Happy pride month. [Masc aligned] Date Everything characters who would wear a dress with you.
☆ Volt ☆
C'mon. He's a hell of a showman, of course he's worn one before. Maybe very rarely, as matching suits are a specialty of the two Breaker Box owners, but he would. All you have to do is ask, livewire.
Of course, Volt sticks with his colours of electric blue and grey/black, the occasional complimentary gold. The few gowns he has are typically have a train. Not too long, of course, in the active crowd of the bar. Perhaps tea length, if he's really feeling into it, but he prefers flashy and flowy. If the dress isn't already cape style, Volt totally has a few capelets he adds on top. Not just for dresses, sometimes just whenever. No-go for any styles off the shoulders. No shame to it, it just feels strange to have himself exposed like that.
♡ Eddie ♡
Nope. Not his style. He hasn't tried one and doesn't plan on it. Eddie doesn't think he'd look bad in one, per say, but he's a huge fan of layered clothing against his skin [wires?]. It's like a self comfort. Loose dresses- or any loose clothing, for that matter- just feels wrong on himself. And a tight fitting gown, pointing out every form of his body? Yeah, no, he'll pass.
☆ Tony ☆
It'd take a looottttt of convincing and pleading and egging on, but if you bug him enough and you do it first, he will. Groans loudly when you say he needs his own, not wanting to risk tearing yours. But Tony listens [as he should]. Once he finally puts one on, after you swear up and down and left right and sideways and backwards you won't go blabbin'? Stars above, one of y'all are leaving this experience pregnant, and it's not gonna be you. . I'm joking. Maybe.
Anyways. Tony has tits, and he knows it. He also knows you're into it. So, naturally, he somehow got his hands on a strapless dress. So of course, he flexes in it, flaunting and teasing,'all for you, pretty boy'. It rips around his third movement.
♡ Lux ♡
Yeah. And they look better than you in it.
☆ Amir ☆
Oh my gosh. Ohmygosh. Excuse my drooling. Hold on. Give me a moment. Okay.
First of all, yes? Secondly, of course. Third of all, sorry I'm drooling again.
In all seriousness [which is none], of course this absolute charmer does, has, and will. I mean, look at his everyday outfit. Maybe it can be described as more of a robe, but do you think that's gonna stop Amir? Noooooooooo
If you bring up wanting to match with him? Oh, he's gone. He already adores helping you dress and showering you in compliments every morning. Yes, of course, he's flattered you ask him. That morning takes a bit longer than usual- cough cough a few hours- but gosh, you wouldn't rather be anywhere else.
Call me crazy but I think Amir is very.... hmmmm... genderflor
♡ Barry ♡
Oh, darling. Obviously! He's helping you trying on so many various outfits and dresses, some of them sundresses, some of them a cross between a suit and a gown. When you ask if he'd like to try one, for a change. He's flustered, of course. Him? You mean you'd like to see how he looks?
At your gentle insistence, though, it soon delves into a girl's night [gender neutral]. Barry's excited to take notice in the way the same dress will look different on the two of you. Isn't that such a wonderful thing? The same piece, transformed into something different with each turn and choice in center? And, as always, Bathsheba is always ready to share shameless opinions and tips and gossip into the time, with Amir offering his own advice and gently tucking in pieces you or Barry wouldn't think to notice.
☆ Parker Bradley ☆
Are you kidding. He would aggressively play lost magical missing princess with you and go full out if you brought it up in passing. Of course.
He's so adorably awkward the first couple times, but if you're nice about it, he mayyyybe just miiiiight start exploring and questioning how wearing a dress can be nice even on a specialized day. Parker discovers the term 'paraboy' while scrolling the wikipedia references page for cards against humanity. Don't quote me on that.
♡ Washford ♡
No.
At least, definetly not at the first ask. Or the second. Or third, or...
Said simply, it takes quite the nagging and questioning for him to cave even a little. When pushed on his repeated rejection, he says- obviously in a Shakespearian way- it gets in the way. Bullshit.
Washford finally, finally gives in when he sees you and Drysdale just... out in the open. Wearing gowns. Do you know how embarrassing it is as an aged performer having to rush away at such a simple sight, flustering over himself and bowing in red?
He tries to act put off by it, though is admittedly very curious with the wide array of options. The fabrics, the styles, th cuts and hangs and coordination in colour. It's intricate, if you really look at it, and he appreciates that.
Washford's gown is, of course, a sudsy blue and dewdrop white. It does need to be flexible, considering his acts. Plus, too much movement of anything waist-below distracts him [he doesn't like the texture or feeling]. Likely a mock-top, slightly puffed or ruffled and a humble lining of charms, with a midi or tea length mesh skirt
☆ Drysdale ☆
Oh, this absolute diva? Who's idea do you think it was to start wearing more revealing and still flashy outfits?
So maybe they first time you caught him wearing a dress, he was wearing yours. So what? Drysdale was rocking that shit. Sorta. It did not fit him.
As always, staying with the theme of his typical outfit; dewdrop white and a soothing orange that still gave a pop to whatever he wore. It still needed to be flexible and comfortable to move about in, though Drysdale- being the one more in the air- has more variety given he's not the stability. He's in an, ahem 'underbust thong shapewear' COUGHHHHH who said that. Ok whatever realistically. Alike Washford, a close-fitted [totally not on purpose], puffed mock-top. He's showing off those thighs [🤤], but is wrapped in arm drapes and ribbons. Leg drapes? Do they do that? They do now.
what if he's written mine on my upper thigh (only in my mind)
you've been on four dates with johnny storm. you don't think it's serious. he has a different idea in mind. (johnny storm x fem!reader)
AN: this fic is VERY LOOSELY based off that one lyric in guilty as sin that became the title. i usually don't write super shy or oblivious characters, but i am too obsessed with an opposites attract dynamic. so this is what came about. i hope u enjoy & lmk what u think!!!!! also not proofread again super sorry
WORD COUNT: 5.7k
“Briefing notes?”
“Check.”
“Final printed copy of the speech?”
“In a PDF format as well! Check.”
“Lozenges?”
In honey lemon. “Check!”
“Triple shot flat white?”
You don’t vocalize your opinion, but you felt like an old man ordering that at the coffee shop. “Check.”
“You’re getting good at this.”
You fight a blush, waving off Lynne’s praise.
It’s always daunting entering the Baxter Building (especially now more than usual), but you stick behind Lynne and follow her lead. The lift attendant ushers you both into the steel-lined elevator after you showed proper identification, and you’re off. You always get a bundle of nerves at this part; waiting to reach the actual living quarters of the building. But you’ve done it enough to know to stare at your shoes to avoid feeling nauseous. It’s only when you hear the ding do you look up, straightening out your work pants and making sure the coffee cup in your hand stays upright.
At first, you and Lynne are met with nothing but silence, which is quite unusual (usually there’s Ben in the kitchen, or H.E.R.B.I.E. watching baby Franklin by the couch, his various beeps that you don’t understand greeting you upon entering). You and Lynne don’t question it, though, her muttering something about a late morning while ushering you to the kitchen area where you put everything you’re holding on the counter.
It’s only when you feel like you’re taking your first breath of the day, hands cramped, do you hear footsteps bounding down the hallway, high heels clanking on the sleek floors.
Sue Storm strides in, the pinnacle of elegance. She takes one moment to dust off a piece of lint from her red long-sleeve, made of a material that you’re sure costs more than your weekly paycheck. She greets you both with a kind smile, “Good morning.”
“Hardly,” says Lynne, frowning. It took awhile to get used to the fact that Sue and Lynne’s friendship strung for many years that Lynne no longer bothers to give her an agreeable type of kindness that others seem to give at default for the Invisible Woman. “There’s a seventy-three percent chance of rain and the wind nearly ruined my hair.”
Sue snaps her fingers, regaining her memory. “I almost forgot my coat.” She’s bounding down the hallway again, calling for Reed, but not before telling you both to get yourself comfortable and ushering you to the stools in front of the kitchen island.
You don’t look at Lynne for approval before taking a seat, legs sore from the morning run your friend made you go on before work. You busy yourself by opening the manila folder that holds Sue’s UN speech, checking thrice for any grammar mistakes (if there are any, that’d be your fault and would no doubt be getting a scolding from Lynne).
You’re too immersed, brows drawn tightly together and lips mouthing each part of the speech. You don’t notice the soft footsteps entering the room, or the slight halt in the steps, before it continues to proceed in your direction.
A hand rests on the small of your back, finger splayed out on the material of your sweater.
You jolt, not expecting the contact.
You swivel the seat and are met with the eyes of Johnny Storm.
“I didn’t know you’d be here today,” he says flatly—a fact, yet there’s something else hidden beneath his tone. A slight surprise, maybe hurt, as if he expected you to let him know every time you’d be making an appearance in his vicinity.
His hand stays on your back.
You open your mouth to reply, though with what you’re not sure, but his movements stop you. He reaches his other hand to your face, thumbs brushing in between your eyebrows and smoothing out the furrowed line. “They’re gonna get stuck like that.”
You glance at Lynne. She has a compact in her hand, angling the mirror at a stray piece of hair, pretending not to notice.
When you look back, Johnny’s eyes are still on you. Observing, memorizing, whatever it is he does.
Your association with Johnny is… new. You’ve been on a few dates, four to be exact, and each time your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you returned home and he’s already calling to schedule a new one. You’re unsure if you’re part of a rotation of girls, or if you’re the only one he’s seeing. You don't think it's the latter. You’re too shy to ask. What you do know, however, is that you’re certainly not seeing anyone else. Dating is a fickle thing for you, really, and you had only agreed to going out with Johnny because he’d been incredibly persistent. Plus, it is an undeniable and unmoving fact that he is—to the eyes of all—incredibly attractive. You never had it in you to say no.
You feel your face warm up at the intensity of his gaze, looking down briefly at your ballet flats to collect yourself. You look back up and manage a small smile, hoping it comes as casual and not the complete mess you feel inside.
You’re quiet—a plain fact that even Johnny has to have already gotten used to. Words don’t leave your mouth as you hoped it would. You imagine saying something that would elicit a smirk, or something. Instead, you remain silent.
If he notices your nerves, he doesn’t say anything. Just glances behind you at the counter before his eyes light up. “‘That the big speech?”
You nod, instinctively turning and moving the paper to the side and in Johnny’s line of vision to read. You feel the heat of him press against your back.
He pretends to scan the page. His eyes dot over the little notes on the margin, arrows pointing before and between words. His mouth crinkle upwards when he notices the tiny smiley face you’ve written after a particular note, commending Sue on a certain sentence. “So professional,” he says coolly.
Sue finally comes back down the hallway, coat splaying on her arm. She notices you and Johnny and a knowing smile plays on her lips. “Time to go. Are you done flirting with my assistant, Johnny?”
“Not yet,” he rapidly replies, barely sparing his sister a glance before his eyes shift to you and he smiles. It’s small, but carries the weight of mischief and reassurance. “So—how about dinner tonight?”
You blink. “Tonight?”
“Yeah. When you’re done with all this UN business.” His tone is light, but there’s a shift in his eyes like he’s unsure of whether or not your answer will be yes. Hope flickers.
You hesitate, aware of Sue and Lynne’s attention and the fact that your heart is beating way too fast. “I’ll see how late we’re there.”
“That’s not really the answer I was hopi—“
“Johnny,” Sue’s voice cuts through, demanding but light. “I’ll make sure she’s back in ample time if you can let us go.” She frowns at Lynne apologetically. “We’re already running late.”
They’re actually running early, but Lynne has always been a stickler for time. Sue seems to know that.
Johnny grins, as if the answer is as good as yes. “I’ll take it.” He pushes off the counter, standing tall with a kind of confidence only the Human Torch can carry. He leans in and brushes a piece of hair behind your ear, eyes scanning your nervous face. “Try not to frown too much until then.”
The weight of Sue and Lynne’s gazes on you is strong.
You try your best to ignore it, following them down the building and into the waiting car.
—
The UN conference goes by smoothly (for the most part), you not really doing much except standing to the side with Lynne while Sue delivers her speech with natural poise. At one point, a reporter walked up to you—nervous, unassuming you—to see if they could get the scoop of something, anything, on Sue Storm. You stared blankly at the reporter, not being trained for anything like this, until Lynne yanked your arm and said unequivocally, “We won’t be taking any questions.” The interaction was over soon after it started, but had left you shaken up, cursing at yourself for not knowing what to do.
The interaction still haunts you as you toe off your flats upon entering your apartment, slinging your bag down on the floor as you make your way to the couch and flop. You wonder if the reporter approached you because maybe you looked too meek to deny anyone a question. You hate that feeling. You always thought a job like yours would be a great way to make an impact while still staying away from the spotlight and glamour of politics, but clearly you had been wrong. Especially if you’re affiliated with someone from the Fantastic Four.
You’re contemplating your life decisions when your chubby tabby, Kiwi, curls himself around your right leg. He sniffs lightly at your work pants before nuzzling his head softly on your shin. You smile, reaching down to pluck the docile animal from the floor and lay him carefully in your arms.
“You don’t have to worry about the press, do you, Kiwi?” you say softly to the cat in your arms, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. “Well neither do I—anymore, at least. Let’s feed you.”
You make your way to your small kitchen and into the cupboards until you find Kiwi’s food. Your nervous system calms down at the mundanity, continuing your late-afternoon routine of making sure the bowl of food and water is full. When you’re sure that Kiwi is properly satisfied, you leave him and walk into your bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes.
You’re slipping off your blazer and blouse, eyes rummaging through your array of t-shirts in your drawer to see which one would be the comfiest to slip on. You pick a tattered college tee, the one where it slips off your shoulders to combat the light warmth with a pair of shorts to match. They have kiss marks printed in a straight pattern, something a friend got you for Valentine’s Day. It’s silk and feels nice on your skin. You slip off the remaining rings that adorn your fingers and hoop earrings, delicately placing them on a tray over your dresser. You breathe in relief, finally feeling normal again.
This is how the rest of your night goes, rummaging through your pantry for a snack and coddling Kiwi on the couch as you sift through various channels on your television. You’re praising Kiwi as he lets out continuous purrs on your lap when there’s a knock on your door.
Your head jolts us, eyebrows furrowing as you gently set Kiwi to the side before making your way to the door.
You open your door curiously, a hint of nerves, only to be met with Johnny.
Your nerves suddenly make more sense.
Your eyes angle up to meet his expression, one showing a bit of alarm.
“Who were you talking to?” he asks plainly, peering into your apartment.
You follow his line of vision, taking in everything he is. There’s a bunch of scattered papers, copies of the latest speech, on your small dining table. Various blankets litter your couch and you have two bottles of polish (one a top coat) on your rug. One part of the string lights you hung around your living room dangles down from when a tack broke and you were too lazy to fix it. Kiwi nudged a few pieces of kibble from his bowl and onto the floor.
It’s definitely not a sight to see for guests.
The silence stretches as you don’t have it in you to reply. What would you say? You were talking to your cat?
Thankfully, Johnny doesn’t wait for your reply. He peers down at your face, a lackluster and slightly disappointed expression. “Sue said you were too tired for dinner.”
You do remember telling Sue that, apologetically asking her to relay the information to Johnny since you probably wouldn’t see him for the rest of the day. It was a little embarrassing, a little scary, as you deny seeing Johnny to his sister. But still, she gave you a kind smile and said that she would tell him.
“But that never usually stops Johnny,” she added after, to which you only offered her a half-smile before scurrying off to Lynne’s side.
You should’ve known he’d show up.
“Sue said to leave you alone to, you know, de-stress, or whatever,” he flails a hand up to convey that he saw that advice as useless. “But you need to eat.”
It’s then that you look down and see the brown bag in his other hand, and the familiar waft of food hits your nose. Your stomach growls.
He hears it, the corners of his mouth turning up.
“It’s from that place you talked about. Chiu’s Garden, remember?”
The shock in you passes like a splash of cold water. You do remember. You said it in passing, once, about the Chinese takeout you get when work gets too busy and the ache in your head gets hard to manage and you don’t want to cook. You had their number memorized, and the workers there greeted you by name. The place isn’t what shocks you. It’s the fact that Johnny of all people remembers.
There are many things you want to say. Starting with Thank you and I hope you plucked the sauce that’s on the counter before you left. But mostly How do you remember?
If Johnny notices your shock at the gesture, he doesn’t comment. Only raising a single eyebrow at you. “Can I come in?”
You realize you haven’t spoken yet. “Are you a vampire?”
The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop yourself, unsure if you meant it as a joke or if it just slipped out because it’s the first thing your mind went to.
Johnny stifles a laugh. “A vampire?”
Well, now you clearly have to give him an explanation. “Vampires need permission to be let into private areas.” There’s a hint of embarrassment in your voice, and you curse yourself once again for not knowing what to say and saying the wrong thing.
He peers at you, eyes squinting and assessing your face. “What have you been watching lately?”
You shrug. You don’t tell him you watched the Scars of Dracula while you were finalizing the last of Sue’s speech the night before. Or how you got fully immersed into it. Or how you talked to Kiwi about how thankful you are that you don’t have a roommate to let unknown strangers into your apartment.
“Well, I’m no vampire,” he says.
There’s a playful lilt to his voice, and you realize now that you might be in on a joke you created. Not wanting to disappoint him or bring the mood down because, hey, you’re not in on a lot of jokes, you take a long backwards step back into your apartment. “Prove it.”
Johnny responds by taking a similar long step into your apartment, now standing right in front of you. Your chest nearly meets his as he looks down at you with a smirk. Your heart stutters, and you hope the lack of space between you two doesn’t mean that he can hear it. “See?”
You manage a small nod, walking around him to shut your door. You think your stomach might start doing backflips if you stay that close to Johnny, mind unsure if it’s a rush of nervousness or excitement.
He seems to take your interaction as an acceptance that he’s allowed to be here, in your apartment, and though he’s never been inside, he quickly assesses the layout and walks towards your kitchen.
Kiwi looks as if to say, you let a man into the apartment.
Your eyes reply, I didn’t know he was coming!
“I know I didn’t show it—“ Johnny calls out from the kitchen. You hear the crinkle of the brown bag and food being brought out. “—but I was really nervous that I knocked on the wrong apartment. I only ever walked you to the front of the building!”
You pad the small way to the kitchen, peering in to see him open a plastic container and dip his fingers in to snipe a piece of broccoli.
“I had to look at each door to find your last name,” he says through a mouthful of broccoli. “Thank God you live on the second floor, right?” He turns to meet your eyes, giving you a close-lipped, goofy smile that has your mouth threatening to smile back. When he swallows, he motions to all the cupboards above him. “Do you usually eat with plates or out of the container? Also I brought you orange soda.”
“I—I just eat out the container,” you say softly, leaning against the entryway, arms crossed.
“Perfect! Me too.” He gathers the food into his arms in a perfect balance, picking up the soda can last before motioning past you. “C’mon. Let’s eat.”
You watch him maneuver your apartment with ease, as if it isn’t the first time he’s been here. He tiptoes past Kiwi’s kibble on the floor and barely manages to knock down a picture frame that sits at the edge of your coffee table. He mutters an apology before putting the food down and sitting on your couch. “So what are we watching—oh. Hello.” He peers down at your cat, who stares back at him blankly. “Is this the infamous Kiwi? Is this who you were talking to?” He reaches his hand out and scratches behind Kiwi’s ear tentatively, unsure if he would be squeamish or not. Unsurprisingly, Kiwi leans into his touch. Johnny is delighted “We’re going to have great conversations,” he whispers, as if keeping a secret between him and the cat.
You find the sight awfully endearing. You don’t realize you’ve been staring as long as you have until Johnny turns his head to stare at you. “You coming?”
You timidly make your way to the couch, now unsure of how to feel at place in your home when Johnny Storm is in it. Johnny Storm, who despite four dates, you’ve barely gotten used to. You like him (obviously, you’ve let him take you out continuously), but you’re still unsure of what he is to you. The ambiguity of your relationship to him is much easier to stomach when he’s across from you at a restaurant booth, or walking in the park with fresh air around you.
Now—here—with him on your couch, you don’t think you understand your relationship with him all too well. You wonder if he shows up at other dates’ houses like this; their favorite takeout and a soft smile that can quiet any ache. You wonder how different the other girls he sees are from you; if they stumble on their words despite ample practice.
You take a seat on the other end of the couch, Kiwi already taking up space in the middle. You angle yourself to face him, legs tucked under you with your arms still crossed.
“You’re too far away,” he says plainly, as if stating a fact instead of discontentment. “But I have a feeling he’s not going to move anytime soon, is he?”
This gets a laugh out of you, looking down at Kiwi, who blinks slowly at your face. “He’s the boss.”
Johnny lets out a tsk tsk, shaking his head with a grin. “I should’ve known. Guess I’m gonna have to share you tonight.”
The rest of the night goes like this: Johnny shows the various things he bought you from the Chiu’s Garden menu, as he was unsure of what to get you. He has a delightful expression as you express that you like all of them. He pumps a fist in the air and you laugh, leaning down from the couch to pick your food of choice from the coffee table. He makes sure to give you a review of everything he tries, and he’s deeply satisfied, muttering about how you two need to go back together next time. Something flutters in your stomach at the mention of a next time.
Eventually, Kiwi grows bored of the Ted Gilbert Show and hops off the couch, lightly swaying as he makes his way into your bedroom for some peace and quiet. Johnny takes that as an opportunity to sit closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and reaching his other to rest on your knee. He barely pays attention to the ministrations his thumb does on your knee, but it affects you greatly. You, again, wonder if he does this to other girls he’s with. You wonder if it’s stupid that you feel so special.
“Hey.”
You look up at him, brows already furrowed from how hard you were thinking.
“What did I say?” he scolds softly, his hand on your knee leaving as he reaches his thumb in between your eyebrows again. “They’re gonna get stuck like that.”
—
When you’re not suffering from severe imposter syndrome as you play assistant with Lynne for Sue, you’re taking up extra shifts at the coffee shop down your street. You’ve been working here since you were eighteen and trying to pay for college. Now, you’re a little older and trying to pay your college debts. Still, you know the owner, and they’re more than willing to pay you under the table for your efforts to keep the shop afloat when you can.
