#or something. and then I was like. Hey Wait A Minute

[verstappenverse]

Can you do one where max is teaching reader how to sim race and is really bad but when max is gone to races reader is secretly using his sim setup to get better and one day reader surprises max showing they got better? I feel like this made no sense 😭 I really love your writing thought you could make this idea come to mind 🫶🏻❤️

Ghost Laps

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: What starts as Max teasing you over your terrible sim racing attempts turns into a secret mission to impress him. (Requested)

1.8k words / Alternate Scene / Masterlist

You’re awful at this. Comically bad. You spin out in the first corner, crash into a wall in the second, and somehow end up driving in the wrong direction before Max can even stop laughing.

“I just don’t get it,” you groan, half-laughing, half-threatening to throw the wheel across the room. “How am I already off track? I haven’t even hit the first corner yet!”

From the couch behind you, Max chuckles. He’s draped lazily across the cushions, an arm slung over the backrest and one leg bouncing with idle amusement. “You missed your braking point again,” he says, far too calmly for someone witnessing you virtually crash for the third time in five minutes.

“Maybe if you gave better instructions—”

“You’re the one who missed the turn,” he deadpans.

You spin around in the seat to glare at him, cheeks warm. “Because you said left while pointing right!.”

Max bites back a grin, eyes crinkling. “Come on, you can figure it out. You’ve watched me race a million times.”

“You don’t watch Gordon Ramsay and magically become a chef,” you shoot back, gesturing wildly to the sim setup. “This thing is terrifying. Why is it so sensitive?.”

Max gets up and saunters over with that usual quiet confidence that borders on cocky. He rests his hand on your shoulder and leans down, his voice lower now. “I think you’d rather argue with me than try again.”

You tilt your head up, lips quirking. “Oh because you’re so patient and humble when I spin off into a wall.”

Max laughs, soft and warm. “Alright, fair. But you’re doing better than you think.”

“Really?”

He hesitates. Then lies. “Sure.”

You shove his hand off your shoulder, laughing. “You’re the worst.”

“Okay, maybe this is not my calling,” you mutter, yanking off the headset.

Max kisses your temple, still smirking. “Told you. But hey, it was cute watching you try.”

You should be annoyed, but you know he’s not actually trying to mock you and it’s impossible to stay mad when he looks at you like that, so instead you lean into his side and grin.

“I’ll find a different hobby,” you say.

But later, when he leaves for the next Grand Prix weekend something tugs at you. You find yourself staring at the sim rig after he goes. You are bad at it. Really bad. But maybe not hopeless. And Max, for all his teasing, had been annoyingly kind about it.

The screens glow in standby mode, waiting. Your fingers hover over the power switch.

Just one lap.

That’s how it starts.

You drive.

You crash.

You swear.

You adjust the pedals, crack your knuckles, and whisper to yourself: don’t spin it this time.

And you try again.

Max's sim rig is intimidating, and you know it’s expensive, plus it’s precise and utterly punishing. You don't dare touch his settings, so you make do. One YouTube tutorial turns into five that tuns into ten. Then you’re watching old onboards, listening to the pitch of engine sounds like you actually know what you’re doing. You’re scouring the web late into the night researching for any tips or tricks you can find.

You stop crashing by Day 4. By the end of the week, you can finish a lap. A clean one. You start setting decent lap times by Day 9. By Day 12, you’re doing consistent laps

Two weeks in, you're chasing ghosts. Literally, you race against Max’s stored ghost laps on Spa, watching the glowing blue car pull away in Sector 2 and vowing to close the gap. Every night after work it's a routine, tie your hair up, grab a water bottle, and boot up iRacing like you're training for something. You even start logging your lap times in your notes app like a serious amateur.

It becomes your own secret ritual. A way of being close to him when he’s away that doesn’t hurt so much.

Max texts you in bursts during the two week. Voice notes between debriefs, a quick facetime from the paddock, a few rants about tyre degradation and setup frustrations. He always asks how you’re doing, what you’re up to, and every time you somehow manage not to mention the hours you’re now secretly spending in his sim.

Can’t believe it’s been two weeks since you traumatised the virtual car. time flies. would 100% pay to watch it again.

You’re grinning when you read that one, but you keep the secret anyway.

You don’t know why you’re keeping it a secret. Maybe it’s because it started as a bit of fun, or maybe it’s because you want to surprise him. But part of you also just wants to do something for yourself. Just to prove you can.

He comes home on a Monday.

His flight arrives at midnight, and you meet him at the door, hair a mess from waiting up and eyes barely open. He’s still in his team hoodie, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and when he sees you, he drops everything just to pull you into a hug.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against your hair.

He looks exhausted, eyes rimmed with fatigue, but he’s smiling like he’s never been happier to be home. You help him carry his stuff inside, and once he’s showered and curled up beside you in bed, he finally asks:

“So… do I get another performance on the sim this week?” Max grins, nudging your side. “Could use a good laugh.”

You shrug casually. “Might’ve had a little go while you were away.”

That gets his attention. He sits up slightly. “Wait, seriously?”

You toss him a look, still deliberately casual. “You were gone, I was bored. Figured I’d mess around a bit without the peanut gallery laughing this time.” You narrow your eyes at him, just for emphasis.

“I never laughed at you,” he insists, way too fast.

You raise a brow. “Max, you wheezed. I thought you were going to pass out.”

He winces, then grins. “Okay… maybe a little.”

Your heart stutters, but you smother it with a smirk. “Wanna see or not?”

His brows draw together, curious now. “Right now?”

You’re already sliding out of bed. “Come on champ.”

You lead him to the sim, flick on the lights, and sit down in the chair. The screens flicker to life, the whirring of the pedals and wheel now familiar.

Max watches from behind you, arms crossed, leaning against the chair but sweatpants and a sleepy smile.

“Alright Verstappen,” you say. “Watch and learn.”

You load into Austria. Red Bull Ring. Home turf.

The loading screen fades, and you place your hands on the wheel. Your shoulders relax. You take a breath.

And then you start.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just watches.

You hit turn one with precision, clipping the apex just right. Brake late into turn three, hold your nerve through the uphill. You’re smooth on throttle. Confident in your braking points. Sector by sector, you thread the lap with a rhythm that feels second nature, because it is now.

By the time you cross the line, Max is no longer smiling. He’s blinking at you like you’ve just grown a second head. He’s still now, standing upright. Eyes fixed on the screen. His smile has slipped into something else entirely, something bordering on disbelief.

You spin around in your seat, heart pounding, breath a little tight in your chest. “Surprised?”

���What the fuck?” he breathes.

You laugh, unable to hold it back. “That bad?”

“That good,” he mutters, eyes flicking from you to the sim, then back again. “That was… really good.”

You beam. “No crashing this time.”

“That was more than just not crashing. That was… I mean you nailed every corner.” He cuts himself off, watching the replay. “You practiced this much?”

You nod, a little shy now. “Every day whilr you were gone.”

His brows shoot up. “Every day?”

“Morning. Night. Whenever I had time.” You shrug, trying not to sound self-conscious. “Just wanted to see if I could do it.”

Max stares at you. Then at the sim. Then back at you.

“You practiced,” he says again, but this time it’s not disbelief. It’s something closer to delight.

“While you were away, yeah.” you repeat, gentler.

He glances at the sim again, then back to you, voice almost reverent. “You used my rig.”

“Every day.”

He narrows his eyes. “Did you change the settings?”

“I never touched your settings,” you say quickly, hands raised in mock surrender. “I'm not suicidal.”

Max laughs, breathless. “Holy shit.”

You grin, smug. “Wanna see how good I am?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches out and cups your face in his hands, his touch suddenly soft, steady.

“You’re insane,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours.

“Thank you,”

“I love it.” He pauses, then adds, quieter now, “And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel bad. I was just messing around, but if I made you feel silly—”

“You didn’t,” you say, but he presses on, voice rougher now.

“I love you and I love that you care about something I care about. That you even tried. That means more than you think.”

Your cheeks flush, but you lean into his touch, heart thudding.

“Maybe I wanted to impress you,” you admit.

He grins. “Well consider me impressed. And slightly terrified.”

You laugh. “Terrified?”

Max kisses your forehead. “Yeah. If you’re this good already, you’re gonna start beating my lap times soon.”

He pauses after that, smile softening, something quieter flickering behind his eyes. Pride. Admiration. Maybe even awe.

Then, without a word, he takes your hand and pulls you gently up. He slides into the rig like it’s second nature then reaches for you again, tugging you back down into his lap. His arms wrap securely around your waist, chin settling on your shoulder.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice low and lazy against your neck, “we should do a proper race. Side by side. Full setup. Winner picks dinner for a week.”

You raise a brow, fighting your smile. “You sure? I am pretty good now.”

“I’ll just punt you into turn one,” he says, without an ounce of shame.

You gasp, dramatic. “Cheater.”

“Champion,” he corrects with a wink, far too pleased with himself.

You laugh, loud and honest, your head tipping back against his shoulder. The sound vibrates between you, soft and full of affection. You don’t move right away content to just sit there, cocooned in the moment. The hum of the rig beneath you, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back, the smell of his shampoo and the way he still hasn’t stopped touching you.

Maybe it started as a joke. A way to prove something to yourself.

But now?

Now it’s just another thing you love doing together. Another reason to love him. Another way he loves you.

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[heartsiebyul]

Hi! Could I please request the overblot gang x reader where someone asks if their partner is single without knowing they're dating? Hopefully this request makes sense!!

╰─▸ ❝ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

Single?

featuring — Overblot Boys : Riddle : Leona : Azul : Jamil : Vil : Idia : Malleus.

★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

☛ Riddle Rosehearts

It happens in the library while you're picking out books. A fellow student notices you struggling with a stack and offers to help, adding with a friendly smile, "If you're single, maybe I could treat you later?" Riddle, who had gone ahead to find you both a table, returns just in time to hear the question. His face flushes a deep red, not from embarrassment, but from tightly restrained anger. “Absolutely not. (name) is not single,” he says sternly, stepping between you and the other student like a barrier. “And even if they were, this is an academic setting, not a place for flirtation. Kindly take your leave.” His voice is stern and commanding, and the student stammers an apology before leaving.

"Thank you, Riddle," you said softly. He huffed, adjusting his blazer as he cast his gaze to the side. "It's improper for someone to make such bold advances. Honestly..."

But later, under the table, his hand holds yours. In a low murmur, he added, "You don't need to entertain anyone else. You already have me."

☛ Leona Kingscholar

You’re lounging on a bench in the school's courtyard after class when someone from another dorm approaches, leaning a little too close as they ask, “So… are you single?” Before you can even blink, there’s a warm body behind you, and an arm lazily drapes across your shoulders. Leona’s voice is low, amused. “You’ve got some nerve asking that when I’m right here.” The student freezes as Leona lifts his head, his green eyes gleaming with territorial intent. “They’re already taken. Try again in your next life, herbivore.”

Once the student retreats, Leona settles back with a smirk, his grip on you not loosening. “Tch. Can’t leave you alone for five minutes without someone trying their luck.” He doesn’t sound jealous, just smugly possessive. “Guess I gotta remind them who you belong to, huh?”

☛ Azul Ashengrotto

The question is asked during an event at the Lounge, you're helping Azul serve when a charming student casually asks, “you're single, right?” Azul, who was polishing his glasses just a few steps away, goes perfectly still. He turns slowly, smile tight and calculated. “Ah… I see someone’s forgotten to do their research.” He walks over, places a hand on your lower back, and smiles coldly at the culprit. “(name) is already in a relationship. With me. I trust that clears things up?”

The student stammers and quickly leaves, and Azul’s hand lingers a second longer than necessary before he withdraws it. “Some people truly lack awareness,” he sighs. “Don’t worry, my pearl. I’ll make sure no one dares overstep again… especially not in my territory.”

☛ Jamil Viper

It happens while you're helping Jamil gather snacks in the school store. Another student, seeing you alone for a moment, saunters over and says, “Hey, if you're free later, maybe we could hang out? You single?” You blink in surprise, but before you can speak, Jamil’s voice cuts through the air like a whip. “No. They’re not.” He appears behind you with a calm expression that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “(name) is already with someone. Me.” His smile is polite, but there’s a certain cold to his tone that makes the other student retreat without further word.

Once you're alone, Jamil sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figures something like this would happen the one time I wasn’t glued to your side.” He isn’t angry, but there's a quiet protectiveness in the way his fingers briefly held yours. “Next time… just wait for me, yeah?”

☛ Vil Schoenheit

During a photo shoot setup for an event magazine, you're preparing snacks and drinks for Vil, when one of the photography assistants leans over and says, “You’re gorgeous. Tell me you’re single?” You’re caught off guard, but before you can respond, Vil’s voice rings out from behind the camera. “They most certainly are not.” He strides over in full model confidence, standing beside you with a hand elegantly placed on your shoulder. “(name) is with me. Surely you could see that? Or do you need a pair of beauty-enhancing glasses as well?”

The assistant laughs awkwardly and scurries off. Vil hums, brushing an imaginary speck from your collar. “Honestly… people can be so blind. But don’t worry, darling,” he whispers, lips close to your ear, “I won’t let anyone think for even a second that you're available.”

☛ Idia Shroud

You’re in the middle of a co-op dungeon raid with Idia, your avatars slashing through mobs side by side. The party is just the two of you, until a random player joins the open slot. Almost immediately, they tag your name and laugh flirtatiously over open mic, “Hey, uh, sorry to ask mid-fight, but are you single?”

There’s a beat of stunned silence. Your fingers falter over the keys, and you barely dodge a fire trap. Then a second mic activates.

“NO. They’re not. They’re dating ME.” Idia’s voice crackles through the headset with aggressiveness that startles even you. “So maybe don’t shoot your shot during a boss raid? Try not being a burden, idiot.” His anxious mumble is gone, replaced with fiery anger that leaves the other player sputtering in awkward retreat. After the game ends, Idia returns to his usual, rapid pace. “Ughhh I totally blew my cool b-but seriously, what kinda rando tries to flirt during a raid?! You’re mine… like, exclusive loot. Legendary-tier. No trade-ins.”

☛ Malleus Draconia

While walking through the gardens near Ramshackle, a brave but clueless student approaches you with a bouquet in hand and asks earnestly, “Are you single? I’d like to get to know you.”

The wind stills. Small green lights flicker around you. Before you can reply, Malleus appear beside you, his expression unreadable. “That will not be necessary,” he says, voice calm but thunderous. “(name) is already bound to me. I suggest you refrain from such disrespect in the future.” The student pales and flees without another word.

Malleus then turns to you, his expression softening. “Humans can be so forward these days. I do not mind the occasional admirer… but only if you continue to look solely at me.” He offers you a faint, almost wistful smile as he gently takes your hand. “You are mine, and I shall not share you.”

[casssmalefantasy]

LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU

PAIGE BUECKERS X READER

| parings: paige bueckers x reader!

| synopsis: a physical game leaves you bruised and furious, and paige is the only one who can calm you down. back at the hotel, the tension that’s been simmering between you all season finally boils over.

| warnings: smut, fingering, oral f!receiving, praise kink, dominant!paige, tension, possessiveness, cursing, mentions of injury, game violence, and emotional intimacy,

| word count: 2.7k

| author’s note: yall wanted this one so here you go, also i wrote this like two months ago 😭.

──────────────────────

it’s been chippy all game.

it’s what you expect going against texas.

physical team, good shooters, shit refs. it’s the kind of combination that makes you want to put your fist through a locker.

they're ranked, scrappy and come to play.

and for some reason, their starting guard has had it out for you since tip-off.

the first couple plays, you let it slide. a shoulder here, a shove there. nothing new, but by the time you’re five minutes into the third quarter with a sore hip and a stinger in your arm, it’s personal.

still, you try to keep your head down. geno’s always on your ass about that, don’t lose your cool. don’t let them bait you.

but it’s hard. it’s so hard.

and when she bodies you again on a cut, this time full-on sending you to the floor, elbow to your ribs—you snap.

you’re on your feet before your ass even registers the hardwood.

"you got a fucking problem?" you bark, chest heaving.

she smirks like she’s been waiting for this moment all game.

"maybe i just don’t like how you play."

"yeah? how about i show you how i fight."

she steps forward, and you're stepping too, ready to shove her right back into the damn bleachers—

but arms are on you. pulling you back. not the ref, not your teammates—

"yo," a voice says low, right in your ear. “hey. chill. breathe.”

you glance back. it’s paige.

both arms wrapped tight around you from behind, holding you in place. her hands flat on your stomach, grounding you.

"she’s not worth it," she murmurs. "eyes on me. breathe, baby."

you do. barely.

the ref whistles again. offsetting techs. geno is pissed.

“you, out," he snaps, pointing to the bench. "cool off. paige you too. sub."

you don’t argue. not because you’re okay with it, but because paige is still holding your hand as she pulls you toward the bench with her.

"you good?" she whispers once you sit, leaning in close, hand covering her mouth like she’s telling you top-secret plays.

"i’m fine." your voice is clipped.

"don’t lie to me," she says. her gaze is soft, but locked on you like she can see everything you're trying not to show.

“they were calling everything until that," you mutter. "but when i get decked, it’s nothing until i stand up for myself?"

"i know," she says. “refs have been garbage since the jump, but don’t let it get in your head. you were cooking before that shit.”

you’re icing your arm. paige glances down at it.

“does it hurt bad?”

“i said i’m fine.”

she hums, unconvinced.

you both sit in silence. the energy between you is thick—electric, even in stillness. you look over at the same time. hold eye contact. her blue eyes are intense, like she’s still thinking about pulling you off that girl.

you look away first.

—

paige checks back in with three to play. you stay on the bench a little longer.

but you don’t miss it.

that girl—the same one who shoved you, says something as paige runs past her. paige doesn’t say much back. just a short sentence. firm. her jaw clenched.

you don’t know what she said, but whatever it was, it shut the girl up real fast.

and paige? she scores eight points straight after that.

—

uconn wins.

the bus ride back to the hotel is chaos. everyone’s talking shit, celebrating, arguing about calls.

but you’re quiet. sore. still buzzing from the adrenaline.

you almost don’t notice paige at your side until she nudges your arm gently.

"ice said she’d swap rooms tonight."

you blink at her.

"you wanna stay with me?"

"i want to check on you."

you nod. she doesn’t say anything else. she just grabs your bag for you and waits.

—

it’s quiet in the room, just the soft hum of the air conditioning and whatever random netflix show you landed on. something to fill the space.

you’re curled up with an ice pack again. paige is next to you, legs stretched out, close enough to touch, but not quite.

you haven’t said much since you got back. you’re still stuck in your head, still replaying the game, the fall, the look on her face when she held you back.

“hey," she says suddenly. “how’re you feeling?”

you glance over. her hair’s pulled into a loose bun. she’s still in her uconn hoodie.

"better," you say.

"you sure?"

"yeah."

she hums again like she still doesn’t believe you.

“you were good tonight,” she says after a second. “even when you were pissed. it was… kinda hot.”

you blink. then raise an eyebrow.

"hot?"

“what, i can’t say that?"

you glance at the tv, then back at her. "thought we weren’t talking about that shit anymore."

she shrugs. "maybe i changed my mind."

you smirk. “so now you think me nearly getting into a fight is sexy?"

"no," she says. “i think you standing your ground, playing through all that contact, being so in it, that was hot.”

you look at her. her gaze is locked on yours.

"you looked good out there," she adds, voice lower now. "like really good."

your breath catches.

"you looked good too."

she shifts a little closer. her knee brushes yours.

"yeah?"

"yeah."

you don’t know who moves first. maybe both of you.

but suddenly her mouth is on yours, and you’re kissing like you’ve wanted to for months. no hesitation. no pulling back.

it’s hungry. messy. real.

her hands slide up your thighs, under your hoodie, fingers splaying across your waist like she’s staking her claim.

