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cheftsunoda · 1 day ago

Text

novacane — ln4

lando norris x !model reader

smau + blurbs

in which lando and yn, worn thin by fame, pressure, and the weight of always being watched, find comfort in all the wrong places — drowning their loneliness in drugs, sex, and each other's broken promises.

fc : cindy kimberly

(a/n) : no one answered if they wanted this or not so now im forcing it on everyone. sorry if you hate it:( this is based off the song “novacane” by frank ocean so if you don’t know it— definitely recommend listening it it to understand.

❗obviously warnings of drug use, relationship toxicity, angst, minor smut and eating disorder ❗

and i gave you angels a happy ending - ywwww

—

yn_ln

liked by lando, alexandrasaintmleux, carlossainz55 & 5,515,007 others.

yn_ln : don’t let the high go to waste

—

view 225,090 other comments.

username000 : oh great she’s with lando AGAIN.

↳ username00 : what’s the problem with her?? i thought they were together

↳ username000 : no they aren’t confirmed together. THANK GOD. she is just a horrible influence for him to be around.

↳ username1 : you do realize lando is a fully grown adult and the people he chooses to be around and what he does is completely on him, right?

↳ username000 : well yeah but i do not think being around her helps his mindset any. he’s changed.

↳ username1 : maybe has had changed from the pressure and stress. maybe he is just tired. leave them both alone.

alexandrasaintmleux : so pretty angel. hope to see your face again soon!

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : mwah mwah

carlossainz55 : ….no comment 😳

liked by yourusername and lando

bellahadid : mother 🧎‍♀️

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : my poooooookie

danielricciardo : he better have that hickey covered on media day🤣

liked by yourusername and lando

↳ username7 : nooooo so it is lando again.

charles_leclerc : mon dieu.

liked by yourusername and lando

alex_albon : i am respectfully not looking. (i looked)

liked by yourusername and lando

↳ lilymhe : its okay. i did too.

username11 : lando is ruining his reputation for this woman. honestly, i kind of understand.

lando : always high on you.

liked by yourusername

��

flashback

You still remember the way the air felt that night — thick with smoke, perfume, and the kind of heat that clung to your skin long after you’d left the club. It had been Fashion Week in Milan, and you were already four shows deep into a sleepless spiral of afterparties, interviews, and eyes that didn’t see you so much as consume you. You were tired. Exhausted in the kind of way no sleep could fix. And then there he was. Lando Norris — crooked smile, familiar face, eyes like they knew you. Not knew your name. Knew you. And you hated how much that made you pause. You met him at some rooftop club that blurred together with all the rest — flashing lights, empty champagne flutes, and hands that touched too long without meaning anything. He wasn’t supposed to be there, not really. Off-season or something like that. But maybe he needed the distraction just as badly as you did.

He bought you a drink. You made a sarcastic comment about hating tequila and drank it anyway. You talked. You laughed. And then somewhere between his fourth glass and your second lie about being fine, things stopped being surface level. You caught him staring at you like he was trying to read between the cracks. So you let him see them. Or maybe you didn’t have the strength to hide them anymore.

“I don’t think I’m built for all this,” you admitted in a half whisper, legs crossed tightly in the corner of a velvet booth, mascara smudged like war paint.

He didn’t say anything. Just took a slow sip of his drink and replied, “Yeah. Me neither.”

It wasn’t flirtation after that. It was something heavier. Messier. The kind of pull that only two broken people feel when they recognize themselves in someone else’s ruin. Back at your hotel room, things unfolded like instinct. You were both too numb and too desperate to question it. The clothes came off easy. The masks came off harder.

His lips trailed your collarbone. Your hands tangled in his curls. The pressure in your stomach growing with every thrust and then after— the air changed. You were sitting on the bed, his hoodie slipping off your shoulder, and you reached for the little orange bottle you never traveled without. He watched you pop the pill with a swig of warm, flat water from the bedside table.

You caught his stare and raised an eyebrow. “Want one?”

He hesitated. Just long enough for you to know he was still trying to be the good guy, even now. Then he took it from your hand and held your gaze like a dare. You watched him swallow it dry. He turned and leaned back into you— closing the gap between the two of you again. You sat until he began to feel that warm and fuzzy feeling you had grown accustomed to but was still brand new for him.

“What even was that?” he asked, voice low and frayed at the edges. You smiled, tired and crooked. The kind of smile that says this is survival, not seduction.

“Don’t let the high go to waste,” you murmured, echoing the line like a mantra you wished wasn’t true.

He didn’t ask again. You laid back. He followed. That night wasn’t about falling in love. It wasn’t even about comfort. It was about not feeling like shit for five fucking minutes. It was about losing yourselves in each other’s broken parts and calling it relief. It was about two people too hollow to hold anything real — and still clinging to each other like it might fix something anyway. You didn’t know it then, but that would be the first of many nights like that. And the last time anything between you felt accidental.

—

present day…

f1gossipgirls

2,517,001 likes.

f1gossipgirls : F1’s wild child & fashion’s favorite disaster leaving Miami’s dirtiest rooftop club at 4:27AM. Looks like Lando Norris and YN, international model, are taking their rumored situationship coast to coast. The pair were seen stumbling out of RITUAL, the kind of place where the floors are sticky and the bathrooms are sacred. Sources claim Lando looked “glassy-eyed but smiling,” while YN was seen reapplying her lipstick in the back of a black SUV. Oh, and did we mention her heels were in his hand? Eyewitnesses say the duo “couldn’t keep their hands off each other,” and at least one club staffer swears they both entered the same VIP room together. But who needs sleep when your only job is being young, rich, and reckless? We’re not saying they’re the new Bonnie and Clyde, but we are saying someone’s PR team is sweating.

—

view 175,002 other comments.

username00 : the fact that he is doing this when he will be racing in 36 hours is…interesting to say the least.

username0 : someone check on zak brown. mans is probably pacing.

username1 : why are we romanticizing this behavior? they both clearly have a lot of problems that need fixed.

username5 : he is supposed to be a professional athlete. not snorting something suspicious in a club at 3 am. LANDO WAKE TF UP.

username7 : never ever expected this phase in lando’s career but here we are.

username10 : y’all will continue to blame her like he isn’t grown and can’t make his own decisions. like bruh

—

You and Lando always fell into some sort of cycle. Not love. Not quite addiction either — though it came close. Something in between. Something quieter but heavier. A pattern with soft edges and sharp consequences. It started the way it always did — too loud, too fast, too much.

Miami’s air was humid with desperation that weekend — people screaming your name, cameras flashing like seizures, bodies grinding in tempo with the bass. He met your eyes from across the club and that was all it took. You didn’t even smile. Just nodded once, like yeah. it’s time again.You’d both lost something before you even walked in. The music was pounding, the drinks were bottomless, the lines were generous — and by the time he had his hand on the small of your back, you couldn’t tell if your heart was racing from the substance or from him. He leaned down to murmur something into your ear — something stupid and sweet, something that made you laugh even though nothing about the night was funny. And then you pulled out the little bag. Same one you always had. He watched. He never stopped you, not really.

“You sure?” he asked like a formality.

You nodded like muscle memory. He followed. In the bathroom of some overpriced rooftop bar, you did it off the back of your hand while he stood behind you like a shadow, warm and steady and crumbling all at once. His knuckles brushed yours when he took his turn, eyes blown wide and tired even in the mirror’s hazy glow. And somehow, not long after, you ended up tangled together in your hotel bed — hot skin, whispered curses, need disguised as recklessness. It wasn’t sweet. It never was. It was desperate. The kind of touch that only feels good because it silences the scream in your head for a moment. The kind that makes you feel something when you’re numb everywhere else.

But later — after — when your heartbeat finally slowed and your thoughts started catching up, you climbed off the bed and walked to the bathroom without saying a word. You didn’t bother turning on the light. Just stepped under the cold stream of the shower and let yourself cry. Quiet at first. Then harder. Your mascara ran down the drain like ink in water. Your shoulders shook like you were trying to hold your bones together. You didn’t expect him to follow. But he did. Lando opened the door without knocking. Stepped into the shower fully clothed. Didn’t say anything — didn’t need to. He just wrapped his arms around you from behind and held you while the water soaked through his shirt and you sobbed into his chest like a child.

He didn’t tell you to stop. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He knew. He was wrong too. You stood like that for a long time. Just water. Skin. Silence. And the ache of being seen by someone who’s just as hollow.

The morning after always hurt worse. The sunlight hit too hard. The hangover hit harder. And then the notifications. Tabloids. Photos. Headlines about the two of you looking “high and handsy” at 4:27 AM. His team texted. Yours called. And all you could do was sit at the edge of the bed in one of his T-shirts and stare at the phone while Lando paced and swore under his breath. It always happened like this. The comedown. The regret. The beginning of the withdrawal. He left around 10AM, hoodie pulled low, sunglasses on, mumbling something about sorting it with his PR team. You didn’t ask him to stay. You never did.

Because you knew how it went. He’d vanish. Ignore your texts. You’d see him on someone else’s story a few days later. Like none of it mattered. But he always came back. Usually around 2AM. Usually with a knock and no words. Usually when your mascara was already running and your hands were already shaking. It wasn’t love. It was a cycle. And God help you, but part of you needed it.

—

But he tries to stop. For real, this time. After the Miami fallout, after his PR team threatens to pull endorsement deals and Zak himself tells him to “get your shit together or get out” — Lando goes quiet. You don’t hear from him for days. No 2AM texts. No half assed apologies. No hotel room knocks. Not even a story view. Silence.

You assume he’s doing what they all do eventually — detaching. Saving himself. Finding some version of clean that doesn’t include you. You’re used to it. You pretend not to check your phone anyway.

Meanwhile, he’s trying. He really is. He wakes up early. Doesn’t drink. Doesn’t go out. He trains. Eats clean. Answers his calls. He ignores the aching pull in his chest when he sees your name light up his phone — unread messages stacked like shame. But it doesn’t help. None of it helps. Because when the world is quiet — when the race ends and the cameras go dark — he’s left alone with himself. And he can’t stand himself.

He thinks about the way your laugh sounds muffled against his chest. The way your eyeliner always smudges when you cry in the shower. The way you looked at him that night, like you were waiting for him to tell you it was okay to fall apart. And he wants it back. Not because it’s good. Not because it’s healthy. Because it’s something.

The truth is — the high didn’t just numb the pain. It muted the voice in his head that told him he wasn’t enough. That he was wasting his life. That none of it — the podiums, the parties, the press tours — felt real anymore. Being numb was awful. But being awake? That’s unbearable.

He sits in his hotel room one night, a few cities away, staring at the white walls, the untouched food, the silence thick enough to suffocate. He’s alone. And it hits him like it always does — slow at first, then all at once. The ache. The craving. The need to not feel anything. He grabs the bottle. He doesn’t even think. Washes one pill down with cold champagne. Calls your number. You answer on the first ring, like you knew this moment would come. Like you were waiting for it. No words. Just breathing.

And when he shows up at your door an hour later, eyes heavy, hands shaking, hoodie clinging to his skin like regret — you don’t ask what changed his mind. Because nothing did. The truth is, he never wanted to stop. He just wanted to believe he could. Because numbness is easier. And you… you numb the pain. I guess you’re novacane.

—

f1gossipgirls

2,709,112 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Well— it seems Lando Norris and YN LN are back at it again after weeks of distance. The two were seen coming and going from each other’s apartments more than 3 times this week.

—

It started slowly. Like most things do. First, it was just a headline. Some blurry pap photo of you walking out of a café in Milan, cropped in all the wrong ways. The caption read—

“Is YN Letting Herself Go?”

And that was all it took. It wasn’t true. You were exhausted, not careless. Bloated from the long flight, hungover from bad decisions and worse wine, caught mid-step with your shirt rumpled and sunglasses sliding down your nose. You hadn’t even known the cameras were there. But they were always there.

Then came the panel show segment. Some middle-aged man with a smug smile and zero credentials saying, “She’s still stunning, obviously, but you can tell the partying’s catching up to her.”

And it spiraled. Your agent texted you later that night — “No more pasta. Milan is watching.”

That’s when you stopped eating. At first it was a conscious decision. Strategic. If they wanted skinny, you’d give them starved. If they wanted hollow cheekbones and razorblade hip bones, you’d serve it on a silver fucking platter. You skipped meals and smiled through shoots. Faked fullness and learned which lies photographers never questioned. But it wasn’t long before you stopped choosing. The hunger became control. And then the control became a high. One you didn’t need to snort or swallow. And Lando noticed. He always did.

It hit him too, differently. Sharper. Publicly.

He couldn’t win a race without the press tearing him apart. Couldn’t crash out without being called immature. Couldn’t smile in an interview without being accused of not taking the sport seriously — and couldn’t look serious without them calling him cold.

“You’re not focused,” they’d said. “You’re wasting your seat.”

Every race weekend became a war. With his car. With the media. With himself.

And in between the races? Endless hotel rooms. Fake friends. Paparazzi flashes that made him feel like prey. Fans who loved the version of him that didn’t exist anymore. Who worshipped the myth and ignored the man.

He started sleeping in his hoodie with the hood pulled tight, even indoors. Started rubbing the back of his neck until it was red and raw. Couldn’t eat before practice. Couldn’t sleep after qualifying. Couldn’t breathe when it all got too loud.

You found each other in that silence.

It was after some gala you were both dragged to. You were wearing a backless dress that made your vision go blurry when you stood too long. He was in a tux he hadn’t wanted to wear, tie loosened, jaw clenched. You ended up in your hotel room again. Of course you did. But this time, there was no rush. No drugs. No sex. Just… collapse. You sat on the edge of the bed, toes pressing into the carpet, trying not to cry. Your stomach was eating itself, but you couldn’t remember the last time food didn’t feel like failure. He stood by the window, staring out like he was somewhere else entirely. Finally, you spoke.

“They said I looked fat in that dress,” you whispered.

He turned, slowly. Eyes dim. Like he’d been waiting for your voice to break.

“They say I don’t deserve my seat,” he answered.

You looked up at him, tears lining your lashes, voice small.

“I feel like I’m disappearing.”

And he just nodded.

“Same.”

That’s when he walked over. Sat behind you. Wrapped his arms around your waist — too gently. Like he was afraid you’d break. You leaned back into him, your spine pressing against his chest, and for a moment, you both just breathed. No masks. No captions. No noise.

You felt his lips ghost over your shoulder as he whispered, “They only want us when we’re shining. Not when we’re bleeding.”

And you replied, voice hollow but sure—

“Then let them choke.”

You stayed like that for hours. No high. No distractions. Just the quiet devastation of two people being honest. You held his hand like a lifeline. He kissed your temple like a prayer. That night, you didn’t sleep with each other. You just slept. And for the first time in weeks, that was enough.

—

f1gossipgirls

2,101,001 likes.

f1gossipgirls : YN LN in the paddock this weekend — and all eyes were on her. Rumors continue to swirl about her relationship with McLaren driver Lando Norris, and her surprise appearance in the garage only added fuel to the fire. According to insiders, YN was nothing short of lovely — chatting with fans, posing for photos, and offering a few smiles that made it hard not to root for her. As for Lando? Let’s just say the chemistry between the two didn’t go unnoticed.

—

The nights are quieter now. Not silent — you both still wake up sweating, heart racing, hands reaching for something that isn’t there anymore — but quieter. Softer. You’re trying. So is he.

After the last fallout, the withdrawal that left you shaking and sobbing in different cities, you made a pact — no pills, no blow, no hotel room disasters. Just water. Sleep. Presence. Even if presence meant staring blankly at a wall together in shared misery, at least you were there. You still have the urge sometimes. The craving. The itch in your skin when everything gets too loud, too fast. But you text him instead of reaching for a bottle. And he answers. Always.

He’s been better. Not perfect. Not by a long shot. But better. He’s eating again. Sleeping more. Actually showing up to meetings. The anger in his voice has dulled — not gone, just folded into something quieter, sadder, but realer.

When he texts you that week —

Come to the race. I need you here.

You almost cry. Because he never used to ask.

You fly in Friday, lowkey and quiet. No paparazzi. No chaos. He picks you up in a hoodie and worn out trainers, the circles under his eyes more honest than any headline.

He doesn’t say much in the car. Just rests his hand on your thigh at a red light and squeezes, like he’s checking to see if you’re real.

You’re staying with him that weekend. The bed is cold. No sex. Just tangled limbs and half whispered memories of nights you barely remember. You fall asleep to the sound of his breathing and wonder when that started being enough.

Race day comes fast. The paddock is buzzing — too bright, too loud. But he wants you there, so you come. You slip on the pass he gave you, the oversized McLaren jacket, your sunglasses. You keep your head down.

He finds you before the driver’s parade. You’re by the back of the garage, sipping water, watching the chaos unfold.

“You good?” he asks, voice low and warm.

You nod. “Are you?”

He shrugs. “Getting there.”

And then, “I’m glad you came.”

And then, “I don’t know if I would’ve made it through this week if you didn’t.”

You don’t say anything. Just slide your fingers between his and squeeze. A photographer snaps a shot you’ll both pretend not to notice.

During the race, you watch from the garage. Nails biting into your palm, eyes on every sector, every lap. You cheer when he overtakes. Your heart climbs into your throat when he locks up slightly at Turn 10. The crew gives you a nod when he comes in for a clean stop. You feel everything. And for once, you let yourself. When he crosses the line — P4 — it’s not a podium, but it’s a finish. A damn good one. You exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for years.

