#someone write a fic and then send it to me okay

[lia-snow]

I know I once drew these two as if they were rivals but what if they train together and talk about their clingy boyfriends? :p

And then they have double dates with Shidou and Ness competing to prove their respective bfs are better than the other :ppp

[non-un-topo]

No work just writing todayy...

[vossn]

bg3 modern AU but its just the story told through a series of increasingly urgent e-mails

[numberoneanika]

Honestly the roleplay blogs are stronger than I am because if I saw a post where people were saying my blog was annoying and calling me corny I would jump in a large pit and rot away

[zentriii]

HAIKYUU FANDOM I LOVE YOUU

[underskz]

➪ ‘TIL NEXT TUESDAY

➪ mark lee x cisfem!reader ✩ w.c 8.5k — NSFW ✩ 18+ minors dni —

✰ NON-IDOL AU

pov: you're a camgirl with a secret admirer who's a little (okay maybe a lot) obsessed

note: y'all do not understand the pain,,, the struggle,,,, the trauma that this fic has inflicted upon me <//3 i quite literally started writing it last year on mark lees stupid lil bday and have been typing away at it for so mf long and have had to dig into the deepest filthiest depths of my brain to finally finish this,,,,, anyways welcome to my twisted mind and we can all blame mark lee my greatest enemy,,,, i hate u… anyways pls make note of the warnings !!! btw don’t ask me what website they’re using idk i couldn’t be fcked to think that hard

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, aka smut, obsessive behavior, viscerally lewd comments, uh lying LOL, wolf in sheep’s clothing energy (good church boy mark lee and his hidden demons <3), honestly both reader and mark r freaky (aww they match each others freaks!), readers thinly veiled shame kink, unsafe sex/no condom, barely any prep lol, not beta read bc im a full send girl (sorry for any typos etc LMAO)

There’s clearly something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ and you can’t quite figure it out. Sure, he seems to be just another fan of your work. And maybe his comments tended to be on the imaginative side.

i wanna dick you down til next tuesday

stuff your guts this thursday and stay buried in you thru the weekend

til youre cryin to me about how you can feel my dick in your throat

how pretty would you cry for me?

That little voice in the back of your head whispers (the one that sounds far too much like Donghyuck), an annoying little I told you so, someone was bound to get obsessed. It wasn’t like you never considered or even feared the possibility. 

But these comments, this person, there was something there. You click into a different video, scrolling down to a specific cluster of comments.

i wanna ruin you so fuckin bad

ruin that pussy for anyone else

wanna hear you beg me to stop 

until it turns into begging me for more

sound fun sweetheart?

Every video, every clip, every single little teaser you post; there’s a thread from him. His stupid username right there, ‘66golden_boy99’ and a digital paper trail that ranges from being unforgivably horny to borderline demented and most of the time a combination of both. 

fuck if i could keep you in a little cage…

i’d fuck u every day all day

turn you into my perfect little pet

made just for my cock

don’t you want that too?

You can’t help but let your mouth gape at that one, a cage? Your head spins at the thought, trying (and failing) to not let your imagination wander.

There’s a certain thrill that crawls down your spine, twisting itself deep into your gut and lodging itself there. An ache that you can’t quite sate yourself, barely sated by these comments. 

So yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ but that could only mean there’s something wrong with you.

“Mark, read this! Isn’t it insane?” Donghyuck all but smacks him in the face with your phone.

“Oh! Um.” He immediately flushes, no doubt flustered by the nature of the comments along with the fact he’s one of your few friends who still gets a little red in the cheeks by your choice of profession. 

Good church boy Mark Lee at your service. Who thankfully plucks your phone from Donghyuck and passes it back to you— most likely to avoid further being subjected to such filth in broad daylight. 

“Don’t bust a tit Hyuck, it’s just some dude living out his freaky fantasy while hiding behind a screen.” You knew it was going to be brought up the moment you saw your friends, but you had hoped that Donghyuck would have the decency to not mention it while seated outside a popular cafe on a busy street.

Jokes on you for thinking he could keep his cool about this. The moment you had sent a screenshot to the group chat Donghyuck had been rearing for a fight, overly scandalized and always righteous whenever he thought his friends were being treated badly.

There was no way in hell you’d tell him those comments piqued your debased interest.

“It’s a little creepy.” Jungwoo settles on, stealing a blueberry off of your parfait. “He doesn’t message when you’re live though.”

“Nope, only comments on clips and videos.” You bite back your disappointment, maintaining an almost clinical tone.

“Does he even watch your streams?” Jungwoo questions as he attempts to swipe a strawberry this time, narrowly thwarted by you whacking his hand with your plastic spoon. 

“What difference does it make? He’s a fucking perv!” Donghyuck snipes.

The answer is yes, he does watch every single one of your streams. Occasionally donates too, yet no messages. No live interactions.

“Hyuck, my whole fanbase are pervs.” You ignore the glare of an elderly woman as she passes by your table. “When did you become such a prude?”

It’s enough of a jab to send the man into a fit, ranting and raving about how he’s perfectly freaky enough and that his boyfriend(s) is (are) so into how weird and kinky he could get. 

“Seriously though, is he scaring you?” Mark whispers, careful to not catch Donghyuck’s attention lest he starts laying into you about your “creepy” admirer again. Mark’s considerate like that.

For a moment you sit with the question, mindlessly spooning around your half eaten parfait. Were you scared? You knew full well you were bound to deal with the occasional creep when you decided to pursue camming as a full-time job after university. 

But you weren’t— aren’t scared, initially you had maybe been a bit unnerved. Yet you hadn’t shared the messages because you wanted your friends to “save” you or anything. More so because you were shocked by the sheer audacity and of course by what was being said.

If Donghyuck wasn’t so busy talking about getting spit roasted much to the horror of Jungwoo, he’d be pestering you for the answer too. And you would’ve lied, told him that you were a little nervous but nothing that’d keep you from carrying on as usual.

Instead you have Mark asking, no trace of judgment behind his thick rimmed glasses, just a curious glint with a healthy dash of concern for a friend.

“He’s not.” Is what ends up coming out. It’s simpler than the whole truth, cleaner as well. 

You couldn’t admit to one of your best friends that it sent a thrill down your spine, to have someone so obsessed they comment utter depravity on every post you make. That you’ve checked to make sure this mystery creep was watching your every stream. And that there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more than to be craved so deeply, to be ached for, to be someone’s sole obsession. 

“If you do get freaked out or anything, uh understandably so, we’ll figure something out. I’ll beat him up?” Mark offers one of his dorky smiles, and despite his statement inspiring little hope — seriously Mark is way too sweet to ‘beat’ anyone up — you still appreciate the sentiment. Offering him a big spoonful of whipped cream and strawberries for his valiant statement.

“Hey! Why does Mark get fed and I have to fight for a crumb?” Jungwoo cries out only causing you to roll your eyes and spark even more outrage from him.

You're thankful that the rest of the outing goes on without another mention of a certain fan of yours. Though Mark seems to be shooting more indiscernible looks your way than usual, but that’s easy to chalk down as him just projecting his own anxieties onto you.

When you all start to bid farewell Donghyuck wastes a few minutes to preach about the dangers of internet strangers, while Jungwoo goads and teases him until his nagging is turned onto Jungwoo.

Again Mark offers comfort — though you really have no need for it, considering the fact you honestly are enjoying the debased behavior more than you maybe should — and you pretend to appreciate it.

needa fuck you over and over and over

til your pretty lil pussy is gaping open

so i can see the way i paint you up inside

wouldn’t you like that?

Yes, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, fuck yes.

You had just posted a teaser for your next video, a simple reaction to some random threesome video your subscribers had begged you to watch. 

And as always without fail, only a few minutes after you’ve hit post your phone lights up with notifications from ‘66golden_boy99’. You should hate how much you look forward to it— how you’re practically gagging for it (him).

You remember his first thread of comments, remember the scandal that pumped through your veins as the words registered in your brain. 

The thrill.

well aren’t you a sweet thing

He had started it off so normally.

you look like you dont care for just any kind of fun

you look like u need to be fucked within an inch of your life

thrown around and violated like a stupid little toy

i could do that

It’s the only time he hadn’t ended with a question. The only statement needed to stake his claim, to solidify his place. 

It planted the seed right in your lust ridden mind, the growing need to see more and more. It becomes a sick little ritual, to go looking for his comments just after you tuck yourself into bed under the guise of resting for the day. 

You’re desperate enough to reread old ones, to stare at the same comments from days or even weeks ago. Sometimes he’ll throw you a bone, coming back to leave another thread of comments for you to find. 

wanna fill you up so bad

make you take it over and over and over

til my cum is dripping outta you for days

so that all that’s in your pretty head is the thought of my cock pumping you full

wanna make it happen?

Maybe it’s the way you’ve never replied to them, or even acknowledge them in a stream. It doesn’t deter him from continuing, his perverted dedication proving something to you. Something twisted and delicious and all too tempting.

need you so bad

just need to use you over and over and over and over so fuckin bad

turn you into my own pretty fleshlight to use whenever i please

just wanna use you all up baby

how much can you take?

Thursday streams are one of your three weekly streams, and while it had marginally less viewers therefore profit than your Friday and every other Saturday ones, it was by far your favorite.

The chat is far more relaxed, which means you have a better chance to interact with viewers, to have a more intimate stream.

It means you can instead sit at your desk, dressed in nothing but an oversized white tee, playing with your hair and batting your lashes. While making idle conversation as your viewers dutifully pay you compliments and donate small amounts as a hello.

66golden_boy99: hey there

“Oh? Golden boy? And here I was thinking you weren’t interested enough in having a live convo with me.” You wonder if he waited for this, a Thursday stream with an even lower than usual number of viewers to finally send his first message in chat. Was your little freak shy? Only able to sling his filth when nobody was paying attention?

Too late for that, he was in your sights now. 

66golden_boy99: nah just liked sitting here and watching you too much

“Is that so?” You feign distraction, looking off towards the side as you tap your chin thoughtfully. “But here I am, doing nothing. Isn’t that boring?”

There’s a flood of no’s in the chat, messages ranging from horny to sweet about how some like just chatting and others saying that you should at least take off your shirt.

“My shirt? It’s only been twenty-ish minutes since I’ve started and you all don’t wanna butter me up first? Tell me how pretty I am?” You’re accused of being a tease, which is of course your exact angle. Some of them bite, sending cooing comments about how they’d love to see your shirt off, some going as far as to send in a few dollars. 

$200 from 66golden_boy99

it’s okay sweetheart, show em what’ll be mine

Your jaw drops, because while he had tipped in the past, it was never this much. You can’t help the shiver that itches down your spine, ‘what’ll be mine’ he says, like he already has you in the bag.

“Aww you wanna see me that bad? Everyone say thank you to Golden Boy!” You goad, making a show of hooking your thumbs in the hem of your shirt. Slowly you drag the fabric across your flesh, inch by inch exposing how you truly had nothing under your flimsy excuse for clothing. 

66golden_boy99: and where’s your thank you?

“That’s right, you were so generous after all, I should give you a little treat to show my appreciation.” Again you flutter your lashes. “How do you want me?”

66golden_boy99: spreading your legs like a desperate slut

66golden_boy99: wanna see you fuck your fingers

66golden_boy99: cmon babe show off your perfect pussy and open yourself up for me

“Anything for you.” And maybe you’re a little fucked in the head for how much you mean it. 

You’ve never had a favorite before. Nobody in your chat, comments and so on have ever caught your attention. They’ve never bothered to be so interesting, to be so openly obsessed.

Slowly you let your hands wander, cupping your tits before letting your fingertips dance along your ribcage, inching down, down, down. 

You pathetically think of him, wonder who’s on the other side of the screen. It could be some old man, or some greasy incel, maybe it’s someone you’ve met on the street. It could be anyone, and it sickens you almost as much as it excites you.

Carefully, you plant your feet on the edge of your desk, sliding down a few inches in your chair as you spread nice and wide for the camera. 

“This what you want?” The words jumble in your mouth as your fingers continue to  find their way south. You dig your nails into your thighs, moaning loudly at the bite of them into your tender skin.

Shame was something that had long escaped you in this field of work, only the tastefully faked sense of it ever gracing you these days. But there’s that all too familiar burn crawling back into your chest after almost years of nothing. Scorching away at your insides as your fingers drag along your waiting pussy. 

You’re wet, you’re wet and it’s because of some fucking freak on the internet. Your eyes zero in on the chat, hoping to catch a comment from him.

66golden_boy99: fucking perfect for me always so good

It’s all you need to keep going, to let wanton moans tumble out left and right as your back arches into your own touch.

The sense of shame doesn’t diminish, doesn’t fade as you tease your clit and pump your fingers pitifully into your sopping cunt, loudly bemoaning the fact you didn’t grab a toy. 

66golden_boy99: you’ll cum just like this baby, no toys, just your fingers and wishing it was me instead

“Nnn- please.” It’s whiner than you’ve ever heard yourself, because goddammit you are wishing it was him. Old man be damned he had a wicked way of speaking, of sneaking into the dark recesses of your mind and ripping you open. Exposing a side of you that you’d long since buried, a side of you craving to be devoured wholly.

Pleasure snakes through your body, dropping down into your belly as you cum with a whimper. You make a show of bringing your fingers to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste yourself, that sick part of you hoping it makes him want you more. 

You slump against your chair, mindlessly answering chats as you fix yourself into a more comfortable position. You don’t bother looking for your shirt, letting your viewers enjoy watching your chest rise and fall in panting breaths, admire the way the sweat gleams on your skin.

You hope his eyes are glued to his screen. You hope you’re driving him absolutely insane.

“I fear I might be tapped out for the night, but don’t worry there’s always Sunday.” You manage to get out a real sentence, your brain still a little mushy from the post-orgasm haze. “Sweet dreams everyone!” 

You take a moment to let the chat fill with well wishes, a few more donations and scan for a message from one user in particular.  

66golden_boy99: good night sweet thing, dream of me

And oh, you just might. 

Ending streams were nothing special, just a click of a button and your privacy was all yours again. Leaving you with a plethora of thoughts, a tiny remnant of that formerly elusive shame and a craving for something or more accurately someone. 

Send a friend request to 66golden_boy99?

What did you have to lose? What did you have to gain? 

There’s a little angel on your shoulder in the shape of Donghyuck, your ever annoying moral compass, telling you to go shower and to never feed into this anonymous man’s delusions again.

While the little devil on your shoulder shaped like Yuta does nothing, sits there and smirks at you knowing full well you’ll choose his route. 

You always do. 

Sorry Hyuck.

Friend request sent!

Three days go by, no comments, no messages on stream, nothing. Absolute silence.

You can’t help yourself but watch each excruciating second tick by, waiting for something, anything from him. Three whole days of obsessively checking your phone, every social media tied to your occupation and nothing.

It’s like he up and fucking forgot about you. And maybe three days seems too short of a timeline to be losing it, but this is a man who has been all over your account — and notifications — for months.

And he gets scared off by a friend request. 

God, you should’ve known better than to trust Yuta, even if he was just a figment of your imagination at that moment. Though the real Yuta would’ve said the same thing anyway, therefore still making this whole ordeal his fault.

But as fun as blaming your friend and obsessing over whether your twisted little admirer would accept your request, let alone give you something to work with nowadays. It was driving you up the fucking wall. 

You need a distraction, and you need it badly.

Your usual and immediate reaction to having nothing to do and needing attention would be to ask Donghyuck to go out and do something stupid, but the lucky bastard was on vacation with his boyfriend(s?) probably getting fucked into the new year.

So you’re left to consider your options but Jungwoo is definitely still at work and Yuta just left to visit his family. And your other friends lived too far.

That only left you with Mark. God, you need more friends in close proximity. Not because you don’t like Mark, you adore the man if anything and still consider him one of your best friends. It's just that despite all the years of friendship the two of you just haven’t figured out how to quite mesh conversationally like the others. 

You need more spark, conviction. Mark Lee talks like a wet noodle came to life and decided to use ‘yo’, ‘dude’ and ‘woah’ on a permanent rotation. 

At least he’s a great listener.

And since he’s one of your closest friends nonetheless, he would have no problem with you coming over to eat his snacks and lounge on his couch while he works from home. 

So you shoot him a text.

TO: marky markmarkly sparkly can i cum over ;P 

FROM: marky markHaha sure dude! I told you stop spelling it like that > < 

TO: marky markprude be there in 10 want coffee ?

FROM: marky markSure! Caramel latte please :3 

He even texts like a good and innocent church boy. But he’s definitely had girlfriends, and that one boyfriend, so there’s no way he’s a virgin. Is it possible to be a blushing virgin in spirit and at heart?

“Hey beautiful, what can I get ya?” The barista’s stare is nothing short of sleazy, not even bothering to make eye contact as he tries to magically see through your clothing. 

“I’ll take a caramel latte, lemme double check what my boyfriend wanted, hmm just a regular coffee.” And okay it’s a little demeaning to Mark to switch your coffee orders in front of this greaseball. 

The boyfriend comment works well enough, if you take the guy opting to just stare at your ass as you walk out the door instead of bullying you for your number a win.

Thankfully Mark's apartment is just around the corner, and somehow you manage to key in the code not once but twice despite carrying two drinks.

“Marky! Coffee!” Immediately he comes tumbling down the hallway, eyes wide with confusion. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his glasses crooked and half-hanging off his face. His sweat stained white tee, and low hanging gray sweats only the cherry atop the homebody trainwreck sundae of a man before you.

“Hey, yo, shit! Uh dude!” He stops a few steps in front of you, scratching his head sheepishly. “I thought…you would take longer.”

“Do I look like Jungwoo? Or worse, Yuta?” You feign offense with a dramatic gasp. 

“Nah! Ha…ha, um come on in, it’s a fuckin’ mess but like you know, ‘m swamped with work and…”

You hand him his latte and push past him, barely batting an eye at the nightmarish state of his apartment. There’s mountains of paperwork and books stacked along the walls, empty food boxes, bags and wrappers scattered across the floor (along with any other available surface) and you’re trying desperately to not gag at the state of his kitchen.

“Johnny would clean?” You muse as you kick aside an empty pasta box. 

“Johnny would clean.” He sighs. Johnny, being Mark’s roommate, along with (one of) Donghyuck’s boyfriend(s???) is currently on vacation. On top of that, from what you've heard, he’s barely been at the apartment at all the past few months. Definitely too busy catering to every single one of Hyuck’s whims and dramatics.

“I could help?”

“Woah! I couldn’t ask you that, I made this mess on my own. I’ll clean it er.. eventually.” He gestures loosely.

“Mark Lee.” You muster up your best deadpan tone. “I’m so bored I’m gonna chew my own hand off, please let me help you clean your awfully disgusting apartment.” 

“That bad?” He snorts.

“I think that pile of dust moved on it’s own.” At least you’re hoping it’s a pile of dust and not some undiscovered rodent that thrives in the apartments of bachelors with piss poor cleaning habits.

“…I think you’re right. Hey um, lemme just shower and change, I think I’m just as gross as this place. We can clean together. So just…” He shoves aside the pile of laundry inhabiting the couch just enough to give you a place to sit. “Sit for a second?”

The poor guy looks like he’s on the brink of a meltdown, and if you didn’t know Mark as well as you do you would’ve called an ambulance. But he just always has that air around him, exhausted and overworked— but always smiling through it.

“I’m in no rush.” You pat his arm before taking a seat in the space he so generously carved out for you. The second Mark walks off to the bathroom you make yourself nice and comfortable, switching on the TV, straightening out some of the magazines and assorted papers on the coffee table. 

Mindlessly you even start folding some of the laundry next to you. The thought of taking pictures and sending them to Donghyuck so he could show Johnny just how far his roomie has fallen in his absence promptly interrupts your side task.

But to your dismay you find your phone is barely holding on by a few measly percentages. Looking around the living room you know there’s definitely no hope in trying to find a charger on your own. So instead you head off towards the bathroom, following the sound of the shower pouring down.

“Mark!” You knock harshly, hoping he can hear you okay. 

“Yeah?” His voice comes through clear, sounding only a little startled by your sudden presence.  

“Need to charge my phone!” 

There’s a moment of pause and you can only assume it’s because his room is so hellish he can’t even remember where he put the thing.

“By my bed!”

“Thanks!”

His room is actually better than the living room and kitchen, not by much, but still better. You navigate around the clothes and books strewn about the floor. Giggling at his wastebasket full of balled up tissues and a used up bottle of lotion, you definitely couldn’t wait to tell Donghyuck when he gets back. 

Making fun of Mark was an art, a beloved pastime of your friend group. And he always took it like a champ.

You plop down on his unmade bed, looking around for his charger. It’s half under the bed when you spot it, tugging the cord only for there to be a bit of resistance. Carefully you lower yourself to the floor, yanking at the charger and forcing Mark’s IPad to come flying at you.

“Shit!” It lands next to you face down on the hardwood and you pray to whatever gods that you haven’t cracked it. Slowly you pick it up, carefully flipping it over as you prepare yourself for the damage.

“Oh, my god.”

Because it’s not cracked, it’s not even locked, it’s still open to what Mark had been watching last to be exact.

One of your streams, one of your streams with you bent over one of your pillows, both holes stuffed with toys in the perfect position for the camera to see everything. It’s not even a new video, you haven’t done anything like that in months. 

There’s a blur in your vision as you shoot up, lightheaded from standing up straight so suddenly. A scorching heat begins to burn in your gut, creeping through your veins. 

You can still hear the shower going, and you know it must be wrong, to go through his private device like this but…it’s you. He’s been watching you, one of your most bible-thumping, prude-built friends who can barely look you in the eyes and blushes whenever you or your friends make dirty jokes, has been watching your debaucherous streams and has never said a word. 

Sure, Yuta and Jungwoo have confessed to watching more than once and Donghyuck is a fucking mod for your streams. It never bothered you if your friends watched, it wouldn’t bother you now.

But this is…this is different. He kept his viewership a secret, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Was he too embarrassed to say? Was he afraid it’d ruin your friendship?

You close out the video, looking through his watch history which consists solely of your videos, looking at who he follows — you, only you, and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing yet — and now the used tissues in his trash bin don’t feel so funny anymore. 

“Oh.” You mutter lamely as you open up his comment history. Fucking oh. 

