#Before anyone asks: Yes I like them together-together

[klark-kunt]

🍄 a very important guest 🍄 - clark kent

warnings: none! pairing: clark kent/superman x female!reader synopsis: y/n’s son, milo, has always been a huge fan of superman. clark, well, he was ‘alright’ according to the little boy authors note: planning to make this a series, so if you’d like to see more of milo, the tag in my blog will be #milo’s adventures!

“Morning Mr Olsen!” Milo declared as Y/N walked into the office, holding the little boy in his arms.

Juggling being a single mother and a full-time reporter was very difficult, but the least she’d been allowed was to let her son stay in the office, as long as he was quiet and didn’t disturb anyone.

It was going surprisingly well.

She’d sat her son down before the first day, listing him rules on what he could and couldn’t do, and who he could and couldn’t speak to.

Now, everyone in the office loved him.

And he loved everyone too. Well, everyone except Clark.

Neither of them could figure out why Milo wasn’t warming up to him, but he just didn’t seem to like him very much.

“Morning buddy,” Jimmy smiled, giving the small boy a little wave.

“Hey Milo,” Clark smiled, walking up to Y/N and her son, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek.

They weren’t really dating, as such. Yes, they’d gone out for dinner multiple times, they’d kissed (and maybe more), but they weren’t together like that.

Milo turned his head, glaring up at Clark and putting a small hand on his chest, pushing him away from his mother slightly.

“Go away,” he huffed, his little fists balled as he scrunched his nose.

“Sorry buddy,” the reporter winced, “just wanted to say hi to your momma,”

“Well, I don’t want you to,” Milo turned away from Clark, turning his nose up at him as Y/N clicked her tongue.

“Milo, don’t be rude,” she said, stifling a laugh as she set the boy down at her desk, letting him grab some paper and pulling out his crayons.

“Sorry about him,” Y/N apologised, leaning towards Clark as he shrugged, shaking his head.

“Just don’t understand why he doesn’t like me,”

“He’ll warm up to you, Clark. He will,” Y/N smiled, laying her hand on his chest softly.

“It’s been months, Y/N. I’m starting to actually worry he might not want me in your guys’ life,”

She swore her heart melted. The genuine concern on his face, the worry he had in him over it.

“He’s warmed up to Jimmy before me, of all people,” Clark groaned.

“Oi, I heard that!”

“Shut up Jimmy,” Y/N looked over Clark’s shoulder, before she turned back to him. “He will like you, Clarkie. I promise,”

She turned her gaze back to her son as he scribbled across a piece of paper.

Out of all his crayons, the green and orange and purple and pinks weren’t touched.

The black was a little used. But the blue, yellow and red were near stubs, she had to keep buying new sets just for him to use up those same three colours again and again.

“Whatchu drawing buddy?” Y/N smiled, letting go of Clark to peek over the little boy’s shoulder.

She didn’t even know why she asked.

“Superman!” Milo held up the paper for her to see, a very messy figure, but doubt who he said it was.

“Ah, of course,” she laughed as he showed her.

“It’s very good,” Clark offered, to which Milo scowled, hiding the paper away from him.

“Sorry,” Y/N mouthed to him as Milo busied about laying it out on her desk, like he did for all the others she had.

Clark sighed, walking to his own desk. How would he make the boy like him?

And then it hit.

Clark rushed after Y/N as he watched her grab her bag, placing the crayons and pencils into it.

“Y/N, hey baby,” he slung his arm over her shoulder, walking alongside her as she raised a brow.

“You’ve never called me ‘baby’ before,” she commented.

“New thing,” he laughed. His voice was unnaturally high, and croaked a little.

“Pause. What’s going on?” she frowned.

“I just…had an idea,” he said, running a hand through his hair and pushing his glasses up as he did out of habit when he was nervous, “and before you shut it down, it’s a good one,”

“Go on…” she said tentatively.

“Milo loves Superman, yeah? So what if I…you know…”

Y/N paused. Then she laughed.

She was all for trying to get her son to like her totally-not-boyfriend, but this? “You want to tell a 5 year old boy you’re Superman?! Clark, that’s absurd!” she giggled.

He groaned. In all honesty, she was right. It sounded better in his head, though.

“Fine, I won’t! What if I just…pay him a visit and we’ll see what he says, okay? Like, I’ll tell him I know Clark,”

“At your own risk,” Y/N smiled, leaning forwards to peck his lips (which was hard enough, her feet straining at being on her tip toes).

“Ew! Mom, let’s go!” Milo yanked in her hand, dragging her down the stairs as Clark watched helplessly.

He prayed the plan would work.

The smell of lasagna filled the little apartment as Milo sat at the dinner table, his mouth slightly open as he watched a video on his iPad.

“Baby, close your mouth,” Y/N reached over, gently closing her son’s mouth as he watched the superhero dart across his screen.

She didn’t even need to check what he was watching.

It was a Superman video, something he always watched as he ate dinner, this time, his favourite - his mother’s lasagna.

“Mama, why’s there another plate?” the ever-observant boy looked to the third plate of steaming food, placing at the head of the little dinner table.

“For a little guest,” she smiled, leaving everything to imagination.

Her phone dinged as she turner round, picking it off the counter.

Super Nerd ❤️: be there in 10

The girl smiled, opening her phone so she could reply to it, and keeping her back to Milo.

Y/N: minutes? Super Nerd ❤️: seconds

Cue ten second. Ding Dong! Y/N smiled, shaking her head as she set her phone down.

“Baby, why don’t you go open the door for me, while mama cleans up the dishes, hm?”

“Okay!” the unsuspecting boy jumped down from his stool, chewing the last of his lasagna before running to the door.

Y/N smiled as she turned to the sink, turning the hot water on, listening out. And then-

The loudest, longest, most piercing scream.

“Mama, mama!” Milo screamed, running back into the kitchen, nearly tripping over his own little feet, “Mama, it’s Superman!”

As if on cue, the tall, (very) well built man, in his iconic blue and red suit, hovered in.

“So it is,” Y/N smiled.

“Baby, don’t rude. Show Mr Superman his seat,” she nodded towards the extra seat.

The little boy just stared in awe as he pointed at the seat at the head of the table, ladled with fresh lasagna.

“This looks great. Your momma make it for you?” Clark looked towards the boy as he nodded, only uttering a high-pitched squeak.

“Do your eyeballs laser?” Milo asked curiously. Clark laughed. “They do,” he smiled.

“Show me,”

“Now I wouldn’t want to damage your very beautiful mother’s apartment,” he looked up to Y/N, winking as she rolled her eyes, turning to face away from him as she blushed.

“You laser this,” Milo held up his drawing from earlier.

“But buddy, that’s a great drawing! Looks just like me,”

“I don’t mind! My momma has all my other ones, don’t you momma?”

“I do,” Y/N smiled.

Clark, half reluctantly, cut the paper in half.

“Woah!” Milo gawked as Clark spooned a forkful of lasagna into his mouth.

“You gotta eat your veggies, kid,” he said, “your momma tells me if you do, I might come visit again,”

Milo nodded, his eyes wide as he shovelled them into his mouth.

“Mr Superman, d’you wanna see my other drawings?”

“Well, yes I do, young sir,”

Clark watched with a small smile as the boy ran up the stairs, the sound of his bedroom door opening as he shuffled through the papers.

“You’re doing amazing,” Y/N smiled, placing her hands onto his shoulders and pressing a small kiss to his lips.

“Think so?”

“Mhm. Just don’t see how this is gonna make make him like Clark,”

“You’ll see,”

Clark and Milo spent hours staring at the photos, sorting them into piles of the best coloured, the best drawn.

“Momma,” Milo looked up, “how’d you get Mr Superman to come?”

“Well,” Clark interrupted, cutting off Y/N, “a little friend of hers from work. Y’know Clark?”

“Mr Clark?” the boy’s eyes shone with wonder as he sat up, looking between the man in front of him and his mother.

“Yeah. And he can ask me to come again next time, if you’re good…”

“I’ll be good, I’ll be good!” Milo said hurriedly, rushing to clear up all his crayons.

“Momma it’s midnight, I need to go to bed so Mr Superman comes back!” he looked at the watch on his wrist, a fake plastic one that did nothing but play annoying animal sounds.

It was definitely not midnight.

“Okay buddy, you go on then!” Y/N smiled, playing into it as Clark stood up off the floor, watching the little guy rush up the stairs.

“You’re amazing,” she smiled, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Mhm…maybe he’ll like me now, yeah?” Clark smiled, his cape fluttering as he cupped her cheek, pulling her into a kiss.

He broke it off as quick as he started it, however, as a little gasp came from behind them.

Y/N looked round him, as Milo grabbed a crayon, his eyes wide as he rushed out the room.

“Ah,”

“Ah, indeed,” Clark muttered.

Once he left, Y/N slowly made her way upstairs, the little boy in his bed, holding one of the Superman action figures she’d gotten him for his birthday.

As soon as he saw her at the door, he dropped them, faking being asleep.

“I know you’re awake, buddy,” she smiled.

“Sorry momma,” he whispered, “will Mr Superman not come now?”

“He will, buddy. As long as you ask Mr Clark very nicely,”

“Did Mr Superman kiss you? I thought Mr Clark kissed you,”

Y/N sighed happily, sitting on the edge of his bed, brushing his forehead softly.

“Mr Superman was whispering about how good Mr Clark is, actually,” she leaned forwards to kiss his nose, “and how you should be nice to Mr Clark,”

“Does Mr Superman like Mr Clark?” Milo whispered.

“He does,”

“So, I should like Mr Clark? And let him be your husband?”

Y/N’s heart melted at the way he said ‘let him’. Even at such a young age, he had his mother’s best interests at heart.

“You should,” she smiled, kissing his cheek, “goodnight buddy, momma has work early tomorrow,”

“Goodnight momma,” Milo yawned, picking up his action figure.

“Goodnight Mr Superman,” he mumbled, placing it onto the side, and turning to sleep.

“Hi Mr Clark!” Milo jumped down from Y/N’s arms, nearly falling flat on his face as he ran up to the reporter.

“I drew this for you!”

“You did? Thanks buddy!” he took the drawing from the little boy, looking over it.

Y/N looked I’ve his shoulder, a small gasp on her lips.

In Milo’s familiar, messy scrawl, he’d drawn her, himself and Clark.

“Aw buddy, is this me?” he looked over the drawing, his eyes wide as he pointed at the guy with glasses.

“Mhm! You’re my favourite now,” he said, his small arms wrapping round Clark’s leg as he smiled, looking to Y/N and then back to the boy.

“Yeah? Weil I appreciate that buddy, you’re my favourite too,” he lifted him effortlessly into his arms, standing up and smiling.

“Oh, and,” Milo said, “you can marry my momma. I guess,”

“That’s great, bud, but I don’t think we’re quite at that stage yet,” Clark laughed, ruffling his hair as he pulled Y/N into a sideways kiss, the girl on her tiptoes.

“Love you,” she mumbled into his lips as he grinned his stupid, cheesy smile.

“Still gross,” Milo grumbled.

© klark-kunt 2025 - please do not copy, translate or plagiarise my work without permission!

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[honeybeemelon]

what love will do to you ft. tim drake

“𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃, 𝐈 𝐃𝐎, 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔.”

tim was screwed, that much was clear to him. he could barely function regularly, let alone on patrols without the image of you sending him into a love struck daze. he’d even resorted to online web forums to ask for help, or some sort of answer as to why he was acting like this - stupid. he spent hours wasting away just thinking about being with you and the thought drove him mad. 

he was sickly in love with you. what were once productive hours had now become him unable to even focus on his case file for more than ten minutes, checking his phone every other minute to see if you had messaged him at all - if you did message him, he’d set anything and everything aside to talk to you and it showed; he was suddenly running late on deadlines, in cases he was missing little details that should’ve been obvious to him. he was bordering madness.

you hadn't even been dating for over a month, but he was completely smitten with you and he had no clue how to handle it. you'd asked him to go see a movie with you, of course he said yes despite seeing that movie a hundred times over - he didn't mind it at all, he’d take any chance to be around you. hell, you even called him on patrol and he picked up mid-fight.

“hello?”

“hey, are you busy right now?” you asked, hearing grunts and clashing noises. you weren't sure when he started or ended patrol, but you wanted to see him. lately, you hadn't spent that much time together at all thanks to all his cases.

“i, uh, no- i’m not busy, why?” he was actually busy fighting off a random group of thugs, but for you that could wait. besides, he hadn't seen you in a few days.

“yeah, sort of, i was wondering if you wanted to come over?” you hummed, there was a little crashing noise and a loud groan. “tim..? y'know if you're busy i can always call back-”

“what? no, i'm not busy,” he cut you off abruptly, “why, is there something wrong?”

“nothings wrong, i just wanted to see you is all - is that okay?” you asked, but his sudden silence had you reconsidering if it really was okay. tim remained dumbstruck by your words, mostly by the fact you had asked to spend time with him; not to do anything, but to just spend time together.

“yeah, that's okay - i'll be there soon, promise.” he uttered before hanging up the call, and finishing off the last of the thugs.

“i'm leaving patrol early, i just remembered i have something to do.” tim spoke over comms, much to his siblings annoyance. patrol was almost over anyways, ten minutes wouldn't hurt anyone

“seriously?” one of them complained. yet tim found that he couldn't care less, usually he was the one working patrol down to the last minute, but now that he had you time was just another expense he was willing to pay - especially if it meant being around you.

there was a knock at your window, opening your curtain and undoing the latch you let him inside. he had tried to hurry, but he was still a minute late - nearly seven if he added it all up. he crept in, trying to be mindful of your desk and the various trinkets you had scattered across it.

