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cherrycuppacoups · 15 days ago

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Speed Champions 🏁...🏎💨 LN4

part 2 posted!

summary: when lando norris finds you torn between two LEGO F1 sets, he helps you pick—then sticks around long enough to find out you’re more than just a second favorite.

[word count] 1.6k

author's note: this is my first f1 fic...i really hope yall enjoyed it, the story may seem sloppy cause its my first time writing something like this and its just a random idea that came up. enjoy!

The LEGO store smelled like plastic and childhood nostalgia. Y/N had been standing in the “Speed Champions” aisle for what felt like forever, arms crossed, brows furrowed, lower lip caught between her teeth. In one hand she held the Red Bull F1 car. In the other, the McLaren.

“I can only afford one,” she whispered to herself, as if saying it aloud would magically make the choice easier.

A reward, that’s all this was supposed to be. A little “well done” for surviving her final semester of university and crawling to the finish line of her internship without combusting. Just a small celebration for herself, from herself. Because no one else would. Not her so-called friends who always forgot to invite her. Not the boys who never once asked for her number, only her prettier friend’s. Not even her family who seemed to think “cute” was the most she’d ever be.

Her hands trembled slightly. Maybe she shouldn’t even be here. Maybe this was dumb. A silly plastic car to make up for—

“What’s a fine lady doing in the Speed Champions section?” a voice asked beside her, smooth and accented, with the exact kind of playful confidence that made her freeze.

She turned slowly, cautiously and nearly dropped both boxes. Standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, was Lando Norris.

Lando freaking Norris.

“I—uh—hi?” she blinked, eyes wide. “Just, um… browsing. For the F1 cars.”

He peered at the boxes in her hands, grinning. “McLaren, huh? Excellent choice.”

She laughed nervously, shifting her weight. “I was thinking about it. But I’m torn between it and the Red Bull car.”

“Ahh,” he nodded solemnly, like she was telling him something gravely important. “Tough decision.”

“I know right?” she chuckled, more at ease now. “I mean, I can’t buy both. I just finished my internship, and this is like… my little treat. You know, for surviving.”

“Fair enough.” His eyes sparkled. “Honestly, you deserve both.”

She snorted. “Tell that to my bank account.”

There was a beat of silence, comfortable and warm. She could feel him watching her but not in the way people usually did, eyes glossing over her like she was background noise but more like he was really looking.

“I’m Lando, by the way,” he said, casually.

She blinked again. “I know.”

He laughed at that, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Of course you do.”

She lowered her voice, nervous again. “Sorry if I’m being weird.”

“You’re not,” he said quickly, sincere. “I like weird. Honestly, watching you try to decide was the highlight of my day. Your thinking face is adorable.”

Her breath caught.

No one ever called her adorable and meant her, not something she said or did.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nope. Visiting a friend. Well… technically visiting. More like killing time while she’s out with her other friends.”

He tilted his head. “Sounds… familiar.”

She gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, I’m usually the last person to know plans anyway.”

“Then those people suck,” Lando said simply. “You seem cool. More than cool, actually.”

She looked down, cheeks flushing. “Thanks. I guess I’m just used to being… background. Not the kind of girl guys notice.”

He stepped a little closer. “I’m a guy. I noticed.”

Her breath hitched. Something in her chest fluttered.

He smiled, like it was no big deal. “So. Red Bull or McLaren?”

“…McLaren,” she whispered.

“Excellent choice! Max could wait he has 4 freaking championships already plus we are surely wining the championship this year” he grinned, taking the Red Bull car from her hand and putting it back on the shelf for her.

"Want me to buy it for you?" He asked casually.

Her eyes widened. “What? No! I can’t—”

“Not trying to be weird, I swear,” he said, hands up. “Just… call it my contribution to your final semester celebration. And maybe a thank-you for supporting us! The least thing I could do.”

She smiled slowly, unsure, but touched.

“…Okay,” she said. “But only if I get to say thank you with coffee?”

He beamed. “It’s a date.”

The box crinkled softly in her arms as they wandered away from the Speed Champions section, Y/N still not quite believing this was happening.

She clutched the McLaren LEGO set to her chest like it was sacred, her brain still trying to process that Lando Norris. Yes, the actual F1 driver Lando Norris had just helped her pick it out. And now he was casually strolling next to her like it was normal.

“So,” he said, eyes scanning the shelves, “since I saved you from the heartbreak of choosing the wrong car, think you could help me now?”

She looked up, surprised. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he grinned. “I need to pick a LEGO set for Max's daughter P. She’s turning six, smarter than I am, and brutally honest. If it’s boring, she’ll tell me.”

“Well, no pressure at all,” she laughed. “What’s she into?”

“Everything chaotic,” he said. “Dinosaurs, glitter, cats, treehouses, science experiments… basically a one-girl tornado in sparkly sneakers.”

“She sounds amazing.”

“She is,” he agreed, fondness softening his tone. “But I’m losing my title as favorite uncle. This is my comeback attempt.”

Y/N studied the shelves thoughtfully. “Hmm… okay, how about this one?” She pointed to a colorful treehouse set with a zipline, mini figures, and a cat in a hammock. “Lots of chaos potential. There’s even a popsicle cart.”

Lando examined the box with exaggerated seriousness. “A zipline and a popsicle cart? You’re spoiling her.”

“She deserves it,” Y/N shrugged playfully. “Everyone does.”

He glanced at her sideways, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Including you?”

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed with a soft notification. She instinctively pulled it out and instantly regretted it. Another text from her friends bailing out on her cause apparently the car was full and there wasn't any space left. Nothing new.

However Lando noticed something.

Bright red case. Ferrari.

Big yellow 55 on the back.

And, of course, her lock screen? A candid shot of Carlos Sainz mid-laugh at the podium.

Lando squinted at it, eyebrows raising. “Wait… is that a Ferrari case?”

Her face flushed instantly. “Oh… yeah.”

“And is your lock screen—hold on—is that Carlos?”

“I—yeah, um—he’s my favorite driver,” she mumbled.

He mock-gasped. “You were debating between Red Bull and McLaren, and you’re out here walking around with a full Ferrari starter pack? What happened to loyalty?”

“I already have the Ferrari Speed Champion set,” she replied quickly, defensive but laughing. “It was the first one I bought when I started watching.”

He gave her a mischievous look. “So I’m your rebound after Carlos.”

She groaned, laughing. “No! You’re not—okay, fine. You’re my second favorite.”

He put a hand to his chest like he’d been stabbed. “The betrayal.”

“But!” she added, holding up a finger. “You are my mom’s favorite. Like… hardcore.”

Lando blinked. “Your mom?”

“She’s obsessed,” Y/N grinned. “She heard your name once during a race, said you sounded like a character in a teen rom-com, and now she never misses your interviews.”

He burst out laughing. “A teen rom-com?”

“She has a theory that you’d be the main character’s charming, funny best friend who’s secretly the love interest.”

“Your mom sounds like a genius.”

“She really is,” Y/N said sincerely. “She told me if I ever met you, I better get an autograph and a photo. She won’t forgive me otherwise.”

He grinned wide. “I’d hate to disappoint her.”

Y/N looked up, still holding her McLaren LEGO box, her heart unexpectedly full.

He glanced at her phone again. “Okay, so Carlos is your number one, and I’m runner-up. But hey… silver still gets a podium.”

She giggled. “Are you seriously turning this into an F1 metaphor?”

“Absolutely,” he smirked. “And I’m fully committed to moving up to P1.”

lando posted a story

ynusername posted a story

fin.

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando x y/n #lando x you #f1 x you #f1 x female reader

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prythiansprincess · 10 days ago

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LOOSE LIPS | a theo nott fic.

"I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings."

word count: 2,312.

summary: a night out with the boys goes awry when draco concocts a nightmare combination of tequila and potions, causing a disastrous turn of events in which theo nott finally spills his deepest, darkest secret.

author's note: happy fluff friday! i'm writing again and trying not to hate it. please bear with me as I try to find my footing again. i'm painstakingly going through all of my fic ideas and picking out the ones that don't make me want to scream and tear my hair out. anyways enough yapping, enjoy x

♫ paper rings - taylor swift. nav. more theo.

One shot.

Two shots.

Three shots.

Another and another. At a certain point, the tequila that his friends had been generously supplying him with started tasting like water; a tell-tale sign that this innocent snake’s night out — as innocent as any Slytherin could reasonably be, which is to say not at all — was on the verge of devolving into an absolute shit show of epic proportions. Still, Theo Nott had never been the type to back down from a challenge.

Despite his complete lack of self-preservation, Salazar forgive him for the odious display of idiotic bravery and recklessness that was really more suited to his former house rivals, Theo couldn’t help but think that he was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. Mainly, the reason for tonight’s celebration. Though he could hardly be blamed. Somewhere between his fifth and sixth shot of whatever nightmare-inducing potion-laced liquor Draco had concocted, the purpose of their gathering had understandably slipped through the cracks of Theo’s inebriated mind.

Shame. Theo was usually sharper than this, but he could hardly be expected to be rich, handsome, and sober at all times. Merlin, he was just a man. A very drunk and emotional man with loose lips that could sink a whole bloody armada.

In the corner of the dimly lit booth, Theo poked his best mate’s shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially. “I have a secret.”

Mattheo blinked slowly. The drink in his hand sloshed at the edges when he placed it atop the sticky table. Clearly, Riddle was not far behind in terms of being absolutely trollied. It made Theo feel loads better about his own drunken state.

His mate grinned. “This should be good. Let’s hear it, then.”

Theo nodded in confirmation. Little did his curly headed friend know that Theo was about to drop the juiciest bloody secret this group had ever heard since Pansy revealed her scandalous sexcapades with plant daddy Longbottom. “You know Y/N?”

“Of course,” Mattheo drawled, dark eyes sharpening with focus. A shameless gossip, that one. Second only to the reigning king of scandals himself — Berkshire. “She’s one of my best friends.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “No, she’s my best friend. You’re more like an acquaintance.”

Mattheo snorted in response. “Does this have a point or are you just being a twat?”

“I’m getting to it!” Theo exclaimed, flailing his arms defensively. “Okay, so, Y/N… She’s just so pretty. And funny. And smart. A complete badass, too. Did you know that she once threatened to clobber the Weasel when he hit me with a bludger by accident?”

The memory made Mattheo smile. Even though they were light years away from the boys they had been, there was something nostalgic about reminiscing their days at Hogwarts. Now they were fully fledged adults with actual responsibilities. Well, as much responsibility as it takes not to squander away their very sizable inheritances, but that was besides the point.

“Trust me, I remember. Malfoy and I had to pull her off of him before she committed gingercide.”

Draco’s sigh was full of longing. “We should’ve just let her do it. That might’ve been our only chance to get rid of the little weasel.”

Enzo grinned. “You know, Y/N sat by your bed in the infirmary for a week.”

Theo smiled in earnest, his chest squeezing at the memory of finding you asleep in the chair beside his bed, but still stubbornly refusing to let go of his hand even while unconscious.

“She did, didn’t she?” Theo asked, feeling a bit teary eyed. Bugger. He had always been an emotional drunk. “Y/N’s so great.”

Blaise smirked. “Oh, fantastic. The best gal around.”

Tom scowled into his pint. How the elder Riddle managed to remain in control of his faculties despite the absolute debauchery of the night completely eluded Theo. “Does your blathering have a purpose, Theodore?”

Theo childishly stuck out his tongue. “Don’t rush me.”

Summoning every ounce of seriousness in his utterly unserious body, Theo lowered his voice to reveal his deepest, darkest secret. His glazed eyes scanned the booth full of his closest friends and dropped the proverbial bomb.

“I’m in love with Y/N.”

Theo dared to glance around, expecting shit to hit the fan. Instead, he was greeted by deadpan stares. Where was the drama? Where was the scandal? Certainly not with this group of ungrateful gits.

Draco, at least, appeared slightly amused. “No shit, Nott.”

Mattheo pouted and crossed his arms. “I thought this was actually going to be juicy.”

Beside him, Enzo patted Theo’s shoulder. “Mate, how drunk are you?”

Annoyance very quickly shifted the mood. “You lot are the worst!”

Regulus chuckled. “At least we’re not emotional drunks.”

“Shut up, Reg. You cried when you saw a baby bird take flight once and you were completely sober then.”

The conversation descended into chaos as the boys argued for the title of most ridiculous drunk. It seemed to be a tie between him and Mattheo, which in all honestly was not the least bit surprising, but the honorable mention of Berkshire once streaking through the quidditch pitch after one too many firewhiskeys at least made him a worthy contender. Bollocks to it all, Theo had lost interest altogether.

