferable, but isn’t he some sort of prodigy—”

“Prodigy, my ass.” You’re so sick of that goddamn word. “Wasn’t a prodigy when he dropped me in the middle of our program at junior nationals, was he?”

The way all three or their jaws drop in unison is almost worth the admission. 

But the thing is, he was. No accusatory fingers pointed in his direction after it happened. No one blamed prodigy Park Sunghoon for the mishap. 

No, it was decided fair and square by the jury of public opinion that the mistake was entirely your fault, your burden to bear. And it’s not like you were immune to the criticism. Whispers followed where you went. And you always, always managed to hear them. 

Maybe if you’d trained a little harder, completed the second rotation a little sooner, the skill would have gone off without a hitch, they mused. Hell, maybe if you’d stuck to your diet a little better, those last two pounds would have spelled the difference between a perfect landing and your ass on frozen ground, program music still crescendoing as onlookers watched with horrified fascination.

“Oh,” Jungwon grimaces. 

“That’s rough,” Niki agrees. 

And they don’t even know the worst of it. Don’t know that back then, at fifteen, you’d had a giant, soul crushing, earth shattering, massive crush on your skating partner. That you searched for his approval just as eagerly as you’d sought out your coach’s. 

That you’d squeezed in as many extra practice sessions as physically possible for five months leading up to the routine just to make sure you were as close to flawless as possible, just to make sure you were chosen to be his partner on the ice. 

That you giggled, giggled, when you saw the matching costumes the two of you would wear for the first time. 

That you followed where he went with long sighs and lovesick eyes. That you looked forward to the grueling hours you spent on the ice with him, turning perfection into something even greater. 

That your heart skipped a beat every time you ran through your program, every time he caught you with sure hands and a strong grip. 

That Park Sunghoon never made a mistake, never let you fall, not once. 

Not until a spotlight was spinning dreams into reality and you were already anticipating the secret smiles you’d share with matching gold medals around your necks. 

Not until it all shattered in a single moment. 

It was cold, as you laid there on the ice, sprawled out and unable to move from the sudden shock of it all. Luckily, you’d avoided any critical injuries. You had staggered off the ice with nothing but some bad bruising, the worst of it staining your ego and your heart. 

And after it all, no matter how many times you passed him on your way to the locker room, shared the ice with him, or searched for the gaze he pointedly avoided across the room, Park Sunghoon never uttered the two words that just might have made you forgive it all. 

Instead of an apology or even the decency of an explanation, you got a cold shoulder and a lost friendship you were too confused by to mourn. 

In the end, you’d decided to turn it all into a blessing in a very thorough disguise. From that moment onwards, all of your time on the ice was dedicated to you and you alone. Never would you let anything but the sheer strength of your own will, your own goals, motivate you to become better, faster, stronger. 

And you found that victory tasted even sweeter, when the full weight of it could rest on your shoulders alone. When no one could whisper behind their palms that the only reason you stood on the podium was a prodigy of a partner. 

So fine. Park Sunghoon didn’t owe you shit. Not an apology, an explanation, or even a second glance. 

And if he was a prodigy, an ice prince or whatever stupid title he’d earned alongside his medals, well, you’d just have to be even better.

But now, sitting across from new friends with a fractured ankle and a ruined shot at medalling this year, a quiet part of you admits for the first time that maybe, just maybe, part of that resolve is nothing but spite in disguise. Part of the anger you’ve clung to for so long isn’t directed at him, but at yourself. 

That it was embarrassing to fall in front of a crowd, yes, but it was also humiliating to know that he was hearing all those little comments about your inferiority too. To realize that his silence meant he probably agreed. That you were a liability of a partner, unequal in both skill and importance. That he could move on from the incident, from you, completely unscathed. 

That your little crush was entirely one-sided, just like the respect and admiration you’d once felt for him. 

You stare at the half-eaten lunch in front of you, appetite suddenly completely gone. 

“What a coincidence that the two of you ended up injured at the same time,” Jake muses. 

“And in the same physical therapy group.” Jungwon nods. 

“Yeah,” you echo hollowly. “What a coincidence.”

…

When Park Sunghoon speaks to you for the first time in five years, it’s completely by accident.

As the weeks have continued on, you’ve fallen into a perfect routine during your shared physical therapy sessions. A routine of avoidance, ignorance, and as much space between the two of you as physically possible. It’s become so easy that the two of you navigate it with the kind of grace only two elite figure skaters could ever manage. 

If anything, it’s more awkward for the other members of your session than it is for the two of you. Jungwon, Jake, Niki, and Dr. Kim are the ones suffering as they try to stay friendly with both of you without icing out the other. 

It must be why he doesn’t even bother to check who it is that’s standing right next to him as he reaches for his bag on the shelf near the front door at the end of another session. Must be why he says it in a voice so casual you don’t think it’s him at first. “How pissed do you think Dr. Kim will be if I’m late again next week?”

Even though the voice doesn’t quite fit, you half expect to see Jake standing next to you when you turn to the side. 

Sunghoon realizes his mistake at the exact same second you do. You watch as shock flickers across his features, quickly replaced by something guarded, unreadable. Just as completely closed off to you as always. 

It pisses you off, the way he’s so utterly and completely unaffected by you. The way he can brush you off as easily as a piece of dust. Insignificant. Unimportant. Unwanted. It has you freeing the reins on comments you should bite back instead. 

“Hard to say.” Ice and resentment drip from every syllable. “Then again, I’m surprised you care about what she thinks. Doesn’t seem like something that would bother you.”

That at least earns you some of his emotion. Another bout of shock crosses his face before it shifts to confusion and falls finally to anger. You can see it in the furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw. The flare of heat in his eyes. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

If he falls to anger, you’ll rise above it. At least on the outside. There’s no accounting for the way your gut twists in rage. Still, you offer him a smile that’s almost as fake as it is sickeningly sweet. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you spend enough time thinking about it.” It’s patronizing, and intentionally so. You hope it annoys him enough to keep him up tonight. 

Reaching for the front door, you take your exit first. The hallways of this building have become familiar over the weeks. Even with anger clouding your vision and a bad ankle, you trace a steady path to the parking lot. You’re halfway to your car when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks. 

You freeze for a moment, turning the sound of it over in your brain, stuck on the way it almost sounds like a plea, a prayer coming from his lips. The sound of footsteps draws nearer. They fall quickly, as if he’s running. Your indecision still renders you immobile. 

“Hold on a second. Did I… Did I do something to upset you?”

If you thought you were angry before, you’re surely seeing red now. How dare he. 

Spinning around, you only hope you sound as outraged as you feel. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“What? No.” His brow furrows. “I mean, I know our schools are technically rivals and all, but we haven’t really seen each other in years.”

“Right, because you’ve been so sunny and welcoming since I joined the group.”

“I was giving you space. You practically bolted like a scared cat when you saw it was me.” He runs a hand through his hair. You hate the way it falls perfectly back into place. And you hate the way he looks so good doing it. “But clearly you’ve got something against me.”

The audacity, the sheer, utter audacity. There’s no trace of humor when you say, “You’re hilarious, really.” And there’s no room for debate when you turn away from him again, continuing to walk towards your car. 

“Wait,” he tries, but it falls on deaf ears. “God, ___, would you just hold on for a second, I—”

You turn. To do what, you’re not entirely sure. But before you can decide, the grip he has on his car keys loosens, the fingers of his right hand less dexterous than usual thanks to his arm brace. He still has his reflexes though. With his other hand, he manages to stop them from falling completely. 

“Better take care of that.” You jerk your chin to where he awkwardly fumbles with his keyring, trying to find a better grip. “Wouldn’t want to drop those too.”

His gaze snaps to you, eyes wide, mouth slightly slackened. The keys fall from his grasp, metal clinking delicately on the pavement. A million questions swim across his features, none of which you’ll give the grace of answering. 

Instead, you turn around once more. You make it all the way to your car, all the way out of the parking lot, all the way home. 

And he never says your name once. 

…

The following Tuesday, you are the last one of the group to arrive. And while you would usually never pass up the opportunity to best Sunghoon at anything, including being the latest arrival, competition is not the reason for your tardiness. 

It’s avoidance. That, and the fact that you had to spend eleven minutes giving yourself a pep talk in the car before you could work up the nerve to approach the front doors of the clinic. In the end, it’s a glance down at the boot on your left foot that does it. You’ve let Sunghoon ruin your chance at a gold medal once, and you’ll be damned if you let him do it again. 

Besides, your last visit with Dr. Min was a good one. Your ankle hasn’t healed quite as much as Dr. Kim suspected, but progress is progress, and you’re making plenty of it, according to your most recent x-rays. 

You enter the session with an apology for Dr. Kim and concentrated efforts to not let your gaze wander to the back corner of the room as you make your way over to where Jake and Jungwon sit. Starting your stretches, you assume Niki is over with Sunghoon, but you can’t work up the nerve to confirm that. 

Despite her initial annoyance at your tardiness, Dr. Kim is equally pleased at your latest x-ray results and gives you the green light to switch out the resistance bands you’ve been using for the next level up. Just as you’re reaching for the set of red bands on the shelf next to the treadmills, a set of obnoxiously smooth hands gets there first. 

Turning to Sunghoon with narrowed eyes, you grab the end of the band set he just snatched out from under you, eyes ablaze. 

The little fucker has the gall to roll his eyes. “What are you doing?”

You yank on the band. He doesn’t even flinch, grip steady. “I’m trying to follow Dr. Kim’s instructions,” you inform, tone flat. 

This time when you yank again, he yanks back. Much to your annoyance, he’s able to exert enough force to have you stumbling forward. “You’re trying to provoke me.”

“And it’s working,” Niki whispers to Jake and Jungwon in the back corner of the room. Dr. Kim just shakes her head. 

“Just take the green bands,” Sunghoon suggests. 

“They don’t have enough resistance. I need these ones,” you argue. “Why don’t you take the green ones?”

“Pretty sure if one of us takes the lighter bands, it should be you.” Sunghoon tightens his grip. “Or are you seriously trying to claim that you’re stronger than me right now?”

“I’m using them for my legs, you absolute jackass. Which are definitely stronger than your forearms.”

Sunghoon cocks a brow. “Should we put money on it?”

“You are such a dick. Dr. Kim literally—”

“Has another set of red bands,” the woman in question interrupts. She levels the two of you with an exasperated look as she holds them out in front of her. “There’s another set of every color on the equipment shelf next to the door.”

“Oh, right,” you nod, pulling back a little on your end of the band before you release it, just to hear the small cry Sunghoon lets out when it snaps against the skin of his good wrist. “Thanks.”

And the satisfaction that comes from completing your usual number of reps with a higher resistance is almost as gratifying as when you see Sunghoon rubbing at the still reddened skin on his left wrist as you pack up to leave for the day. 

“Those two are gonna kill each other,” Jungwon tells Jake and Niki as the three of them walk to their cars, brow creasing in concern. 

“Or something,” Jake agrees. 

Niki hoists his bag up on his shoulder. “My money’s on ___.”

A contemplative look passes between Jake and Jungwon before they nod in unison, “Yeah.”

…

You’re in the middle of passing a medicine ball back and forth with Jake the following week when he asks, “Are your school’s finals next week too?”

And although it’s hard to believe, first semester is already drawing to an end as the days get shorter and assignments get longer. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m up to my ass in essays right now.”

“Same,” Jake agrees. “Sometimes it makes me wonder how I do it when I’m training, too.” Although you agree, a pang of jealousy is the only thing his words inspire. Of the skaters on your team that are preparing to compete as you speak. That have already choreographed their routines and selected their music and are spending every waking moment perfecting each and every detail of their program. 

It’s hard. It’s brutal. You’d be the first to admit that. But you miss it all the same, so much it hurts. 

A moment passes before he continues. “Well, anyway, Jungwon, Niki, and I were thinking that since none of us are training right now, we should celebrate the end of the semester like everyone else does.”

You arch a brow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Right, sorry,” he apologizes. “Consider this your formal invitation to get absolutely shitfaced with us next Friday.”

The laugh that bubbles in your throat is so unexpected you can’t quite bite it back. While you have your fair share of good, old-fashioned fun, he’s right. Every other semester, you’ve celebrated the end of finals season with a cup of hot tea and an early night in bed. Traded one source of stress for another as you woke up bright and early the next day to hit the ice. 

You send him a smile, tossing the medicine ball back in his direction. “Count me in.”

…

The following Friday night finds you double-checking the address on your phone before tentatively knocking on the front door of what you hope is Jake’s apartment. In the middle of the university district across the city from your own, you can’t say you’re familiar with any of the buildings outside of the athletic complex, which you’ve only ever visited for a handful of competitions. It strikes you then that this is also the university Sunghoon attends. And, stomach dropping, that you never actually asked who all would be attending tonight.

Before you have the chance to spin on your heel and high-tail it down the stairs you just climbed, the door swings open. It’s not Jake. 

“Oh,” you mumble. The boy who opened the door is not Jake, but he is very much attractive. “Sorry. I’m looking for Jake Sim’s apartment.” Your voice turns up at the end like a question. 

“You’re in the right place,” he smiles, and it’s gorgeous. “I’m Heeseung, Jake’s roommate. You must be ___.” He opens the door wider, allowing you space. “Come on in.”

“That’s me.” You offer him a grateful smile as you enter, hanging your coat and sliding your shoes off. 

The interior is surprisingly sophisticated, for a college boy’s apartment. It’s clean, for starters, and as you follow Heeseung down the hallway towards the kitchen, you can’t help but be impressed by their choice in decor. 

“Help yourself to anything.” Heeseung gestures to the impressive spread of snacks on the table. “But first, can I get you something to drink?”

“Um…” Your lack of alcohol-related knowledge is apparent, and the uncertainty must be obvious, because Heeseung just smiles again. 

“I’ve got you.” There’s an undertone of something in his words. Something playful, something bordering on flirty. But it’s too subtle to tell for sure, and you’re not one to bet on losing odds. He reaches for a glass and a handful of ice cubes. “Do you like fruity flavors?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That sounds good.” Besides, it’s been a minute since you’ve been well and truly flirted with at a college party by a boy that looks like he could spell trouble in his sleep. This could be fun, you think.  

Glancing towards the adjacent living room, you notice the usual familiar faces. Jake and Niki are sitting on the couch while Jungwon chats with a pair of boys you don’t recognize. Eyes tracing the perimeter, you feel your shoulders tense when they land on a familiar silhouette. Sunghoon has his back to you, but his identity is just as unmistakable as it was on your first day of physical therapy. Like Jungwon, he’s talking to another person you don’t know. 

Oh, well. It’s too late to back out now and too early to make an exit. If you and Sunghoon can coexist in a room once a week without starting too many fires, you’re sure you’ll manage to get through tonight just fine. 

Heeseung hands you a full glass. It’s cold where it meets your fingertips. 

“Should we join them?” He inclines his head toward the living room and you nod. 

Following in his footsteps, you wave a quick greeting to Jake before taking a seat next to Heeseung, enough space between you and Sunghoon for you to relax slightly.

“How do you and Jake know each other?” You ask, searching for something to fill the silence, to keep the conversation flowing. “Do you play soccer together?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “No, we’ve been friends since elementary school. But I am on the basketball team, which helps. I feel like student athletes just kind of get each other, you know?”

You do know, and you tell him as much. The crazy schedule, the unwavering commitment. It’s much easier to explain to someone that’s living through the exact same thing. 

“Speaking of which, you’re a figure skater, right? For the university across town.”

You arch a brow. “I’m surprised Jake told you so much about you.”

“Not nearly enough,” he flirts, and this time it’s blatant. 

You take another sip of your drink with upturned lips, weighing a response on your tongue. Before you can decide how many cards you’d like to show, you make eye contact across the room with the one person you were hoping to avoid. 

Sunghoon looks equally—scratch that—even more displeased to see you. Jawline so taught you could cut your finger on it and lips drawn in a straight line, he’s pissed where he locks eyes with you from his seat. Sunghoon is the one to avert his eyes first. Throwing back whatever’s in his cup, he slices through the moment of tension with a knife. 

If Heeseung notices the way your breath splutters, he doesn’t comment. Thankfully, Jungwon chooses the next moment to say his hellos and introduce you to the boys you hadn’t recognized earlier. 

“Sunoo,” he nods towards the boy he’d been sitting with earlier, who offers a friendly greeting. “And that’s Jay, over by Sunghoon. And you’ve already met Heeseung.”

“And you all go to school here?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Jay and I live together, and Sunoo is Niki’s roommate.”

“You’re deep in enemy territory,” Heeseung elbows you lightly, teasing. “What are we gonna do with you?”

You lift your now empty glass towards him, grinning. “Get me another drink, hopefully.”

Sending you a wink, he takes the glass from your outstretched hand before standing from the couch. “On it.” You watch his back retreat into the kitchen, oblivious of the second one that follows it a handful of moments later. 

Jay, as it turns out, is not an athlete, but does play guitar for a local  band your friend has been raving to you about for ages. He’s already promising you two sets of complimentary tickets to every one of their upcoming shows by the time you realize Heeseung’s been gone for a while. Too long. 

Excusing yourself, you head toward the kitchen. And it’s just your luck that you find the person you’ve spent the evening avoiding, instead of the one you’re searching for. Even with the buzz of your first drink fading rapidly, your inhibitions are feeling low. 

Sunghoon barely has the chance to register your presence before you’re laying out accusations. 

“I know you don’t like me, but do you really have to spend the whole night glaring at me like that? In front of everyone?”

Sunghoon’s shoulders tense, a confirmation that he hears you, but he says nothing. Instead, he just swallows the remainder of his drink in one large gulp. His eyes are still flaring, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you did something to piss him off. 

But it’s just like him, to avoid conversations he doesn’t want to have with the end of another drink. To treat you like someone not even worthy of a response. You don’t know why you expected anything different. Scoffing, you notice the full drink sitting on the counter. Heeseung must have had the chance to refill it before disappearing. 

You move to step around Sunghoon and reach for it when he finally says, “I’m not glaring at you.”

The gaze you level him with is incredulous. “Do you think I’m stupid? I have eyes—”

“For all I know you are stupid!” Sunghoon sighs, drags an open palm down the length of his face. “I mean, are you really gonna let some guy you just met pour your drinks all night?”

“Heeseung?” You’re confused why all of his rage seems to be directed towards something so insignificant. “He’s Jake’s roommate”

“And a complete stranger to you.”

It’s infuriating, the way he assumes his opinion should hold any weight in your life. The way he thinks he has any say in your decisions. “So should I avoid all the food now too?” You’re being petty now for the sake of it. “I mean, since you’ve been in here unsupervised for quite a while now.” You take another step towards your drink and he moves, blocking your path with his body. 

When you look up, you find his eyes already trained on you, and there’s no ice in them now. Just pure, unadulterated heat. Fire. Flames that lick the base of your spine. “You’re so fucking agitating, you know that?”

“I’m agitating?” You take another step forward, hoping the proximity will force him away. It doesn’t. If anything, he leans into it. Into you. 

You reach for the drink again. This time, he stops you himself. Fingers of his unrestricted hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Yeah.” His words are low, voice a caress even as it drips venom. You feel his breath ghost across your cheekbone. “Real fucking agitating.”

Your eyes are still locked on his, and you search them for a hint of something coherent, something that makes sense. Every bone in your body drawn taught, it’s as if muscle memory reverts you to the last moment you were like this, the last moment he held you this close, body entwined with his own in a familiar embrace. Your wrist slackens in his grasp. 

Last time, he dropped you. Sent you scattering across ice until the only thing you could taste was the bitterness of defeat and the sharp sting of humiliation. 

Last time, he let you fall. 

You have no idea what he’ll do now. 

In the end, it’s the sound of approaching footsteps that has the two of you springing apart, your wrist falling from his grip. In the scramble, you remember your original target. 

Despite the long melted ice, this drink feels even cooler in your grip, a stark contrast to the simmering heat just beneath your skin. 

When Heeseung enters, he’s tucking his phone into his pocket with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I had to take a call. My brother gets chatty at the worst times.” Nodding to your hand, he smiles, “You found your drink.” 

“Yeah, I did.” You take a step closer to the living room, closer to Heeseung. Further from Sunghoon. 

Glancing between the two of you, there’s a hint of uncertainty when Heeseung asks if you want to rejoin the others in the living room. 

You put his worries to ease and your questions to rest when you agree easily, not even bothering to give Sunghoon a second thought. 

You do seek his gaze one last time, though, before you follow Heeseung back to the party. Looking directly at him, you raise your glass in a mock toast. Without breaking eye contact, you bring the cup to your lips, swallowing half the drink in one long sip. When you do finally turn away, it’s to find the empty seat next to Heeseung. 

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant blur, trading stories and laughs with the people around you while Heeseung keeps the seat at your side warm. Sunghoon does you the favor of disappearing from sight after your stand off in the kitchen.

It’s easy to relax into the company of everyone else, so much so that you don’t see Sunoo until you’re running right into him, the contents of his cup saturating the front of your shirt. 

It’s a problem Heeseung is quick to solve, and the gray hoodie he offers you is cozier than any of your own with a scent that’s almost addicting. 

He’s sweet, you think. Sweet and charming and forward in all of the right ways. It’s solidified when he offers to join you on the porch when you tell him you’re stepping outside for some fresh air. It’s cemented when he accepts your refusal with nothing but a smile and the request that you “come back quick.”

Stepping outside, it takes you a moment to realize that you’re not alone. It would appear that your earlier assumption that Sunghoon must have gone back to his place was wrong. There’s no drink in his hand, but the way he sways with the gentle midnight breeze makes you think he’s still working through everything he downed earlier. 

Silently, you glance up at the cloudless night sky, at the way the stars seem to wrap around you. Gaze returning to Sunghoon’s back, you suppose the simplest course of action would be to leave before he realizes you’re here. You turn to do just that, to make good on your promise to Heesung, when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks. 

Or at least, you think that’s what he says. It’s hard to tell, with the way his syllables and sounds slur together. Turning back towards him, you find him already looking at you. He repeats your name, and this time around, it’s a bit clearer. 

His eyes trace a downward line from your face to your change in clothes. Something in his face crumples, withers. 

“‘M sorry,” he slurs, words not lining up quite right through the inebriation. 

“What?”

“That day.” The sudden onset of sincerity in his tone makes him seem more sober than he is. “I should have caught you.”

The stars in the sky suddenly don’t seem so far away. You must have heard him wrong. A crease forms between your eyebrows, eyes scanning over his features. They’re laid open in their honesty, no trace of deception. 

“I wanted to catch you. I tried to.” He sighs. “Was my fault.”

“I…” You search for words, for the vindication you’d always imagined you’d feel at his admission. In its absence, you find only confusion and an odd pang of regret. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. 

“Sorry for what? Why are you bringing that up?”

He just shakes his head, eyes falling to his feet. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Like a broken record. His pain is wrapped up in there too, trapped in a loop time has never quite let it escape. 

When you return to the party, it’s with a jumbled excuse of needing to check on a pet cat you don’t have. 

In the haste of it all, you forget to so much as exchange numbers with Heeseung. But you do find the time to pull Jake aside on your way out the door, to make sure that he helps Sunghoon get home safe. 

…

The next morning greets you with a pounding headache and an unfamiliar hoodie draped over the back of your desk chair. It takes a moment of searching through hazy memories before recollection of that particular string of events finds you. 

With a sigh, you head out in search of water and Advil, sending Jake a quick message that you’ll stop by his apartment later to return Heeseung’s hoodie. 

Even a handful of hours later, you can’t decide if you hope Heeseung is home or not. It’s a Saturday afternoon after a long night, so you figure the odds are high. But you still can’t pinpoint whether that feeling in your gut is excitement or dread. 

In an effort to delay the inevitable, you take a detour before visiting Jake’s apartment again. Your rival university’s sports complex is just as nice as you remember it, large, pristine buildings that hold everything an athletics department could dream of. Fondly, you remember the first time you skated in this stadium, back in middle school. It had felt so big, then, so special, to be skating for such a large crowd. 

