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blueberrybirdsworld · 27 days ago

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Plus one 5/9

Summary : When Lando Norris realizes he's the only F1 driver attending the Monaco F1 movie premiere without a girlfriend, he panics and convinces Oscar to help him find a last-minute plus one.

Author note : I get this story idea after the private projection of the F1 movie with all the drivers in Monaco (also can we imagine they weren't wearing their team kit and actually did dress up).

Genre : pure fluff

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The second they stepped out of the venue, Lando exhaled.

The Monaco night wrapped around them like a sigh: cool air, soft streetlight glow, the hum of a distant scooter and the faint music still drifting from the rooftop they’d just escaped. He felt his shoulders drop for the first time in hours.

Y/N walked beside him, holding her clutch under one arm as she turned to him with a smile.

“So,” she said, “any cravings?”

“Honestly?” he glanced at her. “Anything that doesn’t require a silver spoon or come with truffle foam.”

She laughed. “Italian?”

“That’s dangerously close to romantic.”

“Lucky us,” she said, eyes sparkling. “I know a place. Not far. Tiny. Looks questionable from the outside. Excellent garlic bread.”

“Sold.”

They strolled through the quiet streets, away from the glitz, through narrower lanes where vines crept over balconies and the air smelled faintly of sea and basil. Five minutes later, she pointed across the street at a little trattoria tucked between a closed bookstore and a florist.

“Here,” she said proudly. “No dress code, but lots of candles. So it still counts as a vibe.”

And it did.

It was dim and warm inside, strung with fairy lights and mismatched chairs. The smell of tomato, oregano, and melted cheese was instant comfort. They were seated near the window with a bottle of water and menus. Perfect.

He leaned forward, grinning across the table. “You know what I still can’t believe?”

Y/N looked up, eyes wide. “What?”

“That you have a crush on me.”

She groaned immediately. “Oh my God.”

“I’m serious!”

“Lando.”

“No, no, no. You said it. I’ve held back all night thinking I’d misread every signal and that you were, like, just being friendly because you’re nice and you felt bad.”

“I am nice,” she muttered, hiding behind her menu.

“And now I find out you’ve had a crush this whole time?” he leaned back dramatically. “I think I’m owed a little compensation.”

She peeked over the menu. “Compensation?”

“For emotional damage.”

“Oh my God,” she said again, half laughing, half dying. “You’re so annoying.”

“You’re blushing,” he grinned.

“I am not.”

“You are! That’s the second time tonight. I’m keeping count.”

Their food arrived: two bowls of pasta, steaming and fragrant, and a little basket of bread placed between them like a peace offering.

Lando twisted his fork into the pasta, then glanced at her curiously. “So, wait. If you had a crush on me… does that mean you actually watch the races?”

She blinked, a bit caught off guard. “I used to. A lot, actually. My dad and I would watch every Sunday. It was our thing.”

He smiled, genuinely touched. “That’s sweet.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I loved it. But once school started getting intense, I stopped keeping up. It just got… hard to make time. Assignments, work, studying. Watching practice sessions and races wasn’t exactly a priority anymore.”

Lando nodded. He knew the feeling: too much to do, too little time to breathe.

“But,” she continued, “when Oscar made it into F1, I started watching again. At first just to see how he was doing, but then I got back really into it last year. And I actually ended up going to a few races. With Lily.”

Lando froze, fork halfway to his mouth. “Wait. You were at some races?”

She laughed. “Yeah. Not many. But a few. One or two last season. One this year. Just in the paddock with Lily, not like, grandstand tickets or anything.”

He put his fork down, looking stunned. “How did I not see you?”

She shrugged, smiling. “I don’t know. You were probably busy being famous.”

“No, but, seriously, which races?”

She thought for a moment. “Silverstone last year. Zandvoort. And I came to Australia this season. So technicly I saw you win 2 times”

He stared at her, floored. “That was you?”

“What was me?”

“I remember Lily had a friend with her that day. But I didn’t even catch your name. I think I said hi and left to change helmets or something.”

Y/N grinned. “See? Missed your moment.”

He sat back, looking betrayed. “Oscar knew you. He could’ve introduced us properly.”

She tilted her head, teasing. “Well… he kind of did eventually.”

“I’m gonna have a word with him later.”

“To be fair,” she added, taking a bite of pasta, “Oscar’s so clueless with this stuff. He probably had no idea I liked you. He’s not exactly a mind reader.”

“Lily definitely told him,” Lando muttered.

Y/N laughed. “Lily absolutely told him. She for sure pressure Oscar to make this happened.”

“And now it all makes sense,” Lando said, shaking his head. “They plotted this.”

“Well,” she said softly, “it worked.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, tucking her hair behind one ear, eyes shy but warm, cheeks a little flushed from the wine or maybe the teasing.

He smiled.

“Yeah,” he said. “It really did.”

The dinner plates had been cleared, the last sips of wine gone warm in their glasses, and outside the restaurant the streets of Monaco had grown even quieter. The kind of quiet that felt intimate, not empty. A soft hush between tall pastel buildings, with streetlights casting pools of golden light along their path.

They were walking slowly.

Neither of them had said it, but they both knew, neither of them wanted the night to end just yet.

“You cold?” Lando asked, glancing sideways.

Y/N was hugging her arms lightly to her chest. “A little.”

Without hesitation, Lando shrugged out of his jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders, his hands lingering there just a second longer than necessary.

“There,” he said, like it was the most casual thing in the world. “Can’t have you freezing. Would be a bad first date review.”

She smiled, tugging it around herself. It smelled like cologne and fresh air. “Chivalry looks good on you.”

He gave her a mock bow as they turned a corner.

“So,” he said, hands in his pockets now, “you’re staying with Lily and Oscar?”

“For the weekend, yeah. I figured I’d crash there instead of going back and forth.”

“Wait,” he said, hopeful. “Does that mean you’ll be at the race?”

She nodded. “Oscar got me an invite.”

His face lit up like he’d just won a trophy. “Good. I won’t ignore you this time.”

Y/N laughed. “I didn’t think you ignored me last time. You were just... busy being Lando Norris.”

“Well, this time,” he said, bumping her lightly with his shoulder, “if you want, you can hang out on my side of the garage.”

“Oh?”

“You know. The best side.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing. “I’ll think about it.”

He grinned. “Take your time. No pressure. But the snacks are better and my engineers are funnier.”

They kept walking, side by side, shoes clicking against the stone, shoulders brushing now and then. There was something so easy about it. So normal. And yet it felt anything but ordinary.

Y/N glanced at him, the corners of her lips tugging upward.

“I don’t know what this is,” she said quietly. “But it feels... different.”

He looked at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Like...safe. Familiar. And new. I’ve never felt like this with someone. Not this fast.”

He stayed quiet, letting her speak.

“It’s like... I already know you,” she said, “but I still want to know everything else, too.”

Lando’s heart tugged at that. Because he felt the same. Like he’d just stumbled into something real without even knowing how much he’d been needing it.

When they reached Lily and Oscar’s building, she paused by the front steps, turning toward him.

He stood a little stiffer suddenly, hands half in his pockets, clearly unsure of what to do now. His eyes flicked to her, then away, then back again.

Y/N noticed. All of it.

To ease the tension, she gently reached for his hand, lacing her fingers with his. Her skin was soft. Warm.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft and honest. “For tonight. It was… great.”

He smiled. “Messy. But great.”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

They looked at each other then. Really looked.

And everything stilled.

The air was thick with something unspoken but loud. He was searching her face like he didn’t want to miss anything. Her eyes dropped to his lips just briefly. And that was all he needed.

He leaned in, slowly, cautiously, giving her every second to back away.

She didn’t.

His forehead gently brushed hers, breath warm between them. Then, with one last glance into her eyes for permission, he kissed her.

Soft at first. Tentative.

Then more.

His hands found her hips, pulling her a little closer, and she leaned in too, her hands resting on his chest. The kiss deepened, gentle but electric, like every word they hadn’t said was spoken between them in that moment. Like they'd been waiting all night, maybe even longer.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and close, her forehead still rested lightly against his.

“Wow,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he breathed, smiling. “Wow.”

Neither of them moved.

Because maybe this was where something really began.

And neither of them wanted to rush it.

Texts messages

Oscar:

where did you go

Oscar:

I swear if you left me alone with the Sky report guys again I’m gonna lose it

Oscar:

Zak is looking for you

we were supposed to do press pics

he asked me “where’s the other one”

like you’re a lost suitcase

Lando:

I left

Oscar:

no shit

where?

Lando:

taking her on a real date

Oscar:

HER???

Lando:

yes, her

Y/N

Oscar:

you what now, how ???

Lando:

I confessed

she blushed

I teased

we kissed

Oscar:

what do you MEAN you kissed

Lando:

I mean I kissed her

or she kissed me

I don’t really know

we were very close and then it just

happened

Oscar:

I go get a drink

and you go fall in love??

Lando:

seems like it

Oscar:

you actually did it

Lando:

I did

Oscar:

you

the most hopeless man alive

kissed the girl you’ve been panicking over all night

Lando:

I was not panicking

Oscar:

I cannot believe you actually did it

this is huge

I’m proud of you

still mad you let me suffer through Zak’s passive-aggressive “where is Lando” rant

but proud

Lando:

I was having a movie-worthy kiss in front of your building

I had bigger issues

Oscar:

you are the most annoying person I know

but I’m happy for you

you were a lost cause

Lily and I did god’s work

Lando:

oh I know you did

speaking of which…

Lando:

so she admits she had a crush

which Lily apparently knew

which means YOU knew

and still you introduced us, like, only NOW???

Oscar:

👀...

Lando:

I’ve literally cross pass her at races

you’ve literally brought her around

AND NEVER SAID ANYTHING

Oscar:

you weren’t ready

Lando:

I was very ready

Oscar:

you were not emotionaly ready

Lily's words

Lando:

I’m going to yell at you in the garage tomorrow

Oscar:

that’s fair

but worth it?

Lando:

yeah

worth it

Y/N:

LILY !!!!

HE KISS ME

lando norris KISS ME right in front of the door

Lily:

you’re home???

Y/N:

YES

just walked in

I haven't even taken off my shoes

Lily:

wait

start over

kissed where??

Y/N:

ON THE MOUTH

with his hands on my waist

like a real kiss

Lily:

YOU’RE KIDDING ??

Y/N:

I THOUGHT HE WAS GOING TO SAY GOODNIGHT

AND THEN HE JUST

LOOKED AT ME

AND I JUST

DIED

AND THEN HE KISSED ME

AND I DIED AGAIN

Lily:

okay wow calm down tell me everything

start from when you LEFT THE PARTY WITH HIM???

Y/N:

we went to get pasta

like actually just wandered into this tiny restaurant

he was so sweet

he gave me his jacket

we talked the whole way back

and then he walked me to the door

and he looked all nervous

so I held his hand

AND THEN HE KISSED ME

Lily:

I can’t breathe

you actually did it

Y/N:

LILY

HE SAID I COULD COME TO HIS SIDE OF THE GARAGE THIS WEEKEND

“THE BEST SIDE” HE SAID

I THINK I’M IN LOVE

Lily:

you’ve BEEN in love

I’ve known for months

Y/N:

WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME HE FELT SOMETHING TOO

Lily:

because he didn’t

until he met you tonight

and then it was VERY obvious

Oscar and I have had bets about how long it would take

Y/N:

I HATE YOU

I LOVE YOU

I’M GOING TO PASS OUT

Lily:

go to bed

sleep in

you have a boyfriend now

Y/N:

LILY

Lily:

ok fine

“maybe-boyfriend”

but that kiss sounds like a pretty strong maybe

Y/N:

I can still feel his hands on my waist

what do I do with my body???

Lily:

sleep. dream about him. will be here when you wake up

Y/N:

I actually might cry

he was so soft

and funny

and awkward

and perfect

Lily:

yeah

he’s kind of the best

especially for you

Y/N:

okay

shutting up

going to bed

but if I wake up and it was a dream I’m suing you

Lily:

you’ll wake up and he’ll probably have texted you first

Permanent taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @hi26loveie, @bunnisplayground, @nina481, @reallifemermaidprincess, @cars-and-frogs, @delululeclerc, @txmhxllqnd, @lydia-demarek, @destinyg237, @rhaenyrasversion, @sarascabiosa, @readz4u, @tvdtw4ever, @mynameisangeloflife, @teti-menchon0604, @suns3treading, @op814kitty, @prettyboyroseberg, @willowsnook, @ariesandwolves, @clarksgf, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @pinklemonade34, @fat-meh, @tiaajosephin, @mercrussell

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

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petalbcrnes · 2 months ago

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. . . [ kore ] 💬: and we are here again! a continuation of my ‘as a boyfriend?’ series, now with the dick grayson <3 hope i do our best boy justice 🩷 masterlist here ❤︎ all of this is sfw ! !

( ✦ ) 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍 : ‘ as a boyfriend? ’

A relationship with Dick is as sweet as honey. He’s already completely enamored with you and wastes no time in showing it. A total loverboy, he’s loud and proud about his affection. Dick has no shame when it comes to proclaiming his love, and that makes him an endlessly affectionate, saccharine-sweet boyfriend.

The first few months might be tough—I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Dick is someone who believes he has to perform to be worthy of love. But with patience, communication, and understanding, you can help him unlearn that mindset. And once he feels secure? That boy is yours forever. (Not that he’s complaining.)

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 ⠀. ᰋ .. 🌻

Dick loves loudly—we’ve established that. Once he’s comfortable, he has no trouble voicing just how much he adores you.

Compliments roll off his tongue with ease. His eyes light up when you walk into a room, and he’ll physically turn around to face you, running over to where you are. He praises you non-stop, even picking up on the little details you thought he’d never notice.

D: Is that a new perfume?

💬: Yeah, how did you notice? I just bought it.

D: You smell so good. Is that weird to say?

💬: …No, baby. Thank you.

D: Can I have the name? I wanna match with you.

Dick wants to do everything with you. Grocery shopping? He’s right there, hand in yours, strolling through the market like it’s the best day ever. Cooking? He’s attached to you like a koala—head on your shoulder or your head, depending on your height. Clothes? You’re matching. Sometimes, you don’t even realize it—he just does it instinctively.

💬: Baby, I can’t reach the utensils. Let me go for a second.

D: Wow, so you don’t love me? I can’t believe you.

💬: That’s not what I said—

He’s dramatic, and the only cure (according to him) is your affection. God forbid you say goodbye without a kiss. He won’t even ask—he’ll just wait, eyes wide and hopeful. A simple touch has him blushing. He’s not used to being the one flustered over a kiss. He used to knock people off their feet… now he’s the one waiting for a kiss with puppy eyes. And when you give him one? The dopey grin that spreads across his face makes it all worth it.

At first, the dates were extravagant. Dick felt like he had to impress you to make you stay. High-end restaurants and fancy outings were his go-to. But the more comfortable he becomes, the more domestic the dates get.

The expensive dishes are replaced by homemade meals you two spend hours cooking together. He sets the table with candles, wine, and soft lighting—especially when he sees you dressed up just for him.

And the nicknames? Endless. Baby, babe, gorgeous, beautiful—you name it. He even comes up with ridiculous ones just to make you laugh. But for some reason, lovely sticks. He can’t explain it. You’re just the loveliest piece of his life.

Dick Grayson is 100% a “golden retriever boyfriend.” He’s loyal, affectionate, energetic, and wears his heart on his sleeve. He hypes you up on your worst days, sends you cute good morning texts, and randomly shows up with your favorite snack just because he missed you. He thrives on physical affection, loves openly, and is always down for adventures—whether it’s a rooftop date under the stars or a lazy Sunday curled up on the couch.

Even if he’s halfway across the city or neck-deep in Nightwing business, you’ll wake up to a good morning, beautiful text. Always. Sometimes it comes with a dumb pun or a selfie of him pouting because he didn’t wake up next to you.

He jokes a lot, keeps the energy light, tries to be sunshine even when he’s struggling. But when it’s just the two of you, he lets the mask fall. He’s soft. Quiet. He’ll rest his head in your lap and whisper, “You make me feel safe.”

Acts of service are his love language. He’ll fix that one squeaky cabinet, do your laundry, or bring you coffee just the way you like it—without needing to be asked. It’s his way of saying “I love you” when words are too heavy.

He doesn’t really get jealous, but he does get pouty. Crosses his arms, gives you the most “are you serious?” look if someone flirts with you. A forehead kiss usually fixes it instantly.

♥︎ . .. ♥︎ .. 💐 ♥︎

In the end, Dick Grayson is completely and utterly in love with his partner. You are the sun in his life—he truly can’t imagine a world without you in it.

A/N: god i love this idiot sm. tagging a few moots because i gotta share my brainrot ab this man!! @minorlyatfault @cinnamongrl2006 @jjsblueberry @pjxcksonswrd @dulcet-aurora

#d. grayson #𐔌 hcs .ᐟ ﹒ ౨ৎ #‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓍯𓂃𓈒𓏸⭑˖ ࣪ kore’s posting .ᐟ #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n #dick grayson fanfiction #nightwing fluff #dick grayson headcanon #*dc

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cloudedcreams · 29 days ago

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thinking of a yandere! villain with a hero! darling.

it was a position that you’d practically been forced upon you. you don’t know when exactly it was that you’d obtained power, nor the moment it had had coursed itself through your veins and pulsed through your blood, but you remember the night you realised what needed to be done.

it was a cursed evening that he had created. wreaking havoc through the streets, bouncing across rooftops with a chaotic gleam in his eye. you were practically stumbling as you ran to meet him, your arms shaking but a determination clear in your eyes.

“what’s this? it seems i’m not the only one.” he had hummed thoughtfully, before pulling out a dagger and pointing it towards you with a grin. sparks flew from his hair as he strolled towards you, twirling the weapon as he did so.

“this will be fun.”

finding out your identity had been lightwork for him. he found it adorable how careless you were with it, and sooo cute to think about how incompetent you were in comparison to him.

he could destroy you if he wanted. leave you without a home, a beggar on the streets, or tie you up and torture you before letting you pass. but it was all too boring to him, no. he wanted to fill you up with hope, and then watch the emotions drain out of your eyes as you realised how unfair the world could be.

you were his arch-nemesis. before his goal had simply been to destroy the world, to waltz around the world in solitude before boredom consumed him and he ended himself. perhaps he would spare the people he found righteous, gift them with a heaven of death and freedom, have disciples kissing his feet and praying his name.

but he wanted you to be there. to stand by his side with adrenaline clear in your stance, sobbing and yet desperately trying to cling to the hope that it was all okay. you’d come back stronger, and be able to take him down.

and he’d force a blade through your hands, use his own to press them against the handle. he’d whisper comforts to you as he helped you to push down and ooze blood out of a body, and he’d remind you of the grave sin you committed until you embraced it.

#yan blog #yanblr #answered asks #yandere #reader insert #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere villain #hero au #@cloudedcreams #yandere x darling #sadistic yandere #yandere character #yandere drabble

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ghostlynightpanda · 15 days ago

Note

Hi I was wondering if you could write something for Naruto? I read your rules and you said, that it's one of your favourite shows, so I was wondering if you could write something for Kakashi maybe? With a femreader who's Guy's sister? I think that dynamic would be really fun. But if you don't write for Kakashi, or Naruto in general, than just ignore this request. I hope you have a great day!

How Not to Flirt, by Hatake Kakashi

synopsis: When a mysterious new visitor to Konoha quietly captures Kakashi's attention, the famously aloof ninja finds himself stumbling through awkward flirtation, well-meaning interference from Guy, and unexpected moments of connection—until he finally gathers the courage to ask for something real: a proper date.

content/warnings: Kakashi Hatake x fem!reader, fluff, 5.900 words

Part 2

The late afternoon sun cast a soft, golden glow across the rooftops of Konohagakure. The breeze was light, just enough to rustle the pages of a worn-out book, and the village was quiet—relaxed, even. It was the kind of peaceful lull that came once in a while between missions, and Kakashi Hatake intended to savor every second of it.

He sat atop the roof of his favorite teahouse, legs dangling lazily over the edge, one hand turning the page of Icha Icha Paradise, the other absently twirling a dango stick he'd long since cleaned of sweets. His single visible eye was calm, focused, almost dreamy as he soaked in the words of Jiraiya's ridiculous, overly dramatic story.

A sigh escaped him. Bliss. Utter, uninterrupted bliss.

That is… until something shifted in the periphery of his vision.

Kakashi glanced down casually—habit more than interest—but the moment he did, he blinked, his eye lingering.

Someone was walking through the village square. A woman. Unfamiliar.

That wasn't particularly odd in and of itself; visitors passed through Konoha from time to time. But there was something about you that made him pause.

You weren't in a hurry, just strolling along the merchant street with an easy, graceful pace, pausing here and there to glance at shopfronts or exchange a word with a vendor. Nothing flashy. No wild colors or flashy chakra. But you had a presence. There was an effortless charm in the way you moved, the tilt of your head when you smiled, the way the light hit your hair.

He had no idea who you were.

And that… was strange.

Kakashi prided himself on being aware of everyone in the village—particularly interesting people. Yet here you were, unknown and completely unbothered, existing in his world like you'd always been there. Like he was the one out of place.

He closed his book slowly, tucking it under his arm.

"Well now…" he murmured, an eyebrow raising just slightly. "That's new."

For a moment, he just sat there, watching you wander between stalls. You laughed at something the old lady from the bakery said. It was a lovely sound.

Kakashi blinked. What are you doing, staring like a genin with a crush? He shook his head and stood up. Time to be cool. Casual. Collected.

He hopped down from the roof in one smooth motion, landing silently behind the teahouse and adjusting his hitai-ate over his eye. A deep breath.

"You're an elite jōnin," he muttered under his breath. "You've faced rogue ninja, strong enemy agents, fought countless battles… How hard can one conversation be?"

Another breath.