The second stage of drunkenness hit him hard and fast. Theo felt tired and cranky and sleepy, but despite his overall weariness, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do a damned thing about it.

“C’mon, Notty boy,” Mattheo grunted as he pulled on Theo’s arm. “It’s time to go.”

Unfortunately for him, Theo was nothing but dead weight as he slumped back into the booth. Part of him was still annoyed at his friends’ utter lack of surprise when it came to his sordid confession, but a bigger part of him missed you even more.

“Not you,” Theo whined as he slapped his best mate’s hand away. “I want Y/N. I miss her! I miss her smile and her eyes and her pretty hair.”

Tom rolled his eyes in annoyance before turning to the group. “Shall I petrify him?”

“No!” Mattheo exclaimed. “He has to be up early tomorrow. Y/N will literally murder me if I don’t get him back in one piece.”

“Y/N?” Theo asked hopefully. “Is she coming here?”

“No, she’s at home.”

“Why?” Theo whined. “Why isn’t she here? We should’ve invited her. It’s not too late. Can we call her?”

“It’s almost midnight,” Mattheo explained. “She’s probably asleep.”

Theo stubbornly crossed his arms and stayed put. “I’m not leaving unless Y/N comes.”

Mattheo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The others weren’t even trying to help. With the exception of Tom, who kept insisting on petrification. The younger Riddle glared at Draco. “I’m telling Y/N that you’re responsible for this. If I go down, you’re going down with me, ferret boy.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “It’ll wear off before the ceremony.”

Riddle only scowled before retrieving his mobile. Theo could barely hear his frantic whispering, but he could see his best mate’s grimace as you undoubtedly chewed him out from the other end. “It’s Theo. He keeps asking for you and he gets all weepy when we try to coax him out.”

Theo was about to argue that he was by no means weepy. Just terribly missing his best friend and demanding her company right this instance or else he refused to move his drunk arse from the likely germ infested vinyl booth. A demand that seemed perfectly reasonable to his inebriated mind.

“I still say we stun him,” Tom offered. "If only for my entertainment."

The elder Riddle's mouth flicked into a smirk. Morgana, Theo truly must be drunk. There was no way Tom actually made a joke. Mattheo shook his head before hanging up the phone. Theo brightened, searching his best mate’s expression.

“She’s on her way.”

A few minutes later, you appeared around the corner donning one of Theo’s oversized hoodies, sweatpants, and fuzzy bunny slippers, probably because you simply couldn’t be arsed to put on proper shoes. The sight made Theo beam. Even sans makeup and your wild, unruly hair haphazardly tied into a messy bun, you were still the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

Theo jumped to his feet once you reached their booth. “Hi, bella.”

“Hi, Teddy.” You giggled as Theo pulled you into a bear hug, nearly knocking the two of you over with the force of his affection. “Got a little too sloshed again, huh?”

“Nooo…” Theo replied with a little huff. You raised a brow. “Okay, maybe. S’not my fault though. These wankers kept piling me with drinks. Plus, Tom threatened to petrify me.” You chuckled at the scowl Theo sent to the utterly unbothered elder Riddle. “Also, they didn’t even think my secret was good!”

That piqued your interest. “What secret?”

Theo flushed, shyly stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Oh, I can’t tell you. It’s top secret.”

After a bit more coaxing, you finally talked Theo into leaving. The rest of the boys bid their goodbyes outside of the pub with the exception of Mattheo, who thankfully helped you haul Theo back to your flat. Though he did receive a stern reprimand, you still hugged your friend tightly before he stepped into the floo to return to his own home.

Theo wobbled as you led him into the bedroom. Leaning against the bureau, he peered into the assortment of clothes you were parsing through. “The spongeguy ones. Those are my —“

“Favorite,” you finished for him. “I know, Teddy. I got them for you. And it’s Spongebob, remember?”

He nodded in agreement, but did not, in fact, remember. Theo was too preoccupied with the way you fussed over him as you helped him change into comfier clothing. Perhaps he should get drunk more often if it earned him special treatment. Theo made a mental note to look up how much firewhisky one could consume before crossing alcohol poisoning territory.

The thought crossed his mind as he brushed his teeth, eyes seeking yours in the mirror and flashing you a lovesick smile. You winked back and bumped his hip, catching him off guard and nearly knocking him off his arse. Luckily, Theo found his balance by wrapping a strong arm around your waist and holding on for dear life.

Moments later, the two of you finally settled into bed. Theo greedily snuggled up to your side while you ran your fingers through his hair. The affectionate gesture earned you a soft and happy little sigh of contentment.

“So, that secret,” you whispered in the dark. “Gonna tell me what you’re hiding from me, Teddy?”

“Noooo, I can’t,” mumbled Theo as he nuzzled against your neck.

You pulled away and poked his chest. “Tell me.”

“Never!”

“You.” Poke.

“Know.” Poke.

“You.” Another poke.

“Want to.”

Theo grabbed your wrists to cease the onslaught of attacks and pulled you closer instead. Watercolor eyes searched yours, expecting a hint of shyness and nerves that you usually would’ve displayed at such close proximity, but instead there was nothing but warmth and love in your eyes.

Eyes seeking one another, noses bumping together, lips nearly touching yet not quite. The precipice of a first kiss, but not really. In the back of his mind, he knew that the two of you had been here before. Theo leaned into your touch while you lovingly stroked his cheek.

“Can I ask you a question, bella?”

“Course, Teddy.”

Theo swallowed, blinking away the silken night. “Are we…” His voice was lowered to a whisper, soft and gentle like a lover’s caress. “Are we dating?”

A surge of disappointment speared his heart when you slowly shook your head. He suddenly wished he hadn't asked. It would've been nice to pretend for a moment longer. At least until he fell asleep. But then he had to ruin it by opening his big mouth. Theo took a shuddering breath, but the gentle kiss you pressed against his temple caused hope to rise up in him again.

“No, baby,” you corrected with a smile while waving your left hand in the air. “We’re engaged.”

The diamond glittering brightly on your ring finger threatened to blind him even in the dark. How could he not have noticed? The damned thing had its own gravitational pull. Theo chuckled in disbelief as he inspected the familiar gold band encasing the six carat princess cut diamond, which was tastefully surrounded by a halo of smaller stones. His mother’s ring.

Awe washed over him as he asked softly, gently, as though Theo was convinced that the revelation was too good to be true, “You’re my fiancée?”

“Mhm,” you murmured as you pressed a kiss to his cheek, his nose, his forehead. His chin trembled when you kissed him slowly. Theo savored the pressure of your lips against his, a sensation that was both new and old to him at the same time. Even without the alcohol, you had always felt like that to him. Familiar yet unknown all at the same time. You were a complete paradox that perplexed his every waking moment, but he loved every second of it.

The fact that you were engaged made him feel like the luckiest man in the world. Theo chased after your lips, peppering you with kisses over and over again, just because he could. In fact, Theo had a civil duty to smother you in as much affection and devotion as he possibly could. Salazar, how did he ever get anything done? All he wanted to do was to kiss you until you were sick of it.

You giggled while Theo lovingly nuzzled his nose against your cheek, basking in your affection and adoration like he was starved for it. “Tonight was your bachelor party, remember? I told the boys to go easy on you, but I should’ve known they wouldn’t listen.”

Realization came flooding back to him. “We’re getting married tomorrow,” he said in reverence. “You’re going to be my wife.”

You nodded, smiling wide and bright for him. Only him. “You’re going to be my husband.”

Theo mirrored your expression, the smile brightening his entire face in the most breathtaking way. Merlin, he really was beautiful. “I guess I can tell you my secret then.”

“Oh?”

“I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

You chuckled. “I’m in love with you too, Theo.”

Theo caressed your cheek, his lips meeting yours in a soft kiss as he sighed dreamily. Godric, you loved him. Utterly and irrevocably so. You giggled as Theo greedily snuggled into you again, his big arms wrapping you in his warmth as he tangled his long legs with yours.

“Good night, Mrs. Nott.”

“Good night, Teddy.”

#fluffy theo how I have missed you my beloved #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theo nott fluff #theo nott imagine #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott #theo nott smut

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dearwalker · 9 days ago

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you got this, John

Pairing: John Walker x reader. Word count: 5.5k

Description: Valentina organizes a huge autograph signing event, and John is absolutely sure that nobody wants his. When he panics in broad daylight after a rude fan interaction, you’re there for him.

Tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, self loathing, John has a panic attack, glimpses of fluff, John gets flustered with fan interactions, protective Bucky makes an appearance.

Note: this is very centered around John and how he sees himself now, the way he reacts being thrown to “fame” again and helping him through all the good and bad that comes with it. Hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

p.s: I recently changed my @ from starktonyx, so if some links aren’t working you can find all my recent fics reblogged in @starktonyxfics

masterlist

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Valentina, in one of her many attempts to market her new team of misfits as 'new avengers', had set up an autograph signing event outside the Watchtower. You were currently gathered in the lobby, the frosted glass doors were the only thing that kept you separate from the chanting crowds outside.

You all thought the whole thing was ridiculous, like many of her ideas, but she'd gone full blown production without a single care. She had the whole block barricaded with giant billboards of your faces. Heavily edited team shots, solo shots, calculated and very posed "mission candids".

If you were honest, it looked more like a movie premiere, as if you were ‘Mission impossible’ stars instead of some random delinquents. Valentina had made sure everyone looked like the poster superhero she constantly sold to the press. She wanted you selling that “pristine, untouchable, aspirational” personality. Whatever the hell that meant.

It looked real ... and people, bless their hearts, ate it up.

The fan barricades were organized by sections. One for each team member, labeled by a close up shot of your faces. People were supposed to line up in their favorite's section like it was a damn theme park ride.

John’s section was set to be between yours and Bucky's.

That thought alone had him spiraling slowly. Actually, not slowly, he was going full speed. John spent the whole week picturing it, you and Bucky with endless lines of smiling fans, while he stood there, embarrassed by his section being completely, tragically empty.

The only void in the crowd that wouldn't have a soul standing there waiting for an autograph, or a photo, or at least to insult him.

Anything.

John hadn't been able to sleep. All week he'd been more distant to the team. Not because he was being modest. Not because he had low expectations. But because he was sure, absolutely certain, that nobody would come.

And it was imminent, as much as he disassociated from the date and everything about it, the day still came. He couldn't escape it anymore.

So he took a deep breath.

He adjusted the shield strap on his arm one more time, even though it was already squeezing his skin red beneath the suit from how tight it was. Next, he fiddled with the beret on his head for what felt like the millionth time. A slight tug to the left, then the right ...then left again. Jesus, how many ways could a hat be wrong?

Wait.

Wait if they don't like it?

He rolled his eyes. Seriously? Why did he even care if they liked the hat or not?

They better like the stupid beret.

He shook his head, muttering under his breath. This was ridiculous. The whole thing was ridiculous. He felt like a clown. He threw one glance at you, gathered with the team near the entrance doors. You looked a bit nervous while you helped Ava adjust the gloves that covered her hands.

He looked away before you could catch him staring.

He'd been pacing for the last fifteen minutes like a lunatic in a corner, far separate from everyone. Trying to hide the fact that he was already freaking out and you hadn't even walked out yet.

"You okay over there, Walker?" Yelena shouted, from her spot next to Alexei.

If John wasn't so caught up in his head, he would've noticed there was no actual hint of teasing in her voice, Yelena was too anxious herself to even bother about mocking him right now. Still, he threw her that ironic dry laugh he knew pissed people off.

He was very visibly not okay, which was already embarrassing enough, so he couldn't even imagine having to say it out loud.

"Oh I'm fabulous, Yelena,” he snapped, waving his hands in the air dramatically. “Just soaking up the magic of the moment."

Aggression was an old habit, one he still couldn’t quite control. At least it was easier than admitting he was spiraling.

Yelena just sighed, irritated, and went back to adjusting her own suit's collar. The stiff leather of the new tactical suit, courtesy of Valentina for this specific event, was scratching her skin and it was not helping her nerves. She sure as hell wasn’t gonna push to deal with an asshole on top of that.

You watched the interaction quietly from your spot next to Ava. You'd been keeping an eye on him the whole time, since all week he'd been acting like he had the plague. Trying to avoid everyone, and snapping at them when he couldn't.

At simple glance you and John were just teammates, like the rest of the group. But some lingering stares, comforting hands on shoulders after rough missions, silent nods between you when you walked past each other on the room’s hallway might say otherwise. Nothing was official, nothing got past those interactions, but there was something there. You knew it, and John sure as hell knew it too, because it wasn’t normal for his heart to skip a beat when you flashed him a half smile in those little moments.

Even the team was suspicious about it, it was no secret that you had more patience with him than anyone in the group.