It felt even more special to be sharing the ice with someone who put dreams in your head and butterflies in your stomach. Still fairly new to pair skating, the two of you had put on a program with a less than favorable amount of deduction. 

But still. It was yours. It was special. It was shared. 

You wonder if he knew then, that one day he would be the reigning king of this very same rink. 

Probably, you think. Park Sunghoon never had the habit of letting things feel impossible. 

Looking down at the boot on your foot, you miss it, all of it, all at once. The late nights. The early mornings. The bruises and cuts and aching muscles. The determination after defeat. The elation after glory. The feeling of flying every time blade touches ice. 

The sign posted next to the stadium is an advertisement, a reminder, of the upcoming regional championships. There’s a pang of loss, a moment of grief, for your program that will have to wait for next year. 

But your x-rays are coming back better every time, and Dr. Kim is sure you’ll be back on the ice by the time spring comes. 

For the first time in a long time, you think it’ll be okay. You know you’ll be okay.  

In front of you, the stadium door opens, and you realize you’re standing right in front of the exit. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, quickly moving to get out of the way, but then you take a closer look. “Coach Kang?” you ask, just as she says your name with the same air of disbelief. 

It’s an odd feeling of synchronicity, to stumble into your childhood skating coach just as you’re reminiscing on the past. 

“It’s been so long,” she beams, pulling you in for a warm hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting a friend. What about you?”

“Coaches’ meeting,” she explains. “Trying to see if I can get some of my junior skaters in to watch a few practices before regionals.” Nudging you with her shoulder, she adds, “speaking of which, how’s your program coming along? Are you getting excited?”

You shake your head. “I’m actually off the ice for this one.” Glancing down, you lift your booted foot in explanation. “Ankle fracture has me out for the rest of the season.”

“Oh, no.” Coach Kang places a consolatory hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. That has to be so hard.”

“It’s okay, actually.” You don’t know who’s more surprised, her at your admission, or you at the fact that you actually mean it. “Everything is healing up nicely, so I’m looking forward to an even better program next year.” 

“Well look at you, all grown up.” She smiles. “I can say that thirteen-year-old you would not have had such a good attitude about it. Honestly, I’m surprised a fracture was enough to stop you. You were always so stubborn about things. You and Sunghoon.” She lets out a short laugh as your shoulders tense at the mention of him. “I was just thinking about you two the other day, actually. We had a skater fracture his tailbone and argue until he was blue in the face that he still wanted to compete.” Shaking her head, she adds, “It reminded me of that time Sunghoon insisted on skating even though he’d just sprained his wrist.” She shakes her head again, releases a small laugh. “Never could keep you two off the ice.”

It all checks out, the stubbornness, the determination even when it was stupid. But you’re hung up on one detail. You’re sure you could list every one of Sunghoon’s skating injuries just as thoroughly as he could. But before the current one, you can’t recall any wrist injuries. “What? When did he sprain his wrist?” 

Coach Kang waves her hand flippantly, like the sinking feeling in your gut isn’t intensifying with every passing moment, like she isn’t about to confirm a realization you’re already dreading. “Oh, you remember. It was just a few days before nationals that one year.”

That one year. She skirts around it, for your sake probably. But you know exactly what she means, when she’s referring to. 

And suddenly, you’re falling through air again, plummeting towards ice as a hand makes a desperate attempt to catch you. As sheer will alone is no match for injury weakened bones and ligaments and muscles. As you’re sliding across frozen ground and he’s gripping his wrist with pain on his face and terror in his eyes. 

As your head spins, spots clouding your vision from the force of the impact. Before the world goes black, your eyes search for him. 

And in those last few moments of consciousness, you watch as his mouth moves to form words you can’t hear. 

“I’m sorry.”

…

Raising your fist, you pound at the door again. One, two, three times. At this rate, your knuckles will be bloody before you get a response. 

But before you can start your assault on the wood in front of you again, the door swings open slowly, revealing a familiar frame. 

“You absolute idiot.”

“Well hello to you too.” Rubbing at his eyes, you appear to have just woken him from a nap. If his head is feeling anything like yours was this morning, you almost feel sorry. 

But there are more pressing matters at hand. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“That I’m an idiot? Probably not.”

“That you sprained your wrist three days before nationals? That you skated anyway? That you attempted to catch a person quite literally spinning through the air with a wrist injury?”

A beat of silence passes. 

And then another. 

Sunghoon suddenly looks wide awake. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. What the hell were you thinking?” There’s fire in your eyes, an anger that’s directed towards him but not in the ways he’s used to. 

He pauses for a moment, eyes searching your features for another beat. Finally, he sighs. “Would you have let me skate if I did?”

It’s not the answer you expect. And it’s just like him, to answer a question with one of his own. “I… what?”

“You heard me.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Would you have let me get on the ice if you knew I was hurt?”

And what is it, him and his habit of asking ridiculous questions like they don’t have obvious answers. “What kind of question is that? Of course not. No one in their right mind would have let you do that program with a wrist sprain, much less your partner. And I love Coach Kang, but I’m about to file a negligence suit against her, because what the hell kind of—”

“Stop talking.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” he grimaces, and you’re still getting used to the way apologies sound on his lips. “That came out wrong. What I was trying to say was that you… Well, I… I mean…” He trails off for the third time, casts a tentative look at the way your eyebrows only raise higher and higher every time he stops a train of thought in its tracks. His gaze falls down, somewhere between your nose and chin. An exhale passes through parted lips. Something in his resolve slips. “Oh, fuck it.”

And then he’s kissing you. 

Lips against lips and hands in your hair. It’s messy and awkward, and you can’t quite get the timing right. 

Sunghoon pulls back a fraction of an inch, catching his breath and letting you do the same. 

“What are you doing?”

There’s heat in his eyes and fondness too, a soft sort of expression that only melts further every time he looks at you. But now there’s anxiety in the mix, a crippling fear that he’s misjudged everything entirely, done something horribly wrong. 

“I’m sorry.” Before today, you could count his apologies on one hand. Now, you’re running out of fingers. “Did you not want—”

This time, it’s you that pulls him down, hands lacing around the nape of his neck, exhaling a soft sigh against parted lips that sends his mind spinning. 

And it’s only the second time, but it’s already better. Already a natural rhythm that the two of you seem to fall into with a little more grace. 

The expanse of his door is cold against your back when Sunghoon pulls you into his apartment with his good hand, and he’s a quick study. Attempt number three is an even greater improvement as hands search for new skin to discover and things start to fall into place, one at a time. 

Reaching for Heeseung’s forgotten hoodie, Sunghoon breaks the kiss only to toss it somewhere outside your current plane of existence. In this moment, you exist only within the space the two of you occupy, everything else an afterthought. 

And you have the feeling attempt number four will be your best yet. 

…

epilogue

“Are you ever gonna join me or do I just have to stay out here looking stupid forever?”

You don’t even take a moment to consider. “The second one.”

“Come on,” Sunghoon pleads, skating back towards you where you remain planted firmly to the bench on the perimeter of the rink. He moves towards you with a grace that used to inspire a raging, stomping green monster of envy. Now, you just admire the way he cuts across the ice with the agility of a dancer. “It’s fun out here, I promise.”

Avoiding his gaze, you let your eyes fall to your feet instead. They’re already laced up in your favorite pair of skates, black boot all but forgotten since you had it removed at your last visit to Dr. Min’s office. Since he gave you the green light to return to the thing you love most. 

You had been ecstatic then. Brimming with so much extra energy Sunghoon had to physically intervene to prevent you from accidentally knocking over an elderly lady on your way out of the hospital. But now, with the opportunity you’ve been dreaming of for long, hard months at your fingertips, something in you hesitates. 

Sunghoon says your name, and suddenly he’s serious. “This is all you’ve been talking about for months.” Sliding down onto his knees in front of you, you’re suddenly at eye level. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He casts a doubtful glance. “Really, I just…” It’s hard, to speak your fears into existence, to let them take flight. Even if the boy in front of you makes it a little easier. “What if it’s not what I imagined?”

It’s a million little worries wrapped up in one. What if your ankle isn’t the same? What if it’s never the same? What if you’re not as good as you were? What if you’re not good enough? 

Sunghoon hears them all, and puts them to rest with a smile, a gentle touch as he rests his forehead against yours. “You and that big brain. Always worrying about the wrong things.”

“Hey! I—”

“It won’t be what you imagined.” He draws back a few inches, and your eyes have nowhere to land but on his own. “It will be different. It will feel weird, and your legs will feel wobbly, your muscles will feel weak, and your ankle might give out.”

Your lips flatten into a thin line. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a terrible job.”

Sunghoon just pinches your cheeks together, forcing your lips to purse. “So you’ll show up. Over and over again. Every day until your skates start to feel like a second pair of feet and the ice starts to feel like home again. Until your ankle and your muscles and your stamina are all built back up, in a way that’s different from before but will feel familiar before you know it.” He presses a single, delicate kiss to the tip of your nose. “Until I’m dragging you off the ice instead of onto it, because your boyfriend needs attention and is feeling a little jealous of all the time you’re spending here instead of with him.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so needy. It’s gross.”

Sunghoon only smiles. “Only for you.”

This time, when he gets back on his feet and extends a hand, you take it. You follow him onto the ice and headfirst towards your insecurities feeling a little bit like a newborn deer, a bike without its training wheels. 

He laughs when you stumble and brushes hair out of your face when you pout. 

After an hour, you’re already feeling more solid than before. After two, that feeling of flying is starting to return. 

It’s somewhere just before hour three when Sunghoon says, “Remember how I told you earlier that you’re worrying about the wrong things?”

“Yeah.” You drag the word out slowly, not liking the hint of deviousness in his sudden grin. 

“This is what I was talking about. Instead of worrying about getting back on the ice, you should be worrying about how long it will take you to be able to beat me on a lap around the rink.”

“You absolute asshole. I fractured my ankle!”

Already halfway around the rink, Sunghoon just laughs. 

…

outtake—five years ago. 

Sunghoon’s vision is blurry. It’s a terrible combination of things—the exhilaration of the spotlight, the pain in his wrist, the grief of an egregious error. The sudden onset of tears that sting in the corners of his eyes and fall without his permission. 

Despite all of it, he finds his way back to his dressing room. Choking back a sob, he reaches for the glass of water he’d left out earlier. It tastes acidic on his tongue, burns like regret on the way down. 

Stupid, he was so stupid. His hands tangle in his hair. He wants to pull it out. Wants to scream until his throat is raw and he can’t anymore. 

It was a terrible enough decision to gamble his own fate on an unhealed injury, but as the reality of the situation comes crashing down around him, he realizes he’s done something much worse. 

Eyes open, eyes closed. It doesn’t matter. All he can see is you, sprawled out on ice, limbs bent unnaturally, eyes dazed at the impact. 

The unexpected impact. Because you trusted him. You trusted him so much that of course you’d never considered what you would do if his hands failed, if his wrist gave out. If he decided to risk your program, your fate, you, all on a whim, on an inflated sense of self-importance and a lack of regard for the injury he was so certain he could power through. 

He couldn’t imagine it, three days ago. Telling you that he was injured, that he couldn’t skate the program. He couldn’t imagine watching as the features he bashfully considered so, painfully pretty twisted into disappointment. Into anger. 

So he turned his shame into resolve, into determination. One that allowed him to catch you with a fractured wrist in every practice run, every time, except for the time that mattered. Biting back grimaces and cries of pain all for the fool’s hope of seeing you smile in a few days’ time, a gold medal around your neck. 

Instead, he got to see you spinning through the air, slipping through his fingers, landing with a sickening thud. He wants to ask what hospital they took you to, wants to ignore the pain in his wrist a little longer and run there himself, just to make sure that you’re okay.

But then he imagines the way you’ll look at him when you see him. The way all that disappointment and anger he’d wanted to avoid so desperately will surely be all you have to offer him. 

He understands. He does. He wouldn’t want to see him either. 

Turning away from the mirror, he tucks away his shame for the future. But that only leaves his gaze landing on the bouquet of flowers sitting on the table. The one he’d spent nearly an hour agonizing over, the one his mother had assured him a dozen times you would love. The one he made sure had all of your favorite colors. 

He snuck his own favorite in there too, in hopes of what exactly he can’t be sure, but he knows he likes the way they look together—your favorite color and the deep blue irises that represent his own. 

It seems to stupid now. After everything, after this, he can’t imagine you want his flowers, and even less his favorite color. He can’t imagine that you want anything to do with him. 

So he doesn’t seek you out. Not in the hospital that day, not when you’re cleared to practice and back on the ice again, not when chance has the two of you colliding five years later. 

Not until he watches you walk away from him with all that anger and resentment and disappointment he’s been so avoiding for so long. Not until it strikes him in the face and he realizes that he can’t live with it, can’t let bygones be bygones and hope time and the absence of him in your life have healed you for the better when it still hurts to even look at you. 

On a dressing room table, five years in the past, a bouquet of flowers wilts. 

And Sunghoon learns that with love and patience and a little bit of sunlight, beautiful things, even the fragile ones, bloom when you water them.

.....

note: thank you for reading! as always, comments, reblogs, and asks are very much appreciated :D

[msmk11]

Best Friend’s Mom

MILF!Wanda Maximoff x college age!fem!reader (Billy and Tommy’s best friend)

Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Word count: 5k

CW: Age gap (legal), best friends’ mom, MILF!Wanda, fluff, consumption of alcohol, mention of absent parent, light smut

Summary: You get invited to spend spring break with your best friends Tommy and Billy Maximoff and their mother, Wanda. But Wanda is not just any mom you soon discover. She’s a MILF. And god do you want her badly. Only in your wildest dreams could she ever be attracted to you too- or so you think.

A/n: It’s finally here per your votes on my poll! This is only part one of (probably) two however. A) I’ve never written for Wanda before so I’m having a harder time saying what I need to succinctly. B) I have the fattest crush on Wanda so perhaps this is just my rambles. I hope you enjoy!!

When your twin best friends Billy and Tommy had invited you on their beach family vacation over spring break, you had obviously said yes. The thoughts of sand between your toes, the warm sun on your skin, and the calming crash of the waves sent a shiver of excitement down your spine every time you thought of it. Of course, you were also just excited to spend time with your best friends, but the beach was at the forefront of your mind. Though your daydreams had already crafted a vision of perfection for this trip, the reality, surprisingly, far exceeded it. This was all thanks to one sinfully sexy Ms. Maximoff.

From the early budding of your friendship, you knew that Billy and Tommy adored their mother- especially since their father had left them all behind at a young age. Their descriptions made her seem sweet, loving, and remarkably kind. While your first introduction certainly reassured these claims, it was her beauty that struck you. Perhaps in your head you had imagined someone a little more….motherly looking… rather than the mortal goddess before you. With the way her auburn hair fell down past her shoulders in waves, her blue skinny jeans hugged the curve of her waist just right, and her soft, pink lips were always adorned with a smile, you were certain she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

When you, Billy, and Tommy pull up to the beach house in their small gray sedan and a redheaded woman, who you assume to be their mother, comes out, you are dumbfounded to say the least. Before her boys can even get their luggage from the trunk, she sweeps each into a bearhug and exclaims, “hello moya lyubov!”

Their unconvincing protests fall on deaf ears as she continues to smother them in love. You’re sure to tease them about it later.

When Ms. Maximoff breaks away from Billy and Tommy, she turns her attention to you and smiles sweetly. As she makes her way towards you, your heart begins to beat quickly as you realize how beautiful she is.

“Hello, dear,” she greets, “Billy and Tommy have told me all about you.”

Before you can respond, she too pulls you in for a hug. The burn of her touch, even through your shirt, is almost too much to bear, and her flowery perfume that fills your nostrils makes your head feel all woozy.

As she pulls away you can feel your cheeks burning and you try to act calm despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Maximoff, and thank you for letting me stay with you all this week.”

“Oh honey, no. Please don’t call me Ms. Maximoff, it makes me feel old. Wanda is just fine. And the pleasure is all mine, really. I’ve been eager to meet you ever since you became friends with my boys at the start of college.”

“Well, I’ve uh- been eager to meet you too. Billy and Tommy speak very highly of you.”

Wanda nearly coos as she turns to her sons brightly, “Awe moya lyubov, you two are too sweet.”

Your best friends flush red with embarrassment and the glares they shoot you as their mother hugs them again let you know they’ll berate you later for making them “look uncool.” Finally, Wanda pulls away and she urges you all to grab your stuff and follow her into the house.

Once inside, Billy and Tommy kick off their shoes haphazardly and start down the hall to the bedroom they’re sharing (so you can have a room to yourself). You, conversely, slip your shoes off gently and leave them by the door neatly. Wanda waits by your side and then motions for you to follow her once you’re done.

On your way to your room, Wanda gives you a mini tour. You pass through the small kitchen with light wooden floors, white cabinets, and seafoam blue walls. The living room is similarly beachy and charming, with big glass doors opening onto a wooden porch in the back and a smattering of brightly colored furniture organized around the room. At the end of the hall from the living room sits three doors, each leading into a separate room.

“Here we go, honey. Your room is this door on the left, the bathroom is the door in front of us, and my bedroom is here on the right. I hope you don’t mind being my neighbor and sharing a bathroom with me, but I figured it’d be better for the boys to have the master this week since they’re sharing a space,” Wanda tells you.

“No of course not Ms. M- Wanda. I feel bad that Billy and Tommy have to share, though. I honestly don’t mind sleeping on the couch!”

Wanda reacts as though you’ve just slapped her, “Oh honey, no! I’d never make a guest sleep on the couch! I want to make this place as comfortable for you as possible. Plus, the boys will be just fine. They spent the first half of their lives sharing a room, they’ll manage.”

You chuckle a little and smile kindly at her, “Well, thank you, seriously, I appreciate it.”

She waves her hand as if it’s nothing and then motions for you to go see your room, “I’m going to go finish up dinner honey, but let me know if you need anything.”

Wanda saunters off down the hall and you curse her for even walking sexily. Shaking yourself out of a daze, you go inside your room and promptly shut the door behind you. You drop your bag on the floor and then throw yourself on top of the fluffy, blue comforter, groaning into the mattress. You really hope you can survive this trip.

*****

It seems you must’ve fallen asleep on the comfy bed that feels more like a cloud, because suddenly you are jostled awake by a body landing on top of you. You let out an oomph as the air is expelled from your lungs and the weight of Tommy’s body settles on top of you.

“Tommy, you big lug,” you groan, “get off of me.”

You push the boy off of you and he rolls onto his back, “Had to wake you up somehow, you freak. I kept prodding you and nothing happened besides your continued snoring.”

“I don’t snore!” You protest, propping yourself up on your elbow and looking at him.

“Do too” he teases, “mouth open and all.” He then opens his mouth dramatically and lets out an obnoxiously loud snore.

You smack his stomach a little and he groans. In retaliation, he sweeps your elbow out from under you, forcing you to fall flat on your back again.

“Prick,” you grumble.

“Hey you should be a lot nicer to me, you know. I could’ve left you here to sleep and starve.”

You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes, “I doubt your mom would allow that.”

The brunette snorts, “Touché.” He stands up and nods his head towards the door, “let’s go eat.”

You and Tommy make your way down the hall to the kitchen, playfully teasing and shoving each other a little on the way. When the longer-haired brother gives you an especially playful push into the kitchen, you nearly fall right in front of Wanda. You’re a little more than embarrassed, so you try to hide your face from her by turning back towards Tommy and glaring. He’s smirking until he’s not- when Wanda gently chides him for “being rude to the guest.”

“Mom she’s our friend, she can take it,” Tommy reminds her.

“Plus,” you add, “I can take either of them, easily, any day. I was just caught off guard there.”

“Really now?” Billy challenges.

You hum in confirmation.

“Fine, then I suggest a game of chicken after dinner.”

“Who’d be our fourth player?” you ask, confused.

“I will,” Wanda answers with a slight smirk, “I love a good challenge. And I’d love to see you beat my boys.”

“Oh you’re so on, Mom,” Tommy answers with a grin.

The twins look at each other with evil, cocky smirks on their face, and you can tell that they’re confident they’re going to win. You look at Wanda nervously because a) you don’t want to lose to the twins and b) you don’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of her. Her confident smirk, however, so similar to her sons, eases your fears just a little.

They come storming back after dinner, however, when you first see Wanda in a bikini. Though you wouldn’t say it’s skimpy by any means, for goodness sake she’s around her sons, it still certainly shows a lot of skin. The butterflies are beating around aggressively in your stomach as you admire the red swimsuit she’s wearing- the color compliments her skin tone so very well, the top shows just enough cleavage to leave something to the imagination, and the bottoms hang low on her hips, flaunting her soft, white stomach.

You become even more nervous when you realize that you are going to have to sit on top of Wanda’s shoulders. While Billy and Tommy jump into the pool, you cautiously discard your towel on a chair and turn to Wanda, “I didn’t even think about the fact that I’d have to be on your shoulders. We can just call off the game, I’ll probably be too heavy for you.”

The redhead shakes her head and chuckles, stepping a little closer to you, “Honey, I know how chicken works. I wouldn’t have offered to play if I didn’t think I could carry you. I’m a lot stronger than I look, you know.”

You want to believe her, but you are just so nervous about hurting her that you can only weakly smile and nod.

“Hey, are we playing chicken, or are you two too chicken?” Billy calls out mockingly.

“Oh we’re more than ready, boys,” Wanda answers confidently, hands on her hips.

She walks forward and slides down into the pool, the turquoise water riding up to her waist. She beckons you over to the edge, “I’ll stand here and you can hop on, since I know you’re a little nervous about getting on my shoulders.”

You take a deep breath and nod. Wanda turns around and you step forward. Tentatively, you hook one leg over her right shoulder and her hand immediately comes up to grab your thigh. You tense at the skin to skin contact and it sends a little shiver up your spine. Thankfully, Wanda can’t see your face, so she hopefully just assumes that you're nervous about getting on her shoulders and not for….. other….. reasons.

“You’ve got it, honey,” She encourages you sweetly.

You quickly lift your other leg up and hook it around her left shoulder. She grabs your other thigh tightly and squeezes it, as if reassuring you.

Problem one million- Wanda being this strong is really hot, adding to your already insanely high level of attraction towards her. You fear you might pass out on the spot.

“Good to go?” The redhead asks you softly, craning her neck a little to look up at you. Her green eyes are soft but determined and they send a surge of confidence through you, “Yes, I’m ready to take them down.”

Wanda easily wades through the water over to Billy and Tommy, who have situated themselves with Tommy as the anchor and Billy on top. You look your opponent in the eye and smirk, sending him a playful glare, “You’re on, Maximoff.”

Billy only scoffs at you cockily and then waves you forward, challenging you to go up against him. Wanda and Tommy move in towards one another and you stick your arms out, bracing for Billy’s attack. He comes in swinging, bringing his right arm down to your side trying to shove you off. You are braced for it, though, and Wanda’s strong grip keeps you in place. You retaliate by grabbing his wrists, simultaneously trying to keep him from hitting you and also jostle him around. After a few seconds of back and forth, Billy rips his left arm free, the force causing you to wobble a little.

“I got you, honey,” Wanda calls up to you when she hears the sharp breath you take.

You shake it off and head towards Billy with double the amount of determination. Letting go of his other wrist, you go for the shoulders and give him a hard shove. This alone does not push Billy off of Tommy’s shoulders. However, the former twin’s movement throws the latter twin off balance, sending them plummeting backwards into the water. They land with a loud splash and you and Wanda cheer loudly. When the boys come up for air they are spluttering and groan at your victory.

“You two are stronger than you look,” Tommy concedes.

“Never underestimate your mother,” Wanda chides teasingly. She then looks up at you, “do you want me to take you back over to the edge to hop off?”

Your newfound victory, especially with Wanda on your team, has caused your confidence to soar. You shake your head, “No that’s okay, you can just drop me in the water.”

The redhead smiles sweetly, “If you insist.”

