#I’M GOING TO FUCKING LOSE IT AND I’M DEAD SERIOUS

[rafesyangel]

Rafe getting JJs lil sister pregnant and she comes to him after her dad got physical terrified that something would happen to the baby and he comforts her?

What happens when you show up at rafes doorsteep trembling and crying?

It was dark when you showed up to Rafe’s door.

Your hands were shaking. You couldn’t tell if it was from the bruising ache in your ribs or the storm of panic spiraling through your chest. The hoodie you wore clung to your body, soaked with rain, and your stomach—his baby—was cramping faintly from the stress. You didn't even realize you were crying until you caught your reflection in the glass of the door. Red eyes. Pale lips. Terrified.

You barely had time to knock before the door yanked open like someone had been waiting on the other side.

Rafe He looked half-crazed when he saw you. Eyes wild, shirtless, a mess, But the second he saw the way you were hunched over, arms wrapped protectively over your stomach, his expression dropped. Dead serious. Dangerous.

“What the fuck happened?”

You couldn’t speak. You just shook your head, trying to form words as your breath trembled. Finally, you choked out, “My dad… he got mad when I told him. He shoved me.”

Rafe didn’t move for a second. Just stared.

Then his jaw locked, and a slow breath left his nose.

“Get inside.”

It wasn’t a question.

You did as he said, stepping past him into the dark warmth of his house. As soon as the door shut, Rafe was in front of you again, pressing you gently back against the wall, inspecting your face, your arms, your stomach. His hands slid beneath your hoodie before you could flinch. You gasped softly—but his touch was careful, his brows furrowed in pure focus.

“He touched you while you’re carrying my baby*?” he asked quietly, his voice lethal. “You’re bleeding?”

You shook your head quickly. “N-No. Just cramping. I—I came here because I didn’t know where else to go. I was scared.”

“Shh.” He cupped your face, tilting it up. His thumbs gently wiped away the rain and tears from your cheeks. “You did the right thing, baby. You come to me. Always.”

You nodded. But your eyes were still wide with panic. “Rafe… what if something happened to it?”

He leaned in close, pressing his forehead to yours, voice like fire. “Don’t even say that.”

The possessiveness clicked in his eyes like a switch. His hand slid back down to your lower stomach, palm splayed across it like he was claiming it, like he needed to remind himself it was real

“That’s mine,” he growled, voice low and dark. “You are mine. That baby is mine. And no one absolutely no one lays a finger on what belongs to me and walks away breathing.”

He was pacing now. Jaw tight, chest heaving. You could see how close he was to snapping.

“Rafe, please—don’t do anything crazy.”

He stopped, turned slowly, and walked back over to you. His hands came to either side of your face again. “Too late for that, sweetheart. You think Im planning on letting you go since the second I got you pregnant?”

You swallowed hard. Your back hit the wall again as he leaned in.

“I’ve been losing my mind ever since I found out you were carrying me in you,” he whispered. “I think about you every second. About what’s growing in there. About how no one else will ever touch you again, because you belong to me now.”

You gasped softly at the heat in his words, the intensity in his eyes. It wasn’t just protectiveness it was obsession.

“And if your dad put even a scratch on you,” he muttered, brushing your hair back, “he just signed his fucking death warrant.”

Rafe backed off only enough to grab his phone and a sweatshirt for you. Then he tossed a blanket over your shoulders and led you to the couch.

“Lay down. I’m calling a doctor. I don’t care if it’s midnight.”

You blinked at him. “I’m okay—”

“I’ll decide that,” he cut you off firmly. “You're not gonna lift a damn finger until I say so. You don’t cook, you don’t clean, you don’t move unless I tell you it’s safe.”

“Rafe…”

He knelt down in front of you, both hands resting on your thighs. “You gave me a piece of you, baby. I’m gonna protect that with my life. You’re my family now. “

And the scariest part? You believed him.

You never felt safer

[palmersluvr]

dead of night

SUMMARY: your boyfriend is possessive, so you roofie him in order to go out clubbing. when he wakes up he tracks you down, picks you up and teaches you a lesson in the backseat

WARNINGS: lu is possessive and lowkey mean in this, someone vomits, female masturbation, head (m!receiving) fingering (f!receiving) car sex, semi public sex, choking, hair pulling, breeding ofc

NOTES: obviously we know lu wouldn’t be this mean irl but yeahhh enjoy!!!

WORD COUNT: 12.2k (oops?)

“why the fuck not?!” you ask, holding the blue dress up against your body, irritation flaring as luigi’s expression hardens.

he doesn’t even try to hide his disapproval. “what the fuck did i just say? you know you can’t wear clothing like that, and you’re not going out tonight. you’re staying here.”

you blink, taken aback. “are you serious right now?”

he nods, jaw tight. “dead serious. that dress barely covers anything, what the fuck makes you think i’m just gonna sit at home while you walk into a nightclub looking like that?”

“it’s just a dress,” you say, your tone sharp. “i like how i look in it.”

he scoffs. “yeah, so will every other guy in that place. you didn’t even mention you were going out until now, and now you’re showing me that? ain’t no way baby.”

“it’s a night out with my friends,” you argue. “it’s not like i’m doing anything wrong.”

“are you kidding me? look at you! you wanna go out dressed like a prostitute, without me, to a place full of drunk assholes who won’t give a shit that you already have a boyfriend.” luigi snaps. “i won’t put up with it. you’re staying home tonight.”

you freeze for a second.

he’s never called you that before. never even hinted at something that harsh. and it stings, burns low in your chest like something sour, but the anger rising in you is louder, stronger, sharper. you don’t have time to be hurt when you’re this furious.

“wow.” you say, voice trembling with rage. “prostitute, huh? that’s what you see when you look at me?”

he doesn’t answer right away, just runs a hand through his hair, breathing hard.

you shake your head, that blue dress suddenly feeling heavier in your hands. “you don’t trust me. you just want to control me. and now you’re calling me names because i won’t play along? you can’t tell me what i can and can’t do!”

“i’m not telling you. i’m saying it.” he bites back. “you’re not leaving this house tonight. not in that dress. not to that fucking club. end of discussion.”

“you don’t trust me, is that it?” you say quietly.

he looks at you, unflinching. “i don’t trust the situation. i’m not gonna let it happen. we clear?”

you swallow hard, forcing your expression to stay calm. “yeah,” you say quietly. “we’re clear.”

but you know what? you don’t mean a single word. fuck him. you’re still going out tonight, you’ve already made up your mind. you’re just saying what he wants to hear, letting him think he’s won, because arguing with him right now is pointless. you’ll handle it your own way.

luigi studies your face for a moment, like he’s trying to make sure you’re being honest. then he nods, jaw still tight. “good,” he mutters. “i don’t wanna fight with you. i just need to know you get where i’m coming from.”

you nod, keeping your voice steady. “yeah i know.”

he reaches out and brushes your arm, his touch gentler now. “i just don’t wanna lose you over something stupid.”

you offer a small smile, fake but convincing. “you won’t.”

luigi closes the distance between you, his body pressing tightly against yours, the heat of him overwhelming. his eyes bore into yours, fierce and possessive, before he leans in, claiming your lips with a rough, hungry kiss, his tongue dominating the space between you.

his hands roam down your body, deliberate and firm, until they reach your ass. he grabs you hard, fingers digging deep into your flesh through your clothes, squeezing with a force that pulls a sharp gasp from your lips. his grip tightens, kneading you as he presses your hips against his.

he pulls back just enough to moan against your mouth, breath hot and heavy. “i don’t want you wearing shit like this when I’m not there.” his hands squeeze your ass again, harder, possessive. “this is mine,” he says, voice low and territorial, “i don’t want other guys putting their filthy hands on what belongs to me.”

two hours later, you’re still sitting on the edge of the bed, phone buzzing with texts from your friends, plans being finalized, outfits picked, everyone asking when you’re showing up.

you haven’t even touched your makeup bag yet. but you’re going. that hasn’t changed.

luigi’s been quiet ever since the argument. he’s out in the living room like it’s all settled, like you backed down and the night’s over before it even started.

you love him to pieces. he’s sweet, he’s loyal, and most of the time he treats you like gold. but he has his moments, possessive, jealous, trying to call the shots like you’re supposed to just sit there and nod along.

but tonight? he can go to hell.

you’re still gonna get up, throw on your dress, do your hair and makeup, and enjoy your damn night. you’re not doing anything wrong. you deserve to have fun and he doesn’t get to decide otherwise.

you glance over at the nightstand, where a small baggie rests behind the lamp.

crushed sleeping pills inside, fine and pale, barely noticeable unless you’re looking for them.

you’d thought about this earlier, not out of spite, but practicality. you knew how tonight would go the moment he said no. knew he wouldn’t let it go, wouldn’t back down. you could argue until you were blue in the face, and it still wouldn’t change anything. he’d just sit out there all night, watching you, waiting to stop you the second you tried to leave.

so you came up with a different plan.

nothing harmful, just enough to make sure he’s out cold before you walk out the door. he’ll fall asleep thinking the fight’s over, thinking you listened. and when he wakes up? you’ll be back, safe and sound, like nothing ever happened.

your phone lights up with another message.

you glance back at the baggie.

you’re still going out. no matter what.

you pick up your phone, fingers flying over the screen as you open the group chat.

you: just give me an hour and a half, have to sort out luigi

it doesn’t take long for you to get a response.

rachel: ooo 👀

you smirk a little, shaking your head.

you: it’s alright, i’ll explain later, text u girls when i’m ready <3

you slip your phone off and carefully tuck the small baggie into the pocket of your sweatpants, making sure it’s hidden and secure. the weight of it is comforting, your secret weapon for the night.

quietly, you slip out of the bedroom and head down the hall to the kitchen. opening the fridge, you grab two cans of lime flavoured la croix. you wrinkle your nose in disgust. who the fuck likes lime la croix? seriously, luigi must be a psycho for choosing that flavor, but you know he swears by it.

glancing quickly over your shoulder to make sure he’s not coming, you pop the tab on one can, the familiar hiss breaking the silence. you sprinkle a small, precise pinch of the crushed pills into the open can, just enough to knock him out without causing any harm.

leaving the tab popped and the can open, you grab the other unopened can and head back toward the living room, holding both like you’re just bringing drinks for the two of you. luigi’s sitting on the couch, looking up as you approach, calm but watchful. you force yourself to stay steady, masking everything behind a casual smile as you settle in beside him.

without missing a beat, you walk over and hand him the opened can, the laced one, making sure your fingers brush his when you pass it to him. “here,” you say with a faint smile. “figured you’d want something cold.”

he takes it with a small nod, cracking a tired smile. “thanks baby,” he says, raising it slightly before taking a sip. “you always know what i like.”

you sit down next to him, holding your own unopened can, but you don’t open it. not yet. you take a slow breath and lean back, acting casual, like this was always the plan. “you know what?” you say, keeping your voice light, almost thoughtful. “i changed my mind. i don’t wanna go out anyway.”

luigi turns his head toward you, just enough to look at you more directly. “yeah?” he asks, a hint of surprise in his tone. “you for real?”

you nod, brushing a hand through your hair like it’s no big deal. “yeah. i was thinking about it, and honestly, i’m tired. the whole idea of dressing up, getting shoved around in a crowded club, overpaying for drinks just to stand around yelling over the music… kinda lost its appeal.”

he nudges your leg with his, eyes flicking over you with something between amusement and approval. “good. i don’t want you out there prancing around town dressed like some slut.”

his tone is light, like it’s a joke, but you know he means every word.

he takes another sip from the la croix, the faint sound of the carbonation hissing as the can tips back. you watch him closely, eyes fixed on the way his throat moves as he swallows. every detail matters now, the timing, the dose, how quickly it kicks in. you keep your face calm, pleasant, like everything’s fine.

you pop the tab on your own can, letting it hiss open in your hand. you bring it to your lips, tilt it just slightly and pretend to take a sip. you don’t drink a drop.

no way in fuck are you taking an actual sip. you hate that shit. but more importantly, this moment’s not about relaxing. it’s about playing your part, letting him think you’re settling in for the night, too. keeping him at ease.

you lower the can again casually, glancing sideways at him. he’s already sinking deeper into the cushions, the drink still in his hand. you offer a small smile, legs curled up beneath you, and wait.

thirty minutes pass.

the tv flickers quietly in the background, casting soft light over the room. luigi hasn’t moved much, he’s slouched low on the couch now, his body heavy and warm, eyes half lidded and blinking slow.

he shifts a little, murmuring, “baby… i’m tired…”

you glance over at him, and the corners of your mouth lift just slightly. good, you think. it’s working.

“i know, baby,” you say gently, reaching over to smooth your fingers through his hair. “you had a long day.”

he exhales slowly, head tilting toward you like he’s about to say something else, but the words never come. his mouth parts slightly, breath evening out as his body goes still.

out cold. just like you planned.

well that was quick.

you stand there for a moment, watching him sink deeper into sleep. his breathing is slow and steady, his body heavy, completely still under the dim glow of the tv. the can is slipping from his fingers, forgotten.

you quietly grab the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch and pull it over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders. he doesn’t stir.

leaning in, you press a soft kiss to his forehead, careful and silent, then straighten up and head down the hallway.

once in the bedroom, you close the door behind you with a soft click and let out a slow breath. now it’s time.

you’ll change, do your makeup, slip out the door without a sound. and by the time he wakes up, you’ll already be back, hair tossed into a bun, comfy clothes on, like you never stepped foot outside. he won’t suspect a thing. to him, it’ll just feel like he fell asleep a little early.

you cross the room, grip the hem of your sleep shirt, and pull it over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought. your sweatpants follow, hitting the floor in a soft heap at your feet. you step out of them, left in nothing but the quiet buzz of adrenaline.

at the dresser, you open the top drawer and spot the purple lingerie instantly, the lacy bra and matching panties luigi got you for valentine’s day. you remember how bashful he was handing over the little gift bag, and how smug he looked when he saw you in it later that night. it’s beautiful, sheer lilac lace, delicate floral stitching, and soft satin straps that feel expensive just to touch.

you slip into the set carefully, adjusting the fit with practiced ease. it’s hugs your body in all the right ways, the kind of pretty that makes you stand taller without even thinking about it.

then you reach into your closet and pull out the blue dress, the one that sparked everything tonight. you step into it, drag the smooth fabric up your legs, and slide the straps over your shoulders. it clings just enough, catches the light perfectly.

you study yourself in the mirror for a moment, hands smoothing over the fabric of the blue dress. it’s bold. it’s unapologetic. and it’s exactly what tonight calls for.

now comes the rest.

you move to your vanity and tie your hair up loosely to keep it out of the way, then pull open the small drawer filled with your skincare essentials. you know the routine by heart, cleanser, toner, a bit of serum to wake your skin up, and moisturizer to lock it all in. you don’t rush it.

there’s something grounding about the process, something steady. it gives your hands something to do while your mind stays focused.

once your skin is prepped, you move to your makeup. you swipe on a light base, just enough to even things out, then build from there, brows, a touch of blush, highlighter on your cheekbones, winged liner sharp enough to cut, and a coat of mascara that pulls your whole look together. for your lips, something nude with a slight sheen. effortless, but put together. clean. controlled.

finally, you let your hair down and grab your curling iron. you section it off and start wrapping the pieces one by one, watching as soft curls fall into place around your shoulders. the heat brings out the shine, gives it volume, shape, movement.

when you finish, you run your fingers through the curls to loosen them a little, give it that undone look. you stare at your reflection once more.

everything is set. hair curled. makeup flawless. skin glowing.

you don’t just look ready.

you are ready.

you pick up your phone from the vanity and open the group chat, fingers flying over the screen.

you: ready now lol

a few seconds later, rachel replies:

rachel: omg send a pic of your outfit babe

you smirk, turn toward the mirror, and snap a quick mirror selfie, curls perfect, makeup flawless, the blue dress hugging you in all the right places. you send it without hesitation.

gabby: OMG 😍 you look insane. like… actually unreal.

rachel: okay miss hot stuff??? how did you get luigi to let you go out looking like THAT

you glance at your reflection again, lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

you: i’ll explain later 😭

a few moments pass before rachel replies again.

rachel: okay okay just picking up gabby now, be at urs in a bit 💕

you lock your phone, set it on the vanity and grab your purse, then reach for your favorite perfume, the one luigi always said drove him crazy. you give yourself two quick spritzes, wrist, neck, then toss the bottle into your purse and take one last look in the mirror.

perfect.

you move to the edge of the bed and pick up your heels, gripping them by the straps instead of slipping them on. no way you’re clicking across the floor and waking him up now.

you sit down on the edge of the bed and wait quietly, heart steady, listening to the faint sound of the tv in the other room. after a few minutes, your phone lights up with a buzz against the vanity, rachel’s message coming through on your lock screen.

rachel: we’re here now <3

you stand, purse slung over your shoulder and your heels in hand, and move to the bedroom door. you open it slowly, inch by inch, until it gives with the faintest creak. you slip into the hallway silently and glance toward the couch.

luigi’s still there, bundled under the throw blanket, completely knocked out. his chest rises and falls in a slow, even rhythm. not even a twitch.

you move past him carefully, step by step, until you reach the door. you ease it open, slip outside, and close it behind you just as quietly. you pull out your key and lock it with a soft click.

only then do you crouch down at the top of the steps and finally slide on your heels. straightening up, you scan the street until your eyes land on rachel’s car waiting at the curb, headlights low.

you walk toward it without looking back.

you make your way down the path, heels clicking softly, and spot rachel’s car waiting at the curb. the headlights are low, music playing quietly through the open windows. you approach the car and hop in the back seat.

“there she is,” rachel says with a smirk, glancing back from the driver’s seat. “took you long enough.”

gabby looks back at you from the front seat, her eyes running over your outfit. “okay, that dress looks even better on you in person!”

you slip into the seat, pulling the door closed behind you, trying not to smile too much. “thank you guys…”

“no, seriously,” rachel adds, turning the wheel as she pulls away from the curb. “you look great. that colour’s doing everything for you.”

gabby nods in agreement. “you nailed it. hair, makeup, the whole thing, it fucking WORKS!”

rachel eases the car onto the road, city lights blurring past the windows as the night settles in. soft music plays through the speakers, filling the space with a steady beat. you take the bottled smirnoff gabby handed you from the cup holder, the glass cool against your fingers. you take a slow sip, letting it calm your nerves.

“so,” gabby says, leaning in with that smug grin, like she already has dirt on you. “how’d you ditch luigi tonight? thought he’d have you chained to the couch or some shit.”

rachel smirks from the driver’s seat. “yeah, do tell.”

you grin, dropping your voice like you were spilling some dark secret. “let’s just say… i roofied his la croix.”

gabby and rachel go dead quiet, the car filled only with the screechy music. then, they both burst out laughing, gabby snorting so hard she nearly chokes.

“what?” gabby wheezes, wiping her eyes. “you roofied him?”

you slouch back in the seat, a sly grin spreading across your face like you’d just pulled off the ultimate prank. “relax, it wasn’t, like, a real bad roofie, i just crushed up some melatonin and tossed it in his booger drink and sent him straight to nap city. he’s probably snoring so loud the neighbours can fucking hear him.”

gabby loses it, and rachel lets out a loud, “hah!” and smacks the steering wheel, nearly swerving as she laughs.

“that’s smart!” rachel says, her voice dripping with amusement as she shoots you a look in the rearview mirror.

the city lights streak past, painting the windows with neon glows as the car hums along to a gritty pop punk track, all screechy guitars and angsty vibes. you twirl the cold, sweaty bottle in your hand, the fizz of your drink cutting through the buzz of the night.

gabby, still giggling, glances at you, her eyes sparkling with that troublemaker glint she always has. “okay, but hold up. if you’re at the point where you’re, like, drugging your boyfriend just to sneak out for a night of clubbing, maybe you should… i don’t know. reconsider your life choices?”

you roll your eyes, letting out a dramatic huff. “i know, i know, it sounds awful when you say it like that. but he’s not that bad, he’s really sweet in other ways… he just doesn’t like me wearing short clothes out in public and hates it when i go to bars without him… he doesn’t want other guys to even talk to me.”

rachel keeps her eyes on the road but glances over with a small shrug. “yeah, from what i’ve seen, he’s the sweetest to you. he’s super nice, he’s just really possessive and worries way too much.”

“exactly,” you say, your voice softer now. “i just wish he believed me when i tell him he doesn’t have to worry. i don’t want anyone else but him.”

gabby turns and looks at you, her brows raised. “wait, what happens if he wakes up and you’re still gone?”

you let out a quiet laugh, bringing the bottle back to your lips and taking another sip. the drink goes down smooth, cooling the back of your throat.

“relax,” you say with a smirk, leaning your head back against the seat. “he’ll be out like a light all night. trust me.”

the tv is still on, low but steady, playing some late night rerun with canned laughter echoing faintly through the apartment. the flickering light casts soft, uneven shadows across the room.

luigi shifts under the blanket, brow furrowed as he slowly blinks awake. his head feels heavy, his body sluggish. there’s a dull ache in his neck from the way he’s been lying.

he sits up slowly, rubbing at his face with both hands. the blanket slips off his chest as he reaches over to the coffee table and grabs his phone.

the screen lights up.

12:02 AM

he frowns, staring at the time for a few seconds. last thing he remembers, it was barely nine. he doesn’t even remember lying down, let alone falling asleep.

his eyes scan the room. the couch beside him is empty. the apartment is quiet except for the chatter coming from the tv.

and you’re nowhere to be seen.

he sits on the edge of the couch for a few seconds, rubbing a hand over his face as he tries to shake off the fog still clinging to his head. his eyes flick to the hallway. you’ve probably just gone to bed quietly, like you do sometimes when he crashes early. no big deal.

he stands, joints stiff, and stretches his arms overhead with a low sigh before making his way down the hall toward the bedroom.

the room is quiet. dark. still.

he flips the light on.

the bed is perfectly made. undisturbed. pillows lined up exactly how they were earlier. it doesn’t look like anyone’s touched it all night.

he stares for a second, a small crease forming between his brows.

maybe you’re in the bathroom.

he crosses the hallway and nudges the door open.

empty.

now he’s moving slower. checking each room with more focus. he steps into the kitchen, glances around. nothing. he opens the laundry door. checks the tiny storage nook. paces through the living room again, as if he missed something.

still no sign of you.

he even opens the sliding door to the balcony and steps outside, scanning the space quickly. no one.

back inside, the air feels heavier. the house is too quiet. he looks down at his phone again.

three hours gone. still no messages. no calls. no nothing.

he stands there for a moment, heart thudding a little faster now.

what the fuck?

luigi steps back into the bedroom, every movement heavy with unease. he flicks on the light, and his eyes immediately catch sight of the sleep shirt and sweatpants you’d been wearing earlier, lying crumpled on the floor near the dresser. the sight feels off, too careless, too sudden.

he moves closer, his gaze dropping to a small, clear baggie resting beside the clothes. inside, faint traces of white powder cling stubbornly to the plastic. his heart starts to beat faster as he carefully picks it up, turning it over in his hand, trying to steady himself.

then his eyes shift to the nightstand where your bottle of sleeping pills sits. the label is worn but familiar. he grabs it, shaking it gently, counting the pills inside. there are only three left. he clearly remembers seeing five just last night.

his mind races. she hasn’t taken any of these pills today. not one.

the pieces begin to fall into place with crushing clarity.

you drugged him.

a cold fire ignites inside him, a mix of shock, betrayal, and rage. how could you do this to him? how could you sneak something into his drink and rob him of control, of choice? the thought makes his hands tremble, fists clenching tight enough to whiten his knuckles.

with trembling hands, he fumbles for his phone on the counter, the screen lighting up as he unlocks it with a swipe. his fingers move on instinct, navigating to the “find my” app, his heart hammering as the map loads. he doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to see the proof of your betrayal spelled out in a glowing dot on a screen, but he has to know.

the app pings, and there it is, your location, a pulsing marker in the heart of the city. vibepulse nightclub. the name hit him like a slap, conjuring images of thumping bass, flashing lights, and bodies pressed too close in a haze of sweat and alcohol. you’re there. right now. while he’s here, reeling from the aftereffects of what you’ve slipped him.

you planned this, calculated it, knowing full well he told you no. no to the late nights, no to the short blue dress, no to the nightclub scene you craved despite his pleas for you to stay home, to stay safe, to stay with him.

the memory of your argument a few hours ago flashes in his mind. he thought they’d settled it, that you understood. but no. you’ve taken matters into your own hands, and now here he is, betrayed in the most insidious way.

his fingers tighten around the phone, the plastic creaking under the pressure. he wants to call you, to demand answers, to let the full force of his rage pour out in words that would cut as deeply as your betrayal has. but he stops himself, forcing a slow, shuddering breath.

no. a call wouldn’t be enough. he needs to see you, to look into your eyes and make you understand the weight of what you’ve done. the rage was still there, simmering, but it’s sharpening into something colder, more focused… a determination to confront you, to reclaim the control you’ve stolen from him.

luigi sets the phone down, his jaw still locked, his fists still trembling. vibepulse nightclub. that’s where you are, and that’s where he’ll go. he doesn’t know what he’s gonna say when he sees you, doesn’t know if he’s gonna shout or seethe or simply stare at you in silence, letting the weight of his anger speak for itself.

but one thing is certain: he isn’t going to let this slide. you’ve crossed a line, and the cold fire in his chest isn’t going out until he’s faced you.

luigi’s rage burns cold and fierce in his chest. he snatches his wallet and keys, the metal digging into his palm. he storms out of the bedroom, boots thudding, and rips open the front door, the night air sharp against his face. slamming it shut, he charges down the driveway towards his car. he gets in, puts his keys in the ignition and it growls to life, tires shrieking as he speeds off, city lights blurring past.

you lurch out of the club, the neon glow and thumping bass still buzzing in your head, the world tilting under your feet. you’re wasted, legs like jelly, thoughts a blurry mess of lights and laughter, the vodka shots you slammed earlier burning through you. a sloppy grin sticks to your face as you grab gabby’s arm to keep from falling, the streetlights smearing into hazy streaks.

gabby’s just as gone, her hair a tangled wreck as she stumbles over her heels, laughing too loud. rachel, hooked onto gabby’s other arm, is a giggling disaster, mascara smudged from dancing or maybe crying to that last track. the three of you are a mess, arms knotted, staggering onto the sidewalk, voices slurring into a chaotic blur of half sentences and cackles.