Of course there were still times when he pissed you off, he was John Walker after all. Times when he would act like an idiot, maybe to you or to someone in the team, and you’d just throw him a glare and leave, because you weren’t entertaining the asshole in him either. And for some reason he couldn’t explain, he actually felt bad after you stormed out.

But then again, aggression was an old habit. A hard one to let go of, especially after his life had fallen apart over the last few years. John had become an expert at dismissing any attempt people had to get close to him with a snark or, in the best case scenario, with a dry "I'm fine."

He was very clearly not fine. Especially today.

You could tell something was off since the day Valentina announced the event, but you knew that if you tried to say something about it he'd bark back like you just stepped on his tail. Just like he did to Yelena, because even if your intentions were good, John was just too deep in his self deprecating head, and nothing was pulling him out of that grave he dug himself.

He was sure today was it for him.

He would just stand there like some washed up loser with a bent shield and a stupid hat, next to people the world actually wanted.

Next to you. That was the worst part.

You'd see it all.

There in the front row, catching every second of his public humiliation. Watching him become the exact joke the world always said he was. A failed Captain America. A failed soldier … friend... husband ... father … the list goes on and on.

This was the moment his new team, and you, especially you, would confirm he was nothing more than a complete failure.

"Hey, John," you said suddenly, as you approached his spot in the corner.

Your hand landed gently on his shoulder, but he still got startled as you snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. He turned around with wide eyes.

"Oh, sorry," you apologized softly, pulling your hand back to adjust the long sleeves of your suit. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

"You didn't scare me. I'm fine." He snapped, trying to fix his composure way too quickly.

Honestly? at his point not even himself believed it when he said those words.

Time to make a run for it then, he thought, already turning halfway to escape from whatever you were going to tell him. But you grabbed his arm, firmer this time.

"John, wait..."

You kept your hand wrapped around his bicep as you glanced back at your teammates, all stuck in their own heads. Pacing, fidgeting, whispering things to themselves. All except for one … Alexei of course. The only one who looked like he actually wanted to be here. You turned back to John with a sigh.

“We’re all losing our minds right now, John. It’s normal to be nervous.”

You wanted him to hear that. You knew he needed to hear that. Needed to be constantly reminded that he wasn’t alone in this, not now, not ever.

"I’m not nervous,” he snapped, again.

He sighed when you only gave him one of your typical glares. You lifted your eyebrow expectantly, like this time you were ready for him to stop deflecting everything with his attitude. He just rolled his eyes, groaning.

“Look, it’s just ... I’m just … you don't get it," he shook his head, eyes falling to the floor.

He thought you’d be just fine, you wouldn’t even have to try out there. The crowd would fall in love with you, instantly. Hell knows he did, why wouldn’t they?

In his mind, he saw it all too clearly, you walking out and flashing that smile of yours. The one that haunted him at 3 am, the same one that reminded him you deserved so much better than he could ever give you. Not a lost cause like him.

You just stared at him in silence for a moment. You’d always been able to read through John’s layers, to push through that rough exterior to catch a glimpse of the guilt inside, of the way he thought about himself, the way he acted like everyone was inferior to him to hide that crippling insecurity clawing at the back of his throat.

Because those blue eyes could never hide enough. Not from you, at least. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t look at you right now.

“We’re the only ones who get it, John” You whispered, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze.

He kept his eyes glued to the floor, but you noticed the way his breath hitched under the soft pressure of your hand. You fought everything inside you to not launch yourself forward to wrap him in your arms.

God knows John Walker needed a hug.

But before you could follow the intrusive thoughts that told you to just do it, you both flinched at the sudden echo of Valentina’s voice booming loudly through the speakers on the streets.

She started making her over exaggerated team introduction speech.

Everything outside got instantly louder. The cheering, the camera shutters, the shouts from the crowd. All you could think about was that if you could hear everything so clearly, you couldn't even imagine how loud it was inside John's head.

And it was.

As much as he tried to stay grounded to your touch, his gaze kept flicking toward the doors, eyes looking more frantic with every second.

This is it. This is it.

His breath got caught in his throat, and without even thinking he yanked the beret off his head with one hand, while the other raked through his hair, almost pulling it.

You caught on his panic quickly, and moved before it completely overtook him. Without a word, you grabbed the beret from his hand and set it on your own head.

“Hey John!” you called, tilting your chin up like you were modeling it. “How do I look?”

His head snapped at you, eyebrows furrowing instantly as he processed the image in front of him. His eyes flicked just once more to the doors, then settled on your expectant face.

"Be honest, do I look good?" You pushed, trying to keep him distracted. “Bet I even look better than you, huh.”

He huffed at the comment, and for a second, just one second, the panic let go of his throat. His brain stopped freaking out just enough to process the absurdity of it. There you stood, with his dumb hat crooked on your head, clearly too big for you, slipping to one side.

"You look ridiculous," he snarked, reaching to grab it back, but you dodged his hand.

“Excuse me?” You raised your brows, mock offended while taking a step back so he couldn’t take it from you.

“It doesn’t go with your suit,” he stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And it’s too big for you, anyways.”

You laughed, now this was the John Walker you knew. “Yeah, well, almost like it wasn’t made for me.”

“Well duh, obviously," he rolled his eyes, like you were the one not using your brain cells in that interaction.

But when he saw the amused look on your face instead of the typical glare he expected, he was hit with the realization.

His brain cells weren't there either.

And maybe that was the reason he could breathe again. You’d pulled him back from completely freaking out in front of everyone, just like that. His heart still thundered in his chest, but now he didn’t know if it was the anxiety or the fact that you were looking at him with soft, amused eyes and that crooked beret that didn’t actually look that bad on you.

His gaze fixed on the doors again, ready to say something defensive to hide the fact that he was blushing from that moment, but you stepped in before he could unravel again.

You took the beret off your head and walked closer to gently place it back on his, smoothing the blonde hair peaking out the sides of the hat with both hands. Your fingers were soft, careful, and your heart jumped every time you grazed his beard with your palms.

“There you go,” you whispered, finally retracting your hands. “All ready, soldier.”

John was just frozen in place. Speechless. Blushing. Not a single thought behind those clear blue eyes.

Yes, you were definitely the reason his heart was going crazy in his chest.

“That’s your cue! Come on, you have to go!” Mel shouted from the entrance, and John for once was grateful for the interruption so he could try to control the heat in his cheeks.

You turned to the door, matching the panicked expression of your teammates, while Alexei’s laugh boomed through the lobby as he rubbed his hands together. You took a deep breath, hid the horror from your face, and turned back with a smile.

“You got this, John. I’ll be right there with you.”

He swallowed hard, barely holding your gaze. Yeah… that’s the problem.

You would witness him walking out there with no one wanting anything from him. And Jesus, he couldn’t even blame them. He wouldn’t want anything from himself either.

Before he could refuse, you were already walking ahead to the double doors, flashing him a reassuring look over your shoulder. He followed you, hesitantly. Every step toward the entrance felt like marching to the gallows.

“Come on captain, look alive.” Alexei placed his heavy hands on John’s shoulders as soon as he joined the group by the doors, shaking him with excitement. “Do it for the glory!”

John could only nod condescendingly as he muttered a sarcastic ‘woohoo’. You just bit back a smile from your spot, taking a deep breath. It couldn’t be that bad …right?

The doors finally opened, the crisp New York air hitting your warm bodies. The crowd went impossibly louder, and John was pretty sure this was how he finally died.

He braced himself, firm posture, shoulders locked, and one more adjustment to his beret. His heart doing goddamn acrobatics like he was about to be deployed to Afghanistan all over again.

He’d take that over this any day.

No not really, he just needed to lock the fuck in.

“Here are your New Avengers everyone!” Val exclaimed into her mic from her spot on the red carpet, yes a damn premiere carpet, with a cheshire cat smile on her face as she clapped a little too enthusiastically.

John took what felt like his last deep breath, and took one step out, the light instantly blinding his light eyes. He blinked a few times to adjust to the brightness, eyes instantly darting to the distance, checking the side he was supposed to be on for the event.

He had to blink a few more times to make sure what he was seeing was real.

His section was full.

Packed, actually. Shoulder to shoulder. People pressed against the barricades next to his giant poster, with their phones up and stuff in their hands for autographs. He actually saw people pushing to get a better view … of him?

John’s brain short circuited.

What in the actual hell. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Because the single thought of people being in line for hours just to see him, of people loving him like that was probably worse than the hate.

He squinted, deciding it was just too good to be true.

Maybe it was overflow … yeah, that had to be it. Probably Bucky’s section ran out of space. Or yours. That made sense. People just drifted into his section by accident. No way they were all there for him.

You stepped beside him quietly, like you could read his mind, hand brushing against his.

“C’mon,” you whispered softly.

He blinked at you, then at the crowd. His crowd. Letting his eyes scan through them like he wasn’t seconds away from disassociating into another dimension. It was too much. The cheers, shouts from fangirls and fanboys … actual enthusiastic human beings yelling his name like it was a good thing. And somehow he was still convinced there’d been some kind of mistake.

You just gave him a reassuring smile one last time, nudging him forward before you made your way to your own section.

Everyone in the team did the same, taking small steps to drag the actual fan interaction a little bit longer. Except for Alexei, of course. Who ran like a freak toward his section, like he was a football player entering the stadium.

John just huffed, and began making his way to his. As soon as people in his section noticed he was going their way, absolute chaos erupted.

Screaming. Literal screaming.

“OH MY GODDDD–”

“IT’S HIM!” “HE’S REAL–”

“JOHN” “JOHNNY”

His feet moved automatically, dragging him toward his section, past posters of his own face, smug, polished, overly confident, a person he hasn’t been in a long time. Straight into a wave of people who looked like they’d waited their entire lives for this moment.

A couple of girls started crying. One guy near the front looked like he might actually pass out before he even got there. John didn’t even try to hide the confusion on his face.

“What the hell,” he muttered under his breath. “What the actual hell.”

He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he threw up a small wave as he approached, like they taught him in media training. He tried to smile, but all he could manage was a weird showing of teeth with furrowed brows. He got a dejavu, he’s been through this before. But back then he’d been in all of his captain america glory, and after everything that happened since then, he didn’t know how to react to it anymore.

He made it to the front of his section somehow. The barricades were completely swarmed, everyone squishing together just to get a better view, holding notebooks, funko pops, actual tiny shields, anything they could shove in his direction for him to sign.

He reached a girl first, who was leaning over the barricade, waving at plaroid at him like her life depended on it.

“John, oh my god! can you sign my photo!?”

“Me?” he asked back, stunned by the way she was buzzing with excitement.

The girl squealed and turned to her friend, giggling like a teenager. “He’s so funny!!”

“We’ve been waiting for hours to see you,” her friend said, barely holding her excitement too.

Hours? for… me?

John decided it was better if he didn’t say anything this time, because he wasn’t sure he could trust his voice at that moment. So he just nodded, nearly dropping the sharpie the girl gave him.

He checked the polaroid, and for the first time in the whole day, he genuinely smiled. It was a picture of him standing by the New York streets, fully suited, from the time Valentina had them “look over” the pride parade from that year. To her it was just good promo, but to them it was actually one of the few times they didn’t mind doing what she said. If anything, John was sure the idea even came from someone inside the team.

“I took this the first time I ever saw you in person,” she confessed, breathlessly. “You looked so badass and hot and I– wait sorry that’s not … actually you’re really just sooo hot, like, ridiculously hot–“

Her friend smacked her arm before she could continue rambling, and she immediately shut up, all flustered. John just froze mid signature.

“…thank you?” He blurted out, ignoring the way the people around them squealed in agreement.

He didn’t mean to blush, really. But his face was instantly burning, and he could feel it spreading to his ears, neck, everywhere before he could stop himself. He tried to hide it by awkwardly coughing and looking anywhere but the girl's face.

“Here you go, ma’am,” he cleared his throat, finally handing her back the picture and the marker, but before she could grab it, he actually dropped it this time. “Uhh s-sorry …I got it.”

He immediately bent to pick it up, his beret falling to the bright carpet as he reached for the marker on the floor. He grabbed both things, unintentionally groaning when he got back up, his blonde hair flopping slightly in front of his eyes.

People squealed …again. At this point John felt like he was getting flustered to death. He quickly placed the beret back on his head, mimicking the way you neatly tucked his hair before, before awkwardly speaking.

“Sorry, this thing makes my head look weird, right?” He chuckled nervously, grabbing something else to sign so he could at least distract his hands on something.

“Nooo!” “It’s perfect.” “We love it!!” “Better than the other hat!”

A chorus of compliments emerged from the crowd like it was nothing, like he wasn’t fighting back all the voices that told him they were lying and he looked ridiculous indeed.