And then he turned the corner to the market street, heading toward you with a calm, practiced gait that definitely did not betray the quiet panic rising in his chest.

Kakashi spotted you near the dango stall, admiring a basket of sakura-shaped treats like they were tiny works of art. He adjusted his mask nervously, then straightened his back, mentally flipping through lines from Icha Icha like cue cards.

Something smooth. Something witty. Something romantic, but subtle.

You turned just as he approached, your eyes meeting his with a casual smile.

"Hi," he said.

...That was it. Just hi. And somehow, even that sounded off.

"Hi," you echoed, friendly but a little cautious—like someone trying to place a familiar face.

Kakashi cleared his throat. "The, uh... dango here is… famously round."

You blinked.

He blinked back.

Famously round? What kind of line was that?

"Oh," you said after a pause, tilting your head in amusement. "I guess that's… a good thing?"

Kakashi nodded stiffly. "Roundness is… important."

You gave a small chuckle and looked back at the basket, and Kakashi felt his face heat beneath the mask. What was he doing? He fought ANBU-level threats with a straight face, and here he was talking about the shape of dumplings.

"Well, enjoy," he said quickly, then turned on his heel and walked away before he could make it worse.

Fast. Silent. Retreat.

The next day, you were seated at Ichiraku Ramen, happily digging into a steaming bowl of miso with extra pork. Kakashi happened to be walking by. (Okay, fine, loitering nearby on purpose, but that was beside the point.)

He lingered outside the curtain, took a breath, and stepped inside casually—as casually as a man panicking internally could.

You looked up as he entered, gave him that same friendly smile. "Hey."

"Hey," Kakashi said. Better than hi, right?

He sat two stools over, trying not to stare. Ayame greeted him, and he ordered whatever the day's special was without really hearing it. His mind was scrambling for an opening line that didn't involve the shape of food.

"I see you like ramen," he said after a moment.

You paused mid-slurp, glanced sideways. "...Is there anyone who doesn't?"

Kakashi considered that. "I… guess that's true."

Silence. Except for the sound of ramen being eaten.

You gave him a curious look. "You're Kakashi Hatake, right? I think my brother mentioned you."

He blinked. "Oh?"

You nodded. "Said you were kind of mysterious. And always late."

Kakashi scratched the back of his neck, the smallest smile forming behind his mask. "Sounds like a fair assessment."

You laughed softly, then returned to your bowl. Kakashi opened his mouth to say more—something clever, maybe something mildly flirtatious—but the words caught somewhere in his throat. Instead, he stared into his untouched bowl like it held the secrets of the universe.

After a few more minutes of awkward silence, he mumbled something about "needing to check on a mission report" and slipped out, mortified.

The next afternoon, you sat alone on a grassy slope just outside the village, watching a group of young ninja spar in the distance. The sunlight streamed through the trees, casting patterns across the clearing, and you looked entirely at peace.

Kakashi spotted you on his way back from the training grounds, stopping short when he saw you there—serene, soft-eyed, your focus completely absorbed by the scene before you.

He stood there for a solid minute, trying to decide what to do.

This time, he approached a little slower, careful not to startle you. You turned your head as he neared, giving him that calm, patient smile.

"Watching the genin train?" he asked.

"Mmhmm. It's kind of relaxing," you said. "Like watching waves crash or leaves fall. There's chaos, but also something rhythmic about it."

Kakashi sat down a few feet away, nodding quietly. "I never thought of it that way."

You gave him a side glance, studying his profile. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"I talk," Kakashi replied. "Just not always well."

You laughed again—warmer this time. "I appreciate the honesty."

It was probably the longest and smoothest interaction yet. And Kakashi was starting to feel okay—maybe even comfortable—until one of the genin in the field tripped spectacularly and face-planted into a tree.

You gasped. Kakashi snorted.

You both looked at each other, then burst into quiet laughter.

He felt his chest ease a bit. Like maybe he could talk to you after all.

But then, just as he opened his mouth to say something else—something more honest this time—your attention turned back to the field. And once again, the words never came.

So he sat there with you in silence, the good kind, trying to work up the nerve for next time.

The air was soft and golden again, just like the day you first arrived. Kakashi had decided—finally—that he was going to talk to you properly this time.

You were back at the clearing by the training grounds, your legs tucked beneath you on a worn-out blanket, watching a small group of academy students practice throwing kunai. The breeze carried the scent of early summer—grass, warm earth, a hint of blooming plum.

Kakashi approached quietly. He'd rehearsed it all this time. Nothing too flashy. Just a compliment, maybe a question about your home village. Keep it natural. Be yourself.

Not the weird, mumbling version of himself you'd gotten the past few times.

You turned to him with a soft smile as he drew near. "Hey."

"Hey," he said back, and… hey, that actually came out normal.

He sat beside you—closer than usual, not quite touching, but enough that the warmth between you was noticeable.

"I never did ask," he started, voice low, "what brings you to Konoha."

You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Oh, just visiting family. My brother lives here."

"Oh?" Kakashi tilted his head, interest sparking. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, he's—"

"MY YOUTHFUL SISTER!!"

The forest exploded in noise as a blur of green and energy launched from the trees behind you. Before Kakashi could react, a very familiar arm slung itself dramatically around your shoulders.

Might Guy beamed between the two of you, grinning like the sun itself had given him caffeine.

"I've been looking for you everywhere!" he cried, ruffling your hair with all the finesse of a charging bull. "Ah! It fills my heart with flames of joy to find my two favorite people sitting together like this!"

Kakashi sat frozen, like someone had hit pause on his entire life.

Favorite… people?

Guy clapped him on the shoulder so hard it nearly knocked him into the grass. "Kakashi! My eternal rival! I've been meaning to introduce you to my sister for YEARS! Can you believe this timing?! It's destiny!!"

Kakashi made a strangled noise somewhere between a chuckle and a plea for help. "You… never mentioned you were Guy's sister."

Guy gasped. "What?! But I talk about you both ALL THE TIME!"

"Suspiciously often," you added with a teasing glance. "But I always assumed Kakashi was just some long-suffering coworker you made up for dramatic effect."

Guy wiped away a single imaginary tear. "Ah, no, my dear sister! He is very real—and very cool! And now that you moved here and you two finally met, you can both be part of my next sibling-rival-training-triangle-dynamic!"

Kakashi blinked. "Your what?"

"Imagine it!" Guy shouted, already half-posing. "The three of us! Sibling bonds! Rival bonds! Emotional growth! Group stretching!"

You leaned over to Kakashi, voice just loud enough to be heard over your brother's monologue. "Is he always like this with you?"

Kakashi sighed through his nose, eye crinkling in tired fondness. "Unfortunately. Yes."

Guy was now doing air kicks in the background. Birds scattered. The genin in the field had stopped training entirely to watch.

Kakashi took a long breath. So much for that peaceful, romantic moment.

So much for anything, really.

But…

You looked at Kakashi again, and this time, your smile had a bit more understanding in it. A little amusement. And maybe, just maybe… a flicker of interest.

And Kakashi—awkward, flustered, hopelessly out of his depth—felt the smallest spark of hope.

Maybe this wasn't over yet.

Even if he had to fight through a thousand loud declarations of youth… He was Kakashi Hatake, after all.

Guy was still mid-monologue. He had, by now, shifted from "emotional triangle training" to suggesting the three of you form a synchronized taijutsu squad that wore matching jumpsuits. His arms flailed like flags in a windstorm, and his eyes gleamed with pure, unfiltered enthusiasm.

"—and then, with our chakra flowing in perfect harmony, we could leap into battle as a single, unstoppable force of youth! I'll start sketching costume designs immediately—"

"Guy-sensei," came a calm, deliberate voice from across the training field.

Neji stood at the edge of the clearing, arms folded, expression a perfect mixture of stoic and vaguely put-out. "You said you'd be leading our sparring evaluations this afternoon."

Guy's eyes widened in horror. "Oh no! I did! I was so caught up in the beauty of sibling reunion and the spirit of connection that I forgot my duty as an instructor! What shame!"

"You're only five minutes late," Neji said dryly. "But we've already begun rotations."

"I SHALL MAKE AMENDS!" Guy bellowed, turning back to you and Kakashi. "Forgive me! I will return later with snacks, scrolls, and synchronized workout ideas!"

He shot you finger-guns. "And you, little sister, be nice to Kakashi! He's very emotionally repressed and doesn't know how to talk to a lady!"

Kakashi visibly flinched. You covered your mouth to hide your snort of laughter.

And with a dramatic puff of dust and a war cry, Guy sprinted off into the trees after Neji, shouting apologies and battle metaphors as he vanished from sight.

Silence, for the first time in what felt like an hour.

You and Kakashi sat still for a second, blinking into the empty space where he'd been.

"…He's a lot," you said finally, lips twitching.

"He's… Guy," Kakashi offered with a shrug, though there was the barest fondness in his voice.

You turned to face him a bit more directly, brushing your fingers through the grass. "So you really didn't know I was his sister?"

"No clue," Kakashi admitted. "I've been out on missions so much, I've probably missed every visit you've ever made."

"Lucky me, then," you said, half-teasing, half-genuine. "Caught you during your elusive downtime."

Kakashi glanced over at you. The sunlight was catching in your hair again, and for the first time, the atmosphere between you wasn't charged with awkward tension or loud declarations of youth. It was… calm.

He hesitated for only a moment before replying, "Well… I'm glad I didn't miss this one."

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity blooming in your expression. "Do you always flirt this awkwardly, or is it just a me thing?"

Kakashi's visible eye widened slightly in panic, then narrowed with a faint touch of dry amusement. "I don't know what you're talking about. That wasn't flirting. That was… breathing in your general direction."

You laughed, warm and surprised, and Kakashi smiled under the mask. It wasn't smooth, but somehow it worked better than any line he'd ever borrowed from Icha Icha.

He leaned back on his hands, looking out at the training field. "So what village did you say you were from?"

"Didn't," you replied, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. "You'll have to ask nicer."

Kakashi hummed, pretending to ponder. "If I ask in full sentences and don't bring up the shape of food, does that count?"

"Depends." You nudged his shoulder gently. "You planning on breathing in my direction again?"

He chuckled—quiet, but real.

And for a little while, the two of you just sat there. No pressure. No declarations. No Guy.

Just the kind of slow, quiet moment that felt like something beginning.

The next time you ran into Kakashi, it wasn't by chance.

It was the day after your quiet moment in the training field, and you were wandering toward the edge of the village with a book tucked under your arm, hoping for a quiet place to read. The late afternoon light slanted through the trees, and as you rounded a bend in the path, you spotted him.

Kakashi stood in a clearing, arms crossed, eye focused on the dummy in front of him. He didn't move—just stood there for a few long moments, like he was waiting for something. Then, without a sound, he vanished.

Your eyes widened slightly. Fast.

A second later, three well-placed kunai struck the dummy's pressure points dead-on. Then a fourth thunked into the forehead of a nearby tree with a little paper tag attached—harmless, but clearly a subtle, controlled explosive. The kind that knocked out without wounding.

He appeared again, standing calmly just a few feet from where you'd paused.

"Oh," you said, raising an eyebrow. "Is this… your idea of a casual hello?"

He blinked, then gave the smallest shrug. "I thought I'd practice. Didn't expect an audience."

"Mmm." You stepped forward, arms folded loosely over your chest. "Practicing being cool and mysterious?"

His eye crinkled. "It comes naturally."

You snorted softly. "Does it also come naturally to dramatically explode trees to impress women?"

There was a tiny beat. "…That was a demonstration. Not a seduction tactic."

"Really?" you teased. "Because I'm feeling very seduced."

Kakashi coughed. "That's not… I mean, I wasn't—"

You stepped a little closer, eyes playful. "You know, if you keep doing things like that, I might start to think you're trying to show off."

He looked at you, unreadable for a moment behind that ever-present mask. Then he lifted a hand, rubbing the back of his neck with exaggerated casualness. "And if I were?"

"Well," you said, pretending to think, "then I'd probably tell you that exploding trees are less impressive than someone who can actually hold a conversation without panicking halfway through."

His shoulders sagged slightly. "Ouch."

"I'm teasing," you said gently, your smile softening. "You're doing much better than the dango comment."

Kakashi sighed dramatically. "You'll never let that go, will you?"

"Absolutely not."

You both laughed, and this time, the tension wasn't awkward—it was easy. Familiar. Kakashi's posture relaxed slightly, and his hand dropped to his side as he turned to walk beside you along the edge of the trees.

"So," he said, voice low, "what book are you reading?"

You held it up. Tales of the Silver Hawk, the kind of cheesy, over-the-top drama with swordfights and longing gazes that made for the best guilty pleasure reading.

Kakashi stared at the cover for a long second. "...Is that the one where the prince pretends to be a bandit, but also secretly writes poetry under a fake name?"

"Exactly," you said, delighted.

"…I've read that."

Your head tilted toward him. "Really? Didn't peg you for a romance-and-bad-disguises kind of guy."

"I read a lot," he muttered. "Research."

"Oh sure," you said. "Like how Icha Icha Paradise is secretly about chakra theory and interpersonal conflict."

He hesitated. "It… kind of is."

You gave him a sidelong glance. "You're lucky you're cute."

Kakashi stumbled slightly.

You kept walking, unfazed.

"Sorry," you added, half-smirking. "Didn't mean to ruin your cool guy image."

"You didn't," he said quickly—too quickly.

You stopped, turning to face him fully. "Hey, for the record… I like this version of you more. The not-so-smooth one. The guy who stumbles over words and reads trashy romance novels but still manages to save a training dummy from imaginary attackers."

Kakashi met your gaze quietly. "That's good. Because I'm… not really the smooth type."

"I can tell," you said, smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

A breeze passed between you. The forest rustled.

And for a second, Kakashi looked like he wanted to say something else. Something honest. But instead, he just nodded, eyes soft.

The sun stood high by the time the two of you wandered toward the edge of the forest. The trees had thinned into tall shadows stretching long across the grass, and the village's sounds were distant now—muted, softened.

You spotted a spot beneath an old tree with roots like gnarled fingers curled into the earth. The bark was silver-gray, worn smooth by wind and weather. You dropped onto the mossy ground without a word, setting your book beside you.

Kakashi hovered for a second, then sat a few feet away, back resting lightly against the trunk, his own book slipping easily into his hand as if summoned.

But instead of opening it, he looked at you. You were brushing a bit of grass from your palm, casually, like the silence didn't bother you in the slightest. It didn't, really.

Still, Kakashi cleared his throat softly. "So," he said, his voice quiet but warm, "you grew up in the hills, right? Outside Hoshigakure?"

You glanced at him, mildly impressed. "Yeah. That's not a detail people usually remember."

He shrugged one shoulder, eye curving faintly. "I remember things that matter."

You paused, letting that settle between you. Then: "I used to hate it there, when I was younger. Too quiet. I thought it meant nothing interesting ever happened. I didn't realize until I left how rare it is to be somewhere peaceful."

Kakashi's head tilted, curious. "So why didn't you stay? What brought you to Konoha, besides family?"

"I wanted more," you said honestly. "Something different. Something that didn't look like the same path everyone else was walking. I guess I hoped… the leaf might surprise me."

He nodded slowly. "It does that. Not always kindly."

You turned a bit more toward him, the slant of your body inviting. "And you? Everyone knows the legend of Kakashi Hatake, of course. But the version in my head used to be taller, with more facial expressions."

That earned a soft laugh from him—brief but genuine.

"Disappointed?" he asked.

You looked at him for a long second. "Not even a little."

Kakashi was quiet for a beat. "I think I stayed here for the people," he said eventually. "Even when things were… hard. They made it worth it. They still do."

There was weight in those words. Not sadness, exactly—but history. A gravity to the things he didn't say.

You didn't press. Instead, you asked, "Did you always want to be a shinobi?"

He took his time answering. "No. I just always was."

That answer made your chest ache in a quiet, understanding way. You nodded.

"I think I'm still figuring out what I want to be," you admitted.

"That's allowed," Kakashi said. "Even here."

You smiled at that, then nudged your book toward him with your elbow. "Do you want to read this next? You'd love it. The prince gets stabbed in the third act by someone who thinks he's still just a bandit."

Kakashi glanced at the worn cover and raised a brow. "Spoilers."

"Oh please," you scoffed. "You're probably five chapters ahead of me in the plot already."

He smirked, a little. "You're not wrong."

Then, without another word, he opened his own book and leaned back. You followed suit, both of you settling in like a pair of old friends who didn't need noise to feel seen.

The forest hummed gently around you—the rustle of wind in branches, the distant chirp of early evening crickets. The sky above turned watercolor blue, tinged with fading gold.

Time passed. You turned a page. So did he.

Now and then, you'd glance at each other over the edges of your books. Never for long. Never enough to break the spell. Just long enough to smile softly and return to the silence.

You didn't speak again for a long time.

And yet, in that shared silence beneath the tree, you learned more about Kakashi than you had all week.

He didn't need to impress you with explosive tags or wild techniques.

This—this quiet, honest companionship—was where he was strongest.

And maybe, you liked him best like this.

By the time the last hints of golden light slipped beyond the horizon, it was too dark to keep reading. The page in your lap blurred into shadow, and the letters refused to stay visible no matter how you turned the book.

You sighed, closing it with a soft thump and stretching your arms above your head.

"Guess we're out of light," you murmured.

Beside you, Kakashi was already tucking his book into the inner pocket of his vest. "Mm. Tragic."

You gave him a playful look. "You can't be that upset. You were pretending not to peek at mine every five minutes."

"I was checking your chapter pacing," he said with mock seriousness. "You skip romantic tension too quickly."

You stood with a small laugh, brushing off your pants. "Well, you're welcome to borrow it and find out how it ends."

Kakashi rose to his feet, the motion fluid. "You offering to lend me your favorite book?"

"Is that sentimental for you?"

"It's practically a proposal."

You huffed a laugh at that, turning to head down the path. "Come on, loverboy. Let's get back before Guy starts another flashmob warm-up on his own."

The forest had gone quiet now—settled into the peaceful hush of twilight. Only your footsteps crunched softly along the path. The air had cooled, and you could see the first stars beginning to dust the dark sky between the trees.

Kakashi walked beside you, his usual slouch a little softer than usual, hands tucked in his pockets. His presence was steady. Comfortable.

"Can I ask you something?" you said, not looking directly at him.

"Always."

"You seem like someone who's always in motion. Missions. Training. Thinking three steps ahead. What do you do when everything's quiet?"

He was silent for a beat too long.

"Read," he said eventually. "Drink tea. Take long walks nowhere in particular."

"That's it?"

"Sometimes," he added, glancing sideways at you, "I sit in a forest with someone interesting and pretend I know how to hold a normal conversation."

You smiled, eyes still on the winding trail ahead. "You're doing better than you think."

They weren't grand admissions—no dramatic confessions or revelations. But somehow, these slow pieces of honesty carried more weight.

And the silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was full. Shared.

By the time you reached the village gates, the lanterns were lit, casting soft pools of gold against the night-dark wood. You walked the last stretch side by side, winding past quiet houses and sleeping gardens.

Then, finally, you stopped outside the modest apartment building Guy was currently sharing with you. You looked up at the second window, light still on.

"Home sweet home," you muttered.

Kakashi followed your gaze. "You really live with him?"

"For now. It's… an experience."

Kakashi's visible eye crinkled. "I can't decide if I'm worried for you or jealous."

Before you could answer, the front door burst open.

"THERE YOU ARE!!" Guy appeared on the step, barefoot, in full green jumpsuit and an apron that said "Hot Noodles, Hotter Youth!" He was holding a ladle.

"I was about to send out a search party! Or start training without you! Or both!" He beamed. "Kakashi! Did you walk her home like a gentleman? So proud of you!"

"…Yeah," Kakashi muttered, posture stiffening instantly. "Something like that."

Guy turned to you, throwing one beefy arm around your shoulder. "Sister! I saved some tofu stew for you! Come! Nourish your youthful soul!"

You blinked. "Wait, you cooked?"

"Of course! You can't build romantic tension on an empty stomach!"

Kakashi made a strange choked sound that was probably meant to be a cough.

You smirked slightly at him over your shoulder. "Thanks for walking me back, Kakashi."

He gave a short nod. "Of course."

You started toward the door, but paused just before Guy could usher you inside.

Turning back, you leaned close—just enough for Kakashi to catch the words.

"Don't be a stranger."

Then you stepped inside, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Kakashi stood there for a moment, unmoving, in the glow of the porch light. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the edge of his mask.

Not a victory. Not a flirt.

Just… the quiet thrill of something beginning.

The next morning began with the scent of something mildly burnt and very suspicious wafting through the small apartment.

You emerged from your room, hair a bit of a mess, squinting toward the kitchen like the hallway itself might be dangerous.

"...Are you cooking again?" you called out, a little wary.

"No!" came Guy's cheerful voice. "I'm crafting sustenance for a legendary breakfast of bonding!"

You froze. "For what?"

Before you could get more answers, Guy appeared from the kitchen with two mismatched mugs and the proud expression of someone who thought "measuring spices" was an attack on creativity.

"I've invited Kakashi!" he declared.

You blinked. "...Here?"

"He's arriving soon," Guy said, handing you a mug filled with what might've once been coffee. "He said yes!"

"Didn't you tell me he never says yes when you ask him to come around," you said, openly shocked. "You've been trying to get him over here for years."

Guy leaned in conspiratorially. "It's because you're here now, dear sister. He's trying to pretend he's casual, but I know Kakashi! I know that man better than I know the burn mark on my own elbow from the Great Curry Incident of '86!"

You opened your mouth, closed it, then sighed. "You're scheming, aren't you?"

"I," Guy said, dramatically placing a hand on his heart, "am facilitating fate."

You didn't have time to respond before there was a knock at the door.

It wasn't loud—just a polite, two-tap knock. But it still made Guy practically vibrate with excitement.

