#CLAPS FURIOUSLY

[lesbiancharliedalton]

wait how the fuck did i not know they completely showed dick during this performance at the tony's check out the audience reaction at the end i'm freaking out

[mzyjxu]

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡𓍯𓂃𓏧♡𓍯𓂃𓏧♡𓍯𓂃𓏧♡𓍯𓂃𓏧♡𓍯𓂃♡

Gojo Satoru is in love with you. He is madly, deeply, hopelessly in love with you. With love comes his devotion antics. For example, he is not able to breathe when you are not touching him in any sense—you have to resuscitate him with showers of endless kisses and hugs. He follows you from room to room like a giant, whiny shadow, whines if you ignore him for more than five seconds, and starts malfunctioning if you take more than ten minutes in the bathroom.

“Wifeyyy come outt please your Rrrromeo can't bear this separation anymore” Satoru whines, rolling his r’s, leaning against the bathroom door, “Gojo Satoru I swear to god let me piss in peace…!” you scold him, “Otayyy…” Satoru pouts, now sitting against the door.

“You’re my goddess,” he mumbles dramatically into your neck at night, arms caging you against him like he was worried you’d vanish if he let go. “It's hard to breathe when you are not near me."

You were barely handling his antics until you gave birth to a bigger, chonkier, cuter problem; his son. Gojo Satoru’s extension. Your husband’s upgraded version.

Now it was not just Satoru glued to your body 24/7 it was your baby too, crawling after you with fierce, wobbly determination, arms thrown up dramatically like he’d die if you didn’t pick him up that second

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽

For one morning the first thing you felt was warmth. A lot of it. An arm flung over your waist, something bouncing on your stomach,-is that a furry breathing on your forehead? You open your eyes- wincing from the sunshine on your face- as soon you blink- they erupt in applause.

“She’s awake!!” Satoru cheers. Chonky Baby claps furiously, giggling. They both started bouncing from excitement, “Mama mama mama” “Baby baby baby” chanting your name while cuddling closer “You guys are so dramatic” you yawned while stretching your body, “Mama says she needs more hugs” Satoru hushes the baby, the ten-month-old- as if understanding Satoru leaps forward with all of his force in your chest giggling.

Lady Purrshia, perched atop your forehead lets out a long and lazy mrrrowl then flicks her tail, clearly unimpressed by the fanfare. "Oh, cmon purshie" Satoru reaches out and scoops her into the cuddle puddle, as he tucks her against his chest.

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽

The Gojo’s are also very territorial, for an instance you were lounging on the couch scrolling through Pinterest while your baby was playing with his blocks by stacking them on the ground, occasionally babbling to you when he successfully stacks them as if asking for compliments for his block genius, “Good job baby!” you praised him resulting him to babble more full of pride.

As on cue, Satoru enters the room, throwing his arms up and practically melting on you, “Pillow,” he mumbles in satisfaction, nuzzling into your chest like a lovesick puppy.

But just as he settled in, a little squeak erupted from below. Your baby toddles over and tries to climb you, tugging on your pants, demanding prime position. He successfully sat on your lap and nuzzled his whole body on you, side-eyeing Satoru, marking his territory.

“Absolutely not,” Satoru says, already elbowing gently for space. “I was here first. Seniority.”

Baby lets out an indignant wail and tightening his grip on your shirt.

They both whine and cry for a while, pushing each other gently (not so gently by baby’s side)

Eventually, you sigh, sit up, and sandwich them both—Satoru’s head on one shoulder, Baby’s cheek squished against the other. You kiss them both.

“Happy now?”

“Mmmm,” Satoru hums, smug. Baby nods, gripping your shirt like it’s a lifeline.

Lady Purrshia stares from the armrest, tail flicking, then dramatically turns her back to all of you. Disgusted by the clinginess. Secretly jealous.

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽

Your late-night shifts are the most torturous for both of them.

You finally sit down in the hospital lounge, face bone-tired, when your phone buzzes.

Incoming Call: My Toru Baby

You answer—and the screen EXPLODES with noise.

Satoru’s face leans into the frame with a peace sign. “Your fan club has arrived!!”

Baby’s chubby face appears right up in the camera, lips smudged with snack crumbs, babbling nonstop. “MAMA! Mamaaaa mamamamamamama—” he chants like it’s a ritual spell.

Satoru turns the camera to Lady Purrshia, who’s glaring at the chaos from her perch on the back of the couch.

“She refused to hold the phone,” Satoru explains. “Says her agent hasn’t negotiated screen time yet.”

You laugh, feeling your heart grow ten sizes bigger while taking a screenshot of the madness.

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽

One night you woke up without feeling Satoru’s touch, it was unusual, slightly frowned you sat up while sleep still buzzing to your lashes, you wrapped your robe around and padded softly through the hallway.

The light from the living room spilled faintly into the corridor, warm and low. There, curled up on the couch, was the sight that melted every edge of your heart.

Satoru was reclined against the couch, legs stretched, hair tousled in all directions. Resting on his chest, belly down was your baby boy. Half-asleep, chubby cheek pressed into Satoru’s shirt, one tiny fist curled into his father’s collar. Half asleep while drooling all over Satoru, he looked like a little drowsy soup dumpling.

Satoru’s voice was low, gentle, and full of affection. “You know,” he whispered, stroking the baby’s back, “Your mama… she’s kind of a superhero. She’s the reason our hearts beat the way they do. She’s strong and smart, and she smells nice too, she fixes people, you know? Even me. I was all broken up when I met her, she walked into my life as if she belonged there, and fixed your Papa, Mama also fixed Purrshie when she was of your size.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”you called him softly, he looked up and smiled, his eyes glowing with that sleepy kind of love. “Couldn’t sleep,” he whispered, gently rocking the baby who was now starting to slip into dreamland again. “This little fluff ball was fuzzy, not sleeping at all.”

You sat beside them, sliding under Satoru’s arm, resting your head on his shoulder, hand reaching up to caress your son’s little back.

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽

At present you swear you were gone for nine minutes. Nine.

But outside the bathroom door—it sounds like a revolution.

Satoru is sprawled on the floor like a widow. “We’re dying out here… of heartbreak.”

Baby crawls down beside him and immediately starts smacking the door, wailing in your honor. “Mamaaa! Maaamaa!”

Gojo Satoru has taught your son this bathroom antic.

“Let me piss!!” you yelled at both of them.

“Otayyy” you heard them in unison.

Lady Purrshia was watching from a safe distance, lets out a bored yawn and walks away.

She’ll never understand her weird owner’s obsession with bathroom.

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼≽

Note: thankyou for reading hope you enjoyed it.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Clingy in Shanghai

Word count: 482

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: After Oscar wins the china gp, Y/n is overjoyed and celebrates him enthusiastically – much to the dismay of her clingy boyfriend, Lando.

________________________________________________________

The moment Oscar crossed the finish line, sealing his 1 victory in 2025, the McLaren garage erupted. Mechanics, engineers, and team staff leapt into the air, hugging and cheering. I was already on my feet, hands clapping furiously, a wide grin splitting my face.

“He did it!” I shouted, turning to the group of people around me. Everyone was ecstatic.

Oscar had driven a perfect race, and I couldn’t contain my excitement. As soon as he pulled into parc fermé, I rushed down with the rest of the team, my phone in hand to capture the celebrations.

“Oscar!” I called when he climbed out of the car, his face still half-hidden behind his helmet. He barely had time to process it all before mechanics swarmed him, patting his back and congratulating him.

When he finally removed his helmet, his wide-eyed, stunned expression made me laugh. “You bloody legend!” I cheered, pulling him into a quick hug. “First win in 2025, Oz! This is insane!”

Oscar chuckled, breathless. “I know! I can’t believe it either!”

The cameras were everywhere, capturing every moment. I stepped aside as Zak Brown came in for a massive hug, letting Oscar soak in his well-deserved celebration. But as I turned back toward the McLaren garage, I was met with a familiar sight—Lando, standing a few feet away, his arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed.

Oh no.

I could practically hear the dramatic music playing in his head.

I made my way toward him, but before I could say anything, he opened his arms expectantly. “So, where’s my hug, then?”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t fight my smile. “Lando—”

“You ran straight to Oscar,” he whined, stepping closer until he could loop his arms around my waist. “Didn’t even look at me. Your boyfriend.”

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh. “Because he won the race, babe. You do get that, right?”

“I get that.” His lips pressed into a pout. “But what if I needed emotional support?”

“For what?” I teased. “You finished P2. That’s still an amazing result!”

Lando buried his face in my neck, mumbling something unintelligible.

“What was that?” I asked, running a hand through his sweaty curls.

“I said,” he pulled back just enough to look at me, his blue eyes unbearably soft, “I just wanted to be the one you hugged first.”

My heart melted on the spot. I groaned, resting my forehead against his. “God, you’re so clingy.”

“You love it,” he murmured, his nose brushing against mine.

“Unfortunately, yeah, I do.” I sighed dramatically before kissing him, my hands cupping his cheeks. He smiled against my lips, and I felt the tension in his body ease immediately.

“Better?” I asked.

“Much.”

“Good. Now, let’s go celebrate Oscar’s win.”

Lando groaned but let me drag him along. “Fine, but I get at least five more kisses before the party starts.”

I laughed. “Deal.”

[bodybaggage]

Ghostly Heir or Batty Custody?

DP X DC

———

The Justice League Watchtower was an advanced piece of technology, housing the world’s greatest heroes. But even in a place dedicated to protecting the Earth, some things were simply unavoidable—like gossip.

It had started innocently enough, as these things often do. Superman, having just returned from Gotham, was discussing the latest developments in the Batcave with Wonder Woman over a cup of coffee. The conversation was meant to be private, but when you have people like the Flash who can be in and out of a room before anyone notices, privacy is a relative term.

“So, Batman has another kid?” Superman had said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Wonder Woman raised an eyebrow. “Another one? Are we running a daycare now?”

Superman shrugged. “Not sure. But he’s different from the others. White hair, glows a little. Bruce is being… secretive.”

“Bruce is always secretive,” Wonder Woman pointed out.

“Yeah, but this one seems—” Superman’s words were cut off as the Flash zoomed by, pretending to be busy with something else. The two superhumans exchanged a glance but said nothing more, knowing that once the speedster got wind of something, the whole League would know within the hour.

And they did.

Back in Gotham, Bruce Wayne—better known as Batman—was oblivious to the brewing storm. He sat in the Batcave, going over the latest reports on Gotham’s criminal activity with his usual intensity. Beside him, a ghostly figure floated lazily, occasionally glancing at the screens with mild interest.

Danny Fenton—known to most as Danny Phantom—had been in Gotham for a few weeks now, lying low while he figured out how to deal with some supernatural issues back in Amity Park. Clockwork had suggested Gotham as a good place to lay low, citing the city’s reputation for attracting all sorts of weirdos. Besides, Clockwork had argued, Batman wouldn’t care as long as Danny didn’t cause trouble.

And for the most part, Danny hadn’t. He’d stayed out of Gotham’s wayward criminal elements, kept his ghostly powers under wraps, and only occasionally wandered the streets at night to stretch his legs (or float, as it were).

Of course, he hadn’t counted on the Bat Family.

Damian had challenged him to a duel within minutes of their first meeting, insisting that he prove himself worthy of staying in the Batcave. Danny had countered by turning intangible and letting Damian tire himself out, which only seemed to frustrate the young Robin more.

Tim had interrogated him about the nature of ectoplasm and ghost powers, scribbling notes furiously as Danny tried his best to explain without giving too much away.

Jason had simply grunted, muttering something about “another brat” before disappearing on his motorcycle, while Dick had been the only one to offer a somewhat normal welcome.

“You’re like, what, the seventh kid Bruce has taken in?” Dick had said, clapping Danny on the back. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not staying here permanently,” Danny had replied, but Dick had just laughed, as if Danny’s words were the punchline to a joke only he understood.

Things had been relatively quiet since then—until now.

It started as a low hum, a barely noticeable vibration in the air. Alfred, the ever-watchful butler, was the first to notice something amiss.

“Master Wayne,” Alfred said calmly, setting down the tray of tea he’d just brought in. “We appear to have… company.”

Bruce looked up from the Batcomputer, his eyes narrowing as the hum grew louder, evolving into a low rumble that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Batcave. Danny, who had been floating upside down, lazily spinning in midair, suddenly snapped to attention.

“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Danny muttered, his expression turning from bored to annoyed in seconds.

“I’m afraid I cannot,” Alfred replied, his tone as even as ever, despite the growing disturbance.

The rumble turned into a roar, and suddenly, with a burst of green light, a swirling portal opened up in the middle of the Batcave. The vortex crackled with energy, and from it stepped a towering figure clad in ghostly armor, a crown of ectoplasmic fire atop his head.

Pariah Dark, the Ghost King, had arrived.

“BATMAN!” Pariah’s voice boomed through the cave, rattling the glass cases that held the old Robin suits. “I, Pariah Dark, King of the Infinite Realms, have come to challenge you for the custody of my heir!”

There was a moment of silence as the words hung in the air. Danny facepalmed, groaning audibly. “This is not happening.”

Bruce, for his part, remained as stoic as ever, though his eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. “Your heir?”

“Yes, my heir!” Pariah bellowed, his eyes glowing with ectoplasmic energy. “The boy you have taken into your care! I will not allow this—this mortal to usurp my claim!”

Bruce’s gaze flicked to Danny, who looked thoroughly unamused. “Is there something you forgot to mention?”

“Oh, come on!” Danny threw his hands up in frustration. “This isn’t what it looks like! I’m not his heir, and I’m definitely not up for custody!”

Pariah seemed undeterred by Danny’s protests. “You defeated me in battle, boy. By the laws of the Infinite Realms, that makes you my heir! And now this Bat-creature seeks to claim you as his own! I will not stand for it!”

Bruce’s expression remained impassive. “I’m not trying to claim him.”

“See?” Danny gestured to Bruce. “Totally not trying to claim me. So you can just go back to the Ghost Zone, Pariah. No custody battle needed.”

Pariah’s eyes narrowed, his fiery crown flaring. “The only way to resolve this is through combat! Batman, I challenge you to a duel for the boy!”

Bruce glanced at the portal, calculating the odds. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I will take the boy by force!” Pariah declared, raising his massive sword, which seemed to materialize out of thin air, crackling with ectoplasmic energy.

Danny floated down between the two, trying to keep the peace. “Guys, let’s just calm down. No need for a duel. I’m fine. No one’s taking anyone by force.”

Pariah looked down at Danny, his expression a mix of paternal concern and royal indignation. “Do not worry, my heir. I will defend your honor.”

Danny groaned again. “I don’t need my honor defended. I need you to stop making this weird.”

Before Danny could protest further, Bruce stepped forward, his voice as calm as ever. “Very well. A duel, then.”

“Seriously?” Danny looked at Bruce, incredulous. “You’re just going to agree to this?”

“If it ends the situation quickly, yes,” Bruce replied, his tone as dry as ever. “This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with an overprotective guardian.”

Pariah raised his sword, clearly satisfied with the outcome. “Prepare yourself, mortal! I will not hold back!”

“Hold on, hold on!” Danny zipped between them again, clearly exasperated. “We don’t need to do this! Pariah, go back to the Ghost Zone. Batman, you don’t have to fight him.”

Pariah looked genuinely perplexed. “But… the honor of the Infinite Realms demands it.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Danny insisted. “The Infinite Realms don’t care about some weird custody battle! Besides, I’m not a kid, and I’m not staying here permanently! I’m just crashing for a bit!”

Pariah frowned, lowering his sword slightly. “You… are not staying?”

“No!” Danny said, exasperated. “I’m not staying! I’m not your heir! I’m just Danny, okay?”

The Ghost King looked around, as if trying to process this information. “But… you are under his care. It was reported by reliable sources.”

“Reliable sources?” Danny echoed. “Who told you that?”

Pariah seemed to hesitate for the first time. “A rather talkative sorcerer in a trench coat. He mentioned it while muttering about ‘bloody bats’ and ‘undead nuisances.’”

Danny blinked, realization dawning. “Constantine. Of course.”

Bruce’s expression remained unchanged, though there was a faint glimmer of irritation in his eyes. “This… Constantine has been spreading rumors?”

Danny sighed heavily, feeling more tired by the minute. “Look, can we just forget this whole thing happened? Pariah, you go back to ruling the Ghost Zone. I’ll handle Constantine. And Batman, you can go back to doing… whatever it is you do.”

Pariah Dark seemed to mull this over for a moment before finally lowering his sword completely. “Very well. But know this, boy—if ever you require my assistance, you have but to call.”

“Sure, sure,” Danny muttered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With one last, dramatic sweep of his cape, Pariah Dark stepped back into the swirling green portal, which closed behind him with a final, ominous crackle.

For a moment, the Batcave was silent. Then Danny turned to Bruce, looking both sheepish and annoyed. “So… I guess I should have warned you about that.”

Bruce simply nodded, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Next time, try to keep your interdimensional family disputes to a minimum.”

“I’ll do my best,” Danny promised, floating back toward the Batcomputer. “But with my luck, that’s not gonna be easy.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Bruce replied dryly, already turning back to his work. “And tell Constantine to keep his mouth shut.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Danny muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he floated back to his usual spot, thinking about the supernatural messes that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

As the Batcave returned to its usual state of brooding silence, Danny couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Gotham wasn’t the best place to lay low after all. But with the alternative being another encounter with Pariah, he figured the Batcave wasn’t so bad—at least, not until the next interdimensional incident.

[nereidprinc3ss]

please don't say you love me

in which fwb!spencer reid and fem!reader get into an argument about the nature of their relationship.

18+ (implied intimacy) warnings/tags: friends with benefits arrangement, it goes bad, reader is so clearly anxious avoidant, reader is so me-coded, self-loathing, difficulties with emotional intimacy, arguing, derek and penelope make an appearance woo, a little dramatic, no happy ending (a nereidprinc3ss first!) a/n: it happened guys I stopped writing for a few days and last night randomly was inspired to finish this fwb piece and it essentially turned into a vent and went a completely different direction than i thought it would but here we are!!! i hope you enjoy, I loved writing, ilysm

“Are you reading it? Did you get to the part yet?” You ask, buzzing as you peer around Spencer’s arm to see where he’s at in the book you’d handed him. Sometimes you think it takes him longer to flip the pages than to read them. 

He doesn’t answer, but you see the flickering quirk of his lip like something is amusing him. It’s been a few minutes and he’s maybe halfway through. He has to have seen it by now. 

You’re clinging to his arm, eyes darting pointlessly between the text and his face, searching for a reaction. It comes in the form of a furrowed brow, a disbelieving smile, and something between a barking laugh and an exclamation of, “what?”

“You read it?”

His eyes narrow and he flips back a page, taking a bit longer to reevaluate. 

“Our moans and grunts drowned out the screams of the dead and dying only a few hundred feet away.”

You giggle furiously, clapping a hand to your mouth when you snort, and you feel Spencer’s focus shifting to you, even with your eyes screwed shut. 

“And you read this whole series?”

At that you sober up some, still hiding the bottom half of your face and brows drawn sorrowfully as mirthful tears well. You’re slow to admit your guilt with a nod, and his expression is somewhere between horror and fascination. 

Your cheeks heat and you cover your face, laughing again and shaking your head shamefully as he ridicules you. 

“Why? Why would you do that to yourself? I don’t even know if I can be seen in public with you, that’s—” he’s haphazardly tossed the book back on its display table and grabbed your wrists, pulling gently and laughing too. “No, show me your face. This is—you need to explain yourself. This is unforgivable.” 

“No! I swear it was a morbid curiosity, I didn’t like it, I’m sorry! I—”

“Reid?”

You both freeze. 

It’s not the most dignified position, admittedly—hidden among the shelves in a bookstore, pressed too close to be friendly, his hands around your wrists. 

So you don’t mind when he drops them like hot potatoes and gives you a few inches of breathing room. 

“Hey! Uh—you’re—”

Spencer is looking between you and two other people at the end of the aisle—a quirky bespectacled blonde in a flouncy polka-dot dress and her taller companion, ripped and head shaved, sporting some impressive eyebrows. Right now they’re conspicuously raised—his eyes are also pinballing between you and Spencer. 

For a moment, everyone is just sort of… looking at each other. 

It’s a little bit… awful?

Finally Spencer clears his throat. 

“Um, what are you guys doing here? Just… looking at books?”

Something is off, and you feel like shrinking or running, but you just stay glued to your spot. 

In sync, they hold up copies of the same book—and it takes you not a second to place the author’s name, in imposing red font at the bottom like it’s important. Rossi. 

The pieces click into place. These must be Spencer’s co-workers—Penelope and Derek, if his descriptions of the team have served you well. Part of you is starstruck. Part of you is embarrassed. They’re clearly shocked to see Spencer with a girl in the wild, so you know he hasn’t told them about you—and why should he, you think, why should he tell his friends about the girl he’s been sleeping with for months now? 

Finally, the blonder half of the duo speaks. 

“You’re—this is a girl. That’s. Who is that? Hi! Who are you?”

