#next step is going to be thinking through

[carnalcrows]

STAY QUIET

pairing: rockstar! male OC x male reader [faceclaim]

synopsis: The scandal should’ve ended with damage control. But when the video keeps resurfacing—and the trail leads back to a grudge older than Jiho’s debut—you realize this was never about bad PR. It was personal. Now you're spiraling, Jiho’s not letting go, and someone’s about to find out what happens when a scandal turns into strategy.

content warnings: 18+, idol/manager dynamic, bottom male reader(he’s tired, ok), jiho is younger and terrifyingly in control, mild yandere energy, fingering, p in a (reader receiving), possessive behavior in soft lighting, revenge plot, workplace betrayal, low-key emotional blackmail, they catch the guy but at what cost. also: sheets were changed after, i'm not a monster.

word count: 2.5k [pt 1 here]

You don’t tell anyone he stayed.

No one asks.

When you return to work the next morning, your pass still works, but you notice two things before you’ve even cleared the lobby.

Your name is no longer on the artist schedule.

The lady at the front desk doesn’t look you in the eye.

The building smells like cheap cologne and too much coffee. Somewhere upstairs, Jiho is probably already in makeup. You’re not technically supposed to be there, not on paper, but no one told you not to show up, just like no one said the scandal was real. Just like no one ever tells you anything directly.

You keep your head down and head for the second floor, hoping the PR director’s still out at the brand meeting.

She’s not.

She’s waiting in the boardroom with two people you don’t recognise and a company-issued iPad pulled up to the paused frame of the video.

You blink once. Twice.

“Have a seat,” she says. Not unkind. But definitely not kind.

You sit.

The man beside her—suit, subtle luxury watch, no name tag—leans forward like he’s about to explain a security breach, not your job’s slow death.

“We’ve reviewed the clip. It’s clear there was physical contact that could be interpreted as inappropriate.”

You exhale slowly through your nose. “It was a collar.”

He nods like that’s tragic.

“We’re not here to accuse you. But the clip didn’t come from an audience member or a fan. It was internal. Shot from the floor’s restricted side angle. Only ten or so staffers have access.”

You freeze.

“You’re saying it was leaked on purpose?”

He doesn’t answer. That’s not his job.

The PR lead clicks her nails against the screen. “What we need from you right now is stability. Don’t escalate. Don’t comment. Don’t reach out to Jiho directly, even privately.”

“Why?” you ask, despite knowing better.

She tilts her head. “Because this isn’t about what happened anymore. It’s about what people think happened. And what they want to believe next.”

You leave the meeting with your jaw locked and your hands shaking.

The elevator’s slow. The hallway feels tighter than usual. Your phone buzzes once.

It’s Jiho.

Where are you?

You type out: Don’t. Not right now.

Then delete it. Then type it again. Then delete that too.

The elevator stops on the rehearsal floor. The doors open.

Jiho’s standing there.

He’s alone.

Hood up. Cap low. A water bottle dangling from his fingers like he forgot to let go.

You step back into the corner of the elevator without meaning to.

He doesn’t get in.

Just tilts his head. “Come with me.”

You should say no.

You don’t.

You’re not sure if it’s gravity or muscle memory. All you know is that by the time you’re halfway down the hallway, trailing a few steps behind him like it’s still your job, your pulse is up and your mouth is dry.

You don’t ask where he’s taking you.

Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe it’s just easier to let him lead than to admit you’ve lost control of the narrative—of your job, of this… whatever this is. You just follow Jiho through the corridor like you’re still the one managing him. Like you’re not the scandal the company’s hoping will quietly phase out.

He doesn’t speak until the elevator doors close behind you.

Then: “They told you to stay away from me?”

You don’t answer.

He tilts his head, smiling like it’s funny. “So why are you here?”

You give him a look. “You asked.”

“That was a test.”

You scoff. “Of course it was.”

The elevator dings on the basement level. Not parking, not storage. The old staff lounge—the one the company stopped using after a remodel. It’s empty now, lights dim, couch still there with a rip in the armrest and one of Taeyang’s old hoodies folded like someone meant to come back for it.

Jiho walks in like he owns the place.

He sits. Doesn’t gesture for you to do the same. Just watches as you hover in the doorway like you’re waiting for a better option.

“What is this, Jiho?”

He shrugs. “Time alone.”

You press your fingers to your brow, exhausted. “You really don’t care, do you? About the fact that this could ruin your reputation, your future—”

“You.”

The word cuts through your sentence like a knife.

You stare.

He leans forward, elbows on knees, fingers laced. “It’s not about me. It’s not even about the company anymore. They’re not scared because I touched your collar. They’re scared because they think I might do it again.”

You’re quiet.

He continues. “They saw something they weren’t supposed to see. So did everyone else. That’s the problem. That I looked at you like that. That you looked back.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.”

You open your mouth. Close it.

He stands slowly. Walks over until he’s just in front of you, blocking the doorway. Not touching. But close enough that your brain short-circuits the idea of leaving.

“I’m not going to make you do anything,” he says, voice low. “I don’t need to.”

You flinch. “What does that mean?”

Jiho looks at you like it’s obvious.

“It means I already have you.”

You don’t remember when you started shaking. Only that you’re still shaking twenty minutes later, in the stairwell, back against cold concrete, your phone buzzing in your pocket.

You answer on the third ring.

It’s Doyun.

“Hey,” he says casually. “You ghosting me or something?”

You glance at the wall across from you. Your brain’s still spinning. “I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, I figured. PR’s been sprinting across the building since 9 a.m. I think someone cried.”

You rub your eyes. “Did they say anything?”

“Not officially. But you know how this place works. The stylists know everything before management does.”

You wait

Doyun exhales. “They think it came from inside.”

You go still.

“The clip,” he clarifies. “Not a fan. Not a leak through press. It was shot from the side—restricted angle. One of the old camera hallways that’s staff-only now.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“Was it… recent?” you ask, slowly.

“No clue. But it was posted through a dummy account with a weird handle. Someone’s been watching for a while, maybe.”

The hallway feels colder now. Too still.

Doyun hesitates. “You think Jiho knew?”

The question hangs in the space between you. You don’t know how to answer it. You don’t even know if you want to.

“No,” you say. “Probably not.”

Doyun doesn’t push. “Yeah. Probably not.”

But he doesn’t sound convinced.

And you aren’t either.

You’re called in on a Thursday.

No warning. Just a message from the assistant coordinator that says "9:45 a.m., 3rd floor. Bring your badge." You don’t ask what it’s about. You already know.

The room’s smaller this time. No full boardroom. Just the head of artist management, a legal rep, and your new handler—some fresh-faced guy from planning who speaks in phrasing like “potential optics challenges” and “staff-artist ambiguity threshold.”

They don’t ask you what happened.

They ask what you’re willing to say on record.

You sit there, palms flat against your jeans, wondering how the hell this became your life.

You don’t name Jiho.

You don’t need to.

They tell you that "a quiet, internal phase-out" might be the best path forward. You ask what that means. They say you'll still get paid. You ask how long. They don’t answer.

Then they tell you a second clip has been posted.

It’s shorter than the first. Just three seconds. From a different angle—shakier, a little out of focus.

But it’s still you.

Still Jiho.

He’s brushing past you in a hallway, hand grazing your back. It could be nothing. It is nothing. But the caption under it says:

“so they’re still seeing each other huh 💅🏻”

It has thirty thousand likes in under an hour.

You ask if they’ve traced it.

They say no.

You ask if Jiho’s seen it.

They don’t answer that either.

You leave the office with your head pounding.

You don’t go home. You don’t go to the studio. You end up at a small café four blocks away, the kind of place where no one looks at you twice if you stay too long and don’t order a second drink. You sit in the back corner with your phone face down and your thoughts crawling like ants in your skull.

You don’t know how long you’re there before someone sits across from you.

You don’t have to look up to know who it is.

“I was followed,” Jiho says quietly.

You look up then. He’s not wearing a mask. No hat. Just a hoodie and glasses and that blank expression that always looks like he’s either thinking too much or nothing at all.

“By who?”

“I don’t know.”

He sips from a plastic cup that you didn’t see him buy.

“They weren’t close. Just enough for a blurry shot. They didn’t care what I did. They just wanted to see where I went.”

You don’t speak.

Jiho leans in, elbows on the table.

“I went to see you.”

You close your eyes.

“You knew that would happen.”

“I hoped it would.”

“You—” your voice is too sharp, too loud. You swallow. Start again. “You’re being followed. And you still came here?”

He nods. “Now they know where to look.”

Your chest tightens.

“Jiho,” you whisper, “what are you doing?”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then: “I’m making it impossible for them to erase you.”

---

You’re half-asleep when Doyun calls.

It’s not unusual—he’s the kind of person who only remembers you exist when the world’s ending. But this time, his voice isn’t teasing. It’s quiet. Measured.

“I know who leaked the clip,” he says.

You sit up immediately.

There’s silence on the line. Then: “His name’s Jisoo. Does that ring a bell?”

You close your eyes. “Yeah.”

Trainee. Cut just before debut. Replaced by Jiho.

You’d heard whispers, back when you joined—something about missed rehearsals, a bad attitude, internal tension. No one ever said it out loud, but everyone knew: Jiho took his spot.

Doyun exhales. “Apparently he still had access to the system. He’s been reposting the video from a buried staff login. PR’s keeping it quiet while they figure out how far it goes.”

You rub your eyes. “Why are you telling me?”

“Because I think he’s not done. And because I saw Jiho earlier. He’s not doing great.”

You freeze. “What does that mean?”

“I mean,” Doyun says carefully, “he looked like someone who’s about to make a problem permanent.”

You hang up without saying goodbye.

You find Jiho in the old green room. The one they stopped using after the remodel. He’s sitting on the floor, hoodie up, guitar untouched beside him. He doesn’t look surprised when you walk in.

“They know,” you say. He doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”

You close the door behind you. “You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want you involved.”

“You got me fired,” you snap. “No,” he says. “They tried. I stopped them.” 

That shuts you up.

You sink into the chair across from him. The air between you is still sharp, brittle.

“Why did he do it?” Jiho finally looks at you. “Because I got his spot.”

“That was years ago.” He shrugs. “Some people hold grudges better than they hold choreography.”

You almost laugh. Almost.

Then: “We need proof.” Jiho blinks. “We already have it.”

“Yeah,” you say, “but we’re not the ones holding the company leash.”

The plan is messy.

You dig through the backend system and find the last IP log-in. Then you run a bait file through it—an early version of a sponsorship contract with a fake date and Jiho’s name highlighted like something’s off. Then you sit back and wait.

It doesn’t take long.

Thirty-seven minutes later, the file’s been opened. Duplicated. Shared to a Discord server you didn’t even know existed.

You bring it straight to legal.

They call you back the next day.

“It’s done,” they say. “We’ve locked him out. He won’t be bothering anyone again.”

You expect that to feel better.

It doesn’t.

You don’t even knock. He opens the door like he was already standing behind it.

Jiho’s not surprised. Not smiling, either. Just calm, quiet, eyes flicking over your face like he already knows why you’re here.

You walk in.

He closes the door behind you—slowly. No words. No questions. Just lets the silence stretch until it turns into something else.

Then: “Take your shoes off.”

You do.

You’re not even halfway through the hallway before he’s got a hand on your jaw, turning your face to his, breath warm across your lips.

“I’m not going to ask what this is, Hyung,” Jiho says, voice low. “I already know.”

And you should respond. You should say something—something level, something safe—but the way he looks at you strips that instinct clean. So you just nod.

That’s all he needs.

He has you stripped down before your head even hits the pillow. Every movement is intentional. Every touch calculated.

He kisses like it’s not optional. Like it’s permission and punishment all at once. Your pulse spikes the second his hand slips beneath your thigh, pulling you open, making space for him.

“Hold still,” Jiho says, just above your ear.

You try. You fail.

He moves slowly—not for your comfort, but for his own satisfaction. Like he wants to feel every inch of your body adjust around his cock. Like stretching you out means something more than just prep—it means possession.

The first thrust is too much. The second is worse. The third has you gasping, your fingers twisting in the sheets, legs trembling under the pressure of his pace.

Jiho doesn’t slow down.

He stays close—pressed to your chest, hips moving in a steady rhythm that makes it hard to think, let alone speak. His breath is hot against your throat. His grip unshakable.

“You feel that, Hyung?” he whispers. “That’s me.”

You groan—half pleasure, half disbelief.

He presses deeper. His body locks into yours like muscle memory, like a song he’s played a hundred times but only now gets to hear out loud.

You’re already close—your spine bowing, your mouth slack, your vision buzzing at the edges—and when he pulls your leg up over his hip, the angle makes everything shatter.

You’re gone.

You come like your body’s been waiting for it all week—hips stuttering, breath caught, eyes shut tight—and Jiho doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking you through it, pace tight and focused, until he’s cursing into your neck and spilling inside you with one final thrust that leaves your whole body pulsing.

He doesn’t pull out right away.

Just stays there.

Breathing hard.

Chest rising against yours.

Then he lifts his head. Looks down at you. Quiet. Sweaty. Still a little smug.

“You’re mine,” he says again, voice hoarse.

And this time, you don’t even try to deny it.

Later, you lie there tangled together, skin damp, hair in your eyes, breath slowly evening out.

Jiho’s arm is thrown across your waist, lazy but possessive.

“You think they’ll still try to split us?” you ask.

He exhales against your collar. “They can try.”

You close your eyes.

For the first time since it all started, you believe him.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

Taglist: @axetivev @yyuinaa @zaynesyumei @sageofspades @onyxmango @puccigucii @the-ultimate-librarian @sooobiinn @sooniebby @i2innie @tintenka1@timaas-blog @darlinqvi @horrorsbeyondreality @rednugget @lysanderplume @leron1108 @kauo-writez @the0ishere @calgurl @kissenturine @bleedingbl0ssom @gayaristocrat @hyppernovva [comment to be added, or send an ask]

[windownextdoor]

RENOVATIONS

sfw + nsfw + plot + simon riley x fem!reader wc: 1.3k wanting independence, you buy a home. yes, it was a fixer-upper. but, who said your neighbor couldn't help? pt. 2

home depot was...

something else, you described it.

could barely look around without a man coming up and seeing if you needed help or wanted to ask you what you were doing that you needed such tools; just a sander and a bauer drill.

"sugar, what are you doing with such tools? your man ain't here to help ya out?" the employee said condescendingly.

fucking men and trying to mansplain shit.

you were trying to be polite, "uh, sir, i'm fine. just trying to look around-"

"how about you come back with your man? he'll know what to get for whatever you're doing, alright sugar?"

you just stared at him. stared at him because who has the audacity to be misogynistic in the 21st century?

see, you were about to tell him off, shout loudly that he should go fuck off and stick his fist somewhere where it doesn't shine.

until a very familiar, a very deep voice was directly behind you.

"honey, you find what you needed?"

simon.

you turned around to find him, a little too close for people who just met the day before. shoulders directly in front of your face and his eyes on the employee who just wouldn't leave you the fuck alone.

also, honey?

your mouth was slightly ajar, but you closed it and nodded your head. "yeah...i did." you said, looking back at the employee.

the employee who was as stupid as ever, decided to start talking again. "you must be her husband! see, i told her to wait for you to make sure you got the right tools and whatnot, but-"

"now why the fuck would you do that?" simon's voice was dangerous, but oh-so tranquil. like he knew the employee wouldn't think about doing this again.

the employee just blinked and stuttered his next words a little.

"what was that? because the next words out of your mouth better be an apology to my wife."

my wife. goddamn did that sound good coming from his mouth.

"a-ah, yes, i'm so sorry ma'am. very sorry, my apologies." that apology was quick and certain as he walked away from both of you.

a breath you hadn't known you'd been holding left you as you turned around to your neighbor. "god- thank you so much for that. he would not leave me alone."

"just being a misogynistic prick." simon rasped, his eyes went to the two tools in your hands.

"drill and sander? fixing that porch o'yours?"

you smiled up at him, "yes sir, that i am. i know we only exchanged a few words but you were right. i am really excited to fix this house." his eyes darkened ever-so-slightly at the 'sir'. you didn't know what that was about.

you looked at his hands; empty. "what are you here for, then?" you asked.

"nosy neighbor." he said gruffly, but there was an upturn in his lips. "just here for trash bags. out of them."

you nodded, the silence filled the isle. a comfortable one. until- an idea struck you.

"want to help me out a little, simon?" you asked, a pleading tone in your voice.

"oh lord." was all simon said before getting swept up in your home depot shopping spree.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

he helped you put the planks of new wood into your small car, along with the two tools and nails you'd purchased.

"i'll meet you back at your house." simon said, closing your trunk.

you raised an eyebrow.

"you wanna help with this home renovation?" you say, perplexed at his assertion.

"wouldn't be good neighbor if i didn't help, would i, love?"

jesus fuckin' christ, his accent and rough voice could probably make you come on the spot-

you just laughed a little, "whatever you say, simon. i'll make us some coffee, because lord knows we are going to need it."

he gave you a look, his eyes. they say a lot. they're pretty, and tell a story. you just don't know what story.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

back at your house, you stepped through the door with simon trailing behind you. you both got home at about the the same time, since his car was basically following yours.

the sigh that left his mouth was disgruntled.

"jesus christ, woman, are you sure you're livin' 'ere?"

you planted your hand at your chest, a mocking shock of offensiveness. "don't be mean to my house! it's a work in progress. she just...isn't furnished yet."

he opened your fridge. "nor stocked with food yet." he said, closing it and looking at you with a look as he tilted his head.

you tilted your head back at him, hands on your hips. giving him the same look.

"don't get bratty with me, honey." he said, using the nickname from earlier on you, the way he said it was rough. "get some food in here." he said before walking around your island to sit on one of chairs you did have.

you rolled your eyes and started making coffee.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

music played from your speaker sat on your driveway as you and him pulled the old, rotten boards up and threw them in a pile.

after that, the real work started. fresh, new wooden boards, nails and your drill and hammer. sweat dripped down the sides of your temple as you and simon worked hand in hand, surprisingly. he needed nails, you knew which ones. you needed a piece of wood, he was already handing you one.

you and him were about seventy-five percent done, when you went into the house to wet two rags and came back out with them, handing one to simon. "i underestimated how fucking hot it would be out here." you swore, putting the cold, wet rag on your forehead, which felt absolutely heavenly.

simon laughed. a small, but full laugh, as he put the wet washcloth also on his forehead, standing up to see the progression. "oh, look at that. almost done, aren't we?"

you smiled at him then looked at the porch, yes, the porch was almost done. first home change and it looked pretty fucking nice.

you spoke, "20 bucks says we get this done today."

simon immediately retorted, "how about a beer says we get this done today? cause i ain't takin' your money, love." he says with a small smirk.

"but, i was going to pay you for helping me-"

"and tha' money would end up back in your hands. not taking money from you. today was nice, and i offered." simon said with a tilt of his head.

you sighed, your shoulders shrugging a little. "okay, if that's fine with you." you stretched and put the washcloth back on your forehead, letting it rest there for a moment before pulling it off. "let's get this porch done, then." you said with a small, tired smile.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

the sun was setting before simons and yours eyes. what a pretty view. you and him shared one last beer of yours as you promised to get more at the store later on in the week.

you and him sat on the two steps that lead up to your new porch. you gave the last of the beer over to him, "thanks for your help today, simon. it was really fun. very neighborly of you."

he laughed and shook his head as he downed the rest of the beer, "no need for thanks, just happy to help. don't do much, so it was a nice change of routine for an old man like me."

you rolled your eyes, and shoved his shoulder lightly, "bee-keeping age." you reminded him.

as he gruffly chuckled at your statement, your phone pinged. you grabbed your phone out of your pocket and saw it was from one of your friend from college, ava. a simple text of 'how's that house doing?'

you smiled at your phone and opened the camera app. without asking him, you took a picture of you and him with the new porch in the background, you smiling and simon holding the empty beer bottle as his forearms rested on his knees. catching simon off-guard.

"thanks." you said before sending the picture to your friend, a small brazen smile on your face.

simon just laughed, mumbling the words, "cheeky girl."

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

pt. 3 (soon!)

[owe-143]

☆Soda Pop☆

A/N: I couldn't help myself PLEASE-😭🖐🏽 This is rlly short too💔 I just wanted to write for him

Warnings: None

Fluff☁⭐

Jinu x reader!

“You know, staring at me isn't gonna make me talk” You say as your eyes stay focused on your phone. The balcony, usually a place of solo relaxation, turned into a non scheduled interview. You're sat on a blanket, taking a sip from your soda can

Jinu blinks, his head dipping to the side. He hops down to the balcony from his crouching position on the railings. “Maybe I'm trying to read your mind”

“And how's that going? ”

“You're not funny,” Jinu huffed despite the grin forming on his face. You finally decide to look at him. He was bothering you all week. Asking you questions. Following you around. Simply because he discovered you were a close friend of Rumi's

You were childhood friends. And you were the only person, besides Celine, who knew about her other half. So of course you were aware of the Saja Boys not really being a boy group. She trusted you. You'd never let's anything or anyone break that trust

“If she isn't coming to meet you, ” You speak again “She clearly doesn't want anything to do with you” You continue scrolling hoping he'll take the hint. Obviously not. You have to admit, he is stubborn. “Are you a demon as well? Is that why you're so closed off?” He asks. You roll your eyes ��No I'm not. And Rumi being one isn't your business” You snap back

Jinu chuckles. A silence sits between you both. He plopped down right next to you. “What're you watching?” He tries to peek but you turn the phone off. He stares at the black screen for a moment “You are almost as secretive as your friend” He hums, thoughtful. You shrug, picking up the soda can again

Jinu snatched the drink from your hand. He finished it in one go, throwing the can back at you. “What the-! “ You punch his arm. The force is aggressive and he whimpers. “Ouch! Seriously? “ He pouts. “Yeah, seriously!” You respond “Can't you go away! Gosh, you're so annoying!”

“Says the one who punched me!” He snaps back

“And I'll throw another one right at your pretty face”

Jinu opened his mouth to fight back but closed it again. His lips quirk up “You think I'm pretty?” The smug look on his face makes you growl. You stand, your fists clenched to your sides. You stomp back into your room, slamming the balcony door. He looks at you through the transparent barrier.

Jinu lifts his hand to forming an ‘L’ with his fingers on his forehead and sticks out his tongue. “How dare you-” You reach to pry the door open but he was gone the moment you looked away. You stepped out into the balcony again, leaning against the railing

You looked below for any sign of him but there was no one. You smiled in relief. You can finally relax now that he's left you alone. Before you make your way back inside, a soda can falls from your ceiling. You quickly catch it. You stare at the drink, realizing it's that dumb Saja Boys one. You look up

Jinu stood on your ceiling, his hands shoved into his pockets. “You're welcome” He says.

“I'm not drinking this” You retort

“So biased” Jinu jokes. He disappears before you can say anything more. The can feels heavy in your hand. You take one last look at it then head back into your room. “Whatever” You shrug, opening the drink and taking a sip. He was definitely the nuisance of the century

But, It's the thought that counts.

[sydwritess]

Talk Shows and Love

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: You were invited on the Jimmy Fallon show to talk about the new movie you starred in 'Leave the world behind'. You invite your boyfriend, Lando with you to watch from the crowd, what you didn't expect was him to show up with the whole circuit.

Second Person POV

Warning: swearing,

Notes: y/f/n = your best friend's name

You, Lando and your best friends were out dress shopping for your big night tonight. Jimmy Fallon had graciously invited you on his show to talk about the new movie you starred in.

"Okay, but you have to try this one on." Your best friend said, holding up a big, baggy black dress.

Your smirked at her, took the hanger and went in your dressing room to change. It was pretty quick seeing how it was a pull over.

"Y/f/n." You call out.

"Come on! I bet it's so cute!" She says. You slowly walk out, and Lando and your best friend start laughing hard.

"I look like I'm about to follow some Amish guy back to his shop to help cut cheese or something!" Say, laughing with them. She laughs more.

Suddenly you see Lando walking towards you from the couch he was sitting on.

"I think it looks great. Nothing revealing, just... perfect." He says, wrapping his hands around your waist.

"Your cute, but no." You say, meeting his eyes through the mirror.

"Okay." Your friend said, coming back to the fitting room area. "This... is the one." She says with a grin.

"I'm scared." You joke. She holds up a black dress from behind her.

You took it and immediately went to the dressing room

It was a thinned strapped, black dress, low cut, with a corset chest and waist area, somewhat see-through at the stomach, and tight fitted around the thighs, with some folded layers where the slit is. It was long at the back, enough to drag across the floor slightly.

You were looking at yourself in the mirror when suddenly the curtain opened and your friend came into the space.

"Y/f/n!" You say.

"What? You were fully dressed." She said.

"What if I wasn't?"

"Well that wouldn't be a problem for me." Lando said from outside. You and your friend burst out laughing.

"Okay but can I just say..." She pauses looking at you. "You look really pretty in this one." She says.

"You think?"

"Oh, I think." She says

You both step out of the room. When Lando see's you he immediately stands up.

"Woah." He says. You couldn't help but smile.

"Okay, your definitely getting this one." Your friend says, looking at you.

"I know. I think this is it." You say. Your turn over to see Lando still starring at you. Mouth slightly open, eyes looking you up and down.

"You alright?" You ask.

"You look fucking good." He says. You laugh.

"Thanks." You say, hugging him. You walk back into the dressing room, changing out of the dress and going to pay for it.

"Okay, what's next?" Lando asks.

"I have to get down to the studio so they can do my makeup and everything." You say.

"I have to go, but I'll see you there." Your friend says, you wave goodbye, and go out to Lando's car. He starts driving down the road, going down to the Fallon studio.

We got there quickly, Lando parked the car, you got your dress out and walking to the back of the studio building.

"Ms. Y/l/n, right this way please." A security guard said, opening the door.

"Special treatment, yeah?" Lando said, walking in right behind you. You look back and smile at him quickly.

You followed the security guard down the long hallway, stopping in front of a door with your name on it.

You walk into the small room, seeing your stylist there waiting.

"Hi y/n." Rachel says happily.

"Hi, great to see you." You say. You walk back into the little dressing room, putting your dress on, and walking back out, sitting in the styling chair.

"So what are we thinking today?" She asks.

"I have no idea... Honestly, I don't think I want makeup." You say.

"Okay, do you mind if we do a little? You won't even notice it." She says.

"Yeah, that's fine." You smile.

She starts doing your makeup lightly, and quickly, before moving onto your hair, straightening it like your last show.

"Your all set." She says.

"Great thank you." You say, she nods and leaves the room, leaving you and Lando by yourselves.

"You look beautiful." He says, grabbing your hands gently.

"Thank you." You smile.

He leans in to you slowly, bringing on hand up to your cheek, gently kissing you.

"Your going to ruin my makeup." You smirk, mumbling against your lips.

"It's okay. You could always re-do it." He smirks. You laugh slightly.

"Why don't you go find your spot, I'll be out shortly." You say.

"Okay." He smiles, and walks out of the room.

You take one more look in the mirror before hearing a knock on your door.

"Come in." You say. The door opens and Jimmy walks in brightly.