“hi,” he muttered breathless, cheeks growing hot when he saw your face. “sorry i took so long.” he added apologetic, a hand on the back of his head as he stood in front of you stiff with a pounding heart. he wasn't quite sure where to look or how to act around you.

“honestly, you came a little earlier than i expected.” you spoke, as if it weren't obvious enough. you were still in your pyjamas, and looked less than presentable - you were still in the early stages of your relationship, so of course you wanted tim to see you at your best; but you felt comfortable being around him like this, being yourself.

“you look really nice today.” he complimented with a bashful look in his eyes, bringing his hands back down to his side. you really did, even if you hadn't done anything 'special' with your appearance like you might've for a date you still managed to leave him at a loss for words.

“really?” you asked, a little surprised.

“yeah, really.” he nodded, fondness creeping into his gaze. your own expression seemed to mirror his as you stared back up at him, before your gaze flitted towards his lips for a brief moment. even after dating for a few weeks, you hadn't kissed yet - at least not on the lips yet. maybe that would happen today, you thought..

just as you leant in a little closer, tim felt his hands begin to grow clammy and hot, a rush of red rising up to his cheeks. “do you think i could get a drink? my throat feels really dry.” he spoke abrupt, in a moment of panic, right before you could lean into him any further. he wanted to kiss you, but right now he was on the brink of losing his mind - he wouldn't know what to do if you had kissed him then and there.

“i- yeah, i'll get it for you.” you sighed with a nod, feeling a little disappointed by his inadvertent rejection as you walked over to the sink to grab him a drink, tim following close behind you and uttering a small thanks.

“so,” he murmured, his gaze turning anywhere but you. fortunately, his heart wasn't beating so hard anymore but unfortunately he was made acutely aware of the fact he had practically rejected you - he felt a pang of guilt in his chest acknowledging it. “anything interesting happen?”

“not unless you find a nine to five exciting.” you shrugged, handing him the cold glass. he wished you would tell him about it, he found everything about you impressive. “did you do anything interesting on patrol?”

he thought back to how he had left his siblings alone to deal with the rest of the night, he was definitely getting an earful when he got back.

“no, i guess not.” he doubled down. this wasn't going half as well as he hoped it would, he was a mess and you were clearly upset - he doubted you even wanted him here anymore. maybe he was being stupid, he should just go for it. he saw how your fingertips twitched, the spark in your eye when you two were about to kiss.

“are you okay?” you furrowed your brows, taking note of his very intense look.

“no- yes? i don't know.” he stumbled over his words, before drawing a hand over his face. “i just don't think i'm doing this right.” he definitely wasn't, not when he saw your face fall suddenly.

“as in..?” you trailed off, if he wanted to break up then you were okay with it. not really. especially not so soon, but maybe you were jumping to conclusions; but it was hard not to when he had that look on his face.

“as in our relationship.” tim had just confirmed your worst fears, and your facial expression soured in hurt. way to be blunt with it.

“are you breaking up with me?” you were really, really confused and even more upset than you were confused. he wasn't even looking you in the eye.

“what? no!” he quickly dismissed, feeling even more panicked, almost knocking over the glass and wincing when he looked up at your face.

“so you're not happy with me..?” you asked, maybe he felt like you were moving too fast? but you had been treading so carefully, that wouldn't even make sense either.

“no, you're perfect - of course i'm happy with you, i just want to be perfect for you.” he confessed, turning to look at you with a conflicted expression. it made a lot more sense now, with all the overcompensating.

“tim, you don't have to be perfect for me - i don't think anyone is.” you reassured, voice soft as you placed your hand over his. “besides, i already love you as you are.” you added.

tim felt that same tingly feeling splay across his chest, his cheeks heating with a red tinge as he looked back at you. “right. so we're okay now?” he asked, still a little unsure.

“definitely.” you nodded with a warm smile and tim felt his nerves ease.

“in that case, can i kiss you?” his free hand reaching up to cup the side of your face, and you melted like putty in his hands.

“please.” you breathed, and his lips finally slotted against yours in a sweet kiss.

bro my fever is destroying me i cant go on like this bro </3 i can barely write i fell asleep like three times writing this SO ANNOYING but whatever smh i probs wont post for another two days tho ugh😓🥀 sorry if ooc i really hope it isnt

im working on a jason fic and also wally fic so expect those later next week yayyyy hopefully my fever calms down so i can post everyday again😛😛 I HOPE U ENJOYEDDDD YAYYY and also over 2500 likes total IS SO COOOL TYSM YAY

[all-my-love-for-harry]

I LOVE LOVE LOVE YOUR WRITING. can i request a jake fic inspired by the song moth to a flame by the weeknd? the other guy could be bradley/bob or literally anyone else.

THANKS SO MUCH ive been thinking about this a lot

pairing; jake seresin x fem!reader

word count; 6.9k

warnings; toxic relationships, cheating (don't do that), angst, smut, jake's an asshole but so is reader kinda

a/n; i wasn't sure of using any of the guys for this but i saw david as your pfp and got a vision lol, hope you like it!!!<3

masterlist

David gets home before you do most days.

Tonight’s no different. When you step inside your apartment, the air smells faintly like rosemary and lemon — he’s cooking something light, something thoughtful. There’s jazz playing softly from the speakers in the living room. You drop your keys into the bowl by the door and exhale without meaning to.

“Hi, love,” he calls from the kitchen. “Shoes off, please — I just mopped.”

You smile, toeing off your heels as you walk in.

David’s in a worn gray t-shirt and soft navy joggers, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He’s barefoot, hair a little messy from running his fingers through it. His frame is tall and broad, elegant without trying. Strong hands, kind eyes. His face is flushed from the heat of the stove.

You cross the kitchen and wrap your arms around him from behind. “Hey.”

His hand immediately covers yours where it rests on his chest. He tilts his head toward yours. “Long day?”

“God, yes,” you murmur.

“Shitty clients or shitty coworkers?”

“Both. And a surprise meeting. You?”

He shrugs. “Uneventful. Wrote a speech for a mayor who talks like he learned English through old crime dramas.”

You laugh softly into his back.

David turns in your arms and presses a kiss to your forehead. Then another, to your temple. His touch is always gentle like that. Never hurried. He treats your body like it’s something precious, not just desirable.

“I made soup,” he says. “And there’s bread warming in the oven.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he says. “But I wanted to.”

That’s David. He never does things out of obligation. He wants to take care of you. You’ve never had that before — not like this.

Later, after dinner and two episodes of the show you’re slowly bingeing together, you end up in bed, curled against him.

Your head on his chest. His fingers drawing lazy circles on your shoulder.

You’re not tired yet, but your body is still. His is warm, familiar, something you trust without thinking.

“Can I ask you something?” he says quietly.

“Mmm,” you hum, eyes half closed. “Always.”

“Do you ever miss it?”

You blink. “Miss what?”

“The chaos,” he says simply. “The… unpredictability. I know I’m not the most exciting person you’ve ever dated.”

You lift your head to look at him.

David’s blue eyes are soft, serious. He’s not accusing — just curious. Like he’s been thinking about it for a while.

“You think I’m bored?” you ask.

“No,” he says gently. “I think you’re… recovering.”

You pause. “From what?”

He smiles, small and sad. “Whoever hurt you before I met you.”

You look at him for a long moment.

And then you say the truest thing you’ve said all week: “I don’t miss the chaos. I miss the way it made me feel. Alive. Wanted. Important. Like nothing else mattered.”

David nods. Doesn’t flinch. He brushes a thumb across your cheekbone. “You are all those things,” he says. “You’ve just stopped needing pain to feel them.”

Your throat tightens.

He kisses you, slow and deep and steady.

It’s not the kind of kiss that sets you on fire.

It’s the kind that lets you breathe.

-

Penny calls around five, just as you and David are getting dressed for dinner.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says. “I hate to ask, but I left my order forms in a folder behind the bar and I need them tomorrow morning. Any chance you could swing by and grab them? It’ll take two minutes.”

You glance at David, who’s standing in the doorway buttoning his shirt, and cover the phone. “You mind if we stop by the Hard Deck on the way?”

“Not at all,” he says easily. “You want me to drive?”

You smile. “Sure.”

Back on the phone, you tell Penny, “We’ll swing by on the way to dinner.”

“You’re an angel,” she says. “Folder’s got a pink tab on it. Should be under the counter. Just tell whoever’s working that I sent you.”

You hang up. You don’t think twice about it.

The Hard Deck looks the same as it always has — surfboards, string lights, sand sticking to the floorboards. But there are more cars out front than usual, more people spilling out onto the patio.

When you and David step inside, your fingers laced loosely together, it’s warm and loud and full of laughter.

You scan the crowd on autopilot, looking for familiar faces — and freeze.

The Daggers are back.

You recognize Natasha first, laughing at something Payback says, beer in hand. Bob and Coyote are nearby. Fanboy’s holding court at the jukebox. It takes all of three seconds for your heart to drop into your stomach.

Because Jake Seresin is here too.

He’s leaned against the bar like he owns the place, talking to a blonde in a sundress. One hand on the counter, beer in the other, that smug half-smile on his face like nothing in the world could touch him.

And then he looks up.

And sees you.

Your body goes cold.

You don’t move. You don’t blink. You don’t breathe.

Jake's eyes catch on yours, and for a split second, something flickers there. Surprise. Recognition. Maybe even something darker.

But then it’s gone.

And he smirks.

That same damn smirk that always meant trouble.

He tips his bottle in your direction like it’s a fucking toast.

“Babe?” David’s voice is soft beside you. “Everything okay?”

You blink, tear your eyes away from Jake.

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just… seeing some people I know.”

David glances around, oblivious. “Friends of yours?”

“Sort of.”

You don’t say old ghosts. You don’t say the man who wrecked me is ten feet away and smiling like he still owns me.

You slip your hand from David’s and head toward the bar.

“Be right back,” you say.

You’re crouched under the bar, fishing out the folder Penny described, when a voice floats overhead.

“Well, well. Thought that was you.”

You go still.

Close your eyes.

Count to three.

Then you stand slowly, folder in hand, and turn.

Jake Seresin is leaning on the bar like he’s settling in for a show. That same cocky, sun-kissed charm radiating off him like heatwaves. He’s older now — maybe a little sharper around the edges — but still every inch the walking disaster you once couldn’t say no to.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back in this place,” he says. “You always liked pretending you were too good for it.”

You lift your chin. “Nice to see you haven’t grown up.”

Jake grins, slow and lazy. “Not where it counts.”

Your stomach flips — with anger, with memory, with something you’d rather not name.

“Excuse me,” you say, trying to step past him.

But he sidesteps, just barely, blocking you.

“Who’s the guy?” he asks, nodding toward where David’s waiting patiently, completely unaware he’s being watched like prey.

“None of your business.”

Jake raises an eyebrow. “He doesn’t look like your type.”

“He wasn't,” you say quietly. “But he is now.”

Jake’s mouth curls.

“Shame,” he says. “I always liked being your type.”

You don’t answer.

You walk past him without a word, folder clutched tight in your hands.

You don’t look back.

But you feel his eyes on you the whole way out.

David opens the car door for you like he always does.

“You okay?” he asks again once you’re seated, glancing at you with a soft furrow between his brows. “You got real quiet in there.”

You force a smile.

“Just tired,” you say. “Ready for dinner.”

-

The backseat is tight, every inch crowded by Jake’s weight pressing you into the worn leather. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging in hard, setting the rhythm and pace. You don’t question it — you never do.

His mouth claims yours, rough and demanding, swallowing your protests with bruising kisses. One hand slips beneath your shirt, thumb tracing sharp lines down your ribs, while the other holds you steady against the seat, like you could fall away if he loosened his grip.

His body moves over yours, relentless and sure, hips driving with a cocky precision that leaves no doubt who’s in control.

“I’m not the guy you settle for,” he says, voice low, almost cruel. “I’m the one you come back to when the rest is too damn boring.”

You gasp when he tightens his hold, nails scraping your skin just enough to sting, reminding you exactly where you belong.

He pins your wrists above your head, fingers curling around your wrist, his touch hot and unyielding. The subtle curve of his smirk presses into the silence between thrusts — like he’s daring you to forget he’s never going to stay

No words. No promises.

Just the harsh, intoxicating truth of his dominance — raw, arrogant, impossible to resist.

You wake up gasping, heart hammering, sweat slick against your skin.

The room is dark and quiet except for the slow thump of your pulse in your ears.

You reach for the sheets, clutch them tight.

David’s side of the bed is empty.

And for a long moment, all you can feel is the ghost of Jake’s touch — arrogant, wild, impossible to forget.

-

You grip the steering wheel like it’s the only thing anchoring you to this life you’ve built.

David hums beside you, flipping through radio stations, blissfully unaware that the man you once swore you'd never let back in just walked right through your carefully constructed peace like it was tissue paper.

You nod along to whatever soft rock station he lands on, but your mind is a million miles away. Back in a parking lot. Back in the backseat of a car. Back with hands on your skin that knew exactly how to undo you.

Jake Seresin was never your boyfriend.

You weren’t that stupid.

You knew what it was. From the very beginning, he told you. “I don’t do relationships. Don’t catch feelings.”

And yet, there you were. Letting him in again and again — your body, your bed, your mouth — always hoping he might change his mind, even though you knew he wouldn’t.

He made you feel wanted. Not loved. Not cared for. But wanted. In that selfish, consuming, fire-in-your-veins kind of way. You were a high he liked getting lost in. And he knew exactly how to keep you coming back.

