#OH A HELL OF A COMPARISON JUST HIT ME | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pucksandpower · 4 months

Text

Worlds Apart

Max Verstappen x Sargeant!Reader

Summary: everyone seems to have something to say about your relationship with Max, but at the end of the day all that matters is the two of you

Warnings: Jos Verstappen

Based on a request by @butterflyexe

The sorority house is pulsing with noise — music, laughter, the clink of plastic cups. You weave through the crowd, feeling very much out of place amongst the scantily clad co-eds. Your sundress and sandals seem prudish in comparison.

“Y/N! There you are!” Chelsea, your big sister in Kappa Alpha Theta, comes barreling over with a few of her friends in tow. “We were just talking about you.”

You eye them warily. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, like how you’re totally wasting your college experience pining over some old race car driver instead of playing the field.” Chelsea’s friend, Brittany, smirks as she takes a sip of her drink.

You bristle at that. “Max is not old! He’s only 26.”

“Exactly,” Chelsea says, putting an arm around your shoulders. “You’re a sophomore dating a whole ass man who’s nearly 30. It’s weird.”

“No it’s not!” You protest, shrugging off her arm. “We’ve been together over a year. I really like him.”

“Like him?” Brittany scoffs. “Wake up, Y/N. He’s an international celebrity dating a little college student. You’re just his side piece.”

The words hit like a slap to the face. “That’s not true!”

“Then why does he never post about you on social media?” Chelsea counters. “I follow him and you’re never on his accounts.”

“We just value our privacy,” you mumble, but her words have sown seeds of doubt.

Chelsea gives you a pitying look. “Honey, I’m just trying to watch out for you. There are so many great guys here on campus that would treat you right.”

Your eyes narrow at the dig. “You mean like those meathead frat bros that never shut up about their high school glory days? No thanks.”

The girls all gasp in mock offense. Brittany steps closer, using her height advantage to loom over you. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, talking about our men like that.”

“Yeah?” You stand your ground, hands on your hips. “Well maybe if they acted like men instead of immature little boys, I wouldn’t have to.”

A hush falls over the nearby crowd, all eyes on your confrontation. Brittany looks murderous until one of her sidekicks tugs her sleeve, murmuring “Let’s go, it’s not worth it.” She sneers at you one last time before stalking off, leaving you and Chelsea alone.

Your big sister sighs, rubbing her temples. “Why are you so hell-bent on making this hard on yourself, Y/N? Max is a world away, both physically and in terms of life experience. You could have any guy at this school eating out of the palm of your hand. Why not take advantage of that?”

Her words are salt in the wound. You blink back tears, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Because I love Max. He makes me incredibly happy. And yeah, the distance is hard and he’s older and more established in his career. But he’s kind and smart and we just … connect, you know? I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.”

Chelsea shakes her head pityingly. “I’m just trying to watch out for you. I’d hate to see you get your heart broken over some long-distance fling.”

“It’s not a fling!” You’re sick of trying to convince everyone. Pushing past her, you storm out of the suffocating house and into the cool night air. Gulping it down, you sink down onto the steps, chest heaving with anger and hurt and frustration.

Alone at last, you let the tears come. You know the doubts eating at you are unfair — Max has been nothing but devoted and caring throughout your relationship, even with his insanely busy schedule. But the fears voiced by Chelsea and her crew have burrowed under your skin. Maybe you are just a naive little plaything for him. Maybe he’ll eventually get bored and move on to someone more sophisticated and on his level.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket — a FaceTime call from the man in question himself. You fumble to answer it, swiping hastily at your damp cheeks. “H-Hey you.”

“There’s my gorgeous girl!” His bright smile fills the screen, momentarily banishing your worries. “I only have a few minutes before FP1, but I couldn’t wait to see that pretty face.”

You can’t help but return his warm grin, though it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I miss you so much, Max.”

His brow furrows at your tone. “What’s wrong, liefje? You sound upset.”

You want to brush it off, but maybe this is your chance to finally get those nagging fears off your chest. “It’s just … things have been rough lately with the girls. They keep saying I’m wasting my time with you, that you’re going to leave me for someone else, that I’m just a naive little girl you’re using for fun.”

He’s silent for a long moment, then curses under his breath. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That must be really hard to deal with, on top of the distance.”

“It is,” you admit, blinking back fresh tears. “And as much as I try to ignore them and have faith in us, their words have started to get to me. I mean … why don’t you ever post about me on social media? Do you not want the world to know about me?”

A shadow crosses his features. Clearly he’s heard this criticism before. “My reasons for keeping my relationships private have nothing to do with you, okay? I keep that part of my life off social media to avoid a media frenzy and protect the people I care about.” His expression softens. “But you better believe everyone important in my life knows about you — my family, my closest mates. Hell, the whole Red Bull garage is sick of hearing me go on and on about how amazing my girl is.”

You can’t help but laugh through your tears, some of the weight lifting off your chest. “Really?”

“Of course!” He chuckles. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Y/N. No matter how far apart we are or what anyone else says, you’re the only one I want.”

Your cheeks flush at his heart-melting words. In that moment, you don’t care about your snotty sorority sisters or the distance or anything else — just being completely in love with this amazing man. “I wish you were here,” you murmur, drinking in every detail of his face. “I miss holding you so damn much.”

Max’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Maybe you can show me how much later tonight, when we’re all alone to video call properly?”

You giggle and smack your hand over the camera, feeling suddenly shy. “Max Verstappen, you incorrigible flirt!”

“You love it.” His voice takes on a deeper, huskier tone that sends tingles down your spine. “And you’re going to love what I have planned for your next visit even more ...”

You spend the next few giddy minutes shamelessly flirting back and forth, soaking up precious moments of intimacy through the phone line to sustain you until you can be together again. When his race engineer appears in the background, beckoning him to the track, you’re both full of regretful sighs.

“Duty calls,” Max says wistfully. “But I’ll call you later, okay? We can pick up where we left off ...” He waggles his eyebrows mischievously.

You can’t stop your face-splitting grin. “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

“Bye schatje. Love you to the moon and back.”

“Love you too!” You clutch the phone to your chest after he disconnects, completely lovestruck. All your insecurities have melted away under the heat of Max’s devoted words and that heart-stopping smile.

It’s going to be okay.

He chose you — Y/N Sargeant, sophomore student, for all your flaws and relative immaturity. And you’ve never felt luckier.

Spirits lifted, you bound back into the house and upstairs to your bedroom. You’ll ignore Chelsea and her nasty friends for the rest of the night, instead losing yourself in daydreams of the next time you’ll be wrapped in Max’s strong arms.

Your relationship may be a long-distance whirlwind, but you’re all in and you’ve never been happier. Let the other sorority girls whisper — you’ve snagged yourself a keeper.

***

Max drains the last of his water bottle as he exits the Red Bull garage, sweat still beading on his brow from the qualifying session. He stretches his arms over his head with a satisfied groan — even after all these years in Formula 1, there’s no better feeling than pushing a car to its limits on the track.

“Max! A word, if you please.”

He cringes at the familiar bark, turning to find his father bearing down on him like a storm cloud. So much for basking in the post-qualifying glow. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Jos’ mouth presses into a grim line, eyes smoldering behind the lenses of his sunglasses. “Well, for one, I saw that interview of yours from yesterday making the rounds online.”

Max fights the urge to roll his eyes. Of course his old man would find something to criticize. “And? I thought it was pretty standard, nothing controversial.”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mean it to be controversial.” Jos sneers the word like a curse. “But dodging questions about your girlfriend and claiming you prefer to keep your private life private? It’s only going to stoke more media speculation and rumors.”

“Is that so bad?” Max counters. “I like to keep things out of the spotlight as much as I can. You know how ravenous the press is.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, son.” Jos steps closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous hiss. “I know exactly who this girl of yours is.”

Max feels his hackles rising at his dad’s dismissive tone when speaking about you. He opens his mouth to retort, but Jos barrels on.

“First it was that damn Kelly Piquet and her baggage, and now you’ve upgraded to jailbait? What is it with you and dating either old hags or naive teenagers, Max?”

“That’s enough!” Max snarls, feeling his face flush with anger. “How dare you talk about them like that, especially Y/N. She’s an incredible woman, and our age gap means nothing.”

Jos scoffs loudly. “Come off it, boy! She’s just a child, a nobody playing at being a WAG. You were born for greatness, bred to be a champion. Why on earth would you hitch your wagon to some college bimbo barely out of nappies?”

It’s like a red mist descends over Max’s vision at his father’s vile words about you. Before he can stop himself, his fist lashes out and connects squarely with Jos’ jawbone, sending the older man stumbling back.

“Don’t you ever speak about her that way again,” Max seethes, cradling his throbbing hand. “Y/N is ten times the person you’ll ever be. Smart, mature, driven as hell —she’s going to accomplish incredible things someday, whether you respect her or not.”

Jos regains his footing, clutching the blooming bruise on his cheek and glaring daggers at his son. “How dare you strike me, you ungrateful little shit! I gave you everything — the training, the opportunities, the sacrifices to get you to this level. And this is how you repay me?”

Max refuses to be baited, meeting his father’s glare with stony resolution. “Maybe if you didn’t insist on being such a hateful, miserable bastard all the time, I wouldn’t have to. All I want is for you to be civil and show some respect. Is that too much to ask?”

He huffs out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “But that’s not your way, is it? You’d rather condemn me for daring to find happiness with someone, just because she’s younger or doesn’t fit into your narrow ideas of what my life should look like. Well, I’ve got a newsflash for you. It’s my fucking life and I’ll live it however I damn well please.”

Jos opens his mouth, undoubtedly to fire off more vitriol, but Max cuts him off with a raised hand. He’s said his piece, expending the last of his energy and patience dealing with his father’s bullheadedness — at least for today. Right now, all he wants is to retreat somewhere quiet and let his thoughts drift across the ocean to you.

“Save it. I’m done arguing.” He turns on his heel and stalks away, Jos shouting insults at his retreating back.

Don’t react, don’t react. His jaw clenches almost painfully as he navigates the familiar path back to his driver’s room, typing out a quick message.

You free to chat soon, gorgeous? Need to hear your voice.

The reply comes almost instantly. For you, always. Give me 20 mins? ❤️

He can’t stop the surge of warmth at your words, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders. That’s his girl — always knowing exactly what he needs, even from thousands of miles away. And isn’t that what matters most of all?

After showering and changing into casual sweats and a t-shirt, Max sinks onto the small couch placed against the wall, pillows arranged just so to prop up his aching back and shoulders. He picks up his phone and dials your number, heart rate kicking up a notch in eager anticipation.

After what feels like an eternity but is surely only a few rings, your face fills the screen. You must have just gotten back from class — your hair is tousled and loose, your makeup-free skin flushed and glowing in the South Florida sun.

“Well hey there, handsome.” Your teasing smirk dissipates as you get a better look at him. “Max? Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

“I am now,” he manages, relief already washing over him at the simple sight of you. He drinks in every last detail like a man parched. “Just had a bit of a run-in with my dad and needed an escape.”

Concern flashes in your warm eyes. “Oh no, what happened?”

So he tells you — the interview rumors, his dad ambushing him and lobbing insults, the explosive fight that caused him to lose his cool and strike the first blow. You listen with sympathy, every encouraging nod and murmured reassurance calming his frazzled nerves until the story is spent, leaving him strangely at peace.

“Thank you for sharing all that with me, babe,” you say once he’s finished. Your voice is gentle but firm. “I’m sorry Jos was so out of line, but you were totally right to stand up to him. Nobody gets to dismiss our relationship or talk about you like that.”

Max blows out a long breath, raking a hand through his shower-damp hair. “I know, I just … I hate letting him get under my skin like that, you know? No matter how much I try to rise above it, he always finds a way to trigger something deep down. It’s exhausting constantly needing to defend myself and the people I care about.”

“But that’s not your burden to bear alone, Max.” You shake your head adamantly, jaw set in that stubborn way he loves. “Let me help shoulder that weight, even if I can’t actually be there physically yet. I’m on your team, remember? We’re partners. I’ve got your back.”

Your words loosen a knot of tension he didn’t realize he was carrying. Of course you get it, you always do. He knows in that moment how lucky he is to have found his teammate, his shelter in the storm that rages on no matter how successful he becomes.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” His voice comes out low, thick with emotion. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

Your radiant smile could power entire cities. “By being you, silly. And for the record, your dad is way off base. There’s nothing wrong with you wanting a mature, driven, accomplished partner — even if she happens to be younger.”

“Age shaming goes both ways, apparently.”

“Apparently,” you agree wryly. “I had my own fun today ...”

As you launch into explaining the shenanigans that occurred during your morning lecture, Max feels himself relaxing further and further into the couch, a dopey grin spreading across his face. On and on the two of you go, playfully trading stories until his father and the endless pressures of his career have fully melted away, replaced by this perfect bubble the two of you inhabit.

When you hit a lull, stifling a yawn behind your hand, Max reluctantly decides to let you go for the night. “Do you have some time before your next class? You should get some rest.”

“Aw, I’m fine!” You protest through another jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m not done talking to my favorite driver yet.”

Max chuckles fondly. This stubborn streak of yours will be the death of him someday. “We both know that’s a lie. I can practically hear your bed calling your name for a nap from here.”

“Hmph, fine.” You stick out your full bottom lip in an exaggerated pout that makes his heart skip. “I guess if you insist on being all reasonable and stuff.”

“That’s me, a real fun-sucker.” He matches your playful tone, though his eyes are serious. “But before you go … can you just say it? For me?”

You immediately soften, gazing at him through the camera with so much tenderness, it almost winds him. “I love you, Max. More than anything.”

He exhales heavily, as if your words have physically lifted a weight from his shoulders. “I love you too, Y/N. And your love, your belief in me … it’s everything. Never doubt that, okay?”

“I won’t if you don’t,” you promise with a wink. “Good luck, babe. I’ll be dreaming of you.”

“Sweet dreams, liefje.”

Even after disconnecting the call, Max sits there for several long moments, staring at the now-dark screen with a besotted grin. His chest is pleasantly warm, full to bursting with the soul-deep reassurance that only you can provide.

Screw whatever toxic nonsense his dad tries to peddle about your age gap or his career. You’re the beating heart that sustains him, the sun around which his entire universe orbits. No disapproving authority figure or rumor mill gossip could ever change that fundamental truth.

So let his father rage and splutter all he wants about how “inappropriate” your relationship is. Max has tasted the extraordinary, found his home and partner in the most vibrant woman he’s ever met. All those lonely, empty years without that missing piece suddenly feel like a hazy, long-forgotten dream.

As Max sips his energy drink and prepares for another demanding few hours at the track, he can’t keep the dopey smile off his face. You’re worth enduring a thousand more shouting matches with his dad, worth traversing any distance just to hear your laugh again.

Max is the luckiest bastard alive to have earned your heart, and he’ll never take that gift for granted.

***

You shoulder your backpack and push through the double doors of the lecture hall, finally free from classes for the summer. The late afternoon sun bakes the quad in a warm glow as you pause for a moment, breathing in the sweet semi-tropical air.

For two years, this campus has been your entire world. Endless cycles of classes, parties, study sessions, and chaos with your sisters from Kappa Alpha Theta. But now, as you glance around at the laughing students basking in the first days of freedom, you feel a strange sense of restlessness settle over you.

Like there’s some place — somewhere — else you’re meant to be.

Shaking it off, you start heading for the student parking lot to meet up with Chelsea. You only make it a few steps before unusually loud cheers and shouts draw your attention to a small crowd forming near the front entrance.

Rows of parked cars block your view, but the distinctive growl of a high-performance engine cuts through the commotion. Your pulse instantly kicks up a notch as your mind puts it together.

That’s no ordinary car.

That’s a multimillion dollar, 800 horsepower British rocket. Sleek, powerful, luxuriously elegant.

Just like-

“No way ...” you breathe out, books slipping from your slackened grip as the glossy green bodywork of an Aston Martin DBS Superleggera slides into view. Because draped over the driver’s side door in that achingly familiar display of casual arrogance ...

“Max!” You shout his name in disbelieving joy even as your feet are carrying you toward him at a full sprint.

His head snaps up at the sound and your heart nearly stops at the way his whole face ignites with radiant delight. That brilliant smile you’ve ached to see in person for so long now stretching those full lips in the most heart-stoppingly beautiful way.

He pushes off from the car, hands outstretched, and in the space of a single frantic heartbeat you’ve flung yourself into his arms with a breathless laugh.

“What are you doing here?” You demand giddily as Max’s strong arms engulf you, swinging your frame around in a tight circle. You’re vaguely aware of the other students going nuts, people shouting and whistles piercing the air, but you only have eyes and ears for this incredible man holding you tightly.

Max just chuckles warmly, murmuring your name with raw affection before crashing his lips to yours in a scorching kiss that leaves you dizzy. You melt into the fierce embrace, parting your lips eagerly to taste the slight sweetness of Red Bull and dark chocolate that is so distinctly Max.

“Surprise, schatje,” he rumbles against your smiling mouth between heated, openmouthed kisses. “Thought I would swing by and pick up my favorite student myself.”

“Oh my god!” You laugh delightedly, cupping his chiseled jaw to drink in every perfectly imperfect inch of his beloved face. The strong jawline, the dimpled chin, those piercing blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he beams at you.

“When did you … how did you …” You’re at a loss for words, overcome with giddy euphoria at having Max here, warm and solid and real in your arms again after so many endless months.

A fresh wave of cheers and hollers suddenly cuts through your joyful bubble as half the crowd seems to recognize the celebrity in their midst. Dozens of camera phones whip out to capture the unexpectedly intimate reunion between you and Max.

“Who is that guy?”

“No way, that’s Max freaking Verstappen!”

“Y/N, how do you know Max Verstappen?”

The shouts and questions reach a fever pitch, finally breaking through your amorous fugue. Blushing furiously, you pull back just enough to murmur against Max’s chest.

“Well, much as I’d love to keep making out with my insanely hot boyfriend in the middle of campus, maybe we should take this somewhere a bit more private?”

Max gives a deep, rich laugh at that, the sound vibrating pleasantly against you.

“You are a wise woman, liefje,” he praises in that deliciously accented baritone. He presses one last, searing kiss to your smiling lips before reluctantly disentangling himself. “Though I would have thought you might like to give all your classmates one more delightful bit of inspiration to remember you by before you depart for the summer?”

He leers at you playfully as a chorus of whoops and whistles greets his flirtatious suggestion. You can’t help but bark out a laugh, shoving his chest lightly in mock admonishment even as heat rushes to your cheeks.

“You’re impossible!”

“No, just hopelessly in love with you,” he counters easily, reaching out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. The tenderness in his voice and touch instantly gentles your teasing mood into something infinitely fonder.

This remarkable man, so genuine and caring beneath the roguish exterior cultivated for the cameras. You’re struck by a sudden lance of melancholy at the thought of how little the world really knows of the real Max Verstappen.

But then his eyes crinkle in that way that speaks of unabashed adoration just for you and the feeling passes. Because you know him better than anyone. And he sees you just the same. Two souls intertwined by a rare, precious understanding.

Max’s hand slides around to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your thundering pulse point. The tender motion instantly sets your nerves alight with renewed longing.

“So,” his voice drops to an impossibly deep bedroom octave meant only for your ears. “Shall we give the good people at the University of Miami one last show before I whisk you away for a few months of long overdue privacy?”

There’s the barest hint of a filthy promise underlying the words. You swallow thickly, unconsciously pressing closer as Max’s velvet tones wash over you like a physical caress.

“And just where will you be taking me?” You manage to tease back, forcing a bravado your hammering heart doesn’t feel.

“Well ...” He leans in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. You shiver helplessly at the heated puff of air ghosting your sensitive skin.

“First,” he begins in a heated murmur, “we’re going to swing by your sorority house to gather your belongings.”

“Okay ...” You nod faintly, hyper-aware of Max’s intoxicating proximity.

“Then I’ll be driving us straight to your parents’ place in Fort Lauderdale,” he continues lowly. “Per the strict instructions of one Logan Sargeant, of course.”

You can’t help the surprised laugh that bursts forth. Trust your brother to strong-arm his way into Max’s surprise plans.

“He didn’t give you too hard a time, did he?” You ask through your giggles. “I can only imagine the threats he must have ...”

You trail off at the feeling of Max’s talented mouth blazing a trail of kisses along the slender column of your throat. Every exploratory brush of his lips and insistent swipe of tongue steals the breath from your lungs.

“Max ...” You whine out his name without conscious thought, going pliant against the solid wall of his body.

“Shhh,” he rumbles against your overwrought senses. “Let me finish first.”

There’s a maddening pause where the only sounds are the rushing waves of cheers and chaos from the delighted crowd watching your every move, hungered gazes drinking in every scorching caress Max bestows upon you. Under any other circumstances, the thought of being so shamelessly devoured by hundreds of strangers’ eyes would have you recoiling in embarrassment.

But Max’s presence, his heated touch and low, sinful voice have you spellbound, uncaring of your audience.

“After we’ve satisfied your family’s demands to see us with their own eyes,” he purrs. “We’ll be boarding my jet bright and early for someplace much more ... pleasurable.”

Your skin prickles with delicious tension as Max continues in that low, rough whisper.

“We’ll spend a few lazy days lounging on a private beach in Aruba, just the two of us.” His large hand roves provocatively down the curve of your spine to boldly grip your backside, pulling your hips flush against the insistent bulge in his designer jeans. “Catching up on all the things I’ve been dreaming about for months, schatje.”

A tremulous whimper escapes your parted lips at the blatant promise underlying Max’s words. You flatten your palms against the firm planes of his chest, feeling his powerful heartbeat thundering in time with your own.

“A-And after that?” You somehow manage in a breathy rasp, scarcely daring to hope.

Max’s only response is a low, thrumming chuckle that you feel vibrate across your heated skin. His chin dips, molten blue eyes searing into yours with naked hunger.

“After that?” He husks, stealing the breath from your lungs with a devastating grin. “Well, then I’ll finally get to introduce the world to my favorite girl.”

And neither of you can wait.

2K notes · View notes

itneverendshere · 1 month

Text

played me like a clarinet - rafe cameron

request: "Desperately-on my knees-begging for a ''She's all that'' from 1999, with Popular Rafe x Reader. Ooouff, and you want that soul crushing heartbreak when she finds out about the bet he had made"

pairing: rafe x smart!nerdy!reader

warnings: angst <3; VERY LONG

wrote this listening to roses <3

Rafe Cameron held grudges better than anyone and his ex was about to witness exactly that.

Fucking Jessica Green liked to think of herself as the queen of their university, the epitome of beauty and popularity. Some real high school bullshit he only fed because he liked her. And then, she went and dumped him for none other than Tyler West, the star player of his rival basketball team. Technically, she cheated on him, sneaking around with that piece of shit behind his back.

The humiliation was killing him.

Rafe wasn't one to take such things lying down; he wanted revenge, and he wanted it badly. He wanted to ruin her life. It wasn’t just enough to ruin her reputation—he wanted to hit her where it hurt the most. And what would hurt more than being replaced? Not just by any girl, but by someone who was everything she wasn’t. It was a genius idea, really. To prove that some loser could easily take her place, with a little help of course.

And that’s when he noticed you.

Kelce pointed you out actually, when they were six beers in and too fucking drunk to think clearly. But it was still a good choice.

You were the complete opposite of his ex, blending into the crowds like it was your superpower. He watched you for an entire hour at the party. You didn’t utter a single word the entire time you were there, only nursing your drink and listening to the other girls on the cheerleading squad speak.

Hell, he didn’t even know you were a cheerleader until that night.

Were you always there? How had he never noticed you before? It was hard to remember when all he focused on up until then was Jessica.

You were practically invisible in comparison to her, always on the sidelines, blending into the background.

You were perfect.

If he could take this overlooked, nerdy girl and turn her into the new queen of the university, it would be the ultimate blow to Jessica's ego. It would prove that she wasn’t as irreplaceable as she thought.

“You really gonna do it?”

He didn’t take his eyes off you, “Oh yeah. ‘M doing it.”

“Nahh, there’s no way you’re pulling this off.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair, a cocky grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Kelce’s skepticism was exactly what he expected, and honestly, it made the challenge even sweeter.

“You think so?” he said, his tone light but with an edge of determination. “Watch me.”

Kelce, always the instigator, leaned forward with a smirk. “Come on, Cameron. You really think you can turn that quiet little thing into the next Jessica? She’s cute, I guess, in that nerdy way, but she’s not queen material.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept his cool. “She’s got potential,” he said confidently. “Just needs someone to show her how to use it.”

Topper laughed, shaking his head. “You’re insane. This isn’t some movie where the shy girl takes off her glasses and suddenly she’s hot. Jessica had something that can’t be taught.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Rafe pointed out, “It’s all about confidence man. Jessica wasn’t born the way she is now. She learned how to act the part, and I can do the same with her.”

Like a school project, he thought to himself. That’s all you were.

Kelce took a swig of his drink, clearly enjoying where the conversation was going. “Alright, I’ll bite. How much time are we talking here? Because she’s got a long way to go, my guy.”

Rafe tilted his head, considering. “Give me two months. By the end of it, she’ll be turning heads. Maybe even more.”

Topper snorted, setting his drink down with a thunk. “Two months? No way. I’ll bet you a grand you can’t pull it off.”

Kelce laughed, clapping his hands together. “Oh, this is gonna be good. I’m in. A grand says you can’t turn her into the hottest girl in school.”

Rafe’s eyes glinted with determination. “You’re on,” he said, without hesitation. “In a month or two, you’ll be handing me that fucking cash, and she’ll be the one everyone’s talking about. Looking all pretty in my arms.”

Kelce raised his glass. “To Rafe and his miracle project. This is gonna be fun to watch.”

Topper shook his head again, still grinning as he clinked his glass against Kelce’s. “Here’s to you wasting a month of your life on a lost cause.”

He clinked his glass with theirs, the bet sealed.

“You better start saving up.”

This plan was flawless.

It was so good that even in his drunken haze, he could see how perfectly it would play out. The first step was simple: get close to you. Make you feel special, noticed, like you were someone who mattered. Rafe knew how to charm people; it was practically second nature. And with Jessica, it had been easy—too easy. She’d fallen for his looks, his confidence, his golden boy appeal.

The next day, he started showing up at places he knew you’d be. The library, the campus coffee shop, even lingering around after cheerleading practice. At first, he didn’t approach you, just observed.

He had to figure out how to crack the code, how to make you see him without scaring you off. It took a week before he made his first move.

You were sitting alone in the library, surrounded by textbooks and notes. He casually strolled up, pretending to be looking for a book on the same shelf. “Hey,” he said, glancing down at you with a disarming smile. “You’re in my econ class, right? Mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, a little startled, but nodded, shifting your books to make room for him. You probably couldn’t believe that someone like Rafe Cameron was talking to you, let alone sitting with you. But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? To make you feel special, to pull you out of your shell and into his orbit.

He knew he still had to tread carefully. The wrong move could send you running, and he couldn’t afford that.

You kept your eyes down, focused on your notes. He noticed the way your hand shook slightly when you turned the page. Rafe leaned in a little closer, just enough to make his presence known without crowding you.

“You always this buried in work?” he asked casually, pulling out a notebook and flipping it open.

You glanced up, surprised he was still there. “I guess. I have a lot to catch up on.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I hear you. Econ’s been kicking my ass this semester. You doing okay in it?”

He could tell you were surprised. Probably didn't expect him to know you shared the same class. And he didn't, until last week.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, it’s… fine. Just a lot of material.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around these supply and demand curves for days. You think the professor’s trying to torture us?”

You smiled faintly, a small victory in his book. “Maybe. It’s kind of her thing.”

Rafe grinned, pleased that he got a reaction out of you. “You mind if I study with you? Might help to bounce some ideas off each other.”

You blinked, clearly taken aback by his request. “Um, sure. I mean, if you want.”

“Definitely,” he replied smoothly. “You seem like you actually know what’s going on, unlike me.”

He spent the next hour working alongside you, occasionally asking questions, but mostly just being there. He didn’t push, didn’t try too hard. He wanted you to get comfortable with him, to see him as someone you could rely on.

“I’m sorry about Jessica.”

The way you blurted the words out told him you hadn’t meant to say it.

Rafe froze, his grip tightening on the pen in his hand. He could feel the familiar anger bubbling up, but he forced it down, keeping his expression calm. This was exactly what he didn’t want—Jessica’s name being brought up, especially by you.

But he couldn’t let you see that.

He looked at you, feigning surprise with a bit of sadness, as if Jessica was just a painful memory he was trying to move past. “Oh,” he said softly, his voice controlled and measured. “You know about that?”

You nodded, eyes wide and apologetic, clearly regretting bringing it up. “Yeah… I mean, it’s all over campus, right? The girls were talking about it in the locker room. I just—I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry.”