He finds you after media. Helmet hair, race suit half unzipped, skin flushed from adrenaline and exhaustion. And when he sees you — really sees you — his face cracks open in a way the cameras never catch. No jokes. No press smiles. Just rawness. He pulls you into a hug so tight your ribs ache.

And into your hair, he whispers,

“We did it.”

You nod against his chest, eyes stinging.

“Yeah. We did.”

—

It had been weeks since the race. Weeks since you and Lando swore you’d keep going — clean, sober, together. Weeks of morning check-ins and long, quiet nights. Weeks of avoiding temptation like it lived under your skin.

And it was working. Sort of.

You were tired, but functional. Lando was focused, if a little hollow. You were making it through each day with aching effort and brittle hope. You had even started eating small things again — a banana here, some soup there. Just enough to keep the dizziness at bay. Just enough to convince your manager you were “getting better.”

But the truth was… you weren’t.

The modeling world doesn’t care about “recovery.” It cares about bones and collarbones. It cares about angles and sample sizes. And you were trying — but your body was done trying for you. You were mid-way through a shoot in Paris when everything went sideways.

You didn’t feel the moment coming. One minute you were standing in front of the lights, makeup perfect, spine held straight by willpower and spite. The next, your vision was tunneling and the floor was rushing toward you. You hit the concrete hard.

Cameras flashed. Stylists screamed. Someone dropped their iced coffee and gasped like that was the real tragedy. The medics came. The studio was cleared. Your phone was unlocked by someone who barely knew your last name. They called Lando.

He got the call just after FP2. His race suit was still clinging to him, hair damp, body sore — but none of that registered when he saw your name flash across his screen. It wasn’t your voice. It was someone from the agency.

Words like “collapsed,” “dehydrated,” “not responsive.”

He didn’t hear the rest. He stumbled back into the McLaren motorhome like he’d been hit in the chest. Pushed past press officers. Ignored his engineer. Locked himself in the bathroom and stared at his reflection like it might offer a reason not to fall apart.

You passed out. You weren't eating. He should’ve seen it coming. He wanted to get on the next plane to Paris. But the race was in less than 48 hours. And they wouldn’t let him leave. So instead, he relapsed.

It was slow, stupid. A numbing kind of panic that led to desperate movement. He found the old bottle buried deep in his travel bag. He stared at it for almost an hour. He texted you. No answer. Called again. Straight to voicemail. And the fear twisted into something uglier than grief — helplessness. He cracked the seal. Took two.

When your eyes fluttered open hours later in a sterile white hospital room, the first thing you saw was the IV. The second was your manager pacing outside the door. The third was Lando’s name — 10 missed calls. You could barely lift your head, but you reached for your phone anyway.

And when you saw his last message, your heart cracked open.

If you die, I’ll go with you. I can’t do this without you.

And beneath it, another message, sent hours later-

“I’m sorry. I slipped. I just… I didn’t know if you’d wake up.”

You cried. Because it should’ve been you holding him through the relapse. Because he had been trying so hard. Because this wasn’t recovery, it was survival. And even survival was slipping.

Somewhere, hundreds of miles away, Lando sat on the edge of a pristine hotel bed with his head in his hands, high out of his mind and sobbing. He didn’t want the high. He just wanted the noise to stop. He just wanted you to be okay. He didn’t feel better. Not even numb. Just empty. And it was then — in the silence between his shallow breaths — that he realized…the cycle wasn’t broken. It had just gotten quieter.

—

You wake up to the sound of the door creaking open. It’s been two days since the collapse. Two days of IV drips, quiet nurses, and a blurred timeline of stern lectures and shallow breathing. You’re better, technically. Awake. Alive. But not okay.

The room is pale and too still. It smells like antiseptic and synthetic lavender. The flowers on the windowsill weren’t yours — someone dropped them off this morning, anonymous and beautiful. And then he walks in. Lando.

He’s wearing the hoodie you stole from his Monaco apartment last winter — oversized and threadbare — and he looks like shit. Eyes puffy. Lips dry. He doesn’t have the energy to pretend this isn’t the worst version of both of you. You sit up slowly, instinctively tucking your knees under the blanket like shame can be hidden that easily.

“Hi,” you manage.

He closes the door behind him but doesn’t move closer. Just stares at you like he’s trying to memorize your face in case it disappears again.

“You didn’t answer my calls.”

You swallow. “I couldn’t. I… didn’t want to say anything until I knew I was okay.”

“You weren’t okay,” he snaps. “You aren’t okay. You passed out, YN.”

The silence is brutal.

“You said you were eating again,” he adds, voice cracking halfway through. “You lied to me.”

You look away, throat tight. “You relapsed too.”

He flinches. “Because I thought you were going to die.”

“You think I didn’t want to die?” you shoot back before you can stop yourself. “You think I fucking wanted to be here?”

His jaw clenches. He walks across the room, grabs the back of the chair beside your bed, but doesn’t sit.

“You’re not allowed to say that to me,” he mutters. “Not when you knew how close I was to breaking. Not when you promised—”

“I was breaking!” you yell. “Every time I looked in the mirror, all I saw was failure. Headlines telling me I was too fat, too messy, too washed-up at twenty-four. I couldn’t eat without hearing their voices in my head, Lando. I couldn’t fucking breathe.”

Tears slip down your cheeks. You don’t wipe them. He’s quiet for a beat. And then, in the smallest voice you’ve ever heard from him-

“And I couldn’t do any of it without you.”

You blink. “What?”

He steps closer. Slowly. Like he’s afraid of what’s about to come out of his own mouth.

“I used to think you were just the person I used to forget the worst parts of myself. The drugs. The sex. The late nights.” He breathes in. “But it’s not that anymore.”

You stare at him, heart in your throat.

“You’re not something I use to numb the pain,” he whispers. “You are the pain. And the comfort. And the chaos. And the only thing that’s made me feel fucking alive in months.”

His voice breaks. “I think I love you.”

The air is still. He finally sinks into the chair beside your bed, shoulders caving in like the confession took everything out of him. You don’t speak. Because you don’t know how to respond. Because some part of you always feared this moment — feared that the mess you made together might actually be real. That love might exist inside the cycle. That someone could look at you, hollowed and hurting, and still call it love. Lando doesn’t push you. He just stares at the floor, picking at the string of his sleeve.

“Say something,” he whispers finally.

But you can’t.

So you just reach out — trembling fingers brushing over his knuckles — and hold his hand like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the world. You don’t say I love you back. But you stay. And right now, that’s the loudest truth you have.

—

You don’t have your phone anymore.

Not really. It was taken at intake, handed over with your makeup bag and the clutch of anxiety meds you’d been hoarding in your luggage “just in case.” You gave it up with shaking hands and a hollow chest. Somewhere in the distance, your name still echoed across headlines. But in here, it didn’t matter.

This place is all beige walls and early mornings. You sleep in a twin bed with sheets that smell like lemon detergent, and you sit in group therapy circles with girls who look just like you — too perfect, too thin, too tired.

You talk. Not all the time. But enough. You talk about the emptiness. The perfectionism. The terrifying high of disappearing and the unbearable crash of still being here. You don’t say Lando’s name — not at first. But he haunts the edges of everything. His hoodie is still the only thing you wear to sleep.

Some nights, you cry. Some mornings, you scream. Some days, you just breathe. It’s more progress than you’ve made in years.

Lando’s world doesn’t stop — Formula 1 doesn’t pause for pain. So he keeps racing. But something’s changed in him too. He doesn’t go out after practice anymore. Doesn’t disappear between sessions. There are no new girls, no blurry club photos, no gossip-worthy moments. He’s… quiet. Focused. Haunted. His team notices. So does his therapist.

Yes, therapist. Zak insisted. After Miami. After the relapse. After the look in Lando’s eyes started resembling burnout instead of bravado. And, reluctantly, he agreed.

At first, he sat through the sessions in silence, arms crossed, jaw clenched. But then the woman — her name was Dana — asked him a question that made something snap.

“What would it mean to love someone who might not survive loving you back?”

He cried. For the first time in years. And then he started talking. About the pressure. The fame. The way winning felt empty now and losing felt like the end of the world. About the way you looked in the hospital bed, wrists thinner than the IV line, eyes so tired but still there — still trying.

He talks about the pills. The sex. The high that used to feel like relief and now feels like shame. And, quietly, he talks about love. Not like it’s a promise — more like a wound he can’t stop touching.

They send letters now. Not texts. Not emails. Actual pen and paper letters that get reviewed by staff and delivered like old secrets. He writes to you after every race. Sometimes just a few lines—

P6. You would’ve said the helmet looked cool today. I’m still sober. Still tired. But I’m trying. Miss you. — L

You sends him drawings, mostly. Little sketches of the view outside your window. Notes in the margins—

Today I ate an entire sandwich. It scared me. But I did it. You’d be proud.

I miss hearing your heartbeat when I couldn’t find mine. I’m not ready for “I love you,” but I’m not afraid of it anymore either.

Please keep trying. I’ll meet you there. Eventually.

We are healing. Separately. But not apart. Not really. You count the days until you can leave — not because you want to run, but because you want to live again. To feel again. To see him again, clear eyed and real and maybe finally whole. He keeps showing up to the track. To therapy. To life. And every time he gets back in the car, he whispers before lights out, like a ritual—

For her. For me. For us.

It’s not perfect. But for once — for the first time — it’s not a cycle. It’s a beginning.

—

The world looks different on the outside. Not brighter, not softer. Just… clearer. Like someone cleaned the glass between you and everything else.

You’re not fixed — everyone in treatment made sure you understood that. There’s no magic milestone, no final day that turns pain into peace. But you’ve reached a point where you’re not surviving despite the feelings anymore — you’re surviving with them. And that’s something.

You walk out of the center with a suitcase, a discharge folder, and a goodbye hug from the nurse who used to sit with you when you couldn’t sleep. You haven’t worn makeup in over a month. Your hair is tied back in a bun. You look… human. For the first time in ages. You don’t tell Lando you��re coming.

You’ve rewritten your “I love you” a hundred times in your head — not like a grand confession, but like a careful gift, one you’re not entirely sure he’s ready to open. Or if you are. But you book the flight anyway. One way. To Monaco.

He doesn’t expect the knock. It’s late — nearly midnight — and he’s in one of his hoodies, sitting on the couch, eyes half-shut from a week of racing and back to back therapy sessions. There’s a half written letter to you on the coffee table. He hasn’t mailed it yet. When he opens the door and sees you — real, standing there, smaller than he remembers but glowing in a way he’s never seen before — his breath just stops.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He blinks once, twice, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

And then he exhales. “You’re here.”

You nod. Your eyes are already glassy. “I’m okay.”

He pulls you in before he can say anything else — arms wrapping around you like instinct, like muscle memory, like home. You melt into him. You smell like clean cotton and plane air and a life that doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore.

“I missed you,” he mumbles into your hair.

“I missed you too,” you whisper. “So much.”

You sit on the couch in silence for a while. Not awkward — just sacred. You hold his hand and trace small shapes into the back of it like your fingers forgot how to stop missing him. Then you finally speak.

“I love you.”

His head snaps toward you, like he didn’t expect it.

You say it again. Slower. Truer.

“I love you, Lando.”

He doesn’t speak. His throat bobs. His grip on your hand tightens, just slightly.

“But I’m scared,” you admit. “I’m scared that if we go back to the way things were, we’ll lose ourselves again. That we’ll drag each other down. That we’ll confuse love for dependency.”

He nods slowly. His voice is low, rough- “I’m scared too.” You meet his eyes — those tired, beautiful eyes that saw you at your lowest and didn’t look away.

“But I don’t want to live in fear anymore,” you say. “And I don’t want to live without you.”

He lets out a shaky breath, like he’s been holding it for weeks.

“We don’t have to go back,” he whispers. “We build something new. Slower. Smarter. Softer. No highs, no crashes. Just… us.”

You nod. A tear slips down your cheek, and this time, you let it fall. He wipes it away with his thumb, gently.

“I don’t want you to be my escape,” he says. “I want you to be my reason.”

You close your eyes and lean into his palm.

“I want that too.”

That night, you don’t fall into old habits. You don’t numb anything. You sleep curled up next to him, fully clothed, his hand resting over your heart like he’s guarding it. And for the first time in what feels like years, your dreams are quiet.

—

months later...

It’s strange, the way peace can feel unfamiliar at first. Like wearing a dress that used to hang off your frame — now it fits. And that alone feels like rebellion. You wake up most mornings beside him, and the air is quiet. Not heavy. Not desperate. Just calm.

His hand usually finds yours under the sheets before either of you even open your eyes. It’s instinct now. Like breathing. Like choosing to stay. Lando makes coffee the way you like it. You fold his laundry while watching race replays on his laptop.

It’s normal. Uneventful. Safe. But more than anything else — it’s real.

He’s doing well. Not just on track, but off it too. Still going to therapy. Still checking in. Still sober. Some nights are harder than others — you both know that. But there are fewer secrets now. Less shame.

You write again. Sketch. Eat. Exist. You laugh more. You cry less. You look in the mirror and see a person you’re learning to love — not a ghost. Sometimes people ask if the two of you are “still together.”

As if the world only expects passion if it’s breaking things. As if surviving each other doesn’t count. You don’t give them answers. You don’t owe them that. But if they looked close enough, they’d know. The way he looks at you across the paddock — that smile, soft and full of memory. The way your hand always ends up in his before lights out. The way you whisper “I’m okay” and mean it now.

You think about the song sometimes— Novacane. Even listen to it from time to time. The pattern of destruction you used to so closely live to Hell, you used to live inside it. The numbness. The quiet kind of destruction.

You used to need the high to forget how bad everything felt. You used to use sex to convince yourself you are worthy of life— of love. To forget all the little things that built up inside of you over the course of one day. You used to use drugs— pills, cocaine— anything to calm your nerves and rid your mind of all the bad press, the horrible comments, the overall stress of being a person in fame. You and him used to use each other to make some fucked up form of ‘happiness’.

You don’t anymore. Lando said it best a few weeks ago, while you both sat on the balcony of the Monaco apartment, wrapped in one blanket, your legs tangled together as the sun sank into the sea—

“You were never the high. You were what reminded me I deserved to come down.”

You smiled at him, rested your head on his shoulder, and let that be enough. Because you’re not perfect. He isn’t either. But together? You’re present. You’re healing. You’re free. And that’s better than any high you ever chased.

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emriiis · 12 hours ago

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Sneak Peek: THE CALL

📣✨ 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 ✨📣

I honestly don’t even know where to begin—thank you, thank you, thank you. 🩷

We're almost at 300 followers now?! I’m genuinely overwhelmed. 🥹

I didn’t think anyone would notice this story. but you did and that means everything. Seeing the reblogs, the tags, the comments—it’s more than I ever expected. Thank you for reading!

So, as a little thank you gift… here’s a sneak peek of the next chapter. Just a taste. Just enough to make your heart race. 😈🔥

my inbox is open for requests, thoughts, ideas, or just screaming.

Saja Boys x Manager! Reader

Your apartment is too quiet.

Too still.

Ever since you walked out of that room—since you ran—you haven’t been able to stop feeling them.

Their eyes.

Their heat.

Their voices echoing in your skull like a siren's song.

God, what the hell is wrong with you?

You slap a hand over your face, heart hammering. But it doesn’t help. Because every time you close your eyes—

You see them.

Worse—you feel them.

A vibration against your leg makes you jolt. Your phone. You fumble for it, heart still pounding.

Unknown number.

You answer anyway.

“…Hello?”

A pause.

“Good morning, Miss Y/N. I'm calling on behalf of the Saja Boys.”

You freeze.

The voice continues, polite. Controlled. But something about it makes your stomach twist.

“I’m reaching out to confirm that you’ve been accepted as their full-time manager. Congratulations!”

“I—I didn’t accept anything,” you blurt. “There’s been a mistake, I didn’t—”

“Yes, well, that’s the wonderful part. You don’t have to accept it. The contract’s already processed. We’ll send a car for you this evening—”

“I said no.” Your voice is sharper now, slicing through the sugar-sweet tone on the other end. “You can’t just assign me a job I didn’t—”.”

“Hey baby”

You freeze.

The voice has changed.

It’s not hers anymore.

“J-Jinu?” you breathe, scanning the room. There’s no one there—but it feels like there is. The air shifts around you, thick with pressure and heat, humming low and strange.

“How are you?” he asks, his voice like warm silk over ice. Calm. Gentle. But you hear the weight beneath it. The restraint.

“I—uh—I’m good.” You grip the edge of your cup too tightly. “How did you even—Never mind. Can I help you with something?”

His chuckle is soft, low, and it curls around your ribs like smoke.

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“We’re talking right now.”

He hums again. Slower this time. Like he’s savoring the sound of your voice.

“I meant in person.”

His voice warms around the words, coaxing instead of pressing. “No pressure. Just… a coffee. A quiet spot. Just you and me.”

Your throat tightens. You blink, and suddenly the room feels smaller. Warmer. Like the sound of his voice alone is wrapping around your ribs, holding you still.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you whisper.

He’s quiet for a moment.

“That’s okay.”

Still soft. Still warm. Not pushy. But beneath the words… something deeper. A thread of something that reaches for you without forcing.

“You don’t have to decide now.”

You shouldn’t even be considering it. Not after what happened. Not after the way you’d felt in that room.

He doesn’t say anything else.

He just waits.

And somehow that’s worse. Because it leaves you sitting there, breath caught, heart pounding, mind spiraling with the memory of golden eyes, warm hands, and heat.

You bite your lip.

You should say no. You should...“When would we meet?”

comments and reblogs would be appreciated!

#kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpdh x reader #saja boys x reader #the saja boys #saja boys #kpdh

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vasito-de-leche · 3 days ago

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;KPOP DEMON HUNTERS ABBY - Relationship Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons about Abby (Abs Saja) in a romantic relationship.

YOUUUU KNOW ITTTTT OF COURSE THIS IS MY BIAAAAAS. I love getting into new things because I have so many ideas so many things to overthink and analyze about new blorbo, ougghhhh

since all the other Saja Boys that aren't Jinu get minimal screentime, it's pretty much free real estate for headcanons. dont look at me, i love making demon guys a little feral, as a treat for us monster freaks

When it comes to the Saja Boys and the concept of dating, I do think that if their idol careers lasted more than two songs released back to back, they would pull off some publicity stunts involving fake dating and so on--think of the Miromabby or Zoeystery shenanigans from the movie. Because of their nature as demons, I can't see them choosing to date someone so casually.

In my previous post with general headcanons for the entire group, I mentioned how the other four aside from Jinu might also have ulterior motives to help him and join the band, which adds to the pile of reasons they wouldn't lead any conventional lives on the surface, let alone find a partner.

But that's not to say that they're entirely closed off to the possibility of dating. There's just a lot to navigate first. Each has their own baggage to deal with.

When it comes to pretending to date someone as a publicity stunt, it's safe to say they're all good at it; it's part of the game, after all. They're very good at pretending to be a Kpop boyband already. But Abby specifically strikes me as one of the very few who might end up reconsidering his feelings on the matter, or at the very least, come to genuinely enjoy the illusion of a relationship. Jinu is too good at playing the game, only to pull the rug from under his partner's feet (RIP Rumi), Romance has (ironically) too many layers and too much baggage involving relationships to truly commit, and then Mystery and Baby are much too distant or guarded to even consider people out of the group.

While Romance and Abby have been shown to have some interest in Mira, I do like to think there is an important difference between the two of them when it comes to love--Romance plays the romantic and heartfelt lovestruck role as his namesake implies, but it is all part of an aesthetic and a fleeting hobby he indulges in. It's all fun and games, simply because he never had the intention of committing in the first place, a fun irony in which the embodiment of romance cannot really find love.

On the other hand, Abby lives by much more simpler rules: if it feels good, why stop or avoid it?

It's easy to portray him as a himbo, or someone who struggles to be taken seriously specifically because of how reductive his role in the boyband may be (only offering good looks and muscles, all brawn and no brain, etc) but I like to overthink things, and instead portray him as someone who is just direct when it comes about the things he wants or likes. While others take extra steps to get what they want, or pull the most insane mental gymnastics to justify their actions, Abby's approach is always the fastest and most straightforward.

Jinu will create a boyband to rival Huntrix and then almost fall in love with their leader only to betray her in the end and get his wish instead of going to therapy, but Abby? If he wanted to get his memories erased, he'd just give himself a concussion every so often or seek a spell that could do that. Easy.

I like to think this also plays into how he became a demon, heeding Gwi-ma's call in those extreme and rare occasions he couldn't just do as he pleased or get his way through sheer determination or perseverance, until it became the norm rather than the exception, and thus his shame is related to that powerlessness and dependence on the power Gwi-ma offers.

But to tie it back to relationships, this is all a lot of text to say that Abby would be the perfect Saja to get into a classic fake dating relationship 130k words slowburn fanfic scenario with, the type in which the lines between fake and real get blurry really fast. His demonic traits or emotional baggage don't keep him from forming meaningful relationships like others, but I do think that decades (maybe even centuries like Jinu) of living as a demon have definitely altered all of the Saja Boys' perception on how to properly interact with others.

When Abby catches feelings, he remains just as flirty, fun, silly and high energy, but there is a wild edge to his words that spells out trouble--not necessarily in any negative way, more so like the feeling of knowing you're being roped into shenanigans that none of your friends would agree with, the promise of fun danger, all while knowing you're in safe hands because the man leading you into the lion's den won't let anything happen to you.

I don't think he puts you in danger on purpose or with malicious intent, that's something Mystery or Baby would do. In Abby's case it's more like he gets caught up on these positive feelings you bring him that he ... forgets he's meant to put up a perfect boyband front. That's it. He gets swept up in the moment so easily, he just forgets he's in the human world.

His smiles are sharper, with pointy fangs you swear you have never seen him have. His hugs are a bit more suffocating, his grip on you when he leads you around town is somewhat erratic and manic, and you swear you can hear a slight distortion in his laugh, as if his voice wasn't human at all. He may forget that you need to sleep and show up at ungodly hours, looking frenzied and excited to take you out for a spin. Contrary to popular belief, no, he does not growl or get into fights with anyone who is remotely interested in you--but he DOES ask you directly if you'd like him to fight whoever tries to hit on you, literally asks if you'd be into that sort of thing of seeing him beat up others for your attention. He can do it. Humans are much more weaker. Just give him the sign. Do you want to see him beat up demons instead? Sure. He can do that too. He will look very good and flex his arms while doing it, just for you.

This is basically Abby in his honeymoon era--a demon trying to remember how to balance demonic instincts and habits built up over centuries against what he vaguely remembers as the conventional way to court someone. If you mix this with the fact that demons like the Saja Boys are basically doomed to relive their worst memories and feelings for all eternity as Gwi-ma's thralls, then you might understand why Abby gets a little too drunk on the butterflies and good feelings you awaken in him.

I think he's also the least troubled by the idea of his crush or partner finding out he's a demon. Surely, if you like hanging out with him, something so small shouldn't be a problem, right? It's not a problem for him, after all. You're absolutely cooked if he finds out you're into the demon aspect, though--Abby will be absolutely shameless, using this to his advantage whenever he wants to convince you indulge him or do whatever he wants. Abby may not have Baby's puppy eyes, but he keeps track of all the things you like about him, just in case.

When it comes to telling you about his past before becoming a demon, there might be some reluctance out of shame. The rest of the Saja Boys are allowed to know since they're all pretty much on the same boat as him, but what about you? What if you decide he's not the one for you based on something that happened so long ago? I can see Abby blurting out the events that led him to become a demon in the heat of the moment, during an argument or something, if only as a way to get you to stop arguing with him.

On a less intense note, I do agree that he's the clingiest Saja Boy, at least physically; Abby has to have a hand on you at all times, no matter how. Either with an arm around you, leaning on your shoulder or just fully leaning his entire weight on you, sliding his hand in the back pocket of your pants while you walk, resting his chin on the top of your head, etc.

This guy does not care about personal space. Or rather, he cares about getting rid of it altogether. Most likely to kabedon you, at first for fun to see your reaction, and once he settles into the relationship as a way to get a moment of your undivided attention whenever he feels like. He makes zero attempts at hiding your relationship once he's caught genuine feelings, and even gloats to his band members about it.

Most likely to make you sit on his lap even if there's other seats available because he thinks it's extremely endearing. Most likely to give you his clothes to wear, except he wears extra small shirts to emphasize his muscles, so he doesn't get to enjoy the view of his partner in an oversized shirt or sweater because he might as well be wearing crop tops at this point. This is easily remedied by just buying an extra large pair, so you can at least have matching outfits.

One thing that will never change regardless of the stage of your relationship with Abby is the insane amount of shirtless selfies he sends you throughout the day. You guys could spend 20 years married and he'd still manage to sneak in a shirtless bathroom selfie.

There's so fucking many. You can't even pull the "When he's copying your snaps so you pull this move" meme because he already sends you dozens of pictures of him flexing his biceps. These range from tasteful shirtless pictures as a "pick me up" for you, to genuine fun selfies of him going about his day but he somehow manages to always have his shirt open, to extreme levels of fuckboy vibes manufactured to deal extra damage to any fans in the vicinity.

I also like the dumb idea that, at some point, you just start playing tic tac toe with his abs whenever you receive a picture of them, and he thinks it's so fucking funny he always plays along. So your camera roll is 50 selfies and 20 versions of the same selfie of his abs because you keep drawing and playing tic tac toe on them with him. While others think his focus on his looks might be an indicator of low self-esteem or compensation for any other insecurities, Abby is actually rather confident. He thinks it's hilarious if you draw funny smiley faces on any pictures of his abs, or joke about how conceited he seem to be.

Another fun headcanon I have is that he's the lead dancer, and thus tries to get you to dance some of the Saja Boys choreographies from time to time, since he came up with them himself. The fans love to see these videos of you two practicing Soda Pop and trying to mess each other's rhythm up for fun.

#kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters saja boys #saja boys #abby #posts that i write at the speed of light so i can get these boys out of my brain #i need to put these thoughts down on a post and BE FREE #SO I CAN MOVE ONTO PROPER FICS #THE GRIP THIS MOVIE HAS ON ME THEYRE LIKE 1010 NSR ALL OVER AGAIN GUYS

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lucenra · 1 day ago

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Triggered

𝓟airing ↳ Jinu X F!Reader

𝓘𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓱 .. Reader tries her best to ignore her ex.

𝓦arnings .. flashbacks, mentions of cheating

𝓐uthor's note .. inspired by jhene aikos song triggered everyone are normal humans in thid

It’s been a year and a few months since you and Jinu broke up. You’ve been handling it pretty well. The popular K-Pop group HUNTR/X, also known as your bestest friends in the whole world, have been helping you get through it. You finally managed to get him off your mind.

Until..

You went out with the girls to get Rumi’s tonic juice. Everything was fine, until a group of boys walked into the same alley. Mira and Zoey immediately started thirsting over one of the guy’s abs, while Rumi scolded them, and you just shot them a look. Not that you could blame them.

Then, another guy appeared behind them.

"…Jinu?" you whispered to yourself.

Your breath hitched, and Rumi instantly grabbed your arm once she realized who it was. Jinu looked at you with yearning eyes. And just like that, the memories flooded in. Every date, every joke, every moment you bonded, every gift exchanged—it all came rushing back. Your heart ached. Burned. It felt just like it did when you first found out he cheated.

But for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to look away from him.

Luckily, the girls stepped in before it could go any further. Before you knew it, you were being pulled away, your arms in their grasp. As you looked back, Jinu was still staring.

"Are you okay Y/N?" Zoey asks as her hand is still on your arm.

“Yeah.. yeah. Don’t worry about me. It’s fine.” You sighed, trying to convince yourself.

Mira let go of your shoulder, arms now crossed. “I’m gonna kill that bastard. Who does he think he is showing up here? Ugh. Pisses me off.”

“Thank you, Mira.” You laughed softly.

“Hey,” Rumi chimed in, trying to change the mood, “why don’t we just get your mind off things? Watch the Saja Boys perform or something?”

You nodded. Anything to distract yourself.

What you didn’t know was that you were about to see your ex again—this time, on stage.

“What the…?” Mira muttered as the same group of boys from earlier suddenly appeared and began singing. All the girls turned to look at you. You just pressed your lips together and stared at your feet.

“This is just amazing,” you muttered, Rumi then feeling bad for you.

But surprisingly… the song was actually catchy. So, you decided to stay and watch. Every time Jinu sang, his eyes were locked on you.

Wow. What a unique way to get your ex back.

♡

After the performance, the group mingled with fans. You were about to leave when someone grabbed your wrist. You prayed it was just someone letting you know you dropped something.

Of course not.

“Wait, Y/N. I want to talk to you,” Jinu said, desperation in his voice.

“Yeah, no thanks. I’m good,” you replied flatly, yanking your wrist out of his grip and following the girls.

He ran after you. Persistent.

“Can we please talk?” he asked again, this time placing his hand on your shoulder.

You shrugged him off. “You don’t get to touch me anymore. And you sure as hell don’t get to have a conversation with me,” you snapped.

He stood there, stunned. You walked away, pretending like none of it happened.

♡

Later, you lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything in your mind. What you said. What he said. Were you too harsh? Were you being rude?

No. He deserved it.

But… maybe he changed?

Your thoughts spiraled, too fast to control. You needed air. So, you went out for a walk, hood up, hands in your pockets, AirPods blasting music.

Eventually, you walked into a convenience store to grab a snack. Hood down now, you were scanning the shelves.

“Why don’t you get the blue Takis? I know they’re your favorite,” a familiar voice said behind you.

You turned. Of course. Jinu.

“You just never stop, do you?” you scoffed, brushing past him, your shoulder bumping into his.

“I really want to talk. That’s all.”

You moved to a different aisle, but he followed you like a puppy.

“What is there to talk about?” you asked coldly.

“I just need a chance to show you I’ve changed. I want a second chance. Please,” he begged.

You stood there, arms crossed. Silent.

“Please,” he repeated, softer this time.

…

“Well…”

#— kay’s diary ⋆#kpop demon hunters #jinu kpdh #jinu x reader #jinu x you #x reader #jhene aiko #jinu #jinu kpop demon hunters #jinu kpdh x reader #jinu kpop demon hunters x reader

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yup-thats-me · 20 hours ago

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—Shopping Spree • S. Mingi

𐙚pairing: bf!Mingi x gf!reader 𐙚summary: ❝your boyfriend takes you on a much needed shopping trip❞ 𐙚warnings: none ��a/n: I hope you like this noonie. I apologize if I'm not describing the clothes enough. This just isn't my style. I tried :'')

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚

"Girl," Mingi dragged throwing a tee on Y/n's face. "How many times have you worn that tee?"

Y/n shrugged, snot looking up from the screen in her hand. "Who cares. Still wearable, isn't it?"

Mingi paused, taking the empty space beside her. Being with the girl for over two years now, Mingi knew how she could get.

When the two first got together. it honestly surprised the singer that Y/n was not crazy about clothes. Having his fair share of girls hitting him up just for the riches, Mingi thought she would be the same, given enough time.

But after months into dating, when he saw the girl hardly ever went shopping or asked for anything, except of his time and love, which he showered her in, Mingi made it his mission to dig deep. It was then that he learnt of her childhood, and everything fell in place.

"Come on," Mingi said, pulling on her wrist. "Get up."

"Where?" her brows furrowed, confused "We don't have any plans for the day."

"We do now," and the man pulled her off the couch ignoring her whines.

"Help, my hot boyfriend is kidnapping me!"

Mingi scoffed, dragging her to the front door. "Real funny, sweetheart," he replied sarcastically.

Y/n pouted, following him to the car. "I swear if its a date, Song Mingi, I will crush your head. I'm not ready!"

"Is that a threat or a promise, love?" He smirked, earning himself a smack on the head.

The drive to god-knows-where was short though. After about fifteen minutes, Mingi stopped in front of a Off-White showroom. Killing the engine, he leaned over to undo her seatbelt, pecking her lips.

"A date it is," he smiled, opening the car door for her.

Y/n hoped out, refusing to let the man see her face growing red. As Mingi rounded the car, the man slung his hand over her shoulder, pulling her close.

"Let's get you some new clothes."

"But I have−," Mingi presses a finger to your lips, shutting you effectively. "No buts."

Upon entering, the singer watched fondly as you scurried off to inspect some sneakers.

"First clothes, then we can look at them shoes," he urged, pulling you to the garments section.

Knowing it was pointless to argue, you follow him without words.

"Now lets see," the man picked out pair of parachute pants from the hanger, placing them before you as if he was dressing up a doll. "Looks good, we'll try," he shrugged.

"Are you buying them for me?"

"Who else, love," he replied, inspecting some shirts.

"Then how do you know my size? What if it doesn't fit?"

Mingin smriked, leaning down to your ear. "Have you forgotten all the nights I've held that waist of yours when I fucked you deep?"

Choking, you hit him, scurrying away from him. "Pervert," you point.

"You know me too well," he smirked.

The man dargged you each section, picking out clothes that he thinks will fit and you'll like, adding them to the bag. "This, this and this," he pointed at some crops. "Which one?"

You shrug. "Don't they all look the same?"

"Girl, you're gonna make my head hurt," Mingi sighed, adding all three to the bag. "Those are different colors!"

You were about to protest but Mingi suddenly pressed his lips to yours, rendering you speechless. "No buts, remember?"

And your favorite part - the sweats. "This," you point at one. Mingi smiled. It was the first time you chose something for yourself that afternoon.

"Alright," he smiled, taking them from your hands.

Seeing you stand there satisfied with your pick, Mingi nudged you lightly. "Go on. You need more."

Smiling, you skipped as you went through the dozens of options. Picking one and another. "Good," Mingi commented when he saw how many you picked. "Now you will not steal my sweats," he praised, placing a kiss to your forehead.

"Who says I won't?" you grin.

After your much-needed shopping spree, Mingi stopped by an ice cream truck. "Care for an ice cream?"

"If I ever say no to that, shoot me in the head," you say before jumping out the door.

Smiling, he followed you like a lovesick fool.

do not copy, steal or translate my work on any other sites. All rights belongs to yup-thats-me© on tumblr

⋆.𐙚˚reqs are openᝰ.ᐟ

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redrose10 · 22 hours ago

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Something I wrote last night…

Yoongi x Female Reader

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety and mental health struggles, depression

Word Count: 2,345

🍉🍊🍉🍊🍉🍊🍉🍊🍉🍊🍉🍊🍉🍊🍉🍊🍉

Some days Yoongi gets like this. It has been happening since his teenage years. He doesn’t know how or why. From the moment he gets up and out of bed to the moment he finally lays down in that same spot at the end of the night he feels it. Anxiety, worry, guilt, and a little bit of sadness. He over thinks everything. Wonders if he’s doing too much and too little all at the same time. There is a dark cloud that follows over him the entire day causing him hardships that only he sees.