You tell yourself it wasn’t real. That it was just sex. Just chemistry. Just heat.

But then you remember the way he used to look at you when he thought you were asleep. The thumb tracing your lower lip. The way he'd whisper "mine" like it was a promise, even though he never meant to keep it.

You’d tell yourself he was just being possessive. Territorial. An asshole with a god complex.

And still.

You stayed.

Until you finally didn’t.

Until it hurt more than it thrilled you.

Until you met David.

Sweet, steady, golden-hearted David. The kind of man who shows up. Who asks how your day was and listens to the answer. Who knows your coffee order and keeps extra hair ties in his glove box just for you. Who rubs your back when you’re anxious and tells you you're enough — not because he wants something from you, but because he means it.

You love him. Or maybe you’re still learning how to. But you know you want to. And you know it feels… right.

Even if it doesn’t feel like fire.

Even if your skin still remembers the way Jake made you tremble. Even if your dreams are still haunted by a voice that called you baby like it was a sin.

You reach across the console and lace your fingers with David’s. He squeezes once, smiling at you without asking why your hands are cold.

You look out the window, watching the sun dip low over the water.

Jake Seresin is back.

And you know — you know — he’s going to try to pull you under again.

You just don’t know if you’re strong enough this time not to drown.

-

The fluorescent lights in the store feel too bright, too sharp.

You were only supposed to grab oat milk and granola. But your fingers are wrapped so tightly around the shopping cart handle that your knuckles ache. Because he’s here. Somewhere behind you in the produce section.

You heard his voice before you saw him — that Southern, drawling confidence like it never left your bones. And now you’re frozen in front of a pyramid of avocados, pretending to read a label you already know by heart.

When you finally turn, he’s there.

Jake Seresin, in worn jeans and a plain black t-shirt that fits entirely too well for your peace of mind. He leans casually against the cooler like this is some kind of normal reunion. Like he didn’t leave you aching for years in all the places he used to touch.

You straighten your spine.

“Don’t,” you say before he can open his mouth. “Whatever game you’re playing, don’t start.”

He tilts his head, a smirk ghosting across his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Good to see you too, sweetheart.”

You clench your jaw. “What do you want?”

“Relax. I’m just grabbing groceries like everyone else.”

He shrugs, eyes scanning you — the plain t-shirt you threw on, the shoes you didn’t bother tying properly. You feel suddenly transparent.

“It was surprising to you at the Hard Deck” he says, like you didn’t already know. “Didn’t realize you were still in town.”

You shift uncomfortably. “You left, not me.”

“And the guy?” he asks, almost too casually. “David?”

Your guard goes up fast. “What about him?”

Jake nods, pushing his hands into his pockets. “He seems good. For you. Like… the kind of guy who brings you flowers and walks your dog and actually knows your middle name.”

You blink. “Are you high?”

He laughs — low and quiet. “Nope.”

“Because this sounds a lot like you giving me your blessing or something.”

He steps closer, but not enough to touch. Not like before. “I’m not. I’m just saying… he’s what you deserve. Stability. Kindness. Someone who sticks around.”

You search his face for the cocky grin, the bait. It never comes.

Instead, he turns to leave, like that’s all he came to say. But just before he does, he looks over his shoulder.

“Does he know?” Jake asks.

You frown. “Know what?”

“That you’re still in love with me.”

Then he’s gone.

No smile. No wink. Just the sound of your breath catching in your throat and your pulse drumming in your ears.

That night, you sit in bed next to David, but your mind is a thousand miles away.

He’s reading. Glasses slipping down his nose, arm draped around you like it always is. The picture of comfort. Of contentment. You rest your head on his shoulder, but all you feel is a growing hollow in your chest.

You want to love him like he deserves.

You want to stop dreaming about rough hands and heated whispers. You want your body to forget the way Jake used to pull sounds out of you you didn’t even know existed. You want to forget how alive you used to feel in the chaos of it all.

David is good. Good in a way you never believed you could have. But with Jake…

It was never safe. Never soft. But it was undeniable. Electric. A match dropped into gasoline.

You’re not sure what scares you more — the possibility that Jake still owns some part of you, or the fact that you might not want to get it back.

Morning comes too early.

Or maybe you never really fell asleep.

David’s already in the kitchen by the time you shuffle in, rubbing sleep from your eyes. He’s in his usual routine — eggs on the stove, coffee brewing, NPR murmuring from the speaker like background noise in a life you’re trying to live.

“Morning, love,” he says with that easy smile, stepping over to kiss your forehead. “You didn’t sleep well.”

“I’m fine.” It comes out too quick, too rehearsed.

He studies you for a second, but doesn’t push. Just turns back to the stove and slides two eggs onto your plate. “Big day at work?”

You nod. “Something like that.”

He pours your coffee exactly how you like it — splash of almond milk, no sugar — and sets it in front of you with a tenderness that makes your stomach twist. He’s good. Thoughtful. Predictable in the best ways.

So why do you feel like you can’t breathe?

David takes his seat across from you and starts talking — something about a new exhibit at the gallery, a dinner his friends are planning. You nod in all the right places, smile when he does. You play the part.

And then your phone buzzes.

You don’t think much of it at first, but when you flip it over, the name on the screen turns your stomach inside out.

Jake Seresin.

You hesitate. David doesn’t seem to notice — he’s talking about wine pairings now — so you unlock your phone under the table and read the message.

“You always did look better in my t-shirts.”

That’s all it says. No greeting. No context. Just that.

But it hits like a punch to the gut.

Because you know exactly which one he means. The navy one you slept in more nights than you care to count. The one you wore to his kitchen while stealing coffee from his mug. The one that somehow ended up buried in the back of your drawer, folded like a memory you didn’t want to let go of.

You look up at David. Still talking. Still smiling. Still trying.

And you feel like the worst kind of liar.

Your appetite vanishes. The coffee turns bitter in your mouth.

Because Jake isn’t just a memory. He’s a wildfire you thought you outran. And now, with one stupid text, you feel the heat all over again.

The water is already running when you slip into the bathroom.

David’s in the shower, steam curling along the mirror, the scent of his cedarwood body wash thick in the air. You stand there for a moment, heart pounding in your chest, unsure what the hell you’re doing. You could walk away. Go to work. Pretend everything is fine.

But instead, you open the glass door.

He turns, surprised but not startled. “Everything okay?”

You don’t answer. Just step into the spray and place your hands gently on his chest.

His brow furrows. “Hey—”

You kiss him before he can finish. Slow, deliberate. Testing yourself.

It takes a beat, but he kisses you back. Hands gentle, like they always are. One slips to your waist, the other cradles your cheek.

This is what love is supposed to feel like, you remind yourself. Warm. Safe. Easy.

He pulls back, breathless, eyes searching yours. “What’s going on with you this morning?”

“I just…” You shake your head. “I wanted you.”

His expression softens, and he leans in again, lips brushing over yours. He holds you like something delicate, like someone to be cherished. When he moves inside you, it’s careful and sweet. No urgency. No dominance. Just soft murmurs and whispered affection.

It should be enough.

But your mind won't shut up.

Because it doesn’t feel like that night in Jake’s car. Or the dozens of others after. It doesn’t feel like being possessed — like being wrecked and worshipped all at once. It doesn’t make your knees shake or your breath catch in your throat. You’re not losing yourself. You’re still here. And you hate that part of you wants to disappear into someone again.

David’s thumb is tracing your cheek. He’s murmuring, “I love you.”

And you smile. You do. Because it’s true. You do love him.

But as he holds you under the hot stream, you blink up at the ceiling and feel something twist in your chest.

Because love has never once made you feel haunted.

Only Jake Seresin ever did that.

David’s hands are splayed over your hips, his touch as familiar as the tile beneath your bare feet. His movements are steady, controlled, full of the same care he always gives you.

You tilt your head back against the cool wall, eyes fluttering closed. You try to focus on the moment — on him. On the softness of his lips on your neck, the heat of the water cascading over your skin, the way he murmurs your name like a vow.

But something inside you itches — restless, unfulfilled. Your breath hitches for the wrong reasons.

“Harder,” you whisper, not meaning to say it out loud. Your hands press to his back, nails dragging lightly across skin that doesn’t flinch under the touch.

David stills a little. “What?”

You open your eyes, heart thudding with embarrassment and something close to frustration. “Just—” You shake your head, forcing the words through your teeth. “Can you… be a little rougher? Just this once?”

His brows pull together, confused. “You sure? That’s not really… us.”

You nod, forcing a smile you don’t feel. “Yeah. I just—wanted to try.”

He studies you for a beat longer than you’re comfortable with, clearly searching your face for something he doesn’t understand. Then he kisses you again, a little deeper this time, his grip tightening on your waist.

He tries.

But it’s still him — soft, careful David, who loves you with the gentleness of someone who’s never once wanted to break you.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

After a minute, you press your hand to his chest, stopping him.

“Forget it.”

He blinks. “Wait—did I do something wrong?”

“No. No, you didn’t.” You step out of the shower before he can ask again, grabbing a towel, voice shaky despite your best effort. “It’s me. I’m just—I don’t know. I’m tired. It’s nothing.”

You leave him standing in the steam, heart pounding in your ears, ashamed of how badly you wanted something he doesn’t know how to give. Not because he’s lacking — but because he’s not Jake. And maybe that’s what makes it worse.

Because David is everything you should want.

But the ache in your chest — and the shame pooling in your gut — says it all:

He’s not who your body’s screaming for.

-

The hum of the office around you fades to a dull, meaningless buzz. Papers shuffle. Phones ring. A coworker laughs too loudly at something over Zoom.

But your eyes are fixed on your screen, unmoving, unfocused. The email you were supposed to be drafting sits half-written, the cursor blinking like it’s judging you.

Your hand moves before your brain really catches up.

You unlock your phone. Navigate to the hidden folder you swore you’d delete months ago. The one that still asks for a password every time you open it — like your shame needs two locks instead of one.

And there they are.

Over forty photos. A handful of short videos. One voicemail you saved, just because his voice in that moment felt like oxygen.

The first one is a selfie he took without asking — him grinning, shirtless in your bed, your face barely visible behind his shoulder, still asleep.

Your thumb hovers over the screen, then scrolls.

One of you in the front seat of his truck, your legs across his lap, head thrown back in laughter. Another, blurry and grainy, in a bathroom mirror at some dive bar, Jake’s arm slung around your waist, eyes locked on yours instead of the lens.

And then — a short clip.

Jake kissing you. Not the rushed, hungry kind. The kind that felt real. One hand on the back of your neck. His mouth moving slow, reverent. Like you were fragile and precious and his all at once.

You pause it halfway through, heart cracking at the sound of your own breath hitching on the video. You remember that night. The way he stayed. The way he didn't say he would — but did.

You close your eyes. Shame flooding hot behind your ribs.

David doesn’t know. Of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t know you still have these. Doesn’t know you kept them. That you still look at them.

That sometimes you dream in Jake’s voice.

You know it’s wrong. You know it’s cruel — to David, to yourself. But you can’t make yourself hit delete.

Your thumb trembles over the trash icon.

But instead, you lock the folder again.

You tell yourself tomorrow.

You’ve been telling yourself tomorrow for months.

You don’t remember the rest of the day.

Emails were answered. Meetings were sat through. Someone brought cupcakes for a birthday you forgot. You smiled. You nodded. You played your part.

But inside, something was slipping.

Unraveling.

By the time you’re in your car, hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough to ache, the air feels thinner. Like you’re suffocating on everything you’ve been pretending not to feel.

You unlock your phone.

You open your texts.

And then, with fingers shaking just slightly, you scroll back. Past the last thing Jake sent. Past the weeks of silence before it. All the way to the message he once sent you — long ago, when it wasn’t so complicated — with nothing but a pin.

His address.

You shouldn’t still have it.

You shouldn’t still want to use it.

But you do.

You punch it into your GPS.

You tell yourself you’re just going to look. Just see. Just talk.

A lie. One you let yourself believe for just long enough.

The drive isn’t long, but it feels like purgatory. Your thoughts spiral the whole way — what if he’s not home? What if he’s with someone? What if you show up and make a fool of yourself?

But when you turn onto his street and spot his truck in the driveway, your breath catches. That old Ford you know far too well. Parked crooked, like always. Like he left in a hurry or came back too tired to care.

You pull up and kill the engine. For a full minute, you just sit there.

Then you’re out of the car. Walking up the path. Knocking before you can think better of it.

No turning back now.

The door swings open.

And there he is — shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair tousled like he just woke up. His eyes are heavy-lidded, confused, and then—

You don’t give him a chance to speak.

You surge forward, grabbing his face and kissing him like your life depends on it.

Jake stumbles back a step, surprised — but only for a second. Then his hands are on your hips, fingers digging in, and he hauls you up like you weigh nothing. Your legs wrap around his waist, your back hits the inside of the door with a solid thud, and his mouth is all over you — hot, open, hungry.

“Fuck,” he breathes into your mouth. “I knew you’d come back to me.”

It’s cocky, arrogant, maddening.

You kiss him harder.

Jake grins against your mouth like he’s winning something. “Could’ve saved us both some time, sweetheart.”

You tug at his hair in response, biting his bottom lip until he growls and presses himself against you, hips grinding into yours through thin layers of clothes that feel like they’re burning off.

“Missed this,” he murmurs, dragging his lips down your jaw. “Missed you. Bet he doesn’t fuck you like I do.”

You whimper at the words — at the way he says them like a fact, like gospel, like he knows your body better than you do.