She’s literally pointing at you, eyes drifting between you and Spencer like it just doesn’t make any sense. Derek gives her a look and gently pushes her hand down. 

“Hey. That’s enough.” Then he offers you a polite smile, though you sense a bit strained, and his eyes too keep wandering back to the man next to you. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no! You’re not… interrupting…” Spencer trails off and you sense he’s looking at you and gauging a reaction but you’re just smiling idly at his friends and waiting for this to be over. He finally thinks to introduce you by name, and you offer a shy wave and a smile to your new acquaintances. 

Penelope points (that damn finger again) but this time it’s less accusatory, and stays below chin level. 

“Cool shirt. I love that band,” she offers genially. Your brows raise and you look down, trying to remember what shirt you’d tossed on before leaving Spencer’s apartment an hour ago. 

“Oh! Thanks,” you smile, and you’re relieved to mean it this time. 

Another frosty silence begins to descend, but Derek doesn’t let it settle so much this time, to everyone’s satisfaction. 

“Alright, well. It was nice to meet you. Enjoy your date.”

There’s too much weight on the last sentence, and Derek gives Spencer a eyebrows-raised-meaningfully look you don’t understand. You’re just glad Spencer keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t immediately insist that it’s not a date, because it’s not, and that’s fine, but the vehement denial would bum you out. 

The pair walk away in the kind of clenched silence that means they’ll start fervently whispering as soon as they are out of ear shot. You watch their retreating figures and chew your lip, sensing that the carefree and playful energy of five minutes ago will have evaporated by the time you turn back to face your companion. 

“Strange,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, and you’re slightly jarred when Spencer replies from beside you. 

“Which part?”

All of it. 

Turning to face him, you smile, and it doesn’t reach your eyes but it doesn’t need to. 

“Oh—nothing, sorry.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, only stares at a point somewhere above your head and narrows his eyes like he’s thinking unpleasant thoughts. 

“Was I an asshole, to you, just now?”

It’s unexpected. You don’t have an answer prepared, so you say something that feels like a lie because you can’t prove that it’s not the truth. 

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“I just… I don’t know. I get weird around them, sometimes. I don’t always know what to say, like, when my personal life and my work life intersect, because for a long time I didn’t really have a personal life. And I think they still think I don’t know how to talk to girls, so…”

“You don’t know how to talk to girls,” you remind him. “Let’s go look at the puzzles.”

Maybe you spend too much time with Spencer Reid. Maybe that’s the problem—too long in his presence and he’s eating away at your neural tissue like you’ve got cysticercosis and he’s the T. solium (a terrible thing he had explained to you a few weeks ago.)

Maybe you need a break from him, to stop breathing his air and sleeping in his bed and wearing his clothing, because you’re forgetting that he’s not the entire world and that is a very bad thing to forget in a situation like yours. The entire world cannot be the size of his apartment. 

But you also just like him so much. As a friend, of course. That goes without saying. You like his strange sense of humor, and the way he lights up when you ask him an obscure question. You like your legs across his lap while you watch his old shows. You also like being kissed by him, and hugged by him. You like being taken care of like no one has ever taken care of you, and you like the way he always touches you, soft and kind and so on purpose. 

You never meant to like him so much. 

This affection—it has grown, insidious and parasitic, and now that it’s been pointed out to you like a lump in your side, it’s impossible to ignore. 

What you and Spencer have works precisely because you’ve kept things platonic and casual. That way, there’s no worrying about emotional baggage or arguing about feelings because there are none to be found and no precedent that any such things should or need to occur. You can’t hurt each other’s feelings if your feelings aren’t on the table. 

So why can’t you stop thinking about earlier?

Why can’t you help caring that he’s been keeping you a secret from the people he loves most?

“So, essentially the book is his first deep dive into meta-fiction. It was pretty revolutionary at the time, and while not his most celebrated novel, I’d argue it was his most relevant and culturally pervasive. I’d actually love to hear your interpretation of the story—it’s truly different for everyone. It’s a little like… like a literary Rorschach test. Do you wanna borrow it?”

You’re a tangle on his bed—arms, legs, sheets—it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins. All you’re sure of is his hand, tracing his fingers in chaste lines, feather-light up and down your inner thigh in the way he knows you like. Usually it’s so soothing you melt and fall asleep within minutes. Right now it’s only stoking some sparking electrical fire in your chest—the buzzes and bursts from which have you on edge. Ready to cave in at any second. You wish you could relax. You’ve been trying.

Spencer is in no hurry for you to respond, and so doesn’t seem to mind when it takes you a long while to find your answer. 

“I think I need to go home.”

It comes out too scratchy, as you haven’t really spoken for several hours. Not as casual as you were going for. He angles his head down toward you and his hand stops and you realize it’s actually worse like that. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Everything is fine, I just… I wanna sleep in my own bed tonight, I think.”

It’s late and you shouldn’t be making him drive you across town, but he’s always amenable to what you want. This is the longest you’ve ever stayed at his place, after all—a rare long weekend—and before that a few weeks had passed with no cases to speak of, during which time you’ve been staying with him more and more. Spencer seems to be completely content letting you eat his food and use his shower if it means you don’t leave. 

“I know the feeling well,” he admits, and your heart twinges with the care he takes to not bump or bend you or pull your hair as he shifts. He’s already been out of bed, and so is more dressed than you. Really, most people on the planet are more dressed than you, and you pull his nice sheet higher up your chest as he sits on the edge of the mattress, looking down at you and with a sort of worry in his eyes. He finds your knee through the fabric. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been quiet.”

Stop paying such close attention, you want to tell him. And in the same breath, please don’t ever look away. 

“I’m… good.”

It is easily the least convincing performance of your life. Either you’re self sabotaging or you want him to push you further, and you don’t know which is worse. 

When his brow ramps just the slightest bit, you know you’ve fumbled it. 

“I don’t believe you.”

You shrug. “I don’t need you to.” And then you sit up, still holding the sheet to your chest. “Can you hand me a shirt?”

Enough clothing has accumulated around the room recently that he could pretty much reach out in any direction and find something for you to wear.  He grabs a sweatshirt hanging from the bedpost and holds it out for you, and you pull it over your head, before dropping your feet onto the cool wooden floor and grabbing the first bottoms you see—a pair of floral pajama shorts. How have so many of your clothes ended up at his apartment?

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

You scoop your bag up from a chair and flit around the room, haphazardly stuffing away discarded clothing to take back home. It’s true that it’ll be nice to get back to your stuff—your shower products and your closet and your silk pillow cases. You shouldn’t be spending so much time here. It’s not your space and you’ve been sacrificing your own needs to be closer to him, which is something you’d rather not do for any man. 

“You can drive me home. I’ll send you gas money.”

“You don’t need to send me gas money,” he says, tacking your name on to the end of the sentence in a way that raises your hackles instantly. 

“Yeah, I do. You drive me around constantly. I’ll pay you back and start taking the metro, or something.”

“I don’t want your money,” he scoffs. 

“Fine. Then I’ll call a car.”

“That’s unnecessary. I’m happy to drive you.”

“Why?”

Silence hangs. Spencer has by this point stood up, and he’s watching you with a furrowed brow and slightly parted lips like he doesn’t understand where this animosity has come from. Honestly, you’re not entirely sure either. You didn’t realize you were harboring so much of it. 

“Am I supposed to see you as an inconvenience?”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

“No. You’re not. We have a relationship and I don’t mind doing things for you.”

“You’re not my boyfriend.”

You didn’t mean to say it, but you sure as hell were thinking it. 

It feels good to say, like stretching a sore muscle beyond its limits or pressing into a bruise until you get past the ache. Sometimes when things hurt, it’s best to feel the pain and move on. 

He looks absolutely perplexed, the lines between his brows only ditching deeper. 

“Is that what this is about?”

“Oh my god, Spencer, no, I don’t care—”

“Because earlier at the bookstore I asked you if I was being an asshole and—”

“I do not give a fuck about earlier at the fucking bookstore!”

It’s too late to be yelling, but he doesn’t scold you. He just sort of looks at you, like you’re something mildly unpleasant. It makes you feel worse. 

A long moment goes by. 

“Fine. I’ll take you home.”

You let him brush past you, nothing more than a breeze on your shoulders as he disappears from the darkened bedroom. For a moment, you can’t follow him. All you can do is stand there and try to contain that sour, stinging, crying feeling in your eyes and nose because there’s no reason for you to be crying right now. 

From the living room, he calls, rather abrasively, “Are you coming?”

“Yes,” you huff, and it is as wavering as it is insolent, so obviously the only word holding back a full-fledged deluge of tears. 

One minute. One minute to sniffle and take deep breaths and wipe abashedly under your eyes because you refuse to be dramatic about this. Refuse to get over-emotional. You will not let it matter this much to you. 

When you decide you can show your face without making a scene, you march out of his bedroom and straight past where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, keys in hand, to the front door. 

He doesn’t move. You burn smoking holes into the dark wood of the door with your eyes, and the two of you are apparently at an impasse. 

“I’m ready,” you eventually snap, always the impatient one between the two of you, casting a sharp glance over your shoulder. 

“I’m not.”

“You said you would—”

“I know what I said,” Spencer cuts you off and shuts you up, “and I changed my mind. I’d prefer to talk about it before I take you home.”

By the time he finishes the sentence you’re already wrestling your phone from the depths of your bag in search of a ride sharing app. 

“Okay, well I’m done talking because I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, so—”

“No, you’re done talking because this is what you do. You can never admit it when you want something because that would mean acknowledging that you’re a human being with emotions, and that’s too scary for you.”

Surely you misheard him. You turn around, a deep frown contorting your features. 

“Excuse me?”

He only looks at you in that expectant, knowing way of his. 

“It’s too scary so you run away. You’d rather burn your relationships to the ground and rebuild them with a new person every time than actually let someone in.”

“You don’t know me!” You yell.

“Do you actually think that’s true?” Spencer says, pushing off his perch against the counter, voice shrilling and raised slightly as he gets visibly agitated. “You think I’ve spent hours upon hours with you and I don’t know you at all?”

“You have no idea what I’m like in a relationship because this isn’t one. You have no fucking idea what I want, so do not presume to,” you seethe. 

“You want a relationship. You wanted my friends to know you and you didn’t tell me that because you’re fucking terrified of the fact that I do know you. You can’t stand the idea that regardless of how many times you tell yourself it’s just sex, you have been vulnerable with me, and you’ve told me things you’ve never told anyone before, like why your last three relationships really ended, and how you constantly self-sabotage when you’re on the verge of getting what you want because you think you don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up!”

“No. I’m not just going to let you walk away from me like you did everyone else who could’ve ever cared about you because I know once you walk out that door you’ll stop responding to my calls and texts and I’ll never see you again, which is a juvenile pattern and completely unsustainable if you don’t want to keep pushing people away for the rest of your life!”

“God, Spencer, stop!” You sob, staggering back like you’ve been stabbed. 

The urgency, the raw, desperate scratch of your voice, stops him in his tracks. 

Every place an arrow penetrated a chink in your armor aches, and it hurts so much worse because he knew exactly where they were. You don’t know when or how it happened, but he’s right. Despite your most valiant efforts, Spencer Reid knows you. Somehow he crept in and grew over every limb like ivy. It’s crawled over your feet and up your legs and it’s keeping you there, rooted in place in his apartment, sobbing silently into the crook of your arm because you feel utterly paralyzed with fear. 

Just as he’d said. 

It’s silent for a long stretch of time, unquantifiable the same way the distance between the beach and the horizon is unquantifiable. It’s sprawling and infinite and desolate. The only relief from the drowning quiet is the occasional gulp of air or gasp from you which furthers your humiliation. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer finally whispers, soft and unsure like rays of weak sunlight over staggered tides, in the grey morning after a raging storm. It’s an attempt. It’s earnest and afraid. 

The energy radiating off of him is so tangible that you can sense his desire to come near. To hold you. But that would be your worst nightmare come to fruition. This—this warbling and crying in front of him in silence in his dark apartment is god-awful enough. But to be comforted? For him to bear witness up close and personal to your humility and your ugly, jagged pieces—that inspires true catatonia. That is everything he said you were afraid of, and he was right. 

You resent your human nature, and the fact that you care how his friends look at you and that it stung when they did so with little more than apathy. You hate that you care that he hasn’t told them about you. You hate that you feel so unimportant—because more than anything, you want to be fine with being unimportant. 

You want to be fine. Constantly. 

You hate that you feel. You hate that you care. 

But you always have. And so fucking deeply. 

Somehow, Spencer Reid is the only one who has ever noticed. 

Eventually, his self-restraint snaps and he surges forward at the same time as you take a shuddering inhale and step back. 

“Please don’t touch me,” you whisper. Afraid that if he did, his fingers would only sink into your flesh like decaying fruit. That you would disintegrate in his hands, and he’d finally see you’d been rotten the whole time. 

He speaks softly, holding his hands up to show you he’s not a threat. 

“Okay. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“I need to go home.”

“I’ll—”

“No. I don’t want a ride. I’ll get a car.” You speak quietly. Efficiently. There’s no point in pretending this doesn’t feel catastrophic anymore. 

His brows furrow. Like a moth to flame, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, he draws nearer again. 

“I’m not comfortable with you on the street at this hour.”

“I’ll wait in the lobby,” you insist, pleading, a wounded animal, because he doesn’t seem to understand how every casual notion of kindness is a violence, how he’s ripping into you and making it so you’ll never be able to put yourself back together. He can’t be kind like you’re easy to be kind to. 

If you’re easy to be kind to, you are just as easy to hurt. Accepting that kindness is a sort of vulnerability you feel you can’t afford right now. 

Another moment of silence, of stillness, as if you’re both bolted to the ground where you stand. 

When he speaks it’s a blow to the chest because you’ve made him cry too. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, quietly, and a venomous self-hatred drips down your throat. Because you’re doing it again.

Maybe this is all you will ever be. 

You fail to stifle a sob and Spencer steps closer still, saying your name desperately and so quietly like it’s his last rite. 

And you try. You try harder than you ever have to stay in one place, to get a hold of your vibrating and to swallow all those slithery feelings and ignore every alarm telling you to panic when he reaches out to touch your arm because it’s never safe to let people in. But when his hand finally brushes you, it’s like a cow prod. You jolt backward. 

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” you whisper all in one harrowed breath, and there’s so much you’d like to say—you’re right, about everything, you do know me, you know what I want, I tried, I’m ashamed—but none of it matters. None of it is enough. He’s backed you into a corner of your own making, and the only way out is by pushing him aside even if it hurts you both. 

So you don’t say anything else. You leave him there, in the dark of his own apartment, and you disappear down the hall. 

Maybe this is all you will ever be.

[coco-loco-nut]

Sparks Fly

pairing: lando x ex!reader, oscar x reader

summary: doesn’t she know that there is nothing you do better than revenge?

a/n: thank you sm for the request, i’m so sorry it took longer than normal

masterlist part one requests open

——————————

Lando’s eyes stayed trained on yours throughout the whole performance. Your knowing smirk makes his stomach sink. Somewhere deep inside you are satisfied watching Lando squirm in his seat, words cutting through him like a hot knife.

“I didn’t know she wrote that! I love that song,” his girlfriend gushes. Lando nods wordlessly, unsure of what to say. “You should introduce me to her,” she stands up, ready to drag Lando backstage as the house lights brighten.

“I’m not sure about that,” Lando protests but gets dragged anyway to where you are talking with the venue manager. He’s a little confused at why his girlfriend seems to suddenly love you.

“Hi, I’m Camillia, Lando’s girlfriend,” she introduces herself before Lando can speak, interrupting your conversation.

“One moment,” your saccharine voice and sarcastic smile greets them as you turn back to finish your conversation, leaving both of them standing awkwardly. You are unsure where this new confidence is coming from.

“Great, thanks for your patience,” you turn to them. Lando can’t believe his eyes, you aren’t the same girl he remembers but you always were able to put up a strong front.

“Y/n,” his voice comes out begging but your sharp eyes stop him.

“Lando,” you reply.

“Anyway,” his girlfriend claps her hands happily, grabbing your attention. “My birthday is coming up soon, I want you to perform at the party,” she says making you scoff.

“I’m a songwriter, I don’t perform like that,” you reject the offer before you can consider it further.

“I’m an actress, there are some producers who will be there and they are looking for music in upcoming productions. It could be a good opportunity, not to mention a very very nice payment,” you hate that the words make you stop, your narrowed eyes widening for a second.

“Are you trying to bribe me?” you ask, slightly taken aback.

“Is it working?” she asks, meeting the challenge your eyes.

“This is my agents details. If I think it’s doable, maybe we will have a deal,” you hand a business card to her. As you turn away, a familiar hand catches your arm.

“Can we talk?” Lando asks, voice pleading for you to hear him out.

“Actually, why don’t you let me talk this time. I didn’t get to do that much last time,” you step towards your gear, starting to pack as Lando steps closer.

“I’m really sorry,” Lando apologizes but you choose to ignore it, lowering your voice so only he can hear.

“Sorry for cheating on me? I find that hard to believe. Congrats on moving on with her, I heard she’s great in bed,” you roll your eyes and scoff. Resisting the urge to slam your guitar case closed, you spin around to face him. “You know what, Lando? I am going to do this, and I hope you hate every minute of it,” you end the conversation, taking one last glance at his girlfriend who sports a frown of some sort.

“Y/n,” Lando says as you walk towards the exit, you give him the finger behind you and leave the building.

The birthday party also happens to double as a black-tie end-of-summer party on some super yacht in Monaco. You spend the summer writing new songs and furiously planning your revenge, professionally of course.

When the day arrives you look drop dead beautiful in your sleek black evening dress, not unprofessional but certainly making you stand out. It is one that begs to be taken off by someone at the end of the night, and you aren’t sure who that will be, but it’ll be a nice way to end the night. The birthday girl is wearing some vintage couture dress that screams for attention. A party planner directs you to the small stage you are performing at. You catch her roll her eyes at you while talking to friends, but you ignore it. Instead you focus on setting up and making sure your set list is perfect.

Oscar really didn’t want to attend Lando’s girlfriend’s party, but he couldn’t think of a good excuse in time. Tugging uncomfortably at his collar he boards the boat just before it leaves the dock.

“You made it!” Lando greets Oscar, clearly already a little drunk.

“Yeah,” Oscar tightly smiles, looking around the boat.

“Bar is open, I’ll see you around,” Lando says before being dragged off by his girlfriend who doesn’t care to say anything to Oscar. Oscar follows the noise of a guitar tuning and finds you preparing to start.

“I’m Y/n L/n, songwriter of many hits, and I’ll be playing some of my hits and unreleased songs tonight,” you smile into the mic, warm summer breeze gently blowing your hair. Oscar steps closer to the stage as you start to sing, being pushed by groups of people talking loudly. He’s close enough to touch and you hope he can’t read your mind. All you can think about is how you want to get to know this mystery man.

You meet his eyes and he smiles shyly at you, a light blush on his cheeks. Teasingly, you send him a wink before refocusing on the music. Oscar is enchanted by you, the way you can elicit emotions from the audience using your words and a guitar, so he stays near the stage to listen to you.

Oscar is the only driver here anyway, most of the paddock doesn’t seem to care for Lando’s current girlfriend. He heard the stories about what happened, but he never met you. You didn’t attend races anymore by the time Oscar joined F1, instead being the girl at home waiting for Lando to return. By the end you didn’t pay any attention to F1 either, you still assume Daniel is his teammate. Oscar never even saw a photo of Lando with the girl he cheated on, you.

“This will be the brief intermission,” you say after performing your most recent hit, carefully placing your guitar on its stand and turning off the mic.

“You must be thirsty,” Oscar hands you a water bottle.

“Thanks. Have you been enjoying the music?” you ask, gratefully sipping the water.

“You are incredible, I don’t know how you haven’t blown up,” Oscar compliments you, making you blush.

“No, no, I prefer being behind the pen. Thank you though,” you chuckle. “I should get back to the stage. Talk to you after?” you ask, trying to figure out how you know him.

A crowd a little larger than when you left the stage has gathered this time, including Lando who happens to be nearby.

“I’d like to start this with something new, a little Punk. I’ve titled it Better Than Revenge,” you flip your hair over your shoulder and out of your face. The aggressive start to your song capturing the attention of the crowd. You detail the start of your summer, the way Lando was stolen from you, and your feelings about it all. You see Lando talk to your mystery water-giver, trying to act unfazed by the song.

“She’s great, where did you find her?” Oscar asks, watching you jam.

“She’s um, an old friend,” Lando answers awkwardly.

“Is that so, how did you meet?” Oscar breaks his gaze, turning it suspiciously on Lando, not quite believing him. Oscar observes Lando fidget and avoidance of watching you.

“Fine, she was my ex,” Lando admits, looking at you as you slow it down with a new song. He finds you eyes looking at him as well, but not with the fury he expected. There is a sadness, disappointment even about how things happened.

“The one you,” Oscar trails off, listening to your words, silence falling between him and Lando as they listen.

“I fucked up,” Lando sighs, admitting it aloud. “She deserves to let her feelings out,” Lando watches you perform.

“You didn’t fight for her?” Oscar asks, not really knowing the full story.