The line isn’t long and you’re striking up a conversation with Miss Sutton, a regular, as she fishes her purse for change.
“And, Freddie—“ she says, her eyes down at her bag, “—he keeps crying. He’s getting old. ‘Vet said he might be going blind in his right eye.”
Your heart lurches immediately as you imagine yourself in that position; Kiwi growing old and going blind. But he’s only four and you make sure to take him to regular checkups. “I’m so sorry, Miss Sutton,” you say honestly. “Maybe he and Kiwi can have a play date! It might cheer him up.”
She places a few dollars onto the counter and looks at you flatly. “Or remind him of what he no longer has.”
Well, that took a turn.
You smile tensely at the older woman, taking the dollars and commit yourself to counting them instead of making the conversation worse. So much for comfort. She’s fifty cents off, but you don’t mention it.
You busy yourself with making chamomile tea, which is one of the easier orders you’ve had all day (you love a good macchiato with lavender syrup with the nice cold foam on the top, but it’s a fucking hassle to make). You hum a little to yourself, in your element at a place you’re comfortable in. Thoughts of a sick Kiwi and a grumpy Miss Sutton exit your mind.
The bell over the door dings, alerting you of a new customer. You pass the finished drink to your coworker as she finishes heating a pastry. You dust off your hands and turn around.
“Hello, welcome to—“
You’re met with blue eyes, blond hair, and an accusatory look.
Your mind goes blank.
Johnny doesn’t wait for you to finish your obligatory customer greeting, “You’ve been overworking yourself.”
“I—what?”
“You were with Sue all day Tuesday, you cancelled our date yesterday to take a shift here and had an emergency meetup with Lynne, and now you’re back today. You’re overworking yourself.”
You want to say that this is actually what normal people do to make a living, but you don’t say that. Instead, you stare up at his unrelenting gaze and gulp. “Aren’t you—“ your voice comes out squeaky and you clear your throat. “Aren’t you, like, a superhero? You save Earth for a living.”
He shrugs off your answer like it’s nothing.
Beside you, your coworker takes note of Johnny, and gasps.
You both turn your head to the sound.
“You weren’t lying?” she says, mouth wide. “You’re friends with Johnny Storm?”
Johnny immediately looks offended. “Friends?”
“Viv,” you say, ignoring him, “can you go to the back and make sure Hal is done with the croissants batch? We’re out up here.”
Viv looks at you as if to say, you’re kicking me out as if Johnny Storm isn’t right here?
You manage a harsher look, and she’s off, muttering something about getting her camera. You hope to God out of embarrassment that she doesn’t. Johnny visits your place of work and the first thing that happens is your coworker ambushes him. And know he knows that you talk about him.
“I’m sorry about her, I’ll tell her to put her camera away,” you say.
Johnny looks at you, brows furrowing before shaking his head rapidly. “I don’t care about a photo. I care about you. When was the last time you took a break for yourself? Doesn’t Kiwi miss you?”
“… I did a face mask last night,” you say dumbly. You leave out the part where you were on the phone with an airline company until 2AM because you stupidly booked the wrong time for Sue and Reed’s flight to Chicago, face mask forgotten and on for hours while you tried to fix your mistake before Lynne noticed.
The admission seems to calm him down a bit, shoulders sagging as his mind recalibrates. “When do you get off here?”
You don’t really have set shifts, you’ve been here since 10AM and helping out any way you can. Hal had you making croissants with him for two hours until Viv asked for your help at the front. Now, it’s 5PM and the sun is getting ready to set—and you hate that Johnny is right, because you feel wrung out. Your body suddenly becomes more alert of the ache on your temples, and the emptiness of your stomach.
“I can technically leave whenever.”
His eyes light up. “Perfect! You’re leaving now. Grab your coat.”
“Johnny—“
“You can go,” a voice behind you says.
You turn to see Hal and Viv standing together by the door to the back, eyes wide in wonder as they continue to stare at Johnny. It’s a look you recognize from the amount of times you’ve spent with him. It’s why Johnny takes you to restaurants and you get seated at the most private corner, or why he wears sunglasses and a cap in the dead of winter when you stroll through the park. You appreciate the efforts Johnny goes to be unnoticed—knowing you don’t like the attention. But you wonder if that’s just how he’s been going around publicly lately; unnoticed. You realize it’s been awhile since you’ve seen a tabloid of him walking a girl down the street, or a blurry photo of him in a store with someone. Maybe he’s tired of the cameras.
“Are you sure?” you ask Hal.
He nods, taking his eyes away from Johnny to give you a softer look. “Croissants are done, I have Viv to work like a dog—“
“Hey!”
“—we’ll be just fine. Have fun with your friend.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and you fight the blush that threatens to coat your cheeks.
You’re too busy going to the back to grab your coat and purse to notice the shock on Johnny’s face. You give one last goodbye to Hal and Viv before you leave the counter to join Johnny’s side. He waits for you to slip on your coat before placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you out the shop.
You swear you hear a click from Viv’s camera.
You breathe in the fresh, cool air the second you’re out on the street. You watch as Johnny inconspicuously slips on a pair of sunglasses and pulls the hood of his coat up.
He’s silent as you both walk the short distance to your apartment, which is unusual. Usually, he’s already talking your ear off about his day, or something Ben has cooked since he knows your affinity with anything cooking or baking-related. You usually stay silent when he gets like that, listening intently and only giving your input when he manages to force it out of you (even after all this time, you’re still nervous).
But there’s none of that today. Silence stretches even as you enter your apartment building, him holding the door open for you, and as you pat the snow from your boots onto the rug (normally, this is where Johnny says something stupid, like how you both look like ducks shaking water off by a pond). You walk up the stairs and open your apartment door, still silent.
Your stomach churns nervously. You wonder if Johnny is mad at you—for overworking, as he says. If the concern has stretched into anger. Or if Hal and Viv’s peering eyes,, and knowing of him, threw Johnny off, realizing you’re just like any other person who brags about his existence. But it’s not like that! You wonder if you’ve ruined what you and he have—whether you know what you guys are or not.
Finally, as both of your coats have been shrugged off and left on the hook by your door—
“I’m your friend?”
You look up from where you were staring at the floor and furrow your brows. “Hm?”
“That’s how they talked about me,” he says, and you know he’s referring to Hal and Viv. “They said I’m your friend. Is that how you talk about me?”
He stares at you, eyes searching your own as you try to string together a response. “Um… yeah?”
Because you don’t know what else to call Johnny. Johnny who takes you to the most private parts of a fancy restaurant, and brings you takeout when you’re tired, and shows up to work to make sure you haven’t been burnt out. Johnny who now looks down at you with a pained expression, for reasons you’re a little unsure of why. Isn’t that what people are in whatever stage you and Johnny are in? Friends? Isn’t he seeing other people?
Johnny exhales sharply through his nose, walking up to you and shaking his head as if your answer had been outlandish. “That’s really what you think we are?”
Your lips part, but you don’t answer. He’s standing so close now that you can see the faint tint of pink on his nose from the cold. His breath fans down at you. You try to imagine what Johnny wants to hear, but still, you’re unsure. “You and I…” you say slowly, “We’re—what else would we be?”
His jaw ticks. “Together.”
Together. As in, you and Johnny. You think about Johnny walking you to your door, eyes lingering at your lips but he moves to kiss your cheek and you’re convinced you’d just imagined it. Johnny, who has admitted to looking for restaurants with similar dishes to ones you’ve cooked, so you can compare (“I bet yours is better,” he says plainly, taking another bite. “Do you agree? Or are you too modest?”). Johnny and his thumb that grazes the middle of your eyebrows because they’re gonna get stuck like that.
You blink at him, voice small. “Together?”
Johnny genuinely looked confused at your confusion. His brows knot in the way he always tells you to stop doing. “Yeah? Like dating. Together-together. What did you think this was?”
Heat crawls up the back of your neck, mortification and disbelief tangling in a mess that makes it hard to think. “I—I thought you were just being… you know. Nice. How you treat the other girls.”
His head jerks back. “'The other girls'? Well first, nobody’s that nice. At least, not like I have been. I’ve only ever been like this with you.”
Your stomach turns at the admission.
“Second, what other girls? You think I’ve been seeing other people?”
You’re too embarrassed to answer, because you know your answer would be yes. Instead, you huff a large sigh and press your palms to your eyes. “I don’t know what to think right now, Johnny.”
You hear him sigh softly. Two hands reach your wrists. “Hey, hey,” he coos, tone soft as he gently pries your hands away from your eyes. You’re immediately met with a blue storm, swirling with thought and something else that you’re unsure how to name. “I’m sorry if I stressed you out, okay? Come here.”
He envelopes you in a hug, warm and all-encompassing, the kind that makes you realize just how cold the outside has made you without noticing. His chin rests against the top of your head.
Your arms hover at your sides at first, stiff with hesitation. But as you slowly think through Johnny’s words, you melt into him. The exhaustion from the conversation, from work, from everything presses down harder, and the steadiness of his heart against your head makes something inside you settle.
Johnny thinks you too are together.
You wonder how stupid you must really be for not noticing.
“We’re together,” you say softly into his chest, breathing him in.
“We are,” he says, a whisper.. “I’m sorry for not making it more… known. I thought you knew.”
“No,” you say, shaking your head and laughing a little.
“I didn’t know. I’m too in my head about this, you know?” you admit meekly, your mind now re-assessing every interaction you’ve ever had with the boy against you. Re-assessing with the word EXCLUSIVE over every single memory.
The two of you stay tangled in each other’s arms until a small meow interrupts your moment, Kiwi coming to curl around your feet. You untangle yourself from Johnny to pick up the cat, resting his body against your chest as you turn to the side so that Kiwi’s head is facing Johnny.
“Kiwi, this is my boyfriend. I bet you knew that already, didn’t you?” There’s a glee in your voice that has Johnny lighting up, reaching down to give Kiwi a kiss on his head.
“He’s all-knowing,” he adds with a grin. He reaches out to caress your cheek, pulling you back in, Kiwi in the middle. He sighs happily. “You better reintroduce me to Hal and Viv,” he whispers softly into your hair.
pls write steve x yn where steve and the reader dated back in high school and broke up, but then they meet again after years so reader sees how steve changed, and they kinda want each other so badly 🙏🏻 (smut or suggestive, that’s up to you)
summary: steve is your ex boyfriend — high school sweetheart. after your breakup, you meet him at the motel you work at after almost 5 years. the passion is still there, and it brings you both in under the sheets again
warnings: MDNI — smut, exes getting back together, p in v, unprotected sex, cum
word count: 1,7k
a/n: i absolutely loved writing this
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ navigation ; masterlist ; commissions ; character list
dating steve was a total dream. he was the popular kid. the cool kid.
steve-the-hair-harrington.
you were envied by the entire school. but you couldn’t handle it anymore — all the popularity, his bad friends making fun of you… and steve’s immaturity. now, not that he was that immature... but you yearned for a man. and steve was a boy.
you broke up for various reasons, but mainly for this. you had higher standards and wanted more for your future self. not that complicated, right? sure… until you casually meet after almost 5 years. you're now working as a receptionist at a motel, and guess who just came over to book a room? steve-the-hair-harrington. he's right in front of you, minding his business as he reads a magazine. you've been staring at him for some minutes, and you're sure he's noticed.
is that really him?
"excuse me, ma'am, may i know when my room will be ready?" his voice snaps you back to reality.
steve's eyebrows furrow in confusion and in an attempt to recognize the person before him. "y/n?" you smile warmly. "hey."
his eyes light up immediately and he opens his mouth to say something, though no sound escapes from it. he looks like he wants to do something, like he can't contain his excitment for a moment, but then he pulls himself together and clears his throat.
"what are you doing here?" he presses, his smile so big that it could reach his eyes.
"i kind of work here, you know," you answer, chuckling soflty at his dumb question.
"no, yeah, i figured... just, wow. you look good," the comment slips out of his lips before he can even stop it. you feel your cheeks burning hot.
"how long is it been?"
"a few years... 4 or 5."
again, it's not like you two broke up because there wasn't love anymore... seeing this new version of steve is making you feel things you thought you moved on from. you notice the details — his hair got bigger—more beautiful—his shoulders broader, his jawline sharper, and his hands more veiny. you wonder if their grip on your waist got stronger too.
what? no! pull yourself together. he's your ex.
"mind showing me the room? i spent two hours trying to find this motel's parking lot, and i don't want to get lost again."
his voice got deeper too.
"sure, follow me," you say as you quickly check the room assigned next to his name and grab the keys. steve follows you out of the hall and outside. the cool night air hits you both, the street lights casting a delicate glow on your faces. you head towards the porch and walk past many rooms, until you finally arrive to his.
"here you go, room 229."
you leave the keys to him.
"may i ask why you're here?" you know that's none of your business, but you're curious.
"well, don't worry about that," he sets boundaries with a calm smile. you feel like the most stupid girl in the world. he's changed, he's an adult, he knows what he wants to talk about and what he doesn't.
you decide to change the topic, too embarrassed to just walk away like this now. "it'll be 55$ per night — breakfast included."
he looks at you with a serene expression, with almost a smirk of someone who has everything under control. "sure. i can pay later, right?"
you nod and he adds, "have a goodnight, i’ll be here if you need me."
he walks inside. the words echo in your head as you stare at the 229 on his closed room door. your feet refuse to move and go back to the reception, so you just stand there for a couple of minutes until a nearby car honking brings you back to reality. you get back inside.
at almost midnight, you receive a call.
"hello! this is y/n, how may i help you?" you pick up the phone and use your professional and polite voice to answer.
"it’s me, steve," your heart leaps. "may you come to my room? i think i’m having trouble with closet door." he sounds genuinely tired.
"i work at the reception, steve, i can’t actually—" he cuts you off. "please." one word, but enough to get your legs feel like jelly.
"alright," you hang up and head outside and to his room. with the copy of the keys, you open the door only to find him almost naked, trying to open the wardrobe. he’s clearly just come out of the shower — droplets of water caressing his back and falling from his hair ends. his hands are on the wooden handle as he pulls the wardrobe door towards him, the towel is on his waist and hanging on for dear life.
"hey," he catches you staring. "is there a secret way to open this? it looks like an enigma," he jokes and chuckles, but you hear his exhaustion in his voice.
"there is a safety."
"a safety? on an armoire?"
you scratch your neck sheepishly. "we had a mouse infestation a few months ago… not our fault, though! we clean this place regularly. to not risk giving guests surprises, we decided to lock some things like the closet or the drawers," you explain carefully and he nods in understanding.
"alright, no problem. so… how do i open it?" he steps closer. you’re not sure if it was intentional or not, but now you can feel his breath on your skin and it’s driving you mad.
"i have the key," you move in front of him and unlock it. "there you go."
as you step back to give him space to open it, he just stands there, eyes laid on you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s seen. you know that look — he used to look at you like this when he was about to start a good session of making out. your heart is beating fast now — memories of your past relationship flowing back.
"i like this new hair," his voice raspy, but the compliment is gentle, lingering in the air. "it suits you."
"i just wanted to try something new," you justify yourself as if to diminish his compliment.
"i bet you’re getting many appreciations from your man."
"man? oh no, no… i’m as single as a dollar." you chuckle nervously. your eyes desperately avoiding his.
he grins. proud of something, proud of himself for knowing right. he probably knew you weren’t taken, but he wanted to hear it himself. he wanted to hear those words come out of the pretty lips he used to kiss and worship.
you finally meet his gaze. but steve is already closer than you remembered.
"i don’t have a woman either. you got my standards high," he let the sentence hang in the air. the tease. the flirty tone. you can feel the teen version of yourself waking up and recalling the moments together.
he leans close, his hands reaching for your hips. they're indeed stronger, confirming your earlier thought of tonight. you let him pull you against his chest like you weigh nothing, like you're a doll for him to handle. you're scared to lift your gaze again, but you do. he's looking at you with those puppy dog eyes, but they're not showing a bit of innocence — they're fiery, passionate, looking at you like you're a piece of meat and he's the starving lion. in a matter of seconds, before you can even react, his lips are on yours — as soft as they used to be. he's tilting his head down, his big hands gripping your entire waist. you kiss him back; there isn't much else you can do.
he lifts you up and crushes your body against the wall with both force and gentleness. you gasp as the cold surface hits your back. "steve... i can't, i have to go back to work," you breathe out, there's no heat in your words — no conviction.
"just give me one minute... please, i miss you, y/n." and with that, he's already lifting your skirt, his lips attached to yours. he quickly undoes the towel around his waist, and you help him as much as you can from the position you find yourself in. his fingers move your panties aside and he wastes no more time.
it's 1983 again. when he used to intertwine his fingers with yours on the soft cotton of your bedsheets. when he used to whisper sweet nothings into your ear, encouraging you to take him deeper. when he would taste your nectar and leave marks on your thighs as he spread you wider.
it's all that again.
his cock stretches you out like the good old days, reminding you of how big he is with each thrust. you whimper against him, lost in an ecstasy you couldn't even describe in a million years. the sudden rush of adrenaline, the forbidden situation... it takes nothing for you to moan like a bitch in heat.
"like that, hold onto me, baby," he groans into your ear. he is so bossy, he has grown. you want to have him back like nothing else right now, you yearn for him to make you his once again.
"where do you want me to come…?" he pants. but you can't speak.
"mh, am i that good, baby?" he speeds up his pace and keeps going until he feels you squeezing his dick like a vice. he lets you ride out your orgasm, pressing harder against you to hear you more and trigger his climax. he quickly pulls out and jerks off, aiming at your belly. you look down to watch his white seed hit your skin.
it was rushed, secret, like a rebellious teenage runaway.
you loved every second of it.
steve kisses you gently, "are you okay?" you simply nod, unable to engage in a basic conversation. he smiles, proud of himself and fond of you. you watch him reach for a nearby tissue box and extract one of those to clean up your stomach.
"think you can call me in the next days?" he glances up at you — his eyes full of hope.
"yes..." you chuckle and cup his cheek with your hand, "i still remember your number."
"mh, someone was hoping for a comeback," he teases, silencing your further blather with your lips against his.
⋆.˚ ʚɞ ⋆˙⟡ reblogs and comments are very very very appreciated ♡︎♡︎
✶ summary ──── Caught between old wounds and the fear of what lies ahead, she must revisit the love she cannot let go of, while trying to keep close the one who brought light into her life when she needed the most.
✶ pairing ──── Lando Norris & Oscar Piastri x she/her reader
✶ rating ──── explicit
✶ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, action moves between present and fragments of the past, complicated relationship dynamics, teammate’s ex trope (no cheating involved), breakup scenes, swearing, angst, arguing and verbal tension, guilt, internal conflicts, toxic patterns + unhealthy attachment, emotional dependence, mentions of smoking as a coping mechanism, alcohol consumption, conflicted loyalties, character flaws, reader has sex with both love interests (separate timelines), teasing, power dynamics, possessive!Lando, unprotected sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms.
✶ word count ──── 14.1k
✶ date ──── Jul. 1, 2026
✶ a/n ──── This was originally requested by @biancathecool in December of last year, but by the time I finished writing it (what a ride, I’ll tell you that much), it had sunk somewhere towards the bottom of my inbox. Lovey, I am sooo sorry, hope this was worth the wait. For everybody else, enjoy the tragedy 🩵
📍 Monaco, April 2026
LANDO MADE SURE to disappear before any of his friends noticed.
Downstairs, some of them are singing terribly over the music, causing an eruption of laughter. A glass breaks somewhere near the kitchen and it’s followed by more laughing that only rich, very drunk young people seem capable of producing. In this world, carelessness isn’t followed by consequence because everything can be replaced.
Anyone can be replaced, if anything.
The cigarette trembles faintly between his fingers as he pushes through the balcony door upstairs. Not from the cold, since April has been kind with the weather so far, but from the exhaustion of pretending not to look over his shoulder every few minutes. He had come to the party with every intention of forgetting himself for a few hours. To drink, maybe, to have a good time with his friends, and to finally shake off the pressure that had been clinging to him for months now.
Seeing her there had not been part of the plan, but luckily, she hadn’t noticed him, which gave Lando enough time to swallow the immediate pull of old feelings before they surfaced too obviously on his face. Unfortunately, the fragile balance he’d manage to build up until then, cracked like eggshells the moment he realized she hadn’t arrived alone. Standing beside her, all lean and far too comfortable in her orbit, was his teammate, of all people.
That way, the very mood he’d come here to escape settled back over him, twice as heavy.
His teammate, of all people.
Looking somewhere far in the distance, he presses his forearms against the iron railing and inhales deeply, until the smoke scratches the back of his throat. It feels like punishment, as it should. He’s aware it is a disgusting habit and he keeps meaning to quit, but in the months since December, he has found himself collecting various, ugly little addictions: the occasional nicotine, insomnia, memories.
So many memories.
The balcony door remains slightly cracked open behind him, letting the noise spill out in tiny fragments; the bass is vibrating through the walls, there’s too much shouting, then someone calling for tequila.
He realizes it’s a terrible idea to close his eyes only when her image materializes underneath his eyelids. For the life of him, Lando can’t think of how she was at the end, sad and exhausted, with mascara smudged under her furious eyes. That’d still hurt, but it would be a favor to him, and his mind is crueler than that. It offers him the good versions instead, the ones that he should’ve hold on to more when he stormed out of the conference room, without looking back.
Her, asleep on his chest during a flight to Singapore.
Her hands fixing his crooked collar before every boring event.
Her laugh echoing through hotel hallways at two in the morning.
He takes a couple more absent drags from his cigarette, mostly habit than intention, the smoke dissolving into nothingness in the night air. The same thoughts pull him under too quickly, spiraling in places he’d rather be, until the sting of heat against his fingers jolts him back to reality. He looks down blankly at how it burned nearly to the filter but then, as he decides to go back inside, the door to the room swings open hard enough to rattle in its frame.
Someone stumbles through it in a mess of laughter and half-whispered giggles, their voices disturbing the semi-quiet he’s harvested in the past few minutes.
“Are you sure?” asks the first voice, causing Lando’s entire body to react to the Australian accent he grew to know so well.
His heart starts slamming inside his ribcage, breath caught midway in his lungs. Fuck, no.