“gabby,” you mutter, words tripping as you tug her sleeve, nearly tipping over. “your brother coming to get us or what?” a hiccup slips out, and you snort, picturing todd’s beat up van rolling up.

gabby sways, catching a streetlamp, her eyes glassy. “yeah, he’s on his way. him and his boyfriend.” she waves a hand, almost smacking rachel, who cracks up. “they’ll probably give us shit, but whatever.”

you nod, or try to, your head heavy and wobbling, a laugh bubbling up at the thought of todd and his boyfriend pulling up. the three of you cling to each other, barely upright, drunk on liquor and the fading rush of the night.

you teeter on the sidewalk, the world still a dizzy whirl from the vodka and the club’s pulsing lights. your grin feels glued on as you throw your arms around gabby and rachel, pulling them into a sloppy hug. “this was such a good night,” you slur, words spilling out. “i love you girls so much.”

gabby sways against you, her laugh thick with liquor. “love you too, babe.”

rachel, mascara streaked and giggling, squeezes your arm. “love you, you hot mess.”

before you can respond, gabby lurches forward, hand clapped to her mouth. she stumbles to the curb and hurls, the sound raw and wretched, cutting through the night. you grimace, your stomach twisting in sympathy.

rachel jumps into action, grabbing gabby’s messy hair and yanking it back. “aaand this is why i told you to slow down before!” she says, half laughing, half worried, holding gabby’s hair with one hand while patting her back with the other.

headlights flare as a beat up van screeches up. todd and his boyfriend, jay, leap out, both rocking fitted tees and jeans that scream effortless style. todd, tall with a sharp buzzcut, struts over, hands on hips. “sis, are you serious?” he snaps, dropping to one knee beside her.

jay, all lean limbs and tousled curls, sashays up, one eyebrow arched. “sweetie, did you chug the whole bar?” he purrs, eyeing you and rachel with a smirk. “and you two look like you’re one shot from a reality show meltdown.”

gabby retches again, groaning. “i’m fine, shut the fuck up…” she mumbles between heaves, clearly anything but.

todd rolls his eyes, rubbing her back with a dramatic sigh. “fine? girl, i’ve told you numerous times that you CANNOT handle your damn liquor!” he glances at jay, tossing him a playful glare. “told you we should’ve stayed in with a rosé and some bravo.”

jay pulls a water bottle from the van, tossing his curls with a grin. “babe, you’re buying me fancy dinner for this chaos,” he teases, handing the water to todd. “and i’m picking the place.“

todd steps over to gabby, who’s swaying slightly, still buzzing from the night’s chaos. “drink up, honey,” he says, pressing the bottle into her hands with a protective smirk, making sure she’s steady before turning away.

you, still drunk and wobbly, stumble forward, wrapping your arms around todd in a sloppy hug. “thank you both so much for coming to get us,” you slur, voice thick with gratitude. you let go, then lurch toward jay, throwing your arms around him too, nearly knocking him off balance. “seriously, you guys are the best,” you mumble, your words muffled against jay’s shoulder as he laughs and steadies you.

suddenly, luigi’s voice cuts through the night, sharp and furious, yelling at you. you jerk back from jay’s embrace, heart lurching as you spin toward the sound, the world tilting around you.

luigi sits in his car, parked across the street from vibepulse nightclub, his grip on the steering wheel so tight his knuckles ache. the cold fire in his chest burns hotter as he watches you, swaying on the sidewalk with gabby and rachel, your laughter carrying faintly over the thumping bass spilling from the club.

you’re wearing that blue dress, the one he told you not to wear, the one that hugs your curves so perfectly it makes his breath catch even now. you look stunning, the fabric catching the neon glow, accentuating every line of your body in a way that’s almost too much. he can’t lie to himself: you’re breathtaking, radiant in a way that twists his heart.

but that beauty stokes his rage too, because it’s not for him tonight. only he should see you like this, not the pulsing crowd of strangers inside vibepulse, not the world you chose over him.

his jaw clenches as he glares, the betrayal cutting deeper with every second. you roofied him, slipped something into his drink, left him passed out on the couch just so you could sneak out here, flaunting yourself in that dress, laughing with gabby and rachel like nothing’s wrong.

the memory of waking up disoriented, piecing together your deception, fuels the anger coiling in his gut. he trusted you, and you betrayed him for this, a night of reckless freedom, dancing in a place he begged you to avoid.

his eyes narrow as two guys approach you, both strutting with a confidence that sets his teeth on edge. one’s tall with a buzzcut, the other leaner with dark curls, and they’re moving in too close, their voices carrying a playful edge as they talk to you, gabby, and rachel. luigi’s pulse spikes, rage flaring white hot.

did you drug him to come out here and meet guys? the thought is a knife to his chest, twisting with every laugh you share with them, every glance you toss their way. his hands tremble, the steering wheel creaking under his grip as he imagines you planning this, slipping away to flirt and dance with strangers while he was helpless at home.

then he sees it, you stumble forward, wrapping your arms around the tall guy in a sloppy hug, your words slurred but warm. before luigi can process it, you lurch toward the curly haired guy, throwing your arms around him too, nearly knocking him over as you mumble something against his shoulder.

that’s it. the last fucking straw. the sight of you in that dress, clinging to other men, laughing like you didn’t shatter his trust, snaps something inside him. his vision blurs with fury, the cold fire in his chest exploding into an inferno. he doesn’t care who they are or what they’re saying, enough is enough.

he shoves the car door open, the hinges groaning as he leaps out and slams it shut with a force that echoes down the street.

his shoes hit the pavement as he charges across the road, dodging a honking car, his heart pounding in sync with the fire in his chest. his eyes lock on you, still tangled in the curly haired guy’s arms, and the betrayal cuts deeper with every step.

“is this what you’ve been fucking doing?!” he shouts, his voice raw, slicing through the night air as he closes the distance.

you spin toward him, heart lurching. his eyes burn with fury, fixed on you, and shock slams into you. he’s awake. he’s here. you thought the stuff you slipped in his drink would keep him out until dawn.

everyone around you goes quiet. gabby, still hunched from earlier vomiting but done now, straightens up, wiping her mouth as she stares. rachel, holding gabby’s hair moments ago, lets her hands drop, eyes wide. todd and jay, mid chat, freeze.

but you’re so drunk, the world a dizzy, glittering haze, that the panic fizzles fast. the vodka coursing through you smothers it, leaving only reckless glee. you meet luigi’s betrayed glare and burst into a sloppy laugh, clutching your side. “lu, chill!” you slur, flailing a hand at him. “it’s just a night out, god!” you giggle again, wobbling, the alcohol numbing you to the storm in his eyes.

luigi walks up to you, his face twisted with raw fury, and seizes your arm with a grip so tight it feels like it could bruise bone. the world lurches, the neon glow of the club blurring as his fingers clamp down, anchoring you to his rage. “you fucking roofied me!” he yells again, voice jagged with betrayal, close enough for you to smell the bitterness on his breath. “slipped shit in my drink so you could sneak out and prance around clubbing without my permission? look at you, you’re dressed like a fucking slut!”

his words are a vicious snarl, each one a blade meant to cut deep, his eyes blazing with a mix of hurt and venom as he towers over you.

todd steps in, his posture sharp, voice dripping with defiance. “woah, woah! honey you need to back up! he snaps, one hand slicing the air, his tone fierce and unapologetic. “you don’t get to treat her like that.”

luigi whips around, his face contorted, eyes flashing with menace. “you stay the fuck out of this.” he growls, voice low and dangerous, a warning that vibrates through the tense air. todd hesitates, his jaw tightening, but he steps back, exchanging a wary glance with jay.

you’re so drunk, the vodka numbing the sting of luigi’s grip, his cruel words barely piercing the foggy haze in your mind. the world feels like a dark, spinning carnival, and despite the intensity, you can’t help but laugh, a sloppy, reckless cackle that spills out as you sway in his hold. “babeeee, chill!!” you slur, giggling as you swat at his chest, your hand clumsy. “don’t be such a debbie downer!” your laughter rings out, jagged and carefree, blind to the storm of rage in his eyes, the alcohol drowning out the darkness closing in.

luigi’s face is a storm of rage, his eyes burning as he tightens his grip on your arm, the pressure bruising. “we’re going home,” he snaps, his voice low and final. he doesn’t wait for a response, yanking you toward the street, dragging you with a force that makes you stumble, your heels scraping the pavement. the world tilts, vodka still clouding your senses, but his iron hold keeps you moving.

you giggle, the sound sloppy and wild, your drunken haze making his anger feel distant, almost absurd. as he pulls you across the road, you twist your head back, catching sight of gabby, rachel, todd, and jay. you flash a lopsided grin and wave clumsily with your free hand, your voice slurring as you call out, “byeeee, love you guys!” your laughter bubbles up again, carefree and oblivious, even as luigi’s grip tightens, hauling you toward his car parked under the flickering streetlight.

you get to his car, which is parked under a flickering streetlight, his grip on your arm unrelenting, bruising. the world spins, a drunken kaleidoscope of neon and shadows, but his fury is a sharp anchor. he yanks open the passenger door, the metal creaking, and shoves you inside with a rough push, your body slumping into the seat. the door slams shut with a jarring bang that echoes in the night, making you flinch, though the vodka in your veins keeps you giggling.

luigi storms around to the driver’s side, wrenching the door open and sliding in with a scowl, his movements taut with rage. he turns to you, eyes blazing, and snaps, “put your fucking seatbelt on.”

you snort, the words striking you as absurdly funny in your drunken haze. “fucking bossy ass BITCH!!” you slur, a sloppy laugh spilling out as you fumble with the seatbelt, your fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. after a moment of struggling, you manage to click it into place, the sound loud in the tense silence of the car.

luigi doesn’t respond, his jaw clenched as he jams the key into the ignition. the engine roars to life, and he peels out onto the street, tires screeching, the city lights blurring past as you lean back, still giggling, oblivious to the storm brewing beside you.

the car speeds down the dark city streets, neon lights streaking past as luigi grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white, the cold fury in his chest burning hotter with every second. his jaw is locked, his eyes fixed on the road, but they flicker toward you, slouched in the passenger seat, still swaying slightly from the vodka. “who the fuck do you think you are?” he snaps, his voice sharp and venomous, cutting through the hum of the engine.

you blink at him, the words bouncing off your drunken haze, and a giggle slips out, high and sloppy. “what?” you slur, tilting your head, a confused grin spreading across your face as you giggle again, the seriousness of his tone not registering.

luigi’s hands tighten on the wheel, the leather creaking. “you think you can just roofie me, sneak out in that fucking outfit, and go cuddle up with random guys like it’s nothing?” he growls, his voice low and seething. “you lied to me, broke my trust, and now you’re laughing like it’s a fucking joke. you think you can play me like that?” his eyes dart to you, blazing with betrayal, the car swerving slightly as his anger spills over.

you slump in the passenger seat, the car’s motion making your head spin, and luigi’s words, sharp with betrayal, bounce around in your drunken fog. yet another giggle erupts from you, loud and uncontrolled, the absurdity of his anger somehow hilarious despite the tension.

“stop fucking laughing!” luigi snaps, his voice a harsh whip, eyes flashing as he glares at you, the streetlights casting sharp shadows across his face.

you hiccup, giggling again, and wave a clumsy hand. “baby,” you slur, words tumbling out, “those guys i was hugging? they’re gay. like, together gay. dating each other.” you lean back, grinning, as if that explains everything, your voice thick with vodka.

luigi’s hand slams down on the steering wheel, the sharp crack making you jump. “that doesn’t change a fucking thing!” he snarls, his voice low and furious. “you were probably still cozying up to other guys on the dance floor, weren’t you? flashing your tits at them no doubt, acting like you don’t have a fucking boyfriend!” his anger fills the car, heavy and suffocating, his jaw clenched so tight it sharpens his features.

you tilt your head, still drunk, the world a hazy blur, and his words don’t hit as hard as they should. instead, you focus on him, his dark eyes blazing, the tense line of his jaw, the way his hands grip the wheel like he’s holding himself back. jesus christ, he’s hot when he’s angry, all raw intensity and fire.

you giggle again, leaning toward him. “why would i do that when i have you?” you mumble, words slurring together. “i only want you, baby. nobody else.” your voice is earnest, sloppy with booze, but you mean it, even if it’s buried under the haze.

luigi goes silent, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes fixed on the road. the car hums, the city lights streaking past, and the weight of his silence fills the space between you. you sink back into the seat, still buzzing, staring at him, his anger making him look even more striking, though you’re too drunk to fully grasp the storm you’ve ignited.

you can’t stop staring at him as he drives, his silence thick and seething in the dim car. the streetlights carve sharp angles across his face, highlighting the clenched jaw, the blazing heat in his dark eyes, the way his knuckles strain white against the steering wheel. he’s so fucking hot when he’s angry, all raw intensity and coiled power, setting your skin on fire even through the drunken haze. the vodka surges through you, a reckless, molten wave that dulls his rage and ignites a throbbing need low in your belly.

your thoughts, foggy and disjointed, slip to those nights when luigi’s been this pissed, his hands rough, pinning your wrists to the bed, his hips slamming into you with brutal, relentless force, fucking you so hard the headboard rattled, his anger pouring into every deep, punishing thrust. the memory makes your core clench, a wet pulse of heat spreading through you.

you’re so drunk, the world a blurry swirl of neon and motion, that shame feels like a foreign concept. the alcohol makes everything urgent, your body moving faster than your sluggish brain can process. you fumble with your heels, kicking them off with a clumsy thud to the floor of the car. your hands move on instinct, driven by the haze and the electric pull of his presence.

locking eyes with him, his gaze still burning into the road, but you feel his awareness like a physical touch, you slide your fingers under the hem of your blue dress, hooking the edge of your purple lace thong, already soaked with sweat and slick arousal. you tug it down slowly, deliberately, the damp fabric dragging across your thighs, catching briefly at your knees before slipping to your ankles. holding his stare, your eyes glassy but defiant, you flick the thong into the backseat, where it lands in a crumpled, wet heap.

you spread your legs wider, the dress hiking up to bare the glistening folds of your pussy, slick and aching in the cool air. the alcohol makes every sensation sharper, your body thrumming with reckless need. your fingers find your dripping core, sliding through the wet heat to your swollen clit, and you moan softly, the sound lost in the engine’s hum. you start rubbing yourself, fingers moving in tight, desperate circles, then dipping lower to plunge inside, your cunt clenching around them as you pump slowly, then faster, slick sounds filling the car.

your breath comes in ragged gasps, thighs trembling as you spread yourself wider, touching yourself shamelessly, eyes locked on luigi. his jaw twitches, his grip on the wheel tightening, his anger a dark, magnetic force that only fuels the drunken, pulsing heat between your legs.

your free hand fumbles for the window button, the vodka making your movements sloppy but determined. you press it down, and the window slides open, a rush of cool night air blasting into the car. the wind whips your hair around your face, strands sticking to your sweaty skin, and the chill hardens your nipples, making them strain visibly against the tight dress, poking through the thin fabric like sharp points.

you’re still so drunk, the world a hazy, pulsing blur, every sensation heightened by the alcohol coursing through you. your other hand stays busy, fingers slick with your arousal as they work your throbbing pussy, circling your swollen clit before plunging deep inside, your cunt clenching tightly around them. you moan softly, the wet sounds of your fingers fucking yourself mixing with the hum of the engine, your thighs spread wide as you stare at luigi, his furious profile lit by passing streetlights. the sight of his clenched jaw, his burning eyes, only makes you wetter, your body thrumming with reckless need.

luigi’s glare snaps to you, sharp and livid, though his eyes stay mostly on the road. “stop that.” he growls, voice tight with anger, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

you giggle, a drunken, airy sound, tilting your head. “stop what?” you slur, your fingers never slowing, dipping deeper into your dripping heat, a fresh wave of slickness coating your hand as you rub your clit with your thumb.

“stop acting like a slut.” he snaps, his voice low and venomous.

you moan louder, the sound raw and needy, your fingers pumping faster, your pussy clenching as you imagine luigi losing control, ripping your dress off, tearing it to shreds, and fucking you right here in the car, his hands rough, his cock slamming into you with all that pent up rage. the thought makes your core pulse, your nipples aching as they press harder against the dress.

you giggle again, leaning back, your voice thick with booze. “what if i don’t want to?” you tease, your fingers circling your clit, slick and relentless.

“i mean it.” he says, his voice a dangerous rumble, his eyes flicking to you again, dark with warning.

“no.” you purr, defiant, still touching yourself, your fingers soaked as you spread your legs wider, the wind from the open window cooling the wet heat between your thighs. you’re too drunk to care, the alcohol making you bold, every touch sending sparks through your body.

luiigi’s jaw tightens, and without warning, he yanks the wheel, swerving the car down an empty side street, the tires screeching as the city lights fade behind you. the road is dark, lined with shadowed buildings, and you feel the shift in direction, your drunken haze sharpening just enough to notice.

“this isn’t the way back home,” you say, your voice slurring, a giggle bubbling up even as your fingers slow but don’t stop, still teasing your slick folds.

“well guess what? i don’t remember asking you!” he snaps, his voice cold and final, his eyes fixed on the road as he speeds down the deserted street.

the car eventually slows, pulling into the shadow of an abandoned church, its crumbling spire looming against the night sky. luigi parks behind it, the lot shrouded in darkness, the engine cutting off with a low rumble. you glance at him, your hand still between your thighs, and notice the unmistakable bulge in his pants, his erection straining against the fabric, betraying the desire beneath his rage. your lips curl, the sight sending another pulse of heat through you.

luigi shoves his door open and storms to your side, yanking the passenger door open with a creak. “get out.” he growls, grabbing your arm roughly and pulling you from the seat. you stumble out, your bare feet hitting the gravel, the purple lace thong left behind in the backseat, your dress still hiked up, your fingers glistening as you sway, the alcohol keeping you defiant, reckless, and aching for whatever comes next.

your head spins, the world tilting, your thoughts a blurry, pulsing chaos. you fumble to pull your dress down, the fabric sliding over your thighs to cover your slick, exposed pussy, a desperate grab at the last scraps of dignity.

he strides to the crumbling church wall, shadows looming behind him, and leans against it, his gaze dark and commanding. “knees.” he orders, voice low and sharp, slicing through your drunken fog.

you know what he wants, and it ignites a raw, desperate need in you. you want, no, need to suck his cock, the urge consuming you, fueled by the alcohol and his searing anger. your body moves before your mind catches up, and you drop to your knees on the rough gravel, the sting a distant hum. your shaky hands, eager despite the blur, undo his belt with a clink, tugging his trousers down just enough to bunch at his thighs. you reach into his boxers, pulling out his hard cock.

it’s huge, thick and heavy, veins throbbing under your fingers, the head glistening with precum. your friends always called you a soldier for taking him, laughing about his size, long, impossibly girthy, a challenge most couldn’t handle. your mouth waters, the alcohol heightening every sensation, urging you on.

you lean in, lips wrapping around the swollen tip, tasting the salty precum as you swirl your tongue, moaning low. you’re so drunk, your movements sloppy but fervent, head bobbing as you take him deeper, his cock stretching your mouth, filling it to the brim.

you suck hard, cheeks hollowing, spit dripping down your chin, pooling on the gravel as you work him, tongue tracing the thick vein along his shaft. your hands grip his thighs, nails biting into muscle for balance, the wet, slurping sounds loud in the silent lot. you look up at him, his face hard, unyielding, and his visible rage only drives you to suck harder, desperate to please, your body buzzing with reckless heat as you lose yourself in the act.

your head keeps bobs eagerly, spit slicking your chin, dripping onto the gravel as you take him deeper, your throat yielding to his size, the ache in your jaw a delicious burn. you love this, love the heavy feel of his cock on your tongue, the way it fills your mouth completely, the power it gives you even as he looms above, commanding and intense. sucking him feels like a ritual, a rebellion, everything you crave right now, your mind lost in the need to please him.

you ease back, lips sliding off with a wet pop, and tilt your head to lick up his length, your tongue dragging slowly along the throbbing vein, savoring every inch of his massive cock. you lock eyes with him, his dark gaze searing into you, and the heat of it sends a pulse straight to your core, your pussy clenching with need.

you tease the swollen tip with quick, kitten like licks, flicking over the sensitive head, lapping at the precum leaking out, relishing the salty taste. then you dive back in, wrapping your lips around just the tip, sucking hard, tongue swirling in tight, relentless circles, all while holding his stare, your eyes glassy but defiant, daring him to respond.

your free hand drifts down, cupping his balls, warm and heavy in your palm. you knead them gently, fingers rolling the soft skin, tugging just enough as you suck his tip, the combined touch making your arousal drip down your thighs, your dress still bunched from earlier. you love how his cock pulses in your mouth, how his balls tighten under your fingers, how every sound you pull from him feels like a triumph.

luigi moans, a low, ragged “fuck,” escaping as his head tips back against the church wall, his hips twitching, pushing his cock deeper for a split second. the sound drives you harder, lips tightening, tongue flicking faster, fingers squeezing his balls to make him shudder. you love this, love how his cock throbs against your tongue, how your mouth can unravel him, how the alcohol makes every wet, sloppy sound louder, every sensation sharper, as you suck, lick, and tease, consumed by the raw, messy thrill.

minutes slip by, the world a blurry whirl of shadows and heat as you kneel on the gravel, luigi’s cock slamming into the back of your throat. his hand grips your hair roughly, pushing your head down with each thrust, the tip of his massive dick hitting deep, making you gag softly, spit drooling down your chin.

the alcohol amplifies every sensation, the stretch of your throat, the burn of his grip, the wet, sloppy sounds filling the air. you love it, love the way his cock fills you, the way you can barely breathe around him, your pussy dripping as you suck harder, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing.

you look up, and he’s fucking beautiful, cheeks flushed a deep red, eyes rolling back, lips parted as he moans so loud it echoes off the church wall. his pleasure is raw, unrestrained, and it makes your core throb.

“doing so good,” he groans, voice thick and rough, “i’m gonna cum down your throat.” the words send a shiver through you, urging you on, your lips tightening as you bob faster, taking him deeper, gagging but not stopping, your fingers still kneading his balls.

with one final, moan, luigi’s hips buck, and he cums hard, hot ropes of thick, salty cum flooding your throat. it’s overwhelming, the taste bitter and musky, coating your tongue as it pulses out, filling your mouth with its warmth. you struggle to keep up, swallowing greedily, feeling it slide down, heavy and slick, as he keeps pushing into you, his grip in your hair unrelenting.

“yeah, take every drop, don’t waste it,” he growls, voice low and commanding. you nod slightly, still sucking, milking him until he’s spent. he pulls his cock out with a wet pop, and you stick out your tongue, showing him the glistening proof that you’ve swallowed every bit, the lingering taste of his cum sharp and potent in your mouth.

luigi tugs his boxers up, leaving his trousers low, and yanks you to your feet, his grip rough on your arm. you stumble, the alcohol making your legs wobbly, but you’re buzzing, the intensity heightened by the liquor in your veins. he drags you back to the car, flinging open the backseat door. “get in,” he orders, his voice a dangerous rumble.

you climb in, collapsing onto your back across the seat, your body humming with need. luigi follows, climbing on top of you, his weight pinning you down as he crashes his lips into yours, kissing you roughly, all teeth and hunger. you moan into his mouth, the sound muffled, kissing him back with equal desperation, your tongue tangling with his, tasting yourself and him, the alcohol making every touch feel like fire.

his hands shove your dress up, exposing your dripping pussy again, the cool air hitting your wet folds. without warning, he plunges two fingers deep inside you, the sudden intrusion making you gasp, your cunt clenching tight around him. his fingers are thick, relentless, pumping fast and hard, curling to hit that spot that makes your vision blur.

your slickness coats his hand, the wet squelch of his fingers fucking you loud in the cramped backseat, your thighs trembling as the alcohol intensifies every thrust, every rough drag against your sensitive walls, pushing you closer to the edge.

“fuck, lu, yes!” you cry, your voice raw, unhinged, as you claw at his back, your tits bouncing with each hard thrust. “so good, don’t stop!” your words spill out, desperate and loud, your body trembling as he fucks you deeper, the sensation of his cock hitting every sensitive spot driving you wild, the heightened intensity making every thrust feel like it’s unraveling you completely.

he keeps fingering you, relentless, his eyes dark and commanding. “would you let other guys do this to you?” he growls, his voice low, possessive.

you moan, head lolling back, the pleasure overwhelming. “no,” you whimper, your voice trembling as his fingers pump faster, stretching you, your juices dripping down his hand.

“of course not,” he snarls, leaning closer, his breath hot against your skin. “no one’s better than me.”

your body shakes, the intensity building, and you moan, desperate, “please fuck me, lu.” the words tumble out, raw and needy, your voice bold, unfiltered.

he smirks, dark and cruel. “so impatient, fucking whore,” he says, his hand yanking down the top of your dress, the fabric ripping slightly to reveal your purple lace bra, your tits spilling out, nipples hard. his hand cracks across your breasts, a sharp slap that stings deliciously, and you moan, loud and wanton, the pain blending with pleasure, making your pussy pulse.

luigi shifts, grabbing your legs and hoisting them onto his shoulders, your body folded beneath him. he pulls his cock out again, thick and throbbing, and slaps it against your slick folds, the wet smack of his head against your clit making you shudder. he teases you, dragging his cock through your dripping pussy, coating himself in your juices, each slap sending jolts through your core. you moan, hips twitching, desperate for more, your body buzzing with need.

finally, he lines himself up and thrusts in, hard, his cock splitting you open, stretching your tight cunt to its limit. “ohhhh yeah…” he groans, the sensation of your walls gripping him tight pulling the sound from his throat. you nearly scream, the feeling of being so full, so stretched, overwhelming, your pussy clenching around his massive length as he fills you completely. the intensity is amplified, every nerve alight, making you bolder, louder, your voice unchecked.

he sets a relentless pace immediately, fucking you rough in the backseat, your legs pinned on his shoulders, his hips slamming into you with brutal force. the car rocks with each thrust, his cock pounding into your dripping cunt, the wet, filthy sounds mixing with your moans.

“fuck, yes, yes!” you cry, your voice raw, unhinged, as you claw at his back, your tits bouncing with each hard thrust. “so good, don’t stop!” your words spill out, desperate and loud, your body trembling as he fucks you deeper, the sensation of his cock hitting every sensitive spot driving you wild, the heightened intensity making every thrust feel like it’s unraveling you completely.

with your legs still hoisted on luigi’s shoulders, his hand slides up, wrapping around your throat, fingers tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. he loves choking you, always has, a regular ritual in bed, the way it makes your eyes flutter, your body surrender completely to him. and he loves how much you love it.

your eyes roll back, pleasure spiking as his grip tightens, the pressure blending with the relentless pounding of his cock, your cunt clenching around him. the heightened intensity makes every sensation sharper, bolder, your voice unfiltered, your moans spilling out without restraint.

“yeah, learned your lesson now?” he growls, his voice low and commanding, hips never slowing as he drives into you.

you moan, loud and wanton, your head swimming, the world a blur of heat and need. “no,” you gasp, the word defiant, your voice trembling with pleasure as he fucks you faster, his cock slamming deeper, hitting every sensitive spot.

“no?” he snaps, eyes flashing. “flip over.”

you giggle, very drunk, the sound high and reckless, your boldness surging. “no,” you tease, smirking, your body buzzing with fearless energy.

his hand leaves your throat, and he slaps your tits hard, the sting making them bounce under your bra, a sharp jolt of pleasure shooting through you. “flip over,” he growls, voice dark and insistent.

you moan, the pain mixing with desire, but you comply. he pulls out, his cock slick and throbbing, and you slide your legs off his shoulders, flipping over in the cramped backseat. face down, ass up, your dress still bunched, your pussy exposed and dripping. he doesn’t wait, plunging back in immediately, his cock splitting you open again, fucking you from behind with ferocious intensity. the new angle drives him deeper, his hips slamming against your ass, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the car.

you whine loud, the sound raw and desperate, mixing with his own noises, a primal chorus filling the space. “fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cry, your voice bold and unrestrained, the heightened state making you louder, fearless, every thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. “harder!” you gasp, your cunt clenching around him as he hits that perfect spot, your body trembling.

luigi’s hand crashes down on your ass, the sharp smack echoing in the backseat, branding your skin with a fiery red mark that pulses with heat. the sting rips through you, blending with the relentless pounding of his cock deep in your drenched pussy, your body clenching him tight.

every sensation is magnified, his thrusts, the burn of his hand, the pleasure all blazing brighter, pushing you to moan louder, your voice raw and unrestrained, spilling out with wild abandon. “don’t ever roofie me again, got it?” he growls, his voice low and filthy, dripping with dominance as he slams into you, his fingers curling inside your soaked cunt alongside his cock, stretching you to the limit.

you moan, desperate and trembling, your body shaking, ass stinging, pussy throbbing as he drives deeper. the sound is fractured, your mind consumed by the overwhelming intensity, too lost to form words, the heat of his handprint fueling your craving.

his hand strikes your ass again, harder, the pain sharp and electric, the red mark darkening as he keeps fucking you, hips crashing against you, the wet slap of skin deafening in the car. “got. it.?” he demands, voice slicing through, his cock plunging so deep your vision blurs.

