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miirily · 2 days ago

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Nanny Dilemma

Pairing — Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

Synopsis — Caring for Yuji and Choso is simple; it's their uncle Sukuna who complicates everything.

Content — modern!au, reader!pov, fluff, age difference, uncle!Sukuna.

Word count — 5.9k

Sukuna’s scowl deepens as he watches the young woman step out of the rust-speckled Toyota Corolla and onto the cracked pavement of his brother’s driveway. She’s dressed in what Sukuna can only describe as “aggressively wholesome”: cardigan, jeans and a tote bag that probably contains a planner and some sort of homemade gluten-free snack.

“Who is this?” he asks flatly, not taking his eyes off her.

Jin, holding a lukewarm cup of gas station coffee like it’s the last lifeline to sanity he has left, sighs and runs a hand through his thinning hair.

“That’s the nanny.”

Sukuna turns to him slowly, like a predator registering a challenge to his territorial dominance. “I am the nanny.”

“No, you’re their uncle,” Jin says tiredly. “And you just got out of prison two weeks ago for breaking a guy’s orbital socket.”

“You know he was a fucker. Didn’t get the hint.” Sukuna folds his arms across his broad chest. “And Choso thinks it’s hilarious.”

“Choso also tried to drink expired paint thinner last week.”

“He’s six. Let the kid explore his world.”

“She’s a licensed professional. Just give her a chance. Please.” Jin pauses, then adds with brutal precision, “For the boys’ sake.”

That’s low and they both know it. Sukuna’s scowl cracks and something softer flickers in his eyes, quickly buried under irritation. He glances back at the nanny, who’s now crouching to tie one of Yuji’s shoes while Choso pokes at a worm like it owes him money.

“I don’t like her,” Sukuna mutters.

“You haven’t even met her,” Jin says.

“I don’t have to. She smells like rules.”

The nanny suddenly looks up and waves. “Hi there! You must be Jin’s brother! I’ve heard so much about you!”

“None of it true,” he growls automatically, even though that’s not necessarily a denial. Yuji waves at him from behind her, all bright eyes and scraped knees, and Sukuna’s heart, a hardened, scar-tissue-covered thing, twinges in that annoying way it always does when the kid smiles at him.

The nanny extends a hand and introduces herself. “I’ll just be here to help out until your brother gets things stabilised. No pressure, just another set of eyes and hands.”

Sukuna looks at her hand like it might explode. “I have eyes. And hands. Two of each.”

She smiles, like she’s met his type before. “Great. Then we’ll make a good team.”

“I work alone.”

Behind them, Yuji and Choso have started to bicker. Sukuna and the nanny both notice at the same time. She starts forward. Sukuna growls.

“Back off, I’ve got this.”

Jin mutters, “Oh, this’ll be fun.”

>>><<<

You really did try.

You smile through clenched teeth as Yuji barrels out of the kindergarten gate with the same velocity as a cannonball, his tiny sneakers lighting up with every triumphant stomp towards you. He throws his arms around your legs and almost takes you down. You laugh, genuinely, because he’s a sweet kid, and this part of the job? This part is easy.

“Choso time?” he asks, wide-eyed and hopeful, already tugging on your hand.

“Choso time,” you confirm, and off you go, retracing the short walk to the elementary school around the block, where the older Itadori boy is probably giving the lunch monitors ulcers with his brooding silences. Still, he always greets you with a nod that almost counts as affection. Sometimes he even mutters “thanks,” especially if you bring snacks.

The walk home is smooth. Choso’s quiet but never cheeky. Yuji talks enough for all three of you. You get in the door just before the cicadas start shrieking in the trees and dinner’s already half-prepped in your head: stir-fry and rice. The boys settle with cartoons while you take your shoes off—

And that’s when you hear it.

The thud of boots. The low, unmistakable growl of a man who doesn’t knock. The primal disapproval that enters the room before he does. Sukuna.

You straighten your spine. Breathe in through your nose. He’s already at the kitchen doorway, shirt half-buttoned, a cigarette behind one ear even though you’ve told him there’s no smoking near the kids. You try smiling, polite and pleasant.

“Hey there.”

He eyes you like you just tried to poison the rice.

“Where’s Jin?”

You resist the urge to ask if he owns a watch. “At work. Like always.”

“Right.” He jerks a thumb towards Yuji. “The little one said someone made fun of his lunch. You let that happen?”

Your patience flickers. “No. I told the teacher. And I packed something different today. It’s handled.”

“Hmph.” He leans against the doorframe like he owns the place, arms crossed, tattoos twitching along his forearms like they’re waiting for a fight.

It’s not like you haven’t tried. You really have. You’ve made coffee for him. Asked about his interests. Tried, once, to bond over the fact that both of you have tattoos (his response: “Yours are probably inspirational quotes in French. Mine are real.”). You’ve bitten your tongue when he lets Choso watch PG-13 horror films or encourages Yuji to climb on top of the refrigerator “for balance training.”

He doesn’t trust you. You don’t even think he knows how.

But the boys? They adore him. Choso lights up when Sukuna shows up with ice cream and deadpan sarcasm. Yuji’s laughter is loudest when he’s hanging off his uncle’s shoulders like a monkey on a tree.

You know what’s going on here.

Sukuna thinks you’re trying to replace him. You’re not. You’re just trying to hold things together until Jin gets back each night with a face like he’s carrying the weight of four lives and a mortgage.

Still, every evening ends the same: the boys fed, cleaned and finally tucked in, their little bodies curled into peaceful shapes on their mismatched sheets.

And Sukuna, looming at the hallway’s end like a very grumpy gargoyle.

You pause beside him one night, the light from Choso’s cracked door falling between you.

“You know,” you say quietly, “you don’t have to like me. But we both want what’s best for them. So maybe just... don’t growl at me every time I walk in a room?”

He glances at you. Something unreadable shifts in his gaze. Then he shrugs.

“No promises.”

But it’s the first time he hasn’t said it with a snarl and you quickly realise that you’d really like to get along with Sukuna.

You tell yourself it’s for the boys because it’s easier to run a house when the adults aren’t in a constant cold war, and because they deserve more than two people playing silent chess across their emotional landscape. But if you’re being honest, if you strip away the excuse and the practical reasoning and the careful, self-soothing logic… you’re curious. Intrigued, actually.

You sip your coffee, lukewarm now, as you watch Sukuna from the kitchen window. He’s in the backyard again, crouched beside Yuji, showing him how to gut a fish.

It’s grotesque. It’s unnecessary. It’s, somehow, sweet.

He’s patient with Yuji, in his own growly, foul-mouthed, oddly gentle way. He doesn’t talk down to him. Doesn’t coddle. When Choso joins them, Sukuna flicks the boy’s forehead and calls him “Sleepyhead” without looking up, but he shifts to give him space anyway, like he’s always expecting him.

There’s a rhythm there. One you aren’t part of. Not yet.

And that’s… annoying.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. When Jin hired you, you figured you’d show up, keep the house from falling apart and avoid the chaos with dignity. But Sukuna is unavoidable. He haunts the place, gruff and broad-shouldered, forever shirtless in the early summer heat and always leaving the dishes in the sink like it’s a personality trait. He drinks his coffee black and bitter and stares at you like he’s waiting for you to mess something up.

And still. Still.

You remember when you told your friends over brunch, offhand and mostly as a joke: “I think there’s more to him than the whole ��I’ve-been-in-prison’ thing.” They’d rolled their eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t dislocate.

“Girl,” your best friend had deadpanned. “He’s an ex-con. He has visible neck tattoos. You, like… collect succulents and bake your own bread.”

“You’re also twenty-two,” your other friend added. “He’s gotta be pushing forty.”

“Yeah,” you replied, raising your mug. “But have you seen his arms?” That had earned a chorus of groans and a napkin thrown your way.

But the truth is, it isn’t about the arms. Not entirely.

It’s about how he crouches down when Yuji’s crying, even if he looks like he’d rather fight a bear. It’s about how he puts on the cartoon Choso likes, then pretends he isn’t watching it too. It’s about the way he lingers in the hallway after the boys are asleep, checking the locks and listening for nightmares.

It’s the quiet effort. The kind people don’t usually notice in someone like him.

You finish your coffee and watch as Sukuna hoists Yuji into the air like he weighs nothing. The boy squeals, arms spread wide, and Sukuna’s mouth twitches into almost a smile.

You’re going to crack him. You’re determined.

For the boys, you say again in your mind, like a mantra. Like a defence.

But deep down, where it’s quiet and honest, something more dangerous is blooming: You want to know who he is when he stops pretending he doesn’t care. And maybe, maybe, you want him to know you, too.

>>><<<

It happens on a Wednesday afternoon, four months into your job.

You’d just brought out popsicles and warned them twice to stay off the old camphor tree in the backyard, the one with the sagging branch and the nest of wasps just high enough to cause drama. But Yuji is three, fearless and convinced he can climb like Spider-Man. One second he’s shouting down at Choso with pride in his voice and the next he’s airborne, legs flailing, arms pinwheeling, and then there’s the sickening crack that cuts straight through the summer haze.

He starts screaming immediately. You run faster than you’ve ever moved, dropping the popsicles in the grass. Choso’s frozen, wide-eyed and pale, standing like he’s been struck by lightning.

Yuji’s cradling his arm and it’s already starting to swell.

Your hands are shaking as you buckle them both into the back seat, Yuji sobbing, Choso clutching his little brother’s uninjured hand with both of his like he can hold the pain in place. You try not to cry. You can’t cry, not now. The emergency room isn’t far. Five, ten minutes, if the lights are good. Your mind goes on autopilot. You drive like you’re trying to outrun the sound of Yuji’s screams.

You try calling Jin.

Voicemail.

You try again. Voicemail.

The third time, you get the disconnected beep of a dropped signal and a fresh wave of panic crawls up your spine like ice.

You don't want to do it. You really don’t.

But your hands won’t stop shaking and Yuji is still crying and Choso is whispering “Is he gonna die?” and that’s when you cave. You swipe to the only other emergency contact Jin left on the fridge: Ryomen Sukuna.

He picks up on the second ring.

“What—”

“It’s Yuji—he fell, he—he broke his arm, I think… I’m so sorry, I told them to stay out of the tree, I did, and I just—I can’t reach Jin and I didn’t know who else to—”

“Y/N. Breathe.”

His voice is calm. Low. Even. Your breath hitches. You realise you’ve been gasping and swerving through traffic like a lunatic.

“I’m at General,” you manage. “I just pulled into the ER parking.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t accuse. Just that steady voice, firm as the ground, and then he hangs up.

You stumble into the hospital lobby with a crying Yuji in your arms and Choso still clutching your shirt sleeve like a lifeline. The nurses take Yuji quickly, thank God, and then you’re sitting in the corner of the waiting room with Choso beside you, both of you pale and exhausted and too quiet.

Yuji comes back out a while later, arm in a bright blue cast, exhausted but calmer now, sniffling as he curls into your lap. His small, warm weight feels like penance. You stroke his hair, murmuring little things, anything, while Choso leans against your side.

Then the sliding doors whoosh open.

You look up—and there’s Sukuna.

He fills the room like a storm cloud. His hair’s wind-tossed, boots untied, jaw clenched. He scans the room until his eyes land on you. On Yuji.

And then he’s moving fast, faster than you’ve ever seen him move, dropping to a crouch in front of you. Yuji looks up blearily and then immediately bursts into tears again, reaching towards him with his good arm.

“Hey, hey,” Sukuna murmurs, scooping him gently out of your lap. “What’d I tell you about trying to fight gravity, huh?”

Yuji sobs into his shoulder and Sukuna cradles him so carefully it breaks something inside you.

You expect him to snap, now that the crisis is past. Expect the blame to come barrelling in like a second storm. But all he does is hold Yuji for a long time. Then he glances at you, still crouched, Yuji on his shoulder.

“You okay?”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yeah. You look like you’re about to throw up.”

You almost laugh. Or cry. Or both. “I’ve been better.”

He stands, still holding Yuji, and nods at the row of chairs. “Stay. I’ll deal with the paperwork. And then I’ll deal with the tree.”

You sink deeper into the plastic chair, heart still pounding. Choso quietly shifts back beside you.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Sukuna pauses, his back already half-turned.

“For coming. For not… yelling.”

He glances back. And there’s something strange in his eyes, quiet but sharp. Soft but wary.

“I’d never yell at you over them,” he says. “They’re not your job. They’re ours.”

And then he’s gone to the nurse’s station and you’re left there, stunned, with Choso beside you and the warm imprint of Yuji still on your lap.

Ours.

Something inside you shifts.

And over the next few weeks, you notice things starting to shift in him, too. Not dramatically. Not all at once. But in quiet, surprising ways.

He still moves like a man carrying tension in his bones, his shoulders tight, his jaw set like a warning, but the glaring has stopped. Mostly. He still looks at you like you might screw something up, but now it’s more like he’s waiting, not daring. And you notice that when he’s around, which is now almost every day, he helps.

He doesn’t ask. He just does. Takes the trash out before you can nag him to do it. Fixes the wobbling hinge on the cabinet door without being asked. Says things like “I’ll pick up Choso, you’ve got enough on your plate already.”

Once, you caught him folding Yuji’s tiny Spider-Man pyjamas and putting them back in the drawer. Another time, he was the one who got the boys to bed on a night when your migraine had you half-blind and curled on the couch. He didn’t comment on your state. Just quietly set a bottle of water by your hand and disappeared down the hall, returning half an hour later with two sleeping boys and no complaints.

Still, some part of him keeps his distance. If you step too close, he tenses. If you compliment him, he deflects it with sarcasm. And yet…

On weekends, your sacred two days off, you start thinking about him.

Stupid little things. Like whether he’s bringing the boys over to his place on Saturdays. Whether he’s cooking the same awful spicy instant ramen he always eats. Whether his voice still drops when Yuji asks him to tell a story, even if he swears he’s “not a bedtime guy.”

You’ll be sipping your coffee on your day off, curled on the couch in your quiet apartment, and suddenly wonder: Is Sukuna there now? Is he in the backyard again? Did he fix the porch step like he said he would?

It’s not something you meant to happen. It just does.

And then it’s a Thursday in late summer, warm enough that the crickets are still screaming by dusk, when Sukuna stays late.

Jin gets home a bit earlier than usual, tosses a grateful wave your way and disappears upstairs muttering something about invoices and migraines. The boys are already asleep. The house is unusually quiet, steeped in that golden hour stillness that makes everything feel like it’s holding its breath.

You step outside onto the porch, arms crossed loosely, and sit on the creaking swing bench. The air smells like warm grass and mosquito spray. You expect to be alone, to enjoy a few minutes of quiet before heading home.

But then the screen door whines open and Sukuna steps out. He doesn’t say anything. Just glances at you, then lowers himself into the chair across from the bench, cracking open a can of something that looks aggressively carbonated.

He sits like he’s not sure if he should stay. But he does. You rock gently on the swing, the silence between you stretching, neither awkward nor tense.

“You always stick around this late?” you ask, finally.

“Sometimes,” he replies, voice low. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether I think Jin’s actually gonna watch them or just pretend he is while he crashes for a nap.”

You huff a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

Silence again. He takes a sip. The crickets fill the gaps.

“You ever think you’d be doing this?” you ask, softer now. “Playing backup dad to a pair of semi-feral children?”

He huffs, one side of his mouth twitching up. “Not a chance.”

You wait. You think that’s all he’ll say. But then, after a beat, he adds: “I didn’t think I’d be out, honestly. Not really.”

You glance over. He’s not looking at you. He’s staring out at the backyard like it might disappear if he blinks.

“I didn’t kill the guy,” he says after a moment. “Didn’t even put him in the hospital. But I scared him bad enough to make it a felony. He’d been bothering Jin’s late wife—the boys’ mom. I warned him. He didn’t listen.”

You’re quiet. Not because you’re shocked but because you can hear something rare in his voice. A thread of regret, yes. But also conviction.

“You don’t have to explain,” you say gently.

“Yeah,” he mutters, running a hand down his face. “I kinda do.”

He finally looks at you. Really looks at you. For once, there’s no suspicion in his eyes. Just a kind of wary honesty, like he’s offering you something sharp and hoping you won’t cut yourself on it.

“You’re good to them,” he says. “To Choso. To Yuji. And I’ve been… kind of a bastard, to you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Kind of?”

That earns you a short laugh. And something warm flickers in your chest when you hear it.

“I just…” he shrugs, looking down at the can in his hands. “Didn’t want to owe you anything. Didn’t want to get used to someone else being here.”

“And now?” you ask, careful, testing.

He doesn’t answer right away. But when he meets your gaze again, his voice is quiet.

“Now I think I’d notice if you weren’t.”

Your breath catches.

The crickets drone. A porch light buzzes faintly behind you. In the stillness, you realise you’re leaning forward just slightly. Not enough to startle him. But enough to feel the weight of the space between you.

You say nothing as you reach for his hand and give it a soft squeeze. You don’t need to. Because for once, neither of you flinches.

>>><<<

The weeks begin to blur; cooler now, crisper in the mornings, the scent of woodsmoke lingering in the air. Summer’s chaos has faded into a kind of steady rhythm and for the first time since you set foot in the Itadori household, the place doesn’t feel like a barely-managed storm.

It feels like a home. And that complicates everything.

Sukuna is there more often than not. Sometimes you wonder if he ever really leaves. He picks up groceries now without being asked, grumbling about store-brand cereal but still grabbing Yuji’s favourite one with the cartoon dinosaur on it. You catch him mopping the kitchen floor one morning after you’ve just arrived. He’s even started folding laundry, though his method is chaotic at best—you’ve had to redo every fitted sheet he’s touched, but you don’t complain.

You cook. You keep the house running. You take the boys to and from school. Yuji has started drawing again, dinosaurs and ghosts and weird, beautiful things that make you smile. Choso’s handwriting has improved. He laughs more now. They all do.

You and Sukuna don’t talk about that night on the porch. You don’t need to.

You move like a team now. Silently, seamlessly. You pour his coffee without asking. He washes your mug and leaves it to dry. The kids fall asleep faster when you’re both there in the evenings, like they sense the balance between you.

It works. Almost too well. Because deep down, you know what that means.

You get the letter on a Monday. The university’s seal stamped clean and final at the bottom of the approval notice. Your name. Your degree. Your ticket out. Your dream, now within reach.

You sit with it for a long time at your kitchen table that night. The edges are already soft from how many times you’ve folded and unfolded it. You told yourself you’d go when you were ready. When the family was steady. When the boys didn’t need you quite so much.

That time is now.

Jin smiles more these days. He’s cooking again, sort of. Burnt rice and too much soy sauce, but the effort’s there. He plays board games with Choso on the weekends, sometimes gets Yuji to help him rake leaves. It’s clumsy, sometimes messy, but it’s working. They’ve learned how to breathe again.

And Sukuna, he’s no longer a shadow haunting the hallway. He’s family. And you’re starting to feel like something else entirely: the transitional space between what was and what’s finally beginning to settle.

That’s what you remind yourself of when you slip the folded notice into your bag. That’s what you hold onto during dinner the next night.

It’s windy out, the kind of dry autumn wind that flutters napkins and tugs at doorframes. You made stew, the boys helped. Choso peeled the carrots. Yuji spilled the rice, twice. Sukuna grumbled but cleaned it up anyway, flicking a grain at you like a teenager.

The house is warm. The table full.

You sit there watching them, Sukuna teasing Choso about his handwriting, Jin trying not to laugh into his beer, Yuji gleefully waving one chopstick in the air like it’s a sword, and something twists behind your ribs. Something achingly tender.

You clear your throat. They all look at you.

You rest your hands on the table. Smile. Try to steady the edges of your voice.

“I need to tell you something,” you say.

Sukuna sets down his glass. Jin’s brow furrows. The boys lean in, still chewing.

You reach into your bag and pull out the letter, still folded. You place it in front of you, your fingers resting on the paper like an anchor.

“I got approved to start my master’s programme abroad,” you say softly. “I’ve been waiting for the go-ahead for months. And it finally came through.”

You're met with silence. Choso’s fork pauses mid-air. Yuji blinks at you.

“You’re leaving?” Sukuna asks.

Not accusatory. Just… quiet. Careful.

You nod. “Not immediately. I’ll give you plenty of time if you need me to.”

Jin is the first to speak. He clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s… amazing. You’ve been working towards this for months, right?”

You nod again, throat tightening. “Yeah.”

He smiles, a little sad but warm. “You deserve it.”

Choso looks down at his plate. Yuji stares hard at his chopsticks, fingers fidgeting as his lower lip begins to quiver. And Sukuna… Sukuna doesn’t say anything. You glance at him.

He’s not looking at you. Not looking at anyone. Just staring at the table, jaw set, knuckles pale around his glass. You’re not sure what you expected. A grumble? A joke? A “don’t let the door hit you on the way out”? But this silence? It cuts deeper than any of those.

“Hey,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re going to be okay. All of you.”

Sukuna stands and without a word, he grabs his leather jacket from the back of the chair and walks out the front door. The wind takes it open with a soft, hollow clack.

You sit there, staring after him, heart thudding in your chest. The stew has gone cold. The boys are too quiet. You don’t know what hurts more: that you’re finally going or that it suddenly feels like you’re leaving something behind you were never supposed to keep.

You stand slowly, your chair legs scraping quietly against the wooden floor, and murmur something, “Excuse me just for a minute.” Jin nods once. The boys watch you go with wide, unreadable eyes.

The front door groans as you push it open and step outside into the chill. The air bites now, all sharp wind and dry leaves skittering across the porch. Autumn is real, finally, and it's settling in your bones.

Sukuna is where you expect him to be.

The swing bench creaks softly beneath his weight, the same way it did the night things between you first started to shift. He sits hunched forward slightly, thick arms folded tightly across his chest, jaw rigid as stone. He stares out into the dusky street like it’s something he might punch. The porch light casts him in soft gold, catching on the tattoos that curl out from beneath his sleeves, dark ink against weathered skin.

You ease down beside him, careful not to rock the bench too much. He doesn't look at you.

“I figured I’d come out here before you broke it,” you say, trying to keep it light. “Y’know. One last peaceful evening before you’re finally free of me.”

He turns to you sharply, head whipping like he’s been slapped. You brace for the glare but it never comes. There’s no bite in his expression. No venom. No sarcasm.

But there’s something else. Something quiet. Something that makes your chest go tight.

“That’s not funny,” he mutters. His voice is low and rough, like it got caught in gravel on the way out. He looks away again, jaw working. “You think this is good news to me? You leaving?”

You swallow, the words catching behind your teeth. You want to make another joke. Something about him finally being able to take the good coffee for himself. But your voice betrays you, coming out soft.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

The swing creaks again. He shifts his weight slightly, his arms uncrossing, hands rubbing down his thighs. Still not looking at you.

“The boys are gonna miss you,” he says. “Yuji’s gonna cry. Choso’s not gonna talk about it but he’ll draw something messed up and tape it to his wall.”

You smile a little, lips trembling. “They’re stronger now. They’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, but—” Sukuna says, and then stops.

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Just clamps his mouth shut and stares at the dark like he’s searching it for permission. You watch him. Study the tension in his profile, the tight line of his brow, the way his tattoo curls up along his neck like a flame that never quite reaches his eyes.

Finally, he says, almost too quietly: “I will too.”

It’s not soft, not sentimental. It’s just true. Blunt. Honest in that raw, cut-open way that only Sukuna seems capable of when he lets himself feel something.

He swallows hard, his throat working around the weight of it. “You came into this house when we were all falling apart. When the boys were scared of their own goddamn shadows. When Jin didn’t know how to breathe without her.”

His voice doesn’t crack but yours almost does.

“You stayed,” he says, staring straight ahead. “Longer than anyone else ever has.”

You sit still, the wind brushing over your cheeks, the scent of stew and earth and coming rain in the air.

“I didn’t plan to,” you say quietly.

“I know,” he replies. “That’s what made it mean something.”

The swing keeps creaking beneath you, slow and steady, like a heartbeat.

You glance over at him. And when he finally turns to look at you, there’s nothing unreadable in his eyes anymore. Only regret and pure honesty.

Sukuna rakes a hand through his messy hair, rough and frustrated, eyes darting towards the street, then to your hand resting on his. His fingers twitch like he doesn’t know whether to hold on or let go. And then he scoffs, a low, bitter sound that’s more vulnerable than angry.

“God, I hate myself,” he mutters. “For never asking you out.”

You blink, heart lurching.

He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, voice taut and strained.

“I waited. I kept telling myself it wasn’t the right time, or that you’d say no, or that I’d just screw it up anyway. And now you’re leaving and, fuck, it’s too late, isn’t it?”

Your heart skips a beat. You stare at him, stunned, the porch swing swaying gently beneath you.

His eyes lift to yours, uncertain in a way that looks completely wrong on his face, like even he doesn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Like part of him still expects you to laugh. To say Don’t be ridiculous, Sukuna. Not you.

But you don’t laugh. You study him, really study him. The roughness of his features, the slight bruise-coloured bags under his eyes, the mess of his hair falling into his face, the line of his mouth pulled tight by regret.

And you whisper, so soft it almost gets lost in the wind, “It’s never too late.”

His breath catches. Barely audible, but there. A sharp inhale.

“But you’re leaving,” he breathes, like that one word disqualifies everything else, his feelings, your place in this house, the shape of what’s grown between you both. You shake your head, slowly, your hand sliding up to gently clutch the arm of his worn leather jacket, your fingers curling into the creases worn smooth from years of wear.

“It’s only a year,” you whisper. “One year. I’ll be back before you even know it.”

He’s watching you now like you’ve said something he doesn’t dare believe. Like hope is something he’s forgotten how to hold.

The silence stretches again, your breath mingling with the wind, your fingers still fisted gently in his sleeve.

And then something in him snaps. Not in anger, not in fear, but like a dam breaking.

He leans in fast, hands cupping your face, and groans low in his chest as his mouth crashes into yours. His kiss is all heat and hesitation turned desperate, like he’s been waiting months to touch you, to claim this moment, and now that he has it, he can’t bear to waste a single second.

You gasp softly into him, the sudden heat of his mouth catching you off guard, and your hands slide up, one curling behind his neck, the other still gripping his jacket like a lifeline.

He kisses you like it hurts. Like he’s been starved for it. Like he’s not sure if this is the beginning of something or the end.

And you kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in.

When he finally pulls away, just slightly, your foreheads touch, breath mingling, both of you trembling in the quiet aftermath.

“I should’ve said something sooner,” he murmurs.