"Y/n y/l/n! Great to see you again!" He says, hugging you.

"It's great to see you to! Can't believe i'm back here." You smile, hugging back.

"I know, I can't believe it either. Look I just wanted to say, 5 minutes before the show." He says.

"Great, I'll be right out." You say. He smiles and walks back out of the room.

You take one more look in the mirror, adjusting your hair before walking out, being directed to the side of the stage.

Jimmy sit's down, you watch as the cheering dies down from the other side of the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special guest here tonight, she's been on here plenty of times... everybody's true love." He says enthusiastically.

"Please welcome out Y/n Y/l/n!" He says happily, pointing out to the stage. You walk out at the crowd cheers loudly. Some people even standing.

You wave to crowd before sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk.

"Do you feel the love there?" Jimmy asks excitedly.

"I do, I do." You say, smiling. Eventually the crowd dies down.

"How's everything going? How- How's life going?" He asks.

"It's been great. It's been a while since I've been here, it's great to be back."

"Well it feels great to have you back. You were on here a couple of years ago, but then you've gotten the role for 'Leave the World Behind-'" He says, the fans start cheering again, and Jimmy laughs.

"I know, it was amazing but I'm glad to be taking a break now." You say.

"I know, it's great. And- and I see you have a couple of close supporters here with you to." He says, you look at him confused before looking into the stands, where you see Lando and all of his friends sitting there, waving.

"Oh, well isn't that just wonderful." You say.

"Not thrilled?"

"Eh. It's alright." You joke. He starts laughing.

"Okay, do you mind... if we jump right into things here?" He asks, holding up some cards.

"I don't mind." You say.

"Great, so we have some questions from some fans here."

"Are they questions from yourself?" You joke.

"No- maybe some of them." He chuckles, the crowd laughs.

"Okay, so your first question... In the scene where you dodge all of the self driving Tesla's, was that real or greenscreen?" He asks.

"That was real."

"What? No way." He says shocked. You nod and smile.

"Can you describe it to us?"

"Yes, so basically I took a month's worth of training courses for that. They even closed off that specific road for it. And I had someone in the car with me." You say, Jimmy nods along.

"They had a bunch of Tesla's lined along the road, but parked in the spots where I was supposed to dodge them. And I would drive really fast down the road and... some day's I did crash. But other's went well, and then to make it more real, before the scene, they got real tesla's with people driving them, so I could dodge them properly." You say.

"Wow, and you did crash?"

"Yeah, I did a couple of times, but I got the hang of it."

"What did that feel like to you?"

"Oh I felt amazing. I never got to drive that fast so it was really cool to me."

"Did you have like protection in the car, I mean, how- how did you not get hurt?" he asked.

"Yeah, we had everything, bars lining the interior, a suit everything to not hurt us."

"Well that's good. I mean no dying on set wonderful." He jokes.

"Very. Plus... I think if I died, Lando would kill someone." You laugh. You look up to see Lando smirking from his seat.

"Really? You think?"

"Oh definitely." You nod.

"And actually, when I first crashed. Oh my god... I was so fucking scared like."

"Oh am I not aloud to swear?"

"No, we'll cut it out." Jimmy laughs.

"Oh shit-" You say, and then catch yourself, moving the mic away from you. Shaking your head.

"Your okay. Your Y/n Y/l/n we've got you." He laughs. The room went quiet.

"So... after all of the practice, would you say your qualified for F1 driving now?" He asks.

"Oh yes, definitely. I truly think so." You say, putting your hands to your chest. Jimmy laughs.

"I mean, the more I drove, the less I crashed." You shrug.

"Would you say that your McLaren good?"

"Definitely McLaren good." You say.

"You should join Ferrari!" Someone shouts from the crowd. Everybody starts laughing.

"I mean, if they'll considered me, I'll take the offer." You smirk.

"So, can we get into the scenes a bit? I heard you had some trouble shooting one in particular." He says.

"The tooth scene?"

"Yes."

"Okay, yeah, that was... really, really fun." You say sarcastically. Jimmy laughs again.

"Do you mind walking us through it?"

"So basically when Charlie, who plays Archie, get's out of bed. He throws up blood. I was in the room with Julie, or Amanda, and I was like okay, this isn't bad. A little blood, whatever." You say, brushing it off, waving your hand down.

"But when it came to him pulling out his teeth, I didn't expect it to be so... gross. And when he started doing it, along with the sounds it made, I ran to the bathroom and started throwing up myself." You laugh.

"Oh my god! How many times did you have to re-shoot it?" He asks, leaning forward to you.

"At least three. I seriously don't know what came over me because I usually have good tolerance for that kind of stuff. But that was just... vile." You say.

"Wow." He laughs. "And did you have the same problem when he threw up in the living room, that scene?"

"No, I actually switched places with Julie, so instead of her running out to get Rose from the yard, I ran to get rose and Julie stayed inside." You say.

"Hey, whatever you have to do." He laughs. "Where they nice about it at least?"

"Super nice. Everyone was amazing, they were like 'are you okay?' 'do you need a break?' stuff like that. Really amazing team." You nod.

"That's great." He says.

You and jimmy continue to talk more, about the movie, what it came down to, the process, normal questions people have, and then you finally wrapped up.

"Thank you so much for joining us Y/n, we hope to see you again." Jimmy smiled.

"I hope to see you to." You say, and walk back off the stage, away from the roaring crowd. You walk back stage, surrounded by the crew, even some fans.

"You were great out there." One of the officer's said, He walked, behind you as you cut through the crowd of people.

You were making your way through when you see Lando come up to you from a different hallway.

"You were amazing." He said, grabbing your hand.

"Thanks." You smile. You both made your way outside, where you saw even more camera's and people.

"Okay! I need everyone to back up now! Make a path! If you don't you leave!" The security yelled, people started backing off to the side, so you could walk.

"Right this way y/n." He said, pointing as he walked next to you, putting his arm up so people wouldn't jump at you.

You three got through the crowd, as small as it was, it seemed bigger.

"Alright, go out the back entrance, it won't be busy back there." The guard said.

"Thanks." You say. You and Lando finish the walk to the car, both getting in.

"Jesus, you have more fans then me." He said, looking over at you.

"What can I say?" You shrug.

There was a moment of silence before he leaned over the middle to kiss you.

"Did you actually throw up?" He asked, mid kiss.

"Yeah. But we won't talk about it."

"Really? So all I have to do is spit out fake blood to scare you?" He says.

"Yeah, but let's not. You might be going to work with a black eye the next day." You smirk.

"Hm, deal." He says. He sat there for another moment, not moving the car.

"You look really beautiful." He says lowly.

"Thank you." You smile, looking over at him.

"But I still think you should have went with the first dress, not as revealing." He smirks.

"Don't you like revealing?" You tease.

"Yeah but... for my eyes only." He says, kissing you again. This time longer, and slower, before he drives off.

Hey loves! Got this idea from the movie 'Leave the World Behind' def recommend! Hope you like. Comment to be added to the tag list!

[lyricwritesprose]

"Aaaand now we get the fuck out of here," Clay said very quietly, and started walking. I fell in step beside him. The paramedic looked as if she was going to call after him, but Clay's pulled-up hood and scrunched posture may have discouraged her. Or else she wasn't sure what she had seen.

I was sure.

Look, Clay was my roommate. Right? And he intimidated me at first. Well over six feet tall with jet black hair and a profile to die for, green eyes that I swear change color with his mood like some teen wish fulfillment, muscles like a Greek statue under warm brown skin—he looks, on the surface, like a guy who could fold up a skinny nerd like me and stick me through a basketball hoop.

As time went on, it became subtly obvious—that was the least of the things he could do to me if he chose. He just didn't want to. He didn't want to pick a fight with anyone. He didn't want to pick a fight with Jared who made fun of him for belting "Let It Go" in the shower. (Does he have perfect pitch of fucking course he has perfect pitch. And really good tone quality, and a killer high note. Also I am not sure he knows how hot showers are supposed to be, because the steam just rolls out. Anyway.)

So there are a lot of things, including the one time we went down to the frat house and got tipsy (you would not believe the amount of alcohol), there was an odd trail of wildflowers the next morning where we crossed the grass on our way back—almost like someone had forgotten that flowers weren't supposed to sprout in his footsteps. He was careful-ish, but you don't live with someone and not see things.

This was the first time I'd seen him raise the dead, though.

We took several turns almost at random. As if to throw off anyone following us. "Any reason we can't just—zoop—vanish to wherever?" I asked in a low voice finally.

"I honestly don't know what that would do to you," Clay said. Voice equally low. "It looks like—just a sort of rainbow tunnel, to me. But I don't know what it is for you, and I don't want to hurt you."

Okay. Made sense.

"My mother told me that if I ever show you my true form, you'll actually catch on fire, even though I mostly just look—this, but moreso." Clay motioned to himself. "Of course, Mother had—sort of strained relationships with mortals even back when we interacted with them. They basically just called her The Maiden rather than use her name. I think she found it kind of hurtful? Although being widely recognized as the most terrifying thing in the room at least kept her out of idiotic fights over apples and things, which is worth its weight in gold."

Oh. Well. That explained the wildflowers. It was also one of the least reassuring facts I had ever absorbed. "So the reason you can bring people back from the dead—"

"Is that Dad will snarl a little bit about his bookkeeping, but he's not actually going to get angry angry. Yeah. It doesn't always work. Sometimes there's another power involved, and if I started a fight—yeah, I might win against someone my age, I've got the lineage and 'kind of everything to do with earth and soil' is a crazy strong dominion if you know how to work it—but typically they'd find a way to screw over the mortal as they lose, and that's usually worse. Than just letting death take its course. As much as that sucks. You're not freaking out."

I considered. "I think I am a little?"

"You're a Classics major, I expected you to freak out a lot."

"You've been going out of your way not to intimidate me ever since we met. I mean. I've told you a little bit about what happened in high school, you know how twitchy I was about bullying, and you not only made it clear that you weren't going to do that—you shielded me from the people who would, and you did it without ever throwing a punch. If this had happened freshman year, then yes, I would have lost it, but I've gotten to feel safe around you. I've—" I stopped.

"You've what?"

I looked at my shoes. "Picked-up-sort-of-a-crush," I admitted, "but I'm fine, it doesn't have to be a big deal or, or any kind of deal, half the campus has fallen for you at one point or another and mostly you've been fine just waiting for it to go away."

Clay stopped, and turned to face me. I swallowed. I come about to his shoulders. Have to look up to meet his eyes.

Which were very bright green, just right now. He pushed a strand of hair away from my eyes. "It—usually doesn't work. You know that. Something fucky happens and someone gets turned into a tree or a constellation."

I swallowed again. "It always ends between—mortals, too. One way or the other. No real happy endings, just—the best happy middle we can manage."

"Yeah. Yeah, I would—I'd like to try it, but—look, there are so many pitfalls, we have to make rules." He stroked the side of my face. It felt divine. In several senses.

"Talk about it back on campus?"

"Yeah. Let's go get the bus."

A passer-by yelled, "Get a room, assholes!" and then tripped on a dandelion growing through the pavement and ate shit spectacularly—no serious injuries, I didn't think, but he'd look like he did a round with Mike Tyson.

I barely noticed.

You've always had a sneaking suspicion that your friend was secretly a god pretending to be human, but you've never been able to prove it. Until they slipped up one day by doing something only a god could do.

[barnesonly]

── ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Lust ˖ ࣪ ⊹ ──

professor!bucky barnes x reader

summary: You’re a literature student. He’s your English professor — brilliant, composed, and entirely off-limits. But the more you write, the more he notices you. And what begins as admiration quietly unravels into something far more dangerous.

word count: 8,5k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, mutual desperation, age gap, dirty talk, praising kink, fingering, oral (m receiving), PiV, rough sex.

Part 4 | Previous Part

You slammed your dorm door a little too hard behind you. Not on purpose. But kind of.

Your bag slid from your shoulder, landing with a dull thud by your desk. You kicked your shoes off without bothering to untie them, paced once across the room, then sat on the edge of your bed—and stayed there.

Frozen.

Staring at your phone like it might blink first.

God.

What the fuck was that?

You hadn’t done anything. It wasn’t your fault some guy sat next to you, smiled, introduced himself like you were a normal person in a normal class—not someone tangled in a secret affair with the professor who’d stared daggers through him the whole lecture.

Not your fault.

Still—James didn’t even look at you when he left. Didn’t nod, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe in your direction. Just turned and walked out like you weren’t the girl he had whispered I love you to, had cooked dinner for, had kissed so softly the night before you thought your heart would burst.

Your stomach twisted.

Was he really mad?

Jealous?

The thought made your heart beat harder—frustration and confusion and something smug curling in your chest all at once.

Why would he be jealous?

You didn’t flirt. You didn’t even talk back. You were literally just sitting there, awkward as hell, trying not to make it worse.

But he was mad. Definitely.

You lay back on the bed with a groan, dragging a pillow over your face and letting out something between a scream and a laugh.

You should text him.

No. Fuck that.

You didn’t do anything wrong. You weren’t going to apologize for… what, being looked at? For breathing? For being his and not saying it out loud?

You weren’t going to chase him.

Not this time.

Still, your fingers hovered over your screen for way too long—over his name, the message bar, the unread silence that felt heavier by the second.

You threw your phone across the bed and grinned. Just a little.

Because if James Barnes was jealous?

Good. Let him stew in it for a while.

———

The next morning you turned the corner of the English building, clutching your travel mug and trying to walk slow enough that you wouldn’t be the first person in the classroom again. Your nerves had already done enough damage last night—spiraling into every version of Was he mad at me? Did I do something wrong?—and you weren’t about to make yourself an easy target for another cold shoulder.

Not today.

But of course, fate had a flair for cruel timing.

Because just as you passed the cluster of students lounging by the classroom door, he called out to you.

“Heyyy! Come here!”

Theo.

You blinked, surprised. He was leaning casually against the wall, surrounded by two other guys and a girl you recognized from one of your gen eds. All of them looked up when he waved you over.

You hesitated. But only for a second.

Because the truth was… you didn’t really have friends on campus. Not besides Sarah. And Theo didn’t seem that bad—just a little too friendly, maybe. But harmless.

You stepped toward the group.

“Hey,” you said, your voice more unsure than you meant it to be.

Theo smiled, shifting to give you space. “You heading to lecture?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just about to.”

He grinned. “Cool. We were thinking about hitting that bar just off campus later. You should come with.”

“Oh,” you blinked again. “Um—maybe.”

“You should. Bring your roommate if you want. Or not.” He chuckled. “It’ll be chill.”

You smiled, polite. “Yeah, sure. Sounds fun.”

And that’s exactly when you felt it. That drop in the air. That shift. Like something passed through the hallway and sucked the warmth right out of it.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Professor Barnes walked straight past the group—dark suit, jaw tight, stride purposeful—and didn’t even glance in your direction. Not a flicker. Not a twitch.

Like you weren’t standing there. Like you didn’t exist.

Your stomach flipped. Heat crawled up your neck.

Theo was still talking beside you, something about what drinks they were planning to order, but you couldn’t hear a word.

Your eyes followed James as he disappeared into the classroom, his shoulders tense, his hand clenching slightly around the stack of papers he carried.

“…he’s so annoying, isn’t he?”

Theo’s voice pulled you back into the moment. You blinked, realizing too late that you were still staring at the door James had walked through.

You turned to Theo, trying not to look as rattled as you felt.

He smirked, misreading your expression entirely. “Professor Barnes,” he added, jerking his chin toward the classroom. “Total hardass. Always gives us way too much homework for no reason.”

You forced a laugh. Just a little huff of air, nothing too revealing. “Right.”

He chuckled. “Bet he thinks this is the only class we’re taking. Like we don’t have lives.”

You didn’t respond.

Because you couldn’t.

Your jaw was tight with the effort it took not to snap, not to correct him, not to defend the man you’d had your legs wrapped around the other night. The same man who kissed you like you were made of glass. Who whispered “I love you” into your mouth like it meant something sacred. Who was now… cold, distant, and glaring daggers at Theo from inside the classroom.

You didn’t dare look back at the door again. You just gave Theo a faint nod and an even fainter smile.

“Yeah. I should probably head in,” you muttered.

And then you stepped away, leaving him mid-sentence, heart pounding as you crossed the threshold and stepped into the classroom.

There were already a handful of students scattered throughout the room, chatting quietly, flipping through notes, setting up their laptops. James didn’t look up when you stepped inside.

You kept your gaze down as you walked toward his desk, clutching the paper he’d assigned yesterday—neatly stapled, with your name at the top. Just like everyone else, you set it down without a word. Didn’t linger. Didn’t meet his eyes.

You felt his stare, though. Burning through you.

You turned away and made your way to your usual seat near the front. But instead of sliding into it like normal, you paused—just for a second—and glanced over your shoulder. Just enough to catch him.

He wasn’t looking at your paper. He was looking at you. Jaw tight. Brow tense. Hands still.

Jealous.

And god—god—you kind of loved it.

You settled into your chair, letting your bag drop softly to the floor. You pulled out a pen with careful ease, flipping open your notebook, pretending like you didn’t notice the heat of his stare still dragging over your shoulders.

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know what it did to you—seeing him like this. So composed on the surface, but brimming just beneath. That sharp, simmering edge of possessiveness, jealousy, frustration.

He didn’t know you’d spent the entire night thinking about him. That Theo meant nothing. That no one could ever mean anything the way he did.

The lecture hall buzzed with low conversation until James stepped up to the front, setting down his leather-bound folder with that familiar quiet authority. The moment he cleared his throat, the room hushed.

Your pulse ticked up. You sat up straighter.

Then—the door creaked open.

Theo.

He strolled in like it was no big deal, half-grinning as he made his way toward you again. And of course, of course, he dropped into the seat beside you with a casual little hey, like this was some meet-cute instead of the slowest unfolding death of your sanity.

But James?

He didn’t let it slide.

“You’re late, Mr. Reeves,” James said flatly, not even looking at him as he flipped open his notes.

Theo blinked, pausing mid-sit. “Oh—yeah, sorry, just lost track of time—”

“Time isn’t yours to lose in this classroom,” James snapped, still not raising his voice, but cutting clear through the air. “This isn’t a coffee shop. If you want to chat and drift in whenever you feel like it, I suggest transferring to a less demanding course.”

The room went dead silent. Every pair of eyes flicked to Theo.

And you.

And Theo just sort of… sat back. Awkward. Tense. Mutters an “okay, yeah, sorry, won’t happen again” under his breath.

You wanted to die.

You could feel the red crawling up your face, your ears burning, hands locked in place on your desk. It wasn’t directed at you, not really—but sitting right next to the target of James’s very obvious disdain made you feel like a spotlight had landed on your chest.

You could barely even look at James after that. Not when he finally started the lecture, not when he spoke like nothing had happened.

But you didn’t miss the quick glance he gave you.

Sharp. Possessive.

A flicker of something territorial buried beneath his otherwise controlled expression.

You looked away fast, heart pounding.

Oh, he’s mad.

The moment James dismissed the class, the room buzzed to life—chairs scraping, backpacks zipping, soft murmurs filling the space. You were still packing your things, and you barely had a moment to breathe before Theo turned toward you.

“Okay, what is this guy’s problem?” he muttered under his breath, voice tinged with annoyance as he nodded toward where James had already vanished through the side door.

You blinked, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Well… you were a bit late.”

“Yeah, like two minutes. Two,” Theo groaned, dramatically slinging his bag over his shoulder. “He’s always on my ass. It’s like he’s got something personal against me or something.”

You hummed, noncommittal, keeping your eyes on your notebook as you slid it into your bag. God, if only he knew.

Theo leaned a little closer. “Anyway—as I said bar tonight. Few of us are going. You should come. Seriously. Could use some backup in case Professor Grump shows up again and tries to ruin my life.”

You laughed softly despite yourself. “Okay, okay…” you said. “I’ll ask my roommate too.”

“Cool.” He grinned. “See you there.”

He left with a little wave, and you lingered for just a second longer, glancing once at the empty desk at the front of the room—already missing James’s gaze, even if it had been narrowed with jealousy.

God, if only he knew there was no one else. There couldn’t be. Not when your entire heart already belonged to the man who’d just stormed out without a word.

And something told you… his office hours were about to get very, very interesting.

———

Back in your dorm, the door clicked shut behind you, and the scent of Sarah’s perfume still lingered faintly in the air. She was lying across her bed, flipping through a magazine, legs kicked up lazily in the air.

“Hey,” you said, dropping your bag onto your chair.

She glanced up, humming.

“So, uh… this guy from one of my lectures asked if we wanna go to a bar tonight. Him and his friends.”

That caught her attention.

“Ooooh,” she said, sitting up. “A guy, huh? Is he cute?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “He’s… fine. I mean, yeah, I guess. I barely know him.”

Sarah raised a brow, suspicious already. “Wait. Is that the guy?”

“What guy?” you asked, playing dumb as you walked to your dresser, pulling open a drawer with slightly more force than necessary.

“The guy you’re… y’know. Seeing. The one you won’t tell me anything about?”

You paused for a second too long.

“No. It’s not him.”

Her brows knitted, and she tilted her head. “Okay, then what about that guy? Your boyfriend or whatever he is?”

You looked over your shoulder, and your voice came out soft, careful.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Sarah blinked. “Right.”

You sighed, grabbing a sweater and sitting down on your bed. “It’s just a bar hangout. Some drinks. Nothing more.”

Sarah stared at you for another beat, then shrugged. “Well, I’m down. I need a drink and some bad decisions. Let’s go be hot and mysterious.”

You laughed a little, but your smile faded quickly once she turned back to her magazine.

Because no—James wasn’t your boyfriend.

But he wasn’t nothing either.

———

The bar was already packed by the time you got there.

Music thrummed low through the floorboards, the scent of beer and perfume hanging thick in the air. The lights were dim, soft amber spilling over polished wood and half-empty glasses. You and Sarah slid into a corner booth, cheeks flushed from the wind outside, laughing about nothing as you pulled off your coats.

Theo waved the moment he spotted you, then gestured you over with two fresh drinks in hand. You didn’t even have time to think before Sarah gave you a little shove.

“There they are,” Sarah said, nodding toward the bar.

You turned, heart lurching for no reason at all. You headed there with Sarah.

Theo grinned and handed you the drink. “Wasn’t sure what you liked, so I gambled.”

You took it, gave it a small sip. “Not bad.”

He leaned against the bar, a little closer than necessary. “So… you made it. I thought for sure you were gonna bail on me.”

You smiled, polite but guarded. “I said I’d come, didn’t I?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Fair. Gotta admit, I’m glad you did. I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk, y’know, outside of all the ‘Modern Narrative Voice’ doom and gloom.”

You took another sip. “Yeah, it’s definitely… intense.”

“You’re one of the good ones though,” he added. “Barnes clearly likes you.”

That made your stomach flip. You looked down into your drink quickly.

“Anyway,” Theo continued, completely unaware, “he’s still a hard-ass. Gave me a B- last week and wrote a whole paragraph about ‘voice dissonance.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

You laughed a little, halfhearted. “Yeah, he’s… passionate.”

He grinned. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You shrugged and took another sip.

He leaned against the bar, comfortably close but not too much, taking a sip of his own drink. „It’s good to take the edge off after all that homework Barnes gave us.”

That pulled a quiet laugh from you. “Yeah, it was a lot. Feels like he’s always pushing us to work harder.”

Theo nodded, making a face. “Right? The guy’s intense.” A pause, then his eyes slid to you again, warm and curious. “But you must be his favorite. Every time we get grades back, I swear he’s looking at your essay like it’s the Holy Grail or something.”

Your stomach did a funny little flip, though you covered it with a shrug. “I just… try hard. That’s all.”

“I bet.” Theo grinned, taking a drink. “Anyway, I’m really glad you came tonight. Thought you might skip out after class today.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

“I dunno,” he said lightly. “Figured you’d be busy. Or maybe you just had better plans.” He held your gaze as he spoke, playful but not pushy.

You felt your lips curve into a small smile. “Nope. No better plans.”

“Good,” Theo replied, looking satisfied. “That means I’m officially winning my first bet of the night.”

You laughed—a real one this time—and took another sip of your drink, feeling the knot of tension between your shoulders ease just a little.

After some time of drinking and talking with Theo your phone vibrated against the table at the same time Theo’s did.

He frowned, unlocking his screen. “Looks like Barnes already graded the homework,” he said, turning his phone so you could see.

You quickly pulled yours up, breath catching as the grade appeared.

New Grade Posted: ENG 304 — Modern Narrative Voice

Assignment: Analysis of implicit desire in The Lover.

Grade: B-

Feedback: Needs more depth.

Your stomach dropped.

You stared at the screen in disbelief, rereading the short comment — “Needs more depth.”

More depth?

Your hands tightened around your phone. You’d spent hours on that assignment. Even reading it back last night, you’d thought it was good. Really good.

And he knew that.

Beside you, Theo groaned, “Ugh, I only got a C. That guy seriously hates us.”

You didn’t say anything at first, a strange mix of emotions burning in your chest — surprise, indignation… and, under it all, a sharp sting of jealousy.

God, was this because of him seeing you with Theo?

Your cheeks heated at the thought. You wanted to believe it wasn’t that petty, that James was better than that.

But then again, the look he’d given you yesterday—the way he’d been so clearly pissed—flashed back in your mind.

You swallowed, setting your phone face-down on the table.

“That’s ridiculous,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, but Theo caught it.

“Right?” he replied, nudging your elbow. “Your stuff is always A-worthy. Probably just a bad mood.”

You forced a smile, but your chest was tight.

More depth.

More like… you weren’t sure what the hell this game was anymore.

And god, you weren’t sure if you were mad at him or dying to see him—probably both.

“I gotta go,” you said abruptly, already reaching for your coat.

Theo paused mid-sip. “Wait, already? Thought we were going to stay a while.”

But you weren’t really looking at him anymore.

You grabbed Sarah’s wrist. “Come on,” you muttered, weaving through the crowded bar toward the door.

Sarah hurried after you, confused. “Hey—what’s going on?”

The cool night air hit you as you pushed outside, heart thudding in your chest.

You exhaled hard, feeling your hands trembling as you pulled your phone back out. That stupid B– was still glaring up at you like an accusation.

“That guy,” you said bitterly, shoving the phone into your pocket and rubbing your face with both hands.

Sarah frowned. “Your guy? What happened? Did he say something?”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “No. He didn’t say anything. That’s the whole fucking point. That guy is fucking with me again.”

You started pacing, shoulders tight with a mix of frustration and disbelief.

“I try so hard and he…,” you muttered, voice climbing, “he’s trying to piss me off. Like some kind of petty revenge because I was talking to someone else.”

Sarah’s mouth fell open. “Wait — seriously? You mean he’s jealous?”

You threw up your hands. “I don’t know! Probably. I just feel like he’s playing some game with me—and I’m so sick of it.”

Your heart was still racing—part of you wanted to scream, part of you wanted to cry, and the other part wanted to march straight to his office and demand an answer.

Sarah moved a little closer, brows furrowed. “Damn,” she murmured. “Sounds like he’s really under your skin.”