"let me take care of you," she murmurs against your lips.

you nod. she pushes you back onto the bed, gentle but sure.

her mouth moves down your neck, sucking a mark just above your collarbone.

"still sore?" she asks, pulling your shorts down.

"a little."

"tell me if anything hurts."

you nod again, breath catching as her fingers trail over your inner thigh.

then her mouth is on your pussy.

slow at first, letting you feel every flick of her tongue, every kiss she places on sensitive skin.

you arch into her. she grips your hips, holding you steady.

"fuck, paige…"

"you sound so pretty when you say my name like that."

you’re writhing now, hand tangled in her hair.

"more," you beg.

she groans softly. "you want more?"

"please p."

she slides two fingers in, while her mouth keeps working.

you cum fast, body shaking, hips bucking up into her face.

she doesn’t stop until you’re whining from the sensitivity, pulling her up to kiss you again.

"jesus christ," you mumble, breathless.

"been wanting to do that since summer," she says, grinning.

you laugh, still catching your breath.

"what now?" you ask.

she leans in, kissing your jaw.

"now we sleep," she says. “and tomorrow, we do it again, just maybe without the fight this time.”

you smile.

"we’ll see."

—

you think you’re done. you should be done.

but paige doesn’t move.

she’s still lying between your legs, head resting on your thigh, arm draped across your waist. she’s tracing slow, featherlight circles over your bare stomach, and her breath is warm against your skin.

you glance down at her.

"what’re you doing?"

"thinking."

"about what?"

"how good you taste."

your entire body twitches.

"paige."

"mm?" she looks up at you, all sweet and innocent, but there’s nothing innocent about the way her fingers trail lower again.

"you already—i thought we were sleeping."

"i lied."

before you can argue, her mouth is on you again, slower this time, deliberate.

"fuck—"

you grab the sheets, back arching.

she hums like she’s enjoying a second course.

"can’t help it," she murmurs against you. “you’re too good like this."

you whimper when her tongue flicks a spot that makes you see white.

"shit, paige. it’s too much, i just—"

"no, you can take it."

her voice is soft, but firm.

"come on, baby. gimme one more."

you don’t know how she’s got you this wrecked this fast.

maybe it’s because you’ve been holding this in since summer. maybe it’s because she knows exactly what she’s doing. maybe it’s because she keeps talking to you like that.

“you’re shaking,” she says, dragging a finger through your wetness. “look at you, all fucked out already.”

you moan. it’s embarrassing how close you are again.

"i can’t—"

"yes, you can," she whispers, slipping her fingers back in, slow and deep. “be good for me.”

you cry out, thighs trembling.

"that’s it," she coos. "that’s my girl."

you cum again, this time harder, your whole body tightening under her as you moan her name like a prayer.

she doesn’t rush you. she kisses the inside of your thigh while you come down, rubbing soft circles over your hip, grounding you.

finally, when your breathing evens out, she crawls back up beside you, slipping an arm under your neck and pulling you close.

you don’t say anything for a minute. just lie there, curled against her, flushed and wrecked and warm.

"so," you mumble, voice scratchy, "you do this for all your teammates?"

“mmh yeah if they look like you.”

"you’re ridiculous."

"you’re welcome."

you pause.

"...i might not be able to walk at practice tomorrow."

"guess i’ll just have to carry you."

you look up at her.

"you’re insane."

"and you love it."

you try to glare at her. she kisses your forehead like she didn’t just make you see stars twice in a hotel bed.

"get some sleep," she whispers, already pulling the blanket over you both.

"only if you stay right here."

"wasn’t planning on going anywhere."

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Late Night Talking.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here !!

authors note - realised ive not wrote anything angsty in a little while, so here’s this. enjoy huns x

word count - 1.3k

in which, it’s a thursday night, your sat up, waiting for your husband to return home, after he promised he’d be home hours ago, your sat on the sofa on the verge of tears, and when he walks through the door, all the tensions rise.

It’s a Thursday night. The clock ticks past 1:14am.

You’re still on the couch. Still waiting. Still holding your phone like it might finally buzz, light up, and tell you this has all been some stupid mistake.

But it doesn’t.

Your last message to Harry has gone unanswered for hours.

So have the others. So have your calls.

He promised he’d be home before ten.

Then the door opens. Quiet. Slow.

You hear the keys drop on the table.

And suddenly it’s real.

He’s home.

And everything in you twists.

You stand up as he enters the room, hair messy, eyes tired, jacket draped over one arm like he’s only slightly late. Like he didn’t leave you drowning in silence for hours.

He sees you and pauses mid-step. “Hey—”

“Where the hell have you been?” you cut in, voice low and cold, sharp enough to slice air.

Harry blinks. “The studio. I told you—”

“You told me you’d be home before ten.” You cross your arms. “It’s almost two, Harry.”

He exhales through his nose, rubs his jaw. “We were in the middle of something. I lost track of time.”

“You lost track of five goddamn hours?” Your voice cracks like glass. “Are you serious right now?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t even check your phone. Not once?” You step forward, heart hammering. “You couldn’t take ten seconds to say, ‘Hey, I’m alive. I’ll be later than I said.’ That’s all it would’ve taken, Harry. Ten seconds.”

“I left it in my bag, I wasn’t checking—”

“Right. Of course,” you scoff, hands trembling now. “Because the bridge of a song was more important than me sitting here thinking you were dead somewhere on the side of the fucking road stop being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?!” you snap, voice shaking. “You disappeared, Harry. You didn’t come home. You didn’t call. I sat here imagining the worst. Every single car crash, every terrible headline—do you know what that does to a person?”

“I’m not a child, I can take care of myself—”

“Oh, congratulations,” you bite. “But maybe try taking care of the people who wait for you. Maybe try being here for the people you promised to come home to.”

He throws his jacket down. “You think I don’t care? I’m killing myself in that studio trying to make this work and all I get when I walk in the door is this—what, a guilt trip?”

Your hands clench at your sides. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare throw that in my face.”

He steps closer. “Then what do you want me to say?!”

You don’t even blink. “That you’re sorry. That you get it. That you see me.”

He doesn’t speak. You keep going.

“You missed bedtime,” you say, voice cracking again. “You missed him.”

He looks away, jaw tight. You don’t stop.

“He waited for you, Harry. He asked about you every twenty minutes, then he started crying because he thought he did something wrong. He kept saying, ‘Daddy always says goodnight.’ You didn’t show up.”

Harry’s face shifts — finally, a crack in the wall. “I didn’t mean to miss that. I—shit. I didn’t know.”

“No, you didn’t,” you say. “Because you forgot. Not just about me. About him. About both of them.”

And just as the words leave your mouth, a sound cuts through the hallway. Small. Wet. Fragile.

Suddenly—

A soft sound.

A sob.

You both freeze.

Then you hear it again. Louder. Fragile. Heartbreaking.

Your heads snap toward the hallway.

He’s there.

Your son.

Six years old, standing barefoot in his Star Wars pajamas, eyes full of tears, his little chest rising and falling in fast, panicked hiccups.

You don’t know how long he’s been there. Long enough.

“He baby…” you whisper, instantly walking toward him, but he recoils, crying harder, hands rubbing his eyes furiously like he doesn’t want to be seen like this.

Neither of you saw him come down the hall.

But he saw you both.

He heard you.

“Hey, hey, come here,” Harry says, rushing over, but your son shakes his head, little voice breaking:

“You were yelling…”

“I know,” Harry murmurs, kneeling down. “I know, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” he says, the sentence fractured by sobs. “You didn’t say goodnight.”

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood. Harry’s head dips, his shoulders crumpling.

Your son wipes his face again, still crying. “I waited…”

Harry reaches out, hand gentle, voice quiet now — too quiet, like he’s trying to stitch something broken. “Go back to bed, buddy. I’ll be there in a minute to tuck you in, yeah?”

Your son nods, hesitant, still hiccuping. But he turns, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his pajama top.

Harry adds, softly, “Be careful walking past your sister’s room, yeah? Don’t wake her up.”

Your freshly turned one year old.

The little boy nods again, too tired to speak, padding back down the hallway with the weight of what he overheard still thick in the air.

The silence that returns is devastating.

Harry’s still kneeling, hand resting on the floor like he’s trying to hold up the house with just his fingers.

His head drops.

“That’s what we did,” you murmur after a long pause. “That’s what we gave him tonight.”

Harry doesn’t speak. His breath is unsteady, barely there.

You glance at him. “You’re his hero, Harry. Every night, you’re the one he waits for. And tonight, you weren’t there.”

“I know,” he whispers. His voice breaks on it. “I know.”

Silence falls between you like a curtain. Heavy. Suffocating.

You sit back down, suddenly too exhausted to stand anymore. The adrenaline is ebbing and now all that’s left is this deep, hollow ache that feels like it’s been carved out of your chest.

He kneels in front of you. Hesitates. Then speaks, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “There’s no excuse for not checking my phone. No excuse for not being here when I said I would be. You have every right to be angry.”

You want to stay mad. You want to scream. But you just look at him, eyes full of tears you no longer bother trying to hide.

“I was so scared,” you whisper. “I thought I was going to get a call from the police. Or a hospital. I couldn’t breathe.”

“I know,” he says, pain flickering across his face. “And I hate that I made you feel that way. That I wasn’t there for you.”

“I didn’t want to think the worst,” you say. “But it just kept coming, like wave after wave.”

He reaches up slowly, carefully, and brushes his fingers against your cheek. You don’t pull away this time.

“I’ll do better,” he says. “I have to do better. You matter more than anything. I don’t want you to ever feel like this again.”

You search his eyes. He means it. You know he does.

But the trust — the kind that makes you feel safe — doesn’t mend in a single apology. It has to be rebuilt. Brick by slow brick.

“I need you to understand,” you say quietly, voice raw. “I’m not angry because you were late. I’m angry because I love you so much it hurts when I don’t know if you’re okay. Because you’re my person, H. And if I lost you…”

He presses his forehead to yours. Closes his eyes. “You’re not going to lose me. I promise you.”

A long pause.

Then, as if the dam finally breaks, you collapse into his arms.

And this time, when he holds you, it feels real. Solid. Warm.

He lets you cry into his chest while he murmurs soft, broken apologies into your hair.

You don’t know if it’s fixed.

But he came home.

And for now, that’s enough.

[sydwritess]

Official At Last

Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader.

Summary: When Lewis asks you marry him, you can't wait for the wedding, planning it right away. You get everything sorted, venue, dress, cake, people, the norm. When it comes time for the reception, you have a wonderful surprise for Lewis.

Second Person POV

Warning: mentions of a younger reader

Lewis asked you to marry about a month ago. You were over the moon excited.

You were at home right now, piles of papers in front of you. Wedding venue here, wedding dress and suit there, decorations over there. Everything.

You were concentrating really hard, like you were taking an SAT test. You haven't even noticed Lewis walking through the front door until you feel a gentle hand on your back.

"What are you doing?" He whispers in your ear.

"Wedding planning. It's... fun." You say tiredly.

"Doesn't sound like it." He laughed, sitting down next to you, looking around the table.

"It looks like high-school threw up in here." He said.

"Well, at least we got the venue I guess." You say, looking at wedding decorations on your laptop.

The venue was outdoors, a nice ocean view, and inside, were the reception was, was a big room, that was going to have many tables and decorations.

"Are you going dress shopping today?" Lewis asks.

"Yeah. My mom is picking me up." You say.

"What are you thinking of getting?"

"I can't tell you." You smile. He gives you a smirk.

"Okay fine, I was thinking of something black, to make it different but then i was like, 'eh what would people think?' so then I was going to go white, but it's so traditional and... I don't know. So maybe like light blue. I'm going fucking crazy." You say quickly.

"Hey." He puts a hand on yours. "What ever you pick, I'll match. Don't worry." He says.

"What are you going for?"

"Well, I was going red. But you know..." he trails off.

"Doesn't matter to me. Just not... yellow. Or orange. Their kind of." You say, gesturing your hands.

"Got it." He smiles.

it had been a couple of hours since your mom and grandma picked you up. You had been trying on dresses left and right.

"Does Lewis know?" Your mom asks, zipping your dress up.

"No, I just told him I've been bloating a lot due to periods." You say.

She touches your stomach "My beautiful grandbaby." She says, smiling at your stomach.

"You ready?" Your grandma asks. You nod, and turn to face the mirror.

"Wow." You whisper.

"You look beautiful." Your grandma says.

"I think this is the one." You say, looking at yourself.

Its long and flowy. It has a tight, somewhat corset top with a deep v-cut, and at the waist, it expands out, dragging longly on the floor.

"This is it." You say happily.

You and Lewis had got everything under control by then. Suit's were pick out, bridesmaid's dresses were picked out. Decorations set. Now all you had to do was walk down the aisle.

"You look great." Lily says, standing next to you.

"Thank you." You say.

"Ugh I'm sad, you won't be on the girlfriend's side of the wag club anymore." Carmen says.

"I know. It's exciting though." You say.

"But..." Your best friend says.

"I'm scared. Can't move." You say.

"You'll be fine." Your other friend says. The four surround you, all of you hugging at once.

"Okay... we better get out there." Lilly says. The rest nod and walk out of the dressing room.

You finish some last minute touches before meeting your father just outside of the aisle.

"Are you ready?" He asks gentle, sticking out his arm.

"Yeah." You say.

You link arms, and stand at the aisle. Willow, Lewis's niece, starts throwing flowers down the aisle. You step out, and see your family and friends, all looking at you. Lewis's on the right, yours on the left. When Willow is done, she quickly stands on your side in front of lily.

Lewis was in an all black suit, standing out from his groomsmen.

You slowly walk down the aisle to the music, one step at a time. Until you reach the end. Your father smiles at you before going to sit down with your mom. Then Kaiden walks down the aisle, holding a pillow with two rings on it.

"Here you go." He says to Lewis.

"Here you go." He says to you. and walks on Lewis's side, standing in front of Charles.

The officiant starts reading from the book, vow after sow, asking us to keep our promises.

"Do you, Lewis Hamilton take Y/n Y/l/n to be your wife."

"I do."

"And do you, Y/n Y/l/n, take Lewis Hamilton, to be your husband."

"I do." You say.

"You may now kiss the bride." He says, closing his book and standing out of the way.

Lewis places one hand on your back, dipping you into a kiss. Many claps and cheers heard around you.

The officiant comes back, giving us our vow books.

"Y/n, when I first met you, I thought... wow, this girl has a tough attitude." Lewis started, laughs were heard around.

"But as I got to know you, you were really sweet, and that's what I like most about you. It may be a common thing to say, but the truth is, you see people, you see them for who they are, you give them chances, your nice to anybody. But you don't let yourself get taken advantage of."

"That day, at the Miami GP, when you punched Valtteri in the face for him trying to tell you how to do your job, I knew. I knew you were the one. People may see different perspectives in us. But you saw more then that. You saw us, not the rest. what matter's to us and not other people. I vow to protect that. To fight for what we have and what we will have. I promise you everyday of safe love, and a safe space. And I hope you'd do the same." He said, closing the book.

"He's a keeper." Lilly whispered in your ear.

"Wow." You laugh nervously. "That makes mine look like shit." You laugh, tearing up.

"Lewis, when I first met you, my genuine thoughts were... 'Damn, he's hot as fuck.'" You laugh. Your families laugh to.

"When I finally got to know you, you were such a sweet and genuine person-"

"Lewis? Generous?" Lando joked. Lewis chuckled.

"I thought you were the one. The one that know one saw outside of racing. The one that people expected so much from. I knew I loved you from the beginning... even if that means we can't have a nice steak dinner together." You joke.

"But I loved that about you. Your not any typical person. your unique, funny, loving, and caring. I hope you choose to keep that forever.... even if your idiot friends say other wise."

"They are idiots, aren't they." He mumbled.

"I vow to protect our love, and punch V in the face again if I have to. I promise to to keep my love for you full, even if there are hard times in between. But what I don't vow, is freaking the hell out, yelling at people and worrying when you crash. Even if you say your fine. We all know that's a lie." You say, giggling.

"Even when you know how indecisive I can be, one thing I know for sure is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I hope you want to do the same." You say, closing the book.

"I love you." He says, grabbing your hand.

"I love you." You repeat. The both of you walk down the aisle together, clapping and cheering ringing loudly through your ears.

You got into the building before everyone else did. Tables and chairs set up nicely. Big flowery centerpieces in the middle of each. Purple and blue lights making the a purple aura glow around the room.

There was a stag at the front of the room, with Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton lettering hanging from it. Soon after, all of your guests start piling into the room, going to their assigned seats.

When everyone was situated, champagne was passed around for toasts. Charles was first to speak, walking up to the stage and standing next to our table, looking at the crowd..

"Lewis and y/n. Honestly... I knew you were going this far, even with how busy your lives are, you make time for each other, and everybody see's that. And they love it. I think it's safe to say that you will have a happy and healthy marriage." He says, pausing, looking at us.

"Uhm- I do have one request though, for y/n. Please, if Lewis crashes in a race, and I am in the same room as you, please, don't come after me." He laughs.

Both you and Lewis laugh. And next was Lando.

"Uhm- I don't really have anything prepared, but you two are very 'relationship goals' and that's inspiring. I really hope you two make it to the end. Actually, you will. we won't let you break up." He said, smirking before walking off the stage.

"Gram! Get up here!" You say, pointing to your grandmother. She walks up and grabs the mic.

"Y/n... I really can't believe how much you've grown up. Now married. I am very blessed to be here, apart of this. And I am really happy for the both of you." She says slowly, now she looks at Lewis.

"But you young man. You better not hurt her. Or I'll send a prayer to the devil himself about you." She said pointing. The room erupted in laughter.

More of our friends and family went up to make vows. All wishing blessings upon you.

"My turn." You say, standing up to grab the mic.

"Wait what?" Lewis asks. You stand by the table, all eyes on you.

"I am very happy to be officially married. Especially to the love of my life." You say looking at Lewis.

"But this isn't our only new journey. Surer we got married, going on a honey moon but I have something very special, that, I personally like." You say, pausing. You step off the stage, and go into a bathroom off to the side of your room, changing into a a new, tight fitted dress.

"You quickly change, grabbing a blanket and tying it around you.

"Okay." You say, walking through the room.

"What are you doing?" Lewis asks, looking at the blanket around you.

You pick up the mic and look at the very confused crowd.

"Like I said, I have a very, very special surprise, that could even change our live. To a new beginning." You trail off.

"I would like to announce that I... am pregnant!" You say happily.

"What seriously?" Lewis says, jumping form his seat.

"Yeah." You say, unraveling the blanket to show your tiny bump.

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" He says excitedly, pulling you into a tight hug.

Your family and friends go wild, all clapping and yelling and cheering at the two of you.

"Oh my God! So it wasn't just bloating!" He says. You shake your head.

"To a new beginning." You whisper.

"I love you so much." He says, rocking the both of you back and forth.

"I love you Lew." You say.

Hey loves! Hope you like! Comment to be added to the tag list!

[cyanide-siren]

that's your ex?

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You're working on a case and interrogate one of the eye witnesses with the Winchesters, who just happens to be your ex-boyfriend.

☆☆

You were working on a case with the Winchesters and were about to interrogate one of the eye witnesses to get more information on what had exactly happened. You didn't know who it was just yet but as you were standing at the doorstep and the door opened, your stomach dropped and eyes widened.

"Y/N?" a familiar voice with an even more familiar face said, surprised as well.

Oh, hell no. No no no no no no.

"What are you doing here? God, it's been such a long time. How are you?" the guy asked. The guy who had been your first boyfriend and first everything. Date, kiss, sex... And after all these years, there he was again.

"I'm... fine, thanks," you said quietly, awkwardly shifting your weight from one leg to another and wrapping your arms around your body as if to protect yourself from something.

"You guys know each other?" Sam asked with furrowed eyebrows.

"Yeah, we used to date in high school. You know, high school sweethearts," he explained, letting out a chuckle. He was much more relaxed in this situation than you were. Maybe just the presence of Sam and Dean made you unease. Maybe. But why?