Rafe forced a smile, as if he was grateful for your concern. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a small sigh as if he was relieved to talk about it, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. “It’s okay,” he said, his tone gentle. “I guess it’s just one of those things, y’know? We were together for a while, and it sucked when it ended.”

You looked down at your notes, fidgeting with the corner of a page.

“She shouldn’t have done that to you.”

He let out a dry laugh, the bitterness threatening to seep through, but he quickly disguised it as a rueful chuckle. “Yeah, well, people do shitty things sometimes. Guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”

He noticed the way you seemed to relax as if you were relieved that he wasn’t angry. He needed to shift the conversation away from Jessica, and back to you, where it should be. “But hey,” he said, his voice brightening as if he was genuinely trying to shake off the bad memories, “Everything happens for a reason right?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden attention. “Right."

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. “You’re not like everyone else around here. You’re real, y’know? Genuine. I like that.”

Bullshit. But he could see the effect his words had on you. Easy.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, and you looked away, a small, shy smile playing on your lips. “I’m just…here.”

Rafe shook his head, his smile softening, taking on a more sincere tone. “I’m glad I’m getting the chance to see that.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at him with those wide eyes, as if you were trying to figure him out. Rafe held your gaze, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make the moment feel meaningful, even though he knew exactly what he was doing. He was reeling you in, one calculated move at a time.

Finally, you nodded, lips twitching, “Thanks, Rafe."

Oh, you were too perfect for this.

He grinned, leaning back in his chair as if the conversation had lightened his mood.

“Anytime."

It was a perfect conversation, one that made you feel like he was letting you in on something personal, something real. And from the look on your face, it worked.

But inside, Rafe was fuming. Jessica had managed to worm her way into his head again, even indirectly. It was a reminder of why he was doing this in the first place.

He plastered on another smile, picking up his pen and tapping it lightly against his notebook. “So,” he said, steering the conversation back to safer waters, “You think you can help me with this econ stuff? Because I’m pretty sure I’m doomed without you.”

You laughed, the tension from earlier completely dissipating. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

As you both turned your attention back to your notes, Rafe felt a sense of satisfaction. He was winning that bet on way or another.

Over the next few weeks, Rafe made sure to stick to his plan. Slowly but surely, he worked his way into your life. He was always around, ready with a casual compliment or a small gesture that made you feel noticed, special. He’d walk you to class, carry your books, and offer to study with you whenever he had the chance. He knew how to play the long game, and with every passing day, you were warming up to him more and more.

He made sure to steer clear of anything that might remind you of Jessica or his past. Instead, he focused on building up your confidence, subtly encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone.

He’d invite you to parties, introducing you to his friends, and before long, you were starting to come out of your shell. You even started to dress a little differently—nothing too drastic, but enough to catch people’s attention. The change was gradual, but it was happening, and Rafe could see it.

The first party he invited you to was at a swanky off-campus house, the kind of place you’d only ever heard about but never had the nerve to attend. He had that effect on you—made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you belonged in a world that had always seemed so out of reach.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Rafe said, his voice smooth as silk. You hesitated, biting your lip, feeling out of place just imagining yourself in his world.

“I don’t know… I’m not really into parties,” you admitted.

Rafe grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “I promise I won’t let anything bad happen. Just give it a try, for me?”

His gaze was so earnest, so convincing, that you found yourself nodding. “Okay. I guess I could give it a shot.”

The first party was initially awkward—loud music, people you didn’t know, and a social scene that felt worlds away from where you belonged.

But Rafe stayed close.

The moment you walked in, the loud music and flashing lights overwhelmed your senses. You clung a little closer to him, who noticed and shot you a reassuring smile, his hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd. He was different tonight—more confident, more assertive.

“Relax,” he whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re with me. Have some fun, sweets.”

You nodded, trying to loosen up, but the eyes on you—on both of you—were hard to ignore. People were noticing. Whispering. It was exactly what Rafe wanted.

He led you to where Kelce and Topper were already posted up, drinks in hand. The second they saw you, their eyebrows shot up, but they quickly masked their surprise with easy smiles. Rafe kept you close as he greeted them, his hand never leaving your back.

“Guys, this is her,” Rafe said, his tone casual but with a hint of pride. “Told you I’d get her to come out with us.”

Kelce looked you up and down, his smirk growing. “Well, well, Cameron. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Topper raised his drink in your direction, his smile more genuine. “Nice to meet you. Rafe’s been talking you up.”

You managed a small chuckle, feeling the weight of their attention on you. “Nice to meet you too.”

Rafe gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t you grab a drink? I’ll be right here.”

You nodded, grateful for the brief escape, and headed towards the makeshift bar in the kitchen. As soon as you were out of earshot, the easygoing demeanor Rafe had been maintaining with you slipped away, replaced by something more calculating as he turned back to his friends.

“So?” Kelce asked, “How’s the project going?”

Rafe shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Better than expected. She’s starting to come out of her shell. Still got a long way to go, but I’d say we’re on track.”

Topper leaned against the counter, his gaze following you as you picked out a drink. “She seems… nice. You sure you want to go through with this, man?”

Rafe shot him a look, his expression hardening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Topper shrugged. “Just saying. She doesn’t seem like the type who’s cut out for this crowd. Might be too sweet for what you’ve got planned.”

Kelce chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s sweet, alright. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? She’s not Jessica. And if he pulls this off, it’s gonna be legendary.”

Rafe’s lips curled into a smirk. “Exactly. She’s perfect for this.”

He said it with confidence, but there was something else in his eyes—something he quickly buried as he watched you make your way back with a drink in hand.

When you returned to the group, his expression softened instantly. He slipped back into the charming, attentive guy he’d been playing for you all night.

“Got something good?” he asked, nodding towards your drink.

You giggled, holding up your cup. “Just punch. Thought I’d start slow.”

He snorted, nodding approvingly. “Smart move. Don’t let these guys talk you into anything too crazy.”

The night went on like that, Rafe playing the perfect gentleman, always by your side, making sure you were comfortable, that you were enjoying yourself. He introduced you to more people, his arm around your shoulders, subtly guiding you through the social maze with ease. And every time you excused yourself—whether to grab another drink or use the restroom—his demeanor shifted. The smile would slip, and he’d share knowing looks with his friends, a silent acknowledgment of the game they were playing.

But you didn’t see any of that.

You saw the guy who made you feel like you were finally part of something bigger, like you belonged. And as the night went on, you found yourself relaxing more, laughing, talking, feeling the walls you’d built around yourself start to come down.

Rafe noticed, of course. That was the whole point. He’d spent weeks laying the groundwork, and tonight was just the beginning. He was getting what he wanted.

But as he watched you laugh at something Kelce said, genuinely enjoying yourself, he felt a pang of something unfamiliar. It was brief, fleeting, but it was there. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was something else. He quickly pushed it aside, reminding himself why he was doing this.

He knew better than to get too comfortable.

He knew his ex wouldn’t stay out of his business forever, and sure enough, she confronted him right before class the next day.

“Rafe, can we talk?”

He didn’t look at her right away, instead shoving his notebook into his bag as if she wasn’t even worth the effort. But he couldn’t resist; he turned to her, keeping his expression neutral. “What’s up?”

Jessica glanced around, making sure no one was listening, before stepping closer to him. Her voice was low, almost pleading. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, playing dumb. “What do you mean?”

She huffed in frustration, clearly not in the mood for games. “Don’t act like you don’t know. She’s a nice girl, I know she’s not your type.”

Rafe couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Jealous?

Jessica’s eyes flashed with anger, but there was something else there too—guilt.

“No. You’re just going to use her to get back at me? That’s not fair. She doesn’t deserve that.”

He leaned in closer, his smirk turning cold. “You didn’t think about fairness when you were sneaking around with Tyler, did you? Why should I care about what she deserves?”

"Rafe."

"You only care about your precious reputation, so shut the fuck up."

Jessica flinched, “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done what I did. But I fell in love with Tyler. I’m not sorry about that.”

“Do you even realize what you did to me?” The memory of the last time he’d trusted her flashed before his eyes—the way she’d smiled at him. The same smile she had for someone else, “You don’t get to apologize now. You don’t get to tell me what’s fair.”

Jessica’s expression softened, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m not saying this for me. I’m saying it for her."

"Right, because you care so much about other people, huh?"

"You're being difficult for no reason."

Rafe clenched his jaw, every word she said feeling like a knife twisting in his gut. He wanted to lash out, to tell her that she didn’t get to play the moral high ground after everything she’d done. But instead, he just stared at her, his eyes hard and cold.

“Stay out of it, Jess” he said finally, his voice low and dangerous. “And keep your fucking mouth shut.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as if she’d been expecting this. “Just think about it before you do something stupid."

Without another word, Jessica turned and walked away, leaving Rafe standing there, seething with anger. He watched her go, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Of course, she would act like she gave a shit about you the moment he’s attention shifted from her. She had no right to lecture him, no right to tell him what to do.

This was about revenge, about proving a point. You were just a means to an end, nothing more.

But you made it so fucking hard for him to keep his head in the game.

Every time you smiled at him, every time you thanked him for something small, it chipped away at the cold resolve he had built up inside. He told himself it was just part of the plan, that getting close to you was necessary for the outcome he wanted. But the more time he spent with you, the more he realized that he was enjoying himself.

He didn't even have to put in the effort to influence you. You began to speak up in class, even crack jokes with the other girls on the cheerleading squad. The transformation was happening right before his eyes, just like he’d planned. But instead of feeling satisfied, there was a knot of guilt forming in his stomach. You were changing, yes, but it wasn’t just on the outside. You were starting to trust him, to look at him like he was more than just some popular guy who was doing you a favor. You were starting to care, and that terrified him.

One night, after another party where you had danced a little closer, laughed a little louder, Rafe walked you back to your dorm. The campus was quiet, the stars above bright against the inky sky. You were buzzing with the energy of the night, still talking animatedly about how much fun you’d had. The sound of your laughter, the way your eyes lit up—it caught him off guard.

“Thanks for inviting me, Rafe. I never thought I’d actually enjoy these things, but you make it… I don’t know, easier, I guess.”

Rafe smiled down at you, trying to ignore the way his heart twisted at your words.

“I’m glad sweets. You deserve to have fun.”

You looked up at him, your eyes softening. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you properly. For everything. You didn’t have to be this nice to me.”

For a split second, he saw you. Not as a means to an end, but as someone he genuinely cared about.

His expression faltered for a moment before he quickly recovered. “It’s no big deal. Really.”

But it was a big deal, and you both knew it.

You had gone from barely existing on the social radar to being someone everyone noticed, someone everyone wanted to be around. And it was all because of him. Rafe had given you that, but he knew he was taking something from you too—your innocence, your trust.

He walked you to your door, his usual confidence wavering as you turned to face him. There was something different in your gaze tonight, something that made his breath catch in his throat.

“Rafe… I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” you began, your voice a little hesitant.

He forced himself to stay calm, even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “Yeah? What’s up?”

You looked down, fiddling with the hem of your top before meeting his eyes again. “Why did you start talking to me? I mean, really. Was it because you felt sorry for me? Or… or something else?”

Rafe’s mind raced, trying to find the right words, the ones that wouldn’t hurt you. He could lie, like he’d been doing all along, or he could tell you the truth, risk everything.

But before he could answer, you continued, your voice softer now. “Because… I’m glad you did. Whatever the reason was. I’ve never felt this… this good about myself. And it’s because of you.”

Rafe swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

Fuck. He’d never expected this, never thought that you would be the one to make him feel something real, something that wasn’t just part of his stupid revenge plan.

He’d thought he could control this, control you, but it was slipping through his fingers. He stepped closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’ve always been amazing,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse. “I just… I just helped you see it.”

You grinned up at him, your eyes shining with gratitud. It was too much, too real, and Rafe could feel the walls he’d carefully constructed around his heart starting to crumble. You were looking at him like he was someone worth caring about, and for the first time, he felt like he was the one being played.

He couldn’t let you get any closer. If you did, he wouldn’t be able to follow through with his plan.

But pushing you away now, after all the effort he’d put in, would raise too many questions. So, he did the only thing he could think of—he leaned down and kissed you.

It was gentle at first, testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his hand cradling the back of your head as if you were something fragile. Your lips were soft against his, and for a moment, Rafe let himself forget why he was doing this. He let himself enjoy the warmth of your body pressed against his, the way you sighed softly into his mouth.

But then, just as quickly as it started, he pulled back.

The look in your eyes nearly undid him. There was so much trust, so much hope, and it made him want to break something, anything, just to stop feeling the way he did.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured, his voice rough, as if the kiss had taken something out of him.

You nodded, still dazed, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, tomorrow.”

This was wrong.

He knew it was wrong. But in that moment, with the way you were looking at him, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He watched you go, waiting until you disappeared into your dorm before he let out a shaky breath.

What the fuck was he doing? He couldn’t afford to second-guess himself now. Not when he was so close to winning and yet, he couldn’t help but feel that he was the one who was losing.

Later that night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Jessica’s words mocked him.

“I’m sorry okay? I shouldn’t have done what I did. But I fell in love with Tyler. I’m not sorry about that.”

He had scoffed at her then, dismissed her excuses as pathetic attempts to justify her shitty behavior.

But now, lying there alone, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was any different. He didn’t plan on feeling anything real for you. This was supposed to be a game, a way to hurt Jessica the way she hurt him. But somewhere along the line, things had changed.

How could he let this happen? How could he, of all people, start to care? He was supposed to be in control, supposed to be the one pulling the strings, not getting tangled in them.

And yet, the memory of your pretty face, the sound of your laugh, the warmth in your eyes—these were the things that lingered in his mind, all the damn time.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow.

The anger and bitterness that had fueled him for weeks were still there, but they were being drowned out by something else—you.

Rafe’s resolve had been wavering for days, but he pushed the guilt aside as he drove to campus the next morning. He was picking you up before class, something that had become a bit of a routine. It was a small gesture, but one that made you smile every time, and Rafe had to admit, he looked forward to seeing that smile.

When he pulled up to your dorm, you were already waiting outside, your bag slung over your shoulder. You looked different from when he first met you—still shy, but with a confidence that hadn’t been there before. It was subtle, but Rafe noticed.

He noticed everything about you these days.

“Hey,” you said as you slid into the passenger seat, giving him that small smile that always made his chest tighten a little. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Anytime,” he replied smoothly, shifting the car into gear. “Ready for another day of fun and learning?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but there was a lightness in your expression that hadn’t been there a month ago. “If by fun, you mean trying not to fall asleep in econ, then yeah, totally ready.”

He chuckled, glancing over at you as he pulled onto the road. “I’m starting to think you secretly enjoy econ. You’re just trying to maintain your cool, indifferent persona.”

You laughed, the sound genuine and free, and Rafe felt that unfamiliar pang in his chest again.

“Yeah, that’s me. The cool, indifferent econ nerd.”

“See? I knew it,” Rafe teased, but there was an edge of something else in his voice, something he couldn’t quite shake.

The drive to campus was easy, filled with light conversation and the comfortable silence that had developed between you two. When you arrived, he parked in his usual spot, but instead of getting out right away, you turned to him, your expression suddenly serious.

“Rafe, can I ask you something?”

He froze for a split second, his mind racing. Had you figured it out? Did you know about the bet? But he quickly forced a casual smile, nodding.

“Sure sweets, what’s up?”

You hesitated, chewing on your lower lip, a habit he’d noticed you had when you were nervous.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Rafe’s heart pounded in his chest. This was the moment he’d been dreading—the moment when you’d start questioning everything. He couldn’t afford to slip up now.

“Why not?” he said, his tone light, but there was a hint of sincerity that even he didn’t expect. “I like you. I like being around you.”

You looked at him, your eyes searching his, trying to find the truth in his words. Rafe held your gaze, doing his best to keep his expression open and honest. After a moment, you nodded, as if you’d decided to believe him.

“Okay,” you said. “I just... I didn’t want to assume, y’know? It’s just... new.”

“Good new, though, right?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, “Good new.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur, with classes, coffee breaks, and more of Rafe’s effortless charm. But that moment in the car stuck with him. You were starting to get closer, to trust him, and every time you did, the guilt fucked with his head a little more.

Later that day, when the two of you met up for a late lunch, he noticed the way you had begun to attract attention from others. Some guys glanced your way, clearly noticing the changes in you, and a few girls even stopped to chat with you—a far cry from the shy girl he’d first approached in the library.

As you two sat down at a table outside the campus cafe, he saw the way your eyes lit up when you spotted someone approaching. It was Leila, a girl from your cheer squad. She waved and came over, sitting down.

“Hey, you two,” she greeted, her eyes flicking between you and Rafe. “Mind if I join?”

“Sure,” you said, scooting over to make room for her. He nodded, keeping his expression neutral, but there was something about the way Leila looked at you that put him on edge.

The conversation flowed easily, with her complimenting you on something you’d done at practice the other day, and you blushing at the praise.

Rafe watched, a small smile on his face, but his mind was elsewhere. He could see how much you were changing, how you were starting to come into your own, and it was becoming harder and harder to justify what he was doing.

When Leila left after a few minutes, you turned to Rafe with a grin. “She’s nice. I didn’t think she even noticed me before.”

“She notices you now,” Rafe replied, his voice quieter than usual.

You looked at him, your smile fading slightly. “Is something wrong?”

Rafe hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “No, nothing. Just... thinking.”

“About what?”

He leaned back in his chair. “About how you’re starting to steal everyone’s attention here. What am I gonna do when you’re the most popular one around here?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I don’t think that’s gonna happen anytime soon.”

Rafe smiled back, but the guilt was back, stronger than ever. You were starting to trust him, to believe in the friendship he was offering, and it was killing him.

As the afternoon wore on, he found himself more and more distracted by his thoughts. He needed to talk to someone about it, someone who knew the score.

Later that evening, after dropping you off at your dorm, he called Kelce. The phone rang a few times before his friend picked up, sounding slightly out of breath.

“Yo, Cameron. What’s up?”

Rafe took a deep breath, leaning against the side of his car. “I need to talk, man. About the bet.”

Kelce laughed, clearly not picking up on the seriousness in Rafe’s voice. “What, you already feeling bad for her? Didn’t think you’d go soft so fast.”

Rafe frowned, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that. It’s just... I didn’t think it’d be like this. She’s... she’s actually really nice, Kelce. Like, genuinely nice.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Kelce responded, his tone more serious.

“Dude, we all knew she was nice. That’s what makes this so good. You’re flipping the script. Just remember why you’re doing it.”

Rafe let out a frustrated sigh. “I know, but... She trusts me."

And I trust her, he wanted to add, but didn't.

“Look, Rafe, you’re in too deep to back out now. If you quit, she’ll still get hurt, and you’ll look like a fucking idiot. You gotta see this through. Just... keep your eye on the prize, okay? It’s not about her, it’s about Jessica.”

Rafe nodded, even though Kelce couldn’t see him. “Yeah... yeah, you’re right. I just needed to clear my head.”

“Good,” Kelce said. “Now go get some sleep or something. We’ve got a party this weekend, and I wanna see you back on your game.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, man.”

By Friday, the campus was buzzing with weekend plans, and you were in a good mood, chatting excitedly about some party that night. You two were in the cafeteria, grabbing lunch, when it happened.

You were waiting in line for food, and Rafe had stepped aside to check his phone. When he glanced up, he saw a guy approaching you—a guy he recognized from the football team. A sleazy bastard.

The guy leaned in, flashing you a charming smirk, clearly trying to flirt. He wanted to pummel his face to the wall. Rafe watched from a distance as the guy made you laugh, his hand casually resting on the counter next to yours. Too fucking close.

The sight made something twist in his chest, something dark and possessive that he hadn’t expected. He'd never felt like this before. His grip tightened around his phone as he watched, his jaw clenching.

You seemed flattered but a little uncomfortable, your smile not quite reaching your eyes. Rafe could tell you weren’t used to this kind of attention, and it made him feel something primal, something that burned hotter than the guilt. He wanted to go over there, to tell that guy to back the fuck off, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, seething, trying to keep his cool.

Scaring you away was the last thing he wanted to do.

When the guy finally walked away, you looked relieved, but Rafe was already moving. He crossed the cafeteria in quick strides, his eyes locked on you, his heart pounding. You spotted him coming and smiled, but it fell when you saw the look on his face.

“Rafe, what’s—”

He didn’t let you finish. Before you could say another word, he was right in front of you, his hand cupping your face as he pulled you toward him.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t like the kiss outsider your dorm. This was different. It was fierce, almost desperate as if he needed to prove something to himself, to you, and to everyone watching. His lips moved against yours with intensity, his other hand gripping your waist, pulling you closer. He didn’t care who was around, who was watching.

All he cared about was you, right there, in his arms.

You froze for a second, caught off guard by the suddenness of it, but then you melted into him, your hands clutching at his shirt as you kissed him back with equal fervor. It was like all the tension, all the confusion, everything that had been building between you two, finally snapped.

Rafe deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, claiming you in a way that left no room for doubt. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you let out a soft moan that only made him kiss you harder, his body pressing against yours like he couldn’t get enough.

People around you were definitely watching now, whispering, some even cheering, but Rafe didn’t care. He didn’t pull away until he was breathless, and even then, he stayed close, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing heavy. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw the way you were looking at him—dazed, flushed, your lips slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss.

“What... what was that?” you asked, your voice shaky, your eyes searching his for answers.

Rafe knew he should say something, explain himself, but all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss you again. Instead, he just shook his head slightly, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Just couldn’t help myself,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You blinked up at him, still trying to process what had just happened, but there was no mistaking the way your body was responding to him.

He finally stepped back, but kept his hand on your waist, grounding you as he looked around. Sure enough, the guy from earlier was watching.

Rafe caught his eye, giving him a look that said everything without words. She’s mine.

When he looked back at you, he saw the confusion in your eyes and something else—something that looked a lot like longing.

He knew he’d just crossed a line, again, but in that moment, he didn’t care. All he cared about was the way you felt in his arms, the way you looked at him like he was the only guy in the world.

“C’mon,” Rafe said, his voice softer now. “We’ve got class.”

You nodded, still a little dazed, and let him guide you out of the cafeteria, his hand never leaving yours. He was in deeper than ever, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Not when you looked at him like that, not when his heart was pounding like this.

As you approached the building where your next class was, he stopped, turning to face you. He touched your cheek again, his thumb brushing against your skin, and you leaned into his touch.

“Rafe—”

“You’re my girl,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours again. “Okay?”

You nodded, your breath hitching as you looked up at him, your eyes wide and trusting. Rafe knew he was on the edge of something he couldn’t control, but as he leaned in for one more kiss, slow and tender this time, he realized he didn’t care.

“Rafe…” you began again, speaking against his lips. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you needed to understand about what you were, what you two were becoming. His thumb traced the curve of your jawline.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, his voice low, almost reverent. “I just… I need you to know that you mean something to me. This, us—"

“Okay.”

He was already in too deep.

And just like that, he got what he wanted.

The next day, everything seemed to fall into place as if the universe has finally aligned for you. He asked you out, and just like that, you were together.

The next two months were a dream—utter bliss. You weren’t just happy; you were radiant. You’d become the most popular girl in school, and with him by your side, it felt like you were living in some sort of fairy tale.

Every smile he gave you, every touch, every whispered confession of how perfect you were sent you soaring higher. He couldn’t get enough of you—your sweetness, your kindness, your genuine heart. It was as if he was falling more and more in love with you every single day. And you, you had never felt this alive.

But deep down, in a place he didn’t dare acknowledge, there was a shadow, a sliver of guilt that he pushed aside every time he looked into your trusting eyes.

He never officially ended the bet with Kelce and Topper. It was just a stupid game, something that seemed so insignificant compared to what he feels for you now. He told himself that he had forgotten about it, that it didn’t matter anymore.

After all, what you two had is real, right? And you, completely oblivious to the sinister origins of your relationship, continued to believe in the fairy tale.

Until it ended.

⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ

It’s after cheerleading practice, and you’re alone in the locker room, stuffing your things into your bag. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and body spray, the usual post-practice atmosphere, but there’s something different today—a tension you can’t quite place.

As you’re zipping up your bag, you hear voices nearby, just around the corner. Leila and Jessica, their conversation low but unmistakable. You wouldn’t normally eavesdrop, but something about the tone of their voices makes you pause, your heart suddenly beating a little faster.

"You were right," Leila says, her voice edged with a cruel satisfaction. "About your gut feeling with Rafe and his new girl."

Oh.

Jessica sounds tired, almost defeated. "What do you mean?"

Leila sighs, a dark amusement in her tone. "Kelce spilled everything when we hooked up last week. He was too high to keep his mouth shut. Rafe’s been playing her this whole time, using her to mess with you. It was all a bet."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t move, can’t think. The room spins around you, the ground shifting beneath your feet.

No. No, this can’t be real.

Leila’s voice continues, completely unaware of the devastation she’s causing. "It's so fucked up. She has no idea. She’s out there thinking he’s her Prince Charming, and all along it was just some sick game."

Jessica doesn’t say anything, but you can’t bear to hear more. You feel like you’re suffocating, your chest tightening as panic floods your system.

Before you know it, you’re running—out of the locker room, down the hall, anywhere to get away from those words, those horrible, soul-crushing words. Tears blur your vision as you stumble outside, gasping for air, for some kind of escape from the nightmare that’s suddenly become your reality.

The ache in your chest doesn’t fade as you bolt from the locker room, tears hot on your cheeks. You don’t know where you’re going, but you know you can’t stop moving. The hallways blur past you as you wipe at your eyes, struggling to catch your breath. Rage and heartbreak twist inside you like a knife, and before you know it, you find yourself standing outside the gym, where the sounds of basketball practice echo through the double doors.

You push through the doors without thinking, your heart pounding in your ears. The gym is full of movement—squeaking sneakers, the thud of the ball against the court, and the grunts of effort as the players practice their drills. But all of it fades into the background as soon as your eyes lock onto Rafe.

He’s in the middle of a play, dribbling the ball down the court with that intense focus you’ve always admired. For a moment, you hesitate, that familiar warmth of seeing him almost enough to make you stop. But then the memory of Leila’s words slams into you like a wave, and the anger surges back, drowning out everything else.

You storm across the gym, your footsteps heavy on the polished floor. Some of the players notice you, their eyes widening in surprise, but you don’t care. You’re beyond caring. The only thing that matters is confronting him, making him face what he’s done.

"Cameron!" you shout, your voice sharp, cutting through the noise of the practice.

He turns at the sound of your voice, surprise flashing across his face. The ball slips from his hands, bouncing away as the other players stop, confusion rippling through the group. You always call him by his name.

The coach starts to say something, but you barely hear him. All you can see is Rafe, standing there, looking at you with those eyes that you once thought held nothing but affection for you.

Now, all you see is a liar.

“What’s wrong baby?” He jogs over to you, his brow furrowing.

You don’t answer immediately, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to hold yourself together.

But it’s impossible.

“Was I a bet?”

His expression changes from confusion to something closer to horror, his mouth opening as if to say something, but nothing comes out. The sound of your voice, trembling with disbelief and pain, seems to have stunned him into silence.

For a moment, you just stare at each other. You want him to deny it, to laugh and tell you it’s all some terrible misunderstanding. But deep down, you already know the truth. You saw it in his eyes the second he turned to face you, that flicker of guilt, that flash of something wildly desperate.

He reaches for you, his voice breaking. "Baby, wait, let me explain—”

“Was I a fucking bet?” you repeat, your voice louder this time, edged with a desperate, frantic energy that you can’t control. You take a step back as he tries to get closer, every muscle in your body screaming to get away from him, to escape the unbearable weight of the truth.

His eyes are pleading, searching yours for something, anything that might make this easier, but there’s nothing. No words, no excuses that can make this hurt any less.

“It started as a bet,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper, but to you, it’s as loud as a gunshot. “But it’s not like that, I swear. I—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He flinches at your words, pain flashing across his face, but you can’t stop. It’s like all the anger, all the heartbreak, all the humiliation you’ve been choking down is pouring out of you in a torrent, and you don’t have the strength to hold it back. You can see the panic rising in him, the desperation as he realizes just how badly he’s messed up. He takes another step toward you, his hand reaching out, but you jerk away,

“We’re done.”

“Please, just listen,” he pleads, his voice cracking.

“No.”

And with that, you leave.

Rafe’s voice echoes behind you as you walk away, but you refuse to look back. The gym doors swing shut, muffling the sounds of the practice resuming, and you’re left in the eerily quiet hallway, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

The locker room is cold and empty when you push open the door. The scent of body spray and sweat lingers in the air. You head straight to your locker again, hands trembling as you fumble with the lock, desperate to escape. But before you can get it open, the door swings wide behind you, and you know, without turning around, that he followed you.