Because he does.

Jake slides one hand under your shirt, up your spine, like he’s starving for every inch of skin. He bites at your neck and you gasp, arching into him.

“You think about me when you’re with him?” he mutters darkly. “When he’s inside you, do you wish it was me?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders.

That’s all the answer he needs.

Jake pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, pupils blown wide. “I fucking knew it.”

He kisses you again, rougher now, less control. Like he’s making up for every second he spent without you.

And this time, you don’t stop him.

“Shut up,” you gasp against his mouth, your voice shaking with need.

Jake chuckles, low and smug, like he’s been waiting to hear those words from you for months. “Bossier than I remember,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw as he presses you harder against the wall. “Let’s see if you’re still this mouthy after I’m done with you.”

You don’t get a chance to reply.

He’s already moving — one hand keeping you anchored to him, the other sliding down between your bodies. You feel him unbutton your jeans with practiced ease, and your breath hitches as his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your underwear.

“Jesus,” he mutters, almost reverent. “You’re soaked.”

His fingers slip through your slick heat, and your whole body arches into him with a desperate little sound. You hate how fast he finds that spot that makes you tremble, how easy it is for him to undo you with just the pads of his fingers and that maddening voice in your ear.

“This for me?” he asks, curling his fingers just right. “Or does your sweet little boyfriend get you this worked up too?”

“Jake—”

“Nah,” he interrupts, smirking against your throat. “Don’t answer that. I already know.”

He slides a finger inside you, then another, and you can’t stop the whimper that escapes your lips. His palm presses against your clit, drawing slow, deliberate circles, and you swear the world tilts on its axis.

“Fuck,” you pant, clinging to his shoulders, forehead pressed to his.

“You feel the same,” he whispers. “Still tight, still perfect. Still mine.”

You shouldn’t let him say things like that.

You shouldn’t want him to say them.

But God — you do. You want it all. The way he touches you like no one else ever has. The way he knows exactly what to say to make your body beg, even when your brain’s screaming at you to walk away.

He grins again, filthy and satisfied, and starts pumping his fingers harder. “What was that about shutting me up?”

Your only answer is a broken moan.

Your head falls back against the wall, a cry torn from your throat as Jake’s fingers work you open, relentless and unmerciful in the way only he ever was. Your whole body trembles, legs tightening around his waist — and then, without warning, he pulls his hand away.

You whimper, dazed and ruined already, but before you can complain, Jake hoists you higher in his arms and carries you through the hallway like you weigh nothing.

He drops you onto the bed, hard enough to make the mattress groan. And then he’s on you, all hands and mouth and hunger. He strips you fast — yanking your jeans down your legs, your underwear with them, tugging your shirt over your head. He rips open your bra with one rough pull and tosses it aside like it offended him.

You’re gasping, arching into him, but he’s everywhere all at once — not giving you time to think, to speak, to remember anything beyond this.

Jake kisses every part of you like he’s making up for lost time. His mouth is hot and unyielding, rough kisses scattered down your neck, between your breasts, down your ribs and stomach. He bites at your hip and groans like he’s starved for you.

And then he sinks between your legs.

“Oh my God—Jake—”

He licks into you like it’s his favorite meal, tongue deep and unrelenting, lips sealing around your clit and sucking hard. You jerk, hands flying to his hair, thighs already trembling.

“That’s it, baby,” he growls, the vibration of his voice making your back arch. “Missed this pussy. Missed how sweet you taste when you’re falling apart for me.”

He adds his fingers — two, then three — curling them just right while his tongue draws wicked patterns that make your vision go white. He doesn’t ease up. Doesn’t let you breathe. He devours you like he’s trying to wipe every trace of David off your skin.

You scream — a raw, broken sound — and Jake moans like it turns him on just hearing you.

“There she is,” he mutters, lips slick with you. “There’s my girl.”

And for one blissed-out, staggering second, you are.

You’re not David’s girlfriend. You’re not rational. You’re not guilty. You’re just his — gasping and grinding and writhing under Jake Seresin, who’s ruining you like no one else ever could.

When the orgasm crashes over you, it hits like a wave — overwhelming and violent and blinding. Your fingers clutch his hair, your thighs clamp tight around his head, and you scream again as he works you through every second of it.

Only when you’re twitching and spent does he finally lift his head.

He looks like sin — mouth red and glistening, chest heaving, eyes wild with lust.

And he grins.

“Still think you’re over me?”

You’re still trembling, body slick with sweat and overstimulated — but you want more. You need more.

Jake moves to climb over you again, but you sit up fast and press a hand to his chest, shoving him back. He lets you, surprised for all of one breath before the corner of his mouth curves up, cocky and impressed.

“Oh? You’re taking charge now?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, crawling onto the bed with a dark look in your eye.

His smirk grows. “There’s that mouth again.”

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, legs spread, smug and waiting. You kneel between them, fingers curling into the waistband of his gray sweatpants — they’re soft and warm and hang low on his hips. You tug them down without ceremony, dragging his boxers with them, and Jake groans when you finally free him.

He’s already hard. Thick and flushed and heavy in your hand, twitching at the first brush of your fingers.

“Jesus,” you whisper. You forgot how big he is.

But your body remembers. Your mouth waters. Your thighs clench.

Jake watches you, eyes dark. His chest rises and falls hard, and he curls one large hand into your hair — not pulling, just holding. Claiming.

“You gonna be good for me now?” he asks, voice low and rough.

You don’t answer.

Instead, you lean in and take him into your mouth.

Jake swears violently, hips jerking, his hand tightening instantly in your hair. “Fuck—”

You start slow, dragging your tongue along the underside, flattening it at the tip, hollowing your cheeks. You stroke what you can’t fit with your hand, working him with deliberate, teasing rhythm. He tastes like sweat and salt and memory.

Above you, Jake growls. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You hum around him and he bucks into your mouth, making you gag a little, but you don’t stop — you like the way it makes him groan, low and wrecked and desperate.

His thighs flex on either side of you. You dig your nails into one, and he looks down at you like you’ve set his whole life on fire.

“Look at you,” he pants. “On your knees for me again.”

You lift your eyes, meeting his as you take him deeper.

“Fuck,” he hisses, head tipping back. “You feel so good, baby. So fucking good.”

You work him harder now — faster, wetter, filthier — spit dripping down your chin, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes. He’s panting, swearing, losing control, and you can tell he’s close. His hand in your hair turns to a fist.

And then, with a guttural moan, he pulls you off him.

You blink up at him, lips wet and parted, chest heaving. “Why’d you stop me?”

Jake leans down, pulls you up by the hair, and crushes his mouth to yours — all tongue and hunger and possession.

“Because I want to come inside you,” he growls. “I want to fuck you until you forget anyone else ever touched you.”

You whimpered — small and broken — and that was all the permission Jake needed.

He pulled you onto the bed with effortless strength, flipping you onto your back and crawling over you like a man starved. His hands were everywhere, spreading your thighs, pinning your wrists, claiming every inch of you like he hadn’t stopped thinking about this — about you — since the last time he had you under him.

“Look at you,” he rasped, dragging his mouth along your jaw, then lower, sucking bruises into your neck that you’d feel tomorrow. “Falling apart already, and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“Jake—” you gasped, body arching, needing more, needing anything.

His hand came down between your legs, not gentle, not soft — perfect — and you moaned, shameless and aching.

“Say it,” he growled against your skin. “You want it? Beg for it.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“Please,” you gasped, eyes wide, voice wrecked. “Please, Jake—just—God, do something—”

He grinned, wicked and cocky and cruel in the way only he could get away with. “There’s my girl.”

And then he was inside you in one rough, perfect thrust, burying himself so deep your breath caught in your throat. You cried out — sharp and helpless — your nails digging into his shoulders as he held you down and moved.

Hard. Deep. Unforgiving.

Like he was trying to remind your body who it belonged to.

“You think you can come to my door,” he grunted, driving into you again and again, “kiss me like that — and not leave ruined?”

You couldn’t answer — you could barely breathe. He wasn’t making love to you; he was claiming you, unmaking you with every thrust, every filthy, perfect word against your ear.

And you didn’t want him to stop.

Jake’s pace shifted — harder, deeper, more deliberate — like every thrust was a statement, a punishment, a promise.

“God, listen to you,” he gritted, voice low and rough as gravel. “So needy. So loud.”

You could barely answer him, gasping under the rhythm he set, your back arched and your fingers twisted tight in the sheets. But Jake wasn’t done — not even close.

“Missed this, didn’t you?” he growled, hand sliding under your thigh to press you open wider, holding you exactly where he wanted you. “You can lie to yourself all you want — but your body never could.”

Your head tipped back with a cry, and Jake’s palm landed beside your head, bracing himself as he drove into you again, hard enough to rattle the bed. His other hand trailed possessively down your body, gripping your hip, anchoring you to the moment.

Every word from his mouth was like fuel to the fire, and he knew it.

“You’re mine, sweetheart,” he murmured against your jaw, a dangerous promise wrapped in a kiss. “Say it. Let me hear you say it.”

You whimpered his name, too far gone for pride or pretense, and that was all it took. Jake dropped his forehead to yours, still moving inside you with raw purpose, his breath ragged and hot.

“I knew you’d come back,” he murmured, voice breaking into a low groan. “I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

You tried to catch your breath, to center yourself, but it was impossible with Jake moving like that — claiming every inch of you like it was his birthright. He was relentless, each thrust a deeper descent, and you couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe without him.

And maybe that was the problem.

You shouldn’t have come here. You should’ve deleted his pictures from your phone. You should’ve stayed in your cold, quiet apartment with the man you never really loved.

But you hadn’t. You couldn’t.

Because Jake Seresin had always been the fire.

And you? You were the fool who kept flying into it, over and over, wings burning until there was nothing left but smoke and need.

His name slipped from your lips again, broken and breathless, and Jake’s hand came to your throat — not to choke, not to restrain, but to hold. To anchor.

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice ragged, eyes burning down into yours. “Let me hear you.”

You looked up at him, lips trembling, heart tearing itself open inside your chest as he drove into you again, deeper, harder.

“I’ll never stop,” you gasped. “Wanting you. Needing you.”

Jake’s jaw clenched, like he was trying to hold himself back — but then his mouth was on yours, rough and consuming, his hips pressing harder into yours with brutal devotion.

“Damn right you won’t,” he growled against your lips. “Because you’re mine. Always have been.”

And the worst part?

He was right.

No matter how many years passed, no matter how many lies you told yourself, no matter how many mistakes you made trying to erase the pull between you — it never changed.

You could run. You could even pretend. But your body would always remember.

And right now, as Jake dragged you closer to the edge with nothing but his touch and the heat in his voice, you knew — it was always going to be like this.

You, aching and unraveling beneath him.

Jake, fierce and focused above you.

A flame you’d never stop flying toward.

[itscodpliated]

"Career changing"

Call me B | Part 3 of ??

Part 1 here | Series masterlist

Summary: It should have been simple; bring the omega to her new pack, fill out your mission report and get back on your merry way. But now you’re a member of the 141, have a few hard pills to swallow, a bunch of explaining to do and a lot more to care about…

Warning: None

Note: English is not my first language and I’m writing this in-between taking care of a young child, so I’m sorry if there is mistakes or it isn’t that good.

You're first morning as a member of the 141, and you just had to wake up at the crack ass of dawn... Not because that's what they expected it of you or because Price had some special training planned, it was just because you are used to it. Your ex CO hadn't been a demanding man per say, but he had had his quirks. And after a couple of years of waking up this early with your old team, it's not like you would suddenly stop waking up this early all on your own. Old habit die hard, and all that jazz.

What you hadn't expected was to hear your name being called while bringing your way outside to go for your morning run. Not your rank, not your callsign, but your actual name. You couldn't remember the last time someone called by it. You still hadn't fully woken up and hadn't fully register what was going on when you spoke next.

"Call me B."

"B?"

"B negative, my callsign." You mumble tiredly.

You tried turning around to look at however was talking to you, but a large hand was placed on your head before you could fully. You only caught a glimpse of dusty blonde hair and a strong, scared profile before the hand gently guided your head forward again. That when your tired brain finally caught on the fact that it was Ghost that had called for you.

"What are you doing out?" He asked, is voice much more soft then you had anticipated.

"Daily training."

"At four in the morning?"

"Yeah?"

"Go back to bed, B."

"But-"

"Not buts. This is an order, Sergeant. Go back to bed, or I'll tell the Captain." He said in a stern but still soft voice. A notice shiver ran through you, the low velvet of the Alpha's voice doing something to your instincts, earning yourself a soft chuckle from him.

You both knew he theoretically didn't currently have the authority to force you back to bed since you were still on your own time, your day having not started yet. Even if you knew you didn't actually have to listen to your Lieutenant right now, something in you still didn't want to ignore the Alpha's demand.

"Al-Alright..." you mumbled out.

"Good Beta." For all your judgment of Ophelia for having referred to Price as "Alpha", you currently couldn't stop the heat from rising to your cheeks at Ghost words. He gently released your head as you shuffled your way back to your barrack.

You never found sleep again that night, not with the strange intensity at which you beta was buzzing with excitement.

"B negative? What kind of callsign is that?"

"It's too long to be a good callsign."

"It's B. Just B. The only time anyone ever used the 'negative' part was while writing reports."

"Is it like the blood type or a bad joke about you being a beta?"

"Seriously, what ye did to get that callsign?"

You knew they were just being curious, trying to get to know you, but you really didn't feel like having to explain that one. "It's a long story..."