You hadn't seen him since you departed ways after high school, him going to a college in a different state and you deciding to stay in your hometown and work.

"Uh, why don't we just get to the case and get this over with," you quickly said and started walking towards the couch in the living room.

The three guys followed you, and Dean made sure to sit next to you, his thigh brushing yours.

When you were done with getting the information you needed, you headed towards the door with Dean and Sam but didn't manage to exit the apartment when a voice stopped you.

"Hey, Y/N," your ex said and grabbed your arm, making you turn towards him. "Can i talk to you for a minute?"

"Um, i, uh..." you stuttered, not wanting to stay here any longer because of Dean and Sam but a part of you knew that there was still unfinished business with you that you needed to talk through.

"We'll wait in the car," Sam said and led Dean out of the apartment.

When the door was closed and you were left alone with your ex, he continued, "I was wondering... since we're more grown up now, would you like to give us another go?"

"You want to get back together?" you asked, lifting your eyebrows.

"Let me take you to just one date and we'll go from there, okay?" he pleaded and took your hand in his, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. "I've missed you, Y/N. You have no idea how much and now that you're here, i..."

You hesitated. Sure, he had been your first love and the one who you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with when you were teenagers, sure that you'd stay together forever. Get married, have kids, buy a house... It had been years since you last saw him and whatever feelings you had had for him had now faded. Not entirely, some part of you would always love him, but you didn't need to have him in your life anymore. You had moved on, as you thought he had done as well.

Dean was sitting in the car behind the wheel, looking at the two of you talking in the apartment, he could see you through the window. He examined every reaction you got from his words, every slight smile you gave him. He took your hands in his, brushing your knuckles. You didn't pull your hands away as Dean had hoped. Step away from him, push him away to tell him it was all over. What was he saying to you?

Dean turned his head away from you, clenching his jaw and gritting his teeth.

"She's not gonna get back with him," Sam reassured him, able to read his brother's mind just by examining the expressions on his face.

"Why would i care anyway if she did," Dean mumbled.

Sam was aware that Dean fallen in love with you, it was clear to anyone around him. It had first started as just a small, innocent crush and a little bit of flirting but as time went by, his feelings grew and grew, starting to be too large for him to handle. Dean wasn't able to confess his feelings to you, though he knew he should if he didn't want to look at you in someone else's arms. See someone else holding your hands.

One thing what also bothered Dean was that your ex was totally different compared to Dean, at least by the looks. Was he your type or would you be attracted to other types too? Shut up, Dean thought, almost wanting to slap himself on the face to get control of his mind.

Then, as Dean turned to look at you again, you were hugging your dear old ex-boyfriend, arms wrapped around his neck, his arms around your waist. Dean's heart dropped at the sight, chest tightening and both anger and sadness starting to take over his body. Dean had no right to be mad at you, of course he knew that, but his body didn't.

Sam witnessed the sight too: you with your ex and Dean losing his mind.

Eventually, you returned to the car, opening the impala's backseat door and hopping inside. Dean pretended like he hadn't paid any attention on your absence.

"Ready to go?" Dean asked. You didn't pay attention to the slight cranky tone in his voice but Sam could hear it loud and clear.

"Yeah, let's go grab something to eat. I'm starving," you groaned and slumped back against the seat.

Didn't want to go get dinner with that lover boy of yours, Dean thought. He had to bit his tongue not to let the words accidentally out loud. He wasn't jealous, you'd definitely catch up on it. If you didn't, Sam would and wouldn't stop teasing him about it. He was not jealous.

Fine, maybe he was a little jealous. Maybe he was the one who wanted to hug and hold you. Maybe he was the one who wanted to –

"Dean?" Sam said, startling Dean from his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"I asked if we could go to the diner where we ate at last time," you repeated.

"Oh, right. Yeah sure," Dean said, shortly glancing at you from the rearview mirror until turning his head to look back at the road.

☆☆

The three of you sat at a diner eating burgers and fries. It felt like several hours since you'd last gotten anything to eat.

You couldn't help but notice that Dean was much more quiet than usual, avoiding eye contact with you and just concentrating on his own meal.

Dean's mind and thoughts were wandering to several different directions all at once. How many times had your ex taken you out to eat burgers? How many times had he done this and that what Dean had done with you but in a romantic way?

"So," Sam broke the silence, quickly glancing at Dean before aiming his gaze on you on the other side of the table. "Are you going to see him again?"

"What?" you asked. "Oh, right. No, i've moved on from him. I wished him all the best in life but i'm not going back to him anymore."

"Really? You just... looked awfully close over there," Dean mumbled, and you weren't sure if you even heard him correctly.

"Were you watching us?" you asked, narrowing your eyes and a teasing smile lingering on your lips.

"Me, i, no," Dean stuttered, quickly turning back to his food and taking another bite from his burger, now slightly larger so he wouldn't need to reply to anything for a moment.

Dean wondered how many exes you actually had, you had never talked about any of them. Why would you? It was none of his, or Sam's, business and in the past. But how many were there? How many men had been with you and –

"Dean?" you said. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, of course," Dean replied and pulled on a smile which might have managed to convince you but not Sam.

Why did you have to look so pretty even when you had mayonnaise sliding down from the corner of your mouth and a piece of lettuce stuck between your teeth? So pretty when you had dark bags under your eyes for not having slept in the past 32 hours? Hair greasy for not having washed it in the past three days? None of those things could take away your beauty.

Dean wanted to tell you how much he cared about you. How much it hurt him when he saw you hugging and holding hands with a guy who wasn't him. But every time he would have had a chance to do so, the words were stuck in his throat and he couldn't get a single word out. Not when you were looking at him like that with those pretty eyes of yours. God, your eyes were pretty.

Maybe some day he'd be able to tell you how damn deep in love with you he was.

☆☆

On the drive back to the motel, it was getting dark outside and you were growing more and more tired, eyes feeling heavy and closing themselves. You tried to stay awake, it wouldn't take more than 20 minutes to get to the motel, if even that much.

However, you soon gave up and fell asleep, head against the cold window.

When Dean had parked the car in the parking lot, he turned to look at you over his shoulder just to see you peacefully asleep, forehead against the glass. Great. Dean didn't want to wake you up, this wasn't the first time he'd had to carry you out of the car, but now if he opened the door, you'd fall on the ground.

With Sam's help, Dean managed to get you out of the car without waking you up – Dean had learned quickly since he had met you that you were a heavy sleeper. He carried you into the motel room, your head resting against his chest, ear right against his beating heart. You were a heavy sleeper, sure, but Dean was afraid that his rapid heart beat alone was enough to wake you up.

Dean carefully laid you on the mattress, placing your head comfortably on a pillow and pulled your shoes off. He covered you with a thick blanket, tucking it all the way to your jaw to keep you warm and safe while you were asleep.

He couldn't reveal his feelings to you, no. What if you didn't feel the same? Saw him just as a friend? He didn't even want to imagine how awkward things would become between the two of you.

Also, if others, such as demons or other creatures who wanted Sam and Dean dead, found out about the person Dean was in love with, they would definitely turn it against him.

But the image of you hugging your ex was still bugging his mind, glued there. He wanted to be the one to do that. To hold you, to kiss you – to tell you how much he loved you. For fuck's sake, he was a coward but he wasn't someone to have good things stay in his life longer than for a short moment.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," Dean whispered, taking one last look at you and walked to the door, silently closing it behind him.

☆☆

[i-dared-myself]

Nicely and Politely

Seonghwa x reader x Hongjoong

Requested sequel to this

18+

Cw: Hybrid au. Smut. Overstimulation, penetrative sex, threesome, heat cycles, mxm smut as well as the mfm.

You’ve settled into life with the cat-hybrid, Seonghwa. You get along with him just fine, and have ‘supervised playtime’ as Hongjoong calls it.

One of Seonghwa’s favourite things is to wait for Hongjoong to come home. He’ll stare at the door in the thirty minutes up to Hongjoong’s arrival, glaring at you every time you tease him for it.

Hongjoong laughs and ruffles Seonghwa’s hair affectionately. “I love seeing you when I come home. I appreciate you waiting up for me.”

You look up from your book with a small sigh. “He’s so desperate. He always thinks he’s better than me, too.”

Hongjoong arches an eyebrow at you. “At least he’s a good kitty. Now you aren’t even happy to see me.”

“I am!” you protest, crossing your arms to pout. “He’s just-“ You cut yourself off before he can hear the rest of that.

“He’s just what?” Hongjoong sharply asks, expression smoothing out. But you know he’s not pleased. This is the calm before the storm. “Well-behaved? Respectful?”

“He’s a suck-up,” you mutter, ducking your head. You hear Seonghwa’s laugh as he glides out of the room, knowing that Hongjoong is absolutely furious.

Hongjoong doesn’t speak for a moment. He stays silent, letting the tension grow. Then he lowly says, “I think you need to learn some manners, bunny.”

You huff and roll your eyes, although your stomach twists nervously. You’ve been punished by him once, and once for a reason.

Hongjoong’s punishments aren’t fun. They’re punishments for a reason.

Hongjoong tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, grinning from ear to ear. “Little bunny, you can run along now. I’ll call you for dinner.”

You frown a bit in bewilderment before padding away, just as he said. Usually his punishments come immediately. You’re never left on edge like this, and neither has Seonghwa.

But maybe that’s the point.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You find Seonghwa in his room, reading a manga. You vaguely recognize it as some romance he had been trying to get you to read.

“Hey,” you softly say, sitting next to him on his bed. He shifts, uncrossing his legs so you can sit on his lap. You settle on him comfortably, leaning back. “You’re reading this again?”

Seonghwa hums, nuzzling against your cheek. His chest rumbles against you, a sign of his contentment. “Yeah. I think you would like it.”

You glance at the pages curiously, snorting in amusement. “That’s just nasty. What are they even doing?”

Seonghwa laughs, closing the book gently before rolling over, pinning you beneath him. He leans down to nip at your throat, no doubt leaving hickeys.

You squirm and try to push him off without putting any actual effort into it. He ignores your half-hearted attempts and sucks a mark beneath your jaw.

A knock at the door interrupts the moment. Hongjoong stands in the doorway, a smirk playing at his lips as he watches. “Oh,” he says, cocking a brow. “You two want to play?”

“Yeah.” Seonghwa grinds against you, making a soft sound of pleasure. His eyes flutter a bit before he’s dragged away from you with a confused whimper.

“Nuh-uh.” Hongjoong clicks his tongue. “Kitty, our bunny here has been acting up. She doesn’t appreciate us, does she?”

Seonghwa licks his lips, tongue darting out quickly. He glances at you before returning his attention to Hongjoong and shaking his head. “No. She doesn’t.”

Hongjoong releases Seonghwa, who falls into place beside him. He strokes his face fondly. “But you’ve been good. You deserve a little something.”

Seonghwa swallows, his throat flexing. You see his Adam’s apple bob. “Uh-huh. I do.”

You glare at them both. You’re not too overly fond of being denied anything, especially not attention. 

Hongjoong sits on the bed and shoos you away as he bends Seonghwa over his thighs. You can only stare as Seonghwa’s pants are dragged down and a bottle of lube is uncapped. The cat-hybrid moans as a lubed finger presses into his ass.

“More,” Seonghwa mewls, lifting his head up to see Hongjoong’s face. “Hongjoong- Sir- More, please!”

Hongjoong smiles fondly, patting Seonghwa’s cheek with his clean hand. You can only look on with envy. “Just give it a second, okay? We need to stretch you a bit.”

Seonghwa nods, wetting his lips. He lets Hongjoong take his time until the next finger pushes in, causing him to shudder.

“Relax,” Hongjoong murmurs, running his fingers through Seonghwa’s hair. He thrusts his fingers in and out, no doubt finding Seonghwa’s prostrate when he trembles and moans. “You need to let me make you feel good, alright?” 

You trudge closer, settling down to your knees next to them. “Hongjoong…” you softly plead, grasping at his forearm as he pumps his fingers in and out of Seonghwa. “Hongjoong, please.”

“Yes, bunny?” Hongjoong doesn’t look at you, focusing his attention on Seonghwa. He pulls his digits out for a moment, examining the slight gape before plunging them back in. “Do you need something?”

You dig your fingers into his flesh, whining softly. “You know what I want…”

Hongjoong makes Seonghwa cum, white smearing across his pants. He helps the hybrid up, kissing his forehead softly. “Did she ask politely?”

Seonghwa glances at you with glassy eyes, nuzzling into Hongjoong. “N- No. she didn’t.”

“So does she deserve attention?” Hongjoong prompts as he strokes Seonghwa’s hair away from his forehead. His touch is soft and affectionate.

“No,” Seonghwa whispers, avoiding eye contact with you. He knows that you will absolutely beat his ass for this later. “She doesn’t deserve it.”

“You’re right.” Hongjoong plays with Seonghwa’s hair, helping him come down from his orgasm. “She doesn’t.”

You let out an irritated huff and clench your hands. “This isn’t fair! Fine! I don’t need you! I don’t need either of you!”

Hongjoong shrugs. “Fine. It’s your choice. But when you realize that you do need us, I expect perfect manners.”

“Well I don’t need you,” you spit out before turning on your heel and marching out of the room. You refuse to give in.

Hongjoong smiles widely, and Seonghwa tilts his head in confusion. “Hongjoong?” Seonghwa gently says. “What’s that look for?”

Hongjoong pats Seonghwa’s thigh. “Bunny doesn’t realize her heat is coming up. She’ll come scrambling back to us in no time.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stay strong for two whole days as Seonghwa laps up Hongjoong’s attention. Seonghwa curls up on Hongjoong’s lap when you watch television, you’re often woken to banging of headboards, and the cat-hybrid even tries to eat you out when he misses you.

That gets him a stern spanking as he’s scolded for going against Hongjoong’s orders. You watch with a smug expression, glad that he gave in before you did.

But on the third day, your thighs are sticky and your stomach feels tight. You wander downstairs in the morning, rubbing your eyes and searching for them. Either will do. You just want to be full.

“Good morning, bunny.” Hongjoong kisses your forehead before gliding into the kitchen to make breakfast. He ignores the needy whine that you let out.

Seonghwa’s pupils dilate as soon as he sees you, and he rushes to you. He pushes you over and lays his body over yours, touching every part of your skin that he can. His hands slip beneath your sleeping shirt as he licks your throat.

“Kitty,” Hongjoong warns from the kitchen, cracking eggs into a pan. 

You gasp and shiver as Seonghwa’s teeth sink into your neck. You writhe beneath him and let out a moan as he slots his knee between your thighs, grasping your shirt with his fists.

Seonghwa lets you grind down on his knee, leaving as many marks as he can on your flesh. He’s sucking a hickey onto your shoulder when Hongjoong finally has enough.

Hongjoong throws Seonghwa over his shoulder, leaving you flushed and leaking on the floor. He lifts an eyebrow at you. “So? Have you finally had enough? Gonna admit that you need us?”

You shake your head, squeezing your thighs shut. The movement gives away your desperation and Hongjoong laughs.

Seonghwa reaches for you, but doesn’t fight Hongjoong too much. He doesn’t want to be punished like you are. “Have to- I have to help her. She’s in heat!”

Hongjoong shushes him, placing him off to the side so he can deal with you. Seonghwa grumbles but stays still. 

Hongjoong crouches next to you, watching you for a moment before his lips curl into a smile. “Still have nothing to say to me? I have all the time in the world. But you…” He reaches down to collect some of your slick onto his fingertips. “You won’t have as much fun waiting as I will.”

You whine and rub your thighs together to create some friction. But you’re too wet for it to work and your head falls to the side. “Hongjoong! Please!”

“Ah, there it is.” Hongjoong shoves Seonghwa away as he tries to crawl to you. Seonghwa gets a sharp smack to the thigh and yelps in pain before giving you both space again. “Seonghwa! Enough!”

“But she needs me,” Seonghwa murmurs, eyes locked on you. “She needs me, she needs me, she needs me.”

“And she’ll get you when she asks nicely!” Hongjoong snaps, hooking his fingers into Seonghwa’s hair and holding him away from you. “I’m punishing her. Do you need one too?”

“No,” Seonghwa mutters. “I’ll be good.”

Hongjoong releases him before facing you again, sighing heavily. “Bunny, just use your manners and ask nicely. Admit that you need us.”

Your lower lip trembles, but you still shake your head. You’re suddenly grabbed under the armpits and lifted up to your feet.

Hongjoong herds you to his room, placing a hand between your shoulder blades. “Bend,” he orders, stern voice leaving no room for argument.

You bend at the waist, laying your front over his bed. You clench around nothing as you glance over your shoulder at him, gaze hooded. You won. He’s giving in, and you won.

Hongjoong keeps you like that for a moment, staring at you with an unimpressed look. Then he slaps your ass, humming lowly when you let out a cry. You try to squirm away, but he places a hand on the back of your neck, using steady pressure to keep you in place.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong calls, easing your pants off your legs. “Come here, kitty.”

Seonghwa enters the bedroom, forehead creased and lips slightly pursed. His gaze immediately falls onto you. “Yeah?”

“Are you still loose enough from this morning?” Hongjoong asks, tightening his grip on you as you try to get up again. When Seonghwa nods, Hongjoong sighs fondly. “I remember when you thought you were dominant… Wow, it feels like it was so long ago.”

Seonghwa shifts his weight between his legs. “Uh-huh…”

“Anyways,” Hongjoong says, breaking himself out of his thoughts. “Come here. You can hump the bunny.”

Seonghwa’s eyes light up and he scrambles closer. “I can help her? I can make her feel good?”

“No penetration though,” Hongjoong tells him as Seonghwa lays himself over you. Hongjoong lifts his hand from your neck to help Seonghwa undress his lower half. “Have fun, okay? And don’t worry if she gets all needy. That’s just part of the fun.”

Seonghwa’s hands latch onto your shoulders, and he rocks his hips. You can feel his cock drag between your legs, gliding through the slick.

“Oh, she’s so wet,” Seonghwa moans, digging his fingers into you. His hips thrust faster and he buries his face against you, gaspy little breaths hitting your skin.

You whine, scrunching your hands up in the sheets. “Seonghwa! Want it- I- I need it, please!”

It feels like you’re burning, sweat and slick dripping onto the bed. Seonghwa whimpers and glances at Hongjoong. “Can’t I help her?”

Hongjoong clicks his tongue. “In a second, kitty. But she needs to ask a bit nicer. She’s so close.”

“Please,” you beg, looking up at Hongjoong with watering eyes. “Please, sir, I need it. I need you. I’m sorry- I’m so sorry, but I need you.”

“There we go,” Hongjoong murmurs in satisfaction, removing his belt. He tosses it to the side, along with the rest of his clothes. “Seonghwa, you can fuck her now.”

Seonghwa lets out a sound you’ve never heard from him before, somewhere between the lines of hunger and frustration. He shoves his dick into you, forcing you to take the stretch.

You moan loudly, legs trembling. Seonghwa pushes you further up the bed and starts rolling his hips into you. His fingernails dig into your back before Hongjoong presses him down, the cat-hybrid’s body flush against yours.

Seonghwa doesn’t even seem to notice, lost in helping you achieve an orgasm. He wants to- needs to- help you. You’re his, after all.

“More,” you moan, hiccuping with each desperate thrust into you. You’re consumed by the need for more, more, more.

Seonghwa suddenly freezes, moaning softly into your ear. You feel more weight pressing on you before you hear Hongjoong breathlessly say, “You were right, kitty. Still stretched out nicely for me.”

Seonghwa’s body jolts, and he whimpers pathetically. “No! N- No! I- I can fuck her! I can do it, I promise! Don’t need- hnghh- don’t need the help!”

“Sh, sh, sh,” Hongjoong soothes, stroking Seonghwa’s hair. “Just be quiet, okay? I’ve got you.”

