#THIS WASN'T AS LONG AS I HOPED IT TO BE BUT IT'S BECAUSE OF MY EVIL LAPTOP

[yuramour]

I THINK HE KNOWS — F1 GRID

synopsis. trying to keep your crush on a certain driver a secret isn't exactly easy. but do they know about it, or not? pairing. f1 grid x reader (ft. mv1, yt22, ln4, op81, gr63, cl16, lh44, dr3, aa23, cs55, ih6, jd7, eo31, ka12, ob87) genre. fluff, headcanons warnings. mild secondhand embarrassment, maybe some suggestive themes, mostly coworker!reader, some of these are noticeably longer than others. my bad word count. 3k-ish (200-ish each)

note. this slowly devolves into silliness. alsoooooo, im tryna have a more consistent upload schedule, but i did just get a job and im taking online classes over the summer, so like, its hard to find the time to actually sit down and write. i'm trying, tho!! hope you guys enjoy this one :p

MAX VERSTAPPEN

۶ৎ completely oblivious

of course, it was glaringly obvious to everyone but max. everyone else saw the way you immediately stopped whatever you were working on to stare at him whenever he wandered into the red bull garage. ever since you started working for red bull as an analyst, you had the biggest crush on max. at first, it was just a harmless thing, blushing whenever he was in your general vicinity, your coworkers giggling and elbowing you whenever he walked into the room. the teasing from your coworkers was really the most annoying part at first. but now? the most annoying part by far was how max was just apparently totally oblivious to the fact that you liked him. you weren't even keeping it a secret anymore like you were at the beginning. you'd all but asked him out at this point. but he had absolutely no idea. it wasn't until charles teased him about how you stared at him during the driver's parade that max realized. it took him aback at first, but trust he'd never felt more dumb than when he realized you were in fact hitting on him all that time. asks you out the next time he sees you.

YUKI TSUNODA

۶ৎ has a suspicion

he could be wrong- maybe. but for the past several months, yuki's had a feeling that all those times you've brushed against him in the hallway, stared just a little too long during team debriefs, and laughed a little too hard at his jokes meant you saw him as a little more than just a coworker. it's hard for him to keep to himself- you haven't actually said anything that would indicate that you like him, so he doesn't want to bring it up. which sucks for him, because he really likes you, too. the way your hand feels on him when you pat him on the back after a race, the way your voice sounds when wishing him luck, the way your eyes soften when they meet his- it gives him butterflies. but he doesn't want to tell you. maybe he's just scared of rejection- because what if he's wrong? what if you don't actually like him? you have to be the one to tell him first. his imposter syndrome refuses to let him make the first move. he's elated when you do- a grin breaking over his face, a soft "i knew it" slipping from his lips.

LANDO NORRIS

۶ৎ thinks you hate him

maybe it's just the way you show affection- but lando thinks you can be a little...mean. not just a little mean- really mean. lando genuinely thinks you hate his guts. the way you refuse to make eye contact with him, the way you practically flee the room whenever he enters- he's convinced you have something against him. lando's a sensitive soul, he can take things a little personally. and you're perfectly content letting lando think you hate him if it means he never finds out ab out your stupid little crush. on another note, lando's absolutely flabbergasted when oscar makes a passing comment about your little crush on him- leaving both of them confused; lando because he was convinced you hated him, and oscar because he thought your crush was so blatant. oscar was right, of course. you just have a rather elementary way of navigating your crushes on people. lando practically corners you about it the next day, your violent blush and stuttering at the sudden confrontation telling him all he needed to know. he asks you out properly and nicely after that.

OSCAR PIASTRI

۶ৎ he knows but you have no idea he knows

oscar clocked your crush immediately. he's an observant guy. but he's so incredibly normal about it. you have absolutely no idea that he knows. the thing is, he thinks he's being obvious about liking you back. he'll open doors for you, give you his coat when you're cold, open energy drink cans for you, and he thinks it's incredibly obvious. the problem? you just think he's the kind of guy that'd do all that stuff anyway. because he's just so relaxed with it. it goes on for MONTHS. you both thinking you're being plainly obvious about your feelings for each other, and oscar just simply not wanting to be the one to make the first move. lando eventually knocks some sense into him- telling him to just ask you out because you're obviously not going to be the one to initiate it. as soon as he does, you're taken aback- not having expected oscar to be into you, too. but of course he was. how could he not be?

CHARLES LECLERC

۶ৎ thinks its all platonic

charles thinks that you're just a good friend- his best friend. doing things that all best friends do. of course a best friend would drop everything because he asked you to go out and do something. of course a best friend would go out of their way to come to all his races. of course best friends hug each other for extended periods of time after a bad race. he thinks you're just his best friend. because none of his other friends really do things like that- you must just be that good of a friend! right? no. of course not. you are head over heels in love with charles and you always have been. and he's never noticed. to be fair, you didn't exactly want him to. you were scared of the rejection you'd face if he ever found out. he's the charles leclerc. why would he go for you? even if you were his best friend. funny enough, it's his mother that ends up spilling your secret. charles thinks she's just joking at first, but once he realizes she's not, he's absolutely mortified. not only because he never realized it, but because he's felt the same about you for years, thinking you only saw his as a friend. calls you over immediately and confesses everything.

LEWIS HAMILTON

۶ৎ he knows, but doesn't say a word

lewis, ever the gentleman, notices your crush immediately, but chooses to keep it a secret. because you obviously don't want him to know about it, otherwise, you wouldn't be keeping it a secret. he thinks its charming more than anything. completely endeared by the way you immediately blush and look away whenever he makes eye contact, scurrying away like a little mouse whenever he ever so politely asks you to do even the most miniscule task. he didn't have any feelings for you at first- but the more time he spends observing you, the way you interact with others, your kindness, your individuality, he falls for you slowly but surely. you know lewis is a good man, so when he asks you to go to dinner with him, you think it's just to show his thanks to you for being such a hard worker. when he tells you how he feels about you, you feel like you're about to melt out of sheer embarrassment. lewis watches the blush take over your face with a soft laugh, your reaction reminding lewis exactly why he liked you in the first place.

GEORGE RUSSELL

۶ৎ thinks it's just a joke

even if you are so completely blatantly obvious about having a crush on george, he just thinks you're kidding. any time you openly flirt with him, he just laughs along and takes it as a joke. it gets to a point where you're all but telling him to his face that you're in love with him, and he's just like "haha, good one!" straight up, for a man that's so in love with himself, you think he'd be able to take a hint. but no. he's blind to the truth. and he's like this for MONTHS. you are LAYING IT ON, and he just does not understand that you are being 100% for real. only gets it when you literally corner him and tell him blatantly to his face that you are genuinely actually into him. he's both flabbergasted and overjoyed bc this rich boy gets zero play.

KIMI ANTONELLI

۶ৎ he has NO idea

silly silly boy. despite the fact that you've followed him around the world since you were kids, been by his side the entire time, through his best and worst days. he just doesn't see it. and you'd never tell him, of course. you value your friendship too much to ruin it over a stupid little (not little at all) crush. but still. who tf basically puts their entire life on hold to follow their best friend around the world? either someone who's in love, or someone who's just that good of a friend. in your case, it's the former. but unfortunately, kimi thinks you're the latter. he doesn't even realize he's in love with you until he's talking about you to ollie one day, just absolutely gushing about you and ollie's just listening like "...😐 you're stupid." after kimi realizes how he feels, he tries to keep it to himself, but accidentally lets it slip out one day while talking to you. to his ABSOLUTE SHOCK (idk how it was a shock he's lowkey blind), you feel the same about him.

ALEX ALBON

۶ৎ he knows & is very obvious about it

he KNOWSSSS. AND YOU KNOW HE KNOWSSSSS. unfortunately, as an employee for Williams, you know that dating a driver is looked down upon at the VERY LEAST. so despite the fact that you keep it as professional as possible, any and every time you so much as make eye contact with alex, this mf giggles. like, actually giggles. like a middle schooler. you don't even really know how he knows. but you suspect that carlos told him after you let it slip to him one day that you thought alex was cute. but nevertheless, you never let your interactions go beyond relaying basic information and wishing him luck before a race. but one weekend, you and alex end up with you hotel rooms booked right next to each other, somehow leading to alex basically living in your room all weekend. after that, it's all longing stares across the garage and holding hands in secret.

CARLOS SAINZ

۶ৎ totally blind to it

i think he just likes to think that you're a very kind and respectful person. like, he says jump and you ask how high, type shit. despite the fact that you try to keep it a secret at first, you realize that he is truly never going to get it unless you start like, actually putting the moves on this man. he thinks you're just a really nice person until one day it just slaps him in the face that you're literally obsessed with him, and he just feels SO stupid bc of it. like, you are all but offering to literally become his personal maid and he hasn't realized until now??? not very smooth operator of him. when he suddenly starts flirting back to you, you realize the vibe switchup IMMEDIATELY and you know he's clocked you</3 he asks you out on a casual coffee date at a cute quiet little cafe and it's very sweet and fluffy and eughhhh i hate (love) him so much.

ISACK HADJAR

۶ৎ again, thinks you hate him

poor baby thinks you getting red in the face and cutting the conversation off early whenever he tries to talk to you is indicative of you hating him and not of you getting flustered by his mere presence. he's pacing back and forth wondering what he could have possibly done to make you hate him, meanwhile you're in the other room pacing back and forth wondering how the hell you're ever going to be able to tell him you're basically in love with him. isack eventually decides to just be as nice as possible; getting you coffee, doing his best to make your job easier for you, complimenting you whenever he notices you've done your hair differently or whatever. unfortunately, this may or may not make things worse bc you have no idea how to take a compliment and just mumble a "thanks" and immediately leave the room whenever he does so. eventually, one of your coworkers talks some sense into you and convinces you to tell isack how you feel. shocked and elated don't even come close to describing how isack feels when you finally confess to him. relationship immediately starts from there, and he's basically obsessed with you and giving you allllll the words of affirmation.

JACK DOOHAN

۶ৎ thinks its just "bestie vibes"

again. stupid boy. stupid dumb boy. let me set the scene; you and jack have in fact been best friends for as long as you can remember. you weren't even into him at first, but after not seeing him for a while, and all of a sudden, he comes back as an accomplished formula driver, not to mention he's like, half a foot taller and significantly more ripped than he was the last time you saw him, something definitely changed in the way you looked at him. but of course sweet oblivious jack is just happy to hang out with his best friend again after so long. the two of you take a trip to the beach not too long after he gets back, and you have to physically stop yourself from staring at his abs for too long. ofc he just thinks you're looking at him so longingly bc you missed your best friend (him) so bad. that same night, the two of you get a little drunk and you accidentally call him hot to his face. oops! he thought about it for a solid ten seconds before he realized that he, in the back of his mind, thought the same about you. i just love this himbo so bad okay :(

OLLIE BEARMAN

۶ৎ he WANTS you to, but has no idea

to ollie, you were just so fucking cool. always so poised, level-headed, always cool under pressure. and he was absolutely head-over-heels for you. he practically followed you around like a lost puppy everywhere you went. not just because he's always getting lost at social events, but because he wanted to be near you as much as he physically could. to ollie, you were totally and completely out of his league. he wanted so badly for you to notice him as more than the guy that you were getting paid to basically babysit and make sure he doesn't say anything stupid to the media. little did he know, you'd been charmed by his cute smile, sweet demeanor, and puppy-like tendencies since the day you met him. he thinks he's seeing things when he starts noticing the blush that creeps up on your cheeks whenever he says something sweet. "wishful thinking" he tells himself. he swears he's dreaming when you knock on his hotel room one night and say that you have a secret to tell him. and he practically dies from happiness when he wakes up the next morning with a text from you confirming that you meant it when you told him you liked him.

ESTEBAN OCON

۶ৎ he's SUSPICIOUS of you

what do you want from him?? why are you so nice to him? what are you planning?? are you, the sweet alpine employee that says hi to him every morning in the paddock with that cute little smile spying on haas for your team??? he notices the way you come to the haas mobile home to "visit your friend" that works for the team. every time you wish him luck on the race in passing, he narrows his eyes and nods curtly, suspicious of the way you always happen to bump into him. little does he know, he keeps seeing you around because you have the biggest crush on him. you're close with a couple of the guys on the haas pit crew, and they've been trying for months to get esteban to notice you. which he has. just not in the way that you hoped. it all comes to a head when esteban relays his suspicion to your friends on the haas team, all of whom are absolutely flabbergasted that that's the conclusion he came to. they couldn't possibly let him go on thinking that. esteban is completely floored when they tell him you're always hanging around not because you're spying for alpine, but because you have a crush on him. immediately pulls you aside the next time he sees you and apologizes for being so unwelcoming towards you. he takes you out for an apologetic dinner, and realizes you're actually really great :p

DANIEL RICCIARDO

۶ৎ he knows and you know he knows

not only does he very obviously know, he teases you about it. you're too stubborn to give him the satisfaction of telling him flat-out how you feel. that's exactly what he wants. so you let him tease you, taking the shit-eating grins, flirtatious jokes, and the way he gets just a little too close for comfort in stride. you absolutely refuse to give him any kind of confirmation when he leans in, going "come on, i know you like me a little bit." it gets to a point where he's gotten on your nerves so much, you're not even sure if you even like him anymore or if you're just so stubborn, you can't even admit it to yourself anymore. it goes on for literal years. you think it's finally over when daniel leaves red bull. finally, you can let go of your stupid crush and live the rest of your life in peace knowing you won't have to deal with the australian ever again. but no. of course not. despite the fact that he was now in renault, he would come sidling up to the red bull mobile home just to flash you that shit-eating grin with a painfully flirty "how you doing?" all that time while he was in red bull, the possibility that he liked you back hadn't even crossed your mind. you thought he was just kind of a dick, teasing you for being into him. turns out, he was just waiting for the moment you weren't working for the same team so he could ask you out properly. "surprised" doesn't even begin to cover how you were feeling after he told you after the 2019 season was over.

taglist: @bear-yawns @revelauver

[on-a-carousel]

Unfortunately relatable. I'm bed ridden but it's hard to say I'm sick because am I really? It's just that I can't stand without my vision going black, I can't think properly, I don't have the energy to do the things I used to. My doctor (wonderful, very understanding woman, fortunately) gave the hesitant not quite diagnosis of 'Chronic fatigue or maybe long covid, there isn't really a difference or anything I can do for you.' I can't even tell what's real and what's fake. Like is my terrible mental health that is the result of this really that bad or am I just sick? Am I just sick or is my mental health making it worse? Idk cause it's all the same symptoms.

I hope your health improves, I hope mine does too. I wish no one had to deal with this bullshit and that the medical system wasn't so fucking crappy and limited in the ways they can help.

as a severely mentally ill 14 year old, I remember thinking “the medical system would treat me better if I was physically ill and not mentally ill” and then I coincidentally developed multiple chronic illnesses and found out that actually they dgaf even when you’re essentially bedridden

[horny-marbles]

Hihi! Unsure if you’d recognize me as 🧃 anon over on Tiv’s blog,,(I’m always found in the trenches over there) but I’ve been lurking on here for a bit now and can hold silent no longer!

As a fellow Ej main,,,, I gotta ask u. Erm what’s ur take on what HE would be like during period sex??? 👉👈

Ehe I love your work sm!!!!

hiiii yes i know u!! OK SO i'm using this as an excuse to post this fic i wrote a few months ago because i wasn't sure if i'd be shunned off this app for it lmfao, so like. i hope you got your answer 🫡

(also this is just some munch behaviour, but p in v is basically the same. he WILL get rabies. godspeed if you're on your period while he has his rut, you might actually get dicked into a coma)

(also also i'm not the proudest of this one but i've been fiending to post it so WHATEVER go my cannibal bf)

Bloodhound (Eyeless Jack x F!Reader)

CW: period oral, multiple orgasms, kinda public

wordcount 2.6k

It took forever to get to this point with Jack.