“i won’t!” you wail, the word ripped from you, quivering as pleasure and pain collide, your body rocking with his merciless rhythm, your tits bouncing, your pussy gushing around him.

“good,” he moans, low and guttural, his pleasure weaving with yours in the cramped space. his hand seizes your hair, yanking it back hard, forcing your head up as he fucks you even harder, if that’s even possible. his cock rams into you with brutal force, each thrust deeper, faster, splitting you open, your juices coating him, dripping down your thighs. your moans pour out, wild and unfiltered.

“yes, yes!” your voice bold, unrestrained, every thrust sending shockwaves through your core, his fingers still pumping inside you, his grip on your hair tight and possessive. the car trembles with the ferocity, your ass burning, your pussy pulsing, every sensation pushed to a fevered edge as he drives you both toward oblivion.

“fuck, your pussy grips me so good,” he groans, voice thick with hunger, hips slamming forward, filling you to the hilt.

you’re trembling, body shaking under him, the overwhelming sensation pushing you to the brink. a desperate moan spills from your lips. “i’m gonna cum!” you gasp, voice cracking as your aching cunt tightens around him, the pleasure so vivid it’s dizzying, amplified by the night’s fog that makes every pulse burn hotter.

luigi’s grip on your hair tightens, his other hand digging into your hip. “i’m gonna cum too,” he grits out, thrusts turning wild, fueled by the way you clench around him, pulling him deeper with every move. the way you’re so open, so raw from the night, makes it hit harder, makes him feel like he’s staking his claim all over again.

“please!” you whimper, voice raw and pleading, pushing back against him. “please, creampie me, fill me up, i need it!” your words are a frantic beg, your body craving it as much as your voice, every inch of you trembling with the need to feel him release inside you.

he smirks, dark and possessive, tugging your hair to arch your back further. “yeah? gonna fill you with all my cum,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding, the promise sending a jolt through you. his hand slides to your ass, delivering one last sharp smack that makes you gasp, the sting melting into the pleasure, shoving you right to the edge.

your both shatter together. your orgasm tears through you, body convulsing as you cum hard, your juices soaking his cock, pulsing around him in waves that leave you breathless. luigi groans, low and guttural, his thrusts stuttering as he unloads inside you.

his cum spills hot and thick, flooding your core, each pulse of his release painting your insides, claiming you in the most primal way. it’s messy, overwhelming, the warmth of it spreading through you as he holds you in place, still gripping your hair, making sure you feel every last drop. the intensity of it, heightened by the night’s haze, leaves you both panting, bodies locked together in the afterglow.

you ease up in the backseat, catching your breath, the warm, heavy sensation of luigi’s cum still inside you, a lingering reminder of the intensity you just shared. your body hums, senses sharper from the night, as you sit up, legs unsteady. luigi reaches for you, his touch soft now, guiding you onto his lap. his arms encircle you, warm and firm, pulling you close against his chest.

he presses a tender kiss to your forehead, lingering there, his breathing calming. “i’m sorry for yelling at you,” he murmurs, voice quiet and earnest, a shift from his earlier anger. “you know i love you, right?” his words carry a raw sincerity as he holds you tighter, lips brushing your skin again, anchoring you both in the quiet afterglow.

i haven’t proofread this but you know what? it ain’t that serious! hope you all like hehehe

tags: @alleviatcd @luigisbambinaaa @honeyblossombaby @corrodeddeadlydoll @contrarianshitstan @weegeewifey @mangionesdoll @luigis-nostrils @hiscalliope @luiluvr @mangobabygirl @luigisnumber1fan @fligniuz @freeluigihesbae @number1yearner @soulsmangione @ohsorrythen @bbyelle12 @mangionebabymama @multi-culti-girl @briarloves @luigis-stellina @mangionesdaisy @thm12 @mrs-cactus69 @purplebadd1e @kikigoogoogaga @daydreamingwithluigi (comment if you would like to be added!)

masterlist | previous work

[yellowsubiesdance]

i can’t simply have a break, i need to be going to school, working, AND finding time to do chores in the house

[missdynamighttt]

kickin my feet and shi thinkin abt husband! katsuki not leaving without his goodbye kiss from his wife, even after an argument.

you stood by the kitchen counter with your arms crossed, still fuming from the argument that had erupted the night before.

katsuki, equally stubborn, was getting ready for work, his movements a little harsher than usual as he shoved his phone into his pocket and grabbed his keys.

neither of you had really spoken since the fight. it was stupid, really—something about schedules and plans.

"gotta go."

you heard the jingle of his keys as he walked toward the door. for a moment, you thought he was just going to leave. good. let him leave. maybe a day apart would cool both of you down.

but then, he just stopped.

you didn’t turn around, but you felt his presence by the door, unmoving. you were about to glance over your shoulder when his voice broke the silence.

“where’s my kiss?”

your heart stuttered. slowly, you turned to face him. "excuse me?"

"you heard me," katsuki grumbled, his ears tinged pink. "you always give me a kiss before i leave. so... where is it?"

your lips parted in disbelief. “we just argued for the whole night and you want a kiss?"

"yeah, and? doesn’t mean you can skip it."

the audacity. the nerve. you opened your mouth to tell him off, but the stubborn, almost childlike look on his face made your resolve crack.

he was dead serious. this man could be furious with you—could spend hours brooding in stony silence—but he still needed his goodbye kiss like it was a non-negotiable part of his day.

"katsuki, i’m still pissed at you."

"and i’m still pissed at you," he shot back, brows furrowing. "but we don’t leave without a goodbye kiss. that’s our thing and i’m not leavin’ without it."

he looked genuinely annoyed—and not just because of the argument.

ever since you’d started dating, no matter how bad the fight, you never let each other leave without a kiss. this was the kind of annoyance he reserved for things that threw him off his routine.

and apparently, your daily goodbye kiss was part of that routine.

still, you stayed put, stubborn as fuck. he shifted, gripping the keys tightly in his hand like it was the only thing stopping him from marching across the room.

you saw the conflict flash in his eyes—pride battling something softer.

"just...” he finally muttered, voice low and rough. “c’mere. please.”

that single, reluctant please just broke you.

with an exasperated sigh, you stomped over to him. he watched you carefully, guarded but hopeful. you stopped just inches away, folding your arms.

“this doesn’t mean i’m not still mad,” you mumbled.

“i know,” he said softly.

you placed your hands on his chest and stood on your tiptoes, giving him a quick, chaste kiss on the lips. or at least, you tried to. as you pulled away, his hand shot out, cupping the back of your neck.

“oi,” he said, voice losing its earlier irritation. “that ain’t a real kiss.”

you glared up at him, ready to argue, but the intensity in his eyes made your heart stutter. his thumb brushed the side of your neck as his grip softened.

"even if we fight," he muttered, voice lower now, "i still love ya. and i still want my kiss."

your chest tightened. damn him for being sweet after pissing you off.

you leaned in again, pressing your lips to his more firmly this time. he responded immediately, mouth warm against yours, his hand cupped the back of your head, deepening the kiss.

it wasn’t soft or tentative—it was desperate, almost punishing. his teeth scraped your bottom lip, and his tongue pushed into your mouth like he was trying to kiss the fight right out of you.

when you pulled away, his expression had softened, the hard lines of frustration melting into something quieter.

"i love you." he kissed your forehead, then straightened. “well?”

you raised an eyebrow. “well, what?”

his gaze darkened. “say it.”

you roll your eyes dramatically. "say what?"

his jaw clenched. "say you love me too. you don’t get to leave me hangin’ after all that kissin’ shit.”

a smirk tugged at your lips. oh, he was really fishing for it now. “i love you too, okay?”

the words barely left your mouth before his hand shot out, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you toward him.

"good," he muttered, before slamming his lips against yours in another kiss that left you breathless. it wasn’t sweet or gentle—it was hungry, desperate, like he was trying to make up for lost time.

“wait, katsuki, you’re gonna be late—” you gasped against his mouth as his hands roamed down your body.

“fuck work. i’m late anyway," you tried to speak again, but he kissed you so hard it left no room for words.

the argument? forgotten. work? completely irrelevant. all that mattered was the way he was making you feel in that moment, pulling you closer, making your head spin.

his hands tugged at your clothes with an urgency that told you he wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.

“got better things to do while my girl is pissed at me.”

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ hi everyone!! js wanna put this out as a thank you for the 2k follows, oh my gosh i am beyond happy i made it this far. hope yall stick around for more^^

[kisses4rafey]

picking up older!rafe from the country club

12:46 am

that’s when your night gets interrupted from a very drunk rafe making you groan and reach out blindly for your phone before finally grabbing it "this better be important." you mutter irritably into the phone, clearly not in the mood for whatever is going on.

“hey… sweet baby— he laughs mid talking— could you uhm…like pick us up?” you frown at his slurred speech, sitting up straighter as annoyance tightens your jaw.

“Us?” you echo, already knowing you won’t like the answer.

“Me ‘n Top… and Kelce. I think. Might be more. Dunno. We’re at—wait, wait—Top where are we, bro?” You hear muffled arguing, laughter, something crashing in the background.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, teeth gritted. “You’re kidding.”

“Nooo,” Rafe drawls. “I’m serious, baby. You’re the only one I trust not to leave me for dead or steal my wallet. And I miss you,” he adds like it’ll soften the blow, like that’ll make you forget it’s twelve-fucking-forty-five and you have work in the morning.

You sigh, already sliding off the bed and grabbing your keys and pulling up to the country club.

You don’t bother honking. You just sit there, door unlocked, headlights cutting through the night like you’re daring someone to test your patience.

It doesn’t take long.

The front door swings open violently, and Rafe stumbles out like he’s been tossed—laughing, loud, messy. Topper follows, shirt half-buttoned and yelling something incoherent. Then comes Kelce, clutching a red Solo cup like it’s a lifeline.

“That’s my woman!” he shouts, arms out, and for a moment you fear he’s going to trip on his face.

“them too?” you dead pan already losing it. how the fuck do you end up with three grown ass men in their thirties at one am?

You lean over and push the passenger door open with an annoyed flick of your hand. “Get in, Rafe.” you exclaim exasperated.

He slides into the passenger seat, the smell of liquor and smoke clinging to him like a second skin.

“You mad?” he slurs, head tipping against the window with a thud. “You look mad. But you’re always so fucking hot when you’re mad baby …”

“Rafe,” you snap, shifting the car into drive, “shut up.”

[fuddaround]

OBSESSED › paige bueckers x fem!reader

⌗ summary : paige and her secret girlfriend go to the draft together and paige doesn’t know how to keep her hands to herself.

⌗ warnings : degradation, strap, alcohol, risky, almost getting caught, car sex, strap(r!receiving), praise, quicky.

⌗ word count : 4.1k

⌗ kay’s notes : her outfits this night should go down in history books. i couldn’t tell if the first suit was brown or just dark purple so i just put brown

you step out the car and instantly feel every head turn, but there’s only one you care about.

paige is already halfway through a question with a reporter when she catches sight of you, her mouth stuttering mid-sentence like her brain just shut down.

“oh my god,” she mumbles, blinking way too slow. “what the hell are you wearing?”

you smirk, twirling slightly so the slit of your dress shows just enough leg. “a dress?”

“no, no, no. that’s not a dress. that’s a personal attack,” she mutters, dragging her eyes from your heels all the way up to your lips. “you tryna end me before i even get drafted?”

you shrug, walking up to her like you’re not hiding in plain sight, like the world doesn’t know yet that you’re hers. “you look kinda hot too, bueckers.”

“kinda?” she huffs. “i’m wearin’ a whole sparkly ass suit and you’re over here lookin’ like a sin. ma, i’m about to fail the press line.”

you glance around—cameras everywhere, reporters shuffling, but paige is locked on you like nobody else exists. her black nails clench the edge of her huge designer bag like it’s the only thing keeping her sane.

“stop lookin’ at me like that,” you tease, voice low. “you’re gonna make people suspicious.”

“then stop looking like that,” she fires back, eyes dropping again to your leg. “jesus christ. there’s a slit. there’s a thigh. i can see your damn thigh muscle. you tryna kill me?”

“it’s just skin, paige,” you say, pretending to be innocent.

she scoffs, stepping a little too close. “not when it’s your skin.”

her hand twitches like she wants to touch you so bad but knows she can’t. she’s sweating under her glittery brown blazer and you haven’t even touched her yet.

“we are not gonna make it through this night,” she whispers, leaning closer like she might kiss you right there. “i swear to god, you better not be wearin’ that to the after party.”

“why?” you blink, playing dumb. “you don’t like it?”

“i like it too much,” she mutters, licking her lips. “like, black heels? slit that high? i’m obsessed. actually, no. i’m in love.”

you giggle, but she’s dead serious. eyes dark, rings catching the flash of a camera as she moves like she might reach for your waist—then remembers where you are.

“you gotta stop,” she groans, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “i’m tryna look all professional and composed and you out here lookin’ like my walking weakness.”

you lean in so close your lips brush her ear. “good. i like you a little messy.”

“god, i can’t do this,” she breathes, stepping back like she needs distance or she’s gonna lose all control.

you pose for a few photos beside her, smiling like you’re just friends, like she didn’t just whisper the filthiest compliment under her breath.

“what was that?” you ask, biting your lip.

“i said,” she repeats, barely moving her lips, “if you keep standing that close to me i’m gonna fuck you on national tv.”

your eyes widen. “paige.”

“what? i’m not entirely serious,” she shrugs, fake-innocent. “blame the dress. and the heels. and your everything.”

she keeps sneaking glances like she’s trying to memorize the way your dress hugs your waist, the way your collarbone glows under the lights. she looks like she’s praying for self-control and losing hard.

“i’m losing it,” she murmurs, watching you laugh at something a reporter says. “i’m so losing it.”

you reach down, fix her chain that shifted sideways in the shuffle of cameras. “deep breaths, champion.”

she grins, but it’s desperate. “girl, i’m about to deep breath you against a wall.”

you gasp, eyes wide, but your body leans toward her like it wants the same thing. “you are so not slick.”

“i’m not trying to be,” she shrugs, stepping closer again. “but you gotta know… the second i can get my hands on you? it’s over.”

you smirk, brushing a finger along her ringed hand. “then let’s make this night go fast.”

she groans again, and the cameras catch her mid-eye roll, mid-thirst. she doesn’t care. not really.

not when you look like that. not when you’re hers and she can’t even touch.

you’re already at the table when she walks back in, lights dimming low as the show gets ready to start.

and then there she is—shirtless under a sparkly black blazer, skin glowing, chains resting perfectly on her chest, waves falling wild around her face.

“so?” she grins, hands in her pockets, eyes locked on you like nobody else in the room matters. “how’d i do?”

you just blink, mouth open.

because jesus, that’s your girlfriend.

“you’re insane,” you whisper, gaze dragging down her whole fit. “you look like sex.”

she laughs, but it’s low and cocky.

like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

“you like it?” she asks, standing right in front of your seat now, voice teasing.

you grab her hand and pull her into the chair beside you. “shut up before i climb you in front of espn.”

“say less,” she whispers, already sliding her palm onto your thigh under the table.

you flinch, eyes darting around, but she just smirks, thumb brushing slow over your skin like it belongs there.

like it’s not a secret, but something she’s ready to scream to the world.

her confidence is unreal—chin up, legs spread, one hand on you, the other resting casual on the table like she’s not minutes away from her whole life changing.

but all she cares about is how your dress rides up when she touches you.

“how long do i have to wait before i take you home and ruin you?” she murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “seriously. give me a number.”

you try not to shiver, faking a smile for the cameras pointed your way. “depends. how long you wanna last in dallas?”

she grins big, hand gripping your thigh tighter. “forever, if you come with me.”

and then—before you can answer, before you even process—her name is called.

“in the 2025 wnba draft the dallas wings select paige bueckers, university of connecticut.” the whole room goes wild, but she doesn’t look at anyone else.

she turns straight to you.

“holy shit,” you whisper, already standing.

she hugs you like she’s never gonna let go, arms locked tight around your waist, mouth pressed close to your jaw.

“baby,” she breathes. “we did it.”

you nod, eyes glassy. “you did it, p. i’m so proud of you.”

her hands won’t leave your back. her nose brushes yours.

“i love you,” she whispers, voice shaking.

you grip her tighter. “i love you too, champion.”

she almost kisses you. she almost does it—right there, in front of god, the league, and everybody.

but she pulls back at the last second with a smirk.

“gimme that hat,” she says quick, grabbing the dallas one off the table and shoving it on your head.

she loses it.

“yo,” she laughs, eyes glued to you as she walks toward the stage. “you look better in it than i will.”

you smile, legs crossed like a tease. “i look good in your stuff. your words, baby.”

you watched as she hugs her parents and geno and you couldn’t be more proud of your girl.

she’s grinning the whole way up to the mic, all dimples and chain sparkle, but her eyes keep darting back to you like you’re the only one who matters.

and yeah, she’s giving the most heartfelt speech ever—funny, real, humble—but her fingers twitch like they still wanna be on your leg.

like she’s counting down the seconds ‘til she can get back to you and finish what she started.

she’s back at the table like she never left, dallas hat tilted low, legs wide, hand right back where it was on your thigh.

“you miss me?” she mumbles, lips barely moving.

“you were gone for like two minutes,” you whisper back, laughing.

“too long,” she says, dead serious. “felt like years.”

you roll your eyes but your heart skips anyway. she smells like camera flashes and fresh cologne and nerves that only melt when she’s next to you again.

geno’s across from you both, chatting with her mom while her dad proudly records every moment on his phone. and meanwhile, paige is sliding her pinky under the slit of your dress like she’s tryna write a love letter on your skin.

“can you not?” you hiss, glancing toward her mom.

“what?” she smirks, eyes big and fake innocent. “my hands are cold.”

you kick her lightly under the table. she grins harder.

geno clears his throat and raises an eyebrow. “everything okay over there?”

“just peachy,” paige says, squeezing your leg. “really loving everything about tonight.”

you’re fighting a laugh, trying to stay composed, but then she leans in again—voice low, sultry.

“you know i almost kissed you when i hugged you, right?” she says. “like, actually kissed you. lips. tongue. the whole thing.”

you freeze for half a second. “i would’ve died.”

“i could’ve saved you,” she shrugs. “like mouth to mouth you know.”

“definitely,” you whisper, and the look you give her makes her visibly clench her jaw.

she has to get up again—interview number twenty or whatever—but she drags her fingers down your arm the whole way out of her seat like she’s starving and you’re the only meal that matters.

and when she’s walking away, she keeps turning around. even with all the lights, all the attention, all the noise—she’s scanning the crowd until she sees you.

you lift the hat, give her a little salute.

her whole face softens. like she’s home with just a look.

“i miss you.”

when she sits back down, she sighs like she’s finally breathing again.

“they tryna talk to me about my future,” she mutters. “girl, you’re my future.”

you blink. “okay, relax.”

“no,” she says, already slipping her hand back under the table. “you don’t get it. i’ve got it planned already.”

geno raises a brow again like he knows something’s going on, but you both just sip your drinks and smile like saints.

“you think he suspects us?” you whisper.

“he’s geno. he’s known since the third practice you came to,” paige says, eyes half-lidded as her fingers trail patterns on your knee. “man caught me starin’ at your ass mid-drill.”

you choke on a laugh and she nudges your foot under the table.

you stay like that for the rest of the night—smiling for cameras, clapping for draftees, making eyes when no one’s looking.

and every time she leaves, she’s counting the seconds till she can crawl right back beside you.

hand to your thigh. lips to your ear. heart in your hands.

you’re standing in front of the bathroom mirror, adjusting the tiny blue straps of your dress for the after party when you hear the door click shut behind you.

“my god,” paige says instantly, voice already hoarse. “you’re really wearing that?”

you smirk, not even turning around. “yes i am.”

she’s in the afterparty outfit—white button-down half unbuttoned, sparkly gray plaid pants low on her hips, dallas hat, silver chain sitting pretty on her collar.

but she’s looking at you like you’re dessert.

“spin,” she says, stepping closer. “like all the way around.”

you do, slow. the dress sparkles like you’re wrapped in stars, barely covering your ass, hugging every curve, back out, legs on full display.

paige groans, already adjusting herself. “yeah, i’m not gonna make it through the night.”

you bite your lip. “then don’t.”

she’s on you in seconds. presses you against the counter, hat bumping your forehead as she leans in close.

“you did that on purpose,” she whispers, hands running down your sides. “you knew what that dress would do to me.”

“uh huh,” you hum, grabbing her chain and pulling her even closer. “and it worked.”

her breath stutters. eyes drop down your chest, then lower.

“counter, now.” she mutters, pulling you up the wrist like she’s out of time.

you giggle the whole time, sitting on the bathroom counter watching her walk to lock the door.

“stay still” she commands, and you do—perch right on the edge of the counter, legs parted just enough to tease.

she drops to her knees like she’s praying. like you’re the only god she’s ever worshiped.

“lemme look at you,” she says, voice deep, running her hands over your thighs like she’s scared she’ll miss a spot.

“paige…” your voice comes out breathy. needy.

“shh, mama,” she whispers, lips brushing your inner thigh. “gonna take my time.”

her fingers push the hem of your dress up slowly. painfully slow. and when she sees what’s underneath—bare, wet, waiting—her breath catches.

“you’re so bad,” she says, kissing right above where you need her. “no panties?”

you shrug. “figured i wouldn’t need ‘em with you around.”

her tongue is spreading you open before you can even blink. slow at first—tasting, teasing, drawing shapes that make your knees shake.

you grab the counter for balance. her hands are on your thighs, holding you open like a gift, face buried like she’s starving.

“fuck,” you breathe out, head falling back.

she moans against you, like you taste better than anything she’s ever had.

“so good,” she mumbles, lips slick, tongue dragging through every drop. “you’re so fuckin’ good.”

you buck your hips, chasing her mouth. but she pulls back, grinning.

“nuh uh. i said stay still. i’m enjoying the view.”

you whine, but she dives back in—flat tongue, deep pressure, one hand trailing up to toy with your nipple through the dress.

you’re squirming now, thighs shaking. she’s relentless, moving her tongue in rhythm, then switching it up just to hear you beg.

“paige—i can’t—”

“yes you can,” she pants, voice rough. “c’mon, baby. gimme one. right here.”

she sucks your clit slow and deep, and you come undone with a hand tangled in her hair and a scream buried in your palm.

she doesn’t stop.

licks you through it, keeps sucking like it’s the only thing that matters, pulling a second orgasm right out of you with zero warning.

you collapse back, breathing heavy, thighs twitching.

paige stands, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, cocky grin already back on her face.

“still goin’ to the party?” she asks, voice raw.

you blink at her, dazed. “not if you keep lookin’ like that.”

she chuckles, fixing your dress, pecking your lips once, then again, then again.

“fix your hair, baby,” she whispers. “everyone’s gonna know you just got ruined.”

you smirk. “let ‘em.”

the party is loud, lights low, music vibrating through the walls like it’s trying to get under your skin.

paige is already tipsy, dallas hat still on slanted, cheeks flushed, drink in hand, dancing like nobody’s watching—but her eyes haven’t left you once.

“you’re my favorite thing here,” she says, slurring slightly, arm slung over your shoulders. “even better than the free sherley temples.”

you laugh, leaning into her. “i don’t believe that for a second those are your favorite.”

she cackles, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “that’s so dumb. but like hot that you know me so well.”

her fingers slide down your side, resting on your bare hip like it’s instinct.

you know you should be subtle—eyes are everywhere—but you’re buzzed too and she’s looking at you like she wants to devour you again.

“stop starin’ at me like that,” you whisper, tugging her hand off your waist.

“can’t,” she says, gripping your hand instead. “you’re too pretty for me to handle. i can’t do this.”

you roll your eyes. “you say that like you weren’t on your knees for me an hour ago.”

“shhhh,” she hisses, but she’s smiling. “don’t say that in front of everyone.”

you nudge her hat playfully. “you exposed yourself all night long.”

she leans in close, mouth brushing your jaw. “baby, i wanna bite you.”

you choke on a laugh. “you already did, psycho.”

her arms wrap around your waist tight, face buried in your neck, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“you’re the most beautiful girl ever,” she whispers. “deadass. oh and you’re mine.”

you giggle, holding her steady. “you’re so drunk.”

“i’m so in love with you,” she says louder, like that’s a defense.

geno walks by and gives you both a look. “hydrate,” he mutters, tossing paige a water bottle like he’s seen it all before.

paige holds it up like a trophy. “see? coach said i’m doing amazing.”

you steal a sip and wrap an arm around her waist, swaying with her to the beat.

she’s grinding against you slow, hands on your hips, and no one’s really paying attention—but they would if they looked close enough.

“stop,” you whisper, lips brushing her ear. “we’re in public.”

“don’t care,” she murmurs back. “you feel too good.”

her hand drifts lower. “lemme just—”

you slap it away. “paige.”

she pouts. “i miss the bathroom.”

you snort. “you’re disgusting.”

“you like me disgusting.”

you kiss her cheek. “unfortunately.”

she spins you into her chest, both hands on your ass now, dallas hat shadowing her eyes.

“tell me i’m your favorite dallas girl,” she whispers.

“you’re my only dallas girl.”

“that’s hot.”

you grab her jaw, pulling her into a slow, borderline inappropriate kiss.

paige pulls back with a cocky smirk. “oops.”

you sigh, resting your forehead to hers. “you’re not gonna survive this party, huh?”

she grins. “not a chance.”

you lose her for like ten minutes because she’s passing out shots like they’re candy and dancing with everyone.

that’s it—just ten—but it feels like an hour in a packed room full of music and flashing lights and too many hands.

you’re leaned against the bar, giggling at something the bartender said about your dress, when arms wrap tight around your waist from behind.

“what the fuck, ma” paige mutters into your neck, voice muffled and messy. “you flirting with the bartender?”

you grin, instantly leaning back into her. “no, baby. just trying to get us more drinks.”

“we already have drinks,” she says, pulling you even closer like she’s trying to merge bodies. “you’re mine. not his.”

the bartender laughs awkwardly, already sliding away. you mouth sorry over your shoulder and turn to face her.

“you good, baby?” you tease, fingers looping under her waistband.

she pouts, swaying on her feet. “i didn’t like that.”

“what, me talkin’ to someone not you for thirty seconds?”

she nods, lips brushing yours. “you’re supposed to only look at me.”

“baby,” you whisper, cupping her cheeks. “i’d marry your drunk ass tonight.”

she melts instantly, forehead pressed to yours, eyes glassy. “okay but like… actually?”

you laugh. “let’s survive this party first.”

she nods fast, gripping your hips like you’re about to disappear again. “never leave me like that. i was lookin’ for you everywhere. even checked the dj booth.”

“that’s the complete opposite direction. and you were taking shots and dancing”

“yeah,” she slurs. “i panicked.”

you wrap her up, arms around her neck. she smells like tequila and cologne and sweat and you’ve never loved her more.

“you’re so clingy when you’re drunk,” you say, kissing her jaw.

“you like it.”

you do. way too much.

she’s pulling you into the corner now, hands roaming, lips ghosting over your collarbone.