You pressed your lips together, the heat rising to your cheeks.

“God,” you groaned. “He’s so under my skin.”

Sarah stepped closer, rubbing your arm. “That’s bullshit,” she said gently. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the dorm. You deserve better than this.”

You nodded, forcing a smile as you tried to keep yourself together— knowing that whatever was going on with him, whatever this was between you two, was something you couldn’t even begin to explain.

———

The next morning, you woke up with a bitter taste in your mouth.

Your alarm buzzed at the usual time—plenty of time to make it across campus, slip into your usual seat before the room filled up—but you stared up at the ceiling instead, lips pressed together. Normally you’d already be rushing to get dressed, double-checking your notes, telling yourself to breathe.

But not today.

Today you wanted to piss him off as well. Skip his class, simply out of spite.

So you rolled onto your side and grabbed your phone, thumb hovering over the school schedule. Ten minutes until his class would start.

Your heart gave a stubborn thump.

And then you switched it off.

You could already picture him looking up at the door the moment the class began, expecting you to slip inside. Maybe even hoping you would.

And you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction.

With a defiant huff, you burrowed back under the blankets, squeezing your eyes shut and telling yourself you weren’t going to overthink it—weren’t going to spend the whole hour wondering if he noticed, or if he cared.

But of course you did.

Every tick of the clock felt loud. Every page of the book you tried to read went fuzzy. Even when Sarah texted you a dumb meme halfway through the hour, you barely smiled.

And still you stayed put, feeling equally smug and miserable. Because skipping his class wasn’t going to make you miss him any less.

If anything, it just reminded you exactly how tangled up you were in this whole mess.

But fuck it. Today you needed to rest, to clear your mind.

And to prepare yourself before facing him at his office hours tomorrow.

———

You didn’t bother knocking.

The door to his office was already slightly ajar, so you pushed it open with a tight jaw, heart thudding. James looked up from his desk, pen held between his fingers, expression carefully blank the moment he saw you.

You closed the door behind you with a sharp click, making sure they’re locked.

“What the fuck was that grade?” you demanded, hands balling into fists at your sides.

His brow barely twitched. “That was your grade,” he answered evenly.

Your blood boiled. “That was not my grade. That was nowhere near what I deserved—I did good on that homework!”

He set his pen down slowly, gaze dropping back to the papers. “You could do better.”

That fucking icy tone.

You took a step closer, voice trembling with fury. “That’s such bullshit, James. You know it is.”

A tense silence stretched, humming between you like a live wire.

And then it hit you—the one thing that explained the sharp edge in his voice, the way he wouldn’t look at you.

Your lips parted in disbelief. “Are you jealous?”

His shoulders went stiff at that, hands flexing once against the desktop. He didn’t reply. Didn’t deny it. Just kept his eyes fixed anywhere but your face.

Your heart flipped.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, more astonished than angry now. “You are.”

He finally looked away, his jaw ticking, mouth pressed into a thin, stubborn line.

And there it was—James, perfectly composed on the outside but seething under the surface.

You stared at him across the desk, your breath coming quicker, feeling that reckless thrill rise in your chest despite the tension, despite the fight.

“You’re jealous,” you repeated, softer this time, like you couldn’t quite believe it yourself.

And still—he didn’t say a word.

You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh—dark and bitter in the quiet of his office. “God,” you scoffed, “can’t I even talk to other people without you losing it?”

That finally got him to look at you properly, something heated flashing in his eyes as his voice dropped. “That was not just talking,” he shot back, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “You were clearly flirting with him.”

Your mouth fell open. “That’s not true,” you fired back, feeling heat rise up your neck. “We were just talking. I barely know him!”

James’s gaze stayed locked on you, sharp and unyielding, his hands curling into fists at his sides like he was holding himself back.

“You were in my class laughing with him. I saw how he looks at you,” he ground out, low and taut. “And then you skipped my class like I wouldn’t notice. Don’t play innocent with me.”

Your heart thudded faster, disbelief and that strange thrill tangling together in your stomach. “You really think I’d just go after someone else? After everything we—”

“You tell me,” he interrupted, voice rougher now.

You stared at him for a long beat, breath caught halfway in your chest, realizing just how much this was eating him up—and somehow, that twisted knot of jealousy and want left you trembling for a reason that had nothing to do with fear.

You felt the tension humming between you like a live wire as you took a cautious step closer.

“God, James,” you breathed, your voice softer now—trembling but sure. “I would never.”

He went very still at that, his eyes darkening as they searched your face like he was looking for any trace of a lie. But all you could do was look up at him—lips parted, hands aching to touch him.

You inched even closer, close enough that your knees nearly brushed his, close enough that you could see the way his chest rose and fell a little faster.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, and something in him finally broke.

In one harsh breath he pulled you flush against him — hands gripping your hips like he never wanted to let go — and his mouth crushed against yours, hot and needy. You moaned into the kiss, hands fisting his shirt as he pushed you back until the edge of his desk dug into the back of your thighs.

“Say it again,” he growled into your lips, voice low and raw.

“I’m yours,” you gasped, pulling him closer like you could never have him close enough.

He grabbed the backs of your legs and lifted you up onto the desk ass he kissed you deeper, messier — hands sliding up under your skirt, thumbs brushing your inner thighs as he groaned into your mouth.

“That’s right, you hear me?” he murmured against your lips, fingers tugging your panties aside, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your clit and making you whimper. „Just mine.”

Your hands flew to his belt, trembling, desperate—aching to feel him as much as he clearly needed you. And when you finally pulled him free and felt him hot and thick against your palm, the needy sound he let out was enough to make your whole body throb.

He broke the kiss with a low, feral sound—hands gripping your hips and dragging you off the desk just enough to turn you around.

Your palms hit the surface with a thud, papers scattering as he bent you forward, his body pressing up against yours until you could feel the hard line of him at your backside.

“I think I gotta teach you a lesson,” he groaned into your ear, voice gone husky.

You whimpered, cheek brushing the desk as his hands bunched up your skirt around your waist. You could feel him yank your panties down in one smooth motion — his fingers gliding between your folds as you arched into him.

“You’re mine.” he growled, dragging his thumb through your slick and circling your clit just once before positioning himself at your entrance, „don’t you dare fucking forget that.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, breathless, trembling with need.

He pushed into you in one deep, unforgiving stroke, filling you so perfectly you moaned aloud—hands clawing at the edge of the desk for leverage.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as he pulled back and thrust into you again, and again—rough, relentless, every inch of him driving into you like he was claiming you, like he needed you to feel him for days.

“You like that?” he rasped, leaning over your back as his mouth brushed the shell of your ear. “You like knowing you’re the only one who gets me like this?”

“Yes,” you choked out, dizzy and aching and so goddamn full of him.

He groaned at that — fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your face back as his hips snapped against you, the sound of skin on skin filling the room.

“You’re my good girl,” he growled into your ear, voice wrecked with possession. “And you’re gonna remember who you belong to.”

And god, you did—every perfect, brutal thrust carving him into your bones, every gasp and moan a reminder of exactly who had you trembling, aching, and ruined over his desk.

Your legs were trembling by the time his hands slid up your back, fingers gentle even as he kept you pinned against the desk. Every inch of you was on fire—breath catching in shallow gasps as you felt him slow down his rhythm just enough to lean forward and kiss the curve of your shoulder. Fucking you slow but hard, making sure you feel him well enough.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured against your skin, voice raw with need as his hips rocked into you again—slower this time, deeper.

A shaky moan slipped past your lips and you arched back into him, craving every last bit of his heat.

“Could anyone else make you feel like this?” he groaned, hands gripping your waist as he moved, deliberate and unhurried—like he was savoring you, like he never wanted this to end.

“N-no,” you breathed, eyes fluttering closed, body tightening around him as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.

He responded with a low sound of approval, one hand moving up to your chest as he pulled you up slightly against him. His palm flattened over your heart, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Good,” he whispered into your ear, lips dragging over your earlobe before his teeth grazed it. “You’re mine, baby. Every perfect inch of you.”

Your lips parted in a trembling gasp — because god, the way he was saying it, like it was forever, like he was marking every part of you as his and you were so hopelessly lost in him.

“Please,” you whimpered, voice catching.

And whatever restraint he had left shattered.

He bent you back down over the desk and gave you what you wanted — what you needed — every thrust sharp and hard and perfect until you were crying his name, knuckles white as they gripped the edges of the desk, until you were right there on the edge with him.

And as you shattered, he held you so close you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began, breathing you in like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

He pulled back just enough to catch his breath—hands lingering on your hips as his chest rose and fell against your back. The office was still humming with the afterglow of it all when you felt him ease away and his hands guided you around to face him.

Your gaze flicked up to his, heart still pounding wildly as he brushed his thumb along your swollen bottom lip.

“On your knees,” he told you, voice deep and husky, the heat in his eyes making your whole body ache all over again.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your knees touched the floor, eyes never leaving his as you knelt before him—hands skimming up his thighs as you leaned in, lips brushing over his cock already slick from you.

“That’s it,” he murmured, fingers threading into your hair to guide you, his breath hitching as your lips wrapped around him.

You took him slow at first, tongue swirling around him before hollowing your cheeks and sinking deeper—feeling him tense, hearing that low, broken sound tear from his throat.

“God, baby… just like that,” he groaned, fingers flexing in your hair as he rocked his hips carefully into your mouth.

The taste of him, the way he was looking down at you like you were everything—it only spurred you on, hands braced against his legs as you took him deeper, letting him set the pace.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he hissed, voice strained and needy as you felt him throb against your tongue, his control slipping more with every breathless moan you pulled from him.

And you held his gaze the entire time—so willing, so eager to please—knowing you were his, and knowing just how much he needed you.

He was trembling under your hands—breath shaky as his gaze stayed locked on yours.

“I’m close,” he groaned, the words thick with need as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. “I wanna come in your mouth.”

His voice dropped to a husky rasp as he guided you deeper, fingers tightening in your hair.

“Will my pretty girl take it for me?”

You gave him a small, breathless moan and nodded, looking up at him with parted lips, aching to give him exactly what he wanted.

“God,” he choked out, jaw flexing as his hips gave a final, shuddering thrust — and then heat flooded your mouth.

You swallowed around him instinctively, eyes fluttering as you kept him there until the last pulse of pleasure wrung through him and his hands slowly released their grip on you.

When you pulled back, lips slick and swollen, you pushed yourself to your feet—reaching blindly for a tissue on his desk.

Before you could do anything, his hand was on your chin, thumb tilting your face back to him as his gaze darkened.

“Nu-uh,” he murmured, voice low and commanding. “Swallow it.”

Your breath caught—heat sparking in your belly at the possessiveness in his tone and without breaking eye contact, you swallowed.

He let out a low, satisfied sound, thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth like a final caress.

“That’s my good girl.”

He pulled you up into his arms without hesitation, hands gentle but firm as they settled at your back.

You melted into him, breath shivering as you tucked your face against his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat was a steady reassurance under your cheek, and for a moment you just stayed like that—held and safe.

“I never meant to make you jealous,” you murmured into the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling lightly into it.

He let out a slow sigh, chin resting on the crown of your head as his arms tightened around you.

“I know,” he answered quietly, voice still carrying that edge of tension that hadn’t fully let go. “I believe you. It’s just…”

You felt him hesitate—his thumb rubbing slow circles against your spine.

“You have no idea how scared I am,” he admitted, voice almost too soft. “That someone else will see what I see. That they’ll look at you the way I do. And that one day, I won’t get to have you like this.”

His hands held you a little firmer at those words—like the thought was too much to bear.

And you held him just as tightly, heart aching at the worry threaded through him.

You eased back just enough to look up at him, hands sliding up to rest against his chest as you shook your head.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, voice firm and gentle all at once. “Because I will never look at anyone that way. I only see you, James. And I love you.”

For a moment, his gaze searched yours — like he was holding his breath, needing to believe you.

And then something in him softened. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he exhaled slowly, his hands moving to cradle your face.

“You don’t know how much I need to hear that,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

You held his stare, heart aching at the honesty in his eyes.

“I’m just…” he began, his brow furrowing as though he was choosing his words carefully. “That boy is your age. I’m your professor. I can’t give you a normal relationship. I wouldn’t blame you if you ever wanted something easier. Something you could show off.”

Your hands slipped up to cover his, fingers lacing together as you pressed his palm closer.

“James,” you said, your voice steady, “I don’t want easier. I want you.”

And that was all there was — the quiet hush of the office around you, and him leaning in to kiss you like it was a promise he couldn’t quite believe you were making.

You melted into his kiss, hands tangled in the back of his shirt as his mouth moved over yours—slow and claiming, like he never wanted to let you go.

When he finally pulled back, his gaze searched yours, thumb rubbing your cheek.

“Was I too obvious?” he asked, a tiny crease between his brows. “With the… jealousy…”

That made you laugh — a soft, breathless sound that felt too light for all the tension that had been between you only moments ago.

“Yeah,” you admitted, lips quirking into a smile. “A bit. But it was cute.”

He huffed a small, self-deprecating laugh and ducked his chin, the ghost of a smile pulling at his mouth. “Cute,” he echoed like he wasn’t sure if he liked the word or not.

“Very cute,” you teased, reaching up to smooth your thumb along his bottom lip. “And a little obvious. You weren’t exactly subtle telling him off.”

He exhaled, shaking his head, though there was amusement in his eyes. “God, I thought I was keeping it together,” he muttered. “Seeing him talk to you like that—I wasn’t going to wait around.”

That pulled a quiet hum from you as you leaned into him again, savoring the way the tension bled into something warm and easy between you—knowing you wouldn’t change a thing.

He laughed under his breath, brushing his thumb over your cheek as the quiet settled again. “And I did mean it about your grade,” he added, eyes glinting. “You could do better.”

Your jaw dropped. “James,” you warned, giving him a look that could have set fire to the room.

“What?” he said, hands lifting like he was innocent. “You told me not to give you a good grades just because I fuck you.”

“But I spent hours on that homework,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him even though you felt the edges of a smile tugging at your lips.

He grinned, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Consider it motivation,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You groaned, half laughing as you pushed at his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, voice low and playful. “But you’ll thank me when you pass with flying colors. And,” he paused, lips brushing your jaw, “I’ll reward you properly when you do.”

You chuckled and shook your head in amusement, pulling out from his embrace and grabbing your bag.

„I should probably go…” You said with a frown.

James nodded, running a hand through his hair. „Yeah… Text me when you’re home, alright?”

„Sure.” You smiled and headed towards the door.

You stopped just before reaching for a handle, glancing at him one more time. He was gathering the scattered papers from the floor already.

„Love you,” you said quietly but loud enough for him to hear.

James looked up at you and his gaze softened immediately, he tilted his head a bit and smiled genuinely.

God how you loved that smile.

„Love you too,” he answered and watched you leave.

———

You came back to your room. Your heart was still beating fast even though you felt much calmer now.

Your dorm was blissfully empty, the faint hum of the heater and the street noise outside the only company you had. Sarah had run off to who knows where, and suddenly the idea that had been tugging since you left James’ office wouldn’t leave you alone anymore.

You glanced around once, even though you knew you were by yourself. A thrill ran up your spine as you grabbed your phone and crossed to the mirror leaning against your closet door.

Your hands felt a little unsteady as you slipped your top off your shoulder just so, tugging the neckline down enough to expose a teasing glimpse of your bra. Then you ran your fingers slowly up your ribs, pushing the fabric down a bit more until you could see the swell of your chest in the reflection.

God, it was ridiculous how good this felt—knowing exactly who you were doing this for.

You tilted your chin, gave the camera your best smoldering look—lips parted, hair tousled—and took a few different shots until you found one that was downright sinful.

Your thumb hovered for a second over the send button. You felt a spark of wickedness light up in your belly.

You | 5:27PM

Thanks for the “motivation,” professor. Thought I’d give you some too.

And then you hit send.

Your pulse kicked up as you stared at the sent message and the preview of the photo—lips parted, eyes dark, shirt pulled low enough to leave very little to the imagination. Your hands were trembling, heart thudding wildly. Instantly, your body felt warm all over, a slow ache stirring between your legs just at the thought of him seeing you like that—knowing that beneath his composed professor persona was a man who could hardly keep his hands off you.

You bit your bottom lip and flopped onto your bed, phone clutched to your chest, grinning into your pillow. The air still smelled faintly like him, or maybe you were just imagining it.

And oh god, you couldn’t wait for his reply. If he was jealous before, this was going to drive him absolutely crazy.

Your phone buzzed against your chest—you nearly jumped, breath catching as you grabbed it and unlocked the screen.

James | 5:29PM

Jesus Christ. You’re making it very hard to focus right now.

Your lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile as you bit your thumb and kept reading. You could practically hear the edge in his voice, that low, tight control he always had before it snapped. A rush of heat went straight to your core.

You typed back quickly, fingers flying before you could second-guess yourself. Your heart was pounding so loud you were sure someone outside could hear it.

You | 5:29PM

That was kinda the point. Is it working?

A moment passed before the next message lit up your screen.

James | 5:30PM

More than you know.

You shifted on your bed, legs rubbing together instinctively as you replied. Your thumbs moved before you could overthink it.

You | 5:30PM

Still working this late?

The reply came quickly.

James | 5:30PM

Yeah. Too much grading left.

A wicked little thrill ran through you. Biting your lip, you shifted deeper under your blankets, already picturing him alone at his desk, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration.

You | 5:31PM

Poor professor. Bet you wish you were here instead of looking at homework.

A moment passed.

James | 5:31PM

You have no idea.

Your smile curved into a grin as you decided to push him further.

You | 5:32PM

Mmm… wish I could help you relax. I could come over. Maybe wear something pretty just for you. Or maybe nothing at all.

Your pulse quickened.

James | 5:32PM

Careful, sweetheart. You know exactly what you’re doing.

That was the encouragement you needed—heat spilling into every word as you typed your next message.

You | 5:33PM

And I bet you’d do more than just look. Remember how you had me bent over your desk just a few hours ago? I haven’t stopped thinking about it

A few seconds ticked by—long enough that you wondered if you’d finally pushed too far—then your screen lit up again.

James | 5:33PM

God. You’re going to drive me crazy. Keep that up and I’m going to end up leaving this pile of papers unfinished.

A shiver ran through you at the raw want under his words.

And you weren’t anywhere close to stopping.

Your heart was racing, and you could feel heat climbing up your neck as you shifted on your bed, knees pressed together.

You | 5:34PM

That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? You could have me all to yourself instead.

You paused before typing the next part, already knowing it would get to him.

You | 5:34PM

And this time, I could do everything you want me to…

There was a tense, breathless pause.

James | 5:34PM

Fuck, baby. You’re playing a dangerous game tonight, aren’t you?

You bit your lip, thumbs flying.

You | 5:35PM

Maybe I like dangerous. Especially when it’s you.

His next message was slower to come, like he was thinking—or picturing every word you’d sent him.

James 5:36PM

And maybe I like that you never make it easy for me to concentrate.

Keep this up and I’m going to give you a office hours you won’t forget.

Your lips parted, breath shallow. It felt like you could feel him already—hands gripping your waist, his mouth dragging along your neck—and all you could do was keep him hooked.

You | 5:36PM

That’s exactly what I was hoping for. You always look at me like you want to ruin me.

A tiny typing bubble appeared… then disappeared. Then came his reply, short and direct:

James | 5:37PM

I already have.

You shifted on your bed, breath coming faster as you thought of him sitting at his desk across town—tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, probably pinching the bridge of his nose the way he always did when he was focused.

God, you ached for him.

Your hands moved before you could overthink it, sliding your skirt up just enough as you set your phone to take another shot. This one was closer—your fingertips brushing against the inside of your thigh, your panties barely in frame.

You hit send, then quickly followed with a message before you lost your nerve:

You | 5:39PM

Still working? Or did I just make that a lot harder?

You held your breath, heart thudding in your ears as you stared at the screen.

His reply came fast.

James | 5:39PM

Keep going. Show me what you’d let me do to you if I were there.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively at his words, a dizzy little thrill running through you.

You | 5:40PM

Not so fast, Professor… Maybe I’ll write you something instead, hm?

Your phone buzzed almost instantly after you hit send.

James | 5:40PM

Tease.

Your lips curled into a cocky little smile as you rolled onto your stomach, kicking your feet idly behind you. Your heart was still thudding wildly in your chest—you could feel the anticipation humming under your skin.

You bit your bottom lip and typed back quickly:

You | 5:40PM

Mm, I think I have some idea, professor…

And then, after a beat—before he could send anything else—you added:

You | 5:40PM

Let me show you properly. Give me a few.

Your hands were trembling just a little as you grabbed your laptop off your desk, already knowing exactly what you were going to do. The glow of the screen lit up the darkened room as you pulled up a blank document and took a breath.

You could feel him waiting. You could feel him already aching for you.

And God, the power in that—it was heady and intoxicating.

Your fingers moved before you could overthink it, spilling all the need and heat and breathless tension you felt straight into words, painting a picture for him of exactly what you wanted him to do to you. Of how he made you feel. Of what you thought about when you touched yourself to him. Every filthy, worshipful thought you’d been holding back.

You | 5:58

[PDF FILE ATTACHED]

Every time I’m alone, I find myself thinking about you in a hundred secret ways.

I wonder what it would feel like to have you pressed against me when I can barely catch my breath — your hands everywhere at once, hands that seem to know my body better than I do.

I picture your lips tracing a slow path down my neck, my collarbone, my ribs, and how you’d look up at me like you’re savoring every inch, making me ache before you ever truly touch me.

I want you to pin my hands above my head and kiss me until my lips feel swollen, until my whole body is trembling just for you. To feel your weight and your heat, your voice telling me how good I am for you, how much you need me — and I’d believe every word.

I close my eyes and I can already feel you inside me, deeper and slower this time, like we have forever, like you could take me apart one gentle thrust at a time. I want to moan your name into the dark and hear you groan mine back as you hold me so close I forget there’s even a world outside the bed.

You waited few minutes for his reply.

James | 6:01PM

You have no idea what you just started.

Your heart leapt at his words, heat pooling between your legs all over again.

Your thumbs flew across the screen before you could stop yourself.

You | 6:01PM

Oh yeah? What is it?

You stared at your phone for what felt like forever—one minute turned to ten, then fifteen, then thirty.

You thought maybe you’d scared him off, and were about to put the phone down when it buzzed again.

Your breath caught as you opened the message.

James | 6:33PM

[PDF FILE ATTACHED]

You say you want me but you never see what burns beneath my skin. You don’t know the way I ache to brand you, to leave my hands and lips where everyone else can see.

To taste you until you’re trembling, to press you into my sheets so deep you’ll never wash my scent off your body.

And God help me, I want them all to know you’re mine. I want them to look at you and see my name written in the purples on your throat, in the bruises I leave at your hips.

You make me greedy, you make me feral, and all I want is to have you tangled up beneath me, moaning my name so loud it drowns out any thought—except one—you’re mine.

You stared at the words, pulse thudding in your ears, eyes tracing each devastating line again and again.

Your hands were trembling — you could hardly catch your breath.

And there was only one thought repeating in your mind as you reread his message for the third time: God, I want him.

You stared at your phone in stunned silence, his words practically burning into you.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard before you finally sent back a single, breathless reply:

You | 6:35PM

Wow…

Almost immediately, your phone buzzed again.

James | 6:35PM

Are you free this weekend?

Your heart leapt into your throat.

You | 6:35PM

Yeah…

Three tiny dots appeared and disappeared—like he was thinking, deciding—before his next message hit your screen, heat rolling through you as you read every word.

James | 6:36PM

Good… Maybe you can fix that homework grade. I remember you said something about writing with my fingers inside you in one of your “works”…

You sucked in a shaky breath. Your thighs pressed together involuntarily as a dizzy little thrill ran up your spine.

God, he never missed a thing you wrote—and knowing he wanted to make it real just for you had your body already aching.

Your fingers moved before you could second-guess yourself.

You | 6:37PM

Guess I’ll need my professor’s hands-on guidance, then.

And just like that, you knew—this weekend was going to be unforgettable.

James | 6:37PM

Mhm… See you at my place tomorrow then. Come any time you want.

You smiled stupidly at your phone, warm fluttering in your chest as you stared at the text. A little giddy, you bit your lip and quickly typed back.

You | 6:37PM

I’ll be there <3

You didn’t expect another reply, not really. But then your phone buzzed again.

James | 6:38PM

What’s that?

You scrunched your brows in confusion, a tiny smile already tugging at your lips.

You | 6:38PM

What’s what?

You stared at the screen, nerves and amusement coiling together.

James | 6:39PM

That <3 thing.

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it—the kind that made you cover your mouth like someone might overhear. Poor old man.

You | 6:39PM

It’s a heart, James… Flip your phone to the side…

You tried not to wheeze as you could picture him frowning at the screen, turning his phone around like a puzzle. The image was too cute—your grin grew wider.

James | 6:40PM

Oh.

I see it now…

Your breath caught as a tiny pause appeared, the typing bubble blinking once, twice.

James | 6:40PM

<3

Your face felt so warm it was ridiculous. God, he was so cute.

You pressed the phone to your chest, heart thudding wildly as you stared at the ceiling, already looking forward to tomorrow more than you could put into words.

Part 5 soon 💋

tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @iamthatonefangirl @hiraethmae @im-feeling-blue-today @beforemdnight @just4w3irdo @bloodmocha @lovinqbella @its-in-the-woods @muchwita @iyskgd @harrietandcats @shortandb1tchy @luv4kook @grovelingmen @buckybarneswife125 @xamapolax @glitterspark @azrielsgirll @mortallydistinguishedwolf @shaheea @simp4f1 @voidanima @buckytakethewheel @thatsbucknasty @herejustforbuckybarnes @sebastians-love @wntersoidiertk @emcharra @user911224 @stell404

[blueberrybirdsworld]

I would LOVE a story about a teacher and Lando. Like she brings her class to the race and meet.

Title: Lost & Found

Summary : Having to take care of twenty eight-year-olds student through the Monaco Grand Prix paddock was never going to be easy. Between roaring engines, flashing cameras, and a sea of distracted little minds, Y/N's just trying to survive the day with her sanity intact.

But when one curious kid slips away into the chaos, panic sets in fast, until an unexpected rescue from someone in papaya orange turns the worst moment into something, unexpectedly unforgettable.

Genre : request, fluff, oneshot

Pairing : Lando Norris x teacher!Y/N

Author note: thank you for your request, it have been in my draft for a very long time I'm sorry, hope you like it :)

The Monaco sun was already relentless by the time Y/N stepped onto the paddock with twenty very excited kids buzzing around her like bees on sugar. With their paddock yellow passes, they should’ve been easy to keep track of. Should’ve.

But the Grand Prix paddock was an absolute madhouse. Engines roared in the distance, cameras flashed, and team members darted back and forth in branded uniforms. The kids were eating it up.

And Y/N, was barely keeping it together.

"Guys! Stay in pairs!" she shouted, waving her clipboard in the air like a traffic officer. "I want eyes on your buddies at all times, understood?"

A wave of “Yes, Miss Y/N!” chorused back, half-hearted and scattered as they peered around with wide eyes.