“I hurt her in a cruel way that no amount of apologies can fix. Not to mention I broke up with her. Some cruel twist of fate isn’t letting us move on,” Lando explains, looking away. Oscar nods, not revealing what’s going on in his head. Lando walks away and Oscar stays, watching the final half of your performance.

Before Oscar can steal you again, someone who looks much more important pulls you into a conversation after your final song. Oscar doesn’t mean to listen in, but he is a curious person.

“I’ve been looking for someone to write songs for a soundtrack and I think you are my person. It’s a teen film -think Mean Girls- that has heartbreak and your songs, Better Than Revenge and that song right after it, um,” the producer struggles to thing of the song name.

“Last Kiss,” you offer the name, masking your emotions. It’s a raw song, one of the first ones you wrote after the breakup. You bared your soul. Those two songs represent your two immediate feelings post-Lando, the heartbreak and the anger.

“That’s it. Who is your agent? I want to send a contract and script as soon as possible,” Oscar distracts himself, not wanting you to notice him listening. He does such a good job that he doesn’t notice you slide up next to him, arm lightly brushing his.

“Hello again,” your soft smile makes him startle, but also blush. “I don’t think I ever got your name,” you gently nudge him with your elbow.

“Oscar,” his voice cracks slightly with nerves.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/n,” you know he knows your name from when your introduced yourself on stage, but this feels more intimate, more personal. “How do you know Lando,” you ask, genuinely curious why they were talking.

“I’m his teammate,” Oscar answers, a little shocked that you didn’t know, especially since you broke up at the start of the season and they have been teammates for two.

“Oh no, Daniel,” you frown, maybe you should reach out. Then again, who knows how long Oscar has been Lando’s teammate. Unsure of what to say next, you simply say “Thanks again for the water.”

“Maybe I could buy you a different drink sometime?” Oscar asks in a moment of boldness.

“I don’t know, I don’t want to be seen as the paddock whore,” you shift your weight.

“One drink and if it is too much then you can forget we’ve ever met,” Oscar replies making you reconsider him.

“You believe that much in yourself? Consider it a thank you for the drink then. A boat is coming to bring me back to shore in five minutes,” you wink, leaving him standing, watching you.

With your gear loaded onto the boat, Oscar races down the stairs to meet you on the boat, making it just in time.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” your smirk makes him want to wipe it off your face with a kiss.

“I hate stuffy parties,” Oscar shrugs, his shy smile matching his awkward position. He doesn’t move closer, unsure of how to approach the situation. You are sitting on a bench with your leather notebook on your lap, open to a page at the back, and a pen in your head.

“I don’t bite, you know. Unless asked,” you add on. Your eyes sparkle in the moonlight as Oscar steps closer, a wave making him stumble onto the seat beside you. “Smooth,” you laugh, closing the journal and tucking it away into a bag.

“I meant to do that,” you don’t see his flushed cheeks, but the awkwardness seems to be slightly alleviated.

Oscar calls a car as you make sure your gear gets picked up by someone and taken to your hotel. At the bar you don’t miss how your bodies touch and you laugh like you are drunk.

“So, after one drink are you ready to get rid of me?” Oscar asks, his smile making your heart beat slightly faster. You both look a little out of place in the bar meant for someone in jeans and a t-shirt, but you both haven’t paid much attention to anything besides each other.

“I might need another to make that decision,” you smile, Oscar’s heartbeat meeting your own as he orders another round, then another, and another before he finds himself tangled in your hotel sheets.

As you stare at him in the darkness, trying to memorize everything about him. Moles, the way he smiles, his soft hair that feels wonderful tangled in your fingers, the way he leans down to kiss you with those soft lips for no real reason other than he’s wanted to since he first saw you, his calculating eyes that also hold a softness when he looks at you.

It seems to strike both of you in the moment that you don’t want this to be a one time thing or a casual thing. There’s something in the way that your hand fits perfectly in his, or the way Oscar never wanted to please a woman more than he wants to meet your every need and more, and the natural feeling of you underneath him.

Oscar doesn’t mean to fall asleep beside you, but he can’t fight it with your bodies pressed together and his exhaustion from the day. You slip out of bed when he’s in deep sleep, searching your bag for the worn leather journal and red glitter gel pen.

The top of the page where you write the song title is empty, your lyric lines that you wrote while waiting for Oscar just below them. The cap of your pen comes off with a satisfying pop as you write for an hour, not keeping track of time before the title comes to you. Dress. You bring in moments and feelings of the day but also creating a story between two fictional characters. Yawning, you slip back in bed before Oscar notices you gone. He pulls you close to him, his subconscious needing you.

You stir to soft kisses being placed on your shoulder and an arm tightening around you. You enjoy it for a moment before turning around to join your lips, Oscar’s touch setting you alight as the morning takes a passionate turn.

“Good morning to you too,” Oscar says breathlessly as he collapses at your side.

“Mm, good morning indeed,” you smile at the ceiling.

“When do you leave?” Oscar turns to his side, reaching out to brush a hair that has fallen over your face.

“This afternoon. I wasn’t expecting to stay here any longer,” you admit. “I have work in London tomorrow, can’t stay any later,” you fight a yawn and the urge to stay tangled in the sheets with Oscar.

“I understand. I’ll be passing through on my way to Woking, maybe I could take you to dinner sometime?” Oscar asks, wanting to make sure you know he isn’t only interested in having you in bed with him.

“That sounds nice,” you agree, stretching slightly. “In the meantime, I should shower, mind helping me get some hard to reach places?” Oscar practically chases you into the hotel bathroom. He offers to take you to the airport as well, but you turn it down, promising to let him know when you return to London.

As you wait for your flight, you send a text to Daniel, who teases you about your heavily belated message, but thanks you anyway and expresses sympathies for your break up. You also send a text to Oscar so he has your number.

It only takes a week for you and Oscar to make plans and meet up again, this time at a tucked away restaurant you love. Everything is going well so far, almost too good and by the time you get to the middle of your meal, you need to say what’s on your mind.

“I need to say this,” you pause your normal conversation and set your utensils down. “I need to be in either one hundred percent or not at all. I don’t want to risk the fallout unless I know both sides are committed,” you tell Oscar, searching his eyes for an answer.

“I agree, and I wouldn’t want to bring you into the paddock unless I was sure you are who I want to commit to. I would really like it if you were to be my girlfriend,” Oscar replies, voice even. Your eyes widen slightly and your brain short circuits slightly. “You don’t have to answer that now, we have the rest of the night,” his hand stretches across the table, gently grabbing yours and squeezing it. His smile tells you that he will wait for your answer and you can feel your heart flutter.

“Thank you, but I know my answer,” you don’t even need to say yes, Oscar knows. It feels so wrong that it feels right, dating your ex’s teammate, but you just know Oscar is different.

After dinner you decide to walk around the city, talking about whatever crosses your mind. Every time you remember that it isn’t a great idea to date your ex’s teammate, Oscar brushes your hands with his and you forget. Rain slowly begins to fall from the sky without warning so Oscar wraps is arm around you, pulling you close in an attempt to shield you.

“My apartment is a few blocks from here,” you notice the street signs and try not to sink into Oscar’s warmth more.

“Lead the way,” Oscar smiles, tightening his grip slightly around your shoulders as you make a mad dash in the direction of warmth. You pass a pub on your way and stop in your tracks.

“I love this song,” you blurt, the music amplified through the empty street, warm early-fall rain soaking your clothes. The slow song that has the whole bar singing alone brings a smile to your face as Oscar confidently takes your hand.

“Let’s dance then,” he smiles, eyes lighting up in the dim streets.

“Now? In the pouring rain?” you give him a look of both admiration and confusion.

“Why not? We’re already soaked, the rain won’t make a difference anymore,” Oscar pulls you closer, giving you a small twirl. Both of you giggle as you dance outside the pub. You sing along terribly with the song as you slow dance with Oscar on the slick sidewalk pavement. He teases your singing, adding his own off-tune take on the song.

As the song ends you both are slightly breathless, heaving chests pressed together. Oscars hand moves to your temple, pushing back a wet lock of hair and tucking it behind your ear. Your breath hitches as you both inch impossibly closer to eachother, his face leaning into yours. His lips are cold from the rain yet still soft as they connect with yours. The hand that pushed your hair back now cradles your neck, sending sparks through you as his other hand holds firm at the small of your back. Your right hand finds itself in his hair, wet and long. As you pull away from each other, the rain intensifies and the temperature drops slightly, just cold enough to make you want to find somewhere warm and dry quickly.

“This way,” your hand finds his and you tug him to your apartment building in a delirium of lust. As you fiddle with your keys to get in, Oscar sweeps you into another kiss, hearts racing faster in anticipation. He leads you up the staircase towards the top floor, Oscar remembers you telling him about your apartment one night over text. You stop him on the third floor landing, tugging the collar of his shirt and kissing him again, like a drug addict getting their fix.

Oscar speaks, voice low with something almost deeper than lust and admiration. “You’re so addictive, so captivating,” he whispers, making you want him more. Before you can do anything else your body shivers, cold from the rain.

“Then show me, I have a warm shower waiting for us,” you smile suggestively, this time leading him to your apartment. Once you step inside you make your way towards your bedroom without a second thought, but Oscar pauses as the door closes behind him. He looks around, observing the space you live in. It’s slightly messy in one of those ways people say they know where everything is, clearly lived in. In the corner of your living room is your own little studio, a guitar, piano, amp, other recording devices you need. Fuzzy blankets and pillows are thrown on your couch and the coffee table has a mug resting on it and the leather notebook Oscar has seen you with before is laying open beside it.

“Nice place,” Oscar smiles, looking over to see you leaning against the doorframe with the sound of running water coming from behind you.

“Thanks, sorry it’s a little messy,” you return his smile, pushing off the wall when he gets closer to you.

“It’s okay, makes it homey. Now, I believe I was promised a shower,” Oscar’s voice dips low, practically on your heels as you turn around and head to the shower.

“My poor water bill,” you laugh, towel drying your hair while walking into the bedroom where Oscar lounges on your bed.

“I’ll pay the difference,” he winks, opening his arms and inviting you to cuddle. You happily fall into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Stay the night,” you mutter, exhaustion from the day hitting you and the strange comfort of Oscar in your bed threatens to drag you further into sleep.

“Everything I have is back at my hotel,” Oscar says hesitantly, mind running through what he’d have to do in order to get to work on time.

“I have an extra phone charger, your clothes are in the dryer, and I have some laundry day clothes that probably fit you,” you reason, eyes growing heavy.

“I have to be in Woking tomorrow. Why don’t I stay until you are asleep and my clothes are dry then I will see myself out?” Oscar suggests, running his hand up and down your arm.

“Yeah. That could work,” your yawn slows your words.

“I have another free night tomorrow and the day after it is completely open. We can get a late dinner and I’ll make you breakfast the next morning,” Oscar promises with a kiss. You happily nod, resisting your head on his bare chest as you drift off.

Oscar startled awake as the dryer buzzes, surprised he dozed off. He glances down at your hair slightly damp against his chest, cheek smooshed in a way you would be embarrassed about how you look but he thinks is adorable, and your hand rests on his shoulder. Carefully, he slides out of your bed and pulls your duvet up a little so you stay warm. Oscar feels bad ordering the uber and dressing in the dark, but he does find a stack of sticky notes near the door and he writes a good morning message for you. As he falls asleep in his hotel room, he wishes he never left.

By the end of the week, Oscar has spent more time in your apartment than he has the hotel.

“When can I call you my girlfriend?” Oscar asks one night as you cuddle on the couch watching a movie.

“Let me think about it,” you wait a second, building anticipation and watching Oscar grow nervous. “Now, I suppose,” your grin melts any anxiety Oscar held as he draws you in for a quick kiss.

“Well, I can’t wait to fall asleep with my girlfriend in my arms tonight,” he says, giving you a rare, genuine smile, the one he reserves for moments that truly deserve it. It makes you fall even more as your heart flutters.

You both keep things on the down low for a while. Not just for privacy, but to avoid the inevitable awkward moment when you return to the paddock on Oscar’s arm. Oscar has said many times that he doesn’t care how fans react, but you just aren’t ready. You are happy to watch from home and send texts to his phone during the race. Oscar enjoys reading them after, especially when he’s made a move you deem to be too dangerous. Once you’ve hit the one year mark though, Oscar knows you aren’t going anywhere and you are finally ready to step into the Paddock again.

The natural choice is Melbourne. Oscar did give Lando a heads up, the latter found out about the relationship when he caught a glimpse of Oscar’s phone background. It was a photo he took during a trip to celebrate six months together. Lando freaked out, but soon learned to live with it, especially since Oscar doesn’t speak much on his relationships.

“I’m excited,” you smile in the mirror, clipping on your earring. Oscar’s bedroom is slightly messy from the contents of both of your luggage, but it feels so homey.

“You look incredible,” Oscar tells you as he enters from the attached bathroom. You both match unintentionally. His navy blue linen button down and white shorts perfectly complement your white sundress. You look like you both are about to spend a day on the beach, not go to the paddock for the first session day.

“So do you. You always do,” you gently fix his collar.

“Oscar, you are going to be late,” Nicole calls from the kitchen.

“After you,” Oscar opens his bedroom door, letting you exit first. He gives a quick visual check to make sure you both have everything and checks his bag to make sure all paddock passes are accounted for.

“Are you sure you don’t want to attend today?” Oscar hears you ask Nicole, munching on a pastry.

“No, I’ll be there Saturday and Sunday. Hattie is going with you both though,” Nicole refers to the girl entering the room.

“Someone has to protect Y/n from the crazy fans,” Hattie shrugs, ignoring Oscar’s offended look. “Most girls still think he’s single when in reality he’d be married right now if given the choice,” you stifle a laugh as Oscar’s mouth hangs open, not able to find a response. Nicole doesn’t have the same restraint and does chuckle at her son’s reaction.

“Thank you for braving all of the Oscar stuff for me,” you wrap an arm around Hattie, giving her a quick side hug.

“Is it hate on Oscar day? Was I unaware?” Oscar finally replies.

“Yeah, Osc. Sorry to break it to you,” you giggle. If Oscar weren’t deeply in love with you and didn’t know of Hattie’s affectionate bullying, he may have had a different reaction. Instead he just shakes his head and grabs his car keys, giving his mom a quick goodbye and heading to his car. You and Hattie follow behind, chatting enthusiastically about something Oscar isn’t sure that he wants to know. Oscar watches as you slide into the back seat with Hattie, not choosing the front seat to be near him. You’re supposed to hold his hand while driving. You notice his slightly confused expression.

“Sorry, Osc,” you lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek before sitting back. Oscar watches you both start to record yourselves in his backseat. Hattie likely convinced you to do a tiktok with her.

Once you get to the Paddock, Oscar loses you and Hattie as soon as you enter, Hattie having dragged you off to film a tiktok.

“Lost your girlfriend?” Charles asks in amusement, Alexandra in tow.

“I think she loves my sister more than me,” Oscar shakes his head, walking with the two towards the team motorhomes.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Alexandra says, excited to have a new WAG in the paddock.

“I’ll make sure she finds you,” Oscar nods, adjusting his shirt.

“Us girls are having lunch, Charles will send you the details,” she squeezes Charles’ hand as they part ways from Oscar.

“How did you guys beat me?” Oscar asks when he spots you and Hattie inside waiting for him.

“It’s a secret,” you grin.

“Oh, you guys are matching. How… cute,” Lando says awkwardly in passing, like a part of him wants to die and another part wishes it were him. You and Oscar meet eyes but don’t respond.

“Five bucks and I punch him. Scratch that, I’ll do it for free,” Hattie comments, watching you and Oscar try not to laugh.

“Please don’t, wait until the end of the season at least,” Oscar replies. “Oh, you both have a lunch invite from the WAGs.”

“Oscar, I don’t think I qualify,” Hattie points out, not looking up from her phone.

“Charles said the invite is extended to you. I’m forwarding the texts to you now,” Oscar says before someone pulls him away.

“Hey,” Hattie turns to you, distracting you from people watching. “I finished editing the tik tok, want me to post it?” she turns around the phone to let you watch. You don’t even notice the short clip of you and Oscar walking hand in hand.

“Yes, it’s so funny,” you agree before you both head off for lunch before FP1.

The girls get over the initial shock of your return quickly, most agreeing that Oscar is much better for you than Lando, and when lunch ends Lily offers to walk you and Hattie back to McLaren.

“I’m glad we have you back in the paddock, and I can finally add you back into the group chat after you left,” Lily hugs you outside of the motorhome. Hattie darted inside to get out of the sun.

“I didn’t feel right staying in it,” you shrug, squinting slightly to see in the bright sun.

“You didn’t have to turn down invites either,” she points out.

“It was rough, I didn’t want anything that reminded me of him,” you guiltily defend your actions. “Lando didn’t bring his girlfriend?” you ask, slightly changing the topic.

“She wasn’t invited to this lunch. She will be on race day. But we really missed you,” Lily looks behind you and takes a half step back.

“I missed you guys too,” your smile is a blend of sadness and contentment. You are happy to have the support system back, but there is a part of you that wishes you didn’t work so hard to separate yourself from F1.

“Someone is waiting for you. I’ll see you later,” Lily leaves you to go into the motorhome where Oscar waits with Hattie.

“Hattie,” Oscar starts firmly, his hand instinctively finding yours. “Did you just hard launch my relationship?” Oscar asks, eyes narrowing as his hand slightly tightens its grip.

“Oops.”

[sosa2imagines]

Justice!

Warning- Pure fluff, dad Bucky is back!

You had only been gone for an hour. An hour. And yet, Bucky was certain this had been the longest sixty minutes of his life.  

Samuel, their chubby little boy, had been a force of nature from the moment you left. He was fast, too fast for someone who could barely crawl. Every time Bucky sat down, Samuel was off again, his little diapered bottom wiggling as he made his way across the living room floor.  

Bucky had just managed to sit down, sighing in relief, when Samuel appeared in front of him. The baby paused, giving his father a wide, toothless grin before resuming his journey, his diaper rustling as he crawled toward the couch.  

But then, Bucky made the mistake of blinking.  

The next thing he heard was a tiny, pitiful whimper. His heart stopped for a second, and he shot up from his seat, eyes scanning the room.  

“Sammy?”  

And then he saw him.  

Somehow, some way, Samuel had managed to wedge himself between the couch and the wall. His tiny hands pawed at the air, his lower lip wobbling, big teary eyes looking up at Bucky with utter betrayal. The moment their eyes met, Samuel made grabby hands, whimpering louder.  

Bucky was already there, scooping his son into his arms, rubbing his little back. “Hey…hey, I gotcha, buddy. You're okay, you’re safe.”  

Samuel sniffled against his father’s shoulder, then suddenly after few seconds, stiffened.

With an angry pout, he turned his head and pointed furiously at the couch, his chubby finger shaking with righteous indignation.  

Bucky blinked, totally confused, “Uh… what?”  

Samuel huffed and blew a raspberry against Bucky’s cheek, then for good measure, wiped his snot on his father’s shoulder.  

Bucky sighed, shaking his head, “Yeah, okay. I deserved that.”  

Samuel pointed again, demanding justice.  

Bucky followed his finger, realization dawning. “You want me to scold the couch?”  

Samuel nodded, more like wobbled a bit but it counts as a nod.  

Bucky sighed, then turned to the inanimate offender. “Bad couch. Bad. How dare you eat my son? No one scares my boy!” He gave it a small kick for good measure.  

Samuel beamed, his tears forgotten. He clapped his hands, babbling in delight.

Justice had been served.  

Just then, there was a knock at the door, followed by a familiar voice. “Buck? You home?”  

Samuel’s entire body tensed on happiness. He turned his head and let out an excited squeal, his tiny hands flailing.  

Uncle Steve was here.  

Bucky opened the door, and Steve barely had time to step inside before Samuel was reaching for him, babbling excitedly. Steve grinned and took his godson into his arms. “Hey, buddy! How’s my favorite little guy doing?”  

Samuel, however, had more important matters to discuss. He turned, chubby finger once again pointing at the couch, his face serious.  

Steve glanced at Bucky, confused, “Uh… what’s going on?”  

Bucky was already laughing. “Oh, Sammy got stuck behind the couch. I scolded it, but I think he wants justice from you too.”  

Steve, ever the protective godfather, turned to the couch, his expression darkening. “You did what to my godson?”  

Samuel nodded dramatically.  

Steve took a step forward, holding Samuel securely, “I oughta flip you over for that.”  

Then, for good measure, he kicked the couch, not too hard, but enough to make a statement.  

Samuel erupted into happy giggles, clapping his hands in victory.  

Steve turned back to Bucky, smirking. “That good enough?”  

Bucky, still chuckling, nodded. “Oh yeah. Couch is officially an enemy now.”  

Samuel, still in Steve’s arms, let out a satisfied sigh, resting his head against his godfather’s shoulder.

Justice had been served, delightfully.  

And the couch would never be trusted again.  

By the time you got home, the apartment was oddly quiet.  

Too quiet.  

Which, considering you had left your husband alone with your crawling tornado of a baby, was either a very good thing… or a very, very bad thing.  