“gonna fuckin’ take you home,” she mumbles, voice all grit and heat. “can’t stop thinking about that dress. and your legs. and your mouth.”

“paige,” you warn, drunk and giggly. “people can hear.”

“let ‘em,” she shrugs, grabbing your ass. “they should know i’m the one who gets to take you home.”

you snort, fingers tangling in her hair. “jealous ass.”

“yup,” she says proudly. “jealous, drunk, and in love with the hottest girl in the whole city.”

you kiss her. messy. teeth knocking, all tongue and hunger.

when you pull back, she’s dazed. flushed. staring like she just fell in love for the first time all over again.

“let’s leave soon,” she whispers. “i need you again.”

you grin, already nodding. “we’re making it through like twenty more minutes. tops.”

you barely make it three blocks before paige’s hand is on your thigh.

not resting—gripping—tight, warm, sliding under your dress like she owns the road and you.

“pull over,” she mumbles, voice hot against your ear. “baby pull the fuck over.”

“paige,” you breathe, laughing a little. “we’re almost—”

“no,” she cuts you off, already unbuckling her belt. “can’t wait. not even a little.”

you swerve into a dark parking lot, heart racing. the second you throw it in park, she’s climbing over the console, lips crashing into yours.

“fuck,” she moans, straddling you. “been wantin’ you since the orange carpet.”

you hum into her mouth, letting her tug your dress up to your waist. “then take me.”

her fingers slide straight to your core, groaning when she feels how soaked you still are. “of course you’re already wet. such a good fuckin’ girl.”

you moan, head falling back. she takes advantage, lips attacking your neck, hands rough and urgent.

“you look so hot drivin’ like that,” she whispers, voice filthy. “little hand on the wheel, thighs out, not a thought in that pretty head.”

you whimper, hips chasing her touch. “you’re such a dick.”

“you’ll survive” she smirks, pushing two fingers in slow.

you gasp, clenching. her fingers are deep already, curling up perfectly like she’s memorized your body.

“please,” you pant, gripping her chain. “don’t stop.”

“not planning to,” she says, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your nose. “you’re mine tonight. gonna ruin you.”

you’re breathless already. squirming under her, clutching the seat like it’ll keep you grounded.

“so perfect,” she groans, fucking into you slow and deep. “always so tight for me. always so ready. you fuckin’ love this.”

you nod frantically. “i do. i love you.”

she kisses your forehead soft. “i love you too. more than anything.”

then she speeds up.

harder. deeper. her thumb finds your clit and she grins when your whole body jerks.

“you close? aww already?” she whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “c’mon, baby. cum for me.”

you fall apart in her arms, moaning her name like a prayer. she doesn’t stop.

“p-paige—”

“i know,” she breathes, kissing you hard. “i know, baby. gimme one more.”

your hips twitch, thighs shaking, but she keeps going. keeps fucking you through it, thumb still circling.

you whimper, trying to close your legs. she pins them open easy.

“nuh uh. don’t run. take it for me. be my good girl.”

you cum again with a broken sob, body going limp. she kisses every part of your face, slowing down, wiping your tears.

“you okay?” she whispers, eyes searching yours. “too much?”

you shake your head, blinking through the pleasure. “so good. just—need a second.”

she kisses your lips, your cheek, your neck. “you did so good. took it so fuckin’ good, baby.”

you’re both quiet for a second. breathing hard, arms wrapped around each other, car fogged up.

then she grins. “backseat.”

you blink. “you’re not done?”

“not even close.”

you climb over the console, falling into the backseat with a laugh. she follows, pulling her strap from her bag with a look that makes your thighs clench.

“lay down,” she says, voice low.

you do—dress bunched, legs open, eyes locked on her.

she straps it on slow. cocky. teasing.

“gonna make you scream,” she says, sliding between your thighs. “and i’m not stoppin’ ‘til you beg me.”

you bite your lip, tugging her down by the chain. “what’re you waiting for?”

she grins. “i need you so fucking bad.”

and then she sinks in.

you gasp the second she fills you.

her hips grind down slow, deep, stretching you so perfectly you see stars behind your lids.

“that’s it,” she whispers, lips ghosting your jaw. “take it, baby. take it.”

you whimper, clutching at her shirtless torso, nails dragging down her back.

her hands grip your waist tight like she’s anchoring herself to you.

“you fuckin’ love this cock,” she groans, moving rougher now. “your little pussy’s so greedy.”

“yes, fuck, paige!” you cry, thighs trembling already.

she leans down, kisses your forehead sweet, completely unhinged everywhere else.

“you’re so perfect for me. so tight. so fuckin’ pretty.”

you moan louder, back arching, legs wrapping around her.

she shifts, hitting that spot that makes you cry out her name like it’s holy.

“there it is,” she smirks, breath hot. “right fuckin’ there. you’re so easy for me.”

“don’t stop,” you pant, gripping her chain, pulling her closer. “please, don’t—don’t stop.”

she slaps your thigh once, possessive and mean. “you think i’d stop now? after you left me jealous at the bar? nah, baby. you’re gettin’ all of it.”

your legs shake as she picks up the pace.

the car is humid, windows fogged, your moans filling the space like a soundtrack.

“gonna cum,” you choke, already falling apart under her. “please, please—”

“do it,” she demands, kissing you hard. “cum on my dick, baby. right now.”

you scream, body convulsing around her.

she fucks you through it, doesn’t let up, even when you start to push at her chest.

“too much,” you whisper, teary-eyed.

“nah, you got one more,” she breathes, watching your face. “just one more. be good f’me.”

she slips a hand down, fingers playing with your clit while her strap grinds deep again.

you’re sobbing her name, body overstimulated, but she keeps praising you through it.

“look at you,” she murmurs, kissing your jaw between thrusts. “taking it like a fuckin’ dream. you’re so good. you’re mine.”

you cum again, harder than before, legs spasming around her.

she slows, finally, kissing every inch of your skin she can reach.

your chest heaves. you’re fucked out and glowing.

“okay?” she whispers, brushing your hair off your face.

you nod, barely able to speak. “yeah. yeah, baby, i’m so good.”

she smiles, eyes soft but blown. “you’re unreal.”

you giggle, tugging her down for a slow, messy kiss. “so are you.”

she holds you, forehead pressed to yours, still inside you, refusing to let go.

“i couldn’t survive without you,” she breathes, serious now.

you smile, tracing her lip with your thumb. “i know baby. i know.”

“get on me,” she says, voice low, eyes dark, still inside you.

you blink, dazed. “paige—”

“now,” she growls, grabbing your hips. “you wanna act like a brat, flirtin’ at the bar, lettin’ me get jealous? then ride me.”

your breath hitches, “can you let it go? i wasn’t even flirting.”

she shifts back in the seat shaking her head no, legs spread wide, strap slick and glistening, waiting for you.

you crawl over, thighs shaky, cunt still pulsing from the overstimulation.

she doesn’t help you down—just watches, smug, arms behind her head proving she’s ready after waiting all night.

“c’mon, baby,” she taunts, licking her lips. “show me how bad you want it. sit on it like a good girl.”

you sink down slow, whimpering when the stretch burns all over again.

she groans, gripping your waist. “fuck—look at you. you love this. your greedy little pussy lives for my cock.”

you gasp, grinding your hips once, just to feel her deeper. she slaps your ass hard.

“don’t fuckin’ move unless i say.”

your nails dig into her shoulders, needy. “please—”

“not yet,” she says, smirking. “you don’t deserve it yet.”

you’re shaking, still full, still sensitive. she kisses your collarbone, all fake sweetness.

“sit pretty,” she says, breath against your skin. “i’ll tell you when to move.”

you whimper, hips twitching instinctively. she grabs your throat—gentle but firm.

“don’t test me, baby. you know how this goes.”

your eyes roll back as she flexes her thighs under you, grinding the strap just right.

“how bad do you wanna ride me?” she whispers, kissing your cheek. “tell me.”

“so bad,” you breathe, nails dragging down her chest. “i need it, paige, i need it so bad.”

she hums, tilting her head. “then beg. fuckin’ beg for it.”

“please,” you whimper. “let me ride you. let me cum, please—i’ll be good.”

“you will be good,” she says, finally nodding. “but you don’t get to cum ‘til i say. you come before that? i’ll flip you over and start from the top.”

you nod frantically, starting to move.

slow, deep rolls of your hips, her strap hitting you perfectly, already building heat again in your belly.

“that’s it,” she groans, gripping your hips tight. “ride me. just like that.”

you’re moaning nonstop, bouncing harder now, thighs burning, sweat dripping.

“fuck, you look so good,” she mutters, eyes locked on you. “you’re such a fuckin’ dream. tits out, legs spread, so wet for me.”

you cry out, losing your rhythm. she grabs your hips, helping you grind deeper.

“look at me,” she commands, grabbing your chin. “i want those pretty eyes on mine when i ruin you.”

you nod, mouth open, panting. she’s so deep—every stroke feels like fire.

“don’t cum,” she warns again, watching your face twist. “not yet, baby. be good.”

you sob, head falling to her shoulder. she pulls your hair, drags your mouth back to hers.

“you can take it,” she pants, voice dark. “you’re strong. you’re my good girl.”

“p-paige, i can’t—”

“you can. you will. hold it.”

she snaps her hips up, thrusting hard into you. you scream.

“fuck, fuck, please—please let me—”

“not yet,” she growls, fucking up into you relentlessly. “you’re gonna listen to me.”

your whole body’s trembling now. she slaps your ass again, grinding your clit into her stomach.

“so needy,” she hisses. “so dumb when you’re full. you’re mine. say it.”

“i’m yours,” you cry. “i’m yours, i’m yours, please—”

“look at you,” she moans, biting your neck. “so fuckin’ desperate. this tight little pussy’s clenching so hard—fuck—you’re so close.”

you nod, unable to speak, tears slipping down your cheeks.

she kisses them away.

“alright,” she whispers, breath shaky. “now. cum for me, baby. fuckin’ let go.”

you explode, body going rigid, then collapsing into her chest with a broken cry.

she holds you through it, arms around you, lips on your forehead, whispering praise.

“that’s my girl,” she breathes. “you did so good. so fuckin’ good f’me.”

you can’t speak. just breathe. just shake.

“shhh,” she soothes, stroking your hair. “i got you.”

you’re still full, still twitching, still boneless against her chest.

she presses one last kiss to your temple, hand on your back.

“i wouldn’t wanna celebrate tonight any other way,” she mutters, smiling into your skin. “you make me crazy.”

© fuddaround

[kaisaerinlover]

the kaisaerinsagi rivalry goes so hard like imagine dating them (seperate of course) and you’re out wearing one of their jerseys whilst you’re shopping, and they all have a number one on their jerseys (3 number 10s 😭😭) so the press mistakes you as one of the other’s girlfriend instead of his and he gets soo mad.

imagine sae’s reaction to the public thinking you’re dating isagi or someone, he wouldn’t even be mad just jealous. “huh? how can anyone even get me and that lukewarm striker confused. our jerseys aren’t even the same colour.” he’s genuinely baffled, and he’s not trying to be insulting either; he’s just speaking his truth. he knows you’re his, but he’s so lost at how they could ever confuse you as the girlfriend of one of those other 3 idiots. his face is just blank, the same as always, and you just laugh a bit. and he’s even more confused now, what’s so funny? “why are you laughing?” he would ask, whilst giving you that same blank stare. oh sae itoshi PLEASE never change. you just laugh again and pinch his cheeks like he’s a baby and give him a kiss. “no reason, love you” he just rolls his eyes at you and pecks your cheek back. “i’m being serious, you know.” itoshi sae never change please you’re too cute.

rin would be the opposite, having everyone thinking you were dating isagi or sae especially makes him so angry. “tsk, those lukewarm idiots. how tepid. why would you ever date someone as low level and shit as them. fucking stupid.” he’s seething, to put it very very lightly. he’s holding you against the wall as you’re still in his jersey, giving YOU the dead eye, as if you somehow orchestrated this huge misunderstanding. rin is a jealous guy, he really is; and the only thing he truly won for himself is you. so when it’s even suggested you could be in the hands of those other two losers he feels his insides tie themselves up into a knot of pure and unbridled anger. “r-rin you’re hurting meee” you whine up at him as he presses you against the wall harder and bites at your fragile neck. “no, need to show everyone you’re mine” oh rin-rin, you’re so jealous. he is truly the cutest. with those killer eyes but really cute pout and the way his hair falls over his face making him look like a stupid emo, itoshi rin you will never win the idgaf war.

isagi wouldn’t be as mad, he would be a bit of both, confused but a little jealous. “how can they even mistake the number 11 for any of THEIR numbers anyway???” he’s so confused, everyone is contemplating whether you’re dating him, kaiser, sae or rin. it’s obviously him? come on, he is number 11 and only him and kaiser share the same jersey as of now, how stupid? he’s following you around the house like a puppy asking you these questions nonstop, you can tell he’s jealous. he has his cute scowl as he’s asking. “yoichi i really don’t know-“ he interrupts you. “maybe your hair was covering the other 1? that has to be it. fine, next time don’t leave the house without a ponytail or i’ll-“ you just shut him up with a kiss, and when you pull away you giggle up at him. “i know i know, you don’t gotta be so jealous y’know, next time i go out i’ll make sure to show off your number ‘kay yoichi?” and he’s happy with that. isagi yoichi’s smile is so precious, it really is. he pulls you in for another kiss. “yeah, okay, want everyone to know you’re my girlfriend only.” even his jealousy is cute. isagi is simply just the cutest boyfriend in the world.

kaiser would not be like the others. if rin’s anger was nasty imagine kaiser’s, he would be literally losing his mind. sitting in his fancy robe sipping champagne with his glasses whilst having ness next to him, using the tv remote to go through all of the posts and theories being posted online. kaiser is madddd mad. he slams his fist down on the arm of the chair and growls a bit. “really, yoichi? fucking yoichi? and that shithead from pxg who can’t even keep his tongue in his mouth? the other itoshi brother? please, when i get into re al all he’s going to be doing is feeding me passes anyway” he scoffs. and ness diligently nods. “yeah, they’re all shit, shitty trash and below you kaiser!” and as kaiser sends ness off to go pour him another glass, you walk into the room. it’s just you two now, and boy is he angry. “have you fucking seen this, prinzessin? what insanity this is” he laughs a little. but he’s not humoured, you really love kaiser but jesus christ he acts like a fucking psycho sometimes. “i have” he just looks at you annoyed again, but still wearing that freakish smile. ew. “and why did you let your hair cover MY number? MY name? are you not proud to wear the jersey of a prodigy? are you fucking stupid or something.” he’s so condescending, pulling your hair again now. “m-micha- was an accident- was windy- c’mon stop- won’t happen again” and he releases his grip just a bit. he takes a sip of the very last droplets of champagne in his glass and looks at you again. “mmm, sorry engel, you know how i get, just love you soo much” he coos at you sweetly. and you fall for it every time. “it’s okay love you too micha.” and you really do know how he gets, as you walk past the room, you brush past ness a bit as he’s bringing kaiser back another bottle of champagne. you shudder, you’ve heard how your boyfriend treats that boy sometimes, you���re thankful you’re on the receiving end of his sweetness and not whatever that is. poor guy, you think as you walk out and shut the door behind you.

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Epic Buddie Fic Rec | March 10th-24th 2025

Work has just been.... a lot. Feels like the only thing getting me through the week is 9-1-1 Thursdays. Anyway. It's a long one cause you're getting two weeks. Bon appetit.

Complete

it has no name (no guarantee) by withmeornotatall/ @chronicowboy (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda, Pre-Buddie | 1,1K | General):

"H-hey, E-eddie." Buck isn't sure why he stumbles over Eddie's name. He's had enough practice over the past few days. Said it enough times in his life that it should be able to slip out seamlessly every damn time. "Hey, Buck." And there's Eddie sounding sure and confident and a little tired and warm and soft and so much like his best friend. Buck aches. "Just finished unpacking. Told myself I couldn't call until I was done. Incentive, y'know?" (or: eddie calls, buck blurts some things out, they're totally normal best friends)

all my life, there you go Chapter 29. Sleeping in by trysetmeonfire (Post-S8E9: Sob Stories, Eddie Back From Texas | 1,2K | Mature):

Buck shuffles a little and Eddie thinks for a moment maybe- but he just snorts a little and keeps dreaming. Eddie tries to tamp down on the kind of sleepover giddiness bubbling up in his chest — wake up wake up wake up — and takes the opportunity to watch his best friend. His- whatever. Whatever they are now that Eddie knows what kissing him is like, quickly and quietly in his parent’s backyard, now that Eddie has stumbled his way through a question — “Why are you- why did you- all of this- do you- do you-“ — and Buck had frowned a little, not in an unhappy way but in his serious way, and had heard the real thing Eddie had wanted to know, and said “Eddie- of course I love you.” 

is it enough now by foxwatson/ @eddiediazes (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda, Pre-Buddie | 1,4K | Teen):

“I’m not in love with you,” Buck blurts out as soon as the ringing stops on the other end of the phone. There’s dead air on the other end of the line, but the kind that’s filled with background noise - a distant hum, some breathing sounds, just enough for Buck to know that Eddie heard him. buck finally calls eddie. he's still working through some stuff. he's kind of a disaster, honestly.

city lights, without you (they don’t even shine like they used to) by farfromthstars/ @doeeyeseddie (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda | 1,5K | Teen):

“It wouldn’t be so crazy,” Maddie said, and she didn’t even sound surprised. Is this something she’s thought about before? Do his sister and his ex really think he’s secretly in love with Eddie? And if Maddie thinks so, does Chimney do, too? Fuck, does everyone think he’s pining after Eddie? ~ buck is not in love with eddie. definitely not.

I’ve pined for you my whole life (morning, noon, and night) by paleredheadinascifi (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda | 1,7K | Teen):

“Where did you do it?” Eddie asks in one quick breath. “Hmm?” Buck hums. “Sorry I - - I. Nevermind. Sorry. It’s none of my business,” Eddie croaks, and whatever that is in his voice is what finally clues Buck in. “Oh. Oh,” he gasps. “Where did I - - where did we sleep together?” Or, Buck calls Eddie after 8x11.

sanctioned departures by littleghost/ @ghostlandtoo (S8E10: Voices Coda | 1,9K | General):

Buck gets his sister back and loses his best friend in the same week.

a fool for you by staticsilencee (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda, Getting Together | 2K | Mature):

“You did what?” Eddie asked, his voice sounding faint over the phone. Buck groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “I moaned your name! I don’t know why man, I just– Tommy said a bunch of stuff after– after. And I can’t work any of it out, and I know this is probably weird but I really need my best friend right now.” -or- Buck accidentally moans Eddie's name after he bring Tommy back to his place- oops!

keep me by you by euadnes/ @kananjarus (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda | 2,5K | Teen):

"It's funny you say that," he says. His voice has gone so soft Buck thumbs the volume up, his heart in his throat. "My date tonight ended early because I too would not shut up about the amazing guy I apparently couldn't get over. And he didn't enjoy being used a rebound. Or at least that's how he put it." Buck didn't hear that right, right? He realizes his mouth has fallen open, a few seconds too late. He scarcely dares to breathe. "He -? Wait, you were on a date with a - a guy?" Eddie cocks his head, quirks his mouth. "That's the part of the conversation you're focusing on?"

Buddie Versus The Kiss Cam by explorerofworlds (Basketball Date, S8 | 3K | General):

Buck and Eddie take Tommy’s tickets and go to a basketball game together. While there, they end up on the kiss cam! Or the kiss cam fic.

I just want it to be you by Lihhelsing/ @lihhelsing (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda | 4K | Mature):

Five times someone calls Eddie Diaz to talk about Buck and one time Eddie calls Buck instead.

realizations by staticsilencee (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda, Getting Together | 4K | Teen):

“Are you okay?” On the ground, his phone screen was still lit, a call with Eddie displayed on the screen. Through the haze of panic, Buck was at least relieved that he hadn’t managed to start a video call. I think I’m in love with you. Oh God, I think I’m in love with you. “Yeah, I– everything’s good, I think I just– butt dialed you, or something.”

loose-tongued, in love by wenttoafortuneteller (Getting Together | 4K | Teen):

“Get home safe,” Buck says. Then, as always, he thinks: I love you. Eddie goes very, very still. His breathing stutters to a stop. There’s a strange expression on his face, his mouth twisting in that way it does when he doesn’t know what to say. Buck squints blearily at him. “What?” A muscle in his jaw twitches once. Twice. The muted light illuminates the quiet movement of his throat as he swallows. “What’d you just say?” “Get home safe,” Buck repeats, a yawn overtaking the last word. “Why…?” Or: the one where Buck, drowsy and delirious on pain medication, confesses his love to Eddie without realizing it.

24 Hours by xylodemon/ @xylodemon (Post-S8E10: Voices, Getting Together | 4K | Not Rated):

Chimney asks, "Who are you texting?" "Eddie." "Really? He's only been gone… what—? Two hours?" "Two hours and thirty-one minutes." "Not that anyone's counting." (Or, Buck and Eddie in the the first 24 hours after Eddie leaves.)

Coming for you by diazsdimples (Eddie Moves to Texas, PWP, Phone Sex | 4K | Explicit):

The idea of Buck on his bed, in his house, wearing his shirt, while he touches himself really does something for Eddie. It makes the small, possessive beast that’s curled up inside his chest purr with contentment. The beast that shouldn’t really exist, because Buck isn’t really his. His phone pings again with another text from Buck. OR Eddie moves to Texas, Buck moves into his house, and neither of them really know how to handle it. Good thing phone sex solves all problems!

How to supreme an orange by paleredheadinascifi (Post-Chris coming home, Getting together | 5K | Teen):

"I don’t like oranges.” “Since when?” Eddie frowns. “You used to love oranges.” Christopher shrugs. “I don’t like them anymore.” And that’s fine, really. Tastes change. Christopher doesn’t have to like oranges. It’s just that he does. Christopher loves oranges. Christopher has loved oranges since the first time he tasted one, Eddie watching on over a shaky video call from the desert. Or, Eddie knows his kid, and his kid loves oranges. Buck knows both of them better than Eddie realized. He shows it in various citrus-based ways.

stay in the line, stay in the line by Elgney (S4E5: Buck Begins | 5K | General):

"The other firefighters were very kind. We got to hear a lot of stories about you. They seem to like you a great deal." Or: two missing conversations from Buck Begins.

Don’t Think About It Too Much, Too Much, Too Much, Too Much by fruitsdoesnotknow/ @fruitsdontknow (Post-S8E11: Holy Mother of God, Chris Coming Home, Getting Together | 6K | Mature):

“My friend, my…. Eddie’s like that. He’s a single parent, too. Big worrier. He nests. Uh,” Buck dips his head down. “Loves his kid more than anything. That’s where he’s coming from, now. Picking up his son, Christopher.” “Your Diaz boys,” she clarifies, a warm look in her eyes, and Buck feels his cheeks heat up. “Yeah.” *** Eddie and Chris finally come back to Los Angeles. Buck has some realizations, and confessions, to make. Good thing Eddie's got some of his own to share, too.

softer, harder, in-between by mostardent/ @laracrofted (S8E9: Sob Stories, Jealous Eddie, PWP | 6K | Explicit):

“He was hitting on you!” “So? Who cares?” “I care. We’re married!” Buck blinks. And blinks and blinks and blinks. “Okay. Hold on. What?” One of Eddie's potential renters flirts with Buck, and Eddie is super normal about it and doesn't at all lose his mind over the idea of Buck dating the man who moves into his house.

I'll take your chaos and your crooked in a heartbeat by heartbeatdiaz/ @lonelychicago (Post-S8E10: Voices, Eddie Goes to Texas, Getting Together | 6K | Teen):

He shakes his head, trying to clear the thought before it can settle. Eddie isn’t dead. He’s in Texas, doing what’s best for Christopher. And Buck—Buck has to get over whatever this is. Swallowing hard, he moves to grab one of his own boxes, dragging it toward the hallway. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees it. A single, forgotten cardboard box in the far corner of the living room. In big, black letters, written with marker, it reads: EDDIE — KEEP. It’s not one of his. He is sure of that. or: Eddie leaves a very important box behind and Buck spirals.

the things i wanna hear by stevesconverse (Post-S8E6: Confessions, Chim's Bachelor Party | 6K | Teen):

— or the one where Buck finds a video of him and Eddie making out at Chimney's bachelor party.

we get back to my house (your hands, my mouth) by weewooforever (Post-S8E11: Holy Mother of God, PWP | 7K | Explicit):

Eddie finds out that Buck fucked Tommy in his house. His reaction to finding this out is perfectly normal.

I missed your skin when you were east by Lihhelsing/ @lihhelsing (Post-S8A, Getting Together | 7K | Explicit):

Maybe Buck had gotten used to people leaving. So much so that it didn’t affect him anymore. His life would keep going even if his best friend wasn’t there anymore. Eventually, he accepted that nothing would feel different. He signed the moving truck away and sat on the porch stairs, one almost warm beer in hand as he waited for Eddie to get home. When Eddie did, Buck almost felt like something was different about him, but then figured it was just his imagination. Buck left his half-drank beer on the porch of Eddie’s former house shortly after Eddie had left him the same way. Half-drunk. Unchanged. OR; Eddie leaves, and Buck's life stays the same. It's when he comes back that everything changes.

That’s what you do (when you love somebody) by scarmaddiewrites (Eddie Moves to Texas, Getting Together | 7K | Teen):

Buck can’t go home. He physically can’t, so he avoids it at all costs, until he doesn’t. Or The five times Buck avoids his house and the one time he never wants to leave

can you see what we are? (it’s all there written down) by kabnd/ @polkadotk804 (Canon, S2 onwards | 8K | General):

April 25, 2019 - Buck, genuinely distressed in the middle of the night in the bunkroom, presumably to Eddie (overheard by me, Chim): “Do you think that cat from the ‘hang in there’ poster is dead? Like how long do you think that little dude really hung in there?” Eddie, who I think was still mostly asleep: “At least he left a legacy.” OR: Maddie starts a shared note to document Buck and Eddie-isms…it gets just as unhinged at you’d imagine and tells their story from the perspective of the 118 & Co…and then Chris comes home!

smiling through it all by stevesconverse (Canon Divergent, S2E1: Under Pressure | 8K | Teen):

“So what’s your real name, then?” Eddie asks, sipping on his own drink—a whiskey he’s swirling around in the glass constantly. “Evan,” Buck says coyly, quickly adding, “But nobody really calls me that.” “Evan,” Eddie echoes, the sound dripping off his tongue like thick honey. “I like it.” It almost makes Buck regret to ever abandon it in the first place, driving a shiver down his spine. Almost. “And what’s Eddie short for? Eduardo?” he quickly shifts the conversation, stirring his drink and popping another peanut into his mouth. Eddie shakes his head and chuckles. “Edmundo,” he corrects him, then winks at Buck with a low, “But nobody really calls me that.” or the one where Buck and Eddie have a one-night-stand two days before Eddie starts at the 118.

think i know where you belong by stevesconverse (Eddie&Chris Go Back To LA, Roommates, Accidental Kiss | 8K | Teen):

“Bye,” Eddie mumbles distantly, and when Buck finally manages to open his eyes again, Eddie is halfway out the door already. Puzzled, he just stands there, listens to the slam of the door and the starting of the truck outside, his mind spinning and his lips still tingling. Eddie has just kissed him. Actually kissed him, like it was the most normal, casual thing in the world, like this was what they always do, a routine they follow, a dance they’ve learned. Except it’s none of that. 

meet me in the afterglow by literalmetaphor (Established Buddie, Hurt/Comfort | 9K | Explicit):

“We need a safe word,” Buck says. “You know, to make things as clear as possible.” “I feel like no works just fine,” Eddie says. Buck lets out a breath, because, sure, it probably will, but he needs assurance here. He needs something straightforward, simple, maybe something easier than Eddie telling him no. Maybe something easier than Eddie saying it’s too much. He’s never been great at that. “Just, humor me, okay? Communication is key with stuff like this.” Eddie’s laugh is soft, kind of incredulous, but he meets Buck’s eyes, and there’s a relenting fondness in them. “You think, what, you’re gonna be so good it’s gonna scramble my brain out of knowing how to say no?” An answering laugh tumbles out of Buck, peppered with the exasperation at the back of his throat. “I think this is new for you, and I think you should have options.” OR Eddie has to use the safe word.

love of my life, can't you see? by wenttoafortuneteller (S8E11 Spec, Crack | 10K | Teen):

“I asked Josh out,” Buck admits. It’s cartoonish how quickly Eddie’s jaw drops; how his eyes bulge out of his head. Buck rubs the back of his neck, sheepish, waiting for him to say something. There’s still silence. Buck frowns at his screen. “Eddie? Hello? I think you froze.” “I’m here,” Eddie says slowly, eyes still comically wide. “I just think I might have misheard you.” “Oh,” Buck says, and repeats himself. “I asked Josh out.” “Okay. So I didn’t mishear you.” Eddie scrubs a hand over his face. “Can I ask why?”  Or: Maddie nudges Buck towards Eddie, Buck misunderstands horribly, and Eddie suffers over FaceTime.