Her co-teacher, Mr. Dupont, leaned toward her. “I have to take Louis to the toilet. We’ll meet you at the hospitality, yes?”

“Okay, but be quick,” Y/N nodded. “Please.”

And then she was alone. One woman. Nineteen kids. A sea of media passes and chaos.

She did a quick scan of the group: Ella, Noah, Jules, Maelys, Clément...

Her blood turned cold.

Where is Sara?

She blinked, once, twice. Did a full-body scan again.

No Sara.

“Sara?” she called, voice loud but even. No answer. “Sara, sweetheart? Where are you?”

She moved through the group. “Has anyone seen Sara? Anyone?”

Ella looked up at her with wide eyes. “She was next to me… but then I think she saw a car and get excited.”

Y/N’s heart began to race, but she didn’t allow herself to panic just yet.

“Okay. Everyone stay together,” she said, already scanning ahead.

With a firm but quick pace, she guided the remaining children through the crowd toward their next scheduled stop: the hospitality. Thankfully, just ahead, she spotted their designated paddock host, Léa, the official guest coordinator for the school groups. The woman stood confidently, speaking into a radio near the entrance.

“Léa!” Y/N called out as they approached.

Léa turned, immediately concerned. “Is everything alright?”

“I lost one,” Y/N said in a low voice, pulling her aside. “Sara. She must’ve slipped away in the crowd. I think she got distracted.”

“Do you want me to alert security?”

“Not yet,” Y/N replied quickly. “She can’t have gone far. I’ll look around nearby. But please, can you keep an eye on the rest of the group while I go?”

“Of course,” Léa said, already scanning the students. “Go. I’ve got them.”

Y/N turned back to the kids. “Everyone, stay here with Léa. You’ll wait here for Mr. Dupont. No one moves without an adult. Got it?”

A nervous but obedient chorus of nods and 'yes' followed.

“Good,” she said, trying to keep her tone steady, even as her pulse thundered in her ears.

Then she turned and started running.

The paddock had grown busier in just minutes, people pressing in from every direction, staff members and guests weaving through the maze of garages and barriers. She stood on her toes, eyes darting frantically.

“Sara?!” she called again, louder this time. “Sara, please answer me!”

No response.

She pushed further down the alley, ignoring the eyes on her. She must’ve looked wild: disheveled, flushed, panic all over her face. She didn’t care.

Images swirled in her head: the girl crying in a corner somewhere, or worse, what if she wandered into a restricted area? What if she got hurt?

Oh God. Oh God.

She was going to lose her job. She was going to have to call Sara’s parents and tell them she lost their daughter during a school outing to the Monaco Grand Prix. Who thought it was a good idea to bring twenty 8 year-olds into the middle of a Formula 1 race weekend?

“Sara!” she cried, weaving through a group of media personnel. “Sara, please...”

Then she stopped.

Frozen mid-step, heart still hammering, lungs burning.

There, at the far end of the paddock, just in front of the McLaren hospitality area : a little girl with her yellow pass.

Sara.

Her cheeks were flushed pink with excitement, her curls bouncing as she tilted her head back in laughter. In front of her crouched a man, smiling wide, holding out something in his hand.

Y/N narrowed her eyes.

A cap. A McLaren cap.

He was handing it to her like he was gifting her the moon. And Sara, her missing student, was beaming like the happiest kid in the world.

Y/N felt a wave of overwhelming relief crash into her chest. She ran, pushing past two engineers and a cameraman, not caring who she was bumping into.

“Sara!” she shouted, voice thick with emotion.

The girl turned at the sound of her name, eyes lighting up as she spotted her teacher.

She dashed into her arms like she’d never been more thrilled to see her in her life. Y/N dropped to her knees, catching her in a tight hug, burying her face into the girl’s shoulder.

“Oh my God. Oh, sweetheart. I was so scared,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Where did you go?”

“I’m sorry,” Sara said, breathless. “I just saw a papaya car, and then people moved, and I didn’t know where you were anymore!”

Y/N pulled back just enough to look her over. “You’re not hurt?”

Sara shook her head.

Once the initial wave of relief passed, Y/N leaned back just slightly and gave Sara a firmer look.

“I’m really happy you’re okay,” she said gently, brushing a curl from the girl’s cheek, “but sweetheart, you can’t ever walk away like that again. You had me worried sick.”

“I know…” Sara murmured, looking down.

“And you absolutely shouldn’t talk to people you don’t know,” Y/N added, voice low but firm. “Even if they seemed nice.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Sara replied with a wobble in her voice. “I just got pushed a bit and then everyone moved and I couldn’t find you. I was scared. But he...he helped me.”

“She really was careful,” came a warm voice behind them.

Y/N’s eyes finally lifted to the man who was now standing just a few feet away. Still smiling. Curls peeking out from under his cap, which had a small logo and number : 4.

Her breath caught.

It wasn’t just a McLaren staff member.

It was Lando, Lando fucking Norris.

“There’s no need to scold her too much,” he said gently. “She didn’t run off on purpose. And for the record, I’m not just any stranger.”

Y/N blinked, still shock. “Right. I guess most strangers don’t get their faces printed on full-size garage banners.”

He laughed, a quick, boyish sound that made Sara giggle too.

“I think your little girl might be a fan,” he added, giving the child a wink.

“Oh, she’s not my daughter,” Y/N said quickly. “She’s one of my students. I’m a teacher. We brought a group here for a school outing.”

Lando raised his brows. “You brought kids… here? To the paddock? During race weekend?”

She let out a long sigh. “Yes. Twenty of them. Which is, in hindsight, a terrible idea.”

“That sounds like an actual nightmare.”

“You have no idea.”

“Let me guess. This one slipped away the moment she saw something shiny?”

“She has a radar for trouble,” Y/N muttered fondly, glancing down at Sara, who now wore the McLaren cap proudly like it was a crown. “But seriously… thank you. For keeping her safe. And calm. And away from the chaos.”

He tilted his head. “I couldn’t just leave her. She looked a little overwhelmed.”

“Because she was,” Y/N said honestly, softening. “This place is like a sensory overload machine for kids.”

“For adults too,” he added with a smirk. “Some of us just pretend we’re not overwhelmed.”

Y/N smiled, finally letting her shoulders relax. “Well, I appreciate you not pretending to ignore a lost child. That was… very decent of you.”

“Decent is my middle name.” he said, eyes sparkling. “And I don’t usually make it a habit to flirt with stressed-out teachers in the middle of the paddock, but you’re kind of making it difficult not to.”

Y/N stared at him for a second, unsure if she’d just imagined the flirtation in his voice.

Sara didn’t miss a beat.

“Miss Y/N doesn’t have a boyfriend!” she announced proudly, tugging Lando’s sleeve. “Maybe you can be her boyfriend!”

Y/N felt her soul leave her body.

Lando burst out laughing. “Oh really?” he asked, glancing at Y/N. “Is that so?”

“I...Sara!” Y/N’s voice was strangled. “That’s not something we say out loud.”

“But it’s true!” Sara insisted innocently. “And you said you like boys with curly hair.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Curly hair, huh? I think I might be in the running.”

“She tells us that one day in class!” Sara added helpfully.

Y/N groaned, half-laughing, half-horrified. “Okay, wow. This has gone completely off the rails.”

Lando crouched back down to Sara’s level. “Tell you what,” he said with a conspiratorial grin. “How about we don’t jump straight to boyfriend, but maybe… a date? Would that be okay with Miss Y/N?”

Y/N crossed her arms, but she was smiling. “You’re seriously asking me out in front of a child right now?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be honest. And brave. Kids appreciate bravery, right?” He looked at Sara.

She nodded solemnly.

Y/N sighed, fighting the grin growing on her lips. “I guess I do owe you one for finding my student and saving me from a heart attack.”

“Perfect,” he said, standing up again, cocky grin fully intact. “Maybe we could see each other again after race ?”

Sara gasped. “Can I come?!”

Lando gave her a smile. “You already got the cap, little legend. Let me win over your teacher now, okay?”

He looked up at Y/N again, his voice gentler. “So… what do you say? Can I take you out sometime? You know, when you’re not managing a small army.”

Y/N hesitated, caught between her professional boundaries and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

“I mean…” she exhaled a small laugh, “as long as you promise not to charm all my students before you charm me.”

“No promises,” Lando replied smoothly, “but I do have stickers in the motorhome.”

Sara gasped. “You do?!”

Y/N gave him a warning look, but she was smiling.

Later, when she rejoined the group with Sara in tow, cap on her head, cheeks glowing, Léa gave her a knowing glance.

“Everything alright?”

“More than alright,” Y/N said, her eyes catching a flash of papaya suit disappearing around the corner.

Sara tugged on her sleeve again. “So… are you going to kiss him?”

“Sara!”

“What? That’s what happens at the end of movies!”

Y/N groaned. “We are never watching movies in class ever again.”

taglist : @bunnisplayground, @vampgege, @chocolatemooncoffee, @sashisuslover, @gold66loveblog, @carlando4, @il0vereadingstuff, @lilith-123321, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @h-rtsnana, @anonomano, @guacala, @charlotteking27, @ninass-world, @scarletwidow3000, @taetae-armyyyyy, @mynameisangeloflife, @tsuniio, @sophxxkiss, @teti-menchon0604, @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @dustie-faerie, @madicecream123

Let me know if you want to be add or removed from the taglist :)

[jeonette]

say you're mine - jjk 18+

in which Jungkook sees Y/n's ex getting a little too touchy and talkative for his liking. And he's not having any of it. So he takes her home and fucks her silly.

pairing : jungkook x reader

genre : possesive romance. jealous!koo

The bass thumped through the floor, vibrating up your legs as you stood near the drink table, laughing politely at something your ex just said.

He was too close. Leaning in like he used to. Fingers brushing your arm casually. Like he hadn’t completely fumbled you months ago.

You stepped back slightly—subtle, but enough.

But not enough for Jungkook.

He was across the room, drink in hand, eyes locked on the two of you. And he wasn’t smiling.

Jaw clenched. Chest rising slow and heavy. That unreadable look he always got when something inside him was burning. You knew it too well by now.

You offered a small smile when you caught his eye—trying to silently say It’s fine, I’m okay. But he was already moving.

He stalked across the room like gravity didn’t touch him, like the air parted just for his rage. You felt it before you saw it—his hand around your waist, pulling you close.

“Time to go,” he murmured against your ear, voice low and sharp. “Now.”

“Jungkook—”

“Not here. Don’t argue.”

You barely had time to register anything before he was steering you out the door, his grip never loosening. As soon as you hit the cold night air, he walked you straight to the car, opening the door like a gentleman—if only his fingers weren’t so tight on the handle.

The second he slid in beside you and shut the door, silence filled the space like smoke.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t even start the car. His hands were on the wheel, knuckles white.

You shifted in your seat. “Koo—”

He turned to you slowly, and that was worse than yelling.

“You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?” His voice was soft. Controlled. But his eyes were wild.

“I didn’t—”

“You let him touch you,” he muttered, biting the inside of his cheek. “You laughed.”

“He was being friendly,” you said gently. “That’s all.”

“Too friendly.”

You reached for his hand. “Are you jealous?”

He finally looked at you—and fuck, that look. He wasn’t just jealous. He was seething.

“No,” he said. “I’m pissed. And I’m hard.”

That shut you up.

“You’re mine,” he added quietly. “You let him talk to you like that, touch you like that? I don’t care if he’s your ex. I should remind you who you belong to.”

He started the car.

And you didn’t say a word the whole way home.

-

You didn’t even remember getting inside.

One moment he was slamming the door to the apartment shut behind you.

The next—your back hit the wall, hard, but safe. His hands everywhere.

“You don’t get it,” he breathed between kisses. “That fucking look on his face when he touched you? Like he still had something over me?”

He pulled back just enough to yank your top over your head, tossing it aside.

“He doesn’t know a goddamn thing about you. He didn’t even deserve to look at you.”

You gasped when his hands slipped under your skirt, dragging your panties down in one swift motion.

“He didn’t deserve to breathe next to you.”

His voice cracked as he dropped to his knees.

“But I do.”

And then he devoured you.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was punishment—for every second that man got to stand next to you. For every look. Every word. Every breath he dared to take in your space.

You cried out his name—again and again—and each time only made him hungrier.

“Jungkook, please—”

He stood so fast it made your head spin. His lips shiny, chin slick. He wiped it with the back of his hand, staring down at you like he wanted to ruin you for good.

“Bed. Now.”

You scrambled backward, legs shaky, heart pounding.

He was already unbuttoning his jeans as he stalked after you.

When your back hit the mattress, he was on top of you in seconds.

“This body,” he whispered, pressing his mouth to your throat. “This mouth. These fucking eyes. They’re all mine.”

His cock quickly being set free, slamming in hard, and you gasped—nails raking down his back.

“Tell me.”

You could barely breathe. “I’m—fuck, I’m yours, Koo.”

“That’s right.” He slammed into you again. “No one else gets you.”

“I didn’t want him—only you—”

His hand wrapped around your throat, not tight—just enough to make your pulse race.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

You moaned. “I’m yours, Koo. Only yours.”

He growled against your skin, snapping his hips harder, deeper.

“You’re the only thing I care about,” he panted. “The only thing I’ll ever fucking protect like this. You don’t get it, baby. I’d burn the world down for you.”

Your vision blurred.

"Thought you were all giggly with him an hour ago, what happened now?" He slowed down, only to snap his hips harder into you without warning.

"Ohhhh my godddd, shit koo." You were starting to see stars at this point.

"Yeah? Right there? C'mon tell me. Does he fuck you like I do?" He practically growls.

"Nghh- Noo! S-hit soo big in me koo." Your words started to slur.

"Fucckk, yeah? Too big for you mama?" He teases.

"N-no, can take it."

He quickly stops and flips you over before you can comprehend what's happening.

Plunging into you again, this time he's animalistic.

"Shit, such a good girl, taking my dick like it's nothing." He groans out.

"Koo, so- close." You were able to make out.

"Yeah? Gonna cream my cock right now? Fucckkk- if you keep clenching like that I'm gonna nut in you princess." He picks up his pace, feeling you clench every milisecond.

"Wanna- Want youu to fill me up- ohh goddd."

"Yeah? Shit gonna give you want you want princess."

He kissed your tears away as he fucked you into the mattress, every movement raw and unrelenting.

“Shit kook—I’m gonna—”

“Let go,” he whispered. “Right here. While you’re mine.”

You shattered around him, moaning his name like a plea.

And when he followed—deep, hard, possessive—he wrapped both arms around you like a shield.

You were trembling when it was over.

Not from fear.

From everything he made you feel.

He pulled you close, chest to chest, and kissed your temple so softly it made your eyes sting.

“I love you,” he whispered. “So much it scares me.”

You buried your face in his neck.

“I love you too.”

His arms tightened.

“He won’t ever come near you again,” he murmured. “I promise.”

You smiled.

Because in Jungkook’s world— His promises were war.

a/n : low-key wayyy too terrified about posting this. I have not written a smut in a whileeeeee. Butttt lowkey fuckin w it?? [ insert laughing emoji cus my fuckass computer doesn't have one ] anywayyyy....hope you lovelies fuck w it as well! mwah mwah lmk what you guys thought hehe xx

[myth1cs]

Married in Red (Myoui Mina x M!Reader)

Word Count: 2,531

Smut; A new series called "Requital" Prequel: Dead Plate (To be published) Part 2: Eloquent Countenance (To be published) Part 3: Rot in Paradise (To be published) Part 4: Cold Front (To be published)

When you parked in the parking lot you checked your phone once more to reaffirm that you were in the right place.

You were.

Stepping out of the car you fixed your tie, fixed a few loose strings of hair, and put on your gloves. You looked perfect. You walked through the entrance and made your way into the main room.

As you walked in you saw her. You gave her a warm smile and waved "Mina, its been a while." when she saw you her pupils widened and her breath hitched. "H- how did you- I didn't-"

Before she could finish her sentence someone came up and interrupted her.

"You must be Y/N! It's a pleasure to meet you." the man said as he went to shake your hand. "I'm guessing you're the lucky guy. Mina's a nice person, make sure you take care of her."

Mina interrupted "Did you invite him Jookeun?"

"Yes." He responded

"When?"

He focused his attention on her and responded "Back when you were getting tired writing invites and I took over I remembered how you mentioned a coworker from your previous job, so I thought it'd be a nice surprise to invite him. I'm terribly sorry did you not want me to?"

She sighed "No it's fine. You did nothing wrong honey. Thank you. It's nice to see his face again really. Now please excuse me, I- I need to a moment to get myself together." Mina said as she walked away going to a different room. "Sorry about that." He apologized to you. "Oh no I should be the one apologizing." Before he could ask questions you left.

There was no time for idle chit chat you needed to get a layout of the venue before the wedding started. It was rather comfortable a bit fancy but not too much. Seems like even after all these years Mina hasn't changed.

You found yourself in the dining room and found the cake that was made for the wedding. Next to it you saw a few plates, a knife and silverware. "Fancy" you thought before picking it up. You're a guest anyways and it was pretty fancy. Nobody would notice if it went missing anyways.

As you went to open another door you saw that Mina was on the other side laying down on a couch. "What are you doing here Mina?" She bolted up and locked eyes with you. "I should be asking you the same thing."

"Come on aren't you happy to see me. It has been a few years already hasn't it?"

"A few short years." She muttered under her breath.

"That's no way to greet a friend."

"What do you want?"

"Did you not miss me? I missed you ever since-"

"You- you missed me? Y/N you shouldn't be getting so emotional over simply meeting an old coworker."

"But are we really just that? I could've sworn we were something more. Especially after that night."

"Y/N it was just one... one weird night. Please don't tell me you came here looking for a repeat cause it's not happening."

"So, why did you choose Jookeun huh? He's not usually your type, in fact I think he's too innocent considering how you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You put your hand on Mina's cheek and gently rubbed circles on it. "You know what that means, both meanings in fact."

She gave you a dirty look "You're playing with fire right now. Keep it up and I'll ask Jookeun to kick you out of here."

"We both know that's an empty threat."

"What's with your outfit anyways." Mina tried to change the conversation. "You're attending a wedding not a funeral. Do you not know the dress code for a wedding?"

"Should I take it off? I thought I dressed for the occasion."

Mina put her hands on your suit and slowly undressed you. "Wearing an inappropriate attire won't go without repercussions."

She latched her lips onto yours and pulled you closer. You gently took your jacket off and laid it on the floor before you got on top of Mina pinning her beneath you on the couch.

Your hand reached behind her and unzipped her dress and pulled it down. "Still wearing the pink lingerie?"

"It's my favorite one."

"Of course it is." You pressed your lips onto her and pushed open her mouth with your tongue. Your tongue slid into hers. Her warm breath and wetness in her mouth was familiar. You missed it. As you sat on Mina's lap you noticed how warm her core was. "Seems like your body remembers me."

"It remembers you well Y/N and it wants you one more time." It sounded more like a plea to you than a simple comment. Your hand reached down, moving her panties to the side you let one of your fingers inside her aching pussy. A loud clenching sound could be heard as her pussy tightly pressed on your finger.

"Come on Y/N give me your cock." Mina whined. But you weren't going to give her what she wants - not so easily. You shoved your finger deeper into her making Mina cover her mouth as she let out a yelp.

Seeing her get ruined so easily like that night made your cock extremely hard. You missed her body. You unclasped her bra and moved it out of the way. Her breasts were on the smaller side but were still big enough for you to have fun with.

Gently squishing her chat you watched as her breast molded around your hands as you played with them. Mina let out shakey breaths out as you played with he breasts and gently pumped your finger in her pussy.

As you ran your finger down Mina's sides you felt how soft her skin was. It felt better than when you did the first time with her. You licked her nipple which sent a shiver down Mina's spine.

You pinched her nipple which made her let out a loud yelp she couldn't cover her mouth in time. "So noisy, do you want everyone to hear the noises of you cheating on your husband?" Without giving Mina a chance to respond you pushed yourself onto her body and gently kissed her lips before moving onto her chin and slowly trailing down her body.

After kissing her breast you were slowly making your way to her core before a knock came on the door. "Mina the wedding starts in 30 minutes." It was her Jookeun. "Y- yes Jookeun." You weren't worried about the fact that Mina's groom was outside the room and continued to make your way to her pussy.

"Hurry up Y/N." You tapped her panties before you removed yourself from her. "We still have so much time. Why rush?" Mina let out a groan as you continued pressing your hot kisses on her body. After all you were feeling slightly merciful today. Might as well save Jookeun the pain of seeing his wife marked up by another man. Not that it'd matter at the end of the day.

Stopping right before Mina needed it most you pulled yourself away from Mina's body. She opened her eyes and looked at you confused "Y/N what the fuck are you doing?"

"If you want it then you'll have to earn it."

She got up and got on her knees. It's been a while but she still remembers. You pulled your pants down and your cock sprung out. Mina bit the bottom of her lip seeing your cock. She grabbed it and ran it on her face for a while feeling its hardness. Once she had enough she began to suck on your cock. Her tongue twirling around the head while one of her hands fondled your balls.

When she thought she was ready she slowly took your length. You let out a low moan as you felt your cock slowly be covered in her warm wet saliva. She wasn't able to reach the base of your cock.

"Did you get worse Mina? Did all these years of not getting fucked by me make you worse at taking cock?" You mocked her. In an attempt to prove you wrong she pushed your cock deeper into her mouth.

Tears fell down her eyes as she forced herself to take in more of your length. Saliva fell out of the corners of her mouth as her nose hit your pubic hair. Mina worked her tongue on your cock. You shoved deeper in her making your cock touch the back of her throat.

Despite her lack of oxygen she didn't push you away and instead continued working on your hard cock. You felt your cock twitching and quickly started to shove your cock out and back into her throat. The need for pleasure clouded your mind and you released your semen into Mina's mouth.

She drank up your fluid entirely and opened her mouth for you to see. "Please give it to me now."

"I guess you earned it."

Mina got back up and laid on the couch. She spread her legs for you showing you her aching pussy. Slowly you entered her warm tight pussy. Your cock stretched her out as you shoved deeper into her.

Her fluids drenched your cock that was already covered in her saliva making it easier to slip it in further.

"So deep" Mina moaned out.

You wrapped her in a filthy kiss as you continued your thrusts into Mina's pussy. Squelching sounds filled the room and both Mina's and your orgasm drew closer.

With a final thrust your semen covered Mina's walls as her fluids covered your cock. She was panting and was feeling exhausted.

You got yourself up and cleaned up the mess you both made before dressing yourself up. You left the room and locked the door behind you so no one would walk in on Mina laying naked.

You made your way back to the main room where everyone was. "Ah, Jookeun I was looking for you." He looked over at you and waved you over "What's up Y/N, anything I can help you with?"

"There is something you can help me with in fact but we need to be somewhere more... private."

"Of course, we can go to the changing room. Nobody but me and Mina have the key to it."

"Perfect."

As Jookeun led you to the changing room you decided to make chit chat while on the way. "So how did you meet Mina?"

"It's rather embarrassing, I met her when my arm broke after a car crashed into me."

"Is that so? I thought it was inappropriate for doctors to have relationships with their patients."

"Oh no she wasn't my doctor or anything, in fact she's the one who crashed into me. She was a nervous mess but she drove me to the hospital. After that she invited me to coffee and we kinda hit it off."

"That's very... touching."

Both of you arrived at Jookeun's changing room and both of you stepped in. You made sure to lock the door behind you.

"By the way Jookeun did you notice anything off about Mina the night she crashed into you?"

"Well I guess she was acting a bit erratic but I'm sure it was because it was her first time crashing into someone."

"That might be it but I have a feeling there was another reason behind it."

"Care to tell?"

"Not at all."

As those words fell out of your lips you grabbed the knife from the pocket of your jacket and drove the knife into Jookeun's body. He fell to the floor clutching where you stabbed him.

"Don't scream or call for help or you'll scar your vocal chords even worse."

"Wh- why are you-"

"That day, Me and Mina were staying after hours in the restaurant. It was a mistake. A foolish mistake by Mina that caused the accidental burning of the restaurant. And when the police came over and interrogated us do you know what she did?"

He shook his head.

"She blamed it all on me and I went to prison for 10 years over her lies. To my dear Mina who showed no sign of atonement. I wonder if you'll feel the same guilt about marrying him as you did about betraying me."

Jookeun was dead.

You shoved his body in a closet, covered the blood stains, and left the room and locked it when you left. You went over to the fireplace you saw earlier. Nobody was around anymore. You burned your clothes in the fireplace before heading off to find Mina.

Luckily she bumped into your first.

"Y/N can we talk?"

"Can we do this somewhere more private?"

She nodded and led you to the changing room.

As you stepped in she spoke "Cut the bullshit Y/N why are you here?"

"I told you, to congratulate my friend."

"You're lying! I know you're up to something."

"What are you going to do about it? It can't possibly be worse than what you've already done."

"So you are here for that..."

"Fine I'll leave, but first let my give you the gift I made just for you."

"You made me a gift?"

"Yes, go ahead and reach into my jackets pocket for it."

"Fine, but afterwards I'm getting Jookeun to kick you out."

As she reached into your pocket she grabbed the knife handle and pulled it out of your pocket. Her eyes widened as she saw it was a knife covered in blood.

"Th- this is- you didn't-"

"I didn't, you did."

"Wh- what?"

"This is your weapon."

"Is that what you're going to tell? You're insane, why would I-"

"How should I know? I'm merely a witness. Maybe he caught us having sex and you killed him to silence him to save your image."

"Stop it, stop talking!"

"Because you would do anything to save yourself."

"I would never kill someone over something that petty!"

"And I never committed arson."

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I'll kill you!"

As she went to stab your chest you opened the closet and Jookeun's body fell on the floor.

Mina screamed at the top of her lungs. People came rushing into the room and what they saw was Mina standing over Jookeun's dead body. "Get away everyone she's dangerous! I saw her stab Jookeun and then she came after me!" Mina fled the scene wailing pushing people out of the way as she ran.

People rushed over to Jookeun's side and you heard people dialing something on their phones. Probably the police. But you weren't focused on them.

You followed Mina to the parking lot.

"I didn't- I didn't do it!" she screamed as she ran. But she didn't make it far as she fell on her knees.

She looked up at you tears falling down her face ruining her make up. Police sirens could be heard at a distance. You gave her a smirk.

You went up to her - police sirens drawing closer - and you asked her "Mina, do you atone now?"

---------

Jookeun (죽은) means "Dead" in Korean. Just a nice hint to let you know he was going to die.

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part forty-two: hello? are you there?

word count: 5.7k

warnings: this chapter contains descriptions of violence and gore. reader discretion is advised.

forty-one | forty-two | forty-three

It slipped out somewhere between Oscar raiding the fridge for orange juice and Logan bitching about how Max Fewtrell kept leaving his boots in the entryway like it didn’t pose a hazard, considering they all had an inexplicable tendency to walk around armed more often than not.

“If someone breaks in, Max, what? You gonna throw your fucking loafers at them?”

“They’re not loafers. They’re tactical boots.”

