#I’D LIKE FOR PEOPLE TO RESPOND WHEN I ASK A QUESTION

[sicvitaest27]

I’d like to give my two cents on this subject, as an author myself.

Honestly, I consider myself quite a free speaker, and will ask if I have something to ask, just as I’ll comment, when I have something to comment. Also, when I’m done with the story, I’m more than happy to give feedback.

Of course, I understand that one of the beautiful things about writing WIP s is that real time interaction with readers, as the story progresses. But, for me personally, I do find myself waiting for the story to continue, without having the need to input anything. Not because I don’t care about the story, just because I understand what is going on, the direction, and everything else is just explained well, so there’s nothing really prompting me to ask anything, for it would, probably, be spoiler territory.

Now, of course, theories and whatnot are always welcome, but, there’s only so much theories that can be made about a story; and that heavily depends on how vague the story is being written, and don’t even get me started of people guessing and guessing, and then, by so many guesses, finish the story before you even get a chance to conclude it yourself. That’s a totally different can of worms, that I do not want to get myself into at the moment😂

Now, when an author explicitly asks a question to the readers, sure, it is always a welcome thing to answer, but, it should be considered that, unless they have enabled the notifications from a specific blog, chances are, that, if they follow a lot of blogs and people, they simply won’t see it, and for the ones that do, not all of them will feel the urge to respond. Why? I don’t know, that’s just their preference, and the reasonings are their own, and that’s okay. That’s how it is.

I’m relatively close to submitting a story of my own, and honestly, I would love to have interaction with the readers, for them to tell me how did they like the story, the characters, but I understand if they don’t, because, 9 times out of 10, I first, don’t find myself having the need to give constant feedback, and if that’s the case for me, I can’t put different expectations onto others.

But that’s just normal. That’s why you see games on steam, that everyone knows have sold millions, yet have only 300 reviews, or IF s on steam, that have authors on tumblr, and they are writing a second book for their IF, and there’ll still be barely any questions about it, or any theories.

Would I want for the community to be more active? Absolutely, but only because I want people to have a good time, and to feel free to have that good time, without thinking that they’re going to be subjected to whatever. But, if they are still here, following along, then that’s fine too, and that shouldn’t affect the authors, because, I understand that it’s always good to get that engagement, because that tells you that you’re doing something that’s worth doing, worth more than you may initially think, but, as an artist, you should do it because of yourself, first and foremost.

This is not a rant, and this is not a comment made against anyone who feels differently than what I just said; you’re justified in that, and I do feel you, trust me, but, as long as people want to stick around and enjoy your stories, then I say let them! And, if they wish to talk to the brilliant mind behind the story, then by all means, but I don’t see a point in trying to force something to do that. Because, even encouraging can be viewed like that, and I doubt that any of us want that.

So, to conclude this, yes, the community may have gone a tad bit quieter, and the reasons for that are unknown to me, but, should that change? Hopefully, but if not, then hell, it is what it is. There are certainly many factors and reasons that can be taken into account for that, but, what I advocate for, is for people to be comfortable and have a good time. And for authors, to do this because they truly like doing it, and, as Toni Morrison had put it, “If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” That’s how I view my writing. No one’s written this, in this specific setting or this specific way, with these specific characters, and so, I shall write it, and if people like it? That’s just icing on the cake.

Anyhow, to all my fellow authors, I feel you, I truly do, but hey, things change the way they do, but that shouldn’t demotivate you. People will express themselves when they wish to do so, for reasons only they have, and that’s also fine as well. Hopefully, folks will get more comfortable, for the IF community is a lovely community, which offers a safe space for everyone, but, if they just wish to follow along, let them. It’s all you can really do. Cheers to everyone, and love to all🥂🖤

I think a lot of authors have noticed this lately: Likes, comments, reblogs with reviews... everything seems to be getting quieter. Stories go on, chapters come out, but all too often, it's a great silent nothingness that greets them.

Are we at fault, or is it something else? Yet you're there, we can see you raising the view counters on our demos.

I'm not here to lecture or beg for anything. I'd just like to understand, as many other authors do, why ? Because this statement is the result of a growing concern? Depression?among our ranks. To the degree that some of us have come to say: What's the point?

I'd just like to remind you of one thing: a story is alive, yes, but ! It's alive thanks to you, not just to us.

Every word you read, every emotion you feel, every theory you silently formulate: it's all part of the magic of a story, and it needs to be shared. When you share it all, a comment, a reblog with a fews words, even a brief reaction, that's when it really comes together, you're blowing on the story's flame! You fuel it, make it tangible. You give it a life that an author, alone in front of their screen, can't always sustain over time. Believe me, we try... Some are more gifted than others, but I'm all for helping each other.

Because yes, we write out of passion, out of desire, out of need. Yes, we love our worlds. But the impetus, the joy, the motivation, the feeling of really being read, all that is also born from exchange.

So here it is, just a quick note to say that if you like or don't like something, please say so. No need for a big dissertation but there's nothing worse than silence, it's the great reaper of our aspirations and I don't want to let it win.

And to my author friends: you're not alone. 💙

[digiditto]

crying in the bathroom again. I’m so sick of this shit

[bibleofficial]

obsessed w gen alpha

[preemptivejustice]

Arthur nodded as Steven spoke, just enough to let the man know he was truly listening to him. He wanted the silence to be warm, comforting; it was something that was a necessity. Listening was always a necessity. 

His fingers tapped against the edge of his notebook for a moment, before stilling again. “It’s very common for people who struggle with small talk to also feel like they’re… fundamentally incompatible with others. Like there’s something wrong with you, or something that’s ‘off’. Misaligned. But… Steven, I would like you to imagine this for me.” 

He shifted back just slightly, leaning comfortably in his chair. There was a reason to it, of course - leaning back gave Steven space, and made it feel less like Steven had to believe him without question. 

“Imagine that you speak French,” he offered. “Fluently. Beautifully. But almost everyone around you speaks English. You try to connect with them in French - and it is passionate, it is earnest - but they don’t understand. They decide not to respond. And eventually, sure, they’d drift away.” He stayed holding Steven’s gaze, gently. “It would be very easy for you to think that something is just wrong with you. Maybe that your voice is off-putting, or the sound of your words annoys people. But the truth is… you were just speaking in a different language. One that fewer people are fluent in.” 

He inhaled softly, leaning back in, hands folded gently on the desk. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with how you try to connect. I think you’ve been surrounded by people who don’t know how to respond, or don’t really want to learn. And when that happens enough, you probably do feel unreachable. That it’s not the language, it’s the speaker. But that’s just a lie that you’re telling yourself. It’s a very convincing one - but it’s still just a lie.” 

He adjusted his seating just a bit, briefly letting his eyes flick to the little succulent as if it had something to say with that.

“You mentioned something else that I’d like to come back to,” he continued. “The idea that, even if people don’t initially dislike you, the lack of connection will eventually lead to disliking. That belief is something I hear often from people with social anxiety. It’s not about being afraid of rejection, it’s about anticipating it as inevitable. Like the clock is always ticking, and you have to stay ahead before you get rejected. I want to acknowledge how exhausting that has to be.” 

His tone didn’t waver. It was still calm, still professional; but there was an unmistakable note of sadness in his face. 

“I don’t want to sit here and lie to you, Steven. Not everyone will understand you. Not everyone will make an effort to learn your language. But the ones who do are going to be very lucky. They’re going to meet someone kind, thoughtful, deeply intelligent. They’ll find someone who listens, who cares, who wants to share his knowledge - they’re going to be very lucky to have that. I think Marc knows that he’s lucky to have a person like that talking to him - you’re going to be a very good friend for him.” 

He smiled just barely, genuine warmth in his face even as his eyes were still tired. “Over the next few days, as well, I’d like you to try something. Anytime you feel the urge to pull away, I want you to ask yourself if it’s fact - or feeling. If someone tells you that they don’t want to work on a puzzle with you, then that’s a fact. But if you’re just worrying about it, then it’s feeling. And even though feelings aren’t always wrong, they’re not always facts, either. 

“I want you to start testing your emotions. Start pushing them, do things that might lead to discomfort. And if it ever gets too heavy, then I want you to bring it to me. That’s what this space is here for - think of me as someone you can fall back on.” 

Steven listens, and Steven... thinks, yeah. Considers. Has his gaze drop away, focusing on the little potted plant that still sits there, on Harrow's desk - the succulent - and breathes, in and out.

He's never talked about this, about himself - about what he does, what he feels like, what he... thinks might be going on. To have another person offer him insight from a different perspective is really doing something to him here, has Steven mull it all over; He swallows, fingers continuing to pull and tug on his own knuckles, picking on little flaps of dried skin around his nails...

"But... y'know, if I talk a lot about whatever interests me, but others aren't interested in any of it... y-yeah, maybe they don't immediately dislike me, but it's... it's about me still, no? They will find it hard to interact with me, and therefore they will like me less, because there's... there's nothing going on that would... that would cause a connection to be there." Another swallow and Steven's dark gaze is back on the doctor, brows lifted ever so slightly, a bit furrowed, obvious confusion written into his deep irises.

"I just... I just seem to not know how to do proper small-talk. I never got the hang of it. Never understood any of why people talk about certain things, or when it's appropriate to mention something, when it's not. ---Many awkward moments, many where I thought I was getting somewhere, just for me to never hear back..."

Sadness, again - clinging to spoken syllables, a soft tilt of his voice indicating for it to be the case. Steven blinks, looks down at his own hands again...

"I-if one keeps... to bridge in a certain kind of way... a way others don't understand, don't enjoy... i-it means that, at some point, they will start to dislike the other person. Things just won't fit and match up, a-and... and then it's... over, y'know? So... in a way, while it's probably not about liking or disliking to begin with, it can lead to being disliked, and to find someone annoying, to think they're too much, a burden, pulling on other's nerves. They'll start to think you're weird, you're odd, something must be wrong with you, a-and... well, that's just how it is, then..."

---Steven could really go for a cup of water there, or something else. Maybe a sweet, fizzy drink - a pop. He does not ask, nor does he try to figure out if he even could have something like that to begin with - he just swallows again and looks back up, almost shy in nature, but... moved by everything. Very, very moved.

Thinking about oneself is... it's a lot. It's hard as well, to keep remembering the sad moments, the disappointing situations of where he'd thought he'd found a friend but ended up never getting a text - or a call - back from them.

Harrow suggested for Steven to keep a closer look on how others might try to bridge out to him, and Steven chews along the inside of his bottom lip, considers it as well, before he nods. This is part of his therapy, after all, and... well, he's eager to give his best here, to possibly figure out why he's sleep-walking, all of that. Wants to work together with the doctor rather than against him.

"---Y-yeah, I... I will try, yeah. ...To see how others might bridge out to me, I mean. N-not sure if something will ever happen, b-but... but I will try." It's all he can do, and everything he always does, after all - trying. To just keep trying, again and again and again. To get back up and try, to push forward and try, even if he's being pushed back during the process.

Steven doesn't even know why, not really, but... he feels like he has to do it. He has to try, he has to keep standing and do this, whatever it is. As if he's carrying some sort of responsibility there. Why he does, or for whom he might be doing it? No idea, not at all. But it feels essential, like something really, really bad is going to happen if he stops at some point.

---He doesn't want bad things to happen, to he goes on. That's just how it is.

Another nod, another inhale of air, with Steven looking back at Harrow once again - shifting a bit on his seat, shoulders pulled up, back curved.

[helaintoloki]

Back to You

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: mild language, pining, fluff

notes: my bucky and yelena brain rot is off the charts which is how this came about

summary: Yelena’s interest in y/n forces Bucky to confront his feelings for her as the Thunderbolts take refuge in her home

“I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Well, this is definitely more interesting than whatever I had planned today,” you respond jokingly as you finish stitching closed the gash on Bucky’s pectoral. “I will say, if I knew I’d be having company I probably would have tidied up a bit around here.”

Both yours and Bucky’s gazes turn to the group of beaten down misfits that occupy your living room at the mention of company. The amount of people taking refuge in your home made it appear almost comically small, but you weren’t exactly new to having to take care of super heroes- or in this case antiheroes- on a whim like this.

Before Thanos and the Blip, you had been a good friend of Steve’s. As his neighbor across the hall who also happened to be a nurse, he tended to treat your apartment like his own personal health clinic after a particularly grueling day of protecting the city. You welcomed him in without question of course, and after some time he had begun bringing friends in need of patch jobs with him. This was how you met Sam and Natasha, and eventually Bucky. You were enthralled by the turmoil swimming in his eyes and his reserved nature, and your gentleness and willingness to help a total stranger like him with no reservation had stuck with Bucky forever.

You lost touch with them all after the Sokovia Accords debacle and being turned into dust for five years, but once the work of the infinity stones had been reversed and you were able to attempt a life at normalcy, Bucky and Sam had returned right back to your doorstep.

In the years that passed, you and Bucky had been able to form a close friendship. It didn’t happen without growing pains throughout the process of course, and it took time for the super soldier to open himself up to you so intimately, but you’d been able to reach a point where Bucky could come to you for anything and vice versa. So when he’d called five minutes before his arrival asking to seek shelter in your modest home, you immediately agreed without question.

“Alright, you’re good to go,” you inform him after smoothing out the bandage on his chest. Looking out to the rest of the group, you hold up your first aid kit and ask, “Anyone else need some TLC?”

You’re met with silence to which Bucky offers you a comforting pat on the shoulder before hopping off of your counter. The group looks more exhausted and defeated than anything, and he convinces you they’ll probably be fine.

“Well, in the meantime, would anyone like breakfast? I think I have some pancake mix around here somewhere,” you murmur absently, and this gets some heads to finally turn.

“Pancakes… would be nice,” Yelena offers with pursed lips and a shrug, trying to be inconspicuous as she obviously snoops through your things.

