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navybrat817 · 3 days ago

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Not Just Friends: Intro

Pairing: FWB!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You're Bucky's friend, and, yeah, sometimes you sleep together. Why can't he tell you that he wants something more?

Word Count: Over 1.7k

Warnings: FWB, dirty talk, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), referenced oral sex (f. receiving), longing, insecurities, snooping, unrequited feelings (or so he thinks), not communicating, bit of angst, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a beautiful idiot, okay?), Bucky's POV.

A/N: A new AU inspired by this nonnie. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky held you close, your body still warm and your heart racing within your chest. You passed out seconds ago and he couldn’t help but smirk as he rubbed your back and stayed buried deep inside you. He wore you out in the best possible way, and his eyes slipped shut as he thought about what just transpired. It was nice being able to remember and not fear that someone would wipe the memories away.

“So fucking pretty,” he praised, thrusting harder and deeper into you, knowing you could take it. One of your hands fisted the sheets and the other gripped his back. He wanted you to leave marks all over him, the same way you left marks on his heart and soul for him to feel. “I know you’re close. Can feel you gripping my cock like a fucking vice.”

He didn’t say being inside you felt like home, as much as he wanted to, and didn’t dare breathe that he wanted you to feel the same way. Some things were meant to stay quiet, even when he wanted to scream how much he needed you. If he blurted out anything, he could blame it on the heat of the moment.

“Please, Bucky. I need it,” you moaned when he slowed his pace, purposely dragging it out and making you beg for more. It felt good when you begged, and the way you rode his face earlier tonight told him you were desperate for more than one release. He’d be the one to give it to you. “Please, I need you.”

His eyes almost rolled back. Something fragile snapped within him as he rocked his hips, moving as deep as he could. He wanted to be so deep inside you he’d never get out. You needed him. HIM. He needed you, too. More than you knew.

“You and your greedy cunt trying to milk my cock for all its worth,” he rasped, affection filling his eyes before he blinked it away. “C’mon. Give it to me. Make a mess all over me and the sheets. Just like you did on my face.”

He moaned when you gushed around him with a cry, coating his cock, all while he fucked you through it. It didn’t take him long to follow you over the edge, groaning as he finished inside you. He didn’t use condoms since he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else and neither were you. It was selfish not to use that precaution, but he didn’t want anything between you.

And the smile you gave him before you passed out was enough to melt his heart.

He opened his eyes, willing himself not to get rock hard again. But watching and feeling you come apart, your pussy hot and pulsing around him, you babbling his name like a prayer, he wanted to savor it and play it on repeat in his mind like his favorite song. The knowledge that he was the one who drove you to those heights of ecstasy was addictive. He craved you. He’d never get enough of you.

But he didn’t call himself your boyfriend.

“Fuck,” he whispered, brushing his lips against your forehead in a tender gesture though you weren’t awake.

He wouldn’t say it was an accident the first time you slept together, but it did just… happen. The two of you were watching a movie together when you decided to throw popcorn at him. That turned into him pinning you down, jokingly demanding an apology while you giggled and refused. That laugh twisted something in his chest and the next thing he knew his mouth was on yours and clothes were on the floor and…

“This doesn’t change anything, right?” he asked once you were both dressed, your knees touching when he sat beside you.

The words tasted bittersweet and he regretted it the second they left his mouth because everything changed. He knew what it felt like to be inside you, to hear his name tumble from your lips with pleasure. He knew how to make you laugh, and you knew how to brighten his day. You were no longer just friends, but he didn’t ask you out either.

The hurt in your eyes was obvious, but you asked in a carefully even tone, “You want to forget it?”

“I don’t want to forget,” he promised you, running a hand through his messy hair. How did he always manage to fuck things up? “Because that was…”

“Amazing?” you asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” he breathed. It was beyond amazing, a completely different level. Pleasuring himself got him off, but his hand couldn’t compare to the feel of your tight wet heat. “But you’re my friend, and I don’t want things to change.”

He inwardly winced. Friend. Not a coworker, teammate, or anything of that nature. You were friends. What kind of friend was he to sleep with you and pretend that it was just sex and nothing more? A cowardly one. But he wanted you in his life, however you’d have him. Maybe that was desperate, but what else could he do?

Something unreadable crossed your face before you smiled, making him think he imagined it. “Doesn’t change a thing, Barnes.”

His stomach sank and it wasn’t fair to feel upset since he was the one who started this. He just thought… it didn’t matter. “Bucky, not Barnes,” he corrected you.

You nodded slowly, the air thick and unsure. “Bucky,” you whispered, starting the movie over. “Do you think this will happen again?”

He threw an arm around the back of the couch and hoped it would. “If it does, it won’t change a thing,” he lied.

Everything changed.

Bucky wasn’t sure when or how you both fell into this rhythm where he’d call you or vice versa, but you went to each other without question when one of you needed to blow off some steam. He wasn’t a complete asshole. He refused to immediately leave afterward. Taking care of you after meant everything, whether it was holding you or cleaning you off. You wanted that closeness, and so did he.

It made it easier to pretend that you wanted him for more than just sex, too.

But the more he slept with you, the harder it was to let you go. If he was at your place, he found reasons to stick around until he had to leave, suggesting to watch a movie or share a meal. If you were at his place, the way you were now, he’d kept a tight hold on you so you couldn’t slip away. He always insisted on dropping you off, too, so you wouldn’t have to find a ride back to your place.

The way a boyfriend would.

Your aura and scent lingered long after you’d leave and Bucky would ask himself when you’d be back. He was living on scraps and stolen moments thanks to his own fucking mouth and inability to tell you how he felt. And he was beginning to starve. It was the kind of hunger that he couldn’t satisfy until poured himself out to you with his honesty, no matter what the outcome. You deserved more than just pieces of him, too.

So, why couldn’t he say the words? Why couldn’t he tell you he had feelings for you? Sex clearly wasn’t the issue since you two were so compatible, and you two were open when it came to likes, dislikes, and where lines were drawn. There was trust in and out of bed. He enjoyed your company, too. He was able to relax around you in ways he couldn’t with anyone else. What was he so afraid of?

That he’d lose you without ever truly having you?

Your phone buzzing on the nightstand beside him got his attention. He frowned when he realized what time it was. It was late. Who was texting right now unless it was an emergency? No, an emergency would be worthy of a call, not a text.

Bucky ran a finger along your cheek, making you sigh in your sleep. He couldn’t explain why, but his fingers itched to grab it and see who the message was from. That wasn’t like him. He wasn’t the jealous type. At least, he didn’t think he was. Not to mention looking at your phone was crossing a line, he knew that, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling in his gut.

“This is so fucking wrong,” he muttered the second he grabbed it. All he had to do was put the phone down and let you read it when you woke up. That was the right thing to do. But he didn’t do that.

And curiosity, well, it killed the cat, didn’t it?

His throat went dry when he saw the message from a guy’s name he had never once heard you utter. He squeezed the device so hard he almost shattered it. It was the same sort of grip he felt around his heart.

“We still on for Saturday?”

He gritted his teeth and reread the message. He read it until the screen blurred. It took a minute for him to set it back on the nightstand so he could pull you against his chest and steady his breathing.

“You’re meeting someone on Saturday?” he muttered, knowing he wouldn’t get a reply while you were deep in slumber.

All sorts of questions went through his mind, like who the hell was this guy? Why were you making plans with him? You would’ve told him if you started seeing someone, right? Was he overthinking it, or were you eventually going to your “relationship” with him?

Something cold and bitter crawled through his veins. Did this guy make you smile? Did he make your heart race? Would he know what it was like to make you fall apart? Hold you? Was he the kind of man who could be both your friend and a lover?

As quickly as his jealousy built up it deflated when he gazed at you, his blue eyes filled with pain he didn’t bother to mask in the dark. The truth he didn’t have the right to know. You didn’t owe him any answers. He wasn't your boyfriend.

And that was all his fault.

I wonder who messaged you. And I wonder what it'll take for Bucky to not be an idiot and tell you what's what. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! More to come soon. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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enitnelavvalentine · 2 days ago

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His girl

*Thunderbolts Bucky Barnes x Fem Reader

Summary: You came into his room one night hoping for relief and..i guess he came in you (i’m so funny.)

Warnings!: Clit play, Needing help with finishing, Implied sex, Cum and mentions of cum, Masterbation, …not..sure..what else to say..

Notes: This is in-fact my first fanfic so it might not be the best but i hope someone enjoys it.

✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩

You felt something stirring in your stomach, the need to touch yourself.

“It’s 12 in the morning, do not.” You told yourself, but unfortunately, it could not seem to go away. Trouble sleeping was not new and it was a real problem but tonight, things were a bit different with a slightly different path then staring up at the ceiling for an hour. Eventually you gave in with a sigh, closing your eyes and slowly running your hand down your body. Your fingers quickly reached your clit, breath hitching and body twitching. You were eager to get it done quickly. “Cum then go to bed, no seconds, just a quick quiet session.” You muttered under your breath. Two fingers gently circled your nub as you relaxed into your pillow. Never had you fingered yourself, found this more effective than something that seemed like it would take a good while.

After 20 minutes of trying to get where you so desperately needed to be, frustration and desire had risen. You sat up and thought of any other way you could make this disappear. Then, an idea raced into your head, Bucky.

You’d always see girls in and out of his room since everyone moved into the tower and in your head, what was one more? Friends or not, you needed it.

Footsteps approached his door before knuckles knocked softly against it. A small creak was heard when the door opened to reveal Bucky standing there and staring down at you with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. You then opened your mouth to say something until you remembered you had no absolute plan of what you wanted nor what to say. Bucky raised his brow while you were mentally panicking.

“Hey..there…” You smiled awkwardly as the embarrassment and awkwardness seeped into the tone of your voice.

“Hey.” Bucky replied casually.

“My god, had he always been this sexy?” You thought while looking up at him, without thinking, your legs pressed tighter against each other. Lucky for you, he noticed and you could feel the tension shift.

“Bucky I need a favor.” You spoke up, completely unaware he had noticed your movement. You needed to be brave, get release, or you were going to explode and not in the way you had hoped.

“Hm?” Bucky replied, moving a little closer to you.

“Listen- I-I need you to help me cum.” You sputtered out and mentally cringed at how this ten word conversation was going. A tinge of blush creeped up your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Oh is that so sweet girl?” Bucky replied with a hint of amusement in his voice. His arm hooked around your waist within seconds and a quick gasp flew out of your mouth as you nodded.

“I’ve seen girls come around your room- what’s one more?” You mumbled softly, now facing his chest.

“You think i’m a player sweet girl?” Bucky leaned in and asked with genuine concern, the previous heat leaving the moment.

“Yeah, I do.” A small wave of disappointment left your mouth as you spoke.

“Listen,” Bucky replied fast before pulling you impossibly closer, one arm around your waist while his other arm had a soft caress to your cheek with his calloused fingertips. “I’ve had my eye on you the first time I saw you trip up stairs and look at me with pure embarrassment. All those girls? They came in my room because the PR said i needed to look nicer and hired people to do that. Inconveniently, they were all women. If we do this, I don’t want it to be a one time thing. Because I am so in love with you sweet girl.” Bucky whispered against your ear softly as he spoke.

You were completely shocked, you, out of all people, he wanted you. I mean yeah you were gorgeous but you were an absolute dork and everyone knew it. Yet you were absolutely down.

(will post next part soon sorry!!)

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #thunderbolts #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #the winter soldier

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thatonegirlonhere · 1 day ago

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Wrong person

Bangchan x f!reader

Alright guys, it is officially time for the 500 follower special!! You voted. You chose the plot line, you chose the member, and now I’m here to deliver. (I actually wrote this at 480 then forgot to release it when I hit 500)

You voted on a Bangchan x f!reader where you accidentally sent Chan a nude 😈😈 (you dirty lil things, ilysm) so get ready. Here is the absolute custom, iconic , panty soaking, thigh clenching smut that you all wanted. And as per usual: Eat a snack, drink some water, put a towel down, and get ready to read ;)

Content warning: tension, angst, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks!!), edging, teasing, dominant, hair pulling, tears.

word count: ~3100

Master list

Lmk if you want to be added to my tag list ☺️

MDNI 18+⚠️⚠️

The dorm living room was crowded and buzzing—eight boys, too many open takeout boxes, and a half-finished movie no one was really watching. You were curled into the corner of the sectional couch, legs tucked under you, phone in one hand while you absentmindedly picked fries from a shared tray in the other.

Across from you—like directly across—Chan was sprawled out in the single armchair, relaxed in a way that made your insides twist. Sweatpants. Damp curls from a late shower. One hand cradling a can of beer, the other draped lazily over the armrest, long fingers twitching in rhythm to whatever beat was echoing in his head.

You’d already caught him glancing at you a few times. Subtle. Controlled. But his eyes had that heat behind them—the kind that made your thighs press together just a little tighter.

So yeah. Maybe that’s why your brain was scrambled when your phone buzzed.