I can roll with all the punches (if you hold a couple back) by Elgney (Canon, S1-S2 | 13K | General):

“I need someone like you—someone who can keep up with him, and have his back, and maybe eventually even rein him in, should that be a thing that is humanly possible to do,” said Bobby, smiling warmly over the remaining half of his sandwich. “Oh, I see,” said Eddie. And he did now. That’s what Bobby’s whole hard sell was about—it wasn’t personal, it was about Eddie being the top of this class. “I know the type. You see guys a lot like that in the military.” “Oh, no,” said Bobby, “I didn’t mean to—well, what I mean is, I don’t think you have seen a lot of guys like Buck, to be honest. I don’t think there are a lot of people like him.” ----- Hen & Chim discussing the new probie; Buck's forgotten shield ceremony; Eddie's first shift with the 118. Or: three early impressions of Buck, through the eyes of his future found family.

hopeless, breathless, burning slow by mostardent/ @laracrofted (Post-S6E11: In Another Life | 14K | Mature):

He knows Eddie worries about him. Everyone does, but with Eddie, it’s not the same. He doesn’t look at Buck like he still has one foot in the grave. Eddie looks at him like he prayed for a miracle and God gave him Buck. In the pale blue-green light, Buck lifts his gaze mid-sentence and finds Eddie already looking at him. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders down. He looks at ease, relaxed and peaceful, a fond smile on his face, coaxed from the corner of his mouth. One of his Christopher smiles, except Eddie’s gaze rests steadily on Buck, so maybe it’s a different kind of smile, one just for him. His dark eyes are warm and bright as afternoon sunshine, brimming with happiness, and it’s the most real Buck has felt in weeks. After the coma, Buck struggles to feel real and unofficially moves in with Eddie. (Or, Eddie hovers and Buck burns.)

listen for heaven by marviless/ @marviless (S8, Eddie Moves to Texas | Getting Together | 15K | Teen):

There’s a long pause before Buck answers. “Yeah, I do,” he says. “I felt alone for the first twenty something years of my life.” “What about now?” Eddie asks, and he’s not even quite sure what he means. What about now, right in this moment? or what about now, now that I’m gone? Buck chooses to answer the former. “I’m never lonely when I’m with you,” he says simply, softly. Eddie, Buck, and six phone calls.

Finding You by Sabs/ @memequeme (Soulmates AU, Eddie Goes to Texas, Getting Together | 16K | Teen):

Eddie leaves for Texas on a Tuesday and Buck feels it in his heart before he even exits the airport. He starts to feel it in his body on a Thursday. Or: Soulbonds are rare, spontaneous bonds are practically unheard, but Buck and Eddie have always been anything but conventional.

🔥been lost for a while by trysetmeonfire/ @try-set-me-on-fire (Canon Divergent, Nurse Eddie, S2 | 17K | Mature):

Eddie's wife has been dead for two weeks. There's a firefighter in bed five. These are not necessarily related facts, but Eddie will have a hard time separating them out, later. — A story, in many ways, about holding hands

you're more than a heart can take by Elgney (Eddie Coming Out, First Date | 19K | Mature):

“Come on, you’re telling me you wouldn’t consider sneaking into a storage closet with me?” “Obviously, I would!” Eddie was whisper-yelling now, and Buck wasn’t sure exactly what point he was trying to make, but he was enjoying every second of this. “But one of us is going to have to have restraint and it has to be the—the one with the most experience.” Buck felt his mouth drop open in delight. “Eddie,” he admonished. “Are you calling me a whore?” “No!” said Eddie, looking increasingly flustered. “I just mean—clearly you have the power to do—” he gestured at Buck, “that, so you have the—the responsibility to, like, use it. Responsibly.” “Did you just quote Spiderman?” Eddie propped his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands, groaning dramatically. “I’m going to die. The first date, and I’m going to die.” “Been there, wouldn’t recommend it.” --- Buck and Eddie and the first date.

under pressure by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (Established Buddie, First Time, PWP | 22K | Explicit):

“It’s not funny,” Eddie sighs, knocking the back of his head against the kitchen cabinet as he brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “Oh, come on—it’s a—it’s a little funny,” Buck argues, amusement thick in his voice as Eddie feels his hand curl around his own wrist. Eddie takes a breath, and drops his wrist to rest over his own knee as he turns to meet Buck’s eyes, arching his own eyebrow in question. Or: Buck and Eddie have grand plans for their first time, it's just unfortunate that their bodies don't seem to be getting the message.

🔥 boy, we ain't got nothin' to lose by Elgney (Amnesia, Post-S7E5: You Don't Know Me | 26K | Teen):

“They just follow it around, copying it and helping it and bothering it so much that it's like, worn down into loving the duckling back and looking out for it.” “So,” said Eddie, furrowing his brow. “In this scenario, you are—” “A baby duckling, newly hatched into the world with no idea what’s going on.” “And I am—” “The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes.” ---- Eddie has no idea how to cope when a temporary case of amnesia causes the return of Buck 1.0. Buck has no clue why his future self hasn't made the moves on his hot best friend. It all goes pretty well, considering.

🔥 Your Fake Name is Good Enough For Me by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Changeling AU, Post-S8A | 37K | Mature):

When a younger man claiming to be Evan Buckley is apprehended by Pennsylvania police, Buck's past and present are thrown into question. Buck must work with Bobby and Athena to discover who he really is, and what that means for his family.

🔥paving hell with energy by Elgney (S8E9 Spec, Kidnapping, Getting Together | 52K | Not Rated):

Oh, fuck him, did he almost sleep with a serial killer? Distantly, he thought, Hen and Chim are never going to let me live this down. And then he thought, I might not live at all. ----- Buck is having a hard time dealing with Eddie's impending move to El Paso and resorts to some Buck 1.0-style coping mechanisms. Unfortunately for everybody, this backfires in spectacular fashion. Especially for Eddie, who waited until now to realize he was in love with his best friend. OR: Buck and Maddie get kidnapped. Eddie spirals.

Part 1 of not how the damage gets done

You tried to run (I tried to tie your shoes) by Elgney (Established Buddie, Fluff | 6K | General):

“Do I want to know what’s going on here?” Bobby asked. “Normal stuff,” Buck shouted from where he was, back on the couch. Eddie snorted down at his form, feeling fond and avoiding eye contact with Bobby, who must have stared down Chimney instead, because a second later he was fessing up. “We’re making them fill out their HR relationship forms separately, and then we’re going to compare them, Newlywed Game-style.” ---- Buck and Eddie fill out the LAFD's Consensual Relationship Agreement paperwork, Chim and Hen are over them already, and Bobby is just trying to make lunch and commit as few HR violations as possible.

Part 2 of not how the damage gets done

WIP

🔥 Doe & a Drop of Golden Sun by ohstars/ @oh-stars (Canon Divergent, Dad Buck | 14? | 60K | Teen):

Buck doesn't mean to keep secrets from everyone, but he also can't talk about the pain he experiences on a day to day basis. With his nine-year-old living across the country and his custody limited to one monthly visit, Buck doesn't know how to share this part of himself. How does he tell his team of six years that he's had a kid this whole time? How does he tell his sister? How does he tell his Edd-- best friend? It's fine. The universe isn't going to give him a choice in the matter when the worst thing imaginable becomes his reality.

🔥 for all the haunts and homes of menby euadnes/ @kananjarus (Canon Divergent, Post-Apocalyptic, Station Eleven Crossover | WIP | 17/18 | 169K | Mature | Warning: Violence):

The year by the old calendar is 2025. Home is gone. Home is a failed rescue mission and an echo of a memory. Home is a lost boy living in a wooden house by the sea. But first, there was a promise. Christopher, when it's safe, I'll take you back to your father. Buck had all but given up on keeping it after the world had died and everyone in it. But just as some oaths refuse to be forgotten, so the same can be said about the endurance of love.

Podfic

🔥[podfic] a cold world for such a long life by nuuma // fic by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S7 | 1-1.5h | Teen):

Eddie befriends Bobby's estranged older brother in a virtual support group for queer adults struggling to come out. The only problem? He has no idea that's who Charlie is.

🔥[Podfic] Even in Winter There is Eranthis by Favourite_alias for letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Hades/Persephone AU | 45K | Explicit):

Buck is supposedly a god. Supposedly. But he's got no idea what his domain is or what role he plays in Olympus. When he meets Christopher, a young boy lost and trying to find his father, he helps Chris get home - and ends up accidentally binding himself to the Underworld. Now bound to Eddie, the god of the dead, Buck must spend half the year with him in the Underworld while winter reigns above. But even as something grows between them, there are still trials to endure. Just because the gods are not mortal... does not mean they cannot die.

🔥 [Podfic] Further Than Blood (Or Than Bones) by Favourite_alias for letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampires AU | 5-6h | Explicit):

Once, Eddie chose to save a newly turned against his better judgment. Five hundred years ago, Buck was saved by a rescuer he thought was a hallucination. Now they're together again and about to find out just how far either of them will go to try and deny what they are to each other.

[cultkinkcoven]

Things for beginners to know before starting demonolatry or demonology practices

1. The classifications of demons were written by humans, not demons.

Different occult schools of thought will have different understandings of the Hierarchies of Hell, whether Hell even exists, and what attributes are associated with each demon. In some sects Lucifer reigns supreme Emperor of Hell, in others it is Sammael, Moloch, or Baal. It all depends on the perspective of the practitioner. All of these models are equally correct and incorrect. Documentation of de(a)mons were often written by right hand practitioners who saw them as evil, therefore their negative attitudes are emphasized. Other times devotees have documented the same entity as being very kind and affectionate. It is incredibly important to take into account who is speaking whenever you read about demons. No single book or author can deliver to you the most **objective** facts about these demons or the model of reality, if they claim to, they’re lying to you. You as the practitioner must discover and decide what reins true in your reality. Teachers and gurus may influence you but ultimately you must make the decision for yourself.

2. Assume all spirits are multi dimensional

Lucifer, the light bringer, is also the spirit of darkness. He is the sweet prince and the adversary, he is a devil and an angel. It is extremely rare that you will encounter a spirit that is only one thing. There is a little bit of truth to everyone’s interactions. To a Luciferian, Lucifer is a guide, a companion, and a positive presence. To a Christian he is an adversary, a tempter, liar and bringer of evil ; and there is an entire rainbow of other experiences that contribute to the understanding of “Lucifer”. Demons are not all good nor are they all bad, trying to paint them in only one light will only lead to disappointment and confusion. It is just as foolish to assume that a so called angel will always be pleasant and nice, as it is to assume a so called demon will be terrible and mean. Every energy interacts with every person uniquely.

3. Scary and intimidating doesn’t automatically mean “evil”

Nice and pleasing doesn’t automatically mean “good”

If you’re interacting with demons or spirits associated with death, it shouldn’t be very surprising that they’re dark, mysterious, or have a frightening appearance. If you’re dealing with demons or spirits of sex and lust, it shouldn’t be very surprising that they’re alluring, attractive, or beautiful. This doesn’t mean that the scary demon is going to kill you, and this doesn’t mean that the sexy demon is going to fuck you. There are very likely going to be times when your demons will scare you. This doesn’t mean that they’re going to hurt you or possess you (they shouldn’t be frightening you to the point of constant paranoia, but seeing some “disturbing” or strange imagery isn’t out of the norm when you’re contacting a de(a)mon).

If you enter a deep dark cave looking for a bear, don’t be surprised when you see sharp teeth. Demons of violence may summon gory imagery. Demons of death my feel cold and distant. A large part of demonolatry is understanding your fear and overcoming it.

4. Yeah, it’s intense.

Okay. This is hard for me to explain. Infernal spirits and angels alike are entities that force you to confront your innermost self and change. It’s not always spooky and scary and whimsical. Sometimes it’s losing your dead end job, having a serious breakup, losing toxic friends, or having a personal epiphany. When I say it’s intense, I don’t mean that I’m levitating and seeing gnarly gory shit and summoning demons while covered in blood all the time. I have dreams and experiences of course, but seeing a demon work is not about the theatrics. Are you ready to confront the things you rrrrreeaaaaalllly don’t want to think about? Your trauma, the lies you tell yourself to get through the day, and the toxic cycles you comfort yourself with?

Lord Lucifer has made me cry many MANY times. But it was never because he hurt or scared me. I’ve seen many demonolaters refer to Lucifer as a therapist and I couldn’t agree more. He not only changes your understanding of yourself, but others and the world. Through this understanding you can change yourself, and others, and the world.

5. You as the practitioner need to be able to withstand the symptoms of your demonic relationships

Being in a relationship with Lilith or Asmoday is not an excuse to develop a porn addiction. Being in a relationship with Lucifer does not give you the right to psychoanalyze all of your friends, being in a relationship with Eligos is not an excuse to destroy all of your relationships or be cruel towards others. Demons represent energies and concepts that are unfavourable to the masses. When working with Astaroth I will feel more lustful, just by being in her proximity. That is not justification to cheat on my partner or force myself onto him. As much as demons like Lucifer for example can inspire us to be wise and sharp, he can also influence us to be vein and narcissistic. We must always be aware of these effects and resist them, working with demons and shadows does not mean becoming the worst version of ourselves, quite the contrary. Interacting with these negative aspects is meant to show you how to overcome them.

6. Demons cannot and will not replace your relationships with humans

I am very pro godspousing and having friendly and affectionate relationships with demons and spirits. Having said that, as much as our spirits may love us and care for us, they will not be the ones to text you good morning. They will not make you soup when you’re sick, or buy you flowers after a hard day. Demons are guides and companions, but they are not people. Trying to use demons to solve your loneliness will only lead to heart ache. You very much can have a sincere relationship with a demon or other spirit, but be aware that that relationship will not mimic your relationships with humans, and it shouldn’t. Gods and demons are not humans, therefore your relationships with them will not feel human.

7. There’s always more to learn

Devotion to any spirit is an endeavour that can take years or even a lifetime. Your work is not done because you read 3 books and browsed the Occult Wiki for an hour and a half. Become very dedicated to learning about your demons of interest and the culture that surrounds them. Yes, this means boring, tedious research.

8. No, ______ is not mad at you. Please talk to them

You will at some point inevitably do something wrong, especially if you are freshly initiated. Demons understand that we are human, we make mistakes. Instead of becoming paranoid and avoiding your demon out of fear of consequences, put on your big boy pants and confront them directly. Understand what you did wrong and learn from your mistake. There may or may not be consequences, every demon is different. But making yourself sick thinking they’re going to smite you down doesn’t make anything better. I guarantee you that talking to them about it will serve you a million times better than running away.

9. You need to know your boundaries BEFORE you reach out

As important as it is to research your demons, it is equally important to research yourself. You need to have strict boundaries that you will not negotiate. These boundaries should be outlined in your contract if you have one. If blood magic is uncomfortable for you, don’t allow any demon or spirit to coerce you into giving it until you are ready. If you’re a minor you’re more than allowed to not do sex magic. This relationship belongs to you as much as it does your demon(s). If it doesn’t serve you, simply refuse it.

10. On that note, demons can and will reject you. You can and will reject them as well.

On many occasions I have approached spirits who did not want to work with me at the moment. Sometimes they end up showing up later in my life, other times they never do. Oftentimes this is because of an incongruency on an alchemical level, we just aren’t meant for each other. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’re doing anything wrong. Sometimes you are, but your demon or deity will usually make that clear to you in some way. Don’t force it. If I’m already terribly preoccupied with life or other spiritual relationships, I’m within my right to reject another demon trying to enter my circle. That isn’t a rude thing to do. I’m within my right to deny a ritual I don’t have the energy or resources for. We can put it on the back burner for now.

Likewise, if a demon or spirit is repeatedly overstepping my boundaries or harming me in any way, I can (and should) leave that demon. If I’m not doing enough or causing insult, that demon can leave me. As binding as devotional contracts can be, we are not trapped with each other if we choose not to be.

11. Protection shouldn’t only be against spirits. Be very aware of your surroundings and the people around you

Learn the power of secrecy. As a Luciferian living in an extremely conservative area, I have to be extremely careful about when my pendants are visible. I have to be careful when entering certain places because I don’t want to be hate crimed or harassed. Yes, being out and proud of my demonic relationships is very important to me, but it is not worth risking real danger from bigots, or risking my employment. When I go to work, I have to leave my Lucifer ring at home, not because my work is discriminatory, but because I don’t know when I’m speaking to a christofascist grandma who would make a complaint to my boss because she saw my devotional ring. I don’t know which of my coworkers would make my life more difficult if they knew about my practice. If you are visible, people will approach you and make comments. Now, there are those of us who don’t give a fuck, and on most days I don’t. But for those of us who are vulnerable to that kind of discrimination, please be aware.

12. Self mutilation is not demonolatry

If you choose to offer blood it should be no more than a few drops. You should be using safe tools like a lancet, and disinfecting the area you extract from. This should be done in the least harmful manner possible. Devotional markings or tattoos should be done by a professional.

13. This stuff takes time. Relax

These relationships don’t develop in 24 hours. It takes a tremendous amount of repeated effort to gain the favour of a demon or spirit. If you’re not getting the results you want, take a break, reevaluate your methods, and try again later.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Off the Court

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: T (Teen)

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Word Count: ~2.5k

summary: private life can sometimes affects professional life..

🏷️: @yailtsv

I slammed the door harder than I meant to, my breath coming out in short, angry bursts.

Screw this. Screw her.

Paige and I had fought before, but this? This was different.

She’d canceled on me again. A date we had planned two weeks in advance, something I was actually excited for. And when I called her out on it? When I told her how much it hurt that she kept bailing?

She laughed. Like she had the actual audacity to fucking laugh in my face.

Laughed, shook her head, and said, “You’re being so dramatic right now.”

And when I didn’t respond, just stood there feeling like an idiot, she sighed, rubbing her temples like I was the problem. “Babe, I’m busy. You know that. I don’t have time to be up under you every second of the day.”

That was what broke me.

I took a slow breath, looking her dead in the eye. “Go fuck yourself, Paige.”

Then I grabbed my stuff and left.

She didn’t come after me.

The next day, I ignored every notification about the UConn game. I didn’t want to think about Paige, didn’t want to see her, didn’t want to care.

But my phone would not stop buzzing.

KK: Paige is terrible right now. Fix this.

Nika: if I have to watch her miss another shot I’m benching her myself

Ice: embarrassing for all parties involved

I sighed, gripping my phone tighter. It wasn’t my fault she was playing like garbage.

Then my screen lit up with an incoming call.

KK.

I groaned but answered. “What?”

“Where are you?!” KK’s voice was urgent.

“In bed,” I said flatly.

“Get up,” she ordered. “Come to the Pavilion. Now.”

“KK—”

“No, listen,” she cut in. “Paige is killing us. She’s missing everything, turning the ball over, playing like she doesn’t even know how to breathe properly. We need this win, and we need her to pull it together.”

I swallowed hard. “Why are you calling me?”

KK groaned. “Are you serious? Because you’re the only one who can fix this. She’s in her head, and we both know it’s about you.”

I hesitated. “I don’t think—”

“Please,” she said, exasperated. “If we lose because of this lesbian drama. Your lesbian drama. I’m never speaking to you again.”

I sighed, running a hand down my face. “Fine.”

“Good. You have fifteen minutes.”

By the time I got to the locker room, halftime was already halfway over.

The second I stepped inside, every head turned toward me.

“Oh, thank God,” Nika muttered, throwing her hands up like I was some kind of miracle worker.

Paige was sitting on the bench, head down, elbows on her knees. She looked wrecked.

I cleared my throat. “P, baby.”

Her head snapped up so fast I thought she might get whiplash.

“You’re here?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain.

“KK called.”

She swallowed hard, nodding. “Right.”

I crossed my arms. “You’re throwing the game.”

She exhaled harshly, running a hand through her hair that she let fall freely to relieve the tension in her head. “I know.”

“So fix it.”

She scoffed. “Easier said than done.”

I took a step closer, lowering my voice. “Paige, your team needs you. They need you to focus.”

Her eyes met mine, and I could see it—everything. The frustration, the regret, the way she was still thinking about last night.

“I can’t when I know you’re mad at me,” she admitted.

I clenched my jaw, but eyes softened looking at her. “Oh, my sweet baby.”

“I didn’t mean it,” she rushed out. “What I said—I was tired, and frustrated, and I was a dick.”

I didn’t say anything, just watching her.

“I don’t think you’re clingy,” she continued. “And I don’t think you’re dramatic. You just…you care. And I’ve been taking that for granted.”

My chest tightened.

“I miss you, ma” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t play right when you’re not there, or when we’re not right.”

Silence settled between us.

Then—

“Oh my God,” Nika groaned. “Are you guys gonna make up now? Because we have a game to win.”

Ice nodded. “Yeah, wrap up the gay shit and let’s go.”

Paige let out a small, breathless laugh. “You staying?”

I hesitated, but then sighed. “Yeah. I’ll be courtside.”

She exhaled in relief, standing up. The moment she walked past KK, KK smirked.

“She’s so gay for you.”

Paige flipped her off without looking back.

The second half started, and it was immediate.

Paige was back.

She sank a three within the first thirty seconds, then stole the ball on the next possession. The crowd roared, the energy shifted, and suddenly—UConn was UConn again.

With a minute left, they were up by four. Paige drove to the basket, hit a perfect layup, and sealed the game.

The buzzer sounded.

The team erupted, the Pavilion shaking with cheers.

Paige turned to me instantly, finding me on the sideline. She didn’t hesitate.

She sprinted over and grabbed me, kissing me in front of everyone.

The team lost their minds.

“Oh, come on,” Nika groaned. “Can y’all be normal?”

Aubrey gagged. “This is so disgustingly gay.”

Aaliyah sighed. “I feel like I shouldn’t be witnessing this.”

I pulled back, breathless, forehead pressed to Paige’s. “You’re gross and sweaty.”

She grinned. “You love me anyway.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue.

Nika clapped her hands. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s go. Post-game interviews first, make-up sex later.”

I choked as Paige laughed.

KK shook her head. “Next time y’all fight, schedule it for an off day.”

Only for coach Geno to hold his hand up to give KK the high five she’s been craving because of her statement.

I laughed, shaking my head.

Yeah. We were okay.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[gravedwe11er]

Mecha AU Deadlock angst? Mecha AU Deadlock angst!

Or, I saw a post mentioning that someone is gonna have to explain human lifespans to the bots, and my brain ran with it. Based on the @keferon mecha AU.

CW: Discussions of death and mortality

Human and cybertronian lifespans are such wildly disparate things. Deadlock struggles with this newfound knowledge.

Forty local stellar cycles. Maybe fifty, if he’s one of the lucky ones.

Now, even before his crash-landing on this planet, Deadlock knew enough about organics to be aware they’re generally not as long-lived as mechanical species. Comes with being so breakable all over, if he had to guess, but-

That’s barely half a fragging vorn.

Even if he gets lucky, even if, for once, Deadlock doesn’t fail at keeping the people he cares about safe, the little organic medic is going to be dead in half a vorn. ‘That’s just how things are, for humans,’ Swerve said. ‘I’m sorry,’ Swerve said.

Slag, and what about Roddy? Deadlock’s pretty sure the pilot is younger than Ratchet, but still- that gives him, how long, a vorn? Less? Even the very thought of it just feels so damn wrong. The little guy’s so bright, how could anyone with an EM field like a fucking Prime have the lifespan of--

Deadlock desperately wants to shoot something.

Instead, he drives towards Ratchet’s workshop, transforming the moment he’s out of sight and heading straight for the doc once he finds him in the garage. It’s yet another testament to the man’s caring nature that he lets himself get picked up with only token grumbling, throwing a concerned look Deadlock’s way but not pushing the matter.

The human medic has always been scarily good at reading him. In moments like these, Deadlock can’t help but be overwhelmingly grateful for it.

Hugging the man to the side of his helm, he soon feels a small, calloused hand running gently down one finial. Deadlock wants to scream. The injustice of it all making his processor spin, his spark thrumming with pain and fear and overwhelming grief. How can he bear to lose all this so soon? He’s only just found him, the first glimpse of something like peace in eons, and he can’t deal with the thought of him gone, he can’t-

Ratchet grunts in his servos, knocking loudly on one of Deadlock’s fingers, and with a jolt he realizes just how tight he’s been holding the man. Immediately, he loosens his grip, gently petting down the doc’s back in silent apology. After a moment, a warm ser- hand pats his cheek.

“Feel like telling me what’s eating you, kid?” Ratchet asks, before lightly pushing against Deadlock’s face.

Responding to the wordless request, Deadlock pulls his cupped hands away from his helm, just enough so he can look into the human medic’s opti- eyes. He scrambles for a way to express his racing thoughts, vocalizer hissing with static, before abruptly spitting out, “Are you dying?”

To his surprise, the man bursts out laughing. “Shit, where’d you get that idea?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Now, as much as I’m sure a bunch of my previous employers would love to dance on my grave, let me assure you that I’m perfectly fi-“

“But you’re not!” Deadlock almost shouts, engine growling. “He said- decay of organic components, and human lifespans are-“ his voice gets stuck in his throat, vocalizer jamming, and he offlines his optics for a moment. Tries to get his slag together, at least a little.

When he turns them on again, all the mirth has left his human’s face. The medic’s eyes are serious, a sad sort of expression on his face, and Deadlock wants to curl himself around the man and never let go.

“Right,” sighs Ratchet, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I was sort of hoping you knew about that already.”

The last flutter of hope he was harboring vanishes. “So he was right? You only live for- eighty, ninety of your years?”

“Afraid so, kid,” says the man, suddenly looking so fragile in Deadlock’s palms. “Look, I know it’s not a lot to your kind, but-“

“And there’s nothing to be done? Can’t you- figure something out?”

He’s reaching and he knows it, but the human looks so- accepting of it. Like it’s a perfectly normal thing, to barely get to live at all before your body breaks down and dies, just like that!

Ratchet shakes his head with a wry smile. “Not how that works. People have been trying, sure, but nobody ever really got anywhere. And even if we did manage to drastically expand our lifespans somehow, the psychological effects it would have… we’re just not made for that, Deadlock,” he says, patting Deadlock on the nearest finger; a ghost of a touch, but still comforting. “I, hah, appreciate your faith in me kid, but not even I can do miracles.”