Kicking off your shoes, you stepped into the living room, only to find Bucky and Steve sitting on the floor, Samuel curled up in Bucky’s arms, half-asleep with a content little sigh.  

Your heart melted at the sight. “Aww, did my baby boy wear you two out?”  

Bucky looked up at you, a smug smile on his face. “Oh, you have no idea.”  

You walked over and sat beside him, reaching out to brush a hand over Samuel’s soft curls. “What happened?”  

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, your son had a run-in with the couch.”  

Your brows furrowed. “The couch?”  

Bucky nodded, face completely serious. “It tried to eat him.”  

You blinked, “I…what?”  

Samuel, barely awake, lifted his head just enough to point at the offending piece of furniture. Even half-asleep, he still looked determined.  

Bucky nodded solemnly. “Don’t worry. We took care of it.”  

Steve leaned in conspiratorially. “We scolded it. I kicked it.”  

Your mouth fell open in disbelief. “You kicked… our couch?”  

Bucky grinned. “Had to. Sammy demanded justice.”  

Steve nodded in agreement. “It was the only way.”  

You glanced between the two of them, then down at your son, who looked so incredibly pleased with himself, before shaking your head with a laugh. “You two are ridiculous.”  

Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Maybe. But look at him.”  

You did. And your heart ached with love at the sight of your baby, safe and happy in his father’s arms.  

Bucky pressed a kiss to Samuel’s forehead, then rested his chin on top of his son’s head, his voice softer now. “Y’know… I spent so long fighting alone. Protecting myself, looking over my shoulder, making sure I was the only one who had to take the hits...” He glanced at Steve, then back at you. “But now… I don’t have to do it alone anymore. Even if the enemy is just a couch.”  

You leaned into him, kissing his cheek. “No, you don’t.”  

Steve clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “We’ve got your back, Buck. Always.”  

Samuel let out a tiny, sleepy sigh, burrowing further into his dad’s chest. Bucky smiled, his heart full.  

Yeah. He wasn’t alone anymore.  

And the couch? It had been defeated.  

Justice had been served.  

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

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@bucks-babe @lolzies123r @kandis-mom @purplecolordeer @avioletkurt

@pattiemac1 @lovely-geek @hzdhrtss @kpopgirlbtssvt

[theballadofharkness]

Mine to Manage (2/2)

Pairing: Maya Mason x fem!reader

Summary: At Continental Studios, power is currency and chemistry is collateral damage. You’re the sharp-tongued horror exec with a red-lip reputation and no patience for games. Maya Mason is the dangerously charming head of marketing with a Rolodex full of directors and a closet full of designer chaos. You were supposed to be keeping your relationship quiet, but when flirtation becomes a business strategy and jealousy starts bleeding through the seams, secrecy stops feeling smart.

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: explicit smut so as always MDNI 💜🪻

A/N: as promised here is part 2 of mine to manage!!

AO3 link: Mine to Manage

The energy in the room is already chaotic.

Sal’s pacing near the whiteboard with a pen tucked behind his ear like he’s about to diagram a hostage situation. Quinn is typing furiously on her tablet, brow furrowed, muttering to herself about “visual comps” and “emotional architecture.” Matt has two coffees in front of him, one half-finished, the other untouched, and looks like he slept in his car.

And Patty? Patty is in the corner sipping something very not coffee out of a Continental-branded mug, watching it all go down like it’s a particularly slow-motion car crash.

No one notices the door open. Not until it swings fully inward and you and Maya step inside.

Together.

You’re dressed like someone’s cool, terrifying ex-wife in soft linen, black silk, the kind of chic horror executive look that makes grown men second-guess their pitches. Dark lipstick. Composed. Effortlessly haunting.

Maya, beside you, is in full “don’t fuck with me” mode, slouchy designer trousers, vintage bomber, perfect skin, smug mouth. One hand in her pocket. One glance from her would level the room.

The second the team clocks you both, it goes quiet.

“Oh thank God,” Matt says, standing like you’re the cavalry.

Sal doesn’t even look up from his notes. “Okay, Maya, we need maximum charm. Like, pull-out-all-the-stops charm. This woman’s in the mood to be courted and Warner’s dangling a bigger check.”

Quinn looks up from her screen. “And if she doesn’t feel like the center of a Cannes-ready thinkpiece by the end of the hour, she’ll walk.”

“Didn’t even wear the blazer,” Maya says coolly, sliding into her seat at the table. “Bold of me.”

You take your spot a seat away from her, pretending your knees didn’t touch in the elevator, pretending she didn’t push you up against her bathroom mirror just hours ago whispering “mine” into your mouth.

Patty glances between the two of you with a vaguely amused look. She doesn’t say anything. But she clocks something.

Maya pulls out her tablet and casually crosses her legs, one foot bouncing. She leans slightly back, eyes sliding across the table to where you sit, still composed, still silent.

Matt claps his hands. “Alright. Team Continental. One last pitch, one last chance. Let’s close this thing.”

Maya leans forward, propping her chin on her hand like she’s bored and powerful and has absolutely no intention of playing fair.

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye.

And she winks.

Like she didn’t make you come three times last night. Like she’s not about to flirt with someone else just to win. Like she’s daring you to keep it together.

And you? You square your shoulders. Fix your lip color. And dare her right back.

The energy is thick.

You’re seated at the long glass table, hands folded, your red lipstick sharp as a knife. You’ve been called terrifying by more than one junior executive and once by a producer who meant it as a compliment and never pitched to you again.

Across the table, Maya leans back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, her gold jewelry catching the light, her smirk effortless.

And beside her, seated like a queen at the head of the table, is Olivia Hartley. Director. Visionary. Ridiculously talented. And currently eyeing Maya like she’s the main course at a tasting menu.

She’s dressed in an expensive sweater the exact shade of aged blood, hair twisted up in a way that says don’t fuck with me while she absolutely prepares to fuck with everyone.

Matt opens. “We’re thrilled to have you back, Olivia. Since our last conversation, we’ve done a lot of work on how this project would look at Continental. We believe in it. In your voice. In letting this story stay as uncompromising as it was when it landed in our inbox.”

Quinn jumps in. “This isn’t a pitch where we say all the right words and gut it later. We want to make your actual movie okay? Not the safe, marketing-friendly version. The weird, feral, uncomfortable thing you meant to write.”

You nod once, adding coolly, “We don’t buy scripts we plan to defang.”

Olivia smiles. She’s not here for the men.

Her eyes flick toward you, appreciative and curious, but then they slide right back to Maya.

“You brought your secret weapon,” she says smoothly.

Maya arches an eyebrow. “You wound me. I’m not that secret.”

Olivia leans back, draping an arm along the back of her chair. “I was talking about this,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward Maya’s whole body. “The quiet confidence. The good lighting. The fact that I already trust you to sell this better than anyone at Warner.”

Maya grins, not wide, but sharp. “I’m flattered.”

“Are you?” Olivia tilts her head. “You’re hard to read.”

“I’m very readable,” Maya replies, resting her chin on her hand, voice dropping. “You just need to know the language babe.”

You stare straight ahead, unmoving. Your nails dig slightly into your palm. You’re fine. You’re fine.

Quinn is furiously taking notes like this is a masterclass in queer chaos.

Matt gestures to you. “Y/N’s our head of unconventional horror development. She’s got a read on this genre like no one else in the industry.”

Olivia turns to you now, interested but still with that flirtatious gleam in her eye. Like she knows you’ve seen all the monsters and still thinks she could surprise you.

“And what’s your take?” she asks.

You meet her gaze evenly. “You’ve written a script about grief and power and gendered violence. I think it’s brilliant. And I think if anyone else gets their hands on it, they’ll sanitize it.”

Olivia hums, pleased. “And what would you do with it?”

You glance once at Maya. Then back. “Let it burn.”

Olivia smiles. “I like her.”

Maya smirks. “Yeah. Me too.”

You nearly flinch. It’s nothing. It’s harmless. It’s all part of the dance.

But your stomach coils tight.

Because Maya’s leaning closer now. Her voice is pitched lower, just for Olivia. She’s talking about rollout strategies, about festival positioning, about how to make this movie a moment. But she’s doing it the way she always does, with warmth and charm, and a gaze that lingers just a second too long.

And Olivia’s eating it up. Leaning in. Laughing. Touching Maya’s wrist when she makes a joke.

Your jaw clenches so tight it clicks. You lean back in your seat, red lips pressed into a perfect line. Cold. Controlled. Deadly.

Quinn nudges you gently, whispering, “You okay?”

You nod once.

But your eyes stay on Maya who’s now sliding her iPad across the table, letting Olivia scroll through a mock-up teaser campaign.

“This is how we sell it,” she says softly. “With teeth. With seduction. With the kind of marketing that hurts a little.”

Olivia murmurs, “I do like pain.”

Sal mutters, “Christ.”

Matt says, “If we’re doing taglines, maybe not that one.”

You don’t speak. Because if you do, your voice might crack. Not because Maya’s doing her job. But because you love her. And this is the part of her job you hate the most.

The presentation has dissolved into something else now.

Matt’s still trying to keep it tethered to reality, timelines, packaging, and pre-sales but the air has shifted. Like the power’s been pulled out of the spreadsheet and into the space between Maya and Olivia.

Olivia leans forward again, her hand on Maya’s iPad, fingers brushing hers like it’s casual, like it isn’t the third time she’s done it in fifteen minutes.

“This is impressive,” she says, voice low. “You get the tone. The tension. The way this story lives under your skin.”

Maya gives her that slow, knowing smile. The one that says, I know I’ve already won you. “Well,” Maya says smoothly, “I know how to sell possession. I’ve done it before.”

Your heart thumps. Hard.

Olivia lifts her eyebrows. “I bet you have.”

Quinn’s stylus freezes mid-note. Matt glances up, about to speak, then clearly decides not to. Sal’s grinning like he’s watching a particularly good episode of a show he didn’t have to pay for.

You lean back in your chair, arms folded, trying not to look at Maya. But every breath, every little laugh, is a needle beneath your skin.

Then Olivia does it. She rests her hand lightly, delicately, on Maya’s knee. The room holds its breath. And Maya? She just smiles. Doesn’t move it. Doesn’t flinch. Just looks Olivia right in the eye and says, “We can talk about refining tone and rhythm. Maybe over lunch?”

Your spine stiffens.

Sal mutters under his breath, “Charm level: assassin.”

Matt looks mildly horrified but says nothing.

You keep your expression neutral, you’ve perfected the art of stillness. But your nails are digging into the armrest of your chair. Your jaw is locked.

And Maya knows.

She knows you’re watching. She knows what this is doing to you. And still, she lets Olivia lean in and say, “I’d like that. One-on-one’s always more illuminating, don’t you think?”

You nearly break the pen in your hand.

Maya finally, finally turns her head and glances at you. Just for a second. Just long enough for her eyes to ask something you don’t have an answer for.

But you meet her gaze. And you let her see just a flicker of the hurt behind the mask.

She blinks. Like maybe she wasn’t expecting that.

Olivia doesn’t notice, she’s still talking. “Your team is sharp,” she says. “But you? You know how to make people feel things.”

Maya doesn’t reply right away because now she’s looking at you and something in her has shifted. Her smile falters for just a fraction. And you know she’s finally realizing just how far this has gone. And how badly it’s hitting you.

The energy curdles.

The last of the actual meeting structure collapses into something looser, more dangerous.

Olivia’s still smiling. Still leaning toward Maya like a sunflower tracking the sun. Barely glancing at the rest of you anymore.

You sit there, arms folded across your chest, jaw locked so tight it aches. You’re not just mad, you’re humiliated.

Because you know you’re the scariest bitch in this room. You know you’re the one whose contacts made this project even possible. You know you’re the one whose name in horror means something real, not just a marketing tool, not just a pretty pitch face.

And yet here you are. Watching Olivia flirt with the woman you love like you’re furniture.

Matt tries, bless him, he tries. He clears his throat and shifts awkwardly. “I mean, Maya’s amazing obviously, but if we’re talking about horror credibility? Y/N’s the heavy hitter. She’s the one directors call when they want to push boundaries without getting studio notes killing the vibe.”

You lift your eyes slowly, fixing Olivia with a look like you could rip the skin off her bones if you cared enough to move.

Olivia, still smiling, tosses a polite but empty glance your way, and then she looks right back at Maya.

“Maybe Maya and I can workshop some ideas offline,” she says sweetly. “She seems to really get it.”

Your hands clench in your lap. You feel Quinn’s glance flick toward you. Even Sal looks a little uncomfortable now.

Matt, sensing the tension spike, plows ahead, desperate. “Y/N’s also the one who kept Harkness House from being turned into a Netflix slasher. She’s got pull at every major genre festival, if you want critical buzz, you want her on your team.”

You give Matt half a nod, quiet and controlled.

But Olivia barely registers it. She’s smiling at Maya again, only at Maya, as if Matt and Sal and Quinn and you aren’t even in the room.

“You’ll love working with us,” she says, voice steady. “Promise.”

Olivia smirks. “I already do.”

Olivia slides the signed agreement across the table, all smiles and gloss and knowing.

You sit there, straight-backed, spine made of steel, as Olivia reaches into her designer bag, pulls out a sleek, black business card and writes something on the back.

Then she slides it across the table, not to Matt, not to Quinn, not to Sal. To Maya. “In case you want to brainstorm… privately.”

Quinn, bless her, is the first to move, standing quickly. “Let me walk you out, Olivia. Reception’s a nightmare this time of day.”

Olivia beams. “Such service.”

Maya offers a polite, perfectly professional smile, the one she uses when she wants people to think they’ve gotten something from her.

You watch as Quinn escorts Olivia out of the room, her heels clicking down the hallway.

As soon as the door shuts a heavy silence falls over the boardroom.

You slump back into your chair, muscles unwinding in a kind of exhausted fury, hand dragging down your face. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, voice deadpan. “I fucking hate that woman.”

Sal barks out a laugh, clapping a hand on the table. “Right? What a piece of work.”

“Seriously,” Matt says, shuffling the papers Olivia left behind. “She’s brilliant, but Christ, she’s got the social subtlety of a brick.”

“I don’t know,” Quinn says, reappearing in the doorway with a wicked little smirk. “I thought she was very subtle. You know, when she practically mounted Maya in front of us.”

Sal snorts.

You roll your eyes and pick up a pen just to have something to do with your hands.

You know Maya’s watching you. You can feel the way her chair creaks as she shifts. The way the energy between you stretches so taut you think you might snap from it. You don’t look at her, you can’t, because if you do, you might break. And she knows it.

Maya stands slowly before crossing the space between you with that slow, deliberate Maya Mason energy, all gravity, all purpose, all you.

You glance up, finally.

And then she kisses you.

Hard.

Right there, in the middle of the goddamn boardroom.

No warning. No hesitation.

Her hands frame your face, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head back as her mouth claims yours in a kiss that’s messy, desperate, hungry.

Sal makes a strangled noise.

Matt blurts, “Oh my God.”

Quinn just mutters, “Finally.”

You gasp against her mouth, shocked and breathless, but she doesn’t let you pull away. She kisses you again, deeper, slower this time, like she’s trying to pour every fucking apology she can’t say into your mouth instead.

When she finally pulls back, you’re blinking up at her, stunned.

And Maya, cheeks flushed, breathing hard, just smirks and says “you’re mine. I don’t care who sees it anymore.”

The room is dead silent but you don’t care either. You just grab her by the jacket and kiss her right back.

You’re still wrapped around her, your hand fisted in the front of her jacket, your lips tingling, your breath short. Maya’s looking down at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth noticing.

Around you, chaos is setting in.

Sal’s half-standing, wide-eyed.

Matt’s blinking rapidly like he’s trying to reboot his brain.

Quinn’s just smirking into her coffee cup, clearly thrilled.

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “Um. So. Like… HR’s probably gonna have questions about this.”

Your face is burning. You press your forehead into Maya’s shoulder, hiding, completely and utterly wrecked.

Maya just shrugs. “Don’t care anymore.”

She kisses the top of your head, casual and possessive. “They can send whatever passive-aggressive emails they want. She’s important.”

Her voice drops just for you. “You’re important.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging tighter to her jacket like you can anchor yourself there.

Quinn pipes up, setting her tablet down with a loud thunk. “Well, they can’t fire either of you unless they want the horror division and marketing to implode overnight, so… power couple immunity?”

Sal’s laughing helplessly now. “Jesus. First Olivia trying to fuck her way onto the slate, now this.”

Matt, still recovering, mutters, “Okay, okay, okay. Let’s… maybe not shout that part.”

You finally peek up at Maya, blushing, lips parted, eyes wide, and she just grins at you, big and smug and wrecked herself in the best way. She’s still holding your face in her hands like she’s staking a claim. Still looking at you like you’re the only thing she’s ever been sure about.

“You’re mine,” she says again, softer this time. Fiercer. “And I’m not hiding it anymore.”

Your fingers tighten in her jacket, helplessly needy for her.

Sal raises an eyebrow. “Are you guys gonna bang it out on the conference table or should we clear the room?”

You bury your face back into Maya’s chest as she laughs, deep, warm, and happy. She presses a kiss to your hair again, then leans down to whisper in your ear, “let them talk.”

And you believe her.

The second the boardroom door swings shut behind you, Maya’s hand is on your wrist, tugging.

You barely stumble after her, your heart slamming against your ribs, your cheeks still flushed from the public kiss, the heat of everyone’s stares.

She doesn’t say a word.

Just drags you down the hallway like she owns you, her fingers tight around your wrist, her pace fast, hungry, unstoppable.

You pass two assistants. A junior creative. Tyler, who just raises an eyebrow and keeps walking. You’re breathless by the time she shoves the door to her office open and yanks you inside.

The door slams shut.

The lock clicks.

You don’t even have time to gasp before Maya crowds you against it, her hands braced on either side of your head, trapping you there.

“You’re mine,” she breathes, voice low and rough. “Say it.”

You look up at her, wide-eyed, lips parted. “Maya I-”

“No.” She leans in, her nose brushing yours. “Say it.”

You shiver. “I’m yours.”

Her hand tangles in your hair and pulls, just enough to tip your chin up, and she devours you, kissing you hard, teeth scraping your bottom lip until you gasp. She takes advantage, sliding her tongue into your mouth, owning you all over again.

You’re already trembling.

Her hand trails down, rough and deliberate, along your ribs, your waist, your hips. She hikes your skirt up without ceremony, sliding her fingers between your thighs, groaning when she finds you soaking.

“All this for me?” she murmurs, voice dark and fucking delighted.

You whimper.

She presses you harder against the door, two fingers teasing at your entrance, not inside yet, just hovering, driving you insane.

“You get so needy for me,” she whispers, kissing your throat, your jaw, your cheekbone. “So desperate.”

You nod frantically, grabbing at her jacket, pulling her closer. “Please,” you gasp.

“Please what?” she says, smug and deadly.

“Please touch me,” you beg, voice cracking.

She smirks. “That’s better.”

Finally, finally, she slides her fingers inside you, deep, slow, curling just right, and you nearly sob from the relief.

“Fuck, you feel good,” she growls, grinding her palm against your clit, building a rhythm that has your knees buckling in seconds.

You cling to her, nails digging into her shoulders, letting her fuck you against the door like you’re the only thing that matters.

Like she’s the only thing that matters.

“You’re mine,” she says again, punctuating it with a thrust that makes you cry out.

“Always.”

You nod, barely able to speak.

“Yours.”

Her mouth finds yours again, swallowing your broken moans, her body pinning you to the door like she can’t stand being even an inch away from you.

You come hard, gasping her name, shuddering against her as she rides you through it, kissing you softer now, sweeter, like a promise.

When you finally collapse against her, boneless and shaking, she just holds you there, strong, steady, hers.

You bury your face in her neck, breathing her in, feeling her heartbeat hammering against yours.

“You’re fucking dangerous,” you whisper.

She laughs against your hair. “And you love it.”

You smile, exhausted, blissed-out. “I love you.”

She kisses your forehead, soft and sure. “I know.”

You’re still trembling in her arms, clothes rumpled, breathing uneven.

Maya kisses the top of your head again, slower now, more reverent, her fingers smoothing down your spine like she’s trying to anchor you back to earth.

You cling to her for another minute, letting yourself just exist in the safety of her body.

Eventually, Maya pulls back just enough to look at you, her thumb brushing under your eye, catching the stray smudge of mascara, like it matters.

“You look so fucking pretty when you’re all wrecked,” she says, grinning.

You laugh, hoarse and exhausted. “You’re so cocky,” you murmur, nuzzling into her neck.

“I have reason to be,” she teases, kissing your forehead again.

You let her fuss with your clothes, smoothing your skirt back down, fixing your hair a little, licking her thumb and wiping your smudged lipstick (terribly, messily, so you’re sure you still look like you’ve been thoroughly ruined).

But you can’t let her go. Not completely. Not yet. You press your hand to her chest, feel her heartbeat thudding under your palm and look up at her.

And you ask softly, “what made you change your mind?”

She stills for a second. You see it, the flash of nerves, the memory of earlier, the look she gave you when Olivia slid her number across the table.