“You still said it,” you breathe, eyes closed, fingers threading gently through the hair at the nape of his neck. Sukuna’s breath stirs against your cheek, but he doesn’t pull away. Not yet. Instead, he stays close, so close you can feel the tension buzzing just under the surface of him, the storm of emotions barely held together by the strength of his jaw.

Then, quieter than you’ve ever heard him, he asks, “Do you really mean that?”

His voice is hoarse. Unsure. Like he’s bracing for disappointment.

“That you’d give this a try? After everything? Once you’re back?”

You pull back just enough to see his face. There’s something raw in his eyes, hope and disbelief warring with the deeply-ingrained instinct to expect the worst. He’s trying to protect himself. You recognise it. It’s the same way he stood with his arms crossed those first weeks, daring you to mess up, daring you to care.

And now he’s daring you again. But this time, you want to take that dare.

So you nod, slow and deliberate, the porch light casting golden warmth over both of you. Then you lean forward again and kiss him, though it’s neither desperate nor rushed. Just full of the quiet truth you don’t know how to say any other way.

He melts into it.

You feel it in the way his shoulders drop, the way his hand slides from your cheek to your waist like he’s grounding himself. You feel it in the way he exhales against your lips, like that kiss is something he’s been holding out for longer than even he realised.

When you part again, the silence between you hums with new electricity. He doesn’t move far, just enough to search your eyes with his.

“You never looked at me like I was damaged goods,” he murmurs. “Not once.”

You blink, heart stammering at the rawness of it.

“You always treated me… and the boys. Jin, even.” He shakes his head a little, like it still doesn’t make sense to him. “With kindness. Like we were worth something.”

You rest your forehead against his again, fingers still tangled in his hair. “Because you are,” you whisper. “You all are.”

He swallows hard. His eyes flicker closed.

You brush your thumb gently across the sharp line of his jaw. “You always tried, Sukuna. Even when you thought no one noticed. Even when it was hard. You never gave up on them. Or yourself.”

He looks at you again and there’s something softer there now, some quiet reverence he doesn’t try to hide.

You smile, just a little. “I can’t wait to see who you all are when I come back. What you’ll all have grown into.”

He lets out a shaky chuckle, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head like you’re something fragile he finally lets himself hold.

“You’re not gonna recognise me,” he murmurs, a trace of a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “I’ll probably be even hotter by then.”

You laugh against him, your whole chest shaking.

“I’m counting on it,” you say.

The porch swing creaks gently beneath you. The wind rustles the trees, whispering through the yard like the world itself is leaning in to listen.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, Sukuna smiles. Really smiles. Not the sharp, smug one. The real one.

And you know it’s worth the wait.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryoumen x you #jjk fluff

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doodlepipsy · 21 hours ago

Text

* JUST KEEP WATCHING

pairing: lando norris x y/n fewtrell summary: lando finds out you have an onlyfans and debates whether or not he should subscribe warnings: 🔞minors dni!!!! 18+, mentions of mature content below the cut. nothing explicit though x notes: just hope it's ok :) it's very long and wordy before we even get where he finds out, i'm sorry lol. please let me know what you think and interact with it if you want part 2!!! maybe a pre-singapore meetup or the singapore race weekend? btw she is theo's twin sister

SET IN EARLY AUGUST 2024

It had been months since Lando had actually seen Y/N in person. And whenever they did cross paths, there was always something new or different about her. He never knew what to expect anymore, but it was kind of interesting. A new piercing here, a fresh little tattoo there; one time he and Max nearly walked right past her because she'd dyed her hair blonde and hadn't warned anyone. Y/N's decision to move to London seemed to have been the right one. She just seemed much more confident in herself, having had the opportunity to experiment and explore, to bloom.

But living in the same city as her big brother didn't mean they were in each other's company often. In fact, Max had barely seen her these last few months because if he wasn't him off travelling around the world, then she probably was. Or she was just busy with other plans, other people. Max liked to joke that she'd become too cool for him... but these days, he was actually starting to believe it was true. And Lando had no idea how it happened. How "Baby Fewtrell" wasn't so little anymore, but a fully grown woman. Sometimes he'd catch her stories on Instagram and it felt like he was observing a stranger.

But she'd never be a stranger. She was still his best mate's baby sister; the same girl who had a huge fear of being struck by lightening, that cried when Max surprised her with Harry Styles tickets, that once consumed a Solero smoothie too quickly and almost threw up on Lando's shoes and that definitely thought Carlos Sainz was stupidly sexy, which the lads teased her mercilessly about.

Lando was not known for being punctual. But for once, he was arriving early to a function because Lando knew that if he waited around in his hotel room any longer, he was going to end up falling asleep and turn up late. They'd concocted a plan to surprise Max at his birthday barbecue, acting like Lando couldn't make it to the bash. And technically, Y/N said he could arrive anytime after midday and it was now midday. Max and Pietra (who was in on the surprise) were due to arrive in a few hours, giving everyone plenty of time to be ready.

One could argue that this was a housewarming party too, with Y/N and five of her friends renting a house together to share the burden of rent and stay local in London to their jobs and studies. Their end-terrace in Chelsea was perfect, it had a small but comfortable garden and a self-contained little apartment in the basement which their friend and his partner shared, while the other four were spread over the two upper floors in various sized bedrooms. And although Y/N hadn't managed to snag the biggest room, she'd lucked out the bedroom that was connected to a cute little roof terrace space.

Lando wasn't at all surprised to see the front door was painted some loud colour, and wondered if it was Y/N's idea. She always said one of her favourite things about London was the doorways. He was facing a bright shade of teal, with a ring of colour flowers hand-painted around the garish brash door knob. He gave it a good knock and made awkward eye contact with the ring camera, waiting for a few seconds before pulling out his phone. But just as he was about to hit send on his message to tell Y/N he'd arrived, the door swung upon. Lando found himself greeted by the biggest smile.

Her hair was cut in some sort of shaggy hairstyle that he didn't know the name of (wolfcut) but it really suited her. Lando couldn't tell if her freckles were real or not but those suited her too.

"Oh my god, is that race winner Lando Norris??" she giggled, clearly excited to see him. She hadn't actually congratulated him in person since his Miami win in May. And although the last few races had been difficult (Hungary especially), he was still riding the high of achieving his first Formula 1 win. His mouth immediately expanded into the widest grin, his eyebrows doing a little dance above his interesting eyes. "Come 'ere, you!" Y/N squealed, throwing her arms open and inviting him into a hug.

He couldn't help but notice; her baby tee was so fitted and so light coloured that it was impossible not to notice. Not only was she braless right now, she appeared to have pierced one of her nipples. Lando's eyes did the quickest flash, impossible for her to notice that he'd looked. Right? God, he hoped so. "Hello, BF." he teased, knowing she was most likely rolling her eyes.

As the pair embraced, her hands resting on his back as she pulled away from him mid-hug. "I'm almost 22!" Y/N pouted, bored of this long-running "Baby Fewtrell" joke. She let go of Lando and looked down at her Cherry Kitten t-shirt, frowning slightly. "Shit, sorry. I've got a little bit of jam on my shirt... it's not got on you, has it?" she asked, placing her fingertips to his chest as if to investigate, searching for any stickiness. He glanced down at her nails, peach coloured with colourful little daisy-like flower designs which stood out against his dark green t-shirt so perfectly.

"Oh, it's alright. Can't see it anyway." Lando replied, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible. But he was feeling very chalant right now. Particularly when she turned around and revealed the text on her shirt. On the front was some cute vintage-style illustration of a kitty. On the back it said "my mental health isn't great but my pussy is"

Y/N didn't even realise, she'd just chosen the first shirt she didn't mind getting dirty while working in the kitchen. She liking cooking and loved to bake, and had made a Victoria sponge from scratch to accompany the classic butterfly cakes she'd prepared yesterday. "Right well, come through and I'll introduce you to everyone. I was just finishing the potato salad when you knocked so excuse the mess." Y/N explained she closed the door behind Lando and gestured to a nearby internal door. "Let me give you a quick tour! This is our living room," she began, opening the door and flicking the lights on.

He didn't expect to see a man staring back at him in the mirror that was fixed above the fireplace. So much so that he let out a weird startled noise, voice cracking out of fright. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry! It's... hold on..." Y/N disappeared behind the door only to return with the offender. "Sorry, that's just... Paul?" she explained, holding onto the cardboard head of the life-sized cut-out of Paul Mescal that was currently living behind their living room door. Lando could see a bright pink feather boa appeared to be hanging around his neck. He didn't even know what to say, only that his heart still thumping loudly in his chest. And Y/N could tell that Lando was thoroughly confused by his bewildered expression. "Yeah, sorry. I wish I could explain but it's... he's like our mascot. Anyway it's just Paul, don't panic!" she laughed, leaving Lando even more confused than before.

They trapsed through the lounge and into the dining area, which was separated by what appeared to be a double-doorway with no doors. Compared to the dark vibes of the living room, Lando was pleasantly surprised by how open-plan and light the kitchen was with it's conservatory-style extension and roof. The doors were wide open, leading to their small garden area and he could smell the charcoals were already burning. The kitchen wasn't in a mess at all, in Lando's opinion. Music played at a low volume from a bluetooth speaker on the kitchen, almost drowned out by something louder being played outside. She'd been in the zone, in her own little world. A creative bubble of chopping, mixing and various timers set on her phone for the grill and oven. "Do you need a hand with anything?" he asked, slotting his phone back into his back pocket.

Y/N shook her head vigorously, hands resting on her hips. "No, I'm pretty much done now. Thanks though! Just gotta put things away to keep cool and ready to go. You know you're like, really early, right?" she asked, wondering if he'd got mixed up with the time. He travelled to so many different timezones throughout the year and lived an hour ahead of her in Monaco that she wouldn't blame him if he had.

"Oh yeah, I know. Is that alright? If I spent too long sitting down at the hotel, I'd end up taking a nap and you know how that goes." laughed Lando, as he knew Y/N was well aware of his ability to fall asleep anywhere, at any time and in any situation. If Lando Norris needed a nap, Lando Norris would find a bloody way.

Y/N smiled knowingly and gestured to the roof. "If you want to have a kip for an hour or two, I don't mind. I'll wake you before Max gets here."

He'd love to, actually. He was coming off a race weekend and had spent the last day at the MTC for debrief and media duties. He'd been working through emails and taking phone calls about various projects and brand commitments all morning. A nap sounded fabulous right now. But he shook his head and tucked his hand into the pocket of his dark jeans. "Oh, no, I'm good." Lando replied, and watched as Y/N tilted her head ever so slightly.

"Honestly, Lan. You're more than welcome to, no one is going to be here for at least another hour and I've gotta shower and change anyway. Are you sure?"

He didn't want to seem rude to her friends, rude to her as the gracious host and his best mate's little sister who he hadn't seen in so long. But Lando knew that she was genuine, that she wouldn't offer if she knew it would cause a problem. Although he also knew that she'd do the same even if it did upset somebody. He knew she only cared about his wellbeing.

So when he asked, almost timidly, if she was sure no one would mind, Y/N rolled her eyes at him in an overdramatic fashion. "Yeah, course! Christ, no one wants to deal with you in 4 hours when you're grumpy 'cause you're tired. You become a right gremlin." she joked, pointing her index finger at him accusingly before flicking the same finger to the doorway. "Let me just introduce you real quick to the gang and then I'll take you up."

Everyone was congregating in the small yard, which had a patch of fake grass down and a picnic table with a garden parasol that looked suspiciously like it belonged in a pub beer garden. There were several ashtrays dotted around the place and a shelving unit that had been turned into a makeshift bar with a dozen or so bottles of booze, mixers and empty glasses all lined up. Her friends looked like your typical mix of arty London fashion types. She'd once described them on Instagram as her "girls, gays and theys" and he didn't really understand that last bit but he tried not to judge. "Ok so guys... guys!" Y/N barked, interrupting their conversation (or debate) to introduce her guest.

And they all immediately went quiet, eying the newbie in the garden. Which wasn't daunting at all. "This is Lando, Max's friend that I've been telling you about! He's gonna go have a quick nap before Max gets here but I wanted to bring him over first very quickly. So we've got Julian," she began, gesturing to the impossibly handsome and tall sandy blonde guy sat on the picnic table with a Lost Mary in hand. Lando gave him "the nod" and a small, barely audible greeting. "He lives downstairs with his boyfriend Marco. Then we have Peachy," she pointed towards her friend that Lando assumed was the aforementioned "theys" part of the group because he couldn't actually tell if Peachy was a him or a her but Max had pre-warned him not to ask. Max also mentioned that he knew Peachy's real name was Olivia Peach, if that helped. Which it didn't... but as advised, Lando wasn't going to ask. "And I think you've met Zia and Keeks?" Y/N referring to the set of girls sitting on outdoor beanbags on the ground, gazing up a him behind sunglasses.

Both greeted him with a synchronised "hi" and he smiled down at the pair before acknowledging that he remembered meeting them, albeit very briefly, on some night out last year. He remembered one of them definitely got very drunk and expressed a great interest in putting her tongue down his throat. But he wasn't sure if which one of them it was and he sure as fuck hoped that no one remembered it. Y/N knew that with all the attention on him, Lando would be feeling awkward and shy which is why she made it brief.

A chorus of nice to meet yous and see you laters could be heard as they re-entered the kitchen, with Y/N guiding him from behind towards the hallway. "Come on, I'll just grab my stuff and set you up in my room. Follow me." she said, overtaking him to trudge the first set of stairs. "Be glad I'm on the first floor!" she huffed, as she glanced towards a second set of stairs. "This is my lil room, I actually cleaned it yesterday so you're welcome." cooed the brunette, entering the room first and quickly hooking her finger through the strap of the bra hanging from the back of her computer chair, holding it behind her back as if it was a dirty secret. "The sheets aren't clean on though, sorry. I can change them if you want?" she blurted out, realising that Lando was very used to crisp white hotel linens and not her Ikea ditsy floral set, however cute and whimsical they were.

But he adamantly shook his head, holding up his hand. She always did this, starting fretting about little details and thinking something wasn't right or adequate. "Nah, don't be silly. It's only for an hour. This is fine, thanks Y/N." Lando said softly, and Y/N knew he was being genuine when he used her name like that.

She nodded her head and glanced around for a few items that she needed to get dressed and do her hair. "I'll go upstairs to shower so if you need the toilet, the bathroom is the door with the laundry basket outside. Ok?" And when she was satisfied that he was ok, Y/N left him to snooze in her sanctuary, hoping that she'd moved anything embarrassing or potentially incriminating well out of sight.

Because as suspected, Lando couldn't help but have a little look around, as if he was trying to get to know a bit more about this version of her. She had quite the array of Instax mini Polaroids on the wall, framed by toadstool string lights and other delightful little embellishments. It seemed like she had a thriving social life, judging by photos and the sheer amount of old wristbands in the glass bowl on her shelving unit. It made Lando smile. He always thought of her as that shy little 12 year old who was obsessed with saving caterpillars from being squished. This particular caterpillar had evolved into such an interesting butterfly.

On top of the shabby chic white chest of drawers were so many trinkets, a collection of bits and bobs that she'd collected over the years that obviously meant something to her or just looked cute. There was an interesting amount of candles in various shapes, sizes and colours, that had yet to be lit. Did she collect them? There were at least two that were the shape of a women's body. And, when he peered towards the back, he realised one of them was shaped like a cock and it was set in front of a really small red notebook with "A Tiny Sex Diary" written in gold lettering on the front. Huh.

The computer desk was fitted with a fairly decent camera and lighting setup, and it had Lando pondering if she was into streaming or something. He couldn't actually recall what she was doing at university, he just knew it was fashion related. But he couldn't remember the specifics, and he wondered if maybe she was doing content creation. Her Instagram was certainly well-curated, plenty of dumps with well-taken shots and she liked to showcase her style. Maybe he'd delve into it later with her, ask for an update on what she's doing these days. She worked part-time at Urban Outfitters, last time he checked. And this was confirmed by the staff lanyard he'd just noticed was hanging on the left knob of the top drawer. Lando almost missed it, too consumed by the sight of pastel purple coloured lace underwear peeking said top drawer, which was stopping it from closing fully.

The man puffed his cheeks up and turned away, forcing his feet out of his trainers without untying the laces and sitting down on the bed. He really had to stop falling into that place in his mind, allowing himself to think about her in ways that were disrespectful to her or to Max. He wasn't even sure when it started happening, it just crept in so slowly that he didn't notice it at first. All of a sudden, she was there and she was different. But nothing was different between them, their dynamic hadn't changed at all. They really didn't spend a lot of time around each other anymore and only interacted in messages and on social media.

It was social media's fault, he had decided. Catching all these glimpses of her life over the last few years and witnessing her transition into adulthood through Instagram stories set for close friends only and her silly little drunken Snapchats. Maybe that's why it felt weird. Because Max still thought of her as a teenager and so they all referred to her as such. She was still Baby Fewtrell to their friendship group, but she wasn't a baby anymore. And he can't have been the only one who noticed, yet none of their friends mentioned it.

The pillow smelled so heavily of her, all perfume and shampoo. It reminded him of sweeties, like Parma Violets. He was on his side with his arm tucked under it and it didn't take him long to fall asleep. It didn't feel like he'd been out for long when he felt the weight of someone's hand on his chest. One eye peeped openly lazily, reacting to the sound of someone softly repeating his name. "Ayy, there he is..." he heard a familiar feminine voice say, and opened his eyes fully this time to see Y/N's face smiling down at him. "Fuck me, this is like trying to raise the dead." Y/N giggled, one knee and her other hand pressed into the mattress next to him, as if she was crawling onto the bed. And that made his sleepy brain short-circuit for a millisecond, glimpsing down at the way her thigh was dangerously on show through the slit in her animal print satin skirt. "You need to get up, mate. The birthday boy is on his way!" Y/N told him, getting off the bed and turning to look at herself in the mirror on her dresser, satisfied with her effort.

He sat up, forcing the heels of his hand into his eyes to give them a rub. "Sorry, I was knackered." Lando said, voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and looked at Y/N, who turned to look at him.

"I know, that's why I left you for a bit." she replied and Lando scrunched his eyes before forcing them open in a wide stare.

She watched as Lando did his best to force himself to wake up properly. "What time is it?" he asked, concerned that Max was already on his way and he was still in bed.

"Almost 2:30..." was her reply, to which he groaned loudly and swung his legs off the bed and on the floor, reaching down for his shoes.

Lando furrowed his brow. "Why didn't you wake me?" he whined, huffing as he fiddled with the laces that he'd left knotted.

"Because, I knew you needed it." Y/N told him in the same stubborn matter-of-fact tone that Max used when he did something for Lando's own good. "Besides, you don't have to come down as soon as he arrives. He's due in about 15 minutes and you can take another 10 to wake up. God, look at the state-" she started to laugh, reaching out to try and tame the way his hair was stuck up. Lando swallowed hard, ignoring the way her hands in his curls made his tummy feel funny. "Maybe use those 10 minutes to sort whatever is going on with your barnet." She playfully pushed his head to the side and he smirked, watching as she moved away and towards the door. "But for real: t-minus 15 mins according to P's text."

When Lando realised how low his battery was, he left his phone on Y/N's beside table to give his phone a quick charge and made his way to the bathroom to finger-brush his hair and use a bit of water to control the coils if necessary. He trudged back to Y/N's bedroom to wait for his mate's arrival and busied himself on his phone, glad that Y/N had one of those cables with multiple chargers attached. The music downstairs was playing a little louder now and he was fairly sure he could hear the familiar voices of Tom and Connor chatting with Y/N. He assumed their girlfriends were also in attendance, to keep Pietra company more than anything.

Soon he heard Max enter the house, heard the group greet him with a variety of different happy birthday wishes before moving towards the back of the house. Y/N's bedroom had very small roof patio, which partially overlooked the garden. He leaned to look through the door which lead to it, unable to see over the fence. Lando wondered when he was supposed to make his entrance, if he was meant to sit here and wait for Y/N to come and get him. He chewed on the skin next to his thumbnail, anxiously scrolling on his phone when there was a knock on the door. Lando froze for a moment, only relaxing when a familiar choppy hairstyle swung around the door. "Just making sure you've not gone back to sleep. You can come down now if you want!" she whispered excitedly, proud of the way she'd pulled this off for Max.

It couldn't be easy, not seeing your best mate very much throughout the year unless you were jetting off to a race weekend (where you still wouldn't get to see him) or some all-expensed paid holiday for a few days when he had the downtime. It certainly had to suck that you couldn't spend important days together very often, like birthdays. So Y/N did her best to make sure the stars aligned for this one. She knew he'd be in the country after his race weekend debrief and she didn't have to beg Lando to show up for Max because even if he had a tight schedule, he'd have made the time anyway. Thankfully, Lando had some time off before the Dutch race but they lied to Max, saying that McLaren had him working on something for one of their sponsors.

Max was in the garden, already holding a glass of something and coke with his back to the kitchen. Lando knew that P would have her phone out ready but secretly he hoped she wouldn't, because not everything needed to be filmed. Y/N stood in the doorway, using the back door's step to her advantage, still having to get on her tippy toes (which wasn't easy to do in chunky Doc Marten sandals), throwing her arms around her brother's shoulders to cover his eyes with her manicured fingers. "I almost forgot, I've got something for you..." she said quietly, feeling Max lean slightly to put his glass down on the nearby table.

"Oh God, what else have you bought?" Max asked, flustered and slightly paranoid he was about to be embarrassed by some gag gift in front of his mates. She had already gifted him a nice pair of trainers in a style he liked, and he thought that was it. He didn't like Y/N spending her money on him, not when she was a student and always arranging her little Euro trips; she was probably perpetually broke. And he was so thankful for the spread she'd put on, he knew she was trying to impress him, trying to prove that she was a grown up now too.

"Relax, it's nothing scary." Y/N reassured her brother, who was now doing some sort of awkward lean back to accommodate her shorter height.

When she let go and placed her hands on his shoulders, it didn't register immediately that the hands were bigger, heavier. He opened his eyes and expected there to be something in front of him. He was looking at the faces smiling back at him, confused as hell. "Happy birthday, you muppet." Lando grinned, and Max whipped his head around so fast that his neck made a quiet crack.

"Fucking hell, mate!" Max yelped, clearly startled. Lando cackled and Y/N beamed, hands clasped together and tucked into her chest. Lando was considered family in their household, and the bond he had with her brother made her heart so full. She watched as the boys embraced, before Max was pushing Lando and ranting about the little fibs he'd been fed over the last few weeks and days. Y/N asked him more than once if he really had no idea, if there wasn't an inkling that maybe they were up to something and Max confirmed each time that he really thought Lando was busy shooting for yet another advertising campaign.

Music bumped in the background as conversations flowed easily, as food was eaten and as glasses were emptied, with the group singing Happy Birthday to an bashful Max before he blew out the colourful candles on his cake. "Can't believe you made this yourself, for me." Max said quietly to her, one arm around Y/N's shoulders and giving her a squeeze while she was removing the candles. "You know you didn't have to do all this." he added, leaning to give her a quick kiss on top of her head. She smiled, the kind that caused her eyes to crinkle because the apples of her cheeks were being pushed so high. She knew he wasn't only referring to the food or for hosting the gathering.

"But I wanted to. I mean, it's not every day that you're second favourite brother turns 25." Y/N joked, as Max rolled his eyes at her.

"Theo isn't even here, you could at least make me the favourite this one time!" he protested and Y/N cackled.

"What is Sam, chopped liver?"

The pair laughed and Max gave her shoulder another squeeze as she cut two pieces of cake for him and P before dishing out more pieces onto a collection of mismatched small plates for people to take. As Lando stood next to her, Y/N attempted to unlock her phone while avoiding getting cake residue on the screen, presenting it to Lando with a mix of jam, cream and crumbs of sponge on her fingertips. "Can you hold this for a sec?" she asked, and Lando obliged, looking away as Y/N used her knuckle to type her PIN. "Will you find something?" she asked, referring to the Spotify app open on her phone. They'd turned the music off while they sang to Max and now they needed the tunes back on while she handed out plates.

"Yeah, yeah, let's have a look..." Lando replied, tongue resting in the corner of his lips as he browsed the playlists she had, some of which weren't even saved under actual titled. She had so many that were just named with a few letters or the default Playlist #5. What a mess, how could she find anything? He'd hate to see what her Liked Songs looked like. Scrolling through the playlist that they'd been listening to already, he saw something by Wilkinson and selected it and was about to see if the Smart Shuffle was on because it should be, when an Instagram message notification popped up.

He was attempting to swipe it away but ended up clicking on it by mistake. Shit. He couldn't help but clock the last message sent, his light eyes widening at the sight. Lando planned to exit the message before he could read anything, not wanting to invade Y/N's privacy. But he didn't know how to use her fucking phone; so instead of leaving the app, it just went back to her inbox which was full of unread messages. It didn't escape his notice that this definitely wasn't the Instagram account he knew of and followed. The profile picture she had was very different and the username was one that Lando didn't recognise at all.

What felt like an eternity, was really it was only 15 seconds of fumbling to figure out how to exit the app entirely. Lando set the phone down on the dining table as if holding it burned him and left the scene of the crime as quickly as possible. While he stood nearby Max and their friends, trying to look as though he as definitely paying attention to the conversation, his thoughts were elsewhere. His brain felt like it was going at warped speed, overthinking every little thing he'd just seen. Why did she have a secret Instagram that he didn't follow (when she followed his finsta) and more importantly, why she had she sent a link that looked suspiciously... familiar?

It had been so big and bold in her message, too obnoxiously obvious to ignore. And now he was obsessing over it. He had to be mistaken. Surely it was just something very similar. Because why the fuck would Y/N be sending someone an OnlyFans links on a secret Instagram? What on earth was going on right now? Had he fallen into an alternate dimension? Was this the Upside Down? Had he hit his head and this was all an elaborate hallucination? Was he having a fucking stroke?

Seeing Y/N in the corner of his eye made him stiffen. He dared not look in her direction, paranoid that she could read his thoughts, scared that she'd figured out what he'd seen. He mumbled something about going to the bathroom and dipped back into the house. "You alright, mate?" Someone asked as Lando made a beeline past them for the hallway and he tried not to stammer in his response.