“Do you have eggs?” John voices tiredly. “I could really go for some scrambled eggs.”

“Eggs and pancakes… anything else?”

“I cannot have eggs without bacon,” Alexei notes thoughtfully only for Bucky to roll his eyes.

“You don’t have to cook all of that,” he tries to assure you only for you to shake your head in response.

“It’s really no problem, I’m just glad I went grocery shopping yesterday.”

You give Bucky a reassuring smile before disappearing into the kitchen, allowing him the chance to finally walk over and snatch the frame Yelena had been scrutinizing behind your back from her grasp.

“What are you doing?” He retorts in annoyance before setting it back down on the shelf. “We’re guests here, you can’t just touch all of her stuff.”

“She has a photo of my sister,” the blonde rebuffs defensively, “I have a right to touch it. Why does she have it?”

“Before she was my friend, she was Steve’s friend. He introduced her to Natasha, and they became friends too. Good friends.”

“Hmm,” she replies thoughtfully, finally easing up a bit as she takes in the information. “If Natasha considered her a friend, then I will too.”

“Yeah, I think she’s good on friends right now,” Bucky scoffs. Yelena raises a brow at his annoyance before a coy smile begins to form on her lips.

“Are you threatened by me, Barnes?” She prompts with a laugh, only doubling down when she notices the aggravated tick of his jaw. “Because it’s okay if you are, I understand. I mean, she is a beautiful woman, and I can see how much you love her-“

“Hold on a minute, what are you talking about?”

“Surely you cannot be this stupid,” Yelena affirms with a teasing smile that soon falls at Bucky’s flustered demeanor. “Or maybe you are.”

“I don’t love y/n,” Bucky says defensively, voice hushed to avoid any prying ears from listening to their conversation. “She’s just a good friend.”

“Well, if she’s just a good friend then you won’t mind if I go talk to her and tell her how much I love what she’s done with this place,” Yelena states plainly with a mischievous smile as she makes her way towards the kitchen only to be stopped by Bucky grabbing onto her arm.

“Don’t,” he warns with a scowl. From his spot on the couch, Alexei laughs.

“You are smart to stop her, Barnes,” he notes proudly, “my Yelena is quite the lady killer.”

“What’s the harm, Barnes? You obviously do not want to date this beautiful woman who has opened her home to us, so why can’t I?”

“If I admit I love her will you stop?” Bucky begs despite the clear aggravation in his tone. With her hands raised in surrender and lips pulled into a small frown, Yelena suspends her march towards the kitchen once Bucky finally relinquishes his hold on her arm. “Thank you.”

“Life is short, James. Do not let her sit and wait for you forever.”

Bucky lets out a long exhale through his nose at her words, and despite how much she annoys him, he knows she’s right. Bucky loves you and has always held a deep sense of admiration for the selfless woman who had taken him and Steve in without question despite the fact that it would get her into trouble with the government. You were one of the first to show him genuine kindness after spending years under Hydra’s thumb, and he’d never be able to forget that. You are his light in darkness, his saving grace, his confidant, and that’s why he’s so hesitant to fully bring you into his world by asking you to be his partner. Being friends keeps you at an arm’s length from the dangers of his life, but being the one he comes home to after a high stakes mission puts you in a whole new light to his enemies, and he’s not sure if he’s ready to put you through that just yet.

“Breakfast is on the table!” You call out from the kitchen, and Bucky watches with a wry grin as every person in the living room moves their aching bodies hastily into the dining room to get a chance at scoring some of your pancakes. You meet him shortly after and present him his own plate of pancakes, eggs and bacon to enjoy in peace away from the rest.

“You look like you have a lot on your mind so I figured you’d want to eat out here,” you explain with a careful smile before joining him on the couch. “You gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know if these guys are up for this,” he admits almost dejectedly, casting a glance towards the dining room where the Thunderbolts sit loudly bickering over the syrup bottle.

“Hey, as long as they have you there with them, I think they’ll be okay,” you comfort reassuringly, reaching forward to give his arm a tender squeeze.

“I really doubt that, but thanks,” Bucky responds with a weak chuckle, “you keep me sane.”

“It’s my speciality.”

A comfortable silence washes over you then as you meet each other’s tender gazes and enjoy the rare moment of peace shared between you both. Bucky longs to just pull you into his arms and hold you, but he resists and instead returns to enjoying his breakfast.

“We’ll be out of your hair as soon as they’re done eating,” Bucky reassures you only for you to give him an indifferent shrug.

“That’s fine, but can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you ever going to kiss me?” You prompt with an innocent smile, catching poor Bucky off guard as he momentarily chokes on his pancakes.

“What?” He splutters, fist thumping on his chest to help the food go down.

“I mean, maybe I’m reading it all wrong, but I feel like sometimes you look at me like you want to kiss me,” you explain simply, “and I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“That obvious, huh?” He sighs with a bashful smile before setting his plate down on the coffee table.

“Yeah, well, that and also Yelena might have told me something on her way to the dining room,” you offer with an apologetic laugh.

“Oh, god, what did she say?”

“Something along the lines of if you never man up and decide to tell me how you feel that I should give her a call.”

“She’s a pain in my ass,” he grumbles irately, but his tone softens as he looks to you in remorse and continues, “but she’s right. You deserve to know how I feel about you.”

Smiling, you move closer to the super soldier so that you can curl into his side and rest your head upon his chest. His arms immediately come to wrap around your figure as he kisses the crown of your head, prompting you to let out a content sigh.

“We can figure out all the details when you get back from saving the world,” you assure him, “but just know that I love you, and I’ll be here waiting for you to come home.”

“Home,” Bucky sighs wistfully, already mourning your time together as he thinks about having to leave you behind. “I can promise you this- nothing is going to stop me from coming back to you.”

You look up to meet his tender gaze and are pleasantly surprised when he leans down to press a careful kiss to your lips. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest as you savor the moment you’ve been longing for ever since you met Bucky, and by the way he kisses you as if you are the air he needs to breathe, you think it’s safe to assume he feels the same.

His heart is yours, and as you tenderly embrace from the comfort of your couch, you can rest assured that to Bucky, home is where you are.

[no-144444]

the grid: when the media says something insane...

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req: Hi, I'd like to request a blurb about the drivers reacting to reader being talked bad about from an interviewer. Scenario-Interviewer: "Do you think the reason you lost today's race is because 'y/n' was here and had something to do with it?"

featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Carlos Sainz, Arthur LeClerc, Ollie Bearman, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Jack Doohan.

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Oscar Piastri: makes the interviewer feel dumb asf

“And how do you feel about the DNF today, knowing that it's breaking your record of competing in every lap so far this year? Is there any specific reason as to why you might’ve made that mistake? I did see some new faces in the garage today,” Danica asked.

Oscar frowned. “What are you trying to say?”

“I was just wondering if you count your partner, Y/n, as a bad luck charm now. This is her first Grand Prix, isn’t it?” 

He actually laughed in her face. “Do you seriously believe in shit like that?” he chuckled. “And no, it’s not her first, nor will it be her last.”

Danica stood, embarrassed. 

“Do you have any other questions?” he asked, polite as ever. She didn’t respond. “Thanks for the joke anyway, that was actually quite funny,” Oscar added as he moved onto the next interview, a bright smile on his face despite the poor race result.

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Lando Norris: insults the interviewer

“And how do you feel about the DNF today, knowing that it's cementing your loss in the Driver’s Championship? Is there any specific reason as to why you might’ve made that mistake? I did see some new faces in the garage today,” Danica asked.

He stared at her for a moment, trying to compose himself. “If you’re talking about my girlfriend, I’d suggest you just come out and say it, Danica.”

“Alright then, do you see her as a bad luck charm now? Considering this is her first race, if I’m right,” she asked outright. Jenson rolled his eyes beside her as Martin just chuckled. 

“Not at all, she’s here to support me and I’d much rather have her here for a day like today than a win. It’s called a support system Danica, I’m aware of the fact that you’re not a fan of those, but some of us actually benefit from caring about other people. And another thing, all of my bad races, you’ve been there. Maybe you’re the bad luck charm,” his voice cut through the tension in the cold Las Vegas air like a knife, and Jenson and Martin just started laughing as Danica stood there dumbfounded. “Maybe I should ask Sky to not bring you around as much.” 

He handed the microphone back and continued on with his day, then posted this later: 

landonorris

liked by pierregasly, lewishamilton, and 479,933 others

landonorris: idc if ur bad luck ur too sexy to let go of 🥴

comments are disabled.

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Lewis Hamilton: protective much?

“It’s Y/n’s first race in years, and yet you DNF for the first time in months, do you want to give us some insight to that?” Danica asked. 

Lewis’s eyebrow raised and an annoyed smile made its way onto his face. “What are you saying right now?”

“Well, it’s just strange that her first race in years, 2 to be exact, is the one you don’t finish.”

“Are you trying to insinuate that she’s bad luck or something?” 

“Is that what you believe her to be?” 

“Fuck no,” he scoffed. “She’s my wife, is what she is. I’m grateful that she’s here. I love to share my love of motorsport with my wife, and I don’t feel sorry for the media that she's been preoccupied with being pregnant and busy to be here for the last 2 years. I love having her come and support me, and I’m happy that I didn’t finish the fucking race, I get more time with my family now. I cannot believe you enjoy making shitty headlines like this. Danica, maybe just stick to fucking driving.”

With that, he walked away, and later made this post:

lewishamilton

liked by pierregasly, francocolapinto, and 2,393,932 others

lewishamilton: my good luck charms xx

comments are disabled.

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George Russell: flabbergasted that someone would have the audacity 

“Sorry about the result today George, do you feel like external factors made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

“Y’know, it’s been pretty tough all year with the car but it really felt like we pulled back to the top today, and it was just a shame that Lando went wide and pushed me into the gravel,” he shrugged.

“And you don’t see your girlfriend as a bad luck charm? It is her first race, right?”

He death-stared her for a moment. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Well, we just wanted to know how you react to knowing that it’s her first race and it’s also the race you DNFed in.”

“I don’t have a reaction,” he scoffed. “Your headlines are going to be written anyway, it doesn’t matter what I say. I don’t see her as bad luck or whatever rubbish you’re going to paint this as, and I don’t really care what you think about it. Anyway, it’s not like you have the monopoly on perfect races, Danica.” 

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Kimi Antonelli: awkward and insulted 

“Sorry about the result today Kimi, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

“Umm…” he trailed off, looking at George confused. George shook his head, silently telling him not to answer. “I don’t know what you mean?” 

“Well there were external factors, obviously, but also your girlfriend was in the paddock for the first time this weekend, correct?”

He nodded. 

“So do you see her as some sort of bad luck charm, or something?”

He pulled a face of disgust for a split second. “No, not at all. She went to every single one of my F2 races so I don’t see how she could have been bad luck here when she was not bad luck there,” he shrugged. 

“So she’s not bad luck?” 

He chuckled awkwardly. “N-no. Like I say, she was at every one of my F2 races. I think she is lucky, if anything.” 

He walked away confused as George reassured him that they were just fishing for headlines and to ‘not give them the time of day’. He was slightly worried that you would think you were a bad luck charm and quickly found you and showed you that you weren’t.

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Alex Albon: shocked. 

“Sorry about the race today Alex, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

“Umm,” he kind of chuckled. “I don’t think so? I mean it was so wet so I’m not shocked that I went off.”

“But in the garage, do you think you would’ve been more focused if your girlfriend hadn’t been there?”

He just stared at her with a slightly shocked smile as she held the microphone to his face. “Did you actually just ask that?”

She didn’t answer, just nodding. 

“Well, why don’t we think back to every other race she’s been at this year. Monaco, Canada, Silverstone, Austria, and Baku, which were all my best races this season, apart from maybe Canada.”

“Yes, but today she was-”

“In the garage, the same as she always is. Wow, you’ll really do anything for a headline.”

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Franco Colapinto: Sassy asf 

“Sorry about the crash today, glad to see you’re ok Franco. Do you think this weekend has been a bit more difficult because of distractions or something new being in a paddock? We saw that it was your girlfriend's first GP this weekend, could she have anything to do with it?” Danica asked. 

He did a double take, staring at her. “¿Qué? Is that really what you think?” 

She shrugged. “It’s only a question.”

“It’s a stupid question,” he scoffed. “¿Por qué traería mala suerte? She has been at every race so far and I haven’t seen anyone complaining.” (Why would she be bad luck?)

“So she’s not bad luck?”

He laughed. “Do I have to repeat things 3 times for you to understand?”

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Logan Sargeant: angry

“Sorry about the result today Logan, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

He stared at her, then pushed the mic away from him. “I’m not answering stupid fucking questions about my girlfriend.”

And he walked off. And posted this later…

logansargeant

liked by pierregasly, oscarpiastri, jensonbutton, and 345,938 others

logansargeant: let's not bring my girlfriend into this, yeah?

comments are disabled.

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Daniel Riccardo: plays it off. 

“Sorry about the end of the race today Danny, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

He laughed, thinking she was joking. His eyes widened when he realised she wasn’t. “You think I can’t race because my girlfriend is in the back of the garage?”

“It is her first GP, correct?” 

He chuckled. “No, no it’s not. She’s always there, and anyways, I’m in the car, it’s not like I have all the time in the world to stare at her ass or something,” he smiled. “I know she’s beautiful but I don’t exactly see her when I’m going to the straight at 200 kilometres an hour.”

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Liam Lawson: sassy man apocalypse 

“Sorry about the end of the race today Liam, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, confused about the question. 

“Your girlfriend was here for the first time, could she be a bad luck charm for the team?”

“I don’t think she is but I do know that your interviews make me feel pretty fucking unlucky,” he scoffed before walking off. 

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Charles LeClerc: laughs in their face

“Charles, what do you think about the people saying that Y/n is bad luck in the garage?”