Okay, his cause of death was definitely going to be ‘blushing excessively’.

After that, time went surprisingly fast. He was doing… okay, all things considered. He hadn’t passed out. No one had been rude to him … yet. If anything, even if his face had this permanent frown from having no idea what on earth he was doing signing stuff and taking selfies like he was some kpop idol, people seemed to like him. A lot.

He successfully made it halfway down the barricade line, still running on nerves, but he was getting through it. Until the vibe shifted.

He clocked this tall man with the corner of his eye, shoving through the fans, knocking a couple arms off the rail without a care in the world.

“Hey, easy!” someone yelled, nearly losing their phone when they got pushed.

John quickly made his way over that spot, where the man had arrived at the front without even sparing a glance at the people he pushed, and had the audacity to wave a ridiculous amount of photos at John.

“Sign all’ese,” he said, practically shoving his phone on John’s face to record the interaction.

All John could do was glare at him, forcing himself not to react. Not in front of the cameras. Not in front of the people who’d waited hours just to see him.

“Oh come on, man, just sign ‘em. It’s your job, right?”

“No,” John snapped, pushing the stack of photos back toward the guy. “You don’t get to push people around like a jerk and still expect something. Especially not from me. Now get the hell out of here.”

The guy looked ready to argue, but John took a step closer, loosening the strap on the shield holster around his arm. He wasn’t going to use it. Of course he wasn’t going to execute someone with his shield again. It was just an “in case” measure.

A hush fell over his section, all phones recording the exchange. From a few feet away, you turned at the sudden shift, your stomach dropping at the sight of John’s tense posture, looking like he was about to punch the man in front of him.

Oh no.

You couldn’t make out what they were saying, all you could hear was the nearby incessant screaming coming from Bucky’s section, the crowd too distracted by his new hairstyle to notice what was happening on John’s side.

“Hey guys, give me a second please …I’ll be right back,” you politely excused yourself from your section, immediately making your way to John.

By the time you reached them, the man pulled something from his jacket’s pocket and shoved it hard against John’s chest. “Then how ‘bout you sign only this one? My favorite.”

John took the folded paper without thinking, just to get him to leave. But when he opened it, everything inside him dropped. A chorus of gasps spread through the crowd, from the people who caught a glimpse of the picture.

It was the moment that marked John’s life forever.

The picture showed him standing over the body of the flag smasher, holding Steve’s prestigious shield with fresh blood dripping off it, his head held high like he was proud of what he had done.

That day. That goddamn day he lost Lemar. And maybe the last part of his sanity too.

The sound of his shield hitting the ground in a loud bang made you flinch. Your eyes darted immediately to his face. John was motionless, staring down at the photo like it had taken him straight back into that day.

Bucky, who had drifted closer in his signing round, almost tripped on the fallen shield on the carpet. He groaned, turning with a scowl.

“Watch your stuff Walker, what are you–"

Bucky’s words got caught up in his throat when his eyes landed on John’s pale face, then the photo in his trembling hands. His head snapped to the man standing in front of them, grinning like an asshole while he still filmed the whole thing.

Bucky didn't even think twice.

"Son of a bitch.“

He ripped the phone from the man's hand and hurled it to the ground, the device completely shattering next to the shield. It didn't even take him a second longer to slam his fist to the man’s jaw, sending him flying backwards.

Loud gasps exploded from everywhere, all the phones switching to Bucky. At least it took people's eyes off John.

“John?” you said gently, stepping in front of him and placing your hands on his arms. “Hey… can you look at me?”

His eyes drifted to yours, but they looked completely lost, hollow. His dry lips parted, trying to say something, but nothing came out.

Behind him, people began chanting Bucky’s name. You peeked over John’s shoulder and saw him trying to leap over the barricade to get to the guy again, but Alexei and Yelena arrived just in time to stop him before you had another member of the team executing someone publicly.

Ava ran up to the group, taking it all in. Her eyes landed on John’s frozen frame and then to you.

“I got him,” you mouthed, and she nodded, turning around to help Yelena.

While the team took care of Bucky, you quickly guided John back into the tower. His feet moved automatically, just following your lead quietly until he felt the warmth of the lobby engulf his body, away from all prying eyes.

That’s when it all hit him.

Suddenly everything was just too much. He violently tore off his leather gloves and yanked the beret from his head to send it flying to the ground. His hands immediately tangled in his hair, pulling hard.

“John, stop–hey … hey, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” You reached for him quickly, peeling his hands away from the hair stands and guiding them down.

You pressed your palms to his shoulders, slowly guiding him to lean against the wall behind him. His back barely touched it, and his body just slid down like the ground gave out beneath him.

You crouched in front of him instantly, noticing the way his breathing changed. He took sharp inhales that got caught halfway in strangled gasps, his chest heaving like he just couldn't catch up with his lungs. His shaking hands shot up to his hair again, tugging it like it would remind him how to breathe again.

The desperation in his wide glassy eyes making your heart shrink.

“Hey, hey … John it’s okay, you’re safe here,” you wrapped your hands firmly around his wrists, guiding them gently away from his head. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”

He gasped for air again, louder this time, throwing his head back against the wall with intentional force. “I-I can’t … I can’t …breathe–“

He fought out of your grip to tear the collar of his suit, shaky fingers fumbling against the stiff fabric like it was choking him.

“I know, I know it feels like that,” you nodded slowly, keeping your voice soft and steady. “I’m gonna try something with you, okay?” you asked, guiding one of his hands to your chest, right over your heart. "Just focus on my heartbeat, John. Can you hear it?"

He shook his head, closing his eyes, trying to shake the noise of the memories, of that specific memory, to push it away enough to focus on the sound of your heart. Your hand kept his pressed against your chest firmly, while the other went up to cradle his face.

"It's okay John, just focus on it.”

He blinked a few times, his ragged breathing was driving him crazy, but he was trying to focus. God he was trying. After a few seconds that seemed like eternity, in the midst of all the fog, he caught something.

"Can you hear it now?" you mumbled, noticing a slight shift in his eyes.

He nodded, trying to follow the erratic rhythm of your heart. It was going too fast, but he still found it grounding.

“There you go,” you cheered softly. “Now we have to breathe John, okay? I got you … just copy me, in and out.”

You inhaled slowly, chest rising under his palm. It was loud enough for him to hear through the loud attempts of gasping for air.

“In…”

He tried his best to inhale air as deeply as you, he really did, but his breath hitched halfway. He gritted his teeth, groaning, immediately beating himself up over it.

Why the hell can’t I breathe? … Jesus, John. It's such a basic task, why can't you just–

Your hand gently tapping his cheek brought him back.

“You’re doing great, John, don’t overthink it … come on, now out…”

Letting the air out was significantly easier, but his lungs ached from the lack of it. So he did his best to take another shaky inhale, this one deeper than the last one.

“There you go, just like that,” you whispered. “Let’s keep going … you got this, John.”

You kept breathing with him, slow and rhythmic, your hand never leaving his so he felt every raise and fall of your chest. After a lot of tries, the panic began to crack around the edges, and his hands shaking eased a little.

He took a moment to focus on everything about you. Your heart beating under his palm, your hand drawing soothing circles on his rough beard, your soft eyes looking at him with no hint of annoyance, just patience. Like he deserved it. Tears prickled his eyes, but he fought letting them fall, he already felt pathetic enough.

Once his breathing slowed down enough after a while, he slowly dropped his head forward until his forehead rested against yours. His uneven breath ghosted over your skin, as well as a couple of tears he just couldn’t hold back.

“I screwed it up,” he mumbled. “I lost it, I fucking lost it.”

You shook your head immediately, letting go of his hand over your chest to cradle his face with both hands. You pulled apart just enough to make eye contact.

“You didn’t lose anything. You had a human reaction to someone being cruel.” you reassured, but he just chuckled bitterly.

“No, I just gave them exactly what they wanted. Look at Walker, look how unstable he is, what a fucking disgrace–“ his voice cracked slightly. “Jesus … I’m humiliating myself in front of everyone all over again.”

“Your reaction was completely valid, John. This is not weakness. It’s not permanent. It’s just your brain reacting to something awful … that’s all.”

He wanted to keep arguing, to tell you all about the big failure he felt he was, how he was too far gone. But there was something in the way you looked at him that cut through the noise, dulling the venom in his thoughts. Even if it was just for a few seconds.

“You … you really didn’t have to–”

“I did,” you said softly, leaning in. “I wanted to.”

You pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, and your lips lingered longer than he expected. Like you wanted to make sure he felt it. And he did.

“You’re not alone in this, not anymore. I got you.”

He blinked, speechless. He couldn’t control the way his eyes welled up again, but this time he didn’t fight it. He let go. His shoulders slumped, and his body leaned into yours like he’d finally allowed himself to be held.

So you held him. Because God knows John Walker needed to be held.

You stayed on the cold floor with him, his face buried in your neck as your hands brushed through his hair gently. You didn’t ask him to be strong. Didn’t rush him. You just stayed while the storm inside him passed.

You got this, John.

⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆

tysm for reading, feedback is always appreciated 🫶🏼

#john walker x reader #john walker #thunderbolts #marvel #mcu #john walker imagine #john walker angst #john walker x y/n #us agent #us agent x reader #john walker x you #thunderbolts*#marvel imagine #marvel angst #thunderbolts imagine

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g00d--m0urning · 11 days ago

Text

Final Destination: Your House (FINALE)

(Sorry Doug fans, he's not painted in the best light [that's probably why you like him, so nvm, you're welcome])

A month, a whole month of space is killing everyone. Surprisingly, it's Doug that fixes everything.

Omgeeee, the final chapter, but not the end. I have one-shots planned (reqs are still open, but I already have a long list, so they're probably already on there). I'd just like to thank everyone for everything, I guess. I never expected my silly fanfiction to get such traction, but I'm so incredibly flattered it did. I could kiss every single one of you 🫶🫶

You requested that everybody give you space and they all obliged, assuring you they’d be there when you’re ready. The distance between everyone feels different this time; nobody is avoiding you, there’s no sharp tension either. They’re all still there, lingering if you ever need them, but never pressing too hard.

Progress is slow, to say the least: there’s still days where you end up keeping the dateviators off, and days you still snap at them, but there’s also days where things seem sort of normal.

Kopi chats with you while she makes your morning coffee, Dorian still makes silly jokes every time you enter a room, Dante keeps you warm the nights you curl up on Koa, watching TV with Telly until you fall asleep.

Nightmare has yet to come to you again; you’re not quite sure how that makes you feel. You love the shadowy entity, but you know you couldn’t handle a visit from her. You can’t have all your progress set back again.

------------

The dateables miss you. You’re so close, yet so far and it’s killing them. They’ll respect your need for space for as long as you need them to, but it doesn’t mean they don’t ache to hold and kiss you every time you pass them.

“I think I’m having withdrawal,” Skylar moans, burning a hole into the carpet with her pacing, “I haven’t been kissed in… four weeks? That’s almost a full month.”

“None of us have, darling,” Scandalabra points out, rolling his eyes at the pink-haired woman, “You don’t hear anyone else complaining.”

“Who asked you, Jon?” Skylar retorts, scowling at the candle-holder, “And what’s with the accent? I thought you dropped the whole prim-and-proper thing.”

Scandalabra--Jon--gasps, setting a hand on his chest, “Ah! One, if you don’t want people butting into your conversations, maybe don’t have them in the middle of the dining room. Two, until our darling is back, I am not gracing a single one of you with my true self.”

“Poor us,” Abel deadpans, shaking his head at the dramatic blonde. While Jon isn’t a totally pleasurable person to be around, he’s certainly better than Scandalabra.

“Ok, ok, ok, can we focus?” Skylar claps loudly, drawing the attention back to her, “Obviously, we can’t force them to be ready, but who says we can’t still show them our love?”

“...And how do you suggest we do that, leave them love notes?” Rod asks with a scoff, giggling with Curt.

“Yeah! Love notes, little trinkets, just stuff to let them know we’re here and thinking about them!” Skylar nods, a bright smile on her face, rubbing her hands together like an evil fly that shall reign love over all!

“He was joking,” Curt says, eyes widening as she confirms what she actually has planned.

“I know! I wasn’t though. It’s the easiest, non-pushy way to show them we love them,” Skylar waves a hand dismissively at the pair, “C’mon, please? I can’t do this alone. I mean, I can and will, but it’d be really nice to do it with others!” She looks around the room with wide and pleading eyes, pouting at the others.

“... I suppose. I’m in,” Dorian reluctantly agrees.

“Same here,” Abel nods.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea, Skylar,” Celia reassures, reaching over to give Skylar’s fidgeting hands a light squeeze.