"Yeah, mate yeah. Just dying for a piss." Lando replied, a little too quickly, before he legged up the staircase and into the sanctuary of the first floor bathroom. Locking the door behind him, Lando perched himself on the edge of the tub and whipped his own phone out. It had to be a misunderstanding. There had to be a logical, reasonable explanation for this. It couldn't possibly be what it seemed like. He was desperately trying to remember the format of the username from the inbox. There was some full stops involved and he was currently searching variations of what he recalled until he saw it - the same profile picture. It was the red and white gingham off-the-shoulder bikini top with white frills, like something you'd expect Sabrina Carpenter to wear and while you couldn't see her face as she lay on the bed, he recognised the background as the bedroom he'd been in earlier. Her small tattoos was visible too, but the thing that was really on show was her pert bum.

Lando's hammering heart had gone well past his stomach and was currently in arse.

The fizzy cocktail-from-a-can mix that he'd forced down his throat 5 minutes ago was threatening to come back up. He was scared to scroll, scared to move his thumb on the screen in case he accidentally interacted with something and revealed his presence. So he just sat there, staring at the screen below him, mouth ajar as he documented every little thing. The pepper and flame emojis next to a linktree url, the selection of Instagram-friendly reels and photos posted. And the alias she appeared to be using was "Bambi" and that alone sent a shiver ricocheting up his spine. Wasn't that something they jokingly called her, after ice skating at the Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park? Y/N could barely keep upright anytime they tried to skate towards the middle of the rink and so she refused to move away from the wall, irrationally terrified of "slicing off her fingers" if she fell.

Knowing it was pissing her off, they teased her for weeks afterwards. Lando even updated her name on WhatsApp to include a deer emoji and they'd occasionally drop a Disney's Bambi gif in their group chat just to annoy her.

He felt sick.

And not because Lando judged her for it or because he was disappointed. How could he, when he'd subscribed to various OF models in the past? He probably still had some subscriptions ongoing that he'd forgotten to cancel. No, Lando felt sick because his immediate reaction hadn't been disgust or disappointment and it hadn't been discomfort, like perhaps it should have been. It had been intrigue. It had had been curiosity.

It had been arousal.

And now he couldn't stop thinking about it. Not when he returned the party downstairs, not when he helped Y/N's housemates clean up empty bottles and cans into bags for recycling and not when he hugged Y/N goodbye and thanked her for having him at her home. Not when he sat in the back of the taxi, nor when he returned to his hotel room. Not even later, in the shower, could he get Y/N and her spicy link out of his head. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd rubbed one out to the thought of her, and he was realising quite quickly that it wasn't going to the last time either. Regardless of how guilty he felt about doing it, how dirty and dishonest it made him feel. It didn't stop him from having a quick wank in the luxury bathroom of the luxury hotel, before climbing into the luxury bed. If only he could get some luxury fucking sleep.

It would be disrespectful to check it out, Lando knew that. Disrespectful to Y/N, to Max, to Theo. To the whole family, really. He knew their grandma, for fuck's sake. He'd stayed at their house and eaten at their dinner table. Lando was a part of the family. And yet, here he was at 11pm, contemplating the ethical implications of checking out his best mate's little sister's Only Fans page. He absolutely hated himself right now for even considering it. But Lando knew that he couldn't let it go until he'd scoped it out, even briefly. He wasn't going to subscribe. No way. That would be beyond messed up, a truly unforgivable act. But a little peak couldn't hurt. Just to sate his sick sense of curiosity.

He regretted it immediately.

It was real. It was actually not a sick joke being played on him. Baby Fewtrell really had an OnlyFans account, with a list of what she offered, with a profile picture that knocked his socks off, with over 2 thousand likes logged. Lando had no idea about what he was supposed to do with this information. How was he supposed to be proceed? Did he tell Y/N that he knew? Did he tell Max about it?

Fuck. That.

He knew what he shouldn't do. The fact that he even considered it made him feel so guilty, so that was a good sign, right? Lando closed the tab before he could talk himself into subscribing and lay his phone down on the bed beside him. This was so surreal. Earlier they had talked about her plan to come and watch him race in Singapore as a birthday treat to herself, and he had already sent off requests for paddock passes so that she and her friend could accompany Max. He point blank refused to hear her argument, wanting her to enjoy the full experience as his guests instead of the GA tickets the girls had intended to use for the Sunday only.

How was he supposed to just pretend he didn't know, and look her in the face in a few weeks time? Act like he wasn't wondering about the webcam setup that he saw in her bedroom earlier. About the bed that he'd slept in today; was that the backdrop for her content? Did she work alone? Did she collab with other creators? Did someone film for her? Did her housemates know? Did they do online sex work too? It that why they could afford that fucking house? Was it actually an OnlyFans pad? Those Polaroids of Y/N kissing all her friends. Did she make content with other girls? Where was the safest place to masturbate in a 5 star hotel room?

He was exhausted just thinking. Lando didn't want to think about anything anymore, he just wanted to go to sleep and have very bland, ordinary, unseasoned dreams about cars or puppies. Absolutely no steamy, sensual nudie rudie thoughts about someone he'd known for almost 12 years which was more than half of her whole bloody life. Hand reluctantly sneaking under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, thumb hovering dangerously close to that subscribe button. He paused briefly at the sound of a text and nearly knocked himself out with how fast his hand moved out of those boxers at the sight of her name. Lando's heart skipped several beats. It was like she knew. He swallowed thickly, unlocking his phone and reading the message quickly.

y/n: thanks for coming today, it all went just how i pictured it 🥹 y/n: and it was so great to see you!! 🥰 hopefully see you again some time before singapore? but if not, can't wait to come and see you race in september x

He'd send her passes to every race if Y/N wanted them. Hell, he'd invited her on holiday with him this week if he thought Y/N would say yes. He'd probably invite her over to his hotel room right now if that wasn't the most absurd thing in the world.

You know, if she wasn't Y/N fucking Fewtrell.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando x reader #lando x you #lando x y/n #lando imagine #lando norris imagine #lando fic #lando norris fic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris x female reader #lando norris x y/n fewtrell

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fconvicted · 1 day ago

Note

Use this ask to give us some random little details about Spamton/Tenna/Spamtenna that you might not normally get asked, sfw or nsfw I don’t care, I crave the lore

well-! how about i give you guys a timeline and then some additional tid bits!

[Origins]

Unboxed!Tenna (i also call him Tenna "out of the box") A force to be reckoned with. This was Tenna at his most unforgiving and hostile. For the first week Tenna had been unboxed, his personality came to be. I remember back in the day people used to joke that "Television was the best babysitter" and this phrase he took to heart. Tenna prioritized the Dreemurrs (he considered "his" Lightners) and their entertainment. When he figured out what he was made to do, he decided it was his calling to govern the Dreemurr household. The "Theater" was his dream project and he spent a good few months getting Darkners to sign contracts or send them away. No one would interfere with the entertainment of the Dreemurrs, and Tenna was prone to breaking Darkners he called "misfits". Asriel and Kris were probably young kids at this point.

AddiSpam Straight up just a loser. The underdog. Our "out of luck" guy. Spamton just sucked at making sales but he always dreamed of making his mark on the world. Because he was pretty terrible at sales, he would end up delivering e-mails part time to make ends meet. He was pretty good at the job but mail delivery alone doesn't really get an Ad anywhere.

[Pre Big Shot]

Tenna You know him, you love him, you can't live without him! Mr Ant Tenna is here to showcase any and every fantasy you can think of! This was Tenna at the height of his career. His hostility had calmed down a lot since he established himself as the leader of the Dreemurr household. With no misfit to defy his authority, Tenna focused his time on ensuring every employee had a role and every minute spent in the living room was filled with entertainment! TV World and the TV Land Studio Lot were at its Golden Era! Movies! Games! TV Shows, and best of all, Kris and Asriel always had a blast playing make-believe in the living room. Tenna felt like a guardian of their hopes and dreams and he made sure every Darkner under his contract was able to keep up with the high energy of the household.

Spamton Opportunity can come in some of the strangest ways, but he's never one to shy away from an open door. Spamton had met Mr. Tenna at this point. He was sent to deliver the CRT's fanmail when another mail carrier quit. Spamton fell in love with TV World the minute he stepped foot, but Mr. Tenna didn't see much potential in a simple, blank slate of an Addison. When Tenna denied Spamton of any chance working in TV World, the Addison went back to Cyber City humiliated. Trying to figure out a way to stand out better, Spamton called as many lines as possible until he got in touch with his eventual benefactor (we'll keep them titled as "Benefactor" for the sake of my sanity)

[Big Shot Era]

Tenna & Spamton This was when Tenna noticed he was losing his touch. Things were just becoming a little different. Family time wasn't spent in the living room as often as Tenna remembered. Asriel was becoming a teenager, focused more on school work and not on him anymore! At least Kris still stuck around, they even encourage that Holiday girl to play! Tenna's getting nervous, maybe even a little desperate , if only there was someone who could teach him new tech then maybe, just maybe-! Cue Spamton's arrival as the hottest new Advertisement this side of the dark fountain. The next big thing, if you will. Tenna remembered that little mailman! So impressed with this transformation, he asked Spamton to partner up with him (Spamton agreed but not without having Tenna beg for him to join. Payback for the humiliation previously inflicted on him). Between the two of them, things went remarkably well! There's a slight rivalry between Tenna and Spamton in terms of their power dynamic: Tenna being a Dark World Leader and Spamton having his benefactor who kept him a step ahead of the crowd. At the start, Spamton saw Tenna as just another step on his way to success. If he could keep up with Tenna, then maybe he can outshine the guy and finally make his mark! Tenna, on the other hand, was very much using Spamton to try n' keep up with the changing times. These two had a mutual understanding that this was all business but things would change as time went on. I'll elaborate more in the Extras!

[Divorce Era, Damn]

Tenna I'm not gonna elaborate too much on Spamton 'cause we all know his story. I was a fan of the idea that he accidentally fell in the Acid Pools but I may change that. I wanna talk about Tenna though. Whatever happened to Dess was when the fighting started happening in the Dreemurr household. Losing his partner was one thing, but having the Dreemurr household now break up was what really messed with Tenna. This was when Tenna's behavior changed into what we recognize now. He was losing control of his Darkworld and could only loosely grasp at his staff. The house was split, Darkners left with Asgore, Asriel left for college. Tenna just didn't know what to do with himself anymore. Years spent keeping this family entertained, keeping HIS LIGHTNERS content, was gone. What even was his purpose anymore? The hot fire of his hostility from his youth was now a small flame that would be drenched in desperation, pleading. He'd do anything, say anything to keep people coming back to him. Just give him another chance, that's all he needs!

[EXTRAS!]

These are in non specific order

Tenna had always been an outcast. He's a fucking weird Darkner. Not just cause of his behavior but because TV's are made to display light and imitate images cast from the "Light World". Because Tenna "mimics" the settings of the Light World and repels darkness, he has a tendency to look down upon Darkners as lesser. Unless you have some sort of importance to his person (ie Spamton or Mike), chances are he might treat you rather poorly. Or, at best, as an employee.

Tenna and Spamton had a rivals to bromance to situationship thing going on. Spamton was really good at reading Tenna, even better at reacting to his behavior to avoid his ire. Because Spamton was able to navigate Tenna's erratic emotional state, Tenna (and his crew) grew heavily dependent on Spamton's reactions. If you needed to sway Tenna's opinion, Spamton would be your best bet at doing that (but that usually came at a cost).

Tenna did his own stunts! He also was an adrenaline chaser. During his Golden Era, he did a lot of crazy stunts!

Spamton was a great mechanic. He's repaired Tenna on multiple occasions and was one of few people to have access to Tenna's User Manual.

Tenna was the first to suggest he and Spamton hook up casually. He wasn't shy about it either. The two kept it casual for a while but then Tenna caught Feelings™.

Cont. previous bullet, Tenna grew very possessive of Spamton. Of course he didn't like it when Spamton hooked up with strangers but it got really bad when Spamton got into fights. It took a little while for Darkners to realize not to mess with "Mr. Tenna's favorite little toy". Or at least don't leave a mark on his pretty face.

Spamton became friends with Ramb and Lanino! They're bar buddies and hang out occasionally.

That's all I can think of for now. You guys are always welcome to send it asks if you have any! Thanks for reading!

#ask #anonymous #spamtenna #look at all that lore

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pawcider · 2 days ago

Text

01 of SCANDALOUS.ᐣ ㅤ ׅ 𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚𝄞𝅄ㅤ intro > other parts yet 2 come

i got this done earlier than expected so here !!! 1.9k words / no warnings for this part

SAE itoshi, starring in a film? like, the sae itoshi, real madrid's golden boy and star mid-fielder?? someone blunt, dry and incapable of basic politeness, as proved in so many interviews, becoming a movie star? yeah, it wouldn't take a genius to figure out why sae itoshi was the talk of the city, heck, maybe even the whole country.

the image he'd maintained for years as a cold, shut down football prodigy who liked nothing more than being spared from interviews, and avoided small talk like it was the plague? now plastered on ginormous billboards and posters all over the city, announcing his upcoming action blockbuster.

an action blockbuster. not just any, but one where he'd be starring as the male lead. alongside you.

you, a world renowned hollywood star, internationally acclaimed actress, occasional runway model. earning millions, and having accumulated years and years of experience in hundreds of the highest grossing films and shows.

your new mystery co-star's involvement in the show had chipped all the attention away from you, directing the spotlight right onto him. hey, you had zero complaints. to your manager - it was only natural that when someone like sae fucking itoshi took on a role that was this out of character, the public would be intrigued as heck. journalists, bloggers, the general media.

to you though, it was more so as you had already had your fair share of the spotlight over the years of your successful career. acting was an art you'd been perfecting since you were young, and your undying commitment from an earlier age was what got you here in the first place.

so you welcomed it. after years of being the face of every campaign, film, and red carpet event, it was almost refreshing to not be the one everyone's zooming in on.

but also, you were way too familiar with the industry, knowing all the ins and outs of why things were as they were. you chalked it down to some publicity stunt on this footballer's part, or simply the company wanting something crazy and over the top for their latest production. something that would promise even more money.

when your manager had first discussed this with you, she'd definitely noticed your disengagement in the conversation. she'd been like, "hey, do you not find this insane?"

and you felt so out of the loop. because.. yeah sure, kinda strange that this guy suddenly took on such a major role, as a footballer and more importantly, as someone with zero prior acting experience. but as to who the guy was? you had no clue.

you'd never been a sports fanatic, and had little to no knowledge on like, any mainstream sports, sporting events, trending sports celebrities. and your busy schedule didn't leave any time for you to catch up on any field of work but your own.

“you seriously don’t know him?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “sae itoshi? one of the highest paid athletes alive?”

“don’t follow football,” you muttered, slightly embarrassed, digging through your script.

“hm. maybe that’s good. because if you did, you’d know his reputation isn’t exactly cute. the guy’s an ass. just a really, really hot one.”

you'd just brushed it off honestly, but later that night, curled up in the back of your car with your heels kicked off, you typed the words sae itoshi into google.

might as well get to know your soon to be co-star, right..?

what you had found was somewhat unexpected. not in a bad way at all, no, just not the type of image you had in mind. impolite and brutally honest, not to mention he was annoyingly good looking.

videos of him brushing off reporters with a single sentence, photos of him at practice, post match interviews where he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. and yet, the internet couldn't get enough of him.

you scrolled, huffing, past fan edit after fan edit, thirst tweets, conspiracy theories regarding his love life (answer; he's always been single) and blurry photos of him taken by crazy fans at airports. his cold demeanor, and all the possible reasons he could've requested a hollywood role gnaw at your brain and a frustrating fascination for him wells up inside of you, slowly.

not a single pr smile in sight, rarely speaking in interviews, the occasional answer either one worded, barbed with sarcasm, or both. even in group photos, he stood at a noticeable distance. his gaze never softened.

you frowned, scrolling further down. how the hell is he gonna act? by the time the chauffeur announced you were home, you were intrigued. maybe not impressed, yet, but curious. sae itoshi, huh.

the next morning, the second you walked through the building's revolving doors, your manager was already charging at you.

"perfect timing," she chirped, slapping a clipboard to your chest hard enough to make you stagger a little. "read."

you blinked. "good morning to you too?"

your eyes, having done this like a million times before, began skimming through the list. all standard stuff for a film plus some extras - costume fitting for filming, a short meeting with the director, summer themed photoshoot, quick fitting for a gala that was another year and a half away, a stylist appointment.

and then.

interview with sae itoshi. location: studio 6. eta: 6pm.

you choked on your overpriced coffee. "excuse me?"

your manager keeps walking like it's no big deal, "scheduled for this evening. non-negotiable. he requested it personally."

"his idea?" you repeat, struggling to keep up. "since when do athletes like him request press schedules?"

"since he's got a terrifyingly loyal fanbase, he's one of our biggest assets for the production, and the company wants him happy," she states simply, like it's terribly obvious.

"he kicks balls around a pitch, not direct films!" you hissed, glancing around. "and plus, i need prep before interviews! you know this. especially one with a footballer whose only pr strategy is straight up ignoring the camera."

"he wants it this week. which means the company wants it this week. which means, you need to play nice," she impatiently prodded her finger at your shoulder.

you curse internally.

by 5:20pm, you’re in the back of a car headed to the studio.

your day had been a blur. heels, lights, too many people talking at once. but the second your stylist zipped you into the champagne satin dress, you'd perked up a little. felt like yourself again.

the fabric hugged you like it was cut for your body alone. sleek satin that clung around your waist and hips, and fell into a soft drape mid thigh. the neckline dipped just a little. delicate straps rested over your shoulders, barely there. the dress moved with you like liquid, fitted like second skin.

you looked good. not exactly for sae. just.. in general.

you touched up your lipstick in the car window reflection. you're not nervous; you don't get nervous. you're just curious, excited, nervous but in a good way, all at once. and a little annoyed that you're even curious.

the driver opens the door once you arrive. you step out gracefully, heels clicking against the pavement as you fix your jacket.

you round the side of the building, hurrying towards the studio doors - and immediately collide with something solid.

a chest. a very firm chest.

"shit-" you step back, slightly disoriented, only to look up and see him.

sae. so it's actually him.

his hair's slicked back slightly, teal eyes cool, his expression unbothered and mostly unreadable. you blink. he doesn't.

"you're on time," he says, almost as if surprised.

"and you're in my way," you shoot back, only to later realise you sounded impolite, almost as impolite as him, in the spur of the moment. you brush invisible dust off your sleeve.

his mouth quirks. not exactly a smile, but something close to that.

he leans in slightly. "didn't expect you to look like this." his gaze dips, deliberately and slowly, to where your jacket parts slightly at the front.

you arch a brow, waiting for him to look you in the eyes again. "well, you're not what i expected either," you say smoothly, matching his cool tone with on of your own, though your insides are twisting with nerves, and part of you does truly think that he knows.

sae's mouth twitches. "and you were told?"

you shrug one shoulder, fingers tapping the folder in your hand. the one with the interview prep your manager had shoved at you fifteen minutes ago, and that you definitely haven't looked at.

“that you’re the type to cancel last minute,” you say. “or show up late. or not at all.”

"and yet," sae smirks, checking his gold wristwatch, "i'm early."

you huff a laugh. "guess we're both full of surprises, then."

his eyes flick up to meet yours again, this time steady, but just as unreadable as before. "we'll see," he says simply, his expression blank.

before you can respond, a voice calls you from the back of the studio, someone on headset waving you both over. "they're ready for you!!" you step back. sae doesn't, at first.

when he does, he only moves just enough to let you walk a few steps ahead of him. eyes never leaving your back.

taglist ( js ask 2 be added ) @kuronarnze @scarlettstrawberrys @nanamemo @keikeis-stuff @678901i @bonzirella @heejakeswifeyyy @matchaveins @spammmmmmsstuff @sinsxo

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girlfromflor · 1 day ago

Text

BEEN AWAY: ONE SHOT

pairing: rich!kyle garrick x (ex)friend!fem!reader

summary: reconnecting with your school friend didn’t seem like a bad idea, but as you grow closer in this new setting you realize just how much you both changed.

"[...] You never hung out at each other’s houses but he knew your favorite flowers, favorite musics, favorite color – and also the things that made you cry, the things that helped you during a rough time with anxiety and what made you feel loved. You knew his favorite movies, favorite places around town, favorite foods – and also his love languages, what made him feel like he was enough and how to soothe him when he didn’t."

genre: fluff, smut, non-military au, tiniest angst | wc: 12445

warnings: slight mentions of racism, social anxiety disorder (reader's), unrealistic work/business scenarios, drinking, explicit sexual content: p in v, praise kink, he gets off on the way you say his name

a/n: this has come a long way. i've spent more than four months working on this, writing little by little so it'd be a good work. of course, it doesn't make kyle justice but we always have to start somewhere, right? i hope you enjoy reading. main masterlist.

It’s not a lie to say your love life was summed up to your school years – or better: to your former classmate, Kyle Garrick. He was the only one who ever got intimately close to you – emotionally, at least.

Young life as someone who fears social interactions sucked, especially with you being an extroverted at heart. Wanting to rant about all your interests – that were so many, by the way – only to be flooded with panic whenever someone turned to talk to you. It was chaos and a big part of you wanted to hide in your own little world forever, but another part of you wanted to be brave, courageous enough to allow yourself to just be – without worrying about expectations.

So that’s just what you went after.

It wasn’t like it was hard for you to do it. Certainly, during that time things felt like they were all your life was ever going to be, it felt like you’d be summed up to your school years forever – and that’s precisely what made you act like they were just another part of your amazing routine. You made yourself think about just how dumb it was to give in to those plaguing thoughts – never mind the fact that you had an insistent social anxiety –, how stupid it was to imagine that people would forever remember you for what you were in school – because they would barely remember you in the first place.

No one cared, you knew school was just school – well, at least that’s what you told yourself, over and over again like some kind of ritual. And when you realized, it had worked. It took a while and a lot of therapy, of course, but you managed to grow out of your social phobia in a way that your classmates – who once thought you were too shy, too quiet, too timid – started thinking you simply didn’t like people – and, well, they weren’t exactly wrong.

The closer you got to your graduation, the more confident you got that things were approaching an end, that your life would finally be molded to your liking. You walked around like no one would ever pay attention to you and that gave you so much room to be who you truly were and that itself worked like some magical exposure therapy – you felt comfortable enough on your skin to ignore people just as much as they would ignore you. Your seemingly non-loud personality was just a thin shell of comfort that you allowed yourself to be in because you knew yourself. Whoever decided to get to know you further could easily make out your interests and opinions, you just never wore it like a flag – like most teenagers do, so much for self validation. It also helped that you were an observant person. You walked around relaxed, knowing the place and the people like the back of your hand – even if you never really talked to many of them. So much so, it took Kyle two weeks, after first noticing your presence, to realize you weren’t a transferred or new student.

Sometimes, Kyle still remembers how absolutely fucking annoying it was to get through school, the occasional thought of ‘what life could've been’ plaguing his mind every once in a while. Things were never easy to begin with. Yes, he had a wonderful family and somewhat nice economic opportunities, but still – he's a black man. He was born with a target on his back and he’d never see the end of it. Throughout his whole school years – particularly during the final ones –, there were only a few things that he reminisced about. He liked his maths teacher a lot, he enjoyed being part of the school’s football team – he kind of liked it, kind of hated it, to be honest – and he got to meet you. He specifically remembers how it was not-so-bad to watch the classes you were in as well. Reminiscing about school it's like putting pros and cons in a list about the institution, except you were in all the pros – sharing classes or studying with you, hanging out in the library, lunch and class breaks together. He’d recall some of your moments together and realize that it felt like a lifetime and no time at all altogether.

He was too insecure when he was younger, rightfully so. No one ever made him feel like he could be anything else, he’d always feel like he needed to be someone else – someone stronger, taller, whiter. His mother showered him with reassuring words all the time, but don’t all mums do that? He had the habit of comparing himself to others to an unhealthy amount, and when people realized he was good at everything he did? Well, that’s when things got worse. He had to endure long, exhausting years of fake politeness, weaponized kindness and overall patronizing behaviour – to the point of contempt, most of the time.

But then he turned 16, he was wiser – as well as he could, being a teenager – and he felt like he knew who to allow closer and who to ignore. So he started doing just that. And with that sense of “things already suck, i’ll just make the best out of it” he managed to win an insane amount of confidence – purely because, for the first time in his life, he was doing something for himself, and it felt really fucking good. He ranked up in the football team, earned some good friends that he actually respected and that treated him right, girls started giving him attention. Maybe it was his change in mentally that made him see you but then again, he barely remembers a time when you weren’t around.

You weren’t special – clearly, you carried yourself like you were just another person. Nothing about your personality was loud, you were unknown and easily ignored, but something about it felt like a fucking punch to Kyle’s stomach. Your almost anonymity both pissed him off and intrigued him and he could’ve let it slide if you hadn’t caught his attention so fucking much, because who were you and why did you walk around like you owned the place even though no one seemed to know – deeply – who you were? He wanted to know exactly what you had to achieve such a thing – mostly, he was envious of your seemingly peaceful life in school, how you did it was beyond him. And the worst part was that none of his friends understood, the first time he questioned about you his friends just blurted out “who?” like you were nonexistent – like you were unimportant.

Kyle recalls the first time he talked to you quite often, the last few years without your presence have gotten increasingly hard to endure. He remembers seeing you walk past his friend’s seat, choosing the seat in front of him to watch the class. It felt like Christmas, because after he noticed such a pretty thing like you sitting with a friend in the bleachers during one of his football team’s practice, giggling quietly and sharing snacks, he started seeing you every-fucking-where. Two weeks of pure torture after being graced with you distant presence, he finally got the chance to talk to you – a gift indeed.

He leaned forward in his seat, getting a sniff of your shampoo or perfume – it didn’t matter, it was his new favorite smell. “Hi there,” he said, in a soft spoken tone and with a small smile, trying so hard not to scare you away.

You turned your face back slightly, peeking from your shoulder to see if he was talking to you. Why would he talk to you out of nowhere? Maybe he needed a pen or something. When you realized you were just staring at him silently – probably with a blank expression – it was too late, because he was quick to add “I’m Kyle Garrick," to give you the chance to introduce yourself. Nevermind the fact that you already knew who he was – Gaz, jersey number seven on the football team.

“Uhm…” You hummed, eyes completely trapped on him. God, why was he so gorgeous? And why was he looking at you like he was waiting for something? Oh, right. You rushed to tell him your name, trying to be polite like he was, but it was hard to concentrate.

His smile widened, his body relaxing a bit in his seat. He tried to make some small talk before the teacher started the class. “Since when do you go here?” Only to be answered with a small laugh.