He started laughing and didn’t stop for about a minute. He was as bad as Lando, to the point that Carlos had to actually walk him off the fan stage. He came back on, teary-eyed and smiling. “I think it’s quite funny.”

“Evidently,” Carlos scoffed. 

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Carlos Sainz: …

“Carlos, what do you think about the people saying that Y/n is bad luck in the garage?” Danica asked.

“What people are saying that?” he asked. 

“The media,” she answered. 

“Well they always have bullshit to say. I’m just surprised they had the balls to go after my wife,” he scoffed. “They’ll be hearing from my lawyers.”

“That sounds extreme-”

“It’s defamation of character and she’s my wife. Nothing is extreme.” 

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Arthur LeClerc: Won’t answer

“Sorry about the race today Arthur, do you think there are other factors, such as distractions, that messed up your race?”

“What a stupid question, no,” he scoffed before walking away. 

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Ollie Bearman: insulted

"Sorry about your race today Ollie, do you think that your partner Y/n being here might be a bad omen?"

He stared at her. "No. Why would she be?"

"It's her first GP and you DNF, if that's not bad luck I'm not sure what is."

"That's pretty rude," he scoffed. "Don't bring my girlfriend into this."

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Max Verstappen: guys…

"Sorry about your race today Max, do you think that your partner Y/n being here might be a bad omen?"

He stared at her, his eyes dark. "Fuck off."

"Excuse me?"

"That's bullshit, don't bring my family into this. If I have a bad race, I have a bad race, that's just how it goes. She isn't bad luck, she isn't for you to make headlines about and she's not here to just be a good omen. She's my partner and she's here to support me, that's it."

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Paul Aron: laughs in their face…

"How do you feel about the result to day, do you think things could've been different if someone wasn't distracting you?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"We saw your race engineer giving out to you and your partner Y/n for distracting you. Do you think she might now be a bad luck charm?"

He scoffed, laughing in her face. "Bullshit, someone turned into me and I didn't have enough time to react. Your headline can be about that, keep my girlfriend out of this."

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Jack Doohan: so normal about it! (...)

“Sorry about the race today Jack, do you think there are other factors, such as distractions, that messed up your race?”

He knew what they were trying to say. “Do you want to just say what you want to say to my face?” 

She was taken aback. “Do you think Y/n is a bad luck charm?”

He scoffed. “You’re seriously fishing for headlines when someone could’ve been seriously injured? That’s pathetic. And another thing, she’s not a fucking bad luck charm, she’s my partner, she’s not just a headline for you to fuck with.”

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[little-jana]

"Not A Secret Anymore"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: light teasing, use of Y/N

Words: 1.3k

Summary: Spencer Reid’s carefully hidden relationship with his girlfriend is exposed when the BAU accidentally meets her.

I always knew Spencer Reid was a man of secrets—worn-out book covers hiding chapters of untold stories. From the moment we started dating, nearly a year ago, he’d made one thing clear: our relationship needed to remain private. Not because he was ashamed, or unsure about us—he wasn’t. No, it was because of his job, his team, the life he led with the BAU.

“I’ve seen what can happen to people we love,” he’d told me one night as we lay tangled together in the sheets, his voice soft but heavy with a weight I couldn’t fully understand. “If they knew about you… if someone used you against me, I couldn’t—” He’d stopped mid-sentence, his throat tight with emotion. I didn’t push. I knew enough to know his fears were justified.

And so, we stayed our little secret. A quiet life in the small apartment we shared, where we read books late into the night, cooked terrible meals together, and danced to old records in our socks. He loved me here—behind locked doors, between whispered I-love-you’s, and in stolen glances that made my heart pound.

I loved him too, so much so that I never questioned it.

But secrets don’t stay secrets forever.

---

The day started like any other. I’d woken up to find the bed empty, the scent of Spencer’s coffee lingering in the air. He’d already left for work, as usual, leaving behind a scribbled note on the kitchen counter.

“Case came in early. I’ll call you when I can. I love you. – S.”

My heart swelled. He always did little things like that, never forgetting to remind me that I was loved, even when he was miles away chasing monsters. I kissed the note like a fool and went about my day, deciding to treat myself to a trip downtown for some shopping and a coffee.

I’d just stepped into my favorite café when it happened.

I noticed him before he noticed me. Spencer, standing just inside the entrance, wearing his FBI badge and a crisp suit that should’ve made him look unapproachable, but didn’t. The rest of his team flanked him, men and women I recognized only through Spencer’s stories. There was the confident Agent Morgan, the effortlessly glamorous Agent Prentiss, and the intimidating figure of Hotch. I didn’t need an introduction to know who they were.

Spencer was talking to one of the baristas, probably asking questions for the case they were working. For a brief moment, I thought I might slip past him unnoticed, ducking out through the side door before he could see me. But as I turned, coffee in hand, fate had other plans.

“Y/N?”

The sound of his voice froze me in place. I turned back slowly, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar. Spencer’s wide eyes landed on mine, and I watched as a mixture of surprise, panic, and something softer flickered across his face.

“Hi, Spence,” I said sheepishly, as though running into my secret FBI-agent boyfriend was the most normal thing in the world.

“What are you doing here?” he blurted out, his voice a little higher than usual.

“Buying coffee?” I offered, raising the cup in my hand for emphasis.

The team was watching now, their eyes bouncing between me and Spencer with obvious curiosity. Agent Morgan was the first to speak, a sly grin creeping across his face.

“Wait, wait, wait. Reid, you *know* her?”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. I bit my lip, suppressing a laugh. My poor genius. Utterly out of his element.

“Um,” he started, fidgeting with his tie in that adorable way he always did when he was nervous. “This is… uh… Y/N.”

“That explains absolutely nothing,” Prentiss teased, crossing her arms over her chest.

I decided to help him out. “I’m Spencer’s girlfriend,” I said matter-of-factly, taking a small sip of my coffee. The room seemed to freeze.

“Girlfriend?” Morgan echoed, his grin widening. “Reid, *you* have a girlfriend? You’ve been holding out on us!”

Hotch gave Spencer a look that was somewhere between amused and stern. “Reid, how long has this been going on?”

Spencer swallowed hard, his face flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. I’d never seen him so flustered. “Uh… about a year,” he admitted, barely audible.

Prentiss whistled under her breath. “A year? Reid, are you kidding me? And we’re only just now finding out?”

Spencer looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. I took pity on him, stepping closer and slipping my hand into his. I felt his fingers relax slightly in mine, though his entire body was still tense. “He didn’t tell you because he didn’t want me to get caught up in… well, the dangers of his job,” I explained softly, glancing up at him. “He just wanted to keep me safe.”

His eyes met mine then, softening as he squeezed my hand. For a moment, it was like we were the only two people in the room. “I just couldn’t risk anything happening to you,” he murmured, his voice low so only I could hear. “You’re everything to me.”

My heart melted. God, I loved this man.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Spencer Reid,” I whispered back, smiling.

Morgan groaned playfully. “Okay, okay, that’s enough of the lovey-dovey stuff. I still can’t believe Reid had a girlfriend this whole time.”

“Believe it,” I said with a smirk, leaning into Spencer’s side. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Spencer looked down at me then, his eyes shining with a mixture of affection and relief. I could see the tension leaving his shoulders, the weight of the secret finally lifted. Maybe this wasn’t how he’d planned for his team to find out, but I knew it didn’t matter anymore.

Because now, we didn’t have to hide.

As the team ribbed Spencer and made jokes about meeting me sooner, I pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, feeling his skin burn under my lips. He shot me a look, a mixture of affection and exasperation, but he was smiling.

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” he muttered.

“Never,” I replied, grinning.

And as Spencer Reid’s team finally welcomed me into the fold, teasing him relentlessly while secretly happy that their beloved genius had found someone, he squeezed my hand and smiled at me in that way only he could.

I was his secret for a while, but now everyone knew. And as Spencer looked at me like I was his whole world, I realized that I didn’t mind. Because to him, I was.

[ningvory]

SCREAM - jang wonyoung

1,740 words // yall i wanted to do kinktober sooo baddd but im so outta ideas and school and work has been draining😔 so instead i'll just write 2-3 more halloween themed fics

CW: noncon -> dubcon, ghostface!wonyoung, big dick wony, bully!reader, a little knife play, choking, backshots, doggy, missionary, a little tit play, mentions of reader getting impregnated, squirting, not proofread lolz

its about 11pm on a friday, 'means girls' is playing on your living room tv while you were in the kitchen searching for a pot to put your noodles in. your parents left for their business trip to wherever, you weren't really paying attention after they mentioned you'll be alone for two weeks and that you had a spending allowance of 5k, which is why you were wearing your new black lingerie set under your fuzzy pink robe.

you were humming a song as you head to the pantry to get a bottle of water to fill the pot with until you heard your phone ringtone go off. you went to mute the tv and grabbed your phone, tapping the answer button. you held the phone up to your ear but you're met with silence.

"hello?~" you questioned, dragging out the word. it was a habit of yours when you were annoyed,

"didn't think you'd pick up." the voice was cheerful, too cheerful to the point where it had you furrow your eyebrows trying figure out who's calling you at this time.

"well, i did. so.." you responded with a little bit of attitude. you were starving and here this stranger is playing on your phone. "listen, who the hell are you and what do you want?" you raise your voice a octave.

"your tits look good in that bra, wish i can see the way your ass looks in the panties." you furrow your eyebrows once more. every window was locked and your curtains blocked any prying eyes from seeing inside.

"um—you must've gotten the wrong number or something. i'm hanging up now." you smile half heartedly, trying to wrap things up, whoever this girl is can probably hear your labored breathing.

"hang up this fuckin' phone and i’m killing you myself!" she quickly responded, you froze immediately. especially after hearing some sort of bang coming from upstairs, “not so tought without your friends here, hm y/n?"

you were assuming this was a silly halloween prank call but she knows you personally! she knows your friends and even your name—you can admit that you were a bitch to most people but you didn't think that someone would break in and kill you for it!

"w-what kinda joke is this? this isn’t funny!" you let out a nervous laugh. no way this is fucking real, this is just a prank, right?

the person lets out a hysterical laugh—almost like she’s gone crazy. "you think this is a joke? was it a joke when you make every single day a living hell for me?" she asked but you remained silent, "now you wanna act like a scared little girl? don't you think its time to get what you deserve?" she asks.

the amount of people you’ve been a bitch too, its hard to guess who this person was. the fact that this persons voice was low and raspy to the point where you couldn’t even identify who’s voice this is didn’t help you either.

"i think we should play a game. i’d advice you listen, if you want to live that is." you can hear her smiling through the phone.

your heart is racing now, you have a gut feeling that this person is in the big ass house somewhere and that promise of her killing you is haunting you.

"fine. what's this game?" you try to put on that tough façade, still holding onto your pride.

"go upstairs. into your room." she commands you and you hate it but all you can do now is obey her words.

you grip your phone tighter and walk up the stairs—just like she said. you walk into your room. your pink led illuminated the room.

"good girl~ now, strip." her praise breaks the silence.

"what?" you whispered in disbelief.

"you heard me, don't make me do it for you."

you sigh, you really aren't sure why she wants you to strip for her. maybe to humiliate you on the internet on something but you comply to her demand, untying your robe and letting it drop to the floor. you stand, praying that’s all she meant when she said strip.

"do you not know what strip mean, bitch?" she questions, noticing that you're just standing there.

you stay silent, tears were beginning to form in your eyes and you let out a whimper, “why? are you some kinda sick pervert?” you demand, looking around the room.

it was silent for a while, it was like she hung up the phone on you. your heart was racing, you were getting anxious, “hello! where are you!? who are you!?” you cry out.

as soon as you asked that your closet door opened, revealing a figure dressed up like ghostface charging right at you. you let out a loud scream, backing up into the wall but the figure used that to her advantage, her long hands engulfed your neck, pushing your head into the wall and tightening the grip, forcing a strangled whine to fall from your mouth as you gasp for air desperately.

tears began to fall from your cheeks, your hands came up to hold her wrists before hitting them, desperately trying to pry them off your neck. she swiftly slapped you right across your face and manhandled your frail body on your bed, choked whines coming from you in the process.

“you look so cute like this, crying and at my mercy.” her tall body straddled yours, under her coat and her skirt, you can feel her bulge on your tummy. no way she’s hard from this.

if you were gonna die like this you might as well see who this sicko is, you removed your hands from the hands that were on your neck and you reached up to the ghost mask, removing it from their head. your eyes widen when you realized who it was. wonyoung.

her soulless eyes looked down at yours, a smile slowly found its way onto her face which made shivers run down your spine. she removed her grip on your neck, but still remained ontop of you.

you inhaled air almost immediately, trying to catch your breath before you can question the girl. but before you could even speak, she held a butcher knife right under your chin, “don’t scream or move.” she spoke menacingly.

“since you can’t seem to follow orders i’ll force you to,” she sighs. she starts to slowly move her knife down to your shaking body. the metal causing goosebumps to awake on your body. she trailed down until she got to your bra, she easily sliced it in half with her knife. “hey! i just bought this!” you spat, your first time wearing this set and it’s already ruined? this really isn’t your night.

“shut up, whore.” she’s quick to bring the knife back to your neck, pressing down on it but not enough to draw blood.

your bottom lips quivers which makes her coo before she gets off your tummy and flips your body over. you yelp in surprise with how easy she’s moving your body.

before you can complain she’s pushing your head into the sheets and placing the palm of her hand to your back, forcing you to arch your ass up in the air. to position muffled anything that you might’ve said and you felt your heart drop when you feel her bulge prodding against your ass.

wonyoung slices your panties as well before placing the knife in her mask. she pulls her boxers down along with her miniskirt. she giggles as she hovers over you of you, large hands pinning yours to the bed before she leans into your ear with a wicked grin.

“i’m going to make you scream.”