66golden_boy99: wanna fuck you with my tongue til youre squirting all over my face

And your world collapses, punctuated by the sound of the shower turning off— yet that’s lost on your ears. You can’t hear anything but the furious pound of your heart trying to dismantle your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins and sloshing around your head. 

Mark Lee, sweet, kind and innocent. Mark Lee, who stutters just talking about who he likes. Mark Lee, the resident saint of the group.

Is him. 

The man who’s been peddling filth into your mind, who’s been haunting you every time you decide to start your stream or post a video, skulking around every comment section with your name on it. 

Is Mark fucking Lee.

“Heya! Did ya find…it.” It’s cinematic honestly, the way his stride slows as his eyes frantically flicker back and forth between you and the IPad. “Y-Y-You!”

It’s instantaneous, his face turning a brilliant crimson as he trips over himself to grab the tablet and throw it haphazardly to the side.

His chest is heaving, panic creasing his features as you look him over. He kept the same color scheme, you think emptily, white tank top and gray basketball shorts. It does nothing for your brain as you stare at him mouth agape.

“I c-can explain?” He has the audacity to squeak, to look ashamed even. He’s trying to hide behind his bangs as they fall over his eyes, trying to look so innocent despite his filthy secret coming to light.  

“Why didn’t you accept my friend request?” It’s probably not what you should open with, and Mark’s jaw simply hanging open at the question might be a testament to that.

“…What?” His croaks, voice hoarse.

“You didn’t accept it, why? And where have you been, it’s been three whole days? I’ve been fucking waiting for—”

“You’re not mad?” His voice is still uneven, and even a pitch higher. 

“Mad? Mad? I’m pissed, you, you idiot!” And you are. Probably. Your mind so fucked from trying to comprehend this newfound piece of info you don’t even know where to begin with how you’re feeling. So mad must be the best place to start. 

“For months I’ve been wondering who had the fucking balls to send these freaky borderline insane comments.” He flinches. “Wondering just who the hell was making me feel like, like…that.”

“I—”

“And it was you! Right under my nose, looking at me with those stupid round eyes and big glasses a-and you just pretended like you knew nothing? …I got off to you on stream?” You hate the way your voice sounds so high in your ears, teetering on the edge of full blown shrieking.

“Please, I’m sor…”

“When Hyuck showed those comments were you even ashamed?” You hiss.

He’s blubbering now, eyes pinned somewhere to the ground; half cooked sentences or maybe excuses scattering about the floor with the rest of his mess. It’s all lost on your ears, a million different thoughts in your head drowning it all out. 

His hands raise as if admitting defeat, even beginning to back away in a pitiful attempt at escaping but like hell you’ll let the fool get away from you now. 

“Goddammit, Mark Lee, look at me!” And he does, his mouth snapping shut and eyes focusing on you. His stupid glasses are nowhere to be seen, giving you an unfiltered front row view of how his pupils are blown wide. “Did you mean it?” 

“Mean…what?” You could kill him, you really could because how after all these months of sending you towards the edge with the crudest, filthiest words he can barely say a proper sentence standing before you.

“Any of it! All of it, was it all just talk?” You must’ve hit a nerve. He’s silent again, eyes narrowing for a moment at the accusation. But it slips away, a fickle persona he shoves down. 

His hands lower to his sides.

“...What do you want?” His voice is more even, eyebrows knitting together. 

You know what he’s asking — he was obvious like that, his heart always worn so proudly on his sleeve — because even now with his disgusting secret out in the open between the two of you. He has the audacity to try to take the gentlemanly route of getting you to explicitly state what you want from him, if you want him. 

When all you’ve been waiting for was for him to take.

“What do I want, huh? Let me tell you what I think first.” You know this will definitely make or break what happens next, and maybe even your friendship. But you’re sick of his games, of dancing around whatever the hell was going on between the two of you. “I think you’re all bark and no fucking bite, I think you hide behind a screen because you’re a coward and you probably couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”

His eyes narrow once more.

“You hide behind your good little god fearing boy next door persona when you’re a freak who likes watching one of his best friends get off on camera!” 

He takes a step closer.

“I think you’re filthy and depraved, a repressed weirdo with disgusting kinks. A borderline incel!”

And another step.

“I bet the second you actually got inside of me you’d cum and cry yourself to sleep in a matter of seconds.” His expression darkens at that, and now you’re starting to think that you should stop. 

But where’s the fun in that?

“You couldn’t handle even half the shit you said online, you cowardly little prude, you tiny dicked—”

You don’t realize his hands are on you until you're backed against the wall, one tightly gripping your hip while the other lands on your chest keeping you firmly in place.

“You never shut up. Even in your streams and videos you're constantly yammering on, whimpering and whining and begging.” His voice is low, buzzing around your ears and in your head. You look down at the tent forming in his shorts, mouth drying and watering simultaneously.  

“That for me?” Your tongue feels thick as you look up at him through your lashes.

The hand on your chest inches up, until his palm settles against your throat and you're left wondering if he’ll indulge you by tightening his fingers. Even just a little.

“Even now, can’t shut the fuck up.” He moves in closer, until his hardened cock is against your thigh and he’s forcing his knee between yours. “I asked what you wanted, not for you to insult me.”

“You-”

“So I’ll tell you what I want.” And you feel so wildly out of your depth, there’s a cognitive dissonance you can’t quite escape. Good church boy Mark means wholesome activities, ice cream in the park, farmer’s markets and, and–  

“And then you’re gonna try again for me.” 

“M-Me?” It comes out lamely. Is this really Mark Lee? You think belatedly. Looking at you like he wants to tear you apart inch by inch with nothing but his teeth and tongue.

“I want you on my tongue, on my cock, want you begging for me to stop but it’s all just a filthy fucking lie. I want you to want me to ruin you, this, us.” His voice is raspier, laced with a desperation and craving you’ve never heard before and damn do you need to hear more, so much more.

“So try again. Tell me what you want.” And you can see it, that plea in his eyes for you to just say it. To know you want this as badly as he does, the promise, the threat of him finally letting go looming over the two of you.

“Want.” You grab him by the face, pressing your nose against his and staring into the black depths of his pupils. “Want good boy Mark Lee to die right before my eyes, wan’ you to eat me ‘til nothin’ is left.”

It’s slurred, you’re delirious, so drunk off the way he’s already hard off of you screaming at him (or maybe it was getting caught), at the way he’s demanding you to express your want for him when you’d rather just be on your knees.

But the thing is you always have wanted, craved. That underlying itch to see one of your best friends let loose, the borderline wanting (what you thought was) a random stranger to break into your apartment and do filthy, unmentionable things to you. When you flipped over that IPad thinking you broke it to find yourself being the object of his debauched desire, when you saw his username on the site. 

You ached.

It’s stupid and toeing the line of embarrassing with how badly you want, no, need him, how turned on by the fact he doesn’t even know which person to be in front of you. Doesn’t quite know how to be both.

“Let him die.” Is all he can say, having the audacity to take advantage of your stupor to kiss you. To push you back up against the wall and slot his lips against yours, pulling back just to dive back in before you could truly feel his absence. Over and over each one messier, hotter than the last as a debaucherous hunger flows between the two of you.

“You don’t get it.” He mumbles, pressing himself firmly against you, sweat starting to prickle against your skin. “When y-you started camming I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

And suddenly you could see it, vividly. Just behind your eyelids was Mark hunched over in his bed, one of your streams or videos playing in the background as he furiously chased his release. Only to be left wallowing in the shame of jerking it with cheap lotion to you, forced to clean himself off with even cheaper tissues and spending the rest of his night completely alone.

“Your perfect fucking pussy, for everyone to see…when I’ve been waiting.” He rasps, hands finding their way back onto your body. “Couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fuckin’ stand it.”

“Mm, Ma-ark…” Without hesitation he twists his head, allowing himself to sink his teeth at the base of your throat. Pulling away to focus another dark look at you, that heady mixture of unmitigated want and wicked promises swirling in his eyes.

“S’All I could think about, even with our friends.” He noses along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe as his breathing turns ragged. “Wanted to haul you onto the table and fuck you ‘til your head went dumb, ‘til all was left was you squealing like a fuckin’ whore while they all watched.”

There’s a cartoon halo of stars around your head, surely there is, each word from his mouth adding another to the ditzy constellation circling your brain. This is him, this is Mark ‘Golden Boy’ Lee and his once hidden (and so deliciously unhinged) silver tongue. 

“Pl-Please, oh fu— please.” His lips are back to working against your throat, and just as you try to reach up and grab at him, to try and sway him into relieving some of the tension building in the air. 

He steps back, yanking at your arm.

Yet he doesn’t give you a chance to simply fall, or even react. Instead he uses your off-kilter balance to push you onto your knees, thankful that he’s a sloppy loser when you land on a pile of clothes.

“This.” He doesn’t bother being shy about tugging his shorts and boxers off in one fluid motion. “This is how I want you.”

He pauses, as if to let you admire the view and you’re not nearly above doing so as your eyes roam so shamelessly. 

Of course he’s cut, with neatly trimmed hair adorning his groin. And though he's just above average in length, he definitely makes up in girth. You think hazily that calling him tiny dicked was definitely a lie.

Your mouth waters.

He lets out a low chuckle of all things, surely laughing at the way your eyes have widened. And maybe you did let your tongue swipe over your lips in anticipation.

“Go ahead, before I make it hurt.” His words are delayed, understanding creeping in slowly; impaired by having long let that fog of desperation cloud your mind. 

You move before you can think, nosing along the side of his cock, pressing a kiss to a cute little mole that you hope to revisit at a later date. But for now you’re flattening your tongue against the base of his shaft and dragging it up his length at a frustrating rate.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and heavy and so so hot, and fuck he tastes good or maybe you’re just already addicted. Doomed from the start. 

There’s a war raging in your mind, whether to try your hardest to please him with your mouth, all too tempted to hear the pretty, desperate sounds he’ll make and maybe it’ll earn you a bit of praise. Or to tease until he’s pissed off enough to throw any regard for you and your (throat’s) wellbeing out the window.

The latter is far more appealing.

Coyly you look up at him again through your lashes once more, bringing your tongue to tease at the tip of his cock, licking off a bead of precum forming.

“Are you tryin’ to blow me or piss me off?” Ah, so he has you all figured out.

“Haven’t decided.” You reply properly by taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further down and ignoring the slightly uncomfortable stretch of your lips. You could get used to this.

Languidly you try to mind your teeth as you sink further down, your jaw aching at the unprecedented stretch. Shallowly you bob your head, barely giving anything as you look up to meet his burning gaze.

“Enough.” He groans, clearly sick of the teasing as his hand comes around to hook his fingers around the back of your head.  

It’s enough of a warning as your hands come up to grip at his bare thighs, whimpering at the first tentative thrust. Unable to escape, knees aching and you can’t help but wonder how damp your panties will be by the time you get them off.

He’s careful at first, not to be too rough in his movements, trying to be considerate of your comfort. It’s ridiculous, and you let him know as much by stabbing your nails into his thighs only forcing him to accidentally bottom out. 

Tears well in your eyes as you choke, gagging around the sinfully thick intrusion into your throat.

“Woah! Fuck, I’m sor-”

He starts to pull away, and desperately you chase after him. But the fucker pulls out, grabbing you by the cheeks to look you in the eyes. 

“Do I have to start calling you names again?” Your voice is already wrecked, but not nearly enough, it could be worse, so much worse. If he would just fully let go. “Or are you just scared?”

He blinks at you, once, twice, those stupidly big eyes of his narrowing into something dangerous. 

“Two taps if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.” You barely finish the sentence as he grabs you on either side of your head with both hands, pressing the leaking head of his cock against the seam of your lips, precum smearing across. You barely open your mouth before he’s shoving his entire cock down your throat again. 

You can see him, blurred by the tears stuck to your lashes, watching you with such reverence as you pitifully try to relax, still unable to avoid gagging and choking. Yet this time he offers no reprieve, keeps you firmly in place as tears stream down your face and your nails continue to dig into his thighs.

“T-That’s it, choke.” The break in his voice sends something hot through your chest, snaking through the rest of your body and creeping into your veins. How embarrassed would you really be if you came just from having your throat fucked? 

“Where are you?” Your wandering thoughts immediately cease, drawn back in by his fingers dancing along your cheekbone before settling at the back of your head.

He doesn’t even have the decency to let you catch your breath after pulling your attention, shallow thrusts turning reckless as he fucks your face with little regard for you— it’s everything you’ve every wanted from him.

It sends another surge of heat down into your belly, pooling between your thighs and now you’re wondering if your poor panties will even be salvageable after this. 

“Fuck that’s it, so fuckin’ good for me.” He bites his lip, and a part of you wishes you could be tugging on it too with your teeth. 

Use me, use me, use me. The thought fills your mind, leaving room for nothing else but Mark and his cock and your jaw and throat struggling to keep up. 

Frantically you tap on his calf, his response instantaneous.

“You good?” He pulls out again, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip to wipe away a mess of spit and precum.

“Need you,” and you could care less how your voice shakes and rasps, “need you in me so bad. Fuck me.” 

Your fingers dig into his thighs as you muster up the best pitiful look possible, silently begging for more. 

“C-Condom, need, condom.” He huffs, looking around his room frantically.

“Like hell, what happened to painting my insides huh?” Shakily you stand up, managing to push him towards the bed which he doesn’t even bother resisting. “Thought you wanted your cum dripping from my pussy for days.”

And he fucking growls, the sound so wildly animalistic you can barely believe it came from him.

“That what you want? You wanna feel me for days?” You’re on your back in a matter of seconds, his forearms landing on either side of your head to cage you in. He’s staring you down with an uncharacteristic intensity; a predator sizing up his prey.

“Ruin me for anybody else.” It comes out broken, desperation seeping from each word. How much more do you need to bend before he finally breaks?

He’s back on you, a barrage of teeth and tongue assaulting your flesh as his hands leave no part of you untouched, kneading and feeling. Just as you try to bring your own shirt over your head he pushes away your hands, allowing him to take over stripping you bare. 

Each caress of his fingers leaves a trail of fire, almost too hot to bear.  

“Please Marky, please.” It comes out high and whiny and so very needy. “Touch me more.” 

“I’ll give you what you want, just lemme…fuck lemme look at you.” He catches your wrists just as you try to bring your hands up to cover your face, pinning your arms against your sides as his eye shamelessly trace over your figure. There’s a glint of something hungry, swirled with something akin to adoration.

“Y-You like m-me, you’re obsessed.” You

“Yeah, I really fucking am.” He’s grinning, all teeth with a hint of gums that makes your heart somehow pound even harder and you know you’re well and truly fucked. “Like you s’much gonna keep you on my cock forever.” 

He lets go of your hands, grabbing at your thighs to spread them apart, callused fingers dragging up until he’s almost carelessly pressing a finger into you.

“Fuck, you can… o-oh keep me!” You whimper as he bullies one, then two more fingers into your throbbing cunt— there’s a determination bordering on desperation creasing his brow in order to prep you as quickly as possible. 

“Next time, I’ll spend fuckin’ hours doin’ this.” You whine as he drags his fingers out of you.

His hands hook under your thighs, pressing up and up until he can hook your legs over his shoulders and he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your hole. There’s a slight sting as he pushes in, the stretch unfamiliar and despite how wet you are some lube would’ve helped. 

But you well and truly could care less.

“I don’t care who sees this, you, I’m the only one who gets to touch, the only one who gets to fuck you like this.” He rasps, bottoming out in one harsh thrust and punching the air out of your lungs.

He’s kind enough to let you catch your breath, indulging you with a few soft kisses along your jaw and nipping at your bottom lip. But it doesn’t last long, following a sloppy kiss with a tentative grind of his hips, then a soft thrust. 

Those desperate whines you usually play up for your streams easily escaping your lips as he builds a steady rhythm. 

“Yes, yes, yes, Mark.” It’s perfect, every single thrust is perfect, the way you're folded in half, the feeling of his fingers digging into you, the strain of toned muscles under flushed skin; so fucking perfect. “Only you.”

And you mean it, fully, wholeheartedly without any hesitation. Only Mark, if that’s what he wants then you want it too, whatever Mark wants he can have.

“M’Close, fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper, raking your fingers through his still damp hair.

“Already?” It spears through your chest, harsh and burning and tears down your belly. 

There’s a split second of perfect silence interrupting the sound of skin slapping against skin, a ringing in your ears followed by the crash of your heart into your ribcage. 

Pleasure slices down your spine, rippling through your body in crashing waves and leaving your head spinning.

He fucks you through the high, any chance of a coherent thought spilling right out of your ears, his name garbled and strained as it forces it’s way past your lips. 

He slows, as if he’s about to waste both your time and do something stupid like pull out and finish on your stomach. And like hell you’re letting that happen, grabbing at his head with both hands and smashing your lips together, pulling away just enough to stare into blown pupils.

“Cum inside me, you bitch!” His teeth come down on your bottom lip, the bite of iron and tang of sweat and spit swirling together on your tongue dizzying, intoxicating. He slams back into you with a force you didn’t know he had, swallowing down a broken moan from his lips as he spills into you. 

“I’m still gonna stream.”  The two of you have settled on his now made bed, tucked under the covers. You had no problem letting Mark dress you in a clean tee and boxers, watching sleepily from his desk chair as he made his bed before depositing you in it.

“I’ll still watch.” He hums. 

“And comment?” It brings up the matter from earlier, the one you never got an answer to. “Why didn’t you?”

“I…I didn’t know what to do. Uh, it was one thing, hiding, but then I thought you…didn’t…”

“Didn’t?” You raise your head, trying to level your gaze to his. 

“Didn’t like m- it, the comments, those messages in chat, all of it. Thought you were just tryin’ to message me to stop. And then I got scared you somehow knew it was…me.” He has that sheepish look smearing his features, a hand coming up to scratch at his nape. 

You stare at him silently, watching as his eyes bounce around your face searching for some hint of what you could possibly be thinking.

“Look where that got us, I can’t even feel my legs, oh my god you have to fuck me on stream, please!”

“H-Huh? Live? Yo I can’t just-”

“Think about it, Marky.” Aching hips and sore muscles be damned, you somehow manage to climb into his lap and straddle his thighs. “Fucking me, on camera, for everyone to see just what you do to me. I’d be so good for you.”

You can see it, what little resolve he had starting to crumble, just a little more.

“Don’t you want that?” It’s his words and he knows it, starting to see the monster he’s created. You run your fingers along his jaw, settling one hand on his shoulder while the other comes up to muss up fluffy brown locks. “Stretching me on your fat cock for my pitiful little viewers to see, wishing it was them driving me insane.”

“Baby…” The pet name from his lips is instantly addicting, and you need so much more of it.

“Please.” And now you’re not sure what you’re begging for, your body screams for you to stop, to not roll your hips against his because it’s far too soon to be fucked into the mattress again.

“If, if you don’t stop doing that.” He groans. “You’re not gonna be able to stream tomorrow.” 

You blink. 

“Wow you really are my biggest fan.”

“Huh?”

“Got my schedule memorized and everything, does that mean we could do it tomorrow? You’ll fuck me on stream tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Seriously I–”

“Actually, cancel it.” He’s hooking his hands under your thighs, drawing you closer. “Don’t look at me like that, I said cancel it.”  

“Mm, I don’t know if I can go again yet.” But there’s no conviction behind your words.

“You’re fine, I’ll do all the work.” You’re fine he says, it sends a thrill up your spine right into your brain, reworking the entire chemistry in there. It had been there in the back of your mind, slipping in somewhere between finding out his secret and that first kiss. 

You’re absolutely hooked, simply addicted, to Mark Lee. 

“Okay.” You grin at him.

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: You’ve lived across from Michael "Robby" Robinavitch, an ER doctor, for a year. Your interactions have always been brief—polite smiles and small talk in the elevator. In your own relationship, you often feel invisible, reaching out for someone who never quite reciprocates. One evening, after your boyfriend flakes on you and leaves you feeling disappointed, Michael unexpectedly steps in, offering a kind gesture that turns the night around. What starts as an act of casual kindness begins to shift into something deeper, and you start to realize that Michael’s quiet presence might be exactly what you’ve been missing.

Word Count: 4912

Warnings: age gap (mid 20's /early 50's)

Author’s Note: i realized i should write a Robby fic so here we are. it’s prob not a good idea for me start writing a new fic when I got eyes on me going….well, the more the merrier. - ryn

Friday, 6:30am

The apartment building was still—quiet, not yet alive with the usual hum of waking bodies and the shuffle of morning routines. You were getting ready to leave for work, just before seven, as always. Being an elementary teacher meant early mornings and coffee-fueled commutes. These few quiet moments of the morning felt like the only part of the day that truly belonged to you.

In the kitchen, the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as you packed your lunch for the day. Your hands moved with practiced ease—turkey sandwich, fruit, a granola bar—a well-worn rhythm. The morning light spilled through the window, soft and golden, casting long shadows across the countertop where your phone sat, still and silent.

No messages.

Not unexpected.

With one hand, you reached for the spinach to finish your sandwich; with the other, you unlocked your phone and opened your messages. For a second, your reflection flickered on the dark screen—eyes a little tired, but hopeful. Always hopeful.

You typed slowly, carefully, like the words mattered more today.

Good morning Hope you slept okay. Just a reminder—we’ve got date night tonight. 7pm at that Italian place you like. I’m looking forward to it. Love you.

You hit send and watched as the message slid into the thread beneath a row of older ones, mostly from you. Then you set the phone down, turning back to the sandwich as you slid it into your lunch bag.

Your boyfriend, Aiden, is always busy. Always working late, always on his phone, always somewhere else—even when he’s right beside you. You sit across from him at dinner, trying to talk, trying to connect, but he only half-listens, nodding at his screen more than at your words.

You feel lonely. Not the kind of loneliness that comes from being alone, but the kind that fills the space between you. The kind that grows in unanswered questions, in the way he forgets things that matter to you. You don’t say it out loud. Instead, you try harder. You show love in the small ways you hope he’ll notice—in making his coffee just right, in folding his clothes the way he likes, in letting your own needs take a backseat to his.

You never beg for love—not with words. But your actions speak louder. You’re always giving, always waiting, always hoping that this time it’ll be enough. That this time, he’ll see you, hear you, choose you.

You take whatever scraps of attention he offers. A distracted “love you,” a tired hand on your back, a night where he actually looks at you instead of his phone. You convince yourself it’s something. That it means he cares. That if you just keep being patient, things will change.