“Go away,” you say, your voice barely holding steady.

“I can’t,” he says, his voice strained with desperation. “Not like this.”

You spin around, your eyes blazing with anger. “You don’t get to decide that. You used me! And for what? Some sick joke with your friends?”

He takes a step closer, his hands raised as if to placate you, but you back away, your heart pounding. “I know I messed up,” he says, his voice thick with regret. “I know I should’ve told you the truth, but I—”

“But you didn’t,” you cut him off, your voice rising. “You let me believe that you cared about me, that everything was real, and all the while it was just a game to you. You and your friends laughed in my face the entire time, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t a game,” he insists, his voice cracking. “It wasn't supposed to be like this, okay? This wasn't the plan. I changed. Being with you... it was the only thing that felt real to me.”

You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

Rafe looks at you, his expression torn between guilt and desperation.

“It wasn’t a joke. It started as a stupid bet, but I never expected to actually—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I care about you. That’s real.”

For a moment, you see the boy who had made you feel special, who had made you believe in something more. But it's not enough.

“I don’t even know who you are."

You want to believe him, to take solace in the idea that some part of what you had was real, but you can't. You shake your head again, a sob choking you as you turn away from him, your back pressing against the cold metal of the locker.

“It isn’t supposed to hurt like this,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “It’s not supposed to feel like a knife in your chest.”

Rafe takes another step closer, “Please, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “Just give me a chance to make this right.”

"You don’t get to have a chance. You don’t get to pretend this is some kind of love story. You lied to me. You used me.”

You look at him then, really look at him, and all you see is the boy who broke your heart. The boy who turned your world upside down with a single lie. You know that if you stay, if you let him talk, you might be tempted to forgive him. But you can’t.

Not this time.

With a deep breath, you straighten up, wiping away the tears that have stained your cheeks. “I’m done.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads, his voice thick with desperation.

But you’ve made up your mind.

“I mean it. We’re done. I need you to stay away from me.”

The words hit him like a physical blow, and for a moment, he just stands there, staring at you as if he can’t believe what you’re saying.

But then he sees the resolve in your eyes, the finality in your tone, and he knows there’s no coming back from this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

Without another word, you turn away from him, pushing past the locker room door and walking away. You hesitate for a split second. A small voice inside you screams to turn back, to give him one more chance, but then you imagine the laughter, the cruel satisfaction.

The image of Rafe with his friends, laughing at your expense, sears itself into your mind.

The door slams shut behind him, and he leans against it, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He doesn’t feel victorious. Instead, there’s a hollowness, a quiet whisper in the back of his mind that asks, “What now?” He clenches his fists, trying to silence it, but the emptiness remains.

This time, he doesn’t follow you.

1K notes · View notes

muldermuse · 2 months

Note

Girl I’m obsessed with your blurbs about exbf!butcher and will gladly get in my knees to beg for more❤️

mean doggy with exboyfriend!butcher

his fist in your hair is tight, every thrust forcing your neck back and closer to him. your neck feels raw, from the hickeys he’s covering you in, the graze of his teeth and the rub of his beard against your sensitive skin.

he’d bent you over in your bed, promising you that he just wanted to eat you out from behind- telling you how much he’d missed it. you both knew that you had a blind date in less than an hour but you also knew that no guy could ever go down as you as good as butcher. hell, if tonight went well it could be the last time this ever happened?

why not enjoy it?

his hands felt huge on your ass and the sensation of how small you felt in comparison to him made you as flustered as it always does. he’s feral when he goes down on you, especially from behind- slapping your ass as often (and as hard) as he pleases

it quickly became too much. the radiating heat from his spanks, his tongue gently sucking your clit and finally, the fact that it’s him doing this. the knowledge that this big, scary and fucking gorgeous man eats you like it’s his last meal. you push your face into your pillow and let out a cry.

“comin’ already baby? i can see your fuckin’ cunt flutterin’”

you were still coming as you started to beg “please please please gimme your cock butcher, please i need it so bad”

“need it huh? well…whatever my fuckin’ whore wants” he slid his cock into you, filling you completely in one thrust, “daddy’s fuckin’ whore gets, okay?” butcher smiles at the look on your face, you’re too blissed out to respond

he knows your body like he took the time to craft it. it’s hard to think about the bad times in your relationship when he’s hitting your g spot relentlessly. the sex was why you stayed together for so long and it’s why you always come crawling back. your blind date is floating further from your mind but seemingly not for butcher

“go for your lil date lookin’ like this, huh? lookin’ like my fuckin’ dirty whore?” he nods at you, you’re too fucked out to register what he’s saying so you weakly nod back at him with pleading eyes. you feel underwater, you’re dizzy with pleasure and his words mean nothing to you. the only thing to focus on is his cock pounding into you, you don’t even think you’re moaning any more. only he can get you like this- he’s the only person who’s ever fucked you so hard you forget your name

“yeah?” his smirk is vicious, “yeah that’s right baby, my fuckin’ whore forever. daddy’s good fuckin’ whore”

you cum again. eyes rolling back, legs shaking and pussy clenching him so tight; he has to stop moving.

“oh there’s my good fuckin’ girl, that was a big one huh?”

“felt so good daddy, please cum in me”

“gonna go to your date with my fuckin’ cum leakin’ out your cunt?”

you let out a cry at his words, your nails dig into his back and that sends him over the edge. he cums deep inside you and if you weren’t completely spent from your previous orgasms, the look on his face would get you there

his mouth hangs open, thrusting sloppily to make sure that his cum stays deep in you. he bites at your neck, trailing his lips up to your ear to whisper lowly “that fuckin’ cum stays there all night, understand?”

he gets off you and helps you get dressed; acting like he hasn’t just completely ruined you. you have a second to glance at the mirror before you leave- you look completely fucked. mascara smudged, hair a mess and neck reddened from where his hand had briefly been. anyone could tell from a glance what you’d been doing.

which is exactly what butcher wanted.

“no time to clean up darlin’- don’t wanna keep your date waitin’”

325 notes · View notes

imaginespazzi · 2 months

Text

Part 3: Miss Me, Miss Me Not

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

And it hits me when the lights go on (shit, maybe I miss you)

(In which a lazy writer somehow still manages to make her deadlines, much to her own shock)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining and a teensy bit of Fluff

Words: 5.8K

TW: Swearing (once again I think that's it?)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I'm not gonna lie til about an hour ago, I very much did not think I was gonna give y'all a Monday update but here we are! A couple of housekeeping things, I went back and added months to the years so hopefully that's more helpful. I lowkey dislike this part but I felt like the fic needed it and I'm excited to write the next part. Ngl, the editing on this is pretty nonexistent because trying to read this back lowkey killed me so please feel free to point out mistakes so I can fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, and disliked and anything you wanna see going forward. I really appreciate all of y'alls feedback and the long reviews make my day! Have a good rest of your week lovies <3

September 2017

Azzi: just got home :)

It’s a simple text and it should be easy for Paige to conjure up an equally simple reply. Instead she finds herself typing and deleting, over and over, because nothing sounds quite right. There’s this hollow feeling thrumming in her chest, that has only gotten stronger every passing minute since she’d said goodbye to Azzi at the airport. If she tries hard enough, she can still feel the remnants of their last hug lingering against every inch of her skin. She wants to memorize that feeling and create a blanket out of its threads to numb the ice cold shiver that’s been repeatedly running through her veins from the second Azzi had gotten on that plane. But even that might not be enough. Not when she’s learnt just how warm Azzi’s presence can be and how everything else pales in comparison.

Paige lies to herself that it’s an accidental slip of her fingers, that she’d meant to press send not call, that she had every intention of hanging up the facetime on the first ring itself.

But then Azzi picks up on the second one.

And really it would be rude to hang up.

“Hey what’s up?” Azzi’s face fills the screen, tired eyes staring intently at Paige through the screen.

“Oh um-” Paige fumbles for words, awkwardly shuffling her feet that are dangling off the side of her bed, “I just wanted to ask how your flight was?”

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “you couldn’t have texted me that?”

“Too tired to text,” Paige lies and the words i just wanted to hear your voice stay stuck, burning hot, in her throat, “gotta save these money-making fingers for more important things.”

“Yeah I’m hanging up-”

“NO-” it comes out far more forceful than it should and if possible, Azzi’s eyebrow shoots up even farther, as Paige clears her throat, “I mean- uh- you didn’t tell me how your flight was.”

Paige is too busy cringing at herself to notice the light blush that tinges Azzi’s cheeks. She’s too busy wondering why this girl brings out this nervous bumbling side of hers to notice the fond smile that almost cracks through Azzi’s lips.

“The flight was okay. I actually got to sleep this time,” Azzi says pointedly and Paige laughs.

“So what you’re saying is it was boring as hell.”

“I’m saying it was really peaceful not having someone yapping in my ear while I was trying to sleep.”

“So you didn’t miss me?” Paige presses, trying to keep her voice teasing despite how desperately she wants the admission.

Azzi hesitates, as if she’s debating with herself, before, “I didn’t say that.”

It’s a little ridiculous how large Paige’s grin is but it’s okay, because Azzi’s smiling back, soft and shy. They’d look foolish to anyone else, the way they’re so intently gazing at each other through a screen as if there’s no barrier between them at all.

“It’s gonna be weird going to the gym without you tomorrow morning,” Paige confesses after a second, moving to lay down on her stomach.

“I bet. You’re gonna get absolutely nothing done without me,” Azzi teases dramatically before her eyes soften, “it’s weird that I’m not gonna see you at all tomorrow.”

There’s something gut-wrenching about that admission and yet, there’s something in it that heals a part of Paige’s heart that she hadn’t even known needed to be fixed. It means something to her that Azzi must feel it too. Because if she’s honest with herself, Paige had been just a little afraid that maybe the connection was just in her head, that maybe Azzi was simply tolerating her presence out of kindness.

“You should just move to Minnesota,” Paige replies finally, “much nicer than Virgina or whatever.”

“Have you ever even been to Virginia?” Azzi asks, eyebrows raised as she flips herself to lie on her back, holding her phone above her in a way that lets Paige see entirely too much and yet not nearly enough.

“No but it sounds boring as fuck.”

“Not with me,” Azzi says, biting her bottom lip sheepishly as soon as the words are out.

Paige smirks, suddenly filled with a brand new confidence, “yeah? You’d make Virgina interesting for me Fudd? What would we do?”

Azzi licks her lips and Paige feels her mouth go dry.

“We’d be together,” the younger girl says finally, averting her gaze as the depth of her words begin to make Paige feel like she’s being flooded by an ocean of emotions she’s not quite ready to feel yet, “anything can be interesting if we’re together.”

It would be so easy to come up with a sarcastic quip or tease Azzi for being a sap and yet there’s a certain sincerity in this moment that feels too fragile for Paige to feign nonchalance.

“Is Virginia nice in the winter?” she asks finally, hands fidgeting with the hair ties secured around her wrist, “Minny’s a little too cold sometimes.”

Azzi’s eyes shine and Paige wants to try and read them, find the little clues hidden in her irises and solve the mystery lingering behind the crimson flush of her cheeks. But the truth is that Paige is a little scared of what she’d find, a little scared that discovering Azzi might mean discovering herself too.

“You should come find out some time,” the brunette says, casual tone filled with intricacies of something far deeper. It’s the closest they’ve gotten to saying anything of actual substance and they tip-toe around saying what they both want, daring the other to ask first.

“I dunno,” Paige says, determined to win the game, “I’m not in the habit of showing up to places without a proper invite.”

Azzi scoffs, “a proper invite? Are you expecting someone to send you a carrier pigeon with a gold letter addressed to her royal highness or something?”

“That would be nice,” Paige surmises and Azzi rolls her eyes.

“Does your back ever hurt from carrying that ego?”

“Only hurts from carrying my team.”

“Oh my god you’re so full of it.”

“Full of talent? Yessirrrr.”

Azzi huffs, “Paige.”

“Azzi,” Paige hums.

“Do you wanna come visit me in Virginia during winter break?” Azzi says finally, a small smile playing on her lips like she’s okay with losing this game as long as it’s to Paige.

“If I must,” Paige says dramatically, shrugging her shoulders and everything as Azzi lets out an offended squeak. But inside, her heart flutters at the offer, at the idea of seeing Azzi again, even if it feels like a lifetime away. Because as long as it’s Azzi on the other side, Paige and her impatient self can wait however long it takes.

“Actually you know what nevermind, you don’t gotta come,” Azzi concedes bitterly, scrunching her face (and Paige would never tell her this but she thinks Azzi looks just a little too cute when she’s mad and so maybe she riles her up on purpose)

“No takesies backsies Az,” Paige sing-songs before her lips uptick from a smirk into something more sincere, “hey Az,” she whispers, giggling to herself when Azzi pretends to ignore her, “I’d really like to come see you in Virginia during winter break.”

And as a brilliant grin dazzles across Azzi’s face, Paige realizes that her favorite thing about Azzi’s smile isn’t when her dimples show or when her eyes twinkle, it’s when it’s there because of Paige, when it’s there just for Paige.

“Good,” Azzi whispers as they fall into a comfortable silence.

There’s this serene sense of calm that laces itself around Paige’s nerves. Her normally fidgeting body is content to be perfectly still, an anomaly to her usual demeanor. The truth is that Paige isn’t the kind of person who’s okay with just existing; she likes to spend every second in motion, living out the high. There’s a part of her that’s scared of missing moments, scared that the people around her will leave her behind if she doesn’t chase them. But it’s different with Azzi. The younger girl makes Paige feel like it’s okay if she takes a moment to just breathe. Because Azzi will wait. Because Azzi won’t leave Paige behind.

“Wait,” it’s a little while before Azzi pipes up, shaking Paige out of her thoughts, “what time is it?”

Paige’s eyes flicker to the time on her phone, confused by the line of questioning, “it’s almost 9 why?”

“Don’t you have a team party or something to go to tonight?” Azzi asks, face scrunching, “I swear you told me you had something tonight.”

“Oh-yeah- Amaya’s back to school thing,” Paige sheepishly scratches her neck, suddenly feeling itchy in her flannel shirt. She’d forgotten she was wearing that instead of her daily clothes. Hell, she’d forgotten she was supposed to be going somewhere in the first place, too occupied with other thoughts.

“Bro get up,” Azzi orders, “you’re already late.”

“Nah it’s fine. I don’t think I’m gonna go,” Paige says and she thinks she should probably feel a little more guilty about it.

“What do you mean you’re not gonna go?” Azzi asks in disbelief, “dude you’re the star of the team. You have to go.”

“Amaya will understand besides-” Paige drags in a deep breath, feeling vulnerable as the next words fall out in a quiet whisper, “I don’t wanna hang up yet.”

“Paige c’mon we can talk tomorrow,” Azzi tries to protest but it’s half-hearted at best.

“I wanna talk right now,” Paige argues, “you don’t wanna talk to me?”

For a second Paige thinks Azzi might just say no, might just chip away a little bit of heart with a well-intentioned rejection, but she doesn’t, “always wanna talk to you P.”

“Then don’t hang up. Talk to me.”

And Azzi does. All night.

Two weeks laters there’s a letter, in an envelope with a picture of a carrier pigeon, that arrives in the Bueckers’ mail box.

To her royal highness,

Unfortunately I couldn’t find an actual carrier pigeon (I swear I tried) so this envelope and the mailman will have to do.

~ You are formally invited this winter break to the Fudd family residence in Virginia. ~

(And you better show up Bueckers)

Yours,

Azzi

February 2033

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me,” Ice whines petulantly as she makes herself comfortable on the couch across from where Paige is getting her makeup done, “this is parental neglect.”

Paige laughs, eyes closed, her makeup artist does her mascara, “you’ll survive.”

“You don’t know that” Ice argues, plucking a grape from the fruit basket before segueing into a rant about how boring Arlington, Texas is.

Paige is grateful for the distraction her younger friend is providing. Her nerves had been on edge since the moment she’d woken up this morning, anxious to get the impending farewell press conference over with. She’d already started accepting that the Wings weren’t the right place for her but that feeling had only been heightened by her trip to the Valkyries. And ever since she’s come back, Paige feels a little bit like she’s sleepwalking through her final moments in Dallas. If she’s honest, she’s probably rushing things a little bit. There’s still plenty of time before she really has to move to Oakland but it had been her choice to move there as soon as possible. Paige had always been good at conjuring excuses and she had plenty as to why she needed to be in California so soon. But at the end of the day it isn’t about training or team bonding or any of the other hundred justifications she’s given anyone who’s asked. It’s about a little girl who’s eyes had been brimming with tears when saying goodbye, a little girl who had made Paige pinky swear that she’d be back as soon as possible.

Really, Paige thinks she should be applauded for her restraint, because truth be told, the second Stephie’s lower lip had trembled, Paige had been prepared to ask Ice to just ship her stuff to Oakland so that she’d never have to let go of the little girl’s hand.

And here’s the thing, Paige is willing to admit she wants to go back to the Bay Area for Stephie. It’s that pesky little part of her that’s desperate to go back for Stephie’s mother, to go back for one more hesitant yet lingering touch, that she won’t ever share with anyone else.

“I never thought I’d live to see you and Azzi willingly playing together again,” Ice says as soon as Paige’s makeup artist leaves the room, “KK and I didn’t even try betting on it, we were that sure it wouldn’t happen. Shit I should have. I totally would have won.”

“Don’t y’all get tired of betting on my life?” Paige asks, rolling her eyes, trying to ignore the first part of what Ice said.

“Betting on your life has made me hundreds of dollars bro,” Ice says, before a more earnest look crosses her face, “but genuinely P, are you sure about this? There’s a lot of history there.”

Paige sighs, “it’s not about our history. It’s a basketball decision. And we’re both mature adults who know that. I’m just tryna win. Nothing else.”

“It’s never nothing when it comes to you two.”

“It is this time,” Paige argues adamantly and Ice raises her hands in surrender.

“I just don’t want another set of teammates to have to deal with y’alls bullshit,” the younger girl teases, but it’s laced with a hint of seriousness that sends a flare of guilt shooting through Paige’s body.

“Ice-” she begins.

But Ice is quick to change to a lighter subject, “can’t believe Jana’s the one that gets mom and dad back together. I always knew she was the favorite.”

“We didn’t have favorites,” Paige plays along, thankful for Ice and her ability to always keep the tension to a bare minimum.

“Oh don’t lie. We all know you did,” Ice scoffs and then lets out a chuckle, “and now Azzi’s actually a mom. That’s kinda insane. And you met the kid right?”

“Yeah. Yeah I did,” Paige says and she can’t help the way her entire face breaks into a gleaming smile as her thoughts turn into memories of Stephie. She doesn’t even realize she’s gotten lost in a different world until Ice coughs, an amused grin playing on her lips.

“You’re so royally fucked Paige,” Ice shakes her head, “the only person I’ve seen you smile that big for before is Azzi.”

“She’s a cute, smart, adorable kid, that’s why I’m smiling,” Paige tries to defend herself.

“She’s Azzi’s cute, smart, adorable kid,” Ice counters.

“That has nothing to do with it,” Paige protests again but it rings hollow to her own ears.

“Oh my god I needa call KK and get this bet started. It’s only a matter of time for real,” Ice says, more to herself than to Paige, as she whips out her phone, probably texting KK.

“A matter of time till what?”

“You’ll find out Paigey,” Ice says gravely with a mocking smile, patting Paige’s head, “all in due time.”

***

The Dallas Wings media room is buzzing, reporters desperate to ask Paige questions and the blonde tries to maintain a smile despite the fact that her heart is lurching in her throat right now. Her opening speech had been short and sweet, parroting basically the same thing that had gone out on her social media the night before; she’d been desperate to just get it out. Generally, Paige is pretty good with the media, having been immersed in the spotlight since basically forever. The attention and how to maneuver it has always come naturally to her so she’s not sure why she feels so unnerved by it all today. From the back of the media room, Ice sends her a thumbs up and a reassuring grin and Paige lets out a breath, glad to have at least that comforting presence with her.

“Aidrian Ginsburger with Bleacher Report, Paige, you’ve obviously spent all of your career so far with the Wings, can you tell us a little bit about the impact this organization has had on you?”

Paige smiles at the question, letting her brain skim through pages and pages of fond memories she has of time spent with this team. It might be time to move on but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have plenty of cherished moments.

“Yeah um- this place has really shaped who I am as a person. Since day one, the front office, obviously it’s a different one to the one I came in with, they did a lot to make sure that I was comfortable. My teammates through the years have been incredible and I wouldn’t be the player I am today without them. And of course the fans you know, they always showed out for the team, for me. Always supported me in anyways and I hope that I was able to give back the love to them that they always gave to me,” she says, suddenly nostalgic for the team that had started it all.

The next questions are similar in nature and Paige’s answer varies only in words but not substance. She feels herself start to settle into it, now fielding the expected questions about the Wings and Valkyries with an air of confidence. There are a couple questions about Azzi that make her heart thump, but that was to be expected. It’s a pretty brilliant story in the making, two MVPs who used to play on the same college team coming together. Talia had warned Paige in advance that there was no avoiding it. But for the most part the questions have an easy answer about how Azzi’s a brilliant player and she’s excited to play with her old friend again. That is until a familiar hand shoots up and all the tension that had previously dissipated, comes roaring back with a vengeance.

“Olivia Reynolds with the Dallas Morning News, Paige, as others have said today, you and Azzi Fudd played together at UConn and you were best friends.” Olivia’s eyes glint viciously, “I mean it’s pretty well documented how hard you tried to recruit her to UConn. But despite being best friends, the two of you have been never seen hanging out, outside of games and formal events, unlike your other teammates that is-”

“Is there a point to this?” Paige asks, hands fisting in her lap as she tries to keep herself calm.

Olivia smiles, sugary sweet, “I was just wondering if maybe there was some tension and how that would affect your on-court chemistry at the Valkyries?”

“There’s no tension,” Paige lies through gritted teeth, “we didn’t hang out because we live far apart. There isn’t much else to it. And even if there was, Azzi and I are professionals. We wouldn’t let anything off the court affect our goal to win.”

“You lived far apart before UConn too, but that didn’t seem to stop you guys. What changed?” Olivia presses.

“Time did. Our lives did. There’s nothing sensational here. It’s just a case of two people drifting apart,” Paige says and the fabrication feels heavy on her tongue. If only it really had been that simple.

“But clearly not that much,” Olivia says, and Paige glances at the moderator, desperate for an intervention, “there were plenty of fan pictures of the two of you out getting ice cream with Azzi’s daughter. It seems like you’re already fitting into that Bay Area life-”

“I’m not hearing a question at the end of your sentence,” Paige hisses and she can practically already hear the scolding she’s going to get from Talia once her agent gets wind of how this press conference had gone. The entire media cohort is watching the exchange with wide eyes, no doubt questioning whether they were embarrassed or impressed by their colleague. Ice is mouthing something to Paige, probably something along the lines of please keep your shit together, but Paige is steaming. Really, she should have expected this.

“Well if you’d let me finish,” Olivia snarls, the façade of innocence dropping, “even if the two of you have drifted, as you put it, clearly there’s still a relationship there. How big of a role did Azzi Fudd play in your choice to move to the Valkyries?”

Paige sucks in a deep breath, nails digging into her palm at the question, “Azzi is the best shooting guard in the country. That was her role in my decision to move to the Valkyries. I don’t know what else you’re trying to imply, but I want to play with her because we play well together. That’s it,” she stands up and there’s pin drop silence, “thank you all for coming but we’re done with this press conference.

***

Paige is seething as she exits the media room, Ice hot on her heels trying to calm her down. The sane part of her knows she should head back to the makeup room or even to her car, instead she finds her feet carrying her in the direction of where she knows Olivia Reynolds will be, reviewing her press conference notes by the coffee machine like she always is.

“What the actual fuck was that?” Paige spits as she comes to a halt in front of the reporter.

“I know you think playing basketball is the only job in the world Paige, but that was a reporter doing her job,” Olivia says, her calm and composed voice only furthering Paige’s irritation.

“Bull-fucking-shit.” Paige sneers, “that wasn’t a reporter out there, that was my ex-wife grilling me like we were back in fucking divorce court.”

Olivia cocks her head, “oh so you do remember who I am to you then?”

“Oliv-”

“Because if you did remember, I’d like to think you’d have the courtesy to at least personally tell me that you were moving to your,” she drops her voice, “ex-girlfriend’s team instead of letting me find out with the rest of the world. You don’t think you owed me that?”

“That’s what this is about?” Paige sighs, “Olivia we’ve been divorced for almost three years now, I don’t owe you-”

“You didn’t owe Azzi anything either,” Olivia whisper-yells, the calm in her voice replaced by the same anger that had tainted the last year of their marriage, “but when we first started dating, you kept us a secret for months. You wouldn’t even tell your fucking teammates cause you were so scared she’d find out,” her eyes drift towards Ice who looks like she wishes she’d made a different decision rather than following Paige out here, “you said she deserved to hear it from you but apparently I don’t-’

“I didn’t mean it like that Olivia. Look, I meant what I said up there. There’s nothing between- ”

“Spare me,” Olivia says, as she stuffs her notepad into her bag, “you can lie to all those other reporters out there about how all of this is a basketball decision. You can even lie to yourself if you want. But you can’t lie to me, not when I spent four years fighting to keep our relationship from getting crushed under whatever it is that Azzi is to you.”

***

It doesn’t matter how far Paige burrows her head into her pillows, she can’t seem to stop herself from hearing Olivia’s words reverberating through her ears. The two of them had done well at co-existing in their social circles after the divorce had been finalized. While no one could quite call them friends, they’d done a good job at being friendly, being able to converse and share an occasional drink when in their combined friend group. And if Paige is honest, she knows she’s fucked up, knows she probably did owe Olivia a call. But calling Olivia would have meant calling someone who would inevitably make Paige face the truth, just like she had today. The truth that, even with the deal Talia had concocted with the Liberty hanging in the background like a dark presence, the move to the Valkyries was about a lot more than just basketball for Paige.

She’s so entrenched in her thought that she doesn’t bother checking who it is when the facetime rings, irritation seeping into her voice as she answers it, face still buried in her pillows, “WHAT?”

“Miss Buecks?” a tiny voice comes through the phone and for a second, Paige thinks she must be dreaming, until she finally lifts her head to look at her phone, and Stephie’s small face lights up the whole screen. And it’s like she can feel little hands on her shoulders, slowly unknotting her tightened muscles.

“Stephie,” she breathes out, a sudden sense of serene calm washing over her previously tense body.

“Hi Miss Buecks,” Stephie says happily before she squints at the screen, “you sleep weird.”

Paige laughs, “and why’s that?”

“You’re not wearing pajamas and it’s only seven. ‘Dults don’t sleep at seven,” Stephie says matter-of-factly.

“It’s actually nine here,” Paige says, a little surprised by the time; she hadn’t realized she'd been moping in her bed for that long. Ice had forced her to get lunch together, not wanting to leave Paige alone after the encounter with Olivia. Once she’d finally gotten back to her apartment, Paige had flopped on her bed, taking out her frustrations on her poor pillow.

“That’s not poss-ble,” Stephie scrunches her face, “Mama’s phone says it’s seven.”

“It’s seven in California, it’s nine in Texas,” Paige tries to explain though by the way Stephie’s looking at her, she thinks she’s probably just confusing the girl more, “how’d you figure out how to call me babe?”

Stephie gives her an exasperated look, “Miss Buecks I’m five. I know how to use facetime.”

“And does your Mama know you're facetiming me?” Paige asks, eyebrows raised.

“She’s in the shower,” Stephie whispers, grinning sheepishly.

As if on cue, Azzi appears on the corner of the screen and Paige feels her mouth run dry. The darker skinned woman is clad in a light pink fluffy bathrobe that ends right above her knees, giving Paige the perfect view of her long, toned legs that seem to shimmer despite the shitty quality of the facetime. Rivulets of water cling to her neck, delicately cascading down the valley of her breasts before disappearing from sight. And Paige must be dehydrated because never has she wanted to taste a drop of liquid more than she does right now.

“Stephie,” Azzi groans, as she walks towards the phone and Paige gulps, heart beating faster with every step the other woman takes, everything about her becoming clearer and clearer, “what did I say about using my phone.”

“Only in em-a-gencies,” Stephie recites, “but Mama I had an em-a-gency.”

Azzi tilts her head, eyebrows raised as she gives her daughter a knowing look, “and what was your emergency?”

“I really, really, really, this much” Stephie stretches out her hands as far as they’ll go, really, really, really, miss Miss Buecks.”

Paige feels her heart flutter. Stephie’s words feel like a hand carefully pulling her out from under the pile of stress she’d been buried under the whole day. It’s like the little girl is pushing away the rubble pressing against her lungs, turning the rocks into dust with a light touch and Paige feels like she can finally breathe.

