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sleepymarimo · 2 years ago

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𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣!

summary: the first time you make their heart skip a beat, w/ monster trio + law! pairing(s): luffy x gn!reader, zoro x gn!reader, sanji x gn!reader, law x gn!reader cw: none! an: ahhhh idk how to feel about this one but i hope you enjoy :') 👐

luffy

there are a lot of things that get luffy's heart racing.

a good meal. a cool looking fish. a killer party. all of it makes this captain happy, because he revels in the adventure. he lives for the moment. he feels deeply and strongly, a trait that acts as a double edged sword.

like now, as a torrent of anger and worry swirl in his chest and weigh him down. he's running through some dense woods, bursting through trees and falling down hills, a look of determination on his face.

an enemy had managed to sneak up on the crew.

what's worse? they ran off. with you.

luffy doesn't think twice. he pushes through anything in his way for the sake of finding you before things got too rough. as he runs, he finds the enemy's actions cowardly. someone using you to draw him out makes him irritate. he doesn't care if he's falling into some trap; he'd deal with whatever was put in front of him so long as he could rescue you.

he's worried for your well being, of course he is. even though he can't see you, he can feel you. his observation haki lets him know how frightened you are, a fact that makes him all the more angry.

then finally, in the distance, he catches sight of you.

you're in a clearing, the enemy looming over you. they're raising a weapon in your direction, much too close.

luffy feels his blood boil. he grabs ahold of some trees, running backwards and preparing to launch himself in your direction as fast as he can. his rubber arms grow taut as he stretches, his mind set on rescuing you.

an annoyed huff leaves him when he hears the enemy taunting you, threatening your life and mocking your ambitions. it has luffy's anger rising, because there was no way he'd let your dreams get made fun of. by anyone.

his thoughts become hazy, his strong feelings taking hold of his actions.

then, luffy hears it. it's like a melody, absolute music to his ears.

your laugh.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his head clears.

he can feel a big smile curling at his lips. his grin is all teeth, his eyes shining with equal parts pride and mischief. it's like a fire has been lit in his soul, like he's a toy that's just been wound up to the max.

even in your current predicament, even when you're utterly terrified, you have faith in yourself. in him.

if you can laugh, then so can he.

finally, he yells out his signature move, launching himself at the enemy and landing a punch so hard that it makes the air itself tremble.

"luffy!" you call with some tears prickling in your eyes, your limbs still shaky from the adrenaline. your smile falters at the edges, relief flooding your body. "you made it!"

your captain comes to life upon seeing your smile up close, his heart beating like a drum. his rubber arms wrap around you and he squeezes you to his chest, his laughter ringing in your ears.

"of course i did!" he grins, grabbing you by the hand and urging you to run with him to the ship. his grip on you is tight and secure. glancing back at you, he can't help but feel grateful to have you with him on this journey.

he snickers, letting emotion run through him without restriction. "you made my heart feel funny!"

zoro

after another victory, the straw hat pirates found themselves reveling in drinks, food and company.

for a while, the swordsman finds himself amidst the other heavy drinkers. he grins and knocks back bottle after bottle, content with listening to the animated conversations around him and observing the party.

eventually though, he craves some solitude. and so, he heads off towards a less occupied area where he can drink in peace.

he basks in isolation, until you manage to find your way to him. a big grin is on your face and he can't help but reciprocate with a small smirk when he notices your inebriated state. unceremoniously, you plop down next to him at a respectable distance.

“hey zo', gimme some!” you nod towards the large bottle he holds, completely immersed in the light, upbeat atmosphere. one of your hands even reaches out, making a sort of grabbing motion.

he possessively tightens his grip on the bottle, his expression hardening slightly as his brows furrowed. "hah? this is mine, go grab your own bottle."

"i don't wanna full drink, jus' need a little more and i'll be good." you answer, well aware of your limits. your tone becomes pleading as you look up at him with puppy dog eyes. "one sip. please?"

with a groan, he relents. he grumbles something about you being lucky that he's in such a good mood, before extending the bottle in your direction.

yet, it appears that you have some more tricks up your sleeve.

instead of grabbing the bottle, you simply tilt your head back and let your mouth hang open. you make an 'ah' sound, waiting for him to bestow you with the gift of alcohol.

he's a little taken aback at first. seriously? you wanted him to pour it for you? ugh, fine...

he rolls his eye and uses his free hand to firmly hold your jaw steady and open, bringing the bottle up and pouring the sake into your mouth.

your hand rests on his, your fingers absentmindedly tracing over his knuckles.

it's all fine at first, until his eyes lock with yours. in that moment, he seems to acknowledge the intimacy of the act, something primal stirring in his gut as he looked down at you. his cheeks redden.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his muscles tense and he goes almost still. he gets so distracted that his hand moves upwards, effectively drowning your face with sake. your head snaps back into its natural position and you start to cough, the alcohol burning your nostrils.

you give the swordsman an incredulous look, wiping the excess sake from your face. “what the hell was that for?”

“you’re the one that moved!” he sharply replies, even though he knows damn well that you were sitting good and still for him.

focusing inward, he seems pleased to feel that his heart is once again thumping steadily. unwavering. what an odd feeling it was, to have his strong heart skip a beat.

i'll deal with that later. he thinks, not at all wanting to open that can of worms.

so, he takes another swig from the bottle and uses one of his large hands to pat you on the back as you continued to cough up sake.

“oi, don’t waste good booze.”

sanji

the cook wasn't used to being spoiled. he's always been a giver, someone who provides and never takes.

he basked in the smiles that formed on the faces of his crew mates, his family, whenever he made them a good meal or protected them. he never asks for anything in return. however, that doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t be shown appreciation every now and then.

currently, he's on night watch.

a thick blanket is wrapped around his shoulders, the cold wind nipping at his cheeks and painting them a reddish color. a cigarette hangs from his lips, his breaths coming out as white puffs against the dark sky.

out of the corner of his eye, he can see light pouring out from the kitchen window. how long has that been on? his brows furrow in suspicion as he makes his way over, half-expecting to see luffy attempting to crack open the pantry.

yet when he opens the door, his posture immediately relaxes and he practically melts as he sees you. you're in your pajamas, hunched over the stove with a focused expression. he takes note of the cookbook laid out on the counter, guiding you as you prepared a dish.

he calls your name, his limbs turning to mush as he approached you. "what are you doing here so late? if you're hungry, i'll make you some-"

his nose twitches as he catches the scent of what you're making.

he knows it well because it happens to be one of his favorite dishes. coincidentally, it was one of your least favorites, the scent of it rather unbearable to you.

"you're... you're making..." his cigarette threatens to tumble out of his lips as he gives you a bewildered expression.

he can see your nose briefly scrunch up before you give him a smile, one of your hands holding a wooden spoon and mixing up ingredients on a pan. "yeah. i hope i'm making it right. i mean, it won't be as good as yours anyway, but still."

"mon amour, you shouldn't. i know how much you can't stand the smell of it." he tries to usher you away, placing a hand on yours and insisting that he didn't want you to be queasy. "why're you making this, mon amour? did someone ask you to?"

you shrug and keep a firm hold on the wooden spoon, replying like the answer was obvious. "because i thought it'd make you happy."

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his cigarette does fall to the floor. the hand that's over yours tightens, perhaps his way of grounding himself. he's speechless for a moment, something shaking him down to his very center.

he could almost cry.

"sanji?" you ask, a little concerned for the chef as his eyes seemed to glaze over.

the blond snaps out of it, giving you a smile that's so warm it makes you wonder if the sun had just come up. there's none of that surface level attraction or lust in his gaze, only an authentic appreciation.

thank you. he thinks, feeling light. thank you for caring.

his eyes close as he once again takes in the scent of the dish you're preparing. "it smells great, mon amour. better than anything i've ever made, i’m sure of it."

"i doubt that." you laugh, downplaying his compliment. with a nod, you resume cooking. "it'll be finished by the time you're done with your watch. i can handle it."

sanji thanks you once more, his heart feeling full. returning to his post, he allows you to do something kind for him. he allows himself to take, without worrying about having to repay you.

he quells any lingering thoughts of insecurity and self-doubt, focusing instead on the meal that's sure to be waiting for him in the morning.

law

it was a couple weeks ago that law made the decision to educate the crew a bit more on medical practices.

the surgeon knew that he couldn’t always be around to provide assistance to the crew, so it was only logical that he trained everyone in basic first aid, including you. day after day, he trained everyone, one at a time.

was it a lot? yes. however, law liked to be prepared and felt comfort in being thorough with his teachings, regardless of how tedious it was.

so, finally it was your day to be trained under his watchful eye.

you could tell how passionate he was about his work, how knowledgeable. if you had any questions or wanted to know more about a topic, he took the time to explain it to you properly.

he was quite patient, something you were thankful for since you knew he could sometimes grow frustrated.

when it's all said and done, he quizzes you. he sits atop the exam table, his expression apathetic.

"i'm a patient suffering from shortness of breath, chest pain and dizziness." he flatly says, watching your every move. "what comes to mind? what do you check first?"

you bite at your lip, your head scrambling to come up with any ideas of what your 'patient' could be suffering from. "arrhythmia?" you answer, uncertain. he gives you a pressing look, urging you to continue. "and i... check your heartbeat?"

"good." with a nod of his head, he gestures towards the stethoscope. "go ahead, then. check it and let's see if you get the reading right."

pushing past your initial hesitance, you grab the stethoscope and put it on, gently holding the bell in your hand. placing it on his clothed chest, your expression turns frustrated as you struggle to hear a beat.

he rolls his eyes and calls your name lightly. "you can't place it over fabric. it needs to go directly on the skin."

oh yeah, you needed to place it directly on his chest.

you click your tongue, embarrassed by your slight error. "yeah, yeah, i got it."

with that, your hand slips under the hem of his shirt.

however, instead of holding up his shirt and and placing the stethoscope directly over his heart, your hand slides upward from his abdomen and all the way to his chest.

your fingers inadvertently graze along his skin, tracing a warm path from his navel to his heart.

you're too focused on your task to notice his widening eyes and how his breath hitches.

a content smile forms on your face when you catch the sound of his heartbeat.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

you look up at him, slightly concerned. “i think there's something weird-"

"you're hearing things." he's quick to say, placing a hand over yours and promptly removing it from his person. standing from the exam table, he adjusts his shirt and takes a step back to put some much needed distance between the two of you. "good job today, you did well."

he turns in the opposite direction, not wanting to let his cracked composure show. steeling himself, he takes a deep breath and shakes off any residual feelings of unease.

it was just a fluke. he's quick to think, wanting to be rational.

in the end, he looks over his shoulder and gives you a nod before heading to his study.

#roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #one piece fluff

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burrowlvrr · 5 months ago

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— MORTGAGE MISCHIEF, joe burrow.

PAIRING: Joe Burrow 𝔁 Black!Wife!Reader

GENRE: Husband & Dad Joe

SUMMARY: In which — Y/N caves in and makes a TikTok account, and it doesn't take long for her to try to prank her unserious husband.

NOTE: I love this trend on TikTok so freaking much, bro, I just couldn't help myself. I wish there was more pranks going around TikTok so I could write another one lol! Feel free to send me more ideas and suggestions, enjoy!

UNIVERSE: Tenderhearts & Touchdowns!

Y/N had never been the kind of person to keep up with social media trends. Her Instagram was mostly filled with family snapshots, vacation photos, and the occasional throwback post from her college days. TikTok, though? That was a whole different ballgame.

She’d heard the buzz about it, of course—the dances, the memes, the endless rabbit hole of videos that could steal hours of your day—but it wasn’t really her thing.

That is, until some of Joe’s fans started flooding her DMs.

It wasn’t unusual for her to get messages from fans, most of them kind and supportive, occasionally sprinkled with the usual social media chaos. But after a family photo Joe posted went viral—a candid shot of the two of them laughing while their kids played in the background—her inbox blew up.

Several people had suggested she start a TikTok account, saying things like, “Your family is so cute, we’d love to see more of you guys!” and “Please post more videos of Joe being a dad; it’s the content we all need!”

At first, she brushed it off. The idea of putting her family out there in such a public way made her hesitant. Their life was private, cozy, and real—did she really want to open that up to the internet? But the messages kept coming, and her curiosity eventually got the better of her. One evening, after the kids were asleep and Joe was watching game highlights, she downloaded the app.

It didn’t take long for TikTok to reel her in. The first few days, she lurked quietly, scrolling through endless videos of clever pranks, hilarious parenting fails, and, of course, a whole section of TikToks dedicated to football wives and girlfriends. It was the pranks that hooked her.

Women were pulling the funniest, most creative stunts on their unsuspecting husbands—pretending to be mad over made-up arguments, mispronouncing their favorite athletes’ names, and her personal favorite, casually dropping bombshell “confessions” to see how their partners would react.

She couldn’t resist.

“This would be perfect for Joe,” she’d said to herself one night, already grinning at the thought. He was so even-keeled most of the time, but his sass came out when he was caught off guard, and she couldn’t wait to see what he’d say.

So, Y/N started posting. At first, it was just lighthearted videos of their kids, like Hudson and Elijah racing each other in the backyard or Sawyer trying to crawl after their dog, who always managed to stay just out of reach. The comments poured in, full of love and laughter, and she started to feel less nervous about sharing these little moments. And then came the pranks.

She eased into them, starting small—things like pretending to forget what day of the week it was or asking Joe if she could switch his game-day hoodie with one of hers. His reactions were gold, and her videos started gaining traction. She didn’t know how many people would find it so funny, but apparently, the internet loved Joe Burrow getting pranked as much as she did.

Which is how she found herself, phone in hand, ready to execute her latest and possibly best trend yet: the “I can’t pay the mortgage this month” prank.

The living room buzzed with the quiet hum of family life. Hudson and Elijah were seated cross-legged on the rug, their faces scrunched in concentration as they connected Lego pieces, the colorful blocks scattered across the coffee table like a mini construction zone. Sawyer, their youngest, was on the floor nearby, rolling lazily on her playmat while holding her bottle with both hands, occasionally babbling nonsense to herself.

Joe was stretched out on the couch, the epitome of relaxation in his gray hoodie and sweatpants, his wife’s legs comfortably draped over his thighs. His focus was glued to the MMA fight playing on the TV, and he absently stirred his spoon around a bowl of cereal balanced in his hand.

Every so often, he’d let out a low, “Oof,” reacting to a particularly hard punch or takedown, his body slightly tensing with the action on screen.

Y/N sat beside him, phone in hand, scrolling through TikTok. She stumbled across the trend a few hours ago, and decided that now was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Glancing sideways at Joe, she smirked to herself. This will be fun.

She adjusted her phone subtly, angling it to record, and cleared her throat dramatically. “Joe?”

“Hmm?” he murmured, not taking his eyes off the screen as he scooped another bite of cereal.

“I need to tell you something,” she said softly, injecting a hint of nervousness into her tone.

Joe didn’t look up. “What’s up, baby?”

“Don’t get mad at me, okay?” she added, biting her bottom lip to suppress a grin.

That got his attention. Joe’s hand froze midair, his spoon hovering over the bowl, and he turned his head toward her, squinting slightly.

“What? Why would I get mad?” His sharp gaze shifted to the phone in her lap. “Wait… why’re you recording? You pregnant again?”

Y/N burst out laughing at his assumption, unable to keep up her serious facade. “What? No!”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause that’s how you told me about Sawyer,” he replied with a smirk, leaning back on the couch and rubbing his free hand over his face.

“You just pulled out your phone, started recording, and bam—‘Congratulations, you’re gonna be a dad again!’” Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help giggling. “I’m serious, Joe. This is important.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, setting his cereal down on the side table and shifting so he was facing her fully. “What’s going on? And why are you being all dramatic about it?”

Y/N took a deep breath, steadying herself before delivering her line. “I, uh… I won’t be able to pay the mortgage this month.”

Joe blinked at her, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Girl, what are you talking about?” His tone was casual but tinged with disbelief.

She tried to keep her composure, clasping her hands together as if pleading. “The school’s on winter break, so my paycheck isn’t going to be enough. I just—ugh, I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Joe stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Okay, wait. How much is the mortgage?”

Y/N’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “Uh… like… $2,000?” she guessed, feigning confidence.

Joe’s mouth twitched, and he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Babe. You don’t even know how much it is, do you?”

“Well…” she stalled, trying to recover.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, leaning back against the couch and crossing his arms. “You’ve never paid the mortgage.”

“I know!” Y/N blurted, throwing her hands up dramatically. “I was going to as your Christmas present, but my paycheck won’t be enough now!”

Joe’s brow furrowed again, but this time his lips quirked upward, unable to hide his amusement. “So let me get this straight. You don’t know how much the mortgage is. You’ve never paid it before. And now you’re stressed because your Christmas present was gonna be paying it, but you can’t?”

“Exactly!” she said, doubling down.

For a moment, Joe just stared at her, then he broke into a deep laugh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “You’re crazy,” he muttered, shaking his head. Grabbing his cereal bowl, he leaned back against the couch.

“Don’t worry about it, babe. I got it.” He scooped another spoonful and took a bite like it was the most casual thing in the world.

Y/N couldn’t hold it in any longer. She burst into laughter, clutching her stomach as she nearly dropped her phone.

Joe raised an eyebrow at her, still chewing. “What’s so funny now?”

“It was a TikTok prank!” she wheezed, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

Joe’s smirk deepened as he shook his head. “Yeah, I figured. There’s no way you were being serious.”

“You were so calm about it, though!” she said, still laughing. “I really thought I’d get a bigger reaction out of you!”

“Nah,” Joe replied, reaching over to pinch her ankle playfully. “You’re too bad at lying, babe. Next time, at least Google how much the mortgage is first.”

From the floor, Hudson looked up from the Lego set with a curious expression. “What’s a mortgage?”

Joe snorted, pointing his spoon at his son. “Something you don’t gotta worry about, buddy.”

Elijah chimed in without looking up from his Legos. “Mommy’s bad at pranks.”

Sawyer let out a happy babble from her playmat, almost as if she agreed.

Joe laughed, pulling Y/N closer with one arm. “Looks like the jury’s unanimous, babe. Better luck next time.”

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0scarp1astr1 · 19 hours ago

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Spoiled Much? (P1)

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Pranking them but telling them you let another man pay for you. ||

P2 (COMING SOON)

ᯓ★ Featuring: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Fernando Alonso.

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Humor

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? Yes

Author Note: We are back to headcanons! and doing requests given to me. I've been working on the masterlist that will soon replace the original pinned post. It'll have links to each part of these headcanosn so I hope you all enjoy.

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Max Verstappen

It all started with a few innocent scrolls on TikTok—girls pranking their boyfriends left and right—and you figured, why not? Max had just handed you his card to go grab a few things from the store, trusting you like he always did. That’s when the perfect plan popped into your mind.

"Call me if you need me," he said casually, completely unaware. You hummed in response, leaned over to kiss his cheek, and slipped out of the car with a little too much pep in your step.

Max leaned back in the driver’s seat, letting the car sit idle in the parking spot. At first, he thought nothing of your delay. He assumed you were just stuck in a long line. Meanwhile, inside, you were hunched over a cart, hiding your giggles behind your hand as you rehearsed the prank in your head.

Eventually, you managed to compose yourself, strolled out with your bags in hand, and tossed them into the back seat before slipping into your place beside him. You buckled up, eyes wide with innocent mischief.

"The man I ran into was really nice—he paid for everything," you said smoothly.

Max turned toward you, brow already furrowing. "The man?" he echoed, confused. "What are you talking about, lieverd?"

You nodded, playing it cool. "Yeah, he said I was pretty and that I shouldn’t have to pay on my own, so...he paid for everything."

Max leaned toward you, staring like he was trying to read your soul. "You weren’t paying on your own? That was literally my card."

"Yeah," you shrugged, holding it out to him. "But he insisted."

He took the card from your hand, jaw tightening slightly. "How old was this guy?"

You pretended to think, dragging out the moment. "Hmm… around your age, I guess?"

Max scoffed. "And he just—what—started complimenting you and offered to pay? Just like that?"

You fought the urge to burst into laughter. "He wasn’t hitting on me," you said, smiling just a little too much.

"He called you pretty," Max shot back, frowning. "And don’t get me wrong—you are—but still. He clearly meant what he said. That’s not casual."

You just nodded solemnly, letting the tension hang in the air a second longer before he abruptly unbuckled. "Alright, I’m going back inside to find this guy."

You grabbed his arm, laughter spilling out now. "Max, wait—"

"No, seriously," he huffed. "He thinks you’re single or something. Like he has a shot. I can afford to fly you to Monaco, let you live in my house, be spoiled every day of your life—what can he offer you?"

You were full-on laughing now, tears threatening to sting your eyes. "Baby, I was pranking you. There was no guy. I used your card like you said."

Max froze, blinking at you. Slowly, his stern expression melted into something softer, almost amused.

"You’re evil," he muttered, shaking his head. Then he let out a quiet laugh of his own. "Don’t joke like that, lieverd. You know I don’t care if people think you’re pretty—but if someone’s actually hitting on you? No. Absolutely not."

You leaned over, kissing his cheek. "Look at you, all protective and jealous."

"You nearly scared me to death, lieverd,"

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Charles Leclerc

Charles was home, lounging on the couch with Leo curled up beside him, the little dog resting his chin on Charles' leg like the most loyal companion. The TV played softly in the background, a comforting buzz. Before you left, Charles had handed you his card with a smile, telling you to get whatever you were craving for dinner tonight. But instead of heading straight home after shopping, you were too busy plotting your latest prank—one inspired by a few too many TikToks.

"I'm home!" you called out as you stepped inside. At once, Leo perked up, leaping from the couch and padding over to greet you with his tail wagging wildly.

Charles looked over his shoulder. "I was starting to worry," he said, standing up. "You took longer than usual."

You smiled innocently, setting your keys down and slipping off your shoes. After leaning in to kiss his cheek, you dropped the first line. "Sorry, this guy paid for everything and we just got caught up in conversation."

Charles froze, staring at you like you'd just said the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “Je t’ai donné ma carte ?” he asked, blinking slowly.

You hummed. "I know, but he was really sweet. Said I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about paying. He covered it."

Charles just stared for a moment before slowly shaking his head. “That’s unbelievable. People are going to assume you're dating him.”

You fought back a grin, holding it in with all your strength. "No one’s going to think that but you, Charles."

“Sure, sure,” he muttered, eyes narrowing as he turned on his heel and headed toward the kitchen. You followed him, bags in hand.

"Tu fais la moue ?" you teased once inside, catching a glimpse of his unmistakably pouty expression.

Charles didn’t even try to hide it. He just stared at you, arms crossed like a sulking prince. “I treat you well. We live in Monaco. We have Leo,” he gestured around, like the dog was part of his romantic résumé. “I drive in F1—and you're letting some random guy hit on you, baby?”

You couldn’t help it anymore. You broke, laughing as you set the bags on the counter. “I was just messing with you, Charles. There was no guy. I used your card—like I was supposed to.”

He let out a long sigh, his head dropping back slightly. “Don’t scare me like that, woman. I thought some random was actually going to take you away from me.”

You walked up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m with you, Charles. Why would some random have me?”

He gave a tiny shrug, still sulking. “You never know.”

You patted his back playfully. “I got you good,” you said through a soft laugh. Leo barked at your feet as if to agree, his tail wagging like he, too, was in on the joke.

Charles looked down at the dog, then at you, his pout slowly morphing into a smirk

“Yeah, well—just wait, Y/N. One day, I’ll get you back.”

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Lewis Hamilton

You and Lewis had been shopping together most of the day, casually wandering the aisles like the soft domestic duo you were. At some point, Lewis veered off toward the pet section to get Roscoe a few new treats and maybe a fresh toy or two, promising to meet you up front when he was done. You nodded sweetly and went your own way—though behind that innocent look, you were plotting. And not just any plan: a prank. A classic, lighthearted trap for your sweet, loving, “just tell me what you need and I’ll buy it” boyfriend.

After grabbing everything you came for, you paid for your cart using your own money, then waited with the most innocent look you could muster. Lewis eventually showed up, a plush dog bed under one arm and a pack of Roscoe’s favorite snacks in the other.

"You already paid for your stuff?" he asked, dropping the items onto the counter.

You nodded, slipping into character. "No actually… this really nice guy offered to pay. Said I looked beautiful today, and he didn’t want me lifting a finger."

Lewis blinked. “He what?”

"He paid for me," you repeated with a shrug, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. "Said it was his pleasure. Real gentleman type."

Lewis squinted at you like you just told him someone insulted Roscoe. "Baby… that man was flirting with you."

You shook your head, playing dumb. “No, he was just being nice.”

“Right. ‘Just being nice,’” Lewis echoed, making air quotes with a look of complete disbelief. “Because men randomly pay for groceries out of the kindness of their hearts and not at all to shoot their shot with a gorgeous woman.”

You kept your poker face as he grabbed the shopping bags and kept going. “I don’t see myself out here buying random women’s almond milk and cucumbers just to be nice. That’s a move.”

You tried to hide your smirk. “You sound a little… jealous.”

Lewis narrowed his eyes. “I’m not jealous. I’m logical. Man sees a beautiful woman, she’s alone, he tries his luck with his wallet. Basic flirting algorithm.”

“I mean, it worked. He was really sweet.”

That did it.

Lewis ran a hand down his face and let out a long sigh. “Look, it’s great someone thinks you’re hot enough to swipe a card for—but you know I’m right here. You never have to let some man pay for you when your boyfriend drives for a living. Just sayin’.”

You watched him ramble with a barely contained laugh as he kept going.

“I mean, come on, I spoil you for a reason. And now some stranger thinks he can step in with a grocery run? That’s his whole move?”

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You burst into laughter, your body shaking as you leaned into the cart. “Lewis. Babe. It was a prank. I paid for everything. No man, no flirting, no almond milk Casanova.”

He blinked, pausing mid-rant. “Wait… you’re serious?”

“I am. Gotcha.”

He took a breath like someone who’d just been pulled from open water. “I’m forty, woman. You can’t play with my blood pressure like that.”

You grinned. “Alright, old man.”

Lewis straightened up immediately. “I am not an old man.”

“You didn’t even catch on to the prank, grandpa.”

He narrowed his eyes, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Forty doesn’t make me old. It makes me wise. And this wise man now knows he’s being pranked in public.”

You patted his back “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll go easy on you next time.”

Lewis gave a low chuckle, wagging a finger at you.

“No, no. You started something. A prank war is officially declared. So… just be prepared.”

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Lando Norris

When it came to you and Lando, pranks weren’t just an occasional thing—they were a lifestyle. The relationship came with love, laughter, and a mild risk of heart attacks. Like the time he woke you up at 3AM with a horror mask and you nearly karate-kicked him into next week. Or when you served him a fish smoothie and he banned you from the blender for a month. Your TikTok followers? Obsessed. They lived for every prank war update, every meltdown, every squeal of revenge.

So when you got tagged in a new viral prank trend, it was practically a public request to strike again. You didn’t hesitate. The phone was propped up, camera rolling discreetly, and you were all set. Lando, of course, had no clue what was coming.

You heard the door open and quickly pretended to be busy with prep in the kitchen. He walked in, hoodie slightly damp from the gym, cheeks flushed from the workout. “Smells good,” he said, setting down the grocery bag before leaning in for a soft kiss. “Took me forever to find that stupid oat cream you like.”

You smiled sweetly. “Oh, you didn’t have to. I ended up sending that list to Joshua earlier, and he already grabbed everything for me. Paid for it too. Said, and I quote, ‘anything for the pretty lady.’ Sweet, huh?”

Lando froze, hand still half-in the bag. “Joshua?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nodded, biting your inner cheek.

He blinked. “As in your friend Joshua? The one who wears too much cologne and tried to teach me how to salsa at that dinner party?”

You tilted your head. “Yeah, he insisted.”

Lando scoffed, standing up straighter. “I literally sweat through my hoodie at the gym, fought for a parking spot, went to four aisles for oat cream—and you let another man, one who smells like a Hugo Boss sample sale, buy your groceries?”

You struggled to keep a straight face. “He was being nice.”