He accidentally cut off a car on his way to work. He didn’t mean to. A split second of poor judgement. There was no accident. No harm. The other person probably forgot about it seconds later, but not Yoongi. He thought about it all day, worried that the other person, a complete stranger, was still angry with him over it.

When he texted Jimin asking if he wanted to meet up for lunch he replied with a simple ‘sure what time?’ Jimin always included emojis in his texts. Always. It was annoyingly cute. Yoongi spent the rest of the morning spiraling and wondering what he did to upset his friend. In reality Jimin was running late to an appointment and just wanted to make sure he responded before he forgot because he always gets excited when Yoongi invites him out to lunch.

During these dark times his words always fail him the most. He tried working on songs that he has had in progress for months, but he got nowhere. He tried to start a new one only to spend two hours staring at a blank computer screen resulting in him just beating himself up even more. On the worst of days he’ll stop by Namjoon’s studio and hand him a piece of paper with the code to enter his own studio written on it. He’ll tell Namjoon to take whatever equipment he wants out of it and sell the rest because it’s of no use to him any more. Namjoon will smile and nod and wait for Yoongi to exit the room before tearing up the piece of paper and tossing it in the trash next to him. He doesn’t even read the numbers out of respect for his friend. He knows Yoongi will be right back there tomorrow morning ready to give it another try.

On the way back home after a long day is when Yoongi will have a realization that will cause the biggest struggle of them all.

He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve to call you his wife or the love of his life.

He’s not good enough, not smart enough, not handsome enough. He’s not affectionate. He struggles greatly in these times of darkness and brings you down with him.

He’s not very romantic. Most of your dates consist of takeout and movies on the couch. He asked you to marry him on a Sunday morning while the two of you drank your coffee at the kitchen table. He didn’t even have a ring yet but you still said yes. You must have just felt pity for him.

He works hard for you. A nice house, nice cars, designer clothes, fancy vacations. He knows you could get all of that by yourself, but he wants to provide it for you. It makes him feel good, needed even. He’ll cook you an amazing dinner including dessert and will even wash every single dish afterwards, but will struggle to tell you how beautiful you look that same night.

He doesn’t know how to tell you how much he loves you. He’s tried. He can feel it in his chest so deeply it hurts, but for seem reason his brain struggles to let him say it to your face. Like his own security blanket, a way to protect his heart from getting broken once again.

So every night he waits until you’re asleep all snuggled and safe in his arms and then he’ll whisper it into your ear.

But what if that isn’t enough?

What if you want more than he can provide? What if you’re unhappy? What if you regret ever marrying him? What if you want a divorce? What if you’ve already found someone else? No one else will ever love you like he does, but someone else will be able to say they do.

Because at the end of the day he’s nothing special…he’s just Yoongi.

By the time he pulls into the parking garage he has tears spilling down his cheeks and his breathing is ragged. He parks in his assigned spot which is thankfully towards the back corner of the garage and lays the leather seat of his car back to try and calm down. He sets a timer and then uses his breathing techniques that he learned years ago to hopefully prevent his body from going into full panic mode.

After fifteen minutes the timer goes off and he starts to gather his things and heads up to your apartment.

His head is pounding and his chest aches. He knows he is moments away from crying again, but he enters your home anyways.

He knows you won’t judge him. You won’t question what’s wrong until he’s ready to talk and that only makes him feel even less worthy of having you in his life.

When Yoongi gets to the kitchen he sees an assortment of fruits and veggies spread out on the counter. It seemed like you had a good time at the local farmers market with your friend. He immediately eyes a very large basket of tangerines. A small smiles forms on his face for the first time that day.

Then he notices the watermelon sitting off to the side. It’s one of your favorites, but you have made it very clear how much you hate cutting them. The effort, the mess, the danger…he shudders at the memory of having to bandage your poor little pinkie finger after the knife slipped while you were trying to slice through the watermelon rind. Yoongi tells you all the time to just buy the precut ones from the grocery store but you refuse to spend the extra money and you also don’t want to use more plastic than necessary which he admires.

Yoongi moves around the kitchen with ease grabbing the cutting board and one of the bigger chefs knives. Silently he gets to working cutting through the watermelon making sure to get the pieces just to the size you like. He’s so focused on the task before him that he doesn’t hear you come into the kitchen and is startled when your arms wrap around his waist.

“When did you get home?”, you mumble into his back, “You should’ve came and got me.” The vibrations tickle slightly.

“Just a little bit ago.”, he smiles yet again, “I wanted to get this watermelon cut for you.”

You squeezed him a little tighter as a silent thank you. Yoongi feels his heart thud.

“Did you see the tangerines? They probably thought I was crazy buying so many of them, but I know they’re your favorite and these ones looked so ripe and juicy.”, you excitedly exclaimed already reaching for one to peel for him.

As Yoongi continues to cut away at the melon you sit on top of the counter and feed him pieces of the tangerine while he listens about your day.

Your favorite cafe has a limited time pineapple drink for the summer months, but you had already had your heart set on the hibiscus lemonade so you’ll have to try it another day. Yoongi makes a mental note to take you there for lunch tomorrow.

He finds himself genuinely laughing for the first time that day when you tell him about the bee that viciously chased after your friend causing her to run into a wall spilling her latte all over herself.

He gives you a questioning look when you tell him about the cute baby goats you saw at the farmers market. The two of you have had this conversation many times before because you refuse to accept that goats are not good pets for an apartment.

You grab a piece of the watermelon and pretend like you’re going to feed it to him just like you did with the tangerines only to pop it in your mouth at the last second instead.

“Oh we’re going to play that game huh?”, he questions playfully. Your giggles that follow sound better than any melody he’s ever written.

Then you grab another piece of the melon and this time you actually feed it to him. It’s juicy and sweet and it’s perfect just like you.

“Thank you for cutting up the watermelon. You know how much I loathe doing that.”, you say before placing a kiss on his cheek.

Yoongi grabs a piece of the melon and feeds it to you, “Any time jagiya.”, he whispers as he watches you happily enjoy the fruits of his labor.

“I’ll clean all this up. Go take a bath and get changed into something comfy.”, you say as you hop off of the counter, “I thought we could order some food tonight and start watching that new drama everyone’s talking about. Or…should I say I’ll watch the new drama while you watch the first ten minutes and then snore through the rest.”, you laugh.

Yoongi fakes offense, but deep down knows you’re 100% right so he ends up laughing with you before walking off to the bedroom.

On the bed you’ve already laid out his favorite sweats and tshirt. A new pair of fluffy lavender infused socks that you got for him at the farmers market today are next to them. In the bathroom you’ve already got his skin care put out on the counter and his favorite eucalyptus bubble bath is placed on the tub along with a brand new vanilla scented candle sitting next to it.

There’s also a new bottle of some fancy goat milk lotion you probably got at the farmers market today. A note taped to it reads, If we had our own pet goat I wouldn’t have to spend so much money on fancy lotions made by other people…Just saying.

The note makes him laugh and shake his head at the same time. He starts to get undressed until he’s hit with a wave of emotions so strong it makes him nauseated. He decides that he can’t take it any more so he goes to find you.

You’re still in the kitchen and when he calls your name you look at him with wide eyes and cheeks full of watermelon. He bites lip to keep from laughing.

He grabs your hand and pulls you back to the bathroom with him. The water is running. He adds a touch of the bubble bath and lights the candle.

Then he helps you out of your clothes before removing his own and gently guides you into the bath with him.

He takes a seat behind you ignoring the coldness of the porcelain on his back because he’s too focused on you sitting in front of him with your back firmly pressed against his chest.

Once the tub is filled up the two of you sit there in comfortable silence while he lovingly runs his fingers across your belly and thighs until you’re nearly asleep.

“Yoongi?”, you finally speak after a while. “Hmmm.”, he hums back.

“I love you.”

His heart races. Suddenly the room feels unbearably hot and is spinning. If it wasn’t for you being perched up against him he would’ve already left.

All of those bad thoughts from earlier return. Is he good enough to receive those words? What if you don’t mean that? You’re only saying it because that’s what a wife does. You deserve better than what he can provide?

His downward spiral is broken up by you continuing, “You don’t have to say it back. I know it’s not easy for you. And you tell me you love me every day in your own little ways. I just wanted to make sure I told you that today.”

Your words repeat in his head like a mantra and he relaxes back against the tub with you against him.

Maybe you are right. He may not be able to tell you in words how much he loves you and how much you mean to him, but he tries to show you in everything that he does.

Slowly as the night goes on the dark cloud that has been hanging above his head starts to dissipate.

When the bath is over the two of you fill yourselves on pizza and ice cream.

You show him pictures of goats that are up for adoption. He rolls his eyes and laughs but internally he’s panicking because he can feel his resolve breaking and he doesn’t know how many more times hes going to be able to tell you no on the goat thing, especially when you’ve been learning techniques to make puppy dog eyes from Jungkook. Yoongi just knows he’ll end up being a goat dad by the end of the year.

He manages to stay awake for a whole episode and a half of the new drama proving you wrong. It was a major struggle though.

When he does wake up you’re silently asleep on his shoulder. As comfy as it is he knows that if you both sleep on the couch you’ll be sore tomorrow so he gathers you in his arms and brings you to the bed. Moments later he’s right there next to you.

You snuggle into his side like you always do.

Yoongi takes a moment to admire your sleeping form. No matter how hard he tries he can’t believe this is his reality.

He didn’t know a love like this was possible. Maybe that is why he struggles so hard to comprehend it.

And even though he knows that he isn’t perfect and he has his dark days, he knows that it’s okay to feel like that because while he might be just Yoongi…he is your Yoongi and you are his and that’s all he will ever need in this world.

#bts #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts x reader #bts fanfic #min yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi x y/n #yoongi angst #bts yoongi #yoongi fluff #yoongi

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halfbloodfics · 3 days ago

Text

let me get what i want - part 2

A/N: {i made you guys wait MONTHS for this and i'm still getting comments about a part two so here u go xox}

18+ minors dni

rating/tags: explicit, smut, soft smut, gentledomfem!reader, sub!snape, snapes first time, praise, lil bit of aftercare shown, insecurity, lil angst, sev is touch starved af

song: please, please, please let me get what i want by the smiths

PART ONE

MASTERLIST

It had been weeks since Severus... Indulged.

In those weeks, he couldn't bear to even spare the Herbology professor a passing glance. Not in the hallways between classes, not at the professors table. Nowhere in the Castle or hell, nowhere on God's green Earth, would Severus look that woman in the eye ever again.

He pretended not to notice the way she'd begun to look at him with concern, or even worse, with disapointment, as the weeks progressed. But hidden deep down, he knew she was confused and hurt by his sudden change in behaviour.

But why wouldn't she be hurt? They had gone from conversing nearly every single day, something Severus had done with no one, to not talking at all. Not only that but he had even been brushing her off, blatantly ignoring her. She used to bring him small gifts, offerings almost; and he would invite her into his office under the guise of strictly professional meetings. Brew her tea out of politeness, surely nothing more. But lately, he had been sending her away at the door. Closing it in her face. Shutting her out.

But the truth was, he just couldn't look at her.

Severus spent that night the same he had for the past several weeks, alone in his office, buried in papers, trying desperetly to ignore the storm of feelings brewing inside him.

However, a knock sounded at the door.

Peeking through his long, black hair with repressed hope, he spoke: "Enter."

When she entered, Severus didn't know whether to feel relieved or annoyed.

There she was, in that damnable shade of yellow that for reasons unknown to him had begun to plague his dreams. Standing almost nervously, she closed the door behind her and stepped only a few feet forward into his office.

"Good evening, Severus." The way she spoke was soft, timid but somehow assured at the same time.

Severus gaze dropped back down to his papers, as if he could even focus on them with her standing right there.

"How can I help you, Professor." He spoke, voice cold.

The silence that followed was defeaning. Only the gentle bubbling from various cauldrons across the office filled the room.

"I came to apologize."

It was then that Severus looked at her, really looked at her. She was fidgeting with her fingers, holding them in front of that yellow dress, looking at him with a truly apologetic expression. Her eyes, which he had grown so accustomed to looking up at him brightly, now looked tired and sad, staring across at him from the stiff room.

Severus stared at her for a minute, as if commiting every detail of her face to memory as remedy for what had occured.

She took that as her cue to speak, "Severus. I think I upset you, a few weeks ago. I was trying to be kind.. And when I called you a friend, I meant it-"

Severus looked away. She stepped closer.

"But I didn't mean to upset you. And Severus, frankly, I don't regret it. I do consider you my-"

"Stop," Severus murmered, his gaze cast on the papers in front of him.

"Friend. You are my friend. And I'm sorry that upsets you for some reason. I'm sorry the idea of being friends with me is so horrible that you can't find it in yourself to speak to me for weeks-"

"Stop." Severus murmered, a little firmer this time, his gaze remaining unmoved.

"No you shut up and listen." She snapped.

And shut the fuck up he did.

Severus head snapped up, staring at her in plain disbelief. She raised her voice. Actually raised her voice.

Why isn't he furious? Why isn't he yelling back? Why are his pants tig-

She stepped forward, the look on her face both pained and frustrated. "Severus. You are my friend. You might very well be my best friend. And I know that you might not even like me very much, but I happen to like you. So why can't you just tell me what about me is so intolerable that you push me away so hard after I call you a friend?" She spoke, her voice lower now, but still firm.

Severus hesitated, opened his mouth, closed it again.

What could he say?

But she only continued to look at him with that expectant expression on her face. She wanted an explanation he couldn't give her. But he was backed into a corner, for the first time in years, no control in his hands. No power. Just... her.

He swallowed, spoke lowly: "You are not intolerable..."

She blinked, now even more confused.

He sighed, reluctantly realising he must elaborate, "Only you are."

When he met her gaze again, he watched as her expression shifted, changing from confused to... understanding?

She blinked, stepped forward again, closer to the desk where he sat. Her eyes widened, lips parted, then closed again.

And then she said possibly the worst thing she could have: "You're frightened."

Severus clenched his jaw, stood up from his chair at once, now towering over her.

Control. He needed control. "I am not a coward."

Something shifted in her again, a dangerous glint in her eyes as she stepped forward, now directly in front of the desk across from him. For a moment, Severus considered backing up, then immediately scolded himself.

She whispered: "You aren't?"

Severus clenched his jaw, straightening his back. "You know I am not."

Her head cocked as she rounded the table, walking closer to him. Without even comprehending it, he slowly began moving back, the action unknown to him until the back of his head hit the wall.

She looked up at him, smirking almost, only inches away from him now. Like a predator toying with its meal, she gazed at him with wicked amusement.

"Severus," she started, almost teasingly.

His breath hitched.

"Severus, did I ever tell you, how proud I am of you for that that Polyjuice potion you brewed a few weeks ago?

His stomach flipped, cheeks flushing crimson without his permission. Severus opened his mouth, but she spoke again.

"That must have been... truly difficult. Really. I heard those potions take weeks. But you did, so well. In fact, no one can do it as good as you can." The smirk on her face was growing now as she stepped impossibly closer.

Breathe. He couldn't. Breathe.

How. Do. I. Breathe.

He didn't realise he was practically panting until he felt his own breath against her lips. She looked up at him, having to crane her neck to do so. "Is that it, Severus?" She whispered. "Is it my friendship that scares you so much? Or is it my praise?

He stopped breathing.

Her lips grazed his, whispered: "Or is it my touch?

At the same time, her fingertips began to trail up his arm, her touch feather light. At this, Severus found his breath, gasping slightly, looking down at her with his mask completely fallen. For the first time in his life, Severus allowed himself to be completely powerless at the hands of another. While others had controlled his entire life, Dumbledore, Voldemort, this was different. This was... welcome.

He allowed her to put her hands on his chest. He allowed her to back her up against the wall even further. He allowed her to crash her lips against his own.

The sound that came from his lips as they met hers was practically a whimper. He felt his face flush and the growing smirk on her own lips as they continued their kiss.

Her movements, the way her fingers tangled in his hair, the way she bit and flicked her tongue against his. She was as hungry as he was. Starved.

Panting, she pulled away and looked up at the mess he had become. His pale skin flushed, hair a mess, chest rising and falling rapidly as his lips parted, searching and failing to find the words.

She whispered, finding them for him. "Do you want this, Severus."

He stuttered, "t-this?"

Her lips grazed his neck and his legs buckled. "Me. Severus do you want me?"

She pulled back then, searching his eyes for any sign of hesitance or reject. Instead, she found only desire and the fear of it. The understanding that the fear, the cowardice, he'd exhibited had only been derived out of desire.

Severus nodded, murmered, surprising himself with how steady his voice sounded "I do."

She smiled softly, hummed as if the answer had pleased her greatly. "Sit," She murmered against his ear.

Severus found himself obeying quicker than he'd like to admit. His hands found the seat of his arm chair as he sat down, using all his strength not to shake as he did so.

She stood directly in front of him, her long fingers working at the buttons of her yellow dress, un-doing them.

He swallowed.

"Severus Snape," She murmered, continuing with her buttons, "Potions master. Veteran of the first Wizarding War. Looked straight into the eyes of Voldemort and lied to him. And who am I?" She paused with her buttons, looking up at him, "The newest Herbology professor? Half your age? A foot shorter than you? Do I frighten you, Professor."

His breath hitched as she slid the dress off, standing before him in only her undergarments, a black bra and panties. It shocked him, the image of both her near naked body and the colour of her underwear. Of what was really hiding underneath that insufferable colour of yellow. Even in those fantasies, the ones with his hands deep in his trousers, even then he didn't come close to picturing... this.