“w-wait!” you quickly retort squirming under her iron grip.

she wastes no time before she pushes her cock deep inside your virgin cunt.

it was like the wind got knocked out of you. you can't even make a sound, all you can concentrate on is the burn on your hole being stretched out. she had just pushed in and her cock is already kissing at your cervix, just how big is this girls cock?

wonyoung harshly gripped your hips and pulled out until her cock head was the only length left inside you before violently thrusting forward, letting out a long groan at the satisfaction. her hands left your back to grab your wrists to hold them behind your back, and forcefully yanking you back down onto her cock. she wasn't letting you get out of this anytime soon.

she was using your body like you were her human sized sex doll. drool was running down your chin and down to the valley of your tits and your eyes were crossed over, "for someone that hasn't taken a real dick before--you take it like a cock drunk whore." wonyoung muttered loud enough for you to hear. if you hadn't been too busy cryin' n moanin' on her dick, you would've made a snarky comeback.

she's never heard your voice become this high-pitched but she wasn't complaining, "s-so big! y-you're gonna break me!!" you whined through your tears.

"and you're gonna keep taking it all in your little cunt. even after i impregnate you." wonyoung quickly agreed to your statement, shooting three spurts of cum into your cunt.

you thought she'd be done but her hips never stopped smacking into yours, instead, she flipped you over into missionary. she swiftly picked up your left leg, placing it on her shoulder to reach a deep angle.

she continued to drill into your cum-stuffed pussy, her cock heavily throbbing inside you due to just seeing the lewd sight below her, "like being fucked by a killer, gonna cum all over me?"

"uh-huhh~" your eyes rolled back and your body began to shake. she took one of you tits that's bouncing with her thrust into your mouth, earning a loud moan from you. you suddenly felt a little funny, almost like you had to pee? your body soon went limp before you let out a whiny moan, squirting all over her dick and pelvis.

"at first i was just gonna fuck you and then kill her." she pulls out of your sloppy pussy and grabbed her knife. you flinch at these words, a bit terrified of what was gonna happen next, "but i think i'll make you my cute cock sleeve."

[princessbrunette]

asking rafe “do you like me?” in the middle of him blowing your back out

the bed creaks alongside the rhythm at which the headboard jolts into the wall each time rafe thrusts but you can barely hear it over your own mewls. he’d come close to winning in the motorcycle race, and despite jj maybank impeding his near win— rafe actually seemed pretty ecstatic.

you figured he liked to hear all those people cheering his name, supporting him for once. it made a change from all those times at the country club, or the house parties where his name would only be brought up in a sour whisper, murmuring about some rumour that wasn’t really a rumour— and next thing you know rafe would totally crash out. no, it wasn’t like that this time. people looked… happy to see him.

girls especially. waving their signs and flags and pushing their chest out when he’d come by. “good luck, rafe!” they’d coo and he was so high off the adrenaline he didn’t even do much to ignore them. you let him have his moment, but now he was fucking you into the mattress — it was creeping up on you again.

“mhh—mm—mm” you cry into the pillow, his hips plapping against your ass.

“yeah, tha’s that good shit huh? you like that winners dick?” he all but hollers, out of breath and clammy as he pushes your lower back down some more.

in a daze, you respond — but not to answer to his question, to ask your own.

“huh? gotta speak up, yeah?” he pulls the pillow beneath you that muffles you aside and tosses it away rather quickly as to not impede on his rhythm.

“d’you like me?” you whine louder, as if it were a pain to repeat yourself.

you hear him heave out a breath, winded by the amount of conversation taking place at the speed he was pounding you and he slows, dropping some weight down onto you.

“wh— do i like you? what the hell kinda—”

“forget it.” you sniffle, attempting to push yourself up on your hands so you could quickly depart and wallow in the embarrassment but without thinking he pushes you back down onto the bouncy mattress, still sheathed fully inside.

“quit that. ‘course i like you, alright? why are you asking me that?”

you don’t turn to look at him, the older boy still staring at the back of your head. you shrug your bare shoulders.

rafe licks his lips. he knew what girls could be like — hell, he had two sisters after all. random bouts of sensitivity and insecurity were never more than a short stop away— so he figured you were simply having one of those. he sighs, dropping down lower to bear hug you from the back, wrapping his arms around your torso.

“you think i’d fuck you like this if i didn’t like you?” he rolls his hips again slowly, the stretch maddening and you groan, watery eyes fluttering.

“dunno.”

“everything i god damn do is for you alright? of course i like you. now do you want to keep chatting? or do you want me to fuck you. hm?” he teases, starting to up his pace again.

you were a sucker for reassurance, you truly would have loved if he went on — but in that moment, there was only one correct answer, and all you could think was fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

[p1astr81]

heyy!! what about reader who tries to break up with oscar because she thinks shes a distraction to him and he should focus on racing instead? (please make it like really really angsty)

You dropped the ball during dinner. When both of your plates were freshly empty, but sprinkled with the remnants of food.

“I think we should break up.” Your voice was small, your face too serious.

But Oscar laughed anyway. He thought it was another joke of yours. Until he saw your face. Unable to meet his eyes, your own glistening.

“Don’t say that.” He pleaded, frozen in his chair.

A beat of silence. “Why would you say that?” His chair scrapped along the floor, but he didn’t stand. Not yet. He just watched as you hugged yourself. Watched as the glisten of your eyes morphed into steady tears flowing down your face.

“Because I’m distracting you.” You reasoned. “From F1.” You sniffled. Shaky hands attempted to wipe your tears away.

The air was snatched from his lungs and replaced with thousand pound weights. He finally stood, crossed half of the distance to you and stopped. “Baby, what?”

“Don’t call me that.” You were quick to respond. His question leading right into your own words. “Don’t make it harder than it already is.” You shook your head. Arms tightened around you, physically trying to hold yourself together.

Measured, careful steps closed the gap between you. He paused before crouching down beside you. You turned your head in the other direction.

“Why would you ever think that you’re distracting me?” He wanted to reach out, wanted to hold your hand or encapsulate you in his arms. He did none of that, too afraid you’d turn away again.

When the silence stretched to uncomfortable limits, he continued. “Did someone say something to you? Did I?”

Silence. Then, quietly, “you never win when I’m there.” You sniffed. “People notice. I notice.”

He sighed, his hand reaching for your knee. You flinched away. He watched with a pained heart as the light caught your tears and bounced off the droplets. “That’s not a good enough reason.” He voiced, just as quiet as you, but more sure.

Brows furrowed in confusion, you turned to him. “What?”

“It’s baseless. There’s no way you can connect those two factors into a trend.”

You searched his face. He was entirely serious. “Stop that. Don’t analyze it.”

“I also don’t win when you’re not there. There’s no evidence to say that you being there affects my performance. And there’s also nothing to say the opposite. I’ve gotten podiums nearly every time you’ve been there. If you were a problem, wouldn’t you think I’d DNF or be out of the points? I think that you make my performances better actually. And frankly since I’m the one driving the car I think-“

“Okay I get it.” You groaned. “I get it.” You sighed.

His smile widened. “Good. So no more of that crazy breakup talk?” He asked, his hand finding yours. You didn’t move away this time, but you nodded. He stood and kissed your forehead. “I love you so much.”

[natalianovnas]

༄ `. 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 & 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 — ⌗02

summary : raised in the heart of the countryside, you, Y/N Langford, has always known the rhythm of ranch life—early mornings on horseback, sun-drenched vineyards, and a quiet kind of freedom carved into the land passed down through generations. however, your father's recent colleague is interesting enough.

genre : country!au, wlw, countryside life.

warnings : smut, beefy!nat, top!nat, sub!reader, teasing, flirting, age-gap (r is 24 and nat is 32).

words count : 4.3k || masterlist

an : might seem boring in the begining but I promise, it's worth your while. smut is down below :)

𖦹 part one 𖦹 part two 𖦹 part three 𖦹 part four 𖦹 part five

HORSES & ROMANCE :

— The Begining Of Belonging

📍Langford Ranch House

Clare Valley, Southern Australia

The Langford house glowed like a storybook as the sun dipped behind the hills, warm light spilling from the windows and casting long, golden rays across the wraparound porch. It was a wide, two-story structure with a green tin roof and paint that had peeled in a few places, but that only added to its charm. The scent of rosemary, garlic, and warm bread drifted through the evening air.

Natasha stood at the edge of the gravel path, a little too aware of how quiet her boots sounded on the stones. She’d changed into clean jeans and a dark linen shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal her forearms. Her hair was pulled back—not tightly, but not entirely relaxed either.

The long table on the porch was already set. Dishes lined the middle—roasted vegetables from the garden, baked lasagna steaming in the center, bowls of salad tossed with lemon vinaigrette. There was a pitcher of red wine and glasses already half full.

“Come in, come in. Hope you’re hungry.”

“I am,” Natasha admitted. “It smells incredible.”

Georges was seated at the head, napkin over his knee, already halfway through a story about the time your cousin fell into the irrigation ditch trying to impress a girl. Across from him was your grandmother, Elise, eyes sharp but kind, wearing an apron and sipping ginger beer.

“Ah! Natasha,” She greeted. “There’s a seat right there by Y/N. Don’t be shy.”

And then there was you.

Seated sideways in a wooden chair, wine glass loose in hand. The artificial lights struck your profile, catching your cheekbone and the faint tan line at your collar.

Natasha offered a small, respectful smile and took the seat beside you.

You looked up as she stepped onto the porch, a faint smile on your lips. “Glad you made it,”

“I said I might,” Natasha replied, walking over and taking the seat. “Didn’t say I’d behave.”

You laughed softly. “Good. It’d be boring if you did.”

“Smells incredible,” she said to your grandmother.

“That’s because I cook with actual skill,” Elise declared. “Not like Georges—he burns toast.”

“Only once,” Your father protested.

Plates clinked. Elise set down a tray of garlic-stuffed roast chicken and roasted pumpkin slices, then waved off any offers to help. Georges poured the wine—dark red, earthy, bold—and slid Natasha a glass without question.

“Clare Valley Shiraz. One of ours,” he said proudly.

She took a sip, letting it settle on her tongue. “Smooth. But not soft.”

Georges grinned. “Like the women in this family.”

Dinner rolled on with the kind of ease only old families could master—jokes with no setup, teasing that didn’t sting, and silences that felt comfortable. Elise recounted a neighbor’s cow escaping again.

And Natasha? She watched. She listened. She responded when spoken to, asked just enough questions, and found herself slowly thawing. The porch felt lived-in, like people belonged here.

So did you.

Your laughter was real and heartwarming. You filled Natasha's plate without asking and nudged a breadbasket her way. Once or twice, your knee brushed hers under the table—not accidentally—but you didn’t make a show of it either.

Halfway through the meal, Elise nudged Natasha with a grin. “So. What brings you out here from the big world? Georges says it's work, but a little bird tells me it's a little more.”

Natasha smiled politely. “Needed some air. A little quiet. Time away.”

“Running from someone?” Your dad teased.

“Grams, tell your kid he’s got no filter,” You muttered behind the rim of your glass.

“Running toward something,” Natasha answered, cool and unbothered. She glanced at you. “Maybe.”

There was a brief hush. Then Georges gave a low whistle. “Well, damn. That’s poetic.”

You laughed under your breath. Natasha didn’t look away.

As the stars began to crowd the sky, and the last of the dishes were cleared, Elise brought out a dessert she called "apple slab"—warm pastry crust with cinnamon and vanilla ice cream melting into every corner. Natasha tried it. She closed her eyes briefly.

Georges leaned toward her halfway through. “Told you—better company than you expected, huh?”

She nodded. “You weren’t wrong.”

The conversation shifted to crops and winter prep, and then to you—specifically, the time you tried to tame a wild filly at sixteen.

“She broke her wrist but refused to go to the hospital,” your grandmother told Natasha with a shake of her head. “Said she didn’t need a doctor, just duct tape and whiskey.”

Natasha looked over at you, one brow lifted, not surprised but interested. “Really?”

You shrugged, grinning around a bite of bread. “I was stubborn.”

“Was?” Your dad muttered.

You kicked his boot under the table.

As the stars began to pierce through the fading sky, conversation softened. The wine was nearly gone. Crickets started up in the distance, and the vineyard glowed faintly beneath the last lavender light.

Your grandmother excused herself first, and Georges followed shortly after with a promise to check the fencing in the morning.

You stayed. Natasha did too.

There was quiet between you now, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just the gentle hush of nighttime settling over land that had worked all day.

You glanced sideways at her. “You survived Langford dinner.”

“Barely.” Her voice was dry, but her eyes held warmth. “You all talk like you’ve known each other for centuries.”

“We practically have.” You stretched your legs under the table. “That’s what happens when you grow up where everyone knows your middle name, what age you first rode a bike, and how many times you cried watching The Lion King.”

“Twice?”

You laughed. “Four. Don’t judge me.”

Natasha smirked, then leaned back in her chair, her arms loose over the sides. “It’s nice. The way your family is. The way you are here.”

You studied her then—the way she relaxed just slightly when she wasn’t looking.

“You’re welcome to come by again,” You said casually. “We don’t usually bite.”

She looked at you, serious now. “And if I stay too long?”

You tilted your head. “Then you might start feeling like you belong.”

For a moment, you both just looked at each other. The stars overhead blinked into the dark sky like promises, and somewhere in the distance, Alba let out a quiet, contented whinny.

🍀 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 🍀

6:12AM. A cool mist hugged the vineyards like a ghost clinging to memory, curling low around the vines and bleeding into the open pastures.

Dew clung to every blade of grass, and the air still carried the chill of night, crisp enough to cut through the fabric of Natasha’s hoodie.

She wasn’t usually awake this early—not without cause—but something about the quiet of the ranch had tugged her from sleep before the world stirred.

She hadn’t even meant to go walking. She’d only stepped outside the house for air. And then the horizon broke into a slow bloom of amber light, and she just kept moving, boots crunching softly along a gravel path that curved away from the vineyard and toward the back paddocks.