“Oh, nice? Nice?! That’s the international signal for flirting. What’s next, is he gonna tuck you into bed and read you poetry? Babe, if I see him handing you a spoon while you're cooking, I might lose it.”

“Are you jealous?”

“I’m insulted. I’m offended. I’m—” He placed a hand over his chest. “—deeply betrayed. I mean, I pay rent! I drive race cars for a living! I went out to get snacks for your cravings at 4AM one time! And now I’m just… footnote boyfriend?”

You snorted. “You’re so dramatic.”

He gasped. “Go ask Joshua to massage your feet tonight then. My spa services are officially retired. Hope he has peppermint oil.”

At that point, you burst into laughter, pointing toward the camera recording from the corner. Lando followed your gaze, groaned, and dragged a hand down his face. “You little gremlin,” he muttered. “Of course it’s a prank. Of course.”

“Aww, you love me.”

“I do. Too much. Which is why you’re lucky you’re cute, because anyone else trying this would be blocked and reported.”

You leaned up, kissing his jaw gently. “You’re my favorite victim.”

He smirked. “And you’re my favorite menace. But just know—this war? It’s not over. I know you're scared of some bugs and some...other things. I’ve got Oscar on speed dial.”

Your eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I will. I already know where you hide your slippers.”

“LANDO NORRIS!” you shrieked as he backed into the hallway, giggling like the absolute child he was.

“Love you!” he called over his shoulder.

“Calling Oscar now! Let’s ruin her life!”

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Carlos Sainz

Carlos and you had been on the road for way too long, the kind of drive where you’ve already debated three podcast topics, played the same five songs on repeat, and shared half a bag of chips in silence. You were coming back from a much-needed trip—two full weeks away from the chaos of daily life. But now, you were finally heading home. And honestly? You were ready.

Still, you needed one last laugh before real life kicked back in. So, naturally, you plotted a prank.

You’d been riding like a queen in the passenger seat the whole time—pillow tucked under your head, cozy in the Christmas blanket Carlos had gotten you last year, doing everything but offering to drive. So when Carlos offered to go into the store to grab some snacks, you stopped him with a sweet smile and a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll go,” you insisted, taking his card from his hand.

He smirked. “Okay, but bring chips. Whatever you pick, I’ll eat it, mi amor.”

Inside, you grabbed everything you both liked—chips, drinks, something sweet. But instead of swiping his card, you paid with yours. And as you made your way back to the car, the plan was already in motion.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you handed him his card back with a calm smile. “You know,” you said casually, “the cashier was really nice. Paid for everything himself. Said he’d just take it out of his paycheck. Also told me my shirt looked cute.”

Carlos stared at you. “Wait—my shirt? That’s literally mine, you’re wearing my clothes.”

“Yeah, but he liked it,” you said with a shrug. “Said it brought out my eyes.”

Carlos blinked at you like he’d just short-circuited. “Oh my god.”

You bit your lip, trying to hide your laugh.

“Mi amor, what do you mean some random cashier paid for your snacks and flirted with you while you were wearing my clothes? Do I look like I’m sharing?”

You tried to keep a straight face as he gestured wildly at the snack bag like it had betrayed him. “I don’t even want these anymore. I can’t eat the chips. They’ve been... compromised.”

“Carlos—”

“No, seriously. You have a ring on your finger! Granted, it’s a promise ring, but still, the promise is loud and clear! I was gone for five minutes and I already lost you to a gas station Romeo?”

That was it. You burst out laughing, your head thrown back as tears formed in your eyes.

He narrowed his gaze, suspicious. “Wait. No. Don’t tell me...”

Still giggling, you nodded. “It’s a prank. I paid with my card.”

He groaned and started the engine again, shaking his head. “You almost gave me a heart attack, mi vida.”

You wiped your eyes, still giggling. “I have to tell Charles about this. He’s going to love it.”

Carlos turned, deadpan. “Do not tell Charles. I swear, if that man starts calling me Gas Station Cuckold or something—”

“You’re being dramatic!”

“I’m being real!” he exclaimed. “That was emotional damage.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You love me.”

He sighed. “Way too much. And that’s exactly the problem.”

You laughed again as he muttered under his breath, pulling back onto the road. “Just know...this isn’t over. I’ve got something planned. Something evil.”

“Oh yeah?” you smirked.

He grinned. “Just wait till you wake up to find glitter in your shampoo.”

“CARLOS!”

“Love you!”

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Fernando Alonso

You and Fernando had only recently tied the knot — rings still shining, wedding playlists still stuck in your heads. The honeymoon? Cut short by his ever-demanding racing schedule. But to make up for it (and to keep his guilt in check), Fernando had surprised you with a follow-up getaway, your choice of destination. Romantic, thoughtful… and, as you decided, the perfect setting to prank your new husband.

The internet had become obsessed with your marriage — overnight, you'd gone from “regular girl with decent taste in sunglasses” to “Fernando Alonso’s wife who posts adorable reels.” So when fans started tagging you in prank challenges, you figured: why not give the people what they want?

Camera hidden. Kitchen smelling like garlic and glory. Tomatoes being sliced with intention. You were ready.

Fernando walked into the vacation home and immediately lit up. “Huele bien,” he smiled, shrugging off his jacket.

“Mhm,” you hummed, sliding the tomatoes into the pot. “Took me a minute to get it all, though. I accidentally brought the wrong card with me to the store.”

He frowned immediately, concerned. “You should’ve called me, mi amor. I would’ve paid—”

“No need. A very sweet guy at the store paid for me. Said he didn’t want a pretty girl like me to struggle.”

The air stilled. Fernando blinked. Once. Twice.

“I’m sorry, what?” he said slowly.

You kept stirring the pot, tone completely casual. “Yeah, he just insisted. Said it was no trouble. Even complimented my top. Super nice guy.”

Fernando was now planted in place like he’d just been hit with a yellow flag mid-race.

“So... some stranger,” he started, arms crossing, “paid for your groceries. Complimented you. And you just… thanked him and left?”

“Yep.”

“You didn’t say, ‘Oh, I’m married to Fernando Alonso, two-time world champion, racing legend, heartthrob since 2001’?”

You blinked innocently. “Didn’t think it was necessary.”

Fernando threw his hands up. “Necessary?! That ring I gave you is the size of a small island. It has its own timezone. You could signal planes with it.”

You bit back a grin as he kept spiraling. “And this guy? Just decided to be your white knight? At the produce section?! He sees you picking tomatoes and thinks, ‘Yes, this damsel needs saving’?”

You nodded, trying so hard not to laugh. “Pretty much.”

He started pacing. “No. No, no, no. See, I make you feel better when you’re down. I buy you things. I compliment you. I signed up for that role! This guy? He’s just freelancing emotional support. I should find him.”

You turned, finally pointing toward the fruit bowl hiding your phone. “Or... you could relax. Because you’ve been pranked.”

Fernando froze. “You’re joking.”

You just smiled.

He leaned in, spotting the camera, then groaned dramatically. “Oh my god. I gave a full speech. I even included my racing credentials.”

“And it was a very passionate monologue,” you teased.

He stared at you, narrowing his eyes. “You’re evil.”

“Maybe. But I’m your evil.”

He shook his head, muttering something in Spanish before pausing. “Also… be honest with me. Was I really hot in the early 2000s?”

Your head snapped up. “Fernando. You were unfairly hot in the 2000s. Like, ‘could’ve ruined my life if we’d met back then’ hot. The hair? The fire? The attitude? I would've fallen hard.”

He raised a brow, trying not to look too pleased. “Gracias, mi vida. Very sweet of you.”

Then he pointed at you, smug returning full force. “But don’t think flattery will save you. You will be pranked back. And when it happens? You’ll regret ever stirring that tomato sauce.”

You giggled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re dramatic.”

He smirked, grabbing a spoon and tasting the pasta. “I was adorable in the 2000s too.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m going to post this entire thing.”

“I know,” he sighed.

“Just tag me in it — and put ‘Oscar-worthy performance’ in the caption.”

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corroded-hellfire · 2 months ago

Text

April Fool's and Babies Due - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story ❤️ Written with the best of the best @munson-blurbs

Summary: When you go into labor on April Fool’s Day, Eddie thinks it’s a prank. It’s kind of hard to deny when your water breaks, though.

Notes: The time has come, the day is here 💕

Warnings: childbirth and all that comes with it, there’s a scare but everything is okay, Eddie just about has a panic attack

Words: 9.8k

[As You Wish masterlist]

April Fool's is always an amusing day in the Munson household. A day full of mischief and trickery seems tailor-made for you guys. To no one’s surprise, Luke gets the most into it. Sometimes you think he starts planning next year’s pranks as soon as this year’s ones are done. Ryan has been known to throw a solid prank someone’s way once in a while as well. Personally, it’s hard for you to decide if his pranks against Luke or Eddie are the funniest to witness.

Your husband can keep up with his sons in regard to the shenanigans. He can usually get one over on you before you don’t trust anything he says for the rest of the day. It’s definitely a day that’s taught you how to think on your toes.

This year’s April Fool's is the first one Eliza is old enough to truly understand. It’s much easier for her to understand the concept now that she’s four. Of course, she wanted to join in on the Munson fun and prank her brothers and father. Luckily, the simplest tricks gave her immense joy. She placed a whoopee cushion on Eddie’s chair at the dinner table. It was quite evident to your husband that something was off when the cushion of the seat was raised several inches higher than usual. One glance at the little girl biting her lip and clenching her fists was enough to broadcast that she’s the one waiting in anticipation to see how it goes. Of course, Eddie sits down on the cushion and the fart noise that comes out sends Eliza into hysterics.

“I got you, Daddy!” She cheers.

“You got me, sweet pea!”

The pranks pulled on you this year were pretty mild, and you give full credit to the babies growing inside of you. No one wants to truly scare a pregnant woman who is at 35 weeks. The bag of Luke’s Lucky Charms shoved into your Rice Krispies box did manage to catch you off guard. You chuckled at the rainbow in your cereal bowl as you poured in the milk. Ryan switched half of the family photos in the living room to pictures of different actors. It was certainly amusing to see Johnny Depp posing on the red carpet right next to your wedding photo.

Eddie’s prank on you was a good one, you eventually admitted to him. For days on end, you had been telling Eddie how you were craving Chinese food. He kept saying he would pick some up this week. So, when Wednesday came and he said he was bringing home your favorite, you saw red when he walked through the front door with a pizza box.

“Eddie, what the hell?” you’d asked.

“What?”

“You said you were getting Chinese.”

“Huh? I thought you wanted pizza, princess,” he’d said.

You whined and rubbed your hands over your face. Part of you wanted to cry, actually. You’d been looking forward to this for so long.

“Well, maybe you’ll like the kind of pizza I got?” Eddie set the box down on the counter and opened the lid to reveal Styrofoam containers overflowing with noodles and rice.

“You’re such a dick,” you whined with a laugh.

“But you love me anyway.”

He had a point.

You told everyone the day before April Fool’s that you wouldn’t be pulling any pranks because you didn’t have the energy to devise any. Of course, none of them believed you and were on the lookout the entire day. Even if you did have something planned, the pressure near your pelvis kept your mind pretty occupied. The doctor said that it’s to be expected the further along you go, with the twins bearing down, ready to get into position. But the pressure seemed to be just a little worse today.

“Feeling okay, baby?” Eddie asks as he takes his watch off for bed.

“Yeah,” you say with a sigh as you waddle over to your side of the bed. “This damn feeling like they’re pressing on all my organs down there is a pain in the ass.”

“Literally?” Your husband gives you a playful smirk as he pulls down the blankets on your bed.

“Kinda feels like it, yeah,” you reply.

It takes some effort to get into bed and get comfortable under the blankets. Eddie sits on his side, attentively monitoring to see if you’ll need his help or not. Once you’re settled back against your pillows, you give him a thumbs up.

“Good to go,” you say.

Eddie slides closer to you beneath the blankets until his legs are pressed up against yours. Gently, he lifts your chin and leans in to press his lips to yours.

“I love you, gorgeous.”

When he pulls away, you’re glaring up at him—not too fiercely, but enough to let him know you’re not exactly feeling the pet name at the moment.

“I love you, too, Daredevil.”

“Daredevil?” Eddie cocks a brow.

“He’s blind right?” You stretch your arm out haphazardly in the direction of the stairs in your home—near where your youngest son’s room is. “That’s what Luke said. Talking about that movie with Ben Affleck or something? Ugh, I don’t know.” You heave a deep breath and let your hand fall onto your protruding belly.

“And why am I blind?” Eddie asks as he scoots himself back over to his side of the bed.

“That little term of endearment you gave me.”

Eddie sighs and looks back over at you.

“We gonna do this again?” he asks. “How many times do I have to knock you up for you to get that you’re so fucking hot pregnant?”

“Okay, I’m even putting that aside,” you say, swiping a hand in front of you. “I’m just a mess lately. No sleep. Pain. Harder to do basic shit, even like, brush my hair.”

“You’re just being a Mrs. Grumpy Gills because you’re so uncomfortable right now.” Eddie lays back against his pillows and tucks one arm behind his head.

Your eyebrows raise as you slowly turn your head to meet your husband’s gaze.

“Did you just call me, ‘Mrs. Grumpy Gills?’”

He groans and flops his other arm down across his face.

“Ugh. You know, I appreciate the boys taking Eliza out places lately, I really, really do. But did they have to go to the goddamn aquarium? It led to this Finding Nemo phase that seems never ending.”

“How many times has she made you watch it now?” you ask.

“Shit, I lost count.” Eddie chuckles and lowers his pale, tattooed arm from his face onto his chest.

Another pulse strikes your pelvic area and even irritates your lower back this time. Your face scrunches up as you squirm around a little, coming to the realization that there is no feasible way to rub your lower back at the moment. Last time your back hurt this way, rubbing it helped, you remember. God, it’s hard for you to even remember the last time you had that pain down there. The last time must’ve been…nah, it’s just the pressure the doctor told you about getting worse. Isn’t it?

“Goodnight, princess,” Eddie says, reaching over and ghosting his knuckles along your jawline.

“Goodnight, Crush the Turtle.”

Eddie scoffs and playfully swats at you before leaning the other way to turn off his bedside lamp.

The room plunges into darkness. The pain spasms in your back again and this time you sure as hell know what that was. You stretch as far as you can to click on the bedside lamp on your end.

“Hmm?” Eddie pushes himself up onto an elbow and looks at you in concern. “What? What is it?”

“Shit,” you mutter as you try to push yourself up to a seated position. “Eds, I’m having contractions. This isn’t the carrying low crap anymore.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, and he goes to get up, but then he pauses. A smile grows on his lips, and he shakes his head as he settles back down again.

“Nice try, babe,” he says.

“What?” You furrow your brow and rest your hands on your bump.

“I’m not falling for it,” Eddie says with a shake of his head. “You thought if you waited until the end of the day, you’d be able to get me. But I’m wise to you.”

“Eddie, I’m serious,” you get out through gritted teeth.

“Sweetheart.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “You’re talking to the man who once pranked his uncle by bringing a raccoon into his trailer. You’re gonna have to up your game.”

Pain rattles in your lower back once more. You’re this close to calling Wayne right now and scolding him for raising an absolute moron. But those plans are put on hold when you feel a trickle of liquid between your legs.

You pull back the blankets and point towards your pajama shorts. “I’m. Not. Joking.”

Eddie’s eyebrows nearly scrape his hairline. “Oh, shit.” He sits up straighter, his body tensing. “Is that—”

“Yes,” you practically hiss. “And unless you want to accuse me of peeing myself to ‘keep the prank going,’ I suggest you get your ass in gear.”

“Y-Yeah. No. I mean, my ass is gearing. In gear.” Christ, this is his fourth time doing this, and he’s acting like it’s his first. “You wanna get changed, or…”

You bite your tongue to keep from making a snarky comment about hoping you get to sit in your amniotic fluid. “Yeah. Grab that god awful purple dress? I’m not putting on pants.”

After he gets you dressed, he helps you down the stairs to the ground level of your home.

“Why’d we buy a goddamn two-story?” you grumble.

Eddie isn’t dumb, so he doesn’t remind you that you’re the one who fell in love with this house the minute you stepped inside. He leads you into the bonus room—soon to become the younger kids’ playroom—that’s between Luke and Ryan’s rooms, and gets you situated on the futon in there.

“Ryan’s probably still awake.” Eddie instinctively looks at his wrist where his watch should be, but he forgot to put it on, all his focus securely on you.

Even though it’s a school night, Ryan is still a seventeen-year-old boy, and he’s not going to go to sleep just because his parents told him to. He’ll give you guys going into his room at a certain time, but no way is he going to go right to bed.

Eddie knocks on Ryan’s door, hand itching to grab the handle and just barge in, but he restrains himself and waits for Ryan’s soft reply of, “Come in.”

The look on your son’s face as he tugs out his earbuds tells Eddie that he was prepared to be reprimanded about being up still, listening to music and reading. But Eddie is honestly thankful he’s still awake.

“Ry,” Eddie says and ignores the little huff of annoyance the boy gives in return. “I need you to listen out for Eliza if she wakes up. We need to head to the hospital.”

Ryan is instantly up off his bed, his eyes wide as he pushes past his father in the doorway.

“The babies are coming?” Ryan’s head swivels until he spots you on the futon.

Mere feet away from the two Munson men, Luke’s bedroom door swings open, and his curly-haired head pops out into the hallway. Patch takes advantage of the fourteen-year-old’s door opening and darts out.

“The babies are coming?!”

It will never cease to amaze Eddie that Luke won’t hear shit going on if he’s watching television, but he can have selected bat sonar hearing when he wants.

Somehow managing to push yourself up off the futon, after scratching Patch’s ears and assuring him that you’re okay, you waddle over to the three of them, one hand on your belly and one on your back. You’re already practicing the breathing techniques you read about a few months ago.

“Yeah,” you answer both boys. “Unless they’re learning how to pull an awesome April Fool’s Day gag.”

“They’re Munsons,” Luke says with a shrug. “I honestly wouldn’t be surprised.”

Wincing your way through a contraction, you move the hand on your belly to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Do you have the hospital bag, Eds?” you ask.

“Shit,” Eddie grunts, dropping his head back. “Can one of you help her to the car while I go grab the bag?”

In true competitive brother spirit, they both insist on helping you. Nothing can be simple with them.

Ryan grabs your jacket from the closet near the front door and helps you maneuver your arms into the sleeves. Luke kneels down and helps you slip into your comfiest pair of boots. It might technically be spring outside now, but it’s still chilly these Indiana nights.

“Alright,” Eddie says as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, the hospital bag slung over his shoulder. “We ready to go?”

“Yes,” you groan and turn towards the door.

But the sound of small, yet very heavy, footsteps upstairs gives you pause. They thunk down the stairs and you see a sleepy Eliza, one hand rubbing her eye, the other clutching her gold stuffed dragon Darla by the hand—or claw.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” she mutters.

Eddie steps forward to press a kiss to the top of her unruly curls.

“I’m taking Mommy to the hospital because it’s time for the babies to come.”

As he finishes his sentence, a rough contraction hits, this one feeling a little deeper. You wince and reach out to grab something to brace against. Ryan’s shoulder was the closest thing, so your fingers are curled into his pajama shirt.

Eliza watches it all, her eyes widening as she sees her mother in pain.

“Mama?” She dodges through everyone to get to you and slips her small hand into your larger one.

You do your best to smile through the pain, trying to reassure the little girl that you’re okay.

“I’m okay, sweet pea. I just get a pain in my belly to let me know the babies are coming.”

The over-tired four-year-old’s bottom lip begins to wobble. Her emotions get the better of her, and the real crying starts.

“I wanna come,” she says through her sniffles.

Eddie crouches down and presses a kiss against her forehead.

“You’re going to stay here with your brothers, okay? Ryan will tuck you in, and when you wake up in the morning, the babies should be here.”

Eliza shakes her head. “I wanna stay with Mama! Not the boys!”

“You don’t have to say it like that,” Luke mumbles under his breath.

You smooth back her hair, trying to diffuse the situation without wasting precious time. The last thing you want to do is deliver two babies on the kitchen floor.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ll have Daddy with me, and you know he would never let anything happen to me.”

Another contraction grips you, and you squeeze Eddie’s hand in warning. If Eliza sees how much pain you’re in, she’ll never let you go.

Luckily, Eddie receives your silent message. He crouches down in front of Eliza and offers her a reassuring smile. Fairly convincing considering the man is a bundle of nerves.

“We’ll call you guys when the babies are born, okay? Even if it’s still nighttime and you’re still asleep. How about you go pick out a movie, and your brothers will watch it with you? Patch too, I bet. How about Mulan? Or Pocahontas?”

Ryan holds out his hand, which Eliza tepidly takes. “Come on. Let’s go pick something out.”

Eddie stands up in time to see Luke raise an eyebrow at him.

“Isn’t it past her bedtime?”

His father leans in and whispers, “She’ll be out in less than half an hour; she just needs a distraction. Here.” Eddie hands Luke the hospital bag. “Bring this to the car, please.”

Luke dashes out to the car, drawing Eliza’s attention. She’d started to go with Ryan, but all plans for a movie are tossed out the window when she remembers that you’re leaving.

Two little arms wrap around your thighs. “Mama, I wanna go with you!”

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” You rub her back, trying to ignore the gnawing guilt. “I love you.”

Eliza sniffles but reluctantly unravels herself. “I love you too.”

Eddie leans down and gives her one last kiss before putting his hand on the small of your back, helping you into the car.

He takes off down the road at warp speed.

“How you feeling, baby?” Eddie glances over at you before returning his attention to the dark road stretched out ahead of you. Trees line both sides of the highway and the only light comes from the full moon straight above you.

One of your hands is gripping the handle on the roof, just above the car door. The other hand is splayed out on the console between you and Eddie, your nails digging into the leather.

“Pain,” you grunt out. Your legs are spread, your booted feet bracing you against the floor mats.

Eddie nods, a sigh coming out of his nose like an anxious puff of air.

“Do you want to listen to some music?” he asks.

“No,” you shake your head and wince when another contraction starts.

“Do-Do you want to talk? Or do you want quiet?” Eddie just wants to make sure he can give you whatever makes you the most comfortable and at ease.

“Um.” You lick over your dry lips as you breathe through the contraction. “Quiet, I-I think.”

The drive to Hawkins Regional Hospital should only take about ten more minutes, but that feels like an eternity with the rate of intense spasms that wrack your lower body. The dull roar of the engine provides a soothing soundtrack as you close your eyes and rest your head back. You are only allowed a few brief moments of relaxation, though. A pop echoes out in the space of the car.

“What was—” Eddie goes to ask before he hears you.

“Oh boy.”

“What?” Eddie asks, trying to glance over at you, but also doing his damndest to get you both safely to the hospital as soon as possible.

A trickle of water leaks down the insides of your legs, the sound not far off from when you’re out on a walk with Patch and he lifts his back leg to relieve himself on a fire hydrant.

Now, Eddie can see the pool of water gathering on the mat between your boots. He nods his head as he slowly increases the pressure on the gas pedal.

“Good call on the no pants,” he says.

Not a minute after fluid stops leaking down your legs, you feel a shift inside you.

“Whoa.” You give a small jump as it catches you by surprise. One hand comes up to rub over your swollen belly. “Baby Number Two is squirmy right now, geez.”

Luckily, Eddie turns the car into the emergency room parking lot and pulls right up to the automatic double doors. He leaps out of the car, and rushes inside to get some help. He comes back with a small Calvary. A male and a female nurse both help you into the wheelchair they’ve brought out, and various medical team members hover by for one reason or another. You don’t have the mental energy to give a shit at the moment.

“I’m just gonna go park the car. I’ll be right back, okay baby?”

You don’t have much of a choice as an orderly forcefully pushes you through the sliding glass doors and into the main atrium. Your wet dress beneath you is unpleasant, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the contraction that strikes as you’re wheeled into the elevator.

The minutes feel like hours between the pain and not having Eddie at your side. Mentally, you try and calculate how long it will take him to find a spot, get back into the building, ask reception where you are, then make his way back to you. It’s too damn long in your opinion.

Mint green walls greet you as you’re brought into your room. The white linoleum floors that squeak under nurses’ sneakers and the distinct tang of antiseptic shout out that this is still a hospital room, no matter how nice they make everything else look.

“Okay, Mrs. Munson, let’s get you all set up.”

A hospital gown has never been a more welcome sight than when you’ve been sitting in amniotic fluid for the last twenty minutes. A nurse helps you change before helping you get comfortable in the bed—or as comfortable as you can possibly be. The medical team works like a well-oiled machine as they insert your IV, slip a blood pressure cuff on your arm, a finger sensor to monitor your oxygen, and two heart rate belts around your belly—one for each twin.

Just as they’re securing the last belt into place, Eddie bursts into the room, his cheeks red and forehead dotted with sweat from exertion. With the way his breathing is labored, he looks like the one who should be hooked up to medical equipment.

“Hey, baby,” he breathes out with a sigh. He dodges through the staff to get to your bedside.

You’ve always known there were going to be more medical professionals in the room this time around because it’s twins, but it’s still a little nerve-wracking because it feels more intense than when you had Eliza. On one hand, it becomes scarier because you know there are more risks associated with twin births, but on the other hand, it’s reassuring that there is more help around you.

“Eds.” You reach for his hand, and he’s quick to lace his fingers with yours. He presses a kiss to your forehead and then your knuckles. The backpack from home lands at his feet as he gives all of his attention to you.

“How you feeling, princess?”

“I’m okay.” Both of you hear the slight shake in your voice, but Eddie doesn’t comment on it.

“I heard someone ordered two babies today, huh?” Dr. Hahn smiles as she walks into your room. She gives you a playful wink as she grabs two latex gloves and slips them on. “Let’s check on the little rascals, shall we?”

Eddie tries to keep your focus on him as Dr. Hahn starts checking to see how dilated you are.

“I brought the list of names,” he tells you with a soft chuckle. “I slipped it into the backpack.”

“Good.” You nod. “Still gotta narrow some of those down.”

“Should we take bets on the sexes?” he asks.

The question brings a smile to your face, but you shake your head.

“I’ll leave the betting to the boys. As long as the babies are healthy, I’m happy.”

“The fact that it became double or nothing when they found out there are twins still brings me such joy.”

“Not necessarily,” you counter, but giggle at his words anyway. “Could be one of each. Then they both win. Or lose.”

“Who bet on what again?” Eddie asks, wrinkling his nose up in thought.

“Ryan said girl, Luke said boy.”

“Right. And I do love how they both have the Care Bear onesie they want the other to wear already picked out.”

“Okay,” Dr. Hahn says, not giving you a chance to respond to your husband. “It shouldn’t be very long at all. Second babies always come faster and so do twins. And you’re batting two for two there.”

“Thank you, Dr,” you say.

When Eliza was born, you remember it feeling like a lifetime before you started pushing. You know this pregnancy and delivery are different than when you had your little sweet pea, but it’s hard not to compare this situation to the only comparable one you’ve ever been in before.

Dr. Hahn wasn’t kidding when she said it shouldn’t be very long. A glance at the clock on the wall tells you that you’ve only been in this bed for fifteen minutes before you’re told it’s time to start pushing.

Eddie is ready at your side, one of his hands holding yours and the other squeezing your shoulder in gentle encouragement. A nurse stands on your other side, also holding your hand to help brace you for the exertion of pushing.

“We’re about to push now, Mrs. Munson,” Dr. Hahn says from the foot of the bed.

You nod, any words dying on your tongue as you feel the telltale signs of a contraction beginning.

“Come on, sweetheart, you’ve got this.” Eddie rubs his hand soothingly over your shoulder blade as you lean forward, garnering the momentum to get things going.

“Okay, Mrs. Munson, push!”

You grit your teeth and squeeze both Eddie’s and the nurse’s hands as you do what you’re told. The grip you have on both people at your sides has to be hurting them, but they’re both troopers and don’t so much as flinch.

“That’s it, baby,” Eddie encourages.

“You’re doing great,” Dr. Hahn adds. “Keep it up.”

Keep it up? You know you have to, but your body is already exhausted. And you have a whole other baby to push out after this one. You silently decide that any woman who has delivered triplets or higher deserves a Medal of Honor. Twins are difficult enough.