"Rival!!" Guy bellowed, tearing the door open like a game show host. "You came!"

Kakashi stood there, posture relaxed, eye a bit half-lidded with that signature calm detachment—but his presence was a giveaway. He was dressed neatly, hair freshly brushed, and in his hand was a small paper bag from the bakery down the street.

"…I brought croissants," he said simply.

You arched a brow. "Did Guy tell you I hate burnt toast?"

Kakashi gave the smallest tilt of his head. "He said something about 'unifying our breakfast passions through fiery vigor,' so I thought it best to bring backup."

"I knew it!" you said, taking the bag from him gratefully. "You're officially my favorite."

Guy gasped in betrayal.

The three of you settled around the tiny breakfast table—an uneven thing that wobbled every time someone leaned their elbow wrong. There were plates of strange, overly spiced tofu, half-charred eggs, and the glorious safe haven of fresh croissants.

It was chaos.

But oddly charming chaos.

Guy was in rare form, narrating every story with full-body enthusiasm, mimicking battle poses with utensils, and occasionally winking at you so obviously that you had to bite back laughter.

"Remember that time we fought the Mist ninja with nothing but spoons?" he cried.

"There were also three kunai and a scroll," Kakashi corrected dryly.

"Details!" Guy boomed. "But the teamwork! Oh, Sister! You should've seen Kakashi! Leaping across rooftops! Hair in the wind! Eyes blazing!"

You looked at Kakashi, who didn't even look up from spreading jam on his croissant.

"I landed in a dumpster," he muttered.

"Victory dumpster," Guy added.

You leaned your cheek against your palm, smiling. "I can see why you two are rivals. You're like a storm and a rock. Pure chaos meets cool stillness."

Kakashi paused, giving you a sidelong glance. "Which is which?"

"Obviously he's the storm," you said.

"Obviously!" Guy agreed, dramatically swirling his mug. "And you, dear Sister, are the bridge between us! Our youthful harmony!"

Kakashi let out a small sigh, but didn't look all that annoyed. In fact, the corners of his eye crinkled again. Not quite a smile—but close.

After breakfast, the three of you lingered. The morning stretched on. Guy eventually got called away—Lee this time, training request—and he left with the energy of a man who had just placed the final piece of a grand plan into motion.

"I'm leaving you two alone for now!" he called as he grabbed his gear. "Talk about life! Dreams! Romance novels!"

And then he was gone.

The apartment was quiet for the first time all morning.

You and Kakashi sat on the couch, the silence suddenly comfortable again, like slipping into something familiar.

You turned toward him, holding up the bag of croissants.

"You want the last one?"

He gave a slight nod. "Only if we split it."

You broke it in half and handed him his piece.

"So," you said, nudging his knee gently with yours, "what were you expecting when you agreed to this breakfast ambush?"

Kakashi looked at you for a moment, and this time, his eye was unreadable in a different way—not distant, just quiet. Curious.

"Honestly?" he said softly. "I thought it might be… nice."

And it was.

You bit into your half of the croissant, smiling at nothing in particular, the feeling of nice settling warmly in your chest.

Kakashi leaned back against the couch, his arm resting lazily along the top of it. He looked relaxed—but his fingers tapped faintly against the cushion, betraying the low thrum of tension beneath the surface.

You finished your bite, dusting crumbs from your fingertips. "So," you said casually, "was it really the croissants that brought you here?"

He glanced sideways at you. "...Mostly."

You raised a brow, smiling. "Mostly?"

Kakashi didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied you for a moment. Not in that typical, unreadable way—but with something gentler. Focused. Like he was weighing his words instead of hiding behind them.

"I don't usually do this," he said finally.

You tilted your head, curious. "Do what?"

"Get close to people," he admitted. "Not unless I have to. And not like this."

You felt your breath catch just slightly. But you didn't look away.

"I guess I'm... used to people coming and going," he continued, his voice low. "Teams. Missions. Students. Sometimes they stay. Sometimes they don't. It makes it easier not to get too attached."

There was a pause. Then he glanced down at his hands. "But I like seeing you. I like the quiet you bring. The way you don't push. Or expect too much. You're just... here."

You smiled softly. "So, you're saying you like me."

His visible eye squinted slightly. "That wasn't subtle enough?"

"Not even close."

He chuckled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I really thought I was being smooth."

"You're lucky I like awkward dorks."

"That's a relief," he murmured.

Then suddenly, his head snapped toward the small clock hanging on the wall. His eye widened.

"…I'm late."

You blinked. "For what?"

"My students," he groaned, already standing. "They were supposed to meet me for training an hour ago."

You stood with him. "They're probably all training themselves by now. Or plotting your downfall."

"That's fair." He moved to the door but paused, turning back.

The way he looked at you then—it was different. Like the mask had slipped just a bit more. Not just the one on his face, but the one he wore every day.

"I'd like to see you again," he said quietly. "Properly this time. Not just... bumping into each other in forests or over Guy's cooking experiments."

You tilted your head, teasing. "Are you asking me out?"

He nodded once. "Dinner. No training, no interruptions. Just us."

Your smile grew warmer. "That sounds perfect."

"I'll pick you up tomorrow?" he offered, already half out the door.

"Looking forward to it."

He lingered one second longer, like he wanted to say something else—but instead, he gave you a final little wave, then disappeared with that signature quiet step of his.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, smiling to yourself.

Behind you, Guy's voice rang from the hallway after he had slipped in through the balcony door.

"WAS THAT A DATE REQUEST I HEARD?"

You sighed, already walking away. "Don't make it weird, Guy."

"Too late!!" he cheered.

But none of that mattered—not really. Because even as the apartment erupted with Guy's celebration of "burning love and youthful victory," your mind stayed with the quiet weight of Kakashi's voice, the softness of his gaze, and the promise of something new.

Maybe a little awkward. Maybe a little late.

But honest.

And finally, just the two of you.

Masterlist

#naruto #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #kakashi fluff #kakashi hatake x reader #hatake kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake fluff

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honeydippedfiction · 2 months ago

Note

CiCi, you know I love you so please be prepared for me to blast your inbox this whole month.

let's get #29 and #32 from the established relationship list with our big booty diva Joey B please - 🐯anon

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

#29. "Stop staring at my ass, please." & #32. Exchanging flirty looks from across the room.

Joe Burrow x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

There was something about spring in Cincinnati that made the air feel alive—electric with possibility. The city's skyline glowed amber against the deepening evening sky, and the steady hum of bass spilled from Ja'Marr Chase's rooftop condo like a heartbeat. It was a low-key get-together, just teammates, friends, and a few invited guests, but it carried the energy of a celebration. Offseason or not, these men knew how to mark the moment.

She hadn’t planned to come at first. Crowds weren’t her scene, and neither were NFL parties, where women often seemed to orbit fame like moths to flame. But then she got the text from Joe.

“You better show up tonight. If I don’t see you across the room at least once, the whole party’s a waste.”

That man knew exactly how to push her buttons—and how to pull her in.

So here she was, sipping a whiskey neat near the open balcony, looking effortlessly beautiful in a black off-the-shoulder dress that kissed her curves in all the right places. Her afro-puff sat high and proud, catching the gold of the string lights above, and her eyes scanned the room, pretending to look bored.

Then he walked in.

Joe Burrow. Six-foot-four, golden boy of the Bengals, and walking proof that God occasionally played favorites. He was not trying to make an entrance, but somehow he always did. Tall, lean, and aggravatingly handsome, he strolled in like he owned the place—hair slightly tousled from a recent shower, a plain white t-shirt molded to his chest, and those damn joggers that made her want to repent and sin all in one breath. Grey, of course. Fitted.

The man was out here weaponizing comfort wear.

Her eyes locked on him immediately.

Not his face. Not yet.

First, the broad shoulders.

Then the slim waist.

Then, unapologetically, the man’s ass.

She didn’t even blink. Didn’t bother hiding it. Her eyes trailed down slowly, leisurely, appreciating every curve like a connoisseur sipping fine wine. His joggers fit just right—snug enough to make her bite the inside of her cheek and wonder if she'd actually said his name out loud.

He moved through the crowd with that easy, loping stride, exchanging daps and half-hugs, completely unaware that she was mentally cataloguing the topography of his backside like it was a damn national landmark.

When he finally turned just enough for a profile view, she tilted her head.

Perfect.

Still staring. Still not sorry.

He caught her eye a second later, finally noticing the heat of her gaze, and smirked.

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look away.

His gaze cool and amused, hers sharp and slow-burning. She raised her brow in acknowledgment, then she raised her glass slightly in salute and gave him the slowest, most brazen once-over he’d gotten all year. The corner of his mouth tugged upward in that signature smirk of his. Game on.

She turned away casually, gliding through the room with grace and purpose, pretending not to feel the heat of his stare at her back. But by the time she reached the kitchen, she was already smiling to herself.

Moments later, he was behind her, close enough to stir the air between them.

“Stop staring at my ass, please,” he said, his voice low, teasing, warm with that familiar drawl.

She turned slowly, hand on her hip, lifting her chin with mock offense. “Excuse me?”

Joe leaned a shoulder against the fridge, grinning like a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

“I could feel your eyes from across the damn room,” he said. “Burning holes.”

She handed him a beer from the counter with a nonchalant shrug. “First of all, don’t flatter yourself, Burrow.”

He took the beer, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Second of all,” she continued, stepping closer, “you wore those joggers on purpose, knowing exactly what you were doing. You showed up here looking like... a damn whore.”

Joe’s laugh was quiet and genuine. “I just got out of practice.”

She didn’t even blink. “And you could’ve worn jeans. Or, better yet, stayed home. But here you are, cheeks out for the world.”

He grinned, shaking his head, “You’re unreal.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I say that like you’re trying to get me in trouble,” he replied, popping the cap off the bottle.

She took a sip of her drink, shrugging. “I am trouble and you just got out of a trap, and walked right into mine,” she said, biting her bottom lip thoughtfully. “You really need to be careful where you put all that.”

Joe looked down at himself, then back up at her, a glint in his eye. “You know you’re the only one getting access, right?”

“Mmhmm.” She took another sip of her drink. “I know. And I appreciate the exclusive rights.”

They stood like that for a beat—her leaning casually against the counter, him watching her like she was more dangerous than any defense he’d ever faced. And then, with deliberate slowness, she reached behind him and casually, as if she were swatting a fly...

Smack!

Her hand landed on his butt, quick and precise.

Joe jerked slightly, caught somewhere between scandalized and laughing.

Joe blinked, caught off guard. “Girl—”

She tilted her head, calm and cool. “Yes?”

“We are in public,” he hissed, glancing around even though no one was watching, though his voice was more amused than scolding.

“You act like you didn’t bring it here, all round and delicious,” she replied, her tone innocent, but her eyes full of mischief. “What am I supposed to do? Look away? Ignore it? Please.”

Joe rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “I should’ve worn jeans.”

“You should’ve worn armor.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to cool himself down. “You know, I used to think I was the bold one.”

“You’re adorable when you think that.”

She turned to walk away, the sway of her hips exaggerated just enough to be cruel. Behind her, she heard him mutter under his breath, still smiling.

“Troublemaker.”

“You act like you didn’t plan for this,” she teased, stepping away and walking toward the living room. She could feel his eyes on her, that familiar heat trailing her every move. And she knew, deep down, he was already plotting how he was going to get back at her for this one.

She didn’t look back—didn’t have to. She knew he was watching, and he knew she knew.

The night wore on, the music picking up tempo as the party began to settle into its rhythm. Laughter bounced off the walls, people gathered in clusters, drinks in hand, but in a crowded room full of noise and conversation, it was the space between them that felt electric. She wasn’t sure when it started—when the silent game became something more—but it was happening now, and there was no turning back.

She could feel Joe’s eyes on her, even as she pretended to chat with Ja'Marr's girlfriend at the bar. His gaze was subtle at first, just a fleeting glance over the shoulder, a faint smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. But she knew better. She could feel the weight of his stare, like a touch she couldn’t escape.

When she met his gaze across the room, everything seemed to fall away. The music faded into the background, the voices of their friends blending into a dull hum. All that mattered was that look—the one that said I know exactly what you’re thinking and I’m already thinking the same thing.

She held his gaze, unblinking, teasing him with the way her lips curled into a smile, slow and deliberate. She didn’t look away this time. Not a single inch.

Joe didn’t flinch either. He was leaning against the doorframe near the hallway, a group of teammates around him, but all his attention was focused on her. The same smirk she’d seen earlier played on his lips, but this time it was laced with something darker—an unspoken promise. He tilted his head slightly, the challenge clear in his eyes.

She raised her glass to her lips, taking a long sip, but her eyes never left his. She knew the effect she was having on him—the way his shoulders tensed, the way his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. She could feel him watching her every move, her every glance. And she wasn’t about to make it easy for him.

After a few beats, she tilted her head just so, sending a little wink his way, the kind that only made sense between the two of them. She didn’t need words. The way her fingers ran along the rim of her glass said everything. She was playing him, and he was already hooked.

Joe’s smirk deepened, and his eyes darkened. Without breaking their eye contact, he shifted slightly, subtly, his body turning more in her direction, his posture almost predatory now. He was so damn aware of her, so attuned to every detail.

She held his gaze just a moment longer before she finally, finally, let her attention slip elsewhere, as if she’d grown bored of the silent back-and-forth. But the moment her focus shifted to the conversation in front of her, she could feel his presence looming over her, his gaze never wavering.

Across the room, she could see him adjust his position, leaning in closer to whoever was talking to him, but his eyes? They never left her.

She wasn’t about to let him win this round. Not yet.

Turning back to Ja’Marr's girl, she leaned in, lowering her voice to play along with whatever joke was being told. But just before she could respond, she felt it again—his eyes. Watching. Studying. She could feel his intent even without glancing his way. The game was on.

She turned her head, just enough to lock eyes with him once more. This time, she didn’t bother with the slow smile. Instead, she let her gaze travel down his body in one long, deliberate sweep before snapping her eyes back to his, a clear challenge in her expression.

He blinked once, then again, but didn’t break the eye contact. He was leaning against the wall now, arms crossed, clearly trying to contain the grin threatening to break free. He was doing his best to act casual, but she could tell. She could always tell.

She bit her lip, her expression innocent as she leaned back slightly. She didn’t need to say a word to let him know what she was thinking. Her eyes said it all: You know what you’re doing.

Joe’s jaw tightened for a moment, but when he finally exhaled, it was slow—almost like a sigh. He uncrossed his arms, his body language shifting from the aloof, confident quarterback to someone who was just a little too interested in her.

And that’s when she knew she had him. He was hooked, just as she wanted.

She turned away again, but this time her smile lingered longer than it had before. She felt him watching her, felt the heat of his gaze like a flame on the back of her neck, and her heart beat a little faster in response. She didn’t dare look back, knowing it would only give away just how much he affected her, too.

But as she talked with Ja’Marr and his girlfriend, laughing at some offhand joke, she couldn’t help but peek over her shoulder one last time. She caught his eyes again, and this time, instead of a smirk, there was something darker in his gaze. Something possessive. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something—or maybe just kiss her.

The thought hit her like a jolt of electricity. She turned away, pretending to be completely absorbed in the conversation. But inside, her pulse was racing.

Later, as the party wound down, they found themselves outside on the balcony, the cool breeze mingling with the warmth of their shared laughter. The city lights twinkled beneath them, a soft hum of life carrying up from the streets below. The evening had been filled with stolen glances, shared jokes, and more than one quiet, charged moment.

Joe leaned against the railing, watching her with a playful gleam in his eye. “You really know how to make an impression, don’t you?”

She shot him a sly smile, leaning in just enough to brush her shoulder against his. “You make it too easy.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh? Is that so?”

She leaned closer, her lips hovering just a breath away from his. “Maybe next time I’ll take a more hands-on approach.”

Joe’s eyes darkened, the teasing glint replaced by something hotter, more deliberate. “I’m counting on it.”

She couldn’t help but smile, stepping back slightly. “Just make sure you’re wearing those joggers next time. You’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Joe laughed, the sound deep and warm, his hand reaching out to catch hers. “It’s a good thing I’m the one who sets the rules around here, huh?”

And just like that, they fell back into the quiet rhythm of their relationship—playful, passionate, and never without a challenge.

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tobiosbbyghorl · 3 months ago

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Hyper&Chill | psh

act 29: first year anniv!

Sunghoon had been persistent.

For weeks, he had been dropping hints, half-joking, half-serious, about you moving in with him. And for just as long, you had teased him with noncommittal answers, letting him squirm just a little.

But now, after all the playful back-and-forth, you had finally made your decision.

So, for your anniversary gift, you decided to give him what he wanted the most.

—

The day started like any other perfect date.

Sunghoon had insisted on planning it, saying it was his turn to spoil you. He picked you up in his car, looking ridiculously handsome in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up, his wristwatch peeking from underneath.

“Happy anniversary, LoLove,” he greeted, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead before opening the passenger door for you.

Your heart fluttered. No matter how long you’d been together, he still managed to make you feel giddy.

The date itself was effortlessly romantic—a cozy brunch at your favorite café, a stroll through the park, and then a stop at an arcade where you challenged each other in every game possible.

(Sunghoon, of course, refused to lose and ended up winning you the biggest plushie.)

By the time evening came, he took you to a rooftop restaurant with fairy lights and a city view, holding your hand across the table as you both shared dessert.

And then came his surprise.

“I have something for you,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips.

You blinked. “You do?”

“Of course.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.

Your eyes widened. “Lolove…”

“Relax, it’s not a ring. Yet.” He smirked as you choked on air, shaking your head at him.

When you opened it, you found a delicate necklace inside, a simple but elegant pendant with your initials intertwined with his.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed, touched by the sentiment.

Sunghoon leaned closer, his voice soft. “Now, you can have me close to your heart always.”

Your heart melted.

But little did he know, his surprise was coming next.

⸻

After dinner, you both returned to his place, where you finally gave him your gift.

You handed him a small box, watching as his brows furrowed in curiosity before he carefully unwrapped it.

Inside, he found a set of duplicate keys.

Attached to them were two custom keychains—one with his initials and yours intertwined, and the other with a tiny engraved date of your anniversary.

Beneath the keys were matching mugs, one labeled “Hoonie’s LoLove” and the other “Y/nie’s Lolove.”

For the first time in a while, Park Sunghoon was speechless.

His lips parted slightly, eyes flickering between you and the keys in his palm, as if trying to process what it meant.

“You…” His voice came out softer than usual. “You’re serious?”

You bit your lip, nodding. “Happy anniversary, Hoon.”

A second passed. Then two.

And then, in the next moment, you found yourself engulfed in his arms, lifted off the ground as he spun you around.

“LoLove, are you serious?!” He laughed, giddy, pulling back just enough to cup your face. “You’re moving in with me?”

You smiled. “I figured you’ve waited long enough.”

Sunghoon let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head before pressing his forehead against yours.

“You have no idea how happy this makes me,” he murmured.

And just like that, he kissed you—soft and slow, pouring every ounce of his excitement, his love, and his happiness into it.

Best. Anniversary. Ever.

taglist: @iboughtnjz @rikidaze @pocketzlocket @jaerisdiction @ijustwannareadstuff20 @doririsstuff z@whateveridontcarsheesh @rikifever @firstclassjaylee @jayhoonvroom @veilstqr

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rissierjrie

a/n: hi!! i miss them so i updated!! hope you liked it!

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lovelytsunoda · 4 months ago

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talk tonight | lance stroll

Summary: Lance Stroll saved her life in more ways than he will ever know

Pairing: Lance Stroll x female! reader

Warnings: angst galore please proceed with caution!!! insinuations of some unhealthy thoughts, girl was not in a good place. drinking and bad choices :) unexpected pregnancy with a happy ending <3

I wanna talk tonight // Until the morning light // 'Bout how you saved my life

"You saved my life, you know."

Lance looked over at YN, at the lost look on her face. They were sitting on the hallway floor, side by side and legs up to their chests, an awkward mirror of the first night they had met.

"If you hadn't come up to that roof, I don't know what I would have done. At the time, it scares me to think that if I had fallen, I probably wouldn't have cared."

She reached for Lance, holding his warm hand in hers, trying to ground herself amidst the uncertainty coursing through her veins. Her life had finally become stable again. Was that all about to change?

18 Months Ago

The city always looked so pretty at night, lit up in shining spots of light and color that shone through the dark skies. The rooftop behind her was littered with empty cans of Bacardi, a half finished cooler in her hand as she paced up and down the edge, perilously close to a fall.

The fall wouldn't kill her, it was nowhere near high enough, but she'd break a few bones. Probably both of her legs. Maybe an arm. Maybe it would be enough to finally stop being invisible all the time.

"Please don't jump."

The voice from behind her was so quiet, so unsure, that she almost slipped turning to face him. Seeing her lose her balance, the figure rushed forwards, grabbing her arms to steady her.

"Please. Whatever you're going through, its not worth it."

She scoffed, yanking her hands away. She relented, mentally making a compromise to sit on the ledge with her back to the street rather than tip toeing across it.

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do." He insisted "Come away from the ledge."

She glared at him, taking another swig of her drink. "Make me."

He was dressed smartly, in a pair of black slacks and a peacoat, his dress shirt open at the collar. His hair was mussed, in a way that made her think he wore it that way on purpose. Without a word, he strode over to her, picked her up of the ledge, and placed her back on the roof. The concrete was cold through her jeans, but she felt too numb to notice. The man sat next to her, hands firmly in the pockets of his jacket as they both leaned up against the wall.

"Every time I go on the internet, I see most of the world making fun of me. Telling me I don't deserve my job, my friends." He started, turning to look at her.

She took a deep breath, passing him the drink can. "I lost my job. My best friend started sleeping with my ex, and I feel like a background character in my own life. Like things are happening to me, instead of for me. Half the time, I'm invisible. At least people know who you are."

