#kept this in the drafts for a little while time to let it out I guess

[wosospacegirl]

teach me - Leah Williamson

Summary: You're insecure about using the strap, but Leah walks you through it,

Warnings: (+18) strap and fingering (r giving).

Word count: 3.3k

A/n: another fic, another draft. - last one!

..

You had been thinking about this for a while. About doing something for Leah, something you had never done for anyone else. 

You had always been shy when it came to sex; you were more into the receiving than the giving part, but not because you enjoyed receiving more, but because you had always felt like you were too awkward, like you couldn't properly please someone.

You had been dating Leah for a year now, and the sex was amazing. Both of you gave and received, but it was obvious that Leah was the giver. 

She never complained about anything. Whenever you talked about sex with her, she always made sure to let you know that she enjoyed your sex life.

But you wanted more. You wanted to give Leah pleasure in a different way, you wanted to make her feel good, really good, just like she did with you.

You had, of course, used your mouth and fingers on her, but you had never used the strap on Leah. 

Leah was always the one who gave it to you. She had mentioned once that she'd like to be the one received, but she was drunk at the time; it was possible that she didn't even remember it…but you did.

You had never used the strap on anyone, you didn't feel confident enough, scared to screw up, but then, late at night, while Leah was sleeping on your shoulder, you thought why now? Leah was gentle with you, she was kind, she made you feel safe.

She wouldn't mock you if you did it wrong. She would teach you, you were sure of it.

So you made a little plan while Leah was away at training. You had just got home when you sat down on the sofa and wrote it down in a little notebook of yours:

Wait for Leah to come home -> sit her on the sofa and give her a massage;

Kiss her (gently!) and then let things get more heated;

Sit on her lap and kiss her neck;

Slip your knee in between her thighs and whisper in her ear that you would like to use the strap.

Take her to the bedroom and…do it!

It was perfect in theory, but there was one problem, a very big one: you had never done it before, not even got close to using it on one of your exes. 

So you had an idea, a rather dumb idea. You opened your phone and googled "how to use a strap-on on a woman", and then you were immediately bombarded with porn thumbnails, your eyes widened in horror, but you couldn't help but feel something warm in your body.

You clicked on a few videos, most of which were very…intense. You had a lot of questions. How did they go that fast? How did they know the rhythm? How did they make sure it wasn't hurting the girl receiving?

You were in the middle of one of the videos, feeling both horrified and intrigued, when the door unlocked and Leah walked in. Because, of course, she would walk you in the middle of your research.

Your stomach dropped. You felt like a teen again, getting caught while searching for 'girls kissing girls' on the family computer.  

You threw your phone down on the sofa, but the video kept playing. Loud moans echoed through the room, and you looked up at Leah as if you were guilty, because you were.

Leah blinked, dropping her training bag by the door, she took exactly three steps closer to you. She looked at the sofa, where the phone was still pretty much playing porn, and then she looked at you, horrified, as if this was the last thing she expected to come home to.

"Oh," she started, a grin on her face, "you're watching porn? It's the middle of the day, girl."

You open your mouth to try and defend yourself, but the moans playing on your phone didn't help, your face burned, and you stared at Leah with your mouth agape.

"What?! Of course not" You lied, but then gave up when your voice came out super high-pitched.  "I mean…yes? But not in a weird way, okay? I was studying!"

"Studying?" Leah asked, teasing in her voice. "Studying what? Sexology?"  

She flopped onto the sofa and tried to grab your phone, but you were faster and snatched it back, quickly closing the tab, feeling relieved that the room was quiet again. Well, kind of quiet; you could still hear your heart beating fast against your chest. 

"I was genuinely studying!" you said as you buried your face in your hands, too embarrassed to look at Leah. "I–"

You couldn't say it. Leah always said that you could be open to her about sex, but it was hard to do it.

"Hey, come here," Leah wrapped her arms around you and brought you closer. "Not gonna tease you anymore, alright?"

She kissed the top of your head. "Do you wanna tell me what you were looking for?" she asked gently, seeing how embarrassed you were. "Is it something you want us to do?"

You slowly nodded, burning your face on the crook of her neck now. "Yes," you whispered.

"What is it?" Leah asked in the same gentle tone as before.

"I just…" You breathed, trying to find confidence. "I wanted to learn how to use the strap… like really use it, to be the one doing it."

You felt as Leah stilled, for a moment, but she tried not to show it. 

"Oh, okay," she said, as if she was trying to understand it, as if she really didn't expect those words to come out of your mouth.

"But-but not in a weird pressure way!" you rushed out, finally taking your face from Leah's neck to really look at her. 

"I just… I wanted to do something for you. I know you're usually the one who, like, takes care of me, and I wanted to do that for you for once." You explained, feeling your cheeks burn as you fidgeted with your fingers. "I have never done it before, and, ugh, I wanted it to be good…for you."

Leah looked at you with the softest eyes you had ever seen. She leaned forward, taking your hands into her own, her voice softening. "Love, you don't need to do anything for me, or take care of me like that."

"But," you look down at your lap, watching as Leah caresses her thumb on the back of your hand. "I want it, if you want to…I just, you'll have to walk me through it.

Leah held your chin up, so you were looking at her blue eyes. "If you want it, I'll be more than happy to do it, okay? We can talk it slow, I'll tell you what to do, no need to see porn."

You rolled your eyes playfully and kissed her cheek.

"Really?" you asked, "It'll probably be bad though."

Leah laughed. "Yes, really. And I doubt you would do anything badly, we can just…be ourselves, no pressure, yeah?"

You nodded slowly, trying to let her words sink in. It didn't need to be perfect, if only it needed to be genuine. Leah would help you; she always did.

She kissed your forehead. "But maybe not tonight, though, my leg is killing me."

"Oh," you said, looking at her thigh. "Did you pull a muscle again?"

Leah nodded, lifting her pants so you could take a look. "Yes, we were doing a drill…I went straight to physio."

"My poor captain," you said, kissing Leah's cheek. "I'll get some Ice, you stay here."

And just like that, your relationship was back to normal again. Your only concern was to make Leah feel better. But still, the whole conversation about the strap still echoed through your mind.

..

The conversation about the strap didn't happen again, not formally, at least. 

It was Saturday night, and Leah had spent the whole day training. She came home very tired, and you thought nothing sexual would happen. 

You were lying in bed, Leah's head on your chest as she talked about the upcoming game. The lights in the bedroom were dim, which made it seem very cosy and comfortable. First, Leah kissed your neck innocently, just like she did several times.

You didn't think too much of it. But then she did it again, but using her tongue, leaving a wet path from the top of your neck down to your clavicle. You knew right away what she wanted.

"Do you wanna do it tonight?" Leah asked as she kissed your jaw. "The strap?"

It was happening, it was finally happening. You looked down at her and kissed her lips. "Yes, please."

"Okay," she said, starting to get up, but you held her down. 

"No," you told her, pressing her gently back into the bed. "I'll get it, just stay here."

Leah wanted to argue, but she saw how determined you were. If you wanted it, she would let you. Leah wasn't used to being the one who stayed in bed, the one who was taken care of; it was weird for her, but maybe she should try and embrace it a little.

You walked through the room until you reached the drawer where the sex toys were. They were all in a lilac box, all the vibrators, lube, everything. You took the strap and looked at all the options of silicone dildos you had.

There wasn't a lot, but there was a fair amount, enough for you to get confused about what to pick. Normally, you went for the smaller one, but it was your first time using the strap on Leah, you weren't sure if smaller was the best option, maybe Leah would want something bigger?

You probably spent too much time looking at the drawer, because Leah's voice came through the room. "Do you want help picking one up, baby?" Leah asked;

You felt embarrassed. You were the one doing it; you should at least know what to use. You groaned to yourself before slowly turning your head to Leah and nodding shyly.

"I don't know–" you began. "We have a few options, I don't know which one's better or…which one you want."

Leah smiled gently. "Why don't you take the medium on?" She suggested. "And some lube too, yeah?"

"Okay," you said in a small voice, doing exactly what she told you.

You took off your clothes and trieed to ignore the way Leah's eyes felt heavy on your back. Then, you slowly put the strap on, but paused.

It would be awkward, right? To walk in Leah's direction with the strap and dildo just… hanging there? You didn't mind when Leah did it (you thought it was hot, actually), but Leah knew what she was doing. You, on the other hand, didn't.

You decided to just put the harness around your hips and hold the toy. Yeah. That was a good idea.

You walked to the bed, holding the lube and the dildo in your hands. Leah watched you walk, her eyes hungry, a grin on her lips, as if she was enjoying this way too much.

"You look pretty," she said as you crawled onto the bed, placing the lube and the dildo on the nightstand.

"I feel ridiculous," you confessed, as Leah brought you into her lap.

"No," she said, kissing your chest until her lips wrapped around your nipple. "You're very hot right now, look…"

Leah latched onto your nipple, sucking gently as she took your hand and guided it down her body. Your fingers met her wet cunt.

"This is how much I want you," she said as she guided your finger inside her. You let her dictate the rhythm. "I could never think anything bad of you."

You moaned, feeling how wet she was, how well her walls adjusted around your fingers.    You could only imagine how tight she would feel around the strap.

"Can you give it to me? Baby?" she whispered in your ear as you curled your fingers just the way she liked. "I want you to fill me up."

You nodded desperately and took your fingers out of her, quickly attaching the dildo to the strap. You opened the bottle of lube and spread it around the dildo.

You felt silly as you looked down at your waist. You could only hope Leah's words were true, that she was enjoying herself. Your hands shook a little as you adjusted the harness around your hips. It looked a little awkward, a little too loose.

"Ugh, is that right?" you asked shyly, looking at Leah and biting your lip.

"Here," she said gently, sitting up to adjust the straps. Her hands brushed your thighs as she pulled something, making it tighter around your hips. She also fixed the angle, so it wasn't leaning as far to the right as before."Now it is."

You nodded and said a small "thank you" before climbing over Leah and straddling her. Leah cupped your cheeks and brought your face down, kissing you deeply, slipping her tongue into your mouth.

"You'll tell me, right?" you asked against her lips. "If it's not right."

"I will, baby, don't worry," she said, her hands on your hips, bringing you forward as she spread her thighs so you could adjust yourself. "I'm already feeling amazing."

This time, you kissed her, a slow kiss. You tried to focus on Leah, only on her. You smelled the shampoo she used, tasted the wine you two had shared hours ago.

It was going to be fine. It was only you and Leah now.

Leah was probably getting impatient because her hands tugged you even closer, her breath warm against your cheeks. "Go on, love."

You nodded and looked at her one last time before taking the dildo and slowly sinking into Leah, just a little. Leah let out a breathy moan. Her eyes were closed, but her hands never left your hips.

"Yes… just like that, baby," she whispered. "You're doing so good for me."

That gave you confidence, so you pushed a little more, watching as Leah's cunt swallowed the strap. She was taking you so incredibly well. You didn't know why, but you felt… proud of Leah, for some reason you couldn't quite explain.

Did Leah also feel like that when she strapped you? It was one hell of a feeling. It made you feel warm inside. It made you want to see how much more Leah could take.

"Move now, love," Leah said, pulling your hips. "You can move. Please."

"Okay," you breathed.

You moved slowly, very slowly. Your eyes flicked between the dildo and Leah's face. You didn't know which you wanted to look at more. You chose Leah. 

You noticed every single expression she made: every gasp when you hit her g-spot, every shiver when you rubbed the strap against her clit.

Leah was the one being strapped, but somehow, you still felt like she was in charge. Her hands remained on your hips, grounding you, guiding you. She asked you to go faster, so you did.

But at some point, your thrusts started to feel awkward, uncoordinated. You faltered and stopped completely, looking at the toy still buried inside Leah as if it were to blame.

"Love," Leah said gently, cupping your jaw. "You're making me feel so good. Keep going, yeah?"

You blushed and leaned down, kissing her again as you found a new rhythm, one that didn't feel awkward, one that made sense.

Leah's body responded to you. She lifted her hips, moving with you. It was like both of you were in sync now, like your bodies just fitted together perfectly.

Leah moaned again, this time she said your name. And that sense of pride came rushing through your body once more. Leah's cheeks were flushed, she was biting her lips, her breathing was uneven… and all of it because of you.

You took off the shirt Leah was wearing, lifting it from her body. You kissed her neck, trailing down to her tits, latching onto one of her nipples as you thrust deeper and deeper each time.

It was like you were intoxicated by Leah's body, and still, you wanted more. You wanted to see her come undone with you inside her.

You kissed her in a wet kiss, your hand twisting her nipple. "I love you, Leah. So fucking much," you whispered, almost breathless.

It was like your words had power, because just like that, Leah came, moaning quietly as her hand tangled in the bedsheets. You kept thrusting (more gently now) until Leah's body was completely relaxed beneath you.

"Uhmm," she kept moaning softly as you worked yourself into her. 

"I love you," she said, her hand moving from your hips to rest on your rib cage.

"You're so pretty," you murmured as your fingers touched her clit.

Leah whined, but didn't tell you to stop, so you didn't. You played with her clit as you found a new rhythm. It was faster, more precise now.

"I wanna make you come again," you said. "Is that okay? Or too much?"

"It's okay," she said urgently, thrusting her hips against you. "More than okay… want it. Want you."

You smiled and kissed her, moving your fingers fast and deepening your thrusts, listening to the wicked sounds Leah's wet cunt made every time you buried yourself inside her.

It didn't take long for Leah to come again, and this time, she wasn't quiet about it. You watched as her mouth opened and her brow wrinkled, and then softened completely. Leah was more sensitive now. She asked you to pull away, saying it was too much.

You did what she asked, pulling out gently before collapsing beside her. You had no idea how tiring strapping could be; you could feel every single muscle in your back, every fibre in your thighs burning.

"It hurts a bit, right?" Leah breathed beside you, turning her head.

"Yeah," you said, wrapping an arm around her torso and pulling her in so she was lying on your chest.  "A lot. You're actually a superwoman… you do that, like, three times a week and don't get tired."

Leah laughed, kissing your lips. "I do get tired. I just do a lot of work in the gym to keep up with your sex drive."

You blushed, burying your face in the top of Leah's head. "Oh, don't start… you're gonna make me more embarrassed than I already am."

"Why are you embarrassed?" Leah asked, her voice shifting from teasing to gentle.

"Because it was a bit… sloppy, wasn't it?" you said carefully. "Like, me with the strap? it wasn't as good as you are."

"Baby." Leah held your face in both hands. "You made me come twice. I promise you, it wasn't sloppy. It was perfect."

You stayed quiet for a few moments, just enjoying the moment, the company, the warmth of skin-on-skin.

"I think I need to take the strap off," you murmured into Leah's hair. "The harness is itchy."

"We can find one that doesn't itch," Leah replied, though from her tone, she was almost asleep.

You slowly got out of bed and pulled the duvet over Leah's body. Her eyes were closed now, and she was fully relaxed. You kissed her cheek before removing the dildo from the harness and slipping it off your body.

It was a struggle to take off, but you didn't want to wake Leah to ask for help.  Once everything was clean, you put it away in your box before returning to bed and lying beside her.

You couldn't help the smile on your lips. You did it, and it felt so incredibly good.

..

A/n: hope u guys liked it <3

Tag list: @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender , @neutraiise , @milkveed, @browercc , @ace-of-baked , @ikzzzya , @sky-the-trans-guy00 , @knight-16 , @wosohk04 , @evaissleepy13, @papimapileon , @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog @goodloe-e @liloandstitchstan @s0ciety-cxv @dfwspky @karmajn @awosofavs @wosofavfanfics @riyaexee @miaereen

[jessequinones]

Writing Advice: So you've broken up with your story?

It happens. More often than people like to admit. I can’t tell you how many stories I’ve given up on, and honestly? It just is what it is.

(Ugh, I hate that phrase. But sometimes it’s the only one that fits.)

Falling out of love with a story isn’t the same as falling out of love with writing. It just means that this particular story, this idea, this draft, this “relationship”, isn’t working anymore. So, what do you do?

Sometimes, the cleanest choice is to let go and start fresh. A blank page. A new story. A new idea that isn’t tangled up in frustration or burnout. Treat it like an actual breakup, don’t look back, don’t re-read old scenes, just move forward and create something new.

But what if you still love the story? What if the idea still matters to you, but it just doesn’t feel right?

In that case, I go full Frankenstein. I dig through the wreckage and salvage the parts I still love, characters, moments, world building elements, and transplant them into something else. Something that might work better. Something that gives those good ideas a second chance.

When I used to write fanfics, I had one character who kept showing up in almost every story I started. The plots never worked out, but that character stuck with me. I never found the right story for them at the time, but I wasn’t ready to let them go either. Sometimes, it takes a while for good ideas to find their home.

There’ve been times when I couldn’t let a story go, no matter how much it frustrated me. So, instead of rewriting it line-by-line, I’d restart it entirely, from a fresh angle, with a slightly different tone or theme. Maybe it’s the same world and lore, but it’s got a new coat of paint. A new perspective. And often, that’s enough to spark something new.

Of course, if you’ve been working on something for years, hearing “just start a new story” doesn’t help. You’ve invested time, effort, and emotion, and walking away from that can feel like a failure. I get it. I’ve been there. It sucks.

When I’m feeling that way, I step back. Not forever. Just for a week. A little space. Then, if I still care about the story but can’t see how to fix it, I give it to a friend. A fresh pair of eyes can see things you might've missed after staring at the same sentence for the hundredth time.

I once dreaded editing a section of a manuscript I was certain was weak. But when a friend read it, they told me it was one of the strongest parts. That little bit of outside perspective snapped me out of my spiral and reminded me that maybe the story wasn’t broken, perhaps I was just too deep in it.

People say writing is a solo act, but to me, it’s a dance. You and your story need to move in sync. You need rhythm. You need trust. You need to know when to lead and when to let the story take the next step. And when that rhythm’s off, it doesn’t mean you’re a bad writer. It just means that maybe, for now, this story isn’t the one.

But that doesn’t mean it’s over forever. Some stories come back to you years later. Some characters don’t shut up until you finally find the right place for them. Others quietly fade, and that’s okay, too.

If you’ve broken up with a story, you’re not alone. You’re not a failure. You’re just evolving.

Keep writing. The next dance partner might be the one that fits just right.

[kakerutori]

It’s telling to me how much Mike glorifies El for what she does and not who she is. From the very start of season 1, he calls her a “weapon.” Very similarly in season 4 - years later - he calls her a “superhero.” She is not his lover first, she is a set of traits first.

But that’s not to say that Mike is incapable of healthy connections with others. Yes, he calls Will the Party’s “cleric” and a “super spy,” but Will is his “best friend” first. We’re not established with traits, we see how much Mike and Will like being with each other first. Will is not a set of traits first, he’s his friend first.

Byler will always, always have the better chemistry for me, because Mike doesn’t just look at Will and see what he’s done and fixate on that, but he knows who Will is and encourages him for his traits to speak to that heart inside. He does not have that same heart connection with El.

[casuallyanidiot]

Group Participation!

Group project for a class where everyone hates each other, but they somehow fall in love with you???

Yandere! m Academic Rival! x gn! Reader x Yandere! m Nerd!

Dead Dove Do Not Eat! MDNI! Tw. Noncon, Yandere, Dubcon, Oral, Voyeurism, semi-public sex, recording

1.7k words

When you got your assigned partners for the assignment, you actually considered just dropping out entirely. The two names on the paper were of the two people that had made your academic career an absolute nightmare.

Yandere Academic Rival is pissed that he has to work with you for once.

It’s not like you guys are nearly on the same level, so Elias just knows he’s going to have to be on your ass to make sure that you’re not going to manage to fuck this up for everyone. His normal opportunity to try and show you up has been dashed, and now he’s passive aggressively adding notes on to literally anything you write.

“I just feel like this is taking too much space. We can cut down on the word count much more if we remove this part.”

“Dude, that's literally just our hypothesis”

“As I said. You should let me write this part. It will be much better.”

He’s so set on taking over bits of your project, but then he whines about how much he has to do. He spends hours nitpicking everything your group does, but he seems to love focusing on you in particular.

“Come on. You should at least come with me to dinner. I’m staying here after hours to try and fix your mistakes."

“What the- no one asked you to do that???”

“Well, we might as well punch in the failing grade ourselves if I don’t. Sit down. You’re not going anywhere until I can thoroughly check what you’re up to.”

Yandere Nerd isn’t much better.

You had hoped that Marcus would tamper down on his creepiness now that there was someone else present when you interacted with him, but you had no such luck. 

He’s a lot more brazen in his advances now. His hand tries to worm its way between your clenched thighs under the table, prodding at your crotch with a mischievous grin like you weren’t sweating bullets. He likes to insert your nudes into the shared draft at ungodly hours at night, making you constantly have to be on the lookout to remove it before Elias would see.