“They’re muddy gym shoes, bro. Move ‘em, man!”

Lando didn’t even look up from the glass he wasn’t drinking out of. He just leaned against the counter and posed a question aloud. “How do you tell someone you’re sorry?”

The conversation stumbled mid-step.

Max F. blinked. “By saying it?”

“No shit, Sherlock.”Lando scrubbed a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I mean, like… how do you make them—y’know…”

“Not mad at you?” Oscar offered.

“Yeah. That.”

“You’re asking how to make someone forgive you,” Max Fewtrell clarified from the doorway, his voice knowingly even. “Which is a very different question.”

For a beat, there was silence. Lando glared at his coffee like it had personally betrayed him.

Then, it was Oscar who spoke up first.

“Time machine,” the Aussie offered with a wry smile, clearly proud of his little joke.

It took everything left of Lando’s willpower not to dramatically roll his eyes. 

“Not helpful.”

“Chocolate,” Max Verstappen offered next. “Expensive chocolate. Or wine. Works on everyone.”

“She doesn’t drink,” Lando muttered, clearly exasperated by now.

“Then just send her the chocolate of course,” Max replied, completely unfazed.

“Or,” Oscar said, holding up a spoon like it was a pointer, “you could write her a letter. A real one. Handwritten. Not just a text. It’s very… Jane Austen. Trust me, girls eat that shit up.”

“I tried that,” Lando said. “I don’t think she even looked at it.”

Logan bit into an apple and spoke around it, his mouth very much still full. “You could try showing up at her work with, like, a sad sign. Y’know, something pathetic. Women love pathetic.”

“She’s not the kind of person who’d be impressed by public humiliation,” Lando replied dryly. “Especially when I’m the one she’d want to humiliate.”

Carlos, who had been silent until now, set his coffee down slowly.

“You want her back, si?,” he asked simply, getting straight to the point.

Lando didn’t answer, looking away. Carlos, of course, took that as a yes. It was no secret that Lando Norris was not a man who was used to asking for help, much less for advice. This certainly could not be easy for a man of his… personality.

“Flowers,” The Spaniard announced. “This is what always works for me.”

Oscar snorted, the sound echoing into his mug as he lifted it to his mouth for a sip. “Of course they did,” he muttered under his breath.

“No, listen,” Carlos waved off the young man and his usual remarks, turning instead to Lando. “You cannot get the cheap ones. You have to get the real ones, hermano. Be, uh, thoughtful, eh? Get her favorite ones. Not these ‘I want you back’ flowers. It must be ‘I am sorry I ruined everything’ flowers.”

Lando blinked, too deep into his new action plan to really be offended by Carlos’s bluntness. He’d have to let it go this time – the idiot was actually making sense for once, it seemed.

“Peonies,” he mumbled aloud.

Carlos nodded, giving the British man a concerned once-over. “Then send peonies. And do not write a note. Let the flowers do the talking.”

Lando blinked. “That’s… oddly specific.”

Carlos shrugged, unapologetic. “I once ghosted a girl for three weeks and she forgave me after one bouquet. I’m just saying.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “…you’re the reason girls don’t trust men.”

But Lando had already tuned them out.

Always a man of action, Lando was knee-deep in floral websites within minutes. More than happy to let the rest of his men continue whatever it was they occupied their time with, he sauntered off with his phone in his hand, preoccupied with this new opportunity for redemption.

There was a fresh arrangement of flowers on her doorstep by the next morning.

Meticulously planned, Lando made sure that he gave nothing but his best. His best apparently included not just flowers, but arrangements – ridiculous, overdone, hand-delivered bouquets in tissue-wrapped boxes with quiet little cards that never said his name.

The first bouquet arrived with full, perfect peonies in pale pink and cream, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a soft ribbon that matched the color of her favorite sweater.

Of course, there was no note – he didn’t want to write the wrong thing. So he chose to write nothing at all.

He sent one a week later, and then again the next week. Each time, he’d send them in different colors this time in different colors. Some of them had sprigs of lavender tucked inside, others with a bit of eucalyptus. They were always delivered on Mondays.

She’d always said she hated Mondays.

He sent them once a week – always peonies, always without a message. Just to let her know he hadn’t stopped thinking about her. Just to make sure something soft was showing up in her life, even if it couldn’t be him.

He knew it wouldn’t fix anything, but truthfully, he didn’t know what else to do.

The first time, she stared at them for a long time before placing them gently behind the counter at the café. Not quite throwing them out. Not quite acknowledging them either.

The second time, she didn’t even look at the delivery guy. Just nodded, took the box, and walked to the back without a word.

They always arrived just often enough to remind her that she was still on his mind. That she hadn’t disappeared from his world, even if he’d vanished from hers.

For a while, she accepted them.

Once, Logan even told him while they were out on a job — that she had smiled when she saw this week's delivery – a stunning bouquet of stark white peonies in the softest lilac wrapping. As they loaded their weapons back in the trunk, Logan turned to him and put his hand on Lando's shoulder, daring to look him in the air in a rare moment of familiarity.

“Hey, she smiled. Even if it’s just a bit, that’s gotta be worth something, right?”

Lando hated how that simple thought was enough to rekindle the tiniest spark of hope in his chest.

Between the bullshit with having to manually throw out Binotto and the faulty shipment Stella delivered, the Reaper’s Circle was already having a pretty shit week.

Binotto wasn’t the only one of their clients who had started to play fast and loose with the rules. Verstappen had to knock sense into at least three different people who had decided to try their luck with asking for “an extension” on their payments, or just for “a little more time.”

What did they look like, a fucking charity? 

So it was Lando who had to take Binotto and make an example of him, had to rough him up a little. It took a few hours of strategically placed cuts and meticulously calculated fractures to ensure that when he walked out of Jimmy’z, he served as an example for anyone else who felt brave enough to be as stupid as him.

Logan stood in Lando’s office just as this did any other day, more of Sargeant’s weekly updates scattered about the large desk in the form of meticulous photographs. The two of them were going over the surveillance details of the Monte Carlo police, as well as the officers who’s been trying to demand a greater cut over in the Moneghetti district.

“Those bastards aren’t worth half the money we pay them,” Lando snarled. “I mean, what the hell do they even do?”

“Uh, I believe they do… police things, Boss.”

The American winced as he said it, already anticipating the bout of rage he’d just signed himself on to be the target of.

Lando simply glared at him, too preoccupied with angrily pacing the length of the room.

“24 thousand euros, and what do we even pay them for?”

“I can dig up dirt on them, if that helps,” Logan offered eagerly. “There’s actually this new technique with my clip point blade I’ve been meaning to–”

The assassin cut himself off when he noticed he apparently no longer held Lando’s attention. Instead, the leader seemed preoccupied by a slip of paper he was reading, a worn sticky note with distinct scrawl.

Ah, he realized. The pains of young love.

 “She just seems… quieter,” Logan shrugged, clearly hesitant to tell Lando this truth. He offered it in hopes that an update would cheer him up, make him less of… whatever it was he’d been lately. “Like, sure, she’s not really smiling like she used to…” 

“But that doesn’t mean it’s not working!” Logan corrected, quickly realized his mistake. It was honestly a miracle how long he’d survived in this profession. “Maybe she’s playing hard to get? You know, I was tailing this girl one time…”

Logan’s story faded into the background as Lando absentmindedly brushed the pad of his thumb along the familiar grooves of the ink.

“Was she… Was she angry?” Lando interrupted, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Logan almost felt bad for the guy.

“No,” he responded just as quietly, his expression sincerely sympathetic. Even he had noticed just how much this girl – this apparent stranger – had worked wonders and brought magic into his boss’s life. Hell, he had front row tickets to the whole damn thing.

“She wasn’t angry,” he told Lando honestly, hoping it would make him feel a bit better. “Just… less happy, is all.”

Instead of breathing easier at this information, Lando’s expression only became more forlorn.

Something behind his ribs shifted. It was worse, somehow. Anger meant she still felt something for him. Sadness just meant the part of her that used to feel safe with him was perhaps… gone.

Lando turned away. There was a strange tugging sensation in his chest, he found, in response to Logan’s words. He shouldn’t have been surprised really – Lando hadn’t really left Y/N with all that much to smile about when he’d wormed his way into her life and earned her trust, all while lying right to her face.

But the problem was that Lando knew that smile. The smile that crinkled her nose and ruined his entire week. He was intimately familiar with the radiance of the smile she used when she was pretending not to be proud of herself. His memories held perfect recreations of the exact curvature of the smile she used when she was happy and didn’t know how to contain it.

Lando could never forget the smile Y/N used around him.

Or at least, used to.

He gave it one final attempt.

Some stupid, human part of him that she’d managed to dig up and make living once again pleaded with him to try one more time, to reach out for her once again despite it all. That part of his heart believed that if all the time they’d shared – from haphazard dinners made in her kitchen and movie night where she always fell asleep first to staying at her university’s library at unholy hours of the night – had been worth anything, that then there was still something worth fighting for.

So he arranged for one more set of flowers to be delivered to her place. These peonies were cream and soft pink — the exact shade of the kind she always watered a little extra at the shop, the ones she showed that little bit more love. They used to make her light up in this stupid way, like the whole world had softened just for her.

These ones he’d hand selected from his own garden, carefully the buds that were still barely in bloom – the kind that unfurled slowly over a few days, like they were shy about being beautiful.

He didn’t know all that much about flowers. For all long as he’d lived in this residence, he’d had a gardener who dutifully took care of all his plants, no matter how boring at times it seemed to Lando. Christian likely knew a lot more about flowers than Lando did, but had gone ahead and tried anyway.

He just chose the ones that reminded him of her.

The delivery man came back to the residence with a familiar bouquet and a less-familiar look of pity on his face.

“Didn’t take ’em,” the man informed Lando with a shrug. “Didn’t even open the door, really. Said she doesn’t want ‘em anymore.”

Lando stood in the middle of the foyer, staring down at the rejected bouquet in silence. The petals were still fresh, still beautiful, and yet somehow already wilting. 

That hurt more than she probably meant it to, not because of the money or the gesture, but because it confirmed what he already knew.

Y/N didn’t want his apologies. She didn’t want him. The truth was that no matter how many flowers he sent, Lando couldn’t fix what he broke – not with peonies, not with silence, not with love.

Not anymore.

She had always loved peonies, and now she couldn’t even look at them without thinking of him. Now she didn’t even want them in the same room. Lando finally understood: there were some things he couldn’t buy, or fix, or drown in beauty.

Some damage was just done, and all the peonies in the world couldn’t bring her back.

He didn’t try again after that.

Because if even peonies hurt now, what chance did he have?

Days blurred. Weeks passed. 

The world went on like it always does when people fall out of love — or maybe, in his case, when someone lets the person who loved them see them for who they really are. 

Lando didn’t keep track in any meaningful way. Life had its own rhythm again: operations resumed, meetings were scheduled, threats were dealt with. No one dared mention her name around him anymore. It had faded from conversation the way most dangerous things do.

But even as the months stretched out like fading shadows, Lando still found her in places he didn’t expect.

He had been searching for one of his IDs when A sticky note, curled and fading, pressed between his phone and the case, tucked behind one of his IDs. Her handwriting spelled out some mundane comment, something stupidly her: drink water, don’t die :) 

Another day, it was the origami stars. The ones she used to make when her fingers were too restless to be still, usually while he was telling some story she pretended not to care about. He had reached into the pocket of his winter coat and felt a small, crinkled shape — the tiny origami she’d taught him how to make, gentler hands placed right over his as he did his best to mimic each of the folds he’d watched her do dozens of times.

Another time he found two of them, pale blue and slightly squished, tucked in the front pocket of a he hadn’t worn since winter. He had never noticed how many she’d left behind. Some days, it made him feel like she’d never left at all.

That was the worst part of grief, he found – the way it hid, the way it waited.

He would find them by accident now, like landmines. Every time he thought he was fine, something else would come along and remind him of her, making it impossible to breathe.

He hated it.

He didn’t mean to think about her.

But that night, when the house was all quiet and there was nothing more to do, he couldn’t help but think of her. Even Lando Norris, the Reaper of Monaco, couldn’t stop the reel of old footage his brain kept playing back. On nights when sleep felt more like punishment than rest — she came back in whole memories.

It was worse on the nights he drank.

Not the reckless kind — not anymore. But the kind that made his head buzz just enough to knock the edges off, to make the memories less sharp and the guilt a little warmer.

He was already a few drinks in — not drunk, just loose around the edges — when it happened. Sinking into the large wingback chair, he let the darkness drape itself around him as he reached under the table to grab a different bottle, seeking something stronger.

If he focused just enough, he could spot her silhouette in the mirage of spotted lights reflected across his glass wall, the distant flecks of color blending together to remind him of the evening at the little Chinese place before Brazil.

Under the hanging lights, her eyes shimmered.

The lighting then had been dim but golden, all soft bulbs and reflections in window glass. He remembered watching her chew the end of her straw like she always did when she was pretending not to smile. Remembered the way she looked across the table at him — chin in her hand, laughter still blooming in her throat — and how the world had felt still for a moment, like it paused just to give him that memory in perfect detail.

She’d been radiant.

He remembered the warmth of it, the way the lights caught in her hair, the soft flush on her cheeks when she laughed at something dumb he’d said. She’d worn that dark green sweater he liked — the one that made her eyes look almost unreal under the amber glow.

God, she’d looked unreal under those lights — hair a little windblown, cheeks warm from the cold, eyes lit up with some joke he didn’t even catch all the way. Later that night, she’d reached across the space between them and took his hand gently, so gently, and asked him to stay still.

“Give me your hand,” she’d asked softly.

He’d frowned but obeyed, watching as she pulled a thin, threaded bracelet from her bag. It wasn’t fancy – nowhere near the caliber of the multimillion euro watches he always wore. It didn’t seem to matter to her — she’d still tied it around his wrist like it meant something sacred.

Now, when he thought about it, he couldn’t remember ever having taken it off. He still wore it, tucked beneath sleeves and suits and the rest of the life he kept moving forward in. He still wore it, even after everything.

He tried then, inspired by the flash of anger that seared through him, to tug the stupid thing off. It was only a couple of stupid threads woven together, after all – how hard could it be?

Hooking his fingers under the braided string, Lando tugged with a mighty grunt. The skin of his face burned hot with shame, with frustration, with something when no matter how hard he tried the damn thing didn’t come off. He tugged and twisted and yanked on it until his fingertips were red and raw from all his failed efforts.

Stupid thing.

He told himself he’d cut it off the second he could get his hands on something sharp enough, but after too many drinks and not enough distance from his own thoughts — he found himself holding that thread between his fingers like it might answer something.

Sometimes love didn’t end in shouting or closure. Sometimes it just lingered like a thread around your wrist – fraying, but still tied.

A few more drinks later he found himself in his personal bedroom, pulling open one of the locked drawers in the back of the too-large walk-in closet. 

He breathed a sigh of relief. The ring was still right where he’d hidden it, wrapped in a receipt and tucked beneath a box of spare cufflinks. Reaching for it, he stumbled to the ground more than he sat down with any amount of grace, the black velvet box smooth under his fingertips.  

He hadn’t bought it for a reason. He hadn’t planned a proposal or imagined some cinematic moment with rose petals and violins. He’d just seen it in a market somewhere in Italy, or maybe Portugal, he can’t even remember. It reminded him of her, simple and delicate. A pale, iridescent stone — quiet and beautiful, just like her. He remembered seeing it and thinking that’s hers – not would be, or should be – just hers.

So he bought it, tucked it away and never told her.

He’d never gotten the chance.

He hadn’t planned on proposing. If he was being honest, he hadn’t even known what the future looked like. But he’d bought it anyway, because he’d wanted to – because he loved her.

He missed her.

Not just the version of her that had loved him — but her. All of her. Her stubbornness, her sarcasm, the way she threw napkins at him when he made a dumb joke. The way she used to hum when she studied. The way she’d fall asleep with her cheek pressed to his shoulder like she didn’t even realize she was safe there.

He missed the life they never got to have.

He turned it over in his fingers now, the weight of it a little heavier than he remembered. It was almost the only proof she was ever real, that he hadn’t dreamt her up. That he was real when he was with her. 

Maybe she’d been a fever dream in the middle of the violence, a soft thing his brain made up to protect him from the rest.

This ring was nearly the only proof he had ever cared about her enough to dare to think that she could someday be his.

He held it between his fingers for a long time and let the metal sit against his palm as he tried to imagine how her hand would’ve looked wearing it. He also tried not to imagine what her hand might be holding now – if it wasn’t his.

Maybe I’ll finally stop thinking of her, he told himself, if I can just see her once.

What Lando wanted to know, deep down, was that she still smiled sometimes. He wanted to be certain that despite his Midas touch, he hadn’t ruined Y/N entirely. He wanted to see with his own eyes that she was okay, that she was safe. He needed her to still be able to smile, to still be building the life he watched her dream about. He didn’t need to talk to her or even approach her – just needed to finally confirm that Y/N had moved on.

Just to see. Just to know. Just to remember what it looked like to love something without touching it.

Perhaps then he would finally be able to let go of this godforsaken guilt festering in his chest.

So on that late Thursday night, Lando propped himself up until he was steady on his two feet, grabbed his coat, and headed out into the night.

The streets were quieter at this hour, the city breathing in its own way — hushed murmurs of distant cars, the occasional flicker of neon signs reflected on the rain-slick pavement. The neighborhood was mostly empty by the time he made it to the block where Brews & Books sat, still gleaming faintly under the warm light of its storefront. The leftover light spilled through the windows, cutting faint patterns into the pavement.

The café was tucked into the corner of the street like always, windows glowing soft and golden against the dark. Brews & Books — the lettering still intact, still the same warm serif she had chosen for the sign herself. 

It looked exactly how he remembered it.

Outside, it wasn’t freezing — just cold enough to cut through his jacket in that way that made everything feel sharper, more real. He welcomed it, letting the wind bite at his hands and cheeks like it was a punishment. Or maybe a penance.

He kept his head down as he walked.

For once, Lando Norris wasn’t dressed nicely. Instead, he wore jeans and a hoodie and that same worn coat with the thread bracelet still tucked under the sleeve. If she saw him, he didn’t want her to think he was trying anything. He just… wanted to see her.

That was all.

He’d timed it carefully — picked a night he was fairly sure she’d be working, when the café usually stayed open late for evening study hours. He’d walked by enough times before to know the rhythm of her schedule. The soft hum of her days.

So when he got there — the familiar corner glowing faintly in the dark, window fogged from the warmth inside — he let himself hope, just a little.

With his gaze locked on the glass storefront, he waited for a glimpse of anything – a silhouette in motion, a flash of her in a messy bun, the curve of her smile as she handed someone a drink. All his attention focuses itself, seeking out the sound of her voice rising faintly through the door. Her laugh — god, her laugh.

He would’ve taken anything, even just her reflection in the glass. So he waited.

One minute. Then two. Then five.

He shifted from foot to foot, tucking his hands deeper into his coat. Then, he kept glancing back at the window like she’d appear any second, but she didn’t.

He didn’t go in, didn’t even get close enough for the security camera to pick up more than his silhouette. He just stood across the street with his hands in his pockets, the ring burning a hole in his coat.

Watching. Waiting.

His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his fingers brushing the frayed bracelet on his wrist. He just stood there — across the street, in the dark, watching the life that might’ve been his… if he hadn’t ruined it.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. And, finally, the truth started to set in.

She wasn’t there. She wasn’t coming.

And the thought hit him harder than he expected: she used to love this place.

She used to light up in here. He remembered that night he showed up soaked from the rain, and she’d dragged him behind the counter just to dry him off with the sleeve of her cardigan. She used to hum while she organized the books. She used to sneak extra whipped cream into his drink and then pretend she hadn’t. She used to live here, in that warm way that he had never really seen her take up space anywhere else.

Now? Even this felt empty.

Did I ruin it for her?

Had he taken the one place that was hers and turned it into something she couldn’t stomach?

His jaw clenched as he looked away from the café window and swallowed hard.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, under his breath. 

He shouldn’t have come out here like an idiot thinking she’d still be where he left her. He should’ve asked Logan before coming here. He should’ve checked if her schedule had changed, should’ve done anything other than walk out here like a complete idiot expecting some kind of… moment.

Because now he just felt stupid.

He stayed a little longer anyway — because some part of him still hadn’t caught up with reality. Some insane, idiotic part of him was still half-convinced she’d come around the corner any second and look at him like she used to. Certainly there had to be a reality where he got to see her one more time, got to witness one more time the way she used to light up when she would realize that it was him who had walked through the door.

But that didn’t happen

Frozen in place by some unknown power, Lando felt the rest of the world go quiet as he let himself miss her, just for a moment. For a moment, he let himself love her, quietly and from a distance. For a moment, he told himself that maybe, from now on, that this was what love had to look like.

So Lando stood alone in the cold a while longer, with a bracelet on his wrist and a ring he couldn’t give to anyone.

It took him longer than it should to realize something’s off.

The lights were on. The sign beside the door was still lit — OPEN in neon, flickering letters. The usual warm glow still poured from the café windows. He hadn’t noticed it at first, too busy watching for her, but now that he was really looking, the whole place was… awake, still thrumming with the faint hum of electricity.

That was the first thing.

The second thing was the music. Something played low, an acoustic track with a familiar rhythm that was barely audible from the street.

Yet no one was inside.

There were no customers, no baristas. In fact, there was no movement at all.

Instead, each booth and table and chair lay empty, devoid of even a single soul. From here, he could still spot a mop bucket abandoned near the center of the floor space. One of the chairs was left pushed back like someone had stood up quickly and never sat back down.

Lando squinted through the window. There was no sign of her – or of anyone else, for that matter.

There was a pressure in the air, a certain amount of wrongness that his body recognized before his brain caught up. His stomach tensed, the muscles tightening subconsciously to the unease he now felt creeping through his whole body. The sensation was faint at first, like static on the back of the neck. He hadn’t survived this long by ignoring a gut instinct like that.

That was the third thing — the bad feeling. 

His hand drifted automatically to the inside of his coat. The leather of the concealed holster there was familiar, the weight of it comforting. 

Just in case.

Worst case scenario, he told himself, this’s nothin’ more than a simple misunderstanding. It was more than likely that some barista had stepped out for a smoke break or someone with the closing shift merely forgot the lights on. 

But Y/N wouldn’t do that.

The thought nagged at him.

Immediately, he stepped forward and crossed the street, barely looking on either side of the pathway before making his way over to the familiar entrance. When his hand went to press against the glass door, it gave way immediately. The door wasn’t locked.

That was the fourth thing.

He pushed it open slowly, the bell above it jangling with the same cheer it always had. The sound made his chest ache with something akin to grief for this place he’d somehow developed fondness for. 

He stepped inside, and Lando’s eyes narrowed. His palm instinctively brushed the inside of his jacket, where the holster sat snug against his ribs. his long fingers still curled near the handle of the gun, but with the index finger still pressed up against the safety lock on the side of the barrel. There was no need to draw it yet.

Huh.

Lando’s eyes narrowed. His fingers instinctively brushed the inside of his jacket, where the holster sat snug against his ribs. He didn’t draw it — not yet — but the tension settled across his shoulders like a warning. Years of training and muscle memory kicking in without being asked.

He rounded the side of the first booth, his eyes flicking over everything now. The register appeared to be closed somewhat haphazardly, its security latch visibly loose. On the countertop sat a single transparent cup, likely intended for some drink, only to be abandoned with the now-melting ice cubes as its sole content. He also noted a blueberry muffin on a plate, untouched. From where he stood, Lando could also spot the familiar sight of a note stuck to the side of the shelf, clearly in Y/N’s handwriting: restock oat milk!!

He was just in the middle of attempting to identify what it was about this scene that was so disconcerting when–

The loud, shrill ringing of a phone interrupted his train of thought, nearly startling him in the process. The stillness of the place had lulled him into a sense of ease, one that was disrupted the longer the ringing went on.

Isn’t anyone going to get that?

It rang again and again, going unanswered. Despite the fact that the sound seemed to emanate from behind the swinging door that led to the backroom, Lando could hear it clear as day, even out here. 

Why won’t anyone answer it?

He moved slowly now, eyes scanning, every step heavier than the last. Each step followed the same heel-to-toe rhythm his body had long since memorized, his body working on autopilot as he continued to scan the room in an attempt to figure out what was going on. 

"Hello? Are you there?"

Not paying enough attention to where he placed his steps, Lando’s shoe squealed against the tile. The floor behind the bar must have been slick with something, the rubber of his boot catching on it slightly.

He looked down to see what it was.

A spray of fresh, red blood.

Instantly, his gun was out, his finger hovering over the trigger now. He moved faster now, stepping past the edge of the bar counter and through the swinging door into the workspace. His body moved before his brain could even finish catching up.

And that’s when he looked down. His breath caught, and time slowed.

Crumbled on the tile like the air had been knocked out of her, one of her arms was outstretched, the soft skin of her palm open towards the door. The deep burgundy of blood rapidly stained her abdomen, with even more dribbling out of the side of her mouth. There was enough of the thick liquid for it to just begin pooling beside her, the floor beneath her soaking fast. Her body twitched weakly, like she was still trying to move.

Her eyes met his for the briefest, most agonizing second.

She tried to speak. All that came out was a wet, choking sound — like the air was catching on itself, like her lungs were filled with something thicker than breath.

Blood.

“Y/N!”

a/n: so...

[brookghaib-blog]

Almost Loved - III

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

Summary: Four months of dates, gave Y/N hope that she found the one after hopeless years, Bob looks in love, treats beautiful. There's one step that looks like it's coming. Until Bob breaks it off with her. Encountering each other a year and an half later. What happened ?

Word count: 4,9k

--

Tampa, Florida - 18 months ago

The message came while she sat alone at the café.

The same café he’d taken her to on their second date — a cozy little spot tucked between a record store and a flower shop. The rain outside had begun to mist against the windows, soft and quiet, and her fingers curled tighter around the mug of untouched coffee.

She stared at her phone screen. The message glowed like a wound.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. Please don’t try to contact me.”

Just one sentence.

That was it.

No explanation. No lead-up. No punctuation.

It felt like someone had cut the cord between her heart and lungs, and she couldn’t breathe properly after reading it.

At first, she thought it was a joke — some horribly mistimed prank. Her fingers had fumbled across the keyboard as she typed back, “What? Bob, what’s going on?” But when she hit send, the message didn't deliver. Her stomach turned.

Then she tried to call him. Straight to voicemail.

Again. And again.

She refreshed their conversation. Nothing. She tried Instagram. Blocked. Facebook. Twitter. Even TikTok. Gone.

He had vanished like a ghost, severing every possible string between them with the coldest precision.

Three days ago, he had kissed her forehead while she laughed on his couch, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies. Three days ago, they had watched old movies and shared Chinese takeout and talked about maybe going away for a weekend soon. He had brushed her hair out of her eyes and murmured that she made everything feel lighter. That she made him feel lighter.

What changed in three days?

She didn’t remember getting home. She must have walked through the rain. Or maybe Serena drove her. She couldn’t recall.

All she remembered was collapsing onto the couch, phone still clutched in her hand like a lifeline she didn’t realize had snapped.