With the mayor’s approval and a bit more thought to it, the others slowly start agreeing to the plan and soon, operation show-our-love-discreetly-but-largely-in-small-gestures--the name is being workshopped--is set in motion.

They start out with small gestures:

Johnny learns a new love song.

Amir’s compliments come as naturally as always, but there’s something softer about them.

Luke makes sure your chicken tendies are reheated to the perfect temperature.

Mac makes sure your computer runs at perfect speeds.

Even Bathsheba makes sure your bath is perfect (though Winnifred and River are mostly to be thanked for that).

They can’t tell if you notice, but they know they’re doing it, and if it makes your day just a little bit better, they’re perfectly happy.

------------

You’re zoned out at the dining room table, a half-eaten meal--lovingly crafted by Stephan--left abandoned in front of you. Somebody taps you on the shoulder, a flash of white appearing in the corner of your eye.

“Wassup, Dorkus?” Doug drawls, plopping into the chair next to you.

An immediate sense of dread--no pun intended--settles in your stomach when Doug appears. You really need to learn not to sit facing that stupid wall, “Go away, dumbass. I can’t deal with you right now.”

“Aw, babes, c’mon! Haven’t you missed me?” he teases, eyeing your plate, not even asking before pulling it in front of him, “Wow, this is great! Stephan works some magic.”

You scowl, snatching the plate back from him, “Go away,” you repeat, firmer this time. He’s obviously got something horrible planned and that’s the last thing you need right now.

“You know even if I leave, I’ll never truly be gone. I’m always in here,” he reaches over, tapping your temple, “Haunting you, lingering in the back of your mind.”

“Oh, my god. What is your problem?” you groan, slapping his hand away, scooting your chair further away from him.

“I don’t have a problem, you do, dork face,” he tells you, standing up and walking over to you, threading a hand through your hair, “You, home-slice, are still afraid of being abandoned, aren’t��cha?”

“Yeah, sure! I have a fear of abandonment; tell me something I don’t know,” you swat at him, standing up and walking away from him. He follows after.

“Yeah, that’s not what I’m talking about. You’re dreading the day that your group of lovers decides to move on. I mean, you can’t have space from them forever, what if they decide that they’re over your dumb request?” Doug mocks, stepping in front of you, voicing every thought you haven’t dared entertain.

“It’s not a dumb request, it’s called setting boundaries,” you correct, stomping on his fat foot and going around him, “Something that seems to be a foreign concept to you.”

“Issssss it though?” if he had eyebrows, he’d be raising them, “Or is it you being afraid that you’ll fuck up again? All it takes is one slip up and it’ll be back to loner-villa, USA. It didn’t seem very hard for them to ignore you the first time. If you ignore them first then they can't ignore you, right?”

“I’m not ignoring them, I asked for space. There’s a difference," you state, ignoring the tightening in your chest. You’ve had every single one of those thoughts during sleepless nights, but you know they aren’t true.

“Issss thereeee?” Doug seems intent on pressing every single one of your buttons and he knows exactly how to do so!

“Yes, there is, you slimeball. Just because you don’t understand the concept of having healthy boundaries with people you have relationships with, doesn’t mean you need to make it my problem.” you yell at the dreadful white ball, whipping around to face him.

“I am allowed to set boundaries with my lovers after they hurt me deeply, there is nothing wrong with that! And if anyone thinks so, then that’s their problem,” you tell him, taking a deep breath. Everybody understands, you’re not being an irrational crybaby for asking for space.

Doug is taken aback for a moment before composing himself again, “Are you trying to convince me or yourself, dork?” he asks, stepping into your personal bubble, towering over you.

“I’m trying to convince anybody,” you stand strong, going toe-to-toe with him, not wanting to back down, despite the crushing urge to, “Boundaries are healthy. So for once in my life, I’m going to set one with you and tell you to fuck off.”

Doug stammers, narrowing his beady eyes at you, “You can’t set boundaries with me. I’m your sense of dread, your anxieties, I live in your head,” he reminds, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“And in my head you can stay. Buh-bye, Doug. Dorkus, out,” you throw up a peace sign before yanking the dateviators off, a wave of relief washing over you when Doug disappears.

Despite having felt proud of yourself for having stood up to Doug, he was right. Anxiety nags at you when you lay down for bed. Are you being stupid with requesting space? It’s been almost a month since everything has happened; they’ve all apologized and you’re still avoiding them.

It doesn’t help that they’ve been so sweet and understanding and ridiculously perfect.

------------

“Do you think they’ve noticed?” Skylar asks, sitting on the foot of your bed, watching you sleep. You’re so cute when you sleep.

“They might’ve,” Betty shrugs, running a hand over your hair.

“‘Might’ve,’” Skylar repeats, chewing on the ends of her hair, “Should we start going bigger? I don’t want them to think that we’ve forgotten them or that we’re mad at them.”

“Skylar, I thought the point of all the little gestures was to make their day better, not to be noticed?” Dorian inquires, hovering near the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, but…” she trails off, puffing her cheeks up, “I just want them to know we still love them.”

“They know, sweetheart, I’ve got the date-a-dex to show for it,” Phoenicia assures her, massaging Skylar’s tense shoulders.

“Right, yeah… The date-a-dex. But--”

“No buts!” several of the dateables say at the same time, a fond exasperation towards the anxious pair of glasses.

Skylar pouts, biting the inside of her cheek, “Fineeee. No buts.”

“Good girl. Now, I do believe it’s bedtime for you,” Betty coos, coaxing her off the edge of your bed, along with sending the others away, so you can get a good night’s sleep.

------------

You’re up before the birds chirp and you can’t help the feeling of satisfaction that gratifies you when a bird lands on your window sill, “That’s right, you little bitch. I’m already awake,” you taunt the bird, sticking your tongue out at it like a child. “Your days of waking me up are over.”

You’re dressed and ready for the day before Timothy strikes nine; apparently guilt makes you incredibly productive. You bounce in front of the mirror, shaking out your hands. You look fine- good, even.

“Hi!” you beam when you approach Kopi, who already has your morning coffee ready for you, as always.

“Good morning, someone’s chipper,” she comments with her warm smile, lightly brushing her fingers against hers when she passes you the mug.

“Hm, I guess so! Just feeling good this morning,” you shrug, moaning when you taste the coffee, "Beautifully roasted, as always my dear,” you tell her, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Oh!” Kopi is surprised by the kiss, but certainly doesn’t want to complain, “That’s good. I’m glad.”

“Me too!” you give her arm a light squeeze, “I’ll see you later, enjoy the morning!”

You vaguely hear her murmur a ‘you too’ before you skip off, but you’re not entirely sure. You greet everyone you pass with an appropriate amount of affection: hugs and kisses all around. It’s nice being able to pepper everyone with love again.

------------

Your lovers are incredibly confused this morning. You’ve gone from dolling out affection sparingly back to being almost more affectionate than before movie-gate.

“Maybe this is their way of thanking us for the gestures,” Skylar suggests, sounding more like she’s asking, “Or maybe they're just in a good mood, it is a nice day.”

“You really think that’s it?” Celia runs a hand down her front, smoothing her already perfect dress.

“No,” Skylar whines, stomping her foot like a petulant child, “They’re acting weird again.”

“That they are,” Dorian interjects, standing in the doorway, a worried crinkle in his brow, “And might I suggest we talk to them this time, instead of dancing around it like a bunch of idiots?”

Celia huffs a light laugh, nodding in agreement, “I do believe that’d be for the best, Dorian.”

------------

You’re busy cleaning up the kitchen, wiping down the counters, rearranging the cabinets, anything to keep yourself occupied when a gaggle of your lovers enter the kitchen, all sporting concerned expressions.

“Can we distract you for a moment?” Celia requests, holding a hand out for you to take.

“Yeah, totally,” you set down the box of off-brand fruity pebbles, taking her hand, allowing her to guide you into the living room.

A few more people join you in the living room, not crowding you, just hovering in the background, “Are you okay?” Skylar blurts, unable to contain herself. Celia shoots her a glance, but doesn’t scold her for it.

“Yeah, I’m ok, why?” you ask, looking around the room. This feels more like an intervention than it does a casual conversation.

“Because…well…Don’t get me wrong, all of us love kissing you again, but you’re acting kind of… Happy-go-lucky,” she tells you, wringing her hands out nervously, trying to find the right words, “and no offense, but that’s never been you- Not that you’re super depressing or anything, you just have never been the type of person who wakes up super early and skips around the house.”

“You think I’m upset because I’m happy?” you laugh softly, shaking your head. You swear you can feel Doug staring at you, mocking you; you can almost hear him in your head ‘You’re not good enough, too happy, too sad, too much. Nothing is ever perfect.’

“Pretty much!” Skylar nods, a little too enthusiastically, “Also you’re kind of being really sweet. Which, again, is really nice, but you’ve been kind of sparing with your affections and now you’re suddenly being all sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice.”

You can’t help but wince as she points out the fact that you’ve been stingy with your love recently, chewing at a hangnail, “I just… I don’t know, I figured I’ve been avoiding all of you long enough,” you shrug, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

“You haven’t been ignoring us, though, love,” Dorian points out, staring at you scrutinizingly, “You asked for space and we were all happy to provide it.”

“I know, but… It’s been almost a month, I feel like I’ve been dragging it out,” you mumble, running a hand over your styled hair. “I’ve been cruel, haven’t I?”

“Livewire, a month is nothing compared to what we deserve. We’re lucky you’re willing to forgive us at all,” Volt tells you, coming out of the crowd of people, “And since when is setting boundaries cruel?”

You hesitate, mulling over his words. That’s pretty much what you said. Setting boundaries isn’t cruel, nor unforgivable, or something anyone should hate you for, “Ugh… Since I let Doug get into my head,” you finally admit, sinking into the couch cushion.

You want to run, to hide and pretend like there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you, but you refuse to let this go on. You cannot let more stupid thoughts cause even stupider miscommunications.

“I talked to him yesterday and he kept trying to convince me that all of you would hate me for wanting space for so long. I told him that there was nothing wrong with it and I told him to fuck off, but he got into my head and I couldn’t help but let it get to me,” you rant, deflating as you finally get it off your chest.

“And it’s so stupid, because why am I letting a white blob of a person get into my head?” you ask rhetorically, voice cracking as you tear up, “He’s so stupid, I want to strangle him.”

“It’s not stupid, honey. He is the manifestation of your every anxiety, so he knows exactly how to get to you,” Celia reminds, sitting down on the table, setting a hand on your knee.

“Just so you know, none of us hate you for setting boundaries, love,” Dorian tells you, others immediately chiming in to agree.

“We’re glad you did,” Volt adds, sitting down on the floor next to you, wrapping a hand around your ankle loosely. Eddie comes up next, picking lint off your pants, “Boundaries are healthy and we need them.”

“They’re right,” Skylar tells you, sitting down next to you, “Can I…hug you?”

“Mhm,” you squeak, not trusting your voice to work at the moment, too choked up to speak.

She wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a side hug. That starts a chain reaction and the others slowly start joining in. Dorian takes place at your other side, Celia and Florence each curl up with one of your legs, and you lose track of who’s who after that.

You cry more with each hug, overwhelmed in a good way. You’re surrounded by people you love. People who love you despite everything. Because of everything.

“You’re so right, by the way, Sky,” you finally speak, clearing your throat, “Being so cheery is exhausting. I need a nap already.”

That makes everyone laugh, some of them teary. You’re here, buried in a hug with all of them, cracking jokes. God, they love you so much.

“We better get you in bed then, shouldn’t we?” Tony suggests, wiggling his eyebrows in a playful manner.

“I was thinking… Movie night? Or, afternoon, I guess,” you admit nervously. It’s silly, but you miss the tradition.

“That sounds perfect,” Skylar agrees, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Everyone gets themselves situated, bodies packed together in the living room. It’s familiar and fills your heart with an indescribable warmth. Every person you love and have gone through hardships with, all in one room.

It’s perfect.

(And don’t worry, you watched The Lego Movie. No depressing confusions to be had, Telly made sure of that.)

358 notes · View notes

muqingslover · 4 months ago

Note

Hello, Dove!! If you're comfortable with me asking this, do you think any of the lads men are into filming themselves with MC during the act? I can picture them being open to sending/ receiving nudes, but then I started to think about the video taking too, and I honestly am not sure, lol. What do you think?

Love your writing!!

[ hi hi hi pookie! Yes, of course I can do that! thank you for the request!! I hope it's to your liking! ]

Alright so Zayne is not into the filming itself, but! He loooooves the risky photos!

I've mentioned before that if you send him a photo of yourself wearing lingerie this man is going craaazy. You got him gripping his chair and praying to the heavens above for help.