He’s not emotionally available. He doesn’t date. He doesn’t cuddle. He doesn’t care—at least, that’s what everyone at the mansion thought. He always keeps a distance, clinically cold, silent unless necessary. Most creeps only interact with him when they're dying and hoping he’d patch them up in time. You? You got in somehow.

It started with shared silences. You didn’t push, didn’t ask invasive questions. You treated him like a person, not a monster, not someone you can get something from. Maybe that’s what cracked him open.

Nothing about it was fast. It was Jack, after all. Glacial patience, iron self-control. And he… was a project in erosion. Small conversations, slow touches. Letting him fix a cut on your hand, not flinching at his claws, letting him hear your heartbeat up close while he stitched you up.

It took weeks for him to even look at you like something more than another resident of the mansion. Even longer to speak to you like you mattered. And months before you saw him with his guard down. Just a little. A crooked smile when you said something that caught him off-guard. He was cautious—frustratingly so—but over time, he allowed you closer.

Something changed along the lines. Eventually, you broke through. Maybe it was your quiet persistence. Maybe it was just time. Maybe he got tired of pretending your presence hadn't become sought out rather than just a nice surprise on the occasion.

Whatever it was, you were his now. And he was yours. Carefully. Quietly. Privately. Like something precious. It was gentler than you could've anticipated, but it felt monumental.

You knew he was demon enough to survive off flesh. You knew his senses were heightened—he’d mentioned it once, bluntly, like a clinical report. “Everyone in this house reeks. I ignore it. Easier that way.” You didn’t ask more.

So when your period started, you didn’t even think to tell him. Why would you? You weren’t the kind of person to make a big deal out of it out loud. You’d stuff a pad in your jacket, pop some ibuprofen, sulk, call it a day. Maybe mention it if sex came up to make sure he wasn't squeamish, but otherwise—whatever.

He was NOT squeamish.

He was a fucking wreck, in such a visceral way that it knocked him off balance.

He didn’t realize it at first. Not consciously. There was just… a difference.

Your heartbeat was lower. Your temperature ran hotter. A subtle change in the chemistry of your sweat. Not bad—nothing ever was with you. But different. Complicated.

Jack tuned these things out. Hormones, sweat, stress, sex—this mansion stank of it. He’d learned long ago that the only way to keep his sanity was to ignore everything that wasn’t essential. If he let it in—really let it in—he’d never get peace again.

But this wasn’t the house. This wasn’t “ambient noise.” This was you.

And your scent had changed.

At first, it was small. Just enough to raise the hair on his arms. His instincts whispered to him in the background, tugged at the base of his spine like a hooked wire. Something important was happening. Something ripe.

The smell started sweet. Then it got wet. Iron and heat. Blood and sugar and skin. A slick, dizzying cocktail of copper and pheromones that made something deep in his gut twitch.

He realized—too late—that you were bleeding.

He’d smelled it before, of course. Lived with women in this house. It had never meant anything to him. Just another reason to stay away for a few days, let the hormone cloud settle and spare himself the migraine.

But this wasn’t just any blood. It wasn't the viscera and gore he was so used to when feeding. This wasn't about hunger and survival. It was about you. About everything else that came with it — your hormones, the heat under your skin, the scent of pain and lust and life. You were a walking furnace, and he was standing downwind from the smoke.

Jack hadn’t accounted for that when he lowered his defenses to let you in. He hadn’t even considered that it might affect him differently.

But now it was like every cell in his body was tuned to you. Your scent dragged claws down his brainstem, lit every nerve like a chemical explosion. His mouth filled with saliva he didn’t need. His muscles locked so tight it hurt to move.

And his cock was constantly throbbing. There was barely any angle to adjust, no distraction strong enough. His body was betraying him, rock-solid and aching, cock flushed and twitching behind his jeans like it wanted to rip through.

Not just hard. Rigid. Like his entire body was bracing against some invisible force. His shoulders tense. Jaw clenched. Claws scraping gouges into the inside of his palm just to focus.

He stayed away that first day. Locked himself in his room. Didn’t answer when you knocked.

But the second day, your scent wafted behind you when you passed by him in the hall, grazing under his nose like it was both mocking and luring him in, and his knees buckled.

You were too busy chasing your cramps away with painkillers and heat pads to notice your boyfriend's change in behaviour, though.

You never noticed the way he breathed around you, measured and tight and absolutely refusing to inhale through his nose. The way he kept his hands in his pockets, hidden, clenched. The way his voice went low and clipped when you got too close.

But the way he wouldn't even look in your general direction—allusive to an actual glance as it would've been—became too on the nose. The way his shirt clung to his chest. The sheen of sweat permanently on his collar.

His breath stuttered when you leaned over the sink at some point before heading to bed. You were just getting a glass of water.

And Jack folded like laundry.

“Sit down.” His voice was low, firm, strained. Out of nowhere.

You blinked and turned around slowly. “What?”

His head was tilted slightly downward, jaw clenched like he was about to snap it off at the hinge. “The couch. Sit.”

You sat, confused. Bracing for the talk. Surely, the strange behaviour meant he was just done, for some reason. That's what your homonal mind jumped to anyway.

He knelt between your legs without another word. Okay, so no talk.

You stare down at him.

He's kneeling. Still. Broad hands braced on your thighs, fingers twitching like he’s holding himself back from shredding you to ribbons. He’s staring at your padded pussy like he can see it through your pajamas, like it owes him money. Like it promised him something and he came to collect.

Your legs spread a little—not even fully open—but his breath shudders out like he’s been punched.

“Jack?” you murmur, half-laughing, half-nervous. “What are you doing?”

His claws curl tighter into your thighs. He doesn’t answer right away. You can see the war in his head, muscles in his jaw doing Olympics when they twitch. He lifts a hand and rubs his face hard, dragging clawed fingers from brow to chin like he’s trying to scrape the hunger out of his skull.

He leans closer. Breathes in. Then again.

“Fuck—”

It’s a hiss. Half-formed. Desperate. Almost makes you jerk back, not with fear or disgust, but with realization.

“Jack—people could walk in—”

“Don’t care,” he growls. Not harsh—just raw. Like it costs him to speak at all. “I'll kill them. You need to—fuck—open your legs.”

You’re already open, but you listen. You shift. Knees wider. Hips tilted forward.

The second you do it, he twitches. Full body.

And then he leaps. Not violent—but like a man dying of thirst finally handed a glass of water. He buries his face in your clothed pussy and groans.

You feel it all: heat, vibration, desperation. He’s nuzzling hard through the fabric like it’s not enough, like he needs skin, taste, your fucking soul. His breath is hot, fast. You can feel him mouthing you over the cotton, and it sends sparks ripping through your spine.

“Jack—Jesus—wait, I'm on my—”

“Exactly,” he growls again, this time muffled against your cunt. “I need this.”

He yanks at your waistband, fast but careful. Pants and padded panties yanked off your ankles and tossed behind him on the floor. He looks deranged, mouth slightly parted, nostrils flaring, sweat beading at his temples.

And then—without asking, without warning—he leans in.

You jolt when you feel the first tongue.

Wet. Hot and starved. It licks from the bottom of your pussy to your clit in one slow, savoring drag. A moan vibrates against you—deep, long, throaty—and you feel how hard he’s gripping your thighs now, claws pressing in like they’re the only things tethering him to the floor.

The second tongue follows. Then the third. One on your clit. One swirling around your folds to pick up any trace of blood like he's licking a plate clean. The last one dips inside.

You choke out a sound that’s not even a word.

Jack doesn’t stop. Doesn’t breathe. He’s full-body focused, shuddering between your legs like he’s being electrocuted with pleasure just from tasting you. His tongues move in urgent patterns—suckling, lapping, sliding inside you—and the third one curls deep, pumping in slow, sinful thrusts like he’s tongue-fucking your cervix.

He's drinking you. Literally. You feel the small gush as your blood mixes with your arousal and his growl deepens. His head tilts, adjusting his angle like he’s trying to get more of it, and he moans again.

Jack doesn’t moan. He barely talks.

But right now, he’s loud and messy and desperate, to the point where—if you could have a moment of clarity—you would think his mating season came early.

Slurping noises echo off the walls, obscene and wet. You realize again where you are—the common room—and your whole body flushes.

“Jack—fucking hell, w-what if someone walks in—”

His only answer is to suck your clit into his mouth while his third tongue curls up inside you, pressing so deep it makes your vision stutter.

Your hips buck. He groans, and the vibration rattles your bones.

He moves faster.

Tongue on your clit flicking now, licking in fast little swipes. Second tongue dragging figure-eights across your folds. Third tongue fucking you like it’s trying to crawl into your womb.

Your thighs are trembling. Your head tips back, hand flying to his head, burying in his hair. You feel his body—solid, trembling, tense with restraint.

You cum so fast it makes you choke.

It hits you like lightning, shattering through your spine, hips jerking, thighs locking around his head. You hear yourself whimper trying to stay silent, feel your body clamp around his tongues, and Jack just growls into you like it’s the best fucking thing he’s ever experienced.

He doesn’t stop. Not even when you’re shaking. Not even when the blood runs thicker.

He just pulls back slightly to breathe—and fuck, he looks wrecked. His mouth is soaked—chin slick with blood and spit, dark red smeared halfway up to his cheeks, coating his skin like warpaint. He stares at your cunt like he’s starving, heaving like it's hurting him to unlatch his mouth from your taste.

You see his hand now. The one not gripping your thigh with bruising force, wrapped around his cock. Fist pumping slow and vicious—like he’s trying not to cum from the taste of you alone.

Because he almost did.

You feel the heat of his stare. Like he’s burned every inch of your cunt into his brain. Like nothing else exists in this moment but your flushed, swollen pussy and the mess he just made of you.

He looks up at you with bloodied lips parted and tongues curling, one of them flicking over his bottom lip in a slow, hungry drag.

“You’re gonna cum again,” he says, voice rough and quiet like a threat. “You're gonna give me everything."

You whimper simply from the way he leans back in like he owns you, like he was born for this.

The first tongue enters slow this time—broad and heavy, pushing past your bullied entrance with a wet, obscene squelch. Your hips twitch. You’re already sensitive, but your body opens for him anyway, clenches like it knows what’s coming.

He groans low in his throat. You feel the way your blood drips down his tongue, how he laps it deeper inside you like honey from the comb.

Then the second tongue slips in. Coiling around the first like a twisting vine, filling and stretching.

You cry out softly, biting your lip. Jack moans, long and muffled and fuck just drown me in this pussy.

His third tongue curls upward, lashes across your clit in maddening, lazy strokes like he’s teasing you on purpose. Tongue-fucking up into your walls with two thick lengths, while the third plays you like an instrument.

You don’t even realize your legs are shaking again until your hips lift off the couch.

He follows, grinding his face deeper, mouth slightly clumsy from the way he's stroking his cock—so hungry and fast it's shaking his whole body between your legs. You glance down through half-lidded eyes just to see him leaking, twitching with every slick drag of his tongues inside you.

He’s drenched in you.

From the mouth down. His chin, neck, part of his chest where he pressed in too close. The scent of blood and heat clings to him like paint, thick and sweet and wrong, but he looks exalted.

“Fffuck,” he slurs against you. “Your blood—fuck, your cunt, tastes like fucking life—”

The words shake you. Filthy and sincere. He’s never been this devastated before, this starved. His tongues are working you over like you’re his last meal, like he’s feeding off of you. And fuck, maybe he is. Maybe something deep in his instincts, something more primal, is actually reveling in this.

His pace quickens. You can feel it—that edge coming again. Too fast. Too hard. Overstimulated but desperate, everything in your body pulling tight like a bowstring.

You grab at his hair, desperate to ground yourself.

One tongue thrusts hard, firm and deep. The second curls tighter, twisting against your walls. The third presses flat to your clit, and when he moans into you again, the vibration alone is enough to split you.

“Jack—Jack I’m—”

“Cum for me,” he growls. Muffled, throat clicking and rasping. Tongue still deep inside you. “Cum with my fucking name in your mouth.”

You do, and it leaves you raw.

Back arching. Hands clawing at the couch. Legs locking around his head so tight he grunts, but doesn’t stop. He leans into it, forces the orgasm to drag out, mouth still moving until you’re jerking, twitching, moaning high and sharp as your body convulses under the weight of your second release.

You have to pry him away with a weak hand on his forehead and a choked sob for him to unlatch his lips from your clit with a wet pop.

He’s panting against your pussy, blood and slick coating his face, and you can feel his body shaking between your legs with every feral pump of his fist, tight and harsh around his cock.

And he growls, low and feral, and you can only jerk back and look around to make sure no one was around as he cums hard between his knees, untouched by you, just from tasting your cunt and blood. Hot ropes splatter against the floor. His head tips back, face the most beautifully grotesque picture of bliss.

The room is silent but for your breaths. Heavy. Laced with the obscene stink of sex and blood and pure animalistic worship.

Jack wipes his face with the back of his hand only to lick the smeared blood off his knuckles. Not slow. Not seductive. Just hungry.

He looks at you like you’re the last thing he’ll ever need to taste.

“…We’re doing this every month,” he says, voice hoarse. “Every month.”

[bucketbueckers]

RECKLESS DRIVING

CHAPTER TWO

content: language, a cam roman crash out disguised as humor, mention of a panic attack (not an actual one, literally a mention), implied mental health issues, HORSE as foreplay, author won't pretend to know anything about the dallas geography

wc: 7.2k

notes: not gonna lie, this was lowk a rly tough chapter to write but im happy with how it turned out 🙂‍↔️ i love paige and cam so bad and i can't wait until we get to the heart of their relationship once the season actually starts. also i honestly wasn't gonna post this tn but somehow the wings won so why not. do not expect future updates to be this fast. shout out li yueru tho thats my goat fr. if i missed anyone on the taglist pls lmk !!! anyways i really appreciate the love on chapter one and i love hearing from y'all 🫶 as always i hope y'all enjoy this one ❤️

tags: @cowboybueckers @indigo491 @wnba-scotland @volleyballgirlsblog @sillystarv @middyprincess @intoblonde6ftwbbplayers @user1269 @fivest4rbuecks @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @lilpaigeyherbo

Before now, Cam isn’t so sure that she’s ever thought much about retirement.

She’s 26. She easily has another ten years left in her, but she’s always dreamed of having a long career that could rival Taurasi’s. She knows for sure that she’s not turning in her resignation papers without a league MVP, a championship ring, and an Olympic medal. Whether she retired as a Dallas Wing or whether she signed elsewhere was another story entirely. Maybe she’d spend her final season in the league as a Golden State Valkyrie, giving her last year to the city that had raised her.

Either way, the end wasn’t ever something that was a topic of thought for her. Cam liked to stay focused on the present – on her workouts, her training. The seasons always passed by so quickly that dedicating your energy to anywhere but the present was wasting the already limited time you had.

But now, as Cam stares at a very naked Paige Bueckers, whose face is wrought with a sudden shock and a damning realization, whose hair is mussed and whose neck is littered with enough marks that Cam has half a mind to call the cops and report herself for assault and battery, she sees her entire career flash by her eyes.

She recalls her draft night vividly. She still has the white, floral dress she wore to it hung up in her closet. She remembers her first rookie press conference and the reporter who backhandedly called her a “decent player, given the options the Wings had in the draft.” She remembers her debut, her lackluster thirteen points and five rebounds, how the media considered her a bust only five games into the season. Cam remembers how she fought to show up every day despite the fact that all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and cease to exist.

Cam remembers how she made a name for herself in spite of it all. She remembers their winning season, and how it all came crashing down in 2024 when they only won nine games. She remembers the embarrassment of not being selected for the 2024 Olympics and how quiet the dinner table was after Coley only brought home a silver. Romans display their gold, her father had said, hardly sparing a glance at his youngest. Anything else is as good as a coaster.

They always say that, when you die, your fondest memories replay for you in one final surge of happiness. Cam is sure that’s what she’s feeling now because clearly her career is over.