Now, Marcus is smart. Smarter than both you and Elias. Getting him on this project was a guaranteed first class mark in the bag, but it was a goddamn headache making him do anything. You literally had to get on your hands and knees to beg him to do his paragraph on the introduction page. He took a photo, grinned, and finished it flawlessly in less than an hour. You shuddered to think what he would ask of you next.

It wasn’t just him, either. You had been doing your best to manage them both, but it was getting out of hand. Not to mention, but Elias was getting more and more needy.

“You’re working with me today. Not him.” He would scoff in disdain, grabbing your wrist and tugging you off to crowd you against some cafe booth while he tried to get you to drink a coffee you could barely afford. It was hard to keep up with his insults when Marcus would be firing off texts saying “Bby where r u? :(“ followed by a photo of his weeping cockhead. For whatever reason, your so-called rival kept wanting to dig through your phone to see what could possibly be taking up so much of your time. You had to appease him by sneaking off together to the bathroom so you could suck him off so he would drop it.

“God you’re so filthy. I bet you would do this for anyone, wouldn’t you?” He’d hiss between moans. As much as he acted like he was above you, he couldn’t stop the whimpers pouring from his lips as he came down your throat. He couldn’t stop the little admission of love when he thought you were too busy swallowing, either. 

Your days were filled with a delicate balance of trying to finish your work, corralling the two of them into actually making progress, and staving off their demands for more and more time with you by trying to make them cum in random spots around campus. A hand job here, and thigh job there, and you were nearly finished with this stupid ass assignment. You’d done a pretty damn good job stopping them from finding out about each other too. Their whispered threats about what would happen if they caught you with anyone else rang cold in your ears every time they tried to ask for more.

It all came crashing down when Elias snapped one day. You were sitting in a study room that had been booked so you could actually try and edit this damn thing properly and just be done. Your fingers flew across your keyboard, the noise filling the otherwise silent space between you. You didn’t notice when he stopped, but you did notice when he was suddenly right next to you, his shadow looming over the words on screen. You paused, sweat forming on the back of your neck.

It was a blur after that. His hands were tugging at your clothes, bending you over the desk as papers and pens scattered to the ground. “You’re so fucking annoying,” he panted in you ear as his hips snapped against yours. The sound of skin on skin replaced the ambience of a productive workflow, and you were left scrambling and stifling your moans. 

“Always going around, looking at me like I mean nothing. You think you're better than me? You think you don't need me?” He was rambling, his hand on the back of your throat as he held you in place. He was angry, but there was a desperation to his words. It was like he needed you to affirm his words, to tell him everything he'd been hoping that would tumble from your lips for weeks at this point. You were no stranger to getting pounded at this point, but there was an urgency to the way you tried to plead with him to stop. 

“N-ngh~! Elias you gotta hah, y-you gotta stop. Marcus is on his-” He shut you up with a kiss, his lips sliding against yours as he cradled your face.

“Shut the fuck up,” he demanded, his voice ragged as he squeezed your neck in slight warning. “Don't mention that asshole. You're… you're always with him. Do you like him more than me? Tell me. Tell me right now or I'll make it so you can't sit for a whole week,” he demanded, and you could practically hear the insecurity dripping from his tongue. He didn't even give you time to answer. He just shoved you against the table again, your chest flush with the wooden surface. 

From the corner of your eye, you could see your face down phone lighting up. The vibrating notifications were sporadic at first, but the longer you didn't answer, the more frequent they became. Your stifled pleas for mercy were only met with grunts, and it wasn’t before long before your toes were curling and a heat in your belly grew more and more prevalent. But before you or Elias could finish, the door opened. 

Marcus just stood there for a moment, a genuinely shocked look on his face. You could have sworn Elias smiled, like it was some kind of victory to show how you were on the brink of orgasm to the guy he’d been quietly jealous of this entire time. But then, Marcus just grinned. It wasn’t genuine. You knew him well enough to know that.

“Oh? What do we have here?” 

You’d never known his voice to be that smooth, that controlled. Marcus locked the door behind him, his face unreadable as he walked in and pulled out his phone. Elias moved to cover you now that he was done showing off, but the other man put out his hand to stop him silently. You trembled beneath him.

“Oh please, there’s no need to stop for me,” he smirked, practically shoving his screen in your so-called rival’s face to show off a video of you sobbing and moaning while stuffed full of a cock that was certainly not the one currently inside of you right now. “ I’ve already seen it all,” he practically sneered. Elias’s grip tightened painful on your hip, and you panted as you craned your head to see his expression. He went pale before his face flashed with fury.

“You fucking asshole-!”

“Please, like you’re not doing the same thing right now. I should’ve known to keep them on a tighter leash,” Marcus sighed and brushed his hair back as he fixed his glasses and approached the other side of the table you were currently bent over. He wordlessly undid his belt and pants, his dick slapping you across the face as he fisted your hair far harsher than he normally would. You barely got a word in, trying to argue for your innocence before you were choking on his length. You coughed loudly, but they ignored your struggling to stay locked on each other. 

“There’s no point in arguing,” Yandere Nerd’s voice was sharp and cold as his hands worked your head. “We might as well work together until we can figure out how to deal with this,” he sighed, frustration simmering under the surface.

Elias looked genuinely taken aback, but he gritted his teeth as he started up the effort of fucking into you once again. Your eyes widened as you tried to get out of being fucked from both ends. Every time you tried to moan or cry out, Marcus’s tip could shove deep into your throat, causing you to gag. Your toes curled, and your back arched as you spasmed. 

“Fuck you,” he snapped between groans, his breath hitching as he switched between lovingly stroking your lower back and nearly breaking the table. “Fine. We’ll have to keep them in line. I didn’t know they’d be running around getting fucked like some low class- ngh!” He cut off his rambling as he leaned in and suddenly started pressing kisses and bites to your shoulders.

“Maybe a- shit yeah breath baby. Maybe a tracker for good measure,” Marcus suggested between snarls. “We can split the costs.”

Your stomach sank as they started to discuss the logistics about how to keep you quiet and pliant between the two of you while they kept thrusting into you like you weren’t even there. You sobbed, the sound muffled pitifully. Who knew that, this whole time, they’d actually been able to work together just fine?

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Nice to meet you

pairing: felix x afab!reader

genre: smut

synopsis: you meet a handsome stranger at a bar and things get heated between you... but there's a twist?

wc: 1.9k

warnings: oral (f and m), fingering, spanking, kinda rough sex + unprotected sex, pussy slap

a/n: needed a little break from a big fic i'm working on💅🏻 also had this in my drafts since september last year😩 enjoy💜

Once. Twice. Three times.

Bingo.

You definitely caught his eye, the handsome man at the end of the bar that kept throwing glances at you all evening and you were counting.

You swirled the olive in your martini glass slowly, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you smirked and looked up at him. He took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes darkened and hooded as his tongue darted out to catch a droplet of the dark liquid sliding down his glass.

You wrapped your lips around the olive and slowly slid it off of the skewer, making a show of it and watching as his adam's apple bobbed up and down while he observed you. It didn't take too long for him to stand up and make his way towards you, confident and oozing with sex.

Or maybe you were just very horny.

"Evening. Is this seat taken?" his deep voice shook your core and your lips trembled against the glass.

"No." you smirked, crossing your right leg over the left, the little dress you had on did nothing to hide your thighs or breasts. The handsome stranger licked his lips as he stared at your thighs.

He sat down and you leaned towards him, exposing your cleveage and he caught on your hook like a fish.

"What's a pretty lady such as yourself doing here all alone?" he smirked as you finished your glass.

"Waiting for you." you smirked back.

"Me?" his eyebrows lifted a little. "How do you know I'm exactly what you've been waiting for, hm?" he teased.

"My intuition is never wrong." you giggled.

"Yeah? What's your name?" he chuckled and you bit on your lip, leaning away a little.

"Y/n. Yours?"

"Felix. Nice to meet you, Y/n." the way he said your name made you shiver.

"Nice to meet you, Felix." you smirked.

"Next drink is on me." he said and lifted his hand to call up the bartender. "Another one?" Felix pointed to your now empty glass and you nodded.

He ordered for the two of you before bringing his dark eyes back on yours.

"So what are you doing here alone?" you asked him, your heeled foot gently rubbing against his ankle and he let out a breathless chuckle.

"Maybe I was looking for you." he said as you took a big sip of your drink.

"How so?" you taunted and his hands started itching to touch you.

"You look just like the girl of my dreams." Felix said, knuckles gently brushing against your knee.

You let out a warm chuckle and shook your head.

"And what would you wanna do with this girl of your dreams, hm?" you teased, sliding your heel up his leg.

"First, make a toast. And then I'd take her home if she agrees to it."

You giggled, holding up your glass.

"To nights like this." you said as the two of you clinked your glasses together and finished your drinks.

By the time you stumbled out, Felix already had a bruising hold on your waist and your hands tangled in his hair, pulling harshly.

"Fuck." he groaned deeply, making you shiver.

He gripped you even harder and pushed you up against the wall outside the club, not giving you any time to catch a breath as his lips claimed yours. The kiss was bruising and passionate, the taste of the bitter drink mixed with him made your pussy throb. He was pressed up against you, his hands roaming down to your hips and thighs then back up your waist.

You tangled your tongues together, stealing each other's breath as you bunched up his jacket in your hands. Felix bit on your lower lip and pulled on it, making you moan.

"My driver can take us to my house." Felix mumbled against your neck, his breath hot and voice strained.

"Let's go." you whimpered as his teeth sunk into you, sucking on your skin and leaving a bruise.

He grabbed your hand and led you to a fancy looking car, opening the door and guiding you in with his hand on the small of your back.

As soon as he got in, the partition was lifted up, giving you privacy that you needed and your hands immediately flew to his pants.

"Woah, easy there pretty girl." Felix chuckled when your fingers started fumbling with his belt.

"I want you in my mouth." you said and he whimpered when you palmed his growing bulge.

"Yes, yes please." he said through gritted teeth as you finally managed to get rid of his pants and underwear, sliding them down enough to pull his length out.

"Shit. So pretty." you licked your lips at the sight of his glistening tip, his cock warm and heavy in your palm. You leaned in immediately, adjusting on the seat so you were comfortable, your tongue swiped over his tip, tasting the salty precum.

"Ngh." Felix whimpered as you pressed your tongue in his slit, playing with it and making him shiver. You lifted up just a little to spit on his cock and he gasped, lifting his hips towards your face.

You gave him a few slow and teasing strokes before wrapping your lips around him and bobbing your head up and down, slow at first.

"Fuck, Y/n you're killing me!" Felix groaned, his hand gripping at your hair as you slowly slid down until your nose pressed against his skin.

Felix's hips jerked up, making you gag and drool around him and he let out a strained chuckle as his hands spread over the back of your neck while he held you down in place.

"That mouth was made for my cock, hm?"

You could only moan around him in agreement as he bucked up, his tip abusing your throat.

The car was speeding through traffic as you sucked on his cock like your life depended on it and Felix's moans kept getting more high pitched so you gripped his balls. He growled lowly before twitching and cumming inside your mouth, riding his high as he kept your head down and fucked up into your mouth a few more times.

"Did you swallow?" he asked and you nodded, looking up at him with teary eyes as he didn't let you pull off of him yet.

"You're so pretty like this." Felix bit on his lip before pulling you up. "Let me see your tongue." he pressed his thumb on your bottom lip and you opened your mouth for him, putting your tongue out. He slid his thumb on it, forcing your mouth open as he inspected it.

"Good girl." he leaned in and kissed you hungrily, tasting himself in your mouth. His hand traveled between your legs and you spread them instantly.

He didn't waste time either, fingers rubbing against your wetness.

"Did you cum in your panties while sucking on me?" he chuckled and you nodded sheepishly, feeling ashamed that you came untouched and probably looked pathetic and desperate.

"Fuck, that's so hot." Felix pushed you back, pushing your hips up before leaning down between your legs.

"Felix." you moaned when he moved aside your messed up panties.

"Mm." he dove in, flattening his tongue against you and gathering your juices as he ran it up and down multiple times, flicking it over your clit.

"Ah!" you moaned and he hooked his thumbs in your pussy and gently spread it apart, making you clench around nothing. He smirked and pushed his tongue in and your hips trembled harshly, already feeling the need to wrap around his head. Felix fucked you fervently, his tongue was long and thick and he was moving it inside you perfectly, making your legs shake and press around him.

Felix loved it, loved seeing you falling apart like this, pride swelling inside him knowing you were so desperate just from his tongue.

"Cum on my tongue baby." he said, teasing you with his fingertips and it was as if you were trained, spilling on his face instantly. He lapped it all up before pushing two fingers inside you, making you gasp.

"We're almost there." he dragged them against your walls slowly and teasingly with a smirk on his lips.

"Felix, please..." you begged, pushing up towards his fingers, needing him deeper and harder.

Felix considered it for a moment then chuckled, pulling his fingers out as you whined. He pressed them on your lips and you opened your mouth, letting him push them in and sucking on them, tasting yourself.

"We're here." he smirked, pulling away from you and you quickly adjusted yourself as he got out and rounded the car to open the door for you.

As soon as you walked into the apartment, the two of you started making out and knocking into furniture before he stopped and leaned away, quickly turning you around and bending you over the table.

"Let's continue where we stopped in the car." his voice was even deeper before he ripped your panties off and you gasped pushing back towards him as he pushed your dress up. Felix slid down his pants and underwear, gripping his hard cock and pressing the tip on your glistening folds.

"So pretty." he groaned as he watched your pussy swallow his cock while he spread you open with it.

Your eyes rolled back in satisfaction when he filled you up to the hilt.

"Move, please." you begged and he smirked once more before he started snapping his hips into yours harshly, his hands grabbing onto your hips and ass, giving it a few smacks.

"Oh!" you whimpered loudly when he did that in tune with his thrusts and your legs buckled.

"Good pussy, taking me so perfectly." Felix smirked behind you, landing another harsh smack on your flesh as he buried his cock deep inside you and you shook, whimpering his name as you came, squirting around him and on him when he pulled out abruptly.

"So good it made her piss, hm?" Felix slapped your sensitive pussy, making you moan.

"Y-yes!" you whimpered desperately.

"I think you want more, though." he said, lifting you in his arms and carrying you to the room. He put you down on the bed and kneeled between your legs, pulling them apart as he gripped your thighs.

"P-please." you whimpered when he just stared at your fucked out pussy in awe.

"Shh." he shushed you before pushing back in and fucking you hard again. You had to hold on to his shoulders from the force he was fucking you with, pussy drunk as he buried his face in your neck and started whimpering and babbling incoherently.

"C-cumming. I'm cumming." he groaned, biting on your neck as he exploded inside you, filling you up with the warm liquid.

"Lix." you sighed in joy as you wrapped around him and he held you tightly. After taking a moment he looked at you and both of you bursted in laughter.

"We should roleplay more often, wifey." he smirked at you, taking your hand in his and kissing the ring on your finger.

"If it will get you this wild, I agree, hubby." you chuckled at him and kissed him lovingly.

"I love you. Thanks for indulging my wish." Felix smiled against your chest.

"I love you." you kissed the top of his head. "Next time, you'll indulge a wish of mine." you whispered and he chuckled.

"Gladly."

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog

[idkwhylou]

Trouble

Summary : You grew up on military bases, always under the shadow of your admiral father—and always just out of reach of the Navy boys you weren't supposed to want. But Bradley Bradshaw had always been different.

Bradley Bradshaw x f!reader/militarybrat!reader

Warnings : bad knowledge on military settings, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex (nothing graphic more suggestive), flirt, Hangman, no use of y/n, bit of angst ?, happy ending dw

Words : 6K

A/N : It's the first time I write for Bradley, actually this have been hidden in my drafts for too long soooo. Didn't check before posting, sorry for the mistakes

+ your last name is Andrews (not important I just named the admiral father like that so)

»» ─── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─── ««

Being a military brat wasn’t exactly a dream, but you’d learn to survive it with style.

Endless relocations, half-finished friendships, birthdays celebrated on video calls while your father was halfway around the world—Admiral Andrews always had bigger battles to fight. You grew up in hangars and on tarmacs, your lullabies was the roar of jet engines and the bark of orders through static-filled radios. Discipline was second nature. And so was pretending things didn’t hurt.

Still, it wasn’t all bad. They were…perks. 

Namely, the men.

They came and went like seasons—loud, fleeting, and always convinced they were unforgettable. Each one walked with the same cocksure strut, flight suits unzipped just enough to suggest ego rather than comfort, and eyes that burned with that reckless, high-altitude gleam. You learned fast—faster than you were probably supposed to—how to recognize the pattern. The polished charm they wore like a second skin.

You didn’t fall for it. Not once.

You watched, studied, catalogued the way they spoke when they thought they were being clever, the way their smiles sharpened when they were about to flirt. You learned how long it took them to show their tells—the subtle shift in tone, the not-so-innocent brush of an arm, the pause that lasted just a beat too long. They weren’t as mysterious as they thought or tried to pretend. They were pretty predictable actually.

But you never chased them. That, was the key.

You let them notice you instead—just enough to spark the thought, just enough to stay in their mind when the hangar got quiet. You were a test they didn’t realize they were failing. 

Every. Single. Time.

But your father had made it crystal clear from the start : “No navy men”. Which was funny, considering that’s all you were ever surrounded by. Anyway, the irony wasn’t lost on you and neither was the challenge. 

He thought keeping you on base and away from the navy bars meant keeping you safe. But the Admiral never realized that some of your favorite games were played right under his nose. You knew the base like the back of your hand—every shadow, every corner, every overlooked bench, every hangar edge where you could linger just out of sight. You didn’t need loud scenes or public displays. You had subtle smiles, quiet glances, late-night conversations shared against metal walls still warm from the day’s sun. 

Flirts came and went; a wink here, a stolen moment there. You kept things light and unattached. You weren’t naïve—you knew better than to fall for boys who wore dog tags. But God, it was so fun watching them fall just a little bit for you. 

Over the years you got really good at it. You learned how pilots saw you, how they move around girls, how they lie without meaning to. You recognized the ones who were all show, the ones who tried too hard, and the rare few who didn’t try at all. You knew how to draw attention without begging for it. 

And at first, they all tried.

When you were younger—barely out of high school but already too clever for your own good—the attention was constant. New recruits, cocky lieutenants, even a few seasoned officers too sure of their charm. They came at you like it was some unspoken initiation: flirt with the Admiral’s daughter, see how close you could get before it blew up in your face.

One did get close. Too close.

You’d spent the night tangled in Navy sheets and heat; a moment of rebellion that tasted too sweet to regret. It wasn’t love—just curiosity with hands and mouths, a quiet hunger you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying until it finally spilled over. He was older, confident in a way that didn’t feel forced, and for one night, you let yourself fall into the thrill of being wanted, seen—not as the Admiral’s daughter, but just as you.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

But the morning did. You hadn’t even had time to slip your shirt back on when you heard the footsteps—sharp, purposeful, unmistakable. The door creaked open before you could speak, and there he was: your father, Admiral Andrews, jaw clenched so tight it looked carved from stone. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to actually. One look. One breath drawn through his nose. One flick of his eyes to the discarded uniform trousers on the floor. 

That was enough.

The silence that followed was deafening. He didn’t yell, didn’t bark orders. He simply turned and walked away with the kind of fury that came wrapped in control—and that was somehow worse. By the end of the week, the boy was gone. Transferred without explanation to another coast. Scrubbed clean from your world like he’d never been there. And no one said a word about it. 

Not your father. Not the guy. Not anyone. Not even you, because you knew it was best to keep your mouth shut if you didn’t want to end up in the same situation.

But the message was heard loud and clear across base. You were off-limits now. Untouchable. The Admiral’s daughter—marked. 

After that, most of them backed off. The stares were more cautious; they’d smile quickly, maybe toss a joke your way, but nobody dared get too close. Well, not unless they had a death wish—or a transfer request ready to go.

And you ? You adapted. The flirting became harmless, more performative—just enough to keep things fun.

And still, now and then, someone would forget. 

Some new recruit, fresh off a carrier and drunk on his own reflection, would mistake your easy grin for an invitation. Or maybe it was the way you leaned in when you laughed, the way you held eye contact just a breath too long. You knew the signals you sent. You just knew how to pull them back, too.

They’d catch on. Eventually. Maybe it was the way the older pilots watched you a little too closely, not with hunger but with caution. Maybe it was the subtle tension that snapped into place anytime your father’s name left someone’s mouth like it was a warning label: ‘Admiral Andrews’s daughter’.

And then there were the whispers. Low-voiced and half-believed, traded like ghost stories in locker rooms and smoke breaks. The one who got a guy sent away. Some were curious, others called it poison, most didn’t dare. But a few still tried: the ones too bold or too dumb to care, or maybe just the ones who didn’t know.