Before you have a second to think, she is lurching backwards, sending you both crashing into the water just as the twins had. The water is much colder than you anticipated and it overcomes your senses as you flail around. When you breach the surface you let out a gasp of air and shake the water from your eyes, “Holy fuck that’s cold!” you shout, then immediately cringe for cursing in front of Wanda.

Luckily she only chuckles, an evil glint in her eye, “You asked to be thrown in, honey. I was only doing what you asked.”

“A little warning would have been nice,” you answer with a playful pout.

She only laughs again, her head thrown back a little, and it’s quite the sight to see.

*****

The next morning, you wake to soft, yellow sunbeams falling across your face. The sound of gentle waves can be heard just slightly through your window at the back of the house and you sigh contentedly. You could get used to this. After laying sprawled across your bed for an undetermined amount of time, you finally decide it’s time to get up. You wander down the hall into the kitchen, on the hunt for food, and find Wanda sitting at the kitchen table, book in one hand, coffee in another, clad in a silk, white slip nightgown.

“Good morning, honey. Did you sleep well?” She asks sweetly.

“Like a baby.”

“I’m glad to hear it. What can I make you for breakfast?” Wanda asks, already rising from her chair.

“Oh, Wanda, no. Please. You don’t need to make anything. I can just snack on something for the pantry. I don’t usually have much for breakfast anyways.”

Wanda tsks at you and waves you off, “Well that just won’t do honey. It’s more important than ever for you to fuel your body at this age- what with all the studying, busy work schedules and… other things.”

Wanda winks at you then and you choke on your spit a little. Had she just implied…? No, she couldn’t have. But…

“Yes, well, school and work keep me busy enough to not have time for other things, Wanda. And I make up for a light breakfast with more filling meals later.”

It seems as though Wanda ignores the latter fact as she asks how you like your eggs and pulls out a frying pan.

“Well, honey, I really can’t believe what you’re saying. Someone as beautiful and sweet as you must be overwhelmed with social obligations- parties, friends, dating.”

You try to hide the blush on your cheeks from Wanda’s flattery, “No really, Wanda, I don’t have all that many. And I’m happy with my small group of friends.”

“You know,” Wanda starts, turning towards you as the eggs cook, resting her back against the counter, “I have to ask, and I hope you’ll excuse me for wondering, but I wanted to know if you were seeing or were interested in one of my boys. You just seem awfully close and I can’t help but wonder…”

You burst out in laughter at the heinous suggestion and Wanda’s eyebrows raise in bewilderment, “Oh god, no. Never in a million years would I date them.”

Wanda purses her lips and you realize how that sounded, “Please don’t take that the wrong way, Wanda. You’ve raised such lovely boys, you know. And I love them dearly, but not like that. They’re like my brothers. And even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t go for them. Or any guy for that matter… I like women.”

All the confusion and maybe even a little defensiveness drains from Wanda’s face at your confession and she visibly relaxes. She turns back to the eggs and picks up the pan, “I see. Well, the boys are grateful to have you in any way they can.” She walks over and sets the plate down in front of you, “And that makes me pretty grateful too.”

As she stays behind you, Wanda tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and you shiver.

“Thank you, Wanda.”

“My pleasure, Detka.”

*****

The tension is so thick it is unbearable as you sit on a chair across from Wanda. At this point, you know it isn’t hot enough outside for you to be feeling this flushed. Rather, the way Wanda keeps looking over at you not so sneakily as she nurses her wine is leaving you all hot and bothered. When she takes another sip you are entranced by the way her soft, red lips wrap around the rim of the glass. And when she pulls the cup away, a drop of the wine is still on her lips. You nearly gasp as her tongue darts out, seemingly in slow motion, to lick it up. At this point, you know your staring is obvious, but Wanda just looks so pretty in that sundress, and one too many glasses of wine has left you feeling a little reckless.

“Want another sip?” Wanda muses teasingly, pointing the glass towards you.

“Oh no, I’m okay, Wanda, thank you.” You answer softly.

“Come on detka,” she says huskily, “just come have one more sip. I don’t think I can finish it alone.”

Really, you can never say no to this woman, so you oblige, standing from your chair and walking over to sit down next to her. Her perfume wafts over you as she leans in and hands you the glass, and you feel woozy.

You take a sip of what little wine is left in the glass and swallow as Wanda watches you the whole time. You turn to the redhead and hand her the glass. She sets it on the table without once breaking eye contact with you.

“Oh Detka, you have a little drop of wine on your lip. Let me get that right-“

She reaches out and cups your cheek. Instead of wiping it away with her thumb like you think she will, she leans in and captures your bottom lip between your own. She sucks on it softly and you nearly moan. Before you can really process what’s happening, she’s pulled away, a knowing smirk on her face, “There baby, all better now.”

“W-Wanda- I.” You stutter.

“Hmm?” She asks, sickeningly sweetly.

“Can you do that again?”

“Do what again, baby?”

You almost whine at her teasing, “Kiss me, Wanda. Please.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she whispers, already pressing her lips to yours again.

You sigh deeply as the flame rekindles in your belly and your heart beats faster. Your kisses are fast and sloppy, your tongues battling for dominance. Keeping your lips on hers you shuffle, straddling your legs on either side of her lap as you wrap your arms around her shoulders.

Wanda groans and grabs your hips tightly, digging her nails into the slight bit of bare skin showing as your shirt rides up.

She tastes like chocolate strawberries and wine and you chase her lips like you’ve been starved for days. Wanda just smells so good, and feels so good, and tastes so good that you’re insatiable. Unknowingly, you rock your hips a little, and a jolt of pleasure shoots through you at the friction between your legs. You moan into her mouth and try it again, this time rolling your hips more aggressively. Combined with Wanda’s kissing, it feels really good.

“Careful Detka, don’t start something you can’t finish,” Wanda warns lowly.

You pull away suddenly, gasping for air, “Wanda, I want this. I- I want you right now. I need you.”

She looks at you intently, those green eyes both soft and loving while also glazed with lust, “you sure, baby? There’s no going back after this.”

“Please,” you say, this time really whining.

“Start with my thigh,” she orders.

You lean back in and kiss Wanda again like before, but this time with the repeated motion of you humping her thigh, chasing your own pleasure. Wanda’s hands slowly travel down your sides, one stopping to grope at your breasts while the other makes it’s way to cup your ass. The added stimulation to your ass and tits makes you moan into her mouth again.

She pulls away and shushes you quietly, “gotta be quiet, baby. Wouldn’t want the neighbors to hear.”

You nod meekly and bite your lip to keep any more moans from slipping out. Wanda takes the chance to place her lips elsewhere, assaulting your neck and exposed collarbone with bites, licks, and sucking. Before you know it, you feel yourself getting closer to the edge, tension building in your belly. Maybe it’s the pace of your hips, or Wanda just has a sense for these things, but she can tell you’re close. Before you can get there, however,

“Wake up. Stop sleeping the day away.”

You are rather rudely awakened, you think, by Billy. His wet hair drips onto your face as he hovers over you, “Come swim with us and quit being boring.”

“But I’m getting my tan on,” you whine.

“You can do that in the water,” he retorts.

When you don’t make any sign of movement, Billy huffs, “You always have to make things difficult, don’t you?”

Before you can protest, the boy grabs your waist and pulls you up, flipping you over his shoulder.

“Billy,” you screech, “Put me down!!”

He ignores you and starts off towards the ocean. You smack his back and flail your legs but that doesn’t stop him. Before you know it you are met with a blast of ice cold water as he flings you into the salty ocean. When you burst to the surface spluttering you send Billy the biggest glare.

“You’re dead meat Maximoff.”

You quickly wade through the water towards Billy and lunge forward. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down into the water with you. You’re a mix of flailing limbs under the water. You get an elbow to Billy’s face and him a blow to your stomach before you both swim upwards and gasp for air. Tommy is there, laughing at you both, so you and Billy share a sneaky look before grabbing him by the ankles and pulling him down too.

Though you may have been peeved at Billy for throwing you into the water, it does feel rather nice on your hot skin. It also curbed your rather lusty thoughts of your best friends’ mother. The three of you stay out in the ocean for awhile, play fighting, throwing a football and diving for seashells. It makes you feel like a bit of a kid again, and you notice the recent stress of exams, school, and work fading away.

After a few hours at the beach, the three of you make your way back to the house. You drag your gear- sunscreen, towels, snorkels, and the likes to the back porch and collapse on some of the patio furniture. Tommy wanders inside for a moment and returns with a few beers for you all to share. As you sip and make light conversation, Wanda appears from the house, a tray of snacks in hand.

“How was the beach moya lyubov?” She asks, setting down the tray in front of you three.

“It was great, Mom. You should’ve joined us,” Tommy replies before stuffing a few carrots in his mouth.

She takes the fourth chair, which happens to be next to yours, “I wanted you all to have your fun. Plus, I’ve been to that beach plenty of times.”

“Next time though,” Billy tells her and Wanda smiles a little.

“Yes, next time.”

You reach forward to grab a cracker off the tray, and you’re not unaware of the way Wanda’s eyes follow you. You lean back again and munch happily on your cracker, trying to not be self conscious under the woman’s stare.

Suddenly, Wanda reaches out and pulls on the strap of your bikini top, “I like this swimsuit, honey. Where’d you get it? I’m looking to buy some new suits so I can throw out my old ones.”

Wanda’s deliberate touch excites you, and you keep your legs crossed to hide the way your thighs sort of squeeze together.

“Uh Target, I think. The boys got their trunks there too.”

She hums softly, “It’s so hard to find flattering suits nowadays don’t you think? Either they’re two thin pieces of fabric that cover nothing at all or they’re boxy, ugly one pieces that do no one any favors.”

You groan loudly, “tell me about it. I think Billy and Tommy almost left me behind when we went shopping because of how long I was taking. Not that I blame them, though I told them it’s also not my fault there are so few good options.”

“Mom, one swimsuit had fur,” Billy says with a shudder.

“Another looked like a disco ball,” Tommy adds, “like are you going to the beach or a strip club?”

You all burst out laughing at the sadly true comparison.

“All I can say is that I really was lucky to find this swimsuit.”

And as you lean forward to grab another cracker you swear you hear Wanda mutter under her breath, “Lucky for me too.”

*****

Much of the rest of your afternoon had been spent on that back patio talking, snacking and playing cards. Dinner had been light, and with a few booze in your body you were feeling pretty good. You’d wandered off to shower after dinner, wanting to get the sunscreen and sand off your body. The hot water and soap in your hair feels amazing, and you are appreciative of the privacy to process all of the thoughts and feelings from the day. You still haven't gotten over the comment you are sure Wanda had made earlier. A part of you wonders if you’d just made it up, your horny mind so desperate to believe that she finds you attractive too. But even though it was just above a whisper, the words echo in your mind loud and clear- “lucky for me too”. How could you make that up?

It feels wrong and, frankly, rather inappropriate to pursue your suspicions further. Wanda could’ve meant anything by what she said.

Maybe she was grateful that you bought that swimsuit, so now she knew where to buy hers too?

Maybe she was grateful she didn’t have to be subject to some ugly swimsuit you’d have been forced to wear.

Or maybe. No. You couldn’t even let yourself consider the possibility of Wanda being attracted to you. That would be a bad idea that would only get you in trouble.

You decide there is only one way to solve the problem.

After your shower, you slip out of the bathroom into your room only scantily clad in your small towel. You firmly shut the door behind you and drop your towel, making your way onto your soft bed. You lay on your back, head resting against the pillows, and spread your legs a little. You’ve been desperate to ease the ache between your legs for hours and you can’t wait any longer. You hope that maybe, if you do this, your horniness will dissolve and you can go about your business the rest of your trip happily.

As your hand trails lower between your legs, you sigh at the pressure very much needed to cure the intense ache. It feels good, really, but you only wish it was Wanda’s hand instead of your own. You shut your eyes and your breaths become heavier as you indulge for a moment, imagining that Wanda was here. You think about the way she’d say your name huskily, how her perfume would invade your nose as she held you close, how her fingers would know exactly how to make you feel good, and in no time, you’ve reached your high. Though you try to be quiet, you can’t help the semi-loud pleas of her name that leave your lips as pleasure wracks through your body.

You collapse back against your pillows, panting and your hands at your side. You can only revel in your bliss for a few moments before there is a knock on your door. You scramble up, your heart beating fast in your chest, feeling as if you’d been caught. You throw on your pajama t-shirt at the end of your bed, and it just barely covers your ass. But you figure it will work well enough to answer the door. You rush over and pull it open, and are shocked to find Wanda on the other side.

“Hey, Wanda, what’s up?” You ask breathlessly.

It’s then that you notice how her pupils are dilated, and that she has this look in her eyes. One so reminiscent of your dream.

“You know if you needed help, Detka, you could’ve just asked. I’m more than happy to help someone as pretty as you.”

[buckys-wintersoldier]

His innocent girl | Ari Levinson

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> DBF!Ari Levinson x Innocent!Virgin!Female!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> He can’t stand the desire you’re causing with your little outfits and the innocence you show him. Ari needs you — he needs to ruin you for every other man.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 -> 5.349 (a lot smut, almost only smut)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> 18+, Minors DNI, smut, age gap (Reader in her early 20’s, Ari in his early 40’s), innocent!Reader, dub-con, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, loosing of virginity, unprotected p in v, daddy kink, crying during sex, pussy slapping, belly bulge, squirting, creampie, multiple orgasm, degradation, praises, bit of dirty talk

𝐀/𝐍 -> The idea for the Oneshot is filled with @amathslutsguidetofandom and my dirty thoughts about Ari. So thank you so much. I also wanna thank my best friend @imtryingbuck for proofreading. I love you so much, thank youuuuu.❤️❤️

Masterlist | Ari Levinson Masterlist

The pink, fluffy bunny ears fit perfectly on top of your head, making your outfit look perfect. You're standing in front of the mirror with a pink little skirt, overknees, and a short pink top covering most of your body. You turn to the left, then to the right, letting the skirt slowly fly higher and revealing the sweet, white cotton panties you're wearing underneath. You're smirking at yourself and sliding your hand over your skirt before you turn around and open the door of your room.

When you do so, you hear the voices of your parents and another familiar voice. Deep but soft, and you already know who is sitting downstairs in the kitchen with a coffee in front of him and a big grin on his lips. Ari Levinson - your dad's best friend.

With a grin on your lips, you walk downstairs, slightly jumping up and down, when you enter the kitchen, where Steve — your dad — and Ari are sitting. Your father turns his head toward you, smiling when you walk closer and kissing his cheek softly.

"Good morning, daddy," you say in your sweetest voice.

"Morning, sweetheart."

Then you turn around to face Ari, and he smiles nicely at you. His blue eyes are glistening, and he licks his lips with his tongue. His hand is gripping the cup of coffee in front of him, and his knuckles are turning white. The little skirt that covers just a bit more than half your ass and the tight top, the pink you're always wearing — Ari can't stop his fantasies even though your outfit doesn't give much to his imagination. And the sweet, fluffy bunny ears you're wearing make him go crazy.

"Hello, Mr. Levinson," you say, smiling before you turn around to make yourself breakfast.

Ari needs to hide the groan that is creeping up his throat. You can't just look innocent and talk to him while you call him by his last name. He feels his pants tightening, his dick is pressing uncomfortable against the fabric, to the point he needs to lean back in the chair. It gets even worse when you bend down to reach for the cereals on the counter. Your skirt is sliding up and revealing your panties, Ari's eyes are focused on your ass and on your cunt, and he can't bring himself to look somewhere else. Luckily, Steve is sitting in front of him, so it looks like Ari is looking at him.

You're taking the cereal and the milk, and with a bowl your dad gave you already and make your way to sit next to Ari, putting everything into the bowl while you sing quietly. Steve tells Ari something about the barbecue later, but Ari's eyes are focused on you. He looks at you while you eat your cereal and sing quietly.

"I need to go shopping for that. Do you wanna come with me, sweetheart?" Your dad asks, but you shake your head.

"I have to do a speech for uni," you say with a nice smile.

Ari licks his lips once again. He told your dad to prepare everything while he goes shopping and to know you're there with him. He feels his dick twitch in his pants; he wants to bend you over the table right now, ruining your innocence. He wants to hear those sweet moans leaving your lips when he slides his dick in and out of you.

When your dad goes shopping, you're alone with Ari. He smirks at you, running his fingers through his long-brown hair and looking at the counter for everything you need for the barbecue. You're looking at Ari, your arms resting on the table while you have your hands under your chin. Your legs are swining forward and backward.

"Do you want to help me, babygirl?" Ari asks.

"Yes, Mr. Levinson."

Ari feels his dick hardening once again while you're walking around the kitchen island. Ari is tall; he has high-defined muscles, and you need to look up to look into his face. He smirks when he points to the bowls he needs from another counter. You nod and give them to him, then you turn around once again and bend over to look for some sweets you want to offer him. Your dad loves them; you love them, so maybe Ari loves them as well?

When you bend over, Ari's eyes are immediately focused on your ass once again. He groans softly, and when you grab the sweets and turn back, you see the way his ocean-blue eyes darken. You're not sure why he groaned, but Ari just bits his lips and looks your body up and down, then back into your eyes. His hand reaches out for you, grasping your waist and pulling you close against him.

"A sweet little pink diamont plug would fit perfectly into your pretty little ass."

"A- A pl- What?" You ask, and you narrow your eybrows.

Ari closes his eyes, swallowing the low groan. How can someone so sweet be so innocent at the same time? His grip tightens, and he slides his other hand along your side until his hand is placed on your ass.

“A plug, baby. Making you feel good here,” he says, slapping softly with his palm on your ass.

You gasp, looking up at him with a confused expression. Ari slips his hand underneath your skirt, caressing the soft skin of your ass. You whimper. Ari leans closer, kissing your nose and your forehead softly, while he slides his other hand to your ass cheeks as well. He then grabs them, pulling them apart and groaning when you press yourself more against him.

“Mr. L— Levinson, what are you doing?” You ask.

Your eyes are widening, and Ari can’t stop himself from groaning once again. His dick is leaking and pressing against his pants. You’re feeling something against your lower stomach; it’s big, and you wonder if he has his keys in his pants.

“Do— Do you have your keys in your pocket?”

“No,” Ari says, chuckling about your innocence. “That’s my dick. Feeling how hard it is just for you?”

You shake your head. Why should his cock grow because of you? You didn’t do anything, so why should there be something he is getting hard from? He leans down closer to your lips, and you can feel his hot breath on your lips. You close your eyes instinctively, and Ari chuckles. You whimper when he doesn’t break the distance between your lips. When you close your eyes to look into his steel blue ones, he just grins at you.

“Please, Mr. Levi—“

“Call me daddy, can you do this?”

You nod, confused about why he wants you to call him like you call your daddy but you don’t mind. You just want him to kiss you like you have always seen it in those romantic movies.

“And what do you want, babygirl?”

“C— Can you kiss me?”

He smirks, leaning in and capturing your lips with his. It’s a short but sweet kiss, and your knees are suddenly weak, and you feel a tingling feeling in your stomach. One that slides down between your legs and causes you to press your thighs together.

“You’re oke, baby?”

“It’s tingling,” you mumble, blushing.

“What’s tingling. Tell Daddy, where is it tingling?”

Ari knows what you mean, but he wants to hear it from you. He wants to hear that innocent, sweet girl say that she is dripping her panties because of the big, broad men in front of him.

“Down there,” you say quietly, and turn your head away.

He lets go of your ass with one of his hands and grips your chin, making you look up at him again. His blue eyes piercing in yours, he smirks, while his thumb slides over your bottom lip, pressing into your mouth. You take it and twirl your tongue around his thumb, causing more tingles in your stomach. Ari removes his thumb with a plop and licks his lips.

“Do you need help with that tingling feeling in your belly?”

You nod, your eyes pleading. Ari grabs you by your waist and lifts you up, placing you on the surface of the counter. His hands slide up and down your thighs, closer to your pussy and he pushes your skirt up, revealing your wet panties. Ari groans, getting on his knees and pushing his head between your legs. He inhales deeply when his nose touches your covered pussy. You shiver slightly, moaning about the sudden feeling of him between your legs. Ari brings his hand to shove your pants away, and a low chuckle leaves his lips when he sees your dripping cunt.

“You’re so wet for me,” he says, kissing your pussy.

You moan softly. His tongue glides through your folds, and you can’t help but grip his long hair, tugging at it. You’re not sure if you want him to continue or stop; it’s a new sensation and feels good and weird at the same time.

“D— Daddy, what are you doing?”

Ari lets go of your pussy for a moment; this innocence of yours makes him so fucking desperate that he just wants to bend you over the counter and fuck you. He knows he would ruin you for everyone else.

“I have a taste of your pretty little cunt, babygirl.”

He lowers his head between your legs once again, lapping at your pussy, making you moan and arch your back in pleasure. Ari’s beard is scratching your thighs and clit slightly, masking the feeling even more intensely. A feeling you never had before grows in your stomach, and you worry for a moment since it feels like you really need to pee. But Ari’s grip on your thighs is so strong that you can’t move away to get down the counter and go to pee.

“Daddy—“ you moan, your eyes watering.

“What’s wrong, babygirl?”

“I— I need to pee.”

Ari looks confused for a moment, removing his tongue from in between your folds. Instead, he shoves his chunky fingers along your folds, circling your entrance before he pushes a finger into your tight entrance.

“Don’t worry, baby. You don’t need to pee; let go for me. Can you do it?”

You nod, and Ari pumps his finger inside of you. He hits your sweet spot, still tasting you on his tongue and lips. Your moan shamelessly, his finger moving slowly inside of your tight pussy, and he can’t help but imagine his cock in your pussy.

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

“Nu—uh.”

Ari almost comes in his pants when you tell him that you never touched yourself. You’re so fucking tight that he just wants to burry his huge dick into you, splitting you open. He pushes his finger deeper into you, hitting your sweet spot and making you almost scream. Ari smirked, feeling you clench around him. He speeds up slightly, pushing another of his thick fingers into your pussy.

“Daddy, feeling that tingle so much.”

“Let go; come for Daddy.”

And you do. You arch your back and come all over his fingers, creaming them in your slick while he fucks you with his fingers through your high. Your pussy is squeezing him violently, sucking him deeper into you.

“Good girl, such a good girl,” he praises.

He slowly pulls his fingers out of your cunt, making you whimper about the sudden emptiness. Your legs are shaking, and your breath is heavy while you look at Ari. He brings his fingers to his lips and takes them into his mouth, sucking them clean while he groans about your sweet taste. You look at him, whimpering softly about the feeling growing between your legs. Something like desire, where you need Ari to take care of your cunt.

“Daddy, that tingling—“

“Shhh— Daddy’s gonna take care of his pussy.”

You nod, pouting slightly, and Ari chuckles. He gets off the floor and leans closer, capturing your cheeks with his big hands and pressing his lips softly on yours. His tongue glides over your lips; you part them slightly, and Ari pushes his tongue into your mouth. His hands slide along your body, removing your panties. Then he unbuckles his belt and opens his pants before he slides them down, revealing his boxers with the outline of his fat, hard cock and a little spot where his tip is pressed against the fabric already wet from his pre-cum.

“Wanna see daddy’s fat cock, little girl?”

“I—“

Ari doesn’t give you much time to answer; he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and shoves them down his thick thighs. He would love to take off all your clothes, would worship every bit of your body, and kiss every inch of your skin, but he is so desperate to feel you. And the outfit turns him on beyond belief. You look at his weeping cock, which just springs free; the tip is red, and you see the veins running along it. He sees the struggle in your eyes. What should you do know? Touch it, or let himself touch it?

“You can touch it; just be careful,” he says, holding out his hand to place yours into his.

When your small hand is placed in his big one, he walks a step closer, letting his fingers slide over the soft skin of his cock. You follow every movement of your fingers with your eyes, furrowing softly while you’re concentrated on the way his tip feels. When you swipe your thumb over the slit, Ari pushes his hips forward and groans.

“Do— Does it feel good?” You ask innocently and look into his eyes.