She’ll have to request a trade. The Wings organization is already being held together by a thin piece of twine and the hope that Curt Miller, Chris Koclanes, and Paige Bueckers can be the one to pull them from the depths of hell and turn them into something that the rest of the league wouldn’t laugh at. Cam doesn’t know how anyone would be able to recover if word got out that she slept with Paige Bueckers – number one draft pick, Wings rookie (Cam’s rookie), future of the franchise, in case you’d forgotten – on the very same night that she lifted her jersey.

Okay. Maybe it wasn’t the same night, considering they didn’t make it back to the hotel room until well after midnight, and Cam was sure that the clock on the wall read something like 2:49 by the time the last of their energy was depleted and Paige spooned her from behind like they’d been in a position a time or two.

Obviously, that’s not the point – not if Camille’s ensuing panic attack has anything to say about it.

The point is this entire situation is a major conflict of interest. Morally, technically, probably legally. Cam was supposed to be the responsible one, the veteran. Granted, she and Paige aren’t so far apart in age, but she’s going on her fifth year in the league. She knows better. And everything is so fragile right now. She might have just risked the health of the locker room in exchange for one night that, admittedly, was nice.

The most terrifying part of this entire situation was that Cam was supposed to take care of Paige. Not in a coddling manner – Paige could handle herself. She was grown. But adjusting to the league, to the pace, to the expectations…that wasn’t something you should do alone. She was supposed to help Paige find her footing, support her, advocate for her. She was supposed to do what any good veteran would do for their rook, but somewhere in between all of that anxiety bubbling in her gut, she feels that ever present feeling of failure creeping in.

She hadn’t even made it back to Dallas before she fucked it all up. And this feeling – this fear, the dread, the overwhelming sense that she just did something she can’t take back, it feels worse than anything she’s ever felt before. It’s worse than getting blown out in front of a home crowd that gets quieter and quieter with every turnover, every missed shot, every collapse on defense that leads to an uncontested three.

Welcome to the league, Paige Bueckers. Bet you wished it really was an Alyssa Thomas screen, huh?

“Okay,” Paige says after a while, her voice surprisingly calm given the gravity of the moment. “It’s not that bad.”

Cam throws her hands into the air, overwhelmed and exasperated. “Not that bad?” she exclaims, her heart hammering against her chest. “Paige, we just slept together.”

The blonde swallows, her eyes flickering down, and it seems like it takes a genuine effort to lift them back to Cam’s face. “Trust me,” she says, her voice cracking a little. “I ain’t forget.”

Cam glances down, taking in just how fucking naked she is, too, and with a growl that borders on equal parts panic and humiliation, she rips the comforter off the second bed in the room and wraps it around her body. It keeps Paige’s gaze off of her chest, but Cam isn’t sure what’s worse – having Paige see all of her or the fact that, despite the early morning, Paige’s eyes are impossibly blue, alert, and trained on her face. Somehow, it makes her feel more vulnerable than having stood in front of her naked.

“Are you…okay?” Paige asks tentatively.

That makes Cam’s shoulders sag, a huff of air escaping her lips. It’s hard to tell if it’s a scoff or something more like amusement, and she takes a seat at the foot of the bed as she digs through the pile of clothes on the floor for her underwear. “Yes,” she says, the word sounding stale. Paige makes a soft noise behind her that sounds like disbelief. Cam sighs. “No. I don’t know, Paige.”

“Are you hurt?”

That makes Cam pause, drawing her lip between her teeth in contemplation as she slides her bottoms over her legs. “Sore,” she admits after a while.

“Yeah?” Paige goads, and it fills Cam with the urge to turn around and smack her head. She rolls her lips so as to not smile and doesn’t give Paige the satisfaction of getting a reaction. “I’d apologize, but…you seemed pretty okay with it.”

“Paige,” Cam stresses. The reminder of last night makes her walls raise again. “Be serious.”

“Sorry,” she says for real, and it sounds genuinely apologetic. “Do you, uh, regret it? I didn’t like – force you, or anything?”

Cam sighs again, reaching for her bra, dropping the comforter to slide it over her torso. She feels Paige’s gaze leave her. The respect is touching. “I was drunk,” she admits, listening for the hitch in Paige’s breath. “We were drunk. Not helpless. Or out of control. You didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t…want. Or consent to.”

Paige exhales a relieved breath. She’s silent for a few moments, her eyes tracing Cam’s figure as she slides into her baggy cargos, then her crop top. “Then why are you freaking out? You’re okay. Mostly.” She adds the last part as an afterthought, and it makes the ghost of a smile spread across Cam’s lips. “You’re not hurt. You don’t regret it. Please tell me what’s wrong, Cam. I’ll fix it.”

Cam takes a deep breath, twisting around in bed and leaning against the headboard. Paige adjusts too, keeping the comforter pressed close to her chest, the chain around her neck glimmering. “We’re teammates,” Cam states. “Like, you know that was the whole point of the draft last night?”

Paige nods seriously, trying not to smirk at Cam’s sarcasm. “Trust me. I ain’t forget that either.” Cam rolls her eyes, the humor helping to make her relax. “Plus, we’re not technically anything until I sign that contract. And, you know…teammates sleeping together isn’t a new thing. Look at Dee and Penny. DB and AT.”

“Are you also aware that those individuals are married?” Cam emphasizes, exasperated again.

“You don’t have to be married to sleep with someone,” Paige retorts, and it makes Cam bury her head in her hands. Paige sighs. “Hey – I’m sorry, okay? I’m tryna be reassuring. Emotions were all over the place last night. You found out you really liked Shirley Temples. And…I guess we have really good chemistry.”

Cam can’t hide her smirk this time. “Hopefully that chemistry translates to the court, or we’re screwed for this season.”

“Cam,” Paige whines, pressing her face into the pillow. That draws a real laugh out of Cam now. Their eyes meet again, both gazes softening. “Look, I’m just saying that it’s okay. It happened. Can’t change it. I don’t regret it, you don’t regret it, and we can be mature adults about it. Yeah, we’re gonna be teammates. This won’t affect the locker room, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Cam exhales sharply, trying to find the right words. It’s not just the locker room. It’s everything. Cam has no idea who was at that afterparty, if anyone has any clips of her and Paige dancing on each other or leaving the party together. It’s the fact that she feels like she has so many eyes on her, even though there’s nobody but her and Paige in this room right now. Between the realization that this entire situation is a moral landmine and how guilty she feels because she let herself be free and indulge in one night, all Cam feels is overwhelmed. That emotion doesn’t mix well with the residual exhaustion. “It’s just–”

Her alarm rings again, causing both her and Paige to flinch, and she silences it quickly with a ragged sigh. She closes her eyes tightly in an attempt to regulate her breathing and her emotions.

“Hey,” Paige says softly, her hand extending to brush across Cam’s back. “You’re good. We’re good. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Cam nods, not quite trusting herself to speak, and she sucks in a breath. She doesn’t meet Paige’s gaze when she says, “I have to catch a flight back to Dallas. When are you flying in for the rookie press conference?”

Paige sighs. “Fuck. I’on know.” She swallows thickly, nodding to the ground. “Can you…uh, grab my phone for me?”

“Yeah,” Cam says quickly, if not a little awkward, and she leans over to fumble with Paige’s clothes on the floor until she finds the blonde’s phone tucked into the pocket of her pants. She hands it over wordlessly and Paige breathes a sigh of relief when she finds that it still has some charge.

Paige scrolls through her phone for a few seconds before she clears her throat. “I’ll fly in on the morning of the 23rd.”

“That’s fine,” Cam agrees quietly. “We’ll talk after.”

Paige lifts her head ever so slightly as she watches Cam shuffle around the room, searching for wherever her shoes had ended up. She’s unlacing one just as Paige says, “What hotel are you staying at?”

“Hilton,” Cam answers. “Why?”

Paige hums, her attention back on her phone. “Getting you an Uber back.”

“Paige,” Cam sighs, standing up straight. When Paige glances back up, an amused smile is on her face – probably because Cam has only one shoe on, her clothes are rumpled, and her once neatly styled hair is out of place. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Least I could do,” she says, her tone a little softer. “I got you stressin’ for no reason on a Tuesday morning. What kind of rookie does that?”

Cam huffs out a laugh at that – a real one. She finds her other shoe and starts working on getting it on her foot. “A really annoying, yet really thoughtful one.” Paige pats her chest proudly as if to say that’s me. When Cam is finally dressed, she palms her pockets for her phone, keys, and wallet, exhaling in relief when she has them. “Hey.” Paige looks up, and Cam bounces on her heels, a sheepish expression on her face. “Sorry for freaking out on you. I just–”

“I know,” Paige interrupts gently. Cam’s shoulders sag, appreciating Paige’s understanding more than she probably knows. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you know that? It takes two to tango. It’s not like I was an unwilling partner.” Her cheeks are flushed when she admits, “Maybe a little too eager, though. That’s the last time I chase a shot with a Shirley.” Cam can’t help her laughter, shaking her head in amusement. “If there’s a blame, then we’ll share it. Or I’ll take it for you. Rookie duties or whatever. Just don’t freak out, okay? We’re good. We will be. I swear.”

“...Thanks, Paige,” Cam whispers, and Paige’s reassuring smile makes everything feel like it’ll be okay again. “See you next week?”

The reassurance falls victim to mischief, because something sparkles in Paige’s eyes when she says, “Don’t miss me too much, Cam.”

Cam rolls her eyes, pursing her lips to stifle a smile, and she and Paige exchange one last goodbye before Cam steps out. The door clicks shut behind her with a resounding noise and it takes everything in Cam to not pause and press her forehead to it dramatically. Instead, she sighs, and reminds herself of the Uber waiting for her, the flight she has to catch, and makes her way out of Paige’s hotel.

Maybe she overreacted a little. Truth be told, she still feels a little unmoored, like she’s not quite sure of her role anymore. She, the veteran, was the one freaking out in Paige’s, a rookie’s, hotel room as she reassured her and told her they didn’t fuck anything up. Cam can’t help but feel like that should have been her job.

It’s hard to understand why she’s fumbling so badly now. She didn’t have this issue last year with Jacy Sheldon – granted, Cam didn’t sleep with her, but Cam was confidently the veteran to Sheldon’s rookie. There wasn’t a single misstep. She coached the young guard, helped develop her, and did everything a veteran was supposed to do.

But Paige is something else entirely. An enigma. A challenge. Something Cam was prepared to be unprepared for because she knew that Paige was always a caliber above the rest. In her game, her mentality, her ambition. 

As Cam slides into the backseat of her Uber, smiling politely at the driver, she realizes that she has to run a tighter ship. She has to be poised, professional, the exact things she was supposed to be anyways before she let Paige Bueckers unravel her.

She’s here to play ball, and as far as she’s concerned, making her relationship with Paige more complicated than it already is will be the reason why everything crashes and burns.

Cam lands back in Dallas around 10am. She takes an Uber to her apartment, where Bobby, her characteristic orange cat, and Gatsby, a very particular tuxedo, greet her at the door. She’d managed to squeeze a few hours of rest in on the plane but she feels ready to collapse as soon as she’s back in. Before anything else, she scoops up both Bobby and Gatsby and plants a long, dramatic kiss to their foreheads and diligently portions out some wet food for them.

She makes her way into the bathroom to get ready for her presentation at UTA, then she’s back out of the house as quickly as she’d made it there in the first place. The presentation is a breeze, holding enough of her attention that she doesn’t get lost in thought about the blonde rookie who she’d left in bed at 5am, and the subsequent workout with her trainer after lunch drains her to the point that she doesn’t think about anything that’s not how sore she is the entire way back home.

Cam doesn’t even make it to bed. She curls up on the couch, curls damp from the shower she’d taken at the facility, hoodie sticking to her skin, and promptly falls asleep with Gatsby stretched out across her stomach.

That’s how the rest of her week goes. She tries – and more often than not, fails, to keep her mind on task. She throws herself into workouts, into running mindless drills, but part of her still can’t help feeling anxious. Paige had said they were fine, but Cam wonders how much of that was true, or if it was just the easiest thing Paige could think of to stop Cam from crashing out in her hotel room completely.

Or – and this is the million dollar answer right here – maybe Paige was genuine, and meant it, and Cam had no reason to be freaking out like she was childish and ten years younger.

The return to routine had helped a little. She had no reason to catastrophize, anyhow. Paige was right. They weren’t really teammates – yet – and the whole teammates having sex thing was pretty accurate, too. As long as they were able to keep it professional, cordial, and responsible on the court, Cam didn’t think the front office would particularly care, unless they were at risk of being a PR nightmare. Although…considering Paige’s celebrity, they probably are bordering on PR nightmare territory.

Either way, both of them were adults. It was consensual, Paige was incredibly chill about it, which meant Cam could probably be chill about it, which meant she didn’t ruin the locker room chemistry before it had the chance to grow.

At risk of fucking up their own chemistry, Cam knew that night wasn’t something they were going to repeat. Like, ever. If anyone asks, Cam has developed a sudden allergy for alcohol and is getting too old to be up past 9pm. If locking herself in her room like a tower-trapped damsel is what it takes to keep her relationships clean, orderly, and distraction free, then she’d gladly do it. She was committed to being responsible. She and Paige would just have to be friends. Very platonic friends who, sure, slept together one time when they were celebrating the biggest night of Paige’s life and they were both drunk on Dirty Shirleys, but that doesn’t have to define the course of their friendship.

Cam’s fine. Everything is fine. She got scared, overreacted, and maybe took it out on a poor rookie who’d only had two hours of sleep and a hangover. They could move past this and work together on the court without blurring the lines. Just friends. Just a rookie and a vet. Nothing more.

When the day of the rookie press conference arrives, Cam feels as though she has a better grasp on reality. She’s up early, goes on a morning run, showers, and is out of the door by 9am, only stopping for a chai latte before she makes her way to the facility. The first part of the morning was set aside to introduce the rookies and Cam was planning on taking advantage of the empty courts to run some drills and clear her mind.

The court smells like wood and fresh wax, a scent that makes Cam relax immediately. She’s probably spent more time between the hoops than she has anywhere else. She can see the three point line when she closes her eyes, imagine the height of the basket in her sleep. If the world had no room for her, then the one place she can confidently say she belongs is on the court.

She started playing basketball at a young age. Story of any player’s life, she’s sure, but it’s been one of the constants in her life for as long as she could remember. Despite that, it took her a long time to find genuine love in it. Basketball was an expectation. Greatness was, too. Lacing up her sneakers and working with private trainers had become routine, a way to earn pride and affection. Her mother always told her – and Coley, too – that she and her father were proud of them regardless of whatever sport they played or what they didn’t play.

People have different aspirations, Valerie told her when she was seven, in the throes of a tantrum because she’d been invited to a weekend sleepover that she would have to miss because her father had signed her up for a basketball clinic in Brooklyn. Different dreams. But you’re allowed to make space for what you love to do and what you live to do. You’re allowed to be a kid.

But Cam was sure that her father only smiled when she had a ball in her hand. She just wanted to make him proud – she looked up to him in so many different ways and wanted to boast gold medals just like he did. She wanted a career and a life to be proud of. So she’d sucked it up and went to the clinic, even if she spent every water break thinking about what her friends were up to.

It took a few years. She struggled to differentiate whether or not she played for the love of the game or for the need for approval. If she played because she saw the court not as polished wood and painted lines, but as the X’s and the O’s and as rotations and cuts, or if she played because she just wanted to be seen by the one person she always looked for.

On her own terms, she found herself falling in love with basketball in a way that was hers completely. She lived for teamwork, for the fact that playing good basketball meant knowing your teammates completely. The box score shows an assist, but doesn’t reflect how years of practice, study, and playing together prepares you to anticipate how your teammates move. She lived for the sisterhood of it all, the trust built between people who had the same goal and the same dedication to achieving it. She lived for the stillness on the court when she was at the line and the only thing between her and the hoop was fifteen feet of surety.