And still—despite it all—you love him. Your heart hasn’t hardened. It’s still open, still warm. You still believe in love, in connection, in the possibility that he might one day meet you halfway. Because even when your needs go unmet, you somehow still have more to give.

So, you keep softening. Keep adjusting. Keep waiting.

You grab your things and head out the door. You stepped into the hallway at the same time as your neighbor.

Michael Robinavitch. He also went by Robby, a casual nickname for a last name with too many syllables for everyday use. You, however, always called him Michael.

You’d lived next door to him for about a year now. The two of you were acquainted—small talk in passing, a nod here and there, the occasional conversation while waiting for the elevator—but never more than that. Not quite strangers, not quite friends.

You knew he was one of the attending physicians in the ER at the local hospital. He mostly worked day shifts, though every now and then, you’d catch him coming home late at night, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. He had kind eyes—the kind that made people feel safe—even when the rest of him stayed closed off. Always polite. Always distant.

He was at least a decade older than you—maybe more—but carried himself with a quiet confidence that made age feel irrelevant. There was something steady about him, something grounded in the way he moved, in the calm cadence of his voice when he did speak. You’d noticed, even if you never said so.

“Morning,” he said with a quick smile as he locked his door.

He was dressed as he usually was on workdays: a fitted white shirt under a black scrub top, blue hoodie zipped halfway up, medical cargo pants. A backpack slung over one shoulder, a coffee tumbler balanced in one hand. Sunglasses perched on his head. AirPods tucked into his ears—though he always popped one out to say hello.

“Hi, good morning!” you replied, cheerful as ever, juggling your bag, your water bottle, and a lunchbox covered in cartoon stickers from your students.

The two of you walked toward the elevator in silence, a quiet routine that had somehow become familiar. You’d grown used to these brief encounters—fleeting, but oddly comforting.

He smelled faintly of soap and coffee, a clean, grounded scent that stood in contrast to the overwhelming cologne your boyfriend always wore. You glanced at Michael from the corner of your eye. He looked tired, like he usually did this early—but present. Alert. He was always present.

You, by contrast, were all warmth and energy, a splash of color next to his quiet gray. Still hopeful. Still full of brightness. You were in your fourth year of teaching, and though the days were long, your spark hadn’t dimmed. Not yet.

He’d noticed, even if he never said so. Just like you’d noticed the way he moved through the world—weathered, maybe, but not hardened. Tired, but kind.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open with their familiar hum. He let you step inside first—like he always did when you caught each other leaving at the same time. He even holds the lobby door for you. One thing you liked about him: he was a gentleman.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore. It had settled into something easy. Comfortable.

He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed loosely. You glanced at him—just briefly. His face was unreadable, but not unkind. There was something steady about him, even in stillness. Like the eye of a storm.

“I’m glad it’s Friday,” you said, breaking the quiet. “This week’s been exhausting.” You let out a breathy chuckle—more air than sound. It floated in the space between you like a fragile thread.

Michael didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth lifted—barely there, but real. That was usually all you got from him, and somehow, it always felt like enough. Like you’d earned it.

He shifted his weight, glanced at you sideways, like he was debating saying something. Then: “Yeah. Long week.”

You nodded, eyes forward now, watching the elevator numbers light up one by one. The silence returned, but it felt warmer this time. Companionable.

“Big weekend plans?” he asked suddenly, his voice low and a little rough, like it hadn’t quite shaken off sleep.

You smiled, surprised he’d initiated the conversation. “Just sleeping. Maybe grading. Depends on how ambitious I feel.” You tilted your head toward him. “You?”

He shook his head. “Same. Resting if I can.”

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “Well… here’s to restful weekends.” 

Michael gaze lingered on you a second longer than it needed to. Then he gave a slow nod. “Yeah. Here’s hoping.”

Then, on a whim, you added, “Actually, I do have one thing planned tonight—dinner with my boyfriend. We’re going to that Italian place down the street.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. Just saying it out loud made your heart flutter a bit. “It’s this cozy spot—Bella Notte. You’ve probably walked past it a hundred times without noticing. Candlelight tables, soft music, the whole thing smells like basil and fresh-baked bread the second you walk in—”

You paused, eyes lighting up. “Their pasta is insane. Like, handmade that morning. I’ve honestly been dreaming about it all week.”

Your laugh was light, genuine. “And the dessert—don’t even get me started! They do this tiramisu, too—like, real tiramisu. Not the soggy kind. Light, fluffy, just enough espresso—“

You laughed a little, almost embarrassed at how carried away you got. “Anyway. Yeah. I’m excited… “It’s silly, I know.”

But it wasn’t silly. Not to Michael. He just nodded, tucking the image of your smile into the back of his mind.

His eyebrows lifted slightly in interest. “Sounds nice. Hope you guys enjoy it.”

Michael had seen your boyfriend around from time to time, but something was off. Michael noticed how your boyfriend seemed physically there but mentally elsewhere. He didn’t act like a boyfriend should—no warmth, no attentiveness. It was almost like he ignored you, as if you were an afterthought. That disconnect didn’t sit right with Michael, but he didn’t feel the need to comment on it. It wasn’t his place. 

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling hopeful tonight will be a good date night. You glanced at the elevator doors, feeling the weight of the conversation shift. “It’s been a while since we had a real night out. I’m looking forward to it.”

Michael’s gaze lingered on you a second longer than it needed to, then he gave a slow nod. “Yeah, sometimes you need those moments to… recalibrate, right?”

The elevator reached the ground floor, and He let you out first, heading toward the lobby doors. He held it open for you, like always. You thanked him.

“I’ll see you around,” Michael called over his shoulder pulling his sunglasses down onto his face as your paths began to part.

“Bye, have a nice day- you know, saving lives and all,” you replied, watching him walk down the street, his footsteps fading behind him.

He slowed, glanced back with a faint smirk. “You too—educating the youth. Lives of tomorrow and all that.”

You laughed under your breath. “Touché.”

His footsteps faded into the quiet, and you stepped out into the morning air. Something in your chest eased. The weight of the week had already begun to lift—just a little.

—

You got home from a long day at work, the noise and energy of your fifth graders still echoing faintly in your mind. During your lunch break, Aiden had finally texted you back—

Dinner’s on tonight. Can’t wait to see you. 

Just like that, your tiredness had been replaced with anticipation.

After a short rest, you got up and started getting ready. You took your time, letting yourself feel excited. You curled your hair, did your makeup just the way you liked it, and slipped into the dress you’d been saving for a night that felt special. And tonight felt like it could be—maybe even like the start of something real.

You headed outside and waited on the front steps of your apartment building, heart light, a small smile playing on your lips. He said he was on his way.

Minutes passed. Then more. You checked your phone once. Twice. The sky darkened slowly, and with it, your hope dimmed too.

You finally sat down, the concrete steps cool beneath you, heels tapping against the pavement as your nerves turned to unease.

Then your phone buzzed.

Sorry babe, something really important came up with the case. I can’t make it tonight. Rain check!

Your face dropped. The message was short, casual. Like it hadn’t just taken the air out of your lungs.

You stared at the screen, the words sinking in slowly. The butterflies in your stomach turned heavy, bitter. The excitement that had carried you through the day drained out of you all at once, replaced by a familiar, hollow ache. You blinked, willing the sting in your eyes to go away before anyone could see.

You took a steady breath and typed back:

It’s okay. Good luck with the case!

You hit send, then sit there a moment longer—makeup flawless, dress perfect, and heart suddenly a little more guarded than it had been an hour ago.

You looked down at yourself—at the dress you’d picked out, the soft curl in your hair, the subtle shimmer on your cheeks—and felt foolish. Not because you’d dressed up, but because you’d let yourself.

“Hey”

You looked up. Michael was walking toward the steps, his backpack slung over one shoulder, scrubs wrinkled from a long shift in the ER.

“Oh—hi,” you said, giving him a small smile.

He stopped a few steps down and took you in, his expression softening. “Wow,” he said. “You look… great.”

He smiled, taking in the way your dress caught the last of the light, the soft curl in your hair, the effort you’d put in. He always thought you looked beautiful—but tonight, there was something else in your eyes too. Something quieter. Sadder.

Because he could see it. The way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way your hands fidgeted with the fabric of your dress. You were trying to hide it—whatever had just happened—but Michael had spent enough time in triage to know what a broken heart looked like, even when it was wrapped in lip gloss and heels.

You smiled, a little tighter this time. “Thank you.”

Michael lingered there for a second, like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or keep walking, then shifted his backpack on his shoulder.

“Your boyfriend is coming?” He was wondering how long you’d been out here waiting for him. 

“No actually” you say standing up, dusting the back of your dress. “Change of plans—it’s looking like a night in instead” 

He flaked, Michael thought. You didn’t have to say it. He just knew, reading the situation. The way you’d said “change of plans”, the tightness around your eyes, the way you tried to brush it off with a smile—it was all the confirmation he needed.

Michael had seen this before. He’d seen the letdown in the way people hold themselves after plans fall apart, the quiet resignation that creeps in when you’ve been let down by someone who should have shown up.

But Michael didn’t say any of that. Instead, he just nodded, letting the silence stretch between you both for a moment.

He felt bad. You’d been genuinely excited about that Italian place—you’d rambled about it in the elevator that morning. The way you lit up as you described ambiance and food.

“You know,” Michael said after a moment, “when you were talking about that Italian restaurant earlier, I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day. I just got off my shift. Long day. I’m kind of too lazy to cook tonight, and I was thinking of picking some up and taking it home..”

��He trailed off, like he was giving you room to fill in the blank if you wanted to.

You looked at him—really looked. The quiet steadiness in his eyes, the way he didn’t push or pity, just stood there, offering a way out of the evening that didn’t involve you sitting alone in a dress you’d worn for someone who didn’t bother to show.

“…Do you wanna come? I’m not sure what to get—you seem to be a Bella Notte connoisseur,” he said, a playful lilt in his voice, but something gentler behind his eyes.

You blinked, caught off guard—not by the offer itself, but by the way he said it. Not like he was saving you. Not like you were someone to be pitied. Just… included.

For a moment, the words stuck in your throat. You’d been bracing for an evening of quietly peeling off your makeup, throwing the dress into a pile, eating something frozen while pretending it didn’t matter. But Michael had given you a different choice. And somehow, he’d made it feel easy.

You smiled. This one, real. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good,” he said, relief barely hidden in the curve of his grin. 

Then, as if sensing the fragility of the moment, he didn’t try to fill it with anything clever or overthought. He just gestured toward the sidewalk. “Shall we?”

You nodded, falling into step beside him, 

“Lead the way”

The click of your heels a steady rhythm against the pavement. The late spring air was still warm, but there was a breeze now, tugging gently at the hem of your dress, softening everything. You walked on the edge of the sidewalk closest to the road, but Michael moved you to the inside, switching places with you.

He didn’t say anything when he guided you to the safer side of the sidewalk—just a light hand at the small of your back, casual and instinctive. You noticed, of course. Not because it was dramatic, romantic, or loud, but because it was something else entirely: considerate. A gesture that spoke volumes without needing a single word.

You didn’t comment on it, but your steps slowed just enough to match his stride more closely. There was a comfort in the pace, in the sound of his shoes beside yours, in the quiet understanding between two people who weren’t trying to be anything other than present.

For a while, neither of you said much. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it felt like a pause between beats, like both of you had agreed to let the noise of the day settle. And maybe that was what you needed most right now. Not fixing. Not a distraction. Just company.

“So,” Michael said eventually, glancing sideways at you, “if I hate this place, do I get to blame you forever?”

You snorted. “Absolutely not. But if you love it, I expect full credit.”

“Seems fair,” he said, smiling. “What’s the order then, oh wise one?”

You pretended to consider it seriously. “Cacio e pepe, bruschetta, mozzarella and prosciutto, and you’re not allowed to skip the tiramisu. It’s... important.”

He nodded solemnly. “Tiramisu. Got it. A matter of national security.”

“Exactly,” you said, and for a moment, you weren’t thinking about Aiden, or your phone, or the sting you’d felt sitting alone on the steps. You were thinking about pasta. And the way Michael had made this feel like a beginning, not an ending.

“Here it is.”

Up ahead, the golden glow of Bella Notte spilled onto the sidewalk, soft and inviting. The warm light glowed through the windows, the soft clink of dishes, and the low hum of conversation drifting out. You caught yourself smiling again.

—

You and Michael had ordered everything you'd talked about while walking, the anticipation of good food and even better company making the trip feel effortless. Like a true gentleman, Michael insisted on paying for the meal, despite your protests. You tried to argue, but he only smiled and said something about it being his treat—"next time, you'll get it," he promised.

Afterward, he carried the bags back to the apartment, each step filled with an easy, quiet rhythm between the two of you. You walked beside him, your footsteps falling in sync, the warm bags of food tucked securely in his hands. The elevator ride up to the 6th floor was brief, but it felt like just enough time to enjoy the moment before the evening had to end.

You reached your doors, the quiet of the hallway wrapping around you both. You stopped just in front of your apartment, heart a little heavier at the thought of this being the last part of the evening. "Do you wanna come over and eat? Or not—I know you must be tired." The offer slipped out before you could second-guess it, an instinct you couldn’t ignore.

You liked Michael’s company more than you’d expected. There was something easy, almost natural, about being with him. You weren’t ready to say goodbye just yet, and you hoped he wasn’t either.

“Uh…Yeah, sure,” he said with a grin, his voice light. “I’m just gonna shower. I need to get the ER off of me.” He laughed, the sound easy and familiar. “I’ll be over in ten minutes. Is that okay?”

You nodded, taking the bags of food he handed you as you both stepped into your apartment. The air felt a little warmer now, like it had shifted into something more comfortable, more settled.

As promised, Michael showed up soon after. He’d clearly made an effort to unwind—out of his scrubs, into a simple white t-shirt and black sweatpants, sneakers completing the casual look. The reading glasses perched on his nose added an unexpected, almost studious touch, softening his usual confident energy. It was a different side of him, and somehow, it made him even more appealing.

The two of you sat down at your island table, the food spread out between you, the soft light from the lamp casting a warm glow over the room. There was a quiet ease in the way you both settled in, as if you’d done this a hundred times before. You unpacked the bags, the smell of the food filling the space, mixing with the faint scent of Michael’s cologne.

“Alright, let’s see if this was worth the walk,” he said, grinning as you grabbed a few napkins and handed one to him. Michael smirked, but you could see the familiar spark of excitement in his eyes, like he was just as eager to dive into the meal as you were.

He took a bite of the Cacio e pepe , pausing for a moment to savor the flavors. Then, his expression shifted, the glint in his eyes turning to one of mock seriousness. 

“So? What’s the verdict? Worth the walk?” you ask him

"Absolutely," he said, taking another bite, his voice slightly muffled by the food. "Bella Notte? 10 out of 10. You took my Bella Notte virginity. You’ve officially converted me." Michael paused again, wiping his mouth with the napkin you’d handed him, clearly impressed.

You laughed, unable to hold it in. “Well, I’m glad I could make such an impact.” went back to your own meal, secretly pleased that he was enjoying it as much as you were.

“Bella Notte has ruined any other Italian restaurant for me,” he said, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

You grinned, feeling a sense of triumph. “That’s the power of Bella Notte,” you teased, cutting into your own dish. “Once it gets you, there’s no going back. Other Italian places will just feel... meh in comparison.”

Michael shook his head again, still not quite believing it. “I’m serious. I don’t know how I’ll go back to the regular stuff after this. This place has ruined me for every other pasta joint in the city."

You raised your eyebrows, a sly grin forming on your lips. “Okay, now you gotta try the tiramisu!”

__

The two of you finished eating, and Michael immediately jumped in to help clean up. He tossed the to-go containers in the trash, wiping down the countertop with a few swift motions. It was the kind of effortless help that made the whole process feel casual, like it was nothing, but it still meant a lot.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said, your voice a little softer than usual. You meant more than just the meal. Michael had truly saved the night. If it hadn’t been for him, you’d have been alone, cooped up in your apartment, feeling sorry for yourself after your boyfriend flaked out on dinner. But instead, here you were—laughing, enjoying a good meal, and feeling a lot more like yourself.

Michael looked up, his eyes meeting yours with that easy warmth he always carried. “Anytime,” he said with a small but genuine smile.

You smiled back, a little grateful for his presence, for the way he turned an unexpectedly rough evening into something enjoyable. Maybe even more than enjoyable—his company was better than you could have imagined. You'd gone from feeling alone to... well, you didn’t quite know how to describe it. But it was good. Comfortable.

You cleared your throat, breaking the quiet. “Seriously, Michael. You didn’t have to. But I’m really glad you did.” You were grateful, but the words still felt somehow insufficient for what he’d done. He’d shown up when no one else had, and that meant more than you could say.

He shrugged with that signature nonchalance, still wearing that easy grin. "I don’t mind. Not a big deal." But even as he downplayed it, there was something in his eyes that told you he knew it was. He wasn’t just being polite. He was being real.

“I just… wasn’t expecting tonight to turn out like this,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I thought I’d be sitting here by myself, feeling stupid for getting my hopes up. But you made it better. So... thanks for not making me feel like an idiot.”

Michael didn’t say anything at first. He just paused, his hands stilling mid-wipe as your words settled in the quiet space between you. You didn’t have to explain—he already knew you were talking about your boyfriend. About how he flaked on the plans you’d made. How he left you sitting there, dressed up and waiting for something that never came.

There was a flicker in Michael’s eyes—something unreadable, but undeniably present. The easy rhythm of the evening shifted, like a breath held just a second too long.

He finished wiping down the counter, slower this time, more thoughtful. Then he turned to face you, expression softened, the usual smirk gone. His voice, when it came, was quiet—low and steady, carrying something that made you feel like the only person in the room.

“You don’t ever have to feel like an idiot,” he said. “Wanting something—hoping it’ll turn out the way you imagined—that’s not weakness. That’s you putting your heart out there. And yeah, sometimes people let us down. But that doesn’t make you foolish.”

The words hit you harder than you expected—not because they were dramatic, but because they weren’t. They were simple. Honest. Kind. And in that moment, you felt something inside you shift. The weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying seemed a little lighter now.

He cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the stillness in the room. “I uh…I think I should get going,” he said, his voice gentle, but with a finality that made you realize the evening was drawing to a close. He placed the rag on the ledge of the kitchen sink, his fingers lingering just a bit too long against the cool surface, like he didn’t quite want to leave yet.

“Right,” you said, your voice quieter than usual, almost an exhale. The single word felt heavier than it should’ve, and for a split second, it felt like you were both on the edge of something you weren’t quite ready to cross.

“I’ll see you around,” he added with a shrug, the smile on his face casual, but his eyes… his eyes said more. They held something unspoken, something that made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“Right,” you repeated, a little breathless this time. You turned to walk him to the door, the distance between the kitchen and the hallway seeming like it stretched just a little longer than usual.

When you reached the door, he paused, and so did you. There was a silence that wasn’t awkward, but quiet in a way that made the space between you feel a little more fragile.

“Goodnight,” he said, turning to face you, his voice quieter now, sincere, like the weight of everything you’d just shared was still lingering in the air. He reached for the door handle, his hand brushing against it slowly, as though trying to delay the inevitable.

“Goodnight, Michael,” you replied, your voice a little softer than usual. You stood just a little too close to the door, your fingers wrapped around the edge, holding it open for him. Your heart was beating faster than you’d like to admit, the night’s unspoken moments still hanging between you like an unfinished sentence.

For a brief moment, neither of you moved. There was something in the air, something unsaid, and you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you weren’t ready for it to end. You didn’t want to shut the door on everything that had passed between you, not just yet.

He nodded once, a small but deliberate gesture that carried more weight than it probably should have. It felt like a silent goodbye, but also like something more. Then, with a quiet sigh, he stepped into the hallway, his footsteps soft but steady, each one echoing a little too loudly in the sudden silence.

You stood there, watching him go, your hand still on the door. The quiet stretched between you, neither of you in a hurry to break it. You kept the door open for just a breath longer than necessary, as though holding on to the space, holding on to something that had started tonight and hadn’t quite finished yet.

Finally, you closed the door behind you with a soft click, the sound breaking the stillness of your apartment. The air felt different now—not empty, but full of something you couldn’t quite define. It wasn’t loneliness, nor was it peace, but something in between. Something that made you realize, for the first time in a while, that the night had meant more than you could put into words.

Across The Hall (1) (2)

[mixolya]

Heyyy! Saw your requests are open, so I hope you don’t mind me sending one ☺️ Could you write something with the Bllk boys experiencing their first head scratch from the reader while laying on her chest? And after that, they get hooked—constantly asking for more, always laying on her chest and begging for head scratchies nonstop!! Saying stuff like, “Every day. I need this every day. Scratchies on the softest pillow known to man,” or “Yeah, just like that… soft chest, magic fingers… mmhm.”

ANYWAY I LOVE UR FICS SO MUCH 💗 they’re like a cozy hug I didn’t know I needed!! ur writing makes me feel so safe n happy ily keep killin it bestieee 💕💞��

ᓚᘏᗢ — bllk: don't stop !

synopsis: in which they rest on you and a few innocent head scratches quickly turn into an unexpectedly addictive love language, and none of them are ready to let you stop.

characters: rin, nagi, isagi, reo, chigiri, michael, sae + likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

— rin itoshi

you were lying on the couch, rin's head resting in your lap while the tv played some random documentary he claimed was "just background noise". your fingers had idly drifted into his hair - mostly because you liked the way it looked messy - and out of habit, you began running your nails gently along his scalp.

and rin... froze.

not in a bad way, but like someone who just got hit with a sensory overload he wasn't prepared for.

"what are you doing?" he asked, voice lower than usual.

you glanced down, amused. "giving you head scratches, why?"

his eyes were half-lidded, lashes fluttering a little. you laughed and leaned down slightly. "wait.. are you enjoying this?"

"i didn't say that."

"but you didn't say no either."

rin scowled up at you but the effect was ruined by the way he leaned ever so slightly into your touch when your fingers found that one spot near the back of his head. a tiny sound, barely audible, left him.

minutes passed. the documentary kept playing. you kept scratching. rin kept pretending he wasn't dying inside.

until your hand stilled to pick up your phone and-

his brows furrowed. "why'd you stop?"

you blinked. "oh. thought you were falling asleep."