Then she heard it—

A sharp exhale, followed by the pounding of hooves.

It wasn’t Alba.

The redhead crept closer, careful not to announce herself. She moved through a break in the fence, stepping behind a wooden post and peering through the clearing ahead.

You were in the ring.

Not the manicured one near the barn where children learned to ride—but the rough, wide training corral on the edge of the property. It was worn in by years of sun and sweat. Just dirt, wind, tension and you.

The horse in the ring was beautiful and wild. A deep russet coat and black mane, flaring nostrils and rolling muscles as it snorted and pawed the dirt. Its eyes were wide with resistance, its back arched in refusal.

Natasha didn’t move. She watched.

You held the rope with just enough slack to give it trust. You didn’t force contact, just stepped slowly, deliberately, your boots quiet in the dust.

“There you go,” You whispered— warm, low, and calm. “Not here to hurt you.”

The horse didn’t believe you. Not yet.

It darted to the side, testing you. You turned with it, gentle but firm, keeping distance without surrendering authority.

Nat realized what she was watching wasn’t about breaking. It was about respect.

“You’re not a prisoner,” you murmured. “You’re just scared.”

There was something heavy in the way you said it—like you weren’t just talking to the animal.

The stallion stopped. Just for a second. His head tilted, ears flicking. That was enough for a first.

He took a single step forward. You didn’t move. Came another step before he then exhaled—a long, rattling breath that shook tension from his shoulders.

You dropped your gaze, lowering yourself slightly, shifting into a crouch. Still no pressure. Still no force.

And then, miraculously, impossibly, the horse approached.

Natasha found herself holding her own breath.

When the horse finally bumped his nose against your shoulder, your hand lifted—light, slow—and you rested it against his neck.

“Nice one, big guy,” You smiled. “You’re alright now.”

Only then did Natasha move. A quiet step back. She didn’t want to interrupt, didn’t want to break whatever sacred moment she’d just witnessed.

But you had already known she was there.

You turned your head, still stroking the horse, and caught her eyes through the rising light. There was no surprise in your expression. Just calm.

“You always spy on people before coffee?” You questioned with an expectant raised brow.

The Russian gave a faint smile, stepping forward now that she’d been caught. “Only when the show’s worth it.”

You chuckled, brushing your hair off your face. “That was Bramble. He’s a rescue. Nobody’s been able to get close to him for months.”

“He trusts you.”

“Not trust. Not yet. Just curiosity and a little relief.” You glanced back at the horse, who now stood beside you, tethered by choice instead of fear. “That’s a start.”

Natasha nodded, eyes still on you. “You’re good at this.”

“With horses?”

“At being patient with things that bolt.”

There was a silence between you that hummed with more than early morning wind.

You didn’t break it. You didn’t flirt or tease. You just looked at her—really looked—and gave the barest nod.

“Come by later,” you said, stepping toward the gate. “If you want.”

🍀 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 🍀

Natasha spent hours thinking about earlier's moment with you.

“Come by later,” — Not an invitation, but permission.

She came by around late afternoon. You were exactly where she expected to find you—behind the barn, near the tack shed, rinsing off a saddle with a garden hose. You spent time together — repainted rooster's fences because you had a design idea.

You snorted softly and tossed her a clean towel. “Make yourself useful.”

She caught it one-handed. “You always this bossy?”

“You always this agreeable?”

The redhead tilted her head in consideration. “Only when I’m interested.”

Your gaze flicked toward her then, unreadable for a beat too long. But whatever you were thinking, you didn’t say it.

Later on, you motioned toward the hay bales stacked under the old oak tree you used to play by when you were younger. “Come on. I’ve got ten minutes before I have to check the perimeter fence.”

She followed you there, the sun warming her back as you both sat. From here, the land seemed to stretch forever—golden and open, scattered with horses and silence.

You didn’t fill it with small talk. Neither did she. You both just sat. The peace of it settled slowly, like dust after a storm.

“You really love this place,” Natasha said after a while.

You nodded, still looking at the view. “It’s not just home. It’s... legacy. My father  probably told you already but his great-grandfather built the first stable. He and my mom added the vineyard. My sisters ran off, but I stayed. Someone had to.”

“That sounds like weight.”

“It is.” You glanced at her then. “But it’s the kind I can carry.”

She nodded, understanding more than she said.

🍀 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 🍀

The next few days passed in a slow, golden rhythm.

The Russian spent most of it unpacking, fixing the back gate, replacing floorboards in the living room or simply working with your dad.

She worked without a shirt most afternoons —the heat was relentless— and she noticed the way you passed by more often now. Always with an excuse. Returning a borrowed drill she hadn’t lent you. Asking if she needed help setting up a chicken coop she hadn’t even built yet. Always smiling. Always wearing shorts that made Natasha seriously consider whether peaceful living was all it was cracked up to be.

You were beautiful, that wasn't ignored by anyone but it was unnerving, how irresistible you could be. In some ways, she felt she wasn't supposed to look and think about you in the way she did but she just couldn't help herself.

She was only human after all. 

From your side, you didn't care. You felt attracted to her and you weren't going to lie to yourself. Your father never had a problem with whoever you dated, as long as you were happy he didn't mind it.

You and Nat were both adults, so if anyone had a serious say in whatever that was starting to bloom between the two of you— it was only Nat and

The sun was beginning to dip when the fair lights flickered to life, warm and golden, strung between trees like fireflies. The annual Cherry Hollow Harvest Fair sprawled across the town’s open field—tents pitched, hay bales arranged like benches, the smell of roasted corn, fried dough, and sweet cider wafting through the cool autumn air.

Kids ran barefoot over the grass, their laughter high and wild. Folk music drifted from a wooden stage where a band played fiddles and banjos. People from all around the county came for this night. It wasn’t just tradition—it was home.

And Natasha Romanoff? She wasn’t sure what she was doing here.

Georges had insisted. “It’s tradition,” he’d said, patting her shoulder like she was family now. “Everyone goes. You’ll like it.”

So she’d come. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a fitted olive-green shirt.

She spotted Georges near the cider stand, chatting with the mayor and three other men who looked like they'd been born wearing cowboy hats. He waved when he saw her, but didn't call her over. She appreciated that—he let her move at her own pace.

Then she saw you.

Across the fairground, in a sage green denim jumpsuit that stopped by your thighs, hugging them perfectly with the top buttons open to tease with your cleavage hair pulled up with a white clip that matched your boots.

You had a paper cup in one hand and your other resting casually on your hip as you spoke to a woman selling apple pies. You laughed at something, head tilted back slightly in that unguarded way Natasha was starting to recognize.

You were a different version of yourself here—looser, brighter.

And she liked it. Maybe too much.

You noticed her after a moment, your smile lingering as your eyes locked. Then you tilted your head subtly, like an invitation: Come over.

Natasha made her way through the crowd slowly, absorbing the details: children with sticky faces, old men playing horseshoes, the way the stars were beginning to bloom in the sky.

When she reached you, your gaze ran down her frame—not in a way that was obvious, but in a way that landed.

“You clean up alright,” You said, sipping from your cup. “Not bad for a city girl.”

“Not bad for someone who just learned what ‘cow patty bingo’ is,” Natasha replied, glancing over at the fenced square in the grass that was... exactly what it sounded like.

You laughed, fully this time, and offered her your drink. “Spiced cider. Try it.”

She hesitated just long enough to make it noticeable. Then took a sip.

You watched her the entire time.

“Sweet,” she said.

“Like the fair.”

“Is that what you are?” Natasha asked, eyes steady. “Sweet?”

You smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Before either of you could push the moment further, a loud clang sounded near the mechanical bull arena and someone called your name. It was the ranch hand, Micah, gesturing toward the prize booth.

“I promised to judge the pie contest,” you said with a sigh. “Small-town royalty obligations.”

Natasha lifted a brow. “You’re a judge and a competitor?”

You gave her a wicked grin. “No one said I had to play fair.”

As you moved away, Natasha’s eyes followed you through the crowd. She wasn’t used to wanting moments to last longer. But with you, they always ended too fast.

She wandered a little after that—tried a caramel apple, watched kids dance barefoot under the fairy lights, even listened to Georges tell an elaborate story about winning the chili cook-off in '98.

But when the music shifted—slower now, softer—Natasha looked for you again.

She found you leaning against the fence near the bonfire, watching the flames. Your blouse glowed orange in the firelight, your face half-shadowed, thoughtful.

She came up beside you quietly.

“You come here every year?” she asked.

You nodded. “Every year since I was five. I’ve worked every booth. Played every game. First kiss was behind that pie stand.”

Natasha smiled faintly. “That sound like a good memory or a bad one?”

“Sticky,” you said. “She had frosting on her lips.”

That surprised a quiet laugh out of her. You turned toward her slightly, and for a beat, neither of you said a word.

Just firelight.

The smell of smoke.

The unspoken want hanging between you.

“You staying long?” you asked, voice lower.

“I might,” she said. “Haven’t decided.”

You nodded. “Well. This place grows on you. Just watch out—it makes it harder to leave.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

Someone called your name again.

You exhaled, almost reluctant. “I should—”

“I know.”

You hesitated. “Wanna walk me home later, maybe?”

Natasha didn’t answer right away. She just looked at you, the corner of her mouth lifting.

“Yeah,” she said. “I do.”

And just like that, something shifted.

Not loud. Not sudden.

But real.

The kind of shift you feel in your chest before your mind can catch up.

🍀 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 🍀

The fair had mostly dimmed by the time the music ended. Booths began to close, vendors packed up pies and preserves, and the chatter faded into the quiet hum of crickets and wind in the trees.

Natasha waited near the edge of the bonfire crowd, hands tucked into the pockets of her denim jacket, eyes scanning for you.

You emerged through the fading glow, brushing hay from your jeans, your cheeks still flushed from laughter and cider. The warmth of the evening was still on your skin, but the night was cooling fast, and you’d slipped into an old cream-colored cardigan that made you look even more like home.

“Ready?” You asked, eyes finding hers in the dark.

Natasha just nodded.

You didn’t speak at first, the two of you walking side by side down the gravel path that led out of town and back toward the ranch. There were no streetlights—just moonlight, stars, and the occasional crunch of gravel under your boots.

“I usually drive to the fair,” You said eventually. “But walking feels better tonight.”

The redhead glanced at you, head tilted and a faint smirk. “You always ask people to walk you home, or am I special?”

You smirked, playing her game from earlier. “Only to the ones I don’t want to leave too quickly.”

She let that sit for a moment. Then, softly: “I can see why you stayed here. This town, your family… it’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

Natasha shrugged. “Something quieter. Less alive.”

You smiled at that. “It’s a stubborn kind of place. It grows wild and deep. You can’t just skim the surface.”

Natasha hummed. “No. I guess not.”

You passed the vineyard fence. The moonlight painted rows of vines silver. In the distance, the faint outline of the ranch house stood against the night sky, warm light glowing from the porch.

“You tired?” You asked, voice barely above the breeze.

“Not really.”

You slowed. “Wanna come in?”

Natasha’s pause wasn’t long.

“I do.”

Inside, the house was quiet— Ace, your golden retriever is probably asleep. You kicked off your boots, set your keys in the bowl by the door. Natasha followed you into the kitchen where the smell of cinnamon still lingered from the pies you'd baked earlier to offer at the fair.

"Water?" You offered.

She nodded. You poured two glasses.

She didn't sit. Neither did you. You stood at the kitchen counter, sipping slowly, like the silence had something to say if you just let it stretch long enough.

And then, softly, she set her glass down.

"Why'd you really ask me to walk you home?"

Your answer was quiet, honest. "Because I wanted to be alone with you. Not in the barn. Not with my dad around. Just... here."

Natasha stepped closer. "Why?"

Eyes flicked to hers, holding steady. "Because I've been trying not to want this since the second I saw you."

"That makes two of us."

Her hand reached up slowly-giving you time to stop her-and brushed your cheek. You didn't pull back. You leaned in.

The first kiss wasn't slow. It wasn't hesitant. It was earned. Built on days of glances, tension, heat, and restraint. It came with a soft sound from your throat as her mouth met yours, full and open and hungry.

You stepped back against the counter as her hand slid to your waist, anchoring you.

You kissed her like you'd been holding back a storm. She kissed you like she was finally letting go of one.

When you broke apart, breathless, foreheads pressed together, you whispered, "This isn't a mistake, is it?"

Natasha's eyes searched yours. "Not even close."

You kissed again-this time slower, deeper, less urgent but more intentional. Her hands rested at your hips, yours slid beneath her jacket, fingers grazing warm cotton and skin.

Still kissing, you led her down the hallway with unspoken understanding. The bedroom door opened easily beneath your palm.

Inside - moonlight across the bed. A soft creak of floorboards. Breath and heartbeats. Clothes shed slowly. A laugh when her jacket snagged on your elbow.

Your mouths met again in the low light of your bedroom, this time with but the hush of the night. Your fingers finding the hem of her blouse and slipping underneath, grazing the warm skin of her toned stomach.

She let you lift it, arms rising wordlessly as you peeled the shirt over her head and dropped it aside. Her skin was soft beneath your hands-lean muscle, warm breath, and something tightly coiled beneath the surface. But it was her eyes that held you there-fixed on yours, careful, burning.

"Tell me if you want to stop," Uou whispered, even though every part of you ached to go further, eyes fixated on her body before returning to her eyes.

"I don't," She said, voice husky, fingers brushing down your spine. "Not tonight."

Her hands moved to the buttons of your jumpsuit, undoing them one by one with a kind of quiet focus. You watched her as she worked-how gentle she was, how deliberate. She wasn't trying to rush this. She wanted to feel it. All of it.

When her mouth touched your shoulder, your breath caught. Her lips traced a path from your collarbone down, tasting skin like she was learning you. And you let her, pressing closer, your hands tangling in her hair as she kissed lower.