“I just don’t- how the fuck can you be so alright with that?” Deadlock asks, feeling utterly miserable.

The man snorts. “What else is there to do? It’s not like worrying about it would fix anything, and I’m not going to waste my life thinking about my death.” Then the human’s gaze softens, and he stands up to be more optic-level with Deadlock. “Listen to me. I know this is a hard pill to swallow, but there’s nothing you, or anybody else, can change about it. The only thing you can do,” he says gently, reaching a hand towards Deadlock’s cheek, “is make the most of it.”

Deadlock exvents, suddenly feeling deeply tired. “Right. Right, I guess I just- gotta make it count, then,” he mutters, carefully leaning into the contact and the comfort it brings.

Ratchet smiles at him. “That’s the spirit. Have fun with Roddy- safe fun,” he quickly adds. “Take him on drives, or, hell, feel free to bum around my workshop as usual, if that’s what you want. You know I don’t mind the company, provided you behave yourself,” says the doc, his words punctuated by a mock-threatening look. “Just… try enjoy the time you have with us, okay?”

“Mkay,” he answers, voice still choked with static, before pulling the little medic to his chestplates. This close to his spark, he can read the human’s odd, tiny EM field with perfect clarity – concern, quiet affection and a deep kind of care rolls off of him in waves. Sometimes, Deadlock wishes he could tangle their fields together properly, synchronizing their frequencies in an embrace only possible for his kind, but- this is good too. More than good, really – it’s something unique to the two of them, and that makes it perfect as far as he’s concerned.

“Now, I’d really like to know which tactless bastard just dropped all this on you,” jokes Ratchet, the vibrations of the man’s voice tickling pleasantly against his plating, “so I can go brain them with a wrench for it.”

Despite himself, Deadlock snorts. “I think Swerve might be a little outside your size class, doc.”

“Oh, don’t you underestimate me, kid!” the medic grumbles, but he’s laughing too, and the return to the usual banter eases some of the weight on Deadlock’s spark.

Forty stellar cycles, maybe fifty.

He’ll make those years count.

He’ll make them be enough.

(Maybe, if he repeats it a few hundred times more, he’ll make himself believe it, too.)

[itneverendshere]

school spirit and all! - soccer!frat!rafe cameron blurb (+18)

warnings: future smut. paring: smart!reader x himbo!rafe; ps: this is just for fun cause someone asked me to post it (it was just a draft😬)

you’ve never been one for academic sports spirit.

what’s the point? okay, your school has incredible athletes, that’s good, but why the fuck would you kiss and praise the ground they walk on? you’re a fantastic student and no one gives a shit. why do they get all the glory while brainiacs get zilch?

the double standards piss you off. somehow academics always take the backseat to sports. maybe that explained your dislike towards jocks like rafe cameron.

up until sophomore year, you’d only heard about him, saw him occasionally around school. it was understandable why people talked about him so often. he looked like he’d just been ripped off a page of an abercrombie and fitch catalog, and apparently – you’d never attended a game to check – he was the best player on the team, playing forward. but, unlike many, you didn’t form an opinion about him until you met him.

the verdict? total pain in your fucking ass.

ever since you two were paired in a class project together, an annual class at that, he suddenly took an interest in you, like you were some sort of exotic animal he’d never encountered in his life, only because you wouldn’t flirt with him.

outrageous, never done before.

for the first four months, it was just him laying on the cheesy pickup lines and you rolling your eyes so hard you thought they'd pop out of your head. eventually, rafe dialed it down and you were able to be civil, perhaps friends. if you could call it that.

wich is why, as his friend, you’re starting to lose your fucking patience. the season was not going well for his team. at all. there’s little to no chance they’re going to be able to win the championship.

not that you care, but apparently the whole school does. everyone seems to be on the verge of a meltdown.

“i swear to god if they lose to standford next week–“

“pope, will you kindly shut the fuck up? it’s just soccer.”

“just soccer?”

you let out an exasperated sigh, glancing over at pope who looks at you like you’ve just shot someone, “can we study? peacefully?”

"it’s not just soccer! it's about school spirit, camaraderie, y’know?"

you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "camaraderie? please. more like a bunch of testosterone-fueled egos chasing after a ball," you retort, disdain evident in your tone.

“you don't know what you're talking about. and i'm being dead serious, cameron’s been on edge lately. never seen him like this."

you lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. "yeah, well, losing does that to people. don't why you're complaining soooo much" you sigh, "i’m the one who has to put up with all the brooding and pouting.”

pope’s quiet. too quiet. you can picture the gears turning in his brain as he blankly stares at you. nothing good ever comes out of that.

“what?” you press, wondering if you have to break the school spirit out of him.

“you should fuck him. after or before, don't care. but you should."

you recoil, nearly tumbling out of your chair at pope's suggestion.

your eyes widen in disbelief, your mind struggling to process what he just said. for a moment, the room spins around you, and you feel like you’ve been thrust into some surreal alternate universe.

“what?! pope?" you finally manage to sputter, acting like you're about to go into cardiac arrest, "the fuck's wrong with you?"

“don’t look at me like that,” he merely shrugs, “that man is depressed. he needs to get laid if he’s going to win something.“

you hardly think a guy like rafe is not getting laid every other day, but that’s irrelevant. your jaw drops, stunned by his audacity. "are you kidding me? you don’t even like him!”

“but i like winning!” he whines, all but pushing his books aside to place in his elbows on the table, “and he’s so obsessed with you it hurts watching. he’s like one of those little crusty white dogs always running after you.”

you shake your head in disbelief, "he does it to be funny, okay? he’s not actually interested.. t's just a joke”

your best friend only laughs, a raucous, almost maniacal sound that echoes through the room. he clutches his stomach, "just joking?" pope gasps out, his laughter still bubbling to the surface. "oh man. you're hilarious, honestly, wow."

you stare at him, lips set in a straight line, feeling like you missed the entire joke. "what's so funny?"

pope wipes away a fake tear, trying to compose himself. "he almost ripped a new one to jj after he pulled that stunt last semester.”

your eyebrows knit together in skepticism. “and? i still don’t follow.”

rafe and jj couldn’t stand each other. both are incredible athletes and everyone always gushes about how great they are together on the field. outside, however? not so much. they don't mix. ever.

“and?! why do you think jj randomly talked about you in the locker room?”

“because he’s a horny creep and got a kink for fist fights with undressed men?”

you love jj. really, you do. but sometimes he’d win a lot more if he just kept his mouth shut or thought before speaking. you've lost count of how many times that boy has been suspended.

pope leans in, his tone low and conspiratorial, “cameron practically threatened to rearrange jj's face if he ever mentioned you again.”

you narrow your eyes, “nop. you’re making that up.”

pope shakes his head, a grin playing on his lips. "nah, i'm dead serious.”

your mind races, trying to piece it all together. while your brain always clicks instantly in class, feelings...emotions are a little more complicated to grasp sometimes.

"wait, so you're saying he actually cares about me?"

he nods, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "yep.”

“seriously?”

pope chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "head over heels. you’re our school’s only hope.”

your brain's on overdrive trying to process pope's bombshell revelation. rafe cameron, the big-shot jock, actually giving a fuck about you? it's like some twisted plot line from a teen drama. you didn’t see this one coming. but then again, you hardly pay attention to anything outside academics.

“so what? ’m supposed to fuck the mediocrity out of him?”

he grins, clapping you on the shoulder, “there’s that school spirit!”

you slap his hand away, “oh fuck off. ‘m being serious.”

he’s still grinning like he just cracked the code to life. "come on, hear me out. it's like a strategic move, y’ know? boost his morale, boost the team's performance. win-win."

you roll your eyes, not buying into his scheme. "yeah, because my sex habilities are definitely the key to winning soccer games."

he shrugs, undeterred. "it's not like you'd be doing it for him. it's all about the greater good."

you scoff, rearranging your notes for the millionth time, "this isn't some feel-good sports movie."

it’s not like you never thought about rafe. sure, he's a yapping idiot around you most of the time, but every time you need help or an extra hand, he’s always the first one to offer. that has to count for something, right?

“the ball’s in your court.”

yeah it is.

truth to be told, you’ve been sick and tired of rafe acting like a loser over soccer. what was the point in whining about it if he wasn’t going to try and do better? god, you'd never seen him like this before and it's been irking you to beyond. even more now that pope mentioned it again.

at this point, you just want to march up to him, shake him and make it come to his senses. you can’t even remember that last time he tried to hit on you. that’s how bad it is! the memory is buried under the weight of his brooding.

so maybe….maybe pope's onto something, y'know? maybe there's more to it than just you and rafe. and yeah, okay, you're not exactly thrilled about the idea of hopping into bed with him, but only because you’d hate the attention that comes along with his name.

but...a part of you is weirdly intrigued. not because you're dying to be his next conquest, but because you're just done with watching him drown in his own misery. maybe this could be the wake-up call he needs. a swift kick in the ass to snap him out of his funk.

you wouldn’t be doing out of selfish reasons! school spirit and all. you’d be doing everyone a favor. and you wouldn't need to blame it on yourself if things went downhill.

you had pope for that.

which is why you’re standing in front of rafe's room in his frat.

a jock and a frat boy? charming. you’ve certainly hit the jackass lottery. but you’ve been here before. he always saved the day when the library was packed or when your roommate was too busy fucking her boyfriend in your dorm room. this was weirdly your safe place to work.

taking a deep breath, you rap your knuckles against the door, trying to ignore the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach. it's not about you! get a grip.

the door swings open, and there's the fucker, all brooding and rugged, like he just walked off the set of a sports movie. you roll your eyes at the cliché, but there's something weird about the way he looks at you. or maybe the tight wife-beater is doing a number on you.

you still notice the bags underneath his swollen eyes.

there's a flicker of surprise in him, like he wasn't expecting to see you, out of everyone in this school, standing there and you can't blame him; after all, you're not exactly a regular visitor to the frat house, only when your academic needs force you to.

“hey?”

“you look like shit, cameron.”

rafe's eyebrows raise in surprise at your blunt remark, “uh, what?”

you roll your eyes resisting the urge to scoff. "can i come in or are you going to stand there looking like an idiot all day?”

rafe chuckles, stepping aside to let you into his room, “come on in.”

you step inside, taking in the cluttered room with a mixture of amusement and mild disgust. it was never this bad before, you know rafe’s a clean freak and this? this is not him. but it is exactly how you imagined a frat boy's room would look like—dirty.

there’s laundry strewn across the floor, empty beer cans littering the desk, and a distinct musky smell lingering in the air. you shake your head in disbelief, shooting rafe a disapproving look.

"what are you? a divorced forty-five-year-old man?”

rafe laughs at your comment, though there's a hint of embarrassment in his expression as he scratches the back of his neck. "yeah, i know. sorry about that."

he’s doing worse than what you realized and it tugs a little at your heartstrings.

you raise an eyebrow, unconvinced by his apology. "sorry doesn't cut it, cameron. you should be ashamed of yourself.”

"okay, fair point. i'll clean up, promise."

“not just your stupid room. i mean your whole attitude. you've been moping around like a loser!”

rafe's expression shifts, defensiveness crossing his features. "hey, ‘m not—"

"don't even try to deny it," you interrupt, not backing down. "everyone’s noticed. you’re pissing me off.”

you don’t know why you’re suddenly so tempted to give him the scolding of a lifetime, but there’s just something about seeing someone with so much potential and drive wasting it all away without a fight. it’s not like him.

and by the kicked-puppy look on his face, you can tell he's not used to being called out so openly. but you're dead set on breaking through to him, no matter how awkward it gets.

“see! you’re just staring at me like—like, a fucking idiot!”, you fire off, frustration lacing your tone. the irony of the situation isn't lost on you. “will you speak for gods sake? for more than five seconds? i spent months trying to get you to shut up and now you do?”

rafe's stunned expression makes you second guess your approach for a moment, but you push the feeling aside, knowing you can't afford to let sympathy cloud your purpose here.

“why are you mad at me?”

you can't believe he's still clueless after all this time.

"why am i mad at you?" you repeat incredulously, feeling the irritation rising your my chest. "seriously, rafe? have you even looked in the mirror lately?"

he blinks at you, his confusion evident, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

"you've been moping around like the world's about to end.”

rafe's brows furrow even further, and for a moment, you wonder if he's playing dumb or if he genuinely has no idea what you’re talking about. "i don't—uh, i don't understand," he finally stammers out, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

that’s it.

you’re gonna pull the feelings card and hope it doesn’t backfire.

“do you like me?” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

rafe snorts as he lifts his finger to scratch his face, “course i do. pretty obvious.”

for a second you get a glimpse of the real rafe and it soothes you inside.

“and you want to fuck me?”

you’ve never seen him look so gobsmacked in his life, you’d laugh in his face if it wasn’t such a serious matter.

“what?” he stammers, his cheeks flushing slightly. you can’t believe the rafe cameron is blushing. over you.

you let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. "do you want to fuck me? do i need to spell it out for you?”

he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out, and you can't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at finally catching him off guard, “’m sorry? is this—are you…is this for punk’d?”

"punk'd? seriously, rafe?" you snap, incredulous that he would think this is some sort of prank, “it’s 2024.”

rafe's cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red, and he stammers again "no, i mean— i just...didn't expect you to— uhh”

“yes or no.”

rafe blinks at you before breathing out, “yes.”

“okay. so win your next match and you will.”

he looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, exhaling through his nose, trying to keep his agitation to a minimum. “what?”

“i’m sick and tired of this version of you. i need you to win, and if this” you gesture to the both of you with your hand, “is your motivation, then we’re doing it.”

"y’serious?" he takes a step closer, his demeanor suddenly more serious, “me and you?”

you nod firmly, crossing your arms over your chest as you tilt your head up to look at his features, “dead serious. and it’s not just you and me. it’s for the team, and for the school spirit or whatever nonsense pope keeps going on about."

rafe lets out a small chuckle, a hint of his usual cocky confident demeanor returning. "is that so? can't say no to that kind of motivation."

“i figured.”

he reaches out a hand, his fingers lightly grazing the strands of your hair, eyes fixed on your lips. "are there any rules?”

you swallow hard, feeling your heart race at his touch. “no, just win.”

rafe's lips curl into a playful smirk— the money-making smirk that makes you want to punch him and kiss him, not necessarily in that order — as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"never would've guessed you'd be the one to offer yourself as my motivation, though," he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine, "i'm surprised."

you try to maintain your composure, but his proximity is making it increasingly difficult to think straight. "just doing what needs to be done," you manage to stammer out, trying to sound perfectly unaffected by his words.

rafe chuckles softly, his hand still lingering in your hair as he leans back slightly to look at you. "my pretty prize, huh?" he says, his tone teasing as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face.

you feel a flush spread across your features at his boldness. you blame him entirely for this side of you. without thinking, you reach up to brush your fingers against his cheek, tips pressings against his skin lightly.

“just win the fucking match, cameron."

rafe's nasty smirk widens into a heart-stopping, soul-gripping grin as he leans in closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours.

"consider it done."

[theodorenmyth]

hiya, sneaking into your inbox to ask for a fluffy piece about mattheo sneaking out of his dorm at night to go cuddle with his snarky, prefect bf (also a slytherin) or them generally just sneaking around bc the relationship is relatively new and matty is super needy

Sleepy Cuddles

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!reader

Summary ; In the early stages of a secret relationship, Mattheo Riddle can't help but sneak into his snarky Slytherin prefect boyfriend’s bed for late-night cuddles. Needy, clingy, and absolutely obsessed, Mattheo refuses to let go—even when duty calls. What starts as a sleepy cuddle session turns into a battle of affection, stubbornness, and sleepy kisses, with Mattheo pressing soft kisses to your neck and jawline while you halfheartedly try to escape. Despite your protests, it’s obvious: you’re already wrapped around his finger… literally.

A/N ; hi I came back from the dead.. I missed u guys :3

Warnings ; none

Word count ; 2.2k+

The first time Mattheo snuck into your dorm, it was at least a little justified.

Midnight.

Cold.

Thunder rumbling low outside the castle walls. He’d claimed he "couldn’t possibly survive alone with all that weather threatening to murder him in his sleep."

You, being the soft idiot you were when it came to him, had let him crawl into your bed without a word.

But now?

Now it’s a perfectly clear night, barely a breeze outside, and the bloody idiot is shimmying through your door again like some overgrown, desperate cat.

You sit up in bed, squinting at the figure tripping over a chair and nearly flattening himself against your dresser.

"Mattheo," you hiss, dragging a hand down your face, "what the fuck are you doing?"

He straightens up, hair a mess, wand clenched between his teeth for Merlin-knows-what reason. He pulls it free with a sheepish grin.

"Needed to see you," he says simply, shameless as ever, like that explains everything.

You glare. "It’s one in the bloody morning. Tomorrow is patrol night, and if you get caught here, I lose my prefect badge."

Mattheo shrugs, moving toward you anyway. "Worth it."

"Mattheo—"

He flops onto your bed beside you with a dramatic groan, burrowing under your green Slytherin blankets like he owns the place. His hand immediately finds your waist under the covers, clinging to you like you're some sort of anchor keeping him tethered to this world.

"You’re so warm," he mumbles, already curling into your side, as if he hadn’t just committed a thousand violations of school rules and common sense. "You smell good too."

You thump him lightly on the head. "You’re impossible."

"Mm." He grins against your shoulder. "You love it."

Unfortunately, he’s right.

With a long-suffering sigh, you shift so he can tuck himself more comfortably against you. His hair brushes your jawline as he nuzzles closer, his fingers lightly stroking up and down your side, slow and almost absent-minded.

"You’re needy as hell, you know that?" you mutter.

Mattheo snickers. "You're lucky I'm only this clingy with you."

"That’s not reassuring."

"Should be." His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt now, tracing lazy circles against your skin. "Means you’re special."

You try (and fail) to suppress the heat creeping up your neck. "Says the guy who nearly broke my door sneaking in like a damn burglar."

"It’s not breaking if it’s romantic," he says smugly.

"You are a menace."

"I’m your menace."

You finally laugh, low and reluctant. "Unfortunately."

For a few minutes, it’s quiet. The castle seems to exhale around you, torches flickering in the corridors beyond your room. Mattheo’s breathing slows, matching yours, a steady rhythm that tugs at something deep in your chest.

And then, because he’s Mattheo Riddle and incapable of letting a peaceful moment stay peaceful, he mumbles, "You should let me move in."

You snort. "Move in? You have your own bed!"

"Your bed’s better. Smells better too." He inhales dramatically. "Like books and peppermint."

"You’re ridiculous."

"I’m serious," he insists, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His hair falls into his eyes, soft and messy, and you hate how stupidly fond you feel.

"Mattheo—"

"Please?" His voice drops to a near-whine, shameless. "I’ll be quiet. I’ll even make the bed in the morning. I’ll..." he trails off, smirking wickedly, "repay you with affection."

You raise an eyebrow. "Affection, huh?"

"Endless affection," he promises solemnly. "Cuddles. Kisses. The works."

You roll your eyes, but before you can reply, Mattheo shifts closer, pressing a warm, lingering kiss against your jawline. The touch is soft, feather-light, and it makes your whole body tense.

Then he presses another kiss a little lower, right where your jaw meets your neck.

And another.

And another, softer still.

You feel your heart stutter like a traitor.

"You’re unbelievable," you murmur, voice embarrassingly breathless.

"You’re in love with me," he whispers, lips brushing your skin between every word. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies.

"Debatable," you manage, even as your hand slips into his messy curls without thinking.

He leans in again, pressing a soft kiss just beneath your ear. "Very debatable," he murmurs. His breath sends shivers down your spine.

You shove his face away with a hand, earning a huff of laughter.

"Alright, shut up," you say, trying not to grin. "You can stay for a bit."

Mattheo beams, victorious. "You love me."

"You’re on probation," you correct, lying back and letting him tuck himself under your arm again. "One wrong move and you're back to your own bed."

"Sure, sure." His voice is muffled against your chest. "I’ll be on my best behavior."

A moment later, he adds, "Mostly."

You sigh. "You’re going to get us both expelled."

"You’d miss me," he says smugly.

"You have too much faith in your own charm."

"And you have no poker face," he shoots back, laughing softly when you flick his ear.

After a beat, he quiets. His fingers absently trace the stitching on your pajama shirt, slow and aimless, like he’s memorizing every thread. His hand feels almost reverent against your chest, grounding you, soothing you.

"You know," he says, voice low and strangely tentative, "I like this."

You glance down at him, hand still resting lightly on his head. "Cuddling?"

"Yeah. And you."

His fingers tighten slightly against your side. "Feels...good. Safe."

You soften immediately, cursing him and yourself in the same breath. You lift your hand, threading it deeper through his hair, feeling him melt under the touch like wax.

"I like it too," you admit quietly, your chest tightening with the honesty of it.

He tilts his head up, grinning that boyish, almost shy grin he saves only for you. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." He smirks, cocky again, but there’s a gentleness behind it now. "Means I can keep sneaking in then."

You groan. "I’m creating a monster."

"You’re just mad you love the monster."

"Go to sleep, Mattheo."

"Yes, Prefect."

He snickers against your skin, obnoxiously pleased with himself. But his breathing evens out soon enough, his weight warm and solid beside you, one leg tangled lazily with yours like he never plans to let you go.

You lie awake a little longer, staring up at the ceiling, one hand still tangled in his hair, the other wrapped around his waist.

You know you’re doomed.

Utterly, irreversibly doomed.

But somehow, with Mattheo curled against you like this—needy, reckless, yours—you don’t really mind.

In fact, you think you might love it.

The first thing you become aware of when you wake up is the distinct sensation of being completely, utterly trapped.

And no, it's not a nightmare. It's Mattheo.

His body is draped over you like a human blanket, arms wrapped around your torso in a way that suggests he never plans on letting go, and one of his legs is tangled in yours, pinning you to the bed.

You blink, squinting at the light creeping through your curtains. It's still early, and you can hear the faint echoes of other students beginning their own early mornings.

But here you are.

Mattheo Riddle has infiltrated your bed again. And there’s no way to escape.

"Mattheo," you croak, voice a little too rough from sleep. "You’re crushing me."

He makes an unintelligible noise against your neck, burrowing deeper into the crook of it like you’re the most comfortable thing in the world.

"Mattheo," you repeat, trying your best to shove him off, but he’s clingy as hell and stronger than you remember.

"Mm?" he hums, still not bothering to lift his head. "You smell good."

"What?" You sputter, utterly flustered despite the situation. "That’s it? That’s your response?"

He just sighs contentedly, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck like he’s done this a thousand times before. "Mm. You smell like peppermint and... books. My favorite."

You fight the stupid smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You’re unbelievable."

"I know." He nuzzles even closer, pulling your arm tighter around him like he’s some kind of needy puppy. "Now stay. You’re warm. I’m tired."

You groan, pulling your other arm out from under his grasp to check the time. "Mattheo, please. I have rounds in less than fifteen minutes, and if I’m late—"

"I don’t care," he interrupts, voice muffled as he drapes himself more heavily on top of you. "You’re not leaving me."

You try to sit up again, but his body is like dead weight on top of yours. You give a half-hearted tug on his arm, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he lets out an exaggerated whine, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face into your chest.

"Mattheo," you repeat, trying to wiggle your way out from under him, "I have responsibilities!"

"You’re not getting out of this bed." He lifts his head just enough to glance at you, his eyes heavy with sleep but mischievous all the same. "I’ll do anything. Just don’t go."

"Anything?" you echo, raising an eyebrow. "I could be late, you know. You’ll be late for classes."

He shrugs, unbothered, and his lips curl into a small, smug smile. "Nah. Who needs classes when I’ve got you?"

"Mattheo..." You huff, trying to pull yourself out from under him, but he's like a sticky spider, wrapping his arms tighter and tighter, refusing to let you escape.

"You're so warm," he mumbles, sounding far too pleased with himself for someone who’s definitely in the wrong.

You’re about to protest again when you feel him press a soft kiss to your neck, lingering a moment before nuzzling against your skin.

"What are you doing?" you ask, half-indignant, half-amused.

"I’m trying to convince you to stay," he mumbles, voice drowsy but still so damn smug. "It’s working, isn’t it?"

Your mind goes blank for a second as his lips leave another soft kiss on your throat. And then, another one just under your jaw. His lips are warm, soft, and... distracting.

"You’re impossible," you mutter, but you can’t stop yourself from shifting slightly, making more space for him, despite your best efforts.

"You love it," Mattheo says matter-of-factly. His hands sneak up to your back, pulling you closer until you’re practically sandwiched between him and the mattress.

"I’m serious, Mattheo," you say, your voice losing its sternness in favor of frustration and something else that feels suspiciously like affection. "I have to get up."

Mattheo glances up at you, looking far too content with his position. "You’re always so serious. Just relax. Let’s just... stay here a little longer." He presses his lips to your jawline, soft and slow. "I promise I’ll let you go soon."

"Yeah, right," you mutter, but you don’t move.

You can feel Mattheo smile against your skin, and it’s a feeling you know all too well—the warm, self-satisfied grin he wears when he knows he’s won.

And he has.

Again.

You sigh, finally giving in to the inevitable. "You're fucking impossible," you grumble, sinking deeper into the sheets, despite the nagging voice in your head that keeps reminding you of your prefect duties.

Mattheo hums happily, nuzzling into your neck again, completely satisfied. "I love you."

"I love you more." You shift, letting him pull you into a more comfortable position. "But I’m still going to be late if you don’t let me up soon."

"Then be late," he whispers, his voice full of drowsy amusement. "You can’t possibly want to leave me now."

The next thing you know, his lips are brushing against the side of your neck again, his kisses slow, deliberate, and so soft they make your heart race. One kiss lands just below your ear, and another trails along the side of your jaw.

"Mattheo..." you start, but your voice cracks. You have to swallow hard to keep it from betraying you, your stomach flipping.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes half-lidded with sleep, but the look on his face is soft and entirely too affectionate for your own good. "I’m not letting go," he says, voice hushed and serious now.

You know he’s joking.

Mostly.

But damn it, there’s something in his gaze, something warm and tender that leaves you speechless.

"I’m going to get in so much trouble," you mutter, knowing full well that you don’t really care.

"Good," Mattheo says with a sleepy grin. "You’ll be in trouble with me, and I can make it worth your while."

You roll your eyes, but it’s obvious you’ve already given up.

Mattheo presses a sleepy kiss to the side of your throat, so soft and slow you almost melt right then and there.

Then another, a little higher.

And another, just under your jaw.

"You're evil," you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Mm," he hums, sounding very pleased with himself. "Your evil."

You thump your head back against the pillow, officially resigned to your fate.

There’s no way you’re getting out of this bed without a serious fight—and honestly, you’re not sure you even want to.

Instead, you sigh, reaching down to pull the blankets higher around both of you.

"Five more minutes," you mumble.

Mattheo grins against your skin, victorious.

"Knew you'd cave."

"Yeah, yeah," you grumble, pressing a kiss to the top of his messy curls. "Shut up and go back to sleep, menace."

As Mattheo settles against you again, breathing deeply in contentment, you try once more to fight the pull of his affection, the warmth of his body.

But in the end, it’s no use.

You're already lost.

[456-is-the-way]

A/n: I made a previous pot earlier today, announcing I will be making more Squid Game fanfictions. If you want to be tagged in them, please comment or dm me, and I will make a list. Also, if you have any suggestions for a character x reader, please let me know/ in the request box, dm, or comment here, and I will also tag you! After this part, I have an In- Ho x reader coming up soon! And more. So keep looking on my page!!