"... i wasn't."

"you want me to keep going?"

rin said nothing, just stared at the ceiling. you laughed softly and resumed your motion. his shoulders relaxed again and he exhaled like someone had just removed a weight from his chest.

after a while, you felt his hand slip around your waist, not to stop you, just to hold it in place.

"...don't stop," he muttered, so quiet you almost didn't catch it.

you smiled, leaning back against the cushions. "okay, rin."

— nagi seishiro

it started with a lazy afternoon and nagi sprawled out on top of you like a very large cat, limbs heavy and warm and not moving.

you rested your hand in his hair and absentmindedly ran your fingers through the soft, snow-white strands.

"...mmm."

you glanced down. "what?"

his eyes were half-shut. "didn't know you could touch my brain like that."

you laughed. "it's just your scalp, sei."

"no," he mumbled, nuzzling closer. "feels like heaven."

you scratched gently behind his ear and felt him melt against you like butter. when your hand paused to check your phone-

"hey," he muttered, without opening his eyes, "you stopped."

"i figured you were asleep."

"nope. still alive. want more."

you gave in with a soft chuckle, watching his lip curve up lazily. "i could live like this forever."

isagi yoichi

you'd barely started when isagi blinked up at you with wide eyes, like you'd just shown him the secret to life.

"wait. what was that?" he asked, voice hushed like you'd cast a spell.

you grinned. "just head scratches."

"do it again."

you obeyed, fingers dragging slowly through his thick, dark hair, and he made a small noise of appreciation. the kind you'd expect from someone sinking into a warm bath after almost freezing to death.

"you're way too good at this," he mumbled, face buried in your hoodie. "are you trying to seduce me?"

"...you're already mine."

"true," he laughed. then, softer: "please don't stop."

you didn't. not even when he fell asleep mid-sentence, with a smile still lingering on his lips.

— reo mikage

reo was used to luxury. silk sheets, five-star dinners, champagne. but this?

this was something else entirely, really.

"you know," he said, voice oddly serious, "this might be better than every wagyu i ate."

you blinked. "what?"

"your nails. my hair. this whole situation. feels like a high-tier spa treatment."

you rolled your eyes, teasing. "do i charge your card, then?"

"charge me everything. my soul, even."

you burst out laughing. he grinned, smug - but the second you paused to adjust your position, his hand caught yours.

"no no no. where do you think you're going?"

"i was just-"

"continue until i'm dead."

you resumed, giggling, while he relaxed again with a dreamy sigh.

— chigiri hyoma

chigiri had trouble relaxing. his body always felt like it needed to do something - run, train, move.

but now, with your fingers threading gently through his long, silky hair, he felt like maybe stillness wasn't so bad.

"...you're really good at that," he murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

"yeah?"

"yeah. it's like… i can breathe easier."

your chest squeezed a little at that.

you stroked slowly, tangling the strands and then smoothing them out again, over and over. and when you paused for just a second-

he opened one eye. "keep going?"

you smiled. "of course."

and for once, chigiri didn't want to be anywhere else but right there in your arms.

— michael kaiser

michael had dropped his head onto your chest dramatically, claiming he needed a "royal recharge." (whatever that meant."

you started giving him head scratches - partly to shut him up, mostly because you were curious what would happen.

to your shock, he went quiet.

"…this is," he said after a pause, "kind of insane."

"in a good way?"

"in an i'd-pay-you-for-this way. but also i'd sue if anyone found out."

you snorted. "i'm filming it."

his head shot up in horror.

"I'M KIDDING-" you wheezed.

he narrowed his eyes and dropped back down, grumbling. "evil woman. keep going."

"say please," you grinned, brushing back his strands until he relaxed fully again.

"please," he mumbled.

God help you - you actually liked this man.

— sae itoshi

sae had been scrolling through his phone, reclined lazily against you, when you ran your fingers through his hair on a whim.

he paused.

"you don't have to do that," he muttered.

"i want to."

silence. then: "fine."

you kept at it. slow. gentle. careful. you expected him to flinch, or make some sarcastic comment.

but he didn't.

in fact, he sank lower, his head tilting slightly into your touch like a cat pretending it wasn't needy.

after a while, you stopped to grab your water.

"why'd you stop?"

you blinked. "oh, i thought you were over it."

"i wasn't."

a beat. then, lower: "it's actually nice."

you laughed. "i know. i mean, it's me doing it. why wouldn't it be nice?"

his hand found your thigh in a loose grip. and he didn't say another word.

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[norrisradio]

TRUE LOVE OF MINE

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ "You with the dark curls, you with the watercolor eyes / You who bares all your teeth in every smile" - Lady Lamb, Dear Arkansas Daughter

ᝰ PAIRING: lando norris x reader | ᝰ WC: 5.5K ᝰ GENRE: best friends to lovers (we cheered!), reader = ex karting driver + med student, you have loved lando since the day you met etc etc etc ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: fun fact - the colors used in the title/headings on this post are actually the colors of lando's eyes from this post // this was a behemoth of a fic to write and i'm still nto entirely pleased, but the people yearn for lando norris ꨄ requested by anon!

send me an ask for my line by line event.ᐟ

The first time you see Lando Norris, he’s face-down in the mud, crying because someone called him a posh baby in the paddock, and you think he’s the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen.

There’s mud crusted on his cheek like it belongs there, curls pressed damp to his forehead, and his whole face is crumpled like paper in a storm. He’s got one sock half off and a fresh scab on his shin, and still, somehow, he looks like he belongs in a painting. The messy kind. Watercolor, probably. Something soft and bleeding at the edges, impossible to frame.

He’s eight and you’re eight and a half, which means you get to say things like “it’s okay, babies cry,” even though you don’t really mean it. He wipes his face on his sleeve and looks up at you with blotchy cheeks and kaleidoscope eyes, like someone spilled a little too much green into blue, and says, “I’m not a baby.” You believe him.

You sit next to him on the curb, knees knocking together, watching his kart like it’s some sacred thing. The sky is gray, threatening rain, and he’s all flushed skin and scraped palms and frustration. 

“They’re just jealous,” you mutter. He doesn’t look at you. “Of what? That I cry like a baby?” “No,” you say. “That your eyelashes are stupid long and you drive like the kart owes you money.”

That gets a huff out of him. Half-sob, half-laugh.

You offer him your juice box. He doesn’t smile, but he bares his teeth when he takes it, all crooked and endearing and real. That’s the thing about Lando. He’s always been real.

He holds out a sticky, dirt-streaked hand.

“I’m Lando.” “I know,” you say. “Everyone knows.”

You shake his hand anyway.

A month later, you beg your parents to sign you up for the junior karting class — not because you like cars (you don’t, really), but because you like him. Or maybe just the way he lights up when he talks about apexes and engine sounds like they’re things that breathe.

You come home smelling like oil. Your knuckles blister from gripping the wheel too hard. You cry once when you spin out and hit the barriers; but he’s there, pulling your helmet off like you’re made of glass, telling you, “You looked cool, though. Like, action movie cool.”

He makes you want to win. So you start trying.

When you’re eleven, he wins a race with his hair slicked back by sweat and wind, curls flattened into chaos. He leaps from the kart like he’s weightless, helmet swinging from one hand like a trophy of its own, and the grin he throws at you — all teeth, no restraint — nearly knocks you over.

“Did you see that?” he shouts, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Did you see?”

You did. Every lap. Every line. You saw the way his hands tightened before the last corner, the way his shoulders settled like he’d already decided to win.

You hand him his water bottle.

“You were okay.”

He gasps. “Just okay?”

“You’ll be cooler when you stop smiling like you’re showing your teeth to the dentist.”

He grins wider. Shoves you lightly with the back of his hand.

“Admit it. I looked sick.”

He did. He always does. Even like this, eyes stormy and pale all at once, flushed with the kind of joy that doesn’t need to be explained. He’s not handsome yet, not in the way the magazines will call him later. But there’s something about the way he holds a moment. The way you can’t look away when he’s in it.

Later that summer, you win.

It’s not a big race. Junior category, barely a crowd —but he’s there. Leans so far over the barrier during your final lap the marshal tells him to get down before he falls in.

You don’t hear the cheering. You don’t even feel the medal when they hang it around your neck. All you feel is Lando barreling toward you at the speed of light, helmet in one hand, arms wide, like you’re the one who gave him wings.

“You were flying,” he breathes, practically vibrating. “You were magic.”

You pretend to scoff. “Guess I’m not just here to hand you water bottles.”

He pulls you into a hug anyway. No hesitation. Just heat and sweat and the faint scent of petrol and whatever soap he uses. His heart’s pounding against your shoulder like he’s the one who just won.

Later, when you look at the photos, you don’t care about the trophy in your hands. You care about the boy behind you — curls wild, smiling so hard it looks like it hurts.

At fifteen, you start noticing the way other girls notice him.

It starts in Italy, or maybe Spain. Somewhere with sunburnt afternoons and the scent of burnt rubber curling off the asphalt like smoke. The girls linger after his heats now. They lean too close and laugh too loudly. Twisting their hair, asking if he’s going to the after-party, the lake, the whatever.

You stand beside him in the hoodie he gave you two summers ago: faded navy, sleeves chewed at the cuffs. It smells like sunscreen and old fabric and something unnameable that has always just been him. You pick at the hem while they talk, eyes on his profile.

The same boy you’ve known since he was sobbing on a curb with gravel in his socks has started to shimmer, like something just out of reach. Something made of light and speed.

His hair’s longer now, curling wild at the edges of his helmet. His smile’s the same, though. All teeth, all instinct. It still takes up half his face like he hasn’t learned how to hide anything yet.

But he doesn’t smile at them. He never does.

He looks at you. “You’re quiet,” he says, tugging at the drawstring of your hoodie. You shrug. “I’m always quiet.” “Not with me.”

He says it like a secret. Like he likes that about you — that there’s a version of yourself reserved just for him. You don’t say anything back, because you're not sure your voice would work even if you tried.

That night, you find yourselves walking the hotel parking lot, drinking vending machine soda that tastes faintly like metal and sugar. The sky's a navy bruise, and everything hums: the street lamps, the asphalt, your pulse.

“You’re kind of becoming a big deal,” you say, finally.

He laughs, low and a little shy, like you’ve caught him off-guard. “Don’t say that,” he says. “I’ll get cocky.”

“You already are.” You bump his arm with yours. It’s too dark to see his face clearly, but you know he’s smiling wide, teeth and all, like he’s baring it just for you.

And maybe he is.

Because even now, even with sponsors circling and flights booked across Europe, even with interviews and mechanics and the way his name sounds over loudspeakers, he still comes to your races.

He’ll show up between practice sessions with a baseball cap pulled low and sunglasses that don’t do much to hide him. You’ll spot him first, sitting on the pit wall like he’s always belonged there, one leg swinging like a kid with too much energy.

“Why do you still come?” you ask him once, after you’d placed second and felt like it wasn’t enough.

He shrugged. “Because I like watching you win.”

You think about that now, under the flicker of a buzzing lamp, watching the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks when he looks at you. His eyes are still that strange in-between — not quite blue, not quite grey, always shifting like skies about to storm.

Like watercolor left out in the rain.

You look away first.

You always do.

At sixteen, you run until your lungs burn. You don’t stop until your fists hit his front door, nails bitten down to nothing and eyes already stinging. He opens it in a hoodie three sizes too big, and the second he sees your face, he doesn’t ask.

He just pulls you in.

You’re crying too hard to speak at first, shoulders shaking, throat raw. He closes the door behind you and guides you to the stairs like it’s muscle memory, like this has happened before, and maybe it has, in smaller ways. Skinned knees. Lost heats. Bad days.

But this is different.

“They’re making me quit,” you finally get out. “They said— they said I have to focus on school. On real life.”

You say it like a curse. Like “real life” is something you never asked for.

Lando’s quiet for a moment. His hand curls around your wrist, thumb brushing a soothing rhythm over your pulse. His eyes — moss green in the dark — watch you without blinking. Always watching. Always knowing.

“Come on,” he says.

You frown. “Where?”

“Just— trust me.”

He doesn’t wait for you to agree. He just grabs his keys and your hand and pulls you out into the night. The wind has teeth. The sky hangs low, indigo and velvet. When you realize where you’re going, your heart breaks all over again.

The track sits behind the hill, silent and sleeping.

Lando hops the gate first, then turns and offers you his hand. You take it, fingers cold in his. He pulls you over like it’s nothing.

The lights are off, but the moon’s enough. It glints off the asphalt, pale and silver, the same way the sun used to gleam on your helmet when you’d throw it off at the end of a race, breathless and laughing. Back when your name had a number next to it and your dreams had engines.

Lando walks the edge of the track, then steps aside, gestures toward the start line like he’s offering you a crown.

“One more,” he says. “For old time’s sake.”

You laugh, watery and shaking. “There’s no kart, idiot.”

He shrugs. “Run it.”

So you do.

You take off, sneakers slapping the track, heart thudding like it’s trying to break through your ribs. Your hair whips behind you, tangled and wild, and you run like you used to race: reckless, full tilt, like the only thing that’s ever made sense is forward.

The wind hits your face and the tears dry on your cheeks and the world blurs around the edges. You run with everything you are; for every lap you’ll never finish, every podium you won’t stand on, every flame they’re trying to snuff out of you.

When you make it back to him, gasping and breathless, Lando is watching like he always does, with something quiet and fierce behind his eyes. Like he sees not just you, but the version of you the world won’t let exist anymore.

You collapse next to him, panting. He says nothing for a long time. Just sits beside you on the track, knees pulled to his chest, hoodie sleeves swallowed over his hands.

“You’ll come back to it,” he says eventually, soft like the curve of a turn. “I know you will.”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He glances over, and for a moment, he looks like a boy again: the same boy with curls damp from rain, whose smile could split the sky. A boy who’s watched you win, lose, burn, rebuild. A boy who’s carried your dreams in the quiet way he carries everything.

“Besides,” he says, nudging your knee, “I’m still gonna win stuff. Someone’s gotta keep me humble.”

You laugh, finally — a real one. It cracks through the ache like sunlight through smoke.

“Always with the fast mouth,” you murmur. “And an ego the size of an engine.”

He grins. All teeth. Unashamed. Something ancient flutters in your chest, something that’s always been there but has never had the nerve to speak.

You don’t say you are the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen, but you think it. You don’t say I’ve loved you since I was eight and a half, but maybe he knows.

Maybe he always has.

By eighteen, Lando’s face is in magazines. He’s a headline now, a profile shot under stadium lights, a name that doesn’t need explaining anymore. He smiles with his whole face — wide and unguarded — and sometimes you see a photo that feels so much like him you have to close the tab and sit with your hands in your lap, breathing slowly.

You still see the boy who once spilled chocolate milk all down his overalls at Silverstone and sobbed so hard he hiccupped for twenty minutes. The one who used to braid daisy chains into the laces of your boots between heats. But now there are articles that say things like rising star and British darling, and he fits in their glossy pages better than he should.

He FaceTimes you after qualifying P1 for the first time. It’s late, past midnight, and you’re still in the library, alone but for the hum of the vending machine and the ache behind your eyes. You almost don’t pick up.

But then you see his name flash on the screen — 🚦LAN-DON’T CRASH🚦 — and your stomach flips like it used to before lights out.

He’s still in his race suit, curls a mess of damp ringlets, cheeks flushed like he’s been running. There’s something in his eyes, too: watercolor green, vivid and blurred around the edges, like adrenaline and disbelief have soaked into his skin.

His smile breaks the second you answer. Wide and wild and so familiar it stings.

“Did you watch?” he says, already breathless.

“Obviously,” you say, tipping your phone back so he can see the chemistry notes scattered across the desk. “Had it up on mute during organic synthesis. You’re lucky I didn’t scream when you took the final sector.”

“You think I was okay?”

“You were sick.”

He pumps a fist and flops back onto some impossibly white hotel bed, still grinning like a kid who’s snuck past curfew. The camera wobbles, then steadies on his face again: flushed and freckled, sweat still clinging to his jaw. He looks happy.

You used to know that feeling. That kind of high. The kind that only came with rubber and gasoline and the blur of corners taken clean.

Your helmet lives in the back of your closet now, tucked behind winter coats and forgotten notebooks. You’ve traded it for lab goggles and timed exams, for ink-stained hands and the quiet sort of excellence no one applauds. Your medals sit in a shoebox beneath your bed, and you haven’t opened it in over a year. You tell people you’re pre-med now. That it’s what you’ve always wanted.

Two years have dulled the ache. Sandpapered it down from a blade to something you can live with. Sometimes you still dream of the track, of the smell of rubber and the scream of engines, but you wake up and make coffee and keep studying until the want quiets again.

Lando watches you for a second. He sees things other people don’t — always has.

“You good?” he asks, voice soft now, like it used to be when he’d sneak out to meet you by the tire stacks after dark.

You nod, a little too fast. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He raises an eyebrow, not buying it. “What are you working on?”

You sigh and flip your notebook toward the screen. “Chemical compounds. I’ve got a practical on Monday. Enantiomers, ketones, the whole gang.”

He makes a face. “Nerd.”

“National treasure,” you correct, dryly. “And future doctor, maybe.”

He lights up at that. “Sick. You can be my medic when I crash.”

You roll your eyes. “So I’ll see you, what, every weekend?”

“Exactly,” he says, smug. “We’re soulmates, remember?”

You want to say, you with the stupid grin, you with the disaster curls, you with the heartbeat I could always find in the noise.But instead, you shake your head and say, “God help your insurance.”

He laughs, throws his head back, bares every tooth like he always does. There’s a soft curve in the center of his front two that never straightened out, even after braces. You used to tell him he looked like a Labrador when he smiled like that. You still think it now, but it feels like something tender and sacred, like a memory you keep pressed between pages.

“I miss you,” he says, quieter now.

You don���t say I miss the version of me that only exists around you.You just whisper, “Yeah. I know.”

The call ends eventually. It always does. But you sit there for a while after, your notebook untouched, watching the ghost of his smile in your screen’s reflection.

You’re twenty-one and a half when Lando sneaks into your college graduation. You don’t see him at first. You’re too busy sweating in your robe, clutching your diploma like it might disappear, wondering if your cap looks stupid in photos. Your parents wave from the stands, your friends cheer, and you try to hold still long enough to soak it in — but it never lands quite right. Everything feels too big, too loud, too fast.

Until he finds you.

Until he hugs you from behind and says, low in your ear, “Told you you’d look cool in a cape.”

You twist around, and there he is, in a hoodie pulled low over those unmistakable curls, sunglasses at night like the world’s worst disguise. His smile is crooked, tired. Familiar.

“What the fuck,” you whisper. “Aren’t you supposed to be—”

He grins wider. “I skipped media day.”

Your jaw drops.

“Shhh,” he adds, holding a finger to your lips. “I’ll get yelled at later. Worth it.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or hit him. So you do both —thump his arm, then drag him into a hug, still warm from the sun and whatever it means to grow up.

He stays through the party, tucked into the background, stealing finger food and smiling like he’s always belonged. He doesn’t pull attention the way he does on track. Here, he just… exists beside you. Quietly. Constantly. Every time you turn around, he’s already looking.

Later, long after the music dies and your parents have gone to bed, the two of you end up on the grass in your front yard, barefoot, robes ditched, diplomas crumpled somewhere behind you. The stars are blurry, a little from distance, a little from everything else.

He lies flat on his back, arms spread like a kid making snow angels, and says, “I’ve got a flight in two hours.”

You hum. “FP1?”

He nods.

You both fall quiet. The silence between you has never been uncomfortable. It stretches like elastic, worn in with years of knowing — from tire stacks and afterschool karting, from night tracks and vending machines, from every version of growing up that had the other curled into its corner.

“I’m scared,” you admit, finally. “For med school.”

Lando turns his head to look at you. You’re lying close, your hair fanned out against the grass, fingers plucking gently at the blades. You don’t meet his eyes, but you feel them on you. The color of seafoam, soft in the dark. The kind that still knocks the breath out of you when you're not bracing for it.

“You’ll be great.”

You scoff. “You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Why?”

There’s a rustle of denim and hoodie fabric, and then he’s sitting up, pulling something from his pocket. A worn-out square of photo paper, crumpled and soft at the edges. He presses it into your hand.

You blink. It’s a picture of the two of you, age nine, arms thrown around each other in the pit lane. His curls are messy and stuck to his forehead, flushed cheeks stretched in a grin so big you can count every tooth. You’re buried in his side, beaming up at him like he hung the sky. Lando’s holding a trophy, but even then, he’s not looking at it. He’s looking at you.

“You gave me your gummy worms right after that,” he says. “Said I earned it.”

You run your thumb over the crease down the middle. The image is faded now, but you remember the moment like it’s stitched into you.

He says it like it’s obvious. Like gravity. “Because we’re soulmates. And I feel it in my bones.”

You don’t answer right away. You can’t.

The stars above you scatter like sugar across navy velvet. Your eyes sting.

“You know,” you say after a while, voice low, “If you crash, I’ll be the one stitching you back together.”

He grins. Not his media-trained one — not the sharp, rehearsed smile he wears under paddock lights — but the real one. The one that splits across his face without warning. That bares all his teeth like he’s never learned to hold anything back. That’s lived on every page of your memory since you were old enough to chase him across a track.

“That’s hot,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “You’re a nightmare.”

“But I’m your nightmare.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it?

It’s always been him. Him with eyes that shift with the light, that catch everything, that still find you first.

You with your goggles and your notebooks. Him with his fireproof gloves and nowhere to land.

You, who traded circuits for classrooms.

Him, who never stopped circling back to you.

He looks at you like he always has, like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense. You think maybe you believe him.

That you’ll be okay.

Because he said so. Because he always shows up. Because he’s flying across the world in an hour, but somehow, you’ve never felt more grounded.

At twenty-three, he invites you to Monaco.

You’re dead on your feet when he calls. It’s nearly midnight and you’re cramming for your pathology exam, cross-eyed from the fluorescent lighting in your apartment. You don’t even remember what you said exactly; something like “med school is killing me and I swear to God I haven’t seen the sun in four days.” Laughed it off with the tired grin he knows too well.

You forgot it by morning.

He didn’t.