He nods, smirking when your smile grows. You wrap your fingers around his huge length, pumping his cock slowly into your hand. Ari throws his head back, thrusting it into your hand. When you see the way he reacts to your touches, you use your other hand and take his balls into it, grinning when he groans and hums in response.

When Ari feels the pleasure in his belly growing, he takes a step back and pushes you by your shoulders down. You whimper, and when his cock taps your pussy, he is smearing his pre-cum all over your pussy. You’re wiggling your ass, earning a slap on your thigh. Tears build up in the corner of your eyes, and Ari captures your cheeks with his hands, kissing you softly.

He then takes his cock into his hand, giving himself a few strokes and slapping the tip against your pussy. You moan softly, and he does it again. Then he pushes his dick between your folds, still not entering you. With his thumb, he holds his dick in between your wet folds while he thrusts slowly forward. Your eyes are almost closed when his cock always hits your clit whenever he pushes forward. Your lips are slightly parted, and you whimper, gripping the surface of the counter to steady yourself. Ari grinds against you over and over again until you’re a moaning mess underneath him. Sweat is covering your forehead, and your hair is messy, but for Ari, you’re beautiful as always. You mumble his name and ‘daddy’ over and over again.

So cock drunk, and he hasn’t even pushed in yet. Ari loves the way you’re whimpering for more, pushing yourself against him even though you’re such an innocent little girl. Not really knowing what you're asking him for — for a fat cock that will ruin her tiny pussy for everyone else — just the thought makes Ari come almost immediately.

“Do you want Daddy to make you feel good? Are you daddy’s little slut?” He asks, and you nod, slightly confused about him making you feel good and calling you a slut.

You don’t even know what the word means, but when he uses it, it’s probably nothing bad, right? So you just nod, and Ari smirks, still thrusting his dick through your folds and hitting your clit. Your moans grow louder, your back arches, and your legs are shaking when the feeling in your pussy appears once again.

“D—Daddy, so tingling down there.”

“‘S oke, come for me; make a mess,” he says, smirking when you throw your head back.

Your walls are clenching, and your whines are needier when you come a second time. Ari still moves his dick in between your folds, pressing his tip against your clit, causing you to inhale deeply and push your hips up to get more of his cock.

“Such a slut, trying to get my cock, huh?”

Your legs are shaking, and your chest raises and falls while you slowly clam down from your orgasm. Ari didn’t come yet, and you wonder why he didn’t; maybe he doesn’t feel as tingly as you do?

“Daddy?”

“Mhm?”

“Don’t you feel tingly?” You ask, pouting slightly.

“I do. But my cock needs to be warm and wet, babygirl,” he explains with a grin.

Ari’s hand is still holding his cock in between your folds, slapping it a few times on your pussy before he moves himself further down to your tight entrance. Even when it’s an odd feeling, it gives you at the same time pleasure when his dick touches your entrance. Ari tries to push the tip of his cock into your pussy, but it doesn’t really work, and he immediately slips out of there.

“Aww, babygirl. Don’t you wanna have Daddy inside of you?” He asks, amused.

“I want, Daddy,” you whimper, feeling the tears falling down your cheeks.

“Shh— it’s fine. I will make it fit, baby,” he coos, caressing your cheek.

Ari tries again, pushing his cock slowly into your tight entrance. You grip his muscular arms, digging your nails into his skin while he stretches your entrance with his dick. You squirm, trying to escape the slight pain he causes in your pussy. Ari’s just pushing a tiny bit into you before he pauses, your walls already clenching around him, squeezing his cock.

“Do you know that you make me go crazy with that little outfit? Or with all your outfits, showing almost your ass,” Ari says and smirks when you blush about his comments.

“I— It’s so big, Daddy,” you mumble, digging your fingers even more into his arm.

Ari smirks, leaning closer to capture your lips with his, soft and warm. When he leans closer, his dick slides deeper into your tight hole. You bite into his lip, causing him to chuckle. When he leans back, your eyes are almost closed. You moan, arching your back, and he pushes his tip completely into you. Ari groans about the sudden tightness around his cock; you’re squeezing him, and Ari just wants to push deeper into you, getting more of your warm, tight pussy.

“Breathe deeply, oke?”

You do, inhaling deeply, but it gets interrupted when you suddenly scream in pain. Tears are building in the corner of your eyes, and they roll down your cheeks. Your eyes are red, watering even more when Ari doesn’t stop from pushing inside of you.

“Pl— Please, stop. M—My belly,” you whine, trying to get away from him while you’re still holding his arms.

“Sh— It’s oke, it feels better when I’m inside of you,” Ari mumbles, smirking when you nod.

He didn’t know that your tears would make his cock twitch, but they do. You’re pretty when you cry because of his cock. When it’s because of him splitting you in half with his fat dick, turning you into his own little sex toy. He knows he shouldn’t ruin you for another man, but he just can’t hold back when you’re underneath him with that cute outfit, the bunny eyes on your head, and the tears all over your cheeks while you take his cock like a good girl. And when he is the only one who fucks you, when he is the one who loves you, then he doesn’t ruin you for others because you’re his — and only his.

Ari is just a bit deeper inside of you than he was before, with most of his cock still outside of your cunt. He wipes the tears on your cheeks away, kissing the tip of your nose, and continues to push into you. He is stretching you open in a way you never thought it could be possible to stretch something. Ari is huge; you feel the vein of his cock inside of you, and even though it burns, it kinda feels great.

“Doing so well for Daddy. Daddy’s good girl, aren’t you?”

You nod; the pain gets worse once he pushes himself faster into you. He just can’t and doesn’t want to wait to be completely in the warm wetness of your pussy. Ari needs you to be inside your pussy, to clench around his cock, and to see more of those pretty tears of yours while he fucks you senseless. He wants to hear you screaming when you come all over his dick, making a mess and squeezing him even tighter.

“D—daddy,” you squeal when he grips your waist harshly to guide his dick better into you.

Ari laughs, pulling you closer against him and shoving his cock deeper. Tears fall down your cheeks, and you squeeze your eyes shut while he rams his dick in your pussy. He is rough this time, not giving you time to adjust to his length. Ari needs all of his control to not come immediately; you fit so perfectly around him, sucking him in, and the warmth that surrounds his cock makes him go crazy. He digs his fingers into your soft skin, bringing his cock completely into your tight hole. You squirm, clenching hard around him, while he splits you open. You pussy burns, and you feel like your tight cunt just can’t get used to his fat cock.

“I’m sorry, babygirl. I just couldn’t hold back any longer. Shhhh— breathe; you’re doing so well. Taking Daddy’s cock like a good girl. You’re so pretty when you cry on my cock; you’re so pretty, baby,” he coos, leaning closer to kiss the tears away.

Even when you’re still crying, he kisses them away, making sure you’re feeling better with his dick inside of you. He knows he should pull out, give you time to adjust slowly, and work you open with his fingers, but he was holding back for so long, and he just wants to feel the warmth around his cock. The clenching feeling of you and the tears that cover your cheeks because he is just too fat for your baby cunt to take him.

“Daddy, I— I can feel you so deep in my belly,” you whimper.

“Yes. See that?” Ari asks, pulling your shirt up and revealing your soft belly with the bugle of his dick. “That’s my cock.”

You whimper, sliding your head down to where his cock is visible. You slide your fingers over it and make him smile even wider. He adores the way you’re looking so innocent and now with his cock inside of you, seeing him poking in your belly and touching the bulge he is causing with his cock. Ari slowly pulls out of you, making you hiss about the sudden feeling. You whimper when you feel every inch of his cock moving inside of you.

“Nuuu—Daddy, please stay there.”

"Aww, do you need my cock inside of you? Pretty little slut for me,” he says, smirking when you nod eagerly.

He pushes back inside of you, and you immediately sigh in relief. His dick stretches you painfully, but when he pulls out, you feel so empty, and when he just stays like that, the pain slowly fades away. Ari just pushes slightly forward and backward, making you furrow your eyebrows.

“Don’t! Daddy!”

“Oh— baby, not like that; be nice,” he says, bringing his hand to your pussy and slapping softly on it.

You gasp, your eyes watering, and Ari does it again, causing more tears in your eyes. He then presses his thumb against your clit, circling it softly. You wiggle underneath him, and his dick slides deeper into you until he is balls deep inside your pussy. You squeeze him even more, and when he rubs circles on your clit, the feeling you had earlier appears once again in your stomach.

“Daddy— tingling.”

“It’s oke, come for daddy; come all around his fat cock, little slut.”

And you do, your walls clenching violently around his dick. You’re moaning loudly, throwing your head back and pushing your hips more against him, and his fingers continue to circle your clit. Ari starts thrusting into you slowly and only a bit, but you feel every tiny movement of his cock and every vein along his shaft. His eyes are piercing in yours while he fucks you through your high.

“You’re squeezing me so fucking good, pretty girl.”

Ari throws his head back when you look through your lashes at him. Your eyes are still filled with tears, but the desire in his eyes makes him thrust into you. You’re sucking him in every time he pulls out of you. When another sharp pain suddenly appears in your skin, you look at the place where the two of you are connected. He slaps your pussy slightly, but enough to cause a sharp pain in your overstimulated pussy. Ari moves his hips at a steady but faster pace against yours. His balls are slapping against your ass whenever he thrusts forward. Your arousal is covering his dick; the sound when he pushes back into you makes him feral, and his thrusts are harder. The juice that is dripping out of you lands in his balls. They are heavy, and it gets even worse when he thinks about the way he is pushing his seeds into you.

“Feels so good—“

“Yeah? Are you daddy’s little slut?”

You nod, pushing yourself against him when he tries to pull out of you. Ari chuckles, slapping on your pussy once again, causing you to squeal and look at him with widening eyes.

“D— Faster, please.”

Ari groans, but obeys. He is thrusting his dick faster into your tight cunt, making you cry on his cock even more. Your pussy slightly hurts, but the feeling of his cock inside of you feels just too good.

“You’re such a little desperate slut, so cock drunk, aren’t you, baby? Asking your dad’s best friend to fuck you like a little fuck toy.”

You whimper, and Ari smirks, fucking harder into you, getting more of those sweet moans from you. Ari feels his dick twitch, your walls clenching and making it almost impossible for him to move inside of you. He circles your clit with his thumb once again, making your eyes shut up, and you throw your head back in pleasure.

“D— Please, I need to come,” you shout, your hands gripping his arm.

Your nails dig into his skin, and you’re feeling his grip on your waist tighten while he fucks you closer to your orgasm. Ari isn’t far behind you; you feel just so perfect around his dick.

“It’s so sensitive, daddy,” you whimper.

He grins, pushing his thumb further down on your clit. Making you gasp and making eye contact with him.

“My pretty little slut. See, I’ve ruined you for every other man. You’re mine, aren’t you? Tell me you’re mine, and you can come.”

“I’m yours. I’m yours, Daddy.”

He speeds his thrusts up, pushing harder into you. Ari loves to hear the soft whimpers and moans slipping over your lips while he fucks you like his little slut — the little slut you are for him. His dick is pulsing, and he is moaning low when you clench more than before. Your legs are shaking, your bodies are covered in sweat, and his breath is just as heavy as yours. You’re just about to come, and Ari knows. He rubs his fingers over your clit, your eyes widen, and you come. Squirting all over his dick and making a mess. Ari laughs, looking at your juices all over his dick and lower belly. He just comes a moment after you, pushing his cum deep into your tight hole and painting your walls with it.

“So— so sensitive, Daddy,” you mumble, letting your head fall down on the surface of the kitchen counter.

Ari pushes his dick slower into you, riding both of your orgasms out while you try to catch your breath. His hand slides from your clit to your sides, caressing your soft skin while his dick softens inside of you.

“You’re doing so well. Squirting all over me. You’re all mine,” he says, leaning closer to kiss your lips. “But that’s our little secret, baby. I love you, my pretty girl.”

“I— I love you too, daddy.”

Ari smiles; he helps you sit up and slips his cock out of you. You whimper about the emptiness inside your pussy. He then looks at your pulsing pussy, admiring the way your cum is dripping out of your cunt. He pulls you closer and grasps your tights to pick you up. He carries you upstairs to the bathroom, placing you on the toilet.

“You need to pee,” he says, turning around and walking out of the room.

He closes the door behind him and lets you pee. After you finish, you open the door quietly and look at the broad man who is standing with some new clothes for you in front of the door.

“Take a seat, and I will clean you, oke?”

You nod, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, and look at Ari, who gets on his knees in front of you. He has a wet washcloth in his hand and spreads your legs, cleaning your thighs. Ari moves his hand higher to your pussy, cleaning your folds and wiping your mixed juices from your pussy. You whimper, your cunt still sensitive from his dick inside of you.

“Daddy’s so empty down there.”

“It’s oke. Let’s just dress you, and then Daddy needs to clean himself. But I will put my dick into your baby cunt next time your daddy isn’t home,” he says, kissing the pout away from your lips.

After cleaning the two of you, you changed your outfit, still wearing similar clothes and the cute bunny ears on top of your head. Ari was grabbing your ass when you walked past him out of the bathroom, smirking when you squirmed in surprise.

Now you’re sitting on the kitchen counter while Ari stands between your legs, kissing your lips softly. His hands are on your waist, and his finger is digging into your soft skin.

“All mine, my little girl, my pretty girl,” he says, smirking when you blush softly. “Now let’s get the barbecue ready; otherwise, Steve is going to ask what we did the whole time.”

You giggle, grasping his shirt to pull him closer and kiss him again. Ari chuckles, then he pulls away and gets the barbecue ready.

“You’re so beautiful, my pretty girl,” Ari tells you.

When he walks through the kitchen and reaches you, he kisses you softly while his hand trails along your thigh.

“I’m home!” Steve shouts and walks toward the two of you.

You smile at him, your cheeks red, and Ari smirks widely, but Steve doesn’t say anything. It’s pretty warm in there, so he doesn’t even recognize what’s happened between you and Ari. You had sex together, and he took your virginity and claimed you and your pussy as his. And even better, Ari loves you; he really fell for you.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your ear while he walks outside with your dad.

“I love you too, Ari,” you say, jumping off the counter.

Ari’s grin gets wider when his name slips past your lips. He is a lucky man to have such a pretty girl like you by his side.

Taglist: @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @bookishtheaterlover7 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf @cevansbaby-dove @patzammit @bigtreefest @hawkeyes-queen

[sophrosynesworld]

Yeah, Best Friends (Pt. 1)

Katsuki Bakugo calls you during a panic attack seeking comfort.

“Hello?” I mumble groggily as I answer my phone, rolling over and fumbling to switch on the lamp beside my bed. The sudden brightness stings my eyes, my eyelids droop heavily as I wait for a response.

Silence.

I rub my eyes, blinking at the screen to make sure the call hasn't been disconnected. Bakugo’s contact name and photo glare back at me.

“Bakugo, are you there?” I ask, my voice still rough from the early morning wakeup. I sit up slightly, my curiosity piqued. The other line remains quiet. Just as I’m about to end the call, I hear it—a muffled cry from the other end.

“Bakugo?” I repeat, “Is everything okay?”

There’s a pause, followed by a shaky breath. “Yeah,” he finally replies, but his voice is uncharacteristically soft.

“What’s going on?” I question him again, my concern growing. The silence between us stretches thin, filled only with his ragged breathing.

“I… I didn’t know who else to call,” he admits, his voice cracking. “I didn’t want to be alone.”

My heart aches. “I’m here, Bakugo. I’m not going anywhere. Just talk to me.”

“I can’t,” his voice breaks off as he struggles to keep his composure, “I keep seeing it. The explosion, the screams… I can't get it out of my head.”

I throw the covers off and get out of bed, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder as I pull on a pair of jeans. “It’s okay, Suki . You’re safe now. It’s just a memory.”

“But it feels so real,” he whispers, his voice strained. “I can’t breathe, I can’t—”

“Listen to me,” I interrupt, “Focus on my voice. Take a deep breath, in and out. You’re not there anymore. You’re here, with me. Just breathe.”

I can hear him trying to follow my instructions, his breaths shaky. "That’s it. Keep breathing. You’re doing great.”

I quickly pull on a sweater and grab my keys. “Why does this keep happening?” he asks, “I’m supposed to be strong. I shouldn’t be like this.”

“You are strong,” I assure him, pulling on my shoes and heading for the door. “How many times a week do I call you crying? That doesn’t make me weak, does it?”

There’s a long silence, then a soft “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” I lock my apartment door behind me. “I’m always here for you, Bakugo. We’ll get through this together.”

His breathing steadies further, “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Together.”

“Stay on the line with me,” I say, heading down the stairs and out into the cool night air. “I’m coming over.”

“What? You don’t have to—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“I want to,” I insist. “You don’t have to be alone right now.”

There’s a pause, then a quiet, “Okay.”

I pick up my pace, eager to get to him. “What’s on your mind?”

He hesitates, “It’s just… everything’s been piling up. The expectations, the pressure… I thought I could handle it, but tonight it just… it’s just harder tonight.”

“What happened?” I ask softly, turning a corner and quickening my steps.

“Everything started flooding back. The memories… when I was a kid,” his voice wavers. “I was always told to be strong. My quirk was so powerful, everyone expected so much from me. I couldn’t show weakness, not ever. And the explosions… they weren’t always under control.”

I listen intently, offering words of comfort and encouragement as I make my way to his place. “You were just a kid, Bakugo. It wasn’t fair for them to put so much on your shoulders.”

“I know that now,” he says, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “But back then, every mistake felt like a failure. I couldn’t control it… I saw the fear in their eyes, the way they looked at me like I was a monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” I scold him. “You’ve grown so much since then, I mean, I am quite literally best friends with the number 3 hero.”

“Thanks for reminding me of that,” I can’t see him, but I can feel his eyes roll. “Sometimes it feels like I’m right back there. I can hear people screaming my name, begging me to save them.”

I reach his building and buzz his apartment. “You’re not alone in this anymore. We’re all here for you.”

Moments later, the door buzzes open and I hurry inside, taking the stairs two at a time. When I reach his door, it opens slowly, revealing Bakugo looking more fragile than I’ve ever seen him.

Without a word, I pull him into a hug, feeling his tension melt away as he clings to me. “Thank you,” he whispers again, his voice muffled against my shoulder.

“Anytime,” I reply softly. “I’m here for you, Bakugo. Always.”

He steps back, his eyes glassy. “I didn’t want to be weak,” he confesses, his voice barely audible.

“You’re not weak,” I assure him. “You’re human, and humans need each other. We’re stronger together.”

He nods, a small, smile forming on his lips. “Together,” he echoes.

“Now, let’s get you settled,” I say, guiding him back into his apartment.

He squeezes my hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “Thank you,” he repeats, his voice steadier now. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to find out,” I reply with a smile. “I’m your best friend for a reason.”

His smile falls, an unknown expression forming in his eyes. “Yeah, best friends.”

Part 2: Out now

[vroomvro0mferrari]

LN4 | Kiss and Make Up

Summary: You used to get along with your brother’s best friend, but at some point, it all changed. Lando’s rude comments frustrate you to no end, and your brother is fed up with your complaints. Max only sees one solution: you need to make up.

Lando Norris x Fewtrell!Reader (enemies to lovers)

WC: 5.0K

Warnings: cursing?

Masterlist

You heard the keys jiggle in the door, followed by the creaking sound of it opening, and your brother stomping through the hallway of your parental home. You finally have some time off from school after the insane amount of deadlines and exams that filled your last couple of weeks and decided to visit your family. You like studying and university, but it’s nice to come home and be taken care of instead of doing everything on your own. However, you’re still in charge of dinner tonight. You can never make it back home without being forced to make your famous lasagne at least once and tonight’s the night your family will be blessed with your famed, home-made dish. 

Max smiled when he saw you standing in the kitchen, chopping up the veggies for tonight. Although he’d never tell you directly, he had missed you. Max still lived close to your parents whereas you had moved further away for school. It made it difficult to see each other regularly, especially since Max had started Quadrant with Lando and didn’t make the effort to visit you anymore. Seeing you in person had become a rare occurrence, something that would only happen in his parents’ house.

Max put his hands on your shoulders as he leaned forward to watch what you were doing. “Hey sis, are you making lasagne?” He said with a smile.

“Hello Y/N, I’ve missed you. How are you doing? – I’m doing well, Max. Thank you for asking.” You mumbled as you continued to cut vegetables for dinner.

You couldn’t see it with your back towards your brother, but he smiled at your antics. “Hello my dear sister, I haven’t seen you in such a long time. I do wonder how you’re doing.”

You turned around and smiled when he pulled you into a hug. “It’s your own fault. You never come to visit me, but I’m doing well now that the exams are over,” you tell him with a chuckle.

Max decided to ignore your complaint, instead redirecting the conversation to what you were busying yourself with. “So, lasagne?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, Max. I’m making lasagne for dinner.” 

He silently cheered at your response. A cheeky smile made its way onto his face when he asked, “Is there enough for one more?”

“Depends… Who’s it for? P?” You said, looking back over your shoulder to meet his eyes as you cut up more veggies.

“Does it matter who I invited? You won’t let anyone else eat your lasagne?” He said with a laugh, but you knew the question was serious. He knew you didn’t particularly get along with some of his friends – actually, one of his friends, Lando. To say your relationship with Lando isn’t great would be an understatement. Max didn’t know why exactly you didn’t get along, you’ve never indulged him, but the dislike is clearly noticeable and has been going on for ages. Max had tried to improve the relationship in the past, but nothing had worked, only making it worse. He doesn’t understand why Lando, specifically; you don’t seem to have any issues with his other friends. 

You looked at Max pointedly; he was asking for something he already knew. Of course, you’d let people other than P eat your lasagne. There’s only one person that you wouldn’t allow.

Max sighed at your seriousness, “Yes, I’ve invited P,” he told you.

You smiled triumphantly, “Good! I’ve missed her; more than you, actually,” you said with a snort.

Max rolled his eyes at your comment. “I should never have introduced you two. You’re suspiciously close,” he mumbled as he shook his head, leaving the kitchen.

You grinned at his comment and continued to prepare dinner. You carefully cut the veggies, made the sauce and built the lasagne before you covered it with cheese. After you finally put it in the oven, you went to your room to freshen up. Of course, you cannot cut tomatoes without getting juice on your shirt, so clean clothes are a necessity. You quickly changed your shirt, reapplied your deodorant, and fixed up your hair before you heard the door opening, footsteps and voices following soon after. You smiled as you walked down the stairs, excited to see Pietra after months. You walked into the room, ready to hug your brother’s girlfriend, only to see his boyfriend making himself comfortable on the couch.

Your smile dropped from your face in an instant, and you narrowed your eyes at him. “Lando,” you said in a low voice. What on earth was he doing here? Your brother told you he’d invited his girlfriend, your friend; was she not here yet? Lando must’ve come to pick something up, right? He wouldn’t visit around this time unless he came to pick something up… Or come for dinner… Judging by how comfortable he had made himself on the couch, you doubt it’s the former.

“Y/N! How are you?” Lando said, getting up from the couch to properly greet you. You scoffed and folded your arms as he moved closer.

“What are you doing here?” 

“Nice to see you too,” Lando said with a smirk.

“I hope you’re not here for dinner,” you continue.

“I am here for dinner, actually. Max invited me.”

You shifted your eyes over to Max in anger. He’d told you P would be coming over, not Lando. The little bitch. 

“I take it P’s not coming, then?” It was evident in your voice that you were upset.

Max looked at you with apologetic eyes, like a child being scolded, as he avoided your gaze. At the lack of response, you turned your attention back to Lando.

“There isn’t enough food for all of us, and even if there was, it probably wouldn’t match your fancy diet anyway. Go buy a salad or something,” you told him, rolling your eyes.

Lando couldn’t help but smile at your response. “Such hostility,” he said, his hand resting on his chest in fake hurt, and a teasing grin on his face that made you want to slap it off.

You gritted your teeth at the teasing – God, this man frustrated you to no end, and he was enjoying it, too. 

“Fuck off, Lando. You’re not welcome here,” you said before walking away.