"Yeah, that's not always a good thing, you know."

She gave him a look as he took a sip of the Bacardi. "What is it you do for work that has you so hated?"

"I've got a rich dad in a sport full of people with rich dads."

"Yikes. What makes you so special?"

"Drove into a few walls early in my career." He shrugged. "It's part of the sport, all the greats have done it."

"Sometimes I wish I could just leave," She started, listening to the sounds of the city behind her. On the ground, a taxi driver honked at a cyclist, and a gaggle of giggling sorority girls left a country bar. "Get on a plane, not even caring where it's going, and starting over. New friends, new job. A fresh start."

"Not as nice as it sounds. After a while, I would think it would start to get lonely."

"My thoughts exactly. Although I don't have the most fulfilling life right now either."

They drifted into silence, neither one making eye contact with the other as her heavy head moved to slump to his shoulder. He smelled pretty, like expensive perfume, although the reasonable synapses in her brain told her that he was probably wearing a Dior cologne, and not Victoria's Secret for men.

"It just feels so heavy."

"I know, but its not forever. And if you give up now, you'll never see how great your life can be."

Now.

The alarm on YN's phone went off, and she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

"Its time."

"Hey, whatever happens, I'm not going anywhere." Lance reassured her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I promise."

She stretched away from the wall, extending her legs as she reached for the plastic test lying just a few feet away from her on the apartment floor. She held it in shaky hands, counting on Lance's warm hand against her back to keep her grounded as she turned it over.

Positive.

"YN? Sweet girl, what does it say?"

"I'm pregnant." She said softly, passing the test to Lance. "We're having a baby."

Lance stared at it for a moment, a small disbelieving smile creeping over his soft features. "We're having a baby. Together."

"Yeah."

Lance pulled her close, wrapping his strong arms around her small body. He choked out a laugh, trying not to cry tears of his own as he pressed kisses against her greasy hair. "We're having a baby." he repeated in hushed whispers.

"Fuck, I love you so much." She cried, burying her face in his shoulder. "Thank you for loving me back."

"You never have to thank me for that. Loving you is as easy as breathing."

And somewhere in the embrace, she found herself thanking God for Bacardis and rooftops. Lance Stroll loved her at her lowest, and stayed with her at her highest. By her side with a supportive ear and strong arms to love her with. <3

#lance stroll x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #lance stroll imagine #f1 x you #formula 1 x reader #lance stroll x you #formula 1 fanfic #mini fic #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #f1 x female reader

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purplereina11 · 3 months ago

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You're a highly successful basketball player who has just been transferred to Barcelona's women's team. The number 11 holds deep personal significance for you. Among the spectators is none other than football superstar Alexia Putellas, synonymous with the number 11 in Barça history, watching from the sidelines.

What starts as mutual admiration quickly turns into something more, fuelled by weeks of playful yet intense online flirting. The chemistry between you and Alexia becomes undeniable.

It had been a couple of days since your last exchange with Alexia, and things had been…quiet. Too quiet. You weren’t sure what she was planning, but you knew it was coming. So, naturally, the one time you were out not thinking about her, the universe decided to play a cruel joke.

You were grabbing a drink with your sister in law, she got you out your apartment that was being over run by your family in town visiting and staying with you, your over bearing older sister wouldn’t shut up about Alexia and her disapproval of your online games. Lisa brought you out seeing your face before it blew up, she left her husband your brother Luke behind to talk Abby down. It wasn’t a date. Far from it. But the setting? Yeah, it definitely looked like one. A nice rooftop spot. Dim lighting. A corner table.

You were mid-laugh at something Lisa said when someone approached your table, stopping just beside you. "Uh, hi—sorry to interrupt."

You turned your head, looking at the woman standing there. She was watching you with something that looked a lot like amusement, but there was also a hint of nervousness in the way she shifted slightly on her feet.

"Do I—?" You started, trying to place her. It never even crossed your mind she could be a fan of yours but it all became clear pretty quickly.

She let out a small, slightly awkward laugh. "You don’t know who I am, do you?" You didn’t want to say no, but…yeah. Before you could answer, she sighed and quickly filled in the blanks herself.

"I’m Alba. Alexia’s sister."

Oh.

Your sister in law beside you let out a low chuckle, clearly entertained by the way your expression shifted. "Right," you said, recovering. "Alba. Nice to meet you."

She gave you a look like she wasn’t quite convinced, but she smiled anyway. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your date” You so did, you thought “—saw you and figured I should say hi." You opened your mouth to argue the date part, but she wasn’t done. "I just—uh, well—Alexia’s mentioned you. A lot." Your brows lifted slightly. Alba winced. "I probably shouldn’t have said that."

Lisa laughed. "No, no, please—go on."

Alba shook her head, you could already see the headlines forming in your mind.

Bumped into Alexia’s sister. Looked like a date. Great.

Before you could say anything, Alba leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "I’d be careful if I were you," she said, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Alexia’s been... determined lately."

You narrowed your eyes slightly. "Determined?"

Alba just smiled. "You’ll see."

And with that, she was gone, strolling back to her own table like she hadn’t just completely thrown you off.

Lisa turned to you, grinning. "She panicked so fast."

You exhaled, rubbing a hand down your face. "Yeah. But did you hear what she said?"

"That Alexia won’t shut up about you?"

You shot her a look. "Not the exact wording she used."

She just smirked. "Close enough."

You sat back in your chair, mulling over the interaction. Alba had been nervous, sure, but she’d also let something slip. And now, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Alexia’s mentioned you. A lot. You looked to her as she looked to you, you were wondering if and what she would tell Alexia.

Of course she would tell Alexia. You found your eyes back on her a short time later when her attention was on her phone her thumbs flying across the screen rather than her friends.

You didn’t expect to hear from Alexia so soon. But the second you checked your phone after getting to training an hour later, you saw her name.

Alexia: So… you had an interesting lunch today.

You exhaled, as you started typing.

You: Didn’t realise I was being monitored.

It only took a few seconds for her response to come through.

Alexia: Wasn’t hard to find out. People talk.

You could feel the tension in those words. She wasn’t being playful. She was jealous. A slow smirk pulled at your lips. Now this was interesting.

You: Let me guess. You think it was a date?

There was a pause.

Alexia: Was it?

You could practically see her expression. Arms crossed, jaw tight. You took your time before responding.

You: Would it bother you if it was?

Another pause. Longer this time.

Alexia: You’re avoiding the question.

You chuckled, shaking your head.

You: So are you.

A full minute passed.

Alexia: Come to my game this weekend.

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. She was switching tactics. Trying to regain control. But you weren’t going to make it that easy.

You: Not sure I’m free.

It was a lie. You definitely could be. Alexia, to her credit, didn’t take the bait.

Alexia: Try to be.

And just like that, the conversation ended. You stared at your screen for a moment, exhaling. So this was how she wanted to play it. Fine. You’d see how badly she really wanted you there.

You did show up. Of course, you did. Not because Alexia asked—no, that would’ve been too easy. You told yourself it was because you had nothing better to do. Because you liked watching football. Because it was just coincidence that your schedule suddenly cleared up. You didn’t go alone however. Your family was in town, and when they heard you were planning to watch a football match, they insisted on coming along. That was the reason you were here. Your parents weren’t huge football fans, but they liked seeing you actually take time off from basketball. Your siblings, on the other hand, were all too eager to witness what they called the most obvious situationship in sports history.

You ignored their teasing. Mostly. But as you sat in the stadium, surrounded by them, you realised this was a test. Alexia didn’t just have an audience tonight—she had your audience. And she knew it. From the second the match kicked off, she was electric. She moved across the pitch with purpose, barely breaking a sweat as she dictated the game. Every time she touched the ball, something happened. A perfectly timed pass, a feint that left her defender stumbling, a moment of pure class that had the crowd roaring. Your siblings were eating it up.

"Is she always this good?" one of them asked, leaning closer.

"No," you muttered, watching as Alexia casually flicked the ball over an opponent’s head and collected it like it was nothing.

"She’s better."

And then, it happened. She scored. A ridiculous, impossible goal. The kind of goal that only someone showing off would even attempt. The stadium erupted. But Alexia she didn’t celebrate. She turned. Searched the crowd. Found you. Your breath caught as she held your gaze, her expression unreadable—except for the slight smirk tugging at her lips. Then, something changed. Her eyes flickered slightly to your right. To the person sitting next to you. Your sister-in-law. The same woman Alba had told her you went on a date with. And that’s when you saw it. Not through a phone screen. Not hidden behind playful messages or carefully worded captions.

But real, unmistakable jealousy.

Alexia’s smirk vanished. Her brows twitched, her jaw tightened ever so slightly. You had never seen her lose composure before. Until now. She tore her eyes away and turned sharply, jogging back toward the centre circle with stiff shoulders and a sudden, almost aggressive determination. Your sibling nudged you, barely holding in their laugh. "Oh, she definitely clocked that." You just sat back, exhaling slowly. This game wasn’t over. Not even close.

It wasn’t Alexia who reached out first.

It was Alba.

The message popped up on your phone late that night, hours after the game.

Alba Putellas: I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but she’s not handling it well.

You stared at the screen, rereading the words a few times. Of all the people you expected to hear from, Alexia’s younger sister wasn’t on the list. Before you could even process a response, another message came through.

Alba Putellas: I’m assuming you already know she saw you at the game.

Yeah. You definitely knew. You had seen the jealousy on Alexia’s face firsthand. You debated ignoring the message—keeping whatever this was between you and Alexia. But then your phone buzzed again.

Alba Putellas: She’s still annoyed about it, by the way. Hours later. Which, for her, means something.

You smirked, leaning back against your couch. Interesting. Instead of messaging back, you decided to let Alba talk. And she did.

Alba Putellas: I mean, I knew she was into you before, but I’ve never seen her like this. Alba Putellas: You’ve got her acting out. And Alexia doesn’t act out.

That was exactly why this was so fun. Because Alexia had spent weeks playing it cool—flirting with you, teasing you, pushing boundaries—but now? Now she was off balance. And she hated it. After a few moments, you finally replied.

You: Did she send you to message me?

Alba Putellas: Nope. If she knew, she’d kill me.

That made you laugh. Then a final message came through.

Alba Putellas: Just don’t make her suffer too much. She’s stubborn, but she’s not as smooth as she pretends to be.

You tapped your fingers against your phone, considering your options. Alexia had been the one pulling the strings this whole time. Maybe it was time to pull a few of your own.

You left it longer than a day this time. There was nothing. No likes. No comments. No subtle jabs or cryptic captions. Just silence. And the fans definitely noticed. At first, it was just a few speculative comments under your old posts. Then came the tweets—screenshots of your profile, of Alexia’s, of the suddenly empty space where your usual interactions used to be.

Did they fall out? Why is it so quiet all of a sudden? We were literally watching them flirt in real-time—what happened?!

You ignored it. You wanted Alexia to feel the absence. To see what it was like when you weren’t constantly playing into her game. But the moment that really sent people spiralling? When you finally posted something. Not a response to Alexia. Not some cryptic, teasing message. Just a simple family photo. A picture from your family’s visit to Barcelona—your parents, your siblings, even your sister-in-law.

Everyone smiling, arms draped around each other.

Liked by Alexia Putellas.

That was all it took. The fans exploded. Screenshots, tweets, theories—it was everywhere within minutes. And not long after that, your phone buzzed.

Alexia: Nice picture.

You stared at the message, waiting for more. For her to bring up the game. The jealousy. The fact that she’d spent the entire match playing like she had something to prove to you. But nothing. She was ignoring it completely. Your lips twitched. Classic. If Alexia wanted to pretend nothing had happened, fine. You could play that game too. But she was the one who had broken the silence first. And that meant, slowly but surely, the control was shifting.

You let Alexia’s message sit. No rush to reply. No double-texting. Just a silent acknowledgment that she had been the one to break first. And the longer you left it, the more you knew she’d be waiting. Because Alexia Putellas was not used to being ignored. The fans had already gone into a meltdown over her like on your post, but now? Now they were watching even closer. Every tweet, every Instagram story, every single move was under scrutiny. You were enjoying it.

Eventually, after a couple of hours, you texted back.

You: Thanks. Family’s been visiting.

Short. Simple. No flirting. No teasing. And then, for fun, you left your phone on silent and went about your day. When you checked back later?

Alexia: They had a good time? Alexia: Barcelona treat them well?

The corner of your mouth twitched. She wasn’t directly addressing the past few days, but she was trying. Still, you took your time replying. When you finally did:

You: Yeah, they loved it. You: Might have to make it a regular thing.

You didn’t say who they loved seeing. Didn’t say what had made the trip so enjoyable. But you knew Alexia would read between the lines. And, just as expected, she didn’t leave you on read for long.

Alexia: Good.

You chuckled at the short reply, shaking your head. She was holding back. You could tell. She wanted to say something more, but after days of silence, she wasn’t sure how to play this. For once, you had the control. And that was fun. So you left her on read. Just to see what she’d do next.

Alexia didn’t double-text. Not at first. She let hours pass—too many hours for someone as stubborn as her. But you knew better. You knew she wasn’t the type to sit back quietly. So when your phone finally buzzed again, you weren’t surprised.

Alexia: You’re quiet.

You smirked, stretching out on your couch as you read it. She was trying to be subtle. Trying to act like she wasn’t affected. But if she really didn’t care? She wouldn’t be texting at all. You let a few more minutes pass before responding.

You: Been busy.

Nothing more. No explanation. No opening for her to steer the conversation back into something comfortable. You were making her work for it now. And, after another long pause, she finally took the bait.

Alexia: Busy doing what?

Now that made you grin. You could practically hear the curiosity in her voice, even through text. And if she was asking, it meant she’d been thinking about it. Thinking about you. So you kept her waiting just a little longer before replying.

You: You seem interested.

The three little dots popped up almost immediately. Then disappeared. Then popped up again. She was debating her next move.

Alexia: Maybe I am.

It was bold. Blunt. A step forward after days of skirting around whatever had been building between you two. But you weren’t about to let her off that easy.

You: Oh? What changed?

Another pause. Another moment where she had to decide if she was really going to commit to this.

Alexia: Nothing changed. Alexia: I’ve been interested.

And that was the moment the game shifted again. Because now, Alexia wasn’t playing it cool anymore.

She was chasing.

You let Alexia’s message sit there for a moment, just staring at it.

I’ve been interested.

Direct. No teasing. No dodging. She wasn’t playing anymore. And, honestly? That made it more fun. Still, you weren’t about to let her off too easy.

You: Took you long enough to admit it.

The read receipt popped up instantly.

Alexia: You didn’t make it easy.

You chuckled, shaking your head.

You: Wasn’t my job to make it easy for you.

This time, her response came faster.

Alexia: No?

You: No.

Alexia: Then what is your job?

You tilted your head, considering her question. The easy answer? To mess with her. To push and pull until she finally cracked. But now, Alexia was actually trying. So maybe it was time to see just how far she was willing to go.

You: Is that why you were jealous of my sister-in-law?

Read at 11:42 PM.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Then disappeared.

Then reappeared.

And stayed there.

You leaned back, waiting. Because this was the moment of truth. She could deny it. Act like she hadn’t been glaring daggers across the stadium. Pretend she wasn’t sulking when she saw you sitting next to the woman Alba had wrongly assumed was your date.

Alexia: I wasn’t jealous.

You snorted.

You: Lying doesn’t suit you, Putellas.

Another pause. Longer this time.

Alexia: Maybe I was.

You grinned.

You: Figured.

Alexia: Shut up.

You: Make me.

The read receipt lingered for a full minute before she answered.

Alexia: Careful what you wish for.

And just like that, the game was really on. Alexia’s last message lingered on your screen.

Careful what you wish for.

A challenge. A warning. A promise. And yet, she still hadn’t made her move. So you let her sit with it. Let her wonder if you’d push back. Eventually, though, your patience ran thin. You replied the next morning sat in your cubicle ready for training to start.

You: Big words. You gonna back them up?

Read at 9:07 AM.

Nothing.

You smirked. She was thinking. Good. A few minutes passed before your phone finally buzzed.

Alexia: Where are you right now?

You raised an eyebrow.

You: Why? You gonna come prove your point?

Alexia: Maybe.

Now that caught your attention. Because this wasn’t just teasing anymore. She was actually considering it. You knew it. She knew it. And when you didn’t answer right away, she pressed again.

Alexia: Don’t go quiet now.

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head.

You: I’m at training.

You half-expected that to end the conversation. That the moment she was faced with reality, she’d back off.

Instead—

Alexia: Lucky for you, I’m only over the road.

Your breath hitched. She wasn’t backing off. She was doubling down.

And you had two options:

Keep playing the game.

Or let it finally tip over the edge.

So you leaned into it.

You: Good. Hope you play as hard as you talk.

She didn’t leave you on read this time.

Alexia: Guess you’ll find out.

And just like that, the waiting game was over.

Part 7

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

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wwccol · 5 months ago

Text

The Signal: Gotham’s Daylight Guardian

The Batfamily is trying to unravel Duke's "daytime crime-busting secret" only to discover that it's literally just Duke being Duke—and looking like a terrifying eldritch being—it’s brilliant.

Tim: "Okay, I’ve been running the stats. Crime in Gotham during the day has dropped by, like, 40%. That’s not normal. Something’s going on."

Jason: "I say Duke’s been moonlighting as a Jedi or something. There’s no other explanation."

Duke: "I swear, I’m just... out there, doing my thing. Nothing fancy!"

Dick: "Right. Which is why we’re all suiting up and following you tomorrow. For science."

The next day, the Batfamily gathers on a rooftop near Wayne Tower, decked out in their suits, ready to tail Duke as discreetly as possible.

Jason: "Alright, Narrows, go do your thing. We’ll stay out of sight."

Duke (rolling his eyes): "You guys are making this way weirder than it needs to be. I’m just... patrolling."

Dick: "That’s exactly what makes it suspicious. Go on."

Duke sighs, mutters something about how everyone’s being dramatic, and leaps off the rooftop.

The rest of the Batfamily follows at a safe distance, blending into shadows and keeping tabs via comms. At first, everything seems normal. Duke stops a mugging with a quick intervention and moves on. But as he continues, they start noticing patterns .

Witnessing The Signal in Action

A small group of teenagers loitering in an alley suddenly stiffen as Duke lands silently on a nearby fire escape. He doesn’t even say anything—just crouches there, watching.

Teen 1 (terrified whisper): "Did you see that? Oh my god, it’s looking at us!"

Teen 2: "What is that thing?!"

The group scatters like frightened birds.

On another street, a man about to break into a car looks up and sees Duke silhouetted against the sunlight. The golden glow of Duke’s eyes intensifies, and shadows seem to curl unnaturally around his frame.

Car Thief: "Nope. Nope. Not today. I’m going back to Metropolis."

He drops his crowbar and sprints away.

From a nearby rooftop, the Batfamily watches everything unfold.

Tim: "Okay, I don’t get it. He didn’t even do anything that time."

Barbara (from the comms): "I checked the cameras. He just landed on a fire escape and... stared. Is this his whole strategy?"

Steph: "Wait, is this some kind of Jedi mind trick? Duke, are you secretly psychic?"

Duke (on comms): "No! I’m not psychic. I don’t know why they’re freaking out!"

Jason: "I’ll tell you why—they think you’re a demon, dude. You’ve got the whole Lovecraft vibe going on. Look at you! You’re like a glowing shadow monster on top of a building."

Dick: "He’s not wrong. You’re giving off serious 'guardian of the apocalypse' energy."

Duke: "You guys are exaggerating. I just look... cool. Right?"

The Batfamily decides to test the hypothesis. Jason volunteers to get closer for a better look, pretending to be a random pedestrian.

He casually strolls down the street, glances up at Duke on the rooftop, and immediately freezes. Even Jason—who routinely faces death and chaos—is struck by the sheer wrongness of Duke’s appearance. It’s not that Duke’s doing anything malicious. It’s just... unsettling.

Jason (into comms): "Okay, yeah. It’s definitely the eldritch horror thing. My fight-or-flight reflex just kicked in, and I know it’s him ."

Duke: "I still don’t see it!"

Barbara: "Hold on. I’m recording this. I’ll pull up the feed so you can see what Gotham sees."

Back in the Batcave, Barbara plays the daytime surveillance footage on the main screen. The Batfamily watches in stunned silence as the video shows Duke leaping across rooftops. In the broad daylight, his glowing golden aura seems magnified. His shadow stretches unnaturally, flickering like it has a mind of its own. His eyes gleam with an unearthly intensity, and he moves with a predator-like grace that’s both mesmerizing and terrifying.

Dick: "Wow. You’re like Batman’s scarier, solar-powered cousin."

Steph: "Or the protagonist of a found-footage horror movie."

Tim: "Oh my god. Duke... you look like the final boss of a cosmic horror video game."

Jason: "No wonder Gotham’s criminals are freaked out. You look like you’re about to drag their souls into the void."

Duke (finally seeing it): "...Oh. Oh no."

Duke leans against the console, burying his head in his hands.

Duke: "I thought people were just scared of, like... the idea of a Bat vigilante. Not me personally. "

Tim: "I mean, technically, it’s still the idea of a bat vigilante. You’re just the daytime version. And the daytime version is... apparently an eldritch sentinel."

Bruce (stepping in): "This works to our advantage. Fear is a powerful deterrent."

Duke (sarcastically): "Great. My entire crime-fighting persona is an eldrich nightmare… That’s not weird at all."

Later

The Batfamily decides to lean into Duke’s unique abilities. They even brainstorm ways to amplify the effect subtly (glowing lenses for his mask, playing up the shadow distortion) while ensuring Duke feels supported.

Bruce: "You’ve turned daylight into an ally in a way no one else has. Use it."

Duke: "Yeah, but... can we not make me look like the end boss of Gotham?"

Jason: "Too late, man. It’s perfect."