“Yes,” her unmistakable voice answers right away. “What, are you afraid?”
“No. Should I be?” Oscar shoots back.
The corner beside the balcony wall is dark enough to hide him as long as neither of them looks too carefully. Which turns to be his only salvation since he cannot move. Although he tells himself he should just walk back in, force the door open wider or make enough noise for them to notice they’re not alone, he simply can’t move. So he stays still, while the hushed sounds land one after another like premeditated blows.
Every kiss and every murmur makes her giggle all over again. It is torturous the way Lando remembers those sounds, but how can he not, considering they once belonged to him?
A rustle of fabric, then the sound of lips meeting fills the silence that follows. Lando presses his back against the nearest wall, thinking that even now, it is still not too late to save himself. He could clear his throat and let them see him. He could step out now.
Right now.
Now!
The door is still ajar, they haven’t looked out yet, and his legs won’t. Fucking. Move.
“There’s no one else I would trust,” she tells Oscar.
Sick to his stomach, Lando stops breathing.
The confession warns him of what is to come; there is another kiss, deeper than the last, that leaves her breathless and forces him to press the heel of his palms against his eyes. Mortified, he knows that now it’s too late and there will be no version of this in which he keeps his dignity. They will look at him in horror, then pity, and that would kill him faster than anything else ever could.
Punished by timing, he remains in the shadows and, behind him, the girl he once saw spending the rest of his life with, moans softly his teammate’s name.
OSCAR INHALES HER breath like he’s a sick man and it has healing properties. He feels her lips curl against his mouth, all the desire inside him snapping loose at once. He’s already used to the soft contours of her face, the way she looks up at him, right before standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. It’s a silly thought, ridiculous even, but he’s convinced that he would recognize her among billions of stars. All she has to do is stand there, just as she is, and Oscar would still be able to point at the night sky in her direction. Blindfolded.
His hands tighten around her waist as he walks her backward toward the bed, stumbling together in fits of laughter and half-finished kisses until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. She falls onto it with a breathless sound, consumed by his sole presence, and he follows right away, bracing himself above.
“Are you sure?” asks Oscar.
The girl nods. “Yes,” she replies, “What, are you afraid?”
He lets out a strained chuckle, his back stiffening in anticipation at the thought. “No. Should I be?” it comes out like a joke meant to lighten the mood, but it still sounds like he’s at least somewhat concerned.
She nods again, then laughs at the way his eyes widen, his pupils so dilated that the ring of his brown irises is barely visible around them anymore.
There is a strange freedom in the way everything panned out for them. It wasn’t out of hatred, revenge, defiance, or even carelessness. The night that brought them close was a different kind of honesty that none of them knew how to handle at the time. It was stripped clean of any trace of hesitation because, for her, there was nothing left to lose. And Oscar didn’t believe there was anything to gain from it either.
After that, they have spent weeks of circling one another carefully. Restrained by timing, encouraged by a new-found friendship and oblivious to the consequences that might catch up with them, they managed to build their own rhythm.
“There’s no one else I would trust,” her words come out quietly, a little heavier than she initially expected.
With Lando in the back of her mind, she’s aware that Oscar would never risk the fracture that a reckless fling could cause, so it has to go deeper than that. It has to. Plus, it’s not in his blood to gamble people’s trust in such way.
In turn, Oscar hears it for what it is: more honesty. And acknowledgement that whatever this is, it already exists on borrowed time. At some point, they will have to speak up. Despite that, neither gives it language but the truth lingers there, always present, and even though no one dares, they both know the fall is inevitable. Tragic in its context, but beautiful in the way it feels in the moment.
With his heart racing, Oscar lowers his head, kissing slowly beneath her jawline while she tangles her fingers in the soft waves at the nape of his neck. It’s different from anything she’s ever known, but finding out how quiet he gets when he wants someone warms every cell in her already heated body. The silence that settles over him doesn’t come from uncertainty, though. It’s too intense for that. It’s rather concentration, every thought focused toward touch.
And gods, his hands.
They move over her in a brush so gentle, as if he had suddenly gone blind and now he must learn a new language through memory alone. His fingers start skimming the line of her neck, thumb caressing the rapid pulse underneath. Pushed by instinct, they curl around it just to make her breath catch, and the muffled sound she lets out through her parted lips is enough to rouse the last of his dormant senses.
“Oscar…” she breathes hot over his cheek, the name surrounded by longing from all directions.
With his hand around her neck, he hums in response but doesn’t give her more, which forces her to melt beneath him with embarrassing ease.
She catches him before his mouth drifts lower, impatient to get rid of his shirt. Quick with the buttons, Oscar shrugs it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought. His chest is lean, carved from hours in the gym and the constant stress of forces that aims a driver’s core; she can’t help but run her hands over his skin, his collarbones, down to the dip of his waist.
The moment he kisses her again, minds go quiet. She reciprocates it with a whimper that only deepens the desire. His tongue slides against hers, tasting the last remnants of a classic Shirley Temple and her cherry lip balm. One of his hands moves back to her neck, forcing a gasp from her mouth, then right into his. The other one finds her blouse and the incredibly tiny buttons decide to test his patience, but Oscar allows himself to pull at it a little harder, his knuckles grazing her sternum with each attempt.
It makes her shiver because for one fleeting second, she catches another trace of his being. A sharper side, hidden right under the surface. Although it’s not supposed to be violent in any way, what makes it exciting is the fact that the danger comes from keeping that edge under control at all times. So, he must be aware of it.
Without meaning to, Oscar reveals himself to her over and over again, and she’s able to understand that if someone pushed him far enough, wherever that line truly lives, he could be aggressive with the same terrifying precision he applies to everything else. And somehow, she thinks, that might just be the most intoxicating thing about him.
The air is cool on her skin while he finally parts the fabric, exposing the white lace of her bra. Instead of removing it as she expects him to, Oscar pushes the cups aside with his thumbs, only to tease. Next thing she knows, he kisses a trail across her chest, then lower.
When his mouth closes around her nipple, her fingers go back to threading through his hair, slightly arching her back to push herself more into him. His mouth is warm and wet and sucks just as gently as his touches, tongue circling the peak until it’s tight and aching. His right hand mirrors the motion on her other breast, squeezing and rolling the sensitive flesh between his thumb and index finger. The sensation drivers her right up, lifting on her elbows in order to see what he’s doing to her.
Worship, that’s what it is. His eyes are darker than usual, heavy-lidded and secured entirely on her; she stops breathing just to observe. The defined line of his jaw is still noticeable in the poor light that comes from the balcony windows. It’s the way his shadow almost looks like it’s moving in slow motion that leaves her transfixed, and the fact that Oscar possesses the kind of beauty that is so devastatingly painful, solely because he never seems aware of it.
“What are you staring at?” he asks, studying her. His cheekbones are sprinkled with a pale shade of pink that spreads quickly up to the tip of his ears and down his neck.
She smiles, and Oscar can swear the room just got a little brighter.
“You’re very pretty like this,” the girl admits.
He makes a small noise that sounds like a laugh, but not quite. “Shut up,” he mumbles before adding a in a silky voice, “Please.”
She chuckles when she feels a palm suddenly plastered on her stomach, pushing her back onto the bed. She obeys him with no protest, letting herself fall into the mattress, the skirt she wears bunching around her hips. Oscar follows, crawling over her with an unexpected familiarity, as though he had done it a thousand times before and this is just muscle memory to him.
His body is complete heat and has a foreign weight to it. It’s heavy enough to make her aware of him, to grow attached to the comfort of being held down so effortlessly. When her eyes close shut, somewhere behind her eyelids, the unavoidable thought that she will miss it the moment it’s gone appears in a flash that forces her to open them back up immediately. Just to witness him.
Far too patient, Oscar kisses her neck, her jaw, the hollow behind her ear. At this rate, there won’t be a single inch of skin left that his mouth hasn’t touched. The thought gives her goosebumps that only intensify once his hand slides down her side, over the curve of her hip, then under the skirt.
He grips her waist and lifts her exactly how he needs in order to position himself where she wants him.
Her hands fly to the button of his jeans with a reaction that surprises Oscar. She manages to work it open, pull down the zipper and slide her hand inside in record time, finding him warmer there, semi-hard and heavy against her palm. He hisses once she wraps her fingers around his cock, letting a sharp intake of breath breaking against her neck.
It’s easy for her to learn the shape of him, allowing herself to take in the rigid length and the way he twitches when she squeezes. She does it just as patient as he kissed her earlier, finally understanding Oscar’s need to take his time. Why every touch from him feels unbearably calculated. Now, she gets to watch it happen in reverse; she sees the subtle change in his expression, notices the tension gathering along his jaw and the way pleasure begins to reshape the composure he wears so smoothly. Being at the receiving end of it only leaves her wanting more. And once she starts building a rhythm, his hips roll into her hand like they have a mind of their own.
“Fu…ck,” he sighs, the word half-swallowed at the way she runs her thumb over the head, pressing into the slit to feel the tremor that travels through his entire body.
He buries his mouth further into the crook of her neck and, next time Oscar groans, it comes out on the verge of desperation, which encourages her to do it again, sliding her thumb over the slick tip. He can’t stay passive for long, though. His hand moves between her legs to push her panties aside and, sliding his middle and ring finger through her folds, he finds her already soaked.
The girl gasps, the rhythm faltering once her senses are invaded by a new force. Luckily, Oscar pushes her hands away in order to take the lead. Unable to look away, he fucks his fist once, two times, then three, his eyes glued to hers in a moment of pure connection as he’s gently guiding himself to her entrance.
They both hold their breath while he teases her hole, letting her adjust to the pressure first. But it’s not what she needs, so she bucks her hips in instant reaction, trying to take him in.
A smirk ghosts across his lips. “Tell me,” he begins slowly, “You’re always this eager or just for me?”
Her voice cracks on his name, the only word she seems to have left in her once vast vocabulary, now reduced to just that, plus a small collection of onomatopoeic sounds.
Oscar pushes in on her next inhale, just the head to stretch her. She writhes in his arms with a silent cry caught in her throat that makes him pause. At that, he gives her body a few moments to fine-tune to him then sinks deeper, inch by inch, until he’s buried inside all the way.
From there on, pure bliss.
His patience starts slipping away in quiet increments once he’s finally feeling her properly around his length. She’s also aware, noticing it in the way Oscar exhales deeply, in the loss of that measured control and, ultimately, the way she feels him throb inside her, without ever moving. But even with want steadily overtaking him, he’s still able to observe a tiny shiver that runs through her.
“You’re shaking.”
“So are you,” she whispers back, snaking her arms around his neck.
Oscar smiles, then leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. A kiss so small and airy that she barely has time to feel, let alone to process. Instead, she sighs in a failed attempt to say more, the noise able to weaken the knees of the strongest of men.
“All this time…” his voice is huskier when he speaks again. There’s a hesitation in it too, as though he’s weighing the exact moment to admit something he’s already decided. A while ago, actually. “I couldn’t help but wonder how you’d sound like if you were full of me. I thought about it every time I saw your face. And every time I closed my eyes. When I was trying to sleep.”
A shaky laugh escapes through her lips. “That’s a lot of thinking.”
“Right?” he agrees, dipping his head to place more kisses all over her shoulder. She moans in return, her fingers tangling back in the hair at the back of his head. “But I’m glad it’s you.”
Slowly, he begins to retreat, the head of his cock touching tiny euphoric mines inside her on its way out. The stretch is maddening, a fullness that steals her breath when she moves with it. Halfway through, she can still feel him pulsing, a solid presence that makes every cell in her body cry out for more. The slick embrace of her channel tries to cling to him, but the moment it slides out catches them both whimpering at the loss.
Oscar doesn’t waste a second after that. His hand slips down between them to tug at the lace of her panties, working them down her thighs while being careful to steal more not-so-accidental touches on the way. She lifts her hips without being asked, then in the same manner, her legs wrap around his waist, hooking at the ankles to yank him closer.
“Easy there,” he breaths deeply, followed by a satisfied chuckle.
Taking her in, he can’t help but go still: the glistening sheen of her pussy, then the way her body invites him in, promising that it’s ready. His eyes move up to search for hers, needing further reassurance that she wants this and him, specifically him. She can practically see the thoughts moving behind his gaze in real time, she can feel the restraint he’s carried for weeks cracking under relief, the disbelief that this is finally happening.
She can’t name the feeling she catches on his face, but understands how tender it is. Without breaking eye contact, Oscar grips her hip with one hand, the other guiding himself back to her opening. His lips part, a sign of absolute focus, then he drags the tip through her folds to tease her.
She whimpers, impatient to let him fill the void.
“What do you need?” he asks before moving another inch.
“This… you.”
Oscar’s eyebrows arch in a challenging manner. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
Need is a curious thing. In their case, it pulls at everything that could complicate their lives, everything Oscar is trying not to acknowledge, especially the shadow of her with a particular curly-haired teammate.
“Then I need your eyes on me the entire time,” his gaze holds hers with intensity. “Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” she repeats, just as eager.
“Of course you can,” he nods, the hand on her thigh squeezing lightly, knowing that if he can anchor her attention for long enough, nothing else will exist in this room but the two of them.
He pushes forward in one thrust, sinking back into her welcoming heat. The tension she’s carrying is blinding, his girth stretching her as he goes, meeting new spots deep within. The girl lets out a broken whine that’s half pleasure, half relief, legs shaking around Oscar’s waist while struggling to pull him even deeper.
“That’s it,” he praises in a rich accent. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he adds more quietly, stilling for a beat.
Her brain turns to mush at his words and all she can do is clutch at him, nails raking across his back, her breath coming in short gasps. “Please, move,” she barely manages.
Oscar grunts at her sweet demand, then begins to move. Initially, his thrusts are meaning to collect as much information as possible. He uses slow strokes that grind against her walls at the same time he’s studying her face like it’s scripture, registering every reaction: her eyes rolling back when he reaches a certain angle, her mouth falling open when he picks up the pace, her hands squeezing at his shoulders when he circles his hips. Like that, he’s able to learn her body as he goes, making sure to check in with her after every change in movement.
“Right there?” he asks, hitting a spot that makes her whole body arch off the bed.
“Yes, there. Don’t stop,” she begs, bringing one of her hands to cup his cheek.
Leaning into her touch, Oscar fucks her with more life he’s ever felt. The sound of their bodies meeting is wet yet able to keep alive the flames that are threatening to swallow them both as the bedsprings creak in protest. He’s on another level aware of how far he’s sinking into her, how his entire cock disappears into her heat with each thrust, how she sucks him in, deeper with every clench of her inner muscles. She feels too good, so perfect that he knows he won’t last much longer.
But she isn’t far behind either. Her hand clenches somewhere where his jawline meets the carefully sculpted muscles of his neck, breath catching every time he drives inside. Each time with more force than before. It’s so good that she has to bite her lip to keep from screaming at him to fuck her harder.
She closes her eyes instead, so that all she feels is him.
“Stay with me,” Oscar whines, snaking a hand between them, thumb finding her clit to rub tight circles that match his thrusts. “Please,” he breaths, “Eyes on me.”
“Holy shit, Oscar…”
He shifts onto his knees, pulling her with him, and the new angle drives him deeper. In response, her orgasm builds like a wave, cresting and crashing under his relentless touch.
She shatters with a cry, body shuddering through the convulsions. Oscar watches the ecstasy twist her features, urging himself to memorize every second of it in the time that he follows her over the edge. The sensation makes him grunt, derailing his rhythm as he fills her in hot pulses.
He stays inside, collapsing on top and unwilling to break the connection until she pushes him away, if that’s what she needs. Apparently not. His lips brush her temple in a kiss that gives them more time to come back from the high. But after he finally pulls out, she turns her head, a big smile decorating her face. It’s the image of him that causes it. His skin is flushed, changing color from the exertion, from the pleasure. From the peace. She loves how open he looks, how undone and how… relieved.
“Thanks for coming tonight,” she speaks quietly. “I needed to get out of my head for a sec,” the girl explains, reaching out to trace the line of his jaw.
Oscar catches her hand, pressing his lips to her palm, just to keep them there for a moment. “Did you?”
She laughs. “I’m still out, yeah.” She shifts closer to place one last kiss to his lips before she gets up; this one’s tamed, with no urgency left in it.
The absence she leaves behind in his space is immediate, making the bed feel larger without her weight beside him. Looking around, she leans over to gather her panties and Oscar’s shirt from the floor, throwing the latter lightly at his chest.
“Gotta clean up,” she informs him, smoothing her skirt back into place. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
Oscar is still in a trance, a half-dazed expression still lingering in his sharp features. When he smiles, it softens his whole face. “Okay,” he says.
Her heart grows a little in size at the sight of it and how easy it is for him to simply exist like this, with messy hair falling into his eyes, resting his broad frame on the mattress, half-naked and pants still undone.
He stays seated for a moment, looking down at his shirt as his ears pick up on the sound of her steps fading down the corridor. Only then does he move, pulling the fabric over his shoulders, threading himself back into order, piece by piece. It feels a bit strange, like he has to come back to his body, returning to a version of himself that doesn’t quite fit this world anymore. There is a particularly noticeable before and after her in the air now.
Halfway through buttoning his shirt, Oscar pauses at the sound of someone sneezing outside. The noise is dull enough that he almost dismisses it entirely, until he turns on instinct and sees that the balcony door is slightly ajar. A thin slice of crisp air and lingering smoke is cutting through the room, moving the curtains back and forth.
It is almost absurd how quickly it happens, how the warmth still clinging to his skin seems to evaporate once the instant cold air meets him. It’s just posture at first, but he senses stillness where there should not be stillness. Then, the recognition comes in pieces, the outline of a man he knows too well taking shape right before his eyes.
Oscar’s mouth goes dry at the memory of what he just walked away from.
“Bless you,” he says unsure, the words coming out too polite. And wrong, in every possible way, which is why his jaw clenches at the sound of it.
Lando doesn’t answer. If anything, he looks like he doesn’t want to acknowledge his teammate’s presence yet. Awkwardly, the Aussie positions himself a few paces away, mirroring the posture unconsciously, with forearms resting on the railing, fixing his gaze on the dark horizon as though the void of the night has suddenly become the most interesting thing in existence.
“Looks like I’ve missed quite the chapter,” he finally hears Lando speaking. “Is that normal occurrence now or?”
“It’s not… like that,” replies Oscar, carefully sorting through his brain, yet no matter how hard he tries, what explanation would be appropriate in this situation?
“Aha,” the Brit seems lost in thought, “Piece of advice,” adds Lando, continuing to avoid looking anywhere near his teammate, “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Oscar frowns, turning to look at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I know how fucking good it gets with her,” Lando admits. “You think you won’t ever need anything else. But the second it gets bad…” he trails off, but doesn’t finish his sentence. On purpose. Instead, he insists, “Because it will. Get bad, I mean.”
The Aussie listens in silence while Lando talks with infuriating certainty. Behind the warning, he believes history alone gives him permanent insight into the way she loves, breaks, then leaves. A cycle that she’s endlessly repeating, according to his insinuation.
Oscar knows they had years together. He knows their relationship started not long after he and Lando became teammates, therefore long enough for habits and scars and intimate knowledge to root deep into both of them. He understands all of that. But on the other side of the spectrum, he doesn’t think it’s fair to simply assume that whatever he has with her now is somehow lesser, simply because it’s newer.
Lando is only speaking about it like some kind of prophecy, firing his experience like it’s a loaded gun just because he once knew how to survive her worst days. Despite that, Oscar remembers what the last few months with her have looked like, especially the past few weeks. He knows about the softness that she hides from people, the trust she places carefully into his hands, and he definitely feels the way she reaches for him like she means it. And maybe he’s an idiot for believing that matters, but he refuses to let Lando reduce her to a disaster waiting to happen, only because he can’t imagine his ex becoming something entirely different with someone else.
“But maybe you’ll succeed where I failed, who fuckin’ knows, mate,” Lando shrugs, tilting his head and extending his arm to pass Oscar what seems to be a third cigarette, judging by the bits scattered on the ground.
Oscar shakes his head, politely disregarding him. “Yeah, well. She’s not a fucking mission on a video game, mate,” he makes sure to accentuate the last word, which catches Lando’s attention for a brief second. Careful, is what Oscar means with it.
“She’s not,” Lando’s jaw works as he thinks, then continues, “When you fuck up in a video game, they tell you exactly what you did wrong. You get feedback and you can adjust. With her, I was constantly supposed to guess.”
Oscar’s hand curls around the railing, an involuntary gesture he only notices when his knuckles start hurting. “What, you mean she played you?”
Lando’s expression turns shallow, the exhaustion clearly visible behind his eyes. “I’m saying, if she decided that we were going to fight, that’s what we did. She didn’t even need a reason most of the times. Not one worth sharing, at least.”
“Well, I’m not you,” says Oscar almost as if he has to remind himself that.
“Exactly,” Lando points out. “I vividly remember you saying she wasn’t your type.”
“She wasn’t,” the Aussie agrees, half-nodding. He swallows a small lump in his throat, turning his gaze back on the horizon.
Lando laughs, but there’s no amusement behind the noise that comes out. “What changed?”
A good question, that takes Oscar by surprise. He realizes he never actually stopped to ask himself that. It hadn’t feel like a single moment nor a conscious decision. It was simply a slow, apparently irreversible shift that happened while he wasn’t paying attention, until she had become threaded into his routines and thoughts.
Oscar opens his mouth to answer, but finds nothing clean enough to explain it. You fucked up, he thinks to himself.
📍England, December 2025
“DON’T BE FUCKING selfish,” Lando grunts while keeps driving into her, hips snapping forward without pause even as her walls clamp down around his cock in the aftermath of her second orgasm. “So close, come on,” he breathes roughly, tightening his jaw at the way she squeezes him.
Before hands start sliding lower, he grips her waist a little harder from behind and the simple gesture steals the air from his lungs. His wide palms settle against the curve of her hips as though they were made for that exact purpose, making him painfully aware of how naturally she fits there, full of him; the simple visual sends his heart ricing in a wild beat beneath his ribs.
His, his, his.