"I want to hear it."

"I'm sure B will tell you once she'll feel ready to." Ophelia's syrupy sweet voice cut through the discussion from where she was sitting beside you. You could almost ear the 'itch' you knew she had so clearly wanted to had after the B.

You had been quietly co-existing all morning until the boys had showed up so you could all walk to the mess hall together. She had constantly been weaving around you since the three of them had come to fetch you both, keeping herself between you and them while claiming she felt safer close to you.. Soap had commented that it was "quite adorable" to see she was sticking to you for protection, his voice playful, but there had been an edge of sourness tinting is scent that you hadn't missed. Even now, she had managed to push you at the edge of the table, sitting herself in the only spot next to you.

At least your first night with her in your shared barrack hadn't been anywhere near as eventful as she had made the last two weeks be. A small mercy, but you suspect it might not last.

"I'm sad, I was hoping Alpha Price would be here this morning." Here she went again with the seemingly genuine use of designation. You really hoped the second-hand embarrassment wasn't leaking into your scent as much as you thought it was, and you really had to try to convince yourself that this was different to what had happened with Ghost earlier than morning...

"The Captain was occupied."

"With something so important that he couldn't eat breakfast with us?" She asked, her smile suddenly looking much more strained.

"It happens sometimes. Military and all."

"It's just that it's already been two days, and we have yet to share a meal as a pa-"

"You're not pack." Ghost interrupted sternly before getting elbowed by Gaz.

"What the Lieutenant means is that we are happy to have you here, but, you know, we still have to make sure this is a good fit for everyone. Wouldn't want someone getting stuck in anything they didn't want." Gaz said, giving Ophelia a rather placating smile.

"You don't have worry, I'm more than happy to be with this pack."

"We know, we know. We just need to make sure it's a good fit for everyone."

The tension that followed the growing silence was undeniable. You couldn't help but feel you were being witness to a discussion you should have had nothing to do with, squad member or not. Your head had started to spin with how charged the air was getting, a mixture of sourness and a hint of shar coloring the scents around you.

"Anyway..." You started softly, testing the water.

"Are they doing artillery practice today?" You asked, trying to change the subject and ease the tension. You were meat with four pairs of eyes slowly snapping towards you, three clearly confused and on rather annoyed.

"How do ye know that? They haven't even started yet."

"By smell?..." You said hesitantly.

"By smell?"

"You know... Artillery shells have a specific scent..."

"Wait. Is that the weird scent that's been sticking at the back of my throat all morning??"

"Probably." You chuckle out watching Ophelia's confused face. That was probably the most genuine reaction you had seen from her since you meat her.

"You can smell the shells they took out of the armory from here?"

"Not from here. But, you know, I caught the scent while we were making our way to the mess."

"Ophelia, I could understand since she's an Omega, but you must have the best nose we've ever seen on a Beta if you can actually smell that..."

"What next? Ye're going to tell us you can tell C4 from Nitroglycerin by scent?" Soap asked as a joke.

"Well, no, but it's not like I ever took the time to sniff different explosives just to memorize their specific scents..."

You never thought answering Soap's joke genuinely would lead you here; sitting on the floor of their barrack, passing around vials of clear liquid to sniff. As they had said: if you truly had a nose good enough to tell explosives apart by scent, and the only reason you couldn't do it yet was because you had never had a good smell of most of them, they would solve that.

They had managed, you truly didn't know how, to convince one of the K9 handlers to lend them a training quit and were not trying to see if you could consistently identify the scent samples. It had even turn into a little competition. Soap claimed that, as a demolition expert, he would obviously win and Ophelia retorted that neither him or you could beat her obviously superior omega sense of smell. Turned out every samples smelled "vaguely explosive" to Soap and Ophelia, although it was true that her sense of smell was incredible, didn't know enough about explosive to remember all the names correctly. You, for your part, were starting to develop quite the headache, but you couldn't help but find this rater fun. Did you all look like a bunch of idiots? Probably. Put this was helping break that awkward tension you had been feeling and show you the 141 were also human and not just the "mythical" unit everyone had always been talking about.

It was all fun and game, trying to correctly identified the vials Gaz was handing the three of you, Ghost keeping track of everyone's accuracy. That is, until you studently froze, instincts warning of something off.

"Are ye two okay?..."

You had barely any time to look over and see that Ophelia had had the same reaction before it appended.

"When I heard that some moppets were going around bothering other officers and being up to no good, I was truly hoping it wouldn't be my moppets." Price said drily, appearing at the door.

There was a long pose were the three man stared at the Captain before trailing back towards Ophelia and you, eyes full of what you could only describe as wonder, even faced with the annoyed Alpha.

"What are you even doing?"

"Well... we discovered B as a really good sense of smell and we were trying to test it."

"B?"

"B would be referring to me." You say, trying not to laugh at the hole situation and how Soap was still looking at you in pure aw at the fact you had seemingly sense Price approached before any of them did, just like Ophelia.

"Nevermind. You can all explain yourself later, we have an urgent briefing to get to."

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[sillygoofyqueer]

Hi Foub! For the SJ adopts CrowYuan:

If A-Yuan has so many crow like tendencies, would SQQ get him amenities for crows? Like a perch, bird bath and whateverse else crows need. Or is he getting him more baby stuff? A mixture of the two? (This is merely an excuse to get you talking more about A-Yuan and SQQ's life together)

I bet Papa SQQ brings his son to class because he doesn't trust anyone with his babey.

Henlo Chablie! Thank yew for the ask, of course. Or well, it WAS a THANKS before you YELLED AT ME FOR NOT ANSWERING YOUR ASK. YEAH. CALLING YOU OUT. PUTTING YOU ON BLAST. YOU'RE LUCKY I'M ANSWERING THIS. (/silly) Anyway the literal moment that Shen Jiu is like "yeah this is my son now", he's carrying the baby with him all the way to An Ding to add a new section to the budget - Child Spending. A-Yuan is his baby, and will be spoiled ROTTEN because Shen Jiu never was and he was a fucked up child. Shang Qinghua hears boss music and just slides down beneath his desk because maybe if he hides, he can avoid the boss battle. Of course, that has never worked in games, why on earth would it work in real life? Shen Jiu comes storming in, reaches beneath the desk and drags Shang Qinghua out kicking and screaming to force him to deal with the situation he's bringing to him. Baby A-Yuan watches his new baba drag out this strange man and (quite intuitively) decides that this human is not scary because he's weak and pathetic and cries a lot. Plus, he has those demonic instincts ingrained in him so he sees the rough handling of the man and goes "ahhhh baba's got a boyfriend" because he's one smart little cookie!! Anyway, instead of listening to Shang Qinghua's stuttering greetings, Shen Jiu just places A-Yuan onto the desk and lets him stare at the man for a while.

Shang Qinghua can only stare at the baby for a few seconds before he becomes irreparably weak to him and he's like "fuck you're so right you should have so much more money, A-Jiu." After a bonk on the head with a fan, Shen Jiu goes back to Qing Jing with a smug look in his eyes because yes, he very much knows how to get the budget working in his favour without having to go to stupid Yue Qingyuan! The moment this money is handed over to him, he is writing letters fucking everywhere. That random in-depth study session on crows really helps him out when it comes to buying things for his baby. He also thinks about everything that he ever wanted as a child, and buys all of that as well. Where is all the money coming from? Listen. LISTEN. Bai Zhan is basically a peak full of animals anyway, they don't need that much for the peak, not with Liu Qingge being paid in the adrenaline that comes from fighting and the children only accepting food and weapons as payment because honestly, Bai Zhan is filled with really weird as fuck kids - Liu Qingge really knows how to fucking pick them-

Also, Shen Jiu is obviously bringing A-Yuan everywhere he goes. Classes? Baby in his lap, chewing on his calligraphy brush and giving very good advice like 'ababa' and 'gah' and, of course, 'bleh'. (Sorry to that one disciple, who had to redo their work after the baby threw up on it.) When he's at a peak lord meeting? A-Yuan is yappering to himself like he's got his own meeting going on, doodling on a blank piece of paper with a very serious expression or cuddling into Shen Jiu, who looks like the smuggest motherfucker around because he has the cutest baby ever. Either that, or, inexplicably, he's wriggling around in Shang Qinghua's grasp, taking great delight in messing with all all of his perfectly organised documents for the meeting or even chewing on the papers. Or the man himself. Shen Jiu still looks smug, and Yue Qingyuan looks like he's going to have an aneurysm with every second that passes. If Shen Jiu needs to go on a mission? There's a BABY ON BOARD, and ANY DEMON AROUND SHOULD RESPECT THAT. (They do lmfao. They see the baby and they're like "shit, that's a baby on board. Let's not attack the green one, he's a MOTHER AND HE'S JUST HAD A BABY. ONE WITH WINGS.")

[kpiuniverse]

The One where the Justice League assume #3

Despite what Richard might think, Damian isn’t being rude on purpose. He’s—understandably—cautious.

He doesn’t care how long Richard has known these people or how many missions they’ve shared. This so-called Justice League let Damian's biological father sacrifice himself, even though many of them are metahumans—stronger, faster, and far more resistant than Batman ever was. Damian doesn’t blame them for the fact that he barely knew his father before he died while facing Darkseid.

He doesn’t.

He just doesn’t believe that the individuals Richard insisted on introducing him to today—because of course he had to rejoin the metas he works with whenever there’s a planet-wide threat—are fully deserving of his candor. That’s all.

The speedster’s desperate attempts at conversation do little to improve Damian’s mood—or his already low opinion of the so-called heroes Richard associates with. Especially not while Richard is off somewhere else in the Watchtower, on League business that Damian wasn’t "cleared" to follow. The audacity.

"So, let me get this straight," the intellectually challenged speedster muses, jogging in place like staying still might kill him. "The old Batman was your dad—"

"My father was not old," Damian hisses through gritted teeth.

Undeterred, the speedster barrels on. "—and now you live with the new Batman, right?"

"I fail to see the relevance of this conversation," Damian snaps, every syllable dipped in contempt.

"So he’s like… your other dad or something?" the speedster asks, his face turning an impressive shade of red that clashes spectacularly with his costume. The aesthetic, all in all, is rather pleasing.

"Richard is currently raising me, yes," Damian replies, calm and composed. "I can assure you his parenting skills are adequate—particularly given his prior experience with my siblings."

The older man’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. "Siblings?" he chokes.

"Well," Damian allows, "siblings is something of a grotesque exaggeration." He tilts his head thoughtfully. "But Richard insists on the designation. He’s rather fond of them, from what I understand."

The speedster is frozen, a low wheeze the only sound he can manage.

Maybe, Damian muses, he’ll be spared further abysmal conversation by a well-timed stroke. One can hope. The man is a meta—it wouldn’t even kill him.

Win-win for everyone.

Unfortunately, the metahuman regains control of his bodily functions and decides—against all logic—that the best use of them is to continue getting on Damian’s last nerve rather than leaving the room like a reasonable person.

He’s lucky Damian promised not to stab anyone during this visit to the Tower.

"Okay, okay. But are— I mean, were they, like, together together? Since you live with Nightwing, but Batman is your biological father?"

Damian stares at him.

He cannot, for the life of him, comprehend the line of thinking this man’s obviously concussed brain has chosen to pursue. Surely it’s the result of too many head injuries sustained in the field—his fighting stance is appalling, after all.

Damian conveys his incomprehension in the most polite manner he can muster: head tilted to the side, arms crossed, and a dead-eyed glare fixed squarely on the man’s face.

"It's just that— I mean, they never fought in front of any of us or anything," the speedster fumbles. "They were always so professional… Most of the time, they were so in sync it was almost unnatural, but sometimes, there was this distance between them…"

"Their relationship was always strained, from what I’ve heard," Damian replies, scowling at the implication, "but I never had any reason to doubt their affection for each other."

"Oh." This time, the older iteration of the Flash looks genuinely chastised, a flicker of regret in his expression. "I mean, we offered our condolences when Nightwing took on the mantle, but… it doesn’t seem like enough, if they…" His voice trails off, gaze going distant.

Seizing the golden opportunity of not being the focus of immediate attention, Damian puts his years of training in stealth and shadow to good use, slipping out of the room without a sound.

All in all, the conversation went surprisingly well.

Richard will be pleased.

[kanade-k7]

Su hyeok x male reader

── very ooc + possessive! Su hyeok, no actual smut - maybe a part 2??, you’re his loner classmate, this is set before the virus outbreak.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⋆༺𓆩⛩️𓆪༻⋆⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Su-hyeok never expected to fall for you. From the moment he laid eyes on you, you unknowingly drew him in with your cute face, the way you never talked to anyone unless spoken to and the way you’d stumble over your words when asked a question. Every glance he took of you was like a breath of fresh air.

Ever since you were enrolled to Hyosan, you had feelings for su-hyeok. Those feelings grew when he came up to your desk before class, wanting to become friends, not knowing he wanted to be so much more than just friends.

But as time went on, you began to notice something...off about him. It started with small things, how he would get a bit too possessive over you, how he would glare at anyone who tried to get too close to you and how whenever you told him you had a crush on someone he’d date them then end up breaking up in the next day. But as your relationship with him deepened, so did his obsession with you.

He became jealous of every little thing you did, even if it was something as innocent as helping your deskmate with their work. Whenever anyone dared to come near you, he would death threat them making the leave, fiercely claiming you as his boyfriend. While part of you found it amazing to have someone who loved you this deeply, another part of you couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't healthy.

But Su-hyeok didn't care about healthy or how toxic his relationship with you was. All he cared about was making sure no one else could have you….no one but him!