“Sounds like a pretty big emergency to me,” she says, relishing the way Stephie’s face lights up at the admission, “cause I really, really, really miss you too Steph.”

“See Mama,” Stephie says, placing the phone against a wall so can place her hands on her hips and look up at Azzi with a pleased smirk.

Azzi rolls her eyes before glaring at Paige, “you’re a bad influence on her.”

“I’m the best influence on her,” Paige argues, sending Stephie a conspiratorial wink, “just you wait Az, I’mma teach her all the good things.”

Something unreadable flashes across Azzi’s face before she’s back to looking at Paige with an unimpressed arched eyebrow, “I am not letting you corrupt my daughter Paige Bueckers.”

“We’ll see,” Paige says slowly and Azzi shakes her head before turning to Stephie.

“Alright Stephie bean time to go brush your teeth. It’s almost bedtime babes,” she says with a stern look

“But Mama-”

“No arguing, you have school tomorrow missy,” Azzi reminds the little girl and Paige can’t help but marvel at the mother that Azzi’s become. And it makes her heart ache for the fantasies she’d dreamed of when she was in her early twenties. She’d always known Azzi would be a great mother; Paige had just naively thought she’d be there alongside her too.

“Can Miss Buecks stay on the phone till I fall asleep?” Stephie asks, peering up at Azzi with big doe eyes, “please Mama pleeeease.”

“I’m sure Miss Buecks has other things-”

“I don’t,” Paige cuts in far too enthusiastically, clearing her throat to get back some semblance of restraint as both mother and daughter turn to look at each other, “I don’t have anything to do tonight so I can stay till you fall asleep Stephie.”

“YAYY,” Stephie cheers enthusiastically while Azzi studies her with a weary look, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and then you can read me, my story Mama.”

With that, the little girl runs in the direction of what Paige can only assume is the bathroom, skipping with childlike joy as she sing-songs about something Paige can’t quite make out.

“You know you don’t have to say yes to everything she asks right?” Azzi says slowly as she grabs her phone and sits on the couch.

Paige shrugs, “I have time to stay.”

“Do you?” Azzi asks skeptically, “because from what I heard the Wings are having a little farewell party tonight, for you.”

Paige narrows her eyes, “and how exactly did you hear that?”

“I have connections.”

“You talked to Ice.”

“I talked to Ice,” Azzi concedes, “and I’m pretty sure you’re already an hour or so late for it.”

“Exactly. I’m already an hour late so why bother,” Paige says, sitting up so she can rest head against her headboard, “why were you talking to Ice?”

“I can’t talk to my friend?” Azzi asks slowly.

“Of course you can but why specifically today?” Paige presses

Azzi bites her lip, “I um- I watched your press conference today. You uh-” she averts her gaze, “you seemed really stressed at the end and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

A soft grin upturns Paige’s lips before she can stop it, “were you worried for me Fudd?”

“That’s not-” Azzi groans, “shut up.”

Paige smirks, “you were worried for me.”

“I was concerned for my future teammate," Azzi huffs, “besides,” her face hardens, “she was way out of line.”

Paige sighs at the implied mention of Olivia, “maybe but maybe I deserved it.”

“No you didn’t,” Azzi protests and that oh so familiar protective tone in her voice carves itself into every crevice of Paige’s heart, “no one deserves to be put on the spot like that. She was being unethical trying to dig into your personal life like that.”

“This is nice,” Paige says softly, unable to help herself.

“What is?”

“Seeing you get all defensive over me. It's nice to see you still care. I didn’t know if you still did.”

Azzi’s quiet for a second, gnawing at her bottom lip as she looks at Paige, “I’ve always cared Paige. And-” she hesitates as the tightrope beneath them wavers, “I’m always gonna care.”

There’s years worth of unsaid words lingering in the silence between them as they breach some unspoken rule they’d both inadvertently agreed to. And they both know that they shouldn’t be saying things like this to each other, that they’re teetering on the edge of falling into an abyss that has nothing but destruction at the bottom. But Azzi’s words feel like sunshine, like heat waves across her skin and Paige is so tired of feeling cold.

Before either of them can say another word, Stephie comes back into the room, crawling into Azzi’s lap.

“I’m back,” she beams, completely unaware of the way the two adults are scrambling to act normal around her.

“Here baby,” Azzi hands the phone to Stephie, “take Miss Buecks to your room. Mama’s gonna go change and then she’ll come read to you okay?”

“‘Kay Mama,” Stephie complies, pressing a soft kiss to Azzi’s cheek before running towards her room. For a second Paige’s screen is blurred in motion until Stephie fixes her again and Paige catches a glimpse of Stephie’s room, specifically the walls that are painted the perfect shade of Valkyrie purple.

“I love your walls Stephie,” she compliments.

“They’re pu-ple,” Stephie exclaims, “that’s my favorite color.”

“First the ice-cream, now the color, you’re stealing all of my favorites kid,” Paige teases but she’s secretly pleased by this revelation. It’s dangerous how fast Stephie’s starting to whittle down Paige’s walls and build herself a permanent shelf in Paige’s cabinet of my people.

“Can I tell you a secret Miss Buecks,” Stephie whispers, bringing her lips closer to the phone.

Paige smiles, “of course you can.”

“I think Mama misses you too,” Stephie says softly and Paige feels her heart catch in her throat, “I heard her tell Nanna on the phone.”

“Can I tell you a secret Stephie?” Paige lowers her voice, leaning into her phone.

“‘Course you can Miss Buecks.”

Paige swallows as the admission falls from her lips, “I really miss your Mama too.”

I miss her always and I think I’ll miss her forever.

“What are you the two of you whispering about,” Azzi’s voice cuts in as she tucks herself next to Stephie, a children’s book in her hand.

“Nothing Mama,” Stephie says immediately, winking at Paige through the phone.

“Yeah,” Paige echoes, ignoring her erratic heartbeat, “nothing Azzi.”

Azzi looks between the both of them, clearly aware she’s being left out of something, but doesn’t push further. Instead she flips open the book, pulls Stephie closer into her arms and starts reading. If anyone were to ask Paige later, she wouldn’t have the faintest idea about a single word in that damn book. Because as Azzi’s soothing voice begins to lull Stephie to sleep, and the younger girl, despite her yawns, holds the phone up so the blonde can be included in every second of it, Paige feels herself being pulled into a dream she has no right to dream. She dreams of being in Stephie’s purple bedroom. She dreams of her and Azzi lying against Stephie’s lilac bedspread, their hands entwined in the middle over Stephie’s little body. She dreams of a forever that she’d long forsaken.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

331 notes · View notes

dailyadventureprompts · 3 months

Text

Monsters Reimagined: Kobolds

I started playing d&d during 3rd edition, which presented kobolds as a trap happy gaggle of dragon obsessives who were counted as the weakest but smartest of the traditional dungeonfodder humanoids. Other than being lizardy they were presented near identically to goblins, both being petty and cruel and resentful over their small stature and the place it meant they occupied in the world. This overlap is actually one of the reasons I haven't gotten to kobolds before now, as I kinda felt like I covered most of it in my writeup for goblins a couple years ago.

Since Kobolds are a reoccuring request however I eventually decided I was going to give the people what they wanted. My plan was to talk about d&d dragonsimp kobolds vs. warcraft candleloving kobolds vs. jrpg dogpeople kobolds, and how all of these relate back to creature's mythological origin but hey wait a minute the official forgotten realms wiki says WHAT ?

Huh, that sounds like a weird sort of projection from a man who's super insecure about his height. I wonder if the original dragon magazine listed as a source here has anything more to.. Oh.... OH-NO

Living space, huh? Extinction of weaker peoples, eh? A religion based around survival, insularity, obedience, and the defeat of stronger enemies through attrition, yadon'tsay? Man, the canine kobolds might be on to something because there's an ORCHESTRA of dogwhistles going on here.

Friends, there's a lot to unpack here, so like a kobold with a pickax lets dig in

Where it started: the connection between kobolds and goblins and gnomes predates d&d back to mythological roots, as all are names shared by the european folklore character of "weird little guy who lives under the hill and plays tricks on us". Kobolds have an even more delightful bit of etymology attached, as miners blamed them for magically transforming valuable silver for (at the time) worthless cobalt. Originally my rehash of kobalds was going to centre on them as tinkerers/engineers for this reason, as alchemical cobalt batteries sound rad as hell.

Kobolds are in this way also part of the greater traditions of "mine spirits", Knackers, tommyknockers, and the like. Who play tricks on miners, and are just as likely to cause disaster when displeased as they are to warn of it when befriended.

Then the d&d authors did what they always do, they pilfered the name of folkloric creatures for the game while ignoring actual mythology, drawing hard and fast lines and making up rigid catagories as they went.

What's wrong: Given their proclivity for traps, sneak attacks, and guerilla tactics you end up getting a LOT of comparisons between Kobolds and the Viet Cong… which I find very telling. So many of the original d&d antagonists were vessels for middle aged geeks of the 70s and 80s to hit back at their insecurities ( whether it be challenges to their masculinity, sexuality, or something more existential) it doesn’t surprise me at all that d&d has an enemy that let american boomers rehash their nation’s at the time biggest military debacle.

Kobolds are so weak and undeserving you understand, they’ve only survived because they’re tricky, but this time we’ll get them, if we come in with enough firepower and hirelings to get through the meatgrinder we can finally hit them where they live and deal with them for good.

D&D worldbuilding imagines kobolds as “the other” from an occupier’s lens: resentful of their rightful displacement, nursing their hatreds in the shadows, emerging only to attack or to steal and despoil what they’ve been denied. They have no ambition, no culture, no wants beyond being a threat for the new dominant power. They’re cowards for using traps and poison and tactics on those here to plunder their homes.

What’s worth Salvaging: While the 3e revision of kobolds as dracomaniacs is a welcome change from their old lore I’m not especially fond of it. Overuse of dragons is one of the things that most turns me off general fantasy media. Any group of sapient creatures serving a dragon is just as likely to form a dragoncult, it doesn’t make kobolds special.

That said, if you did want to double down on kobold dragon worship you might consider spicing in a few elements from my revamped version of Tiamat, painting their reverence not just as ego and overcompensation but as a desire to emulate and become…certian kobold enclaves possibly using sorcery or alchemy to transform a chosen among their people into a fully fledged wyrm.

While we’ve mostly tossed alignment to the curb where it belongs,to distinguish kobolds from goblins it might be worth leaning into their lawful aspects; Underfoot foremen and notaries and work crews addressing things with a utilitarian collective effort before scurrying out of sight when the shift change occurs. Where as goblins are screwball and slapstick onto the verge of cartoonishness, perhaps kobolds are practical and industrious to the point of causing problems: They dam a river to access a sacred cave heedless of the disruption and flooding it’d cause, they tear down, occupying and restoring a derelict mill and restoring it to function regardless of who owns it, undermining the foundations of the duke’s palace following a vein of copper in the nearby hills.

This efficiency-focused attitude also helps thematically define mechanically minded kobolds against gnomes and dwarves as the game’s other tinkerers: They share the practicality of dwarven artisans and the inventiveness of gnomish artificers, but lack the sentiment the other two place on what they make. Kobold craft is often regarded as lower quality, but that’s because resource efficiency and easy replaceability are primary metrics upon which they judge something.

Artsource

#monsters reimagined #kobolds #dragons #dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons

358 notes · View notes

shhhsecretsideblog · 2 months

Note

I squat between your spread legs as you push. Your huge, bare belly tenses around your womb with every effort you make to birth the head of our baby.

The cool mountain air and smell of spring leaves might have been calming if this was at all intended. We came up here to get labor Kickstarted, not to have the baby for God's sake. I should've turned us around when you started clutching your belly. I should've turned back when I realized there was no way your cargo pants were damp from sweat. But what could I really have done? We've had several false labors so far, you're stubborn as hell, and this labor progressed faster than either of us were told. Not even one damn hour and you're already crowning.

Your back arches suddenly, the head surges forward with a gush of fluid into my waiting hands. Your effort sends the shoulders and the rest of the big body into my hands. In less than a few moments they begin to cry loudly.

I can hardly allow myself to feel elated. We're in the middle of the wilderness with a newborn, you exhausted and no cell service. It takes all of me not to lose it at this moment.

I just need to get down the ranger cabin to get help. Despite your protest, I hand you our baby and lift you to your feet. I support your weight as best I can. You hold our new baby with one hand and rest your other arm around my shoulder. The walk is longer than it was coming up and the afterbirth is taking way too long to come out in comparison to how fast your labor was.

"It hurts..." You mumble and I try to pick up the pace.

We finally make it to the ranger cabin and your loud groans are more than enough to make the ranger investigate.

"My wife just had our baby, the afterbirth is stuck or something please help!" I yell.

The mountain ranger nods and runs to our aid. Your moaning even louder now and your knees begin to give. The mountain ranger rushes to help me usher you and our newborn into the cabin. We lead you to a couch and you immediately plop down with your legs spread.

The ranger aids our baby first, then he examines you. His face goes rigid as he palms the still swollen skin of your belly.

The mountain ranger turns his gaze to us and then looks again at your still large belly. "You sure yall were only having one baby?"

Just when he says it, your water breaks again.

We all look at the puddle on the floor, the breaking of the second waters almost comically timed.

“What… no… that’s not possible… mnghhhhh!” My sentence is cut off as another contraction squeezes my belly and everything inside. There was no way it was twins; they would have seen two babies on the ultrasounds, they would have heard two heartbeats… it just wasn’t possible. And yet, the moment the ranger asked the impossible question I could feel it - movement. There was still movement inside my big belly.

“Oh god, babe… I can feel it. I can feel another baby. And they’re coming down… hoooo”

Your face was white as a sheet as you looked between the newborn in the ranger’s arms and my squirming labouring body on the couch. Despite your obvious shock, you bent down and held my hand and stroked a dampened strand of hair behind my ear. “I guess we’re having twins then. Its okay just breathe through the contractions, just like you did before.” You try to coach me through yet another birth.

The ranger quickly called an ambulance but given our location it wasn’t going to be here for at least 45 minutes. The baby in his arms was crying and wouldn't settle. You tried, swaying the infant in your arms and cooing softly, but to no avail.

“Give her here.” I breathed heavily after an aggressive contraction. You handed me the newborn and put the babe straight on my chest and she latched immediately. She was hungry.

“You’re a natural.” You smiled with affection at your new family.

I started to whimper and groan when the next contraction hit. You offered to take the babe but I didn’t want to let her go, she was happy feeding. The unfortunate side effect of breastfeeding triggered more contractions. The noises I was making quickly turned primal as the head of my daughter's sibling pushed into the birth canal. I needed to move, the sofa was putting too much pressure on my pelvis. I threw my arm out towards you and shuffled painfully on the couch. You seemed to instinctively understand what I needed; to squat. You helped me off of the sofa to drop into a deep squat, my back against the edge of the couch, my knees jack-knifed apart. You squatted in front of me and held me steady, I grabbed onto your shoulder with my free hand, the other supporting the suckling baby.

“Ooooohh it’s coming down…gnnnhhhh!” I grunted suddenly and the baby shifted further. “Mnnnghhhh c-can you see it?” I panted.

“Not quite honey, oh wait! Yes. The top of the head, I can see it. Do you need to push?”

“Mmmm n-not yet…. Trying to wait… let the baby come down b-bit more… oh god it’s so big!” I cried out. “How did I not know there were two in there!?”

“They were obviously very good at hiding.” You tried to joke, not dwelling on the frightening fact we were coming out of these woods with two babies.

“Hoooo okay… okay…. There it is-mnnnghhhhhh!!!!!!” The baby and my body decided it was time and I found myself pushing. Hard.

The ranger came and took the baby from my arms when I started pushing, you stayed poised between my legs for the second time that day ready to deliver a baby.

“I can see hair, they’ve got hair! Keep going darling! Push!!!” You cheered, watching the bulge get bigger as the baby parted my lips.

Bracing my hands on my thighs I grunted and mooed with every push, bringing the surprise baby to a full crown in next to no time. “Get it out, get it out!” I cried, my body already exhausted and sore from the first birth and doing it all over again was too much for me to bear.

“It’s coming, just breathe, and push. Slowly darling, gentle pushes.” You instructed as your hand cupped the full crown.

I struggled to calm my breathing, my body trembling with the efforts of labour.

“Hey.” You said softly, “you’re doing brilliantly. You got this.” And you leaned forward to kiss me. A reassurance washed over me, your comfort and support and love all conveyed within the kiss.

I felt calmer, more in control, when the next contraction struck and I gave it my all on the next push. The head flew out with a gush of fluids and before you could check for a chord the rest of the baby slipped out into your waiting hands.

“A boy! We’ve got a boy!” You exclaimed with a tear in your eye, pulling the baby up and placing him straight on my chest.

“Hey little guy…” I said as I took in the first glance of my newborn son.

The ambulance arrived 20 minutes later, checking all three of us over and delivering the placenta, before taking our new family to the nearest hospital.

[these rp asks are giving me life!!! More like this please!]

#answered asks #my writing #birth denial #birth kink #birth fic #inconvenient birth #birth rp #birth prompts #birth fiction #birth roleplay

241 notes · View notes

just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 21 days

Text

Taking me higher

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember, week 1

Prompts: mile high club & service dom

Rated: E

Words: 1,232

Tags: Dom!Steve; Sub!Eddie; Fear of flying; Airplane sex; Semi-public sex

Before today, if anyone had asked Eddie what hell looked like, the answer would've come easy. Hell was a blood red sky, parched earth covered in vines, and monstrous creatures with flower-shaped maws prowling the decaying landscape. Obvious, right?

Wrong.

Hell is a two-hundred-ton sardine can, shooting through the sky at five-hundred miles an hour, the ocean stretching forty-thousand feet below. No, scratch that, thirty-nine-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine feet, because the goddamn thing just hit another air hole.

“Eddie?”

Next to him, Steve stirs. He looks infuriatingly at ease with his sleep mask pushed up into his hair and his neck pillow and the little fleece blanket with the airline’s logo on it. When he takes in the way Eddie’s fingers are white-knuckling their shared armrest, his brow furrows in concern.

“Hey, everything okay?”

“Fine,” Eddie grits out. “Peachy, don't you worry about- shit, what was that?”

“Turbulences,” Steve shrugs. Like it's fine. Like it's not a big deal. Like they aren't locked in a steel and glass deathtrap moving faster and higher than anything has a right to. “It’s okay, they haven't even switched on the seatbelt signs.”

“Okay, great,” Eddie babbles. “Perfect, I just- … shit, I didn't think it'd rattle so fucking much.”

“It gets a bit bumpy sometimes,” Steve's hand finds his, prying Eddie’s fingers from the armrest, ghosting soothing touches over his knuckles. “Just relax. Think of them as potholes.”

“Potholes, right,” Eddie mumbles. “Brilliant comparison, Stevie, so helpful. You know what, if the potholes weren't ten fucking miles deep, that might actually-”

“Baby.”

Eddie barrels to a stop. For a second, he's convinced he must've heard wrong, because why would Steve call him that now? Steve only ever calls him that when they're playing, and there's no way-

“You with me, baby?”

Steve’s voice has dropped to a low rumble, and fuck, all the training they've done must've finally stuck, because the answer is out before he even knows it.

“Yes, sir.”

Steve smiles, slow and pleased. His hand shifts to Eddie’s upper thigh. “There's my good boy.”

And yeah, the training clearly stuck way better than Eddie is comfortable admitting, because the words go straight to his dick. Steve’s hand moves, brushing the shape of him through the fabric of his pants. Eddie gasps and squirms, and that smile goes smug.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eddie hisses. He cranes his neck, casting frantic glances at the other passengers, but most of them are asleep in their seats. At the far end of the aisle, two stewardesses are talking and giggling at each other in hushed voices.

“Shhhh,” Steve says. He cups Eddie’s cock in his palm, a firm and solid pressure. “They haven't noticed. You don't want that to change, do you?”

“I- … no,” Eddie stammers. Steve’s grip tightens. “I mean … no, sir.”

“That's what I thought,” Steve smiles, giving the bulge in his pants a good-natured pat. Eddie whines and rolls his hips in his seat, greedy for more friction, more pressure. Steve removes his hand.

“Oh, come on,” Eddie groans. The lady in front of him grunts and stirs in her sleep. Eddie bites down on his own tongue.

“Now, here's what we're gonna do,” Steve says, lips tickling the shell of his ear, voice trickling down his spine like honey. “You're gonna go into the bathroom and get yourself ready for me. We'll need to be quick about it, so I'll give you … let's say three minutes before I join you.”

“Wha-” Eddie wheezes. “You wanna-… Is there even room?”

Steve chuckles. “Oh, we'll manage. I’ll just need to fuck you against the wall, nice and tight, huh?”

Eddie gawks at him. Steve raises an eyebrow and checks his watch. “I’d hurry, if I were you. Your three minutes start now.”

The bathroom is ridiculously tiny. For some reason, the movements of the plane are even more noticeable here, but Eddie doesn’t have time to dwell on that. Stumbling in on jelly-like legs, he pats his pockets until he finds what he’s been hoping for - a lonely, small package of lube. Ripping it open with his teeth, he yanks his pants down all the way to his ankles. When a few, awkward twists and turns reveal that this won’t do, he chucks off his right shoe and steps out of the pant leg entirely, propping one sock-clad foot up on the toilet bowl.

He has hardly started preparing himself when the door opens behind him. For a panicked second, he’s afraid it’s a random passenger out for a midnight piss, now faced with the sight of him, two fingers knuckle-deep up his own ass. But it’s Steve.

“Oh baby, look at you,” he whispers. Eddie hears the door lock, and then one large, strong hand caresses his hip. “So desperate for me? Tell me how bad you need it.”

Steve’s hand is casual and possessive as he cups his ass, the touch of a man taking what’s his. It makes Eddie feel owned in the best possible way. A prized possession, looked after and taken care of.

“Need it so bad,” he whines, bucking back into the touch, knowing exactly what it is that Steve wants to hear. “So desperate for your cock sir, please-”

He can’t turn, not crammed together in the tiny space as they are, but he hears how Steve’s belt and zipper come undone. That large, hard cock slaps free, hitting his ass with an obscene sound.

“My poor, greedy boy,” Steve coos. “Asking for it so nicely. Of course you can have my cock, baby.”

And then, without further preamble, he pushes in, all the way to the base. He sets a quick, relentless rhythm, not bothering to ease them into it slowly, and Eddie has to grip the toilet bowl with both hands or topple. It feels like his head being filled with fuzzy cotton. It feels the ground dropping out from under him, leaving him floating on clouds, but this time, it has nothing to do with the stupid plane.

It doesn’t take long. After a few hard thrusts, Steve moans and comes, hands digging into Eddie’s hips hard enough to bruise as he spills deep inside of him. Eddie is only seconds behind him, spilling his own release all over the toilet, and Steve shoves his fingers inside his mouth to muffle his scream.

“You good, baby?”

Eddie blinks back into reality. The ground and the walls are still rattling, but it doesn’t bother him as much, now that all of his bones have been replaced with warm jelly. Steve has pulled him out of his bent-over position and up against his chest, tucked his neck into the crook of his shoulder, and is peppering kisses over the side of his face and into his hairline.

“Perfect,” Eddie slurs. “Thank you, sir. Could stay like this forever.”

Steve laughs softly. “As much as I’d like to, I think we need to get back to our seats.”

“Aw no,” Eddie pouts. “I thought everyone was asleep. Can’t we just-”

“You’re insatiable, huh?” Steve smacks a firm kiss to his cheek as he disentangles their shaky limbs, pressing a stack of paper towels into his hand as he goes. “C’mon now, be a good boy and clean yourself up. If you make it back in three minutes, I’ll consider doing this again. There’s always a return flight, y’know?” ✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️

More smutty September

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie smutty september #hype's smutty september

164 notes · View notes

ithinkilikeit-reactions · 2 years

Text

Parties, Yachts and Wishful Thinking (Kim Mingyu)

A/N: one hell of a way to ring in the new year! I hope you guys enjoy this

Tag list: Tags: enemies to lovers, reader and Mingyu are rich, Mingyu is kind of an asshole but so is reader, parties, mentions of reader crushing on Wonwoo, drinking, cursing, tennis, yachts and pure filth

Smut tags: oral (male and female receiving), dirty talk, small size difference kink, teasing, public teasing, playing footsie, degradation, pulling out

Word Count: 7623

Tag list: @seventeenstanner@seokgyustudios @ironirene @zhongtheist @kneecoal29 @blueevelvt @fixonbreakoff @iamcool789 @gyuwhore @enhacolor @saythenameseventeen178 (not all the tags are working for some reason I’m so sorry I will send it to those who couldn’t be tagged via dm!!!!)

Tennis balls had such a specific sound as they hit the ground, a hollow thump only to be met with rhythmic smack of a tennis racket. It was a rhythm that gave you a headache every Saturday morning, as you were subjected to watching your parents play tennis at the country club.

It wasn’t entirely so that you were forced, however it was expected and that was reason enough. You had managed to escape the country club Hell during your 4 years of college under the guise that you were studying and that you were in a dorm. However now that you were done and back at home, the country club was a must and participating in tennis was also required.

Now you were entirely aware that complaining about going to a country club that cost your family thousands, if not more a year, was entirely a first world problem. You were lying if you said that your families’ wealth didn’t help you along in life, you weren’t entirely dense to believe your achievements were all natural. However you liked to believe you made less use of it in comparison to others in your position. Like Kim Mingyu for example… his family was entirely richer than yours, your family worth being about a quarter of what his was.

That was probably why your father and mother were kissing up the way they were. Losing quite obviously to him and his father, while you watched. Your fingers toying with the strings on your tennis racket in the hopes to play. Not that you actually wanted to, but it was most definitely better than simply watching. You also wanted to beat Mingyu, not lose on purpose, just so you could wipe that toothy grin off of his face.

“I’m going to switch out! You boys are exhausting me.” Your mother laughed, sitting next to you on the bench. “Oh come one Mrs. Y/L/N, we weren’t even playing that hard.” Mingyu called, hanging onto the net before lifting his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. The action made him flash that tanned chiseled stomach of his, undoubtedly from the countless trips with friends on his yacht.

“Oh it’s alright, I’ll just have Y/N play.” Your mother sat down next to you, causing Mingyu’s attention to shift to you. He had a coy smile on his face as you silently got up, your lips pursed and eyes doing everything they could to stop from rolling. You hated the club, that was obvious. But he could tell, Mingyu could most definitely tell from the few conversations he had held with you that you hated him. His eyes lingered as you tightened your ponytail and bent over to adjust your sneakers, tennis skirt hiking up in the process. Mingyu couldn’t help but notice your thighs and just how soft they looked in the white material. It was in that moment, that you walked onto the tennis court, that he had decided that he wanted you and Mingyu generally got he what he wanted.

The way Mingyu was looking at you nearly disgusted you, that was partially a reason you served the ball as hard you did. You weren’t an easy target and he would come to know that, even if it meant your parents being upset with you.

“I never knew your daughter was such a talent at tennis.” Mr. Kim laughed, grabbing his water bottle and taking a sip. On the contrary to what your parents thought, Mr. Kim didn’t mind losing. As a matter of fact, he appreciated that you didn’t let him and his son win. For the first time in a while, it had felt as if the older man had actually had a fair match. Mingyu shared the opinion, even though he knew the extra hard swings in his direction were filled with dislike.

“Me neither.” Mingyu said, wandering closer to you as he drank. Your breathing was heavy and there were small droplets of sweat coating your skin. “We should play together more often. Maybe even as partners.” His voice was low, keeping this part of the conversation between the two of you. “I don’t see that happening.” You remarked, adjusting your skirt and ponytail again. These small actions drove Mingyu absolutely insane, coupled with the way you obviously disliked him. “Why not? Think you owe it to me after aiming for me a few times during the match.” His smile was annoying yet undeniably charming.

“I wasn’t aiming for you, therefore I don’t think I owe you anything.” You stuffed your things into your bag and headed for the gate, not quite caring if your family was behind your or not. “Fine, fine. Not partners. You should come to my party this weekend though.” Mingyu called after you, placing a hand on your shoulder that you quickly shook off. “Did you say party?” Of course this was the part of the conversation your mother picked up on.

She stood beside you, holding your shoulders gently and stopping you in your tracks. Turning you to look at him again. He was beaming, obviously overjoyed at the pain you were in. “Yes, as a matter of fact I did say party.” He smiled at her, it was fake and you could see through it but your mother wasn’t as lucky. “Oh how nice.” Your mother started, toying with your hair gently as she schemed. She wanted you to get offered a job and well Mingyu’s father seemingly liked you enough, if you played your cards right you could be working right along side his son. If you played your cards even better than right, you might even be able to marry into the family. At least, that was the way your mother was thinking. It was all the last thing on your mind though you could feel yourself being roped into the party anyways.