Now, a week later, you’re barefoot on his balcony, letting the gold-tinged air sink into your skin as the sun sets over the Riviera. The track lies sprawled beneath you like a secret. The sea beyond it glints like something ancient, something wild.

Your breath hitches without meaning to.

“I used to dream about racing this track,” you say, barely above a whisper. “When I was fifteen, I’d watch the onboard cams on my laptop and try to memorize every corner. I knew the lines like poetry.”

Beside you, Lando is quiet. But when you glance over, there’s a glint in his eye, the one that always spelled trouble. Or magic. Or both. His curls are pushed back haphazardly, like he ran a hand through them too many times on the flight, but there’s still that boyishness, untamed and familiar.

“What?” you ask warily.

He doesn’t answer. Just grabs your wrist. “C’mon.” “Lando—” “No time. Let’s go.”

You barely have time to yank on your sneakers before he’s dragging you out the door, past the sleepy concierge and down the quiet streets like he’s done it a thousand times. He takes sharp turns with muscle memory, his fingers tight around yours.

Only when the city’s noise has thinned and the streetlights spill onto the famous asphalt do you realize where you are.

“Lando,” you whisper. “We can’t—” “We’re not driving,” he grins. “Just running it. Like when we were kids, remember?" “FIA—” “Would fine me until my hair turns gray.” He pauses. “Still worth it.”

Your heart kicks against your ribs, but your legs are already moving.

You run.

Past Sainte Devote, hair flying behind you. Past the casino, your laughter ricocheting off elegant facades. You’re breathless by the tunnel, aching by the chicane, but he’s still pulling you like he did when you were kids and he insisted you could make it to the top of that hill if you just didn’t stop.

The air smells like salt and speed.

By the time you reach the harbor, your lungs are burning and your face is flushed and he’s glowing, cheeks pink, smile wide, teeth bared like he’s daring the night to find a brighter joy than this. He looks every bit like the boy you fell in love with fifteen years ago.

The one with grass stains on his overalls. The one whose curls never obeyed a comb. The one who grinned like mischief itself. The one whose eyes — not blue, not quite green — shimmered like someone had taken watercolors and washed them into something soft and stupidly beautiful.

You stop, breathless. He does too.

And for a second, it feels like everything’s still. Like the world just pressed pause.

Later, you sit at the edge of the marina, legs swinging over the water. Your shoes are abandoned on the dock. The air is heavy with the scent of engine oil and sea spray. The waves slap gently against the boats, like applause winding down after a show.

Beside you, Lando says nothing. But you feel him watching. And when you turn, he’s looking at you like he’s never seen you before.

But of course he has. He’s seen you in worse light: that post-rain haze in your old garage, your hair frizzed to hell and braces catching on your lower lip, oil on your jeans and mud on your ankles. He’s seen you bleary-eyed on FaceTime at 3AM. He’s seen you panicking over exams, crying in the paddock, snorting over bad pizza and better jokes.

Still, he looks at you now like he forgot the color of your laugh until this exact moment brought it back. His hair hangs loose over his forehead, still damp from the run, and the way his mouth twitches — almost a grin, almost not — makes your stomach turn over.

He bumps your knee with his.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod. “Better than okay.” “You looked happy back there.” “I was happy back there.” “Good.” He’s quiet for a beat. Then: “I miss that.”

You glance at him, surprised.

“Miss what?”

“You. Like that.” He exhales, eyes trained on the moon's reflection on the water. “Laughing. Running. Being ridiculous with me.”

You don’t say anything.

He does.

“I miss you all the time,” he says, voice low. “Even when I’m with you.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re always somewhere else now. In your books. In your head. In hospitals I can’t pronounce.”

Your heart tugs at the edges. He doesn’t sound bitter. Just tired. Honest.

“I get it,” he adds. “It’s important. It matters. But sometimes I think about that summer when we were fifteen, and you stole my hoodie, and we made fake pit passes just to sneak into the garage.”

You laugh, quiet. “We were so stupid.”

“We were so happy.”

The silence after that isn’t awkward. It’s full. Like the city’s holding its breath.

You look over at him. Really look.

His lashes are darker now. His jaw’s sharper. A lock of hair curls against his temple, untamed. But he’s still him. Still the boy in the mud, the boy who taught you how to drift on your cousin’s farm, who shared his Capri-Sun at the track because you forgot yours, again. Still the one who taped your wrist when you wiped out in the rain and told you you’d make it to Monaco someday.

And here you are.

“Lando,” you murmur. “Yeah?” “I missed you too.”

He doesn’t wait this time.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting years to remember how.

And maybe he has. Maybe you both have.

The world blurs for a moment: the moon climbing higher, the boats bobbing gently below, the buzz of the city dissolving behind you, and all that’s left is him.

All sun-warmed skin and trembling fingers and eyes the color of every good memory — soft-washed, warm, like light bleeding through a window at golden hour.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath mingling with yours.

“I didn’t think you’d let me do that,” he whispers.

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

You both laugh. Just a little. Just enough.

You’re twenty-five when you catch him watching you from across a hotel room in Japan. There’s a storm outside, low thunder rolling through the glass, and Lando’s shirt is damp from the run to the lobby. His curls are still wet, clinging to his forehead in loose, chaotic swirls. He should be tired — hell, you’re tired — but he’s watching you like you’re something new.

It’s not the first time he’s looked at you like this. Not by a long shot.

He’s never been subtle about it, not when he warms your hands in his pockets on cold walks back from the paddock, not when he lights up the second your name shows up on his phone. He’s the kind of boy who leaves his heart in plain sight, who grins with his whole body, who never learned how to want quietly.

You feel his gaze before you meet it. The kind that makes your chest go a little soft, like the edges of a photograph curling with time.

“You’re staring,” you say, without looking up from your textbook.

“I’m allowed to,” he replies. “I’m in love with you.”

You blink. Not because you didn’t know — he’s never been subtle — but because of how easily he says it. No drama. No orchestra. Just him. Lando, who once stuck gum in your hair during a twelve-hour drive to Wales. Lando, who whispered you’ve got me into your hair the night your grandmother died. Lando, who still trips over his own shoes in hotel corridors and grins like a child when room service arrives.

You toss a pillow at him. “Say it prettier.”

He catches it one-handed, kaleidoscope eyes glinting in the dim light. Smirks. “You make me want to write poetry, but all I know how to do is drive.”

That shuts you up.

His eyes crinkle at the corners, a blue-green haze in the lightning glow, and he grins wider, like he knows he’s just won something. Like he’d lose a thousand races and still call this the prize.

“Told you,” he murmurs.

There are races, years, chapters.

Seasons where you barely see each other, where you wake up to hotel ceilings and unfamiliar time zones and forget what city you’re in until he kisses your shoulder and mumbles something in a sleep-heavy voice like, It’s Thursday. We’re in Austin. His curls are flattened from sleep, his voice rough at the edges, and his arms still warm from whatever dream he was having.

Sometimes he wins. Sometimes he doesn’t. You never love him any more or less.

He still gets grumpy when he’s hungry, still laughs at memes from 2014, still buys you the weird flavored gum at petrol stations because you used to love this stuff, remember? Still leans into your space like gravity’s something personal. Still has a grin that cracks through your worst moods like sunlight.

There are cameras. Headlines. Speculations. But you’ve always known who he was.

You know the versions of him that never make it to the press: the quiet frustration of a red flag, the way he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek when he’s nervous, the silence he sinks into after a loss. The way his curls flop over his forehead when he finally takes off his helmet. The way he says your name when he’s scared. The way he finds you in every crowd like it’s instinct. How his eyes — storm-colored, sometimes soft, sometimes sharp — flick to you the second anything starts to feel too loud.

And you’ve always let him. You always will.

He’s thirty-one when you find an old photo in a drawer: the two of you, muddy and grinning, barely ten years old. His curls are a mess, more fluff than form. You’re wearing his jacket, sleeves bunched up to your elbows. Neither of you have front teeth. You’re both sun-drenched and ridiculous.

“God,” you mutter, holding it up to the light. “We were a disaster.”

From the kitchen, he says, “Still are.”

You hear the clink of a spoon against ceramic. The rustle of his socks on the tile.

“You still love me?” you call, teasing, but not really.

He appears in the doorway, hoodie half-on, spoon in his mouth. He’s older now — jaw more carved, eyes a little softer around the edges — but the grin he gives you is the same one from every memory that matters. That lopsided, toothy thing like he’s always one second from bursting into laughter. A single curl falls against his temple, and for a moment, it’s hard to tell what year it is.

He swallows and says, “I’ll love you even when we’re bones.”

You believe him.

You always have.

[jenoslutie]

that's that me, espresso l y.jh

❥ Synopsis: Jeonghan fucks you hard, Jeonghan fucks you good. You both know that much, so why do you refuse to give him the time of day outside of bed?

❥ Genre: Smut, Desperate Jeonghan, Reader is closed off, one sided pining (until it's mutual), Fuckgirl!reader, Formula One drivers!Seventeen, Reader is a life guard (so is Joshua!) theres also like angst if u really squint.

❥ Warnings: *takes a deep breath* unprotected sex, degradation, praise, choking, implied face slapping, multiple sex scenes (like 3), creampies (ew i hate that word!!!), exhibitionism, jeonghan is a little mean during sex but its okay, jeonghan fucks her while seungcheol listens in but she does not know, fingering, oral, face fucking, car sex, jeonghan cums in her and makes her keep it inside while they play beach volleyball, reader likes to send videos of her sleeping with other people (cheol and josh) to jeonghan to mess with him. i think thats it.

❥ Word count: 8.6k

a/n: so im finally done this LMAOO. huge. huge. HUGE!!!! thank u to everyone who helped me with this fic @hanniesluvr my lovely aera my fellow jeonghan freak my WIFE!!! for keeping me motivated through this and matching my freak, @haologram for the banner and basically ghost writing this (if u like the whole f1 driver thing, thank alta :D) and @dearlyjun for using her big huge sexy brain and f1 knowledge and helping a girl out ANDD!!!! @jihyokat for beta reading i love u all MWAH <3 ANYWAYS!!! here she is <3 hope u enjoy :D

“You’re already leaving?” Jeonghan called out from behind you, watching as you redressed yourself. Jeonghan knew you never stayed. Well, you never stayed with him at least. 

You let out a laugh, ”You know I'm not staying” Jeonghan let out a groan at that, annoyed that he’s seen you stay the night with other hookups but not him. Why not Jeonghan? He was hot, he fucked good, he fucked hard (the way you like it), he fit all of the requirements that made him a good fuck buddy. So why did you refuse to spend the night with him every time you hooked up?

The answer was simple, you didn’t want to stick around when you know they’re gonna catch feelings. You know Jeonghan is going to get attached too easily if you keep staying. But there’s something about him that’s just too good to let go.

The first time you and Jeonghan had sex, it wasn’t like anything you’ve ever experienced before. Jeonghan was different. He single-handedly fulfilled all of your depraved fantasies on your first night together. You never thought that someone like Jeonghan would be so…nasty in bed but the second you followed him back to his car you were in for a surprise to say the least. 

For someone who looked like an angel, he sure didn’t act like one in bed. 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

You were invited to the party Jeonghan threw to celebrate his win in Las Vegas. Your best friend and second place winner tonight, Mingyu, drove you to the venue with him. You could hear the music booming before you even got to the entrance of the nightclub. It was huge and the only other person you knew at this party was Seungkwan, Mingyu’s teammate. 

The moment you were let into the club your eyes landed on Boo Seungkwan, the other man you were expecting to see tonight. His eyes locked with yours and immediately they lit up. He was conversing with Yoon Jeonghan, the man of the night and no matter how many times you’ve seen the man on TV, it’s nothing compared to the real deal. Jeonghan was nothing short of ethereal. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he was an angel on earth, not one of the top racers on the whole grid. 

“Y/n!” Seungkwan shouted over the crowd, your smiles mirroring each other as Mingyu led you through the ocean of bodies. “You look fucking stunning tonight dude” He left the group he was talking with to pull you away from Mingyu. You were aware of how good you looked tonight. You chose not to drive to the party tonight in plans of going home with someone at the party and you knew that you had to dress to impress. With your little black dress and matching stiletto pumps, you were sure you’d get someone to either A) buy you a drink or B) take you back to theirs. 

…Hopefully both? 

“Thanks Kwannie! I thought maybe I’d dress to impress tonight” Seungkwan snickered at that, “Why? got any plans tonight?” He wiggled his eyebrows, looking over your shoulder at Mingyu, implying you’d be going back to his place after this. Typical Seungkwan, he was always so determined to someday expose that you and Mingyu were secretly hooking up on the down low but that day won’t be soon. 

“Fuck no! You know damn well i would never fuck Mingyu of all people” Lies. You and Mingyu did hook up once and never again. Not that it was bad but because on your way out that day you met the one and only Choi Seungcheol, Yoon Jeonghan’s teammate at Ferrari. You and Seungcheol have been hooking up on the down low since. You wrapped up the conversation with Seungkwan and made your way around the club, searching for Mingyu. 

“Hey!” A tap on your shoulder caught your attention, You turned around and there was the man of the night, Yoon Jeonghan, you watched him give you a once over before meeting your eyes. “Hi! Jeonghan, right?” You were quick to introduce yourself, maintaining eye contact as best as you could. It wasn’t easy when his big brown eyes were looking deep into your own and to make it worse, his pretty face was glowing, the aftermath of a huge victory on the track today. 

“Are you looking for your boyfriend?” Jeonghan frowned, eyes searching around looking for whoever he supposed was your boyfriend. 

“Boyfriend?” You snickered, “Who’s my boyfriend dare I ask” 

“Mingyu, no?” 

You burst into laughter, hand resting on his shoulder for reassurance. “Mingyu is not my boyfriend, we’re just friends. And yes, I was looking for him” 

Jeonghan sighed in relief. “Thank God, Mind if I buy you a drink?” 

BINGO! 

Jeonghan led the way to the bar where he bought you your drink of choice, a Vodka Tonic. You were sitting on a bar stool with your back to the bar while Jeonghan stood in front of you, looking down at you and taking in your figure.  “You look amazing tonight by the way” He smiled at you as he watched you take a sip of your drink, smiling creeping onto your face at both the taste of your drink and the compliment. 

“Thank you, I put it on in hopes to go home with someone tonight” You gazed up at him expectantly.  

“Oh? Is that so?” Jeonghan smirked, stepping forward to situate himself between your legs, leaning his head down enough to where his lips were hovering over yours. 

“Wanna take me home?” You smiled with faux innocence, downing your drink before Jeonghan pulled you up and off your seat and out of the club. 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

The drive back to his hotel was exhilarating, Jeonghan feeling up your bare thighs while he drove while you leaned over the center console and pressed kisses all over his neck earning you halfhearted warnings. He knows you shouldn't be distracting him like that but he also knows he does not want you to stop, your lips on his neck almost making him lose focus of the road. 

Before you knew it, the two of you were back at his hotel room with his lips against yours in a desperate kiss while you were pressed up against the wall. Jeonghan’s hands wandered all over your body, feeling up every inch of your body that he could get his hands on. 

“Get me naked Jeonghan,” You let out a sound that was something even more desperate than a whine, but Jeonghan ignored your plea, continuing to attack your lips with his own, enjoying your pretty sounds as you got even more desperate for him to do something. 

“On your knees” Jeonghan ordered. A sudden shift in the atmosphere made you freeze. Jeonghan’s voice dropped an octave as he looked at you with lust filled eyes. “I’m not going to repeat myself” You instantly dropped to your knees and looked up at him, locking eyes with his own. 

“I’m going to use your throat like a fucking fleshlight. Okay?” Your body buzzed with excitement as you heard that, sure you’ve sucked cock before but never has anyone ever done anything like that. “Squeeze my thigh if you want me to stop” You only nodded enthusiastically and within an instant, he was ridding himself of his pants along with his boxers before he was pressing his hard cock against your open mouth. You eagerly sucked the tip of Jeonghan’s cock into your mouth, and began to tease the slit on the tip of his cock with your tongue. As you sucked his cock into your mouth, you could feel the wetness seeping out of your pussy. You did your best to ignore the urge to just have his cock in you. 

Jeonghan roughly pushed you all the way down on his cock making you gag immediately but you were quick to remind yourself to breathe through your nose. Jeonghan was pulling you up on his cock and slamming you back down with no relent. True to his word, he began to use you as if you were nothing but a toy, placing his hands on the sides of your face to get a better grip. His noises filled the room, tumbling out of his mouth in a way that only made you leak more on the floor of the hotel room. His one hand maneuvered to your hair, gripping tight as he began fucking into your mouth with even more force. In no time he was cumming down your throat, pushing your head all the way down his cock until his whole cock hit the back of your throat. 

“Get on the bed,” You obliged wordlessly, submitting to Jeonghan and whatever he wants of you. Making yourself comfortable on the bed, you gazed up at Jeonghan, watching as he stared down at you almost as if to mock the way you submit to him so easily. 

“Jeonghan-” Before you could finish Jeonghan delivered a light slap to your face. Muttering a small but stern ‘shut up’ 

"You speak when spoken to," he grits, glaring at you with dark eyes. He presses down on your cheeks, forcing your mouth open, you wince out in pain. “I’m gonna give you your safeword okay?” He didn’t really give you much room to agree before he assigned you a safeword, something easy for both of you to remember. You repeated it back to him to which Jeonghan smiled at your obedience. 

“Use it if you need to, okay? I won’t be upset if you do” Only after you nodded in understanding did Jeonghan inch closer to you to rid you of the rest of your clothes. He grinned when he caught a glimpse of your soaked pussy. “So wet already? Just from me fucking your face?” The question was rhetorical the way Jeonghan dropped to his knees, wasting no more time to dig his face between your legs. Dragging his lips between your slit, sucking your arousal onto his tongue. 

Tugging his shirt off, he fixes himself back between your legs. Letting out groans against your core, prompting you to moan out yourself. He presses a last kiss to your clit before pulling away.  He sits on the edge of your bed. “Sit that pretty pussy on my cock, slut.”  And again, you had no will in you to deny anything the man asks of you. Immediately making your way over and straddling his thighs. You take a deep breath before reaching down to guide him in. Feeling your stomach twist as the stretch slowly splits you open. Your eyes shut as you cry out at his thick cock stretching you open. “Why the fuck are you so tight. Holy shit” Jeonghan winces, his own eyes slamming shut at the feeling of your warm walls enveloping him in. 

“You’re too big—“ you whine, your head falling down to rest on his shoulder as you slowly begin to move up and down on his cock. But it didn’t go far before Jeonghan was wrapping his hands around your hips and taking over your movements with faster and harder ones of his own. 

You let out a string of moans at his intense pace making him chuckle. “Fucking slut. you like that dont you?” he gave a hard thrust, bottoming out inside your cunt. “Like getting fucked like this by a guy you just met, hmm?” You moaned out choruses of ‘yes’ as Jeonghan began rutting up into you. Moving a hand down to rub at your clit, your body jerked as you felt your high incoming. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum Jeonghan” Your voice came out in a high pitched whine as you rubbed your clit harder, body shaking as Jeonghan fucked you harder to help guide you to the edge. Your eyes roll back as your high hits you and Jeonghan helps you ride it out, not forgetting to kiss you through it too. The two of you with no care in the world for who can hear you. As the high of your orgasm dissipates, he flips you onto your back. He’s close too, you can tell by the way his cock is throbbing inside you and his thrusts turn erratic. 

“Cum inside Jeonghan.” You all but begged, Jeonghan moaning out before he also toppled over the edge. Cock throbbing erratically inside you as he emptied ropes of cum inside you. The two of you took a minute to calm your racing hearts before Jeonghan pulled out and flopped down on the bed next to you. 

“Holy shit” He huffed, looking over at your smiling face. “Please tell me you’ll give me your number” He was still out of breath and it only made you chuckle, rolling off the bed to pick up your purse from where he he face fucked you moments ago. Fishing out your phone, you unlocked it before handing it to Jeonghan who was nearly knocked out on the bed for him to put his number in and text himself. 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

Since the day you two hooked up at Jeonghan’s party, you’d started seeing each other more often. It’s not like you only seeked Jeonghan for your dick appointments. In reality Jeonghan was the one constantly calling and texting for when he can see you again. You won’t say that you minded it though. Sex with Jeonghan is an out of the world experience. Him making you feel highs you have never felt before with any other partner or yourself. 

As for Jeonghan? Jeonghan felt nothing short of smitten. Getting into his bed with anyone other than you made the most uncomfortable feeling arise within him and it had been practically days since he last saw you so he had to hit you up. 

jeonghan: i miss youuuuuuu  jeonghan: hi  jeonghan: cmon respondddddddd jeonghan: alright.. what position he got you in???  

you: [attachment: 1 video] 

You knew Jeonghan didn't expect you to actually send him a video of what position your last hookup had you in, you watched the video back and you couldn't help but get a little ego boost while watching yourself getting fucked by one of your coworkers, Joshua. He had you on all fours, hand gripping onto your waist as he fucked you.

Another thing you couldnt help is noticing how Joshua was not fucking you half as good as Jeonghan does. There's no bruises on your hips, there's no hair pulling, and the worst of all, there's no degradation. One thing about Jeonghan, for someone with such an angelic face, he has the nastiest mouth. It’s not something you're complaining about though, you would never complain about the way Jeonghan treats you in bed.

It wasn’t like Jeonghan was the only guy you could pull, never that. Jeonghan just happened to be one of the best guys you’ve ever slept with. Which might even be the only reason you keep going back to him. Something about the way he treats you just has you always craving more of him- not that you’d ever admit that to him but it was true. Jeonghan might call you all sorts of names in bed, treat you like some common whore, but right after he’ll always clean you up, attempt to hold you close, give you all the reassurance you need for you to know he doesn’t actually think you’re a common whore (not that it matters). 

jeonghan: what the fuck man… jeonghan: i’m about to have the saddest wank of my life  jeonghan: ^^^woah idk who said that jeonghan: might be the demons idk

you: have fun jeonghan <3

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

you: hey, you wanna come play beach volleyball tmrw @3? 

seungcheol: hmm seungcheol: i dont think i can make it, seokmin wants to hang. 

you: boo you whore. 

[seungcheol disliked “boo you whore.”] 