Your almost-situationship had just texted you back.

“Wish I could see you rn. Send me something to think about?”

You shouldn’t have.

But your camera roll already had that photo. The one you’d snapped just last night, lying naked across your comforter, hand between your legs, back arched just enough. You were flushed, lips parted, completely bare. You looked good. Sinful, even.

Your finger hovered over the “share” button, grin spreading over your lips.

And you hit send.

…or so you thought.

It took less than three seconds for your soul to be ripped from your body.

Because directly across from you, Chan’s phone lit up. He glanced down. Tapped to open the message. Paused.

You didn’t think anything of it until you happened to glance at your screen.

Chan 🐺: delivered ✔️

Your heart stopped.

Your lungs seized.

“No no no no no—” you whispered under your breath, unlocking your phone so fast you nearly dropped it.

There it was. Your full, explicit nude. Sent to Bang Chan. Your best friend. Your group hangout buddy. The man currently sitting across from you in this very room.

Not the man it was meant for.

Your body went ice cold.

And then hot.

And then every molecule in your body began screaming.

You chanced a glance up.

Chan’s phone was still in his hand.

He hadn’t moved.

His thumb was frozen mid-swipe, his eyes locked to the screen like he was processing. Then slowly—so fucking slowly—he looked up.

Your eyes met.

And it was like something cracked in the atmosphere.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t raise his eyebrows. Didn’t joke, or smile, or laugh.

He just stared at you.

Expression unreadable. Completely still.

You tried to mouth something—“I didn’t mean—”—but nothing came out.

He finally looked away.

But his jaw clenched.

He reached for his drink, took a casual sip, leaned back like he hadn’t just seen you fully naked. But now, his legs spread a little wider. His fingers tapped slower. His eyes flicked back to you, once, twice—lingering each time.

And your heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

You were burning.

And not from embarrassment anymore.

He saw you. And you couldn’t tell if he was mad, amused, or… something else entirely.

But something shifted in Chan that night.

And you felt it in your gut.

⸻

You didn’t sleep that night.

Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was his face—that unreadable look when he saw the photo. The way he slowly dragged his gaze up to meet yours, like he wasn’t surprised. Like he expected it. Like he’d been waiting.

And the worst part?

Chan never brought it up.

Not in the group chat. Not through a private message. Not even when he sent a TikTok the next morning like nothing had happened at all.

You thought maybe he’d let it go. Maybe he knew you were mortified and wanted to save you the humiliation. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t care.

But then came the next hangout.

And everything changed.

You were in the kitchen when he walked in—plain black t-shirt, jeans that fit way too well, and a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t say hi. Didn’t look at the others. Just walked straight up behind you, leaned in close enough that you could feel his breath on your neck, and said:

“You always send your nudes to the wrong people… or just me?”

You choked on air.

Your spine went stiff, blood rushing to your face. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t,” he said softly, voice low and thick. “That’s what makes it so interesting.”

He moved away like nothing happened, casually opening a cabinet, grabbing a drink, and joining the others.

You stood there frozen, pulse thundering in your ears.

For the rest of the night, it was like a game.

Chan didn’t touch you. Not really. But his fingers would graze yours when you passed him a drink. He’d lean a little too close when reaching over you. His thigh would press against yours under the table. Every look he gave you was loaded. Every smirk made your stomach twist.

And he said things.

Innocent to anyone else. But not to you.

⸻

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured once when it was just the two of you in the hallway. “Not shy all of a sudden, are you?”

“You looked good the other night,” he whispered behind your ear while passing behind you on the couch. “Real good. That lighting did you favors.”

“Bet you take a lot of pictures like that,” he mused during game night, eyes locked on yours as he sipped from his drink. “Bet you’re used to being watched.”

⸻

You wanted to melt into the floor.

You wanted to slap him.

You wanted to climb into his lap and make him shut the fuck up with his mouth between your legs.

And he knew it.

The final straw came three nights later.

Everyone had gone to bed—except you and Chan. You were both still on the couch, some movie playing quietly, but you hadn’t looked at the screen in ten minutes.

You could feel him watching you.

So you dared to look back.

He tilted his head, biting his lip just barely. Then, voice low:

“That photo’s still in my camera roll.”

Your breath caught.

You opened your mouth—whether to apologize or deny or beg, you weren’t sure—but he kept going.

“You looked so desperate, baby. All spread out, fingers barely hiding anything…”

“Made me wonder what sounds you make when you’re like that for real.”

“Made me wonder if you ever thought about me while taking it.”

Your thighs clenched.

He didn’t touch you.

He just stared.

Then, quietly:

“Come here.”

⸻

You stood up before you could think.

Your legs carried you across the room like they didn’t belong to you, like they needed to be closer to him. Bang Chan. Your best friend. The man you accidentally sent a nude to—and the man who had been slowly, deliciously, destroying your sanity ever since.

He was still lounging on the couch like he hadn’t just invited you to obliterate a years-long friendship.

But his eyes were different now.

Dark. Hooded. Unapologetically hungry.

He didn’t say a word as you stepped closer.

Didn’t move.

Just opened his legs a little wider.

And when you reached him—heart thudding, throat tight—he tilted his chin, tongue swiping lazily over his bottom lip, and murmured, low and devastating:

“So was that for me?”

You swallowed.

You could lie. You could run. You could pretend you were drunk, pretend it was a mistake, pretend you didn’t spend the last three nights soaking through your sheets thinking about his hands.

But instead, you whispered, voice shaking:

“No… but I kind of wish it was.”

That was all it took.

He lunged.

One second he was still—and the next, you were pinned against the nearest wall, his body caging yours in like a fucking wolf finally snapping the leash. His hand cupped your jaw, forcing your gaze up to meet his, his hips already pressing into yours, hard and deliberate.

“You’ve been driving me insane,” he growled, mouth brushing yours without kissing. “Walking around like you didn’t just hand me the filthiest fucking fantasy I’ve ever seen. You don’t get to do that and act innocent.”

His lips crashed into yours—hungry, open-mouthed, devouring. You moaned, fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, like you could climb inside him and never come out. He kissed like a man starved. Like he’d been waiting for this.

Then his hand slid down—slow, confident—and slipped beneath your waistband.

No hesitation.

Two fingers between your folds, slick and ready.

“Jesus,” he breathed, chuckling against your throat. “You’re soaked.”

“Chan—” you gasped, back arching into him.

“Shhh,” he purred. “Gotta check something.”

His fingers curled, and your vision whited out.

You gripped his shoulders hard, moaning into his neck as he worked you with firm, practiced precision, like he’d memorized exactly how to make you squirm. He found your clit and circled—not too soft, not too fast, just enough to make your knees buckle.

“Thought about this every night since that photo,” he murmured, tongue flicking your earlobe. “Wondered how you’d feel. How you’d taste.”

Then he dropped to his knees.

Your breath caught.

Your pants were gone in seconds—yanked down, flung somewhere behind you—and before you could process the shift, his tongue was on you.

Hot, wet, filthy.

He moaned when he tasted you, like the flavor was his new favorite addiction, dragging his tongue through your folds before flicking mercilessly over your clit.

Your hand flew to his hair, fingers yanking hard—but instead of pulling away, he groaned, rutting his hips against the floor like he was getting off on it.

Your thighs trembled. He was relentless—alternating between fast flicks and slow, firm pressure, fingers pumping in and out while his tongue tortured your clit. You were gone. Moaning, panting, grinding against his face with no shame.

“Chan, I—fuck, I’m—”

“Come on my tongue, baby. Give it to me.”

You shattered.

Legs shaking, head thrown back, body writhing as you came hard and messy all over his mouth. He didn’t stop. Not even when you whimpered. Not even when your hands tried to push him back.

“Mmm,” he murmured, lips shiny, eyes wild. “Still twitching. Still so wet.”

He stood, licking his fingers clean.

And before you could breathe—

He turned you around.

Bent you over the couch arm.

“One round’s not gonna be enough.”

⸻

You could barely think.

Your thighs were still shaking, your mouth hung open, and your hands were clenched into the fabric of the couch. Your skin was flushed, sweat-slicked, and Chan—fucking Chan—was behind you, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds like he was considering it.

You whimpered, rocking your hips back against him.

“Please…”

“Please what, baby?” he rasped, one hand gripping your ass, the other steady on your lower back. His voice was calm—too calm. “You think you deserve my cock already?”

You nodded desperately, cheek pressed to the couch cushion.

“I—I need it—”

He laughed, low and breathless, but cruel.

“You don’t need anything. You want it. And you don’t get what you want yet.”

You whimpered again, clenching around nothing, feeling the blunt head of him drag up and down, spreading your arousal, making you ache. He could fuck you. You were ready—more than ready. But he wasn’t giving in.

Instead, he leaned down, lips brushing your spine, voice like gravel in your ear.

“You sent me that picture by accident, right?”

You nodded again, barely breathing. “Yes—yes, Chan, it was a mistake, I swear—”

“And then you didn’t say a word. You let me walk around for days with that image burned into my fucking skull, baby.”

He stood again. Pulled back.

You whimpered at the loss—until his hands gripped your hips and flipped you over effortlessly, laying you flat across the couch cushions. His eyes were dark. Focused.

“You should be punished for that.”

Your breath caught.

But before you could ask how, he was on his knees again.

His mouth found your inner thigh, kissing, biting, marking you before finally—finally—his lips sealed around your clit.

Your hands flew to his hair, tugging hard.

“Still sensitive?” he teased between licks, voice thick with amusement. “Good. You’re gonna come again. But not on my cock.”

You cried out as his tongue flicked over your clit again—faster now, more deliberate. He had no mercy. One arm hooked around your thigh, holding you open, the other hand sliding up your body to squeeze your tits, tugging your nipple just hard enough to make your back arch.

“F-Fuck, Chan, I—”

“That’s it. Be a good girl and give it to me.”

His fingers were inside you before you could even register the stretch.

Two of them.

Curled.

Perfect. Precise. Devastating.

His tongue never let up.

And it was too much—your already-sensitive body twitching under him, your hands fisting his curls so tight he groaned against your pussy, rutting into the couch like he couldn’t take it either.

But he didn’t stop.

Even when you whined. Even when you begged. Even when your second orgasm started to rip through you like lightning, he kept going.

“That’s my girl,” he growled, mouth soaked. “So fucking sweet when you’re dripping down my throat.”

You sobbed.

Actually sobbed—overstimulated and burning, legs wrapped around his head now, trying to pull him closer and push him away at the same time.

And just when you thought he might finally give in—

“No,” he whispered, breath hot against your core. “You don’t get my cock yet.”

He kissed your clit again, featherlight this time, before sitting back, wiping his mouth slowly with the back of his hand.

You stared up at him, dazed, lips parted.

He smirked.

“You’re gonna go home like this. Messy. Wet. Ruined.”

“And when you’ve learned how to ask me nicely for what you want… then I’ll fuck you.”

⸻

It started with a single text.

Chan 🐺: Come over. Wear nothing under your coat.

Your stomach dropped. Your thighs clenched.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to.

Because when Bang Chan said come over, you came running.

When he said nothing underneath, you obeyed.

You didn’t knock. Just walked into the dorm, coat clutched closed over bare skin, heart pounding so loud you could hardly hear anything else. The place was quiet. Dark. The guys were gone.

And he was waiting.

Sitting on the edge of the couch.

Legs spread. Elbows on his knees. Head tilted as he watched you walk in like you belonged to him.

You did.

“Take it off.”

His voice was low. Controlled. Deadly.

Your hands shook as you undid the buttons. Slowly. One by one. Until the coat fell open—and his eyes dropped.

Bare.

All of you.

His jaw clenched. He didn’t speak.

Just leaned back slowly and patted his thigh.

“Come sit.”

You straddled him with trembling knees. His hands came to your waist, sliding up your bare back, mouth ghosting the underside of your jaw—but still, he didn’t kiss you. Didn’t do anything.

You were panting. Dripping. So fucking desperate it hurt.

“Chan, please—”

“Please what? Please fuck you? Please ruin you until you can’t walk straight?”

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. “Yes. Yes—anything, just—”

He leaned in, lips brushing yours.

“Beg for it.”

You lost it.

“You’ve had me soaking for days,” you cried, grinding down on his thigh like a shameless whore. “You’ve fingered me, eaten me out, made me come twice, and you still haven’t fucked me—what more do you want?! I need your cock, Chan—I’ll say it, I don’t care, I need it—I want you to ruin me, please—please—”

That did it.

Something snapped.

Because in a blur, you were on your back.

Coat discarded.

His clothes gone.

And his cock—thick, veiny, flushed red at the tip—was pressed against your soaked folds.

“You want me to ruin you? You fucking got it.”

He slammed into you in one brutal thrust.

You screamed.

Your back arched. Fingers clawed at the couch cushions. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp because he was huge—thick and deep and already stretching you past the point of pain and into pure, agonizing pleasure.