As they laugh and tease Duke, he starts to accept his role as Gotham’s daytime terror—a protector like no other. Though, deep down, he secretly enjoys how effective it is.

Extra

Scenario 1: The Hallway Horror

It’s late at night, and the Batfamily is scattered throughout Wayne Manor. Jason is heading to the kitchen for a midnight snack when he senses movement out of the corner of his eye. He turns to see Duke standing at the end of the dimly lit hallway, perfectly still.

Duke’s golden eyes are glowing faintly in the dark, his shadow stretching unnaturally along the walls. Jason freezes.

Jason (startled): "Jesus Christ, Duke! What are you doing?!"

Duke: "I was heading to my room."

Jason (still on edge): "Well, don’t stand there like a damn ghost! You scared the crap out of me!"

Duke raises an eyebrow.

Duke: "You’re literally a guy who sneaks up on criminals for a living. How did I scare you? "

Jason grumbles as he stalks off to the kitchen. Later, he tells everyone at breakfast that Duke’s "eldritch hallway act" nearly gave him a heart attack.

Scenario 2: The Living Room Light Show

The family is hanging out in the Wayne Manor living room after a patrol. The lights are dimmed, and everyone’s winding down. Duke is lounging on the couch, half-asleep, when Tim notices something strange.

Tim: "Uh... Duke? You’re glowing."

Everyone turns to look at Duke, who blinks in confusion. Sure enough, his golden aura has started to flicker faintly in the dim room. Shadows from the furniture stretch and bend toward him like they’re being pulled into a vortex.

Dick: "Okay, that’s... unsettling."

Steph (grinning): "Is this your way of telling us you’re secretly a nightlight?"

Duke, now fully awake, tries to suppress the glow. But the more he panics, the brighter his eyes get, until Jason hurls a throw pillow at him.

Jason: "Turn it off! You’re gonna summon Cthulhu in the middle of movie night!"

Bruce walks in, sees the chaos, and just sighs.

Bruce: "No eldritch summoning in the living room. Take it to the cave."

Scenario 3: Shadow in the Batcave

Tim is working late in the Batcave, surrounded by monitors and gadgets. He hears footsteps behind him and assumes it’s Bruce.

Tim (without looking): "Hey, can you hand me the—"

He turns around to see Duke standing there silently, his glowing eyes piercing through the shadows of the cave. Tim yelps and nearly falls out of his chair.

Duke (startled): "Whoa! Tim, it’s just me!"

Tim (catching his breath): "Don’t sneak up on people like that! You’re like a freaking cryptid in here!"

Duke smirks, but when he steps closer, the shadows behind him flicker unnaturally.

Tim: "Nope! Nope! Back up! You’re officially banned from the Batcave after dark."

Scenario 4: Bedside Terror

Damian wakes up in the middle of the night and spots a tall, shadowy figure standing silently by his bed. He grabs his katana instinctively and swings—only to realize it’s Duke, glowing faintly.

Damian: "Thomas! What are you doing?"

Duke (guiltily): "I, uh... thought I saw a shadow move in your room. Turns out it was just me."

Damian groans and flops back onto his bed.

Damian: "Next time, announce your presence before you scare someone into an early grave."

Scenario 5: The Kitchen Incident

Steph and Damian are in the kitchen arguing over the last cookie Alfred made.

Damian: "It’s mine. I called dibs."

Steph: "You can’t call dibs on dessert, Demon Spawn!"

As the argument escalates, the lights flicker, and a low hum fills the air. Both turn to see Duke standing in the doorway, his eyes glowing faintly. The refrigerator light casts long, exaggerated shadows across the floor, making Duke look ten feet tall.

Duke (deadpan): "Why is it always the cookies?"

Steph and Damian scream simultaneously.

Damian (recovering, annoyed): "Tt. That was unnecessary."

Steph: "Duke, I swear, one of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack."

Scenario 6: Midnight Training Gone Wrong

Dick decides to train late in the Batcave, running through an obstacle course. He doesn’t realize Duke is also there, watching from the shadows. As Dick flips off a beam, he catches sight of Duke perched on a ledge, his glowing eyes tracking him like a predator.

Dick slips mid-flip and lands on the mat with a thud.

Dick: "DUKE! Why are you lurking like that?!"

Duke hops down gracefully.

Duke: "I wasn’t lurking. I was observing."

Dick: "You were lurking. Your shadows were doing the creepy tentacle thing again!"

Duke glances at his shadow, which does seem to be moving independently, and shrugs.

Duke: "I can’t control that all the time. Besides, you’re supposed to have situational awareness."

Dick: "Not for you ! You’re worse than Bruce!"

:D!!! lol posting here but I also posted on AO3

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lnracer · 17 days ago

Text

➵ Pairing: Lando Norris x Female Reader.

➵ Warnings: Angst, insecurity/self-doubt, jealousy and vulnerability.

➵ Word Count: 3.239k.

➵ a/n: First of all, sorry for the delay in posting 😞 I've been extremely busy but I've had this in my drafts for a while and I finally had time to finish it. I hope you like it! ☺️🧡

Lando Norris had always made bad habits look good.

Always been the one to leave, the one who gets bored fast, parties faster. Fast cars. Fast girls. Fast love, if you could even call it that.

He was fun — a handsome disaster dressed in a McLaren fireproof suit and with a smirk that promised nothing real.

He was the kind of man who knew how to lean just right against a bar, glass in hand, wearing a grin that made girls feel like they were the only ones in the room — right before he forgot their name the next morning.

He’d stroll into parties like he owned them, sharp jaw, loose curls and just the right amount of cockiness. It always ended the same — someone’s number in his back pocket, lipstick smeared on his collarbone.

That night wasn’t supposed to be any different.

The rooftop in Monaco was crowded with people, champagne was flowing like water, speakers thumping bass that rattled the marble tiles. The Mediterranean sea glimmered dark below them, and the sky above was split with stars and cigarette smoke.

Lando was half-listening to some girl with red nails talk about how she used to model in Paris when he saw her.

He didn’t even notice he’d stopped breathing.

She was across the patio, backlit by warm golden light, laughter falling from her lips like honey into whiskey. There was something old-Hollywood about her, like a screen siren who accidentally wandered into the modern world and decided to wreak havoc just for the thrill of it.

She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t trying. But somehow, every molecule in the room had shifted around her.

She wore midnight blue like a second skin, the hem of her dress swaying softly around her thighs as she walked barefoot across the marble, heels dangling from two fingers like she couldn't care less.

He watched as she leaned into someone and giggled, head tilted, eyes crinkling with mischief, glossy locks cascading down her back and her perfume — though she hadn’t come near him yet — felt like it was already in his lungs.

“Earth to Lando,” the girl beside him said, waving her fingers in front of his face.

He blinked, slowly, his gaze dragging back to his drink. Too late. The red-nail girl was already walking away, muttering something about "typical."

He didn’t notice.

Because her laugh cut through the air again, and Lando looked back just in time to catch her eyes briefly meeting his.

Soft, curious, amused. Like she already knew exactly what he was and wasn’t impressed.

Lando’s stomach dropped. He hated that.

He’d never had to chase anyone before.

They usually came to him — with fluttering lashes and sugary giggles, fingers trailing over his forearm, whispers of “I’ve never done this before” while already tangled in his sheets.

But her?

She disappeared before he could get close.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

The next time he spotted her that night, she was halfway down a hallway, swiping a glass of champagne from a silver tray on her trail. Lando didn’t realize he was following her until he was already halfway through the crowd.

“Hey,” he said, catching up, cool grin in place. “Didn’t catch your name.”

She looked up at him, lashes thick, expression unreadable.

“That’s because I didn’t give it to you.”

And then she walked right past him.

He turned around slowly, lips parted in disbelief, gaze trailing her like gravity had a favorite. She didn’t look back, didn’t slow. Just vanished into the dark corners of the party, her perfume the only thing left clinging to the space around him.

It was infuriating.

It was hot.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

Y/N — he discovered her name after incessantly pestering a mutual friend of theirs. They met again a few nights later — same city, different rooftop, more exclusive this time. One of those parties with whispered names at the door and waiters who judged your shoes.

Lando found her sitting on the edge of a velvet couch, legs crossed. She saw him before he could pretend not to notice her.

“Still chasing ghosts?” she asked lazily.

“Only the beautiful ones,” he replied, settling beside her without invitation.

She hummed. “Flattering. I bet that works on girls who don’t know better.”

“And you do?”

She turned, eyes locking with his — those soft irises lit up under the chandelier, reflecting light like some kind of mirage. “I know boys like you.”

He smirked. “Charming?”

“Reckless, bored and addicted to attention.”

He let out a low laugh. “Well, damn. Are you going to psychoanalyze me now?”

“Depends,” she murmured, leaning in just slightly. “Are you going to keep trying winning me over?”

That made him pause, but before he could answer, she stood, smoothing her dress down.

“You’re not used to this,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“What?”

“Being the one chasing.”

And then she was gone. Again.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

It was Milan this time.

A designer afterparty somewhere in the hills, far enough from the city that no one came unless they were meant to be there. The music was soft and sinful, wine poured like water, and Lando was feeling dangerous.

She was there — of course she was. Leaning against a stone balcony wrapped in ivy, glass in hand, the city lights flickering behind her like a backdrop meant only for her silhouette. Her dress was satin, clinging in the right places, hair wild from the wind. She looked like a painting.

And this time, he didn’t hesitate. He slid right beside her, close enough to graze her arm, wearing that crooked smirk that usually got him kissed.

“You always look like you’re trying to break hearts,” he said, fingers tapping the rim of his own drink.

She glanced at him, lazy and slow. “And you always look like you’re asking for yours to be broken.”

That made him chuckle, breathless. “I can handle you.”

“Oh, baby,” she murmured, smile slicing sweet across her lips. “You think you can.”

Her voice dipped on the last word, just enough to make his skin pull tight.

Still — she didn’t walk away. Not this time.

He leaned a little closer, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckles grazing her cheek. “Let me take you out. Just once. No games.”

“No games?” she echoed, amused. “From you?”

He nodded, sincere for once. “Just dinner. No pressure. No chasing.”

She studied him for a second, then — smiled. A real one. And something about that smile lit up his chest like a fuse line.

“Alright,” she said softly. “One dinner.”

And just like that, he felt proud, like he’d cracked something, like maybe he was special, maybe he’d broken through the mirror she held between herself and the rest of the world. He thought he’d won.

But she didn’t feel cracked. Didn’t feel caught.

As she turned back to the view, sipping her wine, she gave him one last look over her shoulder. Lashes low, lips soft, voice like silk dipped in honey.

“You’re cute when you think you’re in control.”

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

The dinner never happened.

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and the way she looked at him — lazy, amused, like she already knew how the night would end — plans unraveled. Quite literally.

His hotel suite. Crisp sheets. Shadows dancing across candlelight. Her legs over his hips, her lips curved into something smug and breathless. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask, it told. Her hands mapped his skin like she wasn’t curious — like she already owned it.

And Lando? He thought he’d won. Thought the way she tangled her fingers in his curls meant she was falling. Thought the soft gasps she made were a secret slipping through the cracks. He didn’t usually stay after — not really — but this time? He wouldn’t have minded.

His heart thudded hard in his chest when it was over, adrenaline and satisfaction melting together like warm wax. He let out a quiet breath, head resting back against the pillow, arm outstretched toward her side.

But she wasn’t there. She was already out of the bed.

His head lifted. “Wait— hey, where are you going?”

She stood by the window, slipping her dress back on, calm and untouchable, like what had just happened was a commercial break. A sweet intermission.

She glanced over her shoulder, all lipgloss and flushed skin. “That was fun.”

Fun. The word hit him like a punch to the ribs.

She wasn’t blushing or clinging. No sleepy smiles. No twirling his curls between her fingers. She looked… pleased. Polished. Like he had been the detour.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, propped on an elbow, voice rough with disbelief.

She smiled — that smile. The one that made his chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t explain.

“Don’t pout, Lando,” she purred. “I’ll see you around.”

And then she was gone.

The door clicked softly shut, leaving nothing behind but her perfume and the hollow echo of everything he thought he’d just earned.

He laid there, staring at the ceiling, a strange weight curling low in his gut, because he wasn’t used to this. He was the one who slipped away, the one who called it fun and meant forgettable. He was the storm, the addicting mistake.

But this time? He was just another page in her story, and he didn’t like the way that felt.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

He hadn’t slept well in days.

Not because of jet lag or the late nights — but because she haunted his mind like a ghost. Her voice, the way she’d said fun and left without a backward glance.

He’d never been one for feelings, never got tangled in the mess of emotions, never chased anything more than a good time. But with her? He was unraveling.

His phone lit up with her name on the screen and he’d hesitate — then tap the call button like a fool. When she didn’t pick up, he’d send a string of texts, trying to sound casual.

“Had a good time. Hope you did too.”

“Hey, I’m around if you want to talk.”

“Just want to see you again.”

Lando clenched his jaw, swallowing down the strange ache that was settling deep in his chest. He was the playboy, he pulled the strings, he was on the loose.

But she’d trapped him — tangled him in a web he couldn’t break free from.

And now all he wanted was the scraps of her attention, even if it was pathetic.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

The low hum of the city outside was a soft contrast to the storm inside the room.

Lando sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twitching, eyes restless like a caged animal. His phone had been silent all day — no message, no call, nothing —but he’d convinced himself she would reach out.

And then, like a breath of smoke curling through the door, she was there.

Y/N. She didn’t knock, didn’t apologize, just leaned in the doorway, that angelic face framed by loose waves, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Missed me?” she purred, voice low and teasing.

Lando’s chest tightened. He nodded, words stuck somewhere between pride and need.

She smiled — too sweet, too knowing — then crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. Her presence was magnetic, dangerous.

“You’re pathetic, you know,” she whispered, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “messaging me like a lovesick fool.”

He swallowed hard, wanting to protest, to tell her it wasn’t like that — but the truth was written plain on his face.

She laughed softly with a hint of mocking. “I could leave right now, and you’d still be begging.”

Her hands slid down his neck, warm and intoxicating. Then she dropped onto the bed beside him, pulling him close.

Their bodies tangled with the kind of reckless intimacy that only comes when walls crumble and truth lies bare.

She kissed him slowly, like she was savoring the control, the power in his helpless surrender.

When the sheets twisted around their skin, when breath mingled and fingers mapped familiar territory, she whispered against his ear, “You’re mine tonight.”

And for a moment, Lando believed it. But when sunlight crept through the curtains, so did the cold distance. She was gone before he woke — quiet as a shadow slipping from the room — leaving behind the scent of her perfume and a bed still warm with promises unkept.

His hand reached out for where she’d been — empty. The cruelest part wasn’t that she left. It was that she could leave.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was the one who pulled the strings, who left hearts tangled and tossed aside. But now—

Now he was the one caught — falling. Hard. Lando, the playboy, the untouchable, was unraveling in the private hours no one saw.

“You okay?”

“Missing you.”

“I’m here if you want.”

Each message felt more desperate than the last, the tone shifting from confident charm to raw, exposed need.

And Y/N? She was a master at the game.

Her responses were like razor — sharp, cutting through his facade with honeyed venom.

“You’re exhausting.”

“Grow up, Lando.”

“I’m not your trophy.”

Yet, every time she fired back, she left just enough space to keep him coming — craving her approval, her attention.

He felt it knot in his chest, a raw, suffocating ache that no amount of charm or bravado could mask.

He thought back to their last night together — the way she looked at him afterward, that faint, cruel smile as she muttered how fun it was, then walked away without a backward glance.

He clenched his fists, the pain breaking through his carefully constructed armor. She never wanted more. He had been so used to being the hunter, never the one hunted.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut: she was playing him with his own game, using his moves against him, stripping him bare. And for the first time, Lando couldn’t keep it together.

He sank back onto the pillows, the dam breaking. Tears slipped free — raw, unfiltered — blurring his vision. The playboy was gone.

All that remained was a man, lost in the cruel gravity of falling for someone who never saw him as anything more than a passing thrill.

He whispered her name into the darkness, a prayer and a curse all at once.

“I’m fucked.” he breathed.

And for the first time, he meant it.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

Lando wasn’t quite sure when it had started feeling like humiliation. Maybe it was by the third time she left his bed with nothing but a smirk. Maybe the fourth when she ignored his messages for days, only to respond with a careless “Sorry, was busy.” like she hadn’t been his entire world in the meantime.

But tonight? Tonight was hell, all because she had walked in with someone else.

Taller, older — confident in a way Lando used to be — Y/N on his arm, her head thrown back in laughter, lips stained in red, wearing the same black slip dress Lando once peeled off of her like religion.

She didn’t even glance at him at first. But of course, eventually — she did.

Lando’s breath caught the moment her gaze found him from across the room. And God, she smiled. Not the sweet, bashful smile she gave him that first night, no. This one was deliberate — mean.

Her new guy leaned in to say something, and Y/N’s hand graced his chest, just the way it used to linger on Lando’s.

He downed another drink, then another. By the time she approached, glass in hand, chin tilted in amusement, Lando was somewhere in between drunk and devastated.

“Rough night, Norris?” she asked, voice dipped in sugar and poison.

He scoffed, blinking away the sting in his eyes. “Are you trying to break me?”

“Trying?” she laughed, breathy and cruel. "Something tells me I already have.”

He stared at her. The way she glowed. The way her cruelty was wrapped in silk and perfume.

“What did I ever do to you?”

She leaned in, too close, that damn scent of hers fogging his brain.

“You made the mistake of thinking I was something soft. That I’d fall for you just because you flirted pretty.” she dragged her eyes down him, as if unimpressed. “You’re not the first man who thought he could tame me. But you...” she paused, voice dipping lower, “you’re the first one I let think he could.”

“Why?” His voice cracked. “Why me?”

She gave the kind of smile you give someone before lighting the match.

“Because you always got away with breaking hearts, Lando. I thought maybe it was time someone broke yours.”

She walked away after that, trailing fire in her wake, back into the arms of the stranger.

And Lando? Lando stood there, hollowed out. A party boy turned pathetic, begging behind screens, crying in rented cars. Waiting for a girl who never even looked back.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

He wasn’t expecting anything. Not anymore.

His friends had stopped trying to talk him out of it. Stopped asking who she was or why he kept letting her ruin him like this. And truthfully, he couldn’t even give them an answer.

But then — Bzzz. A message lit up the screen.

Y/N:

“Alone tonight.”

Image attachment: 1

He didn’t need to open it, although he eventually did, of course. The photo was grainy but deliberate — lingerie black, hair a mess of soft waves over one shoulder, lips parted just slightly, as if she were about to sigh his name. She looked bored. Beautiful. Dangerous.

Below the picture, just three words:

"You coming over?"

He stared at it, jaw locked. His throat was tight.

And then — he laughed. Not the kind of laugh that came from something funny. Not even the kind that came from surprise. It was bitter, hollow, tired. A soft, broken thing slipping from his lips.

“Fuck…” he muttered to himself, thumb hovering over the reply button. “You pathetic fucking idiot.”

But he was already pulling on his jacket.

Because he knew it, every time. Every goddamn time. He would keep coming back.

To the messages. To the picture-perfect destruction. To her.

And that was the worst part of it all. She knew it, too.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris x female reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula one imagine #formula one fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1blr

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hamilton-here · 1 month ago

Text

𝒜𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 - 𝒫𝓉.7

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! Here's the next chapter, enjoy. I'm thinking of wrapping up this series in another few chapters to possibly start some other ideas. Lots of love xx

Summary: Reader and Lewis have a day out together and soon return to the group after their private day, met with playful teasing and warmth, deepening their bond as they settle into the found family atmosphere around the table.

Warnings: mild swearing

Taglist: @urmomsgirlfriend1 @mits-vi @mimisweetz @nebulastarr @jdasiilva

MASTERLIST

Pt1,Pt2,Pt3,Pt4,Pt5,Pt6,Pt7, Pt8,Pt9

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The morning sun slipped through the sheer curtains of your hotel room, brushing everything in gold.

You hadn’t slept much, not for lack of trying but because your mind kept replaying the night before. The group. The laughter. And Lewis.

His message had come just after midnight.

Hammertime: I meant what I said earlier. I’m glad you came. You free tomorrow? I’d like to show you the best places in Monaco.

You hadn’t hesitated before responding.

User (You): I’d like that.

Now, standing outside the entrance of your hotel you felt that same flutter in your chest as you spotted him.

Lewis leaned against a sleek car, sunglasses on, hands tucked into the pockets of a lightweight jacket. He looked calm, like the city belonged to him. Maybe it did.

“Hey,” you greeted as you approached.

His smile was small but sincere. “Hey. Ready for a different side of Monaco?”

You nodded, and he opened the passenger door for you. “I thought we’d skip the obvious. No yachts. No flashing cameras. Just something quieter.”

The drive was peaceful. Lewis didn’t rush letting the car glide through winding streets that curled around the hills.

The view from higher up was breathtaking with red rooftops spilling into the sea and sunlight dancing off the water like it was trying to impress someone.

Eventually, he parked near a tucked away garden overlooking the coast. Bougainvillaea spilled over the stone walls and benches lined the walkway. It wasn’t touristy. It wasn’t crowded. It was calm.

You walked in step for a while, the silence between you soft rather than awkward.

“You come here often?” you asked, brushing your fingers along a cluster of flowers.

He nodded. “When I need to remember why I love this place. Before the noise starts up again.”

You sat on a low bench beneath a tree, the breeze brushing against your skin. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured. “Feels like the city’s secret.”

Lewis watched you carefully, his sunglasses now tucked into his shirt collar. “You looked nervous yesterday.”

“I was.”

“And now?”

You exhaled. “Still a little. Though it’s fading.”

Something passed between you in that moment. Not quite defined. Not loud. Just understood.