“Well I just know Y/N had no plans, she’d be more than happy to go.” Your mother answered for you and you left your face expressionless. There was no fighting it and well, maybe you were a little curious about what Kim Mingyu’s famous parties were like. “I’m glad to hear it.” Mingyu wasn’t dense either. He could tell you didn’t like him and he could tell that you didn’t want to come to the party. He didn’t care though, he liked that your mom was so willing to suck up to him and a part of him enjoyed that you felt tortured.

“I’ll see you on Saturday, Y/N.” He smiled and patted your shoulder before walking away. His father approached you and your parents, a genuine smile on his face much different to that of his son’s. “I love that our kids get along. Y/N, I’ll be looking forward to seeing you around more often. It’s nice to have some competition on the court.” Mr. Kim’s words were nice, though he couldn’t be more wrong about you and Mingyu getting along. You appreciated his admiration of your tennis playing, the years of being forced to take lessons having paid off.

A sharp pinch to your bare shoulder made you flinch, the crystal glass still in your hand as the alcohol burned down your throat. “You’re not at the party yet, pace yourself. Behave like a lady.” Your mother said and scanned you up and down unapprovingly. Yes you were pre-gaming before the party, you figured it would be the only way you could it through in one piece. “I can guarantee you this is not the type of party where you act like a lady.” You told in her return, filling your glass with a little more of your father’s whiskey. She took it out of your hand as you went for a sip and drank out of it herself. “Behave yourself…” She told you, looking you up and down once more. Your outfit was nothing to write home about, a tight, dark, black dress that hugged your body in the right places. You weren’t aiming to impress anyone, Mingyu in particular, but that didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to look good.

You were going to behave yourself, on the contrary to your mother’s beliefs. As much as you disapproved of her needs for social validation you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it intentionally. You would go to Kim Mingyu’s house party and behave the way everyone else behaved all to make your parents happy. There was also a possibility it wouldn’t be so bad after all, you could possibly avoid him after the general helloes and the niceties.

“Never thought you would actually come.” Mingyu’s voice was loud, trying to overpower the music that was blasting through the house. You had found your way to kitchen where all the drinks were laid out and were helping yourself. Maybe you had higher expectations considering you knew his families worth but you were quite surprised to see this party was more of a college rager than anything else. Oddly enough, it made you more comfortable. You definitely knew how to behave in a setting like this.

“Oh was the invitation insincere?” You asked in return, bringing your cup to your lips. As much as you hated to admit it, Mingyu looked good. A simple black shirt undoubtedly with a hefty price tag on it couple with a denim jacket, it was hard to go wrong. His hair was purposely messy and that classic smirk was on his face. “If it was I can still leave.” You added on, crossing your arms over your chest and shooting him a look. Parents weren’t here and while you said you would behave it didn’t mean you had to act like you enjoyed his company.

“That’s the last thing I want. Think my family would be appalled if I sent a guest away. Not to mention your mom would be pretty upset if you came home so early.” Mingyu said and you hated how correct he was. Reaching around you for a cup, he got close to you with his chest nearly brushing yours. He liked your attitude, he liked the way you disliked him, he also liked the way you didn’t go out of your way to hide it. Not only that, you looked phenomenal. The dress hugging your every curve and being short enough for him to take a good look at your thighs. He simply had to come over to torment you a little.

“Everything for keeping up appearances.” You remarked, handing him an empty cup and pouring some drink in it for him. The close proximity left you a little flustered but you weren’t one to shy away from a challenge and he was most definitely challenging you. “Speaking of appearances, you look real good tonight.” He said, leaning down to put his lips by your ear. That was when you lost your words. You were flustered and speechless, not having expected a compliment from him let alone one that made you weak in the knees. Or maybe you didn’t expect the effect it had on you and it left you looking at him with big eyes.

“Hey Mingyu, come in here for a second!” One of his friends called from a different room and he let out a chuckle. He flustered you and he knew it. He was most definitely going to use it as leverage but for now, he’d leave you be. “I’ll see you later.” He said, lips still by your ear as he tried to ignore your expression. Your big eyes staring up at him like that, it was only feeding his fantasies and making him want you even more. His hand grazed over your waist as he walked away, glancing back at you with a smile before disappearing and you downed your drink.

The party wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be, spotting people you had grown up with because of your parents’ circle. More specifically Jeon Wonwoo, a man you had grown up with and well had grown to have quite the crush on. He was intelligent, good looking and kind, a trio that didn’t generally happen. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” He said, standing up from his position on the couch to give you a kiss on the cheek. “Likewise.” You returned his kiss and felt your cheeks heat up. “I didn’t know you and Mingyu were close.” You shot him a look at his words as you sat next to him on the couch. “We aren’t. I’m doing my duty as a good daughter.” You told him and he had to stifle his laugh, he was no stranger to those duties.

He was about to say something as someone entirely too drunk sat down on your other side and pressed into you uncomfortably. Wonwoo swiftly wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you to sit in his lap. “There, we can talk better like this.” He said, hand resting on your bare leg and leaving you a total mess. “So not a big fan of Mingyu?” He asked and you tried to compose yourself. “No not particularly, he’s arrogant and acts like an asshole.” You watched as he chuckled, pushing his glasses back up. “That’s Mingyu… I presume he knows you dislike him?” He asked, adjusting you in his lap as you tried not to focus on the fact that you were even on it. “I don’t hide it.” You said, allowing your hand to toy with the fabric of his shirt. You were here and so was he, might as well play into these touches a little bit.

“Yet he stilled invited you.” Wonwoo remarked, fingers now drawing shapes on your bare thigh. “Yet he still invited me. It was undoubtedly because of my undeniable charm.” You remarked, hand now on the collar of his shirt. He was smiling at you, enjoying the weight of you on him and the excuse to hold you so close. He had a crush on you too and well he didn’t think he would see you here but he couldn’t help but think it was fate. Especially as you were closing proximity with him, eyes flickering to his lips and back up to his eyes. “It was definitely your undeniable charm.” He said as his other hand stroked the side of your cheek. You sat like that for a few moments, feeling happy as you quietly chatted. Until you felt a tug on your arm.

“Hey Mingyu.” Wonwoo said, still lightly holding your thigh as you both looked up at the conversation intruder. “Hey Wonwoo, you enjoying yourself?” Mingyu asked, though he didn’t look at him. His eyes were trained on you in his friends lap and his hand on your thigh.

He had been watching the exchange from a distance, not having known you two were with familiar with eachother… let alone that familiar. This was what you were like when you liked someone. It was clear to see you had some sort of romantic feelings for Wonwoo and that made Mingyu want to mess it all up. Maybe it stemmed from a place of jealousy, but he didn’t care enough to think too long about it.

“I would say so.” Wonwoo responded and you couldn’t help but glare at Mingyu. He was disturbing this moment between you and a guy you really liked. “That’s good. Y/N, can you come with me for a second.” He asked and you shot him another look. Mingyu shot you that smile again, one that meant absolutely no good. Despite knowing better, you carefully pushed yourself off of Wonwoo’s lap. “What do you need?” You asked and Mingyu just grabbed your hand, pulling you along as you waved to Wonwoo with a confused expression.

“What the fuck is this all about Mingyu?” You asked as you two found a spot away from everyone else. “So that’s what you’re like when you have a crush on someone huh?” Mingyu smiled as if it was the juiciest news he had ever heard and well in that moment it was. You crossed your arms over your chest and looked around the room, needing to avoid looking at his face for a split moment due to anger. This was his father’s office from the looks of it and it was apparent that it was untouched by the party.

“Yes it is and what about it?” You asked and Mingyu took a few steps forward, getting in your personal space for the second time of the evening. “Nothing, I just find it amusing.” Mingyu said, looming over you. This was one thing you hated about him, he was just so much bigger than you. It made it difficult to try and intimidate him, made it difficult to look down at him. He chuckled, stepping forward again and you took a step back. Your back met the edge of his father’s desk and Mingyu got even closer. Placing a hand on either side of your body on the desk, he ducked down to your level.

“What’s so amusing about it?” You asked, trying to regain some courage and pressing your own face closer to his. You hated him, you absolutely hated him yet this whole interaction had your heart pounding and legs pressing together. “It’s amusing because, if you like Wonwoo so much what are you doing back here with me?” His question made your expression drop and he was oh so amused. Especially as his hands found your waist and his lips found yours.

Never did you think you would be kissing Kim Mingyu and never in a million years did you think you would want to. It left you frozen for a moment, needing to let it all sink in and have it occur to you just how turned on you actually were. That was when you let go, hands finding his hair and lips moving against his roughly. There were going to be consequences to these actions and you knew it but you couldn’t find yourself caring all too much. This was a party and you just wanted to have a good time.

His hands on your waist squeezed slightly, lifting you onto the desk with ease as his tongue explored your mouth. The action made you whimper, gripping his hair a little harder and spreading your legs for him to get in between them. “You must be thinking about Wonwoo right now.” Mingyu said as his hands hiked your dress up to bunch up at your hips. Truly, Wonwoo was the furthest thing from your mind. The only thing you could think about was how strong his hands were and just how needy you actually were.

“Shut up.” You told him in return, watching that awful smile you hated so much appear on his face. He was absolutely loving this, the contrast of your mean words with your welcoming actions. Flushed face and messed up dress showing of the wet patch forming on your panties. This was his kryptonite.

“A lot of big words but no actions coming from someone who hates me.” He added on and his lips brushed over your neck before sinking down to his knees. “Shu-“ “Yeah, shut up. I know, I’m working on it.” He cut you off, eyes locking with yours as his fingers hooked into your panties and pulled them down. He stuffed the ruined fabric into his back pocket without a word, spreading your delicious thighs apart to make room for his face. This was exactly what he had been imagining your soft thighs to feel like, having fantasized about them squeezing his head one too many times. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the desk before leaving a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your slit.

You absolutely hated Kim Mingyu but the image of his face between your legs and the feeling of him eating you out like a starved man made you feel nothing but bliss. Every time your eyes locked it made you even wetter and with every flick of his tongue you had to stop yourself from screaming. Your hands were gripping the edge of the desk but that wasn’t enough, finding your hand looking for his that was gripping your thighs. It was an oddly sweet moment, in the midst of all the hatred and lust however you ignored the feeling it sparked in you. His free hand moved to your clit, arms still wrapped around your thighs to keep you from going anywhere.

Mingyu was enjoying this too much, moaning against your cunt at how good you tasted and how nice your thighs felt around his head. What he enjoyed more though was that you were even here, it fed his ego (not that it needed feeding). “Mingyu-“ You moaned out, gripping his hand harder as you felt your orgasm approaching quickly. “You’re close aren’t you?” He asked, pulling away from your cunt and kissing your thigh. “No, please don’t stop- I’m so close-“ You bucked your hips while you whined, begged for him to keep going. Oh he felt so cocky at this, letting one of your thighs go to drag his fingers over your slit. His tongue had worked you up enough and he slipped two fingers into you with ease, lips wrapping around your clit. His pace was brutal, curling his fingers in you rapidly as his tongue sent shocks through your body. He kept his eyes on you the whole time, watching you unravel and throw your head back.

“Oh fuck.” You cried out, cumming harder than you ever had. You tried bucking your hips only for his hand to hold you there, his tongue not letting up until he felt your thighs shaking around his head. You were breathless, body finally letting go of all the tension you had pent up as you went slightly limp under his touch.

He looked so pleased with himself as he got up from his position, face glistening with your juices and that annoying smile right back on his face. You were absolutely breathless, just looking at him as you tried to wrap your head around what just happened.

Mingyu leaned forward and just when you thought he was going to kiss you again, he laughed. “I’ll see you back at the party.” He said, watching your expression drop before turning around and leaving the room. Yeah, he had you right where he wanted you and you were just speechless. Totally and utterly shocked, you were left sitting on his father’s desk. Your dress was still bunched up at your hips and well, your panties were in his back pocket. For a split moment, you had felt something of adoration for him and maybe that was just the orgasm speaking. You didn’t think he would leave you like this.

Now boiling with anger, you pushed yourself off of the desk and your legs wobbled a little. You pulled your dress back down and tried to make yourself a little more decent though you couldn’t do much to help the feeling between your legs. This was truly your lowest point, you thought to yourself as you took a deep breath before leaving the office. Even though you were fully covered up again, you felt so exposed, knowing Mingyu had your panties in his back pocket. You felt even worse seeing him standing in the living room, talking with his friends as if he didn’t just eat you out. You wanted to walk up to him, yell at him and well maybe even hit him.

“Hey, are you alright?” Wonwoo asked, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You turned to look at him and a wave of guilt flowed through your body. “I’m alright.” You told him, feigning a smile and trying to divert your attention away from the menace across the room. “What was that with Mingyu all about?” He asked, still smiling at you sweetly. If only he knew. “Oh nothing, family stuff.” You lied through your teeth and Wonwoo nodded, being blissfully unaware.

Mingyu was once again watching the exchanged though this time with a different energy. He felt cocky, his ego was entirely inflated and well Wonwoo didn’t seem like a problem anymore. Afterall, he was the one who’s name you were moaning no ten minutes ago and your panties were burning a hole in his back pocket.

It took you two weeks after the party to show your face at the country club again. You weren’t embarrassed or anything, you hardly doubted Mingyu told anyone. No you just simply didn’t want to see him. Not only that, you couldn’t look Wonwoo in the eyes anymore and avoided his messages at all times. The worst thing about it all was that you could feel yourself getting feelings for him and you hated yourself for it.

So you channeled your anger back into tennis. Your parents telling you to play singles against Mingyu was perfectly timed, you would hate for his father to get caught in the crossfire. No both of your parents were sat on the side lines, chatting away over their drinks as you bounced the tennis ball on the court. Avoiding eye contact as you served the ball as hard as you could, a small grunt leaving your body in response. He didn’t even have the chance to swing for the ball as it flew past him, making him laugh.

“You seem angry.” He called out and you remained silent, letting him serve the ball to you now. You rallied a few times, still quiet and avoiding any eye contact until he scored. For some reason that was the straw for you, walking off the court and grabbing your bag wordlessly. Just as you were about to leave, your mother called you and Mingyu both over. Mingyu knew what this was about and he knew you would possibly explode after hearing the news, while part him was amused at the thought another part of him felt a small wave of remorse.

“The Kim’s invited us on vacation with them on their yacht! Isn’t that wonderful?” Your mother clapped her hands and your father smiled at you. You felt your heart sink, just knowing that on a yacht there was no way to escape anyone. You and Mingyu, in extremely close quarters with your pushy mother watching. It sounded like your own personal hell, a personal hell you would be experiencing sooner than you cared for. “I promise I’ll be nice.” Mingyu said softly, loud enough only for you to hear as your parents happily discussed the vacation plans. You glared at him, before closing your eyes for a moment and re-evaluating the situation. Turning back to your parents, you put on a large smile before saying: “That sounds absolutely wonderful, I can’t wait.”

There was a part of you that wanted revenge. You wanted to drive Mingyu as nuts as you possibly could and make him feel the way you had been feeling. That was the thought you had when you packed your suitcase and the thought you had when you slipped on that revealing bikini on the yacht. You were simply going to get a tan on the deck and it was a harmless act.

With your book in hand and towel in the other, you wandered on deck and past your mother who didn’t even look at you twice. She was on drink number 4 of the early afternoon while your father was undoubtedly somewhere with Mingyu’s chatting about work. Mingyu was on the deck, taking pictures of the water and coast as you purposely brushed against him to get past. “Look out… doll.” Mingyu stuttered over his words as you simply kept walking, not expecting the way you looked or the way you ignored him.

He watched you spread out the towel on a chair and lay down on your back, opening your book. His eyes were burning holes into your skin, never having seen you quite so bare before despite having eaten you out. Thin, measly strings being the only thing truly separating him from you and he had to swallow thickly before stepping towards you, camera at the ready. He snapped a picture of the view again, this time including you in the image. It was something for him to savor later on.

“What are you doing Mingyu?” You asked, a knowing tone in your voice as you caught the camera shifting your way fully. He didn’t look surprised that he was caught, as a matter of fact he didn’t care. Simply stepping even closer and training the camera on you more. “Admiring the view, you look good doll.” He said and snapped another picture of you. You couldn’t let your confidence falter, not now. You didn’t want to give him the upper hand, so you flipped over onto your stomach and shut your book. Reaching around to undo the tie of your bikini top, Mingyu’s breath hitched for a moment and put the camera down. “Would absolutely hate to get tan lines.” You remarked and Mingyu let out a chuckle. He wasn’t dense, he could sense what you were doing and he wasn’t going to show weakness. Absolutely not, no, he wanted to see you weak for him, not the other way around. “I’ll see you at dinner, doll.” He commented and walked away.

A part of you felt proud, another part of you wasn’t satisfied yet though. You wanted to make him squirm and decided dinner was the perfect time to do just that.

The way you walked into the dining room radiated confidence, another pretty little dress on your body similar to the one you wore to his party. Heels clicking on the wooden floor as you wandered over to your seat, directly across from Mingyu. You greeted his family first of course. Bowing towards his father who was smiling brightly at you.

“Miss Y/N, you look lovely.” He commented and your mother accepted the compliment for you. Finding a way to make the situation about herself. “Ah yes I was with her when she picked the dress out-“ You caught the start of her rambling but tuned it out once you realized it was a bit of meaningless conversation, training your attention to Mingyu. His eyes were shamelessly following your body line, all the way down to your strappy heels. Oh he was absolutely loving this, despite how crazy you were making him. If it wasn’t for both of your parents he’d pick you up and have you right on the dining table if you’d let him. However that would also mean he had given in to your teasing and he wasn’t quite ready to do that… just yet.

Once everyone was seated and eating, the conversation flowed naturally. You found yourself genuinely enjoying Mingyu’s family, especially his father when it came to conversation. He spoke to you and regarded you for your talents without the expectation of you adjusting your answers to his preferences. It made you wonder if Mingyu had that side as well, stealing glances at him during dinner. Though he was particularly quiet, incredibly focused on the way you looked and the way you ate and drank. Red wine staining your lips slightly in the most attractive way. He was starting to have other feelings, feelings he was trying his hardest to ignore, feelings that put him deep in thought.

That was until your foot grazed over his ankle and he froze for a moment. It didn’t mean anything, it was surely just an accident. At least that was what he thought. Now feeling your foot slightly trail up his ankle, dragging his pant leg with it. His tongue dragged along his lip as he tried to hide his expressions. He was impressed with you and the way you flipped the script. He was even more impressed with how you were maintaining conversation, your wine glass in hand and not even sparing him a second glance. Your foot trailed higher, reaching his knee before hiking just a little further and brushing his thigh. You then pulled your leg back, not touching him anymore and ignoring his questioning expression. Then you repeated your actions again, allowing your foot to trail higher and higher each time.

Mingyu was suffering to put it lightly, pants getting tighter and tighter. His patience was also wearing thin, the more you ignored him the more he wanted you and he was going insane. He had your nonchalant expression burned in his brain along with the memory of your thighs around his head playing over and over. You glanced over to him for the first time in what felt like forever in him, needing to stifle a laugh at his expression before faking a yawn.

“Dinner was absolutely lovely but I think I’m going to turn in to bed.” You stood up from your seat, only for Mingyu to not subtly join you. He had no other thought than wanting to pin you against the nearest surface. “I’ll walk you and go to bed too.” He said, bowing deeply to your parents before saying goodnight to his own family.

He managed to wait until you were around the corner and out of earshot of your parents before grabbing your hand. “You’re playing a slick game today.” He remarked, pushing you into the wall gently and trapping you between his arms. Oh yes, you had him right where you wanted him. “I’m only doing what you’ve done before.” You blinked up at him, making sure your hand found the collar of his dress shirt. Your fingers toyed with the fabric before pulling him down to your level even more. He was now eye level with you, breath fanning over your lips. “Not nice to feel like this, is it?” You asked, now letting your arms fall to your sides. You were great at feigning innocence but so was he, it simply felt like justice.

“You’re toying with me when I’m so much bigger than you.” He couldn’t stand it anymore, he had let you have your fun. Grabbing your waist, he lifted you up and placed you over his shoulder. It was useless to fight it, especially with one of his hands gripping your ass to support you. You had finally pushed him far enough and while a few weeks ago the thought of him with you disgusted you, you now wanted it more than ever.

Mingyu pushed open your bedroom door with one hand before barging in, not hesitating to toss you on the bed for one moment. You sat up on your elbows, looking at him towering over you at the foot of the bed and crossed your legs on instinct. You needed some friction, some instant relief as you watched him unbutton his shirt. He was taking his time, not nearly as rushed as the party no three weeks prior. Mingyu was intent on making this night last. You sat up fully once he reached the last button, revealing his gorgeous tan skin and muscular stomach. He left the shirt on, simply open as he leaned down to your level. His hand coming up and tilting your chin up to look him in the eyes before kissing you.

His grip on your chin got stronger as the kiss escalated, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You hummed and allowed your hand to find his chest, moving your fingers down over his muscles and to the waist band of his pants. You could feel his body tense up at your touches, making you giggle into the kiss.

He instantly pulled away, standing over you again in a menacing manner. It didn’t help that you were simply smiling up at him, blinking so innocently. “Get on your knees.” He ordered suddenly, making your eyes go wide. “What? Nothing to say now. You like to laugh and giggle at me so much.” He leaned forward again squeezing your cheeks with one hand. “I’ll give you something to giggle at. Get on your fucking knees.” His words went straight to your core and the second he let your face go, you dropped to the ground on your knees. His very, very obvious hard on being directly in front you. “You know what to do.” He told you again and you had to admit that this side of him was very attractive, thought you also knew he would hold your submissiveness against you later.

You unbuttoned his pants and slowly dragged the zipper down, pulling his pants down to his thighs together with his boxers. Cock hard and red, precum leaking from the tip from all of your teasing. Mingyu didn’t want to wait any longer, he wanted those wine stained lips of yours to be put to use. Grabbing his thighs, you licked a stripe up his cock and let your nails dig into his skin. Your tongue swirled around his tip before feeling him buck his hips to urge you to take more. Wrapping your lips around him slowly, trying to keep teasing him. It was simply too fun to stop and he could tell. Mingyu looked down at you between groans, fisting your pretty done up hair to push his cock further into your mouth.

“You play around too much.” He grumbled as his cock hit your gag reflex, fucking your mouth slowly. Your eyes started watering but you kept looking up at him, loving the feeling of your mouth being used and mascara running down your cheeks. Not to mention the way Mingyu looked, losing more and more of his self-control. His head thrown back, dress shirt open and slowly sliding down one of his shoulders and the way he bit at his bottom lip to contain his groans. He stopped thrusting, your nose pressing against his lower stomach as he filled your throat. Tears were flowing freely now and you didn’t care what you looked like, being used never felt so good and you were sure your panties were absolutely ruined.

He pulled out of your mouth, leaving your mouth and you gasped for air. Wiping your lips while looking at him as he regained composure. “For someone who hates me so much you sure love being used by me.” He knelt down and gathered your hair in a ponytail to see your whole face, taking in the tear streaks and smudged mascara. It was like a beautiful piece of art.

Mingyu gripped your jaw again, this time making you both stand as he sloppily kissed you. Not caring that he could taste himself on your tongue. He tugged on your makeshift ponytail exposing your neck for him to kiss down it. “Mingyu-“ You let out choked moan, throat feeling raw from it’s previous abuse. You could feel him biting down your neck, sucking marks in odd places that you most definitely wouldn’t be able to hide from anyone. He let go of your hair, now using his hands to tug down your dress. Biting and kissing at the new exposed skin as you pushed his dress shirt fully off of his shoulders and down to the ground. Your dress fell to the ground not far after and Mingyu pushed you back onto the bed.

“You know, you look so pretty with mascara down your face.” Mingyu commented, looking at your tear stained cheeks. “Told you I’d give you something to giggle about.” He added on, leaning over you and allowing his fingers to hook into your panties and pulling them down. He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh near your sopping cunt but not close enough to give any relief. “Maybe I’ll keep these too. Start a collection.” He remarked, holding up your panties before tossing them to the side. “Shut up.” You said in return, not being able to really think of anything clever to say in this state. Mingyu chuckled, body now full covering yours chest to chest. “Can’t think of anything to say?” He asked you, letting your hands move up his muscular arms and grip his shoulders. “Just fuck me already.” You stuttered, looking him in the eyes.

He sat up in bed nearly immediately, hands finding your hips to pull your cunt closer to his cock. His hand wrapped around the base, moving to drag his tip over your folds and spreading your juices around. You were already a moaning mess and he hadn’t even done anything yet but tease you.

“I could make you beg.” Mingyu suggested, moving both of your legs to rest on his shoulder. “No, please don’t-“ You started not even realizing how needy you sounded. “Please Mingyu, please fuck me.” You begged, giving him the upper hand once again. “I didn’t even have to tell you too.” He smiled again, his finger tip running over your slit before spreading your folds with his cock.

He slammed himself into you fully, giving you not a quick moment to adjust as you cried out. You felt so full and stretched out, it felt so good that tears were brimming your eyes again. Pressing your knees to your chest, he hovered over you and started pounding into your cunt. Every drag of his cock hitting that sweet spot in you and making you moan. It was making you worried that both of your parents could hear you, but that thought was quickly fucked right back out of you as Mingyu leaned down to kiss you.

“Please make me cum, please.” You begged against his lips, not caring anymore how pathetic you sounded. You were so close to cumming you just needed that little thing to send you over the edge. Mingyu adjusted your position, spreading your legs and pressing them into the mattress. This gave him the perfect view of his cock sinking into your cunt and just the right angle to have you shaking. “Fuck I’m cumming.” You cried, tears fully streaming down your cheeks as you clenched around him and gripped the sheets.

Mingyu’s thrusts didn’t let up, feeling you squeeze him tighter and tighter. “Your pussy is so tight and fucking wet.” He grunted, nails digging into your thighs. You whimpered in response, overstimulation making your body limp under his touch. “I should have fucked you at the party.” He added on and you hummed again, your hands finding his arms to scratch down them. You could feel another orgasm building, his words and the overstimulation really hitting you hard.

“Can’t believe you let me fuck you silly.” He moaned, feeling you clamp down around him again, You let out a small cry, cumming even harder than before. That was enough for Mingyu, pulling out of you and wrapping his hand around his cock. Pumping it a few times before cumming over your cunt with a groan. You watched his face contort and his abs tense, taking in the sounds he made.

He sat there for a moment, catching his breath with his mouth agape. He glanced over to the mess he made, smiling at how messy your cunt looked because of him. “Look at how messy you let me make you.” He was back to teasing again, his finger coming out to circle over your clit. He laughed at how you wiggled away from him with a pout. Your body felt sore and relieved all at the same time, finally having fucked Kim Mingyu. “I’m sore already.” You mumbled and he stood up from the bed. A wave of fear took over you as you remembered the way he left you at his party.

“I’ll be right back.” He said, walking into the adjacent bathroom and grabbing a cloth. He wasn’t going to leave you this time, admittedly he felt bad about it after seeing your response. He must have truly hurt your feelings and that resonated with him. Mingyu loved teasing you but to fuck you and leave you, that was cruel.

He came back with a wet washcloth and helped you clean up. You could feel your body relax, knowing he wasn’t going to leave you and a weird feeling in your chest as he cleaned you up. An even weirder feeling settled over you as he laid down next to you, arm wrapping around your waist to pull you into his chest. You hated Kim Mingyu, truly but you also had a soft spot for him. One that prevented you from fully staying away from him. Something you took note of as he kissed your forehead sweetly.

“Have you gone out with Wonwoo since my party?” Mingyu asked, breaking the thoughtfull silence. A part of him was jealous at the mere thought, something that sparked him pulling you aside in the first place. “He’s texted and I’ve texted back. Nothing more than that though.” You responded, not quite being able to hide your smile at his tone. “Haven’t particularly been able to look him in the eyes since that night.” You added on and Mingyu let out a hearty chuckle, pushing his hair out of his face in the process. “Good. He’s not good enough for you anyways.” You smacked him lightly at his words before he cupped your cheeks and kissed you roughly, knocking the air out of your lungs for a moment.

“Don’t date him. Besides, dad’s going to offer you a job at the company tomorrow, he seems to like you something about you being smart and hardworking. Either way you should take the job, that way I can fuck you on every desk in the building.”

A/N: this is something a little different than what I normally do, so let me know what you think!!! I said I wanted to write some longer stories instead of reactions so I hope this is the step in that direction!!