The tears came in waves — violent, choking sobs that ripped out of her chest without mercy. The kind of crying that made your bones ache. The kind that felt like dying without dying.

She didn’t eat. Didn’t move.

She just laid there, hours ticking by, her face pressed into a throw pillow that smelled faintly like lavender and something burnt — a candle she’d left too long one night after falling asleep next to him.

Every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped.

But it was never him.

Eventually, she opened the Photos app. It was a compulsion, really — one she didn’t even think about before doing. His face filled her screen in a thousand variations: blurry concert selfies, videos of him trying to dance, sleepy morning snaps where his hair stuck up in every direction.

She watched a video of them in bed. He was teasing her — holding the phone while she hid under the covers, half-asleep and protesting.

“Stop filming me, Bob,” her voice murmured in the clip, laughing.

“But you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered back.

She cried harder.

Every memory felt poisoned now. Every smile was a lie retroactively written into her timeline. Had he known then? Had he been planning his escape even as he tucked her under his arm and called her his favorite part of the day?

She started to spiral — picking apart everything.

Was it her laugh?

Was it the way she always second-guessed herself?

Did she talk too much?

Not enough?

Had she annoyed him that last morning when she asked if he wanted her to stay a little longer?

She counted the flaws in herself like tally marks on a prison wall. Every insecurity that had ever lived quietly in the background suddenly screamed for attention. The scars, the softness of her stomach, the anxious ticks, the way she sometimes cried during sad commercials — all of it. She dissected their relationship until it was a corpse beneath a microscope.

But she found nothing. No answer.

No closure.

Just silence.

At some point, Serena found her there — curled up in a blanket cocoon, phone still glowing dimly beside her, tears drying sticky on her cheeks.

She didn’t ask questions. Just crawled onto the couch with her, arms wrapping tight around her body like scaffolding trying to hold up a crumbling house.

Still, Y/N didn’t sleep.

Not really.

She stared at the ceiling for hours, the ghost of his hand still felt on her skin. She remembered the way he used to run his fingers through her hair when she couldn't sleep. The way he made tea without asking when she was anxious. The way he once told her he’d never had anything in his life that made him want to stay until her.

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she whispered into the dark, barely breathing, “Why, Bob? Why would you leave like that?”

Y/N stopped going to the café.

She couldn’t bring herself to walk past it without thinking of that message. The same wooden bench outside still stood where she had sat waiting for him, so sure that the future was just beginning — not ending. The wind blew through the streets the same way, as if the world hadn’t even noticed her heart had shattered.

But she noticed. Every second of every day.

The mornings were the worst.

Waking up felt like punishment. That small, stupid moment between sleep and consciousness — the one where her body forgot to be heartbroken — was always cruelly short. She’d blink awake and roll toward the space beside her, expecting warmth. Memory. Him.

But there was only a cold pillow and her own hollow chest.

Sometimes she reached out for her phone first thing, hope still clinging to her like a disease. Maybe there’d be a message. Maybe he’d changed his mind.

But no.

There was never anything from Bob. Not a word. Not even a missed call or a blank message by accident. Nothing.

And that silence — that intentional silence — burned worse than anything he could’ve said.

Some days she didn’t get out of bed.

Others, she wandered around her apartment aimlessly, dressed in the same hoodie she’d stolen from him months ago, sleeves covering her hands like a child playing dress-up in someone else’s life. She didn’t shower. She barely ate. Every little sound in the hallway made her jump, wondering if maybe — maybe — he was outside, realizing he’d made a mistake.

But he never came.

Serena came.

Every damn day.

Even when Y/N didn’t answer the door. Even when she texted her to go away, to leave her alone, to stop acting like everything could be fixed with smoothies and TV marathons.

Serena came anyway.

Sometimes with groceries. Sometimes with takeout. Sometimes with nothing but her own heavy heart, and eyes that looked like they ached for Y/N just as much.

“Open the door,” she’d say gently through it. “I’m not leaving.”

Y/N didn’t talk much. When she did, it wasn’t about Bob.

Not directly, at least.

She’d say things like “I just feel gross today,” or “I think I’m too sensitive for my own good,” or “I don’t get what I did wrong.” Her voice always cracked on that last one. As if she were still searching for the missing puzzle piece that would make it all make sense.

But there was nothing to find.

Only silence. Absence. An ache that grew heavier with time.

There were nights when she cried so hard she couldn’t breathe. Where the tears weren’t elegant or cinematic, but wild and ugly and loud — curled up on the bathroom floor, clutching her phone like it might suddenly, miraculously ring. Her knuckles white from gripping it. Her throat hoarse from whispering his name.

Other nights, the grief was quieter. Still, but no less brutal. She’d stare at the wall for hours. No music. No TV. Just silence — the same kind Bob had left her in.

Her mind replayed everything they had — their jokes, the mornings tangled in each other, the dumb nicknames, the whispered confessions. She picked apart his last weekend with her again and again. He kissed her. He held her. He looked at her like she was his. How could it have all been a lie?

She’d swing between sorrow and fury.

Sometimes she hated him. Really hated him. For the way he left. For not being man enough to face her. For blocking her without giving her a single damn answer.

“What kind of coward does that?” she once snapped, eyes red and voice raw.

Serena didn’t answer. Just rubbed her back and stayed close. She never pushed. Never said, “Maybe it’s time to move on.” Because she knew that would break Y/N more than anything.

Instead, she listened. Held her when she crumbled. Sat in silence when Y/N couldn’t bear words.

One day, Y/N found the video again. The one of Bob doing a mini vlog on a beach day.

She watched it ten times.

Then threw her phone across the room.

The screen cracked.

So did something inside her.

But still, the pain stayed.

The world moved forward in tiny increments. Days blending into weeks. People started asking where she’d been. She avoided them. She couldn’t stand the idea of pretending to be okay — of lying to their faces while her soul was still bleeding.

Only Serena saw the worst of it.

The way she’d sometimes sit in the shower for an hour, water gone cold, just to feel something. Serena siting on the floor holding her hand. The way she tried to go on a date but canceled last minute because even the idea of holding someone else’s hand made her feel sick.

“It’s not fair,” she whispered once, voice shaking. “He made me feel like I was the one.”

And she meant it. Because she was. He looked at her like she was the only thing tethering him to the world. He kissed her like every breath depended on her lips.

But then he let her go like she was nothing.

And somehow, she had to live with that.

--

New York - Present day

It was an unusually cold morning in the city — the kind where the wind clawed through even the thickest jackets, and the sky hung heavy with clouds that threatened rain. Serena tugged her coat tighter around her as she emerged from the coffe shop with a carboard with two coffes. One for her. One for Y/N, who’d finally agreed to go on a walk with her later, though she looked more ghost than girl these days, all she didn't need was Toby to turn out to be an asshole after seeing Bob.

She was halfway down the block when she saw them.

Bob.

And some blonde woman walking beside him.

Serena froze mid-step. For a second, her brain didn’t fully register it — like her body needed a moment to buffer the image. But there he was. Tall. Familiar. That same tired, haunted face she’d only seen in Y/N’s photo gallery, in the images Y/N had refused to delete even when her heart was breaking.

He hadn’t changed much.

Still walked like he carried the weight of something massive. Still had that slumped posture, like the world had knocked the fight out of him. But he looked clean now. Sober. Shaved. Dressed in clothes that actually fit. He looked like someone trying.

But Serena didn’t care.

All she saw was the man who had destroyed her best friend.

And the blonde woman beside him — sharp-eyed, confident, her presence powerful enough to command a room — was laughing at something he’d said. Laughing. At him. Bob was smiling, in that awkward, gentle way that made it feel private. Familiar.

Serena’s stomach turned.

Of course. Of course he’d moved on. Of course he had some new girl on his arm, someone probably more exciting, more adventurous. Someone who didn’t cry herself to sleep for a month straight. Someone who didn’t need fixing.

She didn’t even realize she was storming toward them until Bob turned and spotted her.

His face shifted immediately.

“Serena?” His voice cracked, uncertain.

Yelena stopped walking, looking between the two with mild curiosity and a hint of protective alertness — she didn’t know this woman, but Bob’s expression said plenty.

Serena looked at him, lips tightening. “Wow. What a small world.”

Bob took a tentative step forward. “I didn’t think I’d see you. I—do you mind if we talk for a second?”

“Oh, you want to talk?” Serena let out a dry, humorless laugh. “That’s rich. That’s new.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem?”

Serena looked her over, eyes scanning her from boots to blonde hair. She could’ve been a model. Either way, Serena felt that old, sharp burst of rage she hadn’t let out in weeks. Her voice dropped. Bitter. Cold.

“So… this is the reason, huh? All that heartbreak and disappearing — and it was for her.” She shook her head, chuckling bitterly. “Wow. Y/N really was too good for you.”

Bob blinked, startled. “No, it’s not—wait. You think—? She’s not—Yelena’s a friend. She’s—”

“I don’t give a shit who she is, Bob,” Serena cut him off, voice sharp. “You could be with a goddamn saint and it wouldn’t change what you did. You ghosted her. Blocked her on everything. After saying you loved her. After making her believe she was your whole damn world.”

“I did love her,” he whispered, pained.

Serena’s nostrils flared. “Then you should’ve fought harder. You should’ve told her the truth. You don’t get to say you loved her when you left her sobbing on the floor, not knowing if you were dead or just bored.”

Bob’s mouth opened, but no words came. His throat bobbed, and his hands trembled slightly at his sides. The air between them tightened, thick with everything unsaid.

Yelena, sensing this was personal, shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll give you a minute,” she muttered to Bob, stepping away just out of earshot but still watching from a distance.

Bob swallowed hard. “I know you hate me. You have every right to. But I was—I was sick, Serena. I wasn’t sober when I left. I was trying to protect her—”

“Bullshit,” Serena snapped. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me that noble, self-sacrificing crap. You left without a word. You left her with nothing. You didn’t protect her. You abandoned her.”

Bob looked down, jaw clenched, eyes glassy.

“I was scared,” he admitted, voice low. “I was so deep into it—into everything. And I was ashamed. She didn’t know I was using. She thought I was just a little messed up, but it was more than that. Dealers were after me. I OD’d that week and didn’t tell anyone. I thought... maybe if I disappeared, she’d be better off.”

Serena stared at him. The anger didn’t leave. But now, layered underneath it, was something more dangerous: the temptation to feel sorry for him.

“I don't give a fuck. She wasn’t better off,” she said, quieter now. “You crushed her. She stopped going out. She barely ate. She cried herself to sleep for weeks, Bob. Do you even know what that’s like? Watching someone you love break apart because someone else decided they weren’t worthy of the truth? Good for you, not only you lied you put her in danger but using whatever shit you were doing, and whoever you were with.”

Bob’s hands were in fists now. He looked wrecked.

“I know I ruined it. I know I don’t deserve her.”

Serena exhaled slowly, bitter. “At least you’re right about one thing.”

He winced.

“She loved you so hard, Bob. Like... really loved you. The kind of love that could’ve saved someone, if you’d let her. And now? She’s trying so hard to survive the idea that maybe she was never enough.”

His lip trembled, and for a moment, Serena saw it — the haunted, broken man underneath the calm. His silence wasn’t apathy. It was shame.

“I think about her every day,” he whispered. “Every day, Serena. There hasn’t been a second I haven’t regretted what I did.”

Serena shook her head, the anger softening just barely.

“That doesn’t fix anything. You can’t just show up and say sorry and expect it all to be okay.”

“I know,” he said again, tears finally slipping. “I just—I needed you to know she wasn’t the problem. I was. I am.”

They stood there in silence for a moment. The wind howled between buildings. The sky darkened more.

Serena looked at him, then at the coffee in her hands — one for her, one for Y/N.

“She’s different now,” Serena said softly, stepping back. “She’s not the same girl you left. And even if she was… you’ve got a long road ahead if you think you can walk back into her life.”

Bob nodded slowly, not expecting anything more.

Serena didn’t say goodbye. She just turned, heels clicking on the pavement, coffee tray held tightly, heart aching all over again — this time not just for Y/N, but maybe, just a little... for the man who still loved her, too late.

--

The apartment was quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the city outside. Y/N sat curled in a blanket on the couch, nursing the same cup of lukewarm tea she’d reheated twice but hadn’t touched. Her eyes were fixed on the TV, but she wasn’t watching — just letting it run in the background. Serena walked in, kicked off her boots, and tossed her bag onto the counter.

“You been out of that spot today?” she asked casually, eyeing her from across the room.

Y/N didn’t answer. She just pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and gave a half-hearted shrug.

Serena sighed, but didn’t push. She walked into the kitchen and put down the cardboard, grabbed a soda from the fridge, cracked it open, then leaned against the doorway. Her eyes were hesitant.

“I ran into someone today,” she said, too carefully.

Y/N looked over, brows lifting. “Yeah?”

Serena scratched the back of her neck. “It was... Bob.”

Y/N’s face fell.

“Oh.”

A silence settled between them. Y/N’s grip on her mug tightened, but she said nothing.

“He was with a blonde chick,” Serena added quickly. “Not like that. At least he told she was just a friend but... yeah we never know.”

Y/N gave a humorless huff of air. “Figures.”

Serena took a beat. She walked over and sat at the edge of the couch, her tone gentler now.

“He looked like hell, Y/N. Not in a bad way—like, he’s clean. He just... looks like he’s carrying a lot.”

Y/N stared ahead again. “Okay.”

Serena hesitated. “He told me something. Something I think you didn’t know.”

Y/N didn’t move, but the tension in her shoulders rose.

“He said he was using back when you were together.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Serena nodded slowly. “He had a drug problem. Pretty bad, from what I could tell. He hid it from you. Said he was trying to stop while you were dating, but he was still deep in it.”

Y/N was quiet for a long time. Her throat tightened.

“No... he... he never told me that,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.”

“I know. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

"Was that...why?"

Y/N’s thoughts ran wild — fragments of memories she hadn’t questioned at the time. Nights he’d disappear for a little too long. Moods that shifted without warning. The way he’d go quiet, distant, for no reason she could figure out. Her gut had tugged at her back then — but he always smiled, always kissed her forehead, always said he was just tired.

“I thought I was going crazy,” she murmured. “When he left, I thought maybe I’d done something wrong. Like I loved him too much, or needed too much.”

Serena’s voice softened. “You didn’t. He just wasn’t ready to let someone love him like that.”

Y/N looked down at her lap. “I was waiting for him that day, you know? At the café. I waited for an hour. I thought he was just late. Then the text came, and it was so... cold. No warning. Just ‘I’m sorry. Take care of yourself.’”

Serena frowned. “He said he didn’t know how else to do it. He said if he saw you, he’d stay. And he didn’t want to drag you into that.”

“That’s not his decision to make.”

“No, it’s not,” Serena agreed. “But people who are spiraling... they don’t think straight. They don’t think in ‘what’s fair.’ They think in survival. I don't know, I was not so nice to him about it either.”

Y/N’s eyes welled, but she blinked the tears back. “He blocked me everywhere, Rena. Every account. Like I was nothing.”

“I know.”

“God, I was so angry with myself. Picking apart every moment. Every time I raised my voice, every time I didn’t text back fast enough. I thought... I thought if I’d just been a little more—”

“Y/N,” Serena interrupted gently. “This wasn’t about you. None of it was.”

Y/N let her head fall back against the couch, closing her eyes. She exhaled slowly, trying not to fall apart again. Not over this. Not again.

“I don’t know what hurts more,” she said quietly. “That he was suffering and I didn’t know... or that he still didn’t trust me with the truth.”

Serena leaned over, rubbing her back lightly.

“He was ashamed,” she said. “And maybe he still is. But you? You were never the problem. You were just the one thing he thought he didn’t deserve.”

Y/N sat with that for a long time. The words settled heavy in her chest, warm and cold all at once.

“He could’ve told me,” she whispered.

“I know.”

Y/N sat cross-legged on the couch, knees pulled to her chest. Her fingers traced aimless patterns over the blanket draped over her legs, eyes unfocused and glassy. Serena sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, her back leaning against the couch, watching her in silence.

“Do you think I should call him?” Y/N whispered. The words slipped out like they’d been waiting in her throat for hours.

Serena tilted her head back against the cushion, looking up at her friend. “Honestly?”

Y/N nodded slowly, bracing herself.

Serena sighed. “No. I don’t think you should.”

Y/N didn’t react right away. Her jaw tensed, but she kept her eyes forward. “Because you hate him.”

“No,” Serena said, voice gentle but unwavering. “Because I love you.”

Silence stretched between them. Y/N’s throat was tight. She hated how those words could hurt more than comfort sometimes.

“I just…” Y/N swallowed. “What if I never understand why he left unless I ask? What if this is my only chance?”

Serena shifted to sit beside her on the couch, turning to face her fully. “Babe, he had his reasons. As shitty as they were. But does knowing them change what he did?”

“It might,” Y/N said quietly. “If he was in pain… if he was sick… then maybe it wasn’t about me at all.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t still break your heart.”

Y/N ran a hand down her face, frustrated and exhausted. “God, I know. But what if… what if the reason he left is exactly why we could work now? He’s clean, he’s sober. And he’s not hiding anymore.”

She looked at Serena, desperate for clarity that wouldn’t come.

“I keep thinking,” she said, voice cracking, “maybe it wasn’t that he didn’t love me. Maybe it was that he loved me too much and didn’t want me to see him like that.”

“Y/N…”

“No, listen,” she rushed on, her voice thin and trembling. “Maybe it scared him. Maybe he thought he was protecting me. And now he’s better and I’m still here and he’s still in my head and I feel so—so unfinished, Rena. Like there’s still this open wound that never closed because I never got to say anything. He just disappeared. He made me feel like I wasn’t enough, like I was disposable, and I was never okay after that.”

Serena took her hand gently. “You don’t need him to fix that, you know.”

“I don’t know anything anymore,” Y/N said, the tears coming now. “I don’t know if I want closure or if I want him. I don’t know if I miss him or if I just miss the version of me that was happy. He made me laugh, Rena. He’d say stupid shit just to make me smile. He used to kiss my forehead like it was the most sacred thing. Like I was some kind of... light in the middle of all his dark.”

Her voice broke on that last sentence. She covered her face with her hands, and Serena slid closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“I know, baby,” Serena murmured. “I remember.”

Y/N cried for a while — not loud sobs, just quiet, breathy whimpers like a sound too old to still hurt this much. When she finally looked up, her face was puffy and red, mascara smudged under her eyes.

“What if he’s already moved on?” she asked, barely audible. “What if I call and he says he’s happy now? What if that girl you saw really is someone? What if she’s healthy and stable and... everything I’m not?”

“Then you cry,” Serena said. “And I bring ice cream. And we scream at the TV and bad-mouth his stupid golden retriever smile.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, even through her tears. “He really does have a stupid golden retriever smile.”

“You loved him. That’s not a crime.”

“I still do, Rena. That’s the worst part.”

Serena looked at her with sad, understanding eyes. “That doesn’t mean you have to go back.”

“But what if I don’t and I regret it for the rest of my life?”

“Then you’ll survive. You’ve already survived the worst part — him leaving.”

Y/N nodded, but the weight on her chest didn’t lift. She looked down at her lap, her thumb absently rubbing a spot on her wrist like a nervous tick. Her thoughts were loud and messy, like too many radio stations all fighting for attention in her head.

Was she being delusional? Was she romanticizing someone who shattered her? Or was this just the voice of healing — the one that wanted answers, peace, maybe even a second chance?

“I wish I had a sign,” she whispered. “Something to tell me if I should let it go... or fight for him.”

Serena stood and bent down to kiss the top of her head. “Maybe the sign is that you’re still not sure. And maybe... that’s okay.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She just sat in the stillness of it all — torn between past and present, between hope and self-preservation.

That night, when she lay in bed, she stared at her phone far too long. Bob’s contact wasn’t there anymore. But her fingers hovered over the search bar like they might summon something anyway.

A message she’d never send.

What if she texted him? What if he never replied? What if it opened a door she wasn’t ready to walk through—or worse, slammed it shut for good?

The silence pressed heavy against her chest, making it hard to breathe. The room felt too small, too empty, and yet it was filled with the ghosts of what they once were. She could almost hear the echo of his laugh, the way his blue eyes caught the light, that shy smile he gave when he wasn’t sure if he dared to hope.

Her heart twisted painfully. How could the same man who made her feel so alive have vanished like smoke?

Her fingers curled tight into the blanket, nails digging into the fabric, desperate for something real to hold onto.

She whispered into the darkness, voice fragile and raw:

“God, if you’re listening... if you ever listen to me at all... please... give me a sign. Please tell me if I should let go. If I should forget him and move on. Because I don’t know how to live with this waiting anymore.”

The silence answered back, cold and still.

“But if there’s even a chance,” she added, tears wetting her cheeks now, “if there’s any way that he’s still out there—if he’s not gone for good—then please, just tell me. Give me something. A sign that it’s not over.”

Her breath hitched as the panic rolled in waves, swelling in her chest and threatening to drown her. Her mind spun out — all the ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ twisting like barbed wire.

What if he’s hurting too? What if he’s scared? What if I’m the only one holding onto a ghost? What if I’m deluding myself into thinking we ever had a chance?

The room suddenly felt unbearably lonely.

“I don’t know if I can do this without him,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I want to be whole if it means he’s not part of it. But maybe... maybe he doesn’t want me. Maybe he already chose to forget me.”

Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her face, willing the tears to stop, but they came anyway — slow and steady, a river that refused to dry up.

“I’m so tired of pretending I’m okay,” she admitted. “I smile, I laugh with Serena, but inside I’m just a mess. I’m scared I’ll wake up one day and realize I’ve wasted my time waiting for someone who never wanted to stay.”

Her voice cracked with the weight of the truth she couldn’t say out loud.

“But I don’t know how to stop.”

The night deepened around her like a shroud. Y/N closed her eyes, heart pounding like a storm.

“Please,” she breathed one last time, a prayer thrown out to a universe that had always felt indifferent. “Please don’t let this be the end.”

[softlymellow]

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 14

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 5.6k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to SWTCW, some angst some fluff

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

"When someone like Anakin shows up in the empty spaces of your life…you start filling in the blanks yourself."

Padme said nothing as they moved through the polished corridors, her heels echoing softly. Anakin’s steps required more effort, his boots heavier, like he was still somewhere else. 

The walk was short but felt excruciatingly long.

They didn’t look at each other. But they moved in parallel. 

Anakin fought the urge from trying to explain himself to Padme. His throat bobbed and his head hung low. He didn’t owe Padme anything. But he felt like he needed to clear things up. 

“I wasn’t–”

“You don’t need to explain, Ani.” Padme cut him off gently, still not looking at him. 

“I wasn’t going to apologise,” he said in a much quieter tone. “But, I wasn’t hiding anything either.”

Padme’s eyes flickered to her side, studying his sunken expression. The tension in his jaw, the exhaustion lining his features. 

“I didn’t think you were,” she replied, “You’ve made it clear how you feel.” 

It sounded a lot harsher than she intended, but she didn’t take it back. They turned a corner, passing a pair of clones that were stationed near her transport. 

“You should know,” Anakin said, after a few paces. “She was worried.”

Padme lifted an eyebrow at this but allowed him to continue talking. 

“In the medbay. She said something about…you and me. About how close we looked since she left.” 

Padme’s head tilted. That caught her attention. 

“She did?” 

His voice dropped lower, less defensive, more raw. “She didn’t accuse me,” he added. “But she noticed. And I think it bothers her.” 

Padme’s lips parted again. 

“I…I didn’t realise she had seen it that way.”

Anakin gave her a slow nod, feeling something twist in his stomach. “Neither did I.” He rubbed his fingers absently.

He knew what came next. What should come next. The sensible thing. The right thing. 

Padme did too. She dreaded it. Afraid of the solution he would give her. One that would force herself away from him, for the sake of his relationship. She didn’t want to hear it. She needed a resolution herself. 

The words began to form, his throat felt like it was tightening. 

“What if—”

“I should go.” Padme interrupted abruptly, turning to look towards jer transport ahead. Anakin froze mid step, his mouth left hanging and his words abandoned in the air. 

Padme didn’t wait for him, her heels clicking and drowning out whatever he might say. 

Anakin stood there, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

But for Padme?

The thought stuck in her mind. Quiet and unresolved. 

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

The morning light bled through your thin blinds, turning your room into golds and shadows. 

Your body ached, your ribs were still wrapped around in both bandages and the ghosts of Vale’s fingerprints. You groaned. The memory of his hands around you didn’t disappear overnight. Not that you had expected it to. 

You sat up slowly, exhaling through clenched teeth as your body attempted to fight off your sleep. The bacta patches were warm and pulsing, still doing their job. 

You stretched your arms over your head and sighed as they fell down on your lap. Your datapad blinked on the nightstand with a single line notification. 

Picking it up, you thumbed it open out of habit and began to skim through your personal logs and assignments.

You scrolled through your tasks list but it was blanked. Furrowing your eyebrows, you switched between tabs trying to find it. 

That high-priority mission from two days ago, the Deep-space scouting operation was gone. Just disappeared. 

Not reassigned.

Not cancelled.

Erased.

You stared at the screen for a moment, frowning. There was no Council note or transfer of assignment. 

You dropped your datapad away to take with you. It didn’t feel important. Not now. Someone else can deal with the other minefields. 

You traded your clothes for some loose pants and a short sleeve grey compression shirt. 

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

The Temple was quieter than usual today. Not dead but as if it was in between a few things. 

Some soldiers laughed, their helmets under their arms. A few offered you a short “Commander,” as you passed, you nodded. You weren’t sure if they did it out of habit or genuine respect.

Once you reached the mess, it was mid cycle. There were rows of both Jedi but majority clones hunched over their ration trays. The hum of conversations and occasional clatter of utensils filled the space. 

You hesitated at the entrance, grabbing a tray and moved to the serving line. You exhaled, your anxiety meeting you at a place that you had never experienced before. Ever since you came back, you avoided places like these. Often opting out for some take out and eating alone, this was different. It was just before lunch, soldiers wanting to eat before the rush, yet early enough it could be considered late breakfast. 

“Been a while, Commander.” You looked up to the voice that belonged to the mess attendant, an older soldier. His armour was replaced with a simple kitchen tunic but his posture remained rigid. 

“You want the usual?”

You glanced down at what was offered. A nut paste. Ration bread. And something green you didn’t want to question. 

You nodded. “Yes, please.” The familiarity of his words settled strangely in your chest. 

He worked quickly and scooped your portions onto your tray. “Good to see you back,” he added, handing it over. “We’ve lost a few good people,” he glanced up at you. You stared back at him, unsure of what to say. Giving him a force tightlipped smile, you replied back.

“Thanks,” and you took your food and moved to the booths near the window, overlooking Coruscant’s skyline. The city was alive. Air traffic never stops.

You dropped your tray down and sat, your fingers twitching absently near your spoon. 

You would always spend your time eating here with Ahsoka. You were lighthearted, quick to speak with nearby soldiers, making jokes and such. But it seems the war killed that part of you. 

You were alone now. 