But Cam blinks back the memory, exhaling calmly as she laces up her sneakers on the bench. She ties them the same way every time – tight, double knotted, the ends tucked into the mouth. She doesn’t like practicing with music because it throws off her focus. There’s a rhythm to basketball that you only become privy to after years of breathing the game. The rubber echo of the ball against the court, the squeak of her sneakers, her own heartbeat – it grounds her, keeps her locked in.

When she’s satisfied with her shoes, she stretches out her legs, not doing anything too insane since she stretched before her morning run and was still feeling loose from it. It’s more to settle the residual noise in her brain.

After she picks up the ball, palming it between her hands, everything fades to a distant hum. It’s just Cam, the ball, the swish of the net. She runs a few drills just to get reacclimated with the feel of the ball in her hands, the way it bounces between her legs as she dribbles.

She moves onto shooting drills about ten minutes later, starting with a classic five spot drill. She doesn’t move on to the next spot until she makes ten in a row, but when she finds herself at the top of the key, three makes into her routine, the sound of the door pushing open causes her shot to clang off the rim.

She sighs, having found a rhythm, but steps off to pick up the rebound. Cam is only partially surprised to find Paige standing at half-court with a sheepish expression on her face and a pair of basketball shoes clutched between her fingers. The blonde has her hair up in a sleek ponytail, donning a black and white striped Nike sweatshirt (looking something like the Hamburglar, if Cam has to be honest), and a pair of matching black pants.

“Already trying to escape from the media?” Cam asks teasingly, holding the ball to her hip.

Paige shrugs, a little smile on her face. “I was tryna be good and mind my business, but I heard you dribbling. It was calling to me.”

Cam laughs. “Oh, I’m sure,” she says. “You sure you didn’t peek in, see it was me, and decide that annoying me was more worthwhile than getting to the press conference on time?”

“I still got thirty minutes,” Paige argues smugly. “I’m punctual and shit. Plenty of time to make you reconsider which rookie you actually wanted first dibs on.”

Cam hums, noting how comfortable she truly feels with Paige. She was expecting their first time seeing each other again to be a little more awkward considering how they left things, but their casual banter and teasing makes Cam feel like nothing had truly happened at all. Maybe she didn’t actually have too much to worry about. They would be fine, and she’s sure that the conversation they’ll have later would truly round it all out.

Then, she smiles, the curve of her lip indicating a challenge. She checks the ball over to Paige, who grabs it reflexively, her eyes wide in question. “How about some HORSE, then? Prove to me that you’re worthy of being the Camille Roman’s rookie.”

Paige scoffs, but she grins, setting her shoes down on the polished wood as she dribbles the ball. “What, was the natty not enough for you?” she teases. “Or going number one? Or buyin’ all your drinks?”

“I seem to remember those drinks of yours getting us into a lot of trouble,” Cam retorts, but the reminder doesn’t fill her with as much anxiety as it used to.

“You call it trouble. I call it vet and rookie bonding.”

Cam raises a brow. “Yeah? You gonna bond with Arike, too?”

Paige flushes, losing the handle on the ball as it bounces off her shoe, and Cam grabs it instinctively as she laughs. Paige, to her credit, recovers quickly, and she’s smirking when she says, “Nah. My vet says I’m off limits. I’m a one woman kind of girl.”

“Good answer,” Cam says. She checks the ball back with a loose, carefree smile. “First shot’s yours, rook. Make it count.”

Paige dribbles it once, twice, the smile never leaving her face as she inches closer to the three point line. She sets her feet shoulder width apart, crouching slightly, and she throws the ball underhanded towards the net. It sinks in gracefully, and Cam shakes her head in amusement at her over the top celebration as she tracks down the rebound.

“Don’t miss,” Paige says unhelpfully as she and Cam swap places. Cam rolls her eyes, not bothering with a response, and she steadies herself for her shot. Just before she gets it off, Paige adds, “You gonna repay me for all the concealer I had to buy last week?”

Her words startle Cam, but the shot is still money – it bounces off of the rim into the net, and the blonde sighs when her distraction effort fails. “You are such a cheater,” Cam gripes.

“What?” Paige cries, feigning innocence. “It was just a question.”

“Yeah, right,” she mutters under her breath, but her cheeks hurt from grinning. She scoops up the ball and shoves Paige out of the way with her hip. Paige huffs, moving, and Cam sits flat on the ground. Cam can feel Paige’s gaze on her as she lines up her shot and sinks the ball in with ease. “Two for two.”

Paige extends a hand to help Cam up, shaking her hand, and Paige grabs the loose ball and takes her spot on the court. The blonde readies herself to shoot, but just before she flicks her wrist, Cam steps up next to her, her calf barely brushing Paige’s shoulder.

The ball sails off course, clanging harmlessly off the rim, and Paige looks at her with a betrayed expression. “You’re cheating for real!” she declares, gazing forlornly at the hoop, and Cam laughs as she helps her up.

“That’s H,” Cam states simply, a mischievous smile on her face. Paige doesn’t respond as she tracks down the basketball and studies the court to look for her next shot. “I don’t know, P. I think Aziaha would have made that one for sure.”

“Nah, don’t piss me off,” Paige grumbles, which makes Cam giggle. She steps up behind the hoop, squares her shoulders, and Cam is peacefully silent as Paige shoots the ball over the backboard. It circles around the rim once before falling in and she exhales a breath of relief.

Cam raises an impressed brow despite herself, grabbing the ball as it bounces back towards her, and Paige pats her on the hip with a smug look when she passes. “Make this next shot if I’m your favorite rookie,” she declares.

“How old are you?” Cam asks as she lines up her shot. “Twelve?” Paige grins in a way that makes Cam regret asking, having spent enough time at youth camps to know that Paige’s retort would sound a whole lot like twelve inches deep in your mom. “Don’t answer that.” She exhales to calm her mind. Paige, thankfully, watches in silence, but it’s for naught as the ball bounces off the rim, anyways.

“How’s that H taste?” Paige is beaming as she checks the ball back to Cam, who rolls her eyes in amusement.

“Like you’re not my favorite rookie,” Cam chirps sweetly.

Paige squawks in indignation, which elicits a round of laughter from Cam. They go back and forth like that for a few more rounds, trading buckets, misses, and banter that gradually decreases the distance between them. Before a shot, Paige would pretend to massage Cam’s shoulders like she’s a fighter in a boxing ring. Cam would nudge her elbow before she shoots, attempting to throw her off her game, but she pats her hip when she makes it regardless.

Cam didn’t think it could be this nice. She thought that night at the hotel would have ruined her and Paige’s friendship and chemistry – both on and off the court – but she’s finding that, in a way, it’s brought them closer. She would never call it a mistake. She would be the first to admit that she wanted it – in the moment. Paige is good company, keeps her on her toes, and is obviously attractive, although there are some things you can’t have twice.

She’s closer to making her peace with that night. The conversation that she and Paige plan to have later would hopefully give her some more clarity and comfort in it, but she knows without a doubt that they can’t have a repeat of it. They can’t let the lines blur or push the boundaries more than they already have. That’s enough for her.

Both her and Paige have accumulated HORS twenty minutes later, and the both of them know they have to wrap it up soon so Paige can freshen up before she actually has to head out for media. The thing about Cam is that she’s not going to bend over and let Paige win just because she won’t concede the game. She and Paige both nailed the half court shot, which meant that game point relied on whether or not they could make it from full court.

“I don’t even think I have the arm strength for this,” Cam admits, standing as close as she can to the back wall so she has plenty of room to run forward. “The fact that you’re a point guard gives you an unfair advantage.”

“You tappin’ out?” Paige goads, grinning, and Cam has to bite her tongue. If there was anything Paige was good at besides basketball, it was baiting Cam.

“Rookies first,” Cam states.

“You don’t want the smoke,” Paige responds. Cam has to fight the urge to shove her, but she’s sure that would only motivate the blonde more.

Paige glances up at the hoop, nearly one hundred feet away, and she readies her shot. With a running start, she plants her feet at the baseline and grunts as she lobs the ball across the court. Cam’s eyes track its movement, the clean arc, and her jaw drops in complete and utter disbelief when it hits the backboard and swishes in without further fanfare.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” she groans, not really enjoying the taste of defeat on her tongue, but she can’t really be mad for long as Paige grabs her by the shoulders and shakes in excitement. She rolls her lips to stifle her smile.

“Just go ahead and take that E,” Paige says, passing over the second ball they brought to the baseline. Cam takes it with an eyeroll. “You don’t gotta embarrass yourself in front of me.”

Cam doesn’t dignify that with a response. She palms the ball in her hands, pushing herself closer to the wall, and takes a deep breath like she’s about to sink a free throw instead of launching a ball almost one hundred feet across the court. With a running start, she plants at the baseline and lets her right hand do most of the heavy lifting, and the ball sails out of her grip.

Both her and Paige watch with a bated breath as it arcs in the air. It flies closer, and closer, and closer, until it circles around the rim once, then twice, and falls out unceremoniously.

As Paige celebrates for the second time that afternoon, all Cam can really think about is how badly she wants to fucking retire. Paige jostles her as Cam stares at the hoop, deadpan and unblinking.

Premonition might be a curse. She just had to tell Rickea that the 2025 class was all about energy and how they’d be welcoming vets to the league. Cam just can’t believe she got welcomed by Paige during a game of HORSE that started as a joke more than anything else.

Cam just sighs, extending her hand, and Paige daps her up with unadulterated glee on her face. “Say the thing,” she requests sweetly.

Cam’s tone is flat as she states begrudgingly, “You’re my rookie.”

Paige pumps her fist in the air, looking nothing like the nonchalant final boss she claimed she was. Then, if only to add salt to the wound, Paige nudges her with her elbow and says, “Welcome to the league, Cam Roman.”

Cam can’t find it in herself to be upset. She supposes Paige did earn it, and hypothetically if she does get tagged in a few press conference clips later about Paige claiming she welcomed Cam to the league, she only reposts the clip out of integrity on her Instagram story.

When Cam told Paige that they’d talk after the press conference, she wasn’t really expecting it to be over takeout at Paige’s barren apartment, but she figures it’s a good venue as any. 

Paige welcomes her in with a sheepish expression and the smell of Chinese in the air. “I’m embracing the minimalist lifestyle,” she declares, gesturing minutely to the cardboard boxes sprawled around the room. There’s one in front of her couch, overflowing with a few trinkets like lego sets and framed photographs of Paige and her family and friends. Cam winces a little, briefly wondering who supervised Paige and her diabolical packing, but Paige’s apartment door clicks shut behind her and draws her attention back to the present.

Despite being lived in for only a few hours at most, Paige’s apartment is cozy and open. She has floor to ceiling windows in the kitchen overlooking the skyline, a cornucopia of takeout boxes littering the counter, and a few candles burning in the living room. They’re both dressed in casual clothes – Cam’s opted for a pair of comfortable, white gym shorts and a Wings t-shirt, while Paige has a loose pair of grey sweatpants hung low enough to reveal the band of her boxers and an old UConn tee.

“You’re doing better than I did when I first moved out here,” Cam admits, toeing off her slides and following Paige towards the kitchen. Paige throws a smile over her shoulder to let Cam know she’s listening as she sorts through the boxes. “I think I had takeout for a week straight because I didn’t have time to go buy pots and pans.”

“Shit,” Paige says instantly. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

Cam snorts. Paige passes a container to Cam, a simple order of lo mein and orange chicken, while she keeps the white rice and sweet and sour chicken for herself. There’s a bag of crab rangoons and eggrolls to share.

Almost absentmindedly, Paige pulls out the barstool at the counter for Cam before settling into the one next to it. Cam raises her brow but doesn’t say anything, taking a seat in the chair next to Paige, who passes a packet of plastic silverware and chopsticks like they’ve been in this position a hundred times before.

“You settling in okay?”

Paige shrugs a tired shoulder, shoveling a forkful of rice into her mouth. “Getting there,” she confesses. “Got a lot of shit to unpack, but…didn’t want it easy, right?”

Cam smiles knowingly at her. “I meant challenging as in getting your shot blocked by BG a couple of times. Not getting your ass kicked by cardboard boxes and IKEA instruction manuals.”

“I happen to be very handy,” Paige sniffs. “Don’t need no instruction manual. Or all those extra screws they pack in there.”

Cam stares at her unblinkingly. Paige stares back, something like mischief in her eyes as she spears a piece of chicken with her fork. The corner of her lips twitch ever so slightly. “Please tell me I’m not sitting on a chair that’s gonna collapse.”

“If you fell, I’d make sure you were okay before I laughed at you,” Paige offers unhelpfully.

Cam huffs. “Thanks. Just what any girl wants to hear.”

Paige smiles, and the two of them settle into a comfortable rhythm as they eat their dinner. Paige shares a couple of stories from media, telling Cam all about the embroidered cowboy hat she got and how done she is with random reporter questions about the Dallas heat and TexMex. That makes Cam laugh – it’s fitting to see that the reporters hadn’t gotten any better questions to ask besides food and the weather.

The peace lasts for a few moments until Paige’s fork hits the bottom of her takeout container and the last of her chicken is done. She clears her throat, taking a sip from her water bottle. “Elephant in the room?” she asks hesitantly.

Cam nods, pushing her leftovers away, and pauses for a moment. Finally, she settles on her words. “I think I might have overreacted a little,” she admits.

Paige offers a gentle smile. “I think it was a pretty valid crash out,” she states. “You were concerned about the locker room and making things awkward. I also get that the entire world would probably explode if word got out.”

“Yeah,” Cam agrees. She rests her chin in her palm. “I mean, I’m also…your vet,” she says carefully. The blue of Paige’s gaze is intense, but Cam forces herself to meet her eyes. “That night was out of character for me. I’m not usually so…”

“Carefree?”

“Reckless,” Cam supplies, and Paige nods, understanding. “I don’t regret it. You don’t either. That’s something we’ve got to stand on. I just wasn’t really thinking about…you know, the consequences of sleeping with my rookie.” Her words are dry, which makes Paige chuckle. “I don’t wanna deal with red tape from the front office. Definitely not the media. And I definitely didn’t want to make things weird with us.”

Paige’s smile turns a little crooked. “We’re good. I told you. We’re responsible adults.”

“Friends, if you will,” Cam adds.

Paige sounds all too smug when she pipes in with, “Best friends.”

Cam scoffs, rolling her eyes in amusement, feeling the final bits of tension leave her shoulders completely. They were good. No more issues. “Don’t push it, rook.” Paige raises her hands in surrender, a coy smile on her face as she slides out of the bar stool to start grabbing their trash. She waves off Cam when she tries to help, her expression far too adamant, so she bites her tongue and stays seated while Paige cleans up. “Paige?” she asks hesitantly.

“What’s up?” She glances at Cam briefly over her shoulder, the diamond studs in her ears glinting in the light as she turns, and Cam’s fingers drum lightly over the granite of Paige’s countertops.

Her voice is small when she says, “We can’t let it happen again.” It gives Paige pause, and she turns fully, leaning against the countertop. Her gaze is imploring – not offensive, just as though she’s trying to understand. “We’re friends. I’m your vet, you’re my rook. Nothing more. No need to make a good thing complicated, yeah?”

Paige raises a teasing brow. “You sure you can handle that, Cam?”

She narrows her eyes, which draws a laugh from Paige. “Can you?” she retorts. “You’re obsessed with me. It’s sickening.”

“I’m keeping you young,” she emphasizes. “Big difference.” Cam exhales, the noise sounding more like a breathless laugh. Paige clears her throat, fiddling with the towel in her hands. “I hear you,” she says, just so it’s absolutely clear, and the expression on her face eases when Cam meets her eyes. “I care about you and the team. We’ll keep it clean. But don’t think for one moment I’m gonna make your job any easier. You chose me on draft night – you’re stuck with me.”