“Are you serious…?” You asked, not offended, just amused. When he nodded, seemingly like he wasn’t understanding your question, you simply responded: “Uh– I’ve studied here for 4 years.” You left out the fact that you had PE with him during a whole semester once – it was the very first time you noticed him, maybe that’s why you couldn’t forget.

“Oh, God—” He laughed nervously. “Sorry, I guess I just never paid much attention to that.”

“What are you sorry for, Kyle Garrick?” You brushed it off, trying to make him drop the subject. The use of his full name made him feel flustered and taken aback, you said it like you were trying to enchant him – you weren’t, he did it himself. Before he could reply, the teacher started calling the class’ attention. You felt a pang of disappointment for having to stop your small chat, giving him one last look before turning back to face the professor as he started his class.

You didn’t hear it, but he whispered one last thing before he paid the teacher full attention. “I’m paying attention now.”

Since then, you two started talking during class sometimes. He’d look for you whenever you were in a crowd and would send you a wink, a smile or a small wave of his hand in a kind-hearted greeting. Soon enough, you were meeting up in the library to study for an upcoming exam, you’d watch his football practices whenever you could and he’d walk you to your place when it was over. You never hung out at each other’s houses but he knew your favorite flowers, favorite musics, favorite color – and also the things that made you cry, the things that helped you during a rough time with anxiety and what made you feel loved. You knew his favorite movies, favorite places around town, favorite foods – and also his love languages, what made him feel like he was enough and how to soothe him when he didn’t.

Kyle liked you for a lot of things, really. He liked you for you, mostly – your music taste, hobbies and humour –, but a part of him knew he liked you for how you treated him. You didn’t make him feel in the spotlight, you didn’t treat him like he was special or like he deserved special treatment. You treated him with tenderness and care unknown to him until then, his friends were affectionate with him, but you acted as if it was only natural – you called him by his full name every time, like it was the only thing worth calling him. He felt seen in a way he never did, but mainly, he felt understood. He saw himself in you, he allowed you to lean on him and the both of you started growing bit by bit every day – overcoming insecurities and supporting each other when you didn’t.

That is, until he got his first girlfriend.

After that, he never really had time to spend with you anymore – at all. He simply disappeared from your surroundings, calculatedly so, because if he didn't he was damn sure you'd get pestered to death. His girlfriend wasn’t too nice, especially since she felt so threatened by your presence, so he decided to distance himself – but you didn’t know that. It was painful for him and he missed you like crazy, it didn’t help that his girlfriend wasn’t very loving, or careful with her words – she wasn’t like you, and it was a fucking nightmare. Kyle hated that he only figured out his feelings too late, but he thought he’d never have you like that anyways, so why bother? You acted so goddamn nonchalant about it too, like he was never part of your life to begin with – he couldn’t help but give in to the thoughts that said that maybe he wasn’t enough, maybe it wasn’t all that.

Although, the thing is: you loved Kyle to death. He was a whole world in your hands, you valued him beyond anything and that made you succumb to utter numbness when he left. You didn’t need him to live but god, did you want him. Your days didn’t revolve around him but he was the best part of them. So, what should you do when you’re left alone and wanting? Well, of course it wasn't going to be waiting. You never expected to depend so much on him, but it made sense since he was like an anchor grounding you to reality whenever you needed. So you did what you do best, you took care of yourself. New projects, new hobbies, new places to visit. New experiences, only for him to be in the back of your mind at all times. But that wasn't a problem was it? You just ignored it, like you did most of the disturbances in your life. And between this unyielding path of self-knowledge and trying to forget Kyle, you found your passion, and the best part was that you had all the time in the world to work on it.

You worked as part-timer at an advertising agency, one that – you later came to realize – was very famous for its campaigns for big brands such as alexander mcqueen, bentley and clive christian. You slowly grew fonder of the agency's inner dynamics and soon began to be part of the creative process of campaigns for smaller brands – giving a suggestion or two, piping in when the creatives were stuck. The creative director who authorized most of the projects saw potential in you, and after you started college to secure a bachelor of arts in communication degree, she saved you an internship spot.

Your life was busy and fucking amazing. You had the opportunity to expand on drawing and writing as a part of your work, made great friends that supported you and things escalated at the perfect pace – the one you set yourself. After a year as an intern, you already had a permanent spot at the agency as a creative and soon enough brands started to look for your concepts. Within the years that passed, you managed to get a great position in the very same agency, receiving a good salary and traveling around the world for big brand events – sharing new campaigns and ads that you created and directed with your team. You still struggled with anxiety, but it got so practiced throughout the years that it felt more like you had to gently tame it other than actually fight for your life – like you were so used to.

As for Kyle, his life has never been so easy. Money, work, travels – everything was reachable, he could have anything he wanted. He always knew he was meant to be a great someone one day, but sometimes his current life felt like a dream. He is forever grateful for what he gets to live, thanking whatever divine being decided to bless his life and help him make his dreams come through – help, because he’d make it happen no matter what.

His first girlfriend happened to come from an extremely successful family that owned a few companies in a conglomerate. Their relationship didn’t really last long, but since they had to study together for a while they maintained a somewhat healthy friendship – she started dating one of his teammates right after their breakup and they used to hang out together, so it was only natural. Her father liked Kyle a lot and ended up offering him a spot in his corporation during their summer break before college, which led Kyle to get a degree in business school to stay in the area. Soon enough he left their corporation and founded his own company with a colleague as his co-founder. Within the years after that, he had a tiring routine as CEO only to realize he didn’t have to, so his co-founder stepped up as CEO and Kyle fell into a more calm and less busy life, whilst still making a considerable amount of money.

However, with all the money and free time, Kyle started worrying about other parts of his life. He had the cars, the houses and the power, but what about love? He honestly thought maybe all that was missing was someone for him to take care of, nourish and love – and for that someone to do the same in their own way. Although, it’s easier said than done. After a few dates and one-night stands Kyle realized how hard it was going to be to find a healthy, serious relationship in his position. Most women wanted him for the luxury – the gifts, the expensive car rides and high-priced dinners. His edges started to sharpen a little and things started to lose sense.

It all got so monotonous. The repetitive cycle of picking up, paying for dinner, dicking down for one night and nothing more was boring, it was the epitome of a tedious, meaningless life and Kyle hated that. He turned into both a player and a womanizer, a man way too gentle with his words and with too much charisma in trivial interactions. He doesn't even realize that he is, in fact, a bit toxic – it's just his ways, you know? He got used to telling little, white lies. He got used to avoiding vulnerability. He got used to putting up with people's assumptions about who he is as a person. They see his beautiful face and think he's all about the sex and nothing more, then so be it.

Therefore, when a sudden invitation to a school reunion came up on his instagram DMs, he couldn’t even think of a reason as to why not. The first thing that came to his mind was if you were going to be there, but a big part of him thought you wouldn’t, and if you did, nothing guaranteed him that you’d want to talk to him – that you missed him like he missed you.

Kyle is still thinking about it, having arrived 30 minutes too long at the hotel’s party venue and not seeing you anywhere. He looked for you, but after a while he thought maybe you wouldn’t come, school reunions never seemed like your thing anyway – too many people, to whom you didn’t care enough to show up.

Imagine his surprise when he heard the small, polite tone of your voice, saying “God, I’m sorry I’m late, Amelia,” somewhere behind him. You’re slightly breathless and it seems like you have a smile on your face as you speak – he doesn’t dare to turn around and find out.

Kyle’s heart picks up its rate on his chest, about to spill from his mouth – even his hands are starting to get sweaty. He missed this type of emotion – the wanting to live things. He hears Amelia laughing, answering you in a caring tone. “Don’t worry, half the people I’ve invited haven’t shown up yet.”

Kyle feels silly, he didn’t even think about the fact that he was one of the firsts to arrive. Maybe he was the anxious one, after all. He wonders how well are you dealing with it nowadays, he still remembers how absolutely terrible it was to watch you through your ups and downs with social anxiety and he often wished he could take it all away from you. He can still hear your voices as you speak with Amelia, catching up. She talks about her family and work and you listen like you always did – maybe social interactions were a challenge for you still, he thinks.

“Gaz is here too,” Amelia says, using the nickname which was like his actual name during his school years. Being part of the football team made him have a bit of recognition and people often mistaken his name for ‘Gaz’, since that was what his teammates called him. “Come on, someone’s calling me so I’ll go check what it is. You should talk to him.”

She leaves you with a nudge to your arm and you have to take a deep breath to keep yourself in the moment. Right, of course he was going to arrive before you, why did you think differently? Punctual – and overachiever – like he was, he most likely arrived before everyone else. You giggle at the thought.

Your eyes wander around to try and find him, only to be surprised by a towering figure just a few steps ahead of you. He's standing by a table, most likely holding a drink in his right hand while the other rests inside the front pocket of his pants. You blink slowly to get back in your senses. Is he taller? What a stupid thought, though, of course he's taller – and bigger, you wonder where the fuck he got the muscles from.

You stare at his back for a few seconds, wondering if you should really talk to him, taking the moment to take in his appearance as much as you can. He's wearing a baby blue shirt that showcases his forearms, the color highlighting the tone of his skin. His beige trousers wrapping around his legs loosely, but even then you can make out the outline of his legs underneath – fuck, he's hotter than you remembered. Maybe it is adulthood, maybe it's the lack of an active romantic life, maybe it's the everlasting teenage crush that made him so attractive still. You don't have time to figure it out, anyways, he's turning around in his spot way too soon, his eyes locking on your figure. You don't pretend like you weren't looking, but that's just because it'd make you feel more silly for staring – and the last thing you need is to overthink this whole reunion more than you already are.

Kyle is too stunned to speak, and he's sure that if anyone talked to him right now all he would be able to do is babble your name. It's been six years or so since the last time he saw you, but you remain as beautiful as he always thought you were. You were wearing your hair a bit differently than you did back then, dressing a lot more like yourself too – at least from what he remembered about your personality. He takes in your outfit and your gorgeous frame, but it's the look on your face that takes the breath away from his lungs. You were looking at him – actually, you looked like you were gawking at his figure, shamelessly so – and he can't help the smile that pulls his lips up. He's about to say something, but you speak first.

“Kyle Garrick…” Your voice is steady despite the joy clear in it, the total opposite of your insides. Butterflies move up and down your stomach, and you have to press your lips to contain a nervous laugh. “It's been a while, huh?”

He chuckles at your choice of words, tilting his head to the side with a sigh. “Aye, one could say tha’.” He walks slowly to approach you. “How’ve you been?”

You nod as in contemplation, not wanting to rant but wanting to share everything with him. “Uhm… I’ve been good. Doing great, actually. You?”

The time it takes for him to answer makes the awkward silence grow to a palpable amount, you’re sure that if you take a step ahead you’ll trip over it. “I’ve been alright, working and all.”

You hum in acknowledgement and, for a second or two, you just look at each other. All the thoughts about what you once were suddenly not having an ounce of importance because you notice that the usual cheerful glint that was always swimming in his iris – a reflection of his inner joy – is no longer present in his eyes. You wonder if you’ve lost some of your youthful optimism as well, even though Kyle’s lack of sparkles must come from his own insecurities – ones you’ve been very familiar with over your time together. It’s clear now that you don’t know this man at all, for all you know, he’s just someone you happened to meet once, but he’s no longer that boy. You pride yourself in reaching adulthood and emotional maturity and he must have changed just as much.

The sound of Amelia calling for you snaps you back to the moment. You don’t notice, but Kyle’s eyes flash the fastest pleading look before he recomposes and says his goodbyes, watching as you walk towards Amelia to sit down at her table. For the rest of the night, he doesn’t see you again, too lost in his own thoughts to get up and search for you. What was that look you gave him before you left? Was it pity in your eyes? Did he look the way he felt – desperate for some ounce of understanding and recognition? He sure didn’t want you to leave, but he couldn’t think of a way to make you stay without sounding overbearing. You looked so self-assured now, he thought maybe the girl he once knew was pushed back somewhere deep in your mind – or maybe he was just projecting.

Four hours and way too many reencouters later, you figure it’s time for you to go home. It’s Saturday and you’d rather spend the rest of your night at home than in some reunion party where people were clearly seeking more validation than they did good memories. You get up from your table and walk out of the room slowly, waving goodbye with a polite smile to some people that watch you on your way out. The path to the front door goes by smoothly, no one stopping you mid-walk and you’re glad you’re getting closer to the exit. You move past the last few tables to reach the exit door in a rehearsed confidence, that simply looked like a practiced movement to anyone who didn’t know you.

“Are you leaving?” Kyle’s voice takes you by surprise, so caring and so confused that it makes a small smile bloom in your face. You leave the doorknob to look at him, turning in your heels to answer him properly.

“Yeah.” But there’s no further explanation.

The both of you are standing in the entry hall, taking each other in. After all the time you had talking with people you once knew, the weight of feeling so distant to him is bearable now. He's still just as beautiful as you remember, so much more like a man too. He looks exactly like the man you used to picture whenever you talked about your futures, and a hidden part of you wishes he’s thinking the same about you.

“Huh,” he says after a pause. He looks down at his shoes trying to break the tension that settled between your gazes, clearing his throat with his eyebrows involuntarily creased. “I, uh… I can drive you home, if you’d like.”

And it is a poor, half thought excuse to be closer to you, you know it, but it does things to your mind. The school girl who would’ve died from hearing such words is giggling and kicking her feet somewhere deep inside you. You’re truthfully flattered at his attempt, so you answer with a flustered smile. “Uhm, thanks. Really! But I have my car, so…” You trail off, showcasing the car keys and small keychains dangling off of it.

He can only laugh, embarrassed at his words because of course you’d have a car of your own, a pricey one at that. “Right, uh–” He glances over at you, not knowing what else to say. “Okay… I guess that’s goodbye, then.”

“Yeah.” You nod, more to yourself because God, you’ve thought about meeting him again so many times, but today’s encounter was so fucking short-lived. “I guess it is.”

He waits until your hand is touching the door once again to call out your name hesitantly, before you can step outside. “Wait– Uh… Can I have your number? Please?”

You smile a little too happy for your own good, biting your lip to try and contain it but failing miserably. “Yeah, sure. You can, just let me…” You state, catching his unlocked phone to dial your phone number. You hand it back to him with a whispered “there we go” and he almost rolls his eyes at the tone of your voice.

“Thanks, love,” he replies with the very first pet name after so long not seeing each other and your heart leaps inside your chest. After receiving a nod from you, he watches as you walk past the door. And then you're gone, just like that.

Kyle didn’t text you that night.

As a matter of fact, he didn’t text you at all for the next few days. You thought that maybe he was busy, but he actually just didn’t know what to say. Kyle is terrified of scaring you away somehow – after so long avoiding vulnerability –, so he tried to think of how to text you without it sounding like he’s been pining over you since school – which would be hard, he’s not sure he can lie like that.

You, on the other hand, was too busy with work to care about the lack of messages from Kyle out of all people – which translates as: you were going crazy. It’s like you were pushed back to your school days, when you’d think and dream and breathe Kyle all the time. It was good, daydreaming about him and you for a moment or two, but you were convinced that was it. He surely had someone more interesting to spend time with, and even if the thought pained you, you still wished the best for him – love does mean sacrifice sometimes, after all. You didn’t know that man anymore and neither did he know you, so you expected the reunion night to be the only time you saw each other again – as it should be, considering all the years that passed. What you didn’t expect, was to receive a message from Kyle two weeks after he got your phone number.

You didn’t rush to see what it was when you first heard the buzz of the notification. It is Friday night and you're eating your homecooked meal as you sit on your couch, wrapped in a blanket alone in the living room of your apartment. The TV is on, playing a random show you don’t care enough to pay attention to, your whole focus moving from your almost finished meal to your phone screen. You are amazed at his action and baffled by his straightforwardness. A part of you couldn’t help but wonder if the person was indeed Kyle – maybe it was someone else, texting the wrong number.

Unknown: hey Unknown: are you free tomorrow?

As the second Friday night after your – accidental – reencounter came around, Kyle couldn’t help but text you. He didn’t know exactly how or what to say, but he still did it – in a rush and without thinking, which resulted in a very messy first impression, he was sure of the fact. He was not used to texting first. He also was not used to being the one asking for things – he wasn’t one to ask for things he didn’t know the answer to already –, so to say he was nervous about texting you and asking you out was a big understatement. He did it anyway, gathering all the courage in his body and doing it with a deep breath, only to be struck by your answer.

You: hey You: are you free tomorrow? Luvie: Sorry, who is this?

He smiled at his own screen. It was getting late and the windows of his penthouse showcased the darkening sky, slowly blossoming with small sparkly stars despite the amount of city lights outshining them. He readjusted himself in his seat on the floor, back resting on the sofa as he nursed a glass of whisky that was now resting at the coffee table so he could get his hands free to type his reply.

Luvie: Sorry, who is this? You: oh, sorry, should’ve said that first You: it’s Gaz ;)

You rolled your eyes at his reply. Since when did you call him that? You quickly added his number to your contact list before you tried to think of something else to add to your answer. You couldn’t come up with anything, so you settled with what was known.

Kyle Garrick<3: it’s Gaz ;) You: Oh, Kyle Garrick! You: I’m not free tomorrow, though. Why?

Kyle likes how he can hear your voice through your texts. The way you’re always keeping the solemn facade and the serious edge in your voice until you feel comfortable enough to open yourself a bit more – the exclamation showing just an inch of your true excitement, he hopes. But the way you always mention his whole name – it does something to his poor mind.

Luvie: I’m not free tomorrow, though. Why? You: i thought it’d be nice to take you out for lunch

Lunch. A better option than the romantic dinner he had initially planned. Come on Kyle, you can take things slow – he thinks to himself. There isn’t a single thought in his head about you accepting his invitation, partially because – well – he liked to think he still knew some things about you, but mostly because who the hell grabs lunch on a Saturday as a date? But, regardless of your answer, he knew it would open the space for a conversation – at least from what he knew of you.

So, it is no surprise when he sees the notification popping up on his phone screen.

> Incoming call from Luvie

“Hello?”

You can hear Kyle’s voice clearly, although there’s a slight slur on it. It’s inevitable the way your heart rate quickens, your mind picturing him somewhere in his home, nursing a glass of something as he picks your call up.

“Are you drinking?” It’s the first thing you say, and the urge to end the call is almost unbearable. Despite your noisy question, he laughs on his end of the line.

“Aye, I am,” he says between breaths, happy that you called him out of nowhere – the spontaneity of it warms his heart and brings a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“What should I do with you, Kyle Garrick?” The question is silly, of course. A way of lightening the mood that’s probably only tense for you. For a moment, you forget about what made you think of calling him in the first place. He’s quick to remind you.

“Maybe accept my invitation for lunch…?” He is joking, following your lead and bringing the well-humoured atmosphere to try and ease you, who’s most likely overthinking this whole call. Despite his small joke, you know he’s still being honest.

“I have a meeting downtown, tomorrow morning around lunch time…” You say, and for a moment you think you should have said something else. What if he thinks you’re making up an excuse? What if he loses interest in going out with you because of it? What if—

“Well, we can have dinner then. How ‘bout tha’, hm?” He suggests, as if it’s nothing. Your whole body is close to exploding with the way your heart almost stops in your chest, the slight rasp in his voice is almost sinful to your ears and he’s not even trying to sound inappropriate. Before you can answer, he adds: “I’ll pick you up, jus’ call me when ya get ready.” Who would say that a man who’s willing to solve things quickly was something that would attract you – maybe it was just because it was Kyle.

“Okay…” You nod along his words like he could see you and you hate that you’re so nervous because of him, especially now that you’ll go out for dinner. “Uh, but—”

“Don’t worry tha’ pretty head of yours, jus’ pick something nice for you to wear.” And with that last sentence and a sense of decisiveness, he hangs up.

You could punch Kyle.

What’s wrong with him and why would he hang up like that? If he knows anything about you, it has to be the fact that you grow anxious from the smallest things. You know you can’t get mad at him – even if you wanted to –, but you wish you had tried harder to stand your ground. It’s not like you’re one to play difficult, but you did have a story with Kyle and you can’t be sure of what his intentions are now that he asked you out for dinner – he did invite you for lunch first though, the notion eases a bit of your nerves.

You’re always in control of your emotions and reactions, but when it comes to Kyle you turn into a stuttering mess. As for now, he was the one who asked for your number – and consequently the one who texted first – and now he decided almost everything about your outing on his own. You contemplate texting him about it, maybe ask where you’re going and what time you should be ready. But he did tell you to just call him when you were ready, so wouldn’t it just seem like you just wanted to text him? You hate that you overthink so much.

In the end, you just shrug the thoughts away, getting up from your couch to leave your dishes at the kitchen and walking to your room so you can get your night routine started – whispering to whatever God there is, praying that the date goes well. Even after getting ready for bed and snuggling under your covers, your mind is still thinking of Kyle when your head hits your pillow and, as you start to fall asleep, you’re sure he’ll be in your dreams.

Before you can register, it’s already Saturday afternoon.

Your meeting went smoothly even with the big amount of problems addressed. They are always so small that it’s easy to let them slip, which is what makes this type of meeting necessary in the first place – something that only motivates you to work harder. After your meeting, you're back home in a joyous mood, having bought lunch in your favorite restaurant on your way back. You’re feeling so content that you don’t even realize your movements as you take your phone from the back pocket of your pants and start to type in a message addressed to your once close friend – and love interest –, Kyle.

You: Good afternoon, Kyle Garrick You: I’m looking forward to seeing you later today

Kyle never expected you to text first. To be fair, he always just assumed you’d overthink to the point of giving up, but to receive your text – one so nice, may he add – makes his heart thump in his chest the second he sees it. He can’t decide what he likes more: the fact that he’ll be seeing you in a few hours or your text saying that you’re looking forward to it. His positive answer is expected by you, but his choice of words don’t fail to make you let out a shaky breath, unconsciously biting your lip to conceal a smile.

You: I’m looking forward to seeing you later today Kyle Garrick<3: so am i Kyle Garrick<3: can’t wait to hear all about your meeting today

It’s partially a joke, of course. He supposes you’re both going to talk a lot more about the years that have passed since your last – proper – conversation than about your current jobs. Regardless of what you’ve thought you’ll share, catching up with you is his main goal for the evening. You’re, on the other hand, quite aware of his motivations. His lack of questions about your life throughout the few times you’ve talked makes you think he’s saving them for when you’re talking in person – much like you, who enjoys being face to face when catching up. Despite your beliefs about the matter, you don’t waste time and play along.

Kyle Garrick<3: can’t wait to hear all about your meeting today You: Six years without seeing me and you expect me to talk about my work You: You’re a funny guy, Kyle Garrick

Kyle laughs at his screen, eyes glinting with affection and a smile so big it hurts his cheeks. He missed talking with you like that and he can’t wait to have you all to himself, talking about all sorts of topics like when you did when you were younger. His reply makes you roll your eyes – typical.

You: You’re a funny guy, Kyle Garrick Kyle Garrick<3: sure am sweetheart Kyle Garrick<3: i haven’t changed that much Kyle Garrick<3: and don’t worry, we’ll have time to talk about everything we need to

There’s a slight tilt to your head when you read his last text. Sure, you expect him to be flirty, but you’re not sure how to interpret his words – maybe there wasn’t anything to think about it, maybe he just meant what he said. It takes you a while to think about what you’ll reply, when you finally do, you notice the time: almost one in the afternoon and you haven’t eaten what you bought for lunch yet – you don’t mind double texting after a pause, adding one last message before tossing your phone aside.

You: I’m glad we’ll have time, it does feel like we have a lot to talk about You: I’m going to eat my lunch, I’ll talk with you later!

You ate slowly, still thinking about everything you two will experience together. Surprisingly, your nerves are well tamed today, despite the anxiety-inducing factor. You’re glad you can eat and go on with your day without that annoying twist of nervousness in your stomach and, as you busy yourself with house chores and a bath, dining time arrives impossibly fast.

You’re still wrapped in your towel, trying to figure out what to wear. Kyle was a wealthy man, but he wasn’t one to dress up too much – at least for what you’ve seen lately –, so you choose a comfortable outfit whilst still being elegantly dressed. When you text him that you’re ready, he answers you in no time, letting you know that he’s on his way after you send him your address.

He shows up at your place approximately 20 minutes later, wearing an outfit surprisingly similar to yours – and you wonder if that’s the reason why he asked for a picture of your outfit in the first place. You take in his outfit as he steps out of the two seat car he’s driving, it’s a kind gesture – walking to the sidewalk to guide you inside the car, opening and closing the door for you – but you do ask yourself why he would want to impress you out of all people? Maybe that was truly his lifestyle, as simple as that. You don’t get to ask, his voice cuts through your thoughts.

“You okay with having dinner at my place?” Kyle asks you, but he rushes to explain further after he caught the squint of your eyes. “I figured it’d be better, y’know, to avoid crowds and too much noise…”

“Yeah, uhm– That’s totally fine,” you say after a pause, thankful that he did consider your wills before choosing where you’d go. He’s still as thoughtful as you remembered him to be and the notion brings a spark of affection to your heart. “Thank you.”

He snickers, a gentle smirk making its way to his lips – you’re so polite still. “What do y’mean, baby? I’ve got you.” He gives you a playful wink before starting the engine.

You relax on your seat as you put your seatbelt on, taking in the car’s dashboard. It looks out of a futuristic movie and you like the way it fits Kyle’s aesthetic – in a way. As Kyle starts to slowly drive away from your place, you notice how strong his perfume is. The woody smell is like a warm blanket being wrapped around you, the whole car smelling like him – and you secrectly hope his house is the same. He probably wears a very expensive cologne and you think of asking which one as a way to make conversation, but you decide to leave it at that, enjoying the silence – your body leaning on the window to take in the lit up buildings and the night sky.

You don’t remember the last time you’ve been this close to him. When you talked at the reunion you both kept a safe distance, but now you have your arms almost touching and it’s sending sparks of excitement throughout your whole body. The air is filled with a nice sense of mystery, both of you knowing this is uncharted territory despite the fact that you once were very close friends.

Kyle drives slowly despite the horsepower his car probably holds, his hands moving from his thigh to the wheel, from the wheel to the gearshift – and then back to his thigh. You wonder if he’s nervous about all of this, if he’s hanging on the edge of his seat like you are. You’ve had the biggest crush on him when you were younger but you never felt so nervous about being around him – maybe it’s the weight of being an adult now. You know things aren’t as innocent anymore and you don’t exactly dislike that, but it doesn’t fail to make butterflies to coil in your belly. You hope he’s feeling the same way, it’d be almost upsetting if he wasn’t.