“Ah, here we go. I see the head,” Dr. Hahn says.

A groan that’s a mixture of exertion and pain claws its way free on your next push.

“Almost there, princess.” Eddie holds your hand in both of his and presses kisses against your white, straining knuckles.

“Here’s the head. Alright, Mrs. Munson, we’re going to do one more really big push, okay?”

“Okay,” you squeak out through clenched teeth.

“Big push on three, okay? One, two, three.”

A strangled scream gets caught in your throat as you put all of your effort into getting this baby out of you.

“There we go, good job,” Dr. Hahn praises. “Almost there, almost there…”

A shrill cry fills the room, and you fall back against your pillows, drenched in sweat and breathing like you just finished running a 5k. But you smile. It’s impossible not to with that beautiful noise coming from your newest child.

“It’s a boy!” Dr. Hahn announces. The nurses wipe down your son—your son—as the doctor turns to Eddie. “Cutting the cord?”

“Of course.” Eddie carefully snips the cord where Dr. Hahn instructs, though he probably memorized the procedure. After all, this is his fourth kid.

Dr. Hahn checks the position of the other baby before placing your wailing son on your chest. “Take a moment before the next baby arrives,” she says gently.

You press a kiss to the baby’s scalp. He’s so perfect, so little and sweet. Even his cries are adorable. One tiny fist rests just above your breast as he soothes himself to your heartbeat.

“Another boy,” Eddie muses. “We have three sons now.”

“Eliza is not going to be thrilled if there’s a fourth,” you say, though you know your daughter will probably claim the babies as her own, regardless of their genders.

Eddie kisses your forehead. “I can’t believe this. I…” he swallows the emotion choking his throat. “…I love him so much already.”

“Me, too.” You smile, glancing down at the baby once again. Tears blur your vision. “Hi, sweet boy. I’m your mommy. Aw, I know, I know. It’s bright here on the outside.”

Eddie leans in, tears leaking out as he beams at his new son. “Hi, pal! We got another Munson man here to drive Mommy and Eliza crazy, huh? Welcome to the team.”

Dr. Hahn clears her throat kindly. “Baby B can arrive any time in the next five to thirty minutes,” she explains. “When you feel the urge to push, tell us.”

You nod, barely paying attention to her directions. You’re too in love with the little boy pressed to your heart. After a few minutes of cooing over him, a nurse offers to take the baby to be cleaned and get his vitals taken.

After both of you keep your eyes glued to your new son as he’s being assessed, Eddie leans in and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks.

You tilt your head up and gaze at him with a sleepy smile.

“Exhausted. But so happy,” you tell him. “The contractions don’t feel as painful anymore.”

“That’s better. Now you’re all snuggled up.” A nurse smiles down at your son as she carries him in your direction. “Do you want to see your Daddy? He’s been waiting a long time to meet you.”

“He is absolutely worth the wait,” Eddie says as he accepts the baby. Pure pride gleams in your husband’s eyes as he takes in all the details of your son. The little button nose that scrunches just a bit whenever anyone makes too loud of a noise. The already-dark eyelashes that flutter against the apples of his rosy cheeks. “He’s perfect.”

Eddie takes a few steps closer to your bed and sits on the edge, twisting so you can see both him and the baby. The sight of your husband holding your baby boy brings tears to your eyes, which you quickly wipe away. Nothing is going to obscure your vision while you’re admiring your boys—not even tears.

“Hi, sweetheart.” You reach out and run your index finger over the small knuckles that are clenched into fists. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Just like his mom,” Eddie says.

With a bashful smile, you hide your face against the sleeve of Eddie’s t-shirt.

“Any names in mind?” Dr. Hahn looks up at you from where she’s reading over a chart. She gives you a smile when your eyes meet.

“We have a handful of names,” you say, gaze turning back on your son. “We didn’t know the sexes beforehand, so we had to come up with a little collection to consider.”

“Smart,” Dr. Hahn says with a nod. “A lot of people who don’t find out the sex beforehand find unisex names.”

“We’ve got a few of those on the list,” Eddie confirms.

To you, it feels like you’ve been holding your newborn for mere minutes, but your husband has been glancing at the clock every so often, his pulse speeding up every time you get closer to the thirty-minute mark Dr. Hahn mentioned. He notices you haven’t winced or appeared in pain from contractions during this time either. The last thing he wants to do is worry you as well, so he keeps quiet but keeps tabs on the medical team in the room, trusting they have control of everything.

The moment the clock strikes thirty-one minutes past the first birth, a nurse comes over and gives you a kind smile.

“Okay, Mom, we’re going to start focusing on the next birth now. I’ll keep your little boy safe and sound over here in his cozy bassinet.”

Reluctantly, you watch her take the little bundle and Eddie stands up from the edge of the bed. The nurse rolls the bassinet right on the other side of Eddie, so your husband is between you and the baby.

Dr. Hahn walks over to the other side of your bed and tilts her head as she looks at you.

“I notice we’ve had contractions slowing down,” she says. “That happens sometimes, but we want to make sure we get them going again. I just sent for some Pitocin, which will kick them back into gear. Just hang tight for a few, and then we’ll get your other bundle of joy out here for you to hold.”

Eddie nods at the doctor, too nervous to thank her aloud. He doesn’t want to risk you hearing any trepidation or warble in his tone. You heard the doc, he says to himself. This happens sometimes.

He releases a sigh of relief when the medication arrives only two minutes later. A nurse injects it into your IV line, and all Eddie can do is stare at the clock again. Next to him, your son begins to cry, so Eddie bends over him and gently strokes his beanie-clad head.

“It’s okay, buddy,” he says. “I know, you miss Mommy, huh?”

A little hand reaches up towards the sky, and Eddie slips his forefinger into the tiny grasp. He chuckles at how tight of a grip the tiny man has on him.

“Alright, looks like we’ve got a contraction coming,” Dr. Hahn says, looking at the monitor near your head.

“Ah, shit,” you groan as a familiar wave of pain crashes over your body.

Eddie is torn between the attention of the baby and wanting to hold your hand for support. Luckily, the bed and the bassinet are close enough that he’s able to hold both of your hands at once. Another glance at the clock tells him you’re closing in on forty minutes since the last birth. His heart hammers in his chest, the nerves right on the tipping point of becoming true fear.

At minute forty-five, Dr. Hahn takes up her position at the foot of the bed again.

“Okay, Mrs. Munson. It’s time to start pushing again.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Eddie encourages. “You got this.”

You nod at him before taking a deep breath, mentally psyching yourself up for another round.

The pushing starts off just as it did last time. But after already doing this once and having the intensity and pain of the contractions come back within a matter of minutes, you find yourself overwhelmed. You wish for the moment you had not ten minutes ago, holding your son with your husband by your side. All smiles and excitement. The stabbing pain reminds you that that moment isn’t here anymore. Suddenly, the lights in the room feel hotter. The beeping of machinery sounds louder. All senses have been dialed up to eleven, as if the medication they gave you not only kicked the contractions into gear, but every other function of your body as well.

As attuned to you as always, Eddie gives your hand a squeeze of encouragement. That small act of affection is enough to give you the strength for another push.

“Okay, we’ve got the head,” Dr. Hahn says.

“Agh!”

Eddie’s brow instantly furrows. This is the third time he’s seen you give birth, and you’ve never made that exclamation of pain before.

“What?” he asks urgently.

Dr. Hahn looks over her shoulder and calls to the medical team, “We have a shoulder dystocia.”

“A what?” Eddie asks.

“What’s wrong?” you pant out through labored breaths, face still pinched in pain.

Dr. Hahn turns back towards you while one nurse steps out of the room, and two others come closer to the bed.

“Your baby’s shoulders are stuck, Mrs. Munson. We’re going to help them out now.” She turns to the nurses approaching the bed. “Let’s get her into McRoberts.”

Eddie’s stomach falls through the floor. Your baby is stuck? A shoulder what? Dystocia? What the hell is that? And what is McRoberts?

“Stuck?” is all Eddie manages to squeak out.

Dr. Hahn nods as the first nurse returns with, what looks like, other doctors. That can’t be a good sign, Eddie decides.

“Stuck on the pelvic bone,” Dr. Hahn says. “Mrs. Munson, we’re going to try and get you into a different position to see if that helps.”

“Okay.” Your voice is small, a punch to Eddie’s gut.

“Mr. Munson, could you just step back a little bit? Nurse Jennifer needs to get in on that side.”

The moment Eddie’s hand lets go of yours, he feels like he’s going to be sick. The urge to push back in and wrap you up in his embrace is strong, but the logical part of his brain tells him he needs to stay out of the way and let the medical professionals do their job. The emotional part wants to kick that logical part’s ass though.

“Mrs. Munson, Nurse Jennifer is going to work on that leg, pushing your knee up toward your chest, and Nurse Peter is going to do it with this leg. Don’t push while they do this, okay? Just breathe. Here we go.”

Eddie watches as each nurse takes one of your legs and hikes them up towards your head. He bounces from foot to foot, his hands coming up to rub over his face, his hair, his neck, anywhere to expel some of that nervous energy. Every terrifying thought flashes through his mind. What if I lose her? What if we lose the baby? What if I lose them both? His entire world hangs in the balance and there isn’t a damn thing he can do about it. He’s never felt so helpless in his entire life. There’s quite literally nothing he can do but stand there and watch it all happen.

A deep breath doesn’t do much to calm Eddie, but it helps enough for him to take a moment to lean down and whisper to your new son, “Use some of that twin telepathy, okay? You’re both Munsons and Munsons are strong. And no one is stronger than your Mama.”

It’s hard for Eddie to see you as Nurse Jennifer stands closer to your head now, holding your leg up at this new angle. Your husband looks up and sees the other medical staff hovering, which, in theory, should be comforting, but it just adds to the stress and fear he’s drowning in.

“Is the baby okay?” your strained voice asks.

“The baby is fine,” Dr. Hahn assures you—assures you both. “We’re just going to have to work a little harder, that’s all. Now, big push for me, okay?”

Your pained moans make Eddie’s heart ache. Nurse Jennifer steps slightly closer to your head, so Eddie takes advantage of the open spot between her and the foot of the bed. He’s standing just above where your pelvis is and he takes in every little detail of you, scanning for any and all possible issues. Your head flops back against the pillow and weakly tumbles to the side.

“Why don’t you try talking to her?”

Eddie looks up to see that Nurse Peter is talking to him. The nurse nods his head towards your struggling form on the bed.

“Encourage her, keep her focused,” he says.

For the first time in his life, your husband doesn’t know what to say.

Eddie nods and licks over his lips. For some reason, he wipes his sweaty palms on the sides of his jeans. He mentally wonders what the hell he’s doing as he thinks about everything that you mean to him. His mouth opens and he just goes with it, becoming a pure stream of consciousness.

“You’re so goddamn strong, Sweetheart. You pushed out one baby and now you’re about to push out another. Even with all of these tubes and needles and beeping things, you’re doing it. I could never do it. I mean, not just because I’m missing the, uh, parts—”

“Eddie,” you choke out as another bead of sweat slides down the side of your face.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Shut up about your ‘parts,’” you choke out with a terse huff of laughter.

Eddie shakes his head before continuing.

“You got this. You’re gonna push out this baby and our little family—well, not that little—will be complete. All because of you. Just keep going, okay? I’m right here.”

“Good, good, we’re making progress,” Dr. Hahn says. “Baby is coming out now. Mr. Munson, do you want to watch?”

If she had asked with the first baby, he probably would have said yes. But with all the adrenaline and emotion coursing through his body right now? He is not up to the task.

“I think I’m gonna stay in this region over here,” he motions around your head and upper body area.

“We’re almost there. Keep pushing, Mama, you’re doing great.”

“You’ve got this, princess,” Eddie adds. “I’m so incredibly proud of you.”

“There we go!” Dr. Hahn says. “She’s here.”

“She?” you ask, pain and weariness falling to the background now that your second baby is finally out. Tears stream rivulets down your face, but you refuse to let them keep you from speaking.

“She,” your doctor affirms with a nod. “It’s a girl.”

“Is she okay?” Eddie asks.

Dr. Hahn looks over her shoulder at where the newly-brought-in medical staff is.

“Neonatal—check for distress.”

A man in scrubs takes the baby from Dr. Hahn and brings her over to where her brother’s vitals were taken. You feel like you’re holding your breath, though.

The nurses who held your legs gently release them back down and step out of the way so Eddie can get to you properly. He immediately cups your face in his hands and presses his lips against yours. Both of you have ragged breaths so he doesn’t hold the kiss for long. But once he pulls away, he’s kissing every part of you he can get his mouth on. Your face and hair are both drenched in sweat, but Eddie could not care less. You’re here and you’re safe and Eddie feels like he could collapse in your arms.

It’s quiet in the room though. The machines are still beeping. Sneakers still squeak against the linoleum. But it’s too quiet and it steals the breath from your chest. Oxygen is sucked out of the room and time seems to stop as your muscles lock and you freeze completely still. A very vital sound is missing.

A few deep inhales followed by a piercing cry cause you to fall apart. She’s breathing. Your baby is breathing and crying. Sobs wrack your body, and you lean into Eddie’s touch. He gently cradles your head as you wrap your arms tight as a vice around his waist.

“She’s okay,” you say to yourself between sniffles.

“You’re both okay,” Eddie responds.

A few drops of water fall onto your forehead. You look up to see Eddie crying almost as hard as you are. Seeing the raw emotion pouring out of him tugs at your already sensitive heart. Your face crumples, and you fall into another round of sobs as you bury your face against his shirt.

Both you and Eddie get the worst of your emotions out before you try to compose one another. By the time you do that, your little girl has been checked over and cleared. Nurse Jennifer walks over with your youngest baby, all bundled up in a white blanket dotted with pale yellow and green polka dots. A small pink cap is situated on her tiny head, and you couldn’t be smiling any wider as you accept her from the nurse.

Every emotion and every hormone are surging through your body right now. The adrenaline crash has left you worn out and weak. But the moment you hold that baby girl, none of it matters.

When you look down at her, you see that your daughter is looking right back at you. A brighter grin than you would’ve thought possible to muster lights up your face. Slitted eyes take in your face almost as much as you’re taking in hers.

“There you are, gorgeous.” Your words are soft and as gentle as the newborns’ skin.

Eddie wipes at his eyes and leans against the side of the bed. His head tilts to the side while he takes all of her in. The pink puckered lips. The sparse eyebrows that already twitch as if she’s displaying all of her emotions through them. She has him wrapped around her finger already.

“Hi, little angel,” Eddie says. “You’re already trying to upstage your brother, huh?”

You let out a soft chuckle.

“Oh boy. Are we gonna have two dramatic little girls on our hands?”

You lean down and press a kiss to her smooth, unblemished forehead. The last thing you want to do is take your lips off of her, but you know Eddie is itching to hold her.

Gently and carefully, you transfer your baby to her father.

Once she’s in his arms, he does his damndest not to cry. To no one’s surprise, it doesn’t work very well. The memory of always wanting a baby girl when he was younger comes rushing back to him. Something in him always knew he was meant to be a boy dad and a girl dad, and he was just waiting for the opportunity for the second one to come along. And now here he is. The father to two daughters. Three boys and two little girls with the woman of his dreams.

A faint beeping is the first thing you register. A phone? No. A smoke detector? No. Oh shit, that’s the monitor you’re hooked up to.

Slowly, your eyes blink open only to be assaulted by the bright fluorescent light directly above you. You squint and shield your eyes as they adjust.

A deep soreness permeates most of your body, but you feel rested and refreshed after getting some sleep. Eddie could see how tired you were and was eventually able to talk you into a nap. Something you assumed he would also take. But when you look towards the window, you see your husband sitting in an armchair, completely bleary-eyed, as he holds one of your babies. The baby is asleep though, so that’s something, you suppose.

“Eds?” you call, voice a hair above a whisper. “Did you get any sleep?”

A tired smile graces his lips as he shakes his head. Gently, he stands up and lays the baby (who you can now see is your daughter) in her bassinet right next to her brother’s.

Eddie goes to take a seat on the edge of your bed, but you carefully move over so there’s enough room for him to properly sit next to you, side by side.

“I called the kids,” Eddie says as he situates himself.

“Were they awake?” You look up at him and let out a large yawn. “Wait, what time is it now? What time did I even give birth?”

Eddie delicately wraps his arms around your shoulders to tuck you into his side.

“It’s almost 3 am now. I called around two, and the boys were still awake. Eliza fell asleep around half an hour after we left. The boys asked if the twins are girls or boys, but I told them they’d have to wait to see until they can meet them in the morning.”

You let out a sleepy chuckle as you let your head rest against your husband’s shoulder.

“Gonna keep the suspense on that bet going for as long as possible, huh?”

“Absolutely,” he says with a grin. “And Baby Boy Munson was born at 12:28 and Baby Girl Munson was born at 1:26.”

Though he doesn’t say anything else, you’ve known Eddie long enough to know that he wants to. His lips keep moving, as if he’s trying to psych them up to form words. You’re not going to pressure him, though. You give him time to gather his thoughts. It only takes a few minutes.

“Sweetheart, I…” he trails off and tears fill his eyes. “I was so fucking scared before. First, the baby is late, and your contractions went down. Then she gets stuck on the way out. Babe, every horrible scenario was running through my head. I was terrified I was going to lose you and a baby at the same time.” He sniffles and shakes his head, a hauntingly devastated look in his eyes. “Even if we hadn’t already decided that we’re not going to have any more kids, this would’ve convinced me. I can’t bear thinking about that, or something worse, happening again.”

“Oh, Eddie…” You slowly reach up and cup Eddie’s face in your hands. One thumb traces along his cheek bone. “It was scary. All I kept thinking was that I need her to be safe.”

“What about you?” Eddie asks.

You take one hand off of Eddie’s face and wave it dismissively in the air. He gives you a reproachful look before you speak.

“I wasn’t thinking of me. Just that little baby who’s been with me for nine months. She was all that mattered in that moment. And Eddie?” You do your best to sit up a little straighter so you can look him in the eye. “If we hadn’t decided to not have any more kids, I’d have so many more of your babies. This didn’t deter me at all. It was a scary few moments, but now we have the rest of our lives with these little miracles. I’ll take that trade any day.”

Eddie sighs. He knows it would be a moot point to argue with you. Though you might not be a Munson by blood, just the name is enough for you to be considered stubborn and hard-headed. Nothing he could say would get you to put the importance of your own safety on the same level as your baby’s. But he knows if the roles were reversed, he would be the same way. You know it too and would absolutely wield that against him in a debate. The thought makes Eddie chuckle softly. He loves how he knows you so well, and how stubborn you can be—though he’s careful to never admit that out loud.

“I love you so goddamn much,” he mutters.

“I love you, too.”

Eddie shifts carefully, handling you like you’re as fragile as porcelain. Part of you wants to tell him to cut it out, but the amount of pain you’re in makes it hard to argue with his gentle demeanor. His moves are slow and intentional as he cups the back of your head and presses a light kiss against your lips. Now this, you won’t stand for. Your hand that doesn’t have the IV needle stuck in it curls around your husband’s neck, and you force more pressure into the kiss.

You feel his chuckle rumble against your lips.

“You’re so difficult, you know that?” he mumbles once he pulls away.

“So I’ve been told.”

Despite how he shakes his head in bemusement, there’s a smile on Eddie’s lips as he pulls you against his chest. You happily mold against him, contorting to lay your head against his shoulder. From how you’re both positioned, you have a perfect view of both babies snoozing away in their bassinets. The two of you stay silent, enraptured in watching the newest members of your family. Each of them has a pacifier in their mouth, but your son’s moves up and down faster, his suckling more insistent in his sleep. Your daughter moves more in her sleep, though. Her little arms move in small circles, reminiscent of rowing a baby-sized boat.

Eventually, you break the silence in a hushed voice.

“I guess we should finalize those names, huh? Unless we want to stick with ‘Baby Boy’ and ‘Baby Girl’ Munson.”

“Those do have a nice ring to them.”

Moving slowly and carefully so as not to disturb him, Eddie reaches out and pulls your little boy’s bassinet closer to the bed. It allows you both to see his face better.

“Well,” you say with a sigh, “since you won’t let me name him Edward after his dashing father…”

“Hey,” Eddie argues, “I agreed to it as a middle name. And I still think Charles would be funny.”

Narrowing your eyes, you lift your head to stare down your husband.

“Charles Munson? With us, his Munson family?”

Eddie laughs softly, burying his face in your hair.

“I’m just kidding, you know that.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “I’m strictly against naming our children after murderous cult leaders.”

“What about cult leaders that didn’t commit murder?” you question.

“Those I’ll consider.”

You huff a laugh, half fueled by exhaustion, as you nuzzle your face against Eddie’s t-shirt. A large, warm hand rubs up and down your back in a soothing manner.

“Out of the few boy names we narrowed it down to, which do you think fits him the most?” he asks.

You turn your head to look back at your newborn son. A couple of the names on the list automatically are scratched off the list in your mind; they just aren’t him. Next, your brain scrolls through the unisex names you can recall.

“He looks like Hayden to me,” you finally say.

Eddie grins and looks down at you. “I was just thinking the same thing. Hayden Edward Munson.”

“H.E.M.”

“Sounds like a good name for a band, those initials,” Eddie comments. “Alright. It’s your sister’s turn, Hayden.”

Eddie gingerly pushes Hayden’s bassinet back to where it was and pulls your daughter’s forward. Once she’s in the position her brother just held, Eddie hums as he rests his head against yours. Most of the names the two of you had on your list were for girls, so this task is going to take a little more time and deduction.

“Wanna try out a few?” Eddie asks. “See how they feel?”

You nod and pick your head up to address the bundled-up baby.

“Hi, Chloe.”

Immediately, your nose wrinkles up and you shake your head, Eddie shaking his as well. It doesn’t suit her.

“What about Dianna?” Eddie asks. He pauses for a moment, considering. “Nah, don’t think so. Amy?”

As if voicing her own opinion, your baby girl starts to whine. She squirms around more than she did in her sleep and lets the pacifier fall out of her mouth. Her little lungs inhale a few breaths, and Eddie carefully slips out from underneath you to scoop her up before she can start properly crying.

“Okay, okay, not Amy,” Eddie says as he picks her up. He sways back and forth next to your bed, gently bouncing the little bundle.

“Her least favorite March sister, I guess,” you joke.

“Well, duh,” Eddie says with a scoff. “She stole Laurie from Jo.”

“No, that’s not…” You smile to yourself and give a slight shake of your head. “That’s a topic for another time.”

A nasally “wah” rings out of your daughter, Eddie’s preemptive strike not enough to keep her from crying.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Eddie frowns and tries bouncing her with a little more fervor. “Do you want your mommy? She’s right here. It’s okay.”

Eddie gives you a few moments to situate yourself on the bed, readying to accept the baby from him. You hold your arms out and he delicately transfers her.

The moment she’s in your arms, her name strikes you. It’s as if the moment you had contact with her, she spoke to you, telling you what you’ve always been meant to call her.

“You’re Scarlett, aren’t you?” You grin down at her.

Immediately, her cries cease. She turns her small head and nuzzles her little button nose against your arm.

Eddie watches, an adoring smile on his face. He cautiously sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Well, I guess that settles that,” he says. “Hello, my little Scarlett. You almost gave Daddy a heart attack today, you know that?”

“No offense,” you say, quirking an eyebrow up at your husband, “but I think she put my body through more than yours today.”

One corner of Eddie’s mouth kicks up in a smile as he nods his head in agreement.

“What about a middle name?” he asks.

“Can I see the list?” you ask.

The backpack had been kicked halfway under the bed during the course of events this evening, so Eddie bends at the waist to retrieve it. He slips the worn paper out from the front pouch and holds it up for both of you to look over. Your eyes scan down the numerous names, some scratched out or spellings changed over these past nine months.

“How about Aurora?” you suggest.

“Scarlett Aurora Munson. Sounds pretty damn beautiful to me.”

Already as dramatic as his father it seems, Hayden begins to fuss about not being part of the conversation.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Eddie says as he picks Hayden up. He cradles the baby to his chest and lightly boops the tip of his nose. “So does Hayden Edward Munson.”

You watch in adoration as Hayden settles down. Your husband holds him with such tenderness and care. A look back down at your daughter shows she’s drifted off to sleep again. A warmth bubbles up from your stomach, settling in your chest.

“I can’t believe we’re the parents of twins,” you say in breathless wonder.

Eddie steps closer as he sways back and forth.

“Sometimes I still can’t believe I’m a parent.”

Light as a feather, so as not to disturb her, you run your finger over Scarlett’s tiny knuckles. It doesn’t matter that you’ve held countless babies before, it still astonishes you how small they truly are when they start out. Eliza was once this little. So were Luke and Ryan, even if you didn’t know them then.

“You guys are going to love it here,” you tell the twins. “You have the best big brothers and big sister.”

“Who can’t wait to meet you,” Eddie adds. “And there’s a crazy dog named Patch. He’s a good boy.”

“And your room looks just like you’ve walked into the Hundred Acre Woods.”

“Or, if we carried you in there,” Eddie says. “Since you guys can’t walk yet.”

“There’s Pooh Bear and Piglet and Tigger and Rabbit,” you go on. “All the cool ones.”

“And it won’t be long until your sister introduces you to the princesses. I give it less than twenty-four hours, honestly.”

You chuckle, knowing your husband is absolutely correct. A mental image of Eliza bringing out the little chalkboard that’s in her room tickles you. You can picture her setting it up in front of the twins while they rock back and forth in their swings. She would give them a thorough education, that’s for sure.

“You two have so many people who already love you so, so much,” you tell the babies. “Lots of aunts and uncles and cousins to play with. And the coolest grandpa.”

“And you have me and Mommy,” Eddie adds. “And I’ll tell you a secret…we love you guys more than any of those other people do.”

You let out a soft giggle and nod in agreement.

“We’re so glad you’re here. Welcome to the world.”

“It’s not always great,” Eddie says, “but you’re always going to have your family behind you when things get tough. Cause Munsons stick together.”

Scarlett smacks her lips together and turns her face up in your direction. You carefully lean down and press a kiss on her forehead.

“You made our family complete, guys. And we’re so happy that you did. Our little Hayden and Scarlett.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fan fiction #Eddie Munson fan fic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS

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dyingswanpavlova · 4 months ago

Text

Sunshine Of Your Love

Part 1

Pairing: Cho Sang-woo x Gi-hun's daughter!Reader

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Age Gap (Reader is in her early to mid-twenties, Sang-woo is in his mid to late-forties), I will mention warnings in each chapter, but I think in this one there are none so far.

Author's note: I'm still working on Chapter 21 of Your girl, but it might take me a little while to figure it out. Until then, this crossed my mind, based on this request. I love you, guys. 🤍

Divider by @saradika-graphics

"Sunshine Of Your Love" - Cho Sang-woo x Gi-hun's daughter!Reader Masterlist

Cho Sang-woo never considered himself a good person, but there are some lines he isn't willing to cross. He wouldn't ever corrupt someone as trusting and loving as you are. And yet, his feelings for you are getting more and more...complicated.

Cho Sang-woo was many things – a traitor, a liar, sometimes even a coward. But a sleazeball was not one of them.

So, he found himself more than a little troubled, the first time that weird feeling welled up in his chest. Looking back, he had always been a good friend to Seong Gi-hun. During the days of their childhood and their teenage years, he was an honest friend, who more often than not pulled him out of all sorts of complications. He didn’t mind it. He didn’t throw it in his face, either. That’s just not what friends do.

Things went rather smoothly for him, also. He was the darling child after all. Going to university wasn’t exactly something everyone from his neighborhood had managed. But he, he had done it. He finished his studies and he became someone.

What never changed though, was his firm politeness. He respected everyone. His elders, his mother, his old friend Gi-hun.

It didn’t matter how jealous he got of him at times. Not everyone was sought out for a happy family life. He knew that now.

Whenever he watched Gi-hun interact with his wife, every time he met them somewhere or he visited them for a nice, relaxed dinner, he found himself staring. And dreaming.

What could have been?

The way his wife would lightly scold him or nudge him, laugh at his jokes even though they weren’t anything close to funny. The way he got to cradle his little daughter in his arms.