Clean. Cam could work with that. There wasn’t any reason to change who they were or how they bantered, and if Cam was being honest, she didn’t want to. She liked this relationship she had with Paige, the slight push and pull and how they challenge each other. The mutualistic getting on each other’s nerves.

“Easy’s boring, right?” Cam reminds her, and a grin grows on Paige’s face, matching the sly one on Cam’s. Paige returns to the dishes, throwing jokes over her shoulder that Cam can’t help but laugh at. They’d keep it clean. Orderly. No chaos.

But entropy has to increase or remain constant. There was no circumventing that – it was a law of the universe. Ease wasn’t, though. Ease wasn’t just boring, and for Paige and Cam, they’d realize that it would be downright impossible.

[sabanakurou]

★ Leona x Gn!Reader, Reader is Yuu here! Mentions of Grim too but like, BARELY. A little over 1k words!

★ SYNOPSIS: In short, you made realizations about your relationship with Leona that you probably should've had... months ago.

★ A little warning for possible OOC, bad writing, and grammar mistakes, hehe! Regardless, I hope you enjoy :D

Being sure of yourself was something that you took pride in. That was the case back on Earth and especially the case now that you were thrown into Twisted Wonderland— a place so unfamiliar that you might as well have been considered an alien.

Maybe you already were? You were magicless with a strange fire-hazard for a cat-raccoon thing. Even now as you walked towards the botanical garden, you were carrying Grim. It wasn't hard at that point to take into account the way the other students looked at you. With their scrutinizing eyes and avoidance, you figured that your guess isn't so far off from the general opinion of the public.

You didn't care, though! You're CONFIDENT that you've experienced enough to have already met the worst jerks that this “d!$ney-knockoff house of villains-ahh” college had to offer.

Well,

that is…

…until you met Leona Kingscholar.

The most prickly jerk you ever came to know. A man so VILE that you're on your way to meet up with him in the garden for your regularly scheduled naps.

Honest to whatever God your current world had, as much as you wanted to moan about how long the stick in Leona’s mud of a butt is, he's nooooot… the worst guy ever. Actually, deny it as you might, the prince of the Afterglow Savannah was more of a friend than a jerk to you.

Still a jerk though.

One heck of a comfortable one, at that (much to your dismay). In fact, in recent times, he's quite the substitute for a pillow, if you could say so yourself. And you do! You even insisted on meeting today just to nap because you sleep better when Leona is your pillow.

"Huh?"

You suddenly stop walking, hit with the reality and weight of your own thoughts.

You use... Leona as… a pillow?

You… you use Leona as a pillow…???

You… huh…????

????

‘I DO WHAT NOW???’ You suddenly drop Grim onto the floor in the middle of the hallway, hands flying to your head as a slow, slow, quiet crisis takes over you. It was as if you gained sentience the moment you thought too deeply about your relationship with him.

No, but seriously!? Now that you put more of a conscious effort to evaluate your actions, you realized that you've been so affectionate with Leona! Using him as a pillow, resting on his side, napping with him in the garden and in his bed…!?!? In his bed for goodness’ sake!

How come no one has told you that you do these things!? (Ace and Deuce have mentioned it before.)

Why has no one mentioned how weird it is for you to act that way with Leona!? (Many have mentioned it: Namely the Heartslabyul folks, the first years, and even Grim.)

Is this even legal!? (It is but you were not being rational at that moment.)

“OH MY GOD!?”

So much for being sure of yourself!

Thinking back to your entire relationship, you wouldn't be able to say when it all started. When did the frightening lion of a beastman stop being so… frightening?

Was it after the Octavinelle fiasco when the subtle touches— lingering and often leaving an explicable amount of warmth in an otherwise tepid patch of skin— started to come about? You never would've thought that you'd say this but forced-proximity does wonders with communication and you did stay in his room for a good while (but you still don't advocate for it…).

Or was it after VDC when the softness held behind each of your gazes when you come across one another reared its worrying head?

Worrying to the point that the once untouchable prince became within reach of your hands, of your heart, and of your mind to be consumed with him, him, and only him.

When did the two of you stop being hesitant but oh so very careful as to avoid any alarm?

When exactly did the sands of your friendship break down into something so… different yet all the same? Like a sandcastle broken by the heavy tides. The foundation may have been broken and yet the material was still, irrevocably, sand.

Who knew a crisis driven by cuddles could induce metaphors?

And metaphors aside, you like the beach, and the sand, and the waves. Very much. It was always so warm to the touch, just like h— Oh.

When did—

“Oi, Herbivore, eyes on me.”

Leona's voice snaps you out of your overactive mind in an instant, as if your entire being knew that its main focus should be the person right in front of you. The person that had your left cheek cupped in his hand that could easily cover your entire face up if he wanted to do so.

But he won't. Especially when you haven't flinched away when you both knew how keen you were with keeping to yourself.

He would've backed off the moment you showed any reluctance. After all, your comfort is his priority. But you haven't shown him the slightest bit of discomfort and he was willing to take the chance to assume that perhaps he wasn't just seeing things when he thought you looked at him in a way no way else had before.

And by the Sevens were the two of you so compatible as similarly, your brain had decided to grow blank with only one thought to entertain it with.

No beastman should ever look that soft.

And yet, he does.

Because of me.

What the hell were you thinking? You weren't even fully conscious when you dragged your body to find his after your little crisis half an hour ago.

You supposed that that was simply another thing you aren't sure of.

“Herbivore, c'mon. Look at me. You can't possibly ignore me when you were the one who insisted on meeting up.” He almost whispers and you could've sworn that your heart had melted faster than anything under the scorching sun.

You almost felt like defying him just to see how far he'll go.

But you look at him anyways— eyes peering right into his viridescent ones that shined so ethereally under the setting sun.

You met this vile, vile man's gaze, growing worried as the sound of birds chirping could've beaten the quiet volume your voice had taken. Still, you spoke, albeit without any thinking,

“Oh, God, I like you.”

And at this point? That was apparently the one thing you were sure of.

★ END NOTE: hiiii, I REALLY like Leona and SHORT YAP!! I always felt like he'll be the kind of love where you'll suddenly realize that you love him one day. Maybe the realization gets prompted because of how comforting he is, idk 👉👈 anyways!! header by me and stuff :D!

[xsilversugar]

It fuckin' kills me every time I think about it. I don't support Rowling or think of her in my day-to-day outside of being actively reminded of the harm she causes. I too want her to vanish. She was a huge part of my childhood but I grew out of her and called her a hack by the sixth book and basically only hate-read the last because I had to know how it ended. I didn't have the full context or understanding for why what she wrote felt off to me--so by the time her political views became well-known; I felt vindicated in my dislike of her. Throwing her work away and not caring by then was easy. It's only when I think of the active harm that I feel anything about it all.

However learning about Neil Gaiman fucking gutted me. I was so wanting to believe it wasn't true but even then one of my first thoughts was a cold "yeah, that tracks actually" (hell, I literally had a dream practically predicting it) but it still felt more personal a betrayal rather than a broad lingering hate. More...insidious. I stay silent and don't involve myself in the fandom anymore because if I let it...it'd still hurt me...like a raw wound merely ignore. I cried for practically a week straight, in and out of denial and hopeful that it was a misunderstanding, but I was so invested in digging up whatever news I could, and then I had to stop. It was too much. I'd occasionally still recommend his works to people in private but I don't go out of my way to suggest anyone dare pay for it in the slightest anymore. If the topic of favorite authors comes up, I just don't have one anymore. I might offer to give someone a copy I have but I tell them why I'll never read it again myself.

Maybe it's because I went through this before with Rowling in particular but I thought it would be easier to cut Gaiman out. On one hand, sure, it is exceptionally easy to just let myself become distracted with other things, to not think about it or talk about it. On the other...I only stay silent because it still hurts just as much and I just can't unpack it this time. I can't. It's too much. I don't care if that makes me sound stupid or whatever. I'm too disgusted.

Still, I don't think I could say I disowned him, his work, or what he meant to me. The view I had was wrong. I haven't abandoned my love for those stories, I can't forget; that's why for the most part I don't bring it up without context because s long as I am distracted; I'm fine. If I think about it for too long...I feel like I'll fall apart. He is the one who disowned us, betrayed us, and did truly unforgivable things to others whom I choose to believe--and even hell has standards--so he's simply not welcome. That's all.

It's impressive how Neil Gaiman vanished from the internet. Wish Rowling would do the same.

[ukytluvrs]

hiii i know you said i didn’t need to send u a request but i couldn’t help myself- thoughts on dixon!reader/chris’s sister!reader x george??

where they meet for the first time at chris’s birthday party and it’s a love at first sight kind of thing but also sort of forbidden love cause she’s related to chris…

OFF LIMITS - G.CLARKE

George clarke x dixion!reader

CONTAINS: fluff, smut (if you squint)

SUMMARY: Chris' sister is back in town for his birthday, in where she meets George Clarke for the first time.

AUTHORS NOTE: is this too niche?? never written anything 'smutty' before so I hope this is okay! thank you for requesting, sorry it took so long <3

my requests are open.

CHRIS' FLAT WAS ALREADY PACKED by the time she got there, squeezing through the crowd of people, she scouted her brother amongst them.

"You're here, finally!" Chris grinned, pulling her into a hug.

"Yeah, sorry I'm late - the train ran late." She shouted over the music.

Nodding understandingly, he gently pushes her towards the kitchen, "Go on, get yourself a drink."

She makes her way to the kitchen, pouring herself a drink, when she hears someone's voice from behind her.

"youre Chris' sister, right?"

She turned around. The guy was taller than expected, with messy curls, and that familiar face from Chris' videos. George Clarke. She nodded slowly, caught off guard by how attractive he looked in real life.

"That obvious?"

He shrugged, grinning. "You look alike - you have the same judging face as he does."

She snorts, "That's true, actually"

"I'm George," he introduces, offering his hand.

"I know," she replies quickly.

"Oh?" his grin widened. "Fan?"

She raised her brow, a smirk tugging on her lips "You wish."

He laughed, "fair."

There was a pause, not awkward, just heavy with something else. Intrest? curiosity?

For the rest of the night, the two kept glancing at each other, unable to keep their eyes away and ignore the tension simmering between them.

It wasn't planned. She hadn't meant to follow him into his room, but here they were, his hands in her hair, her mouth on his. It was messy. fast. real. For a second, nothing else existed. just them, not Chris down the hall, not the music or the fact that George was passionately making out with Chris' sister. It was just them.

And it carried on that way for many months, with her frequent visits to "see Chris", but both of them knew it wasn't that (sorry Chris xoxo). There was always an excuse. She'd show up under the guise of catching up, maybe even pretend she was just in the area. And Chris? he never questioned it. I mean, why would he? She was his sister, after all; in fact, Chris liked that he got to see more of her lately. George played along effortlessly, but behind closed doors, it was different. There were quiet glances across the room, brushed hands in hallways, and stolen kisses when no one was looking. Late nights in his room with the door shut, Chris across the hall, oblivious to the fact that George was pressed against her like he couldn't bear to be apart. Some nights, it was innocent. Just talking until the morning sun shone through his bedroom windows, laughing quietly into each other. It never stayed innocent for long, though.

He'd pull her in, his hands slipping under the hem of his her hoodie like it belonged there. lips on her neck, breath hot against her skin, as his other hand made its way to between her thighs.

Sometimes, when her legs wrapped around his waist and his mouth moved against hers like he was trying to memorise every inch of her, he'd pause, just for a second and whisper her name like it was something sacred.

It was messy. addictive. and getting much harder to hide. Because no matter how careful they were, someone was bound to notice. And what were they to do then?

Anyone want a part 2?

[citrustan]

Hey, Citrus!! I miss seeing your stories and posts on the tl! Do you have a "love-daze" update for us? 🤤

hi!!! thank youuu wee i thought you'd never ask wink wink. this is a follow up to love-daze (myg) so please read that first!!

love-daze (myg) #2

title: only when no one's looking

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: unrequited love (but is it....?) n friends to lovers but yoongi's a tad uneasy because well yk

warnings: you and yoongi run into a little problem. a little heavier on the angst this time! non linear storytelling, lmk if you find it confusing because this was written in a haste.

"I have a problem," you say, mostly to yourself.

Nini just happens to be in the room. She looks at you intently, waiting for an explanation.

You debate whether or not this problem is even worth discussing. On one hand, you already have the solution but won't exercise it, but on the other, whining about it will certainly make you feel a lot better. But do you deserve that relief?

“It’s kind of complicated,” you murmur, more to buy time than anything.

You're now dating dating Yoongi. Technically. Emotionally. Exclusively. But only in private. Because Yoongi refuses to be open about it as to lessen his ex's pain. (But, in turn, he's risking yours.)

It's not like you're dying to be out and about, paraded around as his girlfriend, but when he goes out of his way to protect his ex's feelings, it stings.

"Yoongi won't date me openly," you blurt, "-because his ex is in the same friend circle, and I'm kind of over it." It comes out more blunt than you intended.

You don't know how she'll handle this. You could have worded that better though.

She sinks into the couch, next to you, giving you her undivided attention. She squints for second, trying to remember where she saw Yoongi.

Jennie (or Nini) moved in only two weeks ago, so she has limited knowledge of your life.

Yeah, yeah, point and laugh. You're a grown woman with a roommate. It's a tough economy. Teaching doesn't pay your bills anymore. You had to find a side gig, and this is it. Renting.

Pride took a back seat somewhere around your third bounced paycheck.

"Yoongi's your boyfriend?" She looked surprised, finally connecting the name to the face.

"I mean, kind of. We've never really discussed it in that many words." You pause. "We're only dating each other right now, isn't that all that counts?"

"Yeah, more or less, yes." Nini nods along before adding, "But I still don't see the issue. If you're secure, why does it matter whether or not you're openly secure? I mean, if I were in your shoes, I'd be lowkey too."

TLDR: I'd keep my head down if I were you.

That irritates you more than you'd like to admit.

"No, but you don't know..." You trail off, sighing. You hope this doesn't turn into an argument. "I know it sounds bad right now, but this has been a long time coming." You sounded like you were convincing yourself.

"Yoongi and I were friends first. I've always liked him. She knew it too. Everyone did."

Nini's eyes widen, "Oh! Sure, that makes sense. I mean making the moves on your friend's ex is a little..." She smiles awkwardly, "I mean, I'm not judging."

You felt the need to defend your choices, "I didn't make moves on him. Yoongi came to me. And Sera isn't really a friend, she never was. We were friendly but that's it. We've never been anything more than convenient company to each other."

You feel crazy trying to explain yourself to an almost-stranger.

Jennie shook her head in reassurance, "I get it! I'm not attacking you, I'm just... You know, sharing my perspective."

You throw a beady-eyed glance at her, trying to figure out if she hates you yet. Because that was the reaction you had gotten from most of your friends. Her friends.

They couldn't stop talking about it when they saw you kissing Yoongi at some deli.

Once, someone spotted you at a dinner date and actually went as far as to take pictures of you.

Obviously, they circulated back to the two of you.

Yoongi wasn't pleased.

Another time, you and Yoongi ran into Sera and her best friend at a Claire's.

That was the last place you expected Sera to be at.

You had only wanted to find a cheap belly button ring.

How was that the first time you came into contact after the break-up? At a Claire's?

You should've accepted Yoongi's offer to buy you a custom made ring. But he wanted to take you to Swarovski. And you thought they were a scam. You could get the same quality of stuff for way lesser at other places.

You tried to pretend to not have seen them but then she greeted you while her friend glared at you.

Which obviously made you look insanely rude.

But hello? Wasn't it an unwritten rule for the ex to not acknowledge the new girl? Or were you just childish?

You awkwardly force a smile.

The four of you just stood there. In the middle of a Claire's. All staring at each other waiting for someone to make a move.

Was Sera actually that nice and unbothered? You don't know. But, her sidekick sure wasn't.

And exactly at that moment, Sera decided it was too difficult for her to deal coming face-to-face with her ex and his new flame and excuses herself, dramatically (intentionally or not, it was dramatic) turning away and storming off.