“Fuck,” he growled into your neck. “This pussy was made for me.”

His thrusts were savage. Unrelenting.

The couch shook with every snap of his hips. Skin slapping, sweat dripping, grunts and moans mixing as he buried himself in you over and over and over again. No mercy. No pause. Just pure, primal ownership.

“You teased me with that photo?”

“Now I’m gonna fuck you until you forget every other man who’s ever looked at you.”

You couldn’t answer.

Couldn’t speak.

You were too full. Too overstimulated. Eyes rolling back, mouth open in a drooling mess, hands trapped above your head in his tight grip.

He saw it.

And he smiled.

“Look at you,” he panted. “Already cock drunk, baby? And we’re just getting started.”

⸻

Round 2 came when he flipped you over—face down, ass up, hair yanked back so he could growl into your ear while he pounded into you from behind.

“This is the angle I imagined when you sent me that fucking picture.”

You sobbed into the cushions, walls clenching, body jolting with every thrust as his fingers rubbed tight circles on your clit without stopping.

He made you come again.

And again.

And when your body went limp beneath him, trembling, wrecked, voice hoarse from moaning his name?

He wasn’t done.

⸻

Round 3 was slower. Crueler.

Your legs were shaking. Your body overstimulated.

But he slid back in anyway.

Because he could.

“One more, baby,” he whispered. “I know you’ve got one more in you.”

He took his time now—deep, grinding strokes that had you crying from pleasure, nails dragging down his back, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

“That’s it,” he groaned, kissing the tears off your cheeks. “Let me see it. Cry for me.”

You came with a scream.

And even then… he didn’t pull out.

He stayed buried inside you. Let you twitch around him. Let you fall apart. Let you feel every inch of him while he slowly rocked into your ruined, soaked, used body.

Then, with a deep growl, he grabbed your hips tighter, pulled you flush against him—

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby.”

His thrusts deepened—harder, slower, fucking deeper—and with a shuddering moan, he emptied himself inside you.

Warm, sticky, thick.

Marking you.

Claiming you.

Breathing heavy, he collapsed onto your back, lips brushing your temple in a soft, possessive kiss.

“You did so good, baby.”

“Next time…”

“You send the picture to me on purpose.”

TYSM for reading!! And TYSM for 500 followers!!!

Feel free to check out my master list to see more of my works!

tag list : @quaxing-lour @chryssi-kitten @kkd1021 @sagetakami @nojerama-writes @hwangseolover @yaorzu-blog @rrhwang @sayuri122014 @yaangu @eluvsp1hskzbtstxtatz @soojinie-5 @satosugu4l @ynxa-bliss @magikdarkholme @mbioooo0000 @rougegenshin @deadpool15 @simpqueen2025 @stronglychanbiased @kwanniehae @inlovewithstraykids @iovecb97 @rtyuy1346 @minho-kitty @tillaboo @paulina15 @hyunjinnnlvrr

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leyanas · 2 days ago

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WEAK FOR YOU — a PARK SUNGHOON story (TEASER)

SUMMARY 🖇️ you’ve been taught to keep your heart locked away, but what happens when someone keeps trying to pry it open? it’s only a matter of time before it unlocks and you let him inside.

sunghoon is dangerous; he’s involved in issues that involve fights and chaos, and he’s also your best friend’s older brother, which means he should be totally off limits. but when your worlds keep colliding, and the two of you keep getting each other into trouble, you find yourself drawn to him in more ways than you can imagine.

FEATURING 🖇️ sunghoon x fem!reader, wonyoung & jake

WARNINGS 🖇️ implied parental abuse, mentions of death, lots of fights, blood, passing out, cursing, PTSD & anxiety symptoms, yn has scars, SMUT, penetration, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (jake is next door lol) fingering, body worship(?), praise, biting (vamphoon 😫), oral (fem!receiving), use of pet names (pretty, good girl)

WORD COUNT 🖇️ 24k words (teaser wc: 730)

RELEASE DATE 🖇️ 5th august

NOTE 🖇️ aaaaaa my first fic on this account !!! i hope you guys enjoy it,, this is heavily based on the k drama WEAK HERO! sunghoon is like a blend between suho & baku 🙈 please let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist! (banner > @uzmacchiato )

You stare at him. “You’ve been gone for two hours.”

A cold look flies over his face for a second. It’s fleeting, but you see it. “Had to deal with some things. Plus, the best gukbap takes time to cook.”

When you see brand new injuries on his hands and face, you know what he dealt with was something violent. But you don’t question it, you can’t when he went out of his way to bring you one of your favourite comfort foods. “What did you get?”

“Oxtail soup.” He almost salivates as he opens both the lids, and you find it entertaining to watch him make such funny sounds and facial expressions. “Come on, eat up.” Something warm blooms in your chest as you take your first sip of the soup. You watch as Sunghoon slurps from his own bowl and you can feel a ghost of a smile lurking on your face. How easy life must be to enjoy something as small as food. “What?” He asks, cheeks full, lips soaked and soup dripping onto his chin.

Without really thinking much of it, you grab a napkin and hold out your hand to him. His head drops to your hand and then shoots back up at you with a confused brow. “Are you always like this?” His hands (and his mouth) are full so you take the liberty of wiping his chin yourself, unable to ease the anxiety of watching the soup leak onto his lap.

A beat of silence passes as he stares at you as though there’s a huge question mark hanging over his head. Then he blinks feverishly, fisting his chest as he tries to swallow his food. “Uh..like what?”

You take a couple of seconds to scan him. “So animated.”

“I could ask you the same question. Are you always so… reserved?”

That word: reserved. It’s such a refreshing term to describe you. It conflicts everything you’ve ever assumed people saw when they tried to get to know you. In fact, the word throws you so off guard, a smile sneaks onto your lips. It’s not a ‘reserved’ one, either. It’s big and careless, with flashing teeth and creased smile lines. A laugh builds up in your throat too and you let it fall out, suppressing it with another spoon of your soup.

Sunghoon still sits there like he’s caught a ghost, making your laugh die out a little. “Wow. Did you just laugh?”

“If you’re about to say, ‘You should smile more, it suits you’, I want you to park that thought right now.” You glance at him, lips resumed back to their usual position.

“Well I wasn’t going to say that. But it does suit you.”

You can’t find it in you to be angry at him. Not when he went out of his way to rescue you, to try and take you home, to bring you food, to keep you company. So you just tuck into your food instead.

“Oh, by the way.” He starts, and you notice the dribble again, so you hand him the same napkin as earlier. He takes it and continues talking. “I don’t know if this is obvious or not, but please keep what happened a secret from my sister. I don’t want her to know I’ve got her friends involved in my shit.”

Because that’s all this is. That’s all you are. His little sister’s friend that keeps getting reaped into his business, that will forever be reaped into his business if you keep bumping into him. Tension grabs you by the shoulders as a shiver trickles down your spine. A pain shoots up your leg as you grab it, remembering how you were dropped onto the floor by someone who seemed twice your size. That must’ve been how the injury happened. You give Sunghoon a fleeting look, hoping your fear doesn’t transpire past your eyes, “Do you think I’m still involved?”

His eyes try to burrow yours as his gaze flickers between them. You nearly falter, having to break away the eye contact to take another sip of your food. “Yes. And I’ll apologise a million times over for it.”

Reality washes over you. Sunghoon being here only makes you that much more of a target, you realise as you sit up and push your food away. “You should go, then.”

“Hey, I…”

“Go.”

NOTE 🖇️ please look forward to the full fic and again, lmk if you want to be on the taglist ^^

#leyA writes #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x you #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x you #enhypen x you #enhypen x female reader #enhypen hyung line

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ravennaortiz · 3 days ago

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August 1 The Weather is hot but not as hot as you babe. As always 18+ Requested by the lovely @melissataggart87

“Hey Darling” drawled Jax as he came into the TM office a charming smile on his face that had heat pooling between your thighs. The blond haired, blue eyed biker had certainly got your attention. He was a walking red flag but you couldn’t help but fantasize about what it would be like to let him use you. But he was married to your sister.

“Jax” you greeted as you took a sip of the iced tea you had gotten at lunch a bit ago. The coolness doing nothing to soothe the heat inside let alone outside from the California sun.

“This heat is oppressive” he stated as he flopped down on the couch. The material creaking under his sudden weight. “Speaking of oppressive, how the hell are you working in this sweat box and not looking like a melted wax figure?” he asked as he reached for the fan on the table behind him and turned it on high.

You giggled and shook your head. “A bit dramatic there, don’t ya think?” you asked as you sat back in the chair. Your drink dripping water onto you as it sweated in the heat. “Besides you get used to the heat and if you don’t move you’re good”

Jax grinned at you as his eyes watched the drips of water slink down your skin. The strapless dress giving him ample view of your chest. Swallowing hard he thought about it bunched up around your waist as you rode him. He had been flirting and testing the water for weeks. He knew his best shot was now to make a move since all the other guys had called it early due to the heat. It was just the two of you out here.

“Thing is….I wanna move” started Jax lazily and low as if he was telling you a secret. “More so under you, cause while this weather is hot it’s not as hot as you babe” he finished with a Cheshire cat like grin as your eyed widened.

“Jax” you started as you shook your head and set your drink down. Sitting up right you shook your head. “My Sister”

“Doesn’t have to know.” Purred Jax with a chuckle. “Why are you fighting this, I know you want it as much as I do” he stated as his hands moved to his pants working on his belt and zipper. “So get over here and get on my cock pretty girl. Let me feel your heat” he added as he freed his cock and started stroking it.

You licked your lips as you watched him. Eyes glancing up and out the window that led to the garage it was empty as was the parking lot outside the open office door that led outside. Pushing back from the desk, chair wheels squeaking in the silence that had developed you walked slowly over to him, slipping out of your sandals as you went.

“Leave it on” stated Jax as he watched your hands start to go to unzip your dress. “Just bunch it up for me” he added as he watched you, his heart racing. He was nervous not because he was new to cheating, it was his specialty at this point to be honest. But it would be the first time he buried his cock in someone Tara loved and cared for.

Bunching your dress material up you got closer and moved over Jax until you were hovering over his hard cock. “So wet already” chuckled Jax as he used a hand to hook your panties and pool them to the side while his other hand teased your clit and entrance with his cock head.

You bit your lip as a moan left your mouth. “Just make sure to pull out Jax” you whispered as you started to lower yourself down making him hiss a fuck under his breath as he nodded.

A few minutes later your hand was tossed back, hands on his thighs as you rode him. Jax thrusting powerfully up into you as he held your waist tightly. He could feel his cock start to twitch and his balls tighten as his release got close. “Hop off” he growled as he started to slow so as to honor your request.

“No…don’t…ahh.. just fuck me” you panted and moaned, moving your hips faster. Jax tried to tell you again he was close but your head snapped up and your eyes met his. “Just fucking cum in me Jax” you yelled. Jax nodded and snapped his hips up powerfully into you as you called his name over and over as his cock spewed cum deep inside you as your body milked him.

That Night

Jax was asleep when he felt the covers by his hip lift. A hand pumping his cock had him groaning. Assuming it was Tara he rolled over only to pull his cock from the hand. Sitting up abruptly he realized Tara was still sound asleep. A small giggle had him looking to the floor next to the bed and he saw you in a sheer tank top and thong trying to be quiet. Raising a finger to his lips he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, opening his legs for you to crawl in. As your mouth went around his tip he closed his eyes, hands resting on your head. Yeah he thought, Tara was right, it was a good idea to let her little sister move in to help care for the boys.