Seonghwa rocks his hips into you, but is only able to get so far with Hongjoong inside him. He huffs in irritation and bites your shoulder as Hongjoong thrusts into him, effectively thrusting into you as well.

“No!” Seonghwa protests, lifting his mouth from your skin. “Hongjoong! I don’t need help!”

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong warns, bracing his elbows near your head. “I thought you were the well-behaved one? Good pets take what they’re given.”

Seonghwa lays his head in the crook of your neck, grunting as he’s fucked. You can still feel it, and the building heat in your abdomen is a welcome delight after so long of nothing.

“Close,” you find yourself gasping out. You twist your neck to see Seonghwa’s expression, wide eyes and parted lips as he takes Hongjoong. 

“Don’t- s’too much,” Seonghwa splutters, overwhelmed by your warmth clenching around him, and the utter fullness in his ass. He scrunches his face up as he cums, cock twitching inside you. “Hongjoong- Hongjoong, sir!”

“Let the bunny finish, huh?” Hongjoong rubs circles into Seonghwa’s back, grinning down at you. “I thought you wanted to help her? Take it and help her.”

Seonghwa moans and drools onto you as he endures more, eyes rolling back until you can only see the whites of his eyes. You finally hit your climax, entire body trembling. The thrusts slow and Hongjoong steps away, grabbing a nearby cloth.

“Not done yet,” you weakly say, spreading your legs again. Seonghwa’s spent drips out of you and his eyes narrow.

“Uh-uh,” Hongjoong chides, grabbing Seonghwa’s wrist before he can sink into you again. “First we need water. Let the bunny rest for a moment.”

Seonghwa only protests a little as you’re given time to rest. He sips at his water and makes you drink, much to Hongjoong’s amusement.

Then he descends upon you again.

Taglist:

@jinnie-ret @velvetmoonlght @hansmic @imeverycliche @iwuberic @mbioooo0000 @ourtimeisrunningouttt @lezleeferguson-120 @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @radioheadlovers @yutasbutterfly02 @fallingclose2u

[elliesbabygirl]

CHAPTER THREE: PARANOIA.

SERIES SYNOPSIS: Midterms were crushing you-and so was she. Maybe she was the right person at the wrong time, or the wrong person at the right time. Either way, none of it mattered when she was next to you.

WARNINGS: 18+, alcohol + drug use, cheating, swearing, mentions of tattoos + body mods (piercings & tattoos), arguments, blood, partying, pining, sexual tension, eventual smut. slow burn with fluff and angst.

The story is told in a messed-up timeline with memory fragments, a gauge on the reader trying to pick at where it all went wrong with Ellie.

SUBMARINE; MASTERLIST.

The movie had been Ellie’s pick—some indie film with washed-out colors and long silences, the kind where everything was a metaphor for something no one says out loud.

She had pressed play with that excited glint in her eye, telling you “You’re gonna love this one, trust me.”

You did trust her.

You always did.

You were curled into her side on the couch, blanket over both of your legs, her arm around you—but it felt more like muscle memory than intention.

Ellie hadn’t said much since the movie started, and you had spent the last thirty minutes trying to find the right moment, to ask the question that had been chewing a hole in your chest for the past two weeks.

It felt stupid, and maybe a little desperate.

But it had been three months, almost four.

You weren’t asking for fireworks or some perfect title.

You just wanted to know when—if ever—you were going to be Ellie’s girlfriend.

You turned to her, slow and cautious. “Hey, els—can I ask you—?”

Her phone buzzed.

Ellie flinched, and then immediately sat up, untangling from the blanket like she’d been waiting for an excuse.

“Shit—sorry, one sec. I gotta take this.”

You blinked. “Now?”

“It’ll just be a minute.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Sorry— I promise.”

Before you could say anything else, she stood, grabbing her phone and slipping onto the small balcony of her apartment.

The glass door slid shut with a soft click.

And you sat there, mid-sentence, hands curled into the blanket.

It wasn’t late, just past nine.

Whoever was calling didn’t feel like a work emergency, or like a casual check-in from Jesse or Dina.

You watched her through the glass—Ellie turning her back to the living room, phone pressed to her ear, her posture easing as she smiled.

Not just polite, and not just casual.

A real smile.

Your throat tightened.

She used to take those calls next to you—on the couch, your legs draped over hers, her voice lazy and open.

She used to show you her sketchbook without being asked, flipping through pages with pen-stained fingers and watching your reaction like it mattered more than the work itself.

Now?

She barely mentioned her new pieces.

Said she was “busy,” or that Joel had been piling on too much at the shop.

Said she’d show you when it was done.

Always later.

Lately, everything was later.

Even you.

You didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

You didn’t want to be that person.

But Juni’s voice echoed in your head like a warning you didn't want to hear.

“She’s trying to get with Ellie”

You had brushed it off.

Said Ellie was just being nice.

That she didn’t notice Cat’s looks, her lingering attention, and her casually layered compliments whenever Ellie talked about her art.

But now—watching Ellie smile like that while hiding on the balcony, after dodging your question like it didn’t even matter—something ugly and cold began to settle in your chest.

The indie film kept playing, untouched.

Onscreen, two characters were quietly falling apart in a sun-drenched room.

The movie had almost ended by the time Ellie came back inside.

You heard the balcony door slide open before you looked, her feet light against the floor as she stepped in, rubbing the back of her neck.

She had that same easy smile on her face—careful, practiced—but her eyes didn’t quite meet yours.

“Sorry,” Ellie said, sliding her phone into her back pocket. “That was Joel. He’s at the shop trying to close up and forgot how to run the register, again.”

You gave her a short nod, not looking up from the screen.

The film had moved into its last ten minutes—one of those long, drawn-out sequences with soft music and no dialogue.

You couldn’t recap a single thing.

Ellie dropped back onto the couch, noticeably farther from you now.

Not across the room, not dramatic—just a little space between you that hadn’t been there before.

She leaned back into the cushions with a soft sigh, stretching her arms behind her head.

“So,” she said, trying to make her voice sound light. “What’d I miss?”

You let out a soft shrug. “Some sad montage. Someone cried, and probably some metaphors.”

Ellie laughed under her breath. “Damn, knew I’d regret it.”

You still didn’t look at her.

Shimmer had hopped up beside you during the lull, curling into your side.

You ran your fingers through the cat’s fur slowly, eyes fixed on the screen, your body stretched out along the couch—just far enough to avoid leaning into Ellie’s side again.

Then, after a moment;

“Hey… what were you gonna ask earlier? Before Joel called?”

You blinked, your stomach sinking.

Ellie turned her head towards you, but you could feel she wasn’t really pushing—just curious, distracted.

Like she knew there’d been something, but didn’t think it mattered much now.

You hesitated for a moment, then shook your head, voice low. “Nothing, wasn't that important.”

Ellie hummed like she accepted that, even though she didn’t ask again.

You turned back to the screen, letting the soft, melancholic soundtrack fill the silence.

One of the characters on screen was standing alone in an empty room, staring at a window like they were waiting for someone who was never going to come back.

+

It felt like a relief, finally having Ellie back beside you.

You’d missed her—missed this.

The slow, easy way she draped her arm over the back of the couch while you leaned into her side, the way she laughed too hard at Jesse’s dumb impressions, how her fingers brushed against yours on instinct when she passed you the joint.

After weeks of “Sorry, shop’s slammed,” and “Joel’s got me on inventory again,” the stretch of time between now and the last time you saw her like this had been long enough to start to feel like a gap.

But she was here now.

You were with Dina and Jesse again, curled up in their cramped apartment, the familiar scent of weed filling the space while Jesse's lo-fi playlist played low through his speaker.

You’d ordered too much food for delivery, and as always, Jesse had suggested movie night but no one had touched the remote in over an hour

You were mid-laugh at one of Dina’s stories when she turned to Ellie with a grin, waving a pretzel for emphasis.

“By the way, that tattoo you gave Cat? So sick. That shading on the horns? You’re disgusting.”

You blinked. Smile fading just slightly.

Ellie, who had just taken a sip from her drink, swallowed and nodded casually. “Oh—yeah. She sat like a champ actually, it was pretty hot.”

('Hot'?..What the fuck?)

Your brows pulled together a little, your voice quiet. “Wait… you tattooed Cat?”

Ellie glanced at you. “Oh, yeah. Last week, I think? I was gonna show you the sketch, I just—haven’t gone through the book in a bit. I’ve got all my ideas in there.”

Your mouth was suddenly dry.

Dina kept talking, completely unaware. “It’s, like, this full blackwork goat—just line and shading, clean as hell. Honestly, I kind of want something in that style now.”

You nodded along, slow, the edges of the couch pressing harder into your back than they had been a moment ago.

(So that's why she hadn't opened the sketchbook around you in weeks.)

The one she always used to share.

The one she’d promised—”you’ll see it when it’s done.”

Jesse glanced between you and Ellie once, subtle but sharp-eyed.

You didn’t notice.

You were too busy suddenly trying to remember what night it had been.

What you were doing.

What you were told by Ellie.

He cleared his throat and stood up, stretching with an exaggerated groan. “Yo, food’s downstairs, right? Hey, mind helping me grab it?”

You blinked. “Oh—uh, yeah. Sure.”

You followed him into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind you as he hit the stairwell, his voice low but gentle as he slowed to your pace.

“You okay?”

You kept your eyes on the steps. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Jesse gave a dry chuckle. “That was a very convincing 'yeah'.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Just wrapped your arms around yourself a little tighter.

He looked at you again, more serious now. “You didn’t know about Cat’s tattoo appointment with Ellie, huh?”

You shook your head. “Not a clue.”

Jesse sighed. “I mean, it’s probably nothing, but… you two feel a little off lately. Ellie’s been a little weird, right?”

You looked up, something bitter curling at the edge of your mouth. “She’s just been busy.”

He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

You kept walking.

And in the silence that followed, you realized; it wasn’t just Ellie who’d gone quiet.

It was you, too—quietly waiting, quietly hoping.

And quietly wondering when you’d start to feel like hers again.

+

The shop bell chimed softly overhead as you stepped inside—hands in your pockets, the familiar scent of antiseptic and warm wood wrapping around you like second nature.

You hadn’t texted first.

Ellie always told you not to bother. “Just come by. Doesn’t matter when.”

It was supposed to be a good surprise.

The front of the shop was quiet, blinds half-closed against the afternoon glare, music low and pulsing in the background.

No one behind the desk.

No sound of machines buzzing.

Then, through the divider curtain—half pulled, half-forgotten—you saw them.

Ellie was standing between Cat’s legs, the two of them tucked into the corner of her station like they had the right to be there.

Her hand was under Cat’s shirt, fingers curled lightly against her skin in a way that was so familiar it made your stomach twist.

That was your place.

And that was your Ellie.

They were kissing—slow, like the world had paused around them, like it was a habit.

You stopped in the doorway, stunned into silence.

The bell still echoed faintly overhead.

“I should probably go check who that is,” Ellie muttered against Cat’s mouth, her voice low, breathless—soft in that way you knew too well.

The one she used only when she was comfortable.

Relaxed.

Intimate.

Cat hummed lazily, her hands on Ellie’s hips. “Just another walk-in?”

Ellie chuckled faintly and pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against Cat’s. “I’ll be right back, promise.”

She turned towards the front.

Still smiling.

Still flushed.

Still carrying that post-kiss softness in her expression.

Then her eyes landed on you.

And everything stopped.

Her breath hitched like someone had punched it out of her.

And her face dropped—smile collapsing, posture stiffening, hands falling like they didn’t know where to go.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Ellie opened her mouth.

Nothing came out at first.

Then, choked, raw—barely above a whisper;

“Baby—”

Her voice cracked halfway through it.

You stared at her like she wasn’t real.

Like none of it was.

Ellie stepped forward fast—too fast, panic rising in her chest as if momentum alone could undo what you saw.

Her voice stumbled out in pieces, half-excuses tripping over each other.

“Wait—wait, it’s not what it looks like, I—she just—Cat was just—” Her hands hovered mid-air, like she didn’t know whether to reach for you or bury her face in them.

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

The silence said enough.

The way your eyes didn’t fill with rage—just with something far worse.

The way you didn’t cry or yell or ask why.

You just looked at her like something in you had quietly died.

“No, please, just—listen, okay?” Ellie begged, voice cracking now as she moved around the counter like she might catch you before you slipped away.

“It didn’t mean anything. I wasn’t—fuck, I wasn’t thinking, alright?”

You took a slow step backwards, your eyes still locked on her, rimmed with something distant.

Shaking your head—once, small, final.

A gesture not of disbelief, but of recognition.

You believed her.

And that’s what hurt the most.

She was exactly who you were afraid she’d be.

“Don’t,” you whispered, barely loud enough to cut through her frantic breathing. “Just… don’t.”

Another step back, and your hand found the door without looking.

Ellie’s voice broke completely. “Please.”

You didn’t stop.

You just turned and walked through the door, the bell above it chiming one last time.

+

(Now, you were here. Why the fuck did you let Ellie in?)

She stood just inside the door like she didn’t know whether to run or collapse, chest rising and falling fast, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt.

You stayed planted where you were—back near the kitchen, arms crossed, as if the counter could keep you upright.

Your heart had been pounding since you saw her at the shop.

Since you saw them.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like that,” Ellie started, voice shaking. “I didn’t even know—I wasn’t thinking, alright?”

“You never are,” you shot back, sharp and immediate. “That’s the problem.”

Ellie winced like you’d hit her. “You don’t get it. You never fucking get it.”

(What the fuck was she talking about?)

“I saw you, Ellie,” you snarled, stepping forward. “Saw your hand under her shirt like it belonged there, like it used to belong to me.”

“It didn’t mean anything,” Ellie said too fast, too defensively.

“Oh, fuck you,” you snapped, voice rising, raw. “Don’t insult me with that.”

Her fists clenched, her face flushing deep with something between shame and rage. “You don’t know what it’s like to be with someone like you.”

You stopped cold. “Someone like me?”

Ellie’s hands shot up, hair falling into her face as she paced in a sharp circle.

“You hover, okay? You cling. You’re always there. Always wanting to talk, always wanting to fucking understand everything. I can’t breathe without feeling like I owe you something—like I’m supposed to be your goddamn redemption arc.”

Your mouth dropped open. “I just loved you, Ellie.”

“No,” she shouted. “You smothered me. You’re like a fucking parasite. Always needing more—more answers, more commitment, more goddamn validation! And I tried, I really fucking tried, but every time you asked for more, I felt like I was disappearing.”

You staggered back like she’d struck you.

You actually put a hand to your chest, trying to calm the ache blooming there.

“I never asked you to disappear,” you whispered, eyes glassy.

“I asked you to show up.”

Ellie faltered, breath hitching.

“I waited,” you continued, voice shaking now.

“I waited for you to call me your girlfriend. I waited for you to feel safe. I waited through every phone call you took outside. Every time you brushed me off. Every sketchbook you closed in my face. I waited because I believed you. Because when you looked me in the eyes that night at yours and said I was perfect, I thought you meant it.”

“I did,” Ellie whispered, voice cracking.

“But you still chose her.”

“I didn’t choose anyone!” she exploded. “I chose to fucking breathe! And yeah, maybe I kissed her, maybe I let it happen, but it was because for once I didn’t feel like I was failing someone just by fucking being me!”

You stared at her, your entire body trembling. “So that’s what I was to you? A job? A project? Something to fail?”

Ellie turned away, hands shaking. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you said quietly. “You meant it enough to say it.”

Silence crashed between you—thick, suffocating.

Ellie turned back to you, eyes desperate now, rimmed with tears. “Please,” she whispered, voice broken. “I don’t know how to fix this. Just tell me what to say.”

You shook your head, tears finally spilling. “There’s nothing left to say.”

Ellie stood there like she didn’t hear you—or like she couldn’t afford to believe it.

Her shoulders were trembling now, fists clenched at her sides, and her voice nothing but shredded nerves when she spoke again.

“I can fix this,” she insisted, stepping towards you. “Please—just give me a chance. I know I fucked up, I know I said shit I didn’t mean, but I can fix this.”

You didn’t move.

She ran a hand down her face, already spiraling deeper than before.

“The candy, the flowers—I know that shit was dumb, I know it doesn’t make up for anything, but I didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t answering me, and I panicked, I—fuck—I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You did lose me,” you said, voice low and raw. “The moment you called me a fucking parasite, Ellie.”

Ellie’s face crumpled, like she’d heard the words for the first time.

“I didn’t mean that. I was scared. I was cornered. You were right there and I didn’t know how to explain myself, and it just came out. I didn’t mean it, I swear to god.”

“You don’t get to walk back everything because you’re scared now,” you said, tears sliding down your face.

“You said it. You looked me in the eye and said I smothered you. Like loving you was something ugly that I did.”

Ellie’s breath hitched, her voice splintering. “It’s not. You loving me was the only good thing I had. You—you were the good thing. I just didn’t know how to hold it without ruining it.”

You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “So you went and proved yourself right.”

Ellie was crying now, silently, her chest rising and falling like she couldn’t catch her breath.

“I didn’t want to prove anything. I just—I wanted space, I wanted clarity, I wanted you and I wanted room to breathe and I didn’t know how to ask for both. And I fucked it all up. But I swear to you, I will do whatever it takes to make it right.”

You shook your head. “Even if you could fix this, you can’t erase it. I saw the look on your face when you kissed her. I saw what it looked like when you didn’t have to try.”

Ellie’s knees almost buckled. She covered her mouth, eyes wide, broken open. “Please,” she whispered.

“Don’t give up on me, don't let this be the end.”

You looked at her—really looked at her.

This person you once thought would carry your heart like it was sacred.

The same person who, now, was begging for another shot while standing in the wreckage she made herself.

Author's note: heyyy...how y'all doing. What did we think?? I know the timeline can feel a bit confusing but I am creating a timeline graph for each scene or event that happens in the fic. I will show it to you guys around chapter 4, where it'll come into play, TRUSTT. I'm literally updating submarine LIVE from a party, LIKE ON MY PHONE. And a little drunk.

TAGLIST:

@mayfldss @sewithinsouls @iadorefineshyt @safficoon @panic4sage @modernvenuss @re1daway @bluminescent-moon @valeisaslut

LMK IF YOU WANNA BE ON THE TAGKLIST.

[urfavleo777]

luigi wearing glasses, praise kink, professor x student relationship, dry humping

pairing: luigi mangione x f!reader

➳

You never really cared about grades. Not in the way people expected you to, at least. Instead of jotting down the lecturer's golden sentences, you preferred to write down yours, so that when you got home you could create something actually readable out of it that some might consider poems. For you they were much more valuable than the highest score on the final exam. Exactly, for you. 

But you weren’t lazy. You were just tuned into something different. So naturally, when you got to college, you threw yourself into literature like it was a religion. Each free moment you dedicated to the library, where you ended up spending more of your academic year than in actual lectures—especially those without mandatory attendance. You always took the same table, which, after a while, sort of became your signature spot. People started to recognize you only by the sight of you sitting there, head down, lost in pages. You were not aware that among them there was also one man who particularly stood out, who often rummaged through the shelf of your favorite fiction. Professor Mangione. And you were so absorbed that you didn't even notice him sending you a short glance that grew longer with each passing day.

"Hey," he said with a small smile. "I’ve noticed you here a lot. You’re not in any of my classes though, right?"

You shook your head, slightly confused. "No, I… I don’t usually go to lectures where attendance isn’t required."

He chuckled. "Fair enough. But eventually, you’ll have to start. Final exams are coming up. You don’t want to cram everything in last minute.”

You blinked, a little confused. “Wait, what do you even teach again?”

He didn’t seem offended, rather amused, which he confirmed with laughter. That was a bit disappointing though since you wanted him to go away. Instead, he replied, briefly glancing at the cover of The Bell Jar. “Literary theory.”

It suddenly clicked - sure enough, Professor Luigi Mangione was somewhere hidden in your course syllabus. You decided to skip his lecture right from the beginning of the semester.