When you arrive at his flat, you quickly realize he actually lives in a penthouse.

The entrance is huge. You can spot the floor-to-ceiling windows as soon as you step inside his home, the overview of the city making the butterflies in your stomach go wild – your mind becoming hazy at the notion of how high you were.

His decoration is so him, yellow lights every other free space, soft colored rugs and a lot of art pieces at the walls – which is what catches your attention immediately. Right in the middle of his living area’s wall is a big painting of a yellow lily in a dark, royal blue background.

“A lily!” It’s all you say at first, which rips a laugh out of Kyle’s lips.

“A lily!” The echo of your words holds the same enthusiasm from when you said it, and you can’t help the huge smile that blossoms in your face. “Do you like it, luv?”

“I love it,” you answer, still smiling.

“Good, I know lilies are your favorite.” Kyle is looking down as he speaks, but it does nothing to take the weight of his words. “Had that painting for a while now, took me a few weeks to finish it.”

“Wait– You painted that?” Your astonished voice reminds him of when you two were younger – when everything he said made you react with eagerness. He missed that kind of passion for things.

“I did. I saw a blue lily as I passed by a store, but thought it’d look prettier if it were yellow, so I painted it,” he says as if it’s nothing.

“That simple, huh?” There’s a constant giggle making its way to your mouth, the happiness of sharing something about him – something private – in his home, warms your cheeks.

He lets you wander through his living area as you two make small talk. “You don’t have a TV?” It’s a genuine question. Since the painting it’s big enough to cover most of the wall, you wonder if he opted that over a television – maybe he wasn’t one to watch TV much.

“I do have one, actually. I have, uh– A home cinema.” For the very first time, Kyle feels weird sharing that. It feels futile now, saying it to you like he’s flexing or something. You can sense his sudden rush of self-consciousness and, lucky him, you really like watching movies – that and the fact that you’d never judge him to be superficial.

So, with a laugh, you answer: “Uhm, I think that’s better than not having a TV.”

You two walk together as he shows you a bit more of his place, talking about daily and trivial matters before he brings you to where you two will be having dinner. The dining area is separated from the living area by a big bookshelf. The dark wood furniture is filled in its hole by many different things: books of all colors and sizes, vinyls and CDs, small vases with succulents, some framed pictures. It must be a lot of work to clean, but that's definitely not Kyle's job – he probably has a housekeeper that keeps the house in order.

There is a wooden table in the middle of the room, already set and decorated with lit candles. Kyle excuses himself for a second before returning with two made plates – one in each hand – and a wine bottle tucked under his arm.

You shake your head at the scene. “Here, Kyle Garrick, let me help you out.” You take the bottle and fall into step with the man, watching as he sets the plates down. “Did you cook that?” Looks good, goes unsaid – not the time to feed his ego, yet.

“I did, actually,” he says, as if it’d surprise you – he was always good at everything. “Quite enjoy cooking…”

“I can see that.” It’s a subtle praise, sounds more like a teasing remark but it works on putting a smile on his face. “Well, I would open the bottle if I could,” you say, comically. “But I actually don’t know how…”

“Oh no,” he mimics your tone. “And we can’t have tha’, now, can we?” You can’t help but giggle at the way he plays along. “Here, let me show you how.”

After making a scene of showing you how to properly open a wine bottle, Kyle lets you sit down to eat – you at the head of the table while he takes the corner by your left side. Dinner goes by smoothly, you both grow less nervous and more comfortable, enjoying the wine and the food in good company.

Once you’re done eating, he takes you to his living room – not after opening another bottle of wine for you to share. You both sit across from each other on the couch, the skyline in the darkness of the night making you feel like you’re in a movie. You raise your glass slowly to your lips, taking a sip and savouring the taste in your tongue as you bask in his presence – Kyle always made you feel so welcomed.

“Y’know,” he starts. “I always thought you didn’t want me around, back then…”

The question takes you by surprise. Not once you would’ve thought you gave off that vibe during your final months at school. “Why’d you think that?”

“Because you were so distant… I don't know.” Kyle frowns like it’s painful to even remember – and maybe it was, because it kind of was for you too.

“You left,” with someone else, someone new who took your place – you don’t say it, but he knows you're thinking about it. Your tone is calm and collected, but the words reflect the confusion you felt when he suddenly disappeared from your life. “Was I supposed to run after you?”

“Uhm, no. I guess…” There’s a pause and then he shrugs. “I know I should’ve gone after you. Although, still, I wouldn’t wan’ t’bother you somehow.”

“You were never a bother, Kyle,” and you say it so softly he almost believes it. “Or a burden.” His eyes find yours and the way you’re looking at him makes him feel so seen that he wonders if he’s naked. You always did this – look at him and bare his soul against his will, make him feel held even if you’ve never truly touched him. “I’m happy people saw in you the same things I did,” you add. “A brilliant young man with a bright future ahead.” You’re sure your eyes are filled with sparkles now. “And look at you now.”

“It’s not like that…” He’s clearly growing flustered, your words heavy in his mind in a way it’d never be if they were from someone else.

“How is it, then?” You rest your chin in your palm comically after setting your glass at the coffee table, trying to lighten the mood – even though it’s been years, you could tell he’s overthinking. “Enlighten me…”

“I dunno.” He shrugs. “I guess with all the wealth I started to realize that I don't have what really matters to me, y’know?” He averts his gaze, shaking his head. “Like I have everything and nothing at the same time.”

“Mhm, I feel you…” You nod along, wholeheartedly. You knew he was always one to fall into spiraling thoughts, so to reassure him comes only natural to you – like it once did when you were younger. “But you can always think differently. That it also means that you’re not a superficial person. You have more to yourself than the money and the lifestyle that comes with it.” You two share a charged glance, the echoes of your past and the conversations you had as kids becoming even more real – same kids, simply more mature now. You sigh, trying to shake off the memories. “Either way… All you have to do is decide what you want, I’m sure it’ll come to you.”

He lets out a bashful smile, knowing exactly what you’re hinting at – his reputation as golden boy and the fact that everything had worked out perfectly to him. “Okay,” he says, changing the subject. “What about you? I knew you’d grow out of your anxiety…”

“Not entirely, but I guess it’s not a daily occurrence at least,” you share, hands coming down to your lap as you fidget with your fingers – involuntary motion, old habits die hard.

“I figured, since you still wear your fidget ring,” he states, index finger pointing to your hands in your lap, indicating he’d seen your movement – the smallest motion from you being giant in his caring, attentive eyes.

You look down at the ring in your index finger, rolling it with your thumb. “You remember that?”

You remember he had one too, the same as yours. He was the one who bought it for you – because of Christmas or your birthday, you don’t remember well, but it was a gift. He used to wear his with a golden chain back then, as a necklace. He used to say he did it for you, so if you ever lost yours he could land you his – in a way, it was true, only he wore it in a chain to feel you closer to his heart somehow.

“I tried to remember everything I could, love.” He adjusts his position on the sofa as he puts his – now empty – glass beside yours at the coffee table. His hands move slowly to pop a button of his shirt, opening just enough so he can take a chain from underneath it – and there it is, the same ring in the same chain it used to be years ago.

You get home tipsy and happy that night, the warmth running in your veins more from your wholesome interactions with the British man than from the alcohol itself – although, it sure did help. Kyle drove you home as you two shared thoughts about how your music taste has changed ever since you graduated. When he stopped in front of your place, he walked out of the car and watched you until you were in the safe walls of your home – behind your front door, you could hear the roar of his car’s powerful engine as he speeded off back to his penthouse.

On the days that followed, you texted Kyle whenever something reminded you of him – which meant: you texted him every other day. Kyle was always receptive of your texts, even though he clearly wasn’t one to text much. To not come off as uninterested, he’d show up at your workplace during lunch time so you could have lunch together and send you things like your favorite treat, and small little presents like keychains and single flowers.

You had to grow used to it – to him and his way of showing his affections. Since quality time wasn’t something you could have often due to your different but equally busy routines, he found other ways to make himself present in your daily life. But he knew you liked to actually spend time with him, that’s why he’d take advantage of any time you had off work to take you out and do random things together – like last Sunday when he followed you around as you did your grocery shopping.

That’s how you find yourself walking back to his car after buying and eating ice cream from an ice cream parlour he claimed to be the best in the city – and it was, but you were sure it was because he was the one who took you there. It’s late afternoon, the last busy day of your week as you approach the first time you’d have a complete, interrupted weekend off work after a while. Fridays were always your favorite, but they never really meant you’d have time to rest, but this Friday was different.

Kyle had texted you about having the possibility to have a weekend off, asking if you’d be free any day – otherwise he’d change his schedule, like always, to fit yours. It was good that you actually will have time off, so you quickly assured him you are free whenever. He joked about abducting you for the entire three days and you said “I wouldn’t mind…” in a way too sultry tone – and he laughed, of course, you’re such a tease sometimes.

You smile as you remember the exchange, a sudden cold wind blowing in your face snapping you out of your thoughts. You realize the sun is already setting, casting a golden glow over the city and you could only wonder how it’d look from his penthouse.

You decide to break the current comfortable silence that had settled between you two. “It’s such a beautiful sunset today…”

“It is, innit?” Kyle nods, but you can feel him glancing at you sideways. The things between you had grown even more complicated to describe ever since you started hanging out more often, the constant tension between you making your feelings even more obvious – even though you haven’t really talked about it.

It doesn’t help that you can’t miss an opportunity to flirt with the man. “It’s almost as pretty as you, Kyle.”

He can’t hold his laugh, already half expecting something like this from you. Shaking his head, he allows himself to share: “It’s hard to take compliments from you…” He tilts his head to your direction, eyes roaming your features. “Always has been.”

The confession catches you off guard. “Why is that?”

“‘Cause I can tell you mean them,” he says, laughing at his own words – why does it sound silly when he says them, he doesn’t know. “And tha’ puts me in a position I’m not very used to being in.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you think about his words. “You’ve always been people’s favorite…”

“But that’s what they say.” Kyle frowns, but it’s just a way to show how confused he feels – truly, just as much as you. “You confess it, it’s different.”

“I’m glad you know I mean the words I say,” you state matter-of-factly, but there’s an awfully tender edge to your voice. “I choose them carefully, y’know?”

“Of course you do.” He rolls his eyes, pushing at your shoulder.

He loves that he can share his thoughts with you and you won’t make a catastrophe out of them neither will you invalidate them – you’re the perfect mix of calm reassurance and playful mocking.

You two keep the small talk until you reach his car. Once you’re both inside it, you ask: “So… What will we do now?”

“Uhm… We could, uh- I could… Take you t’your place, you could pack some things and then we could stay over mine… For the weekend,” Kyle struggles but manages to deliver the phrase, quickly adding: “If you’d like, of course.”

You let out a small laugh, nodding. “Yeah, okay. I like the sound of that.”

The drive to your place is short. You pack a few, essential things with Kyle’s help – with him throwing random things inside your bag for you to take out with a huff – and then you two were driving to Kyle’s home.

It’s peaceful when you walk into his penthouse, the golden rays of light already going away with the sunset, the moon making itself present with a few starts that blossom into the darkening sky. Both you and Kyle change out of your outfit, choosing for more comfortable clothes now that you’d be at home.

After you're both settled, he grabs your hand and takes you to his home cinema – a dimly lit room with a giant sofa and an ever bigger TV adorning the main wall. He chooses to sit in the middle of the sofa and you have no other option but to sit right by his side with the way he drags you along with him.

“Any suggestions as to what we should watch?” He asks, his voice low and his eyes trained on the big screen in front of him.

“Hum… No, actually. You can put whatever.” You’re looking up at him, his face beautiful in the dim light of the TV. It’s the first time you get to be domestic with him, the notion that you’ll be sharing a bed already working to turn you on – were you ovulating?

You can hear the sound of a famous movie studio being introduced as Kyle sets the controller down in the couch’s arm. When he relaxes back into the cushions, he realizes your eyes are on him. The room stays silent except for the movie beginning to play in the background, you two look at each other trying to figure out if it’s the right time or not. Not wanting to lose the opportunity, Kyle leans forward slightly, lips brushing yours like it’s the last thing he’ll do in his life – slowly, savoring every second of it.

There’s a beat of silence, a brush of his nose on yours and then he confesses: “Fuck– Been wanting t’do tha’ since I met you,” he gasps out, even if he hasn’t kissed you yet.

“That long, pretty boy?” You whisper back, eyes so low they’re almost closed.

You keep breathing into each other, the movie long forgotten now that you have his undivided attention. Kyle quickly realizes you’re just as entranced in the moment as he is, but instead of jumping to conclusions, he asks: “Are you sure you wan’ t’do this?” Not wanting to sound insecure but wanting to be sure you’re okay.

“Mhm,” you hum in agreement, nodding your head slightly. “You?”

He smiles at your answer, hands brushing your sides lovingly. “Never been so sure, sweet’eart.”

With another brief brush of his mouth on yours, he breaks the distance and presses your lips together. You can’t help but frown, the simple notion that you’re kissing him making your insides melt and leak through your panties, your eagerness manifesting itself in a small, muffled moan as his tongue starts to brush tenderly over yours.

Kyle guides the kiss, setting a calm, passionate pace as you two make out until you have to take a break to catch your breath. He leans into you, face hiding into your neck with a weak laugh. “Thought you’d never let me…” It’s a joke, obviously, so you answer with fake offense.

“Shut up, you waited six years to kiss me the first time.” You nudge his side and he squirms from the ticklish sensation, stronger frame pushing you onto the cushions to pin you down and prevent you from carrying on with your attack.

Once he has you successfully pliant under him, he allows a smirk to adorn his lips. “Well, what can I say? I’m a gentleman.” His teasing tone makes you roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the way you’re smiling, entertained by his antics and happy to be this close to him.

“Oh yes, of course. I’m sorry Don Ju–Ah—” You’re cut off by Kyle, who starts tickling your sides, ripping a yelp out of you. After asking for a break with no success, you start begging: “Kyle! Kyle– Please, stop, I won’t make fun of you anymore. I promise!”

Kyle is laughing with you – at you –, but at your relentless pleas, he gives you a break. “Who’d say you’d look so cute begging like tha’, huh?” You fight the urge to roll your eyes again, instead you avert your eyes with a mumbled “shut up”.

The man is kissing you again before you know it. You make out slowly, each kiss working you up little by little.

Kyle takes his shirt off first and you run your fingers down his chest with worship overflowing your eyes. His warm skin feels like silk under your palms and you have to hold back the urge to trail kisses all over his body – surely, next time. When he moves to touch your waist under your shirt, you don’t think twice before taking the piece of fabric off as well, your braless chest coming into view, making him bite his lips softly.

“S’ pretty, luv,” he mumbles into the skin of your collarbone, planting kisses over it and up to your mouth again.

Your hands move away from where they’re holding his face as you wrap your arms around his neck, your bodies impossibly close as you make out, slowly grinding into each other – like one would in a sensual dance. Kyle’s left hand settles in your thigh, pulling it up and closer to his hip as he grinds down, humping your clothed cunt with vigor. You exchange gasps and moans, whispered confessions stumbling over your lips like you’re both drunk in pleasure.

Once the lust begins to feel too blinding to bear, Kyle makes quick work of his sweatpants and boxers, throwing the clothes aside not caring where they’d land on the floor. His palms trail up your thighs, softly squeezing the flesh before he reaches the hem of your shorts. He doesn’t voice it, but you can tell by the way he’s looking up at you that he wants your permission to take them off – which you land with a nod of your head and a heavy exhale.

Your shorts slide down your legs along with your underwear. You open your legs to accommodate Kyle between them without even thinking about it. His eyes are glued to your pussy, a million praises running on his mind. He moves his thumb to press softly over your clit and your gasp, hands holding his arms to pull him closer to you. Even if he wanted to, he doesn’t tease you much – pushing all teasing for the next time. He gives a few strokes of his hand around his cock to spread his pre on his length before holding it to your entrance, sliding over your folds to gather some of your slick. He feels like he’s floating as soon as he starts pushing his tip inside you.

“Fuck— Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he babbles, almost drooling over you as he keeps pushing inside.

You giggle, dumb and dizzy on him, face turning to the side trying to half hide it from Kyle. Despite the small burning feeling from the stretch of your unprepared walls, his cock feels divine inside you.

“C'mon, love,” he coos, right hand finding your face and making you face him. He takes his time pecking your face everywhere, showering you with kisses. When he gets to your lips, he whispers to them: “Don't hide from me.”

He adjusts himself between your legs when he bottoms out, starting to move his hips back and forth slowly at first, his cock reaching impossibly deep inside you. “Oh my God– Kyle—” Your moan of his name makes him drop his head to your shoulder, holding back on cumming as best as he can with the way you feel so good wrapped around him.

“Yeah? Talk t’me, baby,” he urges, hand letting go of your face so he can wrap both his arms around you, resting them on his elbows by your head. “Ngh– Fuck– Fuck me, best fuckin’ cunt.” There’s a moan caught in the back of his throat, making his voice sound so strained and needy. “Takin’ me so bloody well, doll.”

His body is entirely hovering over yours, your chests touching and your mouth brushing at each other’s ears because of the position – which is driving him crazy, he can make every little, beautiful sound of yours. Your legs wrap around his waist involuntarily, making him slip a bit deeper whenever he thrusts back into you, your hands resting on his back fighting the urge to sink your nails on his skin – he probably wouldn’t mind, but you want to enjoy the passionate moment without turning it rough, yet.

“F-feels good, Kyle… Kyle–” When he moves up from the spot where he was resting his forehead to your shoulder, he takes in your features – closed eyes, lips parted, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin. You just look so beautiful, and with the way you're calling his name he can’t hold himself.

Kyle’s hips start to move faster, unintentionally slamming down on yours. “Fuck– Say—Ah–” He stutters, a whimper leaving his lips at his own sudden change of pace. “S-shit, love. Say it a-again? Say it again f’me, a-aye?”

“M-mhm,” you answer, but fail to do what he was asking for. One of his hands finds your lower belly, palm stretching open so he can press down your stomach as his thumb finds your clit. It forces a whine out of you. “Kyle! Kyle, Kyle– Fuck—” You feel even fuller now, with the pressure he’s making on your stomach.

“Tha’s it. Tha’s it, love. C-call my name– Fuckin’ ‘ell—” He heaves out his breath through his nose, thumb moving clumsly on your clit as his thrusts start to grow sloppy. “Close, baby? S-so tight– Gonna cum with me, love?”

You let small, strained hums of agreement along with moans of his name.

“I know, love. I k-know, baby,” he coos at you, probably just as dumb as you are from the mind-numbing pleasure. “Cum with me, c’mon.”

It doesn't take much more for you to be pushed over the edge. Kyle actually cums before you and with the way he moans your name you immediately cum with him.

He doesn’t pull out at first, like you thought he would, he barely even moves besides trailing kisses from your neck to your mouth. He sighs to your lips, “God, I never wan’ t’stop kissing you.”

You giggle, a bit spent but way too happy to be the object of his affections. “Hum…Then don’t.” You press your lips to his in a long peck, which he pulls away with a smile.

“You’re problem, I see,” he jokes, hugging you and leaving one last kiss to your neck before pulling away with finality. Despite wanting to be lazy with you, he knows you have to get cleaned up. “Shower?”

“Shower!” You agree, allowing him to help you out of the couch.

Your shower goes as smoothly as it can with the way Kyle acts like a child with a new toy. His big bathroom allows enough space for you to move around comfortably, so instead of taking a bath you opt for a warm shower. Kyle’s hands haven’t left you once and he insists on washing you after you’ve washed his body. He dries your body like someone would a renaissance sculpture, with so much worship and devotion in his eyes it feels wrong to allow something so sacred to manifest into this mundane world. You ask if he can put on his cologne and he does – you almost faint right there from how good he smells.

Once you're both dressed, you have to drag him to the kitchen. There’s a long debate about what you’ll eat but you manage to agree on an easy option and that’s what you make for you two. Kyle stays behind you all time, hugging you and kissing you whenever he can without getting in your way. He watches you closely, so when the food is ready, he makes sure to bring everything to the home cinema, claiming that now you’d actually watch the movie.

And you do, playfully arguing over why the villain is not so bad of a character and how the soundtrack is actually better than you both expected. By the time the movie ends, it’s long past bed time – although, neither of you feel like sleeping. You gather every dish used, walking back to the kitchen in lazy steps.

“Do you want to get ice cream?” Kyle asks you after he finished loading the washing machine, a smirk in his lips and the tone of a child who’s about to disobey a rule.

“Ice cream? But it’s late…” You would love to have some, but wouldn’t it be bothersome?

“Who cares if it’s late, love? C’mon.” He takes his car keys from the key holder by the entry hall, grabbing one of his jackets for you to wear. “Let’s go, I’ll get a sweet treat for you and we can make out in the parking lot.” You can only laugh at the way he comically wiggles his brows, pushing at his chest like it’d stop him from being so silly.

As you walk out of his penthouse, Kyle realizes that’s all he’s ever needed – you, holding his hand and laughing at his stupid jokes – and that he has never felt so rich in his life.

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creativepromptsforwriting · 2 days ago

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Prompt List: Fantasy/Sci-Fi (5)

Masterpost by creativepromptsforwriting

Superheroes (and Villains) (+ Spies) Part II

Prompt #615:

“You don’t exactly look like an international spy.” “Yeah, well that’s the point.”

Prompt #691:

When a new villain comes into town, the last thing the hero was expecting to happen, was that their old nemesis and the new villain would start to fight each other for the hero’s attention.

Prompt #702:

Over the years of fighting each other, the hero and the villain had formed some kind of weird friendship.

Prompt #706:

An internship with the local villain is probably not what the teacher had in mind for them.

Prompt #741:

The hero, the brightest of them all, is fighting against a curse that will turn their heart dark. It will turn them into a villain, if it’s not stopped soon enough. However, the dark power is tempting and they start embracing their curse instead. {Submitted by: adoraweisz}

Prompt #744:

“What’s the point of having superpowers, if you can’t have some fun with them?”

Prompt #847:

“We can’t all be heroes. Some of us have to be the villains.”

Prompt #865: Write about (66):

Write about someone actually listening to the villain’s monologue and realizing that they have some really good points.

Prompt #919:

“I would rather be remembered as a villain than being forgotten.”

Prompt #945:

Being a hero was exhausting. Long hours and mortal peril would be considered normal hero stuff. But doing it on top of all their other responsibilities, without pay and without real gratitude from the people they save, can easily lead to burn-out.

Prompt #946:

“Have you ever thought of retiring the cape? To tell the whole world to solve their problems without you?” “Retiring is probably not in my future. I just can’t let people die, knowing I could save them.”

Prompt #947:

Their powers make them the perfect killing machine for the military, one touch was enough to end a life. Much-heralded as the greatest weapon in the world, all they want is to find a cure.

Prompt #948:

A teenager decides to write their report for school about the local villain and even goes so far to just knock on their door and ask for an interview.

Prompt #949:

“Are you the villain?” “Depends on who you ask.”

Prompt #950:

“I may be the villain in your story. But in mine you’re merely a background character.”

Prompt #1186:

“You're not the big villain you think you are. You're just a minor inconvenience with a big ego.“

More: Hero x Villain Masterpost

#writing prompts #writeblr #masterpost #writing inspiration #writers on tumblr #superheroes #villains

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canary3d-obsessed · 22 hours ago

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 43 part two

(Masterpost) (Pinboard) (whole thing on AO3)

Warning! Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Mama Lan

So, getting back to Lan Xichen's story, he tells Wei Wuxian how his mother never talked about how sucky it was to be confined, never asked about their studies - and we see her with tiny Lan Wangji, patting his hair and smiling sunnily. Compare to Wei Wuxian, born with a smiling face, able to endure incredibly shitty living circumstances without complaining (except about turnips). Lan Wangji's mother, with her sweet smile, is a lot like him.

LXC and LWJ both looked forward to seeing her every month. But one day she was gone, and Lan Qiren couldn't be arsed to explain death to a small child, apparently, so Lan Wangji kept waiting for her door to open, stubbornly kneeling in the snow.

We see Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren coming to retrieve little Lan Wangji--very kindly, which is surprising, but Lan Qiren isn't entirely a dick, I guess.

Lan Xichen talks about Lan Wangji's stubborn devotion to his mother, and says that when Lan Wangji saw Wei Wuxian cultivating the ghost path, his pain and confusion were the same as in the past when he looked at their mother. Lan Xichen is giving tiny 5-year-old Lan Wangji a lot of credit for the depth of his thinking about the nature of love and violence.

Lan Xichen caps this all off by playing a flute solo. Which is a totally reasonable thing to do, since Wei Wuxian speaks flute.

After explaining this long, acutely awful story to Wei Wuxian and tootling for a bit, Lan Xichen is finally ready to talk about his own situation. He says that in the past he tried to advise Wangji (to dump WWX, is implied), but now that he's in the same boat, he finally understands how hard it is to make a decision.

He thought he understood Jin Guangyao deeply, but now he thinks that the hearts of people in this world "may look like fire from the front, but look like ice from the side" which is a really nice poetic image. Wei Wuxian, is a talker but he's also an incredibly good listener; he doesn't say a goddamn thing, but looks at Lan Xichen with concern and sympathy.

Note that when he quietly looks at Lan Xichen it is totally different from when he looks at Lan Wangji. This is a bro look.

(more after the cut!)

Just as Lan Xichen wraps up telling Wei Wuxian about the depth and fierceness of Lan Wangji's devotion to him, Lan Wangji shows up with physical evidence of that devotion, in the form of the forbidden liquor that featured in their first romantic encounter fight.

He looks shockingly beautiful with his hair down and his face totally relaxed and happy. Not pictured: the brass balls it takes to bring your boyfriend forbidden alcohol right in front of your clan leader.

Date Night

Wei Wuxian comes and stands in the doorway and watches Lan Wangji pouring the wine for Wei Wuxian and pouring tea for hiself while Wangxian, tender piano version, plays on the soundtrack.

Wei Wuxian wants to say thank you to Lan Wangji but can't bring himself to be that mushy, in spite having told Jin Ling, ages ago, that every person has to learn to say thank you and sorry in this life. So he changes the subject to talk about Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao.

Lan Wangji then brings up the second flute - which, while not consistent with the novel, is at least internally consistent with the show, so I won't complain about this. But those of you who hate the whole second-flute thing, I get you. Anyway, Lan Wangji says he asked Wen Ning, and that WN remembers hearing two different flute sounds. When has Lan Wangji had a chance to talk to Wen Ning privately? He's so jelly that Wen Ning runs away whenever LWJ gets near.