Tag list: @carolinevoight ALSO anyone know why it won't let me tag people? Some people i couldn't get on here 🥺

Triggers: Death, Mild Gore, Mentions of Torture, and SMUT

Squid Game Masterlist

Seong Gi-hun x Reader

Game of Hearts pt.2

The clock struck 12 when a knock came to her apartment door. (Y/n) took a deep breath grabbing her wallet then making her way to the door. She had to mentally prepare herself all night long; this was nothing more than a professional friendship. She stayed awake pondering why this happened to her. (Y/n) never acted out with a client like this. But her endless hours with Seong Gi-hun , all the unspoken works, lustful gazes, and gentle touches she hoped something good could be true. This entire time was just them becoming… closer friends? The next knock broke her out of the trance. (Y/n) let the door fly open her breath was taken away just as quickly seeing Gi-hun. He told her this was just a professional outing yet here the same man is dressed up to perfection. Gi-hun’s raven hair was slicked back perfectly and a fitted tuxedo to match.

“Are… you serious Gi-hun?! You said casual but what is with…all this?!” (Y/n) exclaimed out of breath already from just the sight of him. Gi-hun pouts softly those expert puppy eyes find their way down to her. “N-no.. d-don’t give me that look!” She whined placing both hands on his chest gently pushing him away.

“I know but you always look very nice and I figured why not dress up for our special day out?” He grumbled, continuing to give her that pouting face. (Y/n) groaned before grabbing his hand.

“Be lucky you are cute.”

“Wait you think I’m c-” He was cut off being dragged out towards this car. ‘Remember this is all professional,only friends.’ She thought.

_1 Year Later_ (Start of season 2)

The following year had been a mess for (Y/n). It felt like Gi-hun purposefully made extra time for them, daily meetings, friendly dinners, and how close he would get. Hovering over her while she worked or pressed against her from behind. It all was very confusing, all these signals just to be told they are friends…All she could do was smile and agree. However, today changed everything when (Y/n) and one of her workers found the salesman. Gi-hun felt his pulse rate spike as they were on a phone call. “Be careful! Do not get too close, I am on my way.” He said slamming on the gas pedal.

“I will be fine Gi-hun! Shit we are on foot again. My tracker is on so I will be fine.” She said, The race against the clock had Gi-hun sweating in fear of losing (Y/n) . At this point having the salesman in his grasp didn’t matter.

“Hey! Are you there!? (Y/N) answer me!” Gi-hun yelled as he heard scuffling , the sounds of a fight. “Fucking answer me!” He cried before the phone went dead. This was worse than any other nightmares he experienced. Worse than all those dame games combined. Gi-hun slammed on the brakes, jumping out of his vehicle running down the alleyways turning each corner; the only sound was his own heart beat ,thumping against his chest. “(Y/N)!” He yelled and looked around before falling to his knees seeing blood all over the ground. His heart sank, falling to his knees seeing her phone there on the ground. He rubs his tears away before calling his other contacts. He would tear down all of Seoul if that's what it took….

Seong Gi-hun had searched the surrounding areas and had men everywhere looking for you but nothing. The man finally decided to go back to his hotel to ponder everything but hope was fading quickly. That's when it happened he froze seeing the hotel door was not locked as usual, you are the only one who had a key to his place. Gi-hun pulled his gun out walking into the building. Each step felt like it made the hall grow in size. Was it even possible? He didn't know if it was dizziness or the idea of finding your dead body. A tense feeling formed hearing your whimpering coming from one of the rooms. Gi-hun rushed into the door nearling falling as he did. (Y/n) was laying on the bed tied up soaked in blood. It set a fire in Gi-hun seeing her in this condition. He pulled the blind fold down, her eye bruised and tear flowing down them. “(Y/n)...” He whispered, undoing your binds.

“Gi-hun.” She gasped, leaning against his embrace. “I am sorry the girl I was with told him I knew where you would be… He made us play some games… I won and he shot her. Gi-hun he is in the room he-” (Y/n)’s eyes widen as Gi-hun cuts her off with a passionate kiss. (Y/n) leans in moaning loudly fisting his raven hair.

“(Y/n) listen to me… Stay here I will be okay. I promise here’s my weapon. If I don't come back I want you to shoot him.. I love you okay? I want you to stay here, don’t move…promise me.” He begged, (Y/n) nodded slowly.

“I promise.” She whispered, giving one last kiss. (Y/n) closed her eyes tightly, unable to watch Gi-hun disappear. Now she laid there breathing heavily. Her body flinched hearing the gun shot go off. (Y/n) knew she promised Gi-hun to stay put and the shot shattered that. She darts to the door, opening it to find Gi-hun standing there with soft eyes.

He took (Y/n) by the hand gently leading her to one of the bathrooms, “Clean up and I will get you new clothes.” Gi-hun turned around but (Y/n) grabbed his arm.

“Don’t leave me…” She whispered. Gi-hun nods looking down into her eyes. His own widen seeing as (Y/n) starts to unbutton her shirt. “Its okay to look.” (Y/n) reassured Gi-hun, after the comment he couldn't pull himself to look away from her gorgeous body. The blood soaked clothes hit the ground and the bloody mess ran down towards the drain. (Y/n) sighed deeply letting the water fill up. “So we aren’t just friends…are we?” The long awaited question was finally asked.

“No, we are much more than friends.” Gi-hun whispered .

“THEY WHY?! After the last 2 years of leading me on… did you not realize how it made me feel when you kept reminding me we are just ‘friends?’... I won't accept ‘I was trying to protect you’ as an excuse.”

He frowns picking up the rag to clean (Y/n)’s back,” Listen… I have nightmares every night about the games and ever since I met you my nightmare was seeing you die there. These people are fucked up, (Y/n) you seen what that guy is capable of and it was just you and the other girl. Imagine that but only your friends being forced to play these twisted games. I realized I had dragged you in far enough not including gaining feelings for you which I could tell were mutual. I never meant to hurt you but I knew I would rather you be heartbroken than dead because of me.” (Y/n) rubs her tears away, not giving him a response yet continues to allow Gi-hun to wash her body. “Let me get you a towel.” He whispered gently, turning around to get her one of them once she looked over to her Gi-hun felt body go warm. He was struggling this whole time to be a gentleman but seeing (Y/n) naked before him sent his blood flowing south.

It would be hard not to notice the bulge in Gi-Hun’s pants as he stood there like a deer in headlights. “I assume it's been a while?” (Y/n) asked and poor Gi-Hun could only nod in response, unable to form proper words. Step by step she took her time walking towards her handsome partner. She gabbes Gi-hun’s hand as he blindly follows her into one of the many rooms the hotel has.

“(Y/n)-”

“Gi-hun shut up.” She pushed the door opening before turning around sitting on the bed pressing her breasts together. “Strip.” Her voice is low and commanding. Like an obedient puppy he instantly began to strip, first his shirt. (Y/n) was surprised by his nice lean body having some muscles around his arms. She smirked as Gi-hun slowly pulled his pants,along with his boxers, down revealing his throbbing cock. “Lay down.”

Gi-hun quickly throws himself on the bed causing her to giggle. “Sorry but god you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He was sitting up as she crawled on top of Gi-hun. He eagerly found her lips grabbing a fist full of her (h/c) hair groaning as his cock grinds against her wet cunt. “God you are a soaked baby.” He reached down rubbing her clit roughly earning angelic moans from her mouth.

“Fuck Gi-hun!” She gasped as he flipped them over, pressing her into the bed. Gi-hun kissed her neck roughly, his hands glinds up and down her body. “Mmm, I need you!” She pleaded which all it took as he plunged into her warmth. He groaned loudly, not hiding any of his vocal pleasures.

The sounds of their heavy breathing and slapping skin filled the room. He moaned as (Y/n) rolled her hips up, “God baby.” He growled, thrusting harshly as the bed started to shake. “I'm so close.”

She pulled him closer. “Please baby cum in me. Load me up!” (Y/n) begged, pressing her body up against Gi-hun’s. He reached down rubbing her swollen clit helping her orgasm. “FUCK!” The female cried out as her inner walls clamp down, milking his cock dry.

Gi-hun shakes from the pleasure forehead pressed against her. “That was amazing.” He whispered before pulling out collapsing beside her. He nuzzled (Y/n)’s cheek as the cuddle under the covers. He sat there pondering the next move to make because in the salesman’s pocket was a card… If he went he wanted to make sure (Y/n) would be safe and taken care of…

_October 31st 9pm Club HDH_

“Stay here and promise me you will be safe? I don't want you to get hurt.” Gi-hun whispered. “I love you baby.”

(Y/n) took a deep, “I will be okay my love now hurry up and go. It's only 3 hours before it's time to meet and I know it’s a decent drive.” She kissed Gi-hun once more before he left. (Y/n) took a moment going to the window as their team set out to the Club HDH. After she was positive they were gone (Y/n) reached into her own pocket pulling out a card, on one side a triangle, square, and circle was printed, on the other a time and location.

‘If you want to ensure his safety the only way is to join yourself. We both know how he is, don't we?’ Those words from the salesman were stuck in her head. (Y/n) knew Gi-hun had to join the games… she wouldn’t allow him to go alone. Gathering her stuff she ran out to follow her GPS to the pick up location…

[4kozy]

‘25 bonnie and clyde

manon. ( without you, i got nothing to lose )

━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━

━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━

pairing | manon x fem!reader

tw 🥏 | violence, blood, angst, implied mental illness, major character death, slight nsfw, fluff that may rot ur teeth or make u feel even more terrified, mentions of suicidal ideation/suicide, food mentions, light mention of drug use. ( not proofread )

genre + wc | angst, fluff + ( 8.5k? 8.6k? )

syn | manon never expected to be on the run with her bestfriend–but here she is anyway, in far too deep; far too in love; far too insane to stop herself from seeing this all the way through. a.k.a, your life on the run with manon bannerman.

an | lost motivation on this half way through, so ignore the rushing at the end… i love u manon…

━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━

Manon once told you that you could come over anytime: she’d always be there for you.

You were sure that it applied to now: banging on her door, in the cold, covered in blood, bruises, and raindrops. You needed her now more than you ever had before, and to be fair, she was your best friend after all. And it isn’t like you had any other option, given the state you were in.

There’s a muffled yell of “I’m coming, I’m coming,” from inside.

You take a glance around you, the world still and quiet, despite what had just taken place.

Despite what you had just taken: a life.

A life, that while kept you alive, probably wasn’t a good thing for the people that knew the guy–oh, and him too. It definitely wasn’t a good thing for the dead man.

A life: and you were covered in it. Covered in a man’s blood. Blood that was once very warm; now freezing against your skin.

You hear a flurry of stomps heading towards you from behind the door, and it swings open, revealing an extremely tired Manon.

“Whoever the fuck you are, it’s really fucking weird to do that shit at–“ she pauses, wide-eyed.

Manon’s always had the kind of eyes that knew more than they let on. The kind that observed, no, analyzed everything thoroughly with a doe-like gaze that made it seemed innocent.

And this is anything but. She’s looking at you like you’re the every bit of evil you believe you are, seeing through you completely. Seeing all your sins, like she’s some saint, and you’re the one she’s purifying with that stare of hers.

You don’t look away; you’re unable to.

“Get the hell in here, and hurry up,” she says.

You listen.

━ ★

You sit in silence in her dining room, as she’s in her bathroom looking for first aid.

It’s the same as always. That lonely light hanging over the table; the antique table you two thrifted when she first moved in; the flowers, the dozen-count box of half eaten donuts: it’s all so familiar. If you could pretend the blood-soaked bag wasn’t in the corner, it’d fill your heart with fondness.

Now you’re sitting and feeling as though you’re dirtying the atmosphere just by being here.

She walks in after what feels like forever.

“Take them off,” Manon whispers gently.

She’s got her kit in her hand, while she looks at you expectantly. It takes no further elaboration. You let your leather jacket fall to the floor with a heavy thud and clack, and take off your bloody shirt.

She doesn’t say anything else after that, choosing to instead pull up a chair and get to work. Manon knows it’s not enough for you: the way you were limping, she assumed you sprained your ankle and both your eyes were swollen. Knots and lumps were forming on you like bug bites, your nose was leaking like a faucet, and cuts were littered all over you–you needed serious medical attention. Not the kind that you could get just anywhere.

But worryingly, for whatever reason, you were too scared to go. Or maybe you were too stupid.

She lifts your right arm gently, but you snatch it back in fear. It’s definitely the latter. Her hand balls up in annoyance.

She raises her eyebrow at you, as if to say, are you serious?

“It’s gonna hurt, Manz!” you say, looking at her for mercy, but she doesn’t look the slightest bit moved.

Her eyebrows knit together in irritation. “Have I hurt you before?”

You don’t answer verbally, resorting to a lift of your head and a sneer; keeping your own arm hostage.

“I promise you’ll be okay,” she groans. “Now come here.”

Your eyes dart back and forth, from your arm to her hands, which curiously enough, have loosened from a fist to an open palm.

You begrudgingly surrender and grimace when she begins to disinfect the open wounds.

It reminds her of the times she patched you up before. The first time she’d ever done it was when you were 5. You had scraped your knee playing tag, and she had to sneak you in as best she could, trying not to get in trouble. You were snotting everywhere, shaking, and wailing like a siren when she sauntered up to you and stuffed half a cookie in your mouth.

Here, she said. Your half, my half. She took your cookie-induced silence to her full advantage, placing the crayon themed bandage over the red and giving it a tiny kiss afterwards.

The other times she’d done it? You were just clumsy at work. But she still took it seriously anyway, each incident like a way she showed she cared.

She still does care, even now. Even when there’s disappointment lingering behind eyes that show worry.

As the time passes, you can feel her irritation growing.

You audibly swallow, the need to apologize starting to force its way through your sense of reason, because of course, Manon feels the need to take care of you–pity you, as if you two were still those naïve kids who had too many ideas, and not enough sense.

She snaps her head up at the noise. “Don’t.”

Usually, you had better judgement, obviously she doesn’t want to hear you, but the warning falls on deaf ears.

“Manz, I–“ you start.

She cuts you off a glare. “Hush. I’m working.”

You wince when she rubs alcohol a little too hard on a particularly deep cut on your arm, but you continue. “I’m sorry,” you say.

“If you were sorry, you would’ve put this off until morning, Yn,” she sucks in a breath, clearly trying to keep her cool. “You know I’ve got work tomorrow. It’s 2 in the damn morning.”

“I didn’t mean to do this to you, Manz, I just–“

“You’re always doing this,” she interrupts. “I told you to hush. You can be sorry when you’re done looking it.”

You stay quiet. She’s pissed, as anyone else would be, and the point was made.

She was angry. In fact, you’d be terrified if she wasn’t. But Manon was a lot of things, and loud and angry wasn’t one of them. Most of the time.

She was always expressive in subtle ways. Her face could speak more than necessary, without a word ever leaving her lips. Though, she definitely could’ve been screaming at you in this moment, she wasn’t.

She didn’t need to. You could feel it. Could feel it in the way that she almost threw the bottle of rubbing alcohol every time she was putting it down. Feel it when she grumbled under her breath, and the weight of guilt began to crush you with every single word and without reservation.

But you could also feel the hesitation in her fingertips, like the gentle touches were little reminders of her attentiveness, her intrinsic need to keep you safe, even when she was trying to make you feel the tiniest bit hurt.

You could feel it when she was cleaning you up, taking care of you, and not once asking about what happened. She didn’t need an explanation–she didn’t even need a hello. She saw you, and that was all she needed.

And even though she was pretty harsh with you, you couldn’t help but to be grateful.

She takes your other arm, dropping the bloody tissue to the floor, and spends the next thirty minutes cleaning that one too.

It’s only when she looks up that you notice it. Her eyes are red and glossy. Your chest tightens; it’s suddenly so much harder to breathe in here.

“Manz, I’m sorry.” There’s pathetic tone in your voice.

“Look at me,” Manon says, grabbing your jaw and your attention. She moves you around gently, examining you as if she’d never seen you before, her fingertips like fire, making you burn hot. “You look like shit, girl. Be sorry to yourself.”

She presses a soft kiss to your forehead, forgiving. Kind. Subtle. All the things that make you feel nervous, all the things you weren’t anymore, before handing you more tissues for your nose and walking away to get something cold for your eyes.

“You’re crashing at mine tonight.”

You can’t help but release a choked sob, a gut wrenching feeling taking over you as you cry like you’ve never cried before.

━ ★

You wake up the next morning on the couch with peas on your face, in her clothes, and in confusion. You’re in a daze trying to recall the events of last night, them feeling more like a nightmare than reality.

Checking the time, 10:57, you figured Manon was already at work, so you got up with a yawn and struggled to the kitchen to make yourself something eat–until you see the note stuck on the fridge.

food is in here if you want it! yk i can’t cook so don’t talk shit if you CHOOSE to eat it:( i love you, rest well - manz ( who else would it be )

A smile grows on your face with the words you read. It was just like her to be a big baby in a written note. You take the plate out and heat it up.

It’s not very good, admittedly.

Okay, it’s bad. Really bad.

In your relationship, she was more of the eater; you were her chef, if you could say that. But the thought counts, you figure, lifting the fork to your mouth for another bite of burnt eggs. It was definitely thoughtful!

You laugh to yourself, thinking of ways you could make fun of her for this as you cut on the TV.

And then your blood runs cold.

Right on the screen is the man from last night, and reporters swarming the crime scene.

You can’t hear anything anymore, and you can’t even pretend to. All you can hear is blood pounding your ears; you feel dizzy–but curiously, you can’t think about anything but Manon. How she would react, what she would do to you, how you wouldn’t ever see her again…

You don’t know what to do.

It’s no secret anymore, no hushed meeting in the dark of morning: they’d know it was you without a doubt. You’d be sent to prison for life if you were lucky, and if you weren’t? You’d end up dead.

It’s not like you meant to either! One moment, you’re walking home, trying to navigate dark alleyways and claustrophobic spaces. Trying to ignore a man following behind you. Trying to ignore the way your chest is pounding and the way air just can’t seem to stay inside you, hurriedly escaping while you hopelessly try to keep it in, to no avail. Trying to ignore the fact that your legs are moving faster than your rationale.

The next moment, he’s pressing forward; a glinting dark object in his right hand, and his left hand coming straight for you. He steps on your left leg, knocking you to the ground with a hard punch. And it’s in this moment that you realize it.

In a fight or flight situation, you fight.

He’s on top of you: gun to your face like he’s got something to prove, demanding that you hand over your bag, and you snap. In an instant, you rocket your fist straight into his jaw, and you don’t even give him the chance to reel back, rocking your hips upwards so that you can turn over, knocking the weapon out of his hands in the process.

You’re possessed. You’ve never moved like this before, ever. Like there’s a desire–beating, thrumming, alive; it’s underneath your skin, yelling at you to live by any means necessary. You kick; bite; scratch, becoming animalistic in the moment.

He’s reminding you that he’s also just as desperate–fists flying just as furiously as yours, and just as strong, if not stronger. He’s clawing at you, leaving deep marks, as if the cracked asphalt beneath you isn’t do that as well, while you two toss and turn, nearly dancing around each other.

But he gets the upper hand at some point, and his hands shoot towards your neck, squeezing every bit of essence out of your body. You can’t reach his face anymore, the first mistake he made already teaching him enough. You don’t even think he can feel your nails digging into skin–the adrenaline making you both turn into something you probably weren’t.

And you swear, under any other circumstance, you’d hesitate–but you knew full well that only one of you were going to leave this place when you first punched him, and you also knew that you weren’t ready to die today. And so you reach. Reach like there’s nothing else you can do–nowhere else you can go. All you could think about then was getting home, wanting nothing more than restart or rewind or whatever the fuck could get you out of there.

There’s a grin of relief on his face when he sees your eyes flutter.

Then there’s two shots. Fired unceremoniously, like there was no thought behind them. Like there was no question: they were destined to happen.

And then a third for good measure.

And you’re winded; heaving and ears ringing like fireworks had gone off in your face. He crumples on top of you, hands loose and limp. His warmth is leaking onto your hands, and your clothes, and you can’t think–hell, you can barely feel anything, but he’s dead, it’s over, and you’re alive.

You’re alive.

But there’s a part of you trapped there, it’s grave now stuck in a dingy, unsanitary, and lonely alley, to be trampled by others who can’t rewrite their fate quite as well as you did yours.

━ ★

The doorknob wiggles and Manon bursts in, bag of groceries in hand. You struggle to get up from the couch, pain in your ankle making every step hell.

“I bought all this hoping you could make something with it. Not sure if you can put this in anything, but yeah!” she says, shaking the bag with a fresh Maine Lobster, humming to herself.

“I’ve gotta go,” you mumble, hobbling up to her.

“Not like that, you aren’t,” she glances to your ankle. “You’re staying here, where you should be getting better,” she says, with an authoritative tone.

“Manon, I have to–“

“Can you make something with the lobster or not?” she whines, throwing the bags to the table. “It was hella expensive.”

You nod, a silent acknowledgment that you can, but you don’t make any effort to move, instead crossing your arms.

She dramatically rolls her eyes. “What?”

“I told you that I can’t stay and you aren’t listening,” you reply sharply.

“You can’t fucking walk either?”

“Manon? Have you even seen the news? About that guy?”

“Yeah, I have!” she answers, too casually for your liking. “That shit was brutal–I mean, It was–“

“It was me!” you confess shakily. You’re ashamed, and it burns.

Admitting it out loud burns unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. It’s hot. Constricting. You can’t breathe; you’re not sure you want to.

She blinks, an unreadable expression making its way onto her features, with unreadable body language to emphasize it as she backs up from you with a sigh.

“I know,” she says quietly, as if saying it with a lower volume would make the gravity of the situation disappear.

“You know? You… knew?” you gape.

“Put it together when I saw the news,” Manon pauses. “I didn’t say anything to you because you didn’t say anything to me.”

Manon knows fucking everything. She could recite everything about you like she was reading a book–like she was the book: the encyclopedia of all things Yn.

And of course, she never said anything.

She looks up at you, as her eyes bulge with wetness. “You want to leave? Then fine, but I’m going with you.”

“No, you–“

“Stop trying to tell me what to do,” she says loudly. “I was gonna come anyway.”

“But I’m not turning myself in!“

“I promised you, didn’t I?”

Your teeth grind against each other as you answer. “You did.”

“Then stop trying to act all tough and shit–you’re my best friend,” she points between you and her. “So act like it.”

Manon brings you into a tight embrace, sniffling into your chest. You wrap your arms around her, but you bite back the urge to strangle her just a bit.

━ ★

You poke your head out of the driver’s window. “Do you have everything?”

Manon stares at you, tossing her duffel in the backseat, and closing the door.

“I’ve got everything that matters,” she responds simply.

The passenger seat door opens, and Manon slides in with a deep breath.

You’ve got the leather jacket on, her clothes peeking out from under it. Your hands are trembling around the steering wheel, eyes still as you sprint deep into your thoughts.

Manon’s a little shaky–to be expected when you leave your world behind for your criminal best friend, who just yesterday was at your doorstep, looking like a disgruntled serial killer, who is now driving your car like an outlaw, running from the cops, but more than anything, she’s nervous for you.

God, she could only imagine what you’re thinking right now, being the one to go through that, and instead of imagining, she really wishes you would say it.

“Yn..?” you don’t answer.

She says it again, louder this time.

“…Huh?”

She wants so badly to ask to you, What happened? followed by a, Why don’t you wanna talk about it? and finished with a, Do you not trust me?

“Nothing… you were spacing out, is all,” Manon doesn’t pry.

“Thanks. You wanna go now?” you ask.

She nods. “I’m ready,” though you’re not sure she is, by the quiet fear lurking in her tone.

You side eye her, before nodding forward, gesturing to the fact that you finally pressed on the gas.

Once she gets settled, she kicks her feet up on the dashboard, pops in her airpods, and watches Steven Universe, even when she’s not sure that you won’t send her car wrapping around a pole.

━ ★

You’ve been driving for hours. Manon’s asleep.

To be fair, you don’t know where exactly you’re going, you just wanted to leave.

Now, there’s no motel in sight, nobody for miles, not that you’d want to see them, and your gps isn’t working–fucking great.

It’s dark as hell, headlamps more like flashlights in the all-consuming night. You make the executive decision to pull onto a darkened street, before blocking the windows and locking the doors, hoping to sleep tonight.

You don’t.

━ ★

“You know, waffle house is so much better in the middle of nowhere,” Manon says, mid-bite. “Do you want some?”

You weren’t particularly in the mood to eat, last night’s nightmare making you feel too queasy and paranoid. “No, I don’t want your peanut butter waffles.”

Manon drops her fork dramatically, placing her hand to her chest. “You said it like you have a problem with my order… like I’m not the one paying…” she says it with a funky British accent, sighing when you look at her like she’s crazy.

“That’s ‘cause peanut butter waffles are gross,” you say matter-of-factly. “They probably stick to your mouth 10 times more than normal peanut butter and syrup waffles do seperate.”

Her mouth drops. You’re a traitor. “You’ve never even had one before, liar!”

“Don’t need to. I know they’re gross,” you say, punctuating your statement with a pointed look and cross of your arms.

“What’s next…? You don’t like bojangles biscuits either?” she asks, shocked.

You hum, sipping your coffee. “They’re dry as hell.”

Her mouth drops even lower, the accent getting heavier by the second. “Cannot believe you right now.”

She’s quiet after a dramatic sigh, continuing to eat her waffles and bacon.

You chuckle softly: you’re appreciative of her attempts to be normal. Like going to diners in Nowhere, Nowhereland is a normal Tuesday morning after murdering a man ( in self defense ) for you two.

And in all honesty, it feels normal enough. Well, the ambience of the waffle house is as normal as it can be. There’s a bustling about the place: truckers and workers making light conversation; music, Human Nature by Micheal Jackson, playing on the jukebox; broken lights flickering near the hallway to the bathrooms; grease stains everywhere, along with it’s odd smell. It felt natural.

It made you sort of uneasy, in the way that only familiar things tend to do. Especially when you feel the eyes on you. Everyone’s in the know, except for you two. You two are outsiders. Outsiders are suspicious; they get caught; they–

“Hey!” Manon interrupts your thoughts. “Try it. I won’t have you knocking on peak if you’ve never had it before.”

You give her a look of disgust. “I’m not trying sh–“

Your mouth is filled with sticky peanut-buttery goodness. Your eyes widen, as a smirk grows on Manon’s face.

“See,” she laughs. “I told you it was peak!”

You feign disgust almost immediately, and refusing to let her get the last word, you gulp down the rest of your coffee. “That was so nasty, bitch…”

“Yeah, okay.”

When you leave, you take two coffees to-go. And two orders of peanut-butter waffles, one for you and her.

━ ★

You’re focused on the road when the thought pops into your head.

You’ve ruined your life, not that much was going on anyway, but it still hurt. You ruined Manon’s life, who had big things coming for her: modeling gigs, photoshoots, interviews with agencies–things that screamed, hey, I made it. And she threw it all away for you.

Your hands tighten on the wheel until your fingers go numb.

“Hey, breathe.”

And the devil reveals herself beside you, like a bad memory that won’t leave your mind.

Manon tries to rub comforting circles into your leg, moving your jacket as you shout a panicked, “Wait!”

“What the fuck is that.”

Your jaw clenches as you try to avoid looking at her. Manon’s fingers are tracing your pockets, a rough outline of something sinister living there.

“I asked you a question.”

You mumble the answer, not wanting to start anything.

“What was that?” she says, eyes narrowing in skepticism.