You grinned, biting your tongue to avoid complimenting him for the book he was holding. “No wonder I barely show up.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And why’s that?”

You shrugged, a bit defensively. “I guess I just prefer the practice over the theory. Reading and writing feels more real to me than all those abstract concepts.”

He leaned in just a little, eyes narrowing with interest. “Practice over theory, huh? There’s something poetic about that.”

Fuck.

You stood. You sat again. He didn't look away for even a second, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

“Well,” you said, grabbing your bag with a smirk, “I should probably get back to work before I start failing all my classes—even the ones I actually attend.”

He laughed softly. “Smart move. But don’t be a stranger, alright?”

You glanced over your shoulder as you headed for the door, tossing a playful grin back at him. “No promises, Professor. But I’ll try not to disappoint.”

What the fuck had just happened?

➳

You quickly noticed that Professor Mangione had a certain routine to which he stuck religiously.

Mornings began with him drifting through the fiction shelves—never in a rush, always deliberate—his fingers grazing the spines like he was searching for something long lost. Then he’d settle into the same armchair by the window, legs crossed, a book in one hand, coffee in the other.

You told yourself you weren’t watching him. Just... observing. Like a character study. The kind of person you'd write into a story without fully realizing it. But the truth was, his presence began to mark your days almost as much as your own reading. A quiet fixture. Predictable. Steady.

And somehow, annoyingly, intriguing.

He wore a navy button-down today, sleeves rolled just past his forearms, and when he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, your stomach flipped like it had no loyalty to your brain.

No doubt — it was that image of him that must’ve provoked the dream you had the following night. Naturally, you started attending his lectures, where you often engaged in provocative discussions with him. But it was his beautiful, focused face that couldn’t prevent you from thinking about finally fucking him.

You put your notebook away and walked over to him, taking a seat across from him like you hadn’t dreamt about his face buried between your thighs three days ago. Like you hadn’t dreamt about him pulling your hips to the edge of his desk, looking up at you with his mouth wet and his voice wrecked, and saying, “You’re my favorite student. My brightest. My best.”

You cleared your throat until he noticed you. Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

“You wanted to talk about your assignment?” His voice was calm. Casual. But you saw the flicker in his eyes, the faint pull at the corner of his mouth.

You nodded and pulled the paper out, holding it with both hands like it might burn you.

“Actually it’s already done,” you said quietly. “What you asked me to write.”

He took it from you gently, careful not to brush your fingers—but the air sparked anyway.

“I’ll read it tonight,” he hummed, clearly impressed, while sliding the pages into his leather satchel. “I’ve been curious to see how you write.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Curious, huh?”

He met your gaze without flinching. “You have a reputation, you know.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head. “For what?”

“For saying too much in discussions. For not showing up to lectures. For making people want to listen when you do.”

A pause. His voice had dropped just enough to blur the line between professor and student.

You laughed lightly, trying to break the tension, but it only made it worse. “That’s a lot of reputation to carry.”

He smiled, slow and knowing. “Something tells me you’re not burdened by it.”

There was silence for a moment. Heavy, but not uncomfortable. You leaned forward, forearms resting on the table, letting the soft hum of the library swallow your heartbeat.

“And what’s your reputation, Professor Mangione?”

His eyes flicked down to your lips and back up again—quick, practiced, like he hadn’t meant to get caught. “Depends who you ask.”

“Well,” you said softly, “I’m asking.”

He looked at you for a moment too long. Then: “Maybe you should write about it. Come to your own conclusion.”

You let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Careful. I get very detailed when I write.”

“I hope so.” His voice barely carried across the table now. “I look forward to reading it.”

➳

Class was over, and before you knew it, you were already walking toward his office. Each step felt heavier than the last, the confidence you had earlier slowly unraveling with every inch closer to the door.

After all, you were about to face the Mr. Luigi Mangione — the one you even started to respect until he treated you unfairly.

You raised your fist and knocked.

"Come in."

His voice, low and raspy, sent a shiver down your spine. You slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside. There he was—sitting at his desk, eyes fixed on his laptop, fingers dancing effortlessly across the keys.

You hesitated for a moment, the door clicking shut behind you a little louder than you'd intended. Still, he didn’t look up.

The only sounds in the room were the rhythmic tapping of the keyboard and the steady ticking of the clock above his shelf.

It felt like the silence was a test. And you weren’t sure if you were passing or failing.

You swallowed hard. “I came to talk.”

At that, he finally looked up—glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose just slightly, gaze unreadable. He didn’t say anything for a moment, only studied you like you were a passage in a text he’d read too many times but still hadn’t quite decoded.

“About your grade?” he asked, but his tone already suggested he knew it wasn’t just that.

You stepped forward, voice low. “About how you’ve been treating me.”

Something flickered in his expression. Not guilt. Not surprise. Something heavier. He leaned back slowly in his chair, elbows resting on the arms, fingers steepling.

“Go on.”

“I participate more than anyone,” you said. “I turn in every assignment. And yet somehow I’m still the one being dismissed. Corrected. Challenged harder than the rest.”

“Is that how you see it?” he asked, head tilting.

You nodded. “Yes.”

He smiled, small and maddening. “Maybe I push you harder because I know you can handle it.”

“That’s not your call to make.”

“It is,” he said evenly, “when I’m the one grading you.”

Silence.

You stepped closer. “You’re not being objective.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m not.”

There it was. The admission. It landed like a match in a dry field—silent at first, then everything inside you started to burn.

“You’re a good writer, Y/n. But I know you have the potential to become the best.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you whispered.

“And you shouldn’t be here.” His voice was barely audible now, but it struck like thunder.

“I know,” you said.

You walked closer to the chair he was sitting on. The distance between you evaporated in three steps. Close enough now to feel his breath, to smell the faint trace of coffee and cedar.

“I told myself I wouldn’t touch you,” he said, gaze locked to yours.

“But you want to,” you breathed.

He reached out his hand to you, which you took and he guided you onto his lap, his thumb brushing the edge of your cheek like a question he already knew the answer to. “You have no idea.”

“Professor—”

“Shush,” he whispered. “You’re bold. I’ll give you that.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words died on your tongue. Your breath hitched as his hand slowly reached out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. A touch too soft. Too deliberate.

“You wanted my attention,” he murmured, tone now quieter… darker. “Now you have it.”

You’d wanted him for so long—fantasized, daydreamed, obsessed over every look, every word, every red pen note on your essay—and now…

Now it was real.

You could taste him on your tongue.

If it weren't for the fact that you were sitting on his lap, your legs would probably give out on you.

“But if this—” his voice dipped lower, rougher now, “if any of this feels wrong to you—if you want to stop, or slow down, or if you change your mind, I’ll listen. Always. But don’t protect me at your expense.”

You stared at him.

Your heart ached with the weight of it. The tenderness. The way he said it like he meant it, like this wasn’t just about desire but choice. Care.

Your hand reached up slowly, fingers brushing his chest, his collarbone, until they curled into the fabric at his shoulder.

“I don’t want to stop,” you whispered.

And that was all he needed. His hand cradled the back of your neck again, and he kissed you—not hungrily, not desperately—but with the kind of reverence that made your knees weak all over again.

Your hips grind softly against his thigh as you coo softly, “Mh, professor..” you whine as he presses your hips further down on his thigh, giving you more pressure. “Mhm— tell me,” he instructs as he caresses your hair. “What do you want to know besides why I hurt you so much with this essay, hm?” he pouted, gripping your hips. 

“Do you…” you hesitated. The question felt fragile in your throat. You weren’t sure you wanted the answer—but the ache for it was louder than your fear. “Do you really think I’m a good writer?”

His expression didn’t shift. Not right away. But you felt something ripple behind his eyes—something careful. Measured. Like he knew exactly why you were asking. Still, he didn’t flinch.

“I wouldn’t lie about that,” he said gently. “Of course you are, my smart girl.”

Fuck. 

Your hips grinded on him harder, faster, picking up the pace as you try your hardest to utter sentences from your mouth. “I had a dream about you, professor,” you whined as you squeezed your eyes closed, your hips grinding on Luigi harder.

“Tell me about it, baby—y’can do it” he urged, kissing your neck softly, your pussy drenched. “Professor—can’t…” you frowned as your grinds become sloppier the more he kissed your neck. “Why can’t you, hm? Goin’ dumb on my thigh, are we?” he chuckled slowly, moving his head up from your neck to gaze into your lust eyes.

Your underwear was completely soaked through, making a wet spot on Luigi’s jeans, amusing him greatly. “Is my favorite studentessa* close? hm?” he cooed, bouncing his thigh, slightly making your sensitive cunt practically come undone from that alone. “Mhm..” you looked at him, eyes wide and naive. “Yeah?” he tilted his head to the side, his mouth slightly agape as he reached his hand down to rub slow circles around your clit. “Yeah…so close” you bited your lip as you grinded your hips against his finger, hiding your head in his neck as you let out soft whimpers and pleas. 

“Cum f’me, sweetheart—you deserve it” he said as you finally let go, your body trembling as you continued to grind on his fingers, euphoria crashing over your entire body. “Prof—sso good..” you whimpered as he slowed down his fingers, letting you ride out your orgasm. “You did so good, baby” he praised as he kissed you on your open mouth. “Now tell me about that dream you had about me.”

You couldn't help but giggle. “It could have been prophetic, actually.”

➳

*studentessa (italian) - female student

[adieutristana]

appelle mon numéro; powder x fem!reader

the way i love mylène farmer it’s blasphemous i haven’t made a fic based on one of her songs. finally fixing that!

songfic based on ‘appelle mon numéro’ by mylène farmer

english lyrics

summary; powder calls late at night because she misses your voice. one thing leads to another.

characters included; powder (act iii au)

tags/warnings; dom!reader, sub!powder, phone sex, dirty talk, fluff, masturbation (powder), praise, squirting, porn with (some) plot

men and minors dni.

this is torture.

of course you're busy. you're one of the academy's top-performing students, finals season is approaching. you've been taking just under the maximum amount of credits for the semester, despite powder's insistent protests that you don't always need to work so hard.

but your pride gets in the way, despite the love you have for powder. "just two more days," you'd told her. "two days until the weekend, and i won't study. we'll spend the whole weekend together, i promise."

powder understands. she really does, and she'd never want to purposely get in the way of your studies. it's only been three days, but you've never been apart this long in the entire seven months you've been dating, and she can't help the way she feels. she checks her phone to see if you've texted anything, but her notification bar is dry- so she does the next best thing, checking your location.

you're at the academy's library, either deep in textbooks or sleeping on one. great.

powpow:

hey baby, just checking in to see if ur ok. miss u :(

around ten minutes pass of silence, and each of those minutes only add to the fire of powder's anxiety. dare she say it- loneliness. and then a little 'ding' comes from her phone.

my heart:

hi love, i'm ok. just wrapped up a study session, now i'm going to the dining hall and i'll probably go to sleep after that.

i miss u more, i'm counting down the days till the weekend 💋

powpow:

but that's too long to wait </3 can't u make a stop underground after eating??

my heart:

i wish, but i have a 9am review session tmr :( i'm sorry pow

she sighs behind the screen, but powder gets it. this is temporary, soon enough you'll be done with finals and have the entire summer to spend with her. and despite all of those completely rational reasons why you can't see each other right now, she just wants to see you. be close to you, be able to kiss you, feel your skin on hers tangled in the sheets-

she needs to distract herself somehow. so powder reaches underneath her bed and picks up the blue notebook you'd bought for her. she'd never been one for journaling, but the fact it was a gift from you made her start using it. she'd write down what happened throughout her day- her thoughts, feelings, anything that would come to mind. it was therapeutic, like you'd told her it would be.

though even as the girl writes, the words are looking less like actual coherent thoughts and more like jumbled scribbles. her grip on the pen is faltering, and she stares at the page for a few moments before writing the next sentence. this usually does something to put powder's mind at ease, so why isn't it working now?

powder knows why, but she's trying not to admit it to herself. because damn it, you're busy, you've had a long day hunched over your laptop and books. you're probably just finishing up your late dinner by now and heading back to your dorm hall to get ready for bed. she feels so selfish, but the girl can't help it. she's needy.

she feels that ache between her legs, the one you're usually there to soothe. your long fingers curling inside her at just the right angle, or your tongue slithering around her swollen clit until her thighs almost clamp around your head. she looks back on those memories like they're distant and gone, like they didn't happen last week.

her phone buzzes beside her, and she immediately picks it up to the notification that you've arrived at your building. she's almost trembling now, and powder's going through such internal turmoil. she just wants to talk to you at least, not read text on a screen. at this point, she'll take anything she can get.

her finger moves to your contact, and her fingertip hovers over the 'call' button for just a moment before she taps it. a few rings on your end, then-

"hello?"

powder's heart contracts in her chest at the mere sound of your voice, and fuck, she's already feeling hot.

"hi, babe," she says into the receiver. "sorry, i know you're about to go to bed, i just.. wanted to hear your voice."

"don't worry about it, pow. i'm glad you called," you hum. "what's an hour or two of missed sleep?"

she hears a rustling of sheets, and your voice sounds so sweet. you do sound tired, but you're using the same gentle tone you always do with powder.

"how was your day?"

"it was good," a bit of a lie, she misses you like hell. "i didn't do much. helped out at the last drop in the morning, and i've kinda just been.. relaxing at home since then. what about you?"

you nod as if she can see you, a little smile tugging at your lips.

"i'm glad you had a good day," you murmur. your voice grows a bit softer, likely due to academy quiet hours going into effect. "the same as yesterday and the day before. just studying, studying, and more studying."

"well, you're being productive."

"i guess i am," you sigh, finally pulling the covers over yourself. "i miss you."

that does powder in. if she wasn't desperate before, she absolutely is now- and her breath nearly catches in her throat at those words. this is embarrassing.

"i miss you too."

her voice is trembling, and she hopes to janna that you won't catch onto it. maybe you're too tired and disoriented after studying to notice, but you've always been rather perceptive.

"...are you okay?" you murmur. "you sound a little.. i don't know, off."

powder swallows, taking a deep inhale in through her nose to try and muster some kind of believable response.

"yeah, just uh- had a lot of caffeine. have to keep my energy up somehow!"

"powder, i know that's not what's going on. come on, talk to me. you know i'll listen."

and still, it takes the girl such extreme effort to not just bare her soul to you right now. the fact that she can feel her body heating up, her pale cheeks flushing at every word you've spoken. she finds herself subconsciously squeezing her thighs together. the fact that she wishes you were giving her some kind of stimulation- anything, just to ease the absolute agony she's in.

"i just miss you, a lot. i told you.."

"you're hiding something," you respond, your voice taking on an almost pleading tone. "just tell me. i'm your girlfriend."

the world 'girlfriend' does her in all over again. she switches the phone to her non-dominant hand before her free hand starts trailing down her body, over her clothed stomach and toward the soft fabric of her sleep shorts. it takes every ounce of restraint in her body to not start stimulating her clothed clit- not now. not while you're talking so sweetly to her.

but powder also can't bear the thought of lying to you when you so obviously see through it, and when you're practically begging her to tell you what's wrong.

"damn it, i need you."

a beat of silence, then a little hum from the speaker.

"that's it?" you ask, your voice still soft- but with a rasp that wasn't there just a minute ago. "why didn't you just say so?"

"because it's- you've been working so hard! i get why we can't see each other, but fuck, i can't help it. i miss you. i miss your voice, i miss your lips, i miss you touching me."

"yeah? you do?"

your voice seems almost teasing, mocking her without even meaning to. her fingertips slip underneath the elastic of her sleep shorts while she leans back into the star-shaped pillow on her bed. the room is dark, only illuminated by distant moonlight and the faint glow of her phone screen.

"so badly," she nearly gasps. "please, just.. anything, anything. wish you could take a break from those stupid books and just fuck me."

fingertips ghost over the elastic of her panties. powder rarely ever gets this needy, but maybe that's because she's not used to going without your touch for this long. she's acting out of character. she can't help herself, it's like her mind isn't her own.

"you wanna touch yourself, don't you?"

"yes, yes-" her breath hitches in her throat, her hand staying still. she wants nothing more than to fuck herself to the sound of your voice, but powder is good. she'll wait. "please, let me..."

"go ahead, baby."

the girl wastes no time. her fingers dip under her panties, immediately finding her aching clit. the second her thumb lands, she lets out a sharp gasp into the receiver, one she swears she hears you chuckle at.

"ahh- toots," she breathes out, rubbing slow circles into the bud. "i need this, thank you..."

"no need for thanks," you whisper. "fuck, i wish i wish there. do you have any idea what i'd do to you?"

"no.. no, ah- tell me, please."

her finger picks up speed, letting out breathy moans. each noise is music to your ears, strengthening your own sense of want. but this is for powder. you're the one who's been gone, this is the least you can do.

"shit.. i'd be on top of you, my thumb on your pretty clit while i slip a finger inside."

power moans at the words themselves, and almost as if she's taking your words as instructions, slips a finger into her already dripping hole. wet and warm, it nearly sucks her in. it's not just desire, it's a sort of primal need.

"nngh.. yeah, what else?"

"i'd fuck you nice and slow at first," you rasp. "just.. take my time with you."

the digit slips in and out of her, slow- in, out, in, out, creating a gentle rhythm. she wishes so badly that it was your finger instead, you've always been able to reach places she couldn't herself. you know how to please her just right.

"and then i'd add another finger, and start going a little quicker.. curling my fingers inside."

"shit- aaahh," she whines. her ring finger goes into her hole, starting to fuck herself harder and deeper- curling her fingers so she can just barely graze her own g-spot. her walls flutter around her fingers, and she feels so hot. "keep talking, keep talking-"

powder loves you, she really does. she imagines glancing over her shoulder at you pounding into her from behind with your strap, then your pussy gliding against hers as you both chase a mutual peak. but your words are the thing that affects her the most. choppy blue hair fans out beneath her on that same star pillow, framing her as a portrait of pure longing.

"gods, i can almost feel it- you're soaked, aren't you?"

"hmmph, yeah, sofuckingwet.."

"keep fucking yourself," you whisper, a soft yet firm command. "make yourself cum to my voice, baby. you're doing so good, my perfect girl.."

heat pools in her stomach. sweat drips down her forehead, fingers pounding in and out of her cunt with a loud schlick sound over and over. powder's head tilts back the slightest bit- her fingers still working her clit, lewd moans falling from her pouty lips. in her mind's eye is your face directly above hers, looking into her eyes so lovingly. what she wouldn't give for that to be real.

"you sound amazing, come on.. i bet you look so pretty right now, you always do."

"wish it was you, ungh-" she breathes out through whimpers. part of powder wonders if you can hear her arousal, hear her getting herself off. she hopes you can. "please, i just want you- ah.."

"i wish it was me too," the sound is somewhere between a whine and a groan. "but janna, you sound so good.. i love you, you know that?"

"mhm, love you too.."

pale thighs part further out of instinct powder feels the knot in her belly tighten, tighten. her body feels like it's on fire, set ablaze by every praise from the speaker. she's holding onto that phone as if it's her lifeline.

"gonna- gonna, oh, janna!"

if only you could see her right now. you're internally cursing yourself for not asking her to prop up the phone and turn her camera on, but it's a bit late for that now.

"cum for me, powder," you whisper, words low and sweet. "you can do it, i know you can."

your final encouragement pushes the girl off the edge, her back arching off the bed as a strangled cry escapes her. the rasp of her voice cracks, gripping her phone so tight as liquid shoots over her hand. onto the sheets, soaking underneath her, chest heaving.

"ah, aah! cumming.. oh, fuuuuuuck-"

"that's it, powder, that's it- fuck, you were perfect."

her breath is coming in slow pants. the girl slowly slips her glistening fingers from her pussy, letting out one final shaky breath. she's slowly, slowly coming to her senses.

"...thank you," she breathes out. "thank you, thank you.. i'll see you this weekend."

"mhm.. i'm counting down the hours."