He leaned back, eyes on the sea. “You surprised me, you know. When we bumped into each other at the airport I didn’t know it was you.”

“I didn’t either,” you admitted. “But I remember the smell of your cologne.”

He laughed softly. “Well, that’s flattering.”

The conversation drifted into lighter things after that.

He told you about his favourite hobbies and you confessed you still didn’t understand half the racing terminology. You talked about animals that you love. He told you about his music playlists.

It felt like unraveling slowly, gently, with no pressure to be anything other than yourselves.

Soon he changed the subject grinning. “Come, let’s continue wandering.”

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

As the two of you strolled through the streets of Monaco it had a different rhythm when it was both of you.

Gone were the crowded tables and booming laughter of the café, replaced by a quieter, more intimate pace.

The sunlight fell in lazy gold ribbons across cobblestone paths, bouncing off polished car hoods and shuttered windows. Lewis walked beside you unrushed, relaxed and softer than you’d ever seen him.

Lewis tucked his hands into his pockets, glancing sideways at you as the two of you strolled toward the Port. “You know,” he said, voice low and thoughtful, “I wasn’t sure you were going to show up today.”

You smiled, looking ahead at the bobbing yachts in the distance. “I wasn’t sure I was either.”

“What changed?”

You hesitated, then glanced at him. “Your message.”

He looked at you, genuinely curious.

“You said you were looking forward to meeting me. And I don’t know it felt honest. Like you weren’t just saying it for the sake of it.”

Lewis nodded slowly, gaze returning to the view. “It was honest.”

The breeze off the water picked up slightly, sweeping a strand of hair across your cheek. Without thinking, he reached over gently tucking it back behind your ear. The brush of his fingers lingered, just for a second longer than necessary and it sent a quiet ripple through your chest.

“I don’t really do this,” you said softly.

“Walk around Monaco with a stranger?”

You huffed a laugh. “Let people in so easily.”

He slowed his steps, coming to a stop near the edge of the Port. The water shimmered below like a moving canvas. “You don’t seem closed off.”

“I’ve had to learn how to seem a lot of things.”

That made him look at you, really look. “Same.”

The admission sat between you like a thread waiting to be pulled. Instead, Lewis gestured toward the edge.

You followed him to a quieter part of the marina, where the path rose up into a small overlook that gave way to a stunning panorama.

Monaco unfurling in every direction, the palace high on the hill, the sea stretching endlessly beyond.

“I’ve always adored just starring into nature and forgetting everything else exists” he said, settling on the low stone wall and motioning for you to join him.

You sat beside him, knees brushing and let the hush of the moment sink in.

“Feels like you don’t get much silence to enjoy it ,” you said.

“Not really. But that’s what made the group chat special. No expectations just guys like us having fun for once in the shadows. It’s more like a place for us to breathe and be normal.”

You glanced at him. “You think we’ll keep this? The group, I mean. After the novelty wears off?”

He smiled faintly. “I think we’ll fight for it.”

You sat in that quiet for a while, listening to the occasional gull overhead, the lap of water below, the distant hum of cars curling around cliffs. And then softly and tentatively Lewis turned to you.

“Would it be alright if we made this a tradition?” he asked.

You tilted your head. “What, Monaco strolls and half revealed secrets?”

A small chuckle escaped him, but his eyes stayed on yours. “Just time. With you.”

That warmth you’d been feeling since the café spread deeper now, anchoring in your chest.

“Yeah,” you said. “I think I’d like that.”

You stood eventually, walking again this time toward the old town where he bought you an espresso and insisted on splitting a croissant that was “life changing, I swear.” You watched him smile through flaky crumbs, his eyes crinkling at the corners and thought maybe he was right.

By the time the sky began to blush with twilight, you’d made your way back toward the coast. He drove one handed the other inches away from your thigh. Neither of you had checked your phones. Time moved differently when it was just you and him.

The car arrived at your hotel entrance, the quiet settled again.

Lewis glanced up at the building, then back at you. “So I guess this is goodnight?”

You nodded, but didn’t move.

He hesitated, thumb grazing the back of your hand. “I’ll message you later?”

You smiled. “I’ll be waiting.” Your replies hand stilling tingling from his touch.

He didn’t kiss you - not yet. But the way his eyes lingered said it was only a matter of time.

And when you stepped out of the car heading inside the building, your heart was still outside walking those Monaco streets beside him.

Before you went to bed that night he sent you a text…

Hammetime: You never have to pretend with me

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You woke slowly, the kind of morning where the sun filtered in through half drawn curtains, warming the duvet and painting gold across the floor.

Monaco outside your window was already stirring with seagulls calling from the harbour, mopeds humming down narrow streets and the gentle hush of the sea against the docks.

But it wasn’t the city that made your stomach flutter.

It was the message still sitting on your phone.

You never have to pretend with me.

You’d read it too many times last night, your heart doing somersaults in the dark. The thought of Lewis not just the name, but the man behind it staring at his phone somewhere else in Monaco, waiting for your reply, had felt surreal.

But real.

You sat up slowly, stretching, hair tousled and skin still warm from dreams. Your fingers reached for the phone instinctively.

[Private Message - Hammertime💬]

Hammertime: Morning. I’m heading out for a run, but I’ll grab us coffee if you’re free later?

You smiled without thinking.

User (You): Yes to the coffee. Only if you let me buy the pastries this time.

Hammertime: Only if you promise to let me pick the view.

You stood and padded over to the small balcony. Monaco sprawled below you, sun drenched and shimmering. Somewhere in that maze of beauty, Lewis was out there running, living and maybe thinking about you too.

Your phone vibrated again.

Hammertime: Meet me at the top of Jardin Exotique in an hour?

You bit your lip, smile tugging wider.

User(You): Deal. Don’t forget the coffee.

You managed to pick up some pastries on the way and headed to the location. The climb up to the garden was slow and not just because of the incline. You paused to take everything in -

And then you saw him.

Waiting on a low stone wall, hair tied back, hoodie damp with sweat, a takeaway tray balanced beside him with two coffees. He looked up at the sound of your steps and his whole face changed.

Like he lit from within.

“Hey,” he said softly, standing.

“Hi,” you said, breathless from more than just the hill.

He handed you a cup without breaking eye contact. “Still hot.”

“I hope it’s not too sweet.”

He grinned. “I remember. One sugar, splash of oat milk.”

You blinked. “You remembered from the café?”

Lewis just smiled and nudged his chin toward a nearby bench. “Come sit. I brought the good view.”

You placed the small pastry bag between the two of you.

The both of you lt the world exist around you. Monaco lay below like a secret and for the first time since arriving, you didn’t feel like an outsider looking in.

“You always go for a run around here?” you asked, taking a sip.

“When I want to feel grounded,” he said before taking a bite of his pastry. “And small. In a good way.”

You nodded. “I think I get that.”

He glanced at you, more serious now. “Yesterday being with you it felt like I was truly happy for the first time in years.”

You turned your coffee slowly in your hands. “Yeah, it did for me as well.”

“I’ve got a million people around me most days,” he admitted. “But yesterday? I didn’t feel watched. I just felt seen.”

You looked over at him. “That’s all anyone really wants, right?”

His smile turned quiet. “You see a lot, don’t you?”

“Only the things that matter.”

Lewis reached out then gently - his fingers brushing over yours on the bench.

“Stay a little longer?” he asked.

You didn’t answer with words.

You just laced your fingers with his, soft and certain, and let the city fall away.

The warmth of Lewis’s hand around yours was steady. Not overwhelming, not rushed just present. It grounded you more than the view, more than the breeze, more than the way the morning light made everything glow with possibility.

“Do you ever think about what your life might’ve looked like if you weren’t this?” you asked after a while, not quite meeting his eyes.

He was quiet for a moment. “All the time.”

You looked over. His gaze was somewhere distant, out over the sea.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’d still be me without the noise. Without the cameras. But then again, racing gave me everything. It’s just - ” He paused, turning toward you. “It’s hard to know what’s real when everything’s always on display.”

You nodded. “That’s why you like the quiet?”

“I like the quiet,” he said softly, “when you’re in it.”

Your heart stumbled, unprepared. He wasn’t saying it to charm you. It wasn’t rehearsed or dressed up. It was just true.

You let the silence stretch again, but this time it was fully comfortable. His thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles, back and forth, like he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Like his body already knew the rhythm of being near you.

Eventually, you rested your head on his shoulder, tentative at first until he leaned into you, solid and warm.

“You know,” you murmured, “I was sure this trip would be a disaster.”

Lewis huffed a quiet laugh. “And now?”

“Now I’m not so sure I want to leave.”

You felt him smile into your hair. “Good. Because I was just thinking the same thing.”

You didn’t need anything more than that. Not right now.

Just the garden. The quiet. And the beginning of something that felt realer than anything you could’ve prepared for.

Your phone buzzed where it sat on the bench between you and Lewis, forgotten for the better part of an hour. You sighed and reached for it, still curled against his side.

GridGremlins

 MadMax: Oi. Has anyone done a welfare check on you two?

 Hulk: Monaco is only so big. Blink twice if Lewis kidnapped you.

 Pastry: We made a bet. If Lewis isn't back to the hotel all of us are sharing by lunch, Charles owes me pastries.

 SmoothOperator: I, for one support the getaway. But send a pic or we’ll assume you’ve joined a cult.

 HoneyBadger: Or eloped.

 RussellSprouts: Seconded. Elopement energy.

You couldn’t help but laugh -quiet but not surprised.

Lewis peeked at the screen and grinned. “Should we mess with them?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What, send a photo from a jewelry store?”

He smirked. “Or outside city hall.”

You opened the camera, angled it over your shoulder with Lewis tucked in beside you, still half reclined on the bench. He threw a peace sign. You snapped it -light, effortless, unfiltered.

Then sent it.

(User) You: Alive. No cult. Just carbs and sun.

Hammertime: And maybe the best morning in a long time.

There was a beat of silence in the group chat.

Then -

HoneyBadger: Ugh okay I ship it.

 SmootherOperator : …you’re glowing. Both of you. It’s disgusting.

 Pierrefect : Cute. I’ll allow it.

 Baguetteboi : Fine. You win. I’ll buy Oscar the pastries.

 Norrified : I KNEW IT.

You tucked the phone away again, cheeks warm.

Lewis looked down at you. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Better than okay.”

And this time, it was you who took his hand.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The sun had dipped behind the Monaco skyline, casting the city in the kind of golden haze that made everything look softer - slower, like the day was asking not to end.

You and Lewis parted ways earlier to get dressed for dinner with the group.

He soon picked you up once again from the front of your hotel to walk you to the restaurant. Side by side through the winding streets, the hush of early evening broken only by the sound of your footsteps and the distant hum of passing scooters.

Neither of you said much, but it wasn’t the heavy kind of silence. It was warm. Comfortable. Every so often his shoulder brushed yours and each time, it sent a electric zap through you.

As you approached the little restaurant tucked between stone walls and climbing vines, Lewis slowed. You could already hear them inside - the boys. Loud, unfiltered, absolutely themselves. The sound made your chest flutter with a strange mix of fondness and nerves.

Lewis looked over at you, mouth twitching. “They’re gonna say something.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Want to run?”

You smiled, tugging gently at his hand. “Too late.”

He let out a breath of a laugh and pushed open the door.

The noise swelled instantly.

“There they are!” Pierre's voice rang out, rising above the din like a stage actor who’d spotted a long lost lover. He stood with arms outstretched like he was about to burst into song.

“Look at them!” Lando added, eyes wide with faux amazement. “Nearly a whole day without supervision. A miracle.”

“Was it love?” Max asked, propping his chin on his hand in mock earnestness. “Did you ride scooters down the coast and stare into each other’s souls?”

“Did you get lost in the lavender fields of France?” Charles deadpanned. “That’s only like twenty minutes away.”

George leaned over the table. “Tell us everything. No - tell us nothing. We’ll fill in the blanks.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “You’re all terrible.”

“And nosy,” Carlos chimed in. “Don’t forget nosy.”

“Come on,” Oscar said, patting the empty seat beside him. “Join us, mysterious duo.”

You and Lewis slid into the booth - him on one end and you beside him, close enough that his knee brushed yours beneath the table. No one said anything about that part, but you could feel them noticing.

The table buzzed with life. Bread baskets passed back and forth, plates clinked, drinks were poured generously.

At some point, Nico started recounting a chaotic travel story, complete with dramatic hand gestures and Carlos nearly spit out his drink laughing.

But through it all, there was a rhythm. A beat beneath the banter. Every so often, you caught one of them sneaking a glance your way. Every so often, Lewis shifted like he was attuned to your every breath, your every word.

“So?” Daniel asked between bites of tiramisu. “What’s the verdict? Back for good, or was today just a one time miracle?”

You met his eyes, your answer slow but steady. “I think I needed this more than I realised.”

Lando raised a glass. “To weird group chats, then.”

Oscar raised his. “To making a new friend out of dumb usernames.”

Carlos added, “To whatever this is. Honestly, I’m not sure anymore.”

Charles smirked. “To Lewis, for finally talking.”

That earned a chorus of laughter.

Lewis groaned, shaking his head. “I talk.”

“You brooded for a full week before you said hi in the group chat,” Max shot back.

“And you practically fled the café earlier,” George added, pointing at him with his fork.

“I didn’t flee.”

“You ghosted us like a bad Tinder date,” Daniel said, grinning. “But look at you now.”

Everyone raised their glasses again. You clinked yours gently against Lewis’s, catching his eye as you did. He gave you a look that said, They’re never going to let this down and you gave him one right back that said. Nope, never.

The teasing settled, replaced by stories. Real ones this time.

Charles talked about how being home in Monaco felt like a breath between storms.

Lando described late night drives with no destination.

Max admitted that sometimes, when the pressure built too high he reread old group messages just to laugh again.

Daniel told you that keeping the chat alive was his way of holding onto the good stuff.

You listened. You learned. You saw them for who they really were - boys who had become brothers, bound not just by racing, but by trust.

And through it all, Lewis stayed close.

Quiet, yes, but present. Sometimes his hand found yours beneath the table. Sometimes you leaned just enough to feel his shoulder against yours. Sometimes you said nothing at all and it still felt like everything.

At the end of the night, as the group began to stretch and stand and groan about full stomachs, Max slung his jacket over his shoulder and grinned. “We’re doing this again.”

“Definitely,” Nico agreed.

“Tomorrow?” George offered.

Daniel wiggled his brows. “Or are our lovers here otherwise engaged?”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, hiding your face.

Lewis just laughed.

You said your goodbyes, hugs passed around, cheek kisses from Charles, a forehead bump from Lando. It wasn’t goodbye, it was see you later.

And as you and Lewis stepped out into the warm Monaco night again, the city lights blinked around you like stars fallen to earth.

You were in orbit now, as he took your hand in his walking to your hotel.

#lewis hamilton #lh44 #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #x reader #f1 imagine #lh44 x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lh44 imagine #f1 drivers #f1 text au #f1 fic

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s4kura-tr3 · 4 months ago

Text

Happy Valentine’s Day!

(A little angst in Sugurus part..)

Gojo - The city was dusted with snow, the streets lined with pink and red decorations that shimmered beneath the streetlights. Valentine’s Day in Tokyo was always a little extra — heart-shaped balloons tied to storefronts, couples walking hand in hand, and cafes boasting limited-edition desserts.

You weren’t sure why you expected today to feel like just another Wednesday. Not with Gojo Satoru as your boyfriend.

Your phone buzzed right as you stepped into your apartment.

Satoru: Come to the rooftop. Now. No questions.

You raised an eyebrow but couldn’t fight the small smile that tugged at your lips. With Gojo, surprises were inevitable. You grabbed your coat and made your way up the stairs, pushing open the door to the rooftop.

The sight took your breath away.

Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed overhead, casting a soft golden glow over a small table set with desserts and a thermos of what you assumed was hot chocolate. A thick blanket was spread out beside the table, lined with cushions. The city skyline glittered in the distance like scattered diamonds.

And there, standing with his back to you, was Satoru. He turned when he heard you step forward, that trademark grin appearing as soon as his eyes met yours. His blindfold was gone tonight, leaving his vibrant blue eyes on full display.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” he said, spreading his arms dramatically. “Aren’t I the most romantic boyfriend ever?”

You chuckled and walked over to him. “I mean…you did set the bar high last year with the impromptu trip to Okinawa.”

“True,” he mused. “But this year, I thought — why travel when we can just…stay cozy here?”

He pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You sank into him, warmth spreading through you despite the chilly February air.

“You really did all this?” you asked, glancing around the rooftop setup.

“Of course! Who else would go this over-the-top for you?” His voice was teasing, but there was a softness in his eyes that gave him away. “I wanted tonight to be about us. No curses, no missions, no interruptions.”

Your heart gave a little flutter. Gojo wasn’t always the best with words when it came to feelings — but when he showed it, it hit like a freight train.

“Come on,” he said, tugging you toward the blanket. “I brought your favorite pastries from that place you love.”

“You went all the way across town for those?”

“For you? Always.”

You sat together, sharing bites of pastries and sipping hot chocolate as the night unfolded. Gojo kept making ridiculous jokes, most of which made you groan but left you laughing anyway. His hand never left yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly.

As the night wore on, he grew quieter. You turned to find him gazing at you with an expression you didn’t see often — vulnerable, unguarded.

“Hey,” you whispered. “What’s that look for?”

He hesitated, then gave you a crooked smile. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

Your chest tightened. You squeezed his hand. “Me too, Satoru.”

Geto - The February air was crisp, the scent of snow lingering despite the clear sky. Tokyo streets were alive with Valentine’s Day cheer — couples strolling beneath pink banners, flower shops bustling with last-minute customers, and cafés offering heart-shaped treats in every window.

But the warmth of the city didn’t quite reach you tonight.

You sat by the window of your apartment, absently tracing patterns on the frosty glass. Your phone sat on the table beside you, the screen dark except for the faint reflection of your own face.

You shouldn’t have expected a message.

Not today. Not from him.

The familiar ache stirred in your chest. It was easier most days, the distance between you and Suguru Geto a wound you learned to live with. But today? When the world seemed to revolve around love and companionship? It hurt.

You squeezed your eyes shut and leaned your forehead against the window.

Stop waiting, you told yourself. He’s not coming back.

But then your phone buzzed. Once. Twice.

Your heart lurched as you snatched it up.

Unknown Number: Look outside.

Your breath caught. The number wasn’t saved, but you knew who it was. Even after all this time, you’d never forgotten the pattern of his messages — the deliberate wording, the weight behind so few words.

You stood slowly, heart racing as you stepped to the window. Outside, beneath the streetlamp across from your building, stood a figure dressed in black. His long, dark hair was half-pulled back, the rest cascading over his shoulders. Even from here, you could feel the weight of his gaze.

Suguru Geto.

Your knees went weak, and your breath hitched.

You shouldn’t go to him. You knew better. But your body moved on instinct — grabbing your coat and rushing out the door, heart beating louder than the sound of your footsteps down the stairs.

The cold night air hit your face as you pushed through the entrance and crossed the street. He didn’t move until you were standing in front of him.

“You’re really here,” you whispered.

“I shouldn’t be,” he said softly. His voice was deeper than you remembered, but it still held that same calm, steady rhythm. “But…I couldn’t stay away today.”

His eyes softened as they met yours, the faintest crack in the mask he wore now. You searched his face, noting the faint scars, the exhaustion in his features. He looked older. Colder. But beneath that? The man you once loved was still there.

“Why now?” you asked, voice trembling.

He hesitated. “Because it’s Valentine’s Day. And no matter how far I go…you’re still the one I think of today.”

Tears burned in your eyes, and you clenched your jaw to hold them back. “Suguru…you left. You chose—”

“I know.” His expression tightened with guilt. “And I still believe in what I chose. But that doesn’t mean I stopped—” He cut himself off, exhaling shakily. “It doesn’t mean I stopped missing you.”

The cold wind swirled between you.

You should walk away. You should tell him that missing you wasn’t enough to erase everything he’d done.

But your heart betrayed you.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. For a moment, he stood still, as though unsure if he was allowed this. Then his arms came around you, holding you tightly, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered against his chest.

“I know,” he murmured, voice cracking.

“And I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know that too.”

Neither of you moved. The world faded — the lights, the decorations, the laughter from passing couples. For one night, time stood still.

“Just tonight?” you asked.

His hand cradled the back of your head. “Just tonight.”

Valentine’s Day was supposed to be sweet, but with Suguru, it was always bittersweet.

Because tomorrow, he’d be gone again.

And you’d be left waiting for a ghost.

Nanami - February 14th had always felt like a manufactured holiday to Nanami Kento — an excuse for companies to push chocolates, flowers, and overpriced dinners. He wasn’t a cynic about love; he simply didn’t believe in grand gestures dictated by a calendar, he believed it should be an everyday thing.

But then he met you.

And now he found himself standing in the kitchen of your shared apartment, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, meticulously arranging a plate of homemade chocolate-covered strawberries. Each one was dipped perfectly — because, of course, Nanami wouldn’t settle for uneven coatings — and sprinkled with just the right amount of crushed hazelnuts.

He glanced at the clock. 6:58 p.m. You’d be home any minute.

The apartment was quiet except for the faint jazz music playing from the speaker. A bottle of wine was already breathing on the counter, and dinner was simmering on the stove. Simple. Elegant. Thoughtful. Just like he knew you preferred.

The lock clicked, and he turned just as the door opened.

“Smells amazing in here,” you called as you stepped inside, cheeks pink from the cold. When your eyes landed on him — standing there in his crisp white shirt, apron still tied around his waist — your smile softened. “Did you…cook?”

“Of course,” he said, walking over to help you with your coat. His hands brushed against yours, warm and grounding. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“You hate Valentine’s Day.”

“I dislike the commercial aspect,” he corrected. “I never said I dislike making you happy.”