“A gun…”

There’s a look on her face that speaks volumes. Says more than a thousand things. “A what?”

“A–“

“You brought a damn gun with you?!” she screams at you, scolds you, more like, as if you’ve lost your mind. Part of you thinks you have.

“To be safe!” you retort, glancing at her with worry.

Oh, you’re in huge trouble.

“And you had that in my house?! Is that the same–”

You cut her off with a shameful, downcast look. “Yes.”

She glares at you, huffing indignantly before turning the radio up to obnoxious volume levels.

The radio speaks.

On the hunt for a suspect identified to be Yn Ln. Cameras around area of incident placing the young woman at the scene of the crime, DNA evidence further incriminating the individual. If you have any information, ple–

That’s why we have the gun, you want to say. Your jaw wrenches shut. ‘Cause people don’t talk when they’re dead, you’d say right after, turning your gaze to meet her watery eyes. ‘Cause I can keep running with you if there’s nothing in our way, you want to confess.

But nothing leaves your lips.

The radio doesn’t speak anymore, Manon choosing to turn it off and turn away to sleep ( or more accurately, sulk with her eyes closed. )

━ ★

You finally find a motel by the end of the night, and you’re hopeful that rest will come to you for the first time in 5 days.

It won’t.

Not when you enter the room and realize there’s only one bed, and Manon is still pissed off.

She shoulder-checks you when she walks by, tossing her stuff onto the bed and gruffly mumbling about taking a shower first.

By the time she gets back, you’re already in bed, pretending to be asleep.

You know you can’t. You don’t ever sleep when she’s upset with you.

Your eyes are closed, but you can feel the bed dip as she slides into it, feel the jolt of the bed as she tries her best to turn off the light, feel when she’s turning away. You can hear her hushed whispers, her shifting around, and then there it is–a hiccup.

Her back is turned to you, so you risk opening your eyes.

Her back is moving with a sharp rise and slow fall: she’s crying. And you’ve made her cry too: great going.

You want to press your fingers against her. Tell her you’re sorry for scaring her, sorry for everything.

But you don’t.

You just close your eyes again.

A moment passes before you feel the bed shift and creak beneath her movements. A gentle hand cups your face. A sniffle rocks your spirit. You’re trying your hardest not to move or breathe, scared that like a deer, she’ll run away from you like earlier.

Heat fans across the bottom half of your face. “I’m sorry for being an asshole,” and it’s so quiet that it might as well have been the broken fan in corner, wheezing and rasping to life when it wanted.

“You mean everything to me. I just hate when you act like that… like you know what any of this means,” she pauses, only to hold back a sob. “You don’t. I don’t. But we’re supposed to not know, together.”

You hold back everything that’s threatening to come spilling out.

“I’m sorry,” she lets out a sorry chuckle. “I’m just scared of what’s next. I’m trying hard not to be, though.”

“You’re probably way more terrified than I am.”

When she falls asleep, you hold her hand, hoping that in the morning, when she wakes up, she won’t let go.

━ ★

The morning after, you don’t mention it. You don’t even look at her.

You just take her hand in yours when you get into the car again; big feelings lingering behind the smallest physical intimacy.

━ ★

You stand in the mirror with effort, deadpanning at your reflection. “This is really unflattering.”

Manon smirks, holding up 2 different skirts for you to try. “You say unflattering–I say your ass looks amazing in those jeans.”

“Why do we even have to do this?” you groan.

“You should know better than anyone that you need to change up that appearance,” her voice gets suddenly ominous. “Anyways, that jacket has been fugly, babe, you desperately need a wardrobe change.”

You roll your eyes. She’s right, unfortunately. You’d draw too much attention in it. It was insane how nobody called you out before.

“Okay, fine, Manz. We’ll do a makeover. But don’t call Lucy fugly again. She’s an acquired taste.”

You let Manon forcibly take you around on a mind-numbing shopping spree. It was torture: for hours you tried on the most egregious displays of fashion you’d ever had the displeasure of wearin–

“Girl,” she says, taking pictures of you from the bench. “Smile, it’s literally just baggy jeans and a white t-shirt. It makes your muscles look really good.”

You feel warm all over at the compliment but you decide to be stubborn anyway. “Manz,” you whine, letting her name come to a long drawl. “We’ve been at this dumb store for hours, I genuinely can’t think of a worse way to spend our time.”

“We’re in Denver, baby, which I’m not even sure we had to come this far, but I digress, ” she argues. “This is the land of bad decisions, like even the name is bad, and we’ve only been here for an hour.”

You grimace. “An hour spent is an hour lost, to this.”

Manon raises her eyebrows at you. “Fine then,” she says.

You have half a mind to stand on what you said, but Manon doesn’t even half-stand up before you take it back. “Wait–no. I’ll… I, uhhh, I love it!”

Against your will entirely, you start posing in front of her, ignoring the throb in your ankle, hyping yourself up like how you thought she would. You are eating, girl, is not something you thought you’d be saying in an Old Navy in Denver, Colorado.

She bites her lip. Air flies through her nose. And she doubles over, laughing so hard she falls to the ground. You can’t help but laugh right along with her.

“So you’re buying this, right?” you ask.

“Nope. You are.”

You’re at the register when you realize she’s very much so serious about not paying.

“That’s 157.63. Cash or card?”

You stammer like an idiot. You don’t have shit on you. “Give me a minute,” you smile, jaw tense.

You pull Manon over to the side, trying to make things quick as a line starts forming behind you. “I don’t have anything, Manz,” you say quickly.

“Girl, neither do I, if you want some gas money and something to eat tonight,” she replies. You really really do want gas money and something to eat.

“Fuck!” you curse, leg bouncing as you come up with a plan. “You trust me?”

“‘Course I do. What’re we doing?”

“This.” You drag her back over to the cashier, and Manon waits for something to happen.

But nothing does.

At least, until–

“Lady,” the cashier says, checking her nails. “There’s a line, I need to–“

You scream. “I can’t believe you!”

Manon is frozen for a second, looking between you and the poor girl who’s supposed to be ringing you up. She melts when you yell again.

“You’re such a bitch,” you stop to read her nametag. “…Casey! My boyfriend? My fucking boyfriend? You’re supposed to be my bestfriend,” you bury your head in Manon’s chest, hoping to God she sells it.

Manon ignores the way her eyebrow twitches when you mention having a boyfriend, or another bestfriend, deciding to help you out just this once. “Casey, I can’t fucking believe you. You’re just a whore–a stupid whore!” she growls, throwing outfit number 4 over the counter at Casey’s head.

Casey’s both dumbfounded and pissed, not knowing what to do but stammer out a pathetic “What?”

The customers are backing away, recording and standing there shocked.

You lift your teary face up to scream at her again. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

You lunge at her, Casey’s yelling for security, and Manon’s using all her strength to hold you back without cracking up. The bystanders are being bystanders.

You’re hollering and hurling obscenities like candy at parades, and Manon knows better than to laugh. She’s determined to finish your improv strong.

Casey runs to the backroom, only for a second, but the damage is already done. You snatch your bags from behind the counter, and attempt to run away, but it’s not very effective with the whole sprained ankle business.

Manon scoops you up with a grunt of effort and a determination you rarely see her have. She hates running.

She’s doing it for you.

You feel hot again; you push it down with a smile and kiss to her cheek.

You two ( Manon ) run all the way back to car, and speed off, you cackling the whole way through.

━ ★

So you killed a man, ran from the law, and stole 160 dollars worth of clothes. All in the span of nine days.

You are becoming a bonafide criminal genius; Manon, your partner in crime.

Her phone is plugged into the car, playing music from your shared playlist, you finally allowing her to drive you after nine days of If you touch that wheel, I’ll throw you in the backseat.

You guys are singing to Drunk in Love, well, Manon is. You’re ad-libbing as best you can, the talent of a singer not being given to you, but still wanting to enjoy something with Manon.

It makes you think about another thing that’s been on your mind. Her.

Manon looks gorgeous all the time, even more so when she’s like this. Smiling and genuine. Her side profile is highlighted by the sun that’s not blocked by her visor. You can see everything, from the mole on her chin, to the sunspots dotting her cheeks. You want to absorb everything, take it in like you’re a flower, and she’s the sun.

“You’re staring,” she grins, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly.

“Don’t be. I love it when you look at me like that,” her grin gets wider.

“Like?”

“Like you need me. It’s sweet.”

You open your mouth to say something snarky, but nothing comes out, so you turn in faux irritation.

She giggles at your reaction before placing her attention back on the road.

You’re starting to learn how much she means to you, and not in the way you’ve grown so accustomed to. Featherlight touches were starting to feel like needles in your skin, going so deep, you could feel it in your nerves. Every compliment that would make you roll your eyes so far back they’d disappear before are now making you heat up. You were beginning the crush phase of horny teenage boy and you didn’t even realize.

On one hand, yeah, it’d be great to kiss Manon, the way you imagine yourself doing in your dreams at night or during the day, when you think it’s not obvious. On the other, there was too much going on right now. Too much to think about, and too much to deal with.

You’re starting to get scared of it. Of her.

━ ★

It’s a quiet morning in a new motel.

Well, it was.

“Oh my god!” Manon shrieks.

You drop your toothbrush in the dirty motel sink, rushing to her aid. “What’s wrong?!”

She drops to her knees, clutching her wallet like it’s her long lost child. “I’m BROKE. That’s what’s wrong,” she sobs, before adding, “We’re broke.”

You cry with her.

━ ★

“Do you trust me?” you ask Manon, pulling a black shirt over your head.

“Not sure… This seems really dumb,” she answers honestly.

In her defense, this is quite possibly the dumbest thing you’ve done since the clothes incident yesterday, but then again, you’re broke. There’s not much to go around.

You peer at her through the poorly-cut holes in your makeshift mask. “It’s not like we have anything else,” you argue.

You step out of the car, and open the door for her.

You stagger into the gas station, and whistle with the gun in the air. People start screaming, as expected. Manon flinches a bit, the gun reminding her of her previous freakout, but stands still as she can by the door, hands in her pockets to make everyone think she’s armed too.

“I want everyone to shut the hell up and get the hell down!” you shout.

They comply, terror etched onto their faces.

“We have to make this quick, babe!” Manon shouts, looking outside the glass doors.

“I know, I know,” you grit. You roll up to the cashier, trying to look as menacing as possible. “I need all the money in the register, please.”

“Okay, okay,” he splutters. “P–Please don’t shoot me!”

You gawk at him, I didn’t even do anything yet, you have half a mind to say. “Can you just… get the damn money?”

“Okay!” he whimpers, pressing buttons behind the counter.

You tap your foot impatiently, hand on your hip as you wait for the boy to get his life together. It’s been at least 10 minutes. You’re sure that if the tables were turned, you’d be acting with a little more…urgency.

“Can you hurry–“

“NO, DON’T!”

You stare at him in disbelief, pausing to turn to Manon. “I literally didn’t even do anything?!” you wave your hands around wildly, gun swinging like a hollow threat. “I’m just talking to him??”

Manon shrugs her shoulders, looking at you with big eyes. “I don’t know. We really need to hurry this up, like now, though.”

You gawk at her too. “I’m trying! He’s being so difficult…” you groan, index and ring finger rubbing your temple.

The boy is still fumbling with keys and buttons, tears streaming down like waterfalls on his face.

“Look–Why are you crying? I haven’t even…?!” you scream in frustration, the boy clearly not operating with haste. “Stop CRYING, and give me the money, please,” you beg.

The people on the ground, once crying in fear, are now confused, looking up and–just like before–recording.

He finally throws the money at you after entirely too long with a trembling, “Here!”

“You know, kid. Taking your time gets you killed. It’s important to do as told first, and cry later. Lives are at stake when you aren’t aware. Don’t do it,” you scoop up the money and hobble away as fast as you can.

“Oh, get snacks too, love,” you tell Manon.

You got out of the gas station 20 minutes laterwith a handful of takis and plenty of cash. This isn’t the last robbery you guys commit, either.

━ ★

The next night, you two are on the news. Manon’s fast asleep right next to you, despite this motel having two beds.

Two viral recordings of some of the strangest robberies we’ve ever seen, they said. Two women in the first video, staging an argument to get out of an Old Navy, and the same two are suspected of being the gas station robbers lecturing on how to be robbed?, they said.

You’re quiet with fear, desperately praying they don’t identify you; that they can’t identify yet.

The blurry quality makes it hard to identify them, but we will keep a close eye on them, they said.

You breathe a heavy sigh of pure relief.

━ ★

A week and some change of running away from your problems, and you’re sure this is the hardest thing you’ve done by far.

You stare blankly ahead, watching Manon take her turn of driving.

It’s dark.

You’d been riding for almost ten hours straight.

You’re antsy.

You’ve been trying this whole time not to be a hornball; not to make this weirder than it is. It’s one thing to kill a guy: you did that in self-defense, but like an idiot, you ran instead of telling the truth. It’s one thing to rob a store: you needed the clothes. It’s one more thing to rob a gas station: you needed the cash.

But it’s an entirely different thing to be attracted to your friend, your bestfriend, who’s doing nothing but making things hard for you.

If you didn’t know her like the back of your hand, you’d say it’s all friendly–a coincidence. But you know better.

Everything this seductress does is intentional, deliberate. Like how she’s driving one-handed, jawline illuminated by the LEDs, hand on your thigh–not because she wanted to pounce on you–but just because she craved the intimacy with you.

She craved the intimacy with you.

“Pull over.”

“What?” she asks, turning off at the exit. “We’re like 10 miles from the motel. It can’t wait?”

“Pull over, Manz,” you urge, grabbing her by her shirt and kissing her hard.

She gapes at you before the biggest smile finds its way on her face… until she frowns.“Hey! Don’t do that while I’m–“

You roll your eyes for what seems like the millionth time during this journey. “Nobody’s out here, Meret. Are you gonna pull over and fuck me or what?”

And normally, you’d be cowardly, God, you wouldn’t have even brought anything up, but it was like you were drowning in your physical attraction.

She’s off the road with a vigor that you’ve never seen anyone pull over with, kissing you again with urgency and need.

She grins breathlessly. “I plan on it.”

Somehow, you two end up in the backseat, going at each other like you’ll die if you don’t.

You swing your leg over her lap, pulling away from her to take off your shirt, and she honest-to-god whines, like she can’t be without you for a second. You smile.

Manon doesn’t waste anymore time, rushing forward to kiss you. It’s messy, borderline gross–the way she licks into your mouth, the way your breath mixes with hers as the heat starts making you feel dizzy. It’s needy, desperate, uncomposed. The way you two could be with each other.

You can feel her palming your breast through the fabric of your bra; feel her warm and without the barrier of friendship in the way; feel her heart rate speeding up as her unoccupied hand finds purchase on your hip, making you grind against her.

She mouths on your neck, leaving soft kisses and harsh bites like a crumb trail of where she’s been.

You can’t help but roll your head back.

But at her insistent, “Look at me, please,” you comply, mouth already becoming kiss swollen as she presses forward to capture your lips once again.

━ ★

You’re in a daze.

Not like when you’d defended yourself at the expense of another life. Not like when you ignore everything like this is normal, and you two are normal, average, everyday people.

This daze is extremely different.

“You good?” Manon murmurs, like the air’s been snatched from her lungs.

You turn your head lazily, meeting her eyes. “Are you? I just ate you out… like, 3 minutes ago.“

“With that weak head? Don’t make me laugh,” she jokes.

“Yeah, yeah. You came twice, loser,” you sit up, giggling at her antics. “Now drive me to that motel.”

She blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice. “I just–“

“I thought it was weak head, baby,” you mock, rolling your eyes again.

“I was lyinggggg, you know that!” she whines, grabbing your arm. “I’m tired… I don’t wanna drive,” she pouts. “I really don’t see how you drove that long with that leg.”

You shrug, rolling your shoulders before you climb into the front seat. “I felt like I owed you for this. I still do.”

“I chose to come along, Yn,” Manon says quietly. “You never had to ask. I made up my mind when I met you–I’d go anywhere you go.”

You freeze at her confession, if only for a moment. “I owed you for leaving everything behind. Making you give it all up because I was selfish,” you swallow thickly. “Owed it to you for being my distraction from everything I’ve done. I’m not sure I would’ve made it this far without you.”

Manon doesn’t look at you. Only speaks. “I would’ve never let you do this alone. I love you,” and she says it like it’s so simple–like this is something she would’ve chosen to do in every other life.

“I didn’t know you loved me that long,” you chance to say.

The bravado of horny drunken babble had escaped you, turning you into the coward you were by nature again.

“You didn’t need to,” she breathes. “As long as you felt it. Did you?”

“Did I?” you repeat, confused.

“Feel it,” she answers softly.

You start driving again. “Yeah, I did.”

She smiles.

You two sleep in all day.

��� ★

You burst into the motel room in a panic that night, grabbing your stuff and rummaging around like a junkie.

“We have to go,” you grit out, jaw clenched, eyes watery. “Now.”

She doesn’t say a word, nor does she question. She silently packs her things up and you two take off, trying to get as far away from Stillnowhere, Nowhereland.

What was supposed to be your run for dinner tonight ended up being your second and third murder.

You pull over, breaking down in her arms.

“I’m a bad bad person. Fuck, I’m horrible,” you stammer, holding your chest as you try to breathe with what little you have left. “I killed her–she didn’t even…S-she wasn’t even–I just–“

You can’t even speak.

You had pulled into another dingy diner with barely anyone inside, and it was pitch black outside–the atmosphere was beginning to shake you up.

And then it happened.

A man–bigger than you, bulkier than you, towering over you in every way possible walked in.

The woman takes your order.

Then his.

He’s staring at you, with something in his eyes you’d seen before. Something that shakes you to your core: His eyes.

Eyes of a predator, certain he’d find prey tonight.

But you know who you are.

You’re a person who yearns to live: whether it be for someone else, or yourself, that desire would burn, and scorch the ground to hell itself before the fire was put out.

He shadows you in the restaurant, until the woman hands you the bag. She looks at your predicament with an almost tepid expression, before looking down, reading you the cost of your order.

You book it when you lose eye contact. And you didn’t want to–you didn’t want to steal again, or kill again, or even blink wrong again; something was just nipping at you, telling you, get out, get out, get out.

You’re outside. Halfway to the car you parked in the dollar tree lot because of your paranoia,

And it happens.

He grabs you. Nails-cutting-into-your-skin until-you’re-bleeding grabs you.

And unlike the first time, where you waited until fate looked you in the eyes, and tried to end you–you just shot.

You pulled out this gun, that had gotten you into all of this mess, that was somehow magnetized towards your very being, and shot.

No warnings.

No fighting for life.

Just shot. Like it was part of your body. Like it was part of you.

And that lady, bless her soul, went chasing after her money, and witnessed the whole thing.

And dead people can’t talk.

━ ★

It’s over, and you know it.

The viral video suspects shown 2 weeks ago have been identified, well at least one, finally. Yn Ln, suspect of three other murders: One in L.A, Two in rural Houston, Texas. She is also wanted for several other robberies, they said.

Manon is quiet. You haven’t left the new motel in a week–but you know they’ll find you.

But you can think of one way this ends for the both of you.

One way you can make this work.

━ ★

You’re speeding down the freeway, law finally catching up to you. Windows rolled down: you feel free, like you’ve never felt before, swerving through cars too stubborn to move for you.

Helicopters screech above you–the manhunt for current serial killer and robber finally coming to a poignant conclusion.

Manon’s unable to speak. There’s nothing to say, though it’s not like she’d be able to, with you screaming with joy and laughing like nothing’s wrong.

“Manon!” you yell, over wind whipping through the car.

She’s sitting there. Wide-eyed. Teary. Doesn’t make any move to answer.

“Manon!” you yell once again, this time much louder.

She snaps her head towards you. “What,” she hisses.

“Can you scream with me?!”

She looks at you with shock.

You scream once, yelling out something along the lines of, Fuck you, coppers! like what you used to see in the crime movies you and Manon would watch without your parent’s permission. You’re beaming.

You glance at her–a pleading flicker in your features: eyes, nose, mouth… everything begging her to just go along with it.

She can’t resist it.

It lurches out of her mouth before she can even bite it back down.

You both can’t stop laughing.

“Manz, do you trust me?!” you yell, after a moment’s passed.

“Why? Are you gonna do something stupid again?!”

You roll the windows up. “Manz. Do. you. trust. me?” you say seriously, making her take pause.

She answers without thinking. “Yeah, I do.”

You brake so hard, she feels her brain shake. “What the–“

You cut her off with a soft press to her lips. “I was a coward before,” you take a deep breath. “That’s how I got us into this mess. But I know how to get us out too. I won’t be afraid, so you better not be either.”

“I won’t be–what the fuck are you planning?” she asks with fear lacing her voice.

“Don’t ask questions,” you sternly reply. “Do you trust me?”

Manon trusts you. More than she’s ever trusted anyone before. More than she could ever describe. More than she could ever say out loud.

But she doesn’t need to.

Her face says it all.

She is scared. She’s terrified. But she does trust you, and that’s good enough.

You kiss her one last time.

“Close your eyes, okay?” she listens, and you rub her shoulder reassuringly. You grab your gun. “When I grab you, fight me like you mean it. Because I definitely will.”

You shoot yourself in the leg.

She can’t even scream.

“Yn Ln! Exit the vehicle with your hands in the air.”

That’s when you and Manon go tumbling out of the passenger side door, her horrified shrieks and sobs filling the freeway with terror.

You put her in a headlock, the gun to her head threateningly, before mumbling a quiet, Improv, baby, in her ear.

You can’t feel your leg bleeding out. You can’t feel anything but her.

“Back off!” you shout, tightening your grip on her. “Back off, or I’ll fucking kill her.”

You hear a radioed, “hostage situation” and you smile.

It’s working.

And Manon’s a damn good actor.

She’s begging for help, and though it’s for you, nobody else can tell. It’s genuine. Nobody else can tell. You smile harder.

“Just put the gun, down, Yn!” An officer says through a megaphone. “Nobody else needs to get hurt.”

“This bitch…” you cringe at your own performance, “This bitch shot me! She’s not fucking walking away.”

“Stop!” she screams. “Cut it out, l–let me go, you don’t need to–“

You whisper a hushed, love you. I love you. And I’m sorry.

“You’re not getting out of this, Yn. You can leave this peacefully. You escaped before but it won’t be happening again. Surrender.” The officer says again, sternly.

Then she turns to look at you one last time. Teary, but with those same eyes she had all her life. As if she’s some saint, purifying you for all your sins, all your mistakes, all your–well, everything.

She’s your saint.

Her eyes, ever expressive, say all that they need to. I love you, you don’t need to this, we’re in this together, I love you, I love you, I love you.

You ask her one final time.

“Do you trust me?”

“Y–Yes, I do.” she sobs aloud.

“Then run. I’m the monster they think I am,” you swallow. “That’s what I need you to act like this time. Run, and don’t stop for any reason. And don’t turn around, okay?” your fingers graze her shoulders, a final reassurance.

You push her forward, and she doesn’t stop. Your lips weakly curve upward, pleased. And she doesn’t stop.

Not even when she’s crying so hard she can’t see.

Not even when a single shot rings behind her.

━ ★

“And on today’s segment of Survival, Meret Manon Bannerman–Kidnapped by crazed serial killer, Yn Ln,” the computerized voice announces.

The reporter looks dead into the camera for five seconds before speaking. “It’s been 6 months since Meret’s horrifying ordeal. 3 weeks of traveling across state lines and being subjected to horrors we haven’t had the pleasure of imagining until now,” she pauses for dramatic effect. “Now, she quells our morbid curiosity, and tells us everything that happened…”

Manon walks in. Face hardened, body trembling: clearly not ready.

She spins a long fabricated tale: practiced for months after she lost you. Practiced because it was all she could bring herself to do. Because that’s what you told her to do, and she trusted you–hell, she still does.

But when she gets home, she stares at your picture. White tee, baggy jeans. Posing because you wanted her to stay. Smiling. Laughing.

Happy. With her.

And she’s just hoping that in the next life, you can both start over. Rewind. Restart. Whatever is she has to do to see you again.

━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━

[demie90s]

Diana with a cocky reader who likes to flirt and bug her about anything with random facts in front of the team

Diana Taurasi X Cocky!Fem!Reader

Trivia, Trouble, Taurasi

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You’re a bold rookie with a habit of flirting, showing off, and dropping random facts at the worst times—especially when Diana’s trying to be serious.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Flirty chaos, team shenanigans, lowkey romance, highkey tension

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Cursing, flirting, mentions of violence (joking), Diana trying to stay calm™

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~0.5k

ᴠɪʙᴇ: “Fun fact, Diana—dolphins sleep with one eye open. Just like you when I’m around.”

“Did you know sea otters hold hands when they sleep so they don’t float away?”

You say it out loud, confidently, mid-lunge stretch, looking directly at Diana from across the gym.

She doesn’t even blink.

“That’s crazy,” Bri mumbles from the floor, amused.

She already knows what’s coming. Everybody does.

Diana exhales slowly through her nose, not even glancing up from where she’s taping her wrist. “If you’re about to say some dumb shit, can you at least wait ‘til I finish this?”

“I wasn’t,” you defend, then flash a slow, teasing smile. “I was just gonna say… I’d hold your hand if we ever slept together.”

The locker room goes silent.

Moriah chokes on her water. Sophie lets out a snort. Kahleah mutters, “Oh my god,” like she’s watching a car crash in slow motion.

Diana looks up.

Just once.

Dead in the eye.

“You need help,” she says flatly. “Like clinical.”

You grin wider, like that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to you. “You always say that when I make your heart skip.”

She doesn’t even blink. “That’s not my heart. That’s my blood pressure rising because you won’t shut the fuck up.”

“You could’ve just said you’re obsessed,” you reply, standing up and spinning a basketball on your finger. “It’s okay. Most people are.”

A ball smacks into the wall behind you. You don’t flinch.

Diana stands now, slowly, and walks past you toward the court. “If I hear one more did you know today, I’m filing a restraining order with the league.”

You follow her. Of course.

“Did you know sharks existed before trees?”

No answer.

You keep going.

“Did you know your heart rate increases when you look at someone you love?”

She stops. Turns.

“You’re seriously about to make me throw this Gatorade at you.”

“And yet you haven’t,” you murmur, stepping closer. “Kinda suspicious behavior for someone who ‘can’t stand me.’”

Diana narrows her eyes. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I? Or do you just not want the team to know you’re in love with me?”

The entire gym is holding its breath.

Sophie whispers, “This is my favorite show.”

Diana steps even closer until your bodies almost touch.

You lift your chin, cocky, unbothered. Smirking.

She leans in slightly and whispers near your ear, low and deadly calm: “Did you know a punch from me would make you lose three teeth and a little bit of your attitude?”

You grin—too fast, too thrilled.

“Damn,” you murmur, “you been thinking about my mouth, huh?”

The Gatorade bottle hits your leg on the way out.

You pick it up, still grinning, and casually toss it in the trash without breaking eye contact.

“I’m just saying,” you shrug, walking backwards, “when we finally hook up, it’s gonna be historic. Like, ‘someone write a documentary’ type heat.”

Diana shakes her head, but she’s trying not to laugh. You can see it.

“Did you know—” you start again.

She cuts you off.

“If you say one more fact,” she warns, “you’re running suicides until your soul leaves your body.”

You pause. Then.

“…Did you know ostriches can’t walk backwards?”

“SUICIDES,” she yells, already pointing.

You jog off, laughing the whole way.

And Diana? She’s definitely smiling when she turns around. Just a little. But the team saw it.

And you absolutely saw it.