[casssssssi]

All Your’n

Will Smith Hockey x Reader

warnings; fluff, that’s really it, not proofread,

wc; 2,352

summary; Will takes his high school sweetheart to meet the team and their families for the first time.

—

Shes been with Will for as long as she can remember. He’s really all she knows, dating-wise. She remembers the first time she met him. It was both of their freshman years. She had went to watch her brother play at his hockey game. When she was waiting outside for him, Will, who was playing for the opposing team, approached her, shy as ever. Told her he thought she was pretty, asked for her number. He was elated when she agreed to give it to him. They texted almost every day, much to her brothers dismay, and built up a friendship. Friendship quickly turned into something more though. By the end of that year, they were dating, and had been ever since. Will would be the first to admit that she was way out his league. She was gorgeous, kind, smart, funny, and passionate. He could never understand how he got so lucky. It was like she was the missing piece of his heart. She completed him, in every way. He loved her to the moon and back. They had been through so much together. Homecomings, Proms, graduations, college commitments and decisions, even Will’s draft. She’d been there with him through it all. She’d become close with his family, especially Grace, and she still remembers the first time she met Gabe and Ryan. The two boys staring at her, jaw dropped when Will pulled her aside from his family after a game for team USA to confirm that “Yes, I do have a girlfriend. No, she’s not made up.” Will would always find it amusing, how his two friends would stare at her like she was from another world. Hell, he couldn’t blame them. There was just something about her that was enchanting. He was always proud to show her off, to other players, friends, family. He wanted the world to know that this beautiful, kind girl was his, and only his.

Making the decision to move with Will to San Jose when he signed his contract was a big one. One she had to think long, and hard about. Ultimately though, she thinks it was a big step in their relationship for the better. They wouldn’t just be together anymore, they would live together, see eachother every minute of every day, excluding the time that Will was out for hockey. Will was ecstatic, he loved the idea of coming home after a long practice session to find her curled up on his couch, or cooking him a meal in their kitchen. It made his heart warm just thinking about it. He knew some relationships would falter under this kind of pressure, but he knew theirs was strong enough to endure. And it has been. Which leads them to now. It’s the first team-family event of his rookie season. She’s met a few of the players already, the ones Will is particularly close with, Mack and Toff and Eky, it’d be hard not to since they hang around so much. But now, she’s meeting everyone AND their families. The thought is just a little nerve wracking, but she persists. She makes sure she looks her best. It’s a little cooler, so she settles for a nice long sleeved top and a pair of jeans, not too simple, but simple enough. It’s not some big, fancy event, it’s just a barbecue hosted at Toff and Cats house. She’s met Cat, Will has dragged her with him over to their house many, many times since they’ve moved here. When they arrive, she wipes her palms on her pants, trying to rid them of the clamminess that’s clinging to them.

Will could sense her nerves, he always could. He knew her best. He could almost always tell what she was thinking without her even saying a word. He puts an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. “Hey, I know you're nervous, but there's nothing to worry about. Everyone here is really friendly I promise”, he says with a small smile, trying to reassure her. She gives him a small nod, taking a deep, steadying breath as they approach the door. Will squeezes her hip lightly, a silent way of telling her everything will be okay. As they step inside, they're immediately greeted by the sound of laughter and chatter, the party is already in full swing. Will leads her through the crowded living room, toward the backyard, where they find most of the team. She puts on a smile, and a few people come up to greet them. She meets some of Will’s other teammates briefly before Cat comes and whisks her off to chat with some of the other WAGs. They’re all very kind to her, include her in their conversation, and it’s like she’s been there the whole time. She finds herself laughing and pitching in with her ideas on the topic very quickly.

By the time the sun starts to set, Toff has set up a small fire in their fire pit, and everyone is curled around it with their respective families, music playing softly over a speaker someone had brought. She leans into Will’s side as one of the wives, Mario’s she thinks, speaks up. “So, how did you two meet?”, she asks, directing the question at her and Will. Will smiles warmly as he looks down at his girlfriend, his arm around her. He takes the lead in answering the question, happy to tell their story. “Well, we actually met back in high school. She was at one of my hockey games, watching her brother play, and I saw her in the stands. Couldn't take my eyes off her.” He glances over at Cassie, his expression softening. “She was just so damn pretty, and I just had to talk to her, had to get her number...” A smile quirks her lips at the memory. It had felt like just yesterday, when in reality it was almost 5, 6 years ago. “He was so shy and adorable, I couldnt say no”, she teases him. Will rolls his eyes playfully, a small smirk on his face. “Hey, I am not adorable,” he says with a faux-offended expression, “I'm rugged, and manly, and tough.” He flexes his free arm, showing off his muscles jokingly, as is the cliche hockey stereotype. “See? Tough as nails.” Everyone laughs, and some of the guys pitch in with their own teasing comments about Will, Toff’s sarcastic, “Sure, Kibble”, making her giggle as Will pouts.

Will groans, exasperated, and throws a glare in Toff's direction, which only adds to the laughter erupting from the group. “Oh ha-ha, very funny guys.” He shakes his head, but he's trying to hide the smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He looks back down at her, and pokes her playfully in the ribs. “You're supposed to be on my side, you know.” “I stand up for my beliefs.”, she says, sticking her tongue out at him. Will fakes an offended gasp, putting a hand to his heart dramatically. He looks at her in mock-awe, his expression exaggerated. “Wow, I can't believe you'd turn on me like that. After everything we've been through. The nerve, the betrayal.”, he feigns betrayal, placing a hand on his forehead and leaning back, causing another round of laughter from the group. “You wound me, woman.” She giggles again, and just lays her head on his shoulder. “You know I love you”, she says. Will grins, his expression softening as he looks down at her, his heart swelling with affection. He wraps his arm around her, pulling her close. “I know you do,”, he says, his tone slightly cocky, but his eyes show nothing but love and tenderness as he gazes at her. He leans over and places a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “And I love you too,” he murmurs, his voice quieter so only she can hear it.

They sit around the fire for a couple more hours. Some of the other couples tell their stories about how they met, and then they start talking about random things. There’s a heated debate on conspiracies. Macklin stated that Aliens were not real and it immediately caused an argument. The WAGs just sat back, laughing at their partners as the team argued. By the time it’s time to leave, it’s late and she’s tired, her head back on Will’s shoulder as she blinks sleepily. Will notices her growing more and more sleepy, his arm wrapped around her, holding her close as he listens to the debate going on. He can see the tiredness in her eyes, and he knows it's time to go home. He whispers in her ear, his voice gentle, “Hey, sleepyhead. You ready to go home?” He gives her hip a squeeze, gently coaxing her out of her half-asleep state. “Mhm”, she hums out. He chuckles softly, amused at how cute he finds her when she's sleepy. He stands up, helping her up with him. “Alright, come on.” He slips an arm under her shoulders, steadying her as he starts to lead her towards the door, waving goodbye to the group. “We're heading out, guys. Thanks for having us.” She gives Toff and Cat a tired smile, “Thank you so much for tonight”, she says, and really it’s to Cat. She feels like she’s gotten a lot closer with the other WAGs, and that’s mainly because of Cat. Cat smiles warmly back at her, her expression sincere. “Of course! You're always welcome here,” she replies cheerfully. Then, a sly smirk crosses her face, and she adds in a playful tone, “And we'll definitely be having more get-togethers like this, so get used to seeing us around.” Toff chimes in, grinning at the two, “Yeah, you're stuck with us now, kiddos. No take-backs.” They laugh and wave as Will starts to lead her out the door and to their car.

Will walks her to their car, one arm around her, keeping her close as she stumbles slightly from her drowsiness. He looks down at her affectionately, finding her even more endearing in her sleepy state. “You're such a mess right now, you know that? Adorable, but a mess.” He jokes, a small smile on his face as he opens the passenger side door for her, ready to help her in. She climbs in, buckling her seatbelt as Will climbs in the drivers side. As they’re driving, radio playing some country song Will’s been obsessed with for the past few days, her phone buzzes.

Cat Toffoli 🐈‍⬛ has added you to “The Better San Jose Sharks 👸🦈🏒”

She can’t help but smile as she reads the notification, happy today went well and she made some new friends. Will glances over at her as they drive, noticing the smile on her face as she checks her phone. He quirks an eyebrow, curious. “You look like you just won the lottery or something,” he remarks, his tone playful. “What's got you so smiley all of a sudden?” He keeps his eyes on the road, but his gaze flicks over to her phone occasionally, trying to catch a glimpse of the screen. “Got added to the WAG chat”, she hums. He lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking between her and the road. “Ah, the exclusive team-wives chat, huh? Getting let into the inner circle already, I see.” He grins, clearly teasing her, “Does that mean you'll be spilling juicy gossip and sharing team secrets with the girls now?” “Nope i’m only gonna spill secrets about you”, she says, her smile turning playful as her eyes glint mischievously. He raises an eyebrow, his expression turning skeptical but amused. “Oh, really now? Is that so?” He tries to appear nonchalant, but there's a hint of wariness in his voice. He knows his girlfriend too well not to be slightly worried about what she might disclose. “And what kind of secrets would you be spilling about me, may I ask?” “All of them. I’ll tell them about the time you called me crying because Leno hit you in the face with a puck during off-season practice”, she jokes. That was one of her favorite memories because Will had been such a big baby about it, calling her, sputtering as tears streamed down his face, which had a nasty bruise blooming on his cheekbone. She has no idea why they decided not to wear their helmets that day. Will groans and rolls his eyes at her recollection, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment at the memory. “Oh, Of course, you’d bring that up...” He lets out a huff and shoots her a half-hearted glare. “I wasn't crying. I was just... expressing my pain. Big difference. And it hurt, alright? Leno has an unfair advantage with the slap shot, the bastard.”

She can’t help but laugh. He’s right, she’s watched them all play, Ryan’s shot was mean. “Whatever you say babe”, she says, grabbing his hand and intertwining their fingers, squeezing it softly. His expression softens as she twines their fingers, the touch of her hand in his sending a wave of comfort through him. He squeezes her hand back, the gesture both grounding and reassuring. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbles, trying to maintain a mock-offended tone, but failing miserably as a corner of his mouth lifts in a fond smile. “You're lucky I love you.” “I love you too”, she says, bringing his hand up to her lips to give it a kiss. Will's heart flutters at the gesture, and his expression softens even further. He smiles at her affectionately, his earlier mock-offense completely dissipated. “You're such a sap,” he teases, his tone affectionate. “But I wouldn't have it any other way.” He gives her hand another gentle squeeze, a silent acknowledgement of his own love and affection for her. The ride home passes comfortably, hand in hand, in a mix of easy silence and soft music from the radio, both basking in their shared love and affection for one another.

—

a/n; Woahhhh first request in the books! As always, this was written based off of one of my c.ai chats. Requests are open (Especially ones for Mack or Leno!), and feedback is always appreciated 🤗 Love you guys, thank you so much for reading!

[psycholuvrgirl]

the 6 date disasters: a friendly walk in the city | series masterlist

featuring... megumi!

summary: a romantic walk in the city quickly turns into what feels like a group field trip.

warnings: none

a/n: i have so many series ideas i'm so excited to post them all

the mission was long. not particularly dangerous, but exhausting in a way that left your bones aching and your brain melted. megumi doesn’t say much on the train ride back, but he keeps close to you.

but now the city is quiet, the sky a soft blue-grey, the late afternoon sun tucked behind some clouds, and the breeze carrying the smell of food from nearby stalls. with both you and megumi still in uniform, you walk around with nowhere to be.

megumi buys some taiyaki from a cart, not even having to ask for your preference because he knows it by now. a quiet way of saying here, i was thinking of you.

you bump his arm with yours. “thanks, gumi.”

he shrugs, a soft blush dusting his cheeks. “it’s not a big deal.”

you both snack as you walk, fingers sticky with the filling. he treats off a piece of his own to feed it to you, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. it kind of is.

“hey! hey, hey, hey!”

you turn just in time to see a blur of pink hair barreling towards you.

“no!” megumi says flatly.

“yes,” you mutter back with a sigh, bracing yourself.

yuuji skids to a halt in front of you, panting like a golden retriever who just chased after a tennis ball. “there you guys are! i’ve been looking everywhere!”

“we’re walking,” megumi says, but his tone implies something harsher. something along the lines of we were avoiding you.

“yeah, and now i’m walking with you!” yuuji grins, unbothered as ever. “i got out early, and i figured you two might be wandering around too, and bingo! here you are. it’s like fate, isn’t it?”

megumi inhales sharply, letting out a long drawn out breath as his patience wears thin.

“anyway,” yuuji continues, already falling into step with the both of you. “have you guys eaten? oh. wait! is that taiyaki? i love those! are they fresh?”

“just have it,” you mumble, handing him the rest of yours. he beams like you’ve given him the moon.

megumi mutters something under his breath that could very well be a curse.

you try to salvage the mood. “we were just gonna wander for a little while. you know? decompress.”

“oh, perfect,” yuuji says through a mouthful of food. “let’s decompress together!”

you sigh at the fact that he doesn’t catch the hint. megumi lets out more annoyed huffs, probably forcing himself to count backwards from ten just to calm down. 

ten minutes later and yuuji has bought food from nearly every stall you’ve passed by, dragged you both into a shop that sells phone accessories, and is now leading the way to a cat café that he swears is life changing.

we don’t have time for this,” megumi says.

“look at this flyer,” yuuji says, slapping the paper to megumi’s chest. “they’re dressing the cats in little hats today only. this is important.”

“please,” megumi begs, deadpan. “just let me suffer in peace.”

but yuuji is already halfway across the crosswalk. 

the café is in fact full of cats in tiny hats. one of them is even wearing a little wizard costume to match, another naps in a teacup. you and yuuji coo at them for twenty minutes while megumi sits in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest, being used as a human perch by a very sleepy orange tabby.

“he likes you,” you whisper.

megumi glares at the cat, but it only blinks slowly and snuggles deeper into his lap. “i’m cursed.”

you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. “well, you’re very cute when you’re suffering.”

the tips of his ears flush along with his cheeks.

yuuji reappears with a bunch of drinks from the vending machine. “i got us some soda! i even have this weird one that says it’s supposed to taste like ‘clouds and nostalgia.’ you want it?”

“why would anyone want that?” megumi asks.

yuuji shrugs. “it seems promising.”

you end up wandering again. you somehow get pulled into a secondhand bookstore wheere yuuji insists on finding the ‘most depressing novel possible’ for megumi. then a novelty shop where yuuji poses dramatically with a fake katana, nearly knocking over a rack of keychains.

by the end of it, you and megumi are trailing behind yuuji like exhausted parents.

“i wanted to hold your hand,” you whisper to megumi.

“i wanted to kiss you at the train station,” megumi says dryly.

you glance over at him. “next time.”

he nods. “next time.”

just then, yuuji stumbles out of a shop wearing three different novelty sunglasses on his face.

“do i look mysterious?”

“you look like a lawsuit,” megumi says.

finally, yuuji ges distracted by a claw machine and waves to you both. “i’m gonna win a plushie. you guys go off and do whatever in love people do. i’ll catch up!”

megumi grabs your hand immediately, both of you power walking in the opposite direction of yuuji. he doesn’t let go until you’ve safely gotten out of sight, tucked in a quiet alley behind a bakery. the smell of sugar and cinnamon lingers in the air. he exhales, pressing his forehead lightly against yours.

“i love him, i do,” megumi says, voice strained, “but i really would like five minutes alone with you. a moment that doesn’t involve being force-fed mystery sodas and watching cats wearing fedoras.”

you laugh. “at least the cats were cute.”

“you’re cuter.”

that earns a blink from you. “say that again,” you say with a grin.

he looks away. “no.”

you press a soft kiss to his lips. “well, i think you’re cuter too, megumi fushiguro.”

[alltimecharlo]

If you’re interested, I would like to promo Will whump!! Like maybe Will gets hit during a game and it was really bad but he asymptomatic and the training staff lets him go back to the hotel with the team. But then he starts to act funny and collapses or won’t wake up or something and Mack almost loses his mind. Toff has to come in and get Will up off the floor and comfort Mack while they wait for an ambulance… angst!

oooo, yes this is scrumptious hurt/comfort 🩵 fic under the cut!

The hotel room smells like sweat, Gatorade, and the faint trace of whatever detergent the team uses on their uniforms. Mack slumps against the headboard, one leg stretched out over the comforter, the other pulled up to his chest. His phone is in his hand, but he’s not looking at it. His eyes are on Will.

Will’s on the other bed, sprawled across it like he always is after a game, legs dangling off the edge, hair damp from a too-quick shower, the collar of his Sharks hoodie tugged halfway up his neck. He’s talking—sort of. Low murmurs, half-laughed sentences about that third period scuffle, about how Toff still chirps like he’s in junior, about the guy on the other team who tried to slash his stick in half.

“You good?” Mack asks.

Will blinks over at him, delayed. “Yeah,” he says, slow and a little thick. “Just tired. My head kinda hurts.”

Mack frowns. He pushes himself upright. “Did you tell the trainers?”

Will shrugs. “Yeah. They cleared me. Said I probably just jarred it a little. I passed the test.”

It doesn’t sit right. Mack’s gut clenches, something cold curling behind his ribs. He remembers the hit—remembers how Will’s body folded under it, how the boards rattled and the crowd went quiet for half a second before roaring again. Will had bounced back up. Shaken, but upright.

Now he’s lying half-on, half-off the bed, one arm flopped over his eyes.

“You should be drinking water,” Mack says, already on his feet. He crosses the room, grabs a bottle from the mini-fridge, unscrews the cap, and presses it into Will’s hand. “Come on. Sit up.”

Will makes a sound—barely a protest—and doesn’t move.

“Will.”

He doesn’t answer.

Something sharp pierces through Mack’s chest. “Will?”

He drops to his knees beside the bed, grabs Will’s arm and shakes it, gentle but firm. Will’s hand slides off the bottle. It thuds to the floor.

“Will, hey. C’mon, man. Wake up. You’re not—”

He’s not joking. He’s not fucking around. He’s not asleep.

Mack’s heart spikes, panic clawing up his throat. He grabs Will’s face in both hands, tilts it toward the dim light spilling in from the hallway.

“Will. Will, wake up. Please.”

He’s breathing. Shallow. But his lips are pale, and he’s not responding, and Mack’s never felt terror like this in his entire fucking life.

He fumbles for his phone, drops it once, swears, catches it again, and hits Toff’s name with shaking fingers.

Toff picks up on the second ring.

“Mack? Everything okay?”

“It’s Will,” Mack says, and his voice cracks right down the middle. “He’s not waking up. I—I think it’s his head. You have to come now.”

Toff is there in under a minute. He doesn’t knock. Just shoves the door open and sees Mack crouched on the floor, hands on Will’s chest like he’s trying to anchor him back to consciousness.

“Jesus,” Toff breathes. “Okay. Okay, step back. Let me—”

He crouches, checks Will’s pulse, his breathing, the way his head lolls. Then he pulls out his phone and calls the team doc directly.

Mack doesn’t move. Just sits on the floor, fists clenched in the hem of Will’s hoodie, whispering his name over and over like that alone might call him back.

The sirens echo in his head long before they reach the hotel.

He doesn’t let go until the paramedics take Will’s hand out of his.

And even then, only because Toff wraps an arm around him and holds him upright when his knees try to give out.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Toff says, low and steady against the pounding in Mack’s skull.

Mack nods, but it feels like a lie.

Because he doesn’t know what he’d do if it wasn’t true.

♡

[thepartyresponsible]

prompt fill! someone requested dick grayson and the prompt "i don't trust anyone else." my brain is all vampires apparently, so i wrote a sequel to this short vampire au with dick grayson, bucky barnes, and tony stark.

warnings for general vampirism and some enthusiastic blood drinking. this one might end up cross-posted to ao3, since it's longer than what i usually post here.