#mingyu #mingyu smut #seventeen #seventeen reaction #seventeen smut #mingyu reaction

3K notes · View notes

absolutebl · 6 months

Text

Top 10 Best BLs on Gagaoolala

My Beautiful Man AKA Utsukushii Kare

Japan 2021

One of the most Japanese BLs to release in the last decade, as weird and as messed up as any 2000s yaoi: emo af and hella warped, entirely true to itself with no attempt made to modify its POV for modern sensibilities or current BL fandom. It used seriously old school problematic and kinky tropes, like whipping boy, for a truly uncompromising piece that also manages to hit up themes of communication, consent, and self acceptance. It’s a wonderful BL but uniquely dirty and harsh, in the best possible way - Japanese cinema, uncompromising.

I lost my ever loving mind over the ending. This show won the Grand Prix “My Best TV Award” at the 16th Galaxy Awards.

Minato's Laundromat AKA Minato Shouji Coin Laundry

Japan 2022

A classic age gap romance where a high school student pursues the man of his dreams (who runs a laundromat). This BL is so steeped in yaoi nostalgia, not to mention a classic romance arc, that it will overload some, but those of us who love this genre for its DNA will adore it. It made me very happy because it did everything I want a BL to do - there’s not much more I could ask of a show than this. It’s the closest Japan has come to perfect live action yaoi since Seven Days (and I never make that comparison lightly).

Squee watch-along here.

My Ride

Thai 2022

Thai BL grew up with this pulp (the first ever to make my end of year top 10). It’s a truly lovely and special little show featuring the extremely rare pairing of sunshine/sunshine (AKA a cinnamon roll couple) plus mature explorations of relationships using one of the softest, sweetest, and most innocent friends to lovers vehicles. Kindly, overworked doctor meets broken-hearted motorcycle taxi driver in an “other side of the tracks” slow burn romance. The support cast is excellent, making for great friendship groups and family dynamics. With honest queer rep that adds to, but doesn’t impede, the story, and genuine conversation about the nature of class, wealth, and classism, not to mention communication, honesty, and respect for boundaries, you can’t go wrong with this show. In other news, I am a sucker for a single dimple.

Takara & Amagi AKA Takara-kun to Amagi-kun

Japan 2022 I gnawed on my knuckles and squealed a lot with this BL. Reserved cool kid who must learn to communicate to keep the tiny disaster nugget he’s madly in love with. It is beyond charming: soft and gentle, packed with cuteness and high school angst, thirst, & yearning. Was there plot? Not really. Was it emotionally tense and paced well enough for me not to notice? Absolutely. Did I enjoy the hell out of it? Oh yes.

Kiseki: Dear to Me

Taiwan 2023

The plot is totally ridiculous and slightly unhinged, but that’s normal for Taiwan. It involves all the tropes under a very casual framework of gay mafia gangs + food = love. Absolutely every character is queer. There’s a gum-ball machine of cameos, elder gay rep, great chemistry from all pairs, and a KILLER side couple. As a result Kiseki is a poster child for Taiwanese BL, and I happen to love Taiwanese BL. Bonus? They also managed to END IT WELL, which we cannot expect from Taiwan.

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho

Japan 2023

This style of live action yaoi really only works from Japan. Basically: boys who fell in love in college end up living together but both are so repressed they actually don't realize they're in love. It's higher heat than we usually get from Japan's HEA stuff, and that part is also very well done, but it leaned into the "why don't they just talk for fuck's sake?" trope which is only exacerbated into undiluted frustration by the fact that they're already fucking. It's great, but watching requires more patience than usual, even for Japan.

Our Dining Table AKA Bokura no Shokutaku

Japan 2023

A lonely salaryman and talented cook gets accidentally adopted by a college kid and his little brother. I was always gonna love this show if they stuck to the manga (which is very dear to my heart). And they did, paralleling it almost exactly. It’s a quiet & cozy little parable of found family alleviating loneliness. Possibly too slow for some but definitely high up there for me as the best of what Japan can do with softness (like Restart After Come Back Home). It’s only flaw (if I dare say such a thing) is that it is not really “romantic.” Lovely & sweet but the romance beats are being used to build a family relationship, not just couple intimacy, but that's OK with me. This is a very safe show for anyone to watch.

Step By Step

Thai 2023

This was Thailand’s answer to The New Employee, and everything I loved about that show I loved about this one. This office romance between a stern boss and sweet subordinate felt more authentic to cubical work than previous Thai BLs of this ilk. That authenticity added tension to the narrative and its characters development (how novel). I also really enjoyed the charming side characters and the brothers' relationship to each other (although I could have done without that brother's side BL).

Long Time No See

Korea (Strongberry) 2017

Catfishing assassins on either side of a turf war who fall in love not knowing they are on opposite sides. Or do they? Suspenseful plot, good fight sequences, mature characters, hot sexitimes and even hotter beating the shit out of each other and kissing while covered in blog (this came from KOREA?), plus an HEA. One of the hidden gems of the BL genre.

About Youth

Taiwan 2022

A truly lovely little coming of age high school BL with a classic YA low drama but high angst and an earnest depth. I didn’t even mind the singing, and that’s saying a lot. A weak seme/uke dynamic but tons of BL tropes (both rare in a high school setting but common for Taiwan) makes this one feel both sweet and colored by real world authenticity and grit.

Some of these shows ALSO appeared on Viki or iQIYI, but these BLs will appear only once on these round up posts (here for Gaga), not on the other platforms top 10.

(source)

This list updated Spring 2024, not responsible for cool stuff that aired on Gaga (or was taken off the platform) after that date.

This is part of a series more here:

337 notes · View notes

copper-16 · 5 months

Text

Hothead

Jule gets injured, and Lena tries to deal with her worry on top of the fact that she's still trying to keep it a secret that she's hopelessly in love with her best friend.

Luckily for her? Someone happens to feel the exact same way.

(a/n: Someone asked me MONTHS ago to write this...and well I'm like 6 months late but better late than never I suppose! Also I started writing this when Feli was still at Wolfsburg so she's still at Wolfsburg for the sake of I was too lazy to change what I had already written, take it or leave it.

I love getting to write Obi...so much. Like SO much! So much that I actually didn't edit this at all I just scrolled over it really fast and said MEH it's probably good to post (so sorry if there are mistakes). Also this is cross posted from ao3 because I'm pretty sure the request was sent on here, if I remember correctly. But anywho, enjoy!)

It was a dirty foul.

It was a really dirty foul, in fact, and pretty much all of the Wolfsburg girls are ready to throw hands when they see what has occurred.

Jule had been taking the ball up the right side of the pitch after Obi had sent her a lovely little long ball, when the Werder Bremen defender had gone right for her ankle instead of the ball. It was a crunching tackle, a dangerous and thoughtless one from the Werder player, and it sent the blonde winger tumbling to the ground with a cry of pain.

It was late in the game, they were up by one goal anyways, but as soon as Jule was hitting the ground, all hell broke loose. The Wolfsburg players were immediately going for the Werder defender who dared to hurt their golden girl, none leading the charge more than Lena.

The brunette was halfway across the field from Jule when she went down, but suddenly Lena was right next to Jule as she pressed her face into the grass, her ankle ringing with pain.

“Jule? Are you okay, should I get the medic?” Lena asks softly, her face close to Jule’s. The blonde can smell the patchouli and ylang-ylang of her perfume, and the way that Obi tugs her kit down from where it had ridden up before she placed her hand gently on the wingers back.

Jule hated the medic. She hated going down, didn’t want to hog attention away from the others, stop play, or force a substitution to be made unless it was absolutely necessary.

But the pain in her ankle isn’t subsiding in the way it should be, and she knows that she won’t be able to walk it off like she normally should. The blonde screwed her eyes shut in frustration as she nodded, moving to turn over on her side and eventually back as Lena began to flag down the team medic.

Which of course, happened to be the exact same time that the Werder defender decided to open her mouth, her words callous and unkind.

“Oh Jesus, why is she being such a baby? She’s fine, I hardly touched her,” the defender scoffed, and here’s the thing.

Lena knew that she had a reputation for how easily she found herself in the middle of a fight. It was a fair one, she knew that. The midfielder was the one most likely in her team to be found arguing with the referee, or to get into some sort of a brawl with another player, or something of the sort.

But her hot headedness in general paled in comparison to any sort of reaction that she had when it involved her blonde teammate.

It was a known fact at Wolfsburg that Lena and Jule just had an inexplicably close relationship. Ever since the winger had joined the German side, her and the midfielder had been completely inseparable.

For the older women in the team, the writing is on the wall, clear as day. But Jule is rather oblivious to the fact that her best friend is hopelessly in love with her. She would never imagine that Lena would actually reciprocate what she told herself was a silly little crush.

But it wasn’t just that, for either side.

Jule was gentle, maybe not always on the pitch but she was known for being incredibly sweet. Lena wasn’t exactly known for her saccharine like personality, but her and Jule just always seemed to work together. The midfielder was fiercely protective of the younger girl, whether that be batting away creepy men at clubs or making sure that she had eaten that day. It was the fact that they were complete opposites that seemed to make them work so well together, totally balancing one another out. Jule had this uncanny ability to calm Lena down, no matter what was occurring, whether it be in a game or when they are getting too competitive playing a board game with teammates. And in kind, Lena makes sure that Jule isn’t stepped on or bothered by anyone around her.

So for someone to say something like, something that is so blatantly rude and careless, all of the Wolfsburg girls were immediately turning to Lena, knowing what was about to happen.

“Oh you absolute BITCH–” Lena started as she turned toward the woman in a second, and she would have slammed right into her if it wasn’t for Feli, who wrapped her arms around the brunette at the last second and pulled her away.

“Not helping right now Miss Hothead,” Feli grunted out as she hauled Lena back with everything in her, the midfielder still practically snarling at the woman as she strained against her teammate heavily.

“Lena?”

The brunette turns on a dime at the sound of her name being called softly by the winger, and Feli nearly falls over at how quickly the midfielder moves away from her, completely abandoning her course of action in favor of turning toward Jule. It wasn’t very often that Jule used her real name as opposed to calling her Obi like the other girls, but when she did, the brown eyed girl knew to pay attention.

The blonde didn’t actually need the midfielder, but she knew that Lena was on the cusp of a yellow card, and the last thing she wanted to do was turn this into a card party, especially not when Lena had managed to make it through nearly the whole game without one.

“Are you alright?” Lena asked as she knelt down next to the winger, the anger wiped from her face in favor of a kinder, softer expression, the kind that was only reserved for Jule, and Jule alone.

Her eyebrows were knit together lightly, her head tilted to the side in worry as she looked down at her teammate, who shook her head slightly.

“It's a bad sprain or a possibly fracture,” Jule explained, parroting what the medic had told her as he nodded along. Lena hated the fact that she could tell Jule was trying not to cry, and it made her equal parts sad and murderously mad at the defender for causing the blonde to hurt this much.

“Help me up?” the blonde asked, breaking Lena out of her train of thought as she nodded. But the German midfielder was more than a little panicked, staring down at Jule who was looking at her with big, misty eyes, and clutching at her ankle.

The brunette hardly even thought about it, she simply acted. She didn’t think about the setting or the consequence, but rather on what was right in front of her.

The older girl reached down, hooking her arms around Jule’s back and under her knee, and lifting her into the air with a slightly scary lack of effort. Suddenly the blonde’s face was right in front of her own, and Obi could stare directly into the wingers eyes.

(Behind them stood Ewa, Alex, and Feli who, alongside thousands of fans, all but had their jaws on the ground)

But Lena isn’t focused on that, but rather the way Jule is looking at her, her eyebrows pulled together in concern. The wingers face is red, if not from exertion than from this interaction, and the midfielder can see the baby hairs that have loosened from her ponytail and frame her face.

“Obi?” Jule asked, her voice very soft, only loud enough for the brunette to hear.

“Yes?” She replied instantly, her heart jumping into her throat.

Sometimes Lena had these…moments with Jule, where she thought maybe it was possible that the other girl felt just as strongly as she did.

“I can walk…I–I need to walk off the pitch,” Jule said, louder this time, and Lena startled at her words, despite still holding the blonde safely in her arms.

The moment popped like a needle, and the brunette flushed an even deeper shade of red at the realization that she was definitely just kidding herself.

It simply wasn’t possible that Jule felt the same for her as she did.

“Right! Yes, well, here we are,” Lena said quickly very carefully lowering Jule to the ground and waiting for the medic to

Which left their teammates to watch the whole interaction, Alex, Ewa, and Feli still standing in a line as they looked back and forth between the winger and midfielder.

“Did she just–” Alex started, her voice incredulous as she was cut off.

“Yes.” Ewa says, never one to mince words.

“In the middle of a–” Feli tried this time, faltering when the Polish forward answered yet again.

“Yep.” The striker said again, and the three women were stuck standing there in amazement at what had just occurred.

“Hopeless lovesick idiots, the both of them!” Lynn whisper shouted as she walked past the trio from just behind them, her hand cupped over her mouth as though she was trying to be sly, despite the volume of her voice.

But neither Jule nor Lena heard their scheming teammates, both of them too focused on trying to get the winger off the pitch to be paying attention to their teammates. Obi helped Jule to wrap her arms around the shoulders of the medic as she hobbled off the field, Vivien taking her place on the pitch.

Lena doesn’t bother looking toward her coach, she knows that she won’t get a sub out, not this late in the game. But her heart isn’t really in it anymore, it’s back in the medical room where she knows that Jule is, probably getting an x-ray or something of the sort.

Not that it really matters though. Jule’s injury has sucked the energy out of the match as quickly as it had come, and it ends up being a passing game for Wolfsburg for the remaining few minutes of the game.

Meanwhile, Jule had just gotten situated on a bed in the medical room when Svenja had burst in the doors, her eyes searching for and immediately finding the blonde winger. The older woman hadn’t been playing, had only been sitting on the bench when Jule had gone down, and had instantly gone to get permission to go check on the younger German.

It wasn’t news to anyone that Svenja was absolutely the team Mom of the group, now even more so because she was an actual Mom. But she always made it her mission to look out for the younger girls, in whatever way she could.

Like when they got hurt, and she knew that they would likely be stressed and in pain. Jule can’t help the relief that washed over her when the door swung open to reveal Svenja, her eyes watering.

“Hey kid,” the forward soothed gently as she came to stand next to Jule, who swallowed thickly as she did her best to offer a smile, even if it came out as more of a grimace than anything else. It was Svenja who sat with her for the next twenty minutes as they ran more tests, brought in a portable x-ray machine, determining that it was a small fracture in her ankle. It was minor, she would likely be out for the next four weeks and in a boot, but it meant that she wouldn’t have to have surgery, which of course was good news.

The doctors had just given her a boot to wear as well as some crutches, slipping out of the room and leaving Jule to get down from the table, when they first heard it.

At first glance, it sounded like a commotion in the hallways, and Jule thought that maybe it was the girls celebrating the win.

But it only took a second for her to realize that was in fact not the case. It’s Obi’s voice that she hears, high and shrill. The midfielder sounds beyond stressed and panicked, and Jule feels her eyebrows furrow in concern at the noise.

“Where is sh–” Obi cuts herself off when she all but busts open the door to the med room, Feli hot on her heels.

“Jule!” the midfielder exclaims, her eyes widening as she realized that she had found the winger.

“Jesus, did we have to sprint the whole way?” Feli pants, following Obi into the room with sarcasm dripping from her tone. Svenja forces down a chuckle but Lena doesn’t even bother paying her any mind, her eyes wild with concern.

“Are you okay? What did the doctor say? Is everything alright? Do you need–” Lena started, only for Svenja to very quickly cut her off, sensing that the German midfielders' panicked energy was not what this room needed right now.

“Feli, could you help Jule with her boot and crutches while I talk to the lovely Ms. Oberdorf for a second?” Svenja said, a question that wasn’t really a question at all as she drug the brunette out of the room, leaving Feli and Jule both to stare after them, a little bit lost but shrugging all the same.

Svenja closed the door behind them, turning to Obi with a disapproving glint in her eyes.

“Okay, you need to get it together lover girl, because you can’t–” Svenja started, but Obi shook her head, pulling back in clear disagreement, her expression weak.

“Lover girl? I don’t even know what you’re talking abou–” she started, only for Svenja to double it and cut her off again.

“You can save the denial for someone who actually believes you. We all know you love that girl, it’s about as clear as a sky blue sunny day, but perhaps we aren’t ready to have that exact conversation. So for now, I need you to calm the hell down and rein it in. You’re here to help that poor girl relax, not to stress her out with a game of twenty questions. Understand?” Svenja asked bluntly, knowing that sweet talking her way with Obi wasn’t something that was really all that necessary.

The midfielder swallowed thickly before she nodded, her cheeks tinged with pink from embarrassment. But Svenja just pays her no mind, turning back toward the med room, where Feli and Jule were having a conversation of their own.

Obi had to give herself a bit of a pep talk before she went back into the room, and by the time she reenters the med room, Jule is upright with a boot and crutches.

“Lena, I’m going to take Jule home, would you like to come with us?” Svenja prompted, gesturing as subtly as she could toward Jule.

It didn’t matter either way, because her sentence was barely done before the midfielder was responding.

“Yes, absolutely!” Lena chirped out, her voice about two octaves higher than normal. Jule was a little pink in the face from using the crutches, but she still looked up with a quirked brow, entirely unimpressed with how fake her friend's voice sounded.

She chose not to comment on it further, her foot throbbing painfully inside the boot as she made her way slowly out to the car. The winger is so focused on her journey, in fact, that she hardly notices the way that Lena hovers behind her, just on the off chance that Jule stumbles and needs help.

She also entirely misses the several eye rolls from both Feli and Svenja as they walked out to the car, both women equally annoyed by their collective cluelessness.

Not my circus not my monkeys, the defender mouthed to the forward, whose face immediately dropped in indignation.

“Yes it is!” She exclaimed, shooting a dazzling (and decidedly fake) smile at both Obi and Jule when they turned back around, equally confused by the seemingly random words.

But Feli waved them off, a thrilled grin on her face at Svenja’s little outburst. The defender helped get Jule into the forward's car before saying goodnight to her teammates and heading back to her own apartment. Lena followed Svenja’s car in her own, figuring it would be good for them to have possible means of transportation if they needed anything.

It was Svenja who helped Jule instead, getting her set up on the couch and dolling out pain medication before she began to go over the list of what to do with Lena.

She didn’t bother with asking the brunette if she was staying with Jule, she just…always had been. There was no use in denying the inevitable, really.

“Okay, and you call me if you need anything, alright? Even if it’s the middle of the night,” Svenja told Jule, who gave her a small smile and a nod.

“Yes, yes, of course Mom. Thank you for everything today,” the blonde replied softly, and the older woman squeezed her arm affectionately before seeing herself, leaving only the winger and midfielder in Jule’s apartment.

It was hardly the first time that Lena had been here, quite the opposite really. The two of them were practically inseparable, and spent most of their time together, at one of their two apartments.

Obi was so used to Jule’s apartment, the younger girl practically considered her a roommate. The second bedroom had a dresser with her clothes in it and a toothbrush for her in the bathroom, so it wasn’t that big of a stretch honestly.

But for some reason the midfielder can’t seem to sit still today, floating around the apartment doing odds and ends, asking Jule if she needs something every few minutes (seconds, really), and exerting a rather tumultuous energy over the whole place.

After about fifteen minutes, Jule sighs heavily. And right on key, Lena appears by her side, looking down at her with wide eyes.

“What! What is it?” She asks breathlessly, having run in from the kitchen. Jule shakes her head, her expression set with exasperation that masks the hurt she’s beginning to feel.

“Lena, if you do not want to be here you can just go home! I broke my foot, not my entire body, I do not need a babysitter,” Jule huffs out, having mistaken Lena’s nerves for annoyance.

But she’s surprised by the way that the brunette’s face falls, and she instantly settles down on the couch next to her teammates, shaking her head.

“No, no, there is nowhere else I want to be, I promise. I just…I don’t…” Lena trails off, struggling to find the words. Her face is screwed with indecision, and it makes the wingers heart leap into her throat.

“You don’t…what?” Jule prompts lightly, her voice light and barely audible. It sounds rather breathless, and she hates herself for a moment by how much her voice gives her hopes away. She prays Lena won’t pick up on it…or maybe she prays that she will.

Obi looks over at the blonde, her heart thumping in her chest. Jule is looking at her with an entirely unreadable expression, and for just a moment the brunette wonders if it would even be possible for her friend to feel the same way that she does.

She couldn’t explain her attraction to Jule, nor could she articulate how strong it was. It felt like the winger was the sun, and the brunette was simply made to orbit around her.

Everything was better when Jule was there. Her laugh, her smile had this completely contagious property, and it made Obi feel lighter, happier, better.

She made Lena better, just by being herself. She was warm and kind where the midfielder was callous and gruff. She was soft and forgiving, forcing Lena to relax and give herself some grace.

It wasn’t something she could explain, because how on earth are you supposed to describe the one person in the world who means everything to you?

Lena opens her mouth, her feelings on the tip of her tongue. They’ve been sitting there for a now awkwardly long period of time, the silence clinging to them both, hanging in the space between them. Jule is staring back at her, her jaw clenched shut, her teeth clenched with a nervous anxiousness, wondering if this is the moment where everything will change.

But doubt creeps into the brunette’s mind, and the thought of confessing flees her mind as quickly as it comes.

“I just don’t know what to do to help you feel better, that's all,” Lena finally says lamely, and it takes everything in Jule for her expression not to drop in disappointment, swallowing the feeling and offering a smile instead.

“You make me feel better just by being here,” she admitted, and it was the truth, if not the entire truth.

Was it lying, if it was a lie of omission?

Jule isn’t sure. She isn’t sure what she’d rather be: filled with regret because she never said anything, or filled with regret because she had.

“But if you’re just going to sit here with two working feet I wouldn’t say no to a sandwich,” the blonde tacked on at the end, the breath stolen from her lungs at the way Lena’s face lit up, a laugh tumbling from her mouth.

“You got it, coming right up!” She announced as she hopped up from the couch, leaving Jule to her thoughts.

Just as she often did, the German winger spent the next few minutes mulling over the pros and cons list that had only grown as time dragged on.

To tell her best friend that she was in love with her, and risk all of the fall out if she didn’t feel the same? Or never tell her, and simply live with what could have been, if she was a little less scared?

It seemed like an easy choice when she framed it like that, but the actual implications of her actions somehow seemed so much larger.

She’s so lost in thought, that she hardly notices Lena coming back with food for them both, until the midfielder is placing her hand gently on Jule’s thigh. The touch causes the blonde to jump, and Lena retracts her hand just as quickly, as though she’s been burned.

“Sorry, sorry,” the midfielder is quick to say, but Jule shakes her head emphatically.

“No apologies, please. I was just lost in thought…about my foot! About my foot, I was thinking about my foot!” Jule explained, seeming a little too happy to be thinking about her foot when the person on the receiving end of her words doesn’t realize its a coverup.

But really, what was she supposed to do? It wasn’t like she could just tell Lena how she felt, right here and right now.

“Thank you for the food,” the blonde rushes to say instead, and the two fall into gentle chatter as they eat their food. Jule is honestly glad for the distraction, would rather do anything other than talk about her injury right now.

She’s lucky it wasn’t worse, that it wasn’t badly broken, or required surgery, but it still sucked to be injured regardless.

The winger knew that she was lucky to have Lena to sit here and make her laugh, to drop whatever she had been doing to be here. So amidst her confusion over whether to admit her feelings, still her gratitude toward the midfielder balloons in size.

When Jule leaned forward to put her plate on the coffee table, Lena is looking at her closely.

“What else do you need? What can I get you?” The older girl asks, and Jule shakes her head slightly, a soft smile on her face.

“I’m fine Obi, I don’t need anything else. I honestly just kind of want to go to bed,” Jule admitted, and Lena nodded, before looking down with a furrowed brow at the blonde’s boot.

“What?” Jule asks with a tiny chuckle, loving the fact that she could see Lena’s brain work in real time, as if she was working out a very complex math problem and not staring at her teammates foot.

“That thing has to hurt to walk on, doesn’t it?” Obi asked, and Jule shrugged before admitting that while it was a bit painful, it was manageable.

But that seemed to do nothing but displease the midfielder further, and before Jule could hardly say a thing in response, Lena was reaching forward, and just as she had on the football pitch, picking the blonde up.

Only, in this instance it was a tad more appropriate than it had been earlier in the day.

“Oh! Lena, what are you doing?” Jule asked with a laugh, still amazed that the brunette could pick her up with such ease, with so little effort.

The midfielder rolled her eyes, carefully navigating them around the couch and toward the stairs.

“Clearly I’m using the fact that I have two working legs to flex on you! Now, what do we say?” Lena teased, throwing on an overly saccharine and fake tone that is clearly meant to get Jule to laugh. Not that she cares, because it works easily. She tips her head back slightly, content when her teammates catches the change of weight easily.

When she leans back in she’s still giggling, but when she opens her eyes she finds that her face is a lot closer to Lena’s than she had anticipated. The younger girl swallows roughly, blinking several times to try to rid her expression of surprise.

Lena’s brown eyes are staring at her pensively, softly. The sense of gentleness that her gaze held was one that had always just been reserved for Jule, and here it was, just for her.

As brash and argumentative as Obi could be, there was no one in the world who could cause her to soften quite like Jule Brand.

The older girl clears her throat after a second, focusing on continuing up the stairs and into the bedroom.

The next few minutes are filled with getting themselves situated and ready for bed, teeth brushes and sink showers attempted because the thought of having to stand on one leg to shower sounded like hell on earth.

But there was Lena, always there to hold her up and make her smile, even when she was just doing mundane tasks like brushing her teeth.

They switch her boot out for an ankle brace, to give her some support without being too restrictive. Lena shoves a pillow down at the end of the bed gracelessly, before gently propping up Jule’s foot with great care. The two acts are entirely juxtaposing of one another, and they make the blonde giggle as she settles into her bed, the flush that coats Obi’s cheeks as a result not lost on her.

“Will you stay with me?” Jule looked up at Lena, her face filled with uncharacteristic worry. It was hardly a question she needed to ask, and the answer from her teammate is both immediate and automatic.

“Of course,” she replied, moving to turn the light off and climb into bed next to her best friend.

But it’s only after the lights are turned off, and the comfort of darkness has descended on them both, that they are able to finally admit what’s been on the tip of their tongues for weeks now.

The fact that’s probably both surprising to the two of them is that it’s Jule, and not Lena, who says something first, her boldness coming out of nowhere even if it didn’t last for more than a single word.

Lena was laying on her back, staring up at the ceiling from her spot on the left side of the bed. Jule laid on the right side, turned on her left side so that she was facing her teammate, which was how she usually slept when there wasn’t anyone in her bed anyways.

The winger can just barely make out the brunette’s profile, the bridge of her nose and the sharp edges of her jaw, her chest rising and falling shallowly, heartbeat quickened by whom she was in proximity of.

“Lena?” Jule asked, her voice quiet. It was rare for her to say the midfielders actual name, and Lena’s heart skips a beat at the question.

“Yes Jule?” She responds, her voice equally soft.

“I–” Jule opens her mouth to say more, and finds that she isn’t sure what to say.

It’s an uncomfortable reality, to realize that you care so greatly for another person in life that you find yourself unable to fully elucidate your feelings.

But before she can even try again, Obi is cutting her thought process off softly.

“Can I be honest with you about something?” The brunette asks, struggling to keep her throat open enough to explain how she’s feeling.

“Yes,” the blonde replies instantly, her words filled with relief and hope, and it’s her tone and that alone that spurs Lena on, that allows her to say what she’s been feeling for months.

“When we were downstairs and we were talking before and I paused I…I wasn’t brave enough to say it but I can now,” she began, taking a very slow breath before continuing. “I think I love you, Jule.”

“You think?” The winger asked, her voice small but neutral in its tone. Lena swallows roughly at the sound, wondering if she’s made a big mistake.

But it’s too late now to think about that, so instead she forges ahead.

“No, not I think. I know I love you, and I have for months now. Maybe ever since I met you,” Lena admits, finally turning her head to look at Jule. The blonde is sitting in bed on her side, facing the older girl.

When the brunette turned toward her, the winger reached out with her hand, running her fingers gently over the midfielders cheek until she was cradling her jaw.

“I love you too,” Jule whispered into the space next to them, and she can feel rather than see the tear that slips down Lena’s cheek, the wetness seeping into her palm. The midfielder turns her head, pressing an impossibly soft kiss to the inside of Jule’s wrist.

The brunette moves with such gentleness and care, it physically feels as though the blonde’s heart will burst from how in love with Lena Oberdorf she is.

Obi moves lightly, but with purpose nonetheless, as she gathers Jules into her arms and finally, their two bodies are pressed together softly.

The winger tucks her body into Lena’s, not caring that her foot protests at the movement as she’s engulfed in Lena’s scent and the warmth of her body. Jule tucks her head into the midfielders neck, clutching to the brunette as Lena’s hands bring her close, keeping her safe.