WWX says it happened at Nightless city as well, and we have a quick flashback featuring the most discordant, godawful flute music, which is the Su She song of fucking your shit up.

They go out on the porch in the snow and talk about it some more. Now that he knows about the Collection of Chaos, he's confident that someone was playing it to mess things up for him.

Lan Wangji says it's Jin Guangyao, but WWX says maybe, maybe not - that it doesn't really matter now, toasting "whatever (suibian), screw it" and drinking from one of the Emperor's smile bottles.

Lan Wangji stands under the roof and smiles one of his little content micro smiles.

Wei Wuxian then talks about his reputation as the Yiling Patriarch, that it doesn't matter who really did anything, that people just need a person to blame, and he is known for being that person.

He's essentially accepting his place in the Great Dao with this speech. While he says this, the camera is looking at him and Lan Wangji from the side, where--as others have noted--the two of them form a balance between dark and light, yin and yang, with Lan Wangji under the roof, wearing white, and Wei Wuxian in the snowfall, wearing black.

Wei Wuxian says that even if there had been no Jin Guangyao or second flute, shit would have still happened, and the camera closes in on him as he drinks more wine; we hear the first notes of Wangxian on the guqin. Wei Wuxian hears it too, and turns with a smile that says "gonna have you nekkid by the end of this song."

Then Wei Wuxian leans in the doorway and we get a rare internal monologue from him. He says to himself, that he was really lonely back then (at the end of his previous life, that the few people who cared about him had died, and lists Wen Ning and Jiang Yanli, despite Wen Ning being only mostly dead. Then he thinks "Luckily…" and Lan Wangji finishes the thought with his own internal monologue: there's still someone who believes in you (trust/believe, 信) in this world.

Then Wei Wuxian drinks the most erotic toast possible to Lan Wangji, saying in his internal monologue that having one zhiji in life is enough for him to be content.

Lan Wangji's voice says, nothing else is needed but to have a clear conscience; Wei Wuxian's voice replies - or coincidentally thinks - I don't care what they say about me as long as I have a clear conscience.

Then he says out loud - very quietly - "I'm sorry, and thank you." Lan Wangji looks up and we get the sung version of Wangxian, the duet version, I think, although my hearing is crappy so I'm not sure.

They continue making beautiful music together as the camera sweeps up and away, followed by a fade to black - not a crossfade to the next scene, but a fade to a full black screen before picking up the next scene in the morning. This is c-drama film language for: they fucked, y'all.

There's Got To Be a Morning After

In the morning we see Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian sleepily meditating in the Hanshi. They had a long night, clearly. Wei Wuxian dozes off and falls into Lan Wangji's side, which doesn't bother Lan Wangji. Some fic writers seem to take this as showing that Wei Wuxian is bad at meditation, but he's just worn out - normally he's great at meditation, since that's how one forms a core, and we also saw him meditating the yin iron into submission back in the day.

Jin Guangyao shows up, getting the sinister-walking-feet camera treatment that we've seen before when someone was about to fuck shit up. He just sits down to have tea, however, and to give Lan Xichen's entry token back since it seems to have been turned off on the server side.

Next we get a super uncomfortable interaction where Jin Guangyao keeps pressing to find out why Lan Xichen has turned cold, and Lan Xichen keeps pretending everything is fine while still glaring daggers at Jin Guangyao. Wei Wuxian is super alert and listening during this conversation. Eventually JGY gives up and leaves, and Lan Xichen dispatches LWJ and WWX to find out what's going on at the burial mounds while he goes to Jinlintai to join a discussion about a second siege of the burial mounds.

Road Trip

The trip to the burial mounds kicks off with a cute romantic interlude where Wei Wuxian mishandles and pesters Lan Wangji's rabbits, and Lan Wangji gazes adoringly at him. Lan Wangji's rabbits sure look like the descendants of Lan Yi's rabbits, but they aren't wearing headbands any more, thank heaven, because that shit was ridiculous. So ridiculous I decided to paint a headband onto one of them for the header image.

The rabbits follow them to the gate of The Cloud Recesses because they love Lan Wangji, and he clearly loves them back. It's a nice moment that brings nuance to his character - just a little reminder that he's built a life for himself in Wei Wuxian's absence, and is beginning to share it with Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian noisily pesters Lil Apple while wondering aloud why animals don't like him as much as they like Lan Wangji.

We then get a long scene of Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian, Lil Apple, and Wei Wuxian's fake donkey-riding foot, traveling through beautiful scenery while Wei Wuxian plays music for Lan Wangji.

He has, at last, figured out that playing Wangxian is what let Lan Wangji recognize him. Lan Wangji admits to writing it but won't tell him the name of the song.

They stop for water at a ramshackle house that is absolutely NOT any place style queen Luo Qingyang/MianMian would live, no matter who she married.

Look at this plant! Is that not a weed? And what's with all the random baskets, fabric, and skins? And the sticks that make up the railing aren't even trimmed to the same length despite her having a magic sword. Mianmian would live in a cute little cottage with good feng shui. This is a house where bandits would live.

Anyway, after some ridiculous hiding behind a haystack, they meet Mianmian, her husband, and daughter. Wei Wuxian has to fully reboot his brain in order to recognize her, which seems to make perpetually-jealous Lan Wangji happy.

My favorite moment from this scene: Wei Wuxian picks up a melon to check if it's ripe and Lan Wangji immediately gets out his coin purse like the sugar daddy he yearns to be. In the book his coin purse is (indirectly) stolen from MianMian, because of jealousy, so this is a nice callout.

Soundtrack: The Morning After by Maureen McGovern

#canary3d-original #restless rewatch the untamed #the untamed gifs #the untamed meta #sugar daddy lan wangji #ep 43 #headbands on rabbits

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writeonwhiskey · 2 days ago

Text

summer in seoul: ch 13 (18+)

a/n: thank you for your patience on this. i've compelted act like you love me and can now fully focus on this fic. i had up to chapter 12 written from 2023, but now working on completing this so updates may take longer in between. also i'm done adding the timestamps to their text messages, too much continuity to keep up with 😂 enjoy! word count: 3.2k

You’ve already had breakfast and gotten settled in with a new potential manuscript when you receive a text from Chris. It’s a picture of him on the plane. He’s wearing a black Givenchy hat, a black hoodie, and a black face mask as per usual. The icing on the cake, though, is him winking at you.

The smile that spreads across your face is immediate. For a second, you forget about the parameters surrounding the two of you and react with a heart emoji. But seeing the glowing red symbol of love makes you second guess that choice.

It’s too much, isn’t it?

You replace it with a thumbs up.

Then cringe. That’s somehow even worse.

Because nothing says ‘I like fucking you but...what are we?’ like an awkward yellow hand.

You attempt to cover your blunder with a text.

You Have a safe flight. Talk soon xx

That’s better. Kind of.

It’s barely been two weeks since you met Chris, yet somehow he’s managed to carve out more space in your head than anyone has in years. Sure, the sex is part of it—it’s impossible not to think about. But it’s also the way he looks at you when you laugh. The way he listens, the way he’s opened up to you. The way it feels so easy to be with him.

However, now that you know who he really is—what he really does—you can’t dodge the reality of that.

Your phone buzzes again.

Hwarang I got in-flight wifi, silly. I’m gonna bother you the entire flight.

You I’m trying to read.

Hwarang Anything good?

You Nothing I can share with you. You have your work secrets, and I have mine.

Hwarang Oof. Guess you don’t want to know where I’m flying to then?

You Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me.

Hwarang 🙁

What starts as quick responses stretches into two full hours—bursts of texts, his photos from the plane (clouds, his coffee, the boys in the seats next to him), and your teasing commentary on each.

When his messages finally slow, you set your phone aside and bring your laptop back to your lap. You force yourself back into work mode and actually manage to finally get some reading done.

By the time you’ve had dinner, your phone buzzes again. But it’s not a text this time, Chris is calling.

You clear your throat before answering. “Hey.”

“Hey. Did I wake you up?” His voice is low and teasing.

“It’s barely nine o’clock,” you laugh. “Do I sound like I’m asleep?”

“A little.”

You roll your eyes. “How was your day in your mystery location?”

“Unbearably hot. I might come back to Seoul as nothing more than a puddle of sweat, I fear.”

“Tragic.”

“Thank you for your sympathy,” he deadpans. “What you doin’?”

“Just had dinner, working…and pretending I don’t have twelve tabs open looking up things to do in Seoul.”

“That’s my job,” he says. “You’re stealing my thing.”

“I don’t see you here doing it,” you tease.

“I’m literally calling from a different country. That’s gotta count for something.”

“Barely. What time is it for you?”

“Oh…so you do want to know where I am?”

“No…I want to make sure you’re getting adequate sleep,” you shrug.

“Just ask me where I am.”

“Why would I do that when I have the world wide web at my fingertips?”

“So you’ve been looking me up?”

You set yourself up for that one. The silence as you think of an answer stretches too long.

He laughs. “It’s okay. What did you watch?”

You hesitate to even admit it. “Something called a ‘fancam’? I don’t know…”

“Mine or one of the kids?”

“That’s a silly question.”

“I dunno. They’re good-looking men.”

“It was yours, Chris. Are you happy now?”

“Yes, actually.”

You talk for a little longer and your smile lingers even after the call ends.

The following day, July 7th, Chris texts you before your alarm even goes off.

Hwarang Morning. Did you sleep on my side?

You You have no claim to this bed, sir.

The conversation carries through your entire morning routine of brushing your teeth and choosing which outfit to wear to the café downstairs. You send him the options, laid out on the bed, to which he says he’d rather see how they look on you before deciding. And you concede, trying on each and sending him a picture. He opts on the second choice—ripped jeans and a comfy top.

That night, he calls again. You’re already lying in bed, hair still damp from your shower, manuscript notes scattered across the comforter.

“You sound tired,” you say after he yawns mid-sentence.

“I am tired,” he murmurs. “But if I fall asleep without hearing you say something sarcastic, my day feels incomplete.”

“Hmm. You’re my favorite person ever.”

“Perfect,” he laughs. “Rapid-fire of favorites. Favorite color?”

“Seriously?”

“Don’t overthink it.”

“Blue.”

“Basic.”

“Shut up. Yours?”

“Black, obviously.”

“That’s the literal absence of color, it doesn’t get more basic than that,” you retort. “Favorite movie?”

“I can’t pick just one, there’s—”

“Don’t overthink it,” you cut him off with his own words.

“Fine. Interstellar. Or Deadpool. Or—”

“That’s more than one!” you laugh.

“I said I couldn’t pick one!”

The game goes on—favorite foods, places you want to visit, the song you’d put on during a summer drive. He admits he hasn’t seen much of the world outside of tour stops. You tell him about the tiny bookstore you’ve loved since childhood and how devastated you were when it closed.

“Okay, last one. Favorite thing you’ve learned about me so far?” he asks.

“I don’t know that I have one favorite thing. Everything about you is interesting, honestly. But…maybe how caring you are.” He hums in response. "You?"

“This is just an assumption…not confirmed yet but, y/n, I think you could kick my ass if you wanted to.”

You burst into laughter. “What? Why do you think that?”

He clicks his tongue. “It’s just a feeling. Like there’s something feisty brimming beneath the surface with you, just waiting to come out.”

“That’s what fucking is for. No violence needed.”

He sighs. “I wouldn’t say no to that right now.”

You go quiet, heart thudding at the thought of it.

Your texting continues most of the following day with the same playful vibe—updates about meals, your work progress, his exhaustion from whatever the hell he’s doing.

That night, though, there’s no call.

Hwarang I’m dead on my feet. Talk tomorrow?

You stare at the message longer than you mean to. It’s the first night he hasn’t called since he left. You didn’t realize how much you were expecting it, how much the constant contact over the past few days has meant.

You Get some rest.

Hwarang Goodnight, y/n.

You set your phone on the nightstand and that’s when it hits you. Chris has been so present while away. More than when he was in Seoul. More than you expected.

You wake the next morning feeling…off. There’s a faint ache in your chest, one that you refuse to associate with how accustom you got to ending the night with his voice in your ear.

You decide to text him first today.

You Hope you got some sleep.

It’s nearing the middle of the afternoon when he replies.

Hwarang I did. Filming wrapped so late barely had time to shower before I passed out

You You had time to wash your body? What a luxury.

Hwarang Don’t act like you don’t miss it

You Washing your body? Or just your body in general?

Hwarang Careful. You start that, I’m not stopping it.

You know he’s being playful, but the spark is instant. You spend most of the day letting the tension build over texts like that. Teasing, flirty little jabs.

Chris goes radio silent for a good chunk of the afternoon but finally texts you as the clock approaches midnight.

Hwarang You awake?

You Barely. Wyd?

Hwarang Just wrapped the shoot heading back now So don’t fall asleep yet

You Why not?

Hwarang Because.

You You better hurry. (Not really, please be safe)

You readjust yourself in bed, sitting up against the pillows instead of laying down in hopes it will keep you up. You turn the volume on the TV to a ridiculous level and scroll on your phone while you wait.

Hwarang Still up?

You 😴

Your phone rings and you answer immediately. His low chuckle is the first thing you hear.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, lowering the TV volume.

“You answered on the first ring,” he murmurs, voice soft and low in your ear.

You bite back a smile. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late. How was your day?”

“It was good. Finished reading another manuscript…it seems promising. You?”

He yawns. “Long. Really fucking long. We’re filming content that won’t even be released until sometime next year.”

“You should probably get some sleep, then. Why’d you call?”

“To hear your voice.”

You ignore the flutter in your chest and speak as sternly as you can manage, “Alright, you’ve heard it. Now go to bed.”

“You gonna hang up on me or something?”

Silence stretches as the already brewing playful tension crescendos.

“Okay then,” he continues. “That settles it. You miss me, don’t you?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Then tell me what you’re wearing.”

You pause, your cheeks heating. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I wish I was there, or you were here.”

You hesitate, teeth tugging on your bottom lip. “A tank top and underwear.”

“What kind?

“Boy shorts.”

“Color?”

“Black.”

He exhales slowly. “Fuck. Now I’m picturing it. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You started this—it’s too late now. What are you wearing?” you counter.

“Just a towel.”

You imagine him rushing to his phone after showering, water still dripping from his hair, wearing nothing but a towel. The thought makes your thighs press together.

He’s silent for a moment after that and you hear sheets ruffling.

“FaceTime me.”

Your eyes widen. “Chris—”

“Please?” he gently asks.

You bring the phone in front of your face and hit the video button. His face fills your screen instantly—damp curls, tired eyes, but grinning when he sees you. He’s holding the phone at an angle that reveals just enough of his bare shoulders to tease you.

“There you are,” he says quietly.

You swallow, suddenly shy. “Please excuse the state of all this,” you say, gesturing to your face.

“Stop,” he says, no trace of teasing in his tone. “You go to sleep and wake up looking beautiful, y/n. I’m convinced it’s some sort of witchcraft.”

You fight another smile. “Do you have a room to yourself?”

“Yeah,” he replies, flipping the camera briefly to show the empty hotel room before turning it back. He’s smirking now. “Why?”

“Just wondering…”

He extends his arm, lowering the camera slightly, showing more of his torso.

“Is this why?”

“You’re the one who wanted to FaceTime,” you deflect, eyes flickering from his chest to his eyes. “But, I am curious…what would we be doing if I was there?”

He chuckles. “Well, neither of us would have close on, for starters.”

“Hmmm,” you scrunch your nose playfully. “It’s usually quite cold in hotel rooms. I think I’d leave mine on.”

“I can tell. You’ve got that fucking blanket pulled up to your neck.”

You laugh, pulling it even higher.

“No,” he whines. “Push it down.”

You slowly peel the blanket down to your waist.

“Like this?”

He nods once. “And your tank top.”

You arch an eyebrow. He arches one back.

“I’m already shirtless,” he says simply.

You roll your eyes but tug the straps off your shoulder, lowering the collar beneath your breasts until they spill free over the fabric.

“Fuck, y/n,” his voice cracks a little.

“Now I wish you were here,” you murmur, trailing your fingers across your hardening nipples.

“Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“Where you’d want me if I was there.”

Your lift the blanket with one hand to allow some light in, as you angle the phone towards your thighs with the other.

“No, I wanna see all of you.”

“You first,” you challenge, bringing the phone back up.

He smirks like he was hoping you’d say that. “One sec.”

The phone faces the ceiling for a moment and all you can hear is him shuffling stuff around. He then props the phone up and opens the towel. His cock is already hard, and you realize you’ve never missed someone else’s appendage so bad.

He wraps his hand around his cock and starts stroking it.

“You’re seriously—”

“Thinking about your mouth?” he interrupts. “How soft your lips feel when you swallow my cock? Yes.”

Your fingers slip into your underwear of their own accord. “Chris—”

“Yeah?”

“Keep talking.”

“Fix that angle for me, baby. Show me all of you.”

The pet name shreds any trace of apprehension that lingers. You set the phone down, shimmying out of your underwear, then angle the camera between your spread thighs. You slip your fingers between your lips, coating them with your juices.

He groans at the sight. “Fuck. Look at you—already so wet for me. I’d slide in so easy right now. No teasing, no waiting.”

You gasp, rubbing your clit in slow circles.

“God, I’d fuck you so deep,” he pants, stroking himself harder. “Hands around your throat. Tell me you wouldn’t love that.”

“Fuck—” you moan, arching against your own hand.

“On your back first, yeah? Then flip you over, smack your ass until you beg me to stop. You’d take it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut.

“No, look at me,” he snaps softly. “Eyes on me. Watch me while you touch yourself.”

Your gaze locks on the screen, watching his hand squeezing and stroking his cock, his abs tightening with every stroke.

“You look so fucking good. Wish I could taste you. Feel your pussy clench around my tongue.”

“Please, Chris,” you moan, bringing your other hand up to pinch your nipples.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you miss me.”

Your hand moves faster, breath ragged. “I—fuck—I miss you.”

“Good girl,” he groans, pace quickening as the tip of his cock glistens. “You close?”

“Yes,” you whimper, almost sobbing with need.

“Keep going, baby—keep your eyes on me.”

That word coming out of his mouth again makes you whimper. You do as he said, watching him spiral, watching his mouth fall open as he pants your name.

“Chris, I’m so close.”

“Come with me,” he growls. “Right fucking now.”

Your orgasm hits you hard—hips arching, toes curling, mouth falling open as you moan. He curses, coming apart at the same time, groaning low and deep as cum spills over his fist. The sight of that alone is enough to make you want to get on a plane right now.

When you finally speak, your voice is hoarse. “We’re never talking about this again.”

“Sure,” Chris pants, smirking faintly. “Until next time.”

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. “Go to sleep.”

“Miss you already,” he murmurs, and hangs up before you can respond.

On July 10th, you’re up early, laptop propped on the hotel desk, notes scattered everywhere. The manuscript you’ve been reading kept you up until 2 a.m., and the dark circles under your eyes feel like war wounds.

The video call connects; and her face fills the screen. You smile, your professional mask slipping easily into place. The conversation flows easily enough. You praise her for the work she’s written, offer feedback, discuss revisions and character arcs. She’s receptive and collaborative. By the end, you’re giddy with the satisfaction that comes from a job well done.

You close the laptop and immediately reach for your phone, thumb hovering over Chris’s name before you catch yourself. He’s probably busy. And what would you even say? 'Hey, just wrapped up work stuff, miss you.'

Absolutely not. Last night’s admission was a heat of the moment thing.

You toss your phone aside and go about your day.

In the afternoon, you enter a quaint, sunlit café to meet Moira. This meeting is more personal, just the way she likes it. She finalizes a few non-negotiables of the contract, and you let her know you’ll have the legal team update it a final time before her lawyer arrives next week.

After discussing the business side of things, she actually takes an interest in how you’ve been spending your time here.

“It’s a beautiful city, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you agree. “I’ve met some really nice locals, too.”

“Anyone special?” she teases, tapping your hand on the table lightly.

“Maybe. Probably not. I don’t know, honestly.”

“You have some time to figure it out,” she reassures you. “I came here as a tourist and that was ten years ago. You never know what might happen.”

When you part ways, you feel lighter than you have in weeks. Not only are you accomplishing the job your boss sent you here to do, but also knowing you have the next few days to spend as you please, again.

Your stomach growls—the finger food in the café did not satiate your hunger—but when you pull out your phone to find a restaurant, a new message lights up the screen.

Hwarang Pack a bag. 4 days. Mostly comfy stuff, but something nice, too.

You Excuse me?

Hwarang Airport in 2 hours.

You Chris…what is happening? Where are we going?

Hwarang Just trust me And bring a swimsuit Car will be there in an hour

Your heart leaps. He didn’t mention anything about this, of course. From his hints the other day, you couldn't have fathomed he was planning an entire fucking trip.

Two hours isn’t anywhere near enough time—and you certainly didn’t pack a swimsuit for a work trip. But you sprint back to your hotel anyway, throwing clothes and toiletries into your carry-on with reckless abandon.

You don’t have time to look for a swimsuit, though. Hopefully you can get one wherever the hell it is you’re going.

The driver takes you to the airport and you’re practically vibrating with excitement and nerves when it pulls up at a private terminal. You're in the midst of wondering if this is where Chris and the boys have to catch their flights for security purposes when you see him.

Baseball cap low, hoodie covering his head, but it doesn’t matter at this point. You’d recognize him anywhere. He’s leaning against the hood of a black SUV, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t just upend your entire day.

You take the handle of your suitcase from the driver and thank him, before wheeling it over towards Chris. He looks up as you approach and that grin you love spreads across his face.

You want to hit him and kiss him all at once. “You’re kidnapping me?”

“Technically, I invited you. You said yes by showing up.”

He grabs your bag before you can argue, lacing your free hand with his as he leads you toward the sleek private jet. You freeze.

“This…is for us? We can’t. I can’t.”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Would you rather go back to your hotel room or experience the ride of your life?

Well, fuck. He’s got you there.

a/n: CHRISTOPHER WHERE ARE YOU TAKING US!? hehehe. all i had in mind here was the phone sex initially but there wasn't enough buildup, so i hope you enjoyed all your phone time with Chan this chapter! 💜 thank you for reading! [ read chapter fourteen here ] (coming soon)

taglist: @hanniesbubuwife / @valworld17 / @luckyroll3 / @fancybarbii / @mlink64 / @ehstay / @gncbnahc / @no1likeneo / @beppybeesnuggets / @lattyjiji / @akindaflora / @spookiesakura

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #stray kids #skz smut #bang chan #bang chan smut #bang chan imagines #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x reader

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orellazalonia · 2 days ago

Note

Can I pls request a fic where Bucky protects reader from paparazzi or obsessive fans? Like they cross a boundary and it triggers reader to think about past trauma and makes them freeze up in fear. Bucky doesn't know about the trauma so he's confused for a second but then quickly steps into action defending reader. Then maybe when they get away from the chaos, reader tells him what's up and he promises he'll always be there to help/defend her.

(Personally, I have had trauma from people just like aggressively grabbing my arm and stuff but I've never had anyone to really step in. Sorry for the random info, this one just hits close to home and it's kinda the comfort I need sometimes) tysm!!

Hello there! So sorry it’s taken me a while to get to your request. I also hope you’ll find someone (or have someone) who will support you during any hard moments! Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy. Happy reading!!!

When The World Closes In

Summary: A walk through the city turns overwhelming when fans and paparazzi push too close as you freeze, caught in the grip of old trauma you never told Bucky about. After pulling you to safety, he listens without judgment and promises he’ll always protect you no matter what. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 1.3k+

Main Masterlist

Dating Bucky Barnes came with certain… realities.

There were the whispered stares or second glances. There were the headlines that treated your private life like an unfinished crossword. But there was also the man himself, the one who made tea without asking, who kept your favorite books in his apartment, and who never made you explain the silences when they came.

He didn’t push when you got quiet, when you couldn’t sleep, or even when some part of you instinctively flinched at things you didn’t want to talk about.

Maybe that’s why you’d lasted this long because he didn’t need to know everything to still care about you.

So when he asked you to go for a walk, you agreed. You thought maybe this time it would just be a normal day.

You were wrong.

It started out fine, comfortable even. You were walking back from the bookstore, hands brushing, and coffee cooling in your cup. He looked relaxed, hoodie up but unbothered, talking softly about a stray cat that had followed him to the store the day before.

You smiled.

Then the crowd formed.

At first, it was distant. A few people slowing down. Someone snapping a picture. The scrape of a shoe behind you that didn’t sound accidental.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t want to ruin the moment. But you noticed. And Bucky noticed you noticing too.

"You good?" He asked quietly, his fingers gently tightening around yours.

"Yeah." You nodded. "Just not used to the attention."

He didn’t say anything to that. Just shifted slightly to move closer to your side, the protective part of him slipping in without fanfare.

But it didn’t stop, the people didn’t stop.

The crowd thickened too fast to be casual. Fans, maybe. Paparazzi, definitely. Shouting now, calling Bucky’s name, some yelling yours even though they didn’t know all of it. One person screamed Winter Soldier like it was a song lyric. You didn’t even know if they liked him or hated him. Maybe both.

You kept walking, but your steps were shorter now, shoulders tight.

Then a woman moved too fast, straight through the edge of the crowd, hand outstretched, and aiming for you.

Not Bucky.

You.

She wasn’t trying to hurt you. She wasn’t even yelling. Maybe she just wanted a picture, a brush of contact, or something to post about.

But it didn’t matter.

When she gripped your forearm, something inside you short-circuited as you stopped walking. Your breath hitched, the noise blurred, and suddenly, you weren’t really here anymore. Your body locked up, frozen in some invisible moment no one else could see.

The woman’s voice was still chirping something at you, too close and too loud. Flashbulbs popped like lightning behind your eyes. Somewhere far away, someone laughed. Someone called Bucky’s name again.

And still, you didn’t move.

"Back up." Bucky’s voice cut through the noise like a knife.

The woman flinched and so did others. She let go of you, stunned. Bucky was in front of you in a second, standing like a wall between you and the chaos.

"I said back up," He snapped again, the edge in his voice was unmistakable. Controlled, but dangerous.

No one wanted to test him. The people hesitated. Then shifted back, murmurs quieting, and camera lenses lowering like a retreat.

He turned and saw your face.

And whatever he had planned to say, whatever clever retort, snarl, or curse, died on his lips. His brow furrowed as he reached for your hand again.

"Hey," He spoke gently. "You with me?"

You blinked once, then twice as your vision came back in pieces; seeing his eyes, the outline of his jaw, and the strain in his shoulders as he looked at you.