They were fairly young when they had their first and only child. A beautiful little girl, with sparkling eyes and lips twisted in either mischief or kindness. There was no in-between.

The visits, however, became less and less frequent by the time he turned twenty-five. He was close to finishing his studies and his friend, anyhow, seemed caught in his own world. He didn’t need him, right? He had his own perfection created around him, a vision of tranquility and peace.

Until the divorce came.

Sang-woo wasn’t exactly happy about it. It was more a quiet kind of relief. And whenever he caught himself having that feeling, he immediately felt awful afterwards. Like he was the world’s greatest scum. Which he, kind of, was. He knew that. He admitted it to himself. And he hated himself, just the same.

Of course he was there for Gi-hun. He squeezed his shoulder and assured him, he’d get them back. He’d lend him money every so often. Gi-hun even spent quite some time crashing on his couch, before eventually he moved back in with his mother.

Anything to stop the guilt. Anything.

He loved his friend. And he hated himself, because he reveled in his misery.

What kind of friend would do that?

These thoughts were the first of the kind that showed him that he wasn’t really a good person.

There were things he did. He tried to donate money whenever he could, he took care of his mother and overall everything of which he thought a decent man should do.

But it wasn’t enough, was it?

Years passed, almost two decades even, but his guilt stayed firmly in place. With every mean, bad, deranged thought he had, he felt worse. Something was wrong with him. It had to be. He was a man in his prime, he was successful, he wasn’t bad-looking – So, why was he still alone?

He was charming. Every woman he met blinked at him with the same look, mercilessly flirting with him. He could tell when they did, when they swung their hips and smiled over something not quite funny he said.

So, what exactly was stopping him from ever flirting back?

There had been a few embarrassing attempts of course. Returning a smile, a lingering touch. Nothing ever felt right to him, though.

He had relations, physically so. Every now and then and whenever he felt like it. But there wasn’t much to say about that. He didn’t speak with these women, because they all had the same thing in mind. Nothing deep, nothing real, nothing complicated.

It was enough to keep him satisfied for a while. But at some point into his career – the point when everything went to shit, most likely – he wanted more. The release he found did nothing to feed his soul, the encounters not more than a mere exchange of spit and sweat.

It didn’t feel right. He wanted someone to laugh at his jokes. To dab his chin with a napkin, when he was entirely oblivious to the sauce on it and kept making a fool of himself. He wanted them to lean on him, to trust him. He wanted to take care of them. Make someone smile.

Make someone whole.

And for them to make him whole again.

It wasn’t until nineteen years after he finished his studies that he had this chilling encounter. It had been a long day at work, doing God-knows-what, because he was slowly losing count. His life was spiraling upside down and every day he made decisions which might not only cost him his career, but maybe even his life. His integrity was as good as gone.

He wanted nothing more than to see his mother. Something about being close to her, made him feel grounded. She was his conscience in a way. Whenever he felt like he was the worst human alive, she had this way of making him feel like he wasn’t. The kindness in her eyes didn’t vanish, not for him, not for anyone else. The way she spoke of him with such fondness and pride made him equally sad as it made him feel hopeful.

Maybe there was something good to him. Something useful, something kind.

He made his way through the light drizzle. The clouds had made a way of being thick and unyielding, matching his state of mind quite well. He didn’t mind the darkness, he didn’t even mind the cold. He simply pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and hid his face deep in the collar of his coat.

The streets were nearly empty, there wasn’t much going on. Most people preferred warmth and security. He, for one, felt safe in the shadows. Sometimes he felt like he was no more than a shadow himself. It was an odd thought to have, but it summed his entire being up quite well. No one really looked twice at him – at least not, when they didn’t think they could get some gain out of him. But what could he possibly give anyone?

He was polite, yes. Kind, so it seemed. But his mind was a dark place, tormented by years of guilt-ridden thoughts and loneliness.

His head perked up when, instead of only his mother’s humming and her polite squabble, he heard laughter. Hearty, melodic laughter. Was that his mother?

His mother had always been a rather lovely person to be around. He hadn’t ever met anyone who didn’t immediately adore her quick wit and warm smile. She was everything that he wasn’t.

But still, when he saw the silhouette of someone else beside her behind the counter, babbling out silly jokes, he paused for a moment. His mother worked alone, it had always been like this. She was as diligent as anyone could be, especially for her age. He felt relieved though, maybe she had finally taken his words to heart and hired someone to help her out. Not always. Just a few hours every week.

He approached her little shop with slow, measured steps and a slow smile formed on his face.

“Eomma?”

The elderly woman stilled in her movement, though her chest still heaved in heavy amusement and she had a hard time catching her breath. She spun around and her eyes lit up in affection and warmth.

“Sang-woo-ya, adeul.” She circled the counter within seconds and hugged him in a way that knocked the air out of his lungs. He gently wrapped his arms around her and his smile widened a fraction.

“Mother.” He murmured. “Forgive me. It’s been a while.”

She pulled back and shot him a look that was half teasing, half scolding. “Quite a while!” She then gave his shoulder a gentle nudge and turned to the other person behind the counter.

“Aga-ya, I’m sure you must remember my son.”

He followed her gaze and then suddenly…

You.

His eyes widened impossibly behind his glasses, when he caught sight of you. You were no longer the cheeky little brat he had gifted kilograms of sweets. This was impossible. It was untrue.

He recognized your features – your eyes and the way they shone with a little twinkle of mischief, but there was something else, something far bigger.

Warmth. Kindness.

The warmth radiating off of you was nearly enough to make him stare. You were beautiful, but that was no surprise. It had been years since he had last seen you, but even then he knew, you’d be quite the sight once you grew up. And that you had.

He had never, never looked at you with anything but something akin to fatherly admiration – and the small amount of guilt and jealousy that always lingered in his mind, because he desired what Gi-hun had. A family. A purpose. A life.

Even in that moment he didn’t have any lewd thoughts, God forbid. You were just beautiful.

Painfully much so.

“My God-“

“Samchon!”

The way you rushed forward and hugged him like a storm cloud was almost enough to knock him over. He couldn’t help but laugh, as he wrapped his arms around you and held you just as tightly. The sweet scent of shampoo and perfume filled his nostrils, combined with the faint hint of fish of course. He didn’t mind the fish. He never had.

“What on Earth?” He murmured. “Why aren’t you in the U.S.?”

When you pulled back and looked up at him with those shiny eyes and that wide grin, he felt something odd in his chest. Something fiercely protective.

“I was.” You responded in the sweetest voice. “My mother and step-father are still there. Didn’t Appa tell you? I’m going to SNU.”

His eyes widened even more and he needed a moment to understand the meaning behind your words. “But weren’t you going to Columbia?”

The softness in your smile nearly made him melt. “That’s just not where I belong.”

He stared at you for a moment longer, completely dumbfounded, when his mother’s voice brought him back to reality.

“I know you just came, but I’m sure there’s a storm coming up. Would you take her home?”

He didn’t hesitate to nod. “Of course. But what about you?”

She shook her head. “I need to finish a few things.”

Sang-woo frowned and tilted his head to the side. “No one’s buying anything when there’s a storm outside anyway.”

She tilted her chin up, almost challengingly. “Am I the parent or you?”

That made a fond smile cross his lips. “At least call me when you’re done. I’ll take you home.”

She returned the smile and kissed his cheek. “Go, go! And you – take this for your father and grandmother.”

When his mother handed you a bag with likely fish inside and you took it from her with a grateful nod, he was suddenly reminded that you were still there, still clinging to his one arm like a trusting child.

He watched as you gave his mother a kiss on the cheek and the way she watched you with a fondness which was normally spared for only him – and probably the grandchildren she’d most likely never have.

You slipped into your coat and grasped an umbrella from under the counter. He took it from you and opened it, covering you both with ease.

“Where’d you park?” You called out against the growing storm.

“Just down there.” He pointed to the parking lot. His car was the only one there left. He felt a pang of worry for his mother, but he knew how stubborn she was. He trusted her to call him at least.

You clung to him tightly, troubled to hide yourself away under the umbrella, while the small bag with fish swung around in the wind.

He shot you a concerned glance and made sure to take up as little space as possible. Half his face was getting soaked by the rain, but he didn’t mind, as long as it meant you wouldn’t catch a cold. A few moments later you thankfully got to his car. He unlocked it and held the door open for you, watching as you slid inside with little grace. You were shaking like a leaf and he made quick progress, closing the umbrella and swinging himself behind the steering wheel. He quickly turned the engine on and put the heater on high.

“What a plague.” You murmured as you held your hands up against the warmth.

He regarded you with a warm smile, before he pulled off his glasses and tried to wipe them clean.

You looked up and your face twisted in a mixture of surprise and concern. “You’re wet.”

That made him laugh. “Well, yes.”

Your smirk was contagious. “Don’t be such a smarty-pants, will you?”

“Smarty-pants? Did you learn that in New York?” He raised his brows and shot you a mock-scolding look. The way your smile softened made his heart soften as well. “I still can’t believe you’re back. So, you’re staying with your father?”

When you nodded, he released a soft sigh.

“What, he didn’t tell you?”

He regarded you with a soft look, before he put his glasses back on. “Not, because he wouldn’t care. We just…I haven’t spoken to him in a while.”

A look of concern crossed your face, while you watched him pull out of the parking lot. “But you’re still friends?”

“Yes, darling girl. We’re still friends.”

With a soft sigh, you sank back against the seat and grasped the bag in your hands softly.

“So, SNU.” He kept his gaze firmly locked onto the street. He barely even saw anything through the heavy rain. “What caused that? You always said Columbia is your dream.”

“I thought it was. But the States are…different.” You looked at his profile while you spoke in a softer tone. “The people are different. Their values and beliefs. I just felt like I was losing myself there. My roots. I barely even speak Korean anymore.”

He smirked almost imperceptibly. “Yes, I can hear that.”

You laughed at that. “Everyone always says you’re such a sweetheart, but I can see the menace in you.”

He smiled at your confidence. He had always admired it. Even as a little girl, you had been no less than a Sheriff, demanding respect.

“You didn’t change much.”

You shrugged. “I got older.”

He nearly rolled his eyes, but decided against it. Instead he kept his tone casual and polite. How could he banter with you, when he just now saw you again? “How old are you now? Like twenty-three?”

You nodded. “On the dot.”

He shot you a soft smile. “So, how have you been?”

“Exhausted, mostly. It’s a…demanding country. And you?”

You had never been shy. He loved that.

“Demanding?”

You nodded. “But isn’t every country?”

He shrugged and kept his eyes focused on the street, trying to see something through the haze of rain and darkness. He adjusted his slippery glasses every now and then, before he quickly brought both hands back to the steering wheel. “You’re too clever for your own good.”

“Does that surprise you?”

His brows shot up and he couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter. “You’re insufferable. You were always a brat, but it got far worse, now that you’re Miss America.”

You smiled a gentle smile. “I really missed you.”

You said it with such ease. With such trust. It made his heart ache. Here he was, withholding money and committing all kinds of crimes, while you looked at him with nothing short of warmth in your eyes. He didn’t hesitate to touch your hand, a brief and natural brush of your hands. It didn’t make him feel anything else but…home.

“I missed you, too. Your father was going insane without you.”

He heard the wistful sorrow in your voice when you sighed. “I hope you took good care of him.”

That made his brows rise in surprise and something else. Something softer. “Well, I…” But before he could come up with a response, you continued.

“He’s sillier than ever before.” You spoke with painful love and admiration in your quiet, smiling voice. “But I can see that he’s sad. Heartbroken even. I…I didn’t mean to hurt him like that.”

His forehead creased into a frown and he took his gaze off the street in front of you, to regard you with a careful look. “It wasn’t your choice to leave. He knows that. He knows that you would have stayed if you could have. But you were just a child.”

You nodded. “But still. He needed me. And I wasn’t there.”

He slowly returned his gaze to the road. “You needed him just as much.” He murmured.

After a long, heavy silence, you cleared your throat and glanced at him with the same, soft smile that so-often grazed your lips. “I’ve been talking about myself all the time. What about you? My father said your business has been going greater than ever. Is that true?”

A tight knot formed in his stomach as he tried to think of a response. Lying to you felt like an impossible deed. Not because you would have seen through it, but because you were simply so trusting – and he didn’t want to take advantage of that. You viewed him as nothing but good, as you did everyone…when he was so incredibly far from it.

“Ups and downs here and there, but all in all it’s a steady bet.” He murmured.

“I’m glad.” After a beat, you added: “And how have you been aside from that?”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, thinking about it. The last time someone asked how he was and actually meant it, was so long it the past, it might as well have been a dream.

“I’m good. I’m good, darling girl. Thank you.”

The way your brows crinkled showed your concern and how you saw through his weak lie. But you couldn’t just quite accuse him of lying, right?

“I’m glad.” You said again, softer this time, all the while you never took your eyes off him. “You deserve to be happy.”

The words were so simple and yet they made him feel as though someone had just kicked him right in the chest. His grip tightened ever so slightly on the steering wheel. “You’re always so kind.” He said quietly. “Too kind.”

You frowned in response. “There’s a thing such as too kind?”

He smiled and shot you a soft look, relaxing his grip again. You were so stubborn, so willful, so much trouble at times and yet –

You were good. Undeniable. An undying truth. You were good.

Too good for him or anyone else for that matter. Even too good for your own father. The protectiveness he felt didn’t come quiet and gentle, it was an angry force that dragged him into the abyss of his own thoughts.

He had made so many mistakes in his life. But maybe he could make up for some of them if only he helped you to keep your light.

Without a word, he pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine. He then turned to you with a soft, thoughtful look.

“Do you still like that one band so much?”

Your eyes lit up. “Arctic Monkeys? Oh, yes. I even saw them live at one point.”

His expression softened. He then reached out a hand and fumbled for something in the glove compartment of his car.

“Ah. Here it is.” He pulled out the CD cover and handed it to you. “I bought this for you. The songs are probably too old for your liking now, but well.”

Your fingers closed around the sleeve with a hesitation that was most uncommon in you. Your gaze fixed on the dark grey cover of the band you had adored for what was most of your life.

“You had this in here all this time?” You asked quietly, your eyes lighting up in a way that made his breath catch in his throat. Where did all this warmth come from? And how was it so contagious?

He smiled and shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal. It was supposed to be a gift for your departure, but I didn’t make it in time.”

But your expression didn’t waver. Your gaze flicked from him to the cover and back, your eyes wide in wonder. Just as though no one had ever done anything comparable for you.

That was impossible. Everyone loved you. You were everyone’s sunshine. So, why did this seem like such a great gesture to you?

He observed you quietly, trying to gauge your reaction.

After a moment, a smile tugged at your lips, warm and bright.

“Thank you, Samchon. That means… so much to me.”

He returned the smile.

“Come on. I should get you inside. I bet your father is getting worried already.”

Before he could open the door though, you lunged at him like you had before, wrapping your arms around his neck and tilting your head, resting your cheek on his shoulder. He was caught off-guard for a moment, but he quickly caught himself and wrapped his arms around you again. It felt natural to him. It was natural.

And still it felt as though something had changed, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

After what felt like half a minute, you finally pulled back, the same warm smile on your face and the CD cover pressed against your chest tightly.

“I will think of you when I listen to this.”

It was such a simple thing to say, an innocent phrase like every word that left your mouth.

And yet, it made him feel a certain way – his chest tightened and his fingers curled into a fist, as though he was stopping himself from saying something awkward, as he so often did, when he didn’t keep track.

You wouldn’t mind though.

You never did.

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oneoftheextras · 6 months ago

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down a peg | j.t

masterlist | tip for the author?

paring: sub!jayce talis x f!reader

summary: jayce's ego has gotten the better of him, so you come up with a way to put him in his place

words: 7k (happy holidays ig)

warnings: +18, smut, pegging, eventual sub!jayce, dom!reader, male whimpering and begging, two tops fighting for power, hair pulling.

want a handwritten letter from a character? / join the discord

Jayce Talis was the man of progress. He was smart, caring, egotistical and most definitely in need of humbling.

He walked around the lab like he owned it, making so much noise with his fancy shoes and his constant monologuing.

His long muscular legs striding across the room to pick up pages of work that wasn’t his, just so he could be involved and comment on it.

He drove you and Viktor crazy on most days.

When he became counsellor his head grew so large that you were surprised he could fit through the doorframe.

In reality, he was harmless. Both you and Viktor knew that he cared about the two of you more than anything, but his new title gave him a false sense of bravado that you didn’t like.

The afternoon that Jayce accidentally slipped a ‘That’s an order’ to you, was the afternoon that began his downfall.

If the raised eyebrow and displeased look you shared with Viktor wasn’t enough to let Jayce know he’d gone too far, the sarcastic “Yes, Counsellor Talis,” from you, and the mocking “Anything you say, Counsellor Talis!” from Viktor should’ve been.

After Jayce left the lab, you and Viktor decided enough was enough.

“He’s got a good heart, but we need to do something about his ego,” Viktor had casually mentioned, unintentionally lighting the catalyst of your scheme.

You huffed, signalling your agreement and began reorganising the papers Jayce had messed up earlier, “What can we do? He’s the golden boy!” you feigned excitement.

“He just needs reminding of where he came from. Taken down a few pegs,” Viktor was concentrating on tinkering with something to calm his frustrations.

Wiping a dirty, ink covered hand over your forehead, you thought about his words and a sly smile formed on your lips.

“Say that again?” you turned your body from your work to face Viktor, “What? Remind him where he came from?” he was still concentrating on his gadget.

You shuffled your chair closer, “No, the other bit,” there was mischief in your voice.

At your sudden proximity to him, Viktor turned to face you, the magnifying glass in his goggles making his eye look funny.

“Take him down a few pegs?” he repeated himself, eyebrows slightly knitted with confusion, but they eventually relaxed as the realisation hit him.

He chuckled a little, but when you didn’t laugh with him he stopped, “You cannot be serious?” he gave you a surprised expression.

“I’m very serious,” you confirmed that his train of thought and yours were on the same tracks. "How?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

You grabbed some clean paper and a pencil, "Give me 10 minutes," you turned back to your desk and started scribbling.

It took you a little bit longer than the 10 minutes you had promised, but your design was done.

Handing it to Viktor, you held your breath, waiting for his feedback the same way you did the first time you showed him one of your ideas. "It is a little crude, don't you think?" he turned the paper ninety degrees to observe it at a different angle.

"I think it would be impossible to not make it crude, considering what it is," you put your hand on the back of his chair and lowered your head to study your drawing again.

Viktor leaned his head to the side and sighed as if to say that you were right. "It is simplistic, yet... beautiful," he complimented and your chest swelled with pride.

"Manageable?" you queried, that was the main concern of yours. "Oh, of course," Viktor put the page down on the desk in front of him, "Easily so," he confirmed and you smiled.

The clock showed 9:41pm, "Let's get started then," you picked up the paper and walked over to the shelves of resources you shared. "What? Right now?" Viktor was surprised at your eagerness.

"Might as well," you shrugged, putting what you'd need into a box under your arm, "A little hasty, no?" he'd stood from his desk and taken a few steps towards you with his cane.

He watched you pick and choose which materials you wanted and which you didn't. "No time like the present," you chuckled as you put the last piece into your box and headed for the workbench.

"Do you really want to deal with him for another day?" you raised an eyebrow, and the way that Viktor glanced to the ground and back up at you was all the assurance you needed.

In no time, Viktor had joined you at the workbench and the two of you got to work.

After a few hours, the main parts were basically done. There were a few modifications you'd needed to make along the way, but Viktor was good at problem solving on the fly.

He stretched his back and paused for a moment to watch you work. "One query I do have..." Viktor started and you hummed in a response for him to continue.

"Once it's made, how are you going to... you know?" it was as though vocalising the words was too embarrassing for him, but you didn't interject. "Execute your plan?" he finally asked.

In honesty, the realisation of what your scheme entailed hadn't fully set in just yet.

"I have some ideas," you shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, but your heart raced at the thought.

As if talking about him had summoned him, the door to the lab swung open. You and Viktor let out a small gasp, but you immediately grabbed a sheet and threw it over the workbench.

"Have either of you seen my-" Jayce had started to say, but stopped when he saw you both by the workbench, "-What's going on?" he interrupted his original question.

You walked out from behind the table and instead leaned on it, trying to body block anything you hadn't managed to cover.

"What were you looking for?" you tried to steer him back to his first thought. "My forging gloves- are you working on something?" he stepped forward and leaned to the side to try to see behind you.

"No!", "Yes!", you and Viktor spoke at the same time. You mentally cursed yourself for not preparing something for this exact scenario.

"We are-" you spoke quickly and loudly to indicate to Viktor that you would handle it, "-But it's not ready yet,". Jayce didn't even look at you, he had excitement and annoyance in his eyes that trailed the table.

"Without me? Let me see!" Jayce almost-whined, you could hear the small fraction of hurt in his voice.

Taking a silent and quick inhale, you knew what you had to do.

As Jayce continued to walk towards the table, you stepped forward to intercept him, your chest no more than an inch from his.

"Jayce..." you lowered your voice slightly and spoke with a soft and enticing cadence. The room fell silent, and Jayce blinked a few times as he glanced down to you, he'd never heard you sound like that.

He opened his mouth to say something but his jaw slowly closed again when your hand gently trailed up the front of his shirt to play with his tie.

"I was wondering if I could borrow your soldering iron?" the tone of your voice and the words you were saying couldn't have been more contrasting.

You slipped your fingers under his tie and you could feel the warmth of his chest and the beating of his heart against your knuckles.

"Y-Yeah, sure," he cleared his throat after his words came out slightly shaky.

Running your thumb over the expensive red silk of his tie and smiling sweetly at him, you looked up at him with the best 'fuck me' eyes you could muster, and lightly pulled on the fabric.

His eyelids fluttered as his blinking sped up. In all the years the three of you had known each other, you'd never acted this way with him.

"Great, where is it?" you spoke even quieter than before so he really needed to focus on your words, so all of his attention was on you, "Forge," was all he could say.

You hummed to indicate you were happy with his response and let go of his tie, smoothing your hand down the front of his chest as if you were making in presentable again.

"Off you go then," you tapped his chest twice before stepping backwards to signal that he could leave. "Right, okay," he nodded and cleared his throat again, almost snapping out of the trance you'd put him in.

He nodded again to Viktor to say goodbye and promptly turned around and strode out of the lab.

As you spun back around to face Viktor, his jaw was being collected off of the floor, "Wha-Huh? How did you do that??".

You shrugged and smirked confidently, "I said I had some ideas,", Viktor was also as lost for words as Jayce was, "We don't have time for that, come on!" you laughed and gestured for Viktor to take the sheet off.

Conscious that Jayce wouldn't take too long returning from the forge, the two of you worked double time. The only thing that was left to do was connect the most important part.

"What're you going to use for the..." Viktor tried to make hand gestures instead of saying the word, and you saved him the embarrassment, "I have something already don't worry," somehow all shame had been lost the longer you worked on this.

He shook his head to erase the thought from his brain.

“I don’t mean, like, mine!” you tried to quickly backtrack, “I’ve made a prototype of something previously,” your hand gestures became more elaborate the more you tried to explain.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Viktor shook his head quicker than before, “I don’t need to know!” he protested but he was smiling, still finding the humorous side.

You spared him any further details and tapped the table as though audibly providing the full stop to your sentence.

The silence that followed was awkward and somewhat tense.

"Are you really going to do it?", Viktor was the first one to break the quiet between you. At first the whole scenario was kind of funny, but now that you'd actually made it, the seriousness of your plan was starting to rear it's head.

You picked at a piece of the wooden workbench that had began to splinter, nervousness running through your veins.

"What if he doesn't want me, and I make it weird?" you ask Viktor quietly, your voice showing an insecurity he'd never seen you have.

It was impossible for you to make eye contact with him after saying something like that, but the reality that you were about to attempt to seduce and sleep with, not only a friend, but your business partner.

"What if I try this and I ruin everything we've built together?" you still avoided looking at Viktor. Afraid that his expression would provide you with the answer you were dreading.

He exhaled sharply and he called your name with a soft and comforting tone, only then did you find the courage to meet his eye.

"We have known each other for a very long time, yes?" you nodded instead of verbally replying to his question, "In all that time you have never noticed the way Jayce looks at you,".

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. An exasperated one at that.

"The way he looks at me?" you pointed at yourself and it was your turn to look surprised. Viktor let out a 'Pfft' noise, "Please-" he raised an eyebrow, "Do you think he acts like that-" he gestured to the space where the two of you had been earlier, "-with everyone?".

The cogs in your brain were barely turning, all their power used on your creation that was laid out on the workbench in front of you.

"I guess not," you relented any further protests, and glanced towards the clock, 1:27am.

Viktor followed where your vision had landed and stood from his stool clearly noting how late it had become, "Right, I am going to my bedroom... which is on the other side of the building...".

He said the last part with faux innocence, but his smile gave away the context to his words.

"I need to get the thing from my room anyway, so I'll walk with you,".

Jayce grumbled to himself as he made his way back to the lab. The hallways were a ghost town at this time of night so he had nothing other than his own thoughts to accompany him.

Despite the never ending to-do-list that was handed to him over the last few hours, his mind kept drifting back to the interaction he'd had with you in the lab.

He had never seen you act like that. Why did it make him stumble over his words? How did he crumble so quickly under your touch?

He was perplexed at the involuntary actions of his own body; frustrated and annoyed at himself for following your instructions so blindly, yet a part of him yearned for that feeling again.

Whilst that want was strong, he still felt as though his pride had been wounded. He'd yielded at your commands like a lap dog, and it wasn't going to happen again.

He was simply caught off guard, that was all.

Jayce's grip on the soldering iron was tight as he pushed open the heavy wooden door to the lab.

He'd entered this room a million times over the years, but he felt the rush of adrenaline surge through him as he crossed the threshold, only for it to dissipate when he realised it was empty.

The only signs of you or Viktor was your messy station, and his shoulders slumped with disappointment he didn't know he had. He glanced down at the iron in his hand, maybe he'd taken too long.

Sighing, he walked to the workbench where the two of you had been standing before and placed it down on one of the only free spaces available.

He was about to continue his evening, maybe go for a walk around the grounds or find a bar to have a quick drink in, but the sheet of fabric was too tempting.

With no one else around, who would know that he took a quick look at your project?

All hesitation he previously had was replaced with childlike excitement as he peeled back the fabric to reveal what you both had tried to hard to keep from him.

Once his eyes landed on the object, he tilted his head to the side and his eyebrows furrowed with confusion - he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at.

He picked it up by one of the leather cords and held it in his hands, his thumb running over the hollow circle in the middle that was decorated by a metal ring.

The design was very simple, but a few embellishments decorated the soft triangular fabric and the belts that were connected to it.

He turned it over in his hands but couldn't quite figure out what it was, until he saw the accompanying sketches.

When you entered the lab, you didn't see him at first as you pushed the door open with your hip, but the clanking of tools and rustling of paper made you look up.

"Oh, I- uh-" Jayce fumbled with both his words and his hands as he tried to put everything back as he'd found it. The sound of metal clattering to the floor interrupted any excuse he was going to start making.

This was probably how he had found you and Viktor a few hours prior.

"I thought you'd left," he chuckled nervously, "I did-" you pointed to the door behind you, "-But then I came back," your finger redirected to the floor in front of you.

It was painfully obvious that you'd caught him in the act, but he was trying to play it off with that dashing smile he'd give during speeches.

Unfortunately for Jayce, you weren't the average population of Piltover that were so easily won over.

"Find anything interesting?" you folded your arms over your chest, "What, I- no?" he maintained the façade, but your scolding stare told him the gig was up.

"Fine, yes, I looked," he relented, "I'm sorry if you felt like you couldn't tell me, I wouldn't have judged-" he was making less sense the more he spoke, but there was an air of something to his voice.

"-What?" you studied his hand gestures to try and figure out what he was trying to say so poorly, "I had no idea you and Viktor-", "-Me and Viktor?" you interjected with even more confusion than before.

Jayce stopped speaking for long enough to stare at you, his eyes searching yours.

"Is this not for you to use with him?" he asserted and pulled back the fabric sheet; the seriousness of his tone made you laugh. "No, it's not," you unfolded your arms and rested your hands on your hips, your bag still hanging from your shoulder.