But the cherry on top was Yoongi's reaction.

Instead of calming you down, he went after Sera! And she didn't even look half as frazzled as you did!

Yoongi's legs automatically moved to chase after her.

And, you get it. Fair enough.

Because love doesn't just go poof and disappear. And with Yoongi and Sera--- whatever anyone thinks about them now--- had once been in love. For a long while at that.

It must've been insanely difficult and hellish for them to have to move on from something like this.

So, you really don't blame him for running after her.

Connections don't always break cleanly.

It's just... You wish you didn't feel like collateral damage here.

Like do you think you'd do the same if she was your ex? Yes, probably.

Was it embarrassing for you? Also, yes.

Still, you wished Yoongi had asked your permission or at least glanced at you, just once, to make sure YOU were okay.

But you were left alone with Sera's friend.

She shot you the nastiest stink-eye the entire time Yoongi and Sera chatted on the side.

It was nearly barbaric. It was as if she was trying to overpower you in some way.

Shivers.

That look made you want to hide behind your hands or something. It sucked.

Everyone gave you the look. The 'oh, she swooped in like a vulture' look, that 'there goes the homewrecker' look.

You awkward shifted your weight from one foot to another.

These heels were killing your soles. Yoongi told you to wear walking shoes but you were confident you wouldn't need them.

You looked everywhere but at her. And you still felt her eyes burning holes into your head. Like she was trying to decipher your thoughts.

When Yoongi and Sera rejoined you, they were closer in proximity.

You don't think too much of it. You're just glad your boyfriend's back.

Yoongi instantly wraps his large hand around yours, gently stroking it with his thumb. You look up at him with a small smile.

"Um... _____, I'll see you around more I hope?" Sera's voice broke your little moment.

What the hell had they talked about?

Pleasantly surprised, you just nod slightly. You'd like that actually.

"That would be... Good." You agree. A bit more genuinely this time.

Sera's friend also toned it down after getting a little elbow from Sera.

The two women then bid goodbye, leaving you and Yoongi alone again.

You look at Yoongi who's already gazing down at you, "Still wanna look through the Claire's catalogue?"

No, you think. You're actually done with Claire's now.

As if he read your mind, he pulled you in closer and you let him guide you whenever. Preferably to the nearest Swarovski.

Whatever the hell happened there with Sera, you're grateful for.

He took really good care of you later that evening.

But from that day onwards, you noticed he had pulled back from you significantly, all under the guise of being overworked.

You're a teacher. You get it. Overworking, that too without pay, is, like, part of your job description. Yet, you make time for Yoongi.

But all he ever wanted lately was to hang out at his place. He'd come over only when Jennie wasn't home.

He made you feel like you had to hide your relationship. As if you were doing something shameful.

Nini shifts next to you on the couch. She's still quiet, probably turning it all over in her head.

You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve.

"Do you still want to be with him?" She finally asks, soft but cautiously.

The question catches you off guard. It’s not an accusation. It’s not even advice. It’s just… a question.

Wasn't it already apparent that you did?

Of course, you want to be with Yoongi. It's all you've wanted for months. Nothing has changed about that.

With a voice barely above a whisper, you frown, "I really do."

Jennie doesn’t say anything at first. She just nods like she's trying to convince herself.

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," she says, "But you shouldn’t have to shrink to be with someone."

You raise your chin a little. Hm. True.

Feeling satisfied by your reaction, Jennie grins and pats your head, "I'm gonna go now. Won't be back until tomorrow... After breakfast?" She looks to you for an answer.

"Um... No, yeah ok." You don't know if Yoongi would stay over after the conversation you were gonna have with him. "Actually, whenever is fine. I dunno."

Jennie raises an eyebrow at your waffling, but doesn’t press. She just stands, stretches, and gathers her things into her canvas tote. You hadn't even noticed her stuff around.

"Okay then. I’ll assume brunch. Or post-brunch," she says with a wink, already halfway to the door. "Text me if you need anything. Or if you want me to fake an emergency call and drag you out mid-convo."

You nod with a little smirk.

She lingers a second longer at the threshold, like she’s debating whether to say more.

"Just… don’t let him confuse you into thinking this is what love’s supposed to look like, okay?"

She looks at you pointedly, waiting for a response.

"I won’t."

She smiles. Then she’s gone.

You check your phone. Five unread messages from Yoongi, all within the last thirty minutes.

[5] unread messages.

yoonie bby: Thinking about you. Can't focus.

yoonie bby: Wanna be inside you already. Miss your mouth.

yoonie bby: Also your pretty laugh.

yoonie bby: Should I cook or bring food?

yoonie bby: Your favourite cheesecake secured BTW. Can't wait to hold my sweet girl tonight.

You stare at the screen for a moment. Your stomach flips, as always. He’s so filthy and considerate in the same breath. He's so Yoongi.

You lock your phone and let your head fall back against the couch cushion, reminding yourself that you were still upset at this situation.

note: okayyy sooo i decided to drop this as an apology for my lack of posting in the recent months soooo do tell me what you think of this :) thanks for reading!

[hyunjincanraptoo]

I know you mostly do hyunjin fics but I was wondering if you could to a bangchan one? I was looking for one I was thinking of and I couldn't find it and I thought I'd ask you because your fics are so good! Could you try to make a first time with chan one? Kind of like your hyunjin one that you made buy a chan version of it idk I've just been so dululu lately and I need a fic like that, but if your but please dont rush if your doing other things♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Bed of roses- B.CH

First of all, hey!! I am SO sorry it took so long. I love your ideas, they are always great. And honestly at this point I am writing for all members + ateez hehe

And in second place, I want to dedicate this fic to beautiful @ktxoxoxo. Feliz cumpleaños, baby! I promised you a bed of roses and here it's hehe Wish you all the happiness in the world and I hope you had a great day 💜

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: smut

Alexa, play Bed of roses by Bon Jovi

You didn’t mean to break the bed, but in your defense, the bug was huge.

One moment you were peacefully folding laundry, the next you were shrieking and jumping on your bed like it was a lifeboat and you were on Titanic. And apparently, your bedframe wasn't built for dramatic bug escaping adventures.

It cracked beneath your weight with a crunch. Not totally broken, but enough to collapse slightly.

Which is how you ended up sitting on the floor, texting your new boyfriend in absolute shame.

You:

I broke my bed cause of a bug 💀

Channie:

😭 How big was the bug??

You:

Big enough for me to panic and jump like an olympic gymnast

Channie:

I’m coming over, babe

We’re going to IKEA

“Okay, but I thought you'd laugh more”, you say as he pulls into the parking lot, “Like, isn’t this the kind of thing you'd roast me for?”

Chan hums, “It is, but also I’m gonna romanticize this. We’re going to IKEA together like a new married couple”

You blink at him.

He grins, “Don’t tell me you never imagined walking around those fake rooms holding hands, pretending we’re furnishing our home?”

“Okay. Maybe once. Or twice”

He hops out and comes to your side of the car, lacing his fingers with yours the moment you step out, “Good! Let’s get delulu over furniture”

You roll your eyes. But your giggle anyway

•°. *࿐

It begins in the kitchens.

“Oh, I could totally see us making breakfast here”, he says, tapping a marble counter, “You scrambling eggs while I steal kisses and burn the toast”

“In your fantasy, I’m the one cooking?!"

“I’m better at kissing”

You blush and move on, but he follows with a lazy hand on the small of your back.

“Look at this one”, he says, pointing to a tub, “Our kids could splash around in here”

You choke, “Kids?!”

He shrugs, amused by your expression, “Too soon?”

You poke his chest him, “Way too soon”

He pouts playfully, eyes warm. “Fine. Just imagine you in it. Bubbles, candles and me on the rug beside it, feeding you strawberries”

You laugh, “You romantic menace”

But the worst is the bed section. He sits down on a queen sized one and pats the space beside him.

You sit.

Chan leans back, legs wide, arms resting behind his head like he belongs there.

“I could definitely see us making kids on this one”

Your breath catches.

He glances over with a smug grin, but it softens when he sees your expression— flushed, quiet, hopeful.

“Too much?”, he asks gently.

You shake your head, trying to stay cool, “Just... haven’t thought that far ahead”

He leans in, brushing his fingers against your knee, “No pressure. I like where we are”

You nod, “I like it too”

•°. *࿐

You buy the bed. And Chan insists on paying for half of it.

“I’ll cover half”, Chan says as he hoists one of the heavier boxes into the trunk.

You arch a brow. “You sure? I broke the bed”

He grin,. “And I helped you pick a new one. That makes it ours now”

You narrow your eyes, “Are you trying to co-own my furniture?”

He shrugs, slamming the trunk closed, “Maybe I just want you to think of me every time you get in bed”

Your jaw drops, “Christopher Bang!”

“What?”, he says innocently, but the smirk is anything but innocent

“I love you”

He walks past you, enlacing your pinkies together as he heads to the driver’s side, “I love you too, baby”

•°. *࿐

That night, you stay over at his place.

He tosses you one of his oversized shirts, makes you dinner, and kisses you slowly on the couch before pulling you into bed. It’s soft, domestic, like you’ve done this a hundred times already.

The next morning, he drives you to work, one hand on the wheel, the other lazily holding yours. As you unbuckle to get out, he tugs your wrist gently and leans over to kiss you, probably a little longer than necessary.

“Have a good day”, he murmurs. “And don’t worry, I’ll have the bed ready when you come home”

You blink, “Really? You don’t have to”

He just winks, “I’ve got you, baby”.

And with that, you spend the whole shift thinking about your disgustingly sweet boyfriend.

•°. *࿐

When you get home, the lights are low and your apartment smells like roses.

You blink at the trail of petals leading to your bedroom and then stop in the doorway— your new bed is built, fluffed, blankets folded neatly.

Chan stands beside it with a boyish smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “Hey...”

“Chan… what’s that?”

“I just… I thought I’d surprise you. Build it while you were gone. And the rest, well... I got carried away”

You step inside, eyes darting around, “This is... beautiful”

He shrugs, “No pressure or anything. I know we still haven’t… you know. But I just thought maybe…. new bed, new memories”

You look at him— his eyes are kind, gentle, nervous. And you know you want him too.

Not just because of the bed. You want him because he showed up, hands full of Allen keys and roses. Because he doesn't judge when you break the bed because of bugs and also dreams big. Because he makes IKEA’s aisles feel like home.

You walk to him slowly

“Can I kiss you?”, you ask.

His breath stutters, “Please”

You kiss him deep— full of all the things you didn’t say in the kitchen aisle, the tub aisle, the bedroom aisle.

He pulls you closer by the hips, mouth hungry but patient. You feel his hands spread wide on your back, guiding you gently to the bed like you’re sacred.

Clothes come off slowly. First his shirt, then yours. His fingers tremble slightly as they trace the curve of your waist.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, kneeling between your thighs.

You nod, “I’ve never been more sure”

He kisses down your neck, your collarbones, the sensitive skin just above your breast. You arch into him, heart pounding like a drum.

He takes his time. Every touch is mindful, every breath shared. He groans when you touch him, eyes closing.

“I got you”, he breathes, “We’ll go slow”

He lies back slowly, guiding you to straddle him but not the way you expect.

Instead, he tugs you down with him until your back is flush against his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist, your thighs wrap around his hips. You're cradled in his body like you're made to fit there like his lap, his hands, his chest were always meant for you.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, his breath warming the shell of your ear.

You nod, pulse racing. “More than okay”

You reach between your bodies to help guide him in— careful, your breath catching as he slides into you from behind.

A shared gasp leaves both your mouths.

The stretch, the closeness, the sound of his moan against your neck—it’s overwhelming in the most delicious way.

His arms tighten around your waist, and you feel his lips press to your shoulder as he starts to move. Slow, rolling hips beneath you. He thrusts up gently, and the rhythm is steady, sure, tender.

Your head tips back against his shoulder.

“You feel so good”, he breathes, voice wrecked, one hand sliding up to cup your breast while the other holds your stomach close, “I want you like this forever”

You whisper his name, trembling slightly as pleasure builds. It’s deeper like this. Fuller. Every drag of him inside you makes your body curl back into him tighter.

He keeps you safe.

Your fingers lace with his at your stomach, squeezing as the pace picks up— soft wet sounds and shallow gasps filling the room, his lips open against your jaw, groaning your name.

You come first, your body arching, chest heaving, legs shaking around him as he whispers encouragements into your skin.

“That’s it, baby… just like that. Can’t believe you are all mine”

He follows soon after, hips stuttering, breath hitching as he holds you tighter— burying himself as deep as he can go with a strangled moan. His warmth fills you slowly, pulsing inside while you lie there— still trembling, still wrapped in his arms.

Neither of you speak right away.

Only the sound of shared breaths, kisses pressed lazily to your shoulder, his fingers drawing shapes over your stomach where your hands still rest.

“I’ve never…, he begins softly, voice still unsteady, “felt anything like that before”

You smile, “Yeah. Me neither”

You turn your face to him, “Thanks for building the bed, baby”

He chuckles, heart melting silently, “Guess we built something else tonight too”

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep, @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin , @yxna-bliss

[brownblob]

Home Sweet Home

Jim Walters x GN!Reader

Summary: Getting accustomed to your lifestyle with Jim while he can only preoccupy himself with thoughts of you. You never once thought he'd become your safety net but some things are just fate.

TW: Suggestive, toxic relationship dynamics, yandere, creepy Jim (ish?)

Consume, the need to devour you was necessary. It was a thought that engulfed him entirely - from his body to his mind. All he thought of was you, who was so close. Just a room away and sometimes right in front of him, sitting in silence - the carving on your neck, a collar of sorts displayed like a trophy. A rabbit, skittish like you - distrusting too.

Finally in his grasp, defiant or pliant, something he could mold - though not with the intention to change. It was with the intention to safe-keep, to help you, he insisted. Fragile things needed help, aid. He wasn't one to brag like that, not at first at least - but it was a fact, wasn't it?

You who was from a place so far away, locked with him in his little cabin with nowhere to go. Cute. You'd die if you stepped a foot out so he'd graciously take responsibility - hold you in his shaky arms, hoping you wouldn't find him repulsive. How could he not quake with you so near? How beautiful you were, so close yet so far. Lashes coated in tears, body moving in jagged steps. All to get away from him. Quite rude of you, he wouldn't push though. Not yet, as long as you stayed. Stayed close to him, within his gaze, under his nose, so close that he could touch you - just to make sure you weren't a fleeting dream.

Though the need for you wouldn't go away, the desire to melt into you - become one. So close, so utterly in sync. His movements would be smooth, as gentle as he could be in this moment of exasperation. Desperation as he pinned you beneath him, so full of life as you struggled for steadiness.

Struggle as you may, you have nowhere to go. So stay and melt under his touch, cry for him as he does for you, yearn for him. Tremor beneath him as he engulfs you, skin on skin so sinfully pure - the act of becoming one as you place your hands on his chest, stabilizing yourself.

Icy eyes look down at you adoring or obsessive, hands either gentle or rough, body warm or cold, and words sweet or biting.

Stupid you are for trying to run, he warned you it would hurt you - now he's the one who has to patch you up. You cry into his shoulder as he awkwardly cradles your body, cursing himself as his blush deepens. Blame him for all he's worth but to be depended on by you was all he ever wanted. Hands in your hair as he talks to you, warming up your body. A kiss to your forehead as he relishes in your stillness, comfort. How long has it been? You aren't sure. You never did end up going back to the Little Cub Cabin. You ponder as you sip the drink he's given you. You swear it has something in it, though he proved you wrong by gulping it one go once. Nevertheless it doesn't make sense. Why else do you always end up in bed after. Limbs tangled together as your head pounds. Not that you mind, not anymore. Not when he is home.

.

.

.

Home sweet home.