The sigh of relief that they both let out happens at the same time, as the comfort of finally being pressed together is realized. Jule cuddles into Lena, feeling sleep pull at her, the worry of her feelings not being returned now swept away like a leaf in a strong current.

“I love you,” Jule murmured into Lena’s neck, the soft puff of air tickling the brunette’s skin in the best possible way. She smiled softly, tightening her grip imperceptibly.

“I love you more,” Lena promises, pressing a kiss to Jule’s temple as they melt into one another, sleep coming to claim them both in the darkness of the blonde’s bedroom.

There is still so much to talk about and discuss properly, sure, but for the night nothing else matters, except the fact that neither of them can really tell where the one ends, and the other one begins.

#lena oberdorf #jule brand #svenja huth #feli rauch #vfl wolfsburg women #ewa pajor #woso #lynn wilms

96 notes · View notes

skzcre · 1 year

Note

Skz stroke game…. Thoughts 👁️👄👁️

oh i’ve got some thoughts alright 😳

on team “slow, sensual and deep” we haaaave changbin, lino, hyunjin, lix n chan !! <333

it varies for each of them tbh, like. changbin and hyunjin are real romantics, they want to take their time to enjoy every single centimeter of your body. they want to watch your face twist in pleasure, they want you to grip tightly onto them.

binnie always has this self satisfied smirk on his face but pure love in his eyes, loves when you grab his biceps and arch into him when he goes particularly deep 🤧 still on board “changbin best stroke game in skz” hands down, we’ve seen the way he moves those pretty hips. you better believe he knows exactly what he’s doing.

hyune is just fully obsessed with you i’ve talked abt it like a million times and i can’t get over the thought of his jaw hanging in awe watching how you write underneath him. he kills me truly

now w lino, lix n chan; they’re just as romantic tbh. we all know lino has heaps and heaps of love to give and he also kind of loves having you at his “mercy”, he’s just a little bit more of a tease abt it compared to bin n hyun. he fucks you at a regular pace then stops to shove himself so deep in you you swear you’re seeing stars. then he coos at you, “mm, i know baby. it feels really good, yeah? you can take more for me, can’t you?”

lix n chan are still on the slow sensual spectrum but both of them … whew. catch them in a Certain mood and they’re just. i cant explain it in any other way than they’re just absolutely insane. they both have this duality, wanting to worship your body but also just loving the way you scream their name when they start pounding you >.< god chan in particular it’s like he’s curved perfectly to fit you, always hits that sweet spot that makes your toes curl.

on team “it varies but either way they have you basically crying by the end of the night” we have seungmo n imie <333 similar to lix n chan it just depends on the day, what kind of mood you catch them in.

both of them are absolutely meticulous in the way they practically pick you apart, pure teases through and through. both of them are highkey bullies, will get you completely riled up with their words alone then constantly bring you right to the edge of heaven before dropping you just to hear that desperate whine.

i cant decide who would be meaner honestly 😖 seungmo speaks in such a way that makes you feel tiny and helpless underneath him, his stroke game isn’t the best in comparison to the others (not saying he’s bad) but he more than makes up for it with his words, fingers and tongue <33

and imie .. an all rounder really. bullies tf out of you, can be ruthless as hell about it, trades between slow deep thrusts and pounding your lights out to keep you on your toes. that being said he can get rlly overwhelmed by just how good you feel so he has to pace himself or you’re getting fucked through the floor.

n then on team, “absolutely amazing but still a wildcard” we have bby han <33 he’s got the duality, he can be anything you need him to be. he can fuck you nice and slow, kiss you real sweet and tell you how much he loves you. he can be absolutely filthy, pull your hair and leave bites and bruises everywhere; call you his pretty little cumdump. as expected of the ace, we love a multifaceted boy.

so to summarize with a ranking, best to “not as good” (i don’t wanna say worst that sounds bad :p)

changbin

lino n hyun tied for second imo

chan

han

jeongin

felix

seungmin

802 notes · View notes

abrcmswrld · 2 years

Text

Talk to Strangers

Edward Nashton x Coworker! Reader

━━━━

Word Count: 4,951

Warnings: smut (18+ only MDNI), stalking, unprotected sex, angst and fluff and smut, a decent bit of tears, obligatory mentions of murder

Summary: You’ve warmed up to Edward despite his cold nature, but what happens when the puzzle pieces start to fall together and you can feel someone watching you in the darkness?

Authors Note: I actually tried so hard on this yall, I posted this to my ao3 page first so I am sorry if the formatting is all kinds of messed up on here :( This is my first fic i’ve posted since 2017 so I sincerely apologize if it’s meh, i also don’t have anyone else proofread my fics so i apologize for any errors i missed! enjoy!

Ao3 Link

He's arrogant. Oh so arrogant, and you can't fucking stand it. You watch him every morning as he strides in, past your desk at reception, white button up shirt, clear framed glasses, shaggy hair that falls over his forehead . He's certainly not a hit among the office, so maybe you're not wrong in your feelings. Though your other co-workers generally regard him as a pushover- not a self-absorbed asshole. He's good at what he does, sure. He's earned his spot, but he often brings a shadow into the rooms he walks into. A presence that you can only describe as infernal.

You don’t know much about his story. You generally pride yourself on getting to know the people you surround yourself with, but he has never let you get close enough to find out. Maybe that’s why you find him arrogant. He thinks he’s too good to speak to you for more than two sentences related to files he needs you to fax for him. What you do know about him is that he’s been at KTMJ for longer than you have been- maybe 5 years more. You can still remember the first time you met. You were fresh faced and eager. Seeking validation, in desperate need of some stability.

You extend your arm for a handshake. His hands are slightly clammy as he accepts your handshake. And though you had greeted him with your brightest smile (might as well go all in if you ever wanted to be anything other than a receptionist) he hadn't smiled back. He'd kept a rather straight face as he gave his brief introduction. "Edward."

Now you have a sense of stability. Sure, the quality of life in Gotham is subpar and you still haven't received that promotion, but you make enough to live comfortably in comparison to others in the city. You try to count your blessings.

━━━━

You had already been having a shitty day. Your landlord had informed you of an increase in rent rates by slipping an envelope under your door. Sure, it sucked to be asked to pay more for an apartment that could be deemed shitty by any normal person with a pair of eyes, but it was the lack of communication that got you. Not even the decency to call your residence and tell you with their own voice. Just a slip of paper under the door.

But you tried to bring a good attitude to the office. You hate being the one to damper the mood. You would rather leave that to him. Always him. Never smiling back at you as he walks through the door, never meeting your eyes to acknowledge your presence, nothing. And you were used to that. It would be okay, if it weren't for the stack of papers that laid on your desk when you got in. Neatly stacked with a green sticky note reading "Need copies. -Edward" scrawled in messy handwriting. You immediately feel the flames rise into your chest.

It's a quick stride from your desk to his cubicle, stack of papers tightly tucked into your fist. You slam them onto his desk as soon as you reach it, and he raises an eyebrow at you in response. "What the hell is this?" He glances at the papers and back at you. "The copier isn't working. I wrote what I needed." You sigh, annoyed at the fact that he doesn't understand.

"You couldn't have waited for me to get here and brought them to me yourself? I would really appreciate it if you would treat me like a human being every once in a while, ya know, actually acknowledge my existence." You realize how dramatic you must sound, but in all honesty you've been thinking it for years, it was only a matter of time before it came out. "I needed copies. I didn't think my acknowledgement meant that much to you." He holds his hands out in defense, feigning that he actually cared if he had hurt your feelings.

"I think you think you're smarter than everyone else here." You plant a hand on the table in front of him as you crouch to his level.

He sighs and you can see the corners of his mouth twitch. "I do. Is that so bad?"

"It makes you an asshole."

He finally faces you.

"Better to be an asshole than to be an idiot."

His voice doesn't carry any malice, yet the words feel like a slap in the face to you. It leaves you scrambling for a response, opening your mouth only to close it a second later. Until you decide to merely respond with a nervous chuckle. Sure, you thought his response showed his ego, but you had to admit. He got you. He faces you once more at the sound of your light chuckle, green eyes meeting yours completely. "I guess you're right."

You catch the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

"If it means that much to you, I will greet you next time."

━━━━

And he does. Greet you that is. You find yourself talking to him more and more. Sitting in the break room with him at lunch, looking over his shoulder at the crossword puzzle he works on at his desk and giving your best shot at an answer, relishing in the furrow of his brows as he turns to look over his shoulder at you. He's an asshole. He's arrogant. But there's something about him that's drawing you in. Sometimes you feel like a fish caught in a net. All those moments he'd brushed you off and yet you find yourself repeating the little quirks of his soft smiles in your head. You hate the term "work husband", but it seems that Edward is slowly becoming the very definition of that.

You don't speak outside of the office, but you find yourself gravitating towards him when you're stressed. You tell him about your landlord and the reason you had gotten so defensive with him. He understood.

"It's a cesspool here. None of these people actually care about people like us, not the landlords, not our coworkers, certainly not the politicians." He had said in that moment.

As October rolls around and the leaves begin to fall, you find yourself beginning to bring two coffees to work, one for you, one for him. He always shows an appreciative nod. But the moment you start to think about asking him to actually go out with you for coffee is like being the fish pulled out of the water and accepting it's inevitable fate. You were gonna let him drive you insane.

You're sure of it as you are caught up in the nerves and find yourself softly grabbing his hand to stop him outside the front doors of the office. You quickly pull your hand from his. no doubt blushed a deep red. But he just stares, waiting for you to speak. You clear your throat. "I- um- Sorry, I was just gonna see if you had plans now." And it pains you the way he doesn't speak, just continues to stare.

"There's a diner on the corner near here. I think they have decent pie."

He loosens the tension in his shoulders and looks down. "Oh. I'm actually sort of drowning in... paperwork right now." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. God, you hoped you hadn't made him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry."

You quickly shake your head and let out a breathy laugh. "Oh no! It's totally fine, I probably have paperwork to finish too." You hope it hides the pang you feel in your chest. "I'll see you tomorrow." You swiftly turn and walk away before he can respond.

━━━━

But you wouldn't see Edward tomorrow. Matter of fact you wouldn't see him for the next three days after Halloween. You try not to let it bother you.

It's the beginning of a cold November, he's probably just sick or desperately needed a vacation. Or perhaps you'd seriously fucked it all up and he couldn't even stand the sight of you. You can't stop the deep sigh that comes from you as you rest your forehead in the palm of your hand. Embarrassingly, you ask Zach if he's heard from Edward. Not that you expected him to be particularly helpful. "Are you guys, like, fucking?" You are stunned and stammering your words. "Wha- No! No. I just worry about him."

"Look, I wouldn't worry about him too much, I mean the guy's basically a fucking recluse. When do you ever see him outside of here? Maybe it's good that he's somewhere besides here."

Still, there's no chance of you actually focusing on work and you find yourself aimlessly scrolling through news headlines, before one in particular catches your eye.

'Mayoral Incumbent Donald Mitchell, Jr. Murdered in his Home on Halloween Night.'

Holy shit.

━━━━

Edward is back at work after three long days, and despite your worry of his annoyance and anger, he is oddly elated.

It's the first time he approaches your desk. Leaning against it, coffee cup in hand, and flashing an awkward smile before asking, "So did I miss anything?" It leaves you a little taken aback, but it's a relief to see him approach you willingly after your last conversation.

"Um yeah, Zach was a total prick as usual- Oh! And our mayor was murdered."

He raises an eyebrow and takes a sip from the coffee cup. You feign annoyance, "No but seriously where were you? I started to wonder if that psychopath got you too."

He smiles. "Just sick. November weather and all."

━━━━

The first time you see the green mask you are in a huddle of coworkers around a computer screen.

'Police Commissioner, Pete Savage, Murdered. Killer Leaves Shocking Confession.'

"My God. What a sick freak." Zach interjects.

You can barely stand to watch. The video is hardly graphic aside from the disturbing voice of the masked man, but the implications of what happens when the video cuts off leaves your stomach turning. You walk away. Desperate for some space, but also desperate for a distraction. Edward sits straight in his office chair across the room. You hesitate slightly before striding toward his desk and leaning your weight against it. You can feel the sweat beading at your forehead as you lightly brush hair from your eyes. "Shit."

It's merely a whisper to yourself, but he turns his head to face you. For once his face shows concern towards you. Yet he still says nothing, only looks. Observant as always.

"Sorry. I needed to get out of that." You gesture towards the group of coworkers still huddled and murmuring among each other. He glanced back, before turning back towards his work. "The news?" He inquires quietly.

"Yeah. It's a little too much for me to stomach." There's a little pause as if he is hesitant to say anything before finally replying, "They were pricks. Don't you think they kind of deserved it?"

You straighten up, looking at him with shock. "I think they were still people with families." He frowns at you before you finally walk away from his desk to make your way to the restroom. You needed to get a grip.

━━━━

Edward apologizes for his insensitivity after work. You had stayed with him outside of the building long after all of your other coworkers had left. "It's fine." You refuse to look at him as he lights a cigarette and gets in a few quick puffs. You're being mean. But if you're honest the combination of his rejection and his comment earlier in the day had set you off. "And I'm sorry for last week." Only then you look up at him.

"I've had a lot going on, and it feels a little unfair to bring you into all of that."

"This feels like an excuse to let me down easy. It's okay if you just don't want to go on a date-"

The feeling of chapped lips on your own stops you mid sentence. He tastes of coffee and cigarettes and you crave more, but he pulls back quickly. His free hand remains at your cheek, holding your face in a gentle caress. "It's not an excuse. Things are just complicated for me right now." His eyes never leave your face. It's the best look you've gotten of them. Of him. His features are gentle behind shaggy hair and acetate glasses.

Something feels wrong and eerie in the back of your mind. Like seeing him this close gave you a sickening feeling of deja vu. Things were definitely complicated. The bags under his eyes were showing his exhaustion well, he had gone from elated to unwell since his return. He seems like a broken man, but he'd never let you close enough to find out why. You can't help but feel the connection, like he deserved a shot even if he didn't want it. Even if he thought he was smarter. Even if there's a side to him that could hurt you. You push down your feelings of uneasiness.

You press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

"When you're ready."

━━━━

You're awake nearly all night the next weekend. Spending the entire time digging through news about the figure known as The Riddler, his possible next targets, possible identities, and most importantly all of the video footage he'd put out in the last few weeks. It's certainly not healthy. You generally steer clear of these sorts of things. Years of therapy had gotten you far and you would rather not ruin it by desensitizing yourself. But you can't help it. You find yourself going deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole until you find yourself tuning into his streams late at night.

He speaks with such a confidence in himself. As if he has all of the answers, and is just waiting to enlighten the world. His followers are even more terrifying. They'd do anything for him. You wonder how low a person must be in life to resort to this sort of behavior. But, you're not a psychiatrist. Who are you to speak on these people. These strangers.

"We are going to cleanse this cesspool of city."

You slam the laptop shut.

Sleeping isn't easy after this sort of activity. You should've known. You turn on a show you don't actually care about to give yourself some sense of security in background noise. And soon you find yourself drifting asleep. It's not great sleep. You can sense yourself tossing and turning, but you can deal with it. Everything is fuzzy until you find yourself on your back.

Paralyzed.

It's not uncommon for you to experience sleep paralysis, but you've experienced it less after your time in therapy. You try to keep your breathing steady, trying to convince yourself that whatever you see is merely a hallucination.

Shh. Shh. Just breathe.

But the figure that appears is familiar. That's what scares you the most. The green coat and mask is horrifying as it inches towards the bed, and you can't scream. you can't move away. You can only watch the blood drip from his gloved fingertips onto your floor as he stares. Tilting his head at you slightly, as he brings a hand up to his head. You can hear your heart pounding and you are practically internally begging yourself to wake up. The latches on his mask pop open and you're horrified to find that the face underneath is so familiar. A slight smirk on lips you have kissed before. Blood dripping from a hand that you've held before. You try to scream. Tears falling down your temples until he is suddenly gone and you shoot up in your bed.

You can't hold back the cry that escapes your throat. It wasn't real, he's gone, and you're safe in your room.

━━━━

Until suddenly the safety of your room begins to feel a lot less safe. You hear it. The creaking of the floorboards at night, the slight tapping against the glass of your bedroom window. The slight squeak of leather rubbing and rustling together. You're too scared to open your eyes those first few nights. You'd rather be blind and take your fate than die in paralyzing fear.

But you know it's him.

It was never unclear what was staring at you in the night. Maybe the nightmares of the leather gloves touching your skin hadn't been nightmares at all. You want so badly to be sickened. To run into your bathroom to empty your stomach out of panic and fear. Instead you feel a strange mixture of annoyance and arousal in your gut.

He thinks he's smarter than you.

You find yourself playing into his games.Attempting to one up him. To show him you aren't scared of him. That you can keep up. You begin to deliberately change in front of your window. Letting lacy fabric hit the cold floor and standing just a tad longer, stalling before covering yourself back up.

You hope he's watching when you peel off your work tights. You hope he's imagining himself on his knees tearing the delicate fabric from your form, only to be blocked by a thin pane of glass. You wanted the upper hand.

You hope he's watching as you sink two fingers into yourself, thinking about crisp, white button ups and clear framed glasses.

━━━━

The next few weeks are tense at work. You heard the news of what happened to Gil Colson at Don Mitchell's funeral. Edward would walk in everyday, and attempt to greet you, only this time it's you who is short. You have a little hope that he can't see straight through you. But you can see it in the way that he looks at you that you're an open book. Who's to say that he won't just watch, but actually kill you to keep you from talking. But deep down you both know your lips are shut tight.

So you work through the days, just ready to get home. You can hardly stand to look at him. It makes you feel like you're an accomplice. A sitting duck for a man who probably doesn't even care about you, withholding a tip to the police because deep down you really do like him. And you had hoped he liked you too until things got complicated. Now you think it would just be best if he abandoned you right where you were. But he doesn't. In fact, he suddenly has more courage than you'd ever seen from him. It's evident as he catches you by your arm and pulls you into the alleyway beside the office after work is over. It's dark and you'd be lying if you said you weren't scared, but he kisses you like nothing is wrong. Like he has no clue. Like nothing has changed.

You pull away from him, wide eyes staring back at him. "Are you okay?" He asks quietly as he brushes a hand up your arm. You can't help the break in your voice. "I know, Edward."

He just stands and stares. "What?" You take two steps back. "You're killing people." He continues to stare. He drops his hand from your arm. The silence scares you more than anything. But he simply sighs.

"I think you should go home and get some rest."

And before you can argue he walks away with a quickened pace.

━━━━

So you do. You return to your shitty apartment and try to compose yourself. What would he do now that you said that? Maybe you were wrong. Maybe you had accused him of something he genuinely didn't do. But it didn't feel wrong. You sigh as the hot water hits your back. You had hoped a shower would help you feel refreshed, but for the first time in a while, it feels like a chore. You can't enjoy it, so you rush through it. As you step into your bedroom you stop in your tracks. The window is slightly ajar, a cool draft flowing in tingles your bare legs. And then you see him. The figure in the darkness of your room. This time you're not dreaming.

He's in your room. You're paralyzed. The position you swore you'd never let yourself be put in. He's got the upper hand.

He just stands there. A part of you wishes he would attack you. Kill you. Anything just to break the still silence. You realize you're shaking. You agreed to play his game and now you're trailing his lead, allowing yourself to be beaten.

"Edward."

It comes out as a shaky whisper, but he visibly takes it in as he steps toward you to close the distance. You can see his eyes crinkle at the corners through the green mask. He's smiling. And he reaches a gloved hand to your face, cupping one cheek. You can feel the warmth radiating from his hand even through the glove. So, he is human. The Riddler has a beating heart and flowing blood. He is not a cold, lifeless monster. His stoic frame you had become so familiar with at work was gone. He catches a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

He is terrifying.

"No more through the window. I'll be gone soon."

Before you can entirely comprehend the statement and it's implications, your brain forms the word that leaves your mouth. "Gone?"

He simply smiles again, this time reaching his hands behind his head to abandon the mask he had come in with, and there he is. Cherubic features glowing under the street lamp light that flows in from your window. "I watched you live for a month. I watched you eat, sleep, undress, touch yourself. But you knew that right? Otherwise you wouldn't have put on such a show."

You attempt to struggle away from his grasp in disgust at his words but he holds you tight in front of him. "But that's alright. I'll tell you the truth because I hate liars. I liked knowing that you were doing it all for me. I wanted nothing more than to cleanse Gotham, to give them true salvation, but you put a dent into that plan. You became a distraction that I foolishly indulged." The soft light is hitting his features just right. He looks like an angel in devils' clothing. And his tight grip is right back to a gentle caress. His hand reaches the small of your back and you're sucking in a shrill breath.

His kiss is soft, inexperienced. Much like the other times you had kissed. But he is treating you like glass that might break. You think it might be the first time you've seen him relax enough to be seen as a particularly gentle being. He's ditched his looming, arrogant behavior you're so used to just to show you his utmost affection. It's the first time you have seen him like this since the first time you had kissed.

But some part of you is burning. He's not your prince charming. You know exactly what he is capable of, you've seen it. You're not glass. You're not a damsel. This is a man who has watched you undress for him through your window for weeks. This is a man who has killed. And it shouldn't bring heat into your core the way it does. Perhaps it's the thrill of the danger.

You kiss him so hard that your teeth clash. It stuns him as his hand lifts from your body momentarily before finding purchase at your hips. He's inexperienced, but the desperation coming from both of you is enough to cover it up.

The warmth and weight of his tongue in your mouth is intoxicating. The little sparks of guilt and shame that flash in your stomach are quickly subdued by his nimble fingers caressing under your nightgown and up your thighs to hook in the waistband of your panties. You can't help the pathetic moan that escaped your mouth as he slowly drags the fabric down your legs.

"I wanted to do it right. Wanted to take you to that diner, buy your food, take you home, and act like I hadn't thought about fucking you into your mattress every single night."

It's almost strange to see him on his knees. He has built himself up to be godlike. You were sure he wouldn't mind you on your knees in front of him. Absolutely worshipping him. The warmth of his tongue swiping over you has your thoughts lurching, and yes, god, he is divine.

"But it would be wrong to pretend to be someone I am not. I'm not a liar."

You can't help but tangle your fingers into his beautifully unkept hair and pull. He is ravishing you. Sinking two fingers into you until you feel the heavenly curl right into the spot that makes you whimper. "Eddie-" He swallows your moans in a desperate openmouthed kiss. His fingers are working you open, you can feel tightness build in your stomach. Like a rubber band ready to snap. But it's ripped away from you as he pulls his fingers out of you and swiftly pushes you to the bed. The sounds of his belt buckle coming undone has your heart racing faster than it already was, your stomach fluttering.

He buries himself inside of you with no hesitation, no time to adjust. It hurts and his inexperience is noticeable, but the look of bliss on his face and his slight whimpers has you ready to cum before you've even started.

You're gripping onto the back of the green leather parka, reminding yourself of who you're with. Who you're letting fuck you right now. But those green eyes bring you back to all those times he'd flash a slight smile your way in the office. He'd try to hide it but you're the only person he showed fondness towards in that hell hole of a workplace. Thinking back to the night he had kissed you has tears welling up in your eyes again. He notices.

He slows his pace momentarily, letting his short thrusts turn into long drags. A gloved hand wipes tears away once again and you meet his concerned gaze.

"Does this not make you happy?"

Your hands move to cradle his face. A move that he's certainly not used to as his thrust halt for a moment in surprise. "I am happy. But what comes after this? Am I supposed to ignore you and pretend I know nothing about you? That I feel nothing for you?" He stops his movements completely now. The room has fallen silent apart from the heavy breathing between you two.

"I have to mean nothing to you. Momentarily."

You knew the answer before you asked the question, but it hurts just as bad anyway. You don't take your eyes off his. The Riddler's facade is cracking before your eyes, you can see his eyes becoming glossy. It's almost like he's turned into a completely different person. He kisses you. Deeply, but not rough. There's so much pent up feeling behind it, you could sob even harder. But you don't and he keeps kissing you as he resumes his movements.

You're not using any protection, but you're too blissed out to care. You crave that feeling of warmth. "Eddie- I-"

His hips start to stutter as he cuts you off and buries his face in your neck. " I love you- please God- just say it back to me. Tell me you love me." You hold his face in your hands guiding his gaze to meet yours again. "Edward, I love you."

That's all it takes for him to fall apart. His whimpers and cries are like music to your ears and the feeling of warmth as he releases everything he has into you is blissful. You both have to take a second to recover, foreheads pressed together. But eventually he rolls off of you carefully and tucks himself back into his pants. The silence is deafening. You said it to push him over the edge, but was it true that you loved him? The idea of falling in love with Edward was easy in your mind, in a perfect world the idea of settling down somewhere else and waking up next to him felt good. But this wasn't a perfect world. Edward killed people, powerful people, and the chance that he'd get away without paying for it was slim.

"I'm gonna turn myself in in a couple of days."

"Okay."

"You should leave Gotham. It's not going to be safe for you here. If the cops ask you're visiting a friend in Bludhaven."

His hand grips yours as he looks at you.

"I promise if I ever get out, I'll find you."

━━━━

You do as he asked of you. Got a hotel in Bludhaven and in the next couple of nights you watched the television endlessly, waiting to see his face. The night you finally did, you cried yourself to sleep, gripping the hotel sheets as you buried your face into your pillow.

But you held yourself together and did as Edward asked.

When the man in the bat suit showed up at your hotel door a week after the flood you give your best answers.

"I'm visiting a friend, but the flood has kept me in town."

"No, I didn't know him well, we just worked together."

"I mean he was a little strange, but I never thought he would murder someone."

“I would never have expected it to be him.”

"I hope he gets the help he needs."

#edward nashton #dano!riddler #dano riddler #paul dano riddler #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x you #dano!riddler x reader #paul dano #danonation #the batman #edward nashton smut #edward nashton fluff #edward nashton ily forever -abram #gonna log off for the night to keep my nerves down i think

976 notes · View notes

best-overplayed-song · 1 year

Note

As someone who never understood the hype around Take Me To Church and keeps forgetting that song even exists, can I ask the fans what exactly it is you like about that song? Because my current hypothesis is that yall were around 14 when it came out and music just hits different when you're 14. What else is there to like, genuinely

I try to stay unbiased here but Hozier is one of the only musicians I allow myself to be pretentious about, so before i info dump about why i love take me to church here's some other hozier songs you should give a shot:

francesca [i'd go through hell again just to hold you one more time], nina cried power [song about activism and black activists], swan upon leda [about the violence of colonialism, misogyny, and religious bigotry], eat your young [about the violence of war, capitalism, and generational trauma], movement, to noise making (sing), shrike, NFWMB [sexy], sunlight

anyway take me to church is so much more than just “loving you is like church”. he starts off by telling us how happy his lover makes him, despite constantly being told by The Church he was born sick and his happiness is a result of sinful behavior. he rejects the religion being forced on him, because unlike christianity, his church doesn't force him to accept absolution to reach heaven ("my church offers no absolutes / she tells me, 'worship in the bedroom' / the only heaven I'll be sent to / is when i'm alone with you"). the last two lines of the first verse-- "i was born sick, but i love it / command me to be well"-- questions why a god would create us to be inherently sick only to punish us for being sick.

i see the the chorus as a smart-ass comparison of his relationship to christianity. The Church expects him to blindly worship their lies and confess his sins, which he knows will be used against him ("take me to church / i'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies / i'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife"), but he's supposed to accept this and devote his life to God so he can get to heaven ("offer me that deathless death / oh good god, let me give you my life"). by offering to do this for his lover, he's equating their love to religion.

in the second verse, he reiterates that he worships his lover with a metaphor ("if i'm a pagan of the good times / my lover's the sunlight"). the subtle remark of referring to the ancient practice of paganism as "the good times" comments on the colonization and forced conversion of ireland by christian england, which criminalized paganism. immediately after stating how his lover demands a sacrifice, he hungrily eyes the high horse The Church sits on, and questions what power they have over him and his people ("that's a fine lookin' high horse / what you got in the stable? / we've a lot of starving faithful"). this could also be a reference to the irish potato famine, which was not a result of drought, but of english lords forcing the irish to turn over their entire crop to send to england.

then we get the most poetic description of sex i've ever heard: "no masters or kings when the ritual begins / there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin / in the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene / only then, i am human / only then, i am clean". fuck man

a lot of gay people with religious trauma love this song bc of everything i described above. also, it's a fuckin banger.

and yes i was 14 when it came out. what about it

#asks #song propaganda #hozier

300 notes · View notes

cacoetheswriting · 1 year

Text

celebrity skin. (part six)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 6.2k summary: moving on is not as easy as it may seem. unless, of course, revenge is in the mix.

a/n: this chapter also features steve harrington x popstar!fem!reader

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, adult language, post-breakup emotional hurt / very little comfort, minor use of pet names, mentions of recreational alcohol & drug consumption — if i missed anything in this chapter, pls let me know!