Her fingers reached back, unclasped the bra and it fell to the floor at his feet. His eyes wide, glued in place, he couldn't look away if the Dark Lord himself cast the imperiatus curse.

"Professor," She murmered, "Do I frighten you."

"Yes," The words fell from his lips in a shaky breath.

She fell to her knees, looking up at him with her hands on his thighs.

"But you're being so brave, Severus. Aren't you?" She murmered, placing a small kiss on his knee.

He gasped, nearly jolted, hands gripping the armrest so tight his knuckled turned white.

I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming. I'm hallucinating. Maybe I'm dead. Maybe I actually died and this is heaven and at some great mistake I'm here instead of down-

There.

She kissed up his thigh, relising in each gasp as she did.

Severus panted, looked down at her as her hands found the buckle of his belt.

"W-wait," he said suddenly, voice shaky.

She stopped her movements immediately, looking up at him.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "If you.. do that... I won't... I can't.."

She spoke softly, "You won't last?"

He swallowed what remained of his pride, met her dark gaze. "Yes."

He expected her to laugh, or maybe to be annoyed, frustrated. Instead she nodded, still holding that soft look on her face as she stood again, looking down at him in the chair.

"I'll last long enough for the both of us then." She said softly, dipping her fingers into her panties and pullling them down to her ankles, kicking them to the side.

Severus could have died right then and there. His eyes widened, jaw weak, as he looked at her, fully naked before him.

Softly, she spoke again, "Have you ever touched a woman?"

He swallowed, shook his head.

"Would you like to?"

He nodded.

She took his hands then, saying nothing of the slight tremor of them and placed them gently on her hips. Whispered, "There... Just like that. That's it."

His breath hitched. She was so much, softer, warmer, than he'd imagined. Even through the callosus on his fingers, he could feel how soft she was. Like a balm on aching skin..

He looked up at her, suddenly very aware his hands were on her and unmoving, yet unsure of what to do.

Her smile was gentle. "There you go. Touch whereever you'd like Severus."

Severus eyes raked over her naked body, commiting it to memory in case he really were about to wake up. He'd dreamt of this how many times, been tortured by the idea of it. But with his hands, physically, on her.... He wanted to touch everywhere.

He began to move them, hesitantly, gentle touching her as though she might break under the weight of his fingertips. When his hands found her breasts, her lips parted, his own breath hitching as though he was recieving her pleasure.

She watched, gaze soft, as he began to hesitantly caress and feel her. When his thumb traced over her nipple she sighed softly, causing Severus's breath to immediately hitch.

His gaze alternating between her breasts and her face, Severus allowed his hands to move on their own accord, trailing down her rib cage. His fingers ghosted over each bone, patiently tracing each bone. They continued, moving down her stomach, past her navel, to her hips.

"Do you want my help?" In any other scenario Severus would have scoffed, maybe even snapped. An offensive, degrading question.

But the word that fell from his lips was "Yes."

So she did. Gently, she took his right hand and guided it between her legs.

Severus gasped softly, staring at his hand where it met her, unmoving.

"Explore, Severus," She murmered, "It's alright."

He swallowed, allowing his fingers to tentatively brush against her wet folds.

She's so.. Warm.

He racked his brain, trying desperately to remember his school days. He'd been tortured nightly by hearing all about Lucius conquests, late at night in the dorms. He tried to remember what he'd said.. How he'd pleasured them..

I never thought I'd wish I'd paid more attention to Lucius sex tales.

He remembered one thing though. Trailing up his middle finger, he carefully pressed it against the apex of her core, at the very top. She gasped, and his head snapped up to her face.

"Are you hurt?" He whispered, stomach dropping.

She smiled, laughed breathlessly. "No, Severus. That felt good."

Oh.

He looked back down at her, carefully, unsurely, began to move his middle finger in soft circles on her clit.

She gasped, gripped her shoulder, balencing herself on him and he nearly bit back a moan.

She was gasping for him. Moaning for him. He was bringing her pleasure, he was-

"So good..." She moaned, tilting her head back, "Fuck Severus... That feels so good..."

He exhaled shakily, picking up the pace just a little bit and watching her reaction as her hips bucked slightly forward. With that, he pressed his finger a little harder.

The sound that left her lips couldn't have been compared to any of his dreams.

She moaned, panting, grinding slightly against his hand while he worked her until she suddenly stopped and looked down at him, flushed.

"Switch places with me." She said.

Severus began to move before he asked why. Kneeling down before her now as she sat in the chair, he looked up, finding his face eye level with her dripping cunt.

"Do you want to taste me?" She whispered, reaching down to trail one of her hands through his black strands of hair.

He could have came right then and there but he closed his eyes, steadying himself until he felt ready enough to look up at her, at which point he nodded.

He pushed her legs gently to the side as if frightened he might hurt her. Inching forward, he looked up at her.

"Kiss up my thighs first," she whispered, "tease me a little."

Severus obeyed, leaving gentle, soft kisses on her inner thigh. Fuck. It was the first time he'd ever kissed a womans body. And he was on his knees. His bloody knees. In his office. For a woman half his age.

Still, he kissed gently, sucking softly and licking up her thigh. He wasn't exactly sure where this sudden knowledge or confidence was coming from. It was as though he was running on autopilot, straight instinct.

He stopped just in front of it, looked up at her through his eyelashes and found she was breathing just as heavily as he was. She nodded.

With that, Severus gave a small lick, breath hitching as she gasped and gripped the armrests beside his head. Again. A small lick.

The groan that left his throat surprised even him.

She tasted... Addictive.

Something inside him snapped and he attatched himself to her, licking and sucking messily at her. He wasn't sure what he was doing, other than to focus on that same particular spot from before that seemed to make her gasp, and that certainly seemed to do the trick.

She arched her back, gasping as her fingers tangled in his hair.

"Severus," She moaned. It took all of his will to focus, continuing to eat her out feverishly despite the painful strain in his trousers. He wanted to reach down and palm himself right there, but stopped out of fear of this finishing too early.

He flicked his tongue across that spot again. Her back arched. Again, she moaned his name.

Again. Again. Again.

Studying her responses, her gasps, her body like he was studying for the most important exam of his life. He panted against her, his grip on her thighs tightening as he continued flicking his tongue in that way.

She tossed her head back in pleasure and Severus watched every moment of it as she squirmed and panted. Her face contorted in bliss, she panted out his name.

"Severus fuck... That feels so fucking good..."

He moaned, dipped his tongue into her entrance and moaned as she did.

"Yes.." She panted, "You're doing so well... Just like that.. Fuck you make me feel so good."

Severus felt dizzy as he began flicking his tongue again, alternating between long and small strokes, trying to best decipher which she liked the best.

When he found her body jerking more at the quick, rough licks, he licked his way back up to that particular spot and began doing so in quick, rapid succession.

A moan tore from her lips, the loudest one yet as she gripped his hair. Severus whimpered, latching onto her, sucking and flicking his tongue across her desperately.

Her thighs began to shake around his head, her breath coming in quick pants.

Was she...

"Close," She moaned. "Fuck Severus, you're going to make me cum."

He moaned, nodded against her, continued with even more urgency.

He needed it. Needed to make her feel good, for her to cum. For her to cum on his tongue. Needed to taste it. How her release felt when it was him who was drawing it out of her. He needed the satisfaction, the pride.

He gripped her thighs a little tighter, hummed.

She gripped a fistful of his hair even tighter as she grinded against his face, desperately chasing her release.

"Severus fuck.... Like that, like that... Don't stop.."

He would never stop. He could stay here like this all day if she wanted him to. If she kept saying those words to him, kept making those sounds.

She whimpered and shook, and Severus didn't need to know much about sex to know she was cumming. He continued lapping at her until she was done shaking and whimpering, until her breath began to come out in slower pants. Only then did he pull away, chin and lips glistening as he looked up at her with clouded eyes.

She panted, catching her breath and released his hair from her grip.

"Fuck.." She gasped. "Fast learner."

He smirked ever so slightly, almost pridefully, his grip lessening on her thighs as he absent mindedly tracing small circles over her hips and thighs.

"That was," he started, "you're... you're beautiful."

She smiled, still panting, as she tiled his chin up to look at her as she stood.

"Get in the chair." She murmered.

And once again, Severus found himself complying.

When he was in the seat, his hands found the armests as she stood between his legs. Her hands made quick work of his zipper, undoing it and pulling his pants down only slightly.

Severus's breath hitched. Suddenly self concious of everything. He didn't expect this... What if she didn't like the look of him? What if she was disgusted? Worse, what if she laughed?

He watched, frozen, as the corners of her lips didn't turn up into a smirk as she pulled him out. Instead, her tongue darted across her lips, exhaling heavily as she held him in her hand.

"You're beautiful," She murmered.

Severus felt dizzy. Her hand, she was touching him. Touching him. There. Calling him beautiful. There was no malice in her voice, no surpressed laughter, no mocking tone. Only honesty... And need.

He looked up at her, almost vulnerably, his breath coming in quick pants as she stroked him. Her hand was smaller than his, softer, warmer. If she kept up with this... he wouldn't last.

As if she knew, she straddled him, hips hovering just above his. With a gentle hum, she tucked his sweaty hair behind his ear. "Do you want this?" She whispered.

Severus could have said no. He could have shook his head and he sensed she would respect it. But he also knew he couldn't... Wouldn't forgive himself he denied himself any more pleasure. Especially from her.

With a shaky breath, he whispered: "Please."

A soft smile and a gentle kiss on his forehead, she sunk down slowly on him.

The gasp that flew from Severus's mouth shocked them both. His hands flew to her waist, holding her in place when she had sunk down on his entire length.

Holy. Shit.

She was warm. And wet. And tight. And beautiful.

He was breathing even heavier now, his fingers digging into her hips as he maintained eye contact. For once, when he looked at her, for the first time in weeks, he let his guard fully down. Perhaps that was the first time he'd done that in his life, allowed someone to truly look into his eyes and find some truth behind them.

She held his gaze gently, as though she were holding something delicate, sacred. "Severus," She whispered, "It's okay. You're okay."

That seemed to break something in him, he swallowed, nearly whimpered. "Please..." He whispered.

She didn't make him say anything more. She knew what he needed. Her hips began to move, gently, slowly at first; rising up and down in slow, fluid motions.

Severus's legs shook, his breath hitched.

Merlin. He could die now and be perfectly happy.

Then, she moaned softly. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she buried her face in his neck, planting soft, gentle kisses as she continued to ride him.

It was too much. Her kissing, her moans... The feel of her hands in his hair and rubbing his back... The feel of her tightening around him.

He panted, his own hands gripping impossibly tighter on her hips as she began to move faster, bucking her hips against his.

The moan that flew from his mouth was obscene. Loud, deep. He moaned her first name, saying it out loud for the first time with a desperate edge to it he was too far gone to be embarassed about.

It only seemed to spur her on. Moving faster now, she bounced on him, kissing his neck, whispering in his ear. "Fuck Severus, you're so big," She murmered, "Feels so good."

He panted, eyes squeezed shut. Any sembelence, any last ounce of control fled him as he allowed his eyes to flutter shut, his head leaning back against the chair as she rode with a fierce intensity.

"You're so handsome like this Severus... All needy for me," She whispered, her breath hot against his neck as she panted.

His hips jerked, rising impatiently to meet hers as shame completely abandoned him. "Pl-please... I.. I can't.."

She hummed against him, not slowing down. "I know baby. Do I feel good?"

The nickname alone could have made him cum. He nodded desperately, his hands shaking against her hips, head thrown back in shamless pleasure. "T-too good... I.."

"Shhh," She murmered, grinding against him even faster, "I've got you baby. Let go for me."

If he was thinking clearly, he might have considered pulling out. Or in the very least asking where he should cum. But in that moment, sweaty and dazed, her naked body on top of him, riding and praising him.. His mind only echoed her name.

Shaking, he tilted his head foreward, resting it against her shoulder as if he needed the support. The tightening in his lower abdomen grew and with small, quick whimpers, he came into her, his hips jerking and stuttering.

She hummed, panting as she slowed down, kissing up his neck to his cheek.

For what felt like an eternity, Severus stayed completely still, leaned against her, catching his breath. He felt as though he were floating. Half out of his body, half in it. As though he were in a dream. No potion could brew this. No spell could conjure it. Only her.

She kissed his cheek one last time before rising off him. He hissed in sensitivity as she slowly got off, tucked him gently into his boxers, leaving his pants unzipped.

Severus panted. The absence of her touch seemed to jolt him from the daze and he suddenly became very aware of what they had done, what he had allowed himself to do.

He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"I'm sorry," He panted, the words sounding weak, "I'm sorry-"

He wanted to continue, but she tilted his chin up and forced his gaze back on her. On her face there was no disgust. No regret. Only a gentle expression he couldn't quite place.

And then she kissed him.

It wasn't like earlier. Not a hungry, passionate, needy kiss. It was soft, gentle, careful. Her lips grazed his delicately before she pulled back and met his widened eyes.

"That was incredible," She whispered.

His stomach flipped again but he remained still.

She straddled him again, though once again in a completely different nature. Her weight resting gently on him as she wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

Severus blinked. Blinked again. He didn't realise he was crying until he felt the tears against her hair as she hugged him.

For awhile, they sat there in silence. She rubbed his back, rubbing in small circles and playing with his hair. She kissed his cheek and assured him that she enjoyed it, asking him if he did as well.

He did. He so did. And he didn't fully understand why he was so overwhelmed, so emotional. But so much was happening all at once. He'd had sex for the first time with the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, pleasure, lust.... love.... These feelings were foreign to him. Believed for so long to be out of his reach.

And all of a sudden they were all in his hands.

They stayed like that for awhile. Her hands gently massaging as she whispered assurances in his ear. When she finally pulled back, she looked at his glossy eyes and smiled softly.

"Can you stop avoiding me now, please?" She said, smirking.

He exhaled shakily, nodded. For a moment he looked at her and then felt a small smile tugging against the corner of his lips. He allowed it.

"I will.. Try." He spoke at last.

She kissed his forehead again, whispered against it. "Thank you."

Severus sighed again, melted in to her touch and her whispers. For once... Maybe he could allow himself the liberty of pleasure. Maybe he could get used to the feeling of her. He wasn't sure that after tonight he could ever go back to an existence without her touch. If he had gone his life without it, perhaps he could've. But to have had it and to lose it again...

"Stay," Severus whispered. "Please."

The look in her eyes when he met her gaze was soft. She nodded, trailing her fingers up and down his arms as she spoke, "I'm staying."

gang im gonna be completely honest i wrote this at about 1 am, high as a kite after watching deathly hollows pt 2 and crying at snapes death. i barely edited this thing. so if it sucks im sorry but everyone in my inbox is begging for sub snape and i am a listener LOL.

anyways. i missed u. have sub snape being a mess for a pretty lady. me too.

cheerio

TAGLIST (dm to be added or removed)

@graciesbow @niftysnazzy @plecosylvia @dark-st @3hrysfiction-blog @ilovegrapes-world @darkvoidz @lexiitaylorrrr @theheartwants-what-itwants **@aperol-with-izzy**

**@herbologygremlin @kittenlittle24 @aleck-cross @macaroni7932 @xodilfluvr @unclosetedrickmaniac**

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l0s3rd0wnt0wn · 22 hours ago

Note

We got saiki reader, how about kaido wb reader? I think they lowkey got matchy personality cuz of how weird they are. Kaido!reader who's convinced that a evil organization is controlling the world and it's out to get them and they're the only one who could stop it with their "hidden power" which what causes reader to be an outcast within the batfamily ofc

Based on this one saiki k post

KAIDO!READER: You may have been neglected for a strong portion of your life, all these fantasy ideas just to make your life a little bit more interesting. You may not be a vigilante, a dark stalker of the night, but you can just dream it, and it's just as good as the real thing. You may not be as special as the Robins, have keen fighting skills, and amazing senses, or be raised by assassins. Drink, interesting person. Overall, even awkward moments, it was great to talk to. Someday you'll finally grow up and stop blaming Dark Reunion for all your troubles, but until then, you'll be the little weirdo that everyone loves, even if that love isn't from the person you want to be.

KAIDO!READER! Who blames literally everything on dark reunion? Stub your toe? Dark reunion. Fail the math test? Dark reunion. Your adoptive family ignoring you? Ignoring you? Yeah, definitely dark reunion. They're trying to kick you down, hurt you, see you down in the mud, but that won't ever happen. You're strong, you're resilient, and with the power you possess in this red bandage, dark reunion will never get a one up on you.

KAIDO!READER: You have a little cassette tape that plays your theme song when you appear in classes, when you show up for hangouts with your friends, and when you're doing almost anything. Really, the cassette tape always plays, making your entrance known and you do a silly little pose to show how important you are. I mean, in a crowd of people, some would say you are the enemy stand user. Just look at you, you have your own theme song for when you enter an ice cream shop while you pose, asking for cookies and cream.

KAIDO!Reader: You like to claim that you're stronger than ten men, but you have the power of a wildebeest in the claws of a mountain tiger when, really, you're built like a stick and have the muscle mass of a four-year-old. When playing sports, you are the one who is last picked just because, well, you suck at them. Literally, a dodgeball that wasn't even thrown that hard knocked you out for half an hour. If one is a little too strong, one day you'll fly away into the distant sunset with your theme song playing.

KAIDO! READER: What time did you get yourself out of a love confession by lying, saying, "So sorry, this evil power that dwells inside of me will never let us become lovers, and with dark reunion after me, how will I know I can keep you safe? Sorry, we can't be together," you say solemnly, walking down a hill, but you end up tripping, rolling down, your cassette tape playing your theme song as you roll. So much for trying to look cool.