The girl moans into the pillows, any rational thought long gone, at the same time her body jerks with every brutal push. Her thighs started trembling minutes ago and haven’t stopped yet, overstimulation sparking in quick electric vibrations through her core. She chokes on a gasp when he reaches down to slide two fingers through the mess between her legs, then circles her swollen clit only to see if she’s got one more for him. The sensation is too much, forcing her to twist away even though her body craves that exact touch.
With a restrained whimper and enough force in one hand, Lando manages to hold her steady; it’s the familiar possessiveness that has her voicing his name, the sound breaking in breathless fragments.
“Stay right there,” he orders calm yet commanding, a tone that she could recognize anywhere. “You can take it, see?” he continues rubbing, faster, every new thrust sending a fresh gush of arousal down her thighs that manages to struck her endlessly.
She finds comfort in being known so thoroughly because, in time, Lando has learned how to read her reactions before she fully understands them herself. With that, the same feeling starts building inside once again.
Behind her, Lando’s breathing turns heavier, grumbles punching out of his chest with each drive of his hips. Lately, he’s noticed that it takes more out of him to reach that blissful release, as though his mind insists on holding onto every thought until the very last second. He can’t tell whether he’s prolonging the moment out of greed for a few more beats of it, or whether the destination itself has drifted away because she did.
Questioning himself like that only leaves Lando exhausted in ways he can’t quite explain, wringing him out completely before finally letting him to rest.
The aftermath is worse: he spends long minutes staring at the ceiling, limbs heavy and uncooperative, while a restless energy continues to hum beneath his skin. The perception alone has him suspended somewhere between satisfaction and longing, too drain to move but too awake to truly settle.
“Come on, fuck,” he says out loud, urging himself.
He shifts his angle, dragging the head of his cock over her sensitive spots on every stroke.
“Lan…do,” she pants, voice keep breaking several times more on his name.
He leans over her back to press his lips on the curve of her shoulder. “Gonna come again?” asks Lando, punctuating the words with three hard thrusts in a row. His free hand slides up her body to palm her breast, while the other keeps teasing her clit, never letting the pressure ease.
A third orgasm erupts quickly under the assault, walls fluttering tighter this time.
“Yeah, that’s it. Show me how greedy I’ve made you.”
Lando changes the angle again, keeping her exactly where he wants her, tilting her hips so his cock drags against her front wall with every stroke. He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in, grinding deep before repeating the motion, each one forcing another sweet cry from her throat. He manhandles her easily, one hand pressing between her shoulder blades as her body shakes under him, overstimulated and dripping.
“Touch yourself,” his words are followed by panting, and she obeys.
Together they work the swollen nub, and the combined pressure makes her vision blur with tears.
Lando’s thrusts get shorter, harder, more desperate once he nears the edge.
“Baby, please,” she whines in a hoarse voice, her weeping plea enough to make his pace falter.
He drives in deep one more time and stays there, cock throbbing as he spills thick inside her. His final groan is loud and long, hips twitching with each spurt.
When the last wave subsides, he stays buried, tickling the skin of her back with his sharp exhales. Now that he’s taken what he needed, one hand strokes slowly down her spine, then presses a wet kiss between her shoulder blades.
“Lan?” she calls out in a whisper, turning her head slightly.
Lando lets out a heavy sigh that seems to pull from the depths of his chest while his eyes close briefly. “Yeah, baby. Just a bit tired,” he replies, the worn-down cadence of his voice sounding more like he speaks from reflex rather than genuine reflection.
He shifts his weight off her, pulling out in a slow drag that makes her breath catch in her throat one final time. He slips free, half-softened and slick with the evidence of their release, and lets it rest above the curve of her ass before he slaps it against her skin, the wet sound ricocheting against the bedroom walls. A playful smack follows, the flat of his palm connecting with the swell of her ass cheek. It’s a gesture that might have once felt charged with mischief, an invitation for more, but tonight it lands in a strange space between habit and afterthought.
Without another word, Lando swings his legs over the side of the bed, the mattress moving in time with his weight. He doesn’t look at her as he reaches for the bunched-up covers, pulling them back in order to slide underneath. The sheets rustle as he settles, his back pressing against the headboard, his arm already reaching toward the nightstand.
Blindly, his fingers find his phone and the screen blazes to life in a cold glow that cuts through the obscure room like a scalpel. She watches him patiently, her gaze tracing the familiar lines of his profile as the light from the screen paints purposeful shadows across his features. His jaw is tight, the muscle there ticking faintly as he scrolls, his thumb moving in a mechanical swipe-swipe-swipe.
Entranced by his figure, the girl pulls the covers over her chest and rolls onto her side to face him better.
The small light catches on the bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheekbone and the stubborn lock of hair that keeps falling into his eyes no matter how many times he pushes it back. That always happens after he showers, when his curls are much softer than when they’re loaded with hair product.
In the silence, she notices, she can find it deeply unfair of how fond she used to be of these quiet moments. But tonight, more than anything, she wishes he would simply give in to sleep. After all, Lando said he was tired. She can easily imagine him abandoning whatever has captured his attention, setting the phone aside with a sigh before shifting closer until his head comes to rest on her stomach. She would thread her fingers through his curls, slowly untangling it one strand at a time, feeling him grow heavier beneath her touch as exhaustion finally claimed him. It is such a small thing to think of, yet it fills her with a strange nostalgia.
A lump forms in her throat when she realizes she actually misses him, even though Lando is sitting only a few centimeters away from her.
What happened to them?
He has never stopped calling, never stopped reaching for her hand in crowded rooms, never stopped looking for her first after a race. However, she can feel a tiny shift in the tides, almost as if the moon had moved one millimeter farther away and, over time, the distance had grown large enough to violently stir the waters.
Lando used to orbit her naturally, bringing every single one of his thoughts, every frustration, every victory and loss back to her as though she were his true north. Now, there are moments like this when she catches him retreating in places she can’t follow, simply because he won’t invite her there.
The strange thing is that none of it feels like a lack of love or negligence. If anything, those parts remain painfully unchanged. He still looks at her with the exact same expression he wore the first time they met. The same look from the first trembling I love you. Whatever is changing between them, it is not that. She knows it with the same certainty she knows that the sky is blue. So maybe, after almost four years together, the routine of being with each other has finally caught up and this is how it looks like.
Or maybe it’s all in her head.
Lando acknowledges her again the moment the screen finally goes dark, the harsh light replaced by the softer amber glow of the streetlamp filtering shyly through the curtains. He places the phone back on the nightstand, then turns toward her with a tired smile. His hand hovers in the space between them, leaning in to lightly press his lips to her forehead — a perfunctory touch that lands and lifts in the span of a heartbeat; a goodnight kiss; a sacred ritual reduced to muscle memory — then he rolls away, settling on his stomach.
Don’t be fucking selfish, she wants to say, the memory from minutes ago invading her mind. Quietly, she moves closer instead, sliding an arm around his waist to remind herself he is there.
SHE WAKES UP to an empty bed the next day. Vaguely, she remembers that last night Lando had told her there was something he needed to take care of, but promised he’d be back in plenty of time for the Christmas party at the MTC. That’s why she doesn’t think much of it. Still, she instinctively reaches across the sheets anyway, fingertips brushing the cool fabric where his warmth should have been.
With a sleepy sigh, she rolls onto her back to stare at the ceiling for what it feels like a small eternity.
The morning stretches into afternoon, and the afternoon slips quietly toward evening. Much to her growing irritation, the apartment remains empty in the meantime. Each passing hour leaves behind a strange residue of unease she can’t and doesn’t want to justify yet. Her stubbornness had often disguised itself as faith whenever it came to Lando. If he’s running late, she’s convinced he has a good reason for it.
It doesn’t make the wait easier, though.
She’s standing in front of the mirror, fastening earrings with increasingly impatient fingers when he finally replies to her texts.
Even though she would have so much more to say, she eventually stops replying. Especially after noticing how her phone screen lights up every few seconds, taunting her, announcing more messages crowding her notifications.
The temptation is there, but the quiet dissonance that settled inside her acts like a STOP sign, preventing her to potentially make things worse when, maybe, it’s not the case.
With every little misunderstanding that accumulated lately, she knows she’s prone to no longer react to the actual situation but to weeks of bottled discomfort. And resentment, she believes, is far more dangerous than anger. At least that burns fast, but resentment roots itself in spaces where love is supposed to live and, without noticing, it could poison them from the inside out. That’s why, despite the growing sense that something has drastically changed right under their noses, the last thing she wants is to become someone who looks at Lando and sees a collection of grievances instead of the man she fell for.
When he finally makes it back home, he doesn’t come in with excuses or explanations ready. He simply stands by the window, waiting, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Under different circumstances, he would have smiled and told her how beautiful she looked. Would have teased her for spending too long getting ready and would have crossed the room just to steal a kiss before they left.
Tonight, the compliments die before they manage to reach his lips, deciding at the last moment to keep them locked in the mental drawers of his brain. On the other side, she’s just as quiet, letting the silence stretch between them, expecting Lando to break it first.
“Can you stop being so difficult?” he asks at last, but it’s not at all the sound of regret she expected to hear from him. “If you have something to say, just say it.”
Her eyebrows arch in surprise. “Oh? I’m difficult?”
“Yes, you are. I said I was sorry, alright? Can’t you just believe me? We won’t be too late if we leave now, so let’s just get this over with.”
The girl shakes her head in disbelief and, with a frustrated exhale, she pushes herself off the bed to turn toward the door, concluding that maybe the distance between them is now a blessing and it’s better than letting the discomfort break into actual anger on both sides.
She barely makes it two steps and Lando’s right there, blocking her path in a heartbeat, close enough that she has to stop.
Letting another breath out, she chews on the inside of her cheek before lifting her gaze to his face. It’s the only way she was always able to find answers. This time is no different: his eyes are slightly unfocused in the same cloudy look he gets after a few drinks. The realization unsettles her more that anger would have because it means that, whatever that foreign feeling might be, he is aware of it too, and at least at some subconscious level, he tries to suppress it because it is just as uncomfortable.
“Have you been drinking?”
“No…” he closes his eyes, then rectifies, “Just a couple of shots, I’m fine. Stay,” Lando insists.
A humorless laugh escapes through her lips. “You’re gone the entire day, you come back late, drunk, then you expect me not to be difficult?”
“I’m not drunk. And I said I was sorry,” he repeats and, before he can continue, she cuts in.
“I genuinely don’t have to put up with any of this,” the girl scoffs, her voice growing louder, “But I’m trying to be here for you, so how about help me a little!”
“Don’t fucking yell at me,” he raises his voice in return. “I get it.”
“Do you?”
She rolls her eyes at how ridiculous the situation is, then instead of shooting more remarks, she walks back into the room with a determination that’s more instinct than a decision per se. She grabs her bag from the chair and starts throwing things inside without any real order. Realistically, she knows that finding a flight this close to Christmas will be nearly impossible, that the airport will be packed and every reasonable option has probably disappeared hours ago. When she was waiting for him.
Suddenly, the thought of staying for another night feels unbearable.
What happened to them?
“I feel so stupid,” she murmurs to herself.
“You’re not, don’t talk like that,” he steps toward her, closing the tiny gap once again. “What are you doing?”
“Going home,” she replies simply, as if ‘home’ is right next door and not over a thousand kilometers away.
Lando’s jaw clenches. “Come on, you’re not serious.”
“I’m afraid I am,” she counters. “I really don’t have the energy to deal with this.”
“Right, me neither,” he agrees. “It’s fine if you don’t want to go, I’ll make something up. But quit this shit, alright? I’m sorry that I wasn’t back sooner. If it were the other way around, I’d be mad too. I’m sorry, baby.”
Against her better judgment, she feels herself soften. In the end, meeting Lando halfway when every instinct tells her to run has kept her exactly where she is now. Loving him has taught her that grace comes easy if it’s the right person. It is second nature to make excuses for him, to extend patience long after it has stopped being returned in equal measure. But somehow, it doesn’t feel like middle ground but compromise.
He takes the opportunity immediately, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “I’m sorry,” he repeats quieter, understanding that this isn’t about being late or unanswered calls but all the little moments that led them here. “I’ll do better. Let’s just go, please.”
She turns to look up at him then, frustration becoming harder to hold onto. There is so much familiarity in his face that holds her back from staying mad for too long. At the same time, she can’t bring herself to look away. Ultimately, the same person that argues with her is also the person who still looks at her like she’s the most precious thing, even when they are falling apart.
Eyes don’t lie.
Glaring back at her, she understands with painful clarity that Lando Norris is, and perhaps will always be the one weakness capable of undoing every defense she has ever built. The one person she has never learned how to protect herself from. What frightens her most is the realization that the foreign, burning feeling that lives now in the pit of her stomach is not temporary. It will not disappear with time or sleep or another difficult conversation. The one person able to put an end to it it’s him. For all her pride, stubbornness and all the promises she makes to herself in moments of anger, she knows she’s not strong enough to walk away from him first. If they were ever to end, the final page will have to be written by Lando himself.
Hesitantly, she closes the remaining space until she’s pressed against him. The girl rises enough to reach him properly, leaving a kiss on his lips. Lando melts into it, his arms tightening around her small frame, but she pulls away before he can chase after more, since there’s no time.
“This isn’t over,” her voice sounds weird in her own ears. “Now go wash your face to sober up.”
“You sobered me up,” he shoots back, the corners of his mouth curling into a boyish smirk.
At last, they manage to leave, but not before snapping some pictures first.
In one of them, Lando stands behind her, his body close enough that she can feel his warmth. The height difference between them is comically obvious as he looks down at her while she tries to keep a straight face.
The second one is a little softer, his hand finding its way around her neck, fingers resting there naturally. She looks up at him this time, smiling.
He’s on his knees in the third one, with arms around her waist while resting his head against her hip. She catches it mid-laugh, capturing a piece of happiness to which she’ll find herself returning to, times and times again in the upcoming weeks.
She takes the last picture outside, while they wait for their car to arrive. Snow has started falling around them. Standing beneath the streetlights, little flakes catch in their hair, melting against their skin.
Everything in the near vicinity feels impossibly quiet despite the endless thoughts that are running at 300kph in her mind.
We’re fine, she tells herself as she captures the two of them kissing, then turns around to wipe the gloss that transferred to his lower lip.
Would they have held on a little longer to that kiss if they had known it was their last?
BY THE TIME they arrive at the MTC, the party is already in full swing, exactly as she expected. The enormous glass-fronted building glows like a star against the darkness outside, every floor illuminated with strings of Christmas lights reflected in the polished surfaces.
She can already hear the hum of conversations from the door, each punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional clink of glasses. Employees from every department are crowding the space, from engineers, mechanics and marketing staff to factory workers and executives. Role is not as important inside a team like McLaren because, at the end of each year, they either mourn or celebrate together. Always together.
Lando slips away the moment they step inside. He’s one of the main characters in pretty much every room he enters and here, more than anywhere else, it’s impossible to keep him glued to one spot; people are greeting him from all directions, lifting their hands in recognition and calling out for him.
Leaning over, he squeezes her hand briefly. “I’ll go say hello to everyone. Stay close, yeah?” he instructs her before he gets trapped in dialogues elsewhere.
She nods and, within seconds, Lando is swallowed by the crowd, disappearing into a cluster of bodies eager to congratulate him for the season he’s had, joke with him, or simply claim a moment of his attention. How she’d love that for herself, too.
Left to her own devices, the girl drifts toward the buffet tables lining on one side of the room, grateful she has an excuse to occupy herself. The spread looks extravagant, laden with festive desserts, canapés and enough alcohol to ensure nobody remembers the end of the night. She picks up a drink, then adds a few snacks to a plate, determined to at least enjoy the food, since she skipped dinner.
For a long while, she simply watches the room around her, taking in the sea of semi-familiar faces. Then, just as she’s reaching for another canapé, a voice she knows well enough to make her turn appears right beside.
“They actually outdid themselves with the food this year.”
“Yeah, they did,” she agrees.
Oscar’s mouth is already curved into a smile when she looks up. Somehow, despite the hundreds of people surrounding them, he manages to make the crowd feel a little less overwhelming with his sole presence.
“Why are you alone? Where’s Lando?” he asks, more conversational than actual interest.
She returns the smile, abandoning her plate on the table, pushing it into a corner. “He’s…” she trails off, looking around to see if she can spot her boyfriend, “Somewhere.”
The Aussie nods, understanding all too well how easily a room like this can consume someone. Being one of the main faces of the team means that a simple greeting rarely remains just that. People will always pull them from one conversation to the next, eager to share a story, to ask questions or reminisce about a particular race weekend. Before they realize, hours can pass. Still, part of him thinks it’s unfair to leave her alone at a party. In this case, the distinction between responsibility and intentionally forgetting is small, perhaps insignificant to her at the moment, but it’s enough to keep Oscar from judging his teammate too harshly.
They exchange a few words after that, falling into an effortless banter, joking and commenting about sports, until he eventually notices the way she keeps glancing around.
“Alright,” he says, stepping back, “I’ll let you enjoy the night. Don’t want to steal you away.”
“You’re not,” she assures him, making room for him to pass. “But thanks for the company.”
Collecting a full glass from the table, Oscar lifts it in her direction. “I’ll see you around, then. And if Lando’s still lost in half an hour, maybe put him on a leash.”
She laughs, nodding. “I’m considering it.”
Later in the night, after wandering around, she finally finds Lando upstairs, tucked away in one of the quieter rooms where the noise isn’t that disturbing. He is surrounded by a small group of work friends and a couple of girls she vaguely recognizes from previous events. They’re all gathered around a table with cards spread between them, completely absorbed in their own small papaya world, arguing over rules, accusing each other of cheating and jumping from debates about golf to cars to video games.
He made space for her in the meantime, and now they’re close enough that their shoulders touch every time he shifts next to her. Somehow, though, she feels further away than she has all night. Lando laughs at something someone says, his unmistakable giggle making it impossible for her not to notice how his attention moves around the room, never quite settling on her.
It makes her wonder: if she quietly disappeared downstairs, would the game continue?
Her mind answers that too fast for her liking, but it’s the way Lando reaches across the table to take the deck of cards, and his hand lingers for a second too long above one of the girls’ fingers that pushes her over the edge of her patience. She’s aware that it’s barely even a moment. However, she tried to overlook everything he did in the past twenty-four hours, maybe even past month, and this is simply the final thread snapping.
“I want to go, I don’t feel well,” she leans closer, lowering her voice so only he can hear.
Lando turns to face her, surprise flickering across his face. “Now?” he asks; there is no accusation in his voice, but he sounds hesitant. She already knows. “We’re in the middle of the game.”
Exactly.
She looks at him for a few seconds, waiting for something she isn’t even sure Lando can give her right now. A sign that he understands. That he notices her, and she’s not helplessly blending somewhere in the background of his busy life.
“I want to go,” she insists.
“Baby, come on…”
Shaking her head and without stopping to explain herself, she gets up and steps away, leaving the room just as she entered it: alone. The door closes behind her, taking with it the last bit of patience she had left. But the peace doesn’t last long enough for her to gather her thoughts. A few moments later, Lando’s footsteps catch up.
The man who appears beside her is nothing like the one who had been laughing earlier, leaning back in his chair and throwing words around like it he had no worries. The warmth has vanished, his expression is tense, with jaw tight and irritation already plaguing his stance.
“What the fuck is wrong with you today?”
His question makes her stop abruptly. “Excuse me?”
Lando exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve been in a mood all day. You barely talk to me and now you leave without saying anything.”
“First of all, you were away all day, so it’s impossible for you to know how my mood has been,” she reminds him, then copies his tone, barely holding it together, “And without saying anything? Lando, I said I wanted to go.”
“Yeah, after sitting there looking miserable for like an hour.”
She scoffs. “So you do notice me, after all. Yes, I am miserable.”
Her affirmation makes the corridor suddenly feel too public for the conversation Lando knows they’re going to have in the next few minutes.
“Can you blame me? I’ve been constantly waiting for you,” she tells him, voice shaking a little despite her effort to keep it steady. “I had to wait for you to come home, wait for you to come find me here, wait for you to finish your stupid card game!”
Lando’s eyes sparkle with disbelief. “Don’t put it on my back like that,” he says, tensing his shoulders. “I told you I could have solved this with a phone call. You insisted we come.”
She glances up at the ceiling with a sigh, avoiding to look at him. “Because I didn’t want to ruin your night, and I don’t want to fight with you either. But you’re making it really, really difficult for me right now.”
The silence that follows isn’t as easy to read as it used to be. Lando cannot understand it in a glance, and she’s just too caught up in her side of the story to explain it to him better. Arguing is the last thing he wants to be doing, but from his perspective, every word she throws at him seems to gather every disappointment from the past few weeks and lay it at his feet. As if he alone is responsible for the growing distance neither of them has been brave enough to acknowledge yet.
Perhaps that is what frightens him most: the realization that they are no longer fighting about their current situation but something much larger.
For a heartbeat, Lando looks like he might make it all better — he always do, when he tries to —, but then he steps closer so his voice won’t echo against the walls. “Can we not do this here?”
She shrugs, pressing a hand to her chest. “Why? Because your friends or bosses might hear?”
Deliberately ignoring her question, Lando’s hand reaches out, gently catching her by the elbow. “Come on,” he says.
Her eyes fall straight on the spot where they’re making contact, then back at him. It feels more like a warning, and Lando seems to decipher the message, loosening his grip.
“Please,” he gestures toward the nearby conference room.
It’s not like she has a choice but to do as he says, letting him guiding her inside.
After closing the door behind him, Lando leans against the sleek glass table, his jaw clenched, eyes searching her with a mixture of his earlier frustration and now concern.
“Tell me what this really is about,” he demands, massaging the back of his neck.
There is a bitter smile curling at her lips when she replies, “You’re a smart boy. I’m sure you can figure it out.” Even though her voice drips with sarcasm, her eyes are weary, shadowed with exhaustion.
“Humor me,” argues Lando, exhaling through his nose. “Just… talk. Please, talk to me.”
Her shoulders drop. “Alright, you want the whole list?” the girl asks rhetorically before adding, “You barely look at me anymore unless you’re horny. Last night you came home, fucked me into oblivion, then went straight to your phone like I wasn’t even there. The week before, you canceled dinner twice because ‘work ran late’, but I know what work means to you when you’re with those guys. Plus, last time I checked, you were supposed to be on a break, but what the fuck do I know, right?”