Which is why you noticed right away when someone didn’t get the memo.

That night at the Hard Deck, the music was low, the air buzzing with the usual mix of sweat and beer. You were nursing a drink more out of habit than thirst, letting the noise wash over you in waves. That’s when he showed up—Jake Seresin, golden boy swagger and all.

He didn’t look at you like someone warned him. He looked at you like a dare.

“Funny,” he said, leaning an elbow on the bar like he had all night to kill. “I come here a lot, and I don’t remember seeing you before. That feels like a personal tragedy.”

You turned to him, unimpressed but not dismissive. “Maybe I’m very good at not being noticed.”

Jake smiled slowly, eyes sweeping over you—not crude, but confident. “Not with a face like that.”

You snorted softly, swirling the rest of your drink. “Do those lines actually work, or are you just here to collect L’s ?”

He laughed, tilting his head. “Just here to see if lightning strikes. What’s your name ?”

You considered it for a beat too long. “Wouldn’t you rather guess ?”

Jake’s grin grew wider. “Trouble. Definitely trouble.”

You leaned in slightly, letting your shoulder brush his just enough to register. “Only for people who don’t know how to handle me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, “I specialize in handling.”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression unreadable but amused. “You sure ? You look more like someone who talks a big game and taps out when it gets interesting.”

His hand pressed to his chest in mock offense. “You wound me.”

“I’m just being cautious,” you replied, your voice silk over steel. “I’ve seen a lot of pilots walk in here thinking they’re bulletproof. Turns out, most of them flinch when the safety’s off.”

Jake chuckled, eyes narrowing slightly. “So you are military. I was betting civilian.”

“Does it matter ?” you asked, letting the question linger.

“Only if you outrank me.”

You smirked into your glass. “You have no idea.”

For a moment, the air between you was still—charged with the kind of tension that made everything slow down. Jake looked at you like he wanted to solve you. You looked at him like you’d already read the answer and were just waiting to see if he’d catch up.

From across the room, someone called his name but he didn’t move. Not yet. “Tell you what,” he said. “Let me buy you a drink. Worst case, you put me in my place and I go home with a bruised ego. Best case…”

You tilted your head. “Best case ?”

He leaned in, just a little. “You stop pretending you're not having fun.”

You didn’t answer right away, just held his gaze. Then, with a slow, calculated smile, you slid your almost empty glass toward him.

“I’ll take a whiskey,” you said. “Neat. No bullshit.”

Jake’s laugh was soft and genuine as he flagged down Penny. “Now that’s a girl after my own heart.”

He returned quickly with the drinks in hand, sliding yours across the table next to you like a magician revealing a card trick. “One whiskey, neat. No bullshit—just how you like it.”

You took it with a nod, your fingers brushing his for half a second. He was easy to look at—lean, tan, jawline too sharp for his own good. The kind of guy who probably had a mirror above his bed. But he was charming, you had to admit. There was something in the way he grinned at you like he already knew you were trouble and still wanted a bite. Maybe you’d give him one. Just a taste.

“You’re not so bad, Hangman,” you said, sipping your drink.

He perked up. “So you have heard of me.”

“Hard not to. The ego arrives five minutes before you do.”

Jake laughed. “That’s fair.”

You let the conversation drift, leaning back against the wall, letting his stories and confident smirks wash over you. It was easy to play this game. Familiar. Like slipping into old shoes—ones that still fit but didn’t take you anywhere new.

And then, the door swung open.

You didn’t look at first, still listening to Jake—he was mid-sentence about some dogfight in training—but then you felt it. A shift in the air. Your eyes flicked toward the entrance.

Bradley fucking Bradshaw.

He walked in like he didn’t need the room to notice him—and yet it did. He had that kind of quiet gravity, the kind that pulled attention without asking for. He wore one of those old Hawaiian shirts—sun-bleached and fraying a little at the edges, probably one of his dad’s—left unbuttoned, sleeves cuffed like it was second nature. A pair of aviators rested low on the bridge of his nose, catching the bar lights just enough to hide his eyes. In his hand, he still held the keys to his precious bronco, twirling them once around his finger like a nervous tic, though nothing about him looked uncertain. 

Jake was still talking, something about g-force and cocky teammates, but you weren’t hearing it anymore. You and Bradley had known each other for a while now. Enough to share inside jokes and glances that didn’t need words. He made space for you in conversations without trying. He remembered things you hadn’t realized you’d said. He was kind in a way that didn’t need an audience.

The blond said something and you nodded absently, but your eyes followed Bradley as he made his way toward the bar. Rooster hadn’t seen you yet, or maybe he had and was just taking his time. Either way, he walked with the ease of someone who didn’t have to prove anything. While Jake was all angles and spotlight, Bradley was all depth and quiet corners.

Hangman finally paused, catching your shift in attention. He followed your gaze and let out a short laugh, “Is it the porn ‘stache or the ugly shirt ?”

You blinked, snapped back. “What ?”

“Bradshaw,” Jake said, nodding toward him. “Didn’t peg you for the boy scout type.”

You shrugged and let out a soft chuckle, “I don’t have a type.”

Jake tilted his head, that ever-present smirk tugging at his mouth. “Sure you don’t. Rooster ? Really ? You’re goin’ soft on us sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, feigning boredom as you sipped your drink. “Bradley’s just a long-time friend.”

Hangman leaned in a little, elbow brushing the table as his voice dropped low. “Mm-hmm. Funny, because you don’t look at your other friends like that.”

You smirked. “What’s the matter ? You’re jealous ?”

His grin widened into something smug. “Jealous ? Please.” He gestured at himself. “Sweetheart, I’m not worried. ‘Cause let’s be honest—Rooster’s too busy thinking about the right thing to say. Me ?” He leaned in just a bit closer, voice smooth and low. “I actually know how to treat a girl like you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “Oh yeah ? And what kind of girl is that, exactly ?”

His gaze flicked down briefly—too quickly to be respectful, too slowly to be innocent. “Smart mouth, sharp tongue… but you like a little danger. You want someone who doesn’t ask permission to touch, someone who knows when to talk… and when not to.”

You let out a soft laugh, but there was heat beneath it. “Wow. You rehearsed that one ?”

Jake’s grin turned lazy, cocky. “Sweetheart, that was the improv version.”

You leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing, teasing. “If I wanted a man who thought with his ego, I’d pick one with better stamina.”

His eyebrows lifted, that cocky smirk faltering just a second—then came back twice as bold. “You volunteering to test that theory ?”

You were about to say something sharp, something that might’ve made the temperature between you boil over, but a voice cut the moment clean in half. “Seresin.”

You didn’t have to look to know who it was. But you did.

Bradley stood there, calm as ever, jaw tight, that unreadable gaze flicking between you and Hangman. The keys to his Bronco hung loosely in his hand, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable. “Didn’t know we were giving lectures on respect tonight,” he added, his voice level, but unmistakably pointed.

Jake raised both hands in mock surrender, a laugh in his throat. “Easy, Rooster. We were just talkin’.”

“Sure you were,” Bradley said, gaze not leaving Jake’s face.

Hangman didn’t move, his grin just a fraction but his stance still confident, as if daring Bradley to push further. “So, what’s the real deal ? I’m not one to back off, you should know that Bradshaw.”

Bradley’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping low but steady, laced with quiet authority. “You remember Admiral Andrews, right ? You’ve got his sweet little girl right in front of you, idiot.” He took a slow step closer, his tone sharpened with warning. “So maybe think twice before you mess around with something you can’t afford to break.”

The blond blinked, the easy cockiness flickered for a moment, surprise crossing his features as Bradley’s words hit harder than he expected. He glanced at you, then back at Bradley, sensing the line he wasn’t meant to cross. You see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes—but he didn’t back down. You liked that.

“You think a name’s gonna scare me off ? I’m not like you chicken. Plus I don’t see her old man anywhere.” He smirked.

Bradley stepped forward just enough, his voice calm but firm, carrying the weight of authority. “Maybe not. But I’m the one standing between you and a whole lot of trouble. So why don’t you save us both the headache and walk away ?”

Jake let out a slow sigh, the fight draining out of him as he finally nodded. He looked at you and winked, “When he's done bothering you, you know where to find me sweetheart.”

You weren’t angry—Bradley did this all the time. Always stepping in, always cock-blocking you when you least expected it. It was almost infuriating how often he played the protective big brother role. But you knew it came from somewhere deeper. He wasn’t just interfering for the sake of it; he was looking out for you. You mattered to him, more than most people realized.

Bradley’s eyes softened as he looked at you, a quiet honesty in his voice. “I know it’s annoying. But you’ve got people watching your back—including me.”

You shook your head with a small laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Big brother mode activated. I get it.”

He nudged you gently with his elbow as you both moved toward the bar, where Penny was serving other patrons. “Come on,” he said. You followed him, feeling the familiar pull of comfort in his presence—someone who knew the real you, without pretense or judgment.

Bradley didn’t waste a second. He caught Penny’s eye and commanded, “Six shots of tequila Pen’.” He shot you a knowing look, his smirk softening just a little. He knew exactly how you liked it. 

Before you could even think about pulling out your wallet, he slid his card across the counter. “On me. Don’t even.”

You slid onto the stool next to him, the wood creaking softly beneath your weight. The air between you buzzed with a tension that had settled there years ago—familiar, low-burning. You barely had time to adjust your seat when Bradley, without a word or a glance, reached out and tugged your stool closer to him. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle either—firm, like muscle memory, like this wasn’t the first time he’d wanted you that close.

You didn’t protest, you didn’t need to and absolutely didn’t want to. 

From across the bar, Penny slid the six shots in front of you with practiced ease. She arched a brow, smirking as her eyes flicked between the two of you. “Bradley,” she said, tone dry but affectionate, “keep an eye on her tonight, will you ? She’s trouble in my bar—and you’re the only one she actually listens to.” 

You rolled your eyes with a soft laugh, but didn’t deny it. And Bradley just smirked, like he already knew he’d be doing just that. Trouble, after all, had a way of finding the two of you. Or maybe you were just better at finding each other. You took the salt and pour some on your palm, Rooster stretched out his hand to you, so that you could put salt on his too. You, then, reached for the first glass without hesitation, fingers brushing the cool rim just as Bradley’s hand closed around his own. Your eyes met in the half-second, you raised your shot in a toast. 

“To trouble then.” You said, your smile lazy, knowing. 

He chuckled warmly under his breath as the clink of glass between you was soft, but it echoed—more than sound. You tipped yours back easily. The tequila was sharp at first, then smooth as you bite in your quarter of lemon. His gaze lingered a second too long on your mouth, as you lick your lips. 

You leaned your elbow on the bar, chin in hand, feeling your throat burning. “You’ve always got my back, haven’t you ?”

He gave a half-shrug, eyes flicking down to his empty glass. “Someone had to.” That was always the thing about Bradley—he didn’t posture. He didn’t need to. While others circled like moths to flame, trying too hard, talking too loud, he simply stayed. The only one who never looked at you like you were something to win or just a piece of meat.

You studied his profile for a beat—the strong jaw, the crease just forming between his brows. He looked like he always did: calm, grounded, the kind of calm that only made you more aware of your own pulse. His fingers tapped once against the bar, a quiet rhythm. Nervous ? No. Calculated for sure. Like he was trying not to look at you again, trying not to give too much away.

Then, without breaking the silence between you, he reached for the second shot. And slid yours toward you.

No words this time.

Just the soft scrape of glass across wood—and that heat blooming in your chest again, heavier this time. Not from the tequila. From the way his fingers brushed yours, just long enough to feel intentional and deliberate. 

For now.

You tilted your head, voice low and teasing. “What is it with you, Bradshaw ? You always this cautious, or just with me ?”

He gave a soft breath of a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t make it easy.”

That was honest. A little too honest.

You clinked your glass to his again. “Good.”

The second shot burned a little deeper, less sweet and more heat. You didn’t look away this time. You let your eyes linger on him as you set your glass down with a quiet clink, and this time, he was already watching you.

But not in the way others did. There was nothing lazy or possessive in it, just that familiar, weighted gaze. 

“You ever think maybe I’m not trying to make it easy ?” you murmured, lips just shy of a smirk.

He didn’t answer right away. Just shifted slightly on his feet, as if trying to find steadier ground. “I think,” he said finally, “that you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“And I think,” you replied, leaning in just a little, “you’re still trying to pretend it doesn’t get to you.”

His mouth twitched, like he wanted to deny it, but couldn’t. Instead, he glanced away, jaw tight, hands folded in front of him like he needed somewhere to put the tension. “I can’t risk it,” he said under his breath. It wasn’t for effect. It wasn’t a line. It was a confession.

Your smile softened just a fraction. “Then why are you still sitting here, Brad ?”

That pulled his gaze back to you—harder this time, deeper. Something in it cracked, just slightly. And between you, the third shot sat untouched, waiting, as the tequila warmed your chest. Spread slow through your veins like liquid confidence. But Bradley’s eyes were too serious now.

“I’ve known you too long to fuck this up,” he said quietly, “You’re his daughter. You know what that means.”

And there it was; the sting. The salt no softening it at all and no smirk to hide behind.

Your smile faltered for half a second before you caught it, masked it in something lighter—your defense, always. “Well, good thing you’re not in uniform tonight. It doesn’t count then.”

You tried to make it sound like a joke. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. 

You leaned in, slow and unhurried, “So what’s your excuse now, Lieutenant ?”

But before you could get too close, he shifted. Enough to let the air slip between you again, enough to say nowithout the words. You froze for a beat, the rejection subtle but sharp in the places that mattered. He didn’t meet your eyes right away, his fingers tense against the wooden bar. 

“I don’t have a good reason,” he said at last, voice rougher now. “Only the right one.”

You didn’t flinch, but something in you pulled tight. Slowly, you leaned back, the teasing edge fading from your smile. Your fingers toyed with the rim of your empty glass, tracing a circle like it might give you answers. Right. Of course, it was the right reason. It always was with him. That was the problem.

“I forget sometimes,” you said quietly, your gaze fixed on the bar. 

He looked at you then—really looked—and there it was again, that quiet storm always behind his eyes. “I know what they see when they look at you. I’m not proud of how many I’ve wanted to punch for it.”

You huffed a breath, something like a laugh but thinner. “And here I thought you were the calm one.”

“I’m not calm when it comes to you.”

The confession dropped between you like a weight, and for a moment neither of you moved. The room felt too still. Too exposed. You turned, met his gaze again, your voice soft but steady. “Then don’t be. Just for tonight.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t look away either. And that silence said more than either of you were ready for. From behind the bar, Penny raised a brow and took discretely the two empty glasses—cutting through the moment like she knew. Of course she did.

You glanced down at it, then back at Bradley. “Last one,” you murmured. “You gonna let me drink alone ?”

His jaw flexed, but this time, he didn’t move away.

Bradley’s fingers wrapped around the last shot glass as he held your gaze. Then he tipped it back in one smooth motion. You watched his throat work as the tequila slid down, the way his eyes fluttered closed for just a beat—like he needed the burn to make a decision. Like he’d hoped the fire would settle something inside him.

But when he set the glass down, he didn’t say a word. Just pushed the rim gently toward the center of the bar and stood. No glance toward you. No smirk. No half-joke to soften the blow. Just the subtle clench of his jaw and the quiet scrape of wood as he stepped back from his stool.

Your breath caught. “Bradley—”

“I can’t,” he said, barely above a whisper. But it hit harder than if he’d shouted.

Then he turned and walked away. You sat frozen for a second, the heat of the liquor blooming in your chest, spreading too fast. Too deep. Penny didn’t say anything—just watched with that knowing look she always had, as if she’d seen a hundred near-misses like this before. You stared at the empty glass in front of you. Still warm. Still full of everything he didn’t say.

You stared at the empty space where he’d been, pulse thrumming beneath your skin like something trying to break loose. The tequila sat in front of you—untouched, waiting. Like a dare. 

You picked it up without thinking. “Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath, then knocked it back. The burn hit harder than the first two. Bit deeper. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was him—but the moment the glass hit the bar again, you were already sliding off the stool.

You pushed past the quiet hum of the Hard Deck, ignoring the knowing look Penny shot your way, ignoring Jake's low whistle behind you. All you could focus on was the sight of Bradley’s broad back, just slipping through the door, his frame half-lit by the hazy dusk spilling across the beach.

“Bradley !” you called, the wind catching your voice as you jogged after him.

He didn’t turn around at first. Not until you caught up, your hand brushing his arm, fingers curling. He stopped like he’d been struck. Then, slowly, he turned. His sweet brown eyes found yours in the dim light of the parking lot, a storm behind his quiet irises. You let your hand drop from his arm, but his warmth lingered on your skin like a brand. 

“Why do you always do that ?” you asked, voice lower now. “Push me away like I’m some damn risk you can’t afford.”

Bradley didn’t answer right away. He looked past you for a second, jaw tight, as if picking his words from a minefield. “Because you ae,” he said finally, “You’re an Admiral’s daughter. You’re trouble I can’t walk away from clean.”

You flinched, not from the words themselves but the truth behind them. “I’m not a fucking kid Brad.”

“I know that,” he said, eyes falling shut for a second, like he was trying to steady something inside him. He pinched his nose, “Trust me, I know.”

“Then stop acting like you don’t want this too !” you snapped. “You’re not wearing your uniform tonight. You’re not my babysitter. You’re just… you. And I’m just me.”

His eyes opened because of the sudden rise of your voice, “You think that makes it easier ?”. You didn’t respond and he sighed looking down, then he stepped forward, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body again. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“I’m not asking,” you said, tapping your head back to meet his gaze. “I’m telling you I’m right here. And I want you.”

Bradley’s hands twitched at his sides, and for a moment it looked like he might pull away again. But instead of retreating, he exhaled slowly, like he was holding himself back. His expression shifted in something sharp flickering in his eyes, frustration simmering just under the surface. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair as his voice edged harder. 

“You don’t get it,” he said tightly. “You think I can just pretend that your dad wouldn’t end my career the second he found out I even looked at you twice ?”

You sighed and then took a shaky breath, your voice defiant. “You think I care what my dad thinks ?” you scoffed, shaking your head. “Plus he likes you Bradley ! He trusts you and-”

He cut you off by letting out a bitter laugh, “Yeah,” he muttered, “because I’m not trying to fuck his daughter.”

The words hit hard—crude, sharp, and a little too honest. 

“This isn’t a game for me.” Your name escaped his lips so softly you almost forgot you were arguing. 

“I never said it was a game,” you said barely over a whisper. “But thanks for assuming I don’t understand.”

His jaw clenched. He looked away, down the road like it might offer an easier answer than what stood in front of him. “This is exactly why I walk away.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. “Right. Because walking away’s easier than actually admitting you care.”

That made him freeze. Just for a second. But it was enough.

He turned, keys still dangling in his hand, posture tense like he was ready to bolt.

Your heart squeezed.

You took a step forward, voice gentler now, cracking just a bit. “Bradley—wait.”

He stopped but didn’t turn. His shoulders stayed tense, his jaw locked as your words settled in the quiet between you.

“Can I just…” you hesitated. “Can I just have one thing ? One second. You don’t have to do anything else. Just let me… just let me have this.”

You stepped in slowly, cautiously, like approaching something wild that might bolt at any sudden movement. Your hand brushed his chest, fingers splaying gently over the fabric of his shirt. His heart was racing and so was yours.

“I don’t want to stay mad at you,” you said softly, searching his face. “I don’t want you to stay mad either.”

And then, without waiting for a yes—just holding your breath—you leaned up and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Slow, barely there. Lingering just long enough to make your heart break a little when you pulled back. It wasn’t about heat or seduction, it was something quieter; a confession. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d done it. There had been quiet moments over the years—late nights, stolen conversations, the way he’d look at you when he thought you weren’t looking—when you let yourself lean in and leave that barely-there kiss on the corner of his mouth. Just enough to remind him you saw him. Wanted him. Hoped he’d want you too.

And every time, Bradley would pull back with a small shake of his head, or a sharp sigh, or that carefully constructed silence that meant he was burying the thought before it could bloom.

But tonight… he didn’t move. He let you do it. He didn’t flinch or step away. He just stood there, breathing you in like it hurt, letting the moment happen. And that—more than anything—made your heart thud painfully in your chest.

You took a step back like you hadn’t just laid every card on the table. “That’s all,” you whispered.

Bradley exhaled, something raw and helpless in the sound. His eyes found yours—dark, unreadable—and then dropped to your lips. “You’re a real brat,” he muttered, almost like a prayer.

And before you could respond, he reached for you—fast, like the dam had finally cracked. One hand curled firmly around your waist, grounding you, while the other slid up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair like he needed to anchor himself. 

Then he pulled you in. 