#sons of anarchy #ravennasmasterlist #jax teller #BikerBoysOfSummer2025 #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller smut #jax teller x reader #jax teller imagine #jax teller fic #sons of anarchy smut #sons of anarchy x reader #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfic #fanfiction #smut fanfiction

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joan-deactivated20230204 · 1 day ago

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as much as i was excited for him to come out, ive found logos really boring to play with. s1 isn't a super interesting afk skill, but its really s3 that disappoints me- arknights has a lot of "s3 deletes everything" skills, and by the time of logos's release it just felt like more of the same. necrosis feels like it could at least enable cool synergies with nymph s3, but in practice its just a tool to kill more things faster. it never feels like there's a lot of thought that goes into playing with logos, which is disappointing when his status as "one of the best casters in the game" means im bringing him to a lot of the high-end content where i want to be thinking really hard.

dorothy is one of my all time faves, and i really enjoy how much of her strength comes down to player skill. i remember on release she was underhyped because her numbers weren't that crazy and the application of her traps was unclear, but in practice she's occupied a niche of being really powerful if you know how to apply her to the current stage. shes ended up as part of nearly all of my cc clears since she was released because it turns out, global range on stun/slow is a really useful tool for stalling enemies whose stats are buffed to hell. really good as an IS opener too, even if the competition for 6* specialists keeps her out of n15+ meta.

nearl the radiant feels like shes had ups and downs with how good she is, but she's occupied a special place in my heart with s2: whenever im struggling with a stage, and i have an extra slot in my party but i know that my setup doesnt give me anymore deployments to work with, i always just slot in nearl s2. ignoring deployment limits, aoe stun, solid dps, altogether she's been my emergency button to stop an enemy from leaking or get that last bit of damage in. she comes up a lot for me in high-end content as well: deployment limits in cc? just put nearl in. got a guard voucher right before the boss in is? im sure there'll be a use for nearl. its a very powerful and fun way to engage with the game, and im a bit surprised that HG still hasn't gone back to the well of ignoring deployment limits.

i never got the hang of fartooth, when i tried her out a while back she felt like she was too situational to find uses for, and not strong enough to warrant that kind of niche complexity. i know that she was a not uncommon feature in cc for a little while, so clearly theres some potential there, but i never enjoyed playing with her enough to get the hang of it.

theres a lot of operators who i built and havent used because they feel too weak, but ill highlight swire alter. i think her kit reads really fun, and im looking forward to seeing if her upcoming IS module can breathe some new life into her, but i feel like merchants as a whole suffer from a chronic issue of "why would i limit my dp generation for this mediocre of a payoff?". i feel similarly about lee but in his case, status immunity means that he has a niche (like the last knight!) whereas swire feels like she's got nothing atm.

general arknights design questions out of curiosity, reblog with your answers to any or all of them:

what 6*s do you think are strong in a boring way?

what 6*s do you think are strong in an interesting way?

what 6*s do you just really like using, regardless of how strong they are considered to be?

what 6*s did you just not like using at all when you tried them?

are there any 6* you refuse to use because of their reputation as strong or weak? (so unrelated to disliking the character for whatever reason)

#arknights

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prpldahy · 1 day ago

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𝓛𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮 𝓛𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼

In the comfort of solitude and the safety of routine, she thought she found peace. A quiet observer of the world who lived by rhythm, by silence, by control...until a disruption

breaks her preordained life, and what begins as a small unconvenience encounter soon

unravels into something far more meaningful.

Pairing: Mingyu × GN!Reader

Word Count: 5.2k words

Characters: Barista!Soonyoung, SMB Owner!Seungkwan

Genres: angst, Romance, Fluff, Slow Burn, Poetic Narration, Soft Tension, Comfort

Zone Disruption

AU: Slice of Life

From a balcony dressed in potted plants, a sun-faded round table at its center,

I watched as I always do … the movements of the world around me.

The days unfolded just as the birds left their nests every morning.

Events followed the same rhythm,

In the same order,

At the same time.

That quiet routine always gave me comfort,

A sense of balance,

A feeling that everything was still within my grasp.

And I held tightly to that belief.

But within that soft symphony,

I began to wonder

Is it silence that makes us feel every passing minute?

Or is it solitude that slows down time?

We, humans, often fail to recognize the quiet details surrounding us.

Even the ones that disturb us.

They still carry their own shade of color

A hue that stains our lives, subtly but permanently.

And Perhaps the noise in my past

Was merely a reflection of the stillness within me.

Maybe , in the end, working under pressure simply suits some people.

And I had grown used to being one of those few.

The weight of deadlines, the rush of tasks

they were always far lighter than the weight of people.

There was no need for a strict schedule, no one standing over me with expectations.

I simply did what I loved, at my own pace

Or at least, I liked to believe so.

To be honest, I don’t think I could ever go back to sharing my space with anyone.

Not after I truly came to understand the value of complete solitude.

And strangely enough, I never found myself troubled by that realization.

I convinced myself that kind of sparkle

the one people call connection

was never mine to begin with.

And I never waited for life to surprise me with some hidden treasure.

I liked being in my comfort zone.

I liked the silence, the control, the stillness of knowing what tomorrow would look like.

And for now, I’m still convinced that I want things to stay exactly as they are.

But then...

He came in like a bright, inspiring song

That was the first comparison that came to my mind when I saw him

He was the kind of person who drew every eye in a crowded room.

Sharp features, golden skin ; kissed by the sun.

Tall, broad-shouldered, carrying a presence too bold to ignore.

At a table full of young men, he was always the first one you’d notice.

He might’ve had the look of a charming heartbreaker

The kind of guy who knew he was dangerous and wore it like cologne.

But the surprise was... he wasn’t like that at all.

It could’ve been anyone else, me, you, anyone.

But not him.

I stepped into the café in silence.

The book rested in my hands, pages trembling slightly , not from the breeze, but from my own unsettled grip.

It was my first time working with this publishing house, and to say I wasn’t pleased would be a polite understatement.

A storm of emotion stirred within me , mostly anger, because they hadn’t kept their promises. Frustration, at the hideous cover that had nothing to do with my aesthetic, my identity as a writer. Disappointment, because the release date had been delayed again, without so much as a proper excuse for all my readers .

I made my way to my usual seat, the one by the window, the one that knew me better than most people. I sat down and opened the book. My latest work. A catastrophe, at best. It didn’t look like mine. It didn’t feel like mine. The design, the layout, the soul…everything had been distorted. I was bracing myself for the possibility that they might have even rewritten parts of it.

I pulled out my phone and dialed their number, trying to suppress the fire rising in my chest. I can ignore a lot of things, but not when someone ruins the one thing that holds the most meaning to me ; my books.

Then I felt a shadow beside me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a barista’s apron. Without looking up, I muttered softly,

“The usual, please.”

No response.

I sighed deeply and redialed the number. Still nothing. But the presence—his presence—remained beside me, quiet and unwavering.

My thoughts got tangled. The call, the book, and what I thought was seungkwan standing still on top of my head all along … everything was overlapping. I couldn’t take it.

Frustrated, I rested my head on the table and let out a sharp breath.

“Could you stop staring and just bring my order?” I snapped, my voice edged with exhaustion. “Some of us are having a really bad day, and you’re making it worse.”

I regretted it the moment the words escaped.

I looked up, and my heart sank.

It wasn’t Kwan, neither soonyoung . It wasn’t anyone I recognized.

Just a stranger.

The universe must’ve been playing games with my nerves today.

Flushed with embarrassment and anger, I grabbed my bag and stormed out, aware of the confused eyes following me.

I didn’t know where I was going.

All I knew was that I needed air. A quiet place. A corner where I could collect myself and make sense of everything ,of the ruined book and my shattered expectations, and the awkward moment I just created.

I just needed stillness. A reset.

Inhale…

Exhale…

The feeling of tension in front of this door is unfamiliar.

And yet here I am, pausing before I step in.

I enter, and almost instinctively, my eyes begin to search for him , without permission, without thought.

For a moment, I managed to convince myself that everything that happened yesterday was just in my head. A passing illusion. A trick of exhaustion.

And I almost believed it , when I didn't see him.

I sat in my usual spot, as if routine alone could ground me.

I put on my headphones and begin working on my next book, trying to bury myself in the lines and outlines, in plots that make more sense than real life.

A few minutes pass.

A plate and a cup are placed in front of me.

And then… his shadow settles across the table from me.

Still, I don’t look up. My eyes remain fixed on the screen. I pretend to type something important.

But of course, who else could it be?

Kwan. Come to ramble above my head, as always.

He starts talking without warning, his voice carrying its usual nonchalance.

“You didn’t come in yesterday, did you?”

“Why are you asking?”

“You won’t believe what happened. Some crazy customer yelled at one of the staff for no reason.”

He takes a sip from the iced coffee , the one that was clearly meant for me , then goes on:

“And not just any staff. A friend of mine. It was his first day. If you had been here, I swear, I would've put that woman in her place.”

I lift my eyes from the screen, and meet his.

A slight smile curves my lips, though my tone remains dry.

“Hmm. Yeah. I was here yesterday.”

I pause, letting the weight of the next words land exactly where they should.

“And that crazy woman… was me.”

Some might call it pride.

Maybe even arrogance.

But the truth is I’ve never been good at apologizing.

I tend to treat things as if they never happened.

Sweep them under the silence.

Carry on with the same expression, the same rhythm,

as if nothing ever cracked the surface.

And I know that kind of reaction doesn’t sit well with most people.

People expect words.

They expect the right ones,

wrapped in remorse, delivered with softness.

But even when I try, even when the apology is sincere,

it never feels enough.

It always sounds rehearsed in my own ears, like I’m borrowing someone else’s lines.

And now… here I am, seated across from him,

in a moment that clearly calls for one.

He’s quiet.

His gaze is fixed on the cup between his hands, turning it slowly, almost absentmindedly, as if the steam might spell out answers he doesn’t want to ask me for.

“Mingyu, right?”

His eyes flicker up to meet mine for a brief second.

Then a quiet nod.

“Yes, it’s him.”

I inhale, hold it, and let the words spill slowly.

“I know this might sound odd... but I really am sorry.

For how I acted before.”

There’s a pause , a long one. I fill it with more words, because silence has never been kind to me.

“I mean… it’s not like I gave you trauma or anything,”

I add with a nervous half-smile,

“but still, I acted poorly. And I regret that.”

His brow lifts ever so slightly.

Then he shrugs,

the motion casual, but his eyes hold a softness I didn’t expect.

“It really wasn’t that big of a deal,” he says.

“I don’t know why Kwan made such a fuss about resolving a conflict that barely existed.”

My lips curl faintly.

“Well… that day it was obvious. You saw it too, didn’t you?

That I wasn’t okay.

That something was… off.”

He looks down again, nodding once.

“Yeah. I figured. Things like that happen sometimes.”

I don’t respond right away.

Instead, I watch the way the light from the café window cuts across his face , sharp angles softened by the quiet hum of mid-morning stillness.

There’s something unsettling about his calm,

like he carries the kind of understanding that doesn’t need to be explained.

And for a moment,

I wonder what it would’ve been like

to have met him on a better day.

I haven't been going to the café much lately.Not as often as I used to. Life had gotten… busy.

Or maybe I was keeping myself busy on purpose.

That afternoon, I was making a cup of tea, watching the rain trickle down the windowpane,

each drop tracing its own path across the glass as I waited for the water to boil.Then the doorbell rang.

I paused.

It was strange , I wasn’t used to unannounced visitors. Or any visitors, really.

And who else would dare show up at my door without warning?

Of course. Seungkwan.I opened the door to find him standing there, eyebrows knit in mock frustration, holding a box in his hands.

Without even a greeting, he brushed past me and made his way inside,

setting the box dramatically on the table like it was some sort of peace offering.

I wasn’t surprised. This was perfectly in character for him.

Behind him, another figure lingered at the threshold. He looked uncertain, like he was still processing what he’d just walked into.

I offered a small smile.

“Don’t just stand there. Come in,” I said softly.

Mingyu stepped inside, eyes scanning the place like he didn’t want to intrude yet still can’t handle curiosity.I turned to Seungkwan.

“So… am I allowed to know the reason for this unexpected visit?”

He gestured proudly to the table.

“I brought you mocha , cookies and donuts.”

I raised a brow.

“Oh? What’s the catch ‘buy two, get one Mingyu free’?”

My eyes flicked to Mingyu, who chuckled under his breath.

Seungkwan just grinned and patted the couch beside him like this was his living room

and I was the guest.

“I just wanted to make sure,” he said as he settled in,

“that I’m not the reason you stopped coming to the café every day like you used to.”

He nodded in Mingyu’s direction.

“As you can see, someone here won’t stop complaining

that I’m costing him his daily source of income.”

I turned to look at Seungkwan, feigning a dramatic gasp.

He cut me off before I could even begin my performance.

“Friendship is important,” he declared,

“but money is more important. Sorry not sorry.”

I rolled my eyes and took a seat, letting my expression soften.

“Well, sorry to disappoint you both,” I said as I brought over the cup of tea I’d been making,

“but the universe doesn’t revolve around Mingyu.”

I took a sip, letting the warmth settle into my hands.

“I’ve just been drowning in work lately. That’s all.”

They didn’t interrupt.

And I didn’t stop there.

“I’m also trying to let go of some old habits,” I continued.

“And going to your café every single day is one of them.”

The words hung in the air for a moment . There was no bitterness in my voice, only a quiet truth.

One that didn’t need to be defended and I think I was a little naïve

when I convinced myself I could reason with Seungkwan.yet, here I am…

standing once again in front of his café.

The doorbell chimed softly as I stepped inside.

Everything was still in its place as if time had respectfully paused during my absence.But then again, what was I expecting to change in just a week?

My usual table sat empty, quietly waiting for me, as though it had missed me too.

But I didn’t sit there this time.

Instead, I chose a new seat, one by the wide glass window that looked out onto the street. It felt symbolic somehow.

A shift.

A pause.

I hadn’t brought my laptop. No notebooks, no highlighters, no to-do list scribbled in the margins.

As much as I love my work, there comes a time when even passion asks for rest.

When the mind, cluttered with ideas, deadlines, and characters, simply craves silence.

So I sat—alone,

not in loneliness,

but in quiet companionship with myself.