If there's one thing you hate, it would be your job. Sitting in the sun for hours on end and staring at people who were obviously having a lot more fun than you were. You thought you could invite Seungcheol so you could play beach volleyball but apparently the universe didn’t want you to enjoy your shift. But that’s when it hit you, you could just invite Jeonghan. Surely he wouldn’t let you down. 

you: hey r u free tmrw? 

His reply was almost instant. 

jeonghan: yea, why?

you: wanna play beach volleyball at the beach i work at? 

you: i'm thinking around 3pm

jeonghan: i'm down, which beach is it? 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

You saw Jeonghan’s car pull up to the beach almost thirty minutes before your shift was supposed to start, giving you thirty minutes to spare before the rest of your coworkers piled in to start their shifts. 

“Hey, Beautiful” Jeonghan called out as he got out of his car, leaning back against it as you approached him. “Hi Handsome,” You smiled back as you watched him give you a once over, looking at you in your work uniform, a simple red bikini with the word ‘LIFEGUARD’ printed on it in white. Jeonghan leaned down so that he could whisper in your ear, “Do you think I can make you cum before your shift?” You nodded, not trusting your voice to do the talking, knowing you’d accidentally moan or whimper out loud. 

“Get in the car then” 

You didn't need to be told twice, immediately you hopped in the backseat of Jeonghan’s car and he followed suit. There wasn't much time for foreplay so he leans in, connecting your lips eagerly. As if he’s been craving this for years and is finally being satiated. The limited space doesn’t offer much room to maneuver but Jeonghan shifts in between your legs enough to grind his clothed cock against your barely clothed core. The whole situation arousing you beyond belief, about to fuck Jeonghan in the back of his car, parked someplace where anyone could see what was happening inside. You could feel your arousal seeping out of your pussy and staining the seat of your bikini. Moaning out into the kiss you pushed your hips into his own, urging him to do something. 

“Jeonghan do something” You urge him in a hushed whisper, barely able to get the words out with the way Jeonghan was grinding into you so deliciously. Jeonghan merely hummed in response, halting his movements to slide down his swim shorts and free his aching cock. 

“You realize how much of a slut you are for this hm? Letting me have you like this where anyone can see you, hear you, find out how much of a slut you are for me.” Jeonghan’s gaze was dark, almost mocking you. You let out some sort of groan at his words. A chill running down your spine at the thought of what Jeonghan is gonna do to you. Flashbacks of the first night you spent with him running through your head. Jeonghan was so rough in a way that no one else had ever been with you and you couldn't help but admit that you loved every second of it. Being too absorbed in your thoughts, you couldn’t respond back to jeonghan which earned you a slap across your face. Your cheek stinging at the contact but nonetheless making you clench around nothing. The feeling of your damp swimsuit sticking to your core making you wiggle your hips in discomfort. 

“Pay attention to me slut” Jeonghan seethed, wrapping a hand around your throat and putting just enough pressure to have your eyes fluttering shut. “Beg for it if you want it” Another slap to your face, this time it was harder than before. Your eyes tearing up a little before you squeaked out a little ‘please’  Another slap. 

“You can do better” 

“Please fuck me Jeonghan” You pleaded, a tear running down your cheek at the hit. 

“Try again” His voice was softer this time, rubbing his free hand over the spot he just slapped. 

“Jeonghan please” you whined. “ Want everyone to hear how good you fuck me please” You begged harder this time, hoping this would be enough for Jeonghan and boy were you right. He pushes the seat of your bikini to the side before repositioning himself and pushing his length into you, moaning in delight as your walls stretch to accommodate his size. You cry out in pleasure, the feeling of finally having Jeonghan in you making more tears roll down your cheeks. He doesn’t take it easy though, keeping a steady, rough rhythm from the start. Pounding you into his backseat while watching you lose yourself in the feeling of him ramming into you. “You love it huh? Tell me how much you love it” You didn’t have it in you to deny it, fully aware of the way you literally begged him for it moments ago. 

“I fucking love it Jeonghan”  You gasp, his hand reaching down to rub at your clit in harsh circles. 

“Does anyone fuck you like i do?” He grunts, rocking his hips into yours harder, as if it was even possible with the way he was fucking you so hard you were positive anyone passing by could see the car visibly shaking. 

You shook your head immediately, “No one fucks me like you do” You confirm. Jeonghan hummed, your answer satisfying him enough that he tightened his hand around your neck once again and rubbing your clit with the other hand. The head of his cock fucks into your most sensitive spot and you feel all the thoughts in your head slowly disintegrate. Head full of only Jeonghan. You urgently reached out to grab onto something to steady something, quickly opting for his hand that was wrapped around your neck. You gripped his forearm with both hands, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your vision goes unfocused as your orgasm hits, letting out weak moans and gasps as the feeling consumes you entirely. Feeling it course through your whole body all the way down to your toes. Your walls constrict around Jeonghan the whole time, urging his own orgasm to hit him fast. 

“Gonna cum” Jeonghan warns. His thrusts turn erratic as he lets out a string of guttural groans. 

“Inside” You plead, “Need you to fill me up again please Jeonghan” Jeonghan moans loudly at that, your begging pushing him all the way over the edge. His eyes shut tightly and he groans out loudly. His body tensing up as he fills you up entirely. 

“Gonna be a good girl and keep that inside you yeah? All your little friends oblivious of the way you just begged me to slut you out” Heat rushed to your cheeks at the way Jeonghan was humiliating you but you agreed either way. Jeonghan’s eyes lit up when you nodded your head with a small smile. He took time to calm down before he slipped out of you wordlessly, ignoring the way you whine at the feeling of emptiness and fixing your bikini bottoms to cover you up again. 

After fixing himself up he spoke up again, “Can I kiss you?” Jeonghan asked, rather shyly, his demeanor a stark contrast to the Jeonghan that was pouding you into his backseat moments ago. You chuckled at his sheepishness. “Yes Jeonghan you can kiss me” Your voice was small but he didn’t hesitate to press his lips onto yours once again, this time the kiss was much softer than before. His hands cupping your cheeks as he used his thumbs to wipe your tears. 

You pulled away first. “Let’s get going? I think I’m already late” 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

“Why the fuck is he here?” Jeonghan muttered from beside you, watching as his teammate, Seungcheol approached your group. Ever the show off, Seungcheol was wearing only a pair of black swim shorts, showing off his toned body for everyone at the beach to see. 

You turned to where Jeonghan was looking and lo and behold, there was Choi Seungcheol. You and Seungcheol had….history. Well, not really history but you two have been fucking for a couple months and you were fully aware that he is Jeonghan’s teammate and its not like you were picking out the Ferrari drivers in specific to sleep with. The two of them were the ones who came onto you first. 

“Seungcheol?” You gasped, not expecting him to show up after rudely (not really) canceling on you. You felt Jeonghan’s arm tentatively wrap around your waist as Seungcheol approached. 

“Hey baby!” Seungcheol grinned, completely ignoring Jeonghan on your side, with his arm obviously wrapped around your waist. You heard Jeonghan mutter a small ‘baby??’ under his breath while continuing to faux nonchalance. 

“Hi Cheol! I thought you were gonna hang with Seokmin today?” 

“Well, I was, but Seokmin had to meet with Chan today” He shrugged, smiling wider showing off his stunning smile that initially captivated you. 

“Oh! Cheol, this is Jeonghan” You were quick to detangle yourself from Jeonghan’s arms, standing awkwardly in between the two men who were finally forced to make eye contact (thanks to you) 

“This is the new guy you fuck? Really? Had to be my teammate?” Seungcheol scoffed, losing the smile once adorning his face. 

“ Uh yeah, Hannie, this is Seungcheol.” 

“The other guy you fuck.” 

“Well, yes.” 

Jeonghan wasn’t too phased at first, especially considering it was Jeonghan’s cum currently inside you and not Seungcheol’s. Jeonghan sighed before speaking out once again, 

“Okay...let’s play ball?” 

“Let’s play.” And the three of you set out to join the rest of the group where they played volleyball. 

Jeonghan teamed with three of your three coworkers, Soonyoung, Yuta and Xiaojun. While Seungcheol teamed with your other coworkers, Vernon, Jaehyun and Joshua (yes, the same Joshua). You self appointed yourself as the referee for the round because you obviously didn’t want Jeonghan’s cum splattering out of you while you played.

That would not be ideal in front of your coworkers. 

As the round started, you noticed that Seungcheol in particular was putting a little too much effort into this, as if he had something to prove. Which you weren’t wrong, he did. He wanted to prove he was way better than Jeonghan at this (among other things.) but Jeonghan was hitting the ball back with little to no effort. 

You watched, amused as the two men on the court played as if no one else was around, as if it was a battle and they had to get past each other to make it to the final round. You think it might 

You were right, Seungcheol did have something to prove. He wanted to prove that he was the better one out of the two of them, as if it wasn’t Jeonghan’s cum currently in you. 

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a LOUD shriek. Only to see that Xiaojun was on the floor, holding his head in his hands while he cried out pathetically. 

“Xiaojun what happened!?” You ran towards the man on the floor.

“Seungcheol spiked the ball and it hit Xiaojun’s head” Soonyoung explained hurriedly, jumping in to do a poor attempt of CPR on him (though he’s a lifeguard. You’re not too sure how he got hired in the first place). 

“Get off me!” Xiaojun screamed when Soonyoung leaned in to give him mouth-to-mouth. 

“I got hit in the head I don’t need CPR idiot”

You did notice though, Seungcheol and Jeonghan were still playing amongst each other, not a clue in the world that they just took Xiaojun out and everyone was crowding around him. Well not anymore, Xiaojun was up and crowded away with Yuta and Soonyoung. You’d assume he was talking mad shit about the man who hit him in the head and didn’t even care to check on him. 

Typical Xiaojun. 

Also typical Seungcheol. 

As the round progressed, Xiaojun and Soonyoung dipped first, going off to get back to their jobs, then Yuta and Jaehyun also went on to do their own things and take care of their shift duties until finally Joshua and Vernon were about to head out too. 

“Dude, what the hell is their problem?” Joshua murmured, rolling his eyes at the two men still actively playing ball without noticing the absence of the others. 

You shrugged, “They’re both teammates and mad that I’m fucking them both. They both have something to prove to the other” You leaned in closer to whisper to Joshua.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

jeonghan: hi y/n :) you: hi jeonghan :) 

jeonghan: i wanna see you :( 

you: aw really? 

you: my jeonghannie wants to see me o.O

jeonghan: yes :(  jeonghan: please? 

You snickered as you hit send on the video. A video of you while you were on your knees for a man whose face was not in the frame. With your lips wrapped around his cock - though unable to fully wrap around him. While you hollow your cheeks, lowering further down. The man grips your hair, holding your head still as you gag around his cock. 

“You’re such a good girl, taking me like a champ, princess.” He praises you. Hips bucking forward letting out raspy groans. 

That’s when he sees it. 

What was it? It was a silver ring with the word ‘Ferrari’ engraved on it adorning the man’s pinky finger, identical to the one on his own. 

The same ring that only two people would have. Him and his fuckass teammate.  

You fucking sent him a video of you sucking off Seungcheol.  

jeonghan: is that who i fucking think it is?? jeonghan: be so fucking fr. 

jeonghan: i'm coming over. 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

“Please give it to me, fuck, Jeonghan,” you stuttered, breaking away from the kiss to whine against his lips. He spent much too long rubbing his tip along your slit and you could not stand it anymore, you needed him in you immediately. 

 “Why don’t you ask Seungcheol hm? I’m sure he’d give you what you want more than I will”  His tone was taunting, he was obviously still bitter about the stunt you pulled earlier.  Not that it bothered you though, it just made the sex even more exhilarating. To know that Jeonghan is actually bothered by the video made you feel sort of giddy. 

You whined when he sunk barely just the tip inside of you before pulling it out again. Your  grip in his hair tightening as you felt the need to have him buried deep in you grow more and more. “Wanna cum on your cock. I wanna feel it inside me so badly. Please. Please give it to me.” You whined more, hoping Jeonghan would give in and he did, pushing into you ever so slowly but he made up for it by pressing his lips onto yours again. 

“You know I’m not going easy on you tonight, right?” Your lover of the night bottomed out in you, smiling at the way he could see you going dumb on his cock and he hasn't even done anything yet. 

“God, I’d hope not”

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

You haven't seen Jeonghan or Seungcheol in two weeks. 

Seungcheol has been AWOL but Jeonghan has been texting you nonstop. It was nothing sexual like the first few times he texted you. It was wholesome? Texts full of Jeonghan checking up on you, asking about you, wondering if you had eaten etc. 

This time however, Jeonghan texted you something different? 

An article. 

F1 - Ferrari sealed 1-2 in Silverstone ahead of Kim Mingyu. 

you: what the fuck is a 1-2 and why did ur team seal it 

jeonghan: i won p1 and seungcheol won p2 jeonghan: party tomorrow  jeonghan: ill end the deets. i better see you there

you: wtf?? thats AMAZING jeonghan congrats <33333  you: yeah, send the details ill be there :)  you: see you tomorrow!

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

You weren’t used to seeing Jeonghan and Seungcheol in the same setting, not after that hell of a volleyball game. And apparently you won't see them together this time around either because you’ve been at this party for half an hour and have seen every other driver on the grid except the two men you actually wanted to see.  You decided you’d just sit at the bar and sip on yet another vodka tonic. You watched the rest of the partygoers drink away and dance together while you sat here miserably waiting to find any of your two fuck buddies. 

Until you were pulled from your misery by none other than Seungcheol. 

“And why do you look so miserable?” He asked, taking a seat next to you. Your face lit up at his voice, “Cheol!” You grinned for the first time since you got here. 

“I’ve been by myself all night, Jeonghan invited me but i haven't seen him anywhere” You shrugged. Seungcheol watched as you downed the rest of your drink before he led you away from the main party area, pulling you into a dim corner. 

“You know, I’ve been dreaming about your lips on mine since the last time you came over” Your lips curled into a smirk at that, “Yeah? Are you gonna do anything about it?” 

Oh, he was. 

Seungcheol angles his head to perfectly lower his lips onto yours. Like any kiss with Cheol, it has you dazed and yearning for more, your fingers gripping at his shirt to pull him as close to you as possible.

You both part for air momentarily,looking into eachothers eyes with equally dazed stares. your heart racing from the thrill of making out with him where anyone could catch the two of you, not that you mind, but you’re sure Seungcheol’s career might. Though the thought doesn't last long until Seungcheol searches for your lips again, pressing his mouth hard against yours with not a care in the world as to who may see you. 

Except the only person who saw you was none other than Yoon Jeonghan. 

There was no word to describe how upset Jeonghan felt at that moment. You came to a party he invited you to, celebrating mainly him, where he spent an hour looking for you and youre making out with his fuckass TEAMMATE?

There were only two people that could save Jeonghan now. 

Mingyu and Seungkwan.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

After he had to witness you and his teammate down each other’s throats the other day. Jeonghan is on a mission to win you over. There is no way he’ll let Seungcheol of all people get his girl. 

Seungcheol wasn’t even looking to settle, Jeonghan was.

According to your two closest friends, Mingyu and Seungkwan, there were 3 things that Jeonghan could do that would win you over. Which happened to do with the 3 things you loved the most. 

Music, Food, Sports.  

…Well, that was the only input they gave him. He just had to figure the rest of it out himself. 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

First thing: Music.

That was quite…simple? All he had to do was show you his fire music taste! 

So the next time he picked you up he’d just blast his tunes in the car and that’d be sure to have you swooning. 

Jeonghan rang your doorbell at 7:00pm on the dot. He seemed to have this whole evening planned out and you knew nothing except a text the day before asking if you were free at 7 today and it went on from there. He did specify to dress casual so you wore just a pair of shorts and a black tank top. 

“Hey” You smiled wide, opening the door to see an equally casually dressed Jeonghan. 

“Hey, you look cute.” You grinned at the compliment, gesturing inside for Jeonghan to come in but instead he just shook his head. 

“Let’s go, I’ve got plans for us” 

Jeonghan spent a good ten minutes trying to connect his bluetooth to his car, assuring you that you’d love the songs he’s picked out for tonight only to play the most ratchet music you think you’ve ever heard. 

“What the hell is this Jeonghan?” You grimaced, appalled by his choice of music 

“It’s Mozart!” 

“How the fuck does that make it better?” 

Jeonghan only sighed and handed you his phone with his music app opened. 

“Play whatever you want” 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

Second thing: Food

Jeonghan’s attempt to be…romantic? Was not as successful as you think he’d hoped. His plan was to cook together while sipping wine and have a cute little night. 

Cooking with someone was not something you enjoyed. 

Jeonghan was on vegetable duty while you were on sauce duty. Though time with Jeonghan was enjoyable, what you did not enjoy was him repeatedly coming in your way while you maneuvered around the kitchen. 

“Jeonghan, MOVE” Your frustration reached its max when Jeonghan was hunched over, eyes watery from the onions he was cutting but he was hunched right in the middle of the kitchen, leaving you with no space to pass. 

“I CAN’T SEE” He screeched, finding his way over to the sink in an attempt to rinse out his eye. 

God, he’s such a dork. 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

The last part of Jeonghan’s plan was to woo you with Sports. 

There was no better sport to enjoy with you other than his own! He’ll just invite you to the race this week! 

jeonghan: hey jeonghan: you wanna come to the race this weekend? Its in hungary its gonna run friday-sunday but we arrive on thursday  jeonghan: tix on me :) 

you: wtf?? of COURSE i want to go :O 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

And just like that, you found yourself in a hotel in Hungary on a random Thursday morning. Well, it wasn’t random, you were invited to the Hungarian Grand Prix by none other than Yoon Jeonghan himself. 

Speaking of, Jeonghan had asked if you wanted to go explore the village with him on your off day and who were you to deny an offer like that? So here you were, rushing your makeup at 9 in the morning. Jeonghan was supposed to come to your room at about 9:30 so you have less than thirty minutes to be ready and out the door. 

Jeonghan showed up at your hotel room at 9:30 on the dot, wearing a variant of an outfit youve seen him wear a million times, baggy jeans with an oversized shirt. True Jeonghan fashion you’d say. 

“Good morning beautiful” He greeted, walking into your hotel room and closing the door behind him before backing you up against the wall. 

“Good morning handsome” You can't lie and say you didn't internally cringe at that, no matter how true the words actually were. Jeonghan himself grimaced, his face centimeters away from your own “Never say that again please” 

You rolled your eyes, “God forbid a woman try complimenting a man for once” 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

You and Jeonghan spent all day exploring the city. Going from coffee shop to coffee shop, spending hours walking aimlessly around and even checking out the track. You  enjoyed Jeonghan’s company more than you’d like to admit. Jeonghan was a witty guy. He was funny, hot, really fucking good in bed but most of all he was genuine. That’s one thing you loved about Jeonghan that Seungcheol didn’t have. Where Jeonghan’s intentions with you were clear as day, Seungcheol? You were not too sure what the fuck his intentions were with you. 

You knew you weren’t technically supposed to dig this deep into either of them. After all, they were just your fuckbuddies, people you only saw when you were horny and needed release but you still couldn't help but feel more drawn to Jeonghan than you did Seungcheol. 

Jeonghan was a genuinely good person whose company you actually enjoyed and you knew he did enjoy yours too. Seungcheol however ignored all your texts until he was the one that needed release and you didn’t have a problem with that until now.  Until Jeonghan brought it up. 

“You know, I really like spending time with you. Aside from the sex” It came from out of the blue when the two of you were walking back to your hotel. 

“So the sex just sucks huh?” You looked at him with a mischievous grin 

“You know that’s not what i meant” 

“I know, I really enjoy spending time with you too Jeonghan” He smiled at that, pulling you closer by the hip until you were pressed right by his side. The two of you walked in a comfortable silence until he spoke up again. 

“You know, you should stop seeing Seungcheol” 

You chuckled, this wasn’t the first time Jeonghan has hinted towards how much he doesn’t like you fucking his teammate. 

“Yeah, okay” 

“I'm serious! It might have to do with the fact im like fucking obsessed with you or the fact that I know Seungcheol doesn’t want you like I do but I swear, the way i want you does not compare to the way he wants you” Your eyebrows raised at that, you knew you prefer Jeonghan over Seungcheol but hearing him tell you why you should pick him over Seungcheol is just all the more satisfying. 

“Why do you think so?” 

“Because-!” He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands, not wanting to tell you how much he wants you. How he stays up thinking about how it’d be if you were his. 

“Because I like you beyond the sex, I want a relationship with you. I don’t wanna have to share you with anyone because I’m greedy and I want you for myself. I wanna show you off as mine without anyone else coming in the way. I want you Y/N” 

You stopped in your tracks, prompting him to stop with you as well. “You want to date me?” 

“Really fucking bad. Please let me?” 

“Okay” You nodded, acting nonchalant on the outside when you were actually going fucking insane on the inside. “I’ll be your girlfriend but only if you ask me out properly” Jeonghan all but jumped for joy, screaming a couple choruses of “YES!!” 

“Y/N, light of my life, will you please be my girlfriend?” he playfully rolled his eyes

“I’d love to!” you smiled wide, his own smile mirroring yours before he leaned in to kiss you sweetly, in the middle of a street in Mogyoród. 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

The next morning, Seungcheol was just doing his normal pre race rituals when all of a sudden he heard an awful lot of giggling just outside of his room. 

What the hell could be so funny right before a race? 

He swung his door open only to see Jeonghan sitting on the couch while you sat on his lap, one leg on either side of him while the two of you smooched away like a couple of highschoolers on their first date. 

“I think I can come P1 today! After All, I have my beautiful girlfriend here to cheer me on” Jeonghan teased, cupping your face so he can press yet another kiss to your lips. 

“Yeah? Good luck out there boyfriend. I’ll be cheering for you” 

Girlfriend??? Boyfriend??? Since fucking when? The last time Seungcheol remembers, you were not looking for anything close to even a situationship, let alone a relationship. 

That kinda explains it too, you’d been too busy with your stupid boyfriend to return any of his calls or texts for the past few days too. This is exactly why Seungcheol hated couples. Gross. 

Screw Yoon Jeonghan, he stole his girl in plain sight. 

Well, not really his girl. Realistically Seungcheol was just tryna hit. Much like yourself until you met Yoon fucking Jeonghan. 

Cheol knew he wasn't all that upset about the situation but he had to mess with Jeonghan just for the fun of it and man was he geeked. 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

You couldnt fucking believe what you were seeing. Today was the day of the first two free practices and the only two drivers on the track who were not behaving were none other than your very own. 