Lando was about to follow you into the dining room, unable to resist teasing you further, but Max stopped him. “Come on, man. Don’t provoke her. She’s already annoyed, especially because I lied to her.” 

You paced the dining room in an attempt to calm yourself down while the lasagne cooked in the oven. You grabbed the plates from the cabinet and started setting the table. You'd cooled off until you realised you’d have to set a place for Lando. You frowned as you stared at the last plate. Why couldn’t Lando just leave you alone? He should know not to bother you, you’d shown him before how petty you could be when he frustrated you, so why did he have to try again and again? Should you act like the bigger person, get over yourself and set the table for Lando, or should you 'forget' about Lando and set only four places? Your parents would be upset for sure, but the urge to retaliate is so strong. You stood still for at least a minute as you weighed your options. 

A smile crept its way on your face when you spotted the kids’ table in the corner of the dining room. Usually, it’s only used for big family events, when your much younger cousins would come to visit. They don’t properly fit at the adult table and have their own tiny table in the corner of the room. A normal-sized human wouldn’t properly fit on one of the seats, but then again, Lando’s short, right? Besides, if he acts like a child, then he can sit at the children’s table. You grab the children’s cutlery and plate from the cabinet and set a special place for Lando. You can barely keep your laughter back at the thought of Lando sitting at the small table in a chair that’s way too tiny for him.

When you heard the timer beep, you tried to neutralise your expression. You placed the lasagne on the kitchen table before calling your family (and Lando) for dinner. Your parents were, unsurprisingly, the first to join you at the table. The boys, naturally, were still finishing up the game they started before dinner was finished. Your parents were already seated and provided with drinks before the boys came walking in. Although your parents hadn’t noticed the table in the corner or the missing chair, your brother noticed straight away.

He looked at you disappointedly as he said, “Y/N, did you seriously not set a place for Lando?”

“No, I did. It’s right over there,” you said, pointing to the kids’ table.

The boys looked in the direction you were pointing, and Max started laughing immediately. Meanwhile, Lando was shocked at how blunt you were being. So far, every retaliation you’d ever taken wasn’t that obvious. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion and disappointment as he stared at the table – did you really dislike him that much?

“Where’s the other chair?” Max asked, still chuckling as he stood at the empty spot by the table.

You didn’t look up when you responded, “I don’t know,” shrugging your shoulders as you casually continued to divide the lasagne.

Lando sighed as he tried the chair, his knees pointing out above the table. Max only laughed louder at the image, and your dad couldn’t resist chuckling either while Lando pouted.

“I can’t eat like this.” 

“Then don’t. I told you you’re not welcome.” 

“Y/N!” Your mum scolded you before turning to Lando. “You’re always welcome here, darling. Ignore her,” she said, smiling sweetly at him.

You rolled your eyes.

“Where did you put the chair?” She questioned you.

You sighed, “They’re just in the pantry,” you admitted.

Your mum stood up and grabbed the chair for Lando who was still sitting in the tiny seat, while Max took pictures to post on his story, laughing. Lando smiled thankfully when she came back with the chair and grabbed a normal plate to serve him a generous portion of your homemade lasagne.

You couldn’t help but glare at Lando when he took his first bite. He was undeserving of the food which you had put so much effort and love into. You couldn’t even enjoy your own portion with the boy sitting across from you, although it tasted great. But Lando couldn't enjoy it either with the glares you kept sending him. Your resentment made him uncomfortable, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d be afraid that you’d poisoned his dinner. That was not your style though; he knew exactly how you liked to take your revenge. After all, he had experienced your wrath many times, and he had to admit you were very creative in creating your retaliations. He could never be entirely sure, or prove that you were the cause, but everything about the weird situations he’d been in the past years screamed your name.

There was one time that he’d gotten tens of phone calls every day for a week about a missing key. Even now, he occasionally gets calls about a key that was found. It seems quite innocent, but Lando’s phone was blowing up the entire week at the most inconvenient times: while he was in important meetings, when he was spending time with friends, even when he was streaming. Another time, Lando’s Netflix was completely messed up. All the recommendations on his home screen were for kids’ TV and romcoms. This, too, seems innocent enough, but after he had watched Netflix together with Daniel Ricciardo, and his homepage was filled with Cocomelon, The Kissing Booth, Riverdale and other films and series of the same genre, he had to hear about it for years to come. Some other time, Lando’s clothes mysteriously fell apart after only a few hours of wearing them after he’d stayed the night at Max's place at the same time as you. He didn't know how, but he was sure you had something to do with that too.

Although your reactions were very petty and often childish, Lando did admire your perseverance, resourcefulness and creativity. If he wasn’t always the victim of your crimes, he would have loved them, and perhaps even encouraged them, because, let’s be honest, it’s impressive if you can make someone’s clothes fall apart when you’re not even near them.

Lando didn’t really understand why he was always your victim, though. When you were younger, you’d gotten along fine, but as you’d gotten older you’d become meaner to him. He didn't know where things went wrong, and whether it was his fault or you just decided you were done with him. You used to tease each other, yes, but that was always mutual and lighthearted. Neither of you minded the comments that were made because you both knew it was all in good fun. At some point, you just started doing things like these, and Lando still doesn't know what initiated it.

You know exactly when it started, though. Everything was fine until Max and Lando hit puberty. Suddenly, they were ‘too cool’ to hang out with you, and you were excluded from all of their activities. The teasing didn’t really feel like teasing anymore, but rather mean comments that hurt you. Lando never caught onto your change in perception; he thought you still saw it as teasing. But the comments became more rude over time, and it felt like the boys who were your friends once, were now making fun of you.

Like when you were invited to apply for Honours College at your university. You were extremely proud that your grades in your regular courses were good enough to be admitted, and that you’d been invited to apply. But Lando just called you a nerd and laughed before continuing to talk about his own achievements, as if what you’d done was nothing important or impressive.

It wouldn’t have mattered much if it were any other friend of your brother, but Lando was important. You’d known him for about ten years, and he was basically a part of your family. What didn’t help either was that you had developed a small crush on him over the years. By the time he turned twenty, he’d gone through a glow-up. He finally learned how to deal with his curly hair and his face had matured to that of a handsome man. You were attracted to him, but his ugly personality distracted from his looks – most of the time.

Nevertheless, you wanted to impress Lando; to make him like you so he would stop with the off-handed comments. Though you weren’t necessarily good at sports or karting like he was, you excelled academically. You thought by showing your intelligence, you could gain his respect. Unknowingly, it made Lando feel dumb. He’d never even finished secondary school, and you were taking on extra classes in university without any troubles. He reacted differently than he would have liked to, but he thought you’d understand it was a joke.

Another time, you organised a last-minute surprise party for your brother. You had made sure there were decorations, music, food, and most importantly, drinks. You were happy with what you had managed to do in the time available, but your mood significantly worsened when Lando jokingly said you could have put in a little more effort. He was smiling when he said it, but it felt like he was making fun of you; of the amount of effort you had put in to make sure everything was organised as perfectly as possible. Despite his intention to tease, it didn't feel that way to you.

The comment that you believe triggered your best revenge was on Pietra’s birthday. She celebrated her birthday at Max’s apartment, and of course, you’d come to visit and celebrate with her. A few months before her birthday she’d shown you a top she really liked when she was online shopping, but the colour wasn’t right. So, for her birthday, you decided to crochet the top in her favourite colour. It was a bold choice because you didn’t have much experience crocheting, nevertheless, you tried. If she didn’t like it, you would just buy it from the store after all, or get her something else. You thought it looked pretty good, especially for your first try. Regardless, there were some mistakes and uneven shapes.

Pietra was completely surprised and elated with the present, especially when you told her you made it yourself. She knew how much time and effort it probably cost you to make it, but Lando didn't consider that when he commented on the piece.

“You made it yourself? Maybe you should practice a little more, huh?” He said, laughing, before handing it back to P.

You felt the smile drop from your face at the hurtful remark, but Lando was oblivious to the fact he hurt your feelings. Max turned to Lando in shock, while Pietra assured you that she loved the top, and couldn’t wait to wear it. You plastered a smile on your face, but it was obvious (to anyone but Lando) that it was fake. That night, after drinking your feelings away, you tore the seams in Lando’s clothes. Not every single one, but enough so it would fall apart after too much exertion; the punishment should fit the crime.

The anticipatory pleasure at the thought of Lando’s clothes tearing at an inconvenient moment was enough to satisfy you. When you heard about what happened a few days later from Max, you could barely keep your laugh back.

More recently, you had gone clubbing with your brother and his friends. It was an unusual event because your brother didn’t want to see you flirting or dancing with random boys in the club, but this time it was different. He knew you’d been stressed from school, and he’d rather you let loose when he’s there than when he’s not there to keep an eye on you. 

You were dancing with your brother and his friends when a cute boy came up to you, asking if he could buy you a drink. You said yes, of course. You would never refuse a free drink, especially in good, handsome, company, and you wanted to get over your small crush on Lando. You don’t know why or how, but he always seemed ten times hotter in a club, and you needed to get away from him. The longer you stayed near him, the more his pretty face and well-dressed body seemed to distract you from his unattractive personality, and that couldn’t happen. 

You followed the man to the bar and ordered a drink as he flirted with you. His attention was completely focused on you, but you kept getting distracted by the feeling of eyes on your back. It wasn’t until you were dancing in the middle of the large crowd that the feeling faded. You felt free without the supervision of your brother, and without Lando to distract you.

The man pulled your back closer to him, and you let him. You swayed from side to side with your arms in the air while he kissed his way down your neck. It didn’t feel right, but that didn’t matter; it was good enough. You liked the feeling of his lips on your neck and felt yourself get lost in the moment until suddenly there was a tug on your arm.

Your eyes opened in shock as you felt yourself get pulled away. The man you were dancing with didn’t seem to mind much and moved on with another girl standing nearby as you stared at Lando confused and disoriented.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You asked him as you struggled to pull your arm from his firm grip.

“I’m taking you back to the group, you need to be more careful,” he explained.

You scoffed, “What? I was perfectly safe! Let me go!”

“Were you? He seemed untrustworthy,” Lando continued as he pulled you through the club.

“I was just having fun! God, you’re so annoying!” You say with a huff before walking back to your brother.

Lando watched you as you walked away. He didn't want you to dance with that man, or any man for that matter, even though he would never admit it. However, you had misunderstood his intentions. To you it seemed like he was interrupting your fun, cockblocking if you will, and it frustrated you to no end. 

For days to come, you complained to your brother about what happened, insisting that it was none of Lando’s business and he should’ve left you alone. However, your brother grew tired of your complaints really quickly and couldn’t deal with your issues anymore. Your ongoing dispute with Lando had dragged on for too long and it needed to be resolved, soon, before he went insane. During your next fight, Max would force the two of you to repair your relationship, whether you wanted to or not, because he simply couldn’t take it any longer.

It didn’t take long until your next fight. You were looking at pictures of Lando and Max on Instagram from when they went golfing a few days back when you spotted something. In one of the pictures, Lando was taking a photo with a camera, a camera which he had seemingly ‘borrowed’ from you without your knowledge. 

The second you saw him enter your parents’ house, you targeted him.

“You stole my camera?”

“Hello to you, too, Y/N,” he responded with a grin.

You rolled your eyes.

“Where is it, Lando,” you continued, stepping closer to him.

“I gave it to Max. He was supposed to give it back. He hasn’t yet?” 

“No, he hasn’t. And you shouldn’t have taken it in the first place.”

Your gaze shifted to Max, who walked in behind Lando.

“Where is it, Max?” 

“In my room somewhere, I think.”

“Can you go grab it? Please?”

The words you said were much kinder than the way you said them. Max sighed before walking up the stairs to his room, you and Lando in tow. He looked around the room, getting on his knees to look under the bed.

“You put my camera under your bed?” You asked angrily.

“I’m not sure if I did, that’s why I’m looking, Y/N.”

Max thought this was the absolute worst. He had gotten himself pulled into one of your arguments again, and now he was being yelled at by you when it wasn’t his fault to begin with. He sighed before getting up. 

“I’ll just go grab my phone for the flashlight,” he said before leaving the room.

You merely nodded in response as you continued to look around the room in search of your camera when you heard the door close, the lock falling in place.

“Max? Did you just lock the door?”

Lando lifted his head from his place on the floor, where he was looking under the dresser, at your insinuation. He quickly changed his position to sit up, staring at the door with you.

“Yes, I did. The two of you need to make up. I won’t let you out until you get along. I can’t handle the two of you fighting anymore. It’s really fucking annoying,” he said through the door.

You looked at Lando in shock, to find him already staring back at you.

“Max, you can’t do this! What the fuck is wrong with you! Let us out!” You yelled as you knocked on the door.

When he didn’t react, you hit the door again, “Max!”

You looked at Lando at the lack of response, “Do something!” You said, but he merely looked at you.

“What am I supposed to do? Knocking the door won’t help. I actually think it might be a good idea for us to talk everything out.”

You looked at Lando in shock. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged while he stared at you, and you shook your head in response.

“I’m not doing this,” you said, pacing around the room while Lando followed you with his eyes as he sat on your brother’s bed, an amused smile on his face.

“I’m leaving,” you said, opening the window.

“What are you doing?” Lando asks, quickly getting up from the bed.

“I’m leaving,” you repeated, sitting on the window sill, throwing one leg outside.

“What have I done to you to make you this angry? I can’t believe you’d rather fall out of a window than talk to me,” Lando frowned.

You let out a choked laugh, mouth open in shock. “Are you serious? You don’t know what you’ve done?” You said as you sat on the window sill, one leg outside the window, the other still on the floor.

“Yes. Please tell me, because I’ve obviously missed a lot if you’re willing to climb out of a window. By the way, stop climbing out of the window!” Lando said, all but running to prevent you from dangling your other leg out of the window too. It was already halfway there, leaving you in a very uncomfortable position when Lando grabbed your leg.

“You’re going to hurt yourself, Y/N!” 

“No, I’m not,” you grunted out as you tried to kick him away. You leaned away from him, losing your grip on the windowsill at the exertion. Lando could barely catch you before you fell out of the window. 

“Fuck, Y/N! I told you to get away from the window!” He yelled as he pulled you away from it and back into the room before quickly closing the window. He stood in front of it as if he was trying to block your way from the window, trying to block your escape.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Don’t be such a baby, I’m fine.” 

“Only because I was holding your leg.”

“If you weren’t holding my leg I wouldn’t have fallen in the first place.” You stepped closer to him, huffing in defiance. 

Lando sighed, but he didn’t respond. He kept silent while he stared at you, challenging you as you crept closer without breaking eye contact. The tension in the room was palpable, and it only increased the longer you stared at each other. Your breath was shallow from the adrenaline of your near-fall, and your glare was met with a look of annoyance. Lando’s hands hung limply by his sides, the complete opposite of a mere moment ago when he grabbed you with such urgency.

"Why do you always have to make things so difficult?" Lando's voice was low, strained with frustration.

"Me?" you shot back, your voice rising. "You're the one who's always so demeaning, so... so infuriating!"

"Infuriating?" Lando repeated, scoffing. "Coming from the girl who sabotages my Netflix and sets up kiddie tables for me?"

"You deserved it," you retorted, folding your arms and looking down. "You always mock me and belittle everything I do, every achievement, every effort… Do you have any idea how much that hurts?"

Lando’s confidence faltered at your confession. His eyes softened, and he took a small step closer, stroking your arm softly. "I never meant to hurt you, Y/N. I thought... I thought we were just joking around, teasing. I didn't realise-"

"Didn't realise what?" you interrupted, eyes brimming with tears. "That your words actually affect me? That I care what you think?"

Lando's hand reached out, tentatively brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch was gentle, almost adoring, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't know."

You closed your eyes, breathing out through your nose as you let the apology sink in. When you opened them again, the regret you saw in his eyes made you believe him. But it was the love and adoration in his gaze that convinced you.

"Lando..." you began, but your voice caught in your throat.

Before you could finish, Lando closed the distance between you, his hands cupping your face. His eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation, but all he found was longing. Slowly, almost apprehensively, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in an uncertain kiss.

Your initial surprise was quickly replaced by the warmth spreading through your body. Almost automatically, your hands found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. The kiss deepened, filled with your pent-up frustration and unspoken feelings. Your hands slid up Lando's neck and you ran your hands through his hair, pulling on it softly. The sensation of Lando's hands on your body, and his lips against yours felt right, making everything else fade away.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing heavily. Lando’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. You could see the uncertainty in his gaze, and you were certain your eyes showed the same.

“What… what just happened?” you whispered, your voice shaky.

Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair, which was now slightly tousled from your fingers. “I don’t know. But it felt… right.”

You swallowed, trying to make sense of all of the emotions running wild inside you. “We can’t just pretend this didn’t happen, Lando.”

“I don’t want to,” he says firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. 

You laughed softly at the situation, leaning forward to rest your head against his shoulder. Lando wrapped his arms around you straight away. 

“This is not what I expected to happen,” you whispered.

Lando chuckled softly. “Me neither, but it’s not so bad, is it?” 

You snuggled into his neck, sighing contently once you were comfortable. No, it wasn't bad at all.

[hoshigray]

Are you able to right a gojo fic? He pulls you aside after a meeting to a spicy makeout with you that leads to more than just a make out:,)

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: "more than a make out" indeed, lmao

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x afab/fem! reader - explicit reader; minors DNI - canon divergence; you're gojo's partner who works in Tokyo jujutsu tech with him - kissing; making out - fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - breast sucking - deep impact position - praising - pet names (angel, baby, cutie, princess, sweetie) - cameos: Ijichi and Yaga - Gojo is a touch-starved fool, bless him lol.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.1k

“Y/n~~!”

“…! Oh, Gojo!”

“Ahh, it’s Gojo-sensei!”

Being the strongest sorcerer in the modern world is a hassle, no matter how much Gojo loves to shake it off as if it’s not. Not that he doesn’t mind it — no, no. If anything, he prides himself in it. It fills his ego, knowing that a scarce few could be compatible with his power. He’s a dependable light for the jujutsu world, sorcerers of the nation thankful that he's not on the wrong side. 

But alas, being the best has its taxing side, especially taking in tedious missions across the land and attending mandatory meetings with the entire jujutsu faculty body — not to mention being a teacher. The white-haired sorcerer was a busy man — no other way to explain it. However, the worst thing about it all was that there would be times when he’d have less time to spend with a certain someone who had him in the palm of their hands. And if he keeps being away from them, he might – no, will – malfunction. 

You were Gojo’s partner, his sweet baby that he cherished more than anything. You were a faculty member of Tokyo Jujutsu High, making things a little easier for the two of you to meet and elope (professionally). Nevertheless, those moments seem to frequent less and less with how many meetings have Gojo backed up this past week. The poor guy can’t even remember the last time he heard your sweet voice (which is a lie since you call every morning and night; he makes sure you do). 

Although, today would be different. Once this meeting with the Kyoto officials ended, he made a straight beeline out of the room to find you. And to his cheerful chuckle, he skips in your direction when he sees you conversing with Yuuji in the hallway. The salmon-haired teen greets his teacher with a high-five and a bow from you. 

Yuuji hears Megumi call for him from outside, so the boy dismisses himself with a goodbye and wanders off, leaving you and Gojo to yourselves. 

“Hello, Y/n~,” the man says your name with a happy tune, his lanky figure swaying to be close to you.

“Good noon, Gojo,” you greet him again with a modest smile as the tall man walks to you. “How was your meeting? Did the officials give you a tough ti—Mmmph!?”Your boyfriend surprises you with a kiss, taking in your perplexed moan with his pillowy lips. One peck comes after another while Gojo’s hands sneak to your waist. You quickly push him away, but his hold keeps you close to his figure. “G–Gojo, what are you doing!?” You express your concern in confusion, covering your lips with a hand. 

“Mmm? What do you mean? I’m greeting my princess with a kiss,” the blindfolded man says so matter-of-factly, beaming his delighted demeanor that nearly blinds you. “I miss you!”

“I miss you, too, but you can’t just—“ He tilts his head as you try to explain. You chew your lip with cheeks boosting in warmth, averting your glance away from his charming face that’s inching closer and closer to yours. His eyes are masked by the black cloth around his face; however, you can still sense the intensity of his gaze. “N-Not in public, Gojo...”

He plays the whining card, bringing you in for a tight hug that could restrain your breathing. “Ehhh, but I haven’t seen or touched you in days! See, we’ve been apart for so long that you’re going back to referring to me by my last name!”

“I always call you by your family name when in the school, no??”

“Yeah, but that’s only for when people are around, not just the two of us!” His complaints are genuine, swaying around with you in his arms. You roll your eyes, listening to him yap more. “Come on, Y/n; it’s been such a hectic week for me, missions after missions, meetings after meetings. Any more than this, and I just might combust — especially when I don’t have time to see my angel.”

You hear him make fake crying noises to your shoulder, reminding yourself how much your tall, strong boyfriend can be such a whiny puppy if he’s away from you for too long. But you can’t kid yourself; you missed spending time with him just as much as he did. “I know; I wanna see you more often, too. Don’t you worry, okay? This week is almost over, so keep pushing through like the tough man you are…Hehe, my strong Satoru.”

The snow-haired sorcerer springs up with a childish smile at the use of his name, his dimples present with the shine of his teeth. “If that’s what must happen, can your strong Satoru ask for another kiss to make his hell a little bearable?”

You give him a look at his request, but his anticipation doesn’t falter. With a sigh, you smile and whisper, “Just a kiss, Satoru?”

He chuckles lightly, drawing his mouth close to yours. “Yes, princess.”

His soft lips land on yours. There’s no restraint as you welcome him, your hands coming around to cup his cheeks before breaking the kiss. “One more,” he says before your nose is brushed away from his. You comply and place another gentler peck, and the man sneaks a hand from your waist to the back of your head. You withdraw your lips again, but Gojo utters another “One more…” Your stomach does flips knowing what game he’s trying to play. Another kiss is received, and his leg sneaks in between yours.

You mewl, finding yourself stuck in this predicament. He’s now in control, using this opportunity to deepen the kiss and make it more passionate, sucking your bottom lip and running his tongue for more access. You have no choice but to accept him, whimpering at the tongue intruding into your oral cavity while his leg moves further and further. 

Your hands come to his shoulders, gripping his jacket as the Gojo furthers himself into the kiss. The hand behind your head keeps you steady, keeping him focused on your mouth, where he sucks on your tongue in a way that leaves you breathless — like, actually. After he quits the kiss, you two are gasping for air so hard, and your lips are wet because of him. 

“Hahhh, ’Toru, stop,” you wipe spit from your mouth. “We can’t be doing this here…”

Your complaint falls on deaf ears, the sorcerer placing chaste kisses on your cheek. “Hmmm, why not?”

“Mmm..Someone, your students, we’d be caught here…”

Gojo smirks; it’ll never stop being adorable how bashful you are around him, particularly when he expresses his undying affection for you in public. But he will respect your wishes, and the idea that pops into his head makes him giggle.

Before you can process anything, Gojo picks you up with your legs held up and a hand on your back. You squeak at the unexpected action, grabbing a hold of his neck to balance yourself. Your mouth opens to express your bewilderment. Yet one moment, you two are in a hallway of the school; then you’re transported to a familiar room with a bed the next — your bedroom.

You blink in perplexity as Gojo throws you on top of your bed, stammering to find the right words. “Satoru, I wish you’d stop teleporting without letting me know! And don’t you have another meeting to get to!? Why are we in my apart—“ You don’t finish that sentence; you stop yourself once Gojo crawled up on the bed to you. Suddenly, you feel too small to utter a word.