He is more than just obsessed with you.

he has tried countless of times attempted to take you out on a date, which you believed was just you guys hanging out as friends. Or how when you two would watch horror movies together, you shamelessly cuddled against his chest when a jumpscare appeared, unaware of the way his heart rapidly sped up.

One day, He find a love letter on your desk, after snatching it from the surface of your desk when he thought no one was looking, he was beyond pissed at the contents of the note. The stupid heart-shapes in the corner of the not and the sweet words written only intensified the anger within him, urging him to crumple the letter up. Glaring at the person who had witnessed it all, Su-hyeok’s voice turned dark as he warned, "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will make sure you regret it."

The person nodded and quickly walking out of the classroom, creeped out by his sudden change in outburst.

Su-hyeok stood still, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. As he walked put of the classroom, lost in his thought, he suddenly collided with Cheong-Su. Startled, he noticed the crimson hue that had infested his friend's face.

"Hey Cheong-Su, are you okay?" Su-hyeok asked, concern lacing his words.

With a stutter, Cheong-su replied, "Y-yeah, I'm fine." His cheeks grew even redder, and Su-hyeok’s curiosity piqued as he caught sight of what seemed to be love bites. "Hey Cheong-su" you greeted, surprising the two as you appeared out of nowhere. You then noticed Su-hyeok nearby and added, "Oh hello Su-hyeok! I didn't realize you were here." Your smile made Su-hyeok blush slightly. ‘How could a guys smile be so cute!? I wonder what his lips would look like..’

Su-hyeok’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted when you turned towards him, breaking the silence. "Hey, Su-hyeok, do you want to hang out with Cheong Su and I? Only if you want." you asked, the smile on your face slightly widening.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Su-hyeok’s lips, accompanied by a faint blush. "Yes" he replied, his voice almost a whisper. He couldn't resist the opportunity to spend time with you, even if it meant having to share your attention with Cheong-su’s. However, deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was going on between his two friends.

As they embarked on their hangout, Su-hyeok remained vigilant, his eyes constantly scanning for any signs you and Cheong-su’s closeness. Every touch, every laugh shared between the two of you sent a pang of jealousy and possessiveness through his veins. He tried to mask these emotions with a facade of happiness, but his inner turmoil was eating away at him seeing how close you are.

Throughout the day, Su-hyeok’s mind became clouded with dark thoughts. He found himself imagining scenarios where he would eliminate any potential threats to his relationship with you.

As night fell, Su-hyeok couldn't stop thinking about the afternoon he spent with you and Cheong-Su. He watched as you two interacted, feeling jealousy and rage bubble up inside of him. But he knew that you and Cheong-Su weren't together. No, you should be with Su-hyeok, not that idiot!

As he continued walking, Su-hyeok noticed that you had left your jacket in his hand. He turned around to go back and return it to you, his heart racing with excitement at the thought of being alone with you again. But as he arrived at your house and approached the window, his heart sank as he saw you and Cheong-Su making out! A wave of despair and intense jealousy washed over him, fueling a dangerous rage that threatened to consume him.

He was heart broken and feeling much than just rage.

The next day, Su-hyeok caught you off guard as you were washing up in the school bathroom. Suddenly, he pushed you in one of the stalls, locking the door, trapping you inside. The sound of the lock clicking echoed throughout the tight space, making you slightly flinch.

Before you could even turn around to ask waht was wrong, Su-hyeok pounced on you like a predator stalking its prey. He firmly pinned you against the wall, his grip on your body feeling suffocating and inescapable.

As you tried to catch your breath, Su-hyeok leaned in close to your ear, invading the space between you two, his voice low and ominous. "I saw you kissing Cheong-Su last night. That wasn't very nice," he whispered, "how could you choose him over me?”

Fear and confusion swirled within you as Su-hyeok’s words sank in. His usual calm tone replaced with something dark, it left you feeling like you were trapped in a never ending nightmare, unsure of how to escape his increasingly strong grip.

You feel Su-hyeok’s hand tighten around your wrist as he drags you towards him. "When did you see this?" you ask. His grip only tightens as he grits his teeth. "You left your jacket with me, remember?" he growls. "And I saw you making out with that bastard Cheong-Su. You're mine you know that!?" You felt a chill run down your spine as his eyes narrow and Suddenly, you felt Su-hyeok bend down to your height, placing his face into the crook of your neck.

You tried to scream but it was no use, Su-hyeok had removed his hands from your wrists, moving them to tightly grip around your mouth. You hear Su-hyeok chuckle, "You know it’s really cute that you think you can run away from your future boyfriend (name). Did you really think you could have fallen for that idiot Cheong-Su over me?" Su-hyeok said, you felt as if he was mocking you. Things escalated from bad to worse as Su-hyeok began to kiss your neck. Kisses went from heated bites on your neck, recreating the marks he assumed you left on Cheong-su’s neck, which then turned to sloppy, inexperienced kisses after he removed his deathly grip from your mouth. He had your chest exposed, you assumed he ripped your shirt when he was attacking your poor neck. You tried to remain calm throughout this whole ordeal, trying not to give into his fantasies, but Su-hyeok caught onto this, he pinched your nipples to get a reaction. And a reaction he got as you released cute moans which he happily gobbled up. "Stop Su-hyeok!" you whimpered pulling away from the kiss, trying to stay quiet.

You heard Cheong-su shout from outside the stall, "Hey (name)! Are you in there?". You wanted to cry for help, to do anything for Cheong-su to pull him off of you, but Su-hyeok turned you over and held you tighter, he began to slowly rub along the skin of your back, "Don't say anything.." he whispered. Su-hyeok lifted your chin up, "And remember, if you yell for help, I'll open this door right now and show Cheong-su just how much of a slut you are!"

You remain silent, refusing to make a sound. Cheong-su calls out to you, but hears nothing in return and ultimately exits the bathroom. Su-hyeok smirks and pulled your pants down and began to rub your ass and slap it.

"As long as you’re in my arms. I will show you a good time."

Thrust

"Aaahh~"

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⋆༺𓆩⛩️𓆪༻⋆⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

[ainsworthluv]

Daughter of a Legend, part two | Lando Norris

Lando meets — and becomes involved with — the daughter of F1's greatest legend

@/tmz

tmz:

Lando Norris spotted with... Viviane Senna?! 😱

Yes, you read that right! Formula 1 star Lando Norris was seen alongside Viviane Senna – daughter of none other than AYRTON SENNA! 😳

And the most shocking part? Viviane has spent ALL of her 29 years away from the spotlight – especially from anything related to Formula 1. Completely off the grid, her sudden appearance is as unexpected as a Mazepin podium!

👀 So what’s going on between them? A casual meet-up… or is something big brewing?

Fans are already spiraling on social media, and the question everyone’s asking is:

"What is Lando Norris doing with the daughter of the greatest F1 legend of all time?"

•••

@/lando

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc and 1,829,929 others

lando: good times with a good girl

user01: MY GOD, IS THAT VIVI SENNA!?

user02: they have been seen together several times since Interlagos, they are dating

user03: they are so cute together 😭

user04: the second photo, my god 😭😭😭😭

vivisenna: the best of times ❤️

user05: VIVI CREATED AN INSTAGRAM, MY GOD

user06: MY GOD, VIVI IS DATING LANDO AND CREATING AN INSTAGRAM 😭

lando: 💓

load the other comments

•••

@/vivisenna

liked by lando, alexandrasaintmleux and 829,929 others

vivisenna: from my personal photographer, @/lando

comments have been blocked

•••

The second they stepped into the paddock, Lando felt her grip tighten.

He turned his head just slightly, enough to see Vivi scanning the crowd like a soldier walking into a battlefield. She was trying to stay calm, to keep her posture composed, but he saw it — the slight tremor in her fingers, the way her chest rose just a little too fast.

Then came the cameras.

The shouting.

The chaos.

“Viviane Senna, is it true your family disowned you?”

“Do you think Ayrton would be ashamed?”

“Your mother avoided the spotlight — why are you chasing it?”

“Are you just playing Galisteu 2.0?”

Lando’s jaw clenched.

Vivi froze.

The name of her mother — said like an insult — shattered something inside her. Her breath caught. She tried to back away.

“Hey! Stop it!” Lando shouted, stepping in front of her.

But the flashes kept coming.

The questions turned crueler.

She started gasping.

“Back off!” he yelled again, reaching for her hand.

Too late.

One photographer shoved forward, camera nearly brushing her face.

Lando’s fist connected before his mind could catch up.

A sickening crack. The man stumbled backward, shouting in outrage.

Lando didn’t wait. He grabbed Vivi, pulled her close, and pushed through the crowd with one arm shielding her head. She was trembling, barely breathing, clinging to him like gravity had failed her.

They didn’t stop until they were inside one of the team trailers, door slammed shut behind them.

Vivi collapsed onto the bench along the wall.

Lando knelt in front of her.

—

Now they lay side by side in silence, hours later, the adrenaline long gone, their hearts still bruised from the morning.

Lando watched her in the dim light. Her hair was a little messy, her cheeks still flushed, but to him she looked unreal — like something sacred in the quiet.

He touched her cheek softly.

“Vivi...”

She hummed sleepily, but didn’t open her eyes.

“Do you regret it?”

She frowned just slightly. “Regret what?”

“Me.”

That made her open her eyes. “Lando…”

He spoke before she could soften it.

“You’ve spent your whole life running from racing, from everything it dragged behind it. And now you’re in the middle of it — in the middle of me. And today… they said horrible things. About your mom. About your dad. About you. I punched someone. And you ended up here, having a panic attack in a trailer instead of enjoying Monaco.”

She was quiet for a moment.

Then she smirked.

“You did punch him. Right in front of the AlphaTauri tent, actually. Classic.”

Lando gave a tired laugh.

“I don’t care what anyone says. No one gets to do that to you. Ever.”

Vivi turned to face him fully, their noses nearly touching now.

“I don’t regret you,” she whispered. “Not even a little.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “It’s confusing, sure. The engines still sound like ghosts sometimes. I see a helmet and I remember the funeral. Sometimes the memories are soft. Sometimes they’re knives.”

Her voice shook slightly.

“But when it hurts... you’re here. You hold me like I’m allowed to fall apart. You make it feel like it’s not always going to be this heavy.”

His chest ached.

“I love you,” Lando said, the words falling out — raw, unplanned, true.

Vivi blinked, and smiled so softly it nearly broke him.

“I love you too,” she said. No hesitation.

And for the first time in a long time, Monaco felt quiet.

•••

@/f1gossippss

f1gossippss: someone compared lando and vivi with adriane and ayrton, and I'm in tears 😭

•••

@/vivisenna

liked by carlossainz55, lando and 738,389 others

vivisenna: It's so good to have someone to love

lando: i love you so much ❤️

[macabr3-barbi3]

Day 4- You’re thinking too much. (Alastor/Reader established, request)

I saw this prompt and realized that I had a request, wayyyyyy back when I first started writing for Hazbin, that I had started that already had a line similar to this one- IDK what took my brain so long to finally finish it but it's done! to this requester, if you're on tumblr- so so so sorry that it took forever (I will be apologizing on ao3 as well bc I feel like a monster lmao)

Life is good in your warm little cocoon, wrapped in the sheets of Alastor’s bed with your arm slung over the fluff of his chest where it peeks through his pajama top. His breathing as he sleeps is soft, the faint rush of it through his nose rustling your hair where you’re tucked up against him. The radio across the room runs through different channels as he sleeps, short bursts of jazz that make you smile into his skin.

You had been worried that your request the other day would have changed things between you- when he had asked what you wanted for your upcoming birthday (“Anything within my power is yours, dearest”) the only thing you could think to ask was for Husk’s release from his contract with Alastor, and the deer demon had stiffened in his seat across from you where you’d been having breakfast together.

“Anything but that,” he had said with a strained smile, and moved the conversation along, and things were only awkward for a day or two before everything was back to normal, your request forgotten and your relationship reverted to its previous contentment.

Since the failed Extermination a few months back, Alastor had been getting along with everyone a little better. He was still himself- you wouldn’t love him if he wasn’t- but he smiled more genuinely, laughed often, kept his jokes and pranks to an acceptable level that wouldn’t cause any irreparable damage to any relationships or bits of the building. That included Husk; the two were often caught conversing under their breath over a table of cards or a match of chess, laughing and drinking together at the bar. Things seemed better between them, and it was exceedingly rare that Alastor even barked off a command at him. The green collar and chain hadn’t made an appearance in months.

“You are thinking too much,” he mutters beside you, and you belatedly realize that the radio has shifted onto some jazzy rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ while you weren’t paying attention. “And far too loudly for what should be a good day. What could possibly be plaguing you so early?”

You hum into his skin, snuggle closer so you can press a kiss to his collarbone. “I’m not plagued,” you tell him. “Just thinking.”

“Of your birthday request, yes?”

He had always been able to read you so easily. “Yes,” you admit. “I just don’t understand your hesitation, that’s all. I won’t ask you again- you know I’m not one to wheedle when I’ve been told no- but I’m trying to find some insight. You seem to be friends.”

He sighs, brushes a clawed hand lightly over your face and smoothes your hair back. “I admit things are not as… tense between us as they once were,” he says, “but these things are not so simple. A portion of my power is tied to the possession of his soul- without it, I am…”

“Still the powerful, terrifying Overlord you’ve always been?” You ask with a smile, and he chuckles lowly against the top of your head.