Lando winces, his face draining of color. “You think I’m avoiding you on purpose?”
“I’m not done,” she talks back. “Turns out, you can find time to attend all these superficial events, but I have to beg for your attention. I mean, yeah,” she lets out a laugh, “You’re there, but not really there.”
“You’re so fucking unfair, you know I’ve been drowning in work ever since the season ended,” he explains. “I’ve got millions of deadlines stacking up, a business to run, meetings, then racing, which you know damn well it’s a nonnegotiable to me. Sometimes I’m exhausted, but I still come home to you every night. And every night I still consciously want you. It’s not like we haven’t been through all this already. You know how the pressure gets, so what exactly bothers you so much this time?”
“Pressure,” she parrots, her voice rising an octave. “Is it really pressure or is it just you getting bored? Because I see you don’t even bother lately. I orbit around you to fill a space and that’s about it. You used to text me stupid shit in the middle of the day when I knew you were busy, but you were making an effort because you wanted to. The only time you initiate anything now is when your dick’s hard, and I’m tired of pretending it’s all just in my head. Do you even remember what it’s like to be with me?”
Lando’s eyes darken, hurt flashing through his expression. “Yes, I do. But you’re not the same either. This used to be fun before you started turning every conversation into a fucking interrogation. That when you want to talk, of course. Otherwise, you shut down the second I walk through the door. How the fuck am I supposed to try to fix anything when you already decided I’m the villain?”
“I didn’t say you’re the villain.”
“Well, I’m not the hero, so I’m just assuming, yeah? If you weren’t so distant, I wouldn’t feel like I’m losing you.”
Her eyes flash with surprise. “Losing me? Why would you even go there?”
“You send me there,” Lando accuses her.
She shakes her head, pointing a finger at him. “No, you send yourself there because you feel it too,” her voice is trembling with tears she refuses to shed. “This is not… I love you, but this is not what I want. I don’t like us anymore. Not like this.”
Her admission is enough to silence the argument entirely.
Lando stares at her, anger dissolving into a softer feeling. He never doubted her love, but hearing it now doesn’t feel like reassurance. His mind races through late-night calls, plans cancelled at the last second, conversations spent discussing logistics and how can they make it better without compromising what they have.
But what do they have, really?
He thinks about how often he misses her and how that missing has slowly but surely become the foundation of their relationship. Sure, they knew the costs from the beginning, but loving each other was effortless, therefore inevitable.
Was.
Across from him, she feels the weight of her own words settle like a mountain on top of her chest. It sounds cruel when spoken out loud, but she’s not sure she wants to take it back.
Lando’s breath catches, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions, feeling as though something inside him just fractured. “So… what? You want me to drop everything for you all of a sudden, just so you feel like you have a boyfriend?”
No.
“Yes,” she ends up saying with a frown, “That’s exactly what I want. I want your life to revolve around me.”
The sarcasm is very evident in her voice, yet hearing Lando reduce her feelings to something so simple and selfish forces her to dive in, head first. It hurts that, after all the years they’ve had together, he could look at their relationship and think that poorly of her.
“Tough one there, then,” he replies quickly. “You know exactly what I can and can’t do for you. And every time I feel like I’m doing enough, it turns out I’m not,” his voice looses some of its sharpness. “No matter what, I’m the bad guy. I miss a call, I don’t prioritize you. I’m exhausted after a twelve-hour day, I’m selfish.”
Her jaw tightens in frustration, not understanding how is it possible for them to keep circling around the same point without actually touching it.
“Stop making it about whether you’re a bad person,” she says. “I’m not saying you are, Lando.”
“Then what are you saying?”
She pauses for a heartbeat, then glares at him with teary eyes. “I’m saying I miss you when you’re right next to me. How fucked up is that?”
Lando stays quiet, watching her carefully. Suddenly, he can’t figure out where the line is anymore. Whenever he thinks he has finally understood what she needs, whether it’s space, reassurance, patience or simply showing up, the ground shifts beneath his feet, leaving him uncertain all over again. He isn’t sure if they are changing or if he’s only now beginning to notice all the ways he stopped paying attention.
“I genuinely don’t know what you want from me,” he admits, his eyes dropping to his shoes. “Whatever this bullshit is,” says Lando, vaguely gesticulating at the space that separates them, “It feels like you’re just looking for reasons.”
“Reasons?” she echoes. “You think I want to break up?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, you just don’t know how to ask for it. And you won’t do it because you don’t want to hurt me. So, I guess I have to be the bad guy one last time.”
She takes a small step toward him, voice filling with panic. “Don’t do this, Lando.”
He pushes himself off the table, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Her face falls, a single tear finally slipping down her cheek.
“Lando,” she calls out, but he’s already at the door, closing it behind him with a force that neither of them expects.
The slam echoes through, her whole body reacting even though she cannot move. She just stares at the door, heart racing, hoping, waiting for him to walk in. In all those instances one of them has left angry before, they always found each other, in the end. But seconds turn into minutes, the hallway remains silent, and it is only then that she understands Lando isn’t coming back this time.
She exhales shakily, then presses the heels of her hands over her eyes, wiping away the tears. Turning her head, she checks herself in the darkened conference room window, pinching the skin beneath her eyes, willing the redness to fade before anyone notices.
She barely reaches the staircase when she nearly walks straight into Oscar. He slows immediately, his expression changing the moment he takes in her features.
“You alright?” he asks, a little hesitant.
Her voice isn’t as convincing when she replies, “Yeah.”
“I just saw Lando… if you’re still looking for him?”
“No, I found him,” she says, letting the words hang between them.
“Oh, okay. I thought he looked…” Oscar searches for the right one before settling on, “Upset.”
The girl forces a smile, trying not to make a big deal out of it. “We had a disagreement, it’s nothing.”
Oscar studies her as she walks past him. He has never been particularly intrusive, but he has always been observant and insanely good at noticing things people hope will go unseen. Like the slight tremble in her voice, the shine in her eyes and the way she keeps blinking rapidly, as if trying to push something back.
Instead of insisting that she tells him what’s wrong, he tilts his head toward the stairs leading back downstairs.
“My mother sent me some homemade Christmas cookies,” slightly croaky and uneven, Oscar’s voice catches her off guard.
She turns around reluctantly, finding him standing in the same spot with an expression that she would rather ignore. She considers pretending she didn’t hear, but he holds her gaze. There is no pressure in it, no expectation for her to explain herself or open up or talk about it.
He isn’t trying to pry into a situation that clearly isn’t his to fix, but is simply giving her an option.
Caught between wanting to disappear and a strange relief of not having to be alone, she ends up nodding. “Okay.”
Oscar offers her a quiet smile before falling into step beside her, saying nothing else as they descend the stairs together.
Sometimes, he has learned, silence is far kinder when it is shared. Also, the cookies taste better that way too.
📍 Miami, May 2026
DROPLETS OF WATER are still tracing paths down Oscar’s chest and arms after he steps out of the steaming bathroom with a white towel slung low around his hips. His hotel room carries the scent of his body wash mixed with the evening breeze drifting through the half-open balcony door. The noise coming in is much louder than at home, but it won’t be a problem for him to fall asleep, considering what a busy Sunday he had.
He settles onto the edge of the bed with a sigh and props his phone against a pillow, waiting for the FaceTime call to connect. A couple of beeps later, her face fills the screen, all sleepy yet happy to see him.
“Hey, you,” says Oscar, reciprocating the smile. “I’m sorry it’s late, just got out of the shower. Were you asleep?”
“No,” she replies with a yawn, leaning closer to her own screen. “I was waiting for you to call. Congrats on the podium!”
He chuckles quietly, rubbing a hand over his damp hair. “Thanks, very nice to be up there after the quali I’ve had.”
“Then what are you doing inside? Podium in Miami and you’re choosing room service instead of celebrating?”
Oscar shrugs, shifting to lie back against the headboard. The towel slips a little lower, but he doesn’t bother fixing it. “I’d rather be talking to you, I’m too tired anyway.”
He hears her hum on the other end, the sound landing right between his lungs, stealing the air from his chest.
They talk about anything but racing after that, asking what she ate for lunch and whether her meeting ran late. The screen shows her looking slightly off to the side, fingers tracing the edge of her phone.
He watches her for a long moment, unsure, then clears his throat to ask: “Was I wrong to tell you about it?” Her eyes flick back to the camera once Oscar continues, reluctant but determined to get to the bottom of it. “You’ve seemed a bit in your head when I left and if it’s me, I’d rather know.”
“No, Oscar,” she closes her eyes for a moment, “It’s not you. It’s…”
It’s Lando. Around everyone else, she knows where her boundaries begin and end. She knows when to walk away, when to protect her peace and when to choose reason over emotion — that’s exactly what she did with Oscar all this time. Of course, he told her about the conversation he had with his teammate on the balcony, two weekends ago. About the warning that Lando had fired at him about her.
He was quick to brush it aside, assuring her that nothing about it changes the way he sees her. That she has done nothing to diminish his respect for her. Still, Oscar recognizes the gray cloud that settled above her head, draining the light from moments that should be theirs. He recognizes it because he has seen it before: the same distant look, the same careful smiles that never quite reach her eyes, the same invisible weight pressing on her shoulders. She wore it for weeks after the Christmas party, convinced that if she ignored it long enough, it might eventually go away. But it never truly did.
“I know,” says Oscar at last. “I wish you found me when you weren’t still waiting for him. Would’ve been easier.”
The screen goes black without warning, the call still active, but the video feed cut. Oscar hears the muffled rustle of sheets as she sets the phone face-down on her pillow, so he stays silent for a while, listening to the soft sounds of her breathing.
Placing a palm over her chest, she can’t help but feel the shift inside.
Oscar has never asked her to sail toward him. Just like a lighthouse, he stayed in one place, casting light without demanding that she follow it. He didn’t rescue her from the sea but reminded her that there is still shore beyond it. For a short while, she was lost. Perhaps that is why she was so drawn to him in the first place. But a lighthouse doesn’t chase ships through violent waters, nor does it promise calm seas. Its purpose is not to save, but to guide.
“I’m so sorry,” it’s all she says, picking the phone up again.
Oscar exhales, shoulders loosening for a fraction. “Are you okay? I hate that I can’t be there.”
“I just… I wonder if I’m dragging you into something you don’t deserve.”
“This isn’t about protecting me, you know that,” he says, voice going up just a notch. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”
She shifts on the bed, the camera tilting with her.
There is nothing to dispute about that. They are both adults. She and Lando have been over for months and no lines were crossed. But it would be foolish of them to believe their lives could remain untouched forever. They do not exist in a world where relationships stay private for long and, the moment it goes public, they will become a headline.
“Maybe not, but I don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” she whispers.
Oscar doesn’t rush to fill the silence after her confession. He knows she needs him to simply exist with her in the same space, to stay. On his screen, he moves around slightly, resting his head back on the pillows.
“I think,” he begins carefully, “You’re still trying to find the exact moment where everything went wrong.”
She lays on her side, facing him. “And?”
“And maybe there isn’t one.”
“There must be,” the girl counters, “Otherwise we wouldn’t be here, having this conversation right now.”
Oscar sighs, suddenly looking uncertain, which is rare enough that it catches her attention. “Look, I’ll be back tomorrow night. Could I come over?”
The question is so gentle it almost breaks her heart. Even now, when she feels like she has spent weeks trying to understand where she truly belongs, Oscar is willing to give her the space she needs, regardless of whether her response might hurt him.
“You’re asking?” she teases.
“Yeah,” the corners of his mouth curve upward a little.
A fondness she cannot hide softens her expression. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Okay,” his smile widens.
Twenty-four hours later, Oscar is sitting on the couch in her living room. The TV plays a show on the background, its volume turned down so low that the sound is barely filling the empty spaces neither of them feels obligated to occupy.
Dinner is simple: takeout, hastily ordered after Oscar arrived from the airport. They speak about inconsequential things like his flight, the race weekend and the last book she read. Only once the last wrapper has been folded in half does reality begin to slowly creep back into the room.
Oscar gathers everything into a neat pile before standing, carrying the empty containers into the kitchen. She picks up the sounds of the cupboard opening, the bin closing, then the tap running for a few seconds, finding an odd comfort in how ordinary all of it is.
When he returns, he doesn’t immediately sit; he feels content to linger behind the couch, one hand resting on the back of it as if deciding whether to disturb the peace they’d managed to build over the last hour. From the moment they ended the call yesterday, his mind started running. He imagined every version of the conversation they’re about to have, every time coming to the same conclusion.
Eventually, he lowers himself beside her.
“How are you feeling?”
She exhales, fixing her eyes on the TV screen where people laugh at jokes neither of them can hear. “I’m not sure.”
She finds it very difficult to make sense of the flood of emotions that overwhelms her. There are too many feelings gathered in the same space inside her to separate one from the other; relief, guilt, love, affection, grief, hope, fear. They all exist together in a knot, so tightly woven that tugging on one only seems to tighten the rest.
Oscar’s thumb absentmindedly brushes over the seam of the cushion beneath his hand. Next time he speaks, his voice is careful which makes him sound disturbingly reserved. “I’m not saying this to put any pressure on you. It’s the last thing I want, and I know that we’re both equally involved, so it’s not that I don’t want to take any blame for it.”
The girl turns to look at him, their knees touching as she shifts.
“But I hope you know,” he pauses, searching for the right words instead of the easy ones, “Us… this only works for as long as you want it to.” Oscar smiles, but she notices the sadness tucked into its corners. “The circumstances won’t ever let me fight for you the way I’d like to,” he continues, gaze dropping to his hands. “Because I know you’ll always love him. I can’t hold that against you, I don’t think anyone could.”
She looks away before she can answer. “Yeah, but all that love… it’s just a burden if I have nowhere to put it.”
“Maybe it’s better if you try, and then you’ll know,” says Oscar, nodding. “You were together for a long time,” he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, “So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I know this will probably come back to bite me, but I think you should start putting it somewhere else. Starting with yourself.”
The simplicity of it catches her off guard. So much that it makes her laugh through her emotion, already sensing where their night is going to end.
“Are you breaking up with me too, Piastri?”
There is nothing selfish about what he’s asking of her. Nor can she blame him for refusing to become the person she turns to every time she finds herself running from Lando. If anything, she understands that it is the kindest thing he could have done for her. For himself too, and for whatever this peaceful, unexpected, beautiful thing between them has quietly become.
He chuckles. “It’s really fucking hard. I don’t know how Lando did it.”
It would have been easier for Oscar to ignore that gray cloud. To accept the pieces of her she was able to offer and hope that, one day, they would be enough. But choosing honesty over convenience makes her admire him more. It reminds her that Oscar has never loved by possession. He’s the type of guy that does it by presence, by giving without demanding.
With a sigh, she lets herself drift closer, until the weight of her head comes to rest against his shoulder. Her hand, lying beside on the couch, searches for his instinctively, and Oscar doesn’t hesitate before intertwining his fingers with hers as though they have always known the shape of her hand. A moment later, she feels his body relaxing, his head settling atop hers.
“He’s a good guy,” says Oscar, no bitterness in his voice. “And a constant part of my life for as long as we’re teammates. If…,” he trails off, squeezing her hand for a fraction, “If we keep doing this while you’re not completely here, then eventually every day at work becomes about avoiding each other.”
She nods, thinking back at what he told her the night before. “Maybe I did find you while I was still waiting for him, but I also found you when I needed someone beside me the most. And for that…”
The moment he looks down at her, every conviction he has spent the past twenty-four hours painstakingly assembling begins to crumble. The urge to take it all back is so strong; he wants to tell her that he doesn’t care how complicate it is, that he’ll gladly endure every awkward glance, every impossible circumstance if it means having the chance to choose her anyway. He wants to close the small distance, kiss her and spend however long it takes proving that it can work. Not perfectly, but close enough.
The thought dies before reaching his lips, though. For the first time all night, the words that usually come so effortlessly abandon him completely. He can only look at her in silence, carrying everything he cannot bear to say in the softness of his gaze, hoping she understands that choosing this version of the story is the hardest kindness he has ever offered.
“I don’t regret you,” she adds, reaching to cup his cheek in the palm of her hand.
Gently, she presses a tiny kiss in the corner of his mouth, an expression of gratitude more than affection.
Oscar’s jaw tightens as a new thought starts to take root in his mind right away. Mostly because of what it reveals about him. He thought he understood the boundaries, the risks, the impossible timing of it all and, ultimately, he thought he understood himself. He knew Lando was her Achilles’ heel, but he never, for one second, expected her to become his.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
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summary: sukuna is your superfan and hates that others get to look at you, good thing he has a plan to have you all to himself - he knows you'll come to love him too
word count: 9.1k
content: 18+ mdni, non-con/dub-con, smut, major character death, mindbreak, murder, blood and gore, dismembered body parts, loss of a loved one, extremely yandere sukuna, stalking, kidnapping, aphrodisiac use, drug/needle use, stockholm syndrome, obsession, harassment, violence, bondage, threats, delusion, manipulation, reader is in an idol group, reader is dating gojo, sukuna is horrible in this so proceed with caution!!
a/n: please read the above content warnings on this one as this contains noncon/dubcon and I don't want anyone stumbling onto content they don't wanna read :(
act I | act II | act III
Sukuna couldn’t quite decide how he was feeling.
On one hand he was the happiest he’d ever been. He finally had you in his grasp, chained up in the bed he’d prepared for you - his and his alone. No more fans placing their grimy hands on you, no more paparazzi snapping pictures of you in private situations, no more greedy idols pulling you into embraces at award shows.
No, now you were just for him.
And yet, he wasn’t really happy yet. Not when you’d looked so upset when you’d awoken in his home, glaring at him like he’d hurt you, spitting and kicking when all he wanted was to show you a little bit of affection.
He hadn’t expected you to be so ungrateful.
You were going to be more work than he’d expected.
But that didn’t bother him - he was committed to being with you, wanted more than anything to have you at his side forever. If that meant that he had to spend some time making sure that you understood your new place in life, so be it. He was sure that you’d be receptive soon enough.
What did bother him was what he found on your phone.
He’d taken it from you when he’d first kidnapped you, swiping it from your pocket and having no trouble guessing your password. He’d spent enough time observing you to know that you were the type of person who was highly sentimental, and would most likely use a code special to you.
And sure enough he had it in three guesses: 1204 - the date of your original debut as an idol.
With your unlocked phone in his possession, he hadn’t really expected to find out any new information about you. He’d spent every waking moment dedicated to knowing you, all of his time taken up by watching out for new photos online, alerts set up on various social media for posts tagged with your name.
He could probably recite your entire wikipedia page from heart - he knew everything about you, from your early life to now, and would easily get 100% on a quiz about your likes and dislikes.
There was nothing that he didn’t know about you.
So the devastation hit him hard when he unlocked your phone only to be greeted by dozens of messages from some guy, suggesting that there was a part of your life that he wasn’t privy to.
And upon closer inspection it wasn’t just any guy, but Gojo Satoru from Hollow Purple, an idol who encapsulated everything that Sukuna hated about idols. He couldn’t care less about the man himself, but Gojo’s fans were the worst. They were by far the most obsessive group out there, and Sukuna had spent plenty of time protecting you from Gojo’s rabid fangirls online whenever speculation would spring up about the two of you being an item.
He’d never believed those stupid rumors.
You were far too good for that guy, there was no way in hell that he was your type. Sukuna was your type, he knew that. That was the answer you’d given on one of those stupid idol shows when asked what kind of guy you were into - you’d said ‘someone big and strong who can take care of me’.
That was Sukuna, not Gojo.
And yet, the messages lighting up your phone screen suggested otherwise.
He wasted no time opening up the chat, ignoring the most recent messages questioning your whereabouts, and scrolling up. His heart hammering uncomfortably at the sight of the seemingly never ending conversation between the two of you. It was filled with sweet messages: good morning texts, stupid jokes and memes, silly selfies. To say that he felt sick was an understatement - how could you act like this with a man that wasn’t him?
Didn’t you know that you were destined to be together?
Opening up your camera roll did little to ease his concerns as he was met with dozens of pictures of you and Gojo together, several images of the two of you kissing, one of you cuddled up in a bed that definitely wasn’t yours.
Heart in his throat, he checked your private photos folder, once again guessing your passcode - which happened to be your birthday this time. You were really bad with security, and thank god for that because Sukuna was in no mood to put in any kind of effort right now.
He desperately needed to see what you’d been hiding from him.
The folder only had a few pictures in it, and one singular video. Most of the images were of you alone, either naked or wearing lingerie, posing provocatively for the camera. He lingered on those pictures for a while, cock hardening at the sight of you like this. Sure, he’d undressed you and put you in that skimpy little nightgown when he’d first brought you here, but that wasn’t the same as seeing you like this.
These images felt like he actually had your attention, which was much more of a turn on than you being unconscious. He couldn’t wait until you were making those faces just for him.
Much to his displeasure there were also a few pictures of Gojo in that folder - a couple of him shirtless, and one of him fully naked. He scrolled past those quickly, not wanting to think too much about the fact that you’d kept those.
At the very bottom of the folder was a video.
It was only about thirty seconds long, but it had his cock straining hard against his sweats as he watched the clip with wide eyes.
You were sitting on your bed, the one that he knew was yours because he’d broken into your apartment when you were on holiday a couple of months back. Your legs were spread apart, and you were wearing nothing but a cute little dress with no panties. Your pussy was on display for the camera as you slid your fingers into yourself, letting out cute little wines and moans as you got yourself off.
There was a sweet blush covering your face, as if you were embarrassed to be doing something so lewd, but somehow enjoying it at the same time.
For a moment he was able to trick himself into believing that you’d made the video for him, and that made him want to storm into your room and take your right there and then. But that little voice in his head was quick to remind him that you made this for Gojo, and he needed to do something about that first.
There was a part of him that was frustrated over how he could’ve missed this. He spent every waking hour on you and he had to find out from your phone that you had a boyfriend? How the fuck did that happen?
You guys must’ve gotten together after he sent you that damn tongue. It had been harder to openly stalk you after that. Security around your new place whenever you were actually home was crazy and he always tended to stay away, only ever venturing into your house when he knew you were out.