He is not confident at all in sending anything back though.

Zayne asks his partner to tell him how you would like to see him, if you even want pictures of him at all too, and is so awkward about them.

Personally? He would choose no pics of himself if he could for a very long time.

Then, one day, out of the blue, you would receive a treat of him fresh out of the shower in just a towel. Baby steps, yk.

Oh boy, this one.

Rather than filming Rafayel is the type that would prefer to be filmed.

Push him down on his back while you're riding him and put his desperate, hungry expression on blast.

He thrives on the feeling of your eyes only on him and the extra attention the camera brings him.

Part of him feels very dirty about it and even if he would never admit it out loud that's his favorite part.

He texts you inappropriate photos during inappropriate times on purpose just to watch you squirm from the other side of the room when you open your phone.

What can he say, film making is a form of art and Rafayel loves being your muse.

He is into it the MOST out of all the other LIs.

Caleb has a hobby of recording and taking pictures in general, though most of the time it's all centered on you.

He has endless albums of you. I mean, more than enough for him to make a full art gallery just of you.

Filming you is his guilty pleasure; Getting the right angles that shows your face clearly when your eyes roll back in pleasure, flushed and so, so incredibly beautiful.

On the other hand, he is just as obsessed with getting the two of you together on camera. Seeing himself being the one who makes you feel so damn good, the reason behind those sweet cries of yours, is something he can't resist.

He's dreamed about it for so long, let him have this.

Those recordings are so well protected and hidden that the world could end and they would not see the light of day.

On an extra note, Caleb is too possessive and protective to enjoy risky pictures to their fullest extent. What if someone sees your pretty self on his screen? Nuh huh, no sir. He is NOT sharing.

Sylus is....technologically challenged. In more ways than one.

This sweet, sweet man just can't record to save his life.

The focus is off, the camera keeps shaking and the worst part of it all in his opinion? He does not like to have his hand busy with anything that isn't you during sex.

Which meaaans: Tripod!

At first he doesn't truly see the fun of the film by itself even though he understands the concept of it. Still, he is big into BDSM (iykyk) so he can get behind the idea if you ask him.

With a few tries he'd actually develop a taste for it and come to enjoy it quite a lot.

Furthermore, Sylus would invest in additional settings to make the recordings more pleasant to the eye too such as ambiance, lighting, sound quality and ECT.

Now Xavier is the type that wouldn't do it himself, but he would to let you if you opened the camera during sex.

He'd be slowly thrusting into you while he had his arms wrapped around your waist from behind to spoon you.

When he notices the camera pointed at him he'd lean down to hide his face into your shoulder and mumble some gibberish you can't understand.

Xavier doesn't want his face in the shot so the recordings are either on a lower angle where's his face is covered or with only your face in it.

He does enjoy it though! The camera makes him even more motivated to get you to moan louder.

You will often catch him later on watching and rewatching the videos on his phone like it's the morning news. He has no shame whatsoever.

460 notes · View notes

thoughtfulfiction · 4 months ago

Text

People Watcher

Author’s Note: Poll winner, anon requested protective Joe!

Joe wasn’t one to hover. He never tried to control you or tell you what to do. That wasn’t his style. You were smart, independent and more than capable of navigating life’s challenges on your own. But that didn’t stop him from looking out for you in his own way, subtle, steady, always intentional.

Like on game days.

“You sure you’re good sitting in the suite?” Joe asked, tugging a hoodie over his head as he walked out of his office Wednesday evening after a long film session. His voice was casual, but there was a weight behind the question, one you knew well by now.

“You know I don’t mind,” you smiled, adjusting her earrings in the mirror. “Your mom’s fun. She gets loud when you’re winning and she’s always super proud of you. Both of your parents are.”

That earned you a quiet chuckle from Joe. “Yeah,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Just…you know. It’s easier that way.”

He didn’t have to say what that way meant. You knew he wanted you away from the chaos of the stands, where emotions could run high and things could turn ugly fast. It wasn’t that he thought you couldn’t handle yourself. Joe knew better than anyone that you could. But the idea of you being out there alone, surrounded by strangers who didn’t always know when to stop, didn’t sit right with him. In fact, it made his skin crawl a little bit.

“I know,” you said softly, stepping over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll even text you when I get there.”

Joe’s hand covered yours, holding it still for a moment. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Do that.”

He usually didn’t respond to pregame texts, locking himself away in the depths of his mind and replacing his usual nonchalant self with a stone cold killer, the mentality he had to maintain while on the field to perform at his best. And yet, it eased his mind getting that text from you when he checked his phone one last time beforehand. A reminder of what he was coming home to.

Joe never asked for much, he rarely actually said be careful or stay safe, but that simple request had always been his way of saying both.

It was like that all the time with him. Tiny acts of service that didn’t seem big until you put them all together. How he always asked you to text him when you got somewhere, even though he had your location. How he’d casually mention alternate routes home if traffic was bad or if he heard about an accident nearby. How he never asked you not to go out with your friends but would always remind you to call him if you needed anything, no matter what time it was.

He wasn’t the type to be openly affectionate in public. The man wasn’t one for big grand gestures, preferring to show his love in quieter ways. In the extra hoodie he always left in your car because he knew you got cold easily. In the way he’d ask if you had someone to walk with you to your car if you were staying at the office late.

It was thoughtful without being overbearing, protective without being possessive, just Joe, in that calm, steady way that made you feel safe without ever making you feel small.

“You know I’m okay, right?” you asked, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I know,” Joe said. His lips quirked slightly, just the faintest smile. “But humor me anyway.”

Funny thing is, the trip was supposed to be for the girls. Your best friend Rachel��s requests were concise and clear, a drunken weekend in miami that you’d either never remember OR you’d have memories that would last a lifetime. With those instructions you started figuring out an itinerary. You looked at places to stay, how long the trip would be and where exactly you’d be spending way too much money on green tea shots every night.

“We could do the Gale for a week?” You suggested one evening, your laptop open comparing prices and amenities for you, Rachel and a few other girls that had let you know they would be joining.

“I like that place,” she smiles, tossing a jalapeño chip in her mouth. “The beds are super nice and we could stay in those two bedroom suites.”

Joe pops into the conversation, grabbing his keys that were previously resting next to your computer. “Wait…you’re gonna be gone for days? I thought we all were gonna do something together, you know, to make sure Rachel doesn’t do anything illegal. Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you’re above the law,” he gives her a pointed look, “this isn’t The Purge.”

“I mean…you can come if you want,” you said, trying to sound casual as you leaned against the kitchen counter. “But I know Miami’s not really your thing.”

Joe, who was halfway through tying his sneakers, paused and gave you a look—one eyebrow raised just enough to tell you he wasn’t buying your nonchalant tone.

“You want me to come with you to Rachel’s birthday trip?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “We wanna go for a few days. Just some beach time, clubs, you know… typical Miami stuff.” She shrugged. “We’d just all be one big group and we can all hang out. It’d be fun.”

“I would’ve asked earlier if I knew you were interested. Figured you’d probably rather stay home.” You added in.

Joe nodded slowly, like he was considering it. Truthfully, a loud week in Miami didn’t exactly sound like his idea of a good time. Crowded clubs, overpriced drinks, endless social energy? Not really his scene. But before he could answer, his best friend Zacciah’s voice chimed in from the living room.

“Wait, we’re talking Miami?” Zacciah grinned as he leaned against the doorway. “That sounds like a good time to me.”

“I’m in,” Trae added from the couch, like this was already a done deal.

Joe shot them both a flat look. “I didn’t say I was going.”

“Yeah, but you are,” Zacciah smirked. “Come on, man. It’ll be fun. Beach, clubs, a big group of us—it’s not just her friends.”

“Yeah,” Trae added with a grin. “We’ll make it a whole thing.”

Joe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if I’m going, we’re doing it right.”

The next thing you knew, Joe had chartered a private flight and rented a sprawling beach house with enough bedrooms for everyone to have their own space.

“You know this was originally supposed to be a casually chaotic weekend with the girls, right? Now you’ve turned it into an episode of Selling Sunset.” You teased when he showed her the house listing.

He paused, furrowing his brows. “Isn’t that set in California?”

“Right, so you do pay attention when I watch?” You ask suspicious of him since he always said the show was stupid and that you were losing brain cells every episode.

“Anyway, you’ll still get your chaotic girl time,” Joe said with a shrug, moving on from the previous topic of discussion. That alone answered your question. “I just didn’t want you stuck in some overpriced shoebox with no A/C.”

You smiled, shaking your head. He wasn’t loud about it, no grand speeches about taking care of you, but this was Joe in his element. Quietly looking out for you in the most thoughtful ways.

And honestly? You weren’t mad about the upgrade.

As the group filtered into the spacious Miami beach house, everyone was buzzing with excitement. The huge windows opened up to an expansive view of the ocean, and the pool out back practically screamed “boujee vacation.” Rachel played soft music, curating her perfect birthday week playlist in the background as everyone started to claim rooms, tossing bags on beds and getting settled in.

Joe, ever the planner, wasn’t about to let anything slip through the cracks. He’d seen this kind of trip before—a group of people letting loose, and inevitably, a few hangovers in the morning. He wasn’t about to be unprepared.

He was already on his phone, tapping away.

“Alright,” Joe called out to the group, his voice cutting through the chatter. “We’re doing a grocery run online. Everyone needs to add in whatever they want. Let me know if there’s anything specific you need.”

He wasn’t asking for suggestions, he was in charge of this, and everyone knew it. They scattered, pulling out their phones to check in. But Joe had already begun filling in his list.

“Got your Gatorade, your ibuprofen…” he muttered to himself, typing rapidly. “Liquid IVs. Don’t forget the snacks. Chips, candy, all that crap you’re going to want after a night out.”

He shot a glance over at you, raising an eyebrow as you rummaged through your suitcase. “I’m putting all of your favorites on the list. I know you’ll need ‘em. We just won’t mention the Gatorade purchase to my Body Armour people.”

You rolled her eyes with a playful smile. “You know me too well.”

Joe didn’t respond. He just kept typing, making sure he’d covered everything he was sent. He added a few extra things, more water, some fruit for the mornings, and whatever random drink Zacciah had requested. The usual crew was already bouncing ideas off each other, but Joe remained methodical.

“Alright,” he said after a moment, placing his phone on the counter. “List is done. Should be here in a couple hours.”

It was a small thing, but it wasn’t surprising. Joe took care of the details in ways people didn’t always notice. The Gatorade, the medicine, and the snacks weren’t just for the group; they were specifically for you. He knew what you liked, what you’d need after a long night of dancing and drinking. It wasn’t a huge deal, just another way he quietly looked out for you.

“Thanks,” you said, walking up to him. You brushed your hand against his arm. “You always think of everything.”

Joe just nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Someone has to,” he said, his tone steady and matter-of-fact. “Besides, I’d rather be prepared than have to force Trae to run out and grab things in the middle of the night.”

“Fair point,” you replied, smiling up at him.

For Joe, it wasn’t about making a show of things. It was just how he was, always looking out, always a step ahead. The house was amazing, the trip was going to be fun, but as always, his focus was on making sure everything ran smoothly. Even down to the little things.

The club’s bass thrummed low and steady the next night, vibrating through the floor as Joe slid into a booth near the back. It was his kind of spot—dim lighting, tucked away from the chaos of the dance floor but still with a clear view of everything. The sunglasses he wore inside weren’t just for show; they made it easier to watch without being watched.

His arm draped loosely over the back of the seat, and when the server stopped by, Joe kept it simple.

“Gin and tonic,” he said, then glanced at you. “And whatever she’s having.”

“I’m doing shots with the girls,” you grinned, your hand resting on his thigh for a second. “Don’t wait up.”

Joe’s lips curved into a small smile. “I’ll be right here.”

He watched as you weaved through the crowd toward the bar, easily finding your friends. The way you laughed, tossing your hair back as you all clinked your shot glasses together, made something warm settle in his chest. You were in your element—carefree, glowing and just having a good time.

You caught his eye from across the room, your smile lingering when you found him watching. Joe nodded with a side smirk as a silent ‘I see you’. Your grin widened before you turned back to your friends, vanishing into the crowd.

Joe leaned back, taking a slow sip of his drink. He trusted you with every fiber of his being and wasn’t worried in the slightest about your safety in public settings because he knew that you’d take care of yourself. That confidence that you could handle things on your own and your own self assurance was one of the things he loved most about you. But still, whenever you were out, Joe couldn’t help but keep an eye on things because he knew what could happen when guys didn’t take no for an answer.