“As if that could change,” he teases. And then he’s quiet for a few moments too long, ruminating silently above you as the song on the radio fades to a soft static. “He could leave,” he finally says, his voice low, like there was anyone else in the room to hear what he was saying. “If I were to release him, there would be nothing holding him here. Dear Charlie needs a staff for this place to run, even if the premise is as pointless as it is hilarious-”

“Don’t start with that,” you mumble into his chest, finally understanding his reluctance to grant your request. “Stay focused, please.”

“Right- well, I know I’m correct about that much at least, that she needs staff, and I can only do so much as hotelier.”

“I could always help,” you say, and ignore the affronted scoff that leaves him at that idea. “If Husk were to leave. But I don’t think he would- we’re all friends now. He’s been through it with us, you know? And you know he wouldn’t leave Angel, and Angel’s not going back to Valentino.”

He finally sits up, shifts you with his movements so you’re facing him in the bed with a palm cupping your cheek. “And if you’re wrong? If he leaves?”

You shrug, lacing your fingers through his. “We’ll deal with that if it happens. But I think we need to trust him to make his own decisions, and stay because he wants to- not because you’re forcing him.”

Alastor hums, that light noise he makes when he’s contemplating something. “I suppose you’re right. My power should remain largely uncompromised with the loss of one soul,” he finally concedes. “And if Husker decides to leave the hotel, we’ll adjust accordingly. Consider your birthday wish granted, dearest,” he says, and brings a hand above the covers to snap, loud and sharp. There’s a flash of green light as the chain materializes in his hand and then simply… fades to nothing. Bright and tangible one moment and a wisp of smoke in the next that trails out the door to wherever Husk happens to be. 

It’s a brief moment before the thundering of feet can be heard from the hallway, Husk’s voice loud and shaky in disbelief as he pounds on the door to the bedroom and shouts Alastor’s name. You can’t help the wide smile that comes across your face, rivaling the strength of Alastor’s when you meet his gaze and he’s watching you with fond eyes.

“Well, come on,” you urge him. “He’s still here now- we should have a talk with him before he hightails it out of here.”

“Hush, you,” he says at the blatant sarcasm to your tone, but the relief is evident in his face as he joins you in the short walk to the door to greet your newly freed friend.

ANOTHER SORRY TO THIS REQUESTER, IT WAS SUCH A CUTE PROMPT

[erzys]

lazy love

feat. nagi seishiro

previous part | prologue | next part

you don’t mean to notice every little thing he does lately.
but it’s lowkey kinda hard not to.

he folds your clothes now — folds them. maybe not neatly, but they're no longer wrinkled heaps left on the dryer. his hair is a bit neater. he showers before dinner instead of way after. he cleans crumbs off the couch.

and every once in a while, you catch him... looking.

not like before — not spaced-out or sleepy or bored.

like he’s thinking.

about you. or maybe you're being delusional? who knows.

you’re sprawled out on the living room floor, phone in hand, when reo comes over.

“you’re home,” he greets casually, dropping a plastic bag on the counter. “i brought those drinks you like. nagi said you had a long day.”

you blink. “he said that?”

reo shrugs. “he never says anything, but he was the one who asked if i was swinging by the store.”
a beat.
“he remembered your schedule, y’know.”

you try not to read too much into it.

but your fingers twitch a little.

reo stays a while. he lounges on the floor, joking around, gaming with nagi, eating half your snacks. at one point, you bring out blankets for them and toss nagi’s to him without thinking.

reo stares.

“…you guys are like an old married couple.”

you both freeze.

nagi pauses mid–bite. you blink at him, heart jumping a little.

reo laughs. “i mean—seriously, you live together, he knows your drink order, you fold his socks, he glares at anyone who flirts with you—”

“i do not,” nagi mutters.

“yes you do,” you and reo say in unison.

and then there’s this weird silence.

not awkward. not exactly.

just… full.

like neither of you really know how to laugh it off.

reo eventually shrugs, stretching. “whatever. if you’re not dating, then i’m the one hallucinating.”

and you swear — just for a second — nagi glances at you. like he wants to say something.

but he doesn’t.

you find yourself watching him more after that.

the way he casually brushes his hair back when he cooks. the soft furrow of his brow when he's focused. how he stands in the hallway for five minutes just waiting for you to finish talking to someone before saying goodnight.

you start picking up his habits. buying snacks he likes without thinking. placing his hoodie on the couch when it gets chilly. refilling his water bottle during movie nights.

you don’t talk about it.

but you both do it.

-

a week later, you get a message from your friend, ryu.

you stare at the screen for a while.

you haven’t really thought about moving since that night. not seriously.

but the text stirs something again. a slow ache.

you bring it up casually — or try to.

you’re making tea. nagi’s on the couch, eyes on his phone.

“hey,” you say, pouring water into the cup. “remember how i said i was thinking of moving out?”

he hums. “mm.”

“i got offered a place. cheaper. closer to where my classes are. just a maybe.”

the silence that follows feels too long.

you glance over.

he’s still, expression unreadable. then he mutters, “...so you’re really leaving me?"

you blink. “i said it’s just an option.”

“but you’re thinking about it.”

you hesitate.

“…i don’t want to leave you, sei.”

he shifts — not dramatically, just enough to make your breath catch.

“but you will?”

you don’t know what to say.

that night, the tension sticks.

you brush past each other in the kitchen like strangers. quiet, tense.

and then, just before bed, there’s a knock on your door.

you open it to find nagi standing there, hoodie a little crooked, hair messy like he ran a hand through it too many times.

he looks tired. unreadable. real.

“…do you mean it?” he asks. “you don’t wanna leave?”

you stare at him, throat dry.

“i don’t,” you say honestly. “but if this is just me doing all the work—if it’s just convenient for you to live with me—then yeah. maybe i should go.”

he looks like you punched him.

“it’s not just convenient.”

“then what is it?”

he doesn’t answer at first.

but then he leans against the doorframe, voice barely above a whisper:

“…are we... something?”

your breath catches.

he’s not teasing. not guessing.

he’s asking.

honestly. quietly. with all the weight he doesn’t usually show.

tags : @irethepotato @pawcider

[daedalusdavinci]

16. a kiss on the back of the neck and 19. on the side of the neck with superbat pls? 🙏

send me a spot to kiss! for this one i just picked right up where the last one i wrote left off, so you should probably read that first if you havent already!

Clark did, actually, have his own work to do. He may not have been the world's greatest detective, but as far as investigative journalism went, Clark liked to think his work wasn't anything to sneeze at. He could sort through the papers and crime scene reports and bank statements with the best of them, and so he did, reclined in his armchair with his glasses perched on his nose, frowning at the thick sheathe of papers on his lap.

Bruce ruled over the JLA's database with an iron fist, so all of the organization and labeling had him written all over it. He did not manage the organization because he was good at it, but because he was too obsessive to let anyone else do it. Even their best had to fold in the face of his stubbornness. His organization system was the sort that happened only when you over-organized, where files became mazes and duplicates started to sneak in, and half of the headache was just making sure you'd pulled all the files you needed. Clark prided himself on knowing Bruce well, but Bruce's organization system was an investigation all its own.

It was precisely this filing system that Clark was preoccupied with when the door opened. Somewhere, entirely on accident, the mystery he was puzzling out stopped being the strange bank withdrawals and deposits and started being why on earth Bruce would have five separate files for Lex Luthor under five entirely different labels. He hadn't noticed the door had opened at all until Bruce was looming over the back of his chair, his cape falling over his shoulder as his hand touched where Clark's arm rested on the arm of the chair. "You think Luthor is involved?"

Only the sheer familiarity kept Clark from jumping. Bruce's voice was low and quiet, neither the tight rumble of Batman nor the airy brightness of Bruce Wayne's, and his heartbeat was steady and reassuring. Clark knew him in a moment, and his shoulders fell with a sigh. "With my luck, he always weasels in."

"Hm. Doesn't hurt to check." It almost sounded like approval. But then, Bruce's head turned, leaning in close enough that Clark's breath caught just before his lips touched the side of his neck. "The three hours are up."

"You're making me take a break?" Clark asked, amused. He didn't shuffle his papers together just yet, enjoying the irony of Bruce leaving his work alone for this. Of course Bruce had. Of course this would be the way to get him to take a break.

"You wanted me to." Bruce knew, of course. But he still let Clark trap him, still stood in his room, leaning over the back of his chair to kiss the back of his neck as his hands smoothed down his shoulders.

Now, it was just the two of them. Bruce, with his cowl down and his soft blue eyes, and Clark, in his suit with his glasses on his nose, alone in Clark's room with the door shut. Now, Clark reached for Bruce, drawing him in as he admitted, "I did."

Yes, Bruce was definitely most comfortable in his space.

[heartz4shauna]

being bandmates with the yellowjackets .ᐟ

warnings: band au. shauna and natalie need to be as far away as possible from each other at all times.

word count: 1k+

a/n: i genuinely couldn’t think of a better way to phrase the title of this im sorry that this isn’t x reader 😓 i keep writing shauna as a horrible bitch i should continue methinks… TARZAN? okay.. he’s your baby…

the whole idea of forming a band came down to shauna, lottie and van while smoking together one summers night. since they weren’t at school and didn’t play soccer, they needed another way to spend their evenings that wasn’t entirely bad for their health.

lottie on lead vocals, van on guitar and shauna on drums. that was their plan! they just needed more people. they knew exactly who to ask.

jackie was roped in by shauna, of course, reluctantly admitting that she also needed something to keep her busy over the summer. she sang background vocals.

then, jackie decides to ask mari, “just so i don’t to hold the entire band together by myself,” is what she told her. mari agrees to join, since she’s always wanted to be famous anyway. only now, it’s going to come far easier than she had anticipated. she sings background vocals alongside jackie.

van asks natalie to join. it was hard to get her to join, actually. she had seen enough chaos at gigs, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to do that herself. she says yes, however, when lottie convinces her that it’ll be good for the team. natalie plays bass.

lottie was going to ask misty to join, but misty had already decided that she was apart of the band before lottie asked her. she originally thought of herself their manager, but now stands on stage as their eccentric keyboard player. they love her.

van almost convinced taissa to join, but she was set on having her own future that she dreamed off for years, rather than the band. she comes to every one of their gigs, though, and stands right in front of the stage. they’re both grinning the entire time, and van messes up her notes when they make eye contact.

their name is probably something stupid and very try hard, like ‘Nearer to Heaven’ or ‘Girls Kill’. something a little edgy to make them stand out, while still being feminine and teenage-y.

all of the bands gear is kept in lottie’s basement, and that’s usually where they practice. her parents are out most of the time, and her house is big enough, so they don’t really care.

they started off playing in shitty venues around wiskayok, their main fanbase being drunk middle aged divorcees or rebellious sixteen year olds, which was their main demographic anyway.

laura lee likes to stand at the sidelines, cheering on the band, rather than being in the mess of a mosh pit. she starts a prayer circle before every gig. “may lottie, van, natalie… and the rest have a good show. amen.”

melissa, akilah and gen like to cheer on mari, but from the pit. melissa just loves to start shit in the crowd. she points to mari and yells to the random person beside her, “that’s my best friend!” when the person responds with a scoff and a shake of their head, she starts getting physical. that’s what made laura lee begin to stand behind the curtain.

they would all hangout backstage before every show, helping each other with their makeup, even though you could barely see anyone’s face on stage, playing card games, tuning instruments, smoking cigarettes, making plans for other nights.

i’m getting strong shoegaze vibes from them. just a bunch of saddos. lottie’s singing voice, glorious as it is, just gets to its peak when she sings in those light, airy tones. it’s shauna’s favourite genre too, no doubt.

coach ben accidentally stumbled upon them at one of their gigs one night. he had just came to the bar for a drink, but as soon as the group came out on stage he ran out as fast as he could.

they changed up their sound to something more pop-rocky when they started to become a little more well known and started booking more shows. shauna regrets agreeing to it everyday. they decided this when natalie stopped showing up to practice because she was sick of shauna’s emo ass ruining the mood. they got into a full blown argument over this.

“you were invited to be in this group, nat. learn to adapt, or leave.” was shauna’s argument, while natalie retaliated “you’re such a downer, shauna. we’re all sick of making depressed music.” but, the thing is, shauna writes her best music when she’s sad! natalie just prefers her lyrics to be a little less nihilistic.

misty thinks they should take a more retro-pop approach, or at least new wave, like tears for fears or duran duran. truth is, she just wants to have a little more to do for the band.

while performing, shauna always breaks a stick. it’s impossible for her not to. she either breaks it because she slammed her cymbal too hard or she throws it at the crowd, missing natalie’s head by a few inches.

jackie, lottie and van are their main lyric writers. that’s not to say no one else in the band is, but they just have the most to say. usually their lyrics are about love, struggles as a teenager, going against societal norms or being afraid to branch out.

natalie and shauna try to put their two cents in a lot of the time, but just end up butting heads and arguing over why one lyric is better than the other for such and such a tempo. misty and mari just watch them argue. “stop the violence,” laura lee says.

van often gets pre-show anxiety, but lottie is always their to help her out. “just focus on tai, and you won’t notice a thing.” jackie says it’s bad advice because when they meet eyes, van messes up her chords.

mari and jackie are very good at keeping a crowds attention to themselves, usually dressing in popstar-y clothes with high up-dos and sparkly makeup. sometimes, they even come up with their own choreography for their songs.

natalie almost always has issues with her bass. she either forgets to tune it before she goes on, leaves her cable at home or damages the amplifier in some way. she hasn’t changed the strings on it a day in her life.

after their shows, misty and natalie walk home together. natalie usually likes to walk in silence, but misty is always so excited to talk about how well she played that night. tai and van end up making out in the bathroom, of course. mari, akilah and gen hangout at the local playground, swinging together on the swings.

lottie gets picked up by her father, alongside jackie and laura lee, and they get a ride home. shauna gets into fights with whoever the random person in the crowd that melissa had stood beside out back. it’s melissa’s favourite part of the night.