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

celebrity skin. masterlist

Falling in love was not nearly as magical as you grew up to believe.

Turns out, not everyone is as lucky as your parents. Not everyone gets to find the person they want to be with and just live out the rest of their time together, just like that. No muss, no fuss… no pain.

And recently, all you’ve felt was pain.

Heartbreak caused by the man that’s done it before. You should’ve been smarter than to let him do it a second time, but lost in the chocolate of his eyes and the softness of his skin, you believed in the love you so desperately craved since you were a kid. You believed in his love. Believed he wouldn’t hurt you again, simply because he promised he wouldn’t. Hushed mantras in between the kisses he trailed along your jawline. “You make me the happiest I’ve ever been,” he’d repeat like a prayer. In reality, a fool is what he made you.

For the whole world to see at that.

ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST

EVEN HONESTY COULDN’T KEEP THEM TOGETHER

WHY HEAVEN AND HELL DON’T MIX

The list of borderline patronising, and also rather sexist, articles on the downfall of your short-lived relationship with the Corroded Coffin frontman haunted you for months. It didn’t help that they were all lies. Figments of journalistic imagination that only had one thing in common: you were nothing but a lovesick girl, and Eddie ever the conqueror of Hollywood’s elite. Gone was the title of America’s favourite popstar. Replaced instead by “Oh, you’re Eddie Munsons ex, right?”.

Your management team was scrambling to get out of this PR nightmare as quickly and effortlessly as humanly possible, because they didn’t grow your career to the superstardom level it was at, only for you to be regarded as an ex-girlfriend of someone far less popular than you. The team did everything, from pushing brand advertising campaigns forward, releasing a previously stashed single with no promotion, and even faking sightings of you with New York’s most eligible bachelors — (it was actually Val in disguise, more than willing to help).

While all of this was going on, you resigned to rotting away in bed.

The New York apartment you called home yet again, was cold in comparison to Eddie’s mansion. Every item of furniture, every decorative piece, all carefully picked out by you back when you first bought the place, seemed out of place. No longer bringing you the intended joy. You missed the blank walls of Eddie’s living room, the feel of the hardwood floors underneath your bare feet, the once unused kitchen, his display of vintage guitars. You missed his California King. Missed the way it would form perfectly around your frame every time your head hit the pillows. Most of all, despite desperately trying not to, you fucking missed him.

Eddie Munson was your downfall, yet every fibre of your being ached to be close to him once more.

Memories of your time with the metalhead flashed before your eyes every minute of every day that’s passed since he stomped all over your heart, making it bleed. What made matters worse, you were convinced Eddie didn’t miss you, didn’t think about you nearly as much as you thought about him, if even at all.

The reality couldn’t have been more different, but you didn’t know that because the morning Eddie broke you for a second time, his actions were accompanied by a conscious decision to stay out of your life for good. It wasn’t what he wanted. He just didn’t see an alternative, your grandmother’s threat ringing in his ears as the look on your face visibly changed in front of his very eyes from awe to despair.

In the months that followed the split, Eddie also thought about you all the damn time.

Everywhere he went, there you were. Or rather the ghost of you. A memory so vivid, he instantly felt nauseous. He screwed everything up for a second time and even if he wanted to somehow fix it, he knew the only way to do that would be by telling the truth, but even Eddie Munson wasn't an asshole enough to come between a girl and her Nana — no matter how evil the old hag was.

Instead, Eddie focused on his music.

The resounding success that was Honesty, a song about you, performed with you, made the pretext of spending day and night at the studio a little more realistic ‘cause “the band needs a few more songs to complete the album”, he’d say to Marianne. She knew the real reason behind the hours Eddie spent locked inside the recording booth was the sudden, and by all accounts, unexplained breakdown of his relationship with you. She also knew not to say anything.

By all accounts, things were going quite smoothly for Eddie. Sure he felt like a fucking prick for hurting you the way he did — yet again — and on most days, the guilt was eating Eddie alive, but his actions, and their unfortunate consequences, fueled an endless supply of songs he couldn’t deny were about you. Songs that would undoubtedly make the album the best thing Corroded Coffin have ever released. Shit. Did that also make him selfish? He wondered if it was fair that his creativity blossomed while you were hurting. He wondered if profiting off this heartache was the right thing to do. Would it make you more mad? Would it break you even more?

Then he saw it.

MISS AMERICANA MOVES ON

What the fuck.

“Did you forget that you promised to come help me shop for dresses?”

You groan at Val’s question, pulling the blankets over your head until your face is entirely hidden and a faint darkness envelops around you. This is your safe space now. This is where you wish you could stay for all eternity, but alas, the universe always seems to have other plans.

“Val,” you mumble under your breath, “I say this with all sincerity, please fuck off. I’m clearly in no shape to hold up to my promise, so just take my credit card and ask a friend to go with you instead. Please.”

She huffs, and even though you can’t see her, you know she’s rolling her eyes. Then, without skipping a beat, she does the exact opposite to what you asked her to do, opting to yank the covers off you entirely with a wicked grin.

“I am done letting you wither away, okay?” She states, “It’s been months of self-pity and I’m fucking sick of it. Everyone is sick of it. Jesus, he broke your heart, big deal. People get their heart broken all the damn time and you don’t see them wasting away in bed.”

“Because they don’t have the privilege to.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“Nana calls you an ungrateful brat all the time, behind your back of course. I think you just proved her point.”

The sting of Val’s words causes you to visibly grimace, but you can’t say you didn’t deserve her hostile push back. You were acting like a brat. Saying the wrong things in the heat of the moment, you knew better than that. You were taught better than that. Just like you were also taught to uphold your promises, keep your word and do the things you said you would do.

With an exaggerated sigh, you stand, and for the first time in months, you go get dressed in something that’s not an overpriced pyjama set. Val cheers you on, proud of herself for being the person that could convince you to leave the confines of your apartment, even if it was only for one afternoon.

Fifth Avenue is a Manhattan staple. Stretching from Greenwich Village, where you grew up, all the way to Harlem, a secret favourite, if anyone ever asked. Personally, you opted to steer clear of Fifth Avenue as much as you could, though, being one of the most expensive shopping streets in the world, it made sense this is where Val asked Hank to escort you two. Especially, since after hours of browsing stores your little sister normally couldn’t afford on her own, your journey’s end is Saks.

“Tell me again why we’re dress shopping? You hate dresses.”

“Because, since you’ve pretty much turned yourself into a recluse, Nana asked me to join her at the upcoming charity function she’s throwing. Her one demand was that I need a dress.” Val explains, browsing through a carefully crafted selection of garments. “Preferably expensive.”

“She didn’t say anything to me,” you say, furrowing your brows.

“Like I said, recluse.”

You sigh. Nails, overdue a manicure, now at the brim of your lips, threatening to push through at any given moment. It was a bad habit. Something you’ve recently done a lot because speaking your mind clearly wasn’t good enough and only led to misfortune. This was the only way you could ease the anxiety surrounding the mess you’ve made of your life, as gross as it was.

“Well, I didn’t want Nana, or anyone else for that matter, saying I told you so, or thinking I had it coming since apparently I was the only person that had blinders on when it came to…”

His name got stuck in your throat like a bad apple. A choking hazard that brought tears to your eyes and caused your chest to heave suddenly with bated breaths. Clearly, you hadn’t gotten over him, otherwise you wouldn’t spend your days locked up in your apartment. What you didn’t realise though, was that you hadn’t said his name out loud since that fateful morning in his kitchen.

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

The vile tone behind those three words rings in your ears. Of course he deserved it then, there’s no denying that. He still deserves it today. If you were ever to see him at any Hollywood function, you’d either ignore his presence entirely or greet him the same exact way you said your goodbye: “Fuck you, Eddie.”. But for a split second, you feel sad that this is the way you remember his name on your tongue.

“We wouldn’t have made you feel worse, sis.” Val says, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “What do you think of this one?” She proceeds to steer you further away from your deprecating thoughts by holding up a simple red dress. Single strap, maxi length. Exactly the opposite of her usual style, primarily because it was a dress and Val always said she’d rather be caught dead than wearing something designed to limit her movements.

“It’s gorgeous,” you compliment, “Exactly your style.”

If she detected your tiny, white lie, she didn’t say anything. Although, judging by the elated look on her face, no one's opinion really mattered anyway. Not even the one she asked for. The one from her famous older sister.

“It really is, isn’t it? I’m gonna try it on.”

Wanting to see your genuine reaction to her wearing the garment, Val asks you to momentarily join Hank, and wait outside the private dressing suite. You giggle at her, missing the fact that this was the first genuine laugh you let out since Los Angeles, and step outside the heavy door without protest.

Hank greets you with a tight lipped smile, but doesn’t say anything. He never does. You liked that about him, especially considering everyone else in your life always had too much to say. Hank’s silence was like a breath of fresh air. However, unknown to you yet, this time, Hank should have been talking, saying literally anything, repeating any old story, ‘cause then, his deep voice would mask what unfortunately catches your attention next.

It’s not really a squeal, not really a groan either. It’s honestly not really any distinct sound, just something that echoes down the hall, reaching your ears and causing Hank to stop the tune he was quietly humming. Both your heads snap in the direction of the noise, just in case it is something you should worry about, like a paparazzo that somehow snuck in, despite the heavy Saks security. Unfortunately for you, the person that comes rushing around the corner is a lot worse than any ol’ shutterbug.

Suddenly, at the end of the hallway, in all her redheaded glory, appears Max Mayfield.

Recognition feigns across her features as her movements come to a halt the second she sees you perched up against the corridor wall. Her mouth parts in shock, proving that she’s clearly just as surprised to see you here.

Having never officially met, Max still knew exactly who you were. And not because of your fame, the articles about you and her brother. No. Judging by the look in her piercing eyes, Max knew you more intimately. She knew you from the stories that fell directly from Eddie’s lips. She knew details of your relationship that were kept secret from the public. Hell, she might’ve even known more than you.

You don’t get to ask her though. You don’t even get to say ‘hello’ because she glances behind her shoulder, your gaze following just as quickly. Holy shit, you think, knees now wobbling underneath you. If Eddie walks around that corner you might… Well, frankly, you don’t know how you’d react. You also didn’t really want to find out. Not now. Not here. Not like this.

So your fingers reach for the door handle and you’re just about to push it open, retreat back inside, when the person that’s with Max comes into view.

The disappointment that briefly rushes through you is unmatched. Even if you didn’t really want to see the rockstar, you still wished he was actually here. Instead, you’re now face to face with another brunette with hair just as wild as Eddie’s. Only his attire is different. The suit that’s perfectly tailored to his slender frame is also undoubtedly expensive. Armani, you notice.

“Jesus, when will you learn not to—”

He sees you then. The same exact look that Max is currently sporting spreads across his sharp features, so he must know you too. Difference being, you don’t know him.

“Oh shit. Sorry. We, eh, we were told no one was here.” He apologises, glancing between you and Hank, who’s posture is proper. Intimidating.

You step out in front of your bodyguard. An unspoken signal that says he doesn’t need to tell these people to get lost just yet.

“That’s okay,” you reply to the stranger, quickly weighing your options in terms of what the next words to spill from your lips should be. One more glance in Max’s direction solidifies your decision. If her brother is going to repeatedly break your heart and get away with it, you’re going to play dumb and pretend he didn’t really matter to you.

With a polite smile and a swift extension of your hand, you introduce yourself. First to the mystery man, then to Max. The redhead is slightly more apprehensive about the hand shake, but she takes your extended fingers in hers regardless before saying her own name, as if you didn’t already know it.

The guy you now know as Steve clears his throat.

“We’ll come back.” It’s simple. Meant to ease the awkwardness since the three of you clearly knew what — or rather, who — you had in common, but none of you seems willing to say the name aloud first.

“That’s okay,” you repeat, “Stay. We’re nearly finished anyway.”

And right on queue, Val calls your name from inside the private dressing room. You excuse yourself, leaving the two to exchange a knowing glance, and a whisper, undoubtedly about what they should do next.

Val, of course, looks breathtaking in the dress she picked out. Hand on your heart, you stare at your little sister in awe, wondering, probably for the first time ever, when the hell did she grow up so fast. And it’s an odd feeling that spreads through you. Pushing down the heartbreak momentarily, is melancholy for all the time you lost with your siblings because you were too busy being a star. It brings tears to your eyes, but you push them down quickly since you’ve been called dramatic enough for one day, and right now, it was all about Valentine.

“I think I understand why you’re always wearing skirts and dresses,” she says, spinning in front of the large mirror with the biggest smile on her face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I feel like a fucking princess.”

A soft giggle escapes your lips. You agree with her sentiment, then add, “You look like mom.” Meaning it as the highest of compliments and her eyes twinkle at your words.

“She’s going to love this dress.”

You nod. “She’s going to love you in this dress.”

It’s decided, just like that. The dress is being bought and Val thanks you ten times over for offering to pay for it, along with a pair of Louboutins to compliment it. You tell her it’s the least you can do for finally getting you out of bed, then you tell her that you’re glad you did this together — biting your tongue when it came to the apology for missing so many key moments in her life, because again, this moment was about her, not about the guilt you suddenly felt for focusing too much on your career and too little on your family.

Using the phone inside the private dressing room, Val calls for one of the Sales Assistants to come up, and while you two wait, you leave her again to get redressed in her normal clothes.

Max and Steve are gone.

That’s the first thing you notice when stepping back into the corridor. Hank doesn’t say anything as to their departure, unsurprisingly. He does, however, hand you a receipt from a nearby coffee shop. There’s scribbles on the back of it: ‘MEET ME’, along with an address in Brooklyn.

“From the redheaded girl,” Hank admits.

Max Mayfield has tolerated a lot of shitty behaviour in her lifetime.

The list of people that hurt her, and the people closest to her, was quite long, especially for a twenty-something year old. But her upbringing had a lot more downs than ups, and because of that, for the longest time, Max considered herself to be the most unlucky person on the planet. So she blamed the people around her for it, because how else is a kid supposed to judge universal injustice?

To this day, she remembers every single individual that has wronged her in any way, along with the associated place, and most importantly, the how. Max was never entirely sure what she’d do with that information, but she stored it at the back of her mind regardless — hence her thick skin and inability to tolerate any sort of bullshit.

Which is why it sucks ten times more when it is the people close to her doing the hurting, with no rhyme nor reason.

If Eddie asked, that’s why she left you her address. If Eddie asked, that’s why she wanted to talk to you. He did the hurting. Then he spewed bullshit as to why he ended things with you. Max didn’t believe any of it. Anyone with half a brain wouldn’t believe it.

“I think she’s the love of my life,” Eddie announced one day, out of the blue.

He called Max every Tuesday, when it hit four in the afternoon for him. Usually, the two of them talked about Max’s adventures in New York. How she’s doing with her studies, what she’s been up to with her friends (old and new), and if Sinclair has been driving her crazy, which he usually is. The odd time, Eddie would drop in some details about his whirlwind of a life, though he never talked about dating.

That is, until her older brother met you.

Then he wouldn’t fucking shut up.

Max liked this side of Eddie. A truly happy Eddie. And the redhead knows, better than anyone, the rockstar hasn’t been truly happy in all the years he’s been in a set presence in her life.

So to say she was surprised when the news broke, NO MORE SWEETHEART FOR EDDIE MUNSON, would be a vast understatement.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Max questioned her brother.

“Nothing,” Eddie answered plainly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, “turns out she wasn’t anything special.”

“Eddie,” Max breathed, “you’re acting like a prick.”

She heard a sigh on the other line. Defeated. A little annoyed. Maybe even… sad?

“Whatever,” he brushed the comment off. “Listen, Red, I really don’t wanna talk about this, ‘cause if I did, I would’ve told you it ended myself.”

“That’s another problem I have—”

“Let’s not, okay?” Eddie snapped. “I really don’t wanna deal with shit from you, on top of everyone else, okay? We were never a real item, so it’s not a big deal.”

Max dropped it then and she swore she’d never bring it up again, but then, she bumped into you. She imagined meeting you many times over. The girl that made her brother happy. She wanted to know that girl. She wanted to thank her.

When it all went to hell, Max thought she’d never get the chance. Especially since, seemingly, you seemed okay with the downfall of your relationship with Eddie, spotted out on dates all over New York City. For a brief moment, Max let herself hate you. Clearly, you weren’t upset, which means, clearly, you didn’t care about Eddie nearly as much as he would have believed.

But then she saw you.

Max noticed how your face twitched with recognition the second your eyes locked together, how your hands shook slightly when Max looked behind her shoulder, the brief disappointment when it wasn’t Eddie who came around the corner, and how you tried to plaster on a pristine smile when you introduced yourself.

And now that she saw you, one thing was clear. Eddie hurt your feelings. He may have even broken your heart. That sort of behaviour, Max couldn’t stand for.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” you say with a delicate smile.

Your moves are apprehensive when Max further pushes her apartment door open, allowing you into her home. She leads you down the long hallway and offers up the couch for you to sit, while she steps towards the kitchen cabinets to grab a couple of wine glasses.

In the time that Max opens up a bottle of Cabernet, you allow yourself to glance around the space. The furniture is all mismatched, definitely vintage, probably thrifted. There’s a fireplace, but you think it must be disconnected since instead it houses cream-coloured candles, all of different burn degrees. Otherwise, the decor is minimal, and it makes you think of Eddie and the empty walls of his Los Angeles mansion.

Though there is one prime feature. A framed Corroded Coffin poster, signed by all the members.

A faint smile circles your lips as you trail the details of the image. Though you haven’t been a fan before, having dated Eddie for a couple of months, you now knew the poster was from their first headline tour. The poor scribbles on an old photo, something that could one day be worth thousands. You’re sure though, that to Max, the value of this is priceless.

So your nerves bubble to the surface. Your leg starts to bounce, thumb back at your lips as you stare at the poster in front of you. The question of why exactly Max asked you to meet has been circling your mind ever since Hank handed you the address. It’s only intensified now that you are here. Now that you are looking at an A3 print of the brunette rockstar in his sister’s apartment. The guy that, despite your best efforts, you still cared for quite deeply.

“Here you go,” Max hails you back to reality by handing you a glass of wine. “It’s nothing fancy though, I eh, don’t usually host celebrities,” she tries to joke.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say and take the drink out of her grasp. “I-I actually prefer the cheaper stuff. Keeps me rich,” you try to joke.

Max seems to like your efforts ‘cause she huffs out a laugh while making herself comfortable on the armchair to your right.

“If only my idiotic brother carried the same principles as you,” she says. And just like that, the air is tense again. Your attempt at a joke is turned into an uncomfortable reminder of what the two of you have in common, and the reason for why you’re here tonight.

There’s a brief moment of slightly awkward silence. Then Max sighs softly.

“You’re probably wondering why I asked you to come.”

“The thought did cross my mind, yes.”

Max smiles, it’s small, yet genuine.

“Look, Eddie has never been one for chatting about feelings. That’s one of the things we actually have in common, which is probably why we’ve always gotten along so well.” She pauses.

“Full transparency, I don’t know what went down between the two of you. All I know is one day, he’s telling me how he’s crazy about you, and the next, I’m reading in the tabloids how it’s over and Eddie’s not willing to give up any reasons why.”

Your face falls momentarily. Something Max picks up on instantly.

“You thought I knew more.”

“That obvious, huh?” You smirk.

“Just a little.”

There’s another moment of silence.

“I’ll be the first to say that Eddie can be a bit of a dickhead sometimes. Especially recently, when the money started rolling in and apparently no one in Hollywood understands setting boundaries, his ego has grown for sure. But I also know what he’s been through. Hawkins wasn’t the kindest to him.”

“Why are you telling me this?” It comes out as a whisper.

“He hurt you,” she’s blunt.

You don’t mean to, but you scoff. “No offence to you, or your brother, but I’m sure I wasn’t the first person he’s hurt, and I certainly won’t be the last, so do you sit down with all his ex-flings?”

Max sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing down momentarily, as she drops her gaze to the wine glass in her grasp. For a moment, you think you came off too bitchy and a little dismissive, after all, she hasn’t made her intentions known yet. Your instinct is to apologise, but then she clears her throat and looks back up at you.

“You’re the only one he’s ever talked about.”

“Do you wanna hurt him back?” — Max's question dings in your ears like the alarm bells you should have heard when she first asked it.

Not now. Not the next night, after you had already agreed to her plan. After the plan was already in motion, you were simply just waiting for the other person to arrive.

Waiting for Steve Harrington.

This was all honestly a little too crazy, but again, you thought so a little too late. You should have been second guessing the idea the second Max presented it to you, like a pretty little gift, wrapped in a big bow known to most as ‘revenge’. Though last night, two bottles of wine in, you would have agreed to anything the redhead said. You did agree to everything ‘cause you realised that she just needed someone to vent her own feelings to, same as you.

She said Eddie didn’t want to talk about it, and she wanted to be sympathetic towards his feelings, but seeing you reminded her, he wasn’t the only person involved in this situation. She needed to talk to you. And honestly, you were glad for the opportunity, hence why you showed up at the scribbled address. Since all you got from your close circle was judgement, it couldn’t hurt to spend time with someone who’d refrain from commenting on how foolish you were.

As the night progressed, so did the topic of conversation.

The two of you had moved on from small talk relating to the person you both knew, and to the real reason Max asked you to come over: “Do you wanna hurt him back?”.

“I-I…” Clearly, the redhead caught you off guard, “Well, I-I haven’t really—”

“If you tell me you haven’t thought about it over the last few months, then I will say you’re full of shit, because no girl of your status gets her heartbroken so publicly, only to let the other person scot free.”

She moved from the armchair and sat back down next to you, then continued, “And I’m not saying this is about your career. It’s about principle. Taking away the fact that Eddie’s my brother, he’s an entitled rockstar who thinks other people’s feelings aren’t as important! Which personally, is just so baffling considering what he went through with Chrissy—”

“Who’s Chrissy?”

Max didn’t really answer your question, though the look in her eyes gave some of it away. Chrissy was, at one point in time, someone very important to Eddie. The name slipped out, you weren’t supposed to know it, that much was definitely clear. And you were smart enough to deduct that Max wasn’t going to tell you much else about this mystery girl, but maybe, whatever she had planned, would allow you to learn it from someone else. Maybe even Eddie himself.

“Okay,” you agreed, “What do you have in mind?”

That’s how you found yourself at Minetta Tavern, fifteen minutes early than agreed with Max ‘cause you knew you’d need a glass of wine before Steve arrived. There was a pit in your stomach. This whole situation was honestly so twisted, even for your standards. But you kept repeating to yourself how it was too late to back out now. Too late to call off this whole thing since the paparazzi you asked Holly to arrange were already lurking outside.

Steve shows up about ten minutes before the agreed time.

The hostess walks him over to your table and you immediately notice how nervous he seems. He still offers you a charming smile and bends slightly to your level, greeting you with a half-hug. When he sits across from you, he’s quick to order a Jameson on ice, and only when the waiter is out of sight, Steve looks at you.

“Even if this is a fake date, I do have to say, you look really beautiful tonight.”

A timid smile circles your lips at the unexpected compliment. “Thank you, Steve. You look rather handsome too.”

“Nah,” he brushes you off with a smirk, “Not to be overly forward, but I’m all sweaty after a whole day’s work. Wanted to change shirts. Ended up running late this morning, so I didn’t take a second one with me. Then I tried to bribe one of my colleagues to give me his spare shirt, so he told me he’d bet me for it with a game of pool, which I clearly lost. It was a whole thing.” Steve dramatises, the smirk ever present.

“Bet you’re regretting calling me handsome now, huh?”

“Not at all,” you reply honestly, “Actually, surprisingly, quite the opposite.”

He raises a brow. “Oh yeah?”

And you nod. “Not to be overly forward,” you repeat his earlier sentiment, “But I’ve never been on a date with someone that had a real job.”

Steve laughs. “I just told you I played a game of pool at work to win a clean shirt. That’s a real job to you?”

It’s rather effortless how he makes you laugh too.

“Well, I’m assuming that didn’t take the whole day, so for at least six hours today, you worked, no?”

Still smiling, he bops his head in agreement. “You got me there.”

Celebrating your mini victory, you take a sip of your wine.

“So, what do you do, Steve?” You ask after the waiter brings over his drink and takes your food orders.

“Wall Street,” he answers plainly.

“Shit,” you reply with a grin, “You’re so right. That’s not a real job.”

When Steve laughs again, you forget why you’re both really here. When he laughs again, the slight shake of his head causing his hair to bounce in compliment, you forget the circumstances surrounding your date. As the night continued, with every spoken word, every little joke and giggle, you end up forgetting a lot of things actually.

You forget to ask Steve why he agreed to do this with you. Forget to ask about Eddie and what their friendship meant to him, since he’s here, acting out a revenge plot. Most importantly, you forget to ask about Chrissy, who she was, and what she really meant to the rockstar.

This fake date with Steve turned into one of the best dates of your young-adult life.

Apparently, you two had a lot in common, more than you could have ever imagined. You both came from families that always lived above the norm, which in itself was a challenge only people from similar backgrounds could understand. Steve had said how the weight of the world was always on his shoulders whenever he was around his parents, and that’s how you felt with your Nana. Nothing was ever good enough, yet you kept trying to impress them regardless. He shared the privilege you’ve always felt, so you bonded. Without ever meaning to.

It wasn’t until after dinner, which Steve paid for, by the way, you remembered the circumstances that brought you here together. He seemed to understand the apprehensive look in your eyes ‘cause he was quick to offer to leave first, before you, and not with you — just in case you had second thoughts — but you just shook your head, Max’s question humming in your ears once again: “Do you wanna hurt him back?”.

“He really hurt me, Steve.”

The brunette nods. “Let’s go then.”

The next morning, Page Six features a spread about you on a date with “a mystery brunette”. In the picture, Steve’s got his arm around you, hugging you close, as the two of you push through the paparazzi to get into his vintage car.

When Steve calls your apartment a few days later, you ask him if he regrets being put on blast like that.

“No,” he answers quickly, “Real or not, I had a really good night with you. Which honestly made me think about all the possible reasons Munson might’ve had to do what he did.”

“What did you come up with?”

“That he’s a fucking idiot. You’re incredible.”

You damn well know he can picture the smile you’re sporting right now as you wrap the cord around your wrist, like a little school girl talking to her crush. If your Nana saw, she’d tell you to snap out of it. Although, unlike Eddie, Steve was exactly the type of guy she’d want you to end up with.

Intelligent, charming, kind — and those were just the qualities you learned in a single night. The more you thought about your not-so-fake date, the more you found yourself wanting to learn even more about the handsome brunette.

There were just a couple of other questions you needed to get out of the way before you asked Steve out on a real date. Things you should’ve asked the first time around, instead of getting caught up in the moment.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“If Eddie’s your friend, why did you agree to Max’s plan?”

There’s a brief moment of silence. Albeit, very brief.

“I guess the same reason Red even put this in motion in the first place.”

“Chrissy?”

You can hear him sigh into the receiver, but you don’t get to actually hear him confirm it, or ask any of the follow ups you should have actually asked him during your date, because there’s a knock on your door. Then again, only louder, more intense.

“Steve, I gotta call you back,” you say, attention now focused on whoever it was that’s on the other side of your front door and the eagerness behind their knocks.

“Sure thing, darling. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, someone’s just at my door. I’ll call you in a couple minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, “Speak in a few.”

The next thing you hear are three beeps, so you hurry to put the phone back before approaching your front door. You don’t really think to check who it might be through the peephole, since there’s only a limited number of people that would get past your doorman with no prior notice. That was a mistake.

On the other side of your apartment door, drenched from the September rain, stood none other than Corroded Coffin frontman himself, Mr Eddie Munson.

Your mouth parts slightly in shock as Eddie slides his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, meeting your wide gaze. He tries to smile, though the corners of his lips don’t really move that far upward.

And you’re not sure how long the two of you stand there, just looking at one another. It’s only when one of your neighbours comes out of their apartment, into the shared corridor, that you snap out of whatever spell you had found yourself under.

The panic sets in.

He’s actually here. Eddie is standing in front of you. Now, Mrs McAllister has seen him, and she’s got a big mouth, yapping to the ladies at bingo about all your activities, gossip that somehow always travels back to your Nana — the last person you needed on your case, again.

So without really thinking, you slam the door shut.

Right in Eddie’s face.

thank you for reading! really appreciate the endless & continuous support!

celebrity skin. masterlist

& tagging some cool ppl that expressed interest: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @astheni-a , @bebe07011 , @aysheashea , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson story #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #celebrity skin.

260 notes · View notes