Your heart melted a little. Nanami wasn’t a man of grand speeches or showy declarations. His love lived in the details — the way he remembered how you liked your tea, the gentle hand on your back when you crossed the street, the soft “be careful” every time you left for work.

You stepped up on your toes and kissed him. His hands found your waist instinctively, pulling you closer. His lips, warm and deliberate, moved against yours with that same steady devotion he brought to everything he did.

When you pulled back, your heart was racing. “So…what’s for dinner, Mr. Romance?”

He arched a brow. “Homemade pasta with a cream sauce and seared salmon.”

Your mouth watered. “You made homemade pasta?”

Nanami gave a modest shrug. “It’s not difficult with the right tools.”

You laughed, slipping your hand into his and letting him lead you to the dining table, where candles flickered gently.

The meal was perfect, of course. Nanami didn’t know how to do anything halfway. As you finished the last bites, you leaned back in your chair with a content sigh.

“You really went all out,” you said softly.

Nanami reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb traced absent circles on your skin. “I know I don’t always say it the way others might…but I need you to know how much you mean to me.”

Your throat tightened. “I do know.”

“I don’t need Valentine’s Day to remind me to appreciate you,” he continued, voice low and sure. “But I’ll use any excuse to make you smile like this.”

Tears prickled in your eyes. You squeezed his hand, heart full.

“Well,” you said, blinking them away with a teasing grin, “if this is what happens when you don’t care about Valentine’s Day…maybe I’ll have to start pushing for more holidays.”

Nanami chuckled — a soft, genuine sound that always made you feel like the luckiest person alive.

And when he kissed you again, slow and deliberate, with Nanami, every day felt like Valentine’s Day.

Toji - Valentine’s Day was just another day to Toji Fushiguro. Overpriced chocolates, corny decorations, couples trying too hard — none of it made sense to him. Love? Romance? He’d seen how easily both could crack and fall apart.

But then came you. And somehow, against all odds, you stuck around.

Which was probably why you were sitting on the couch that night, wearing your favorite hoodie, scrolling through your phone, while the clock ticked past 10 p.m. Your gaze flicked to the door every few minutes, even if you tried to pretend otherwise.

You weren’t one to make a big deal out of holidays, but…you’d hoped, just a little, that Toji might remember.

When the lock clicked and the door opened, you sat up. He stepped in with his usual swagger — black coat slung over his shoulders, hair damp from the light snowfall outside. His eyes landed on you immediately.

“Waitin’ for me?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

“No,” you said, maybe a little too quickly. “Just…watching TV.”

He hummed in response and kicked off his shoes. “That so?”

You turned back to the screen, determined not to let disappointment show. But then Toji’s hand appeared in your line of vision, holding a small, slightly crumpled brown paper bag.

“What’s this?” you asked, taking it cautiously.

“Open it.”

Inside the bag was a simple plastic container, the kind convenience stores use for pastries. Through the clear lid, you saw a strawberry shortcake — two layers of sponge cake with cream and fresh strawberries sandwiched in between. It was slightly smushed on one side, like he’d carried it under his arm for a while.

Your chest tightened. “You…got me cake?”

He shrugged, avoiding your gaze. “Figured you’d like it.”

You tried to bite back the grin tugging at your lips. “From that bakery I told you about?”

“Tch. What do I look like, a guy who stands in line for fancy desserts?” He flopped onto the couch beside you, throwing an arm over the backrest. “Nah, just grabbed it on the way here.”

But you noticed the faint red sticker on the container — the bakery logo you’d gushed about weeks ago. The one that was always packed.

You turned toward him, warmth blooming in your chest. “Toji…did you actually go out of your way to get me a Valentine’s Day cake?”

He groaned. “Don’t make it weird, sweetheart.”

“Too late.” You bit your lip, eyes glimmering. “This is…really sweet.”

He grunted, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment. “Yeah, yeah. Just eat the damn cake.”

You didn’t push him further. Instead, you stood, grabbed two forks, and plopped back down beside him. You handed him one and opened the container.

The first bite was soft, sweet, and just a little crooked from the journey here. “Mmm,” you said, closing your eyes. “Perfect.”

Toji watched you, his fork twirling idly between his fingers. “Good?”

“Very.” You held out a forkful for him. He leaned forward, taking it without hesitation. His lips closed around the fork, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he chewed.

“Eh,” he said with a shrug. “Too sweet.”

You laughed. “You’re too grumpy.”

“Yeah? But you still like me.”

“Somehow.”

He set his fork down, watching you for a moment. Then, without warning, he tugged you into his lap. You squeaked as you landed against his chest, but his arms locked around you before you could move.

“Toji!”

“Hush.” He kissed your neck, the rough scrape of his stubble sending a shiver down your spine. “Only did this stupid Valentine’s thing for you, y’know.”

“I know,” you whispered, heart racing.

“Don’t expect this every year.”

“Of course not,” you teased. “Just every other year.”

He nipped at your ear in response, making you squeal. The cake sat forgotten on the table as Toji buried his face in your neck, holding you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Valentine’s Day might not have been his thing, but for you? He’d put up with the sweetness — cake, cuddles, and all.

Sukuna - Valentine’s Day was laughable to Sukuna.

Love? Affection? Gifts wrapped in pretty ribbons and declarations whispered in the dark? Disgusting. Humans were so easily swayed by fleeting emotions, so eager to bend to each other’s will for the sake of something as trivial as romance.

Yet here he was. Sitting on the edge of your bed. Waiting for you.

The box of chocolates on the nightstand mocked him — heart-shaped, adorned with a delicate satin bow. He didn’t even know if you liked chocolates. He just knew that the cashier had smiled a little too sweetly at him when he bought them, and he’d had to resist the urge to rip her tongue out.

The things he did for you.

The door creaked open. “Sukuna?”

You stepped inside, cheeks pink from the cold, hair slightly mussed from the wind. Your eyes found his immediately — sharp and glowing even in the dim light.

“You’re here,” you said softly.

“Obviously.” He tilted his head, gaze raking over you. “Who else would be stupid enough to sit around waiting for you?”

You snorted, shrugging off your coat. “Nice to see you too, Your Highness.”

Sukuna watched you with a predator’s patience as you moved around the room, kicking off your shoes and tossing your bag onto the chair. You always did this — acted casual, like the King of Curses lounging in your bedroom was perfectly normal. Maybe it was, by now.

But tonight, he was restless. And he hated it.

“What’s with the face?” you asked, eyeing him.

His jaw tightened. “Tch. Nothing.”

Your eyes flicked to the nightstand. “Wait…what’s this?”

Sukuna didn’t respond as you picked up the box. The bow slipped between your fingers, and you looked at him with wide eyes.

“You bought me chocolates?”

“Don’t read into it.”

“On Valentine’s Day?”

“Coincidence,” he muttered.

You bit your lip to contain your smile. “Uh-huh. Sure. The King of Curses went out and bought chocolates for a mortal on Valentine’s Day…by accident.”

His eye twitched. “Careful, little one.”

But your delight was contagious. You sat beside him, holding the box close like it was some priceless artifact. “Seriously, Sukuna…thank you. I didn’t think you’d—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted. “Don’t get sappy.”

Too late. You were already leaning into him, resting your head on his shoulder. His muscles went rigid at first — softness wasn’t something he welcomed — but then his arm settled around you, palm splaying over your hip possessively.

“You know,” you said after a moment, voice playful, “if you wanted to spend Valentine’s Day with me, you could’ve just said so.”

He scoffed. “I don’t want to spend it with you.”

“Oh?”

“You just…happen to be the only person I tolerate.” His fingers slid up your side, brushing the hem of your shirt. “And I had the night free.”

“Of course.” You tilted your head to look at him. “No other humans to torment?”

“Not tonight.” His gaze dropped to your lips. “But if you keep running your mouth, I might make an exception.”

“Mm. Terrifying.” You leaned up, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of his mouth. His breath caught — just for a second — before his hand tangled in your hair, pulling you in for a rougher, deeper kiss.

When you finally pulled apart, your lips tingling, you whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Sukuna.”

He smirked, thumb running over your lower lip. “You should be terrified that you’re mine.”

“Maybe,” you said, voice soft. “But I’m not.”

The chocolates sat forgotten as Sukuna kissed you again, harder this time — desperate to remind you, on this silly mortal holiday, that you belonged to him.

And maybe, just maybe, he belonged to you too.

Yuji - Yuji Itadori had never been great with romantic stuff. Sure, he could crack jokes, be a goofball, and brighten any room with his smile, but Valentine’s Day? That was a whole new level of pressure.

But this year was different. This year, he had you.

And Yuji Itadori was determined to make it special. “Okay, okay, wait,” Yuji muttered to himself, pacing his tiny apartment. “Flowers. Check. Chocolates. Check. Dinner reservations—” He glanced at the takeout containers on the counter. “Uh…sort of check.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the nerves starting to eat away at his confidence. He just wanted tonight to be perfect.

You deserved that.

The knock on his door made him jump. “Okay,” he whispered, straightening his sweater and taking a deep breath. “Cool. Calm. Romantic. Yeah, I got this.”

He opened the door, and there you stood — cheeks flushed from the cold, bundled in your favorite coat, smiling at him like he hung the stars.

“Hey,” you greeted, voice soft.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless. “Wow. You…you look amazing.”

Your lips quirked up. “I’m literally wearing jeans and a sweater.”

“Yeah, but you make it look good.”

He stepped aside to let you in. The warm scent of takeout curry drifted through the room, along with the faint aroma of the candles he’d lit — all mismatched shapes and sizes, creating a cozy, slightly chaotic glow.

“Yuji,” you said, turning to him. “This is…so cute.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks pink. “Yeah? Not too much?”

“It’s perfect.”

He visibly relaxed. “Good. ’Cause, uh, I kinda went all out.”

He motioned toward the table, where a small bouquet of daisies sat in a glass jar. Next to it, a heart-shaped box of chocolates and two plates of steaming curry rice waited.

“Yuji,” you whispered. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yeah, but…I wanted to.” He shifted on his feet. “I mean, it’s Valentine’s Day. And you’re, like, the coolest person I know. And I…” His voice faltered. “I really like you.”

Your heart melted. “I really like you too.”

The tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by that signature grin. “Okay, cool. Awesome. Let’s eat before the rice gets all weird.”

Dinner was filled with laughter, teasing, and Yuji’s endless supply of goofy jokes. The curry was delicious, and the chocolates turned out to be your favorite kind — something he claimed was a lucky guess but had secretly researched for weeks.

Later, as the candles burned lower, you sat on the couch, leaning against him while he scrolled through movie options. His arm draped around your shoulders, his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles on your arm.

“So,” he said, voice soft, “was this, like…an okay Valentine’s Day?”

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “More than okay. It was perfect.”

His smile turned shy. “Good. ’Cause, uh…I kinda wanna make it a tradition. You know…if you want.”

You reached up, cupped his face, and kissed him — soft, sweet, and lingering. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide, lips parted in surprise.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’d like that.”

Yuji’s grin stretched wide as he pulled you into another kiss, this one filled with pure, unfiltered happiness.

Valentine’s Day might not have been his forte, but with you? He was pretty sure he’d nailed it.

Megumi - Megumi Fushiguro didn’t care about Valentine’s Day.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself. Every year, he watched people get swept up in the holiday — chocolates, flowers, declarations of love — and he thought it was all pointless. Why dedicate one day to something that should be shown every day?

But then he met you.

And suddenly, Valentine’s Day didn’t seem so ridiculous. The afternoon sun cast a pale, cold glow through the windows of Megumi’s apartment. He stood at the kitchen counter, scowling down at the small box in his hands. It was a simple gift — dark chocolates you liked and a handwritten note tucked beneath the lid.

Nothing fancy. Nothing loud. Just…something to show you that he cared.

He set the box down and rubbed the back of his neck. “This is stupid,” he muttered.

But when his phone buzzed with your On my way! text, his heart kicked into an anxious rhythm. Too late to back out now.

When you arrived, you were all smiles, cheeks pink from the cold. “Hey, Megumi.”

“Hey,” he said, stepping aside to let you in.

The warmth of his apartment was a welcome relief, and you sighed as you slipped off your coat. “Smells nice in here.”

“I…made tea,” he said, clearing his throat. “Thought it might help warm you up.”

“Aw,” you teased lightly. “Thoughtful as always.”

His ears burned at the compliment. “Yeah, well…it’s cold out.”

You followed him into the living room, where two mugs of tea waited on the table. You sat beside him on the couch and curled your legs underneath you, taking the warm cup with a grateful hum.

“So,” you said after a sip, “any big plans today?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

“Right. Because you don’t care about Valentine’s Day.”

“I don’t,” he said quickly.

You gave him a knowing look but didn’t push. Megumi had always been a little awkward when it came to expressing emotions — but you’d learned to read the small gestures. The way he made you tea when it was cold. The way he always stood closest to you in crowds. The way he remembered your favorite foods without you ever having to remind him.

After a moment, his gaze flicked toward the table beside him. “Uh…I got you something,” he said, voice low.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Wait — seriously?”

He grabbed the box, hesitated, then handed it over without meeting your eyes. “It’s not a big deal. Just…open it.”

You carefully undid the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside were neatly arranged chocolates and a small, folded note. Your chest tightened at the sight.

“Chocolates and a card?” you teased, though your voice was soft. “Megumi, you’re going all out.”

He groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Don’t make this weird.”

You unfolded the note and read his handwriting:

“I know Valentine’s Day is supposed to be about big, romantic gestures, but I think the little things matter more. Like how you make everything feel lighter, even when things are hard. I might not say it much, but…I’m really glad you’re here. Happy Valentine’s Day — Megumi.”

Your vision blurred for a moment, and you set the note down with a wobbly smile. “Megumi, this is…perfect.”

He shifted uncomfortably, face flushed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’m really glad I’m here too.”

He squeezed back, his thumb brushing yours. His eyes softened, tension melting from his shoulders.

“Good,” he said quietly.

The chocolates sat untouched for a while as you leaned into his side, your hand still held firmly in his.

Megumi Fushiguro didn’t need grand gestures or fancy gifts to show he cared. For him, love was quiet, steady, and honest.

And for you, that was more than enough.

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frostedpuffs · 4 months ago

Text

“So,” Chat Noir drawled, squinting at Ladybug as she peered through a pair of red-and-black-spotted binoculars. She was locked onto the entrance of a bustling supercenter from their rooftop perch across the street. “Run that by me one more time?” Ladybug didn’t even bother to lower the binoculars as she said, “I have a lead on who the new holder of the butterfly Miraculous might be.” Chat Noir followed her gaze to the store’s sliding doors, where customers streamed in and out, their blue shopping carts piled high with groceries and other household items. His ears flicked backward. He couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that this was about to get weird. “Okay,” he said slowly. “And you think they’re… in there?” He gestured toward the store with his baton, as if confirming they were, in fact, talking about the same automatic-door-having, discount-cereal-selling establishment. Ladybug nodded sharply. “Yes. Yesterday, right after the Akuma attack, I saw an employee bolt from the scene and run back into this store. They looked frantic, and I’m almost certain they wore a brooch.” Chat Noir tilted his head. “You think the new butterfly holder is an employee?” That… was not the sort of villain he’d expected. When he pictured the next wielder of the butterfly Miraculous, he imagined a shadowy billionaire, a disgruntled scientist, maybe even a power-hungry politician. Not some underpaid retail worker who probably had to deal with price check requests and customers arguing over expired coupons. (Though, honestly? That was a pretty valid reason to turn evil.) “Alright,” he said, placing his baton on his back and stepping beside Ladybug. He squinted at the store. “So, what’s the move?” Ladybug finally lowered her binoculars and clipped them to her belt. “A stakeout.” Chat Noir glanced around the rooftop. “Here?” “Nope. Inside.” He blinked. “Inside the store?” “Yep.” Chat Noir hummed in thought. “Not that I doubt your judgment, my Lady, but… won’t people find that strange? Two superheroes casually strolling the supermarket?” “We’re going to wear disguises.” “Like what?” “You’ll see,” Ladybug said. “I—okay.” He sighed. “So we’re just going to hang out in the supermarket? All day?” “No, silly,” she giggled. “We’re going to hide, of course!” “Where are we even going to hide?” Ladybug grinned. “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

Continue reading on ao3 ➡️

this is the silliest thing ive ever written. i don't even know what it is. i wrote it almost entirely at work today. enjoy (??)

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #miraculous #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ladynoir #miraculous fandom #adrien agreste #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #fanfiction #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #text post

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aspenmissing · 4 months ago

Note

Omg requests are open! Yay! Could you do an arcane x reader where the reader is like a black widow (or something like that) and the characters don’t know. But they find out while’s she’s on a mission or something? And she’s all like crap well surprise

ᴛᴀɴɢʟᴇᴅ ᴡᴇʙꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 5468 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏʜ ᴍʏ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ, ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ꜱɪᴍɪʟᴀʀ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴍᴇʀᴄᴇɴᴀʀʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜱᴏ ɪᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱɪᴍɪʟᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ! <3 <3

JAYCE

The soft glow of hextech lanterns illuminated the empty streets of Piltover as Jayce strolled toward home. The city was quiet at this hour, the usual hum of life subdued to the occasional clink of boots against cobblestone. He exhaled, a deep breath of relief. Another long day in the Council chambers, another day of negotiations, regulations, and the future of hextech. He longed for the warmth of his bed—and for her.

Y/N had always been a mystery, but that was part of her charm. She was brilliant, beautiful, and always seemed to know exactly what to say to keep him on his toes. He had fallen for her so easily, so deeply, that he never once stopped to question the shadows she so effortlessly moved between.

Until tonight.

As he neared his home, a flicker of movement caught his eye. A rooftop shadow, silent and swift. His brow furrowed. It wasn’t unusual to see enforcers patrolling, but this figure was different—too fluid, too calculated.

His breath hitched as the shadow dropped down into an alley, landing soundlessly. Something in his gut told him to follow. He took a detour through a side street, creeping closer, pressing himself against a cold brick wall as he peered around the corner.

And there she was.

Y/N stood poised, clad in sleek black attire, nothing like the elegant dresses or casual wear he was used to seeing her in. Her stance was lethal, a dagger glinting in the dim light. Across from her, a man cowered, sweat beading at his forehead as he stumbled back against a crate.

“You should have known better than to betray us,” Y/N’s voice was low, smooth, yet carrying an edge that sent shivers down Jayce’s spine. He had never heard her sound like that before.

The man gasped, holding up shaking hands. “Please—I swear, I didn’t—”

Y/N didn’t let him finish. She struck, fast and precise, the handle of her dagger slamming against his temple. He crumpled instantly.

Jayce’s heart thundered in his chest. His mind scrambled for an explanation, any logical reason why the woman he loved was standing over an unconscious man in the dead of night like an assassin out of a Zaunite legend.

“Y/N?”

Her shoulders stiffened. Slowly, she turned to face him, the dim lanterns revealing the way her gaze flickered—shock, frustration, calculation.

“Jayce.” A pause. Then, almost reluctantly, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I could say the same to you,” he countered, stepping forward. “What the hell is going on?”

She sighed, twirling the dagger between her fingers before slipping it into a sheath at her thigh. “This… isn’t how you were supposed to find out.”

He swallowed, glancing at the unconscious man. “Find out what?”

She tilted her head, regarding him carefully before answering, “That I’m not who you think I am.”

Jayce clenched his jaw, a storm raging in his thoughts. This was Y/N—the woman who laughed at his terrible jokes, who kissed him slow and soft under the Piltover moon. But this was also a stranger.

“You lied to me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t deny it. “I kept you safe.”

His hands curled into fists. “Safe from what?”

A smirk ghosted her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “From me.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. Jayce’s mind reeled—was everything a lie? Every moment they’d shared? Or was it possible to love someone even if their world was built in shadows?

“Go home, Jayce.” Her voice was softer now, but it held the same finality as a closing door. “Forget you saw this.”

He wanted to argue, to demand the truth. But the way she looked at him—like she was already slipping away—made something ache in his chest.

Instead, he did the only thing he could. He let her go.

For now.

But he knew this wasn’t over.

That night, Jayce lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment they had shared. Every glance, every touch, every time she had disappeared without a trace. How had he been so blind? He thought of the nights she would come to him late, her voice a little breathless, her hands colder than they should have been. He had written it off as nothing, a quirk of hers he didn’t understand yet. Now, it all made sense.

Morning came, but the questions never left his mind. Jayce found himself pacing his study, running a hand through his hair as he debated his next move. He could let it go—pretend she was just a dream, a beautiful illusion he was never meant to have. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

She had warned him to forget.

But Jayce Talis had never been good at letting things go.

VIKTOR

The rain was relentless, hammering against the stone-paved streets of Piltover in thick, steady sheets. The scent of damp metal and ozone filled the air, the city’s golden glow distorted by the downpour. Carriages rattled in the distance, their wheels splashing through puddles, while the polished buildings loomed overhead, pristine and indifferent to the filth hidden beneath their foundations.

It was a city of order, of civility. A city that looked away when convenient.

And you were a ghost moving through its cracks.

You wiped the crimson from your gloves, the rain washing away the last traces of the life you had just ended. The body—no, the problem—had already been disposed of. Clean. Efficient. Just another name scratched off the list.

Another secret buried beneath Piltover’s shining streets.

You adjusted your coat, keeping your pace measured, unhurried, blending into the late-night quiet as you made your way home. But despite your careful movements, something gnawed at the back of your mind.

A feeling. A weight in the air.

As if you were being watched.

The unease didn’t fade when you stepped through the door of the apartment you shared with Viktor. If anything, it grew worse.

And then you saw him.

He was waiting for you.

Seated in his usual chair, his cane resting against the armrest, his fingers idly tracing over the handle. His golden eyes flickered toward you as you entered, studying, analyzing—knowing.

Your heart clenched.