His lips met yours, like he’d been fighting the pull for too long and finally, finally gave in. There was nothing hesitant about it, no more restraint, no more carefully measured distance. It was deep, consuming, years of tension unraveling in one breathless moment. He kissed you like he was starved for it, like every second he’d held back had only built the hunger. 

Bradley’s lips were deceptively soft, contrasting the sharp angles of his jaw and the rough edge he carried with him everywhere else. They were warm, shaped with a natural fullness that made every half-smile feel like a secret, every smirk a challenge. When he kissed you, they didn’t hesitate. There was no awkwardness, no uncertainty—just a grounded, confident pressure that spoke of restraint worn thin.

They tasted faintly of tequila and whatever gum he chewed out of habit, but underneath it was something that was just him ; clean, familiar, and dangerously addictive. And when they moved against yours, slow at first then deeper, there was a quiet intensity in them, like he'd been holding back for too long and finally let it slip.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing unsteady, like you’d knocked the wind out of him. His voice came low, hoarse and rough with everything he’d tried to bury.

“I should’ve known better than to think I’d ever be safe from trouble like you.”

“That’s why you love me.” You chuckled and gave him a quick peck, “And, don’t worry ‘bout my dad, I’ll take care of it.”

“If he sends me at the other end of the universe, you’d better follow me, you brat.” He teased, pinching your side playfully. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll follow you anywhere Bradshaw.” You kissed him again and you felt his body softening under your touch. 

[prettygirl-gabi]

Maddie Rooney🏀 is unavailable

Pairing: Paige Bueckers xFiancé!Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Dallas Wings

Summary: oh it was a surprise indeed

A/N: just wanna thank @thatonesuschix for being a pawn in my plan

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav , @liloandstitchstan , @kaliblazin

I should’ve known Paige was up to something the second she left the house wearing that smug little smirk she gets when she knows she’s keeping secrets.

“You sure you don’t wanna come?” she asked, adjusting the collar of her oversized purple Nike x Supreme tracksuit in the mirror, roots perfectly hidden under her beanie.

I was standing in the kitchen, unpacking dishes from the last moving box while rocking a wrinkled tee and pajama shorts.

“Nah, I’m good. The couch and I are in a long-term relationship today.”

She chuckled and came over, kissed my forehead, and whispered, “Alright, just remember I’ve got a surprise for you tonight.”

I squinted. “Is it something I’ll love?”

She winked. “Hopefully. No promises though.”

Then she walked out in that baggy purple fit and all-white Air Forces like she wasn’t about to change my entire emotional state in less than four hours.

I spent the next couple hours organizing the bathroom cabinet, lighting candles, and scrubbing mystery spots off the kitchen counter.

Boring.

Domestic.

The kind of stuff that should’ve given me peace.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about what this surprise was.

Paige had been teasing it all week and I thought maybe she had a spa day planned, or got us Beyoncé tickets or something.

What I wasn’t expecting was to be betrayed in 4K.

I was sprawled across the couch with a blanket on my lap and a bowl of popcorn beside me when I casually opened Twitter to see NBA Draft updates. I typed Paige’s name into the search bar for fun—just to see if she’d made her appearance yet.

I wish I hadn’t.

The first photo that popped up stopped my whole heart.

There she was, at the Dallas Mavericks Draft Watch Party, posted up at the edge of the court in that same purple Nike x Supreme tracksuit. But the beanie she had one was long gone… and in its place?

A blunt healthy chop.

And fresh platinum blonde roots.

I nearly dropped my phone into the popcorn bowl.

“NOOOO,” I yelled, sitting up like I’d been electrocuted.

I clicked on the photo, zoomed in, and stared at her sleek, straight hair—the same head I’d been kissing just this morning, except now it looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial.

“This is the surprise?” I muttered to myself. “Oh, she’s sick for this.”

I immediately swiped up and hit FaceTime.

No hesitation.

She had one chance to explain this before I spiraled.

It rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Nothing.

I stared at the screen like it had betrayed me too.

She always picked up.

Even if she was in the middle of something, she’d at least text back a quick “can’t talk rn, will call after.” Or a “kiss my ass.” But now? Radio silence.

I tried again.

Same result.

“Okay,” I muttered, pressing my lips together. “That’s how we’re playing this.”

I went back to Twitter and kept scrolling.

Clip after clip, angle after angle—Paige talking to reporters, Paige laughing with fans, Paige crouched down and talking to some sweet little kid reporter in a Dallas jersey. Paige doing Paige things. That new hair shining like she just walked out of a Dyson Airwrap ad.

And me?

Completely out of the loop.

The longer I watched, the more I paced.

I wasn’t mad that she cut it—I mean, she looked incredible.

Of course she did.

Paige Bueckers could shave her head and still look like she walked off a runway.

But to not tell me?

To keep it secret and then hit a whole red carpet rollout for the public before letting me, her fiancé, see it?

I grabbed my phone again, thumb already holding the audio icon down before I could second guess it.

“So not only did you touch up your roots… you cut your hair, and didn’t think to tell me—your loving girlfriend of six years, fiancé of one, by the way? Come on, P… be so for real. And THEN. And…and Then..you let me find out through Twitter? Of all places? Ohhhh, fuck you, Paige Madison. Fuck. You. Ohhh you are so sleeping on the couch tonight.”

I sent it.

And for a solid ten minutes, the only response I got was her leaving me on read.

Which would’ve been fine.

If she didn’t then post a video of herself lip-syncing my audio message to her Instagram Story, standing center court like she was accepting a Grammy for “Best Betrayal.”

I kid you not.

A video of her in the green room, dramatically lip-syncing to my audio.

She even clutched her chest and gasped when I said her full name.

Fans were already losing it in the comments.

“They’re unhinged I love it.”

“This relationship is peak entertainment.”

“Y/N really said ✨drama✨.”

I threw my phone on the couch and flopped down with a groan.

She thought this was funny.

She thought me discovering her haircut via Twitter was content.

She was lucky I loved her.

I heard the door open and close softly. Paige walked in like she was trying to sneak in past curfew, even though she knew I was still awake.

I didn’t say a word at first.

She peeked into the bedroom, still in the same tracksuit, and smiled sheepishly. “Hey…”

I didn’t even look at her. “Hope Twitter treated you well tonight.”

She sighed. “You’re still mad?”

“You got a whole haircut and didn’t even text me.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Yeah. And I found out through Twitter. That’s not a surprise, that’s a jump scare.”

She walked over slowly and sat on the edge of the bed, her freshly cut bob brushing just above her shoulders. The soft lighting made her look even more unfairly attractive. Rude.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said, voice quiet. “I just… wanted to feel fresh. The season’s been crazy. The move. The press. I needed something for me.”

“I would’ve supported that,” I murmured, softer now. “I just wish I’d been part of it.”

Paige reached for my hand. “You always are. Even when I’m bleaching my scalp in a stranger’s salon.”

I snorted. “You look hot. That’s the worst part.”

She grinned. “You think so?”

“Don’t act brand new. You’ve been trending since 7PM.”

She laughed, brushing her fingers up my arm. “So… what if I said I booked us massages tomorrow? And brunch. And maybe… just maybe… there’s a box in the closet with your name on it from Coach?”

I raised a brow. “Are you trying to buy my forgiveness?”

“Absolutely.”

I tried to glare, but the truth was, I’d already melted. Her new hair looked incredible, and she smelled like vanilla and champagne and expensive night outs. I caved.

“Alright. But next time you cut your hair, you better text me a ‘brace yourself’ warning.”

She nodded. “Deal. Can I sleep here tonight? Or is the couch calling me?”

I pulled back the covers. “Only if I get to run my hands through your freshly done hair.”

She laughed and slid in beside me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

As I tangled my fingers in her freshly-cut hair, she whispered, “You’re still gonna use that in arguments, aren’t you?”

I grinned. “Oh, definitely. I’m getting it framed.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[lisalamona]

Lover Boy

. Summary: After years of stolen glances, unfortunate interruptions, and sneaking out of the palace, Telemachus finally musters the courage to confess to you, well… not without a little help, of course. . Pairing: Telemachus x gn! Reader . Warnings: None . Notes: This one had been rotting in the drafts for a while. You can all thank @selena-of-ithaca for inspiring me to finish it! I will probably be doing a second part of this closer to what the request originally was cause it left me thinking about some ideas I wanna explore Art taken from duvetbox's animatic of Legendary Stars devider made by @saradika-graphics, taken from this post

You can say what you will about love at first sight—that it's not real, that it's just an exaggeration poets use to get their point across. But for Telemachus, it was real. Way too real. He just didn't know it at the time.

The first time he saw you, he was just a boy, running from the suffocating walls of the palace. It had stopped feeling like a home—what it was supposed to be—and had become a den. He felt like a lone sheep trapped in a cave full of wolves, and there was no escape. He couldn't leave. He had duties, responsibilities. And most importantly, his mother needed him.

Ever since the suitors had stormed in, treating the palace and everyone inside it as if they were nothing, life had become unbearable. The halls were filled with laughter that wasn't joyful, voices that weren't kind. Every step he took had to be careful, every turn of a corner calculated, just to avoid crossing paths with them. It didn't matter that he was the prince, the heir to Ithaca's throne—his title held no weight with them.

He felt like he was drowning, even though he stood on solid ground.

So naturally, he went to the beach. Or at least, that's where he intended to go. Lost in his thoughts, his mind running rampant, he barely noticed where his feet were taking him. He was halfway down the docks when he collided with someone—hard. The impact sent both of you to the ground, and something clattered beside you.

"Are you alright?"

The voice reached him before he even opened his eyes. The blow had forced them shut, but when he finally blinked them open, the sight before him left him speechless.

At the time, he would've chalked it up to embarrassment. Maybe that was part of it. But looking back, he thought maybe—just maybe—he knew you were the one right then and there, even if he hadn't fully realized it yet.

"Uh... hello?" You waved a hand in front of his face. That snapped him out of his daze, but before he could speak, another voice cut through.

"Kid!"

Both of you turned in unison. A man stood at the edge of the docks—a gruff, towering figure with a bit of gray streaking through his hair. His arms, covered in calluses and old scars, looked like they belonged to someone who could crush a person with a single tap. But you knew better. You knew his heart was made of gold.

"What happened? Are you alright? I knew I shouldn't have let you hold the spears," the man grumbled, his deep voice thick with concern.

"Dad," you muttered, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your tone.

But he wasn't listening. He kept going, mumbling about how he should keep a better eye on you.

"Dad! I'm alright," you reassured him, then turned back to Telemachus—though at the time, you didn't know his name. "Are you?"

He nodded quickly, still a bit unsettled by the sheer presence of your father.

"See? Everything's fine." That seemed to calm the man, at least a little.

You rose from the ground, dusting yourself off before gathering the fallen spears. With one hand, you picked them up. With the other, you reached down and helped Telemachus to his feet.

Your father studied him with a keen eye. "What's your name, son?"

"Telemachus, sir." Anyone could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

Your father's brows lifted slightly. "The prince? What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I just wanted to take a stroll along the beach." Telemachus gestured toward the shore—a more desolate place, one few people ever ventured to.

"Oh, well, that's always a delight to see," your father said with a knowing smile. "Why don't you take [Name] with you? They love going there."

"Dad!"

Heat rushed to your face. That was all you could muster in your embarrassment.

"What?" Your father shrugged. "You could use a break. You need friends your age, anyway." He muttered the last part, but it was loud enough for Telemachus to hear—making your face burn even more.

That day was the first of many.

Over the next ten years, you and Telemachus built something unshakable—a bond carefully woven over time. And in those years, Telemachus came to a realization.

He liked you.

Really liked you.

He had always been hesitant to use the word love. He had never really seen it with his own eyes—not the kind poets spoke of. He had never met his father, and his mother had spent most of his life waiting, praying for Odysseus to return. He supposed the strength she carried was love, in its own way. But he had never seen it in action.

And the years had only made it harder. The suitors had grown more desperate, more dangerous, stripping away every ounce of his attention and confidence.

But then—after twenty long, agonizing years—his father came home.

Everything changed.

In the first few weeks, Telemachus watched his parents reunite. He saw the way they cherished each other, how they barely left each other's side. He saw love in the way they looked at one another, in the way his father reached for his mother's hand without thinking, in the way she smiled as if she had been holding her breath for two decades and could finally exhale.

And that's when he knew.

That's what he wanted.

He wanted to hold your hand, wanted to make you smile—not that he didn't already manage to do that. He wanted to wake up by your side, to trace soft, chaste kisses along your face. He wanted to look into your eyes and, without a single word, know that you both felt the same, that you loved each other.

The only problem was... he didn't know how.

And, gods, he was scared.

──────💗──────

Odysseus made his rounds through town, as he had made a habit of doing ever since returning home. He liked watching the people go about their day, seeing the town buzz with life. He took in every sound, every movement, every face. After spending so many years without proper human interaction, he had learned to appreciate the small things.

That, of course, didn't mean he didn't make time for his family. If anything, he dreaded the moments he had to spend away from them to tend to his duties. That was why, when his son volunteered to accompany him to the docks, he was ecstatic. His mind raced with possible conversation topics, excited at the rare opportunity to bond with Telemachus outside the walls of the palace.

But as they walked, it became increasingly clear that the conversation was more one-sided than he would have liked. Telemachus seemed distracted, his gaze scanning the crowd as if searching for something. Or someone.

Normally, Odysseus might have felt a twinge of disappointment at his son's lack of attention. But then he spotted you, helping your father unload the fishing boat. And then he noticed his son—staring directly at you, his hands fidgeting at his sides before he wiped them on his tunic, as if trying to get rid of sudden clamminess.

Oh. That explained it.

Odysseus' observation skills might have been rusty, but he wasn't stupid.

"Do you want to go talk to them?"

Telemachus nearly jumped out of his skin, his head snapping toward his father. "I— I already do talk to them! We're friends."

Odysseus raised an eyebrow with skepticism. "Friends?"

"Yes!" Telemachus insisted, a little too quickly. His cheeks, however, betrayed him as they flushed red.

"Then you wouldn't mind if I introduced myself?"

Telemachus gave him an incredulous look. "You're the king. They already know who you are!"

"Yes, well, I never personally introduced myself," Odysseus replied smoothly. "And any friend of my son's is a friend of mine."

And with that, he began walking toward you without waiting for a response.

"Father!" Telemachus whisper-shouted, but Odysseus—despite clearly hearing him—kept going, a determined pep in his step.

Panic surged through Telemachus. His father was about to make it so much worse. Desperately, he glanced around, looking for an escape. And then, without thinking, he ducked behind a stack of barrels, pressing himself against the wall in mortified defeat.

He wanted the earth to swallow him right there and then.

"Hello." Odysseus' voice snapped both you and your father to attention.

"Oh—hello, my king, what brings you to us?" your father said, immediately dropping what he was doing to give the king of Ithaca a respectful bow of his head. You quickly followed suit, though your own bow was a little sloppier in your haste.

Odysseus acknowledged both of you with a nod in return—once to your father, then once to you.

"I just wanted to meet my son's friend," he said casually. "Make up for lost time."

At the mention of Telemachus, your ears perked, and your gaze instinctively swept the area, searching for him. It was an unconscious reaction—but not one that went unnoticed by Odysseus.

"Is... is he here?" you asked, smoothing down some stray hairs without realizing it.

Odysseus' lips curled slightly in amusement, though his sharp eyes held something more calculating. He looked behind him, to where his son once stood. "He was. But he seems to have disappeared." His tone was light, but the glint in his eyes told you he knew exactly where his son had gone.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Sounds like him."

"Mm." Odysseus crossed his arms, glancing at you with a thoughtful expression. Then, after a brief pause, he gestured toward the town. "Care for a walk?"

You hesitated, glancing toward your father for guidance. He met your uncertain gaze with an encouraging nod.

"Of course," you answered, finally releasing your grip on your work.

Odysseus extended a hand to help you out of the boat. His grip was firm but not overbearing, a steady reminder of the strength he carried. You accepted his help with a small word of thanks, and he nodded in acknowledgment.

As you stepped onto solid ground, Odysseus and your father exchanged brief goodbyes, a silent understanding passing between them. Then, without further delay, you and the king of Ithaca set off down the worn path.

"Tell me—how did you and my son meet?"

"Oh, uh—he ran into me," you said, remembering the day vividly. "Literally."

Odysseus chuckled, nodding as if that sounded exactly like something Telemachus would do. "And you've been friends ever since?"

You smiled. "More or less. He's easy to talk to."

That earned a raised brow from the king. "Is he?"

You tilted your head, sensing a hidden layer to his question. "Once he warms up to you, yes. He's thoughtful, kind. He listens—really listens. Not just to respond, but because he cares about what you're saying."

Odysseus hummed, rubbing his beard in thought. "And what do you think of him?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question. "I—well, I think highly of him, of course. He's my friend."

"Just a friend?" Odysseus asked, watching you closely.

You felt warmth creeping up your neck. "I—yes?"

He chuckled at your hesitation, clearly enjoying this far too much. "Well, I suppose time will tell." Then, as if switching subjects entirely, he gestured toward the boat growing smaller behind you. "You work hard."

"I have to," you said, welcoming the shift in topic. "It's not easy work, but it keeps me moving."

Odysseus nodded approvingly. "A strong back and a strong mind—both good things to have." He studied you for a moment longer before adding, "Loyalty is important too. My son, he has to be careful about who he trusts." You could sense something else in his words, more than a father concerned for his son, something personal.

You met his gaze steadily. "I understand. And I'd never betray his trust."

The weight behind your words must have satisfied him because, for the first time, Odysseus' sharp scrutiny softened into something resembling approval. "Good."

Then, without another word, he turned his head slightly and called out, far too casually.

"You can come out now, son."

A muffled curse sounded from behind some abandoned barrels.

Your face lit up with laughter as Telemachus sheepishly emerged from his not so secret hiding spot, his face redder than a pomegranate.

Odysseus clapped a hand on his son's shoulder, grinning. "A prince shouldn't cower behind barrels, Telemachus. Stand tall."

Telemachus muttered something under his breath that you couldn't quite catch. You, however, were too busy giggling to care.

Odysseus gave you one last, knowing glance before stepping back. "I'll leave you two to it, then."

And just like that, he strode off, leaving Telemachus staring at you, utterly mortified.

──────💗──────

"He embarrassed me!"

"You embarrassed yourself."

Telemachus stared at his father in disbelief, then turned toward his mother, silently pleading for help.

Penelope and Odysseus sat side by side on a wooden bench, a stack of parchment spread across the table before them. Penelope had been signing documents, her focus divided between the ink stained sheets and the arms wrapped securely around her waist. Odysseus, ever at ease, rested his chin in the crook of her neck, perfectly content to hold her as she worked.

Penelope glanced up at her son, amusement flickering in her gaze. "Your father just wanted to help."

Telemachus groaned. Of course, he knew that, but did his father really have to do it like that? "I didn't need any help."

At that, Penelope and Odysseus exchanged a look—one of those unspoken conversations only long-married couples could have. A smirk tugged at Odysseus' lips, and Penelope barely suppressed a laugh.

Telemachus narrowed his eyes. "I mean it!"

"I already told you, sweetheart," Penelope said, her voice warm with patience. "You just need to ask them."

Telemachus hesitated. "But what if...?"

"The worst that can happen is them saying no." Odysseus chimed in, casual as ever.

Telemachus huffed. "No, the worst thing that can happen is my friendship with my best friend being destroyed because of my stupid heart!" He dramatically pounded his chest before flopping onto his parents' bed, face first, as if trying to bury his shame into the linens.

Odysseus exhaled through his nose. "You just need to go over there, stand your ground, and be confident."

Telemachus lifted his head just enough to shoot his father a deadpan look. "Be confident? Me?"

Odysseus shrugged. "It worked with your mother."

"No, it didn't."

The response came in stereo. Penelope's tone was amused and firm, while Telemachus' carried all the exasperation of someone who had grown up hearing his father's exaggerated tales one too many times.

Odysseus blinked. "What? Of course it did!"

Penelope gave him a knowing look. "No, I fell in love with you because of your intelligence and because you were so unapologetically you."

Odysseus crossed his arms. "...And my confidence and persistence too."

Penelope hummed, tilting her head. "Ehhh... the good looks did help."

"Hey!" Odysseus gasped in mock offense before playfully patting her waist and pressing a soft kiss to her neck.

Telemachus rolled his eyes. Of course, he loved his parents. Of course, he admired their relationship. But gods, was it frustrating to witness when he felt so incapable of achieving the same thing.

How was he supposed to be confident when confidence had never come naturally to him?

How was he supposed to just ask you when the very thought of it made his stomach twist itself into knots?

His whole life, he had watched his father's legendary feats unfold in the stories of others. Odysseus, the clever hero. Odysseus, the king of Ithaca. Odysseus, who could talk his way out of anything. He was larger than life, a master of words, a warrior, a man who could fight off monsters and trick the gods themselves.