“Sorry, baby,” No, he wasn’t. Not with that childish grin posted on his face. He brings his face to yours, placing more smacks on your lips. “But you’re the one who said we shouldn’t be doing this on school grounds. Heh, you act so cute when you’re shy…”

“No, Satoru, we can’t—Mmmm,” silencing you with kisses was such a vile card, knowing you’d be whimpering under him just from him twirling his tongue with yours. “Mmph..Mmah…! You’re scheduled for…another meet—“

“Shhh, don’t worry; I can be late for a few minutes,” another lie. If Gojo’s late to another meeting, Principal Yaga will put the younger man in a chokehold again. “I’ll make this quick, I promise. So, just let me enjoy you…”

Sucking your tongue is all it takes for you to give up on trying to persuade him out of what he’s doing. Gojo takes off and throws his jacket to the bedroom floor to let his black fitted tee breathe, and his hands initiate unbuttoning your blouse. He then slithers it down to the bottom of your long pencil skirt to pull up, greeting your undergarments with his digits. You jerk at the contact of his middle finger that presses on the damp spot of your panties, earning a faint, salacious laugh from Gojo. 

“Awww, did my baby get wet just from kissing earlier?” He rubs the underwear further, soaking the spot more with your fluids. Your thighs tremble, “Did you miss me that much?”

“Sato—Oooh!” He sinks his finger deeper into your entrance; the material barrier is so wet from your essence seeping through. “Your finger...Mmm.”

“What is it, cutie?” He whispers to your ear, and you have to bite down on your lip to suppress a moan. “You want my fingers?” You nod sheepishly, amusing the snow-haired man. “Now, Y/n, you know I want to hear you tell me what you want. Use your words, princess.”

You gulp to satiate your dry throat. “Yess, Satoruu, I want your fingers. Please, let me cum on your fingers…”

“That’s my angel,” he praises before straightening himself between your sheer pantyhose-covered legs. After sliding your damp panties off, he brings a leg to his shoulder and finally slides his blindfold off his face, his hair losing its spiky position and falling with gravity. Cerulean eyes catch a glimpse of your wet cunt in his sights, biting his lip. “Made such a pretty mess all for me, huh.”

His hand returns to your now bare chasm, sliding his ring and middle finger between your soaking folds. You hum to the touch, gripping on your blouse to use as reins. After a few seconds, he inserts the middle digit inside, immediately going to work after he pulls a gasp from your surprised body.

Slow motions sneak up on you, scraping your velvet texture with the blunt fingertip. His slender digit pushed and pulled from inside you, making sure you took him to the knuckle. He swirls it around, evoking shaky screams from him, scratching your inner walls so diligently. And your eyebrows furrow once the movement quickens.

“Hooohh, ohhh!” You threw your head back to the pillows. “Ahhnn, faster, go faster…”

“Hmm? You want me to go faster?” He teases with a perched brow. He does as asked, but with a catch; he sneaks his ring finger inside with your slick as lube. You shriek, two fingers now ravaging your insides and pleasing you with faster shifts. “Like this?” Did you even have to answer that; were you gripping the sheets and hips moving on their own not enough?

“Oooo, fuahhh, fuuckk, ‘Toru, nooo, y’re making me…Hoohh!”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he kisses your calf before placing his lips on your ankle to lick playfully. “Just let me make you feel all good.”

Fuck did Gojo miss this; it’s been more than a week since he’s had his hands on your body like this. The constant meetings have almost made him forget the warmth and plush of your frame. He needed this, like, BAD. He’s barely containing himself now; the image of your slit taking his fingers so well is bubbling his excitement, and the tent of his pants that shields a boner grows painfully hornier.

You were bound to cum on his fingers in no time, howling with an arched back when he does the ‘come hither’ motion and scrapes your inner walls. They contract around his digits as your legs tremble with the surge of your orgasm. Gojo loves the sight and stirs the fingers to tease your keen nerves more. “Good job, sweetie,” he kisses your ankle again while slowly removing his fingers from you, inserting them inside his mouth to lather his tongue with your juices. He almost caves in just from the taste.

But a sudden buzz in the pocket of his pants alerts him. He brings out his phone ringing with a call and presses the green button before pressing the device to his ear. “Yo, Ijichi.”

“Ah, thank goodness you picked up. Where are you; the meeting starts in a few minutes.”

“Mmm, I’m at Y/n’s,” even if you’re in a tiny daze, your face morphed into an expression of shock at his nonchalant honesty. “I’m only here to grab something real quick, and then I’ll head back to the school.”

“Are you sure…?”

He laughs, “Now, Ijichi, are you calling me a liar?”

That was precisely what he was — a whole liar.

“—Taahh, ahhhn, Sa’oruuuuu! Yer hitting shoo deep in—Saaahh!!”

It’s been a solid fifteen minutes after that call with Ijichi, and Gojo is still in the confines of your bedroom. He was very much late; of course, he was. Why would he not be? He finally has this chance to have you to himself, so he’s indulging it however long he wishes.

Gojo ripped you out of your clothes to meet with his clothing on the floor, leaving you bare and nude for him aside from your pantyhose. You’re lying on your side with one leg up on Gojo’s shoulder while the other is between his, and his cock now pushing to and fro inside your chasm that was filled with his come. 

His thrusts were sharp and rough, the curve of his dick jabbing areas in your vagina you never thought would be stimulated. Jesus, his length was dangerous, having you babbling incoherent words to the air and reaching so deep inside that you quaked under him. Your brain is stuck in a haze, especially since this is the second time he’s fucking inside you and made you cum a total of three times!

“Ohhmy, Gohhhd! Sato—Ohhhh…!!” He grasps around your leg to plunge himself further and faster, the work of his pelvis having you see stars.

“Hsshhh, God, you feel so fucking good, baby,” he coos sweetly, juxtaposing with the erratic pace of his hips that move your figure with every rut. Azure orbs take in the display before him; your naked body submitted to him to alleviate his week-long stress and please the both of you. Strands of his silverfish-white hair are drenched from the sweat built on his forehead. “—Hmmgh! Shit…keep clamping onto me like that.”

You chew on your lip, sneaking a hand down on your clitoris to whisk your fingers around it. Oh, it feels so good, playing with yourself as your boyfriend massages your insides. “Mmaaah, s’ good...”

“Hmm, what’s that?” His hips now go slow; the stretch his curve causes when entering inside has your toes curl. “What feels good?” He then snaps his pelvis to startle you.

“—Mmmph!! You! Y’u feel so good, ‘Toruuu..!”

“Heh, you feel amazing yourself, Y/n,” returning to an erratic rhythm, Gojo pumps his cock til the base kisses your squelching folds. His balls smack onto you after every push. He then curves downward for his face to be closer for you to hear him, “Hmmnn, you gonna be good and come again, right?”

You nod cursorily, your eyes shut to enhance the feeling of you rubbing on your bud. “Yesshh, I’m so close, I wanna cum…Want you to fill me u—Uuuhhn!!”

“Jesus, you look so fucking hot,” he grins before bringing his mouth to your nipple, his tongue dancing around the tip to harden. “Let’s cum together, okay, cutie?”

He sucks in your nipple as his thrusts go grim, and severe hits to your cunt result in you wailing far from your control. The tip of his cock picks at your silky walls so euphorically that you hum his name. A hand comes to your chest to keep you steady and synced with him, and he keeps rutting into you even when his body shudders as his load is exerted inside your tight slit. And you’re not far from him either; your orgasm seconds away from his hits you hard, and you quiver in the shocks coursing through your body.

As you two rock slowly through your crescendos, your essence mixes with his seed, and your sweaty bodies heave and pant for the third time this session. Gojo releases your nipple from his mouth after withdrawing his dick from inside, and his jizz seeps out of your frame. “Phew, man, how I needed that.”

You respond despite your brain feeling a bit all over the place. “Are you happy now?”

He laughs while kissing your cheek. “Thank you, princess!”

“You’re welcome, Toru,” you shook your head with a meek smile. “But you really should get going; I don’t want you getting in trouble with—“

KNOCK!! KNOCK!! KNOCK!!

An abrupt sound comes from the front door, confusing the both of you as the knock comes from out of nowhere. Nonetheless, you get up and wipe yourself quickly before putting your clothes back on. Gojo does the same as you walk out of the bedroom to see who’s at your door. And once you open the door, your heart meets your stomach.

“Y/n,” it was Yaga, the principal adorning his usual attire and sunglasses.

“Principal Yaga,” you greeted the older man with a hurried bow. “Wh–What can I do for you—“

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

Your lips flatten at the question, using the silence to speak for itself as you move out of the way for the principal to enter. Yaga apologizes for the intrusion before marching into your apartment and presumably going after the person still in your bedroom, who lets out an exclaimed shout of pain from what you can assume was from a punch to the head from his old teacher. 

The former instructor strolls back to the front door where you remained; Gojo is dragged on the floor behind him. “Sorry again for the inconvenience,” Yaga puts his shoes back on before exiting your home. You observe the men leave with a heavy sigh, waving goodbye to your snow-haired sorcerer as he’s pulled across the hall like a toddler.

“See ya, sweetie,” he cries out to you without regard to the neighbors hearing him, putting his blindfold back on. “I miss you already!”

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[jinxthequeergirl]

The Ol Switcharoo (pt2)

Stan pines x reader /ford pines x reader

Summary: Your family vacation lasted longer than expected. When you return home to Stanford, you realize quickly something wrong.

Warning: NONE

Hey! Just some housekeeping before you read on

☆Thanks for all the love ya'll it means bunches

☆this part is shorter do to me wanting to pace this better, but I hope yall enjoy none the less!

☆a few of ya'll asked to be tagged so I'm starting a tag list if you'd like to be included don't hesitate to ask

☆additionally I did have a Playlist for this specific series and if ya'll would like me to post the songs for it also lemme know