You stayed calm, kept your steps steady as you shrugged off your coat, draping it over the nearest chair. The wet fabric hit the surface with a soft slap, the only sound in the heavy silence between you.

“You’re up late,” you said, voice carefully neutral.

Viktor didn’t respond right away. He observed you, his gaze trailing over the raindrops slipping from your hair, the tension in your shoulders, the way your gloves were still on.

Then, softly, he asked, “Who was he?”

Your pulse jumped.

There was no accusation in his voice. No judgment. Just quiet understanding.

You exhaled, peeling off your gloves with practiced ease. “Someone who deserved it.”

Viktor let out a breath, his fingers tightening around his cane. “That is not an answer.”

You took a step forward. “He was scum, Viktor. A trafficker, a killer. He had people under his thumb, people who couldn't fight back. Now he's gone. And the world is better for it.”

Viktor’s expression didn’t shift immediately, but something flickered in his eyes—not fear, not disgust. Thoughtfulness.

His next words were careful, measured. “And if I had asked you to let the law handle him?”

You met his gaze, unwavering. “Piltover’s law does not reach people like him.”

Viktor sighed, his fingers rubbing his temple. Not in frustration, but in reluctant understanding. “No,” he admitted. “It does not.”

A long silence stretched between you.

You watched him, waiting for the moment he would look at you differently, waiting for the moment he would recoil.

But it never came.

Instead, Viktor shifted in his seat, resting his cane against the table before speaking again. “I do not approve of killing. But I know this city is not kind to those who play fair.” His voice was quieter now, his expression unreadable. “I have seen the way men like him thrive while others suffer. You did what no one else would.”

Your chest ached. “Then you don’t hate me?”

His golden eyes softened, and for the first time since you stepped through the door, he reached for you. His fingers brushed against yours, hesitant, before curling around your hand.

“Hate you?” He let out a quiet, almost amused breath. “No, Miláček” His voice lowered, gentle but firm. “I love you.” (Darling)

You felt your heart stop.

“But I do not want to lose you,” Viktor continued. “Every time you step out that door, you take a risk. And one day, there will be someone faster, someone stronger.” He exhaled. “What then?”

You swallowed. “I’m careful.”

“I know,” Viktor murmured. “But even the careful ones fall.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, grounding you, his warmth cutting through the chill clinging to your skin. You tightened your grip, desperate to hold onto him—onto this.

“I won’t lie to you again,” you promised. “You deserve to know.”

Viktor’s expression shifted, something flickering behind his eyes before he nodded. “No more secrets.”

You exhaled. “No more secrets.”

For the first time that night, the tension between you seemed to ease. Viktor gave your hand one last squeeze before leaning back, his lips curling into a tired, knowing smile.

“Then come here,” he said, gesturing toward the couch beside him. “You are dripping all over the floor, and if we are going to have this discussion, I would prefer that you don't catch pneumonia in the process.”

A soft, relieved laugh escaped you, and you let him pull you onto the couch.

The familiar warmth of the apartment wrapped around you—the faint scent of ink and metal from his workshop, the quiet hum of the city beyond the window. It was home. He was home.

Viktor pulled a blanket over the both of you, his grip never leaving your hand. He was silent for a long moment before finally speaking again, his voice softer this time.

“I cannot pretend this does not change things,” he admitted. “But it does not change how I feel about you.”

You let out a slow breath, leaning into his shoulder. “That’s all that matters.”

His lips quirked into a tired smile. “For now,” he murmured. “We will talk more tomorrow.”

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion of the night settling into your bones. But for once, the weight of it didn’t feel so heavy. Not when Viktor was still here. Not when he still held your hand.

And for now, that was enough.

JAYVIK

The shimmer of candlelight danced across polished wood as Y/N leaned back against the settee in Viktor’s dimly lit study. Books were stacked high on the desk, scattered notes filled with Hextech calculations scribbled in Viktor’s unmistakable hand. Jayce sat in the chair across from them, rubbing his temples, exhaustion tugging at his usually confident demeanor.

"You always have that knowing look," Jayce muttered, shooting Y/N a tired grin. "Like you already know how this is going to end."

Y/N merely smiled, swirling the deep red wine in their glass. "Maybe I do."

If only they knew.

Viktor, ever perceptive even in his exhaustion, arched a brow. His cane rested against the desk as he reclined slightly, golden eyes studying Y/N with interest. "Care to share your wisdom?"

Y/N tilted their head, amusement flickering in their gaze. "Some things are better left unsaid."

Because if they knew what you were, they’d never look at you the same way again.

A scientist’s lover. A Councilor’s partner. A perfect equation of intellect and charm nestled between two men who shaped the future of Piltover. And yet, behind the silk gloves and quiet smirks, Y/N’s hands had been stained with blood for years.

A whisper in the dark. A shadow slipping through the cracks of the Undercity. A name feared by the highest of Zaun’s warlords and the lowest of Piltover’s criminals.

The Black Widow.

No one had ever suspected. Not even Jayce, with his brilliance. Not even Viktor, with his sharp mind. Not until they did.

It happened by accident.

Viktor and Jayce had been working late in the lab when an urgent letter arrived, slipped beneath the heavy steel door. Unusual. No one came here unannounced.

Jayce unfolded the parchment, his expression shifting from tired curiosity to cold disbelief. "No way," he breathed, eyes flicking up to Viktor, who had gone unnervingly still beside him.

The note was simple.

"Your beloved is not who you think they are. Find out before it's too late."

A single address followed.

Jayce scoffed. "It’s a joke, right?"

Viktor, however, said nothing. His fingers tightened around his cane.

It wasn’t suspicion that clenched his gut—it was something deeper, something colder. A quiet, terrible realization that he should have seen it sooner. The way Y/N moved, the way they always knew things they shouldn’t. Their ease with danger. The grace in which they walked through a city riddled with crime, untouched, unbothered.

Viktor exchanged a glance with Jayce. "...Only one way to find out."

The address led them to a warehouse in the Undercity.

No guards. No alarms.

Too quiet.

Jayce adjusted the grip on his hammer while Viktor leaned heavily on his cane, every step careful. They pushed the door open to find rows of weapons, blades sharpened to perfection, poisons labeled in meticulous handwriting, and stacks of notes detailing every major figure in Piltover and Zaun.

And standing in the middle of it all—was Y/N. They didn’t look surprised.

"Well," Y/N murmured, placing a knife down with an audible clink. "That took you longer than I expected."

Jayce's mouth opened and closed, his mind scrambling for words that wouldn’t come. "What—what is this?"

Viktor didn’t move. His grip on the cane tightened. "A second life," he said quietly.

Y/N exhaled, running a hand through their hair. "You should leave."

Jayce took a step forward, anger and hurt flickering in his gaze. "Leave? You’ve been lying to us, and that’s all you have to say?"

Viktor, for once, was silent. His golden eyes didn’t hold anger—only understanding, and something far more dangerous. "How many?" he asked, voice eerily soft.

Y/N hesitated.

"...Enough."

Jayce recoiled. "Oh, that’s rich. Enough? Enough for what? To ruin everything?"

Y/N smiled, but it was sad. "To make sure neither of you were ever a target."

Silence.

It should have made things easier. Knowing that, despite everything, Y/N had never harmed them—never even let them get close to harm. But the weight of the truth settled between them like a chasm impossible to cross.

Finally, Viktor exhaled, rubbing his temple. "...I assume you were not going to tell us until we found out for ourselves?"

Y/N shrugged. "If I had my way, you never would have."

Jayce’s jaw clenched. "And now?"

For the first time, Y/N faltered. Their hands curled at their sides, the deadly precision of a trained killer still present—but their confidence wavered beneath the weight of Jayce’s betrayal, of Viktor’s quiet acceptance.

"...That’s up to you."

They expected Jayce to walk away. They expected Viktor to study them like a problem needing to be solved.

Instead, Viktor smiled.

A slow, knowing, wicked thing.

"Well," he mused, adjusting his cane. "I always did prefer a partner with ambition."

Jayce groaned. "You cannot be serious."

Viktor shot him a glance. "Oh, I am. Because, as it turns out, so is Y/N."

Y/N blinked, unsure if they were impressed or terrified. "You’re not going to turn me in?"

Viktor chuckled. "Why would I? I would much rather use your expertise."

Jayce ran a hand down his face. "Oh, for the love of—"

Y/N raised a brow, crossing their arms. "So, what, you want to keep me around as your personal assassin?"

Viktor’s golden eyes gleamed. "Something like that."

Y/N glanced at Jayce, who looked two seconds away from losing his mind, then back at Viktor, who looked entirely too amused.

They laughed.

Because, really—was it ever going to end any other way?

VANDER

The dim glow of lanterns flickered in The Last Drop, casting long shadows against the battered walls. Laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the space as Vander leaned against the counter, his ever-watchful gaze sweeping the room. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched Y/N weave through the crowd, effortless in movement, graceful as ever. She belonged here, in his world—his safe haven. Or so he thought.

Y/N had always been an enigma, a mystery wrapped in soft words and knowing glances. Vander had never questioned it before. Why would he? She was good to him, to the kids—Powder adored her, Claggor and Mylo respected her, and Vi saw her as an older sister figure. She was family. That was enough.

Until it wasn’t.

It started with a whisper, a name uttered in hushed tones by a man slumped over his drink. A bounty. A legend. A ghost of Zaun’s underworld.

“The Black Widow,” the man slurred, eyes hazy with drink. “They say she don’t leave loose ends. Anyone sees her face don’t live to tell ‘bout it.”

Vander’s stomach twisted, his grip tightening around his glass. He wasn’t a fool; he knew what the streets were capable of, what kind of monsters lurked in the corners of the Undercity. But as his gaze drifted back to Y/N, who was now playfully ruffling Powder’s hair, he shook the thought from his head. Ridiculous. He knew her. She had been at his side for too long, had soothed his worries, laughed with his kids, and held him close on nights when the ghosts of his past refused to let him rest.

Didn’t he?

The truth came crashing down in blood and steel. A night like any other, until it wasn’t. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and iron as Vi, Mylo, Claggor, and Powder wandered deeper into the alleys of the Undercity. They weren’t supposed to be here—not this late, not this far from The Last Drop. But curiosity, restlessness, and the arrogance of youth had drawn them into the wrong streets, into the wrong kind of trouble.

It happened too fast. A group of men, faces hidden in the dim glow of Zaun’s streetlights, stepped from the shadows, blocking their way. Vi tensed, immediately stepping in front of Powder, fists clenched. Mylo and Claggor mirrored her, but they weren’t ready—not for this. The men grinned, wicked and cruel, knives glinting in their hands.

“No need to be scared, kids,” one of them sneered. “Just a little toll to pay for wanderin’ where you don’t belong.”

Vi’s heart pounded. They could fight—maybe. But there were too many of them. She knew it. They all did.

Then a shadow moved. Fast. Deadly.

Y/N was there.

She moved like the wind, her form a blur as she descended on the men without hesitation. A flick of her wrist sent a dagger sinking into the throat of one, a sharp twist of her body had another falling before he could even scream. Her expression was blank, cold—so unlike the warm and teasing Y/N the kids knew. She was ruthless, moving with the kind of precision Vi had never seen before.

Vi barely had time to process it before the last man standing turned to run. He barely made it two steps before Y/N’s blade found its mark, embedding itself into his back. He fell with a wet thud, the alley once again quiet—except for the kids' ragged breathing.

Powder whimpered, clutching Vi’s arm. Mylo had gone pale, eyes wide. Claggor swallowed hard, his fists still raised uselessly in the air.

Vi found her voice first, though it came out hoarse. “Y/N?”

Y/N turned, meeting her gaze. The sharp glint of her blade caught the dim light, her stance still coiled with the energy of battle. And in that moment, Vi knew—knew why Y/N never spoke of her past, why she always seemed to know more than she let on, why danger never seemed to touch her.

The Black Widow wasn’t just a story.

She was standing right in front of them.

Silence stretched thick and suffocating. Y/N knelt beside Powder, her features softening ever so slightly as she ran a hand over the girl's hair. Powder trembled, but not from fear. She looked up at Y/N with wide, teary eyes before burying her face into Y/N’s shoulder, clinging tightly.

“I never wanted you to see this,” Y/N murmured, voice steady but softer now. “Never wanted you to know.”

Vi swallowed hard, the weight of what she had just witnessed pressing down on her. But it wasn’t fear that curled in her chest—it was understanding. Y/N had saved them. She had always protected them, always known how to keep them safe. And now, Vi knew why.

She took a slow breath. “Is it true?” she finally asked, her voice careful but not accusing. “All of it?”

Y/N sighed, wiping her blade clean against her sleeve before sliding it back into its sheath. “Yes.”

The weight of her confession settled over them, but the fear never came. Mylo exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn,” he muttered, shaking his head. “That was… intense.”

Claggor looked at Y/N, then nodded. “You saved us.”

Y/N met their gazes, studying them, but saw no fear—only relief, gratitude, and the unspoken trust that had always been there. Vi crossed her arms, tilting her head. “So, what now?”

Y/N exhaled, crouching down to lift Powder into her arms. The girl immediately clung to her, small hands gripping the fabric of Y/N’s coat. “Now, we go home.”

No one argued.

The walk back was quiet, thoughtful. Powder curled against Y/N, exhaustion overtaking her as she let out a small sigh against Y/N’s neck. Claggor and Mylo stuck close, their steps steady. Vi walked beside Y/N, glancing up at her every so often, not with suspicion, but with curiosity.

When they finally reached The Last Drop, Vander was there, pacing. His head snapped up at the sight of them, his face darkening with worry.

“What the hell happened?” His gaze swept over the kids, then landed on Y/N—on the blood staining her sleeves.

Y/N met his gaze, calm, unwavering. “We need to talk.”

Vander’s jaw tightened. He looked at Powder, still asleep in her arms. Then at Vi, Mylo, and Claggor, whose expressions, though worn, weren’t shaken with fear.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his beard. “Yeah. We do.”

And even as Y/N stepped inside, still holding Powder close, she knew—some truths, once revealed, could never be undone. But maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t have to change everything.

SILCO

Silco had always prided himself on knowing everything about the people in his orbit. Information was power, after all, and he wielded it with a surgeon’s precision. It was how he had clawed his way up from the depths of nothing, how he had built an empire from the ruins Zaun had been cast into.

So, it was nothing short of fascinating when he realized there was something about you—his trusted confidante, his lover—that had slipped under his ever-watchful gaze.

It started as a whisper. A body found in an alleyway, blood soaking the cobblestones, but no signs of a struggle. Another in a brothel, throat slit so cleanly it was almost surgical. Then another, and another. No patterns in the victims beyond the fact that each had been an obstacle in someone’s way.

The rumors churned through the underbelly of Zaun like a current—an assassin, silent and efficient, who left no loose ends.

Silco had dismissed it at first. He had no patience for ghost stories. But then the pattern emerged—these weren’t just any obstacles. They were his obstacles. Competitors, rivals, threats. Each eliminated before they had a chance to become a problem.

And there, in the center of it all, was you.

You had always been a shadow at his side, soft-spoken when needed, fierce when it mattered. He knew you were capable—had seen you wield a knife with practiced ease—but he had never questioned just how much blood you had on your hands. Not until he caught you in the act.

The warehouse reeked of gunpowder and blood when he arrived. A body lay at your feet, limp and cooling, eyes still glassy with the last remnants of life. And you—his sweet, sharp Y/N—stood above the corpse with a casual grace, wiping your blade clean as if it was no more troublesome than dusting off a shelf.

His lips curled at the sight.

"Well, well," he drawled, stepping into the dim light, his crimson eye gleaming with something unreadable. "And here I thought I knew everything about you."

You turned at the sound of his voice, but there was no guilt in your expression, no flinch of shame. Just a tilt of your head, considering. "You never asked."

That delighted him more than it should have.

He approached, stepping over the body with practiced indifference, and reached for your chin, tilting your face up to his. "All this time," he murmured, voice a low purr, "you've been cleaning up my messes before I even noticed they existed."

"Not a mess," you corrected, pressing the dagger into his palm, letting him feel the warmth of the hilt. "A gift."

His breath hitched, and then—he laughed. A rich, indulgent sound, laced with something close to admiration.

"Oh, my dear," he breathed, brushing a gloved thumb along your jaw, his grip tightening around the weapon you'd so easily placed in his hand. "I do love a woman with ambition."

You smiled then, slow and knowing, and for the first time in a long while, Silco felt something rare curl through his veins.

Not fear.

Satisfaction.

He let his fingers linger on your jawline, studying you, as if seeing you for the first time in a new light. The weight of the dagger in his hand felt fitting—a silent acknowledgment of the depths you were willing to go for him, for his vision. It wasn’t just devotion; it was calculated, ruthless, efficient.

"How long?" he asked, voice edged with curiosity rather than suspicion.

"Long enough," you answered smoothly, stepping closer until your breath ghosted over his collar. "Long enough to know what you needed before you even spoke it aloud."

A slow exhale left his lips, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek before drifting lower, pressing against the pulse at your throat. Steady. Unshaken.

"And if I had found out sooner?" he mused.

You leaned in, lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "Then you would have known just how deep my loyalty runs."

His amusement darkened into something deeper, something possessive. He had always surrounded himself with people who were useful, but you—you were something more. A partner, in every sense of the word. One who saw the game as clearly as he did and was willing to bloody her hands to play it.

"Oh, my dear," he murmured, tilting your chin higher. "You truly are exquisite."

Your smile was slow, wicked. "I know."

And as he kissed you, slow and deliberate, Silco realized he had never felt more certain of someone in his life.

MEL

The Medarda estate loomed in the dim evening light, its towering golden embellishments glinting faintly under the gentle glow of Piltover’s sky lanterns. Y/N moved through the grand entrance like a whisper in the dark, silent and unseen. The adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving behind exhaustion and the sharp, persistent ache that pulsed through her side.

She barely made it to their shared chambers before the first drop of blood hit the pristine marble floor.

Cursing under her breath, Y/N stripped off her coat, peeling it away with careful movements that still sent a fresh bolt of pain through her ribs. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was inconvenient—enough to keep her up tonight, enough to remind her of the night’s mission.

In the quiet solitude of their bedroom, she worked quickly, pulling a hidden med kit from a drawer, pressing a cloth to her side to stem the bleeding. Her fingers worked with practiced precision, nimble and sure, yet there was a tension in her shoulders—a tightness that hadn’t been there before.

She hadn’t wanted to bring this home. She never wanted Mel to see this part of her.

If she was fast enough, she could clean and dress the wound before—

"You're hurt."

The words cut through the quiet like the soft edge of a knife, silk-smooth yet sharp in their accuracy.

Y/N froze, the bloodied cloth clenched between her fingers. Slowly, she turned her head, meeting the golden gaze of the woman standing in the doorway.

Mel was dressed for bed, her nightgown an elegant slip of dark fabric that pooled at her feet. Her arms were crossed, but there was no disapproval in her stance, no accusation in the way her eyes traced the crimson staining Y/N’s skin.

Just quiet concern.

Y/N forced a breath through her nose. "It’s nothing." Too quick, too rehearsed. "Just a scratch."

Mel arched a delicate brow, stepping forward. "Is that what you tell yourself?" Her voice was calm, measured, but there was something deeper beneath it—something Y/N couldn’t quite name.

She knelt beside Y/N, taking the cloth from her hands with a gentleness that caught her off guard. Mel rarely handled things with unnecessary softness—she was precise, deliberate, like a sculptor shaping marble. And yet, now, her fingers moved with the kind of care that sent a different kind of ache through Y/N’s chest.

"Let me," Mel murmured, voice quiet against the hush of the room.

Y/N hesitated.

She had spent years keeping this life separate—keeping Mel separate from it. The blood, the violence, the things she did in the dark for reasons she rarely spoke aloud. It was safer that way. Easier.

But Mel wasn’t recoiling. She wasn’t demanding answers.

She simply was.

With a slow exhale, Y/N relented, letting her hands drop as Mel pressed the cloth against her wound.

"You're lucky," Mel noted, dabbing the cut with practiced precision. "It could’ve been worse."

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh. "I’ve had worse."

Mel glanced up at that, something flickering behind her golden eyes before she returned to her task. "That doesn’t make me feel better, you know."

Y/N didn’t answer.

She flinched slightly as the antiseptic stung, and Mel’s lips twitched in amusement. "You can take down men twice your size, but a little antiseptic is your downfall?"

Y/N shot her a look. "It’s different when it’s you doing it."

Mel chuckled, the sound like warm honey. "I suppose it is."

For a while, there was silence. Mel’s fingers moved methodically, wrapping the bandage with the precision of someone who had done this before—perhaps not for a lover, but for a soldier, a brother, someone from a past Y/N had never pressed her to share.

When she finished, her hands lingered, warm against Y/N’s skin. "You don’t have to tell me everything," Mel said finally. "But I need to know—are you safe?"

Y/N swallowed. She had expected questions—demands, even. But not this. Not care.

"As safe as I can be," she admitted. Then, softer, "But I don’t want you caught in this."

Mel tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile curving her lips. "You forget, my dear," she murmured, fingers tracing idle patterns against Y/N’s arm. "I was raised in a den of wolves. Danger doesn’t frighten me."

Y/N exhaled a soft laugh. "Of course you’d say that."

Mel leaned in, brushing her fingers along Y/N’s jaw before pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. It was grounding, steady—an unspoken promise in the warmth of her touch.

"Next time, let me help you," she said, pulling back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze. Then, after a beat, her lips twitched with that familiar teasing lilt, "And if you insist on keeping secrets, at least don’t bleed on the rugs."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. Of course Mel Medarda would be more concerned about the interior décor than the assassin in her bed.

But as Mel guided her toward the bed, easing her down with careful hands, Y/N realized something.

Whatever shadows followed her, whatever blood she carried on her hands—she wouldn’t have to bear it alone.

Not anymore.

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