His gaze followed you out to the dance floor, where you moved effortlessly with your friends. The lights flickered across your face, and Joe couldn’t help but smirk to himself. You looked good —too good—and judging by the attention you were getting, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

But what Joe cared about most was the way you kept sneaking glances back at him—not for reassurance or for permission, but just to check in. A quiet confirmation that he was still there, still watching out for you in that calm, steady way you appreciated.

He takes his glasses off while looking at you, just enough for you to notice and he puts them back on. You smiled softly, your expression saying ‘I know you’ve got me’.

And of course he did. He always did.

Joe’s fingers tap idly against the side of his glass, his eyes still hidden behind his sunglasses. Outwardly, he’s the picture of calm —shoulders relaxed, one arm slung lazily over the back of his chair. But beneath that stillness, his patience is wearing thin.

The guy’s been circling for a while now—too long. Joe’s watched him linger near your group, pretending to bump into you once, then again. Each time, your smile tightens a little more, your body language shifting from relaxed to guarded. You’re handling it. Joe can see that. But the guy’s persistence is starting to cross a line.

Joe exhales slowly, setting his drink down with deliberate care. He leans over to Zacciah, voice low and steady.

“Hold this for me,” Joe says, sliding his glass toward him.

Zacciah barely reacts, just takes the drink with a small nod—like this isn’t the first time he’s seen Joe move like this. Calm. Collected. Controlled.

Joe rises from his seat, adjusting his sunglasses with one hand before weaving through the crowd. He doesn’t move quickly— no chest-puffing or bravado—just slow, purposeful strides. He’s not here to start a scene; he’s here to end one.

Your friends were still on the dance floor, their laughter and cheers echoing across the room.

“You look like you could use another one,” a voice said beside her.

You turned your head and found a guy standing there—possibly late twenties or early thirties, well-dressed, with a confident smile that leaned a little too far into cocky.

“I’m Xavier,” he said, offering his hand. “I’ve seen you around tonight. Just had to say…” His eyes dragged down and back up again. “You look amazing.”

You gave a polite smile, shaking his hand briefly before tucking yours back around your clutch. “Thanks,” you said. “That’s really nice of you.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, leaning closer like he already knew what your answer would be.

“Oh,” you said with an awkward laugh. “That’s sweet, but I’m actually here with my boyfriend, so I’m gonna pass.”

Xavier’s smile barely faltered. “Boyfriend?” He glanced over his shoulder toward the crowd. “Haven’t seen you with any guys tonight, just your friends.”

“He’s here,” you said, your voice still friendly but firmer this time. “I promise.”

Xavier chuckled under his breath like you’d made a joke. “C’mon,” he said with a grin, motioning toward the bartender. “One drink won’t hurt.”

“I’m good,” you repeated, shifting slightly to put a little more space between the two of you. “But thanks.”

The bartender set your drink down on the counter, and you grabbed it quickly, hoping the conversation was over. But Xavier stayed put, his smile lingering like he wasn’t quite ready to give up yet.

“Look, I’m just saying,” he added with a lazy shrug, “if he’s letting you stand here alone, maybe he’s not paying enough attention.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass, frustration flaring in your chest. “Trust me,” you said, meeting his eyes directly, your patience thinning. “He’s paying plenty of attention.”

A shadow shifted behind Xavier, solid and unmistakable and suddenly the air felt heavier.

Joe was there now, standing just behind him. Close enough that Xavier could probably feel the shift in space before he even turned around.

Xavier paused, some instinct telling him something was off. Then he turned and stopped cold.

Joe didn’t say a word at first. He just stood there—calm, unmoving, looking profoundly unimpressed. His sunglasses were still on, but the message was crystal clear: You know exactly what you’re doing, and you need to stop.

“Whoa…” Xavier blurted, half-laughing. “No way, you’re Joe Burrow!” He grinned like he’d just bumped into his favorite celebrity at a steakhouse, completely oblivious to the tension radiating off Joe. “Man, I’m a huge fan! Bro, this is crazy! I can’t believe you’re here!”

Joe didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Just turned to the bartender and said, “Two waters.” His voice was calm—too calm—and he stayed exactly where he was, comfortably crowding Xavier’s space.

“So… what were we talking about?” Xavier asked, turning back to you with a grin like he’d just won some imaginary game of charm.

You stifled a laugh. “Um—oh you were saying something about how my boyfriend isn’t paying enough attention?”

Xavier snapped his fingers, clearly feeling bold again. “Yeah! I don’t know where ol�� dude is or if he’s even real, but he’s messing up right now. Are you sure you don’t want a drink? Or, you know… someone better to spend your time with?”

Joe’s eyebrows lifted behind his sunglasses, and his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one. “Someone better, huh?” His voice was mild, almost amused. “Yeah…wonder where she could find that.”

It took a second for Xavier to connect the dots. His face dropped like a cartoon character realizing they’re halfway off a cliff.

“Oh…shit,” he muttered, suddenly a lot less confident. “Listen, man, I didn’t know she was with you. No hard feelings, right?”

Joe leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Doesn’t matter who she’s with,” he said quietly, the steady calm in his tone somehow more unsettling than if he’d been angry. “If a woman says no, you leave her alone. Whether her boyfriend’s a pro athlete or not.”

Xavier’s smile flickered and died. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right,” he stammered, already backing away. “Didn’t mean anything by it. My bad, man.”

Joe watched him disappear into the crowd like he was making sure he wouldn’t change his mind. Only once Xavier was out of sight did he turn back to you, sunglasses sliding down just enough for you to see his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

“Yeah,” you sighed, tension draining from your shoulders. “He was just…persistent.”

Joe exhaled through his nose, muttering, “Persistent gets people embarrassed.”

You laughed quietly, leaning into his side. “You know, you’re kinda scary when you’re calm.”

Joe shrugged, completely unaffected. “It’s efficient.”

You smiled, slipping your arm around his waist. “And hot. Thanks for stepping in.”

“Always,” Joe said simply. Then he grabbed the two waters from the bar, handing one to you. “Now drink this,” he added, “I know you’re not ready to head out yet so I need you to hydrate.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” You respond, taking a sip and leaning into him.

The night out had been a blast—the club buzzing with energy, the lights flashing in time with the music. But as the group made their way back to the house, you felt the familiar weight of exhaustion and the ache in your head from the drinks. You weren’t too far gone, but you were definitely feeling the effects of a good time.

Joe had kept a watchful eye the entire night, noticing the subtle shift in your mood as the evening wound down. When you all got back to the house, it was clear you were ready to crash. Your energy was starting to dip, and he was already prepared.

“Hey, let’s get you upstairs,” Joe said gently, his hand finding your back as they walked toward the stairs. You slipped your arm around his waist, leaning into him just a bit more than usual.

“You’re carrying my shoes? How sweet.” You said, a sleepy grin tugging at your lips.

Joe smirked, his expression cool but with a hint of affection. “Wouldn’t want you to break your ankle on the stairs.”

“I think I can manage,” you teased, though you didn’t fight him when he practically carried you up the last few steps.

Once you reached the top, Joe pushed the door open to your shared room, making sure you were settled before heading to the bathroom.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Joe said, heading downstairs.

You nodded, mentally preparing yourself for the journey of getting ready for bed. He returned shortly with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers, handing them to you with a quiet, “take these.”

You took the pills, downing the water quickly, before letting out a small sigh of relief. “Thanks,” you murmured, eyes closing for a second. “I’m gonna need this for tomorrow…”

“You’re gonna need more than that,” Joe said, grabbing the Gatorade from the nightstand. “Drink some of this too.”

You shot him a half-smile, letting him help you sit up a little more as you sipped the Gatorade. “Thank you for always taking care of me. Not just tonight but…every night.”

“It’s my second job. And it arguably pays better” Joe said, his tone still calm, his voice laced with affection. It was just who he was, always looking out for you.

After you finished the drink, he handed you a soft towel. “Come on, let’s get that makeup off.”

You scooted over, pulling herself into a seated position on the edge of the bed. Joe stood beside you, a steady presence as he gently started wiping off your mascara. His movements were slow and careful, making sure he wasn’t too rough, his focus entirely on you.

“Okay, now you’re all set,” he said softly, tossing the wipes in the trash before turning toward the closet. “Pajamas. You good with just something comfy?”

“No,” you said, grinning. “I’m on vacation, I need something cute. You’re picking.”

Joe raised an eyebrow at you, a little surprised, but he didn’t argue. He walked to the closet, searching for something cute, but simple enough that you’d be comfortable. He picked out a soft set of matching shorts and a loose, flowy top.

“Here,” he said, holding them up. “This good?”

You made a small sound of approval. “Perfect.”

Joe turned to let you change, standing by the door to give you space but still staying close, like he always did. When you were done, you crawled into bed, and he helped pull the covers up over you.

He stood next to the bed for a moment, just looking at you. There was something about you —about how you trusted him, how you let him take care of you. His heart softened, but he didn’t show it.

“You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had, you know that?” You said, your voice a little sleepy but filled with sincerity. “You’re gonna be a really good husband one day.”

Joe felt a lump form in his throat. He didn’t know what to say at first, because in that moment, it hit him harder than ever: he could see it. The future. With you. The ring that sat waiting for him in his desk drawer in Cincinnati wasn’t just a thing he’d bought on a whim. He’d been thinking about it for a while now, and your words just made it that much more real.

“Get some sleep,” he said, his voice steady, betraying none of the emotion rolling around in his chest. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You smiled up at him sleepily. “You always are.”

Joe leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, thinking about how you’d touched parts of his heart and soul he didn’t even know existed. He didn’t need to say anything more. His actions spoke louder than anything he could put into words.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

“Goodnight,” you murmured back, your eyes fluttering closed.

And as he stood there for a moment longer, watching you settle into the blankets, Joe’s thoughts drifted to the future. He didn’t know how he could possibly put how you make him feel into a few meaningful sentences. He didn’t know exactly what day he’d ask you, but he knew he would. And when the time came, he’d be ready.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x you #joe burrow fanfic #nfl imagine

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umlewis · 8 months ago

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"One man, many journeys: @.lewishamilton has a talent for breaking down barriers. Stay tuned to see the world champion’s fascination with space inspire a challenge with @.iwcwatches." - november 25, 2024 📷 @.iwcwatches / instagram

#lewis hamilton #f1 #formula 1 #fic ref #fic ref 2024 #not a race #2024 not a race #between las vegas and qatar 2024 #(note to self: no idea when actually shot)

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umgeorge · 8 months ago

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finish the iconic f1 team radio… with lewis, george, fred, and kimi - november 20, 2024

#george russell #lewis hamilton #f1 #formula 1 #fic ref #fic ref 2024 #not a race #2024 not a race #between brazil and las vegas 2024 #with lewis #with seb #fred vesti #kimi antonelli #kimi raikkonen #(note to self: no idea when actually shot)

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umseb · 26 days ago

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"Respect the Amazon – The Kayapó After we arrived in Piaraçu, we were given a tour of the village and got to know the leaders Bedjai and Chief Megaron Txucarramãe. We gained an initial glimpse into their lives and struggles with the illegal gold mining. Our journey continued on the Xingu River to meet another famous leader." - july 2, 2025 📷 @.sebastianvettel / instagram

#sebastian vettel #f1 #formula 1 #fic ref #fic ref 2025 #not a race #2025 not a race #between austria and britain 2025 #(note to self: no idea when actually shot)

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ummick · 1 year ago

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via mick's ig story - april 4, 2024

#mick schumacher #f1 #formula 1 #fic ref #fic ref 2024 #not a race #2024 not a race #between australia and japan 2024 #(note to self: no idea when actually shot)

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supernovalcholism · 8 months ago

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Academic rivals Viktor and reader who do not like each other at all but have a strong sexual tension that neither of them wants to admit. Plzzz🙏😭

Absolutely babei love this idea sm heres a small portion cus I'm drunk and if yall hype it up I'll make a part 2

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Unspoken Rivalry

ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ x ɢɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄᴡ: ɴᴜɴ ᴇxᴛʀᴇᴍᴇ, ʜᴏꜱᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ????. ɪᴅᴋ

The library buzzed with the low hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of paper. Viktor sat at his usual table, hunched over a stack of notes and textbooks. He was the definition of composed—sharp cheekbones, immaculate posture, and an air of self-assured arrogance that grated on your nerves.

And, unfortunately, he was the only other person in your advanced theory seminar who matched your academic prowess.

You strode into the library, your eyes narrowing the moment you spotted him. He glanced up briefly, his icy blue eyes meeting yours with a flicker of annoyance before he returned to his work.

"Didn’t know the library allowed distractions," he said smoothly, his voice laced with faux politeness.

"Funny. I was just about to say the same thing," you shot back, taking the seat directly across from him with more force than necessary.