And Telemachus?

Telemachus could barely keep his voice steady when he so much as thought about telling you how he felt.

It wasn't just rejection he feared—it was the aftermath. What if things changed? What if it became awkward between you? What if you started avoiding him? What if he lost you entirely?

He couldn't risk that.

But at the same time...

He wanted what his parents had. The quiet affection, the easy laughter, the deep-rooted love that had endured twenty years of separation.

He wanted you.

And yet—he felt stuck.

"That's why you should be yourself," Penelope's voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. "You've been friends for a while. They'll understand."

Telemachus sighed, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "I can't be myself. Nobody wants that."

Odysseus snorted. "That's dramatic."

Penelope stood up and made her way to her son, gently touched his arm, her voice softer now. "Just try."

Telemachus swallowed, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Just try.

If only it were that easy.

──────💗──────

Telemachus couldn't get the interaction he had with you earlier that day out of his head. He had tried—tried so hard—to keep both his parents' advice in mind. He had finally gathered the confidence to tell you, rehearsing his words over and over, from the moment he woke up to the moment he finally said it.

Well... kind of said it.

You hadn't even heard him. And in that tiny, fleeting moment, all the courage he had painstakingly built crumbled into dust. When you looked at him with those oh so beautiful eyes and that perfect, heart melting smile, he panicked. The words he had prepared vanished like smoke, and before he knew it, he was scrambling to change the topic as fast as possible.

Now, as he replayed the disaster in his mind for what felt like the hundredth time, he decided it was both the smartest and most idiotic thing he had ever done. Smart—because he hadn't ruined your friendship. Stupid—because now he had to go through the agony of doing it all over again.

"You're distracted."

The sharp voice cut through his thoughts, making him flinch. His mentor, Athena, stood a few paces away, arms crossed, her piercing gaze locked onto him like a bird of prey. She had been watching his form as he attacked the training dummy, analyzing every movement, every hesitation.

Heat rushed to his face—not just from embarrassment, but because his mind had been so hopelessly wrapped around you. He swallowed thickly. "... It's [Name]," he admitted.

Athena let out a slow breath, attempting to mask both her amusement and her growing exasperation. She had seen this before—too many times, in fact. First with Odysseus, who had been equally lovesick, and now with his son, who spoke of you so fondly it was becoming predictable.

"Not again." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I am not Aphrodite. I can't help you."

But her words only sparked something in Telemachus. His eyes widened, a flicker of realization lighting them up, and then—

A grin.

"But you're Athena! Goddess of strategy!" He straightened, excitement practically radiating from him. "We can strategize this!"

Athena stared at him, expression flat.

"Please!" In a dramatic flourish, he dropped to his knees, hands clasped together in a desperate plea. "Every time I even think of them, my heart feels like it's going to burst through my ribs! Every time I look at them, I can barely think! I love them. I can't take it anymore!"

Athena sighed, looking up at the sky as if seeking divine patience. This was going to be a long conversation.

──────💗──────

The plan was simple. Or at least, Athena had made it sound simple.

Step one: Get you alone. Step two: Lead the conversation toward something sentimental. Step three: Casually, effortlessly, drop the confession like it was nothing.

Easy.

Except, now that Telemachus was actually there—walking beside you through the sun-dappled forest, the scent of pine and earth filling the air—his entire brain had turned to mush.

You walked ahead slightly, arms brushing away stray branches, sunlight catching in your hair just perfectly. You looked so at peace, humming softly to yourself, completely unaware of the internal war raging within him.

He needed to start the plan. Say something smooth. Something clever.

"So... uh." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. "D-Do you like trees?"

You stopped mid step, turning to blink at him. "What?"

"Trees," he repeated, voice slightly strangled. "Do you... like them?"

A pause. Then, you burst into laughter. "Telemachus, we are literally in a forest."

He groaned internally. That was not part of the plan.

Desperate to recover, he tried again. "What I meant to say was... um, people... people are like trees!"

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Oh? And how's that?"

"Uh..." He hadn't actually thought that far ahead. "Well, some are really tall! And, uh, strong! Like... my father." He winced. Gods, this was a disaster.

You bit your lip, holding back another laugh. "Right. So, are you a tree too?"

"I—" He blushed slightly at the idea you might see him as someone strong. He was spiraling. "I think I might be a bush."

That was it. You doubled over, laughter spilling freely from your lips, and despite his humiliation, Telemachus felt his heart swell at the sound. He loved your laugh. He loved—

Wait. He was supposed to be confessing, not making an absolute fool of himself.

"Why are you so nervous?"

"Umm, it's just—" Telemachus' eyes darted rapidly, searching for something—anything—that could save him. His gaze landed on Athena, perched in the form of a huge white owl on a nearby branch, watching intently. He gave her a desperate, pleading look. She only responded with a subtle nod forward, directing his attention back to you.

"Are you alright?" you asked, concern laced in your voice. You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, forcing him to meet your eyes. Gods, you loved his eyes—the way they turned into molten honey when the sunlight hit them just right. At that moment, you cursed your father in your mind. He had hyped you up to finally tell Telemachus how you felt, only for the day to end with him having some allergic reaction or whatever was happening to him.

Telemachus stared at you, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. The way the light bathed your features, making you seem almost ethereal—it was unfair. Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

"By the gods, you are beautiful."

"What?"

"What?" His eyes widened slightly as if he could pretend he hadn't just spoken.

You raised an eyebrow. "I heard you. I just wanted to know if I heard right."

"Oh."

A thick silence settled between you. The air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken.

You swallowed hard, deciding to bite the bullet. "...I think you're beautiful too." The words tumbled out before you could second-guess yourself. Your heart hammered in your chest, but you forced yourself to push forward. "I like you. I like you a lot, and it's totally fine if you don't feel the same, I just can't hold it in anymo—"

"I do too."

The response came without hesitation, so natural it almost startled you. He took a deep breath, scanning your face for a reaction—some sign that he wasn't making a mistake. He found it.

His fingers tightened slightly around yours. "You are the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night." His voice was steadier now, more certain. "I try to find excuses to talk to you, to be around you, to hear you laugh—even if it's just for a moment. And I know I should have said something sooner, but I was terrified that if I did, I'd lose you."

The world around you blurred. The whispering leaves, the distant crash of waves against the shore, the rustling of Athena's wings—it all faded into the background.

"You won't lose me." you promised, squeezing his hand.

Telemachus let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His free hand hesitantly reached up, brushing against your cheek as if testing whether this moment was real.

"Then, can I—" He stopped himself, but the question lingered in the air.

You smiled. "You can."

And with that, he closed the distance, pressing his lips softly against yours.

BONUS:

"Would you be mad if I let go of your hand?" "Why? What's wrong?" "It's really sweaty"

[wandanatsub]

At least once more, as always

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda finds a new spell in the Darkhold and wants to try it out.

Tags: Somnophilia, dub con (is reader there voluntarily? I don't know), magic (cock), stretching, overstimulation, breeding kink, pet names for reader (sweetheart, baby, angel), mommy kink, slight dacryphilia, no pronouns used for reader

Words: 3k

Find it on AO3 or others like it

I was thinking about how Wanda would wake you with morning sex and then my brain just did its thing at 2am. This took way longer to edit than I thought, but I'm happy with this for now so posting before it stays in my draft for another month..

The bed was warm when Wanda finally joined you, but sleep was the last thing on her mind.

She pulled the sheet off the bed and was rewarded with the sight of your naked body. Even asleep, Wanda knew you were always ready and waiting for her, whether you were aware of it or not.

She began with lightly brushing her fingers over your naked body, making sure you were still fast asleep. Then she pressed a bit harder, especially around your thighs and hips. Her hand snaked around your throat and massaged your pulse points. She teased your nipples and pulled on them.

Your breathing changed, but you were still sleeping. She checked, loving that her treatment was reflected in your dream.

After a while, she let her fingers drift down to your folds and pushed through them, feeling the wetness seep out of you. You were wet enough for her to put her plans into action.

And now for the second part of her plan. Wanda spoke another short incantation and started to slowly thrust into you. She wondered at what point you would wake and shiver of excitement ran down her back, making her thrusts a little deeper. Would the continued stretch of your hole would wake you up before her cock became thicker than her fist?

Before she pulled you close, she spoke the incantation and rubbed her clit. With the last word, a cock appeared between her legs. Her hand easily fit around it, as planned.

She turned you on your back. Your face was beautifully calm, a small smile on her lips if Wanda saw it correctly. Her fingers slid down to your thighs, grabbing hold at your knees and pulled them apart to slide closer towards you. She settled your legs over her hips, her cock right at your seeping entrance. She pushed in easily, groaning as she could feel her cock inside your warm and soft pussy.

Every passing second made her cock expand, slow enough to not be recognizable at the moment, but soon you'd notice the stretch. The slow process also gave her the chance to fuck you for a while before you'd wake up.

Wanda started with easy slow thrusts. You were so wet that she felt no resistance at all., though she could feel it starting to build. She fingered your clit to keep the abundance of wetness coming, not wanting to hurt you. Yet. She kept thrusting, checking in on your dream to find her dream-self lazily fucking into dream-you, your blissed-out face mirroring reality.

Wanda kept fucking into you. Once her cock had grown enough, the resistance was noticeable, your walls gripping onto her.  Gods, she loved the way you felt around her, the pressure gradually increasing, turning her on more every second.

She had to put more strength into her thrusts, holding onto your hips to push into you. Your dream-self had started to moan her name, slowly bleeding into reality, as she could hear you trying to form words. On a particular powerful thrust, going as deep as she could, your eyes suddenly popped open with you screaming out her name.

Wanda kept thrusting into you with all her power, relishing in the squeeze of her cock while pushing your hips into the mattress. Your hands came up to claw at her. To make her stop or will her to keep going, you weren’t sure.

Waking up to Wanda pushing into you with her thick cock had left you reeling, barely comprehending what was happening. But Wanda gave you no time to catch up. The squelching sound of Wanda forcing herself into your pussy filled the air.

"I've been fucking you for a while, but I’m glad you've finally decided to join the show."

"Yes, take me, pet."

She leaned down to pull your wrists above your head, brushing her nose up your throat to whisper in your ear.

"Gotta get you so wet for me, baby, more than ever before. I'm trying this little spell. Can you figure it out?"

Shivers ran through your whole body. Your hips tried to press up into the witch above you, desperately looking for more friction but Wanda slowed her thrusts, though only because she struggled to push into you all the way.

Her hand flew back to your clit, feeling your pussy give way to her. You squeezed your eyes shut, there were too many sensations. You needed to cum, because you needed this to be over. It was torture, lighting your body on fire, raw pleasure coursing through your veins.

And she kept thrusting into you, your brain nearly exploding while trying to make sense of her words and not pass out from the heavenly pressure between your legs.

You felt your orgasm creeping up on you. It hadn't been the first time Wanda had stretched you out, and it always felt great. But her waking you up already inside you felt intense. You wanted to cum so badly. Cum for her. Stretched around her cock.

"Please, more. I need-"

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart, more is what this is all about. I'm gonna stretch you out until all you can do is cum on my cock."

You were glad Wanda had let you come so easily, not even making you ask for permission. Your hands let go of the headboard and found her hips, trying to push her off of you. The orgasm hat felt amazing but you needed a break.

The thought, paired with Wanda's hard thrusts, sent you over the edge easily, squeezing her cock like a vice. She moaned, her hips temporarily thrusting out of rhythm.

She slowed down until you stopped clenching around her, not wanting to cum until she had you at your breaking point. It helped you catch your breath. Though you could still feel the stretch, you felt relaxed, the pleasure-high fogging up your thoughts.

Wanda took hold of your wrists again and kept pushing into you.

“What makes you think I’m done with you, baby?” Her overly sweet voice made you realize you might be in trouble.

Wanda quickened her thrusts again, pleasure filled your body without your permission though you knew better than to fight it or her.  You would enjoy her treatment so much more when you gave into her fully. If Wanda’s thrusts kept coming, so would you. Might as well enjoy it.

Something felt different though. Like she had gotten bigger, stretching you more and-

Oh.

Now her words made sense.

A loud whine escaped your lips.

"Yes, more, please, more, Wanda. Please, please, make me stretch for you."

Wanda knew you had finally understood.

By now, she was almost as thick as her fist. Her thoughts drifted back to a week ago, when you had asked her to fist you. Wanda pushed the image and feeling of you squeezing her hand, only her wrist visible between your legs, covered in cum and lube to the elbow, into your thoughts.

The mental image and the pressure of her thick cock pushed you over the edge again. Your whole body went rigid, muscle tension pulling your body away from the mattress, pushing into the pleasure and overstimulation.

Wanda kept up her rhythm this time, pounding into you, holding onto your hips, pushing herself as deep as possible. You didn't know when your second orgasm turned into the third, but you wouldn’t care if you lost all feeling in your physical body as long as the fireworks of pure ecstasy kept exploding.

"One more, baby, give me one more." The words pushed through the haze in your mind. And you felt yourself nod. One more orgasm and you could rest.

Wanda blew hot air on your clit, not wanting to overstimulate you, but you writhed underneath her anyway.

Wanda had paused her thrusts, waiting for you to return to reality, but her cock had gotten thicker again.

Your orgasm had spread your wetness over your thighs, her thighs and the bedspread, but neither of you cared.

"More, Wan, please." Your words were slurred, but Wanda understood them anyway.

"I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. You are doing so well. Just give me one more. Can you do that for me, baby?"

You nodded again, moving your hips against hers, pushing yourself onto her thick cock.

Wanda was in awe. She had trained you so well.

"That's it, baby, keep going, fuck yourself on my cock. You can't get enough of it, can you? You're so wet and open for me, made to be stretched by my thick cock."

You whined, not able to push yourself all the way onto Wanda's cock anymore, resulting in quick, shallow frustrating thrusts. You were stretched beyond anything you had ever experienced. You wanted more, needed more. Needed Wanda, her help, needed her to push deeper into you. All thoughts had left your head. All you could think about was Wanda. The witch liked it that way.

"Aww, my pretty baby can't do it without my help? Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll show you how to fuck a precious little angel like you."

You winced at the first deep thrust. Wanda's thumb found your clit and swept over it again and again. The stretch became easier to handle but it couldn't quench the frustrated arousal sweeping through your whole body. With all your strength, you wrapped your legs around Wanda's back and pulled her as close as you could.

"Harder. Please, Wan. Please, mommy, fuck me."

Hearing that title from your lips nearly pushed Wanda over the edge.

Nails dug into your hips, making you cry out. Wanda pushed into you as hard as she could, slamming her pelvis into yours with every thrust, but you didn't care. The pleasure exploded in your body, reaching every tiny nerve ending.

"Come for me, baby. Come on mommy’s cock."

Your orgasm ripped through you, only increasing once you felt Wanda's cock erupt in thick spurts of cum, stretching you even more. Your breathing stopped while your body tried to contain all the pleasure. All your nerve endings were fired up, sending ecstasy back to your center, the sensations concentrated on the stretch of your walls around Wanda's cock, pulling you into another orgasm.

It took a while to free yourself from the haze in your brain. You barely registered Wanda speaking words in another language, then the continued stretch stopped.

Wanda waited until your eyes fluttered open again, finding hers.

"Good morning, baby. Sleep well?"

Her lips pulled into a grin. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, if at all possible. But as soon as your brain found words, her thumb swiped over your clit, circling it, shooting pleasure through your abused nerves. You whined, your hands shooting out to grip her wrist. Wanda was still inside you, stretching your pussy to its limits.

"Ah ah ah, baby, hands to yourself. I just want to make this easier for you."

Your grip on her wrist didn't lessen, but you didn't have the strength to stop her anyway. Wanda brushed quick little circles over your clit, making your eyes roll back. Your hips lifted of their own volition, still chasing her touch, but she chose that moment to slowly pull out of you.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. Stretching you out had been ecstatic, but this feeling was agonizing. Her thumb pressed over your clit, your walls releasing her cock, bit by bit. Using magic could’ve definitely make this process easier for you, but Wanda wasn’t really looking to make it easier for you.

She pulled out slowly, slower really than she had to, but she loved seeing your walls all stretched around her, your clit fluttering under her thumb.

"You're doing so well for me, sweetheart. Be good, and don't fight it, baby."

Your body couldn’t decide between whines, cries and moans, letting it all out. Wanda basked in the display of pleasure and pain. She loved how your body writhed underneath her, constantly switching between pulling her closer and pushing her away.

Wanda was in total control of your body, just the way she liked it. Her fingers slid up your stomach to your breast and started to toy with your nipples, squeezing and pulling on them. All the painful sensations combined into a pleasure wave, slowly drifting over you.

She paused the movement of her hips for a few seconds, cruelly tracing your thin walls around her cock. Your whines turned into sobs, your body practically vibrating with all the sensations, until she finally took pity on you. Her thumb returned to your clit, the other hand held onto your squirming hips. Her lips found your ear, praising you in hushed tones as she finally pulled out of you.

A final small orgasm pulled out of you, relief flooding your whole body.

Without her cock inside you, your combined cum started flooding out of you, soaking the sheets underneath you.

Wanda's finger swirled through it and pushed some of it back into your stretched entrance. You whined and tried to pull away from her.

"Stay still, baby. I can't have all of this sweetness go to waste. Have to plug you up next time, to make sure to keep all of my cum inside."

Your struggle quickly faded. Your body was overwhelmed, unable, and unwilling to fight Wanda. After all, she knew what was best for you.

Four wet fingers easily pushed the cum back into you, her thumb finding your clit, overstimulation sending you into another quick orgasm, squeezing weakly around her fingers.

"Good job, baby, let me fill you up."

Wanda pulled you closer by your hips, propping your ass up onto her thighs. Your legs fell open, exposing your wide entrance to Wanda's hungry gaze. Your body felt heavy, too heavy to really move, but you knew Wanda would handle your body into any position she wanted it. You didn’t have to think about moving or anything besides breathing, though your body mostly managed that on its own.

"You're perfect like this, sweetheart, all open and ready for me."

Even though you were still incredibly overstimulated, Wanda's praise could easily push you into compliance.

"Wanna be good for you, mommy." Your whispers were barely loud enough to be heard, but Wanda would've caught them over the sounds of bombs raining from the sky.

"Then just lay still and let me fill you up, baby. Gotta make sure my seed takes root."

Your eyes fluttered, and it became difficult to keep them open. You caught glimpses of Wanda stroking her cock eagerly, staring at your freshly fucked pussy.

"Fill me up, mommy, want you to breed me."

Wanda loved you. She really did. Especially when you were fucked-out exhausted but still so incredibly horny. She was glad she hadn't managed to fuck that out of you yet.

She stroked herself while slowly circling your clit, delighted to see your pussy quivering, trying and failing to squeeze around anything. You couldn’t move a muscle even if you wanted to. Wanda would fuck you for as long as she wanted to, so there was no reason for you to move anyway.

The sight in front of her and the thought of breeding you finally pushed her into her second orgasm of the morning. The first ropes of cum landed over your stomach and hips. She kept fisting her cock and aimed at your still gaping entrance, the rest of her cum dripped into you.

Her thumb brushed your clit, making you squeeze around her cum.

Another short but intense orgasm made sure her cum stayed where it should and brought silent tears to your eyes.

"So good for me baby, you did so well. I love how hungry your pussy is for my cum. Love to see my little angel clench around nothing but my cum."

A smile bloomed on your face, and Wanda brushed away the tears from your cheek, mixing with the cum still on her thumb.

"Such a pretty angel. Cry for me, baby."

Crying after an intense orgasm wasn't new for you. And this had been the most intense experience of your life, so Wanda wasn't surprised by your reaction. The fact that it turned her on even more was also a benefit. The tears kept falling, and Wanda kept brushing them away, smiling down at you.

"Getting my thumb all wet, baby, and wet fingers are only good for one thing."

Her featherlight touch had barely left your face when you felt it once again on your clit. You stiffened. You couldn't. Not again. It was too much.

"Can you give me one more, angel? Just one more, and then you can sleep, I promise. Just have to make sure that you take mommy's cum as deep as you can."

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were sure this wasn't necessary to get you pregnant, whether she had cum inside you, tip pushed against your cervix, or masturbating over your gaping hole.

Your body fought against overstimulation. You wanted to be good for Wanda. To give her what she wanted. She was relentless, brushing over your clit. Quietly praising you. Telling you about all the other ways she wanted to breed you until you were finally pregnant and maybe even after that.

Your body slowly came alive again, pleasure reaching out its fingertips.

"Look at me, baby."

Wanda waited until your eyes fluttered open and anchored onto her own. She smiled at you, then looked down at your abused pussy and let her spit drip onto your clit. Your eyes rolled back, and your body quivered under her presence.