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vivwritesfics · 6 hours ago

Text

Drive Me Crazy

Chapter Four

Max and Charles aren't exactly a pack. But they want to be, especially when the half feral little werewolf starts driving in Carlos's place after an injury. Unfortunately, things aren't always that simple

Lestappen X Reader Werewolf AU

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

"You're okay, Beastie. You did good."

It hadn't been an easy race for either Ferrari driver. You and Charles had both struggled, through no fault of your own, during the race. The strategy was shit and the car struggled on track.

"You're okay, Beastie," your handler said, combing her fingers through your hair. "You can stop now. You can breathe."

She was trying to calm you down, Charles realised as he watched you.

Beastie. What an awful nickname, simply awful. Charles watched as your handler handed you earbuds. Your hands shook as you placed them into your ears, a whimper leaving your lips.

Beastie. You weren't a beast. Charles could see it, and he was sure that everybody else could see it, too. You weren't a beast; you just wanted to be free.

He strode across the garage, strode over to you. "What're you listening to?" He asked, his voice soft.

A whimper left your lips and you clawed at your shock collar. "Woah, woah," he whispered and grabbed a hold of your hands, stopping you from hurting yourself. "You're okay, Birdy."

Birdy. Charles wasn't very sure where it came from, but it felt right. It suited you. Birdy. You just wanted to be free. Free as a bird. Another noise left your lips, one that Charles was unable to place. "Wanna tell me what you're listening to?" He asked and pushed your hair out of your face.

You wouldn't answer. Charles knew this, he wasn't expect you to open your mouth to answer, but to somehow communicate it to him. Maybe pull your earbud from your ear and offer it too him instead.

Your handler stepped forward. "She discovered your music last night," she said and nodded to Charles. "She finds it's calming, so I thought it might help take her out of 'Race Space'."

"Race Space?"

Race Space. The headspace you went into as soon as you were in the car. It left you acting on instinct, going for every gap and having no self preservation. It would have been terrifying to watch, if you had anybody that cared about you."

"She likes my music?" Charles couldn't stop himself from answering as he looked at you. You liked his music. At that very moment, you were listening to his music. "Birdy," he whispered, unable to stop himself from grinning.

Charles couldn't help but think about it for the next few hours. As he flew back to Monaco, sharing a jet with Pierre. Maybe one day you could share a jet with them, too. But you weren't in the position for a private jet yet. Once you were a proper driver, no longer driving in the place of an injured Carlos, Charles would take you everywhere in his private yet, he decided.

And then you'd be flying. As free as a bird.

"You're attached," Max said as he watched Charles.

Sitting at the piano, Charles couldn't stop himself from thinking about you. He pressed a couple of the keys, no song really coming from it. "I am," he confirmed, giving a small nod. "I really am, Max."

Max released a sigh as he walked over. He slipped onto the bench beside Charles and wrapped his arms around him. "What're we gonna do about it?" He asked.

"I don't know, Max," Charles answered through a sigh. "I really don't know."

***

Home. A small room with several locks on the door to keep people safe from you. Locked in, Charles's music playing on a loop. This was better, you knew. You locked away from the rest of the world.

Birdy.

You had been a beast for so long that Birdy felt weird. Weird, but not exactly wrong. Birdy, because you wanted to fly away and be free. Birdy was fitting, you realised.

Birdy.

You liked it. Really liked it. Far better than Beasty. A beast was what you had been turned into, not what you wanted to be. You were never supposed to be a beast and you no longer wanted to be one.

Birdy.

The music stopped and you released a whimper. Tapping at the iPod screen, you got the music playing again, the piano filling the room. Your eyes closed as you laid back on your bed, holding your pillow against your chest.

Charles was nice. He was real nice, in a way nobody but your handler had been before. Why had you tried to bite him? Why had you acted out like that? But, still, he was sweet to you. Sweet, even after you had attempted to attack him.

You wouldn't, not again. You wouldn't attack the next time he was nice to you. It was easy to picture it in your mind, your muzzle removed as you hugged Charles, nuzzling yourself against his chest. But you were looking at it through rose coloured glasses.

It wouldn't be as simple as not attacking and you knew that. The reaction was involuntary: You couldn't help it. Couldn't stop yourself from lashing out and trying to hurt him.

You couldn't wait for the next race weekend.

"Birdy," you whispered to yourself and started his music again. "Birdy. Birdy. Birdy."

You didn't have to wait long, just a week. That week you spent training, in the gym, listening to your trainer like an obedient dog. When she said run, you ran. When she said lift, you lifted.

There was just one reason why you didn't like the gym. It allowed you to let out your aggression in a way that stopped anybody from getting hurt. But the collar around your neck and the muzzle attached to your face made the gym uncomfortable, skin beneath them prickling.

On the Tuesday, you flew to Miami. You were sedated for the entirety of the flight. It didn't take away your fear, just stopped you from acting on it.

You woke up in the taxi on your way to the hotel. How disorienting it was, to suddenly regain conscious in a different part of the world, so similar to your home, yet somehow different.

You panicked. Not enough to hurt anybody in the car with you. But your nails dug into your palms, pressing deep enough to draw blood.

"Enough of that, Beasty," your handler commented and patted your knee. Maybe she was trying to give you comfort. Whatever it was, it didn't help.

She got you into the hotel, her grip on your sleeve acting as a leash. As soon as she had your key (she always kept your room key. It was almost a threat: If you left you couldn't get back in), she led you to the stairs.

No lifts, you were too feral for that. They were too much like cages, and you didn't do cages.

“Rest, little Beast,” she said as you placed your bags in your room. Rest. You've done enough resting already. You didn't need anymore rest. “I'll come get you in the morning.”

Taglist: @remussbitch

@mimisweetz

@usseraloo

@trashmouthsahra

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penelopehere · 15 hours ago

Text

How They Became Demon Hunters HCs With Huntrix

Rumi

Her backstory is partially explained in the movie, and I built my own headcanons of how her parents met in another one of my post

However it’s very clear that she was raised by Celine to hate her demon side, wanting to hide and even destroy it from a very young age

She was constantly pushed towards being perfect in every aspect of her life, whether that be in sparring, singing, social skills etc

This was all done in the hopes of eventually getting rid of her marks and protecting the world

However, she also thought that being perfect would make up for the fact that she was a mistake

Despite not knowing exactly how her mum died, I believe she would still blame herself; thinking that being half demon brought misfortune to her mum

In regards to her father, she just pictured him as an evil figure that managed to trick her mum and never considered the fact that he may have been a good person

She would also be homeschooled and sheltered for most of her life, any public appearances done purposefully in order to build her life as an idol

Because of this she would be put on a lot of korean variety shows and do interviews when she was a teen in order to get public support early

On the side, she would also train and even hunt demons with Celine so she would be strong enough to lead the next generation of hunters

However the feeling of loneliness would constantly consume her since she had no one that could understand her life as a half-demon, and she didn’t have any genuine friendships at this point

Celine would notice this and tried to reassure Rumi that this was all for the greater good, and that the hunters were all she ever needed

However, this only worked to a certain extent

Eventually though, Celine would introduce Zoey to Rumi for the first time

Rumi finally felt like she could let her guard down a little, instantly bonding with the other teenage girl

She still felt insecure about her demon blood, and Celine warned her to not reveal anything about that side of her so she wouldn’t lose her new friend

So Rumi stayed silent, not saying anything about her heritage even after Mira came to join the group a few months later

Rumi vowed to do whatever it took to protect the world, even if that meant lying to those she loved

Mira

Similar to Rumi, Mira would most likely also be a legacy

However the difference being that not everyone in her family had hunter abilities, so a lot of them had no idea what demons even existed

This was further emphasized by the fact that most of her relatives that did carry these powers were deceased or estranged

Because of this, Mira always felt like the odd one out and never truly knew what made her so different

She tried to express how she felt through her clothing and artworks, but her family- being rather strict- didn’t appreciate her creativity

They refused to listen to her, causing Mira to act out in many ways

She often spent late nights outside by herself, doing whatever she felt like

From this she would spot her first demon, sucking the soul out of someone until they died

She didn’t know how to react, not fully understanding what she was seeing

Once she managed to snap out of her fear she would go to check on the victim, only to find the body was no longer there

From there she would just run, not knowing when to stop until she subconsciously came all the way back to her house

She wanted to scream and tell her parents what happened, but the moment she walked through those doors she realised they wouldn’t believe her and that she was truly alone

She would carry this fear with her as she got older, not truly knowing if there was something wrong with her brain and making her see these things

Sometimes she would try to fight the demons she saw, rarely succeeding due to her lack of proper training

She had to constantly see people because of this, traumatizing her even further

One day however, she was listening to a song and began singing, not noticing the demon in front of her until it began to get repulsed by the music and ran away

She tested this out the next time she found one, blasting the song towards it while fighting

This is when she realised the demons were weakened by the music

She’d track down the artist of the song, eventually finding Celine in a fan meet and trying to see if she knew anything about the monsters she was seeing

She’d try to be subtle at first, not fully revealing everything she saw just in case Celine thought she was crazy

Mira got her contact information, and was told to meet her in a couple days

From this Celine realised Mira also had hunter abilities, and began to train her in secret

Mira’s parents wouldn’t care about her extended absences, relieved that their daughter was no longer getting in trouble with the police or acting out at home

Celine would reveal what hunters and demons were, explaining their history

Mira was skeptical at first

However, with everything that had happened, she had no choice but to believe Celine and for the first time in her life she didn’t think she was crazy

They trained together for a couple months before Celine introduced Mira to two other young teenagers who had the gift; Rumi and Zoey

From then on Mira finally felt like she had a family, and would do everything she could to keep them together

Zoey

Zoey would be a partial legacy, with only one side of her family knowing about demons and hunters

She didn’t know of her abilities at first, thinking all the monsters she saw as a kid were just a figment of her imagination

Especially since by the time she looked back, one of her family members would be there innocently waving and telling her to go play

It wasn't until she was older was it revealed that she had hunter blood inside her, and that she could begin training to become one

Zoey would be ecstatic, believing she was a real life superhero; wanting to tell all her friends and the rest of the family about it

However, this idea was quickly crushed as it was explained to her the importance of protecting their secret; not wanting to worry others with matters they couldn’t control

They also believed it would keep the non-hunter family members safe if they didn’t know about demons or Gwi-Ma

From then on Zoey had to live a double life, training and hunting demons in secret while also pretending to be a normal girl

This was exhausting, especially since she hated lying to parts of her family and felt as though they couldn’t understand her if they didn’t know who she really was

Then with her hunter relatives, because they were all older than her, she constantly felt like she skilled enough to keep up with them

Therefore she was constantly trying to prove herself to both sides, being the perfect kid and warrior at the same time

Her only solace was writing lyrics and using them against demons, feeling as though this was the only time she could unapologetically be herself

However, all these negative feelings eventually began to hinder her training, since she felt too alone and unworthy to focus on fighting

One of her relatives got the idea of contacting a friend in Korea, sending Zoey there to meet them

She was then introduced Celine, who empathised with her difficulties living a double life

Being an idol and hunter, she understood the difficulties that came with lying to those you loved

However, she assured that Zoey that her fellow hunters would always be there to understand her

For a while, Celine assessed and developed Zoey’s skills, impressed with how she could make her own songs in such a short period of time

She then introduced her to Rumi, the two of them instantly connecting over this feeling of loneliness

To Zoey, it felt like they were the only people in the world that understood each other

When Mira came a couple months later, they welcomed her to their small family

Zoey couldn’t believe there were others her age who felt the same way she did, and never wanted any of them to feel alone again

#kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh #kpdh x reader #kpop demon hunters headcanons #rumi x reader #zoey x reader #mira x reader #kdh #kdh x reader

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luciemggio · 2 days ago

Text

The Hardest Part

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x elementary f’school teacher reader

Warnings: low self confidence

Summary : Sebastian Stan’s girlfriend feels insecure after he films scenes with a beautiful co-star. Though she trusts him, it hurts. He gently reassures her that while others may be beautiful, she’s the one he loves and comes home to.

The key turned in the lock just as you were setting down your tea mug.

You heard the familiar shuffle of sneakers being kicked off, the soft thud of his backpack hitting the wall, and then—

“Baby?”

His voice floated through the apartment like a favorite song, one you’ve played a hundred times. Normally, it filled your chest with warmth.

Tonight, it made your stomach twist.

“I’m in the living room,” you called back, wrapping the blanket tighter around yourself.

Sebastian appeared in the doorway a second later, damp from the rain and flushed from the cold. He looked tired but happy. God, he was always so effortlessly beautiful — tousled hair, jaw dusted with scruff, eyes full of that warm, boyish energy you’d fallen in love with.

“There she is,” he grinned. “I missed you.” He crossed the room quickly and bent to kiss your forehead.

You tried to smile. You really did. But your stomach pulled tight as the scent of his cologne — something expensive, woodsy, faintly unfamiliar — clung to him.

“How was the shoot?” you asked, keeping your eyes on the mug in your hands.

He collapsed next to you with a sigh. “It went well. Exhausting. You’d think filming one kiss would take five minutes, not five takes. But it’s done. We wrapped.”

You bit your lip.

There it was.

The kiss.

The actress.

You’d seen the set photos. The red carpet promo. Her name trending next to his, side by side. You weren’t trying to compare. You weren’t. But it was hard not to see it — her elegance, her stunning features, the way the press called her “enchanting,” “sultry,” “Hollywood’s golden girl.”

And then there was… you.

An elementary school teacher who spent most days with glue sticks in her hair and kids’ crayon drawings in her tote bag. Who lived in oversized sweaters, grocery shopped in leggings, and wore the same three pairs of shoes every week. Who felt, sometimes — like tonight — wildly out of place in his world.

“Did you—” you swallowed, keeping your tone casual, “—did you have to kiss her more than once?”

Sebastian turned toward you slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly, picking up the shift in your tone.

“Yeah. Five or six times, maybe? Director kept wanting different angles.”

You nodded. “Right. Of course.”

You were quiet for a beat too long.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “What’s going on?”

You shook your head quickly, eyes still fixed on the swirling steam of your tea.

“Nothing. I just… had a long day. That’s all.”

Sebastian shifted closer. “You’re a really bad liar when you’re tired, you know that?”

You laughed once, but it cracked before it fully formed.

“It’s stupid,” you whispered.

He gently took your mug and set it on the coffee table, then cupped your cheek so you’d look at him.

“Nothing you feel is stupid. Talk to me.”

You hesitated. Then finally, you let it spill.

“I know I’m not the most beautiful woman in the world, Seb.”

He blinked.

“I know I’m not,” you said again, quietly. “I don’t have cheekbones like hers, or perfect skin, or a body that belongs on a movie poster. I’m just… normal. Average. And it’s fine, I’ve made peace with it most days, but—”

Your throat tightened.

“But it’s hard, sometimes. Watching you on screen with these incredibly beautiful women, kissing them, holding them like they’re yours. And I know it’s your job, I know that. But it doesn’t stop my brain from spiraling. From wondering why you’d come home to me when you could be with someone who actually fits in your world.”

His expression shifted into something deeper. Serious. Hurt. Gentle.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Don’t do that. Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“I’m not fishing for compliments,” you said quickly. “I’m just… trying to be honest. I know there are women out there who are sexier, smarter, more graceful, more everything than me.”

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours.

“Maybe,” he whispered. “But none of them are you.”

You didn’t answer. He took your hands in his, lacing your fingers together.

“You’re the one I want to come home to after fourteen-hour days. You’re the one I call during lunch breaks just to hear your voice. You’re the one who makes me laugh when I’m bone-tired, the one who leaves notes in my bag when I travel, the one who knows me better than anyone.”

You stared at him, throat tight, trying not to cry.

“I know it’s hard,” he added. “I know what it looks like from the outside. I’m kissing someone else on camera, and she’s stunning, and it feels impossible not to compare. But babe, I’m acting. It’s choreography. It’s not my heart. My heart—”

He reached for your hand and pressed it against his chest.

“—is right here. With you.”

You swallowed hard. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about how unfair it is. You have to kiss people, pretend to be in love with them. And I have to just… accept it.”

He nodded slowly. “You do. And I don’t take that for granted, not for a second. I know how much trust that takes. I know how strong you are. You let me live my dream, and you still wait for me. Still love me. That’s not average. That’s incredible.”

Your lips trembled.

“I just wish I looked like someone who belonged on your arm,” you whispered.

“You look like the woman I’m going to marry.”

Your eyes snapped to his.

“I’m serious,” he said, voice steady. “You’re everything I want. Everything I love. And yeah, there are a million beautiful people in the world — but beauty doesn’t hold me when I’m anxious at 2am. Beauty doesn’t help seven-year-olds read, or sing in the car off-key, or kiss me like the world’s about to end.”

He cupped your face again, thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“You do.”

You felt the tears spill then. He kissed them away, gently, reverently.

“I don’t need you to be the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said. “I just need you to be mine.”

And in his arms, wrapped in your oversized sweater and messy bun, you finally let go.

Because maybe you weren’t the most beautiful woman in the world.

But you were his.

And somehow, that was more than enough.

#sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #james bucky buchanan barnes #sebastian stan x you #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #marvel #bucky barnes angst

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angelicsoulic · 2 days ago

Text

— 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ done for me ⊹ kazuha nakamura

⊹ ࣪ ˖ synopsis you’re in the studio recording and helping kazuha for recording her parts for your upcoming comeback with your group. but it's late, tiredness is setting in, and some things are becoming more concrete…

⊹ ࣪ ˖ disclaimer kazuha nakamura! x 7th! le sserafim member! fem! reader , fluff & flirty , tension, mention of huh yunjin

⊹ ࣪ ˖ song playing done for me - charlie puth feat kehlani

the studio clock read 1:14 a.m. the beat of your comeback track looped for the thirtieth time, but neither of you had the heart to stop it

the room was dim except for the gentle glow of the computer screen and the blinking red standby light from the mic in the booth

you leaned back in the chair, stretching your tired arms as kazuha removed her headphones and stepped out of the recording booth, her eyes tired but still glowing with focus

she flopped down beside you on the couch, pulling her knees to her chest

“that line’s gonna drive me insane,” she murmured, half-laughing into her sleeve. “i swear i’m hearing the syllables in my dreams now”

you smiled softly. “you nailed it on the last take, i just didn’t say anything ‘cause i like hearing your voice”

the words slipped out before you could stop them. she turned her head toward you slowly, eyes locking on yours in the dim light. but she didn’t tease you, not this time

silence wrapped around the two of you. heavy, but not uncomfortable. your legs brushed. her hand was dangerously close to yours. and you talked — about everything and nothing. about how the comeback pressure was starting to feel real. about how the trainee days felt like another life. about how tired you were, but how this — being here — felt like home

then came the shift. that almost imperceptible pause

you felt her eyes on you before you turned your head

“you always get like this when we’re alone,” kazuha whispered, voice like velvet and smoke. “quiet, like you’re thinking too hard”

“i am thinking too hard,” you replied, barely audible

“about what?”

you hesitated. but your silence said more than words could

and then — you felt it. her hand, resting on your thigh. a gentle squeeze. her thumb brushed slow, hypnotic circles into the denim

your breath hitched. you turned toward her, lips parting to say something, anything

but she leaned in before you could

her lips met yours in a kiss that wasn’t soft or unsure — it was desperate. familiar — even. like both of you had been holding your breath for far too long

you kissed her back just as fiercely, fingers threading into her hair, tugging her closer

kazuha’s hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, not wandering, just wanting to feel skin. her touch was slow, warm, grounding. like she was memorizing you

you gasped against her lips, breaking for air for just a second — but she was already pulling you back in, and you let her. because this was real. this was what the looks and the lingering touches and the unspoken things had all been leading to

and then

click

the door creaked open

kazuha froze

you hipped your head around, both your cheeks on fire

yunjin stood in the doorway with a water bottle in her hand, completely unfazed

“hey,” she said casually. “you guys seen my charger?”

silence. your heart pounded like it was mic’d and on the next track.

kazuha blinked, sitting up slightly, her hand still on your thigh under the blanket draped over both of you

“i — i think… third drawer,” she replied, breathless, her voice barely holding steady

yunjin looked at her, then at you, then back again. a smirk crept onto her face like she was trying not to laugh

“cool,” she said. “don’t let me interrupt.”

and with that, she walked out — leaving the door gently half-closed behind her

you and Kazuha stared at the door for a long second

then you both burst into quiet, breathless laughter

“she totally knows,” you said, your voice still shaking

kazuha didn’t even pretend to deny it. she turned toward you again, eyes soft, hand still on your thigh. “yeah,” she said. “but i kind of don’t care”

you looked at her — really looked at her — and smiled

for the first time all night, the silence wasn’t heavy. it was warm

because you’d said everything that mattered without ever saying a word…

#kpop fanfic #le sserafim #le sserafim fanfic #kazuha nakamura x fem reader #kpop imagines #wlw #kpop #kpop gg

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 days ago

Note

can you write about Yandere mermaid or a female siren please?

Together Forever | Yandere Siren x Reader

Thinking about a siren woman on a mission, granted the ability to walk on land along with her sisters. A long-awaited revenge finally coming to fruition. As expected she dazzles all, surprised by the ease at charming all she comes across but she’s faltering because of something minor. Or rather someone.

“Hey Felis I was wondering if you’d be free to come with us to the arcade.”

“Nice try (Y/n), obviously Felis is too good for the arcade.”

“Yeah, she probably has important things to do.”

“Actually (Y/n) I would love to.”

“Great I’ll add you to the group chat.”

It’s you. The oddly talkative and goofy former outcast with the support of your atypical friends. Laughing about animated series and independent games with a sense of niche community found on most uni campuses.

Usually, she should have never crossed paths with you. Unable to apply her shallow level of research to such a deep-seated community and deeming it irrelevant in the grand scheme of her plan. But something about you drew her in, maybe it was the contrast of your silence in class to your smiling visage at clubs. Or maybe it was the way you maintained the character you were cosplaying on campus during club-day. Or maybe it was the way she so easily slipped into her siren song when you cheered for her at karaoke. Either way, she just can’t stop, even if it means going against the original plan.

“What is your problem Felis!? You were supposed to have drowned more by now!”

“I am working on it, too many at one time and I’ll be a suspect!”

“We already are aware of that which is why we have a replacement waiting. What could possibly be worth delaying the plan for?!”

“...It’s something important!”

“Fine but do it fast. I’m demanding your apology in bodies. Twice as many, you hear?”

“...fine.”

Felis was meant to have killed more humans by now. Confirming that they were the children that the hex pointed them to. Unfortunately among these humans, she was meant to drown, was you. Beaming and clueless, inclusive and kind completely unaware that you were the only descendant of a distant ancestor entangled with the sirens long ago.

“Hey Felis, are you a swimmer?”

“Huh, what?! I…am. Why do you ask?”

“I’m just thinking about checking out this spot along the river, I heard it’s like some legendary rejuvenation spot. Would you maybe want to come?”

“Uh, sure.”

Just her luck the one human she happens to love and her sisters demand she drowns is you. It takes hours of soaking in her dorm’s shower before she comes up with a brilliant idea.

She’ll just drown you!

Tell all the mutual friends you previously invited to go to another spot by the river giving the wrong landmark to find the unbeaten path; then purposely making the mistake for one of your close friends to correct her, allowing Felis to conveniently forget to tell the others. Now that her mistake has an adorably innocent papertrail she finds herself annoyed with the fact that your tight-knit friend group wasn’t so easily swayed.

“Hey (Y/n) you’re already swimming?”

“Yeah the current isn’t too bad here, I’m just watching the fish go by!”

“Thanks for inviting me again, (Y/n).”

“(Y/n) invites everyone to the river eventually, this has been the spot for ages.”

As if she didn’t already know that. “Oh is that so?”

“Yup just glad you can join us Felis, though I hope you don’t feel too left out we’ll be talking about that anime's new release.”

“Don’t apologize (Y/n), she knew who she was hanging out with.”

“Yeah most normies tend to avoid us like the plague, but my guess is Felis isn’t like that or maybe she just hasn’t got the memo.”

“Ohhh yes it’s like instead of injecting herself into social situations to drive the convo like a normal extrovert, she’s putting herself out of her comfort zone and silently observing like an introvert.”

“Come one guys be nice.”

She endures it. A whole four hours of mindless chatter, she could care less about. Seeing the sun had begun to set she decided it was time to put her plan into action. Excusing herself from the river Felis disappeared into the forest surrounding. Letting the group speak in hushed voices all about her. Of course as a creature of the deep her hearing was strong enough to hear the not so-secret opinions of your friends. While she imagined the embarrassment they’d feel if she appeared before them, she decided to focus on the objective.

“But it can’t be that bad? Is it? Those IGN reviews are always off.”

“Well yeah but I have to say it was pretty accurate to me!”

“I think you’re losing it.”

“Oh come on it’s not that–WHOA what is that?!”

“What’s what—glug—ahhh!”

Faster than any of your friends can realize you are underneath the surface of the rushing waters and headed downstream at an impossible speeds. A glimpse of something scaly along your side, chalked up to a hallucination as they climb out and run alongside the river with hopes to catch you.

Within a minute you are out of sight and the group is left on their knees at the side of the river. Calling out your name and getting no response as the fear settles in.

They’ve lost you.

For all they know you could be dead and in part it’s their fault. It has to be.

“Hey why’d you guys run away like that, what’s going on? Where’s (Y/n)?!”

They plead their various experiences. Their testimonies overlapping one another in a frantic haze until they take a beat to compose themselves. All crowding around Felis as they share the terrible news; watching nervously as her face beautifully twists with curiosity.

“Oh they probably ended up in a nearby cove. The map I looked at earlier had a couple marked on there. We can check and see if the current spat them out there.”

“....I’m still not sure that was the current. Maybe we should call–”

“Don’t stress. We check the coves and if we don’t find them we call. Okay? (Y/n) will probably be so mad if they knew you got all riled up on their behalf

“I don’t think they’d be mad more like happy we—“

“Come on. We’re losing daylight.”

The group follows Felis to this cove walking long after the sun has gone and the moon slowly begins to illuminate their walk. Their paranoid thoughts about where you might be, what they saw, and what would be the plan overtaking the group. Felis resumed her typical observation speaking up only to properly guide the group away from the main river. So consumed in their grief and fear not once had anyone questioned just how Felis knew where this cove was.

“Whoa is that someone’s swim trucks?!”

“These look new? Could this have been a bear attack?”

“No way maybe they were goofing and tore at it someother way look at all the beer cans around this place.”

“Yuck, they even have them going into the cove.”

“Come on, (Y/n) is waiting for us.”

What the group took as an optimistic statement, stepped over the cans and entered the mouth of the cove. Starting on the soggy sand along it’s sides until it dwindled landing the group in waist-length murky water. The only reflections being the occasional glint in the group’s eyes.

“H-how would we know if (Y/n) is in here?!”

“We’d h-have to call out and hopefully they’ll hear us, right?”

The groups hollering echoes off the walls of the cave. The only responses being their own shaky voices and the occasional splashing in the water.

“Guys I really don’t think they’re here!”

“Oh no we have to get outta here and call the police!”

This is stupid! We should’ve called them from the beginning. Let’s go.”

“Wait wheres Felis—uhp!”

Splash!!

In the inky darkness of the water beneath them something shifts and when they huddle near one another to look down at the space their friend was just at, something faintly blue glows beneath them.

“WHAT THE HECK IS THAT!?”

“wE GoTTA GET OUT OF HERE!”

“THEY’RE GONE! BOTH GONE!”

“Hurry go for the exit!”

Scrambling in the water, they try to out-runnning the speedy glowing light under the rippling water. Another goes under and your remaining friend group is practically at the end of the cove happy to see the reflection of the moon against the water.

“WE’RE ALMOST THERE!”

“Go go go!”

“Wait what’s in there!”

One of them points to the water where a similar blue light glows brighter under the water. Standing between them and the mouth of the cove, they frantically spare a glance at the fainter light closing in on them. With a frantic confusion their heads dart to each side wondering which of these mysterious lights they’ll finally get to see first. In the end the light that glows at the mouth of the cave is the brightest and the water opening up to reveal none other than–

“Felis!? You’re still alive?!”

It is she, who's silhouetted by the risen moon, and wearing a blue necklace that glows. With a sigh of relief they come closer to her smiling form and relax. Instantly put at ease by a friend in such a frightening situation.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

She sounds different. Her voice, normally preppy and bright is now sultry and alluring in a way your friends haven’t quite realized. Of course they knew long before now that Felis was likened to a nymph among the masses. Impossibly slender, handsomely tall, and hair that flows down her back like an obsidian waterfall. Now it just seems so much more profound. So much more enrapturing to see her bare self at the exit of the cove.

“Thank you for waiting. I didn’t mean to keep you long.”

Swooning, they didn’t bother speak. Just releasing the tension in their bodies and planning to float instead of trying to balance on the soggy sand. All was forgiven and all was forgotten especially the blue light behind glowing brighter.

“Now eat my love! There’s plenty more where that came from!”

In the haze of their drunken trance, it was barely registered that the response in their limbs was impossible thanks to the jagged rows of teeth gnawing at their bloodied stumps. Their nerves ineffectively firing a warning and making their heart pump violently; all to be ignored as the brain designates a higher function for their failing bodies.

Be Food for Felis.

It didn’t matter that their eyes flickered with familiarity as the glowing azure devourer resembled their missing friend or that globs of tears were falling onto their freezing face. Only that Felis too had revealed a jaw full of fangs and was penetrating their cranium with furious abandon. Like fulfilling a craving after a dutiful wait.

“Don’t cry! Now they’ll be with you forever! Not in the same way I will but whatever!”

Carefully she framed her hands around your head she let’s your newly frigid and freshly scaly form lean against her. A mixture of grief and exhaustion allowing her to hold your placid form as she rubs her fingers against your closing eyelids.

Drowning you was the best thing she could have ever done!

#lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yanderexrea #yanderes #yandere #female yandere #gn reader #late mermay #yandere siren #yandere siren x reader #yandere mermaid #yandere fanfiction

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theseh00perscanh00p · 14 hours ago

Text

10 Moments That Led Me Back to You: Part 4

paige x azzi

a/n: If there's typos I'm sorry lol hope you enjoy

word count: 4.5k

The Championship Game

Song: “Let Me Go” – Daniel Caesar

Four Years Post Break-Up

The confetti was falling too quickly.

Like the ceiling had split and everything Paige was meant to feel had poured out: happiness and relief and pride — all in one. Her arms were slick with champagne. Her vision clouded by camera flashes. And somewhere behind her the crowd erupted in that way that always made her feel alive.

But tonight, it simply made her feel… off.

She had won. The trophy was real. The scoreboard’s numbers still glowed: 78–74. The kind of victory people remember. The type they would replay on SportsCenter, cutting to slo-mo and adding some dramatic background music. Her name would have lit up the highlight reels. Analysts would describe it as a career-defining performance.

And yet.

Her eyes looked out of instinct… not at the crowd, not at her teammates, and not at the scoreboard.

The tunnel.

There.

Azzi stood just at edge barely visible in the shadows. Hands loose at her sides. Shoulders high, chin steady. Watching.

And when Paige’s eyes settled on her — Azzi smiled.

Not a pity smile. Not a polite one, either.

It was real. Soft. Even a little proud.

And somehow, that was worse.

Did she just… Paige thought to herself. Even if Azzi had looked wounded, or hurt, or jealous, or just passive.. Paige could stomach the ache in her chest.

But this… this graceful complicity in her victory, in who Paige had become, it cracked something open.

Because deep down, Paige wasn’t at all certain she’d ever actually smiled like that at Azzi’s wins. Which made her feel like she didn’t deserve the smile she’d just received even more.

“Yo!” KK’s voice suddenly rang out, interrupting the moment. “Get up here and take this damn picture of me before I start happy crying and forget!”

Laughter. Champagne. Lights flashing. Paige blinked her way back to it, pulling her focus from the tunnel.

When she turned around — Azzi was no longer there.

And when she stepped off the court, Paige allowed herself to exhale.

But that did nothing to make things easier.

Putting an arm around teammates and posing like a celebrity, she hoisted the trophy above her head, surrounded by teammates and cameras. All that cheering, as if they’d just scaled a mountain.

But all she could think about was the girl who stood at the bottom of it and still smiled like she had built it.

Her voice echoed in her mind, “I wanted to be there for it: the chaos, the late nights, the big wins. I wanted all of it with you.”

In this moment Paige began to feel the weight of what that really meant.

Flashback: Four Years Prior to The Championship Game

They had just won a national title together for the first time since the two began playing together it was their senior year in college.

The buzzer sounded and everyone rushed the arena floor.

A roar erupted through the arena like a wave crashing over them. White and blue confetti exploded from the rafters in slow-motion bursts. Somewhere in the chaos of it all, Azzi dropped her water bottle mid-celebration, bolted across the court, and jumped straight into Paige’s arms.

Paige caught her with ease, instinctively. Azzi’s arms locked around her neck. Legs around her waist. Neither of them could stop smiling.

Paige’s heart thudded like she was still mid-game, adrenaline still roaring through her blood. She could feel Azzi’s laugh in her chest more than she heard it.

“We did it,” Azzi breathed into her ear. “We freaking did it.”

Paige squeezed her tighter, spinning them once just for the hell of it. “Hell yeah we did.”

Cameras caught the moment. So did half of Twitter. But neither of them cared. Not in that moment.

Their teammates surged toward them — bodies colliding in one giant tangle of limbs and tears and wooohoos — and Paige finally set Azzi down. They were swarmed, jerseys pulled, cheeks kissed, champagne bottle passed between hands too young to care about rules.

Someone — maybe KK — hoisted the trophy over her head. Jana and Nika grabbed Azzi and danced like maniacs while Ice tried to organize a team photo that never quite happened.

But even surrounded by noise and flashbulbs, Paige couldn’t stop looking at her.

Azzi. the girl who always had her full attention no matter the occasion.

She looked back and caught Paige watching.

“What?” Azzi mouthed with a half-laugh, still breathless.

Paige shook her head. “Nothing. Just…”

Azzi walked over, grabbed her hand, laced their fingers together.

They had won a national title.

But this? This was the part Paige would remember.

Eventually, they were herded into the locker room for press and cool-down, but no one was really calming down. Coaches cried. Trainers high-fived. Reporters stuck mics in their faces like they were ready to turn joy into headlines.

Paige gave her best “locked in” answers. Talked about leadership, composure, tempo. But her eyes kept drifting sideways.

Azzi, sitting next to her, legs bouncing, still wearing her Champions hat. Their shoulders brushed every time someone walked behind them. Paige tried not to reach for her.

Once the chaos thinned and the reporters trickled out, Paige stood up and nodded toward the showers. Azzi gave a smallest nod back and followed.