This was your dynamic—constant barbs, veiled insults, and an unspoken competition for every academic accolade. You couldn’t stand him, with his perfect grades and that maddening smirk he wore whenever he outperformed you.

But what was worse? The way your stomach flipped every time he leaned closer to point out a flaw in your argument or the electric heat that sparked whenever his hand accidentally brushed yours during group discussions.

The tension crackled between you now, thick and undeniable. You opened your laptop, pointedly ignoring him. Except you couldn’t. Not when the subtle scent of his cologne drifted across the table or when he leaned back in his chair, stretching slightly, exposing just a sliver of toned skin beneath his sweater.

"You know," Viktor said after a moment, his voice quieter, "if you spent less time glaring at me, you might actually win the next debate."

"Bold words coming from someone who barely edged me out last time," you snapped.

His smirk widened. "Barely? I seem to recall the professor using the word resounding."

You clenched your jaw, hating how much you wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face—and hating even more how your mind wandered to other ways to shut him up.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t comfortable. It was charged. Your eyes met his again, and for a brief second, something flickered in his gaze—something raw, intense, and far too dangerous to acknowledge.1all

You broke the eye contact first, heat rising to your cheeks. Viktor didn’t look away, though.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "You’re starting to look at me like you don’t hate me."

"Don’t flatter yourself," you snapped, hastily gathering your things.

You stormed out of the library, your heart pounding. Behind you, Viktor chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t go back to the library for the rest of the week. Not because you were avoiding him—of course not—but because the thought of seeing Viktor again made your chest feel too tight, your thoughts spiraling into places they shouldn’t.

Unfortunately, fate wasn’t on your side.

The next seminar session started with the professor announcing a new assignment. “A research paper, due in two weeks. To make things more interesting, I’ll be assigning partners.”

You stiffened in your seat.

“Viktor and—”

No. Please, no.

"–you—"

Your stomach plummeted. Across the room, Viktor glanced over at you, an infuriating smirk playing on his lips. He gave a little wave, clearly reveling in your discomfort.

After class, you cornered him in the hallway.

“We need to set boundaries,” you said sharply.

“Boundaries?” Viktor tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Is that what we’re calling the tension between us now?”

You bristled. “There is no tension.”

“Hmm. If you say so.” He leaned against the wall, entirely too close. “But I hope you don’t mind working late. I find I’m most productive at night.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but no words came. His gaze was locked on yours, his expression a mix of challenge and something else—something darker, something that made heat rise to your face.

“Fine,” you snapped, stepping back before you could betray yourself further. “Tonight. My place. Seven."

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Hype it up soon and I'll drop a pt2 for yall XPP

- enya

edit [12/12/24] heres the 2nd part!!

#arcane #viktor smut #arcane imagine #arcane viktor #arcane smut #imagine #arcane x reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #viktor my beloved #writing

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dollracha · 6 months ago

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𐙚 just friends ⋆ l.f x reader

pairing: fwb! lee felix x gender neutral! reader genre: angst, smau, smut warnings: friends with benefits ⋆ no happy ending ⋆ swearing ⋆ special guests: bang chan & lee know ⋆ chan is called chris ⋆ vaguely written sex ⋆ riding (mentioned) ⋆ oral sex (male & gn recieving) ⋆ moody / mean felix ⋆ felix has an ex ⋆ felix is an asshole ⋆ short scenes ⋆ self gaslighting wc: 2.3k synopsis: becoming friends with benefits with felix wasn't a bad idea. that's what you convinced yourself when it started. nothing would change. (that was a lie.) request: hii is your request slot still open? if its not feel free to ignore my request. Soo Im thinking about fwb angst yk? Like maybe Seungmin or Felix. I would rly rly appreciate it if u did the request, have a nice day!! author's note: i wouldn’t call this full on smut but i did write some less descriptive sex scenes. the focus is more on the angst. also felix is mean. i said that once but i'm gonna say it again. (ps. there's no redemption arc pt. 2 because i actually enjoy the suffering of this.)

you always thought that most friends with benefits situations would be secret; that you’d sneak around behind your friend’s backs, careless yet careful to make sure they never found out. lee felix proved you wrong.

you’re out at the bar with your friends, he’s got his arm around you. after a few drinks, he’s suggesting you come home with him. or you’re at home on a saturday morning and he asks you to come grocery shopping with him, just for the company. whenever you’re out with your friends, it’s more likely than not that felix is at your side.

all of your friends know about your situation with felix. you used to be embarrassed, but that washed away quickly. you don’t feel anything about it, or at least you try not to.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

“are you two together or something?” chris asks, his face twisted with confusion. it’s a reasonable question. felix has you pulled into his lap. he’s been fiddling with the pendant on your necklace for a few minutes. the two of you have been receiving looks from your friends, entirely noticed by you while felix remains unaware.

“no?” he drops your pendant, and looks at chris like he’s an idiot for insinuating it. “nobody has a problem when lee know hyung grabs your ass. but suddenly because i’m holding y/n everyone’s got a problem?”

“what?” minho doesn’t move as he glares at felix. ‘the audacity of this kid…’

“no one’s got a problem.” chris intervenes between them before it has the chance to escalate. “it was just a question, mate.”

felix practically shoves you off his lap to stand. you stumble as you try not to fall. “they’re obviously not my fucking partner.” he spits, and heads straight for the door. it stings. you know your dynamic, it’s nothing romantic. you’re just best friends who can’t keep their hands off each other. that doesn’t stop the hurt.

you look between your friends, and felix, and back again. “i’m gonna go make sure he’s okay.” chris shakes his head, but doesn’t say a word nor stop you.

you catch up to felix just before before the elevator door shuts. “felix,” he doesn’t spare you a glance. “wha—” he interrupts you. “—it’s bullshit. they’re all cozy with each other. no problem. that’s fine. but when it comes to me there’s a bunch of questions and shit?” he turns to you finally, posing the question and finally remembering to hit the button for the first floor.

“it was one question, felix.” you try to calm him down, it probably won’t work. he’s been very sensitive to the topic of relationships as of recent. “i don’t think chris is necessarily wrong for asking, and–”

“so you think he has the right to be in my business?”

“no. that’s not what i said.”

“then what is it?”

“you were a little rough. chris wasn’t rude. you took an unwarranted shot at minho. they’re our friends.”

“you’re my friend too and you don’t pull that shit.” anyone else would think he was brushing off your point, but you know he’s getting it. he’s reaching out to pull you close, and then the elevator door opens. he walks out first, and spares a glance behind him.

“come home with me?” he asks, and you nod.

“let’s go.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

he’s not always moody, but the 'what are we?' talk always manages to put him in a mood. most of the time, you two are just friends, who fuck each other on the side. nothing more.

that’s how it started. felix was a few weeks free from a bad breakup. he was pent up, needed to relieve the stress, anger and sadness bottled up inside of him. and there you were, sitting on his couch like a godsend. it started slow. he pulls you into his arms like he has many times before. friends, cuddling together. until it’s not. his hand rests on your knee, it slowly makes its way up your thighs. you only realize how hot his touch makes you feel when his fingers sneak under the hem of your shorts.

“can i?” he asks, his lips brushing against your ear.

a part of you (that, maybe, you should have listened to) tells you to say no. but you don’t. you nod your head, and for good measure, you say “yes.”

felix decides to try his luck further, his other hand grips your chin, and forces you to look at him. there’s a hunger in his eyes, like he’s ready to devour you whole given the chance. “can i kiss you?” he practically is, his lips brush against yours as he speaks.

you knew it wouldn’t mean anything. you always took felix as a romantic. the fact that he was so willing to touch you with no ado made everything clear: this was a one time hookup. were you using him, in his emotionally fragile, pent up state? was he using you? you weren’t sure.

“yes,” it’s another stupid decision, but it doesn’t feel quite wrong when his lips are against yours. when he kisses you with such need, such urgency. you lose all thoughts of moral, of rationale. all that matters is felix.

a few minutes of eager kissing is all he can stand. he slips his shirt off, and pushes up the hem of yours then hesitates. “can i?” again, you should have said no. you don’t.

“please,”

it’s a blur after that. he takes your shirt off. then it’s your shorts, your underwear. he makes you cum on his mouth. he’s reveling in the way you grip his hair, the way you moan his name like it’s the only one that you know. it makes him feel wanted, needed. like for once, in the past few months, he’s doing something right.

he’s got you itching to return the favor, to feel the weight of him on your tongue, taste him and feel as he hits the back of your throat. felix gets impatient. he grips your hair and fucks into your mouth. his cock hits the back of your throat and you tear up. he’s quick to soothe your tears, “i caused them, ‘s only right.” he says.

as he cums, he holds you in place. he looks up at the ceiling, groaning as you take his load. it’s not your name he moans. it’s his ex’s. it gets caught in his throat like a strangled sob–refusing to come out, yet refusing to stay inside. you both pretend it didn’t happen.

for now, it’s all he wants. you continue with your movie night as if nothing happened.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

it’s almost a routine now. you hook up at least twice a week. he’s always the one to invite you over. sometimes it’s a relief. you’re stressed about something going on in your life and he’s a perfect distraction. other times, he’s the one making your life harder. he’s begging you to come over late, and your problem? you can’t say no. you have the freedom to. you know he’d pout for a second, before telling you to sleep well and you’ll hang out later.

and when you do come over, which it’s unlikely that you won’t succumb to his request, he’s on you immediately. he doesn’t waste time stripping you, taking you to the bed when he’s patient, and the couch when he can’t wait another moment to have you.

one thing that felix doesn’t do, is mark you. he’ll kiss you with vigor. he’ll suck at your skin, bite at your chest, but it’s all done with just enough gentleness that your skin remains unmarked. you know, you check in the mirror like you’ll wake up one morning and discover his love lasts on your skin. it’s the disconnect between love and lust. if he loved you, maybe he’d claim you as such. he’d mark your skin with red and purple hickeys. he doesn’t love you. you know that.

you don’t love him as anything more than a friend. you should stop dreaming about things reserved for lovers when you’re just friends.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

sometimes, there’s a domestic bliss that settles between the two of you. It really has you thinking that you could be his. you’ll be in his kitchen, his hands are wrapped around your waist as you cook a quick, late dinner. his head rests on your shoulder and he sways you to the music you put on.

or you’re cuddling in his bed. he’s the big spoon and you’re the little spoon. he has a pillow propped over his arm, his other hand draped over your waist. you’re talking about everything and nothing, all at once. the weather. his childhood. your first pet. the weirdness of sourdough starter.

you know that the only love between the two of you is the kind friends share.

screw the kisses that are so sweet they make you think he’s in love with you. screw the way he moans your name now as he cums. the way he looks up at you as you ride him, something so hungry, so insatiable in his big doe eyes. screw way he holds you as you come down from your high, his hands stable and firm on your shaking hips. it keeps you from floating off into a realm, a universe where lee felix could actually love you like the romantic you’ve seen him be for everyone else he’s had in his bed. there’s no way any of it could be love. at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. if he hadn’t made it abundantly clear to everyone you know that you’re ‘just friends’, you might have mistaken the lust in his eyes for love. every lie becomes true once you repeat it enough. every hope, every desire gets crushed once met with the cruel fist of reality one too many times.

do you punish yourself with the facade that he loves you, or the facade that he doesn’t? either way, you can’t resist him. you can’t say no. he needs you. or is it you that needs him? who gets hurt when nothing was ever supposed to be at stake? if you’re an addict, lee felix is your drug, and you’ve not yet seen the consequences of taking too much.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

six months fly by quickly. six months of being friends with benefits with felix. to the date. it’s a normal day, though you don’t see him. you don’t talk to him. you haven’t talked to him since yesterday afternoon.

the only warning when glass breaks, is the fall. felix’s absence is the fall. the ‘ping!’ of a text message is the impact on the ground, the shatter into a million pieces.

you should have known better than to think it was going to last. really, what did you expect? felix to confess his love to you, rose petals on the bed and candlelight? every good thing comes to an end. whatever you had with felix was never an exception.

it’s not like you loved him, though. like you had that kind of fantasy. it just felt like a breach of your friendship for him to run back to his ex, and not say a word.

you can’t help the anger that takes over. felix was seeing his ex again? after seven months of being apart. he’s running back into those arms. it disgusts you, so much so that you feel your stomach churn. it makes you want to throw up.

you're crying and you don't even know why. there was nothing going on between you two. everything in the past few months meant nothing. right?

wrong. it was something. you couldn't quite explain it, but it was worth far more than going back to a shitty ex.

usually, when felix causes your tears, he's there to wipe them away. they're because of everything he's doing right. this time, it's all wrong; he's not here to dry them up either.

you know chris wouldn’t lie to you. you also know felix wouldn’t keep that from you.

or would he?

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