With the last vestiges of her sanity intact, Wanda pulled up your hips until her tongue could reach your clit. It barely took a few licks to catapult you into one last orgasm, long and intense, Wanda sucking on your clit throughout until you finally lost all strength in your body.

She carefully lowered you, pulled a pillow under your hips to keep them inclined, and finally laid down next to you, pulling you into her arms.

"Sleep, baby. You did so well for mommy, I’m so proud of you."

You barely registered the praise before you lost consciousness and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

[0scarp1astr1]

Anniversary Tears

જ⁀➴ Desc: || In which your perfect anniversary was long forgotten by your boyfriend and you're tired of being last place in his life. ||

P2

ᯓ★ Featuring: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Fernando Alonso.

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Angst

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? No

Author Note: Don't worry guys, I do see your requests in my inbox, and have them drafted. Solo fics take longer than the headcanons, So I am putting more content out there to hold you over. I hope you all enjoy the angst.

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Max Verstappen

When your relationship with Max first took off, it felt perfect. Not only were you a WAG with a loving boyfriend and your own career, but you were also his world—his safe haven outside the sport that constantly demanded his time, energy, and focus. After long days filled with tension, yelling at his team, and pushing for improvements they sometimes refused to acknowledge, you were his anchor. On the verge of breaking, you were the one who held him together.

But slowly, the pressure from his job started to seep into your relationship. Max grew distant, his presence increasingly replaced by postponed dinners and late nights. "Don't wait up," became more common than goodnight kisses. The bed felt colder, and the silence at night felt heavier. Still, you clung to hope. Your anniversary was coming up—it had to mean something to him. He’d always remembered before, right down to the minute. He never missed it. It was always in his phone, always marked with care.

“Don’t worry, liefje,” he said with a soft kiss. “I’ll be home before you know it.” His lips lingered just long enough to convince you he might mean it this time.

You dressed with care that evening—spritzed on the perfume he loved, slipped into the dress that never failed to catch his eye. Dinner was set. A night under the stars, just the two of you. You waited, surrounded by the hum of music, the clink of glasses, the low chatter of couples enjoying each other’s company.

But not yours.

You kept glancing at the door. Then at your phone. Finally, you called him. When he answered, you could hear him talking to someone—Christian, maybe—before he turned his attention to you.

“Sorry, liefje, I was just talking to Christian. What’s up?”

What’s up?

“What do you mean, what’s up?” you snapped, your voice brittle.

His reply was casual, too casual. “Why are you so moody? Are you on your period or something?”

That was the final straw.

“No, Max, I’m not,” you said sharply, your voice tight as you stood from the table, phone pressed to your ear. “Maybe I’m just moody because the man I love can’t even let go of a damn steering wheel for five minutes to be with me. I get it. You love racing. I know your career comes first. But on our anniversary?”

There was a pause, then a panicked, “Shit. I’m sorry! I’ll come right now—”

“Don’t bother, Verstappen.” You cut him off, eyes stinging. “Save your apology. I’m done. I can't keep coming in last place... while you sit there and celebrate every first.”

You hung up. The quiet click of your heels echoed as you walked away, tears slipping down your cheek.

Elsewhere, Max stood frozen, phone in hand, jaw clenched, eyes heavy.

When someone asked what was wrong, all he could manage to say was—

“I screwed up.”

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Charles Leclerc

You always knew Ferrari was Charles’ world. From the time he was a boy, it was his dream, his everything—and you stood by him every step of the way. He was a loving boyfriend, no doubt about that. He just had a habit of forgetting the little things—milk from the store, the eggs, the scented candles you asked for, even the specific dog food that Leo could actually stomach.

But you loved him. Loved him so much, you would sit in silence and come last, over and over again.

You were used to being his priority. Even in crowded rooms or intense conversations, his hand would still find yours—on your thigh, your back, your waist. But lately, that had all changed. Ferrari was struggling, and so was Charles. You saw it in his eyes: the exhaustion, the pressure, the desperate hunger to do better, to fight for pole position, for podiums, for anything. And in the process, you felt like discarded trash—left behind, forgotten.

“I’ll see you tonight,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

He smiled. “Of course. I’ll handle today and be home.”

You assumed he knew. It was on the calendar. In both your phones. You’d dropped hints all week. He couldn’t forget this—your day. The day you two fell in love. The day you made each other yours.

When he walked out the door, your heart had lifted. You cleaned the flat from top to bottom, cooked his favorite meal, lit the candles he loved most, and carefully scattered the rose petals you bought. You dressed for the night you’d both needed. A reconnection. A celebration. A return to each other.

But hours passed.

The food grew cold. Half the candles flickered out. Leo had chewed through most of the petals. You sat in silence, staring at the clock, the night collapsing in on itself like a slow disaster.

Then—finally—you heard his keys.

His voice.

And your heart sparked, a flicker of hope that maybe—just maybe—he’d remembered. Maybe he brought flowers. Maybe he had a surprise. A kiss. An apology. Something.

But when the door opened, your smile died.

Charles stepped in… with one of his engineers.

“I invited him over for dinner,” he said casually, dropping his keys on the counter. He glanced around. “What’s all this?”

Your chest tightened, breath caught in your throat.

“Our dinner,” you said quietly.

He raised a brow. “We planned this?”

You looked away, biting the inside of your cheek.

“I mean… if we did, I must’ve forgotten,” he said, walking toward the table. “Did Leo eat half of whatever this is?” he added, lightly nudging a chewed petal with his foot.

That was it.

You grabbed your keys without a word and walked out. Charles watched you go, confused, glancing at his friend—who only shrugged.

And then his eyes landed on the calendar.

Red marker. A heart. One word.

Anniversary.

His stomach dropped.

“Our anniversary,” he whispered. Panic set in as he fumbled for his phone. He called you instantly.

“Y/N,” he breathed when you answered. “I forgot—I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. We were just talking strategy all day, and I lost track of time. Please, just come back.”

You sniffled on the other end.

“I’m tired of chasing someone who’s chasing a podium,” you said. “I know it’s your dream, Charles. But am I even part of it?”

He swallowed hard, unable to respond.

“You cross the finish line, but do I even matter?” your voice cracked. “You don’t even know what to say. You can’t, because you don’t care. I ask for your time—and you have none to give. So good luck with Ferrari this year, Charles. Go chase your podium. I’m done chasing you.”

And then the line went dead.

Charles stood frozen, phone still in hand, eyes stinging with guilt and regret. He whispered, more to himself than anyone else, anger and heartbreak swirling in his chest.

“She hates me…”

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Lewis Hamilton

You were in love with a seven-time world champion.

And somehow, despite the millions who adored him, he loved you. He chose to build a life with you—and Roscoe. Nothing could break you two apart. His heart was yours, and yours was his.

He made sacrifices, hard choices in his career, and swore time and again that he'd always try to keep you first. That love—it made you feel like you were flying.

Until you crash-landed. Alone.

Lately, the clock would strike midnight, sometimes even two in the morning, and he still wouldn’t be home. And each late night, each unanswered message, made your chest feel tighter. You told yourself not to complain—he was famous, his life demanding. But still, you wanted time. His time.

“We deserve a trip,” he had said, flashing that smile, the one that always calmed your nerves.

“We do,” you agreed. “Just don’t forget the date. I even canceled vacation plans with the girls—told them I needed time with my future husband.”

He had chuckled and held up his phone. “I’ll spend an hour with the guys and come home early. I still need to pack Roscoe’s stuff, anyway.”

“Responsible,” you teased, kissing his cheek. “Go have your fun.”

And the moment he walked out the door, your heart started dreaming. You imagined quiet mornings with him, waking up tangled in each other, no alarms, no cameras. Just the two of you, off the grid. Long walks. Photos where he called you beautiful. Whispered I love yous between sips of coffee. A version of him that only existed when the world wasn’t watching.

But the clock ticked. Then again. And again.

No message. No call. Nothing.

Just silence—until you opened Instagram.

There he was. Laughing, smiling with the guys. Still out. Like he had no flight. No bags. No anniversary. No you.

He was winning in the race of life—and losing in the one that truly mattered.

He didn’t come home until hours later. Eyes tired, voice light.

“An hour I said—and then Franco dared me to—”

He stopped.

The place was too quiet. Too empty. Roscoe sat by the door, ears perked.

“Y/N?” he called, stepping deeper into the penthouse.

“Babe?”

He walked through each room, heart picking up speed—until his eyes caught the note sitting on the counter.

Lewis,

I waited. But you didn’t come. I told myself maybe you'd run late, maybe you'd rush home, maybe you'd try. But you didn't.

You missed our flight. You missed our anniversary.

So I went without you. I’m on vacation—with the girls I turned down for you.

Don’t call. Just ask yourself why it always ends up like this.

—Y/N

Panic set in. He grabbed his phone and immediately called you.

When you picked up, your voice was quiet, broken by the faint sound of laughter in the background.

“Where did you go?” he asked, breath uneven.

“On vacation,” you said simply. “You missed our flight. You know… for a seven-time world champion, I thought maybe—maybe—you’d lay it to rest just for one day. Or did you forget what this trip was even for? It was our anniversary.”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I’m laying off work as much as I can. You know how demanding it is. I love what I do—”

“Yeah. You love what you do. But do you even love what you have?” your voice cracked. “I’ve spent so much time loving you, accepting that you’re sweet… but never around. At some point, Lewis, you’ll wake up past forty, still chasing podiums, and realize the world kept spinning without you.”

Silence.

“And when all the other drivers are married, in love, settled… you’ll say I miss Y/N. You’ll say you miss us. You’ll wish we had more time. You’ll wish we got married. You’ll wish you treated me like more than a trophy in your case.”

You paused, breath catching.

“But I won’t be there.”

And then you hung up.

Back in Monaco, Lewis stood frozen in the middle of the room, eyes glassy, hands shaking. His phone slipped from his grip, landing with a sharp clatter on the tile.

“Fuck!” he yelled, voice raw, hands in his hair as he stumbled backward.

“How did I mess this up?” he muttered, sinking onto the edge of the bed.

“I lost her…”

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Lando Norris

When you first met Lando, you knew who he was—the party boy. The fast life, the late nights, the grin that could disarm anyone. But behind that chaos was something softer. Something real. A boy with a full heart who crumbled in your arms when the media became too cruel. You held him through breakdowns, through silence, through storms no one else ever saw. He was yours. You were his.

And for a while, it felt like nothing else mattered.

Time with him felt like being the center of the universe. Every moment was electric. He made you feel like you were more than his girlfriend—you were his constant. His peace.

But it shifted.

McLaren started winning, and suddenly, so much more of him belonged to the team. His attention narrowed, his kisses got shorter, his exits quicker. “Love you,” turned into rushed goodbyes and texted emojis. You started waiting—hours—for a message, a call, a sign.

Sometimes, you only got a thumbs-up.

He didn’t feel like your boyfriend anymore. He felt like Lando Norris, the driver. And you? Just another face in the crowd, another voice in his overflowing inbox.

It hurt. Bad.

That’s why you didn’t say anything.

You wanted to see if he’d remember your anniversary. Not because you wanted to punish him—but because part of you needed to know if he still saw you. Not as a fan, not as a placeholder, but as the girl who’s been with him through it all. The one who stayed.

You let the day unfold in silence.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d say no to clubbing. Maybe he’d surprise you. Maybe he’d say no to everyone else and yes to you—for once.

The lamp in the living room was the only light on. You sat on the couch, dressed up. Makeup perfect. Perfume light and familiar. Waiting.

You imagined him swinging through the door, smiling, dressed up, ready to whisk you away like it was year one again.

But hours passed.

Your heels came off first. Then the makeup wipes. Then the dress, now forgotten on the cold floor of your bedroom. By the time the clock struck midnight, you were in pajamas—hope deflated.

Then, voices at the door.

You looked up, heart already heavy.

“He’s drunk,” one of his friends laughed as they helped Lando up the stairs.

His head lolled to the side, eyes half-closed, a goofy, blissed-out grin on his lips.

You opened the door.

“On our anniversary…” you whispered under your breath.

Still, you couldn’t turn him away. You loved him too much for that.

You thanked his friends, then wrapped your arms around him as he leaned all his weight on you. He laughed—slurred and unaware—as you helped him toward the bedroom.

“Norris,” you muttered, sighing. “You forgot what today was.”

He didn’t respond.

You eased him onto his side of the bed, unlaced his shoes, tossing them aside. He collapsed into the pillows with a lazy groan.

“Four years,” you said quietly, watching him.

“Anniversary, you know?” you tried again. “Four years.”

He hummed, eyes shut. “Whatever you say… I don’t care…”

You froze.

And then, with a careless wave of his hand, he mumbled—

“I love you, Luisinha…”

The breath left your body.

Your heart split clean down the middle.

He wasn’t just drunk.

He was drunk and still thinking about her.

Luisinha.

The girl before you. The one you thought he’d moved past. The one he said he didn’t talk to, didn’t think about, didn’t miss.

But that bracelet you’d found a week ago—the one he promised he’d thrown away?

He kept it.

He kept her.

And now, with his defenses down, the truth came out. Maybe the drinking, the clubbing, the partying—it wasn’t about the spotlight. Maybe it was about numbing the space she left behind.

Your eyes welled with tears as you looked at him—peaceful, unaware, dreaming of someone else.

“For once in my life…” your voice shook, barely a whisper, “I thought someone loved me. Sober or not sober.”

You wiped your eyes, hands trembling.

“I’m last place in your mind,” you said, broken. “Always have been.”

You lingered in the doorway for a moment, taking one last look at the boy who promised you everything—but gave you half-truths.

“I hope she makes you happy,” you whispered.

And then you left.

No destination in mind.

Just anywhere that wasn’t there—anywhere you could breathe, away from the lies, away from the ache of trying to be someone’s everything when they’re still mourning someone else.

Back in bed, Lando stirred. Tossed. Snored.

And then, barely audible—

“Luisinha…”

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Carlos Sainz

Carlos was your sweetheart.

Every photo of you two looked like a still from a romantic comedy—sometimes sweet, sometimes goofy, always full of heart. Together, you’d wish fans happy holidays, post silly videos, and make even the quietest moments feel alive. Being his felt like honey: warm, golden, slow-dripping joy.

He loved to show you off. His friends knew your name. His fans knew your face. He spoke of you like you hung the moon.

And for a long time, the weight of that love wasn’t heavy—it was heavenly.

But slowly… that love began to fade. Not disappear, no. Just… retreat.

His smiles became half-hearted. His eyes darted around the room, distracted. Every dinner was cut short. Every date somehow became a double date—someone tagging along, someone stealing his laughter, his attention, his time. And you? Left picking at your food, faking smiles.

He always apologized. Swore he’d change. And you believed him, because when Carlos loved, he loved hard.

“This time, I’ll focus on you. It’s our anniversary, mi amor. I could never forget my special lady,” he teased, pinching your nose, making you laugh in spite of yourself.

“Good. I already have my outfit picked out, Sainz,” you grinned.

“Perfect, I'll meet you tonight, have to do some stuff so I can make time for just this moment and just for you," he said, kissing your forehead. It felt like a promise.

And for a moment—you believed it.

That night, you stood in front of the mirror, beaming. Your dress hugged your body just right, your makeup was soft and glowing. You did a little spin, whispering to yourself, “He’s gonna lose his mind when he sees me.”

You were ready to be his entire world for the night.

But hours passed.

The food on your plate grew cold. The candles flickered lower. And the seat across from you? Still empty.

Your phone finally rang. Your heart lifted, a flicker of hope rushing in. “Carlos?” you answered with a soft smile.

Laughter poured from the other end of the line. Background noise. Music. Clinking glasses.

“You should come to the bar!” he said, voice light and carefree.

Your smile shattered.

The silence on your end stretched, and then—

“Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro…” your voice trembled. “Do you really not know what today is?”

He hesitated. “I must’ve forgotten, because… no?”

Your throat tightened. “Our anniversary.”

Silence.

“And I have to say,” you added, voice cracking, “sitting alone at this table—alone—is humiliating.”

He exhaled. “Come to the bar. I’ll make it up to you. I’m sorry—”

“Sorry?” You stood up, voice raising with the weight of every swallowed hurt. “You’re always sorry, Carlos! And then you go and do the same thing again. And again.”

People turned their heads, but you didn’t care anymore.

“I’m tired of being last! I’ve sucked up every ache in my body for you. I’ve swallowed my pride. For what?”

“You know how demanding my career is,” he said quietly.

You laughed bitterly. “Your career? Carlos, other drivers have relationships. They’re not out at a bar on their anniversary night like it’s nothing!”

“I’m not them,” he snapped. “Don’t compare me, corazón.”

You shook your head, heart sinking. “Maybe if you loved me the way they love their partners… I wouldn’t have to.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Maybe if you just looked at me, for one second, I wouldn’t have to beg to be seen. I made you first in my life, Carlos. First. And all I’ve ever been to you is another face in the crowd. Someone who waits. Someone who blends in behind your friends, your fans, your fame.”

He stayed quiet.

You looked at the phone, your reflection in the black screen, your makeup starting to smudge, your hand trembling.

“We’re done, Carlos,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Done.”

And with that, you hung up.

Back at the bar, Carlos stared at his phone like it had punched him in the gut.

He didn’t even realize he’d stopped breathing.

He slid the phone down on the counter, staring ahead at nothing. His jaw clenched. His throat burned.

One of his friends leaned over, hand on his back.

“You okay, man?”

Carlos didn’t answer at first. Then, slowly, voice cracked and broken, he muttered:

“I just lost the one woman who loved me more than the world…”

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Fernando Alonso

Fernando Alonso Díaz.

Even just his name gave you butterflies. It belonged to the man who made you laugh until your sides ached, who smothered you with kisses every morning despite your sleepy protests. His affection was playful—nose pinches, tight hugs, spontaneous dancing in the kitchen. You were his world. And he was yours.

He once told you that when he was ready to marry again, it would be you. Only you. That you’d be the last woman he’d ever love like this. That one day, he'd put a ring on your finger and call it forever.

For a long time, life with him felt like a promise unfolding. Soft, beautiful, and full of meaning.

But promises, even beautiful ones, can crack under pressure.

The small things started to slip. A missed good morning text. A quick kiss on the cheek without eye contact. Late nights with the same excuse: work. “You know how it goes,” he’d say. “Busy as always.” And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were his partner… or his afterthought.

Still, you hoped.

You wore the outfit he loved. You tried to spark memories, gently reminding him of the day you became official. He smiled—but his face didn’t light up. “I don’t really remember the date,” he said, brushing it off. “But I remember it felt magical.”

Your fake smile held long enough for you to turn your back.

Then came another goodbye. Another peck on the cheek. Another “work’s calling.”

You stayed home, holding on to hope. Holding on to him.

Evening came. Then night. Your phone buzzed.

Fernando: Don’t wait up. Working late.

That was it. No call. No detail. Just another dismissal, like you didn’t spend the day waiting, hoping he’d come home ready to celebrate you both.

You called him. Your voice trembled, trying to stay steady.

“Fernando,” you said, “I think you should check the date.”

He laughed softly. “Are you drunk, mi vida?”

“No,” you whispered. “Just check.”

There was a pause. Then, casually: “Is it important? I’m heading out with the guys. Engineers are buying.”

Your heart cracked. “Nando, it’s our anniversary.”

Silence. Then a light chuckle. “Ah… I missed it. We’ll fix it tomorrow, yeah? When I’m free.”

You swallowed hard. “Are we ever getting married, Fernando? Or is that just something you say when it’s convenient?”

He sighed. “Why would I stop racing to get married? This is my life. You knew that.”

“I’m not asking you to stop racing.” Your voice shook. “I’m asking if you even see a future with me.”

Another sigh. Dismissive. Cold.

You continued, voice stronger now, pain spilling out. “You remember everything about your career—your wins, the year you debuted, your teammates, your rivals. But you couldn’t remember this. Us. What we built.”

You wiped a tear away. “You’re forty-three, Fernando. I don’t need a perfect family. I don’t even need kids. But marriage… time together… commitment. That’s not too much.”

“I’ll marry when I’m ready,” he replied. “I’m not living a domestic life right now. I have a few more years left in me. You knew that.”

“I did. I knew what I signed up for.” Your tone softened, but the sadness deepened. “But I didn’t sign up to always come second. Or third. Or last. I thought we were in this together. I thought love meant sharing the wins.”

He was quiet. You knew that silence. The kind that said he’s made his choice.

“I’m not trying to change you,” you whispered. “I just wanted a little of your time. A little of your heart when it wasn’t being poured into a car. I wanted our love to matter as much as your next race.”

Then his voice sharpened. “If you hang up, I won’t chase you. I won’t beg. If you hang up, it’s done. So give me a moment—”

Click.

Silence.

The moment you ended the call, something shifted in him.