The sheets are cool against your back as she hovered over you, her weight braced on one elbow, the other hand brushing lightly down your bare side.

She kissed you slowly-mouth warm, lips soft and deep, tongue teasing yours in a rhythm that had your heart pounding.

"You drive me insane, you know that?" She murmured against your lips.

"Good," You breathed, kissing her again. "I intend to keep it that way."

More clothes vanished in between kisses and laughter, until there was nothing but skin and need and the quiet creak of the mattress beneath you.

Natasha trailed her fingers down your stomach, eyes watching your face for every flicker of response. When her touch found you, you gasped-hips arching, breath hitching as she moved with precise, devastating control.

She then kissed your neck, your chest, your ribs-like she wanted to memorize the taste of you.

And you let yourself fall apart under her hands.

But it wasn't just pleasure. It was the way she looked at you while she gave it. Like she wanted every inch of you while you took every inch of her large cock. Like you were worth knowing this way.

Your nails raked gently down her back as you moaned her name-quiet but desperate, breathy against her ear.

Everything you'd imagined. Everything you hadn't let yourself imagine.

The teasing was gone now. What remained was hunger, care, and a kind of reverence that made your breath catch.

You didn't rush. You didn't need to.

You had all night.

And maybe, just maybe-something after that.

When it was over, the two of you lay tangled in the sheets, your head resting against her shoulder, fingers lazily drawing circles on her skin.

But before you drifted off, she kissed your temple and whispered, "I don't know what this is yet. But I want more of it."

And that was enough-for tonight.

➪ next part.

[blythedolly]

let me hear you.

—♡ you’re a famous popstar and leon kennedy is your beloved bodyguard. between the public eye and having to keep your relationship private for your safety, leons professionalism is once again tested.

—♡ warnings: bodyguard!leon, jealous/possessive, men being gross, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected p in v, choking, size difference, pet names.

leon never used to be the possessive type until you landed in his grasp. even though he knew nobody could ever steal you from him, it was a quiet fear of his. the thing is, to the public eye, leon was nothing but your bodyguard. your protector. although, most people were afraid of him based on his physique. standing at 6ft tall with arm muscles the size of the average human head tends to scare off weak insecure men, he would constantly have to witness these men lusting over you. his girl, and it made him seethe. It was hard to continually remind himself that this was part of his job, and you were a famous popstar. obviously, you're going to get a lot of attention, and he was ashamed to admit that it still bothered him. 

like today. he overheard two men talking about you, he didn't recognize them. which was quite rare, considering most of the time these award show afterparties were full of other extremely popular musicians. but no matter who was in that room, and how famous they were, you always stole their attention and lustful gazes. 

“just look at her, god. the things i’d love to do to her…” the man says to his friend, shaking his head in what appeared to be disbelief as he watched you speak to one of your friends. 

“i know, did you see her new music video? leaves very little to the imagination for sure” the other man chuckled. before the two could say anything else, you finally spotted leon standing behind the two and a delicate smile graced your face. the boys then turned around, finally noticing leon standing there. they went pale in the face as you approached. knowing that he’d definitely heard every word they said based off the angry look leon was giving them. he could truly be terrifying when he wanted to. you’d seen that side of him many times, but never aimed at you of course. leon was a powerful man, able to get rid of them with a simple snap of his finger. you stood next to him, not realizing his displeased expression until you’d tilted your neck up to look into his eyes. he was still staring at them.

“leon, is everything ok?” you asked, tone worried as you followed his gaze and set your eyes on the two men you hadn’t even noticed before. he didn’t respond, his large hand wrapped around your arm as he led you away from the area. not questioning a single thing as it was crystal clear something was bothering him a significant amount. once the two of you had made it back to your hotel room, you turned to look at him as he closed the door.

“are you mad because they were looking at me? because you know i’d never even think to-” you began to explain.

“i know you wouldn’t.” leon interrupted, and your gaze softened.

“then what’s wrong?” you ask once again, approaching him slowly, looking into his eyes. he eventually met your eyes after a moment. “what were they saying?”

“nothing that you need to worry about, doll.” he reassured, resting his forehead against yours. never would you have imagined leon could be so soft.

“alright,” you say, a soft smile reappearing on your face. “i’m just gonna freshen up a little, ok?” you add, pressing a kiss to his lips before approaching the bathroom. leon sat down on the couch, hands rubbing his face as he tried to forget about what he’d heard earlier in the night. which was almost impossible, considering he heard those exact voices outside of the door. the familiar anger began to rise once again as he got up from the couch and passed towards the door, opening it quickly and immediately spotting the same smug faces he was mentally murdering moments ago.

they both gulped, eyes wide as they stood in front of the front door a meter from yours. they quickly entered the room to avoid confrontation. leon stood there for a moment, wondering what the fuck they were doing in the room next to yours. before he could do anything else, your voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“was someone at the door?” you ask, he turned his head to face you. looking at you adorned in one of his large shirts. quietly admiring the way your body drowned in it.

“two boys just went into the room next door. I assumed they’d reserved this floor for… other famous people i guess.”

“the ones that you were giving the death stare to earlier?” you ask, a cheeky smile on your face. “baby, they are famous.” you chuckle as you stared at your boyfriend. he shook his head, trying to hide his displeasure to the information he’d just heard.

“well, excuse me for not being up to date with pop culture, i dedicate all of my time to protecting you”

he says, you loved when he’d get sassy like this. their words from earlier kept repeating in his head as he approaches you, placing his large hands on your waist, kissing your lips delicately. “they don’t look like the famous type,” he says as he places his mouth to your neck, the feeling of his lips tickling your skin in the most delicious way. you whined softly. and that’s when he got the idea. the idea that would show those stupid guys who you belong to. who really gets to fuck you.

he smirked against you, lips abusing your skin and his hot tongue trailing over your sensitive spots. his hands found your ass, squeezing your cheeks sadistically which caused a sudden gasp to escape your throat. normally, leon would place his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet when you weren't at home, just in case people were around. the hotel was unreasonably fancy, but the walls still seemed paper thin, but this time he didn’t. you didn’t question it. you never questioned him.

“that’s it, let me hear your pretty sounds,” he says as he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the pristine king-sized bed. 

he dropped you onto the mattress and hovered his frame over yours. his lips found yours once again, and you whined as his tongue slipped between yours. he’s all too familiar with how vocal you can be. even with his hand over your mouth or your head buried into the pillow, he can hear you crystal clear. he knew anyone nearby would be able to hear if he didn’t hush you, and that’s exactly what he wanted. for those stupid little pricks to hear how good he makes you feel. over and over.

his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the soft skin. you whined louder this time. you were so goddamn submissive under his touch, it drove him crazy.

he raised his stolen t-shirt up your body, exposing your torso as he lowered his head. trailing kisses all over your soft skin. you were addicted to the feeling of his stubble against you, he’d barely done anything and you were already a whimpering mess. his head trailed lower and lower. licking the skin above your panty line as he hooks his fingers into the edges of the fabric. effortlessly peeling them down your legs and throwing them off to the side.

he began peppering kisses to your inner thighs, feeling his hot breath against your dripping cunt was driving you wild.

“leon…” you whimpered loudly, legs trembling in suspense of the act that he was about to do. you were expecting him to respond. something like “be patient” or “good girls know how to wait” but he didn’t, he latched his lips onto your clit, causing your back to arch off the bed. your hand flew to your mouth, biting down on the side to muffle your moans. but leon stopped.

“no, baby girl. let me hear you,” you nodded your head, staring down at him between your legs. noticing the glistening shine of your wetness on his chin under the dull lighting of the room.

“good girl,” he said before diving back in. aggressively eating you out as he’s done many times before. your moans were quick to fill the room. your hands flew down to grasp at his blonde hair. you spread your legs wider, giving him as much access to you as possible. to say he was addicted to your sweet essence was an understatement. the way you shivered with every delicate swipe of his tongue against your sensitive crevices. his tongue studying each and every one, torturously slow, with enough force to send you into oblivion.

“l-leon, i’m about to… i can feel it-” you whine breathlessly as your orgasm approaches. hitting you fast before you could continue your stuttered sentence. loud whiny moans filling the room as you rode out your high.

he didn’t halt until your legs began twitching, licking up all of the cum you provided for him in exchange for an orgasm. he climbed back up your body slowly, leaving sloppy kisses up your stomach along the way.

he was proud of himself knowing how good he could make you feel with little to no effort. enamored by the way your body reacted to his touches. he know the boys would’ve heard everything he’d just done, but of course, he wasn’t satisfied just yet. his hand wrapped it’s way back around your throat once his face aligned with yours, his chin damp with your cum.

“all wet,” you said, smiling as your hand raised to his face. tracing along the wet area of his face. “wanna make somethin else wet too,” you added, moving the same hand between your bodies and palming his hardened cock over his pants.

“where did you ever learn to be such a dirty girl?” he grunted, a slight smile on his face as he moved your hand and pinned it beside your head.

“we both know the answer to that,” you bit your lip as his hand tightened around your wrist, looking up at him through squinted eyes. he moved back to remove his shirt, and you bit your lip as he did so. you followed his steps and removed your own. clothes thrown carelessly to the floor.

he unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants and underwear down, not bothering to completely remove the articles of clothing. he was getting impatient. he hovered over you once again, his large hands separating your thighs as far as they could go and lined himself up with your dripping entrance. he wasted no time, thrusting forward and impaling you with his cock with no warning. you screamed, hands flying to grasp his shoulders as he quickly set a brutal pace. your back arched off the mattress, pressing firmly against leons as he pounded into you. legs wrapping tightly around his muscular body.

“oh, f-fuck. leon!” you moaned, the head of the bed clunking against the wall with each of his intense thrusts. he grunts into your ear sadistically, fingers leaving crescent shapes on your thigh as they dig into your skin.

“wanna feel you cumming around me, baby. think you can do that for me?” he asks, you nodded your head. tears dripping down your cheeks as the pleasure because too much for your body to cope with. it didn’t take long for another orgasm to pulse through your body, legs trembling around leons torso as you chant his name. before you could process anything else, he’d flipped you onto your stomach. shoving his cock deep inside you once more as he held your hips to him. despite being extremely sensitive from your previous orgasms, you still craved more of him. your loud moans echoed off the walls as he took you from behind. clenching your walls around him to coax his orgasm out of him. craving the feeling of his cum flooding into you. 

you felt another orgasm approach as his thrusts became sloppy, indicating that he was also moments away from finishing.

“leon!” you moan, clutching the bedsheets below as the two of you came together. leon eventually stopped once your highs had subsided. he tiredly flipped you onto your back once more, tracing his rough fingers along your damp cheek.

“mm… leon… y’think anyone heard us?” you ask, voice breathy as your tired body rests comfortably beneath him.

“hard for em not to,” he replies, tracing his finger along your bottom lip before placing a soft kiss there.

and it was safe to say they’d definitely heard based on the looks they were giving the two of you the following morning. leon smirked proudly, hand resting on your waist as the two of you walked past them. and even if they'd somehow not heard leon fucking your brains out, your obvious limp would easily give it away.

[ultravioletbrit]

“coffee” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 618 words

“He doesn’t like coffee. He likes tea; no milk, two sugars.” James interrupts the random guy that’s been trying to ask Regulus out for coffee for the last ten minutes.

“Oh, okay… well, um…?” The guy looks at James then back to Regulus and raises his eyebrows with an unspoken question. Regulus just gives him a small shrug. “Right… um… I’ll just... I’m going to… yeah…” He mumbles, then just turns and walks away.

“Quite the linguist, that one.” James says with a small laugh.

“How did you…?” Regulus questions as he turns to look at James.

“You looked kind of stuck, so I thought I’d give you an out if you wanted to take it.”

“No, I mean, how did you know my coffee order, or lack thereof?”

“Oh, well, I sort of just pay attention sometimes.” James shrugs.

“You pay attention to me?” Regulus asks as he raises an eyebrow skeptically.

“Maybe… but not in a creepy way… I just like to know what people like, I guess.”

Regulus tilts his head and narrows his eyes at James. “What else do you pay attention to?”

“What do you mean?”

“You pay attention to what people like. What else do I like?” Regulus challenges.

“Um…” James swallows nervously. “Your favorite color is green.” He says it almost as a question.

“Everyone knows that.” Regulus says as he rolls his eyes.

“But you don’t like dark green, you like lighter green better, sort of like the color of a green apple.”

Regulus raises both eyebrows, slightly impressed and takes a step closer to James.

“Hm. What else do I like?”

James still seems slightly nervous but gaining a bit more confidence at the same time. “You don’t like tomatoes, but you love tomato soup.” James’ voice starts to get a bit softer.

Regulus tilts his head and furrows his eyebrows, it’s an odd choice but accurate, nonetheless.

“What else?” He takes another step into James’ space.  

“You like white chocolate more than milk chocolate, but you like that you don’t have it very often because then it’s sort of special when you do have it.” James starts to whisper as Regulus moves even closer.

“What else?” It’s barely a breath as he gazes into James’ eyes.  

“You don’t like when this curl falls forward.” He reaches up to tuck the curl behind Regulus’ ear.

Regulus doesn’t respond, he just hums and leans into James’ hand a bit. James moves his other hand down Regulus’ arm.

“You wear your jumpers a few sizes too big because you like when the sleeves fall over your hands.” He intertwines their fingers and continues-

“You like to paint your nails black, but you like it better when you paint them pink, but you don’t do that very often.” James quickly glances down to Regulus lips then back to his eyes. “You don’t like it when your lips get dry, so you always keep chapstick in your left pocket. You like the mint flavor the best.” James says it so quietly Regulus only hears it because he’s barely an inch away from him.

“James…” Regulus says just as softly. “What else do I like?” He breathes with a heated look in his eyes.