Maya exhales “I saw you,” she says finally, voice low.

You blink.

“I saw your face,” she says again. “When she touched me. When she handed me her number. When you just… sat there, trying to pretend it didn’t bother you.”

Your throat tightens.

Maya cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone gently. “And I realized,” she says, “that you were sitting there, trying to be professional, trying to protect me even while I was letting her flirt with me for a deal.”

You shake your head and try to protest but she leans in, kisses you softly to stop you.

“I realized,” she says again, voice thick, “that hiding you wasn’t protecting us anymore.”

You feel your eyes sting.

Maya leans her forehead against yours. “I don’t want you to ever sit there like that again,” she whispers. “Like you’re not the most important thing in the room.”

You close your eyes, breathing her in, letting the words settle into all the broken places inside you.

“And I don’t care what anyone says,” she murmurs. “I don’t care if Sal makes filthy jokes, if Quinn writes fanfiction about us, if HR sends us passive-aggressive policy updates.”

You laugh, a watery, broken thing.

She tilts your face up. “I love you,” she says again, like she’s daring the world to take it from her. “I love you and I’m not hiding it.”

You nod, tears slipping free. “I love you too.”

She kisses you slow, careful, devastatingly tender. It’s not rushed, it’s home.

~

The fairy lights overhead glow soft gold against the purple dusk. It’s warm but not sticky, the kind of rare, perfect LA night that feels almost cinematic.

The table is small, intimate, tucked into a corner of the patio like it was made just for you and Maya. You’re holding her hand across the table, your thumb brushing lazy circles over her knuckles. Every now and then, she lifts your hand to her mouth and kisses your fingers, casual, almost absent-minded, like she can’t help herself.

You’re grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

“This feels illegal,” you tease, voice soft, a little breathless.

Maya smirks that lazy, devastating smirk that undid you the first time you ever sat across a table from her. “It is. HR’s already plotting. Probably a whole color-coded dossier.”

You laugh and nudge her foot under the table, playful and giddy.

She leans in slightly, voice dropping to that dangerous low that makes your stomach flip. “Let them.”

You’re about to say something when a shout slices through the soft night air.

“NO FUCKING WAY!”

You both whip your heads around just in time to see Sal barreling across the street, dodging traffic like a lunatic. Matt is following behind, trying and failing to look cool while carrying a six-pack of beer. And then there’s Quinn striding purposefully like she owns the sidewalk, phone tucked under her arm.

Maya groans immediately, dropping her forehead to the table. “No. No. No. No.”

You’re laughing already, helpless, delighted, hiding behind your menu as Sal practically sprints onto the patio.

“You two are on a DATE?!” he bellows, loud enough for half the restaurant to hear.

Maya lifts her head just enough to glare at him. “Indoor voice, jackass.”

Sal drags a chair over and Matt and Quinn aren’t far behind, grabbing chairs from neighboring tables like they own the place.

You glance at Maya, wide-eyed.

She looks murderous.

You look back at your friends, your weird, dysfunctional little work family, and sigh. “Apparently, yes. This was supposed to be a date.”

Matt plops the six-pack down between you all like an offering. “It can still be a date,” he says, overly cheerful. “With, you know, a live studio audience.”

Maya makes a strangled noise.

Quinn’s already flagging down a server. “We’re celebrating,” she says brightly. “Olivia signed. You two kissed in a boardroom. It’s a banner fucking day.”

You bury your face in your hands.

Sal leans across the table, grinning like a wolf. “Okay. How long has this been happening?”

Maya raises an eyebrow, wrapping her arm casually around the back of your chair, pulling you in without even thinking about it.

“A while,” she says smoothly.

“How long’s ‘a while’?” Sal pushes, waggling his eyebrows.

You glance at Maya.

She shrugs.

“A few months,” you admit.

“MONTHS?!” Sal yelps.

Matt chokes on his beer. Quinn just laughs.

“Explains so much,” Quinn says, stealing a breadstick. “Like why Y/N always looked ready to commit a felony when Maya flirted with anyone under 35.”

Maya smirks.

You glare at Quinn, cheeks flaming.

Sal, clearly having the time of his life, leans in again. “Okay, okay, but WHO made the first move?”

Maya’s grin is predatory. “She did.”

You elbow her in the ribs, scandalized. “You kissed ME first!”

Matt leans forward eagerly, completely enthralled.

“What about the ‘I love you’? Who dropped the bomb first?”

Maya snickers. “She did. Sobbed it, actually.”

You gasp, mortified. “I did NOT sob-”

“There were tears,” Maya says serenely, sipping her wine.

Quinn raises her hand like she’s in class. “Follow-up: what’s the over-under on how long until you two get banned from making out at work?”

You groan into your hands again.

Maya just smirks and tugs you closer under her arm, kissing your temple unapologetically. “Let ‘em try,” she murmurs, and the confidence in her voice makes your whole body warm.

The server comes back, setting down more wine, a couple plates of food you didn’t even remember ordering.

The table settles into that easy, buzzing chaos you always secretly loved, Quinn telling some terrible story about her early days in indie film making, Sal making increasingly filthy jokes at your expense, Matt trying to referee and failing miserably.

You and Maya keep sneaking touches, your hand on her thigh, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on the back of your neck. Every so often, she leans down to kiss your hair, or your cheek, or your jaw.

Halfway through a shared plate of pasta, Matt raises his glass. “To the best fucking team in the business,” he says.

Everyone clinks.

Maya clinks her glass against yours last, leaning in so only you can hear, “to you.”

You flush so hard you have to hide in your wine glass. But you can’t stop smiling.

The patio is loud now, your little table tucked away, half-devoured plates and abandoned menus spread out between clinking glasses and crumpled napkins.

Sal’s halfway through a story about his failed attempt to get cast in a Lifetime movie in his twenties, complete with terrible reenactments.

“I’m telling you,” he says, raising a breadstick like a mic, “the casting director told me I had ‘too much chaotic energy’ for a Christmas movie. Me! Chaotic!”

Matt’s crying laughing, slumped over his chair, while Quinn actually wipes a tear from her eye.

“You are chaotic,” Quinn says, shaking her head.

“You’re the reason we needed two lawyers at the ‘Flesh and Bone’ premiere,” Matt adds, snorting.

Sal shrugs. “You’re welcome for the stories.”

Maya leans back, her arm slung lazily around your shoulders, smirking into her wine like she’s been waiting for this all night. You’re tucked under her side, warm and loose and happy, letting yourself laugh, letting yourself have this.

“Okay, okay,” Matt says, sitting up, cheeks flushed from wine and laughter. “Serious question now. Was it, like, obvious to everyone that you two were hooking up? Or are we just idiots?”

You start to speak, to say something deflective, something smart, but Quinn cuts in immediately. “Oh, it was obvious.”

Sal nods sagely. “Painfully obvious.”

Matt throws his hands up. “WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME?!”

“It was more fun this way,” Quinn says, grinning.

Maya just smirks, tugging you closer by the waist.

“You’re all just mad that we’re hotter than you,” she teases.

“You’re not wrong,” Quinn deadpans.

Everyone laughs again, real belly laughter that bubbles up and fills the whole patio like champagne. You’re so full of warmth you feel like you might float away.

“I’m just saying,” Sal says, raising his hands, “I think we deserve a full timeline of the relationship for context.”

You glance at Maya.

She raises an eyebrow, smirking. “First date was the Harkness House premiere party,” she says casually.

Quinn gasps. “No. Way.”

“Way,” you say, grinning despite yourself.

“You mean when Y/N disappeared for like an hour and came back looking like she’d seen God?” Sal demands.

You choke on your wine.

Maya just laughs, rich and smug, and kisses your temple again like it’s her trophy.

“Good memory,” she says to Sal.

You’re about to shove her or kiss her senseless, maybe both, when Matt glances at your wine glass.

“Hey, you’re almost empty. You want me to… ?”

You shake your head, already standing, tugging your skirt down. “I’ll get it.”

Maya’s hand slides down your back as you pull away.

You weave through the tables toward the little outdoor bar, heart pounding a little faster now from the wine and the heat of her touch. When you reach the bar, you wave for the bartender, just as someone leans in close behind you. You don’t have to turn. You know it’s her.

Maya presses in at your back, crowding your space, her mouth brushing your ear. “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re laughing,” she murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “I’m gonna mess you up when we get home.”

You shiver.

She trails a finger down the inside of your wrist, slow and deliberate. “Gonna make you beg for it,” she whispers. “Gonna take my time. Make sure you remember exactly who made you feel this good.”

Your whole body tightens, heat pooling low in your belly, your knees actually wobbling a little.

The bartender appears and you barely manage to stammer out your drink order, blushing so hard you’re sure you’re glowing.

Maya’s still pressed against you, her hand casually sliding down your hip, fingertips teasing along the hem of your skirt, invisible to everyone else but undeniable to you.

She nips at your ear once, playfully. “Can’t wait to have you, baby.”

You turn just enough to glare at her, breathless and wrecked and so in love it hurts.

She grins, all teeth and wicked promises, and pulls back just in time for the bartender to set your drink down.

You grab it, trying to look normal, trying to breathe normally. You fail miserably.

You glance back over your shoulder at her as you walk away and Maya is just standing there, arms crossed, leaning casually against the bar, watching you like a fucking meal.

You want to run to her.

You want to crawl into her lap.

You want to skip dinner and let her wreck you the way she just promised.

But instead you walk back to your chaotic, beautiful little family with your heart racing, thighs pressed together, a smile tugging at your mouth, and sit back down like you aren’t dying for her.

Maya follows a second later, dropping lazily into her seat, sliding her foot up the inside of your calf under the table. And you can’t stop smiling.

~

The Uber pulls up, a sleek black SUV, and you barely finish saying your goodbyes to Sal, Matt, and Quinn when Maya’s already tugging your hand, pulling you toward the car like she’s seconds away from losing her mind.

You climb into the backseat first, scooting across.

Maya slides in after you way too fast, way too eager, and slams the door behind her.

The driver asks your address, barely glancing back.

You rattle Maya’s address off automatically, heart hammering.

The second the car pulls into traffic, Maya’s hand is on your thigh, very high up on your thigh, her fingers slipping under the hem of your dress like she can’t wait another second.

You inhale sharply, glancing at the driver. But Maya doesn’t care. She leans in slowly, deliberately, her breath hot against your ear.

“I can’t fucking wait,” she whispers.

Before you can respond, her mouth crashes into yours, messy, hungry, and desperate. You moan into her kiss, grabbing at her jacket, pulling her closer, needing her like oxygen.

FHer hand slides higher, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thigh, dangerously close to where you’re already aching for her.

The kiss is filthy, all teeth and tongue and panting breath, and it’s taking everything you have not to climb into her lap right there.

Maya groans against your mouth, like she’s barely holding herself back. Her other hand cups the back of your neck, keeping you close, tilting your head just right so she can kiss you deeper, wetter, harder.

You break away for half a second, gasping. “Maya,” you whisper, glancing at the oblivious driver.

She grins wickedly and kisses along your jaw, your throat, her teeth scraping just enough to make your stomach drop.

“He’s not looking,” she murmurs against your skin.

“Let him hear how pretty you sound when you come apart for me.”

You whimper, actually whimper, and she smirks against your pulse. Her fingers slip higher, brushing the edge of your panties, making your whole body jolt.

You grab her wrist, half to stop her, half to keep her there. “You’re evil,” you hiss, breathless.

“You love it,” she breathes back, pressing her forehead against yours, her hand moving slow and torturous.

You’re panting now, clutching at her, eyes fluttering shut as she teases you, light strokes over the thin fabric, just enough pressure to make you squirm.

Maya kisses you again, slower this time, more purposeful, dragging it out, savoring the way you melt under her.

You’re dizzy with it. Dizzy with her. You can barely think, barely breathe, your whole body tuned to her touch.

“When we get home,” she whispers against your mouth, her fingers pressing just a little harder, “I’m gonna make you scream so loud the neighbors complain.”

You whimper, thighs clenching around her hand.

She chuckles, dark and pleased. “You’re already so fucking wet for me, baby,” she murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Such a good girl.”

You can’t take it anymore.

You kiss her hard and messy, your fingers fisting in her jacket, hips rolling up into her hand without thinking.

The car slows. The driver clears his throat.

You both freeze. Maya pulls back, barely, her grin pure sin.

You glance out the window, her place. You’re home. You scramble out of the car, faces flushed, hearts racing. Maya tosses a deservedly large tip onto the front seat and practically drags you toward the door. You don’t even make it to the elevator before she’s kissing you again, wild, hungry, already desperate to finish what she started.

You’re both laughing, breathless and unhinged, as you stumble up the steps to her home, clutching at each other like you might fall over.

Maya’s got her keys out, but she’s moving slow, teasing, bumping her hip into yours, sneaking kisses against your jaw between giggles.

“Your Uber rating is about to tank,” you gasp, grinning wide.

Maya snorts, grabbing your wrist and spinning you into her chest. “Worth it,” she says, mouth hovering over yours, teasing.

“You’re gonna be banned from the app,” you whisper against her lips, giggling.

She kisses you, quick and hard, and finally manages to jam the key into the door, dragging you inside.

The second the door shuts behind you, it’s on.

Maya crowds you up against the wall, kissing you messy, desperate, hands already tugging at your clothes like she can’t stand the layers between you anymore. “Need you,” she mutters against your mouth, frantic. “Need you right now.”

You whimper, nodding, letting her pull your jacket off, letting her hike your dress up with greedy, rough hands.

Her mouth is everywhere, your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, teeth scraping just enough to leave marks you’ll see tomorrow and smile at.

You grab at her jacket, shoving it off her shoulders, needing to touch her, needing to feel her, skin on skin.

She growls low in her throat when your nails rake down her back.

“Bed,” you gasp against her mouth, dizzy from the speed of it, the need of it.

Maya shakes her head, wicked and grinning. “Can’t wait.”

She slides to her knees right there in the hallway, yanking your panties down, gripping your thighs and looking up at you with pure, feral hunger.

“Hold onto the wall, baby,” she says, voice low and ragged. “Gonna make you scream my name like I promised you would.”

You barely get your hand against the wall before she’s on you, her mouth hot and wet against you, her tongue sliding through your folds, finding your clit instantly, sucking hard.

You wail, no chance of being quiet, your head thunking back against the wall, your legs shaking.

Maya moans against you like she’s starving, hands gripping your thighs so tight you know you’ll bruise, loving it, dragging her tongue over you again and again.

You’re babbling, gasping her name, begging without even meaning to. “Maya, oh my God, please- please!”

She pulls back just enough to murmur against your soaking core, “such a good girl.”

Then she dives back in, licking you through it, coaxing it out of you until you’re shaking against the wall, coming hard on her mouth, sobbing her name just like she said you would.

Your knees give out and Maya catches you, strong arms lifting you easily, carrying you down the hall toward the bedroom.

You’re still gasping, blinking through the haze, clinging to her.

She drops you onto the bed, rough but careful, and climbs over you, tearing her shirt off in one smooth motion.

You stare, wrecked and wanting and so in love you could die.

Maya leans down, kissing you slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. “Not done with you yet,” she whispers against your lips.

You whimper, spreading your legs for her instinctively, needing more, all of her.

She smiles, dark, dangerous, so fucking in love. “Good,” she says. “Because I’m gonna ruin you, baby.”

You’re panting, wrecked already, but Maya’s not even close to finished with you.

She kneels over you on the bed, straddling your hips, her hair wild and messy around her face, her body flushed from exertion and need.

You can’t stop staring at her, her strong thighs bracketing your hips, toned arms flexing as she pins you down, that smirk on her face that says she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

You’re so far gone for her it hurts.

She kisses you, slow and filthy, licking into your mouth like she’s tasting her favorite thing.

You whimper against her lips, hips bucking up against her, desperate for more.

Maya chuckles low in her throat, reaching down to trap your wrists above your head with one hand.

“Stay,” she murmurs.

You nod, wide-eyed, pliant under her.

She kisses down your body, your throat, your collarbone, your chest, nipping and sucking little bruises into your skin that you’ll wear like trophies tomorrow.

Her mouth finds your breast, sucking one nipple into her mouth, biting just enough to make you gasp.

You arch into her, desperate, and she growls, sliding her free hand between your legs again, slipping two fingers inside you with no resistance at all.

You moan, high pitched and broken, your body twisting under her.

She pumps her fingers slow and deep, dragging pleasure out of you with ruthless precision. “Such a good girl,” she murmurs against your skin. “Take it. Come for me again.”

You’re sobbing now, thighs shaking, barely able to hold still as she works you open until you’re coming again, gasping her name like a prayer. She kisses you through it, letting you ride it out, never letting you drift too far. And when you slump, boneless and wrecked, she finally pulls back.

You blink up at her and reach for her without thinking, needing to touch her, needing to give her back even a fraction of what she’s given you. You push yourself up onto trembling elbows and kiss along her jaw, her throat, her chest, tasting her skin, feeling her shudder under your mouth.

Maya lets you for a moment. Then her hand fists in your hair, tilting your head up to look at her. Her pupils are blown wide. Her voice is wrecked. “You want to make me feel good, baby?”

You nod frantically.

“Use your mouth,” she says, voice thick with hunger. “Worship me.”

You scramble eagerly, kissing your way down her body, hands worshipful, greedy even, over her ribs, her stomach, her hips. You settle between her thighs, looking up at her once, asking permission without speaking.

Maya cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. “Good girl,” she breathes. “Make me come on that pretty mouth.”

You moan at the praise and dive in, licking a slow, wet stripe up her center, savoring the way she gasps, the way her hips twitch. You flatten your tongue against her clit, circling slow and steady, letting her grind against you, riding your mouth with low, broken moans.

She keeps one hand tangled in your hair, not pushing, just guiding, while the other fists the sheets.

You suck her clit into your mouth, flicking your tongue against it, and her thighs clamp around your head as she curses under her breath.

“Fuck, baby… just like that, don’t you dare stop-”

You moan into her, desperate to make her fall apart, desperate to give her everything, and the vibration makes her shudder above you.

She’s close.

You can feel it in the way her muscles tighten, the way her moans get sharper, the way her fingers tighten in your hair.

“Gonna come all over your fucking face,” she pants, voice breaking. “Take it, baby. Be good for me.”

You flick your tongue faster, swirling around her clit, sucking harder, and she breaks, hips grinding against your mouth, a deep, guttural moan tearing out of her as she comes.

You ride it out, tongue gentle now, soothing her through it until she’s gasping, yanking you up by your hair and crashing her mouth against yours.

The kiss is filthy, wet and desperate, her taste all over both of you, and you can’t stop whimpering into her mouth.

She pushes you down into the mattress again, kissing you like she’s trying to devour you, still trembling a little from how hard you made her come. You’re clinging to her, hands greedy on her back, her hips, anywhere you can reach.

She finally breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against yours, both of you panting, wrecked. “Fuck,” she whispers, voice shaking. “You’re mine.”

You nod, dizzy, drunk on her. “Yours.”

She kisses you again, slower now, more tender, like sealing a promise. “Always.”

You’re both a mess.

The sheets are tangled around your legs, your skin sticky with sweat, your mouth swollen from kissing for what feels like hours. You’re still trying to catch your breath, chest heaving, whole body humming from everything she did to you and everything you gave back.

Maya’s draped over you, half her weight pressing you into the mattress, her arm slung lazily across your waist, her face buried in the curve of your neck.

You run your fingers through her messy hair, slow and soothing. Neither of you speaks for a long moment. Just breathing. Just being.

Finally, Maya groans low against your throat. “We’re disgusting,” she mutters, voice rough with sleep and satisfaction.

You laugh, soft, wrecked, and nuzzle into her hair.

“We’re perfect,” you mumble.

Maya huffs out a breath, kisses your collarbone. Then she pushes herself up, stretching like a cat, muscles rippling under flushed, golden skin.

You whimper at the loss of her warmth, already reaching for her again without thinking.

She grins down at you, smug, fond, completely in love, and taps your nose. “Nope. Stay there. You’re on clean-up duty after I get you washed up.”

You blink up at her, dazed and confused. “Washed up?”

She smirks and leans down, kissing you slow and sweet. “Baby, you’re all messy. Can’t have my girl falling asleep all sticky and ruined.”

You blush, squirming under her teasing tone, but you don’t argue when she scoops you up into her arms like you weigh nothing.

You squeak, wrapping your arms around her neck. “Maya! Put me down!”

She just laughs, deep and wicked, and carries you toward the bathroom.

“Not a chance, baby. You’re all mine to take care of now.”

~

The light is low, warm. The air smells like her shampoo and skin and safety.

Maya sets you down on the counter, grabbing a fluffy white towel from the rack.

She wets it under the tap and then turns back to you, standing between your legs, nothing but adoration in her eyes.

She’s so gentle. Wiping your skin clean, slow and careful, whispering little nonsense under her breath.

“So good for me.”

“So fucking beautiful.”

“My best girl.”

You bite your lip, heart aching at the tenderness of it.

She presses soft kisses to your knees, your thighs, the inside of your wrists as she works, like she can’t not touch you, not love you even in the smallest ways.