You nodded barely.

“C’mon,” He whispered, tugging you carefully into motion. “Let’s get out of here.”

He didn’t let go of you, not once.

He cut through the street fast, steering you into a side alley away from the attention, always checking behind you. You followed, still half-stuck in whatever invisible moment had grabbed hold of you. You felt the thrum of your own heartbeat like a warning bell.

He didn’t speak again until you were tucked into a quiet spot behind a bookstore, your back against cool brick as your breathing slowly returning to normal.

He didn’t ask questions yet, but he was watching you now like you were a puzzle he wasn’t ready to solve but would defend with his life anyway.

The silence stretched for a while and Bucky didn’t fill it.

He simply stood beside you, one shoulder pressed to the same brick wall, and arms crossed not in frustration, but in something more grounded.

You were trying to breathe slowly. In and out, but your chest still felt tight, like something had wrapped around your ribs and hadn’t let go.

You didn’t want to talk yet. But you also didn’t want him to leave even though he didn’t.

Eventually, you spoke quietly, the words felt heavier than they should’ve.

“I’m sorry.”

His head turned immediately, like he’d been waiting for that.

“For what?”

You shook your head. “Freezing like that. Making a scene. I just– I couldn’t move.”

“That’s not something you need to apologize for.”

You almost believed him. You bit the inside of your cheek as you could feel your hands trembling again, even though the moment had passed. That’s how it always worked. The body catches up when the danger’s already gone.

“I don’t usually…” You hesitated, fingers tightening in the sleeves of your sweater. “I’m fine most of the time. It’s just… crowds like that. People getting too close, especially when I’m not expecting it. Sometimes it hits wrong.”

You didn’t explain beyond that. You didn’t have to.

Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver. He nodded, slowly, like he was putting the pieces together without needing to see the whole picture.

Something softened in his expression, not pity. Never pity. Just recognition.

“I’ve been there,” He said after a long pause. “When your body reacts before your brain can tell you why.”

You blinked. “You…?”

He gave a slow shrug. “Sometimes I wake up on the wrong side of the day. Sometimes I walk into a room and my hands remember something I don’t.” He looked down at them, at the metal one especially. “So yeah. I get it.”

The words settled in your chest like warmth, not the blazing kind, but something small and steady. Something that burned just enough to feel safe.

You leaned your head gently against him and he didn’t flinch. If anything, he tilted slightly, like he wanted to be closer.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” You said quietly.

“You didn’t scare me,” He murmured. “Worried, yes because I care about you.”

You nodded slowly. Then, softer: “I didn’t want you to see that.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want you to look at me differently.”

He turned then, gently nudging you until you looked at him. His voice was quiet but full of conviction.

“I’m not going anywhere,” He said. “Not because of this, not because of anything.”

You searched his face and found no hesitation.

He went on, voice low and sure. “Next time it happens, if it happens, you don’t have to explain it right away or ever. But I want you to know I’ll be there. Every time, no questions. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll make sure no one touches you again unless you want them to.”

Your throat tightened. It wasn’t just the words, it was the way he said them. Steady. Like a vow.

You didn’t say thank you. It didn’t feel like enough. Instead, you reached for his hands, cold metal and warm skin. Tangible and solid.

And when he held yours, he didn’t let go, holding you like it was the easiest decision in the world.

Taglist: @yasmin12312 @herejustforbuckybarnes @eeveedream @wingstoyourdreams @figtreesandmoonlight @happygalaxymilkshake @hits-different-cause-its-you @the-galaxy-fiend @ordelixx @mouseratface @mel-reads @itsmejen

#marvel fic #bucky barnes x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x you #angst #hurt/comfort #request fulfilled #thank you for the request!

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mickyschumacher · 1 day ago

Note

Hey could you write something about reader x hector fort where they are not together but they both have feeling for each other. Reader is a curvy girl and she doesn't believe he could fall in love with her because she doesn't thought someone could love her with her body but he tries to convince her that she's loveable. I don't know how, it could end but it could be so cool if it was a long story

(Sorry if i made mistake english isnt my first language)

[YOU ARE IN LOVE!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: sometimes all it takes is an angel on a rainy day to make things alright. or in which you're convinced you and hector don't belong together and he tries to prove otherwise.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: angst, fluff, reader has body image and self esteem issues, mentions of a eating disorder (not eating around hector), reader in general has assumptions about her body, being curvy is discreetly put throughout the fic until the end, lots of love and body positivity from hector // not really proof-read

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: hector fort x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.4k+

𝐀/𝐍: so this one was slightly out of my comfort zone. kinda a bit too real for my liking 😭 i've never written about a curvy or bigger reader despite being one bc well... i'm still trying to love myself. self-love is a never ending journey and i hope you are all being kind to yourselves! i hope anon likes this request! lmk your thoughts and feedback if you want! much love to you all <3333

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You could remember the day you met Hector like it was yesterday.

You were having the worst day that you had ever had. Okay maybe that was a tad bit dramatic but still...

You had woken up thirty minutes past your alarm which had left your heart hammering in your chest with anxiety. Why? You were late to your lecture (again). But you still had an hour left. Immediately in distress, you were out of bed, clambering your way to your bathroom when you stubbed your toe on the counter. The sheer screech of pain that had fell from your lips had your mother yelling from the living room, asking if you were okay while you clutched your foot, hobbling on one leg.

You were then brushing your teeth and flinging through your clothes after taking a peak through your window. A clear sunny day. And yet your best shirt was in the goddamn wash. Fuck.

Opting for whatever was presentable and comfortable, you were out the door, dismissing your father's plea to have breakfast and ignoring your younger brother's laugh when you had to come back to actually put your shoes on. You eyed him with annoyance, not bothered to argue back with him today.

You were lightly sweating by the time you had reached the bus stop a few roads down. Grumbling when you saw your bus inch further and further away from you. Close to hurling yourself off a bridge when rain began pelting down, damp dark spots littering your clothing. You looked at the sky with incredulity.

Why on earth was the universe so against you? How were you ever supposed to get to your lecture now?

Then an angel came.

And he came in the form of a mop of dark curls, pierced ears, a chiseled face, and the prettiest smile you had ever seen.

Had you died at your bus stop and gone to heaven?

His car came at a stop in front of you, windows smoothly rolling down. The stranger's elbow rested on the open part of the door, looking at you with a small smile. "Need some help?"

Oh Christ. He even had a pretty voice? What unfair world were you living in?

You blinked away the rain, clearing your throat before shaking your head. Your hand sheltered your hair and your eyes from the droplets falling on you as you stood in front of him half-drenched. "I-I'm good," you awkwardly said back, shifting on your feet.

He raised a brow in curiosity. "In the rain?"

Your cheeks burned against the cold water. You shrugged. "Another bus will come." That was true. And by the time it came, you would've missed two lectures instead of one.

"You'll get sick," he taunted with a teasing smile.

You narrowed your eyes. "Better than getting murdered by a stranger," you quipped back, holding your bag close to you.

The stranger paused at your words before belting out a hearty laugh. Even his laugh was attractive. Was that even possible? He tilted his head at you, darting his hand out, letting the rain hit his skin. "I'm Hector," he said, nodding slowly at your pointed look on his hands. Retracting his arm, he grinned. "Now you know my name. So will you let me drop you off so I can so brag about it to my friends?"

You raised a brow in amusement. "Like a hero?"

"Yes. A damsel in distress," he retorted with a small smile.

You rolled your eyes, body flinching at the rain getting a bit harder. You could feel the fabric of your clothes beginning to stick to you, making you feel uncomfortable.

Hector noticed the look on your face. "I have a heater," he added, pursing his lips together.

You looked at him with contemplation. Would you seriously die if you hopped into an attractive man's car? You could. Or you could die back home when your mother found out you missed your lectures and managed to get sick all on the same day.

"Fine," you relented with a defeated sigh. "Only because you have a heater and can drive me. Now drive slow. You pulled in like a maniac," you huffed, feet quickly walking around his car.

"I did not." Hector gasped at your words, leaning over to open the door for you.

"You totally did!" You replied, shuddering at the last inch of cold air before the heat of his car welcomed you. You took a seat, your movements animated, unsure what really do except for put your seatbelt on.

Hector leaned back, brown eyes raking over you with a small smile while you sat oblivious to him. He sighed quietly to himself, turning his body in his seat to face his steering wheel before looking at you again. "Now did this princess passenger have a name?"

He grinned at the curse words you muttered under your breath. You gave him a slightly miffed look. "___."

Hector tested your name on his tongue, unaware of the shiver running down your spine while he did. He nodded in satisfaction, hand moving down to shift the gear in a few seconds, foot firm on the break. "Well then. Miss ___. Where are we going?"

━━━━━━━━━━━

Now you were here. Good friends with Hector for a little more than a year now. It was a surprise more to you than to him. He had the face of an angel but sometimes he knew exactly what buttons to push to annoy the living hell out of you.

Speaking of surprises. The biggest one was finding out Hector played football for Barça. He was a footballer that offered to drop you to your lectures every day (although you would pray before he turned on the engine - he called you dramatic, you called it safety). It was an odd thing at first. When people asked him for photos in the middle of the street. But the more you got to know him and the more training sessions you attended, you could understand him a little more. Why he loved football so much. Why he loved Barça.

Your friendship was almost exactly the way it was when you first met. Neither of you satisfied until you had the last word. Sarcastic. Annoying. And just unreal. But then there were times where the air between you felt easy, full of warmth and unspoken comfort. You didn't always need to speak. You could just sit there, next to one another and breathe. You admired that about him.

Just another thing you could add to the list of features and characteristics you liked about him.

You peered over at Hector quietly from afar. You were at training practice with him. They had finally just ended. He stood in the sun, sweat dripping down his golden skin while he scarfed down his water, parched.

God, he was beautiful.

"How long are you going to stare for?" A familiar voice whispered next to you.

You blinked, leaning back, turning your head to find Alejandro, one of Hector's friends, next you in the stands. You raised a brow. An attempt to keep up your pretence despite your skin flushing with heat. "I'm not staring."

Now it was Alejandro's turn to raise a brow. "Sure," he nodded, folding his arms. "Just like how Hector isn't staring at me like he's going to kill me."

You told yourself he was lying. But you couldn't help but discreetly turn your head, getting a glance of Hector from your peripheral. Jaw tensed, eyes squinting between the both of you. He did look like he was going to do something.

You shrugged, returning your attention back to Alejandro. "I think the sun's getting to him."

Alejandro stared at you blankly before shaking his head. Aloof. That's what you were. "Well, I'm going to go before I get killed. I'll see you around."

You gave him a small smile, watching him stand up while you waved goodbye. And before you knew it, Hector had made his way to you, slightly breathless like he had rushed to get across the few metres of grass. "Hey," he greeted with a small swallow, pretty smile beaming at you like always.

"Hey," you said back softly. You eyed him carefully. The wear on his face. "Too tired for the movie? It's okay if you are."

You were going to watch a reshowing of Pride and Prejudice (the 2005 one because it was your favourite). The idea had only come about when you found it online and Hector had said he had never watched it. A fact you found unfathomable and in need of immediate correction. You had gone over and above, begging him to watch it with you. He only smiled so gently that it made you warm all over and agreed.

"No, no," he quickly said, shoulders relaxing. He leaned on the fence with his arms, brown eyes softly looking at the way the sun shined over you. "I want to go. I'll just get changed and we'll go, okay?"

"Can I drive?" You queried.

"I thought you liked being my princess passenger," he pouted.

You narrowed your eyes, hoping your heart didn't betray the way you felt like you would combust when he said 'my princess passenger' or how cute he looked in front of you with his lips jutted out.

You blinked. "I'd rather not die today," you retorted.

Hector gave you a pointed look, amusement still quirking on his lips. "We're not still taking about this, are we?"

You grinned, laugh falling from your mouth. "How bad of a driver you are? Oh yes we certainly are."

Hector rolled his eyes. "Fine. Only if we get something to eat on the way."

Hector watched your body still, awkward. Like you didn't know how to respond. You did it every time he asked you to grab something to eat. You'd always shake your head, saying you weren't particularly hungry. Like you were just about to.

You never ate with him too. He didn't really understand why. But he never seemed to push it. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable. But to say he wasn't worried would be a lie.

"You can," you said with a tight smile. "I don't feel like eating right now."

Hector paused before nodding. "I'll meet you by the car, hmm?"

"Okay," you replied, taking a step back to turn towards the exit. You could feel his eyes watch you and you hoped he couldn't see you release the shaky breath that you had been holding in.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The movie had been perfect. For the both of you.

You sat in the middle of the theatre, eyes all wide and excited, making Hector chuckle quietly to himself. And while you watched the movie, he couldn't help but watch you.

You were so immersed you could barely tell.

Hector found himself memorising the way you held your breath at every romantic scene, particularly during Darcy's confession. How the edges of your mouth quivered out of pure joy and happiness. Or how your eyes danced across the screen, a slow exhale falling from your lips like the sound of a dreamy sigh. Not exactly because of Mr Darcy. But because of his love for Elizabeth.

Hector noticed. You loved love. Your bookshelves were full of them. You resorted to it when life became stressful. Your playlists all specifically attuned to the way love manifested itself in the universe. Even when he drove, all it took was one of your playlists and you had your head resting, throat humming happily, eyes fixated on all the scenery out the window.

You were just so... happy.

"So..." you started as you both came out of the theatre. "What did you think?" You queried, excited for his answer. This was your favourite movie of all time. You watched it every year without fail. If you tried, you might even be able to recite it off by heart.

Hector hummed, pretending to think – hand on his chin. "It was... okay, I guess."

"Okay?" You gasped, hitting him playfully repeatedly in the arm and rib. "Just okay? How dare you!"

Hector chuckled, grabbing your hands with one fell swoop, tugging them close to his chest, bringing you closer to him. He took in your silence and wide eyes. He hadn't even watched the movie properly. Yet he smiled. "I thought it was beautiful."

The way he said it... why did it feel like he wasn't talking about the movie?

You blinked, swallowing. You mustered a fake smile, prying your hands out of his grasp. "Y-Yeah. The movie is beautiful," you mumbled idly, walking further.

Hector kept his frown at bay, missing the warmth of your skin on his instantly. He watched you walk over to his car, turning to hurry him up. Your hair slightly disheveled from being seated in the theatre. But in the evening sky, you shined just like you did in the afternoon. Like you commanded light itself.

It was strange. It was like you belonged here... in this moment. With him.

Hector could feel his throat tighten. He didn't want this night to end. Not now. "Do you wanna take a walk? They have a garden nearby," he breathed out nervously.

You tilted your head at his offer, watching him walk closer to you. "I would. But it's kinda cold. I didn't think it'd be this cold in July," you mumbled with a frown.

Hector eyed you silently, his fingers brushing the hem of his hoodie before he stretched his arms and shrugged off the thick layer.

"What are you–" You had barely blinked when you watched him bundle the warm fabric in his hands and gently put it on your head, slowly pulling his hoodie down on you.

The air was silent for a moment. Hector didn’t say anything at first. He didn't need to. The way his eyes moved said everything—slow, deliberate, like he was taking in every detail. The hoodie just hung off your frame, hugging you the way he only ever dreamed about.

"There," Hector said, satisfied. "Suits you better anyways."

Your lips parted at his words, skin flushing with a heat that made you feel hot in his hoodie. You felt like an imposter in his clothes. Like it was wrong. Yet you couldn't say anything. You didn't trust your voice when he was this close to you. Not when his cologne invaded your senses.

You cleared your throat, taking a step back. Hector took a long blink, reminding himself of where he was. He breathed in slowly, brown eyes still on you. "So... that walk?"

━━━━━━━━━━━

Today was the first game of the season. Barça vs Mallorca. The former had won, of course. Nothing unusual there. Hector hadn't gotten to play. You could tell he was frustrated from where you sat in the stands. All slumped up in his chair, silent with a blank face, jersey covering him.

Your heart broke for him. You knew how badly he wanted to play. To prove himself. But things weren't going his way.

As the game ended and the stadium began to empty out, you ventured to find Hector, hoping you could bring a little bit of joy back into that pretty face of his.

You waited with the last rounds of fans, flickering your eyes occasionally to the field, sending a small wave to Alejandro and Lamine when they spotted you.

"Oh my God. Who's that girl next to Hector?" A girl's voice queried behind you.

The question had you look over to Hector and indeed a girl was standing next to him, talking enthusiastically to him.

"That must be his girlfriend," another girl squealed, head jerking to get a better view.

"Of course! Attractive people always find each other!"

While you knew deep down that the girl wasn't Hector's girlfriend. You couldn't help watch them talk as those words replayed in your head while your heart dropped slowly. Attractive people... like her. Because girls like her got guys like Hector.

You could feel your eyes well, hot and beginning to blurry. Your skin was heating up while your nose began to run. Your throat hurt, raw. You felt sick. Like you were going to throw up.

Fuck. You couldn't believe you were crying over this. But it was the truth... wasn't it?

Thinner girls were better. Because that was prettier. Not you. Not the excess of you. It didn't matter how many meals you didn't eat. Because clothes should hang off you and not stick to you.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Hector didn't know what happened after the game. It was like you had dropped off the face of the earth. Alejandro had said you had gone home without saying goodbye.

He tried texting you but you wouldn't respond. He called you but you wouldn't pick up. He went to your house, but you never opened the door.

You were avoiding him.

And he didn't understand.

Hector had ran over the past few weeks over and over again. Analysing every possible thing he could've done wrong. But nothing... nothing could've warranted this.

You were fine before the game. Giving him that beautiful smile of yours, letting him hear your laugh that sound like music to his ears.

Where did he go wrong?

It had been two weeks since the game. And you still hadn't said a word. You didn't show up when he waited outside your house to drop you off. He had no idea how you were getting to your lectures. It was like you had cut him off.

There was only one thing Hector could do.

It was raining because of course it was. It was just your luck. You had said goodbye to the group you sat with during your lecture. You wanted to go home. The last two weeks had been tiring. Assignments were piling up. You had even turned your phone off to keep you from any... distractions.

"Seriously," you grumbled as it rained harder on you, hand sheltering your eyes. The campus was empty at this time of day. Mostly everyone had gone home, probably more aware than you about this horrid weather.

"Need some help?"

You whipped your head at the familiar voice, hand falling from your face to your side in shock. You blinked rapidly, rain sneaking between your eyelashes, dripping down your face. "Hector," you mumbled so quietly, you could barely recognise your own voice.

He stared at you quietly, standing in front of you, hands stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie while he welcomed the rain to drench him from head to toe, unbothered. He took out his phone from his pocket, dangling the device at you. "Fifty messages. Twenty-seven phone calls. Ten days where I waited for you outside your house. And you didn't respond to any of them. Not one."

You sucked in a sharp breath. You could hear it in his voice. Pain. Exhaustion. "Hector, I–"

"What's going on?" He interrupted, inching closer to you. His hand darted to your forehead. "A-Are you sick? Did something happen? Tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it."

Your jaw tightened at his words, skin automatically burning at his touch. "Nothing's wrong, Hector. Leave it alone," you murmured, turning your head away from him.

Hector watched you silently before speaking. "Something's wrong. You're not talking to me. I hate that I'm not hearing your voice every day," he exasperated, cold, wet hands grabbing your own.

You sighed. Heart clenching at his words. You retracted your hand. "Don't say stuff like that. I hate when you say stuff like that."

"Like what?" He quickly retorted, trying to understand even a little bit of this situation.

"Things that make you sound like you care more than you do," you whispered more to yourself than him, rain pelting down, almost making you inaudible.

But Hector listened. Because of course he did.

Hector furrowed his brows. His fingers tilted your chin gently so you faced him once again. "Of course I care. I care a lot about you. Why is that so wrong?" He asked quietly.

Your eyes welled yet again. You were only so lucky to have the assistance of the rain, hiding your tears. But the flash of concern in Hector's face made you think otherwise. You sniffled, wiping your nose with your wet sleeve. "Because I have to keep telling myself that you don't care for a girl like me."

"'A girl like you?'" Hector slowly repeated with confusion. "I-I don't- W-What does that mean?"

You laughed dryly, salty tears slowly blending in with the rain. "Come on, Hector. You know what I mean. A guy like you and a girl like me don't work. You're supposed to be with models," you angrily sighed out.

Hector blinked, registering your words. His hand fell from your chin, lips parted in disbelief. He could've sworn he literally felt his heart break into pieces. "Is that what this is about?"

You weren't even given time to respond before he continued to piece everything together. The way you hated when clothes stuck to you. The reason why you never ate around him.

You watched him take a step back, eyes wide like he was so deeply hurt. The words were on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't get them out.

"You know it's true, Hector. I'm not beautiful enough to be with you," you whispered, voice cracking, throat choked.

Hector's breath was caught. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. His throat was beginning to hurt. His eyes burned. "You're not serious," he gasped as if he needed to breathe again. A pained laugh fell from his lips, reddened brown eyes firmly planted on you.

"How do I tell you?" He croaked, tongue swiping over his lip. His teeth sunk to his bottom lip while he paused, hands on his hips. "How do I tell you that you're the most beautiful girl I've ever met?"

You shut your eyes, shaking your head. Your hair was soaked, sticking to your face as you did. "No. Hector, stop."

Hector swallowed thickly, inching closer to you. "You are. You don't see it, fuck, you don't see yourself the way I do. You haven't felt your own skin. Soft. Pretty. Sexy. You haven't seen yourself watch your favourite movies, smiling ear to ear. You haven't heard yourself laugh. You watch and read all this romance but ___, you are love."

You couldn't help but sob, your body and heart finally betraying you entirely. You weeped in front of him, the taste of salt and rain lingering on your tongue. "Hector, I... I don't feel that pretty," you admitted with a small gasp for air.

Hector wasn't sure how much of his heart he had left. He was torn. Your voice... so firm in your self-hatred. And it killed him.

Hector wiped his tears harshly with his sleeve. His hand darted to your face, holding you like you were about to break. He pressed his forehead on yours, unbothered at the way your skin stuck to one another. His eyes fell to yours, thumb reaching out to brush away your hot tears.

"Let me show you," he whispered against your lips. "Please," he sighed out.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You stayed silent for a moment, letting his plea ring in your ears. Letting your body realise that he was serious.

"Okay."

And that was the moment something inside Hector had snapped –not in a hurried urgency, but in importance. He didn’t let you think too much. He just moved.

His fingers curled further into your face, he leaned in slow at the start, cautious, and desperate. He crashed his lips into yours, catching you mid-breath.

You froze for a second, trying to understand that his lips were really on yours and no one else's. Yours. And then you kissed him back. Hard. Your hands found his waist, gripping the sides of his wet hoodie tightly like you were trying to ground yourself. Like you would collapse any second.

His thumbs brushed your cheeks oh so gently, and he kissed you like it mattered. Like he wanted to make sure you felt all of it. All of your doubt, the worries, the stress – all of it slowly being healed.

Hector wondered if you could tell. Wondered if you could see how scared he was of losing you. How his hands shook touching you. Hoe you seem to make his breath stutter.

And you did.

And in that moment, you could finally start to understand what he meant. What all those words he said about you meant. What it felt like to be kissed like when the person you adored felt the same way. Just like in all those movies and books.

His voice was coarse, low, and almost pleading when he spoke again. "Please don't say those things about yourself," he said, brown eyes not even blinking as if he were scared you'd disappear. "Let's learn to love together."

You looked at him, standing there in the rain with that annoying albeit good-looking jaw and worried eyes, voice quieter than usual. Let's learn to love together. It wasn’t really that dramatic – his words that is. Nor was it a grand speech. But for some reason, his words tugged at your chest in a way that made you ache. You felt sorry that you had even caused such pain and misery in those beautiful eyes.

Your heart thudded against your chest, almost louder than the rain, you could've sworn. You gave a small smile against his lips, relishing his hands still holding your face. "Okay," you whispered. "As long as I have driving rights seventy percent of the time."

Hector's body rumbled with a small laugh, warming against the rain. He couldn't care that he was drenched, or that water dripped off him, or that his shoes squished in the most uncomfortable of ways.

You were here. With him. That's all he cared about.

"You could just teach me to drive better, you know," Hector teased, fingers brushing away your matted hair from your face.

"I think I prefer you being my princess passenger," you joked quietly, toying with the wet fabric of his hoodie while a calm wave settled over you.

It wasn't going to be easy. Loving yourself. Seeing yourself the way Hector did. But with him by your side, you were willing to try.

#mickyschumacher #hector fort imagine #hector fort #hector fort x reader #hector fort fanfic #hector fort angst #hector fort fluff #footballer x reader #football imagines

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brotrustmeicanwrite · 2 days ago

Text

LBH and MBJ return late at night from dealing with some demons causing havoc in the demon realm, only to find SQQ and SQH shitfaced drunk. It’s a strange sight seeing his elegant shizun in that state, especially when SQQ and SQH are rambling (screaming at each other) about missing strange things LBH has never even heard of. „Instant Ramen“, „Cars“, „Anime“, and many more.

Before LBH can even process the situation SQQ suddenly falls forward, slamming face first right into the table. SQH earns himself a deadly glare when he starts hysterically laughing and making fun of SQQ for being a lightweight when suddenly

„I miss my mom…“

The room goes silent and only quiet sobs can be heard. Everyone is stunned. SQQ continues to mumble about older brothers, a sister, parents, grandparents. It doesn’t escape LBH that SQH seems to have sobered up from shock as he frantically glances between him and his shizun, as if LBH had heard something he was absolutely never ever supposed to. But his shizun is more important right now than dealing with that little rat. SQQ falls asleep in LBHs arms as he’s being carried to bed.

That night LBH enters SQQs dream realm. It’s as if he’s stumbled into another world.

The imagery is muddy and the noises are muffled, like a memory that’s begun to fade. Giant towers made from crystal stand so high they reach the clouds. Strangely shaped carriages speed by him at incredible speeds driving on a road made from a strange grey-ish black rock, covered in even stranger white markings. The scene morphs. He sees many more such strange places. They morph in and out of existence in only seconds at a time, leaving him not a single moment to grasp the situation.

He’s standing in some sort of living space, but everything is yet again strange and unfamiliar. There’s a group of people sitting together, laughing. The one in the middle, a child or maybe a young adult, he isn’t quite sure, is the owner of this dream realm. They seem happy. The scene morphs again. Now it’s late at night. The figure that was just at the center of attention lies alone in a bed, staring at a strange glowing rectangle. There seems to be text on that glowing rectangle but he can’t quite make it out. „Something something immortal demon“… or something.