Except they didn’t go to the showers. Not right away.

They snuck down the tunnel to the auxiliary locker room — the one nobody used anymore. It was half-lit, kind of dusty, and smelled faintly like sports tape and sweat.

Azzi tugged Paige inside and shut the door.

They didn’t speak for a while.

Just stood there, letting the quiet fill the cracks. Letting adrenaline wear off. Letting their hands find each other again.

Azzi sat on the bench first, tugging Paige gently to sit between her legs. Paige leaned back against her chest and exhaled for the first time all night.

“Is it weird that I feel sad?” Azzi whispered into her shoulder.

Paige turned to look at her.

“Not at all.”

Azzi rested her chin on Paige’s shoulder. “We’re never going to be this version of us again.”

The words sank like stones in water.

It wasn’t that they didn’t have plans. They talked about the league. About getting drafted. About ending up in the same city somehow. But nothing was promised. Not anymore.

Paige twisted slightly to look at her. “We’ll play together again. I’ll make sure of it.”

Azzi’s smile was soft. Disbelieving, maybe. “You don’t get to promise me that.”

“I know,” Paige said. “But I’m going to anyway.”

They kissed. Quiet, tired, smiling into each other like the world hadn’t started moving again yet.

Later that night, long after the trophy was locked away and the arena swept clean they snuck back into the gym. Paige turned on just one court light, the amber glow casting long shadows across the hardwood.

They laid flat on their backs, center court, just staring at the ceiling that showered them in celebration just hours ago.

“This doesn’t feel real,” Azzi said, staring up at the rafters.

Paige reached for her hand. “That’s how you know it is.”

They didn’t sleep. Not really. Just rested there. Dreaming with their eyes open.

Because back then?

Back then, forever still felt possible.

Azzi was still tracing the edge of her piece of the net she cut with one fingertip, legs crossed at the ankles. Paige laid next to her with the full net around her neck and her hand resting — just barely — beside Azzi’s.

“Do you think we’ll remember this the same way?” Azzi asked.

Paige stared up at the ceiling. “What do you mean?”

Azzi shifted, propping herself up on one elbow. “I mean… ten years from now. When this all feels like a different life. Do you think I’ll remember your face the same way? The confetti? This gym? Or will I just… I don’t know….”

Paige turned to face her fully. “You’ll remember.”

Azzi gave a small, private smile. “You sound sure.”

“I am.” Paige tucked a strand of hair behind Azzi’s ear. “Because I’m gonna remind you.”

They stayed in that echoey gym a few minutes longer stealing one last breath of that version of their lives. One last second before drafts and deadlines and distance. Before everything turned real.

And when they finally did rise, Paige looked back once more.

Azzi caught her doing it. “What?”

“Nothing,” Paige said. “Just making sure I don’t forget.”

Flash Forward: The Championship Game

The arena had settled down at last.

The confetti cannons had gone empty. The crowd had funneled out.

But Paige was still there.

She emerged back out onto the hardwood.

She walked to center court.

Paused.

And then sat down, cross-legged, hands on the floor as if in need of grounding.

This was supposed to be the everything.

A title. A legacy. Her name in the news again.

And it did feel like everything. But it also didn’t.

She gazed at empty rows of seats where, hours before, the crowd had cheered her name. Where she’d embraced teammates, coaches, even that one assistant G.M. she had thought always hated her.

But it wasn’t until now — in this quiet — that the weight of it all landed.

“I said we wouldn’t forget this,” she murmured under her breath, the words mumbled but certain, as if they had been curled in the back of her mouth for years. “I told you I’d remind you.”

She threw her head back toward the scoreboard. The similar spot she’d fixated on after the Natty. The similar spot they’d laughed under, kissed under, dreamed of futures under.

“And I meant it.”

Her voice broke, but she pressed on.

“This is not how it was meant to be,” she whispered. “Not without you by my side.”

She could still see it — Azzi observing from that tunnel, caught in a frame Paige couldn’t erase from her memory. The way she’d smiled, not polite or pitying, but real. Pride and heartbreak in the same impossible look of yours.

It did more harm than any loss Paige had ever suffered, that smile.

Because it meant Azzi still looked towards her.

And she didn’t know where to go with that.

She didn’t bother turning on the lights upon arriving back in her room.

The celebratory noise of the evening still felt present in her body — every photo taken, every hand she’d shaken, every teammate she’d clung to as if somehow they could transfer the moment to themselves and make it permanent.

Her phone held 7% charge and was buried at the bottom of her duffel bag. She left it there. The texts would wait, didn’t matter whoever they were from — reporters, agents, the group chats that were blowing up with “🏆” emojis.

Paige lowered herself at the edge of her hotel bed and stared at her hands as if they belonged to someone else.

The hands that gripped the trophy.

The same hands that gripped around Azzi’s waist in post-game scrimmages. That used to line her spine during half-asleep mornings in college apartments.

She let out a breath — sharp, quick, and not entirely steady.

“I won,” she mumbled to the empty room.

Then again, a little louder. “I fucking won.”

She reached for the mini fridge, snatched an outrageously overpriced hotel water bottle, cracked it open and took a sip as though it were tequila. Burned just the same.

And then she laughed.

For this was the moment, wasn’t it?

The kind every player fantasized about. The championship. The glory. The spotlight.

But all she could think of was Azzi’s face in the tunnel. That half-smile. That soft nod. That look that said I’m proud of you but we used to share this.

Paige threw herself on the bed, arm covering her eyes, and held the pain in for a second.

What does it mean to win everything and yet feel like you still lost?

Eventually, the silence got too loud.

Paige sat up slowly, dragged herself off the bed like her limbs weighed double, and reached for her phone out of her duffel. It had just enough battery left to flicker back on, screen flooding with texts and missed calls.

KK: YOOOOOOOO 🏆🏆🏆

Jana: You’re a damn legend. Just cried watching it.

Nika: ok but did anyone else catch how Azzi was LOOKING at her in the tunnel 👀👀

She closed the thread before she could spiral again. Tapped over to YouTube. Typed in: WNBA Finals Press Conference.

The video was already up.

She skipped the intros, the coach’s speech, the stat breakdowns. Then paused — frame frozen on Azzi, sitting in front of a microphone in her jersey, hair pulled back, expression unreadable but composed.

She pressed play.

“I’m proud of our team,” Azzi began, her voice steady, if a little softer than normal. “We fought. We made it a game. That’s all you can ask for.”

“Was it weird watching Paige celebrating on the other side of the court?” a reporter off camera asked.

Azzi paused.

Just a second too long.

Then: “No,” she said. “She earned that moment. Every bit of it.”

Another pause. Then she smiled. Just barely. “We’ve been dreaming this for a long time together. And whether I was the one standing next to her tonight… I’m still proud it came true.”

For a beat she looked downward, then upward at the cameras, adding, more softly now:

“I’ve been her number one fan from the start. That part hasn’t changed.”

The room grew silent.

Paige blinked hard. She put her phone down facedown on the bed as if it had just wronged her.

Azzi’s tone was casual, there was no sneer in his voice. No sarcasm. Precisely the soft sincerity that made it worse.

And that was the thing about Azzi she never said anything just to say it.

If she said she was proud … she was proud.

And if she meant it…

Paige did not know how one was meant to sleep.

Not after she had heard that voice one more time.

Not with that half-smile that was permanently etched in her brain like a photograph she didn’t know how to stop staring at.

The hotel room was quiet now. Too quiet. After the game the buzz had fallen to the only kind of silence that came after the adrenaline wore off and reality crept back in.

Paige, legs aching, sat on the edge of the bed. Her phone was in her hand. The clip of the press conference still resonated in her mind.

I’ve been her number one fan.... That part hasn’t changed.

She knew she shouldn’t. Knew she should have resisted the urge to let her fingers linger over Azzi’s name like that. But there it was — Azzi, pinned at the top of her messages, untouched for months.

She opened the thread. Nothing but air between them. Paige looked at the flashing line, the blank space waiting.

She typed something.

Saw the press conference.... You didn’t have to say that, but I’m glad you did. I

She backspaced. All of it.

Then tried again.

I know it wasn’t your night, but I just … I’m proud of you too. I hope you know that.

She stared at it.

Too soft? Too late? Too obvious?

So she typed one more time plain and simply stating: I saw the interview.

It was 4:07 a.m. at that point — the hour that made everything feel more fragile than it actually was.

And she sighed, let the screen dim in her hand, thumb hovering over Send but not pushing it. She fell asleep like that — phone pressed against her chest, message glowing in the dark.

The next morning when she blinked awake. She narrowed her eyes, and dazed, felt her phone vibrate against her stomach. She fumbled for it, and then—

Delivered.

Paige shot up, wide-eyed. “No, no, no—”

Her glasses were nowhere to be found. She clicked into the thread, desperate for a miracle. But it was already there:

Azzi: I’m glad you saw it. And I meant every word. Congratulations, Paige. You were magic out there.

Her hands didn’t move. Her heart did.

The message blinked at her like it was staring into her soul.

She read it again.

I’m glad you saw it.

And I meant every word.

Paige stared.

Congratulations, Paige. You were magic out there.

Paige watched the screen as if it might disappear if she blinked too hard.

Magic. And that, always, is what she had wanted to be. Not just good, not just successful — unforgettable. The type of player who left ghosts of herself out on the court long after the final buzzer. And Azzi had stated it as a fact. As if she hadn’t just played against her, hadn’t just lost to her. Like she actually saw her, the way she used to, the way she did before everything had gotten so complicated.

Her chest constricted — the ache that only came after every mention of Azzi.

This isn’t the way it was supposed to be. Not after a win like this. Not after that kind of night.

She dropped the phone onto her stomach, staring at the ceiling. The hotel room was as foreign as ever. Sterile. A little too cold. A little too quiet.

Outside the city was beginning to stir. Except Paige wasn’t prepared to enter it quite yet.

But she remained there — cocooned in too many blankets, and wrapped in the sort of emotion that made her feel both exceedingly heavy and hollow all at once. Her heart was doing that thing. The stupid thing. The one where it hoped. Just a little. Just enough to make it worse.

She thought about replying.

She tried to think of something real to say but nothing felt like it would land right...

Instead, she turned off her phone and set it aside.

No more rewrites. Not yet.

Flashback: The Morning After The National Championship

Paige started to rise first – not because of the morning light, but because Azzi, beside her, shifted, arms tightening in that sleepy-half-possessive way she always got when she felt Paige moving.

Paige stilled.

She didn’t want to shatter it — this moment, this silence, this impossibly fragile peace.

Azzi’s curls were a soft cloud resting against her shoulder, her breath warm against Paige’s collarbone. A leg draped lazily across her hips. Their fingers were still entangled from the previous evening.

It had been a blur — the win, the champagne, the screaming teammates waving the trophy high above their heads as confetti rained all around them. A national title. A dream fulfilled.

And yet this — this was what Paige already knew she would remember.

The aftermath. The stillness. The way Azzi had led her home by the hand as if it was a reflex.

Azzi muttered something into her skin, his voice hoarse and sleepy. “Mmm… what time is it?”

Paige grinned, not even bothering to open her eyes. An emoji for “too early for anything but you.”

Azzi laughed softly, “Gross. That’s such a line.”

Paige nudged her with her knee. “Don’t pretend you don't love it.”

Azzi raised her head, eyes barely open. “I do. Which is annoying.”

Paige kissed her forehead. “You’re welcome.”

Paige wrapped an arm more tightly around Azzi’s waist. She felt… safe. Full. As if she had won something larger than a title.

Azzi turned onto her side and, supporting herself on one elbow, looked up. “You know that was our last college game, right?”

Paige looked at her then. Really looked. “I know.”

They stared at each other in of silence. Not heavy — just… aware.

“You think we’ll play on the same team again?” Azzi inquired, half teasing.

“Yes.” Paige didn’t hesitate at all. “Yeah. We will. We’ll find our way back.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You promise?”

Paige blinked. It seemed that the room had grown smaller. More fragile.

“It’s a deal,” she said, and she meant it in that moment.

Azzi studied her. Smiled. “Okay then.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind Paige’s ear, and her fingers lingered. “You seemed really happy out there.”

“I was,” Paige said. “But I’m happier here.”

And she meant that too.

But what she didn’t know — not yet — was just how quickly happiness can be buried under pressure.

In the coming weeks, everything would change.

The noise of draft buzz would become louder. The lights would become brighter. Folks would start throwing around “legacy” and “generational talent.” And in the times when she wasn’t doing interviews and making appearances and taking meetings with agents, Paige would start to think about whether there was even space for both love and greatness — or whether one must be given up for the other.

And that’s when the fear would spring back in.

Not of losing Azzi.

But of not being enough for her and the life that was being put in front of Paige.

For what should she do, but the only thing that she thought she could control.

She’d start pulling away from.

One unread message at a time.

One missed dinner.

One silent night.

Until the girl whom she held in her arms now — the one to whom she promised she’d find her way back — was that same girl she let walk away without a word.

And somehow, that would be the most regretful thing of them all.

Flash Forward: The Morning After The Championship Game

When Paige regained consciousness, she had a headache and the name Azzi wouldn't disappear from her memory easily.

Her phone remained in her grip, the screen black, the battery barely clinging to life. Still in her sweats. Makeup barely washed off. Eyes gritty from the sleep, or maybe the crying, she had done between scrolling through highlights and the trying not to text her again.

Paige read it again. And again.

She hated how much she still was affected by words sent from the curly headed girl — how they cracked something in her chest that had long stopped aching. How they brought her straight back to the last time she won something big … and didn’t wake up alone that time.

The weight of memory pulled her down, like an anchor.

That morning, 4 years ago, she’d woken up to Azzi’s breath on her skin, arms knotted, legs warm beneath college blankets that smelled like detergent and comfort and everything she’d believed would last forever.

The future, back then, was shared trophies and shared apartments and arguing about on who got the better pregame playlist.

She’d promised Azzi back then that there would be more. More wins. More shared seasons. More them.

Now?

Now she was waking up with a phone shoved into her cheek and a text she didn’t earn flashing across her screen. A silent offering from someone she had wounded, someone she still could not manage to stop needing — no matter how many seasons came between them.

Paige turned over on her side, snuggling the blankets closer.

She wanted to say something. To ultimately say it out loud — to say that she was wrong about it. That she chose wrong. That it wasn’t merely about the game, or the pressure, or the timing.

That it was fear.

Pure, blinding terror of being unsure she could hold it all, all of it at the same time — the love, the ambition, the promise of everything that she’d assumed she needed to become.

But the words would not come out of her mouth. Still too big. Still too late.

So she murmured the only thing she was capable of in the silence.

“I miss you.”

To the ceiling. To the silence. To no one.

To her phone screen, which was dark, Azzi’s name just barely still glowing.

It didn’t respond.

And neither did she.

Now — Seven Years After the Break-Up

Here I am watching the WNBA Finals.

We didn’t make it this year...

But you did.

And God, you looked good out there.

It’s like seeing who I always knew you were supposed to be. Sharp. Confident. Unshakable.

They all see it now, the entire arena, but I saw it first.

And perhaps that’s why it hurts so much.

Because there you are out chasing the dream — the one I convinced myself I left you for…

I’m here.

Staring at this blank note.

Thinking of every single thing I should have done differently that day racing back to the front of my brain.

I’d been telling myself for years that I couldn’t have it all.

And maybe that was true.

But what I know now is this:

If I could go back…

Maybe if I could do one thing differently…

It would’ve been actually saying all the things I wish I would’ve said to you. So I’m typing it out now.

3. The Championship Game

I had imagined winning would feel different.

It wasn't worse, just… quieter.

Last time, there was yelling. Champagne. Confetti in my hair, your arms around me, a promise that we’d find our way back to that court together.

And I believed it.

My chest still hurts to think of how sure I was.

We were kids. Stupid, and filled with adrenaline, and the idea of forever.

I told you we’d be back for this.

I would have promised you anything that night.

And then I did. But then I broke all of those promises one by one in the weeks following navigating life with fear rather than intention.

Now here I am.

Same trophy on my shelf. Other hands helped me lift it up.

But there you were — this time not on the court, but in the tunnel. Still watching. Still showing up. Still beaming at me as if I didn’t break that version of you that used to leap into my arms and kiss me like the whole world had finally come into focus.

You could’ve looked away.

Could’ve given me nothing.

But you didn’t.

And somehow… that hurt worse.

Because secretly, in some small, unwound place in me, I still wanted you to be angry. Still wanted it to not be so easy for you to stand there, clapping and saying nice things into a mic like I didn’t gut us from the inside out. I wanted you to let me go.

But of course you were kind. You always are.

Your press conference made my stomach turn — not because of what you said, but everything I didn’t deserve to hear.

“...her number one fan...”

How do you keep showing up for someone who keeps choosing everything else first?

I was lying there in my hotel bed, trying to type something, anything in reply — something worthy — and all I could come up with was “I saw the interview.”

Real poetic, right?

I didn’t even hit send.

Until, I practically slipped into a dream, and my thumb twitched in my sleep, and destiny took care of it for me.

And you? You responded as if you had been waiting.

Like I never kept you waiting.

I didn’t know what to do with that then.

I still don’t know what to do with you now.

So instead I will write it down.

Because I need to write it even if I don’t know how to say it out loud yet.

You were my favorite win.

And my worst loss.

And no matter how many trophies get put in my hands, there will always be a part of me, a part buried deep within me, that wished I would’ve just held your hand instead.

#pazzi fics #pazzi #paige x azzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd

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