Enjoy!

~~~~~☆~~~~~

"STANLEY HELP!"

Stan felt himself freeze up, his heart race and mind go blank, why couldn't he think? Why couldn't he move?

He watched in horror as his brother floated up backwards through the air into the gaping hole in space and time.

"Do something!"

"What...what do i do!?" He asked meekly, looking around for something to help.he watched as parts of his brother slowly disappeared, and as he reached into his coat pocket and tossed something at him. "Hide my research...CALLL Y/N ANYTHING-"

Stan shielded his eyes as a bright white light filled the room and knocked him back onto the floor. The room was suddenly quiet.

"Ford!?...Ford! Come back!" He wasted no time to get back up and bang on the machine, hoping it would start back up like an old appliance. "Please!"

He raced to the lever a few feet away, desperately pulling and yanking at it, but it didn't budge.

"Stanford!?...Ford!? Are you home yet!?" The small coo of an unfamiliar voice snapped Stan from his nightmare.

"Hello!?" The voice echoed out again. He quickly got up, reaching for his only form of security. A baseball bat.

The voice had gone silent, but he could still hear someone moving he took a long pause, then opened the door swinging his bad.

"FORD WAIT! WAIT, IT'S ME! ITS Y/N!!"

Y/n?

He stopped swinging the bat and stared down at you.

"Call y/n! Anything-"

"Y/n?"

"Yes, it's me, Ford! I haven't been gone that long have i?"

He cleared. "No not at all we have some catching up to do."

You could tell there was something ford...well stan (you'd have to get used to the sudden name change) wanted to tell you while you sat across from him. Like he wanted to give you bad news. But he seemed to be thinking of the right way to put it.

"So..stan...what made you want to change from Ford to stan? Did your family have that much of an impact on you?" You tried to joke to lighten the tension that seemed to linger in the air.

"Well...something like that...listen y/n-"

"Are you OK? You seem...different you seem nervous...more nervous then when I left.." You placed your hand over top of his and offered a reasuring smile.

"I..."

stan didn't know you...he had no right to lie to you. But Ford seemed to trust you and judging from the photo on his desk in the basement, how fondly he seemed to write about you in the journal...the scrapped drawings of you in the garbage you meant a whole lot more to him then stan could understand right now, you must have felt the same way about his brother.

He remembered how worried his brother had been in making sure he understood you were absolutely under no circumstances to not touch the journals or anything pertaining to it again.

"My closest friend y/n and I have been working on this project for months now...I should have listened to her but I didn't...I need you to get rid of this journal she can't be near any of this when she returns."

"Did something happen with the portal?...with that...creature? And what happened to your hands!" You said now, pulling both hands into yours to examine them.

Besides, you already seemed so worried. He couldn't be the one to break the news to you. Not now.

Besides, he had a plan.

Sort of.

So he did what he did best.

Lied.

"Well...uh while you were away, I had a little accident. I had to get surgery...yea surgery, and the accident you know was from the portal...so I said, Forget the whole thing! "

He Tried to say it in a way that would convince even himself.

"Stanford, what do you mean? What happened? Are you just going to give up on everything we worked for?"

"I have to, I just need some time."

Neither of you noticed at first that you were holding hands as you spoke. Stan was the first to notice the closeness. It was the first time in what felt like years that anyone had shown him this kind of affection, let alone the kindness you were demonstrating with your concern.

"I don't know what happened while I was away or when you even had time for something to go wrong or why you would even start working again without me!" He noticed the slight annoyance building up and squeezed your hand.

And you took a breath. "But I understand and I won't pretend to know what happened and if you aren't ready to tell me I can respect that...things got a little rocky between us before I left and I'm really just hoping things can go back to the way they used to be with us. If a longer break and time is what you need... then I am 100% behind your decision."

He felt a wave of relief wash over him at your words. Maybe it wasn't your words but the kind-hearted look in your eyes, or maybe it was the way you still held his hands in yours.

You'd be the first two admit two things about your current situation.

One, Nostalgia was a funny thing. You knew when something was off about your bestfriend, the man infront of you was was a changed man, while his story didn't add up he looked shaken and defeated...after all this was the man you trusted with half your life. And you wouldn't lie, you had clung so desperately to the memories of college and spring through winter, it was that glimmer of hope and a mix of Nostalgia for your good times together that made you believe him.

And two, You always knew better then to trust your heart you and Ford would joke about the idea of following your heart and not your brain, how silly a concept it was that the organ that pumped blood through your body had such a pull on your decision making it made your thought process stop.

Yet here you where.

Following your heart.

"How about a few drinks and I can tell you about my trip?" You offered standing and being the first to break the lock between your hands. "And I can tell you about the plans I have for this place!"

"Plans?"

"Sure! I mean, we aren't doing our science junk anymore, so we need to make money somehow, right?"

You set down two glasses.

"Ok?"

You sat down, you listened to him explain how he had already done a few tours displaying whatever you had already had laying around and how people where eating it up.

"Stanford you've never been one for the gimmicky tricks, you've always cared more about the real deal...WE'VE been about the real deal...why lie to people?"

"Trust me y/n do a tour with me tomorrow try to show the people a real life monster and whatchamacallit and put it up against my made up creature."

You laughed. This wasn't what you had expected Stanford pines to spend his break away from work doing. It was out of character for him. But refreshing somehow.

Just like that, the seasons changed, and it was spring again

You learned quickly people didn't like the truth.

Real monsters and ghouls seemed to only upset or bother people so you and stan collaborated a way to make attractions that seemed real enough but also gimmicky enough that tourists would eventually laugh at it.

You learned pretty quickly that you were not only a pretty crafty person but an excellent storyteller.

You and Stanford seemed to almost pick up where you left off bonding and cracking jokes. It was like he was more confident than when you left him, more relaxed and full of life. You two fit right back into place with eachother with out missing a beat.

It's exactly what you'd been missing.

Soon, you were renovating half the house to be a showroom and giftshop, and soon after you were selling and wearing t shirts, you began putting up a sign. By the following summer, you were basically an operational business.

The mystery shack felt more like a brain child of you and Stanford and you cared for it like such.

It was something fun.

Something that didn't seem to be running Stanford down like the science stuff did. You could see a genuine smile on his face as he showed some local kid the corni-corn.

It was silly. You couldn't remember the last time you'd done something silly and adventurous.

It felt good.

"Another day another dollar y/n my dear." Stan said, flipping the open sign to close and placing his little red fez cap on top of your head.

"Soon enough, we'll have people from all over the place coming to get a piece of the mystery shack." He said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, leading you back to the section of the Mystery shack that was still your shared home.

"Yea, we have a real Walt Disney start-up story, don't we stanford." He laughed loudly before suddenly getting serious.

"Listen. I wanted to say thank you for sticking with me through this. It means a lot."

"Of course, stanford." You reached up and planted a small peck on his cheeks. "We've been through everything together. I'm not going to stop now."

You could see stans face flush slightly as you stretched and yawned. "Anyways goodnight stanford."

"Uh yea...goodnight..." You heard him mumble as he touched his cheek where you kissed him.

Things where looking up.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

Tag list!:

@fanficcrow

@slay-thou-pookie

[moonchildstyles]

pleasing

y/n is harry's best friend and she'd never received a valentine's present like this one before.

wordcount: 9.5k+

—————

Just as she finished patting in her skincare for the night, (Y/N)'s phone vibrated for where she had it plugged in, in her bedroom. There was only one person that would be calling her this late at night. 

Dismissing the products she had scattered on her bathroom counter, she rushed back into her room. Upon the screen was a blurry, distorted picture of her best friend with his hair on top of his head in different spikes, thanks for a heaping of sticky hair gel and free time during a snowstorm. His name was plastered across the top, the peapod emoji right next to it. She didn't hesitate before she answered the call. 

"Harry?" she sang after pressing her phone to her ear.

"Hey, are you busy?" 

"I'm just getting ready for bed. Why?" 

"Can I FaceTime you?" 

She barely had time to give a yes before the call switched to a FaceTime in her hand, her screen lighting up a beat later. In front of her was the top half of his face, revealing only his eyes and up. His hair was pulled back with a claw clip, the angle showing off the length of his lashes and the furrow of his brow. 

(Y/N) could see herself in the small box in the corner of the screen, showing off a rather similar angle to what he was giving, though she thought hers was much less flattering somehow. 

"Hello?" 

The furrow in her best friend's brow decreased at the sound of her voice, giving away the smile that was spreading across his lips even if she couldn't see it on screen. 

"Can y'see me?" he asked, his voice sounding muffled and far away. 

"Yes, but I can barely hear you. Are you covering your speakers?" 

Her world went askew as Harry shuffled his phone in his hand, his mouth set in a comical frown for a glimpse before he righted his grip and was back with the half view of his face. "Sorry, can y'hear me now?" 

She hummed a confirmation, smiling to the camera. "What did you want to show me?" 

Harry's cheeks lifted, giving away the hint of a dimple in the corner of the frame. "I have new samples." 

A gasp fell from (Y/N) lips, excitement filling her. "For the collection?! Or different ones?" 

"For the collection." 

Her excitement only rose at the new information. "Let me see!" she bubbled, eagerly curling up on her bed, ready to spend the next hour poring over the new development with Harry.

After a small struggle and a lagging view of Harry's face, the camera suddenly turned to show a view of prototype nail polish bottles and first prints of shimmery nail stickers laid out on his black bedding. 

Even in the low light of his room, (Y/N) could see flecks of glitter in a few of the polishes, the stickers glimmering in the shapes of hearts and flowers. The colors themselves ranged from quiet pastels to vivid brights, some left creamy, others containing barely-there shimmers, and the remainders boasting chunky bright glitters. The collection was large, containing two sets of polishes: one set was full of delicate pastels ranging in the pink family, with the other championing rich, clinging colors. The first iterations of the polish packaging came with the iconic spheres on the tops of the bottles, though this collection featured watercolor petals draped over the shape, leaving the illusion of flowers encased in the bottle all in the same color as the polish inside. 

"What do you think?" 

(Y/N) was sure he could see the wide set to her eyes, the way she was practically fawning over them already. "H, I love it! This is for the Valentine's collection, right?" 

"Something like that, yeah," he answered, his smile evident in his voice, "I figured y'liked the pink ones." 

"I do," she chirped, bringing her phone closer as if she could gain a clearer look of each shade that way. "Put your phone closer, I want to see the colors and the stickers better." 

Harry did just that without hesitation, bringing his phone to his bed, though he went a step further and picked up the stickers to show off in front of the camera. 

Gasping, (Y/N)'s brows bounced over her eyes when she took in the sticker sheet. 

"Harry." 

"What?" 

"Are those bows?!" 

He only laughed.

—————

"Goodnight, (Y/N). I'll talk to you tomorrow." 

"Talk to you tomorrow, H," (Y/N) yawned, unabashedly showing off a downturned angle of the moment while Harry watched on. "Let me know if you want to get dinner later this week. Love you." 

His heart squeezed in his chest at her casual declaration. "Love you, too." 

With that, the video of her sleepy face disappeared, showing only the simple photo he had saved to his lockscreen. Harry's gaze lingered on the empty space for a heartbeat, just a split second away from calling her back despite the late hour and the fact she'd been half asleep before he'd suggested she head to bed. He forced himself to lock his phone and set it on his bedside table, keeping it out of sight and hopefully out of mind. 

Still spread out on his bed, where he had sprawled out his limbs and grew comfortable amongst the bedding, were the new Pleasing products he had been so eager to show off. Everything was still in the test package, nothing completely finalized or one hundred percent polished just yet, but he'd been too excited. He'd shared the concept with (Y/N) ages ago, right after he'd made it out of a meeting with Harry Lambert and Molly, unable to keep the secret under wraps—especially when he found his own inspiration for the collection. 

(Y/N). 

It had been Molly's idea to unveil a Valentine's themed collection after the small set of apparel that would be released around his birthday, hoping to tap into another facet of him that was so beloved to the public. She had in mind something that would commemorate the love songs he was so famous for; the kind of sweetheart, love-sick energy that he often utilized to make his most memorable lyrics and showcased on stage.

As she had gone on, sharing what kind of feeling she wanted to invoke for the season's rollout, Harry was only thinking of his own inspiration. 

It was the same thing that inspired his music, his attitude, his want to improve and be more and more than he started as. 

His best friend. 

He saw his own idea for the collection coming in flashes of her favorite colors, the shade of the dress she wore to his birthday party, the hue of her eyes, the colors that falling in love with her made him see in the world. He could see her with her fingernails proudly painted in his brand, the way she always did when Pleasing made something new just so she could support him. There were already prototypes of new apparel, manicure stickers, and campaign designs forming in his head. 

Harry had come away from that meeting with plenty of ideas to think on, and lyrics forming that he hoped he wouldn't forget before he had a chance to write them down. 

Months later, he had enough ideas for more than one micro-collection. Each one had been passed by Molly and Harry Lambert—both being excited and surprised that there was so much to be used and saved for later collections—leaving with a duo of aesthetics they planned on basing the campaign around. 

That was what he had shown (Y/N) tonight, and was now spread across his bedspread as he tried to calm down his winding heart after their late night call. He kept seeing her face when she spotted the romantic set that was directly inspired by her, the way her eyes lit up when she took in the shades of pink and the shimmery accents. That had been the kind of reaction he had been hoping for when he received the initial samples. 

Collecting each piece, he took his time pulling each bottle, rolling them in his hands with bubbles floating through the polish. He wondered if (Y/N) would catch the connections when he revealed the names to her. He wondered if she would know that he named this shimmery soft pink Woman with her in mind, including inspiration from a song he penned that now was soaked in her memory. The buttery yellow with golden reflects dubbed Home, would she know that was based on the golden dress she wore the first time she saw him on tour? The rich, creamy red he'd called Feast, he hoped she'd see the lipstick she wore the first time they met in the shade. 

He lingered over the bottles, all eight shades invoking a specific memory that went into the creation. Carefully replacing them in the drawer with the rest of his Pleasing pieces, ensuring nothing clinked together too hard with the sticker bundle staying together, he allowed himself a moment with the full collection under the bright light of his bathroom. It was near perfect, seeing it all together. All that was left to sample was the apparel that had been drafted up a few weeks prior with Harry Lambert's guidance, and the extra accessories they were debating on adding in the collection.

He had a feeling (Y/N) would fight to take the samples from him. The idea had a small smile spreading on his lips by the time he was flicking his bathroom light off and padding back to his room. 

By the time Harry bundled himself in his bedding, his phone settled away in his bedside table, he shuttered his eyes though he could still see the ghost of (Y/N)'s excited face on the inside of his eyelids. Just as much as he hoped she would notice the names of the polishes, catch the fact that the stickers were an ode to her, the apparel made with her form in mind, scents formulated to sweep over her skin, he feared she wouldn't notice in the same way she'd never noticed him in the way he wanted. 

Did she remember the yellow dress she wore to the first live show she could make it to? (Y/N) barely ever wore lipstick these days, did she even have that tube of red anymore? Did she ever listen to Woman and hear the words he was too scared to say to her every time she introduced him to a new boyfriend?

The idea needled at the center of his chest just as it always had when he was reminded that he was years into an infatuation that had no sign of ending either from sweet reciprocation or his heart moving on.

Nonetheless, he thought, grasping at positivity as always, he was going to revel in the reactions she gave him as if it were for himself. Those delicate compliments and the joyous excitement, he would hold tight as if they were for who he was and not something that he made. 

And, probably try to convince her to be a part of the product shoot. 

—————

      i'm here !! 🍣🍣

(Y/N) pocketed her phone as she approached the small gate surrounding Harry's home, the concrete divider and plethora of greenery giving privacy to the space. The bag of takeaway sushi hung at her side, the hood of her coat lifted over her head in case there was anyone around hoping to spot a glimpse of Harry's personal life and spin whatever tale. 

She didn't have to check if her text went through, having to wait only a moment before she heard him make his way from his front door and going through the protective greenery. "(Y/N)," he sang through the trees, the syllables of her name sifting through the plants. 

"Harry," she reciprocated, a smile spreading across her lips at the familiar greeting. 

Swinging open the gate, Harry welcomed her in with his hair held back in a familiar flower clip and dimples thumbed into his cheeks. She quickly stepped over the threshold, heading towards his porch while he locked the gate behind her. Only a beat after the click of the lock sounded, he fell into step beside her, hooking an arm around her shoulders. 

"Hi," he smiled, dimples clear on his cheeks as he gazed down at her. 

"Hi," she answered, her own features curling and softening. Feeling his eyes on her face, she took on the responsibility of guiding them towards the front door without stumbling through his garden. "Sorry I'm late. The sushi place was packed for some reason today." 

"Yeah?" he sounded, voice decidedly softer than just a beat before, "'M sorry. I would have gone if I'd known it would be that busy." 

"It's alright," she told him, leading them through his front door to which he dropped his arm from around her to instead shut and lock the door, "I just figured it wouldn't be so bad since they just opened, but everyone else probably had the same idea."

Placing the takeaway bag on the coffee table, (Y/N) shed her jacket and the knitted beanie covering her head. She had another question on her lips as she turned to face Harry once more, though that line died once she took in his outfit for the day. 

"What are you wearing?" 

A small smile spread over his lips at her words though he didn't offer his own response. 

His legs were covered in athletic joggers, the same heather green ones he always seems to be wearing lately, but that wasn't what caught her attention. Draped over his torso was a delicately pink crewneck, thick and warm, with Pleasing scripted across the center of the chest in a mauve shimmer. 

"That's new, isn't it?" she prodded, stepping towards him with her eyes on the shimmering puff print on the crewneck. He had mentioned something about adding apparel to the polish collection she'd been shown last week, but he didn't offer any specific details. 

"Maybe," he teased, "Do you like it?" 

Reaching his arms out, he let her see the full piece, including the glittery stitching that ran through the garment and drew her eyes along his form. She stepped towards him, running a finger along the seam at the cuff of the sleeve. 

"I love it," she smiled, "I didn't know you were making these." 

"I know—I wanted it to be a surprise," he told her, his arm flexing under her fingertip before dropping back to his side with his hands sliding into his pockets, "I know you've been wanting a pink one since the first set came out, so I thought it was finally time." 

"For Valentine's Day?" she bubbled, thinking back to the samples he'd shown off to her the week before. 

Something flashed over his eyes as they dropped from hers, taking in the rest of her features. "Something like that, yeah." 

"Do you have any more?" Before he even answered, she couldn't help herself but to start edging towards the stairs bordering the wall behind her. 

A plume of laughter fell from Harry's lips, catching her with his palm landing on her arms before she could scurry away. "No," he drawled as he pulled her back towards him, "But, you can have this one if y'want." 

"Are you sure?" she asked, eyes wide as she fixed her gaze on him, hands on his chest over the puff print of the lettering. "I don't want to take it if this is the only one you're testing right now." 

Harry shrugged her off, his hands on her arms sliding down in a lingering drag before they finally fell back to his sides. "'S alright. No one knows yet, anyway." 

Tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, (Y/N) dropped her gaze from his to peruse over the glimmering neckline of the crewneck. "I don't want you to get it in trouble, though, if you give it away." 

He scrunched his features, shaking his head as if what she said was completely incredulous. "(Y/N), I made it for you." 

His words were cemented as he began pulling the piece off completely, leaving him in only the vintage shirt he'd had on underneath, the print faded and unfamiliar. He shoved the garment in her arms, a waft of his scent enveloping her. 

(Y/N) hesitated for long enough that Harry had to have noticed, prompting him to set a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Really, lovie. 'S alright. I don't want y'to have to wait to get your own." 

Relenting, she fell into his chest, Harry wrapping his arms around her with a laugh rumbling his chest under her cheek. "Thanks, H. I promise I won't wear it out or anything until you announce it, though." 

She could feel him smile when he buried his nose into her hair, his arms pulsing around her a snug embrace. 

For a brief moment, (Y/N) let her eyes close as she sunk into his arms. The fragrance of his washing detergent and the lingering scent of his cologne that had sunk into every fiber of his home washed over her. There were times she could see her friendship with Harry moving into territory she'd been too fearful to even explore in her imagination, but feeling his embrace and the words I made it for you ringing in her ears, she could be coaxed to imagine a lot of things with him.

Before she could run too far away in her head, she drew away with a bright smile, hoping he didn't catch the warmth under her skin. 

"We need to eat before our soup gets cold," she told him, stepping towards the couch with her new crewneck in her arms. 

Harry followed after her, becoming a warm shadow as he took his seat next to her. It wasn't until all of the containers were distributed out from the bag, and (Y/N)'s new sweatshirt was folded carefully at her side that he peeked at her from where he was stirring his miso soup. 

"I do have one condition with the crewneck," he murmured, taking a spoonful of tofu and seaweed. (Y/N), her own mouth full with a wonton, raised her brow in response. Taking his time to swallow, his words hanging in the air for a beat, Harry finally followed up with, "We might need an extra model for the Valentine's campaign."

"Okay," (Y/N) mumbled, a furrow pinching at her brows. "Do you need me to ask someone? I think I still have a couple of numbers of some of the people from your music videos if you want me to reach out." 

A sheepish smile touched at the corners of Harry's lips. "No, I mean... Would you want to be a model? The shoots in a few weeks, so." 

Pushing her chopsticks against the wontons floating in her soup, (Y/N) wasn't sure how to respond. "H, you know I'm not a model or anything—like, you remember that, right?" 

He laughed at her remark. "Yes, I remember. This one's going to be really special, though, and a lot of fun. I want you to be in it—if you're comfortable." 

She mulled over his words, rolling the short I want you around her head. "And this is a condition of taking the crewneck home with me today?" 

A single dimple touched his cheek. "Something like that," he tilted his head, stirring his miso soup into a slow vortex, "I am doing you a favor, aren't I?" 

She nudged his shoulder with her own, rolling her eyes. "You said it was made for me, how is it a favor to give it to me?" she teased, only shaking her head when he laughed at her. 

A beat passed before Harry returned his eyes to her, his features softened and warm. "Really, it would mean a lot to me if y'were a part of this shoot. At least think about it?" 

"I can do that," she compromised, seeing her best friend in front of her even if his words touched a separate part of her shoved into a box in the back of her mind, "I'll think about it, and let you know." 

It was the way that his smile bloomed across his features, something bright unfurling in his eyes that (Y/N) was sure she already had her decision pocketed away. 

—————

As Molly stood in front of the slew of models and talent sitting in wait for the day, Harry stood behind her as if to read the agenda in her hands even if all he really did was sweep his eyes towards (Y/N) standing at the end of the line. 

"First up is the pink side of the campaign," Molly read off, presenting the information with a smile while others ran around behind her setting up for the double shoot that would be happening, "Nail techs will be coming around to make sure everyone has something on their nails—remember which group you're in so we get the correct colors on your nails. Hair and makeup will follow afterwards..." 

There was more Molly was saying, the outline of the day being extra exhausting given there were two different aesthetics being achieved today, but Harry was much more focused on the extra model at the shoot. 

Truly, he hadn't thought (Y/N) would accept. He knew it was much for her to be in front of a camera like this, seeing as his own need for privacy definitely had rubbed off on her, so he hadn't been surprised that she had lagged on her response for a week. It was when she had called asking about details of the shoot, wanting to know about the times and location, and just how long they would be needed on set, all followed up with a chirped I'll be there! that had surprised him. It wasn't until that call that he planned on being on set all day, having previously only meant to pop by for a few hours before leaving everyone to get the real work done without him being in the way. That was how he ended up here right at eight a.m., hair back in a pink flower clip (another accessory for the collection), and his eyes searching for (Y/N). 

"Okay, everyone go pick a station and someone from hair and makeup will come help as soon as they can!" Molly dismissed everyone with a smile before turning on her heel and looking around for Harry Lambert. 

Harry stood back with the sets coming together behind him as he watched the line of models scatter towards the lit up tables. There was only one that strayed behind, hands in a bundle at her waist with her wide eyes immediately fixing to him. He didn't hesitate before he stepped towards (Y/N), reaching out to her until his arm was slung over her shoulders. 

"Y'alright?" he murmured to her, voice low compared to the bustle happening around the set. 

"Yeah," she sighed, scanning her gaze along for the last open station, "It's just weird being on set like this when I'm not just here to watch. I don't want to mess anything up." 

He shrugged his shoulders, his arm scrunching around her as he tipped his head. "You're probably going to, but 'm sure Molly or someone will be able to fix it." 

It wasn't until she looked up at him with her mouth a gape and an accusatory light in her eyes that he broke with his laughter. His shrug became a comforting hug as he held her to his side. "'M kidding, lovie. You're going to be jus' fine—we're gonna take care of you, don't worry." 

Harry pulled out the chair to the vanity for her, catching her reflection in the mirror. There was a part of him that, while he watched her, wanted to grab a camera and get his own shots for the campaign. There was nothing more romantic—in the Valentine's spirit—than the quiet moments with a partner; the moments that made it clear they were a team.

He was tugged out of his head when he heard her speak up. "Are you going to be hanging around for the shoot today then? Or are you going home soon?" 

"I'll be here all day," he decided then, setting his hands on the back of her chair as they met eyes in the mirror.

Her gaze brightened, seemingly reflecting back the lights ringing the mirror. "Are you going to be in any of the pictures?" 

It was the bubbling of her voice, the way she beamed at him that had his own lips curling into a small smile. "Maybe." 

It wouldn't be hard to convince his team to let him sneak in a couple of shots. His nails were already done up anyway. 

Before (Y/N) could say much more, one of the three nail techs flittered to her station. Familiar bottles of polish were tucked away in her apron, the pink bottles being placed out on the vanity as she offered (Y/N) a bright smile. 

"Hi," she greeted, eyes landing on Harry for a split second before bouncing away just as quickly. "I'm Mari, I'll be doing your nails this morning. How are you?" 

"I'm (Y/N). I'm doing good, thank you," she chirped, her voice decidedly higher and sweeter than when she had been speaking with Harry a moment before. He nudged her shoulder just a bit, a silent tease. "How are you?" 

"I'm doing well, thank you for asking," Mari said, carefully looking at Harry through the fan of her lashes, "And you, Mr. Styles?" 

"I'm good, thank you," he offered, his voice low with a pleasant smile given to Mari. He could spot the small ticks that gave away just how aware she was of him, he didn't want to make her any more nervous. "I appreciate your help today, Mari. I've seen some of your work, and 'm really excited to see what you can do for us." 

Mari's tan cheeks heated with a small blush bubbling underneath, faint under her skin. "Of course. Thank you for the opportunity—really." 

Harry's smile only spread wider when he felt (Y/N) nudge against his hand, her own quiet tease over his dazzling interaction. 

Before she could fluster much more, with all of her supplies spread out on the vanity table, Mari concentrated on (Y/N) once more. "Do you remember which group you were in today, (Y/N)?" 

"I'm actually in both groups today, but I think I'm a part of the pink shoot first," (Y/N) smiled, tilting her chin upwards to peek at Harry upside down, "Right?" 

"Right," Harry affirmed. It was a lot he was putting on her plate, being in both sides of the campaign, he knew that. But, just as he had told her when he laid out the details, it meant a lot to him to see her in both aesthetics. She was the face of the collection in his mind, he couldn't imagine her not pictured in every iteration.

"Long day," Mari muttered, her features school back into a pleasant expression. She plucked her fingers through the bottles, skating over the set of pink varnishes first. "Do you have a preference for what color we use today?" 

At this, (Y/N) looked to Harry once more. "Do you? I'm okay with any of them, but is there something you want me to have for the pictures, or anything?" 

Instinctively, Harry looked to the creamy baby pink shade embedded with opal flecks. He nodded towards the bottle, "That one if that's alright."

"This one?" Mari clarified, picking up the bottle he had in mind.

"Yes, please," Harry smiled, looking towards (Y/N) with his raised brows to which she gave him a small giddy nod. "And some of the stickers if y'have them." 

A quiet gasp left (Y/N)'s lips. He knew she would like that detail. 

"Sounds perfect," Mari bleated, asking for one of (Y/N)'s hands before she started prepping for the manicure. 

With her on hand free, (Y/N) reached for the opal polish to be painted over her fingers. "Do you mind if I look?" 

"Go for it," Mari smiled, concentrating on the alcohol wipe she was swiping over (Y/N)'s nail beds. 

Rolling the bottle around her hand, (Y/N) smiled up at Harry. "Is this the final bottle?" 

"Mhm," he hummed, a sense of pride touching at the center of his chest, "We changed a couple of things from when I last showed you, but this is it." 

He watched her admire the polish, tipping the bottle to and fro as she watched the color inside bubble and shift. The glitters shown in the light, going undetected until catching a ray and sparkling a vivid pink. When he saw her tilt the bottle to catch the name stickered to the bottom, he couldn't help the pulse his hands gave to the back of her chair. 

Would she notice? Was the connecting line thick enough to spot? 

Labeled on the bottom of the bottle was the word lovie printed in white ink on the black sticker. 

"Hey," (Y/N) called, her voice lilting, "That's me!" 

She pulled the bottle towards him, showing off the proof with a warming smile on her lips. 

His lungs squeezed even as he tried to play it off, squinting at the bottle as if reading it for the first time. "It is, isn't it?" 

"Did you do that on purpose?" she asked, alternating her hands once Mari gave a small tap to her wrist. 

"Maybe," he murmured. Did he sound as breathless as he felt?

(Y/N)'s mouth pulled into a bubbly smile—just as bright and attention grabbing as the first time he met her. "Harry," she crooned his name, the syllables cradled on her tongue, "I didn't know you did that. It's so sweet." 

There was a moment where he wondered if this was the moment. Was this the moment to share that of course he would name one of these shades after her, as this whole thing was an ode to his feelings for her. Was this warehouse being used as their set the perfect place to tell her what every single shade meant to him and how it was tied to her? It wouldn't be so bad, he thought. 

Instead, Harry only bashfully shrugged, tipping his shy smile towards his feet. "'M happy y'like it." 

Settling her hands for Mari to begin painting, (Y/N) still kept her attention tipped towards Harry. "Is that why you wanted me to be in the shoot?" she asked, leaning towards where he was still stationed behind her chair, "So, there's, like, platonic love in there too for Valentine's?" 

Harry's lungs squeezed for a different reason this time. Platonic love between friends. That's why he named a polish after her in his most romantic collection to date. 

"Something like that," he settled on, hoping she didn't catch the way his smile fell just a hair. 

Though (Y/N) parted her lips to offer a response, she was cut off before she could take a breath. Harry Lambert was fluttering by the stations, keeping an eye on every model readying for the campaign before he met Harry. 

"Sue, would you help me bring in all the clothing, please?" he asked, a tenor of stress entering his voice. 

Breaking away from (Y/N)'s chair, Harry didn't hesitate before nodding his head. "Course. Where do y'need me?" 

Vaguely, Harry Lambert pointed towards the set pieces before he shook his head. "Just follow me." 

Absently, Harry tossed over his shoulder to (Y/N), "I'll be right back, lovie." 

When he heard a small okay peep from her, he looked towards her only to see her already blinking at him with admiration in her eyes. No wonder he felt so warm.

—————