Jayce scoffed and glanced around the room with annoyance, clearly not believing you.

"Then why were you being so secretive about it earlier?" his words were less of a question and more of an accusation.

You approached him and placed your bag on top of the assortment of papers and materials.

"Why would you not include me?" he fired another question at you before you had a chance to answer the first.

The workbench was in between you, but you could still feel the heat of his emotions from where you stood.

"Did you really think Viktor and I were together?" you leaned forward on the workbench, his scent wafting over to you the more he gestured.

It was hard not to crumble as the notes of coal smoke, cherry and leather that filled your nostrils, but you stood strong.

"I think a lot of people do," he grumbled, "The two of you spend all your time together, you're basically inseparable-"

He stepped away from the workbench and angled himself towards the door.

"-I can't talk to one of you without the other being there, it's like you're attached at the hip-", his ramblings became more emotionally charged.

Although you couldn't see his face, you finally caught what his words were laced with - envy.

"-Are you jealous?", you cut him off. He clearly wasn't expecting the accusation as he stopped mid-step and turned back to you.

"Why would I be jealous?" he tried to sound nonchalant but failed miserably. His cheeks flushed a new shade of pink, and you knew your game had began.

You shrugged and leaned against the workbench, the same way you had earlier, but now it was just the two of you.

"It just sounds like you're jealous," you lowered your voice ever -so-slightly. Not as much as before, but enough that it made Jayce swallow the saliva that had caught in his throat.

Jayce's brain buffered for a moment, caught in the fog of your voice, but he quickly recomposed himself - he wasn't going to let you get the better of him again.

"I'm not," he muttered.

You shrugged and turned your back on him, reaching over to grab your creation from where Jayce had left it, you looked back at him over your shoulder as you leaned.

As predicted, his eyeline was not on your face. When he realised you were looking at him, he quickly averted his gaze.

His hands gripped at his sides as he took a few steps towards you.

Your heart leap in your chest when you saw him move, but it was short lived when he stopped, keeping an arms distance between the two of you.

"Where is Viktor anyway?" Jayce asked, avoiding your eyeline as you twisted back to face him.

You held your project in your hands but gave Jayce all your attention, "He's gone to bed," you explained, "Wont be back until the morning," you implied.

His lower lip darted in between his teeth for a second at how slowly and purposely you spoke. He could feel the suggestion in your voice as if you'd written it out in front of him.

Hesitantly, he took another step towards you and put himself within touching distance, if you wanted to.

He could feel his heart picking up speed under his ribcage. The two of you had been alone multiple times over the years, but it had never felt like this. Never felt so tempting.

He grabbed hold of the device in your hands, his middle and index finger overlapping yours sent fireworks through your body, and you knew he could feel it too.

"And this?" he was so close to you now that he only needed to whisper and you could hear him clear as day. "What about it?" you gazed up at him, trying to speak to him with your eyes, but he was focused on your hands.

"Who's it for?" he asked, and you smiled to yourself, "Me," you stated plainly, "And whoever else I want," the last part was almost inaudible, but he most-definitely heard it.

"And who do you want?" he leaned towards you, his confidence was starting to show again as his question caught you off guard. This whole time you had planned to be the one to initiate, but never actually figured out how to.

It seemed as if he was giving you the perfect opening, but now that the time was here, you found your words caught in your throat.

"Jayce..." was all you could manage, it wasn't needy or relenting, but the low and suggestive way you said his name made him act before he could think.

He forcefully stepped forward, his chest pressing against yours but the momentum not stopping until his hands - and your lower back - were firmly against the workbench.

At some point during the two or three seconds of movement, you'd let go of the strap and it was now in between Jayce's palm and the counter.

His eyes pierced into yours as he towered over you, giving you nowhere to move, but you knew this wasn't how this was going to go - no matter how much you enjoyed it.

Other than his body against yours, he hadn't actually touched you yet, and you decided that you were going to be the one to bridge that gap.

You gently placed your hand on his chest and untucked his tie from his waistcoat whilst maintaining eye contact with him.

His breath was hitting your face in hard puffs as your fingers intertwined with the soft red fabric, pulling it loose from his collar.

His eyeline dipped from yours to your lips and you knew what was coming. He closed his eyes and moved his head quickly, but your finger caught his pursed lips before they could make contact with your own.

He opened his eyes and glanced between your finger on his lips and your face, and immediately backed away.

"I'm sorry, I-" his thoughts were momentarily consumed with scolding, thinking he'd misread your messages and made a fool of himself.

To defuse the situation, you hooked your fingers into the front of his collar and pulled him back towards you, "You haven't earned that yet," you asserted.

His expression softened before returning to a sultry smile, "Earned?" he tilted his head to the side and mockingly repeated your wording.

You hummed to show your agreement as you pulled the remainder of his tie free and let it fall to the floor.

"Take this off," you lazily pinched the fabric of his waistcoat, "Then maybe you can kiss me," the command in your voice was new, even to you, but it felt comfortable.

He regarded you for a moment with his mouth slightly parted, you were sure you'd pushed him too far, but when he reached up and undid the first clasp you mentally let go of the breath you were holding.

The waistcoat slid off of his shoulders with ease, and he instantly leaned into you again, but you tutted.

"No," you pushed him away by his chest gently and tapped your finger to your chin as though you were thinking, "That too," you pointed at his shirt.

This time he didn't hesitate. He straightened his spine and shuffle backwards so you could properly see him as he undid every button.

He started at the bottom, untucking it from his pants, and slowly popping two of the buttons, one with each hand.

The first part of his skin you saw was the dark trail of hair that lead to his belly button, then his toned abdomen. He sped up when he got to his chest, his shirt fully open but still hanging from his shoulders.

He smirked as your eyes raked over his form, he was playing with you as much as you were playing with him, just in his own way.

In all the years you'd spent together, you'd never actually seen Jayce in a state of undress. Whenever he was in the forge, you were at a desk.

You nudged your head to the side, indicating for him to continue, so he did. With a shrug of his shoulders, the black fabric slid down his body effortlessly to land a few inches away from his waistcoat.

The sight of him with his torso bare almost knocked the air out of your lungs, "Pretty boy," you breathed absentmindedly.

He practically preened at the compliment and strode back to you, this time he waited before trying to kiss you again.

Your hands trailed up the front of his chest and between his pecks, it felt so different without the constraints of his shirt in the way, but you felt him shiver under your touch.

Drawing the outline of his collarbone with your fingertip, you felt his voice rumbling before you heard it.

"Can I?" he kept his composure but there was an underlying tone of pleading to his question, "You can-", the words had barely left your mouth before he'd grabbed the back of your head and encapsulated his mouth with yours.

His lips were soft and warm. At first he only pressed his lips against yours, but he quickly pulled away only to open his mouth and deepen the kiss.

The way his bottom lip dragged over yours made lightening sizzle through your body, if he wasn't already holding you up your knees would've buckled beneath you.

Your hands found their way into his hair and you returned the feverishness of his kiss.

The way you both timed your sharp inhales of breath between the milliseconds where your mouths weren't connected was nothing short of a display of years of longing.

His lips snatched every kiss from you as if he was never going to get the opportunity to do this again, stealing every inch of your mouth for himself.

He quickly and gently pressed his teeth against your bottom lip and pulled playfully, causing a quiet and unintentional moan to escape your throat.

He continued to kiss you, but you could feel the cocky smirk against your lips. He was playing your game and you were losing.

You realised how much you'd leaned into his touch, how his strong hands had moulded you to where he wanted you. You needed to regain control.

Sharply, you tightened your grip in his hair and pulled his head backwards - a soft whimper leaving his lips, and hitting you straight in your core, giving you a small tingle.

The two of you panted as his throat was exposed to you.

You leaned in and licked up the sensitive flesh, feeling prickles of his stubble against your tongue, "I want your pants off," you spoke against his throat, before you released him.

He stumbled backwards, obviously taken off guard by you. He was sure you'd melted in his palm, but you were back to giving him orders.

When you gestured to his lower half, he quickly undid his belt buckle and unzipped his pants, pushing them to the floor and stepping out of them.

His underwear was slightly pulled down from the force he'd pulled his pants down with, so you could see the indents of his V line and a patch of dark hair peaking over the waistband.

You were going to tease him some more, but the clear outline of where he was straining against the fabric was too much of a temptation to wait.

"And those," you lazily gestured to his boxers as if you weren't as excited as he was. He just had the unfortunate biology of not being able to hide it.

He grumbled, but hooked his thumbs into his waistband and slowly pulled them down. Just as he was about to get to the halfway point, he put his hand into his boxers and pushed the rest of the fabric down.

Once again, he stepped out of the leg holes, but kept one hand on the base of his dick so his hand and wrist evaded it from your view.

"Let me see," you said in a gentle tone. For a moment you were unsure if he was shy, but has he slipped his shoes off with a smirk, you knew this was a man who had every confidence in his physical appearance and this was him trying to yank some control back.

"I think we need to even this out," he sauntered over to you with poise, he took hold of your collar and attempted to undo the first button, but you gripped his wrist and pulled it away.

"I think you need to remember your place," you corrected him, your index finger and thumb taking hold of his strong jaw and squeezing for a second.

You hand trailed up to the side of his face, it was gentle and a complete contrast to the way you'd just grabbed him.

Your thumb brushed over his bottom lip and he instinctively opened his mouth with a groan, allowing your thumb to slip in and hook over his teeth.

He could easily pull your hand away if he wanted, but he didn't.

"Don't you want me to touch you?" you asked with faux innocence, and he nodded with your thumb still in his mouth, "Then let me see," you continued the façade of purity.

He gazed into your eyes and you could almost see his golden irises searching for his next opportunity for the upper hand, but when he found none, he simply moved his hand.

It hadn't registered that he'd let go at first, it wasn't until his cock thumped heavily against your thigh that you realised he'd done it.

You looked down, thinking for a second that something had fallen off of the workbench behind you, but when you saw his thick member resting against your leg and stood to attention, you held back a gasp.

Of course he was big; not that you'd thought about it before.

As you wrapped your fingers around his shaft and started to slowly move your wrist, it was something that seemed obvious to you now. He was a large man, easily taller and more muscular than you, so of course you would struggle to make your fingers meet around his width.

He wanted to make a smartass comment, he'd seen the momentary surprise on your features and he wanted to capitalise on the opportunity, but the way you massaged his length left no room for anything other than strangled moans to come from him.

His hips started to move with your rhythm and his breathing got heavier, he was adamant to stay standing tall and keep eye contact with you, but he was struggling.

"I saw how much you were straining, isn't this so much better?" you purred, and he bit his lower lip with a quiet response of "Mhmm," as he fought to keep his eye contact with you.

You noticed how he was trying so hard to remain composed, so you sped up your hand. He gasped and audibly moaned; he stayed upright for another three or four seconds before he fell forward and caught himself on the workbench.

His forehead rested on your shoulder, with one hand resting on he base of your neck, and the other against the bench.

The noises that spilled from him were sinful, but you wanted more.

He got louder as his hips moved against your rhythm, and you got a brief glimpse as to what he would feel like inside you as the ridges and veins of his cock pressed against your fingers.

You pressed your legs together to try and relieve some of the tension but it was useless, feeling him grip you so tightly and breathing so heavily against you was almost too much.

The grasp you had on him loosened until you fully let go, "No, please," he protested breathlessly and looked up at you with pleading eyes.

That image of him would be ingrained into your brain forever; his hair messy, with a few strands stuck to his sweaty forehead, whilst his glossy eyes bore into you with desire and desperation.

That would've been enough to get you through any more of his egotistical demands, but you were greedy, and too turned on to stop now.

"What do you want?" you cooed at him, brushing his hair back out of his face, "I want to fuck you," he quietly confessed.

You smiled, "What was that?" you teased, wanting him to say it louder.

"Please let me fuck you," he begged, and you affectionately caressed his cheek.

You reached behind you on the workbench until your fingers found what you were looking for, and once you did, you held it up proudly.

"Not today, pretty boy," you pinched the tip of his chin with your thumb and index finger to make him look at you, "I want to fuck you instead, is that okay?" you said with as much confidence as you'd ever had in your life.

He rapidly looked between your face and the strap you were holding, before he glanced towards the floor with a blush, but nodded.

"I'm going to need to hear you," you forced his eyeline back to you again. When he didn't immediately reply, you added with sincerity, "If you don't want to, that's also okay,".

Almost as soon as you'd provided him with a proverbial 'get-out-of-jail-free card', he shook his head "No, I want to, I really want to,".

"Are you sure?" you dropped all teasing and mocking tones you'd previously had to let him know that it was okay if he wasn't certain.

"One hundred percent sure," he confirmed with a smile, his eyes blown out and filled with desire.

You pulled his face to yours and kissed him deeply, your tongue exploring his mouth for a second before gently pushing him away.

You pointed to the black leather couch in between two of the desks and started to slip off your own pants as you ungraciously stepped into the harness, relieved that he had his back turned when you stumbled on one of the belts.

Once it was on, you reached into the bag you'd left on the side and pulled out the silicone cylinder you'd made months prior, and a bottle of lube.

When Jayce sat down and saw what you were holding, his eyes went wide with curiosity, "What is that?" the blue light reflected in his eyes.

You chuckled as you approached him, "I made it for me, for the rare times I get to be alone, it's intuitive to the user. If you want it bigger it'll get bigger, if you need it smaller it'll-" you explained but he interrupted.

"You've used it on yourself?" he asked with some of his usual confidence, his dick twitching as his mind clearly ran rampant, "Yes," you said with a mocking tone as an answer to his stupid question.

He was going to continue his questioning as he reached towards your crotch, but you playfully slapped his hand away, "You can touch me when I say you can," your voice reverted back to it's commanding tone.

"But I want to make you feel good too," he laid down on his back, taking up the majority of the couch by himself, but there was a small space for you between his legs.

"It will," you reassured him and placed the device through the metal ring, reaching into your own pants to move your underwear out of the way, and pressing the hooked end of it find your own hole.

The blue light got stronger as it slipped inside you, the sudden intrusion making you moan suddenly.

Jayce watched you eagerly as his breathing sped up again, his dick bouncing against his stomach when your moans hit his ears.

Now that it was in place with the phallic part protruding from the metal ring, you drizzled some lube onto it and rubbed it in with your hand.

He wouldn't admit it, but watching you stroke the device as if you had a dick of your own was extremely hot to him.

"Ready?" you asked as you positioned yourself between his legs. He lifted his hips and nodded eagerly.

You lined the tip of the dildo up with his asshole and rubbed gently, smearing the lube against it. When the device made contact with Jayce it moulded itself to be thinner, already working as you'd designed it.

As slowly as you could, you pushed the tip into him, breaching his tight ring with ease. Jayce whimpered as his eyes rolled back into his head, you pushed in a little further and then pulled back as far as you could without it coming out of him.

"I can t-take more," he moaned, and glanced down to where your crotches were connected.

You gave him a scorning look, "That's not how you ask," you pushed into him a little bit more, letting another whimper fall from him.

Inside you, the dildo reverberated and pushed itself deeper into you, but you were able to hold back the moan.

"Please, more," he begged, fully giving into your control. He wanted to hold out a little longer but it was impossible, between your lust-filled gaze and the dildo's ridges massaging his insides, he had no chance.

Happy with his pleading, you thrusted softly forward, pressing deeper into him, "Fuck!" he moaned loudly.

His hips squirmed as he tried to fuck himself onto it more than you were giving, the dildo slowly got thicker once he'd gotten used to the sensation.

You would be merciful this time since he had adjusted so well, and thrusted at a more natural pace, the device mimicking your movements inside you.

It pounded into you with a bit more ferocity than you were giving Jayce, it already being accustom to you. Moaning, you fell forward, catching yourself on Jayce's chest.

Somehow you'd managed to keep your eyes open. Watching how his cock bounced with every thrust, you could've help but imagine what it would feel like to be riding him instead.

Your genius had become your downfall as the intuitive nature of the dildo kicked in, widening and lengthening itself to be a replica of what you were seeing.

"Oh, g-god!" you threw your head back with pleasure, the constant pounding against your g-spot, alongside the stretch of the new design was all too much, your strangled moan echoed through the room.

Jayce's eyes opened so he could see your face and he almost came on the spot. Your cheeks were flushed and your eyebrows lifted into a knot of ecstasy, his own moans and whimpers a harmony of your own.

The fire inside you was burning hotter and hotter as you struggled to keep up your pace, whilst Jayce had found the perfect rhythm to manoeuvre his hips to your own.

He begged and pleaded with you not to stop, the word "Please" becoming his new mantra.

"Can I cum?" he asked you with a broken voice, his eyes finally meeting with yours. He looked so messy, pathetic and beautiful all at once, you couldn't deny him, "Yes," you barely got out.

You were barely holding on yourself, the tingling up your spine and your muscles going solid made it almost impossible for you to move anymore, but Jayce's bouncing kept the pace going.

A string of curses fell from Jayce's mouth as he gripped the base of his cock and pumped it a few times, that was all he needed to release the spurts of cum from him.

The moans and whimpers that Jayce made was enough to throw you over the edge, your hips thrusted wildly as you clenched around the dildo, your head going dizzy with euphoria.

Jayce watched your jaw fall open and the most beautiful sounds leave your throat, he never wanted to forget them, he only wished it was him that made you sound like that.

When the cloud of ecstasy faded, you removed the device and put it in the cleaning bag you'd brought with you.

Jayce cleaned up the mess he'd made on his own abdomen whilst you pulled your pants back on, the silence wasn't uncomfortable although it was obvious that you both wanted to address what had just happened, but neither of you wanted to be the first one to speak.

You picked up his clothes and handed them to him, "I'll see you in the morning," you caressed his cheek and he leaned into your palm with a soppy smile and puppy dog eyes that could melt your heart.

Things would be different in the morning. You weren't sure by how much, or for better or worse, but you knew everything would change now.

#kinkmas #jayce talis x reader #sub!jayce talis #dom!reader #jayce talis smut #jayce talis x you #arcane fanfic

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lowkeyerror · 6 months ago

Text

Just Hold Me

Rio Vidal x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Notes: Fluff x 100, comfort x 1 million, very soft

Summary: You had a rough day and Rio wants to comfort you, but she wonders if she's doing enough.

An: The yearly fluff I post after Christmas. Soft as a bunny's tail.

Masterlist

Love was such a strange thing. Tangled up in emotions like hurt, betrayal, and longing, but also bathed in happiness, care, and optimism. It was complex enough with normal people, but you had fallen for Death itself.

Loving Rio was like loving a hurricane. It was wild and even if some things were predictable, you couldn’t always prepare for what was to come. Having a trail of destruction behind her was a part of her job.

It was something she only found shame in when she was with you. She didn’t want you to think that of her. The truth being, that you never could. It was what had drawn you to her in the first place. Death didn’t scare you, not at all. Falling into her embrace felt like destiny. You’d tell her, but Rio was never one for fate, she said if anything it was an omen.

She was so scared of the consequences when it came to being with you. She tried to go against her urges, but you were patient. In her mind you’d forget her and move on with someone more suitable, but you never did. You knew what you wanted and it was her.

There would never be anyone to come close.

Rio was a good girlfriend. She was affectionate, and as attentive as she could be. There were still some things that she was uncertain about when it came to her emotions. After all she had only learned them from her limited experience in other relationships and observing others. She had seen a lot, but that didn’t mean she understood it all.

So when she appeared in your home to find your curled up on the couch, hidden by a blanket, she simply tilted her head to the side before approaching you.

“Love?”

You heard her voice, but felt like you couldn’t move or speak. Instead you let out a soft hum in response. It caught Rio off guard, she was still assessing the situation, but it wasn’t looking good.

She stepped into your point of view, crouching so that she could meet your eyes. She was taken aback by the sadness in them. The bags under your eyes were dark and heavy. Rio pouted seeing the red hues scattered in them.

She reaches out cautiously to hold your face in her hands. Her touch was warm, it made you briefly close your eyes.

“What happened?” Rio’s voice was soft, as if she was scared of pushing.

However you weren’t like the lovers of her past. You wouldn’t push her away, so you took a deep breath trying to muster up your voice.

“Hold me,” you managed to murmur.

Rio was quick to shed her work clothes and create more comfortable attire for the sake of both of you. You briefly sat up on the couch, only enough for the Green Witch to slip behind you. Once she was behind you, you tugged her arm over your body. You held it in place keeping her hold on you tight.

Rio places a delicate kiss on the back of your neck, “I'm not going anywhere."

For a while you stay in that position silently. Neither of you break through the quiet. Rio thinks she’s eventually going to hear your breathing level but it doesn’t.

“Long day,” you mumble against her hand.

“I think I know something about those,” Rio threaded her fingers through yours.

You let out a small laugh, “I bet you do.”

You feel the time shift again. You turn to face Rio who scans over your features again.

“Is there something I can do?”

You see the worry in her eyes and it makes your heart swell. The smallest furrow in her brow, the usual mischief in her eyes is gone, her tone is missing the teasing edge.

“Just this,” you bury your head in the crease of her neck.

You inhale deeply, her scent always grounds you. That specific scent of earth freshly hit with rain. You could get lost in her aroma, it almost makes you feel like you’re outside. You can feel her skin cooling, which only submerges you deeper into the fantasy.

Now both of her hands hold you. She kisses the top of your head. Rio is still uncertain about it she should be doing more for you. This didn't feel like enough. She wanted to destroy whatever it was that made your day so hard. Seeing you in this state was tugging at her heart strings.

She began to trace patterns into your back. You didn't mind, you like having her hands on you, being this close together. It helped you feel safe.

“Are you sure it’s enough,” Rio whispers, insecurities gnawing at her.

You pull back just enough to look at her, “Rio Vidal you’ll always be enough for me.”

Your words knocked the wind right out of her, she felt her face getting warm under your gaze, but she wasn’t trying to hide it from you.

“I’d do anything for you, you know that? Legal or illegal. If I need to go fuck up your boss I will. If I need to pop your annoying coworkers tire, I will. If you needed me to hunt down a Karen I-"

“I know,” you cut her off.

“All of the above?” Rio wriggles her eyebrows playfully.

You move to sit up and she sits beside you.

You rub a hand over your face, “Work was fine, I guess. A few difficult customers, but nothing out of the ordinary. I don’t really know why, but today just felt harder to get through than other days. Nothings wrong, I just feel a little… down.”

Rio listen intently as you speak. When you finish she nods slowly, “I think I know what you need.”

“You do?”

Rio nods with a little more certainty, “Let me cook for us. We’ll order some snacks and pop in a movie. We can keep cuddling too. And tomorrow, I think you should call out. We’ll spend the whole day together, I know all the best parks for walks. How does that sound?”

You let out a sigh of relief, “That sounds perfect. I love you.”

Rio places a gentle kiss on your lips, “I love you too.”

Rio reluctantly begins to stand, but you pull her back down, “Just hold me a bit longer?”

She lays her back flat on the couch and pulls you on top of her, stealing another peck.

“Always.”

#lowkeyerror #rio vidal #rio vidal x reader #rio vidal imagine

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0omillo0 · 6 months ago

Text

BIKER LEE KNOW

x reader <3 angst —> comfort/happy ending

everyone warned you about him, how he plays with girls and then leaves… you don’t believe them, until…

The clock ticked quietly in your room, the only sound breaking the heavy silence. Rain pattered steadily against your window, mimicking the slow tears that streaked down your face. You clutched your phone tightly in your hands, scrolling through old messages, trying to reconcile the sweet, caring Minho you’d been dating with the cold, distant person he’d become over the past week.

You couldn’t help but smile as you thought of the day he took you to the diner on his motorcycle. The ride had been exhilarating, the city’s lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of color as you held tightly to him, feeling the comforting warmth of his back against your chest.

When you reached the diner, Minho had insisted on ordering three servings of pudding.

“You’re unbelievable,” you teased, watching as he tucked into the first one with childlike enthusiasm.

“Don’t act like you’re not impressed,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He leaned closer, spoon in hand, and offered you a bite. “C’mon, taste perfection.”

The way he watched you eat—like you were the most fascinating person in the world—made your heart flutter. Afterward, he’d noticed your hair was windblown from the ride and gently brushed it back into place.

“These moments… they make me feel alive,” he murmured, almost to himself…

But that Minho had vanished. It started with him being quieter during your calls, then came the short, clipped replies to your texts, and eventually, nothing at all.

You (Monday, 7:12 PM): Hey, how are you? Did you make it home safe last night?

My Mimo💕🏍️ (Monday, 9:45 PM): Yeah.

You (Tuesday, 4:30 PM): I was thinking about getting tickets for that movie you mentioned! What do you think?

(Seen, no reply)

You (Wednesday, 10:15 AM): Are you okay? I feel like you’re being distant. Did I do something wrong?

(No reply)

You’d tried giving him space, telling yourself he might be busy or overwhelmed. But by Friday night, the ache in your chest was unbearable. The rumors—about him being a heartbreaker, about him getting bored and leaving without a word—crept into your thoughts like poison.

“Maybe they were right,” you whispered, the tears coming faster now. You curled up in bed, clutching your knees to your chest. “Maybe I was just another distraction for him.”

….

It was a saturday night, the knock on your door was loud, urgent, and startling. You glanced at the clock, 11:47 PM, and hesitated. The rain was heavier now, and the thunder growled low in the distance. You wiped at your eyes, your heart pounding. Who could it be at this hour?

You opened the door cautiously and froze.

Minho stood there, drenched from head to toe. His motorcycle helmet was tucked under one arm, his leather jacket soaked through, and rain dripped from his dark bangs onto his flushed face. He looked… disheveled. Vulnerable.

“Minho?” you managed, your voice shaky.

His eyes softened the moment they met yours. “Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low and rough, almost drowned out by the rain.

You blinked, torn between anger, confusion, and a flicker of hope. Your teary eyes must have been obvious because his expression shifted to one of guilt.

You stepped aside wordlessly, letting him in.

Inside, Minho stood awkwardly near the couch, his shoulders tense. He looked around your apartment like it was unfamiliar territory, though he’d been here many times before. You crossed your arms, watching him carefully.

“You’re soaking wet,” you said flatly, disappearing into the bathroom and returning with a towel. You threw it at him without ceremony.

He caught it, his lips twitching into a faint, almost apologetic smile. “Thanks.”

You stayed standing, waiting for him to say something, anything. But he just dried his hair in silence, avoiding your gaze.

“Why are you here, Minho?” you finally asked, your voice trembling.

He stopped mid-motion, the towel hanging limply in his hands. “I owe you an explanation.”

“You think?” you snapped, the bottled-up pain of the past week bursting out. “Do you have any idea how hurt I’ve been? You disappeared without a word! And after everything people said about you… I didn’t want to believe it, but—”

“Stop,” he said, his voice cracking. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But it’s not what you think.”

“Then explain,” you challenged, your arms wrapping around yourself protectively.

He took a shaky breath and sank onto the couch, running a hand through his damp hair. “I didn’t know how to deal with what I was feeling,” he admitted. “I thought if I put some distance between us, I could figure it out. But all I did was screw everything up.”

“Figure out what?”

He looked up at you, his eyes glassy with emotion. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

Your breath caught, and you took a step back, your mind racing. “You… what?”

“I’m in love with you,” he repeated, his voice firmer now. “I’ve never felt this way before, and it scared the hell out of me. I didn’t think I deserved you, and I didn’t want to risk messing things up. But pushing you away was the worst thing I could’ve done.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your ears. Tears welled up again, but this time they weren’t from pain. “Minho, you really hurt me,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he said, standing up and taking a tentative step toward you. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you let me.”

You hesitated, your emotions warring inside you. But the look in his eyes—the vulnerability, the sincerity—broke down your walls.

Slowly, you closed the distance between you, reaching out to touch his face. “You’re an idiot,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“I know,” he said with a soft smile, his hand coming up to gently wipe the tear away.

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, hesitant, but then the dam broke. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him, as if he was afraid you might vanish. The kiss deepened, raw and desperate, a mix of apology and promise.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face.

“Does this mean I still have a chance?” he asked softly, his lips quirking into a hopeful smile.