I watched the world unfold behind the glass. Strangers walking beneath gray skies, umbrellas tilted, footsteps rushed or deliberate. Each person is driven by their own reasons for being out on a moody, rain-kissed afternoon.

I was halfway lost in that thought when the soft clink of glasses startled me back.

A tray was placed in front of me.

Chamomile tea. And an iced latte.

“You’re welcome,” came a familiar voice.

“Kwan told me to make you something hot—he claims you’ve sworn off anything cold lately.” A short pause, then a smirk “But I don’t trust him, so I came to check for myself.”

I turned, surprised.

“Soonyoung?”

I blinked, unsure if it was really him at first.

“This is how you greet your friends after they come back from a trip?” I teased,

my voice light with mock accusation.

I reached for the cup of tea,

placing it gently in front of me like a small peace offering to myself.

“If I tell you something,” I said slowly, locking eyes with him,

“Will you promise to keep it a secret?”

I think I overcomplicate things sometimes.

When I first found out that Mingyu would be working regularly with Kwan and Soonyoung,

I felt… irritated. Not exactly angry ,just slightly unsettled.

But in truth, his presence didn’t really change anything.

He mostly stayed near the register anyway.

Which meant: minimal interaction.

A comfortable, manageable distance.

But today, he wasn’t there.

Instead, it was Soonyoung standing behind the counter,

hands busy, humming something softly.

I tried not to let it bother me.

I told myself it wasn’t a big deal.

But after saying hello,

the question just slipped out.

“Where’s Mingyu? Is he on break? …on vacation or something?”

Soonyoung shot me a look , half suspicious, half amused.

“I know why you’re asking me of all people,” he said,

narrowing his eyes in mock accusation.

“You’re hoping I’ll let something slip.

Well, too bad. I’m not saying a word.”

I raised a brow.

“You’re not saying a word because you know something.

Which makes this even more suspicious.”

“I don’t know anything. Ask Kwan.”

“Kwon Soonyoung,” I muttered under my breath,

“What exactly are you two hiding from me?”

I folded my arms across my chest.

“You know I hate surprises. And I won’t hesitate to resort to violence if necessary.”

He ignored me. Completely!!. Which only confirmed my suspicion.

They were hiding something.

And the fact that Soonyoung of all people was taking this seriously, that was the real giveaway.

He was notoriously bad at keeping secrets. And this wasn’t going to be the exception.

All it would take… was a little bit of my signature Drama Queen tactics.

“Soonyoung,” I began, voice low and deliberate,

“Did I not choose you, of all people, to trust with my secret?”

“You know how much I hate involving others in my personal life. And yet I told you. Only you.”

“And this is how you repay that trust?”

He looked at me… Really looked.

And for a moment, I saw him cave— his lips parted, his expression softening , but then he caught himself.

His face hardened again.

“Your tricks won’t work this time,” he said, voice firm.

“I’m not telling you. No matter how hard you try.”

Then he added quietly,

“This is the first time I’ve seen Mingyu actually care about a girl . And I’m not going to be the one to ruin that for him.”

I froze.

The words hung in the air like smoke.

My mind scrambled to process them.

Soonyoung, realizing what he’d just said,

took about three seconds to register it himself.

His eyes widened ever so slightly.

He’d already said too much.

And he knew it.

I suppose I’ve grown used to being the center of attention.

At least when it comes to girls.

I’ve had more than my fair share of fleeting relationships, connections that sparked, flickered, and faded before they had the chance to become anything real.Maybe it left me feeling tired. Maybe I’m just… full of myself.But with her, it’s different.

There’s something strange about the way I’m drawn to her. Not the kind of attraction I’m used to ;quick, shallow, easy. No. This one grows slowly, like a thought that lingers long after it should’ve passed.When I look at her, I don’t catch her stealing glances at me.

She doesn’t stare.

She doesn’t flirt.

She barely even notices me, really.

And somehow, that only pulls me closer.There’s no need to dress my best around her, no pressure to impress. Because she truly doesn’t care. She treats me like I’m anyone, just another face in the café…Maybe that’s what stirred something in me. The fact that she doesn’t see me the way others do. The way she carries herself , detached but grounded. Focused. Quiet. Entirely in her own world.

And what started as idle curiosity, slowly began to evolve into interest, into quiet admiration.Into something dangerously close to affection.But how long am I going to keep watching her from across the room? I don’t talk to her unless she approaches the counter to place her order. And even then, I never get the chance to hand it to her myself.It’s always Soonyoung.

He swoops in, grabs the drink from my hands, and delivers it to her like it’s a gift only he is allowed to give.

Then they talk.

And talk.

Maybe it only feels like hours because I’m watching from a distance.But still … I see the way she smiles at him, the way she furrows her brows when he says something that seems to annoy her. I see her turn her laptop toward him, or hand him her phone, lost in some deep explanation.And I catch myself wishing , just once… that I was the one listening to her talk so deeply invested in whatever she likes , i want her raw ideas and her unfiltered personality that shows up only to specific people like that.

It’s four in the afternoon now , The time she usually shows up ,I was still behind the counter, greeting customers and taking orders, when she walked in , barely glancing at me as she passed, a book raised high in her hand.She moved fast, her expression lit with excitement, heading straight toward Soonyoung and Seungkwan, who were lounging near the back.I watched as she grabbed them both by the arms, presenting the book to them like it was some kind of treasure.And then … They embraced her. The three of them laughing, celebrating something I couldn’t quite hear. And god how jealousy burned in me at that moment , Not the kind that’s loud or bitter ; The kind that sits deep in your chest and reminds you exactly where you stand.I looked away. I had no right to feel anything , And yet I did.

I was still lost in thought when I noticed them walking toward the counter , all three of them now.Seungkwan had that smirk on his face; the one he wears when he’s up to something.They stopped in front of me, and he spoke first:

“Our brilliant author just hit a bestseller milestone with her latest book.”

He beamed. “And we’re going out to celebrate. You coming with us?” Then he winked.

It had been nearly half an hour. We were still standing here just the two of us.

Waiting.

Soonyoung and Seungkwan were nowhere to be seen.Mingyu had called them several times, but they weren’t answering. Not even a text. Not even a simple “on our way.”

We had all agreed to meet here, then go out to dinner together, a casual celebration.But it seemed, for whatever reason, they had decided to abandon the plan without warning.

A breeze passed by. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, pretending to check my phone, pretending not to feel awkward.The silence between us stretched, not uncomfortable, but not exactly easy either.Then his voice broke through.

“I didn’t know you were a writer.”

His tone was curious, not accusing.yet Like he’d just stumbled upon a quiet piece of me.

I shrugged, glancing away with a soft smile.

“I’m not sure I really am,” I replied, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Let’s just say I was lucky enough to have one of my manuscripts noticed by a publisher. They offered me a chance. That’s all.”

He tilted his head, watching me with a calm sort of attentiveness that made me feel far more exposed than I wanted to be.

“I’m not really the kind of guy who reads much,” he admitted.

“But if they noticed your work , and if it became a bestseller, then it’s not just luck. You must be talented.”

The words hit me harder than I expected.Compliments usually don’t stick. They pass through me like background noise.But this one, his voice low, sincere, saying something I never quite believed about myself , this one lingered.I could feel the warmth creeping up my neck. If I looked in a mirror right now, I was sure I’d resemble a tomato.Still, I held onto my composure as best I could. I thanked him. Kept my voice even, as if the compliment hadn’t sent my heart racing just a little.I didn’t know what to say next. Didn’t know how to move forward without sounding clumsy.Thankfully, his phone rang.

He answered quickly , a slight furrow appearing between his brows as he listened.

“Ah, it’s Kwan,” he said after a moment, turning to me. “There was an emergency. They won’t be able to make it.”

I nodded slowly. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised.

he looked at me,

his expression shifting—lighter, more open.

“I guess we’ll have to reschedule for another time.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I mean… two people are enough to celebrate, aren’t they? If you don’t mind, of course.”

We didn’t go to dinner right away.Instead, we found ourselves in front of an old traditional looking cinema a few blocks away, a relic of the old days with the authentic velvet seats and faded posters.

“Let’s just watch something random,” she said.“Something we know nothing about.”

I agreed. The spontaneity felt refreshing.

We chose a film we couldn’t even pronounce properly, some indie drama with vague reviews.

The kind of movie that either bored you to sleep or changed your life.

Inside the dim theatre, she chose the seats. Middle row, off-center.I ended up with the better view of the screen,maybe cuz the height factor was secured to my side, but truthfully, my eyes kept drifting sideways.

She sat beside me, barely brushing shoulders, her body still, focused ,but never rigid. Whenever I shifted, she shifted too, subtly. Like we were caught in the same quiet current,both pretending not to notice.

As the movie started, I expected her to fidget, maybe whisper about how dull it was. But no she was locked in.She didn’t just watch the movie. She read it.Every plot twist, she saw it coming.

I’d hear her lean in with a soft smirk and whisper, “She’ll say she’s leaving in 3… 2… now.” And just like that ,the screen obeyed her.She barely smiled at the comedic moments. Didn’t laugh when the room did. But whenever a character chose someone else over themselves, gave something up, made a sacrifice, that’s when she reacted.

She’d lean forward slightly, her eyes lit with something tender and solemn. And then she’d whisper to herself maybe to me too: “This is unreal and absurd .”

I had to ask, “Why?”

She didn’t even pause. “As much as people pretend,” she said softly,

“sacrifices aren’t real anymore.

We live fast now.

Everyone’s looking out for themselves.

No one has time for anyone else.”

There was something in her voice ,not bitterness, exactly. But a kind of quiet grief. Like she’d seen something beautiful in the world once, and now it was gone.

I didn’t know what to say. So I stayed silent, but I thought about it. Long after she’d stopped speaking, I kept thinking.

By the time the credits rolled, we stepped back into the warm air outside. The sky was dipped in gold and rose, and everything felt a little more cinematic than usual.I looked at her. She looked back.

“That was fun,” I said, meaning more than the film itself.

She laughed—gentle, genuine.

“It was.”

I hesitated for a moment.

Then:

“Dinner?”

We ended up at a small Thai place with neon signs and a menu we could barely decipher.

“Let’s order the weirdest sounding thing,” she proposed.

I raised a brow. “And if it kills us?”

“Then at least we die curious.”

We ordered dishes we couldn’t pronounce, took pictures of each one like we were food critics with deadlines. She made me laugh until I forgot I was supposed to act composed.

She complimented my photography skills, amazed at how good I made her look.

“How are you not behind a camera full time?” she asked, teasing.

“Or in front of one, honestly. You’re so damn photogenic it’s unfair.”

I rolled my eyes.“You’re just being nice.”

“I’m not. You’d make a perfect model. Or a documentarian. You capture life the way it deserves to be seen.”

Something in me softened. And I knew that meant something.

We chatted for hours about everything and nothing.The food. People watching. Why basil tastes different in every country.Then we left the restaurant

Coffees in hand from a nearby caffe we began walking slowly under the sunset as The sky darkened above us, and the air turned gentle with the breeze.

We wandered aimlessly, following cracked sidewalks and empty alleyways, speaking of trivial things that somehow grew deep under the streetlights.

“What would your last meal on earth be?” she asked.

“Anything that’s warm and shared,” I said.

“Cheesy.”

“Accurate.”

We talked about colors that reminded us of people, songs that made us cry, movies we swore we hated but secretly adored.The lamest topics… but the conversation never felt shallow.

Somehow, it all meant more when it came from her.

The space between us had shifted. It wasn’t filled with silence anymore.

It was filled with something that hummed quiet but alive.

By the time I walked her home and stood at her doorstep, I could see it in her eyes:

She knew. She felt it too.

Something was growing between us.

Something real. And maybe, just maybe

she believed in it as much as I did

The hours of the day ended so quickly and i was already in the next day , but my mind was stuck in the past few hours , playing it all in repeat on my head , i just wanted a little bit more than nothing , But somehow, even that might be the reason we could drift apart.

A sign. A hint. Even a fleeting smile.

I don’t want grand gestures just to see her at ease when she's beside me.

To feel like I make sense to her , and everything else would come gradually by time.

I want to witness that softness she shows around them, but not with the same affection.

With something more. Just a little more.

I want to be someone she looks forward to.

Someone who lingers in her thoughts the way she lives rent free in mine.

And yet I can't seem to reach her. always there, but wrapped in something sharp, something distant. As if she built fences of silence and thorns, and I keep showing up without armor.

And now as I sit alone, when the world grows quiet, and nothing is demanding my attention, the same thought always returns:

What is keeping us from each other? Now that we progressed this much?

It doesn’t feel like the timing.

It doesn’t feel like fear.

It just feels like… she's holding something back.

As if letting go, even for a moment, would cost her more than she's willing to pay.

And maybe it would.

But if you could just give me something , a small gesture, a truth half-spoken, a glance that stays a second too long ,I wouldn’t hesitate anymore.

I wouldn’t second-guess your silences.

I wouldn’t keep pacing this same spot between longing and restraint.

All I need is a little more than nothing.