---

Dick Grayson leaves the Tower at four in the morning, lively and warm, a healthy flush glowing along his cheekbones, and Bucky figures they’ve done good work, but they’ll never see him again.

“Dick Grayson, huh?” Tony mumbles, drooping a little against Bucky’s side. He gave more than he should have, but he always does. “Wow. Let’s go to Gotham more.”

“Rein it in, Stark,” Bucky advises.

Beside him, Tony scoffs. “I’m not the one still staring at his ass.” He pauses, hums thoughtfully. “Well, I’m not the only one.”

And Bucky doesn’t plan to stop either, but that’s not the point. “I didn’t have his teeth in my throat for fifteen minutes,” he volleys back. “And then the cuddling.”

“He was cold,” Tony says, unapologetically, “and then I was cold. And he smells really good, Bucky. What the hell is that? Can we bottle it?”

If you could get Dick Grayson in a bottle, no one would ever leave their homes again. The population would collapse. End times.

Might be worth it, though. It’s not like the current times are going so well that he’d miss them.

“Okay,” Bucky says, because Dick’s gone, turned a corner, left their lives. “Let’s get you some iron supplements and a cold shower.”

---

But Bucky’s wrong. Dick does come back. Four months later, looking even more ragged than the first time. He waits politely in the lobby of the Tower, tucks himself toward the doors, keeps his hands visible at his sides, smiles at the guards like they’re doing him a favor. When Bucky steps out of the elevator, Dick looks his direction but doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Hey,” Bucky says, slowing to a standstill a solid six feet out. “You’re in bad shape, huh?”

“Thanks,” he says. He does that smile again, the sad one that almost hides his teeth. He’s handsome enough that any smile makes an impact, but, having faced the absolute devastation of Dick Grayson smiling like he means it, this one rings hollow. “I just—look, sorry, I just wanted to ask a favor.”

“Sure,” Bucky says. “Whatever you need.”

Dick’s eyebrows pull together. “You don’t even know what it is.”

Out of sheer grace and goodwill, Bucky does not roll his eyes. “Yeah, I know your type. You’re not gonna ask for anything we wouldn’t want to give. You probably wouldn’t ask for a glass of water if you were on fire.”

Dick laughs, a little unevenly. “Blood,” he says, like he thinks he’s proving Bucky wrong. “I’m here to ask for blood.”

“Great,” Bucky says. “Whose, mine? Tony’s? The bagged blood upstairs?”

Dick blinks and then wavers, seems thrown for a loop.

“What, you bored of the regular stuff?” Bucky shrugs. “Steve’s is kinda zippy. Wouldn’t recommend it. Kinda burns. And Banner’s always a gamble, because sometimes the other guy shows up midway through. Barton’s actually really good, but Nat gets jealous, so you’ve gotta pretend you hate it the whole time or she’ll---”

“Tony’s,” Dick says, probably just to get him to stop talking. “And I want you there.”

These people, Bucky thinks, despairingly. These nice, good people. They always think they’re going to horrify him with what they need.

But the horror isn’t that Dick needs to feed. It’s that someone, somewhere, taught him he deserved to starve.

“Sure,” he says. “Come on up.”

---

Tony’s caught in a tricky bit of welding or something equally ridiculous, so Bucky escorts Dick Grayson up to Tony’s suite and is thrilled to find him utterly unimpressed. “Well,” he says, and then gestures in a way that almost hides the miserable twist of his mouth, “Bruce Wayne, you know? I used to live like this.”

Bucky wonders how Bruce Wayne is doing, and how his adopted son ended up haunting the streets of New York, desiccating by the day. Sometimes, people need their mistakes explained to them. One expeditious method Bucky’s discovered is defenestration. Maybe it’s all the time he spent in Russia, but he's found that nothing says You fucked up like getting thrown through a window.

“You want to live like this again?” Tony asks, breezily, as he saunters out of the elevator, already working on the buttons of his shirt. “Please, do me the favor.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says, just so he can get out ahead of this, so he can point back to this exact moment later and say: I tried to get you to have a single ounce of decorum, you wayward libertine.

“I’m cultivating the world’s most evocative private collection of raven-haired vampires with impeccable abs,” Tony says. “Nat won’t dye her hair yet, but we’ve agreed to the occasional wig at public events.”

“Wow,” Dick says. “Evocative?” Which is far more encouragement than Tony’s ever needed.

“You wouldn’t describe yourself as evocative?” Tony shrugs out of his shirt, leaving himself in an undershirt at least one size too tight for decency. “Would you prefer 'exquisite?”

“Maybe ‘exsanguinated,’” Bucky interrupts, before this gets truly out of hand. “Tony, give him a break. He can’t think right now.”

Bucky can barely think right now. These days, he’s the best fed he’s ever been, but Tony, standing there with his throat and arms bare, practically begging to bleed, is making his jaw flex involuntarily, desperate to bite.

“Just how I like ‘em,” Tony says. He tips his chin to the side, raises his hands, makes a little come and get it gesture with his fingers. “C’mon, Grayson, this is my favorite part.”

“Fuck,” Dick says, so soft it’s barely a word, eyes pinned, pupils blown, damn near vibrating in place. “Fuck,” he says, again, like a prayer.

“I’ve got you,” Bucky says. “I’ve got him. It’s okay.”

Dick shudders across the room so fast that he’s a blur even in Bucky’s eyes, but he’s still impossibly careful when he bites, neat and sweet, an arm around Tony’s waist, hand caught up in that too-tight tank like it’s already so good he needs the anchor just to stay afloat.

---

Afterwards, after Dick swoops Tony up and carries him across the room, after he spills Tony across couch but doesn’t spill a single drop of blood, after he crawls half on top of him, murmuring things Bucky should probably have the grace to pretend not to hear, after he drinks right up to the edge of reasonable, Dick pushes himself away and grabs for Bucky instead.

“Barnes,” he says, stretched out, breathless, eyes twin black pits of need and want, “it’s—I can’t stop.”

“You did stop,” Bucky tells him.

Dick runs his tongue along his lip, leaves a smear of blood behind, and there’s no time at all between Bucky, staring at that red, and Dick tipping his chin up in offer, and Bucky leaning in to lick it away.

“Shit,” someone says, and that must be Tony, because Bucky’s lips are on Dick’s, tongue in his mouth, chasing the taste.

He’s heard a few rumors about Grayson, all those exes he has. Seems like half the masks on the East Coast have spent time with him, but that must’ve been before, because no one’s taught him how to kiss with his new teeth yet.

He’s eager, and desperate, and he catches Bucky’s tongue with one of his fangs with just enough pressure to break the skin. And then it’s Bucky’s blood in his mouth, and Dick Grayson moans like he wasn’t drinking a better, purer vintage sixty seconds ago.

Bucky moves to pull back, and Dick moves to follow, and Bucky’s flattered enough that he lets him get another mouthful before he puts his hands on Dick’s shoulders and pushes him away.

Dick’s strong, but Bucky’s stronger, and Dick seems delighted by that fact, grins wide, shows Bucky his own blood on his teeth.

“You’ve been holding out,” Dick says. And then, a second later, with the kind of sidelong hopeful look that must get him damn near anything he wants. “You did offer, right? Earlier?”

“That was a joke,” Bucky says. He heals fast these days, but there’s still enough blood in his mouth that he has to wipe some away with the back of his hand. “I didn’t think you’d like it.”

“I like it,” Dick says, transfixed by the blood on Bucky’s hand. “You taste good.”

On the other side of the couch, Tony makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Oh, no, don’t mind me,” he says, waving them off. “Keep making out in front of me and talking about how much you like tasting each other. That’s a very kind thing to do to me when I don’t have enough blood left to participate. That’s great. Appreciate it.”

Bucky, just to be an asshole, plants his knee between Dick’s sprawled legs and leans over him, pinning his shoulders to the couch, mouth hovering a spare couple of inches over Dick’s. “You know, Stark,” he says, “you can leave at any time.”

“Fuck you,” Stark says, watching as Dick playacts at biting, snaps his teeth up at Bucky. “My objections are entirely timeline-based. The content is great.”

Dick laughs and looks between them, can’t seem to decide which view he likes better. That blush is coming back, Bucky notices. He’s warm underneath him, relaxed, looks drunk on Tony’s blood.

“Feeling better?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,” Dick says, a little breathless, squirming in his own skin like he forgot what he could feel like. Or never knew, maybe. “You feel like this all the time?”

“Well, the high’s not quite as high,” Bucky says, “because I don’t let the lows get so low. You drink any fresh blood since we saw you last?”

Dick hesitates, and some of that easy glow dims out of him. “I don’t trust anyone else.”

It’s a terrible, shitty thing. Dick Grayson, who led the Titans, saved the world, scared to the point of starving himself, scared of what he never asked to be made into.

Bucky used to be scared too. But if you don’t learn to live with your monsters, you can never learn to control them.

“You stopped without me,” Bucky reminds him.

Dick shrugs, shrinks inward, drops his eyes away. “But I didn’t want to.” There’s shame on his face, and fear, and guilt, and all the endless demons that took their bites out of Bucky too. “I wanted more. I wanted--- Barnes,” he says, voice dropped to a whisper, “I wanted all of it.”

Bucky hooks his thumb under Dick’s chin and lifts his head until he’s staring directly into his eyes. Nobody tells them, all these good people. Nobody told Bucky, either, and he tore himself to pieces until he finally figured it out.

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” he says. “It only matters what you do.”

[wherethefigsfall]

Goodnight Prank:

Ellie Williams x fem reader (college au)

It’s a slow night in the dorm.

You’re cross-legged on your bed, hair damp from your post-shower crisis, your roommate whispering conspiratorially from her side of the room.

“Okay, okay—call her,” she says, phone already recording. “Just say ‘goodnight’ and hang up. I need to see this unfold.”

You roll your eyes but your thumb’s already hovering over Ellie’s name.

Ex.

Former situationship turned actual relationship turned heartbreak six weeks ago.

You hadn’t spoken since the fight.

Until now.

Your stomach flips with anxiety and despair.

You press call.

It rings once.

Twice.

“…Hello?” Her voice is cautious. Tired. You imagine she’s got one hand behind her head, sprawled in her bed in that shitty off-campus apartment. You imagine she’s wearing one of those wife beaters and some Nike sweatpants looking scrumptious as ever.

You suddenly want to crawl inside your own skin.

You clear your throat. “Hey.”

A pause. Then:

“Uh. Hi?”

Your roommate’s holding in laughter, hiding behind a pillow.

“I just… I was calling to say goodnight.”

Another pause. You stare at your duvet like it’s the answer to world peace.

Then Ellie laughs. Not mocking, not awkward. Soft. A real laugh—the kind you remember from when you’d say something stupid in a 7-Eleven at 2 a.m. and she’d giggle into your hoodie sleeve.

You were calling to say goodnight?” she repeats, a teasing lilt in her voice now.

“Yeah,” you say quickly, as if ripping off a Band-Aid. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight…” she echoes, voice slower this time, careful. Then she adds, a little quieter: “Wait, is that it?”

“Yep.”

You hang up.

Your roommate screams.

You throw your phone down like it burned you.

She’s already diving to edit the TikTok, wheezing, “That was the most lesbian thing I’ve ever seen. You looked like you were gonna cry and throw up and kiss her all at the same time.”

You’re about to protest, say “it wasn’t that deep,” but your phone buzzes.

Els:

"wtf"

"why did that make my heart do a thing"

"i miss u"

You stare at the texts. Brain empty. Mouth dry.

Another buzz.

Els:

"can i call u"

You don’t respond. You call her instead.

She picks up immediately.

“Okay,” she says, already smiling—you can hear it. “What was that?”

You chew on your lip. “A TikTok trend.”

She hums. “Figures. You’re such a dork.”

“You sounded happy to hear me.”

“I was.” No hesitation.

You blink at the ceiling.

Ellie breathes into the silence for a beat.

Then she says:

“I miss hearing your voice. I miss our stupid walks. Miss that dumb pink cup you always made me fill up for you. I miss—fuck, I miss all of it.”

Your throat tightens. “You broke up with me.”

“Yeah, and I regretted it like five minutes later. I just— I freaked out. I didn’t know how to handle loving someone that much. Loving you that much.”

The room spins a little. Or maybe that’s just your heart doing cartwheels like an idiot.

“I still love you,” she adds, voice barely above a whisper.

Silence again.

Your roommate’s behind her laptop pretending not to eavesdrop but literally doing nothing else.

You exhale. “I miss you too.”

There’s a rustle on her end. “Can I come over?”

You nod before realizing she can’t see you. “Yeah.”

“Give me ten minutes.”

You hang up, phone pressed to your chest, heart hammering like it’s back in freshman year.

Your roommate raises an eyebrow. “So…?”

You look up, dazed. “We’re lesbians. We’re back together.”

She fist-pumps. “Called it.”

⸻

Ten minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your dorm door.

You open it.

Ellie’s standing there in grey sweatpants, that damn wife pleaser you used to steal, and a look that says please don’t make me go back home tonight.

You don’t say anything. You just pull her in.

Her arms wrap around you like she’s home. She smells like weed and vanilla and safety.

“I still have that pink cup,” she mumbles into your hair.

You laugh. “Shut up.”

She pulls back slightly to look at you. “So… are we good?”

You press your forehead against hers. “Say goodnight first.”

She grins. “Goodnight, baby.”

[minyoongisnewthing]

Han river lullaby chapter nine | myg

Chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, exs to lovers, eventual smut, idol!au, co parents, second chance romance

Chapter warnings: mild suggestive content, mentions of medical situation (humorous)

Word count: 5.2 k roughly

Authors notes: I want to thank everyone for there patience waiting for this chapter life indeed kicked my ass between work emergencies and life just lifting I apologise for leaving you hanging I hope this chapter meets expectations as always let me know what you think in the comments and in my ask box if you’d like as well :)

The bliss of Daegu still lingered like the aftertaste of something sweet—but even the most heart-warming moments couldn’t keep the demands of the ER at bay. Life kept moving, and so did your shift. You were nine hours into what was rapidly becoming a twelve-hour marathon, your body aching from the relentless pace, and your brain running on fumes.

Leaning against the nurse’s station, you took a moment to breathe, letting the hum of machines and distant voices blur into background noise. You fished your phone from your scrubs pocket, thumb hovering over the screen. You needed a moment of softness. A tether.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

What did you even call him now that you were back together?

Y/N: Hey sweetie.

No. Too cutesy.

Y/N: Hey honey.

Nope. That felt like a sitcom mom from the ’50s.

Y/N: Hey baby daddy.

Okay, he’d definitely laugh at that one, you could practically hear the scoff of amusement he’d let out when that popped up on his Lock Screen, but still… no.

Y/N: Hey my love.

Your thumb froze. Too much? Maybe. But also… was it wrong? Not even close. You’d felt that way for a long time. You were nearly certain he’d been on the verge of saying it back in Daegu, but then Han had come bounding in, all wide eyes and cookie ambitions, and the moment had slipped away.

You exhaled slowly, your heart thudding, before deleting the message and starting over.

Y/N: Hey Yoon, the ER is wild tonight. Looks like I might be stuck for a 12-hour shift. Is it okay if Han stays over again?

You hit send before you could overthink it.

The reply came fast—like he’d been waiting.

Yoongi: Sure thing, baby. No drama. Han’s currently munching on an apple and telling Tae every single detail about our trip.

You’re welcome to crash here too—so you’re there when he wakes up.

Your heart stuttered. “Baby.” It rolled off his tongue so easily, like it had never left. Like it belonged. The warmth that bloomed in your chest was immediate.

Y/N: Thank you. I’ll head over after my shift.

Kiss Han for me.

Yoongi: I’d rather kiss you.

Your cheeks burned. Right on cue, a familiar voice chirped over your shoulder.

“That Han’s dad?”

You jumped. Grace—your favorite nurse, your chaotic work-wife, and trusted gossip partner—peeked over your shoulder with an infuriating smirk.

You turned, mock glaring. “Mind your business.”

Grace laughed, completely unbothered, already halfway down the hallway. “Too late. I’ve seen the flirty texts. He wants to kiss you and everything. Better be ready to spill.”

You sighed, tucking your phone away—but the smile on your face didn’t budge. Even the ache in your legs felt a little easier to bear with that warmth in your chest.

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself in the break room, finally snagging a bite of dinner. You collapsed into the chair across from Grace with a sigh, dropping your salad on the table like it had personally offended you.

She arched a perfectly drawn brow. “That kind of sigh usually comes with either a panic attack or a love confession. What’s going on?”

You looked at her for a beat before finally letting it spill. “I need your advice.”

Grace perked up like a cat hearing the treat bag crinkle. “Say less. I live for this. What’s the tea, babe?”

You stirred your salad with your fork, barely picking at it. “Han’s dad… he asked me and Han to move in with him.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Grace’s jaw dropped. “Y/N! What?! That’s huge!”

“I know,” you groaned. “And I’m not saying no. I’m… considering it. It’s just… is it too fast?”

Grace leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, giving you that trademark Big Sister Look™ that was usually followed by painful truths and unrelenting honesty.

“Okay, let’s break this down,” she said, popping a grape in her mouth like a therapist with snacks. “Do you trust him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still love him?”

Your hand froze halfway to your mouth.

You didn’t answer right away. But you didn’t need to.

Grace’s eyes softened. “Yeah. Thought so.”

“I do,” you whispered. “I love him. I never really stopped, if I’m being honest.”

“And Han?” she asked.

Your expression softened immediately. “He’s obsessed with him. They’re like—ugh, Grace, it’s stupid how much they adore each other.”

“Y/N, that’s not stupid. That’s everything. That’s your kid feeling safe, seen, loved. Don’t you dare brush that off like it’s nothing.”

“I just…” you hesitated, chewing on your lower lip. “I don’t want to ruin it. What if it’s too soon? What if we’re chasing a version of us that only worked because of nostalgia?”

Grace snorted. “First of all, nostalgia doesn’t survive toddler tantrums or early morning school runs. This isn’t a fantasy. You’re living it. You’re showing up for each other. And honestly? You’re already living between his place and yours.”

You blinked. “That obvious?”

“Babe, You left your stethoscope in his bathroom just two weeks ago. That man is basically one romantic dinner away from holding your toothbrush hostage.”

You laughed, unable to deny it. Your heart felt a little lighter, the edges of your anxiety softening under her words.

“And let’s not forget,” Grace added, pointing her fork at you, “you’re not just doing this for you. Han’s happiness matters too. And if moving in makes him feel secure, feel like his little world finally has all the puzzle pieces in place… then don’t let fear stop you from giving him that.”

You nodded slowly, her words settling deep into your bones.

“Okay,” you said, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll think about it. Seriously.”

Grace beamed, victorious. “Good. Because I better be invited to the housewarming. And if you two make another baby, I get to pick the name.”

You choked on your salad. “Grace!”

“What?! I’m great with names. And this time I’ll keep it under four syllables.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the last of the tension bleeding out of you as the room filled with warm, easy banter.

Maybe this wasn’t rushing.

Maybe this was just… finding your way back home.

As you’d predicted—though hoped desperately against—your shift spiraled straight into the dreaded 12-hour marathon. Your feet throbbed in your shoes, your back ached from hours hunched over trauma charts and triage forms, and your brain felt like it was running on static and adrenaline fumes. The ER never let up tonight.

By the time you arrived at Yoongi’s front door, you were barely holding yourself together. Even lifting your hand to knock felt like too much. Instead, you leaned your weight against the cool hallway wall, eyes fluttering shut as you waited for the door to open, silently praying for comfort in any form—a warm bed, a soft word, his arms.

The sound of the deadbolt turning snapped you out of your daze.

The door creaked open, and Yoongi’s familiar voice, warm and laced with concern, greeted you.

“Damn… Wanna talk about it?”

You looked up. He stood there in sweats and a worn gray t-shirt, hair pushed back messily, eyes scanning you with gentle worry. There was something in his expression—equal parts softness and mischief—that nearly undid you. Without a word, you stepped into the apartment, dragging your aching body toward the couch like a survivor returning from battle.