If you were only ever meeting Gojo in secret at your house, that must’ve been how it slipped his attention.
Well, that and the fact that he simply didn’t want to see the truth. The thought of someone else having your attention making his skin prickle. It pissed him off - he’d defended you so hard online against Gojo’s fans only for you to betray him by the rumors being true?
You were going to pay for that.
Although, he did manage to remind himself that your relationship with the idol didn’t really matter now anyway. He had you in his grasp, and now that he knew about Gojo it was a simple matter of tying up loose ends.
He was going to make sure that those pretty blue eyes never got to see you again.
—
You were hot. Unbearably hot.
Your body dripping with sweat and soaking the sheets when you finally came to that evening. Or at least, you assumed it was evening. The light in the room had dimmed considerably since your encounter with Sukuna that morning.
As you tried to stretch, your body aching from spending so much time in bed, you found that now both of your hands were bound - one tied to each bedpost. Your legs had been left free, but that wasn’t much of a source of relief to you, it wouldn’t do much to help you escape this situation.
The numbness in your hands was unpleasant, the surface of your skin tingling as you tried to twist your wrists into a more comfortable position, only to find that you were secured far too tightly for that. Sukuna had taken great care to ensure that you weren’t going anywhere.
But that prickly feeling in your hands quickly fell from the forefront of your mind as you realised just how sick you felt. Your body was unbelievably clammy, your stomach bubbling with some strange sensation that had you feeling like you could vomit at any moment. And yet, the feeling was also strangely pleasurable, akin to being caught right on the edge of an orgasm.
In fact, you were certain that was what the sensation was, pussy dripping slick onto the silk nightgown that Sukuna had dressed you in, desire throbbing in your abdomen to be touched. And that was terrifying, because desire was the last thing that you should be feeling right now.
The need was so intense that it was painful.
It was similar to how you’d felt the handful of times that Satoru had teased you with edging - keeping you right on the brink of orgasm but never quite giving you what you needed. Back then that had been fun, because Satoru knew your limits and would always reward you eventually, allowing the release that you so desperately needed.
But right now your hands were restrained to prevent you from dealing with the problem yourself, and there was only one person here who’d be able to help.
And there was no way in hell that you were letting him anywhere near you.
Not when he was no doubt the one who had caused this issue - that syringe of his likely filled with some kind of powerful aphrodisiac. It made sense now that he believed you’d be more pliable once he returned, but you certainly weren’t planning on giving him the satisfaction he was seeking.
You’d rather die than seek out his help.
A fact that you made abundantly clear when he entered the room a couple of hours later, glaring at him defiantly as you ordered him to stay back. But regret flooded you almost instantly at the sheer look of fury on his face.
He had an entirely different aura to him than this morning, red eyes cold and unforgiving, a sneer prominent on his lips as he approached. Once again you tried shuffling back, but found yourself faltering as you took in the sight of blood splattered across his cheek. And at your hesitation he gave you a wide grin.
“I guess you still want to do things the hard way, baby?”
You couldn’t hear him, ears ringing as you wondered whose blood that was. Did it belong to someone you knew? Had your lack of immediate compliance driven him to take out his anger on someone you loved?
“The blood.” You mumbled, voice wavering a little as he clambered onto the bed, his knees settling on either side of your body, pinning you beneath him. The way that his eyes seemed to light up with glee at your words was horrifying - he’d clearly been hoping you’d ask what he’d been up to.
“Let's play a game.” He whispered, breath ghosting your face, a shudder running through you as stared up at him. It was clear that he was excited now, you could feel his cock straining through his trousers as he started to grind himself against you, your own needy body tensing in response.
Your mind would never want him, but right now your body didn’t seem to understand.
“I’ll ask you three questions. If you get all of them right I’ll reward you with whatever you want. Obviously, I’ll say no to anything unreasonable like leaving me, but outside of that you can pick whatever you want.”
There wasn’t really anything you wanted outside of leaving him, but maybe you could use your request to try and subtly find a way to escape. Perhaps if you asked he’d give you back your phone for a little while. Even if he would be supervising you the whole time, maybe you could find a way of somehow getting a message out to someone.
You just wouldn’t know unless you tried.
“And if I get them wrong?” You asked shakily, not forgetting about that dimension of this game, knowing that a man like this wouldn’t offer you a deal without a catch.
“No consequence.” Sukuna said, his voice deep and gravelly. “How cruel do you think I am, baby? I love you. I’ll only cause you pain if it’s for your own good.”
You weren’t sure that you totally believed him, considering that you didn’t view being tied up and drugged as for your own good, but you held your tongue, desperate not to let this opportunity go to waste.
“Okay.”
“Okay!” He responded with a wide grin, leaning in close to you, his fingers toying with the thin straps of your nightgown, an involuntary shiver running through you at his touch. “Question one: who is the boyfriend of ROGUE’s lead singer?”
You froze up, your whole body on high alert as you met Sukuna’s wild gaze, his rage barely contained in those deep red eyes. His fingernails were digging into the flesh of your shoulder now, but you could barely register the pain, fear creeping into your mind.
It was clear that he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it from you.
Your mouth was dry as you parted your lips to reply, struggling to make the words come out. Was Satoru okay? Had Sukuna taken him too? What if he was chained up just metres away in another room - maybe the two of you could escape together?
“Gojo Satoru.” You mumbled, doing your best to keep your voice steady.
“Correct! Good job.” He praised, but his smile was false, dangerous. “Question two: what happens to men who touch what belongs to me?”
Your breath hitched as you stared up at him in horror. What was the correct answer to this question? Had he already done something to Satoru? Or would the answer that you provide here determine your boyfriend’s fate?
“Tick tock.” Sukuna hissed, rolling his hips languidly against yours and forcing a gasp from your lips. You could see in his eyes that he was livid, desperate for you to answer so that he could finally make the point that he was clearly building up to.
“N-nothing?” You answered, hoping that you were right but knowing that you weren’t even before Sukuna openly laughed at you.
“Cute, but no.” His lips were centimetres from yours now, his presence overwhelming as he pressed himself more firmly against you. “I cut ‘em into pieces.”
You couldn’t contain the little frightened sob that left your lips, and Sukuna rolled his eyes in frustration, as if he was expecting a different reaction. Considering how unhinged he was, you wouldn’t be surprised if the emotion he was seeking was gratitude.
But you were anything but grateful right now, your mind running wild with anxiety. Had he cut Satoru to pieces? Or was it a promise of something he was going to do in the future? Could you stop him, convince him to let your boyfriend live? It wasn’t like Satoru had done anything wrong.
“I guess you lost the game.” He mused. “But I think I’ll still ask you question three. Just for fun.”
You stared up at him in silence, holding your breath as he asked you the final question, knowing that this was likely what he’d be ramping up to the whole time. You felt sick at the sight of that gleeful expression present on his face.
“Question three: what’s in the fridge right now, baby?”
Your heart dropped and you stared at him blankly, unable to react or think in the face of his strange question, your brain short circuiting, shutting down to avoid reading into the implication. You didn’t want to know.
“No answer? Let’s find out, shall we?” He chirped, sitting up and releasing you from your restraints before grabbing your arm firmly, ensuring that you were stuck in his grip as he dragged you to the kitchen. You didn’t put up a fight, your mind still struggling to process the information you’d been given.
He stood behind you with his hands resting on your shoulders as he positioned you in front of the fridge. Fear gripped you as you stared up at the appliance looming over you, all of your instincts begging you to flee.
“Open it.” He hissed, his breath warm against your ear as his fingers dug into your shoulders once more.
There was a part of you that wanted to tell him to go to hell, but at the same time you needed to know. What would you see in there? Was Sukuna’s line of questioning about Satoru just a scare tactic? A form of psychological torture to try and break your spirit by making you assume the worst? Or was there something in there that would rend your heart in two?
You’d only know if you did what Sukuna had asked.
Hands shaking, you gripped the handle of the fridge and pulled it open, unable to hold back your panic as you registered the sight before you. On the middle shelf sat a jar with two eyeballs floating in a clear liquid. Eyeballs with blue irises that were so familiar to you.
Bile rose in your throat and you slammed the fridge shut instantly, moving to the sink and throwing up, panic and terror surging through you at what you’d just been shown. Sobs started to wrack your body, tears flowing freely.
No, no, no-
“Do you know who those belonged to?” Sukuna asked cheerfully, unconcerned by you emptying the contents of your stomach mere feet from him.
You said nothing, body shaking as you sobbed, hands sweating as your brain tried to comprehend what it had seen. It couldn’t be, right? It was just a trick, he was just trying to scare you. There was no way-
“They’re Gojo’s.” Sukuna said easily. “He screamed a lot when I plucked those out, it was a little pathetic.”
He moved over to you, placing a hand on your back as you leant over the sink, rubbing soothing circles into your skin with one hand while the other pulled back your hair gently. He cooed softly, telling you to let it all out, whispering promises about how much better he’d take care of you than Gojo ever did.
That had you seeing red.
Your body acted on instinct, swinging a fist directly at his face only for him to easily sidestep, grabbing your arm and pinning it behind your back as he brought you down to the wooden floor, chuckling a little at your bravado.
“Woah, didn’t think you had it in you, baby.” He purred, before fiddling in his jacket pocket for something. “I figured you’d be a little frustrated, so I have something to take the edge off.”
“Fuck you. I’m going to fucking kill you.” You hissed through tears, struggling against him as he pulled out a needle. But his hold was too firm, keeping you paralyzed beneath him as he quickly injected you in the arm.
“There we go! Let's calm down, yeah?”
You tried to spit something back in response, but your body wouldn’t cooperate.
He’d injected you with something different to yesterday - some kind of fast acting sedative that made your whole body go numb and lifeless while allowing you to remain conscious. It meant that he was easily able to haul you back to your room, tying you to the bed without protest, leaving you trapped in your own despair.
“I’m sorry it has to be this way, baby.” He whispered lovingly as he planted a kiss on your head, ignorant to the revulsion coursing through you at his touch. “You’ll see one day that this is what’s best for you. You just need a bit of time to come around.”
He stood up and headed towards the door, admiring you for a moment with a gentle smile.
“You hate me now, but one day you’ll thank me for this.”
—
Months passed after that, with your situation remaining ever stale. Your life shrank down from existing on global stages to solely knowing the inside of that creepy little room. In the blink of an eye the seasons changed from summer to autumn, with you spending 90% of your time alone and chained to that bed.
The first few weeks were the worst, your mind replaying every moment that you’d ever spent with Satoru, spending all your time swinging between rage and despair, cursing Sukuna’s very existence. You’d scream at him and cry whenever he’d come into the room, trying to physically harm him when he’d release you to relieve yourself.
Things never really worked out in your favor though, with Sukuna always managing to easily subdue you - be it with his own strength or via sedatives, you’d always end up back where you started: tied to that fucking bed.
And eventually you just stopped trying. Stopped fighting. Whether you attacked him or not made no difference to your situation. You were stuck here all the same, and Satoru was gone.
There was no point wasting what little energy you had on emotions that would go nowhere. Besides, behaving was the only way that you were ever really allowed out of that damn room, and you were starting to lose your mind in there.
For the time being, what option did you have beyond compliance?
Your time in captivity was starting to have an impact on your body. It was bad for you to stay idle all the time and as long as you were good, a couple of times a day Sukuna would release you from your bonds and lead you on a walk around his apartment.
It was something that you desperately needed based on how shaky you’d gotten on your legs, occasionally having to lean on Sukuna support which was extremely humiliating. But it beat being confined permanently to your room.
Occasionally he’d even bring you out of your room to let you shower. Under his supervision of course, but even having him leer at your naked body was preferable to stewing in your own filth in that bed.
It felt like you were betraying Satoru through your compliance, but there was nothing you could do to change your situation right now. You didn’t want to fight against Sukuna too much and end up losing your privileges to even walk around the apartment every now and then.
Those were the only times where you’d allow yourself to feel a sliver of hope and defiance.
You’d take the opportunity to scan his apartment, looking for any sort of escape route. As you’d expected, the front door had several locks on it, manufactured with the intention of keeping you contained - even if you manage to crack one lock, how were you meant to get through that many under Sukuna’s watchful gaze?
But the windows were a no go, and the air vents were far too small for you to crawl through, so that locked door was your only option. Perhaps if you could get free rein of the house then you’d be able to give lockpicking a go while Sukuna was out. But the only way Sukuna was letting you out of your room freely was if you gave yourself to him fully and that wasn’t an option.
Behaving so you could go an a walk was one thing, agreeing to fuck him was something else entirely.
You had to think of some other way to get that door open and soon. Before Sukuna decided that he was tired of waiting for your consent.
Sometimes after those walks that he’d take you on, if you’d been particularly docile, he’d reward you for good behaviour - tying your hands together and sitting you down on the sofa with him as he watched TV. At first you’d thought it was a rare display of kindness, but you discovered quickly that it was just a unique form of torture.
Because what he’d watch would always relate to you.
News broadcasts about how the police still had no knowledge of your whereabouts - how after all this time they had to assume that you were likely dead. Those broadcasts would always be accompanied by the newsreader reminding the public that Gojo Satoru had been murdered days later, and how these events must be related.
If he wasn’t showing you news about yourself, he was putting on any content surrounding your group ROUGE, forcing you to watch your former groupmates go on idol shows and tour without you, your position now taken up by a former solo idol called Mei. He’d make comments while you watched about how much your group sucked now, but that was just the sacrifice he’d had to make to have you at his side.
Usually after that he’d put on old recordings of you with ROUGE, your soul dying just a little at the sight of a woman that you hardly recognised now - a shining idol who had been so happy and full of life just months ago. A girl who had effectively died the moment that Sukuna placed Satoru’s eyes in front of you.
He’d taken everything from you.
And yet, each time that Sukuna brought you out of your room - be it to take you on those little walks or to force you to watch TV with him, he’d ask if you’d changed your mind about him yet. He’d remind you that if you just gave in, and became his like you were destined to be, he could give you the life that you’d always wanted.
No more ropes, no more needles - you’d be free to roam as you pleased in his apartment and he’d dote on you like you were his Queen.
You just had to give yourself up to him.
And at first, it was easy to keep yourself going on rage alone. Telling him that he was the last person that you’d ever allow to have you. He was your captor, the person who had stolen your hopes and dreams. He’d killed your lover and presented his eyeballs to you like some kind of offering. You’d rather stay in this shitty room for the rest of your life than give yourself up to a man like him.
But as the months rolled on you found that holding onto your resolve became harder and harder.
Sometimes it was difficult to even remember your life before this, your routine of waking up and seeing Sukuna so familiar now that it was hard to recall that you’d ever done something else. It was hard to believe that you used to be able to wake up and do whatever you wanted, your wrists free from bruising constraints.
The drugs didn’t help either.
Sukuna kept you on whatever drug he had in those needles continuously. The drowsy effect that they’d given you the first few times had disappeared, but the aphrodisiac effects just grew worse. The drug always had you writing with need, body desperate for a release that you couldn’t provide, and lately you’d been wondering if it would be so bad to just ask Sukuna for help, just so you could have at least a day or two of respite from the desperate feeling in your gut.
Was there really something so wrong about that?
Despite how much you hated him, with your mind addled by the aphrodisiacs you couldn’t help but find him physically attractive.
Besides, he’d promised you that if you fucked him he’d give you more freedom. It would be like killing two birds with one stone - you’d receive immediate relief from your body’s current woes, and then he’d give you free rein of his apartment which would give you a greater chance of escape.
It was clear from the news broadcasts that no one was really looking for you anymore. If you wanted to be saved you needed to do it yourself, and you weren’t going to be able to do anything as long as you were stuck in this room.
But you still had an ounce of dignity left, and you could still see another path before turning to such a desperate solution. There was still a chance for you to escape this unscathed, but it was risky, and you had no idea what he might do to you if you failed.
The consequences weren’t worth thinking about.
You were already trapped here, you couldn’t see any punishment being worse than sitting here for the rest of your life in this maniac’s house. If there was an opportunity you needed to take it. Your old life was still out there, and you needed to get back to it.
So the next time he brought you to watch TV with him, you put your plan into action.
Instead of sitting rigidly at the far end of the sofa like you usually would, you shuffled up close to him, laying your head in his lap as you stretched out across the couch. He looked down at you with surprise, a grin stretching across his face in elation. Much to your disgust, you could feel his cock harden beneath you, and you tried your best not to think too much about it.
You needed to be good and stay here, needed him to let his guard down.
One of Sukuna’s arms draped over your midsection, while his other hand came to rest on top of your head, stroking your hair gently as he watched you. He was treating you like you were some cat who’d come to settle on his lap for the first time, touching you with slight hesitation as if afraid that any sudden movement would have you fleeing.
And you desperately wanted to flee. Every bone in your body telling you to sit up and huddle at the end of the sofa like usual, because each movement of his hand was raising fearful goosebumps on your neck, but at the same time desire was building in your stomach at the sensation of being touched.
It was a disgusting, confusing mess of emotions that you desperately needed to push aside for the moment to focus on the task at hand.
Doing your best to ignore the growing wetness between your legs at Sukuna’s touch, you slowly readjusted your hands so that they were resting on his thigh, close to the pocket that you knew the door keys were in. You needed him to relax, perhaps even to doze off a little before you could take any action.
And he seemed well on the way to that already, gaze on the TV now as he absentmindedly stroked you like you were his pet. Taking a deep breath you also pretended to watch the TV, acting like you were engrossed in the stupid idol anime that you’d done a voice acting cameo for, trying your best to keep the tremble of your body to the minimum lest you give the game away.
It took at least an hour of that before the opportunity to act arrived. Sukuna’s eyes had fluttered shut, the hand stroking your hair stilling as he relaxed against the sofa, in clear bliss from your affection today.
Disgusting.
Very slowly you moved your hands to his pocket, trying not to disturb him as your fingers hooked around his keys. You could hear your heartbeat drumming in your ears as you pulled them free of the fabric, the metal shining in your grip. Panicked, you glanced up at Sukuna, letting out a silent sigh of relief seeing that his eyes were still closed.
Now for the hard part.
You wriggled out from under his grip, moving as slowly as possible. It was excruciating. Your brain was telling you to hurry up, to jump to your feet and make a run for the door. But you’d never succeed that way - there were too many locks and you needed time to open them.
The only way this would work was if Sukuna stayed asleep.
Once you’d escaped his grasp with still no sign of life, you padded quietly and quickly over to the door, inspecting the set of keys and comparing them to the locks before you, trying to figure out which one fit where without trying each of them. It was likely that the locks made sound, so you really needed to get it right the first time.
With your best guess secured in your mind, you inserted a key into the first lock, a little jolt of excitement running through you as it fit perfectly, a quiet click sounding as it unlocked - the sound hopefully not loud enough to rouse Sukuna. You didn’t look back to check, knowing that time was of the essence right now and you needed to focus.
The second and third locks opened just as easily as the first, and with only one more to go you could feel the excitement burning in your chest.
You could do this.
Relief flooded you as the fourth key slid into the lock with no trouble. This could all be over, you could be free, you could get Sukuna arrested and you could go back to living a normal life again. It was all going to work out.
You were on the ground before you could turn the key in the final lock.
One moment you were standing in front of the door, the next you were sprawled out across the wooden floor, stomach in agony where Sukuna’s knee had met your delicate body without mercy.
He was standing over you now, a sneer twisted across his face as he examined you. “I wish I could say I was surprised, but your little act didn’t fool me.” He crouched down over you, leaning in close. “I figured I’d give you a little hope, wanted to see how far you’d go. You were really gonna fucking leave, huh?” He pointed towards the locks, rage and hurt swirling in his red eyes.
“I- I-”
What could you even say in this situation? Of course you were going to leave, why the fuck would you ever choose to stay?
“I thought maybe you’d think better of it, appreciate how well I’ve been looking after you. I cook you the best meals, I give you shelter, I keep you safe, I provide for you so that you never have to fucking work again, and this is how you repay me?” He was yelling now, and you were trembling, fighting back tears at just how close you’d been to salvation only to have it torn away.
“S-sorry.” You whimpered. You weren’t sorry, but you prayed that it would do something to ease his anger.
He laughed, hand darting out and wrapping firmly around your throat. “You’re not sorry. I know you’re not. You’ll try that shit again the second you get a chance. I guess I’ve been too nice to you, huh? Figured I’d be a good guy and let you come around on your own, but it seems like you need a firmer hand to guide you, baby.”
You gasped at the sensation of him pressing down on your windpipe, hands scrabbling at his wrists, trying to force him to release you. He held on for a few moments longer as he grinned down at you, clearly enjoying your struggle. It was only once you were red in the face that he released you, grabbing his keys which were still hanging from the door, and stalking off to another part of the apartment.
Coughs were wracking your body as you gasped for breath, just about managing to sit up as Sukuna reappeared, holding his box of needles that you’d become intimately familiar with at this point, and a bundle of rope.
He was on you without hesitation, tearing off your nightgown and pressing you facedown on the floor, ignoring you as you kicked and screamed beneath him. Keeping you pinned beneath him, he forced both of your arms behind your back, tying them together before wrapping rope around each of your ankles and connecting them to the ropes on your wrists, putting you in a hogtie.
Soft gasps were leaving your lips as you struggled to breathe, your throat still hurting from where he’d gripped you. You couldn’t even struggle in this new position as Sukuna lifted you up, depositing you down on the couch. He disappeared out of your view for a moment before returning with a syringe which was significantly larger than the one he’d usually use.
“This amount should give you the motivation you need to see how much you need me.”
“N-no, please- I’m sorry.” You tried to reason with him. The constant ache in your gut was already bad enough from the usual dosage, you couldn't imagine how your body would react to more.
“Should’ve thought of that before you tried tricking me, baby.”
Eyes wide, you watched him helplessly as he jabbed the needle into your arm. He was practiced at the action now, having performed it so many times, and you let out a soft little whimper of pain as he injected the drug into you.
It didn’t take effect right away. It never did. It would generally take an hour or two before it would kick in with full force. Although, this situation was a little unique - usually Sukuna would inject you every morning, always leaving twenty-four hours between doses. But it was evening now, and you’d already had one injection earlier today - you had no idea how having a double dose on top of the aphrodisiac still in your system was going to affect you.