“Do you maybe like…?” He bites his bottom lip with a small smile and before he finishes the question, Regulus is already nodding.

“Yeah.” He says with a soft smile. 

“Can I…” James’ smile grows slightly bigger as he flicks his eyes down to Regulus’ lips again.

“Yeah.” Regulus can’t help but smile back as James closes the final distance between them with a soft, slow kiss. 

When they break apart Regulus smirks slightly and says, “You taste like coffee.”

James’ smile grows impossibly wider.

“Sorry.” But he doesn’t seem sorry at all as he leans in to kiss Regulus again.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: The Hideout 3.0

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader,

KK Arnold, Azzi Fudd, Caroline, Jana, Ice, Yanna, Kayla

Fandom: UConn’s Women’s Basketball

Summary: navigating quiet escapes with friends while managing overwhelming moments, TikTok lives, and a chaotic, loud love.

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paige05bby , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @shikaizer

The afternoon light spills into my room, soft and golden, as I sit cross-legged on the bed with beads scattered around me. My camera’s propped up against a stack of textbooks, TikTok Live is going, and Azzi’s perched at my desk working on her poli-sci paper while Caroline is laying next to me on the bed, typing out some lab report like it’s nothing. The Vampire Diaries is playing in the background—obviously. It’s become a tradition at this point.

“Okay,” I say into the Live, holding up a bracelet. “This one is for my little cousin. She loves dolphins, so yes, that’s a dolphin charm. No judgment.”

“Wait,” Azzi mumbles from her desk without even looking. “Is that the same cousin who made you watch that weird animated movie last summer?”

“The Sea Beast is art, Azzi.”

Carol snorts. “You cried at it.”

I glare at her but keep working on another bracelet. “I’m sensitive, leave me alone.”

The chat is full of laughing emojis and bracelet requests. People asking about classes, music in the background, and whether Caroline ships Stefan or Damon.

“I’m a Stefan girl. Sorry not sorry,” she says.

“You should be sorry,” Azzi calls.

I laugh and lean into the mic. “You heard it here first. The house is divided.”

Everything is chill. It’s just the three of us, being our usual selves. But of course, it doesn’t stay that way.

I see it pop up in the chat, at first like a whisper.

Why is Y/N never on the Lives with Paige and KK?

She can sit and make bracelets with Carol and Azzi but can’t deal with Paige for five minutes?

Then the tone shifts.

Seems fake tbh.

She always disappears when it’s Paige’s turn to shine.

Is she too good for the loud Lives or something?

I stiffen. My fingers freeze over the bracelet I’m making, and the beads fall out of my hand and scatter on the bed.

Carol notices first, her eyes flicking to the screen. “Y/N?”

I shake my head, trying to keep my voice even. “I’m gonna step off for a second. Gotta get more beads.”

Carol doesn’t question it. She immediately mutes the Live. Azzi’s already pushing her chair back.

“What happened?” Azzi asks as I stand up and walk toward the corner of the room, hands trembling a little.

I exhale slowly, trying to get my voice to not shake. “People are saying it’s fake that I only go Live with you guys. That I’m avoiding Paige. That I don’t support her.”

Carol frowns. “Seriously?”

“They’re acting like I don’t want to be around her. Like I can’t be loud or fun or whatever unless it’s with someone else. And it’s just—” I pause, pressing my palm over my chest, grounding myself. “It’s not even true. But it hurts, y’know?”

Azzi steps in first, her voice gentle but firm. “You don’t owe anyone that version of you all the time.”

Carol nods. “You’re allowed to protect your peace. That doesn’t mean you’re fake.”

Before I can respond, the front door swings open. Voices echo down the hall.

“Yo! We’re back!” KK calls.

I hear Paige’s laugh, Ice and Jana trailing in behind them.

“Where’s my girlfriend?” Paige calls out.

I glance at Carol and Azzi, and they both nod. I exhale, walk back to the bed, and unmute the Live.

We pick up right where we left off like nothing happened.

I hold up the finished bracelet I’d been working on. “Okay, y’all, this one’s got a little star charm. It’s my favorite so far.”

Carol jumps back in, no hesitation. “That’s because you’re a star.”

The chat starts lightening up again, but I can still feel the tension. So I clear my throat and speak without making it too obvious.

“I think some people forget that everyone needs different versions of peace,” I say softly, eyes still on the bracelet. “Some days peace is chaos. Other days, peace is silence. Both are valid. You can be both.”

No names. No direct callout. But enough to make people think.

Then Paige walks in the room.

She doesn’t say anything at first—just walks up to the bed, lifts me slightly, and sits down with me in her lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She wraps her arms around me and leans over my shoulder.

“What are we making?” she asks quietly.

“Bracelets,” I mumble, heart full.

She kisses my shoulder. “Then let’s make one.”

The comments blow up again, people fawning, finally calming down. KK yells something from the hallway about how “y’all are too cute” and Ice throws in a dramatic “PERIODDDD” for good measure.

Paige helps me pick out beads while I answer questions in the chat. She’s quieter today, but her presence is enough.

We finish the Live a little later. The second the camera cuts, Paige nuzzles into my neck and says, “Proud of you, babe. For being soft and strong at the same time.”

I smile. “Takes practice.”

Later that night, my phone buzzes.

It’s a notification from Paige’s account.

She posted a TikTok.

I open it and burst into laughter instantly. It’s an old draft from a few weeks back—me, Paige, KK, Jana, Yanna, Azzi, Carol, and even Kayla who had come over just to do my hair.

It’s a Crumbl cookie review. But it’s absolute chaos.

Everyone’s yelling over each other. KK drops her cookie. Yanna’s already eating hers before the camera even rolls. Paige is narrating with a British accent for no reason. Azzi’s pretending she’s a cookie sommelier. I’m yelling about how good the chocolate chip one is. Carol’s laughing so hard she snorts.

It’s one of those moments that’s so loud, so messy, and so us.

And the caption?

“get a girl that can handle both.”

The comments are a mess in the best way:

@/k2timez_: “she was louder than me and that’s saying something.”

@/janaelalfyyy: “i choked on the cookie bc of her ‘CINNAMON ROLLLLL’ scream.”

@/caroline.ducharme3: “get a girl who makes bracelets and throws cookies at KK.”

@/azzi35: “she passed the vibe AND the volume check.”

@/kayla.williams_: “i came to do hair and left with tinnitus.”

I repost it with the caption: “chaotic good. no notes.”

I may get overwhelmed sometimes. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be loud, can’t be fun, can’t love deeply.

And I’ve got a girlfriend—and a whole squad—who loves me whether I’m curled up in silence or screaming about cookies.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[chanelrolls]

Love and Deepspace Men pretending to be gay to get closer to you.

pairings. sylus x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, xavier x reader, caleb x reader

notes. this is a headcanon of how the LIs would pretend to be gay so that you would feel safe and comfortable around their presence. requests are open. i'll welcome them wholeheartedly.

SYLUS

Sylus doesn’t just pretend to be gay—he turns it into a performance. He commits so flawlessly that no one even questions him. He doesn’t stutter, hesitate, or act out of character. If anything, his arrogance makes people believe him even more.

He carefully crafts his lies to be believable. He drops subtle hints in conversation, never making it obvious, just enough that people draw their own conclusions.

If you ever ask why he never seems interested in women, he just smirks, “Sweetheart, I like my partners just as ruthless as I am. Do you think you could handle that?”

He treats it like a game. He enjoys seeing how long he can keep the charade up before you're able to catch on. He especially loves watching your reactions when you start to get too comfortable with the idea.

He starts making offhanded comments about men, but he never actually compliments them. “At least he knows how to wear a suit properly. I respect that.” It’s just vague enough to keep the illusion.

Despite his act, he still flirts with you constantly—just in ways that sound platonically playful. “If only I was into women, hmm? What a tragedy.”

If you ever try to set him up with another guy, he dodges it smoothly. “Ah, but I have high standards, darling. He wouldn’t last five minutes with me.”

The second another man actually starts showing interest in you, his entire demeanor shifts. He gets subtly possessive, but masks it with amusement. “Him? Really? You could do better."

He lets you get too comfortable before dropping the act. Maybe one day, when you casually lean against him, laughing about how he’s the “perfect gay best friend.” He hums in amusement before leaning in close, voice dropping to a murmur. “Best friend? Hilarious.”

SCENARIO

You and Sylus are sitting at a high-end café, sipping on overpriced espresso. You suddenly begin teasing him about his supposed preferences, and he plays along effortlessly. You ask, “So, if you had to choose a man to date, who would it be?”

Sylus swirls his drink, amused. “Ah, a difficult question. I do appreciate a man with taste. A well-fitted suit. Confidence. Maybe someone who plays chess.”

You grin, “So, a rich, cunning type? That explains a lot.”

He smirks. “If I weren’t already spoken for, perhaps I’d entertain the thought.”

You shoot out a chortle, mirroring his action of twirling his drink. “See? Really, we always have the same likes and tastes, you're the perfect gay best friend."

He imperceptibly huffs, setting his cup down. Then, leaning closer, his voice drops to something softer, almost dangerous. “Who said I was your friend?”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

Sylus only smirks, sipping his coffee like he didn’t just drop a bombshell.

ZAYNE

Zayne’s approach is subtle but convincing. He never outright says he’s gay—he just lets people assume.

If someone asks him about his ideal type, he responds in the most vague, deadpan way possible. "Men."

He doesn’t act any differently than usual. That’s what makes it believable. His usual professionalism, reserved nature, and lack of visible romantic interest in others make it easy for rumors to spread.

When you jokingly asked him about it one day, he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he just tilts his head slightly and says, “Does it matter?”

He finds mild amusement in you being too comfortable around him, thinking he’s completely safe. (he's not.)

He doesn’t really do the whole “pretend to check out men” thing—he thinks it’s unnecessary. Instead, he subtly steers conversations in ways that reinforce the misunderstanding.

If you ever try to ask him about what he seeks in a man, he dodges the question with vague, clinical responses. “Compatibility is determined by more than just surface-level attraction.”

Eventually, you get too comfortable that you starts using him as a fake boyfriend to ward off creeps. He plays along, but secretly enjoys claiming you as his even if it was meant to be a ploy.

When you finally gets suspicious, he doesn’t admit it immediately. Instead, he just looks at you, waiting for you to piece it together.

Once you do realize the truth, he simply nods and says, “So you’ve figured it out.” No apology, no embarrassment—just quiet amusement at how long it took you.

SCENARIO

You're casually sitting with Zayne at a park bench, scrolling through dating profiles. You then sigh dramatically. “You’re so lucky, you know? No dating stress. No dealing with annoying guys. Just living your best life.”

Zayne glances at you. “Is that so?”

“Yeah! I mean, you don’t have to deal with this whole ‘finding the perfect guy’ nonsense. You already know what you want, right?”

Zayne hums in thought before responding simply, “I do.”

You let out a groan. “Ugh, I wish I had it that easy.”

A pause. Zayne looks at you with something unreadable in his expression. Then, after a beat, he says, “Perhaps you do.”

You frown. “…What does that mean?”

He doesn’t answer. Just smirks ever so slightly before returning to his book.

RAFAYEL

Rafayel fully leans into the performance with zero shame. He has fun with it, exaggerating everything for his own entertainment.

The moment he realizes that acting gay makes you way more comfortable around him, he makes it his new favorite game.

He starts fake-fawning over men, but in a way that’s so extra it almost sounds satirical. “MC, tell me, have you ever seen a man with cheekbones that sharp?! What a gift from the heavens. I may cry.”

He deliberately gets touchy with you, knowing you won’t suspect anything. Resting his chin on your shoulder, hugging you from behind, playing with your hands—it’s all fair game now.

If anyone asks about his type, he sighs dramatically and says something ridiculous like, “My heart belongs to the sea and to men with tragic backstories.”

The second another guy flirts with you, his energy shifts. He crosses his arms, watching with dead eyes. Then, suddenly, he’s clinging onto you like a lifeline. “Oh, darling, rescue me! This is so overwhelming.” (Really, he just wants the guy to leave.)

Whenever you ask him about his “exes,” he completely makes things up. “Ah, yes. Leonardo. He was a poet, you know. Tragic love. Very dramatic.” (He does this purely to mess with you)

He treats it all like a joke until one day, you offhandedly say something like, “You’re my safest friend.” And suddenly, it isn’t as funny anymore.

But he’s awful at keeping up the act. One slip-up and he’s doomed. When you casually rest your hand on his chest one day, his entire body tenses. Or maybe when you flirt back and then he suddenly forgets how to breathe.

Eventually, he just stops pretending. But by the time you realize it, he’s already pinning you against the couch, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oops. Looks like I got a little too close, huh?”

SCENARIO

You and Rafayel are sitting on a pier, legs dangling over the edge. The sun is setting, and the waves crash gently below. You initiate the comversation, “I wish I had a romance as dramatic as yours.”

Rafayel sighs, placing a hand over his heart. “Ah, love. So fleeting. So cruel.”

“You sound like you belong in a soap opera.”

He just smirks, bumping his shoulder against yours. “And yet, you adore me anyway.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I do. You’re the best fake boyfriend I could ask for.”

Rafayel’s smirk falters for just a second. Then, slowly, he leans in. His voice drops to a murmur.

“Fake?”

XAVIER

Xavier’s attempt at pretending to be gay is an absolute trainwreck. He isn’t a liar by nature, so when he does try, it’s painfully obvious. If asked about his type, he panics and blurts out, “Men. I love men.” Dead silence follows.

His reason for pretending to be gay is simple: you said you felt the safest around him, so in a moment of impulse, he blurts out, “That’s because I’m gay.”

Instant regret. His face stays neutral, but internally? Panic. He realizes too late this means he can be close to you without you suspecting a thing.

The problem? He’s naturally affectionate. Xavier isn’t touchy, but he doesn’t move away when you lean on him, holds his hand absentmindedly, or play with his fingers.