“There,” she says, kissing your forehead. “All clean. All mine.”

You’re blinking back tears now, overwhelmed, exhausted, and feeling so loved.

She notices immediately, cradling your face in her hands. “Hey,” she whispers. “Are you okay?”

You try to speak, to say nothing, I’m fine, it’s stupid,but the words knot in your throat.

And then?

You break.

The first tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it.

Followed by another.

And another.

You squeeze your eyes shut, mortified, turning your head like you can hide from her.

But Maya’s already pulling you into her chest, arms wrapping tight around you, one hand cradling the back of your head.

“Oh, my baby,” she whispers, rocking you gently. “My sweet, sweet girl.”

You look up at her, sniffling. “Just love you,” you croak.

Maya’s smile is devastating.

She scoops you back into her arms, carrying you bridal style back to the bed.

“Love you too baby,” she murmurs.

You’re curled up together under the fresh sheets now, your body tucked against hers, her hand stroking lazy patterns across your back. You’re so sleepy you’re slurring your words, every blink getting heavier.

Maya kisses your forehead, your nose, your temple, like she can’t stop loving you, even in sleep. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” she whispers into your hair.

You mumble something incoherent but happy against her chest.

She smiles, huge and soft and wrecked, and holds you tighter. “Night baby,” she murmurs again, like a lullaby.

And you fall asleep like that. Safe, loved, hers.

~

The studio was humming in that particular way it did before big meetings, an electric buzz threaded with coffee and tension. In the boardroom, the team had already gathered, scattering papers, coffee cups, and open laptops across the table like the aftermath of a tiny storm.

Matt paced back and forth along the window, running a hand through his hair every few minutes, mumbling through final points under his breath. Every third step he juggled his phone and a stress ball, managing to forget he was holding one half the time.

Sal was sprawled in one of the chairs, tipping precariously backward on two legs, popping gummy bears into his mouth with the air of a man watching a slow-motion car crash he had no plans to stop. His oxfords squeaked every time he adjusted, but no one commented anymore.

Quinn perched on the edge of the table, scrolling through her iPad with quick, efficient flicks of her fingers, occasionally plucking binder clips from the clutter and stacking them into a tiny, precarious tower.

And then there was Maya.

Maya Mason in all her casually disheveled, absurdly expensive glory. She lounged in a chair, stretched out with one boot propped on the table’s edge, slouching like a woman who owned the building but hadn’t decided if she was bored with it yet.

Today’s look was pure Maya: streetwear chaos dressed up with a fortune’s worth of quiet branding. She wore an oversized Balenciaga denim jacket, the kind that slouched just so off one shoulder to reveal a threadbare Amiri tee underneath, black and loose and soft against her skin. Her cargo pants were black, loose, low on her hips like an afterthought, and scuffed Rick Owens boots were laced halfway, heavy and lived-in.

A jumble of delicate gold chains swung lazily around her neck as she leaned back, gum snapping quietly between her teeth. On her wrist, the slim glint of a Cartier bracelet caught the light when she toyed with the Montblanc pen in her hand, rolling it between her fingers like she had all the time in the world.

She looked every bit the reason Olivia Hartley had signed with Continental instead of Warner Brothers.

Quinn flicked her gaze up and smirked. “Think you can behave today?” she asked.

Maya quirked an eyebrow without lifting her head. “Define behave.”

Matt shook his head, shooting a look toward the door. “Let’s not add another clause to the HR manual, okay?”

“Not my fault,” she said with a lazy shrug. “Some of us have natural talents.”

Matt checked his watch. “Where’s Y/N?”

Maya’s hand went into the pocket of her jacket without thinking, pulling out her phone, checking it like she hadn’t already ten times. She tried to look casual about it.

“Tied up with Ari Aster,” she said, tossing the phone back down with a clatter. “Probably gutting some poor bastard’s dreams.”

Quinn grinned. “Our horror queen.”

“Fashionably late,” Sal murmured.

The door swung open.

Everyone turned to watch Olivia Hartley stroll in like she owned the place.

Leather jacket slung over one shoulder, black boots clicking against the floor, sunglasses still on despite the dying afternoon light. She was smiling, lazy, confident, like the cat who had eaten the canary and demanded dessert.

Her gaze swept the room, brushing over you, Sal, Matt and Quinn, landing squarely on Maya.

She smiled wider. “Good to see you again, Mason,” she purred, tugging her sunglasses off and tossing them onto the table.

Maya sat up a little straighter, boots dropping to the floor with a quiet thud. She offered a polite smile, the professional kind with no teeth, and inclined her head.

“Olivia,” she said. “Congrats again on signing.”

“Wouldn’t have happened without you,” Olivia said, breezing closer, her voice low and flirtatious, like it was just the two of them in the room. She perched in the chair at the head of the table, angling her body toward Maya like gravity itself demanded it.

Maya stayed still, composed.

“You know,” Olivia said, reaching out to flick a nonexistent piece of lint from Maya’s sleeve, “I always believe in rewarding good partners.”

Matt looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. Sal was smirking openly now, elbowing Quinn, who just shook her head.

Maya smiled again and leaned back just out of reach. “I’m just here to make good movies,” she said smoothly.

Olivia tilted her head, studying her. “And have a little fun along the way?”

The tension twisted tighter.

Everyone could feel it, the line being pulled taut, the way Olivia was pushing, assuming that same flirtatious dynamic still existed now that the ink was dry. She had no idea. Not yet.

The door swung open again but this time you walked in. And the air in the room shifted once more. Black heels clicking against the floor, black silk hugging every perfect, devastating line of your body, red lipstick sharp as a blade, hair smooth and tucked behind one ear.

You didn’t look at Olivia, didn’t even see her. You peeled off your sunglasses slowly, lazily, like you had all the time in the world, and slid them into your clutch.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said, voice warm and unbothered, like you hadn’t just made the entire room your stage. “Had a client meeting with Ari.”

You slid into the seat beside Maya, the one Olivia had been half-reaching for without realizing it, and leaned in casually, brushing a kiss against Maya’s cheek.

“Hey, baby,” you murmured, soft and low, like you were the only two people in the world. “How’d your meeting with Pedro go?”

Maya practically melted, her smile wrecked and radiant, her hand finding your knee under the table instinctively.

“Good,” she replied fondly.

You settled back in your seat, crossing your legs, nails tapping lazily against the polished wood. Only then did you glance at Olivia.

Olivia’s face had gone tight, polite.

Because in that moment she understood that Maya wasn’t hers to charm, Maya had never been hers to win. She had been yours the whole time.

And now?

You weren’t hiding it anymore.

[wileys-russo]

stealth mode II a.russo

unc!era stays on🔝

stealth mode II a.russo

"alessia we're on the bus!" you laughed quietly, smacking your girlfriends hands away where they began to wander, the blonde huffing and pressing her face into your neck instead.

"you are no fun." the brit muttered as you smiled and shook your head, body leaning fully into yours as her weight bore into you and the pair of you basically sat in one chair together.

"be professional captain." you warned playfully, another huff and something grumbled into your neck before she shuffled back a little, resting her chin on your shoulder with arms looped around your waist as the pair of you turned to talk to your teammates on the other side of the aisle.

"now girls! i know last time there was a lot of sneaking out after lights out, and that will not be happening tonight. we have a big game tomorrow and we need everyone well rested and ready to go!" your coach clapped for everyone's attention as groans sounded in response.

"yeah against the team bottom of the table who are yet to win a game." your girlfriend whispered causing those within earshot to snicker and a small smile curl into your lips as you gently smacked her knee.

"i also understand a few of you have your finals starting next week, so i would encourage you use your downtime tonight after dinner to get some study in!" the coach suggested, chuckling at the boo's that rang out her way in response, loudest of all from the boisterous blonde clinging onto you like velcro as she had the entire bus ride.

"i don't see you booing, but i did see you pack two textbooks into your overnight bag." lotte teased as you rolled your eyes as a few of the girls around turned their booing toward you.

"watch it." alessia sat up straighter, fixing the group of them with an evil warning glare as immediately everyone turned back to their own conversations and your girlfriend settled again.

"mean ole captain russo." you teased quietly, turning in your seat as your girlfriends eyes rolled but a smile.

"yeah cause the only person allowed to tease you is me, obviously." the english woman reminded as you shook your head and pushed her, accepting the airpod offered your way as the two of you settled for the rest of the bus ride, leaning into one another.

~

"less!" you gasped as your girlfriend snuck your last roast potato when she thought you weren't looking. "its carb loading!" she justified, giving you an innocent smile with her mouth half full as you made a face of disgust.

there was a snicker across the table and within seconds the blondes features shifted, potato swallowed and eyes narrowing, fixing the junior across from her with a menacing stare.

"something funny?" the striker questioned though everyone could tell it was rhetorical, the table a little quieter now as some watched on in pity and the junior went pale, shaking her head furiously.

"no? oh but i'm sure we'd all love to know what was so funny, its in the team spirit to share." your girlfriend baited with a dangerous smile as you frowned, squeezing her knee beneath the table before your hand was batted away.

"uh no no it was nothing." the poor girl stammered out as you sighed, knowing better than to try and intervene, not fancying an argument just yet and knowing your girlfriend could be incredibly pig headed about defending her behaviour.

"nothing? well then maybe you should go and finish your food over there, you might find something worth laughing at." alessia nodded across the room and within milliseconds the junior grabbed her plate and all but sprinted away.

"teach her to laugh at me." the english woman mumbled under her breath, nobody else daring to make a comment on the interaction as alessia turned feeling your eyes set onto the side of her face.

"what?" the blonde huffed, clearly now grumpy and irritable as you sighed. "you know what." you muttered back, scraping your last mouthful of food onto your fork with a roll of your eyes.

"god please not this tonight. i wasn't that mean!" alessia defended herself, crossing her arms and spinning to face you head on as you only hummed, your conversation interrupted by your coach standing and clapping for everyones attention.

"now as i said earlier girls, there will be no messing around, sneaking out, getting up to any sort of trouble tonight!" your coach warned as a few murmurs and mutters sounded in response.

"and to ensure that is what happens, myself and assistant coach taylor have organised with the hotel staff that there will be adults on a roster in the hallway and any player caught out of their room or in someone else's will be benched tomorrow." she finished as collective arguments and groans of discontent rang around the room.

"none of that! my mind is made up. i know you all think tomorrow will be an easy win but that is a lazy mentality. if you start to enter play thinking you don't need to try then that's already cost us the championship girls!"

~

"i cannot believe you're actually studying right now." your girlfriend made a face of disgust from on your phone screen where it sat propped up against your water bottle.

"some of us like preparing for tests russo." you smiled, knowing your girlfriend nine times out of ten would just show up on the day with a pen and a dream, her course work hardly her biggest priority considering she wasn't on an academia based scholarship.

"can i please come over?" alessia whined for the tenth time in an hour as you chuckled. "no baby, you can't." you repeated yourself with an amused smile as the blonde pouted adorably.

"but why?" "you know why, would you like the captain of the team to be benched tomorrow?" "they wouldn't bench me, its just an empty threat to try and scare everyone out of sneaking out." "well its not worth the risk." "oh babe come on please? i'll even study with you!"

"oh you will?" you laughed at that, the strikers pout shifting into a scowl and a huff. "i will! even study my favorite subject." alessia retorted matter of factly as you raised an eyebrow curiously.

"and that would be what? the playbook for tomorrow?" "no, my favorite subject would be you of course baby." alessia beamed, clearly quite proud of herself as you tried to bite back a smile.

"come on, you can tell me. i'm the best!" your girlfriend grinned wolfishly as you flipped her off and looked back down to the barely started essay in front of you.

"need i remind you california, we have pre game traditions!" alessia tried a different approach as you rolled your eyes at the nickname. "yes we do, and we can make out in the change rooms tomorrow. not right now!" you warned as alessia groaned again, her head dropping down onto the pillow in front of her with a small thump.

"you are no fun. wheres your sense of adventure?" "left it behind." "clearly! but what did you bring with you?" your eyes flickered upward and catching the cheeky glint in her eyes you knew what it was she really wanted from that question.

not getting anywhere with your essay with the blonde distracting you and knowing the longer you placated her whining the more desperate she'd get, you closed your textbook and scooted your chair back a little.

"blue and black." you answered with a sly smile as your girlfriend closed her eyes and threw her head back with a groan. "seriously? the blue one? on an away game? where we're roomed separately?" your girlfriend accused as you nodded.

"you're lying, just to wind me up." "am i?" "you so are and-" the blonde fell silent as you grabbed the hem of the large faded UNC shirt you had on, lifting it up to your neck revealing the baby blue bra in question as your girlfriends jaw dropped and her eyes locked on your chest.

"i don't lie, goodnight babe. sweet dreams!" you dropped your shirt back down with a wink, covering yourself again and ignoring your girlfriends hurried protests, telling you you loved her and blowing her a kiss before clicking end call.

you grinned to yourself knowing for once you'd had the upper hand and gotten under her skin, it normally being the other way around as you chuckled at the incoming barrage of messages and calls from the striker.

you sent her a message you needed to concentrate and you'd message her when you were headed to bed, turning your phone over and putting it on silent.

though you should have known well enough, this would not the end of things.

so when you heard the knock on the window you just thought it the wind, not paying it much mind as you tapped your pen against your forehead trying to formulate the points of your introduction.

but then, it came again, and again, growing in frequency and volume as did your concern and slight worry for what was actually hidden behind the curtains.

you looked around for a weapon of sorts, grabbing one of your cleats and holding it up as if it was a sword, creeping toward the window as the knocks sounded again and you jumped.

taking a deep breath you paused, should you alert a teacher? your girlfriend? the hotel? no, it was probably just a bird who'd been fed by someone in this room before, that was clearly the only explanation (which didn't terrify you).

so steeling your nerves you crept forward a few more steps and yanked aside the curtains, your heart leaping into your mouth until you locked eyes with who the intruder was and your eyes widened as large as plates.

"alessia? what the fuck!" you hissed, sliding open the back door as she stepped inside and huffed. "i knocked like ten times are you deaf?" the blonde rolled her eyes as you glanced around to see if anyone could see before promptly closing and locking the door.

"how on earth-" you started to question but it was swallowed by your girlfriend pulling your body into hers, lips pressing sweetly against yours as you relaxed momentarily before tensing up again and pushing her off.

"are you crazy? you could have died!" you hissed, smacking her a few times as the taller girl shielded her face with her hands. "what two stories from the ground? worse it would have been a broken leg! and not my first." alessia grinned as you glared at her and raised your hand to hit her again.

"okay okay okay! i just snuck across three balconies, i'm fine see? nothing bad happened." your girlfriend assured softly with a smile that normally would have you melting but right now your heart was racing and it did nothing to quell that in the slightest.

"not yet! what if you had gotten caught? or if they come to do room checks and you get caught? we'll both be benched!" you warned with a shake of your head, pacing back and forth as the blonde sat herself on the edge of your bed.

"are you done?" alessia asked with an amused smile, leaning back on her hands and raising an eyebrow as you paused your pacing and fixed her with a glare.

"last room checks were at ten, and i'll set an alarm for six and sneak back over for the wake up at seven. no one will know!" the blonde assured as you huffed, shaking your head and deciding to ignore her, taking your seat back at the desk you'd been studying at.

"well thats quite the welcome." your girlfriend scoffed, stripping off her hoodie, tossing it onto your bed and making her way over to you.

"you're an idiot." you mumbled back, eyes not leaving the page in front of you. "oh its so lovely to see you too. no 'hey baby how was your day? hey baby how are you? hey baby I missed you! hey baby i appreciate you breaking the rules and almost dying for me!" the brit mocked sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.

"you choosing to do all that was your choice. i was with you all day alessia, and i saw you-" you paused to flip your phone over and shaking your head at the barrage of texts from her. "-like two hours ago." you turned it back over and opened your text book again.

"well i missed you. so you didn't miss me?" alessia asked, and beneath the hard mean exterior she often exhibited, she was always herself with you and you didn't miss the slight whiff of insecurity hidden in the question.

"of course i missed you less. but it was one night, and you could get us both in trouble!" you dropped your pen with a sigh, leaning your head back on your chair and staring up at the blonde behind you with a small smile.

"well, then at least we'd keep each other company on the bench wouldn't we?" alessia grinned, english accent thick as she leaned down to connect your lips, warm hands cupping your cheeks and necklace clinking as it tapped against your forehead, though that wasn't anything you weren't already used to.

"i love you." alessia pulled away, squeezing your cheeks slightly between her fingers before letting you go, retreating back to the bed and flopping down, wiggling around to get comfortable.

"shoes less." you interrupted as she went to speak, nodding to her sneakers which were currently resting atop your comforter. "an 'i love you too' would have sufficed, so bossy." your girlfriend rolled her eyes playfully but none the less pulled herself into a sitting position, yanking off her shoes and tossing them in a corner.

"you know i love you, but i hate when you wear shoes inside." You sighed with a pointed look to which she simply waved you off. "yeah yeah and you hate outside clothes touching your bed as well, i know all your little quirks baby."

"my little quirks? shall we discuss your game day routine?" you asked amused, pink flushing the strikers cheeks as she huffed. "doesn't count! all footballers have traditions on a game day, you're just weird." alessia shrugged as you scoffed.

"one; its soccer, remember where you are. and two; i'm weird?" you crossed your arms and glared her down only making her grin and wiggle her eyebrows. "the weirdest. but i still love you, don't i? just risked a broken leg for you baby girl, wouldn't do that for just anyone." the striker smiled charmingly as you hummed.

"no you're normally the breaker of legs." "hey that is so not fair! it was one time, a freak accident." "mm and it just so happened to be my ex involved in this freak accident?" "right? such a coincidence."

"whatever you say hot head. aren't british people supposed to be well mannered?" you chuckled, picking up your pen again as your girlfriend mocked you under her breath.

"you're not seriously going to study are you?" the striker groaned, voice thick with annoyance as she collapsed back atop the bed, head hitting your pillows with a small thump.

"well one of us needs to be the smart one in this relationship." you smiled in amusement, the older girl lifting her head and shooting an unimpressed glare in your direction. "and what's that supposed to mean?" alessia challenged, propping her head up on her hand.

"it means you know if you studied for once, or spent the same amount of time doing the work as you do complaining about it, you might not need to keep retaking things!" you gasped sarcastically, clapping your hands together before wrapping them around yourself with a shiver as a cold gust of wind blew through slightly open window.

"and if you actually closed your window in the middle of winter or wore pants, you wouldn't be so cold!" alessia retorted back with the same sarcastic bite, hauling herself to her feet and making her way over to the window.

"i like the window being open a little, it helps me think, and if I don't want to wear pants then i won't!" you defended as she yanked the window closed with a loud bang, grunting with effort.

"oh i would never complain about you not wearing pants my love." alessia smiled coyly, perching herself directly across from you on the end of your bed.

you'd first properly met the english girl at a frat party, your first since enrolling at UNC, invited by the girls in your dorm when they saw you didn't have any friday night plans, one of them dating one of the boys in the frat.

you had soccer tryouts on monday and though not usually a heavy drinker or party goer during season you'd agreed to accompany them, your families words about embracing college life ringing in your ears.

several shots later and you found yourself roped into playing a heated game of beer pong against alessia and one of the girls from your dorm emily, who you were delighted to learn when you moved in was also part of the soccer program at UNC.

"if we lose you're drinking that last cup, I can barely see straight." you mumbled to your other roommate sam who simply clapped you on the back. "if you could see straight i'd know you were having a terrible time." the girl grinned before taking her turn, missing by a mile.

"oh come on you can do better than that carter!" one of her friends jeered from beside the pair of you, a small group gathered and watching the game.

"i know we can." emily smirked, her turn now as she effortlessly sunk their final ball, not having missed a single throw as the small crowd cheered and you groaned.

"you're up!" you shoved sam toward the deadly final cup, knowing that it was filled with various remnants of everyone else's drinks, disgusted at the mere thought of how it would taste.

you watched on with a wince as she somehow downed the entire thing, gagging a little but steadying herself before fist pumping and tossing the cup over her shoulder with a cry of victory.

shaking your head with a small smile you left her to attempt to keep flirting with one of the frat boys she had been insistent looked exactly like her future husband as you wandered away from the table, searching the crowded room for any of your other friends you'd made this week in your classes.

but unable to see any you collapsed onto the couch instead, taking a small sip of your drink, though sam had mixed it for you and you'd been warned she had a notoriously heavy pour, so you put it aside with a wince.

"so what do I get for winning?" you looked up hearing an unfamiliar voice behind you, tensing in surprise as one of the girls you'd just lost to catapulted herself over the top of the couch, landing nimbly beside you.

"sorry?" you raised an eyebrow in confusion, taking in the smiling blue eyed blonde beside you, seeing it was indeed the girl who'd paired off with emily earlier.

she wore blue frayed jean shorts and a tight slightly lowcut tank top, neck adorned in at least three different necklaces, all beginning to get tangled with one another though she didn't seem to care.

"you lost, your friend sam drank but you didn't. so i'll ask again, what do I get for winning?" she asked again, a dopey grin gracing her lips as you chuckled.