But you soon had your answer.
Sukuna didn’t remove his gaze from you for even a moment after leaving you hogtied on the sofa. He’d positioned himself in the armchair across the room, watching you with great interest as the drug slowly started to take effect.
It started the same way it always did - a searing heat in your gut, a desperate desire for touch and release that you couldn’t give to yourself. You’d usually bring yourself relief by rubbing your thighs together, but that was no longer possible in the position that Sukuna had tied you in.
He observed you with glee as you started to writhe and wriggle, trying to grind yourself against the leather sofa, peaked nipples rubbing uncomfortably against the fabric as the searing desire kept increasing.
The feeling grew like nothing you’d ever experienced before, the knot in your stomach tightening like you were about to cum, but no such release finding you. Copious amounts of slick was dripping from your pussy and onto the couch, and you felt unbearably empty.
You were so desperate that it was physically painful, a strange buzz of desperation igniting in your brain. It felt like your body was tearing apart, like you’d die if you didn’t find some level of pleasure and soon. Tears were dripping from your eyes as you squirmed more desperately, a pathetic little moan falling from your lips.
“Oh? Something wrong?”
You didn’t need to look up at Sukuna to know that he was grinning, that this was exactly what he’d been waiting for. But you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction he desired. Squeezing your eyes shut you tried to focus on anything but the burning in your gut.
Footsteps approached, and the sound of rustling suggested that Sukuna was crouched down beside you now. “You seem a little desperate.” He whispered playfully.
There was a part of you that wanted to scream at him, to tell him to fuck off and untie you so that you could save yourself from this suffering. But any action that you might’ve taken was stalled as one of his hands reached beneath you and pinched hard at your nipple.
It felt unbelievably good, your sensitivity higher than it had ever been. Desperately, your pussy clenched around nothing, more slick gushing onto the leather at just a single touch alone. You let out a needy whine and Sukuna laughed as he pulled his hand back from you.
“Would you look at that?” He mumbled, taking a step back and admiring your writhing form, before letting out a faux yawn. “I’m tired. Guess I’ll just leave you here tonight, yeah? Since you’re so desperate to be independent.”
Lip trembling, you stared up at him with wide eyes as he stared back at you expectantly, waiting to see if you’d break. You shouldn’t, couldn’t give in to him like this, not because of some forcibly inflicted lust. He’d kept you captive, he’d killed Satoru, he’d tortured you. There was no way in hell you were going to let him touch you.
Right?
And yet, as he began to walk off in the direction of his bedroom, leaving you in for a long and painful night, his name fell from your lips without your permission.
He stopped in his tracks, turning slowly to look at you with a wide grin. “Yeah, baby?”
“D-don’t leave me like this.” You whispered quietly, humiliation coursing through you at your request.
“Like what? I’m gonna need you to be more specific.” He purred as he approached, deep red eyes practically burning a hole in your skin as he appraised you.
You hated him. You hated him so fucking much. This was everything that he wanted, you were giving him the exact thing he’d been waiting for and he still had the audacity to play with you, to make you ask for what you wanted from him in no uncertain terms.
“Please m-make me feel good.” His grin widened as he took a seat behind you on the couch, completely in your blind spot. His hand made its way slowly up your thigh, before settling between your legs, his fingers brushing tenderly over your soaked folds.
You jolted desperately at the contact, almost cumming on the spot at his touch alone. His fingers were so thick and calloused, and your pussy couldn’t help but twitch with need at the thought of him pressing them into you, pumping two digits inside you until you were squeezing and cumming all over his hand.
But a moment after his hand had made contact with your pussy he was pulling back, chuckling at the disappointed whimper that fell from your lips.
“I don’t think you deserve a reward just yet. I don’t think you’re really sorry.”
Before you could protest, he was bringing his palm down hard against your ass, pulling a little yelp from you at the stinging impact against your skin. It was horrible, it hurt, and yet for some reason your pussy was clenching at the impact, that knot in your stomach twisting tighter at this rough treatment.
It was like you had no dignity left at all.
“Aww, you’re so pretty, baby.” He mused, soothing his hand over the reddened skin for a moment. “Count for me, okay?”
There was no opportunity to comprehend what he meant by that before he was bringing his hand down again, harder this time. You let out a little shriek at the impact, hands tightening into fists behind you as you wished there was something for you to hold on to.
“I said count, baby.” His tone low and dangerous. “I’ll have to keep hitting until you get it right.”
As he brought his hand down the next time, you put all your focus into shakily calling out each number. The strength of his spanks only seemed to increase with each contact, and by the tenth and final strike you were sure that purple imprints of his hands would be left on your sensitive skin tomorrow.
But right now you couldn’t find it in you to really care about the pain, pussy throbbing with need, your desperation only growing with each hit, knowing that if you endured his punishment, if you were good, he’d give you what you needed.
You just needed to be compliant right now, just so you could get what you needed from him this one time.
That was allowed, right? You weren’t pathetic for looking after yourself, right?
“Good girl.” He cooed as he tenderly soothed your bruised ass. “Do you know why I needed to do that?”
You wanted to stay silent, but you knew that would just drag out his torture longer. “B-because I tried to escape.” You mumbled.
“Mmmm. Because you’re being ungrateful. Do you think I’ve punished you enough for that?”
Yes. You didn’t deserve punishment for wanting your freedom, but you obviously couldn’t say that to him. Instead you tried to outsmart him by not providing a straight answer.
“I’ve learn’t my lesson. I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”
Sukuna laughed, it came out as a full on cackle and you flinched a little at the sound. “I really don’t believe you baby, but that’s okay, you’re needy right now, huh? Let me give you what you want.”
All of a sudden he was pushing your thighs as far apart as they’d go within their constraints, positioning his head between your legs, hands moving up to give your ass cheeks a squeeze as his tongue gave your pussy an experimental lap.
It felt like your nerves were on fire at that one singular contact of his warm tongue, and your body was squirming against your will, desperately trying to seek out more friction from him as you attempted to grind himself down against his face. Not that he seemed to mind, diving in enthusiastically as his tongue navigated through your folds, flicking desperately against your pussy like he was a man starved.
Cries fell from your lips at the sensation, your nipples rubbing against the leather beneath you, with each miniscule movement just adding to the pleasure that he was providing you. One of his hands slid beneath you, pinching and rubbing at your clit as his tongue mapped out your pussy.
After being deprived of pleasure for so long, your body hardly knew what to do with itself, all synapses firing at once, completely overwhelming you with desire. You hated to admit it, but the way that Sukuna’s tongue was enthusiastically lapping at you felt better than anything you’d ever experienced with Satoru.
It almost felt like you were transcending, seeing stars as his tongue pushed into your opening and you came hard against his face for the first time. You should’ve felt embarrassed that this horrible man had made you release so quickly, but you were far too caught up in how good it felt to care, bucking desperately against his face as you rode out your orgasm.
Your release felt like it continued forever, the longest orgasm that you’d ever experienced - the result of being pent up for months finally coming to fruition.
“You taste so fucking sweet.” Sukuna’s voice was muffled against your pussy, continuing to lap up the seemingly never-ending flow of your juices. And he didn’t stop there, remaining between your legs long after your orgasm had stopped, a fact that you were grateful for because the aphrodisiac still had you pulsing with need.
He drew three more orgasms out of you like that, devouring you completely, watching with glee as you came undone for him over and over again despite yourself. He only seemed to bring himself to a stop once his jaw was thoroughly aching, his cock too hard and heavy now to be neglected any longer.
After all, he’d been waiting months for you, years even.
By the time he undid the rope around your ankles, you were far too fucked out to be aware of anything going on around you, your aching legs dropping down onto the leather of the couch. Sukuna maneuvered you carefully onto all fours, and you let him do as he pleased, your mind in a complete haze.
He discarded his sweats on the floor, and as you glanced at him positioning himself behind you, somewhere in the back of your mind your registered fear at just how thick and long his cock was, how badly it would probably hurt to have it inside of you. But all you could focus on was how desperate you were to be filled, lusting after the man who had put you in this horrible situation in the first place.
A soft hiss fell from your lips as he pushed the tip into you, stomach clenching as he stretched you out, sinking fully into you in one fluid motion. You were caught off guard by the way that he let out a low groan at the sensation of being inside you for the first time, a string of curses spilling from his mouth as you instinctively clenched around his length.
This was what you needed, what you’d been waiting for all this time. You’d just needed him to fill you up and make you feel good. You and your foolish pride, what had you even been holding back for?
The small voice in the back of your head was almost inaudible over the sound of skin slapping against skin as he started to thrust into you, hips slamming into your ass at a desperate pace. But somewhere in the sane part of your mind you were desperately trying to hold on to the fact that this man was not your saviour, but your captor.
And yet, with each thrust, each whispered bit of praise, you found yourself yearning for more, desperate for an eternity of this toe-curling pleasure he was providing you with. It was like he’d engineered every action to make you feel good, hands always roaming about your body, playing with your breasts or rubbing your clit.
And somewhere between your sixth and seventh orgasm, your fragile mind, that had been fighting in this hellish existence of being a captive for so long, finally reached its limit and snapped.
You were in heaven, weren’t you?
That was how it felt with every orgasm that he granted you, that was how it felt as he spilled his own seed deep within you - something that you should’ve felt fearful of, but why should you be scared when he was doing you a favour?
You’d been suffering and he’d offered you relief, that was all that was happening here, right? Why had you been so difficult with him in the first place? He was just looking out for you, wasn’t he?
No wonder he was mad at you for playing with the locks.
Why were you so fucking ungrateful? What the hell were you fighting him for?
And as he pulled out of you following his second orgasm and your eight or ninth, he was positively beaming at you, chuckling as he got to his feet, admiring the mess that the two of you had made over his couch.
“You’re so fucking pretty.” He murmured, hand running through your hair, the praise going right to your pussy. Your mind felt hazy, completely confused.
Why had you been fighting him again? He was treating you so nicely.
“Let's get you washed up. I’ve got something I want to show you.”
Leading you into the bathroom, you didn’t protest as he showered you, cleaning you of the reminders of the evening that you’d just had. You felt dizzy, disorientated, like something was wrong but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was. What had you been doing before this? You’d been trying to escape, right? What for? Wasn’t this where you lived? Where had you been going?
Sukuna grinned at you, taking note of the frown marring your pretty face. “Everything okay, baby?”
“D-did I do something wrong?” You asked, your memories distant, unclear.
“Yeah, baby. But it’s okay, we’re gonna make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
The next morning, you awoke in a room different to the one that you were usually in. It was much bigger - still decorated with your merch, but it felt less like the walls were pressing down on you. Sukuna was asleep beside you, his arm draped over your midsection, and you felt an odd sensation of butterflies in your stomach at the sight of him.
Even if that feeling quickly gave way to an odd discomfort that you couldn’t quite place. Why did you feel disgusted? He was your boyfriend, right?
You frowned as you desperately tried to understand what you were feeling, jumbled memories disappearing each time you tried to reach out and grab one. You couldn’t remember how you’d gotten here, but you’d been unsafe for a long time, you’d been hurting for a long time.
And Sukuna had saved you, right? You’d been in pain, and he’d made sure that you were better.
You’d lived some strange life before, with weird people who were always obsessive over you, always clamoring for your attention. Those obsessive people had hurt you and Sukuna had saved you.
Yeah, he was keeping you safe here. He was your protector. That was it.
As you tried to sit up, you winced at an oddly painful sensation in your stomach. Pulling back the sheets a little, the memory of how last night had ended came flooding back to you. In lovely cursive text, positioned just above the top of your panties, was Sukuna’s name tattooed onto your skin.
It was done nicely, covered in a second skin to keep it protected. He was a tattoo artist after all - even if your memories of everything were hazy, you knew that much. Of course you’d know what your boyfriend did for a job.
You admired it for a moment, smiling at the sight of it. This was another one of those things that he’d done to keep you safe - he was clever like that. If anyone ever took you they’d know where to return you to.
Thank god. You were soulmates, right? You had a distant memory of him telling you that. Why would you ever want to be separated from your soulmate?
It was only right that he staked a claim on you.
You belonged to him after all.
masterlist | next chapter
a/n: can reader fix her destroyed mental or is she about to live the rest of her life in total delusion?? who knows!!
thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed! reblogs and replies are appreciated, lmk if you want to be on the taglist for the final chapter!
Spider-Man!Armin is surprisingly amazing at making excuses for what keeps him up at ungodly hours of the night. His friends believe he's pulling all nighters so study—seeing as his grades are practically perfect.
Spider-Man!Armin got his powers the last week of high-school senior year.
Spider-Man!Armin uses his biology knowledge to perform tests on himself, countless hours in the university science lab. Poking and prodding himself with various tests.
Spider-Man!Armin who was to get a job to fund his suit and tech. And being a tutor was his best option. It had flexible hours, decent pay, and an excuse to talk to you.
Spider-Man!Armin who spends to much time worrying on his first official impression with you. Should he wear a tie? Should be keep it simple? Will a tie give off a feeling that he thinks he's better than you? Will keeping it simple be too casual and you'll think he doesn't care? Should he just cancel the whole thing and go back to semi creepily staring at you from afar!?
Spider-Man!Armin whose black rimmed glasses compliment his eyes perfectly in the library light. His blond hair falling over like strings of paradise. Is it so bad that you thought your tutor was cute?
Spider-Man!Armin, you had theories of what his secret was one week into tutoring. You might be bad at science, but your not oblivious.
Spider-Man!Armin sometimes is the smallest bit late to your sessions. In his defense, he really tries to manage his time, but the small cut above his eyebrow is pretty evident on how that didn't work out so well.
And Spider-Man!Armin had just confirmed your suspicions. When one thing led to another and you found Spider-Man!Armin's arm wrapped around you. Slinging you both away from peril.
Spider-Man!Armin whose first date with you unfortunately get cut short.
—It was a small coffee shop just around the corner from the library. A fresh, steaming hot drink laid in front of you.
Conversation flowing smoothly, shared laughs and smiles. But the dangers of NYC didn't agree, the outside being plunged into a chaotic fury.
It was almost incomprehensible on how everything got bad so quickly.
"I-uh...I'm really sorry, I have to—"
"Armin," you spoke calmly, " It's okay, I know you're Spider-Man."
Confusion grows on his face, and before he can question, you interrupt him once more.
"Worry about that later spidey, go save the city."
Spider-Man!Armin shortly became your boyfriend.
Spider-Man!Armin knows the most breathtaking places. Like this one park where the the water shines beautifully during sunsets. A small stone bench surrounded by trees and blossoming flowers.
Spider-Man!Armin whose camera storage is filled with carefully taken photos of the ocean or candid photos of you. He has almost every single special occasion locked into his camera, if not, it’s in his brain.
Spider-Man!Armin texts you while he’s swinging through the air.
—Armin’s webs ripped through the air, one if his gloves tucked away in his fist. His free hand glides over his keyboard. Switching his attention back and forth from his phone and the city in front of him.
[ love 🩵 ] : IF MR ACKERMAN DOESNT UPDATE THE DAMN GRADES, I WILL MAKE IT MY MISSION TO MAKE HIM SHORTER
A/n : You know I had to do a crossover of my two fav characters. Also let's pretend being a tutor makes alot of money idk. Tagggggg : @kamislop
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋... | date everything x gn!reader
pairing: various x gn!reader
summary: the house became quieter, and the little life you held within you dulled as they moved on with their lives. leaving you to tend your own feelings.
warnings: realized!characters, game ending spoilers, semi-angst, brief mention of abandonment and attachment issues, suggestive comments, friends/lovers not specified, house-poly. grammatical errors, english is not my first language.
a/n: i've read a lot of misunderstandings regarding the game's ending. saying how all of the characters used and left us in the end. i intend to clear that misunderstanding. enjoy!
“Are you sure you'll be okay?”
Spring.
Skylar questions, but in truth, she was uncertain in her Realized form. You have done your job realizing all of your household objects, your bulletin board was filled with their pictures, leaving hers as the last piece of your collage of love.
They have already gone their ways and parted, leaving the house to inspire others in the way you've inspired them in more ways than one. Now, it was her turn to do the same.
“Of course. The house might be less lively but I'll manage.”
The woman who was once your spectacles gazes her eyes to your own, the very part she was allured by you. Your eyes. The very same ones that look at the deepest part of them that were nothing but kind, friendly, and loving.
It was you who gave them purpose, gave them hope and you were also the one who listened, trusted and felt them the most. Your eyes were the ones that made everything for them possible.
“I'm sure you'll make the world a better place, Skylar.”
The world is already a better place because of you.
And to her, your eyes weren't easy to forget.
Parting with Skylar left a sinking feeling within your chest, and you almost felt lost. But the thought of your once household objects became someone they wanted to be left an even deeper feeling, warmth and adoration. You couldn’t thank them enough for keeping up with you all these years.
They were your family, some friends, some lovers, yet you love them all the same. You watched them strive in their own ways and you would always be the first person to know about it. Even if it's through calls, letters, messages or whatnot.
Summer.
Nevertheless, the house feels undeniably empty. There's no one to greet you with their silly yet wholesome antics to catch your attention or come to spend time with you now. Even during the midst of summer. Every corner felt wider, and every object was surprisingly quiet that you can hear a pin drop.
You miss them.
You were uncertain if it's from the feeling that you needed to feel wanted by others in order to function properly, or you just discovered you have the underlying fear of abandonment. Attachment issues could possibly be one of the cards on the table.
You just missed the house being lively. Just like the old days.
However, just as those days passed by in the blink of an eye, your thoughts couldn't help but wander. Wondering what would happen if you decided to keep them as your objects and unintentionally caging them in this birdcage.
Would they still feel content to live with you? Or would they feel entrapped to spend every waking breath with you? Would they deem you as a selfish person if you did? Would they hate you…?
You suddenly felt guilty for thinking that way and shame flooded the pits of your stomach. It was such a selfish thought to think of. It was obvious that they would hate you.
But you loved them too much to keep them. You just couldn't be selfish, not when they have their own dreams to achieve and more emotions to feel on their own accord. You were aware that their emotions and knowledge have its limits, you knew because they served most of their lives as your objects and they were unable to experience the world outside.
You wanted them to experience the real thing. The one thing you couldn't take them away from. Even if it meant you couldn't go out on your own.
In the end, you kept those feelings to yourself.
You got your job back from its limbo state and became the vice president of the human experience in Valdivian. The degree of customer service that you fought and studied so hard for, served its purpose. After a couple of months in the company, you started to advocate for human employment against the technology after almost being replaced by one. AI.
You strived on your own with the passion of your found-family fueling your veins with the world continuing on alongside you.
Leaving your house wasn't easy, but you did it anyway. You've gone to work and spent some of your time in meetings, or at your cubicle. Maybe you can send a request to work from home, that would be a good idea. Just because you have tasted what it's like to meet a lot of people outside the comforts of your home, doesn't mean your social anxiety dissipates that easily.
It became a little cycle of work, especially Tom, your recent manager, would come by your office. Grabbing some coffee, or handing you papers, he even has the confidence to flirt with you during work hours. Although, you brush it off and be professional about his advances. You became on friendly terms with the muscular hunk despite his flirting.
You pressed on with this new aspect of your life, challenging yourself and seeing how far you've reached.
Autumn.
Despite acknowledging the changes for the better, your work and your role in Valdivian has never been an easier job. Similar to the season that brings the coldness to light. Every time you thought that your work would become so easy, it didn't. At least not yet. It was only a hurdle after another.
Finishing documents kept you awake, important calls left you on the brink of starvation, and meetings exhausted you to no end. You were efficient in your work since you love helping others but it seems to drain you mentally for the past few weeks. It won't stop that easily, nor stop any time soon.
And one individual noticed. Mac.
They applied for a job that matched their technological skills for income to support both of you, even though you’ve made it clear that you don't need the money. The company accepted their application and both you and Mac were ecstatic to hear the news when they hired them as an analyst in the crypto-currency industry.
It was all because of your support. They even gawked at your efforts when you decided to expand the office closet for Mac to work in. It was a perfect working space for their wheelchair and the privacy they need, the shadows and the darkness altogether. You just moved the remnants from that lonely place to other available closets. You knew Dorian would be proud.
All was well, Mac thought. You even installed a stair lift for them and they have never felt more seen. Both of you enjoyed your meals together while you both took turns, though it was you who cooked often. Sleeping in the same bed and waking up in each other’s arms. And even taking a bath or a shower together.
However, despite your efforts, Mac noticed that you were being swept by work everyday. They admit their work can be time-consuming and busy as they type in codes or whatnot. But you were even busier than them. To the point you skipped your meals.
“Oh, I'll have to take this call real quick. It might be about the presentation tomorrow. Be right back.”
“Sorry, Mac. I have to run. There's another deadline that came up. Do you want anything that I could get you from the store?”
And then another, then another. Repeat.
You've been burying yourself with work in the past few weeks, deadlines, meetings, emergency calls and whatsoever. It was like a rabbit hole for you to sink through. You go to work every morning with your eyes hollow from the lack of sleep and come back home even more exhausted.
You already missed a reasonable amount of calls from the others who were still updating you even in the tiniest bit. Unread letters, packages that were left unopened, both filling your mailbox entirely. And someone could swim in them any time.
All of them, including Mac, knew that you love helping others until it would reach to a point that you become someone to please others. And also deep down, they knew you missed being wanted, being with all of them. Now, it explains why you were so engrossed at your work.
That's also why Mac immediately contacted their office buddies.
It was another one of those evenings where you got off from work. But this specific night was different and Mac made sure for it to be. They contacted the others, mainly the office residents, to have a fun game night. Of course, Chance and Parker were the experts so they were willing to come.
Jerry and Penelope also came. As for Dasha, they weren't entirely sure due to her busy schedule but she says she'll come straight away after work. All of the food preparations are done, pre-ordered obviously but what can they say? All of them probably can't cook.
“Are the games ready? We have to make this as efficient as possible.” The curly-haired female demanded in a frantic voice. She clearly wants this to be a success. Just for you.