Note: AHHHHHH i"ve been so obsessed with this game since playing it and oml oml this man deserves more content on him. I know this isn't my usual content but i just HAD to. Also creator/author @hereisremina of this game YOU COOKED SERVED AND ATE. I hope this little fic shows my appreciation (more coming) for the absolute artwork you've produced. Note 2: So guys i know it's been SOOOOOOO long since i last posted something significant and I am so sorry. It's been really difficult with responsibilities and a LOT of writers block. I'll try making more content but I might also be branching out to other fandoms than just TWST, as you can see here. My guilty pleasures are yanderes (yes I am self obsessed because i wanna be the one thing that consumes another's thoughts. Sue me.) so I might be focusing on such content now...who knows

Note 3: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!

[kvntonq]

𖤐 — mission: pads and patience

pairing - eddie alden ft. fem!reader

summary - what happens when you ask eddie to buy your pads during the red month?

contents - fluff, period talking, suggestive, dramatic eddie, playful banters, established relationship.

words count -  1493 words

zayn's note - heii guys!! sorry for not posting regularly. I just finished my final exams and yippee I'm glad to be back!! hope you guys will enjoy this and more fics will come soon!! <3

Eddie Alden wasn't supposed to be the kind of man who settles down.

He was the punchline to half of your stories. You've heard the stories—hell, you knew some of the firsthand when you two were just workmates. He was the man your coworkers warned you about: silver-tongued, the coworker who never turned down a party, always five seconds from convincing someone into bed. The man who gave advice no one should follow and got away with it because he looked like that and smiled like sin.

But somewhere along the line—maybe during one of those late nights when you were both tipsy and tired of pretending—Eddie stopped looking at other people the way he looked at you.

And he never looked back.

He's still dramatic. Still flirty. Still hopelessly, Eddie. But the late-night phone calls are only ever for you now. His toothbrush lives beside yours. And when he makes coffee in the morning, he doesn't even ask anymore—he just adds a splash of vanilla creamer, two sugars, and kisses your shoulder as he hands it to you.

The infamous womanizer Eddie Alden is someone's else. 

Rain taps gently at the window as you lie curled up on the couch, wrapped in your thickest blanket. A heating pad hums on your stomach, the cramps coming in steady waves. You've given up trying to move. Even scrolling on your phone feels like too much.

Then, your screen lights up.

Eddie: On my way home. Need anything, gorgeous?

You smile, even through the discomfort. Your uterus is staging a mutiny and the pad stash under the sink is depressingly empty.

You type back: Can you grab some pads? Overnight ones with wings pls :3

Three dots bubble on the screen and you could swear it takes him only THREE seconds to reply.

Eddie: OH NO. THAT MEANS WE CAN'T FUCK?!

You choke out a laugh so hard you nearly dislodge the heating pad. Immediately, you hit the call button.

He picks up on the first ring with a gasp. “Sweetheart,” he says, like he's delivering a eulogy. “Say it ain’t so.”

“Hi to you too,” you say, already laughing.

“Tell me I misread that text. Say it was a typo. Say you meant ‘peach wine’ and autocorrect betrayed us.”

“I meant pads.”

He groans. “I had plans tonight. And not just plans, babe. Schemes. Elaborate, x-rated choreography. And now… ruined.”

“They were never confirmed plans,” you say through your giggles.

“They were spiritual plans,” he argues, “plans of the soul. I was going to light candles, touch your thighs like a gentleman, and do that thing with my tongue—”

“Eddie!”

“—and now, because of your cruel and vengeful uterus, I must live in sorrow. And buy pads.”

You press your face into the pillow, shaking with laughter. The fact that you could actually imagine his reaction through the phone call is hilarious. 

“Do you know what it's like to walk into the feminine hygiene aisle with an erection and a broken heart? I'm a man on the edge.”

“You're a man getting pads for his girlfriend. Be brave. Plus, I'm not dying, you know,” you say once you can breathe again. “It's just my period.”

“Exactly!” he replies. “It's the just that hurts the most.”

You groan playfully.

A pause. Then his voice softens just a little. “The same purple pack, right? Overnight. Wings.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Thanks, baby.” 

You're still smiling long after the call ends. The cramps are annoying, your body is betraying you, and the weather sucks—but Eddie's coming home. With pads. And probably way too many snacks.

That's enough.

You must doze off, because the next thing you hear is the soft clicks of the front door and the familiar sound of Eddie kicking his boots.

“Sleeping Beauty,” he calls, voice low and fond. “Your knight returns. Armed with provisions.”

You stir, blinking blearily, as he steps into the living room with the dramatic flair of a man who has never entered quietly in his life. Rain clings to his jacket, and his hair is damp, pushed back like he just stepped out of a rom-com poster.

He pulls out the purple pack like he's unsheathing Excalibur. “Ta-da!”

You squint at the package. “You really got the right ones?”

“Do you doubt me?” he asks, mock-offended. “I walked into that aisle with the confidence of a man who once had a threesome in the office stairwell and came out reborn as your humble pad-bearer.”

You laugh but your arms are already stretching open. It's automatic now—whenever Eddie's around, you want him close. Touch is like oxygen these days.

He notices. Of course he does.

“Ohhh, look at that,” he says, pointing with dramatic flair. “Cling activated. Look at you. Just a little puddle of neediness.”

“Shut up and hug me.”

“Needy,” he whispers, shaking his head like you've disappointed him deeply. “Desperate. Pathetic.”

But he's already walking over. Already dropping the bag on the floor and crouching down to your level. He slides an arm around your waist and pulls you in like he was born for it—like every cell in his body exists just to do this.

His scent hits you instantly. Rain. Leather. The lingering trace of his cologne.

“God, you're cold,” you murmur against his shoulder.

“God, you're clingy,” he retorts, but his hand is already at the back of your head, cradling it like he's soothing something fragile.

“You love it.”

“I do,” he admits easily. “Sick little koala.”

You breathe him in. He holds you tighter and neither of you moves for a while.

A soft, tired sigh leaves your lips. “Ugh, my stomach's killing me.”

Immediately, Eddie's hand rubs slow, calming circles against your back.

“I know, baby,” he says, quieter now. “I got you. We're gonna make it better, alright?”

His voice is warm and low, almost reverent. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and stays for a long beat before whispering, “Stay here. I'm getting your chamomile tea and snacks.”

Then he disappears into the kitchen.

You hear rustling, the fridge opening, and the kettle clicking on. When he returns, it's with a mug of chamomile tea, a snack bag full of chocolate, and—God help you—a duck-shaped heat pack.

“Why is it a duck?” you ask, your eyebrows raised.

“Because love makes you stupid,” he says. “Now take it. Don't say I never spoil you.”

You trade the old heating pad for the duck and the moment your hand wraps around the tea, you sigh. “You're being very sweet today.”

“I'm always sweet,” he says, sitting beside you and pulling you gently against his chest. “You just usually notice it after orgasms.”

You snort. “So noble. So selfless.”

“I know,” he whispers into your hair. “I should get a medal for being denied sex and still being this amazing.”

“You're so brave.”

“I am.”

Hours later, the sky darkened. The rain is softer now, a hush over the city. You’ve migrated to bed in slow, sleepy steps, your body still heavy with cramps, your heart just a little lighter.

Eddie slips under the covers first, stretching out with a content sigh, then opens his arms in invitation. “Come here, you bleeding goddess.”

You groan and crawl into his arms, finding your place against his bare chest like muscle memory. His skin is warm, his touch soft as he runs his fingers down your spine.

“Better?” he asks.

“Mm. A little.”

“I’d offer a back massage, but I fear I’d get too turned on.”

“Jesus, Eddie."

He grins against your hair. “I’m suffering, baby. I can’t even lie. But I’m being good.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” He cups your cheek. “Of course not. I mean, am I aroused to the point of spiritual crisis? Yes. But you’re bleeding. And in pain. And you still let me hold you like this. That’s more than enough.”

You blink. His voice is quieter now, the playfulness dialed down to something real.

“Seriously,” he adds. “I used to wake up alone next to people I didn’t even like. And now I get to wake up beside the love of my life. Period or not. That’s a win.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and press your face into his chest.

He lets a beat of silence pass, then says, “Still gonna write tragic poetry in my Notes app about it.”

You groan. “I knew you couldn’t help yourself.”

“It’s called ‘Red Tide of My Despair’—”

You squeak, pushing at him. “No.”

“A River of Lust, A Dam of Sadness—”

“No, Eddie—”

“The Crimson Abyss of Blue Balls—”

“Good. Night.”

He chuckles, then settles down again, arms locked tight around you, mouth brushing your temple.

You feel him relax as you drift. Safe. Warm. Held.

Even with the cramps. Even with the inconvenience. Even with the duck-shaped heat pack between you.

He’s here.

And he's yours.

reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!!

dividers by: @dollywons

tags!! @princessanglophile @themareverine @wchswift @dimlylittorch @mcrdvcks @briseroyawritingsblog @howlettsangel @flowersforbucky @lubdubology @xxladymjxx @sweetverine @tezooks @loganismybodyguard [lmk if you wanna be added or removed!!]

[toffee4you]

Short fic based on @workoho's artwork.

I am making some assumptions here since I have not completed recent B7 chapters, but I heard equestrian club has canon fanclubs.

My formatting has gone out the window, half of this is yap. Cheers for my first time writing the reader as the Ramshackle prefect!

Content: Fluff with romantic implications, prefect!reader, established friendship, confession happens in the middle of a crowd because I think Silver has hopeless romantic brainworms. Not yet proofread.

The equestrian club was putting on a show for the cultural fair today. Normally, it would be difficult to find seats with all of the visitors pouring in—especially if you consider that some of the boys have entire fanclubs dedicated to them. Fortunately for you, each member of the equestrian club was given permission to save one seat for a guest, and Silver had offered you a front-row view. You found it a bit questionable that he did not give the seat to Lilia or Malleus, but he claimed "They would have no issue finding their own..."

15 minutes before the show begins, and you see a figure approaching your seat; it is impossible to mistake that silver hair anywhere, even when his style is different from the usual. He stops in front of you, taking a knee. You stare back in confusion, the crowd clearly sharing the same sentiments as they began to murmur at the overly-dramatic scene.

"Prefect, I hope that you will watch closely... I will do my best to stay awake and win this show, for you."

Odd. It is true that the two of you have been good friends for some months, but the gesture and the way he stared almost felt personal. As if confirming your suspicions, he took your hand into his—slowly enough for you to reject it, had you wished—then pressed a chaste kiss onto the back of it. With a smile, he stood up and left to prepare, leaving your brain in a state of chaos. Perhaps you were being delusional, and this was perfectly normal in a place like Twisted Wonderland... But the feeling of certain fans staring daggers into your back suggested otherwise.

At long last, it was time for the show. Many of the students had impressive displays, Sebek and Riddle standing out in particular. Yet, you found yourself waiting on Silver to come out, like a prince on his white horse. After all, you had to ensure your dear friend would keep his word... But perhaps you had expected too much, because his display was late. An awkward silence passed through the audience, the field abnormally vacant; You suspected one of his sleep spells got to him.

Surely enough, the next rider was Silver, mounted gallantly upon Samson. A keen eye could spot the residue drowsiness in his half-lidded gaze, yet he continued on his performance with determination. Every obstacle was vaulted flawlessly, every dressage movement executed with perfect sync between rider and horse. For his closing performance, he ran Samson around the track several more times, seemingly removing his hands from the reigns to snag a rosey red item from the surrounding shrubs each time. You could hardly make out what they were until he started wrapping them mid-performance, just enough to form a bouquet—a small one albeit, yet an incredible showcase of skill and trust to create on horseback.

Samson continued to gallop one last time around the track, reaching the front of the audience. Particularly, reeling right in front of your seat. You knew what was coming by now, but that wasn't enough time to perish the feeling of embarrassment in front of a entire crowd. Removing his helmet, Silver pressed it against his chest in a chivalrous manner, leaning slightly as he offered the heartfelt bouquet.

"Prefect, will you accept my token of love?"

Oh, how you would have smacked him on the head for saying this in front of so many people, but his honesty and innocent intentions had moved you. You gave a bashful nod, taking the bouquet from his hands before he left off-field. If the crowd had been staring daggers at you earlier, they were staring swords now. You could even see Lilia making a big commotion in his seat from your peripheral vision, Malleus giving a nod of approval.

So they did get their view after all...

Silver goes MIA because Riddle abolishes him for plucking roses.

[ffrostedfflakies]

Sleeping with trueform!Sukuna (not like that pervert) is like sleeping with a human(?) heater.

The man loves to hold and cuddle with you which would, on paper be amazing and nice and so so cute but when you're dating a literal curse its the opposite. He grips onto you with all four arms so you can barely move, practically LAYS on top of you so can barely breathe-

its a fun time.

But one thing you must not even attempt to do WHATSOEVER is move from the bed. Even if you need to go piss. Even if you want a glass of water, because that man will legitimately teleport to wherever you are.

For instance, one night you were craving a sweet snack and you couldn't sleep without having one so you ended up in the kitchen.

Obviously.

But while you browsing the cabinets for a snack you felt this giant source of heat at your back.

Instantly, you knew who it was but you made no move to acknowledge it. Maybe if you were still enough he'll just go away-

"Woman." A voice grunts.

You made no move to respond.

"I know you can hear me. It is futile to pretend."

Keeplookingkeeplookingkeeplooking-

Your thoughts are promptly interrupted when you feel yourself being spun around by strong hands.

You're left facing what seems to be a large wall of tattooed muscle, as you look up you see several red eyes glaring at you with no real malice in them.

"Why did you leave our bed. It is late." Sukuna grumbles.

"I was just craving a snack," You reply exasperated, "there was no reason for you to wake up, I wasn't even going to take that long."

"That doesn't matter, I noticed your absence immediately and I don't like it. Return to our chambers at once."

"I will, just gimme a min I really want these cheese puffs." you say finally finding a snack you like. However your joy is promptly interrupted by one of Sukuna's four arms grabbing the jar out of your hands while he grabs you in one of his other arms.

You don't even question his behaviour at this point. It's more effort that its worth and just just want to eat your food and sleep.

Sukuna carries you back to your bedroom before promptly dumping you on the bed and making his way to lay back down to sleep.

"Can I have my cheese puffs now?" you ask.

The only response you get is a grunt and the jar shoved into your arms and an arm wrapped around your waist.

He misses you so bad its not even funny.

A/N: I've been in a sort of writing funk so I've just been writing drabbles atm but I hope to get a oneshot out at some point soon!

Also I was eating cheese puffs the whole time whilst writing this hence that being the food choice

[itneverendshere]

hey hun, idk if you taking any request but maybe you can make something about this. so you know sombr just released his song 'we never dated' and i was thinking if you can write something based on the song with rafe × reader, love you💖

a lil something i put together during my lunch break, enjoy 💘

he’s drunk again, the thinking-about-you kind.

his head tilts against the seat of the truck he hasn't driven in months, still parked in the beach house garage, waiting for something that’ll never come back.

rafe taps the red solo cup against his lip and closes his eyes.

it’s that song, the one wheezie showed him earlier, and he'd pretended to hate immediately.