You laughed through your tears. “You’re lucky I love you too, Minho.”

His grin widened, and he kissed you again, this time softer but no less passionate.

That night, as the rain poured outside, the two of you stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, the pain of the past week washed away. And for the first time in days, you felt whole again.

tags: @hannamoon143 @intartaruginha

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birdyisthewordyy · 6 months ago

Note

Hello!!! I've been reading your MW posts lately and I honestly love the way you write. I was wondering if I could make a request on how the crew would react if they received a random tickle attack.

(preferably by the reader)

a/n: hello nonny!! This is sooo sweet thank you so much :D always glad to make people happy with my work!!

Tulpar crew reacting to receiving a random tickle attack

Curly

Let’s be honest

He would be the one tickling you probably

But on the rare occasion you catch him off guard he will bust out laughing

Has the deepest manliest laugh too

Like you’re lowkey giving him goo goo eyes because of how beautiful he sounds

“You little ratbag!!”

Chases you around

The other crew members are like ???

Why are they giggling and chasing each other like little kids

Definitely gets you back

And shows no mercy either

You were weak…

But he will not be

You’re crying by the end of it

Don’t mess with the Curly monster

Jimmy

Oh god

If you can even touch him it’s a good day

Let alone tickle this man

If you by some miracle manage to spring a tickle attack on him he’ll be disgusted let’s be real

“The fuck are you doing? Quit it!!”

He’s actually extremely ticklish though

Has an evil villain laugh

Straight up like “muahahaha”

Hearing him laugh extended your lifespan by 20 years though

Truly healing experience

He will punch you to get you off of him

“Fuck off. Don’t do that again.”

Finds himself smiling after though

He’s not sure why

He hated that

Or did he…..

Daisuke

You and Daisuke already prank each other all the time

You are constantly getting into mischief with each other

So of course you hit him with a tickle attack

Has the goofiest laugh

“HeheheHAUGH HAUGH HAUGH”

Begs for mercy dramatically

You barely even did anything

Extremely ticklish

He will also get you back

Has one of those long sticks with the finger on it

Pokes you with it

Also loves to tickle you just randomly in general

He thinks your laugh is adorable

If you’re not ticklish he’ll still try

He is a man on a mission

Swansea

Swansea?

Ticklish?

Maybe when he was like 20

This old man is too tired to giggle at your antics

“Kid I lost all feeling in my neck when I was 40”

“Then how are you standing?”

“…shut up.”

He will eventually crack and let out a chuckle

Not because it tickles

Because your earnest efforts are cute

Pats your head

“Go run along and do something else, yeah?”

Doesn’t get you back but thinks about it

He likes your laugh a lot

Anya

Please god do not spring it on her

She will scream in terror

If done right she will giggle

And she also has a very funny giggle

Penny from that one scene in TAWOG

Reminds her of when she was a little kid

Used to love being tickled

Would ask her parents to tickle her all the time

She doesn’t want to get you back because “that’d be mean”

She understands other people don’t like it most of the time

Bonus she loves your jokes

Bad jokes in general just make her laugh

“If you can make her laugh and giggle, you can make that booty shake and jiggle”

“HEEEEEELP”

She says help out loud

Me too girl me too

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v1neyy · 7 months ago

Text

Imagine this: a wild card that makes everyone’s hybrid instincts go into overdrive.

Grian perches on Mumbo’s shoulders, squawking at anyone who gets too close. He somehow manages to steal something from every player for his nest, despite living on people’s shoulders and backs the whole time. He doesn’t give the items back once the session’s over.

Tango wanting to keep his pyre warm. He starts off just clinging to whoever’s nearest, but it soon turns into “Tango! Too hot!” and he’s absolutely crushed he can’t just set everyone on fire. Eventually they get out fire resistance potions so he can make everyone as warm as he wants, because watching him be a sad pathetic cat was no fun.

Jimmy unable to stand being away from his flock. If he’s left alone for as little as one minute he has a breakdown, because his flock is leaving him and they hate him and the world is ending. Him and Grian get along well.

Ren for the most part is normal, but he does require head scratches often. He brings sticks to other players to throw, immediately chasing it and bringing it back. He also tries to eat… everything. He chews up so many of his things that the chests end up getting locked. Martyn is tired.

Lizzie immediately gets stuck in a tree and has to be saved. She’s already quite a menace, but with her feline instincts turned up she’s more feral than ever. She knocks things over, digs in people’s storages, and hisses at anyone who gets too annoying. She has to be kept away from the giant bird that is Jimmy, unfortunately he becomes a tasty snack in her eyes.

There’s thankfully some normal, non hybrid players on the server that can help out. There’s also, luckily, hybrids whose instincts don’t get in the way too badly.

Scott, an ice elf, just has to make sure he doesn’t get too warm or he’ll get sick. Pearl occasionally has to be dragged away from light sources, but otherwise she’s great help. Impulse helps as well, when he’s pulled away from making mischief with the fae that is Gem. Skizz is a saint (literally) and does his best to make everyone happy. This does end in a breakdown for Skizz, because helping people is his job, he needs to make them happy, but even instincts can’t stop Impulse from comforting him.

They all end up in a pile at spawn by the end of the session, some players having breakdowns or freaking out when they can’t make sure everyone is safe.

…And Bdubs spent the whole time either asleep or screaming at people. Damn phantom hybrid.

#man i love hybrid shenanigans #came up with this in the rainers disc server #love yall #i do not know how skizzpulse got in here #but they did #trafficblr #life series #traffic smp #v1neyy #wild life smp #wild life #mcyt #mcytblr

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forzarma · 7 months ago

Text

Between the lines

Lando Norris x Law student!reader

A/N: ok amma just act like i didn’t ghost this app for months and came out if nowhere but here we are ig. Also the Brazilian gp??? What the heck like wild race istg😭

It all started one night in Monaco, on a break from law school. You were on vacation with a friend, celebrating the rare freedom that came with a brief pause in your intense study schedule. A night at the casino was not usually your scene, but your friend had insisted.

After about an hour, she’d struck up a flirtatious conversation with some guy who’d been lingering by the bar. You waved her off, telling her you’d be fine, and took a seat on your own near a roulette table.

That’s when he walked up. Unassuming at first, with that messy hair and a slightly cocky smile that had “trouble” written all over it.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, a hint of an accent in his voice.

You shrugged, amused. “Go for it. But I’m not particularly good at this.”

He chuckled. “Neither am I.”

You exchanged a few more jokes, but it didn’t take long for him to introduce himself, giving you his number in a smooth, unhurried way.

“Lando,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You stashed the number away without much thought. It was only the next day, when you mentioned the encounter to your little sister over FaceTime, that you realized who he actually was.

“Some guy named Lando gave me his number at the casino,” you’d said offhandedly. Her jaw dropped.

“Wait, Lando who??.”

You blinked, stunned, and then laughed. “I don’t know, apparently he’s famous”

“so it’s lando fucking norris what” she said wide eyed

She rolled her eyes, muttering, “Only my sister would be this oblivious to F1 drivers. I’ve been a die-hard fan since I was, like, ten, and you meet one without even knowing?”

From there, you let yourself get to know him, intrigued by how normal he seemed compared to the hype you’d suddenly realized surrounded him. When he asked you out, you thought, why not? You were used to focusing on your studies and keeping your personal life private, so it didn’t seem like much would change. But with Lando, everything was different.

Months later, you’d fallen into an unexpected but steady rhythm with Lando. Despite his career, he managed to keep things low-key. Neither of you posted much about each other. Hell, you barely posted anything at all. You were still a law student with a private life, and the last thing you wanted was for the whole world to know who you were dating.

One evening, you were lying on his couch, scrolling through your phone, when Lando turned to you with a sly grin.

“Babe, you know… you’re eventually gonna get caught, right? Someone’s going to snap a picture of us, and then the cat’s out of the bag,” he teased, nudging your leg with his.

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Oh, sure, because every random person with a camera is just dying to know who you’re dating.”

He snickered, leaning in closer. “Maybe. But you know, it could be kinda nice… to go out sometimes. Like, properly. We don’t have to make a big deal of it.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. As much as you loved being with him, the idea of being recognized—or worse, photographed—made you cringe. Your accounts were private, your life simple, and you weren’t sure how you’d feel about people seeing you with him.

But, at the same time, you knew it wasn’t fair to keep him hidden away forever. So, you took a deep breath and gave him a small smile. “What if we make a deal?”

His eyebrows shot up in interest. “I’m listening.”

“You can have me at the paddock,” you said, already dreading the idea. “But my accounts stay private, no tags, no ‘girlfriend reveals’ on Instagram. I’ll show up, I’ll be there for you but I’m not trying to become some celebrity.”

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Deal. Although I can’t promise you won’t end up in a couple of team photos. You know how they love to catch every damn moment.”

You chuckled, trying not to think too hard about what you were signing up for.

A couple of weeks later, you were lying in bed with Lando, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram, when you felt a pang of guilt.

“I never actually told you about my sister,” you said suddenly.

“Oh?” He looked over at you with interest.

“Yeah, she’s been obsessed with F1 since she was like, ten,” you explained, laughing softly. “She’s begged me to take her to a race for years, but I was always too busy with school. Now she’s a full-on Ferrari fan… and she’s probably never going to forgive me for dating you.”

He grinned, intrigued. “A Ferrari fan, huh? That’s rough. Maybe I can convince her to switch sides.”

You snorted. “Good luck. She’s already sworn allegiance to Sebastian Vettel. In her words, McLaren’s colors are ‘an offense to her soul.’”

Lando laughed, shaking his head. “Well, in that case, we’ll have to win her over somehow. Why don’t we bring her to a race? I’ll make sure she gets the best seats, full experience,

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “She’d lose her mind. Seriously. Are you sure? Because I can tell you right now, she’d never root for McLaren.

“Absolutely,” he said, squeezing your hand. “If she’s as big a fan as you say, she deserves a proper race weekend. Plus, I think it’s time we officially break her ‘Ferrari-only’ heart.”

On race day, you and Lando arrived at the paddock, and immediately, heads turned. You’d chosen a classic, chic outfit and despite your initial nerves, you managed to keep your cool.

You spotted your sister down the row, and her jaw dropped as soon as she saw you. She approached, barely able to contain her excitement, though she shot a mock glare at Lando.

“Such a shame I don’t like McLaren,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied with a grin. “You just wait. One lap, and you’ll be a fan.”

She rolled her eyes, but you could tell she was thrilled, practically bouncing on her heels as she looked around at the spectacle. She turned to you, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re really here… at a race. I don’t know whether to thank you or disown you.”

You laughed, nudging her playfully. “I’m still not a fan, if that helps.”

She huffed, pretending to be offended. “I guess I’ll forgive you. But only if you bring me every single time from now on.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of cameras, fans, and the hum of engines. You couldn’t deny the rush of excitement that came with being part of the chaos, even if it meant being in the public eye. And when you saw your sister’s face, completely lit up as she took in every second, it felt worth it.

The relationship slowly became public, just as you and Lando had agreed. You kept your accounts locked down, but fans began to recognize you, and a few photos of you two at the paddock circulated on social media.

Your sister stayed true to her Ferrari fandom, texting you regularly to tease you about your “betrayal.” But every now and then, you’d catch her slipping in a comment about McLaren usually something along the lines of, “Okay, that car looks pretty badass.”

One evening, Lando turned to you with a satisfied grin. “I think we’re doing alright, don’t you think?”

You looked around the Monaco apartment you’d somehow started calling “home” without even realizing it, at the life you’d built together. You leaned over, giving him a soft kiss. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

In the end, you realized you didn’t need to post, announce, or shout your relationship from the rooftops. Being there for each other was enough, even if it meant sharing some of the spotlight.

After all, Lando may have been the one the world wanted to see, but you were his, and that was more than enough.

#Lando Norris x reader #Lando Norris smut #Lando Norris fanfic #ln4 #ln4 x you #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris x female reader #land norrix x oc #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formual one x reader #formual one

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azen13 · 7 months ago

Note

I loved your recent Dan Heng posting so so much!!! I’m not the original requester however

Reading it made my mind wander into how Dan Heng would react to a darling who is just so smitten with him (even his more awkward habits) that they recognize his yandere behavior and tease him about it while also kind of playing into it?

My mind keeps running through ideas of a darling that shows up to hang out with him all the time and is just over the moon when he hovers around them in a possessive manner…

Plus I think darling might also be just a teeny tiny bit obsessed with Dan Heng as well (I know I am 🤭)

I’m cutting my ramblings off here because I could go on all day about the ideas this glorious man springs into my brain but I don’t wanna subject you to them all hehe

— Dan Heng Anon

CW: Yandere Themes, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Cuddling, Sleeping Together, Kissing

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Anon, I genuinely love this idea so much! I can definitely see the vibe. As I said in my other post about Dan Heng, I think he's relatively subtle in terms of how he expresses his possessive tendencies: a hand on your shoulder; a command clothed as a suggestion; a redirection of your attention back on him.

But when you start feeding into his behavior?

The first thing that happens to him is that he practically short-circuits. You show up to his room one night, pillow and blanket in hand, face dim with fatigue but eyes shining with mischief. Your room is too warm, you complain. He hasn't even processed what you've said before you slip through the doorway and plop your bedding near his, fluffing up your pillow and arranging your space how you like it.

You fall asleep almost instantly; the next morning, you proclaim you slept better on the hard flooring of Dan Heng's room than any night in your soft bed.

Dan Heng stays up the whole night, studying your face like an astronomer, trying to understand the way you seem to orbit around him. Maybe the forces of attraction have finally gone in his favor, drawing you close to him.

As the days pass, he begins to reciprocate your signals. When the Astral Express splits up on missions, he ensures you're always with him, regardless of how March and the Trailblazer pout. He'll send them a flat, unimpressed stare, your hand and his tightly intertwined. Himeko and Welt notice, but don't say anything. They underestimate Dan Heng's love, the true gravity of the situation is much stronger than they perceive it to be.

In public, Dan Heng manages to keep it together, though you make it difficult with how you cling to his side. He can't help but want to be protective of you when there are strangers sidling next to you. Any chance he can get, he makes sure he's walking closer to the center of the road.

In the privacy of his room, though, he becomes much more clingy. Night after night you arrive at his door and make yourself at home on the floor, and each night, you sleep a little closer to him. Soon enough, your hand is squeezing him as you dream; then his arm is looped around your shoulder; two pairs of legs tangled together beneath mismatched bedsheets; his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the faintest traces of perfume.

Then you don't show up one night.

Dan Heng spends hours waiting. He's normally not very fidgety, but tonight his foot taps a frantic tempo against the floor, eyes glued to the door.

Eventually, he gets up and heads to your room. The lights are dim, but he can see a sly smile playing on your lips like Cupid readying another arrow to fire at his heart. You've done it on purpose, and it both amuses and annoys him.

With a huff, he walks over to your bed and hoists you up into his arms. You make no move to get out of his grip, eyes sparkling playfully; you're just as entranced with him as he is with you, two stars orbiting each other.

Unceremoniously, he plops you down on his makeshift bed in the data bank, settling beside you. His arms loop around your torso, pulling you close. "I don't appreciate your prank," he grumbles.

You can't help but laugh. "I'm sure you don't." It's amusing to see Dan Heng pouting. His expression is relatively neutral, but you can see sulkiness in his eyes, feel how he squeezes you a little tighter than most nights.

"I want you to stay with me."

You smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I will."

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withmyloveasyourgarden · 3 months ago

Text

ALL I EVER DO IS BURN UP FOR YOU

LOKI LAUFEYSON X F!READER

A mishap on a mission, rivals that don't hate each other as much as they pretend to, and a well meaning visit to the god of mischief's door that brings about something you never expected. [18+. Sex pollen/aphrodisiac fic. 6.2K. Re-uploaded from my old blog.]

It starts with an argument.

With you and him hissing insults and bickering like children over who's more suited for such a high stakes mission. With your hands itching to bury deep into ink spilled curls, if only to yank his face back from where it's obnoxiously tilted close to yours and watch those mocking, glacial eyes widen in shock.

You had put the work in, assembled all the information and hunted relentlessly for the location of the weapons lab only for him to sweep in at the last moment and use mortality against you. It's an excuse that strikes a dangerous match in your blood, heats your skin to an unhealthy temperature whilst your eyes narrow to vicious slits.

"You mortals are frail and weak, too easily breakable. I'm obviously a much better choice, what could their feeble minds possibly create that will harm a god."

It makes you nearly scream that the others vote in his favour. Rage, ugly and knotted, sticking in your chest at the insinuation you should be seen as fragile when you've fought for years among advanced tech suits, super soldiers, master assassins and an indefinitely more likeable god.

You're not proud of the way it burns at you, that it plucks at some pitiful insecure string you've tried to bury by pushing yourself harder, always harder.

He's made you feel like you're not good enough to be here despite all you've done and it gathers petty venom on your tongue faster than you can blink.

"Don't come crying to me when you fuck up, I'll be here waiting to laugh in your face when the shit they're packing knocks you of your pedestal."

The words are sharp and scathing, spat over your shoulder before you're storming out and leaving everyone to stare after you.

You miss the arrogant smirk falter on his lips the moment you're gone.

Guilt comes to you swiftly.

You didn't really mean what you said, you hope he succeeds, people's lives count on it and deep down you even hope that he's right and in no real danger.

It's not like you to lose your temper and be so petulant. It really isn't.

It's just Loki.

He's rubbed you the wrong way from the moment you met. His arrogance, his patronising drawl and insatiable need to get under your skin, bringing something immature and half feral out of you without fail.

Before him you didn't know what it was like to hate someone, to have someone manipulate every nerve you have with lithe fingers until there's flames in your blood and violence in your eyes.

It irritates you more that he's so fucking pretty, that his body looks like it's been carved from marble in an artist's quest for divine perfection, and that you'd been attracted to him almost immediately until he'd opened that poisoned mouth of his.

And unfortunately there's still moments where it snags at you like hooks in your skin, where it feels like you could give in to the temptation to claw and sink your teeth into him as he pounds you so fucking hard you see galaxies.

You feel it when he's pressed, hard and unforgiving, against the soft give of your body. When you've managed to incense him to the point he's prowled towards you, anger cracking in his eyes like chipped shards of ice, until your back has hit a solid surface for him to crowd you up against.

It's then that the energy between you snaps raw - hits it's most volatile like it's gathering itself to an explosive peak. You both linger in it, let the moment seep thick in the heat until it edges along the line of pain.

But then someone always eventually draws away and you wonder if there's a dark pit, a chasm of unknown want, in his stomach like there is in yours whenever you do.

When Natasha appears at your door the first thing you think is that she's come to talk about before. You know she sees more than most people and she's always sneaking subtle questions into your conversations about the God of mischief.

The second thing you think is that the universe must fucking hate you and your previous guilt had obviously not been enough to make up for your behaviour.

"You're needed in the lab, they need what you know on the bio weapons made in that place - Loki's been hit with something."

"Hit with what?"

"He said it was some kind of dart."

"Did he say what the liquid looked like? Was it blue or purple?"

"Blue I think, why?"

Shit.

"Good news, he's not going to die a horrific, agonising death from his systems shutting down one by one."

"And the bad news?" Thor grimaces, his brow heavy with concern and thick arms folded over his chest as he peers at you.

"He could possibly die of… something else." You wince, feeling the awkwardness of embarrassment flooding your tongue. "The thing he's been injected with is an aphrodisiac, a really fucking strong one, they basically manipulated it to cause as much pain and discomfort as they could to make victims more pliant to what they wanted."

Thor stares at you for a long moment, face blank whilst you watch him working over the information you've given him, then suddenly he blinks, once, twice.

"You're saying Loki needs to fuck someone or he'll die?"

"Possibly, I'm not– I'm not one hundred percent sure, okay." You sigh. "That's what happened when someone human was injected, your brother is a god. The effects could be different– milder maybe."

"So there's a chance he could be fine?"

"Yeah but I'm not a scientist or a doctor, he should really get… checked...out. Wait– Thor, where the hell is he?"

You hadn't even had a chance until now to notice the presence of a huffy, irate raven haired god was missing from the situation.

His brother had practically snatched you up as you'd ran towards the lab, his face panicked as he'd word vomited a thousand and one questions about the drug, its effects and the danger it posed to Loki.

But as you peer around the suddenly quiet god of thunder now, there is definitely a rather worrying absence - the lab empty besides the doctor.

"Oh, he's in his room." Thor confesses awkwardly, one of his large hands scratching at the the back of his neck whilst he offers you a sheepish smile. "I tried to bring him here but he was somewhat violently against it, he threatened to stab me again."

You snort.

Of course he did, the overgrown fucking child.

Trust Loki to be injected with a lethal substance and rather than be monitored for potential risks to his health he'd prefer to pout in his room.

"Thor, someone needs to go there and bring him down - this is serious."

He grins then, charming and radiant, and god help you because you know it's coming, both of you fully aware of the soft spot you have for your blonde Asgardian friend and the fact you can't say no when he asks you for something so politely.

"I think my presence will do nothing more than irritate him further." He says, soft ocean blue eyes pleading at you. "Maybe you can go and try and lure him out? He's always more easily persuaded when it comes to you."

Highly fucking doubt it, you want to scoff at him. If anything the mere sight of you is enough to set Loki off on a tangent.

But he's staring at you all hopeful and sweet and there's nothing you can do but curse these two gods that have clearly been sent to be twin pains in your life.

"Fine." You grit instead.

You're not sure how long you pace outside the door before he calls to you.

Long enough that he berates you for trying to wear a hole through the floor, his voice dripping in amusement and a tinge of something rough that your mind doesn't register until it's too late.

He's the epitome of composure when you slip inside his room, causing you to frown as you narrow your eyes and scan the length of his body.

He's still in full leathers, his legs stretched across his bed and ankles locked whilst he leans back regally against the headboard.

There's something you can't put your finger on though, something not right about how he looks, not even a hair out of place or a scratch on his leathers to say he'd just returned from a mission.

It's almost too perfect.

"Come to laugh in my face, have you darling?" He drawls, smirking when your eyes snap to his face. "It's a shame then I must tell you I'm perfectly fine."

"They told me you'd been injected with something." You say quietly, gaze still searching for something out of place whilst you edge closer.

"Ah and you thought you'd come and witness my suffering did you? Thought you'd see a god brought to his knees by some mortal drug? Apologies for the disappointment."

You shake your head and stare at him in disbelief. "Loki no." You argue softly. "I came to bring you to the lab, the drug you've been injected with could seriously harm you, you need to be tested and kept under observation."

He scoffs, a petulant thing as he rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest. "I take it my brother sent you in hopes a pretty face would sway me. I will tell you like I told him, I am fine, I have no need of your doctors."

His voice tries for nonchalance, arrogance even, but there's an underlying coldness you detect that seems unwarranted and leaves you feeling frustrated.

"Why are you being so unreasonably stubborn." You grit, your hands curling to fists on top of your hips whilst you stride towards the bed and glower down at him. "We're only trying to help you, how about you try being grateful."

"Why are you being so irritatingly stupid." He spits back. Long legs swing gracefully off the bed and land either side of yours, the blue of his eyes pulsing dark as his lips pull back and bare teeth. "I do not need your help, I do not need some silly little midgardian doctors poking and prodding at me whilst I'm expected to just lie there vulnerable."

Oh.

Oh fuck, you have been stupid.

Shortly after the arrival of his brother, Thor had filled you all in on some Loki's history. Told you quietly, guiltily, that whilst he wasn't completely innocent of the deeds he'd committed, they hadn't been entirely his doing either.

It had been enough to make you shudder, for sympathy to bloom in your heart despite everything, at the thought of the kind of torture that would have to be inflicted upon a god to make him crumble to another's will.

Of course he would be wary of someone wanting to draw bloods and hook him to machines and do any other tests they had in mind. Of course it would bring back terrible memories for him. You feel wretched for not understanding sooner, your eyes softening and the frustration bleeding from your body quicker than it had arrived.

"No one is going to hurt you Loki." You murmur gently, letting his gaze narrow to suspicious slits as he searches your words and face for the barest hint of a lie. "We just want to make sure you're okay, that's all, I promise."

His eyes widen for a moment, expression faltering to something raw and unguarded whilst he stares up at you and your fingers twitch with urge to run themselves along his jaw, over his cheek and through the soft looking curls of his hair in some surprising need to offer comfort.

But then he shutters. His expression turns mischievous and haughty and you can practically sense the sarcastic quip of his tongue before he's even opening his mouth.

"Worried about me, are you darling?" He arches a dark brow, lips quirking into a smug grin. "I must confess I like seeing you all bothered about me like this."

You go to tell him to fuck off, go to spin on your heel and march down to the lab and declare that he's absolutely fine, just peachy, his usual rage inducing self.

But then your eyes flick up on a whim and see the sweat beading along his hairline, dampening the finer hairs and slicking them to his skin.

That isn't right.

You've seen this man fight, witnessed him slice through countless enemies without so much as a stilted huff of breath let alone physically breaking a sweat. It's something he practically prides himself on, ridiculing you for looking like a dishevelled mess whenever you emerge from battle after him.

The next move you make is on reflex, a common habit that you resort to without thought.

You lift the palm of your hand to his forehead to check his temperature, your skin already grazing his before you register his panicked ‘stop–don't!’ and your mind is only capable of offering one thought before the world is suddenly swept out from beneath your feet.

The typically cold skinned god is blisteringly hot.

Loki snarls the second your hand makes full contact and there's a sudden pulse of energy that ripples through the air, stealing your breath and tingling along your skin. You don't realise what it is until he's grabbed you and caged you beneath him.

Magic. More specifically, an illusion.

He's definitely not fine.

He's panting and shaking, his arms trembling whilst he hovers over you, face shiny with sweat and cheeks flushed fever pink. When he peers down at you, you inhale sharply, the blue of his eyes has all but gone - swallowed whole by the hungry expanse of his pupils.

"Loki." You whisper and a violent shudder racks his already taut body, the movement dragging your eyes lower before they snap back to his face as you let out a startled squeak.

His illusion had hid more than you'd been able to realise before he'd tossed you on the bed and now the image of him half naked, in nothing but unlaced leather pants that are doing a poor job of concealing the large outline of his cock, is burned into your brain - even as you close your eyes and take a deep breath to try and calm your racing heart.

Your squeak seems to snap him out of the lustful haze he's in however, a shocked slash of clarity in his eyes when yours flicker back open and pain streaking across his face like it hurts him to drag himself from your body when he pushes away and rocks back on his heels.

"I'm sorry– fuck– I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to." He gasps and he looks so genuinely distraught that you almost reach for him again, only snatching your hand back when his eyes dart to it's approach and he flinches.

"It's alright Loki, I'm okay." You soothe, concerned. "I want to help you if you'll let me, just tell me how."

He laughs then, something croaked and hollow, and removes the heels of his palms from his eyes to stare you down in a way that is mildly flustering.

"You shouldn't ask me that." He husks. "The things I want - if you knew - you wouldn't ask me that."

Well fuck. You hadn't meant it like that, you'd been thinking along the lines of taking him for medical help or running to get his brother.

But now-

There's something about the way he says it, the way he looks saying it, the heat that slips back into his eyes as he mentions wanting, that makes you very much need to know.

It makes your stomach twist in an intense way, a wicked pang of heat spearing through your belly, the beginnings of a fierce craving, and the words are out of your mouth before you can shove your hand against your lips to stop them.

"Tell me what you want, I’ll do it."

He glares at you then, twin shocks of piercing blue glowing from beneath the sweat-damp of his curling hair, nostrils flaring as if you're truly testing the limits of his patience. His head has dipped low, long fingers twisting themselves in the strewn bed sheets in an effort to ground himself as another cruel tremor sweeps through him.

"What I want." He seethes after it recedes, tossing his head back to pin you with a furious look. "I will not take from you, not like this."

"Why not?" You push yourself up, confused, and he hastily shifts back, keeping a safe distance between you whilst anger and frustration crawls across his face.

"Because when I take you I want it to be because you want it." He snarls. "Not because of some warped sense of duty or self sacrifice that you and the rest of your idiotic team consider heroic."

It's endearing, if not more than a little insulting.