And if she only gave me that— I would’ve been brave enough for the both of us.

Yet I realised too late how I wasn’t even considered a friend in the end.

She didn’t bother to tell me not even through a message. Not a word. No goodbye.

And I— I had truly believed things between us were beginning to shift, to soften, to unfold into something almost tender.

But she left. Left everything behind. The city. The café. The routine we somehow built in silence. The routine she had and i made it a WE thing just cuz i memorised it , and got used to witness it. She packed up and vanished into the rhythm of her career without the slightest weight of farewell.

It only hit me now how foolish I’ve been.How blind I was, letting pride paint illusions across her every quiet gesture.I thought I saw something growing. I thought I felt something real. But maybe it was just me staring too long at a reflection, thinking it was a window.

The truth stings.

Maybe I thought too highly of myself. Thought that any girl… that she could fall for me, just because I wanted her to. As if that was enough.

But love doesn’t work like that.

It’s not enough that I felt something. It never is.

Her new beginning so full of promise, so full of open skies turned out to be my closed door.

A silent ending I never saw coming.

And somehow, the worst part is how quietly it all ended.

No storm. No fracture. It never began to end , it was Just absence.

Just… nothing.

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riddles-n-games · 2 days ago

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Alice Hawthorne's Links

Since not everything is known regarding the overarching plot about Alice, I had some thoughts to share. So, recently I've been told that JLB stated there are enough clues in the og trilogy to basically solve the mystery. Well, I have some theories. My mind keeps being drawn back to that message from after the release of TBH and the hardcovers of TIG where some people got the scrambled sentence: There are clues in The Final Gambit. Ever since then, my mind has been mulling over what those clues could be.

Me and a few people went over it and the best ties at that time were regarding Lyra and her father. Going back to when the gang was pouring over Tobias's files of all the people he screwed over, we found a few interesting things about a father, his child who died, and the father's profession. I'm not gonna go into detail but that was the premise. Now, given that we have some more insight to Alice, I just had an idea. What if she has her own type of personal hidden history with the Blakes?

We know Tobias and Toby's ties with the Blake family but we don't know Alice's. So I went back through the book and found the part where Avery and Jamie were talking to Nan. Here are those parts to refresh the memory:

Based on the second snippet where Nan lists out some of the potential things that maybe came to mind for Avery as she's trying to assess the dynamics between Tobias and Vincent, I think given our context now, it may be safe to say that Alice went through stuff. As Eve has been among the kidnapped group alongside Gigi and Slate, there has to be reason for that. And I think definitely, that maybe whatever happened with Alice during the time the Hawthornes were involved with the Blakes, that may have been a huge shifting point for her but she didn't feel the effects of resentment and anger as much until later on.

But anyways, I don't have too much to say, just wanted to bring this up as it's one of the only other major things we learn about Alice in the original books so whoever wanted to could try putting together this together further.

#alice o'day hawthorne #vincent blake #tobias tattersall hawthorne #tobias hawthorne #the grandest game theories #the inheritance games theories #the inheritance games thoughts #the inheritance games #the final gambit #the grandest game #glorious rivals #tig #tfg #tgg #gr

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parasitical-if · 3 days ago

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End-of-Month update: July 2024

Hello! Last month was a very, very eventful month - mostly because of the release of Chapter 5! Woo! I've been blown away by the reception it's received and overwhelmed, in the best way possible, by the outpour from all of you. It's been amazing to hear all of your thoughts. After the release, I took about a week to myself just to recover - I think I wrote at least 50k words in the month of June in preparation for the chapter - and then finished the 1500 follower milestone. Textual progress on C6 is little, as I've spent most of the rest of this month working on other, non-IF writing projects that I've been neglecting in favor of Parasitical. Additionally, most of my Parasitical-related progress has been in revamping the outline.

When I first started writing Parasitical, I had a rough plot outline that was meant to span the 10 chapters (which, planning is not something I tend to do while writing!) Almost immediately, because I'm me, I deviated away from it. A lot of this is things like incorporating information/events that were supposed to happen in, say, Chapter 6 in Chapter 3 instead because I realized it fit better there, or adding completely new things that change up the storyline. In any case, I've drifted so far that it's not really usable anymore so I've been spending my time editing it and repolishing to be a good guide once again. I'm 100% going to start wandering away again but at hopefully it gets me through another few chapters.

August is usually a busy month, as it comes with traveling, my birthday, and also the terror of getting back to uni, but I'm trying to make as much progress as I can! Thanks for reading, and as always, snippet under the cut.

#parasitical if #parasitical #progress update

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boobabietch · 24 hours ago

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Chapter IX: TAURASI BREAKS SILENCE: Star Player Admits “She Terrifies Me” | Diana Taurasi x OC

Warnings: use of the word dyke, smut, obsessive and possessive Diana, slightly dark Dee.

A/N: Hello lovelies!! I’m not even gonna excuse myself this time lmao I’m just going to say how fucking in love I am with this chapter and I hope you guys enjoy it just as much. Per usual English is not my first language so if something’s wrong please tell me so I can change it asap. Likes, reblogs and comments(!!!) are highly appreciated and my ask box is always open! I promise that interacting with you guys makes me so happy. So with nothing else to say, I hope you enjoy! Love, Sof :)

Making headlines masterlist

There’s a weird kind of silence that follows you when you’ve lived a long time denying things.

I came into the league in 2004. I was 21. Fresh out of UConn. Hair slicked back, game tight, and sexuality off the fucking table.

They weren’t gonna market a dyke. Not in 2004.

I remember they dressed me in blouses that showed way too much cleavage for press. Told me to smile more. Kept slipping in words like approachable and feminine appeal.

The men on the marketing team kept asking if I had a boyfriend. Told me it’d “help.”

I was already fucking girls by then.

I knew exactly what I liked, and it wasn’t the dude in the Adidas polo asking me to flirt with the camera.

But I played the game. Because back then, there wasn’t a choice.

They let you play gay if you were quiet about it. If you stayed in the shadows. No PDA. No interviews about it. And definitely no posting your girl on social media like these kids do now.

You learned how to fuck without catching feelings.

You learned how to leave before the sun came up.

You learned how to make yourself a myth instead of a person.

And I was good at it.

Until her.

God. Her.

I didn’t even like her when I met her. That cocky, overgrown rookie with a baby face and a mouth she didn’t know how to keep shut. I hated how she walked into the league like it owed her something. Like she didn’t know I built the house she thought she owned.

But she was good. Fucking good.

And that pissed me off more than anything.

Until I started watching her more closely. Until I started thinking about her outside of games. Until her voice started echoing in my head after interviews. Until I kissed her.

And God knows I shouldn’t have kissed her.

And I knew that, I knew I was wrong for wanting this, for craving it as much as I craved it. And even then I fucked her.

It should’ve been a release. One night. A pressure valve turned to max, then shut tight again. No one needed to know.

But something happened. Something I didn’t have a name for. Because I’ve had sex before. I’ve had a lot of sex. Casual. Disposable. Functional. Even made love once or twice. But this?

This was war.

I wanted to shut her up.

I wanted to own her.

So when the schedule came out, Vegas vs. Phoenix, I circled the date. Red pen. No hesitation.

And when the buzzer sounded and she lit up the scoreboard like it was personal, I didn’t even care. I’d watched her dominate. I’d watched her body move with that perfect, furious precision. And every time she brushed past me, I felt that same pull, like gravity had teeth.

After the game, I didn’t follow my team. I waited. Leaning against the hood of a car, arms crossed, trying to act like I didn’t care how badly I needed to see her. Just once. Just to confirm I hadn’t made it all up.

And then she walked out.

God. She looked exhausted. And beautiful. And pissed.

Perfect.

She saw me and immediately rubbed a hand over her face like she was about to start praying. “No. No, no, no. I am not doing this right now.” I smirked. Couldn’t help it. “Didn’t even say hi first, baby. That’s rude.”

“Don’t call me that.” But the way she said it? Like she almost wanted me to. “You’re really gonna act like nothing happened?”

“That kiss? Didn’t mean anything. It was the heat of the moment. Happens to the best of us. Move on.”

Sure. Keep lying, baby.

“So you’ve been sleeping just fine since then, huh?” She stiffened.

Gotcha.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You sure about that?” She stepped back. I stepped forward. Like muscle memory. Like gravity. “You should go,” she muttered, voice soft, almost pleading. “Go with your team to your hotel. I don’t even know why you’re here. Why are you here?”

I tilted my head. Watched her. “Because you haven’t stopped thinking about me. And I wanted to see what you’d do about it.”

She looked wrecked. Fragile in a way I’d never seen on the court. And when she whispered, “This is my job, okay? Basketball is my job. That’s what we are. We are rivals in our workplace. That’s what we are. Nothing else.”

I stepped forward and said the truth. “You know damn well we’re not that.”

And that’s when she snapped.

She shoved me. Not hard, not cruel. Just enough to say feel this.

I caught her wrist before she could turn away. And when our eyes met, everything else dropped away.

She whispered, “You drive me fucking insane.” I grinned. “I know.”

Then she kissed me.

Or maybe I kissed her. Who the fuck cares?

And I knew I was crossing a line I wouldn’t come back from.

Her lips were soft, but everything else about her was defiant. She kissed like it was a challenge, like she needed to prove she could take whatever I gave and then give it back harder. And I met her there because she was matching me. Needing me. Wanting this just as much, maybe more.

We didn’t go slow. There was no time. No grace. Just need.

We barely made it inside. Hands everywhere. Heat thick enough to drown in.

The moment the door shut behind us, it was over. My jacket hit the floor. Her hands were on me like she’d been waiting her whole life to touch me and hated herself for it. Her apartment blurred around us as we crashed through it. I barely registered walls or furniture. Just the feeling of her, against me, under me, wrapped around me like fire.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperation, mutual and sharp. Like two people drowning, grabbing onto each other to survive.

She yanked at my hoodie, pulled me down like gravity itself had hands. And I let her. I let her take. I let her scratch and bite and moan against my skin like I was the only thing keeping her alive. I let her pull me down, and for once, I didn’t stay in control. She clawed it out of me. Bit by bit. Every moan, every curse, every gasped “fuck” felt like confession.

And the worst part? I didn’t hate it. I needed it. I needed her.

And when I got her to the bed? She didn’t hold back. She didn’t beg, she dared. Dared me to fuck her like I meant it.

So I did. I pressed her into the mattress like she was the only thing anchoring me to the planet. She wrapped her legs around me like she was trying to fuse our bones. I remember her nails digging into my back. Her voice breaking in my ear. Her mouth chasing mine even when I tried to pull away.

And for one second, just one, I forgot who I was.

I wasn’t Diana Taurasi, future Hall of Famer, legend, walking headline.

I was just a woman.

Kissing another woman.

Wanting her more than I’d ever wanted to win.

I was everywhere, mouth, hands, hips. I was greedy and she was so fucking open, so responsive, like her body had been tuned to mine before we ever met. I watched her fall apart under my fingers, watched her eyes roll back as she gasped, back arched, begging for more.

God, she was beautiful when she broke.

And I gave it to her. Every part of me I’d ever kept locked behind bravado and bullshit, I gave it to her with my hands, my mouth, my body. “Fuck, Vic,” I muttered against her throat, as her legs wrapped around me and pulled me in deeper.

Vic.

Not O’Hara. Not Victoria. Not the loudmouth bitch. Vic. Like she was mine.

And she was. She let me take her there, let me ruin her, fuck her open, feel every inch of her as she came apart under me.

I didn’t just want her, I wanted to own her. To leave something behind in her skin, in her head. So every time she touched herself, she’d remember exactly how I felt. How I made her beg.

How I made her mine.

Her voice in my ear. My name on her lips. Her hands in my hair. My tongue against her clit. Her hips riding my thigh. My fingers buried so deep I could feel her heartbeat.

I knew her now.

Knew how she sounded when she moaned. Knew how her body jerked just before she came. Knew what it felt like to have her whimpering my name like a fucking prayer, voice broken, hands clawing at my back, like saying it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

I’d had her unraveling under me, soaked and shaking, begging like she didn’t care if it made her weak. And fuck, I wanted to do it again. Slower. Rougher. Deeper. Until she forgot her own name and only remembered mine.

And when she was spent, shaking beneath me, I watched her come back to earth. She looked at me like she wasn’t sure what the fuck just happened. Neither was I. So I did what I always do when shit gets too real.

I left.

Not without a kiss. Not without a whisper against her skin.

“You’re mine, baby.”

Then I walked out the door, before I could change my mind. Before I could crawl back into bed and stay.

Before I could pull her into my chest and fall asleep with her breath against my neck. Before I could wake up to her hair all over the pillow, her leg thrown over mine like we’d been doing this forever. Before I could kiss her again, slow this time.

Before I could forget this was supposed to be a one-time thing. Because if I stayed once, I’d stay again.

And again.

And then one day I’d find myself brushing her hair off her forehead while she sleeps, learning how she takes her eggs, folding her laundry like it meant something.