Harry was sure his dimples were deep in his cheeks as he leaned over Molly's shoulder, looking at the photos popping up on the computer screen as every shot was uploaded. Unsurprisingly, his favorites were of (Y/N).

Her makeup and hair was done minimally in true Pleasing style, leaving everything sheer and pastel. Her nails were glimmering in the light, dreamy filters to be added to the shots that would accentuate the glitter in the varnish. She looked entirely too cozy in the large pink crewneck clad on her torso and the comfy lounge shorts hugging her hips. Though there was still a stiffness as she transitioned between poses, as if waiting for someone to yell at her to fix her stance, he could see her growing more and more comfortable among the set. She made friends with a few of the other models, making it much easier for her to fit into those group shots and allow her laughter to filter through the room. 

It made him feel an undeniable hint of pride seeing her grow so comfortable in front of the camera. He knew she never much preferred being in front of the camera like this, so every small breath of progress she made had his heart glowing for her. 

Watching every shot come in over Molly's shoulder, Harry was almost disappointed when the photographer called for a cut; the lighting needed to be adjusted apparently with extra props being brought in before the focus would shift to the colorful end of the campaign. He stepped back, giving however many assistants were helping out all the space they needed to take care of every minute change. 

As the models scattered, (Y/N) made a beeline back towards Harry, ushering out of the way as quickly as possible. With everyone distracted, he didn't hesitate before he draped his arms around her shoulders in a loose hug. 

"How are y'feeling?" he asked, offering her a quiet smile, "Y'look like you're having fun." 

(Y/N) leant into him, her cheek smushed against the blocked muscle of his chest. "I am, but I'm getting tired. I don't know how you do this all the time." 

A breath of laughter left his lips at her mumbling. "'S surprisingly exhausting, isn't it? Being the center of attention really takes a lot out of a person." 

"No wonder you can fall asleep anywhere," she mused, playing along, "Your life is so hard." 

"I've been trying to tell you," he smiled, pulsing his arms around her when he realized just how hard she was leaning into him. 

She'd been on her feet from the second she had her makeup and hair finished and there were still hours left of her day, even after lunch was served. As much as he was teasing, he was sure she truly was rather exhausted with this being her first time being more than a spectator on set. 

A companionable silence settled between them, Harry not needing to peek to know that she'd had shuttered her eyes while he hugged her. From the corner of his eye, there was a familiar production assistant flittering around with the polaroid camera Harry Lambert had passed off earlier in the day, tasked with documenting the day for behind-the-scenes content. Like a sixth sense, Harry swore he could feel the lens focusing on him and (Y/N), but he didn't flinch back or turn to spot the assistant. 

Instead, he stayed right where he was with (Y/N) in his arms even when the camera clicked and light flashed over the space. 

—————

"I'll be done in, like, ten minutes, 'kay?" Harry murmured, dropping his bag by the station (Y/N) had claimed for the day, "Lambert said there were only a couple of totes left, so I won't take long." 

"Okay," (Y/N) nodded, matching his eyes in the mirror as she pulled out makeup wipes, "I should be done by then." 

Harry lingered behind her for a moment, eyes bright in the reflection, before he stepped away. (Y/N) felt her skin warm in his wake, heart fumbling in its beats before she settled in her chair. She made a point to fix her attention to the makeup wipe she was skimming over her skin, keeping her eyes forward instead of following after him. 

The other models had cleared out as soon as the photographer had called for a wrap, leaving production behind to clean up and clear out for the night. Harry had, of course, volunteered to help clean as much as he could for the night causing (Y/N) to stay back with him. She had helped break down stations and pack props before finally retiring to the final standing station so she could get un-ready herself. 

From her peripheral, (Y/N) spotted Molly bustling around, trusty clipboard in hand. Catching her eye in the mirror, Molly finally paused her constant rushing with her muscles visibly relaxing. 

"I've barely been able to talk to you today," Molly said in greeting as she approached (Y/N)'s station, gifting a small hug with an arm around her shoulders. "Thank you for helping out today." 

"Of course," (Y/N) smiled, the bulbs around the mirror catching the shimmering stickers on her nails that only made her smile stretch wider. "Thank you for letting me be a part of the shoot. I had a lot of fun." 

Molly shifted her weight and leant against (Y/N)’s chair, her features softened. "I could tell. Harry was so worried for you this morning," she shared, "He felt bad, like he had made you say yes when you didn't really want to do this." 

Wiping the light mascara off her eyes, (Y/N) shrugged, "You know it's not really my thing, but he said this one was really important to him. I'm really happy I did it, though—the collection is gorgeous, you guys really did so well with this one." 

 "All of the ideas were H's, so I can't really take any credit for it. Lambert and I just put it all in production," Molly shared, fondness on her features. "We only told him we wanted to do a Valentine's inspired collection, and he already had all of these ideas. We weren't planning to do a dual release, but he'd had so many that he wanted to add that it turned into what we have now." 

"He didn't tell me that," (Y/N) chirped, feeling herself begin to soften. She had known Harry had a large hand in the creative side of these collections, but she hadn't known that he had brought all of the ideas to the table for this one. "I don't know where he gets all of his inspiration between writing and everything with this. He never stops." 

(Y/N)'s teasing comment prompted Molly to laugh along with her, both of them familiar with how hard Harry tended to push himself both creatively and physically. 

"Like, you don't know," Molly said, amusement carrying over her words. 

A pinch touched at (Y/N)'s brows, her hand slowing over her skin to leave her mascara as only smudges under her eyes. "What do you mean?" 

It was Molly's turn to cant her head, her lashes fluttering as she blinked at (Y/N)'s reflection. "I thought that was why you decided to finally be a part of the shoot. That Harry told you." 

For a heartbeat, (Y/N) swore she was in some kind of movie scene. The theatrics of the moment seemed to be blown out of proportion, if only in her eyes. 

"Told me about what?" 

At this, Molly seemingly realized that she may have hinted at something (Y/N) hadn't known anything about. She pursed her lips as if she wanted to keep in her next words, but both of them knew she didn't have much of a choice now that she had started on this avenue. 

"That it's you—the inspiration for the collection. He wasn't very good at hiding it before he finally just told Lambert. All of the shades have something to do with you." 

(Y/N) was hyper aware of Molly's words, even if the sound of her heart pumping began to flood through her ears. 

Strings began to connect throughout the last month since he initially showed her the samples of the polishes. The crew neck he claimed he made with her in mind. The dual collection having four different shades of her favorite color—a fact about her he knew without a doubt. The varnish named after the pet name he had dubbed her as throughout the years, something he had immediately tied to her when she had pointed it out just that morning. 

Maybe it was the new information getting to her head, but more and more pieced itself together. That lingering look he gave her in the mirror just moments earlier felt like more evidence, including the way he held her between shots today, tiny moments that didn't feel out of the ordinary for him. Now those memories could be tinted in rose as moments that were only ordinary because it was between the two of them. 

"Oh," (Y/N) simply sounded, dropping her eyes from Molly's with a flutter of her lashes.

A beat passed before Molly piped up with an apology in her tone. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I thought you knew, or I wouldn't have said anything." 

"No, no, don't be sorry!" (Y/N) rushed, turning in her seat to match her eyes truly, "It's okay, I'm just surprised." 

Casting her eyes around the dwindling room, Molly lowered her voice by the time she matched (Y/N)'s gaze once more. "Good surprise?" 

Before (Y/N) could give an answer—one she wasn't even sure of—Harry joined their group, He reached towards his bag on the vanity, lookin at the two women with a question in his eyes. "Did you need a couple more minutes?" he asked, not-so-discreetly looking at the shadows left under (Y/N)'s eyes. 

She could feel her stilted smile on her lips, but (Y/N) hoped Harry wouldn't notice. "Why? Did I miss something?" 

Molly made a quiet getaway with a quick pat to Harry's shoulder, taking his attention for a moment as he gave a small way and murmured his goodbye. For a split second, Molly shot (Y/N) a sheepish glance before she was hustling through the space once more. 

When Harry returned to (Y/N), his gaze was scrutinizing this time, a pinch to his brows as he ducked his head to be level with her. 

"I don't think so, no," he said, answering her teasing remark. Reaching out, he gently dragged his fingertips over the soft skin of her under eye, picking up some of the smudgy mess on the pads of his fingers. Her breath caught in her throat at the touch, a stillness touching her muscles she hoped he wouldn't catch. He made a show of inspecting his hands with a comically deep frown on his lips. "Thought I saw something, but, no, y'got it all. Ready to go?" 

Looking at her through the fan of his lashes, (Y/N) saw the teasing gleam to his eyes, though she swore there was something more floating in his irises. 

Had that always been there?

"Um," she mumbled, dropping back into the moment, "Yeah, I'm ready." 

The amusement in Harry's eyes faded at her stilted answer. Creases appeared between his eyes as he gazed at her, his bag loose in his hand. "Y'alright?" 

"Yeah," she attempted to chirp, hopping out of her chair, "I think the day is just catching up to me and all. Just got really tired." 

"Well, then," he started, standing to the full of his height before slinging an arm over her shoulder, "let's get y'home, lovie." 

When he gave a small pulse to the cuff of her shoulder, his fingers denting the soft of her arm, (Y/N) tried to remember if it always felt that charged when he touched her. 

—————

"Hey, you." 

Harry held back a sigh when (Y/N) reached his open arms, burying his nose into her hair as she wrapped her arms around his middle. He settled instead for shuttering his eyes and sinking into her hold. It'd been a long week since he'd seen her last after taking her home after the Pleasing shoot; both he and (Y/N) seemed to be too busy to send more than a few texts to one another throughout the day. It wasn't a secret to him that (Y/N) was the brightest party of his day, but he hadn't realized just how good he had it until she had pulled back those days. 

"How are you?" (Y/N) murmured, her voice muffled from the way her cheek was squished against his chest, "I feel like I've barely talked to you since last week." 

"Me too," he said, drawing away just enough to see her face with his arms a warm loop around her, "I've been alright, though. You?" 

Her eyes skated down his features long enough Harry swore he could feel her gaze like a touch from her hand. His skin warmed in her wake, a pinkened blush surely rising to the surface of his cheeks. 

"I've been good," she finally answered, the heartbeat between his question and her response seeming hours long instead of mere seconds. "Just tired still. I feel like I haven't recovered from last weekend, yet." 

"'M not surprised, y'worked hard." Harry dropped himself back into the moment, clearing his throat. "Molly emailed me some preliminary shots the other day." 

Perking up in his arms, her eyes brightening. "She did? How did they look?" 

A lopsided smile poked at the corner of his mouth. "I can show you, if y'want. Jus' need to grab m'laptop from m'room." 

All it took was a giddy nod from her and a quiet yes, please! that had him untangling from her arms and heading towards his room.

As much as he wanted to stay right where he was in her arms, he needed a breath of air. Perhaps distance, no matter how small it was, really did make the heart grow fonder and Harry wasn't immune to the effects. 

His paces were measured as he scaled his stairs to his bedroom, grabbing his laptop from where it was charging on the side of his bed. The email in question wasn't hard to find, especially since one of his favorite shots—the polaroid one production assistant had nabbed of he and (Y/N) snuggling during a break—was now his home screen on his phone. (And, one of (Y/N)'s official shots was now her contact photo). 

Heading downstairs, he found her already making herself at home on his couch. With a blanket his mom had knitted for him thrown over her legs, she was scrolling through her phone despite the streaming service pulled up on his television. 

"Comfy already, lovie?" he laughed, crossing from the landing to take his own spot next to her. 

"A little," she answered, decidedly reserved in her teasing. That had been much of how it was this past week, (Y/N) too distracted, or tired, or whatever it was to play with him too much. He hoped it truly was nothing more than being a little tired. 

Leaning in close, he settled his laptop on his thighs as he pulled up the attachments.  Beginning to card through the photos, he offered a short explanation, "They're not edited completely yet, but we've got some of the effects added. We're still picking which shots are going to be used for the site and which will be used for the socials, but it all turned out really well." 

Even as every picture lit up his screen, the pad of his finger on the touchpad, Harry favored watching (Y/N)'s reactions as opposed to looking at the shots themselves. He wanted to know if she loved it as much as he did. 

The bright colors cast washes of pale color over her skin, shining like the moon at times with others giving a petal softness to the high points of her face. He could tell when a picture of her appeared with the way she rolled her lips between her teeth, a quiet bashfulness softening the edges of her features. 

"Wait, wait, go back," (Y/N) asked, leaning forward as if to get a closer look at a missed photo. 

Peeling his gaze away from her profile, Harry looked to his laptop to see the photo that had caught her attention was the same one that he favored. An artistically framed shot of their polaroid filled his screen, the nature of the camera already giving fuzzied edges to their forms, an extra set of dreamy editing adding that much more to the sight. 

"Y'like this one?" he murmured, a delicate edge to his voice. 

"When did they take this one?" she asked, her voice a quiet whisper for only him to hear. 

"During that break, remember? Lambert and Molly had an assistant going around to get production shots, and they caught us," he smiled, reliving that moment with her in his arms and the warmth of her form against his, "We're thinking about using this in one of the social shots." 

(Y/N) was silent then, her eyes flitting over every pixel that made up the photo. He hadn't expected her to go so quiet. 

"But, we don't have to use it if y'don't want to," Harry carefully offered, already rearranging the composition of the offered rollout to accommodate her if she was so uncomfortable. "I can talk to Mo—" 

"No, no, that's not—" she started, stumbling some through her words when she managed to meet his eyes finally, "I just... Can I ask you something?" 

The connotations of the phrase had Harry's heart fumbling and palms sweating right away. "'Course. What is it?" 

Hesitating as she rolled her lips between her teeth, (Y/N) let his words hang between them for a few heartbeats too long. 

"Molly told me something after the shoot," she started, her words careful and calculated, "I wanted to know if it was true." 

He couldn't imagine what Molly would have shared that would have had (Y/N) so cryptic and unsure. "Okay," he offered, drawling over the word. 

"She said..." (Y/N) paused, dropping her eyes from his until they landed on the hollow of his throat—a safe place to look when she was too afraid of his reaction. His palms became that much more clammy. "She said something about how this collection was about... me. That you told Harry that you had all these ideas because they were from me." 

In the same moment that time attempted to stop, everything in Harry's body went into overdrive. Was it safe to feel his heartbeat in the base of his throat? Was it normal to want to suck in more air than his lungs needed? 

What was he supposed to say to that?

More importantly: what answer did (Y/N) want to hear? 

Would she be excited to hear that yes, everything Molly had told her was true and he just didn't know how to tell her himself. It was easier to manifest it all into cute little nail polishes and matching stickers. Or did she want him to say no, Molly's imagination had run a bit too wild, or she had heard him wrong, or, or, or—

"Yes," he suddenly blurted out, his mouth ahead of his brain. 

(Y/N) blinked at him. Her eyes floated back to his, bewildered at his blunt answer. "Yes, it's true?" 

The dam that was his filter had too big of a crack to be properly repaired, it appeared. There was no holding back the river. 

"Yes," he affirmed, a weight in his chest pushing the words out before he could offer more thought, "The—um—the yellow one with the gold glitter, it matches the dress y'wore the first time y'came to one of m'shows. And, pink is your favorite color, so I wanted to make as many different ones as we could so you'd have as many as y'wanted to wear. I don't even know if y'have this lipstick anymore, but the red was to match the one y'were wearing when we met. A-All of them are for—about you." 

By the time he managed to zip his lips, there was still plenty to be said but he figured the rambling was more than enough to both humiliate himself and put (Y/N) on the spot. 

The longer she didn't say anything in response, the more Harry sweat. His thoughts were nothing but a swirl heading down a drain, too heavy and incoherent to make sense of.

"(Y/N), I—I didn't m—" 

As quick as he opened his mouth like a guppy, fumbling over his words, he was silenced with (Y/N) pressing her kiss to his lips. 

It was startling at first, taking every ribbon holding him together unraveled, turning him into a scramble. It was only when he felt a careful smile spread over her mouth and she drew away a hair that Harry came alive. 

This was what he'd dreamt of, why was he wasting it? 

Molding his lips to hers, Harry tasted the soft curve of her cupid's bow when he tucked his bottom lip between her two. Faint traces of a fruity chapstick remained on her mouth, though the only taste he got was her. There was no other way to describe the fragrance other than it being (Y/N). Every soft parting and letting of their mouths gave him a rush of that essence, pulling him in deeper and deeper each time. 

The laptop on his thighs was a forgotten object as he turned his body to face her, the device sliding somewhere among the cushions of his couch. His hand landed carefully on the soft of her cheek, feeling a warmth blooming in her skin under his palm. He could feel every pacing of her muscles, feeling how her body moved for no other purpose than to kiss him. It brought a pinch to his brow, an unfurling happening in his chest he couldn't even begin to unpack right then.

While it wasn't an urgent, explicit kiss, Harry didn't want to pull away first. Hours could have been spent on his couch just like this, if not for the fact (Y/N) decided she needed air more than his kiss. 

Following her cue, he gave her some space when she drew away. Her skin was warm as she blinked her eyes open to match his own. He watched as a smile spread over her lips the longer she looked at him.

"You like me?" 

A peal of laughter fell from Harry's lips, bursting through his chest and filling his bones. 

"Maybe. Why?" 

(Y/N)'s laughter filled the one place his own happiness couldn't fill quite as well: his heart.

—————

     Pleasing's Cupid Collection available now. 

(Y/N) barely noticed the notification sliding down the top of her screen, seeing as she was already on the main page of the brand's website. Refreshing the site, the homepage completely rearranged to showcase the dual collection now available for patrons to browse, her own face flashing in the campaign video playing at the top of the page. It was terrifying and thrilling at the same time. 

Was this how Harry felt every time he released music? Or really anything for the world to see?

With the way her heart hammered in her chest, she wasn't sure how he survived things like this. 

Another notification pinged at the top of her phone. Pleasing had just made a post on Instagram. 

Tapping on the dropdown, she was taken from the Pleasing page and to her instagram app. The new post popped up automatically. 

The shot showcased a collection of polaroid photos, some of behind the scenes shots of official photos for the campaign and others showing candid moments between the models and production during the making of the shoot. They were all laid out on a satiny pink sheet, a dreamy filter adding gleaming lights and iridescent shifts throughout the page. 

There was one familiar polaroid that caught her eye—one that was barely within frame but something she had seen enough times she could spot with the barest of pixels. Just barely, she could see herself leaning against the chest of someone who was almost completely cut out of the frame, leaving only a set of arms to be seen wrapped around her shoulders with her eyes closed in contentment. 

Just barely, through the haze of the filter, (Y/N) could see a small tattoo on her companion's hand: a black cross. 

As if being summoned by her thoughts alone, those same arms draped themselves around her from where she stood in the middle of the kitchen. Harry's chin settled on her shoulder, looking at her screen as she pulled up the comments on the photos. 

"What's everyone saying?" he murmured, his lips pressing against the column of her throat in a delicate kiss. 

The smile that landed on her lips was tender and instinctual, something that settled there without her permission. She didn't have to truly read any of the commented reactions to know the public's opinion. 

"They love it," she told him, voice a quiet croon. 

"Yeah?" His smile was audible in his tone. "I think this one's gonna be the most popular yet." 

"You think so?" (Y/N) questioned, swiping out of the reactions if only to see the glimpse of their polaroid once more. 

Placing a gentle hand on her cheek, Harry tipped her chin to face him. There was a gleam in his eyes that (Y/N) never realized was so familiar until the first time they kissed. There was a small tug to the corner of his lips, a single dimple denting his cheek. 

"Yeah. I've jus' got a feeling." 

He dipped his head, pressing his lips to hers.

—————

:)))) thank you for reading, so sorry if there's any mistakes and if theres any questions or anything you have please please send them in! I hope you enjoyed :)

[misspygmypie]

Meet & Greet... and more? Pt. 3

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Words: 2509 Click here for Part 2

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Lando was pacing around the McLaren motorhome, his nerves turning his usual confident stride into a jittery shuffle. Every few moments he’d glance at his phone or look up at the entrance, eagerly anticipating Y/N and Noah’s arrival. Oscar leaned casually against a nearby wall, clearly enjoying the spectacle. 

“Lando,” he said with a grin, “you’re acting like you’re about to meet the King or something.”

Lando shot him a glance, a bit embarrassed. “I know, I know. It’s just… I’ve been looking forward to this for so long. It’s going to be great to finally hang out with them again.”

Oscar chuckled and shook his head. Just then one of the team assistants approached the two of them. “Lando, Y/N and Noah have just arrived. They’re in the hospitality area waiting for you.”

Lando’s eyes lit up and he immediately straightened up, his nervousness transforming into a burst of energy. “Great, thanks” he smiled at the assistant and then turned to Oscar, who was still grinning. “Come on, you’re coming with me. I need moral support.”

Oscar followed, chuckling softly. As they made their way through the McLaren motorhome Lando’s steps were hurried and awkward. He glanced over at Oscar who raised an amused eyebrow at his friend but kept his mouth shut and just when they approached the hospitality area, Lando’s excitement got the best of him.

He was so focused on the approaching meeting that he didn’t see a small plant at the edge of the path. He tripped over it, stumbling forward with an exaggerated flail of his arms. For a brief moment he looked like he was about to take a dive but managed to catch himself at the last second.

Oscar burst into laughter, shaking his head. “Well, you’ve certainly made an entrance.”

Lando groaned awkwardly as he straightened himself, trying to regain his composure. “Fantastic. Just what I needed,” he said, brushing himself off.

He found Y/N and Noah chatting near the refreshments table, their laughter filling the space and he felt his heart race as he approached them, a broad smile spreading across his face.

“You made it” he called out, his voice a little louder than he intended. He extended his arms for a hug, his face beaming.

“Lando! It’s so good to see you” Y/N stepped forward and gave him a warm hug, while Noah followed suit, his small arms clinging onto Lando’s legs.

“I’m so glad you could come,” Lando said, holding onto the lingering hug with Y/N a bit longer before stepping back and crouching down to embrace the little boy as well. “I’ve been counting down the days. I hope you’re ready for a fun weekend!”

Oscar, standing slightly to the side, watched the reunion with a grin. He wanted to give them a few moments before interrupting but eventually decided to say hello as well.

“It’s great to see you both again. I’ve been looking forward to catching up.”

Y/N smiled warmly. “It’s good to see you too, Oscar. Noah’s been excited about the weekend!”

Oscar leaned down a bit so Noah didn’t have to look up so much. “How’s my favorite little car enthusiast doing?”

Noah’s eyes lit up as he replied, “I’m really great!”

The Australian chuckled at the boy’s enthusiasm and ruffled the 4-year-old’s hair before turning back to the young woman and his teammate. 

“Well, I’m gonna get some breakfast. Enjoy the day, Lando and try not to trip over any more plants, okay?”

Lando shot him a mock glare as Oscar gave him a playful salute and wandered off. The Brit decided to ignore his friend and turned back to his two guests. “Now follow me, I’ve got something special planned for you!”

Noah’s eyes grew even wider. “The surprise?”

“That’s right,” Lando said with a playful grin.

Lando led them to a private area of the paddock that was sectioned off from the usual hustle and bustle. As they got closer Noah noticed a sleek kids version of a McLaren parked in the center of the area. The car was customized with vibrant colors and designs that matched Lando’s race car and it even had Noah’s name printed on the side.

“This,” Lando said, “is for you, Noah. It’s a special car that you can take for a spin around a small track we’ve set up just for today. It’s a little gift to thank you for being such a big fan and for coming out to the race.”

Noah’s mouth dropped open in awe. “This is amazing! Can I really drive it?”

Lando nodded, chuckling. “Absolutely! I’ll be right here to help you get started. And don’t worry, it’s all safe and ready for a fun ride.”

With Lando’s assistance the boy hopped into the car. His face lit up while Lando walked him through the basics of driving and soon Noah was zooming around the mini track with a huge grin on his face. Y/N watched from the sidelines, her heart swelling with happiness at seeing her son’s joy. Lando stood beside her clearly enjoying the moment as much as they were.

While Noah gleefully drove the car around the small track, his laughter echoing through the area, Y/N and Lando found a quiet spot to catch up. 

“So, how have you two been?”

Y/N smiled warmly, appreciating the chance to chat with Lando. “We’ve been doing great. Noah’s been so excited about this trip, it’s all he’s talked about since I told him.”

Lando’s eyes softened as he watched the boy drive around. “He’s really loving it out there. It’s great to see him so happy.”

“Thank you for making it so special for him,” Y/N said. “It means a lot to both of us.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I just hope he’s having as much fun as I am watching him.”

There was a brief pause as they both observed Noah, who was now expertly maneuvering the car with a look of pure concentration on his face. Lando broke the silence, his tone gentle. “If you don’t mind me asking, how’s Noah’s dad doing? I remember you mentioned it’s just you two.”

Y/N sighed softly. “Noah’s dad... well, he actually left us shortly after Noah was born. It’s been just Noah and me since then.”

“That’s awful, Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s been tough at times,” Y/N admitted, “but we’ve made it work. Noah is my world and we’ve found our way together.”

Lando nodded, his gaze returning to Noah. Seeing the bond between Y/N and her son stirred something within him, making him wonder what it might be like to be in a father’s shoes.

“He’s a strong kid, and it’s clear he’s got a lot of joy in him. You’ve done an amazing job raising him.”

Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at Noah, who was now beaming with pride as he completed another lap. “Thank you, Lando. It hasn’t always been easy but seeing him so excited and having experiences like this makes it all worth it.”

Just then Noah hopped out of the car, his eyes sparkling with happiness. “Mommy, Lando, that was so much fun!”

“You did an amazing job out there, bud,” he padded the kid on the back, “I’m glad you had fun but it’s time for me to get ready for qualifying.”

_____

Lando had arranged for Y/N and Noah to have special access to the Paddock Club so they could watch the action up close. With their passes in hand they followed the team’s guide to a prime viewing spot overlooking the track. As the drivers lined up for the start of the qualifying session Lando’s car was easy to spot among the others, thanks to its vibrant McLaren colors and the bright neon yellow on top. Noah bounced in his seat, his eyes glued to the track. “Look, Mommy! There’s Lando’s car!”

Y/N smiled and nodded. “I see it. Let’s cheer him on and hope he does well.”

Meanwhile, Lando sat in his McLaren, feeling an unusual wave of nervousness that he rarely experienced. Normally racing was his element, a place of comfort and focus but today was different. 

Come on, Lando, focus, he thought, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he settled into the driver’s seat. He cast a quick glance to where Y/N and Noah were situated, their faces bright with support. I don’t want to let them down.

Lando’s hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his gloves and took a deep breath. The thought of Noah’s eager eyes and Y/N’s warm, encouraging smile filled him with both excitement and pressure. 

He shifted his gaze back to the track, the roar of the engines growing louder as the first qualifying round approached its start. The session began and Lando’s car sped through the circuit. Despite his nerves his driving remained sharp and precise. As Lando completed each lap, Y/N and Noah cheered loudly, Noah waved his flag shouting, “Go, Lando!” His enthusiasm was infectious and Y/N joined in, clapping and cheering along with the rest of the crowd.

When the session neared its end the tension was at its peak, Lando was pushing hard for a top spot and the final laps were crucial. Y/N and Noah held their breath as Lando crossed the finish line, completing his last qualifying run.

The screen displayed the results and Lando’s name appeared in top position. Y/N could hardly contain her excitement, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Noah, who was practically vibrating with energy. “We did it, Noah! Lando’s done an amazing job!”

Noah’s face beamed. “I knew he could do it! We should find him and tell him he did great!”

“Absolutely" Y/N nodded. When they finally found him he was surrounded by his team but his face lit up when he spotted the two of them.

“Hey, you two! How was the qualifying? Did you have a good view?”

Noah, still buzzing with excitement, practically launched himself into his arms. “You were amazing! We were cheering so loud!”

Lando laughed, the nervous tension finally melting away as he hugged Noah tightly. He then turned to Y/N with a smile. “Thank you for coming and cheering me on, it means a lot to have you both here.”

“Are we going to have dinner now?” The 4-year-old demanded to know.

“Actually, that’s exactly what I wanted to ask you," Lando’s smile grew even wider. "I was hoping you both would join me for dinner after all the media duties are finished. It would be great to spend more time together.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Great! The hotel has a fantastic restaurant that I think you’ll both enjoy. Let me just wrap up a few things here and then we can head out.”

_________

As the evening went on Lando, Y/N and little Noah were seated comfortably at a corner table providing them with a bit more privacy. 

Noah had been his usual energetic self throughout the meal, eagerly sampling different dishes and asking Lando endless questions about race cars. But as the main courses were cleared away and the desserts were brought to the table - rich chocolate cake, creamy tiramisu and a delicious looking fruit tart - Noah’s eyelids grew heavy.

His head gradually drooped and he settled into a more comfortable position. Not too long after he was curled up on Lando’s lap, his breathing steady and relaxed as he drifted off to sleep. Lando didn’t mind at all, in fact he found the weight of the small body resting against him peaceful and comforting.

They continued to chat, their conversation flowing easily as they enjoyed their desserts. Lando found himself sharing more about his life outside the track, his interests, the places he’d traveled and the rituals he had before races. Y/N spoke about her experiences as a parent, the joys and challenges of raising Noah and her own passions and hobbies.

The conversation drifted naturally, touching on everything from favorite books and movies to their dreams and aspirations. With Noah peacefully asleep on Lando’s lap, they both felt a sense of intimacy that allowed them to open up in a way they hadn’t before.

After they had finished their desserts Y/N glanced at the time on her phone and sighed. “I suppose it’s time to get some sleep but I want to thank you again, Lando. Today has been really wonderful.”

“The pleasure was all mine. I’m glad you two were able to come visit me.” 

Y/N gently stirred Noah, intending to awaken the boy for their short journey to the room, however, Lando stopped her. “Let me handle this,” he said softly. “He looks so peaceful, I’d hate to wake him.”

Lando carefully lifted Noah into his arms, cradling him to his chest. Though the little boy stirred slightly he remained asleep, nestled comfortably against Lando’s chest, his small arms wrapping themselves around the man’s neck. Lando adjusted his hold to ensure Noah stayed cozy and secure all the way up to their room.

After Noah was finally placed in their hotel bed and Y/N made sure he was comfortable, adjusting the blanket to keep him warm, she turned to Lando with a tired but genuine smile. “Thank you for everything tonight.”

Lando’s heart swelled as he looked at her, feeling his heart skip a beat being so close to her. There was an almost palpable tension between them, a pull that made him want to close the distance and kiss her. His gaze lingered on her lips for a moment. He could feel the desire but he decided against it, sensing that it might not be the right time.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said softly with a warm, reassuring smile. “I’ve enjoyed every moment of today and I can’t wait for more fun tomorrow. I hope Noah sleeps well and that you get some rest too.”

With a final, lingering glance at her, Lando took a deep breath and turned toward the door. His footsteps were quiet as he made his way out of the hotel room. He closed the door behind him and paused for a moment before sighing deeply and finally making his way to his own room. He felt a pang of sadness at having to leave her for the night.

Lando remembered the fun they had shared, helping Noah with his food, hearing Y/N’s laughter over silly memories he shared and the peaceful moments with Noah curled up on his lap. The idea of spending more time with them made his heart melt. He could already envision future dinners, playful moments with Noah and deep conversations with Y/N. He realized he was not just falling for Y/N but falling in love with the entire idea of being a part of their little family.

_________

Click here for Part 4!

Tag: @barcelonaloverf1life @remmysthings @poppyflower-22 @vickykazuya @hadids-world @eloriis @emxlando @lexiecampos @littlegrapejuice @yawn-zi @landossainz