[rosefantasy77]

we need like a good car smut with Malachi and the reader

Car Sex

—Summary: Late nights between you and Malachi

—Warning: Language, smut, car sex, unprotected sex, can be soft sex, little fluff

—Song: Say Yes To Heaven; Lana Del Rey

Late night drives are always your favorite. Especially with you and Malachi. You rarely get the chance. But, tonight is your chance.

It feels nice to have Malachi on your side. You finally have him with you. Doing the fun things you've wanted.

Malachi has been filing Zombies 4 for the past couple of months. It's been a while since you have seen him. You miss him like crazy.

You and Malachi got together when you were about 17. It's been almost a year now. You first met when you went to his high school. It was about freshman year.

You were new to the school. You knew friends that go there. Which is pretty cool. So you didn't really have to worry about anything.

Your friends know who Malachi is. When they first introduced you to him, you were surprised. You have never seen someone so fine before.

You knew you've seen him from somewhere. Especially the movies and stuff like that. You've always been a big Disney fan. Watching Descendants, Zombies, and the new shows that have come out to the channel.

You just never thought you would meet Malachi Barton in person before. Sure you've had a crush on him or something. It was a celebrity crush. Something like that.

But it was unbelievable at first. You are meeting your celebrity crush. And he goes to the same school you do! How crazy is that. Surely you can never tell him how you feel.

Too late!

Your friends already told him about you. It was really embarrassing when they told you who you are.

However, you weren't too mad at them. They did something that was actually very kind. And not so embarrassing.

Your friends set you up for a blind date with Malachi. You had no idea what to do. What do you do now! Calm down! No need to panic. Just be yourself.

And you are. You were just how you normally are. Malachi appreciated that. The blind date went better than you thought it would be.

Malachi was very interested in you. Your hobbies are singing and dancing. Going around the house. Singing your favorite songs and practicing on your vocals.

Malachi loved that about you. He really did. there was just something that he loved the most.

Consideration you have for him.

About his acting and things like that. Always supporting him when he needs it. That's what he loves most about you. You'll always be there for him.

Malachi was already in love with you. You were already in love with him as well. He knew you were the one for him. You did too.

Right before the first date ended, Malachi wanted to be with you. More than ever.

He was looking for someone who cared about other before herself. That's exactly who are. You care for his feelings too.

Not just yours. You are so caring. He couldn't ask for anyone else.

He asked you out. And you couldn't believe it. Your crush was asking you out for another date. You gladly accepted.

You first thought it was a joke. Even a day dream. Malachi would leave you once he was done with you.

He didn't.

Almost a year later, he is still with you. Yes, he has acted for quite a bit. But he is really close to you. Along with his cast mates.

You're really close with them too. Especially Freya and MK. Malachi was glad for that. And all of y'all get along. That was Malachi's main goal.

Now here you are in the back of Malachi's BMW. Talking about all the memories in the past. Both of you stuck in the middle of nowhere. Not caring what anyone thinks.

"You know, I love this. All the times we go out and think about only us." You stated.

"Yeah, me too. Nice to be away from others."

"Sometimes I think we're the only people in the world when it's like this." You sighed, cuddling closer to Malachi.

"I couldn't agree more. I wouldn't want it any other way." Malachi replied.

"Me too." You smiled.

Malachi looked into your eyes. Smiling down at you. Finally in your arms after all these months. Both of you couldn't be more happy.

His eyes trailed down to your lips. Breast and then your eyes. You knew what Malachi was thinking. You could feel him right beneath you.

You reached for his hands. Kissing his fingers. Holding his hand in yours. Messing with his gold rings. Then you looked into his brown eyes.

"Put your hands on me, Malachi."

Malachi froze. Your voice was like an echo. He didn't know what to do. But, you guided him. You squeezed his hand. Pressing it to your breast.

Both of you leaned in. Kissing each other passionately. Malachi laying you down. His eyes looking into your eyes. Asking for consent.

He didn't need anything else. The moment you took your shirt and bra off, he was yours. Next thing you know, your clothes are stuck to the ground just like your bodies.

Malachi slowly slid in. Causing you to moan. Wants you were both settled, he started at a stead pace. Going slow, but you needed more.

"Malachi...more. God, I need more of you."

Malachi did as you were told. He went faster. Deeper with each thrust. The car shaking beneath the two of you. Your hands scratching down his back.

The car was filled with fog. The heat and the sweat causing the problem. Your moans filled the car. Along with his groans.

"Uh,Uh,Uh." You moan loudly. "God, Malachi, don't stop."

Malachi didn't.

He went on-and-on. Feeling you clench around him. Your sweet lips on his neck and shoulder. It was only a matter of seconds before everything falls apart.

Both of your ends were close. Both of you could feel it. "God, Malachi, I am so close.

"Come on, baby. Let it go." Malachi stated.

With one last thrust, both of you came. All you needed was each other. No one else mattered.

You didn't care. Every day is worth the wait when you're with Malachi.

[charliebl0g]

i was mistaken.

You never felt restless during training. You knew there would be photos and videos, even in the simplest moments — like drinking water after a tough practice. You knew you had to look away when someone flirted or when a fan asked you out. You had to be grateful. You had to reject them without breaking anyone’s heart. You acted exactly how he never did.

When he asked if you could warm up together, you said yes. When he walked beside you through the Australian Open hallways, you also said yes. When he invited you to play golf — and he was terrible or maybe letting you win — you wondered: Why? When he left comments congratulating you on instagram, it was never you who replied; it was your media team, but they always kept you informed. When, by chance, you ended up in the same places, he made sure to stand next to you. And when you messed up a serve or lost a set, you occasionally thought of him.

Truthfully, this whole time, you’ve been thinking about him a lot—in secret. You thought of him when you were happy, sad, anxious, frustrated, and optimistic. But it was fine: you were the same age, and you just admired him. That was all.

Your dad sometimes watched The Office on Netflix, and that’s when you remembered seeing Carlos post about his series. You watched all three episodes. You liked how he spent vacations with his family, how his tiny bedroom reminded you of your old one. He collected sneakers; you collected Monster High dolls. He loved his mom’s cooking, had siblings, and his dad was into tennis… Without meaning to, you mentally made a list about him. And yes, you also felt sad when, later in the series, he appeared in Ibiza or at other parties. Your heart burned with jealousy. You still held onto some innocence, and it choked you—twisting inside. Were you falling for him?

You thought it was strange that he never asked for your number. "He's busy, like me," you told yourself. But you’d never ask for his either — you were spoiled, and your ego was as big as your mother’s. "How silly, I don’t even care."

There was one time, during a sponsor’s charity dinner, when you were face-to-face. The table was wide, but every time you glanced at Carlos, he was looking back. Those eyes — somewhere between dark green and brown — you could never quite tell. The conversation at the table was interesting; you tried to pay attention. But when you looked at Carlos again, your eyes met. Looking at him felt like flying through clouds.

"When I met Edgar, I knew I was in love, even though he was starting to go bald. And yet, he still dances like we’re young," said one of the women at the table — you remembered her as the editor-in-chief of Marie Claire. Edgar was her husband, the sponsor and host of the dinner.

You looked away from Carlos and focused on her.

"I remember he talked about moving back to Italy. And I thought: I’m a New Yorker, I have to do something about this." Everyone laughed.

Carlos raised his hand like a student:

"And what did you do to make him stay with you? I mean… you’ve been married for over fifteen years..."

The woman smiled:

"I just asked, ‘What if we were a pair, Edgar?’ And he said yes. We’re still here today."

Carlos grinned and ran a hand through his hair, a little awkwardly. You watched it all. That answer was more than a story — it felt like a revelation, a hidden message for someone there. You looked at Carlos and smiled. He smiled back.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Weeks before Wimbledon began, you’re scrolling through your phone when the news pops up: Carlos Alcaraz and Emma Raducanu to pair for mixed doubles at the US Open.

Your thumb freezes mid-swipe. The screen blurs for a second.

[timberiswooding]

Small moments of peace tend to mean a lot, don't they..?

🌄

It was terrifying that night, learning what happened to Eclipse. Learning that he, along with Ruin and Tiger Rock had almost died.

..But it was okay now. It was, wasn't it?

Tiger had dragged the two eclipsed models to the Pizzaplex, reaching for help from the others. Henry, thankfully, had been found, though needed assistance all the same as the other three. Monty had gotten to work, but it didn't take long for, to their surprise, Frank, to show up and help as well. Together they fixed up and repaired the animatronics, and with their knowledge on humans bandaged Henry's arms and head. Jake had been given a new robotic suit, due to the loss of his other one in the explosion. Eclipse was the first to wake, then Ruin.

… It's been a few days since then.

..

Charlie sat by Ruin, listening to the conversation quietly. Sure, she was still worried, but Ruin wouldn't want her to worry.

They all felt it right to sit back and, figuratively as well as literally, breathe, after everything that's happened. Eclipse was sat by Tiger Rock, with his kids sitting close by, glancing at him often, worried about him and the others.

"I think we should watch KPop Demon Hun-” Roxanne was cut off by Eclipse.

“Roxanne, we already watched that. What about something else? Like TriGun?”

Ruin tilted his head curiously. “You watch that?”

“What's TriGun?” Charlie asked.

“No idea, kid,” Tiger replied, shrugging.

“How about- Eclipse, how about something for the kids as well? That isn't mostly guns or what that is about?” Henry cut in. “Maybe something like.. I dunno, Spider-Man? I think there was one called Across the Spider verse? That's… for kids, right? I think everyone likes superheroes..?”

"I.. dunno what that's about. RuRu do you know?” Charlie asked, looking at Ruin uncertainly.

"Yeah. Enlighten me. Because God forbid you actually had any newer movies in that collection of yours for us to watch,” Tiger added, grinning slightly, though earning a small glare from Ruin. Of course, he wasn't really mad, was he? The amusement in his eyes betrayed the glare he feigned anger for.

“To answer your question, dear,” Ruin said, switching to face Charlie, “It's about numerous Superheroes, all different versions of Spiderman, coming across each other and working alongside each other. Would that be something you'd like?”

"Ooh! Yeah! That sounds cool!” Charlie exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

"Yeah. Sounds good to me and Sunshine.”

“Movie!” Andy and Jake cheered.

"Yeah, sure. I want to see it again.”

“Yess!”

“Couldn't hurt, could it?”

“Oh! Certainly! I've yet to see it, thinking of it now.”

“Ballora it's been out for more than I'd say two years now-”

“Well, yes, but I've been watching other shows for quite some time!”

“Spiderverse! Spiderverse!” FC chanted.

Tiger Rock blinked, before glancing at Ruin with a raised brow. “Sorry, TriGun is about guns? And you of all people watched-”

“Rocks, please. We're on a different topic,” Ruin replied, dismissing the slight disbelief and amusement in the tiger's mismatched eyes.

“Right. Spiderverse it is. I'll set it up,” Eclipse stated, standing up, and making his way to get it up, on the screen.

….

After the movie had ended, it was clear quite a few of them had fallen asleep. Eclipse, Roxanne, Monty.. Mostly everybody, even Henry and FC. The few still awake were Charlie, Ruin, and Tiger Rock, though it was obvious Charlie was sleepy all the same, the little girl leaning against Ruin's shoulder, half asleep.

“Charlie, dear. You should rest,” Ruin said softly, not wanting to wake anyone else.

“Mmh not tiredddd!” Charlie protested, head dipping downwards, before bopping upwards quickly, as if to show she was awake.

“I'll grab a blanket or two. We should all sleep, honestly,” Rocks spoke up, standing.

“Alright, Rocks.. if you insist.”

“Hm.. Yep. I’ll be right back, Ruin.”

And with that, he'd left to grab blankets, presumably from storage.

“... Thank you,” Charlie said quietly, awkwardly sitting upwards .

“For what, my dear?” Ruin asked softly.

“... For watching movies with us. I'm kinda still worried though..”

“... I know. I'm worried all the same, Charlie.. But we shouldn't have to feel worried or scared. Not anymore. Nothing will happen to you, or anyone else, from now on. Alright?” Ruin responded, tucking a few strands of hair away from Charlie's face.

Charlie hummed in agreement, just as Rocks came back with the blankets.

“I've got ‘em. Come on.. the floor. Not the bench. I doubt that'd be comfortable,” Rocks said, setting the blankets to the ground.

Charlie grumbled when Ruin nudged her carefully, but went and laid down on the blankets, Rocks sitting on the ground beside her as he tucked her in, Ruin sitting by his side as well. They said their good nights, with the older two staying up, just to ensure Charlie fell asleep. It didn't take long.

".. Aight. Go to sleep you twink,” Rocks said, the moment he knew Charlie was asleep.

“.. Really now?” Ruin asked, narrowed his eyes, unamused. “How original,” He said, as he hit Rocks playfully with a pillow, the tiger chuckling, entertained.

“Come on! Go to sleep, you stupid actor. Or I’ll lock you in a closet or something.”

“Tch.. Fine, fine.. goodnight, Rocks.”

“Night, RuRu.”

AWWWWW :(((

This was so good oh my goodness!!!! 🥹 Tysm! Your writing is so awesome!

[springsodas]

#OutOfContextOctopathTravelerII