"how come we never even dated but i still find myself thinking of you daily? why do you always leave me achin' when you were never mine for the takin'?"

rafe’s never wanted to punch a radio more.

it’s true, all of it. you never dated, but he loved you. that was the worst kind of heartbreak; he couldn't claim anything real, be angry or bitter or jealous. he couldn't point a finger in your direction and accuse you of breaking him because you never belonged to each other.

he never had the right.

you've always been too shiny for him. inherently good. more than a pretty face — though, yeah, you were that too and more.

rafe knew it before anyone else ever said it.

he knew you when you were still the skittish girl with lipgloss always smoothed over your mouth and that light blue cashmere sweater you wore every third thursday like clockwork.

you were sweet, but not naïve, you grew up learning how to smile through kook parents’ cocktail parties and could tell when a guy was trying to flirt or manipulate you in under three seconds.

rafe cameron wasn’t slick enough for you. he just happened to be there, at the right time, in the right places, saying the wrong things and hoping you'd want him anyway.

you did.

god, you did.

one summer, two friends who weren’t friends yet, thrown together because their parents played nice at yacht club dinners and pretended that the pogues didn’t matter as long as their kids stayed clean and polished.

you'd asked him once, on the beach at sunset, when everyone else was passed out or making out or passed out making out, why he always looked so angry.

rafe had blinked, caught off guard by your astuteness, replied with something stupid like, “m'not angry. don’t like people.”

you had smiled, close-lipped. “you seem to like me though.”

he hadn’t said anything, but you were right. he did, even when he shouldn’t have. especially when he shouldn’t have.

it got worse in senior year.

that was when he started noticing the finality of it. you were still walking around in ballet flats and sundresses and raising your hand first in ap lit — but it was all coming to an end, wasn't it? the idea of a you and him, the fantasy.

you were going places. real ones, far-far away, with brick libraries and stone archways and out-of-state dorms. you had a list, and rafe wasn’t on it.

he saw it coming the day you mentioned early decision.

“i’m thinking of brown,” you had confessed in a dreamy tone, chewing the end of your straw.

rafe had nodded, tossing a pebble across the dock water. “yeah?”

“you think I could get in?”

you could get into heaven if you asked nicely. instead, he shrugged again.

“duh.”

you laughed, that hiccup laugh that always made his stomach drop to the pits of hell, and leaned into his side for a second, enough to make him want more. that was the problem.

he always wanted more. of your voice, your time, skin against his. more jokes, more silence, more anything you’d give him. you were meant to leave and he was stuck in this fucking awful place, barely making it out of high school.

people talked about you two, always did.

assumed you were together, and he pathetically let them think what they wanted because it was easier than the truth: he was a guy in love with a girl he never kissed, too scared to try and pull you down with him.

rafe watched you date other people. preppy kooks with clean sneakers and trust funds and internships. it didn’t matter, it made sense, even when he drove past your house a little slower after those dates.

he always looked at you longer the next morning when you sat across from him in the café. sometimes, he swore you looked back.

the party your parents decided to put together that fateful night for you was too loud, or rafe simply grew to resent the sound of other people being happy.

he stood by the railing on the second-floor landing, a typical red solo cup warm in his hand, watching the celebration spiral out under the candle lights below. your backyard had been transformed, long tables dressed in linen, picture boards of you growing up, a cake with congratulations, brown university! piped in frosted gold, and people everywhere, drunk off champagne and privilege.

he hated it.

he'd been gawking at you laughing under those lights. you wore white tonight, tailored pants and some shimmery top that sparkled when you moved. your hair was half up, the way he always liked it.

you were leaving in two days. earlier than expected. the early admission program at brown, your parents were ecstatic, toasting to the future with rosé wine and proud tears.

rafe only found out three days ago, from wheezie, who overheard your mom on the phone ordering dorm essentials to be shipped ahead of time.

he didn’t possess the energy to be surprised.

that this was it, the last night. the last time he’d maybe ever see you outside of random instagram posts and christmas visits. the final hour of whatever not-thing they were.

you never promised him anything, and he had nothing to offer. only half-mumbled jokes and every piece of his heart that he tried not to hand over, one by one, every time you looked at him like he mattered.

he was drunk again.

he couldn’t say goodbye properly, or force himself to go down there and hug you like a normal person. couldn’t say, “i'm happy for you,” without gagging on the bitterness in his throat.

he did what he always did.

avoided the situation.

he was mad you were leaving, leaving earlier. you didn’t give him time to work up the courage to spit out the truth once and for all.

his legs carried him toward the kitchen, eyes on the floor, shoulders hunched.

“rafe.”

you voice was always soft with him.

you stood there in the hallway. fuck, you looked so pretty, unfairly so.

summer and home and everything he didn’t get to keep.

“i was wondering if you were gonna hide all night."

"wasn’t hiding.”

you raised a skeptical eyebrow. “right.”

rafe looked away first, he always did with you. you made him stupidly nervous, still.

"you’re mad.”

“’m not.”

“you’re mad i’m leaving.”

he scoffed. “you were always gonna leave. what’s the point in being mad about it now?”

your expression faltered, rafe hated himself for it.

“i thought… you’d at least say goodbye,” you whispered.

"didn’t think you’d notice if I didn’t.”

“rafe.”

he took a step back. he had to, orr he’d grab your hand and beg you to stay and make a fucking fool of himself.

“i can’t do this tonight,” he mumbled. “go back to your party, yeah?ivy league’s waiting.”

“wait a minute—”

“have fun up there, alright?”

perhaps, if he hadn't been too tipsy, he would've spotted the same ache in your eyes that was bleeding through his.

your jaw clenched, that twitch he caught when you were trying not to cry. shit, that was gonna fuck him up later. that look.

“you’re being such an asshole,” you bit out, quietly.

he huffed a laugh that wasn’t amused. “yeah. guess ’m just playing my part, huh?”

you blinked. “what does that even mean?”

“you—” he started, then cut himself off. shook his head. “you’re actin’ like this is some big surprise. you were always gonna choose that life. brown. new friends. better everything. that was the plan, right?”

“i never said that,” you shot back, voice trembling now.

you were all dolled up in a way he hadn’t seen before, sparkly earrings catching the kitchen light. you didn’t look like the girl he used to skip class with and lie on the pier beside.

but you were.

“you made your choice, didn’t you?” he muttered. “early program. gone before the summer’s even over.”

“i earned it, rafe. because i worked for it—”

“and what about me?” he snapped, suddenly. voice louder than either of you expected. “i bust my ass tryin’ to graduate with you. and you couldn't tell me this? i did it—for what? so you could feel sorry for me on your way out?”

that was new low. he regretted it the second he said it.

“that’s not fair."

“yeah? neither is you leavin’ me here and expectin’ me to clap for you.”

“i never asked you to wait for me,” you were pleading now, not accusing. “i never asked you to do any of that.”

“i know, god, i know,” rafe snapped. “that’s the problem. you never looked back, did you? not once.”

“that’s not true.”

“isn’t it?”

your hands curled against your outfit, wrinkling the fabric.

“i care about you."

he let out a breath through his nose, humorless.

“yeah?” he muttered. “i love you.”

real. pathetic, even. the most honest thing he’s ever said in his life.

your lips parted but he intervined before you could salvage his reputation.

“still not enough reason for you to stay, is it?”

your breath hitched, your eyes went wide. you weren’t expecting him to say it. the possibility had lived in the space between you two for so long, you thought it'd stay silent forever.

he had too. now it was out there, and you didn’t say it back.

“that’s what I thought,” he said, voice flat now.

you looked like you were about to cry. rafe looked like he already had.

“why are you doing this now?” your voice trembled with confusion. “i’m not leaving forever!"

you meant it, you thought a couple thousand miles and a new life wouldn’t erase this not-thing, wouldn’t bury him beneath everything you’d go off and become.

rafe, despite his many flaws, wasn’t stupid. hope wasn't a luxury he could afford.

he laughed, more of a breath than anything real.

“you might as well be.”

your brows pulled together. “what—”

“i never want to see you again,” he ripped the bandage off, even though it hurt more. “okay? just—just go. go to your early program, to your dorm, to your perfect fucking life with your perfect fucking people, and let me get over you in peace.”

your face twisted, the pain blooming across.

“you don’t mean that.”

“don’t i?” he snapped, stepping backward before he got close again, and broke completely. “what’s left of this, huh?”

he could only hear your shaky breath and the sound of someone laughing downstairs.

"so yeah, do me a favor — don’t text me when you miss home. don’t check in. don’t come back here thinking everything’s the same.”

you blinked, tears building in your lashes.

“rafe…”

he looked away, couldn’t watch you cry and still walk out of his life.

you can’t miss someone you never had, right? the only thing he had were his regrets.

[barleyo]

Acceptable in the 80's.

Bodhi Windbreaker X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: i know bodhi isn't the most popular dateable, but he is one of my absolute favorites. even if this is totally self-indulgent, i hope somebody else enjoys it too.

Tags: mentions of porn, fingering, handjobs, making out/kissing

Wordcount: ~0.8k

Learning about the modern era was interesting, sure, but Bodhi definitely had a preference for his time. This new, strange world made him feel behind, like he was being left out on a joke, and he was, in a way. Everything moved so quickly, despite how long he had been in his time capsule.  Things were just so different now. Not for the better. 

He told you about it all the time, ranting and raving about the 80s and how much he missed it. 

Movies, he claimed, were so much more entertaining. The actors were talented, the actresses were bombshells, and the special effects were "radical." 

Music was hip and catchy. He didn't mind newer tunes, he could admit that there was definitely more diversity now, but it just didn't hit the same. 

He thought today's fashion was clunky and cheap, that the food was overly processed and strange, and that technology was too advanced for his tastes. Social media? God, it hurt his head. Why did everything have to have an algorithm? And what the hell was A.I.? Living robots—like Johnny Five, right?

When he discovered the less wholesome side of modern internet, he found that he preferred the older alternative to it as well.

Bodhi brought you into the living room, carrying a large box of tapes and magazines. 

"I know, I tell you this all the time, babe, but the 80s was something special," he said, beaming down at you as he dropped the box on the floor. "You just had to be there. Or, in your case, you didn't have to be, because I'm gonna catch you up."

You watched him dig through the box and explain the decade's pop culture. It was interesting, but you mainly just stared at his adorably excited face the whole time. 

Bodhi bounced from topic to topic, clueing you in on his unique world of retro nostalgia. It was sweet, seeing him trip down memory lane.

"Right, and nobody knew George Michael was gay?" you asked, listening to him as he moved onto music of the 80s. 

He shook his head, giving a shrug. "I guess we were all too caught up with Hands Across America to notice." 

He dug at the bottom of the box, scooping up a final VHS. 

"What's that?"

"Last thing for today," he answered, blowing the dust out of the cartridge. "Films."

As he loaded the tape into the VHS player he had managed to find, you raised an eyebrow. 

"Didn't we already watch old movies?"

"Yeah, but this isn't a movie," Bodhi smirked, turning to face you as his finger traced over the play button. "It's a film. You know," he shrugged, "an adult film."

"Oh."

He clicked play and took a seat next to you on the floor. "Pornos were much better in the 80s too," he said, tossing an arm over your shoulders. 

You didn't realize how the video was making you feel until your hand was slowly pumping at Bodhi's cock, eyes flicking back and forth from the screen to him to make sure your movements matched. 

You kissed him softly, your arm crossing his as you both went to work on each other. The position wasn't nearly as awkward as you thought it might have been. Really, sitting so close to him while his needy hands trailed over you, going exactly where you needed him, was heaven. 

You slipped your tongue into his mouth and explored for a bit, nipping his lips when his thumb ran over your clit.

"Careful," he warned through gritted teeth, sucking in a breath, "it's still got five minutes left. Don't wanna cum before that."

You hummed and slowed your pace. It killed you to do so, but the idea of cumming with the actors was too hot to pass up. If Bodhi kept curling his fingers into you the way he was, you'd be on track to do just that. 

You mumbled a bit, making meaningless observations about the video, trying to distract yourself from how close you were. 

"The music in the back is nice," you said, face flushed.

"Yeah, porn doesn't set the mood with background music anymore."

You felt his hand grip onto your hip impatiently. You were sucking his fingers into your cunt deeper and deeper—how could he not get hasty? 

His cock kicked in your hand before it spurted thin, milky cum, but with your own orgasm crashing over you, you could hardly focus on that. 

The porno faded to black shortly after you both finished, the tape ejecting with a click. Sex with Bodhi was always fun, but this time was especially interesting. You wiped his cum off of your palm and shot him a devious smile.

"The guy had a cute mustache."

Bodhi chuckled softly. "Y'like 'staches?" He ran his fingers over his top lip. "Maybe I'll grow one for you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. That is, if you grow your bush out for me," he said, eyeing your mound, "in true 80s fashion."

[takoseimegumi]

I don't usually reblog posts like this or add comments to posts I reblog, but I wanted to share my experiences. Just to show all the ways something like this can affect people. Content warnings for anxiety, suicide, abuse and sexual harassment.

This came at the absolute worst time in my life. Things were starting to look up for me. I'm autistic and have had trouble functioning in society, but I had hope things were getting better. I got a bank account, a long-term online friend had confessed his love to me leaving me no longer single, I was starting to go out on my own after years of needing someone else to come with me... things were really hopeful.

Then the lockdowns started. I wasn't able to go out. I couldn't use the money I now had access to. I wasn't able to arrange even one irl meeting with my boyfriend (we live in different countries). And when I tried to go to the store I was heavily restricted in what I could do. There were spaced-out lines, you had to follow a route inside the store, some wouldn't accept me without a mask, one yelled at me for being slightly out of line... I had no choice but to become a shut-in.

It got to the point when just seeing mentions of what was going on gave me extreme anxiety. And that was completely unavoidable. I was living in a constant state of that.

At one point I got a message from my boyfriend where he explained he got the virus. I had to spend a couple of weeks living in complete instinctual fear for him. I couldn't sleep. I tried to distract myself but I couldn't stop crying. I wanted to be there for him but I couldn't. It turned out fine in the end, but to this day remembering those two weeks makes me tear up.

Think that's bad enough? It gets worse.

Shortly before the pandemic started, my mum started dating someone. I was happy for her at first. Things seemed to be looking up for her as well. But then... strange things started to happen.

My mum's sanity took a nosedive after this whole thing started. She was like full-on tinfoil hat conspiracy theorist. It was jarring seeing her like this. And unfortunately, her mental health deteriorating wouldn't just affect her.

Her boyfriend turned out to be an emotionally abusive bastard towards not only her, but me and my brother. My brother ended up leaving after mum's boyfriend and me had a fight (that was the last straw for him). And he was basically taking advantage of my mum's shattered sanity to keep her with him.

The emotional abuse wasn't even the worst part. This is where it gets really ugly. Over the years even as lockdown was settling down, the damage to my development was already done (to this day I still haven't recovered) and I was still a complete shut-in. My mum's boyfriend would start making inappropriate comments towards me, and whenever I would complain, he would guilt-trip me into taking it back. Talking to mum did not help. He'd successfully brainwashed her. She refuses to believe he could do wrong even to this day.

And over the years, the comments got worse. He would divulge his fetishes, try to invade on my hobbies, invalidate my asexuality and past sexual trauma (just because I separate fiction from reality), and even send me sexually explicit gifts like laced panties and a vibrator.

I was waking up in anxiety attacks. I felt trapped. It got so bad I tried to kill myself in the bathtub just so I could escape.

At that point, the pandemic was officially over. But I was so mentally broken by everything that had gone on that I couldn't leave.

That is, until my boyfriend told me to text my brother about it. He got me out of there. I've been living with him and my grandma for a little over a year now.

This wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for the pandemic. My mum would be the person she used to be. She would have left that bastard the moment I spoke up about him.

And I would still be cheerful and optimistic like I was before. But I can't be. And I don't have hope I ever will be.

The only thing that keeps me going is my boyfriend, my online friends and my interests.

So no, I don't think we should romanticise quarantine.

"remember quarantine when everyone was baking bread and dancing--" no, but I remember quarantine when a bunch of people were borderline suicidal. and I remember quarantine when people got screamed at for not wearing a mask outside. and I remember quarantine when businesses were forced to close and people lost their jobs. and I remember quarantine when there were government tip lines to report family dinners. and I remember quarantine when no one was allowed to go to church.

and I remember how it's a really good thing that my grandma wanted to be cremated, since that meant we could delay her funeral. because if we had to have it soon after she died (from cancer, not covid), three of her kids wouldn't have been allowed to be there. they wouldn't have had the chance to say goodbye.

so no, I don't remember any kind of human flourishing as a result of quarantine. and you're right that people should stop romanticizing it.

That's the quarantine I remember.

And I'm not going to forget it, either.

It's crazy how they are already trying to gaslight people into thinking we were all just living our best lives.