Holding the spoon in one hand, you scooped up the nut paste and brought it to your mouth. Your face instantly contoured in disgust. You had completely forgotten what it tasted like. Often just leaving it on your plate and eating the bread instead. 

You brought your datapad out. 

No messages. 

You weren’t expecting any, but still.

A few minutes passed in silence. You forced yourself to eat. There were a few glances. Some that were quick, others like they were measuring. 

It made sense, some have seen you since you came back. Others not. 

Then—

“You just gonna sit there looking miserable all day?”

You looked up.

Fives stood in front of your table, tray in his hand and his brow raised with amusement. Kix was behind him, taking a bite of something suspicious-looking into his mouth. 

“I’ve only been sitting for five minutes,” you muttered. 

Fives chuckled and slid into the booth without warning, both him and Kix sitting across from you. 

“How’s the shoulder?” Kix asked, eyeing you as you slowly took a bite out of the mystery green. Not bad. Warm.

You shrugged, swallowing the food down. “Not bad. Good enough to fake it.” You picked up another spoonful, “I get the feeling though the Temple medics care more about paperwork than pain thresholds.”

“They are,” Kix said flatly. “I helped train some. They log bruises like war crimes.”

You smirked a little, but didn’t reply back.

Fives tilted his head, “so? How’s it feel being back?”

You hesitated a little. It wasn’t all that great. Retrospectively there have been no positives since you came. A little fame? Maybe, yeah. 

You played with your food a little before answering, poking at the nut paste. “I don’t know,” you admitted. 

Five’s noticed the hesitation behind your voice. Your anxious fidgeting. He didn’t push any further. He nodded slowly and took a bite of his bread. “That’s fair.”

“And you guys?” You looked up at both of them. 

“Other than standard galactic chaos? The usual.” Kix deadpanned. 

“Oh and someone broke the showers on sublevel three,” Fives added. “Still an unsolved mystery.” 

You snorted and rolled your eyes. The tension on your shoulders eased. There was a pause, long enough for you all to settle into something more comfortable. You stared out the window to Coruscant’s air traffic. Somewhere someone was dying. Somewhere, the war kept spinning. 

Fives leaned back, watching you. Noticing the way your hair looked a different colour under the sun. He wasn’t trying to measure your recovery. Or your small scars that littered your skin. Something quieter. 

“They got you back on rotation yet?”

Turning your gaze back to Fives, you cleared your throat. “I think so,” you said. “Nothing’s been confirmed.”

As if on cue, your datapad buzzed softly next to your tray. 

You picked it up and swiped on the notification before you could think.                       

Kamino Medical Liaison Assignment – Commander L/n

Tipoca City, Kamino — Medical Level  Pending confirmation. 

Priority Tag: Observational Only

You stared at it. 

“You good?” Kix asked. 

You exhaled softly. “Yeah. Just got my assignment.”

“Kriff, that was fast,” Fives muttered. “Where to?” 

“Kamino.” 

Both their expressions shifted. And you knew what it meant. This isn't your field. Your role here was just to observe. Be on the sidelines. 

Kix took a sip of caf. “Medical support, I’m guessing?”

You nodded. “Feels like they don’t know what to do with me,” you replied. 

Kix’s tone softened, noticing your disheartened voice. “You’ll make a difference there. A real one.” 

Fives nodded in agreement. “Yeah. And honestly? They could use someone like you on Kamino. They listen more when it’s not a Kaminoan.” 

You looked down at your tray. It wasn’t what you wanted. But it was something. And maybe it was enough for now. 

The silence said enough. 

“For what it’s worth…I’m glad you’re back.” Fives added. 

You glanced up at his reassuring smile. 

Kix let out a quiet breath. “Yeah. And if you ever feel like stabbing someone, I can slip you a scalpel from the medbay.” 

You huffed out a laugh. “Comforting,” you said dryly, they both chuckled. 

The ache in your chest didn’t go away. But it did settle. 

Before Fives could make his own smart comment, Kix stood up, glancing at his chrono. “Alright, I got to head back. Nice to see you, Commander.” 

“Likewise,” you shot him a tight-lipped smile. 

Fives sat and watched you quietly as Kix walked away. 

There was a moment of silence as you accepted the mission and then picked up your spoon again, ready to absentmindedly nudge your food. 

“You don’t have to pretend,” Fives’ gruff voice made you look up at him. 

“Hm?” 

“To be okay. To be back.” 

You gave him a small smile. “I know..”

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

Anakin leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and his eyes fixated on a datapad he hadn’t actually processed in twenty minutes. He kept rereading the same sentence again. Again. And again. And still he wasn’t making sense of anything. 

It never stopped. 

“You’re brooding again,” Obi-wan’s voice came behind him. 

“I’m reading, Master.” Anakin shot back without looking up. 

“You’re rereading the same report you send me three days ago.”

Anakin signed and let the datapad drop against his thigh and he turned his head to look at Obi-wan. He was stood near the entrance of the war room, his arms around his back, and he looked tired. Everyone looked tired these days. 

“Didn’t realise I was being watched,” he shrugged. 

“You make it very easy,” Obi-wan replied, stepping beside him. 

“Good to know.” 

They stood for a few moments, watching a few younglings pass by the window, holding a stack of training manuls. 

“You could rest, you know,” Obi-wan said. “You’re not on rotation until tomorrow.” 

“Resting doesn’t fix anything.”

“It’s not meant to fix anything. It’s meant to keep you alive long enough for you to try.” 

He didn’t respond, but his jaw was tight and his eyes unfocused again. 

“You’re not sleeping, are you?”

Another beat of silence. 

“Do you ever stop keeping track?” Anakin asked, his voice flat. 

“Excuse me?”

“Every death. Every mission that doesn’t go the way it was planned. Do you ever stop counting?  

Obi-wan doesn’t reply right away. “Not really,” he admitted. “But I try to remember why we’re fighting.”

Anakin let out a humourless laugh. “And what if you’re not sure anymore?” 

“You are sure,” He said firmly. “You just hate what it costs you.” 

Anakin looked down at his hands. Once that had a black glove. The other was rough and had scarred skin. 

Obi-wan stepped away, giving him space. 

“I have another Council meeting. Try not to lose your mind in the next hour.” 

“Sure. Put it on the pile.” Anakin muttered. 

Obi-wan gave him one last look before retreating back. 

Anakin stared out the window. It was only late afternoon but he hated this part of the day. The outside was harsh and golden but the sunlight pressed against the glass, warm and unrelenting. It caught on his face, the side of his neck and the strip of skin beneath his collar.

The Temple walls didn’t breathe much at this house. It was quiet and still. It had weight with things he didn’t want to remember. His skin felt itchy. 

It came around this time of day. Where he would remember sitting on the cracked sunbaked steps as a boy, sweat drying on his back. His house was too hot to enter but the air outside tasted like dust and waiting for something. Like hope. 

This tasted the same. 

He hated this part of the day. 

The sun shouldn’t make him feel like this. 

His thoughts spiraled too easily. 

His mother. Ahsoka. Y/n. 

Every name he couldn’t say out loud but every connection he wasn’t allowed to keep. Every person who slipped out of his reach.

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

After the mess hall you had showered off the Temple’s humidity and returned to your room. You were not curled on your sleep couch, datapad propped against your knee. Half reading through post-battle debriefs, politics and whatever piqued your interest at this hour. Which was nothing. Your eyes moved but your brain didn’t. 

Your mind couldn’t help but wander off to Anakin. What had happened that night. The way his head was so close to yours. His breath against yours. 

The ping of your datapad interrupted your thoughts. It wasn’t the usual Temple alert note but a softer one. 

You tapped the blinking corner and a new message slid across your screen. 

Secure Direct Comm Link

Sender: Senator Padme Amidala

  If you’re free tonight…I’d like to speak with you. Come to mine for dinner. Just us. No guards or formalities. Wear anything you’d like, please.

And then a second message appeared. 

I owe you clarity. 

You stared longer than you meant to. You weren’t sure how to feel about this. Before leaving, Padme and you weren’t exactly close. Yes, you would speak to her from time to time, but anything one on one was different. 

But you stood anyway. Something you’d like? You walked over to your closet and skimmed past your uniforms, temple issued gear. And settled on black. Something that was you. 

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

The corridors to the apartment were quiet in the evening. You smoothed your outfit again, even though you had checked it multiple times in the mirror. 

It was simple. A long sleeved black dress that hugged your thighs and then flared below your calves and had a square neckline that framed the top of your chest. 

The door slid open before you could buzz. 

“Y/n!” Padme said warmly, engulfing in your hug before letting you go equally as fast. “I’m glad you came.” 

“It’s lovely to see you,” you said politely, stepping into her dimly lit apartment. I twas curated so guests could come even when they didn’t company. 

The table was already set. Two plates and a few covered dishes still seaming. 

“You look beautiful,” she said. 

You softly smiled at her, “thank you. You look great as well.” Unsure of how to exactly compliment her. 

She was dressed more simply than usual. An elegant cream wrap around dress but she still managed to make it look expensive. Her hair was pinned back and she had a green jweled necklace on.

“I hope this isn’t too strange,” she said. She then motioned to the table. “Please, sit. It;s just roast and steamed greens. Nothing fancy.”

“No! It’s great. Beats anything in the mess hall.” You joked, taking a seat across from her in the small table.

She lifted the covers from the dish and began plating both your plates quietly. You sat, unsure where to put your hands. 

“How’s your side?”

You blinked. “Sorry?”

Padme gestured towards your ribs. “Is it healed yet?” 

You nodded slowly, sometimes forgetting you were injured yourself. “It’s just bruises now. The bacta helps but…yeah.” 

“Good.” She smiled softly, setting down your plate. “You didn’t show it that night.”

“I didn’t want to.”

Padme gave a quiet hum. “I wouldn’t have either.”

You picked up your fork and began pushing at pieces of green. 

“Monian seemed…captivated.” Your eyes flicked up at her, your jaw tightened slightly, but you didn’t respond. 

She didn’t push. Instead she leaned back and took a slow sip before glass before speaking again. “You’ve been through a lot since Dev. The temple. The injuries. Vale.” She began to pick up her fork and knife, gnawing at the piece of meat. “It’s a wonder how you’re still alive.”

“It doesn’t feel much of a comeback.” You muttered. 

“It does to the people watching.”

She softened again. “You don’t have to talk about him, if you don’t want to.”

“Dev?”

“No,” she hesitated. “Anakin.”

You swallowed and shut up immediately. This was what she wanted to talk to you about. Anakin. You knew this was coming. 

The silence stretched just a bit longer than usual. 

“I wanted to speak with you sooner,” Padme said carefully. “But it never felt like the right time.”

“There wasn’t a right time.”

She nodded in agreement. “No. There wasn’t.”

She inhaled deeply as you took a sip of your wine. “I spoke to Anakin briefly. He mentioned something.” She hesitated. “About you being in the medbay… That you brought me up.”

Your heart panged. 

“I think there may have been… some misunderstanding. Or at least it’s been weighing on you and I should have addressed it earlier.”

Her voice didn’t waver. 

“About me. And Anakin.” She looked at you directly, her fork hovering in the air before bringing it to her mouth. 

She chewed and swallowed, leaving you anxiously sitting there waiting for her to continue. 

“After you left the Order…he broke down. I don’t think anyone but Obi-wan and I noticed. He was…angry, reckless. Hurt in ways he couldn’t say.” 

You didn’t speak. Your food left abandoned on the plate. 

“I listened. I was there. We had met when we were both only children. It made sense for him to confide in me.”

“You say that like I should thank you.” 

Padme’s eyes flickered with something. “I’m not asking you to. I’m saying it because no one else will. And because you looked at me like I had taken something from you.”

“Why are you even telling me this?” You swallowed. 

Her tone shifted to something quieter. “Because it’s easier to hate someone when you only have half the truth.” She met your eyes. 

You stared for a long moment. “I’m a Jedi. Or…I was. We’re not even supposed to think about things like this. Relationships. Possession. Attachment. It’s forbidden.” 

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Padme defensively said. “And neither was he.”

“Then why bring it up?” You asked. 

She paused then took a slow breath. “I don’t want you to get this wrong idea. Obi-wan and I…We both tried. We weren’t trying to replace you.”

You stared at your plate again. It was going cold now. The roast untouched beside the greens. 

“Replace me?” you repeated. “Padme. I left. There was no replacing. I wasn’t there to be missed.”

“That’s not true.”

You looked at her, dropping your diplomatic mask. “I was hurt too, you know? My whole life changed that day…And when I came back…It didn’t get any easier.”

“I know,” she set down her utensils. The silence felt heavier than anything she could have said. 

“Anakin–he tried. Tried to reach you. He didn’t have many people he could trust, and after you left…”

Her words trailed off but you were still looking at her. Your eyes now burning. 

“I thought I knew him better than anyone else,” you let out a humourless laugh. “And then I came back and it was…it was like I was intruding on something.”

A pause. 

“I was always so careful,” she began. “Careful with everything. Until him.”

There it was.

You didn’t speak. Not yet. 

How could you respond to that? To someone else’s version of your person? To the realisation that while you were gone, the possibility of someone else falling for him wasn’t unexpected. 

“He came to me a lot. I thought…I thought I was helping.” She glanced down and swirled her wine in her glass without taking a sip. 

“Perhaps part of me misread that closeness for something else.”

You blinked. “Misread it how?”

She had a small, self-deprecating smile. A little ashamed. “I thought maybe he felt something more. I didn’t act on it. But I felt it. Or I thought I did.”

She wasn’t lying. She looked embarrassed to even tell you this. 

“Did he…”

Padme shook her head immediately. “He never crossed the lines between Jedi and Senator. Perhaps in friendship, yes. But he was there. All the time. When someone like Anakin shows up in the empty spaces of your life…you start filling in the blanks yourself.” 

Suddenly clearing her throat, she began to take her fork and eat food from her plate. “You don’t have to believe me.” She said in between bites. “But I think he felt more for you than he’s ever let himself say.” 

You didn’t move but something in your chest did. She must’ve noticed because she didn’t press you any further. Didn’t try to convince you. 

You glanced down at your plate and then at her cityscape window. Coruscant was always beautiful at night. 

“I didn’t know what to expect coming here,” you finally muttered. “Sitting down and talking to you.”

“I didn’t invite you to try and provoke you, honestly.” She said gently. “I just didn’t want you to believe I would do anything to hurt you.” 

You nodded and began to eat your own food, not wanting it to go to waste, 

“I honestly think he’s still trying to figure out if you’re real.” She said to which you snorted. 

“I think he resents me,” you murmured. 

“I think he resents himself.” 

You glanced up at her once and then continued eating. Not wanting that last comment to ruin your appetite. Anakin meant everything to you. Just the thought that maybe, maybe he hated himself, made you feel sick. 

After more eating and quiet talk, no longer about Anakin but rather how much or less the Order changed, she finally stood up. 

She took your plates and began to clear them, you moved to help but she stopped you gently. 

“I’ve got it. Thank you.” She said kindly. You watched her back. The posture of someone who felt things they should not, but working to amend them. 

You smoothed out your dress. 

“I never hated you, Padme.” You said honestly. “I’m glad that we had this talk, really.” 

She looked over at you and gave you a small smile, her eyes bright. “I feel the same way, Y/n.”

You held her gaze for a moment before walking to the door, Padme escorting you out. 

“Thank you for the dinner tonight. It was beautiful.” You stood out the corridor. 

She shook her head, “My pleasure. I hope you have a safe trip home.” 

You nodded and then bid your farewells. The city had begun to quieten down. By the time you reached your speeder, the night wind bit at your skin. You boarded the transport back to the Temple, the weight of the conversation still hanging in your chest. 

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

You finally turned into the final corridor towards your quarters, your footsteps soft against the polished hard floor. There was a deep blue that cast over the sleeping Temple. You were just as ready to fall asleep as everyone else. 

As you rounded the corridor, you paused immediately in place. 

Anakin. 

Sitting outside your door. 

His legs lie flat on the floor. Hands loose in his lap. His head leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting a while. 

Your heart dropped to your stomach. 

“What the hell,” you whispered harshly, walking over to him with a dumbfounded expression. “What are you doing here?” 

He blinked slowly and stood up, almost sheepish. His hair was messier than usual and his tunic was wrinkled. 

Stepping closer to him, your voice was hushed but sharp. “Are you out of your mind? If someone sees you—”

“No one’s going to see me,” he muttered. “Everyone’s asleep.”

“Yeah, well. We’re not.” You snapped back, glancing between both sides of the hallway. “You’re standing outside my room like a lunatic—what do you want?” 

He looked at you, his dark eyes boring into yours. 

“I needed to see you.”

You scoffed, “So you waited out here like a creep?”

“I tried knocking,” he shot you a small smirk, as if this was amusing. 

You rolled your eyes and key’d your door open, stepping inside and Anakin following in. This didn’t feel good. This didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like what it was before. When he would actually sneak into your room late at night. This felt blatantly wrong. 

“I didn’t know when you’d be back.” His eyes began to trail down your figure. Memorising every little detail of your dress. The way it hugged your body. Your lace sleeves. The way it was simple but you simply being in it was enough to leave Anakin longing for more. 

And then he snapped out of it. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked back up to your eyes. “Where were you? Why are you dressed like that?”

“Why do you care?” You tested. 

His jaw flexed, just once, but hard enough to say everything he wasn’t saying.

“I went to go see Padme,” you said. 

Anakin tilted his head, “Padme?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, stepping further back into your room while still facing him. But Anakin moved towards you at the same time. 

“You told her what I said in the medbay? Really, Anakin.” You scoffed looking away from him. 

He inhaled quietly. “I didn’t mean for her to bring it up to you.”

“But it still happened.” You looked back at him in disbelief. “Do you just talk about me to whoever’s around when I’m not there?”

His mouth opened slightly, and then closed again. He licked his lips. 

“I didn’t mean for it to be like that," he muttered in a low voice. 

“Totally, Anakin.” You bitterly laughed under your breath. “How embarrassing.”

“I was trying to explain. She could tell I was acting differently. I didn’t even say much.” 

You didn’t say anything. You just pressed your lips together and looked away. Trying to ignore the way the Force felt like it was pulling you both in together. How just being in the same room as Anakin Skywalker made everything feel sharper. 

“Whatever,” you muttered. “It’s done now.” 

“Y/n.”

You looked over at him. 

“I didn’t know you were going out tonight,” he said in a much softer tone. 

You rubbed your face with your palm, feeling the day weighing down on you. “It wasn’t a secret.” 

This made his jaw tick. He took one step closer, then another. You didn’t trust yourself to move. 

“I didn’t know where you went, or who you were with…” He trailed off. He was close now. “I hated it.”

You blinked. “You’re not entitled to know anymore.”

“I know,” he murmured. “But I still hated it.” 

His voice was lower now, more rough. You smelt the slightest trace of his cologne. Your eyes dipped down to his mouth before catching yourself. 

He wouldn’t stop looking at you. You felt uneasy under his gaze. His dark eyes. 

“Why are you here, Anakin?” You asked in a voice that was barely a whisper. 

He hesitated. “I wanted to see you.”

Your chest burned.

“That’s not fair.”

“I know.”

You didn’t move but neither did. Maybe if you stood long enough something would break. Like a crash. An attack. Someone walking in. 

But nothing. 

It was so quiet. 

You couldn’t distinguish the sound of your own breath between his. 

You felt your heartbeat against your chest. 

“Anakin…” you whispered, unsure if he heard you or not. 

But he did. 

His breath hitched and his eyes kept flickering between your mouth and above. 

Your mouth.

Your eyes. 

Your mouth.

Your eyes. 

The air between you had gone heavy, charged. Like the Force itself was holding its own breath.

He then stepped closer. Just once.

A single step that brought him too close. Close enough that his chest brushed against yours and it felt hot to the touch. 

His hand lifted slowly, cautiously. Like he was hesitating. Waiting for you to push him away like you always did. Waiting for you to yell at him again. But you didn’t. You couldn’t move, not with the way he was staring at you. 

His fingers found your chin, tilting your face up towards his. 

He leaned in. Closer. So slow it was unbearable. 

His jaw was tense. His lips parted slightly. His eyes, dark and unreadable. But they began to flutter shut. 

And then, finally. 

His lips brushed against yours. A ghost of a touch. Barely there. 

Like he was waiting. Waiting for you to pull back. To tell him this was wrong. But you didn’t. 

And then.

His mouth pressed against yours. 

It was soft. Softer than anything he’d ever done. Than any kiss you have shared in the past. 

And you kissed him back, the tension shattering. It was slow. Like neither of you trusted it to be real. 

His hand moved up to your cheek, his thumb skimming along your jawline. His other hand settled onto your waist, so carefully, so slowly. Terrified that you would disappear if he didn’t anchor himself onto you. 

He tilted his head, enough to deepen the kiss. Your mouths moved together like it was instinct. It was slow and aching. A kiss that whispered I missed you if he couldn’t say it in words. 

Your own hands moved too, fisting the fabric at his shoulders, pulling him in closer. 

He pulled back for just a breaths distance. 

Neither of you said a word. 

His chest moved up and down. Both of your eyes were closed and neither of you moved away. 

You didn’t say anything. 

So he kissed you again. 

Deeper this time. Still soft but hungrier. Like his restraint was slipping and he was starving. 

He leaned over you, more urgently. Like everytime he pulled back, everytime your lips parted by only an inch, he couldn’t stop himself from coming back in. Like he was afraid he would never have this chance again. 

His lips began to dip lower. Pressing another kiss just below your mouth. Then again, lower, at the curve of your jaw. And another at your neck. The sound of his lips on your skin was enough for you. 

“Ani…” you murmured without thinking. 

He paused for half a second but didn’t react, he just exhaled against your skin like he needed to hear it. 

He finally pulled back, but only by inches. His hands still on your waist and his brown drawn. His eyes still flickering between yours and your mouth like he hasn’t had enough.

“You can’t do this,” his voice hoarse. “You can’t come back, kiss me like that, and leave me again.”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t plan this.”

“But it happened.” He said. “And I can’t stop thinking about you. I haven’t. Not for a second.”

You swallowed, your eyes searching his desperate ones. 

His voice dropped, “You can’t walk away from this again, not like nothing happened.”

His chest was rising like he was holding back everything else he wanted to say. 

“I’m not,” you whispered. “But you need to go.” You stepped back carefully. Your hands leaving his body and his to yours. It pained him.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Anakin, please.”

He looked at you like you were killing him. 

But without a word, with hope in his heart, he stepped back towards the door. You didn’t move. You didn’t bid him goodnight. You couldn’t. You couldn’t when you still felt his touch on you. His lips against yours. 

And finally, he walked out, not with anger or regret. But with everything left unsaid.

A/n: guys... im so sorry istg like this took me agesss ive just been going through so much stuff rn im SRRY IF IT DIDNT MEET UR EXPECTATIONSSSS BUT IT HAPPENED i want to clarify series isnt over until rots until then more drama and stufff not done with the angst fully yet but guysssssss WAS THE KISS RUSHED PLZ SAY NO

also im going to respond to everyones comments on my last few posts thanks to literally everyone who was checking up on me its the sweetest thing ever and i never ever imagined people loved my writing to the point of waiting and thinking about it like daysss afterwars seriously its the sweetest

i really hope u guys liked this chapter, i have my final exam on monday so after that hopefully more regular posts!

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift @heyitsbeeeb @user-3113s-blog @fandomhoe101 @veronaspencil @zudooms @hiphopdancer101universe @starfire21 @devotedlypaleluminary @miksxz @lacherrysouldy @lotushzl @biddycums @wandasblacknails @moonixlity @icanmeltanigloo @isntthatsweetiguessso @kiyotofish @balsalmic-vinegar @thereeallink @sylusisbae @queenanababy @ifonlyihadneverseenhim @lotushzl @guizhou09 @tvdelrey @lils-and-everything-else @gracielikegrapes @thatgoesinthere-misshapes @chris-continues

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

PLZ LMK WHAT U GUYS THINK this also wasnt proof read so like ignore the typos </3

[suigenerisisadiva]

Halfway Between You & Justice - Jason Todd x Detective!Reader

Pairing: Jason Todd x Detective!Fem!reader + Dick Grayson x Fem!Platonic!reader

Summary: You’re a seasoned GCPD detective, partnered with Gotham’s golden boy, Dick Grayson. Your life is already complicated enough between balancing crime scenes, late-night stakeouts, the looming shadow of corruption and the horde of vigilantes trying to steal your line of work - and source of income. What you don’t need is to fall in love with your partner’s hotheaded, motorcycle-riding, presumed-dead brother. Too late now though. Content Warnings: Swearing, Jason Todd's waist, crime, violence, gore mentions, petnames, lowkey suggestive

A/N: So sorry for ditching guys I was crashing out subtly for a few days, I hope you all enjoy this! Guys I think this is like my first proper fic! hope you are proud!!!

Bae's I needa tag: @gothicbatgirl, pookie ily this one's for you 🫰

The crime scene smelled like burnt plastic from the industrial area and concrete with the musk of bitter wind. Gotham's signature perfume. You stepped under the police tape, flashing your badge, your hair still smelling like Pantene and leave-in, with coffee cooling in your red Frank Green travel mug.

“Third body this week,” Dick muttered beside you. “Same MO. Bullet to the head, throat slit post-mortem.”

“Message kill,” you said. “Somebody wants attention.”

You didn’t flinch at the gore anymore. That part of you was long dead, buried under years of sleepless nights and department budget cuts. But something about this one felt personal. Sloppy. Emotional.

Then came the sound of boots on gravel. You glanced up.

Leather jacket. Helmet under one arm. That smug, lopsided smirk like he knows he's hot, walking around with that waist ratio slutty enough to make Kim K jealous.

Jason Motherfucking Todd.

Dick sighed immediately. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?” spoken in the true sibling tone.

Jason held up his hands after putting his helmet down, grin unfazed. “Relax, Boy Wonder. Just doing some independent investigating. Heard this might be Red Hood turf.”

You narrowed your eyes. “How does a civilian ‘hear’ that?”

“I read the Gotham Gazette,” he said innocently.

You weren’t buying it. But you were staring. The curve of his smirk. The cut of his jawline sharp enough to do geometry on it. The way his black t-shirt clung to his chest, and fit snugly around his biceps.

Unprofessional.

Very unprofessional.

You found Jason again that same night. Sitting on the hood of your BMW m4. Swinging his legs like a schoolboy. But a schoolboy with guns.

“I’m not giving you case files Jay” you said flatly, arms crossed.

“Didn’t ask sweetheart,” he said, then added, “Yet.”

You didn’t drive him away. You didn’t hand him files, either. But you sat on the hood next to him and let him steal sips of your coffee. "Your car suits you by the way" He spoke.

"I don't know how to interpret that statement Jace" you chided back.

"Take it however you want it babe" He said, flashing you a smirk.

And somehow, this became a routine.

You were out on your break, on a shift you don't normally take, but Detective Alvarez called in sick. Which is why you're here, scrolling through Insta reels on a balcony in Gotham feeling the breeze of her air go past your lululemon define jacket, listening to the ambience produced by the city - cars, cop sirens and the occasional yell from a store owner, almost like Gotham's got a Spotify playlist.