You're heart beats a little faster at the fact he's thought about fucking you, fluttering wildly behind your ribs because he seems to want you just as much as you want him.

But the insinuation you'd only be with him because it's your job to save people brings a type of rage thrumming through your blood that only Loki has ever been capable of summoning.

"You think I'd fuck you just because it might save your life? That I'd offer myself to you so intimately just so I could get for a fucking pat on the back for helping you?" You spit, offended. "I thought gods were supposed to be smart, or is it just you that is this extraordinarily stupid."

The situation feels familiar now, the two of you forgetting everything to return to spewing insults and barbs at each other because neither of you know how to deal with the sticky truth, the undeniable hope that the other one might feel the same.

And for a moment it works.

It distracts Loki from his pain, from his reluctance to be close to you, touching you, and in one swift move, he lunges. Knocks you back against the mattress and buries you beneath the weight of his powerful body.

"Careful with that mouth, darling." He taunts, dragging his nose across the curve of your cheek before savage eyes lock on yours. "Or I might be tempted to find something other than your poisonous words to fill it.

You don't rise to his baiting like you typically would, don't hiss and claw at him like a scorned cat because he's too close and his touch is an wholly unwanted offence on your skin.

Instead you do something infinitely worse.

You shock him.

You say his name, soft as silk, legs parting to make room for him to sink against you and his eyes blow wide - stunned like he can't quite believe you're real and inviting him to cover you entirely, to wrap himself around you like ivy, without an ounce of disgust.

"That's what I want."

He groans ragged like you've wounded him, like you've shoved your hand through his chest and yanked at something vital.

His hips lurch up subconsciously against yours and oh, it's enough to make your mouth run dry. The quick glimpse of him you'd had is nothing compared to the feel of him pushing against you.

It makes the tension bloat, electricity crackling upon your skin and you don't know how he isn't half mad with the drug when you feel like you could combust just from this alone.

He makes a rough, desperate sound in the back of his throat when you wrap your legs around him, eyes burning pitch black and starved as he trails his nose along the side of your face and growls.

"Darling–perfect little thing– tell me to stop. I can't– tell me this isn't what you really want."

You remove your hands from their bone knuckled grip on his arms, cradling the sharp lines of his jaw and pulling him down to where his lips just ghost over your own.

"I want you, Loki." You murmur. "Let me make it better, let me give you what you need."

He snaps then, lunges forward and claims your mouth in a punishing kiss, drinking you in so deep that you can barely breathe but you'll gladly suffocate before you even think of asking him to ease up.

You've never been kissed like this before, with such brutal demand and unyielding need that you could split apart at the seams from the raw heat of it all.

You tangle your hands something fierce into the silken depths of his hair, give a sharp tug when he scores the pillow of your lip with his teeth before drawing the tender flesh into his mouth like he wants nothing more than to mark you everywhere and with every part of him.

The pull of his hair draws an inhuman snarl from his chest and his hands turn to steel upon your thighs, fingers sinking in deep and wrenching your legs apart so his hips can slam against your cunt.

"Loki." You gasp, his name turning to a choked moan on your tongue as he licks and bites at your throat, teeth bared against the flushed skin in a terribly smug grin that you cannot bring yourself to huff about.

"That's it pet - say my name - let me hear how good I make you feel." He purrs.

You push at him then, push for control and to take advantage of his distraction so you can flip him on his back and fuck, he looks almost criminally good beneath you. Eyes startled, his lips parted in shock before they spread into a sharp, feral grin.

It's impossible to resist falling back into him, sweeping your tongue into his mouth when he catches you against his chest and swallowing the moans that pour from his lips to yours whilst you circle your hips relentlessly over the thick of him.

He likes constantly being touched, you've realised, craves it, yields to it, a soft note of disappointment always slipping through his gritted teeth when you remove any part of yourself.

So you touch him everywhere.

Your hips remain fused to his and your hands never cease roaming, scratching and tracing every ridge and dip of his body whilst you kiss, nip and lick at him until he's a whimpering mess beneath you.

You slip down the length of his body when it seems like he'll fracture if you take your time with him any longer, gentle hands peeling the leather of his trousers back and down, releasing his cock and wrapping your fingers around the thick weight.

He hisses at the contact, body going rigid and jackknifing from the bed as your thumb grazes up over the leaking head and you begin to stroke him. He croaks out your name like it's a plea to the heavens, his breath falling to ragged pants when you drag your tongue across the slit of his cock before sinking your mouth down onto his length.

"Fuck." He snarls.

You waste no time teasing him, swallowing him deep into your throat and sucking hard, tongue sliding over the thick vein running underneath as he throbs and his hips stammer against your face.

There's words, curses you think, in a language you don't understand falling rapidly from his lips and when your eyes flick up to him his are screwed shut, his head thrown back against the pillows, neck beautifully bared and his fingers wound so tight in the bedsheets it's only a matter of time before you hear them shred.

His eyes snap open to stare at you when you hum in approval around him, his lips parting and a hand shooting out to tangle in your hair. He looks wrecked and it does something indescribable to your chest, your pride, when he chokes.

"Please."

You hum around him again and he loses his composure entirely, fisting your hair tight and rocking his hips hard and fast into the welcoming heat of your mouth. You gag slightly at the assault on your throat, thighs clenching as he hisses through his teeth at the feel of it.

You were dripping just watching him like this, every nerve alight and desperate for his touch, thighs shifting again for some kind of friction and this time, Loki notices.

"You like this don't you, pet?" He grunts. "Fuck, I can smell you - needy little thing - let me help."

From the corner of your eye you catch a faint glow of green and then you jolt. Lashes fluttering as you moan, helplessly overwhelmed, around his cock.

There's a pressure, some kind of energy, swirling at your cunt, the feeling of tight circles being rapidly drawn over your swollen clit driving you mad, as if he's actually dipped his own fingers inside your pants and was skillfully touching you to ruin.

It's so much. His cock driving into your mouth whilst his magic thrums relentlessly against you. Your eyes roll back when he slows this thrusts, matching his pace to that of the phantom fingers plunging inside your walls.

"That's it, darling." He praises breathlessly when you whine around him, eyes never leaving your face. "Want to feel you cum just like this. Taking both my cock and my seidr so well, fucking filthy little thing."

His words strike a match that ignites something cataclysmic in your gut and you're done for. Your orgasm is cresting without hesitance, barreling towards you unapologetically fast until the muscles of your belly clench tight, the intensity making your head spin until your shuddering and moaning around his cock.

It tears a sound you've never heard in your life from Loki, something raw and wounded and so utterly blissed out shoves it's way out of his throat and then his fingers are curling almost painfully tight, yanking you down to the base of his cock as he pulses and spills hot on your tongue.

You swallow him down the best you can before his hands are clawing at your arms, hauling you up to his chest so he can bring his frenzied mouth to yours whilst he trembles.

"More." He bites out.

Pleasure makes him burn possessive.

It makes him roll you over and crush you with him, cage you with his body as his teeth carve marks into your skin and usually talented hands rip clumsily at your pants.

You choke on a half shriek, half moan as he stuffs you full of his fingers - spears you open and strokes you to madness, his voice a dark, lustful whisper snaking in your ear.

"So fucking tight, darling girl - bet that sweet little cunt looks so pretty stretched out on my fingers - be a good girl and cum for me again - cum for me and I'll give you my cock."

God yes, you need it. You'll go fucking insane if you don't.

You think he will break you just like this, that he’ll pull another lightening sharp orgasm from you with his fingers alone, but then he's suddenly drawing them from your slick warmth. Ignoring your frustrated whine to shred the clothes from your body as if they are nothing more than paper and pressing the broad width of his shoulders between your thighs.

He shoves his face into your cunt before you can fully recover from what the sight of him between your legs does to your ego, drives his tongue through the evidence of your previous release and swallows it down with a gut wrenching moan of satisfaction.

It is both worshipful and humbling.

He lays himself at your mercy like you are divine only to remind you that he can have you pleading and praying with a mere flick of his tongue. His fingers curling back into you whilst he seals his lips around your throbbing clit and sucks, making you buck wildly into his grinning mouth as you cry out and rake your nails across his scalp in a way that has him shuddering.

It's rabid and feral the way he eats at you, tongue swirling wet and messy over your clit and his fingers twisting to reach a spot that has your body caving in on itself.

He thrusts knuckle deep until you're wailing. Hiccuping his name as the orgasm builds in your belly with terrifying velocity and then he's nipping at you just a little bit sharply with his teeth, offering that hint of pain that makes the pleasure burn darker, wilder, than it ever has before.

You arch from the bed with a breathless, wounded sound, unable to scream, unravelling magnificently as he groans and licks you through your orgasm like a man that has known nothing but starvation his entire life.

And when it has all plateaued there is nothing left but an unrepentant desire to have him entirely when he slithers back up your body, sharp features endearingly pleased and his pretty mouth still shining with your release as he pushes you back into the bed and slides his cock teasingly against your wet cunt.

You go boneless. Pliant in a way that feels like exquisite submission, that threatens to drive Loki wild.

Your legs part wide for him, pussy fluttering, still pulsing with aftershocks whilst he catches at your entrance and then he's pushing inside you, a guttural moan bubbling past his throat, and the blunt stretch is so fucking good that you can't breathe. So right that your mind reels with it.

He drops to kiss you as you struggle to keep your sanity, nose nudging softly, adoringly, against your own, and when he pulls back his eyes are striking. Endless pools of crystalised blue blown wide with reverence. With deep seated hunger ready to devour you whole.

You both groan as he presses the final inches inside you.

Your legs weave around his waist so you can take him deeper and he inhales sharply, yanking himself out of you until only the thick head of his cock remains. You wonder dazedly if maybe he intends it to be a punishment, that maybe his old smugness is more intact than you thought and he intends you to beg for it, but then he's snapping back into you with a rough cant of his hips that almost winds you, splits you open with a deliciousness that has you gasping.

"Oh my god–" You whimper and it's like any semblance of restraint he was still valiantly clinging to evaporates as his entire body trembles. “Loki–you feel so–fuck–”

He buries you beneath him, snares his hand into the locks of your hair and sinks his teeth into your throat whilst he rolls his hips, grinds them in a maddening push and pull, pressing in so fucking close as if he wishes to never leave you at all.

It's like he's lost to the sensation of you, the tight warmth of your cunt and the praise that pours from your lips whilst he chases that frantic need to be sunk deep over and over.

“I can't–I can't go easy on you–I'm sorry.” There is strain in his voice now, a lovely tortured tone, as if he was losing his head completely.

You cling to him desperately. Nails scoring crimson lines and small crescen moon marks into the milk pale skin of his shoulders as he fucks you like he wants you to splinter, like he wants you in pieces so he can burrow among your bones and make himself a home inside you.

He reels back suddenly, bunches his knees beneath your ass and pulls himself upright. You want to protest the loss of him but then he's grabbing your legs, hitching them higher until they're slung over his shoulders and using your thighs as an anchor to ram himself deeper, so he can punch up into the heart of you.

It's almost too much when his fingers slip to where you're joined, when he touches you, quick and unrelenting, until the pleasure is so intense there are tears of bliss gathering at the corners of your eyes.

It's almost too much when he stares at you like he's completely enamoured and reaches for your face, thumbing away a stray tear before it can slip fully down your cheek with a tenderness that threatens to crack you open. You're whimpering, pleading with him to kiss you, to make you cum, to feel him cum inside you, and the noise he makes in retaliation is low, hungered.

"Pretty little thing, you need to cum? You want me to fill you up?" He rasps - wicked and dripping with a dark shade of longing. He tilts his hips, angles himself so his next thrust plunges into that part of you that makes your cunt spasm and a loud wail tear from your lips. "Fuck - go ahead, let me feel it, let everyone hear you make a mess all over my cock."

His name claws out of your throat on a broken cry, the sound of it jagged, ruined, as every muscle in your body locks up tight until you're violently trembling, bursting wet around him, and everything becomes a scatter of pure pleasure and dizzying bursts of radiant light.

It takes only moments before the same sensation hunts him so closely. Your cunt gripping him tighter, milking him, until he's snarling a punched out curse. The rising crescendo of slapping skin suddenly faltering as his deliberate pace becomes a frantic, savage thing.

"That's it darling - my pretty little goddess - beautiful thing, all mine." He praises before he chokes, folding himself over you and claiming your lips in a messy kiss. Devouring your mouth as you broke and broke and broke.

He ensures you are shattered entirely and only then does he allow his own devastation. His breath stuttering, voice shredding, body convulsing as he fucks you through it and growls your name, spilling, hot and deep, inside you.

It goes on for hours.

Until the desperation has bled from his veins and his skin has cooled to a normal temperature.

It's deep into the night when the two of you finally collapse into the sheets exhausted, the cool press of his body tangled with yours a blissful relief to both your mind and the flushed heat of your own sticky skin.

Every inch of you is raw - littered in marks from his fingers and teeth, the phantom stretch of him still making you ache.

Loki holds you tight to him, draws you close against the sharp rise and fall of his chest and cradles your head like you're something infinitely precious.

He doesn't speak though and you have a feeling his mind is struggling to process the sudden leap in the relationship between you, picking it apart and trying to discover what this makes you to him.

The silence blisters and pricks at you until you can't handle it any longer and you blurt out the first thing that comes to your pleasure-addled brain.

"Well… good to know you're not going to die."

His chest shakes lightly under your cheek and you realise he's chuckling, a soft, light sound slipping from his lips that you don't think you've ever heard from him.

"That drug was never going to kill a god." He scoffs, trailing feather light fingertips down your arm. "But I can see how it would be dangerous for mortals, which is precisely why I insisted on taking your place."

Wait–

What.

You lurch up and twist in his hold to look at him, his eyes, guarded and hesitant, as he watches you and attempts to gauge your reaction.

"You took my place to protect me?" You whisper, inhaling a sharp breath he nods.

There's something blooming in your chest, something you don't want to look at too closely so soon, something that bloomed also when he called you his. But as soft as his gesture makes you, it also bothers another part of you, the part of you that is an avenger and more than capable of dealing with dangerous situations.

You tell him as much and he grumbles.

Something along the lines of. "Do you really expect me to stand by and let something happen to you if I can prevent it? I don't want to see you hurt and mortals are so -"

He doesn't get to finish before you're planting your hands firm against his cool chest and growling. "If you say fragile or weak, I swear I will ruin this otherwise sweet moment and punch you in that perfect face."

His eyes narrow, glinting dark and tempting, and his voice drops to a wisp of coiling smoke.

"You can try, darling."

God, is he really trying to seduce you again.

"Stop trying to distract me." You swat at him angrily. "Next time just come along and work the mission with me, don't get me taken off. Deal?"

He watches you for a moment, arches a brow at the way you glare at him before huffing. "I suppose."

There's barely any time for you to grin smugly at your victory before he's hauling you down and rolling you beneath him, his razor sharp smile gleaming above you as his eyes pitch dark once more.

"Now, how about we seal our little deal."

#loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x y/n #loki fanfic #loki fanfction

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ujuinluv · 1 month ago

Text

off stage (maki) — nav

synopsis — during your college's music festival, you take a behind the scenes job helping your best friends’ band—only to clash (and eventually fall for) the sharp-tongued lead singer who’s nothing like you expected.

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ enemies to lovers, female reader, 8k word count

the lounge is half-empty when you get there, which is a miracle considering how popular it usually is this close to festival week. the old leather couches sag in the middle, the vending machines buzz in the corner, and the sun slants in through the big windows, making everything look a little softer, a little more tired.

nicholas spots you first. he’s perched on the arm of one of the couches, his red hair catching the sunlight like a flare. his fox-like eyes narrow a little when he sees you, but there’s nothing sharp behind it—just the usual mix of mischief and excitement. when he grins, all teeth and warmth, you know immediately he’s up to something.

euijoo’s sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him, brown hair falling into his wide, open eyes as he scrolls through his phone. he’s the tallest of all of you, but right now he looks like a kid waiting for his turn at an arcade game.

harua is slumped in the corner of the couch, blond hair messy, hoodie pulled halfway over his face, pretending he’s not awake even though you saw him glance up when you walked in.

“you’re late,” nicholas says, even though you’re not.

“you’re annoying,” you say back, dropping your bag onto the floor with a heavy thud.

“good, we’re starting strong,” euijoo says brightly. he tosses a small bag of chips at you, which you catch one-handed without thinking.

“where’s kazuha?” you ask.

“physics exam,” euijoo supplies.

you sink into the chair across from them, cracking the bag open. “gotcha, so what’s the emergency?”

nicholas exchanges a look with euijoo, and you immediately regret asking.

“so,” nicholas starts, drawing the word out like he’s crafting a master plan. “you know how the festival showcase is coming up.”

“yeah,” you say. “you’ve only been talking about it nonstop for the past month.”

“good, good,” he says, nodding seriously like he’s checking something off a list. “well, juju and i are playing, obviously. drums,” he says, pointing at himself. “keyboard,” he says, clapping euijoo on the back.

“band of the year,” euijoo says proudly, even though you’re pretty sure they haven’t even named their group yet.

“still working on a name,” nicholas adds, not missing a beat. “anyway. we’re kind of… short on help.”

you narrow your eyes. “what kind of help.”

“stage managing,” nicholas says, too quickly.

you immediately look at harua, who is now aggressively pretending to be asleep. you throw a chip at him. he flinches but doesn’t open his eyes.

“rua,” nicholas says, voice rising, “please. you’d be so good at it.”

“no,” harua says flatly, eyes still closed.

nicholas clutches his chest like he’s been stabbed. “you didn’t even let me finish.”

“because i know how your ‘help’ works,” harua says, finally cracking one eye open. “you’ll end up on fire and somehow it’ll be my fault.”

“he’s not wrong,” euijoo says under his breath.

nicholas glares at him.

euijoo just grins, wide-eyed and unbothered.

“so that leaves you,” nicholas says, turning to you with the full force of his bright, almost-too-charming smile. it’s dangerous, how nice he looks when he wants something.

you lean back in your chair, arms crossed. “stage managing, huh?”

“easy stuff,” euijoo says quickly. “just make sure our set starts on time. talk to the sound guys. keep jo from running away. you know. simple.”

“you say that like it doesn’t sound like babysitting a bunch of toddlers,” you say.

nicholas holds up his hand solemnly. “we’re very well-behaved toddlers.”

“no they’re not,” harua says immediately.

you consider it for a second, crunching a chip between your teeth. there’s a part of you that knows this is going to be a mess. there’s also a part of you that’s already buzzing with the kind of restless excitement that only festival week can bring.

besides, someone has to keep nicholas from fucking punching a bitch.

you sigh dramatically. “fine.”

nicholas cheers loud enough that a group of students across the lounge glance over. euijoo fist-pumps like they’ve just won the lottery.

“i knew you were the one we could count on,” euijoo says, beaming.

“bitch,” you say. “i’m just doing this for service hours.”

“same thing,” nicholas says cheerfully.

harua just shakes his head like he’s watching a slow-motion disaster unfold. “you’re gonna regret it.”

“probably,” you say.

but you’re smiling as you say it.

outside the lounge windows, you can see people starting to string up banners across the campus lawn, the colors snapping bright against the blue sky. the first chords of a guitar echo faintly from somewhere down the quad. the whole world feels like it’s tilting forward, toward something you can’t quite see yet.

the rehearsal room smells like old amps, sweat, and that weird lavender cleaner the janitors love. cables snake across the floor in every direction, half the equipment buzzing faintly, and someone’s left an empty water bottle balancing precariously on a speaker.

you’re standing awkwardly by the door with nicholas and euijoo, trying not to trip over anything expensive-looking.

“don’t look so nervous,” nicholas says, nudging you with his elbow. his hair is a mess from hauling in drums earlier, and his usual fox-like grin is turned up to full wattage. “they’re nice.”

“mostly,” euijoo adds under his breath, brown hair flopping into his eyes as he beams at you.

“so reassuring,” you mutter.

nicholas claps his hands loudly, getting the attention of the three other guys already scattered around the room.

“alright, everyone, listen up,” he says. “this is our new stage manager.”

all eyes turn to you.

you give a small, awkward wave.

“y/n, meet the rest of the circus,” nicholas says proudly. he points to the shortest guy first—pastel pink hair messy like he just rolled out of bed, snaggletooth flashing when he smiles. “that’s yuma. rhythmic guitar.”

“hey,” yuma says brightly, voice a little louder than necessary. he waves enthusiastically, like you’re old friends already.

he’s got that weird kind of energy that’s half ‘talks a lot’ and half ‘hiding in a corner the second no one’s looking.’

“hi,” you say back, a little startled by the force of his friendliness.

nicholas moves on, pointing at a taller guy with black hair falling softly over his forehead, clutching his bass like it’s a safety blanket. his face is gentle, almost doll-like, and he gives you a tiny, polite bow.

“jo,” nicholas says. “bass. shy, but lethal.”

jo immediately flushes bright red at the introduction. “hi, uh… it’s nice to meet you,” he says quietly.

you smile at him, already feeling a little more at ease.

and then.

“and this,” nicholas says, dragging out the word like he’s announcing a villain, “is maki. lead guitarist. lead vocals. also… pain in my ass.”

maki doesn’t move from where he’s sitting on one of the amps, guitar balanced casually across his lap. he’s tall—almost as tall as euijoo—and built lean, all sharp angles and casual confidence. his black hair is slicked back, a few rebellious strands falling forward. his brows are dark and chiseled, his jawline stupidly sharp, and his lips are full enough to look like they belong in some annoying cologne ad.

he doesn’t smile.

instead, he looks you up and down once, slow and deliberate, and says, “great. another manager wannabe.”

you blink.

“maki,” nicholas says immediately, warning in his voice.

euijoo jumps in too, still smiling but a little strained. “dude, chill. it’s not that serious.”

maki shrugs, utterly unbothered, and plucks a few lazy notes on his guitar.

“i’m just saying. last one bailed after two rehearsals.”

“maybe because you were a dick,” yuma says from across the room.

maki smirks but doesn’t deny it.

you shift your weight, unsure whether you should be offended or not. it’s not like you came here begging to manage their band. nicholas and euijoo practically dragged you into this.

nicholas catches your expression and quickly leans in. “don’t worry about him,” he mutters. “he warms up eventually. like, in a year.”

“or never,” yuma calls helpfully.

jo looks horrified. he glances between you and maki and gulps. “maki’s just… passionate. about music.”

you raise an eyebrow. “yeah, i can tell.”

maki hears you. you know he does, because there’s the faintest twitch of his mouth—not a smile exactly, more like he’s biting it back. but he doesn’t say anything else. just goes back to fiddling with his guitar like you’re not even there.

nicholas claps his hands again, loudly. “okaaay! now that introductions are over and nobody’s dead, let’s get started.”

you step carefully around the tangle of cables, finding a spot against the wall where you can watch without getting in the way.

yuma shoots you a quick thumbs-up and a wide grin. jo gives you an awkward smile. even euijoo throws you a goofy wink before sitting down at his keyboard.

the only one who doesn’t look your way is maki.

good, you think stubbornly.

you didn’t come here to make friends.

you came here to keep this chaos from falling apart long enough for nicholas and euijoo to have their moment onstage.

it’s been a few weeks, and somehow you’re still standing.

you’ve got the rhythm of everything now—running between light cues, managing equipment changes, fixing tech issues before anyone notices.

the chaos doesn’t scare you anymore. if anything, it feels almost… good. like you belong here.

“y/n, mic two’s giving feedback again!” someone shouts from the sound booth.

“on it!” you yell back, already moving.

you crouch at the front of the stage, adjusting cables and fiddling with the mixer settings.

out of the corner of your eye, you see a pair of boots stop a few feet away. you don’t have to look up to know who it is.

“amazing,” maki says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “you’re actually useful. didn’t think we’d ever see the day.”

you straighten up slowly, wiping your hands on your jeans.

he’s standing there, arms crossed, guitar slung across his back like he’s posing for a magazine cover. his mouth is curled into something that isn’t quite a smile.

“hi to you, too,” you say, keeping your voice light.

you plaster a bright, fake smile on your face, even though you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

“you know,” maki continues, voice low enough that only you can hear, “we probably would’ve finished this soundcheck thirty minutes ago if we didn’t have a stage manager who needs a map just to find the on-switch.”

your jaw tightens.

you turn back to the mixer, pretending to fiddle with the settings just so you don’t say something you’ll regret.

instead, you laugh, short and airy.

“lucky for you, i’m a fast learner,” you say sweetly. “otherwise you’d be stuck doing actual work.”

you hear yuma snort from where he’s adjusting his pedalboard. even jo—quiet, polite jo—looks like he’s fighting back a smile. nicholas wanders over, sensing the tension immediately.

“maki, play nice,” he says, clapping a hand on maki’s shoulder.

maki shrugs him off with a roll of his eyes.

“just pointing out the obvious,” he says, flashing that signature too-sharp grin.

the rest of the afternoon isn’t much better. everywhere you go, maki finds some way to comment.

when you trip slightly over a coiled cord:

“graceful. like a drunk baby giraffe.”

when you check the mic levels for the third time:

“triple-checking? bold of you to assume it’ll make a difference.”

when you relay notes from the sound team to the band:

“translation: everything’s still a mess and it’s probably your fault.”

each time, you feel your teeth grit tighter, but you never give him the satisfaction of reacting.

you just smile—wide and bright—and keep doing your job like he’s not even there.

you can tell it pisses him off, too. every time you brush him off without a real reaction, his smirk tightens just a little. his eyes follow you longer, sharper. by the end of rehearsal, you’re bone-tired but proud. you survived another day, another barrage of maki’s insults, without snapping.

you’re stacking mic stands when he strolls past you, guitar case slung lazily over one shoulder.

“see you tomorrow, stage manager extraordinaire,” he says, heavy on the mockery.

you flash him a smile so sweet it practically drips sugar.

“can’t wait, lead singer who thinks he’s funny.”

he chuckles low under his breath — and for the first time today, it’s not entirely mean. you watch him walk away, the knot in your chest loosening just a little. you’re not sure what exactly is happening between you two — but you know this much:

whatever game maki’s playing, you’re not losing.

maki’s become even more unbearable at practice. and you’re fucking done.

always late, always half-assing the setups, always finding a way to make your life harder.

“is it that hard to plug in an amp properly?” he drawls one afternoon, after you’ve spent fifteen minutes untangling a cable knot from hell.

you whip around, face burning. “if you think it’s so easy, why don’t you get off your ass and do it yourself?”

he just smirks, propping his boots up on the nearest chair like a king surveying his ruined kingdom.

“watch and learn, princess.”

you bristle at the nickname, fists clenching so hard your nails dig into your palms.

when he saunters over and fixes the cable with two infuriatingly fast flicks of his wrist, you hate him a little more.

you also hate the stupid, traitorous flip your stomach does at how easy he makes it look.

you swear he’s doing it on purpose.

one night, you’re trying to fix a broken light rig by yourself — the rest of the crew long gone — when maki strolls in, spinning a guitar pick between his fingers.

he watches you struggle for a minute before saying, way too loudly:

“don’t hurt yourself. pretty sure they’d rather replace the lights than replace you.”

you slam the wrench down on the stage, metal clanging.

“god, you are insufferable!” you yell, spinning on him.

he smirks, unbothered. “takes one to know one.”

you stalk toward him, stopping only inches away, rage making your hands shake.

“i don’t know why everyone here kisses your ass,” you snap. “you’re not special. you’re just a dick with a guitar.”

for the first time, something flickers in his expression — something almost vulnerable.

but it’s gone before you can name it.

“better a dick with talent,” he says flatly, “than a wannabe clinging to a clipboard.”

it’s a low blow.

it hits harder than you expect.

you step back like he’s slapped you, heart in your throat.

maki watches you for a second longer, jaw tight, before turning and walking out.

the silence he leaves behind is deafening.

the fighting gets louder.

“your setlist makes no sense,” you snap at a late-night meeting.

“because clearly, you know more about music than i do,” he says lazily, arms folded across his chest.