Loving her. And that? That would ruin me in a way even she couldn’t fix.

So I left.

Because if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s bury the things that scare me.

And God help me, she terrifies me.

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#lesbian #fanfic #boo’sderanged★#wnba basketball #wnba x reader #diana taurasi #diana taurasi x reader #wnba #phoenix mercury #paige bueckers

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ofbravedemons · 2 days ago

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A quietness that filled the room, no one peeping their heads in, Conrad went to fetch me jello or ice cream give or take. It was only myself and my stirring of thoughts. Billie was in pain, her head was throbbing, and from the froggy memory she had she blamed herself for allowing Porter to have such a hold, an insane affect on her. Nerves, anxiety that rippled through her. But Billie had to remember she was okay; she had the best surgeons on her side; she was alert and awake because of her family, the village we had here.

Her head was tilted to the side glancing out the open window when she heard the movement of feet. When she heard him reentering the room, the lowering of the jello and spoon onto the trap. Forcing her head to be turned towards the male, And she carefully readjusted herself with the pillow lowered down to her back to give her a more sense of comfort. “ Thank you.” I was polite, I feel like I owed Conrad big time, he’s been attentive, and my joshing him on his bedside manner was all fun and games. The brunette felt like she had to make light of the situation. She had to laugh; or she’d allow herself to spin, to feel guilt, to be down about the incident, about her head bleed the cloth that was spun around wrapped around her head, it’s a miracle we didn’t have to cut some hair. “ I wish I could disagree, but you and I had always been cocky, it’s part of why neither of could stand each other.” And I was being serious; because if it wasn’t for Nic I doubt we’d be friends, but now I call Conrad family, I love Gigi, I try to take her for ice cream shopping, spend time with her to help fill the void of Nic especially now that she’s getting older. But Conrad I was joking about him dating, but I actually had to laugh at the nurses who thought he was hot, and wanted a date with him. I mean he was attractive but so much baggage now. In another world if there was No Nic, maybe. But that was a fleeting thought. Now I pushed my lips together in thought. He cared about my opinion. I was touched, as I dipped the spoon into my jello. My eyes meeting his briefly. “ Hundley is amazing, she and I would have your back.” Pausing briefly because I was trying to read a tell, get an idea on Conrad, if he was testing the idea of being ready or he wanted me to be straight with him.

“ I think you’ll know when your ready to open a door. I think Nic wanted you to be happy, She loves you so much, and obviously she wanted it to be you and her, but I also know her big heart. She wouldn’t want you to be afraid to open your heart again. But when that connection comes, you’ll know.” A sympathetic smile, an honest look. Conrad was a catch I knew that I doubt he’d have a hard time finding love again, but nothing will compare to what Nic was for him.

“ I mean, I would’ve just frowned until you agreed to get me jello, so I can thank the power of my pouts, But we’ll see how that badside manner is until I sign my release papers, speaking of? Any idea?” I asked plopping a jello in my mouth; I was smiling, because I was hoping Conrad had some pull right?

Continued.

@tightensthebolt

Feeling small almost broken. It had been years since Billie had let her fall apart from that night. The night she lost a piece of herself. A night she had stopped trusting men and relationships. Not to say Billie didn’t spend time with men since she was 13 because that was a lie. She slept with men that wanted no strings, that were one night stands. She built herself up, she put herself onto a pedestal because she wanted to protect herself. Two dreadful days in her life; the day she found out she had been taken advantage of by Porter and that same day she found out she was pregnant. The other was a vague memory of holding her son for the first and last time before she let him go.

A toll she now carried with her, all the demons she hint to be the surgeon she was. Numbness, emotionless it’s who she was. To avoid being hurt. But the looming truth of Porter his crimes sitting in the backburner it now haunted her. Billie had to consider Trevor which is why she had stayed silent, AJ had warned her the birdy in her ear to let her know her son wanted to find his dad; and she lied. She felt helpless even now as she felt on edge. She felt Conrad’s syspathic gaze, it was sweet he didn’t try to tell her he understood, instead he fought his own anger urges; the tightness of the line veins on his forehead; on his neck said it for him. Instead he was just a friend; someone she could lean on. A gentle smile a real one lifted to her brims as she pushed her coffee into her hand. She was preoccupied enough to reject coffee which was the indication Billie was far from okay.

“ Thank you, for being an ear, for not telling me you understood. I don’t want to feel broken. I’m better than this.” Brokenness written in her voice when it cracked. She hated being vulnerable so she was almost relieved when Conrad changed the topic to his debate on career moves. Billie offered a gentle smile as she lifted herself onto her feet. Forgotten coffee had fallen to the trash as hands fell to her sides. She listened intently to Conrad speak; she understood. She did. Because since Nic; he never wanted GiGi to be without a parent or feel abandoned it was part of the why he went to a private practice to begin with. Why we were forced to have coffee meet ups with my busy schedule, being the Chief of Surgeon now; the title made my heart leap on its own content. The brunette gave a silent nod as she stepped outside as he held the door for them both.

Not that Billie didn’t see Gigi all the time, I spent Sundays at the house, we had little tea parties, and if Conrad ever had to work late I’d be the one he called to help him. We were family; Nic’s absence was heavy in our hearts; but I knew Nic, she would never want him to give up on his dreams, and it sounded like he was settling for what worked best for Gigi. I could tell with the way he spoke regarding the private Practice. A hand extended out to pat his forearm touch lingered briefly.

“ It wasn’t all Bell.” Lips pulled together in amusement. “ At my Tea Parties with GiGi I may not have mentions all the rainbow fish books she adores on full display, along with the astronomy books I know she’d love. Cause she’s a astronaut in the making, Hate to break it to you.” A laugh escaped her lips as she dropped her hand before turning serious as our walkway path inched closer to Chastian. “ I think you’re settling for her benefit. And Nic wouldn’t want that for you or her. Talk to Kit explain you’ll come back but shorten hours only work morning shifts unless emergency came up. That you’re a devoted dad, but you do desire to return. But on your terms.” Conrad was a big part of our team; something told me Kit would give him whatever he wanted if it meant Conrad was a doctor had Chastian again.

Just my two cents.

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the-travelling-witch · 1 year ago

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i’ve been cooking something small

#┊glimpse into the crystal ball ೃ༄#though i’m less in a kitchen and more in a crack lab #i’ll post it some time today #idk maybe like this evening #i think that’s the best time for me to release my thoughts #not only bc most people seem to be active then #but also bc i can just go to sleep and not deal with the aftermath #here’s a hint so nobody gets their hopes up #you remember when i said i had an idea for a twst oc….

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wavesoutbeingtossed · 2 years ago

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Screaming from the crypt (or how the past haunts the present on Midnights)

I know it's been discussed so much since Midnights came out but just.

I love how there is such a clear narrative throughout the album (and perhaps especially on the 3am/Vault tracks). About questioning and regret and choices and coming to terms with all of it. It is one long story about how we're all a mosaic of the choices we make, each one taking something from us and leaving something else in its place.

(And now a disclaimer: I'm looking at this mostly through a narrator/subject lens, and trying not to dive too deeply into real-life events or speculation except for in a general sense. For this purpose I like to look at the body of work as art, like literature, because I find it makes it easier to see the common threads in the different songs and cohesion in the narrative.)

In looking at the 3am+ tracks in particular, it's fascinating how some turns of phrases or themes repeat themselves in different songs, in different contexts. (I'm only focusing on the non-standard tracks because there are too many songs and I'd be here all day but I bet I could do a part two lol.) I know many people have pointed out the parallels throughout her discography already and I’m not saying anything groundbreaking by writing this, but I love how these parallels run through in the same album, because it makes it seem like it's one long story, or at least, one long rumination on many different stories that are coalescing into a single narrative.

Battle (let’s go)

For instance, the one that jumped out at me when I started writing this post the other week was, "Tore your banners down, took the battle underground," in The Great War and "If clarity's in death, then why won't this die? Years of tearing down our banners, you and I," in Would've, Could've Should've. It's a story about staying stuck in the same cycle of reliving trauma and coping mechanisms and bad habits over and over again and fantasizing about how taking the “antagonist” out and gaining the upper hand for good would bring closure (WCS), but the truth is that nothing ever will. All that cycle does, though, is repeat itself in other situations, and in this case pushes someone away the narrator cares for (TGW). The difference is that the imagined battle in WCS is a two-way street in her mind (that is ultimately unwinnable because it was never a fair fight), but in TGW it's one-sided -- she's the one fighting dirty, taking shots, the way she'd been doing in her imagination (or nightmares) all these years. But the person in front of her isn't fighting back the way the person in her mind in WCS would, because their intentions are honourable instead of exploitative.

And that's paralleled in another pair of lyrics from the two songs, "And maybe it's the past talking, screaming from the crypt, telling me to punish you for things you never did," (in TGW) and "The tomb won't close, I fight with you in my sleep," (in WCS). In both cases, the funeral imagery makes it seem like this past event should be dead and buried in WCS, but it keeps rising from the dead, haunting her no matter what she does and in TGW, another (or perhaps the same?) tomb that won't close keeps unleashing new ways to hurt her and in turn the new person in her life. In other words, the trauma from the past continues to bleed into the present.

(Again from a literary point of view, I'm not saying the events of the two songs are linked IRL, but they're fascinating textual parallels on the album as a string of chapters, which is why Dear Reader is so compelling, but that's a whole other essay.)

To keep the battle motif going, there’s yet another parallel, this time between TGW’s "[You were a] soldier down on that icy ground, looked up at me with honor and truth," and You’re Losing Me’s "All I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier, fighting in only your army.” In the former, the subject is laying down his armour in the war she’s projecting onto him, waving the white flag, and she realizes that she’s about to destroy something if she doesn’t put her sword down too. By the time we get to YLM, the roles are almost reversed; at the very least they’re supposed to be on the same team, but in this case she’s doing all the heavy lifting, fighting for their relationship in contrast to his apathy killing it. It’s also pretty interesting (if not outright intentional) that one of the 3am+ editions of the albums starts with The Great War, where they find themselves in conflict (even if it’s in her head) that ends in a truce, and ends with You’re Losing Me signalling the end of the relationship, evidence that the resolution in the first song wasn’t an ending but merely a ceasefire before the last battle.

Putting the rest under a cut because this is waaaaay too long now ⤵️

(There’s also another metaphor there in The Great War with its battle imagery: World War I, aka The Great War, was supposed to be the war to end all wars, because loss on its scale was never seen before and when it ended, most thought never again would the world embroil itself in such battle, the horrors and implications were so devastating. Two decades later, the world found itself in WWII, with an even larger scope and more horrific consequences, the intervening time between the two a period of festering conflicts and resentment leading to some of the worst acts the world would see. Bringing real life into it for a second, there’s something a little poetic, though sad, about The Great War the song being about a fight that could have ended the relationship that they ultimately resolved and was meant to be evidence of the strength of their love, but so too did it end up being a period of détente, the greater battle coming for them years later. But that is not the point of this post.)

If one thing had been different

Another major theme in these editions is pondering the "what ifs?" of life, but I think it takes on even more significance in the broader context of the album in the lyrics of "I'm never gonna meet what could've been, would've been, should've been you," in Bigger than the Whole Sky and the repetition of would've/could've in Would've, Could've, Should've (I would've looked away at the first glance, I would've stayed on my knees, I would've gone along with the righteous, I could've gone on as I was, would've could've should've if I'd only played it safe, etc.) In both songs, the narrator is mourning an alternate course their life could have taken* and questioning what they could have done differently, in the aftermath of trauma and loss, and the regret that comes with that loss, and with the loss of agency in the situation because ultimately it was never in their hands. In an album full of questions, wondering about the path not taken, or the forks in the road that have led to a different version of your life, it's digging deeper into the contrast of choice vs. fate, action vs. reaction, dwelling on the past vs. moving on. When you're supposed to let go of the past, what do you do when it is holding your future hostage?

(*I know there are different interpretations/speculation about BTTWS which I am not getting into on main. I'm just saying that whatever the song is about, it's grieving something that never came to be. The literal origin of the song is less important to the album than the sense of loss it portrays. Whatever the inspiration is, it's crafted to tell part of the story of Midnights of ruminating over how, to borrow from her previous work, if one thing had been different, would everything be different?)

(Also I was today years old when I realized that the words are inverted in the two songs. Apparently I've been hearing BTTWS wrong this whole time.)

There's also an interesting tangent in the role of faith in both songs: in WCS, the events of the story cause her to lose her faith (e.g. "All I used to do was pray," "you're a crisis of my faith,") and question all the things she felt had been unquestionable until that point in her life (e.g. "I could have gone along with the righteous"), whereas in BTTWS, she questions whether that very lack of faith is to blame for the loss in that song ("did some force take you because I didn't pray? [...] It's not meant to be, so I'll say words I don't believe"). It's like pinpointing the moment her life changed and upended her beliefs (WCS), but as a result then leaving her unmoored in times of crisis because ultimately there's no explanation or comfort to be taken from what she used to hold true before that (BTTWS). The words she once relied upon to guide her have long since lost their meaning, but in times of trouble it leaves her wondering if that faith she once held then lost could have prevented this pain.