Suddenly, you're met with warm arms.

The gasp you gusped made him chuckle. Jason slid an arm down your back just enough to make you feel butterflies, muttering the most devious sentence-

"Doll you wore that to interrogate me? I thought I was the one playing dirty..." he teased. You swat his arm in retaliation, fingers nearly hurting from how built he really is. You remember the time you once saw Jason at the bench press, lifting those things with ease, then you noticed it was your body weight on both sides. That made you feel something.

"Where's Dickwad?"

"We aren't speaking to each other right now" You replied immediately.

"You're supposed to speak to each other how the fuck else are you gonna do your job?" Jason jabbed, getting sassier by the second.

"Barbara complimented my push up bra and he told me I 'looked the same' and I said the same thing for him about his booty gain journey, which really ticked him off I think." You explained.

"He's been pissing me off lately, unplugging my work laptop to charge his fucking electric toothbrush 'cuz it's important to his oral ecosystem." You continued with vigour-

"I ended up hiding his whey isolate in the evidence freezer." You finished.

"That's funny" Jason said softly, hoping you'd never notice how he didn't take his eyes off your features for a second while you were talking.

It came to a head three weeks later.

Dick found out.

He stormed into the bullpen, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. “You’re seeing him?”

You blinked. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission.”

“You don’t,” he snapped. “But you’re smarter than this. He’s reckless. Dangerous. You know who he is.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.”

Jason waited for you outside that night. You didn’t speak for a while.

“Your brother has me on his hit list,” you muttered.

Jason lit a cigarette. “He hates the part of me he used to be. The angry kid. The one who didn’t make peace with dying.”

You looked at him then , like really looked. Past the scars and leather and bravado. And something in your chest broke.

You kissed him first. Not knowing where it would lead you.

Hope you all enjoyed this! Likes, comments, reblogs and requests are highly appreciated! Requests are open!

Sources! -

Dividers - @enchanthings @anitalenia @sister-lucifer

Icon Header - @mieczyslawn

Property of suigenerisisadiva, do not repost my work pls & ty

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 The Home Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

series mastelist | main masterlist

Summary: Just when you and Spencer are finally ready to take the next step and move in together, the question of whether it should be in your apartment or his comes up.

Words: 1,4k.

Warnings & Tags: this works as a standalone one-shot but also is a extra to a series. fluff. established relationship. painter!reader who was a cat. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Finally our parents have a simple problem and not something horrible, cheers 🥂!

It started somewhere between the last bite of pancake and the second cup of coffee.

The apartment was steeped in the kind of hush that only Sunday mornings could bring: a silence that wasn’t empty but full. Full of warmth. Full of quiet breath and the faint murmur of jazz curling from the record player, soft saxophone notes drifting lazily through the room like smoke. The golden glow of morning filtered through gauzy curtains, lighting the hardwood floor in warm puddles, softening every line and edge.

You were curled against Spencer on the couch, the oversized blanket slipping down your shoulders, the smell of him—clean cotton, worn paper, and just a trace of your honeyed vanilla and soft lavender shampoo—settling around you. Your legs were entangled in his, bare ankles brushing, your toes hooked beneath the cuff of his pajama pants. Mittens was perched like royalty on the armrest beside him, one paw flopped dramatically over the edge, tail flicking every so often with theatrical boredom, though her purring betrayed her.

A nearly empty plate balanced on the coffee table, sticky with the last smear of syrup and a fork resting lazily on its side. Your half-finished coffee had gone lukewarm. A sketchbook lay open across your lap, your fingers idly tracing charcoal lines into vague shapes, the beginnings of a profile you weren’t committed to. Not yet. Maybe not at all.

Spencer’s gaze was steady on you, soft and lingering, the way he always looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. One hand rested lightly on your knee, thumb stroking slow, absent circles like he was anchoring himself to the feeling of your skin beneath his fingers. You felt him shift beside you, subtle, the quiet kind of movement that always meant something was coming.

He nudged your leg with his knee, just once.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said.

You didn’t look up at first, still distracted by a curl you couldn’t quite get right on the page. “That’s always a little dangerous.”

He gave a low laugh, and you felt it more than heard it, the quiet vibration where your body pressed into his. His hand moved, sliding from your knee to your thigh, fingertips grazing the hem of your sleep shorts.

“No,” he said. “I mean it. Something real.”

That made you pause.

You looked up, brows lifting as your gaze met his. His eyes were wide and warm, serious in that soft, thoughtful way only he could be. Not anxious. Not rushed. Just…steady.

“Okay,” you said, adjusting the sketchbook so it rested flat on your lap. “Go on.”

He hesitated, just a heartbeat, but then, with a breath, he said, “I think we should live together. Officially.”

Your pencil stilled. You blinked at him.

“Live together?” you repeated, as if maybe the words needed a second to settle in your chest.

He nodded. “I mean…we already kind of do, don’t we?” His voice was calm but earnest. “Your toothbrush lives in my bathroom. Your earrings are scattered across my nightstand. My socks have somehow migrated into your drawers—especially the Einstein ones, which I know you steal—and your shampoo has taken over half my shower. We haven’t slept in our own beds in a week. Sometimes we forget whose apartment we’re even in.”

You stared at him, your heart doing that soft, fluttery thing it hadn’t done in years until him. A slow smile bloomed across your face, warm and startled and a little breathless.

“So,” you murmured, “you want us to live together.”

“I do,” he said, without hesitation. “I want to come home and know you’re going to be there. I want to fall asleep next to you without wondering which apartment we’re in or if I remembered to bring my charger. I want all the mornings to feel like this one.”

You bit your lip, trying, and failing, not to grin. “That was oddly romantic for someone who once said sentimentality disrupts logic.”

Spencer smiled, tilting his head. “Turns out, I can be both.”

You pretended to think a moment, but your heart was already tumbling forward like a stone down a hill. “Okay, then. You can move in with me.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. “Wait. Me move into your place?”

You shrugged, casual but grinning. “Obviously. I’ve got the better lighting, the bigger windows, and Mittens has already claimed the sunniest spot for herself. It’s practically destiny.”

He sat up a little straighter, mock offense blooming on his face. “But my place has more shelf space. For books. And yours has that one creaky radiator that makes ghost noises at night.”

“Charming ghost noises,” you corrected. “Adds ambiance.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your kitchen has one drawer that only opens if you kick the cabinet below it.”

“And yet I’ve made you pancakes there every weekend for the last month,” you countered sweetly.

Yes, somewhere amid all the quiet perfection of the last month—the slow mornings, the soft kisses on the couch, the shared silences away from his work—you had somehow managed to do the impossible: make the best pancakes in the world, at least according to him. And Spencer Reid did not give out that kind of praise lightly.

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s emotional manipulation.”

“It’s cinnamon and love,” you replied, poking his chest with your pencil.

“You don’t even have a hallway closet.”

“I have a shoe rack.”

“A wobbly one.”

“You’re wobbly,” you said, laughing now.

He laughed too, his eyes crinkling, the corners of his mouth turning up in that boyish, dimpled way that made your stomach flutter like it was the first time. He reached over and pulled the sketchbook gently from your lap, setting it aside so he could wrap his arms around your waist.

“So we’re really doing this?” He asked, his voice quieter now, softer, like he was trying to ask with every part of himself.

You nodded, eyes soft. “Yeah. We are.”

Spencer looked down at your intertwined legs, then at the half-finished sketch on the side, then back at you. “Then I guess we’ll just have to fight about which apartment we live in.”

“Oh, we will,” you promised.

The playful argument slowly dissolved into soft laughter, your bodies still tangled together on the couch, the morning light spilling through the windows like a warm blessing. The last dregs of coffee sat forgotten on the table. Mittens had stretched herself along the back of the couch, watching the two of you with a kind of lazy approval, as if she’d been rooting for this the whole time.

You were curled against Spencer’s side, your head tucked beneath his chin, his arm wrapped around your waist like it had always belonged there. The rhythm of his breathing was steady and calming, and you could feel the familiar flutter of his heart beneath your palm.

Then, softly, you tilted your head and looked up at him. “Okay,” you murmured, voice playful but sincere, “how about this…We don’t make any big decisions today.”

He turned his gaze toward you, lashes heavy, his expression open.

“No moving in. No swapping apartments. For now, we just stay next door,” you continued. “I like this. You, me, right here. I like knowing your books are stacked across the hall and my laundry ends up in your dryer. I like to hear you knocking on my door at midnight because you know I forgot what you said about mixing colors in clothes and ruining my white blouses, and I like coming over at sunrise because I missed your bed.”

Spencer’s eyes softened even more, the corners of his mouth curving with something that looked dangerously close to adoration.

“So we stay like this?” he asked, just to be sure.

“For now,” you said with a smile, brushing your nose lightly against his. “It’s not about rushing. It’s about…going on our own pace.”

He nodded once, thoughtful. Then, almost absently, he added, “Maybe someday we could buy a house.”

You blinked, a quiet beat of silence stretching between you. Then you let out a soft laugh, amused and caught a little off guard. “A house?” you repeated, teasing. “You’re joking.”

Spencer smiled but didn’t say anything.

He didn’t correct you. Didn’t argue. He just let your laughter fill the room like music and leaned back against the cushions, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as if trying to picture something that hadn’t been built yet.

Because in his mind, he was already there.

He was imagining soft wood floors and tall bookshelves, a studio with wide windows for you, and a quiet study for him. A hallway where Mittens could leave trails of fur and a little garden where he might try, and fail, to grow herbs. A place where he wouldn’t have to knock on your door at midnight because you’d both be home already.

He said nothing. Just held you closer, his hand moving slowly up and down your arm like he was memorizing the feeling of now.

And you didn’t ask again. You just nestled into his chest, your heartbeat settling into the quiet certainty of his.

Neither of you said the word “someday” again.

But both of you were thinking it.

And that was more than enough.

Extra note: Really, my love for this story is infinite, and I have a lot of ideas in mind for extras. I hope you guys still want to read them, xoxo <3 (if you want to read something special about them, you can tell me).

Tag list ❤︎ ︎: @burningwitchprincess @withloverosse @fairiesofearth @pleasantwitchgarden @ximensitaa @lover-of-books-and-tea @cherryblossomfairyy @cherrygublersworld @i-need-to-be-put-down @dibidee @23moonjellies @lolnothx06 @nnab

Send me an ask or comment here if you would like to be added or removed!

[entitled-fangirl]

Spitfire.

Harry Castillo x reader

Summary: Harry decides he needs someone with more personality. When the band for his next gala quits unexpectedly, Lucy has a connection to a singer for him. A good one. One that's a little spitfire.

Warnings: cursing, sexual tension and remarks, SPOILERS to Materialists

Masterlist

.................................................................

“How’d the date go with Brenda?” 

Harry stared at Lucy, mouth opening and closing a few times. “Honestly, Lucy? I think this whole matchmaking thing isn’t working like I thought.”

Lucy frowned. “Why? Every thing about her was perfect for you. What did I miss?”

“She just… had no personality.”

“You didn’t specify that in your non-negotiables.”

“I know. It’s not anything you did. It’s just,” he sighs, rubbing at his forehead, “I have too much going on at work. How about we pause the dates until I get everything settled?”

Lucy nods. “Of course.” She writes something down before pausing. “Even with our past and all, I hope you know you can tell me stuff. Confide in me. As a friend. Or an employee. Whatever is easiest.”

He considers it, then almost denies it. But there’s some pull that is forcing the words out. He leans back in his chair. “Alright.” He takes a long drink. "I love my brother. I do. But with him being a newlywed, I'm picking up the slack at the business. Tonight is this big gala we're hosting. The band quit at the last minute, I don't have a date-"

"-Oh. I can help with that."

"Lucy," he warns. "I don't need a date."

"No, no. I meant the other thing. The one before that. The band." At his confused expression, she tore the corner of a paper and began writing. "A friend of mine sings on the weekends at the lounge down the street."

He leans forward curiously. "Which one?"

"Mountainside lounge."

"Oh. She any good?"

"Well, Harry. I wouldn't suggest her if she made my ears bleed, now would I? I will warn you. She's got… a lot of personality.

He takes the torn paper like it's gold. "Thank you. I fear I owe you one."

"Maybe just one more date? I got this really beautiful woman-"

"-Alright. Bye, Lucy." He stands, exiting the restaurant with more pep in his step.

The paper between his fingers weighs on him. An email address. Interesting.

…

You reread the email with a puzzled brow. Lucy really suggested you to this guy? To the Castillos? 

It's professional, but you can sense the desperation in his secretary's tone. Usually, you'd decline. But something about it has you replying back.

Within minutes, they gets back to you.

And you're set to sing on Saturday. You frantically call your accompanist. When they say they can't make it, you managed to get your roommate to do it. She's far too good at the piano anyway to not use that skill anywhere.

…

You set up without seeing a single Castillo. Only the wait staff and the planning committee. They help you as much as you need. It was kind, but you were hoping to at least see the guy that hired you before the party.

You had put way too much thought into your outfit, just like you always do. Singing at the lounge on the weekends paid for a few fancy dresses. Ones way out of your price range. You use that to your advantage a lot.

Like tonight.

You present yourself like you're one of the most esteemed singers in NYC. In reality, you and your roommate barely make ends meet.

But for tonight, you can live it up a little.

It was like every other joint you've sang at. Men ogle you a bit too much. The women give forced claps after a few songs. You're used to the steady routine. 

Half way through the night, you take a small break. You giggle to the side with your roommate turned accompanist until a voice breaks the conversation. "Excuse me, I was hoping to get your ladies a drink."

You pause, lip tight at you stare at your roommate. Another one of those pervy guys hoping to take you home.

But when you turn to look at him, you don't get that vibe at all.

His eyes are far too kind.

"Oh. I can't drink," you nod, "bad for the voice."

"Oh, I'd definitely take a drink," your roommate interrupts. 

The man grins and nods. "I can do that." His eyes set back on you. "Water then for you?"

"Yeah. Warm."

His eyes stay on you a little too long before he turns back to the crowd, disappearing to get those said drinks.

"He's fine as hell," your roommate teases. "If you don't fuck him, I will."

"Oh my god," you whisper-yell. "Keep it in your pants. We're working."

"You're working. I'm pitching in a favor from last Monday."

Last Monday. A sleazy bar fight started by someone getting a little too close to your roommate and you were the only one that did something about it. You're still sporting a wide bruise on your leg from getting knocked down.

"You don't owe me anything for that. C'mon."

"Well, no one else did anything until you fucking absorbed the first hit-"

"Okay. Stop. We'll talk about this later. Just… be professional for a few more hours?"

She sighs. "Fine."

In perfect timing, a tall glass on warm water is sat on the piano in front of you. You can feel him behind you, tie barely brushing your back before he's away from you once again. 

"- and I got you a bit of champagne. Hope that wasn't a bad choice."

Your roommate takes it with greedy hands. "It's perfect. Thank you, Mr…"

"Harry. Harry Castillo."

You freeze, shoulders tightening. "Oh," you push out. "You're Lucy's… friend."

He seems to stiffen up too. "Yeah. Something like that."

"I only meant… you're the one that hired me?"

He relaxes at that, turning on the facade again. "Exactly so. She had good things to say about you."

"I think you were just desperate for a singer."

He laughs. "Maybe so. But you weren't a bad choice in any sense."

You lean against the piano. "I've been told I'm often a bad choice."

His brows raise. "Well, certainly not about your voice." He takes a moment to look at his shoes, recalling a thought. "Lucy did tell me you were a spitfire, though."

"She said that?"

He laughs and nods, content to get a little reaction out of you. "You disagree?"

You consider his words, fighting back and forth with yourself. Professionally, you were calm, cool and collected. Outside of work? A bull in a china closet. "'M not sure."

He keeps a subtle grin on his lips, puppy dog eyes trained on you. "You seem pretty tame."

You can feel the arousal work it's way down your spine to between your legs. 

And with that, he taps the piano lightly like a send-off. "I'll enjoy hearing you the rest of the night, little songbird." And he steps away, businessman facade turned on high as he grins and shakes a man's hand like he hadn't turned your world on its side.

Your head slowly turns to your roommate, whose eyes are trained on the sheet music in front of her. 'Holy fuck,' she mouths, not having the courage to look at you after that.

You exhale, unsure of what to think. He's far too charming, alarmingly so. And yet here without a date. It's odd.

You take a little longer than you should've to collect yourself before beginning the second half of the night.

You know Harry's eyes are on you.

…

As the event comes to a close, you decide to pack up early. You have a busy day tomorrow and your voice needs to rest. 

You help your roommate pack the sheet music carefully, preparing yourself to say forced goodbyes and shake a few hands. 

You can feel Harry's presence before he even says a word. 

"The songbird has a bedtime," you start first, not bothering to look up at him.

God, you know he's grinning. "Good. A songbird needs beauty rest. I can't see how looking so… radiant wouldn't require hours of sleep."

You hum, finishing up. But he catches your arm and places a piece of paper in your hand. 

You pause, finally turning your head to see him watching you like you're an addiction he has a craving for.

And your eyes dart to the paper, seeing it as a folded check. "Mr. Castillo, you already paid-"

"I know. Think of it as a tip. Tonight was wonderful and you made it so."

Your head tilts, eyes flashing with something. "You trying to tame me, Mr. Castillo?"

"No," he whispers, inching a bit closer, "No, I wouldn't dare." He takes a moment, decided where his bravery lies. Then, he closes the distance, kissing your cheekbone and then kissing your hand. "Goodnight."

…

The poor taxi driver. Your roommate could not contain her excitement. "He was like ALL over you! GOD the gorgeous babies that man would make with you! Please tell me you got his number!"

"No," you scoff. "I was working. This was all work related."

"Nothing about that man's eyes screamed work related."

…

The next day, there's a bit of a headache you're nursing. You're not sure why. Maybe a lack of sleep. Maybe the stress of the day before. But you stumble into the kitchen and start making the same shitty breakfast you always have. 

"Oh yeah, I said I'd split that job with you from last night," you remind your roommate. 

She laid across the couch, seemingly in the same mental position as you. Hand over her forehead. "Don't worry about it. Just buy me a couple drinks next time we're out."

You hum. "Well, I even got a tip. How about I at least split that with you?"

She sits up a bit. "How much?"

You shrug. "Haven't looked."

She's already darting for your coat pocket where you left it last night. She scrambles, pulling it out and unfolding it. You see her eyes open wide. "Holy shit."

"What?"

Her eyes just stay on the page. "Like Holy shit."

"Oh my god, just-" you round the counter, peering over her shoulder at it. Then it's your turn to gawk. "Fuck."

You're dialing the number at the top left of the check quickly, spatula in one hand as you nurse your scrambled eggs, phone in the other. 

"You've reached Castillo Enterprises. How may I help you today?"

"Uh, yeah. Hi. I need to talk to Harry Castillo."

"Oh. Well, is this a matter of canceling an appointment or meeting?"

"No. I need to speak to him about a matter-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Castillo is a busy man. Shall I take a message?"

"No. No. I'll just… forget it. Thank you."

You drop your phone on the counter, eyes trained on the pan on the stove. 

The odds of a busy man like him calling you back is far too slim. There was no point in leaving a message. 

No. You learned years ago that most things can just be taken care of in person.

So you finish your breakfast, rushing to look decently professional before getting in your car. 

…

Castillo Enterprises is a huge fucking building. One you can't see the top of when you're standing in front of it. 

It's all glass, and you see your reflection staring back. You're far from what you looked like last night, but you'd at least managed to slap a little makeup on before you left. 

Clutching your purse, you take a deep breath and step inside. 

You go to the first desk you see, the one placed in the middle of the room for lost souls like yourself. "Hi, I'm here to see Harry Castillo?"

The secretary is a young girl, one who clearly hates confrontation. "34th story. Elevators are that way."

So off you are again, check weighing heavily in your purse. 

You stumble your way around to another desk. A secretary you recognize the voice of. You know you're getting closer since she's the one you spoke on the phone to. "Hi-"

"-You're the woman on the phone," she acknowledges. "As I said before, Mr. Castillo is very busy. He can't see you today."

"I know that but I just need to return a check that was written to me."

Her eyes suddenly widen with realization. "You're the singer from the gala. Sorry, but we can't accept that check back."

"Why not? There's nothing wrong with it."

"Mr. Castillo told me not to accept a returning check from you if you were to come in today."

You gawk for a moment before you get angry. "You know what? Where the fuck is he?"

"As I said before-"

"No. Where is he right now?"

There's a silent standoff that's broken as quickly as it starts. "Cathy, get the Westons a meeting with me t-" Harry pauses, eyes set on you. "Hi," he breathes. 

You scoff. "Ten thousand dollars? Are you fucking serious?"

His face falls, confusing written clearly over it. "What do you m-"

"Don't!" You growl. You dig the check out of her purse, holding it out between two fingers. "Take it back."

He recoils from it like it's poisonous, hands up. "I already gave it to you."

"Really? The fuck are you trying to do, be my sugar daddy? You don't even know my fucking name."

There's a moment where he looks around, a bit embarrassed to be making such a scene at his work. But another part of him doesn't care. His main focus is the woman in front of him. His voice is careful and calculated. "I was only trying to appreciate a songbird. Forgive me if I was too forward. But please, accept it this once."

"For what?"

"Hm?"

Your eyes take in his dark blue suit, tailored just perfectly for him. "What… what do you want me to do? What are you paying me for?"

He frowns. "What? No. It's just… spending money. For you. I… I was doing something nice."

"No one is that nice."

He pauses. "God, you really are friends with Lucy, aren't you?"

"The fuck does that mean, Castillo?"

"Means you're untrusting! Just take the check."

"No," you push, holding it out again. "I don't want it."

When he recoils again, you take it back, holding it with both hands now. "I'll fucking tear it up all over this office floor."

He shrugs. "Fine. I'll mail you another by the end of the day."

"Fuck you."

He laughs. Actually laughs at that. "Consider me charity and I'm asking a favor of you."

You pause. 

"Just listen to my proposal. Accept the money-"

You scoff.

His head tilts. "- or go on a date with me."

The paper in your hands suddenly feel much heavier than it was before. 

At your pause, he shrugs. "Or do both."

"No," you scoff. "No. That is ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous about that?"

"I'm making a scene in the middle of the richest enterprise in New York in front of the richest man in New York, and you're asking me on a date?"

He nods. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You ask genuinely.

He shrugs. "I'm all business. I need a little more liveliness in my life."

"And you think I'd do that for you?"

"You already have."

You consider all of it. Your voice calms, "You can't tame me, you know."

He nods, "I would never try to."

And with that, you begin to tear the check into little pieces. The rug catches them, the dark gray contrasting with the little white papers. And he watches. Not the peices fall. But you.

You pull the strap of your purse higher on your shoulder and storm your way past him, content with your victory. 

But you pause, huffing as you turn and kiss him on the cheek. "Pick me up at 8."

He listens to your shoes against the expensive tile until you're gone.

"Yes ma'am," he whispers to himself.

................................................................

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

You know what we never see, neglected reader who is damn near bruce's age. Technically if you think about it you can really have kids at any age, so why people only make him pump it and dump it only when is in his 30s and 40s is crazy to me. If Bruce has I kid at 18 and he is in his late 40s , reader could be in their 30s and be the oldest of the batkids. Especially if reader has gone their whole life never knowing bruce until know or known them in the last couple of years.

Reader is a grown ass adult, whom bruce and the family have no real authority over considering their age. The audacity of batfamily as well, y'all are really out here bullying a grown adult like?????? Honesty if they wanted to they could just leave, like for real. Also technically speaking, if reader is near bruce's age, then most of the boys neglected reader is paired with romantically would be considered significantly younger, and I don't think reader would really date youger than themselves.

But you know who they could date, the league. Reader might be slightly younger but it wouldn't be considered an inappropriate age gap like we be seeing here on this damn app. Anyone only the Justice League is free game for her. God could you imagine what Bruce feel if he ever caught one of his own colleagues was shaking up with his oldest kid, especially if it was somone like Wonder Woman or Superman, the two people he is closest to.

I LOVE THIS IDEA OVERWORKED ADULT!READER

Just thinking about a reader who is an overworked office worker at Wayne Enterprises, the same company that Bruce owns, without knowing that Bruce Wayne is their biological father. They go through years of their lives not really knowing their dad and not really caring, like Father's Day was just another Mother's Day to them, or they would give Father's Day presents to their uncles or grandpa. They never really cared to know their dad and never really cared to even see him. Their mom said he was just a feeling that she had when she was 18; it wasn't too important, and she can hardly remember. But then again, who forgets Bruce Wayne? At that time, he wasn't the infamous playboy, just a hurt rich kid with too much eyeliner. Bruce wasn't even aware of their existence until now.

Just think about it: you're going out on a daily walk in Gotham Park when all of a sudden you run into Dick and his cute little dog, Haley. You play around with the puppy for just a while before you go back on your walk. Dick is practically blushing because, wow, you're so good with animals and you're so kind and nice—not to mention you remind him of somebody, but he can't put his finger on it. The next thing you know, you run into Tim, who's having trouble with the vending machine. You teach the kid a small trick: hitting the vending machine at least three times on different sides, and boom, energy drinks fall out. You hand him the other one while walking away, and he thinks you're the coolest person to ever step foot on this Earth. You catch Damian sketching in the park and compliment him on his artistic skills. He never cared for silly compliments, but yours felt so real, so kind and genuine.

You meet Steph Batgirl; you both are ordering the same combo meal just for you to say, "Jinx, you owe me a soda!" Being playful, she gets you an extra Sprite. You accidentally drop your wallet, and Cass picks it up. She doesn't say anything, so it makes you think that she's mute or deaf, so you end up signing "thank you" to her. She's over the moon, ecstatic even. Duke is complaining about how his favorite coffee shop is out of matcha drinks. You end up buying matcha—a stupid trend—and you give him your drink. He's left flustered, struggling to say thank you.

At the bar, you're out with some coworkers drinking until you and your work crew are singing "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall." Jason, who's at the same bar, catches you. He thinks your drunk expressions are pretty cute, and they all share the same experiences they had that day with each other. They figure out they met the same person, surprisingly similar to Bruce. They also list key traits like how you're tall, your long dark hair, your tired eyes, your slumped posture, and your amazing charm, which managed to make them become yanderes in under a minute. They share this information with Bruce, who's completely confused as to why all of his little birds would be obsessed with you.

He finally sees you in the office, snoozing over a pile of paperwork. He has paternal feelings towards you, wanting to wrap you in his thousand-dollar suit coat. He puts it over your shoulders and takes the workload off of you. The next thing you know, he's reading into your files, trying to learn everything and anything about you, just to know that you've been working here for three years. He learns that even though you do an exceptional job, your mother is the old flame he had during his first years as Batman. He takes a piece of your DNA—an energy drink you've been chugging down your throat—just to realize that you are his blood. But how can he just step into your life without you even knowing him? Any of the Birds stepping into your life without you regarding them— to you, they're just a bunch of strangers that you've had silly moments with; to them, you're family. I have a hunch that they knew you for years, at least more than the big sibling that somehow managed to run away.