“this isn’t just about you, maki. you’re not the only one performing.”

he shrugs. “could’ve fooled me.”

you glare at him across the crowded table. he stares back, unbothered, until you’re the one who looks away, teeth grinding.

the rest of the team watches with a mix of amusement and fear, staying carefully out of the blast radius.

the worst part isn’t the fighting.

it’s how you notice things about him anyway.

like the way he always shakes out his hands before playing, like he’s releasing something heavy he doesn’t want to carry.

like the way his eyes go distant sometimes, as if he’s somewhere else entirely.

like the way he never lets anyone touch his guitar—ever.

you file these observations away in the back of your mind, furious with yourself.

you don’t care. you don’t.

one night, you’re the last two in the practice room. you’re shoving chairs back into place, muttering curses under your breath, when he says, without looking up:

“you’re not bad at this, you know.”

you freeze.

he doesn’t say it like a compliment. just a statement of fact.

still—coming from him, it feels like a grenade lobbed straight into your chest.

you clench your jaw. “don’t flatter me.”

“wasn’t trying to,” he says, shrugging.

you hate how much your heart stutters anyway.

things get worse before they get better. during a soundcheck, you argue so loudly the entire crew hears.

“how dense can you be?” you shout, throwing your arms up.

he rolls his eyes dramatically. “keep yelling. maybe you’ll fix the mic that way.”

you step right into his space, close enough that you could shove him if you wanted. (and you want.)

“god, you’re insufferable.”

he leans down, not backing away. not even a little.

“likewise,” he murmurs, low and dangerous.

for a second, the air between you crackles—not just with anger, but something hotter, sharper. you’re the one who flinches back first. you tell yourself it’s because you’re better than this. not because of whatever the hell just sparked under your skin.

you slam your lunch tray onto the table so hard the water bottle nearly topples over.

“who hurt you?” kazuha asks, amused, peeling the lid off her yogurt.

“guess,” you mutter darkly, stabbing your salad like it personally wronged you.

harua leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely.

“if it involves a certain stage manager gig…” he says slowly.

you point your fork at him.

“ding ding ding.”

kazuha gasps dramatically.

“already? you’ve only been at it, what, two months?”

“three weeks,” you correct. “three weeks of pure hell.”

harua snorts. “let me guess. maki?”

you nearly drop your fork. “you knew?” you splutter.

harua shrugs like it’s obvious. “i tried to warn you! that’s why i bailed when nicholas asked.”

kazuha perks up, interested. “wait, wait—you know him?”

harua nods grimly. “yeah. we ran in the same circles for a while. he’s… a handful.”

“understatement of the year,” you mutter, stabbing a tomato viciously.

“what’s he doing now?” kazuha asks, swirling her spoon in her yogurt.

you groan, dropping your fork. “being an asshole for sport. like—he goes out of his way to make everything harder.”

kazuha tilts her head. “maybe he’s flirting.”

you nearly choke. “no,” you say firmly.

“trust me. there’s no flirt. just…insults. comments. side-eyes. every time i open my mouth he looks at me like i’m stupid.”

harua leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “he’s like that with everyone,” he says, more gently. “he doesn’t even realize half the time.”

“oh he realizes,” you snap. “he realizes and he enjoys it.”

kazuha hums thoughtfully. “maybe he’s just intimidated.”

you bark out a laugh. “of me?” you gesture to yourself. “please.”

“you’re scary when you want to be,” harua says mildly.

kazuha nods in agreement. “cute but terrifying,” she says brightly.

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling a little despite yourself. still—the frustration buzzes just under your skin. you pick up your sandwich, ready to launch into another rant—when a shadow falls over the table.

“talking about me again?”

you freeze mid-bite.

maki stands there, backpack slung over one shoulder, expression unreadable.

great. perfect. how much had he heard?

harua’s face shifts instantly—calm but cold.

kazuha presses her lips together like she’s fighting a smile.

you set your sandwich down carefully. “do you eavesdrop on everyone,” you say sweetly, “or am i just special?”

maki smirks lazily. “you’re very loud,” he says. “hard not to overhear.”

“maybe walk faster next time,” harua says under his breath.

maki glances at him, expression tightening slightly. but instead of arguing, he shrugs.

“don’t worry,” he says, looking right at you. “wouldn’t want to waste my precious time listening to that again.”

you feel your hands curl into fists in your lap. before you can think of a comeback, someone else calls out:

“oi, maki!”

nicholas comes jogging over, euijoo at his heels, both balancing plates of food.

maki straightens up a little as they approach, like he’s been caught doing something he’s not supposed to.

“what’s going on here?” nicholas asks cheerfully, plopping his tray down next to yours.

euijoo raises an eyebrow at the tension in the air. “you guys fighting again?”

“technically,” kazuha says, smiling sweetly, “they weren’t fighting. they were complaining.”

“important distinction,” harua adds.

nicholas looks at maki. maki shrugs, looking bored.

“just passing by,” maki says.

“right,” euijoo says, dragging out the word.

nicholas claps maki on the back. “come sit,” he says.

maki doesn’t say anything right away, just slides into the seat across from you like he belongs there. nicholas barely glances up before launching back into conversation.

“man, i swear my professor fucking hates me,” nicholas says, waving a fork dramatically. “she gave me a 70 on my paper and said i was ‘too casual.’”

“maybe don’t start your essays with ‘yo, listen up,’” euijoo says dryly.

nicholas gasps. “it was creative writing!”

harua snickers under his breath. “creative doesn’t mean criminal.”

“it was an artistic choice,” nicholas insists, dramatically clutching his chest.

kazuha giggles, picking at her fruit cup. “i kind of wanna read it now.”

“i’ll sell copies,” nicholas says proudly.

“no one’s paying for that shit,” maki says, deadpan, finally speaking.

nicholas grins and flicks a piece of lettuce at him. “jealous.”

maki smirks but doesn’t argue, reaching lazily for a carton of chocolate milk from his tray.

it strikes you—how easy it is between them. no sharpness. no biting tension. just lazy, familiar teasing. kazuha glances at maki, curious.

“wait—you’re doing the showcase too, right? i don’t think we’ve met.”

maki glances up at her, pausing mid-sip. “yeah,” he says casually. “part of the band.”

he offers the smallest shrug—like it’s no big deal.

kazuha smiles. “welcome to the chaos.”

“already regretting it,” maki says, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

you watch, almost disbelieving. he’s not cold with her. not cutting. just… normal. borderline polite, even.

“you’ll survive,” harua says, resting his chin on his hand.

maki scoffs. “barely.”

“rua only says that because he bailed,” kazuha teases.

harua shrugs, unapologetic. “self-preservation.”

“coward,” nicholas coughs.

“genius,” harua corrects him smoothly.

euijoo leans in. “you missed rua’s grand speech last week about how he’s ‘too emotionally fragile’ to handle backstage drama.”

“it wasn’t a speech,” harua protests.

“it was a single, dignified sentence.”

“and then you ran away,” nicholas says, laughing.

harua holds up two fingers. “peacefully withdrew.”

kazuha laughs so hard she almost drops her spoon. maki chuckles under his breath too—a real sound, not mocking—and leans back in his chair, looking genuinely amused.

you stare at your tray, picking at the corner of your sandwich. they’re all so relaxed.

he’s so relaxed.

but not with you.

with you, it’s a constant cold edge. a target painted on your forehead. you sneak a glance at maki.

he’s tossing grapes into his mouth, listening to nicholas and euijoo argue about whether anyone actually reads the club newsletter. his whole body language—slouched, loose, unbothered—is completely different than when he’s talking to you.

like you’re a switch that flips him straight into defensive mode.

you fold your hands in your lap tightly.

maybe it’s not him.

maybe it’s you.

you knew today was going to be hard.

yesterday at lunch, watching maki laugh and joke around with nicholas, harua, and euijoo, and even kazuha, who he didn’t even fucking know. easy, effortless smiles. teasing without any edge. soft nudges to the shoulder. head thrown back laughing at harua’s bad jokes.

he was… good with people.

friendly. warm, even.

and not once had he looked at you.

you told yourself not to overthink it.

you told yourself you didn’t care.

but the feeling had stuck to your ribs like glue.

so now, standing in the middle of the rehearsal hall with your clipboard clutched tight in your hands, you brace yourself for another day of pretending you’re fine.

the band is setting up. cables snake across the stage, the drum kit gleams under the spotlights, and your headset buzzes faintly against your ear. you’re double-checking the mic setup when maki wanders past you, twirling a guitar pick between his fingers.

“still here?” he says, voice light but sharp. “thought maybe you finally got tired of embarrassing yourself.”

you don’t even blink. you just finish taping down the mic cord and move to the next one, pretending you didn’t hear him.

maki frowns, slowing a little as he watches you.

normally, you’d have snapped something back by now. rolled your eyes. shoved him with your shoulder.

you don’t.

you just move quietly, efficiently, like he doesn’t exist. nicholas catches the shift first.

you see him glance between you and maki from where he’s setting up his drum kit, his brow furrowing slightly. euijoo notices next, pausing halfway through organizing his keyboard cables, his eyes wide and a little worried.

“mic three’s good,” you say into the headset, keeping your voice even. “moving on to bass line.”

you don’t look at anyone.

especially not maki.

for the rest of rehearsal, the pattern stays the same.

every time maki makes a comment—

“don’t trip over the cables, superstar.”

“maybe check the speakers this time, stage manager of the year.”

“you sure you’re not just pretending to know what you’re doing?”

—you don’t respond.

not with a glare, not with a joke, not even a glance. you keep your head down and your work clean, heart pounding way harder than it should.

at the end of rehearsal, as everyone’s packing up, you slip toward the equipment table, organizing spare batteries and gaffer tape with trembling hands. you hear footsteps behind you.

“hey,” nicholas says, voice low. “can we talk?”

you turn, forcing a neutral smile. “sure. what’s up?”

euijoo hovers just behind him, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater.

nicholas crosses his arms. “you ‘kay?”

“yeah. fine,” you say automatically.

“you seemed… out of it,” euijoo says gently. “like… not you.”

you shrug, tapping a loose roll of tape against your palm. “just tired.”

nicholas gives you a look—the don’t lie to me one he’s perfected as the oldest. “it’s about maki, isn’t it?” he says.

your throat tightens. “no,” you lie, too quickly. “i mean, he’s always like that. i’m used to it.”

euijoo steps closer, voice soft. “y/n… you don’t have to be.”

you stare at the floor, feeling a lump form at the back of your throat. “he’s nice to everyone else,” you mumble. “maybe it’s just me he doesn’t like.”

nicholas exhales slowly, raking a hand through his messy red hair. “that’s not it.”

“then what is it?” you ask, finally looking up at them, voice cracking slightly. “because i’m tired of pretending it doesn’t bother me.”

euijoo’s face twists. he hates seeing you upset.

nicholas steps closer, squeezing your shoulder.

“you’re not the problem,” he says, firm and sure. “he’s just an idiot. we’ll talk to him if you want.”

“no,” you say quickly, wiping your hands on your jeans. “i don’t want it to be a big thing. i can handle it.”

euijoo hesitates, then nods slowly. “if you change your mind, we’ve got your back.”

you give them a small, real smile. it doesn’t fix everything, but it helps. a little.

out of the corner of your eye, you catch maki watching you from across the room. something tight in his jaw, something almost… uncertain.

you tear your gaze away before he can catch you looking.

you were getting better at pretending it didn’t bother you.

maki still kept his distance, and you still kept yours.

the comments had almost stopped altogether now—a quiet truce neither of you spoke about. around the others, you let yourself laugh, tease, exist. jo’s shy smiles, yuma’s loud jokes, euijoo’s constant encouragement—it all chipped away at the heavy weight in your chest.

but when it came to maki, you held the line.

it was easier that way.

especially now, with the showcase only two weeks away. no one had time for personal problems. rehearsals were full-speed, no breaks, no excuses.

today was supposed to be a full run-through. it started fine—a few minor hiccups you handled without blinking. but halfway through the set, one of the amps blew out, sending a horrible crackle through the sound system.

then the lights glitched.

then jo’s bass strap broke clean off mid-song.

it spiraled faster than you could stop it.

you scrambled between the stage and the tech booth, trying to fix one disaster after another while nicholas and euijoo did damage control. everyone was frustrated. you could see it—the tension tight in their shoulders, the way yuma shook out his hands, the way jo wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

you could feel it like a weight on your skin. when nicholas finally called it for the day—his voice rough with exhaustion—you were left picking up the mess. most of the others drifted out, dragging their instruments and gear behind them, murmuring tired goodnights.

you stayed behind, crouched on the stage, coiling cables and locking equipment cases.

your body ached.

your head throbbed.

you were halfway through unplugging a monitor when you heard footsteps.

you didn’t even bother looking up.

probably one of the crew, checking to see if you needed help. instead, someone cleared their throat awkwardly. you looked over your shoulder to see a crew guy—a second-year you vaguely recognized—holding a bag of takeout.

“uh… this is for you,” he said, a little confused.

he held the bag out like it might explode.

you blinked, slowly standing up and wiping your hands on your jeans. “me?” you said.

he nodded. “yeah. someone told me to give it to the stage manager. had your name on it.”

you frowned, confused. you didn’t remember ordering anything. but sure enough, when you took the bag, there was a folded piece of paper taped to it.

your name scribbled across it in messy handwriting.

no message.

no signature.

just your name.

you pressed your lips together, heart thudding a little too fast.

you didn’t open the bag right away. you just clutched it awkwardly, glancing around the hall.

nicholas was packing up his drums, laughing tiredly at something euijoo said.

jo had already disappeared, yuma’s guitar case slung over one shoulder.

maki was across the room, sitting on one of the amps, lazily scrolling through his phone.

no one looked at you. no one acted like they’d just sent you dinner. you frowned slightly, confused. the crew guy who’d given it to you had already disappeared too. you had no idea who it was from.

still, the bag was warm in your hands. and after the day you’d had, you weren’t about to turn down free food.

you finished packing up your things, tucking the takeout carefully into your backpack, and headed home without another word.

your apartment was dark when you stumbled through the door.

you didn’t bother turning on the lights—just dropped your stuff in the entryway and kicked off your shoes. the bag of takeout was still clutched in your hand, the smell hitting you properly for the first time. it made your stomach twist painfully—you hadn’t even realized how hungry you were.

you sat down on the floor right there, pulling the bag open with tired fingers. inside was a neatly packed container of food. nothing fancy.

your heart squeezed a little.

you dug deeper and found a small folded napkin tucked into the side of the bag. you opened it half-expecting another note, but it was blank.

just the napkin.

whoever sent it didn’t want you to know. they just wanted you to eat.

you blinked hard, throat tightening for a second before you forced yourself to breathe through it. you picked up the fork, scooping a bite of food into your mouth.

it tasted better than it had any right to. you sat there on the floor, tired but somehow a little less heavy, eating quietly in the dark.

no music. no noise.

just you.

and a silent, invisible kindness that you didn’t know how to repay yet.

it was monday. five days until the showcase.

and it felt like the world was balancing on a wire that could snap at any second.

nicholas was already behind his drum kit, twirling his sticks with a frown you weren’t used to seeing.

euijoo hovered by the keyboard, adjusting his settings over and over again.

jo sat cross-legged on the floor, tuning and re-tuning his bass.

yuma was pacing near the amps, muttering to himself.

and maki—

maki leaned against the wall with his guitar slung over his shoulder, arms crossed.

watching everything.

watching you.

you dropped your bag by the stage, heart pounding harder than it should’ve been. you had a checklist a mile long:

mic checks, monitor levels, cable tests, backup batteries, light cues.

you hadn’t even taken your jacket off yet when maki’s voice cut through the hum of the room.

“you look like you’re about to cry already,” he said, loud enough for the others to hear.

you stiffened, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. you turned slowly, forcing a smile that felt glued to your face.

“good morning to you too, maki,” you said, voice light. because what else could you do?

he raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “just saying. if you break down before thursday, we’re screwed.”

“thank you for your concern,” you said sweetly, and shoved your bag under the tech table a little harder than necessary.

euijoo shot maki a look from across the room—subtle, but definitely annoyed.

nicholas banged his sticks together, trying to get everyone’s attention back. “alright,” nicholas said, voice a little too loud. “let’s run it from the top. we’ll do two full sets today if we can. no pressure.”

you swallowed hard and yanked your headset into place. you could do this. you had to do this.

still, even as you ran through your checklist, you could feel maki’s gaze lingering.

he wasn’t laughing.

he wasn’t smiling.

and for some reason, that made it worse.

you ignored him. you ignored everything but the work in front of you. but as rehearsal dragged on, the pressure built until you felt like your whole body was vibrating. one of the lights wouldn’t respond to the cue. the wireless mic kept cutting out. someone unplugged a monitor by accident.

and through it all, maki’s voice kept finding you.

“maybe if you actually knew what you were doing—”

“someone’s gotta teach you how to fix that faster—”

“at this rate, you’ll be the reason we bomb—”

each comment was like a pinprick under your skin.

small enough to brush off at first.

but they were stacking.

heavy.

nicholas called five. everyone scattered off. you and the crew got to fixing every fucking problem that went wrong, and five minutes turned into twenty-five minutes.

and just when you were calming down, here comes your favorite person on the whole fucking planet.

you don’t know what sets him off this time.

maybe you breathe wrong. maybe you blink at the wrong angle. whatever it is, maki latches onto it like blood in the water.

“didn’t realize clumsiness was a talent,” he says, after you accidentally drop a mic stand while resetting.

his voice is light, almost lazy—but every word lands like a slap.

nicholas mutters something under his breath from across the stage, trying to keep things moving.

euijoo flashes you an apologetic look.

jo and yuma awkwardly fiddle with their gear.

you pretend you don’t feel the heat crawling up your neck.

you keep working. and maki keeps going.

“seriously, at this rate, we’ll be lucky if the stage doesn’t collapse.”

your hands shake around the cable you’re coiling.

you force yourself to breathe evenly.

“maybe you should stick to handing out water bottles or something,” he adds, voice low and mocking.

you slam the cable down without meaning to.

it rattles loudly against the metal floor.

everyone stops.

the silence is thick and ugly.

your throat burns.

your vision blurs.

your whole body buzzes with rage and shame, a horrible mix you can’t untangle.

you don’t want to cry.

god, you don’t want to.

but the tears are already spilling over, hot and furious.

you scrub at your face with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, humiliated.

“leave me the fuck alone,” you snap, voice cracking.

it sounds pitiful even to your own ears.

maki steps back like you hit him. he looks…wrong. not smug. not triumphant. just stunned. and maybe—for the first time—scared.

“chill, i didn’t—” he starts, but you cut him off.

“just shut up, maki,” you choke out, grabbing your things.

you push past him, bumping shoulders hard, and disappear backstage.

you lock yourself in a storage closet.

sit on a crate. bury your face in your hands.

it’s not just him. it’s everything.

the stress, the pressure, the way you’ve been trying so hard for so long just to be enough. and somehow maki always knows exactly where to dig the knife.

you breathe in shaky gasps, trying to wrestle yourself back under control. behind the door, you hear footsteps.

soft. hesitant.

a knock.

“…hey.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. “what,” you bite out.

pause.

“can i come in?”

you don’t answer. the door creaks open anyway.

maki steps inside, awkward and stiff, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. he closes the door gently behind him.

for a second, neither of you speaks.

then:

“i’m…” he clears his throat. “i’m sorry.”

you stare at him. not because you don’t believe him, but because you can’t remember the last time maki apologized for anything.

he rubs the back of his neck, not meeting your eyes. “i didn’t mean to— i wasn’t trying to—” he breaks off, frustrated. “you’re not useless,” he says finally, voice rough. “i was being a dick.”

you let out a bitter laugh, wiping your cheeks with your sleeve. “yeah. no kidding.”

maki flinches like you slapped him. he moves closer, then stops like he’s afraid of spooking you. “i’m not good at…” he gestures helplessly. “this. people. being…not an asshole.”

you snort, exhausted. “obviously.”

for a moment, you just stare at each other. the harsh fluorescent light hums overhead.

he looks wrecked—hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, shadows under his eyes. and he’s looking at you like you’re something precious he doesn’t know how to hold.

you don’t know what to do with that. so you look away.

he sits down on the floor in front of you, cross-legged. like he’s planting himself there and refusing to leave.

you don’t tell him to go.

after that, things shift.

slowly. awkwardly. like learning to walk after forgetting how.

maki still teases you. but it’s different now—lighter, edged with something almost fond.

you roll your eyes at him. but sometimes you smile too, against your will.

he starts carrying extra water bottles. tossing you one without a word during long rehearsals.

you start saving the good headphones for him. pretending it’s because he’s “too annoying to listen to otherwise.”

the others notice.

of course they notice.

euijoo nudges nicholas during meetings, grinning.

yuma whispers too loudly to jo, who giggles behind his hand.

you glare at them. maki flips them off without even looking up from his guitar.

and somehow—impossibly—it doesn’t feel bad.

it feels like breathing again.

you catch him friday night after everyone’s gone home, sitting on the edge of the stage, strumming quietly. you lean against the wall, arms crossed.

“you’re not terrible, you know,” you say.

he looks up, startled. then he grins—real and soft, not smug. “high praise coming from you.”

you roll your eyes. but your mouth twitches upward. you walk over, hesitating only a little before sitting next to him.

your shoulders brush.

neither of you move away.

you had thought the nerves would hit earlier. during soundcheck. or call time. or when you helped lay the last cable across the stage.

but somehow, it waited until now—ten minutes before showtime—to slam into you all at once.

you stood backstage, headset looped around your neck, hands clenched into fists at your sides.

your clipboard was tucked under your arm, crumpled and worn from how many times you’d flipped through it tonight. the band was huddled together a few feet away—nicholas twirling his sticks, euijoo stretching his fingers, jo tuning for the fifth time, yuma bouncing on his toes.

they looked nervous. but not like you. not like you were about to come apart at the seams.

you squeezed your eyes shut for a second, forcing yourself to breathe. you could do this. you had done all of this before.

rehearsals. tech runs. stage calls.

but this was different.

this was real.

“hey.”

you jumped slightly, snapping your eyes open. maki was standing in front of you, guitar slung across his back, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

he looked… calm. ridiculously calm.

“you good?” he asked, voice low enough that only you could hear.

you swallowed hard, forcing a nod. “yeah. totally. great.”

he tilted his head, studying you for a second longer than was comfortable. then he shifted his weight, glancing over his shoulder toward the others.

“you know,” he said casually, “you’re more stressed out than the people actually performing.”

you huffed out a weak laugh. “thanks. that makes me feel so much better.”

maki cracked the smallest grin—quick, barely there, but real. he stepped closer, lowering his voice even more.

“i’m serious,” he said. “you’ve already done everything. there’s nothing else to screw up now.”

you opened your mouth to argue—because there was always something that could go wrong—but he cut you off.

“you kept this whole thing from falling apart. rehearsals, equipment, keeping yuma from throwing his guitar at jo…” he paused, smirking when you let out a choked laugh. “you did that. you.”

you stared at him, thrown off balance. he never talked to you like this.

not before.

not even after everything that happened.

“why are you being nice to me?” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

maki shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. like he hadn’t spent the last two months making your life harder than it had to be.

“because you deserve it,” he said simply. “and because i don’t want you running off five minutes before we play.”

you rolled your eyes, but the knot in your chest loosened just a little. you hugged your clipboard tighter to your chest, trying to will yourself to believe him.

he bumped your shoulder lightly with his own.

“hey. look at me.”

you hesitated, then tilted your head up. his eyes—dark, sharp, familiar—were steady on yours.

“you’ve got this,” he said, softer this time. “seriously. we’re lucky you’re here.”

your throat tightened again, but not in the way it had earlier — not like you were about to cry.

this time, it felt different.

steady. grounding.

before you could say anything back, a stagehand waved from the wings, giving you the two-minute warning.

you blinked, snapping back into focus. you nodded sharply and turned toward the others, calling out the final checks. and just before he followed the rest of the band toward the stage entrance, maki paused.

he leaned in, voice low and teasing against your ear. “don’t cry from stress. i’ll laugh.”

you snorted, shoving him lightly toward the others. “shut up and go.”

he grinned—real and wide and easy—and disappeared into the shadows with the rest of them.

you stood there for a second longer, heart hammering, the weight in your chest finally lifting.

you weren’t alone in this. not anymore.

you adjusted your headset, squared your shoulders, and called the first cue.

the second they played the last chord, the stage lights dropped and the room exploded into cheers. you barely had time to process it before nicholas came barreling offstage, red hair plastered to his forehead, huge grin splitting his face.

“holy shit,” he gasped, immediately pulling you into a hug so tight you thought your ribs might crack. “we did it!”

“nico, juju, you killed it!” you laughed, patting his back as he swung you in a circle.

euijoo stumbled after him next, still catching his breath, his brown hair sticking up everywhere. he didn’t even say anything—he just leaned his entire body weight into you like a human pillow.

“i’m dying,” euijoo mumbled into your shoulder.

you laughed as you shoved him off lightly. “you guys were insane.”

“you sounded so good,” kazuha said, popping up beside you, practically bouncing in her sneakers. “like, i knew you guys were good, but that was insane.”

harua nodded, hands jammed into the pockets of his hoodie, a lazy grin on his face. “nicholas almost fell off his stool though.”

“i did not,” nicholas shot back, mock-offended. “i recovered. it’s called being a professional.”

“right, right,” harua teased, bumping his shoulder against yours. “very professional.”

you laughed, feeling the kind of high that only came after surviving something huge together. they were all sweaty, messy, loud—but they looked so happy it made your chest ache. you were about to say something when you felt someone step up beside you. you turned—and almost stumbled.

it was maki.

his black hair was pushed back, messy from the stage lights and sweat, his guitar slung carelessly across his back. he looked unfairly good for someone who had just screamed his lungs out for an hour.

for a second, he just stared at you. his hooded eyes unreadable, mouth set in a tight line.

“hey,” he said finally, voice rough.

“hey,” you echoed, feeling suddenly way too aware of yourself.

he shifted a little, like he was nervous. his fingers twitched against the strap of his guitar.

“i, uh,” he started, then stopped, glancing at nicholas and euijoo, who were pretending very badly not to eavesdrop.

he scowled and turned his attention back to you. “i just wanted to say… thanks,” he said, low. “for everything. like — really. we would’ve been screwed without you.”

you blinked, caught off guard by how serious he sounded. maki was many things — snarky, competitive, impossible sometimes — but he wasn’t fake.

“you guys did all the work,” you said, smiling a little.

he shook his head. “nah. you kept it together. even when i was… you know.” he grimaced slightly. “being an asshole.”

you laughed under your breath. “you were pretty bad.”

his mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile. then he ducked his head for a second, almost shy.

“so,” he said, kicking at the ground. “i was wondering if, maybe, after the after party… if you wanna go out with me?”

you barely had time to react before–

“she’s busy,” nicholas cut in loudly, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “busy going on a date with you.”

yuma, who had just wandered over, snorted so loudly it echoed backstage. “bro, you’re sweating more now than you were on stage,” he said, practically doubled over laughing.

maki turned bright red, glaring at them like he was weighing whether murder was a reasonable option. you bit your lip hard to keep from laughing—not at maki, but at how genuinely flustered he looked.

maki muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “i’m gonna kill them” before focusing back on you. his voice was quieter now, just for you. “i’m serious. do you wanna go out with me?”

you felt your heart skip in your chest—and this time, it wasn’t just the post-show adrenaline. you smiled—small, a little shy. “yeah,” you said. “i do.”

maki exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. his mouth pulled into this crooked, boyish smile that made your stomach flip.

“good,” he said.

nicholas and yuma immediately burst into obnoxious cheering, harua and kazuha high-fiving like they’d just witnessed history.

euijoo laughed quietly, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“this is so embarrassing for you,” yuma teased maki gleefully.

“shut up,” maki muttered without any heat, still looking at you like you were the only person in the room. “after party first,” he added, voice low, a little more confident now. “then our date.”

you grinned, your heart racing. “deal.”

and somehow, through all the noise and laughter and chaos of backstage, it felt like you and maki were standing in your own little world:

quiet, real, just beginning.

#jpop #kpop #ujuinluv #&team #andteam #&team x reader #&team x you #&team fluff #&team angst #&team maki #andteam maki #maki &team #maki andteam #maki hirota #hirota riki #hirota maki #maki maus #enemies to lovers #maki enemies to lovers

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