(Shoutout to WCS for being Catholic guilt personified lol.)

To keep on with the vaguely faith-y notions, an obvious parallel is the line in Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve about, “I damn sure never would've danced with the devil at nineteen,” and, "When you aim at the devil, make sure you don't miss," in Dear Reader. All of WCS is about her fighting with an antagonist who haunts her, with whom she wholly regrets ever becoming involved. DR could be seen as a reflection on that fall from grace, warning the audience that if you choose to go after the person (or thing) haunting you, make sure you do so clearheaded enough to be decisive. Again, these “devils” may not be related in real life: the IRL devil in DR could be speaking about her naysayers, or Kim*ye, or Scott & Scooter B, etc., meaning not to cross your enemies until you know you can win. But taking real life out of it and looking at it textually, I am intrigued by the link between WCS and DR, so that’s what I’m going with here. And perhaps that’s even the point in a wider sense; there will be multiple “devils” in your life, or threats to your well-being. If you’re going to commit to taking them down — whether it’s an actual person, or the demons inside you that refuse to let you go — make sure you have the right ammo so that they can no longer hurt you. (Of course, one lesson from these experiences is that sometimes you can’t win, and you have to live with the fallout.)

(Sidebar: I know that “dancing with the devil” is a turn of phrase that means being led into temptation and engaging in risky behaviour, as opposed to describing the actual person. Given the religious metaphors in the song, that could very well be/is the intention, particularly when it’s preceded by, “I would have stayed on my knees” as in she would have continued to follow her faith — in whatever sense that means — had she never met this person, which could also be a more eloquent way of saying she would have continued to be live her life in a way that was righteous (even naive) and seen the world in black and white. Either way, it’s a force she wholly rejects. Like I said, multiple devils, same fight.)

Regret comes up too: in WCS, she says, "I regret you all the time," obviously directed at the person who manipulated her and led to her perceived downfall, citing him as the one impulse she wished she'd never followed, because it won't leave her no matter how hard she’s tried. In High Infidelity, she tells the person to, "put on your records and regret me," and on the surface, it’s like she’s turning the tables, painting herself as the one now causing the regret in someone else, the one inflicting the pain this time. Yet the verse preceding it and the lines following it in the chorus depict a partner who is also emotionally manipulative and vindictive like in WCS (“you said I was freeloading, I didn’t know you were keeping count,” “put on your headphones and burn my city,”). It’s not so much that she’s intentionally harming the person (the way the person in WCS does to her), but rather that the venom in the subject’s feelings towards her seeps through; she’s imagining the way he’s going to feel about her when she leaves, hating her just for by being who she is. (There could be another tangent about how in both songs she’s there to be a “token” in a game for both of the men, who play her for their own purposes.) The regret is dripping with disdain. It’s as though she’s picturing how the person is going to hate her for doing what she’s thinking of doing the way she hates the person who first hurt her.

Sadness, unsurprisingly, shows up in a few lyrics. In BTTWS, “Everything I touch becomes sick with sadness,” sets the scene of a person so overcome with grief that it permeates everything around them; they cannot see their way out of it and feel like the fog will never lift. In Hits Different, it’s, “My sadness is contagious,” the result of a breakup where the person’s grief again touches everything and everyone around them, pushing them further in their despair and loneliness. The reason behind the grief in either case may vary, but regardless of the source, the feeling is overpowering and isolating. They may be different chapters in the story, but the devastation is hauntingly familiar. (As is a recurring theme in Midnights as a whole: there are situations and feelings that present themselves at different points in her journey and colour in the lines in different ways along the road. Like revisiting an old vice and realizing the hit isn’t quite the same as it was in the past.)

Death by a thousand cuts

She also writes about wounds on this album, which isn't surprising I suppose given that the whole conceit is that these are things that have kept her up at night over the years. WCS is perhaps the driving narrative on this never ending hurt when she sings, “The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign, I regret you all the time,” suggesting that no matter what she does, the pain of this experience has permeated everything she’s done afterwards. (Not unlike the overwhelming grief in BTTWS, for instance.) Elsewhere, in High Infidelity she sings, "Lock broken, slur spoken, wound open, game token," and in Hits Different, "Make it make some sense why the wound is still bleeding.” Again I'm not suggesting they're about the same events; the line in HI is about a situation where a partner crosses a boundary, hits below the belt, picks at an insecurity (or creates a new one) and treats the relationship like it's transactional, opening the floodgates in turn. In HD, the wound seems to be more self-inflicted, where she's pushed the person away. (Over a situation real or imagined she feels she needs distance from.) But again, something has picked at her like a raw nerve, and just like in the past, she's hurting, even in a different time and place and person. Almost like the wounds of the past break open over and over again to create new scars. If one were to extrapolate further, it wouldn’t be the biggest leap to wonder if the wound open in WCS, then torn apart in HI makes the one in HD hurt even more.

(I once wrote a post about how I think as time goes on, WCS is going to turn into one of those songs that will be found to drive so much of her work, because it’s just… kind of the unsaid thesis statement of so much of her songwriting.)

Another repeated theme is that of the empty home and loneliness. In High Infidelity, she sings, "At the house lonely, good money I'd pay if you just know me, seemed like the right thing at the time," painting a picture of someone who may have everything they'd want to the outside world, but in reality feels metaphorically trapped in their home (or at least alone amidst abundance), a symbol of a relationship gone sour and a failure to build connection. She just wants someone to understand her, want her for her, but as she's written earlier in the song, she's just a pawn in the game, a trophy from the hunt. Home, in this case, is lonely, isolated, an emblem of her fears. In Dear Reader, she continues this thread, then singing, "You wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking, if you knew where I was walking, to a house not a home, all alone 'cause nobody's there, where I pace in my pen and my friends found friends who care, no one sees you lose when you're playing solitaire." It's the same idea, admitting to listeners that the gilded cage she lived in kept her distanced from her loved ones and real connection, keeping her struggles close to the vest but feeling desperately lonely amidst her crowning success. She's pushed people away and it may have felt like the right thing at the time, but in the end maybe felt like she was trapped. And when you push people away, eventually they take you at your word and stop pushing back; you’re a victim of your own success at isolating yourself. What starts out of self-preservation then further perpetuates the underlying problems.

(There's another interesting link about "home" also feeling unsafe with HI's "Your picket fence is sharp as knives," which further leads into the theme of marriage/domesticity feeling dangerous, which is a whole other thing I won't get into here because it's another discussion and may derail this already gargantuan word salad.)

In a slightly similar vein, we have the metaphor of bad weather for a rocky road or unstable relationship, in High Infidelity again with, "Storm coming, good husband, bad omen, dragged my feet right down the aisle" and You’re Losing Me’s "every morning I glared at you with storms in my eyes.” They aren’t speaking of the same situation or even same kind of breakdown, but it is pretty interesting how the idea of clouds/storms/floods/etc. play such a role in Taylor’s music to signal depression, apprehension, fear, uncertainty, etc. In HI, I think the “storm” coming is the looming threat of commitment to a partner who makes the narrator uneasy (if not fearful). In this case, the idea of making a life with this person is not one that incites joy or comfort, but instead makes the narrator feel that dark times are ahead if she continues down this path. Perhaps in some way, the “storms” in YLM have made good on the threat in HI in a different way; it’s a different home, a different relationship, but the clouds have settled in regardless, and some of her fears have come to fruition in ways she did not expect. The person she once trusted no longer sees her or her struggles (or worse, doesn’t care), and the resentment and pain build with each passing day.

Coming back to heartbreak, one of the obvious "full circle" moments is the beginning of a relationship in Paris, where she says that, "I'm so in love that I might stop breathing," clearly enthralled in a new love that allows her to shut the world out and grow in private, capturing the all-encompassing nature of the relationship. This infatuation has consumed her in the most wonderful way (in contrast to the sorrow of some of the previous songs), and it feels like a life-altering (or even life-sustaining?) force that is so strong she may forget what it’s like to breathe. (Metaphorically speaking, of course.) By the end of the album, though, in You're Losing Me, that heart-stopping love has become a threat: "my heart won't start anymore for you." In the former, her racing heart is full of excitement, but by the latter, her heart has given out completely under the weight of the pain she bears. (YLM is full of death/illness imagery which I already wrote about awhile ago so I won't hear, but needless to say that song deserves its own essay for so many reasons.) She's gone from the unbridled joy of the beginnings of a relationship to the unrelenting sorrow of its end, two sides of the same coin.

Love as death appears elsewhere in the music too, for instance, in High Infidelity’s, “You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough" and You’re Losing Me’s “How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying? […] My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick.” Though not completely analogous situations, they both tell the tale of one partner’s apathy (or at least denial) destroying the other. In the former, the partner’s actions (or inaction) are more insidious, if not sinister; in the latter, the lack of momentum (or admission of a problem) is passive. In both cases, the end result is the narrator’s demise; it’s a drawn out affair that chips away at her morale and her health and her sense of self. (Breaking my own rule about bringing in alleged actual events into the discussion, but the idea that the relationship in High Infidelity, which was obviously fraught with unease and even fear, ended in a similarly excruciatingly slow and hurtful death by a thousand cuts as the relationship in You’re Losing Me almost did at that time must have been so painful. It almost feels like YLM is wondering why what used to be a source of light in her life was mirroring a situation that caused her such pain in the past.)

From the same little breaks in your soul

I said early on that part of what is so compelling about Midnights is that it feels like an album about ruminating — on choices, on events, on people — and the two final “bonus” tracks of the album depict that as well. In Hits Different, she sings that, “they say if it’s right, you know,” an ode to the confusion of a breakup and struggling with the aftermath of calling it quits. It’s a line that has always intrigued me, because the typical use of the phrase is in the sense of, “you’ll know when you meet the one,” but here it seems to have a double meaning, a reassurance perhaps from the friends (who later on tell her that "love is a lie") that she’ll know if she’s made the right decision in calling it off, but could also be her wondering if the relationship is right, she’ll know, and want to reconcile. In the final bonus track, You’re Losing Me, she sings, “now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it’s time,” this time leaving no doubt about the dilemma she faces, though it’s no less fraught. She’s wondering, perhaps for the last time, if now is finally the moment to end the relationship for good. They say that if it’s right she’ll know, and now she’s wondering if that feeling inside her (that once told her her partner was the one, which is why it hit differently), is telling her that it’s time to go for good. Wait Alexa play “It’s Time To Go.” These are not only the things that keep her up at night, but the things that play over in her mind like a film reel in her waking hours.

Midnights as a whole is a deeply personal album, as is most of Taylor's work, but the 3am+ edition tracks seem to dig even deeper to a lot of the issues raised on the standard album. Almost like the standard tracks are the things she wonders about on sleepless nights, but the bonus tracks are the things that haunt her in the aftermath. The regret, anger, sadness, grief, relief, even joy— they’re the price she pays for the memories she keeps reliving. Midnights might be the most cohesive narrative of all her albums, and really does feel like we’re watching someone work through her journal over time, stopping short of outright naming those giant fears and intrusive thoughts (except for when she does) but making them plain as day when you connect the songs together, and perhaps never more clearly than in the expanded album. It’s incredible how the songs stand on their own to relay a specific moment in time, but that they are also self-referential to each other (whether thematically or overtly) to weave a larger web over the entire work. We’re so lucky as fans to have these stories and to keep peeling back these layers as time passes. (And my literature-analysis-loving ass loves her even more for it.)

This is obviously by no means an exhaustive list, and I know there are more parallels and probably even stronger links (particularly when you add the standard version into the mix), but these were the ones that particularly struck me and I’m just glad I’ve had a chance to sit with this and think it through. ❤️

#writing letters addressed to the fire #me thinking too hard about taylor lyrics #taylor swift #midnights #long post #lyrics analysis #song parallels #Gabby this one is for you friend <3 #here goes nothing #Happy Friday or something idk!#(also i know i said there are things i wouldn’t discuss on main but my dms are open lol)#this is not as structured or well plotted out as I wanted it to be #and turned out to be more stream of consciousness than legit essay #but whatever at least i got my thoughts out there and it can release some plot of land in my brain for other stuff to think over lol #If anyone ever reads this thank you! And I’m sorry?#The best compliment i ever got in school #was when we were doing an analysis of a poem in English lit in college #And i brought something up casually #and my prof went ‘I’ve been teaching this class for eight years and that’s the first time anyone’s ever brought it up like that’#’and that just blew my mind’#and i was like ‘who me?’#so that’s all you need to know about me lol #Midnights: The Great War #Bigger than the whole sky #bttws #Midnights: Paris #Midnights: high infidelity #would’ve could’ve should’ve #Midnights: dear reader #midnights: bigger than the whole sky

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