"the rewarding sense of self satisfaction that you beat two drunk uncoordinated idiots at a game designed for douchey frat boys. take it or leave it!" you bit back, surprise flickering across the girls face at your sudden change of tone, though her features melted back into an amused smile.

"alessia." she introduced herself, extending the hand which wasn't draped over the back of the couch toward you. you gave your own name back as you shook her hand before dropping it, shifting on the couch and tucking one leg under another, placing your own hands in your lap.

"you know i have a feeling we're gonna become really well acquainted." alessia grinned, subtly shuffling a few paces closer to you on the couch.

"nice accent. where are you from?" you ignored her remark, the english girl with a slight twang you couldn't quite place. "guess." she sat back a little and raised an eyebrow as you paused.

"london?" "is that because its the only english capitol you know?" "no, you're just...posh sounding?" "posh!" the girl laughed as you couldn't help but allow a grin to curl into your own features.

"you're new, right?" alessia changed the conversation and you shifted under her piercing stare as her bright eyes looked you up and down.

"maybe I've been here for years, you don't know me." you smiled, reaching over for your cup and once again wincing as you took a small sip, placing it back on the coffee table.

"oh i'd know if you'd been here for two years, i never forget a face." she grinned. "but this is also my first year too, so maybe not." the blonde admitted as you pushed her lightly with a playful roll of your eyes.

"are you always so sure of yourself?" you questioned with a shake of your head. "sure of myself? no. confident? i try to be." alessia shrugged honestly and without having known her for more than a few minutes you couldn't deny that did in fact radiate off of her.

"so what are you here for?" alessia asked curiously, finishing her drink and placing her empty cup down beside yours. "well since you're so confident alessia, why don't you tell me?" you smiled slyly as the blonde hummed and looked you up and down for a moment.

"you're studying...psychology? mm no. maybe business? marketing? this wasn't your first choice school but you didn't get accepted to that one, plus your best friend was going to go here so you decided to join her. you call your parents every weekend, your mom lets say...almost every day. you broke up with your boyfriend because you 'didn't want to try distance' but in reality you'd been bored of him for months. am i close?" alessia grinned cheekily, tilting her head as she leaned in a little closer, only half an arms length away from you now.

"hmmm...no. i'm majoring in journalism as a backup this was my first choice school, because as a d1 athlete the soccer program here has had my name on it for years." you began to lean in closer as you spoke, hyper aware of the warm hand which was now resting on your knee as you did so.

"-i moved here alone from california. i don't talk to my parents much, i call my mom maybe once a week if i have to because she just begs me to come back home. i broke up with my girlfriend because she cheated on me with one of my now ex best friends, though she could get a little boring sometimes." you shrugged, your face now only a few centimetres away from alessia, whose eyes were trained on yours.

"nice to meet you alessia." you breathed out with a smile, your lips a hairsbreadth from hers as you pulled away, grabbing your drink and walking off to find sam or emily, feeling her eyes follow you the entire way, unaware of how fast your heart was beating in your chest as you did.

"hey that's mine, i was looking for that this morning!" the taller girl raised an eyebrow, pointing to the large shirt you had covering the top half of your body. "mine now." You smiled coyly, tucking your knee up to your chest as she shook her head, unamused.

"you know I don't care if you borrow my clothes california but at least eventually give them back."

"well i look better in them anyway russo." you smiled smugly not at all meaning what you said, you adored the way alessia dressed. "very cute, but I'm still taking it back with me tomorrow, it's my favourite." alessia shook her head again, having bought the article of clothing from the gift shop her first week of college.

"and you're studying again." alessia groaned as you turned back to your paper. "don't you also have things to work on? like your sociology class you're set to fail?" you questioned glancing over your shoulder and waiting for whatever else it was you knew she wanted to say.

"hey i can still pass if i take the test again or write a make up paper." alessia explained as you hummed along in understanding, turning your attention to your own essay.

"but let me guess, you haven't started either and you have no intention of working on it at all this weekend?" you chuckled with a shake of your head, unable to see but knowing the blonde had rolled her eyes.

"the paper has to be at least four thousand words and give my opinion on a previous medical study or report which was deemed 'unethical'." alessia started to explain as you hummed again, fully aware of the minutes ticking by in which you weren't spending writing your own paper, knowing you both needed to be in bed by midnight to get a goods night rest before the game.

"so i was thinking-" alessia started as you scoffed lightly. "thats dangerous." you interrupted, your girlfriend giving you a serious dose of side eye before continuing. "so i was thinking. can you help me write it? i have a week." alessia finished with a smile, and now it all made sense.

"i knew there was an angle. you only snuck here to use me!" you huffed, giving her an unimpressed glare over your shoulder. "no i didn't! i mean yes, but no. please gorgeous you're so smart you barely even have to try!" alessia whined, shooting up to her feet.

"no. now get out and climb back to your own room, i'm busy." you mumbled annoyed, shrugging off her arms as she attempted to wrap them around you from behind. alessia huffed, moving to the side and tugging at her shirt on your body, trying to pull you off the chair and into her arms instead.

"go away alessia." you warned but before you could even utter another word the pencil was yanked from your hand and a warm hand firmly gripped your chin and turned your head.

"i didn't just come here to ask you to write a paper baby, i promise." the blonde assured softly, hands moving to cup your face and you'd be lying if your stomach didn't flip a little.

"i need to write my own paper and we have a game tomorrow." you sighed pulling your face away, her own softening as she took her seat back at the end of your bed, your pen captive in her hand as she swiped it from the desk.

"It's only friday you have plenty of time baby. come on and give me a cuddle at least, i really did come here cause i missed you." she opened her arms expectantly with a pout, getting up with a sigh eventually caving in as she knew you would.

"you're so annoying sometimes." you mumbled as you sat on her lap facing her, wrapping your arms around her neck as her own hugged your waist, the two of you sitting there just holding one another for a moment.

"i literally saw you a couple of hours ago, needy." you teased, leaning down to peck her lips a couple of times, her grip tightening around your waist.

"correct. but you slept over last night, and this morning i believe we started something before I had to leave for class, didn't we?" alessia grinned suggestively, hands moving to rest on your upper thighs.

"did we? guess I forget." you pouted sarcastically, moving her hands off your thighs and trying to reach for the pen still secured tightly within them.

"nah uh, you have to earn it." alessia smirked, holding it out of reach behind her head. "you know i literally have a whole handful of pens over there right?" you snickered, nodding behind her to your overnight bag on the floor.

"but you still gotta get through me to get to them." alessia challenged, tossing the pencil over her shoulder as it landed on the floor with a clatter.

"since you forgot, let me jog your memory gorgeous." alessia breathed out against your neck, peppering the warm skin with small kisses, hands moving slowly around your waist and resting cheekily on your ass.

"alessia." you tried to warn seriously, though it came out as more of a breathy moan as the blonde suddenly nipped at your neck, simultaneously squeezing your ass in her hands.

"yes love?" she hummed, slowly kissing up your jaw. "we have to-" you paused as she dipped her head and bit down on the other side of your neck,  harshly sucking to form a bright red hickey.

alessia had always been a biter from the moment the two of you crashed down into bed together, even if it was just to get your attention when she deemed you weren't paying enough of it to her.

the girl was notoriously mean to everyone but you, but that didn't stop her from being cruel in other ways when it suited her, the english woman perhaps the most eager tease you'd ever met.

"we have to?" alessia trailed off mockingly, moving her assault on your neck down a little lower as her hands moved to trail up your sides.

then before you could even utter another syllable her grip tightened on your hips and she pushed you down on the bed, moving to sit herself on top of you.

"we have to..." the striker whispered again, leaning down to tug on your earlobe with her teeth as her hand trailed up your stomach, nails gently raking down the bare skin, your shirt pooled up around your neck.

"do you remember yet baby?" alessia hummed with a grin, moving her jogger clad knee to rest between your legs and leaning down to connect your lips.

you withheld a groan as she bit down on your bottom lip, small gasp as she pressed her knee against you all she needed to take control of the kiss, tongue roaming your mouth freely.

"nope! no no no, we can't!" you pulled yourself from the hazy fog she was trying to drown you in and sat up suddenly, alessia falling off of you with a squeal as you pulled your shirt down and stood.

"no sex the night before a game. we have an agreement less!" you whined, burying your face in your hands and counting to fifteen, trying to will your body to leave its current state of need for the blonde.

"well fuck the agreement love i'm horny!" the brit hissed bluntly as you peeked out from your hands with a glare. "then count! we have an agreement for a reason." you reminded firmly, a slight pinch to your neck alerting you to a different problem as you hurried to the bathroom.

"alessia!" you shouted with a scowl, touching the two fast forming love bites on your neck with a wince, the blondes head popping sheepishly into the doorway as she shrunk beneath your glare.

however before either of you could say another word there was a knock at the door and both your heads snapped toward the door, your coach calling out your name.

"hide!" you mouthed at the blonde, yanking her into the bathroom as you stepped out, looking around the room wildly and hurrying to shove any evidence you weren't here alone into the closet as another knock and your name sounded again.

a towel hit you in the head as you spun around and glared at your girlfriend who'd thrown it. "hickeys!" she pointed to her neck as you hurried to sling the towel around your neck as if going for a shower.

taking a moment to collect yourself you rubbed your eyes a few times and slowly cracked open the door. "yeah coach?" you asked, faking a yawn as the womans eyes narrowed.

"i heard you yell, something wrong?" she asked suspiciously, trying to see behind you as you closed the door a little more. "no no, must have been someone else. night coach!" you assured, trying to close the door properly as a hand grabbed it and you winced.

"you won't mind if i check you're here alone then, will you?" "of course not coach." you forced a smile and opened the door properly, gesturing for her to come in.

"bit late to be studying, we need you sharp on defense tomorrow, its critical we maintain a low block." the woman noted your materials scattered across the desk in the corner as you hurried to note you weren't aware of the time.

"i could have sworn i heard you shout your girlfriends name. and i would hope that the captain of the team would know better than to be breaking rules?" the woman seemed to emphasize her point a little louder.

"oh we were uh, on facetime coach! we'd just hung up." you quickly lied with a smile as she hummed. "so i could shower! then head right to bed." you tugged on the towel with a somewhat nervous chuckle as she hummed again.

"well i'll leave you to it then." the woman did a quick check of the bathroom and you tried not to let the relief flood your face as she seemed satisfied you were alone, one last scan of the room before she left.

you barely exhaled before there was a thump and your girlfriend came careering out of the bathroom where she'd been hidden in the shower. "she is absolutely heading for your room now you idiot, go!" you whispered, shoving her with a huff.

"not that way! the way you came." you hissed, turning her around and pushing her toward the balcony door. "god you are so bossy, and everyone says i'm the mean one?" alessia scoffed as you smacked the back of her head.

"not the time! go!" you shoved her as she stumbled, catching herself and shivering. "hoodie!" she demanded as you rolled your eyes and hurried off to collect it, tossing it in her face and stepping back to shut the door.

"hey! what about my kiss?" the girl scowled as you stared at her in disbelief, a finger tapping her lips expectantly as you rolled your eyes but stepped forward, bunching her shirt in your hands and pressing your lips to hers.

"this was hot, like a forbidden love!" alessia grinned as you pulled away and pushed her toward the edge of the balcony where she'd climbed over. "yeah it'll be forbidden when you get suspended for being an asshole, go russo!" you pointed firmly as she blew you another kiss and swung a leg over the railing.

"i love you." "i love you." she repeated again as you went to close the door. "i love you!" a third time.

"oh my god shut up someone will hear you! i love you too, now go!"

[kashverse]

anything for gojo your majesty🎤🎤

if you are not a nicki minaj fan i'm sorry

gojo being a stay-at-home dad was a double-edged sword. on one hand, babytoru was getting an absurd amount of quality time with her father—on the other hand, that quality time often involved questionable educational choices. you had expected him to teach her something useful. math, maybe. how to read kanji. literally anything that would benefit her future. 

instead, you walked into the living room to find your six-year-old sitting cross-legged in front of the plasma tv, gripping a pink crayon like her life depended on it, while gojo stood in front of the screen, pointing dramatically at an image of nicki minaj like he was delivering a ted talk.

"okay, kid, write this down," he said, flipping the remote in his hand like a mic. "in the beginning, there was mixtape nicki. underground legend. 'playtime is over,' 'sucka free,' 'beam me up scotty'—pure heat. this was when she really started cookin’. had wayne and drake in a chokehold. also, fun fact, this was when she still had the super thick ny accent—"

he glanced down at babytoru's notebook, then did a double take.

"baby, what the hell is this?"

she beamed up at him, proudly holding up a page where she had written, in large, wobbly pink crayon letters: nickee menaj.

gojo let out a long, dramatic sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "baby, this is unacceptable. you’re taking notes like a casual. like an unserious student."

"but i don’t know how to spell her name," she pouted, fidgeting with her crayon. he crouched down to her level, gripping her tiny shoulders. "listen to me. nicki minaj is a spelling bee champion. do you understand how embarrassing it would be if we couldn't spell her name right?"

babytoru gasped. "she is??"

"not officially, but spiritually," he said solemnly. "now fix it. it's n-i-c-k-i. no ‘e’s in this house."

she quickly erased and rewrote, murmuring under her breath, "n-i-c-k-i… no ‘e’s in this house…"

"good, good," gojo nodded approvingly. "okay, now where were we? ah, yes. pink friday, her debut album. iconic. certified classic. if you ask me, 'roman’s revenge' is the best track—insane flows, legendary bars. ‘did it on 'em’—a cultural reset. but of course, we can’t forget ‘super bass,’ which single-handedly raised a generation of barbz."

babytoru scribbled furiously.

"now, next, we have roman reloaded, where she gave us pop nicki—think ‘starships,’ think ‘pound the alarm.’ polarizing, but the range? undeniable." he paced the living room like a professor mid-lecture. 

"then we enter the pinkprint era. arguably her magnum opus. heartbreak, bars, versatility—this is where we have ‘anaconda,’ ‘only,’ ‘feeling myself’—"

you cleared your throat loudly.

gojo froze. babytoru turned to look at you, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “mama! did you know nicki minaj is a spelling bee champion?”

you stared at your husband, who was now whistling innocently.  "satoru. why is our daughter taking notes on nicki minaj like this is a university lecture?"

"because it is," he said, placing a hand over his heart. "this is the history they don’t teach in school. i’m simply filling in the gaps."

"what about, i don’t know, actual school subjects?"

"she’s learning literacy," he argued, gesturing to her notebook.

"she spelled her name wrong five minutes ago."

"papa taught me how to fix it!" babytoru chirped.

"see? she’s improving already," he grinned. "also, i’d like to point out that this is a music history class, actually. next period is music theory, where we’ll be analyzing nicki’s rhyme schemes and cadence."

you pinched the bridge of your nose. "satoru—"

"babe, come onnnnn. you of all people should understand the importance of culture."

before you could respond, he clapped his hands together. "alright, break’s over! babytoru, let’s talk about queen. underrated era, but still solid. ‘chun-li’ was a moment. oh, and don’t even get me started on ‘good form’—"

you sighed. maybe it wasn’t entirely useless. at least she was learning something.

but when you glanced at her notes again and saw "all these beaches are my suns" written in pink crayon, you decided you needed to intervene.

[aeristudios]

cw: kissing, unprotected car sex, creampie, masturbation, definitely some dirty talk, pet names, exhibitionism? 18+ for the anon who requested "the devil's tango" part 2 to this drabble and @hobeemin

You had a very long day.

You had a deadline to meet at work and your boss was on everyone's coattails to make sure it was met. He yelled, screamed and threatened to fire the whole dept by the end of the day. You were frustrated, annoyed and need to release some stress.

5pm rolled around and you could not get out of there fast enough. You saw Wonwoo, standing there with his camera in his hand, ready to snap your photo when you walked out of the building. Noticing you were upset, he pulls you into a hug and kisses you in ways that makes you melt in more ways than one.

"You had a bad day baby?"

You nod, leaning your head on his shoulder as he walked you to his car. He smelled good, looked good, and you have this fervent need that you need to scratch.

"I really need you to fuck me."

Wonwoo looks at you curiously and chuckles, opening the door to let you in.

"I'm serious," you stand your ground. "Work absolutely sucked and I need to release some stress—"

He shuts you up with another kiss, his hands entangled in your hair as you lean against the open door. "Get in the car princess."

You hastily in the car and buckle in as he pulls out, driving until he pulls into a secluded spot surround by trees and facing a lake. You have always driven passed this area and wanted to see what it led, as the trees surrounded with vines of marigolds. Looks like he had the same idea.

Once he made sure the car was in park, he motions for you to go in the backseat, and you do just that, hiking your skirt and scurrying out of your panties. Your hands eagerly pull on the drawstring of his pants, pulling them down and revealing his hard cock, leaking with pre-cum. Your mouth salivates at the thought of tasting it, and watching him rub along his shaft makes you wet.

"Play with yourself," he commands, pushing your legs apart. "I want to see how bad you really want me."

Your fingers play against your needy clit, rubbing it furiously as he stroke himself to your entrance. The tip is barely touching your folds, but you want him. Need him.

"Wonwoo please just fuck me—"

He is good at shutting you up. He hikes your legs up and slides in you, his cock fitting inside of you perfectly, like you were made for him. He gently kisses your face, thrusting slowly and deeply so you can feel all of him. He knew you could take it.

"You're so impatient," he grits his teeth. "Did you really need that bad?"

You nod fervently, locking your legs around his waist as he fucks you harder. The car shakes and the windows fog up, the sound of skin clapping and your moans turning you on even more. It doesn't take you long to cum, your essence coated all over his lower half and part of the backseat. You are breathless and thoroughly fucked out, but you still beg him to cum inside of you, wanting to feel his hot load dripping out of you. You like feeling like his personal whore.

"Is that what you want, baby? You want me to fill up your pretty pussy ?"

"Yes. I need it."

Small beads of sweat form on his forehead as he continues to fuck you, his movements becoming more rigid until he reaches his peak, keeping his promise and filling you up with his cum. He kisses you deeply, and you whisper you love him too, gently wiping the sweat off of his face. Once you are full of him, he pulls out of you slowly, watching his load leak out of you slowly, like a river. He leans forward to the front seat and grabs his camera, taking a picture of the masterpiece he created.

"What? It's looks pretty baby."

[cakypa120]

Unhinged promo of my Silly Billy where he just forgot that he is the Champion of Magic, and by that, he CAN do magic, so he just use the most unhinged spell Infront of the league, like, absorbing light to eat, but in the most cartoony style.

What are your thoughts Father of the Captain Marvel cult?

I like this idea

Billy often forgets that he is the Champion of fucking magic. Not just a magician, but the Champion himself. That means he can do magic in any shape or size. But when Billy remembers that he can do magic, the League has a field day.

Barry: Cap, where'd you get so much salami and cheese?

Marvel: I did.

Barry: What?

Marvel: *gestures at the sun, which was just peeking out from behind the Earth* Look.

Marvel claps his hands and says this spell that Buddhist monks made up a long time ago. Barry watches in shock as the sunbeams begin to warp and turn into pie.

Barry: Wow. That's incredible.

Marvel: I thought so too.

Marvel starts shuffling the salami and cheese around like poker cards, then Marvel flips them and they land in a neat pile on the bread. The sandwich is bigger than Marvel himself!

Marvel: Ta-da! Want to try it?

Barry: Sorry, dude, but I can't fit this.

Marvel: Your loss.

Marvel throws his giant sandwich up to the ceiling and opens his mouth wide. The sandwich falls into Marvel's mouth and the hero eats it all! Barry looks at Marvel in shock as he strokes his big belly.

Hal: We're about to crash into the fucking planet!

Batman: I'm doing the best I can, Lantern!

Marvel: I have an idea! Batman, don't try to avoid the planet!

Bruce wanted to yell at Marvel, but he looked so convincing. So Bruce stopped trying to lift the ship. The planet's surface was coming in fast and furiously.

Hal: Marvel! You better do what you're planning!

Marvel nods and starts whispering. Then Captain leans on the control panel and blows a kiss. Bruce and Hal look at him in shock.

Suddenly, their ship slowly stops and flies back into orbit around the planet. Bruce and Hal see a woman's face appear on the planet. You can even see the blush of embarrassment!! The planet winks and blows a kiss with its lips. Marvel winks with a mischievous smile and waves.

Marvel: *whispers* Batman, you better hurry, the planet's seduction spell won't last long.

Bruce comes to his senses and takes the ship away from this damn planet. In his nightmares, he later dreams of this planet flirting with Captain Marvel.

Villain: Ha-ha-ha, that's the end of you!!

Marvel: No! *raises both hands* Brown magic!!

Villain: *turns pale and quickly leaves, for some reason with a very straight back*

Superman: Marvel, what have you done.

Marvel: Brown magic.

Superman: Yeah, I heard, but what does it do.

Marvel: Brown. Magic.

Diana: Marvel, why did you cast that spell on Arthur?

Arthur: Poop! Poop! Poop!

Marvel: Sorry, I got the words in the spell wrong. I promise it won't happen again.

Arthur: Poop! Poop!