You collapsed with a sigh so deep it shook the room, letting your head fall against the cushion. Yoongi followed you in, a quiet presence as he padded to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water and a folded blanket he draped across your lap. He sat beside you, one knee bent on the cushion, elbow on the backrest as he turned to face you fully.

“Gonna sound like an asshole,” he said, handing you the water with a half-grin, “but you look like you’ve been through hell.”

You took a sip, then let out a tired laugh, the sound raspier than usual. “Oh, you have no idea.”

“Wanna give me the highlight reel?”

You nodded, your body starting to relax into the cushions now that he was close, now that the chaos of the ER had been replaced with the scent of clean linen and the soft rhythm of Yoongi’s voice.

“Okay,” you said, rolling your neck out. “Let’s see. We started the night with a kid who shoved a magnet up his nose—easy fix. Then a guy with a couple of broken bones, pretty straightforward. The usual parade of non-emergency emergencies. One guy came in because he had hiccups. For three hours.”

Yoongi blinked. “…He came to the emergency room for hiccups?”

“Oh yeah,” you said, wryly. “I gave him a glass of water and told him to hold his breath. Then billed him $600.”

That made Yoongi snort, but you weren’t done.

You leaned in a little, dropping your voice conspiratorially. “But the real gem of the night? A couple walks in—early thirties, super flustered. The guy looks like he’s about to pass out. Turns out…” You paused for effect. “He tried to spice things up in the bedroom. Used one of his girlfriend’s toys on himself. And it got stuck.”

Yoongi blinked again. “Stuck?”

You nodded solemnly. “Stuck. And still on.”

There was a beat of silence before the full horror (and hilarity) of it hit him. His mouth dropped open, then shut, then he burst into laughter. That full-body kind—the deep, chesty kind that Yoongi didn’t give away easily. He clutched his stomach, his head dropping back as he gasped, “Nooo—”

“Oh, yes,” you said, holding your hands up. “The vibrating noise echoed through the trauma room. I had to stay composed while this poor guy was practically in tears. He kept saying, ‘Please, make it stop, I can’t feel my legs.’”

Yoongi wheezed with laughter. “Oh my god—”

“I had to give him a sedative just to remove it,” you said, already giggling at the memory yourself. “He thanked me afterwards like I’d just saved his life. The girlfriend couldn’t even make eye contact.”

Yoongi was red in the face, nearly in tears. “I will never complain about a long shift again. That’s… Jesus.”

You nodded. “ER nurses deserve hazard pay and a therapist.”

The laughter faded slowly, replaced with a familiar warmth as Yoongi looked at you—really looked. The exhaustion in your eyes, the tension still lingering in your shoulders. He reached out, brushing a stray hair behind your ear before standing with a stretch and offering his hand.

“Come on,” he murmured. “You’re done for today. Shower. Pajamas. Then I want you horizontal—no arguments.”

You groaned as he helped you up. “I’m getting you a best boyfriend award like right now.”

He smirked, guiding you toward the bathroom. “I already laid your stuff out. Towels, lotion, some fluffy socks. I even found that hair clip you left last time.”

You paused at the door, touched. “You’re dangerously good at this.”

“I know,” he said with a wink. “Now go wash the vibrating trauma off of you.”

You laughed again, then disappeared into the bathroom. The hot water was heaven—steam rolling over your sore muscles, washing away the ER grime and emotional weight of the day. You stayed under until your fingers pruned and the ache in your back melted into manageable warmth.

When you emerged, clean and wrapped in your softest pajamas, the apartment was quiet and dim, the only light coming from Yoongi’s bedroom. You padded in slowly, hair still damp, and found him already under the covers, one arm stretched across the mattress in silent invitation.

You didn’t hesitate.

You slipped into bed, curling into his warmth as he pulled you into his chest without a word. His hand rubbed slow, lazy circles across your back, and the comfort of it nearly undid you. You buried your face in his shirt, breathing in the familiar scent of laundry, skin, and something warm and safe that only belonged to Yoongi.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, voice barely a whisper.

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

You hummed, too tired to respond with words, but your hand slid beneath his shirt to rest over his heart, your thumb tracing the steady beat that grounded you.

As your eyes fluttered shut, the hum of the ER faded from your mind. The only thing left was Yoongi’s breath in your hair, the way his hand held you close, and the subtle, almost imperceptible shift in the air—like something was settling into place.

Then it hit you, you were home.

The next morning, the soft hush of the apartment wrapped around you like a promise. You stirred awake to the sensation of something gently pressing against your ribs. Blinking against the early light seeping in through the curtains, you looked down—and smiled.

There he was.

Han, curled up between you and Yoongi, his little body sprawled out diagonally like a starfish. One sock-clad foot was wedged into your side while the other rested lightly against Yoongi’s stomach. His head rose and fell with the steady rhythm of his father’s breathing, nestled against Yoongi’s chest like it was the safest place in the world. His tiny hand was pressed sleepily to Yoongi’s cheek, fingers twitching in dreams.

Your chest tightened with a fierce, quiet love.

You slid carefully from the bed, tucking the blanket back over the boys. Yoongi stirred slightly but didn’t wake—his arm automatically tightened around Han in sleep, protective and instinctual. The sight etched itself deep into your heart.

Padding quietly into the kitchen, the coolness of the tiles grounded your aching feet. You started the coffee machine, the low hum and rich aroma instantly soothing. The comforting scent of roasted beans filled the space, mingling with the soft light of morning just beginning to filter through the windows. The city outside was still stretching itself awake.

You were halfway through your first sip when the thunder of tiny footsteps echoed from the hallway.

“Eomma!” Han squealed, launching himself into the room like a pint-sized missile.

You winced and chuckled, crouching just in time to catch him. “Bubba,” you whispered, rubbing his back, “inside voice.”

His eyes grew comically wide as he slapped a hand over his mouth. “Oops,” he stage-whispered, and your heart swelled at the sincerity in his face.

You straightened, moving toward the fruit bowl, starting to slice up a banana for breakfast when Han’s attention shifted. His gaze wandered to the partially open door across the room—Yoongi’s studio.

You hadn’t even realized it had been left ajar.

His brows furrowed as he pointed. “Eomma… what’s that room?”

You turned to follow his gaze, realizing the glass display case was in full view—the awards, the gleaming plaques, the golden trophies all standing proud on the back wall. Han’s jaw dropped slightly as he took in the sight.

“Those are Appa’s,” you explained gently, walking over to close the studio door with care. “Trophies from his music. From him and your uncles.”

Han blinked up at you, eyes shimmering with awe. “Appa’s music?” he whispered. “Can I hear it?”

You felt your breath catch for a moment at how reverent his little voice sounded—like he was asking to hear magic. You smiled and nodded.

“Of course, baby.”

You pulled out your phone and tapped into Yoongi’s Spotify. His solo work was already favorited—your little secret indulgence whenever you missed him more than usual. You hooked it up to the speakers, and as the opening beat of “Daechwita” roared softly to life, Han froze.

The percussion vibrated gently through the apartment, and Han’s eyes widened like he was witnessing a superhero transformation. He looked at you, utterly floored.

“That’s Appa?”

You nodded with a soft chuckle. “Yep. That’s Appa.”

Han’s little body twitched with excitement before he started moving—tiny shoulders bobbing, feet bouncing, mimicking the beat. You joined him, unable to resist, rapping along the parts you could, both of you dancing freely in the middle of the kitchen. It was chaotic and hilarious and utterly joyful.

By the time “Who’s the king? Who’s the boss?” hit, Han was spinning in circles, and you were breathless from laughter, clapping along and feeding off his energy.

You were mid-spin when a soft voice drifted in from the hallway.

“Well, damn. Am I interrupting dance rehearsal?”

You turned, cheeks flushed, to find Yoongi leaning sleepily against the doorframe, hair tousled and sticking up adorably in every direction. His hoodie hung lopsided off one shoulder, and his face was still puffy from sleep—but the smile on his face?

It was full-on sunshine.

“You’re up, did we wake you?” you said, brushing hair from your face, flashing him an apologetic look

“No you didn’t wake me,” he replied, voice rough with sleep but warm with affection. “I just didn’t want to miss the show.”

Han gasped when he saw Yoongi and ran full-speed across the room. “Appa! That’s your song!”

Yoongi crouched just in time to catch him, letting Han knock into his chest like a cannonball. He chuckled. “It is, did you like it?”

“Yes!, can I hear more?” Han begged, bouncing in his arms.

Yoongi chuckled again and nodded. “Sure bubs, why not.”

You switched the playlist, letting BTS’s “Mic Drop” take over the room. Han lost it—jumping, spinning, throwing his arms around like he was on stage himself. Yoongi plopped down on the floor next to him, sipping the coffee you handed him while watching his son with unmistakable pride.

You stood beside them, your hand brushing against Yoongi’s arm.

“Hey, Yoon,” you said softly.

He glanced up at you, his smile fading into something more open, more vulnerable. “Yeah?”

You hesitated for just a moment, your heart beating a little faster. But you were done dancing around it. You were ready.

“I’ve made up my mind.”

His brows lifted slightly. He set his coffee down, full attention on you now.

“Han and I…” You inhaled slowly, then smiled. “We’ll move in with you.”

Yoongi froze.

His breath caught, his eyes searched yours like he was trying to make sure he’d heard you right. And then—

His smile broke across his face like sunrise.

“Really?” he breathed.

You nodded, and barely had the chance to say yes again before Yoongi surged to his feet, cupped your face in both hands, and kissed you—deep and full and bursting with happiness.

It wasn’t rushed. It was slow and sure and full of promise, like the closing of a chapter and the beginning of something new all at once.

Han, oblivious to the emotional milestone, was still dancing, spinning in dizzy little circles.

When Yoongi finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead to yours, his voice low and thick.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You brushed your thumb across his cheek. “Don’t thank me yoon, It’s what we should have been all along.”

And right there, with music still thumping low in the background, your son dancing in a blur of joy, and your heart beating steady against the man you never stopped loving—you felt like you were home.

The packing up of your life over the next few weeks had felt… surreal.

This apartment had witnessed so much. It had been your sanctuary during heartbreak, your war zone during toddler tantrums, your safe haven when the world outside was too loud. Every chipped mug in the cabinet, every crayon mark on the wall, every squeaky floorboard under your bed carried pieces of the life you built—just you and Han. A life you’d fought for, protected, and nurtured with everything you had.

And now, it was all being folded into cardboard boxes and labeled in permanent marker. Bedroom—Han’s toys. Kitchen—everyday plates. Hall closet—donate.

It was all so tangible, so final. A chapter closing, not with a slam, but with the quiet reverence of turning the last page.

You stood in the middle of the empty living room, staring at the spot where Han had taken his first steps, where you’d cried after one of your hardest night shifts, where you’d once slow-danced with a glass of wine in hand and music playing through your phone speaker. You let the silence settle around you, breathing it in, letting it echo. Letting it go.

Yoongi had offered to help move, of course. He even suggested hiring a moving service. But you’d wanted to do this part yourself. Not out of pride, but because… this mattered. Closing the door yourself mattered.

With the last box secured in the trunk, you took one last look at the apartment—at your first home as a mother—and shut the door behind you.

You climbed into the driver’s seat, hands pausing on the steering wheel for just a beat longer before you looked into the rearview mirror. Han was already buckled in, his little legs swinging with uncontainable excitement. He was clutching his current favorite stuffed toy—a blue dinosaur with a wonky stitched eye—and humming to himself, a tune made up on the spot, off-key and perfect.

The sight made something twist in your chest—a soft ache of joy and nostalgia. His happiness was radiant. It filled the car like sunlight.

You turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the driveway for the last time. As the apartment disappeared in your rearview mirror, you cleared your throat lightly.

“Alright, Han bubba,” you said, keeping your tone upbeat but firm. “You remember the one room in Appa’s house you’re not allowed to go in unless Appa or I say it’s okay?”

Han immediately let out a loud long groan and flopped his head against the side of his car seat. “Eommaaa… I know! Appa’s music room!”

You raised your eyebrows at him through the mirror in warning. “Wanna try that again without the attitude, mister?”

He sat up straight and nodded quickly, lips pressed together in seriousness. “Sorry,” he said, and then his mouth split into a wide, wiggly-toothed grin. “I’m just… happy!”

That time, you couldn’t help but laugh. You reached your arm back between the seats and he eagerly grabbed your hand with his smaller one, squeezing tightly.

“I know you are, baby,” you said softly. “I am too.”

He beamed at you, his joy bubbling over like a bottle of shaken soda.

“But,” you added, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “just remember… even though Appa will be home, that doesn’t mean he’s always free. He still has to work.”

Han nodded along enthusiastically. “Because he makes music!”

“That’s right,” you said. “Appa’s music room is really important. That’s where he records his songs and helps other people with their songs too. So we have to respect his space when he’s working, okay?”

“I promise, eomma,” he said, solemn as a judge. And then, his voice dipped shyly. “But… do you think Appa will ever let me hear him make music? Like, really hear it?”

Your heart squeezed.

There was something sacred in the way Han said it. Not just curious. Admiring. Like he already knew his father made something powerful, something special, even if he didn’t fully understand it yet.

You turned back to the road, but your smile lingered. “I think… if you ask nicely, and promise not to touch anything, Appa might let you sit in with him one day.”

Han gasped, practically vibrating in his booster seat. “Really? Like… watch him play? And wear the big headphones?”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “We’ll see, bubba. You know how Appa feels about his buttons.”

“I won’t press any!” he promised, voice high with excitement.

You reached to turn down the music playing quietly in the background, letting the moment settle in as you merged onto the main road, leaving your old neighborhood behind.

As the skyline of Yoongi’s neighborhood began to appear in the distance, something shifted in your chest. A quiet knowing. A peace.

You weren’t running toward a fantasy.

You were moving toward something real.

A home that Han could grow up in. A space where your little family could build—not just exist.

And in the seat beside you? A promise of a second chance. A man who’d never stopped loving you, even in the moments when he couldn’t say it. A man who’d stayed up late assembling a bed with Han’s help, who put up glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling because “Eomma says you sleep better with the stars watching.”

You reached up to adjust the rearview mirror and caught Han watching out the window, his breath fogging the glass as he whispered to himself, “We’re going home.”

And you couldn’t have agreed more.

Walking into Yoongi’s apartment, you barely had a chance to take in the sleek lines and minimalist decor before you were met with absolute chaos.

“Jimin, just stop moving the boxes—I had a system!” Yoongi shouted from somewhere down the hall, his voice echoing off the high ceilings in pure exasperation.

“I’m literally helping,” Jimin fired back indignantly, arms thrown in the air as he stepped around a stack of labeled containers. “You should be thanking me! I’m putting them where they go!”

“Where they go? According to who?” Yoongi barked from another room. “You’re just putting shit wherever it fits!”

A loud thud echoed through the apartment, followed by the sound of a picture frame teetering dangerously.

“Jungkook!” Yoongi’s voice rose another octave, more desperate now. “Stay out of the kitchen!”

You turned just in time to catch the youngest member of the group sheepishly poking his head out from behind the refrigerator door, a guilty grin smeared with something suspiciously like the leftover kimchi you were planning to use at dinner. “I was checking for… perishables,” Jungkook mumbled, cheeks puffed out mid-bite.

Namjoon, the only semblance of calm in the whirlwind, stood by the open front door holding it wide for you. He looked almost serene, though the slight twitch of his eye gave away his internal suffering.

“Thanks, Joon,” you murmured, shifting the box on your hip as you stepped inside.

“No problem,” he replied smoothly, lips twitching in amusement. “Welcome to your new madhouse.”

The second Han’s shoes hit the floor, he bolted forward like a rocket. “Uncle Kookie! Uncle Minnie!” he squealed, his tiny voice slicing straight through the noise like a bell.

Jungkook lit up immediately. “Han!” he called, dropping the snack and scooping the boy up into his arms with a dramatic twirl. “My favorite nephew!”

From the hallway, Yoongi’s voice rang out, deadpan. “He’s your only nephew, genius.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. Deep and warm and surprised by how much this noise, this mess, this family had crept into your heart. You had missed them. All of them. Not just Yoongi, but these men who had stood beside him through everything—who were now standing beside you and Han without hesitation, without question, without condition.

Yoongi emerged a moment later, arms full of more stuff, hair a little sweaty, eyes narrowed at Jimin, who was busy pushing a pile labeled “Bedroom – Fragile” suspiciously close to the bathroom.

“I’m warning you,” Yoongi muttered through clenched teeth, “if I open that box and find y/n’s books or something under a damn weighted blanket—”

“You’re welcome for protecting it!” Jimin shot back. “You know the saying saying moisture ruins the sleeves!”

“That’s not what it meant!”

You shook your head, laughter bubbling out of you. Yoongi was trying so hard to maintain order, but it was like trying to herd caffeinated cats.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Namjoon lingering by the entrance, arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold like a man observing art—beautiful in its chaos. He looked like he wanted to intervene… but also like he was enjoying this way too much.

You carefully set your box down on a side table and turned toward him. “Hey, Joon,” you said, your voice quieting just slightly.

He tilted his head, his sharp, perceptive eyes immediately honing in on you. “Hey,” he answered warmly, though there was a subtle question hidden beneath the greeting.

You hesitated only for a moment before exhaling. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you,” you said softly, sincerity threading every word.

Namjoon’s brows lifted in surprise. “For?”

You gave him a knowing look. “You know what for.”

He didn’t answer, just stood there with that typical calm, waiting patiently—offering you space.

“For helping me and Yoongi get to this point,” you said, your voice a little raw, a little vulnerable. “For being his anchor when he needed one. And for being mine… even before I deserved it.”

Namjoon’s face softened, but he stayed quiet.

You chuckled lightly, more at yourself than anything else. “The day you saw me and Han at that café? You could’ve torn me to shreds. You should’ve. I half-expected it. Honestly? And I would’ve accepted it.”

His jaw twitched, his silence turning contemplative.

“But you didn’t,” you continued. “You let me come to him on my own terms. You didn’t pressure. You didn’t guilt me. You supported me through it all, Joon. Without ever making me feel small.”

You looked down, fiddling with a piece of tape still stuck to your hand. “That meant everything. Still does.”

Namjoon let out a long, quiet breath. Then he nodded once, his smile slow and gentle, like sunlight peeking through morning fog. “Yeah, well… it’s what family does.”

The word hit you like a stone dropped in still water. Family.

Not a pitying word. Not a throwaway one. A declaration.

Your breath hitched quietly. You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, solid and sure. No hesitation. No awkwardness. Just… gratitude.

Namjoon hugged you back just as tightly, warm and grounding. “You don’t owe me anything,” he murmured. “Just be happy. Both of you.”

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, but you smiled against his shoulder. “We’re trying.”

Across the room, Han shrieked with glee as Jungkook flipped him upside down, and Yoongi—finally defeated—sat cross-legged in the hallway with a beer Seokjin had handed him, mumbling, “Fine. Let the boxes live where they fall.”

Han scrambled over to him and immediately climbed into his lap, arms around his father’s neck. Yoongi melted, his lips pressing to the top of his son’s head as he murmured something you couldn’t hear. But you didn’t need to. The sight alone sent warmth spilling through your chest.

You turned back to Namjoon, who gave you one final nod and a squeeze on the shoulder.

And as you crossed the room toward Yoongi and Han, your chest felt so full it was almost hard to breathe. This—this glorious, chaotic, imperfect thing—was yours. A life you’d almost convinced yourself you’d never have again. A love you were no longer running from.

You sank down beside them, Yoongi’s hand reaching to find yours instinctively. Fingers intertwined like it was second nature. Han curled against both of you, babbling about where his toys would go and asking if his dino could live next to the window.

You smiled and nodded, pressing a kiss to the back of Han’s head. Yoongi caught your eye and mouthed one word.

Home.

And it was.

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