Fernando sat motionless, the phone still in his hand. The words echoed in his head.

“There is no reason one of us should be winning and the other losing.”

He’d spent his life chasing podiums, building a legacy. But in the quiet that followed your goodbye, he realized something:

The one person who loved him beyond the helmet, the headlines, the trophies—had just walked away.

And he let her.

A single tear slid down his cheek as he placed the phone on the table, the weight of everything he’d lost crashing down on him.

“What have I done…”

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[clockwayswrites]

A Bird Nest Part 43

masterpost (please no editing or concrit, this is a first draft!) Also, Duke is 100% to blame for this part.

It was Wednesday, so Danny was working from home. As much as he insisted that he was alright, Lucius wasn’t taking a single chance about it and still had Danny on reduced hours. Danny had argued against it, but Lucius wouldn’t budge. Fainting his first week back from a blood pressure crash hadn’t helped Danny’s case in the least.

The end of the tablet pen dented slightly as Danny chewed on it. There was something wrong with the diagram—something that Danny knew that he should catch. (He was maybe still a little fuzzy.) He was going to figure out what it was before he was back in his lab on Monday. Some progress would do him good. Ever since his water filtration prototype had gone off for testing, Danny had felt restless.

Though some of that restlessness might also have to do with everything else in his life. Like the wings. And becoming an Ancient. And his new boyfriend. Partner? Love interest? What would Bruce want to be called? The paper usually went with love interest, Danny thought, or fling. While he hoped that they were more than a fling, love felt like such a big word.

Danny leaned back in his chair and twirled the abused pen between his fingers. Partner felt too business and permanent and they were hardly each other’s ‘other half’. They were both too independent for that, and Bruce had his flock of children that would always come first. Significant other? Bruce was logical enough that he might appreciate S.O. as a moniker. Danny was certainly logical enough that he was fine with it.

A quick staccato of knocks at the door jarred Danny from his pondering. He peered through the peep hole curiously. The site made him scramble to get the door open.

“Hummingbird? What’s wrong?” Danny asked as he ushered Tim into the apartment.

“Sorry for just dropping in,” Tim said as he started to pace. He didn’t look at Danny.

“It’s no—”

“I know you didn’t give your address to me,” Tim interrupted as he spun on his heels and headed back the other way, “like, not to me for me, but so that Jason could grab your stuff and this is, like, an invasion of privacy or something.”

“It’s not, you’re more than welcome to kno—”

“But I needed someone to talk to that wasn’t family. Because family is the whole, um,” Tim smothered a hysterical sounding giggle.

Danny stepped in front of Tim and halted him with gentle hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Cream or sugar with your coffee?”

Tim blinked at Danny as if he had just said the sky was falling. “What?”

“What do you take with your coffee?” Danny asked again as he guided Tim over to the couch.

Tim sat. “I—sugar?”

“Okay. I’ll be right back with some coffee,” Danny said. While the coffee brewed, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to let Bruce know that Tim was with him and he’d touch back later. Then he silenced his phone. He set Tim’s mug on the side table for him once the coffee was ready. “Careful, it’s warm.”

Tim wrapped his hands eager around it, but didn’t drink. “Thank you.”

“Of course, honey,” Danny said. He settled into the armchair that mostly existed for Danny to drop his work stuff on. “There’s no rush to start, but I’m listening whenever you’re ready.”

Tim took a long, slow sip of his coffee. “This is a good blend.”

“Isn’t it? My friend found it when she was on a research trip and I’ve bought it ever since,” Danny said. “She finds all sorts of interesting things.”

“Is this the one the plants are from?” Tim asked with a glance towards the greenery.

Danny nodded. “It is. Her name is Sam.”

Tim kept his eyes on the plants. “You’re close then.”

“We are,” Danny answered even if the words had been more a statement than a question. “I’ve known her almost forever. We even dated for a time in high school, but I think we both always knew that it wouldn’t work out, somewhere deep down.”

Tim took another sip. He finally glanced at Danny. “You’re bi then?”

“Pan,” Danny said, “but I’m fine with bi too. I just think in the weird world we live in that pansexual better defines me.”

“Bruce is too,” Tim said. “The papers never use pan, though. They don’t even like to use bi still. When he’s with a woman it doesn’t come up and when he’s with a man, he’s gay. I don’t know if it’s because he’s dated women a lot more publicly or what.”

“I think that the news is just like that, sadly. Bi or pan are harder for them to put in a simple box,” Danny said.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed. “It sucks.”

“Yeah.”

Tim took another sip and then cleared his throat. He looked away from Danny again. “But, um, yeah. Bruce has been with women maybe more. There were only two serious ones though. Before he adopted Dick he was known as a pretty big playboy. Not that he was ever, you know, like a jackass to his one night stands. That’s not Bruce. He just… had a lot of flings, you know?”

“I got a big of a sense of that,” Danny replied, a bit cautiously.

“I think that he, you know, felt that it was expected of him. He was a rich, handsome bachelor. If he wasn’t seen with women, people would talk. And people talking back then wasn’t good. There’s a lot of talking in high society. There’s a lot of… a lot of stuff,” Tim said.

Danny set his cup aside, his stomach churning. “Have you ever felt that pressure? Has anyone ever made you do anything?”

Tim’s head jerked up so quickly it looked like it hurt. “What? Oh, no! No. I, um, I dated Steph for a bit, but I think we just needed to both figure stuff out, you know? I have a boyfriend now, Bernard. He’s weird in the best way.”

“Good,” Danny said, relieved.

“I don’t know if it’s that things are better now or what, but I’m not like Bruce in that way. They joke about it a lot, you know, the family does. They joke about how much I’m like Bruce. Damian hates it. That was an issue, for a while, between Damian and I,” Tim said. He looked down at his drink again. “I sorta always ignored it, you know? Especially since it upset Damian. But a few weeks back Duke made a joke or a comment or—he said something.”

Danny leaned forward. “That hurt you?”

“No,” Tim said with a shake of his head. “That made me think. He asked if I’d ever actually ran the DNA. Of course I hadn’t, but that comment got stuck in my head.”

“Thinks can do that, sometimes,” Danny agreed.

“So I did. Best way to get it out of my head is to do it, you know?” Tim asked. “I got the results back today.”

Danny reached out and gently took the coffee cup from Tim’s shaking hands and set it aside. He left Tim hold one of his hands instead. Danny stayed quiet.

“I got the results back,” Tim continued. “And, um, he is. Bruce is actually my dad. Like, biologically my dad.”

[takenbypeter]

A Twinge of Jealousy

Bob Reynolds x reader

Words: 1411

A:N/ I have like 7 Bob fics in my draft but I hate proofreading 😭

Bob was jealous. 

He knew it was stupid. 

He knew he didn’t even really have to be jealous, especially of that asshole Walker. And while he kept telling himself he was the one you were seeing, he still was jealous. 

And yes although Bob and John Walker have come together over the past few months, Bob still considered the other an asshole, just less of an asshole than what he thought before. 

It wasn’t a serious case of jealousy though, (at least that’s what Bob told himself). I mean, Walker argued with everyone in the team. But there was just something about the way you’d bellow out a laugh at what he’d say that made Bob feel…aware of? (He thinks that’s how he wants to describe the feeling.) 

Like he was suddenly aware of how often you laughed at what Walker dished out and he was suddenly aware of how much he himself made you laugh seeing if it was the same way. But he pointedly recognized that it wasn’t. 

Bob realized that for Walker and the team your laughter was typically a booming type of laughter, one that filled the room and made Bob feel snug. While for Bob, the laughter was more of a giggly kind. 

Was giggly better or worse? He honestly didn’t know. All he did know was that it was bothering him. 

He knew it was important, (specifically for him), to express himself and talk things out. But at the same time he didn’t want to make a big deal out of something he considered so bothersome. He didn’t think it was even necessary to talk this one out. He would get over it. 

But despite his resolve, his mind wandered as he sat on his little couch while you and a few of the others chatted over snacks, you could easily tell something was wrong from just the look on his face as you gave a peek over John’s shoulder. 

Bob’s face was concentrated, but concerned, the crease in his forehead deepening a bit before you two locked eyes. Once you did, he locked in, replacing his former expression, (quite obviously), with a small smile. 

You mimicked his expression from earlier, your face now reading concern and Bob, already knowing that you were growing worried, smiled bigger in order to make himself seem as regular as possible. But, that only did the opposite and confirmed that you should most definitely be worried. 

Narrowing your eyes you moved past the others who were already lost in their own conversation of topic. 

Bob’s lips pulled wider as you neared, the falseness of it very clear. 

“What’s up?” He asked casually as you sat down across from him. Instead of answering you hit him with the same thing, “You tell me. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, just…” he raised a flat hand and dragged it across an imaginary table, “…chillin’”.

“Chillin?” You questioned, your brows raised and even his face showed that he was questioning his own word choice. 

“…Yup.” He said accentuating the “p,” consonant. You narrowed your eyes again as his stared back at you unconvincingly. 

“Is this a, I should get everybody and we should have an intervention thing or is this just a me thing?”

Who was he kidding? His shoulders dropped at the fact that he couldn’t keep this to himself, “…you thing.”

“Okay,” you stood up and reached down to pull him along with you, “let’s go.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he whined as he followed anyway. Feelings were tiring. He was tired of always talking about how he felt. 

“Okay, but remember what happens when you don’t talk about it.”

Although mumbling a bit of a response back, you actively tugged him until you two were in a more secluded part of the building. 

Once seated in a chair you all deemed, “the feelings chair,” which was just a small sofa, you turned to him, “come on, out with it.”

“It’s stupid—like really stupid.” 

“Stupid is fine, don’t you hear half of the things that come out of Walker’s mouth?”

Bob’s face automatically pressed together at the name that came from your mouth. It was the tiniest of scrunches especially because he quickly tried to control his face, but it was too late. As soon as you caught a glimpse of Bob’s expression, the gears started clicking in your brain. “This is about John?”

“I told you it’s stupid.”

“No tell me,” you slap his arm beckoning for him to come out with it. “I want to hear it.”

Bob sighed, his body leaning forward while his head dropped. He hated the feelings chair. 

Knowing you guys were going to stay there until you got an answer he sighed one last time, lifting his head with that one. 

“I think I’m just a teeny, tiny, tad bit jealous.”

“Of John?”

“Of…everybody?”

“Everybody?”

“Just—you laugh so loud with everyone…’cept me.”

“I laugh with you.”

“You giggle, not laugh. Giggle.”

You can’t help but feel surprised by his explanation but then thinking about it, you do, do exactly as he said. Giggle with him. You honestly hadn’t even realized you were doing that. But, without giving it too much thought you could easily pinpoint why. 

“Do you know why I giggle with you?”

He was quiet but shook his head. 

“Because Bob you’re cute and sometimes you make me nervous,” although you had been seeing each other, the relationship was still pretty fresh, at least that’s what it felt like for you, “and I giggle because it’s cuter than that ugly gigantic laugh.”

“Hey I love that ugly gigantic laugh.”

His face winced at what he said, “wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” you laughed a little, resting a hand on his knee. 

“I know what you meant.”

You grin at him, your thumb grazing back and forth against the material on his knee reassuring him that everything was fine. 

“You laugh like that with everyone but me though. It makes me feel like I’m not…funny? Or entertaining? I don’t know, I guess it’s an ego thing or maybe a reassurance thing—“ he shook his head before going off on a different  sort of tangent, “I just want you to sound like that with me.”

Bob finally looked at you again but you were looking down, taking his words in. Your silence made him again doubt how valid his feelings were. But honestly, you were just quiet because you were impressed. You were constantly impressed with how well he explained his thoughts, and now that he was more open, it made it sometimes harder for you to be fully honest with your own feelings, feeling like you’ve fallen behind him on that aspect, but still, you were constantly learning from him. 

After about half a minute you responded, “I think you’re right…I can change that.”

He blinked at your response. “It’s true, I’ve been holding back even if unintentional. But, I shouldn’t be holding back especially not with my man,” you tease, poking his arm. His lips pull as you make contact almost as if you had hit a special button to make him smile. “If you want the full experience I can do that for you.”

His smile was beaming now, “really?”

“Yeah,” you nodded making your decision, “but just, gradually probably, it’s such a habit now it’ll take a minute to break free. And if I ever get irritating let me know and then I can tone everything down.”

You didn’t know when but Bob’s face somehow was suddenly near yours as he leaned in for a quick kiss before separating with a smile, “tone it down? I would ask that from you.” Bob’s expression remained content as he stood a short distance from you. He then wrapped both arms around you pulling your lower body to his. “And earlier what I meant to say was I love your laugh.”

You suppressed a chuckle, holding his shoulders giving yourself some room but not wanting to distance yourself too much from him. Picking up on that, he leaned in again, this second kiss lasting a tiny bit longer than the first. 

“Your laugh is beautiful and full, welcoming and warm.“ Your mouth tilted at his words, while he stared at you, his eyes seeming to sparkle as they did so. 

“You want to kiss me?” You asked, and he nodded. 

This time you closed the distance between him. 

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Wrong Number, Right Guy.

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

main masterlist

Summary: In the middle of a disastrous night, your flirty message ends up on the wrong phone, and in the hands of someone way too proper.

Words: 1k.

Warnings & Tags: suggestive content. reader is a bit of a mess. meet cute. i don't know what else to say, sorry if I missed anything. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I’m on a roll uploading fanfics like a woman possessed, and this one has been gathering dust in my drafts for ages. Felt like it was finally time to unleash it, so enjoy!

You sat cross-legged on your bed, the glow from your phone screen painting soft shadows on your face. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside your window and the occasional rustle of the curtains in a gentle breeze. Your heart thumped just a little faster than usual, caught somewhere between nerves and a reckless kind of hope. Your fingers trembled slightly as you typed, the words feeling like a dare you gave yourself, bold and a little foolish.

You [10:41 PM]:

You still think about that night?

Because I do. A lot.

Especially that thing you did with your hands. God.

You smirk as your thumb taps send, the rush of adrenaline already fizzing through your chest like cheap champagne. You’re curled sideways on your unmade bed, the comforter half on the floor, mismatched socks on your feet, hair in a loose bun that’s been redone three times today, once out of boredom, twice because the strands kept falling in your coffee while you tried (and failed) to journal your feelings like someone with emotional literacy.

There’s a week-old takeout container on your nightstand. A pair of earrings you forgot to wear clink in a mug. The lamp leans slightly sideways, the victim of your last sock-related fall. You live in beautiful, barely contained chaos, the kind that makes people smile or flinch, depending on their personality.

This text?

It’s petty. You know it’s petty. But after two whole weeks of being ghosted, two weeks of obsessively rereading your last message, of lying to your friends and saying you were “so over it” while listening to sad music and stirring boxed mac and cheese like it was a grief ritual, this felt like justice. Or at least…a spark of satisfaction.

Let him sweat.

Your phone buzzes back almost instantly.

You blink.

Weird. He was never this quick to respond when you were actually together. He used to “forget to check his phone,” remember? Too busy. Too tired. Too…whatever.

You glance down, still smug. Until you see the name. Or rather, lack of one.

Unknown Number [10:42 PM]:

Hi, um…I’m fairly certain this text wasn’t meant for me.

Though I sincerely hope whoever it was meant for appreciates your directness.

You freeze.

Like, full-body stop.

Oh.

Oh no.

Your fingers suddenly feel too thick, your heart crashing around in your chest like a raccoon in a trash can. You fumble your way into your contacts, breath hitching, stomach dropping fast.

Yep. There it is. That brand-new number your ex gave you after switching phones, the one you entered manually because your Notes app was already a mess of half-written poems and “don’t text him” reminders that aged poorly. Apparently, one wrong digit was all it took to absolutely ruin your night.

You [10:43 PM]:

Oh my god. I’m so sorry.

That was…definitely not for you.

Please ignore everything I just said. Or better yet, erase it from your memory forever.

Goodbye. Forever.

You hurl your phone face-down onto your bed like it’s hot to the touch, eyes wide in sheer mortification. Your pulse is pounding behind your ears. You want to scream into a pillow, but you already did that last night, and your neighbors definitely heard.

What kind of cursed, chaotic energy are you carrying today? And why do your mistakes always wear neon signs?

Two minutes pass. Then three.

You start bargaining with the universe. Maybe the person is asleep. Or old. Or decided it wasn’t even worth a reply and moved on with their evening. Maybe you won’t have to crawl into a cave and reinvent your identity.

Buzz.

Nope. Not your fate tonight.

Unknown Number [10:47 PM]:

If it makes you feel better, I’ve read far more embarrassing confessions.

Once, in a 14th-century love letter translated from Provençal, a man compared his mistress’s breath to “wilted rosemary but in a charming way.”

Yours was far less poetic but arguably more effective.

You stare at the screen.

Blink.

Then blink again.

Who the hell is this man?

Who responds to a sexually charged misfire with a 14th-century literary anecdote?

A grin tugs at your lips despite yourself.

You [10:48 PM]:

…Are you a historian or something?

Unknown Number [10:49 PM]:

Close.

FBI profiler.

But I specialize in linguistics, criminology, and classical literature.

And bad timing, apparently.

You snorted, a small, unladylike burst of laughter that surprised even you. There was something oddly comforting in this stranger’s words, in the way he seemed to understand both the embarrassment and the poetry of the moment. You leaned back against your headboard, staring at the ceiling and feeling a warmth blossom in your chest, a flicker of intrigue.

You [10:49 PM]:

Wow.

You really weren’t the person I meant to text.

But also, now I’m invested.

You sit up, now fully engaged. You cross your legs and lean into the glow of your phone like it’s a lifeline. Your anxiety has morphed into something far more dangerous: curiosity.

Unknown Number [10:51 PM]:

If you’re open to unsolicited advice, next time you want to get over someone, try “The Bell Jar” or “The Picture of Dorian Gray.”

Or, if you’re feeling especially self-destructive, “Wuthering Heights.”

You smiled again, this time fully amused by the unexpected literary recommendation and the voice behind the words you couldn’t yet see. He was clever and mysterious. Just the kind of person you never thought you’d end up texting.

You [10:52 PM]:

I was expecting “Eat, Pray, Love” but okay, dark academia boy.

Got a name, or do I just keep calling you ‘Not My Ex’?

Unknown Number [10:53 PM]:

Spencer. Spencer Reid.

And you are…?

You stared at your phone for a beat, fingers hovering, then with a teasing grin, you typed:

You [10:54 PM]:

Professional Texter of the Wrong Men.

Nice to meet you, Spencer.

You bite your lip, grinning so hard your cheeks ache. You’re a mess, literally. There’s laundry on your dresser, lip balm in your bra, and a pen behind your ear you didn’t know was there. But somehow, in this little pocket of your chaotic evening, you feel like maybe…just maybe…you misdialed your way into something interesting.

And for once, your disastrous tendencies might have led you somewhere good.

Your phone buzzes again. One last message.

Spencer [10:56 PM]:

So…what was the thing with the hands?

You throw yourself backward onto your bed with a groan and a laugh, already typing back through a smile you can’t shake.