Hal:*almost dies laughing* Arthur, what is not allowed to do in the sea?

Arthur: Poop!!

Hal:*laughs so hard his stomach hurts*

Barry:*lies on the floor making hoarse sounds*

[softlymellow]

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 7

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 1.5k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

"That night didn’t feel like peace or the relief Anakin had been waiting for."

You and Obi-wan stood in silence.

“He’ll be alright.” He said gently, not exactly sure if he meant Dev or Anakin. Nodding, you stepped inside first, the evening wind biting your skin. Obi-wan followed right behind you.

There wasn’t much inside. A table. A couple of dim rooms.

Anakin stood in the middle of the room. His cloak pushed back and his saber clipped to the side but an angry Dev beside him.

“We’ll stay here,” he said flatly. Like he made up his mind long ago. Your heart beat something ugly in your chest. Anakin wouldn’t look at you at all. Not since when he first found you.

Noticing the way you were compliant in comparison to Dev, Obi-wan walked over to you and unclipped your cuffs. You felt instant relief and began to stretch your wrists, noticing the red marks it had left behind. It was difficult to miss the hard stare Anakin gave Obi-wan, nonetheless he was his master so instead of snapping, he pursed his lips.

“So she gets to be free and not me?” Dev snarled, narrowing his eyes. Tilting your head you looked at Dev, the way he slouched, the scowl on his face. It was a side of him you didn’t know.

Obi-wan who now stood near the windows -his arms crossed and his eyes scanning the room- walked over to Dev and grabbed him softer than Anakin.

“You can stay in a different room for now,” he instructed. Despite his protests, they had moved Dev for the night in a much darker room. Only space for a mattress and a chair. You had watched Dev roll his eyes like it was all beneath him and as if nothing matters.

You didn’t understand why.

No one explained anything to you.

It was less than a second that you and Anakin had been left alone in that room before Obi-wan returned, dusting off his hands with a quick clap. Now, all attention was on you. Anakin still hadn’t met your eyes all the while you would never leave Obi-wan’s sight.

Anakin began to pace.

Again.

And again.

And again.

His brows furrowed deeper every time he passed you. You felt held. Not by cuffs, but by memory. By their silence. Anakin looked like he wanted to scream, but he didn’t. And you couldn’t tell if you wanted him to or not.

And then he stopped. Stopped to face you directly.

His eyes hollow.

“You bombed a civilian square.”

His voice came out deep and harsh, cutting into your skin. Your throat tightened and you managed to croak out a “we didn’t mean-”

“Didn’t mean to?” He mockingly finished your sentence. You flinched and he began to laugh. A bitter and sharp laugh.

Turning your face down to your boots, you couldn’t bear the disappointment they both felt. You ran away from a false bombing accusation now to be met with a real one.

Obi-wan spoke gently to you, “Did you help Dev?”

Shaking your head furiously, “I didn’t know he had a bomb. It must’ve been Denger’s. It wasn’t supposed to be like this…”

“Ahh Denger! How could I forget-” Anakin exclaimed sarcastically, he threw his hands up. “-you’re a bounty hunter now.” He crossed his arms.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you narrowed your eyes, looking at him both hurt and offended.

“Yes. You did. And if blowing up a public area is part of your job then I would really reconsider careers.”

“He was injured and I was trying to protect him-”

“You were protecting a murderer,” Anakin snapped, his voice rising. Never had he ever yelled at you like this.

You sat near the table now, your hands clenching your cloak and your voice hoarse. “He’s not like that…”

“And yet he is,” Obi-wan said quietly. “Do you believe he is innocent?”

What were these questions? What was so wrong with Dev that they reprimanded you for defending him.

“He saved me, Obi-wan. When there was no one else.” You said sternly. Obi-wan glanced at Anakin but neither of them spoke.

Obi-wan pinched his nose, “We’re not the enemy here, Y/n.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You’re acting like it,” Anakin butted in.

Ouch.

“Anakin…” It had been a year since you’ve said that name out loud. It didn’t feel normal when it rolled out of your tongue.

“Don’t you dare say my name.” You sank further in your seat. Anakin met you with cold eyes, “Be grateful we didn’t leave you in there with him.” Anakin stood still, his jaw clenched and looking at you like you were a murderer. This wasn’t the Anakin you knew and loved. It was different. He was different.

He left the room without another word.

—

It had been a few hours since the argument. Anakin left to his own room and Obi-wan claimed the same thing except he needed to ‘meditate’. You sat on the floor, your back against the wall, the room dark except for one lamp flickering.

You hadn’t moved in hours. It was too painful.

Hearing some shuffling nearby, Obi-wan came out of his room and stood still against the door frame. He watched you as you played with the hem of your shirt.

“Why didn’t you come back?” His voice came low.

You closed your eyes for a second too long. There it was. The question you’ve been trying to avoid.

“I couldn’t.”

“You could’ve.”

You shook your head, “you don’t know what it was like.”

“Help me understand.” He walked over to you, crouching down to eye level.

“I-I was scared.” You confessed. “I didn’t know who to trust. It felt like the whole city was hunting me down. I was scared that you all hated me. And now you hate me even more for what I have become.”

Obi-wan immediately shook his head. “You had to become a bounty hunter to make a living, Y/n. There is no shame in that.” His voice didn’t rise like Anakins. It didn’t judge.

“You were our friend.” You rested your head against the wall, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

Obi-wan stood up slowly, looking over to the hallway where Anakin had disappeared off to. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“Sure as hell feels like it,” Your voice came out hoarse.

“He’s confused,” Obi-wan said. “He’s angry, but not because he hates you.”

Sniffling into your sleeves, you gulped. “Then why?”

Obi-wan sighed, looking down at the ground, and then up to meet you. “Because you left,” he said. “And he never stopped waiting.” Obi-wan watched as a tear rolled down your face before you hastily wiped it away.

Obi-wan didn’t press you anymore. He just gave you a long look before heading to the hall, his walk both tired and sad.

That night didn’t feel like peace or like the relief Anakin had been waiting for. It felt like disappointment. It felt like waiting. Waiting for things to go back to normal. Waiting for him to go back to Coruscant and forgetting about this whole mission.

He hated this.

He hated this house.

He hated Corellia.

He hated the way you looked at him.

He hated the way he knew he was hurting you.

He hated the way you defended someone as cruel as Dev.

He hated the way you still called him by his name.

He hated the way it sounded like nothing on your lips.

And worst of all-

He hated the way he still longed to be in your arms. How he yearned to rest his head on your lap, your fingers curling into his hair. He would then want you beneath him, giving yourself to him just like you would in the past.

Anakin sank deeper in his bed, his hands running through his hair, much rougher than you would. His head throbbed and he just wanted to be back in his own bed. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to break something and have it be okay for once.

But instead, he stood and walked to the door. He opened it just wide enough to see you.

See you curled up on the floor. No blanket. No pillow. Just your arms tucked beneath your cheek and your legs drawn to your chest. The lamp beside your hand illuminated your face with a golden hue. You looked much softer. Smaller and tired.

Anakin stood by his door and watched you. In the past he would never let you sleep like this. He would give up his entire room just for you to be comfortable. These were new times. But something in chest still burned and he walked over to you.

Anakin knelt down slowly, his face close to yours. Your lashes fluttered like you were in a dream. His hand instinctively lifted, like he wanted to touch you. Caress your face. Make sure it was really you. You were really here and it wasn’t one of his dreams anymore.

But he didn’t.

His hand fell and he stared. And then he stood and walked away.

a/n: i know this one is sm shorter guys IM SORRY i just have university placement rn and its kicking my asssss and im so tired </3 i really hope u guys still like it !!

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

[my-castles-crumbling]

Revenge - December 6 - jegulus ft. wolfstar - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 343

“Love, are you sure this is a good i-” James asked gently, but he was immediately cut off.

“Yes, now do as I say!” Regulus snapped, struggling in the blankets, obviously focused on the task at hand. “I need my revenge, Potter, and you’ll help me get it.”

Trying to decide if he was turned on or upset about being reduced to his surname again, James nodded and focused on unbuttoning buttons. He’d long-ago given up on understanding the dynamic between Regulus and Sirius. The two brothers loved each other, but their arguments and competitiveness often made it seem like they would be more than willing to fight to the death.

It was one of many disagreements that had gotten them into this situation.

“If he can’t learn to respect my belongings,” Regulus mumbled as he worked on his own clothing, “then I’m not going to respect his.”

“But Reg,” James said imploringly. “This is his-”

“My bed?!?”

A loud yelp interrupted James again, and both James and Regulus looked up from where they were lying to see Sirius in the doorway.

“What the fuck are you two doing in my bed?!?” Sirius asked furiously, looking like he was about to faint.

“I dunno,” Regulus answered lazily, moving himself completely on top of James and making sure ti show off their almost naked bodies. “I figured since you invite yourself to use all of my things, it wouldn’t matter, right?”

What followed was the loudest argument James had ever heard in his life. Insults were thrown, as were spells and pillows.

After a little while, James found himself standing shirtless next to Remus, who was just looking on with an amused expression.

“You two weren’t even doing anything, were you?” Remus muttered, shaking his head.

“No. Unfortunately not,” James sighed. “We didn’t get that far.”

“Right, well. I’m going to go start dinner. If you could remind both of our husbands to act their ages,” Remus chuckled, leaving.

But by the time James turned back to the two brothers, they were already laughing together clapping each other on the back, like they hadn’t singed a giant hole in the wall just moments ago.

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤBOSTON FOR THANKSGIVING * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N goes back to Boston with Chris and his brothers for Thanksgiving.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The crisp November air bit at Y/N’s cheeks as she followed Chris up the stone walkway leading to the Sturniolo family home. The familiar house with its neatly trimmed hedges and warmly lit windows looked just as welcoming as it had last year, but this time, Y/N felt more at home. It was her second Thanksgiving with Chris and his family, and she already knew what awaited her inside: love, warmth, and a fair bit of chaos.

Chris shifted the bags he was carrying and glanced back at her.

"You ready?" He asked, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

Y/N nodded, her own smile spreading wide.

"Always."

The front door swung open by Nick before Chris could even reach for the handle. A blur of caramel fur darted out, running between the boy's legs while barking excitedly.

"Trevor!" Y/N squealed, dropping her own bags instantly. She knelt on the porch, arms open wide as the family dog launched himself into her embrace. His tail wagged furiously, and Y/N giggled as he licked her face with enthusiasm.

Chris stood above them, shaking his head with an amused chuckle.

"Guess I know where I stand." He teased, adjusting the straps of the duffel bags on his shoulders before bending slightly and taking her dropped bags, throwing it over his free arm.

Y/N grinned up at him, scratching behind Trevor’s ears.

"You know you’re second to Trevor." She quipped before pressing a kiss to the dog’s head, inhaling his comforting Dog Shampoo scent.

The sound of hurried footsteps approached, and Mary Lou appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

"There’s my crew!" She exclaimed, her face lighting up at the sight of her boys. She rushed forward, pulling each of them into tight hugs.

"Hi, Mom." Matt said, his voice muffled by her embrace.

"Missed you, Ma." Nick added, smiling fondly as she kissed his cheek lovingly.

When Mary Lou turned to Y/N, her expression softened even more.

"Oh, my sweet girl!" She said, pulling her up and into a hug so warm and tight, it could melt the chill of a Boston winter.

Y/N’s heart swelled.

"I missed you so much." She murmured, squeezing her back.

Mary Lou pulled back just enough to cup Y/N’s face, her eyes bright with affection.

"Missed you too, honey. How’s everything? You’ll have to catch me up on all the details."

"I have so much to tell you." Y/N replied eagerly, already feeling herself slip into the comfort of their mother-daughter dynamic.

"Well, come on then!" Mary Lou laughed, tugging Y/N’s hand and leading her toward the kitchen without so much as a glance back at the boys or their luggage.

Chris watched them go, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

"Every time." He muttered, stepping inside with the bags still slung over his shoulders.

Nick snickered.

"We’re chopped liver the moment Y/N shows up."

"Facts." Matt added, grabbing his duffel and heading toward the living room.

As they piled the bags near the staircase, footsteps creaked from upstairs. Jimmy appeared at the top of the stairs, adjusting his glasses as he surveyed the scene.

"Hey, boys!" He called, his voice booming with warmth.

"Hey, Dad!" They chorused, looking up at him.

Jimmy descended the steps, grinning. But when he noticed the absence of Y/N, his grin widened knowingly.

"Let me guess, your mother already stole Y/N, didn’t she?"

Chris laughed, tossing a jacket over the banister.

"Yep. She didn’t even give us a chance to finish saying hi."

Jimmy chuckled, clapping a hand on Chris’s shoulder.

"Sounds about right. That girl’s practically her daughter at this point."

"Don’t we know it." Matt said, rolling his eyes playfully.

In the kitchen, Y/N perched on a stool at the island, recounting stories to Mary Lou as Trevor curled up at her feet. The smell of freshly baked pies filled the air, and the warmth of the room seemed to wrap around Y/N like a blanket.

Mary Lou hung on her every word, her eyes sparkling.

"You’re such a delight." She said, reaching out to squeeze Y/N’s hand. "I hope you know how much we love having you here."

Y/N smiled, her heart full.

"I love being here."

The sound of Jimmy entering the kitchen snapped them back to reality, his steps light but deliberate, making a beeline for Mary Lou, planting a quick kiss on the top of her head.

"Hey, hon." He greeted warmly before turning his attention to Y/N. "And there’s our star guest." He said with a broad smile, extending his arms for a hug.

"Hi, Jimmy!" Y/N replied, returning his embrace with the same warmth she always felt from him. "How's that cabin going?" She asked, remembering the small cabin that Jimmy mentioned during their last 'family call' - how Chris liked to call it, one that he'd been building himself.

"It's finally getting somewhere." He smiled proudly, receiving a gaze full of joy and love from Mary Lou.

"Oh! I just remembered that we need to make a quick trip to the supermarket." She folded her towel, looking up at Jimmy. "I thought we had everything, but we’re out of thyme, and I need more butter for the turkey."

The oldest nodded, already heading toward the door.

"I’ll grab the keys."

"Y/N, you okay holding down the fort?" Mary Lou asked, her voice tinged with both apology and trust.

"Of course." Y/N replied immediately, rolling up the sleeves of her green Harry Potter sweater. "I’ve got this."

Mary Lou smiled, her affection evident.

"Thank you. I'll be back in no time."

As the front door closed behind them, Y/N found herself alone in the kitchen. The comforting sounds of laughter and basketball from the living room filtered through as she turned her attention to the stove.

She moved with ease, stirring sauces, seasoning vegetables, and now chopping fresh herbs for the stuffing. Her movements were precise, her mind immersed in the rhythm of cooking.

"Hey, chef extraordinaire." Chris’s voice broke through the quiet.

Y/N glanced up briefly, spotting him leaning against the doorframe, his grin wide and teasing.

"Need something?" She asked, arching a brow before turning back to her task.

"Yeah." He said simply, stepping into the room. "You."

Before she could respond, she felt his long arms slide around her waist, his warmth enveloping her as he pressed gently against her back. His fingers interlocked over her stomach, and his lips brushed against her cheek in a lingering kiss.

"Chris." She murmured, her voice soft with a mix of exasperation and fondness. "I’m trying to cook."

"I know." He whispered against her ear, his voice low and velvety. His lips trailed a slow path along her jaw and down to her neck, leaving a series of soft kisses in their wake.

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly, her hands stilling on the cutting board.

"You’re impossible." She said, her tone betraying her amusement.

"I’m thankful for you." He murmured, completely ignoring her comment, his lips brushing against her shoulder. "So, so thankful."

Her heart melted at his words, and she turned her head slightly, her cheeks flushed, but her smile unrestrained.

"You’re ridiculous." She said softly.

"And yet, you love me." He replied with a grin, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"I really do." She whispered back, leaning her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes, enjoying his gentle touch and soft perfume.

Their moment was interrupted by the slam of the front door and Mary Lou’s cheerful voice.

"We’re back!"

The sound of grocery bags being set down and Jimmy’s voice joining the mix signaled their return. Moments later, Mary Lou bustled into the kitchen, her sharp eyes landing immediately on Chris.

"Christopher Owen." She scolded, her tone firm but playful as she placed her hands on her hips. "What are you doing? Let that poor girl work!"

Chris straightened but didn’t release Y/N, grinning like a mischievous child caught in the act.

"I’m just showing her some love, Ma. There's nothing wrong with that."

Mary Lou swatted him lightly on the back of the head.

"Out! Go join your brothers in the living room and let her focus."

Y/N laughed, her cheeks still warm.

"It’s okay, Mary Lou. He wasn’t bothering me too much."

Mary Lou shook her head with a fond smile.

"Don’t defend him, sweetheart. He’ll take advantage of it."

"He totally will!" Nick's voice yelled from the living room, causing laughter to escape Y/N's mouth.

Chris sighed, finally letting go, stepping back with his hands raised in surrender.

"Fine, fine. But for the record, I’m still thankful for you."

He winked at Y/N as he left the kitchen, his retreat punctuated by his brothers’ teasing from the living room.

Mary Lou sighed, her affection for her son shining through even her exasperation.

"That boy." She muttered before turning to Y/N with a warm smile. "You’re a saint for putting up with him, you know."

Y/N paused, her knife hovering over the herbs before glancing toward the door where Chris had disappeared. A soft smile spread across her face, one filled with pure affection.

"I don’t think of it as 'putting up with him,'." She said, her voice warm and sincere. "Loving Chris is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I'm very thankful for him."

Mary Lou’s expression softened, her eyes glistening just slightly.

"Oh, sweetheart." She said, reaching out to squeeze Y/N’s hand. "He’s lucky to have you. We all are."

Y/N smiled bashfully, her cheeks flushing as she returned to her task, but her heart felt lighter than ever.

© vanteguccir

[solxamber]

Good morning/evening/ whenever you're reading this.

May I request Silver, Malleus, and Ace with someone who's like a sheep in wolfs clothing? Basically someone who seems intimidating and scary but is actually nice if that makes sense. Romantic or platonic is fine.

Malleus, Silver, Ace with a Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

hi! thank you for waiting, i hope this is what you wanted <3

Malleus Draconia

At first, Malleus is absolutely enchanted by the way you carry yourself. Your cool exterior, fierce glances, and aura of danger? He’s genuinely impressed. In his eyes, you’re practically royalty, strolling through campus with an air of mysterious authority that rivals his own.

But one evening, when the two of you are alone, he watches as you carefully kneel down to help a tiny creature—a shivering, injured bird, fallen from its nest. He’s speechless as you whisper gently to it, cooing softly as you tuck it into a makeshift cradle from your scarf.

“Ah, so even the fiercest can be kind,” he says, thoroughly charmed.

You look up, cheeks red. “What? No, I mean— I wasn’t… fierce,” you mutter, trying to explain away your rough side.

Malleus lets out a low chuckle, genuinely amused. “There’s no need to pretend with me, Child of Man. I find this side of you… endearing.” And with that, he offers his arm, as if escorting the most dignified person he’s ever met—like of course you’d be kind.

And every time he sees you after, he watches you just a little bit closer, hoping to catch more glimpses of the sweet, gentle heart beneath your “terrifying” façade.

Silver Vanrouge

Silver’s first impression? Oh, you were fierce, alright. With that intense stare and sharp wit, he thought you were the kind of person who could take on a horde of fire-breathing dragons without blinking.

But it doesn’t take him long to notice the little things: how you’re the first to offer help in a quiet, unassuming way. Or how you gave Grim half your lunch when he wouldn’t stop whining about his empty plate.

One day, he finally works up the courage to ask. “You’re… not like most people expect, are you?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh… how do you mean?”

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “You seem… gentle. Like someone who cares more than they show.” He says it simply, but with a warm smile.

“Oh! I—well, I guess…” You clear your throat, trying not to look too pleased. “Yeah, I try to be. Is that… weird?”

Silver chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Not at all. I think it’s admirable.” And with that, he goes back to his usual quiet self, though you notice he hangs around a bit more often, maybe just to keep an eye on you—or to be near you, enjoying the company of the sweetest “wolf” he’s ever met.

Ace Trappola

Ace was 100% convinced you were bad news when he first saw you. The way you stood, arms crossed and serious, maybe even a little cold, he thought for sure you were a total menace. So when he finds you one day, crouched down and helping a stray cat drink from a cup you’d brought, he actually does a double-take.

“You… feed stray animals?”

You look up, blushing furiously. “Uh… yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”

He bursts out laughing, clapping his hands. “Oh man, and here I thought you’d, like, fight a cat if it came too close!”

You roll your eyes, trying to act annoyed, but you can’t help but laugh, too. “Yeah, yeah, real funny.”

After that, Ace doesn’t let you live it down. He’ll pull you along when he sees a lost animal just to watch you fuss over it, teasing you the whole time. “Oh no, don’t let the fearsome ‘tough guy’ break out the baby voice again!”

But despite the endless teasing, he genuinely loves seeing you drop the act and show your soft side. And even if he won’t say it out loud, he thinks it’s pretty awesome having a friend as kind—and surprisingly tender—as you.

Masterlist