Jerry sweat-dropped. “You've already asked us that a couple of times now.” He couldn't always keep up with Penelope's intensity as she eyed the office desk filled with items of what could be G&G instead of your computer.
Meanwhile, on the other side of your office were Chance and Parker, both in their usual banter. Parker kept being persistent in what games to play, and Chance almost had enough of it.
“We should play… this! Or this? They sure would like… this!”
“Dude. We already agreed on what to play.” Chance sighs. “We’ll resort to your games after we're done with the oneshot.”
“Alright, fine!” The latter groans.
“Hey, I think they're here!” Mac chimed in when all of them fell silent when they heard the front door open. Parker, as enthusiastic as he is, immediately rushed out of the office followed by everyone.
But what they didn't expect was a loud gasp from the game-board addict as they were greeted by a shocking sight. You came home dishevelled and were barely unconscious in the arms of a muscular and dark-skinned hunk, wearing what could be a Valdivian I.D.
The unknown individual was rather surprised to see them, yet unfazed by their shocked expressions.
“Hey, there! I didn't expect anyone in their house at this hour!”
“Who are you, himbo?!” Parker was quick to exclaim.
Penelope wasn't having it either. “A better question… What are you doing with them, huh?”
“I'm Tom! [name]’s recent manager! Nice to meetcha’!” The recent manager seems clueless at the protective gaze being sent his way. He doesn't seem bothered by it. “I take it you guys are…?”
“We're their family.” Mac slightly narrowed their eyes at the man. Guarded by any means necessary while your coworker was still holding you.
When they were objects, they wouldn't be as jealous easily whenever you interact with the other objects around the house. Some already have flings with each other and some treat you as their third or whatever.
But it truly bothered them to see you with another, especially outside the house, to be intimate with. Even though it wasn't your intention to be. Tom looked like he was, though, his hand gripping your waist to steady you with your arm around his neck.
“What happened to them exactly?” Jerry timidly asks.
“Oh, this little champ right here? They took the whole team out for drinks since their first proposal was a success.” Tom shrugged and they were a bit surprised at how far you've already come with your efforts. Despite losing a small bit of yourself.
“I've come to take them home because they're wasted. Should I bring them upstairs or…?”
Chance shook his head. “That's alright. I'll take them.”
Tom handed you in Chance's arms with no question. A few gibberish noise left you when Chance lifted you by the back of your knees and back. You're exhausted and slurred. Your coworker eventually left with the reassurance that you can come to work late for 15 minutes tomorrow.
Chance carried you to bed with the help of others. Cue, Parker's distraught mumbling of you being a ‘cheater’ while poor Jerry was trying to ease both Parker and Penelope's paranoia. This was supposed to be a fun night to let some exhaustion off, but it seems Mac miscalculated.
They played a few board games when Dasha arrived and parted again for the night for work tomorrow.
But it was evident that one certain thing was bothering you.
Winter.
It's been months since autumn, and that particular day. Waking up by Mac's side in the bed and hungover to the bone. They really helped you from your internal loneliness or selfishness and motivated you to enjoy the things you love.
Whether it would be during your hardships or not, they really helped you a lot. You seem quite content with yourself now. Even work felt lighter during these past few months despite constantly following your routine.
As if the storm passed, a storm one of many.
Work hours already ended, and you were amongst the people who walked along the sidewalk to home. Snow piled against every crevice in the city as cars carefully drove by you to seek warmth of their homes.
Evenings were always cold whenever you walked home, hugging your coat and suitcase close to you. Yearning for warmth to cover your shivering neck.
You couldn't help but wonder. You always feel uncannily safe during winter while walking. It didn't just happen once. There’s always someone walking along with you, an unnoticed presence trailing your every move.
That's when you halted your feet midway and pondered for a bit.
“Jon?” You didn't move nor turn around as you heard footsteps of a stealthy individual right behind you. As if they stepped from the shadows.
“I'm not surprised when you know it's me.”
You softly snickered. “You're once my candelabra and it takes a dedicated homeowner to know the objects around the house.”
His voice paused for a moment. “Good point.”
You shook your head with a light atmosphere between you and continued your walk home. But this time, you were accompanied by the mysterious man behind you. Following you in the shadows and you don't dare to look behind you. The tension is both unwavering.
“So you've been following me around, huh?” You stared ahead, hearing the soles of your feet crunch the snow below. It was cold for a quite while, until your shoulders were enveloped by a warm fabric. A scarf. A red scarf gifted by Jon Wick himself.
“I was just passing by. To see how you're doing.” His voice drew close when he tucked the scarf around your neck, and you heard him step back again.
“That's… sweet.” A smile stretched your lips. “I had my ups and downs with my work if that's not obvious. I take it you're doing well with yours?”
There was a sigh. “If you're going to suggest that I adopt a dog again, you know my response never changes.”
“Oh, come on… You never know for sure whether you like them or not!” You let out a snort, imagining him facepalm behind you.
“[name]...” Jon's voice trailed off in exasperation and you took it as a sign to stop.
“Alright, I don't want to pressure you.” You backed off but your next words caused him to let out a sigh. “I'll just have to try next time.”
Silence, and then… “Fine. Maybe I'll consider it."
That was enough. You cheered to yourself when the man finally gave in through your persuasion. Meanwhile, Jon Wick could only roll his eyes as he kept watch on your back at a safe distance.
Eventually, you both arrived at the bottom porch of your house. A sigh of relief escapes you, and you express your gratitude at the man who you still didn't lay your eyes on to satisfy his secrecy. You walked up to the stairs of your porch but halted when an idea came to mind.
“Would you like to come in?” It was an innocent invitation to have him as a guest, but he didn't take it lightly and snickers under his breath.
“As tempting as it is to release some steam with you…” Cue a flush of red growing from the skin of your neck when you realized. “But I'm sure there's a better surprise waiting for you inside. You might want to take a look.”
“Huh..?” Confused, you turned around to face him for an answer but he was gone. There were no traces of his presence anywhere on the front lawn, as if no one stood in it other than you.
You think back to the words he said and glanced at your front door, as your heartbeat suddenly drummed in anticipation. It somehow felt odd to watch the lights inside gleam, it was tempting you with a welcoming presence.
Your keys jingled and you entered.
“Look who's back. Welcome home, love.”
You stared at the familiar bouncer standing beside the doorway with a look of surprise on your face. He stood guard like never before and he sent you a questioning brow because of the dumbfounded expression.
“Surprised?” You nodded at him as you couldn't find the right words to say, and this caused Dorian to snicker.
“D-davi!”
You heard a distressed call and a strong force crashed to your legs, causing you to tumble backward. The floorboards met your bottom as you couldn't comprehend what happened when something wet tickled your cheeks.
“Davi..?” Giggles bubbled out of you when the dog's tongue smothered you with sweet kisses. Mateo watched the view, smiling when you're back from work. Dorian helped you up and you didn't waste anytime as you immediately embraced them one-by-one.
“Matito? What's going on? The house looks lively.” You were right, it does.
You didn't even notice the joyful chatter that bounced off the walls, footsteps echoing from the ceiling, including the cluttering and sizzling in the kitchen that implies someone was cooking... until now.
“We're here to celebrate the holidays with you!” Mateo exclaims and there was a look of shock flashed over your face again. The house did feel heavy, and now you knew it was because of your visitors.
“Mateo? Is [name] back?” You glanced behind Mateo and two lovely women that were once your ceiling and floor appeared. They look perfect with each other, hand in hand.
“Celia, Florence..!” You happily greet the couple in a hug and both squeezed you right back. The two of them were ecstatic to meet you. Mateo chuckled and exited the scene to give you a moment with them but not before taking your suitcase and scarf upstairs.
“Hello, dear. We're so delighted to see you.” Greeted by elegance herself.
The bubbly woman agrees. “I hope you don't mind celebrating with us and for coming by so suddenly!”
“I don't mind at all! It’s just so sudden…!” You sheepishly scratched the back of your neck until something dawned on you. “Oh, gosh… This didn't disturb your work, right?”
“Calm yourself, dear. It's the holidays, and we like to celebrate our first with you. That's all.” Said Celia, and you smiled sweetly. But then, she was deep in thought. “Actually, it was Mac who invited all of us.”
You were surprised. “They did?”
“They would like to propose something.” Celia said and the look in her eyes already told you that they knew what it was about. “They already talked to us about it. However, it needed your approval.”
You hummed in wonder. “I see… shall we go then?”
“I'll go and find them!” Florence exclaims. “Meet us in your office after a few minutes. You can still go ahead and meet the others.”
Celia nods, quite delighted. “She's right, and you don't need to worry about anything since we already handled the task assignments. Most of them are outside to watch Washford and Drysdale perform in the backyard. It eases the weight around the house.”
You chuckled at Celia's comment before they parted ways to look for Mac in this crowded house. It was somewhat a relief that most of them were in the backyard, you couldn't bear to think the house falling apart if all hundred of them were to actually stand inside.
Celia was right, you don't have to worry about anything when they already did the job quite perfectly. Holly was in charge of the decorations, with the help of strong individuals that could carry her on their shoulder or tall ones that could reach the ceiling.
Stefan and most of the kitchen crew were doing kitchen duty, cooking and making enough beverages for everyone. The dining room was filled with it and you could only hope there were tables in the backyard for everyone to dine together.
Everyone greeted you with wide arms and tight hugs. While some planted kisses onto your face. You were left flustered with their gestures and it felt too good to be true. Roaming around the ground floor, you wanted to know if there's anything to do or help. But they reassured you that they'll handle the rest, much to your dismay.
You went upstairs and you immediately noticed your bedroom door closed but the laughter and talking was clearly heard. The voices contain most of the bedroom crew along with the bathroom crew, talking. Sharing all of the fun experiences they had after finding their paths.
Pride swelled within you when they successfully achieved the things where their own path takes them. They were happy and content despite their own struggles. They were just human with dreams after all.
You didn’t mean to eavesdrop but you were certainly engrossed hearing the travels they all made. Some stories were heavily challenging while some of them were delightful as it sounds. Now you find yourself eavesdropping, as you were too engrossed hearing them so happy, you didn't realize you were in the first place.
Your heart ached for some reason, and you didn’t know why. It was thrilling to hear their adventures, how they strived and chose their own paths. But a thought crept from the back of your mind. You should be happy and yet you feel easily discarded. Too easy to earn your trust, too easy to leave.
No, thinking like this felt so wrong. You thought you'd moved on but clearly you weren't. The feeling of abandonment tightened around your chest, fear returned within you. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't speak.
You hastily turned around to leave.
“If it wasn't for [name], I wouldn't be where I am now.”
Those words made you freeze. You recognized Betty's comforting voice and to your surprise, the others inside followed afterwards. The room was filled with nothing but their exclaims of gratitude. Laughter and chatter ensues in the room. Unbeknownst to them, you heard it all.
They expressed the way you helped them all. It started from your approach for the first time, and you have helped them a lot ever since. It was you who motivated them, it was you who believed in them. It was you who wouldn't dare to give up on them. Always has been.
You were the reason why they became from something to someone.
Through Skylar's words: you've brought a whole lot of love in this world.
Your love brought them.
Your throat felt like it had tightened itself. You then caressed your temple in hopes to calm you down. It slightly did. Hearing those words coming out of them was nothing but overwhelming. Now you feel guilty. For them and for Mac who did everything they could.
You didn't even realize your feet walking to who knows where as your hand caressed your head. Until you bumped into someone. The sensation by how your skin jumped snapped you out of it. Finding yourself staring at Volt, and then Eddie who held a tool by the breaker box.
“Are you alright, live wire?” Volt asks out of concern. It looked like you were out of breath, or had seen something you weren't supposed to.
“Yeah. You look out of it.” Now, it was Eddie. Closing the panels shut and he settled one of the tools down before inspecting your face. The both of them suspected something was up.
“Uhm. Fine…” You shakily exhaled, raking your hair back. “I'm fine…”
Eddie didn't seem convinced. “You don't seem like it.”
“Come here and give us a hug, yes?” Volt spreads his arms as wide to invite you in and you don't hesitate. You did as you were told. Your arms found its way to wrap around Volt's back and buried your head on his chest. It didn't take long when another warmth caressed your side. Eddie.
You savored the hug, even for a moment. Although, it didn't last long when you eventually let go. Missing the way Volt’s face fell when the hug was so surprisingly quick. You weren't always one to let go first and hugging is one of the things you love to do.
“Now, what's going on with that pretty head of yours. Hm?” Volt asked and you shrugged like there was nothing. At least you convinced yourself that it was.
You shook your head with your voice hushed. “The house became quieter than I thought it should've after you guys left."
“I hope you realize that you're not that easy to forget, live wire.” Eddie sighs, and you feel conflicted whether it was to offend you or the opposite.
Volt reassured you the opposite. “He's right. Because of your love and your determination, we wouldn't be where we are if it wasn't for the faith you've given us.”
“I guess what I meant to say was...” Eddie trailed off where a noticeable red flushed his neck. His gaze stilled at yours. “Thank you.”
It was a small gesture, but it did reassure you in many ways. A smile made its way to your lips. You didn't say anything and just pulled them both in an embrace. It was longer than before and it was already enough for the three of you before you simultaneously let go.
“It's been great seeing you guys, really.” A lilt of relief entered your tone as Volt held you by the waist, grinning widely.
“As do we, to you, live wire.” He says. With that, you found your face being smothered by their lips so intimately that others might mistake it as a very sexual gesture. It was far more than that. It was comfortable, reassuring.
You laugh. “We'll catch up later. I still need to see Celia about something.”
“Sure.” Eddie nods and pecks a kiss onto your cheek. “Just find us right after your business. We'll be around.”
You absentmindedly kissed each of their cheeks back and deliberately went downstairs feeling a lot lighter than before. Whatever Mac and Celia wants to talk about, you hope everything will be fine. You trudged to your office to meet with them.
“House Homie!”
You were greeted in your office by five men that immediately tackled you in a group hug, squishing you in the middle. The Hanks look as radical as ever and you almost couldn't breathe if it wasn't for Celia demanding them to let you go. These men had so much energy, she couldn't keep up.
She sighs. “The gentlemen have something important to tell you in regards to the house–”
“We’re staying with you!” The Hanks cuts her off. They couldn't contain any excitement and immediately jumped on you in joy. You couldn't process the news when strong hands engulfed you again like a bunch of puppies. They were everywhere, even Hank #4 was clinging onto your leg while Hank #2 had his arms around your waist.
“Wait, really…?” Your voice came out as muffled when a mop of ginger hair amplified your voice. But there was a hint of shakiness to it. You were really surprised.
“Uh, yeah!”
“Imagine going on adventures with you! Pretty rad!”
“Everyday with you will be nothing but fun!”
“And by fun… we mean it, hot stuff.”
“Alright. Thank you, boys.” Celia sighs out of exasperation once more. “You will be excused. You can bother them later."
This time, the five men listened and exited the room as she wished. Closing the door, there was a sigh from Florence and Celia, and you could only give them apologetic looks before Mac chimed in the conversation. They looked rather somber, and their eyes drooped more than normal.
“I know we haven't been interfacing due to my work, and I would like to apologize–”
“Mac.” You call out to them sternly, guilt washing over you. “You don't have to apologize. If anything, I should be the one apologizing for being stupid and treating you so unfairly.”
You approached them, your conscience gnawing at you relentlessly while it reminded you of your nuisances. The air became slightly tense as you went quiet. You didn't even realize that you took their hand over yours. A squeeze from them helped you slightly calm down.
“I was being selfish. Thinking that every single one of you will forget me. It's… terrifying. Even the thought of you all abandoning me, all alone, it's unbearable."
Your voice lowered a volume as you felt your throat tightening.
"I know this doesn't excuse my behavior. I don't want you to feel like you aren't enough, you are. You really are. I'm sorry..."
The three of them fell silent. Your confession caught them by surprise. The office felt tense and weren't sure if it's you or the room itself, but you certainly felt it spinning. You wouldn't dare say a word after your spiral and your head hung itself low to avoid seeing their faces. They could be judging you, and finding you pathetic.
However, despite no words were exchanged, it didn't happen.
Instead, Celia and Florence looped their arms around you, comforting you with nothing but reassurance and the warmth of their presence. In the middle of the silence, you felt loved, treasured. As if words were exchanged into embrace, burying you in it. Then you felt Mac's thumb caress the back of your palm, soothing your thoughts.
Celia leaned her head to your shoulder. "My dearest, we would never forget nor abandon you. You're too important to all of us."
"She's right. We love you all the same, before and after." Florence patted your cheek so soft that she and Celia hugged you again.
You haven't counted the hugs you've received today, and you were certain it was more than usual. But you aren't complaining. You love every single one of it.
“This proposal I am about to make… Would you like to hear about it?” Once the hug ended, Mac immediately went straight to the point. They seemed a bit happier than earlier. The couple soon lets go and yet their warmth lingering.
You nod at them. “Of course.”
You braced yourself for literally anything and yet you didn't expect for them to take out a large blue sheet with white lines printed on it. Florence helped them settle the sheet on your desk, rolling it as widely as it could. The large print was obviously familiar.
“This is… the house's blueprint.” Your voice was laced with uncertainty, you were rather confused as to why they have this.
Celia nods. “Mac proposed that we should expand the house for more rooms."
"Not only for the Hanks, but for others who wanted to stay.” Florence finishes.
You looked at the couple with another wave of shock flashing through your eyes, and your heart immediately swelled. It caused you to wipe any tears that were threatening to fall. It didn't take long when they started pitching for ideas, including you who suggested some of yours to merge your ideas together and come up with a full-proof plan.
It was doing quite well. And you were excited.
Celia and Florence excused themselves once you all finalized the blueprint. They still wanted to enjoy the celebrations. It leaves you and Mac, enjoying the serene silence as muffled bearings can be heard outside the door. Both of you were quiet for a while, until you heard a faint squeak.
An exhale left Mac's lips, they breathed in. “The identities of future tenants, or roommates, other than the Hanks are still unknown… We could only hope that there would be someone interested.”
“Don't worry. We could always make it as guest bedrooms.” You suggested, turning to reassure them. “I won't be lonely anyways knowing that I have… you.”
Your words felt gratifying, while your lovely smile sent shivers down Mac's spine. You are such a wonderful and kind person, and they love you for that. They just hoped that you would see it for yourself.
To see that a lot of them keeps you as someone important in their lives. They wouldn't dare to leave you.
“Are you sure about this? Won't this disrupt your work?” Your tone, growing anxiously, interrupts their thoughts.
“I made sure that it wouldn't. As long as we keep the bed to ourselves, then I have no objections whatsoever.” A snort escapes them. They didn't mean anything behind it. Mac just wanted to have you all by themself once it was time to go to bed to let their disquietude wash away.
Being in your arms at the end of the day was all they wanted.
You smiled. But Mac with their keen eyes saw through it when a faint smirk played at the corner of your lips. “I'll make sure to pay attention to you later after we're done. I wouldn't want you to feel… neglected.”
If Mac was still a computer now, they would comment how you made their CPU overheat and yet they didn't. Too speechless and rather excited to let words come out. Even their own flirtatious comebacks betrayed them. Mac stays silent, they were glad to finally see this spark in you.
The only thing they can do for now is to accompany you outside to enjoy a lot of activities planned by the others. Where a lot of them will be waiting for you. Even Jean Loo, who will be performing tonight despite being the one taking care of your taxes, and this may be the best time to stop him from doing so before you get carried away.
Everything in the house was planned to your enjoyment, a way to express their own gratitude for being there with them.
Either it was away from you, or not, they will hold your name dearly. Even if it is through the hardships they have to face. You always held them close to your heart as the precious individuals that made your life better, and so as they.
If there was one thing they have taught you: Home is really where the heart is.
And to them, you will always be their home.
a/n: my head is so fried because i was writing this for five days, and words are difficult to form when it comes to writing, for me anyways. it's hard when your english is limited. anyways, scandalabra/jon wick mentioned! my pookie <33
Summary: Before you got your dateaviator you unknowingly had made relationships with the appliances and knickknacks around you home.
Warning: Fluff, Spoilers for certain characters? This wasn’t edited, came straight from my head to my notes app.
MASTERLIST | READ ME
Before you got your dateviator and realized that you could date literally anything within your house. You unknowingly had built relationships with your appliances and knickknacks around your home. Solely because you’re a lonely person and tend to talk to yourself and random things around you.
Some of the things you used to do is apologize. Mainly to Dorian or Wallace every time you accidentally shoulder-check them because your depth perception is tarnished by being with Mac and Phonenicia all day for ‘work’ related things (you’re reading fanfics).
Whispering an ‘ow’ rubbing your shoulder and absentmindedly apologizing then going about your day. Wallace would sigh ‘wall…’ dreamily while Dorian would grunt but respect you a bit more as he watches you do the same thing and stub your toe on Abel, letting out curses and another wheeze of ‘sorry…’ before stumbling away.
Sometimes you and an object get into a scuffle and both of you become moody. Like you pleading with Connie to work, not so seriously threatening Dante when you burn yourself, yelling at yourself and Mac because a document didn’t save, or muttering curses as you try and find a pair of socks in Harper/Dirk.
But every relationship has their moments, but you try and everyone else does too. You do a lot like how you help fix them, albeit haphazardly, but the thought is there! You’d replace Lux’s light bulbs with one that has them shine brighter than ever. Fixed Phoenicia when you fell and cracked her screen which was expensive. Replace fuses for Eddie and Volt. You even helped the Hanks when they did they’re extreme sports (sponsored by Red Bowls) and Hank two got hurt!
You noticed that one of the hangers was cracked and went to Jerry and got a dog themed washi tape, you wrapped it around the crack nicely like he was good as new—the Hanks thought the tape looked rad and they all signed the cast with various ‘Hank was here’.
But the moment where (mostly) everyone collectively liked you was when you defended them. Your mother came over. It was a decent visit—but then your mom started walking around criticizing every object that brought you joy, you didn’t back down from justifying their existence and why you kept them around. It made them all feel loved.
Everyone has some sense of appreciation, respect, or even longing for you. Most of them, of course, thought you were slightly insane or just extremely lonely and in need of some sort of connection due to you talking to them when you're bored but honestly? They wouldn’t have it any other way.