[iluvbuckets]

that little crush?

paige bueckers x fem!reader 

summary: based on this interaction between natisha hiedeman and skylar diggins during the lynx vs storm game.

warnings: kinda fluff lol, probably a little too much storybuilding but come on its fun, you're taller than her (just for fun hehe),

word count: 4.2k

notes: OLD DRAFT!! i wanted to get this out because I've been keeping it to myself for months!! i changed some of the info to fit my story timeline like the schedule and the draft pick orders so they aren't realistic plz bear w me!! also obviously this is happening to you instead of to t-spoon 😭 yes, i have it set up to do a part 2 at some point

✷✷✷

the basketball game at college park center was unnecessarily heated.

it was the first game after your team, the minnesota lynx, were just handed your first loss of the season by the seattle storm, effectively breaking your undefeated streak. to make things worse, it should’ve been an easy game to get your winning momentum back because it’s against the dallas wings, number thirteen on the power ranking–the worst-ranked team in the league. it was supposed to be an easy sweep. maybe you’d have some trouble with paige bueckers, but nothing that could’ve kept you from winning.

instead, it’s ten seconds left in the fourth quarter, and you’re winning, but only by two. the score shouldn’t be that close because knowing paige, she could easily pull something out of her ass to tie it up and take the game from under your feet. 

and she was having a good game too, a really good game. she had 32 points, 10 assists, and 7 rebounds. her second double-double of the season.

you were pissed. she shouldn’t have a stat line like that. you were almost pissed enough to guard her yourself, but you didn’t because you saw how she played. she could shoot a mid-range jumper or a deep three over anyone’s head if she was fired up, no matter who they were, and you’d be even more pissed if she did that–if she still managed to get those numbers.

you were known in the league for getting pissed off easily in games, and even before that, but it was still a fairly recent trait. 

you weren’t much of a fighter in high school or in aau, instead choosing to keep your mouth shut and let your game speak for itself because you couldn’t back it up otherwise. you were pretty skinny, one might even say lanky, because you grew too tall too fast for your body to keep up weight-wise and it struggled to adjust for a while. so the last thing you wanted to do was say the wrong thing and find yourself stuck in a physical altercation because you would’ve definitely lost. even though you had shot up to six feet three inches tall at the ripe age of fifteen, none of your opponents were intimidated. sure, maybe they were at first glance since it wasn’t common to see in high school like it was in college, until they noticed you would’ve been knocked over by a light gust of wind.

this carried over into your freshman year of college. not only because of that, but you were pretty shy and quiet in all other aspects of life besides basketball–which had always been surprising to your aau teammates whom you had been playing with for years. it took you almost a month to even begin to break out of your shell off the court, even with your roommates who were also your teammates. but unlike in high school and aau, you allowed yourself to get lost in the background, too shy to speak up and make your presence known–too shy to show what a great asset you were to the team. you weren’t necessarily a benchwarmer, but you didn’t start any games either. and you decided that you weren’t going to settle for that.

the summer following your freshman season, after a less-than-ideal performance with only about five minutes of playing time during a loss in the first round of the ncaa tournament, you made the decision, with the support of your parents, to dedicate your entire break to basketball. but it was an easy decision anyway, since you had chosen to go to the university in your hometown. you poured every ounce of energy you had to offer into improving all aspects of your game, from defensive skills to free-throw efficiency to even sprinting faster across the floor. and if you weren’t in the gym doing those things, you were in the weight room getting stronger and building muscle with a strength coach. or you were in the kitchen, working on fueling your body properly. and by the time august came around, you were a completely different player than anyone was used to.

your sophomore year was when you started finding your voice, even if you still were fairly reserved vocally on the court. the improvement in your game and the growth of your body, from the lanky little girl everyone knew to the strong athlete you had become, had resulted in a shift in your mindset. you were more confident on the court in your movements and decisions, more outgoing during practice, and you weren’t just another spot on the roster anymore. you showed up way too early to practice and stayed way too late afterwards, spending any extra time outside of scheduled practices and school in the gym putting shots up, doing various methods of recovery, or running, getting as much work in as you could while still taking care of your body so all the extra work you had put in didn’t go to waste whether it was to your game diminishing or injury. you started the majority of the games that season, often putting up stat lines that were stand-out at your mid-major program. you were ready to attack march madness with an intensity that nobody had ever seen from you before. 

well, until covid-19 cut the season short. you tried to stay positive about it, to see it as an opportunity, but it was difficult. you knew your hard work hadn’t gone to waste yet, but it still felt like you had a carrot dangled in front of your face just to have it ripped away. instead of wallowing in sadness and boredom from being locked up in the house to quarantine, you channeled the frustration into practicing. 

luckily, you had a basketball hoop with the lines painted onto the driveway since you were little, and your mom had also played in college so she was outside with you when she wasn’t working. and your dad, who owned a construction company already, built a shed to put together a home gym in. it wasn’t just for you, of course, but for your whole family. it was also for your older brother, who played baseball at a power four school and just had his senior season ripped away, but was granted an extra year because of the pandemic. it was for your younger brother, who was a high school senior who also had his season of baseball taken, and needed to train for his freshman year at the mid-major school you attended. and for your younger sister, who was only going into eighth grade, just starting to take sports very seriously, and hadn’t yet picked just one but wanted to spend time with her older siblings.

and the time off during quarantine was good for you. sure, it wasn’t the same as being able to play with not just your team, a team in general, but the individual diy workouts were fun and a great way to get back to the basics without feeling like the clock was ticking.

the following season, you weren’t just a different player like last year, you were a whole different person now (though, still pretty quiet and reserved with non-basketball related events). it was like the time away had ignited this spark in you that had never been touched before–that no one had even gotten close to finding. the confidence you had built to use your voice in practice had combined into a dangerous mix with the lingering frustration from quarantine, causing it to spill over into games. watching you gradually begin to argue with referees more and more was a new experience for everyone–your teammates, coaches, parents, and even yourself–and how that turned into getting into it with your opponents as well as the season went on.

and by the time you were getting ready for march madness and all through your senior season, you had earned yourself a completely different reputation than the one you had entered college with. but it didn’t matter, because people generally tried not to test their luck with you. it was difficult to say something to you with the way you were moving at the level of your school. there were quite a few people who asked if you were going to transfer to a power four school program, but you never considered that for a second because you loved your team and your school. and obviously your coaches were doing something right, so you didn’t want to change anything, especially because you had the opportunity to declare for the draft–your childhood dream that seemed so unattainable before.

clearly, it was the right decision because you were the third pick of the second round, selected by the minnesota lynx. with your entire team there to support you in such a big moment in your career. it was the highest pick of a basketball player for the professional league at your school, both male and female. and you made it through training camp without being waived.

you had heard all the talk about how different the league was from college ball, especially for you coming from a mid-major school, and you would just nod along, wondering how different it could really be. but it definitely was, in more ways than just the game itself. this time when you would chirp to the opponent, they would actually fight back instead of step away before a conflict could arise. yet, you stood your ground, not wanting to be known as a pussy who could pick fights but never follow through. you would just make a point to not carry those emotions off the court, though, making you quickly earn respect from veterans.

now, after three completed seasons and just barely in the beginning of your fourth, it was pretty much expected for you to get in at least one fight a game–either with an opponent or a ref (you were definitely not a stranger to technicals anymore). 

that’s why no one was surprised when you found yourself in an altercation with dijonai carrington, another player known for getting into her fair share of altercations, at 5 seconds left in the fourth quarter. one of your teammates had thrown in the possession, only getting one pass attempt in before dijonai swiped it out of the air and drove it down the court. she was fast, but you were determined to make sure you won the game. you were already standing the furthest back anyway, you chased her down and get there just in time to block her shot. only, you didn’t really block it like you had expected. instead, you had sent her tumbling to the ground with a body slam, sending yourself stumbling into the chairs behind the basket.

it was obviously not intentional, but still, she stood to her feet and marched over to give you a piece of your mind. not that you wouldn’t have done the same thing anyway, so that meant you were ready to get in her face. and you did–you matched her energy. but you had been waiting for this moment all game after her constant chirping. 

it only went on for a couple back and forth exchanges before your team was surrounding you, trying to break up the tension. paige bueckers, the golden rookie, suddenly stood between you two, holding her hands up in an attempt to separate the two of you. if you weren’t so heated, you probably would’ve been shocked. you had yet to see her try to de-escalate like this in the league, instead choosing to stay back.

you don’t really know if you stepped forward or she moved to the side, but her hand was suddenly brushing against your chest. in the heat of the moment, you roughly slapped her hand away.

“don’t touch me,” you said, not even sparing her a glance.

her face contorted into confusion, but she raised her hand again in confusion, a little more careful so she didn’t touch you this time. “woah, i’m not tryna start anything.”

your teammate, natisha hiedeman, who had been standing behind you watching it all go down, grabbed your arm and pulled you back slightly while one of the wings players, myisha hines-allen, pulled dijonai out of the way to talk to you and try to simmer the tension. though, when one of the coaches, you’re not really sure who, called a time-out to reset from this, the small huddle of their team that had formed began to disperse back to their benches.

paige, however, lingered for a moment. “guess what, that little crush i thought i had on you?” she started, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder to gesture behind her and starting to walk away. “it’s out the window.”

without a second thought, your mouth was moving before you could stop it. “shut up. you still like me,” you snapped loudly, shaking your head and starting back toward your bench.

the game ended exactly as you hoped–with a win. 

afterwards, you approached dijonai when she was leaving the floor, pulling her into a hug and apologizing to her. she returned the apology with a laugh, telling you how she looks forward to playing you every time because you can give it back to her. 

honestly, you didn’t really think about your interaction with paige. it wasn’t that you had forgotten about it, but it was probably just some intense-moment-induced words to bring a rise out of you. it was probably being spread all over social media, knowing her fanbase, but that definitely was a motivator to not check it, not that you even used social media that much anyway. admittedly, you were a little afraid of paige’s fans because you knew they could get a little intense, especially with the nature of that moment being brought out by a fight. it was bad enough that she was involved at all, but you couldn’t imagine the amount of hate that would’ve been sent your way if it had been paige instead of dijonai in that whole thing.

and since you didn’t want to check it, you missed the interview that paige had given the day after the game during practice media availability, where she answered a question about the incident.

you didn’t know about it until a day after that, two days after the game. your teammates’, natisha hiedeman and courtney williams, were hosting their usual studbudz livestream, and you appeared about halfway through. they were sitting in their gaming chairs, natisha’s hood pulled up and courtney sporting sunglasses despite being indoors. you pulled a random dining room chair behind them and sat in the middle.

it didn’t take long before the chat was being spammed with comments about not only your little moment with the dallas wings, but paige’s interview about it as well. 

“they askin’ ‘bout the wings game,” courtney said as she squinted at the screen, though it was hidden by her glasses. then she turned toward you, nodding her head. “yeah, you was gettin’ innit w’ them.”

you leaned forward a little, cracking your knuckles out of awkwardness, and trying to resist the urge to roll your eyes. “it was nothing. me and dijonai were talkin’ crazy the whole game before i bodied her so it was already heated.”

courtney glanced back toward the screen to read some more comments after your lackluster explanation. “they askin’ what happened w’ paige.”

this time you really did roll your eyes, but followed that with a quiet chuckle to try to convey that you weren’t actually upset by it. you didn’t make any move to answer though, not really caring to discuss something that didn’t matter like that. 

“nah,” natisha sat up in her chair slightly, a mischievous smile pulling at her lips, “lemme tell y’all what she said to paige.”

you freeze a little, knowing you can’t weasel your way out of this by the way the chat is blowing up. you dropped your face into a hand in embarrassment, resting your elbow on your knee to hold your head up.

“so she was gettin’ into it with dijonai, right? i’m standin’ behind her in case she needs help, you know. back her up a little bit,” natisha starts. “and paige comes up between them to try to de-escalate the situation, too. she puts her hands up like this,” she copies the way paige had her hands up between you and dijonai, “and this girl slaps it away, talkin’ about don’t touch me. now i’m suddenly a little nervous because the way she said that, man. and paige–she looks so offended because she was just tryin’ to help like i was. and there’s some more back and forth between her and some other people on the floor after that, but paige is just kinda sitting there listening to it.”

courtney is already laughing, making you laugh a little bit as you pick your head back up.

“her team is going back to the bench after they called a timeout, but paige–“ natisha pauses to laugh, and courtney stands to shake your shoulders while hysterically laughing. “i don’t know what kinda trash-talk this was, but she says that little crush that i thought i had on you?” she pauses as she copies the way paige pointed with her thumb. “it’s out the window! and y’all know what this girl says? what she told her?” she pointed to you. “she says shut up–” she interrupted herself with a laugh, trying to regain her composure to finish her statement. “–you still like me!”

you rubbed your hand over your face, trying not to die of embarrassment, as natisha and courtney laughed hysterically, shaking each other and jumping out of their seats like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard, but then you leaned forward again and stuck your hand out. “mind you, this is the first conversation i’ve ever had with this girl.”

it only makes your teammates laugh harder, and the chat is going crazy after hearing what actually happened on the court. you leaned forward even more, barely even sitting at that point, to try to decipher any message you can possibly catch.

“what interview?” you asked curiously, sitting back in your chair again and furrowing your eyebrows. “paige did an interview about me?” 

“oh, yeah. don’t worry, baby, i got it.” courtney said once her laughter managed to die down.

she pulled out her phone and opened twitter, quickly finding the video of paige obviously getting ready to start practice based on the bright yellow t-shirt. both you and natisha leaned in so you could see the video as courtney turned the volume up. you sucked in an anxious breath.

“we saw things got a little heated at the end of your last game against the lynx after y/n fouled dijonai, but we haven’t heard what was said. can you comment on that?” a reporter asked.

“uh…” she paused, a smirk rising to her face, “let’s just say the game on saturday will be interesting.”

“what about what happened with you and y/n when you tried to intervene?” a different reporter joined in.

she laughed a little, looking down at her feet like she was thinking about how to answer. “you know, it was an intense game, for sure. lots of back and forth from both sides. i was just trying to keep them from swinging, not cause any problems,” she paused again to shrug, “uh, yeah, not much to it.”

“you said something to her when you were walking away that she didn’t seem too happy about. was there another fight about to break out?” the same reporter pushed.

“nah, nothing like that. maybe she’ll dm me about it so we can clear the air before the next game,” she smirked again, glancing at the camera then back to another reporter who had changed the topic.

you widened your eyes while the video was still playing, glancing back and forth between natisha and courtney as you waited for them to react once it ended. as soon as it did, courtney set her phone to the side and leaned back in her chair to howl with laughter, natisha’s mouth dropping open in surprise.

“nah,” natisha said gesturing toward your phone sitting in your lap, “you gotta dm her right now.”

you waved your hand dismissively. “nah, she couldn’t handle me.”

you didn’t know if that true. it was just a weak attempt to get out of sending her a direct message live on this on the stream like they wanted you to. well, it’s not like you had any intention of doing it off-stream as well. there was no way she was actually serious about it.

“just do it,” courtney pressured. “the chat won’t stop bothering you until you do.”

you threw your head back in annoyance with a sigh, but grabbed your phone from your lap anyway and opened instagram. they leaned over their chairs to watch as you typed her name into the search bar, found on her profile (which was at the top after you typed two letters), then tapped the message button. as expected, it was a blank chat with no history. your thumbs hesitated over the keyboard for a few moments, but you thought of the perfect response.

you still out that window?

“nah!” courtney laughed after you pressed send, bouncing in her chair and slapping her leg.

“she probably won’t even reply,” you shrugged. but you stared at the chat like you were saying it as a manifestation so you didn’t have to face the reality of what you just did. it was one thing to say a comment like she did in a moment like that, but it was another to bring it up again later. what if she didn’t really mean it and was just being funny?

“she told you to,” natisha pointed out. “i bet she’s been waiting for it.”

still, you locked your phone and shifted your attention back to the stream to try to change the subject. after around twenty minutes, your phone vibrated.

natisha and courtney’s head whipped around to you, glancing at your phone in your lap and then back up at you with an expectant expression. you frowned slightly, heart suddenly planning an escape from your ribcage with the way it was beating.

and of course, there was a notifcation from instagram on your home screen–a direct message from user paigebueckers. your face id unlocked it, sending you right back into the chat before you could stop it.

paige 💕 you said it yourself

you didn’t know how you survived the rest of the stream after that. you were sure you were going to melt from embarrassment from not only receiving that reply from paige, but from the entire livestream watching it happen in real time–not that the chat knew what either of you said, in respect for her privacy. you were never going to be able to use social media again, for sure.

for lack of a better idea, you left her on read. mostly because you didn’t really know what to say. 

and when gameday rolled around again, the rematch game against the wings, you couldn’t escape the teasing from your teammates. but you weren’t surprised about that.

what you were surprised about was when paige walked up to you at the beginning of the pre-game warmup. you were standing away from the court toward the score table, talking to one of your teammates, holding a basketball in front of you casually.

you didn’t notice her at first, so she brushed her fingers against the back of your arm to get your attention. like this wasn’t only your second time actually speaking. like there weren’t cameras watching your every move that would definitely post this interaction to one of your teams’ instagram stories.

“hi,” she said. you noticed a charming smile on her lips when you glanced at her.

“hey,” you replied. you tried really hard to act like it wasn’t working, you swear, but it’s much harder than it seems.

“i saw the stream. well, a clip from the stream,” she said casually. 

after she said that, you finally gave her your full gaze, not just a glance. your eyebrows raised and smirk pulling at your lips. “oh yeah?” you asked smugly, trying to be nonchalant.

“yeah,” she raised her eyebrows back, “you don’t think i could handle you?”

you looked her up and down slowly like you were trying to come to a decision, then shook your head. “nah.”

“i’ll guard you tonight. show you that i can,” she replied smoothly.

“pretty cocky for a rookie,” you smiled back teasingly.

“i can’t let the mean vets like you push me around,” she joked, nudging your arm with her elbow. “gotta stand my ground.”

“watch yourself. i’ll body you too.” 

before paige could reply, you were called over by one of your teammates underneath the basket. you jogged over, not even bothering to exit the conversation properly with a good luck or see ya. but honestly, that’s what you wanted–you were playing a mean game of hard to get right now. and she loved it.

[twijaxx]

Let’s be fr Sae in the new leaks looks like he wants his dick to be sucked, and you are gonna give it to him.

His member hit your throat for god knows which time this night, you are sure it’s bruised at this point, but Sae didn’t seem to care at all. Phone in one of his hands while the other one gently tugged at your hair.

You tried saying something but silly you forgot that you can’t speak with something in your mouth. Instead it send vibrations thru his spine which caused him to… wait?? did he just whimper???

You didn’t pay a lot of attention to what he was talking ab on the phone but you heard one particular sound, Sae disconnected. and as soon as he did shaky breaths and above whispers moans came out of him mouth.

“fuck- sorry i kept u waiting princess mghh!”

His dick started twitching uncontrollably inside your throat which only meant that Sae was close. So you decided to peak up the speed a little bit and give him more tongue action.

“agh- i’m gonna come.. don’t stop mhhh, u will take it right?? and- ahh.. swallow it like a whore u are”

You couldn’t do anything but slightly hum as a response and that’s what made Sae trip over the edge. You felt his seed spill into your mouth as the only thing u could hear was his hard breathing.

“stand up” -he ordered you, and as soon as you did Sae swings you over his shoulder and carry you to your bedroom.

“you think i’m not gonna return the favor??”

it’s gonna be a looong night..

i lost my ability to write YAYYYYY LETS TROW A PARTYYYY!!! i had to write this like two times… the first one is in my drafts tho if i ever want to finish it… I HATE MYSELF

[augustsblossom]

I need to make classmate! Mark Grayson happen it is rotting my brain

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˚ ༘ *ೃ⁀➷ main! Mark Grayson x fem! reader

˚ ༘ *ೃ⁀➷ cw: mark doesn’t have powers, marks lowkey a perv, reader is super girly, kind of insinuates that Mark jerks it LOLLL, reader teases mark some bit lolol

˚ ༘ *ೃ⁀➷ a/n: hiii I promise I will get to my requests I’ve just been needing to clear my drafts! This also is a pretty common fic I see with characters I’m not for sure if there is one of Mark but creds to the people that did it first! Inbox is still open if you would like to see anything else 💋

── ── ── ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ── ── ──

classmate! Mark who is one of the biggest geeks at school, he’s like super hot but still people get a laugh or two when they see him reading Seance Dog

classmate! Mark who takes a chemistry class with you and is super smart, he turns in his tests before anyone else and people come to him for help

classmate! Mark who notices you ALL THE TIME. When you walk into class he is always eyeing you to see which outfit you picked out. He likes to think you pick them for him, buuuttttt

classmate! Mark who noticed you’re into girly stuff. A lot of your outfits resemble just true girlyness and he adores all of them. One day you wore a matching Juicy Couture tracksuit and he LOSSSTT ITT. It hugged your curves perfectly and left some imagination for him to use tonight

classmate! Mark who almost shits himself when you guys get paired for a project. Your professer assigned you guys together and when she called out the names he looked over to see you applying your cherry Victoria’s Secret lipgloss. He was in awe with just how truly unbothered you were

classmate! Mark who hypes himself up to ask if you wanted to go to his place to work on it. He took a quick few deep breaths and walked up to where you were sitting

“I know we don’t talk like a lot and it can be weird going to a strangers house but I was wondering if you wanted to work on our project at my place? I have like the whole thing to myself and-“

He rambled for a bit before shutting up and was waiting for an answer. You looked up at him just staring for a second before you respond

“Yeah, I’m down”

His heart might have just fell to his ass. God you were so confident and unbothered he was SO into it. And it didn’t help that the shirt you were wearing was a size smaller so your twins were suffocating and pushing for air

You weren’t oblivious to his actions and tone. You knew he liked you and you known for a while. But sometimes you liked to act oblivious so he would HAVE to push out of his comfort zone even more, it was a fun little game you played

classmate! Mark who lets you into his home and leads you to his room. He was ready to start the project and you guys got to work. To be honest he lowkey did all the work, you were tired and he didn’t mind! As long as he still had an imagination for the nights that kept him awake he would have no problem doing whatever you asked

classmate! Mark who when after you left he immediately got to his room to calm down. He truly couldn’t believe you were just in his home, with your sweet scent lingering on his bedsheets where you were sitting

classmate! Mark who then notices you left your jacket, and boy was he over the moon. Leaving your jacket helped his imagination feel more like a reality

You were just glad you could return the favor of him doing your project :)