They’re in the bamboo house now. The person he had just been watching in that strange world now lies in his shizun‘s bed having taken his form. The scene morphs yet again. And again. And again and again and again. He sees ‚SQQ‘ taking strolls, reading, drinking tee. Just *being* SQQ. Then ‚SQQ‘ stops in front of a mirror and sighs.

„So I really did posses SQQ‘s body….“

‚SQQ‘ turns his head, taking a good look at every angle of ‚his‘ face.

„At least that bastard had a pretty face“

The scene continues to morph. Sometimes other people appear, sometimes the peak lords, sometimes LBH himself.

But LBH doesn’t pay attention anymore. He stands there, silently. He knows other worlds besides their own existed, that part isn’t new. After all, he had once swapped places with that other him. What is new, is that apparently SQQ had swapped places too.

But when? When did that happen? When he self detonated? When his soul was dragged into the holy mausoleum? When he threw LBH into the abyss? Was it sooner? Was it later?

And most importantly, is the owner of this dream realm- Is the person in SQQ‘s body really his shizun?

Also he called SQQ a bastard

#behold the next downward spiral for LBH #SQQ you’re in danger yet again #SQQ communicate with your husband challenge #svsss #fic idea #lbh #svsss lbh #sqq #svsss sqq #bingqiu #scum villian self saving system #the scum villain's self saving system #scum villian

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bi-panicatthedisco · 1 day ago

Text

Beyond The Screen.

Diasomnia Part.

[woo, last one! Just finished Silver and Sebek today, and I'm so tired. Also somehow actually making all these posts is taking an hour??? But hey, it was fun even if it was a little stressful trying to keep the characterization right. I'll probably take a week or so break, but this was amazing to write! Hope you like this story! And remember to drink some water and get some rest! I hope you have a great rest of your day!!!]

One of the last things you would've expected after downloading a game like twisted wonderland, is for the characters to leave the dang game and show up irl! But things rarely go as you expect, and this is something it's nice to be wrong about.

It was a pretty regular day when it happened, just sitting down and playing twst. Only for an impromptu single pull on the banner, turning into SSR particles and a fancy coffin. Of course you're getting excited. But instead of showing your new card, you have the character fall right out of your screen onto the floor in front of you. Oh goodness gracious...

---------------Malleus Draconia----------------

Malleus easily caught himself with magic, standing serenely as he looks down at your form. This is the player? Well, they certainly seem... Intriguing. He smiles as he leans down, taking your hand to help you stand up.

"So you're the human behind the screen, you've always been a bold one. Were your words true? Believe me I heard every one, so do they still hold true in this world, or are you now afraid having seen me face to face? I hope that's not the case."

He places a finger under your chin, lifting your face so your eyes are locked onto his. He still has a smile on his face as he laughs softly, before eventually letting his hand fall. Then he turns around to look around the room, it's an interesting style he supposes. Is this the style you prefer? He'll have to make a note of that, considering he arrived uninvited, when he gets a gift for you later as an apology. Before turning back around to look you over, taking you in in your entirety. Never having had the chance before this through the screen.

Really he's more than intrigued by this point, the words you said and actions you've done are more than enough. And yet you're unafraid, you may or may not be nervous, but not because he's a Draconia. This feeling... He hasn't felt it since meeting the prefect, only to later learn it was you who controled them to say that. Meaning, it must be your feelings as well, yes? ...although he came here uninvited, he hopes you'll allow him to stay nonetheless.

-a few months later-

Your world is almost perfect. Here he is free to be himself, and people aren't instantly terrified of his presence. And this world has you in it, what a light you've become for him. Yes he does sometimes keep you from leaving to your job/school/anything else, but he gets worried. Your world is nearly perfect, just not quite. There's still danger in it, especially for a human like yourself. It's a horrifying thought for Malleus, so he prefers it when you're safe and sound at home (preferably in his arms)

But despite his minor grievances with this world (like the appalling shortage of gargoyles.) he still wishes to stay here with you as long as he can. He knows he cannot hide from his responsibilities as the heir apparent of briar valley forever, but he doesn't want to risk bringing you there where you face the dangers of being associated with him. From humans and fae alike. This should be obvious, and yet you still ask when he plans to go home. Really if you were anyone else, he wouldn't hesitate to lash out at this point! It's infuriating!

"Ah, there you are. I wondered where you had gone. I... This again? Player, we've been over this. I do not wish to leave you. Don't give me that face, it's true. What can I do to convince you? You must give me something, I cannot read your mind. How do I convince you how much I'd miss you if you were out of my life?"

Malleus sighs before walking over to you, hold your face in his hands. He would miss you as much as the moon would miss the sun. So please, stay in his sight a little longer.

-----------------Lilia Vanrouge-----------------

Lilia popped out of the screen with a "boo!" Causing you to jump out of your seat, which makes him laugh. He has a mischievous grin on his face as floats to the floor, tilting his head and winking adorably

"There's the reaction I like to see, it's good to meet you player! Khehehe, I suppose I don't need to introduce myself, do I? But I will anyway! I'm the always adorable Lilia! But you may call me Lils. You will, won't you player? If you don't, you'll break an old man's heart! You will? Yay~"

As he smiles, he goes around the room. Looking over every detail. It's certainly nice, but it could stand to be more fun! He'll have to make sure he gets you plenty of gifts to fill up all blank space. He wonders if they have pennants in your world... Well it doesn't matter, he's certain you'll love any gifts he gives you! He's one of your favs after all, isn't he? It makes sense, he does have a boyish charm! Although sometimes he fears he's too cute for his own good...

Really now, you have your own charm as well! Lilia just knows he can get used to this! You'll let him stay of course, he can already tell you're a kind hearted person who wouldn't turn an old man out into the terrible hail and lightning! (It was sunny outside when he showed up, but dramatic affect.) And of course no good deed goes unrewarded, he shall make you a "Lilia special!" (No poison not not not guaranteed.) There's no need to thank him! Just your lovely smile is thanks enough! (Run)

-a few months later-

Against all odds, you miraculously survived the 'cooking' incidents. You've gained a newfound respect for silver, and probably a poison tolerance. But yeah, Lilia is completely banned from the kitchen, all kitchens. Do NOT let him cook. In other news however, life has become much more colorful and vibrant with Lilia in it! As has your home. He's made sure of this. Taking you on outings, getting too many trinkets to commemorate said outings. Pranks. So many pranks. Never a boring day.

And Lilia is living for this! Do you know how many people he's spooked during late hours of the night? Nonzero number. This is some of the most fun he's had in years! Really player, it was quite selfish to keep just a entertaining world all to yourself for so long~ and even now you seem to want him back out of it, always bringing up when he plans on returning to twisted wonderland. The answer to that is probably never, his boys are fine on their own, he trusts them! And Lilia would never run away from an adventure like this!

"Ah player, wonderful to see you again! Hm? Oh I'm just decorating the ceiling~ People should hang more pictures on their ceilings! Is that really why you came to talk to me, not because of my adorable charm? ...it's that again? Well I've told you a hundred times by now, I don't plan on leaving for a good while yet. Khehehe, do you really want me gone so badly~?"

It would take a little more than that to make Lilia leave, he's having too much fun with this! And of course he wouldn't want to just leave you, what kind of person would that make him? A fool, that's what~

---------------Silver (Vanrouge)----------------

Silver would've caught himself, if not for the fact he was asleep. So now he's sleeping majestically on the floor. Only slowly waking up when you lean down to check on him, his eyes fluttering open. Then they go wide when he sees you, unable to believe what he's seeing. He reaches up to take your hand.

"Hmmm...! Player, is that you...? Ah, I must be dreaming again, I've had similar dreams before. Yet, your hand feels so real. Are you, truly the player? ...so this isn't a dream. It's lovely to meet you player. I've long awaited this day, I hope you'll welcome me."

He smiles softly, looking at you in a way that makes your heart melt completely. How is he so prince-like!? (Oh, nevermind.) But still, he JUST woke up! It has to be genetics... Meanwhile, Silver stands up and glances around the room. Yet his eyes return to yours, unable to look away from you for very long. He places his hand over his chest as he does, and goodness who gave him permission to be like this!? Lilia how did you raise this boy?!

Silver is overjoyed his dream is a reality, he's long imagined this day and how exactly it would happen. He had hoped to be awake immediately, but at least he's awake now. It's a shame he doesn't have his sword with him, otherwise he'd swear by it to stay by their side. He knows his father liked them, and their words through the screen prove they truly care about him. Such a kind person truly deserves his loyalty. He hopes he can prove it during his time here.

-a few months later-

It's been very reassuring to have Silver around, he's like a constant bodyguard/knight. And the charm is maddening. He once got so sweetly dramatic about a paper cut, even pulling out a little speech about how any of your injuries are important to him, since he is your knight now. And besides that, your house has never been cleaner! Except for the occasional feather. The Disney princess magic is insane.

And Silver has been taking this new task very seriously. As soon as he got a new sword in your world, he had sworn his loyalty to you. It was dramatic yet not too showy, which is a great way to describe most of Silvers actions. He'll admit he does miss his father, and Malleus and Sebek. But that doesn't mean he wants to leave you. He is your knight now, which it why it baffles him so that you seemingly want him to return to twisted wonderland. Do you feel bad he left? He doesn't want to see you like that, or hear you asking when he plans to leave.

"When do I plan on going home? Well, I view this as my home now if you'll allow it. As your knight, I want to be by your side eternally. Will you grant me that chance?"

He looks you in the eyes, his form is ridged and yet his eyes are full of emotion. Let him be your knight, that's all he wishes.

-----------------Sebek Zigvolt------------------

Sebek falls to the floor with a shout, landing heavily on the ground. You get the feeling he would have yelled at the ground for hurting his pride, if not for the fact he froze in place as soon as he stood up and noticed you.

"...PLAYER!? IS THAT YOU!? the spell worked... AHEM! I mean of course it did! I had full confidence in it! No one should expect anything less of a retainer of the great Malleus! Hmph! You should be proud human, I've decided to pay you a visit! I see you're speechless! Wait. ...WHY ARE YOU COVERING YOUR EARS!?"

Sebek looks insulted and indignant at you covering your ears, he's not THAT loud! What a rude human! Seriously, he was in the middle of talking and everything... You're lucky he's feeling generous today human, he'll forgive you this once! But next time don't you dare cover your ears! His words are important! ...then again Lilia Did mention he might hurt their ears if he kept talking like that. Hmph, he supposes he can talk Slightly quieter next time. You should be grateful human!

Please don't get him wrong, he's been waiting to meet you for awhile. He'll admit he despised you at first, but you grew on him (like a parasite) and he hates it. What he won't admit is how often he thinks about you, or uses you as motivation. "I just have to keep training for them!" And the like. Though it was painfully obvious for everyone else, especially with how red his face got when he saw your screen. It was a little sad, and as Lilia put it "utterly adorable! Ah the bashfulness of youth!" Before leaving as he laughed, Sebek left to protest in vain. So to say he hopes you'll let him stay, is a understatement.

-a few months later-

You know scary dog privileges? You have those now. When Sebek follows you around as a sort of bodyguard, believe me you aren't gonna have to worry about a thing. Except for the sound, which is a LOT. Oh and scaring literally everyone away, except for the few folks who think he's a cosplayer. Those interactions never end well. By this point, you try to keep him away from the public as much as possible. Doesn't usually work, but it helps.

He has been trying though!! Kinda. He won't admit he's trying to be better around people for you, but it's pretty noticeable. He didn't even yell once when someone made a joke about how much hair product he must be using. So much self restraint! Obviously you don't have to praise him for his efforts (please do.) but even with all his efforts, you still bring up him going home! Obviously he's working on it, and bringing you with him! He must get back to Malleus quickly, but he doesn't want to leave you behind. So just wait a bit more, this isn't easy you know!

"What do you need human? Again?! WE'VE BEEN OVER THIS, how many times do I need to remind you? Hmph, I am almost done, don't rush me! I don't see YOU trying to open a portal to another world! ...why does it feel like you just want me gone... Hm? NOTHING! I SAID NOTHING!"

It'll probably happen eventually, maybe. But for now, maybe give the precious croc a little more love. Don't want him feeling unwanted, do you?

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kjiscrawlingbackformore · 2 days ago

Text

Superglue: Breakfast Agenda

Superman!Lottie Matthews x Reporter!Reader

Masterlist | Previous Part

The blow came hard and fast, fist wrapped in some kind of energy field—slamming into Superwoman’s ribs and launching her through the wall of a parking structure. Concrete cracked like eggshells around her, dust and metal shrieking as she hit the ground on her back.

She coughed once. Felt the sharp pinch of something tear across her shoulder. Blood? That was new.

The enemy dropped down from above, silent, masked, brutal. No powers, just tech and precision. Military-grade. Maybe off-world. Charlotte couldn’t tell. Her head was ringing.

“You’re not invincible,” the figure in black said through a modulated voice.

Charlotte wiped blood from the corner of her mouth. “That’s the thing about rumors,” she rasped. “They never get the details right.”

Another punch, this time to the gut, and Charlotte doubled over before forcing herself back upright. Pain screamed down her side. She stumbled back, vision swimming. You need to be more careful out there, you had whispered, lips brushing hers. And I mean it, Matthews.

She grit her teeth. “I know,” she whispered.

Because the worst part wasn’t the pain. Or the possibility of defeat. The worst part was that she’d promised.

She’d stood in that office, smelling like lo mein and jasmine tea, kissed you until her knees went weak, and promised to be careful. And now here she was bleeding, heart pounding in her ears, thinking about her instead of calculating her next move.

The enemy came at her again, blade drawn this time. Charlotte ducked, barely, and the edge of it grazed her cheek, slicing skin open like paper.

“You’re distracted,” the voice said.

Charlotte’s breath caught. Yeah, she thought. I am.

She caught the next hit. Just barely. Spun, elbowed the figure hard in the ribs, and sent them stumbling backward. Her strength was still there, but her focus was unraveling.

Not because she wasn’t strong enough.

Because she cared too much. She pushed forward, anger, panic, and something deeply human roaring in her chest.

“I made a promise,” Charlotte hissed, shoving the figure into a car so hard the windshield shattered. “And if I have to drag myself home in pieces to keep it—I will.”

The enemy disappeared in a flash of smoke and light, slipping into the shadows of the city. Charlotte stood in the broken lot, gasping, bloodied, shaking. And for the first time in a long time, she was scared.

Not for herself.

But for the moment she’d have to walk back into that office…see you and lie. Lie about how she didn’t get hurt. Lie about how she didn’t almost die. Lie about how she was careful.

The city shimmered beneath her as she flew, a blur of orange haze and steel shadows. Her left shoulder throbbed with every beat of her heart, and her ribs ached like they’d been put through a compactor. The sky was quiet tonight, too quiet, and even from this high up, the hum of sirens and streetlights felt far away.

She landed on her balcony with less grace than usual, boots skidding slightly against the railing before she shoved the glass door open with her good hand.

The apartment was dark—except for the soft glow of her kitchen light and the faint smell of jasmine and leftover takeout. Charlotte blinked once, a soft breathy chuckle escaping her lips.

She didn’t even need x-ray vision to know who it was.

“You really need to stop doing this,” she said, voice hoarse, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she stumbled into the living room.

You looked up from where you sat curled on the couch, one leg tucked beneath you, sleeves rolled up, a half-empty cup of tea in her hand. Your eyes were sharp. Assessing. And far too calm.

“Doing what?” you said, setting the tea down. “Checking in on the most powerful being on earth?”

Charlotte chuckled weakly, then winced. “Breaking in.”

“You left the window latch undone,” you said, standing slowly.

“I was raised better than to lock people out,” Charlotte murmured, gaze dropping.

A beat passed. You stepped forward. Charlotte tried to stay upright, but her knees gave out the moment she stopped pretending they could hold her.

Strong arms caught her mid-fall. The familiar scent—clean soap, ink, and a hint of sandalwood—wrapped around her like a balm. She leaned her forehead against your shoulder and exhaled.

“You’re bleeding,” came the whispered observation, a hand brushing gently along her jaw.

Charlotte didn’t answer. “Remind me to make you a key,” she murmured instead, eyes fluttering shut. “So you’ll stop breaking in.”

Your grip around her tightened slightly, holding her up like she mattered. “I’ll take the key,” you said quietly. “But you don’t get to make jokes until I know you didn’t puncture a lung.”

Charlotte managed a shaky laugh, breathless against the hollow of her throat. This—this right here, was worse than the hit to the ribs.

Because Charlotte Matthews had been in battles. She’d taken hits, survived wars, stared down missiles. But none of it had ever made her feel this soft. None of it had ever made her want to come home this bad.

Charlotte winced as she pulled off the torn remnants of her suit, one arm moving slower than the other. The apartment lights were low, casting soft shadows across the walls, and the faint buzz of city life below drifted through the open window.

She dropped onto the couch with a groan, leaning her head back against the cushions. “I’ll be fine by morning,” she mumbled, voice half-muffled. “I just need a few hours under the moon. The sun’ll finish the job.”

You stood across from her, arms crossed, not convinced. “That’s not how bruised ribs work, Matthews.”

Charlotte peeked one eye open. “It is when you can fly,” she said with a lopsided grin. “Promise.”

But then she froze. Her gaze landed on the small, angry cut just above your left eyebrow, the purpling bruise spreading across her jaw. The playfulness in her face drained instantly.

“Wait—what is that?”

You flinched, a sigh escaping your lips. “It’s nothing. Just—”

Charlotte was already on her feet, eyes narrowed as she stepped in close, studying the injury like it had personally offended her.

“Who did this?” Her voice was low. Dangerous. Protective.

You smiled, soft but amused. Your heart soaring at her protectiveness. “I can take care of myself, Lottie. I’m a big girl.”

Charlotte didn’t smile back. Instead, her hands came up to gently cup your face, thumbs brushing carefully along your cheekbones, fingers featherlight.

“Yeah, you are,” she said, voice softer now, almost reverent. “But that doesn’t stop me from caring.” Her eyes searched hers. “Just answer the question.”

Your breath hitched slightly at the closeness. Your usual composure faltered. “It was nothing,” you said again, but quieter this time. “One of the protestors outside the consulate. Thought I was press from the other side.”

Charlotte’s jaw ticked. “You shouldn’t have been there alone.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

“But I wasn’t with you.”

That hung in the air for a second, heavy. You didn’t pull away from Charlotte’s hands. If anything, you leaned into them.

“Well, you’re here now,” you said softly. “And I brought dumplings, so that counts for something.”

Charlotte exhaled slowly, her thumb still brushing just beneath your bruise. “Next time, call me.”

“And next time,” you said, smirking gently, “you don’t get to lecture me unless you call me when you’re getting punched in the face by mystery villains in the dark.”

Charlotte laughed, reluctant and tired and with a soft look in her eyes. “Deal.”

They stayed like that a little longer, caught in the stillness. Outside, the first hints of dawn teased the horizon, but inside, Charlotte didn’t care about the sun just yet. She had everything she needed right here in her hands.

You didn’t know what time it was. But it was late enough where charlotte had finally knocked out. You slipped your arms through your jacket slowly, quietly. Your bag was already on your shoulder, shoes in hand, careful not to wake the sleeping figure on the couch.

Charlotte had insisted she’d be fine. That by morning, the sun would do its thing and knit her back together like it always did. And you believed her—mostly. But still, there was a pang as you looked back, lingering longer than you meant to.

You were halfway to the door when Charlotte’s voice stopped you. “Stay.”

It was barely more than a whisper, hoarse and sleepy but unmistakably hers. You turned, met with Charlotte’s soft gaze, half-lidded, hair messy, a vulnerability there she rarely let anyone see.

“You sure?” you asked, voice gentle, still standing at the threshold.

Charlotte nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Please.”

So you stayed.

You toed off your shoes again, slid your jacket off, and padded back to the couch. But Charlotte was already moving, reaching for your hand.

“My bed’s more comfortable,” she murmured, tugging you toward the hallway.

They didn’t say much more that night. Just the rustle of sheets, a quiet exhale as they found space beside each other. The city murmured outside, but inside, everything was still.

Charlotte curled behind you, an arm slipping around your waist, her forehead resting lightly against the back of your shoulder.

For once, she let herself relax. Not as Superwoman, not as someone with the weight of the world on her back—but as Charlotte. A girl holding the woman she loved, just trying to keep her close for a little longer.

The sun filtered in soft and golden by morning. Charlotte blinked awake slowly, stretching under the warmth now blooming across her skin. Her aches were already fading. The split in her lip gone. The bruises receding. But none of that was what made her beam.

What made her heart stutter and soar was the woman beside her, still fast asleep, pressed into her chest with one hand loosely curled in the fabric of Charlotte’s shirt.

Carefully, Charlotte leaned down and kissed you—barely brushing her lips against yours, soft and reverent. And when you stirred, eyes fluttering open with a sleep-roughened, confused blink, Charlotte just smiled wider.

“Morning,” she whispered.

You yawned. “Mmm. Are you glowing or is that just obnoxious joy on your face?”

“A little of both,” Charlotte said, grinning.

You chuckled and buried your face against Charlotte’s shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

Charlotte only held you tighter. “I know. But I woke up with you in my bed. So, ridiculous or not, I think I’m winning.”

The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the city just beginning to wake. Traffic buzzed faintly several stories below, and sunlight filtered in through the tall windows in soft gold streaks. You stood barefoot in Charlotte’s kitchen, hair still tousled from sleep, wearing one of Charlotte’s old oversized tees that hung off your shoulder like it was made for you.

You moved through the kitchen with ease, clearly comfortable here now, grabbing the coffee tin from the top shelf, filling the pot, humming softly under your breath as you did it.

Behind you, Charlotte padded in, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her dark tank top clung to her frame, and her hair was a gorgeous, wild mess. She yawned and leaned against the doorway.

“You’re making coffee?” she mumbled, eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

You smirked over your shoulder. “Someone has to. You nearly died last night and refused to go to a hospital, so I figured I’d step in and play nurse-slash-barista.”

Charlotte grunted and came up behind you to nuzzle into your shoulder. “Coffee first. But I’m making breakfast.”

“You’re still healing.”

“I heal better with pancakes,” Charlotte mumbled.

You laughed. “That is not a thing.”

“It is in this household,” Charlotte declared, already grabbing a mixing bowl. “Breakfast is the superior meal. It works any time of day.”

You raised a brow, leaning against the counter with her mug. “Breakfast is great for breakfast, Lottie.”

Charlotte glanced at you with mock offense. “You say that like it’s a controversial opinion.”

“It is,” you said, sipping your coffee. “You’re a grown woman with a literal super metabolism and still insist breakfast is sacred.”

Charlotte stuck her tongue out, poured some flour, and began stirring with wild determination. “You’re just lucky I don’t break into heroic monologue about the healing properties of pancakes.”

You chuckled and hopped up onto the kitchen counter, letting your legs swing lazily as you watched Charlotte move around the space, hair still messy, sleeves rolled up, stirring batter like it was the most important thing in the world.

She was beautiful like this. Unarmored.

Charlotte looked up and paused. For a second, she just stood there with the whisk in her hand, batter halfway stirred, eyes locked onto you like something in her shifted.

Then she put the bowl down and crossed the kitchen in three purposeful strides.

You barely had time to blink before your coffee mug was gently taken from your hands and set aside. And then Charlotte’s hands were on your hips, slipping up to your waist, drawing you forward as she stood between your knees.

The kiss started slow, almost hesitant, like she was checking to see if it was really okay to go there. But then your hands found their way around her neck, fingers curling in the back of her shirt, and that was all Charlotte needed.

She deepened the kiss, slow and hungry, like she’d been thinking about it since the second she woke up. Her fingers tightened around your waist, her mouth moving with intent, savoring every press, every soft sigh she coaxed out of you.

Pancakes forgotten.

Coffee abandoned.

Only her and you in front of her, you, who was finally hers, not just in emergency moments or stolen kisses, but in the morning light, in her kitchen, in her arms. And for Charlotte Matthews, that felt more powerful than anything she could ever do in a cape.

Charlotte didn’t pull away right away.

She stayed there for a beat, forehead resting gently against yours, her hands still wrapped around her waist, thumbs brushing the hem of the shirt. The air between them was warm and quiet, the only sound the steady ticking of the clock on the wall and the faint traffic below.

You let out a slow, content breath, your fingers still tangled at the back of Charlotte’s neck.

“Pancakes have been abandoned,” you whispered.

Charlotte grinned but didn’t move. “Totally worth it.”

Another pause. Then Charlotte spoke, voice quieter now. “I think about this, you know.”

You tilted your head slightly. “This?”

“You. Here. In my kitchen. In my shirt. Laughing at my breakfast agenda,” Charlotte murmured. “And I—I don’t know. It’s just… better than anything else I could be doing.”

You blinked. You weren’t used to Charlotte being so openly soft. Protective? Yes. Flirty? Occasionally. But this? This was something you could get used to.

You leaned in, brushing your nose against Charlotte’s. “Better than flying?”

Charlotte nodded. “Way better.”

“Better than catching bad guys?”

Charlotte smirked. “Unless the bad guy is keeping you from waking up in my bed—yeah. Way better.”

A quiet laugh escaped you, and Charlotte’s smile softened again. Her eyes dropped for a second, almost nervous now. “I know it’s risky. Letting someone in. Especially with… with who I am.”

Your gaze held steady. “I already knew who you were before you kissed me. Still here.”

Charlotte looked at you like that meant everything. “I know. That’s what scares me.”

And then you reached up and gently cupped Charlotte’s face, just like Charlotte had done the night before, and kissed her softly, slowly.

“Don’t be scared, Lottie,” you whispered. “You’ve saved the world. You can handle being with me.”

Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment like she needed to commit those words to memory. Then she nodded, kissed you again, gentler now.

“I should probably finish breakfast,” she mumbled into your lips.

You smirked. “You really should. Otherwise, you’re just going to owe me Chinese food twice in a row.”

Charlotte groaned but pulled back with a reluctant smile, retrieving the bowl and stirring like her life depended on it—though her eyes kept drifting back to you sitting on her counter, sipping coffee, barefoot in her apartment, grinning like you knew exactly what you were doing to her.

And maybe you did.

Because Charlotte Matthews could stop wars, fly through storms, and bench press a car. But none of it compared to the way her heart raced when you smiled at her like that.

#lottie matthews x you #lottie matthews x reader #yellowjackets #lottie yellowjackets #yellowjacket au #superman au #charlotte matthews #lottie matthews #yellowjackets x you

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