You treat him like a safe space, and it drives him insane, telling him, “I love how comfortable I feel around you.” Xavier, staring at your intertwined hands, says: “…Me too.”

His ‘gay act’ is ridiculously bad, but you bought it at first. Until the way he looks at you starts feeling off.

He gets a little too soft around you. You often catch him staring at your lips too long. His voice is too gentle when he says your name, and he remembers everything about your preferences.

The real problem starts when you experimented with his boundaries one day. “Xavier, can I cuddle with you? You’re like my emotional support pillow.”

He freezes. He should say no. He really should. Instead, he clears his throat and mutters, “…If you want.”

SCENARIO

It’s late at night, and both of you are lying on the couch, wrapped in a shared blanket. Your head rests on Xavier’s shoulder, breathing softlt against his skin. He smells too good. You utter, “I’m so glad you’re in my life.”

Xavier stares at the ceiling. He can feel the weight of you against him, the warmth of your body. It’s unbearable.

You add, “I feel the safest around you.”

His throat tightens. He shouldn’t be hearing this. Not when you think he’s—

You shift, pressing closer. “…I wish you weren’t gay.”

His heart stops. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

Xavier swallows hard, forcing himself to stay still. He lifts a hand, hesitating, before gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

His voice is barely above a whisper, “…Me too.”

CALEB

Caleb doesn’t just pretend—he weaponizes the misunderstanding. He’s been in your life since forever, so if people assume you're just besties and he happens to be gay, he doesn’t correct them. In fact, he leans into it.

He’ll act as the perfect wingman, making sure every guy you dated somehow ends up hating their time with you. He sabotages without looking like he’s doing it. “Oh, you like him? Huh. I heard he cheated on his last girlfriend. But if you’re sure…” (He made that up.)

Though Caleb absolutely hates doing this, but if it’s the only way to get you close to him, he’ll do it.

He’s good at it. Too good. Because he’s always been selective about women, no one questions it when he claims to have no interest.

It’s a slow burn. He makes himself your most reliable friend, your protector, the one person you never had to worry about.

Whenever you vent about guys, he’s always there to listen, nodding with quiet understanding. But internally, he wants to put the heads of the guys you dated on a stick.

He treats you so gently, and it frustrates him that you don't even see through it.

One day, a guy gets too close to you, and Caleb steps in, voice cold. “I’d back off if I were you.”

You finally realized the truth when he stops playing along and just stares at you with an expectant gaze.

When you finally confront him, he only gives you a knowing look. “You really think I’d let just anyone this close to me?”

SCENARIO

You're venting to Caleb about another failed date. “Why can’t guys be like you?”

Caleb tenses. But he forces a smile. “Yeah. Why can’t they?”

Absentmindedly, your mouth somewhat continued to run faster than your brain. “I wish I could just date you. If only you weren’t—”

A pause.

Caleb tilts his head. “…If I weren’t what?”

You realize the weight of what you said, laughing awkwardly. “You know. If you weren’t—”

His eyes darken. “Say it.”

And that’s when you knew.

[jobean12-blog]

At First Sight

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (maybe he's a Mafia/Mob boss, maybe CEO- either way he's too delicious to ignore)

Word Count: 2,248

Summary: You're out to celebrate with friends when something unexpected happens.

Author's Note: We all know I love Mob/CEO Bucky and skirting that mystery line so you can use your imagination here! Honestly, if he approached me like this I'd just be putty in his hands haha 😏thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: flirting, Bucky is pretty forward, fun, drinking and mentions of alcohol but everyone is coherent and able to make clear choices, fingering, semi-public sex, curses

“I’m not sure…?”

You look between your two friends, Sadie, and Nia, and blink several times. “Too much?”

They look at each other then back at you.

“Definitely not!” Sadie squeals.

“And besides,” Nia adds, “the limo’s here. Too late to change!”

The space is dark, loud, and filled with moving bodies. You shove your way up to the bar and shout, “excuse me!” hoping to get the bartender’s attention.

With the music so turned up and so many other people slamming the bar, the bartender doesn’t even look in your direction.

“Heyyyy!” you shout with a slap on the bar.

“I’m not sure he heard you.”

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, you look up at the man pressed close to you at the crowded bar.

He’s tall. And sexy. And gorgeous. And wearing a smirk that screams trouble…in the best way.

“Yelling won’t work doll,” the man says, motioning to the bartender. “It’s just too damn loud.”

You purse your lips as you try to think of a witty comeback but before you can he continues.

“But lucky for you, he’s my friend so I’ll help you order another round of those shots you seem to love.”

“How do you know what I love to drink?” you start, batting your lashes. “Maybe it’s a Whiskey neat.”

You lift your chin and smile sweetly, waiting for his reply.

“You’ve been ordering the same blue shots all night beautiful.”

Your mouth falls open to respond but nothing comes out.

Has he been watching you all night? Creepy or…amazing?

Instead, you stare and take in his features. Perfection.

The bartender comes over and looks at the man beside you expectantly.

“Three fingers of Whiskey, Steve and whatever the beautiful woman is having. She’s been waiting a bit.”

He turns to you, wearing a lopsided smile. “Will you be having Whiskey too?”

“I think I just might,” you tell your new friend.

“And how many fingers would you like doll?”

He watches you with an innocent expression as he spreads his long fingers out on the bar.

“Did you just…?” you stammer.

“Maybe just start with two,” he says.

A playful smile teases his lips, and you can’t help but stare at them.

“Fine, two fingers,” you say the bartender, “of whiskey…,” and then you give the man beside you a demure smile, “and more shots please.”  

“First time here?” the man asks, his gaze sweeping over you.

“How did you know?”

“I’d remember seeing you angel.”  

Even with his flirty forwardness you can’t seem to find anything that makes you uncomfortable. His eyes are friendly, and he’s standing close but not too close, just enough so you know he wants to be there to talk to you and only you.

You glance back to search for your friends but can’t find them anywhere.

“What are you celebrating tonight?” he asks when your eyes find his again.

“What makes you think I’m here celebrating anything?”

You raise an eyebrow and hold his stare.

“Do you ever just answer a question?” he counters.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth to stop your smile and fire back with, “do you ever stop asking questions?”

He laughs, the action lighting up his face and making his eyes crinkle flawlessly at the corners. It makes your stomach flutter.

You hold each other’s gaze for a beat before he continues.

“All the dancing and drinks…seems like a good time…a celebration.”

“Well, you’re right. My friend just got an amazing promotion at work.”

He smiles triumphantly and you smile back.

“So, there’s no chance you’ll be leaving here with me tonight.”

The bartender sets your drinks down in front of you just as your new eye candy finishes the sentence and you grab for your glass, downing as much as you can before you start to choke.

With a laugh the man takes a long and slow sip of his Whiskey, watching you. You put your half empty glass down on the bar with a dramatic bang and exhale.

“I…what? No!”

“That’s too bad,” he replies.

“You just met me,” you argue.

“And since the moment you walked in you’ve had my full attention,” he admits.

The shots seem to hit you all at once and you sway on your feet. He steadies you with a gentle but strong hand on your arm.

“Easy doll.”

“Ok…stop being so charming. The smiling and the touching… I like it way too much. It makes me want things…and we’ve only just met.”

“What kinds of things?” he asks, voice smooth like silk and deep.

You swallow hard and he tracks the movement of your throat before his eyes linger on your lips.

You gather up the shots for the girls. “We’re going to do these.”

He nods, slowly, his smile growing.

“So…um. I’ll see you later…?”

You wait, hoping he’ll give you his name.

“James, but you can call me Bucky.”

“Ok then, see you later Bucky.”

“I sure hope so angel.”

You find your friends at a table, catching their breath, and set down the shots.

“I met the hottest guy.”

Both friends pause with the drinks halfway to their mouths.

“What the hell are you doing here then?” Sadie asks.

“Girl’s night, we’re celebrating,” you say. “Duh.”

“Fuck that, go dance with the hot guy!” Nia shouts.

You lift your glass to your lips and shake your head. “No way, I’m here to dance with you all! Let’s go!”

You polish off the shot, wait for them to do the same then hold out your hands to pull them onto the dance floor.

The beat of the music surrounds you and you let go, forgetting routine and responsibility and just enjoying the moment.

Sadie yells something to you about the song that just started but you don’t quite catch it. Just behind her, set in the shadows off the side of the bar stands Bucky.

Your eyes meet and neither of you look away.

He doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to be caught staring at you. Every inch of your skin heats and when he lifts his glass, takes a sip, and smiles, you smile back…and start to move…just for him.

The hem of your dress inches higher as you lift your arms above your head, swaying your body to the rhythm of the music and getting lost in it. Your friends move closer and lean in.

“You’ve attracted an audience,” Sadie chuckles.

She whips her head to the side to point out the group of guys moving closer. You ignore the group and search the shadows for Bucky but he’s nowhere to be seen.

With unexpected disappointment you grab Sadie and tell her you need to use the ladies room, weaving your way though the crowd and off the dance floor. You follow the signs to the second floor, which is essentially a balcony overlooking the rest of the space.

After freshening up you walk out of the door and right into something hard. Bucky grips your biceps lightly, holding you close.

“You ok?” he asks.

You were standing close to him at the bar, but not this close, not close enough to smell his skin and feel the rise and fall of his chest. It makes you heady, but you manage a nod.

“Hi angel,” he smiles.

“Hi.”

“I was enjoying watching you dance.”

“I noticed.”

You hold his gaze, unable to look away. Down at the bar it was hard to tell the color of his eyes, but here, hidden away, even in the low light you can see they’re beautiful. The blue is like the ocean on a sparkling sunny day. Mesmerizing.

“Do you know what watching you does to me?”

You blink, trying your hardest to keep up with his directness.

He reaches down to take your hand, his grip loose and his movements tentative, waiting for you to tell him to stop.

When you don’t he presses it firmly to where he’s hard and aching.

“All this?” you ask in a breathy whisper. “Just from watching me?”

“Come home with me.”

You let out a little giggle.

“No. I can’t.”

“Come to my car then.”

“I’m not leaving this club with you.”

Even as you hear yourself say the words you know they aren’t holding the force you want them to.

He bends and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“But I’m dying to touch you.”

It’s impossible to pretend you don’t want the same thing and you place your palms on his chest and push him backward into the darkness.

“Is that a yes?” he asks as he runs a long finger over the curve of your shoulder.

“You aren’t some psycho are you?”

With a chuckle he moves closer, brushing his lips along your cheek. “You make me feel a bit crazy doll, but no, I’m not.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and tilt your head, whispering against his lips, “something tells me I can trust you.”

He moves willingly, and meets you with a smile, pressing his lips to yours.

“You taste as good as you look angel. What’s your name?”

“My name?” you whisper, so caught up in the feel of him you almost forgot.

“You know my name, so you’ll know what to call me when you’re about to come. It’s only fair I do the same.”

You let out a little gasp and hold onto his shoulders more tightly.

“I…,”

You feel his smile against your mouth before he turns you and presses your front to the edge of the balcony overlooking everything below.

He takes your chin between his fingers to turn your head and steal another kiss, lingering until you whisper your name against his lips.

With a satisfied smile his fingers tease the edge of your dress and then he lifts it, sliding his hands down between your legs to rub along your panties.

“You’re so wet. And all for me angel.”

You moan loudly when he slides a long finger inside you and presses a kiss to the back of your neck.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs into your ear as he presses the pad of his thumb to your clit.

You turn and look at him. His eyes are wide open and clear. He teases you more, watching your every reaction then turns you to face him and drags you against the wall, bending to kiss you, hard and hungry.

“Someone could come down here,” he reminds you, meeting your eyes, giving you one last out.

You don’t care. He’s too perfect. He feels too good.

When you don’t protest he kneels at your feet and carefully pushes up your dress, hooking his thumbs into your panties to slowly drag them down.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, standing and lifting your leg to spread you open.

Reaching between your bodies, you open his jeans and push them down along with his boxers. You grab for him, rubbing him through your arousal.

“Fuck doll, wait. I need to put this on.”

He reaches behind him and fumbles for the back pocket of his jeans, pulling a condom free.

“You’re big,” you whisper, loving the feel of his warm, silky skin.

His grin is wolfish. “That’s the best thing you could say to me.”

You run your closed hand along the length of him again, letting the tip just bump your clit.

“Fuck, keep that up and I’ll be coming all over your hand.”

His fingers are unsteady as he works to slip the condom on.

“Have you done this before?” you ask, unable to keep your eyes off his cock.

“Have sex with a beautiful woman in a public space?”

He starts to push into you, achingly slowly. “No angel, I’ve never done this before…but with you, I’ll take what I can get.”

His words die away when he’s fully inside you, rubbing against your clit with each stroke and filling you so completely. You grip his shoulders as his thrusts grow faster.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

He leans back and looks down between your bodies, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief second before he starts to move faster.

When he leans down to kiss you he slows his movements, pulling out almost all the way before sinking back in. The slow pace doesn’t last long, and he hitches your leg higher to go deeper.

You feel your release building in your stomach and it’s only a few seconds more before a cry falls from your parted lips.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, his hips moving jaggedly and rough before he comes with a deep groan.

He leans heavily against you, pressing his lips to your neck. “You’ve wrecked me angel.”

His hand is gentle when it smooths along your leg, and he pulls out. You straighten your dress as he rolls off the condom.

“That was perfect Bucky,” you hum, meeting him for a kiss.

He nods, dazed. “You’re ok?”

“Better than ok,” you answer. “And I think I’m ready for another dance.”

His lips twitch with a surprised grin and you turn away before he can respond, leaving him standing with his pants still unbuttoned.

A few minutes later you find Sadie and Nia, both ready to head home. And it isn’t until you’re sitting in the quiet of the limo, reliving every second of what happened with Bucky, that you realize you’d left your panties on the floor at his feet.