Normally, Jeonghan and Seungcheol would stay very…civil during their races but something was off today. Jeonghan was minding his business, leading the race like he usually does until in comes Choi Seungcheol and overtakes him. 

So naturally, Jeonghan starts to speed up and get back in the lead. Which lasts maybe a minute until in comes Choi fucking Seungcheol again and runs him off the track. 

What the hell was Seungcheol’s problem today? 

The race continued to be a mess of Seungcheol messing with Jeonghan, overtaking him then running him off the track and repeating it. You could tell Jeonghan was getting frustrated. Hell, even you were getting frustrated. 

Did Seungcheol find out about you and Jeonghan? 

God, you’d hope this wasn't the result of Seungcheol’s…jealousy? There really wasn't anything to be jealous about on his end but still, if it was, that’s not okay and you were going to speak to him about it. The race went on like that, with Cheol repeatedly provoking Jeonghan and Jeonghan fighting back. You could hear the chattering of the people around you talking about the two of them and how it was ‘so odd that they’re acting this way!’ 

As expected, Jeonghan came P1 and Seungcheol came P3. P2 was none other than your best friend, Boo Seungkwan! The race went surprisingly well after the second to last lap and continued to trail behind Jeonghan who was in P1.

“Jeonghan!” You squealed, embracing him in the tightest hug possible but immediately pulling away when you made contact with his sweaty body. 

“Baby” He whined, pulling you back into his embrace, ignoring your noises of protest. You gave up the fight without much convincing, hugging him back tight and congratulating him over and over. 

“Wait, I’ll be back.” 

You excused yourself from Jeonghan and went on to find the one and only..

“Choi Seungcheol!” You muttered, aggressively making your way over to the ever so sweaty man sipping away at his Hydrorace water bottle. 

“Hey gorgeous” He cheekily smiled at you, pulling the straw away from his lips. You scoffed, annoyed by how calm he seemed after what he pulled out on the track today. 

“Don’t ‘hey gorgeous’ me, what the hell was that on the track today? You know either one of you could have gotten hurt, right?” You were practically fuming. 

“You know I'm smart enough to not let either of us get hurt out there right?” He mimicked your tone. Whatever he said didn’t matter in the moment, you were too heated to even think straight. 

“Talk to me when you’ve calmed down, Y/N.” And with that, he walked away from you. 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

 It was finally time for confrontation. 

You pulled out your phone camera to make sure you look decent enough to confront Seungcheol. Once you made sure you looked okay, you tucked it away in your  back pocket. Taking a deep sigh before knocking on Seungcheol’s hotel room, waiting for him to open the door. “Hey, Cheol…” You greet hesitantly, stepping inside and closing the door behind you, locking it shut just in case.

“Y/n…it’s so nice to see you!” Seungcheol smiled bitterly. “After you practically blew up on me in front of everyone today.” His fake ass smile dropped. 

You grimaced, hiding your face in embarrassment. “Don’t be like that, I just want to apologize.” You offered a small smile. 

“Delta time can be time too late, Y/N.”

If there was an embodiment of a question mark, it would be you right now. “You know I don't understand when you use racing speak, Seungcheol.”

“Delta time…anyway, just, don’t worry about it. I know you made your choice. Especially by the way you just full-named me. ” 

“Cheol-”

“We had a good run, yeah? don’t worry about it.” He smiled, “This doesn’t mean I don’t want to be friends though you know. I just want you to be happy even if it’s not with me and with my…teammate.” You could sense the lack of sincerity at the end. Seungcheol was not happy about this and you knew that. 

“Thank you Cheol” You smiled, opening your arms and offering him a hug which he gladly accepted, engulfing you in the most warm hug you’ve ever received from him. 

It wasn’t easy to let Cheol go but you had to do this for Jeonghan. 

You were the first to pull away from the hug. You gave him a smile before turning on your heels. 

“See you at the race on Sunday?” 

“You know it.” 

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

“It’s just me and you baby” Jeonghan breathed against your lips, pinning you up against the wall and relishing in the way you sigh out in relief when he finally presses his lips to yours. “Be as loud as you want love” 

Jeonghan knew damn well it was not just the two of you, somewhere in one of the stalls was Seungcheol. He was about to walk out when he heard you and Jeonghan at the door and ran into a stall to avoid being caught. 

“Please Jeonghan” You whimpered when he pulled away to trail his lips down your neck, “Touch me, please?” 

“I am touching you”  

“Jeonghan” Your voice raises a pitch. Jeonghan can’t stand it, he loves how your squirm and whimper, so desperate to get fucked by him. Something in him loves how pretty you sound when you beg, especially when you scream his name with your eyes rolling back into your head. 

“Please, please fuck me…”

“Shut up.” He groans, proceeding to jackhammer two fingers inside of you. You yelped in surprise, leaning back onto the wall, gripping onto Jeonghan’s arm to hold yourself up. Jeonghan’s other hand trails up and covers your eyes. Hold around your head tight, leaving you more vulnerable to his ministrations. 

“I want your cock Jeonghan, please” He loved that your noises were getting louder but he knew that when you finally got his cock you’d be even louder. Just what he wants for your little audience. Jeonghan halts his fingers in you and smears the wetness all over your aching pussy. 

“Pussy’s so wet for me, know why?” Jeonghan smirks,  “Cause you’re a fucking slut, and all sluts know how to do is take cock.” And without warning, he glides the entirety of his length in at the same time and you were left gasping at the stretch. 

“J-Jeonghan..” you moaned loud, “You’re so fucking big. Oh my fucking God.” Jeonghan chuckled, setting a brutal pace from the start. You could never get tired of fucking Jeonghan, every time with Jeonghan bringing you to a new wave of euphoria even you couldnt fathom. 

“Yeah? Who fucks you this good huh?” Jeonghan wrapped his hand, previously covering your eyes around your throat and applying just enough pressure to make you see stars. “You, Jeonghan! Only you can fuck me this good” His thrusts were sloppy but they were so hard and deep. Tears rolled down your cheeks with every thrust as your body buzzed with pleasure.

“Good fucking girl” He praised, “You’re so good to me aren’t you?” You couldn’t respond. You don’t think you had it in you to say anymore. Just letting moan after moan leave your lips as you writhed under his hold. 

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, smiling at the way you attempted to kiss him back. 

“My pretty girl, only mine.” 

[sailorsoons]

Please | Teaser (c.sc)

PAIRING: Alpha!Seungcheol x Omega! f.reader 

SUMMARY: A heatwave in your city makes dealing with your hormones more difficult than usual. Getting locked in a lobby at work for an hour with an alpha makes it ten times worse. Thankfully, Seungcheol is there to help you - and maybe a little more. 

WC: TBD

AU: Omegaverse, Coworkers to Lovers

GENRE: Smut, A bit of Fluff, the barest hint of angst

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

TEASER WARNINGS: Reader is suffering a medical event (going into heat while locked in at work) and is distressed, a little bit of internal shame at falling apart in front of Seungcheol, reader needs assistance to get to a car etc. a/b/o dynamics. 

A/N: I lost all sense and control of myself. I’ve wanted to write a/b/o for so long and I finally gave up and dove in head first with this one. It’s very light on the actual science/society/tropes but outside of a random fic I did a few years ago, this is my actual first attempt at the genre :)

A/N 2: This is your friendly neighborhood reminder that a/b/o should always be written with the backslashes included, as the acronym without them is a slur in some countries. Please be mindful :)

MASTERLIST | ASK |

READ FULL FIC

“Hey,” Seungcheol says, causing you to look at him. His face is soft. Concerned. “You still with me?”

The way he says it, soft and gentle make things worse. Makes you want to whine and cross the lobby floor to him, to let him pull you in tight and tell you it’ll be okay. To comfort you. The desire is so bad that you realize you’re much farther into Stage 1 than you thought.

Panic starts to nip at your heels. You’re unsure what to do. There’s nothing on you besides your nasal spray and your patches to help you out, but those aren’t what you need. Your patches protect others from your scent and the nasal spray protects you from others - from Seungcheol. 

You try to answer, but your voice catches in your throat, coming out thin and shaky. “I’m okay.”

“Are you in prodrome?” he asks quietly, voice pitched low and careful.

You flinch when he finally says it out loud, letting the acknowledgement ring in the lobby. You close your eyes for a moment, your silence an answer in itself. 

Seungcheol sighs and pulls his phone back out of his pocket, dialing as he lifts it to his ear. “Yeah, I know. Look, you need to expedite. My colleague needs medical assistance and we’re still locked in the lobby. No… no.” Seungcheol glances at you. “She’s experiencing prodrome. Can you please expedite? Yes. Thank you.” 

He hangs up and turns back to you, stepping slowly so he doesn’t overwhelm, arms loose at his sides in a show of calm. “They’re sending someone now. Shouldn’t be long.”

You nod, but your breathing is uneven, shallow now. You can feel the sweat dripping down your spine, the pressure behind your eyes. Everything smells too sharp, too thick. Especially him. Spice and warmth and safety. It’s awful. 

Seungcheol stays where he is, a careful distance between you, but his voice is steady when he says, “Tell me what you need. What I can do to help.”

“I’m fine.”

“I mean it. If you need space, I’ll back off. If you need something cold, we’ll figure it out. Just don’t… don’t try to pretend this isn’t happening. Let me help you.” 

The kindness in his voice cracks something in your chest. No judgment, no pressure, just him, steady and solid, offering help while your body betrays you one symptom at a time. 

You swallow hard. “I just need to get out. I just need to make it home before it gets worse.”

Seungcheol nods, no hesitation. “Then we’ll get you home. I promise.”

Time moves like molasses. The silence between you thickens. You give up on standing, sitting on the cool tile floor. It only offers momentary respite until you’re panting again, struggling to maintain your grip on yourself. 

It’s not working. Your entire body is pulsing, tingling, burning in waves that crest and fall without rhythm. Your skin itches with hypersensitivity, every shift of your clothes unbearable, your breath slow and ragged. It feels like you’re melting, burning up from the forge in your chest.

You can feel Seungcheol watching you from his assigned corner. He says nothing, keeping a respectful distance. You steal a glance at him through bleary eyes. He’s just leaning against the wall, hands clenched and jaw tight. He’s doing his best to appear calm, but you see signs of irritation. His throat works and your eyes linger on the way his Adam's apple bobs for too long. You think about sinking your teeth into his neck, tasting him-

His scent, normally warm and grounded, spikes. You sense the shift and it makes you squirm, pressing yourself further into the wall. You look away from him, hiding your face in your shoulder while you squeeze your eyes shut as another wave of cramping crashes into you. 

Seungcheol’s irritation is sharp. Shame floods you, thick and fast. Of course he’s annoyed. Today has gone from bad to worse. He’s now stuck in a lobby with an omega in prodrome, a liability that he now has to be responsible for, and you’re barely holding it together, shaking like a live wire. You’re stuck, and he’s stuck with you, and-

The lobby doors beep and hiss open. You don’t even lift your head. Don’t even hear the first few words from the guards. You only feel cool night air and the sudden shift in pressure, making you keen and melt into the tile. 

Seungcheol appears at your side, his scent fading from acrid to soothing. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, crouching down to your level. It’s the closest he’s been to you all day. You feel the heat of him, the nearness overwhelming. “They’re here. We can go.”

You don’t move. The thought of moving suddenly seems like an insurmountable task. Your world is tilting, your ears ringing. Your limbs feel detached from your brain and your body is locked, curled in on itself. Heat prickles across your skin like static.

Worst of all, you’re starting to panic. Fear sets in, stabbing deep. You don’t know how to get up and take the train home. Don’t know how to get yourself up the stairs and into your apartment. To the cabinet to take a suppressant. To the fridge for water. 

Seungcheol’s voice sharpens. “Hey. Look at me.”

It’s a command. You blink up at him, barely able to focus. Something flashes behind his eyes and he’s on the phone again. “Hi, I need emergency assistance for an omega. She’s in heat prodrome and she’s deteriorating fast. No, she’s conscious. She’s overheating, but having trouble standing and struggling to focus. I have no idea what to do.” 

You barely hear the voice on the other end of the line, but Seungcheol does. His expression shifts, each word they say tightening his jaw.

“She’s a coworker - we were locked in a lobby at work but I can take her to an omega hospital.” You whimper and shake your head vehemently, whining. He softens. “They said they can give you a heat inhibitor on-site” 

“No,” you pant. “Those hurt.”

He nods. “I can’t do that, she doesn’t want to go.” The operator says something else and he nods. His eyes tighten at the corners and he glances at you. “I can take you to a service clinic. They can assign you-”

“Home,” you plead. “I just need to get home. I can- I can deal with it.”

“I don’t know… do you have um. Do you have an alpha you usually…?”

“No.”

Tears well up fast and hot, blurring your vision, sliding down your cheeks in silent streaks. Your whole body feels wrong, like you’ve been unraveled from the inside, trembling and raw.

“I just want to go home,” you whisper, folding in on yourself. “I have my meds. I can manage if I can just get home. Please.”

He repeats what you say into the phone. They say something and he shakes his head and hangs up, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Okay. Alright. We’re going to get you home, okay?”

READ FULL FIC

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Listen I love the ‘dicks being ostracized from his family and self destructs’ trope in fics however

I would like an inverse just once (I could write it but I want this fic to be good so I can enjoy it and I am not the greatest writer) where everyone blows up at him and flat out lays into him and he just goes… okay… if that’s how you feel?

Takes himself off of the patrol routes and rosters. He’s off the emergency calls and his ‘call for city wide emergency’ has been down graded to ‘call for world wide emergency’ he’s no longer on comms with oracle

He stops offering assistance to the other kids teams, doesn’t send info for investigation and doesn’t go within 100feet of Gotham.

Takes himself off the den-mother, baby sitter, trainer for all the younger teams lost that involve any and all bats

In the beginning he vacates his apartment and temporarily moves in with Donna in New York and things are good because of course they are. They’re Dick and Donna a world doesn’t exist where they aren’t okay.

And then his presence in New York leads to a lot of the og core five titans interacting and they realize that they miss each other like hell and start to work together more and more. Until news sites are like ‘teen titans grown up??’ ‘Original titans spotted doing hurricane aid in Florida!’

Because Dick loves his family but he knows when to bow out. And he chose the family he made in the new teen titans.

And then one day one of the bats track him down in nyc and breaks into what is now Dick and Donna’s apartment and are ready to argue that they need him back and need him there for a huge Gotham wide event.

And Dick says ‘sure okay let me get my stuff and we leave in half and hour’ as soon as the first sentence is out

No convincing or begging or asking for money (cough Jason cough)

Dick is patched into their comms and he’s working efficiently except he’s not… acting like himself.

He’s collaborating with whoever they tell him too, no problem, he’s discussing ideal plans and co-ops and teams and how to best get it under control.

But he’s talking to them the way he talks when he’s offering aid to teams he’s not a part of.

Like the hero version of an acquaintance and no one can call him out on it because he’s doing good work. Work that’s on par with his work before this whole fiasco. He explicitly isn’t letting their personal issues affect his work.

He’s speaking but not talking

And Bruce remembers this… he’s probably the only one who does because last time he was the only one included. The last time Dick acted like this is when he first visited Jason and him after he had been fired.

Whenever Bruce was in the room and Dick was forced to speak with him, the conversation never strayed past business casual especially around Jason.

Batman and Nightwing got into screaming matches

Bruce and Dick were strangers

And now they’re back to this, 7 kids later, a million ends of the world stopped, they’ve bled together, cried together and clung to each other in pure relief after they managed to clutch victory.

And Nightwing was treating Batman Inc like a new team stepping onto the scene.

Once they’ve secured everything and managed to keep Bruce from self destructing and making it worse. Dick just leaves and tells oracle that he’ll send over his debrief in 3-5 business days and it was nice working with them.

And then he’s gone

No cave, no manor, no Alfred, no med-bay because Dick doesn’t stay places he’s not welcome.

And after they all talk about that and how weird it was and Bruce reveals Dick did this before when he was Nightwing after Bruce fired, where Dick Grayson didn’t know Bruce Wayne.

And one of the kids asks when he broke and stopped the act and Bruce just says ‘the day he found out Jason died’

And the Batkids kinda freak bc what do you mean?? What is he only going to come back when someone dies? Thats not? There has to be another way?? And Bruce is like yeah no idea sorry (bc he’s helpful like that)

So then Steph the next day resolves to go visit him, Tim isn’t the only professional stalker. And she finds Dick and Donna’s apartment and well it’s daylight and she’s in civvies she’s if she climbs in through the window she might get reported to the NYPD and she doesn’t wanna get arrested or shot to door it is!

And so she goes and knocks and Dick opens the door and just lights up

Something something this is such a nice surprise something something it’s so good to see you.

Dick had taught Donna how to make some of his mother recipes when they were kids. So now whenever they’re together for a long time they cook together.

So Dick who is usually living in a cluttered apartment with no clean dishes and an exclusively grab and go food is now trying to force feed her some of his cooking.

Because he picked up the habit again since he’s the better cook between him and Donna.

And it’s delicious and he wants to catch up and hear everything that’s going on in her life, is she working with new people, dating anyone? How is her relationship with her mother etc etc.

It’s a nice day and she stays late and never confronts him on anything until she sees how long ago the sun set and she needs to get moving.

He hands her paper with his number and makes her promise not to give it to the others or she will lose access to it, he offers to help her on a conditional basis as nightwing but only her, she can call him about the rest if it’s an end of the world or they’re near death and need immediate aid.

And that’s like the fic because the key to winning nightwings assistance is like breathing (optional) but if you’re Dicks family you have to care or else. He’ll love you and help you, when you need it but he won’t tie his life up with yours, he’ll spend his time with people who value his opinion and the person behind the mask.

Anyway cue all the Batkids trying to do what Steph did and fail because they’re neurotic shits who think bonding involves doing casework together or a steak out.

(The next person to crack it is Damian, completely unintentionally he has a fight with Bruce and can’t ask him how the fuck he’s supposed to solve this equation in the new stupid way they’re teaching him no he can’t use the old method they’re supposed to show their work so he pulls up to Dick and Donna’s in a ratty ass hoodie like plz wtf do you mean you work top down explain Grayson- and dicks like awww no problem kid)

[thelikesofus]

Buddie Fic Recs

Welcome to another 9-1-1 Hiatus! Here is Buddie Rec List Number 8 to keep you all fed during the break. I’ve been compiling these fics for a whileee, so this is going to be kind of long. Find my other Buddie Rec Lists HERE REMINDER TO CHECK THE TAGS AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

i slur your name 'til someone puts me in a car by @crazygirleddie | T | 4k

Buck gets sloppy drunk with Hen and decides this is the perfect time to go to Eddie and tell him he loves him. This fic is so wholesome and hilarious, and I love the way the author writes Buck and Eddie in this. 

you will get a sentimental feeling when you hear voices singin by @sergeantchenford | T | 2k

A short and sweet fic where Buck mopes about Eddie moving to El Paso, has a conversation with Bobby, and goes to a charity event. I think we all need some Bobby and Buck interactions right now, and obviously, Eddie isn’t leaving, and Chris is coming home!

my heart wants to come home by @sergeantchenford | T | 5.8k

Another fic by the very talented Jules, but this one is about Buck and Eddie catnapping an old lady's cat and talking about dying alone. Very sweet ending <3

The Bunkroom Fic by exvichan | T | 11k

This is the bunk room bottle fic we deserve! Incredible, absolutely amazing fic! 

emails i can't send by @drmellking | T | 5.9k

Another wonderful fic by my beloved friend April <3 Buck leaves his email account open on his laptop while looking after Jee, and she accidentally presses send on all the emails Buck wrote but never meant for Eddie to see. 

(we tried) we said we'd keep in touch by @chronicowboy | T | 6.8k

With Eddie in El Paso, Buck isn’t feeling the Christmas spirit this year, so he agrees to cover someone else’s shift rather than go to the FireFam Christmas party. Eddie has other plans. And I am rocking in a corner and crying over how perfect and cozy this fic is, literally all the feels xx

Songbird by @colonoscopys | E | 71k

Country Singer Eddie AU that is so horrendously heartbreakingly horrifically incredible. My heart was literally in my throat the whole time, and honestl,y this fic is so beautiful, you just have to read it!

Snickerdoodles of Longing by @elvensorceress | E | 52k

Would this really be a Meegs rec list without a Jenwyn fic?? This is the Eddie moves to Texas fic we all deserved as he makes the decision to leave and then slowly unravels as he realizes what he really wants and what he's losing. There’s also a part two of this that I have yet to read, but I can guarantee it will also be incredible because everything Jenwyn writes is just *chefs kiss*. 

A Place For You, Next to Me by @spotsandsocks | M | 23k

I have very talented mutuals, okay, so here’s a beautiful fic from the wonderful Spotty. Buck decides to do something special for Eddie’s birthday, but his plans are about to be thwarted because oh my goodness THERE’S ONLY ONE BED *cheers and screams from the fandom* 

Five Years by aubrey_writes | M | 8k

Buck gets blipped. Eddie's left behind. A love story told through what Eddie did in his absence. 

A Hole in the World by @thatdisasterauthor | T | 61k 

Buck tries to help someone having what he thinks is a medical emergency while he’s at the grocery store, but his kindness is taken for granted when he is KIDNAPPED AND TAKEN CAPTIVE IN A DOOMSDAY BUNKER. This fic had me on the edge of my seat the whole way through, it is such an incredibly captivating read!

Fears and Assurances in Equal Measure by @thatdisasterauthor | M | 15k

It should've been a simple call. But when the "small fire in an apartment kitchen" turns into a collapse that traps Eddie as the fire continues to burn, Buck is forced to make an impossible choice to save the man he loves. The emotional and physical hurt/comfort in this is to die for <3

it hit me in the kitchen by @bugsongs | G | 13k

Eddie leaves for Texas, and everybody copes with food in one way or another. There’s so much good Eddie and Christopher communication in this fic, it really healed me. 

forever is the sweetest con by @becausebuckley | E | 37k

Buck is invited to a family reunion and realises that there's a good chunk of money waiting for him. There’s one issue, though: he has to be married to claim it, and right now, he’s painfully single. It’s a good thing he has such a great best friend in eddie, right? MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE! EVERYONE LIKES THAT!

like a river runs by @nymika-arts | T | 56k

Buck and Maddie’s flight goes missing, and they are presumed dead. Five years later, their flight lands unscathed, but the world has moved on without them. This fic is so heartbreaking. I had my heart in my throat the whole time, but it is also so beautiful. 

a straight guy and an ally walk into a bar… by @songbvrd | M | 23k

After Buck gets dumped, he remembers he agreed to go to Abby's wedding with a date. Eddie steps up and pretends to be his boyfriend. All hell breaks loose.

Batting a Buck & Change by @cal-daisies-and-briars | T | 15k

Eddie and Chim embark on a “Dad’s night out” to watch baseball at a sports bar, and after a few too many, Eddie accidentally lets his feelings for Buck slip. EddieChim Bestism my beloved. Honestly, this fic is so much fun, and I am obsessed with all of it!

In a Moment of Clarity by @thekristen999 | T | 14k

As the jeep rounded a sharp bend, its tires suddenly lost traction, sending it careening off the winding road's edge. THE CRASH FIC! SO SO GOOD! Hurt Buck and Hurt Eddie, what more could you want? Delicious.

Exhibit B by @cal-daisies-and-briars | T | 10k

Seven years in the future, an adult Christopher has a chance to see his grandparents - and subsequently, his father - in a new light, on a family trip to El Paso. Oh, this fic is so good! A very much needed reflection on Eddie’s relationship with his parents, and done through Christopher’s eyes, this fic really hits you in the solar plexus in the best way possible. 

in pursuit of good health by @bisexualbellamyblake | M | 6.7k

I am a sucker for tactile idiots-to-lovers and so when I find a fic about Buck and Eddie ‘platonically kissing for the health benefits’ you best believe I devoured it!

down every road by @young-waverer | T | 4.5k

Buck realizes he needs to be with Eddie and Chris. Unfortunately for the miles on his truck, Eddie and Chris had the same idea. THIS is what happens when idiots in love who cannot commniucate try to surprise eachother but share the same braincell. 

seeing him in a new light by @tizniz | G | 1.2k

Eddie Diaz is all of us fawning over how Buck is Big and Large and BIG.

featherlight by @coldbam | G | 7k

Eddie takes up a new hobby while in Texas, identifying the birds that visit his new porch and realizes he’s in love with Buck from 800 miles away. AKA The Birding Fic and honestly I’m obsessed this is so beautiful. Also the artwork in this is STUNNING! So special shout out to @betanoiz for that. 

the bigger they are (the harder they fall) by @chronicowboy | T | 6k

This is how 8x18 should have gone. Buck and Eddie get trapped in the rubble together and finally confess a few things to eachother. 

[yasministration]

fred weasley x malfoy!reader who’s the ‘sirius black’ of her family.

and everyone’s heard of the malfoys, of course they have; so it comes as a complete and utter shock when their eldest child, their only daughter, gets sorted into gryffindor. the entire great hall goes quiet, and even dumbledore himself is shocked upon hearing the hat’s decision. it was hard enough starting at a new school during your sixth year, but it was even harder watching her younger brother practically have a heart attack upon hearing the news. the only person who didn’t seem shocked, however, was fred. he knew from the moment that he bumped into her on the train that she was different. and to make matters even worse, she can’t help but fall in love with him. especially after they become fast friends, and he’s there for her through all the mistreatment she receives at the hands of her parents and brother over such a minuscule matter such as getting sorted into a different house.

there are worse things - fred weasley x malfoy!reader

summary: when your parents finally send you off to hogwarts, things don't go according to plan, because in less that twelve hours, you've been sorted into gryffindor and made friends with your housemates. And even worse: Weasleys wc: 1.6k+ a/n: okay i didn't know how to fit all my ideas into one fic bc i didnt want to have to write boring details, so i didn't. so i may or may not write a pt2 depending on how i'm feeling. yolo. also, haven't proof read it

“Would you look at that? Looks like Lucius Malfoy has finally released his daughter from his clutch of private tutors.”

Mr. Weasley’s words attracted the attention of every one of his children standing on the platform. His gaze however, was fixed on the Malfoy family, stood just far enough not to hear his comment.

The Weasley siblings spun around in unison, eyes widening at the sight of the Malfoy siblings standing with their parents. You ran both hands over your shoulders, nudging your hair to fall over the elegant slope of your back.

Gripping the side of your sunglasses, you raised them up to rest atop your head, scanning the entire platform around you as the lighting became high-key at the absence of the shaded frames. Humming attentively, you straightened the jewelled necklace around your neck before turning to face your younger brother.

“Shall we?” Draco nodded at your words, smiling at the concerned look on your father’s face. He had finally lost all hope for his daughter and just hoped that Hogwarts would do the work your tutors had never succeeded in doing.

You crouched slightly, picking up your trunk and strutted onto the train without one last look towards your parents.

“Hogwarts can barely take one Malfoy, but two?” You heard the comment behind you, accompanied by instant loud shushing. Spinning on your heels, you came face to face with three younger students, around Draco’s age. They all looked terrified at your stare, as though you were going to hex them. Behind them stood two handsome gingers. Twins.

Grinning widely, you scoffed in amusement. “Oh please, I could be the only student at Hogwarts and they wouldn’t be able to handle me. God knows my parents couldn’t.” An annoyed call of your name had you laughing. “You couldn’t wait until mum and dad were out of sight?”

“Am I known as someone how likes to wait?” Draco was rendered speechless, rolling his eyes. You stopped in front of the compartment Draco had stored your bags in. “I’m going to go look for Flint,” You told him, walking past your little group of fans. You stopped by the two tall twins, putting a hand on the closest one’s bicep, aiming your next words at him “Unless you’d like to keep me busy.”

Your laughs echoed down the hallway, and Harry almost decided he didn’t hate Draco as much. After all, he was your brother, and clearly he had a good relationship with you, who he instantly decided was one of the coolest people he had met.

Fred looked back to watch you go, noticing the undeniable Malfoy elegance you held in your footsteps. However, he could not forget the mischief in your eyes as you spoke to the three teenagers in front of him. More than the mischief though? The flirtatious gleam in your eyes when you had walked past him.

The twin didn’t get the chance to lay his eyes on you again until he got to the great hall for dinner. Stood next to McGonagall and all the first years, you definitely stood out, but it didn’t matter, because by that point everyone had heard that the original Malfoy sibling was coming to Hogwarts. Fred and everyone else in the great hall leaned closer as you strolled up to the old stool at the front of the stage, tucking your skirt underneath you as you sat down. It wasn’t even ten seconds until the hat surprised everyone, yelling out “GRYFFINDOR!”

It wouldn’t have been too bad if gasps filled the great hall, because at least you’d know that people were predominantly shock. But what you were met with was so much worse. The utter silence that filled the hall was suffocating.

Clearly, it wasn’t the outcome you were expecting either, because as Professor McGonagall lifted the hat off your head, your hand immediately shot up to grasp the hat’s brim. The older Professor was so surprised that she didn’t stop you from snatching the sorting hat and placing it on your head once more. “See, I think this is more proof that you’re a gryffindor.” It grumbled, eyes animatedly looking towards Professor McGonagall, begging to be taken away from you.

Fred looked over his shoulder to glance at your brother. Draco’s face was drained of all its colour and he held a hand over his chest, eyes wide with shock. That’s not was Draco was expecting. But for some reason, Fred was not shocked, and his hand immediately stuck out in a wave to call you over. After all, after that interaction on the train, how could you possibly be a slytherin?

“Fine.” You huffed, standing up and flicking your hair over your shoulder, beelining directly to the Gryffindor table. You were thankful that the two ginger twins you had seen before waved you over, otherwise you feared you’d have stood around awkwardly.

“Thank you.” You smiled, trying to shoo the shock and disappointment off your face. Finally, you glanced up to find Draco’s eyes in the crowd, and he offered you a weak smile, eyes apologetic. Your parents would not be happy about it. “So I’ve just let down my entire blood line, how have your days been?” It seemed those words were enough to get the twins and their friends Lee and Angelina to warm up to you.

You quickly learned that Angelina was George’s girlfriend, and when your eyes went wide in panic, George was quick to reassure you that he wasn’t the one you flirted with on the train.

But the nightmare didn’t end there.

In fact, by then it hadn’t really started. It really began when you were having breakfast the next morning, grateful that Angelina was your dorm mate and you got along so well — a discovery you’d made whilst staying up all night and chatting in bed. But then, the second you’d spotted a red envelope amidst the letters being flown into the great hall, you knew it addressed to you.

You stood up immediately, attracting the eyes of Angelina and Lee as the letter dropped into your plate. “Who wants to come see how far I can run until this thing bursts?” Lee shot you an apologetic cringe and you gave him a bored look.

“Okay, you bores. I guess I’ll do it alone.” You grasped the edge of the red envelope, holding it from the tip of your fingers as though it would burn you. Spinning around, you came face to face with Fred and George.

“Where are we going?” Fred asked, immediately following you out of the great hall, abandoning the idea of having breakfast. He sped his pace up to match yours until you were breaking into a run, giggling as Fred called after you, asking “Wait, where are we going?”

“I don’t know!” Fred scoffed in amusement, but he blindly followed you further into the castle until you suddenly gasped, stumbling backwards towards him.

Oh.

Now he understood.

The red envelope sprung up into the air, forming an angry face as it spat out the following words. “In all the centuries the Malfoys have walked the earth, every single one of them has been a slytherin. Until you.” Lucius Malfoy’s voice boomed in the hallway, and you were grateful that it was empty, other than you and Fred.

“Your mother fought hard for us to send you to hogwarts, and you’ve already disgraced us within your first hour there! Fix your behaviour, act like we’ve raised you, otherwise we’re bringing you back home to an unpleasant surprise!”

Fred was befuddled. Never had he thought parents could speak to their children that way. Sure, he knew the Malfoys were cruel, but that was another level.

A laugh took him by surprise. Fred glanced over to you, meeting your amused gaze. “Not the worst thing he’s said to me. Would be scarier if I could see his face.” “Is that not-? Are you okay?” You shrugged your shoulders with a small grin as you approached him, hooking your arm through his and beginning your trek back to the great hall. “Yeah, I’ll probably cry about it in a couple of hours when it hits me.”

“Come find me when that happens.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you shot him a look from the corner of your eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“You know, for comfort? A hug if you need one? No one deserves to feel like shit on their own.”

“Oh, okay then.” Fred shot you a look, feeling bad because of the shocked look on your face. You cleared your throat, feeling his eyes on you. “You haven’t had breakfast yet, come on.”

As you settled back down at your spot on the long table, your three other friends shot you questioning looks. Fred decided he would be the one to speak as you stirred yourself a cup of tea. “Yeah, if I were the one to get that howler I would have thrown up on the spot, but she perseveres.”

You scoffed into the rim of your mug, nudging Fred’s side. You took a long sip of tea, missing the dark flush that overtook his features. From in front of him, George shot him brother a pointed look, quickly looking away when your gaze flitted up again.

You urged yourself not to look back at the older twin, but you couldn’t help yourself from staring as he shot a question at you, something quidditch related. “Huh?” “Do you play? You know, ‘cause Draco plays and stuff?” You rolled your eyes “No. Where they encouraged Draco to take up quidditch, they put me in ballet. Typical, right?”

Immediately turning away, you found Draco across the hall again. If you weren’t in trouble already for being a gryffindor, you would certainly get in trouble for the group of friends you’d made. Even worse, the boy you were beginning to catch feelings for.

Well, you huffed, there are worse things than a Malfoy and a Weasley. Right?

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @boromoony, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @potterheadlovespotter

[sillygoose067]

Hii!! Ive never sent a request so I hope im doing this right lol. I was wondering if you could write some hurt/comfort for lewis pullman with a reader who is getting a lot of hate online for her looks and he comforts her? No worries if not! Love ur writing!

Hey! I'm pretty sure there's no wrong way to send requests, but this is great! Sorry about this taking so long, I just had a hard time putting my thoughts into writing for this one— I love hurt/comfort, but it's slightly more of a lengthy process since I try to put more real-life based experiences into these fics (key word: TRY).

I hope this is something along the lines of what you were looking for!

———————————————————————————-

This Is How You Fall In Love

Lewis Pullman x Reader

You sat on the edge of the bed, frozen. Eyes vacant. Your phone buzzed relentlessly beside you, the screen lighting up every few seconds like it was mocking you.

The photos from your beach trip—sunlight warming your skin, Lewis’s arm draped around your waist, you in a bikini you’d worn bravely for the first time—had turned into a battlefield. A flood of hateful comments poured in.

“She’s lucky Lewis even looks at her.” “Stretch marks? No thanks” “Why does he settle for someone so ordinary?” “She’s just using him for clout.”

You swallowed hard. Each word sank deeper, cutting in places you’d worked so hard to heal.

The bathroom door creaked open behind you.

“Babe,” Lewis called casually, towel around his neck, water still dripping from his hair. “You won’t believe how soft this shampoo makes my—”

He trailed off.

You didn’t respond. Didn’t flinch. Just kept staring at a distant corner of the room, trying not to cry.

“...Babe?”

Concern threaded through his voice. He stepped closer, taking in your silence, the blank stare, and the phone beside you buzzing like a warning light.

He picked it up, glanced at the screen, then unlocked it.

The comments stared back at him.

“Those thighs are working overtime.” “She has the body of a school lunch lady.” “How did he end up with that?” “Stretch marks aren’t sexy. Sorry.” “There’s brave, and then there’s delusional…”

Lewis didn’t speak at first. His jaw tightened. His shoulders stiffened.

When he finally did, his voice was quiet—but it carried weight.

“They said this to you?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just lowered your head.

“They’re right,” you whispered. “I thought I was finally okay with how I looked… but maybe I was just deluding myself.”

Lewis gently set the phone aside and sat beside you, his expression stormy but softening as he reached for you.

“Sweetheart.”

You blinked. A tear slipped free before you could stop it.

He pulled you into his arms like he could shield you from all of it.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, cradling your head. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You buried your face in his chest, breath hitching as the emotions cracked open. “I thought I looked okay.”

He held you tighter.

“You looked beautiful. You are beautiful,” he said, with quiet certainty. “You wore that because you felt good. Because you felt free. That’s not something to be ashamed of—that’s something to be proud of.”

Your voice was raw. “You made me feel good in my body. And now I feel stupid for ever thinking I could be.”

Lewis’s hands trembled slightly as they stroked your arms. “Don’t let them take that from you.”

You gave a weak, broken nod.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “You think those stretch marks are ugly? I think they’re beautiful. They tell your story. I kiss every one like it’s a secret I’m lucky to know.”

He slid a hand along your hip, his touch reverent.

“Your hip dips? I could trace them forever. They’re you. Not flaws—features. Art. The thick thighs I hold when you’re cold, the softness I rest against when I need comfort—everything about you is something I love.”

Your eyes brimmed with new tears, voice cracking. “I never thought anyone could love those parts.”

“I do,” he said. “All of you. Without exception.”

After a long, quiet moment, he kissed your forehead.

“Go splash some water on your face,” he said gently. “Take a second. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

You hesitated, then nodded and rose from the bed, walking slowly into the bathroom.

Lewis sat still for a beat, staring at your phone as the screen lit up again and again.

And something in him snapped.

He picked it up, opened Instagram, and tapped the Live button.

The screen blinked to life.

Lewis stared straight into the camera—hair still damp, eyes sharp, jaw clenched with controlled fury.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and steady. “Lewis Pullman here.”

He let the silence hold for a second, letting his presence settle before he continued.

“I know a lot of you follow this account because you want glimpses of me. I get it. I’m an actor. That’s part of the job. But if you’re here just to tear her down—my girlfriend—because of how she looks, or because you think she’s not ‘good enough’ for me? Then do us both a favor and unfollow right now.”

His gaze hardened.

“She is not a side character in my story. She’s not a prop for your fantasies. She’s a real person. And you have no idea what it takes to be that open, to show herself the way she did.”

He leaned closer.

“If you think you get to rip into her because you don't like seeing someone real and unfiltered, if you think her stretch marks, her curves, her body make her less deserving of love—then go. Unfollow her, if that’s what you think love looks like.”

He shook his head.

“I don’t want fans who tear down the person I love. If you can’t respect her, you don’t respect me. And I don’t need your attention.”

His voice dropped, quieter but intense.

“I’ve seen her when she’s glowing. I’ve seen her when she’s broken. And she is still the most breathtaking person I’ve ever known.”

He exhaled slowly.

“She’s in the next room right now, trying to put herself back together because of some of the things you’ve said. And even after all that, she still has more grace in her pinky finger than any of you do behind your anonymous usernames.”

He stared at the screen a moment longer.

“She doesn’t owe you beauty. She doesn’t owe you perfection. And she sure as hell doesn’t owe you her pain.”

You stood still in the doorway. Barely breathing. Warmth bloomed quietly in your chest—deep and full and aching in a good way.

This was Lewis, as he was, standing between you and the world’s cruelty like it was second nature.

You pressed a trembling hand over your mouth.

This was love, if you'd ever witnessed it—in its rawest form.

He finally exhaled and glanced down at the screen. “That’s all. She doesn’t owe you anything.” A pause. Then, quieter: “She’s in the next room right now trying to put herself back together after what some of you said. But she’ll be okay. But I hope that you guys really reflect on yourselves.”

He tapped the screen to end the live.

Silence fell.

You stepped into the room, and he turned—eyes widening slightly when he saw you standing there. “Oh,” he breathed. “You—how long were you…”

“Long enough,” you said softly.

“I just—I had to say something. I couldn’t let them—”

“I know,” you said.

And you meant it. You felt it. Deep in your chest, where shame had been living a moment ago—something new had taken its place. Something steadier. Warmer.

You crossed the room and climbed into his lap. He embraced you instantly, pressing kisses to your temple.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

He looked at you with so much love it almost hurt. Almost. Because he would never let anything—anyone—hurt you.

[moonstruckme]

hello, sweetie!! i've been reading your doctor!remus content for a while now, and i literally can't get enough of it. you write him so well, and i just can't help it when i binge through every fic you have of him. <33

is it okay if i send in a request? please ignore this if you're not taking any right now or if you don't want to write it. totally fair!!

could you do one where reader (female or gender neutral is fine with me) sort of breaks an ankle or an arm, and it hurts like hell? aside from pain meds, reader craves a hug or two from remus, but he's very busy and he almost doesn't have the time to visit reader?

again, don't feel like you have to write my request. i completely understand.

have a nice day or night. and remember to stay hydrated and take care of yourself. :) <3

Thank you angel, hope you're taking care of yourself too <3

cw: hospital setting, Remus is slightly negligent of his patients but don't worry they're all fine because I make the rules

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 759 words

Remus thinks that he handles stress well. He’s good at prioritizing, and he can juggle more patients than most when the hospital is at its busiest. Remus is often the one his colleagues call for when there’s a child in need of calming, frantic families who won’t let them work, or when they can’t think straight because they’re so overwhelmed. He prides himself on having his shit decently together at least while he’s at work. 

But, unfortunately, knowing you’re in one of the curtained rooms lined up in front of him and not being able to spend his shift sitting with you has Remus’ carefully wound concentration coming apart at the seams. 

He finds himself cocking his ear for your voice when he knows he’s only two rooms over from yours. The patient he’s meant to be paying attention to has to repeat the name of the medicine she takes twice before he gets it. One room over, and hearing your gasp makes him stop mid-sentence, standing up straighter. His patient asks if he’s okay. 

Remus does feel close to the appropriate amount of guilt when he rushes that last patient’s final checks before discharge. He resolves to steep in penitence later. 

You’re chewing your lip when he pushes your curtain open, your eyes flitting up to his with something like relief. 

“I only have a minute,” he breathes, pulling the curtain closed behind him before kissing you. “Hi, lovely. How is it?” He looks down at where you’re still holding your fractured wrist in your lap. “Have you not been seen to yet?” 

“They said a doctor would come soon.” You lean forward to kiss him again, hitting the corner of his lips. “And look, here you are.” 

Remus frowns. “Bailey should have been in here by now.” 

“I don’t mind waiting.” 

“You’ve been here over half an hour. Your arm should at least be stabilized while you wait.” He glances out the crack in between your curtains, trying to catch a glimpse of his negligent colleague. “How’s your pain?” 

“Rem, I’m fine,” you say. “Can we just—” 

“I’m going to go get him in here.” He touches your unhurt shoulder, giving it a brief, reassuring squeeze before he turns to go. More focussed than he has been since you arrived. “Just sit tight, it won’t be much longer.” 

“Remus.” The splinter in your voice halts him as his hand closes over the curtain. Remus turns back around. 

Your eyes are glossy. It shakes him in a way nothing else can, like none of the horrors of his work ever do. It’s not pain, he doesn’t think. There’s a raw quality to your expression. 

“I don’t want him to come in here yet,” you whisper. 

Remus finds his voice dropping to match your quiet. “Why?” 

“I just want you.” 

His heart shudders. “Sweetheart,” he says, compassion heaving his tone, “I want to stay here with you, too, but you know why I can’t be the one to treat you. It’s against the rules.” 

“I know, but I just—can we—” You blink harshly, trying not to cry. Remus feels sick. For someone who deals with other people’s pain all day long, it’s sort of pathetic what the sight of yours does to him. “Can I just have a hug before you go?” 

“Oh,” he murmurs. An ache in the back of his throat. “Yeah, of course.” 

Remus has moved closer to you without realizing, drawn by the need to fix your upset, so it only takes a half step to be able to get his arms around you. You put your head on his shoulder like you’ve been wishing for it for hours. 

“Is this alright?” he asks, careful not to press anywhere near your injured arm. “Don’t let me hurt you.” 

“This is good.” Your voice is a watery consistency. Relief seeps from your every pore. 

Remus feels it seep into him, too. He rubs between your shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to brush you off.” 

Your sniffle breaks his heart. “You didn’t brush me off. I know you’re busy.” 

“I always have time for a hug.” He presses a kiss into your hair. “It’s, like, half my job, you know.” 

“Are you hugging other girls?” 

“Only the very, very sad ones.” 

You make a sound he suspects might be a muffled laugh. “Guess I should count myself lucky I got some of your time, then. In between all these sad girls.” 

Remus hums. “I may have a bit of a soft spot for one in particular.”